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laviethepooh · 1 year

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summary. working with your rival alhaitham is one thing, but getting sick while working on a project is another.

ft. alhaitham x gn!reader (ft. your best friend kaveh)

cw. modern!au, rivals to lovers

wc. 2.4k

notes. grey >>>>> gray but of course the ugly version is the american way of doing things. anyway kaveh and i are besties, you can ask hoyoverse about it <33 also alhaitham might be very ooc i wouldn’t know, i have to do a bunch of quests to do the archon quest-

“and for our last pair, we’ll have y/n and alhaitham,” the teacher announced, fixing his glasses.

you shot your head in his direction in disbelief. he didn’t seem too fazed about it which made you confused. of course, having two of the smartest students in the class working together would produce incredible results, but you couldn’t imagine working with him by choice. you were best friends with his roommate kaveh and all the two of you would talk about is how insufferable he was. alhaitham always did things perfectly and it did nothing more than anger you, especially if he ended up doing better than you.

at the end of class, you approached your new partner.

“well, i guess we should plan a day to work. would it work to do it at your place or something? they turned off the heating at my place.” you said, scratching the back of your head.

you were partially asking because it was true, the heating was out and since it was winter, it was way too cold to focus, and partially asking because you knew kaveh would be there as well. you hoped that kaveh would make things less awkward because the tension would be inevitable.

without even looking at you, he responded, “sure. just make sure you don’t get distracted by kaveh. we’ll meet at 3 tomorrow then.”

and without letting you respond, he walked out of the class, leaving you dumbfounded. you supposed you’d just have to go with his plans since you doubted he would even listen to you if you suggested something else.

you prepared some of your project that day in preparation for working with alhaitham. you had felt a little dizzy when you woke up and throughout the day, but assumed nothing of it. when it was almost 3, you sent a text to kaveh letting him know that you would be coming and when you walked up to the door, you were glad that kaveh was the one that opened it for you.

“where’s alhaitham,” you asked as you went inside, not seeing your gray-haired partner.

kaveh shrugged and gave you a sly grin. “i made him get groceries so we could hang out for a bit.”

you broke out into a smile. “thank god. just thinking about having to work with him makes me so stressed.”

he rolled his eyes. “that’s literally what i’m saying. anyway, we should put on a show or something-”

the two of you turned to the door when you heard the jingle of keys and the lock clicking.

“oh my god,” kaveh whispered to you, “why is he here so early?”

you looked back at him with wide eyes, “how am i supposed to know?”

the door opened to an alhaitham with bags of groceries.

“oh,” he said, monotonously, “you’re here.”

he gave the several bags of groceries to kaveh who almost fell due the weight of all of them. your partner then ushered you into the kitchen where you could see several papers stacked on top of each other. despite the number of papers and items there were, it seemed to be an extremely neat table. like the true gentleman he was, he offered you a seat and you placed all of your own research onto the table.

“kaveh!” he barked out to the poor kaveh who was putting the groceries away. “go buy dinner or something!”

you sent kaveh an sos signal through your eyes and he matched it. but unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice but to leave the two of you alone since he knew alhaitham would get mad if he didn’t have the perfect working environment.

now that it was just the two of you in the apartment, you got to work on the project. the preparations went smoothly and alhaitham seemed impressed that you had already come somewhat prepared. similarly, you were glad to see that he had held up his part of the project.

however, as the day continued, you noticed your head started to feel a bit heavy. you kept drinking water, hoping that it was simply dehydration, but then you started to feel much colder than you did in the morning and were starting to feel chills.

“hey.” you poked your partner. “did the air conditioner come on or something? why is it so cold?”

he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. “no? it’s winter, why would we turn on the air conditioner? did you not bring a jacket?”

you shook your head in response and alhaitham got up from his chair and into his room. when he came out, he was carrying the school sweatshirt and held it out to you. you stared at it, wondering why he was showing it to you. was this supposed to be some sort of motivation for the project?

“put it on. you said you were cold.”

oh.

you took the hoodie, muttering a small thanks and put it on. you didn’t feel much better, but you definitely felt a bit warmer with it on and could smell his cologne. you continued to work while wearing his hoodie, but you could slowly feel that your condition was worsening. were you seriously sick? but the presentation needed to be finished…

“y/n?”

though your head was cloudy, you could hear your partner call your voice out. his voice was indicating he was annoyed. you rested your head in your arms, mumbling something about a 5 minute break. you heard him scoff.

5 minutes must have passed, because you could feel someone trying to shake you awake.

“y/n?”

you mumbled something again, but it was probably incoherent. your head was throbbing and pins and needles were attacking your whole body. you felt a cold hand press against your forehead.

“you’re burning up. are you feeling alright? you need some rest.” you could hear alhaitham speak, but none of it was comprehensible.

you felt your chair get pushed back and alhaitham lift you up. your whole body felt heavy and you could barely get your arms to wrap around his neck for stability. he tried to put you down, but you resisted, clinging onto him. eventually, your drowsiness won you over and you let go and your head fell onto soft pillows.

“oh my god, why would you put them on your bed???”

someone’s screeching voice woke you up. you felt terrible. your headache was worse than before and chills were running up and down your whole body.

“can you be quiet? although with that loud voice of yours, i’m sure y/n’s already awake by now.”

“i’ll pretend you didn’t say that if you give me some of the soup you made.”

“it’s for y/n.”

“yeah, i think you made more than enough for just one person. let me have some!”

“i said be quiet!”

you sat up, but your whole body felt like it was made out of lead. walking over to the kitchen felt much harder than it should have, but you needed to tell kaveh and alhaitham to shut up. you also needed a glass of water or something.

“y/n!” kaveh raced over to you. “did that stupid alhaitham overwork you?”

his voice was ringing in your head and you held up a hand to signify that you wanted to be quieter and he mumbled a “my bad.”

“no, i must have just been sick, i dunno,” you murmured as you staggered to the kitchen.

alhaitham handed you a glass of water and you downed the whole thing. you felt a bit more hydrated, but that wasn’t anything compared to how the rest of your body was feeling. you wanted to cry. you still needed to work on the project, even if you weren’t behind schedule and you weren’t in the comfort of your own home either.

“hey kaveh,” alhaitham ordered, “go get some medicine for y/n.”

kaveh grumbled something incoherent and slammed the door before peeking his head out to apologize to you (but not alhaitham) and then it was just you and alhaitham left in the apartment.

the two of you stood in silence for a moment before alhaitham handed you a hot bowl of soup and spoke up.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize that you were ill. i would have postponed the meeting if i had known.”

you shook your head and immediately regretted it as your head throbbed again. “i didn’t realize i was sick either. it’s not your fault. and thanks for taking care of me.”

“no, i think it is my fault. i had overworked you.”

“no, it’s not your fault, i have a bad immune system.”

alhaitham let out an amused sigh. “you’re really never gonna let me win, are you?”

you chuckled hoarsely, “i guess i can’t help it.”

you sat down on the couch, knees pressed against your chest, your hands clutching the bowl tightly. you were still wearing his sweatshirt, you realized.

“i’m more sorry though. i must be disappointing you since you already have so much on your hands and yet you have to take care of me as well. hell, you put me on your bed instead of the couch and made me soup. i’m making all of this turn into shit. i was supposed to help you with this but instead i let you down.”

your partner was silent for a moment. so it was true then.

“you know, i was elated when i heard that you were my partner.”

what?

“in fact, i had asked the teacher to put us together for this project and i was honestly surprised when he agreed. i’m sure you know already, but putting the two smartest students in the class wouldn’t be balanced. y/n, you can probably tell, but i wouldn’t put anyone in my bed and make them soup if they were sick. even if they were a close friend, i would have asked them to go home.”

what was he talking about? your drowsiness was starting to return.

“you can’t be falling asleep on me right now. i’m about to confess to you.”

what??? your attention was fully on alhaitham again and this time you were fighting against your need to sleep.

“seems like that got your attention” alhaitham laughed, “y/n, you could never let me down no matter what you did. isn’t that what it means to like someone?”

he walked over to you and pressed his hands against the side of your face. “did you hear me properly? i said i like you.”

“more than kaveh?”

“tch. obviously. i like anyone more than kaveh.”

“why? kaveh’s so funny!”

“don’t talk about other people like that in front of me. say nice things about me instead.”

maybe it was because you felt groggy, but your filter was practically nonexistent. “hmm. i guess you’re really hardworking. i didn’t realize it but you’re nice, too. your things smell good. and you’re good looking, i suppose.”

your eyes were starting to close on their own but you were sure alhaitham was smirking right now. he took the untouched bowl of soup from your hands and you could hear him set it down on a table.

“if you wanna be able to work on the project, you’ll have to make sure you recover properly first.”

you wanted to say something else to him, even a thank you since it didn’t seem like you had properly shown your gratitude. however, your exhaustion won you over once again and you went back into dreamland.

when you woke up again, you were staring up at alhaitham’s bedroom ceiling again. you looked over onto the side, instinctively looking for your phone but instead saw alhaitham’s head resting beside you. you nearly jumped out of the bed but realized that he had pulled up a chair next to the bed and must have fallen asleep while looking after you.

you were so slow to realize how nice he was. you were always under the impression that he was some insensitive guy who spent his whole day studying nonstop but it seemed that you were wrong.

as you sat in the bed, staring off into space, you remembered his confession. as your face started heating up, you cursed yourself internally. so many unexpected things had happened today but the most strange one was the fact that your biggest rival liked you? the words that you (stupidly) said about him before were certainly true, and you weren’t upset that he liked you. did you like him back?

even though you knew how busy he was, he had taken so much of his own time by taking care of you instead of just taking you back to your home. you had the feeling that if you were to be with him, he’d take immensely good care of you.

but then you remembered kaveh. should you ask him about what you should do? no, you knew for a fact that he wouldn’t approve of it at all.

you and your overthinking mind. you needed to make a decision following your first thoughts. it was unexpected, but you felt like you wanted to just go on a date with him just once. it felt so weird to be thinking of someone you rivaled for so long in a romantic interest but it didn’t feel wrong. you were always so certain about everything that you did whether it was which school you wanted to go to or who you wanted to work with. all of a sudden, your rationality had gone out the window.

“alhaitham,” you whispered, shaking his shoulder, “wake up!”

perhaps it was because you were in almost the complete dark or if it had anything to do with the new lens that you were seeing him from, but he suddenly looked much more handsome. he looked like some sort of fairy or angel now. this made absolutely no sense whatsoever. but wow, the way he was just looking up at you right now made you blush.

“do you need something?”

you blinked. you had almost forgotten why you woke him up.

“do you really like me?”

although it was dark, you could see him furrow his eyebrows. “did you think i was lying? i do. and i have for a while.”

“then,” you hesitated for a moment unsure if you were making the right decision, “can you go on a date with me?”

#lavie.txt #alhaitham #genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #kaveh #alhaitham be like “I WINNNN”#also i can't imagine what kaveh would say once he learned that y/n asked him out #he would be screaming crying throwing up on the ground begging y/n to take it back rn #also not y/n literally asking alhaitham if he likes y/n more than kaveh #the way my kavetham/haiveh heart was FIGHTING ME #also obviously haitham accepts it like he'd be stupid not to #but i was like i don't think i should drag this on any longer #rivals to lovers

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legendofmorons · 6 months

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Hey sorry if this is kinda specific and weird but could you do one where the reader gets their time of the month and Twilight takes care of them. (I get it this makes you uncomfortable I got my time of the month and it has hit me like a truck and I just want some tooth rotting fluff rn no pressure tho). Sorry if this is weird. Love your stuff have a lovely day 🩷

Personal hero (Twilight)

Of course I can honey! I'm sorry that you feel gross.

This doesn't make me uncomfortable, though. I'm familiar with the problem. I hope this helps and that you feel better.

Pairing: Twilight and AFAB! Reader (can be romantic or platonic, but either way, he loves you a lot)

Rating: G

Summary: When your period hits- you're left feeling it like a semi-truck. Thankfully, Twilight is right there to help you.

Warnings: AFAB! Reader, menstruation/ period, blood, a little angst maybe??

Other: If I missed anything, please let me know.

About the nicknames: Pumpkin seems pretty straightforward, it's one I heard all the time from my mama.

Bug in this case is a shortened version of love bug, another one from my childhood.

I've heard both terms used for all types of loved ones, from kids to friends to partners.

-------

You shouldn't be so surprised to see the blood in your underwear- but you are. Between the unexpected quest and the busy schedule you've had to adjust to, you just have been way too busy to pay attention to when you'd next start your period.

Thankfully, you have a few pads in the bag that had travelers with you - but only three. And that isn’t really enough. But you have one for now.

(Thank God you carry a few emergency pads for yourself and others.)

After putting in ypur pad and washing your hands you return to the group. (At least the cramps, moodswing, and genral soreness makes more sense.)

You only walk another hour before you arrive at the inn in Hateno in Wild's hyrule. Rooms are rented, and you're paired up with Twilight.

The first thing you do is collapse into your bed, groaning as you let your body relax.

"You don't look so good, pumpkin." Twilight says as he sits on the edge of your bed.

"I don't feel so good." You admit.

"Can I help?"

"Not really..."

"What's going on?"

You look at him, trying to decide if it's even worth telling him about. He doesn't seem like the type of person to shame anyone about this kind of thing.

But still. It's a little embarrassing that you aren't better prepared and that whole- awful period symptoms ranging from cramps to killer headaches and vomiting.

And if you're a heavy bleeder? It's no wonder some people call it shark week.

"It's um-... I'm bleeding?" You blurt out- not sure how to word it or what people call it in his time.

"What? Where- (Y/n) you can't let yourself bleed without getting it looked at!"

Twilight is pale, and he's very obviously nervous. He looks like he might start trying to single handedly evolve an instant healing spell for anyone to use.

"It's not that!" Ypu say quickly, "It's just that time of the month."

Twilight blinks, taking a moment to process and calm down.

Then he all clicks for him.

"Oh! Oh. Wait, do you have enough stuff for it?"

"Not really. I'll have to grab more tomorrow-"

"I'll go! You don't have to. I know that- periods suck."

"You don't have to."

"I don't mind, (Y/n). Do you have anything in particular you need?"

You take a moment to consider his offer. It's sweet, really.

And you would appreciate not having to go get the things yourself.

Twilight offered. So it probably isn't an issue or a burden.

"If you're willing to go I'd appreciate that."

"Okay, what should I grab?"

You tell Twilight what it is you need. Painkillers, chocolate, a heating pad of some sort, and whatever you use to deal with the actual bleeding.

He just smiles, "I'll be back soon. Why don't you nap?"

"Thank you, Twilight."

"Of course."

-------

You wake up to the door opening.

When you look over, you are relieved to find Twilight with a bag from the store. It seems to have everything you asked for.

"Hey there, bug." Twilight says softly, "You okay?"

"Just- ugh."

"I bet. Here, let's get some food in you."

Twilight pulls out one of your favorite snacks and hands it to you easily. He seems content just to take care of you.

After you've eaten and settled back down, you find yourself looking back to him.

"Can uh-" you aren't sure if it's weird to ask him for cuddles.

Is it?

And more importantly do you care either way?

"Can we maybe cuddle?" You ask after a moment. Becuase really the worst he can say is no.

(Maybe a mean variation of no but that dosen’t seem like him.)

"If you're sure you don't mind that I smell like dirt."

"We all smell that way. It's fine, Twi."

He sets his pelt over his own bed before he makes his way over to you.

He sits on your bed, holding his arms open. He's letting you take the lead on this one, not sure of if and or where you hurt.

You move - tucking yourself under his chin and wrapping your arms around his torso. You curl into him, reveling in the warmth Twilight provides.

Twilight, move you both so you're lying down. You're on his chest while one of his hands moves back and forth across your back.

He's gentle with you. But he holds you firm, sure in his arms. He dosen’t force you to stay, but he dosen’t ask you to leave.

Twilight is one of those people who are just good at giving hugs.

"Thanks." You say after a while.

"Of course, I want you to feel better."

"I really appreciate that. And you."

Twilight laughs, amused, fond, and bashful all at once.

You find yourself struck by how much genuine care is in his eyes when he looks at you.

"Get some rest, I'll still be here later." He says before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You would argue - really you would... but it's very comfortable and you know that you're safe here.

Sleep claims you again quickly, but you know that you'll still be safe and cared for when you wake up.

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu twilight #lu twilight x reader #tw blood mention #cw blood mention #menstruation

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carolmunson · 1 year

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once bitten, twice shy (pbv!steve x f!thick reader)

finally, we made it. been writing this since october with breaks in between. if you're new to the pbv!steve universe (which is just an incredibly wealthy big money version of steve), i'd recommend reading 'peanut butter vibe' first.

here, steve invites his thick hottie bestie (you, who we're calling natalie because i HATE 'y/n') to his office holiday party. this fic has everything: sugardaddy!steve, casual dominance, office sex, unrequited love, some guy named rob -- anyway, enjoy. warnings/content prev: piv sex (protected), fingering/oral (f receiving), mentions of oral (m receiving) some angst/unrequited feelings, casual dominance, light spanking, office sex, sort of a 'boss' kink?? idk what to call it, rich people behavior, snide comments about thick!reader but not really about her body, some body descriptions but nothing wild, mentions of clothing sizes, lots of fluff, steve is a hot hot hottie throughout. little christmas light dividers by @newlips

“Is it fancy?” you ask, “I don’t really have anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I’ll take you to get something tomorrow,” he insists.

“I can buy my own dress, Steve,” you sigh, he can hear the eye roll through the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, everyone in Indiana knows you can buy your own dress, Manhattan, we get it,” Steve’s eye roll is even more audible than yours, “But you only have to get one because I’m asking you to come to this party. Let me get it for you.”

“Steve,” you scold, “No.”

“I have to finish shopping anyway — don’t you still have to finish getting gifts for your niece? We can go to the mall, two birds one stone!” he quickly adds. He hopes the thought of your niece’s tiny toes in some new little socks or a cute little outfit will soften you up.

“The mall is going to be a mess, Steve. It’s the weekend before Christmas,” you complain.

“We can go to a boutique or something,” he counters, determined to get you in a dress so you had no reason not to go to this party.

“Boutiques in Indiana aren’t making dresses for girls like me, Harrington,” you laugh, he doesn’t. He’s quiet for a moment until you hear his signature aggravated sigh come through the ear piece.

“You can just say you don’t wanna come,” his voice sounds slightly sullen, “Just wanted to show you the office, since you won’t get a chance to see it after I move.”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna come, Steve,” you say softly, “It’s just..it’s what it implies.”

“It doesn’t have to imply anything! Can’t you just come have fun with me? It’ll be so fun, I promise!” there’s a mild whine to his claim and you have to stifle a laugh.

Breaking News in Indiana: Poor little rich boy wants his big booty Barbie to play with at a party — throws minor tantrum when he might not get what he wants! "Fine, fine, Jesus Christ," you tease, "You're so annoying when you get whiny."

"So I'll pick you up in the morning? Is nine okay?" he asks, voice back to his regular charm. "Yeah, that's fine," you start, "Wait, we're not taking the Porsche to the mall, are we?" "Uh, yeah?" he replies, confused, "Did you want me to take a different car?" "Ugh, Steve that's so tooly," you moan, "You're such a tool."

"I'm about to uninvite you," he huffs, "Do you want me to buy you something pretty tomorrow or--" "I can buy my own dress," you yell over him. He lets out another aggravated sigh. "Tomorrow, nine, in the Porsche," he says finally, you hear the click of the dial tone as soon as he finishes speaking.

The Porsche rolls up at 8:58 and he knows better than to honk the horn, lest he wake your sister's newborn. Instead, he parks and walks up to the porch of your sister's house; knocking on the door and waiting for you with his hands clasped behind his back. When the door opens, he's surprised to see your mom behind it. She smiles, big and warm. She looks familiar, definitely a face in the stands at basketball games because your older sister Carly was a cheerleader. She was a senior when you were both freshman, before Steve was King Steve. "Oh, hi. You must be Steven," she whispers, when the door opens further he spots your little niece propped up high on your mom's chest, "I'm Maureen. Come in, come in. S'way too cold to be standing out here." "Thanks, thank you," he smiles, the kind of smile that makes mom's melt. Steve takes a step inside and your mom steps back, patting the baby's back to burp her. He wipes his shoes on the welcome mat and undoes the buttons on his Hugo Boss wool coat. His cashmere scarf hung loosely over his shoulders down his chest. "I've heard so much about you. Nat should be out in a second," heat blooming in her cheeks, "Make yourself comfortable." Maureen disappears into the kitchen but he can hear the gurgles of your niece and your mom's little titters to her. He leans on the back of the couch, the house smells like you and his heart swells. So this is what it looks like when you go inside after he drops you off. This is where you go when you're not with him. It feels like a secret he's not supposed to know. "Oh, hi, you're in my house," his eyes snap up when he hears your voice. His teeth shine through his smile, he waves with a leather gloved hand. "Good morning," he says, his voice is low and warm. Your heartrate speeds up when he says it. It's awkward when you walk up to him, unsure if you should hug or kiss on the cheek. It's normally never awkward, but you're always meeting at the bar or in his car. He's never been so...available at the first greeting. You don't want to kiss in front of your mom because then she'll have questions. She already asks too many about Steve to begin with. He scans you, your white sweater and jeans, square toe brown boots on your feet. You reach for a black parka on the coat rack and a scarf that he recognizes as a polyblend. He makes a mental note to get you a cashmere one when you're not paying attention. "Good morning," you reply, shrugging the coat on and tossing the scarf around your neck sloppily. He walks towards you, tutting while he does, reaching out to flip your hair out from under the scarf. He readjusts the material so it lays neater against you, tucked in and under the jacket so you actually stay warm. "Gonna freeze if you don't wear it right," he sing songs, shaking his head while he works. "Okay dad," you roll your eyes, swatting his hands away when he goes to zip up your coat, "I can do it." You don't zip your parka up, instead you peek your head into the kitchen and whisper a quick goodbye to your mom and your niece. Maureen appears with the baby again and says a motherly goodbye and 'Merry Christmas' to Steve. "It's very nice to finally meet you, Maureen," he almost flirts, "Have a Merry Christmas." She winks at you when he turns towards the door, mouthing a very enthusiastic 'He's cute.'

You have half a mind to say, 'Yeah, he knows. That's what's so infuriating.' But you think it, instead. You opt to mouth a simple 'Stop,' at her before following him outside towards the car. "You're mom's so sweet," he says when he gets to the side walk from your porch, hand immediately coming out to support you down the icy steps, "Careful." "There's a railing," you explain, using him for support, "It's there so I don't fall." "Well, you're holding my hand anyway, so," he shrugs. You bristle at his coolness, always so slick even when it's innocent. He's so hateable, it's almost unfair how excited he makes you. "As I was saying," he starts again when you make it to the end of the stairs, "Your mom's so nice." "Maureen? Yeah, she's a sweetie," you agree when you get the passenger door. He reaches past you to open it, and in doing so has you chest to chest with him. He lingers there for a moment, looking at you down the slope of his nose. He cocks his head, eyes a little hard, lips pulling into a smirk. "So what happened to you, then?" he teases, lips dangerously close to yours. You catch your mom peaking out of the living room window and sink down into the open door onto the leather seat. "Shut up," you huff, "You're not funny." "I'm so funny," he corrects, shutting the door, appearing on the drivers side moments later. "The stores don't open for at least an hour," you say, buckling into the seat, "Why'd you wanna leave so early?" "Thought we could get breakfast first," he shrugs, looking your over in the passengers side. He bites his lip, eyes flitting from your thighs to your face, "You look nice."

"It's nine in the morning Harrington, keep it in your pants," you shove his shoulder and he grins while he puts his attention back on the road, pulling forward away from the sidewalk. "It's 9:07 actually," he says, aloof, hand resting on your inner thigh once he had his bearings on the road infront of him, "You're so warm." "Perks of big thighs, I guess," you shrug, "You're wearing gloves though, I think that helps." "Nah, your thighs are just warm," he grins again, "Haven't had to buy ear muffs for the last five years cause'a them."

"You're so gross," you turn to him as you say it, exasperated. The car rolls to a stop at a redlight and he turns to look at you. "I'm so gross, huh?" he asks, leaning in. His hand floating from your thigh to under your chin. The leather is smooth on your skin, you can smell his cologne as he moves closer, "S'that why you want me to kiss you so bad?" "I think you wanna kiss me so bad," you tease back. His lips catch yours, fingers gently wrapping around your jaw as they do. The leather sinks into your full cheeks, flush from the cold and the way his mouth fits against yours. His nose bumps your cheek and your ungloved hand finds his, you can feel the smoothness from his shave this morning. Smell his moisturizer, his shaving cream. Taste the mint from his mouth wash in your mouth. A soft hum leaks from your chest and you feel him smile into the kiss before he breaks away, the light turning green against the white cloudy sky. "You're right, I did wanna kiss you so bad," he admits. His hand falls right back on your thigh, hitting the gas to pull onto the highway.

You'd been at it for a couple of hours now, store after store, the mall littered with families and screaming children. "We can go to the west wing. I don't know why you keep avoiding it," he chides. He puts all the shopping bags you've both already accumulated into the hand furthest from you, offering you the empty one. You take it, your other hand empty since he wouldn't let you carry your own bags. "That's the nice part of the mall," you say, "I don't want to spend that much on a dress for one night."

"Then it's a good thing you're not spending any money on it," he smiles. "Steven," you chide, "Enough, pl--" "Don't use that voice with me. I told you a thousand times I want to get you something pretty. So we're getting you something pretty," he urges, "Let's go." The west wing has all the fancy stores in it. Luxury brands, far stretches from Kay Jewelers and JC Penney. You aren't sure if they even carry your size in stores like this, but maybe you'll be surprised. It's not long before he has you in a dressing room, working with the attendants and tossing dress after dress in behind the curtain. Steve sits on one of the waiting area couches with the rest of the men. Your purse and coat is on his lap, the shopping bags resting between his feet. You poke your head out after the fourth dress, looking for an attendant but they're all busy. He notices your nervous face and waves to get your attention. "Need help?" he asks. You flush. "Can you get this zipper for me? It's not a side zipper so I can't reach," you ask. He nods, slinging your purse over himself with the cross body strap, asking the guy next to him to watch the bags with a quick 'Would you mind, chief? Thanks a million.' He comes up to the curtain and sees the front of the dress, red bursting to his cheeks, tinging his ears, "Good fucking lord." "Oh stop it," you blush back. You turn around and zips up the dress, some resistance meeting at the top. You walk closer to the mirror and inspect yourself, scrunching your face at your reflecting. "You don't like it?" he asks with a frown. "It's just not me," you shrug, "It's a little tight, and I don't want to be thinking about that the whole time, y'know?"

He nods, looking over his shoulder to see a dress on the 'put away' rack, dark green and off the shoulder. The style a mix between Herve Leger and vintage Dior. "Ma'am," he calls out when he sees an attendant walk by, "Would you mind pulling that dress for me? The green one?" She scans her hand over the rack and points at it, reading out the size. "That's perfect, actually," he smiles, that winning Harrington smile that makes the girls melt, "Thank you." "You're very welcome," she says sweetly, posture straightening when she brings it over. You peak back out and he turns you around to start the zipper down on the number you'd just tried on. "You look so good in green, try this one," he says, passing it to you, "Very Hawkins High." You hold it up in front of you and consider, it's a bodycon but still somehow classic looking. A velvet piece that you wouldn't have picked out yourself. "Hm, okay, I'll try it," you say, turning to him with a furrowed brow, "Now get out, perv." He smiles, closing the curtain carefully and retreating back to the couches, "Thanks for watching the bags, man." The guy smiles, "Us husbands gotta look out for each other, right?"

Steve bites his lip in a toothy grin, nodding, "Yeah, for sure."

"How long you been married?" he asked. "Few years," he lies, it's fun to lie when people have asked about you before. He'd get comments every now and again at Porter's, have chats with bar stoll warmers about you like you'd been together forever. "Few years? You look like babies," he laughs, the gray smattered in the man's hair shines in the pristine white lights of the store. "When you know, you know," Steve shrugs. The man nods, "They do say that, don't they? Well, I'll give ya a little advice. Fifteen years down the line, here -- they aren't lying when they say 'happy wife, happy life'. So just, y'know, do whatever she says and you're golden." "Great advice, honey," a woman's voice coo's above them. Steve sees her Vivienne Westwood shoes first, head tilting up to see a very expensive woman in front of him. She has a few dresses in her hand that he immediately stands up and takes from her. "Merry Christmas, kid," he says while they head out, the wife nods toward Steve in acknowledgement and he gives them a small wave. "Oh Steve, this is it, this is the one," you say, stepping out of the dressing room with the dress in your arm, the 'no's' in the other. His shoulders slump, "You didn't even let me see it."

"It'll be a surprise. You'll see it tomorrow night," you smile. He instinctively gets up and takes the dresses you don't want to hang up them for you on the rack. You exchange them for your purse and jacket, scarf previously abandoned in a shopping bag. "You all set to go? You have any other shopping you wanna do?" you ask.

"Hmm," he thinks, "Let's stop by jewelry first."

"Something for your mom?" you ask, putting your parka back on. "Something for you," he says, "To go with that dress."

"No, no, I have jewelry at home. I'll ask my mom if I can borrow something," you wave your hand off at him while you walk out of the dressing area and back into the store together. "Hey, hey," he shushes you, raising his neck to look into your eyes, "Let me spoil you a little, okay?"

"You already got me a new scarf and gloves," you say earnestly, "It's too much, Steve."

"You needed a new scarf and gloves," he says knowingly, "Let's get you a necklace to go with that dress, hm? You need shoes, too?" "I'm drawing the line at shoes," you warn, putting your purse over yourself while you walk through the beauty section, "I brought plenty of shoes with me."

He shrugs, "Suit yourelf."

Monday night comes quicker than expected, but you'd stayed the night at Steve's after shopping, only to wake up in the late morning with him the next day. You'd been up late fucking mercilessly wrapping gifts with each other, teaching him how to curl ribbon, watching him fold wrapping paper with obscene precision. The only reason you went home is because he had to go into the office to finish up some reports. You arrive around seven-thirty, a little late but still there, heels clicking on the marble floor of the lobby -- and there he is, waiting for you behind the turnstyles to the elevators -- suit jacket fitting him almost criminally.

"Fashionably late?" he teases, opening the side gate to let you through to him, "Everyone thinks my date stood me up."

"Oh, I'm sure your secretary will be so disappointed to know I'm here," you joke back.

"I don't fuck my secretary," he shakes his head, hitting the call button, "I fuck Rob's secretary. God, do you ever listen to me when I talk?"

Rob, Steve's work nemesis.

"Oh forgive me, there's so only many office flings I can keep up with," you say, stepping into the elevator. You take off your scarf from under your coat, revealing the necklace Steve bought you at the mall. He smiles to himself, seeing your adorned by his gifts. The scarf, the necklace, the gloves. He's excited to see the dress, it's all he thought about today. When you get the floor of the party, you wince a bit at the noise. It's rowdy, a lot of the men are already drunk. And boy is it, fancy. Men in suits, women is cocktail dresses in sky-high heels, hair in big blowouts with glowing gold and silver jewelry. You're suddenly thankful for the necklace Steve bought you. You'd been around your fair share of fancy in New York, but never really living it outside of your own work holiday parties. Sometimes you forget that this is Steve's day to day. "The actual offices are the next floors up, this is just our meeting hall. They really go all out, huh?" he smiles, "Let me bring you to coat check." On the walk to coat check you scan the room, it's decked out in gold and red. Ten foot Christmas trees sit in every corner, draped in garland, ribbon, and tinsel. Lights leaving a soft glow out of the floor to ceiling windows of the room. Intricately placed curtains of warm white christmas lights hang from the ceiling, dress the walls and windows. The room is a halo, glowing and warm. In the center of the room is the open dance floor, flanked by tables covered in white cloths -- drinks already littering them. Speakers boom top 40 and Christmas music, chatter and laughter booms over it.

"Here, let me get it," he says when you reach the coat check area, a little set up of a few racks with a sweet woman at a table, writing out tickets for you to keep track of for the end of the night. He undoes the buttons of your coat and you shrug it off slowly. His eyes round and he gulps, mouth going dry at the sight of you.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out, pulling your coat back over you, "You can't be serious rigt now."

"What?" you ask, suddenly self concious, "Does it look bad?"

"No, oh my god, no, it's..." he pulls your coat away again and sucks in a sharp intake of breath, "If I knew you were gonna look like this, I wouldn't have let you wear it here. Can't have everyone looking at you when you're here with me."

He looks you over, the way your breasts sit in the sweetheart neckline, how tightly it clings to your curves, the shape of your hipes, the outline of your belly in the fabric. He licks his lips, knowing he's not strong enough to see you from the back just yet.

"God damn," he shakes his head, "You're gonna kill me." "Well, you look very handsome too," the compliment is genuine but it doesn't register for him. He's busy looking at your glossed lips, the necklace places perfectly above your chest, the smell of your perfume. He licks his lips and your words finally hit him, so does the feeling of the fabric of your coat in his hands. "Th-thank you," he smiles, "Thanks." He checks your jacket and gives the lady at the table a $20 even though the coat check is free. Waiters walk around with hor d'ourves and drinks and he reaches for the champagne flutes, nodding to you to see if you want one. "It's kind of chilly, is there coffee or anything?" you ask, running your hands over your arms. "There's hot toddy's," he says, "They're by the bar but you don't like whiskey."

"I can pretend to like it for right now," you smile, he smiles back, placing his champagne flute on a table that he'd been sat at earlier, your name card placed on the seat next to him. He takes your hand and leads you to the bar, running his own hands over arms to warm you up while you wait behind a small line of people.

"This is pretty," you tell him, "Looks like everyone is having a good time."

"Half of these guys have been drinking since four," he laughs a little, "I'd hope they're having a good time."

"Oh, Harrington, is this her?" you hear a gruff voice ask. Steve's arm sling protectively around your waist at the sound. "This is she," he says back, he presents you like a trophy to him. His best Vanna White while he scans a hand over you to show you off. "Rob Delaney," he smiles, a smile that rivals Steve's, and offers his hand. He is devilishly handsome, no wonder Steve hates him so much, "You must be the girl that's got Harrington running to the big city."

"I think it's the pay raise that has him running to the big city, but thank you," you giggle, shaking his hand. It's a firm shake, a businessman's shake. You feel the chill of his gold pinky ring brush against your skin. "Pretty thing like you got a name?" he flirts, you feel Steve pull you closer, his hand splaying at the curve of your waist. Your face heats up at the feeling, knowing he doesn't like sharing you even though you weren't his to begin with. "Natalie," you smile. "Natalie," he repeats, giving you a once over, "Pretty name for a pretty girl." "Well, thank you," you say politely, letting go of his hand. He puts his own in his pants pocket, smiling at the both of you. "It's nice to meet you. Save me a dance, will ya?" he smirks when he asks.

"Don't know how free I'll be for a dance, Delaney," Steve replies with a tight voice, ffingers digging into the velvet of your dress, "She's kinda got me tied up all night. Maybe next time." Rob nods, biting back at snicker before walking away with his drink. "See, angel, this dress is dangerous," Steve says in your ear, you hold back from having your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling of his voice in your chest. He orders your hot toddy and a whiskey on the rocks for himself, you nurse it slowly back to the table -- the drink is strong and the food here is light. You feel lucky you ate dinner before you left or else this night would've been ten times more dangerous than the dress you were wearing.

An hour and two hot toddies later and you're chatty at the table with Steve's work friends. He glows while he watches you, the way you are able to blend in so seamlessly with everything. Like you've known these people longer than he has.

"And so I'm still on the phone after he puts me on hold for thirty minutes," you continue through gasps and giggles, the whole table is crying with laughter, "And -- and he comes back and is like, "Oh ma'am, I'm so sorry. Did you say L'Oreal? I thought this was the Oriole's marketing office!"

The table erupts in laughter, feet stomping, glasses clinking while men bang on the table. The women dab tears away with their napkins. Business talk, business jokes. Two big kids in their parents clothes again, at a fancy office party that they don't need to go to.

"Oh god," Steve's co-worker says, face red with liquor and laughter, "That is fuckin' marketing for you. I'm gonna go get a drink, you all want another round?" The group at the table nods, but Steve waves off a no for both of you. 'Last Christmas' flows through the speakers and some people have found their way to the dance floor. He takes the hand resting on your lap and gives it a light squeeze to get your attention. "Hey," you say, turning towards him.

"Hey," he says back, thumb brushing your skin, "You wanna dance with me?" You blush, nodding when he stands up. He's almost too charming, who are you to say no to him.

“Happy Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it — with a note saying I loved you, I meant it —” Steve mouthed along with the words dramatically, guiding you to the dance floor on gliding backwards feet. His hips swayed expertly — surprising since he didn’t strike you as much of a dancer. You saw him at many a homecoming dance, he was not incredibly impressive in the 80s.

“Now I know, what a fool I’ve been, but if you kiss me now, I know you’d fool me again,” he sings along softly while he pulls you into him. His hand presses against your lower back until you’re chest to chest, hips against his hips, holding your other hand outside the both of you. Your face burns in the low light, noticing the other couples on the dance floor — women with engagement rings and wedding bands, women introduced as ‘my girlfriend _____’ who would be fiancés soon.

“When did you get so good at dancing?” you ask, looking up at him.

“This year to save me from tears — been going to a lot of weddings — give it to someone special,” he explained through his soft singing, “Got good at dancing so I could pick up bridesmaids. What about you?”

You scoff at his answer before answering yourself, "I was always a good dancer, Steve."

"How was I supposed to know?" he shrugged. Hair falls in his face when he leans forward to brush his nose against yours, his tell that he wants to kiss you.

"Should've danced with you at prom," he mumbles, resting his forehead down on yours.

"I didn't go to prom," you smile, moving your head on his chest, "Wasn't really my thing." His hand travels from your lower back to just below your shoulder blades, holding you while you both sway in time with the music.

"What'd you do instead?" he asks, you can't help but giggle and he can feel it in his chest.

"Ugh, it's embarrassing," your face burns while you nuzzle into the lapel of his jacket.

"It was years ago, c'mon," he urges, “Tell me.”

You look up at him and scrunch your nose, “I let Eddie Munson take my V-card that night.”

Steve gasps, you want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

“Right on his stained mattress at his uncle's,” you laugh and scrunch your nose harder.

“Oh, no…” he laughs, a twinge of jealously plucks in his chest, “Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?”

“I mean he was a different kind of freak for me,” you shrug and Steve presses you even closer, feeling your breats and tummy squish against him. Warm and soft.

“Any good?” he asks, trying to make it casual. But even if it was so long ago, he had to know. "Good for seventeen," you shrugged, "And eighteen, and nineteen, and twenty. Then Corrded Coffin took off and he left."

"So you kept fucking him when you'd come back for breaks?" he laughs.

"It's a long winter break, Harrington," you explained, "I had a life before you, y'know."

"Yeah, but, was it a good one?" he squints when he asks, so you know he's joking. You roll your eyes at him, anyway. While George Michael wails, Steve can't help himself while looking at you in the low light. His body so close to yours he could barely breathe correctly. His hand skates up the the top of your back to your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that only both of your lips understand. Sharing secrets with eachother through clicks of spit, soft breaths, and swipes of tongue. If it weren't for the hot toddies, you'd never let him kiss you like this with people around. When you break away, he's breathless. "You look so good tonight," he confesses, the hand holding yours leaving to meet your cheek, "Can't stop lookin' at you." "Well thank you for the dress," you smile, "It's all you."

"Fits you like a glove," he smirks, "No lines or anything."

You blush but he can't tell, "Well I'm not wearing anything under this so that's why."

Steve chokes, sputtering, astounded at how you can say that to him so casually. The whole time he's had his hands on you, it's only been this flimsy velvet fabric keeping him from feeling your skin. All night you've been naked under this -- and you're just telling him now?

"Uh -- um," his voice cracks, "Do you uh, um, you wanna see my -- um, my office?" "I don't know, is it interesting?" you ask with a laugh. His hands skate down to your ass, the whiskey in your system tells you its okay when he lets his palms roam the mass of it. "Can make it so interesting for you," he says, lips brushing yours, "So, so interesting."

His hands and lips are on you the moment you step into the elevator and the doors close. His tongue runs a flat stripe over your collar bone, over the twenty four karat gold chain around your neck, following your jugular until he gets to your job.

"Your quarterly review came in," he murmurs in your ear, hand skating up your dress to tease you. Fingers brushing over your inner thighs, creeping slowly upward while you whine, "It's abysmal."

The doors ding open and he pulls you by the hand down the hall to the corner office. The windows show off the Indianapolis skyline, buildings glittering from floor to ceiling. There were packing boxes littered around, leather chairs and a couch cross from his desk for meetings. A bar cart left abandon in the corner with a large oak desk in the center. "Abysmal?" you reply innocently while he shuts the door behind you, "Does that mean I'm gonna get fired?"

He finally gets a good view of you from behind and bites his fist bringing the other hand down hard with a loud CRACK! against your ass. He smirks to himself with you yelp. "It might," Steve sinks down into the chair behind his desk, beckoning you over with a finger.

“Wanna keep your job?” he asks with a sly smirk, the authority building in his chest.

“Yes, Mr. Harrington," you playfully whisper. "Then show me," he sighs, reaching for his belt. The clink of the metal on the buckle being undone sent a shiver through you. He stayed relaxed in his office chair, pulling out his length to pump it lazily in his fist.

"Don't be such a tease," he scolds while you stand there, gaping at his cock, feeling behind you to twist the lock on the door.

"Steve! You can't just -- you're at work!" you gasp, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise.

"You just locked the door," he shrugged, "They're all downstairs, c'mon just -- please, come suck my dick. It's already out."

“You’re insane,” you laugh, “We have to go back out there eventually, Harrington.”

“I promise I won’t mess up your makeup,” he pleads, a soft grunt escaping his lips while he quickens his pace on his cock.

“So, I suck your dick,” you start, walking slowly back towards his desk, “And what do I get?”

“Baby, in that dress, you can have anything you want,” he gasps as he runs his thumb over his leaking tip, watching your hips sway while you continuing your slow strut toward him.

“Want me to fuck you instead?” he asks, “God, fuck, bend over the desk. I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

“Very forward, Mr. Harrington,” you coo, slowly reaching for the hem of your dress, “Can I keep my job if I let you fuck me?” "Keep your job?" he pants while you bend over in front of him, hem slowly rising over your thighs, "Give you the whole--whole fucking c-company." Your dress slips over the curve of your ass, legs taught and flexed while balancing your weight on your tall heels.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispers while he stands, still fucking his fist while he does it, "Your body's just...shit, you're so...I wish you could see how you look."

He clumsily reaches for the middle drawers on the side of his desk, hastily fishing into a half empty box of condoms. You can't stifle the laugh that bubbles out of your chest, "How many people are you fucking in here, Steve?"

"Shh, just shut up," he huffs while he quickly works the latex over his shaft. "Well excuse me," you murmur, bracing yourself while he puts one hand on your hip. The other dips between your legs, pressing against your entrance. "You nice and wet for me?" he asks gently, soaking his fingers in his mouth and coating your opening with a mix of your slick and his spit. "Y-yeah," you say breathily, rocking back onto his hand. Steve smirks, feeling your walls puff and twitch as his touch. You feel his length slide between your thighs, hand guiding his tip to drag across your folds, parting them as he pushes in just an inch or two. You hiss at the intrustion, you were wet but not relaxed. The let downs of not having enough time for foreplay. He runs a calming hand down your back over your dress. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he soothes, "I'll go slow." You feel his hips slowly pull out and push in again, coaxing your walls to start accomdating him. You part your legs a little, the arch in your back matching the porn stars in 'SLUTS AND CEOS XXX' videos you were sure Steve had seen before. Slickness builds between your legs while he pushes his hips in and out again, more and more of his length getting sucked in. You hear him groan when it gets all the way to the hilt.

"So tight..." he grumbles. It was almost uncomfortable for him, he knew you were turned on enough, "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah, sort of," you nod, wincing, "Hurts a little."

"Sorry," he apologizes again while running a hand through his hair, "Lemme...hm..." You hiss again when he pulls out, looking back to see him get to his knees while his hands grip your thighs. Steve just goes for it. His tongue immedately making contact with your entrance. "Steve, oh..." your eyes roll back when he parts your lips with his thumbs, tongue gliding forward to your clit while his fingers find home inside of you. "There we go," he chuckles darkly, "Did she just need a little somethin' extra from me?" "Oh, shit, that's so good," you whisper, covering your mouth to stop your whimpers escaping from under his office door. His fingers pumped like pistons inside of you, teasing your g-spot just enough to get you dripping down your thighs. "Think it'll be okay now?" he asks, his hand meeting your hip while he gets back to full height. "Mhm," you gulp when you feel his head push in, and then the rest of him. Much easier this time around. "Fuuuuck, me," he groans, his hips rolling in steady thrusts against you. You cover your mouth harder, moans caught in your throat, in your palm, threatening to ricochet of the high ceilings of his office. "Better, baby? That feel good?" he asks, his voice clouded behind breathy grunts. You were still tighter than normal, and while that was great, he'd fucked you enough times to know when something wasn't working. "Really good, Steve," you whine through gritted teeth. His speed picks up, the skin of his thighs clapping loudly against the backs of yours. Steve's thrusts are shallow, hitting deeper and deeper until you're on the toes of your heels. "Look--oh fucking fuck--Look back at me," he pleads, "Wanna see you." You oblige and he sighs at the sight of you, reaching forward to move your hair away from you, "So pretty for me."

Steve never looked at the girls he was fucking in his office. It was always just to get off, to feel good after a rough meeting. To let off some steam after his underlings fucked up yet another sale. New secretaries, mail girls, office assistants, you name it -- all he had to do is wink and they'd be bent over his desk by lunch. "I'm close," he admits with a blush, "S'just...mmm fuck, s'what you do to me." "That's okay," you smile, his hand reaching forward again to touch your face. "Been hard since you fuckin'--oh shit, Christ--since you got here," his brows are furrowed while he watches you. Swollen wet lips letting out soft moans while he pumps into you. God, he'd do anything to keep you like this -- wet and ready for him. You catch his hand, pressing kisses to his fingertips, eyeing him mischeviously while you do it.

"D-don't, you're gonna m-make me---" he warns, another groan taking over while you slip his first and middle finger into your mouth. Sucking expertly, your lipstick smearing on his knuckles. "J-just need s-something in your mouth, hm?" his face contorts, brows furrowing while he clamps his eyes down. Whatever authority he had in his voice falls into boyish whines when your tongue swirls between his fingers. It's a sensation he didn't know he'd like so much, having his fingers sucked on while he was buried inside you. Something about the warm wetness of your mouth. The dirtiness of it. The way you'd wink at him while you did. He took his fingers out with a sharp inhale of breath, trying to stave off his orgasm. Instead, he uses them to wrench your hair back, your chest arching off the desk. The sound of your cry would definitely be heard a few doors down if anyone else was around. You involuntarily clench down on him, gushing. "Oh I see, you want me to be a little mean?" he asks against your neck, open palm coming down against your ass again, "Put you in your place?"

"In my p-place? Please. I thought I was getting the whole c-company?" you ask slyly, turning back to face him against the hold in your hair, "Isn't that what you promised...?"

You raise your eyebrows at him, mocking his own approach to the edge, mouth gaping. "Isn't that what you p-promised, Mr. Harrington?"

He gasps, hips stuttering while his grip in your hair slacks and clutches your shoulder. Gutteral groans flow from his throat, a string of expletives pour from his mouth. Gasps of phrases like, "My little office whore...fucking Jesus, my perfect girl...Pretty -- oh god -- pretty baby..." Steve slows his thrusts to nothing, heaving his breaths until they steady and leaning forward to rest his forehead on your back. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, "You didn't..." "I didn't," you shake your head, "But it's okay."

"It's not okay," he says while pulling out, carefully removing the condom and tossing it in the trash can under his desk. "Gross, Steve," you admonish, standing up. You adjust your dress while turning to face him and he frowns, "Someone has to clean that up."

"Don't put your dress down, let me --" he reaches for the hem, but you stop him.

"Steve, it's fine. We have to go back downstairs, they're gonna know you're missing," you smile while you say it, "They're loving you down there."

"I'll make it up to you later," he promises, pressing a soft kiss against your lips, "Wake up all the neighbors when we get home tonight."

"Whatever you say, Harrington," you roll your eyes while you get to the door, clicking the lock. You both make your way to the bathroom when you leave his office, making quick work of cleaning up. He waits for you against the wall across from the door, your purse in his hand. "Hi," he smiles, when you exit, "Missed you."

You scoff, reaching for your purse and fishing out a compact to touch up your lipstick and powder. He walks next to you while you touch up, arm slinging around your waist while he does.

"You're gonna make me mess it up," you say, swiping a line of color over your lips. "I already messed it up back there," he shrugs while the elevator doors ding open, "What's a second time?" He pushes you up against the elevator wall when the doors close behind you, "Or a third time?" You hum into his kiss, hungry and touchy, feeling yourself swell between your legs.

Another drink and an hour on the dance floor later and you're back at the table while the guys chat with cigars on the opposite side of the room. Steve stands with a hand in his pocket, cocky and confident, while he talks with his work friends -- you're sure about something he doesn't really care about. Mergers and acquistions.

"He sent Rob's secretary three dozen roses as a goodbye gift," one of the women at the table behind you said to another. "Oh, you know he just did that to piss him off," her friend replied, "Muffy told me she doesn't even like him like that. It's all been for fun."

"He told her to come visit him in New York any time," she shrugged, "But he stopped sleeping with her earlier this month cause he said he's got himself a girl in the city."

"Can't believe he's going to New York for some girl," she complains, "He stopped flirting with everyone. But you know what? Good riddance, he's fucking boring now. Hot but boring." "It's not the girl he brought tonight, right?" the other woman asks, "That's gotta be a friend from school or something. She's not very New York looking, pretty home grown if you ask me."

It doesn't bother you, but your shoulders tense a little. In your own little world with Steve was one thing, but to hear people confirm your slight fears about what the future could hold was another. You couldn't deny the sinking feeling in your chest every time you remembered he was moving to New York. Moving into your life in a way you'd never had him before. Disrupting the whole life you built there by yourself, a place you've been able to call home without anyone from your real home to bother you. 'Got himself a girl', since when? Weren't you just having fun? Before you can get too lost in your thoughts, he's coming towards you with your coats in his arms, holding yours out in front of him. "You wanna get outta here, baby?" he asks, there's a slight slur to his words that makes you laugh. "Sure," you smile. You hear a soft 'Oh, shit,' come from the table behind you. "You need me to find a phone to call for a car?" you ask him. He shakes his head, "No, they'll call one for us downstairs." You put on your coats, led around for a flurry of goodbyes before heading back into the elevator to the lobby. He takes your hand immeidately, leading you to the front desk to ask for a car before taking you outside to wait. "You have fun?" he asks, pulling you in to hold you, protecting you from the cold. "Oh, a lot of fun," you smile, "You brought your dancin' shoes, for sure." "Had to, since you're so nice to dance with," he smiles, hands dropping from your arms to laces fingers with yours. You smile, but he notices there's something off about it, not as genuine, "You okay?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, fine," you shake your head, "Just thinkin'."

"Yeah, I've been thinkin' too and um..." he starts, looking down, brows furrowing, "Thinking about you and uh--"

"What did you mean the other night, on the phone? When you said 'It's what it implies'?" he asks, thumb gliding idly against your gloved hand. One of his co-workers came bumbling through the revolving door, eyes glazed over with the buzz of alcohol. You dropped his hand before whoever this was could register it, embarrassment buzzing through you. If the women were talking about you, you couldn't imagine what the men were saying.

"Hey man, goodnight -- good to see you and uh -- yeah g-good luck if oh, shit I'm so fucked up dude -- good luck if I don't see you," he slurred, pulling Steve in for a hug. "Thanks, Jack. Easy there, buddy," Steve rolled his eyes at you from over his shoulder before he let go, "You're not driving tonight, right?"

Jack shakes his head and laughs, leaning against are large stone sqaure pillar. His eyes semi-follow the figure of a beautiful woman in a maroon dress pushing through the revolving door.

"Jack, let's go," she calls, like a mother to a son. She waves him over with her clutch, engagement ring glinting in the buildings facades.

"That's my ride," he smiles, stumbling over to her. They take eachother's hand and she offers an apology over her shoulder, saying goodnight to Steve and smiling at you.

"Sorry about that,” Steve says apologetically, reaching for your hand again, “You we’re saying.”

“Just that,” you stuttered, unable to find the right words to say to explain it, “I don’t know Steve. I’m not like — I don’t — This isn’t — ugh..”

“Take your time, Manhattan,” he teases. You don’t want to hurt him, especially not when he smiles at you like that.

“Bringing me here,” you start, “In this dress you bought me, in this necklace. Dancing with me, taking me to your office. It’s making people think we’re together.”

“Are we not?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing, “Cause I thought that — like, we talked about — have you been sleeping with other people?”

“No, Steve, I haven’t,” you shake your head, keeping your voice calm, “But I’m not going around telling people that you’re my boyfriend.”

Steve’s face drops a little, some pink rising in his cheeks that isn’t coming from the cold, “Oh.”

“I thought you liked me,” Steve confessed, “That you, y’know — that you wanted me. That you liked me the way I like you.”

“I do like you, Steve,” you tell him, your hand resting on his chest, “But what if this isn’t what you really want? What if this is just fun for now?”

"I mean, I -- I uprooted my whole life for you," Steve argues, "I'm moving to New York in a week and a half."

"I didn't ask you to do that for me. You wanted to do something new," you calmly explained back, "I said I thought it would be a good idea."

"You said we could try it for real..." his voice got weak, caught in his throat. Steve's amber eyes rounding while he looks at you, how the street lights dance across the jewelry he bought you, the gloss on your lips.

"When you got there," you corrected, "And what if you get there and that's not what you want anymore? There's a lot to offer guys like you in the city, Steve. It's a totally different world than the one I'm living in."

"I can bring you into it with me," he pleads, hands sneaking under your coat and finding your waist.

"Steve..." you say knowlingly, your shoulders sinking. Your fingers reach up and brush his hair out of his face, delicately following the line of his cheek.

"Nat, please, I..." his voice trails off when he realizes what he's about to say. You watch his Adam's apple bob while he swallows the words.

"Don't say it," you whisper softly, shaking your head, "You don't mean it."

A cab finally pulls in, and you take a glance at it over your shoulder. "I'm gonna go home, okay?" you ask. You turn to pull out of his hold, but he pulls you in desperately.

"Natalie..." disappointment soaks your name when he says it, "Just -- c'mon. We can forget this whole conversation. Please, come home with me."

You shake your head no.

"Please?" he begs, pulling you a little closer to him, "Please?"

You lean in to kiss him, taking him all in. His cologne, the way his lips taste, the way he moves his hands from your waist to your jaw. He wants to keep you there forever, pausing his life for however long it took to get bored of how our lips feel against his. He doesn't think there's a time when he will.

You break away when the cab beeps, brushing your nose against his like he does to you, "I had a really nice time."

"Me too," Steve kisses your forehead, swallowing the lump in his throat when he accepts that you're not staying the night, "Call me a little later? So I know you made it in okay?"

"Of course," you promise. It hurts to look at him like that, tears shining in his eyes that he’s trying to blink away.

“Goodnight Steve,” you smile with your lips closed, afraid that if you open them you’ll never stop talking about all the things you’re afraid to talk to him about.

“Night,” he says while you turn to hurry towards the cab. As it drives away, you see him wipe at his nose and shake his head, crossing his arms tightly around himself to protect him from the cold now that you weren’t there to keep him warm.

Steve watches the cab leave with a lump in his throat, sniffling hard enough that the cold air burns the back of his throat. There's no way in hell you don't love him back, he thinks. There's no fucking way. When the red lights from the back of the cab disappear onto the city streets he turns back into the lobby, Last Christmas plays again softly over the speakers like it's mocking him. The tinny layments bouncing off the marble floor and back into his ears, down to his chest where his heart thumps painfully. Rob, and his secretary Muffy, stumble out of the elevator bank drunk with giggles and empty champagne flutes. He catches Steve walking towards the security desk and lets out a hearty laugh. "You goin' home alone Harrington?" he asks with a grin, "Shoulda let me know, would've brought your friend along. Three's company, huh?" Steve's jaw ticks but he ignores him, letting the gush of cold air soothe over his mixture of sadness and frustration while Muffy and Rob open the door. His shoes click on the marble as he approaches the desk, the music taunts him as he does it. 'A face of a lover with a fire in his heart, a man undercover but you tore me apart...'

"Can I help you with anything else, Mr. Harrington?" the attendant asks. Steve sighs, the breath comes out in a shudder, "Would you mind calling me another cab?" "Right away," he says warmly. Steve appreciates the kindness, he wishes he got the man a goodbye card. The sound of the phonecall for the car is muffled as Steve thinks about how it felt to dance with you, the warmth of your skin, your giggles at the mall, the way you kissed him goodmorning in his bed earlier. He swallows, tears pooling in his eyes. 'But the very next day, you gave it away. This year, to save me from tears, I'll give it to someone special. Special -- someone --' "Car should be here shortly."

"Thanks man, thanks so much," Steve says without turning around to face him. He wipes at his eyes with gloved hand, heading back into the cold to wait for the cab.

Alone.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x you smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff

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vodika-vibes · 8 months

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Ner Kar'ta

Summary: As a long time servant of Palpatine, you take what joy can can when you can. And for Commander Fox, the lost Prince of Mandalore, you are the only bright spot in his life. And now Palpatine knows it.

Pairing: Prince!Fox x Reader

Word Count: 3023

Warnings: Angst

Mando'a used: Ner Kar'ta - lit. My heart

A/N: This is technically a sorta sequel to the Wolffe version of this AU. Technically. But you don't have to read it to understand. Also, while I would normally write this tomorrow, I got mugged by a wild plot bunny, so here it is.

Divider by saradika

You quietly hurry down the cold hallway, the torches Lord Palpatine uses to light the part of his palace devoted to his servants barely bright enough to cast enough light, let alone offer any warmth to the people unfortunate enough to call it home.

You’ve gotten very good at layering to stay warm. Though your slippers do little to protect your feet from the chill of the stone beneath your feet. But, it’s better to have cold feet than to wear something thicker that might make more noise.

Silence is the name of the game as one of Lord Palpatine’s servants.

And you are very good at silence.

You turn down a side hallway, your feet leading you to a specific room. Though you falter when you notice the red clad guards standing at the door. Lord Palpatine’s Imperial Guard.

Why they’re called that, you’re not sure, but it doesn’t matter. The red clad men and women are as cruel and vicious as the men who hold their leashes. You press your back against the wall and duck your head, your arms folding tightly around the rough cloth satchel in your arms. The red clad guards don’t even glance towards you. Which is probably the only upside to being a servant, you are so unimportant that you might as well not exist.

The door to the room that is your final destination swings open, and you immediately stop leaning against the wall, and bow your head. You hear heavy footsteps, and then a pair of heavy boots stops in front of you.

You don’t look up as Lord Vader stops in front of you, and you can feel him glaring down at you with those terrifying yellow eyes. “You are here to tend to the Commander’s injuries.” His voice is flat, and his sentence, which should have been a question, comes out more as an order.

“Yes, My lord,” You whisper, your voice barely loud enough to be heard.

There’s silence for another moment, which, to you, feels like an eternity, and then the boots turn away from you, “The Commander has a few broken bones, girl. See to it that he’s healed properly for his duty in the morning.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away, my lord.” You keep your head bowed until Lord Vader and the Imperial Guards are gone, and only then do you feel comfortable lifting your head and hurrying down the hall.

You open the door only wide enough for you to slip in, “Commander?” You ask from the doorway just before you shut the door with a quiet click. The room is just as badly lit as the hallway, but even so, you’re able to see the Commander sprawled on his mattress.

You cross the room as quickly as you dare, and you smoothly sink to your knees next to his head. Quickly, and with the ease of long experience, you remove the Commander’s helmet, “Fox? Are you with me?”

He groans and slowly opens his eyes.

He looks…bad. His bruises have bruises, though you don’t see any blood, thank the stars for small mercies, you suppose. “Ner kar’ta,” He murmurs.

Relief washes through you when he speaks, his voice rough from disuse, and in spite of his bruises and injuries, his eyes are bright and alert, so no head injury this time.

“I’m going to remove your armor.” You whisper, “Where is the pain the worst?”

His lips curl up into a ghost of a smile, “Buy a guy dinner first, ner kar’ta.” He jokes weakly.

“Well, it’s your lucky day. I was able to smuggle some fresh fruit from the kitchens as well as a sandwich.” You reply, lowering your voice even more.

“Risky,” He murmurs.

“You’re worth it.” You reassure gently, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder, “Now, please, where is the pain the worst?”

“Chest, ribs. Vader was pissed today, don’t know why.” He groans lowly as you, as gently as possible, start unfastening his armor and setting it to the side.

“He didn’t seem any angrier than usual when I ran into him,” You reply as you carefully help him sit up to remove his back plate, and then lay him back on the mattress.

Fox grabs your wrist to stop your movements, “Ner kar’ta…You ran into Vader?” He asks, something like panic crossing his face as he scans you for any injuries, “Are you hurt?”

“No. He spoke with me, but that’s all.” You run your fingers soothingly across the top of his hand, “I’m not important enough to hurt, my love, please don’t worry about me.”

“Can’t help it,” Fox replies as the tension drains out of him, now that he’s sure that you’re uninjured, “You’re the only good thing in this place.”

I love you, he means. And you both know it. Though speaking the words out loud brings too much risk. And Fox would sooner rip his own arm off than ever say anything that would make your life more dangerous than it already is. You don’t need to hear the words to know the truth, after all.

You favor him with a tender smile, and you press your lips against the top of his hand, before you carefully set it on the bed as well. You move down his body and swiftly strip off the rest of his armor, stacking all of it neatly at the end of his bed.

“Can you remove your undershirt, Fox?” You ask as you settle next to him again, this time opening the satchel and sorting through the various ointments and potions.

“Not without help, I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay, that's why I’m here.” You lean in and slowly help him remove his shirt, revealing a patchwork of bruises, including the angry red ones from his broken ribs. You blink rapidly, to keep your tears from falling, but it doesn’t help. It never does.

His hand moves and cups your cheek, “I always seem to be making you cry, ner kar’ta.”

You sniffle, “Not you, Fox. Never you.”

His smile is slightly rueful, and it becomes a little more real as you turn your head and kiss the palm of his hand. He lowers his arm back to the bed as you start examining bottles. “Palpatine and Vader have been furious for the last couple of days,” He offers, “Have you heard anything?”

You hum thoughtfully as you pick a bottle and start applying the cool ointment to his bruises, “I have, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me anyway.” Fox replies as his voice catches when you press a little too hard against a bruise.

“Sorry,” You lighten your touch slightly, as you consider where to begin, “Palpatine caught one of the Prince’s of Mandalore and the Wizard apprentice to Mandalore.” You explain quietly, feeling Fox tense under your fingers.

“Which Prince?”

You shoot him an apologetic look, “Prince Wolffe,”

Fox closes his eyes and there’s a tremor through his body. You’re not supposed to know that Fox is one of the Prince’s of Mandalore. And you’re definitely not supposed to know that he’s Prince Wolffe’s identical twin brother.

So far as you’re aware, though, you’re the only person outside of Palpatine and Vader who know.

“What happened, ner kar’ta?”

You switch to a different bottle and pour out a small measurement into a glass, “Drink this, it’ll help the broken bones and any internal injuries,” You explain softly, lifting his head slightly so he can drink the elixir without choking, “As for what happened…well, rumor is that Lord Vader helped the little wizard escape from her bonds, and then she managed to break through the protective spells on the tower, and they escaped.”

“And my brother?”

“Alive, so far as I’m aware.”

“Good. That’s good,” Fox closes his eyes, “What else?”

“The Nations are now aware of Palpatine. And Vader.” You whisper.

Fox releases a laugh, “Oh, that’s why Palpatine is so angry. He probably took it out on Vader-” He slowly sits up and twists slightly, before releasing a sigh of relief, “That’s much better.”

“I’m not done,” You fret, your hands fluttering towards the angry looking bruises on his stomach.

He reaches out and cups your face with his hands, “When we get out of here,” Fox murmurs as he leans in and lightly presses his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, “I’m taking you someplace tropic, where you can lay on a beach chair and drink fruity little drinks out of coconuts.”

“Oh? And where are you while I’m getting drunk from coconuts?” You ask fondly, as you continue treating his bruises.

“I’m right there with you. We’ll spend a year doing nothing but relaxing.” Fox murmurs.

“A whole year?”

“Mm. Maybe we’ll go swimming.” He decides as he opens his eyes, “Does that sound nice to you, ner kar’ta?”

“It sounds like a dream,” You murmur, “But it sounds like a dream that I’d like to see.”

He hums quietly, and tilts your head just enough to ghost his lips against yours. He doesn’t allow himself anymore than that, just a brush of your lips against his, before he’s pulling back. “I’ll make it happen, ner kar’ta. I promise.”

You smile at him, though it’s tinged with sadness. You both know that it’s probably never going to happen. “Here,” You reach into the satchel and hand him a sandwich and a fresh fruit, “Eat. I’ll treat the rest of your bruises.”

Fox eats quickly while you finish treating the rest of his injuries, and then you sit back on your heels and slide the treatments back into your satchel.

“...you should go.” Fox murmurs.

“I don’t want to.”

“I know.” He reaches out and lightly caresses your cheek, “In an ideal world, you wouldn’t have to. But I need you to go.”

“I know.” You don’t move for a moment longer, and then you shudder, and carefully get to your feet. You gather your satchel, and make sure there’s nothing indicating that you brought Fox food, and then you lean in and kiss his forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fox physically restrains himself from reaching out to touch you, knowing that if he does neither of you will want you to leave. “Be careful, ner kar’ta.”

You flash him one more smile, and then slip out of the room, quietly shutting the door behind you, and heading back to the room you share with seven other people.

The following morning begins as it normally does. You, and the other servants, are woken far, far too early to begin your prep work for the day. Food is prepped, and rooms are opened just in case Lord Palpatine has any visitors, which he never does, and then you start your normal daily upkeep.

You manage to finish the meal prep (no one can cut veggies as quickly or as uniformly as you can) and you’re about to head out to start cleaning Lord Palpatine’s trophy room (which is far, far less ominous than it sounds, thankfully) when you’re approached by two members of the Imperial Guard.

As per your norm, you move to the side, to allow them to pass…but they don’t. They stop in front of you.

“You need to come with us,” One of the identically dressed men said in monotone.

Terror grips your heart, but you obediently set your dust cloth on a counter, “Of course.”

One of the guards falls into step in front of you, and the other one right behind you, and they march you through the halls until you're standing in Lord Palpatine’s throne room.

You bow deeply towards Lord Palpatine and Lord Vader, and then you stop moving. “This is the one?” Lord Palpatine asks.

“Yes, my lord,” a different Imperial Guard says.

“Hm.” A rough hand grabs your chin and your head is jerked up so you’re looking into Palpatine’s eyes, “How long have you worked for me, girl?”

“Since Naboo, my lord.” You reply quietly, he releases you and you have to fight the urge to rub at the bruises that you’re sure are forming.

“I see.” He circles you, like a vulture, and your hands start shaking, “Have you any magic talent, girl?”

“N-no, my lord.”

“I see.” Palpatine finishes circling you and returns to his throne, something cruel crossing his face, “CC-1010.” He calls, “Come here.”

Your heart thud painfully in your chest as Fox steps out from a side room. He’s totally clad in his red and white armor, and his face his hidden from you, but you can feel his eyes on you. “You called me, sir?” he asks, his voice carefully masked by his helmet.

“Kill her.” Palpatine orders.

You take half a step back, and your eyes go wide. Fox hesitates for half a second, not so long that anyone other than you would notice, and then he steps between you and Palpatine.

His hands tremor as he pulls a hunting knife from a sheathe on his hip, and he moves closer to you, until you can feel the heat from his body. He rests the tip of the blade against the hollow of your throat, making a small nick against the thin skin there, and then lightly drags it down to rest against your sternum.

“Trust me?” He asks, his voice low enough that you barely heard him despite how close you’re standing to him.

“Always,” You breathe out in response.

And then the blade pushes home, piercing the tender flesh of your chest with little resistance. There’s blinding pain for a moment, and then there’s nothing.

*********

You wake up some time later, tired and in pain, but very much alive. You’re wrapped in bandages, and for some reason you’re outside.

You blink at the sky, twice, not sure if you’re seeing what you think you’re seeing, and then you turn your head to see if you can figure out what’s going on.

There, only a few feet away from you, Fox is sitting. His hands are shaking and he’s covered in cuts, burns, and bruises, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care, that he’s staining his armor.

“You’re bleeding,” You mumble, as you try to sit up to help him.

His head whips to the side, and a look of such relief crosses his face that you think he’s about to cry, “Hey, ner kar’ta, you need to lay still. You’re hurt really badly.”

You reach out for him, and he immediately takes your hand in his shaking one, “You’re hurt,” You repeat, your eyes scanning his face, tracing the bruises and cuts.

He presses his lips against your knuckles, “It’s no more than I deserve,” He replies, “Fuck, I stabbed you, ner kar’ta.”

“I’m still alive though,” You point out as you squeeze his hand, “And if you hadn’t one of the others would have.”

“Never should have done it,” Fox mumbles against your hand, “Should have thought of another plan.”

“Fox? How am I still alive?” You ask.

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against your hand, “I made contingencies, should Palpatine learn about us and try to use you against me.” Fox admits, his voice shaking, “When I nicked your throat with my blade, I injected a potion that put you into a stasis, so when I-when I stabbed you-” His voice breaks, and he swallows hard, “It didn’t do any damage.”

“That’s incredibly clever, my love.” You praise gently, as you stroke his hand. “What happened after?”

“I…uh…I took responsibility for disposing of your body,” Fox says quietly, “And so I took you and I ran.”

“But you’re hurt?”

“Imperial Guards,” He replies, and something grimly triumphant flickers across his face, “They won’t come after us again. Not when I killed six of Palpatine’s Imperial Guards. He won’t risk Vader against me, or himself.”

“So we’re home free?”

“Not just yet, but…” Fox runs his fingers through his curly hair, “We’ll be passing into Mandalorian territory within the next couple of days. Do you think you can sit up, ner kar’ta?”

Slowly, with Fox’s help, you sit up. Your chest twinges uncomfortably, but you’re not in active pain, which you’re sure to mention to Fox. Which does wonders to wash the guilt from his face.

He moves so his side is pressed against you, and his hands slide up to cup your face, and you close your eyes and lean into his touch, “What happens now?” You whisper, your eyes fluttering closed, as you relax against him.

“Now I take you home, introduce you to my family, and we go on a year long vacation where the only thing we have to worry about is getting you more sunblock.” Fox replies.

You smile, and slowly open your eyes, “That sounds perfect.”

“We deserve perfection, I think.” He says.

Your hands come up and you lightly cup his face, “Hey Fox,” You murmur, “Did you know that I love you?” You speak the words slowly and clearly, able to speak them outloud for the first time without having to worry about anyone hurting him.

He smiles and kisses your hands, “I love you too,” He whispers, “And no one is ever going to try and use you against me ever again.” Something dangerous glimmers in his eyes, and you believe him.

You smile at him, all warmth and love, “Good.” You whisper, and you pretend that you can’t hear the knives in your voice. No one would ever use him either. Never again. Not if you had a say in it.

His smile grows into a grin, and he leans in and kisses you, properly, for the first time, his hands sliding around and burying in your hair as he holds you like he’s wanted to for ages.

And you, thrilled to no longer have to hide in dim corridors and rooms that smell of iron and pain, press yourself as close to him as possible. This was all you’ve ever wanted in your life, and now that you have it, you’re going to hold it as tight as you can.

#star wars #tcw #Commander Fox x Reader #Fox x reader #x reader fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars au

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fornshinoyaz · 9 months

Text

HOW TO: LOSE FEELINGS FOR AN IDIOT

03. HOW TO: BREATHE WHEN HE'S AROUND

series masterlist | previous | next chapter

wc: 4.5k

how to lose feelings for a CERTIFIED, government approved idiot. it should be easy right? wrong. you are absolutely, positively, done for. you have no idea why you’re writing the guide book when you can’t even get past the first step! first step, the only important step really: don’t have your best friend be kei tsukishima. then maybe, just maybe, you’d have a chance.

Something changed between you and Kei Tsukishima. You knew life wasn't static. Change was apart of life. The same way grief, pain, and happiness were too. You were constantly growing and becoming a better version of yourself. Growth was normal for you, but not really for him.

He was a rock. Forever steady, there when you needed him. You were lucky enough to see his past beliefs shake and twist, but Tsukishima himself never changed. Even during your first fight. It was so stupid. You both were stubborn middle school students (the same today, but don't tell). That fight should've broken your friendship.

But it didn't.

Your bond was unbreakable.

Things changed when you left high school. He joined university level volleyball. He had less time for things, you included. Things became absolutely fucked when he got a girlfriend who he (spoilers) also didn't have time for.

Change was normal, but not like this.

You didn't hate it. It wasn’t something you needed to fix; it wasn’t a problem. But you weren’t sure what to do about it. Ignore it? Let it happen? But you couldn't help but sit in your bed and wonder why you weren't rushing to do go after the man who had stolen your heart years ago. Was this not what you longed for years ago?

It was. It is.

But maybe you didn't want to change either.

You don't know what possess you. A demon, a ghost, a space-demon-ghost. You have work tomorrow, and you plan on taking pictures for your photography page. By any metric, you should be asleep right now. It's past midnight. How often was he up past midnight? You tap your fingers together, an anxious habit.

Fuck it.

You call him.

This is silly. This is your best friend of how many years now? Why are you nervous, and sweaty, and oh my god - why is that you can't breathe? Do they make How-To Guides on breathing? Of course they don't. Why would they? You begged your brain to just shut the fuck up.

You fully expect the ring to go on and on, until inevitability you hear his voicemail; "Go away, I don't want to talk to you." and then click. He picks up after the second ring. You blink at your phone and re-check the screen. Maybe you were hallucinating -

"Hello?" His voice is scratchy and deep.

You shiver. "Tsukki?"

"Hm?"

Silence.

"Did you call me to just sit in silence?"

Silence.

"I'm hanging up-"

You jolt upwards in your bed. "Wait, dickhead. I just - didn't know you would pick up."

Now it's his turn to be silent. But you know Tsukki, embarrassment didn't exist to him. He's thinking. You imagine what he looks like. Laying in his bed, or maybe sitting at his desk reading a book. If he's laying down, his glasses are off, maybe his hair is a little messy. You've seen it once or twice, the fluff he wakes up to.

It made you dream of waking up next to him.

"Cool. I picked up. What do you want?"

You swallow. You have no excuse, no reason. You just want to hear him talk.

"Read me a bedtime story?"

"How fucking old are you? Seriously, Y/N. How old."

"You didn't say no."

He sighs on the other line, then shuffles. "I hate you."

He tells you a story. Then another, and then one after that. Your bright screen says two hours the next you look at it. He hates long phone calls.

Yet, he stays.

The bed time stories end, and you might be delirious. It's past two a.m., maybe almost three. What comes out your mouth is no longer your own words, but whatever demons are awake right now.

"Do you believe in the universe?" You ask, voice quiet. A small yawn follows you.

He scoffs, “No, I don’t believe in the fucking universe. Are you high?”

You sigh, and manage to turn in your bed to look up at your ceiling. The low sounds of the city laid outside your windows, but the tall buildings never made seeing the stars easy. So, instead, you put the stars where you could always see them. The stars are there, and in the corner of your eye - the moonlight.

“I think I do. I think that…some things are just, made for you, y’know?”

“No.”

You shake your head, “you don’t believe in anything.”

“No,” he denied swiftly, “I believe in what’s real. Like you and me.”

Your breath stops. You hope he can’t hear that.

“Yeah, me and you."

It sounds too good to be true.

Something else real? You love breaking your own heart.

You fake a yawn this time, "Wow, it's getting late. I think I gotta cut this short. My fish probably needs a walk or something. It’s suffocating in its tiny bowl, I swear.”

A chuckle crackles through the line, a sound you’d come to recognize well. “You’re such a loser."

“You're a bigger one. Bye Tsukki.” you say, and you move back over to your side. Your eyes trace over his contact photo.

“Bye, Y/N.”

The phone clicks. You call him the next day, and he answers.

"Is this gonna be a habit?"

You're in your living room (sort of? also your bedroom, studio apartment things), flickering through the pictures you had taken today. Only thing left was to edit them and post them to your site.

"You don't wanna hear about my day?" you ask.

"Not particularly."

"Bye then-"

He cuts you off.

"Okay, okay. Tell me."

You smile. You grab onto your phone and bring it closer.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Things were definitely changing. It was more than a phone call or two. At first, it was subtle. A gaze held longer than it needed to be, a touch that he should’ve pulled away from.

The next Saturday night found you in Tsukki’s living room, surrounded by your friends in a life-or-death situation. Monopoly. Everyone in the room knew you were the very best at board games. Especially one involving stealing money from idiots.

The room fills with annoyed laughter and groans. Whoever put you and Tsukki together were begging to lose. You smirk. Oh, the taste of victory. You could taste it. You two were unstoppable (why wouldn’t you be?). Kageyama, the sore loser, mutters something about leaving after you bankrupted him. Hinata tells him to shut up, and per usual they end up yelling at each other. It's up to you to call for order.

It didn't last long. You make the winning move. All their property was yours, and so was the game. The room explodes, game pieces and money go flying. Tsukki's coffee table is almost overturned. Monopoly was serious, even for someone like Tsukki. You both jump up. A hard-fought victory deserved a hug.

You go to wrap your arms around him, but he did it first. He hugs you so tight, that you swear you can't breathe (a fatal symptom when being around Kei Tsukishima), and spins. You laugh so hard it reaches your eyes. Then, he releases, and you think it's over.

But then, he holds onto your face, and kisses your forehead—gently, purposeful, like a tall giant. A shock wave goes through you, but he doesn’t even whisper a lick of an apology.

He locks eyes with you. “You’re amazing.”

Oh. Your breath quickens.

"Thanks, I know.” You do what you do best. Deflect. But your mind can't stop hearing him. His words echo through every corner of your brain.

He was driving you mad, and you weren’t the only one noticing it.

The clock struck twelve. You should be finishing your paper. Twelve out of sixteen was your current total. It would be the right thing to sit down, lock in, and focus.

But who decides what's right and wrong?

Not you.

Your paper could have been completed, had it not been for Hinata. But he would not stop calling until you answered. If your professor asks, it's all on him.

It started like this; your sitting at your desk, playing around with your ballpoint pen, when (admittedly) you should be looking over your notes. Turns out, Kageyama and Hinata too, had a paper they should be working on, but decided the night was young and they needed to be out!

You at first, say no, like the considerate future-orientated person you pretend you are. That is, until Tsukishima (who happens to be sitting right next to you on your bed) says two magic words. Let’s go.

Now, you walk through the streets of Tokyo with your favorite people. Your eyes are set on the nearest convenience store. It’s a local beauty, dingy with front lights barely work and weird men who try to sell you things they shouldn't. The greatest place on Earth.

The front sign flickers on and off for a moment, before buzzing in a way that could definitely start a whole store-fire. You and Tsukishima are in matching plaid pajama pants, and you even have a Karasuno volleyball hoodie on. You were not on the team. Hinata smirks when he notices, and whispers (badly) to Kageyama about it.

“She was cold.” is Tsukishima’s excuse. Yeah, right. You owned millions of hoodies—couldn’t you have worn your own?

“Mine are better. Hers are ugly.” he continues.

You scoff. He didn't have to go that far. The cold excuse is enough!

“My hoodies are not ugly. You quite literally have no fashion sense.”

“You’re in denial.” he says.

“You’re lecturing me about denial? Mr. ‘It’s just a club’?” it's a burn that makes Hinata double over in laughter.

“Enough arguing,” Kageyama pushes you forward, a step ahead of the two of them with Hinata who giggles. He quickly shifts you away from the side of the cars.

You grumble, and step over your own two feet before picking up your feet. Tsukishima mumbles something about you having two left feet, and it takes everything in you not to spin around and give him a piece of your mind. He smirks, loving the way your shoulders fall and rise in anger.

He loves the way he gets to you.

“So, Kaggy,” he makes a noise of disgust at the nickname you made up on the spot, “you still texting that one girl?” Hinata’s ears perk up, and Tsukishima looks at him, trying to feign indifference. But you knew him, he wnats to hear the tea just as much you guys did.

“Ha! Kageyama? With a woman!” Hinata barks out, a howl coming out of his lips next makes it even more obnoxious. Kageyama’s face scrunches up, and his laughter is just so infectious that Tsukki can’t help but chuckle. You let out a giggle or two.

“Hinata, last time I checked, your name was NOT Kageyama," you say through a giggle.

“What! I’m not wrong!” Hinata pouted, “I’m not entirely convinced this ‘woman’ exists. I’ve never seen Kageyama talk to a woman before. And I see a lot of Kags, more than I'd like."

Your eyebrow raises. Despite his last comment, he wasn’t that far off. Kageyama was a lost cause when it came to women. He always had been. But, things always change. You saw it in real life, and was sitll shocked. Someone came up to him. She offered him her number, and he freaked out over how to message her.

'Do I just say hey? Is hey weird? Do I say hi instead? Y/N STOP LAUGHING AND HELP ME!'

It was cute, until it had been four whole days and he hadn’t even BEGUN to type a letter. At that point, you stole his phone and did the magic for him. As they texted, it got lighter and easier. Occasionally, at friend hangouts you would see him open his phone and smile, or break away for a moment to send a response back. It was cute, you liked it for him.

“We’re just friends, alright? Nothing more.” Kageyama answers finally, breaking his silence. He kicks a stray rock on the ground, anything to distract from the blood flushing to his cheeks.

“So she does exist!” Hinata’s eyes sparkle like lights on Christmas Day.

“Obviously, idiot.”

You four approach the convenience store and step through the sliding doors. Bells jingled above your head. A tired cashier lifts his eyes momentarily, but seeing you all, becomes uninterested and goes back to looking at his phone. The hum of the fridges calls out to you, ice cream. You need to stop, at this point it was an addiction.

It is as if Tsukki can read your thoughts, and looks down at you with a shake of his head.

“Don’t do it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you hiss back.

“Fine, don’t blame me when your shitting all night.”

“I’ll shit in your mouth.”

“Guys, we’re in public,” Kageyama has to remind, but neither of you care much, and the cashier just frowns as he scrolls through his social media.

You mingle around the shelves, going from packaged ramen, to udon, to spicy and sweet chip bags, to candy filled bags. Hinata and Kageyama whisper around about something, but your eyes search for your favorite candy.

Why the hell isn’t it here?

You frown, and circle the aisle once and then twice. You do it a third time, just to make sure you haven't lost your mind. You almost give up, but then you see one package left—but of course, it's at the very top of the shelf, all the way on the back of the shelf. Great. You can't ask for help. You just can't.

But at the same exact moment, Tsukki rounds the corner and sees you in your struggle. Tsukki is made of legs, but he will not get it—not without you begging him for it, and you will not.

You hold your nose up at him and then cross your arms. “Yup, nothing I want here.”

You were a terrible liar.

“Ask me. Nicely. Then I’ll do it.” he says, that stupid smirk.

“I’m fine. I’ll starve.”

"Beg."

"No."

He sighs, "Your annoying,” he leans forward, grabs the package, and slaps it into your hand. You lurch forward and grab it before it can fall to the ground.

“If you grew more in fifth grade, you would be able to get it.” Tsukki comments before walking away.

You follow after him with a grumble, “Shut up.”

The four of you reconvene at the center of store. The fluorescent lights flicker above your heads, a cool chill flushes from the vents and you dig deeper inside Tsukki’s hoodie.

Tsukishima has a couple of things in his hands—coffee with a strong bitter smell, his favorite chips (salty like him), banana milk, and a small pack of worm shaped sour gummies. Kageyama and Hinata’s piles looked mostly the same—except that Hinata decides sugar was a great idea at this time of night, and no one can really argue. They all had a paper to finish. Except for Tsukki that is. He finished his two weeks ago.

You hated him.

“Name one girl you’ve spoken to that’s not your mother,” Tsukki says to Kageyama.

You, at the same time, approach the counter. The cashier mumbles a quiet ‘finally’ and begins scanning your items. You bend down at the counter, engrossed by a magazine’s cover. A journalist, one of the best who was an alumni of Karasuno University. You pick it up, and add it to your heap of snacks.

“Your mom.” Kageyama says back to him with a shrug. You and Hinata don’t even try to hide your laughter. The cashier glances to you four in annoyance.

“My mom hates you.” Tsukki mumbles.

You reach into your hoodie pocket, and salvage the coins you had thrown inside. Your fingers flip over the different kinds, before reaching the correct amount. The ritual happens quickly—the cashier takes your change, it’s exact like you hoped, and you tell him to keep the receipt.

“Not as much as she hates you.” Kageyama nips back.

You open your package of candy and plop a couple in your mouth. The cashier seems to lose more and more of his faith in humanity as the insults go on and on. He just wants to go home. He lets out a sigh of relief when the doors hiss close and you four are back in the midnight cool.

“Seriously, Kageyama. What does she look like? Is she pretty?” Hinata asks, as soon as they're back outside. He never lets go, and it makes you laugh. Once Hinata was curious, there was no way of shutting him down. Eventually you would have to tell him the truth, and the whole one at that.

“He’s not gonna tell you.” Tsukki says. This time, he’s walking beside you, and steals a small candy from your bag.

“Why not?!” Hinata whines.

“You talk too much, I tell you and then suddenly the whole team will know.” Kageyama answers.

You hum, been there done that. “True. Like Tsukki’s ex.”

The words come out quicker than you can realize. Shit. That was a mistake. The four of you go dead quiet, and your eyes quickly flash to the boy next to you. You expect him to shut down, maybe do that sad Tsukki thing with his eyes.

But nope. He just reaches into your bag again, another candy. He’s completely unmoving. It has been almost a whole year, but you know breakups were a touchy subject. You and Tsukki talk about it rarely, but it was in the background of everything. You saw her influence in many things he did.

How he rejects the advances of girls at your school, how his face shifts when he sees Daichi and his girlfriend after practice. It’s a sting from a wasp that just never died. But maybe, just maybe, the pain had become tolerable? You are not often wrong.

“Hinata’s a loud mouth. Always will be.” A classic Tsukki response. You grin. Tolerable. That was better than nothing.

You interject, rejoining the conversation with a playful grin. “Come on, Kageyama, give them a little hint..”

Kageyama crosses his arms defensively. “Weren’t you suppose to be on my side, Y/N?”

Tsukishima shakes his head. “Y/N’s on the side that pays her.”

“Right,” you nod.

Kageyama eyes you both dangerously. You know something slick is going to come out of his mouth. He can't help himself. “Tsukki, you pay her?”

You rub the back of your neck. Ah. Tsukki rolls his eyes.

“Please shut up."

The walk back to your apartment is quiet, a calm against Kageyama and Hinata constant push-and-pull. They leave first, they live on the opposite side of you, closer to campus. You make sure to steal one of Hinata's pretzels before he goes.

It's always you and him. Walking together, past midnight.

Your heart is pulling you towards him; your shoulders brush once, and then twice, and he says nothing. On the third time, he bumps your shoulder back. You smile. You shut your mouth, because it’s late, and you’re tired, and this isn’t the time to be saying anything you'll regret.

The paper is done. 1/2 of your project. The other half? A presentation. You hate this shit. You push through. You didn't even stutter once. You can see how proud Tsukki is. But now, it's time for closing remarks.

Your eyes dart around the room. From the clock, to your laptop, to your best friend. Tsukki wore a slight smirk on his face. You knew what that meant. But he wouldn't, the presentation is almost over, you are almost in the clear.

As your group mate say their closing remarks, you hear the dreaded phrase. You stiffen when his hand slowly rises. He sucks. You almost want to bark to your groupmate, don’t, but you imagine your teachers angry deducting points from your final grade.

“Yes, Tsukishima?” You have to force out. Suck it up. You can hear a couple of stifles of laughter in the classroom. They knew he was about to waste your time. Your fingers impatiently tap on your skin, something he notices with only a quick glance.

“Uh, yes. I think I’m still a little confused. Can you give a more in-depth example of how you would use aerodynamics in this situation, Ms. Y/N? Sorry, it’s just what you were talking way too fast, I didn't catch it all.”

He was such an ass.

You bare your teeth, and force a nod. “Of course. So, aerodynamics…”

The presentation goes on for a record seven minutes after. You want to ignore him so bad, and at first you do this successfully. You could breathe now, easily.

As class dismisses, you walk straight past his desk, and he follows you down the steps of the building, and onto the main campus. He's like a bed bug that never leaves, even if you set the whole damn building on fire.

But this is Tsukki, he's done way worse, but he knows you were hungry and needed to be in the dining hall as soon as the clock struck 10. Yet, he still chose to be the normal dickhead he is.

“You know you can’t stay mad at me forever,” he says as you round the corner to your dining hall. You turn around to meet his eye and frown, to make it known that you CAN, but then...his stupid smile. You almost crack. A strong almost.

“You wanna bet on that?” you settle for, and quickly turn around before you can change your mind.

Tsukishima sighs. He jumps into your peripheral vision and drops his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. His smell, woody and fresh, meshes well with the scent of old rain and coffee from the university students around you.

You look up at him. His jaw, his slight smile. This is too comfortable, being like this with him. You would’ve thought just from looking at you two, that you were a couple. The thought makes you want to die. In another universe maybe, or two.

For now, you didn't think about what universe you guys could've gotten together in. Instead, you enjoy the moment.

Your campus is as quiet as it gets. The large buildings, and their large glass panes should suck you both in, but you're in your own world. Several people whisper as you pass, ‘isn’t that Kei?’ they ask. It’s like they are tearing apart every part of you; the way you dress, the way you walk, the way you look. You forget sometimes that he’s ‘popular’ on campus. All of the volleyball guys were. All the eyes on you make you lean closer to him, and Tsukishima’s grip tightens.

He didn't pay any of the eyes on him any mind, he just focuses on you.

“Y/N,” he says in that annoyingly childish way that’s reserved for you. He knew how to tick you off—and if it were legal, you would’ve killed him right there, “Look, I’m sorry, but how could I resist?” he smiles and that ticks you off more, even if he's beautiful.

“I hate you, more than I hate aerodynamics.”

“Stop saying you hate me. You don’t.”

You really do hate him and you would never stop saying it; it's because of how nonchalant he is as you walk through your dining hall. How he ignores every women’s eye; every question that’s flung in his direction. You feel this way because through every bicker, every walk home, every moment he fills your life with so much happiness you know it would never amount to anything. Nothing you could see. Nothing that was real.

You and him? That wasn't real. Not in the way it was for Tsukishima. To him, you are the little girl he met at the sandbox. He would never be yours.

At the end of the night, all you can do is dream. You dream of a world where Tsukki knows, and he loves you as something more than his stupid childhood best friend.

You think about being more than his secret-holder and his unmoving rock. You want to finally know what it means to kiss the soft lips of Tsukki, to have his fingers dance around your waist and squeeze you so tight you couldn’t breathe, to wake up next to him and hug more than your own shoulders.

Fuck Kei Tsukishima.

Your lungs ache.

Monday morning is spent without him, and so is Tuesday. Then the day after that, and the day after that one. It isn’t something new, this routine. This is how you two were. But not recently. Being around him..was nice. But did you really think it was going to last forever?

The calls go from everyday, to him hearing the sound of your voicemail.

You take a sip of your latte, and try to focus on Yamaguchi’s words that are becoming harder and harder to listen to. For whatever reason, the universe, or whatever was out there likes torturing you. You can't get the guy once, and now you can't get him twice. It was like someone took the fork inside of Yamaguchi’s muffin and stabbed you right in the heart. He’s so blonde, and so stupid, and is sitting on a bench next to a water fountain with someone who looks nothing like you.

That was his type. It burns, much more than the hot coffee flowing down your throat. You down a scary amount of coffee that makes Yamaguchi stop in his tracks.

“You two make me sick. You have to tell him.” he says, and you finally look away from the scene.

“No, I don’t, actually. Can we focus on studying, please?”

You’re a hypocrite. He scoffs. You know it. Like you weren’t just staring down both of them for a solid ten minutes.

“He’s not dating her. You know? Says he doesn’t believe in love anymore.”

It hurts. You pretend it didn't.

“So, why would you tell me to tell him?”

Yamaguchi looks at you. He’s serious. Possibly the most serious you’ve ever seen him.

“You’re different. You can pretend you aren’t, but I know it and you know it. Ever since the sandbox.”

The butterflies in your chest flutter painfully.

“Focus, yeah?”

Yamaguchi sighs. “Yeah. One day, you’ll get sick of this shitty game.”

Then, that one day happens. It’s friday night. A long time ago, you guys made a tradition to spend friday nights together.

But not today, you made up some sort of excuse. Project tomorrow!

He didn’t question you the first three times, but the fourth he didn’t allow. You’re freshly out of a shower. You wipe the steam off the mirror in your bathroom, and double check your phone. A text? No, scratch that. Multiple text messages. At least twenty. Most of them are threats. Your eyes staple on the most important ones.

tsuk tsuk (lol): stop fucking ignoring me

tsuk tsuk (lol): i asked yamaguchi he said u had no project due

tsuk tsuk (lol): be straight up w/me if i did something to offend ur sensitive ass

tsuk tsuk (lol): y/n?

tsuk tsuk (lol): ur always on ur phone so ik ur reading this

tsuk tsuk (lol): did u get u a bf? is that y ur ignoring me?

tsuk tsuk (lol): nvm i don’t care. he can die too.

tsuk tsuk (lol): i’m coming over. unlock the door idiot

What the actual fuck. You’re in shock, and in his hoodie, when he appears at your front door. He’s not amused.

a/n: a bit of a cliffhanger hehehehehehhe i'm sorry i couldn't help myself :))) i enjoyed writing this even if it took the longest omg. lmk your thoughts on the chapter !!!! also yes the pic change was purposeful, colorful ver now hehe

taglist !!! @kei-tsuki21 @marga-j @xxizuchanxx @horr0rvacu1 @lavenderhotcoco @sami-stable @awkwardaardvarkforever @rorygilmoreclown @rachlubsuu @sixxze @lonelyladyghost @kurenix @nemisimp @doofusthebozo @scarred-keys @yenqa @zenilili @dani-shitting-around @carolineesnell @annonymoose

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ofoceansandtombsanew · 2 years

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How CSM Characters Love (As Told by Tarot) II

tags: gn!reader, headcanons, spoilers for anime onlys

a/n: the csm anime is finally out and it’s already looking so good! i’m not sure how much of this constitutes as spoiler heavy, but for anime onlys these are characters that haven’t appeared in the anime yet as of posting so i’d skip this post. other than that though, let’s get this tarot show on the road! i’ve already done reze and i’ve done denji, aki, power and makima in another post so enjoy.

angel devil

knight of cups, seven of swords, the emperor, the moon

angel never wanted to be a city mouse, but you make the city mouse life he’s forced to lead bearable. his love for you runs deep and there’s a soft melancholy in how he holds you that you can’t quite explain. there is just one thing holding him back and that’s his fear of being the reason you die. that it won’t matter how careful you are, holding hands through gloves and only sharing light pecks with cloth between your lips. one day he’ll slip up and touch your skin and be the reason your lifespan is shorter than what was originally planned. what if makima uses you as another tactic to keep him in the birdcage she has carefully crafted for him or decides you’re a distraction and dispose of you? how can the angel devil truly promise to himself he’ll protect you if the greatest threat to your life is himself? these thoughts plague him constantly and he wonder if still pursuing the relationship despite that is selfish and if he should let you go if he truly loves you. at the very least, angel wants to stay by your side for as long as this dangerous city mouse life allows. but if push came to shove, he’d abandon it for you. if there is something that would make him consider facing his fears and betraying makima, it would definitely be you.

kobeni

death, eight of swords, two of wands, nine of chalices

love for kobeni is a rebirth. she wasn’t dealt the luckiest hand in life and she always felt trapped by it. even if the key to her escaping the confines of her life was right there, she’d honestly be too afraid to take it. being stuck in a familiar pattern of misery is more comfortable than taking the risks in lands unknown. but loving you is what made her decide to take it and try exploring that unknown. there’s a lot of hiccups in the beginning, changing yourself for the better doesn’t happen over night it takes patience and efforts but to kobeni its worth it. you’re worth it and its worth it to her to change from the self she deems pathetic and becoming a stronger version of herself that can look after herself competently as well as her partner. you both find joys in the little things whether it’s getting ice cream or going to the movie theatres, it’s a simple love.

kisibe

four of wands, the hanged man, seven of wands, ten of pentacles

kishibe’s love is loyal; it perseveres and lasts long. he doesn’t fight against the feelings he has for you, he easily surrenders to the waves. cynical as this man is, he’s warm to the idea of soulmates. or rather, he might say he feels he was born to love you. in spite of the devils and the injuries he sustains, a quick thought of you waiting for him to return home is enough to keep him fighting for tomorrow. if kishibe has his way, he won’t be leaving the devil hunter’s association in a body bag but through retirement to spend the rest of his years with you and any family you make whether it is you and some children or you and a collection of cats and dogs. it won’t be long until he’s on patrol, cigarette in hand when the thought of doing that will cross his mind. perhaps it is time for this old dog to let the next generation handle things instead of making you worry constantly for his wellbeing.

quanxi

temperance, knight of cups, the lovers, three of cups

ignorance is bliss and so is quanxi’s love for you. it doesn’t matter how many lovers she has, she loves them all equally and you’re no exception. you’re all connected, she’ll protect you all with her life. quanxi might not be the best with her words, but you’ll quickly find that her actions speak louder. you can see it in how she recalls details you mentioned about yourself in passing and how she’ll bring you your favorite snack when you’re working, how she somehow manages to remember the preferred drinks of all of lovers on dates without missing a beat. quanxi makes you feel like you’ve gained more than one lover, but three more women for whom your heart has plenty of room. even in this world of devil and fiends, here is happiness to be found in it as long as you know where (and where not) to look. this is the thread that binds.

#look she's writing #headcanons #tarot #chainsaw man x reader #csm x reader #angel devil x reader #kobeni x reader #kishibe x reader #quanxi x reader #oooh i cannot wait to see them all in episodes #i do not apologize for the person i will be when they are animated and voiced #i need more than just shots of them in the op

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that-ari-blogger · 5 months

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Chekhov's Gattling Gun, Part 2

Usually, the climax of a story is the climax of someone's life. Right? There will be moments afterwards, but this is the main thing to happen to the protagonist, and they will spend the rest of their time winding down.

And yet, life doesn't work that way. Happily ever after can happen, but its usually more complex. New problems come into being and old ones might fade without every really being addressed. So, what if there was a climax to a story that mirrored this? How would that happen?

It would probably be about how to move forwards. It might suggest that there will be more trouble ahead, you just need to bear this with a smile and move on with your life. Push through to a greater tomorrow.

Maybe the antagonistic force is centred around regression? Maybe they want to preserve the past at any cost, even killing those whom they claim they want to protect.

You might end up with something like The Trial, from Stray Gods: The Role Playing Musical.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Stray Gods pays homage to a ton of Ancient Greek stories. The Odyssey is a notable one, as Adrift is a reference to Odysseus and his journey. But this moment is, at least in my eyes, reminiscent of the Orestia.

The Oresteia details the death of Agamemnon after the Iliad (because he was a wanker), and the consequences thereof. You can see the theme of choice and consequences pretty boldly there. The story is named after Orestes, the exiled son (it's complicated) of Agamemnon, and the murder spiral that leads to the invention of the Athenian justice system at the hands of Athena. Overly Sarcastic Productions has a fantastic video on the subject.

In any case, the story's climax decides how Orestes will go forwards, specifically alive, because of a murder he committed in revenge, because its technically a tragedy. This is reflected in Stray Gods, with the climax featuring a trial, with Athena serving as a judge, over a murder that the protagonist "committed".

The difference here is Athena's position in this. Because Calliope was killed on Athena's orders, in an attempt to preserve the past. This is a complete heel face turn from the Oresteia. Now instead of changing the world for the better, Athena is trying to keep it the same. But I would argue this isn't out of character.

There is another theme at work here, and I will get there in a moment.

Before that, however, the callbacks. My favourite is Freddie's moment, because it is Freddie, not Grace, that is Athena's antithesis. Grace falls in the middle of themes, unable to choose, unable to decide. She gets swept up in a murder plot, in which everyone is thinking grand scale, and wrapped in complex relationships with the past and future. Athena wants to control the future to hang on to the past, for example.

And Freddie doesn't care about that. Freddie is there for Grace, that's it, she's concerned with the little things. She believes that life will find a way, and you just have to ride the waves. It is notable that this is a version of the song where you, as Grace, have very little say in the events. Grace has relinquished control and will do as Freddie says. She will make her move, and await the result.

"Only, if only you knew

that you can't force the future"

I also love that little look at Grace as she says that, I take it as acceptance and forgiveness, momentarily, for the revival against her will.

But I also find the wording fascinating. Athena is the goddess of wisdom, and yet the response to her is "if only you knew." Wisdom should have gotten her this far, but something is holding her back.

Look at Apollo's body language here. This is the tune of Phantom Pains, a song notable for its deeply morose atmosphere, and now Apollo sings the tune with a bit more oomph, but his posture is... relaxed? He stands there, chest bare, heart open, holding out a hand to Athena.

And look at Athena's response to it. She's expecting a fight, something to stop her. But instead, Apollo is calm, and quiet. He's reassuring in posture, in contrast to what he's saying. Apollo means no harm here, there's a care for the enemy there that I really like.

"You're lost, little boy.

You've lost all perspective

You're ready to throw this away,

You call that wise."

For a woman who's whole thing is reason and debate, Athena's response to Apollo's question is fascinating. She doesn't answer it at all. Apollo asks if she is still a voice of wisdom, and Athena's response is an insult.

I think she knows she's losing it, and like Apollo does earlier in the musical, she is lashing out. "The best defence is a good offence" is a sentiment with debatable success in war, but in conversations like this, it is foolish.

Pan represents living in the moment. He is a smooth talker, here for the dancing type of character. But if you linger around a beach long enough, you will probably get an idea of what the waves are like, and what might happen when the wind changes.

"I'm here for the dance,

But I don't want to dance

with blood on my hands."

Athena is trying to keep everything the same, to crystalise a singular moment in time, and while all the other idols are suffering, so the obviously don't want to stay motionless, Pan is the truest embodiment of what Athena is trying to protect. Athena wants the carefree life of dancing, and that moment personified looks back at her and calls her out for destroying it. The dance isn't fun when people are being killed.

"Lost little girls, they dream up a future.

They're sure how they feel, sure their vision's true"

Who, exactly, is Persephone talking about here? Because it could fit Grace, as a compliment, to say Grace is sure of herself. Or it could be directed at herself and Athena.

Persephone was a character who saw everything as a threat and a weapon to be used against her, she tried to get back a past that was lost. But here is Athena, dressed in armour for a trial, ready to fight at the slightest hint of trouble, trying to hold on to a moment that has long passed, if it ever existed at all.

This reading is made even more apparent by Persephone's words in a different version of the song.

"A great shiny throne, but still in the darkness.

Kill her today, and Athena... that's you too."

The fact that they're standing in front of Hades' empty throne is poignant, because its a symbol of an empty ambition. Persephone has brought Athena to a baren kingdom and effectively said "this is what I wanted, you are the same as me."

I mentioned another theme in effect here, and that would be trauma. Athena has repeatedly taken the fall for the idols, over and over again, for hundreds of years. And she may be an idol, but she is very human. Of course, she is going to slip up from time to time, but she has internalised it in a martyr complex.

When Athena is challenged on her views, the screen goes red to mimic her blind rage in possibly the least subtle metaphor in the entire musical.

I wouldn't exactly call this a cycle of abuse, but it's not spontaneous either. Athena is lashing out at those closest to her, because she is scared, and she can't get through to them. Athena is lost, and the rest of the idols are getting caught in the crossfire of her own mind falling apart on itself.

"This lost little girl,

she's got a few tricks now.

She's taken some punches,

she's made some friends."

Once again, this melody comes back, now accompanied by a drum to hammer home the anger and the betrayal. The power of the muse has always been to empathise, not merely to make people sing. The music is a gimmick, this is what a muse does, and this is why Grace was chosen. Grace takes all of the pain and fear and throws it back at Athena, calling her out for it.

But the repeated wording here is important. Grace knows Athena is lost, and is trying to talk to her, maybe to help her, maybe not. But there is that recognition there. Grace has empathised with Athena, and is weaponizing that.

This is backed up here, in another version of this segment. It's a call back to The Ritual.

"I won't have you dying for me.

That's not how this should work,

I need you to see,

That you're lost in a moment, lost in a song"

I love that Athena is represented in the same way Ares was. All red (Ares had a bit of orange, but you get the point), and where Ares held Aphrodite in his hands, under his control, Athena now holds all of the idols. Their fate is up to her, and they're begging her to not destroy them.

The moments when everyone comforts Grace is cathartic for a number of reasons. First, up, it is a relief from all of the red and horror movie soundtrack of Athena's delusions. But more importantly, this is the moment in which you realise what you have achieved here.

You have saved Aphrodite and Eros from self-destruction. You have brought Asterion and Hecate together. You have made Apollo and Persephone get over themselves. And, maybe, just maybe, you have reconciled with your oldest friend.

You have made everyone in the trial room a better person by your actions, and now they stand up to help her in return. And this fading reveal that they are all still there, still behind Athena is empowering.

It doesn't matter how much the matron of the idols can posture, they have all changed. And now they are offering that aid, that chance to change and be better, to Athena. This is not a story in which everyone gets a good hit in on the villain before they are dramatically killed by the hero or fall from a great hight; this is a story about healing, and it would be callous to not extend that healing to Athena.

I love all the little callbacks in this one scene, the eye is Medusa's thing, the lighthouse for Apollo. I don't need to point them all out. What I want to talk about is the general mis en scene. There is a distinctly storybook aesthetic that these characters are holding onto. In contrast to Athena.

You would think that Athena, the person trying to get back to the past, would be associated with this aesthetic, but no. Athena has been cast out of this idyllic world by her own hand, and everyone else is trying to get her to see that.

"My Olympus is gone,

And you're all looking on,

At a stranger wearing my face.

My Olympus is gone,

now I'm some other one.

Just how long has she been in place?"

This is the Adrift tune again. I think that's so cool. This is Athena in the same place Grace was at the beginning of the musical. She's lost, and she knows it, and she doesn't know what to do.

Athena is in a rut of her own actions, and it's heartbreaking.

Look at the scale of Athena here. She is dwarfed by her own statue, and her own helmet. She is fragile, and small, next to the enormity of her image. And that image is covered in enough blood to drown someone. All of this serves as a fantastic metaphor to show just how crushed Athena is by her own guilt.

"I was wrong and now I don't know what the right thing is.

I leave it up to you what to do with this."

"I forgive you, Athena"

Final Thoughts

Bloody hell, this was long. Thank you for reading this far.

I really love this song, and while I think The Ritual is my favourite, The Trial definitely wins my award for being the most technically impressive, both on a musical level, and on a storytelling and visual level. There is so much cool stuff going on here that I didn't have the brain capacity to talk about in full.

Which brings me to my final thing. I would like to know what you think of Stray Gods, and I would like to create a little collage of opinions other than my own. So, send me a message or comment on this post your analysis, or even reblog this. It could be of a single line, or an entire song, or the entire story. And in two weeks time, when I put up my own final thoughts on the musical as a whole, I will show some other views as well, as a kind of collaborative discussion.

I'm going to be using It's Time to frame my analysis next week, so stick around if that interests you.

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#rants #literary analysis #literature analysis #character analysis #what's so special about...?#greek mythology #stray gods #stray gods the musical #stray gods grace #greddie #grace #stray gods spoilers #stray gods the roleplaying musical #stray gods athena #stray gods the trial #part 2/2

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