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alwaysmicado · 10 months ago

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Nightcall

10.4k | 18+ MDNI | Marc Spector x f!reader

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, biting, rough & emotionally intense sex, multiple orgasms, possessive!Marc, choking, spitting, creampie, toxic dynamic Summary: Marc is a bad habit you can’t shake. A/N: This idea has been haunting my dreams like Marc has been haunting reader’s. And just like reader, I couldn’t resist the allure of this elusive, rugged, and devastatingly addictive man. Could you? Happy reading (even though it hurts) and let me know what you think! *Marc lifts & flips you with ease (he’s MK, duh). Dividers by @/cafekitsune.

One year.

It’s been one year since you’ve last seen him.

One whole year of wondering where he is, if he’s left for good this time, if he’s even still alive.

You’ve tried to fill the void in your heart, started smoking again, gave the nice guy from the coffee shop down the block a chance. He’s kind to you, makes you laugh, brings you flowers, and you think you could grow to love him.

You’re trying.

You’re trying so hard.

To forget, to forgive, to heal, to live.

And now he’s back. In your life, standing at your door at 1 a.m.

Marc Spector.

The bane of your existence.

You were lounging on your couch in your pajamas mere moments ago, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows on the walls, when a knock at the door shattered the peace you’d begun to find. Your heart stopped, your head jerking towards the door.

It couldn’t be.

You heard his voice, rough and familiar, sending a jolt through your entire being.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice muffled but unmistakable.

You stood, your legs trembling, walking closer to the door in a trance, bare feet on the wooden floor, your hand hovering over the doorknob. You didn’t answer, but you couldn’t tear yourself away.

He was alive. He came back.

Marc came back to you.

What now?

Taking a deep breath, you look through the peephole, and your heart flutters when you see his face. He looks as handsome as ever, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt, dark curls hidden under a baseball cap, beard stubble a little grayer than the last time you’ve seen him.

But there’s a weariness in his eyes, a deep exhaustion that pulls at your heartstrings.

He’s tired.

You know he is.

He’s told you in the rare moments he’d let you in, your sweat-covered bodies tangled in your bed, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

You’d see a spark of something in his warm eyes then. Something akin to sadness, longing, regret. But it would disappear after a few seconds, and he’d harden again, turning around to gather his clothes, telling you he needed to go.

You’d find new scars on his body every time he came to see you. He’d show up with barely scabbed-over cuts, a black eye, a dislocated shoulder, a split lip. And you’d patch him up, kissing it all better.

You stopped asking how he got his injuries some time ago. He’d always give you the same answer anyway.

“Just a scratch, baby. Nothing to worry your pretty head about.”

Whatever it is that keeps him going, it has more power over him than you ever will.

Tears blur your vision, and you slide down the door, sitting with your back against it. You want to stay strong, to remember the pain he’s caused you, but his words cut through your resolve like a knife.

“Come on, let me in. I came all this way to see you.”

It feels like he’s been out there for hours, but you know it can’t have been more than two minutes. Why is this happening?

“Let me in, Sunshine. Please.”

You blink back tears, shaking your head even though he can’t see you, your hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into your palms.

Every time.

Every time, he rips open the wounds he inflicted on you, and you know this time won’t be any different. You want to resist him, want to tell him to go to hell, that he can’t keep doing this to you, that you’ve finally had enough.

But you can’t do it, can you?

Resist Marc.

You both know you can’t. And deep down, under all the bullshit you like to tell yourself, under all the anger, under all the resentment, you know you don’t want to.

You never did.

Going for a smoke outside the bar, goosebumps forming on your bare arms as the wind blew and the rain fell, your feet sore from being caged in high heels for hours, the only thing you wanted was a minute of quiet, a minute where you didn’t have to smile or act like you were having fun.

You were tired—tired of the noise, tired of the people, tired of the pretense.

All you wanted was a moment of peace.

“Shit,” you muttered, staring at your lighter in disbelief as it refused to spark, tears of sheer frustration pricking the corners of your eyes. Leaning against the cool brick wall, you let your head fall back, eyes closed, trying to shut out the world.

How did it get like this? How did you get like this?

Deep down, you know you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself. The problem is you. Not the world, not your parents, not the shitty things that have happened to you. It’s you. It’s always been you.

“Need a light?” a voice cut through the rain, smooth and unexpected.

You opened your eyes slightly, just enough to see a stranger standing a few feet away. “Yeah, mine apparently hates me,” you replied, lifting the offending object.

The man chuckled, a warm sound that contrasted with the cold night. “Here,” he said, stepping closer. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk stirring something inside you. “I got you, Sunshine.”

He pulled out a sleek silver lighter, flicking it open with practiced ease, producing a small, steady flame. You put your cigarette between your lips, leaning in to catch the light. His eyes never left yours, a connection forming in that brief moment. He then lit his own cigarette, taking a drag.

The first inhale of nicotine calmed your nerves slightly, a welcome distraction from the chaos inside your mind. “Thanks,” you muttered, leaning back against the wall and savoring the moment of quiet.

“No problem,” he nodded, staring into the surrounding darkness.

He was closer now, leaning against the wall next to you, his presence oddly comforting.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that.” You let out a dry laugh, glancing at him. He was handsome in a rugged way—dark curls, full lips, broad chest, with a confident air that was alluring. “What about you?”

He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Rough night.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the gentle curve of his nose and the laugh lines in the outer corner of his eyes. You also noticed his split knuckles in the neon glow of the party lights hanging above.

“I guess we’re both running from something,” you said softly, taking another drag of your cigarette.

“Is that so?” He smiled at you with a raised eyebrow and you smiled back. “I’m Marc, by the way.”

You gave him your name and shook his hand, feeling a strange jolt at the contact. “Nice to meet you, Marc. Thanks for the light.”

“Anytime,” he said, his expression turning pensive.

You both smoked in silence for a while, the rain a soothing backdrop to your thoughts.

When your cigarettes were nearly finished, Marc turned towards you, his movements smooth and deliberate. He leaned in, his hand bracing against the wall next to your head, bringing his face and body close to yours, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, his eyes dropping from your eyes to your lips with unmistakable intent.

You hesitated for a second, brow furrowed, thoughts swirling. The rain fell around you in a soft patter. You searched his eyes and found something, something that promised a temporary escape from your hollow existence.

You didn’t have anything to lose.

“Yeah,” you said, putting out your cigarette with your shoe.

You ended the night with him on top of you, in your bed, all your troubles wiped away for a couple of hours. His hands roamed your body with a hunger that matched your own, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive.

You thought it was just a one-night stand since he left as soon as you both came down, and you fell asleep, spent and satisfied.

Until he showed up at your door late at night, two weeks later.

There he was, standing in the hallway with that same charming smile, holding up a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. “Mind if I come in?” he asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s how it all started. This…thing you have going on.

“I missed you,” he’d whisper in your ear, his voice rough with longing as he was buried deep inside of you. “My beautiful girl.”

Those words would wrap around your heart, suffusing you with a warmth that felt like everything you had ever wanted. In those fleeting moments, it was as if all the pain and uncertainty melted away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of being cherished, if only for a little while. But then, like always, he would leave, and the cold reality would set in.

He would tell you he couldn’t stay, but not why. His eyes would darken with unspoken burdens, and he’d brush a kiss against your forehead, promising he’d be back.

Yet, he never told you it was for your safety. He never mentioned the shadows that lurked around him, the dangers he faced on a daily basis. He didn’t tell you about the battles he fought, tooth and nail, just to carve out a few hours to be with you.

He didn’t tell you any of this, and after some time, you stopped asking. The questions died on your lips, replaced by a resigned acceptance. You accepted that you’d never be more to Marc than a brief escape, a distraction from whatever demons haunted him.

Well, your brain did.

But not your heart.

Your heart clung to every whispered endearment, every stolen touch, every heated kiss that promised more than he could ever give. Your heart held onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, one day he’d stay. That one day, this torturous cycle of brief encounters and long absences would end.

You’d lie in bed after he left, the sheets still warm from his presence, his scent lingering in the air. You’d replay the moments in your mind, his whispered words, the way he looked at you as if you were his salvation. You’d clutch your pillow, trying to hold onto the ghost of his touch, knowing that come morning, the loneliness would creep back in.

Every time he returned, it was like a balm to your wounded soul. He’d pull you into his arms, his kiss desperate, as if he was drowning and you were his only breath of air.

And for those precious hours, you’d let yourself believe that you were his beautiful girl, his light in a world filled with darkness, that he needed you as much as you needed him.

He’d leave again, the door closing softly behind him, and you’d be left alone. You’d tell yourself that it was enough, that these stolen moments were worth the heartache.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t.

You always knew that your heart was breaking a little more each time he walked away.

And you know now that any resolve you’ve built up over the past year will crumble the second you open the door and look into his eyes.

It’s always the same.

No matter how sick and tired you are of his careless behavior, no matter how many times he chews you up and spits you out, no matter how many nights you spend crying over him, mourning him, cursing him, self-hatred wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket.

You let him in. You let him do this to you.

Because you love him. Because you’re a fool.

Slowly, reluctantly, you stand, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You sigh deeply, and before you can stop yourself, your hand turns the knob, opening the door just a crack.

Marc pushes the door open wider, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, and before you realize what’s happening, his cap is on the floor and his lips are on yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he kicks the door shut behind him. He spins you around, pressing you against the wall with a desperate need that makes you dizzy.

“I missed you, Sunshine,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming your body.

“Don’t call me that,” you protest, your palms pressed against his pecs.

He smiles. “But it’s who you are. My Sunshine.”

“I’m not your anything, Marc,” you hiss, trying to push him away. He doesn’t budge. “I’m a warm body for you to fuck. That’s it.”

“That’s not all you are to me,” he says without missing a beat, brows furrowed, thumb brushing over your lower lip with a maddening gentleness. “Why so hostile, Sunshine? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

There it is. That damn look. Concern, care, and hunger, all mingling in his eyes, breaking down your defenses bit by bit.

“Are you fucking kidding, Marc?” you snap, snatching his wrist to stop him from touching you. “You–you were gone for a year. No goodbye, no message, no nothing.”

His gaze doesn’t waver as he cups your face with both hands, and despite yourself, you let go of his wrist.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” The warmth in his eyes and the soft smile on his lips make you want to throw up. You turn your head, your chest heaving.

He gently but firmly pushes your head back, his hands still cradling your face, forcing you to meet his gaze once more. His grip is firm but not painful, a reminder of his strength and control—the same strength that has always thrilled you.

“Hey,” he says softly, his eyes boring into yours, pleading. “I’m here now.”

You’re stunned, frozen in place like a deer in headlights, about to be run over.

It’s too late for you.

All you see is him, the man who has torn your heart to pieces and yet somehow still holds it in his hands.

The world narrows to the space between you, and the chaos of your mind falls silent. You’re ready to die in this moment if it means feeling his touch again.

You give an almost imperceptible nod, a surrender, and his lips are on yours instantly.

The kiss is desperate, a clash of lust and guilt, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands move down your sides to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can’t bear the distance between you for even a second longer.

You moan into his mouth, your body responding to his touch despite your mind’s protests. Your arms wrap around him, pulling him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of smoke and mint, and it floods your senses, drowning out the pain, the questions, the doubts.

Marc’s hands urgently explore the contours of your back, pressing you against him, reveling in your scent. You can feel the hard lines of his body, the heat of his skin, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Your back hits the wall again, and he pins you there, his mouth leaving yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

One hand finds your breast, groping it for a moment, palm rubbing against your hard nipple, his touch needy and rough. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, his name escaping your lips in a broken whisper. He groans in response, the sound vibrating against your skin.

Impatient, his fingers hook into the waistband of your pajama pants, yanking them down along with your panties with practiced ease. You step out of them, exposed, his leg pressing against your core.

You can’t help but buck your hips against him, your body moving on its own accord, driven by pent-up desire and anger. Your hands fist his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as if it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His hands are on your ass, kneading your flesh with possessive urgency, each squeeze sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

Marc’s mouth is everywhere, hot and insistent, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from behind your ear down your neck. The sensation makes you gasp, your back arching. He sucks and nips at your skin, frenzied and desperate, leaving a trail of bruises that mark you as his, each one a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting connection you share.

The contrast between the roughness of his hands and the wet heat of his mouth drives you wild, every touch igniting a fire inside you that you can’t control.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of frustration and need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, urging him on. He responds with a growl, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, the sharp pain making you gasp.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip your ass harder, lifting your leg slightly so he can grind against you, his hardness pressing against your core, sending waves of pleasure through you.

You throw your head back, giving him better access to your neck as he continues to lick, suck, and bite with abandon, each mark he leaves on your skin feeling like a brand, a claim that you both know will fade but never truly disappear.

“More,” you whisper, your breathing shallow. “Please, I need more.” You reach between your bodies, sliding your hand down his hard torso, rubbing his bulge over the rough fabric of his jeans.

Marc groans and pulls back just enough to look into your glazed-over eyes, his own filled with lust and something deeper, something that makes your heart ache. “I’ll give you everything, baby,” he promises, his hands moving to cup your face as he kisses you again, his lips searing and demanding.

You can feel the truth in his words, even if only for this moment, and you let yourself believe it.

He bites your bottom lip and pulls back with a growl, dropping to his knees, spreading your thighs and pressing his mouth to your core. Your brain takes a few seconds to catch up with what’s happening, your mind foggy, your heart racing.

“Marc, wait,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair as his tongue flicks out, teasing your aching clit. “I haven’t—oh fuck—I haven’t showered.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

The sensation is overwhelming, his tongue lapping at your folds with a hunger that makes your knees weak. You gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face. He groans in response, reveling in the scent and wetness you’re spreading all over his face, cursing under his breath as his cock strains against the inside of his jeans.

His hands tighten their grip on your thighs, holding you open for him, keeping you steady as his tongue and lips work with practiced precision to make you lose control.

Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, but you barely notice. Every flick of his tongue, every suck on your clit sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands tighten in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, fingernails scraping his scalp.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice a mix of desperation and bliss, your body trembling under this relentless, sweet torture. “Oh fuck, Marc.”

Hearing you moan his name is like gasoline on a fire, fueling his desire.

“God, you taste so good,” he pants against your skin, his voice filled with raw need, drunk with lust. “Always so fucking perfect.”

Your body trembles as he hums against you, his tongue alternating between slow, teasing licks and fast, desperate flicks before sucking on your swollen clit again.

You can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each passing second.

“Please,” you beg, your voice a shaky whisper. “I need you inside me.”

He responds without hesitation, his tongue plunging into your wet heat, tasting you, drinking you, fucking you with ruthless intensity. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. He replaces his tongue with his middle and ring fingers, sliding them inside you, curling them just right, hitting that perfect spot. His mouth devours you simultaneously, desperately, like a man starved.

Your hips buck harder, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he finger-fucks you in rhythm with his licks. The dual assault of his tongue and fingers is overwhelming, pushing you ever closer to the edge.

Your nails rake across his scalp, and he groans against you, the vibrations sending ripples of ecstasy through your core.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind hazy as you can’t hold back the moans escaping your lips. Marc starts sucking on your clit with renewed vigor, the sensation sending you spiraling. You’re on the brink, the tension inside you coiled so tightly it’s about to snap.

The wet sounds of your pussy fill the air, blending with the rhythmic beat of your heart pounding in your chest. He can feel your body tensing, the telltale signs of your impending climax, and it drives him wild.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Fuck, I’m gonna–”

You don’t get to finish the sentence before you shatter into a million pieces, every nerve ending ablaze with euphoric release. Marc doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, holding onto your hip, continuing to lap at you and move his fingers, drawing out every last tremor until you’re left trembling and spent.

For a brief, blissful moment, you feel pure, unadulterated happiness, your fingers absentmindedly running through Marc’s hair. But as reality slowly sets back in, your living room coming back into view, Marc’s mouth on your core starting to become uncomfortable, the weight of what just happened begins to dawn on you. Your eyes meet his, and you feel it all crashing down on you—confusion, heartache, regret.

Marc finally pulls back, his face and fingers glistening with your arousal, a satisfied, almost smug grin on his lips.

He stands, his hands finding your cheeks as he presses his wet lips against yours, sliding his tongue inside. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his waist, tasting yourself on his lips, your body buzzing with the aftermath of your orgasm.

“You miss me?” he whispers against your lips before pulling back enough to look into your wide eyes. The warmth of his breath mingles with yours, and his gaze is filled with an intensity that makes your heart clench painfully.

The casualness of his question tears at you, as if you had seen each other just yesterday, as if he hadn’t just given you an earth-shattering orgasm after crushing your heart with his bare hands.

And all after you swore to yourself you’d never let him do this again.

You want to hate him, you really do. But how could you? He came back from the dead to see you. You know he needs you right now, so how could you deny him?

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes, swallowing heavily. “Always,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion.

A smile spreads across Marc’s lips, his eyes softening for a moment, and he captures your lips in a deep, fervent kiss again, as if trying to convey everything he can’t put into words. Then, with a gentle but firm grip, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You cling to him, head buried in the crook of his neck, your hands gripping his shoulders as he carries you towards your bedroom.

He clocks the bouquet of pink roses on your dining room table, notices the little card standing next to the vase. There’s a strawberry drawn on the front, but it’s too dark for him to read what he just assumes to be a lame pun about loving you ‘berry’ much.

How cute.

Marc lays you down on the bed, his body pressed against yours, trailing kisses down your neck. You wrap your legs around his waist again, rubbing yourself against his bulge, impatient, hands tangled in his curls.

“Not yet, baby,” he whispers in your ear, nibbling on your earlobe, reveling in the needy noises you make, how you squirm under him, trying to get him to move and give you what you want.

He will. But first, he wants to look at you—at your beautiful body, every inch of your skin.

He gets off the bed and you scoot back, fluffing up your pillows and leaning against them with your back. You watch as Marc turns on the bedside lamp and removes his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his muscles and the scars that tell the story of battles you’re clueless about. He kicks off his shoes, his eyes never leaving yours. When he unbuckles his belt, ready to pull his pants down and fuck you already, his eyes drop down to your wet pussy, and he decides differently.

“Take off your shirt and show me how you played with yourself while I was away.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you pull your shirt over your head, your skin prickling with anticipation. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the look in Marc’s eyes makes you feel desired, wanted. You spread your legs wide and slide your hand down your body, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Your other hand moves to your breast, teasing your nipple, and you let out a soft moan, your eyes locked on Marc.

His gaze darkens with lust as he watches you, jeans on the floor, spitting in his hand, wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself slowly. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. “Keep going.”

God, how much he wants to bury himself deep inside of you, to feel your warm, wet pussy pulsing around his cock, to fuck all his frustrations into you, to hear your sweet moans, to feel your soft skin pressed against his.

It’s all he wants.

All he can think about when he’s away from you. All he needs in nights like this.

You increase the pace of your fingers, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure builds. Marc’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, his hand moving faster on his cock, mirroring the rhythm of your movements.

“You have no idea how much I missed this,” he pants. “Missed you.”

Fuelled by his poisonous words, your hips buck against your hand, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core. “Marc,” you moan, your voice a desperate plea. “I’m close.”

His eyes burn into yours as he moves swiftly, crawling onto the bed and positioning himself between your legs. He nudges your hand away and replaces it with his own, his fingers sliding inside you in one smooth motion, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Let go, baby. Come for me.”

And with his words, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, your pussy clamping down around his fingers, pulsating, your hands gripping the sheets. Marc watches you intently, his own breath ragged, cock throbbing so close to your dripping hole.

The ecstatic feeling coursing through you turns into uncomfortable overstimulation quickly, so you grab his wrist, and he withdraws his fingers, giving you a moment to come down.

You look so fucking gorgeous like this. Eyes glazed over, looking at him like he’s all you see, like he’s all you need. But as Marc holds your gaze, your chest rising and falling, he also sees something else in your big, beautiful eyes.

Sadness.

It’s a deep sadness he knows he’s responsible for—a sadness that cuts through the layers of detachment, apathy, and composure he’s built up to survive the trials in his life. Despite everything, there remains a gentle, tender part hidden deep inside him. A part that makes him vulnerable, scared, and like he could be the man you need…if only things were different.

“My Sunshine,” he says softly, his knuckles brushing over your hot cheek. The tenderness in his touch contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions inside him. He leans over you, and the kiss he presses on your lips is soft, oh so soft.

It’s intense. Intense and unexpected.

It’s easier to push aside your feelings when he’s rough with you. It’s easier to tell yourself you’re just two lonely people fucking to feel a little less lonely if all you can focus on is your body.

But then he pulls shit like this and it gives you hope that you might mean something to him. And after years of asking yourself if he’s just an asshole who gets off on playing mind games, or if he doesn’t care enough to realize what he’s doing is killing you, you’re not sure you want to know the answer.

Marc pulls you out of your thoughts when he releases your lips and pulls back slightly, his eyes darkening with a different kind of intensity as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

“Open your mouth.”

You obey, parting your lips, your breath hitching in anticipation. Marc lets a strand of spit drop into your mouth, slowly, deliberately, watching as it lands in the back of your throat, and you swallow it without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, kissing and nibbling on your jaw, your neck, down to your breast, circling your nipple with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his eager mouth.

“Marc…” you whine, looking down, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair, your heart pounding. You let yourself get lost in him, in the way he touches you, in the way he makes you feel alive. And as you do, you can’t stop the words tumbling from your lips.

“Please stay.”

Marc pauses, his mouth still on your breast, his body tensing. He releases your nipple and looks up at you, his brow furrowing at your watery eyes.

He hates to see you like this.

“You know I can’t,” he says, his calm voice betraying none of the guilt that’s clawing at his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

But he can’t comfort you. Not now. Not when you’re supposed to be his salvation. Not when he knows it’d be a lie.

He sits back on his heels between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he pumps his painfully hard cock.

“Why?” you whisper, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “Why?”

Marc leans over you, arms braced next to your head, capturing your quivering lips with his, preventing you from making him feel worse than he already does.

You moan into his mouth and he can’t wait anymore. Needs to be inside you. Needs to make it all right.

He shifts in closer, pressing his cock against you, just sliding it between your folds, up and down, letting out a raspy sigh at the friction of it. His cock gathers your wetness quickly—you’re always so fucking wet for him.

Before falling asleep on whatever cot he’d find himself on, he’d sometimes allow himself to fantasize about waking up next to you, feeling your warm body, hearing your soft breathing, sliding his hand down the front of your panties, and feeling how wet you are from dreaming about him.

His breath catches in his throat just thinking about it.

“Marc…” you plead, and he smiles to himself—it usually takes far longer for you to start begging, so it must mean you really missed him. You squirm again, hips twisting like you’re trying to get him inside you, and he watches you intently, soaking up every little expression, every little moan, every little plea.

“What do you want, baby?” he murmurs, dragging it out just a little bit longer. He loves to hear you, loves to get you to admit it. For you, the truth is in the action of it, but he likes to listen to you say it out loud.

“You,” you moan desperately. “I need you, Marc. I missed you so fucking much, I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs with an imperceptible smile.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, staring up into his eyes.

Marc’s cock twitches at the genuine need he can see in your eyes, the sight like a potent drug going straight to his brain and filling him with more bliss than anything else could. He knows what you like, knows what buttons to push, knows exactly how to touch you to make you forget the world around you.

It makes him feel good to make you feel good. It always has.

And it’s more than the gratification of feeling your pussy pulsating around his cock or hearing you scream his name while your orgasm overtakes you. It’s more than his pride, his ego, his need to feel like he’s doing good for once in his life.

It’s you.

It’s his misguided effort to make up for all his misdeeds. His atonement. He tells himself it’s enough for him to fuck your brains out, to pour all of himself into you without inhibitions while he’s with you to offset his absence.

He tells himself that, holds onto it—needs it to be true.

“Please…” you whine, and he pushes up against your clit, feeling the pulse of it. You shudder at the intensity, the pressure, and he grins. “Fuck. Fuck me.”

“Dirty mouth,” he chides, and you whine in frustration as he brings his hand up, pressing one finger to your slightly parted lips. You open them wider, suck his finger in, suckle for a moment and then bite.

“Fuck me,” you demand, voice muffled and tongue pressing against his fingertip, wet and warm.

Your teeth loosen up and he slides his finger deeper, right to the back of your tongue. You don’t gag, just stare him down defiantly, and he can’t wait any longer. He reaches down with his other hand, guides himself to your entrance, cock pushing deep into the tight heat of you, as slow as he can stand it.

You’re so fucking good.

His head starts to roll back instinctively, but he holds it steady and slides his hand over to your hip, gripping your flesh as his cock splits you open.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of you, you let out a low moan, brows furrowing, throwing your head back against the pillows. He pulls back a little only to drive right back in, hard, and this time you moan a hell of a lot louder. Quickly, he stifles the sound with his palm, pressing his hand right over your mouth—not because he doesn’t want to hear you. No, because he knows it heightens your pleasure.

Your resulting moans are muffled against his hand as you start trying to meet his thrusts, your hips working towards him, desperate for it. You love it when he smothers you like this, love feeling his big hand over your face.

He first discovered the power of it when you were arguing about something silly and you wouldn’t shut up—he did it jokingly, only to be surprised when you immediately fell silent. You didn’t even push him away or do anything obnoxious like lick his palm; you just went totally compliant. It was an instant reaction, as though it was something your body was conditioned to obey.

He grips your hip, feeling your soft skin against his palm, his other hand covering your mouth as he thrusts into you hard, until the bed is rocking rhythmically against the wall. The hand on your hip slides higher, over your belly, groping your breast, pinching your hard nipple. His other hand slips from your mouth and you’re panting now, your face hot and almost grimacing, your whole body taut and tense for him.

But then his hands meet at your throat, and you go limp, your lips stretching into an exhausted smile. He keeps his hands still, just on either side of your neck, curled around your shoulders, his thumbs across your collarbones.

“Go on,” you say breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation, lifting up your head in order to strain a little against his hands. He says nothing, smiling wickedly back at you, his hips working shallowly, cock thrusting against your G-spot.

“Go on,” you whine, impatient, and he wants to say, “What?” and grin sardonically and make you beg for it, but he’s too greedy, eager just like you are.

He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes, quick and sudden, watching your pupils dilate and your lips fall open. You’d let him choke you to death if he wasn’t careful, he’s sure—you get so fucking caught up in it—so he has to be vigilant, letting go when you look like you’re about to pass out.

It’s difficult to judge, though. You look blissed out already, and he can feel your tendons working against his fingers as he jabs his thumb just under your jaw, tightening his grip. You make these sounds—gasps at first, and then little choking coughs, your throat all raw, and all the while he’s thrusting into you, hard and fast.

He eases off a second, lets you catch your breath, and you draw it in, hoarse and gasping, looking dazed. Almost high.

You jerk your chin at him as if to say, “C’mon, again, what are you waiting for?” and he complies, one hand this time, big enough to reach quite a way around your neck. His other hand snakes down the center of you, down between your legs, along your hot skin to where he disappears inside, your slick folds parting to let him in. He teases with his fingers, finds your clit, gentle there even as he’s gripping your throat so tight he’ll probably leave marks.

You buck wildly against him and he holds you down, grinning, relentless, finger flickering over your clit as he fucks you, chokes you, brings you closer and closer to the edge—

He feels your fingers digging into his shoulders, his back, then his arms, grabbing frantically at him as your whole body tenses, and you’re spluttering out a desperate, “Yes, yes,” and then he feels that same clenching around his cock, a quick spasm, so tight he can’t help but groan.

You come with your eyes shut and your mouth open, and he keeps going a moment longer than he needs to, stroking you where you’re oversensitive, making you shake and squirm.

Marc lets go of your throat and takes ahold of your breast instead, chasing his own release, fucking you harder and harder and closing his eyes because you’re gazing at him in that way that chips away at his resolve.

“Slow down,” you suddenly whisper, so full of him, so desperate to keep it that way.

He slows down minimally. “Why?”

“I–I don’t want….” you trail off as he licks and sucks on your neck, his hand groping your breast. “Please, I don’t want it to end…”

He pulls back a little and just…smiles at you, that irritating smile that says, “You honestly still think you’re in control here?”

It wouldn’t bother you as much if you weren’t still processing that he’s actually here, flesh and blood, after abandoning you, and having the balls to act like the past year didn’t happen. Like he didn’t stab your heart and leave you to bleed out slowly.

“I know you don’t want me to slow down,” he pants in your ear as he picks up the pace again, alternating between shallow thrusts that hit your G-spot perfectly, and deep thrusts that make you gasp. “You want me to fuck you like your little boyfriend never could.”

You freeze. Marc’s labored breathing, the wet sounds of your pussy, the sound of rain coming from outside your window—it all becomes white noise as your brain catches up with what he just said to you.

And then something snaps inside you.

Something primal, violent, desperate.

You grab the nape of his neck and pull him down for a bruising kiss, biting his lips hard, tongue swirling around his, the taste of blood in your mouth making your head spin. Marc moans into your mouth, but he doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop his own movements inside you.

You feel yourself getting closer and closer again, and you hate it. You fucking hate that he’s doing this to you. And you hate even more that you’re letting him.

He pulls away and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his bloody lips staining your shoulder. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you as your nails rake down his arms, leaving angry red trails in their wake. You claw at his back, holding onto him with all you have. He groans at the pain and looks into your eyes, reveling in the pure need he can see in them.

You see how much it turns him on to see you like this, and it makes you even angrier.

Marc leans in to kiss you again, but before you know what’s happening, your hand shoots up to his throat, fingers digging into his jaw, pushing his face away. He growls at you and tries to kiss you anyway, stubborn and unyielding, his lips brushing against yours despite your resistance. You buck your hips and twist your body, trying to dislodge him, your hands pushing and shoving at his chest and shoulders.

You manage to get one hand around his throat, squeezing as hard as you can, your nails digging into his skin. Marc groans, his breath hot against your face, but his grip on you doesn’t falter. He grabs your wrists, attempting to pin them above your head, but you fight back with all your strength, writhing beneath him, your legs kicking out, trying to find leverage to push him off.

“That’s enough,” he growls, his voice rough and intimidating as he finally manages to secure your wrists. “Calm do–”

You turn your head and bite the arm that’s pinning your wrist down, canines piercing the skin.

“Fuck,” Marc hisses through clenched teeth, his thrusts becoming rougher, more desperate, as if he’s trying to match your intensity, trying to make you feel the same pain you’re inflicting on him. The bed creaks with the force of your combined movements, the air thick with the sounds of your mutual anguish.

“You wanna hurt me, baby?” he pants as he lets go of your wrist and instead grabs your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yeah,” you whisper without hesitation, your pupils dilated, your voice dripping with venom and need.

Marc’s eyes darken with a mix of lust and something deeper, something almost like understanding. “Good,” he says simply, grabbing your ass and rolling you both over, so you can ride him. He pulls up the pillow behind his back, so he’s propped up and you can hold onto his shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He moves his hips slowly, tenderly almost, as if to tell you he’s done fighting with you and wants you to feel good. You’re not there yet, you’re still seeing red. Clawing at his chest, nails digging into his skin, leaving scratches that will take days to fade.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to make him feel the pain he’s caused, to make him understand what he’s put you through. You push his face away, his stubble grazing your palm, and he turns his head, biting down on your thumb, groaning at the taste of you. Spurred on by the sensation, your teeth find his shoulder, biting down hard enough to break the skin.

“Stop,” he grunts, the word strained, his cock twitching inside you. You don’t relent immediately, your teeth sinking deeper until he grabs your shoulders, trying to push you off.

Finally, he manages to grip your throat, not squeezing, but enough to make you stop. The pressure is firm, commanding, and it stills your movements. He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and desperation. “Enough,” he says with finality, his voice rough and low. “I want you to fuck me, not kill me.”

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, the raw emotion in his eyes grounding you. Slowly, you release your grip on his shoulders, the tension in your body easing as you adjust to the new position. His hand remains on your throat, a reminder of his control, but also of the thin line between pain and pleasure that you both walk.

You start to move, rocking your hips against him, swollen clit rubbing against his trimmed pubes, taking him deep inside you. His grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, enough to send a thrill through your body, but not enough to hurt. His other hand grips your hip, guiding your movements as you ride him, each thrust a release of the pent-up emotions that have been tearing you apart.

Mouth slightly agape, Marc’s eyes never leave yours, the connection between you intense and unbreakable. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Use me.”

And you do.

Your movements become increasingly more frantic, muscles tense, driven by a need to feel him, to feel that he’s really here with you.

“You left,” you pant, eyes piercing his, pleasure building inside you with every movement of your hips.

“Yeah, I did,” Marc replies, his tone unapologetic and infuriatingly calm. He lets go of your neck and cups your cheek instead, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your cheekbone.

“I–I thought you were dead,” you choke out, tears stinging your eyes as you find the perfect pace, hands resting on his pecs. The pressure in your core builds, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

“You fucking asshole, I thought you were dead!” Your voice cracks as the hurt and anger that have been festering inside you pour out, mingling with the unbearable pleasure he’s giving you.

“I’m not dead, baby. I’m right here.” His voice is softer now, tinged with an edge of remorse. He accentuates his words with a powerful thrust of his hips, driving deep inside you. The sensation forces a moan from your lips, your anger momentarily drowned out.

The tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you ride him harder, your body seeking solace in the physical connection. You lean forward, your forehead resting against his, your breaths mingling, your eyes closed.

“I hate you,” you whisper. “I fucking hate you, Marc.”

His response is immediate, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he drives into you with renewed vigor. “I know, baby,” he pants. “I know you do.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his thrusts, push you closer to the brink. You hold onto his broad shoulders as your walls tightens around his cock, the muscles in your legs aching. The rush you’re experiencing is intoxicating, the line between pleasure and pain, love and hate blurring until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

As the pressure builds to an unbearable peak, you cling to him, your body trembling. “I need you,” you whine, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, I need you.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs, his grip on you tightening. “I’ve got you.”

The words are a promise, a plea, and as your orgasm crashes over you, you feel a moment of clarity. Despite everything, despite the pain and the anger, he’s here. He’s with you.

You collapse against him, your body trembling with aftershocks, your breath coming in shallow gasps as tears stream down your cheeks. Marc wraps his strong arms around you, holding you tight as he chases his own release, his hips moving with relentless intensity. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice both a comfort and a torment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he pants, too far gone to stop himself.

You’re lost in the moment, too out of it to hear him.

“Tell me,” he urges again, needing to hear you say it.

When you still don’t respond and he feels he can’t hold back any longer, he pulls your head back by the nape of your neck.

You look like you’re somewhere else entirely, flying high, eyes glassy.

“Hey,” he says sharply, slowing his thrusts down as much as he can physically stand it, searching your face until your gaze meets his.

“Huh?”

“Tell me you’re mine,” he repeats through gritted teeth, brow furrowed. “Please.”

His eyes are warm and you see him—the Marc who shared his favorite childhood recipe with you, the Marc who reassured you after your boss was an asshole to you, the Marc who made you laugh until your sides ached.

“I–I’m yours,” you whisper, the realization that it’s the truth breaking something inside you. “I’ve always been yours.”

Your words are like balm for his wounded soul, and he feels like he can finally let go. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Marc. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.”

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy. He’s close. “I could–I could never stay away from you. Never.”

The confession slips out, raw and unfiltered, and it’s like a dagger to your heart. You bite down on his shoulder, trying to silence the sob that threatens to escape as he fucks you with everything he has.

“Gonna come, baby,” he pants. “Where do you want me?”

You feel like your body doesn’t belong to you, your mind foggy. But you know exactly where you want him, where you need him.

“Inside.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But he’s here to give you everything he can. And he does, spilling his warm cum deep inside of you, his cock pulsing, hips stuttering as he groans your name.

Not baby.

Not Sunshine.

Your name.

He wraps his arms around you, softly, almost reverently, feeling your bare, sweat-covered skin against his palms. He holds you close like this for a moment before rolling you both over so he’s on top of you again, his cock still buried inside, his body slumping against yours.

Feeling his weight on you is grounding, soothing, calming you like nothing else in the world ever can. You try to absorb the feeling of his heartbeat against yours, knowing this moment of closeness won’t last. Marc usually doesn’t hold you for long after he’s fucked you.

You inhale his scent, draw shapes on his back with your fingertips, scratch his scalp softly, nudge his shoulder with your nose, press little kisses on his skin. Each touch is a silent plea for him to surprise you, to stay with you for a little bit longer.

He relaxes on top of you, the deep tension he’s been feeling for so long slowly giving way to a sense of calm. It’s peaceful, his mind quiet for once.

How he wishes he could stay like this forever; feeling your heartbeat, your soft touch, holding you close as you fall asleep, nose brushing the nape of your neck, a protective arm draped over you, keeping you safe.

He’s convincing himself to stay. He can feel it.

Just this once.

To put a smile on your pretty face.

To show you he cares.

It means so much to you, and how could he–

“I love you, Marc,” you whisper against his skin.

The words slip out before you can stop them, and you immediately regret saying them as you feel his muscles tense and he pulls out of you, leaving you painfully empty. His cum starts leaking out of you, pooling on the rumpled sheets beneath you.

Marc sits on the edge of the bed with his back turned to you and you sit up, leaning against the headboard, watching his profile with tearful eyes.

“Marc,” you say quietly, extending your hand to lightly touch his arm.

But it’s too late.

The spell is broken.

He gets up and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter from his jeans pocket, lighting one up, the orange glow casting shadows on the wall. He blows out a stream of smoke as he pulls up his jeans, sitting back on the bed, eyes distant as he looks out of the window.

You feel a pang of hurt, but you press on, desperately needing him to understand. “You–you don’t have to love me too,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “But please, you’ve been gone for so long and I–I only just got you back. Please, just stay with me this one time. Just this one time.”

He turns his head to look at you, his eyes flickering with something you can’t quite place. You shake your head slowly, resigned, then reach for his cigarette.

He gives it to you, watching as you put it between your swollen lips. You take a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs, and then exhale slowly, closing your eyes for a moment.

Marc eyes you curiously, recalling how you proudly told him you’d stopped smoking the last time he saw you.

Some things have changed, he supposes.

And some things…haven’t.

“Where were you?” you ask.

“Egypt,” he replies simply, caressing your leg.

“The whole time?”

“The whole time.”

“And the…business you had there, is it done?”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, an imperceptible smile on his lips. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You take another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to him, the smoke a comforting distraction. “Will you stay in town now?”

Marc looks at you, and for a moment, hope flares in your chest. “Mhm. That’s the plan.”

You reach out and trace the remnants of what you can only imagine was a nasty bruise below his ribcage. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

He chuckles. “Of course I am.”

“Then why the fuck don’t you stop?”

He sighs. “It’s not that easy. There’s people who count on me, who need me.”

You avert your gaze, laughing mirthlessly, quickly wiping away a tear with trembling fingers. Marc watches you intently as he smokes, his hand resting on your thigh.

“I see,” you say softly as you meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. “Nothing’s changed.”

He doesn’t say anything in return.

“Why did you come back?”

I wanted to be as close to you as possible.

“My…job required me to. And I think it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He gently strokes your leg, unconsciously trying to soothe himself more than you. He’s about to say something, he doesn’t even know what, just something, when you can’t hold it in anymore.

“I get that I’m not a priority for you, Marc, I really do,” you whisper, your expression so full of sadness he can barely stand to look at you. “You made that abundantly clear when you disappeared without having the decency to say goodbye–”

“Sunshine…”

“–but I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me.”

Marc’s brow furrows deeply as he watches your lip quiver with frustration.

“I-I promise I won’t ever ask you again, but please stay with me tonight. Please. It doesn’t even have to be the whole night. Just an hour, Marc, or–or half an–”

“Sunshine, no,” he says a bit sharper than intended, his own nerves frayed. He gets up and looks at the moon.

You just…don’t understand.

You don’t understand what keeps him up at night, what keeps him away from you, what he’s vowed to protect you from—and he can never tell you.

He knows he should have left you alone when he saw you outside the bar that night, should have walked away and spared you the pain.

But he couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.

Because he’s a selfish asshole.

Because he loves you.

He flicks the cigarette butt out of the window, then bends down to put on his shirt, the act mechanical, his face set in a mask of determination. You haven’t noticed before, but now you notice how careful he is when bending and stretching.

He must be in pain.

“Marc,” you plead, your heart beating so fast you feel like it’s going to explode.

He puts on his shoes, the silence that’s stretching between you suffocating. He’s killing you. He’s killing you, and yet you’re more afraid of losing him forever.

This needs to stop. You need to stop.

“If you walk out of that door, I don’t ever wanna see you again.”

Marc halts his movements and your pleading eyes search his, the genuine desperation in them twisting a knife in his heart. For a moment, you think you see something in his eyes—a flicker of the man you need him to be—but then it’s gone.

He sighs heavily, then rounds the bed, leaning in to cup your cheek. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead. “I’ll see you around.”

“Please,” you whisper, but it’s too late.

When he reaches the front door, his cap in hand, you stand in the living room, naked and vulnerable. “I hate you, Marc Spector,” you say, your voice filled with all the pain and anger you feel.

He turns, his eyes softening for just a moment. “No, Sunshine. No, you don’t.”

And with that, he’s gone.

It takes a few seconds for your body to react to what just happened, and when it does, it’s overwhelming. Your stomach sinks, your chest tightens, and your vision blurs as you grapple with your ambivalent feelings.

Tears spill down your cheeks as you crumble, the exhaustion and heartbreak taking over.

Heading back to your bedroom, your eyes catch the roses your boyfriend gave you yesterday, a cruel reminder of the life you’ve been trying to build without Marc. All the work you put in, down the drain.

And for what? Why do you do this to yourself?

In a fit of anger and despair, you grab the flowers and throw them off your balcony. You watch as they scatter on the rain-wet street below, the cool night air wrapping around your naked body like a cloak. You stay for a moment, heart pounding, staring at the flowers as Marc’s cum runs down your thigh.

God, you’re a dumb idiot.

You turn off the TV as you head back inside, turn off your bedside lamp, the darkness a welcome solace. You go to the bathroom without turning the light on, clean up, put on a fresh pair of pajamas.

You do hate him.

You need to tell yourself that, for tonight at least.

Curled up in your bed, you clutch at the pillow where his scent still lingers, letting the darkness take you as the man who holds your heart is once again slipping through your fingers. The tears come again, silent and unending, each one a testament to the love you can’t seem to let go of, no matter how much it hurts.

Because for better or worse, Marc’s a part of you, and you can’t escape it.

Down on the street, Marc watches the scene unfold from the shadows, the flowers landing at his feet. He stands there, drenched in regret, his heart heavy. He wants to turn back, to hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but he knows he can’t.

Not with the life he leads.

Not until he’s finally free.

He walks to his car, parked on the opposite side of the street. Coming from the reflection of the driver’s window, the car illuminated by the street lamp above, he hears a familiar voice.

“You’re a cold bastard, Marc,” the man in the reflection says, his tone filled with quiet condemnation.

“Thanks, bud,” Marc sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You wanna explain to him that we’re gonna be late, then?” He raises an eyebrow, but Steven just shakes his head disapprovingly.

Marc scoffs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

He takes the silver lighter out of his pocket, lights a cigarette, and leans against the car door, looking up at your windows. He imagines your silhouette as you’re lying on your side, your soft skin, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He imagines you’re dreaming of him, finding peace in your sleep.

He knows he’s dreaming himself, knows you’re tossing and turning, cursing him. And he deserves it. He knows he does.

“Tick-tock, Marc Spector,” comes the resonating voice of Khonshu, his towering figure perched atop a nearby rooftop, his skeletal bird skull gleaming in the moonlight.

Marc rolls his eyes, takes a last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with his shoe, and shoots the impatient god a glare that earns him a chuckle that echoes through the night.

He looks up at your windows one last time, his heart aching with a longing he can’t afford to indulge. Then, with a heavy sigh, he gets into his car and turns on the radio.

As he speeds down the road, the city lights blurring past, leaving you behind, he feels the crushing loneliness of his life.

It’s strange.

Feeling lonely despite never being, you know, alone.

Right on cue, he catches the intense gaze of a dark pair of eyes in the rearview mirror.

“What? You gonna tell me I’m a cold bastard, too?”

Jake looks back at him with a sly grin. “Nah. You don’t need me to tell you what you already know,” he scoffs. “But it’s a real shame, Marc. Leaving that poor girl to get fucked by boys who don’t know what they’re doing, just ‘cause you don’t have the balls to–”

“And that’s enough of you,” Marc mutters, turning up the volume of the radio, refocusing on the way ahead.

⚡ Kavinsky’s Odd Look is playing in Marc’s car as he’s driving through the night, thinking of you. ⚡ Marc’s Ferrari Testarossa – the sexiest car there is. ⚡ I adore the synthwave aesthetic if you can’t tell lol.

Moon Knight Masterlist | AO3

#fic: nightcall #marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector angst #moon knight #moon knight x f!reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #oscar isaac characters #marc spector fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #oscar isaac fic

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request headcanons for Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to his shy gn s/o nervously asking if they can kiss him on the lips?

note: going to answer his as if it’s their first kiss together reader is asking for!

bg3 Taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13

Astarion

tries to downplay how genuinely pleased he is by putting on his typical bravado “oh well I knew you couldn’t keep away, darling”

secretly chuffed because he understands having boundaries over your body and he’s pleased that you’re comfortable enough with him to ask

doesn’t want to make a big deal about it in camp but doesnt hide, either — wraps an arm around your waist and brings you to where he’s standing in the mouth of his tent

wants to make it special. catches your lips with his fangs a little but not too hard.

melts a little when he feels your hand gently run up his chest.

when you break apart, smiling, he feels a little thrill at how happy you look ❤️

Gale

surprised you’re asking! out loud says, “you don’t need permission to kiss me, they’re always gladly accepted.”

but sees how much courage it took for you to ask. Is so happy you trust him.

looks around, “where do you want me…? it has to be perfect…”

that’s enough to break some tension, you laugh and press your lips to his

his hands settle on your waist. not too tight, just enough to anchor you to the moment

you can feel him smile into it 💕

“well I certainly hope that we’re able to repeat that.”

you laugh, and go in for another one…

Wyll

my man is a romantic. this kiss is at a planned event.

not that he’s pressuring you into it! he just wants to have a lovely romantic date and it so happens that that’s where you feel safe enough to ask.

you're sequestered away from the group, little picnic spread out, he wanted to have a nice moment for just the two of you.

you gather up the courage to ask him and he’s surprised for a moment! but then he smiles; hand sliding up your arm to cup your face, his lips meet yours when you lean into it

it’s perfect. soft, gentle, loving. you can feel the emotion behind it.

he’s smiling when he pulls back. for a moment, you want to apologise for not instigating this sooner. but then, as if he’s read your mind:

“you’re worth waiting a lifetime for.”

Halsin

honoured you trust him enough to ask.

he doesn’t care about rushing into anything. he’s an older man, happy to wait to take things at your pace.

not to say he isn’t pleased you asked — he is! he’s wanted to know what your kiss tastes like for a while now.

when we see him kiss in game there’s a ferocity behind it. but this time it’s soft, he lets you take the lead with pace.

uses his body to shield you from the rest of the camp so that the moment isn’t too public.

hands softly wrapping around you, bringing you to his broad chest. keeping you safe against him.

he mutters against your lips. “nature truly look its time with you. you are perfect…”

if he says it enough, maybe you’ll believe it’s true.

Dammon

is so immediately thrown he can’t even answer for a moment.

is the heat in his cheeks from the forge or something else…?

manages to find his words after a moment, “oh… yes! hang on, let me…”

cleans his hands, quickly splashes his face with water to remove the soot, turns to you-

“how should I…”

you reach over and gently press your lips to his, surprising him!

but then he wraps his arms around you, tail swishing in such enthusiasm it takes out a row of tools

he’s a bit nervous to start with but gets super into it

wants to do it again and again… if you’ll let him…

(and you do)

Rolan

you ask if you can kiss him.

an immediate “YES”

he’s so excited. there’s a non-zero chance this is his first kiss.

tries to be soft and careful but can’t hold in how happy he is.

teeth clack together a bit, maybe a bit too eager with tongue… but you find yourself smiling into it anyway 💕

again, another tail swisher. can’t keep his emotions hidden from you. doesn’t want to.

he wants to touch you all over but keeps his hands to your waist to make sure you feel comfortable.

when you pull away he’s blushing, muttering “wow…”

he’s left speechless by you.

Zevlor

my man is the most respectful tiefling around.

honoured to be asked to kiss you. I think he takes you somewhere quiet, secluded. doesn’t want people staring.

slowly brings you against his body before pressing his lips to yours.

you feel… protected by his kiss? it’s hard to explain.

you just know he’d protect you.

and the kiss is perfect.

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superficialdomina · 6 months ago

Text

Down Under - Part 1

Series masterlist

Part 1

“The epicentre of the outbreak,” Steve was saying to his bleary-eyed team, “appears to be here.” His long pointer made a thwack as it struck the wall map somewhere in the south of Australia. His accompanying PowerPoint ticked over to a slide showing a photo of a single road running through a smattering of houses, deserted save for a large mob of kangaroos. Nice shot, you thought, as you covered a yawn with the back of your hand.

“The village of Hall’s Gap,” Steve continued, “population 496. The Victorian Premier’s Office has been in touch with us tonight – that is, this morning –"

He pulled his wrist away from his face and blinked rapidly in an effort to check his watch. 4.30 am.

“Ahem. What I mean to say is, the local government has asked us to investigate what seems to be an outbreak of an unusual contagious illness. Fortunately, the remoteness of the locale means that the infection is so far contained to this small township. However, speed and discretion remain of the utmost importance.”

Your sleepy mind began to catch on. A contagion outbreak? In Victoria? An Australian mission... You nervously tried to blink away some of the fatigue. You were the obvious choice – a local, an ex-pat. Am I about to be sent home?

Bruce stood, drawing eyes to him in the semi-light afforded by the projector. “Ah – yeah,” he said. “Sorry to get you all up at this hour. But the faster we get in, find the source, and treat the patients, the better chance we have of eradicating it.”

“Hang on,” Barton interrupted, rubbing an eye, “hang on. Just back up a minute. What exactly do you mean, “unusual illness”?”

“Ah – yeah,” Banner said again, his face pink. “I’ll - I’ll just show you.” The PowerPoint ticked over again, and Steve averted his eyes.

This time it was footage. The scene was grainy and captured from above, as though on a cheap security camera; it looked like the front room of a bank. Clusters of bodies, dozens of them, writhed on – or against – every surface. There was no sound, but there was also no mistaking what they were doing.

The conference room was suddenly wide awake.

“Wait...” Natasha spoke to Bruce without moving her eyes from the scene. “Are they?...”

“Involved in coitus, yes,” Steve answered instead, his gaze still resolutely at the floor. “The major symptom of infection is what you see here: an insatiable… desire. For copulation.” He swallowed. “For sexual intercourse.”

Voices broke out across the room. “Brother,” you heard Loki chuckle, “does it not remind you of that party we attended on Vanaheim?”

Rogers spoke over the noise, having overcome his embarrassment. “The repercussions of infection are serious. We mean truly insatiable; patients are forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep. We believe several lives have been lost.”

Muted respect fell over the room, and Bruce spoke again. “I need to get in there and collect a sample in order to prepare treatment options – ideally a vaccine.”

You finally found voice to speak. “Can’t Australia just send you a sample? Why do we need to go in?”

“Great idea,” Tony broke in. “Except that no one who’s entered Hall’s Gap in the past week has come out.”

Steve took over again. “We suspect this is a Hydra bioweapon pilot, possibly released from a hidden location in the nearby national park.” Another slide, this time of picturesque wilderness: mountain streams and gushing waterfalls framed by towering eucalypts and sheer rockfaces. “To that end, our objectives are two-fold. Collect a sample for analysis, and find and neutralise the Hydra base.”

There was a brief silence before Clint spoke again. “Alright, Cap. Who’s going in?”

“It will just be four of you at first; a small group will move faster.” Steve looked directly at you. “As our resident Australian, Agent, I want you on the ground.” You had been expecting the order, but a pit still instantly formed in your stomach. “A local SHIELD operative will meet you and guide you in. Banner will obviously join you… As will our Asgardian brothers here.”

Thor rolled his shoulders back and gave a pompous nod, but Loki narrowed his eyes. “Why?” he asked.

“You never get sick,” Stark cut in again. “Remember that flu that ripped through here in February? The two of you didn’t even sneeze. We don’t know what this is, but you’re the safest bet when it comes to any degree of innate immunity.”

“The rest of us will wait here for your signal,” Rogers continued. “Any sign of Hydra – any suggestion that you might need support – we’ll be on our way.”

“When do we leave?” you asked.

Steve checked his watch again. “An hour.” He squinted. “Make that – forty-six minutes.”

You always hated take-off. The familiar plummet of your stomach as the Quinjet rose into the air; the crushing embrace as it accelerated to full speed. But once you were safely at cruising altitude and could move about again, flying wasn’t so bad. You sat next to Banner as he skillfully piloted the aircraft across the Pacific Ocean, feeling your apprehension grow with every passing mile of open sea.

Focus on the mission, you thought.

“Bruce, if no one has made it back out of Hall’s Gap, how do we know what’s going on there? How did we get that footage?”

“It’s a cloud-recording. When State officials realised no one in town was answering a phone, let alone leaving the area, they accessed the bank’s security footage.” He grinned, but it was mirthless. “Bet they weren’t expecting to see that.”

“So, what – it’s a virus?”

“More likely a fungal pathogen,” Bruce replied. “There’s a cordyceps fungus that does something similar to ghost moths in the Himalayas. I’ve got some generic antifungal meds that we’ll all take as a precaution, but I can’t develop a proper vaccine until I’ve got a sample.”

“How do you get a sample?”

“From infected brain tissue,” Bruce said grimly.

You were interrupted by a deep yelp from behind, and you turned to see Thor shaking out his right hand as though stung. The brothers were passing time with a game that looked like a combination of rock-paper-scissors and bloody knuckles. Loki leaned back in his seat, his cat-got-the-cream expression widening. One long, leather-clad leg stretched out into the aisle; the other bent at the knee so that his foot could rest on the seat in front. You could see the raised outline of his quadriceps. He lifted his arms to settle his hands behind his head, the card of his slender fingers through his own hair making you squirm. Why are the pretty ones always such dickheads?

You mentally shook yourself. Loki’s smarm and sex appeal were irrelevant. People were dying.

Rage flared within you. How dare they. Hydra had targeted Australia not because it posed a threat, or because the location gave them a tactical advantage. It was because a test release of a bioweapon in a place like Hall’s Gap was easy to hide.

Remote. Wild. Dangerous.

You pushed Loki’s long limbs out of your mind. Without your full concentration, the mission could be deadly.

It was after midnight local time when the Quinjet began descending.

“Ten minutes, guys,” Banner said, as the altimeter rapidly ticked down.

Loki stood, making a big show of stretching, his leather armour creaking. He caught you watching him and gave a wolfish grin, then a small shrug of his left shoulder.

You almost jumped in surprise. Green light licked up his body, and the black leather was replaced by sensible, climate-appropriate clothing: a lightweight collared shirt open over a tight, V-necked tank top, and moleskin hiking pants. A small triangle of pale flesh was visible at his shoulder where his layers left a gap. You had to make a conscious effort to close your mouth. Sensible, but hot as hell. I bet those pants make his ass look amazing.

He winked at you from under the wide brim of a dark-brown Akubra, resplendent with what looked like kookaburra feathers, as Banner landed on a grassy flat at the fringe of the Australian desert.

“We’ll sleep here the rest of the night,” he said, as the group descended the Quinjet ramp into the warm, moonless night. “There’s a local guide meeting us in the morning, then it’s a day’s hike into Hall’s Gap. Can’t risk flying any closer and being detected, in case Hydra really is nearby. We’ll stay off the roads for the same reason.”

“When you say, ‘here’…” Loki looked around the rough clearing distastefully.

“Loki, you must learn to tolerate the lesser comforts!” Thor’s jovial voice was louder than ever in the abandoned night. “Remember the time you stole away from the Queen’s retinue at Mimisbrunnen because the baths were too cold…”

You followed the sound of running water to a nearby stream, surrounded by the scent of eucalyptus and tea tree. As water trickled into your canteen, leaves rustled; the movement of some large marsupial, disturbed by your presence. It was unexpectedly comforting.

It’s been too long, you thought, as memory flooded your senses. But then, once upon a time, I didn’t think I’d ever be back again.

There was a slapping sound from the group, and a swear word in a foreign language. “What in Hel?!” Thor spluttered. “These biting insects are the size of small birds!” The hiss of an aerosol can quickly followed, as Banner generously doused him in mosquito repellent. You grinned to yourself.

The Quinjet’s lights shut off, leaving the four of you in darkness. You rolled out your sleeping gear some distance from the others, stripped out of most of your clothing, and lay flat on your back in your sleeping bag. Sleep might be a big ask, you thought, as you gazed upwards. The arm of the Milky Way stretched overhead, like a hug from an old friend.

You’d always secretly thought this hemisphere had the superior night sky. You were mentally cataloguing as many southern constellations as you could remember when Loki appeared out of the night beside you. Is he… topless? It was hard to tell in the dark. Maybe he’s just wearing really tight sleepwear. The thought made you press your thighs together.

“May I?” he asked, polite but vaguely entitled. “Thor, of course, is already snoring loudly enough to disturb Valhalla.” You could indeed hear the deep rumble.

“Ah - sure,” you said, surprised. In general, Loki didn’t speak to you. Or anyone, besides Thor, if you didn’t count barbed quips and snarky commentary on the day-to-day operations of the team. You weren’t even sure he knew your name.

He spread another of SHEILD’s high-tech swags out beside you.

“This is your home, yes?” he asked, as he slid into his bedding.

You let out a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, um, not here here. On the coast.”

“You are lucky to be able to return,” he murmured.

You risked a quick glance at him, struck by the sadness in his voice. “I guess so.” He, too, was gazing up at the night sky. “Do you... miss home?”

“Ceaselessly.”

You felt the silence stretch, disconcerted by his honesty. “Um - can I tell you about our stars?”

“I am very familiar with the Midgardian sky.”

“But the sky here is different. Everything’s upside down, for a start.” You pointed to the constellation of Orion, clearly head-down. “See?”

You heard the slight smile in his voice as he said, “I see. What else?”

Speaking quietly, you pointed out all the familiar sky-marks you had found when you’d first laid down. "It's a pity the SHEILD tactical goggles don’t work very well for the sky – too specialised for detection and warfare, I guess,” you said. A thought occurred to you. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of binoculars in that magic pocket of yours?”

Loki either smiled or grimaced – you could only see the glint of his teeth. “I can do better than that,” he muttered, almost to himself.

With a faint fizzling sound and a flash of silver, the entire night sky blossomed into colour and light.

It was as though you were lying under an enormous telescope dome. Your eyes could discern individual stars of the Omega Centauri cluster, or the spectacular colour and shape of the Carina nebula, or any of a hundred other astronomical wonders suddenly visible to you from horizon to horizon.

You glanced at Loki again. His sky was casting enough light to see him clearly now; he lay with his arm under his head and a serene smile on his face.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“My pleasure,” he murmured, not taking his eyes off the scene above.

You lay there, the two of you, gazing upwards in silent wonder. You thought about what it meant to be home, why you had left so many years ago… How it might feel to have no home to return to. Until finally, just as Loki’s breathtaking illusion began to fade, you fell asleep.

Part 2

Tags in comments xx

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki x you #loki fic #loki smut #avenger loki #sex pollen #(eventually)

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redcoralpot · 2 years ago

Text

Tougher Than Nails - Mike Schmidt X M!Reader

Warnings/Details: NSFW content, implied substance abuse, alcohol, cowboy!reader, hankie/cowboy hat code.

Summary: Mike goes to a bar downtown in hopes of getting his mind off of court, but instead finds something much healthier.

A/N: Everyone should thank my boyfriend for this idea; he's always the one that reminds me that I am technically a 'cowboy'. He saves a horse very often.

Word Count: 1.8K

Bars weren’t really Mike’s thing. Any alcohol he’s ever had tasted like crap, and becoming an alcoholic would just be another check on Aunt Jane’s list to prove to the court that he wasn’t suitable for custody. Hell, he swore her perfume was still clinging onto his nose hairs, and all he wanted to do was escape her. Escape reality, too. Mike remembered when his father used to do just that after Garret disappeared, drowning himself in the bitter liquid at night, his speech slurred. That’s why he was here, at a bar in downtown Afton, while Maxine stayed with Abby. He was desperate.

The building was crowded, delightful chatter and jazz music filling the air. Lights were strung along the wooden walls, narrowly dodging the black and white photos hanging by themselves. More customers squeezed in behind him; Mike frantically searched for any open spot in the room. Hallelujah– a single stool was left vacant near the serving counter, and Mike shuffled into it, shoulders tense. The bartender seemed to notice his presence, as she leaned towards the man, still shaking another person’s drink.

“You’re a new face,” she rattled, “may I see your license?”

Mike fumbled with his wallet, sliding the card for her to see, “Uh, sure.”

“Right, you’re all clear; would you like to open a tab?”

A man cut in before he could answer, and for the first time, Mike got a good look at the person sitting beside him, “Just add whatever he orders to mine, Molly.”

She shrugged, the key hanging from her left pocket jingling, “Easier for me.”

You chuckled, the brim of your hat covering your eyes. It was decorated with embroidery and leather, complimenting your purple button up shirt, though that was partially hidden by a black vest. Two hankies hung out of your back, left pocket, similar to Molly’s keychain. One was rust colored, but the other was a complimentary gray; Mike thought it was an interesting stylistic choice.

“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”

As the bartender turned, scribbling in a notebook, you inquired, “So, what’s a fine boy like you doing ‘round these parts?”

Mike grabbed the foaming beer that was placed in front of him, “I live nearby.”

“That’s not the only reason, is it?”

He hesitated to answer, instead choosing to take a long sip of the beverage. It burned down his throat, the flavor making his lips curl and his head a little more dizzy. Somehow, it loosened his will, and he found his lips moving without his permission. Your energy was just hypnotizing; he felt himself being pulled in.

“Needed a break from stress,” Mike admitted, picking at the glass’ label.

You cocked your head to the side, your hat tipping upward, “Just ‘cause you’re in a hole, doesn’t mean you gotta keep digging. Alcohol isn’t the cure to what you’re feelin’.”

“What am I supposed to do? Not even my medicine works anymore.”

“I go here for stress relief too,” you assured, downing a shot, “but not necessarily for the drinks.”

Your hand hovered over the small of his back, looking at him for consent. When he didn’t move away, you settled your fingers there, feeling a shiver run through Mike’s body. Some of the previous tension released from his shoulders, and he almost leaned back in relief. Many of the customers in this bar were paired with the same sex, unlike most of the movies he’d seen that included the subject. So, he supposed it wouldn’t look too weird if he did.

You elaborated, “People can be cruel, can’t they, sweetheart? Comin’ to a place like this, where everyone’s like me in some way or another, is a damn good bonus.”

“Like you?”

“Y’know,” you gestured to your handkerchiefs, “queer and such.”

He paused, “Ah.”

“You didn’t know this was a boy bar?”

Mike replied, “I kinda just looked up the closest bar to my house.”

…

“Good to know.” Your hand fell away from his back.

He almost chased it. Mike liked the feeling, the weight of your fingers pressing into such an intimate spot. However, he wasn’t tipsy enough for that, and controlled himself. He watched as you spoke to Molly, the lady’s eyes flicking towards him and back, and you slipped her the money needed to cover the tab. You tipped your hat towards Mike, a respectful way to put distance between you, before disappearing into the suffocating crowd. Molly side eyed him, sweeping away his bottle, before leaving as well. Mike swallowed, pulling loose skin from his bottom lip with his teeth. It was now, or never– perhaps alcohol wasn’t the only way, after all. You were right.

Mike could still see the very top of your hat swerving above the crowd, and he trailed after it to the best of his ability. A random girl almost elbowed him in the face, and he was sure his shins would be bruised after tonight. Your shadow was reflecting in the glass door, growing fainter and fainter as you walked further away, your hips swaying. Mike pushed it open, the vision dissolving, and cold air stung his cheeks. The moon reflected off of car hoods, the only way he was able to see where he was running. His hand reached out and grabbed your arm, as you flinched.

Mike’s ears were red, probably from the alcohol, and you stared at him, “What’re you doing?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer you got before your collar was jerked forward.

Your lips crashed violently with his; your teeth clicking as he struggled to pull you closer. Mike was still fisting your shirt as you brought your hands to cup his jaw and the back of his neck, trying to gentle the kiss.

You mumbled against his mouth, “Better not be some experiment of yours, pretty boy.”

“Nope,” he whispered, the aftertaste of whiskey on his tongue.

His back hit the side of your car, and his hands moved from your collar to swinging his arms around your neck. Your knee found its way in between Mike’s thighs, pressing against his crotch, and his groan was swallowed by your lips. Mike whined when you trailed down, aiming instead for his neck. Dark marks and bites soon decorated the pale flesh, his blood dripping a contrasting splash of color.

Tugging on his earlobe, you challenged, “Gonna come back to my place?”

Mike doubted he ever agreed to something so quickly.

The drive was long, too long in his opinion. Though, it was most likely only fifteen minutes, at most. Mike didn’t even have to walk up the driveway to your cabin; his legs were locked around your hips as you carried him through the door and up the stairs. He ground his groin against you, searching for any possible friction. You tossed him onto your bed, unbuckling your belt, holding it taut. The man in front of you wiggled back and spread his legs to make room for you. You snickered at how willing Mike was, considering his hesitation when you first met.

You regularly kept lube on the bedside table, just to be prepared for when you brought men home from the bar. However, this one was different in a way you had trouble putting into words, other than positive. His thighs shook as you massaged the liquid into his hole, a hand covering his mouth to prevent you from hearing his noises. Ah, now that wouldn’t do, would it?

In response, you tugged his hand off of his mouth, “Lemme hear you.”

Such pretty sounds from a pretty mouth, it was truly a shame. When Mike immediately went back to covering them up, you slid your fingers out of him, instead reaching for your abandoned belt. His eyes trailed after your hands as they bound his wrists together in front of him, almost akin to handcuffs. Mike couldn’t see much of your expression after your head dipped down, only the shit-eating grin playing on your lips. Of course, that was before you took your hat off by the crown and placed it firmly on his head, though it was a tad too big for him.

“Why don’t you keep that safe for me, sweetheart?”

For a second, Mike was confused. Keep it safe? Just what were you planning on doing? He felt a grip on his waist, right before his world spun around him, and the positions were practically reversed. The guard was now sitting on top of you, or more so your crotch, his thighs caging in your hips. Mike’s hair was disheveled and the light on the ceiling created a sort of halo around him, and fuck, did you think he was pretty. Only a few select people had ever gotten to wear your hat, and you could confidently say that he was the most beautiful in it.

You unbuttoned your jeans, letting your cock slip through the opening, “You ready?”

“I’ve never done this before.”

You had a grip on his waist again, slowly guiding him down. You didn’t thrust, didn’t force him to go fast, and allowed him his proper time to adjust, “How’s that feelin’?”

“G-good,” he shuddered, precum leaking from his tip, “think ‘m ready.”

“You haven’t seen the brunt of it yet, boy!” You grunt, thrusting the rest of you inside, brushing against Mike’s prostate.

The man on top of you moaned, and the sound was so uncharacteristically loud that even he seemed surprised by it. Mike leaned down, resting his tied fists on your chest in order to keep his balance. His sweat dampened your collarbones, his drool smearing on your neck, and the pathetic excuse of a guard tried leaving kisses over the areas he could reach. You soon found a rhythm to your thrusts; groans were punched out of your throat on their own.

Mike could feel heat rushing through his brain, bringing tears that stuck to his eyelashes, covering any thoughts or hesitance he may have had before. That wasn’t enough for it– it spread like wildfire down his body, down to where your fingers were leaving bruises, and down to his red, leaking dick. Something deep was brewing inside of him, nothing he’s felt since his hormonal teenage years. Hell, he didn’t even have time to process it when you kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear that he’s such a needy slut; it exploded.

When he finally came to, he could feel his thighs twitching and your heaving, sticky abs below him. His eyelids felt heavy, and all he wanted to do was stay there with you. You were rubbing circles into his back, attempting to pull out, but a grumble from Mike made you stop. In fact, you were saying things, but it sounded muffled and far away. He took great comfort in your voice, no matter what you were talking about. It was getting farther and farther away, yet still managed to follow him into his dreams. For the first time since the incident with Garret, he did not have a nightmare.

Taglist: @cannabrisano @kai_beanz @fandomz-brainrot @slimemakermas

#x male reader #male reader #lgbtq #male y/n #gay #cowboy reader #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddys #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x male reader #x top male reader #top male reader #x dom male reader #dom male reader #bottom character

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classiccowboy · 11 months ago

Text

Paper Rings. || Joe Burrow

*The moon is high like your friends were the night that we first met. Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet.*

When Ja’marr Invited me to the Super Bowl after party I was not expecting the level of commitment they had given to celebrating. I don’t think there is a single person in this room other than me that’s sober. I’ve been hiding away in this corner hoping that J will have forgotten I’m here, and for a while it works. Once he spots me I have no way out. He’s coming over with a goofy grin on his face followed by what looks to be his buddy Joe. In all the years that Ja’marr and I have been friends I haven’t actually met Joe. Until tonight I guess.

“What are you doing over here?” Ja’marr asks, pulling me into his side and looking expectantly for my answer.

“I’m just enjoying the festivities..in private.”

“I have someone I want you to meet.” He turns around waving for Joe, who had got caught up by someone in the crowd, to come over.

“Joe this is my best friend from back home, y/n. Y/N this is my buddy Joe Burrow.” Joe holds his hand out and I take it giving a slight shake.

“Joe Burrow? I don’t believe I’ve heard of you.” I say sarcastically in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well I’ve been waiting for this for a while. Chase talks about you all the time. It’s nice to put a face to the stories.” He says, the nervousness still evident in his voice.

“J likes to keep me hidden away from all of his friends. He thinks they’re gonna fall in love with me or something.” Joe’s grin reaches all the way to the corner of his eyes and he glances sideways to see J just staring off into space.

“I guess it’s a good thing he’s too high to understand what’s happening right now.”

“Looks like everyone is.”

We talked for a while longer before he got swept away, and maybe it’s the contact high from all the weed but I went home and read everything I could find on the internet about Joe.

*The wine is cold like the shoulder that I gave you in the street. Cat and mouse for a month or two or three.*

Why do people think inviting single people to weddings is a cool idea? I’ve been sitting at this bar for 20 minutes waiting on my glass of wine, which isn’t free by the way. The only reason I agreed to come to this silly thing is because the bride is the only friend I’ve made since Ja’marr convinced me to move to Cincinnati two months ago. Weddings suck. I’m so immersed in my thoughts that I don’t even notice when someone slips into the seat beside me. My eyes grew wide as I glanced over to find a familiar mop of brown hair.

“Be honest, are you stalking me?” He asks playfully. If he’s been at this thing the whole time I definitely didn’t see him.

“Why would I stalk some meat head football player? I mean you’re not even rich.” I spit back playfully.

“Okay, you got me there. What are you drinking tonight?”

“I’ve been waiting on a glass of wine, I think he forgot about me.” I fake pout.

“Don’t worry I’ll take care of it.” He waves down the bartender (who momentarily fanboys) and asks for two glasses of white wine, we have drinks within seconds.

“Oh the perks of being QB1.” A blush creeps onto my cheeks as he examines my face.

“I’m sensing you’ve got a problem with meat head football players.”

“Only the kind who get special treatment.” I pick up my purse and take out some cash to pay for the wine but he immediately pushes it back towards me.

“Let me.”

“I don’t need any charity Joe. I can pay for my own drink thanks.” I go to slide the cash onto the counter again but he stops me for the second time. “How about you just let me get the drink and you can pay me back?”

“And how do you suppose I do that?” I question suspiciously.

“Let me take you on a date?” His eyes are hopeful and they aren’t looking away from mine. I can’t help the chuckle that escapes my lips. I stand up placing the cash on the bar in front of him before leaning down to whisper in his ear,

“Like I said, I don’t need any charity from you.” With that I turn on my hell and walk out the door. I hate weddings.

A few hours later I receive a texts that says:

I need the charity, go on a date with me?

I hate to admit it but I thought about Joe for the rest of the night. It only took him two months of texts and well timed “visits” to J’s until I finally said yes.

I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings. Uh-huh, that’s right. Darling, you’re the one I want.

Okay, so maybe I underestimated what it would be like to date the most famous quarterback in the NFL. My self-esteem has taken some major blows over the last year and with another season of football looming around the corner I don’t know if I can take it anymore. Fans are not thrilled to see Joe dating a normal “average looking” woman. Every time I show up to a game and they put me on that damned jumbotron there are clips of me circulating for a week until a new one comes about, the entire world just picking me apart. Which is why I have been strategically avoiding Joe’s questions about whether I will be attending his first preseason game tomorrow. Until now that is..

“Okay, talk to me.” Joe says, staring directly into my eyes as we sit across from each other at the kitchen counter.

“Talk to you about what?” I laugh nervously and start to fidget with a leftover piece of paper from crafts with his nephew yesterday.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours? Why aren’t you answering my questions about the game? And why do you look like you’re about to throw up?” He says matter of factly, taking the paper out of my hands and messing with it himself.

“It’s nothing.” I mumble looking anywhere but at his face.

“Y/N.. if you don’t tell me what is going on, I’m asking J.” No way he just pulled the Ja’marr card. Who told me it was a good idea to date my best friends.. other best friend.

“Fine.. I just.. your fans don’t really like me Joey. I don’t know if I want to subject myself to the same torture I went through last season.” He sets the paper aside and pulls my hands to his mouth. Letting his kiss linger on my knuckle for a few quiet moments as he thinks about how to respond.

“I don’t care,” he looks me right in the eyes, “I don’t care what they say, or what they think they know about our relationship. You’re my girl. You’re the one that I want. Nobody is going to change my mind, don’t let them get in your head.” I can’t help the love and appreciation that seeps through me, I pick up the small piece of paper that he had formed into a ring while we were talking and focus on it for few moments to collect my emotions, he laughs and takes it from my hand before walking around to my chair.. “I love you, and it’s not because of what other people do or don’t think of you, it’s because you’re you. And because even if the only thing I had to give you was this little paper ring you’d still love me back. That’s what’s important to me. Not all that bullshit on the internet and in the tabloids.” I laugh as he slides the ring on my left hand and wipes a tear from the corner of my eye.

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you say at one time.”

“What can I say, you’re worth getting passionate about.” I stand up and pull him close, leaning up to kiss him.

“I guess I better find me a game day fit,” He smiles before laying another peck on my lips, “I love you too, Joey. Just so you know.”

“I know.”

#joe burrow #nfl #nfl imagine #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader

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strangelysamantha · 9 months ago

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heart to heart ❀

steve harrington x fem!reader.

warnings: mention of being drugged, but otherwise pure fluff.

words: 987.

summary: at the starcourt mall bathroom, you and steve have a heart to heart.

request? no

a/n: it won’t let me insert links anymore and i’m very upset about it. but i’m happy to be writing again so i guess i have that going for me! can’t wait to produce a bunch of stranger things content.

my masterlist

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you lay on the floor of the bathroom, your back slouched against the wall. your head wasn’t spinning as bad so that was good, but now the spiral to sobriety made your mind rush with thoughts. the starcourt mall had harsh lights, and you struggled to stick with any thoughts, overwhelmed by the torture you had barely escaped from. steve harrington was quiet in the stall next to you. a groan emitting from your lips. “are you okay steve?” you find the courage to question. you were nervous to break the silence, but if you had to endure it any longer you would explode. he hesitates, “yeah, i think uh,” he waits, “i think im alright.” you nod, although he’s unable to acknowledge it. “how about you? are you okay over there?” you stay quiet, unsure how to answer. “hello?” there’s worry in his voice, and he doesn’t wait to slide under the stall door to comfort you.

you grimace at him, “do you realize how gross the bathroom floor is?” you crack a smile, amused. he shrugs, “after all that fighting today, i already needed to wash the uniform, what difference will it make?” the two of you break out into laughter, “maybe it’s not fully out of our system yet.” this makes you laugh even harder. you take a moment to catch your breath. “steve?” he hums in response, “i’m glad i was with you in the battle against the russians.” he makes eye contact with you, “true, i’m pretty badass aren’t i?” you bite your lip nervously, “yes but you did deal with alot though.” he looks away, “i just want you to know im here for you. i mean what else can we go through that’s going to top breaking into a hidden russian lair?”

“i hope nothing… but this town is crawling with bad people. you can’t ever be safe.” his demeanor hurts, the pitiful comment causes your heart to sting. “yeah that’s what scares me.” you admit. “we’ll get through it together okay? we’re a good team.” you nod at his reassuring words, “let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” you collect your thoughts, “it’s funny to think that just last week we scooped ice cream for a living, and then we almost died.” steve smirks, “it’s quite the story to tell though.”

“don’t you miss high school? the only worry we had was about homework due dates, and trying not to fall asleep during lectures?” he reminisces, “it was easier, but time moves forward, and you get hardships thrown your way. i don’t know where i’ll be in a few years.” he continues, “it’s hard to think about the future, when the present is not enjoyable.” “i know, we should be out having fun, not worried about our hometown being invaded.” saying the words made the situation real, and the idea of your future was unimaginable. “do you still love nancy?” you question. he sighs, “yes, and no.” he thinks about it, you can tell by his face. “i miss what we had, the love was real, but time passed. we both grew into ourselves; there’s no point in ruining that growth.” his stance caught you by surprise, but you appreciated his honesty. “i had a first love too. it was different; it was a love that consumed me, but i lost who i was in the process. it’s hard to go back to someone when you know it didn’t work out for a reason.” he silently agrees, “have you moved on?” he asks. “yes, and no.” you giggle, “i’ve moved on, but sometimes i long for it. it was safe, predictable, but i know in my heart that things will work out for me.” steve’s eyes lock with yours.

you can’t read what he’s feeling, you’re filled with nerves. “i like you steve.” his lips curved, “you do?” you laugh slightly, “of course i do steve. you saved my life today. you make working at scoops ahoy fun. you’re playful, and witty. you treat me with so much kindness. and maybe i’m misreading this thing between us.” you back peddled slightly, worried you might have overstepped. “i like you too, today you brought out a side of me, one i hadn’t seen in awhile. you gave me hope, a reason.” you stomach fills with butterflies as his gaze lingers over you. you scooch forward, placing your hand over his. “steve, i really-.” unfortunately dustin and erica barge into the bathroom, before he rolls his eyes. “okay… what the hell?” steve and you glance at each other before returning your eyes to dustin. together you both emit into hysterical laughter at dustin’s comment. “get up we have to go.” he urges you up and rushes you to the door, erica’s face is stern and her hand is on her hip as she impatiently waited for you two to stand up. the four of you leave the bathroom, determined to escape the mall. you stay back, letting erica and dustin lead the way. you glance over at steve, your hand instinctively reaching for his as the nerves wash over you. he happily holds it, he looks over to you, his teeth bright. “you make me really happy.” he squeezes your hand. “you make me really happy too steve.” he chuckles slightly. “maybe after we escape, i can take you on a date?” a rose tint lifted to your cheeks as shyness crept up. “yes please.” the two of you continue to hold hands as you hurriedly tried to blend in with the crowd of people leaving the theater; however you see men in all black, guarding the exit. dustin tells you guys to abort and to turn around, and you frantically run to the lower level. fear was instilled inside you, however; with steve by your side you felt confident that you would make it to your guys first date.

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

#steve fluff #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington story #steve harrington x reader fluff #fluff #fanfic #steve fanfic #stranger things steve #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fluff #stranger things

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solarmorrigan · 2 years ago

Note

May I request a thrupple for the angst quote prompt?

“Please I just… really need space right now.”

With ChissyxStevexEddie. If not the thrupple then a pair of your choice from those three characters.

Hello! I'm sorry, I didn't quite manage to work Chrissy into this one. Honestly, this particular fill argued with me so much I'm kind of glad I even got Eddie and Steve in there. I hope this is okay, anyway!

[post-S3 Steddie AU; CW: Deals with the aftermath of torture, heavily discusses non-consensual touching (not inherently sexual, not between Eddie and Steve), contains the theme of trying to help someone through trauma. This is very soft, though, I promise]

Angsty-ish Prompt List

The Steve Harrington who comes home to Eddie from the hospital on the fifth of July is not the same one who had kissed him goodbye before his shift at that shitty ice cream parlor two days prior.

He’s still Eddie’s Steve, of course he is, but he’s also – he’s withdrawn, and he’s jumpy, and he’s so, so hurt.

Eddie had seen the aftermath of that fight with Hargrove (who hadn’t? Though Eddie had even had the privilege of watching the last of the bruises fade from up close as he and Steve became friends), but this is worse. Eddie can’t articulate how at first, but it is.

At least back in November, Steve had been able to talk about how he’d gotten his injuries; this time, he has to hide behind some fucked up cover story – because bull-fucking-shit had he gotten hurt by falling debris in a freak mall fire.

Debris hadn’t left marks like fucking boot prints on Steve’s back and chest. It hadn’t bruised and rubbed his wrists red and raw. It hadn’t left the distinct shape of fingers in purple and blue, wrapped around his arms on both sides.

Eddie had tried exactly once to address this, when he’d first seen the extent of the damage hidden under Steve’s shirt. He’d tried to demand answers, tried to get out of Steve who had laid their fucking hands on him, but Steve had gone grey under his bruises and shook his head.

“It was a fire, Eddie. Nothing else. I need you to understand that,” Steve had said, more serious than Eddie had ever heard him, his one good eye wide with urgent anxiety – with something almost like fear. “It was just a fire.”

Eddie hasn’t brought it up again.

It makes him burn to know that someone had done this to Steve and that he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. It makes him want to scream, it makes him want to find whoever had been responsible and make them hurt, but more than anything–

More than anything, it terrifies him.

Because this Steve is different – his Steve is different now, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

It scares him to see Steve slinking around the trailer like it isn’t his home (more of a home than his parents’ house has ever been). It scares him when he forgets that Steve’s left is his bad side and that if he comes up on him too fast, he’ll startle the shit out of him. It scares him that Steve has a bad side. It scares him when he reaches for him, unthinkingly going for the contact that Steve has always been so hungry for, has been so comforted by in the past, and instead Steve flinches away.

Eddie has never really had to take care of someone else, and he feels like he’s fucking it up at every turn. He feels like he’s hurting Steve even more, that he’s no better than whoever did this to him, no better than Billy fucking Hargrove, no better than Steve’s parents; he’s afraid he’s going to ruin things, break Steve beyond repair, because he doesn’t know how to care for this new version of him.

The only thing that gives him hope that he isn’t doing too badly is the fact that Steve is staying. He still wants to be in Eddie’s company, still reaches out sometimes and tentatively slides his hand over Eddie’s while they’re watching TV together, still shares Eddie’s bed at night. He’s been stubbornly insisting that he’s fine, he’s fine, he just needs time to heal, but beyond a refusal to admit that anything is wrong, he still trusts Eddie to help when he’s not at his best.

Of course, no matter what he says, Steve isn’t actually fine, and even if that weren’t made apparent just by looking at him, it becomes abundantly clear when the lights go out and they lie down to sleep – when the nightmares hit.

Sometimes, they’re small things: quickened breath and inaudible murmuring, furrowed brows that eventually smooth out as Steve is released back into deeper, more peaceful sleep.

Sometimes, though, they’re loud and sharp and violent.

Sometimes, like tonight.

Steve is half twisted in the sheets, struggling in a way his broken ribs really can’t afford, arms flailing and jerking as he tries to fight something off, as he mutters no and stop and please. Eddie sort of wants to cry, thinking about what could be making Steve beg, but more than anything he wants to wake Steve up.

He shakes him by the shoulder, dodging the jerk of his arm, and hopes he can call louder than whatever’s going on in Steve’s head.

“Steve. Steve, c’mon, wake up,” Eddie shakes Steve again and Steve jerks away with a wounded noise. “It’s just a nightmare, baby, come on. Steve!”

Steve’s eyes snap open with a sharp gasp, like he’s been holding his breath, but his gaze is still hazy. He’s awake, but he isn’t present, and he immediately starts shoving at Eddie’s hands, trying to scoot away on the bed.

“No, no, get off– get off me!” he shouts, managing to make it as far as the edge of the bed before the tangle of the sheets holds him in place.

“Steve it’s– it’s just me, it’s Eddie, it was a nightmare, you’re–” as reassuring as Eddie is trying to be, he can’t help the distressed crack in his voice. “Baby, you’re safe, I fucking swear.”

Finally, Steve stops struggling. He lies against the mattress for a moment, breathing heavily, before he ventures a small, “Eddie?”

“Yeah, sweetheart, I’m right here,” Eddie promises.

He shuffles closer on his knees, reaching out for Steve, hoping to comfort or soothe or ground or something, but Steve flinches away, tossing up an arm to halt Eddie in his tracks with a quickly barked, “No.”

“Steve,” Eddie breathes out, and he doesn’t mean to sound so fucking broken, but he should be the one person Steve is never afraid of, and he’s fucking that up.

“I… Please, I just…” Steve stutters out, still catching his breath, trying to sit himself up against the wall that the head of the bed is pressed to, “…really need space right now. Just– just leave me alone for a while.”

And all at once, even if Eddie knows nothing else, he knows that isn’t right.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now, sweetheart.”

Steve, now propped up against the wall, lets his head hang with a heavy sigh. “Eddie…”

“No, look, I’m not–” Eddie scrambles off the bed and moves across the small room, until he’s got his back to the opposite wall. “I’m not gonna touch you, I’ll stay over here, you don’t even have to look at me, but I’m not going to leave you by yourself.”

Steve had never wanted to be left alone when things were bad before. When he was alone, his anxiety would consume him; without the anchor of another person, it would carry him away, and Eddie is certain the same thing will happen now if he leaves Steve to deal with the aftermath of his nightmare in solitude.

For a long moment, Steve stares at him, eyes wide and wet with unshed tears in the low light of the bedroom, but he eventually looks away again. He says nothing, just curling in on himself in a way that must be hell on his ribs as he leans back against the wall, and Eddie takes that as the best permission he’s going to get.

He slides down the wall and sits on the floor, his knees pulled up in front of him in a loose mirror of Steve’s position. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak, but he’s there, and he has to believe that’s worth something.

It startles him when, some thirty minutes in (probably the longest Eddie’s ever been able to sit in silence without something to occupy him), Steve speaks.

“I can still feel their hands on me.”

His voice is a quiet rasp, but the words hit Eddie like hailstones. He wants to ask who, he wants to demand what, but he knows if he says anything now, Steve will clam up, so Eddie keeps his mouth shut, and he waits.

“Even before they– before they started hitting me.” Steve isn’t looking at Eddie, instead addressing the wall, gaze distant and unblinking. “They grabbed me and… searched me, cuffed me, they kept – putting their hands on my face, grabbing my hair, and I couldn’t…”

Couldn’t stop them.

Eddie feels a little sick.

Steve is quiet for so long after that that Eddie begins to wonder if he should say something, but Steve breaks the silence before he has to figure out what.

“Out of everything, I don’t know why that… why that left the biggest impression, but I–” he breaks off, turning and finally looking at Eddie. “I want to feel you again, but any time someone touches me, I can only see them.”

Eddie doesn’t think he’s going to survive this. His heart is going to fucking break.

He needs to do something, he needs to help, and maybe he has no clue what he’s doing, but this is his Steve, and he has to try.

Slowly, Eddie levers himself up off the floor and moves towards the door, where he hits the switch for the overhead lights, making the entire room go bright.

Steve winces at the sudden change, turning a wary look on Eddie as he approaches the bed.

“Eddie, what…”

“Just– just trust me. Let me try,” Eddie says, soft and earnest, holding Steve’s gaze as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Please?”

It takes a long moment, but Steve gives a hesitant nod, and Eddie scoots closer. He leaves space between them, still, but he gets close enough that he could reach out and take Steve’s hands – which is exactly what he intends to do.

“Look at me,” Eddie says, quiet and firm. “Just look at me, nowhere else.”

Steve does as he’s told, and Eddie manages a smirk.

“Just pretend I’m the most interesting thing in the room,” he tries to tease. “Like there’s nothing else you’d ever wanna look at.”

“Don’t have to pretend,” Steve murmurs, eyes locked on Eddie’s face, and Eddie’s smile melts into something more genuine.

“There you are,” he says softly.

He reaches for Steve’s hands, and slowly, Steve unwraps them from where he’s been clutching firm around his legs, and lets Eddie touch him.

His hands are cold in spite of the summer heat that invades the trailer no matter how hard their crappy little air conditioner works, and they’re trembling slightly, but Steve doesn’t pull back. He stares right at Eddie and holds on.

Eddie brings one hand up, cradled in his own, and presses a gentle kiss to the knuckles. The bruises there have already faded (their presence had been the least distressing out of all the damage; Eddie likes knowing that Steve had at least gotten a few hits in), but he attends carefully to each knuckle, anyway. He kisses the back of Steve’s hand, feeling a little like a courtly lord from one of his own campaigns. Steve is starting to look at him like he might be one.

The bruises around Steve’s wrists are taking longer to heal; the damage is deeper, and the colors still paint livid rainbow circles on his skin (his face is going to take longer, still; Steve says the doctor told him he’d lucked out with a minor fracture to his orbital bone that will heal on its own with time. Eddie looks at the discoloration there and feels like he has some choice words for the doctor). Eddie moves his attention up, brushing his lips featherlight across the top of Steve’s wrist before turning his hand over and paying the same devotion to the underside.

“Eddie…” Steve breathes, and Eddie presses one last kiss to the palm of Steve’s hand.

“It’s me,” Eddie promises, bringing Steve’s other hand up now. “Watch me, sweetheart, it’s just me.”

He keeps eye contact as he lavishes Steve’s left hand with the same attention he’d given the right, and it occurs to him that he’s been inside the boy in front of him, but this is somehow the most intimate thing they’ve ever done.

Eddie doesn’t move beyond Steve’s wrists, doesn’t push any more than he already has, and Steve’s eyes are still on him by the time he finishes, wide and soft and glassy.

“Okay?” Eddie asks softly, dropping his hands to hold both of Steve’s in his lap.

Slowly, Steve nods. He looks away at last, turning his eyes to their joined hands, and tightens his fingers until he’s holding onto Eddie properly.

They sit like that for a long time, quiet and close, until Eddie can feel himself flagging and he can see Steve’s eyelids drooping.

“Let’s try to get some more sleep,” Eddie says around a stifled yawn. “You do need your beauty rest, after all.”

Steve laughs, a little huff of a thing, and casts a quick glance up at Eddie. “Can– can we leave the light on?” He rushes the words out, like he hates to even ask, but Eddie only nods.

“Whatever you need, Steve,” he promises – and he means it.

Maybe he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing, but he’s not going anywhere until he figures it out.

And when Steve settles down beside him in bed, and scooches just close enough that their arms are pressed together, Eddie figures maybe he’s not doing too badly, after all.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #eddiesteve #stranger things #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

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inkedinfusions · 5 months ago

Text

𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 | geto suguru chapter 2

⊱𖤓⊰ | In which you, a thief, meet the lost prince of the kingdom.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . ⚜️ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰–prev next–⊱

𝟎𝟐 | 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

chapter word count: 3.1k

content warnings: normal warnings for the tangled movie lol

a/n: Thank you all of the birthday wishes! I had a lot of fun on my bday, and I'm hoping your day is a little better with this update. Here is to Suguru, who charms thugs and ruffians with his dreams, while Y/n just wishes she had more money and more alone time. Her partner makes a special appearance too, so props to Gojo for just appearing there while I was writing the scene.

Thanks for reading!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 arrows again after Suguru releases you from the chair, and you head for the window again when a quick survey of the room does not reveal any other way to exit the tower. You wonder if there's a hidden mechanism or a secret door you don’t know about, but like a good thief, you aren’t about to ask someone armed with a pan about their secret entrances.

“I’ll go first,” you offer, perched on the windowsill. “You know, to watch for threats and whatnot.”

There's an undertone of jest in your voice, like you can’t believe someone is afraid of going to what basically is their backyard. But you aren’t here to judge—even though you do, a little bit—so you just leap out the window after Suguru answers with his own scoff.

Oddly, the way down is harder than the way up, but you chalk it up to the adrenaline that pumped through your veins when you first arrived. So you carefully descend with your arrows, driving them into the points where the stones meet, pulling them out when the other one is anchored at a lower point.

You notice Suguru has not come down yet, so you erase all possibilities of a hidden door, given he would already be out if there was one. Or he could be a coward and waiting for you to reach the ground, but something tells you that is not the type of person he is. Which is a wild assumption, given you met like thirty minutes ago and you had already suffered two concussions at his hands.

But that's water under the bridge or something. Your head wasn’t as precious to you as was the possibility of a new, richer life elsewhere. Wild. Well, no time to unpack that.

You crane your head upwards, debating on whether to shout for him, maybe offer him assistance. It's not long before you decide against it, however, because next thing you know, his hair is plummeting down. You turn your head again and just as quickly press yourself against the wall, missing Suguru, who is sliding down his hair, by just a few centimetres.

“Geez! Warn a woman first!” you call out after him.

Suguru pays you no mind, frozen right above the grass, staring at it with childlike wonder. You sigh and resume your way down, when the crunch of the grass alerts you of his movements.

You watch as he runs from grass to wildflower, chucking off the boots that took you (metaphorical) hours to convince him to wear. You sigh as he dips his feet into the water of the stream, although you can’t deny there is something endearing in his joy at seeing the world. It's sad, yeah, but also you don’t think about it too deeply. You're strangers anyway, and you’ll be strangers tomorrow too, after the lanterns. There’s no need to care more than you need to.

So you follow after him, picking up the discarded boots he left in the middle of the field. Suguru runs to the exit of the valley, the cave guarded by the vines. There it is that you find him, with his hair running wild after him, a flock of birds flying just so through the rays of sunshine that hit his dark locks, turning them gold.

“How’d you do that?” you ask.

“Do what?” Suguru responds, clueless.

“...Forget it.”

He looks at you like you’re the weird one, like a flock of birds didn’t just frame him perfectly, like his triumphant entry to the outside world didn’t look like something out of a fairy tale book. He raises his eyebrows at you when you continue to look at him disbelievingly, but his attention is quickly taken away by a small pond.

“Sooo…” you start, walking towards Suguru, who is now crouching by the pond to pick up a lotus flower. “Is your curiosity satiated, princess? Perhaps it’s best for us to go back now—”

“Are you kidding me?” he says, head whirling to meet your eyes. “I’ll never have this opportunity again. Besides, what mother doesn’t know won't kill her.”

“Mother?” you ask. “She seems… protective.”

And a total nutjob, is what you don’t add.

“She just wants what’s best for me,” he says. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’m a terrible son for going against her, right?” He pauses. “Oh my god, this will totally kill her.”

You shrug, not really in the mood to play therapist.

“Oh this is terrible!” he exclaims, straightening up. “She thinks I’m up there, where it's safe and I’m here just… watching flowers!”

“Sure,” you say.

“But also,” he continues, “she can’t keep me locked away all my life, can she? I’m going back”—he turns to you—“just not now.”

“Well, you know,” you say, approaching him. “This is fine. You’re what, my age? Yeah, I’d say rebellion is pretty standard behavior.”

“Really?” he asks, skeptical.

“Mhm,” you nod, an idea suddenly forming in your mind. “It will tear your mother apart, mind you, but it’s part of life. But it will tear her apart,” you repeat, just in case the first time didn’t convince him.

“Tear her apart?”

“Oh yes,” you say, reveling in the hesitation in his voice. “It will probably take months—no, years for her to heal from this betrayal. Normal mother–son relationship, nothing to bat an eye about.”

“Betrayal? Wait, I never said anything about betrayal—”

“But there’s no need to thank me,” you interrupt, amping up the theatrics to a hundred. “I mean—oh wow, I can’t believe I’m saying this—but I would be willing to let you off the deal.”

“Now, I know how this sounds,” you continue with fake modesty, “but you won’t owe me anything for this wonderful advice. Just my satchel,” you quickly add. “Here are your boots, and we can just head back—”

“Head back? No, we aren’t heading back,” Suguru says. “I’m seeing those lanterns.”

“Ugh!” you complain. “What’s it going to take for you to see reason?”

“Only thing I'm interested in seeing is those lights, Starlight,” he says with a hint of condescension that makes you itch.

“You are terrible! I can’t believe I even agreed to this—”

You are cut off by Suguru, who goes tense at the sound of a moving bush. It's too animated for it to be the wind, but you look at it with more curiosity than fright, while Suguru looks at it with a mix of nervousness and fear.

A small, white bunny leaps out of the bush, and you can't contain your laughter when Suguru flinches at the sudden motion. You wheeze when the tension practically melts from his shoulders, when his anxiety-riddled expression turns into something more irritated.

“Oh my!” you gasp dramatically. “It's the most dangerous creature in this forest! Whoever could save a helpless maiden like me from this ferocious bunny?”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Suguru retorts sarcastically. “Bet you won’t be laughing when a thug jumps out of some bushes and strikes you down.”

“You don’t like thugs? Noted,” you say, another idea popping into existence. “Now, on a completely unrelated note—are you hungry?”

“Why is there a restaurant in the middle of nowhere?” Suguru asks as you walk through a fenced path.

“Why is your tower in the middle of nowhere?” you shoot back.

Suguru opens his mouth to snap back, but closes it again. “Fair,” he grumbles.

“Anyway, it should be close. I don't mean to brag, but,” you brag, “I’m pretty well versed on these woods.”

“Uh huh,” he says, skeptical.

“It's true!” you defend. “And it's the perfect place for a princess like you!” you carry on, ignoring his protests. “It's even got a duckling, see?”

You point to the emerging wooden sign, the natural lines of the wood running through the words The Snuggly Duckling. It is, of course, no place for a sheltered guy, but like any other thief worth their lockpicks, you are decidedly picking at places you’re sure would make Suguru tense like with the bunny earlier.

“...Chameleons are better,” he says.

“Is that what your lizard is?” you say, prompting the reptile to emerge on his shoulder. It glares at you again, like it somehow knows you are trash talking it, and you back off, putting up your hands to show your surrender.

Suguru huffs something akin to laughter, but you’re pretty sure he is just laughing at you—not with you. Well, who’s laughing now, mister? you internally ask when you swing open the door.

“Waiter! Your finest table please!”

Like magic, the whole tavern goes silent at your explosive entrance. You know you can command a room, but this was just ridiculous. Works in your favor though, so no complaints will be heard from you.

There is a weird ass guy covered in rats in the corner smiling creepily, another with a very pointy hook just to the left of you, and—well, let's just say the whole tavern is crawling with all the thugs one could possibly imagine. It was dirty, smelly, unsettling, and perfect.

You start walking with Suguru, who, to his credit, is doing his best to not let the tension in his shoulders show. But he can’t fool you. His eye twitches, his muscles contract. You’d enjoy the scene if you didn’t have your eyes on something better. A chance to scare him and get your satchel back without actually entering the kingdom again.

“Very nice place, right?” you chirp as you guide Suguru deeper and deeper into the crowd. This leaves him with no choice but to follow you as you make various remarks about the place.

“Look at all these nice, hardworking gentlemen,” you continue. “This is just the beginning princess, the bottom of the barrel. Hey, you okay there? You’re looking paler than usual. You know, there are much worse—”

“Holy shit!” a voice interrupts from the sea of thugs. “It's you!”

You snap your head towards the origin of the voice, narrowing your eyes when nobody you recognize emerges from it. Just a lanky looking guy, with dusty black hair and a pair of big round shades, the kind you would see on blind people.

“I think you have the wrong person,” you start. “Never in my life have I seen—”

“Oh, cut the crap, it's me,” he says, lowering his glasses. The brightest blue hits your pupils, making you immediately recognize your partner in crime.

Your eyes widen. “What are you doing here?” you ask, scrunching your nose when you notice the state of his hair. “And why is your hair like that?”

“Like what? I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he says, like his hair didn’t just turn a hundred shades darker in the span of a few hours. “And who’s this?” he asks, turning his eyes to Suguru, who is tenser than ever. “Oh ho ho, I didn’t take you for—”

He is thankfully interrupted when the thug with the hook uses it to pull him away, which is great, because now you don't need to strangle him with your own hands. On the other hand, what is not so great, is the way the hook is now being pointed at both you and Suguru.

“Woah, hey, I think there's been a misunderstanding,” you say, when a poster is shoved into your field of vision. It's your own, but now your hair is frizzier than ever, not even with the right length. Honestly, who was making these posters?

“Is this you?” a guy with a fur cape and large viking helmet.

Before you can deny it, the guy with the hook and all the others start circling you. “Oh it's her alright,” he says, throwing Satoru into the mix. “And that’s the other one.”

“Wow, I’m so flattered—but I could never be that beautiful,” he tearfully says. “I'm just another poor guy from the outskirts—”

“No one believes you, Six,” you say, tired of his charades.

“His name is Six?” Suguru whispers to you.

You shrug, then flinch when the hook is once again pointed at you three. “Don’t try to run, missy,” he says gesturing for another ruffian to go get the guards. “That double reward is about to buy me a new hook.”

You are pulled away by the back of your shirt by another ruffian with Satoru, and then once again by a different one. “I can use the money,” one of them says.

“Not fair!” another one complains. “I’m the brokest one here!”

“Hey!” you exclaim. “Let me go!”

Satoru is struggling at your side too, easily overpowered by the number of ruffians. You can’t see Suguru anymore, only hear as he says something, but now is not really the time to worry about him, not with the ticking time bomb that is the guards. You needed to get out of here and fast.

The big guy starts preparing to throw a punch at you, probably to knock you out to make the process of delivering you to the guards easier, when out of nowhere a branch directly above him snaps, striking him dead center on the head.

“Put them down!” you hear Suguru yell, everyone's attention on him.

“You chose a feisty one,” Satoru whispers to you.

“Shut up,” you whisper back as Suguru goes on a tangent.

“—and it's been my dream since forever to see those lanterns,” you notice him sneering, “so release them or so help me god, a concussion won’t be the only thing you’ll walk away with.”

Silence.

All of the ruffians are both shocked at what just transpired and at Suguru’s words, standing still in their places with wide eyes. You notice Satoru moving as discreetly as possible, and you prepare yourself to bolt, when the thug holding you both picks you up and hands you on the wall. You look helplessly at Satoru, who is trying not to laugh. You swear, you could both be in the gallows and he'd still crack jokes.

Suguru steps back as the guy with the hook approaches him, now handling an axe. You should've never brought him here—your goal was to scare him, not have some ruffians skin him alive. Hell, the guards are on their way too, so now you’ll get caught without ever stepping foot into the kingdom.

The thug hovers over Suguru, when he speaks up, surprising you. “I had a dream… once,” he says, throwing the axe at a startled musician in the corner. The poor guy starts playing background music, oddly changing the atmosphere at the tavern. What the fuck?

“I look malicious, yes,” he starts. “And violence wise, my hands”—hand, you correct in your head—“are not the cleanest. But despite my temper and my hook, I've only ever wanted to be a renowned pianist.”

He starts absolutely shredding the piano he had led Suguru to, forming a nice harmony with the corner musician. And hey, he might not have the best look ever, but this guy could play some pretty nice tunes.

“I could be up on the stage playing Mozart,” he says, and you are awestruck at the way he flawlessly plays with his hook. The piano keys come off and towards Suguru, who blocks the way with his pan, now with a relaxed grin.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at getting off the wall, you instead decide to get lost in your own mind, hearing bits and pieces of the ruffians’ dreams. One wants love, another one to be a florist. The big guy that had hooked you to the wall apparently collects ceramic unicorns, which, hey, to each his own.

“This place wasn’t this loony the last time we came here,” you tell Satoru.

“It's been years, the place is bound to change,” he answers. “But now that we are here, who really is that guy?”

“He has the circlet,” you grumble. “Wouldn’t give it back unless I agreed to take him to the lantern thing the kingdom does.”

An idea pops into your head, and you turn to Satoru with an innocent smile. “Hey, you love festivals! Wouldn’t you like to—”

“Nope,” he cuts you off. “This is a you problem, Starlight.”

“I hate you,” you lie.

You may not hate him, but you hate the way he smiles like he knows it's a lie. Which it is, but that doesn’t make it better. You are then startled by the blade that points your way.

“And what about you?” hook-guy asks you.

“Sorry?”

“Your dream,” another one clarifies.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” you say, not missing Satoru’s snort. Then you immediately regret it when multiple blades stand dangerously close to your neck.You huff, gesturing for the bug guy to unhook you from the wall. To your surprise he does, and you begin to spin your tale.

“Though crowd,” you mumble. “It’s not that deep, I just want to be alone and with money.”

It's enough for the ruffians, who cheer, following Suguru’s example. You lean against the wall where Satoru still hangs, helping him down after a while.

“But really, what did you do to your hair?”

“You like it?”

“No.”

He grins. “It's just ash so I don’t get recognized. Glasses too.”

Amidst the chaos and glee, the door slams open by the guy who had gone to find the guards. Your eyes widen and you quickly pull Suguru to the side, leaving Satoru to his own devices. You’re pretty sure his disguise will hold, and now you’re more worried about the other guy than him.

You put your finger to your lips as you hide behind the bar, signaling Suguru to be quiet. You’re grateful when he doesn’t question you, falling as silent as a valley with no trees.

“You!” you hear the captain question. “Where is Starlight?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see her,” you hear Satoru chirp back, and you’re sure he’s about to play the blindness card. “As a matter of fact, I can’t see at all!”

Yeah, there it is.

“Find her!” the captain orders, slamming his arm just where you are hiding. “Turn the place upside down if you have to.”

You contain a flinch when a hook appears right in front of your face, your eyes following the arm back to the thug it belongs to. He signals you with his eyes to the floor in front of you, pulling a lever and revealing a secret passageway.

“Go,” he mumbles when you crawl to it. “Live your dreams.”

“Thanks,” you say, touched.

“Not you,” he says. “I'm talking about him. Your dream stinks.”

Suguru chuckles at the offended expression you pull when you grumble and grab a lantern, following you into the dark of the tunnel, pan in hand, after thanking your savior.

#ebony and gold #ann writes #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto #suguru

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hotchscoffeecup · 1 year ago

Text

a bau found family easter

category: fluff, found family, drabble

characters: rossi, reid, derek, hotch, prentiss, jj, will, garcia, jack, henry

word count: 1k

summary: rossi hosts the bau team for easter sunday including the perfect home cooked italian dinner and egg hunt extravaganza for the kiddos.

“Hey Rossi,” Spencer interjects from where he’s perched on a barstool at the kitchen counter. “I don’t think they’re quite old enough to know what ‘reconnaissance’ means.”

A graying eyebrow arches toward his hairline as the elder agent regards the young doctor before turning his attention back to the kids. “Well, kids. Anyone know what reconnaissance means?”

“Reconn-oh-swince,” Henry whispers as he rolls onto the tips of his toes, fingers twitching around the handle on his Easter basket.

Rossi points a ring adorned finger at him and smiles. “Close!” He shifts his attention to Jack. “Any ideas, son?”

Jack looks at his shoes, then over at his dad, who is smiling at him encouragingly from behind the bar where he sips on a Corona. “You were collecting facts!” he finally answers.

Rossi claps his hands together, “Bravo, Jack!” He inclines his head toward Reid whose furrowed brow indicates his confusion and surprise.

“Atta boy, Jack!” Aaron calls.

“Well,” Rossi continues. “I did some of that and it looks like we had a special guest visit the backyard.”

An excited giggle escapes Henry’s lips as he bounces up and down in place. “Who? Who?”

“My good friend, the Easter bunny.”

Henry’s eyes widen as a big smile spreads across his face. He looks up at his mother, who is standing by the backdoor with his father. JJ smiles in turn, her heart swelling at the sight of the boys’ excitement.

“There are a lot of eggs out there in need of gathering.” Rossi reaches into his blazer pocket and withdraws two plastic eggs. “Jack, you’ll be looking for the blue eggs and Henry, you’ll be looking for the purple eggs. You each have twenty eggs. Are you ready?”

Both boys nod their heads eagerly.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Oh, Rossi, for the love of God please let the little babies run free. My great big auntie heart can’t take the suspense.” Penelope cries from her place at the kitchen table. She leans her head against Morgan’s chest, feigning passing out. The bunny ears headband she’s wearing nearly pokes Derek in the eye as she does this. Morgan’s brow arches as his lips curve into a sly smile. “Babygirl, what are you doing?”

“Shh,” Penelope says. “If this is how I go, it’s how I go.”

“Go!” Rossi shouts and jumps out of the way as the two boys tear toward the back door. Fortunately, Emily is there to pull open the sliding glass doors just in time. The boys clamber over one another as they race across the patio and down the steps into the wide expanse of Rossi’s backyard.

All of the adults follow, drinks in hand. JJ and Will are first into the backyard, Will with his smartphone in hand capturing photos and videos as the boys dart around the yard.

Penelope dashes out after the boys with Emily, clapping and cheering as they find their eggs hidden around the grass, in bushes, and on top of rocks. Derek picks Jack up at one point to help him reach one that was perched in a low hanging tree branch. That had been one of Rossi’s “hard” finds though all of the eggs were in relatively plain sight.

Rossi approaches Aaron, who is watching Jack from the patio. A genuine smile plays on his lips as he watches his son run around the yard. “You think he’s having a good time?”

Hotch looks away from Jack for a moment to look at his colleague and friend. He nods. “I think so.” He pauses and takes a swig of his beer. “The holidays are always hard for him, since Haley—”

“I know,” Rossi interjects. Hotch didn’t need to finish that statement. He elbows him gently. “It’s okay if they’re hard for you, too, you know?”

“I just don’t want him to miss out on anything,” Aaron says as his gaze shifts back to Jack, who’d just found another egg. He holds it up in the air, his toothy grin lighting up his face. Henry had just found one as well. JJ ushers them together for a photo.

“He won’t,” Rossi assures. “You’re doing a great job, Aaron. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Daddy! Daddy!” Jacks calls as he trots over toward them, plastic eggs clattering as his basket bounces alongside him.

“What’s up, buddy?”

“I can’t find the last egg!”

Hotch passes his beer to Rossi and takes Jack’s hand. “Let’s see if we can’t find it, how’s that sound? Come on, let’s go.”

Rossi smiles as he watches the scene play out in front of him. Everyone is smiling. The children are laughing. There’s no vestiges of the horrors and dread of what they face daily at work lingering on anyone. Today, they’re all just people; friends, fathers, mothers, godparents…one, big, found family. He couldn’t be prouder. The BAU had been his pet project from the beginning, and he’d always known it would grow and be a success. He’d never thought it’d turn into a family, not one as closely bound together as this one.

As Jack finds the last of his blue eggs hidden behind a bunch of daffodils, a chorus of cheers erupts from everyone. Henry even calls out, “Good job, Jack!”

Rossi smiles to himself as he heads inside to check on dinner. It wouldn’t be Easter without one of his perfectly al dente pasta dishes, after all.

He drops Hotch’s empty beer bottle into the recycling bin and watches through the glass of the sliding back door as Aaron and Will hoist the boys onto their shoulders, holding their full baskets in the air like trophies. Everyone gathers together as JJ extends her arm to take a selfie, commemorating the occasion to memory.

A Happy Easter, indeed.

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ekrochford · 1 month ago

Text

Return of Maul x Femreader (part 3/?)

What to say? Where to start? Maul doesn’t move from his ledge, doesn’t even drop his arms from his knees. He just looks through the empty space at you, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like he’s undressing you with his eyes. His face is guarded, as if a veil in the dark has been drawn between the two of you.

You stop at the entrance to the hidden stone circle. There’s nothing else here except a speeder, a Razalon by its crescent shape. FC series, perhaps. You can’t see it clearly in the dramatic shadows cast by the sharp-edged moons, but it doesn’t hold your attention. Inevitably, your gaze rolls back to Maul.

He sits in a wash of white moonlight; somehow, it makes him appear as a moving shadow, draped in ruthless black. Only the silvery metal of his lightsaber hilt and the gold discs of his eyes catch the light.

Those eyes narrow. “You called to me.”

How careful his tone is; precise, even, and neutral. Guarded. Your answer is recklessly raw. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Maul studies you, but it isn’t the same. Before, he was always all confidence, all sure-foot control. Now, there’s something new, and not something welcome. There’s a distance—an invisible arm’s length. You don’t need to read minds to know it’s bound up in that seething aura of furious scarlet and in that final kiss.

The silence draws on. Maul scoffs once, softly, letting his eyes drift away from your face. “Surely it was a relief to think so.”

Those eyes slide back to lock with yours. He doesn’t elaborate. You’re left drifting, feeling like the truth isn’t the reply he wants. It comes out anyway. “It was a relief.”

His grim face darkens. For all that his words are mild, they still taste of venom. “It’s only to be expected.”

You blunder on. “It was a disappointment, too.” There it is, the sprouting seed of the thoughts that breed your dreams. You take a few steps forward and another slow breath. Hesitant, you feel outward with your sapling-small command of the Force, try to feel him sitting there.

Maul looks away, lips twisted in a scowl. He knows what you’re doing, and you suspect he knows what you find: nothing. An abyss in the ambient life energy of the universe.

“Where are you?” It’s a strange question, but you don’t know how else to phrase it.

Maul’s gaze pulls back onto your face with a glare. “I certainly don’t have time to teach you to hone the skills you’ve neglected. For all things that matter, I am here.”

“Why can’t I sense you?”

“Oh, forgive me, I wasn’t aware you relied so heavily on your Force powers.”

You feel your hackles rise. Your teeth grind, and you take a sandy breath in through your nose. “Fine, then. If you are here, then tell me why.”

Maul snorted. “Because you called to me.”

“I don’t mean here.” You circle an arm in a gesture that encompasses the rock walls, the sand, and even the speeder ten meters away. “I mean, out here in the Dune Sea. There’s nothing out here except our dig.”

At this, Maul gives another snort. Pure acid. “Correct, it seems.”

His tone strikes a warning bell. Just one, a long hollow tone. “Don’t tell me you’re a treasure-hunter. There’s a Hutt representative here for that already… unless you work for the Hutts?”

Maul’s glare loosens and his scowl actually resembles a smirk at the corner. “I do not work for the Hutts.”

“Then… another syndicate?” You don’t think so, not really. Maul shakes his head slowly.

“No.”

“Then who…”

“Do not finish that question.” While not harsh, his tone still cuts your words off at the knee. At last, Maul drops his legs off the side of the ledge and gets to his feet. You nearly forgot how tall he is, how broad of shoulder, how much bigger than you… He keeps his distance. “Do not finish that question,” he repeats.

The warning bell is growing into the familiar clammy, trembling signal shivering through your skin. You nod. “Ok. So I won’t ask. But what are you out here for? You’re making my coworkers nervous.”

Maul tilts his head, gives you a tiny smirk. A smoke-curl smile. “Just them?” A glimmer of the man you knew in Mos Eisley shows through, silencing the alarms.

When the alarms die off, you don’t like it; you know you should be afraid. You know you should be suspicious of him. But when he gives you that look, that grin, you just can’t hear the warning bells ringing. You’re clearly not one bit wiser than generations of hormonal men and women who came before.

“No,” you insist, to him and to yourself. “Not just them. Me, too.”

The grin melts. “Why?” he demands coolly.

“Because of what you showed me in that hotel.” your voice is rising. “Because of what I felt—!”

“It didn’t hurt you to feel it.”

“It was nothing but pain!” Your hands are fists and your words are breaking loose. Finally, the fear you had to bottle up from your friends and associates has a pressure valve. Finally, you can let it out, let it free… “Your anger—your hatred—”

“Is it pain just to feel something strongly?” Maul takes half a step closer; his eyes blare and his words sizzle. “Are all your passions so meager—so weak—that to feel anything deeply, anything real is pain?”

“No.” You shake your head, holding his eyes. “No, and don’t you try to suggest… Don’t you act like I—like I overreacted, or like I misread.”

“I showed you what I am.” Maul bit out each word.

“You threatened me.”

“And I showed you the truth.” His voice simmers to a hiss. He’s taken another step closer, but you barely notice. “I am a threat.”

It is a fact, and he states it as such. No apology, no regret. Not even arrogance, no pride. But there is anger, still, in all of him. You sense its echo, so much as he’s worked to hide it within a somnolent void. And suddenly it clicks into place that he is angry—at you.

“Why did you come here—why did you show up here when you heard me?” Why answer your clumsy amateur Force call if he was so angry?

Maul bares his teeth in a silent snarl, but doesn’t answer. How have the two of you taken so many steps toward each other? You plant your feet, annoyed that even now he has you turning in circles. He’s got you riled up, and irritation is hardly less intoxicating than arousal when he’s here, so close again.

“There’s more of it in you than you think.” His tone is as tense as his shoulders, as the grind of his jaw. To your horrified exhilaration, he closes what space is left between you until you’re cloaked in his shadow. Too close, too close. You can hardly breathe while you’re fighting to pin your own arms at your sides, keep your hands from reaching out.

“More of what?” you spit out.

“You have it in you, too.” He matches the cut in your tone. “Anger. That passion which frightened you so terribly—it’s in you, too. You can’t hide it from me.”

“I don’t need to hide anything from you.” Brave words, but now you know you’re lying. If he suspected the way that your skin ached for his hands, the way your mouth ached for his, you’d really be in trouble.

Unfortunately, Maul’s right after all: you see him reading your face, your corded, curled fists and blazing glare. You know the instant that he sees through it, because on his face, the twist of fury unknots. In a blink, in a flash of triumph, you see him reassess.

You’re quivering, starved with the need for his touch and terrified of what it’ll mean if he gives it to you. And now Maul knows it, too.

“Tell me to leave, then,” he murmurs, leaning closer. Amid the scent of sand and dust, there’s that familiar exhaust smell, clinging like a rime over top of his skin. Warm, male, with a tang like salt. His lips are well within reach—you have only to lean forward, reach up.

You dig your fingernails into your palms. “Leave, then.”

Maul’s eyes blink open. He’s frozen in place for a moment—then he’s all anger, face hard, eyes narrowed. He pulls back, doesn’t bother to even shout, and in the second before he spins away to retrieve his speeder, you catch it. A sliver of pain, an edge showing beneath the furious veneer.

Pure instinct, you lunge out and snatch his wrist.

Maul doesn’t shout or even react. He stands paused in mid-step, still half-twisted away. Refusing to look you in the face.

“Something more to say?” he asks coldly. “Twice already, you’ve found too much fault. You cannot expect me to accept a third time gracefully.”

“Maul.”

What else to say? How can you explain why you’re still holding on? You squeeze his wrist through the glove, afraid he’ll pull away before you’ve caught the words that are slipping through your fingers.

He does worse than pull away—he turns back. Looks at your face, and even a man much blinder than Maul couldn’t have misread you.

You both move at once. Maul seizes you by the shoulders, and your curled fists find his tunic collar. The two of you come together with a ravenous violence, grasping, gasping. You kiss him like you can simply devour him into yourself, and he crushes you against his chest like he can absorb everything you are by sheer force of will.

Your name rasps out between his lips and into yours. His arms around your shoulders and back are so tight you can hardly breathe, but you only want more, closer, harder.

Maul unwinds his grip on you, and you find yourself back on your feet. There’s no time to protest. He’s pulling at your belt, your tunic. You start to yank at his clothes, senseless with need; in about five seconds of you both struggling around each other’s arms, you retreat to undress yourselves.

Your lips find each other, over and over, between each shed article of clothing. Maul throws his cloak over a flat patch of sand and grips you by the hair and the waist again an instant later. Another raging kiss, and then his face is buried against your bare neck. You’re still trying to kick out of your pants and boots.

“Tell me,” he moans into your skin. His teeth close over the muscles of your neck, barely restrained. His claws press dangerous furrows. “Tell me what you want. I need you to say it.”

He helps shove the last of your clothes away until you’re naked in his grip. You open your mouth to say everything you’ve dreamt of, tell him every graphic detail… but you realize that isn’t what he’s talking about at all.

“I want you, Maul.” He shivers under your hands; his yellow eyes meet yours, wide and wild. You hold him tighter still. “I want you.”

Maul doesn’t answer except to rip out of his pants, flinging his boots away. He pulls you down to the ground with him—not difficult, as you’ve half-thrown your weight onto his spread cloak. He splits your legs in a second, fitting between them like he was shaped for it.

But before he buries it inside you, Maul rolls you both over, dragging you into position on top. His gaze is searing a molten line down your body in the moonlight. His hands are splayed at your hips, claws digging in.

“If you want me, take me,” he rasps. He’s coiled like a spring, all energy potential, practically shaking with it. “If that’s what you want…”

It is, and you tell him so. You slide onto him; your gasp and his blend into the same sound in the high of the moment. Ecstasy tightens like a vise where his cock hits, and you don’t stop or slow. You only go harder and faster to meet the frenzy you see building on Maul’s face.

He’s been clinging to your hips, and now he slams you down with every thrust, bucking his own hips off the ground. There’s nowhere to hold on, so you dig your fingernails into his chest as you take what you so badly want.

If it hurts him, you’d never know it. Maul only drives up into you with more and more force. The spring building up in you snaps under the pressure, orgasm shredding you to trembling pieces.

Maul sees and hears and feels you come, and goes right along with you. He shouts your name and grinds you against him as his body forms a tight-wire arch, then collapses. You collapse, too. Each of your thousand shredded pieces jumbles with his, flat against his chest, listening to his heart race.

Your breathing is ragged, your arms and legs are tingling. It’s cool without the dual suns’ scorching light. The Dune Sea whispers as the wind runs fingers through the sand. It whistles against one of your ears. The other is pressed to Maul’s heart.

It’s several seconds before you realize with a jolt that there’s an extra pulse in there.

Maul notices your jump and your stare, and chuckles. He curls his arms around you with a sigh. “I have two hearts. All Zabrak do. Much more useful than phallic barbs.”

You clear your throat and roll your eyes. “Anything is more useful than phallic barbs.”

---

Like what you read?

#ekrochford #star wars #self insert #smut #fanfiction #fem reader #darth maul #maul #maul opress #tattooine #archeologist

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smok3r7 · 1 year ago

Text

One Door Closes & Another One Opens

Joel x OFC!Divorce Lawyer

Explicit, 18+

I Need Help

Main MasterList & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: She’s a divorce attorney and he’s a husband looking for help to save his daughter, and himself, from his gambling addict wife. Renae Russo is a woman who fights for her clients and wins. She’s satisfied with her life and what she does - but she wishes she could have a little more. What happens when Joel Miller becomes her client and an old flame of Renae’s reignites in the same breath?

Chapter Summary: How can a diner affect two peoples lives and the way they live? It’s like the butterfly effect and weird coincidences all wrapped into one, for both Joel and Renae.

Word count: 10.1k

Warnings: Angst, verbal fight

—

Joel can feel the tension in the truck between him and Sarah, it seems every other second he’s glancing over at Sarah next to him in his rear view mirror and he just watches the way her small face contorts, like she’s trying to find a way to talk about it. He can only imagine the questions she has about this morning, or the situation as a whole. But frankly, he’s more worried about his answers to her - how would he explain it in a way she would understand, but without totally degrading Annie?

Because she is still her mom.

His palms can’t help but sweat and constantly re-grip the steering wheel multiple times, and his stomach softly growls but it’s hidden by the country music that flows through the truck. He’s so nervous and the lack of sleep has him feeling even more on edge. He’s never been like this around Sarah - but she’s also never witnessed first hand, or at least to Joel’s knowledge, how bad Annie actually is.

“So, dad,” the sweet angelic voice soothes his ears, but also scares him, “What exactly is going on with mom?”

There it is - the one dreadful question he didn’t want to hear, especially today. Umm, well, he’s trying to think of something, really anything to say to her while he’s focusing on the morning traffic in front of him, only about a block away from her school.

“She just isn’t the same. Did- did I do somethin-“

“No,” he blurts out and turns his head, loud enough to startle her for only a second, and look back at him as he stares into her beautiful doe eyes, “Don’t ever say that alright? Mama’s just got some of her own things she’s gotta sort through - I can’t help her, Grandma ‘n Grandpa can’t help, only she can. It's never your fault, ‘kay?”

Sarah just nods her head and whispers, I love you. Joel can feel the water glaze over his eyes, so he glances back to the driveway that leads to her school, then back to her. “I love you too baby girl. Now,” he clears his throat as he pulls up to the front of the building, puts the truck in park and twists his torso to look at her fully. “I don’t want this mornin’, or the things about Mama, to mess with your head. Go have fun with your friends, learn somethin’ new that you can tell me at dinner t’night, alright? I love you so much, my little princess.”

A genuine smile takes over the meek one she had, and she leaps out of her seat and wraps her arms around Joel’s shoulders and tightly squeezes. You’re the best, she whispers into his neck and he’s somewhat surprised, but he whisks those thoughts away and mindlessly hugs her back.

This is his daughter, and Annie may be her mom, but Joel will be damned if he continues to let her act like this, especially since he knows that it’s starting to affect Sarah.

“Alright, dad,” she laughs, “I’m gonna be late!” Joel lets go of her, sorry sorry kiddo, and watches as she slides over to her door and hops out the truck, but before she closes it she tells him she loves him one more time. Joel blows a kiss to her and waits until she’s in the school to pull away.

Sarah picked out her outfit today and surprisingly, it turned out cute; A simple light purple t-shirt, white capri cargo pants, and her purple and white sneakers. Her gorgeous brown hair was pulled back into a low bun, one of her favorite hairstyles for school.

He can’t help but feel warm and proud about his intelligent, beautiful daughter. He pulls out from the school and continues down the main road to his house and he dreads having to face the reality that waits for him.

—

With his house key in the door knob, Joel takes a deep breath before he twists the key to unlock it and deal with Annie. This is the last time, he mumbles as he pushes the door open and locks it behind him. Deciding to not dwell on this anymore than he has to, he walks down the short hallway that leads to the kitchen where he sets his keys down and grabs cleaning supplies from the cabinet under the sink.

Again, this has become part of his egregious routine and Joel despises it every single time, mainly because he never would’ve guessed this is how his life would’ve turned out to be. He married Annie because he genuinely loved her, and she loved him.

Maybe they were naive to get married only after two years of dating and knowing each other. But Joel felt that she was the love of his life, he was acting like a teenager trapped in a thirty year old body.

Their chemistry was like they were meant to be, Annie completed him in ways he never imagined and he matured a lot in their relationship - more than her it seems now. The sex was nothing Joel expected out of her, it became one of the main reasons he loved her was because of her skills in bed. The way she could take his whole cock in her throat and let him ruin her face how he wanted, had Joel obsessed. A major red flag now that Joel looks back on it. But they were so happy the twelve years before Sarah and the couple years after but Joel’s love for her has vanished completely; all he cares about is Sarah and Tommy.

When Annie was hammered one night about a year ago, she told Joel that she simply fell outta love with him because he gives so much time and attention to Sarah. Joel absolutely lost his mind that day, he came this close to kicking her out then and there but he just packed a bag for Sarah, picked her up from school, and they stayed at Tommy and Maria’s for the weekend.

This has happened more times than he’d like to admit and Joel is not proud of it or himself for allowing it, but he is proud of Sarah and how well she’s been handling herself.

Her grades have never slipped past a B-, she’s never been in detention, she still is the bubbly little girl that Joel remembers, and she’s still very involved with her group of girlfriends - Joel just worries a lot about her, always will. He just prays that it stays that way, even though he knows as she gets to be a teen, she may have some issues with things, in which Joel will be there every step of the way with her.

“Joel?” Annie’s tired voice comes from the living room, “Is that you baby?”

“Yep.” His voice monotone as he stands up with a small plastic bag full of dirty paper towels in one hand and cleaners in the other. “Be there in a minute.” Although Joel wants nothing more than to eat some greasy food and go to sleep - he’s probably accumulated four hours of sleep this whole week - Joel knows that he’s not going to be able to do any of that, this Wednesday is going to kick his ass.

After throwing away the soaked rags away in the trash can that sits behind the garage, he heads back inside, washes his hands, and grabs a small brown wash cloth and runs it under cold water, making sure to ring it out so it’s not sopping wet, otherwise she’ll complain about it dripping down her neck, and he doesn’t wanna hear it.

Joel walks into the living room and spots Annie laying on the brown sectional that’s against the huge front window. The suns blocked by the blackout shades that are partially over the window, a beam of light shines through the sliver in the middle.

“There you are,” Annie purrs, shifting to her side to look at Joel. “Worried me for a second.” He can tell she’s sobered up since he left her in the bedroom over an hour and a half ago. She showered, her damp blonde hair clings to her shoulders and neck, she’s wearing Joel’s gray sweatpants and his Texas Longhorns shirt.

Before he lost his love for her, this would’ve had Joel drooling while crawling to her, then fucking her into oblivion. But now, he has no physical reaction to her anymore, hasn’t for two years. Any time she tries to initiate anything sexual, Joel’s body doesn’t react - April fifth, two-thousand twenty-two was the last time they fucked and there was no attachment from Joel. He only did it to see if the chemistry and spark was still there, which it was not. It’s pretty sad if you really think about it.

Yeah yeah, Joel mumbles as he slightly bends over and sets the washcloth on her forehead while she just stares at him. He can’t help but feel livid about this morning, it’s the latest she’s come back and he can’t stop hearing Sarah’s, dad, on loop. It breaks his heart every time.

“You can’t keep doin’ this Annie.” Joel scolds her as he takes a step back, folding his arms over his puffed chest, “This is not healthy, or safe for you.”

Annie sits up, moving the cloth to the top of her head, and stares back at Joel, her bright blue eyes glowing, he can see the gears turning in her brain. “Wait…what?” Her expression is one that Joel hasn’t seen since she was sober, it’s like she’s actually listening to what he has to say. Which rarely happens anymore.

Now he’s getting angry, because she’s acting like she’s done nothing wrong or that this is all normal - which it’s not. Joel can’t help but scoff at her, “You’re a piece of work, ya’ know that? Did you not hear Sarah this mornin’ when I had to carry your drunk ass to bed?”

“No, I-“

“Didn’t think so.” He turns to walk away, he can’t have this conversation right now because he will snap on her. Then that will be something he will regret.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Annie stands up and walks to him, the cool rag being thrown to the floor, “Huh?”

Joel spins around and in seconds in her face as he calmly, but strongly tells her, “I’m filing for divorce ‘n full custody of Sarah. That’s what I mean.”

“You can’t- Joel, no-“ Annie can’t form a sentence, she’s speechless from his threats, which she knows he’ll act on. Joel knows it too and he’s not scared, so he starts to walk away again. But Annie snags his left forearm, forcefully spinning him to face her, the pleading demeanor now forming into an evil one.

“You are not taking my daughter.” She snarls, her eyes never leaving him in a death stare, her body is vibrating from the adrenaline flowing. “Over my dead body, Joel.”

Joel can’t help but smirk at her sudden confidence, even though he knows she somewhat means it, there’s no way she’s gonna stick to it. “You’re already halfway there,” he leans down so he’s inches away from her face and whispers, “Why don’t ya’ go finish the job for me?” He knows he shouldn’t say it, but he can’t help himself - he’s been a doormat for so many years.

Something changes in Annie’s eyes, something dangerous. Joel should’ve seen it coming, but he doesn’t or at least not until it’s too late. Annie winds her right hand back and smacks Joel across the face, her acrylics scraping his cheek and tip of his nose. Fucking asshole, she whispers behind tears filling her eyes. Joel can’t do anything but smirk with his tongue in his cheek as he stands back up and just turns around to leave.

“You know,” he’s about to reach the corner that leads to the garage when he hears it, “A real husband would help his wife, not abandon her when she really needs him.” This punches Joel in the gut more than the slap did, because all he’s done for the past four years is be the husband who takes care of his wife who has an addiction, multiple, that she won’t admit to.

He’s the one who’s given up everything for her, he can’t remember the last time he had fun or a night to himself - his life revolves around Annie. But he has no fight left in him, he wants to give up on this and he has every right to. Joel knows there’s nothing left for him to do or to try to fix - this is the end.

“Same could be said ‘bout the wife.” He mumbles loud enough for her to hear and he sees the vengefulness and pain spread across her face before he continues to leave. Snagging his keys off the counter where he left them, Annie continues to cry and shout at Joel; everything from I’m sorry, to fuck you, Joel, to you’re not taking my daughter, until he slams the door behind him.

Now in his truck, Joel flips between skipping work or sucking it up and going in, but he decides there’s no way he could have a good work day, or even be productive. He’s simply too exhausted to be any kind of help to anyone right now. As he exits the cul de sac and hits a main road, Whitney st, he grabs his phone from the seat next to him and calls Tommy, he knows he’ll understand. Tommy’s the only one who Joel can really talk to about the things going on with Annie, so he knows how bad it is.

After the first four or five rings, he picks up, “Hey Joel, what’s up?” With one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding the phone to his ear, Joel sighs and tells him he’s not gonna make it in today.

“Annie again?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you tomorrow ‘bout it all.” He sighs, turning down one of the million dirt roads, Cherry Ave, in silence.

“Alright, go get some sleep, big bro. Tell Sarah I said hi for me. ‘Kay?”

Will do, see ya. Joel hangs up and throws his phone back on the leather seat next to him, then moves to turn up the radio so he can mindlessly listen to it.

“There are days every now and again

I pretend I'm okay

But that's not what gets me

What hurts the most

Was being so close”

“Damn song,” he mumbles as he leans to his left and grabs his pack of Marlboro Red cigarettes while listening to the music. He grabs one and lifts it to his lips where it sits between the top and bottom, he flicks his baby blue lighter on and holds the flame on the end of the cigarette, quickly glancing to the road and back while he inhales lightly at the same time, making sure it’s lit. Once he feels the rush of nicotine hit his throat and flow through his chest, and a cloud of white smoke fills the truck and billows out the window, a sense of calmness swarms him from the inside out.

Joel continues to drive aimlessly for the next two hours, losing count of how many cigarettes he smokes, just wishing him and Sarah could just run away and start somewhere else. A place where she could flourish without the fear of her mother, where Joel could be the father he knows Sarah needs. And who knows, maybe even find someone for himself, to be an actual partner.

The dinging of his gas tank brings him back to reality, he glances down and sees the light is on, god damnit. He did not mean to drive that much, he needed this tank to last him till Friday but looks like he’ll have to fill up now and be broke for the rest of the week. Luckily he was on his way back, so he’s close to the city so he can make it to a Speedway that’s less than a couple blocks away.

“Three eighty-six?” He can’t help but laugh in disgust at the ridiculous gas prices as he pulls up to a pump,“What a joke.” Shutting his truck off, he rubs his eyes with his fingertips to help relieve the fuzziness that sits behind them. After recouping himself enough to go inside, he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and checks how much cash he has, pulling out two fifties and six twenties. Not as bad as he thought.

While debating which would be the best financial decision, his stomach growls like a pack of wolves. It hits him that he hasn’t eaten anything - he glances at his wrist watch that reads eleven twenty-two - in about twenty hours and it’s starting to affect him.

Joel remembers Jes’s Diner is only a mile away from here, his favorite place for brunch, which sounds fantastic to him right now. So he decides to use one of the fifties and one of the twenty’s, seventy should get him close to a full tank. So he puts the rest of the cash back in his wallet and hops out his truck to go pay for his gas before he heads to the diner.

—

Renae takes one last puff off her cigarette before she throws it to the sidewalk and smooshes it with her larger part of her heel, squishing it making sure it’s out. She’s meeting up with Gia and Bianca at the same restaurant they always do when they come home, Jes’s Diner, it’s just before noon when she gets there. She feels relaxed mainly because she doesn’t have any appointments until three thirty PM, so she can spend a good chunk of her time with her sister and niece.

The restaurant has an outdoor seating area with multiple large fans on the ceiling which helps to keep the air flowing, and since it’s the middle of May in Austin, it's warm.

“Auntie!” Bianca basically yells and leaves her chair to run to Renae when she spots her about two tables away. “Hi Lovebug!” Renae cheers back as she holds Bianca under her armpits and lifts her up into a tight hug, slightly swinging her small body side to side. I missed you so much, Bianca mumbles into the crook of Renae’s neck, and she tells the girl the same before she walks on over to the round table where Gia sits with rosy cheeks and a warm smile.

The cement causes her white colored heels to take over the slightly enclosed area, if she’s getting looks or stares she doesn’t care. Renae always has heels on her feet - it’s a rare sight for her not to. The only place she doesn’t is at the gym - other than that, you never see her without them. She knows the clicking of them on hard surface floors can annoy or distract a lot of people, but she doesn’t let the opinions of others influence things she loves.

And her main love will always be her heels - next to Bianca and Frankie.

“Alright B, sit down please.” Gia looks up at Bianca, who’s still in Renae’s arms, “You’re gettin’ too big for that, soon you’ll be as tall as Auntie Renae.” She can’t help but laugh as she watches Renae let Bianca down to the floor and turn to face her.

“And hi, Mrs. New York!” Renae smiles and slightly bends over to hug Gia, so she doesn’t have to stand up from her chair. Gia coined that name for herself when she first moved and, when Renae started saying it, it just stuck. So she calls her that every time, it’s even Gia’s contact name in Renae’s phone. Hi baby, Gia hugs her tightly for a moment, then let’s go and let's Renae walk to the other side of the table and sit down.

As she sits down she adjusts the hair clip that holds her vibrant loosely curled hair so it’s off her neck. Even with the fans, the Austin heat is rampant this time of day and year almost unbearable if not taken seriously. Gia always tells Renae she’s crazy for still having her vibrant long, thick hair down or how she wears jeans a lot of the time but Renae has become accustomed to the weather by now, after living in Texas for her whole life.

“So what’s new? Give me all the ‘deets!” Renae questions as she rests her chin in her right palm, while her left hand lays on the table. Bianca’s coloring one of the kid menus that they have here while Gia starts talking about their wonderful little world.

“Well, little miss Bianca here,” she lightly pinches Bianca’s cheek before letting go, “just finished her fifth grade class and will be at the middle school next year!” Renae looks over to her and she can’t help but grin from ear to ear about her niece. Look at you lovebug, she raises her left hand causing her jumble of thin gold bracelets to slide down her arm, for a high five and Bianca returns with a slap. She then goes right back to her coloring and not really paying attention to the conversation between Gia and Renae.

“Hi, welcome to Jes’s! I’m Ariana and I’ll be your server today. What drinks can I start you beautiful ladies with?” The cheery waitress asks as stands between you and Gia with her small notepad and pen.

“Chocolate milk, please!” Bianca tells her, lifting her eyes off her menu for a second before going back to it. Alrighty, miss? Ariana nods her head towards Gia. Just a water with a lemon, thank you. Renae’s thrown off by her request, usually the two of them would get the bottomless mimosas. She cocks her head to the side at Gia, who’s now trying to avoid eye contact.

“And for you miss?”

“Uh, I’ll do a mimosa, please.”

“Perfect, I’ll be right back with those for you guys!” Then she’s off to retrieve their drinks.

“Just water? What is goin’ on?” Renae can’t help herself, she’s gotta know if something is up because the only time Gia will order only a water is when-

“Wait- are you pregnant?” She doesn’t mean for it to come out as loud as she did. Gia can’t help but laugh and nod her head at Renae’s expression. Oh my god, Renae squeals as she scoots her chair back enough for her to stand up and slide over to the other side of the table where Gia is.

Gia stands up and Renae is finally able to see the medium sized bump that she’s been hiding. “Holy fuck- congratulations!” Renae says in pure love and shock as she hugs her younger sister, “What are you having?” Renae can't get the words out fast enough before she proceeds to pay attention to her bump. Hey, little thing in there, she whispers as she lightly holds her hands over the sundress that covers her sister's growing belly.

“We’re not sure, so we decided we wanted to find out in the delivery room. Robert is excited, he’s gone out and gotten piles and piles of things for the baby - a mix of boy things, girl things, and neutral things. I almost feel like he’s more excited than I am,” Gia laughs before Renae hugs her for the last time before returning to her seat.

“How do you feel, lovebug?” Renae asks Bianca, as she dabs her waterline with the napkin, trying her best to not ruin her makeup. I can't wait to be a big sister, I’m gonna be just like you auntie! The three of them giggle amongst themselves as Ariana comes back with their drinks.

“Are we ready to order or do we need a couple more minutes?” She asks with her animated hands and voice, the three of them look at each other and agree they're ready. Bianca orders first, followed by Gia, and then Renae. Ariana tells them it should be out soon and to just wave for her if they need anything until then.

Gia and Renae get back to chatting about Gia’s life in New York and with the new baby on the way. Renae is ecstatic for the both of them; but that hidden jealousy creeps up on her even though Gia and Robert totally deserve this. She just wishes those kinds of life changing experiences would happen to her before they did with Gia, or even in Renae’s life at all.

Maybe it’s an older sister thing. Always wanting to be the first to do something special, which she did; Renae was the first one in the family to get a college degree and to become an extremely successful woman, a lawyer even. She’s highly proud of herself for believing she could do it, but there’s still something missing and with Gia having it all, it hits Renae directly and hard. But after really thinking about what exactly that something is, she gets it.

Love.

“I have to pee, I'll be right back. B, do you have to go?” Gia asks her daughter, who agrees and goes along. Renae’s left by herself, with her second mimosa in hand, she decides to chug it so she can get a little buzz to take the edge off. She wasn’t expecting to hear this wonderful news from Gia but something about it just hurts Renae’s heart.

When she swallows the last bit of the mixture of orange juice and champagne, she spots this handsome older looking man on the other side of the outdoor patio, seated and eating by himself.

The man looks disheveled, but in a hot way, and Renae feels her heart skip. His hair is curly, but messy, she wonders if the grays she observes are natural, or from a source of stress - maybe a mix of both. What really convinces her is the scraggly beard that also has grays throughout. His age lines prove her point more. The two scratch lines on the tip of his large nose catches her off guard just a bit, she’s not sure what to make of them. His bulky arms stretch out the fabric of his soft dark shirt, she can visibly see the sweat stains that are forming in his armpits while he cuts his food up and brings it to his mouth.

Renae can't stop staring. Her light green eyes won’t leave the man that sits on the other end of the restaurant, who’s simply eating. There’s just something about him that has her feeling foggy and dazed, maybe it’s the way his sharp jaw moves as he chews or the way his large hands grip his silverware and wrap around the handle of the coffee mug making them look like they’re meant for a mouse to use.

Who are you? she whispers to herself right before Gia and Bianca return from the bathroom. At the same time Ariana comes back with a tray that holds three different plates of food that is steaming hot.

—

Joel’s been to Jes’s Diner many times over the course of his life, so much that he doesn’t need to look at the menu. He gets the same thing every time; An omelet with all the fixings, a side of potatoes, two over-easy eggs, and a small side of bacon.

”No Sarah today?” Polly, the forty year old waitress asks, as she pours the black coffee into the mug that’s on the table. Polly and Joel were neighbors growing up, she was like one of the guys. So whenever Joel comes in, she gets his order.

“At school. It’s her last week as a fifth grader ‘n I don’t like it. Not ready for her to grow up ‘n leave.” He states as he grabs a packet of sugar and opens it, pouring it slowly, then picking up the silver spoon to stir the mixture. “It’s not easy, but you got this. I’m sure about it.” She chimes, trying to perk him up even just a little.

Thank you, he puts a weak smile on his face as he takes a sip of the steaming coffee, wake me up just a little bit, he thinks to himself. “I’ll be back with your food, dear.” He nods and thanks her again, taking another sip trying to jump start his head for the second time since Annie came home this morning.

While he waits for his food he does a quick overview of the patio; ten large round metal tables spaced out and about 8 of them are filled with small groups of families or women chatting amongst themselves. Then he spots her. This woman is stunning, even though his view is somewhat obstructed because of the other woman and young girl with their backs to Joel.

Her vibrant orange hair seems like it’s clipped back, but a few pieces hang in front and on the side of her face. Joel can tell she’s younger by the way she maintains herself, her eyebrows are thin but arched and her lips plump with a light red tint to them. Her skin is tan, like she was just at the beach or somewhere similar, strong thin tan lines from a bikini lace her skin. The way her eyes light up and her smile gleams in the conversation she’s having has Joel almost drooling into his coffee.

Her black tank top sticks to her skin perfectly, like it was made for her, causing her cleavage to spill out a little. He leans back in his chair a bit so he can catch a glimpse of her legs and he has to stop himself before he gets caught; light washed jeans that hug her waist, thick thighs, and calves perfectly.

Exactly his type.

Joel feels his cock grow in his pants as he continues to watch her. He shifts from in his seat and his belt buckle to try to relieve himself, then shifts his eyes back to his Home Screen on his phone that sits flat on his table, trying to think of anything other than this woman that has him feeling like a creep.

“Omelet, potatoes, eggs, and bacon for you, sir!” Polly comes back to the table and sets down his couple plates of hot food, his stomach grumbles again. Joel clears his throat and thanks her again and she’s off to work other tables.

Joel instantly dives into his omelet, eating like someone who hasn’t eaten in days - which he kind of understands, to an extent. Hopefully he won’t have to feel that way anymore, which brings him back to his fight with Annie and the divorce. He starts building a quick checklist of things that are his; The house, his truck and her car, has a full time job, all the bills are in his name - even her phone bill - and still has plenty of time for his daughter.

He shouldn’t have much of a hard time getting what he wants out of this situation, the only thing he could see is Annie trying to come after Sarah. Which Joel has a reasonable concern about because he knows first hand how bad her addictions are and that she has shown no interest whatsoever in trying to better herself. She’s simply not mentally competent to be a parent to Sarah, not even the slightest.

Joel has given her chance after chance to get help and she denies it each time. Says she’s gonna do better and actually try, but that never lasts more than two weeks, at most.

After two hours of breaking down everything and eating about ninety percent of his food, he’s finished everything but his couple strips of bacon that are left. He spots Polly walking his way so he stacks up the few plates and silverware he used and slides them to the edge of the table for her.

“Thank you, baby, you treat me so well,” she blushes, “but I wanna ask, everythin’ okay?” She points to her nose, suggesting what happened to Joel. He’s quick to dismiss it, Tommy’s kitten got me yesterday, he knows it comes off as a lie but he’s not ready to talk about his failed marriage with people. “Damn cats,” she fake laughs, catching onto his subtle warnings, “Well, here’s your check, just go up to Ben in the front and he’ll take care of you! Tell Sarah I say hi and I miss her dearly!”

“I will, dear, hope you have a good rest of ya’ day.” Joel nods his head and hands her two twenties before she picks up the dishes, you’re too kind, she smiles then starts her clean up process and she’s gone.

But before Joel stands up out of his chair he turns his head and looks for the gorgeous redhead from before, but he’s not prepared for how close she is to him. She’s a few feet away from him, her and the two others she was with are walking to the front door but they pass his table.

She’s even more beautiful in front of him; she looks to be around Joel’s height, five ten-ish, the heels make it difficult to tell. The sight of her under the table before was an absolute understatement of how she actually looks, her ass and thighs look like they could suffocate Joel - in the best way - and he can’t help but melt at the sight of her belly not being flat, she looks healthy. Proportional to her body type. Far too many women don’t have the love handles that Joel loves to grip or the plush skin he can bite into - his cock twitches again, making Joel incredibly aware of the situation.

Just wanna tear her ass apart, fuck her until she’s pleading for me to stop. Mhmm. Wonder if she likes it rough? Or if she’s a sweet little thing, who doesn’t have much experience… ‘n will let me show her a good time.

It’s quick, maybe three seconds but it feels like eternity the way they stare into one another. He’s infatuated with her and he hasn’t even spoken to her. Joel and her locked eyes, he memorizes the color; forest green with a hint of brown in the middle. He’s hit with the scent of vanilla, jasmine, and a faint smell of cigarettes, a smell that he would love to come home to everyday and take over the smell of his sawdust and sweat.

Instantly he can feel his cheeks warm and his lips curve into a dumb smile, and to his shock, she does the same thing - then she’s around the corner and gone, like an apparition.

Joel shakes his head twice, what am I doin’? He waits a minute or two for his dick to calm down, so he doesn’t make a fool outta himself, what is goin’ on? Joel can’t remember the last time he felt like this. It’s not like he doesn’t get the random moms of the neighborhood or in the PTA that flirt with him and try to be extra friendly. They’re nice and all, but he’s never been attracted to anyone other than Annie and if it wasn’t her, it wasn’t anyone.

After about five minutes of him yelling at himself in his head, he stands up and heads towards the front to pay, leaving him only eighty bucks left for the week, and heads back to his house.

Now back in his truck, only about ten minutes away from his shell of a home, he’s now back in his head about what to do. He figures the best thing tonight is to grab Sarah from school and head straight to Tommy’s. He wants to avoid as much trouble as possible because he hasn’t told Sarah anything about his decision, he just hopes he can do it before Annie manipulates the whole thing like she always does.

Pulling into the garage, he notices Annie’s Toyota gone, thank fuck. Joel for the second time today feels totally relaxed, parks his truck, takes the key out of the ignition and heads inside to shower and pack for him and Sarah. He wishes he didn’t have to do this, but he knows it’s the only way to stay separated from her because she won’t leave when asked to. That’s when the real problems begin.

As he walks into his house he’s instantly confronted with the smell of weed, it smells like it could be coating the walls. Joel never understood why she smoked in the house when they have a balcony from their bedroom and a back patio off of the kitchen. Joel doesn’t have a problem with weed, he smokes more than most people know, but he absolutely despises when Annie smokes in the house. It takes forever to get the smell out of the rooms and furniture, clothes even.

A part of him feels like she does it on purpose, because she knows that Joel is going to take care of it before Sarah gets home. So it’s almost like her form of punishment for whatever Joel did is response to her bullshit behavior.

“So much for a shower,” he grunts and begins opening all the windows and doors that have screens in them to avoid bugs getting in. He turns on any and all ceiling fans, lights some incense, and begins wiping down countertops in the kitchen - where he found his rolling tray and his weed, not hers of course.

About twenty minutes later, Joel’s alarm starts blaring on his cell phone in his back pocket, causing him to jump and drop the towel he was ringing out in the sink. He pulls it out and hits the stop button and checks the time. Two fifty five PM it says, informing him that he’s got thirty minutes to get to Sarah’s school. It usually takes at least twenty-five to get there from any of his job sites, so he gives himself plenty of time. But from the house the school is no longer than ten minutes away, which is nice, one of the main reasons why Joel picked the school - other than it’s the number one public school is his county.

Shit. He’s still gotta pick up around here and pack up her things, he really doesn’t want to come back later on. He needs to get outta here, preferably sooner than later. After double checking the house smells clean, closing all the windows and doors, he goes into Sarah’s room, which thankfully her door was shut and the only room that didn’t reek.

Joel can’t help but release a heavy breath and lean all his weight on the door, bringing his dry hands to his face and massaging his whole face in distress. He’s hit his breaking point; the lack of sleep, aggravation, disappointment, and sorrow that seep out of his skin and soul are escaping the strong man act he has to maintain.

He starts to weep into his hands as he holds himself up - he refuses to sink to the floor, he can’t bring himself to do it without feeling like a chump. Mainly because he’s breaking down in his ten year old daughter's bedroom. He’s had to keep a secret life for so long to other people, they just don’t know how bad it really is. He’s been through so much shit with Annie these past few years and he hasn’t asked for help, even though it’s been offered by Tommy and some of Annie’s friends who have come to Joel.

It used to mainly be that Joel was ashamed that he found himself and his daughter in this situation, and he didn’t want people to know his business. But now, he doesn’t care about that. He cares for Sarah and making sure she’s okay, that’s all that he needs to worry about right now.

He sighs, wiping away the tears he let slip through the cracks, and pushes himself off the door so he can grab his daughter's things. He grabs her empty soccer bag, sets it on her lavender purple bedding, and turns to her dresser and begins to grab clothes; shorts, shirts, leggings, socks, underwear, and her bathing suit. He slides over to her bathroom and grabs her toiletries that she has in a little bag in a drawer, bringing it over to the bag and zipping it up.

Joel figures they’ll stay at Tommy’s the rest of the week and all weekend. He just needs to leave the house, it’s suffocating for him to be here, too many memories - bad ones - for him to enjoy being here. Even though he’s by himself.

Takes him a shorter time to pack; his toiletries, work clothes, comfy clothes, and his bathing suit - it’s all he needs. With Sarah’s bag in one hand and his on his shoulder, he jogs down the stairs and moves to snag his keys so he can leave.

A sense of security takes over. Just knowing that he told Annie what he’s planning on doing and that Sarah is with him and not her, it’s relieving. He doesn’t have to worry about Sarah wanting to see Annie or asking questions about why, she already knows, most of it not all. He heads out to his truck and he’s on the way to grab Sarah.

With fifteen minutes to spare, he sits in the pickup line that’s full of a variety of trucks and cars waiting for their kid to come tiredly walking out. While waiting for her Joel decides to get a jump start and at least take a look online for some kind of divorce lawyer. If he’s gonna do it, he might as well start now. No backing out now.

Lawyers near me, he mumbles as he types into google, he has to scroll twice until a name sticks out to him. Without reading anything he clicks on R&R Law Firm, and he’s shocked when he sees a picture of two women and the one with red hair sticks out. It then clicks, that’s the woman from the diner.

Renae Russo.

—

Right after brunch, Renae took Gia and Bianca back to her apartment where they’ll be staying until Sunday afternoon. They’ve stayed at her place numerous times before so they know to make the place their own, and now with Frankie there Bianca has a little friend.

Renae has enough time to change out of her casual clothes and into her skin tight black dress, that covers her chest and goes to her knees, with matching black heels. She lets her curls fall from her hair clip as she teases the roots of her hair, creating volume and letting the curls loose; it’s a cute, messy but natural looking style that suits her perfectly.

“I’ll be back no later than six-thirty, love you guys!” She tells her sister and niece before she’s out the door and walking to her BMW. Shockingly, the weather calmed down a bit, it can’t be any hotter than seventy-eight or nine - way cooler than the ninety degrees it was earlier.

Traffic isn’t terrible, yet. She’s sure on her way home, it’ll be awful. It always seems like she gets caught in the worst traffic on the way home. She just can’t seem to find the right way back, she thought after ten years she would be a pro. But guess not.

Searchin’ kisses, the man she misses, the man that he longs to be.

Renae sings along to the one and only Amy Whinehouse, her favorite artist of all time. That’s her girl. It was her first concert at sixteen and Renae has been in love with her ever since then. She knows all Amy’s songs and has been to fifty percent of her concerts. Renae actually made it to her last show in twenty-eleven in Serbia, and we all know how that turned out. It was truly heartbreaking for Renae to witness and listen to, live.

So he tries to pacify her, cause what’s inside her never dies.

Suddenly her phone starts vibrating in her purse that’s sitting in her passenger seat, since she’s at a red light she reaches over and grabs it. Now more of a mumble than actually singing, she reads the name on her screen and she can’t help but smile. Her cheeks turn redder and redder, she can’t help herself from slightly biting her lip as she stares at the ten letter name.

Dominic Amaro</3

Renae’s favorite and most recent ex, the one that she just can’t let go of, but knows that she ultimately has to. After two years of dating, he had to move back to Italy to take care of his mother who became extremely ill and help with his two younger siblings, and although Renae understood completely, it doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt by it. She saw herself marrying him, even having kids. She thought he was the one, but she was wrong.

But even after breaking up three years ago, they randomly call each other and will chat about anything and everything. Sometimes leading into phone sex… Or, quite often, if she’s honest. It’s one of the highest reasons why Renae hasn’t lost her mind completely. Dominic has the voice of an Italian man - that of a gentleman, not a mobster - his octave is low but his accent is smooth, almost like an Idris Elba, but Italian.

The traffic light switches to green as she hits the green accept button, raising the phone to her right ear as she manages to fly towards her job. Hi Dominic, she purrs with one hand on the wheel and the other on her phone, anticipating his smooth voice.

“Hi amore mio, how are you?” His voice is relaxed and Renae can tell he’s had a couple drinks, his accent is loose, not as strong as sober Dominic.

This kind of irritates her, but also not, because he can’t hold his liquor and that’s usually when a lot of their fights start, and Renae does not want to do that right now. If she was at home, she would absolutely rip into him and let him fight back - then fuck herself with her fingers while he talks her through it and strokes himself to the sound of her arousal and her deep moans.

Renae chuckles at his words as she pulls into the parking garage of her building, “Things are goin’ well, work has been busy and Gia came into town for this weekend. So I’ve been pretty happy.” She confesses, pulling into a parking spot and turning her car off, throwing her keys into her lap.

“Va meglio?” Are things getting better? Last Renae knew, Concetta had liver and kidney failure, but that was a couple months ago by now.

Before he says anything, she hears him heavily sigh and take a sip of whatever alcohol his choice is. That’s not a good sign, she mentally says while she quickly pulls her phone from her ear and looks at the time. Three twenty five. Fuck me, she mutters. Raising the phone to her ear again she hears him mumble something. What, baby? she asks him with sincerity.

She hates that she’ll have to shorten the conversation because from the context clues she’s picking up, this isn’t going to be good news. But Renae always puts her work first, which might be why she messes things up for herself - like marriage or kids. It’s just how she lives her life right now and she’s content in living with it, until otherwise she’s going to continue living this way.

To be less of an asshole than she already is, she lets Dominic vent about his mother and how she only has a little less than a year to live, and how his younger siblings are rays of sunshine but he feels terrible for them because they’re so young. Renae can’t help but feel her stomach tie into knots at the news while she walks through the parking garage and waits in the elevator. She met Concetta once when she came and visited Texas for a month, the sweetest little Italian woman ever - feisty too, Renae and her were two peas in a pod really. So even though she doesn’t have much to go on about her, Renae still feels awful for Dominic because no one, especially him, deserves to go through anything remotely similar.

“Amore,” she drags out, leaning her ass against the back wall of the elevator, “I’m sorry. I mean like, Damn- I wish you and your family didn’t have to go through this.”

“Prego, um- but the real reason I called is cause, uh“ Renae can tell he’s having a hard time getting his words across, she’s not sure if the language barrier or if he’s just struggling. Dominic’s English isn’t bad by any means, but Renae can tell after he moved back to Italy, he’s reverted back to speaking Italian all the time because of the way he speaks.

She’s now out of the elevator and on her office floor, waiting to walk into the long hallway that leads to her destination. Since she knows her office is occupied, she decides to finish her phone call. It's just something personal that she doesn’t want people to know about. Gia doesn’t even know that she’s still in contact with Dominic, not because Gia would be disappointed about it but just because Renae doesn’t want to have to explain any of this to anyone.

Another big reason she doesn’t want to bring it up is because she doesn’t even know how to break it down to herself. Renae has zero idea of what to make of the situation-ship with Dominic and she hasn’t needed a reason to. As far as she’s concerned, Dominic is just another man that she can’t let go of and she feels like he knows it.

She checks the clock on her phone one last time and she’s two minutes from being late, but there’s also no way she can just hang up on him, even if he understands that she has a client. Renae can’t help herself, she still loves him, or at least thinks she does.

“In a month I’m coming to Texas for a couple days-“

“You can stay with me!” she blurts out, and she’s not sure why she says it. Maybe it’s the desperation for some touch, a familiar one, or it’s the empathy in her that has made her feel for him. “Just send me your flight information and I’ll grab you and give you a place to stay. ‘Kay?”

A second of silence comes from the other end of the phone before he coo’s, “è così difficile non amarti…thank you.” It’s so hard not to love you.

This hits Renae directly in the heart, hard. She wishes she could jump through her phone and hug and kiss Dominic, but she can’t. This thirty-five year old man has her wishing she never lived in Texas and met Dominic in Italy, just living their happiest lives together.

“Well,” she bites her bottom lip again in a poor attempt to hide her smile, “you don’t make it easy yourself, Dominic.”

With both her shoulders occupied with bag straps, she leans her back against the wall outside two wooden doors, and stares at her pointy black heels. She hears a tiny chuckle leave his lips, she can visualize the slight pinkness that overgrows his face - much like herself.

Suddenly Rachel Yonkers - the other half of R&R Law Firm - walks out of the double doors. Causing Renae’s attention to come back full force and on her as she says, I’m headin’ out for lunch, see ya’ in a bit.

Slightly pulling the phone away from her mouth she responds, enjoy, as she smiles and waves her free hand. After the elevator doors close on Rachel, Renae’s attention is back on Dominic who correctly guesses she’s at work and then lets her go.

“Ciao, my love.”

“Ciao, Dominic.”

She hangs up and gently throws her head back until she rests on the wall with her eyes closed. What am I doing? This is gonna ruin me. He’s gonna ruin me forever. Somehow, she stops herself from falling down yet another spiral.

Throwing her phone into her purse, she takes a deep breath as she stands herself up, slightly shaking her whole body to get rid of the jitters that flow through her entire nervous system. Smoothing the sides of her black cotton dress, then swiping a strand of thick hair on her left side behind her ear, her fingers drag along the shape of her medium size hoops that hang from her ears, before walking through the double doors.

“Hi, Riley!” She chirps as she struts through the lobby of her office, head on to her assistant who’s behind her desk. Riley is fresh out of college, she has her criminal justice degree and is currently studying for her law degree - so she’s been with Renae for the past year and she told Riley this can be a permanent job for her.

“Afternoon, Ms. Russo. Jackie Cora is waiting for you!” She informs Renae as she staples a stack of papers together, setting them down on a pile.

Awesome, thank you, Renae smiles as she adjusts her black Micheal Kors purse that hangs on one shoulder and her laptop bag that hangs on the other. Her three thirty appointment is with Jackie Cora, who wants to file a PPO on her ex husband, Charlie Frey. He won’t stop harassing her with phone calls and emails about wanting to try again with her or come back to get some of his things, even though they aren’t there anymore.

Police can’t do anything other than tell him to leave while they’re present because there’s nothing legally they can do. But he hasn’t stopped since the divorce which was 5 months ago, and Renae was the one who did their divorce, so she knows how dirty and hasty Charlie is.

“Hi Jackie!” Renae chirps as she enters her office and walks to Jackie who’s sitting on the opposite side of her desk. Jackie stands up and shakes Renae’s hand, returning to welcome, then sitting down as she begins to divulge into the things that have been happening and what she wants done about it.

—

Staring at the printer, Renae’s right hand sprawls on the counter and her pointer finger taps impatiently, her nails causing a tink tink noise that echoes through her office. She glances away from the stack of papers that are slowly piling, to the clock above her and it’s been two hours since her and Jackie Cora have been together. She sighs as she goes back to the almost dead printer and she only needs one more page, which thankfully comes out with no issues.

“Here we go,” she announces as she grabs the stack of papers and turns around to bring them to Jackie. Who sits at the table surrounded by two large envelopes, her and Renae’s laptop, and Renae’s notes. “The last of your copy of things. This one is the letter that you’ll read in court on the thirtieth, so two weeks from today.”

Renae grabs the last envelope and seals the papers, then hands it over to Jackie who then collects her belongings putting them in her large tote bag. “Thank you so much Ms. Russo, god.” She stands up, her long brown hair thrown behind her shoulder as she steps to Renae and hugs her, which Renae returns warmly. “I’ll see you in two weeks. Please call me if anything escalates, please.”

After a few minutes of back and forth farewells, Renae is left alone in her office. She can finally relax, she did not realize how bad Jackie’s situation actually was. The amount of text messages and calls that she had printed out for evidence was staggering, Renae has never dealt with anything quite like this. But she has no doubt in her ability, that she’ll be able to help Jackie out - if anything it should be easy.

“Fuck, man,” she groans, throwing her curls up in a messy bun that sits on top of her head with loose strands all over - it’s more of a real messy bun than the cute, intentionally messy kind. She digs through her purse that sits underneath her desk - I need a cigarette after that fuckin’ debacle, aha - she feels the box with her finger tips and quickly snags them out.

Her mood swings instantly as she sees her Marlboro Reds in her hands. She’s not proud of it but her cigarettes are her anchors in life; always there when she needs them to. But she’s not a crazy smoker, a pack will last her four to five days a week sometimes. It’s something that works to take the edge of just a little while.

Which is exactly what she craves right now.

Phone in one hand, Marlboro Reds in the other, Renae struts to her door but just before she pulls her glass door open. Her phone on her desk rings. Motherfucker- she mumbles as she hangs her head down while shaking her head, every goddamn time.

It takes her a second before she commits to turning around and answering her phone as she plops down in her office chair. Renae Russo, she forces herself to sound light and cheery, because work comes before cigs.

“You have a call on line two, saying he wants to talk to you specifically,” Riley tells Renae, “I don’t recognize the voice at all.”

“Hmm, okay thank you, hon’.” Renae doesn’t waste any time. She’s quick to switch lines, putting the phone on speaker so she can move around freely without the problem of the cord. Pushing herself out of her chair, she stands up and leans over her desk just enough so her hands support upper body, rocking back and forth on her heels.

“Good evening, I’m Renae Russo and who do I have the pleasure of speaking to right now?” Even with her voice forced, she still genuinely wants to help whoever this person is - they just happened to catch Renae at a bad time. It’s a good five seconds of silence from her black phone that she now stares at from her position.

She knows some people have a hard time reaching out to divorce lawyers, which is why she gives them a chance. Uhh, he starts before he clears his throat, Renae can hear a faint mumbling that somewhat sounds like encouragement to continue.

“Hi Ms. Russo, um. I’m Joel Miller n’ I wanna- well, need to file divorce papers against my wife. Shit, ex-wife I guess now.”

Renae is trying her best to pay attention to what Joel just said because of the way his voice flows so effortlessly, but has much effect. Most southern accents sound the same to Renae at this point, she hears it all day long, she’s gotten so good that she can guess some towns or parts of the state based on their accents alone. However she’s stuck on his, there’s something about his that has her feeling gooey and mushy on the inside. Enough for her to have to sit back in her chair, leaning back just a bit as rests her elbows on the arms of the chair and she intertwines her fingers on her belly. Trying to contain herself and hide the butterflies that dare to escape.

“‘n I need to get full custody of my ten year old daughter.”

Her stomach drops and her nerves grow larger.

“Well, Mr. Miller,” she charms, leaning forward to grab a pen and a sticky note, “It’s a good thing you called me.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller series #joel x oc #joel and sarah #joel the last of us #joel tlou #daddy joel #tlou joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x ofc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #fluff #joel miller fluff #eventual smut #ANGST

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iftheshoef1tz · 2 years ago

Text

Ahoy! For Halloween, I thought I’d give you all a teaser for my latest project. 😈

Eris Vanserra is a young doctor in West Germany in 1968. After learning his mother has been keeping the old ways behind the back of his deeply religious, deeply abusive father, Eris decides the easiest, most direct way to vengeance is by summoning a demon. This scene takes place in Grunewald, a forest in West Berlin, where Eris summons said demon. This will be, of course, Azris, so y’all know who the demon is.

Special thanks to @queercontrarian who helped me develop this idea by suggesting it take place during the ‘68 riots in West Germany in the first place and who is also indispensable as a translator. This is unedited and unbetaed and will likely change its form before i actually post this thing. Enjoy!!

A break in the trees reveals the lit-up summit of Teufelsberg. He can’t quite see the three dome radio towers, but he knows they’re there. He’d seen them up close only once, when he’d gone skiing three years ago. It had made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, to be so close to the machinations of the American secret intelligence apparatus.

Now, though, there isn’t any snow, only the wet squelching of fallen, rotting leaves beneath his bike tires.

It had been easy enough to find his mother’s book, in the end – it had been in the kitchen next to the cookbooks. A smart hiding place, one Beron would never think to look for something important.

Decoding it had taken somewhat longer. It was handwritten in shaky cursive, sometimes in what seemed to be Middle German, and Eris had risked eye strain trying to tell the writer’s vowels apart. But there, hidden among recipes for poultices and medicines for pain or fertility, is a three line recipe, as it were.

The cold October air whips Eris’s hair into his face as he mouths the words to himself: ich beschwöre euch, Dämon. Gebt mir eine wahre und getreue Antwort, sodass ich an mein ersehntes Ziel gelange. Ich beschwöre euch.

It’s not the original Middle German, of course; Eris is on the other side of the Luther’s ninety-nine theses and he trusts his pronunciation of modern German much more than the other. It had occurred to him that the translation might affect which demon answered his call, but in the end, he had decided it didn’t matter. This was all a fool’s errand, regardless.

He laughs once at himself. It clouds around his mouth before being blown away by the wind. Rain is in the air, and he needs to get this idiocy out of his system before then.

It’s the kind of rebellion he has never had the time or energy for, and he feels as though he’s tilting at windmills. If he were a braver man, he’d simply murder his father himself.

Eventually, he feels he’s reached deep enough in the forest, and he slips off his bicycle. He hesitates before simply resting it against a nearby tree. Yes, it’s technically visible from the path, but it’s nearly eleven at night in the middle of a bloody forest. No one is around to steal it.

Leaves and branches crunch beneath his feet like rusty, crackling laughter, and he feels foolish again. He can turn around now, be back in his apartment by midnight, and not have his landlady be any the wiser.

But something pulls him deeper into the loamy dark, his torch beam hardly piercing the darkness around him.

Eventually, it is only Eris and his stupid quest in the dark of Grunewald, and he draws to a halt. It takes only a moment to kick away leaves and clear a small section of grass, and he slides a glass jar from his backpack.

The recipe had called for chalk or dirt, and he uses dirt he’d collected from the farm to draw a circle in the cleared space. It’s wobbly, and he swipes at his mouth in irritation. The motion leaves dirt on Eris’s face; he can feel it but doesn’t care.

Next is another small jar, with two slender sticks of incense. He’d stolen them from Nesta last week and figures the scent of cedar would be least offensive to a demon. It’s incredible how much effort he’s put into something so stupid. Perhaps, he thinks with a wry twist of his lips as he eases into sitting position, he should start considering that he’s doing this after all.

The circle is barely visible in the torchlight, and the lit end of the stick of incense also seems to disappear into the clutching dark. He is alone here in the dark woods.

Eris shuts his eyes against the sudden lurch of fear and inhales once through his nose. He exhales, then repeats. On the third breath, he murmurs, “I invoke thee, demon.”

The silence thickens around him.

“Give me a true and faithful answer,” he continues, his gloved hands clenching in his lap. “So that I may accomplish my desired end.”

The wind breaks the silence suddenly, moaning through the trees. The sound of it through the leaves sounds like a snake’s hiss, sharp and violent. Eris is alone and cold here, and no one will notice he is missing if something goes wrong.

“I invoke thee,” Eris forces himself to finish, barely above a whisper.

A faint shudder rolls through the earth, or maybe it’s just Eris himself, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut. Would it be better or worse to open his eyes and find that his words have brought him nothing but embarrassment?

After a moment, the wind dies down, and Eris cracks his eyes open.

He is alone. The incense is no longer burning, its embers quenched by the hissing wind.

“‘I invoke thee,’” he snarls to himself and rushing to his feet. He kicks through the wobbly line of the dirt invoking circle, and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Bullshit.”

[…]

He turns to look behind him, his fear from earlier returning. It’s thick along the back of his tongue as he watches two perfectly round lights bob up the road towards him. He pauses, one foot sliding in the mud just off the road, as the tremulous lights steady and the rumble of a car engine reaches him.

Thank God, he thinks acidly. What a day it would be if demons weren’t real but aliens were.

The rumble grows closer, and Eris sticks out a thumb, slick and shining in the car’s headlights. It slows as it reaches Eris before finally stopping in front of him. The driver is revealed bit by bit as he rolls the window down – dark hair flopped carelessly across his forehead, piercing hazel eyes underlined by heavy bags.

“You lost?” the man says. His German is accented in a way Eris can’t quite place.

“My bike was stolen,” Eris says, not bothering to hide his shiver. “Could I trouble you - ”

“Get in.”

Eris blinks in surprise at the quick acceptance, but the man is leaning back in his seat as if he picks up strangers in the dark woods every day.

He slips into the car, winding the window shut as fast as possible. The storm spits a last few drops into his face, and he collapses back into his seat. The inside of the car is too warm, the heat turned up nearly to the maximum. The engine purrs beneath Eris’s feet when the man takes off, and Eris watches the man’s hand resting on the gear shift.

The skin looks waxy, and Eris recognizes them for the burn scars they are. He has the strange impulse to touch them, to make sure they are real in a way nothing else has felt tonight.

“What were you doing out here so late at night?”

Something in Eris rebels at the patronizing tone, but he quashes any visible reaction beyond pushing his sodden hair from his face. When he looks over, the man’s hazel eyes are so dark as to seem black.

Blandly, he replies, “Biking.”

The man laughs, just one short burst. “Of course.”

“Thank you for the lift,” Eris says. He arranges himself in a way he knows makes him appear smaller, more delicate. It angles him more fully towards the man and shows off the curve of his hip. Some men like that, Eris knows, especially when they don’t like to like men. “I was dreading walking home in the dark by myself.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” He smooths a hand down the front of his sweater.

The man waves a dismissive hand at Eris, encompassing his whole body. It somehow manages to make Eris feel brutally naked, and he curls into himself with no coquetry in the motion. “Don’t do that thing you did just then. Make yourself so – ”

“I - ” The word falls pathetically from Eris’s mouth as more half-formed excuses pile up on his tongue. Maybe the man is a policeman or part of the secret service, and Eris has just broadcast his willingness to spread his legs for another man. God, maybe he’s an American.

Eris waits, breath trapped in his throat. But the man never finishes his sentence, and his hand falls to the gear shift again. The engine rumbles beneath them, knocking Eris’s thoughts into one another.

Beron will kill him if he’s arrested for this. He might kill his mother, too, for breeding such a deviant. It doesn’t even occur to him to be afraid that this man might kill him for the offer, which, despite it’s immediacy, lacks any real teeth.

“I think I can walk from here.” Eris is proud his voice doesn’t tremble; his hands are steady, too.

In response, the man purses his lips. He doesn’t pull over, though, and Eris thinks he might vomit. At least if his body turns up at some point in the future, no one will know he was with a man before this. The thought makes a hysterical laugh well up in his throat, competing with his excuses trapped there.

He wishes, suddenly, pathetically, for Nesta.

“Do you know anyplace quiet we could go to?”

The man’s voice is almost covered by the engine, and Eris has to swallow once, twice, before he says, putting a little of Beron’s sternness in his voice, “I’m not taking you home with me.”

At this, the man turns his head towards Eris. They pass under the first street lamp of the main road, and Eris narrowly bites back a gasp.

Eyes black as coal with no white showing, the demon says, “I think you and I have some things to talk about.”

#azris #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #fanfiction #whntdws is…such a bad abbreviation #i’ll fix it in post ig #HAPPY HALLOWEEN (MONSTER)FUCKERS

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19catsncounting · 8 days ago

Note

Words for you: Christmas, Wind, Imperative, & Polite

!!! We can do multiple words??

Christmas: From the ‘John Winchester talks to Lucifer while John is a POW and Lucifer is in the Cage, and John is the first being that Lucifer talks to after being thrown into the Cage.’ John thinks that Lucifer is a fellow captured POW named ‘Sam,’ as the first thing Lucifer said to him to prove he wasn’t just an echo was ‘Sam.’

“It was December 13th, 1969 when I was captured,” John answers, thinks about joking about Christmas, deciding whether Christmas has passed or if it’s coming, if Sam’s voice is his Christmas present. But Sam isn’t so kind as to let him have that too.

“How long ago was that?” That’s the worst question to ask, one that John just doesn’t. He tried mapping down his days, but he knows he missed quite a few of them, not realizing how precious those numbers could be. He knows the damn Commies know how precious time is too, it’s like they purposefully keep their cursed bug-riddled swamps hot as the peak of August, an eternal summer, just so seasons can’t be tracked. No accounting of time is free. He can’t even count meals, he can only predict another round of questioning when the hunger sinks in deep in his middle, because these Vietnamese bastards are efficient if lazy and that’s one rotten way to avoid vomit in the middle of a beating.

Wind: From a ‘What if Lucifer, after being cast down from Heaven, gave in and placed blind trust in Michael to see what even was the plan with humanity?’ fic. Michael tells Lucifer that they need to take Adam and Lilith as vessels as part of God’s plan, to oversee humanity’s progression so that eventually every angel will live inside a vessel. Right before this, Lucifer was having a panic attack and ripping up Lilith’s arm before giving her back control, so she’s gonna show the archangel what a hug feels like.

Michael within Adam had a wrinkled brow, confusion as Samael was rending the woman’s flesh, but that face is hidden as hers is tucked against Adam’s breast, her bleeding arms wrapped around his back. Skin sings upon skin, warmly, and as Michael-Adam’s arms wind over Lilith’s back and shoulders, Samael presses against the flesh and all its sensations. Skin seals itself over blood and tears fall more freely so that the archangel can feel them tickle over her cheeks. This sensation, this intimacy, and how Lilith’s soul warms and hums and sings so beautifully in this embrace - Samael draws her lungs to gasp.

Imperative: I have not used this word once in 600k unpublished WIPs across three fandoms and original work. What the fuck.

Polite: I can’t pick between two WIPs so I’ll abuse “Imperative” being missing to post two.

One from a future chapter of I Can’t Help It With You, where Lucifer and Castiel are stuck in the failing Heaven, but Lucifer arranges for Castiel’s vessel to get dropped on the Heaven doorstep playground (which I’m putting in Arkansas because late season Supernatural hates namedropping locations)

“Dean,” Sam calls, spotting the first big problem before the second drops into the nearby bushes.

There’s two women sitting on the park bench who had been talking to each other, looking at their phones, and watching their three kids playing on the slide and swingset. But now those women are looking over their shoulders and trying to see what or who those black shoes poking out of a hedge could belong to.

Dean shakes his head, grumbles a well-deserved ‘son of a bitch,’ and does the only thing that they can do at this point. Walk with a purpose, with confidence and without any wandering looks or polite smiles, towards the presumably dead-looking body of Jimmy Novak. And that’s what they happen to find, a totally unresponsive middle-aged man laying supine on the ground, and while Dean is ignoring the witnesses as he crouches to take Cas’ ankles in hand, Sam has to stop, look at the bewildered women who have stood up and followed them, and raise a hand and a hopeless smile. “Ah, sorry, this is a uh… intervention. Fentanyl.”

Sam thanks Facebook groups and internet conspiracy theories for how quickly those two turn to walk away, hopefully collecting their kids, one hissing out an ‘Oh my god,’ the other covering her mouth and nose and possibly holding her breath. When he looks back at his brother, he’s tugging on one ankle, leaning back and straining like he’s trying to move a parked semi, before he lets himself fall back onto the grass, glaring up at Heaven. “Heaven can’t afford to lose an angel. So this is just a body, isn’t it? Why the hell is it even heavier?!”

The second is from a S11 rewrite (I…. I’ve got so many of those…) where Dean has a vision from Amara that leads them to find an amnesiac Lucifer who seemingly has no memories from the point where he took the Mark - he woke up in a human vessel and thinks the war against Amara never ended.

With that single word, joy dawns across Lucifer’s face, blue eyes widening as his hands draw up to his beanie. “Wow, wow, holy shit. Oh, don’t table this, please don’t table this- we get more? How many of you guys are running around? Has anyone- screw it, I call dibs. I call dibs on you, Michael can’t pull that firstborn shit. Can I toss you into a sun?”

“Not while I’m in my vessel,” Castiel answers that last question, the clear threat somehow turned tender by the devil’s tone. Instead of needling him for the answers to the previous questions - literally, Sam would imagine - Lucifer just laughs and practically throws himself onto the smaller angel, grappling him into a weird, extremely intense hug. Swaying back and forth on their feet, hands rubbing all over Castiel’s back and arms and head, but Castiel seems to go limp like a scruffed kitten, it doesn’t seem to be a trick to get Lucifer in stabbing range. They didn’t get any kind of signal to try a banishment sigil - which, Sam really should have thought of before this moment, but he is still in the proximity of a full blown panic attack - and the realization is slow, very slow to dawn on Sam.

“Heylel. Heylel the archangel. Before angels were created,” Sam’s voice keeps breaking, something trembling in his chest that might still be his own heart, trying to decide if cardiac arrest might be a polite if stupid exit to the situation. His brain is vibrating, grasping at tomes and video essays and lore that he consumed every spare moment during the apocalypse, and Lucifer turning his head to look at him, still scratching his chin on the top of Castiel’s head in a bizarrely animalistic display of affection and territorial claim, doesn’t help him string his thoughts together with any congruence. He’s tempted to let Dean go, see what happens when his brother tries to stop this, even if the end result could never be anything other than his brother turning into splattered gore on the driveway. “The Morningstar?”

“Oh, I like that too,” Lucifer croons, breaking his hold on the younger angel just enough to point at Sam, like a coked up stockbroker hearing a new financial scheme, like Sam just came up with the title. “Shiny, light, dawn, morning - seriously, any combo of that, love it. But, you guys have been kicking around without me? You’re conscious of a ‘before angels were created,’ or did I just introduce that? Gotta admit, little weird being this up close and personal, the whole - vessel thing. Not complaining, just an observation.”

Thank you for the ask!

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kay9leo · 11 months ago

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At First Glance... Part IX

Chapter 8 <<<||| Chapter 9 ||| >>> Chapter 10

...At Hope

“We’ve seen rune symbols like these before.” Sebastian said as he pointed out the fire spiral runes. He seen them countless times etched onto one of the blackboards in the undercroft.

Ever since MC became their friend and after Ominis has given him a rather well-deserved scowling (“Trust me Ominis, she isn’t going to spill.” He said to calm his oldest friend down. “Fine! But I’m only letting this slide since you act better when she’s around – just don’t destroy the place if you plan on dueling her!” Ominis spat.), MC had used the scattered blackboard to write down notes on data that she gathered about her abilities and notable keeper trail stuff. The constant variable in all of her chalk-written notes was the fire spiral.

“I’d imagine we’d need to find all three rune symbols to open the door.” He narrowed his eyes at the door. “At least I hope it’s three. It’s the simplest basic magical number to use when it comes to locks like these from what I recall in our Arithmancy class. The people from this castle’s time period tended to stick to three as well and our last venture for the triptych piece had three as well.” He thought to himself with a frown as he stared at the two fire spiral runes while trying to forget how their last quest ended.

I can’t believe we spent one month apart–

ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

He froze as he watched his partner activate all three rune locks.

Where did she even find the third?!?! He frowned, saying “Can’t get out of here quick enough.” as a joke to cover his panic.

“The sooner we get out, the sooner we can find the next triptych piece.” MC said as she ran through the open doors. “Come Sebastian, hurry up!”

The more time he spent with MC in this quest, the more he realized how much she DIDN’T need him anymore. Not like how when they first met and she was all too new to Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, and magic even!

Now she’s the one running around him in circles.

He swallowed the icy fear that crawled up in his throat and ran after her.

At least his growth spurt meant that he wouldn’t be that far behind…

…

“FUCK!” MC cursed as she reached the bottom of the stony debris that was once part of the stone walkway.

“MC are you okay- who am I kidding, I’m coming down!” He said as he slid down after her as she shouted a second too late:

“NO! Stay up!”

He landed next to her with a frown.

“What for? Where are you hurt?!” He stated, mentally running through a number of healing spells he learned over the past few months since Anne was cursed as he studied MC, wondering where her hidden injury could be.

That’s when he felt the grown shake. And it wasn’t caused by MC.

Sebastian slowly moved his head towards the cause of it.

“Shite.”

Immediately the two got up as the troll noticed them. Sebastian sprinted in front of MC this time. He took point as he spat out two quick confringos that was immediately followed by a glacius! from MC.

Sebastian wanted to stay in front of her. Be her shield for just a moment to make up for the last time. He remembered how their last fight with a troll ended back at Hogsmeade. He felt a strong need to redeem himself here.

But it seemed that the troll had a different idea when suddenly, it changed direction.

Towards MC.

Who was no longer behind him.

She was able to attack it and defend herself from it with no problem. She didn’t expect the giant spider attack from behind and Sebastian felt more than thought as his wand pointed towards her as he shouted:

“Accio MC!”

MC was sent flying towards him, barely avoiding the spider attack. Unfortunately, Sebastian didn’t make a plan to stop her from crashing into him as they collided, crash landing down on the floor with his arms wrapped around MC on top of him once more.

“Well, at least that answers that question you had earlier in the year.” MC mumbled as she rolled herself off of him before getting up. “I’m going after the troll, keep watching my back.” She said as she ran off and shot some more spells at the troll.

He did as told, covering her back, shooting down any spiders that dared go near her.

While he wasn’t as pleased with this change in tactics, Sebastian was more than adaptable to following her lead. At this point, he was certain MC can handle this mountain troll…as long as she had complete focus.

And for her to have that, he couldn’t let the spiders go after her.

Why were there so many spiders in the first place?!?

Then MC started zooming once more, going across the room while the troll tried to chase after her. Sebastian took as many shots as he could towards the troll while it was distracted before returning to the spiders.

By the time there was one spider left, there was an explosion.

Sebastian glanced back, heart in his throat as smoke filled the room, covering where MC and the troll once were. A quick ventus from his wand dissipated the smoky clouds as he felt relief pour into his body to see the troll was knocked down and unmoving.

MC stood tall with a frighten face towards him.

“Sebastian duck!” She yelled as her eyes glowed bright blue, and she flicked her wrist towards her.

He did as told.

Sebastian got a front row view of MC accio-ing the giant insect arachnida towards her as it flew over his head. He felt his jaw drop as he watched her shimmering ancient magic abilities in play that he hasn’t seen before as a shimmering blue aura enwrap around the spider, shrinking it as it made its way to MC –no wait– in front of MC before she stomped on the bug with a loud CRUNCH!

The fight was over.

“Nice teamwork.” He stated, still in awe of her new powers.

“Nothing like an angry troll to bring friends together.” MC laughed before wincing as they both heard the CRUNCH! of the spider’s remains as she took a step towards him. Her face scrunched up.

“Annoying little beasts, aren’t they?” Sebastian smirked as he watched her wipe the sole of her shoe against some of the weeds growing between the stone with repugnance painted on her face.

“When I go back home, back to the muggle world for the summer, I will never EVERcomplain about a regular house spider ever again.” MC whined as she kept wiping her shoe against the floor. “Ew, ew, ew, gross!” MC said as she stuck her tongue out in disgust as Sebastian laughed before he helped her clean off the spider guts from her shoe with a quick aguamenti.

“My hero.” MC teased as she finally smiled, shoe finally spider-gut free at last.

“All in a day’s work.” Sebastian grinned before freezing when MC gave him a peak on the cheek. She then walked away as if nothing had happened.

As if kissing friend’s cheeks was normal between them.

Sebastian stood there, hand on his kissed cheek before waking out of his daze when MC looked back and rolled her eyes:

“Come on Slowpoke! We have a missing art piece to find!”

He nodded and ran after her.

For once in his life, he had nothing to say.

…

Once they found the triptych piece and MC found another window to the Undercroft that only she could see, Sebastian found himself smiling when MC asked for his hand to hold.

He would never say no to holding her hand.

And like the previous time, he felt her ancient magic pour over him like cold river water cooling his skin on a hot summer day. The only part it had trouble cooling down though, were his cheeks after MC looked at him with a pleased look before glancing back toward the window that suddenly appeared.

“On the count of three.” She stated as he noticed how she changed her stance to be more like a tense jackalope, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

He immediately mimicked her form as well.

“One…two–” And then she sprinted, dragging his unprepared arse after her. Together, they ran through the window as he tried not to shiver at how its ancient magic poured over him, a cold bite far sharper than MC’s cooling waves.

It was only for a moment before he felt warmth return to him once more as they arrived at the humid Undercroft.

“I cannot believe the journey this triptych took us on!” he chuckled. While he keeps telling himself that he shouldn’t be surprised at what he finds with MC around, that she couldn’t pull the rug out from under him, not with his observational skills and experience with her, MC still found ways to stun him in ways he never expected.

He never expected to see Isodora’s secret lair. Or for MC to forgot she was still holding his hand.

She sped walk and pulled him along towards the triptych with a determined march that could match the Massed Pipes and Drums parade during the Highland Games the local hamlets would host in the summer weekends.

The last two times they went through an ‘ancient magic activated window’, MC would release his hand the moment after they went through a window. Only to grab it once more to drag him towards the triptych.

This time, she never let go.

Not that he wanted her to.

“This is it.” MC huffed as they stood in front of the triptych with the missing piece in one of her hands and his hand in the other.

“Don’t keep me in suspense.” He said. MC looked at him with a nervous look. “Go on, place it!” He smiled.

MC nodded, squeezing his hand and letting it go before he even had a chance to squeeze back. She went up and placed the missing piece back in its spot before she stepped back to stand next to him.

They both stood there for a good minute or two.

Sebastian wasn’t sure was to expect. Apparently neither did MC as she looked at him as if to say, Is something supposed to happen here?

He shrugged with his palms up in the universal body language that meant, I don’t know.

MC sighed before she went still as a statue and grabbed his hand to pull him with her, stepping them closer to the triptych.

Before Sebastian even had time to ask her, “what’s wrong?”, he heard the rumbling noise and saw with his own eyes: a stone bowl rose out of the ground. In it, laid a smoky-silverly liquid. Above it, hovered a silver ball with swirls of silver magic circling it.

“Another Pensieve.” MC said as she walked forward. He followed her lead as they both made their way to the standing stone basin, still holding hands.

“This is what we’ve been chasing?” He frowned as he noticed how the silver swirls reminded him of the fire spiral rune they saw earlier. Sebastian looked at MC.

She pouted as she started at the silver wisp ball in the air before glancing back at the triptych and then back at the glowing silver ball.

“I wonder–” MC said before releasing his hand. She went to touch it before he had a chance to stop her. Sebastian felt his heart stop as a flash appeared before his eyes. He immediately blinked to try and restore his vision, praying to the Gods that MC didn’t accidentally cursed herself.

But instead, he glanced to see that MC was fine and the floating silver ball ended pouring itself into the pensieve completely.

“What is it?” He stood there flabbergasted. He heard of pensieves before and knew how they worked. It was one of the few times his Uncle ever bothered to talk about the tools of the trade he once used in his Auror days.

But he was certain that whatever MC did wasn’t considered normal as he looked at her.

“Let’s find out.” She said with a mischievous smile before dunking her head into the smoky-silver liquid. He followed her lead and dunk his head in as well.

…

“Not everyone is ready to wield such power.” Bragbor the globin said.

“Perhaps not. But someone will be.” Isidora said with such grace and conviction, that it almost felt as if she was speaking about MC. Or that she is speaking to MC as Isidora’s eyes looked up to start at MC directly.

Then he felt a magic push coming from the penseive, as if telling him, ‘Leave, the show’s over kid.’ It was enough for him to remember that he had arms as he pushed himself away from the stone basin and pulled his head out of the smoky-silvery liquid with one thought in his mind.

“She took away the pain.” He spat as excitement filled in his chest as he took a moment to breath.

He could finally breath.

Sebastian felt himself finally able to take a deep breath in and out without that fearful feeling that made his chest tight whenever he thought about Anne and her deteriorating illness. Excitement took over instead as he started pacing, thinking out loud and said,

“I knew it. I knew there was a way to help Anne!” He laughed as he glanced back to the basin.

For once, it felt like his world was going to be okay. The answer was right in next to him! In the form of his best friend!

“Something isn’t right, Sebastian.” MC stated.

Sebastian froze.

“What do you mean?” As he narrowed his eyes to look at MC. He didn’t even notice that she had walked away. MC was starting at the triptych with her back towards him. “You saw what she did.” He said as he walked towards her, arm pointed to the pensieve as MC looked back towards him.

There was a concerned look in her eyes as they met his before she glanced towards the pensieve and then pointed to the triptych with her arm.

“No not the memories – the portrait!” She spat as she continued to stare at the triptych. “I-I think the reason Isidora hasn’t appeared is because she can’t.” She frowned as she looked at him with frighten eyes.

“I don’t follow.” Sebastian frowned as he walked up to stand next to her.

“We have seen that view before.” MC said as she pointed at the last piece of the triptych they found with her hand. “The abandoned home in Feldcroft. The destroyed painting. It was her.”

“So, someone destroyed a bit of enchanted canvas–” Sebastian scoffed as he rolled his eyes before he pointed his hand towards the pensieve, the thing that actually mattered. “–but we found the memory!” He proudly smiled, wanting, hoping that MC could see the same thing he saw.

Hope.

After looking through the memory, knowing that there was a chance, an ounce that MC could heal Anne with her powers...

...then there was no need to seek danger. To drag MC into the Restricted Section. To walk on eggshells around Ominis about their plans, to risk their lives to look for the relic or even use dark magic anymore!

The answer was right in front of him! Blinking back at him in uncertainty as she glanced towards the pensieve with a pensive look on her face before looking at him. It only took a second for the apprehensiveness to vanish in her eyes to be replace by the same feeling he had.

“Yes…yes. You’re right.” MC stated as she nodded with a small smile. A smiled that wasn’t convinced yet.

“We saw what she wanted us to see. We saw what she could do.” Sebastian said as he pointed to the pensieve and then at her. “What you can do!” He smiled.

But MC shook her head and slowly walked towards the pensieve, before stopping right in front of him. “But – I don’t know how to do what Isidora did.” She frowned.

“Well, then you shall learn. The Keepers can teach you.” He smiled. Because it makes sense now that he thought about it. She must’ve learnt how to use her other new abilities through them. They were the ones teaching her things he didn’t anticipate was possible with magic. Ancient magic that is.

Like shrinking a giant spider for example. Now that was a wonderful power to have whenever they would go to the Forbidden Forest in the future.

“I’m not sure that they would.” MC narrowed her eyes as she took a step back and sighed. “The Keepers believe that removing someone’s ability to feel pain –it’s highly complicated, unpredictable form of magic. One that should be wielded with great care – if at all.” She said as she threw her hands down.

“If at all?” He shook his head in disbelief, staring at the triptych and then back at her, making sure that her eyes met his. “You’ve overcome all of their challenges. You’ve more than proven yourself. You can wield it. You have the ability.” He stated, determined for her to see his way. He lost that battle before. Sebastian wasn't going to lose this time.

Especially since the answer was obvious.

"I believe in you MC. You can do it." He smiled.

Instead of being inspired, MC turned away to face the triptych, staring at it in longing. As if hoping Isidora would drop in and give her the answers he needed.

She’s still not convinced. Sebastian thought with a frown. Why does she always have to question herself? She strong! Stronger than me! Nothing can take her down. She’s a goddess in human form!

“Please. Talk to the Keepers. If not for Anne…then for me.” He begged.

Sebastian never begged. Deemed it too beneath him. The world would never listen to his requests, but MC would always come when he sent an owl.

She was his own personal goddess. And he, her devotee.

MC sighed.

Then she looked back at him and nodded, with that set determination in her eyes.

Sebastian grinned.

It was enough.

He didn’t need to dive into Salazar’s book. Didn’t need to strain his friendship with Ominis any further. MC could do it. She could undo Anne’s curse.

She was a goddess in human form.

…

And like all deities, they demanded their offerings.

So, when MC went up to him one day, asking for his help on something about completing a quest on beets, who was he to deny his offerings to her?

Even if it felt weird to offer his wand for a quest on vegetables.

Chapter 8 <<<||| Chapter 9 ||| >>> Chapter 10

#at first glance #sebastian sallow #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy #kay9leo fanfic #Okay...so I lied...this chapter ended up going in a different direction than I expected...#so four more chapters to go after this 😅#Will Sebastian Sallow catch a break?#The world shall never know...at least until the next chapter...maybe...#I mean...he sort of does in this chapter?

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