#Her boots are leather as well and they are black with purple

[heclingmuzik]

[velvette-creations]

Sparks Fly

Agatha All Along: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 1.2k 

Prompt: “If you’re gonna be the death of me, that’s how I want to go” -Collar Full by Panic at the Disco for @sweetspicybingo (Lyrical Bingo Collection)

Warnings: PWP. oral, strap-on, spanking, hair pulling, biting, magic, power siphoning, manipulation, mommy kink, role-playing

Summary: Agatha reminds you who you belong to

Agatha’s sharp teeth sank into the delicate peach flesh of your neck; pain blossomed through your body, sending a pulsing deep in your belly. Flames licked inside your stomach as her fingers curled into your hips. Your flesh surrendered to her harsh bite, bruising in the wake. It made your head spin as a shiver ran through you.

“You’re in so much trouble, baby doll,” she purred in your ear before gripping a fistful of hair.

You didn’t mind a little trouble, truth be told. It always ended well for you.

“Sorry, Mommy, please be gentle,” you whimpered, playing up the role.

“Oh ho ho, you know I won’t be,” she growled before ripping your shirt over your head.

Her fingers tore at your clothing like greedy claws. Talons shredding your bra, your underwear, your jeans until you stood trembling naked before her. Her hungry eyes raked over your bare skin as you squirmed over her scrutinizing gaze. It had only been a bit of harmless flirting to secure yourself a free drink, but you knew it would get under her skin. You felt ignored lately and this was your way of getting her attention. Consequences be damned.

Her boots clicked against the floor as she circled you, her fashionable black cape billowing around her and her dark hair cascading down her shoulders. She was all sleek and sultry in head-to-toe black, the fabric hugging her slender, svelte flame, reminding you of a black panther ready to devour its prey. You were ready to drop to your knees before her or have her bend you over and do whatever she wanted. She snapped her fingers and pointed to her feet, making you quickly scramble to your knees. The sparks of purple emanating from her fingertips were not lost on you.

Her hand gently cupped your chin as she tilted your gaze toward hers. “I’m going to remind you who you belong to tonight, baby doll.” You couldn’t wait.

You spent a good ten minutes bent over her lap, squirming as the palm of her hand connected firmly with your upturned, naked rear. Each slap left a searing reminder of her mark. You’re mine, you’re mine. You could hear her voice echoing in your head. Her thigh-high leather boots dug and nipped at the soft skin of your stomach as you writhed. Your flesh felt abused and tenderized adequately by the time she was finished, tears clinging to the corners of your eyes and wetting your lashes. Yet still, your clit throbbed in anticipation.

One of Agatha’s fingers caressed down your wet slit, and you felt a jolt from her sparks roll through you. You let out a long whine, digging your hands into the couch cushions as you arched back into her touch.

“Please, Mommy, please,” you begged.

Her hand swatted the tender flesh of your thigh.

“Tell me why, baby doll,” she hummed as her fingers returned to their gentle caress of your aching pussy.

“I’ll be a good girl, I promise. Please just make me feel good. I’m yours, all yours!” you sobbed, voice desperate with need.

Her dark chuckle rang through the room as she pinched the sore skin of your bare ass. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, Mommy!” you wailed, the throbbing between your thighs so intense that it made your stomach clench.

Her finger pressed to your clit, slowly circling the sensitive nub. “Only Mommy knows how to satisfy you, doesn’t she?” Agatha cooed.

“Yes, Mommy,” you sniffled, tears running down your cheeks, but you were thankful for the relief.

“You’re so pretty when you cry, baby doll. I want to see those lovely tears as you eat Mommy out, then I’ll give you what you want.”

“Yes, Mommy.” You slowly pushed your body up, blood flowing through your limbs once again before straddling her lap. The fabric of her bodysuit scraped against your well-spanked backside as you unhooked the silky collar around her neck that held it in place before sliding it down her body. She arched her back and lifted her hips until you peeled it down midthigh. You tugged the bottoms free from her boots before finally being able to peel the silky material entirely free. The black cape framed her pale, slender, naked body, and your mouth watered at the sight. You pressed your lips to her taut stomach, feeling her flesh warm under your mouth. The sharp tug on your hair made you pull away.

“I believe you have a task at hand, baby doll. Pay attention,” Agatha scolded, a wry grin on her face.

You gave her a sheepish look before pressing your face between her thighs, sliding your tongue over her sweet pussy. The pink tip delved between her silken folds, swirling the taste of her around your mouth. You continued to tease her, enjoying her soft moans before you sought out her clit. The engorged bud pulsed against your lips as you wrapped them around it. You suckled gently, listening to her moans bleed into a more guttural sound. Your tongue traced tantalizing around her clit, feeling her tremble under your gesticulations.

“Oh, baby doll…I’m gonna…” she gasped, rocking against your mouth before spilling sweetly over your tongue.

You gently lapped the aftermath clean before resting your head on Agatha’s thigh. She stroked your hair, a loving look in her eyes. “You were wonderful, baby doll. Time for a reward.”

If you had a tail, it would have been wagging, but instead, you scurried off like an overexcited puppy to retrieve the purple strap and harness from the bottom drawer of the TV stand. Agatha chuckled, the black cloak partially shielding her naked body as she stood, taking the toy from you. Once it was secured in place, she pulled you close, the tip of her cock teasing you as her lips melted against your mouth. A deep rumbling filled your belly, spilling warmth—hot, crackling magic in the air. Chemistry sparking.

You were floating, legs wrapped around Agatha’s waist as she buried herself deep inside you. Your hair sprawled around you, fingers flexing through the empty air before grabbing hold of Agatha.

“Oh,” you moaned, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re so beautiful, baby doll. Mommy’s special girl,” Agatha murmured, rolling her hips as you clung to her.

Indescribable pleasure rolled through you, feeling sparks flicker up and down your spine. Her cape billowed in the air as the two of you swirled, locked tightly together. Entraped in delightful rapture. Your head lolled back as she hit the particular spot inside of you, sending waves crashing through you as you came.

“That’s my good girl,” Agatha cooed, her warm hands sprawling over every inch of your bare skin until you began feeling drained like every ounce of energy had been zapped.

Your head rolled onto her shoulder as she lowered you both back to the ground, keeping you in her arms as your legs almost gave out. “I’ve got you,” she whispered.

She took you upstairs, tucking you beneath the soft sheets before loosening her cape and letting it fall to the floor before joining you. You tucked your head under her chin as her fingers gently danced over your naked skin.

“Thank you for the jolt, baby doll,” she whispered, purple flashing in her eyes.

“You’re welcome. Anytime you need it, Mommy,” you purred, not minding that she siphoned your power every now and then.

“I’m afraid I might be the death of you,” she chuckled.

You simply smiled, keeping your thoughts to yourself. If you're gonna be the death of me, that's how I want to go.

[unholyhelbig]

request: single mom reader decides to loan shark from natasha’s mob. when reader can’t pay back the loan, natasha’s men capture and beat her. natasha sees reader among the criminals and drug dealers who also haven’t payed back their loans, and excuses her, forgiving her debt.

Title: The Oversight

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 2799

Warnings: Drug use, kidnapping, guns, choking, threats, blood, horrible grammar.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

[a/n: Yeah, I kind of feel like this needs a part two. Let me know what you guys think and if you're interested]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Each breath you drew in spurred a sharp stitch in your side. They came in rapid succession, even as you struggled to recall the fuzzy details that usually calmed you down. Your first street name. What you called your first pet. The name of your second-grade teacher. They all swirled foggily, unable to recall.

Your mouth tasted metallic cotton and your heartbeat was pulsing through your entire body. Counting the thrums hadn’t helped either, you gave up as you rolled your neck in a snow circle. The dried blood that hardened against the side of your face, your cheek, and down the expanse of your collarbone crackled at the soft movement.

The room that housed you was pitch black. It was hard to tell when you opened your eyes, tears welling up and dripping down your face onto your uniform. Your arms were bound behind your back, shoulders screaming in protest and fingers going numb from the cold. Your small noises echoed. Wherever you were was impossibly vast.

The next breath that escaped you was deeper than the rest. Not necessarily calm, but enough for you to take stock of the situation; there were flashes of you leaving the diner where you worked nothing short of twelves. It had just rained, and the air was humid. You dropped your keys and bent down to pick them up.

Before you could insert them into the lock, something hard had come down on your temple. There was a rush of heat sloshing down your face and a moment later, as you looked up at the sky, the steel tip of a boot took the rest of your consciousness.

That didn’t bother you. You were fine, a little banged up, but fine. Your daughter was left with the sitter. It could have been hours, maybe even a day. Your stomach clenched in hunger, and you drifted in and out of lucidity. They’d left you un-gagged but you didn’t have it in you to scream. You had a sinking feeling that no one would hear you anyway.

You’d flinched when the first 500-volt lamp let out a sharp hiss before flipping on. You shrunk into yourself, blinking away the sudden burst of white light that filled the room. It was directed towards you, and the rest of the space was still a frustratingly thick darkness. You couldn’t see who had turned them on, but they could see you.

The boots that walked across the floor were loud. They echoed like your earlier sobs. A metal chair was being dragged, and the sound was piercing. It did nothing to aide your aching head. You were thankful to see something other than pitch black, however big the danger.

You recognized the man who was in front of you. His outline flickered solidly. He looked rougher than you did; dirty-blonde hair, and stubble. There was a bandage across the center of his nose, on his fingertips, as if he’d fisted the razor while shaving. His purple T-shirt was covered by a dusty-brown leather jacket. His stare was hard, emotionless.

“You’re awfully quiet for a hostage.” He said, straddling the chair he had dragged over. His chest rested against the metal backing. “You can scream if you want. Wear yourself down. It’ll make this a lot easier.”

“What is this?” You asked instead of taking him up on his offer.

He was familiar to you. Clint. He came into the diner every Wednesday and Friday night like clockwork. He’d order a roast beef on rye with Swiss cheese and extra dressing on the side. He’d suck down two beers with his meal and tipped generously.

Sometimes he was with the man they called ‘The Winter Soldier’. You’d always found the name laughable, but the rumors about him were enough for you to hold your tongue. He never ate but would sometimes order a diet coke and sip it while Clint spoke through large bites of food.

Law enforcement wouldn’t’ touch Bucky Barnes, and your boss would typically comp whatever he ordered. A few months ago, you had shared your first words with him behind the diner. The air stunk of rotted food and hardly counted as fresh air. However, it was a few degrees cooler than the kitchen.

He had offered you a cigarette, one already perched between his lips, a zippo lighter at the ready in his other hand. You declined with the shake of your head, and a quiet ‘no thank you’. There was an uncomfortable silence, but it was better than the damp warmth of the kitchen. A sweet, burning scent filled your nose when he lit his cigarette and let the smoke curl around the two of you like a slack rope.

“You work hard in there.” Bucky said, taking a long inhale. He held it within his lungs, voice pinched. “Harder than anyone else I’ve seen in a while.”

You weren’t about to tell him about your daughter, not with his reputation, or the small smattering of pink scars across his chiseled features. So, you nodded instead. The number of tips you got in the broken down, greasy diner was the difference between two meals and one. So, you smiled sweetly and laid on the southern accent even though you’d only spent a short stint in Georgia when you were eighteen. It was easy to perfect.

“I bet you could name my order right now.”

“You don’t order.”

“I don’t trust the food.” He shrugged listlessly, a lazy smile against his lips. You couldn’t help but smile back.

“That’s a good call.”

He laughed at your honesty, and it was a nice sound. He disarmed you and that was worrying. Bucky let the cigarette sizzle out in a puddle at his feet. He used the tip of his steel-toed boot to grind the paper into damp ash.

“You wouldn’t’ have to work so hard if you had some extra cash, would you?”

The question caught you off guard and you couldn’t stifle the vicious glare that you gave him. Your break was almost over, and you could have, should have, walked back into the restaurant to finish the rest of your shift. Bucky lifted his hands up as a peace offering.

“Look, lady, I didn’t mean to offend you or anything. All I’m saying is, you’re not blind to what happens in there, the type of people that frequent this place. You’ve always turned a blind eye and that’s something my boss appreciates. Something she trusts.”

“And who exactly is your boss?”

He tsked “I can’t tell you that, sweetheart. But she wants to make you an offer, she wants to offer you a loan. You’re what? Three months behind on rent? She’ll front that for you and the following two.”

You took a deep breath of stale air. It was a tempting offer, even if it came in the form of a seedy enforcer in an even seedier alleyway. You were three days from getting evicted. Three days from ending up on the streets in a neighborhood that didn’t’ have a single safe one.

“What’s the catch?” You asked.

“Catch? There’s no catch. This is a friendly loan. All you’ve gotta do is pay it back when you’re on your feet again.”

It was an oversight, not asking for a concrete timeline. You hadn’t paid Bucky’s boss back yet, and over the next few months, there were stifled threats, and both Bucky and Clint watched you carefully at the job that you still worked like nothing had changed. The feeling of being indebted lingered, but this time, it was to an unknown entity instead of a landlord that was ultimately harmless.

Everything needed to be paid back in full. These were thousands you didn’t have. And now, two weeks after the initial threat, you were strapped to a metal chair with blood dripping down the sound of your face, in despite need of a drink of water.

Clint was harmless compared to The Winter Soldier, but his muscles still flexed under his shirt as he pulled his jacket off and let it fall to the dusty floor illuminated in blue light. “I would prefer not to get that dirty. It’s genuine leather, you know?”

You glowered at him as he stood and took a few more steps towards you. He looked relatively harmless each time you’d seen him in the diner. Sometimes he had a girl with him, a slight thing that was just as littered in scars as he was. She would order a plate of bacon that was cooked to a crisp and split it with a golden retriever that laid at their feet.

When his wrapped knuckles made contact with your cheek, your head clocked in the opposite direction. There was a sharp pain in your jaw, a ringing in your ear. He had slammed into the same side of your face as earlier, and you lost vision for a second.

Blood filled your mouth, and you spit the mix of saliva, bile, and blood onto the floor. There was a drain in the center and that worried you more than anything else. Your breathing came fast and hard and you glared at him, teeth stained pink.

“Is that all?” You asked him.

It was stupid, you knew it was stupid. But it bothered you more than anything that you had gotten yourself wrapped up in this. Your father was no stranger to the mob, and you should have seen it from a mile away. The fear he lived with. Until the day he died, he would look over his shoulder and you refused to do the same.

Clint grabbed your face, squeezing hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. “You’re a tough chick, huh? I think we both know why you’re here. All you have to do is get the money and all of this vanishes.”

“I don’t have the money.” Your words were garbled between his fingers. “You’re sure as fuck not going to get it if you kill me.”

“Kill you?” Clint unhanded you and let out a laugh. “Kill you, she says. No, we’re not going to kill you, she would never get her money that way… your daughter on the other hand.”

You pulled against the ropes, and they dug painfully into you. The chair was liable to break, but it had been bolted to the floor. It was much stronger than the one he’d dragged over. The mix of anger and fear that had rushed over you pulled away any thought of lingering aches and pains. Be damned to the head trauma.

Your teeth were gritted, voice a low hiss “Leave her the fuck out of this.”

“Did I strike a nerve?”

“I swear to you, I will get your money, I just need time. I’m not… You can keep me under surveillance as collateral, take my car, my apartment- just leave her out of this.”

Clint gripped your throat with his calloused hand, your ability to breathe became more difficult, half-moon nails digging into your flesh. It stung fiercely, and you let out a gurgle in response. “Or she could be our collateral. I think she’d make a great enforcer, with the proper education, that is.”

Is that what happened to the girl that ate lunch with Clint at the diner? She didn’t looked like she was there against her will, but there was an immense sadness to her eyes. Clint hadn’t released you yet and your vison was growing fuzzy at the edges.

“Let her go,”

Your chest was burning at this point and when he pulled his hand back you tried desperately to regain your sense of lucidity. You coughed, nearly vomiting as he took a long stride backwards, seemingly put into his place with a simple sentence.

Over the ringing of your ears, you heard the sharp click of heels. They were confident, and your chin dropped to your chest as you panted in succession, spit dripping in strings from your lips. You didn’t have the strength to look up, your head was pounding.

“I think that’s enough,” Her voice was smooth, just the smallest bit of an accent in her words. You couldn’t place it, but you couldn’t tell which way was up at this point. “You’re dismissed.”

“Oh, come on Natasha, I was just having a little fun.”

“Dismissed, Clint.”

There was a labored sigh and the sound of his footsteps retreating. It brought little relief to you, however. You felt as if you had traded one evil for another. Eventually, you lifted your head to stare at the ceiling. The stranger hadn’t said anything, and the pitch dark above was more desirable to the unknown.

You heard her sit down and felt her eyes watching you. The swimming in your head started to dissipate so you clocked her with a stare. The woman in front of you was angelic, in such a way that you figured Clint’s choking stunt had actually done you in.

Her stare was an unripe green rimmed in gold, her cheekbones carved from marble. There was a beautiful softness to her expression, and her deep red hair flowed over her shoulders in a waterfall of color. She was studying you, not phased by the cold of the room.

The woman wore a black t-shirt, deep slashes of ink peaking from the dip of the V-neck. You didn’t’ let your eyes linger long. It was a marking that you’d seen on Clints bicep and on Buckey’s hand. You hadn’t gotten a chance to clock it on the girl that was kept in their company.

“Is this the part where you come in with your good cop schtick?” You mumbled.

“Darling, Clint is the good cop.”

“Nice, I like it.” You rolled your shoulders back, fighting the stiffness “Bad cop and worse cop is much more effective.”

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you for someone in your position. Thousands of dollars in debt and seemingly no way to pay back my money. It’s not a good spot to be in, Y/n.”

Natasha stood from the chair, her muscles straining at the action. In a fluid motion, she pulled a black standard issue handgun from the space between her skin and her jeans. She pumped the shaft, the sound echoed more than your quickened breathing.

She used the tip to push your chin up, forcing you to look into her unblinking eyes. You were a dead man, you knew that from her cold stare. You couldn’t look away, even if the option was given.

“Baby, I’ve been in this business for a long time.” Her breath was hot on your collarbone, a mix of mint and tobacco. “I know exactly the type that you are. I cater to your kind. More often than not, my clientele need a little bit of encouragement.”

The tip of her gun traced your jaw, her finger loosely on the trigger. It was cold against your collarbone, down the center of your breasts. She held it there, jaw set in stone.

“We’ll keep you here for a few days. Once you dry out a little, I’m sure you’ll suddenly come into the cash.”

“Dry out? You think I’m on drugs?”

The tip pushed hard enough into your sternum to make you let out a grunt of pain. “You hide it quite well, pet. I’m sure it won’t be as simple when you start to feel those withdraw symptoms. Money flows simple in this town when those cravings kick in.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her, despite the weapon that she was packing. A frown creased between her eyebrows, but she held it in place. “The hardest thing I’ve ever hit is a blunt in a high school rotation. That was your brilliant plan? Dry me out and then what? Search my backyard for jars filled with money. I don’t have it. I make 2.50 an hour at a diner.”

Natasha scrutinized you, eyes hard. She righted herself and pulled the gun away from your center before flipping on the safety and shoving it back into her jeans. She started to pace the length of the light.

“Bucky, he offered me a loan and I took it so I could pay the rent on an apartment for me and my daughter.” You said, voice quiet “I work thirteen hour shifts six days a week, and it’s still not enough. I’m not… I don’t know who you cater to, but I have a feeling it’s not someone like me.”

“No.” she crossed her arms over her chest, “It seems as if you’re an oversight.”

“Great,” you flexed your numbing fingers, “An oversight you’ll let go?”

Natasha shook her head, clenching and unclenching her jaw. “No, I’m afraid not.”

[goddessofvalyria]

ALIVE | Martin (In the modern world) x fem!oc

As I saw Ewan Mitchell in the music video for Fontaines DC - In The Modern World, I obviously know that music video made us Tumblr girls write sooooooo much and I'm here for that.

English is not my first language, be kind and enjoy it <3

READ HERE THE SECOND PART OF THE ONE-SHOT "DEATH"

Summary: Cassandra and Martin are both devastated, how can they no longer feel the pain? Getting lost in each other.

TW: 18+, MINORS DNI, She/Her pronouns, the fem!oc is named Cassandra with long wavy dark black hair and blue-purple eyes, masturbation (f receiving), SMUT, sex, drug use, violence, blood, murder, death, sadness.

This is my Masterlist

Words: 3184

Cassandra shivered as she stepped out into the cold night, her breath forming misty clouds in the air. The winter chill was relentless, but she barely noticed it. Her black fur coat provided some warmth, but it couldn't reach the cold that had settled deep within her. Her long, wavy black hair fluttered in the biting wind, framing her face, where her once-vibrant blue-violet eyes now appeared hollow and distant.

She walked quickly, her knee-high leather boots crunching against the thin layer of snow that covered the sidewalk. The streets were empty, silent except for the occasional hum of a distant car. She checked her phone, glancing at the last message she'd received. It was from someone she barely knew, a boy who was a drug dealer who had agreed to meet her tonight. He was a friend of a friend, someone who could get her what she needed.

When she reached the parking lot, it was nearly deserted, save for a single car parked under the dim light of a flickering streetlamp. Cassandra paused for a moment, feeling a twinge of hesitation, but she quickly pushed it aside. She didn't have the luxury of second thoughts tonight.

Martin sat in his car, nervously tapping the steering wheel as he waited. He didn't know who he was meeting, just that it was a girl in need, willing to pay well. But when he saw her approaching, he felt his heart skip a beat. It was Cassandra, the girl he had admired from afar and had a crush on during their school days. Back then, she was everything he wasn't—beautiful, popular, and effortlessly smart. He had been just another face in the crowd, unnoticed by someone like her.

Cassandra opened the car door and slipped inside, her movements mechanical, as if she was on autopilot. She didn't look at him, her focus entirely on the transaction.

"Do you have it?" she asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

Martin hesitated, the recognition hitting him hard. She didn't seem to realize who he was, but how could she? The boy she once knew was long gone, just as the girl she once was seemed to have disappeared.

"Cassandra?" he said softly, searching her face for any sign of the person he remembered. Her eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, she seemed to wake up from whatever trance she was in. 

"Martin?" she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "I didn’t know… Look, I just need the stuff, okay? I want to forget for a while."

He handed her the small bag of drugs, his hand trembling slightly. "What happened to you?" he asked, unable to keep the question inside.

"You were… everything."

He loved her in silence. He loved her for many years but he was the metalhead boy of the school.

Her gaze hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What happened to me? Life happened, Martin. People change. Now, just let me be. I just want to forget and don't asking fucking questions."

Martin swallowed hard, struggling with the mix of emotions swirling inside him. He couldn't be rude to her. He knew he should just give her the drug, but seeing the girl who once shone with popularity and light, reduced like that, with obvious dark circles under her eyes, shaking hands and a spent cigarette between her fingers broke his heart. She had always been so beautiful, so… unique in his eyes and even if she had never deigned to look at him, he had always loved her in silence and from afar.

"Come with me" he said, the words spilling out before he could think them through. "We can talk… if you want, if you need."

She looked at him, her expression unreadable, but after a long moment, she nodded. She didn't know why she agreed, perhaps it was the familiarity of his face or the desperation in his voice, but she stayed in the car and then followed him back to his small, modest house.

Inside, the dim light cast shadows across the room, amplifying the feeling of isolation. Cassandra sat on the edge of his bed, removing her fur coat and laying it beside her. The room was dark, quiet, almost stifling, as Martin stepped out to get her some water.

When he returned, he stopped in his tracks. In the soft glow of the bedside lamp, he noticed the bruises on her arms, the way she winced as she adjusted her position on the bed. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut, and he felt a wave of anger and sadness wash over him. She was wearing a short black dress with thin straps and torn tights. How could she not feel cold? It was clear that something was wrong with her.

Cassandra caught him staring at her and tried to cover her bruises with her hands, trying to hide the evidence of her pain. But it was too late. The tears she'd been holding back began to fall, silent and steady, as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together.

"I don’t know how I got here" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don’t know who I am anymore."

Martin sat beside her, unsure of what to say or do. He had never imagined seeing her like this, so broken and lost. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. All he could do was be there, offering what little comfort he could.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small pill. "Here" he said, his voice gentle. "It might help… take the edge off."

Cassandra looked at the pill in his hand, then at him. "You don't have to pay for these" he said lowly. For a moment, she hesitated, but then she took it, placing it on her tongue and swallowing it down without a word. She lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as if searching for answers that would never come.

Martin lay beside her, the two of them silent, lost in their own thoughts. The darkness in the room seemed to mirror the darkness within them, a shared pain that neither of them knew how to escape. And so they lay there, side by side, two lost souls in the night, hoping for some kind of relief, however fleeting it might be.

"Who did this to you?" he asked. "Someone who tells me he loves me"

Cassandra drifted into a restless sleep, the pill he had given her slowly taking effect, Martin's phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

"I know you have something for me, a friend of a friend tell me that you can help me. - Joe."

It was a message from Joe—Cassandra's boyfriend. He wanted to meet, to buy drugs. Martin stared at the message, his mind racing. This was the man who had done that to her, the one who had destroyed the girl he had once admired. He knew him, in high school Joe had beaten him up numerous times in the school bathrooms.

Without a second thought, Martin replied, agreeing to meet. He gently covered Cassandra with a blanket, his heart aching as he watched her sleep. Then, with a grim resolve, he slipped out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him.

The night was even colder now, but Martin barely felt it. His mind was consumed with thoughts of what he was about to do. He drove to the meeting spot, a desolate area on the outskirts of town, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Joe was already there, leaning against his car, looking as smug and careless as ever. Martin's stomach churned with disgust as he approached and Joe sat in the passenger’s side. Joe didn't even bother to greet him, just held out a hand, waiting for the drugs. Martin handed them over without a word, his mind already calculating his next move.

"Did you have only this? Fuck, now I have to hear my girlfriend's scream when she yells at me" he said with grief in his voice. "She is still your girlfriend" Martin replied. "We are together, yeah, but she only likes to be fucked like a whore she is and then... sometimes,... you know, she is mad as hell and she screams at me that for my fault her life became a fucking nightmare."

Joe wasn't a smart guy, he talked nonsense as he popped the pills. "Sometimes I hurt her, but it's just to let her know I love her. Only when she threatens to leave me and report me to the police, you know Cassandra is fucking bitch."

Martin looked at him as he felt the anger rising. How could he let him go free after those words? Cassandra would come back to him and he would hurt her. Now she was sleeping at his place, but after that? After taking more pills she would go back to her boyfriend.

As Joe turned to walk back to his car, Martin's vision went red. He moved before he could think, grabbing the seat belt from his car and looping it around Joe's neck in one swift motion. Joe struggled, his hands clawing at the belt, but Martin was stronger, driven by a rage he had never felt before.

"You are beating her, right bastard?"

The two of them wrestled, Joe managing to land a few blows, but Aemond didn't feel the pain. His face was smeared with blood, but he didn't care. All he could think about was Cassandra, about the life she could have had, about the life she still could have if this monster were gone. With a final, desperate twist, Martin tightened the belt, and Joe's struggles ceased.

He killed him for her.

Panting, Martin let the body slump to the ground, his chest heaving. He looked down at Joe's lifeless form, feeling a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was done. He had done what he had to do.

The night was still dark when Martin disposed of the body, leaving no trace of what had happened. His face and clothes were stained with blood, but he didn't care.

He drove back to his apartment, the adrenaline slowly fading, replaced by a numbness that left him feeling empty.

By the time he returned, dawn was just beginning to break, casting a pale light through the windows. Martin quietly entered his room, closing the door behind him. Cassandra was awake, sitting in the center of the bed, her eyes fixed on the wall. She had noticed his records, her fingers tracing the edges of one of them absently.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his face, still smeared with blood. "Martin…" she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of concern and confusion. "I still feel the pain.... I...fuck, I still feel the deep darkness in me"

"You have blood all over your face, what happened to you?" she looked at him, God, her eyes were so beautiful. Long black eyelashes, black eyeliner, they were breathtaking.

Martin walked over to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I did what I had to do," he said, his voice steady.

For a moment, Cassandra just stared at him, her mind processing his words. Then, without warning, she got up and moved toward him, her eyes locked on his. Her hands gently cradling his face, feeling the still fresh blood on his skin.

"Thank you" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you."

Martin was about to respond when she leaned in, her lips crashing against his in a fierce, desperate kiss. The intensity of it took him by surprise, but he quickly responded, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. "You're safe now" it was a kiss filled with all the emotions they had both been holding back—fear, anger, relief, and something more, something they had both been denying for too long.

Cassandra pushed him back onto the bed, her hands frantically tugging at his clothes, as if trying to erase everything that had happened, everything that had hurt her, with this one act. Martin didn't resist; he wanted this as much as she did, maybe even more. The world outside, the blood on his face, everything else faded away as they gave in to the passion that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Their movements were frantic, desperate, as if they were both trying to cling to something real, something pure in the midst of all the chaos. The bed creaked beneath them as they had sex.

“I need something strong” she whispered. “I need to know that I’m alive”

They leaned closer and their eyes met in another kiss. Their lips touched softly, as if they were trying to convey everything they couldn’t express in words. “I need something stronger than drugs” she murmured against his lips. Martin kissed her again, this time rougher, harder. Everything finally made sense. “I want you” Martin whispered. “I’ve always wanted you, even when you didn’t even look at me, I was there, silent among the outcasts and I watched you shine. But your darkness doesn’t scare me, share it with me.”

She leaned down to kiss his neck with languid, wet, provocative kisses and he grabbed her by the thighs, moving his hands up under her robe. "Cass" Martin groaned, looking up and meeting her eyes. He moved his hands to her dress, pulling it off her head. Cassandra began by removing his shirt, his hands tore off her tights and then moved to the elastic of her thong, hooking it around his fingers. "You are beautiful" he whispered as she raised her hips allowing him to remove her panties. Her long hair fell in front of her and she, who was not wearing a bra, destabilized him. He moved closer and slowly kissed her nipples, making her moan.

Cassandra moved her hands down to the elastic of his boxers, pulling them off along with his pants. In that moment she just wanted to forget all the pain she had felt, she wanted to let it all out, light a fire inside him.

"Make me forget" she murmured. "Make me forget" she was begging him. The girl leaned forward to kiss him, he made her lie down against the pillows of the bed and slowly got on top of her, covering her with his body. Cassandra caressed his back with her hands, making him shiver when her nails caressed his skin. "For me you exist, for me you have always existed" he whispered taking her face in his hands, he caressed her soft lips.

"You are so beautiful fuck, you are so… so… I… I have always seen you, I have always wanted you." he was desperate for her.

"You won't feel any more pain, you won't feel anything, I'll make you feel alive" he whispered, pushing himself inside her: God, she was so hot, wet, tight. He held her close, she moaned, inhaling his scent, she kissed his face still stained with blood. "I don't feel anything" Cassandra whispered. "I only feel you." she arched her back.

They moved together, faster, harder, until everything else faded away and there was nothing left but the unstoppable need to be closer, to feel more. "Tell me I'm yours" she whispered, holding him as if he could abandon her. "You're mine, you're mine, you're mine" he whispered, kissing her, pushing between her hot, wet thighs.

Cassandra, his Cassandra was lost in the most dissolute pleasure. He continued to fuck her until he felt her tremble, a sign that he was about to come.

"You are mine, you are mine, you are mine" he repeated feeling his cock buried deep inside her. "You are mine, always remember that, you are mine" "I am yours" she whispered scratching his back, Martin shivered. He gave her a stronger thrust, looked into her blue-violet eyes, she pressed herself against him and came with a loud moan.

Martin followed shortly after her, came out of her body and fell on top of her taking her in his arms and giving her a kiss on her swollen and shiny lips.

"I feel alive, I feel alive…" she whispered holding him in her arms.

Cassandra's eyes locked onto Martin's, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper reflected in her gaze. Slowly, she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin. Her lips met his with an intensity that took him by surprise, and he responded, pulling her closer, as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more desperate. She tasted the metallic tang of blood on his lips, and instead of pulling away, she leaned in further, her tongue gently tracing the cut. She sucked softly, tasting the blood, her actions filled with a strange blend of tenderness and need.

Martin groaned, the pain of his wounded lips mingling with the pleasure of her touch. She didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, as if in that moment, she was trying to absorb all of his pain, to take it into herself.

Their kiss was fierce, raw, and full of unspoken emotions—pain, longing, and a desire for connection that neither had known they needed so badly. The world around them faded away, leaving only the heat between them, the taste of blood and passion mingling as they lost themselves in each other.

“We should stop” Martin whispered. “No” Cassandra replied. “No one has ever killed for me.” She kissed him again and again, clearly aroused by the sight of him covered in blood. “You have me now” she whispered, grabbing his shirt and rolling onto the bed, him on top of her.

She was a fucking freak.

And he matched her perfectly. 

The morning light slowly filling the room, casting long shadows on the walls.

When it was over, they lay tangled together in the sheets, both of them breathing heavily, their bodies slick with sweat. Martin held Cassandra close, his heart still racing from everything that had happened that night. She rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his skin, as if trying to memorize every inch of him.

They didn't speak; there was nothing left to say. In that moment, they both understood each other perfectly. The world outside might still be cruel and unforgiving, but for now, they had found something that could make it all bearable.

And as the first rays of the morning sun filtered through the window, Martin closed his eyes, holding Cassandra close. 

"Come away with me and sal 

i promise you’ll be in it 

i don’t feel bad 

i feel alive in the city 

you despise 

wait for the day, when you come riding on by 

seems so hard just to be 

if it matters 

you complete me, yeah 

in the modern world"

[steddiealltheway]

Thinking of a coffee shop AU where Steve and Robin work together. They play this little game where they guess what a new customer’s order will be. To their surprise, Steve is accurate almost 100% of the time. Especially after he gets the hang of it, it’s like he’s a coffee mind reader - at least, that’s what Robin calls him.

The best friends spend most of their time chatting and occasionally Robin will ask, “Blondie who just walked in?” Or “Obnoxious purple tie, third in line?”

And Steve will answer in a few seconds, “Iced coffee, two shots of expresso, and three pumps of caramel… clearly a large latte with french vanilla and an oat milk substitute.”

Most of the time, Robin will make the order before the customer gets to the register. She’s learned to always trust Steve’s gut.

On a particularly slow day, Robin and Steve lounge by the machines, having cleaned them three times already. Steve steals a cookie from the display and gives half to Robin as they chat.

The bell rings and Robin nudges Steve. “What about him?”

Steve swallows. The man has long curly brown hair which rests over a leather jacket and some band t-shirt that Steve doesn’t recognize. His jeans are black and purposefully ripped at the knees, and his combat boots are well worn. The answer is obvious to anyone. “Easy, a large black coffee.”

For once, Robin hesitates to make the coffee, choosing to watch the interaction instead.

“Hi, welcome in, what can I get for you?” Steve asks with practiced ease.

Big brown eyes that were previously scanning the menu above now land on Steve, and Steve can’t help but pinch his leg behind the counter so he can get a grip.

The customer’s mouth opens and closes a few times, seemingly indecisive, which Steve finds to be a bit ridiculous because why would he want anything that isn’t just plain dark coffee? He doesn’t get lost in these thoughts for too long because the customer’s lips are a bit distracting…

“I’ll have a medium caramel frappe with whipped cream and maybe a bit of cinnamon on top?” The customer requests.

Steve freezes.

“Is that… okay? I don’t mind not getting the cinnamon if that’s a problem…” he trails off looking adorably flustered.

Steve clears his throat and reasons out loud, “This isn’t for you, right”

The stranger’s brow furrows. “Is there something wrong with my order?”

Oh shit. Yeah, that was rude. “No, no! Not at all! I just thought… well… with your whole look and vibe you would get something… not so sweet.” Fuck. He’s digging a bigger hole for himself.

“My vibe?” The man questions and luckily the crease in his brow is no longer there, and there’s maybe even a smile that tugs at his lips.

“A good vibe! Well, actually I thought you looked kind of scary. Not scary! Just… intimidating, man. With the leather and all black but it’s cool, dude.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he nods - at what, he doesn’t know, but he’s nodding. There’s a small kick to his shin that he knows is from Robin who is fixing the coffee next to him, but he’s going to refuse to look at her.

The sound of a lid snapping on the top of a drink container snaps Steve out of outright staring at the man now. Christ. Robin pushes beside him and slides the drink across the counter. “On the house to repay you for my coworker’s manners,” Robin says with a big grin.

“Oh, I didn’t mind really,” the man says, fidgeting with the large silver rings on his hand. Steve can’t tell if he’s imagining the blush on his cheeks or not.

“In that case, please come back and pray that Steve here can get himself together before then,” Robin says nudging Steve hard. Steve winces at the impact.

“Will do,” the man says, taking his drink and straw and walking out the building.

Steve buries his head in his hands.

“What was that?” Robin asks in a hushed tone although there’s no one around.

“I don’t know! I got his order completely wrong, and it threw me off!” Steve uncovers his face and begins stress cleaning the machine.

Robin laughs. “I haven’t seen you put your foot in your mouth so hard since Scoops.”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve begs.

“Well, at least you’ll never have to see him again because it seems like we’ve lost that customer forever,” Robin says with another laugh as Steve groans recalling the interaction.

It turns out that Robin is wrong though because he shows up again. The next day, in fact. Then the next… and the next… and the next… He starts coming more often than some of their regulars, and eventually he becomes one of them.

And every time, he orders something different. He’s gotten a hot latte, an iced latte, a cappuccino, chai tea, and even a hot chocolate. But everything he orders is overwhelmingly sweet - most times requesting an extra sweetener, and Steve has even seen him use extra sugar packets the few times he’s sat down inside.

A few days into Steve’s new favorite game of trying to guess the man’s new order, he finally gives him his name: Eddie.

Regrettably, Steve had gotten his name because it was a busy day and he had needed to. But still, he had his name.

On a particularly slow day with only Steve working, Eddie ends up being the only one in the coffee shop. Steve writes on a sticky note what his order will be because Robin isn’t there as a witness, and Steve needs some evidence in case he guessed correctly.

“Hey, Eddie, what can I get for you?” Steve asks with a smile.

“How about a medium peppermint mocha?”

Steve is going to tear up that sticky note and throw it away. He moves to make the mocha quickly, adding in extra pumps of mocha because he’s sure Eddie will want it sweeter.

When Eddie goes to pay and accept his coffee, he hesitates. He gives Steve a curious look and asks, “Why do you cringe every time I order something? Is it something I say? Or is it the order itself?” It comes out soft and curious rather than harsh and demanding which Steve is thankful for.

Steve says, “Well, it’s a long story but… here, I’ll show you.” He reached over and grabs the sticky note reading hot cappuccino, four pumps of caramel, and five packets of sugar and places it in front of Eddie who reads it over, throughly confused. “I guess people’s orders, and most of the time I’m right or I’m close enough that I’m basically right. But with you, I’ve guessed it wrong every single time. I just can’t figure you out.”

A small smile graces Eddie’s face. “Does that mean I’m special then?”

Steve’s heart thuds. “I guess it does,” he replies with grin.

“I’m glad,” Eddie says then winks at him. “I’ll be back tomorrow so you can guess wrong again,” he comments while turning to leave.

Steve chuckles, slightly flustered. “Looking forward to it, Eddie.”

“I bet you are,” Eddie flirts as he makes his way out the door.

Steve flushes bright red. Yeah, he definitely guessed Eddie all wrong, and he prays to continue to do just that so he’ll keep coming back. He knows one thing for sure though - Eddie’s drinks are about as sweet as him.

[spurbleu]

rendezvous

ch.1 mother’s advice

[ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish x f!stripper!reader ]

▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎▅︎

S. mother left you with very little aside from her cat, calloused advice, and a legacy at your local brothel.

warnings. shameless men, customers service industry, mentions of abuse

a/n: lore drop and y'alls first meeting :) again, slowburn so be patient

word count: ~3.2k

‧︎༚︎☉°︎༚︎‧︎༚︎✳︎☉︎︎°︎‧︎༚︎‧︎

“Only eva’ let the good lookin’ ones get dirty wich ya, darlin,”

your mama had said rather plainly one night as you fixed her tea, voice coarse under cigarette,

“no use ina ugly fuck.”

Strange, how the only good advice she had given you (alive, at least. plenty of lessons from her dead), was about sex. She’d never been gentle enough with your hair to elicit the idea she might be with her words (but being a daughter meant you hoped). So, when you buried her, outdated ramblings and boorish tongue, most of what you took with you was boneless.

You packed the vulgar with the rest of the house, strapping it to the back of your truck and hoping it would nestle in the tobacco-less walls of your new apartment (a different shade of yellow- little kinder- absent of bile). Or maybe the newer wooden floors, eroded under boot heel, sturdy still.

On arrival you discovered it had found a less subtle home. Must have been some twisted fate (a mother’s memory- hardly sweet), that your new apartment was neighbors with your town’s brothel.

Funny, how a broke, orphaned woman like yourself, sun bleached elbows and sore neck, was given an opportunity to finally test the merit of a mother’s advice.

The withering building paralleled one of her last gifts to you, a lingerie set. Old brick red, lace trim gauze between blocks. Thick straps bridging bralette to panties like the iron beams holding up a raunchy sign- Rendezvous.

Stench of sex fogged up greasy windows, drunk mumblings of wifeless (or, a more depressing thought, married) men on its porch, wearing crucifixes in bogus devotion. The oak beneath their leather was rusting by their print of dust and the grooves beneath a bottle of beer- sorrel glass broken at the foot of creaky stairs.

Recently, your old church pews found their way back to your mind. You pushed the last of your boxes through the door, knees blushing purple with guilt. No, you had decided upon arrival- you wouldn’t even look at the place.

Pig stye, you’d convinced yourself, whore house. You turned your nose to it all, prissy and ornery even as they whistled from the railings, red knuckles itching for your attention. Hasty for the day they’d see you in dusk light, starting your shift. Only for you to leave them, day after day, cockdumb and unsatisfied.

And you had been doing so well, too.

That was until you opened the envelope- your mother’s allowance. The one useful thing that the drunken, deceased mess of a women could’ve given your hopeless soul. Magnum Opus of her faulty motherhood, forgiven with just some fucking money.

But she was always more complicated than that, wasn’t she. Peaking from the back of the white fold was, indeed, that wonderful, faded green of cash- but in front of it was a depressing beige- capitalized by black ink.

Girl,

Leave this apartment to you, take care of the old thing. That brothel knows me likes me; they’ll give you a job. Make yourself some real money, use my looks, darling. Be good. without me

Much love,

Mother.

You tossed the note aside before your hungry fingers tore the dip of the paper apart- revealing, and you counted a dozen times to be sure, sixteen dollars.

Sixteen dollars is what you’re worth. Cheap cattle at a fair, squalid men drooling as your mother snickers. Your scrawny legs buckled under the weight of the gold bell- which, you’ve now discovered, costs more than you do.

You’d be angrier if you were surprised. But you weren’t. Hell, sixteen wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been- with the way her money was spent on dozens of those cancer packs a day, cig smoke stealing your wages one stick at a time.

You plucked up her note, reading between the pen’s blood to find anything else. Searching, like you had in her for decades, for a little more. A secret message between your fiber taught liaison, written in the tone she had used with you (old spice on dry meat) up until she couldn’t anymore. You could hear it now, reading the note to you, and suddenly you were five again, tugging at her shawl as sleep nipped the last pages of your Goodnight Tales.

You didn’t fail to notice the way she signed it, either. Mother. You had always opted for the simpler, casual name, ‘mama’. It felt truer to what she was, an apparition of a parent spared by a younger nostalgia- lacking the reliance, the respect, of an actual mother.

Yet another opinion where the both of you seemed to diverge.

No, of course you weren’t surprised.

But you were now extremely aware she had limited your options to the worst one. No southern shop, built on dirt and sweat, was going to take a labor virgin without a foot in the door. Which meant the only place desperate enough to take soft, vestal hands and good hair was that ratty brothel.

So, stubborn oxen halting actual progress, you watched the bar for a week.

Perched on a chair by the sill, the last bags of honey tea in your cup as you observed the lulls in its busy. That way, when you eventually forced your ass from the dips it made in the old seat, you’d walk to the door with as little shame as possible.

As you scurried across the street at dawn, sunrise made the old cobble appear prettier than it was. Light finding the gaps between stone, serenity’s veil cast over the Dutch Gables in early morning. The birth of day scared off the grimier patrons, leaving you in the barren womb to watch it’s first breath. You paused there, relishing the one time the small market looked…worth it.

Seconds after you slide through the saloon doors, barely given enough time to drink up the sandy lighting and timber walls, a voice calls from behind the bar.

“We’re closed.”

She’s a natural blonde, you can tell by her lighter roots. Freckles contour a round face under eye bags- and you even catch the subtle crease of crows’ feet next to her grey eyes- blemished and old. Her lips screwed into what you think might be a permanent frown- that is until you speak,

“I’m here to apply.”

and it turns into a snarl, skin pitching at the bridge of her nostril, “We ain’t hirin’.”

Your mother’s note comes back to you, and you loosen the resentment in your voice as you say her name. “I’m her daughter. ‘Said I- you’d let me work here.”

The wrinkle laxed, and her snarl came down to a thin neutral line. “Did she finally kick the bucket?”

You nodded, unsure how to feel when her lips curled. “Damn. Y’had a firecracker of a mother. Worked alongside ‘er iner prime. Solid woman,” her eyes ran up your shoulders, “terrible mother, I reckon.”

You swallowed- she grinned. Her hand beckoned you to the stools, and you took a seat, shaking her outstretched hand. “You got ‘er looks. You’ll do fine ‘ere. Names Francesca.” Her eye narrowed to slits, “Nobody calls me Franny. Its Francesca, or Miss- got it?”

You nodded, and she flashed you another glimpse of her yellow teeth.

“I’ll start ya at the bar. See ‘ow long ya last.”

-

Turns out, you lasted a lot longer than she thought you would.

Swatting advances away as you gave patrons bottles, but smart enough to never get mouthy. You caught more flies with honey anyhow- so as your boots became comfortable in the mop-clean lumber floors, you’d occasionally entertain some of them.

“You single, sweetheart?” Slurred from a regular as you filled his tab. Grisly looking fellow, got years on you. Too many to be talking.

“Enough to work here.” You slid him a drink with a smile. Syrup on a glass rather than salt. The spread of his lips was telling- he tasted it.

Boisterous laughter- too loud to want just liquor- “’nough to sit on an old man’s lap?”

No. Not enough that they thought they’d get lucky- but that was the trick, wasn’t it? Just barely easy enough to send them wily looks over your shoulder, cover the spite in your voice with flirts- onion layered by a blushing red skin- weak enough that it kept them hoping. But never truly easy, moving to the next customer before the last could lean for a fat kiss.

You rolled your eyes with your back turned to him, jaw clicking in thin patience.

“Not over here. That’s for the other rooms.”

His eyes followed your pointer finger, attention sinking its dull teeth into the cardinal doors.

You pretended not to mind your position as the face of the brothel rather than the body of it. Why would you anyway? You’re sure the girls back there would kill for an easy job like yours- given the chance to politely navigate around advances rather than being forced to feed them. You only had to serve the dry slacks- and watch them as they left soiled. You didn’t have to see- no, make- that filthy in-between.

Church taught you enough. Nothing but festering confessionals behind that door.

But goodness, could you be childish. Curious mind, insecure heart- all of you greedy. You were positive they made bushels more than you- and all for some more skin, done up hair and lidded eyes?

You could do that.

Bitter, confusing envy. Makes you mad when Francesca gave you a hard no after asking for a promotion- but sorry as you curl in thin sheets before dreamless slumber.

(Did your greed weigh more than morals? Did church and your father’s absence teach you that little? Nothing should be this existential- but maybe that’s why it’s uprooting. Forked road- giving up a part of you either way.

You hate to admit you buried something of your own with your mother’s body, but what you hate more is that it’ll take this decision to figure out just what it was. Your innocence- daughterhood and a sweet virtue, or your hearth- the fight to survive and earn. Living for a little vice.

You’d dream in saturation on these nights, colors crisper than they’ve ever been- even young. You were never sure why the colors were so bright.)

So here you are, another night drawn as a sloppy line under a bar, marking…3 months? Sunrise and sunset look so similar nowadays, and it made the silhouette of an hourglass harder to etch in the tan pages of your moleskin.  

However, it did give you more time to sketch out the pub.

The booths pulled the same wood of the wall forward in a curved seat, split by a table and cushioned by yellow pillows- filled with rice, those damn things must have been harder than the booths themselves.

Around them, dark oak tables and creaky chairs- makes any working man feel ten pounds heavier with the way they whine when sat on. A candle and 3 coasters in the center of every round table, beckoning more drinks as the day died. In fact- those wax sticks were everywhere along the tavern- even in a chandelier that dangled above the liquor shelf, occasionally dripping hot tears on the bar.

Just the kind of place you’d expect to see the men you do.

Seedy- dusting in the corner of your bar are built scrawny- diet of yeast and grass evident in the hollow of their back. Mouths they hide from their mothers, hands that hit harder than their fathers. But in the redness of their cheeks- bloated by the sun and the contents you served them- was a weakness.

Masculine insecurity that had them calling you a ‘pretty bitch’. A compliment, but derogatory enough their clam tongue wasn’t revealed under the folds of their shell. No pearl, no wealth- just a common, beached, animal.

“’nother round, for mah fellows, baby.”

You glanced up. Sullen face, grey beard- twisted lips that cracked under ale. He flashed crooked teeth, and you strained a smile, forcing the tired plump of your cheeks to spread. You slipped your journal beneath the bar, taking his cups and filling them until the clouds of foam kissed the rim.

He flipped a couple coins on the counter, and you slid them into your palm.

You sighed, running your tongue along the cast of your teeth. Late hours were so boring- never new- repetitive that even the loud, sudden laughter from that back corner didn’t phase you anymore.

There were no more surprises- because everyone was here.

Ned and his calloused farmer men. Not too much of a hassle, sat in the back and called you names- but let you work. Callum and his wallowing ass in the center tables, nursing his umpteenth glass of the evening ever since his wife left.

And Silas- sweet boy- young and excited to drink. He’s more often than not by himself, drunk silly as he draws. You liked him more than the rest- brother feeling about him. Kinder.

So, it surprises you when the bell rings, well into the night, and he walks in.

Brutish arms- hung by shoulders that nearly reach the door frame. The rest of him was just as big- military fed, you had to assume. Strong jaw, buzzed skull except for a well-trimmed bush down the center. He stood out like a sore thumb, the slender builds of farmer boys a third of the bull that stood in front of you.

You weren’t the only one who noticed, as you heard the laughter behind you hush and Callum’s wallowing come to a lull. He didn’t seem to mind- especially as he made his way to the bar- eyes and smile beguiling- and directed at you.

Now you weren’t easily charmed- but you knew a handsome man when you saw one. It’s the particular weight on their shoulders- making their feet come down heavier and gate smooth.

Nothing wrong with looking at them- just as long as you don’t get too comfortable. Just because they’re clams with nicer shells, maybe even a pearl between clean teeth, doesn’t mean they’re any less washed up.

“Welcome. What can I get’cha tonight.” You offered him the same smile you gave everyone.

“Aye. A pint ‘il do.”

The thick arches of gaelic in his voice caught you off guard. Deep timbers, pine rooted in his throat, leaves lime with humor. It pooled in the back of your mouth- an aftertaste you found yourself liking.

You filled his glass, rolling the shock off your shoulders. “We don’t get many scots ‘n here.”

He chuckled as you handed him a glass, blue eyes unwavering as he took a sip. “Nae? Though’ it’da be fool of ‘em.”

He pulled a genuine laugh out of you- the sound of sarcasm familiar- comforting. “What brings you here.”

“Work.” He said plainly- but the twitch on his knuckle told you he wanted you to ask more.

“Military?”

“What gave ye tha’ idea?”

You hummed, eyes running up his shoulders. You didn’t miss how they squared, conscious under your gaze. “You don’t look like a farmer. Too much of you.”

“Aye, ere’s neva too much of me, darl.”

You sucked in your bottom lip. Charmer.

“So, you are military, then?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You idled your hands with one of the many dirty glasses that blistered under old soap studs and dried foam. The rags bumpy fabric prickled your fingers- enough to keep them from trembling when he spoke.

“What branch of the military brings you out in the middle of nowhere?”

“Most of em.”

Your lips thin to an embarrassed line. Right, of course. “I…guess I’m really asking what branch you are.”

He took another swing of his beer, and you watched as he tipped his jaw back- revealing the catch of his throat as he swallowed. Must have been on purpose- show off.  “SAS. On leave, yer place looked tidy,” his eyes gave you a once over, “good tae see ’m right.”

Turning to set the glass down gave you an excuse to avoid his eyes. Demin blue but not casual, deep-set and sharp. Military grade, you could tell by the way they really saw. Accessing you, ran up the hunch of your spine and the click of your wrist- aiming to find spare bullets and threats.

He’d come up empty, though. No, not in you. All he’d find was the jump of your heart against your cervical.

“Mmm,” you offered, “Its cute, I’ll give it that much. Good for the drinks.”

He nodded, “’N maybe somethin more…”

These are the moments when your mother’s voice comes back to you. Thick spit, coarse hair- tangled and suffocating- your lungs sting almost as much as the red print on your cheek.

“Foolish child.”

Your back was turned, so you thought maybe you’d finally been tempting enough to something pretty. That the lilt in his voice, the gravel as it went an octave deeper, accent blooming under light o’s and rolled r’s- meant for your company.

That maybe, the looks you had been told were your only asset, had finally done some good.

You were left disappointed when you turned back around, cheeks a hopeful rose, when his eyes had left you. Instead, past your shoulder, to the red doors.

You’d never seen what was actually behind them, Francesca made sure of that. You could only assume it was the collection of every mans desire painted pretty- shelves of toys, women in bright, expensive lingerie, red lips on rum ones. A childish image, really, but what else were you to do?

In a way, you were just as desperate to get behind those doors as every man here. Not necessarily in the same way- not to satisfy some sick desire, dig up a buried, old arousal that their poor wives didn’t anymore.

No, for you it was to satisfy your own insecurity. Hungry creature, eager to prove and ready to sweat. To be something- pretty, ugly, didn’t matter. As long as you had a place there, you’d be rich.

“Oh, yes,” you let your customer smile come back, editing the script you were given in your head, “pretty gals over there. If you wanted a-“

“Ye work tere?”

You choked on nothing. “What?”

“Do ye work ‘n ta brothel?”

Genuine curiosity. Maybe he was hiding something else behind thin lips, but the question came out too casual for its boldness that you wouldn’t’ve caught it. You found yourself unsure in your own body, standing stiff as your bones questioned whether to lean, sit, or run.

You chose none of the three, and instead you spoke.

“No.” Not yet. You wanted to add. He hummed, taking a last swig of his pint before placing the cup on the table with a…hefty tip. You opened your mouth to say something, but when your eyes met his you were quickly hushed.

Ripped denim, now razor blue. The yellow of the lights seemed to bring it out, and if you weren’t confident he had killed a man, you were now.

“Shame,” he said, standing, “Such a bloody waste.”

[vryfmi]

book!l&co character lineup

finally finished extended version of my L&Co designs, based on their book descriptions! it took months, but im happy with the results

ID of designs + thumbnail-sketch under the cut

[image ID: two digital drawings of characters from Lockwood and Co books, done in semi-realistic style, black lineart and plain colour against grey background.

image 1: from left to right there are full body drawings of George Cubbins, Anthony Lockwood and Lucy Carlyle. George is standing facing left, slouching, he's looking at the viewer with indifferent expression. he's fat, light-skinned and has medium length fair hair. George's wearing round glasses, red t-shirt, baggy jeans, unzipped grey hoodie and sneakers. he has a grey sport bag in right hand and a black messenger bag across left shoulder. next to him there's Lockwood, he's standing half turned to right, he's facing the viewer with a gentle smile. Lockwood is paler than George, almost a head taller and slim with short, slightly wavy, black hair. he's wearing a grey three piece suit with white shirt underneath, as well as smart black shoes and a purple tie. on top of it is a black greatcoat. Lockwood stands with one hand in pocket and another resting on rapier's grip. the sword is in its scabbard attached to Lockwood's belt. furthest on the right is Lucy, she's standing half turned to right, head facing left with a curious look directed at the viewer. her skin is light and her hair is warm brown, slightly uneven and spiky with middle parting. she has a wide frame and is the same height as George. Lucy's wearing a baggy orange sweater, plaid grey skirt, black leggings and tall dark-brown work boots with iron patches. she's holding onto a strap of her rucksack that is on her right shoulder. there's also a belt on top of the sweater which holds her rapier.

image 2: from left to right there are full body drawings of Flo Bones, human version of the skull, Quill Kipps and Holly Munro. Flo is standing half turned to left, facing towards the viewer with a smirk. she's light-skinned with long dirty-blonde hair, and her face has smudges of mud all over. compared to previous pictures, she's almost as tall as Lockwood, but not quite. Flo is wearing long blue puffer jacket on top of her darker clothes that resemble one of fisherman's with mudded thigh-high rainboots. she stands with one hand in jacket pocket, one raising a brim of straw hat with a knife. said hat has a fishing hook stuck on its brim and two lavender stems attached to hat band. next to her is the skull in his human form. he stands half turned to right, slouching, hands in pockets, with head thrown back with a wide smirk across his face. skull is very thin and not really tall, he is tanned and freckled with spiky dark hair. skull is wearing ill-fitting clothes: a white old-timey shirt that is slightly too big and grey trousers that are too small and short. he stands barefoot. third from the left is Quill Kipps, he stand half turned to right, crossing his arms, head facing left with a look of annoyance. Kipps is short and slim, he has ruddy and freckled skin and short ginger hair. Kipps is wearing a grey leather jacket with Fittes logo on it as well as two medals, tight black jeans and chelsea boots. his rapier scabbard has a baldric type of belt. rapier itself has green gems on a hilt. finally, there's Holly Munro, she's standing half turned to left, head facing right with a gentle smile. she's pretty tall and slim with deep rich black skin tone and black shoulder length curls. Holly's wearing a white short lantern sleeve shirt with a blue dress with a cloth belt wrapped around and tied into a bow at the back, as well as low heel shoes. she has a light-blue scarf wrapped around her head. Holly also has white small earrings and beige nail paint. all of the characters have artist’s watermark at the lower right side of them./end ID]

bonus sketch

[unrealcity-if]

a cyberpunk interactive fiction

demo: prologue and ch1, 55k. play here.

Streets, empty - gnarled roots burying deep below the city. The gleam of teeth, an endless buzzing like flies. Dry, dead rock. There was water here once. Now toxic sludge seeps into the dirt, leeching life from the land. They staked metal, twisted it into the dead earth to block out the sky. They know that is too late, but they try to defy fate all the same.

Esurio is a city divided. You know this all too well. As a smuggler of black-market tech into the city from the outlands, you would like nothing better than to be free of Esurio once and for all. Yet the city seems to pull people in, and after a job gone wrong you find yourself entangled in a net of lies, inexplicably strange murders, and the one question that no-one knows the answer to -

What lies below Esurio?

[features]

pay off your debt through smuggling goods into the city

run from law enforcement

investigate strange murders, while trying not to end up the next victim

regret every life decision you have made

uncover what lies below the city?

meet (and optionally romance) 5 companions - 2 gender selectable

finally free yourself from Esurio?

[companions]

[ros]

Argo [nb] they/them, asexual :

If there's anyone in Esurio that you trust, it would be them. They've been by your side since you were young : first as friends and then (literal) partners in crime. When they were younger, they dreamt of changing the world. At some point they buried that dream. For now they keep to smuggling, hacking, and breaking every speed limit possible.

Appearance - shoulder-length coily dark brown hair, medium brown skin, dark brown eyes. prides themself on wearing the most colourful jacket they can find, and wouldn't know colour or outfit coordination if it hit them in the face.

Sora [f/m] she/her or he/him :

A private investigator with a moralistic streak. They attempt to fill in the gaps left by law-enforcement, dealing in all kinds of information, and know practically anything on anyone, while remaining a perpetually shadowy figure themselves. Motivated by curiousity and an alarming lack of self-preservation instincts, they're determined to uncover the truth about Esurio at all costs.

Appearance - straight, dark brown hair that flops over their brown eyes. olive skin. always wears a leather jacket and heavy boots: dresses practically. carries gadgets + a notepad in their bag: they are prepared for anything, especially a high speed pursuit across rooftops.

Brontë [f/m/nb] she/her, he/him, or he/they :

A failed musician with a trail of poor decisions behind them. They were going to make it big in the underground music scene, until, one day, they weren't. Cast-out and adrift, they're cynical and conflicted, a perfect example of a delicately poised balancing act. It's only a matter of time before they fall.

Appearance - wavy blond hair, dyed purple at the ends, reaching about chin length. pale, freckled skin and green eyes. wears light jackets, oversized tshirts, boots that are falling apart, and as many bracelets as possible.

Asha [f] she/they :

She ran with Argo, Jaya and you for several years, after her illustrious political family abruptly fell from grace and she had to look out for herself any way she could. A skilled mechanic, and never one to back down from a fight, she bounces from person to person, always living life at high speed. After Jaya's disappearance, she split from the group, and you haven't spoken to her since.

Appearance - straight, shoulder-length black hair. dark brown skin and dark brown eyes. wears work overalls most of the time, and is frequently covered in smudges of oil fromch her work as a mechanic. else, she dresses casually and comfortably - loose shirts, ripped jeans and a necklace.

Cas [m] he/him :

An artefact dealer in the outlands. You know his name, and not much else. He seems to float from place to place, avoiding strong attachments. Never talks about his past, his strange dreams, and pretty much anything personal. Knows what to do in a crisis, though, and is frequently the voice of reason.

Appearance - straight, short light brown hair, fair skin, eyepatch over his right eye - his left is brown. wears glasses. Always in a fashionable long dark coat and heavy boots: somehow manages to look constantly poised and well put together despite Esurio's characteristic humidity.

[other]

Acheron [nb] they/them :

They control much of what flows from the outlands into the city. After they rescued Argo and you from capture by law enforcement, you have been working for them in order to pay off your debt to them. They're level headed and ruthless, and you can't work out what makes them tick.

Jaya [f] she/her :

She was part of the underground smuggling group involving you, Argo and Asha, until she disappeared abruptly and everything went to shit. To this day, you've been unable to find out what happened to her. But thats in the past, right? [option to have been in a past relationship with her]

Valentine [nb] she/her and he/him :

Practically anyone in Esurio knows Valentine, or has at least heard of her. She's the person to go to for weird tech, fast cars and a way to vanish quietly. Despite her notoriety, and her fame as a guitarist, she always seems to be able to work just under the radar of the authorities.

[content warnings]

17+ (may be subject to change). violence, slight gore, horror aspects. implied sexual content.

[icanhearcolors]

Close Encounter

Summary: A conversation between my Tav and Astarion inspired me to write a short one-shot (I lied it's a series) reader insert about what I think would happen if they met before they were taken by the mind flayers

pt 2 | pt 3

This is pretty much my first attempt at reader insert so be nice to me pls ;-;

Lemme know if I made any grammar or spelling errors

Word count: 2.9k

---------------

“I’ll take the most you can give me of whatever has the most alcohol in it” 

You announce, slapping some gold coins down on the scuffed wooden bar. The barkeep who probably hasn’t had any business for the past hour startles out of his daydream and glances at you in surprise. He’s a dwarf, with a braided beard and kind eyes, and if it weren’t for the creaky wooden step stool he climbs up on to take orders he would barely be able to see over the bar top.

“Bit early in the night for that wouldn’t you say?” He asks as he climbs a ladder to retrieve a glass from the shelf above his head. You glance out the window as the last few rays of the setting sun color the night a deep reddish purple before it fades into a comforting black. 

You slide another gold coin across the bar. The barkeep smiles,

“Perfect time for some chultun fireswill if I say so myself miss.” He winks, slides the hefty glass full of orange liquid your way, and swipes up the coins before turning to another customer making their way into the tavern. You hold the glass up to your nose and sniff its contents. The fumes coming off the heavily spiced spirit has your nose burning and your eyes watering- perfect. 

You tap the glass on the counter and knock it back. You manage to get a few swallows in before your brain catches up to you and the fireswill burns a searing path from your throat into your stomach, settling there and warming you from the inside out. You slam the glass down and cover your mouth with your hand, trying and failing to hold in a fit of coughs. 

“Easy now.”

A cold hand lands on your shoulder, cooling your heated skin, and you turn, bleary eyed, unprepared for what you find.

He’s an elf, a very very pale elf- but not sickly pale. He just looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a century or two. His hair catches your eye, a shocking shade of pure white that makes his skin seem tan in comparison. It’s shorter than most elves keep their hair, and it curls in every direction, framing his face beautifully. Once you recover from your initial dazed attraction to him you attempt to level him with your meanest glare that you hope says piss off. He raises his hands in playful surrender and smiles disarmingly at you.

“Rough day?” He asks in a drawling voice. You take him in. He’s wearing a clean white shirt under a set of padded leather armor, and spotless black leather boots. He looks every bit a spoiled noble that has never seen a day of work in his life, but his hands are calloused, and his eyes look haunted. Speaking of his eyes, they’re quite an alluring shade of red. What an odd color for an elf-

His eyes narrow perceptively, as if he’s reading your thoughts as they flit across your face. He turns away, gesturing at your drink and turning your gaze away from his unique appearance.

“Most Baldurians don’t even touch that stuff until well past midnight, are we celebrating or forgetting?”

You turn your body away from the charming elf and stare into the last few sips of your drink. 

“We aren’t doing anything. I’m here to drink, not to talk.”

“Forgetting it is then. Excellent.”

From the corner of his eye you see him grin roguishly, the flash of his white teeth sending a curious spark of adrenaline through your system. Before you can discern why you suddenly went from warm and buzzed to fight or flight, he turns away, tossing a blue coin purse onto the bar and calling for the barkeep, allowing the alcohol to calm your frazzled nerves once more.

“Excuse me Lydon, I’d like to buy our grumpy friend here a drink that won’t burn a hole through her stomach,” He leans over the bar and drops his voice to a low murmur as if he were sharing a secret, “got anything good for me?” he practically purrs.

The dwarf, Lydon, flushes a deep red and grins coyly at the mysterious patron, “Maybe. But I don’t have enough for everyone Astarion, what if someone comes asking me how she got the good stuff and all I’m willing to sell them is stale ale and swill?”

Astarion’s answering grin is downright lethal. 

“It’ll be our little secret,” He winks. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

Lydon blushes even darker if that were possible and mumbles something about having a type before trodding off toward the old wooden door behind the bar. You’d never related to anything more. Astarion turns toward you and raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Waiting for a thank you?” You ask, wrestling with the instinct ingrained in you to be polite. Your tendency to people please is what landed you in this run down tavern in the first place. You don’t know this elf, and you don’t owe him anything.

“Well I wouldn’t say no to a little gratitude darling- especially not from you” his eyes trace a path from the top of your head to your scuffed leather boots and back up again, stopping at the blush on your cheeks, he smirks, and meets your eyes again. He steps closer to bump your shoulder with his teasingly, and stays there, close enough that your arm brushes his.

“But no my dear, I’m not waiting for a thank you. I’m waiting for a story.” 

“Oh yeah? Keep waiting.” You growl, and he tosses his head back, a genuine laugh bursting out of him. The sound of it is contagious, and you fight the urge to grin yourself. You nearly manage it, save for a slight twitch of your lips that he of course notices.

He tsks, shaking his head at you “I saw that. No use hiding that smile from me, love. The damage is already done.” 

You glare, this time with much less hostility. 

“Who are you? I’m morose and drunk on purpose, elf, and I will not let you wrestle me from it.”

“My name is Astarion” he says with a wink and a mock bow before he leans in, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, “and I’ll wager you’ll let me do a lot worse than that before the end of the night.”

Your breath catches, your pulse picks up, and you’re about to lose yourself in those strange eyes of his when a loud creeeeeaaak and a crash causes both of you to leap away from one another. The dwarven barkeep’s old step stool seems to have finally given in. He lay sprawled on the floor behind the bar, his foot caught in between the split wood.

“GODS DAMMIT” He howls, kicking off the stool. He sighs and hobbles up to you and your new… companion. You can see nothing but his angry eyes and the flushed red tips of his ears as he pours your drink and reaches up to hand it to you. When you grab for it he pulls it out of your grasp and stares at you with a threat in his eyes.

“You didn’t see that.” He snarls at both of you.

“See what?” Astarion feigns ignorance, looking around the room dramatically for whatever the dwarf could possibly be talking about. The barkeep rolls his eyes and hands the drink to you before limping off to find a chair to stand on.

You breathe slowly through your nose.

In.

Out.

In.

You will not laugh.

You have self control.

You take one glance at the pinched “I’m trying not to laugh” look on Astarions face, one that probably mirrors your own, and you explode in a fit of giggles so intense they make your stomach ache.

Astarion can’t hold it in either and slaps the table in his silent gasping laughter, the two of you making quite a scene, but somehow you really don’t care. 

You wipe tears from your eyes and sigh once your laughing fit subsides, your sour mood a distant memory despite your best efforts to cling to it.

“How dare you,” You whine half-heartedly. “I was so committed to my bad mood and you had to go and ruin it.”

Astarion’s eyebrows lower in confused amusement.

“Awww you poor sad little thing. I’d apologize, really I would, but unfortunately for you I’m not sorry.”

You take a swig of the drink he bought for you. It tastes of cherry and currant, and you have never had something so delicious from such a tiny little tavern.

“You should be” you murmur, hanging your head, the humor fading as you’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place.

Astarion notices your shift in demeanor and reaches down, lifting your chin with a cool finger and bringing your gaze to his.

“About that story,” He smiles encouragingly, and you give in.

The alcohol must really be getting to you now, there was no other explanation for the warm, safe feeling that hummed under your skin. Astarion was sweet, and attractive. His attention felt good, and before you could even make the decision to trust him you were already talking. You told him how you were a magistrate in the lower city, complained how the court system was broken and corrupt, and how the judge only appoints magistrates that unthinkingly obey his preferences, never allowing them to make their own judgements. You had tried for months to get on his good side but you think all you did was obliterate any meager scrap of respect he did have for you, and now every interaction you have with him he barks orders at you like you’re his dog and then dismisses you. You were thinking of finding a new profession altogether, but the lower city was plagued with crime, good people died every day because of it, and you had the power to help at least a little if only your boss wasn’t such an asshole. To your embarrassment you began to tear up as you finished your story.

Astarion for his part never interrupts you. He listens with rapt attention to your woeful tale, an indiscernible look on his handsome face. You try to turn your head away as a tear escapes your eye but his grip on your chin tightens, forcing you to stay right where you are. He wipes it away with his other hand and stares at you for a moment, seemingly deciding something.

He reaches up and drags a hand through his hair, releases a held breath, and plucks the glass from your hand, drinking what was left of its contents in two gulps. He brings the glass back down to the counter, a drop of the crimson wine dripping down his chin. The image gives you an odd feeling, like you’re missing a revelation that is only just out of your grasp. He glances behind you, and you turn and follow his gaze to another rather pale looking elf, this one with darker hair but similarly colored eyes watching the two of you with rapt attention. Goosebumps rise on your skin and that fight or flight instinct is back in full force. Your heart begins to pound against your chest, understanding the danger that you’re in even if you do not. 

“Smart girl” Astarion murmurs, and you whip back around to face him.

He wipes his face with his sleeve and grabs you by the hand, pulling you off the bar stool.

“W-what are you-” He places a hand on your lower back and begins deftly guiding you through the raucous crowd of drunk Baldurians. One stumbling wizard in the crowd pats his pockets down and cries,

“Has anyone seen my coin purse? It’s blue!”

“Walk faster” Astarion says into your ear, his warm breath whispering across your neck. You do as he says.

After what feels like a lifetime of dodging drunk elbows and slipping through temporary openings in the crowd you reach the exit, and Astarion rushes you soberingly into the cold night air. 

“You stole that guy's money didn’t you?” You accuse.

He doesn’t even have the decency to deny it,

“What are you going to do darling? Arrest me?” is his reply.

He doesn’t slow down for a single second, ushering you into a dark alley near the tavern.

“Astarion what are we doing? You can’t just wander into abandoned alleyways at night! This is how people get kidnapped.”

His startled gaze clashes with yours in the dim light for a moment before he laughs. Not an amused genuine laugh, but a pained, choked sound that claws its way out of his throat involuntarily. He runs a hand through his hair once again and then turns away from you, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“It is indeed, darling,” He whispers so quietly you have to lean towards him to hear it. 

“You have no idea.”

You don’t have time to react, the alcohol slowing your reflexes, before his hand is around your throat and your back is against the brick wall of whatever building is behind you. You reach up and grab his wrist, eyes widening in panic. For a flash you see in your mind your body lying asphyxiated in the revealing light of morning, another victim to the merciless city of Baldur’s gate, and you prepare to fight like hell, when Astarion lunges for you and…

Kisses you?

Your brain short circuits, all thoughts drifting away with the sensation of Astarion’s mouth on yours. His hand around your throat gentles, his long fingers drifting over your skin until they press into your pulse point, feeling your racing heartbeat. 

You fist his shirt sleeve in your hand. Maybe it's because you’re smashed, maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time someone kissed you, maybe it’s because you know no one that’s ever kissed you has been as good at it as this man- whatever the reason may be, you kiss him back. 

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, stepping closer until his body is pressed against yours. You reach up to do what you’ve been dying to do since you first saw him and feel the soft strands of his hair.

He leans into your touch and it emboldens you to kiss him deeper, your tongue scraping against something… sharp?

He gasps and pulls back, just a few inches, staring into your eyes. He seems to be searching for something, almost desperately.

You stare back, equal parts terrified of and enraptured by this beautiful stranger.

Finally, he drops his hand from your neck and steps back, the cold air assaulting you once more as you crash back down to reality. You gaze at Astarion, confusion written all over your features.

“I can’t do this” He laughs. It sounds just as pained as the last one.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t bring you to him”

His head snaps up to the sky, studying the stars.

“I still have time to find another. Petras saw me with you, he’ll tell Cazador if I come back with someone else. But I can lie. I can say you knew what I was, escaped before I could lure you back. Maybe he won't question it. I’d spend a few weeks in the kennels but it could be worse. I can’t tell him I changed my mind, I can’t spend another year in that tomb.” He’s rambling now, not to you but to himself. 

He rubs his face in his hands and takes another stumbling step back.

“Go” Is all he says.

“Go? Go where?” You mumble, feeling cold and strangely a little hurt by his retreat into the shadows.

You don’t have dark vision, in the dim torch light much of his face is now hidden from you, but his eerily red eyes seem to glow like a cat’s now in the dark. The sight fills you with dread. Pieces begin to connect, the hundreds of unsolved missing person cases, the handful of eyewitness accounts claiming they saw the missing leave with someone. The descriptions varied, but a few details remained constant. The unknown person was always charming, flirtatious even, they tried to get their victims intoxicated in some way, and they always had a pallid complexion, red eyes, and sharp canines. Sifting sluggishly through your muddled memories you can even recall a couple of accounts of victims leaving taverns on the arm of a white haired pale elven man.

Astarion was a vampire.

“Go back to the courts,” He begins, “and never apologize to Judge Eruien. Stand up to him when he’s being an ass, he’ll never respect you otherwise. Go back home and lock your doors safely behind you. Never invite anyone in unless you trust them implicitly. Go back to your life in the sun, make Baldur’s gate a little better just by being in it, and if you ever-” He leans toward you, his face inches from yours once more. Now that you know what to look for, you catch glimpses of his uncomfortably long canines with every word that he speaks. 

“See anyone with eyes like mine again… run.”

With that he steps back into the shadows. They seem to swallow him whole, and you do run, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you never told Astarion the name of that judge you were lamenting about.

In the years that follow you take his advice, and your work life drastically improves. Enough so that you feel comfortable asking the old elven judge about his former magistrates, a tear dripping down your cheek as he tells you what he can recall about a white haired elf with golden eyes and a promising future that was ripped away when he was murdered almost two centuries ago by a gang of Gur that didn’t appreciate his final ruling.

A month later you wake up in a nautiloid.

[komotionlessqueenmm]

Storm & Blaze

(1-1)

Short story # 22

Gifs NOT mine.

Summary - You were once friends with Reed, and when he calls asking for some assistance on a project, you're happy to offer him a helping hand. But the moment you enter the lab, Johnny finds himself completely smitten. And when he learns who and what you are, he truly believes you're the one for him.

Year posted - 2024

Rating - SFW

Reading time (roughly) - 10 minutes

Johnny is OOC af but what do you expect?

"Wait so why can't you finish this project?" Johnny asked for the fifth time in the past hour. Ben groaned in annoyance. "I told you, an old friend of mine has the final piece to this project." Reed explained, growing impatient waiting for his old companion. "What do you mean they have the final piece?" Johnny pried, confused as to why someone Reed hadn't spoke to in years, would have something so important to him. "Look you're just going to have to-" But Reed was cut off when the lab doors swung open, a woman dressed in a black leather jacket, with a large chain wrapped diagonally across her torso, skin tight skinny jeans, and killer combat boots, strutted in as if she owned the place. "You're finally here." Reed breathed a sigh of relief, while the others were stunned into a silence. "Sorry about that, ran into some trouble on my way over." She said with a cunning grin, her voice making Johnny's heart jump in his chest. "Everything okay?" Reed asked as he met her halfway across the large lab. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She shrugged casually, her eyes practically glowing as she looked at the others.

"Oh right." Reed chuckled before turning to his friends, ushering (Y/n) over to them silently. "Guys this is my old friend (Y/n) Blaze." Reed introduced her to them, Susan approaching her first. "It's great to finally meet you, I'm Susan Storm." She smiled brightly at (Y/n), who shook her hand with a kind grin. "This is my brother-" She turned to introduce her brother, only for him to practically shove his way passed her. "Johnny Storm." He stuck his hand out with a charming smile, his skin feeling hot when she shook his hand. "Ben Grimm." The largest of the group introduced, offering his hand for a moment, then pulling away thinking better on it. "Well it's a pleasure to meet you all." (Y/n) hummed with an amused grin, her attention turning to Reed when he grasped her elbow. "I'm really glad you came." He said, silently leading her to the equipment he was working on. "Let's get to it." (Y/n) mused, sensing his eagerness to get on with it. "It's right over here. I probably should have waiting before installing it, but the rod is just through here." Reed pointed to the small gap in the side of the machine. (Y/n) peered inside, her eyes landing on a rod that glew a dull shade of purple. "What do you need me to do?" She asked as she observed the rest of the mechanism.

"Essentially I need you to give it a jump start... You know... With your ability." He murmured the last part, feeling a little guilty for dragging her all the way out here for something that seemed a little trivial. "What's it for?" She asked as she faced her old friend, ignoring the eyes that practically burned into the side of her head. "It's a machine that will contain Johnny's powers, in case he looses control, or just needs to let off some steam." Reed winced at the pun, clearing his throat. "What's his power exactly?" (Y/n) asked curiously, and before Reed had a chance to explain, Johnny appeared at her side. "I can control fire." He said with a charming smile, allowing his hand and forearm to burst into flames. "That's ironic." (Y/n) chuckled as she smiled at Reed, who found her words equally amusing. Though Johnny, Susan, and Ben were a bit confused. "Alright back up, don't know how this will go." (Y/n) said as she turned her attention back to the machine. Reed and Johnny took her advice, and stepped several feet away. "You ever tell them about me?" She asked as she glanced back at her old friend, who looked a bit bashful. "No I didn't." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little bad, despite the fact that they hadn't been close in years. "Okay. Well no matter what happens, don't touch me." (Y/n) said as she looked to the others, who seemed confused though they still nodded their heads in agreement.

Content with that, (Y/n) turned back to the machine, reaching her arm deep into the gap, until her fingers wrapped around the rod. Susan wanted to protest, knowing it wasn't safe for anyone to touch the rod with their bare hands, but Reed stopped her, placing a comforting hand onto her shoulder. (Y/n) shuddered at the electrifying sensation that burned up her arm. "Fuck." She breathed out softly, tapping just barely into her power. Her eyes glew brightly as the rod began blazing with life, a horrifying screeching sound echoed throughout the lab. Everyone but (Y/n) clutched their ears, hissing in pain. (Y/n) grunted a gutteral primal sound, her skin burning and turning a bright shade of red. "Let go!" Reed hollered, knowing it had done the trick, and if she kept at it, she might actually bring the machine to life. (Y/n) hissed as she released the now bright glowing rod, pulling her arm out to inspect the damage. Susan gasped at the sight of (Y/n)'s fingers, which had turned a deep shade of black. The woman seemed unconcerned about the development however, wiggling her fingers to make sure they still worked before letting her arm fall back to her side.

"You did it!" Reed gushed as he rushed around the machine to run a few tests. "Glad to help." (Y/n) hummed, her skin slowly cooling, and fading back to its natural tone. "What the fuck?" Johnny breathed out in utter surprise, having been watching her closer than anyone else. (Y/n) glanced his way, and shot him a casual wink. "How did you do that?" Susan asked in astonishment, approaching the machine she had thought would be a lost cause. "He really didn't tell you guys anything about me huh." (Y/n) said with a chuckle, shaking her head a little with a grin. "He never even told us your name." Ben stated gruffly. "Sounds about right." (Y/n) said with an amused roll of her eyes. "Are any of you familiar with the name Johnny Blaze?" She asked as she moved to lean against a large metal table. "Wasn't he that stunt motorcyclist?" Ben asked, to which (Y/n) nodded in agreement. "And my father." She added, the news making Johnny wince inwardly, knowing he shared the same first name as her father. "Didn't he like go awol and disappear years ago?" Ben asked, and (Y/n) clicked her tongue. "Something like that I suppose. Anyways the point is he made a mistake when he was younger, a futile attempt to save his dad. He sold his soul to a demon by the name of Mephisto." She could see the skeptical looks in each of their eyes, something she was used to.

"Anyways it changed him, he was unknowingly bonded with another demon by the name of Zarathos. It's where his power comes from." She thought for a moment before correcting herself. "Came from." She shrugged casually, and while they seemed to find her story odd, they listened intently. "And well when I was a teenager I made the exact same mistake as my father. In exchange for annulling my father's contract, I would take his place, and take up the mantle of Ghost Rider." She licked her lips, pushing off of the table. "I sold my soul, and became a spirit of vengeance." She said as she held her hands out at her sides. Reed had come back around the machine just in time to see her burst into flames, her skin muscle and tissue melting away in an instant, leaving her a skeleton, her clothes unaffected by the flames. The laugh that rumbled in her hollow chest, sounded like the devil himself. Susan had jumped back in surprise, Ben watched with curiosity, And it took everything in Johnny not to tackle her in a hug. Feeling as if he'd found the other half of his soul, his eyes sparkled with astonishment, hypnotized by the flames that lapped at where her skin had been.

Without really thinking Johnny strode towards her, feeling the intense heat of her flames with every step. "Flame on." He muttered as he neared her, ruining his clothes that burned away the instant his body engulfed in flames. (Y/n) observed him with a small tilt of her head, her bony hand reaching out to touch his chest. Another laugh rumbled from her, sounding sinister and dangerous. "(Y/n)." Reed called out to her, afraid she might try using her Penance Stare on Johnny. She looked at Reed for a moment, then back to Johnny, who couldn't tare his eyes away from her. "Johnny what are you doing?" Susan hissed at her brother, who ignored her, as he placed his hands onto (Y/n)'s waist, surprised to find that she didn't feel like a skeleton, but a whole person. (Y/n) in turn wrapped her arms around his neck, anticipating what he might do next. "Don't so anything stupid!" Susan hissed at her brother. Who tightened his grip, and pulled (Y/n) flush against his chest, her clothes still unaffected by the added heat, he suddenly flew them out of the tower. The demonic sound of her laughter made something buzz in Johnny's chest, as he flew them far from New York, and high into the great rocky mountains.

When he landed, they simultaneously extinguished their flames. Leaving Johnny standing there as naked as the day he was born, and (Y/n) looking human once more. "Couldn't keep your hands to yourself huh?" She asked with a teasing grin, still standing chest to chest with him. "Not really." He admitted with a smirk, observing the fine details of her face. "I feel like I'm being pulled towards you, like I'm meant to hold you in my arms." Johnny admitted, more sincere about his admission, than anything else in his life. "I just told you I sold my soul to a demon, and that I am bonded with another demon. And you're infatuated." (Y/n) chuckled with a grin, humming in her throat when Johnny nodded his head in agreement. "You might just be the strangest man I've ever met." She added in a playful tone. "But you like strange don't you?" Johnny asked, slowly inching his face closer to (Y/n)'s. "What makes you so sure?" She taunted, despite finding herself leaning in as well. "We were made for eachother." Johnny stated confidently, finally closing the gap between them. Fire ignited at their feet, and made its way further up their legs, stopping just at their chests as they deepened the kiss.

[headcanonsandmore]

This has been on my mind for a while but I know I'm not the only Whovian who hates the outfits Tegan and Nyssa were lumbered with in season 20 onwards. Most of the remit for them seems to have been "show as much skin as possible so the dads watching can leer at the actors" (they both, along with Peri, got the brunt of these awful costumes).

So, to rectify that (and inspired by @timelordian-disaster-126 's awesome artwork), here are some suggestions for outfit ideas for Tegan and Nyssa that I think would be fun.

Nyssa would probably like dungarees, so a pair of linen or corduroy dungarees are a good idea. Paired with a polka-dot or funky patterned shirt. Bonus points if Nyssa starts adding scientific instruments into the pockets. A pair of sturdy boots (either with a stack heel or no heel) would complement it nicely, plus a long raincoat (think Ms Frizzle by way of the Thirteenth Doctor).

Tegan's season 20 outfit is hated by all of us (Janet Fielding especially) so literally anything would be better. In which case, I think practicality is the best bet for our favourite Australian so a pair of jeans, t-shirt (preferably a plain colour like white or light blue but could be purple to reference the flight attendant uniform) and a plaid shirt (maybe red or a dark blue). It is Important that the plaid shirt be rolled up to the elbows. A leather jacket to complete the outfit but (if cold) could be switched out with a thick woodsman jacket. For footwear, either a pair of sturdy trainers or a good pair of Doc Martins.

Nyssa wearing a roll-neck jumper with a pair of black dungarees (sort-of a reference to her jumpsuit in season 19, but with more of a individual spin on it). Perhaps accesorised with a necklace or some pens stuck into the dungaree front pockets.

If Tegan wants more of a femme-inspired look, perhaps a long skirt with a blue-and-white striped t-shirt (either long or short sleeved). She can also wear a pair of leggings underneath, combined with some nice tennis shoes in a complimenting colour.

Nyssa in a shirt, trousers and waistcoat would be fun, perhaps accesorised with a pocket-watch on a chain. Perhaps with a boater-hat (maybe she found Romana's old one whilst rooting in the TARDIS wardrobe?). She can have a neck-tie (either done up or loosened) or go without, depending on the situation.

Dunno if it's practical for Tegan to wear a tuxedo, but maybe some sort of shirt, trousers and jacket combo. It would work well with her shorter hair in season 20, as well.

Those are my ideas, but what do you all think? Please let me know what ideas you have. :)

[overly-dramatic-artist]

On the Horizon - prologue

Hello friends! As per the voice of the people, the Wild West au is being written into a fic! I’m still building the world and some plot details, but here is a small little appetizer of a prologue! Thank you for all of the love and enthusiasm that you have shared with me about this au!

The memories of this town remain, like the grains of desert sand caught in the folds of leather boots and saddles. Nothing truly leaves this place. The plant may be plucked, but the roots that get ripped by the stubborn ground are trapped, not unlike the years spent in innocence under the scorching sun and surrounded by the unforgiving mountain range.

You pull on the reign, effectively halting the steed hauling your small wagon you sit upon, as you see the more defined structures of Aurora Springs come into view against the glowing sunlight that sinks lower against the purple mountains. There’s an ache in your chest, a tightness in your lungs as you breathe in the dry air, remnants of your past rushing forward like a dust storm, unyielding as the laughter of childhood wonder and honeyed words of your mother embrace your subconscious.

Her final letter sits in the tight space between your chemise and vest, over your heart and folded just as it had remained for the past 6 years.

And on the opposite side against your hip is your father’s holster and pistol, tucked discreetly into a deep pocket of your skirt.

A letter of love. An object of protection.

The only pieces you had left of your parents that had driven you to abandon the notion of mercy.

You had become a product of this desert, unrelenting and unforgiving.

………..

Some things in life never change. The out of tune piano across the bar. The shattered glass window that has been long since in need of repair. The suede leather chaps Sun had worn for years. The casual look of disdain on his lunar counterpart’s face as patrons yap and jabber. And of course, the unfounded and quite frankly stupid belief of man that this time for sure he will win.

With a round of loud groans and laughs, Sun collects his winnings from the table, much to the anger of the drunk man who had refused to fold before losing everything.

“So sorry, gentlemen, looks like I win again,” the sunny automaton says, the faux-sympathy of his synthetic voice further riling his red-faced opponents.

The man with the heavily oiled mustache and britches two sizes too short frowns, spits at the floor and stands with a screech from his chair.

“You been counting the cards! Ain’t right for a cheater to win.”

“Come now, good sir, I renounce rule-breaking. If you truly thought me a cheat, you shouldn’t have played the game.” Sun tilts his grin towards the man before slowly standing to his impressive height, one hand cradling over the grip of the pistol in his leather holster. “But I suppose we could always settle this like proper men…?”

The glint of the low bar-lighting on the silver gun that hits the angered man’s eye is enough of an answer, and the loser leaves in a huff, stomping away from the table.

Not long after settling all bets and debts, the lunar and solar automatons leave, saddling up their horses roped in the stalls.

”No need wasting a gunshot for the sake of petty cash,” the dark one says, his red eyes reflecting on the black rim of his hat, stomping the last embers of his cigar into the ground.

“You of all should know I don’t take well to being called something so despicable as a cheater,” Sun playfully shoots back. “Besides, I could get a couple rounds more with what I won.”

Moon clicks his teeth at his partner, adjusting the rifle slung over his back before signaling with the reins for Astraea to start moving. The horse brays, leading Calliope to follow.

As usual, the lunar bot remains silent for the ride through town, keeping his gaze forward. Sun was good at filling the silence, or at the very least, making the pair seem slightly less intimidating to onlookers. Their line of work came with that deadly connotation, and they lived up to their titles, but a bit of charm and camaraderie was useful for keeping the townsfolk in good favor. A nod to the miners coming back from the canyons, a wink at the courtesans on the corner.

Passing one of the bulletin boards by town hall, Moon pulls the reins to a halt with a hum. Sun looks where his partner is fixing his eyes, an identical smile pulling his lips. On the rotting wood bulletin is a newly pinned poster. A wanted poster. With an intriguingly high priced bounty wanted alive.

“I was looking forward to a weekend fixing that fence in the east pasture…” Sun says, pulling the poster down, letting his fingers trace over the details of the pretty face printed in ink, “…but I can’t pass up such an offer.”

His lunar lover laughs with a shake of his head.

“Does it say where they last were?”

“Stormridge, headed west.” Sun passes the paper to Moon. “Could already be here in town.”

The red-eyed bot hums, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it with the exposed wire on his wrist with a hiss. He lets his systems take in the smoke, the tarry buildup caressing the roughness within his casing. With an artificial exhale, he looks back at his partner.

“I suppose we should go get those rounds then.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Ahhhhhhhh!!! I hope that is enticing and intriguing for a beginning!

And for anyone who hasn’t seen this au before, here are some of my sketches for it 💖

[icky-rickyy]

Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

[redr0sewrites]

HEY HEY HEY YOU LIKE GOTH TELL ME MORE ABOUT YOUR ALT SCENE HEAD CANONS

🥀A/n: AJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSS YESS !!!! i could talk about this for hoursss ngl-

🥀all photos are from pinterest, credit to the original creators! i did not make these ♥️

Pandora Rosier:

in my head, i see her as like a lighter version of whimsigoth. definitely leaning more on the whimsical flowery fairy vibes heavier than the goth vibes, but still with alternative aspects! she definitely decorates her hair and braids with a TON of crystals and charms!!

purples and reds, flowy dresses, chunky rings, charm belts, layered crystal jewelry, cardigans, flowy sleeves, funky tights, etc

when it comes to music, she'd be a fan of The Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Cocteau Twins, Kate Bush, and Strawberry Switchblade

Dorcas Meadows:

FAIRY/SOFT GRUNGE. HEAR ME OUTTTTT

a lot of forest greens and earthy tones, basically grunge with a bit of fairycore mixed in

lots of thrifted items, heavy earth tones, arm warmers, flower patterns, crystals, maxi skirts, doc martens + mary janes, dangly earrings, etc etc

when it comes to music, i think she'd listen to Kleenex, The Violent Femmes, Cheap Trick, Red Aunts, and The Raincoats

Barty Crouch Jr:

mix between metalhead punk and scene. like think punkrock mid 70's-early 80's crossed with early 2000's scene kid, and thats him

spikes, metal, leather, lots of oversized and ripped band shirts, stripes and heavy patterns, chains, chunky boots, fishnet/sheer tops, double statement belts, heavily dyed hair, liberty spikes, thin/mini brows and smudged eyeliner, etc

when it comes to music he is ALL over the place. think Nine Inch Nails, Rob Zombie, Paramore, Green Day, Soundgarden, Death Grips, etc. think like dad rock, but throw in a few early 2000's bands as well

sortaaa think like a cross between all these- finding a photo for him was SO hard lmfao neither of these r exactly whats in my head but close enough

Evan Rosier:

similar to Barty but less scene and more dad rock/metalhead and slightly toned down. definitely more earthy tones, less hot topic energy and more thrifted/handmade energy.

also wears a lot of jewelry and crystals in his hair, shares them w pandora!

not as many bright colors and patterns, heavy layers, earthy tones, cargo pants, converse, layered jewelry/crystals, chunky belts, statement baggy pants with decals, bleached shirts, torn aviator jackets, boots, bulky sweaters layered with band tees, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to Nirvana, The Doors, Type O Negative, Specimen, and the Ramones

Regulus Black:

(twitching and convulsing he is my fav)

honestly i see him as either: victorian goth, or corporate goth

he either dresses like he's possessed by a small victorian child or ebeneazor scrooge and there is no in between

very masculine, lots of ruffles, detailed vests, cuffs and long sleeves, black trousers, heeled boots, loose flowy blouses, high collars, lots of grey, white, and black, long leather overcoats, heavy layers, rings, etc

finding photos for this was like a herculean task bro it was nearly impossible and this is about as close to what i see in my head as i could get but still... not perfect *sigh*

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to Veruca Salt, Talking Heads, Clan of Xymox (TRUST HE WOULD), Siouxsie and the Banshees, and Lebanon Hanover

Sirius Black:

i know everyone and their mother believes in punk Sirius, but hear me out- mall goth Sirius Black. PELPSLSPSLSPSLSPSLSS

i feel like he dresses both masculine and feminine a lot, his gender is very fluid and so are his outfits so he isn't strictly masculine or feminine

im thinking like early 2000's hot topic kid x mid/late 80's punk, definitely very mall goth inspired but a little more modern too

wide baggy pants with chains, chunky necklaces, mismatched earrings, skeleton gloves, leather jackets with studs and decals, sheer/fishnet tops, chunky boots and doc martens, chunky rings and bracelets, bracelets with studs/spikes, kandi or beads, trashy band or skater tees, thrifted cargo pants with patches, those specific red and black striped gloves/arm warmers that every mall goth person has, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to The White Stripes, David Bowie, Bon Jovi, INXS, Meat Loaf, Three Days Grace, Green Day, and the Offspring

Remus Lupin:

grunge all the way. and i don't mean like tiktok grunge, i mean genuine early-mid 80's thrifted "fuck fast fashion" grunge. i also see him having a bit of the grunge/punk academia aesthetic, but overall very grunge centric style

in my head he doesn't wear a lot of jewelry, especially since silver burns him as a werewolf, so he'll wear the occasional ring or necklace but that's about it

grandpa sweaters, oversized hoodies, cargo pants, earthy tones, brown converse or loafers, faded band tees, jorts, greys and greens, collared shirts, chunky shoes, baggy trousers with patches, bleached clothing, aviator jackets, etc

when it comes to music i think he'd listen to David Bowie (duh), The Doors, Ramones, Talking Heads, Killing Joke, U2, Journey, INXS, Abba, The Calling, and Foo Fighters

Marlene Mckinnon:

RIOT GRRL. I KNOW IM RIGHT I KNOW IT I KNOW IT I WILL DEFEND THIS TILL THE DAY I DIE SHE IS SOOO RIOT GRRL

most of riotgrrl fashion is pretty much the more "feminine" version of punk, and shares some overlap with the "rockstar gf" aesthetic (which irritates me *just* a bit but thats a story for another time). in my head, i think of like a cross between misa amane, nana, and the mid-late 80's punk scene

think layered fishnets, leg warmers, micro mini skirts, lacy lingerie, graphic tank tops, feminist patches/pins, spikes and studs, lots of leather, chains, chunky boots, cross/pentagram motifs, bold animal prints, torn band tees, high heels, bright red lipstick, and basically anything that would serve as a great big "fuck you" to misogyny and beauty standards

i had the biggest riotgrrrl phase, so let me just say i am an EXPERT on the music. marlene would listen to Bikini Kill, Babes in Toyland, Veruca Salt, X Ray Spex, The Raincoats, Paramore, Kleenex, Hole, Dazey and the Scouts, Bratmobile, Slutever, Mommy Long Legs, Le Tigre, Destroy Boys, Cheap Perfume, and Lesbian Bed Death

Mary MacDonald:

GYARU!! i totally see Mary as a gyaru girlie, idk in my head i just see her rocking the makeup and lashes along w the style !!!

i sadly don't know too much about the Gyaru scene as there are many different types, but i did a little research and i feel like Mary would dress in the Ane Gyaru aesthetic- which is (PLEASE correct me if im wrong i am not an expert!!) an older, more "rebellious" and slightly darker version of Gyaru. Ane Gyaru is often mistaken with Onee Gyaru, but is different in a few ways. Ane is more rebellious and incorporates a darker color scheme, and overall has a more rough look. definitely more alternative than cutesy in comparison to other Gyaru styles, and i feel like it fits Mary well

think flashy animal prints, miniskirts, teased hair, long lashes, detailed hand bags, fluffy boots, furry leg warmers, silver jewelry, statement belts, lots of lace, leather and denim, and lots of makeup!

i genuinely do not know anythinggg about Gyaru music and i am sosoooosososos sorry 😭 if anyone has any ideas or recommendations for bands/gyaru music they think Mary would listen to, please lmk!!!

i will do a pt 2 so that i dont reach the photo limit but!!! hope u enjoyed!!!! PLSSS SEND IN MORE MARAUDERS ERA WRITING REQS YALL IVE BEEN OBSESSED- it could be x reader or just hcs like this whatever u want🧍

my two current hyperfixations in one post... someone sedate me...

[amazingmaeve]

FINDING COMFORT

queen maeve x fem!reader

summary — after maeve was ruthlessly outed by homelander vought had the bright idea to make one of the first sapphic superhero couple. that’s where you come in, and since you’ve been out vought has used you for profit so it’s not much of a surprise, what surprises you is the feelings that grow between you and maeve.

warnings — smut, oral (r receiving ), scissoring, some, bits of angst, fluff, and vought and Homelander just being really annoying

word count — 6,240 words

authors note — im so excited for this I’ve been wanting to write for her since I first started watching and finally I got to its. anyways I hope you enjoy this and happy reading. gif credits. also got some inspiration from @venus-haze fic kick it out so if you hadn’t read that please of because it’s amazing!

queen maeve masterlist | the boys masterlist

“Are you fucking crazy,” Maeve snapped as she stood in front of Ashley with her arms across her chest. Her face hardened as soon as Ashley said those stupid words. Maeve could feel the blood inside her start to boil and she had to refuse to punch her in the face.

“I’m sorry this is just what The Seven needs their first lesbian-,” Ashley began to say.

“Bisexual,” Maeve interrupted with a glare in her eyes.

“Bisexual superhero in The Seven and in a relationship with another woman. The world will love this, it will bring a whole new meaning to girl power,” Ashley ranted as her face was filled with excitement.

“I’m sorry I’ve done this shit already with Homelander why would I want to do this again,” Maeve questioned as the word ‘Homelander’ came out her mouth, er stomach was burning with vile and chest filled of vitriol towards the man who thinks he’s the best thing to ever be conceived.

“This will be different, this girl isn’t like Homelander, she’s actually not murderous and she won’t cause as much drama as him,” Ashley defended the idea she came up with.

Maeve sighed as she stood in Ashley's office, she didn’t know what to do, she hasn’t been with a girl since Elena, and yeah she’s had lots of sex with guys but girls are different. She had such a strong bond with Elena and she didn’t know if she could do it over again with this girl Ashley was talking about.

Not to mention that Homelander is a jealous prick even though Maeve and him aren’t together, he’ll cause her life a living hell and this girl as well. Maeve didn’t know if she could bring this random superhero into this already heated up drama.

“You know what Homelander is like,” Maeve muttered knowing that he could be listening at any moment and barge through the door. “You know what he might do to this girl and you want to bring her into this,” She questions.

“Trust me he won’t do anything,” Ashley reassured Maeve. “And plus I think this girl can handle her own,” She says.

“Who is the girl anyway,” Maeve asked, as she was piqued with curiosity. There weren’t many openly gay superheroes and she doesn’t have enough willpower to recognize all of them or she just wasn’t interested.

“Oh it’s The Traveler,” Ashley whispered and Maeve nodded. She’s heard of you, of course, you were one of the few lesbian superpowers. She knows that you can travel between time and make portals to travel place to place.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door and Maeve's head snapped towards the direction and Ashley said, “Come in,” and you came through the door.

You walked through the door and Maeve couldn’t deny that you were a beautiful woman. You were dressed in your superhero costume, a black skirt and a black leotard for a top and leather jacket to cover it. There were purple gems glittering all over your outfit and the end of the outfit was topped with some black boots.

“Can you hurry up Ashley I don’t have all fucking day,” You snap as come to walk next to Maeve without even giving her a glance.

“I know you probably heard that Queen Maeve here is now part of the LGBTQ+ community and we wanted to make something good out of it,” Ashley told you and you rolled your eyes.

You had great sympathy for Maeve as she was outed on public’s television at the hands of Homelander and if you were in her position you would have never worked with a man as vile as he is. But you understood that getting out of the Seven and getting out of Homelanders sight is a hard thing to do.

Plus she wasn’t hard on the eyes.

“You mean you want to capitalize on her sexuality,” You say, letting your arms fall to your sides. It wasn’t surprising since it was what they do to you all the time. Having you do commercials for Vought as one of the lesbian superheroes. It was especially hard during pride month where they used you for monetary gain, having you speak at conventions and on talk shows about how you were so proud of your sexuailtiy and you were but you hated how they took advantage of you. But hey at least they pay you graciously.

Maeve looked at you covering her surprised face with her usual hard shell. You were right, they were just going to use her and bleed her dry until she was just a shell of her old self, as if she wasn’t already.

“You know that’s what I mean,” Ashley defended herself and you let out a huff when she said those words.

“Do we even have a choice,” Maeve questioned and you nodded alongside her. You were curious if you could even say no to Vought.

“Yes of course you do,” Ashley says.

“I guess I‘ll do it,” You muttered looking at the ground at your boot-covered feet.

“Maeve,” Ashley questioned, her tone dropped to a more serious tone.

“Whatever,” Maeve responded in her bitter tone and you understood it all too well. You were just like her when you came out and Vought used you, and plus she was a part of the Seven, she’d be more valuable and by proxy more profitable.

“Then it’s settled we’ll have the both of you post something to your social media about how you two were in a secret relationship and decided to be out as a couple in the public,” Ashely says, her eyes back on the iPad she had and her tone more happier.

Maeve rolled her eyes at the ‘decided to be out as a couple in the public’. Homelander outed her on fucking live television there was option as coming out but she swallowed her words as she always did with Vought. She didn’t like it but it was something she was used to and something she was starting to hate more and more.

You on the other hand were looking at her with sympathy, being outed sucks and you knew this. When you were younger your friends decided to out you as lesbian so you understood to an extent. She was outed on live television where most people watched and now everyone knew.

Letting out a sigh you look at the ceiling getting ready for the shit storm Vought was about to do and how they were going to get money out of it.

It’s been a few weeks since the ‘relationship’ between you and Maeve went public and least to say people loved it. Not the conservatives and the bigots who thought that the LGBTQ commiunity is infecting the youth. But you and Maeve were the number one trending Supe ship.

After the social media post went up the two of you went on talk shows and talked about how you were excited to finally be out and proud.

Obviously not meaning any of the words either of you said. It was just Vought scripts that were as lifeless as a corpse. Nor you or Maeve didn’t believe any of the shit Vought told you to say because you two weren���t in love. At least not yet.

The two of you got along well and you could tell that Maeve was closed off to you and you weren’t mad, you were closed off as well. But when you two did speak it was only for a few moments and it tended to be more awkward than anything, but you had a mutual respect for each other and that was all that you needed.

Maeve on the other hand didn’t want to get you hurt, you seemed like a nice person and you didn’t deserve the wrath that Homelander held, her on the other she felt like she deserved. You didn’t. So if she kept her distance with you unless the two of you were expected to show up somewhere or public dates the two of you go on.

To be completely honest Maeve was starting to like you, you were cute, you made jokes that made her stifle a laugh and that was more of a reason to distance herself. She couldn't get you involved her fucked up mess. She didn’t know if you liked her but you liked her enough to make small talk and to seek her out and ask her about her day. Even if you didn't, she needed to do what was right.

She couldn’t do that to you even though she was finding herself more and more into it, the more she found out the more she was interested. The more she was in this ‘relationship’ was way more comforting than the one she had with Homelander and deep down she was loving every second she had with you. But she would get a happy ending with you or with anyone.

The two of you enter an elevator after a long day of work, going out and stopping criminals and least to say the both of you were tired.

“God this day was really tiring,” You mutter leaning against the wall of the elevator.

“You can say that twice,” Maeve muttered, crossing her arms across her chest looking down at the elevator floor.

“Is it getting any better,” You blurted out the question that you've been wanting to ask her but didn’t want to be too intrusive.

“Is what getting any better,” Maeve questions even though she knew what you were talking about.

“Believe it or not I know how you feel with the whole outing situation but I can’t imagine what you’re going through, especially since Homelander did that to you. But all I know is after I was outed it took me a while to get comfortable in my own skin,” You say and Maeve does her best not to react to his name being brought up. She sure as hell knows that he’s probably listening so she’s going to have to be herself.

“Things are….. better,” Maeve says with uncertainty in her tone and you gave her a look of pity knowing that she was lying.

She had her walls built up higher than you can ever imagine and you wanted to help her break those walls down, so that she could look at herself and see what you see. A beautiful strong woman. You felt your heart start to race as it usually did when you were alone with her.

“Hey,” You say, approaching her and putting your hand on her upper arm and she tenses as you do so but she’s not willing to admit that your touch caused some sparks to go up her spine. “Just so you know if you need anything from me, or just to talk I’m always here for you, just because Vought is making us do this doesn’t mean I don’t care and talking about it really does help. So just remember that, any time of the day you need something, don't be afraid to knock on my door,” You say with a soft tone that almost made her melt, that almost made her just say screw it and kiss you but she held back.

“Thanks, right back at you,” Maeve says and you give her a soft smile before removing your hand.

“I’m gonna need to take something before I go and see Ashely because she is getting on my fucking nerves,” You say to break the tension.

“Trust me you’re gonna need a lot more of anything you have,” Maeve snorts and you let out a small giggle.

“I know and I’m hoping that she’s either too tired to talk too much or just is gone at her home because I can’t wait to go home and finally get some rest,” You say, resting your head against the hard wall.

“Or maybe she’s just getting fucked and even then she might be even grouchier,” Maeve blurts out.

“Maybe, just maybe she finds the love of her life and decides to just quit but hey dreamers can dream,” You shrug your shoulders with a slight eye roll.

“Cheers to that,” Maeve gives you a nod.

The elevator finally reaches level 99 and the two of you walk out and prepare to go your separate ways, no matter how much the two of you want to stay and talk the night away.

“See you tomorrow,” You give her a wave before heading to Ashley's office, getting ready for everything she has to say to you.

“Bye,” Maeve gives you an awkward wave as you turn around and she curses herself and shakes her head.

God she was so awkward with this, with someone she actually liked, not guys she brought up her to just fuck and to get her mind off everything. You were different and she was using all of herself to not just say screw it and try it with you. Because he would always be there and taunting her.

“See you two are getting along,” Homelander says walking up to stand next to Maeve.

Speak of the fucking devil.

“What do you want,” Maeve questioned, her hands turning into fists beside her. She did not want to deal with him right now, she didn’t want to deal with his condescending tone and him just bothering her when she didn’t want it.

“What I can’t see if my teammate is doing well in her relationship,” Homelander says feigning hurt and Maeve rolled her eyes at that. He didn’t feel hurt, he was just upset that he didn’t have her anymore.

“Why the fuck do you care, you and I both know that you’re not hurt by that, you were the who practically had it happen,” Maeve commented, telling the truth. If he didn’t out her, she wouldn’t be in this relationship with you, hell she might not even know who the fuck you are.

“That is true but is it so hard to believe that I hope you two are happy, that you guys happen to be just like the two of us. Starting out fake and ending up in a real relationship,” Homelander says putting his hands behind his back and Maeve had to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t tell him how much she fucking despised him.

“Just leave her the fuck alone please,” Maeve says her tone with an underlining of fear. Fear for you.

“Why would you think I want to hurt her? If anything I might thank her for making you happy, and who knows we all might be friends in the end if things work out right,” Homelander calmly says and Maeve could hear the subtle threat. Even if he wasn’t outright threatening you, she knew something would happen to you if she didn’t do something to protect you. Staying away was out of the question. She needed to make sure you were okay.

“Plus, you seem really comfortable with her, especially with that talk you guys just had,” Homelander says with a grin. Maeve could swear she felt her heart stop but she kept a straight face. “Hopefully she knows what she's in for when she signed up for this, literally,” He chuckles.

“Whatever, can you please just leave me alone,” Maeve snapped and Homelander gave her a shocked and surprised look.

“You know you might want to keep your eye on her, I mean who knows what could happen to her, especially at night,” Homelander says with a cryptic tone as his shoulders tense before he leaves.

Once Maeve made it to her penthouse she finally let out a breath of air that she’s been holding. She knew that he wouldn’t out right kill you right now, so she had some time to get a game plan. She had to protect you. No matter what it took.

Taking a swig of her whiskey she took a seat on her couch as her shoulders slouched with tiredness and stress. Besides everything she couldn’t wait to see you, no matter when.

It’s been a few days since that day in the elevator, but you don’t know what’s changed in Maeve. She’s been more into talking to you and you can’t say you’re upset. She’s been more of a comfort, and you loved that.

But she’s been flirting with you at least more outwardly.

You can’t lie when you say that you've been loving it. Ever since this relationship started a few weeks ago you’ve been trying to talk to her and now she’s actually talking to you. Whatever changed in her you loved it.

She’s also been very sad whenever you have to leave, whether it was to go to work somewhere else or go home. She always looked a bit upset and you didn’t know why, it couldn’t be she’d miss your presence. At least you didn’t think so.

But you've always reassured her that you’d be back whether it's the next day or a few hours from then. She seemed to like the reassurance you gave her and you’ve been using that so she doesn’t get so sad, upset, or hurt when you leave. It sometimes left you up at night wondering if she was just lonely or she acutely did like you.

On the other side of the fence Maeve has been keeping her eye on you after Homelander not so subtly threatened you. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy flirting with you. Even though it’s been a while since she has flirted, you seemed to enjoy whatever line she threw your way based on the shy smile you’d give her, or the tiny laugh.

Even though she enjoyed flirting, she’s been getting more and more clingy due to Homelanders eye now being on you. Asking you if you were going to be okay, or when you’re going to be back and you’ve always reassured her that you would be back and you were fine.

It helped but it didn’t help the thought that you may be dead the next day and when you walked in the room with your signature smile she felt herself relax. What usually helped her get through the night is alcohol but she hated drinking that shit even though it helped her clear her head.

On this particular night, Maeve sat down on her couch trying to just watch tv but her thoughts kept coming back to you. If you were okay and if you were, what were you doing? It was only 11 at night so you wouldn’t be doing much and she hasn’t had any alcohol today. So nothing stopped her when she stripped herself out of her costume and into some jeans and a flannel t-shirt.

Looking in the mirror she cringed a little, it’s been a while since she’s been in casual clothes.

Putting her hair into a ponytail and then she shook it out trying to figure out what to do with it. She decided to just leave it down and put some sunglasses on to make sure no one recognized it was her, people were probably already asleep or in their homes so hopefully they didn’t recognize her.

Walking out of the Vought tower she looked around to make sure no one knew her or even worse, if Homelander was following her. He’s been in and out of it recently so she hoped he set his eyes on something else.

She walked in the direction of the Vought owned apartment building where you lived. You told her where you lived, if she needed to see you or if she just wanted to talk.

In this particular moment she just needed some comfort, whether it be talking or just being in the same room as you. Anything would do, if she were there, she would be able to make sure to keep you safe. At least try.

Standing in front of the door she raised her hesitantly and stopped trying to control her racing heart, but she took a deep breath as she knocked on the door and took a step back waiting for you to answer it and took her sunglasses off as well.

No going back now.

At first she was worried that you weren’t there, or worse that you were just dead because you weren’t answering the door but she felt her shoulders drop as soon as she heard you walking to the door.

Once you opened you were surprised to see Maeve standing there, especially in casual clothes since you’ve never seen her in anything else. But you saw her give you an awkward smile and you licked your lips before deciding to say something.

“Maeve what’s wrong,” You question, clearing your throat moving out of the way so she could come into the apartment. Luckily you were still awake because you were about to go to sleep, she probably knew due to you wearing sleeping shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to wake you, I just wanted to come over since you always said I could if I needed to,” Maeve awkwardly rambled as she entered the room and you closed the door behind her.

“Don’t worry I wasn’t asleep yet, I was about to but you got here just in time,” You reassured her standing in front of her.

“I just needed to talk to you, or to just be here next to you,” She says while shaking her head as she feels her body finally relax. You were safe.

“Oh well, I’m glad you did, I did say you were welcome here anytime,” You give her a cheeky smile making your way into the kitchen. “Want some water, or any other beverage,” You questioned.

“Water is okay,” Maeve answers, scratching the back of her head as she makes her way to sit on your couch. Your apartment was very homey, nothing like the lifelessness of her penthouse back at the tower. This place made her feel safe, like she could just live here with you.

“Okay here you go,” You say, giving her the glass of water before sitting down on the couch next to her leaning against the cushion and facing your body so that you were looking at her. “Since you are here, do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you or do you want to just watch tv, that’d be fine as well,” You question not wanting to feel too pushy.

“Let’s just talk,” Maeve softly replies before turning her body to look at you as well. It was pretty dark but not dark enough to see that Maeve looked really happy and that made you feel good.

“What do you suggest,” You ask, contorting your body so that one leg was under you.

“Uh what do you do besides being a superhero that works with Vought, or is this your full time job like me,” She asks.

“Well I do like to volunteer on my own time, without any cameras to talk to kids in children's hospitals, I just feel like Vought would just use that to monetize it so I just kept it to my spare time,” You answer looking down at your lap.

“Wow, so you're just a real superhero,” Maeve says, looking at you with adoration. She always wanted to be a hero and when she started, she felt like it, she really wanted to help people but Vought ruined it like they always do and soon she was just another person they could get money from.

“Well so are you, I mean you’re Queen Maeve for fucking sake, you make a difference even if you weren’t out in the front line,” You chuckle.

“I don’t think I do,” Maeve answers with a tiny cringe. She wishes that she was everything you said about her but she wasn’t and that just made her heart almost stop.

“Come on, you’re an inspiration to little girls all around the world and now you’re probably helping a lot of kids come to terms with their sexuality and trust me I wish I had someone like you to look up to when I was growing up,” You say, your tone full of happiness.

“I don’t see it,” Maeve laughs, taking a swig of her water.

“I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” You muse looking at her with such warmth that would make her feel like the only person in the world. You put your hand on her arm giving a smile caress.

“Vought just fucking sucks,” Maeve remarked and you give her small nod.

“That is true, I mean I’m only doing it for the money now,” You say with contempt. “It’s just another greedy corporation that doesn’t care about anything they say it does.”

“It just feels like I’m projecting this persona and no one knows the real me, with all the fucking scripts and talk show interviews, its just fucking tiring,” Maeve sighs, resting one of her hands on your knee just taking in the comfort you’re offering her. “It’s just one thing after another they want you to do and it’s never enough.”

“That’s true nothing will ever be enough for fucking greedy companies like Vought, but you knows what helps me,” You say leaning in a bit.

“What,” Maeve questions, using her thumb to rub figure eights on your knee as she unconsciously starts to move it a little higher.

“Knowing that someone out there, no matter who they are, and they need inspiration and we can give them that, even if it’s just to stand up to their fucking boss or kick a guy in his balls if he can’t take fucking no for an answer. People who just look up to us and know that we make that difference, I know it sounds kind of stupid but it really does help me sleep better at night,” You say knowing the stories your fans have told you, about how much you helped them.

Meanwhile Maeves had started to give your leg some goosebumps. You were already a bit hot and bothered due to her just being her and now she was teasing you.

“That makes sense, I just wish I could look through those lenses,” Maeve lets out a tiny giggle.

“I hoped that helped you though, because I totally see where you’re coming from,” You say with a bit of worry.

“Don’t worry you totally helped me, you just being here and listening to me helped me,” Maeve reassured you, giving her hand a squeeze on your thigh, she moved a bit closer to you as you felt your heart start to race a bit. “Can I uh try something,” She asked with a laugh.

“Of course, anything,” You say with a swallow.

Maeve leaned in closer til she pressed her lips to yours and you put your hand on her cheek and moved your lips along hers. It’s been a while since you’ve even liked someone so kissing someone felt like eons ago.

But it felt good kissing her and her hand lightly caressing your thigh as she kissed you hard and slipped her tongue in your mouth after you lost the battle of dominance. You moaned into her mouth as she started to trail kisses down your neck and started to suck a bruise on your clavicle.

You moaned as you felt yourself get wetter and wetter by the second and the only sound you could hear in the apartment was her heavy breathing and your moans.

“Where’s your room,” Maeve muttered the question as she started to trail kisses up your neck and right below your ear and started to make another hickey right there.

“Uh,” You began to say but moaned when she found your sweet spot on your neck. “It’s straight down the hall,” You say as you clear your throat.

Maeve then surprised you with your strength (which you shouldn’t be really surprised) and picked you up so your legs were wrapped around her waist as the two of you kept kissing as she made her way to your room. Her hand was on your ass and started to gently squeeze, making you moan into her mouth again.

She finally got your door open and walked to your bed and gently put you on the bed but not leaving you alone for a while as she made her way on top of you and started to kiss you again.

Your hands found their way into her long red hair as she ran her hands up and down your thighs which made you sigh into her mouth as her tongue started to explore what felt like every inch of your mouth. You started to grind up into her hips trying to get some friction you most desperately needed even though you were still in the confines of your shorts.

Making her way down your neck she started to pepper kisses along your chest and got frustrated when your shirt got in the way. She moved her hands to the hem of your shirt and you leaned up a little so she could pull it off you. She gave your chest a look of adoration before she started to trail kisses and started to leave hickeys along your chest.

You were letting out little whines and whimpers due to the fact that you felt like your pussy was getting more and more wet each time she kissed your body.

Her mouth finally made its way to your nipple and wrapped her plump lips around the tiny bud that was already hard due to it being a bit chilly. You moaned and arched your back a bit when she began to suck your nipple and you started to grind harder and harder against her own hips.

Moving away Maeve unbuttoned her own shirt and threw it to the side to where your shirt laid. You didn’t even have a little time to stare at her chest before she started to kiss down your stomach and around your belly button and started to toy with the strings of your shorts.

“Please,” You moaned as her hands moved down to your upper thighs and squeezed a bit harder but it definitely didn’t hurt you.

“Please what,” Maeve said with a cheeky tone that almost made you explode into pieces.

“Just touch me please,” You begged, jutting your hips up trying to get more friction on your pussy as you felt yourself get more and more wet if that was even possible.

Her hands made their way to your hips and pressed them down to the bed so you couldn’t move your hips and you let out a whine at that. You felt like you were about to burst into pieces.

“Just relax and have some patience sweetheart,” Maeve said with a sultry tone that made you whimper.

You nodded and decided to relax against the pillow which made Maeve give you a little smile. She moved back to your lower stomach and returned to kissing your body and you closed your eyes and let out tiny moans whenever she decided to give you a little nip.

Once she decided she was done with teasing you which felt like an eternity, she pulled down the shorts and let out a little laugh when she saw that you weren’t wearing any panties. While you moaned as the cool air came into contact with your wet pussy.

“God you are so fucking hot,” Maeve cursed as she moved down little and started to tease your inner thighs and decided to resume her kissing as she slowly made her way up.

You moaned as she sucked another hickey right above your aching clit that was throbbing. Her hands were still on your hips so that you could grind your hips up and that level of strength she held made your insides heat up. She chuckled against your skin as she felt you try to but she didn’t let up.

Once she did decide to take mercy upon you and press a gentle kiss to your kiss, you let out a tiny moan due to the sensitivity. She dragged her tongue along your wet folds, that made you moan and squeeze the blanket that you were laying on and your hand turned into fist.

Her tongue started doing wonders as she ran it up and down your folds multiple times and went up to your clit and your hips stuttered a bit when she wrapped her lips around your clit and started to softly suck on the soft nub.

“Maeve,” You moaned louder this time, that your neighbors might hear you.

Meanwhile Maeve had her thoughts clear of Homelander once you started moaning and she already adored the way she could make you melt with a couple kisses and touches.

Due to her teasing you, you could already feel your organsm rising and you would feel a bit embarrassed but Maeve seemed to know and started to suck harder and her mouth left your clit once which made you whine a bit but was quickly reassured when she ran her tongue up your folds and sucked your clit harder this time. She ran her tongue all around the little nub that she could feel throbbing.

“Maeve, I’m about too-,” You say your voice a little high pitched.

Maeve gave your hips a squeeze and nodded her head in reassurance without removing her lips from the tender muscle. So you just let your body do your thing and you let out strings of moans and yelps as Maeve started to suck faster and harder and with another single suck you let out a loud moan as you came all over her tongue.

Even though you felt like you blacked out, you could feel Maeve dip her tongue into your folds, deciding to clean up your release and moaning at the taste of you. You winced at the overstimulation and put your hand on her arm tugging her back up and luckily she did.

You could taste yourself on her mouth as she started to kiss you again and your hands started to move to her hips wanting to return the favor.

“Come on, take your pants off and let me help you,” You mutter against her lips, which makes her moan into your mouth. She nodded against your lips.

Once she got her pants and panties off and she returned to kissing you, your hands made their way to her hips again and started to move around to her thighs. But deciding that she still wanted to be in control she moved her hands to yours and put them to the sides and gave them a squeeze which made you moan into her mouth.

“I just want to help you like you helped me,” You whimper against her lips.

“I know but just trust me with this,” Maeve muttered moving her lips from yours.

The next thing you knew you felt her grinding her pussy on top of yours and her clit dragging across yours. You moaned but that was quieted once she decided to stick her tongue down your throat again.

You weren’t complaining.

Her grinding didn’t stop or show any hesitance as she felt her own release start to rise. Her clit throbbed against yours as she felt the knot in her stomach start to tighten even more. And due to the fact that she’s been wet ever since she kissed you it didn’t even take one more thrust before she came against your pussy with a strained moan of your name.

You smiled against her lips and kissed her neck and shoulder as she came down from her own release.

Once she felt legs stop shaking Maeve pulled the blankets over both of your nude bodies and wrapped her arms around and rested her head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

“Feel better,” You quested drawing random things on the arm that was wrapped around your waist. You felt her chuckle against your neck and pepper a few kisses below your ear.

“Feel amazing,” Maeve whispered in your ear which made you let out an airy giggle.

“Well I’m glad I could help,” You laugh as you put your hand on top of hers.

“You definitely did more than help,” Maeve says as her eyes look over your nude form. Even though she couldn’t see much she saw something that made her let out a giggle.

“What are you laughing at,” You smile, twisting your body a bit so you could get a better look at her. But you had to admit a smile looked amazing on her.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Maeve says between little laughs.

“For what and you don’t seem sorry for whatever it is,” You laugh along with her.

“I just wanted to say sorry for the bruises,” Maeve sheepishly says and you look down to your hips and you could feel yourself already get more wet by looking at them.

“No need to say sorry, It’s kinda hot,” You say with a smirk.

“You dirty dog,” Maeve laughs, resting her head on the pillow.

“Says you,” You laugh and for what feels like ages you finally feel happy.

[ourfatherwhoartinhell]

Love, Eternal // [Part II]

Pairing | Phantom x Sister!Reader

Word count | 881

⚠️ Warnings | Reader uses she/her pronouns, (y/n) is used once. There is a small ritual scene. TW for murder ghouls, blood, injuries, assault, violence, and death.

Plot Summary: Today was Phantom's summoning day, a special occasion akin to a birthday. Eager to surprise him with a homemade cake, you realize you're missing ingredients and head into town. On the way back, you encounter trouble with some members of the Catholic church that changes the course of your life in the Ministry - and with Phantom - forever.

A/N: I'm so sorry Phantom, no one deserved this. It was supposed to be a fluffy birthday fic I swear!

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“Peace be upon you, Sister. If we can even call you that.”

Glaring over your shoulder, you saw two members from the Catholic church up the road approach behind you. They loved to take turns hanging around the front gate and tormenting the Siblings. The first nuisance was a few inches taller than the other, both still being larger in stature than yourself. The taller one was thinner in frame, with short curly hair. While the smaller one clearly hit the gym, his biceps straining against a shirt you knew was definitely a size too small.

“Where’s your gang of freaks? I thought you people always had guard dogs when you went to town?”

You just ignored them, as you were taught to do, and kept walking. The sound of their shoes on the gravel getting louder and louder. Their pace hurried as they continued to stalk behind you.

“C’mon, we just wanna talk!” The taller one yelled. 

“Yeah! We want to convert!” The shorter one snickered, “you wouldn’t turn away willing converts would you?”

You suddenly stopped in your tracks, unwilling to put up with their taunts any longer. They were not going to ruin Phantom’s big day. 

“You know what–” 

Unfortunately, as you spun around to confront them, they happened to be a lot closer than you originally thought. The taller one already making his way behind you. His shorter accomplice roughly grabbing the bag off your shoulder and laughing as he threw it on the ground, crushing the newly bought ingredients under his boot. The purple food colouring appearing black in the moonlight as it splattered over the stones of the driveway, not unlike blood.

The shorter assailant grabbed your wrists and held them tightly behind your back with ease. The taller fiend wrapped his arm across your collarbone and around your neck, holding you still. You tried to wiggle and break free, you tried to bite or scream but a hand quickly found its way over your mouth as a third man slowly approached. 

The third assailant was different from the other two, clearly the leader of this gang. He was a larger, well-built man with short hair you thought to be blonde (though it was too dark to really tell). His hairstyle looked like it belonged at a country club. His face was covered with a black bandana, leaving only his hazel eyes visible under the night sky. He stood before you and stared, not a single emotion to be found on his face as he adjusted the black leather gloves, placing brass knuckles through the fingers of his right hand.

You shut your eyes, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. Silently pleading, no... desperately praying you were close enough to the Abbey for somebody to hear your muffled screams.

Swiss and Rain were slowly running out of ideas to keep Phantom distracted. Taking care of the small ghoul, in general, was as bad as trying to look after a kit. However, because it was his summoning day, he was insufferable - and they were powerless to do anything about it. 

The two ghouls in charge of him looked at one another, silently wondering what was taking you so long. You had been gone for over 2.5 hours and they both knew it only took an hour to get to town and back. Shrugging it off, they figured you had forgotten to tell them you were back and went straight to the kitchen instead, to avoid further delays to Phantom’s surprise.

Midway through enthusiastically telling the older ghouls a ‘fascinating’ story, Phantom suddenly froze. His nose pointed high as he sniffed the air, tail twitching as he looked around with worried eyes.

“Guys,” he said, looking at his brothers with a concerned expression. “I think (y/n) is in trouble.”

Swiss casually leaned back into the couch, “Ha, that’s a good one! I don’t smell anything except for the kitchen staff whipping up some mean lamb chops for dinner. I know you’re itching to see her, she’s probably just busy, Bug.”

“Trust me, she hasn’t forgotten.” Rain chimes in.

Phantom squeezed his eyes shut as he exhaled in frustration. Sniffing around again to confirm his suspicion, his tail went rigid as he picked up that strange scent once again. 

“No, I’m serious, something's not right. I have to go.” He said before rushing out of the den, following a faint wisp of your scent mixed with fear…

And blood.

Swiss and Rain immediately jumped up, not smelling anything out of the ordinary themselves, and ran after the spooked ghoul. Passing by Dewdrop, they dragged him along just in case the young ghoul was right. Dew was more than happy to tag along if it meant the possibility of discarding some ungrateful souls.

Phantom, well ahead of his packmates, threw open the large double doors of the Ministry and jumped over the front steps. The gravel spitting behind him as he sped down the driveway, your scent growing stronger with each step.

He skidded to a halt as he saw your visibly lifeless body laying near the gated entrance of the Abbey. Quickly making his way to your side, he gently picked you up and cradled your broken body in his lap. Ignoring the pain of the rocks and stones cutting into his legs, he attempted to calm his breathing once he noticed the rise and fall of your chest. Thank the dark Father you were still alive.

“Oh, Satan,” he choked out, his lavender eyes welling with tears as your face turned towards him. Your one eye swollen shut and your face adorned with all kinds of bruises and cuts.  Blood decorating your face like a painting and seeping through your outfit onto the gravel underneath.

“Hi,” you wheezed, trying to force a smile through the swelling.

“I can fix this,” Phantom sobbed as he frantically looked at the extent of your injuries. “I can fix you. You’re going to be just fine. Aether has been teaching me a lot, I know I can fix this,” he rambled.

Phantom’s violet Quintessent glow illuminated under his grey skin as he carefully ran his hand over your many wounds. The smaller cuts closing and reopening as he worked against his emotions. He placed his hand with the utmost care over a large cut on your cheek and forcefully shut his tear soaked eyes. Willing the Dark One to give him the power he needed to save you as he felt your essence begin to slowly slip through his fingers.

The other ghouls halted their run, looking on in horror as they saw the scene before them.

“Help me, please!” Phantom screamed in anguish.

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