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3mcwriting · 2 years ago

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Any Fan's Dream, Part 2

Any Fan's Dream Masterlist

Synopsis:

When you look around and see Avengers Tower in front of you and Peter Parker beside you, you wonder how the hell you managed to get into the MCU.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Peter asked, unlocking the door to his home. He opened the door, you followed him inside.

"For the hundredth time Peter, I'm fine." you said, smiling at him to try to reassure him. "Promise. In fact, I've never been better!"

And you meant it. After all, you got to meet the Avengers and you were close to Peter Parker and you're pretty sure your heart stopped beating multiple times today out of excitement.

"You were kidnapped." Peter said, how were you this happy?

"I know!" You nodded, you got to get kidnapped by Loki! And he kissed your hand! Your hand! You remembered that people weren't supposed to be this excited after getting snatched. You tried to cover it up, and grinned when you thought of a way to distract him. "I'm just excited because I got to meet Spider-Man! He picked me up and swung me to the Tower, it was so awesome!"

You had the time of your life while swinging through the city with Peter, it was so exciting and you couldn't help but enjoy the rush. You were still unsure about whether you were dreaming or hallucinating or you actually somehow got transported to the MCU. But you had started to lean toward the latter explanation. You'd never had a dream this vivid and detailed, so either you were actually there in the apartment with Peter or you were on drugs.

"You met Spider-Man?" Peter asked, trying to look shocked.

You laughed at his bad acting, although he just assumed it was a happy laugh. "Yep! It was so cool!"

"Peter? Who is this young lady you’re standing in the dark hallway with?" a familiar woman asked, a smile on her face.

You had to clap a hand over your mouth to not scream. HOLY SHIT IT'S AUNT MAY!! You realized how weird that must've looked and forced a cough to try to explain the strange action.

"Oh uh May, this is (n/n)-I mean (y/n). (y/n), this is my Aunt May." Peter said, tripping over his words.

May's smile grew. "Ah, (n/n)? Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you."

Peter flushed, sending her a look.

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, finding their relationship wholesome. "Nice to meet you too, Ms. Parker. Glad to hear that Peter talks about me as much as he talks about you."

"I like her," May laughed, "be nice to her, Peter." Peter, whose face was still red, just nodded. May let loose another laugh, but left the two of you with an, "I'm going to bed. Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

You laughed at the expression on Peter's face, collapsing into breathless chuckles. He rubbed the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears red. He glanced at your expression and laughed along with you until the two of you were laying on the floor giggling like five-year-olds.

The two of you spent the next half hour laying on the floor, one of you laughing randomly and then the other giggling at the laugh that came out of nowhere. The two of you played 'would you rather?' and multiple times had to hold in laughter so you wouldn't be too loud and wake up May.

At one point, Peter's answer surprised you so much, you had to slap both hands over your mouth to keep from howling with laughter. You were focused on trying not to release the laugh and didn't notice the way your face had scrunched up like an angry chipmunk. Peter noticed and had to copy your movements so he wouldn't be the one to wake up May. And then you looked like an angry chipmunk and he looked like a constipated duck.

The two of you couldn't hold your laughter after that and you both dissolved into raucous laughter.

"May definitely heard that," Peter choked out between giggles.

You knew he hadn't said anything particularly funny, but for some reason that comment killed you and you joined him in breathless laughter.

May did wake up. She walked out of her room to find the two of you rolling around on the floor and laughing like hyenas.

Her expression of 'wtf is going on?' only caused the two of you to laugh even harder.

"I'm telling you Peter, you didn't need to walk me home." you said, which was a complete lie. You had absolutely no clue where you lived, you had just like spawned into this world and had no idea where you lived.

"It's no problem, (y/n)." He smiled at you. "You live pretty close."

The two of you continued down the hall. Peter had to grasp your wrist to keep you from walking past the apartment.

"Whoops," you laughed nervously. "Do you wanna come in?"

Peter looked shocked, "uh-into your house?"

"No, into the sewers. Yes, Peter. Into my house." you reaffirmed.

He glanced at his phone and deflated when he saw the time. "Sorry, I can't. It's late and I have to get back."

You nodded in understanding. "That's fine. Maybe another time?"

He grinned. "Sounds good."

"Bye, Peter."

"Bye, (n/n)."

The two of you stood there. Peter was waiting for you to get into your apartment then he would leave, and you were just standing there.

You remembered that you had to knock on the door. You rapped your knuckles against the off-white door, alerting your family to your presence at the door.

The two of you continued standing there staring at each other until your mom answered the door.

"Bye again, Peter."

"Bye again, (y/n)."

You closed the door behind you, following your mother-was she your mother? She looked the exact same. Well, except for the warm smile she had when she opened the door. It wasn't that your mom from back home didn't smile, just that her smiles always seemed forced. Your relationship with your parents from your world wasn't horrible, you just didn't really have a relationship. Both of them were workaholics so you barely even saw them. They weren't mean or abusive, they just weren't there.

"That Tony Stank had you at work so late-"

She said it!! She said it!!

You snorted at the name. "It's Stark, mom. Not 'Stank'."

You were surprised by how easy it was to call her 'mom', but you guessed it was the whole "you're-my-mom-but-not-really" thing.

"Stank, Stark, either way he had you home way too late. What is he doing? Child labor?" She shook her head.

You smiled. "Technically not child labor, I'm 18."

Your mom rolled her eyes. "You and your technicalities. Now, who was that young boy at the door?"

"That's Peter, he went to the same school as me."

You hoped you were right, but truthfully you had no clue how the other you and Peter had met. You could see a picture of you in a blue gown with your parents on the wall behind your mom. You assumed you had just graduated, and based on the sunny-ness outside earlier, it was either summer or just a very bright day.

Your mom raised an eyebrow at the grin on your face, but decided not to press you for it. "So, did you at least eat?"

Your stomach growled in response, answering your mother's question. You smiled at her sheepishly, and she sighed in exasperation. In your defense, you were too occupied by the fact that you were kidnapped by LOKI and you met the mfing AVENGERS so excuse your forgetfulness but goddamn you wanted to simp and fangirl over them.

"When you move out you're going to starve," your mother said. "Come on, I'll heat you up some leftovers."

After eating(which was take-out from this Thai place that was positively heavenly), you went to "your" room. It was a pretty nice room, a fluffy gray rug in the middle with a messy bed shoved into the right corner at the opposite end of the room from the entrance. A desk was against the wall to your left, and a TV was hooked on the wall across from your bed, presumably so "you" could watch TV in bed. The rest of the wall space was occupied by bookshelves and posters.

You threw yourself on "your" bed, marveling at the way the bedroom showed so much about the person that lived there. Your actual room back home was somewhat empty, your parents had never taken the time to buy you anything and you had been too busy trying to graduate high school with high marks so you could go somewhere far away for college.

You had one friend, and they were more of just a person who took the same classes as you so you helped each other out a lot. But even that was pretty impersonal, neither of you knew much about each other.

You shook thoughts about your world from your head, not wanting to dwell on your rather pathetic life back there.

"Hey! Go take a shower and go to bed!"

"Better listen to mumsy, I guess." you muttered.

You sipped the beverage, praising Peter as you did so. "You're so awesome, Peter. I mean it." you said, drinking your favorite beverage.

"It really wasn't a problem," Peter protested, cheeks flushed at your constant compliments.

You knew that people probably didn't normally get this happy about a drink, but he brought you your favorite drink! Peter Parker got you your favorite drink! So you didn't really care that your praise might've seemed excessive, to you, it was the bare minimum. How else were you supposed to react? What? Say 'thank you' and leave it at that? But then you wouldn't get to see the adorable blush that was slowly turning Peter's face red. You couldn't miss the chance, that would be a crime against Marvel fans everywhere.

"So, uh, what're you gonna do at Mr. Stark's today?" Peter asked nervously, trying to get the subject off of him before he exploded.

You side-eyed Peter, knowing exactly what he was doing. You allowed it though, acknowledging that if his face got any more red it might be mistaken for a stoplight. "Building a cannon that shoots pears."

"You're-what?"

"Yeah, then I'm gonna go assault Flash with the fruits." You snickered at the thought that popped into your head of Flash trying to dodge pears.

Peter laughed. "Can you make me a cannon too?"

You turned serious. "Bold of you to assume you're worthy of the mighty pear launcher."

"My mistake, my mistake.” Peter apologized. “Might I have the honor of shooting a pear at Flash?"

You hummed, thinking about it. "I suppose."

"Thanks for walking with me, wouldn't want to be kidnapped twice in a row."

Actually if it was Loki then you probably wouldn't mind-

Peter frowned. "You shouldn't joke about that."

"I promise, Peter, I am like 99%." you assured him. "But if you really wanna help, can I have a hug?"

Peter fought to keep the frown on his face but couldn't, "I guess. After all, we're gonna go shoot Flash with pears later. You need to be at 100."

You nodded, "I know. Which is why we should hug."

He laughed and wrapped his arms around you, you returning the embrace. You didn't think you'd ever get used to that. Everyone there gave such great hugs. You did not know how you had gone this long without a hug from Peter Parker. Someone cleared their throat behind the two of you and you were about ready to beat a bitch, but you let go and-

You squealed.

You honest to god, squealed.

But who could blame you?

Wanda Maximoff was standing there, giving the two of you apologetic smiles as she tried to go through the doorway the two of you were blocking.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted anything, but I have to get through." Wanda apologized, stepping through the doorway.

You could only stare as she walked away, frozen while she left.

"What was that?" Tony's voice interrupted your stupor, he had just arrived in the room to take you back to his lab. "You okay, kid?"

You could only nod dumbly and follow Tony to wherever the two of you worked, waving at Peter mindlessly, mind still on the fact that YOU JUST MET WANDA MAXIMOFF AND DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING!!

You were ashamed of yourself.

The two of you entered a workroom, countless screens glowing, displaying different inventions on them. You looked around in awe, you were in Tony Stark's workshop!

You remembered, "can we make a pear shooter?"

Tony shook his head. "Sorry kid. Today we're making you an iron man suit."

You screamed.

"Holy shit! What was that?!" Tony looked at you, concerned.

"ThisisamazingicandiehappyholywhattheactualfuckYESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

Tony could only stare at you as you hopped around, giggling like a gorilla on drugs.

"You are so amazing Mr. Iron-Man-Boss-Sir."

"Okay, I think that's enough for today." Tony dusted his hands off, "Capsicle and Triple Imposter are waiting for you. They're in the training room."

You nodded, the grin you had had been there for hours and Tony was beginning to get concerned that your face was going to freeze like that. You left the room to go to the training room then remembered-

You had no clue where the fuck the training room was.

So you wandered, seeing a lot of interesting rooms and then remembered-

"Hey, uh FRIDAY? Could you tell me where the training room is?"

"Of course, Miss (l/n). Continue going down the hall until there's another hallway, then turn right and the training room is the third door on your left."

"Thanks, FRIDAY."

"You're welcome."

You followed the directions, eventually arriving at the door FRIDAY had instructed and you pushed it open.

Your jaw dropped as you stepped into the colossal room. It was a large rectangular room, workout equipment to one side, mats to another, and a variety of different weapons on the back wall. Your eyes caught on a sword, an actual sword? Wait a minute, why is there a sword? None of them use swords. Well, Clint does but that's later. Speaking of which, where is Clint? Oh he's proba-

"You took your time getting here," Natasha was wrapping her knuckles. She was dressed in a simple tank top and leggings, classic workout attire.

"I got lost," you admitted. Natasha had cut off your train of thought, causing your mind to blank for a second.

Steve laughed. "How? You've basically lived with us since you graduated."

You took a mental note of that. "You can't say anything, you need help to unlock your phone."

Natasha laughed. "She got you there, Stevie-o."

Steve cracked a smile, not taking offense. "Alright, alright. We should begin your training now."

#mcu #marvel x reader #the avengers #avengers x reader #tony stark #clint barton #steve rodgers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #peter parker x reader #loki x reader #thor x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #any fan's dream

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darknight3904 · 1 year ago

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Library Talks

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Asgard 2011

Loki couldn't tell what Astri was thinking as the week flew by. He was kept busy with different kingly duties, primarily meetings and at one point he imparted his blessing on a noble family's newest child. His free time was divided between Astri and his mother. Frigga had only left Odin's side to bathe and change her clothes while Astri was spending most of her time as far away from the throne room as possible. He could tell she was uncomfortable talking to him whenever he was on the throne so they hadn't seen each other since their moment in the weapons vault.

He had spent much of his time today plotting. He wanted to be rid of Odin permanently. Thor was already out of the picture. Loki had visited him once on Earth and given him the news that their father had "passed". Thor's face indicated that he was distraught but, Loki only saw the emotion show when he lied about their mother's feelings towards Thor. His next step to being on the throne was rather simple. Laufey had agreed to kill Odin, of course, he had he hated the old man as much as Loki did. Now, all Loki had to do was follow all the way through with his plan, and Joutunheim and his true parentage would be gone for good. Then, he could truly be worthy. That was truly what he wanted. He wanted to feel less alone and more worthwhile. Most of all, he wanted to be someone Astri could be proud of growing up with. Tomorrow his plans would be set in motion and when they finished he'd finally be Thor's equal, someone worthy of his station in life.

He had initially sworn he wouldn't visit Astri until after he was someone she'd be proud of but after his final council meeting his legs carried him to her. From his spot in the doorway of the library, she could see her. Her long hair was free-flowing and shone as the sun streamed into the room. He smiled when her nose scrunched slightly, the book on the desk in front of her the cause.

"What are you reading?" He asked taking the seat beside her

"Some of the the Kree's history. It's rather violent." Astri said shutting the book.

Loki nodded slowly. Maybe coming here wasn't a good idea. Astri didn't seem exactly thrilled to see him in fact, she seemed rather tired and maybe a bit stressed.

"How was ruling Asgard today?" She asked

"It was fine. It would have been better if you had eaten lunch with me the way you normally do." He said

"I was busy," Astri mumbled

"With what? Reading your life away in this stuffy room?" He questioned, angered by her response

"Why does it even matter to you what I do with my time? You should be busy giving orders and kissing babies." Astri said

"It matters because we have spent the last thousand years together and all of a sudden you decide I am no longer worth your time because I have a new position. If anything you should be glad for me, celebrating that I am on the throne instead of that oaf." Loki spat

"God it's always about Thor!" Astri exclaimed springing from her chair and beginning to walk to the door

"It is not always about Thor." Loki said, blocking her escape route "I just...want..."

"What do you want Loki?" She asked avoiding his eyes.

He thought about telling her his plans to get rid of the Joutuns about how he had lied to Thor about Odin. But then he thought about how she'd react. Her love for Thor would outweigh her love for him and he'd be met with nothing but judgment.

"Fine. Don't tell me anything. You never do anyway." Astri said before slamming the door in his face.

Loki was left in the library just like that, alone and in deafening silence. In his mind, whatever reservations he had about his plans for tomorrow melted away as Astri ran away from him and his ideals.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

That night, Astri's dreams were particularly vivid. Maybe it was her fight with Loki or the fact that she missed Thor and his bad jokes and infinite appetite for ale but she found herself dreaming of her past.

Asgard 2001

The party had lasted long, even by Asgardian standards. Astri swore, Thor and Volstagg couldn't get any drunker as she snuck away from the hall. She had been invited to drink some more with them but she feared that if one more thing went into her stomach she'd explode. The night air of the gardens was perfectly refreshing as she walked and admired the flowers that were in bloom.

"Too much time with Thor?" a voice asked

Astri turned to see Loki standing behind her, his usual armor was gone and he was in a much more comfortable version of his usual attire.

"Something like that." Astri smiled

"I'm glad you're here," Loki said falling into step with her

"Of course you are. I'm great." Astri bragged, laughing when Loki cast her a sideways glance.

"Anyway...I'm glad you're here because I've been wanting to give this to you." Loki said, his palm glowing suddenly and a silver necklace with soft green stones appeared.

"I saw this on Thor and I's trip to Xandar. I thought it would suit you nicely."Loki said holding it so the moonlight glinted off the stones.

"It's beautiful." Astri breathed

"Turn. I want to see it on you." Loki said

The coolness of the metal was a stark contrast to her face which was going red as Loki fastened the necklace on her. Her hair was brushed slightly by his fingertips as the silver shone in the moonlight.

"There," Loki said proudly

Astri turned back to him awaiting his opinion.

"It is perfect. I knew I had a good eye." He smiled straightening the necklace

"Thank you, Loki. I love it." Astri said bringing him into a warm hug.

Astri woke up, her ceiling stared back at her as she wrapped her fingers around the necklace that sat on her. She only removed it when she bathed, it was one of the few things she had that she truly treasured and Loki had given it to her. She wished she could time travel back to that moment to see the Loki she had grown up with not the one who was sitting on the throne now. She wished Loki would understand that she didn't want the king of Asgard. She just wanted him. Loki as he was before his ambitions truly got the better of him.

Hello everyone Sorry this update is later than I had expected. I recently moved houses so things are crazy since there's stuff all over our new place. This chapter is a little short since I was preoccupied with the move. I promise to get back to better-quality chapters asap.

Taglist (To join comment below)

@buttercupcookies-blog

@666-gothic-bat-666

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#loki #loki laufeyson #marvel #loki series #loki x reader #mcu #fanfic #tom hiddleston #chris hemsworth #loki x oc #avengers #loki x f!reader #thor #thor odinson #thor 2011 #thor the dark world #thor ragnarok

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starsinthewind · 5 months ago

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For the oc ask game. Half of the list. Whatever ones you like the best. Lay it on us

i'm putting my money on this being either actias or ray but i only have like a dime gonna make this about george instead of mason for once 🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range): physically? probably like, 4? mentally i'd say like. mid to late teenager.

🍕 - What is their favorite food?: they aren't picky, but they're particularly fond of slightly tough meats to just tear into. otherwise they like soup. mostly just protein stuff actually. they would like cheese if given some.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?: uh. wandering under a lightning storm, scribbling in sand and poking corpses with a long stick.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?: george is both pretty bored + fractured memory but one time i think when they got to take a break they caught some kind of butterfly. its so fragile but so pretty. they let it go. 🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?: george and their world was based off an extremely vivid dream i had that was incredibly fascinating, half or more of the lore is based off that dream alone but some of it was changed to make it fit better. 💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?: george doesn't have a gender, mentally or physically. they're fine with they/them though. gendered pronouns feel wrong and they do not like it/its. george is aroace and is repulsed by both. 🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?: thats a complex answer, but the best one is like. uh. 5?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?: Bad. 🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?: i like the worldbuilding involved with like, the lore of them but i also just like the personality of george. which is somewhere along the lines of taunting the elderly combined with looking at an inchworm with such intense fascination. and despite a having a sorta. whadda you call it. like. personality wise they kind of act like stereotypical teenager (rebellious, occasionally disrespectful, unfortunately witty) they also just. feel love they do not know what to do with and thats Scary.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?: they feel incredible hatred and violence towards 'the cat' (both a title and literal) who is both their parent, an incredibly powerful political leader and a cat roughly the size of a medium dog. its complicated. 🎓 - How long have you had the OC?: 09/07/2022

#someone ask me more questions about george original post be damned #ocs

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organchordsandlightning · 1 year ago

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for the ask game... 9??

from the fanfic writer ask game

9. What’s your favorite line(s) or scene(s) that you have written?

it's funny, I was trying to think of what constituted 'favorites' and I thought of two different categories.

There's technical aspects I'm fond of: I try to include a lot of humor in my writing, and what I like best in the whole wide blue world is to make something funny while being a little bit sad. (from Catacomb Killer, Disco Elysium: here, Harry is in a half-dream, half-memory with his ex-fiance, Dora, while chasing down a potential child serial killer. A big point of this scene is that Dream!Dora does not want to be forgotten, only because Real Life Harry does not want to forget her. Ultimately, he chooses in this scene to leave his dream ex-fiance and rejoin his new partner, with the understanding that he won't ever forget Dora, not really.)

YOU – “Well, knowing me… I’ll drop by your metaphorical grave and bring flowers, from time to time. I’m not perfect.” DORA INGERLUND – “That’s fine. Sweet of you, even. Do you know what a memory’s favorite flowers are?” LOGIC [Hard: Failure] – You do not. DORA INGERLUND – She grins. “Forget-me-nots.”

(from i'm afraid to come home in the dark, MASH, WIP: post-suicide attempt, Captain Hawkeye Pierce is kept in a psychiatric institution [with all the fantastic, forward thinking care you can expect from the 1950s state hospitals]. Hawkeye Pierce is a surgeon and a terrible patient, with a penchant for cracking wise when he really shouldn't and insisting that he is absolutely fine.

this passage I'm particularly fond of because (a) it highlights Hawkeye's repetition when he gets stressed and the tape player in his mind starts to bunch up ['you know'], (b) Hawkeye gets to use a medical term *and* get a dig at the Army, and (c) in what other scenario do I get to make a medical-foot-tapping-pulse-rate pun?

“Do you gotta count how many times I tap my foot?” Hawkeye asked quizzically. The doc had been quiet for the better part of five minutes. This conversation was going long, as visits went. “Because you know, I gotta keep track of that sort of thing. For pulse, you know. You count for fifteen seconds and multiply by four to get their heart rate. It’s a beautiful marvel of efficiency. I wonder who invented it. Probably the Army.” If there was anything he really hated about this place, it was that it made him feel crazy. What doctor didn’t talk when they were spoken to? This man, with his stuffy hair and glasses, was barely looking up from his paperwork. “Am I looking low, doc? High? A little tappy-cardia on this fine evening? You know,” he said, tilting back in his chair.

secondly, looking back on things, I'm always really fond of scenes that are just particularly vivid in my head. Whether it's something I've planned the whole scene around or just popped up as I was writing, I'm always able to exactly remember how I intend the scene to look/feel.

(from third time's the charm, Malevolent, WIP: Arthur and Parker are in hospital, Arthur is on his very first detective case. For Undisclosed Plot Reasons, Parker has told Arthur to go home, misguidedly thinking that things have gotten too intense for him and he doesn't want to put Arthur in any more danger. Arthur disagrees.)

Parker’s lips twisted again. He reached up to press a few strands of his hair back into place. Almost immediately, they fell forward across his forehead. His eyes studied Arthur, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Parker could see straight through his body to his stuttering heart. “Something happened to you, Mr. Lester,” Parker said. To his stuttering heart, indeed. Parker gave a turn on his heel, continued his walk down the hallway. His words echoed. “Something bad.”

#ty for sending an ask!#i always love talking about writing but always feel like i'm just jamming my thumb up in my ass whenever I do #not to get too Soft on main but telling stories is probably the thing i'm most passionate about in life so there you go

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years ago

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Aww, I love how you wrote the proposal headcanon, it was so lovely!! 😍 Could you write hc about them comforting their s/o from nightmares, please? 🥺 Sorry for bothering again, but I love your writing. Also you captured Vinc and Lester so well.

dude I’m so glad you liked the last one! this is the kind of thing that I read on tumblr and was always a little intimidated by it cause everyone who does it is so good so i’m so glad you liked the last one enough to want another one! I hope you enjoy! also this prompt my beloved

Michael Myers

- you woke up with a gasp and Michael woke up at the sound of you waking him almost instantly

- he looked at you as you caught your breath from the dream

- you looked over at him and jumped that he was so close which surprised him

- you had gotten pretty used to him showing up in random places without making a noise

- he cocked his head to the side and after you finally calmed down some you told him about the dream

- in it, he had almost killed you when he was busy killing everyone, because he didn’t recognize you

- he felt a very faint stab of guilt in his chest; he didn’t want you to think that he would kill you or hurt you at all for that matter

- he wrapped his arm under your legs and lifted you up to sit on his lap

- he put his arms around you tightly, trying to convey to you that you would not ever be hurt by him

- you understood what he was trying to say and nuzzled your head in his neck

- you sat like that for a while and eventually fell back asleep in his arms

Jason Voorhees

- Jason was already awake when you got up

- he had just returned to the cabin and was about to settle in for sleep, just taking his mask off and setting it on the bedside table when you gasped and woke up, frantically touching your chest

- it surprised him and he did jump just a tad

- then he realized that you were scared; he recognized fear in someones eyes easily

- he quickly got on the bed but the sudden movement made you jump and he had to slow down

- he put his hand on your arm and gave you a look of concern

- you told him about the dream you had, that you had gotten lost in the woods and hadn’t been able to get back to the cabin, that Jason hadn’t been able to find you

- that sounded like a nightmare to him alright

- he gingerly held your hands and wanted to hug you so tight that it might make you burst but he didn’t because it looked like you could use the space

- you ended up hugging him though and he hugged you back so the world couldn’t hurt you

- he didn’t let you go into the woods for the next week

Bo Sinclair

- you woke up slowly, the feeling of the dream still washing over you and leaving a pit in your stomach

- you had a dream that Bo had broken up with you only for him to leave and die before you could ever get his reasoning

- you couldn’t remember how he had died but it left a terrible feeling in your heart that caused you to sit up and turn over to him

- he was sound asleep and you didn’t want to wake him up but your movement woke him up anyway

- he looked up at you, confused and brows furrowed

- ‘Everything good doll?”

- you wanted to tell him that it was, that he should just go back to bed but you shook your head before you could do that

- you told him about your dream and tried to make it seem better than it was but he could tell how much it had hurt you

- he sat up and hugged you tightly, kissing you gently and looking you in the eyes

- “You’re stuck with me. I ain’t goin anywhere” he promised

- you sat up for a moment longer just talking to get your mind off of it

- it was a very rare show of Bo’s kindness that was there, just buried deep inside him

Vincent Sinclair

- Vincent wasn’t in the room when you woke up which did cause you to go into more of a panic than if he was in the room

- you had a much too vivid dream of him being murdered, some person who’s face you couldn’t see stabbing him again and again while you were left helpless

- you got out of bed to go and find him, trying to hold in the tears that were coming quickly

- you found him where you thought you would find him; with his wax figures

- he was making a new one that he thought you would particularly like

- he was startled at the sound of you coming in but when he saw how distraught you were he felt instantly bad that he hadn’t come to bed with you

- he quickly rushed over and wrapped his arms around you, giving you a very concerned look

- you told him about the dream you had and he again, mentally kicked himself that he wasn’t there to help you the second you woke up

- he hugged you tightly and ran his hands through your hair

- he didn’t speak much but he thought it would be the appropriate time, just to whisper to you how much he loved you, slowly and hopefully to help

- it did help and you were moved at his choice to speak to you in that moment

- he let you stay with him because you didn’t want to go back to bed so soon

Lester Sinclair

- Lester was dead asleep when you woke up from a nightmare

- you were crying, but silently, because you were trying your best not to wake him up beside you

- it had been about him, that one of the people he lured in to Ambrose had finally snapped and gotten to him before his brothers could get to them

- he only noticed you were sitting up when he turned and tried to wrap and arm around you but couldn’t because you weren’t laying down

- he opened his eyes slowly and rubbed them as his vision focused on you

- you were facing forward so he could only see half of your face but he could tell you were crying

- he put his elbows underneath him to prop him up to see you better and grabbed your arm which caused you to jump

- groggy, he asked you what was wrong

- you told him in few words that you had had a nightmare where he died and his eyes went wide

- he sat up all the way and wrapped his arms around you, rocking you back and forth, giving you sloppy kisses on your cheek

- “I’m not going anywhere sugar” he promised and after a new minutes, it did help calm you down knowing he was right there and perfectly fine

#Michael Myers x reader #Lester Sinclair x reader #bo Sinclair x reader #Vincent Sinclair x reader #Jason Voorhees x reader

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 3 years ago

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hello !! i'm not sure if you're taking asks right now, but if so, could you recommend some fics where derek/peter is protective and/or possessive of stiles? thanks!

I sure do!

Old Traditions, Werewolf Edition by Footloose

(1/1 I 3,601 I General I Sterek)

Stiles does not work his Omega ass off to attract frat boy Alphas. Absolutely not. He's at college to get his degree. If he's crushing on an Alpha who never crosses the lines of propriety, well, no one needs to know, right?

Acquiring Big Brothers and Boyfriends by iCheat

(1/? I 4,512 I Not Rated I Steter)

Only Stiles could adopt a WW2 veteran as his big brother. That would be fine on its own but between that, the werewolf climbing through his window, the ritual deaths and the Alpha pack there's a lot going on. Well, at least SHIELDs not involved. Yet.

Your Bruises Drive Me Insane by 100percentfluffster

(2/2 I 10,118 I Not Rated I Steter)

They always seemed to forget that Stiles was human. In some manners at least. Scott and Derek always went on about how he was too fragile to be helpful. That he was a liability and the weak link of the Pack, but that awareness of his fragility seemed to always disappear when it came to their own aggression.

A story of how Peter notices the way the Pack treats Stiles and does everything he can to step between Stiles and further harm.

(baby) maybe that matters more by lavenderlotion

(4/10 I 16,610 I Mature I Steter)

“Well, well, well,” drawls a familiar voice that Stiles hadn’t even considered he might ever hear again. “The token pack human, left all alone?”

Two Men and a Tree by CarryOnMySwanSong

(24/? I 55,634 I Explicit I Steter)

A catastrophic event leaves Stiles mobility impaired, both physically and magically. After a falling out with Derek and the rest of the wolves in Beacon Hills and Peter Saving Stiles from himself, Stiles and Peter take a road trip. They do not intend to come back. Instead, they build a Pack in Montana. They are gone for ten long years before Derek calls Peter, begging for his help. After they save the day, Peter and Stiles live out their days, changing the entire paranormal world for the better.

Baseball Bats and Sour Wolves by Erin1324

(55/? I 68,429 I Teen I Sterek)

Derek is cursed with some sort of spell, and for some reason only responds to Stiles as a result. He tries to attack everyone else, even his Alpha, he's also acting super overprotective of Stiles, hardly letting anyone get close to him.

Deep Green by aurevell

(14/14 I 93,992 I Teen I Steter)

Stiles steps out of his dream between one heartbeat and the next, finding himself alone in a dark wood. The sickly light of the moon, nearly full beyond the branches, spills onto the leaf-strewn ground. It illuminates splatters of mud on his pale ankles.

It’s the fourth time this month. “Fuck me,” he grumbles, and calls Lydia.

Stiles and Lydia are lots of things: lifelong latchkey kids, aspiring Ivy Leaguers, the terrors of Beacon Hills High, and inseparable best friends. But between Stiles’s sleepwalking and the voices in Lydia’s head, their grip on reality feels tenuous at best.

Enter Peter Hale, a charming (probable) serial killer who offers the answers they need—and the chance to be something more than what they are.

Can't rely on me by Littleredridinghunter

(12/12 I 116,206 I Not Rated I Sterek)

Gerard beats Stiles up, but it's a lot worse than anyone knows.

The pack let him down, that's not really a surprise lately.

When Danny finds Stiles nearly bleeding to death the next day it's the start of a beautiful friendship.

Can the pack make amends before it's too late? Will Stiles ever forgive them for not being there for him when he needed them the most?

Desolate by Vague_Shadows

(27/27 I 130,463 I Sterek)

Derek stops short the moment his eyes fall on the huddled mass in the corner. The beta lying crumpled there is trying desperately to make himself seem as small as possible and cover his most vulnerable areas. It takes Derek almost a full minute to realize who it is and another to realize that he’s wearing tattered, blood-stained remains of the clothes he disappeared in over four months ago. The acrid stench clinging to him tells such a vivid story of the atrocities he must have endured while he’s been missing that Derek thinks he might be sick.

“Stiles?” he asks in disbelief.

Settle Down by wearing_tearing, whatthehale

(19/19 I 153,181 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles is a struggling author barely making ends meet.

Derek is a successful architect whose biological clock is ticking.

Enter a surrogacy agency, two packs, and a particularly sticky and toe curling heat week and you get a match made in heaven.

Actions Speak Louder than Words by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(25/25 I 434,622 I Explicit I Sterek)

“I apologize.” The cop finally looked back up at his face, seeming thrilled. “It’s just—it’s been so long. And we finally have you.”

That was a bad word. Not found.

Have.

Stiles wrenched his hand free and took a step back, but before he could even think up a gameplan, he felt a prick in his neck and jerked away, reaching up to slap one hand against it and twisting in the same moment.

One of the others had come up behind him while he hadn’t been paying attention, and his vision began to swim even as his eyes caught sight of the half-empty syringe the guy was holding.

#teen wolf #sterek #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #derek hale #injured!stiles #hurt/comfort #anon

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oliviamillss · 4 years ago

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reading dreams chart

im only going to use up to orb 3, for stronger accuracy lmao

**if you can’t be bothered to read it all, theres a summary paragraph at the bottom**

sun:

sun in 7th: strong emphasis on relationships. tends to copy others lingo/habits. extroverted. probably ‘needs’ others. only really shows his true self around his close friends/family/partners.

sun at 19 degrees: a libra degree. (emphasis on this bc libra rules 7h), makes him a very charming, likeable, particularly popular guy.

sun opposite ascendant: inner conflict, probably doesn’t feel like people see him for his true self, may struggle showing true self. may feel misunderstood. may need approval/validation a lot.

sun square mars: hints to daddy issues. may struggle with a lot of built up anger and frustration, but it seems like he takes it out very positively, as you can see he is competitive, so i think he lets it out through gaming. probably very energetic, motivated.

sun square saturn: high expectations for himself. probably the type of person to think ‘i’m only good enough if i do this’. probably very hard on himself. also probably very insecure of himself, but doesn’t show it. another sun square masculine planet, more hinting to daddy issues.

moon:

moon in 7th: probably relies on close friends/family/partners a lot. loves to help people, esp people he’s close with (kinda mr beast vibes). probably very like ‘oh shit, he’s sad, i need to do everything within my power to cheer him up’ if that makes sense lmao

moon in virgo: looking after people!!! esp with the sun square saturn,, high expectations. probably a very much perfectionist, which also explains why he is competitive. may ‘always need to be right’. but virgo moons are actually so lovely omfg

moon at 9 degrees: sagittarius degree, likes to help people by optimism, and giving things to the person that they would want (im aware that sounds obvious lmao). probably feels a sense of achievement when cheers them up.

moon square pluto: probably hard time dealing with and growing from negative things that have happened, possibly struggles with letting things go. possibly self destructive (why did that one heatwaves part come to mind), possible trust issues + anxiety, probably very particular about who he lets close into his life, maybe quite protective.

mercury:

mercury in 6th: likes to help people, probably not disappointed if he spends his time working with someone, may struggle with anxiety/depression. a quick learner, probably overthink every word because it wast the ‘perfect’ thing to say.

mercury in leo: funny asf, and out there, also thinks his ideas/things to respond and say are the best, with the 6h and 7h placements, he is open to listen to others, but in the end he only really wants his one lmfao, good with conversation.

mercury at 1 degree: aries degree, another fire placement which emphasises the loud, out there kinda vibes.

mercury trine mc: career and reputation are strongly linked with what he says. (this is obv bc hes famous lmao). he’s smart, particularly with technology and its linked to his career. *im aware this sounds like im just describing him, this is exact so thats why its overly accurate*

mercury opposite neptune: daydreamer, probably has a lot of thoughts and ideas in his head, but they just dont come across right. probably zones out, may struggle with focusing. but very creative, has big and creative ideas. i havent mentioned it before but its come up too many times now, but he has a lot of placements, when manifested badly, creates a good manipulator

mercury square jupiter: optimistic, possibly thinks his ideas are the best (we’ve covered that before), can be really overly talkative or just nothing at all. (i rlly dont know much about this placement)

venus:

venus in 7th: he will have a beautiful relationship with his future partner. charming asfff, probably a good flirt. tends to love love. needs to be liked, sort of a pleaser.

venus in virgo: the type of person to remember everything about the people he cares about. loves to help the people he cares about. probably sees the people he truly loves as ‘perfect’, which may end up being really bad if they’re toxic.

venus in retrograde: struggles feeling loved, possibly feels like he doesn’t deserve love. probably the type to be like ‘how could you ever love me?’

venus square mc: attract people who take care of him. either has self-esteem issues, or is quite a dependant person. creative. may struggle finding people who support his career, or may have to change a few things about himself to be liked by others.

venus trine jupiter: very likeable, and he’s veryyy lucky. he’s funny, and a generous person, probably very giving to his close friends and family. charismatic asfff, likely he will marry someone foreign.

mars:

mars in 9th: more things hinting to attract(ing/ed to) foreigners. loves experiencing things with people he cares about. likes to learn more and more, possibly stubborn, makes sure his opinions are known.

mars in scorpio: that boy needs privacy in his life, doesn’t like being predictable. probably an overthinker. we’ve already known this but he’s definitely a top. probably could get anyone he wants, seductive asfff. also pretty spiteful.

mars at 17 degrees: leo degree, fame bitchesss

mars square ascendant: hates to lose, competitive. people may be intimidated by him at first, can’t really hide anger, pretty stubborn.

mars opposite saturn: really hard on himself. wants to be the best of the best, leader. stands up for himself. another placement hinting to daddy issues. harsh about his work, and himself in general, perfectionist.

mars square uranus: anger may change a lot, a lot of energy, probably struggles to focus, doesn’t like to be the one who is being controlled/has restrictions. probably struggles with authority. outbursts of anger.

jupiter

jupiter in 3rd house: loves writing, and is actually pretty good at it. knows how to talk to people, how to persuade them, and how to manipulate them. good liar, knows how to sell his wants across, how to get what he wants.

jupiter at 4 degrees: cancer degree, cancer rules his 6h. he uses his luck/money to help others.

jupiter square neptune: big dreams, desire to escape the world as it is.

saturn:

saturn in 3rd: afraid of/ is often misunderstood. struggles to open up?, maybe he wasn’t listened to much growing up. hard on himself academically, feels like he isn’t smart enough. hard time expressing himself. maybe feels like noone really cares for what he has to say?

saturn at 16 degrees: cancer degree. idk what else to say abt it lmaoo

saturn square ascendant: quite serious, maybe struggle with the way he looks? possibly quite overwhelmed about his life,, feels like he has too much to do at times. fear of rejectionnn

saturn square uranus: maybe he doesn’t like change, tradition v change clashing. authority troubles. probably needs freedom, but feels unstable without what he’s used to. rebelling against norms.

uranus:

uranus in 12th: probably very curious about unexplainable things, maybe quite into conspiracy theories. two complete ends of the spectrum: fear change/need it, unpredictable things happen/ everythings the same.

uranus at 14 degrees: taurus. taurus ruling 2nd, i guess it shows change in dream’s wealth.

uranus opposite north node (and conj south node): with exceptions, doesn’t like conflict. he is fine with joke conflict, but the second there’s an actual argument he tries to be the ‘peacemaker’ guy. technology is major in his life. also quite nervous about his career/future.

neptune:

neptune in 12th: awful sleep schedule. overworking himself, never relaxing. vivid dreams. once again, this has come up loads and i just haven’t mentioned it: intuitive asf, george is the same. whether either are aware of it or not, they are super intuitive.

neptune at 2 degrees: taurus degree.

neptune sextile mc: creative, also likes helping others, empathy to the public. has big dreams career wise.

pluto:

pluto in 10th: determined person, gets a lot of hate, but also a lot of love. trust issues, persuasion/manipulative abilities. leader leader leader. another hint to daddy issues, maybe privacy invading, maybe overprotective. don’t want to be controlled.

north node:

north node in 6th: overwork himself. but i think we can interpret this as his life goal to be working to help people. literally mr beast. just work hard, and give a lot away. humble.

chiron:

chiron in 9th: possible restriction from either his or his communities beliefs/religions. maybe he’s afraid of leaving where he is right now (sapnap moving to orlando, whenever its brought up its always george coming to orlando)

lilith:

lilith in sagittarius: need for truth. dislikes restrictions. hides emotions, uses humour to avoid them/ make people think they’re okay when they’re not. stubborn asf.

lilith in 10th: tend to be sexualised/ reputations for being sexual. another placement hinting to daddy issues. really wants to be at the top, the most powerful. likes using his dominance/ power to seduce. motivateddd.

lilith conjunct pluto (exact omfg): typical ‘mystery’ guy. probably the mystery/scorpio vibes he pulls off attracts/ seduces people. the most dominant partner ever. sex is probably so intense and overwhelming

moon square lilith: possible mummy issues. his need for sex can change quick asf, from one end of the scale to another. struggles to open up.

i ought to mention!!

there’s a theory that the degree of your venus sign is the birthday of someone who is v important in your life. what’s dreams you may ask? 1. and when are george and sapnap’s birthdays? the 1st. they’re soulmates, your honour.

summary!!!

basically, dream has so much care and love for his friends and family, and probably relies on them a lot. he only shows his true self around them, and he (at least thinks) people don’t really understand him in the way his friends and family do. he is a social person, who’s very likeable and charming. he lovesss helping people, doing everything in his power to cheer others up, he remembers details about the people he loves. he is such a perfectionist, needing to succeed and win and everything, and is very competitive. he probably doesn’t think he’s ‘worthy’ if he’s bad at something. he sets very high expectations for himself. he is very hard on himself. if he wants to, he knows how to manipulate people. he has so so many placements for an amazing manipulator. he may struggle to express himself or open up, and may be hard on himself academically. maybe he doesn’t feel ‘listened to’. a lot of emotions like anger and sex drive may change rapidly for him. he over works himself a lot. a major theme in his life is tradition vs change. he is probably afraid of change, or finds it uncomfortable, or he may have some sort of attachment to traditional values/things, no matter how much he wants to change. he is also a peacemaker. he was born to be loved or hated, kinda like marmite but if the balance was more equal. he doesn’t like restrictions. he uses humour to hide his emotions.

im also thinking of doing a synastry reading between george and dream but idk yet lol

hope you guys enjoyed, this took ages lmao<3

#dream #dreamwastaken #dreamsmp #astrology #chart reading #sun in 7th #famous people chart reading #moon in 7th #mercury in 6th #venus in 7th #mars in 9th #jupiter in 3rd #saturn in 3rd #uranus in 12th #neptune in 12th #lilith in 10th #lilith conjunct pluto #moon square lilith #astrology reading

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the-blind-paladin · 2 years ago

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Luz x Hunter headcannons

Hunter has the fear of missing out. This is because in the castle everything that was going to happen was planned and written down meaning he knew what was going to happen when. Unlike at the owl house where things happen for no good reason like randomly going to a day carnival or going to the knee for extra training. This leaves Hunter guessing where the fun stuff will be at, although Luz dose help keep Hunter in the loop the best she can.

Both Camila and Luz on separate occasions have explained to Hunter cars are not alive yet he's still skeptical. Mainly due to the fact he's heard one 'growl at him' engine reeve and the fact Camila has to feed it with fuel.

Hunter has night-terrors and cycles of insomnia whenever his nightmares are at their worst. And as the events from the show go on Luz has gotten increasingly vivid nightmares. This has lead them to have a sort of 'night buddy' system which started with Luz 'sneaking' into Hunter's bed for comfort after a particularly spicy memory which developed into them sneaking into eachothers beds when they can't sleep due to bad dreams or fear

Hunter has common nightmares tied to the people he cares about. For Eda and Darius this is usually them finding out about something he did as the golden gaurd and disowning him. For Luz this is usually himself as the golden guard or his uncle hurting and or killing her. With Luz acting just as bold and untamed in those nightmares as she is in the few dreams he has. Those nightmares are usually the ones that lead Hunter to check on Luz in the middle of the night under the 'night buddy' system and she's always fine. If not about to sneak into his bed under the same rules.

Hunter gets nervous about being overly clingry towards Luz but Luz enjoys getting cuddles in general but especially from Hunter.

Hunter totally always knew this 'good witch Azura' was a main character in a book series and was never once jealous of Luz's seemingly love for the fictional witch.

#headcanon #lunter #goldenluz

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simpforsersi · 3 years ago

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Deja Vu - Mobius x gn!Reader

Hey look I wrote a thing! Granted, I wrote this thing in between busy moments at work, so there’s little to no plotline. Just a tired Mobius and a supportive reader.

Summary: Pre-the fall of TVA. I’m really unoriginal so this is yet another “Mobius and the reader were a thing before they were brought into the TVA” because I can’t get over that idea. Mobius is tired and has been having weird dreams.

Warnings: I can’t think of any warnings except that I think I used the words “grin” and “smile” WAY too much. Also, this is unedited.

Word Count: 1.5k

Anyway, I’m clearly very brain-dead and I’ve always been bad at summaries/talking about things I’ve written so just here. Have this.

"Where did you go?"

You glance up from the file you're poring over, concentration broken by the sound of Mobius' voice. He's resting his chin in one hand and muttering to himself, eyebrows furrowed.

"Who?"

He looks up sharply, startled.

"What?"

You can't help laughing. He's so discombobulated by being yanked out of his intense focus. Maybe pulling him back into reality was for the best, though. His tie is askew, his jacket was shed long ago, and there are dark circles under his eyes.

You could push, try to find out what he's so concerned about in this particular case, but you think it might be for the best to distract him for a bit.

"Want a coffee?"

He drops his pen and leans back in his chair, rubbing his face.

"Coffee might be a good idea," he agrees, and you scrape your chair back and stand up. He pouts at you, and you raise an eyebrow. "I don't wanna get up," he sighs, resting his head against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. "I'm tired."

"I know," you say, trying not to dwell on the soft feelings that flutter to life in your chest at the fact that he trusts you enough to be so vulnerable. "I'll be right back."

"Oh, gosh," he says, bracing his hands on the table and getting ready to pull himself up. "I'm not an invalid. I can get my own coffee."

"I know," you say again. "I'll get it anyway, though."

He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn't, which proves how tired he is. You offer him a smile and leave to fetch the coffee, electing to ignore the pleasant tingling incited by his answering grin.

Balancing two coffee cups and a plate of cinnamon rolls isn’t easy, but you’re talented.

"Extra strong, because I know you like it that way. Also, I brought -- ”

You look up from the two paper cups you’re holding and lose the ability of speech.

Mobius’s face is buried in his arms, and he’s snoozing on the desk. You set the coffees and the plate down and fight the soft, feathery thing that is fluttering around inside your chest.

You could wake him up, but the poor man is clearly exhausted, and also he’s very adorable like this and you aren’t about to willingly relinquish listening to his soft snores. You sip your coffee and re-immerse yourself in your paperwork, but you end up knocking your empty mug over while you’re reaching for a cinnamon roll and Mobius wakes up with a snort.

“Sorry,” you say, wincing, righting the mug. “Just a clutz over here.”

He smiles sleepily, running a hand over his face and shifting in his seat. his hair is flat on one side and sticking up on the other, and he looks like he’s feeling a little nap-disoriented.

“That’s okay,” he says, voice raspy, and clears his throat. “You brought treats?”

“Yeah,” you say, reeling from his “just woke up” voice. “There was a tray of them beside the carafe, so I thought I’d snag some before they were gone.”

“Good thinking,” he says, reaching for one. He bites into it and makes a pleased noise that has no right doing what it does to your insides. It’s your turn to shift around in your seat. “These are amazing.”

“They’re very good,” you agree. “We should track down whoever made them and get the recipe.”

“Agreed,” Mobius says. He reaches for his coffee and swallows several mouthfuls before rubbing his face again.

“You okay?” you ask. He’s still a little bit off. It’s a different kind of “off,” but he’s not feeling right and that’s bothering you.

“Yeah -- yeah,” he says. “It’s just...”

“What?” you ask, a little too eagerly. You just want to know what’s going on so that you can try to fix it. You’re Mobius’s partner, and you always help him solve his problems. You want to do that now.

“This dream,” he says, frowning. “I keep having it. It’s so... It’s just weird.”

“Oh,” you say, taken aback. He’s been knocked off-kilter by a dream? “What’s it about?”

“You,” he says, and then, blushing a little, “and me. On Earth. Doing... stuff.”

You choke on your bite of cinnamon roll. That brings a lot of thoughts to your mind that you aren’t entirely comfortable with having. Mobius is your partner, your fellow analyst, your not boyfriend or husband or anything. You’re not even supposed to want that. Boy, this is bad, but thankfully Mobius interrupts your internal panic.

“Not... not that kind of stuff,” he says, and his face is bright red. “Just... I don’t know. Cleaning the kitchen. Hanging out in cities. Riding Jet Skis.” He gives you a lopsided grin.

Your heart is beating really quickly. You were not ready for him to say anything along those lines. You could never be ready for him to say anything along those lines. This is...

“Weird,” you manage, trying not to focus on the many and very intense physical and emotional feelings that are happening right now. “What a weird dream.”

“Exactly,” Mobius says, and he has a wild look in his eyes. “None of it happened, obviously -- ”

“Obviously,” you say quickly, grabbing onto this little piece of fact in the middle of all your stormy emotions.

“ -- but it feels like it could. Or it did. Or -- ”

“Woah,” you say, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. “None of that happened. None of it will happen. This is our life, Mobius,” you gesture at the table, strewn with paperwork and an empty plate and a couple of mugs, “and it’s all we’ve ever had and all we ever will.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “We could go to a city.”

“No, we couldn’t!” you say, panicking. You’ve never heard anyone talk like this. You work at the TVA and that’s... that’s it. That’s what you have. Mobius’s words are scaring you, not least because you can see yourself. You can see it in your head, and it feels familiar, like a movie that you’ve seen a hundred times.

“We could,” Mobius insists. “I’ll throw on some swim trunks, you grab a sunhat -- ”

"It's not like I have sunhats lying around," you interrupt him. “And do you even own a pair of swim trunks?”

“That’s not the point,” he says, sounding almost frustrated. He stands up from his seat and comes around to your side of the table. You can’t breathe, from either his proximity or the things he’s saying, you’re not sure which. “We could go,” he says. “We could just leave. Walk away from all of this and start a life of our own.”

“Mobius,” you say, shocked. You don’t know how to respond.

“What do you think?” he asks. He has a longing look in his eyes that he’s clearly trying to repress for your sake. You swallow hard.

“I think you need to go to bed,” you say, more sharply than you meant to. “I think I need to, too.”

Mobius’s face falls, and you feel the sharp sting of guilt for dashing his hopes like that. But what else can you do? Leave the TVA? That’s not happening.

“Yeah,” Mobius says with a sigh, “you’re probably right.”

You swallow again. You haven’t felt this rattled in a very long time -- probably since you and Mobius had to deal with that particularly unhinged Ultron variant -- and you just want to go to sleep and wake up with all of these strange feelings that are definitely disloyal to the TVA.

“I’m pretty sure I am,” you say.

“We just drank coffee, though,” Mobius points out, looking cautiously optimistic. “We should probably stay here and work until that wears off, right?”

You’re actually feeling very tired, and you’re willing to risk an hour of tossing and turning if it means that you can stretch out between crisp sheets and try to shake off the weirdness that has settled itself over you. But Mobius is wincing a little bit, bracing himself for rejection, and you’ve already shut him down once today.

“Okay,” you concede. “Fine. But as soon as you start snoring again, I’m gone.”

“Fair enough,” Mobius says, beaming at you.

You roll your eyes at him, trying very hard not to think about the many fluttery feelings you’re experiencing, and settle back in. He returns to his side of the table, and you shuffle your papers around until they look a bit more orderly.

“Hey,” Mobius says, and you look up at him. His eyes are tender, and your breath catches in your throat. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you return, and he smiles again, kicking your foot lightly under the table.

You force your mind back onto your case, which is hard. It wants to stay where it is: thinking about a kitchen in a city where Mobius rests his hand on the small of your back when he’s reaching for something in the cupboard. You shake your head to clear it of the image, which is vivid enough that you can almost feel Mobius’s hand warm against your skin.

But that’s not your life, and it never will be, and it never was.

Right?

#loki series #mobius x reader #gender neutral reader #mobius m. mobius #mobius imagines #mobius m. mobius x reader #agent mobius x reader #fanfic

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inknopewetrust · 4 years ago

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A Little Chaos

Summary: A thief finds herself at the center of the kidnapping of two girls and has the attention one very attractive detective.

Pairing: Detective Loki x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Criminal activity, flirting, sexual references, brief choking, probably 16+ based on content but no explicit smut. A mention of pedophilia but nowhere near in detail.

A/N: I don't think I've ever written something like this and can I just say that I really loved it!? So, I really hope you all do too! Requests are currently CLOSED but I hope to open them soon again and with new characters to add to my list. Check out my Masterlist for all other works. Thanks so much for requesting this @mrs-blooooom! I just loved the idea so much and thanks for being so kind about all the delays!

One - pick the lock

Two - lift up the screen and frame as quietly as possible but make absolutely no rough work of it.

Three - slip on the shoe covers and assess the gloves before entering through the window.

Four - get to work.

That was always the structure, no questions asked. Though, you noticed the news beginning to trace your patterns. You had made a hit in another neighborhood two weeks ago and because the news began reporting the patters, you were sure the police weren’t far behind.

And perhaps on that particular Thanksgiving, you shouldn’t have done another–or picked that house, rather.

Detective David Loki had a million different things running through his mind on a daily basis. When a case such as the Dover-Birch one stuck itself in the middle of an already pending investigation of burglaries in the Conyer’s area, he had a hunch of who he would investigate first. But he couldn’t get to that immediately because Keller Dover convinced him and his superiors that the RV belonging to Alex Jones was the first and only way to go.

But even after interrogating the man who had a child-like innocence to him, David Loki was convinced there was something more to the story. There had to have been a connection to who burglarized the Dover’s that same night and where the girls could be... he was certain, but then he wasn’t because he wasn’t sure you were the kind of person who would kidnap two innocent girls.

On a particularly slow Tuesday, no new leads had come in and the investigation had stalled because Alex Jones had now gone missing without a trace. Although he was doing everything he could, Loki was far from finding a solution and decided to take the initiative into his own hands and dive into the file he had been working on for nearly five months–the one into you and your less-than-stellar activities. The post-it note sticking out of the side of the manilla folder contained an address to an apartment in the center of town. He plucked it out, tucked it into his pocket and walked straight out of the station.

You weren’t worried about being considered a suspect in the kidnapping of two girls. You had no connection to the Dover’s, Birches’, or the Jones’, as well as no connection to the scene of the crime. You were always careful, and the Dover’s had no security cameras. So, when your comm buzzed in the middle of the day, you weren’t expecting it to be the police.

“Hello?”

“Ms. L/n? This is Detective Loki with the Conyer’s Police Department. I have a few questions I would like to ask you.” The voice was cackled with the circuited communication buzzer but you heard the man loud and clear. You also knew exactly who that was.

Detective David Loki was an infamous creature of Conyers. One day he just seemed to sprout out of nowhere and into the public sphere, but you had known him for a while. You were never friends, and you were sure until now he didn’t even know your name, but he was the star pupil of the town. And the spotlight he was in, he absolutely hated it. Every time his picture appeared in the paper or when he had to speak on the television relayed that message and you laughed in pity. The poor man just wanted to do his job and that was one part he didn’t sign up for.

“Can I ask what this is regarding?”

“The investigation into Joy Birch and Anna Dover. I just have a few questions I’d like to ask you if you would step-”

“I’ll buzz you up.” You pressed the button and unlocked the door, opening it just enough for you to rest on the frame with one arm on the door and the other on your hip.

Another thing you knew about Detective David Loki was that he was one of the most attractive people you had ever laid eyes on. The man was a walking dream but unfortunately, on the other side of the law which was far from promising when it came to your vivid imagination.

“How nice of you to not barge into my home, Detective.” You called out to him as he appeared on the steps landing just down the hall from your door. Loki gave no smile but shoved an orange post-it into his jacket as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“This surely won’t take long.”

With a nod you moved away from the door, shutting it closed behind you. With the sudden and unexpected presence of this man who was a fine line between formal detective and loose cop, there was an urge to be exactly the opposite of what he wanted you to be. He had been trailing you for just enough time to learn patterns in your life, the people you associate with, the fact that you had a degree and a decent job. You had an apartment to call your own, a car that wasn’t stolen and yet you continued to break into people's homes and steal curious objects for what? Consignment sales? He wasn’t sure. But you weren’t going to give him the answers he was looking for. You enjoyed the life you built for yourself...even if you had to steal and sell things to arrive at ends meet to pay for everything in your life.

“So... what can I do for you?”

“Can you recall where and what you were going on the night of Thursday, November 28th?”

“Thanksgiving?” You asked with a raised brow and he nodded. Loki pulled out no notebook to take notes, rather he watched every movement. He was trying to identify guilt, but you were a casual sleuth. It wasn’t a game he was used to because all of his suspects eventually gave in.

“I got up around 8:30, maybe 9 and ate some breakfast, um I-” You took a seat on the arm of your couch, running a hand over your mouth trying to “remember” what exactly you were doing a few days ago.

“-took a shower and then got started on my dish to pass at my parents dinner. I made sweet potatoes and stuffing-or dressing... I don’t know what you call it.” Loki was far from amused that you were making this appear less than serious. He couldn’t let himself believe that you were stupid enough to believe he wasn’t there on behalf of the story that captured the attention of the entire nation, so he didn’t believe a word you said.

“When that was done I got ready, did my makeup, and headed out to my parents where my sister and her family were meeting us to have dinner. Then I left their house around 7-ish and came home.”

“After dinner you went straight home?”

“Yes.”

You looked at him with an unfazed gaze which he met but didn’t buy. It was a game. A cat and mouse game that he wasn’t willing to bite into but it was too late, you already had him on a string. Loki would be lying if he didn’t find you attractive, even in the slightest. You were a beautiful woman, and it was because of how you looked that you’ve never been caught. You always covered every inch of your body and you looked unassuming. You had a perfectly pristine house, looked like someone who didn’t need to steal to live but then again, most of the time, all the people who do steal never look like they would because that is what people are taught not to look for.

“I made some phone calls late last week and someone in your family spilled that you weren’t there. In fact, you haven’t been to a family holiday since you graduated college nearly ten years ago. Bad relationship?”

“I can assure you–whoever you talked to, they weren’t there. I was there. I can tell you what I wore, what I ate, what was on the T.V. and what color shoe my nephew was wearing that day.”

“Those could just be good guesses?” Loki let his eyes wander around the small living space. He looked at the picture frames, the vases, the bins, the T.V. stand, everything that could have screamed “out of place” to him but nothing did.

“You didn’t happen to pass two little girls on your drive home, did you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Two girls. I’m sure you’ve seen their picture on the news.” Loki pointed to the T.V. at first but then dug into his pocket and pulled out a single picture of two girls photographed on a playground. They were smiling widely and happily at the person behind the camera. You had never seen the girls so you shook your head no and crossed your arms.

“No. I’ve never seen them before. Am I supposed to?”

“I don’t know, are you?”

“What are you implying, detective?”

“Do you know the house you broke into on Thursday, November 28th was the home of Anna Dover. Anna and her friend Joy went missing that same night after returning to the Dover residence to find a whistle. You were inside the home at the time we believe the girls went missing. So, tell me–do you know where the girls are?” Loki was zoned in accusation. The man was unwavering in his tone or his assumption and you would say it was scary if you didn’t find it attractive. Why, God WHY, did the detective working on this case have to be everything you looked for in a man? It would be so much easier if he were old and wrinkled but he was far far from it.

“Detective, if I would have known you would come into my home and accuse me of kidnapping two innocent girls, I wouldn’t have answered the ring.”

“Where are the two girls? Do you know where they are?”

“No. I told you I didn’t take the girls.”

“But you were in the house? Did you see the girls?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“What if I told you that you were a sloppy thief?”

“Excuse me?” You furrowed your brows in confusion. You were certain that you were not. There was never a time where you left as much as a trace of hair in a location that you hit.

“The bin.” Loki walked over to the T.V. stand that had three white bins tucked into slots. The bins were generally filled with junk except for one thing that the Dover’s told him went missing yesterday afternoon. A medium size blue decorative pot with yellow flowers on its sides. It was meant for shallow flowers as a table center piece that was gifted to Keller and Grace on their wedding day. Grace was distraught over it and it was sitting the left-most bin under the television. Loki pulled open the drawer and carefully took out the pot and you looked at it with a shrug.

“Where did you get this?”

“My mother.”

“I thought I told you that they told me you haven’t spoken to them in a decade?”

“Well I obviously spoke to them before that.”

“I am going to ask you again and I want an honest answer. Where did you get this pot?”

What were you supposed to do? The man literally cracked the code. If only you hadn’t chosen that house. Oh! How much easier your life would be.

“I plead the fifth.” Oh, fuck.

Loki set the pot carefully down and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt. It would have been hot if you weren’t terrified of what came next. Then you made an ill-timed joke.

“You’re not pulling those out for another reason are you?” You didn’t even laugh yourself because he simply ignored it and motioned for you to stand and turn around.

“I am going to take you to the station and we will talk more there. Stand up, turn around, and give me your hands.”

“I already told you I don’t know where the girls are.” Ignored again but the feeling of him pushing your shoulder with his hand and taking your wrist was something you wished you would stop replaying in your mind.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything-”

The Conyer’s Police Station was wimpy compared to other cities. It was a small, single story brick building with three holding rooms and one interrogation room. You weren’t sure how long you sat in the holding cell, but it was nighttime by the time you were taken out of the room by another officer and into a brightly lit, slightly yellowed room with a mirrored window and a small desk with two chairs. There was a pencil and a pad of paper at the center of it but you were sure if it was going to be Detective Loki interrogating you, he wouldn’t need it.

The officer uncuffed you with no words spoken and pointed at the chair facing the window. You rubbed your wrists from the friction the metal left before taking a seat and staring into the glass where your reflection met your own. You had nothing to do with the two missing girls so you had nothing to give them, or rather, nothing to give Loki to further his investigation.

The man of the hour waltzed into the room a mere five minutes after you were sat down. He had a half-drank cup of coffee in one hand and a small grouping of papers in the other. Loki sat down, settling himself before looking up at you and beginning the interrogation.

“Please state your name, age, and address.”

You recited the information as told.

“How many homes a year do you burglarize?" Loki opened a file that was tucked under some papers with a series of pictures printed on a piece of computer paper. It was amalgamation of missing objects from families around Conyers. You were fucked, but you couldn't let him think that, or at least believe that you were guilty in anyway. Your stealing wasn't going to find those girls because you had no idea where in the world they were. You had never seen them before their faces were plastered on every hour of the news.

"Shouldn't my lawyer be here if you are going to accuse me of something?"

"Do you need a lawyer?"

"Do I, Detective?"

It was the attitude that angered him the most. A woman like you didn't need to steal. Based on your records, he had no reason to truly believe you would. Clean record. No screaming signs of intent or distrust popped out but he knew you were guilty. There was not a doubt. But there was something in that attitude that made him squirm. An attractive quality that he did not want to admit.

"If you answer the questions I ask truthfully, then no, you won't need a lawyer."

"Ask away." You leaned back in the chair with arms crossed and a determined narrowness to your eyes. It was a challenge. Try me, Detective. Do it, I dare you.

"When did you first start stealing?"

"When I was seven. My sister always had better stuff, so I took it."

"And that escalated to...what?" Instead of leaning back on his own chair, Loki leaned forward. His shoulders were hunched in an aggressive, intense tactic to scare you into admitting something that you didn't have any part of. He just wanted to find those girls and you happen to be a speed bump in the way.

"Minor petty theft. I never take anything over $500."

"How do you know what something is worth?"

"I'm sure you can find that in my file, Detective. Everything is there I am sure of it. You all know just how to frame the people you want. But I had nothing to do with those girls."

Loki's line of aggravation was growing thin. Sooner or later, attitude wasn't going to cut it and he was going to have to use the tactics he used on Alex Jones and other potential perpetrators on you. He never liked to get outright violent with women, but he couldn't let this go without trying to get something. The days were wearing thin and he needed to find Joy and Anna.

"You were in the Dover's house the night of the abduction. Where are the girls?"

"I told you I didn't have anything to do with that."

"Didn't or don't."

"Doesn't matter. I did not see them. I do not know where they are. Ruining children's lives isn't my MO, Detective-"

"But you do and you did! YOU were in that house. YOU were at the scene of the crime at the time they went missing. YOU are the one who knows what happened to those girls!" His voice was no longer steady and calm as he had been taught during his training. His string had snapped when in response, you laughed.

Loki flew out of his chair, rounded the table as the sound of his chair skidded across the floor and to the wall behind him. If you weren't so focused on him, you probably could have heard the surprised yells of the Detectives and Officers behind the mirror. The angered Detective roughly arrived at his destination–you, and grabbed the back of your hair, pulling your head back to look at him as he stood over you.

"Where the fuck are the girls?" It came out like a hiss. His eyes enraged with pain for the families and his own reputation if the case goes wrong and he doesn't find them in enough time. You weren't scared of him or his tactics. Rather, it was quite the opposite. If he wasn't attractive, you would have been disgusted but the man was the epitome of perfection and this scene would be one to get you off for years to come.

"I told you, I don't know where the girls are." He gripped your hair harder and you felt the chair waver underneath you. Still not scared.

"You're a liar, a fucking thief, and I don't believe you. Where are the girls? Do you like that sort of thing, huh? Do-"

"You sick fuck. I'm a thief not a fucking pedophile. I didn't take the girls!" You were slightly taken aback by his suggestion, but it was all a tactic. You had seen it on millions of police shows before. He just wanted answers, but he wasn't going to find them with you. Whatever in the sentence you had just spoken to him, Loki was worse off for it. He practically lifted you by the hair and charged you into the wall roughly. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make a point. He wasn't playing around but neither were you.

Loki's hand let go of your hair and one found itself on the wall next to your head as he closed in on you. You could feel his breathe on your face and his eyes pierced your goddamned soul. The other, well the other found itself right on your neck, holding you in place against the wall with a slight squeeze. Holy fuck.

"Keep this up Detective and I would have the means to believe this might lead to something else." The smile, your smile crept up on your face at your own assumption. You wouldn't complain if it did escalate to that.

"TELL ME WHERE THE GIRLS ARE? WHERE IS ANNA? WHERE IS JOY?"

"I told you I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE GIRLS ARE!"

There was something in your own anger that made him want to believe you didn't take the girls or had any clue where they were. He would hate to see a woman like you throw your life away for a career of crime. The proximity between the two of you was next to none. A knife wouldn't have been able to break the tension and the way he held you, unintentionally violent with a hand just a little too suggestively on your neck was a mistake but not one that he was readily going to admit. If this was any other situation, he might have let himself be willing to feel something more. But this was an interrogation, so he kept the face and squeezed just a little harder.

"Where are they? Tell me where they are?"

"Starting to sound like a broken record there. I would tell you again but I'm sure you have my admission of NOT KNOWING WHERE THEY ARE ON TAPE!"

Loki had enough and let your neck go with a jolt. His hands went to his belt where his cuffs were sitting and he pulled them out and turned you around. Your body was flush against the wall and one of his large, tattooed hands held your wrists together as he went to cuff them. This was another thing that would forever be engrained in your "sexy when it shouldn't be" file in your brain.

"Fine. You won't tell me where they are? Maybe a night in lock up will make you think." His voice was low, just at the base of your ear and his hot breath lingered on your neck as you could hear nothing but your heart beating out of your chest and the sound of cuffs closing.

But the man didn't get much further than that because the door to the room opened and like two deer in headlights, you both turned your heads to the sound of the intruder. It was another officer who looked both scared and amused and slightly embarrassed in regard to what he walked in on. He approached Loki as the latter man pulled you off the wall and forward, in front of him to walk toward the door.

"It was the hospital. Joy Birch was just admitted."

The look on Loki's face was priceless. You literally scoffed out loud and turned your face to his.

"I told you I had no fucking idea where they were."

Loki simply passed you over to the other officer and headed to the door, frustrated and confused about his own work and internal feelings about what had just happened–both the realization that you had no idea where they were and that he had been aggressive to the point where it kind of turned him on.

"Detective!" He was halfway out the door when you called out to him and if he had a mind, he would have ignored you and continued on, but he was so flustered that he did.

"If you ever want to use those cuffs sometime, you know where to find me."

Loki didn't say anything, but his eyes wandered. From your face to your body to the floor and back up. It was an unashamed look that made the officer uncomfortable, but you couldn't help but let a small, sly smile grace your face at his look. This man would be the end of your criminal career if he managed to find the time to reunite with you again.

And he did. Two days after Keller Dover was found in a hole and on a holiday he knew you were not going to spend with your family.

#Detective Loki x Reader #Detective Loki x Female Reader #Prisoners #Prisoners 2013 #Jake Gyllenhaal x oc #Jake Gyllenhaal x Reader #David Loki x reader #David Loki x Female Reader #Detective Loki x fem reader #Detective Loki #fanfic #writer #x reader #x female reader #i imagine after the christmas trist reader does in fact serve time for theft. but we ignore that for now.

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sylverstorms · 3 years ago

Text

Miss Fortune x Reader ----Salt-Crusted Heart

For an easier read, head to Ao3.

Another day. Another hunt for a fetter.

Feels like this is your life now, your present and your future. It feels like this war against the ever-spreading mist and Viego will never end. Your days as a trainee Sentinel, where the tough schedule of the Academy was your only problem, seem so far away now it’s like they belong in a dream. Like that was a different you.

And it was, wasn’t it.

That ‘you’ hadn’t ever slashed at anything other than a training dummy. Now you’re out here –with a very dysfunctional crew of lunatics— fighting mist monsters.

Said dysfunctional crew is, once again, arguing amongst themselves on which way you’re supposed to be headed next. Everyone’s got their own opinion and somehow it never matches with anyone else’s. You don’t even know how they manage that.

It takes a few light years for the majority to agree you’re heading to Bilgewater.

By the time you Wayfinder them there, you’re not surprised that all you see is darkness and sickly green mist. Half the world has gone to shit already and you’ve come to terms with that. More or less. Probably less.

“Wow.” you say as you take in the ghostly-looking town ahead of you and the armada of ships at the port below, blocking this side of the island off completely. Not that there’s a lot to block because the place is a ravaged hellhole anyway.

The environment has this wrecked, haunted vibe that would be super interesting to see in a movie with an apocalypse theme. Perhaps not so much on an actualapocalypse, though.

“Likin’ the view?” Graves asks, the corner of his lips sealed over his cigar.

“No, it was more of a ‘this is so much worse than I could have imagined’ type of wow.” you explain.

“It really is.” Riven agrees.

“Funny thing; the mist ain’t changed it all that much.” Graves laughs.

“Hey. Focus.” Lucian chastises. This guy, you’re convinced, is allergic to lightening the mood. He’s also not someone you dare say this to. “See that?” he points at the sea, to the massive ship there, towering over the rest.

You’re so focused on its fine craftsmanship and the little details you keep finding the longer your eye remains on it, you miss his point entirely, at first. Then you blink and look closer –at the thin, telltale trail of green-black smoke floating upwards from its deck.

There’s no mistaking it; a fetter is on that vessel.

“Now, listen up, everybody. Big Ol’ Graves is a legend around these parts, so my name will get us on that beauty. But. People here can be a bit… unfriendly towards new faces.” he begins. “Let’s not walk up there like an attack force and end up riddled with holes, ye?”

“Good idea.” you nod.

“Rookie, Graves, you’re heading up first.” Lucian motions with his chin.

“Bad idea.” you comment, but his skewering glare has you agreeing with the plan the same second.

“Signal if you need help.” Senna adds.

Graves only laughs heartily and grabs your uniform with his large hands, pulling you along. You know you won’t like what you hear when he leans down and whispers to you:

“We won’t have time to signal if they decide we’re not worth listening to but let’s not tell them that, Rook.”

“That’s… just what I needed to hear.” you grimace.

“Ha! Which means you’re goin’ up first. Chances are they won’t instantly shoot your pretty face off.”

“Wait… what about that ‘my name will get us up there, no trouble’?” you ask.

“Hah! That was just to impress Vayne, kiddo. My name is far more likely to get us killed in these parts.” he laughs but you don’t. “Did she look impressed?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, she didn’t, mate.” Nothing has ever moved Vayne other than when she kills monsters in a particularly violent way.

“Ah, shit. Maybe next time.”

Yeah, if there is a next time.

Your chances aren’t looking good as soon as you step onto that deck and every weapon imaginable is suddenly shifted to you.

…

Graves tells you to put your ‘social skills’ into good use. You are not aware that was one of your talents, so it’s probably more of his bullshit. Either way, death by a thousand bullets gives you a solid motivation to turn the charm on and talk.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure we can all come to an agreement here. No need for all that firepower.” you say, totally not sweating at all underneath your white jacket. “You have something that we need and I’m sure we can negotiate a profitable deal for everyone.”

Jackpot. Bounty hunters want money more than anything. And there is not a sweeter sound to their ears than the promise of wealth. Even if you’re just talking nonsense to save your ass.

“If I could just speak to the captain—”

“The captain is listening.” a commanding voice says from up ahead. Some of the crew members part to let her through…

And.

You see a vision in this nightmare.

The woman that walks forward stands out like fire over water, like stark color on Bilgewater’s salt-washed palette. Maybe it’s the vivid red of her flowing hair, stark against the gold-trimmed black of her hat, or the emerald green of her eyes, or the way she holds herself, a queen on this deck. Whatever the reason, you cannot tear your gaze off of her.

Tongue-tied at the moment, you let Graves do the talking. Big mistake.

The goddess’ visage darkens when she sees your company, who she addresses in a less than pleasant tone: “Look what washed in with the tide. Malcolm Goddamn Graves.” You wouldn’t want that glare directed at you, ever.

“Fortune? Ah, hells, naw.” he curses. “What are ya doin’ here? How did ya get a whole damn fleet a’ warships?”

“A lot has changed since we last met. Fools around here decided to challenge me for control over Bilgewater. I locked this place down until we can resolve this inconvenience.” she says, like cutting off half the freaking island is not a big issue.

The sound of her heels on the wooden floor is downright ominous as she approaches. Her eye scans you lightning-quick, then the entirety of her attention is on Graves. The very next second…

A blunderbuss pistol is pointing right to your face, same as his.

“Whoah.” you gasp.

“What’s Gankplank paying you?!” she demands.

“I ain’t workin’ for that bastard! I ain’t even on speakin’ terms with his orange-eatin’ ass! Ya know that!”

“What I know is you came onto my deck with fancy new equipment and a whole team of mercenaries at your back. You know, just in case you thought you were being subtle, in all that silver and white sticking out in Bilgewater like a sore thumb.” She has a point. “That getup isn’t cheap and there’s only one cretin around here with that kind of coin. Now tell me what he’s planning, of you’ll be smoking that cigar through a new hole.”

“Um –ma’am? He’s telling the truth.” You almost regret speaking up when her piercing stare lands on you. “And we’re not mercenaries. We’re Sentinels of Light.” you add.

“You put on a convincing performance, cutie.” she says.

In any other scenario, a goddess like that calling you cute would make you blush. But the gun still very much in your face makes it difficult to really register the word.

“Like you’ve never heard of the ‘Saltwater Scourge’, ‘Reaver King of the High Seas’… ‘Scum-sucking Hagfish Who Takes All You Ever Cared About’…”

Oh, okay. So, she’s got a screw loose as well.Not surprising considering the company you attract, lately.

“Nope. Kiddo’s right, Sarah. They’re Sentinels, alright.” the very familiar voice of your boss, which normally doesn’t make you happy to hear, has the opposite effect now. Lucian walks up behind you to save the day.

“Lucian?” she asks, finally lowering her weapons. “…this is your crew?”

“Yep. And I’d appreciate it if you kindly refrained from killing them. Need about every gun we can get.” he replies.

“Follow me.” she says. “It seems we have a lot to discuss.”

…

Captain Fortune does not drive an easy bargain.

From what you hear later, she’s given Lucian a real hard time with negotiations. And even now, she’s the one who holds all the cards.

If you are to defeat Viego and make it clear to Bilgewater it was her who made it possible, she is willing to trade with the fetter and even let you stay on her ship in the meantime. Otherwise, if she gets the feeling it’s him who gains ground and holds the power in this place, you’re basically screwed.

The others are uneasy. They’ve suggested multiple times you steal the fetter from Fortune and dash for your lives after. Thing is, with how close she keeps that relic, that plan is looking impossible.

Which brings you to where you are right now, all the Sentinels and Miss Fortune gathered around the same map, planning your next action.

“Yes, but if I help you get there, what’s in it for me?” she asks.

And really, you don’t have anything to offer her in return. Even Lucian looks to Senna for help. Who, in turn, looks at you.

Why do they keep doing that? What have you done to convince these people you are good at talking? Especially to women like the captain.

“How about the… moral reward of helping save people from these monsters?” you suggest.

Her green eyes –and holy shit are they green— look at you like she wants to both scoff and laugh sardonically. “Tell me that is a joke.”

“It –it really isn’t.” you reply.

She huffs. “Look. I’m sure you’re all nice people. But nice people here get their throats cut.” She motions with her hand. “The cutthroats get the spoils. That’s how it works. I only care about the spoils.” she states. “So, if you want things from me and my crew, you need to make it worth our time.”

Their time sure isn’t cheap.

You know you don’t have anything at Headquarters with the kind of value she’s looking for. Definitely no coin and no gold for her services. But. You’ve heard multiple times during classes that the materials the Sentinel outfits are weaved from are extremely durable and therefore, extremely desirable.

“Would you and your crew be interested in a wardrobe overhaul?” you ask. All eyes are on you, but hers are the most intense. “Every prestigious fleet has to look the part, no? Plus, these clothes…” you say, grabbing the nearest knife and dragging it across your sleeve. The fabric is not so much as scratched. “…are pretty cool.” you tell her.

Miss Fortune leans back in her captain’s chair with a pretty smile painted on her –very attractive— lips.

“Now you’re talking my language, cutie. I’m sure we can work something out.”

…

On one hand, you have Gwen sewing day and night –your fault, you feel bad for it— while the rest of you handle the fighting. On the other, you do have a ship taking you wherever you need and making your job of clearing the darkness ten times faster.

Even Lucian has given you a pat on the back for that one. That was certainly unexpected.

“We need Fortune to take us here.” Senna points on the map. “Rookie, you go tell her.”

You almost choke on your water. “Why me?” you ask.

“Because you’re finally making yourself useful.” Lucian replies. Ouch.

“I’ve been very useful from the start!” you argue. The others look amongst themselves. “Hey!”

“I mean… points for effort.” Diana comments.

“Moral support is useful, I agree.” Riven smirks at you.

‘Asshole’ you mouth, rising from your seat. Her grin only widens.

You send them a narrowed, unimpressed look over your shoulder on your way out. Some of the crew members that see you walking towards the captain’s cabin whistle your way. You’re sure there’s tons of colorful comments behind your back but you have bigger things to worry about.

Like… the way a certain redhead looks leaned back in her plush chair, a queen on her throne, toying with a gold coin that flips over her nimble fingers with effortless ease. Focus on the mission. The mission, I say. Oh, Gods…

“I love how they send you in to ask for extra.” she says. “So. Are you the silver tongue of the group?” There’s something in her little smirk and the way she says ‘tongue’ that gets to you, but that’s probably just your vivid imagination.

That and the months you’ve spent without any outlet for your stress other than fighting, on top of more fighting.

“No, the others are just that terrible at basic social interactions.” It’s the truth.

Fortune gives a small chuckle. “Let’s see how good you are, then, Sentinel.”

You pleadwith your hopeless lesbian brain not to fry on the spot. “We sort of need you to get us further than discussed. While hoping that… the scenic route will be its own reward?”

“Cute.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” you perk up.

“No.”

“I’ll send Lucian here next time so he can bore you to death until you agree.” You never claimed to be above blackmail.

“A bold statement.” she replies. “Tell you what. If you demolish a few of my enemies’ ships during your hunt for the mist things, then deal.”

Sentinels aren’t supposed to do that. And if you tell Lucian, that will be his exact answer. You can already hear his unpleasant voice in your head. However, you’ve already figured out the world doesn’t work by the Sentinel Code, so…

“Accidents do happen on the battlefield.” you say.

Sarah gives you that slow smile that makes a certain part of you feel hot under your outfit. “And don’t bring any of the others in here to negotiate. I’d rather look at your pretty face.”

Uh.

Um.

By the time you exit the cabin, all you can think is, what just happened?

…

Combat is a rush, sometimes. As is knowing you’re getting stronger and faster by the day. You still don’t hold a candle to the rest of your group, but you can finally say you’re helping them out.

Being further up in the enemy’s face, though, is also petrifying. You see a twisted reflection of yourself in every mist wraith’s dead eyes. There are nightmares that come hand-in-hand with the experience… and then there’s physical pain.

You’ve been hurt before. Their talons can slice through even your magic-reinforced outfits. Still, every time feels worse than the last. The laceration you’re currently sporting on your side is burning like the fires of hell.

You’re trying not to scream by the time Riven lowers you onto the deck. Your vision is blurred with sweat and the tears you’re fighting to keep at bay.

“What’s going on here?” you hear Fortune’s voice in your haze.

“Tell me you have a healer on board!” Riven shouts.

“And they can get here fast!” Senna adds.

You’re not sure how much time passes. It feels like light years until someone kneels beside you and starts working on your wound. The healing magic pulls and sears at you. Every muscle in your body is taut with the effort to keep still.

“Isn’t …a healing spell supposed to numb the pain, first?” Diana asks.

“Look, blondie, I’m no professional here, ye? Just picked up a few things from mah old man. If ya wanna criticize, come here and do it yourself.” he answers. And it’s …not the best feeling in the world to hear your healer say that.

“No offense. Just worried for our teammate.” Senna adds. At least one of your bosses cares about your wellbeing.

The other just benches you for the next mission.

…

Out of all the people you expected to come see you while you’re recovering, Sarah Fortune is the last who came to mind. You’re almost shocked mute when the captain comes to sit on the edge of your bed, graceful and fluid as ever. Gorgeous as ever, too, while you’re sure you look pale as a ghost, eyes sunken as a shipwreck.

“Hey, Rookie.” she greets.

“Ah, great. That nickname’s never gonna come off, is it.” you roll your blue eyes.

“How’s the battle scar?”

“I’m not bleeding all over your fancy deck anymore, at least.” you say. “Guess I should be glad for that.” Although you are a bit frustrated that the ‘healer’s’ hand was so shaky there’s a scar left there now, permanently, when it could have been avoided. “And that the dude wasn’t drunk bad enough to stitch my organs to my skin.”

“Yeah, luckily he was only a little drunk.” she nods.

“That makes total sense for a healer. Who, from what I know from four years at the Academy, should always be sober.” you cannot keep it in any longer.

“That’s… a tall order here.” Yes, of course, the place is far too shitty for that.

“I gathered.”

“Come, now. Don’t be upset about the scar.” You’re upset about the pain that could have been avoided if the damn guy just didn’t drink his ass off in the middle of the day. “…Want me to kiss it better?”

You’re so far up your mind –filled with thoughts of being a dead weight on the team on top of your dead classmates because of Viego— you don’t even hear her. Your head is pounding from the pressure the memory causes you, a killer mix with the effect of the painkillers you’ve been on, all evening.

“I’ll be fine, thanks.” you reply, your voice hoarse and alien to your own ears.

…

You and Fortune talk a bit more on the two days you’re out of commission.

You learn a few things about her, like the fact you have a common interest in psychology. Like the fact you shouldn’t ever ask about her past or her family, unless you want her to close up tighter than a clam, at the speed of lightning. In the meantime, if it feels like she may be throwing more smirks your way than when she talks to anyone else, you blame that on your wishful thinking.

That woman is way out of your league.

It is one in the night and everyone on the ship is either well asleep or completely passed out from booze. You wake up from a nightmare, then fully register the way the ship is swaying from the angry waves. The resulting nausea has you completely losing the desire to fall back into the land of dreams.

You thought you’d be the only one awake when you walked up to the deck, yet you quickly realize that’s not the case when the sound of heels approaches from behind. You already know it’s her. The night breeze does a wonderful job of carrying her perfume straight to your nose. As if she wasn’t already fatally attractive without it.

You keep your eyes on the waves, so dark blue they look black.

“Oh, this is a surprise. Such a romantic soul, admiring the sea in the dead of night.” she says. The slight –sexy as fuck— slur to her words must have something to do with the bottle of whiskey in her hand.

“Yeah, my thoughts are not that deep.” you chuckle. “More like ‘fuck this constant motion under my feet’.”

She gives a small, airy exhale that could pass as a laugh, leaning on the railing next to you. Kind of close, too. “Ah and here I thought Sentinels didn’t swear.” she says. “And that they don’t drink. Unless you care to prove me wrong there, too.”

She takes a swing of the bottle and passes it to you. The smart part of your brain tells you it is a bad, bad idea. The rest of you is seduced by the promise of the buzz and the challenge in her eyes.

Well. Since you’re not really getting anywhere closer to where her lips are in anything other than your very private fantasies, you think may just take the chance for an indirect kiss that’s presented.

The gulp you take from the bottle –you intended a sip but the fucking ship moves so much— burns a trail down your throat and past your insides. You almost cough. How heavy is this thing?

“Ahem. So.” you begin. “What’s keeping you out late?”

“I have great company.” At first you think she means you, then you realize it’s the bottle that’s lucky. Hah, fell right into that one. “And… my cabin is very cold tonight.”

It’s really chilly, yeah, but it’s not that bad, you think. Maybe the two of you are just used to different climates, though. “I’m… sorry to hear that.” you reply.

“Well. Guess I should head in or it will never warm up by itself.” she says.

You nod and bid her goodnight, turning your eyes back to the inky waves. But then you feel her weight softly crash into your back, ample chest pressing against you, one of her hands on your waist and the other on the railing next to yours for support. Her lips are right by your ear, so close you feel them brush against the shell as she says:

“Oops.”

Then she’s gone, taking her extremely sexy perfume with her, while your stomach drops to the sea and sinks right to the very bottom. It takes a few moments to realize you’re still holding the railing so tightly your fingers have gone white.

What the…

You go back to bed trying not to think about whatever that was.

The next day, you have no idea why she’s not speaking to you at all, or why she doesn’t even look at you when she addresses the Sentinels, none-too-pleased with your progress.

…

When one of the crewmates tell you the captain has summoned you, you do a double take and ask if she really means you. Fortune has been in a weird mood towards you since that night, to say the least.

You are mentally braced for the worst when you enter her cabin. You’re already tired from fighting mist wraiths all morning and you don’t think you can handle whatever it is that’s going on with her at the moment.

Scratch that. You’re sure you can’t when she gets up from her seat, walking almost in a circle around you, like a shark. You lean back against the wooden surface of her desk, waiting. Cautious.

“Have I not been clear enough, all these days?” she asks, as if wondering out loud.

“Um…. excuse me?” you question back. Has the mist gotten to her? It has been known to cause strange behavior after prolonged exposure.

She’s at the door now, facing you without really looking at you and it makes you feel trapped. Your one escape is blocked. “You’re not from around here, so I thought it was best not to be… Bilgewater-forward.” she says. “On the other hand, I don’t think I’ve been that subtle?”

“…I’m. I’m not…sure I follow.” you speak, quietly.

“Do you really have no idea or are you just trying to be polite?” She finally looks into your eyes.

You shake your head ‘no’.

She licks her lips. “What, was I supposed to give you a formal letter inviting you to my cabin for sex the other night?” Your jaw, you think, hits the floor and shatters. Your whole body shivers and goes rigid. “If you don’t want to, just say it so I won’t wait around for nothing.”

You… don’t know what words are at the moment. The ground has disappeared and you’re a falling mess. It is the worst case of freezing on the spot you’ve ever experienced.

“That’s not… that’s not… the case.” you manage to say.

“Good to know.” she nods, casually, then strides up to you and grabs the front of your high-collared Sentinel jacket, bringing you lip-to-lip. “Is this clear enough for you?” she breathes against you.

It’s more than clear enough when her plump lips seal over yours, tasting of sweet-flavored lipstick and alcohol and sea-salt. In fact, it is clear like a nuclear bomb going off on the back of your head.

The heat wave burns down your stomach violently and it only gets worse when she pushes her tongue into your mouth, licking over yours, her hips practically straddling you with how tightly fitted you stand. Every movement of her mouth or her body echoes all the way down yours.

It’s beyond anything you could have ever conjured in your head, having her angle your chin however she wants it while her hips slowly rock against you. It’s almost too hard and too fast and too good –and you get too close.

But then—

A knock comes on the door.

“Captain?” someone asks from the outside and it’s both a blessing and a dark curse.

Sarah tries to catch her breath, every exhale tickling your ear. “One moment.” she calls over her shoulder, sounding every bit the captain she is, as if the past minutes where you were literally dry humping each other didn’t happen.

She pulls back from you with a satisfied little smirk at how wrecked you no doubt look, pulling your outfit straight. Her thumb wipes off the smudge of her lipstick on the corner of your mouth, then she goes to a nearby mirror to reapply hers.

When she walks back over to you, your knees shake at just the sight of her. You don’t know how you’ll ever calm down from this. Safe to say she’s ruined every kiss you’ve ever had or will have.

“My bedroom will be open to you tonight. Consider this your formal letter, yes?” her long fingers brush over your jawline, as she stalks back to her seat.

“Come in.” she calls, poker face on, sounding bored.

You make your escape as tactical –and dignified— as possible and don’t look back until you’re practically off the ship.

…

To say you are distracted for the rest of the hours until night completely settles over Bilgewater is an understatement. Your head is in the clouds and you have no idea what’s going on around you. The whole world could catch fire and all you’ll be thinking about is Fortune, Fortune, Fortune…

“What’s got you so quiet tonight, little Sentinel?” Riven asks.

Only the best damn kiss of your entire life. Plus the fact you’re living a dream and you don’t want to wake up. “Maybe I’m just trying to imitate Vayne. From now on you’ll hear my voice only when we kill stuff.”

“Ha, ha.” Vayne comments in typical Vayne style from her seat, hunched over her weapon and making calibrations.

“All I’ll say is, be careful.” the Noxian lowers her voice a bit, the words kept between the two of you.

“Of what?” you play dumb.

“Just in general.”

You don’t know what Riven suspects but you can’t really bring yourself to care. You’ve been through a lot these past months. You deserve to feel something good once in a while. Your love life is none of their business unless it interferes with their business, which it won’t because you’re sure this won’t mean anything beyond Fortune’s bedroom.

You wait until everyone on the ship is asleep and take a liquid courage boost to sneak to the captain’s cabin.

…

One knock. That is all your knuckles manage, one contact with the door, until it swings open and a familiar hand grabs at the front of your outfit, pulling you in.

You’re pressed back against it as soon as it shuts, crimson lips hot on yours before you can even think to say anything. Gods, is she always so insistent?You could melt into a wet puddle on the floor from the way she presses into you alone. This woman knows exactly what she wants and how to take it.

Somewhere in the back of your head you hear the sound of a lock turning.

“Took you long enough.” she whispers when you break apart.

Once again, whatever you were about to say is cut off by her tugging on the high collar of your jacket. She either has a thing for it or for pulling you around in general, you think. No complains, whatever the case.

“Won’t you give me the tour around, first?” you ask, playing coy only thanks to the drink you’ve had. Otherwise, you’d be your usual self; a mess.

“Oh, sure.” she says as she shoves you into her bedroom, illuminated by a single candle. “Wardrobe, guns, bed.”

Well. It still feels like the best tour you’ve ever had when she walks you back until you’re falling on her very comfortable mattress, with her perched above you like a predator. She gives you a little smirk as she straddles your thigh and sits up, undoing the taut buttons on her shirt, painfully slow.

Oh… It would be very awkward if you died from a heart attack now, yet it feels like you’re on the verge of one.

“Nothing smart to say now, Sentinel?” The confidence comes with her looks, you’re sure. She knows she’s hot as fuck.

You shake your head, speechless, eyes travelling from her toned midriff to her perfect chest, to her hypnotic eyes and the sensual way her hair spills like a red waterfall across her shoulders. This is a dream, it’s not real life, but don’t wake me up ever…

Fortune leans back down, taking your chin in two fingers as she studies your flushed face. You don’t know what she’s looking for, but something in her visage softens a fraction.

“If it’s too much at any point, tell me.”

“If I can talk, I will.” you say, mesmerized by the way her eyes look under the dim light.

Your next liplock is a little less rushed than your previous ones. She takes her time exploring your mouth and you gradually get bolder with where you touch her, fingers grazing up her sides to her stomach, to the underside of her bra.

Her lips leave yours only to burn a trail down the corner of your mouth, across your jawline and to your neck. Deft fingers undo the clasps and pull down the zipper of your white jacket, guiding it past your shoulders without taking it completely off. She definitely has a thing for it. You’d comment on that, too, if you could think about anything other than how good she smells.

Clothes come off while she sucks on your neck, teeth pressing against you just shy of leaving marks. When both of you are down to your underwear and breathing heavy, her fingers caressing dangerously low on your waistline, her lips come near your ear.

“So… I want to make you beg, but I can’t help but feel like I’m already corrupting you a lot.”

Corrupt away. you want to tell her.

“Does that turn you on?” you whisper in her ear and feel her response with how her hips press down harder onto yours.

“Yes.” That breathless admission becomes your undoing.

You get lost in her lips after it and the sensation of her fingers on you –inyou— working you up towards what could be simultaneously your ruin and your salvation. You touch her in turn, filling the room with both your moans and gasps, until that glorious peak of white-hot pleasure where the whole world comes to a stop for a few moments.

There is a time limit to your time together, now and generally, you are aware. But you allow yourselves a few quiet moments together as you lay there with the excuse of catching your breath, even if you already have.

Tough game you’re playing here. The smarter part of your brain says. It’s all too easy to get addicted to having her atop you like this. The better the dream, the more bitter the wakeup.

When Fortune lifts herself off you to slide under her heavy covers, you register the chill of night. You dress almost sluggishly, your body so very exhausted from the activities of the whole day.

Kissing her goodnight is almost an urge you fight under control, not wanting to make her uncomfortable if this was all she wanted out of your dalliance.

“Well, my bunk is calling.” you turn around to tell her, trying not to blush when you see her with her elbow resting on her pillow, cheek cutely pressed on her fist, watching you like a languid cat.

“Hate to watch you leave but I love to watch you go.” she smirks at you.

You roll your eyes. “Goodnight, beautiful.”

…

It is after a long damn day of fighting that you get to finally sit down and enjoy a meal and drinks.

The crew was cold and distrustful towards you at first, but they seem to have opened up more over the course of weeks –especially today, after you secured them a chest filled with gold coins left behind by wealthy people who were running from the wraiths. From the corner of your eye, you subtly watch Sarah Fortune interact with her men, hoping it’s not obvious how badly into her you are.

“So…” Riven begins from the chair next to you and you know that’s not going to be good.

“What?” You face her, playing cool.

“I’m sure you don’t need me to say that she’s bad for you… but I will, anyway.” You give Riven a blank stare that absolutely doesn’t fool her. Shit.

“Like how do you even know.” You finally break.

“It wasn’t obvious since day one there was something there?” Yeah, maybe to everyone except you.

“Wait.” Hold on a second. “Does everyone know?”

“I think everyone except Diana has pretty much figured it out.” That certainly explains the looks Lucian has been giving you all day. Double shit.

“What? The thing between Fortune and Rookie, here?” Diana asks from behind you.

Triple—

“Scratch that. Everyone knows.” Riven tells you. “And we all agree. She’s bad for you.” You hate the emphasis on that. “As in the worst.”

“I getit, Riven, thank you.” You shake your hand in her face while the other covers yours.

“I mean I know ruthless, player redheads who can and will absolutely murder you without a second thought are, like, a kink of yours—”

You don’t think your face gets any redder than this. “What—” you nearly choke on air. “That –how do you figure that out? That’s not even true.”

“Dude. When Katarina Du Couteau was brought into our conversation you nearly gasped and fangirled for the next hour.”

“I just heard a lot about one of our biggest Demacian enemies and wanted to know if it was all true!” you defend yourself.

“You asked me if she’s as hot as rumor has it, not about her war achievements.” Riven laughs.

“And you didn’t answer! Well, is she or isn’t she?” you ask. For… scientific purposes.

“I’m not going to answer that!” Riven lifts her hands up.

“She is.” Graves says as he slides into the seat next to you, drink in hand.

“Thank you!” You pat him on the shoulder.

“We should totally have her join the Sentinels.” he adds.

“Hah!” A vein pops at Riven’s temple. “And the answer will be something along the lines of ‘bold of you to assume I give a single fuck about the world’.” comes the imitation.

“Whoa, that’s exactly how she sounds like.” Graves says.

You’re glad the conversation has shifted away from you, at least.

From the opposite side of the room, you feel a familiar pair of eyes on you, yet they’re averted the second you raise yours to meet them.

…

They may know about your one-time thing with Fortune and heavily scrutinize it, but they still send you in now that they need to ask for more from the captain. With that, your teammates lose every right to comment on what you do and don’t do with her.

“We’ll get you the coin from that ship –well, Graves will, since they already hate him—and you help us out here. Deal?” you ask her.

There. You can be a professional and negotiate terms with the most beautiful woman in the world, who you also happened to have had mindblowing sex with, without constantly looking at her lips.

“Deal, but…” she begins. “You’re sitting all the way over there… why?”

So much for keeping your mind out of the gutter. “Um.” You lick your lips, unsure of what to say, while she smirks slow, like the cat that got the canary.

“Come here.” A pat on her desk, right in front of her chair.

Against your better judgement, you walk around the furniture and lean there, really, really close to her, especially when she stands, towering over you in her heels. You can tell she likes it, too.

“Don’t look at me like that, we leave in ten minutes.” you say. It doesn’t even phase her.

Her fingers move to the zipper of your jacket and although you should stop her, you don’t. “Really?” she leans closer, closer still, until her tantalizing mouth is a hair’s breadth from yours.

“…really. Nine, now.” you waver.

“Guess we have to be fast, then.”

She lightly pushes you onto her desk and starts undoing your belt buckles. The thought of what you’re about to do alone could make you come on the spot. It’s not just the thought that’s threatening to do that, when you feel her cool fingers slide right where you need them.

“You’re going to ditch me for your little Sentinel friends, who don’t like me?” she asks in your ear.

Oh, Gods…

“Ah, I like you enough for all of us, Fortune.” your lips move against her jawline as you speak. A little further down and you can feel how quick her pulse is. You wouldn’t have guessed, with how composed she looks fingering you on her desk.

“Sarah.” she holds your chin with two fingers as she says it, like a secret between you. “Call me Sarah when you come.”

You do.

…

It becomes a nightly thing after that, your visits in her bedroom.

She’s insatiable and she makes everything bothering you go away for those precious hours. But. The more you see of her, you cannot help but feel like something’s very wrong with Sarah.

Underneath the visage of the ruthless captain, the queen who can just reach out and take anything she wants, you see… cracks. She doesn’t sleep well. She drinks. You’re pretty sure you’re another distraction –coping mechanism?— although it doesn’t bother you. She’s the same for you, isn’t she?

It’s not like you have feelings for her.

…Right?

No, no that would be terrible. You definitely don’t. You are allowed to love the way her fingers are running lazy circles on your thigh right now without any sort of complicated emotions involved.

“You should quit while you’re ahead.” she tells you, half muffled into her pillow, stark black against the red of her hair.

This or the Sentinel war? You wonder.

“You have little cuts everywhere. They don’t even have time to disappear before new ones open on top of them.” she moves the back of her pointer to the biggest visible line near your knee, then up your arm, until her hand rests on the crook of your neck. “Leave the others to deal with the mist. It’s not your problem.”

“The world’s problem is my problem. Guess where I lived and what region fell to Viego first.”

You refrain from telling her how many people close to you met his blade before that. How many of the classmates you ate and trained with for four years you had to see skewered by him, on his insane quest for his ‘love’. You don’t want to sour your time together with your burdens. Your pain, your nightmares, are your own to deal with.

“If you keep going you’ll fall to him first.” she counters. “You’ll die protecting one of those idiots in your group or some random civilian.”

“Thanks, Miss Fortune-teller.” you say, a tad irked at her blatant disregard for anyone who isn’t herself.

“I don’t have to be one to tell.” she gives you a sad smile. “It’s always the good ones that die. It’s always the monsters that win.”

You can’t help but wonder…

What made you this way?

…

You see now why emotions are considered a distraction on the battlefield. Even as you kill monsters, all you think about is her.

Come to think of it…

You’ve never seen her smile for real. What you’re looking for is a far cry from those smirks she throws around to bring people to their knees, or the sardonic ones she levels Lucian with. Even those she offers you behind closed doors have a shadow underneath them. It makes you wonder about what would make her happy enough to give a genuine smile.

When you happen across a shipwreck filled with valuables, you think this may be it. The Sentinels take what they need and agree to give the rest to Fortune to stay on her good graces.

Her whole ship lights up with the joy of riches. The crew is ecstatic. Laughter and cheers fill the deck.

And yet.

Her glee is pretend, just for the sake of her men. Her eyes are hollow.

When she eventually retreats to her cabin, you follow her and knock on her door. “It’s always open for you~” she calls from the inside, already in the company of a whiskey bottle.

You turn the key behind you, then lean forward with your hands on her desk, staring at her.

“Why this serious, sexy?” she asks. “Need me to help loosen you up a bit?”

“You need to part with the fetter, Sarah.” you state. “It affects you in ways you won’t notice or understand but it always does.”

“Ah, part with it so you and your crew of misfits can steal it from me? Hmm… no.” she chuckles.

“I care more about what it does to you than the fetter itself right now.” you try again. Only to fail again.

“That’s sweet, but I don’t trust you.” Talk about words being sharper than knives, sometimes. “Don’t take it personally; I don’t trust anyone.”

“What a joyful life this must be.” you bite back.

“Coin is joy for me, sweetheart.” she leans back in her plush chair, taking another swing from the bottle.

“You didn’t seem very happy to me, back there.”

She gives you a look and finally sets the whiskey down. “Come here. I’ll tell you a little secret about me.” she says, a tad more serious than before.

Cautiously, you step around the desk until you’re in front of her seat. Her hand shoots up like a bullet, then, taking hold of your jacket and dragging you down until the two of you are eye-level.

“You know what would really make me happy right now?” You feel her leg move up the inside of yours, deliciously slow, as she speaks… until she hooks her calf behind your knee and makes your weight fall onto it. “For you to shut up about fetters and concerns and go down on me.”

Fuck.

Deep down, to a small part of you not ruled by your hormones, you know using sex to avoid any sort of deeper conversation between you is unhealthy. You know an arrangement where there’s no trust is unhealthy.

Then again, the circumstances that brought you together are anything but healthy.

And what sort of pretty flower can burst forth, really, from a corrupted seed?

…

When you return from your mist-slaying, late in the evening, the crew is uneasy.

“Don’t bother the cap’n right now.” One of the men says. “She ain’t havin’ the best o’ days.”

You later find out that they had a run-in with an enemy fleet. That the Reaver King has resurfaced and is looking to claim Bilgewater for himself. Major shit is about to go down, the bounty hunters tell you and you do not want to be outsiders caught in the middle when it finally hits the fan.

You give Sarah her space until the need to check up on her becomes overwhelming.

One knock on the door. “Leave.” she hisses from within the office like a tensed cat. Another knock. “You have ten seconds before I put a bullet through your skull!”

“Can’t imagine I’ll be very attractive then.” you reply.

The door swings open; her eyes are the epitome of a raging storm. You’ve never seen her like this, so hateful and distressed… and it hurts to witness. “My ‘leave’ applies to everyone. You, included.”

“Cool.” you nod at her. Pause. “So… can I come in now?”

Sarah throws her hands up in exasperation, pivoting with an angry, whispered ‘whatever’. She paces across her cabin, an agitated lion one step away from pouncing. Her hands run through her fiery hair as though they cannot keep still.

“You need to leave Bilgewater asap and never come back.” You don’t know if she’s talking to you or thinking out loud. “You need to go. With or without the rest of them, I don’t care, just go!”

“What’s… gotten into you?” you dare ask.

“He’s back. He always comes back, no matter how many times I sink the bastard. It’s like he cannot die. He just won’t die!” her voice is raw with her rage. “You Sentinels fight the darkness but you don’t kill evil. Evil will still be here –rooted here— even if you win.”

You open your mouth but can’t find anything to say.

“I have to win my own war. I will be victorious no matter the cost, no matter the bloodshed.” Sarah goes on. “But I need to know that you won’t be here. Do you understand?!”

You just look at her, sad and frozen, trying to understand. There’s nothing you can say to ease what’s hurting her and nothing you can do. You’ve seen this wretched thing eat away at her every day since the moment you met. It’s too deeply engraved in her heart for you to hope to change it; and it has little to do with the fetter in her possession.

Sarah crosses the room in two large strides and grabs your biceps. She looks like she’s ready to throw you off her ship herself…

Until.

She pulls you into her arms, instead.

Tight, like she’s afraid you’ll be gone the moment she lets go, she holds you close. Her head is tucked into your shoulder, her nails press hard into your back. You slowly bring your hands up to encircle her waist in return.

“I’ve lost everything. He took everything from me. I won’t give him the chance to take you away, as well.” she says.

Oh. you think. She cares about you, after all.

If only that was a good thing for either of you.

…

You feel it, when the moment comes.

Maybe you’ve always felt it and just didn’t want to admit it.

When Sarah stands in front of Viego offering the lot of you up along with the fetter in exchange for his ruined power, you know the agony you feel, like a blade splitting you down the middle, is your own doing. There is nobody but yourself to blame for it. The others warned you. Your own instinct warned you.

You didn’t listen.

You wanted to trust her. Maybe even to love her.

But her hatred runs deeper than whatever measly thing you were to her.

As the mist shrouds Fortune and turns her red hair luminescent blonde, as it eats away at her colors until they’re all black and sickly green, until the eyes you knew turn cold and unfeeling, you feel something in you crack. Maybe it’s your faith. Maybe it’s your heart.

There’s a lesson to take from this, you’re sure, despite how your emotions choke you. Right now, though, you focus on avoiding her bullets and having your teammates’ backs in the rain of chaos that follows.

You end up deep in the water, bleeding, defeated. You and the other Sentinels have never been crushed by your losses, but it will take some time to pick up your pieces and continue onward until the end of your war.

You allow yourself one scream muffled in the dark sea.

When you swim to the shore and pull your body out of the mud, you are silent.

“Are you okay? I know that was harder for you than it was for us.” Riven lays a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m fine. I’ll let it hurt after we get Viego.”

For now, you can’t afford taking the pain of a broken heart with you on the battlefield.

Sarah. You later think. Now I understand why hurricanes are named after people.

#miss fortune #sarah fortune #miss fortune x oc #miss fortune x reader #sentinels of light spoilers #league of legends #fanfiction #creative writing #riven

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eliemo · 4 years ago

Text

The Incident- Part 1

Summary: Sometimes, it’s dangerously easy to spiral.

TWs: Panic attacks, mentions of past abuse, some blood

Part Two

Masterpost

“Virgil!”

He didn’t even know what he’d done to warrant so much fury and disgust in the scream. It was enough to block out all rational thought, ice cold panic and fear overwhelming despite its awful familiarity.

He didn’t even get a chance to apologize before he was hit, the hand swinging forward and finding purchase against his cheek, striking hard enough to send him stumbling backwards, throbbing pain shooting through his skull.

“God, you idiot! How are you this stupid?”

Virgil tried to get away, confusion and terror crashing down until he couldn’t breathe, chest and throat too tight to get out any of the desperate pleas and apologies on his tongue.

He couldn’t even make out who was talking, where exactly they were, how many people he’d made angry this time.

There was a hand in his hair, grabbing, twisting and yanking him forward, ignoring his cries as it threw him into the cold, hard floor.

“Please,” he choked out, his voice agonizingly small, too weak to hear. “Pl-please I'm sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Just shut up! This is why we have to keep doing this to you! Because you’re too stupid to understand how to do anything right!”

There was another slap when he tried to raise his head, somehow worse than the first, and he felt something sharp dig into his arm, vision clearing just enough for him to make out the pile of glass shards he’d been shoved into.

“All you do is hurt Thomas, and we have to do this to clean up your stupid mess! Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!”

The voice was furious, cold and mocking, each cruel word accompanied by another merciless strike, the pain quickly becoming unbearable, Virgil left to curl in on himself with the glass digging into his skin.

And then, in a sudden twist of warped reality, the pain vanished and Virgil found himself curled up in the blankets of his own bed, trembling violently and drenched in sweat.

But the ache from the beating still lingered, nothing more than fading phantom pain, but it made his heart twist with emotions he didn’t quite know how to identify.

It had been a while since he’d had a nightmare that vivid, when the pain and panic bled into the real world, leaving him weak and terrified.

He’d worked up the courage to go to Logan about his recurring nightmares a couple of weeks ago, and the two of them had worked out several techniques to at least reduce the frequency of the dreams.

It worked, to an extent, but it couldn’t get rid of them completely. He’d just gotten unlucky tonight.

He shuddered, pushing himself up just enough to glance at the clock, collapsing back down with a groan. It was barely four in the morning- no one would be up for at least another three hours and there was no way he was waking someone up over a stupid dream.

It wasn’t even anything particularly upsetting. Nothing he hadn’t handled before. Just a cruel reminder of a memory he’d lived through so many times before, vile words he’d heard too many times to count.

It was fine. He just...he just needed to get a hold of himself, take a few deep breaths and stop crying.

But it was no use. Not when he was alone, hunkered down in the dark, no prying eyes or pitying stares forcing him to hold back.

The first sob broke from his chest, cruel, biting words still ringing in his ears, scream after scream always directed at him, always angry, and the dam broke.

Virgil buried himself under his blanket and pressed his face into his pillow, hoping beyond hope it was enough to muffle the pathetic, wrenching sobs he couldn’t help to hold back.

The last thing he needed was someone hearing him. He didn’t want them to see that after everything they’d done, all the “progress” they thought he was making, he was still just as broken as he was when they’d started. That a simple dream could revert him back to a trembling, terrified mess.

It was stupid. He was safe now and he knew that. He hadn’t deserved it and he was...working on believing that.

But it wasn’t going to happen again. That was what mattered. He had his family now- his family who had shown him over and over again that he had no reason to be afraid, so there was no reason his stupid brain should be getting this worked up over a bad dream.

It wasn’t even a particularly bad memory in comparison. It was fairly routine for how things had been back then.

He might have ended up crying himself back to sleep, or he may have simply zoned out without realizing, his head too fuzzy to know for sure. Either way, by the time sunlight began to filter through his window, Virgil was shaky and exhausted, the room tilting dangerously when he raised his head off the soaked pillow.

He thought he heard distant voices from out in the hallway, but it was impossible to make anything out over the pounding of his own head.

He needed coffee. And, if he was feeling brave enough, maybe a hug.

Virgil forced himself out of bed, legs a bit unsteady as he landed on the carpet and shuffled to the bathroom, content with the idea of throwing icy water in his face and hastily putting on some eyeshadow to cover up the fact that he’d been crying.

He must not have done a very good job, because as soon as he made his way into the kitchen, wrapped up in his hoodie to hide the fading tremors, Patton looked up from brewing the coffee with gentle concern.

“Morning, kiddo,” he said, smiling past the worry. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Fine, I guess.”

Patton frowned but didn’t push, instead stepping aside to allow Virgil access to the coffee pot, an easy, early morning silence filling the kitchen as the moral side began gathering things together for breakfast.

Virgil found himself holding his breath as he got his mug out of the cabinet, silently pleading for his hands to stop shaking. He couldn’t handle dropping anything right now. He knew it would be ok if he did, knew Patton wouldn’t be angry, but…

“Imagine what the light sides would do if they learned just how useless you are!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, setting his mug on the counter and willing himself to just calm down.

They knew. They knew him, knew what had happened to him, and they...they loved him. For some unfathomable reason, they loved him.

They wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t have to worry. It was over, it was over, it was--

“Kiddo?”

Virgil’s eyes flew open, Patton’s voice pulling him from his spiral, and he realized with a start that he had stopped breathing entirely.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, and then immediately flinched back. He was supposed to stop doing that, they’d told him to stop apologizing and he could never seem to listen. “S-sorry, I just...I- do you think you could...I mean, you don’t have to but I was just--”

“Virgil,” Patton cut him off, moving slowly as he rested a hand on Virgil’s arm. “What do you need?”

It was stupid. It was beyond stupid especially considering this was Patton. He should just be able to ask, but he’d been extra needy lately and he wanted them to think he was doing better- and what if they thought he was being annoying--

Virgil took a breath, shutting down his own anxious thoughts. Nightmares made him extra paranoid.

“Could I just...h-have a hug?”

“Oh, honey.” Patton’s features instantly softened, worry morphing to a mixture of sadness and relief, and before Virgil could even blink he was being pulled into the familiar comfort of warm arms. “Of course, baby. You don’t have to be afraid to ask.”

And Virgil was absolutely not going to start crying again. It was barely seven in the morning, he wasn’t going to do that to Patton, he put the moral side through too much as it was.

But then Patton’s hand was cupping the back of his neck, idly running his fingers through Virgil’s hair, and there was absolutely no holding back the pathetic choking sound as he desperately tried to force back the sobs building up in his chest.

“I’m here,” he said, Patton’s voice barely above a whisper. “I’m right here, honey. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, quickly realizing that wouldn’t cut it. “Just...had a long night. It’s fine.”

“Nightmare?”

He thought about denying it, feeling ridiculously stupid and childish, but there really wasn’t a point. Patton wouldn’t ridicule him, and he’d already lost what little composure he had.

But he didn’t entirely trust his own voice right now, not wanting to break down completely in the middle of the kitchen, so he just nodded against Patton’s shirt.

The other side pulled away slightly, hands still gently clutching Virgil’s shoulders, and the anxious side warily met his warm gaze.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Patton said, the furthest thing from judgmental or annoyed. “You wanna talk about it?”

And he didn’t. At all. Because it wasn’t just a stupid dream- it was a memory. It had happened, many many times before, and talking about it would just make it more vivid in his mind. He just wanted to forget.

“Nothing to talk about,” he mumbled instead. “Just...same old stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid,” Patton said, but mercifully didn’t push. “You look exhausted...how about we set you up on the couch with a blanket until breakfast?”

Virgil nodded again, allowing Patton to carefully take his hand and guide him into the living room and onto the couch. A part of him wished he could have just stayed wrapped in the hug for the rest of the morning, but he knew it was a selfish request. Everyone had things to do today, Virgil included.

Besides, the weight of the blanket around his shoulders was nice, and the quiet, mindless noise of the television created a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

Logan came down the stairs just a few moments later, looking a bit more disheveled than usual, offering Virgil a quick and quiet greeting before disappearing into the kitchen, probably in search of coffee.

Roman followed soon after, still dressed in his pajamas with his hair a mess. Virgil expected him to follow Logan straight into the kitchen like he did every morning, so it was a bit of a surprise when the Prince was suddenly standing in front of the couch.

“Scoot over, J-Delightful.”

Virgil blinked, momentarily frozen. “What?”

“It’s early and I’m cold,” Roman complained. “So scoot over or I’m commandeering your lap.”

Virgil decided not to mention that he really wouldn't mind the latter option, instead moving over just enough for Roman to fit, making sure there was enough room for both of them under the blanket.

Apparently making room on the couch didn’t even matter, because in mere seconds Roman was completely sprawled out, somehow ending up with his head in Virgil’s lap and doing a very poor job of pretending to be asleep.

Virgil didn’t know if he was still visibly distressed from his dream and obviously in need of physical contact, or if Roman just had impeccable timing.

Either way, he didn’t exactly have any plans to move.

The rest of the morning passed relatively peacefully. Logan had been up late working on scheduling and had woken with a headache, so the volume was kept low, the conversation quiet and lighthearted.

It also, thankfully, kept a majority of the attention off of Virgil, although he was certain nothing could stop the worried glances Patton kept throwing his way. Worried glances that were entirely unnecessary.

Yeah, he’d had a bad night and an unfortunately vivid dream. But that didn’t mean he needed to be watched over like he was about to break at any second.

But no one put him on the spot, no one asked any questions, like they knew he could shatter under too much attention right now.

It was just a stupid dream, already rapidly fading. He was safe.

And then Roman dropped a glass on the floor.

It didn’t even break, just cracked a bit along the side, but the sudden noise was enough to shock the room into sudden silence.

Virgil jumped, guilt and fear instinctually curling up in his gut despite the fact that he hadn’t even done anything. And he knew- he knew that even if he had it wouldn’t be a problem.

But then Logan was sighing, shoulders tense like he was angry, whirling around to face the Prince’s sheepish smile.

“Dammit, Roman,” he snapped, unexpectedly curt. “Can’t you be more careful?”

Roman blinked, momentarily frozen where he was bent over to pick up the fallen cup, for once clearly at a loss for a retort.

“Language please,” Patton spoke up, and Virgil wanted to shrink away from the nervous glance he sent. “Let’s be a bit more gentle, ok? Roman didn’t mean to- there’s no reason to get angry over an accident. Right?”

Logan seemed to notice his mistake before Patton even finished, straightening up and flashing Virgil an apologetic look before turning back to Princey.

“I...apologize, Roman,” he said carefully. “Genuinely. I am not angry, I simply...am still nursing a bad headache and lost my temper for a moment.”

Roman had already gotten over his shock it seemed, picking up the glass and fixing the crack with a wave of his hand, offering Logan an easy smile.

“Don’t sweat it, Teach,” he said. “I should’ve been more careful. I think the dishes are balanced all weird.”

“Well, we will...have to look into fixing that when we have time.”

The easy silence was back, just for a moment as Roman filled the now intact cup with orange juice and made his way back to the kitchen table.

“You don’t have to do that, Logan,” Virgil muttered, staring intently down at his eggs and toast. “You don’t...I’m fine.”

“I know,” Logan said earnestly. “But whether or not you are in the room, Virgil, anger is not an appropriate reaction. You can be a...welcome reminder of that. So...thank you.”

And Virgil had absolutely no idea what to say to that, but Patton was smiling and Roman looked relieved, so he managed a tiny nod and a timid smile of his own before turning back to his breakfast.

It was a...surprisingly nice thought, he realized, and one he hadn’t really ever allowed himself to consider. That he could possibly be helping them even half as much as they helped him.

He couldn’t really wrap his head around how being a pathetic mess all the time could possibly be of benefit to anyone, but...but Logan didn’t just say things for the hell of it.

Things should have been fine after that.

Virgil’s hands had thankfully stopped shaking by the time they cleared the table and washed the dishes, a hot shower helping clear the last of the fog from his mind.

By mid afternoon Roman had disappeared into the imagination with colorful goodbyes and promises to return with stories for days, and Patton had teamed up with Virgil to convince Logan to let himself nap for at least a few hours.

As much as Logan needed the rest, Virgil couldn’t help the tight, anxious feeling that curled around his chest when Patton was summoned to assist Thomas, likely to be gone for the next few hours at least.

That left Virgil alone in a far too quiet mindscape, left to his own devices for a late lunch. He wasn’t particularly good at cooking, not to mention how stressed it made him when doing it on his own, but he didn’t want to risk the moral side’s disappointment at finding out he hadn’t bothered to eat again.

(Patton had discovered Virgil’s habit of skipping meals fairly early on, looking strangely horrified when the anxious side explained he wasn’t used to have multiple meals a day, usually just sneaking snacks at convenient times)

But he was fairly sure he could manage putting together a sandwich without messing up too horribly. And maybe, if it turned out, he could leave something in the fridge for Logan in case the other side woke up before dinner.

He should have been paying closer attention. That was his job, after all. He was anxiety, he needed to search for every possible threat, every way something could go wrong, every way to prevent everything from falling apart.

But he wasn’t even thinking, even after what had happened this morning, letting his tired mind wander as he opened the cabinet and reached for a glass.

It should have been fine. He never would have been able to be near anything glass if his grip wasn’t steady, always plagued with too many paranoid thoughts.

His fingers had just brushed the glass when there was a sudden thud from upstairs. Nothing out of the ordinary- probably just Roman returning from his realm or Logan waking up- but of course it made Virgil flinch and jump backwards, knocking over a second cup as he moved, both plummeting to the ground too fast for him to even try and react.

The shelf was higher than the one Roman had reached for, and in the blink of an eye both cups had shattered, the deafening crash leaving behind a sea of glass shards littering the kitchen floor.

For a horrifying moment, Virgil couldn’t move. Everything had gone cold, silent, his eyes glued to the scattered glass, briefly wondering if this was all just another cruel dream.

“You’re too stupid to understand how to do anything right!”

The voice snapped him out of his daze, old memories and almost forgotten panic rushing back all at once, screams and threats and disgust being hurled mercilessly…

It had been an accident. Just a stupid mistake. It was ok, right? They told him it would always be ok. They told him…

“How are you this stupid?”

He flinched, digging his nails into his hands as he felt himself begin to tremble. He’d made so many mistakes. Too many. And he’d never actually broken anything before.

He wasn’t Creativity, he couldn’t just snap his fingers and put it all back together. He’d made a mess. He’d ruined everything and someone was going to be mad, someone would end up...end up…

Virgil dropped to his knees, forcing his shaking hands to move, working to gather all the glass into a pile. He didn’t have time to find a broom. If he cleaned it up quickly, covered up his mistake well enough, then maybe they would never find out. He could get away with it.

It was risky. He’d tried it before, and lying about mistakes always led to something worse. But he had to try. He couldn’t...he couldn’t go through any punishments right now.

“God, you idiot!”

There was so much glass. How had no one heard the crash?

“You break everything you touch, don’t you see that?”

He ruined it. He ruined it again. They were right, he couldn’t do anything correctly. He’d been safe, he’d been trying so hard to be good, and look what he’d done.

“Useless!”

“God, you’re pathetic, Virgil.”

“All you do is hurt Thomas! Why shouldn’t we hurt you too?”

The voices overpowered his own labored breathing, drowned out the rest of the world, memory after memory replaying over and over again, hatred and fear trying to choke him.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered. All he needed to do was clean up the glass, make sure it looked like he had never stepped foot anywhere near the kitchen, and then he would be safe. They wouldn’t have to hurt him.

Virgil wasn’t even sure who he was afraid of at this point.

It took longer than it should have since his hands were shaking so badly, but he didn’t stop, gathering up as much of the shards as he could into his hands and dumping them into the trash can, ignoring the way the glass cut his skin, slicing open his palms.

He could worry about that later. He could barely feel the pain underneath his rising panic, and it would be nothing compared to what would happen if he was caught.

He didn’t stop, fumbling blindly for the remaining shards, stopping only to wipe the floor with his sleeves when his blood started to drip onto the tiles. He refused to let himself cry, even as his vision blurred, knowing the noise would only attract attention.

It was taking too long. He was too slow, and any second now someone would walk in and see what he’d done, what he was trying to hide.

But then...then he couldn’t feel any more glass, just smooth, ice cold tile beneath now blood soaked fingers, and something close to relief wormed its way up to the surface, past the panic and the pain.

The stinging in his hands had increased to a fiery agony at this point, the pain pulsing and stabbing like tiny knives, blood flowing down his arms and soaking into his hoodie, but it didn’t matter. His mess was gone. He could get away with this.

Now if only he could stop shaking like a coward and find a place to lie low.

Virgil covered his hands with his sleeves (the last thing he wanted was to get his blood everywhere) and used the counter to drag himself to unsteady feet.

He couldn’t panic, couldn’t let it all set in. Not yet. Not until he was safe.

There were sounds coming from the living room, and Virgil quickly stuffed his hands in his pockets, biting back a hiss of pain and quickly making his way out the door.

Patton was in the living room fiddling with the tv remote, and Virgil suddenly realized he had no idea how long he’d spent cleaning up the kitchen.

Had someone noticed he wasn’t around? Had anyone been close enough to hear? Did they suspect something? Did someone already know?

“Hey, kiddo!” Patton greeted, cheery and welcoming as ever, but Virgil felt something freeze in his chest, ice cold fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing--

“H-hey, Pat.” He couldn’t panic. Not now. He couldn’t hurt Thomas, couldn’t let them see how weak he still was. He could hold out.

“Logan’s feeling better, but he’s already gone back to work,” Patton continued, tossing the remote on the couch and sitting down. “I’m gonna start dinner in about an hour, that alright with you?”

Virgil blinked, hearing the blood squelch beneath his fingers as he twisted his hands into fists, desperately trying to keep himself from shaking.

He knew. Patton knew. There was no way he didn’t, no way he wasn’t already angry. He was just waiting to see if Virgil would lie so the punishment could be worse.

He needed to get out, get away, get as far away as possible and hide until he wasn’t angry anymore--

“Actually I, uh, I’m not feeling great,” he forced himself to say, hoping it was believable. “I don’t think I’m...I’m gonna be hungry. I might just go lay down.”

“Oh, sweetie I’m sorry.” He moved to stand, stopping when Virgil couldn’t hide how his shoulders tensed. “Do you...need anything?”

Virgil was already moving towards the stairs, shaking his head, ignoring the strange look Patton was watching him with. The pain in his hands was growing unbearable and it was getting harder and harder to breathe, memories of pain and yelling he suddenly couldn’t convince himself wasn’t coming.

“I’m good,” he said. “I-I’m fine, I’ll just be in my room.”

And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs before Patton could say anything else, breaths now coming in shallow, trembling gasps.

His hoodie pockets were soaked by now, hands sticky and soaked and somehow still bleeding, but right now he needed to figure out where he could go to be out of everyone's way, stay hidden until the anger faded and his punishment lessened.

Roman was apparently still gone and Logan’s door was closed, but Virgil could hear the faint sound of muffled music coming from inside the logical side’s room, carefully sneaking past without a sound.

He made it to his own bedroom, pausing outside his door with a shaky hand hovering above the doorknob, blood still coating his fingers.

What was he thinking? He’d had too many failed attempts at hiding in his room, yelling and banging outside his door, their fury overwhelming as he was grabbed and dragged away from his bed…

He backed away from the door, glancing back down the hall to make sure he hadn’t been seen, making his way to the closet at the end of the hall.

“Did you really think you could hide?”

Virgil pulled the door open, wincing at the audible creak, and ducked inside, squeezing his eyes shut as he locked himself in the near total darkness.

“You’re such a little coward! God, you pathetic waste of space!”

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe- they were choking him, screaming and grabbing for him, all of them furious--

But...they weren’t. They weren’t upset with him. Not yet, anyway. Logan, Roman, and Patton wouldn’t...even if they were angry it wouldn’t be anywhere near as bad as it used to be.

Right?

They’d hated him once before. They’d all lashed out, reprimanded him for doing something wrong. But they said they wouldn’t. They’d promised. They’d said he...that he…

He was up against the wall now, pressed tight into the tiny closet’s corner, feeling lightheaded and far away as he fell into hyperventilating, chest aching and screaming for air, the pain momentarily overshadowing the cuts on his hand.

“Anxiety!”

“Trying to hide only makes it worse, you know.”

Virgil didn’t remember sinking to the floor, but suddenly he was curled up in the dark closet, panic and fear taking their hold, sobs finally breaking free, his aching body wracked with violent tremors.

“Will you shut up?”

Virgil flinched, despite there being nothing but his own twisted memories, biting down on his sleeves to try to muffle his sobs.

He jolted at the sudden pressure on his hands, the pain from a particularly deep cut flaring to life, and for just a terrifying second the world seemed to tilt.

He curled up into as tight of a ball as he could, head buried under his hood, sobbing and shaking in the corner of the closet.

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