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teapartyprincess4two · 6 months

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Can you make a Latina reader x Matt sturniolo smut? You can make it up how you want it

Lipstick- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Thick!Latina!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: fluff, smut

inspiration: request^^

translations: embedded within the story!

warnings: 18+, MDNI, literal sex, use of Spanish, Hispanic/ Latino culture mentioned, established relationship, slight cursing, traditional parents, mentions of alcohol, didn’t name any of the side characters, long

summary: Matt’s nervous to meet your family, but after making a good impression you treat him to a night full of kisses and lipstick stains.

—

Matt sits in the living room, nervous hands playing with the keys that hang from his belt loop. Your mother keeps him company, sitting on the sofa across from him as she asks him a plethora of personal and uncomfortable questions. Latina mothers are unashamed to prod into the personal life of others, especially when meeting their daughter’s boyfriend for the first time.

You’ve only been dating Matt for a couple of months, and although he seems like a nice kid, she’s not entirely sure she can trust your judgment just yet. The few boys you’ve brought home before haven’t always necessarily met her high standards. Matt hasn’t done anything to throw her off yet, but she’s sure she’ll find something to dislike. If he manages to stick around long enough, though, he’d surely grow on her.

“So what do you do for work?” your mom asks, momentarily looking up from her latest costura project to catch Matt’s anxious gaze. She expertly weaves the string in and out of the white lace, forming an intricate floral design in the process.

[translation: costura- sewing]

“Oh um… my brothers and I we make YouTube videos,” Matt doesn’t know where to look, he’s afraid to make eye contact but also afraid that if he doesn’t it’ll come off as disrespectful. He’s never been so nervous in his life, and from the look on your mother’s face he can tell that that’s probably not what she wanted to hear.

Your mother scoffs, obviously unimpressed with his answer. “Esta niña, siempre saliendo con los más huevones,” she turns her head towards the stairs. Matt’s been waiting for you to descend for over 30 minutes, and the awkward tension was even becoming too much for her.

[translation: “This girl, always going out with the laziest ones.”]

Matt coughs, taking a quick swig of the water bottle in front of him. He’s nervous, his hands are clammy and he has no idea what your mom just said. What was taking you so long?

“So is YouTube gonna pay the bills?” your mom was abrasive and she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. In her eyes, nobody was worthy enough of her babygirl. Matt remains silent, he doesn’t even know what to say, so she continues, “You know, when you two start having kids.”

The thought of having children at 20 years old terrifies Matt beyond belief, he can feel his hands getting clammier by the second. He understands that it’s a cultural dissonance, though, so he keeps his mouth shut. “We’re not planning on any kids soon, ma’am. We haven’t— Um, we haven’t really talked about it,” his voice trembles slightly, your mom was doing a good job of intimidating him.

Matt takes another swig of his water, his mouth was dry and he felt like his throat was closing up. “Oh, but you’re having sex with my daughter right?” the question is so unapologetically bold that it causes Matt to choke on the liquid, some of it managing to dribble down his chin.

“I’m sorry?” he chokes out, but he heard your mom loud and clear.

Finally, as if on queue, Matt hears footsteps coming down the steps. ‘Finally!’ he thinks, watching as your curvy figure rounds the staircase and enters the living room. Matt shoots up from his spot on the couch, his eyes immediately dancing over your entire body.

You’re wearing a fitted, black bodycon dress that reaches just above your knees. The spaghetti straps work to hold your bust in place, a gold necklace dangling delicately above the curves of your breasts. You push your freshly curled hair onto your shoulders, luscious locks framing your face perfectly. White lace-up sneakers adorn your feet, your ankle bracelet glimmering as you walk into the living room.

Matt can’t keep his eyes off of, every aspect of your being pulling him in and putting him in a trance. Your mom notices Matt’s inability to hide his attraction for you, “her eyes are up here!” His face goes beet red, eyes immediately darting up to your face.

You roll your eyes before sending Matt an apologetic smile, “Ya nos vamos, Ma.”

[translation: “We’re leaving, Ma.”]

“Bueno, mi niña. Pórtate bien,” she warns, bringing you in for a strong, warm embrace. Your mom’s change in behavior is so quick it gives Matt whiplash, but he can’t blame her for being standoffish with him. He understands that it’s her mother bear nature.

[translation: “Okay, babygirl. Be good.”]

You kiss your mom on the cheek, your red lipstick staining her face. You turn to Matt with a big, toothy smile sprawled onto your face. “You ready?” you ask, taking his hand in yours as you guide him outside. He nods and hums in response, squeezing your hand as he trails behind you in a lovesick daze. Your ass jiggles with each step and Matt wonders how he ever got so lucky.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologize once you’re in the car, getting situated in the passenger seat. “No problem. You look really beautiful,” he replies, starting the car and doing another once over on your body. You lean over the center console with puckered lips, “kiss?” He happily obliges, your red lipstick instantly transferring onto him. His pants are becoming tighter by the second and you notice it right away. Your relationship is still in its infancy, so even this has you blushing.

“Was my mom nice?”

“Mm yeah, some like that,” he replies with a chuckle, adjusting his pants and beginning the drive to your destination. You know he’s lying, but you’re grateful that he’s courteous enough to put up with your mom’s attitude.

“Just wait till you meet my dad and my siblings. They’re not as bad,” you say, the hum of the car engine and the low music in the background creating a calm atmosphere.

“Can’t wait,” he laughs, and although he’s nervous for when that day finally comes, he’s actually excited to become a constant presence in your life. It might be too early to say it, but he’s definitely falling in love with you, the tent in his pants making it obvious as ever.

—

A year has passed since that day and, as expected, your mom has warmed up to Matt. They aren’t super close yet, but she definitely sees him in a different light. She can tell that he truly cares for you and that what you two share is real, but the real test comes when Matt meets your dad.

Your dad works a lot, the manual labor taking a toll on his body that puts him to sleep as soon as he gets home. So, even if your dad is home when Matt’s around, he’s usually asleep or resting in his room.

Matt was nervous when he met your mom, but he’s TERRIFIED to meet your dad. There are so many factors to take into consideration; the language barrier, the cultural dissonance, the fact that he’s your literal dad! It doesn’t help that your siblings are gonna be there too, all of it makes Matt tremble with unease. But he’s been invited to your family’s cookout so he can no longer postpone it.

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon. The weather is nice, it’s not too cold or too hot. It’s the perfect day for a cookout, and Matt should feel excited, but he doesn’t. Sweaty hands grip the steering wheel as he anxiously drives to your house. Chris and Nick are being dragged along as moral support, but unlike Matt, they’re not nervous.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you guys. I don’t even think they know I’m a triplet,” Matt’s words are coming out a mile a minute as he places the car in park outside your house. The panic is starting to set, and from the looks of it they’re the first ones here. Usually being on time would make Matt proud, but this just means there will be less people to hide behind.

“Dude, it’s gonna be fine. Plus, maybe Y/n has a cute cousin or something and we can be like brother in laws,” Chris is only half-joking. “Gross,” Nick grimaces, hopping off the car and beginning the short walk to your front door. Chris laughs, copying Nick’s actions and following closely behind.

That just leaves Matt. He’s glued to the front seat, mind racing uncontrollably. If he’s going to do this, it needs to be quick and painless or he’ll just psych himself out. He takes one deep breath in and out, unbuckling himself with such fervor that the seatbelt slaps the door. Once he steps out of the car, he takes a second to anchor himself before jogging to catch up to his brothers, who are already ringing your doorbell.

Three minutes pass and no one has opened the door, so Nick rings the doorbell again. “Allí voy, allí voy!” a voice shouts from inside, the door swinging open aggressively to reveal your little sister.

[translation: “I’m going, I’m going!”]

“Oh it’s just you,” she deadpans, moving aside so they can walk in. She slams the door shut, pushing past the stunned trio until she’s at the foot of the stairs. “Y/n’s upstairs,” she says, waving towards the staircase haphazardly.

“Y/N! YOUR BOYFRIENDS ARE HERE!” she shouts up the stairs, the loud outburst taking the triplets by surprise.

Your sister is a good 4 years younger and the complete opposite of you. She’s a thin tomboy, wearing an outfit so oversized that she’s drowning in fabric. Her style directly resembles Chris’s, chunky sneakers adorning her feet and a backwards hat resting atop her long, curly hair. A long gold chain that she stole from your older brother hangs from her neck, swaying back and forth as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her makeup is nicely done and her glossy lips are resting in a smirk, she loved embarrassing you.

“Stop yelling, pendeja!” you shout back, head peering from your doorway. Your sister shoots you an unbothered shrug, turning on her heels and disappearing into the backyard. You descend the stairs, immediately hugging Matt and planting a fat kiss on his lips. Within seconds his lips are the same color as yours, your cherry lipgloss tasting all too familiar.

[translation: pendeja- dumbass (feminine)]

“You guys are early,” you chuckle, pulling away from Matt to greet the other two. “You can blame Matt for that,” Nick says, the four of you walking outside to the backyard patio. The setup is simple but nice, rows of foldable chairs and tables lining the grassy lawn. Coolers are up against the walls of the house, each one filled to the brim with soda, juice pouches, and alcohol.

As Matt is surveying the area, he sees your dad, or at least he thinks he does. A tall, muscular man is working the grill. His shiny, bald head reflects the sun and his tattoos are on full display past the sleeves of his ribbed cotton tank top.

Matt grabs your hand, pulling you back slightly, “Is that your dad?” His voice is hushed, afraid to be heard accidentally.

You follow his gaze, “What? No. That’s my brother.”

An audible sigh of relief escapes Matt, and you instantly clock it, “Don’t worry, babe. Everyone’s gonna love you.” The reassuring words momentarily calm his nerves.

Your older brother’s boisterous voice breaks the moment, “Y/n, go get the rest of the carne from the kitchen!” He’s pinching carne asada, elote, and cebolla off of the grill with long metal tongs, stacking it neatly on a metal tray.

[translation: carne- meat, carne asada- grilled meat, elote- corn, cebolla- onion]

Chris is the first to approach your brother, his friendly nature making it easy for him to talk to new people,“Dude, that smells good!”

Your brother is very kind, his scary appearance completely juxtaposing his hospitable personality. He’s wearing baggy jean shorts and black air forces with a matching gold chain and bracelet. The black sunglasses that rest on his face make him look unapproachable, but the warm smile he offers Nick and Chris makes up for it.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” you quickly peck Matt’s cheek, once again staining his face with your lipstick. Matt hums in response, joining the rest of the men around the grill.

“I feel like I’m seeing triple. I didn’t even know there was three of y’all,” your brother jokes, offering them each a firm handshake. Even though they’ve heard the joke millions of times before the triplets laugh.

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” Nick laughs.

“Bet you do. Which of you is dating my sister, though?” your brother asks, but he knows the answer; the red kiss on Matt’s cheek is a dead giveaway.

“That would be this lucky guy,” Nick replies, shaking Matt’s shoulders playfully. Matt’s cheeks burn a bright red and he can’t stop himself from smiling, he truly was lucky. “If the red lipstick on his face doesn’t tell you, then his smile surely will,” Chris chimes in, his finger smudging the makeup on Matt’s face.

Your brother laughs, “Yeah you might wanna wipe that off before el jefe gets back.”

[translation: el jefe- the boss (masculine, a nickname commonly used when referencing one’s father)]

“Oh shit,” Matt mutters, scrambling for a nearby napkin and rubbing it along his face feverishly.

—

An hour has passed and no one else has arrived yet, I guess the triplets didn’t get the memo that Hispanics are almost always fashionably late. Your brother is still working the grill, immersed in an entertaining conversation with Nick about God knows what. Chris, on the other hand, is playing soccer with your sister. He keeps either kicking the ball over the fence or missing it completely, his clumsy actions make your sister laugh uncontrollably.

You sit with Matt at one of the many tables, hands intertwined as you both anxiously await your parents arrival. “He should be back by now,” you mumble, a restless leg bouncing up and down. You knew Matt would make a good first impression on your dad, but you were still nervous.

It’s almost like you summoned him, the familiar sound of your dad’s pickup truck ringing in your ears as he pulls into the driveway. “Is that him?” Matt asks, grip tightening on your palms. “Yeah that’s him. Don’t be nervous, my dad is nice,” you reply, but you’re equally as anxious.

Your dad’s first words do nothing to help your case, you’re just glad Matt can’t understand them, “Vengan a ayudar, huevones!”

[translation: “Come help, lazies!”]

“Lemme go help, you stay here. Okay?”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“Actually yeah, good idea.”

Matt follows you to the front yard, he’s so beyond nervous that his hands are practically dripping with sweat. Your dad senses Matt’s presence immediately, “Y este pinche güey que?”

[translation: “Who’s this fucking guy?”]

“Pa! No seas feo!” you exclaim, but your dad just rolls his eyes and silently instructs you to unload the truck. He bought more alcohol for the party, because when you’re Hispanic you can never have enough.

[translation: “Pa! Don’t be ugly!”]

“Es tu novio o que?” your dad asks, grunting as he picks up two cases of beer. He rests them on his shoulders with ease, he’s so strong that it intimidates Matt. “Yes, dad. He’s my boyfriend,” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes.

[translation: “Is he your boyfriend or what?”]

Your dad, much like your brother, is also bald. The greatest differences between the two men are the wrinkles that crease near your dad’s eyes when he smiles, his long bushy beard, and his protruding beer belly. “Nice to meet you,” your dad finally directs his attention towards Matt, offering him a genuine smile as his thick accent butchers the words.

“Nice to meet you too, sir,” Matt replies, picking up a case of alcohol as to make himself useful. Your dad can tell that Matt’s nervous, and even though he doesn’t like the idea of you dating, he decides to take it easy on him. He’s heard stories about Matt from your mom and by the way you look at him, your dad knows he’s the one.

As your dad enters the backyard, absolutely shocked to see Chris and Nick. Never in his life has he met a twin, let alone triplets, “Ay güey! Hay tres? No chingues, creo que me mareé.” Everyone, except for the triplets who have no idea what’s going on, laughs at your dad’s statement.

[translation: “Oh shit! There’s three? Fuck, I think I just got dizzy.”]

“I think he likes you,” you shrug, a sly smile playing on your face. Matt suddenly feels confident, all the nerves washing away.

—

As the hours pass, the party becomes less innocent as everyone becomes more and more inebriated. Matt’s chatting with some of your uncles and cousins, a cold beer resting in his hands. He’s been nursing the same bottle all night, only sipping from it occasionally.

You’re on the opposite end of the lawn, sitting at a table with your chismosa cousin. “Your man is so handsome, prima. If you find another one like that, send him my way.”

[translation: chismosa- gossiper (feminine), prima- cousin (feminine)]

“He does have a brother,” you joke, eyes still trained on Matt. You needed to get him alone in the house, away from prying eyes.

You could think of so many actual reasons you needed him right now, though. First, he was being such a gentleman with your family. He introduced himself and made small talk despite the evident language barrier. Secondly, when you served him a plate, he finished it faster than you’ve ever seen him eat anything. Then, when he got up for seconds, he moaned as the delicious flavors melted in his mouth.

Everyone loved him, and for whatever reason that turned you on. The longer you looked at him, the wetter you became. You’re clenching your thighs together, the sheer thought of him making you squirm. Before you know it, you’re excusing yourself from your cousin and walking up to Matt with a random excuse as to why you need him inside.

“Hey is everything okay?” Matt whispers, hands resting on your hips. His head is crooked down towards you, lips capturing yours briefly before resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, just missed you,” your breathy words fan his lips as you place a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth and travel them down his neck.

Although he welcomes the feeling, you’re both standing in the kitchen and if anyone were to walk in they’d catch the intimate moment. That’s the last thing he wanted, especially not after making a good first impression, “not here, baby.”

You pout, completely retracting yourself from Matt, “okay.”

“No, wait. I said not here,” he pulls you back in as he looks around the house in search of another secluded area, not wanting to completely abandon your touch.

“Then where?” your voice is sultry and inviting.

“Outside?” it’s the first thing that comes to Matt’s mind, and the suggestion breaks you from the mood.

“Outside, Matt? Really? Like what, like a dog?” you have a dumbfounded look on your face, almost like you can’t believe he even suggested it.

“No, like, in my car,” he dangles the keys in front of your face before pulling you back in for a heated kiss.

The kiss seems to convince you because he’s successfully leading you to his car. The street is dark, only illuminated by a few street lamps, but you find it with ease.

You fumble into the backseat, Matt following behind you giddily. “We have to be quick, okay?” you whisper, pulling Matt in for another kiss by the collar.

“You know I like taking my time with my girl,” you can hear the smirk in his voice, a playful scoff falling from your lips. You scoot further into the back seat, making room for Matt as he situates himself between your legs.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?” he brushes a stray curl away from your face, a gentle hand caressing your cheek. “Hmm yes, but I could hear it again,” you turn your face, kissing his palm.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. You mould into each other, your lips fitting perfectly against his. Matt grinds himself down on you, momentarily breaking from you long enough for you to feather kisses along his neck.

With each kiss comes an affirmation, “I’m. So. Proud. Of. You.” It’s too dark to see, but you’re leaving lipstick marks all over him. The praises send blood rushing to his dick as you continue, “You did so good, papi. Just like I knew you would.”

[translation: papi- daddy (bear with me ppl)]

“Yeah? How good?” he eggs you on, relishing in all your sweet words. His hands push your dress up, the fabric scrunching up around your hips to reveal the red lace panties you wore underneath. Matt swears he’s in heaven.

“You did perfect…” your words trail off as you watch Matt remove your underwear in a daze. “How about you show me how good I did?” he grabs your waist, flipping you both over so you’re on top. You let out an excited squeal, your bare cunt coming in contact with his rough denim jeans. His dick is straining against the fabric, begging for release.

You grind onto his clothed penis, one hand resting on his chest as the other pushes your hair out of your face. Matt’s hands instinctively find your hips, a firm grip guiding your swiveling motions.

“Tell me how you want me, baby.”

“Ride me?”

As soon as he says it, you’re wiggling down onto his thighs and unbuckling his pants. Your fingers dance along his erection, teasingly tracing it. Matt bites his lip at the sight, “Please don’t tease.”

“So polite,” you giggle, finally tugging his pants down. His dick slaps against his stomach, the swollen tip already dripping with precum. Your thumb runs across the tip, spreading the lubrication along his shaft.

Matt’s a whimpering mess, propped onto his elbows to get a better view of you. When his hips subconsciously buck into your hand you decide to stop teasing and situate yourself above his crotch, dragging his penis along your wet folds before positioning it right at your entrance.

You’re going so slow, too slow, so Matt decides to take matters into his own hands. He grabs handfuls of your ass, pushing you down onto his dick with force. “Matt!” you gasp, the delicious stretch sending you into overdrive.

He doesn’t respond, instead he pushes and pulls your hips so that you’re bouncing on his cock. Your breasts are jiggling rhythmically, threatening to spill out of your dress. Animalistic grunts fill the car as Matt watches your pussy wrap around him, his jaw is slack and his eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure. Your soft whimpers and moans motivate him to keep going.

“You like that?” The car is rocking with the intensity of your movements, windows becoming foggier and foggier with each breathy moan that escapes your lips.

“Yes!” your voice is high pitched and squeaky, the pleasure choking you up. “Use your words, pretty girl,” he grunts, feeling the familiar wave of pleasure approaching.

“It’s so good, papi. So, so, so good,” you babble, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. Your pussy is fluttering around him, the sensation bringing Matt closer to his breaking point.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum,” he whimpers, large hands squeezing the skin around your hips so hard that it was sure to bruise. You place loving kisses all over his face, especially on his cheeks and the corners of his mouth.

“I love you,” you moan, chanting his name again and again right after. He’s thrusting up into you feverishly, his pace faltering slightly as you both near your climax. “I love you too, princess. So much,” his voice is strained, strong arms wrapping around your waist and holding you in place as he shoots his warm load into you. His affirmations send you into a state of euphoria as your orgasm washes over you.

He’s peppering kissing all over your chest, whimpers escaping his lips as he comes down from his high. You delicately push his hair off of his sweaty forehead, admiring him as he continues his gentle attack on your chest.

“We should probably get back, babe. They’ll be wondering where we are,” you whisper, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to stay like this with you forever.

“Let me enjoy this a little longer,” he murmurs, hooded eyes finally looking up at you. Your lipstick is smudged all over your mouth. “Aww baby, your lipstick is all messed up. You look so cute,” he laughs, attempting to wipe some it off but failing.

He shifts slightly, the streetlights briefly managing to illuminate his handsome face. Your kiss marks are all over, a clear visual representation of how much you love him.

“You’re wearing more of it than I am,” you joke, earning yourself a playful slap on the ass.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: clearly I couldn’t just write a smut right? Lmaoooo idk I had all the characters in my brain & it couldn’t just be smut 😭 hope u enjoy

This is so different from anything I’ve written before so lmk how yall like it & if you enjoy having Spanish in stories w/ the translations in the story💃🏻 also don’t kill me for using papi, i’d gladly call my man papi any day 😋

-L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

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nopefer-art-tu · 13 days

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The Sky Above, by @mediumorange

I am SO excited to finally share this project with everyone!! Way back in the fall of 2023 I embarked on my first foray into bookbinding, and I thought, what better work to start this hobby off on than with one of the greatest works the Brokeback Mountain fansphere has to offer, written by my dear friend Emily?

And so began my year-long journey with this work, haha.

The book is a square back bradel style binding, covered in turquoise bookcloth. I used a kettle stitch to sew the textblock, and then Lineco-brand PVA glue as the adhesive for everything that needed to be adhered.

While I'm proud of the entire book, I have to admit the thing that I'm most proud of is the cover design.

To make a long story short, I wanted to find a way to make fully illustrated covers on bookcloth, and most of the popular methods of cover design that I had seen were all very limiting for me as an artist to do the things I wanted to do. Thus much of the time I spent making this book went into deep-diving into the world of textile design and ink transfer methods.

In my research, I discovered these types of toner sheets called Direct-to-Film (DTF, lol) transfers. Basically, you can print any design you want at most any size using the full range of the CYMK color spectrum + black + white, then you use a heat press to transfer the design onto your fabric et voila: your design is embedded into the textile.

Because neither the Renegade Bindery discord nor the bookbinder reddit groups really knew what I was talking about when I asked if anyone had ever tried this method out, I put my little rodent ears on and became the guineapig lol.

The first practice attempts I made at this came out tentatively successful, and when I tried it again for the real cover, it came out perfect. I'm still floored by the results tbh. This is such a game changer and I hope more binders can utilize direct-to-film transfers in the future!

Anyways, I really hope you love your belated birthday gift as much as I loved making it, Emily 🥰 Thank you for sharing your talents with such a small fandom sphere, and I can't wait to bind more of your works in the future!!

Editing by me

Typesetting by me

Binding by me

Art by me

#brokeback mountain #jack twist #ennis del mar #heath ledger #jake gyllenhaal #fan binding #fanbinding #book binding #bookbinding #renegade bindery #annie proulx #ang lee #mediumorange #my art #still brokeback posting

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supremechancellorrex · 4 months

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In Avatar: The Last Airbender, I think the finale I have the most problems with is the Book 2 finale for a number of reasons that have always bothered me.

Azula's Plan

Despite how the show presents it, Azula's plan kinda isn't that smart. She turns up with Mai and Ty Lee in Kyoshi garb while having zero intelligence, and just lucky for her the GAang isn't there at her welcoming ceremony. Because Sokka just happens to be off to see his Dad (something she didn't know), Toph was kidnapped (something she didn't know), Aang is with the Guru (again, something she does not know) and for some reason Katara, despite being at Ba Sing Se, doesn't bother going to welcoming ceremony to see "Suki". *Convenient*. This is something Azula could not have predicted yet she's just that lucky. What was Azula's plan if the Gaang were there and had no other commitments? They'd seen through her disguise immediately and she and her team would be surrounded by hundreds of enemy benders with no clear exit. And Azula had figured that the Kyoshi Warriors knew the Avatar, so this is what she should have been expecting.

Another aspect of Azula's plan I didn't like was how she so easily won over the Dai Li. They never show the Dai Li's disenfranchisement, that perhaps if members of the Dai Li were growing wary of brainwashing women to be smiling Joo Dee tour guides, and wonder what the point was. Azula could have easily had an in if it was thought to be written. Perhaps she could have convinced them Sozin's comet was gonna destroy their little utopia in a few months, and Long Feng was in denial and like "fake news"? That it was ultimately pointless this entire Ba Sing Se project. It might have been better to show Azula chip away at them with some kind of logic over a "divine rule" speech about something the Dai Li would hardly care for. But they don't really do that, we're just to assume Azula is just that "uber-powerful" and "inspirational" and that's the only thing the Dai Li care about enough to sell out to Firebenders after hundreds of years of being embedded in the Earth Kingdom operatus, which is a bit weak reasoning to say the least for such a risk and change in their entire point. How did they know that the Fire Nation, who have such a fascist superiority complex, wouldn't dispose of them once the Fire Nation troops rolled in?

And then, despite taking over the Dai Li, the show never really uses them again except in the Day of Black Sun briefly. It was all just to give Azula a quick win and then be discarded as a real plot point .

The Invasion

Sokka *shocked*: "They knew."

One of the worst tie-ins with the Ba Sing Se arc is the invasion plan and that the GAang remain oblivious to the fact that the Fire Nation expects an attack on the Day of Black Sun. King Kuei told Azula about the invasion plan while she was in disguise and then found out she was an imposter later, yet never mentions this to the GAang. Moreover, Katara had the invasion plans scroll that was given to her by the Council of Five when she was captured by Azula, yet never wonders what happened to this very important information she was tasked to keep safe. This is pretty hilarious since the GAang talk about the upcoming invasion quite frequently in early Book 3. And furthermore, Sokka and Toph know that the Council of Five, who planned the whole invasion, were captured by Azula's agents. On top of this, the entire of Ba Sing Se fell, meaning the Fire Nation had access to their entire archives and anyone involved in drafting or writing the plans.

This is such a basic and unbelievable communication issue that normally would naturally resolve itself with just a modicum of effort, yet the GAang are surprised to find out on the Day of Black Sun the Fire Nation had an inkling of being attacked on an eclipse and upped their defences.

Sokka (shocked): "They knew."

Me: "No fucking shit, dude."

#avatar the last airbender #avatar legend of aang #azula #ba sing se #book 2: earth #sokka #katara #avatar aang #toph beifong #bad writing

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mezzy-1 · 7 months

Note

Hi! Yes! I’m the ask! I’m very excited hehe. The 4 agents I chose for: Iso, Jett, Sage and Deadlock. If I had to describe the reader’s personality they’d be like private/reserved sort of very calm and an experienced fighter, reader could be fighting against the selected agents (sort of like how you did Nomad and their recruitment? I really like Nomad btw).

I unfortunately wasn’t able to find Acheron’s exact capabilities but I did decide on a basis for the reader’s abilities (Ice or snow) also I did find a few clips for reference:

https://youtu.be/l1Yw8r4F9W0?si=K-SiYUsK6Qi-v0dD

https://youtu.be/G2xiqsEoFDQ?si=R4VNy-oS_2fQ84qB

COLD RECEPTION // (VALORANT X READER)

Reader Profile// SNOWFALL

Your status as a radiant made you stand out in the world, and your abilities terrified those around you. The Scions of the Hourglass made a deal with you, they would train and care for you and you’d help maintain their secrecy. Abandoning your lonely existence, you became a master of your ability over ice and did work for the Scions. Soon, you began to doubt your allies and were assigned a Valorant agent to kill as a final test of loyalty.

ISO

There was a stillness in the air, brought on by a combination of the night and the cold that blew through the streets of a desolate industrial district

You waited outside with binoculars trained on the sidewalks, waiting for your target. Deciding that your stakeout was taking too long, you looked over the dossier again

Li Zhao Yu, aka. Iso, defected from the Scions months ago to join an organization called Valorant. His skills rivaled yours, and his power over radianite was strong too

The picture included didn’t match up with the face of a hardened killer though

Below you spotted something purple flash from the windows of an abandoned factory. You narrowed your eyes and watched for more

Iso was locked in combat with a number of radiants. If it wasn’t for the dossier you would've been shocked at how dangerous he was

He dropped each of the radiants one by one. All the while, he maintained an air of calmness with each shot

He exited the building carrying some strange triangular device. He put his finger to his ear and muttered something to an unknown receiver

Realizing he was calling in some kind of extraction, you put your plan into action and activated your radiance

Wind began to swirl around as frost collected on broken windows. You pulled your knife from its sheath and let ice collect along the blade

Swinging the blade, you launched the collected frost towards Iso. Your careful aim drove the ice spear into his shoulder

Leaping from your vantage point, you jumped from the building and slid down to street level. You readed a pistol as you got to Iso

“You shouldn’t have left us,” you said, cocking the action back on your gun. “People like you are one of a kind.”

“If you’re with the Scions, then don’t waste my time. I work with Valorant now, and I washed my hands of those monsters.”

“They aren’t monsters, they saved me! I was nothing before they came and trained me!”

“I read some files on you, Y/N. You were missing for years and turned into a weapon for them. They fear you, they only want to control you and use your power.”

“Is that what you think? Is that why you left for some bullshit organization that pretends to care about you? The Scions are my family now, and I won’t disappoint them.”

“Valorant would take care of you if you decide to come with me. We can avoid this fight if you stand down.”

“I’d rather die than be a traitor like you.”

“...fine Y/N. What happens now is on you.” Iso grabbed the ice embedded in his shoulder and threw it to the ground

Taking your chance to shoot, you suddenly found yourself on the defensive. Iso had reached for his Sheriff while removing the ice

Bullets almost reached your head as you took cover and blocked out the area with a sudden freezing mist

You heard a window break and ran after the sound, finding yourself inside an abandoned machine shop

With your first steps in, a bullet ricocheted off the wall behind you and sparks danced from the impact

As you moved farther in, more shots came from the darkness. Iso was tired, injured, and had to hide

“Good.” you thought. You began dropping the temperature around you while placing your knife in its sheath and charging it with cold

Iso’s breath was now visible from the frigid air. He was hidden behind a hydraulic press and breathing quietly

You pulled the knife slowly from the sheath, letting ice condense onto it and extending it into a long icy blade

Silently, you moved about the shop. Your footsteps were quiet from the stealth training you endured

As you moved towards Iso, violet hexagons crept underneath you and made contact. You fell into the floor and were dropped into some strange realm

The dossier missed the fact that Iso could do this, because you were quickly disoriented by the rush of purple

“Y/N this is your last chance to stand down. I’m not here to kill you, I want to leave that part of me in the past with the Scions.” echoed throughout the space

Iso appeared in front of you and you charged forwards with your blade, directly for his neck. You sliced and crescent of frozen air spun towards his throat

He raised his hand and conjured a wall in front of him. The ice slammed into the hardened tiles as you continued with your attack

Iso turned his wrist and pulled the trigger once. The bullet went right for your head, and by closing the distance you were in even more danger

Suddenly you were back in the shop and Iso was in front of you

“Dui Bu Qi” he whispered before the world went dark around you

You awoke in a room lit by a single light and restrained in a chair. Your head was sore and the room was almost spinning

“You’re finally up Y/N. Hao de, we can finally talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you, just kill me because I won’t tell you anything about the Scions!” you spat back

“I already have all the information I could ever want on them. I don't need you to betray them for me.”

“You’re one to talk about betraying the Scions.”

“They won’t come to save you, now that they know you’ve been captured. If anything they’ll either try and kill you or assume you’re dead.”

“No! They’ll come for me, they’ll make you pay for taking me prisoner!”

“You were sent to kill me when I defected.”

Iso’s truth buried itself in a growing pit of despair in your stomach. It was so obvious they would save you but something in you began to pull at that conviction

Tears streaked down your face and turned to snowflakes as they fell. The realization that you would never have your life in order finally fell on you

A warm hand found its way onto your shoulder. Iso’s palm met yours despite the freezing cold temperature

“Bie ku Y/N. Don’t worry I know it looks lonely but you won’t be walking away from them alone. I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

“They were everything to me, but they…they’d kill me just like they’d kill anyone. Did I ever mean anything to them at all?” you asked already knowing the answer

“It doesn’t help to think of them right now, what matters is that Valorant will care about you. We aren’t here to kill or control, we just want to do right.”

You looked up and in your state your power began to escape. You began to grow colder and shivered slightly

Iso took his hand off of you and began to unzip his jacket

He draped it over your shoulders

“Y/N, you’re freezing.”

“It happens when I’m worried, I think I’ll be fine.” you tried to avert your eyes but couldn’t pull them from Iso

“Are you saying you want to join Valorant then?” Iso leaned in towards you

“I don’t have anywhere else to go, but you’ve been so patient with me. I feel horrible for what I tried to do, but you’re being kind and I want to repay that somehow.”

“I’ll talk to my higher ups and get you a room at the HQ. While we wait, we should find a way to keep you warm. Do you drink tea?”

“Sure, what kind do you have?”

Having tea with Iso was the first of many moments you shared with the assassin. Both of you had your respective pasts entwined, but that only brought you closer

Eventually it became a routine, meeting with Iso and just talking for hours on end about whatever you both thought

Months later, you realized that Valorant had become a second home for you. It was all thanks to Iso

#valorant #valorant agents #valorant imagines #valorant headcanons #valorant x you #valorant x reader #valorant iso #iso x reader #iso x you #valorant oc

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novantinuum · 4 months

Text

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now.

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.”

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from—

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs.

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color.

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now.

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least.

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while.

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here.

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything.

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch.

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.”

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this.

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing.

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable.

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?)

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments.

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives.

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features.

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity.

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here.

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—”

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it.

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned?

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

#su #su future #lars barriga #steven universe #padparadscha #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

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loki-cees-all · 10 months

Text

Ch. 2 - Against Each Other {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Previous Chapter / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : Loki accidentally catches a glimpse of your terrible future while trying to stop General Dox from pruning the branched timelines.

W/c : 3.7k words

Content Warnings : Angst, club atmosphere, sensual dancing, etc. And the song at the end is “Love Hangover” by Diana Ross - I highly recommend it!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : November 8th, 1983 [Branched Timeline]

Loki had returned to the TVA with a renewed sense of confidence; a sort of pep in his step that he hadn’t felt in ages. His blood pumped effortlessly through his veins, and his muscles contracted and relaxed with ease as he pushed himself through the corridors, eager to pick up Brad’s interrogation where they’d left off.

And even though the second interrogation had gone much more smoothly than the first one, despite the fact that he easily broke Brad down and got him to reveal General Dox’s master plan to bomb the extra timelines that were branching out of control, Loki didn’t feel like a winner. He didn’t feel like he’d succeeded at anything; in fact, he felt like he’d made everything worse.

Because something had caught his eye as Loki and Mobius were approaching the naust General Dox and her crew were hiding in, something he probably wasn’t meant to see. Something he desperately wished he hadn’t ever known about, but had probably caused.

On the corner, across the street from the naust and tucked inside a small vending machine, were a stack of newspapers with a headline that made Loki’s thud painfully against his ribs before it dropped into his stomach. The headline was about you: “Former Bright and Upcoming Starlet Finally Checks Herself Into Rehab, Admits Her Life is in Complete Disarray”.

Loki’s breath shuddered and his hands trembled as they reached towards the machine, fumbling with the latch as he tried to pull it open. His eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision as panic overpowered logic and any sense of urgency he’d had before. What happened to you? Was this his fault?

The last time he’d seen you, just earlier that day for him but six years prior for you, everything had been going your way with your career. You’d talked happily about the upcoming projects you were excited to work on, of your friends and your life in general as Loki walked you home afterwards. And while you’d looked upset when he’d declined your invitation to come inside for a nightcap, that couldn’t have been enough to ruin your entire life.

Loki yanked on the handle again, desperate to get that paper and read more, to reassure himself that this wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t been the cause of someone else’s demise again. That he hadn’t ruined someone so beautiful and intoxicating just to quell his own insecurities.

The machine shifted loudly, straining against the anchor bolts embedded in the concrete sidewalk as Loki pulled harder, but still the little glass door did not open. Loki caught glimpses of the other words in the article as he struggled; words like “addiction”, and “Brad Wolfe” and “disappearance”, and “shame”. Words that shouldn’t have ever been associated with you.

Loki let out a groan of frustration, cursing the damned Midgardian contraption out loud as he gripped the handle with both hands and pulled as hard as he could. You didn’t deserve whatever happened to you within the previous six years; no one ever deserved whatever happened if it was because of him.

Loki’s struggle with the machine caught Mobius’ attention, and he whipped around in bewilderment as he took in the sight. “Loki! What the hell are you doing?!” he hissed, storming back over as Loki made his final pull, freeing the newspaper box completely from the sidewalk.

He stood there, dumbfounded and chest heaving, holding the device aloft and free from the ground. As pedestrians passed by, they didn’t even try to hide their concerned and nosey stares, but Loki paid them no mind. The box was still locked, and his mind was still reeling with panic and frustration.

“It’s alright, folks! Just a bit of a street performance! Nothing to be concerned about!” Mobius laughed, smiling cheerfully as he waved the strangers on. After they were gone, he turned back to Loki with his hands on his hips. “Not that we have time to stand around reading the paper, but you do know those can be opened with money, right?”

Loki steeled his jaw and swallowed hard as he blinked his way back to reality. He looked up and met Mobius’ confused gaze, unsure of what to say or how to explain himself. “Forget it. Let’s go,” he grumbled, dropping the contraption and storming off towards the naust.

Mobius’ brow furrowed, and he stayed behind for just a moment longer, staring at the cracked glass of the still locked door. The machine lay on its side, pulled apart and broken on the sidewalk, but the newspapers were still trapped inside. “I guess the Aftenposten is really concerned about stealing…” he mumbled to himself before turning to follow after Loki.

Loki said nothing as Mobius caught up to him, and he ignored his friend’s pleas to wait as he took the steps two at a time to the top floor of the building. He barely registered Mobius calling B-15 on his TemPad to request backup. He disregarded Mobius’ call to hang back and watch for a few minutes, instead choosing to burst suddenly into the room as Time Doors flickered in and out of existence.

He sent a huge wave of emerald seidr across the room in a stunning display of power. Hunters, Minute Men, and equipment all went flying with reckless abandon, crashing into each other and the decayed, wooden beams and half-finished boats. Mobius and Loki stood still and silent at the edge of the room, watching as Dox and her detractors groaned in pain and flailed on the floor.

Loki’s expression was one of cold detachment; after failing so many times in so many ways, he couldn’t let these dissenters get away with murdering and destroying any more innocent timelines than they already had. Mobius’ expression was more reserved, concerned, restrained as he looked his friend up and down and then back to the chaos unfurled before them.

“B-15, we managed to stop them…” Mobius spoke calmly into the TemPad, trying to sound casual. “Could you get a team out here to help us bring everyone back to the TVA?”

“What? Already?” B-15 sounded completely flabbergasted. The entire ordeal hadn’t even lasted a full minute before Loki had finished it. “Uh, yeah. A team is on their way…”

Loki was sick to death, tired and exhausted of hesitating, of second-guessing, and of ruining other people’s lives. His thoughts returned to your beautiful face, the way your lips felt against his and your heavy breath against your neck, and the threat of shame and addiction that was apparently waiting for you.

“B-15. How many branches did they manage to destroy?” Loki asked quietly, his eyes roaming over the destroyed TVA equipment. He knew you were safe on the Sacred Timeline - in this timeline, somewhere out there struggling after he’d possibly turned your entire life upside down.

“I’m not sure. It’s too soon to tell. 30, maybe 40?”

He sighed heavily, shoving his hands in his pockets and closing his eyes. It was his fault they hadn’t been able to get there sooner, that they weren’t able to stop this before it began. All those erased lives were on him, as was your now broken one.

As he shook his head and turned to walk away, Mobius grabbed his arm. “Hey, what’s gotten into you? Where are you going?”

Loki briefly glanced over at him before shaking away his grasp. “I need to go check on someone.”

What he really meant was that he needed to go back and make sure he didn’t end up destroying your life after all.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Date : June 25th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

Things have a funny way of working themselves out on the dance floor.

Bodies moving together like the ocean surging and retreating against the beach, the beat of the music thrumming in your veins like the rolling tide. Instead of salt and salt kissing your skin, it was sweat and liquor filling your senses, and instead of drowning in the waves, you were simply coming back to life here.

Shielded by the darkness and flashes of light, you were free to do and move as you pleased. There was no judgment, and there were no thoughts; just a large group of people - both strangers and friends - doing the same thing at the same time, to the same rhythm but for different reasons. It was healing. Soothing. Out there on the dance floor, you could barely remember what you were trying to forget about.

It had been a week since your dalliance with the mysterious man named Loki. You weren’t sure what had changed, but he was different afterwards, like a switch had flipped deep inside. He was confusing and charming and mysterious, and he had managed to short-circuit and re-wire all the connections in your brain, all within the span of an hour or two. It wasn’t fair.

After taking you in that alleyway and giving you several blessings of release, he walked you back home but refused your offer to stay the night. He slipped his arm around your waist as you walked, but didn’t answer your questions about who he was or where he lived. He kissed your forehead while saying goodnight, but couldn’t give you any way of getting in contact with him again.

It hurt, but you were trying not to think about it; after all, you had wished for him to ruin you, even if it wasn’t out loud, and he hadn’t heard it.

When the next Saturday rolled around, your friends had insisted on taking you out to The Roxy for your belated birthday celebration. They didn’t have all the details about your escapades that night, even less than the few you had yourself, but they knew there was a man involved. You let them think it was just about Brad ditching you, and couldn’t let yourself think about the fact that he still hadn’t reappeared.

Luckily for you, the dance floor made forgetting easier. Swirls of cigarette smoke wafted through the room as the music overpowered any lingering thoughts, and your black, lacy and see-through catsuit made sure there was always someone trying to get your attention whenever you stopped to get a drink or catch your breath.

It was fun to flirt with them for awhile, and you’d probably even let one of them take you home eventually, but you already knew it wouldn’t be the same. They simply couldn’t compare to Loki, and your friends were baffled by your complete lack of interest.

“Oh, come on! Look at that guy - he clearly knows what he’s doing in bed,” your friend pointed her cigarette at a blonde man across the room. The wait for the bathroom was long, and Jackie took the opportunity to point out any and all potential companions for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, maybe he is,” you sighed in response. The man was handsome, and he was eyeing you up and down; if you had no other options, he could temporarily fill the void in your life. You knew Jackie was only trying to help, but you couldn’t confess that no one would ever compare to the way Loki made you feel the week before.

Looking back to the line for the ladies room, you sighed again impatiently. The line wasn’t moving fast enough, and you really needed to get back on the dance floor.

“Seriously, what’s gotten into you?” Jackie reached out for your arm to drag you back to reality, and her expression was one of concern. “Are you really this upset about Brad?”

“No! I’m fine, stop worrying about me!” you lied, forcing a laugh and shaking your head.

“Good, because he’s a jerk. You deserve better!”

That you couldn’t argue with; but you’d had better, and you let him slip through your fingers. Jackie continued studying you, her brow furrowed in concentration as the line started to slowly inch forward. “So what is it then? What’s got you so down?”

You swallowed heavily and fidgeted with the lace covering your skin. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“No, I know that look. That’s the look only boy troubles can cause,” Jackie scoffed and shook her head. “So if it isn’t Brad, then who is making you feel like this?”

“He’s no one!” you blurted out, and Jackie’s eyes lit up in vindication.

“I knew it!”

“No, you don’t! You don’t know anything!” you laughed nervously, praying that Jackie didn’t notice the blush creeping up your cheeks.

Jackie tsked and slipped her arm around your waist to pull you into a side-hug. “We’re best friends, remember? You can’t keep anything from me,” she teased playfully. “So, what’s this guy’s name?”

You bit back a smile and groaned as you ran your hands up and down your face. She was right, you couldn’t keep anything from her, but truthfully you didn’t know much about him. “Alright, alright! His name is Loki. We met the night of the Zaniac premiere…”

Jackie giggled with excitement and looped her arm through yours as she pulled you along with the line. “So that’s why you got home so late that night. And that’s why you were so disheveled…”

“Shut up!”

“And giddy, and satisfied, and…” Jackie continued teasingly as you playfully elbowed her in the ribs. The line continued moving forward, and you were both next for the bathroom; hopefully the conversation would pivot to something else once you got inside.

“Look, I don’t know what this guy’s deal is - if he disappeared, or if he lied, or whatever it is - but we can fix this, okay?” Jackie turned around and started scanning the crowd as she spoke. “So, tell me what he looked like, and we’ll find someone who looks similar, and then you can have some fun with this new guy, yeah?”

“Jesus, Jackie. You really have the worst - Ow! What the hell?!” you grimaced as Jackie’s nails suddenly dug painfully into your arm.

“Oh, my God. He is gorgeous…” Jackie gasped breathlessly as she looked across the crowded nightclub, and you quickly turned to follow her gaze. “Over there, that man talking to Diane…”

You could see Diane clearly, and she was clearly fawning over someone else you couldn’t quite make out behind the smoke and other partygoers.

“God, he’s tall. Oh, I’d love to just climb him like a tree and never come back down…” Jackie breathed as she stood up on her tiptoes to get a better look.

You hated that your heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be him, but that was the same reaction you’d had when you first saw him - and you needed to be sure.

Jackie continued talking as you pulled away and cautiously stepped towards Diane and her mystery man. Your muscles turned to jelly as you weaved between oblivious dancers; the flashing lights of the club blurred your vision, and the blood rushing in your ears easily drowned out the music.

This was such an insane reaction, and you were going to feel so goddamn stupid if it wasn’t him…

Finally, the sea of people parted in just the right way, and time seemed to stop in its tracks. Your skin prickled as he came into view - standing ethereal by the bar again, wearing another black suit and his curls styled perfectly, tapping his fingers on the bar impatiently as he scanned the room, not even pretending to listen as Diane spoke into his ear.

Your heart launched itself into your throat, and your legs cruelly refused to cooperate. You stood still in the middle of the dance floor, unable to move even as people bumped past. But you couldn’t be bothered to care, because as Loki’s head turned towards you, the scowl melted off his face, and he said nothing as he started to walk away from Diane.

Part of you wanted to slap him. Part of you wanted to ignore him. But the smile on his face - so genuine, and so relieved to see you - made a substantial mockery of any plans you could ever come up with. All you could do was stand there, wide-eyed and thunderstruck by this beautiful man, someone you never thought you’d see again. But here he was, and part of you wondered if you’d died and gone to Heaven.

Loki stopped in front of you, hands in his pockets as his green eyes studied your form. “Hello there. I was hoping I’d bump into you again someday…” he shouted over the music, his grin playful and alluring.

Oh, the nerve of him. That snapped you back to reality, and you crossed your arms as you stared back at him. “You could have just given me your phone number, and then you wouldn’t have had to hope you’d run into me someday…”

He chuckled as he shrugged his shoulders, and it was infuriatingly charming. “That’s true, I could have. But it’s much more fun this way, isn’t it?”

You pursed your lips to keep from smiling, and shook your head as you looked away. Loki must have taken that as a good sign, and he took another step closer. “Care to have another drink with me?”

You knew you shouldn’t, but God how you wanted to. He arched his eyebrow again as he waited for your response, and you chewed on your bottom lip as you weighed your options. As delicious as he was, you didn’t know if you could handle him disappearing after another magical evening together…

“No, I don’t think I should. My friends are waiting for me…” you answered quietly, taking a step backwards and silently cursing yourself. Maybe you just wanted to play hard to get, to see if he’d go after you. To know that you’d been on his mind over the past week just as much as he’d been on yours.

Loki’s face fell, and he reached out to gently touch your arm. “Wait, please…just one drink. It can be a normal drink - no innuendos this time…”

Your resolve cracked just the tiniest little bit as his fingers trailed down your arm and brushed against your hand. His touch was magical, and you desperately wanted to experience more of it. But it was a terrifying prospect; what if he disappeared again? What if you couldn’t keep him interested for very long?

A group of dancers bumped into you, startling you from your thoughts and pushing you against his chest. Loki moved quickly to supplement your balance, one hand splayed wide on your shoulder and the other on your waist. The music shifted as your eyes met, his gaze smoldering deep into your soul as the opening strings lingered, crescendoing into a woman’s lustful sigh over the speakers.

The beat picked up, still slow but powerful and precise, and your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him. “I don’t need another drink…” you murmured softly as you pressed yourself all the way against him. Loki’s eyes widened, but he didn’t stop you as your hips began to swish back and forth.

If there’s a cure for this, I don’t want it. I don’t want it…

Without another word, and as if he knew what you needed, he began to sway with you. His eyes blazed with the deepest blues of the hottest fire, perfectly meeting every sensual roll of your hips. He pressed his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes, feeling the beat echo throughout your bones as your bodies moved together.

If there’s a remedy, I’ll run from it…from it…

The rest of the club, the world and the universe disappeared as Loki danced with you. Time no longer existed, and just like you’d predicted, the man knew what he was doing everywhere. Your lips parted as you made love on the dance floor, his coordination and anticipation giving you everything you needed and more.

I’ve got the sweetest hangover…

He brought his hands up to cup your chin, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as you breathed in his exhales. You could feel the warmth of his lips hovering over yours, and you didn’t care what happened to you anymore. As long as he was there with you, either performing curses or healing your soul every time you saw him.

“Can we get out of here now?” you murmured breathlessly, desire pulsing wildly through your veins and seeping between your legs.

Loki answered by crushing his lips against yours, and he tasted just as divine as he had the week before. You eagerly kissed him back as your hips kept rocking together, and as far as you knew, the entire club had stopped dancing and gathered round to watch this sensual display.

But you didn’t care. You just wanted him.

I don’t need no cure…I don’t need no cure…

Sweet lovin’…sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet love…

Love to love you, sweet…

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

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