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emt!marauders getting called to a halloween party bc your friend got injured in her drunkenness. you’re the one who called and took responsibility in the situation, so when they show up you’re there in like an angel or goddess costume or something ethereal and you’re caring so kindly for your friend and they’re like soooooooo in love. maybe you ride in the ambulance with her bc she doesn’t want to be alone and get to spend even more time with them 🫣🥸🤲
Thanks for requesting!
cw: alcohol, blood, needle, nausea, symptoms of concussion (or I guess those could be interpreted as drunkenness if you like), mention of hospital/stitches
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
You’ve got both hands on your friend’s head because you don’t trust her to keep up pressure with the towel herself, but you suppose you’re not much better. Your hands are shaking something awful. The blue and yellow lights turning onto your street come as a relief.
“Look, the ambulance is here,” you tell your friend softly, a poor attempt at reassuring her.
“Hello.” A dark-haired paramedic flashes a grin at you both as he steps down from the passenger side to meet you at the curb. “So, we have an angel and a…zombie?”
Your friend makes a rather zombie-like sound of confirmation.
Another EMT comes up behind the first. “Oh, perfect! So the head wound is just part of it then, I suppose. We can all go home.” He crouches in front of her, smiling as he takes her wrist in his hands and settles two fingers over her pulse. “How are we feeling, babe?”
Your friend swallows thickly. “I need to call my mom.”
“I’ve already called your mom,” you remind her gently. A third paramedic, this one taller and with a lither build than the others, rounds the ambulance. “She’s on her way.” You ask the paramedics, “Do you know which hospital we’ll be going to? So I can tell her mom.”
“Most likely the one on Baker,” says the third paramedic. He sets his hand over yours on the towel. “I’ve got this, love.”
You let go carefully, texting your friend’s mom the hospital before wrapping your arm around her shoulders. Her voice has gone thin and wobbly as the paramedic getting her pulse asks her questions.
“And who’s your friend there?” He points at you with his chin. “Do you know her name?”
Your friend follows his gaze as though she’d forgotten you were there, and you try to give her a smile. She says your name.
“Nice to meet both of you,” he says cheerily. “I’m James, that’s Sirius and that’s Remus. We’re going to take you to the hospital now, okay? Do you feel like you can walk?”
“Can she come with me?” your friend asks.
James hesitates. He looks to the other two.
The tall one—Remus—says tentatively, “We’re really not supposed to. It’d be an awfully tight fit.”
Your friend’s eyes start to water, and you say quickly, rubbing her arm, “I can stay out of your way. She’s—” you lower your voice “—her mom is hours away, and she’s scared. I don’t want her to be alone.”
Remus’ eyebrows bend with sympathy.
“Let’s do it.” Sirius bumps Remus’ hip, a familiar sort of gesture. He sends you a wink. “We can’t part her from her guardian angel.”
Your face heats, but you smile at him. Give Remus a hopeful look.
He nods. “Alright,” he says, keeping one hand on your friend’s head and taking her elbow in the other. “Ready to go?”
“Can my friend come with me?”
“I’m coming,” you reassure her. You help her stand with an arm under her shoulders, supporting her weight more than necessary in case she falls.
James and Sirius are waiting in the back of the ambulance to help her up, and while Sirius gets her settled on the gurney James reaches back down for you.
“Hop on up, angel.”
You’re not sure if he’s referring to your costume or not, but you think you might be okay with this guy calling you whatever he likes. You take his hand, and have to avert your eyes from the flex of his bicep as he pulls you up.
“You alright?” Remus asks as you try to find the most out-of-the-way place to sit.
“Hm?” You look to him. “Yeah, why?”
He gives you a soft smile. “You’re shaking, love.” He takes your shoulders in his hands, guiding you to a bench in the corner. “Put your back against the wall there. There you are. Say something if you start to feel faint, okay?”
You hum weakly. You are starting to really tremble, your adrenaline catching up to you now that there are professionals here to take charge of your friend.
“You’ve got a wicked concussion,” Sirius says to her. “Really top-of-the-line head injury, I’m impressed. Did you pass out at any point?”
Your friend looks to you, uncertain.
You take the hand she holds out to you. “Yeah,” you tell Sirius. “Just for a second, though, right after it happened.”
“What did happen?” asks James.
“She fell and clipped her head on the counter.” You wince at the memory.
Sirius makes a sympathetic sound. “Bit too much to drink?”
Your friend makes a rueful, miserable sound. You squeeze her hand.
“You weren’t so bad,” you tell her kindly. “Just enough to lose your balance. It could’ve happened to anyone.”
James looks at your joined hands with a faint smile. “You’re a good friend,” he says, “staying with her like this.”
You shrug. “Couldn’t really leave her alone, could I?”
“Some people would.” Remus starts putting an IV into your friend’s hand, and you have to look away, your stomach roiling. James chuckles. “Especially considering you look like you might pass out yourself.”
“I told her to say if she was going to,” says Remus.
“I’m okay,” you say feebly.
Sirius tsks, leaving the care of your friend’s wound to James as he comes over to you. “Not a fan of needles?”
“Or blood,” you admit. “Sorry, I’m fine, just squeamish.”
“Put your head there, gorgeous.” The compliment doesn’t help with the turmoil in your stomach, nor does the hand he sets on your face, gently directing you to rest your head in the corner. He procures a bottle of water from a drawer. “Sip on this, and please try not to pass out without telling us.”
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry, angel, you’re doing great. You’re both doing great.” Sirius gives you and your friend’s linked hands a squeeze before rejoining James by her head. “Now, I’m hoping you’re less squeamish than your guardian angel over there, babe. Have you ever had stitches before?”
#emt!marauders#emt!marauders x reader#marauders au#poly marauders#poly!marauders#poly marauders x reader#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders x fem!reader#poly!marauders x you#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders x self insert#poly!marauders fanfiction#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders hurt/comfort#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders scenario#poly!marauders drabble#poly!marauders blurb#poly!marauders oneshot#poly!marauders one shot#james potter#james potter x reader#sirius black#sirius black x reader#remus lupin#remus lupin x reader#marauders x reader#marauders#marauders fanfiction
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Hi!! I've been obsess with your works
Now, hear me out because your poll stroke an idea in me 👀👀
How about: Argentine!Reader x Oscar Piastri, and starts teaching him spanish so he can understand Franco's Interviews
Thank you!!
Ooooh yes yes yes!!! Here it is and I hope you like it 💌 thank you for your requests and support! I really appreciate it mwak mwak 😙 (sorry it’s a bit late but better late than never!)
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“Indirectas Directas” | OP81
Part 1 -> “Made in Argentina: The Series” (Oscar’s Version)
Parings: Oscar Piastri x Argentine!Reader.
Summary: you and Oscar have known each other since your best friend Franco Colapinto started competing in F3. You always had a crush on the Australian pilot. You have been friends for a while now but the friendship got closer since Franco got in F1 and you can see each other every race weekend. The butterflies starts for both of you. Do you really just wanna be friends? You teaching him “piropos” from your country may have subliminal messages.
Now playing: “IMÁN (Two of Us)” by Maria Becerra.
Word count: +1.2k.
Warnings: a few curse words. Pure fluff. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.
Author’s note: alrightyyyyy I hope this is good! And I really recommend Maria! I love herrrr my queen!! I did my best with the piropos jajaja Don’t forget to like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)
MASTERLIST
“Hola, todo bien?” Oscar said carefully and weirdly remembering what you taught him a few seconds ago. You nodded proud of his Spanish.
“Todo bien, ¿qué contas?” You said in your Argentine accent making him open his eyes wildly panicking. He loved your voice in Spanish; it was slightly higher pitched than in English. In English you have a deeper voice for some reason. Of course he asked about it and you explained it may be because of the pronunciation of the words. It's really so different from one language to the other.
“What the hell did you ask?” He said giggling a little, making you laugh too.
“I asked you what’s up” you explained and wrote down that phrase in the little notebook he brought with a pen. All mc claren branded.
The friendship between you two has become closer with each race. You were good friends before but not that close. It was something either of you couldn’t explain. Like your bodies were driven directly to one another unconsciously. You didn’t want to think too much about it. You didn’t want to overthink it.
His face was like ‘oh yeah right it makes sense’. He smiled at your handwriting so rounded and legible. Unlike his. His was a little messy.
“Yo estoy carrera hoy” he tried to answer it without asking how to. You laughed and he blushed. “This is embarrassing, it's really hard to connect the words” he said shyly and you found it so cute.
“It was close though don’t feel bad. Spanish it’s super complicated for non-Latin language speakers. We have like 20 tenses and shit. It’s a mess” you explained to cheer him up. He loved the fact you knew so much about languages because you also knew how to talk Portuguese and Italian pretty perfectly in his opinion. He has heard you even trying to speak French with Pierre last weekend. He was impressed.
“Yeah I get it now” he said grinning. “Must be nice to flirt in Spanish like I don’t know like you automatically sound sexier and more interesting” he said, making you laugh. “No really like I heard Carlos talking to an interviewer the other day and I think I am in love actually” he said, making you laugh even more. He loved making you laugh. Your laugh was like a drug to him. You looked way too cute doing so.
“Well I don’t know actually but in Argentina we have some top level flirting like really great phrases. Let me teach you some. Wait I’ll look for some on google so I can help myself remember” you said excited about it because you knew it was gonna be bizarre and funny at best.
“Phrases? Like roses are red and that kind of stuff?” He asked curiously and you nodded looking at your phone.
He couldn’t help but get distracted by the way you looked. Like every other race weekend you were wearing one of the million Argentina tees you have in your wardrobe. Your skin was glowing because of the sunscreen making your freckles stand out even more. You dyed your hair blond a few weeks ago and it looked incredible on you. He wouldn’t have expected that change but it looked so good on you. Anyway, he was convinced that anything you do to your hair will always look good always. Because you were beautiful. And he thought that was dangerous. You’re supposed to be friends right? And he knows Franco will kill him if he finds out he likes you. But he couldn’t help it. You were so interesting to him. You went everywhere with your mate and sang a lot of football songs he didn’t understand but you looked so happy singing them with Franco. Like he was captivated by your foreign beauty. So different from Australia or Europe or even the United States. You were loud and always laughing. Your bright smile always makes everyone so happy. All of the boys loved you. You were the life of every party. And you also knew so much about formula 1 it was impressive. Then you told him you were studying for an engineering degree and everything made sense. You loved the sport. And you were the proud friend. He loved that you were so passionate about everything. Even now that you have this teacher and student dynamic, you take it so seriously. He loved it. And he liked it even more because he knew that you were a teacher back in your country. And he could see how much you love to teach and you were actually really good at it.
“Alright I found the first one!” You said already laughing. “Okay ready?” He nodded, smiling, waiting for your magic voice to pronounce the weirdest shit but sound amazing.
“Mi amor, quien fuera cemento para sostener ese monumento” you said and started laughing because his face was a poem.
“What the hell?” He said laughing as well. “What does it mean? It really sounded terrible, " he said dramatically.
“It means: my love, who could be cement to hold that monument” he bursted out laughing.
“What? I don’t know if it’s geniuous or rude to be honest” he said sincerely making you laugh.
“Oh my god that was so cringe I love it” you said looking for another one.
“Don’t even try to make me pronounce that last one please” he warned you funny. You denied with your head.
“Okay I found another one listen: tu con tantas curvas y yo sin frenos. Try to translate it” you said because there were words you already taught him.
“Oh my god alright. Repeat it please?” You repeated it and he thought for a few seconds.
“Uh tu curvas y yo frenos?” He said confused. You giggled a little but applauded proudly.
“Yes! You're getting better Oscky” you said sweetly. “It was: you with so many corners and I have no brakes” you said, smiling funny.
“Oh like the curves of the body right?” You nodded at his questions. “Oh alright I get it! So is like double meaning”
“Exactly” you answered. “Alright last one: besar es el lenguaje del amor, te importaría comenzar una conversación conmigo?” You said blushing. Your subconscious chose this one without leaving you a warning.
“You said something with kiss right?” He asked and you nodded. He blushed too. You were like two teenagers blushing and giggling.
“I said: kissing it’s the language of love. Would you mind starting a conversation?” You explained.
“You wanna kiss me?” His words slipped through his lips.
“Maybe I do” your words slipped through your lips.
You were both so red. An awkward silence made its presence.
“Oscar, sorry to interrupt but Zac is calling us both. Hey y/n, you good darling?” Lando appeared out of nowhere so save yourselves from the worst silence situation you’ve ever been into. Lando hugged you kissing your cheek and you smiled at him. Oscar took his things ready to go.
“All good Land. Hope you have a good reunion. See you after the practices!” You said waving to him. And Oscar gave you a cheeky smile.
Holy shit you’re fucked.
#my work!🧉#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 x female reader#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#op81 x reader#op81 imagine#op81 fic#op81
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hi! please could you do number 7 with the mc having a ghost-related quirk??
decided to quickly write this one just in time for halloween! i hope y'all enjoy this little piece amidst the boop war we all find ourselves in right now lol. thank you for playing n have a nice day <3
(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)
7. "THE GHOSTS WOULD DISAGREE WITH YOU." (1.3k)
“you’re a fucking weirdo, you know that?”
you don’t even look up from the churro you’re munching on, opting to ignore the ash-blonde sitting right next to your left.
“what,” he continues, and if you didn’t know any better, he’s starting to sound a little annoyed. “you’re not even gonna defend yourself?”
what you’re not about to do is tell him you’ve heard that taunt over and over again growing up, lest you end up seeming pitiful, which you aren’t.
so you merely shrug. “i don’t see the point. i know it’s not true.”
at that, you finally glance at the man, who’s looking nothing short of speechless under the dim light of the lounge that’s decked out with ‘spooky’ embellishments.
cute is the first thing that comes to mind.
he just fucking insulted you is the next.
still, you can’t help the smile that takes over your features. “you’re the weird one, anyway. why would you say that to your date?”
bakugou promptly breaks eye contact, choosing to stare at the human skeleton that’s conveniently parked at the corner of the room. you follow his line of vision, and you have to stop yourself from snorting at the sight.
the people manning this haunted house-themed attraction sure took budget decorating to the next level.
beside you, the pro-hero huffs. “i’m only saying that because this is your idea of a good first date,” he gestures vaguely to your surroundings, an incredulous expression on his face as he tosses you a pointed look. “a horror escape room? really?”
“what?” you say, trying to sound the slightest bit defensive for the sake of it. “it gives us plenty of excuses to get closer.”
whatever bakugou expected you to say in response, it surely wasn’t that.
the man only splutters, quickly diverting his gaze and plopping back against his seat with his muscled arms folded across his broad chest like a petulant child.
he then mutters something that you wouldn’t have caught for the life of you if it weren’t for the thing.
you grin.
“you wanted me to latch onto you for safety? you could’ve just said so.”
almost instantaneously, bakugou whips to stare at you, an absolutely horrified expression etched all over his face.
“what the fuck?”
you flash him the most innocent look you can muster. “what?”
he’s now glaring at you, but there’s no missing the redness that has crept up the high planes of his cheeks. he opens his mouth as if to say something but hesitates. he tries again, gaze fixated on you for a couple more seconds until he shakes his head in disbelief.
“…there’s no fucking way.”
you shrug again, but bakugou only stares at you, eyes squinting in suspicion. “unless…”
and, in a blink of an eye you almost could’ve missed it if you weren’t staring at him yourself, you see profound realization dawn on his features.
you gulp despite yourself.
“you have a fucking quirk?”
the truth must have been written all over your exterior, because the man leans back in slow motion like the way one would when faced with a relatively shocking revelation.
you rub at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling too self-conscious. this was the part that always made you feel uncomfortable, no matter what the context.
but especially during a first date.
“i never said i was quirkless…”
“yeah, no shit,” he retorts, not missing a single bit. “what is it, superior hearing or something?”
you shake your head slowly, “no, but it does make me privy to things that i don’t perceive with my own senses.”
bakugou’s eyebrows furrow in what you think is confusion. “what else?”
“uh—” you pause, eyes drifting down to your fiddling fingers, “—i can also levitate, be invisible, and permeate through things.”
when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you finally chance a glance at the man, and he’s looking honest-to-god gagged.
pro-hero dynamight is fucking gagged and it’s because of you.
before he can get a word in, though, you quickly follow it up with: “but they make me so nauseous that i can barely pull them off. they’re useless, really.”
when you’re met with nothing but silence, you continue.
“i know,” you chuckle, although it comes out awkward and stilted. “it’s weird. you’re right, after all. i was just messing with you.”
more silence.
not knowing what else to do or say, you take a huge bite of your pastry, although you’re far from hungry, stomach now churning in embarrassment.
you’re in the middle of chewing the remnants of your last bite when bakugou finally speaks up.
now, you’ve heard about how the #9 pro-hero, despite his aggression and temper and generally unpleasant personality, is exceptionally intelligent, perceptive, and intuitive, but you never really thought much about it.
not even when you found out a few hours earlier that the blind date your friends set you up with was your distant superior dynamight himself.
and while you always had a thing for capable men, you didn’t want to fall early and hard lest you hurt yourself in the process. so you merely pushed back against the prejudices and expectations you had of him, and decided to just observe the person who was actually in front of you for the rest of your date.
but when he says the next thing, everything you’ve heard about him suddenly makes sense.
“…so it’s a ghost quirk.”
you don’t even get the opportunity to choke on your churro or gape at him because bakugou shakes his head so fervently, before: “that’s such a fucking waste.”
“e-excuse me?”
at your query, he locks eyes with you. “you have a strong-ass quirk, yet you’re working in admin for us. you could be doing more.”
a thousand questions fight to escape your lips, but what manages to emerge victorious is: “how’d you know i’m working admin for ground riot?”
bakugou scowls at you, but again, there’s that scarlet on his cheeks. he doesn’t answer your question, though, instead going for: “that’s your fucking takeaway?”
you shrug, not knowing what else to say. “i know my quirk is strong. but i was always made to feel like i was weird and creepy for it growing up—and until now, actually, which is why i don’t really talk about it—so i just learned not to use it.”
“well, most of it,” you add, and bakugou cocks his head to the side in question.
you take a shaky inhale.
“…ghosts still choose to talk to me.”
“that how you pick up on things beyond your five senses?”
you try not to gawk at him and at how fast he put two and two together. “…yeah.”
neither of you says anything for a few moments before bakugou finally shifts in his seat, rolling his shoulders back.
as he does so, he pipes up with: “well, i guess they’re not always accurate, though.”
you frown. although you rarely use your quirk, you still pride yourself in your capacity. “what do you mean?”
at that, bakugou turns to regard you, an unidentifiable expression on his face. “i did not want you to latch onto me.”
this time, you really can’t help it. you snort, and that grants you a glower from the pro-hero. you take it in stride, though, waving him off.
“sure, big guy.”
“don’t—” he sits up, “fucking—i’m serious—”
“yeah, but the ghosts—” he throws you a punch, which you dodge, “would disagree—” you dodge another, “ with you—” he barely misses you, “—though,” you finally finish.
and really, you don’t even need your trusty ghosts to know that—the blush that’s taken over the entirety of his face is all the proof you need.
#this one took a lot of brain juice in terms of deciding how reader's quirk manifests lol#what the ghosts lip-read and tell reader tho is bkg saying “'s not like that even happened...” re: reader latching onto him for safety#LMAOOO#anw i told myself to keep it at like 500-700 words#look what happened again#sighs#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagines#mha imagines#mha scenarios#bnha imagines#bnha scenarios#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou imagine#bakugou drabble#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#bkg#2k milestone drabble
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The Red King holds a Bleeding Head
A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 7.
This place can get fucked.
No, seriously. You’re seriously starting to hate this place.
You’ve been hanging on one of your last threads of self control for the last day. And really, it’s fraying so fast that you can feel your muscles twitch from the lingering stress in your body boiling over into anger.
But you’ll bite your fucking tongue bloody to make reason and maybe correct this.
You’re not confident that'll happen though.
“W-Wait! You can’t just throw them out over a tart! We’ll just take it and go!” You try to make him see reason but so far, reason is the last thing this world sees. After all, if it did, you wouldn’t be so terrified of Ace and Deuce. And yes, you’re only defending them because the sooner this mess is over, the sooner you can actually sleep tonight. But still, this is completely outrageous.
But since this dorm’s rules come straight from the loony bin from a tyrannical dictator that got what she deserved in the end, and the person enforcing them is about as oppressive megalomaniac as the inspiration…what the hell were you expecting?!
“Yeah! If you want the tart gone, let me eat it!” Grim makes a dash for the tart, but all it takes is for an angry glare from Riddle for one of those terrified card soldiers to quickly take it and throw it out. Isn’t that just great? All that hard work for nothing.
For the first time since this mess started, Trey takes responsibility for messing up Ace’s apology, and sending his dorm leader into a tizzy. “Dorm Leader, allow me to apologize. I was the one who suggested making a chestnut tart!”
Thankfully, Cater takes a little responsibility too, considering he was the one that caused this tea party to turn into a mess. “I was a part of that too. We had no idea there was a rule about it!”
But Riddle’s just as uncompromising as he was at lunch yesterday. “The making of the tart is not the issue. The issue is bringing it HERE. Today. THAT is the transgression!”
“We were going to bring it earlier, it’s just we were unexpectedly..” You grind that out as you glare at Cater for that stupid detour, “distracted! How can you be so mean and uncompromising after he worked so hard! You have to think it’s at least a little stupid to live by these foolish rules!”
“Yeah! All you do is cite one stupid rule after another! You sound totally foolish!” Yes! Thank you Ace! At least someone else disagrees with this complete insanity.
Riddle’s face goes from angry to furious, “What did you just call me? ‘Foolish?!’”
Cater grabs you and Ace by your arms to pull you both away from the rising argument, “Everyone, stop! Don’t dig this hole any deeper! And Riddle, please try to remember that these are new students who’ve only been here a few days!” but you wretch your arm away. You already know that Riddle hates excuses IN apologies, and you’re not apologizing to this self-righteous pain in your ass.
Thankfully, Ace doesn’t buy the BS being spat out right now, “Nah, bro. I’ve got a shovel and I am DIGGING. Throwing away a tart to obey some insane rule is about as foolish as it gets.”
“I agree with Ace. Of course, I understand that rules do need to be followed, but…This is going much too far.” Deuce is on your side too, thank the seven. Someone else isn’t going to stand idly by for this fever dream.
“Too far is an understatement.” You say point-blank. “You’re acting like a crazy person over a tart! You can't deny that you're being foolish!”
Riddle’s angry glare falls on you “A person like you has no right to tell me what is and isn't foolish!”
Is he referring to you? And why is he- “Though I can't say I'm not surprised by your reaction, considering how your kind tends to act” Oh no.
To the ears of others you hope that they think that he's saying that you're just a troublemaker, but you know that he thinks otherwise. Because he already knows you're a darling. And he knows that you know that.
Which means that if he wanted to, he could reveal who you really are to anyone within earshot. Which is especially bad considering that Ace and Deuce are already suspicious of you.
This isn’t good…..
Maybe you should shut up for now.
Probably satisfied that he shut you up, he receptors his focus and rage back on Ace. “And you…Are you attempting to debate me? Bold move, but I’ll bite. By breaking even the smallest rule, you are throwing wide the gate to anarchy.”
You feel the urge to point out the obvious about how insane he's acting over a tart, but instead you bite your tongue.
Regardless though, Ace is there to say what you can't. Now very fed up, Ace gestures to the silent audience to this ‘debate’.. “Everyone, I know you’re afraid of getting your magic sealed away, but you know this is insane, right?”
But instead of speaking their minds, all of them jolt at being put on the spot, fidgeting and squirming in fear of the dorm leader's wrath. “N-No, we, uh….”
Some actually look like they’re willing to speak up against Riddle’s leadership, but whatever attempts at resistance there are in the crowd, they are squashed as soon as Riddle’s angry glare is set upon them. “Well? Isn’t it?”
“Far from it, Dorm Leader Riddle, sir!” One brave/cowardly soul says from the crowd and the bystander effect comes into effect full force. Because as soon as that one person gets his words out, the other card soldiers follow suit. “We trust in your judgment, sir!”
Once again, it’s just like your dream with the card soldiers standing idly by next to their fellow cards’/ dormmates’ abuse. You hate your dreams, stupid bad omens. Stupid self-serving card soldiers…
“You little…”
“You spineless, fair-weather cowards…” Ace mutters at the betrayal of his dormmates and fellow victims.
Now probably overconfident from the residents’ denial of his tyranny, Riddle starts some spiel. “In the year since I became Dorm Leader, not a single student from Heartslabyul House has dropped out or been held back a year. We are the only house that can boast such a feat. Furthermore, of everyone in this dorm, I have the best academic standing.” Whatever point Riddle’s getting to, his statements aren’t really the proof he thinks it is, just because they’re still here doesn’t mean they aren’t planning to leave. Also, doesn’t the fear of failure push you to break the rules to avoid failing?
“What does that have to do with anything?” You Someone can be super smart and still be very wrong.
He pauses in his tirade, speaking slowly, like you're a child incapable of understanding what he’s saying. “Hence I am the most correct! If you would simply obey me without question, we wouldn’t need to contend so.” Okay, rude. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from offending him further, but seven only knows you want to.
“Listen, we-”
Riddle interrupts Deuce, isn’t there a rule about interrupting someone while they speak? “It’s not off with their heads because ‘I’ want to do that. I do it because rules must never be broken.”
Still completely pissed about the fact that you might have In the corner of your eye, you see Trey cross his arms looking guilty. There has to be something wrong between the two of them. Because what Trey wouldn’t defend Riddle so much and then not tell him when he’s wrong if there wasn’t something strange or tense between them.
“If you will not obey me, then I will have all of your heads!” This isn’t just being a control freak, this is being a total dictator. Even some of the most overbearing control freaks can understand that mistakes are a human characteristic.
Cater intervenes again, to play peacemaker, “Okay, let’s all say, “Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.” and screw that. Revelations be damned, you can't just agree with him because you're scared about what he'll do. That'll make you no better than the others staying silent.
“I can’t.” Deuce
“Me neither.” You cross your arms in indignation. “What you’re doing is just unfair.”
“Yeah, ____ we don’t bow to self-important tyrants!”
Riddle’s cheeks turn red as his anger grows.
“What did you just call me?”
“He called you what you are. A tyrant.” You repeat, what you're doing is very risky but still he can stay mad about it. Darling or not, you're not going to leave this alone.
“Yeah Henchman’s right! You wanted to destroy good food just ‘cause you’re throwin’ a tantrum!”
“Guys, I don’t think we need to escalate this-” It’s much too late for that. Because before Deuce can finish his sentence….
“Off! With! Your! Heads!”
There’s a flash of light and in seconds there’s a tight pressure around your neck. You cough in surprise and “Aw shit.” There’s a collar like Ace’s around your neck. And Deuce and Grim are wearing them too. Why? Speaking your mind isn't against the rules!
Still boiling mad, he spits orders like the tyrant he is. “Trey! Cater! Eject them from the premises!”
For the two very lively people they were, they immediately turn to the reluctant drones that the other card soldiers are once Riddle starts yelling at them, “...Yes sir, Dorm Leader.”
You shrug Trey's hand of your shoulder and glare at him in distaste. He doesn’t want to meet your eyes
“You’re supposed to be our ‘mentors’!” Ace objects vehemently at the betrayal. And all the two can do is spill empty apologies.
“Sorry, but we can’t disobey our dorm leader!”
“Sorry, man..”
They were fine with it yesterday. Glad to know that was all for nothing.
“Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be? Then bring it on!” Somewhere in this conversation, Ace must have forgotten that everyone about to be thrown out either had no magic to begin with, or can’t cast it thanks to the stupid collars. So obviously, they get trounced. It was kind of sad really.
Before Trey pulls you out, you yell at Riddle “Hey Rosehearts! I don't have magic. Take the collar off!” It’s already unfair that Deuce and Grim got one for questioning his authority, you getting one is just cruel and unusual punishment.
He gives you a snide look, “Perhaps you should wear it for a while too. Since you seem to have forgotten it, it might help to properly remind you of your place.”
This little…..
Trey and Cater kick you out before you can paint Riddle’s ears with the full capacity of your swear dictionary.
So. Now what?
“I'm gonna kill him.”
“_____-”
“No, Deuce, no, I’m serious.” It’s one thing to saddle Ace and Deuce with you for another fucking night, but then to collar you, an non-magic user, just because he got butt hurt. You hope someone chops off his head to see how he likes it.
Though now that you think about it, you really feel bad for the darling he’s meant to have in this world. If he’s this strict over a tiny thing like a tart then there’s no telling what he’ll flip the hell out for. You’d hate to be them.
“Stop, tryna be an honor student about this Juice. She’s right, we should just kill him. We can get away with it.”
“See, Deuce. Listen to Ace, we might just get a parade for ridding the dorm of that menace.” You don’t really want to encourage them to murder, but you’re pissed and the twerp deserves it.
“Yeah, even without my magic I’ll kick that guy’s butt so hard that he’ll regret collaring the Great Grim for the rest of his life.”
So you were all kicked out thirty minutes ago. And here you all are in the rose maze, with the music of the unbirthday party in the background. All of you had collars on your necks, and you were really pissed about this nonsense if you couldn’t tell already.
With you no longer there to be the voice of reason, because you were fuming, Deuce was trying to calm your bloodlust before you do something you might regret.
Which you probably might, if you keep encouraging Ace to kill someone.
You take a deep breath, or seven, before finally sighing in defeat. “Ugh. We probably shouldn’t kill anyone.”
“But-”
“We really shouldn’t kill anyone Ace.” You finally say,
Ace huffs in displeasure. “Fine. Still, who does he think HE is, the Queen of Hearts?” Ace kicks over one of the empty paint cans in his rage.
“Probably, Ace.” You tug at your shirt to give yourself more room to breathe. This stupid thing is super claustrophobic no wonder Grim hates it.
Speaking of, “Stupid collar! It’s so tight! GRrr!” Grim fights with the collar for the umpteenth time, and you sigh.
“We should probably go see Crowley. If Riddle will listen to someone, it’ll probably be him.” You huff, things just keep going downhill-
A voice pops up from the ether. “You’re really racking up those collars. Quite the impressive collection.”
“Who-?” You jump at the sound of a new voice, scanning the hedges and rose bushes for a source-”AH!”
“BWAH?!”
It’s a head, a floating head in the middle of the garden! Seriously, who did a line of cocaine before making this world!
“Myah! A ghost head!” Grim freaks the hell out, retreating into the safety of your arms, his fur standing up on end.
The head tilts to the side, one of his ears twitching, before looking down, “Oh dear. It seems I’m not all here.” He laughs as the rest of his body fades into view. Oh, it’s magic. Thank goodness. You breathe a sigh of relief.
“What? Er, so you do have a body, then?” Deuce’s brain finally catches up to the shock he’s just seen. “Who are you?”
“The name’s Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker.” …….Wha? Forget the other names so far, did his parents have a stroke writing his name? He circles you all while starting a confusing spiel. “As for what I am….Am I a cat? Am I a purrrson? A mimsy borogrove, perhaps? A mome rath with a knack for magic?”
Great riddles. You already had an infuriating run in with the human Riddle, now you had to deal with the non-human kind. Wonderful. “Your name is…Artem- Could you say that again please?”
He laughs, with a cheshire smile, “People usually just call me Chenya. And let’s just say I’m not from the other side of the looking glass.” …..The hell does that mean? Is he from here? Or not? Either way, like everyone else here, he’s very weird.
“Yet another weirdo…” you mutter. You’re starting to wonder how in the hell Alice didn’t lose her mind in wonderland.
He must’ve heard you but he doesn’t take offense, instead he gets up close and personal, stopping right before your noses touch. “You think so? I’d say by the standards here, I’m no more mad than anyone else.”
Ace pulls you away from Art- Artemi- Chenya, by your arm and asks you as Chenya the other question that was on your mind. “Uh…what dorm are you from?”
He hums a laugh. “Why don’t you try to guess?” The animal ears remind you of Savanaclaw, but he’s not dressed in any yellow.
Grim takes the opportunity to display his intellect, “Oh, I know! He’s got animal ears, so you gotta be from….uh…Bananaclaw, was it?” No, wait a second, his uniform doesn’t even look like NRC’s. Does he even go here?
“Bzzzt! Incorrect. Bananas grow on trees, do they not? I, on the other hand, am a cat.” He reminds you of someone, just who exactly are you thinking of….
Deuce contemplates the question at hand. “And besides, other dorms have students with animal ears, too.”
Ace, on the other hand, is still pissed. “After that insanity that teapot tyrant put me through, I’m not in the mood for whatever this is. Just leave us alone.”
His ears twitch at the mention of a tyrant. “Riddle the teapot tyrant…Heh Heh. Well, I can’t dismiss that perspective as wrong.” He knows Riddle? Wait, you never mentioned Riddle. “He’s always been quite strict.”
“How did you know we were talking about Riddle? And do you know something about him?” You ask.
Chenya doesn’t answer, giving you that ear-to-ear grin, “Perhaps there are things that I know, and perhaps there are things that I don’t.” Yay….confusing riddles.
“That’s not an answer!” Grim objects.
Still smiling and still laughing, Chenya asks “Is there something you wish to know about Riddle?”
“Yeah, what created such a control freak?”
Chenya tilts his head in thought at Ace’s question, tapping his chin with a finger. “I believe his four-eyed friend may have the answer.” Wait, Trey? Also, Riddle has friends?
“Four-eyed friend? You mean Trey?” Deuce asks.
“He’s known Riddle since we were all little boys. If you want to know more about Riddle, I would begin my quest there.” Well that was uh, helpful. But if they all have known each other, why is Riddle so uncaring to Trey? If they’re supposed to be friends, they don’t act like it.
“They’re childhood friends? I didn’t get that impression.”
“Me neither,” You agree, “Could have fooled me, I didn’t think Riddle had any friends.”
Chenya laughs, his body starting to turn translucent“If you’re so perceptive, then what are you asking me for? Buh-bye!”
“Hey! Wait!” You try to stop him from disappearing, but Chenya only laughs before his head vanishes.
Well, that was something.
“I tell ya, no one makes any sense around here.” You nod in agreement. Nothing makes sense here.
Well, if talking to Trey will clear this whole thing up, then you need to speak with him soon. And from the sounds of music in the garden. That won’t be for a while.
“We should wait to speak with Trey, and then..”
Ace interrupts Deuce. “If you’re gonna say “Apologize to Riddle,” you can forget it!”
“I don’t think you should. Riddle’s clearly in the wrong here. But we might have some trouble speaking with Trey if he’s still in the dorm we’re kicked out of. But…”
“We might have to set up a little ambush…” Ace and Deuce don’t disagree, in fact Deuce is cracking his knuckles in preparation.
Now all you need to do is plan and wait.
“Hello Trey.”
Your group of four hadn’t exactly figured out what to do after Chenya told you about Trey and Riddle’s childhood friendship. Being banned from Heartslabyul and then watching another unfortunate student get thrown out minutes later with a magic collar around their neck told you that going in to find him wasn’t going to end well.
It was luck that you noticed Trey's tart cookbook yesterday, and even luckier that you remembered he probably hadn’t returned it already.
So you all staked out the library until he came back after the unbirthday party. Which Trey thankfully came alone for because you needed him to trauma dump on Riddle’s past very hard.
“You four!” He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. This must happen a lot.
“We figured that if we waited at the library, you’d show up to return your tart cookbook eventually.” Actually you figured that part out. You just thought you’d let Deuce be the one to say it, he’s had a rough day with his honor student problem.
“We still got a problem with the way Dorm Leader Riddle is handling all of this.” Ace has more than a problem with this, considering you had to calm him down enough to even have this conversation.
Trey shakes his head in exhaustion. “Yeah, I thought you might say that.” The more you hear about this the more you think that Trey was just hoping the problem would go away on its own.
Ace thankfully gets straight to the point.“Come clean with us. What’s your take on Riddle? Is it true you’ve been pandering to him since the two of you were kids?”
Trey recoils like he’s been struck across the face. “What?! Who told you that?”
“A Chenya popped up in the garden and explained the whole thing.” You say.
He sighs in exasperation. “Chenya…Huh. That explains it.”
“What I don’t get is, aren’t you older than Riddle? Why haven’t ya told him off already?”
“Grim’s right. If you’re supposed to be friends then why don’t you say something. If you’re friends, he might listen to you!” Trey better have a good reason for letting this get as bad as it did. Because he probably could have stopped this way earlier if he just did as Grim said.
“I do when I need to. I don’t think the situation calls for it.”
Well, that’s a load of BS right there. “No offense Trey, but are you blind?!” You’re done being reasonable about this. He needs to hear this as it is. “He’s ruling over your dorm with an iron fist, collaring anyone that slips up even on accident, and the situation doesn’t call for it?! How can you call yourself his friend if you aren’t telling him when he’s enforcing rules like he’s a tyrant!”
Trey shakes his head and averts your eyes. If he feels ashamed then good. This could have-“Because these sorts of strict rules…They’re what created Riddle.” -been…avoided…?
“I don’t follow.” You say.
You knew that Riddle probably had some serious trauma to make him the way he is, but as you were expecting he did.
As Trey was kind enough to inform you, Riddle’s mother was one of those mom’s who pushed her legacy onto her kids, and wouldn’t give them an inch unless they met her incredibly and unfairly high standards.
A childhood scheduled down to the last possible second sounded awful, and because kids are biologically inclined to care for their parents, Riddle did as was expected of him. But to have no freedom of choice your entire life, because of your mother’s rules, no wonder he followed rules so strictly, it was all he ever knew.
But still he had to rebel at least once, find fun in something outside the heavy rules that constricted around his life, after all he was no perfect child, he was only human.
“I can’t even imagine how hard he must’ve had it.”
“That…” It’s horrible that his mother messed him up that bad, but it isn’t just her fault anymore…Now Riddle’s, as he’s now being his own worst enemy and he’s not even aware of it. And even worse, the most unfortunate part of this was that this horrible childhood gave you the upside that at the very least this was proof that even with this society’s ridiculous laws and beliefs, life wasn’t perfect. And to be honest, to you that doesn’t sound like a victory. “That sounds horrible.”
Trey nods, “Riddle sees the enforcement of strict rules as a service to his dorm members. In his eyes, being bound by rigid guidelines by fear- is a fast track to personal growth.”
“But he has to know that’s not the same for everyone,” You point out, “either you make them ‘better’ or you teach them to break the rules without anyone noticing.” You’re not an expert on this, but you’re pretty sure this won’t end the way Riddle wants it to, which adds an extra edge of sadness to this downward spiral Riddle’s unknowingly put himself in.
Trey shakes his head, and he keeps talking even though he sounds so pained,“He might but, it was that strictness was what worked for him. And on the flip side, he sees the violation of those rules as an inexcusable offense.”
“I guess that makes sense, since rules made him who he is.” At least Ace is able to understand that Riddle’s situation sounds terrible to grow up in.
“Look, I totally get why you see Riddle as a tyrant, and why you disapprove of his methods. But for me…I can’t hold that against him, you know?” Trey may be right in thinking Riddle is a delicate situation to handle, as no one would like being told their childhood was emotionally abusive and they didn’t notice, but that doesn’t make this okay.
Being oppressive over people that don’t share your ideals isn’t okay no matter what childhood you have.
“Myah…”
“So that’s why he’s like that.”
Deuce and Grim might not have been able to pick up on what you have, but this isn’t a reason for Riddle’s madness.
It’s an excuse for why Trey hasn’t done anything.
“All right, now I get it.” Ace says finally. “It’s YOUR fault Riddle’s like this.” So he understands it the same way you do.
“What?!”
“I agree with Ace. This IS your fault, Trey. Sure, he had a hard childhood. But you’ve known that what his mother did to him was wrong and you let him repeat it, because you’re too afraid to stop him.”
“_____’s right. You’re going easy on him because he had it rough as a kid? Don’t you see where that’s leading? You’re letting him make a pariah out of himself!”
Deuce tries to shut Ace up before he offends their upperclassman, “Ace, man, come on…”
But Ace ignores him. “So why don’t you say something? Are you just afraid you’ll ‘lose your head’ too? That’s pathetic! You guys are supposed to be childhood friends?! Then act like it-”
“YOU THERE! BE QUIET! YOU ARE IN A LIBRARY!!!”
Headmaster Crowley comes out of nowhere and takes you completely by surprise, as it echoes throughout the library.
“But you’re yellin’ louder ‘n any of us, though!” Grim points out exasperated.
“Oh!” He clears his voice before hushing into a whisper, “Yes, my apologies. But let us strive to maintain the library as a quiet place for reading.”
“What are you doing here, Headmaster?” You ask.
“I’m researching methods to send you back home. Precisely as I promised I would.”
That gets your attention! “Did you find anything?!” You say hopeful, if he has then that’s one step closer to you returning home. You’ll accept any news, even horrific news!
Crowley hesitates for far too long. “Uh, No, unfortunately…But I am gracious! And the library is, of course, an ideal place for serious research.”
“Aw.” Your mood deflates like a balloon. Ah, well at least he’s trying.
“It’s not as if I came here just to secure the newest book in that popular series of novels. No, certainly not.” Wait, what did he say?
“Wait, what-”
He clears his throat and brushes you off, “Incidentally, what are you all discussing with such grim faces?”
“Wait a second. What were you not actually-”
“Now I understand, you are resistant to the idea of apologizing, but unable to devise any other method to get the dorm leader to remove the collar.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“I see, If you and the dorm leader are truly unable to reconcile, you could always transfer. However, this is the dorm that the Dark Mirror chose for you based on the essence of your being. Any attempt to relocate would necessitate quite a burdensome process, as well as a new ritual.” Of course, they are strings attached to this nonsense. You might as well just let Ace move in, which you really don’t want to do with what happened this morning.
And Ace is stubborn, so transferring is the equivalent of saying Riddle’s right and that means that transferring is not happening.
After some thought, Crowley finally responds. “Hmm. Then it sounds like you should challenge Mr. Rosehearts for leadership of the dorm.”
“WHAAAAAT?!” That’s a thing?! Even Trey is surprised for shit’s sake and he’s a third year! Does Crowley just withhold information for the fun of it, because seriously he just refuses to tell people things just to make a joke later?!
“Lower your voices! This is a library!” Crowley whisper-yells.
“But what you said was…insane?” Ace whisper-yells in complete disbelief. But to be honest, Whatever He’s said much more insane things to you….You probably wouldn’t have noticed if Crowley hadn’t spelled it out for you. Maybe this will lead to a solution somehow?
“There is nothing remotely ‘insane’ about it. After all, that’s how Mr. Rosehearts got the position.” Wait, how did Trey not- nevermind.
So dorm leaders can either be named by the predecessor or duel for the position. Well, this could be worse. If Riddle became housewarden within a week it could be possible for Ace or Deuce to do it.
Plus, it would get the collars of them before the duel because they need their magic to- Wait.
“But if you fight Riddle, then-”
“So what do you say, Mr. Trappola? Will you challenge Mr. Rosehearts?”
“But wait, if you fight Riddle-”
“Sure, I’ll give it a shot!”
“Ace, if you duel Riddle then he’ll-”
“Then I will too!”
“Me three!”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Grim. You cannot challenge a dorm leader of a dorm to which you do not belong.”
“Myah?! Then how’m I supposed to get this buzzkill collar off?!”
“About that, if-”
“If I become dorm leader, I’ll just order Riddle to remove it! Easy-peasy!”
“But I don’t think you’ll w-”
“How will everyone know how tough I am if you do that?” You facepalm, they’re not listening. And they’re pumped up, so they’re probably not paying attention to the obvious detail they’re ignoring.
That Riddle will slap the collars right back on them as soon as the duel begins.
Even though Trey knows this, he doesn’t stop them or tell them that instead he says, “Are you sure about this? I certainly didn’t expect you to throw your hat into the ring, Deuce.”
“You didn’t? I think every man’s gotta make a grab for glory at least once in his lifetime.” Well, it’s too late to talk Deuce out of this. Yay. “And if we’re teaming up to take him down, ya better believe I’m running the show!”
“Oh man, here we go again.” The devious smiles on Ace and Deuce’s faces tell you that this plan is doomed from the start. Note to self, stop by Sam’s later to see if he has any charms or spells that can make your room impossible to enter without your permission, because you’re probably about to get two new roommates
“Huh? What’d you say?”
“Then I’ll get started on the paperwork,” Crowley says excitedly.
“Are you guys sure this is a good idea? Because-” Again, you’re interrupted.
“Don’t get all worked up on me now. All we need’s a plan. Anyone got one?”
“Hmm. Hard to imagine we can beat Riddle with straightforward magic. A solid left hook, on the other hand…”
“Yeah, that guy looks like a pushover.” Oh, well that could work. Riddle could beat them in magic, but with fists though-
“Ah, did I forget to mention that detail? These duels are to be fought solely with magic.” There it is. Why do you even bother?
Either way, Ace and Deuce have already decided they would do this and Crowley’s excited to make it happen, no way out of this now.
But maybe, for you, there is.
The mirror on your bedroom wall.
Let the night show you what it wants. Maybe it has something. A way out of this wonderland.
It might be uncomfortable to sleep with this collar on but,....
…..Let’s see where this rabbit hole takes you.
#yandere twisted wonderland#yandere#yandereverse au#yandere twst x reader#this felt like filler#I mean we already know what happens#enjoy anyways#I couldn't figure out how to make this really yandere soooo#whatever this will get better in the next part#I'm gonna stop tagging now
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EVERYTHING
Kaz Brekker x Reader
Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.
Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK
Word Count - 3.8k
!MINORS DNI!
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //
“Touch me.”
You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears.
You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?”
The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered.
“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps.
Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.”
It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.
To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?”
Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?”
“In my room.”
The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs.
Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he?
In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy.
You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection.
So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around?
Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one.
“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.”
Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out.
You almost snort. Clearly.
It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable.
The others would like having him around.
You like having him around.
“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?”
A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth.
“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.”
“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out.
“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.”
His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.
Probably because you are.
You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist.
You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come.
“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.”
There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea?
“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door.
Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.”
As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night.
“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion.
Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic.
You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you.
“Why?” you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?”
“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping.
“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.”
He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks.
“Go downstairs.”
“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.”
Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.”
“What did you say when I came in?”
“Go downstairs.”
You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!”
“Go. Down. Stairs.”
“Make me.”
Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk.
“Do you know why I brought you in?”
For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs.
You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang.
Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam.
“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past.
But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone.
Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it.
“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.”
You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless.
“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete.
“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.”
You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this.
As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.”
Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered.
“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?”
It sounds stupid. It is stupid.
You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way.
“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”
Kaz doesn’t finish that thought.
A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.
Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.
A smile sneaks up on you.
But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away.
He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?”
You blink. “What?”
“You heard me.”
You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this?
“I don’t get what you’re asking.”
“Stop making me repeat myself.”
“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”
Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?”
Shock. Confusion.
They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something.
“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.”
Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?”
Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in.
You’re not fucking him, though.
Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.”
“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting.
“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.”
For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension.
It was excitement. Anticipation.
You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist.
So long as it comes. So long as he notices you.
“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.”
Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out.
Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them.
“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan.
A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.”
It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that.
You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?”
He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again.
“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.”
Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie!
But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit.
Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right?
It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling.
Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan.
But, even if there was, why would Kaz care?
I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me.
All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks.
That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away.
You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin.
Because you didn’t make me sick.
When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks.
Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t.
Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious.
You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows.
“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before.
Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?”
His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots.
Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said.
As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time.
“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.”
Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine.
In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.”
So you do.
You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away.
“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.”
Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks.
“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles.
You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?”
A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap.
For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe.
“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting.
He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak.
Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out.
“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then?
“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.”
The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.”
“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling.
The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet.
As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”
You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core.
Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.”
You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck.
“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.”
“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted?
“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.”
The world grinds to a halt.
Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists.
Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?”
You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half.
If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me.
That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed.
When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give.
And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more.
“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”
a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)
#kaz brekker imagine#six of crows imagine#shadow and bone imagine#s&b netflix#kaz brekker#kaz brekker x fem!reader#kaz brekker x you#six of crows#shadow and bone fic#grishaverse imagine#grishaverse#kaz brekker x reader#shadow and bone fanfic#shadow and bone x reader#six of crows x reader#shadow and bone
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osctober day thirty one
prompt: halloween pairing: lando/oscar word count: 1200w
“Lando,” Oscar says, when he makes his way into the living room to drop his work bag next to the couch. “Why is my baby dressed as a pumpkin?”
Becca is in her little baby playpen banging a few blocks together, dressed in a felt pumpkin suit. There’s even a little hat with a stalk on top perched on her little blond curls. “Da,” she says, when she spots Oscar.
“Hi love,” Oscar says, picking her up and snuggling her closing, earning him another, more decisive “Da!”
“Oscar!” Lando says, appearing from the kitchen. “I can explain.”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, putting his daughter back down. “Can you?”
Lando bites at his lip. He has a spatula in hand, which means he’s attempting to cook dinner again, which means Oscar needs to make this as short as possible so he can make his way into the kitchen and salvage whatever is going on there.
“It’s Halloween?” Lando eventually settles on. “And like. I don’t. I’m not overstepping, or like, I don’t want to overstep, but I just thought. It’s her first you know. I think she should go out trick or treating.”
“She’s fourteen months,” Oscar states, but he’s mostly amused.
“Yeah? So? It’s Halloween, Oscar,” Lando says. Something in the kitchen beeps, and Lando quietly curses under his breath, making his way in there. Oscar throws one last look to Becca, who’s gone back to banging blocks together, and follows Lando into the kitchen.
“Maybe it’s time to revoke your babysitting privileges,” Oscar says, leaning against the doorway and watching Lando flit through the kitchen. There’s a pasta sauce bubbling away in a pot, next to one filled with pasta. It doesn’t seem disastrous yet, so Oscar’s happy to lean back and watch.
“Oh, please,” Lando says. “You would die without you convenient next door neighbor who works from home and loves your kid and is therefor willing to watch her whenever you need someone.”
Unfortunately, this is true. For reasons other than just the convenience, too. Like the way Lando smiles at him sometimes. Or the way Lando’s eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Embarrassing stuff like that.
“You really want to go trick or treating with her?” Oscar asks.
“We are going trick or treating with her,” Lando says, grinning at Oscar, clearly feeling like he’s won something here. “I have matching outfits.”
The matching outfits, thankfully, are just headbands with little pumpkins on bouncy springs. Oscar is pretty sure he looks ridiculous, especially next to Lando, who somehow makes the damned things look cute.
There really is no going back now, so after they finish their pasta, they put Becca’s coat on under her little pumpkin suit, don their stupid little headbands, and head to their first house.
Which is when things get kind of. Weird.
“Oh, your family is so cute,” The first lady says, as she deposits a few pieces of candy in the little bag Lando is holding. “Reminds me of my own daughter and her husband. Precious. Have a good night.”
“Uh,” Lando says, but she’s already closing the door.
Oscar adjusts Becca on his hip, mostly so he kind hide the blush on his face. “On to the next one?” He says quickly, mostly hoping that means Lando won’t bring it up.
“Yeah,” Lando says, still staring at the now closed door. “Yeah, next one.”
But at the next one, roughly the same thing happens. And the Next one. And the next one.
Oscar is coping with this wonderfully, mostly by pretending none of this is happening and no one is actually confusing them for some kind of cute young family rather than for what they are, which is two totally platonic neighbors who are friends who are trick or treating with one of the neighbors kids.
It’s going swimmingly, if he says so himself, even though is heart aches at the thought. Becca, entire unaware, babbles happily in his arms and tries to grab at the pumpkins on his headband.
Lando is quiet, too, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t correct anyone and that’s. Something, right? Nothing, for sure. But.
But.
Except then he does say something, when an young mom smiles at them and says, “Oh, what an adorable little family you have. My kid is her age, too. It’s the best, isn’t it?”
“We aren’t-“ Lando blurts, a little too loud, making Becca startle a little as she looks at him with wide eyes. “A family. I’m just. We’re not. Together. That’s his kid. She’s not. She’s not mine.”
Oscar doubts that. Becca thinks the sun shines out of Lando’s ass on most days. She’s just as much Lando’s as she is Oscar’s, but that’s. That’s dangerous territory, he thinks.
“Oh,” the woman says, a little taken aback. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Lando says, smiles tiredly. It must’ve been bothering him more than Oscar thought. Oscar tries not to be too hurt about that. “Have a good night,” he says, and stalks off the porch.
“You too?” The lady says, but Lando’s already gone. Oscar smiles awkwardly at her, and then follows Lando as quickly as he can with Becca in his arms.
“Hey,” he says, when he catches up.
“Hey,” Lando says, not looking at him, setting a pretty brutal pace. “Let’s go back to the apartments, yeah?”
“Okay,” Oscar says, noting how he says apartments, plural. Nothing how he doesn’t say home.
They walk in silence, for a bit, Becca dozing off on Oscar’s shoulder, before Lanod finally speaks again.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what,” Oscar says, confused. He doesn’t think Lando has anything to apologize for. If he’s uncomfortable being linked to Oscar as a husband, that’s. I mean. He’s allowed to feel those feelings, even if they hurt.
“I just. I’ve been inserting myself in Becca’s life, in your life, and this should have been a cute little milestone, her first Halloween, and instead you spend the whole time listening to people thinking we’re like, what. Together?” Lando is still not looking at him, aggressively biting at his lip.
Oscar takes a moment, unpacks everything Lando’s just said, tries to think of the right thing to say. Eventually he settles on. “We wouldn’t have had Becca’s first Halloween if not for you.”
When Lando finally turns to look at him, if only to send him a confused look, Oscar continues. “You got her the outfit. You got the headbands. I was just going to spend the night inside giving candy away to kids, but you made it special. So you’re not inserting yourself. If anything, I think you’re making her life much, much better.” And then, because he feels like it’s important Lando knows, even though it will probably not lead anywhere, “Also I don’t mind. When people think we’re together.”
“Oh,” Lando says. “You don’t? I mean. I don’t, either.” They’ve stopped, in the middle of the walkway, staring at each other over Becca’s head.
“Good? That’s. That’s good,” Oscar says, a little unsure all of a sudden. If this means what he thinks it means…
“Oh fudge it,” Lando says, and leans forward, softly presses his lips to Oscar’s. It’s a little awkward, with Becca still snoozing happily between them, but it’s the most perfect kiss Oscar’s ever gotten. When Lando pulls away, he’s smiling, a smile Oscar is sure is mirrored on his own face. “Let’s go home, yeah?” He says.
“Home,” Lando says, nods. Shakes his head like he can’t quite believe it.
They can’t hold hands, because Oscar’s are still occupied, but Lando’s hand finds a place at the small of his back, and that’s just as magical, Oscar thinks, as they slowly start making their way home.
#landsocar#osctober 2024#AND THATS A WRAP ON OSCTOBER#thank you everyone who reblogged/liked/send asks i love you all <3#i'm going to hibernate for a million years now lmao this took a lot out of me#but i can't believe i did it!!!!!!!!#wooo!!!!!!!!!
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I got 1300 words! (Which you can absolutely shorten if you don’t feel like writing that much, absolutely understand as a writer.) and I would adore a “Shag me” prompt with Connor 🥴 if you feel up for it. My thoughts on this request (and you can adjust and add to because you’re a great story writer and I trust you) would be a female reader who works as a receptionist at the station (human preferably) and has known Connor since he first came to the department. Soon after his deviancy, they navigate a sort of awkward almost-friends-nearly-more type of relationship and stumble unto a slow romance, until Connor discovers the human emotion horny. It would be amazing if it could be at an awkward time too, like while watching a movie together or at work. I’ve been reading your pieces on AO3 and I truly think you are a talented writer, sending you all my love and inspiration💞💞💞💞
thanks for waiting, anon. connor will see you now. (ao3 link) 1300 words, rated E.
want a turn? prompt me.
It’s been raining all day—classic Detroit November—but all anyone can talk about is the guy who died, his escaped android, and the android investigator in the precinct. You’ve caught a glimpse of him more than once since yesterday, and this time is no different: he comes trotting in after Lieutenant Anderson, covered in glistening droplets of rain and speaking very insistently about something you can’t hear.
“That’s him.”
Your eyes would have slid right past him if not for the intensity in his face. He’s single-minded, emphatic... for all the good it does him. Anderson rolls his eyes and pushes Connor out of his path, leaving him standing there, recalculating. Only then do you notice the LED.
It’s barely two seconds before he’s started after Anderson, calling his name.
“Looks good wet, doesn’t he?”
You don’t offer anything but a soft hum. The thought follows you for the rest of the day.
*
Connor precedes Hank into the building today. He surprises you by speaking to you instead of simply scanning in, and you feel… strange. The look in his eye is so human, almost anxious. With an awkward smile, you offer a reassuring platitude. You’re earnest, but the offer seems to confuse Connor. He thanks you anyway and leaves your desk.
Between jobs, you keep an eye on him. He’s so animated. It’s marked, the difference a handful of days makes—he paces back and forth, oscillating where Hank is static, following his trail of thought as if it were physical.
Neither notices you. The rude FBI agent doesn’t notice you either; too intent on getting into the Captain’s office, he chucks his ID at you with a cursory here you go, sweetheart and goes back to his phone.
The ID is fine. You let the jackass through, and hope he gets shouted down by Fowler, who could probably do with a good outlet for his repressed frustration.
You laugh, later, as two uniforms perform a dramatised version of Anderson’s right hook on Perkins, but it’s brittle. Your eyes are on the news, and the demonstration in the street, and the news anchor’s silent mouth framing the words what do they want? without listening to the answer. Connor had raced out of the station earlier, and caught your eye as he went. You hope he's okay, wherever he is.
*
“Excuse me.”
Brown eyes meet yours, familiar intensity tempered with... caution? Nerves? It’s hard to tell them apart on a face that was built to display but not feel.
Connor wears plain clothes with all the ease of a soldier. There’s no tie to straighten, so he clenches and unclenches his hand and lets his eyes wander. They find you smiling, tentative but warm behind your professional attitude.
“How can I help, Connor?”
He’s clearly unused to the question. It’s endearing, really, to watch him like this—the self-possessed turned self conscious, attempting to hide in the shadow projected by his own image, broadcast endlessly on the new cycles at Markus’ left hand.
“Is Lieutenant Anderson here?”
“No. I don’t think he will be, either. He left about an hour ago.”
When Connor sighs, you wonder if he picked that up to blend in with humans or to help him communicate better with them. Both, probably. His fist coils up again, but he gives you a slight smile as he turns to leave.
“Connor.”
He turns, mildly surprised, to face you when you call his name. His smile is late but warm.
With one hand you reach for his, and with the other you slide a business card into his palm. The touch seems to surprise him further, and he stares at your hand even as you withdraw it.
“If you’re looking for Hank, he’s here. Diner out on the edge of town. I thought you’d come by looking for him.”
You’re glad to notice that he doesn’t look as guarded as before. Connor’s not around every day, not anymore, but you see him often enough to watch him relax into himself—to laugh when you make a self-deprecating joke, or hold the door for Officer Miller’s excitable son. Instead, Connor seems thoughtful, like you handed him something heavier than a wedge of paper with a cartoon burger on it.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
To your surprise, he lingers. Spends enough time to ask you about your family, about the plant you keep on your desk, which you should water, by the way. You talk quietly with him about almost-dead houseplants, why you’re not allowed to play Monopoly at home over the holidays, and show him the family dog. All the while he’s leaning against the counter, one arm crooked atop it and grinning… you’re more than distracted. He leaves the foyer, eventually, but not your thoughts.
*
Laughter covers cheesy Christmas music. You’re wearing half your wine glass in the colour of your cheeks, but Connor thinks the flush becomes you.
You notice when he glances at you, and you smile in that shy, self-conscious way. He returns your smile, adjusting his posture to face you, and you turn away, pretending that you barely noticed, and noticeably trying not to check back. He basks in private amusement.
The party draws on a little long—someone pulls out a bottle of something strong and definitely against regulation, and when Connor leans down to ask you if you’d like another drink, you jump.
You’re never in danger of falling, of course. Inhuman arms encircle you and hold you steady against an equally inhuman body—and for the first time, Connor feels a response that correlates with your change in expression. The slow pull that binds you and builds to something far stronger than he’s felt before until letting you go is unthinkable.
He makes a plausible excuse for you to leave. The charge in the air grows to fevered sharpness, a harmonic buzz that doesn’t break until he has one hand in your hair, the other encircling your waist, and that insatiable need to get closer.
Connor doesn’t leave any of you untouched. When his kisses would deny you air, he leaves them in trails down your neck, then undoes a handful of buttons to continue down your chest, hands restless and hungry, so much warmer than you’d ever imagined, so much more demanding.
When he whispers I don’t want to wait, it’s as if he read your mind. A shiver runs through you when he parts your legs and leans his weight into you, pushing inside with a growl that thrills you.
You tense around him. It’s not intentional, but he grabs your chin and holds you still beneath him, feeling the burning heat of your shaky breath past his thumb. He caresses your lower lip, and when you realise you can’t nod, you whisper please, and reach for him with both hands, in case he doesn’t understand how much you want him.
Connor leans back and pulls out almost all the way. You whine loud, desperate and frustrated, until the hand on your face tightens, cutting off your mumbled demand and making way for the moan he fucks out of you.
His fingers claw your jaw and throat and it’s heaven: the sharpness against your skin, the deep pressure inside you, building with every rock of his hips, chased with a mouth that suffocates and teases you until you’re dizzy.
You feel heavy, waves of sensation breaking over your body with increasing frequency and intensity, and no outlet except your nails in Connor’s back, scratching until he presses in deep again. You tense, on purpose, and half-feel, half-hear the stuttering moan, then the frenzied motion of his body as he pushes himself to the brink and drags you with him, tangled and messy, sharing breaths, but sated at last.
#misc: flash fic#prompt me#ch: connor rk800#connor x reader#dbh connor x reader#misc: fan works#asks#anon#as always. thank you for enabling my experiments#format and word limit in this case
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sera's tracks - 1k celebration
AHHHHHH 1K!!!! thank you so much, i honestly can't believe that I've reached a milestone like this because this blog started out as a joke (I wanted to see how long it would take my friends to find my blog), but here we are 🥹 I am so grateful for every single one of you 💗
similar to my 500 followers event (i swear i'll actually do this one!!), I'll give a list of songs and you guys can request.
These songs are some of my personal faves so there will be a good mix of genres for requests! there's a total of 10 songs + lyrics that you can use as a guide for what the fic/story will be (2 are songs I already have planned, the rest are up for grabs)
a/n: to my wonderful moots who i absolutely love and feel like i’ve known my entire life, @nepobbylver @iamred-iamyellow @cleopatrick-123 @emchante, i just want to say i love you guys!!!! mwah mwah mwah (I love my other moots too I swear, I just haven't had the opportunity to interact with them 😖)
how can i request? send an ask, pairing a driver with the available songs!
↳ example: “hi! can i request [driver] + [song]? also can it be [choose from smut, angst, fluff, or a combination of any of the 2]?”
can i be added to the taglist? of course, just fill out the form below :)
↳ click me!
guide!
smut - [s] fluff - [f] angst -[a]
fics i have planned!
piano man - billy joel [f] - charles leclerc x fem!reader
butterflies - denise julia [f, s] - lando norris x fem!reader
open for requests!
guilty as sin? - taylor swift
i keep recalling things we never did, messy top lip kiss, how i long for our trysts
these fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath, taking all of me, we’ve already done it in my head
without ever touching his skin, how can i be guilty as sin?
be with you - the ridleys
someday i’ll make a home with you, it may be big, it may be small
but if the dreams don’t happen right away, that’s okay, i just wanna be with you every single day, for the rest of our lives
I'm gonna work on my temper, while you learn to speak your mind some more, i'll be more of a shelter and less of a storm
best friends brother - victorious cast, victoria justice
i don’t know what i’m thinking, but is it wrong if i see him this weekend?
i kinda think that i might be his type, 'cause when you're not around, he's not acting too shy
i really hope i can get him alone, i just don’t want her to know
bags - clairo
can you see me usin’ everythin’ to hold back?
i’m not the type to run, i know that we’re havin’ fun, but what’s the rush? kiss and then my cheeks are so flushed
can you see me? i’m waitin’ for the right time, i can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine
mad - ne-yo
so both of us are mad for nothing, fighting for nothing
but baby, can we make up now? cause i can’t sleep through the pain
we can fuss, we can fight, long as everything’s all right between us before we go to sleep, baby we’re gonna be happy
superman - taylor swift
he’s got his mother’s eyes, his father’s ambition. i wonder if he know how much that i miss him
i watch superman fly away, you got a busy day today, go save the world, i’ll be around
something in his deep brown eyes has me saying “he’s not all bad like his reputation”
if ever you’re in my arms again - peabo bryson
now, i’m seeing clearly how i still need you near me, i still love you so
the best of romances, deserve second chances, i'll get to you some, 'cause i promise now, if ever you're in my arms again, this time i'll you much better
it all came so easy, the lovin' you gave me, the feelings we shared, and I can still remember how your touch was so tender
guy.exe - superfruit
where all the boys at with financial security? a doctor, a model, a man of possibilities
oh, he’d pick me up at eight, and not a minute late, ‘cause i don’t like to wait, no
i need a man who don’t get jealous ‘less i want him to, a gentleman to take care of me in the bedroom
#1k celebration#sera write’s#formula 1#formula one#f1 x reader#f1 x female reader#f1 imagines#f1 smut#f1 fic#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#max verstappen x reader#fernando alonso x reader#ollie bearman x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#lando norris x reader#oscar piastri x reader#daniel ricciardo x reader#george russell x reader#franco colapinto x reader
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Halloween night tradition
Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader
Genre: fluff
Words: 700
Note: I refuse to aknowledge anything after the fourth episode. This is a Halloween gift to you and especially everyone who is as deeply hurt and disappointed in the show's ending as I am.
The evening was growing closer as the sky darkened, first shining stars visible through the reddish clouds of the setting sun. Your wife was not yet back from her errands, something you warned her would happen, yet she didn’t take your advice into consideration. That’s after all how you got yourself into the argument this very morning. You wanted her to stay home today to help you with all the chores, but she was adamant on going out and doing god knows what, even when she saw how many tasks you had on your hands for the day.
As you dry your hands from the sink water after cleaning all the dishes, you go out into the garden to take down the fourth dried load of clothes you washed today. You can’t help but think it’s kind of selfish of Agatha to leave you here all alone to deal with all the work yourself while she run around enjoying her magic and wreaking havoc, or whatever she was doing right now. She comes through the front door just as you’re taking the heavy basket full of clothes to be folded inside, signing heavily as you stretch your overworked back. You slump into the sofa, getting the first break in the whole day, Agatha clearly much cheerier in her mood than yourself.
“Hey,” she calls to you sitting on the other side of the couch.
“Hi,” you scoff, your tone annoyed with her cheerfulness.
“Oh come on baby, what got you so pressed?” she tuts at you, not getting the hint you’re still angry with her.
“I don’t know, maybe my wife leaving me here all day alone to do all the house chores while she enjoys her day outside not even considering me?” you contemplate. “No, it couldn’t be that, no loving wife would do that.”
“Come on now, you can’t seriously still be mad at me?” she chuckles a little, now seeing the hurt in your eyes.
“I am. You left me to deal with everything and you have the audacity to…” you’re cut off by Agatha cupping your face in her hands.
“Baby I’m so sorry I didn’t help you today, but I’ve got something that will make it all worth it, I promise,” she tempts you.
“I seriously doubt that…” you stubbornly fold your hands over your chest but follow her outside none the less, curiosity taking the better of you.
“Look what I’ve got!” Agatha shows you two old tree branches of a decent size. “It’s broomsticks! For our Halloween night flight!” She clarifies noticing your confused expression.
“What’s wrong with the ones we already have..?” you shake your head.
“Come on love, you deserve something brand new, the best,” she persuades you.
“Okay, fine,” you playfully roll your eyes, slowly forgetting you were mad at her.
As you perform the ritual together, giving your makeshift brooms to each other in an act of selflessness, you can’t really be annoyed with her for long. Taking of the ground as the night falls, hidden by the clouds of darkness, you realize she probably got new brooms just to have a chance to perform the ritual with you again and it unexplainably warms your heart. It was true this was your Halloween tradition and even when your wife wasn’t perfect in many ways, she never forgot any of the little things that made you happy. Watching her eyes sparkle under the light of stars you swum in, there was no one who could ever compare to her and you felt your love for her pouring over your edges like the brightest star.
“I love you,” you exclaim flying closer to her, your shoulders almost touching.
“Well I’d hope so we’ve been married for seven years,” she playfully nips but you can see the reciprocated love in her eyes. “I love you too.”
Leaning over a little to give her a sweet kiss you feel her soft lips on yours, her adoration for you noticeable in everything she does. You both had your mistakes but there was no one who could understand them better than the woman right next to you. And she loved you over every single one.
#fanfiction#fanfic#agatha harkness fluff#agatha all along#agatha harkness#agatha harkness x reader#agatha harkness x you#kathryn hahn#kathryn hahn x reader#agatha all along fanfic
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Deadly Attachments, Chapter 02
<< Chapter 01
[SMUT] - Minors DNI > ao3 <
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x female!Reader
Word Count: 6,365
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Summary: You're a mercenary, skilled and fiercely independent, carrying out high-stakes missions for an elusive private military company. But when an assignment involving stolen data and shadowy agendas lands you in the crosshairs of the SAS’s elite Task Force 141, everything changes. Caught and cornered by "Ghost"—a figure as legendary as he is inscrutable—you’re forced into an uneasy alliance.
Now, under the constant watch of Ghost and the SAS, you’re thrown into a deadly game where shifting alliances and hidden motives blur the lines between ally and adversary. With the stakes rising and loyalties on shaky ground, one question looms: just how close can you get to the man who’s supposed to be your enemy?
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Content Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Military Action & Romance, Mercenaries, Soldiers, Non-Canon Antagonists, Eventual Smut, Military Inaccuracies, Will add more smut-specific tags later as the story goes, The rest of the TF141 guys don't really have a lot of involvement - just an implication that they're there lol
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Author's Note: i wrapped up proofreading the second chapter a bit earlier than expected! i may have missed a few things, but i feel good about posting it ahead of schedule. apologies if the action scenes feel a little fast-paced; this is my first time writing in this genre, and i tried not to go too deep so it wouldn’t come across as inaccurate given my limited background. i hope you enjoy it regardless! also, i made a playlist on both Spotify and Youtube!! it’s not exactly tailored to the story’s vibe, but more like the songs that kept me in the zone while writing. anyway, enjoy the chapter!
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The following morning, you find yourself in the indoor training area, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. The space is bustling with activity, filled with the clatter of weights and the sharp sound of footfalls against the mats. You’ve decided to take your frustration out on a set of weights, grunting as you lift a barbell above your head. Each rep feels cathartic, a way to channel the turmoil from yesterday.
Just as you’re about to attempt another lift, you hear familiar footsteps approaching. You glance up, expecting one of the soldiers from the base, but instead, it’s Ghost, striding in with that unmistakable aura of intensity. He’s a sight to behold, with his signature skull balaclava still in place, and there’s something almost comical about how serious he looks, especially with that bandage wrapped around his head.
“Are you lifting weights or trying to impress the ground?” He quips, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall, a shadowy figure against the bright overhead lights.
“Ha ha, very funny,” You reply, rolling your eyes as you set the barbell down with a clatter. “I’m just trying to build some muscle here, not that you’d understand. Your body seems to come pre-packaged with intimidation.”
Ghost smirks, though his expression remains guarded. “You’ll need more than muscle if you want to survive with us. Try not to get any bright ideas about taking on an entire squad next time.”
“Please, I’ve seen your squad in action. I’d only need to throw some glitter at them to distract them long enough to escape,” You retort, trying to mask the flutter of nerves in your stomach.
He raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer, his demeanor still cautious. “You’re awfully confident after saving my arse. But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. You’re still a merc, and I still don’t trust you.”
“Trust me, Ghost, I’m just as wary of you. You’re like a walking, talking enigma wrapped in a skull balaclava,” You shoot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “What’s next? Going to tell me about your deep, dark past?”
He narrows his eyes, studying you. “Don’t push your luck. You might find out more than you bargained for.”
“Is that a threat or an invitation?” You ask, leaning against the weights with a mock-serious expression. “Because I’m not exactly looking for a buddy-cop dynamic here.”
Ghost’s expression hardens, though you catch a flicker of something almost amused in his eyes. “Just remember, if you get caught again, I won’t always be around to bail you out. This isn’t a playground.”
“Relax, doubt anything will be as bad as the day you caught me,” You reply, keeping your tone light to mask the minor grudge you have. “But I’d still suggest you keep an eye out for the unexpected. You never know when you might need a backup plan—especially with me around.”
A charged silence settles between you, the playful banter giving way to an unspoken acknowledgment of your uneasy partnership. He may not trust you, and you’re very much aware that you’re still just a mercenary in his eyes, not truly welcome in this world.
You refocus on the weights, ready to push through the day. After all, in this line of work, you need to be prepared for whatever comes next—especially with Ghost lurking in the shadows. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The day drags on at the base, with everyone on edge as they wait for an update regarding the Kozlov mission's status. You’ve spent a few hours in the training area at this point, doing your best to keep your mind occupied. Just as you’re about to head out for a run, a sharp voice cuts through the noise.
“Oi! You got a minute?” Ghost strides in with purpose, a folder tucked under his arm.
You set the weights down, wiping your brow. “Depends on what you want. I was ready to go for a run.”
He rolls his eyes. “Not that I care about your workout routine, but we’ve got new intel on Kozlov. Grab your gear. We’re heading out.”
“Finally,” You say, your interest piqued as you follow him to a quieter corner of the training area. “What do we know?”
Ghost opens the folder, scanning the documents before nodding. “Kozlov’s been spotted in a small coastal town in Dagestan. Word is he’s trying to regroup, laying low with some of his men. But this isn’t a straightforward op. We can’t just kick down doors.”
You arch an eyebrow, curious. “So what’s the plan? We’re going in as... tourists?”
“Exactly,” He replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We’ll pose as tourists exploring the area. I’ll be your travel companion, and we need to blend in, gather intel, and see if we can locate Kozlov without raising any alarms.”
You can’t help but chuckle lightly. “So you want me to play tourist with you? This should be interesting.”
Ghost’s expression remains stoic, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Keep it professional. We need to make this convincing. The locals will be watching us closely, and we can’t afford any slip-ups.”
“Got it. Just lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over the scenery, right?” You respond, trying to keep the mood light.
He narrows his eyes, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “More like 'don’t get us killed'. Stick to the plan and don’t go off-script.” You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “And if we find Kozlov?”
“Then we’ll decide how best to proceed. But for now, let’s focus on getting into that town undetected.” He straightens, the weight of the mission settling back onto his shoulders. “We leave at dusk. Be ready.”
As he walks away, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. This mission could go sideways in a heartbeat, but the thought of working so closely with Ghost—playing a role that’s so far removed from your usual life as a mercenary—has you buzzing with adrenaline. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ When dusk settles, you and Ghost make your way into the town, now dressed the part of two tourists with simple, unassuming clothes and a lightweight pack. Despite the layers of this assignment, Ghost’s usual stoic demeanor remains in place, even with his balaclava swapped for a plain black face mask and a pair of dark sunglasses.
The town is lively with the hum of locals and a few actual tourists milling around; it’s an ideal cover, giving you both enough freedom to explore while blending in. You keep a casual pace, admiring the coastal views and winding streets. But there’s something unsettling brewing just below the surface—both from Kozlov’s shadow looming nearby and the prickling awareness of Ghost at your side.
At one point, Ghost mutters under his breath, “Could you look a bit more… like you’re enjoying this? You’re meant to be a tourist, not casing the place.”
You roll your eyes and flash a wide, exaggerated smile at him. “How’s this?”
“Less like you’re in a toothpaste ad, more like you’re on holiday,” He retorts, giving you a side-eye.
Not five minutes later, as you’re both moving through a bustling marketplace, a local vendor enthusiastically approaches Ghost, rattling off in rapid Russian and gesturing to a display of colorful woven hats.
“Oh, they all look like they'll suit you,” You say, barely holding back laughter as the vendor eagerly pushes a gaudy hat into Ghost’s hands.
Ghost gives you a scathing look, but before he can decline, the vendor is already securing the hat on his head and admiring him like he’s royalty.
You struggle to keep a straight face as he grumbles something unintelligible, adjusting the hat with clear distaste.
“Blending in,” You whisper, shooting him a smirk. “Remember?” His deadpan stare is enough to make you choke back a laugh. “Watch it, or you’ll be next.”
You’re still chuckling when Ghost pulls you down a quieter alley. The joking fades when his expression shifts, all humor evaporating as he nods ahead. “See them? Kozlov’s men, about fifty meters out, by the café.”
Sure enough, two men loiter by a café’s outdoor tables, scanning the street with keen, watchful eyes. One of them taps his ear, as if receiving orders. Ghost’s gaze sharpens as he mutters, “They’re guarding something—or someone.”
The two of you fall into an unspoken rhythm, slipping into the nearest shop to maintain cover while Ghost keeps an eye on the café from the window. After a tense wait, a third figure emerges: Kozlov himself, surrounded by several bodyguards as he exits the café and heads toward an alley across the street. Ghost’s hand tenses on your arm, signaling you to follow.
Quietly, you navigate through the side streets, trailing Kozlov from a safe distance, your pulse racing as you edge closer. This part of the town is quieter, the lively market sounds fading into silence as Kozlov and his guards disappear around a corner. Ghost’s hand comes up in a signal to stop, and he leans in, his voice barely a whisper.
“This is our chance. We tail him down there, but quietly. You break formation, we’re done. Got it?”
You nod, barely breathing as you follow him, every step slow and careful. As you turn the corner, you find yourselves in a narrow alleyway, shadows stretching long against the brick walls. Kozlov’s men have stopped, scanning the area while Kozlov speaks in low, gruff Russian.
Ghost’s gaze narrows. “On my mark,” He murmurs, fingers hovering close to the concealed weapon at his side. And just like that, you’re back on the mission, every sense heightened as the real work begins.
As the shadows deepen, you and Ghost press forward through the narrow alleyways, each corner and doorway a possible hiding place for Kozlov and his guards. Ghost’s voice is clipped, his movements taut and deliberate, exuding the readiness of years spent in the field.
“Stay close,” He mutters, casting a sidelong glare as you glance around. “And stop wandering off like you’re on holiday.”
Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a mock salute and fall back in line behind him. The bustling marketplace fades as you move toward a quieter street near the café where you last spotted Kozlov. The plan is simple: tail him, track his location, and avoid drawing any unnecessary attention.
Ghost halts, his hand signaling you to stop. He points down the narrow street ahead. Kozlov is in sight, moving quickly, two guards shadowing him as he heads down a side street. You and Ghost slip into a nearby shop, using the cover to watch Kozlov’s path through the doorway as he leads his men toward a small, unmarked building. Ghost leans close, his voice tense.
“There’s an entrance at the back. We’ll cut through there, get eyes on what he’s up to.”
Without waiting for your response, he moves out, and you follow, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you round the narrow alley. Just as you’re about to step inside, you hear footsteps nearby—Ghost presses you back against the wall, his hand firm on your shoulder.
“Keep your head down and follow my lead,” He says, his gaze intense. “One wrong move, and we’re blown.”
You nod, and he releases you, moving quietly into the building with you close behind. The hall is dimly lit, but you can make out voices further down—a blend of Russian and English as Kozlov gives orders to his men.
Together, you and Ghost advance in silence, inching closer to the room where Kozlov and his guards are gathered. Ghost raises his hand in a signal to hold as he peers around the corner, assessing the scene. His voice drops to a murmur, “Five guards. Keep to the shadows and don’t get spotted.”
You move to one side of the room, taking cover behind a stack of crates just as Kozlov’s voice cuts through the murmurs of his men. “The shipment moves tomorrow night. No mistakes.”
Ghost signals again, and with a silent nod, the two of you advance from opposite sides of the room, adrenaline rushing. Just as you’re within range, Kozlov’s eyes flick to a shadow cast by Ghost’s figure on the wall. His expression hardens.
“Get them!” He shouts, and chaos erupts.
You spring forward, catching one of Kozlov’s guards off-guard while Ghost takes down another with swift, brutal efficiency. Shots ricochet off metal pipes and crates as you press forward, eyes locked on Kozlov as he bolts toward an exit.
“Stay on him!” Ghost shouts, dispatching another guard as you charge after Kozlov, your footsteps echoing as you close in. He’s fast, but you’re gaining, the distance between you shrinking with every stride.
Just as he reaches the door, you catch his arm, yanking him back. He stumbles, and Ghost appears at your side, his gaze cold and unforgiving as he levels his weapon at Kozlov.
“End of the line,” Ghost growls, his tone as hard as steel.
Kozlov glances between the two of you, his expression defiant despite the situation. For a brief moment, you think he might try to run, but with a resigned glare, he raises his hands. Ghost secures him without hesitation, his demeanor as cold and unyielding as ever.
As you regroup in the empty hallway, Ghost spares you a sharp look, his voice flat. “You almost blew that.”
You shrug, catching your breath. “Almost doesn’t count.”
Ghost gives a slight shake of his head, his gaze piercing. “Well, it’s done. We finally got him.”
You nod, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you both share a glance of grim satisfaction. The mission is over, but you feel the weight of Ghost’s words—and the finality that lingers between them. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Back at the base, the briefing room is thick with a charged silence. Ghost stands by the door, arms crossed, his gaze steely as he watches Captain Price at the front of the room outline the mission’s outcome. You sit nearby, fingers tapping absently on the table.
“Kozlov has been processed for interrogation,” Price begins, his tone as steady as his expression. “Thanks to the intel you recovered, we now have a clear view of his network and the reach of his operations. His plan was to smuggle high-profile assets and weaponry across borders, destabilizing strategic sites in Europe. Allied intelligence agencies are moving to neutralize his contacts, effectively dismantling his resources.”
He flips through a few documents, pausing to glance up. “Kozlov himself won’t see a public trial. Due to the classified nature of his dealings, his future will be determined by allied command in a closed setting. For now, this operation is considered a success.”
The others nod quietly, exchanging looks of satisfaction. You glance at Ghost, but his face remains stoic, unreadable as ever, focused on Price's words.
When the room empties, you feel his eyes on you. Without a word, Ghost motions for you to follow him. He leads you down an empty hallway until you’re out of earshot of the others. There, leaning against the wall, he regards you with a hardened look.
“Well, that’s that,” He says, voice low but clear. “Kozlov’s done, his network’s down. You’re free to leave.”
It’s not unexpected, yet hearing it aloud feels strangely final. There’s an unfamiliar beat of silence between you, both aware that this is likely the last time you’ll work together. You manage a wry smile.
“Guess that’s my cue, then,” You say. “Not that I expected to stay, but it was… well, eventful.”
Ghost’s gaze sharpens as he replies, “Don’t let yourself get tangled up with us again. If you cross paths with the SAS after this, there won’t be any negotiations.”
You cross your arms, meeting his stare with a slight edge of defiance. “Noted. But, just so we’re clear, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here in the first place.” You let out a breath, your tone softening. “Though I’ll admit, working with you wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
He regards you in silence for a moment, a glimmer of something almost like amusement flickering behind his eyes. For just a second, his hard expression eases, something resembling respect passing between you both.
With a final nod, he straightens, eyes lingering on you for a heartbeat longer before he turns and walks away. The partnership is over, but as you watch his silhouette disappear down the hall, you feel a strange, unexpected sense of closure.
After a moment, you turn and head in the opposite direction, finally leaving the past events—and the shadow of the mission—behind. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ It’s been just over a year since you last crossed paths with Ghost, and the reality of your situation weighs heavily on you. In the past, you operated with a certain level of confidence, but since your entanglement with the SAS and the fallout with Aegis, life has spiraled in unexpected ways.
You found yourself in Istanbul, a city that felt both foreign and strangely familiar. It was a place you had chosen not just for its bustling streets and rich history, but also for the promise of anonymity it offered. After a year of living on the run from Aegis, the private military company you once devoted yourself to, you had come here hoping to evade their relentless pursuit. They were hunting you for your perceived failure in the mission with Kozlov, and every day had been a careful dance of survival, one that had forced you into the shadows.
But that wasn’t the only reason you were in Istanbul. In the weeks leading up to your arrival, you had received whispers of potential jobs—high-stakes contracts from private clients looking for someone with your skills. It was a precarious choice, knowing that accepting such jobs could easily draw the attention of Aegis. Yet the lure of a better payday was hard to resist, especially when the alternative was scraping by on menial tasks that barely kept you afloat.
Here, in the heart of a vibrant city filled with life, you had hoped to carve out a semblance of normalcy, to reclaim a piece of yourself that had been lost amid the chaos of your past.
As you navigate the winding streets and vibrant bazaars, the dual motivations of evading your pursuers and seeking new opportunities shape your every decision. The thrill of the chase mixed with the constant fear of being discovered. Istanbul is a city of secrets, much like your own life, and you hoped it would provide the cover you needed.
Freelance jobs have become scarce; clients are wary of anyone associated with the SAS or Aegis, and even the most desperate will think twice before hiring a merc with your past. Your bank account dwindles as you take on smaller, riskier jobs that barely pay enough to keep you afloat. You’re reduced to accepting tasks that range from low-level security to errand running for local criminals, tasks that would have been beneath you a year ago. The feeling of pride that once surged through you is now replaced with a gnawing sense of inadequacy.
You sit in a small, dimly lit café overlooking the Bosporus, stirring a cold cup of tea. Your thoughts drift back to your time with Aegis—the camaraderie, the adrenaline of operations, and the sense of purpose that came with being part of a team. But now, that camaraderie feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by the knowledge that you are a target.
The café is filled with laughter and conversation, but you find it hard to focus on anything but the weight of your circumstances. You pull out your phone, scrolling through messages that go unanswered. Old contacts have vanished, and the few that remain are either too afraid to reach out or have severed ties altogether. You realize you have no one to turn to, no allies left in your corner.
As you sip the cold tea, you see a couple of men loitering nearby, their eyes darting around the café as if searching for someone. A chill runs down your spine. Are they here for you? Panic wells up, but you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm. You can't afford to draw attention.
The life you once knew feels like a distant memory, and as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, you wonder if you’ll ever reclaim that life. The prospect of rejoining a legitimate PMC is no longer an option; Aegis’s reach is too long, and their vengeance is unforgiving. All you can do is survive, one day at a time, in a city that holds both beauty and peril in equal measure.
Night falls and the bustling markets give way to quieter alleyways where shadows lengthen and the air thickens with intrigue. You finish your tea and rise from the café, the warmth of the sun now replaced by a cool breeze that sends a shiver down your spine. You have no particular destination in mind, but the urge to move, to keep your blood pumping, pulls you along the cobblestone paths.
As you navigate the labyrinthine streets, the cacophony of voices and laughter fades into the background. Your mind drifts back to the past year—each failed opportunity gnawing at your resolve, each close call with Aegis sharpening your instincts. You’d become adept at blending in, a chameleon in a city that feels alive yet perilous.
You pause near a bridge, the shimmering waters below reflecting the lights of the city like stars trapped in the liquid. A sense of longing washes over you, and for a moment, you allow yourself to reminisce about the life you once had. The taste of freedom, the thrill of the chase, the exhilarating rush of being part of something larger than yourself—it all feels like a cruel joke now.
Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a familiar figure appears at the edge of your vision. It’s fleeting, just a blur in the corner of your eye, but it sends your heart racing. You turn sharply, scanning the crowd, but the momentary thrill dissipates when you recognize the unmistakable silhouette of a man in tactical gear across the square.
It's him.
Your breath catches in your throat, the memories flooding back uninvited. The last time you saw him, he had been the embodiment of authority—cold, uncompromising, and unyielding in his demands. The promise where he cautioned you to stay away from the SAS rings in your ears like a warning bell. But here he is, seemingly on a mission, and for a brief moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the crowded street fading into an indistinct blur.
He strides forward with purpose, his eyes scanning the area with the precision of a predator. There’s no mistaking the intensity in his posture, the way he moves as if he owns the shadows around him. You’ve never liked Ghost, and the feeling was mutual; the weight of that truth settles heavily in the pit of your stomach as you catch his gaze.
He stops abruptly, his eyes locking onto yours, and in that moment, time seems to freeze. His expression hardens, a flash of recognition followed by an unmistakable glimmer of irritation. You’re both a breath away from each other, separated by the thrumming pulse of the city, but the distance feels insurmountable.
“What are you doing here?” He growls, his voice low and threatening, slicing through the ambient noise around you. The reprimand is immediate, laden with a mixture of disbelief and irritation. Ghost's anger seems to fill the air between you, an electric charge that makes you instinctively step back.
“Nice to see you too,” You reply, your tone dry, though you feel a spark of defiance igniting within you. His presence, however unwelcome, stirs a complex array of emotions—resentment, annoyance, and an undeniable edge of nostalgia. You’re still standing, and despite everything, you refuse to show fear.
“You were told never to cross paths with the SAS again. What part of that didn’t you understand?” He snaps, the edge in his voice sharpening. “I’m not here for you or the SAS,” You counter, crossing your arms in a defensive posture. “I’m trying to survive, just like everyone else.”
“By taking jobs in a city crawling with people who would sell you out in a heartbeat?” His gaze is penetrating, as if he can see through the mask you wear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
The truth in his words stings, but you refuse to back down. “You don’t know anything about my life now, Ghost. Things change.”
“Not for the better, it seems,” He retorts, his voice dripping with disdain. Nothing good happens when you're involved. You’re a liability.”
The anger bubbling beneath the surface is palpable, yet amidst the tension, you feel a strange comfort in this confrontation. Here is the Ghost you remember, unwavering and unyielding, a soldier through and through. As the world around you continues to blur, you take a breath, your heart pounding in your chest. The fight or flight instinct flares within you, but you’re neither; you’re rooted in place, a combatant in a game neither of you wanted to play.
Before you can respond, he turns abruptly, casting one last look over his shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Stay out of sight, and for God’s sake, don’t let anyone find out you’re here,” He orders, a tone of finality in his voice. And then he’s gone, swallowed by the shadows of the alleyways, leaving you standing on the brink of confusion and fear. The air is thick with unspoken words and the weight of a promise long broken. You watch him disappear into the night, your mind racing, filled with uncertainty.
What now? The answer hangs unanswered, suspended like the shimmering reflections on the Bosporus, leaving you alone once more in a city that feels increasingly hostile. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Hours pass, and Istanbul’s nightlife fades into a quieter, restless slumber. You navigate the winding alleys back to the dingy room you've rented for the week. With its peeling walls and narrow window overlooking a back street, it’s the kind of place that attracts no attention—a safe haven, in theory.
The mattress creaks as you sit on its edge, slipping your boots off and leaning back against the wall, exhaustion gnawing at your bones. Yet sleep doesn’t come easy. Every unfamiliar sound outside have you tensing, as if Aegis themselves might kick the door down at any moment. The tension from your run-in with Ghost also lingers, simmering like a slow-burning fuse.
You close your eyes, drifting somewhere between vigilance and uneasy sleep, the memories of Ghost’s cold dismissal playing through your mind on repeat. His words had cut through you as sharply as his warning, reminding you exactly how unforgiving he could be.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, you wake up with a start. A shadow blocks the pale light seeping through the narrow window. Instinctively, you reach for your weapon, your heart hammering against your ribs. But before you can fully focus, a familiar figure shifts outside the glass.
Ghost.
Your pulse quickens, a mix of irritation and wary relief grounding you as you slide the window open, the cool night air slipping inside.
“What do you want?” You whisper, trying to keep the edge of disbelief out of your voice.
He holds your gaze, his face unreadable. “I needed to talk to you. Couldn’t do it earlier.”
It’s not exactly an explanation, but you let it go. You’ve never known Ghost to make social calls, and the late hour only makes his presence more suspicious.
“And that couldn’t wait until dawn?”
“No.” He pauses, scanning the room as if assessing whether to stay. Finally, he ducks through the open window, settling against the wall near the door. “There’s information I’ve come across—some of it involves Aegis.”
His words send a shiver down your spine. Aegis.
“Go on,” You say cautiously, folding your arms as you try to gauge his intentions.
“They’re expanding their operations in Istanbul,” He says, voice low and steady. “Supposedly broadening their reach through unofficial channels, but I’ve reason to believe they’ve been in contact with others on SAS’s radar.”
You feel the implications immediately, the creeping sensation of being ensnared in something far larger than you ever thought. If Aegis was aligning with arms dealers or other organizations, it meant trouble for anyone in the city—especially for you.
Aegis may have been ruthless, but for a long time, they were all you had. When you joined them ten years ago, you had nowhere else to go—no other doors left open. It didn’t matter to you then that Aegis was feared, or that the jobs often veered into dark territory. They took one look at you and saw something others didn’t: your potential. They honed your skills, taught you things you’d never have learned on your own, and, in their way, recognized your talent. For once, you weren’t just surviving; you were valued, even in the chaos.
In the years you spent there, you found a rough kind of camaraderie—more practical than heartfelt, but enough to make you feel part of something. You’d go through missions side by side, with moments of camaraderie that felt almost like loyalty. And in those ten years, they became a kind of family, the only one you had. There was an odd sense of belonging in that group, a feeling that no matter what, you were all in it together, even if each of you would’ve done it all again just for the paycheck.
So you stayed, knowing what Aegis was and what they did, because, back then, it was still better than what you’d left behind. It was better than a life with no purpose, no direction, no one who’d notice whether you made it to the next day. Aegis, for all its shadows, had been a place to belong, and for a long time, that was enough. Now, though, it feels like none of it was ever real. The memories of shared missions, of hard-won victories, of the fleeting glances exchanged in the field—all of it seems hollow when you look back. Aegis had once felt like a constant, something that grounded you, but now it only reminds you of how easily everything could slip through your hands. They turned on you without a second thought, hunting you like prey for one failed mission, as if all those years of service meant nothing.
The betrayal stings in a way you hadn’t expected. You’d known loyalty was just another currency in Aegis, but it didn’t stop you from giving it. You’d let yourself believe that, in some twisted way, you mattered. You’d invested a decade of your life into a place that, deep down, you thought saw you as more than a weapon for hire. But it seems you were wrong.
A twinge of regret gnaws at you, even as you push it down, swallowing hard against the bitterness that rises with it. There’s regret for staying as long as you did, for letting yourself believe in the idea of loyalty among people whose loyalty had always come with a price tag. And the worst part is that you can’t decide if you’re angrier at Aegis for the betrayal—or at yourself for trusting them in the first place.
You take a deep breath, pushing your thoughts aside briefly. “I don’t see how that involves me,” You reply, but even as you say it, you’re not sure if you believe it. “I’m not a part of this.”
His gaze sharpens, the intensity behind his mask making his frustration palpable. “You’re here. They’re already looking for you; you think this will end without them hunting you down?”
You grit your teeth, refusing to show any weakness. “Why should you care, Ghost? You wanted me out of sight, remember?”
He watches you in silence, weighing his response. “I don’t. But if Aegis gets a foothold here, it’ll only make things worse for all of us,” He mutters, voice hard.
The weight of his words sits heavy between you, thickening the air with an unspoken tension. You clench your jaw, digesting what he’s saying, but something about it doesn’t quite add up.
“So Aegis is SAS’s target now?” You ask, disbelief laced in your tone. “Since when did they move up the list to be considered a threat on par with terrorists? Last I checked, they’re just a PMC, not some extremist group. Morally bankrupt? Sure. But that’s nothing new.”
Ghost’s eyes narrow, assessing you carefully. You can see he’s weighing what to reveal, how much he’s willing to tell you. Finally, he exhales, his gaze hardening. “This isn’t about Aegis being a PMC anymore. They’ve been expanding, taking on clients and contracts that are skirting dangerously close to lines most PMCs avoid. They’ve overstepped, gotten involved in black-market weapons trafficking, intelligence operations—things that put entire populations at risk. And if they gain a foothold here, it’s a stepping stone for something bigger. SAS can’t ignore that, no matter what banner they hide under.”
The words hit you harder than you want to admit. Weapons trafficking? Intelligence operations? Those weren’t the kinds of contracts you’d been part of in your time with Aegis, at least not directly. Your assignments had always been targeted, strategic. You knew there was a darker side to Aegis, but to think they’d escalated to a point where even Ghost and the SAS would prioritize them as a threat…
You swallow, steadying yourself, trying not to let him see the storm of emotions crashing beneath the surface. “So they’re using the skills they once called ‘necessary’ and ‘valuable’ against them now. Typical,” You mutter, bitterness seeping into your words. “Aegis used to tell me they were just staying ahead of the game, but I guess the game’s changed. Or maybe I was too blind to see it then.”
Ghost’s expression doesn’t shift; his gaze remains impassive, but there’s a flicker of something there, a recognition of how close you once were to them. “That’s the nature of the business,” He says, his voice low. “People think they’re untouchable…until they’re not.”
He continues, his voice even lower than it already is. “I don’t trust you, but I can’t ignore the fact that you have information I don’t. If we’re both after the same end, then maybe, just maybe, you’d do something useful.”
The offer—or demand—hangs in the air, wrapped in cold resolve. It’s far from friendly, and the tone in his voice tells you this isn’t a proposition up for debate. You glance at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you both.
“And what exactly are you asking me to do?” You almost want to scoff, but the gravity in his voice keeps you serious.
He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Stay close. Feed me what you know. You keep out of trouble, and maybe you’ll live to see another month.”
The message is clear: comply, and there may be a way out of this mess. Resist, and you’d be a thorn in his mission—a liability he wouldn’t tolerate.
A heavy silence fills the room after Ghost’s last words, pressing down on you like a weight you can’t shake off. You stare at him, the mask, the cold eyes, and you realize—yet again—you’re just another pawn in someone else’s mission. Your life, a series of moves on a board controlled by people with power, people who decide whether you’re useful enough to keep around or if you’re better off discarded.
The thought cuts deep, reigniting the anger that had been quietly smoldering beneath your skin. Ghost may think he’s giving you an option, but it feels hollow. When you first joined Aegis, you were under the illusion that your choices mattered, that you were part of a team, even part of something significant. But as the years passed, you saw the truth—Aegis wasn’t any different. They used you for their ends, and the second you failed, the second you became inconvenient, they turned on you like you were nothing.
You feel that familiar burn of resentment starting to swell, but beneath it lies something colder, an exhaustion that you can’t quite shake. It’s been months of this—running, hiding, clawing for survival, all to escape a fate someone else deemed fit for you. You’ve lost the sense of autonomy you once cherished; every move you make feels dictated by someone else’s agenda. And now here’s Ghost, offering yet another deal cloaked in threat, making it clear that, to him, you’re nothing more than a reluctant resource to be squeezed dry.
A bitter smile twists your lips as you meet his gaze, trying to mask the vulnerability you feel. “Of course,” You murmur, the words almost choking you. “Another mission, another deal. That’s all I am, isn’t it?”
He shifts slightly, his posture stiffening, but he says nothing, which only fuels your anger further.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Your voice is low, but it trembles with barely controlled frustration. “I didn’t end up here for the thrill of it. I don’t run through back alleys and change my name every other day because I enjoy it. I’m here because people like you—people like Aegis—don’t know how to see beyond your own damn goals.” Your fingers tighten into fists, and you take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep steady.
For a brief second, you think you see something shift in his eyes, a flicker of understanding, maybe even regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, replaced by his impenetrable mask.
“You have a choice right now,” He says quietly. “It’s more than some get.”
The words settle heavily between you, a reminder of the harsh reality that even this supposed choice is a luxury, one forced on you by circumstance, not desire. You shake your head, the fatigue seeping deeper into your bones, your voice softening.
“You say it like it’s simple,” You whisper. “But I know what it’s like to be used, to be thrown away when it’s convenient. And right now, all I see is another cage waiting to close around me.”
He doesn’t respond right away, the silence stretching on until it feels almost unbearable. But finally, he speaks, his voice low and devoid of its usual harshness.
“Then don’t let it be a cage.” His tone isn’t sympathetic, but it lacks the usual edge, almost like an acknowledgment. “If you don’t want to be a pawn, make your own play.”
He leaves the words hanging, a challenge wrapped in the cold, distant way he’s mastered. And just as quickly as he’d appeared, he slipped out the window and into the shadows, leaving you alone to grapple with the choice he’s forced into your hands.
You watch him disappear into the early morning haze, and something inside you hardens. Maybe it’s the challenge in his words, maybe it’s the weight of months of running and hiding, or maybe it’s the realization that no one else is going to offer you freedom. Either way, as the first hints of dawn begin to color the sky, you make a decision.
Whatever happens next, it will be on your terms.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ -
Author's Note: expect the third chapter on friday/saturday! <3 | ask box
#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty#call of duty mwii#cod#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod fanfic#call of duty fanfic#ao3 fanfic#smut#smut fic#chapter 2#cod mw2#my fic#simon riley#ghost mw2#mw2#modern warfare
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A Demon's Only Weakness (Cafe Enchante) **Tickletober2024**
Happy Tickletober! For the final prompt of the weekly challenge, I bring you Cafe Enchante! :D Originally I was gonna make something with Lynette and Allan, but one look at Misyr and boom- my heart was sold! Tickles to and from the trickster demon! >:D
Kotone narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
While Misyr rather loved that cute look on her face, he knew it usually followed with trouble. “How can I help you, my princess?”
“Are you sure you have no weaknesses?” Her question surprised him, his cheeky grin fading into wide eyes as her own narrowed more. “It seems odd that everyone else here does, but not you?”
“What can I say? I am the demon king.” His silly grin returned as he leaned forward, resting against his balled fists. They were basically nose to nose now. “Of course, the sight of a cute girl such as yourself is up there for things that make me falter.”
Rolling her eyes, she pretended she wasn’t blushing as she leaned back in her seat, folding her arms in thought. “I say this with only love, but I don’t fully believe you.”
“I say this with only love, but you really shouldn’t.” He winked, laughing at her raised brows. “Cute baristas such as yourself should be careful around trickster demons like me. We could be telling lies and making you believe fairy tales.”
“You sound like Mister Rindou.” She chided, grinning at his disgruntled look. “So what you’re saying is you do in fact have a weakness?”
“Maybe I do.” He waggled his brows. “Maybe I don’t. Who’s to say?”
“Oh you!” She huffed, standing up to put their cups away. Ever evasive- Misyr loved to mess with her at every chance he got. Not that she necessarily minded it; a small part of her loved the attention. It did funny things to her chest. “I’ll find it- that weakness of yours!”
His content hum was muffled as she put the cups in the sink, Kariya taking them and washing them automatically. She would have insisted on doing it had her mind not been busy. “What kind of weakness would the King of Demons even have? Surely there’s got to be something.”
“Maybe he’s afraid of something? Like bugs?” Kariya offered, putting the last cup away and drying his hands. “Canus despises bugs.”
“No, Misyr doesn’t seem the type. Besides, even if that were to be true, it’s far too mean to exploit.” It was just her and Kariya in the kitchen- no point in pretending otherwise. “Ideally I’d hope it would be something harmless to him. Something he can find amusement in as well.”
“Hmmm..tickling?” Kariya offered, shrugging at her stare. “What? We’re all weak to it- what makes him so special?”
Misyr Rex? Ticklish? A demon king…Kotone hummed, looking out to where he sat in his usual spot. It was so silly- but Kariya did make a good point. They were all ticklish, non-humans included. Would it really be that farfetched of a weakness?
Kotone reached over and pulled Kariya to her, kissing his brow in thanks. “If this works- and I somehow survive- I’ll make you whatever you want.” He waved her off with a blush and a smile, calling out that he’ll keep her to that promise as she skittered back to the cafe.
Here goes nothing, she supposed.
~~~ “Aww, I was hoping you’d bring me another cup.” Misyr mock pouted upon Kotone’s return, finding no fresh brew in hand. “Though I suppose I didn’t request a refill. That’s quite alright- just having your adorable face in my vision is more than enough.”
“You’re too sweet.” She laughed, hoping it hid her nerves. How exactly was she supposed to do this? There was something about Misyr that felt so..otherworldly. Would grabbing his ribs really get the reaction she desired?
Her gut told her no, so she looked at him more closely, slowly moving forward until she was basically standing before him, close enough she could see the varying shades of purple in his hair.
“While I do find this position rather alluring, we’d better refrain ourselves.” Misyr spoke in a hushed whisper, his hands resting on her hips as his eyes twinkled. “There are children present, and the gents might return at any moment.”
“Hmmm..” She ignored his question, taking in the various parts of him. Her eyes lingered on his horns, the curve of them and the tuffs of purple that nearly hid them out of plain sight. Without a second thought, she reached out and ran her fingers against the curve.
“Koto-NEE!” Misyr’s words were suddenly cut off by a squeak, his entire body jumping like it was electrocuted. He gaped at her with wide eyes, a hint of a blush passing over his cheeks at the sound he let out.
Kotone blinked at him. Then, with a smile so cheeky and devious you’d mistake her for the demon queen, she ran her fingers very gently over them again, going for both horns this time. “Found your weakness~”
“Ahehaha! Nhoohohoh! Noohohoh, pleahhahahase! Whahahait, thahahhat’s-Aheahhahhah!” Misyr was a mess of giggles, squirming beneath her ever feathery touch. Trapped on his stool with her body blocking his escape route, all he could do was duck and weave, giggling more and more at the feeling. “It tihihihihickles! Aheahahhahha!”
“I believe that’s the point. How come you didn’t tell me you were so ticklish?” She ran her fingers down to the base of his horns, scratching at the skin connecting there. Misyr nearly flailed backwards at the touch- his laughter spiking up a few notches. “You’re so cute!”
“Aheahahahhahah! I cahahhahn’t goohoohoh around shahahahring thihihis! I’d dihihihiihie!” Misyr cackled out, gently encasing her wrists within his hands and pulling them back. Gasping for air, he tried to give her the sternest glare he could muster, but it was immediately ruined by his giggle fits. “Fihihihine, fihihine, I have one weakness! Just the ohoohohne. Happy?”
“Very.” She nodded, proud of her little discovery. “I found a way to tame the great demon king!”
“Oh, tame me did you?” Misyr pulled her sharply into him, making her gasp. He stood, towering over her and speeding her heartbeat up to likely unsafe conditions. “Are you sure about that?”
“M-Misyr?” She tried to lean back, but his grip was firm. Behind her, she could hear Kariya trying to sneak off- making his way towards the front door. “Now let’s talk this through…”
“A little late for that.” He never took his eyes off her as he reached up, snapping his fingers. Kariya’s whispered curse and the jangling of the knob confirmed they were locked in. “Don’t think you’re about to get away from me, little snow fairy- I know you had a hand in this.”
“Misyr, don’t you even dar-ehehehehehahahahah! Kahahahariya, ruuhuhuhn!” Kotone broke out into giggles when her ribs were suddenly grabbed, Misyr’s fingers skillfully drawing out each laugh. “Sahhahahve yohohohourself!”
“Kotone- I’ll go get help!” Kariya dashed for the others, but the second he ran by the door leaning to the back, hands shot out and grabbed him, pulling him out of view. Seconds later, his screams joined hers- quickly dissolving into laughter. “Nohohohohohohohohoho!”
“Oh how I love causing mischief.” Misyr cackled in devious delight, pulling Kotone up and onto the coffee counter, tickling the entire time. “Didn’t I warn you earlier, my princess? You have to be careful around demons like me.”
“Ahehahahahah! I’ll gehehehhet yohoohohohu bahhahahack!” Her fingers tried scribbling into his ribs, and while it did make him falter some, it wasn’t enough to set her free. “Mihihihiihsyr pleahahhaahhase!”
“I’m sure you’ll get me back one day.” Misyr leaned in as she fell back, planting a gentle kiss against her smiling lips. “Just not today.”
Thanks for reading!
#tickletober#tickletober 2024#tickletober2024#tickle#tickle fic#Cafe enchante#otome games#visual novels#my babies!!!#I love Kotone so much y'all don't even KNOW-#And Misyr!!!#very very pretty#fluff#dorks
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Ramble piece but it’s really poorly written because it’s 3am
You can’t imagine being left behind. Having no one look for you while you stumble in the dark, hands held limply ahead of your torso. Imagine being a fish deep in the abyss floating by specks of white before seeing the flickering swaying in the distance — but it’s always far, always moving, never winking back at you. Like two shooting stars, always one behind the other and never side by side. Come back my star, you would say.
Ramshackle is cold; not in appearance, but in temperature. You’ve been able to make a home out of someone else’s abandoned building. Although, you don’t like to use the word abandoned — the connotations are terrible: that someone loved and decided one day that they no longer did so. That this space was okay until it wasn’t and they left. You like to imagine that the wallpapers meant something. That because someone put the effort to decorate the barren walls, there was love behind that too.
Peeling wallpaper is love. The cobwebs are love too, from the spiders who had cherished the sharp corners and high ceiling. Charred bricks is love. Curled rugs is love. Sheer curtains is love.
Portraits.
How did you feel? When you travelled the world, it must’ve been…
Crowley had said that this man had a particular fondness for spreading his experience of Halloween. Give, give, give. How wonderful it is to teach, to share your passions and travel. But how lonely. To sleep alone and wake up alone.
It’s like you being the only one not assigned a tutu in a group performance — having to stand on the stage behind a girl who does have one and hoping you remain her shadow. Or maybe it’s like being the only one to wear casual business when everyone else is wearing business casual to the interview. Like being the first person to flip over the test paper over and quickly flipping it back, trying to pass it off as you just skimming the future questions.
So yeah, lonely.
But his smile is so mischievous, creeping up his cheeks and accented by his bright eyes peering past his sunglasses. So maybe the loneliness doesn’t bother him? But. But, everyone feels lonely sometimes. Connections are not rare — relationships of all kinds (platonic or not) form where there’s a spark. A positive or negative one, who cares, there is now a dynamic.
So imagine leaving after established that dynamic. I’m sorry, I don’t know when I’ll see you again. But how wonderful this dance was. I won’t be able to kiss or touch you anymore. You won’t be able to follow me, you have a life here. Autumn won’t be the same without you but now, every time I see orange leaves and sunlight peeking through interwoven tree branches, I’ll feel you. Right here.
After the Halloween event on campus, Crowley (under easy influence) allowed you to ferry the portrait back into Ramshackle. Holding the portrait allows you to really admire it. There’s a crackle of paint decorating his lips and his hand flexes in great visual harmony to the rest of his body. And now the same man flex’s his hand eternally above your fire place.
You hope that it’s warm enough.
#I’m like processing something irl rn#and idk how to process it so yeah#I can’t quite be sad nor happy#So I decided to put it all into skully#twisted wonderland#twst#skully j graves#skully j graves x reader#x reader#reader is yuu#yuu twisted wonderland#>hilt.writes
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1989 (Peter Parker’s Version
Chapter One: Welcome To New York
“Welcome to New York! It’s been waiting for you”
Word Count: 2.2k
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings/Contains: Gender neutral reader (no pronouns, no use of y/n, no descriptors mentioned in this chapter), mild language, likely some OOC moments but whateverrrr
A/N: Going back to my roots and writing some Peter Parker content! I struggled for ages deciding if I wanted to write for Tom’s Peter or Andrew’s and this is based on Tom’s but trust, Andrew’s Peter Parker will get his time in the spotlight. Also for all my Deadpool & Wolverine people, I PROMISE that next installment will be out soon! I’m at 4k words and not even at the Good Part yet so I hope to have her up by the end of this week 🫶🏻
You were lost. So lost it would’ve been comical if it wasn’t your first day of class at Midtown. You clutched the schedule in your hands, looking at door numbers as you passed them. If 305 was right here, 303 across the hall, where in the hell was 304? You turned to look around the hallway, hoping to see someone who could help you and then you saw him.
Warm brown eyes met yours and you set your shoulders back before you walked over. He looked as anxious as you felt, but you hoped he would be able to help. “Hi! I’m so sorry, but I’m so insanely lost right now and you look really nice. Do you know where 304 is? I found 303 and 305 but I can’t find 304.”
“Uh, yeah! Yeah, sorry. Can I see your schedule?” You handed your schedule over to his outstretched hand and tried not to flinch when your fingers brushed his. “We have the same schedule, so you can follow me around today.” A pause. “Only if you want to! But it may be helpful. Having someone you can stick with today.” You watched as his cheeks grew slightly more flushed. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, like he couldn’t help but fidget.
“That would be really nice.” You smiled, hoping you came across as grateful as you felt. He ducked his head but you caught the faintest glimpse of a smile before he looked back at you.
“So, 304 is all the way down the hall. I don’t know why they did that, but.” He shrugged and together, the two of you walked down the hall.
“Thank you,” you trailed off and he introduced himself. Peter Parker, he said. You told Peter your name, feeling yourself smile as he said your name. “I’m glad I found you, Peter.” Nothing else was said as you two walked into class and after a moment of hesitation, you took a seat beside him. A minute later, someone else took a seat on the other side of you. Peter introduced him as Ned, Ned introducing himself as Peter’s best friend, and the three of you made light conversation as you worked on a writing assignment.
“Where did you move from?” Ned asked and you hummed.
“Portland. My mom got a new job at the city hospital, and we moved in a few days ago. Thursday, I think? The days have all blurred together at this point.” You chuckled. Your apartment was a labyrinth of moving boxes, having barely unpacked anything over the weekend. You just barely had all of your school things unpacked before you left for school this morning. “I need to finish unpacking, do some actual exploring. I’ve never been to New York before and now I live here.”
“Trust. Stay with us, you’ll be like a native in no time,” Ned said and you couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“Thanks.” You got through the rest of the day fairly well, even if you felt like a lost puppy trailing behind Peter. You felt lucky to have the same schedule as him, and Ned was pretty cool too. You also met a girl, MJ, who kind of intimidated you in the best way. At the end of the day, you parted ways from Peter and his friends, beginning your own walk home.
Hours later, you sat on your fire escape, sketchbook in your lap until a shadow swung past you. Was that…? There’s no way.
-
Peter didn’t mean to see you on his patrol. He had perched on a rooftop, watching over the people on the street below, and he felt a pair of eyes on him. Peter looked around as if his head was on a swivel, and then he saw you. You had a sketchbook in your lap, now dressed down in a simple t-shirt and black sweatpants, and you offered him a simple wave before you returned to your drawing. Peter found himself watching you for a few moments, watching your focus return to whatever you were drawing.
Come on, Peter, get a move on, Peter thought before he was off. He just missed you looking up, watching him with a curious gaze.
Every day for the next week, Peter saw you while on his patrol route. And every day he passed you, he couldn’t help but pause for a moment. He’d perch on the rooftop across from yours, taking a minute to just breathe and watch you. You spent a lot of time on the fire escape, he noticed. Some days drawing, some days reading. Always doing something. Today, he watched as you taped a piece of paper to your fire escape and he tilted his head. Your eyes met his (well, where his eyes are under the mask) and you tapped the paper and waved before climbing back through your window. A few moments passed before Peter moved and he swung over to your fire escape, landing quietly as he took the paper.
Peter smiled as he studied the drawing. You had drawn him as Spider-Man, perched on the rooftop he frequented. You colored the sky to resemble the setting sun, and the drawing looked as if it was glowing. Peter looked up into your window, frowning when he didn’t see you. With a soft sigh, Peter swung off to tuck the drawing into a safe place and continue his patrol route. Later that night, you noticed a sticky note stuck to your window that simply read ‘thank you’ with a drawing of Spider-Man’s mask on the bottom. The sticky note now lived on the side of your bookshelf, it being the first and last thing you saw every day.
-
You had been in the city just shy of a month before you properly met the web slinging hero. You were walking home from the library, and admittedly, you had gotten distracted and now you had no idea where you were. Everything looked somewhat familiar, but it all blended together into vaguely familiar blurs. You had no idea where you were at this point and you had started to panic when a familiar masked hero landed in front of you. You screamed, jumping back a few feet and Spider-Man frantically waved his hands.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me.” Spider-Man sounded as panicked as you felt and you held your hand to your chest as you willed your racing heart to settle down.
“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man my ass, almost gave me a heart attack,” your sentence ended in a laugh as you composed yourself. “I drew you such a nice picture a few weeks ago and you repay me by scaring me.”
“In my defense, I kind of rely on my stealthiness. Can’t sneak up on bad guys if I’m noisy,” Spider-Man said and you rolled your eyes, the corner of your lips twitching up.
“What can I do for you, Spidey?” You shifted from one foot to the other, studying him. When he was swinging through the air, fighting off muggers or even worse bad guys that you had seen on YouTube, he held an air of confidence. He came up with quips just as fast as he shot webs, blocked hits, and threw punches of his own. Talking to you though? He seemed fidget-y. He rubbed at the back of his neck and rocked up on the balls of his feet before settling back down. And that voice. That voice was familiar.
“Just happened to be in the area, you looked a little lost. I’m near the end of my patrol route for the day, so I thought I’d see if you wanted an escort home.” You obviously couldn’t see his expression, but he sounded sincere- if not a little amused.
“That would be… really nice, actually. I usually know my way home better, but I went to a different library today and I thought I had only lost focus for a second, but.” You gestured around yourself. “No clue where the hell I am.”
“Welcome to New York,” Spider-Man said as he started to walk the opposite you were going. “Come on, you just missed it by a few blocks.” Together, the two of you walked back to your apartment, and you made conversation as you walked. You talked more than he did, understanding there was a lot he couldn’t share with you without risking his identity being revealed. You talked about your homework, a group project you had, and your mom’s hectic work schedule. Spider-Man spoke a little, talking about things he had seen on patrol today, and asking questions where appropriate as you talked. You thought it would feel awkward, talking to the superhero, but it didn’t feel like you were talking to a stranger. It felt as if you were talking to a friend.
Your apartment came into sight soon enough and you were relieved, but also disappointed. You had enjoyed talking to him and you were sad you had to go inside and do physics homework.
“Thanks for walking me home. I’m sure you have more important things to do, so I really appreciate it,” you said and Spider-Man shook his head.
“Like I said, I wrapped up my patrol a little early today. Got some superhero business to attend to.” He saluted and you couldn’t help but laugh. The eyes of his mask squinted and you tilted your head, surprised by how expressive his mask was. “Need a lift to your window?” Spider-Man made little hand motions, resembling how he shot his webs, and you shook your head.
“Maybe next time,” you said and he nodded. “If you’re ever around and have a minute. You know where my fire escape is. Just knock on the window if I’m not already out there. I’m home alone a lot,” you admitted. Your mom was home as often as she could, but as a doctor who worked in the emergency room, she worked odd hours. You were a pro at being alone at this point and you couldn’t fault her for it. Chasing her dream even after having you, it was commendable.
“I’ll be on the lookout for you.” Spider-Man’s head shifted slightly, looking up as if he heard something. “Duty calls. I’ll see you around.” He waved before he shot a web at a nearby building, then he was off. You couldn’t help but stare at where he stood not too long ago, thinking about the interaction you had, before you walked inside your apartment building. Odd.
-
Peter sat on your couch, working on homework when you scared the absolute shit out of him.
“Can we talk?” It only took three words for his heart to stop and he hoped he didn’t look even half as panicked as he felt.
“Yeah! Yeah. What’s up?” Peter struggled to meet your gaze and you ran your hand through your hair, a nervous habit.
“I’m gonna sound batshit crazy, but it’s been driving me crazy for a while now and I have to ask.” A deep breath. “Are you Spider-Man?”
Many emotions filled Peter at once and he picked panic as the primary emotion to feel. His hands shook and he felt frozen, yet the need to run at the same time. You already knew his secret, what was stopping him from jumping out the window and swinging away? He could probably convince May to let him stay home for a few days, avoid you a little. Instead, Peter let out a shaky breath.
“What- what makes you say that?”
“Your reaction for one. But I noticed some similarities, your behavior mostly and your voice. Come on, Peter, you’ve gotta look into a voice modifier. But what really sold me? Welcome to New York.” Peter thought back on how not even a few days ago, you were talking to him about the almost friendship you had developed with the spider hero.
“Is this normal for people here? Being friendly with superheroes?” Peter had snorted in response and said, “Welcome to New York.” You had paused for the briefest of moments, Peter almost missed it, before you laughed in agreement.
“I think that connected the dots for me,” you finished. “So… are you?”
Seconds, possibly minutes passed, before Peter spoke again. “You know you can’t tell anyone, okay?” You nodded quickly before sitting back into the couch, relaxing against the cushions.
“Thank you.” Peter tilted his head. “For trusting me. I promise, you never have to worry about me saying anything.” The two of you fell into a comfortable silence until you groaned dramatically. “Do you get number nine? Because I keep getting the wrong answer.”
“Come here, let me see.” Peter scooted closer to you and looked at your work. “Right there.” As Peter explained what you were missing, you were grateful nothing felt different between the two of you. As if the conversation never happened. You ordered pizza for dinner later than night before Peter had to go home, and you watched as he swung into the distance, waving him off. Friends with a super hero. Only in New York.
#mcu x reader#mcu#avengers x reader#marvel universe#marvel x reader#avengers fanfic#avengers#peter parker x reader#spiderman x reader#tom holland peter parker#spiderman x you#peter parker x you
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Do u have a any iwtv fic recs!! Im new (just started season 1) and im literally obsessed i need to find the best of the best that will make me go crazy
first of all WELCOME!!!!! oh my god i’m so glad you’re here … i’m so jealous of you getting to watch this show for the first time. god oh my god. i hope you’re having fun ❤️ second of all. well! i do have many many iwtv fic recs that will drive you crazy but most of them are post season 2 ones or ones that require season 2 lore. I’M SORRY. i don’t want to spoil you but then again you follow this blog so you probably have been spoiled? anyway i will be cautious for now. you’ll just have to wait for more …. in the meantime um. have whatever this list is.
Lead Belly by i love you bug
i love weird loustat pwp 💓💓💓 this is actually the first iwtv fic i ever bookmarked. wow ….
someone buy me roses by indigostohelit
MORE WEIRD LOUSTAT PWP. YAAAAY
the polycule has a max occupancy series by katplanet
this one has “spoilers” aka characters and relationships which may be as yet unknown to you so watch out! but i would be remiss if i didn’t link it here. it’s literally my favorite series of fics like ever. there could be 100 fanfictions in the room and if just 1 of them was the polycule has a max occupancy it could change everything etc. it’s so good. if you are being good and waiting let this be the first thing you read post season 2. maybe. if you want. anyway it’s just really good
#asks#fic rec#<- more to be found here btw if you want to go crazy#or let me know if you dgaf or you want to jump ahead and i can give you a more comprehensive list of my faves#anybody else have a s1 ish rec to spare for our new friend … pleade
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two - does this count
just us - oikawa x reader x atsumu uni! au
all you can do is hope that one day, the stars will align’’ leaving the love of your life left you in shambles, and the world kept spinning. while the world kept spinning, one door closed and another had opened. though, that first door wasn’t quite shut.
word count - 1.2k
Man it sucks seeing him like this.
Tooru, with another girl. You with Atsumu. Everything looks really bad right now.
And the cherry on top, he doesn’t even glance at you. Not even a little peek.
Your heart clenches, this is so embarrassing. Seeing the man you’re so obviously in love with, talking to a beautiful woman. You feel jealous, you feel heartbroken, and most of all: you feel guilty.
And while you witness his whole interaction, Atsumu is staring at you. He’s very confused. He follows your line of sight and tracks it straight to Oikawa.
“Hey, um.. Ms. tutor? Are ya lookin’ at Oikawa?” he asks, “Yer like a a fan girl or somethin’?” he sighs rubbing the back of his head.
His words wake you from your thoughts. Now you feel bad, you just completely ignored him and now you look like an idiot.
“Oh no!” you reply, “I was looking at something else sorry.” you sigh.
One thing about Atsumu is he can read people like a book. Seems pretty helpful in both volleyball and in the real world. “Hey, I’m honestly super desperate to study so, let’s get outta here?..” he says winking.
You smile lightly at his words. “Yeah totally, I didn’t drive here though, so we would have to take your car.” you say.
“Yeah, it’s right there.” he says pointing to a nice white truck as he presses a button on his car keys. The lights flash to signal it’s on.
And that’s when, Tooru glances slightly. And that when he finally notices you with another guy, and that guy is Atsumu Miya. His brows furrow and he blurs out the girl in front of him.
In retrospect, it did look like you broke up with Tooru to get with someone else but, it also looked like Tooru was trying to rebound within the week of your breakup. Both you and Tooru knew that.
So, as you and Atsumu get into the car, Tooru stares at you with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.
You prop yourself into the passenger seat, feeling an awkward tension between you and him. You don’t know anything about this boy, just that he’s “intellectually challenged” and he plays volleyball.
“So, was that yer ex boyfriend or somethin’?” Atsumu asks as he situates himself in your car.
You look at him with an awkward smile. “Oh, yeah. We broke up a few days ago..” you say quietly, “How could you tell?”
“Oh I’m just really good at reading people.” he says with a small smile. “Sorry to hear about that.”
“Thanks, let’s get off this topic though. Where should we go to study?” you ask trying to lighten the mood.
“We can go to my place? If yer comfortable with that.” he says as he puts his seatbelt on.
“Fine by me.” you say, as he starts the car. The lights in the car turn on and you hear the engine turning on.
Atsumu puts the car in reverse and places his hand behind your leather seat, looking behind to see where he’s pulling out of the parking lot.
You won’t deny it. Atsumu is really hot. His confident grin, tousled blond hair, athletic build, and a magnetic charm. He was known well around the for.. getting around. So, maybe going to his place might insinuate something.
Once you got to his place, the mood shifted.
It was supposed to be harmless, productive—nothing more. But as you sit on the edge of his couch, flipping through notes you can barely focus on, it feels like there’s something heavier in the air.
Atsumu daze lingers across from you, the relaxed smile he always wears still on his lips, but his glance flickers toward you every so often, like he’s waiting for something.
A question hangs between you both, one neither of you have spoken aloud.
“Yer awfully quiet,” he says, finally breaking the silence. His voice is soft, uncharacteristically so, and it catches you off guard.
You glance up, meeting his gaze. “Just distracted,” you murmur, though you know it’s more than that. You’ve been distracted for days, maybe weeks.
The memory of Oikawa lingers in your mind—his familiar smile, the unresolved words that still tug at your heart.
Atsumu watches you closely, the way you chew at the inside of your lip, the way your fingers clutch the notebook too tightly.
“Is it ‘bout Oikawa” he says, more of a statement than a question.
“Why do you care?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes locking with yours. “Because I know what it looks like when someone’s carryin’ too much,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “And I don’t like seein’ that.”
You blink, surprised by the depth in his words. Atsumu—loud, confident, brash Atsumu—wasn’t usually one for quiet moments like these. Yet here he is, watching you with more care than you expected, more patience than you thought he was capable of.
“It’s not that simple, Atsumu,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “He… Oikawa, I mean, he was everything. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t. I just don’t know if I can move on.”
Atsumu’s expression softens, his eyes holding a gentleness you’re not used to seeing. “Ya don’t have to move on right away,” he says, shifting to sit beside you on the couch, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence. “But… ya gotta stop lettin’ him hold ya back. He’s not here. I am.”
His words hit you harder than you expected, cutting through the fog of confusion and hurt that’s been clouding your mind for months. He’s right. Oikawa isn’t here, hasn’t been since the breakup.
You feel the tears well up, and before you can stop them, one slips down your cheek. You quickly wipe it away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
Atsumu interrupts, his voice gentle. He reaches out, his hand hesitating for a moment before settling on your shoulder. “It’s okay. Ya don’t have to apologize for feelin’ stuff.”
You look at him, really look at him, and see the sincerity in his expression. He’s not trying to push you, not trying to be something you’re not ready for. He’s just… there. And that’s enough.
“You make it sound so easy,” you murmur, your voice cracking slightly.
“It’s not easy,” he admits, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But it’s worth it.”
For a long moment, you sit in silence, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future hanging between you.
“Ya don’t have to have it all figured out,” he says softly, leaning back and giving you space but keeping his presence close. “Just… let me be here for ya, okay?”
You nod, feeling something shift inside you. It’s not a full release—Oikawa’s still there, still part of you—but it’s a start. And maybe, just maybe, Atsumu’s right. Maybe you don’t have to carry it all on your own anymore.
“So does this count as a study session?” he says trying to lighten the mood with a cheeky smile.
You laugh while fixing yourself. “Sure.”
#haikyuu atsumu#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu oikawa#haikyuu#miya astumu#oikawa tooru#atsumu x reader#oikawa x reader#anime
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My soul is restless and I want to see the world that makes me feel so small
#as you can see finals are going great#I’m not stressed at all what are you talking about#like what if I just dip#just straight up leave#take a train somewhere#I would like to just hike up into the mountains and become a hermit#but I think the depression wouldn’t like that after a while#got my heart broken day before finals week#loving that for me#got hit with the platonic flirting#I am hurting#this is fine#I really hope they don’t follow me on here now#that would be awkward as fuck#I’m tired#I think I’d very much like to go home now#university#finalseason#finals week#so she isn’t having fun#feelings#yayyy
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