#of any kind walk down the street find a cool building

[slaygentford]

I love being a dumb bitch because I will consume something and be like damn that was incredible is anyone else seeing this really obscure thing I found. and then the internet is like emily that won best picture

[sarahghetti]

blood on your lies; m.s.

pairing: marc spector x reader centric, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: after an argument with marc, you go missing. he tears himself apart trying to find you.

warnings: a dive into the mind of marc spector, angst, hurt with some comfort (i.e. jake and steven), kidnapping, vague descriptions of violence.

word count: 3.0k

notes: kind of a continuation of all the echoes in my mind, but can be read as a standalone. written as part of the @moonknight-events bingo! prompt: "insecure", I promise that not all my entries will be this sad lol

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

You’re not home yet.

It’s nearly been three hours. Marc paces the apartment like a caged animal, likely wearing the hardwood underneath his feet. Steven and Jake have run their course about how stupid he is, how he shouldn’t have said what he said, how he should’ve run after you the second you stepped out the door—

But jokes on them. There can be no harsher critic of Marc than Marc himself.

He checks his phone again in case you’ve responded to his many texts and calls, but there’s nothing. As far as he knows, you haven’t even seen any of it.

His temper still lingers under their skin, and he holds it tight with both hands; anger is easy. It’s easier than admitting that the peaks in his heartrate and the sweat on his brow is from anything other than his own self-flagellation.

Anger is familiar.

This, however? The waiting for you to walk through the door, or to give them any sign of life—so much of his sanity rests in the comfort of you being safe. Marc didn’t realize how lucky he was to not know what this was like. Now, he doesn’t know if he can ever forget it.

Jake’s voice is clipped. “Check again.”

They’re all on edge, and it’s terrible. Most of the time, at least one of them manages to keep a level head during stressful situations—usually Marc. Jake is prone to anger, Steven to anxiousness.

“Marc!” Steven yanks him out of his head, and his phone is in his hand without any memory of having taken it out of his pocket. He does a dutiful look through his notifications—nothing.

Three sets of disappointment and concern pile on top of one another and drags them all down so much further.

“Do…” Steven’s voice is quiet. Unsure. “Do you think something might’ve happened to her?”

There is no dissenting opinion, no devil’s advocate. Marc doesn’t try to calm his alters down, and only clenches his jaw.

You’ve never gone quiet on them like this. They’ve never let you leave the flat at night like this. They always opted to be the one to go take a walk because even in the middle of an argument, they wouldn’t risk your safety.

The lingering silence is Steven’s answer.

When the suit wraps itself around his body, the accompanying burst of power in his veins is suffocating. His wounds begin to numb over, but Marc barely notices. He hasn’t spared them a thought since you left.

The cool air does nothing to assuage him. Clouds blot out the sky, leaving nothing but a murky backdrop as he scales up the nearest building for a vantage point. A quick scan over the horizon—nothing. Not a hint of your silhouette under the streetlights, and a lump forms in his throat.

“Khonshu!”

A gust of wind signals the god’s arrival, who, even with a bird’s skull for a head, looks remarkably bored as Marc is clinging to any semblance of sanity. He must already know what’s going on but frustratingly just spreads out his hands, a silent question—what?

Marc grits his teeth. “Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Khonshu.” The name is a snarl on his lips.

He simply scoffs. “You have the gall to make demands? As if I need to be involved with your lover’s spat?”

“She’s not answering her phone.”

A lingering pause.

“She might be in danger,” Marc snaps, trying to get the god to understand even a fraction of the severity of the situation. They might bloody their hands night after night, staining London’s streets each time they go out on patrol, but it’s never enough. There are always more monsters to take their place, and the thought that you might have run into one of them—

Khonshu cocks his head. “Maybe she’s just finally had enough of you.”

Marc hates how that’s a possibility. Still, desperation crawls out of his throat. “Can you find her?”

Khonshu turns to look over the city, the silence stretching out between them. Whatever divinity he’s channeling, Marc isn’t privy to; all he can do is stand there like a useless dumbass and wait for some hint of you to show up on the god’s radar. Even if you had had enough and never want to see him again—he’ll swallow down that fate in stride as long as he knows that you’re safe.

When Khonshu finally breaks from searching, his head cocks slightly to the side. “Interesting.”

This is hardly the time for theatrics. “Do not—”

“I cannot find her,” the god admits. Not apologetic or ashamed, but—awed. “Where she is right now, her footsteps through the city—there is nothing, Marc Spector. There’s not even a trace of her in your own home.”

The blood rushes in his ears. His chest constricts until he can barely breathe at all. Marc barely manages to wrap his head around the information before Jake and Steven come roaring back again, shocked and confused.

“Stupid fucking bird—”

“She was right here!

“Let me out, pendejo, I swear—”

“What the bloody hell does he mean—”

“How?” Is all Marc manages to get out, every one of his senses on overload.

“Something is hiding her from me; whatever took your lover is very powerful indeed.”

Took. Not a single doubt about it now: something took you. Kidnapped you because Marc couldn’t keep it together for ten-fucking-minutes. Jake and Steven can prattle all they want in the background—his mission is clear.

“Where do we start?”

-

The flat seems even bleaker when they return, your absence all the more chilling. Steven clamours to take the reins with the obvious assumption that research is the first step they need to take, but that’s quickly dashed away when Khonshu returns with a name.

“Apep.” God of darkness and disorder, Steven supplies from their head. “He’s been cast away for eons, but there have always been those trying to get him to return.”

“It’s another cult?”

Jake swears under his breath. “Figures.”

Ignoring them, Marc presses on. “Who are we dealing with now?”

“If it were easy to find them, I would’ve done it already,” Khonshu bristles. “Apep is helping them—hiding them as they work. I will continue to do what I can.”

“Fine.”

The god disappears in a whirlwind of loose papers, and Marc switches gears. Steven might have the advantage in research, but tracking? The skills he’s honed as a Marine and as a mercenary wait for him like an old pair of shoes; the others can’t help but let him work in peace.

He finds some old tourist map that spans over the city and unfolds it across the dining table. There are only so many places you would’ve gone, so many routes you could’ve taken. London doesn’t become deserted at night and barring any divine intervention, kidnapping someone would cause a scene—you would have caused a scene, he thinks, imagining you fighting tooth and nail against your assailants, screaming for someone to help—

Marc closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. A wave of pain washes over him, and he languishes in it for a minute, not a moment more.

His eyes reopen, spots dancing across his vision as he analyzes the map again. The feeling has been sealed shut into a box, shoved into a corner of his mind. Steve would throw a fit about his mental state if it were any other time, lecturing him on coping mechanisms and compartmentalization, but there’s no time for him to feel sorry for himself.

He grits his teeth and refocuses his train of thought. If they’re up against a cult, then they probably would’ve sent multiple people to grab you. Would’ve had to lure you somewhere quiet if it was by force, or they could have convinced you to go with them somehow. Or threatened you. Or…

The more he gets into it, the more he feels himself detaching from the situation, piece-by-piece. The memory of you is like a minefield; it’s a testament to his will that he can recall anything about you without breaking down. What you were wearing—and not the look on your face—when you left. Your favourite park—and not how your hand fits perfectly into his as you walked down the paths—that you might have passed through.

He reduces you to intel, just another folder on his desk. It’s not unfamiliar to him. He wouldn’t have made it this far if he couldn’t take an objective approach to his work. But it’s different because it’s you, because the stakes include you, and when he looks up to try to ground himself again, he spots your favourite mug on the coffee table. Half-empty.

-

If Layla were here.

The words bounce around his head as Marc stares up at the ceiling. He didn’t mean it. Steven and Jake are both better with words than Marc, but he’s never loved you any less—he’s never wanted you to be anyone but yourself.

It’s been almost two days since you left, and it’s only now that he’s allowed himself to be corralled into bed. His grip of the hot seat is ironclad, however, which means that the body isn’t getting any sleep tonight. The sun will rise soon, and he’ll pick up his work right where he left off.

Quietly, from the back of his head: “Marc?”

“Could’ve taken the victim anywhere,” Marc murmurs, mind still whirring in the dark.

“’Victim’?” Steven’s voice shifts to be full of indignance. “How could you possibly call her that?”

“Ay, easy on him,” Jake pipes up. For Jake to immediately to jump to his defence means that Marc must be worse off than he thought, but he can’t bring himself to care. “How’s it going, hombre?”

“No sightings on any security cameras. Nothing reported to the cops.” Hours of his time—your time—summarized in a breath. His face remains blank. “I’m going to sweep the remaining areas tomorrow. Find some people who might’ve seen something.”

He’s been doing nothing but cross possibilities off his list. It’s barely any progress and his remaining leads are weak, but his resolve is as strong as ever.

“Nothing from Khonshu?”

“No.” Marc has no idea what the god is doing.

They lay in silence for a bit, listening to the maddening tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. Anger is unsustainable, but Marc wishes that they’d return to yelling at him again. At least he knows what to do with that.

Instead, all he gets is Steven’s restrained tone: “Something has to change, you know.”

“Are you really telling me to go to therapy right now?”

“Can’t do much else.” For a moment, Steven’s bitterness resonates. There’s another conversation to be had here—one about their individual capabilities and protective natures—but Marc lets it rest for the night. He knows he’d be driven up the wall if their situation was reversed, if you were in danger and he had to rely on someone else to save you.

He still deflects. “Not the time for this.”

“Maybe not,” Steven concedes, “but you need help, Marc.”

Distantly, Marc recognizes that he’s always needed help. Even after reconciling with Steven and Jake, even after meeting you—the wounds are still there, despite how hard he’s tried to ignore them. He’s stubborn and self-destructive, not stupid.

“We’re with you, always,” Jake adds. Discomfort crawls under Marc’s skin from the supportive words, and he knows that his alters are well aware of it. It’s never stopped them, of course.

“We can talk about this after—after we save her.”

A general murmur of consensus. Marc quickly regains his footing, eager to move on from this line of conversation.

“I’ll find something. Or Khonshu will.” Steady and reassured—trying to convince them and himself. “We’ll get her back.”

Steven’s voice is small, even in the confines of their head. “But why would they take her in the first place?”

-

“He needs an avatar?” The body hasn’t slept in days. That void of feeling pulses with anger, desperation, fear—it simmers low in their gut, a torch passed along between them.

“Apep will need a vessel once they release him.”

“Here I thought one of his cultists would volunteer.”

Khonshu taps his staff against the ground thoughtfully. “They knew we would come after them, and we’re not the only ones.”

For the briefest of moments, Marc feels hopeful, like the odds aren’t as stacked against them as they thought. It disappears just as fast—Khonshu doesn’t deliver hope. The blood drains out of his face as he actually starts to consider the god’s words.

“If Apep possesses your precious lover, would you really be able to stop her? To take up arms against her?”

Khonshu leans in close then, hollowed eyes burrowing into him.

“Would you let others do the same?”

-

Over the next week, things begin to look up.

Someone’s girlfriend’s cousin says that they saw someone who looked like you walking down The Mall. There’s a fuzzy image of a car with no license plates. Khonshu catches the briefest hint of you on Westminster Bridge and follows you far, far east—it’s a mere grain of information that’s slipped through Apep’s power, but it’s enough for Marc.

They find the car abandoned in Dover, near the water. It rules out France—driving through the Eurochannel would’ve been the fastest route there, after all. Trying to take a public ferry would’ve been stupid with a captive, which means that they probably chartered or owned a boat.

The remaining pieces fall into place, and he can feel the anticipation from the others build in the background. Marc has led the charge so far with very few breaks to let Steven and Jake breathe a little. Steven misses you so much, he cries whenever he fronts. Jake has gone eerily quiet, and Marc knows what’s simmering underneath the surface; when the fighting starts, Jake will be called to action. His excitement is brutal.

It's all coming to an end soon. Laying on some dirt in the Norwegian countryside, shrouded in darkness, Marc’s never seen more stars in his life. If he’s right—and he is right—they’ll be bringing you to a nearby compound for the final step of their ritual. He couldn’t care less about the how or why. Come the morning, you’ll be here. Marc will get them inside. Jake will get to you. And then…

Marc will probably never be the partner that you deserve, and you never should’ve been subjected to his life. To sleepless nights and patching up his injuries and comforting him after nightmares that has him thrashing in the sheets—

But he can’t survive without you. It’s a simple little fact that gives him the power to move mountains; there are none bigger than the mess of his own head.

Exhaustion creeps up on him, and he can’t help but struggle against it. Fighting to keep his eyes open, his thoughts spill into the air. “Need to take care of her first.”

“Taking care of yourself is taking care of her,” Steven says gently. Have they had this conversation already? Marc’s been so singled in on this mission that everything else has fallen by the wayside. He can’t remember the last thing he ate, or what he’s wearing under the suit. The ground is the softest thing he’s ever felt.

If there’s any comparison to be made between you and Layla, it’s that he’s failed both of you. Maybe he could be different this time. Even if you decide that you want nothing to do with him after all this, he could still get help. He’ll have Steven and Jake. He’ll have himself and his scrappy resolve and the memories of this heart-aching pain, and maybe he’ll finally get better.

Marc lets his eyes close; the body needs rest for what’s to come. You don’t deserve any less than their best.

Just a few more hours.

-

Marc watches the fight from their headspace. Jake doesn’t miss a single shot and never so much as falters when one of them manages to land a hit. This is the longest break Marc’s gotten from fronting in a while, but he can’t bring himself to look away.

Jake loops their arm around the neck of cultist unlucky enough to be nearby, gripping his hair so hard Marc can nearly feel the strands through his fingers, feel it when Jake jerks their arm to the side and twists—

-

Your handlers left you alone in another room with nothing but a hard cot to curl into as you waited for them to retrieve you again. Locked inside but unbound—Marc hates how you startle when he breaks through the door.

Eyes wide, your mouth opens and closes multiple times without success. “You—you came.”

Marc wishes there weren’t so much surprise in your tone. Of course he came for you, it was never a choice for him—for any of them.

But clearly there was a part of you that thought he wouldn’t, wasn’t there? That he might just leave you in the clutches of some power-hungry cult because—because what, you’re not his ex-wife? Because you think he doesn’t love you?

The need to rectify that pierces his heart. He pulls you close, knuckles white in your shirt. “I love you.”

You shake in his arms. “Marc—”

“I love you.”

The words don’t stop; they fall from his lips like a prayer. Even as you weep, soaking the suit with your tears, he says it. I love you. I love you. I love you. In every variation, in every way—he’ll never let you believe otherwise again. He’ll say it over and over, work tirelessly to become the man you both deserve. For the rest of your lives. For the rest of time.

However long you’ll give him.

[milfhunter6698]

acquainted pt.2

Warnings: 18+ Smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, nakedness, fluff, angst, teasing, head cannons, imagines, slow living, hurt and comfort..kind of?Victoria’s right-hand, switch!reader & Victoria, just constantly fighting for dominance.

pairing: Victoria neuman, x female reader

notes: Hello again, guess what..? yes more Victoria head cannons bc why not :) since you guys liked the first one here’s another, this is kind of a longer version sooo. Honestly I find writing for Vic is quite niche like I’m lowkey enjoying myself wayy too much here but anyway woowhoo enjoy! and oh my gosh I love reading yalls comments they make my day feel free to ask questions or request any ideas like always i’m opened for any suggestions and thanks for the support. 

kisses and hugs

You stepped into the elevator, just about When you were about to press the button to close the doors suddenly, Victoria dashed in, only milliseconds before the doors would have closed on her.

You couldn't help but grin as your gaze met hers, “Hi,” you spoke softly as the elevator began to descend, she greets back her tone casual. 

As the elevator came to a gentle halt, and the doors slid open, you stepped out, feeling the cool metal beneath your shoes. Victoria followed close behind, as you exited the building together.

Stepping into the night, The low rumble of car engines, the soft chatter of passersby, and the warm, humid air brushing against your skin was a soothing contrast to the tension within. It calmed your nerves.

“Hey, Victoria wait up," you called out, rushing to match her steps. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a testament to the exhilaration that suddenly crawled under your skin.

Victoria glanced back at you, her expression neutral. "What is it?"

You moved closer, voice casual as you suggested, "Fancy grabbing dinner? I know a really nice place just around the corner. perfect for unwinding after a long day." you slipped your hands into your pockets, offering a friendly smile. 

She studied you for a moment, her gaze as enigmatic as ever. After a pause, she smiled and shrugged, "You know what? What the hell, why not?" Her response filled you with excitement making you feel a flutter in your stomach. "Lead the way then."

You walked through the city, the night air wrapping around you like a whispered secret. You led her to the place you had in mind, a quaint little diner hidden in the corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the main streets.

“After you,”

With a smile, you held the door open wide for her, the cozy warmth of the diner seeping out, inviting you in. 

The hum of conversation and soft music drifted out, as you stepped inside. Making your way to a table, you gestured for her to take the seat, then followed suit, settling down, allowing the comfortable ambiance to wash over you.

As you entered, you shared a meal, and to your surprise, the conversations flowed effortlessly. You discussed your lives outside of work, laughed, and reveled in each other's company.

Leaving the diner, the cool night enveloped you once more. The warmth from within faded, replaced by the familiar hum of the city. A deep breath escaped you, a sense of calm settling in.

An awkward silence stretched between you, but then she spoke up, her voice beckoning you back. "Umm, y'know, if you're good to go back home, I'd be more than glad to walk with you on the way there."

Your heart raced, a smile curving your lips. After a moment you finally replied, “Yeah, sure. That would be great."

The city was quieter now, with fewer cars on the streets and only a handful of people scattered on the sidewalks. The lights from skyscrapers and street lamps casted a soft glow, giving the bustling city an almost serene vibe.

After a few blocks, you were the one to break the silence. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of work. Do you even have a life beyond the office?”

Victoria laughed softly. “I could ask you the same thing. But yeah, I do. It’s just…busy.”

”Busy, huh?” you teased. “What do you do to unwind? Go to those exclusive rooftop bars? Attend art gallery openings?”

She chuckles. “Sometimes, yeah. But honestly, I’m more of a Central Park kind of gal. I like to jog there early in the mornings when it’s still quiet. It clears my head.”

”Really?” you genuinely look surprised. “You don’t strike me as the jogging type.”

”There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” She replied with a smirk. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not keeping me in line?”

You chuckle. “I’m a bit more low-key, I guess. I like to catch indie films in the Village, try new coffee shops around the city, and I’m kind of a podcast junkie. Oh, and I bake when I’m stressed.”

”Baking?” She glanced at you, intrigued. “That’s unexpected. What’s your specialty?”

”Cookies, mostly,” You say with a shrug. “But I’ve been known to whip up a mean apple pie. It’s therapeutic, you know?”

She smiles. “Maybe I should start stressing you out more if it means we’ll get some cookies in the office.”

You laugh, a blush suddenly crept up your cheeks as you nudged her playfully. “You’d have to earn those cookies, Neuman.”

You continue walking, the conversation flowing easily now, with laughter punctuating your words.

“Do you ever think about what you’d be doing if you weren’t running a company?” You ask after a while, your tone more contemplative.

Victoria thinks for a moment. “It’s hard to imagine anything else, but maybe something still tied to the city. Like urban planning or something in real estate development. I’ve always been fascinated by how this city evolves.”

”Urban planning?” you muse. “I could see that. You’ve got a vision, even if it’s usually about profit margins.”

She smiles at that, appreciating the compliment. “And you? What would you be doing?”

”Honestly? I’ve thought about opening a bakery someday. Just a little place in Brooklyn, nothing fancy. It’s a pipe dream, but who knows?”

”Sounds like a great idea,” She says sincerely. “I’d be your first customer.”

You smile, touched by her support. “Thanks. Maybe one day I’ll take you up on that.”

As you finally near your apartment building, there’s a comfortable silence, both of you enjoying the shared moment of stepping away from your usual roles. When you reach the door, You turn to her, expression soft.

”Thanks for walking me home. I had a good time tonight…outside of work, I mean.”

“Me too,” She replies, a genuine warmth in her voice. “We should do this more often.”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah, we should.”

Without a single thought, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a quick but tight embrace. For a moment, she holds you there, slightly surprised, she hesitates before returning the hug, her arms wrapping around your waist. 

The city noise faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, shared moment.

When you pull back, your faces are inches apart. You meet her gaze, and in that instant, something shifts. There’s no more need for words. As you moved back, your noses bump lightly, drawing a soft laugh from both of you.

But then, as if by some unspoken agreement, you lean in together, and your lips meet in a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s brief, almost testing the waters, but it’s enough to send a rush of warmth through you both.

When you pulled back, Victoria’s eyes search yours, gauging your reaction. She sees the same surprise and curiosity mirrored in your gaze.

She breaks the silence first, her voice low and a bit husky. “That was… unexpected.”

You smile, a touch of shyness creeping in, but you shrug lightly, trying to play it cool. “I figured it was about time we stopped talking.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “Fair point.” There’s a moment of lingering tension, not uncomfortable but charged with possibilities. You finally step back fully, giving her a last smile. “Goodnight, Victoria. See you tomorrow.”

”Goodnight,” She replies, her voice warmer than before.

Tonight, You were in the bureau finishing up, you celebrated your victory. The scent of sweat and alcohol fills the air as they toast to their success, raising their glasses to one of the most dangerous Supes taken down. You’ve danced, laughed, and loosened up, your bodies still humming with the energy that's fueled you through the endless days of work.

”I still can’t believe that we actually did it,” You were perched against a desk, a glint in your eye as you spoke watching Victoria, a cup in hand, the room a symphony of chatter and energy around you.

She, smiled back at you, the haze of celebration and triumph illuminating her features. "Neither can I, But here we are.” She raised her cup in a silent salute. 

Smirking, you drained the last drops of your drink, feeling the warmth spread through your veins. Pushing off the desk, you made your way through the sea of agents, raising a hand in farewells and goodbyes. "Excuse me, gotta use the ladies room." Your voice rose above the din, as you made your way through the crowd, eager to find some respite from the intoxicating atmosphere.

Once there you stood before the mirror, you flicked on the faucet, allowing the water to cascade over your hands, the cooling sensation serving as a momentary reprieve from the chaotic celebration. 

The sound of the door opening startled you, bringing you back to reality. Your gaze shifted to the mirror, meeting Victoria's reflection as she stepped inside the dimly lit bathroom.

“You scared the shit out of me.” You let out a small laugh.

“Sorry about that," She said with a playful grin, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror. "I needed a breather as well. This place is starting to spin."

You dry your hands, glancing at the mirror, you see her leaning on the sink's edge. A moment of tranquility hangs between you, during which she ponders softly.

”You know," her voice a low hum, "the job's been intense. At times it felt like it's been trying to beat me down, but maybe it's not all that dreadful working with you. Can't deny, we make quite a team.”

"Damn right, we do." You grinned, leaning back against the sink. 

As your pinkies slightly touched your gaze slid over your shoulder to meet Victoria's, trailing down to her lips before darting back to her eyes. 

Your heart skipped a beat, adrenaline practically buzzing off her like pheromones, and you could see the tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead, her eyes dilating, the pulsing blood beneath her skin, and the way her heart thumped against her chest, its rhythm drumming loudly in your ears.

With your honed deduction abilities, your senses were heightened to perceive the microcosm of her vital signs. 

It was this uncanny ability that gave you an edge, allowing you to read her like an open book. Your senses drank in every detail, and her hand moved instinctively to cup your cheek, her fingers brushing against your soft skin. Your eyes, fixated on her lips, slowly drifted shut, basking in the warmth beneath her touch. 

Close enough for your breaths to intertwine, she felt your heart thumping rapidly, the sound echoing between you. Your lips hovered tantalizingly close, the tension a heavy weight you shared.

”Vic…” You whispered, your hand finding its place on her chest. Her own heart pounded in sync with yours. She then didn’t waste another second as she closed the gap, crashing her lips into yours.

The kiss was like a tender whisper at first. Soft, cautious, and fraught with uncertainty. But like two floes melting into each other, the hesitance soon dissolved into a warmth that washed over you. Your lips parted and tangled, bodies pressing closer together, as if drawn by an invisible force.

Your hands found their way around Vic's neck, she pulled you in closer, your lips parting for a moment. The sensation of her soft groan against your mouth sent a warm, pulsating feeling racing up your neck, and spreading through your chest. 

Your tongue traced the sensitive line of her neck, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin. You left a trail of sucking kisses, marking her with small, tender bites along the length of her throat.

Shortly after that the moment was shattered by the abrupt swing of the bathroom door, revealing an unsuspecting bystander. You Immediately pulled away but your gaze lingered on Victoria, the flush of desire still evident on her cheeks.

You cursed under your breath, your heart hammering against your chest at the abrupt interruption. Your eyes, still heavy from the kiss, reluctantly lifted to meet the gaze of the coworker who had just busted in the bathroom. A deep sigh left your lips, the air escaping in a frustrated puff.

You weakly managed a smile, your cheeks still flushed from the stolen kiss, before leaning back against the sink with a sigh. Your gaze met Victoria's, her eyes pleading, and she excused herself with a hasty retreat, the bathroom door swinging shut behind her.

Your mind raced, trying to process the unexpected audience, and the adrenaline from the unexpected exposure fizzling out the euphoria of your kiss.

Hair washing 

In the warmth of the steam-filled bathroom, the sound of the shower enveloped you. The sun's last rays bathed the room in a golden glow, casting a soft hue on your naked form.

Your fingers combed through Victoria’s hair, a soft smile pulled at your lips as the warm lighting washed over her. The water beads that clung to her nose, cheeks, and eyelashes were hypnotic. Her thick, beautiful eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and your heart swelled with affection.

Her head leaned back, and you continued gently massaging her scalp, as the shampoo suds cascaded down her back, "You know, I really don't know why I let him do that." Her complaints about work merging into the background hum of the water. 

As you combed through her hair, her soft skin and the way the droplets clung to her features captivated you.

You hummed softly, nodding along while you secured her hair in a messy bun. The rich scent of shampoo filled the air as you massaged it into her scalp, fighting back a smile at her grumbles. Her words continued as she ran the soap bar over her neck, breasts, and shoulders.

“Are you even listening?" she demanded, snapping you from your musings. "Yes, yeah, continue," You casually lied, fingers running through her wet hair.

"Okay so like I was saying..." She continued while you trailed your gaze down her body, admiring her. Your thumb gently grazed her jawline, tilting her head back under the water stream. After a while you couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped you, amused by the situation despite her frustration.

Her gaze dropped, meeting yours, and she stated, "I knew you weren't listening."

She playfully nudged your shoulder, and you playfully acted hurt, lifting an arm to where she hit you. "Ow!"

Rolling her eyes, she smirked, and dipped her head back into the water.

First time 

The weight of Victoria's body in your arms feels natural, as if you were always meant to be this close. As you finally reach your bedroom, you kick the door open, your kiss never breaking. The room was soon filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing and the rustling of sheets as you laid her down on the bed. Your hands roam over her body, exploring every inch of her skin.

She let out a soft, breathless cry as she was laid on the mattress, she reached out to touch you, her fingers trailing over the bare skin of your stomach and up to your chest, desperate to feel more. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," she whispered, her voice hoarse with want.

”Me too," You breathed out, your voice as ragged as hers. Your lips met once more, the kiss deep and hungry.

You slowly rocked your hips against hers, your bodies melding together. As your lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of tender kisses, before claiming hers in a deep, passionate embrace.

Breaking away, you instinctively pulled her up, sitting her on the edge of the bed. Your fingers found the hem of her shirt, lifting it over her head. letting it fall to the floor, discarding it carelessly, as your jeans followed. 

Your fingers deftly unhooking the bra, letting the unlined cups fall beneath the curve of her lush mounds. Her breath caught in her throat as you drag the sharpness of your teeth, down the swell of her breast. Her fingers clutch at the sheets as the bra fell away, her body arching towards your mouth, desperate for more.

Your mouth descends, hot and eager, tongue tracing teasing licks, while your teeth gently nip at her sensitive flesh. Your hands cradled her, holding her close, gaze flickering up to meet her eyes, hungry for more. 

She moans, her eyes locking on yours. Her hands reach up to grip your hair, her body trembling beneath your touch. The hunger in your eyes is mirrored in her own, a primal need that only her can fulfill. 

You lift your face from her breasts, panting heavily. Crawling up the bed, shifting your positions so you lay in the middle. She kisses you once more, not pulling away as she reaches down and tugs her own pants. With a swift motion, she slides them down her ankles, tossing them aside and flipping you over.

She climbs back on top of you, turning you on the mattress so that your head rests comfortably on the pillows. Sitting back on her knees, she takes a moment to admire your half-naked form, her hands itching to explore every inch of your skin. 

She runs her hands over your thighs, feeling the softness of your flesh, the warmth of your body. Her fingers trail up, caressing your stomach and ribs, mapping out the curves of your body. With desperation pounding through your veins, she finally reached down and hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties. She pulls them down, tossing them aside, leaving you completely bare before her. 

You looked up at her, eyes darkened with desire "Touch me," You spoke, voice barely above a whisper. And she leans down, her lips finding yours once more, kisses deep and filled with longing.

Her hands continued to explore your body, her touch gentle yet urgent. Her lips fall open in a breathy sigh when she looks down at where you flushed and slick for her, and her hands slide down to hold your legs apart as she takes you in.

Her fingers traced slow, soft circles on your clit. A whimper escapes her as your mouths press together, and you moan softly as her fingers tease your burning skin, her touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Your lips met and parted, kisses slow and tender. Your body responded reflexively, arching into her hand, seeking more pressure and Your lips met and parted, kisses slow and tender.

Your hands come to rest on her shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh as your need grew deeper. She eagerly explored your mouth with her tongue, savoring the taste of you. Humming softly, you tilted your head, seeking a deeper access. Her hand trailed down, her fingers teasing the heat between your legs. Just brushing against your entrance.

The gentle touch made you gasp, hips bucking forward involuntarily, seeking more contact. You moan her name, voice raw and filled with pleading. 

"Please," you whisper between kisses, fingernails continued digging into her shoulders, desperate for more of her touch.

She slid into you, two fingers at once, as deep as they could go. A choked moan escaped your lips, her eyes fluttering closed as she basked in the relief you felt. Your body welcomed her, your walls clenching around her fingers as she pushed herself down onto you.

She flexed her fingers upward, the curve of her knuckles pressing against your most sensitive spot. Your body trembled, moans growing louder with each thrust. The sensation of her being inside you, the heat and the tightness, It was both overwhelming and intense.

You could feel your climax building, tension coiling in your lower abdomen, like a taut bowstring ready to snap.

You looked up at her, eyes half-lidded and filled with desire. Your hands reached up, tugging at her shoulders, trying to pull her closer. "Don't stop,"

She desperately grinds her hips against yours, gasping at the friction of her underwear against your thigh, her own pleasure building with each movement. Your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling, your gazes locked as she pulled you to sit up on her lap.

Her fingers moved faster, her thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. She could feel Your body tensing, your orgasm approaching.

“Fuck, Victoria.” You cried.

She looked up into your eyes, her own gaze pleading , her body taut with need. 

“Don't stop," You gasped again, your voice ragged with desperation. “Oh god, I can’t-“

With a final, powerful thrust, she pushed you into the abyss of ecstasy. Your body trembled, and your cries of pleasure echoed in the room. Your orgasm washed over, her fingers still buried deep within you moved.

Tears of relief stung your eyes as you blinked them away and moaned into her neck, eyes tightly shut, lips reddened, and eyebrows furrowed in pure bliss.

As you slowly returned to yourself, your breathing ragged, heart hammering in your chest, you looked up at her. Eyes were half-lidded, expression a mix of ecstasy and exhaustion. She reached out, gently brushing away a tear that had rolled down your cheek. "Don't cry," she whispered.

You dropped your head against her shoulder, lips trembling as you struggled to catch your breath. You refused to look at her, the emotions swirling within were too intense to face her gaze. Your heart raced, as you tried to steady yourself. 

Victoria reached up, gently cupping your face in her hands and coaxing you to look at her. She brushed her fingers across her tear-stained cheeks, her touch soft and soothing. 

“Hey," she murmured, her voice gentle and full of compassion. "Look at me. It's alright."

You lifted your head back up, suppressing your own tears, and let out a shaky laugh. "Fuck, I uh-“ You stammered a hand coming up to rest on top of her on your own cheek. “I’ve never felt this good in my life," You admitted licking your lips, your voice thick with emotion, the brink of overflowing.

She smiled gently, her thumb caressing your cheek as a tender look filled her eyes. She lifted herself slightly to press a soft kiss to your forehead, then moved lower to brush her lips against your nose, chin, and jaw. 

“I know what you mean," she murmured, her voice soft and filled with understanding. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

You weakly chuckled, your head dropping back onto her, forehead pressing tightly against her shoulder as you let out a deep sigh. In that moment, surrounded by her warmth and affection, you felt safe, and for the first time in a long time, truly cared for.

[sequinsmile-x]

Cotton

They lose themselves in each other. Soft sighs and touches that make her feel delicate, but not in a way that makes her feel weak, but strong. Like she’s made of the most precious strands of thread all tied together just for him to unravel.

AKA - Aaron and Emily's first time

-x-

Hi friends,

This is a birthday fic for the lovely @cloudlessly-light <3 I hope you had a wonderful day and I love you very much!!

It's been a hot minute since I wrote some smut and it never gets any less nerve-wracking to write for some reason.

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, Smut

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She laughs as they step into his apartment. His hands on her hips as he steadies her when she almost slips, the rainwater from the downpour they’d been caught in dripping down onto the hardwood floor. 

“I should have checked the weather forecast,” he mumbles, closing the door behind them, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he helps her out of her soaked through coat, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t exactly the romantic walk I had in mind.” 

It had only been six weeks. Six amazing weeks since she’d first leant forward and kissed him, bored of waiting for him to make the first move, the knowledge that they’d already wasted so much time pushing her forward until her lips met his. They’d been on as many dates as they could, ranging from nights curled up on either his couch or hers as they watched a movie, or going out for dinner like they had tonight. Both of them sat on the same side of the table, hands linked in front of them as they exchanged kisses and conversation as if things had always been this way. 

He’d chosen the restaurant. A French place within walking distance of his apartment building. She’d arrived at his, go-bag tucked away in the trunk of her car in case this turned into a sleepover, and they’d walked there hand in hand, enjoying the cool autumn air around them as they went. At some point during the meal it had started to rain. A light drizzle that she insisted they’d be fine walking in when he suggested they get a cab to his place. About halfway back the heavens had opened, a heavy downpour taking them both by surprise as she’d stopped to kiss him on a street corner. They’d half-run the rest of the way, their hands still clasped tightly as they held onto each other, laughing as if they were in some kind of movie, a type of peace Emily liked to think they’d both earned. 

She smiles and cups his cheek, tasting the rainwater against his lips when she kisses him, “Don’t apologise,” she kisses him again, unable to stop the shiver that passes through her, “Getting caught in the rain like that is very romantic,” she smiles and kisses him one last time before she pulls back, “Very old Hollywood.” 

Aaron chuckles, something about her presence soothing him. He’s distracted as a drop of cold water runs down his back, and she watches her shiver too, “What isn’t romantic is catching a cold because of the rain,” he says, squeezing her hand before he guides her further into the apartment, “You can have the bathroom first,” he clears his throat, embarrassment he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager climbing up it, “I’ll find you something to change into.” 

She presses her lips together in an attempt to suppress her smile, never wanting him to think she was making fun of him. They’d mutually agreed, without really having to say anything, that they’d wait to have sex until they were both ready, not going beyond making out and wondering hands as they ignored whatever movie they were pretending to watch. He’d only ever been with Haley. And neither of them had been with anyone since they were torn apart by their respective monsters, the landscapes of their bodies forever changed and scarred by the anger of two dead men. 

She’d come to terms with the changes to her body, could mostly ignore the phantom ache in her abdomen these days, and she’d bought new lingerie for tonight just in case it was the night. The dark red lace of it was sticking to her skin, painted down by the heavy rain they’d been caught in, and she grimaces at the sensation. 

When she steps into his bathroom she groans at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her carefully applied makeup had run down her face, and her once-curled hair now flat and stuck to her skin. She does her best to take off her make up without her usual products, and she’s just about finished drying most of the excess water out of her hair with a towel he’d passed her on her way in when she hears a gentle knock on the door. 

“I’ve left something for you to wear out here,” he says, his voice slightly muffled by the wood, “I was thinking of making some hot chocolate to warm us up.” 

She smiles, not feeling the need to hide it now she is alone, and she feels her cheeks warm up with affection for him, “That sounds nice,” she replies, “I wouldn’t be against you spiking it with something.” 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

The nickname makes a shiver run through her that has nothing to do with her damp clothes still sticking to her skin, her blood fizzing in her veins as she shakes her head at herself. She opens the bathroom door and grabs the clothes he’d left for her, smiling at the sight of a pair of grey sweatpants and an old, worn FBI t-shirt. She slips off her dress and the lingerie, hiding them under the damp black dress as she leaves them in the corner of his bathroom, leaving the thought of how she’d get them home until later, and she changes into his clothes. She rolls the waistband of the sweatpants so they fit a little better, and slips on his t-shirt, taking a moment to smell the material, the scent of him washing over her. 

She steps out of the bathroom and seeks him out, spotting his damp suit hanging over the back of a chair in the corner of his bedroom as she goes. She feels a spark in her belly when she finds him in his kitchen wearing a matching outfit to hers - the sweatpants and t-shirt more formfitting than the way they almost drowned her frame - and she clears her throat, taking some pride in the way he looks at her. An unmistakable flash of desire in his eyes that makes her feel powerful, and she can’t help but wonder how he’d look at her if he’d seen her in the lingerie hidden away in his bathroom. 

“You look nice,” he says, cursing himself for the way it sounds as he says it and he clears his throat, going back to his task of making the hot chocolates. She takes pity on him and walks over, wrapping her arms around his back and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“You too,” she says, kissing his shoulder through his shirt, “I like seeing you in casual clothes.” 

He places his hand over hers on his abdomen, squeezing their fingers together as he replies, “I like seeing you in my clothes.” 

She shifts so they are looking at each other and she sees everything she’s feeling, love, affection and a sense of finally, shining back at her when their eyes meet. She leans in and kisses him, smiling into it when he places his hand on her waist. “Come on,” she says, stamping a kiss against his lips again, “Let’s go drink our hot chocolates.” 

They settle on the couch, curled up together under a blanket he pulls over them. She snuggles as close to him as she can, ducking under the arm he wraps around her and seeking out the warmth that seems to flow off of him like a cologne. Another thing to draw her in towards him as if she needs another excuse. 

“How are you still so warm?” She grumbles jokingly, taking a sip from her hot chocolate, and the sweetness of it and the pleasant burn of the scotch he’d added makes her sigh contentedly. “It’s like you’re a human radiator.” 

“It’s all a tactic to make you sit as close to me as possible,” he says wryly, smiling at her as she rolls her eyes at him. 

“Well,” she says, resting her head on his chest, “Now I know why you conveniently forgot to check the weather.” 

He chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of her head, “Damn it, you’ve caught me out.” 

She laughs and takes another sip of her hot chocolate, happy and content as she lets herself get wrapped up in the warmth of him and the sweet drink. Once they’ve finished he takes her mug from her, unwrapping himself from around her as he leans forward to place them on the coffee table. As soon as he’s settled again she slips into his lap, her arms around his neck as she leans in to kiss him, chasing the last of the chocolate on his tongue. 

They lose themselves in each other. Soft sighs and touches that make her feel delicate, but not in a way that makes her feel weak, but strong. Like she’s made of the most precious strands of thread all tied together just for him to unravel. She moans when his hand slips beneath her shirt, his shirt, and she tightens her grip on him, her fingers digging into his hair, blunt nails scratching at his scalp. She shifts so she’s straddling him, her knees on either side of his hips and his groan rumbles from his chest into hers, his hands more insistent on her back, the callouses of his fingers drawing shivers from her as he chases the goose pimples he’s created. 

It’s only when she rolls her hips against his, an instinctual thing she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to, when he stops her. His hand’s shifting to her hips, his touch gentle as he squeezes. 

“Em-”

“I’m sure,” she says, answering the question she knows is on the tip of his tongue, the one she can see in his eyes, “As long as you are.” 

He presses his forehead against hers, “Emily…I…” 

“If you’re not ready I understand,” she says, pulling back to look at him, running her fingers through his hair, hoping he can’t see the pre-emptive disappointment in her eyes. 

“It’s not that,” he swallows thickly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he averts his gaze, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.” 

It makes her smile, his uncharacteristic shyness making something she knew she couldn’t bring herself to call love yet start to simmer in her gut, “That’s not possible,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him again, “You could never disappoint me.” 

He nods, pulling her closer, something about her, about the naked honesty in her eyes, that makes his nerves die down, “Bedroom.” 

She beams at him, leaning in to kiss him, firm and full of intent before she scrambles off his lap, her hand reaching out for his as he stands too, “Bedroom.” 

By the time they make it to his bedroom, his shyness is all but gone, the image of her in his clothes and the way she’s smiling at him enough to stoke out its flames. He turns her in his arms and holds her close as he leans down to kiss her, his hands on her cheeks as he encourages her backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed. He smiles as he pulls back, her hands on his wrists as he continues to cup her cheeks, their smiles soft as he leans back in, the kiss firmer this time but no less tender. She’s grateful that they’d discussed the practicalities a few weeks ago, his smile shy as it made him look impossibly young when he asked if he needed to buy supplies for when they were ready. She’d felt just as shy when she’d replied that she had it covered, the little packet of pills in her medicine cabinet proving their worth beyond just regulating her cycle. 

She drops her hands down to his waist, her fingers tangling in the thin material of his shirt, and she encourages it upwards, her touch soft as it grazes his sides. She feels him hesitate when her fingers graze a line of thicker skin and she pulls back, her eyes meeting his as she silently asks him if it’s okay to continue and he nods. She pulls his shirt off, helped along by him letting go of her just long enough to do so, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of him as she lets the t-shirt flutter to the floor. His scars are more healed than hers are, lines of silver painted across his skin, like cracks in a statute, only adding to his beauty as he looks him up and down. 

“I know they’re not-”

“No,” she says, cutting off his self-deprecation as she traces a finger over the one highest on his chest, smiling softly as he shivers at a sensation she knew all too well, “They’re made of you,” she says, smiling at him as she cups his cheek and drags him in for a kiss, “You’re beautiful.” 

He kisses her in response because that’s all he can do, all the words he wants to say caught in his chest because it somehow feels too early and too late to say any of them, love for her he’s hidden even from himself lingering just beneath the surface. They drop to the bed as one, and he’s careful to make sure he doesn’t crush her, one of his hands next to her as he settles over her, one of his knees wedged between hers. His nose bumps against hers as he tugs gently at the hem of her shirt, and she nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she closes her eyes. The cool air of the room makes her suck in a breath as she arches her back so he can pull the thin cotton away. She waits, her eyes still screwed closed as she waits for him to move, to do something as her scars tingle, a phantom pain that never quite went away. 

She gasps when he leans in to kiss the brand on her breast, his lips warm against the partially numb skin. It’s tender, soft and loving and the complete opposite of the moment of violence that had left it there. She feels like she’s burning again but instead of the smell of her flesh on the air or the feel of Ian’s breath on her neck, all she is aware of is Aaron. She gasps out his name, her hands looping around his neck as she holds him in place, wanting to feel like this for every moment of her life. 

“Beautiful,” he mutters, the word pressed against her skin as he shifts downwards, her eyes drifting open as he kisses the starburst of scar tissue beneath her rib cage, his lips and tongue tracing the constellations left behind. Her breath catches in her chest when he makes it to the waistband of his sweatpants and he groans, his forehead against her stomach before he looks up at her, “I really love seeing you in my clothes.” 

She chuckles breathlessly, reaching down to run her fingers through his hair, “You should see the lingerie I was wearing before we got soaked through in the rain. Much sexier.” she giggles when his eyes go wide, a sound that turns into a moan when he kisses her low on her belly, “Next time.” 

He nods, “Next time.” 

It makes her smile when he looks for confirmation that she’s okay to carry on, as if they weren’t half naked and lying together on his bed. She nods as he hooks his fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants she’s wearing. Her breath catches in her chest when he grazes his palms over her thighs before he leans back over her, his lips catching hers as she turns her head to chase his kiss, desperate to have him as close as possible. She gasps, her breath skipping across his face, when he drags his fingers through her, his thumb catching on her clit as she presses her forehead against his. 

“Please,” she gasps out, even though he hasn’t stopped, his touch soft and slightly hesitant as he chases her gasps and moans, paying close attention to what draws the sounds from her. He holds her close, his other than on her waist and his forehead still against hers as he watches her. His gaze unrelenting as she tips over the edge, her grip on his arm tight as she sucks in a breath, every one of her nerve endings on fire. She pulls him in for a kiss, her fingers tangled in his hair and she’s still gasping for breath when she pulls back, her chest heaving with it as she chokes out a half-demand, “Take off your pants.” 

When he stands up to do just that she’d bereft, the air around her cold as he takes the warmth with him for the few moments it takes him to take off his sweatpants. Then he’s back, settling between her thighs as she spreads them, and he’s lying over her, his hands reaching for hers, their fingers tangling as he rests them near her head. When he pushes forward they both groan at the stretch, his forehead dropping to her collarbone, his lips catching the skin nearby as he stills, giving her time to adjust. 

There was a time, years ago now, when she thought they’d give into this in entirely different circumstances, be it in anger or desperation, and that they’d have a quick fuck in his office or a hotel room in a nameless town. As time went on, she’d hoped for something like this, something soft and tender, no matter how naive it may have felt. A vulnerability that came with it that sex had lost for her long ago, if it had ever had it at all. It leaves her feeling stripped bare, more naked than her literal nakedness, and instead of it making her want to panic and run, she finds herself relaxing into it, into him, and she finds herself grateful that they’d waited all this time. None of it felt wasted anymore, every little step they’d taken towards this worth it if it meant she was right here, right now with him. 

She pushes her hips against his, his name and a series of words begging him to move stuck in her chest as he starts to do just that, a rhythm they find easily as if they’d been doing this for years. As if they were both coming home after the world's longest journey. She feels herself getting close again, something white hot and addictive unfurling low in her gut as she gasps his name, her hips pressed against his as she holds him tighter, her arms and legs wrapped around him. 

“Aaron…please,” she mutters, “Close.” 

He reaches between them and swipes at her clit, and she’s gone, pulling him over the edge with her, their twin moans of each other's names lost in a kiss she drags him into. They lay there, exchanging soft kisses, both of them swallowing down confessions they were sure the other wasn’t ready for yet, happy and content to sit in the afterglow. 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says eventually, smiling when he nods and slips from on top of her, handing her back the shirt she’d been wearing before as he stands up, “Thank you.” 

She goes to the toilet and cleans herself up, and as she slips his shirt back on over her head she looks at herself in the mirror just like she had earlier. Her hair was a mess, partially from air-drying, partially because of Aaron’s hands running through it, and she could see the edge of a hickey on her collarbone peeking out from under his shirt. 

Mostly, she looked happy. Something that, not all that long ago, she would have thought impossible. 

He kisses her as she walks out of the bathroom and he walks into it, a mutter that he’d meet her in bed pressed against her lips. She settles under the covers, sighing contentedly at the smell of him surrounding her, and she waits for him to join her. It takes a few minutes but then he’s walking back out, wearing only his sweatpants, before he settles into bed next to her, tugging her into his arms. 

“I hung up your dress over the side of the shower so it doesn’t crease too badly,” he says, running his fingers up and down her arm as she sinks into his side. She hides a smile against his throat, thinking that she could easily get used to him looking after her in the small ways she’d never had before. 

“Thanks,” she replies, kissing his neck, “Although, I’ll probably need to wash it anyway.” 

He hums and kisses her forehead, “You were right about the lingerie,” he says, smiling when her eyes go wide and she looks up at him, “It is very sexy.” 

She clears her throat, not sure why she feels embarrassed since she’d literally just had sex with him, but she swallows thickly, “Thanks,” she repeats, “I bought it especially.” 

He beams at her, “I’m not sure I’d say it’s sexier than you wearing my clothes though,” he says, smiling when she gasps in fake outrage, “I think you’d have to wear it for me so I could be sure.” 

She smiles and pulls him in for a kiss, her hand on his cheek as she holds him in place, “I’m sure that could be arranged, honey.” 

He leans in to kiss her, his hands on her back as he rolls them so she’s pressed between him and the mattress, and they forget about everything except the two of them. 

[solargeist]

What the relationships between different Hermits and Kid Xelqua are like:

POSITIVE!

Mumbo - Pretty positive all things considered. He manages to entertain him, and generally is a good uncle figure.

Scar - The favourite. Scar gives him unlimited access to snacks and all sorts of unhealthy food (much to Grian’s chagrin). Once gave him so much sugar, Xelqua entered a 5 hour long sugar rush. Grian still hasn’t forgiven him yet because it was an absolute nightmare.

Doc - Surprisingly positive. Despite Doc’s turbulent relationship with Grian, Doc has a soft spot for kids. He’ll drop any kind of tension when Xelqua’s around to not worry him. He’ll still absolutely body Grian, but usually when Xelqua isn’t looking.

Pearl - Due to her leniency, Xelqua likes her. He can get away with anything when she’s around and generally doesn’t impose any harsh rule of punishment on him

Etho - He just thinks Etho is cool (usually because he keeps maple candies in his pockets). An Ethogirl in the making.

NEUTRAL!

Joe Hills - He’s a living Sesame Street styled puppet and Xelqua keeps mistaking him for a normal puppet toy. He once nearly suffocated poor Joe by hugging him a little too tight around his neck.

Xisuma - Barely sees him and for good reason. Xisuma has enough on his plate as admin, he doesn’t need to have to add “babysitting a god” on his plate as well.

Impulse & Skizz - They help Grian out occasionally to watch over Xelqua. Typical fun uncles you can find, but Xelqua doesn’t know much about them or why Skizz gives him the heebie jeebies when he unfurls his Angel wings or when Impulse reveals his full demon form.

Gem - Like Impulse and Skizz, generally friendly with Xelqua, but he’s unsettled by her, but he doesn’t know why. Maybe he senses that Gem isn’t truly a deer satyr and something to do with the rustling in the forests and night and the lingering smell of blood on her.

NEGATIVE…

Cleo - She’s scary to him. Like how you would be scared of the principal when you were a kid in elementary school.

Cub - All the fireworks he uses this season are too loud for him. He has to cover his ears everytime he has to go near the shop.

Joel - Xelqua keeps walking in in Joel in the most embarrassing moments. Like seeing him cry in front of the statue of his wife because she isn’t in the server, falling down an entire flight of stairs, reading Iskall’s creepy Yandere letters, etc. There were several moments where Joel had to cover Xelqua’s mouth because he was about to air all his dirty laundry.

AKDNDJSKAK

of course Scar is the favourite, Xelqua would love his builds, he’d like the animals and Scars silly voices and rambles. He’d also love Scar’s off road wheelchair/ATV, it’s so fast ! He’d absolutely eat all of Scar’s snacks, he’d be talking a mile a minute when Grian shows to pick him up, he just silently glares at Scar.

I love when people draw Doc with Doccy on the server, just a big scary goat and his little goat kid, it’s why he has a soft spot around Xelqua, he’s so tiny. Tho I can only see them interacting if Xelqua accidentally ends up in his base area, got lost maybe. I think Xelqua wouldn’t be scared of Doc despite his looks bc 1) he looks like Scar’s zoo animals (big Goat) and 2) Doc has a kid too, so he’s gotta be safe. Grian is very confused when he sees Doc calling him.

The Joe Hills part almost made me choke AKDNDKSK Joe being a puppet is my favourite design it’s so silly. Xelqua watches a lot of TV, he’d be in awe… so happy to see a real life puppet… Grian has to grab his hands to stop him from choking Joe out.

I think Xelqua would just be intimidated by Cleo at first, he’d warm up to her ! Him being scared of Cub bc of the fireworks is so true tho, Xelqua very much hates the noise and is actively afraid of thunder, he’ll wake Grian up if a storm rolls in at night, and probably hide behind him if a firework went off and no one told him it’d be so loud !

poor Joel 😭😭⁉️⁉️ tho if Joel grabbed Xelqua and covered his mouth like that, Grian is immediately there, he crosses the room so quickly man Watchers don’t play around abt their kids 😭💥 Grian doesn’t even realize he moved or separated them, for a split second his brain didn’t see this as a joke or playing around. Joel gets to see those purple eyes up closeeee and shouts

this was very cute and silly to read ehehehe, also for some reason I think Xelqua would think that Xisuma is Grian’s uncle, no idea how he came to this conclusion.

[tacticiandrafts]

THE CRUCIFIXION ; Nikolai Gogol, Fyodor Dostoevsky x fem!Reader

Part one / 5.2k words

SYNOPSIS . . . Your plans to lay low as a fugitive in the magical capital of Athlyne are spoiled upon meeting Nikolai, an eccentric conman. Interested in your powers, he introduces you to Fyodor, his charming and mysterious associate. You’ve stepped into his trap before you know it.

CW/TAGS . . . Dark fantasy setting, mentions of drug dependency and a corrupt government, reader is an anxious mess

P.S. ! HELLOOO EVERYNYAN! this is part one of a series (out of ~6 or 7, tentatively). i’m experiencing nikolai fever so i’m excited to continue letting him consume my mind :)

also posted on ao3 @ tactician!

As a light breeze drifted through the window and fanned your hot neck, your eyes fluttered shut. You let the pestle slip from your hand momentarily as you leaned against the counter, shivering as the sweat cooled. From behind you, Dr. Yosano chuckled.

“Letting the heat get to you?”

“Yeah, sorry. This is the last one, though.”

She peered over your shoulder and nodded approvingly as you finished crushing a mixture of ginkgo root and dried centipede. “Looks good.” Counting the bottles neatly tucked away on the shelf above you, she let out a low whistle. “You’re really on top of things today. I thought we’d be behind on orders.”

You grinned, dragging a forearm across your damp hairline. “I’ve got an errand to run, so I thought I might take my leave a bit early.”

She nodded approvingly. “That’s fine with me. Thanks for the hard work.”

You spent a few more minutes helping her box up the orders you had just made and finally straightened your aching back with a groan. A strong arm snaked around your shoulders and you shivered as Dr. Yosano smirked, a dark glint in her eye. “Are you sore? Why don’t you let me take a look, hm?”

A shiver traveled down your spine, and you doubted it had anything to do with the remnants of magical seeds you’d just been working with. You flailed a bit as you slipped from her tightening grip, bounding toward the door to pick up the satchel and parasol you’d thrown on the hook earlier that morning. “No thanks, I should get going. I’ll see you for dinner!” Her dramatic sigh drifted out behind you as the door swung open and closed, the humidity fully enveloping you.

The afternoon sun hung high, occasionally eclipsed by passing clouds. The summer air was thick as the pulp of a blood orange; you cowered under the parasol as you made your way down the street. Even the shade that canopied the area surrounding the apothecary could do little to relieve your discomfort as a damp film coated your skin. 

Auguste Apothecary, the pride and joy of your boss, Akiko Yosano, was nestled by the side of a towering zelkova elm. The massive size of the tree made the building appear dwarfish and shoddy, but its regular customers hardly minded its outward appearance. Though the elite had their own pharmaceutical facilities closer to the palace and Auguste had a bit of a shady reputation, it was located smack dab in the middle of the largest residential district in the capital of Athlyne, so it had likely never experienced a shortage of customers from the day of its opening. 

Dr. Yosano’s pool of patrons wasn’t huge by any means, but no one would dare visit another apothecary after walking into hers. Her knowledge of natural medicine was unmatched and her ingredients, supplied by a talented farming mage, were of the highest quality. Though, you probably would have stayed by her side even if she turned out to be an incompetent fraud. She was sharp and incredibly capable, this was true, but you thought that her kindness and discretion were her finest qualities by far. For that reason, you expected that no one was more loyal to her than you were. 

You had run away from your hometown, located in a distant territory of Athlyne, at age fourteen. Fleeing to an adjacent province and finding work as an apothecary’s assistant in exchange for food and shelter, you lived with a constant knot of anxiety twisting in your stomach, wondering how many days of peace you had left until your family found you. That was, until the Meursault Post arrived on the shop’s doorstep, containing an advertisement for a position at one of the capital’s finest apothecaries with the promise of shelter and a decent salary. Athlyne’s capital was densely populated and located hundreds of miles away from your home—it was your best shot at a halfway normal life. Adrenaline running all the way to your toes, you traveled for two weeks on about half the rations you really needed for such a trip and eventually found yourself collapsed in Auguste’s entryway. In your starved and fearful state, you’d begged Dr. Yosano to take you in, listing every personal merit you could think of, and all she’d done was shrug. Sure, she said nonchalantly, come here and show me what you know. As it turned out, no one else had shown up regarding the position (she was a teenager, only a few years older than you, and everyone else had simply laughed in her face) so she would have hired you no matter what sort of impression you made. Regardless, you could feel simple appreciation and sympathetic care in her every action. After all, she never asked any questions. She had no interest in your origins, nor did she pry when she found you sprawled under the elm tree in the middle of the night, under eyes dark and knees bouncing. She helped you set up your living quarters in one of the cabins behind the building, helped you make dinner every night, and wordlessly prepared a steaming cup of jasmine tea each time you were hit with a bout of insomnia. 

Hitching a ride on the back of a supply cart headed toward the lower market, you thought you might pick up a batch of sweets or a bottle of wine for her.

Your thoughts trailed off as the cart began to head downhill, passing through the open gates into the underground sector of the capital. The air became cooler the further in you went, and you let out a little sight of relief. The streets there were sprawling, narrow, and winding. It was easy to get lost and even easier to find yourself trapped for hours searching for the exit. Though it may have felt a bit claustrophobic, the lower market was far livelier and less sterile than the markets above ground. It was rare to find Count Bram’s police force wandering around there, so the atmosphere was energetic and relaxed, with a variety of talented performers and community-oriented business owners. On top of that, the usually tight regulations on magical powers and objects were far more lenient, so there were certain things you could only see or purchase there.

Dr. Yosano never spoke of it, so you didn’t dare ask, but rumor had it that the lower market was the territory of her former teacher and the previous owner of Auguste Apothecary. Little was known of the shadowy Dr. Mori, but stories often circulated of the scandal that drove him underground. It was said that the apothecary was burned to the ground by the military after numerous reports of malpractice leading to death. It was revealed that he was an unregistered mage, but his imbued medications were so powerful that Count Bram allowed him to run free in the lower market provided that he offered his services to the palace. Left in the ashes of a terrible disgrace, a still teen-aged Dr. Yosano received funding from an anonymous benefactor and rebuilt the apothecary herself. Now, she barely broached the topic of Dr. Mori, but she was outspoken in her disdain for the medications he produced.

Incidentally, these medications were the reason for your errand. If you followed certain whispers, you’d be able to find one of Dr. Mori’s subordinates selling suppressants, pills that blocked your magical ability. You felt guilty for keeping this from Dr. Yosano, but it couldn’t be helped. At the moment, suppressants were your lifeline. Though the apothecary’s ingredients were nothing to sneeze at, you hadn’t yet succeeded in making your own solution with anything close to the same efficacy. Dr. Mori’s methods to make such a medication remained a mystery. 

Jumping off the cart, you weaved through the crowd. Cheers erupted as a man, likely a former member of the traveling Fitzgerald Circus, juggled fiery tennis balls with his bare hands. Going further downhill and turning onto several more backstreets, your eyes roved over the various shops, snoozing animals, and hollering people before arriving at the front of a small and unassuming tavern. Squeezing through the door, you passed through the low-lit hallway and ducked around the corner past the bar to find the back room. You swore under your breath as you approached the door. Low stock. Be back Monday. Sorry :). Reading the words, a deep frown crossed your face. You had run out days ago and hadn’t had the time to make the trip until today. 

Cursing Dr. Mori’s subordinate until the end of time (count your days, Ichiyou Higuchi!), you turned back, ignoring the old bartender’s piercing, monocled stare. You would’ve stopped to play a game or two of chess with him as you usually did, but you were too absorbed in your current dilemma to give him much other than an apologetic smile and a wave. This situation was a first, but you guessed that you only had a few days before your power began coming back to you. 

Suppressants were a double-edged sword. They helped unregistered mages live normal lives without having to serve in Count Bram’s court, police force, or military by erasing their abilities without a trace. Even if a tip sent the police knocking at your door, they’d find it impossible to tell whether you possessed abnormal powers or not. But dependency on suppressants was a lifelong struggle. There were no unwanted side effects, but they rendered users financially dependent on Dr. Mori’s underground trade forever. If you stopped taking them, your powers would return, for a short time more powerful and difficult to control than they had ever been. Of course Dr. Yosano didn’t approve: they were a bandaid of a solution to a larger problem that would only benefit one man in the end.

Mages were few and far between in Athlyne and its territories, but they were plentiful in the capital’s lower market due to Dr. Mori’s services. Whole families were killed serving in the military generations before you were born. Now, during Bram’s rule, mages were either from one of two families serving directly under the Count or they were the product of a mutation, the first of their kind in their family. Most members of the latter group did everything in their power to avoid being drafted, and that usually meant selling their livelihoods to afford a lasting supply of suppressants. The state of the nation at the hands of powerful figures was unforgivable, and Dr. Mori’s greed only worsened the struggles of the common people. But given your own circumstances, coexisting with your magic was unthinkable. Ridding yourself of that curse was the entire reason you started anew in the first place. So, like many others, you found yourself in an impossible dilemma.

In your restlessness, you must have made a wrong turn. When you finally broke out of your own head and took a look around, the surrounding streets were unfamiliar. You let out a slow and heavy sigh. Perhaps you’d wander and shop for a while before asking for directions.

At that moment, a hand slipped into your own. Your arm was lifted above your head with a flourish, and before you could react, you were spun around to face the man who’d grabbed you.

“Hello, my lost-looking lady!”

You blinked at him, trying to swallow down your instinctual panic. You didn’t expect to be left alone in your wandering knowing that the capital’s conmen were notoriously bothersome, but abruptly grabbing a stranger was like asking for a fist to the nose. …Gosh, though, your annoyance stuttered as your gaze traveled over his face. His radiant skin, mischievous smile, and glowing eyes almost distracted you from the scar running across his eye and the calluses littering the heel of his palm. Even these attributes were attractive, cutting through his forcibly high tone and boyish features. He was tall, with a long braid thrown over his broad shoulder… You huffed in an attempt to shoo these thoughts out of your head. As you stared up at him, numerous passersby peeked at the bizarre scene before turning their heads down and briskly walking away. It would be best to yank your hand back and continue on as though nothing had happened, much the same as everyone else. 

“May I ask what you’re doing touching me?” And yet, you did the opposite. You couldn’t be blamed. He was very handsome.

“Allow me to explain. I couldn’t resist seeing a surprised look on a lovely face like yours! You see, I can tell you’re in need of excitement!” 

“Ah, twenty words or less, please. I’m trying to decide if I should punch you or hear you out, you see.” 

“Oh! I like you already! I have fifteen left now, right? Wait, no, I messed up! I’m running out!” He squealed as he let you go, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth. You frowned, trying to hide the amusement beginning to mask your annoyance. Instead of responding, you placed a hand on your hip and raised a brow at him. The man dropped out of the cutesy pose he had been holding and took off his hat, bringing it to his chest in a polite gesture. His voice lowering, though still not without a teasing lilt, he began to explain. “My name is Nikolai and I’m a fortune teller!” He threw his hat up and gave you a spin, catching it as he faced you again. This time, he inched closer, eyes narrowing. “I sensed quite a turbulent energy as you passed by just now. In fact, I can tell how special you are! You can see your own destiny, can’t you? How exciting! Would you spare a moment for a reading?”

You shivered, tensing. Those words, a bit too close to the truth, felt far too pointed. And that look in his eyes—did he know you? Though this was undoubtedly a part of his routine, you couldn’t help the way his words triggered your deeply rooted paranoia. Perhaps he recognized you—but he couldn’t, you were so far from home, and the photos would be outdated by now…You were falling right into such an easily avoidable trap. Even so, with the threat of your magic looming over you, your judgment became impossible to trust. Dread pulled at your shoulders and fingertips, the thought of this man knowing something chilling your blood. You’d have to indulge him, just to be sure. Even if you were only being paranoid, your life was on the line here.

(There was no need to mention the small part of your mind that was bored and frustrated and very much wanted to hang out with a funny and attractive man, so long as you kept a tight hold on your wallet.)

“A reading…?” You tilted your head, coy.

“Yes, your fortune! My shop is just down the road, so what do you say? Will you place your future in my trusty hands?” His words were laced with so much mirth and mischief that you wondered if he was even taking himself seriously.

Hesitantly, you shrugged. “Fine. My plans for today have fallen through. Lead the way.”

Anyone who took such a tone with him was probably not likely to agree to follow him in the end. You could tell from his genuine look of surprise at your words, which quickly morphed into even greater mirth than before.

An infectious giggle rang through the air. He wasted no time invading your personal space again, hooking an arm around your elbow and starting to skip. You would have tripped and slammed your face into the ground if not for his surprising strength as he pulled you along. If you were anyone else, your suspicion might have eased up as you processed how ridiculous the two of you definitely looked, frolicking through the crowds like a couple of hearty drunk men. 

He didn’t take you very far, making only a few turns (hopping all the way) before leading you down a slightly quieter street. There, you found yourself pushing through the door of what looked like a small library or bookstore. Clouds of dust puffed out as you moved through the space, ducking your head to squeeze past eerily low rafters toward a sitting room in the back. This was obviously not his shop (an old man greeted you when you walked in), and he probably rented this back room out for his hustles. Still, it looked surprisingly cozy, with an old armchair positioned near the entrance and a small walnut coffee table between two stools in the back. Nikolai had finally let go to allow you to navigate there without encountering any hazards, bewildering you a bit as he bounded through with almost impossible grace given his height. You took the chance to look around, wondering if you felt impressed or put off by his design choices. The creaky wooden boards were muted by numerous rugs scattered across the floor, an eclectic collection of oil lamps bathed the room in a low but warm yellow light, and a violently red porcelain tea set glittered on the table. Taking it all in, you sat down, playing with your hands for a moment as you watched Nikolai follow behind you.

A grey cat with barely-there stripes glanced up at him, squinting sleepily on the armchair. He patted its head as he passed, chirping in feline fashion as he met its eyes. The cat simply flopped to the side, curling its paws as its soft, fat stomach spilled over the cushion beneath it. He almost mirrored it in the way he plopped himself on the stool across from you, grinning. 

Sweat began to gather at your temples. He continued staring at you without saying anything. The attention flustered you, so you averted your gaze to his hands. They were long and slender, and they had felt gentle, rough and warm in your hand—make up your mind! Are you scared or attracted to him?! “So…shall we?”

Nikolai nodded, gesturing widely to the cat. “Don’t mind my assistant, oka~y? She won’t spill your secrets, so don’t worry about a thing!”

“Yeah, sure,” you snorted. You were starting to regret everything from the moment you woke up that morning as you stared at the lounging cat, thinking you really needed to work on your impulse control, so you decided to turn your attention toward Nikolai as he shuffled a set of cards. You hadn’t seen him pull them out. 

Now that you were sitting right in front of him, your eyes moved absently over him a few times.

He wore a long white tunic with ornate black embroidery traveling past the collar and circling the buttons down the front. His white pants were similarly intricate, the patterns disappearing where the wide legs were tucked neatly into his boots and the waist was fastened to his hips by a silky black sash. Strings of pearly beads and brightly colored tassels adorned him from head to toe: they hung from his neck, draped across his black fur cap, and swayed across his pants. The maximalist patterning and embellishing of his clothes wasn’t unusual for an entertainer, especially one who operated in the lower market. Showmanship was probably what paid the bills, after all. Still, there was something more to him that you couldn’t place hidden beneath the flashy gestures and showy words. Perhaps if anyone else wore those clothes, so fit for a clown, they’d be easier to avoid altogether. But Nikolai seemed scarily calculating for the second-rate, theatrical scammer he presented himself to be. Though he disguised it well, you still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d approached you for a reason. His words and his gaze were just too pointed. The thought startled you, and you averted your eyes again for fear of him noticing how blatantly you were checking him out. If he noticed, he made no indication if it, immersed in his own show.

“Ah! I see!” He gasped loudly, pulling a single card out from the stack and scrutinizing it before nodding dramatically. He held the card between his index and middle finger, shutting his eyes as though he was performing some sort of ritual. Then, he spun it around and let go of it, letting it flutter down in front of you.

A stranger in the capital using cards to tell the future was utterly laughable to you. Only the scattered descendants of the Chekhov family had the innate gift of foresight. Even if these cards themselves were magical, they had to have been imbued by a Royal Sorcerer of the Camus family, and artifacts made by a Camus were just about as hard to come by as the throne itself. Nikolai was obviously not a Chekhov, and he couldn’t possibly afford an artifact if he was performing cons in the lower market.

Nevertheless, the image that stared back at you froze your pulse.

You recognized The Lovers from your own handling of cards nearly a decade ago. This particular rendition featured two birds circling each other over an abyssal, grey sea. They were seagulls, and their coloring was a striking match to the one on the Chekhov family crest: an image you were intimately familiar with.

“Oh my!” Nikolai let out a high-pitched giggle. A horrible heat rose to your neck. “Now, for a quiz! Do you know what this card is telling us?” You opened your mouth, mind racing for an excuse, for a lie, or some other explanation. You couldn’t come up with anything, nor could you bring yourself to get up and run. Though, he barely gave you time to think about it because he didn’t wait for your answer. “We were destined to meet today, darling! This could mean only one thing.”

Your heart began to pound so frantically that you almost missed his next words.

“You and I are soulmates!” He threw himself forward to look even closer at you, his mouth curling into a scandalized grin.

“Um, what?” You couldn’t mask your confusion. Your head was spinning, the shock from what you expected him to say had rendered you dumb. To make matters worse, that most certainly was not what the card meant, and somehow his shoddy grasp of tarot was so funny to you that you shook with the effort it took to force yourself to stay serious.

“As you can see, this card here called out to me. The Lovers! The name says it all.” Though you should have played along the same way you had done this entire time, you forgot to react. He continued on, waving his hands in excitement. “We’re destined to be together! Yay!” 

After a moment, you shook your head in disbelief, heaving out the breath you had been holding in. “Are you messing with me right now? You don’t even know what the cards mean.”

Even the offense he feigned held a trace of barely concealed humor. “Surely not! My assistant can sense it too!” You turned your gaze to the cat, who had rolled over to face away from Nikolai and his loud voice. 

He was ridiculous. You suppressed a smile.

“You are messing with me. This is the worst scam ever. Even though I walked into it.” You started to stand, pouting facetiously.

His hands quickly found yours and he stared at you with an exaggerated, puppy-like sadness. 

“My love!” The sadness quickly dissipated as he winked cheekily. “My services aren’t free, silly.”

The moment abruptly ruined, you recoiled. “What? …You’re serious?” He stuck his tongue out, sliding you a piece of paper (where did that come from?) across the table. You glared down at the beautifully inked, absolutely preposterous bill. A drawing of Nikolai’s face mocked you from beside the numbers. “What’s the point of this? I think you know I’ve never seen this much money in my life.” And I really thought we were flirting just now, even though I still kind of feel as though you might be plotting my downfall.

He nodded, snatching the piece of paper and crumpling it up. “Co~rrect!” He stood, pointing at you. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the conundrum! You’re in debt because of a scam, but you’re broke as a joke! Wait! Oops, forget I said that! Oh no, what should we do?!”

Your horror, amusement, and bashfulness having now faded slightly, your head was clear enough to observe him. He had a habit of rambling on like he was telling one long inside joke, pretending to get worked up while speaking fast enough to prevent you from getting a word in unless he wanted you to say something. His behavior was beginning to confirm your suspicions—you were convinced now that your original hunch was accurate. He wasn’t at all as dense as he made himself out to be, and he wasn’t just a scammer. 

Still, you couldn’t understand him at all. Nikolai was putting on such an obvious show, one you’d seen many times in your curiosity surrounding the self-proclaimed fortune tellers of the lower market. But nothing about him was adding up. Why did he seek you out? How could his reading have exposed you so thoroughly, even though he had no knowledge of the cards’ true meanings? And if he approached you because he knew who you were, if he was trying to reel you in and sell you off to your family, what was the point of fooling around so obtusely, of making a scene outside? In the capital, your family name was synonymous with dirty money. He’d have more trouble on his hands than it was worth if he attracted too much attention.

All of that being said, he had drawn you in with alarming skill. You were curious. You wanted to run. You wanted more. Your head spun. Should you be running?

Only one thing was clear. He’d spent this time trying to confuse you because he wanted something. What could that be, though, if not the Chekhov family’s ransom money?

“A date!” Nikolai announced his wish before you had even a moment to ponder it. 

Once again, he made you feel slow. The realization made you laugh. “A date with me?”

“A date with you!” He grabbed your hand and spun you around again, this time pulling a single red rose seemingly from thin air. He slipped it behind your ear with a ghostly soft touch and tapped your nose lightly before taking a step back. 

“All of this was a ploy to…ask me out?” It wasn’t, but the joke relaxed you. You wished you could be naive, that you could trust that it was. He offered a knowing smile in return.

“Bin~go! You pass with flying colors!”

You laughed again, loudly, from deep in your stomach. “Great. You can have your date, so I’ll get going now, alright? Quit harassing me.” He took a step back, watching you from a distance now.

The smile that bloomed on his face was small enough to bewilder you again, to quiet your laughter. His eyes lost their mischievous shine as they softened, the clownish pitch disappearing from his voice when he spoke again. It was as if he was speaking to you for the first time. “Sure. Think of this as the start of another game. I’d like it if you entertained me just once more. I have a favor to ask of you, when we meet again.”

His genuine gaze was heart-stopping. It filled every inch of the distance he’d just put between the two of you. Dr. Yosano had taught you to be careful of the unpredictability of strangers in the capital, but your answer came easily.

“Alright. You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready. I’ll pay you back. Promise.”

He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed again with his usual jovial pretense as he held the door open and watched you go. 

Continuing on your way as though nothing had happened and your heart wasn’t seizing inside your chest, you found yourself buying a few bottles of wine in a stupor.

Nikolai was nothing if not confusing. How could a man you’d just met touch at your deepest anxieties with just a few cryptic words, sending your heart plummeting to your stomach, then eclipse every inch of fear simply by amusing you with a teasing look and a sharp laugh?

The confusion followed you all the way out of the cool underground air, through the oppressive summer humidity, and to the familiar silhouette of Auguste. 

“Did you travel all that way just to get me some wine? Seriously?”

Dr. Yosano’s familiar voice unfurled your tangled thoughts. You turned to smile at her, embarrassed. “Not exactly. This was the only errand I was able to get done, though.”

She returned your smile with a bemused one of her own. “Sounds like things didn’t go your way today.” She grabbed two glasses and took your hand, wrapping your fingers around the stem of one. “There’s always tomorrow, though. Wanna drink to that?”

You huffed, silently judging her heavy-handed pour as she filled them both. “Sure. To a luckier tomorrow.”

As you took a sip, all the air left your lungs and the force of it nearly bowled you over. Everything around you seemed to disappear, your senses swept away in a vacuum. The image was clearer than any glimpse of the future you’d seen before taking suppressants: your hands, dripping red. Your nails, caked with dirt and blood. Nikolai, his expression obscured as he soaked in the shadows at the furthest corner of the room. A man you’d never met before sat in front of you, smirking. His black hair framed his pale, sullen face like a marble arch, cold to the touch. When he spoke, his words were quiet and soft. They hit you like thorns. You shook your head, angry, scared, and tearful. “It’s because I trust that both of us will be saved,” you retorted, and his smirk twisted.

When the vision ended, it was like a sheet being ripped from over your head. The back of Dr. Yosano’s hand was cooling your forehead and one of the glasses was shattered on the floor, staining everything red. Your fingers, your nails, both of your feet, her wool socks.

You leaned into her touch and thought about how to breathe again. You blinked away everything you had just seen, focusing only on the image of Nikolai, of his face, unreadable.

You were prepared this time. You repeated this like a mantra in your head, thinking of nothing else as the other woman helped you into bed, laying a cold towel over your head. 

You can find me at Auguste Apothecary when you’re ready.

You kept blinking, but the shadows never left, never revealed his eyes.

Even as you recalled all the times you, yourself, weren’t ready, each time you failed at your duties, you kept repeating it. You were prepared. The vision faded, and the words shifted in your mind as you succumbed to sleep.

I’ll find you there soon. Are you ready?

The voice was soft. You bled when you touched it. The sound sent rats scurrying away, fleeing. Everything was cold, like black marble.

By the next evening, you remembered nothing of your dream and could only recall bits and pieces of the vision. Again, you cursed Ichiyou Higuchi, who had really done nothing wrong except for being absent when you needed her. Finally feeling the weight of a bag of suppressants in your hand, you felt you could face anything.

All you needed to do was wait for him to show up.

[diejager]

Scar

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, blood, infanticide, murder, threat, hostage, tell me if I missed any. wc: 4.7k (A/N): request by @ishii03

Whoever this Doc Ock was, with his darker clothes and broodier expression, was an annoyance. He was vicious in his words as he was with his attacks, his arms latching onto the walls of the building as he tried reaching for you. He was brutal but slow - at least compared to yours - his swaying arms mere seconds behind you. Swinging from side to side, webs sticking to every surface, you worked a cage around him. He was too blinded by his anger to see your trap, too blind to see thin, silk-like material that glimmered under the cool, winter air. 

He wasn’t dressed for this kind of temperature, his coat too thin and his boots too short, the snow crawled up his calves and buried him in deep snow that hindered his movement. It was clear that he wasn’t from your world, or that he’d never seen this much snow with how unprepared and unfamiliar he was with your New York. It was something you weren’t going to let go of, using it to your advantage to string him up, trapping him in hundreds of webs of your making. 

You skipped left and right, panting softly in your graceful dance around him. Your body twisted under his arm, leaping off the ground and into the air, every step you did was calculated, acts you planned to push him deeper into your snare. You were a spider and he, your prey, acted on instincts to catch whatever landed in your web. When he realised his predicament, it was too late, his arms were caught awkwardly, bent and twisted around silky webs that made moving around impossible unless he wanted to find himself in a worse situation. His body fared the same, his clumsy and lumbering form giving you an ease to slip beside him to lay your grounded trap, webs grasping onto his clothes. 

He swore and cursed, his lips turning blue and limbs shaking from the cold. It was idiotic to think he could win against you on your own turf, he came unprepared for the weather while your suit had been built to keep you warm even on the coldest nights in a land where the ice age was more of a foreseeable future than global warming. He struggled but got himself stuck deeper, glaring at you from under his black goggles. You watched his mouth open to spit out an insult when his face paled - paler than it was, if it were possible - the crackling sound of something ripping sounded behind you. 

Your sense hadn’t tingled, no warning or signs of danger so you hadn’t found the need to turn around. People dropped into the snow, and curses in both English and Spanish rang softly. It must’ve been the others, from your many speculations and hypothetical ideas, they were your counterparts in the other universes, the vast expense that made your world. 

“'m guessing he’s yours?” You asked, crossing your arms, peering at them from over your shoulder. 

“Yes, but it looks like you’ve got it under control!”

She had a voice that fit her character, caring and nurturing with a hint of sass that all Spiders had in some way. She looked familiar to you in a way, like a person you’d seen walking down the street with her child by the hand and her husband by her child’s other side, sounding as lively as she had that day on the warmest season of the year. Beside her was a rough-looking Spider, self-deprecating and woeful words slipping from his mouth like a waterfall, he seemed pathetically hilarious, with a hunched back and muscular build. He didn’t seem familiar at all, neither his voice nor his character, he was a completely unknown variable to your world. 

Behind them were a dozen of Spiders all dressed and painted in different ways, bright colours and strong accents to their own world and culture. You liked that, the personality in their suit, something to be proud of. They all held something in their hands, some with small, metal cases and others had big, heavy-looking tech. They stood out in your bleak city, monotone greys against the vibrant reds and blues, even compared to your suit, a mix of light blue, white and black to fit your snowy world, but what stood out the most was the imposing figure leading them. 

Stock with muscle on muscle, his shoulders broad and his hips slim, his limbs were round and strong, highlighted by the nano suit he wore, gleaming, red lights and a dark navy that made the red pop out even more. He moved as if he owned the place, leg strutting after the other with wide steps for his big stature. He seemed the most out of place in your grey world. 

With a single motion, the woman by his side barked orders to the rest, they scurried around, setting machines on the glitched part of the buildings while the giant Spider-man marched towards Doc Ock. He raised his chin, eyes narrowed when he caught the sudden gleam of your webs, and then he saw the hundreds that branched across the walls, the intricately built trap the anomaly was caught in. Perhaps it was in admiration or curiosity, wondering how you could produce so much web. He threw something at Doc Ock’s feet, it burst open with an orange light, forming a triangular cage. 

It cut your webs, the loose strings falling apart before it disintegrated into specks of sparkling dust. He stared at it, watching it fade from existence within seconds as if you were never here. He ignored the spitting scowl on Doc Ock’s face, peering down at you with a strange expression on his mask. It looked like he was going to speak, pondering over the words he would tell you.

“He’s an anomaly, I’m guessing?” You cut off any thought he had worked on, tilting your head questioningly. “I’ve had some theories and alternate universes never seemed that far-fetched.” 

He huffed, crossing his arms at your blunt tone, that nonchalant way you spoke to him. He was probably used to a certain level of respect seeing that he was leading the Spiders, the need to have someone look up to you after being stared at as a leader for so many years. 

“You handled it well,” the Spider-Woman jumped in, her voice ringing out like an enthusiastic voice in the strained tension between you. “This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?”

“First anomaly? Yes. First attack? No.”

She chuckled, raising a hand to you, shoulders loose and body relaxed. You shook her hand, giving her a soft grip and a nod. She called herself Spider-Woman, but her name was Jessica Drew. You gave her your surname, taking the title you were dubbed: Snow Spider. Jessica worked wonders with a man as stoic and strained as him, acting as the buffer in conversations when she saw that it was too tense, but that didn’t seem to bother the man, he shrugged and handed you something. It was a watch, the smooth surface opening up to a screen with different coordinates. It was high and advanced tech you could only dream of in your world, something enviable.

“Miguel O’Hara.”

He was curt and simple, as much as you were cold and blunt, then his mask disappeared, the small nanotechnology retracting to the neck, unveiling him. You knew that face, those high cheekbones and warm, caramel tone, his warm eyes and pouty lips. It was-

“Miguel! Please!” You pleaded with him, palms facing him and fingers splayed in an attempt to coax him to surrender. “Please let go of her!”

Your heart rapped against your ribs, the muscle beating loudly in your ear with an erratic pulse that sent your adrenaline skyrocketing. You stood by the door, blocking the path to the hall with your body. You faced him, teary and dazed over eyes staring pleadingly at your husband who had your little girl in his arms and a knife in the other. 

You feared that a single step would make him act out his threat, to plunge the newly-bought knife down into your daughter’s flesh. Terror filled your every pore, filling you with existential dread and harrowing sadness. How could it have come to this? You were a loving family, a working couple with dreams, but never once had you imagined that your little girl would end up under a knife by her caring father’s hand. You had everything, a beautiful family, your dream job, a perfect relationship and powers that could save many with the right actions. 

You took a step forward, small and hesitant, but Miguel screamed. 

“Stop! Don’t take another step! Stay there!”

You stopped, but you had to get closer, to get into range to take the knife out of his hand and your little baby away from him. You tried reaching him through his eyes, you tried searching for the loving husband you fell in love with, you wanted to see him, but all you saw was the psychotic gleam in his eyes, that deranged monster that seeped into his mind. It was rooted so deeply that it seemed like the Miguel you knew never existed. 

“We ca- can we talk this through, Miguel?” You persisted, shuffling forward slowly, hands still raised in surrender. “Can’t we?”

He growled, pushing the knife closer to Gabriella’s throat, the sharp side cutting her soft skin. You watched in horror, the drop of blood that rolled down the knife, tainting the clean metal in a sheen of red. Just a little more and you could bolt towards her, ripping Gabriella from his arms with the strength you recently got. 

“Please, Miguel.”

His eyes shone with a knowing and chaotic thought as if he knew what you were doing, what you were attempting. With a sneer, he pulled the knife off and in a swift movement, slashed the throat of your precious girl. You screamed, tears falling from your eyes as you rushed to her. Blood spewed from her wound, gurgling out your name in sadness and fear. She was calling for her mom. You cradled her in your arms, hand applying pressure on the wound. It was useless, her blood slipped between your fingers, wetting them in that rich ichor that first gave her life. 

You wailed and shook, staring at Gabriella while you muttered comforting words to her. She didn’t deserve this, the card that life handed her. Her life was cut too short and you were guilty of failing her. 

“Oh, it’s okay, sweets. Don’t worry, mom’s here,” you hushed, ignoring the looming figure behind you. “Just close your eyes, mom’ll be there with you.”

You solemnly watched her eyes glaze over, the light in her eyes fading as she did as you told her to, closing her eyes to sleep. It’d be her last dream, her last memory, her last happy smile as you sang her to sleep. You dreamed that you were singing her to sleep in her plush bed, watching her smile and giggle under her blue blanket. You dreamed that you weren’t covered in her warm blood or that you were cradling her on the blood-soaked floor. You dreamed that your husband was holding your hand, his arms wrapped around your waist, kissing your shoulders with sweet promises rather than looming behind you with a bloodied knife. 

You dreamed of so much, but none was your reality. 

“You- you bastard-”

You turned abruptly, fist aimed at his face. He raised his arm at that moment and slashed down as your fist collided with him. You screamed, blinded by the splitting pain. He crumbled, limp from the hit on his ribs while you backed away, hands cupping your bleeding wound with tears. 

“WHY!? HOW COULD YOU?!”

Miguel didn’t - couldn’t - understand you at all. You were blunt to a fault, words coming out with little emotions and reaction to any Spiders, even to bubbly, little Mayday who made even Miguel break his stubbornly-put stoicness. You stared stoically at Peter when he made a blunder that usually made others laugh, you were left unbothered by Lyla’s smile cracking jokes and sassy jabs, and the rambunctious group of teens and young adults were unsuccessful in pulling a reaction from you, even the slighted shrug or a slight flinch. 

Another thing he couldn’t understand was the illogical need to keep your face covered at all times and the tenacity you had to always have it on. He, as well as other more serious Spiders, took almost every chance they had to take it off, the reminder that they were a hero and not another human being. You wore your mask as if it were your lifeline, the mask to hide your scars and the pain you lived, the monster you became to live this vigilante-like life for how long you’ve been working. 

You pulled yourself away from any social interaction, seeking the dark corners of the base to hide away and observe. Miguel had seen your faraway stare when he walked past a corner, nearly jumping at your figure shrouded by the strange darkness of your solace. You never spoke to anyone else unless you thought it necessary, appearing with this deathly silence to spook every Spiders when you spoke up, your soft but cold voice ringing in their ears like a whisper that they almost missed. 

He - with his lack of Spidey-Sense - was as often a victim to your scares as the others, his ears having strained themselves to even catch the quiet pad of your steps or the breathing that your mask hid. He chopped it up to your suit being made for stealth, the colours and highlights matching the gloomy world you came from, to hide in the shadows and pounce like the hunter you were. He could compare you to a wolf spider, ferocious and solitary, stalking and hunting your prey like the arachnid would, stalking your hunt with steady steps and catching it with fast-moving webs. 

Although they all seemed like red flags to him, he couldn’t deny that your reports were impeccable, your work and missions done in record time. You might’ve been uncooperative outside of missions, but when you were thrown into the fray with another Spider, you worked in harmony, as if you and your teammate shared one mind, one idea, one wavelength. The quick reaction and synchronised attacks between you, jumping and skipping around the enemy with the same technique, wrapping them in a prison of silk and webs. Every Spider who’s worked with you had taken this strategy to heart, using it whenever they could if the time, the place and the anomaly were right and if they were able to do it without you who’d mastered it. 

Miguel got curious, an itch that bothered him incessantly to find out more about you. There was little you shared with Lyla when she first brought you up to open up a file in the archives, adding yours to the rest of the thousands of Spiders that they collected information from. To create a file on your person and your universe would help Miguel understand the vastness of the Spiderverse, to push the limit of the multiverse’s limit and unearth what he had yet to find. 

“Lyla.”

She popped up with bright colours, her figure glitching with vibrant pink and blues. She stood beside him, a small body floating in the air beside his head as he gave his orders, her brows lifting and lips pursing in a mix of curiosity and confusion. Hadn’t he shown his distaste and irritability for you? That little annoyance he got from your silent approach and spooking presence that kept him on his toes, or the unresponsive and unmoving mask you always wore around him, those squinted eyes and furrowed brows were the only indication that a human wore the suit. 

She swiped on her pad, holographic screens appearing from her hand, each showing some sort of text and reports you wrote to him after a mission or for Lyla to answer her unending list of questions, or captioned video of your filmed conversations when Lyla was cataloguing information about you for the archive. He looked through it all, re-reading your reports, committing to memory the way you wrote and ended your sentences, and watching your consented videos. 

Nothing recorded or written down was useful, all data recorded were things he found inconsequential, your skill, your talent, your strategy, your enemies, your universe number, and your measurements. Anything personal or canonical was written down, about your life before your title, of your life during it, or of you as a person, as if you portrayed yourself as a robot and not a human, to detach yourself from the world. 

“And from her universe?”

“I got a few, mostly headlines and-” Lyla blew up with a bright smile, excitement bubbling in her eyes as she brought up everything she found about you, some headlines and files about you from the Avengers’ system (your name, your occupation outside of vigilantism, your address and any personal information he would need), but her smile grew placid, grim with worry in her eyes. “Miguel, I think you should look at this… it would explain why she’s so off with people.”

That caught his attention, the grim line on his usually bubbly and teasing AI had him suddenly worried. Had she found a canon event that shook your life in a way no one had expected? Had she found something disastrous involving you? His hand swiped the screens towards him, swiping through grayscale images on the front pages of newspapers and recordings of the event - of the murder. He saw his name - Miguel O’Hara - following the ground-raising words: murderer and infanticide. He read through the first headline on his alternate’s killings, dread brewed in his gut when he saw his daughter’s name and another one, a familiar name, his wife’s. She survived, but Gabriella had unfortunately passed in a gut-wrenching: her throat roughly slit from one ear to the other, leaving blood dried on her neck, face and clothes she wore that night. He, Miguel O’Hara from your world, had killed his daughter and wounded his wife before he was killed in self-defence. 

He quickly pushed it away, pulling the recording to his face, wide, bloodshot eyes and trembling lips as he listened to the reporter tell the story with a shaky voice (she probably sympathised with his wife, seeing as the reporter was a mother). He listened to her drone around while the cameraman focused on the scene behind her, two body bags and a small figure hidden under a thermic blanket from the paramedics, back hunched over with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Anger surged in his body, hands balled tightly, his lips parted-

“How dare you-”

He stood stock, flinching away with panicked eyes to see you standing behind him, listening on to the woman reporting on the crime. Your voice was raspy with silent tears and anger, your body trembling viciously as you stomped towards him. He hadn’t heard you come in, he could’ve saved himself from this confrontation if he’d remembered to lock the door, but he could’ve also saved himself from this if he remembered that he was waiting for you to report on your mission. 

“You fucking- there’s a reason why I didn’t tell anyone!” You seethed, like lava boiling at the surface, threatening to melt everything in your path.

“He just-” 

“Fuck off Lyla.”

She flinched at your venomous tone, gulping before she fizzled out of existence to leave you both on your own. She gave Miguel a small good luck, vanishing without a trace, her warm light leaving the room dark and gloomy. 

“Tell me, Miguel,” you started, your harsh sneer visible from under your mask. “What made you want to pry? No, better yet, why do you want to pry?”

His voice stuck in his throat, his tongue too heavy in his mouth to reply. You spoke with so much hate and anger that it made him suspicious, which made him wonder why you reacted so strongly about this case involving another him, another Gabriella and another version of his dead wife. Did you have any involvement in this case? Or perhaps you knew them and felt undignified and mortified for them when his other wife couldn’t be. That might’ve explained why you had some sense of dislike for him, the simple mention of his name brought an unsatisfactory taste to your tongue. Your history with Miguel O’Hara could explain your quiet abhorrence of him. 

“I don’t like being left in the dark,” was all he could muster in the face of your wrath, to quell his unease when faced with your vitriol.

“So you thought it smart to dig into my past?”

So you thought it smart to dig into my past? What did you mean by that? He figured you felt so strongly against him digging into this because of your connection to his alternate’s family because you wanted to protect the memory of the dead. If he connected the dots correctly, returning to the first files Lyla had found for him, going back to when he first skimmed over your registered file in the Avengers’ database. He had caught your name in a flurry of quick swipes and your blurry face, he’d also seen your suit in a smaller drawing with detailed remarks and data about it. 

It hit him strongly, like fallen floodgates of emotions breaking through his body in waves. Your hate, your anger, your fear, your solitude and your silence spoke to him more than it ever had. How could he have ever hated you? How could he have ever been irritated and impatient with you? How could he be anything but happy and overjoyed when you were within reach, something tangible that he could touch and hold rather than watch from afar or risk the chance of crumbling your world? 

He whispered your name, a low hush that lightly reached your ears. He spoke it with reverence, with love and devotion. You were the love of his life, the thing he wanted to give himself to until he withered to ash and dust. You were the light of his life that brought his little girl to his world, brightening it even more than it was. You were a second chance, to relive something he lost, to get back what he lost-

But then, he understood your fears, your terror and your apprehension of him, the alternate version of the man who you loved and the person who murdered your child. It wasn’t something he could force you into, to convince you to stop fearing, it was an instinct. Logic rang in his mind, the reason why you wore your mask as if it were your lifeline, it was, in a way. It protected you from seeing the demons that haunted your mind, it protected your softer, more caring side, it shielded the human part of you from pain and sorrow. 

“Oh, corazón,” he slowly approached you, little steps so that he wouldn’t spook you. 

“Stop,” you flinched back, voice shaky with something else, hesitation, anxiety or fright. “Don’t-”

You jerked back when he pulled you to his chest, body frozen in place while he locked hands behind you, warm palms holding your waist in a comforting embrace. He cradled you to him, your cheek resting on his pecks, listening to his fast-beating heart, the thud in your ear and the pulse that shook through both your bodies. His fingers drew soothing motions on your back, a grounding act that would stop you from panicking. 

“Take off your mask, corazón, let me see you.”

You grumbled lowly, a guttural sound that seemed like a rejection, to decline his demand, but it was a demand. He moved on his own, fingers grasping your nape for the slip of your mask, a button that would make your mask vanish, pixels gleaming in activation as they returned to your neck. You looked older than he remembered, but so had he, ageing from the years of solitude and trauma. Your hair looked shorter, skin was still as healthy but with a tired tint to your eyes. You were the picture-perfect wife of his dreams. 

He cradled your face between his palms, thumb running over the pinkish mark over your eye, the straight and strong line that ran from your brow to your cheek. It was a vicious and painful scar that tightened the skin around the scar, it pulled at your face whenever you smiled, you sneered or frowned. He cooed softly, watching you blink furiously, swallowing down whatever threatened to break through your sealed lips. 

“Who did this?”

You turned abruptly, fist aimed at his face. He raised his arm at that moment and slashed down as your fist collided with him. You screamed, blinded by the splitting pain. He crumbled, limp from the hit on his ribs while you backed away, hands cupping your bleeding wound with tears. 

The moment your fist touched his face, the bloodied knife he held skimmed your face, the sharp edge of the silver weapon drawing a painfully long line over your eye. You hissed, hands shaking as you hesitantly touched the open wound on your face, the skin broken and bleeding onto your fingers. It burned as much as it hurt, your face cut open by the knife that ended your precious girl. 

You stumbled to him, half blinded, one eye seeing clearly and the other narrowed to a small slit, but all you could see was red. Red from blood and red from rage. You pushed him down, throwing the knife as far as you could with half the strength and the pain you were suffering through. 

You wanted to do so much more than straddle him and hold him down until the authorities arrived. Someone had called for you - a neighbour, she was as sweet as candy and as soft as cotton, an older lady with no one to talk to besides you, Miguel and sweet Gabriella - when you were trying to convince Miguel to let your baby go. You wanted to take the knife and stab him where he slashed Gabriella, but you still loved him. He was your husband, you couldn’t hurt the person you promised your life to, so you screamed and cried.

“WHY!? HOW COULD YOU?!”

“You,” you rasped, memories rushing to the surface, eyes teary and tongue heavy.

You pushed him away, your sudden use of strength when Miguel thought you had softened surprised him, and he stumbled back. Colours erupted behind you, a tornado of vibrant shades that led to your universe. He watched as you shrugged the watch and donned your mask before vanishing into the spiral, the portal closing behind you. All he could do was watch in despair and hurt, watching his dream slip through his fingers a third time. 

Wherever he went, whenever he was, Miguel saw you in everything. He saw you in the people he met outside of work, in the civilians he saw driving cars and walking the streets with children in hand. The ways the mother held their child’s hand and kissed their cheeks, small, loving pecks that showed them just how much their mother loved them. He saw you in his coworkers, the way they trapped the anomalies in their missions, shooting webs and stringing them around the anomaly. He also saw you in the pictures he kept, the few memories he still had of you.

He saw you everything, but none were you. He swore he could taste you on his tongue, he swore he could smell you in the air, he swore he could hear you in the room, he swore he could see you in the crowd, but it was never you. He might have an inkling of you in his world, in his reality. If he wanted to see you, to touch you and to love you, he could only dream and wish, to close his eyes and incision you in his mind. 

Taglist: @yas-v @elliewilliamsbae @rinieloliver

[dandelions-143]

This is my first skz x reader I’m doing. I am still learning so forgive any mistakes. It’s also very very short!!

Just Friends

Find others here: Masterlist

Pairing: Minho x Gn!reader

Wk: 695

Genre: soft/sweet one-shot

Warning: none

Summary: Minho and you have been best friends for years. He decides to cook for you to cheer you up on a dreary day.

Requests: open

You sat looking out of your bedroom window that faces the busy street just a few feet below. It had been raining all day which ruined your plans to go out with friends that afternoon and have a picnic.

A little somber you leaned forward to rest your head against the cool glass. Your eyes watching the people bustling about below. Some beneath umbrellas, some facing the heavy raindrops head on. Just then your eyes catch sight of a man walking across the street towards your building.

He was carrying a few large bags and had a very familiar maroon hat on, shielding a good view of his face but you already knew exactly who it was. Your best friend Minho. You excitedly got up and hurriedly walked to your front door before he even had a chance to appear.

It only took a few minutes and here he came. When he saw you standing in your door way a sweet smile spread across his face causing you to smile in return. “What are you doing?” You ask as he steps passed you with a quick kiss to your cheek and heads right for your kitchen.

“Well plans got canceled so I decided to bring the picnic to you.” Minho glanced your way, his smile returning once again when he caught your eye. You walked over to him and began to help him unpack things.

There were all kinds of yummy fruits and veggies. Noodles, spices, and meats. Broths and even a small container of sushi. “Are we going to have a feast? We’re cooking all of this?” You asked curiously and leaned your cheek on his shoulder as he was a bit taller than you.

Minho turned his catlike eyes on you, “no, you’re going to relax and I am going to cook for you. Dinner and desert and we are going to eat and drink some wine and just enjoying each other’s company.” You smiled and shrugged, “okay, I can definitely do nothing. I like watching you cook anyway.”

“Why, is it attractive?” Minho gave you a sexy little smirk but broke character with a small laugh when he couldn’t ignore the cringe any longer. You giggle and sit down across the small bar from him. “Maybe..”

You two made soft conversation while Minho cooked, the aromas of his work filling your tiny apartment quickly. You talked about friends and work. Just life in general. All the while you both were stealing lingering glances at one another. Blushing a bit deeper than usual whenever your eyes would meet. Like an unspoken language between you two.

Soon the food was ready and you helped him spread a blanket out in your living room. You both set out all the food and then you settled down on the floor as well. Minho came to sit beside you and he filled your plate for you then his own.

The sky began to open up and the rain poured down even harder making the atmosphere a bit more cozy. Minho raised his glass of wine. “So you know what today is?” He asked you. His dark brown eyes watching you curiously and a sweet smile tugging at the corners of his pouty lips.

You bit your bottom lip in thought, “um… Thursday?…” you giggled and shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not so sure, what is today?”

Minho pushed his bangs back from his face and leaned a bit closer to you. “It’s our three year anniversary as friends.” Your eyes grew wide in shock that he even remembered the exact day you two became friends. “Wow.. really?”

You felt a little guilty for not thinking of that but before you could say anything else he reached over and pushed your hair back gently so he could see your eyes better.

“And hopefully this year we can become more than just friends?” He asked softly. It was barely above a whisper as if he was suddenly too shy to speak. You instantly looked up with wide curious eyes. There was a soft pink blush blooming across Minhos cheeks as he kept eye contact with you waiting for your answer.

[beansmack2021]

Consider: Lucifer and reader who was a Satanist while they were alive (or Luciferian, that works too)

Holy Shit!

Disclaimer: I don't really know much about Luciferians, so I had to do a little bit of research to make sure that I didn't make any mistakes. I hope I didn't offend anyone's religion, and that you enioy!

You had only been in Hell for a few days, but a few days were plenty. You weren't really sure you believed in Heaven or Hell when you were alive, but now that you were really there, you kind of had no choice.

You'd always believed that Lucifer's decent from Heaven and fall to Hell was devastating. You were also inspired, though. You believed that if he was willing to challenge the beliefs of those around him, you could, too.

You weren't one to tell others that you believed that Lucifer deserved more credit than he got. You knew that'd get you funny looks. Still, you admired him. You also pitied him. He never got to see the "joys of humanity". He was forced to see the bad. Somehow, he managed to rule over the bad, though. He was a pillar of strength, in your eyes.

He was kind of cool. You'd always thought snakes were pretty awesome. You believed that they, like Lucifer, were misunderstood and could do amazing things.

Now that you were in Hell, you realized you were right. There was a whole society in Hell. People would often say that Hell would be an eternal firey pit of damnation. It definitely was, but there was a lot of structure to the kingdom of the damned. It just goes to show that Lucifer can build something incredible if given the chance.

You didn't expect to run into the king himself, though. You were walking down the street, still trying to get a feel for things, when someone suddenly appeared before you. The short, blonde man looked around frantically, just repeatedly saying "apples. Charlie wants apples." He saw right through you, but he definitely couldn't walk through you.

The two of you landed on the sidewalk, groaning.

"Sorry," he blurted out. "I was just looking for a shop that sold apples. My daughter really wants them."

He stood, grabbing your hand and helping you to your feet. Now that the two of you were actually looking at each other, you could see that he was pretty attractive. His hair was shiny and smoothed back. His skin was fair and his smile was bright. You shook your head when you realized you were just staring at him and still holding his hand.

"That's okay. My name is Y/N. I only got here recently so I was kind of just seeing what I could. Taking it all in, ya know?"

He nodded, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, this place isn't half bad. I'm Lucifer, by the way. Lucifer Morningstar."

You froze, eyes widening. You felt your blood pressure increase by tenfold. "Wait. You're him? Holy shit! You're Lucifer! You're so awesome!"

Lucifer tilted his head to the side. "That's, um, not usually the response I get."

You grinned from ear to ear, trying not to hop up and down with glee. "I'm sorry. Its just that I think you're amazing. You're like, this huge symbol of self-sufficiency, strength, and independence."

Lucifer's pale cheeks flushed red. He stammered for a moment. "Really? You think so?"

"Oh, I know so! You're the only person who had the balls to stand up to Heaven and tell them what you really thought of the way they ran things."

You stopped for a second, realizing you were acting like a crazed fan. "Hey, listen. I'm not doing anything right now. Or ever, actually. Can I try to help you find your apples?"

Lucifer smiled softly. "I think I'd like that."

[losfacedevil]

Would You Be So Kind // SFK

Sometimes you find love in the most unexpected places - like the venue in which you work. When up and coming band Greta Van Fleet books a whirlwind sold out long weekend you find yourself very partial to the baby faced bass player - who seems to make a valiant effort to get to know you on a more personal level.

Sam Kiskza x Reader Friends to Lovers

WC. 6.3k+

The cool wind of the night seeped through your puffer coat - a clear sign that you had overstayed your welcome at the venue. After having been there all day, your patience was quickly dwindling as you fought with the keys and the lock on the employee entrance. Pulling a deep breath in through your nose you puffed it out through puckered lips slowly, watching as the steam it created danced softly in front if you. You let your mind wander, going over the remote to the pyrotechnics you would have to control along with the regular mixing of their music.

A new up-and-coming band had booked the space for the weekend - or so you had thought. A mini residency as your boss has called it; which called for a long week of learning their musical mixings and just how their pyrotechnics worked. A single string of notes in a song calling for the entire stage lights to change and pyrotechnics to shoot off, creating a beautiful scene for the audience. They had only given you the instrumentals, an easier way to focus on the notes you needed to as you read through the mixes you would have to create with your sound board. A sigh of relief having slipped from your chest when you realized they played their own instruments and needed next to no help in the sound department.

Your mind finally wandered back to reality, shaking yourself from your thoughts and took another deep breath in to calm your otherwise shaky nerves. It was then you noticed that you weren’t alone and watched closely as a young man rounded the corner onto the otherwise abandoned street, his eyes trained on the building you had just exited. He planted his feet firmly on the concrete, his gaze not moving from the neon sign displaying the venue name. The look on his face could be described as awe, his eyes fully alight as he straightened his back and smiled to himself.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You chuckled, walking slowly down the stairs to his right. You weren’t sure who he was, but knew that he looked almost inviting. The twinkle in his eyes, curvature of his mouth and the way he reached up to run a hand through his to the chin length dark hair calming any nerves you had being in his presence. The sound of your voice shook him from his train of thought and he glanced around, trying to find the source of the voice. His eyes found yours as a cheeky smile spread across his face and he flicked his gaze back to the venue name.

“We will! This is the first big venue we’re playing.” He called, pointing up towards the sign. You cocked your head to the side, slowly sauntering over to where he stood, his feet glued in place. Standing a few feet away from him, you tucked your hands safely into your pockets and glanced up at the sign as well.

“You’re playing here huh? I wouldn’t exactly call this a big venue though.” You chuckled, the nod to your 1,500 max capacity venue being a big venue tickling your funny bone. The young man laughed and turned his attention towards you, mirroring your stance and tucking his gloved hands safely away in his pockets as well.

“It’s bigger than the shitty dive bars and farmers markets we’ve been playing these last few years. The new album we came out with seems to be a hit, some places even reached out to us to play there.” He shrugged his shoulders, letting his eyes dance slowly down the length of your figure. You cocked your head to the side and a soft hum of approval slipped through your nose as a soft smile spread across your face.

“Alright, I’ll give you that, this place is definitely bigger than the dive bars down town.” You chuckled, remembering the shitty shows you used to go to as a party girl in her early twenty-somethings.

“I’m Sammy, by the way. Or Sam for short, which ever you prefer. We’re playing here this weekend. Brian rented the space for three nights and we’ve sold them all out. Ever heard of us?” He questioned, holding his hand out in your direction. A genuine smile spread across your face as you slipped your hand out of your pocket and into his, the gentle but firm handshake grounding you as your name slipped past your lips.

“I don’t know, have I? Does your band go by the name of Sammy?” You joked, knowing only the first name of the lanky boy stood in front of you. His eyes grew wide and the already rosy apples of his cheeks burned a deeper shade of red. A soft sigh slipped past Sam’s lips amongst that of nervous chuckles and a high pitched giggle.

“No… I’m sure my brothers would kill me if I told you the name of the band was Sammy and the boys. We go by Greta Van Fleet, ever heard of us?” Pursing your lips, you cocked your head to the side and wracked your brain for any instance in which you would have heard the band name. You shook your head and with a soft shrug of your shoulders gently slipped your hand off of Sam’s gentle grasp.

“I can’t say that I have. Would it be worth my wild to look you guys up?” Your fingers were already itching to pull your phone out of your back pocket, knowing you’d be able to find them with a quick search on your music streaming service. A boisterous laugh escaped Sam’s chest and he tilted his head back slightly, as if embarrassed by the sound he had just produced.

“You can’t ask a band member that, we’ll always tell you that we’re the greatest musicians on the planet! But I do think we’re pretty great if I do say so myself.” He chuckled, holding his hand out, palm side up as he bowed in a courteous manner. You shook your head at the boys antics and pulled your arm up to eye level, shaking your coat sleeve down past your watch.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Sammy. But I’ve gotta jet before my mother thinks I’ve gotten lost somewhere along my travels. Maybe I’ll see you around.” You shrugged, knowing full well you were about to spend your weekend with the cute boy standing in front of you.

“Come to the show Friday night! I’ll put you on my VIP list. Just hit the box office and tell em you’re here to see me, they’ll let you in without a ticket.” He spoke quickly, as if anxiety was beginning to creep up inside his chest. You giggled softly and reached out your hand, nodding towards him as he slid his gloved hand into yours, another gentle yet firm handshake.

“Maybe I will, we’ll see how it plays out. Have a good night, Sammy.” He tipped his head in a gentle nod and removed his hand from yours, replacing it back into the warmth of his pocket. You couldn’t help but to take in his side profile one last time before turning on your heel and leaving him staring at the venue.

~*~*~

Show nights were always chaotic.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you fumbled with the controller that would set off their pyrotechnics and fire, changing the batteries in the device so there was no chance of a misfire. You could hear the hustle and bustle of their equipment beginning to be brought in through the backstage door, rolling carts of who knows what, small parts of a drum kit and two different sting instrument guitar cases; everything being parked right inside of the back door waiting for you to begin setting up.

“So they just keep their pedals with them and not with the kits that got brought in yesterday?” You mumbled, bending at the waist to pick up two different pedals. One you recognized as something for the drum kit and the other was more geared towards a string instrument. Studying the pedal, you turned it over in your hand looking for any markings that would indicate who or what instrument it belonged to.

“Alright I give! Guitar or Bass?” You yelled, turning on your heel to try and find one of the bands crew members with the pedal held high above your head. A familiar chuckle sounded from the other side of your booth and your heart skipped a beat as you spun around quickly looking for the source of the sound.

“That’s mine! It’s for the bass.” He called, slowly making his way around the corner and into your line of sight. Sam’s jaw dropped slightly as his mind made the connection to the night you both had met just nights prior. Reaching up he clapped a hand over his open mouth and pointed in your direction with his other hand. You couldn’t help the giggles that slipped past your lips as you bent at the knee and placed the pedal down gingerly against one of the packs.

“Hi Sammy.” Your voice remained high pitched, the anxiety in your chest overtaking all of your senses. Slowly, you made your way over to where he stood, seemingly glued to the floor. His eyes never left yours and his hand dropped from midair down to his side as the hand he had covering his mouth moved up and he carded his fingers through his shoulder length dark hair.

“You! I know you! You didn’t tell me!” His voice trailed off as he watched you slowly close the space between the two of you, tucking your hands safely into the kangaroo pouch of your hoodie to keep them occupied. A wide grin spread across your face as you cocked your head to the side and shrugged your shoulders.

“You put me, someone you just met, on your VIP list. I couldn’t burst your bubble and tell yo I work here. Couldn’t give away all of my secrets, now could I?” You couldn’t help the giggles that slipped past your lips as a dumbfounded expression kissed his features. Someone called for him down the hall, turning his head to glance over his shoulder he reached up and held up a finger, telling whoever to hold on.

“Well yeah, I wanted you to see the show but… you’re gonna be running the show?!” His voice jumped an octave, eyes widening as you nodded and turned your attention to the last couple of packs that were being rolled in through the door.

“Just mixing some of the guitars and bass when needed. Oh and running the pyrotechnics! Getting the house lights to drop at the same time the background and confetti and smoke fire off during Light My Love took me a week to perfect.” Sam’s jaw dropped and he tilted his head slowly to the side - never once asking how any of the background things besides the mixing of the music was done.

“Wait… that’s not just something automatic? It’s not just the push of a button?” You shook your head slowly and pulled the controller out of your pocket.

“It takes this bad boy and a few different controls in the mixing booth to get it all to work together. Nothing as intricate as your stage show is as simple as the touch of an easy button.” Sam nodded, trying to wrap his head around what you had just said and how you would be the one to control something as dangerous as their fire shooters.

“Sam if you don’t get your ass over here!” The voice that had initially called him was louder as another young man rounded the corner. Sammy pulled his lips to the side and turned his attention to the boy behind him, flinching as he clapped a hand down against his shoulder. A soft smile spread across your lips as the other young man nodded in your direction, shooting you a welcoming smile. He only came to Sam’s shoulder, his hand dancing just above his head as it rested on Sam’s shoulders, his dark hair almost the same length and color as Sam’s. The resemblance between them was uncanny.

“Why are you yelling?” Sam chuckled, the nerves he had initially swallowed down slowly creeping back up his throat.

“I’m yelling because if we don’t get back to hair and make up Josh might kick our asses. You can flirt with the staff later.” He chuckled, giving Sam’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning on his heel and made a bee line to the opposite side of the venue.

“I am NOT flirting with the staff! She asked a question!” Sam yelled, his cheeks blazed red and he reached up, cupping his hand around one of his cheeks. Jakes chuckle could be heard bouncing off the empty hallway walls as he retreated back to where he came.

“I think homeboy wants your presence in hair and make up, Sammy.” You giggled, stuffing the device you were still holding back into your pocket. Sam pulled a deep breath in through his nose and shook his head, glancing quickly over his shoulder.

“That uh… pffft. That would be my brother Jake, Josh is my other brother. The man is a diva and he may kick my ass if I don’t get back there. Maybe I’ll see you after the show?” Sam asked and a hopeful smile spread across his face. You nodded enthusiastically and took a step back in the direction of the equipment you needed to finish setting up.

“I can’t wait to see you in action.” You giggled, turning on your heel to return your attention to his bass pedal. Sam couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he turned to leave and with one brief look over his shoulder called out,

“You best be careful, I need that pedal!”

You felt your eyes begin to roll before you had a chance to control the action and reached up, shooing him away with the motion of your hand.

~*~*~

A sigh of relief slipped past your lips as you popped the batteries out of the controller you had used for the pyrotechnics and tossed it all into your locked drawer. The house lights were finally up for the night and you could breathe a sigh of relief now that their set was finally over. You had been blown away by their live set, taking in just how expressive Sam’s face was as he played. You sat back in your booth and waited for the crowd to disperse before slowly making your way backstage.

Sam sat on his trunk with his head leaned against the wall behind him. He had changed out of his stage clothes quickly, now dressed in thick plaid red pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt advertising a high school cross country team. You breezed past him, not wanting to bother him as he looked completely spent, his already heavy eyelids resting even heavier against his tired eyes. A soft smile spread across his face as he sat up and reached out, wrapping his hand around the hoodie you had tied around your waist.

A soft noise escaped you as the hoodie was pulled from your waist and you turned on your heel to see Sam in possession of the article of clothing and a sheepish smile painted across his face. He rolled the hoodie up in his arms and reached out, holding it out to you. With a soft shake of your head you took a step forward and plucked it from his grasp.

“Well I never.” You giggled, wrapping the hoodie back where it had originally been. Sam kept the hand he had held the hoodie it held out in your direction, palm side up and kept his eyes on yours. There was something about those downturned sleepy brown eyes that drew you to him, and your reached out, placing your hand in his. Sam tugged lightly, causing you to move a few steps forward.

“I’ll see you the rest of this weekend, right?” He questioned, his eyes never leaving yours as your lips quirked up into a soft smile and you nodded.

“Yeah I’ll be around. After all, someone does have to run the show, now don’t they Sammy?” You giggled, stepping even closer to where he sat perched on top of his trunk. He puffed out his cheeks and averted his gaze as you settled your hips between his knees and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Well I guess you’ve got me there, don’t you?” He chuckled, tilting his head to gaze up at you. A soft giggle escaped you as you took a step back, suddenly very conscious of your close proximity to him. Sam acted on impulse and reached out, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulled you back to where you had originally been standing. Your breath caught in your throat as you reached your hands up and cupped his cheeks, letting your mind wander as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Oh great, now he’s getting handsy with the staff, Josh!” Jake called, rolling his eyes as he rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of you wrapped up in his little brother. You eyes grew wide and you let your hands fall, taking a step back to break Sam’s embrace. Mouthing a silent and quick ‘sorry’ you reached out to ruffle his already messy hair before taking off in the direction of the janitorial office.

~*~*~*~

The weekend blew by in a blur.

You had spent the majority of both days at the venue, getting there hours before the band and staying to help clean up hours after they had left. Sleep had been scarce, and you were finally feeling the effects of your choices weighing down on your shoulders as you collapsed into the seat in your booth and folded your arms on the desk, creating a soft space to lay your head against.

It was their last night playing the venue and Sam had made it a point to pop in hours before sound check was set to start. He had snuck backstage and out of your view, a bouquet of roses and food you had been gushing about wanting for dinner last night and knew you’d be leaving too late to get tucked in his duffel bag. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose and took the bouquet of roses out of his duffle bag gently. Sam toyed with the flowers in his hand, debating on if he should bring them to you or rest them next to the take out containers he had planned to surprise you with. A sigh slipped past his lips and he nodded to himself as he wrapped his hand tightly around the stems of the roses and took off in the direction of your mixing booth.

You could hear footsteps approaching and slowly peeled your head up off of your arms, shaking it slightly to try and wake yourself up a little more. The footsteps came to a halt just beyond your door, as if the person had just vanished or changed their mind and retreated from where you sat. After a moment of waiting you deemed the coast to be clear and rested your head back onto your folded arms.

“For you?” Sam’s soft voice reverberated around in your mind and you tried to pull yourself back up into the conscious realm. It was only a moment before you felt his hand on your back, rubbing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. A soft smile caressed your lips as you moved slowly and rolled your head to face him.

“Hi Sammy.” You mumbled, slowly pushing yourself into a seated position and willed your eyes to open. Sam stood to your left with a bouquet of roses held in such a way he was covering the bottom half of his face. You couldn’t help the sleepy giggle that escaped you as you reached out and wrapped your hand around the bouquet.

“For me, huh? Is this to make up for all the teasing I’ve endured this week? Yknow your brothers can lay it on thick.” You joked, your mind wandering to all the silly comments the other boys had made over the last few days. A soft smile caressed Sam’s lips as he wrapped his arm securely around your shoulders and pulled you against him, his gaze never leaving your face as you stuck it into the roses.

“You doing alright? We’re not running you ragged are we?” He asked, genuine concern lacing his tone. You nodded gently, letting your head fall to the side and rest against him. Yous eyes fluttered shut as he began to rub his hand over your shoulder, and you reveled in the feeling of warmth the friction was creating.

“I’m alright. Big show days stress me out regardless of the artist. We were just lucky to run a sold out mini residency this weekend so… this week has been tough.” You spoke through the yawn that slipped past your lips. Sam chuckled and brought his hand up to ruffle the hair on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry our little big band has stolen your sleep. But I think I can make up for a it a bit, come with me!” A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Sam took a step to the side and you pushed yourself to stand, dragging your feet as you followed behind him. Sam couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as he listened to you dragging your slip-on clad feet across the floor and a soft smile graced his face as he watched you; your gaze trained pointedly on your hands as you picked at your nails - a nervous tick you had that he had picked up on.He slowed to a stop and waited for you to catch up.

“May I?” He questioned, positioning his arm in a triangle against his side and nodded in your direction. One side of your lips pulled up into a smile as you closed the distance and looped your arm through his, placing your hand against his bicep. Sam pulled a deep breath in through his nose, holding it briefly as you rested your head against his arm and allowed him to direct you to your destination.

“Now I know it’s just my green room and it’s nothing special but..” he trailed of, gently placing a hand on your elbow and pulled his arm out from yours, gently guiding you to the beat up couch in the middle of the room. He helped lower you down to the couch and turned at the waist to grab the duffle bag off of the opposite side of the couch.

“Last night you had said something to Josh about tacos from that little place up the street, ‘they’re the best in town! Ugh I wish they were open later on the weekends though!’ and how you were sad you wouldn’t be able to catch them before they closed. So I thought maybe a little lunch before we drive you crazy on our last night here would make up for our chaos.” His booming voice turned shy and soft as his nerves began to kick in and, with a shaky hand, he pulled the take out container out of his duffle and handed it to you.

You couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that washed over you and your eyes began to fill with tears at the simple gesture. A soft giggle escaped you as you popped opened the take out container and looked up, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall.

“You were listening to what I told Josh I get?” Your bottom lip pushed out in a pout and flickered your eyes up to look at him. A light pink blush had spread across the apples of his cheeks and was starting to creep down his neck as he watched you nearly have a meltdown over a trio of tacos.

“I may have been. But you were so bummed out we were keeping you here past closing time, it was the least I could do.” He spoke fast, his nerves now getting the best of him. Pulling a deep breath in through your nose you closed the take out container and placed it on the little table in front of you before pushing yourself up off of the couch and closed the distance between the both of you. Without a second thought you reached out and wrapped your arms around his waist, nuzzling your face against the soft material of his shirt. Sam’s eyes grew wide at your gesture, finding himself almost unsure of what to do.

“Thank you, Sammy. It means a lot.” Your voice was high pitched as you fought back the tears in your eyes and the sob that was slowly clawing its way up your throat. Sam took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around your shoulders securely, tipping his head to rub the tip of his nose against the crown of your head.

“You are so welcome. Now eat before it gets any colder than it already is.” He chuckled, fighting the urge to press a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulled away from you and dug back into his duffle bag, plucking his own lunch out of it as well as two bottles of water.

“Mind if I eat with you?” He asked, nodding towards the seat next to where you had originally been sitting. You giggled softly and sat back in your spot, tapping gently on the couch next to you.

“It would be my pleasure.”

Sam sighed dramatically as he sat next to you, placing his take out container safely on his lap and reached out to hand you a bottle of water. You watched him closely as he reached over and grabbed your food from the table and gently placed it in your lap before popping open his own container.

“So tell me, how long have you been running the show around these parts?” He chuckled, inspecting the burrito that sat in the take out container before lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite.

“Honestly? This is the first year in a big girl venue. The last few years I was just DJing college parties and school dances, working at the local radio station, nothing too crazy. Then on a whim I applied for an opening here and well, it’s been a whirlwind of chaos ever since. But it’s usually local bands that play here, not known names. I think you guys are the first OH EM GEE! Band that’s played here.” You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as he rolled his eyes and continued to eat.

“So what I’m hearing is, we’re the first real in your hair band that you can’t boss around because we’re not locals and you don’t know us like that.” He stated, letting a boisterous laugh slip past his lips as your eyes widened and you nearly choked on the mouthful of food you were chewing.

“I said nothing of the sort! Don’t be putting words in my mouth. What about you guys? How long have you been playing music?” Sam shrugged his shoulders and placed his burrito down, wiping his hands off of his sweats before holding one up and counted on his fingers.

“Well we’ve been versed in music since before we could talk, but we were in high school before we - and by we I mean Jake, this was all his doing - but we really didn’t start the whole band thing until maybe freshman or sophomore year? And we’ve been kinda playing with it ever since. This is the first time we’ve played somewhere outside of Michigan.”

“So you’re from Michigan?” You questioned, nodding along as you tried to piece together the timeline he had vaguely touched upon.

“Yeah a little town most people haven’t heard of. We played around there for years and now that we’ve gained some traction we’re trying to push the limits and see how far we can take it.” You nodded and watched as he turned his attention back to his food, a silent ending to a not quite finished conversation.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you ate and you kept your eyes downcast, taking in the silly sandals that adorned his feet. Something you had become accustomed to over the last few days, the toss up between Sammy being barefoot and Sammy wearing his old, well loved Birkenstocks.

“What I’m trying to say is… thanks. Thank you for thinking of me… this means more than you’ll probably ever realize. Not many people pay attention to the stage hands unless their show isn’t going according to plan and then it’s just a big mess of yelling and anger so… it’s been nice to have someone show me some sort of human empathy and compassion, I guess.” Sam’s brows furrowed together and his eyes focused on your face, blindly closing the take out container that sat on his lap and he placed it gently on the table in front of him.

“Empathy and compassion? Shit, all I did was make sure you ate.” You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as you reached out and swiped your thumb along his bottom lip, brushing away a grain of rice that had become stuck there.

“And brought me flowers?! But sure, we’ll leave it at that. Just know I appreciate the gesture.” You mumbled, watching closely as his cheeks began to warm with a soft pink hue and a wide grin spread across his face.

“If you wanted to touch the goods all you had to do was ask.” He chuckled, reaching up and wrapping his hand around yours, he slowly pulled it away from his cheek and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft series of kisses to the skin. Your bottom lip found a home securely between your teeth and you gently slipped your hand out of his.

“I uh… I have to go start setting up for sound check but uh… I’ll see you around after the show, right?” You asked, knowing their agenda and hoping for a few moments alone to say goodbye to your bass player. Sam nodded gently and stood, reaching a hand out for you to take. A soft smile spread across his face as you slipped your hand into his and allowed him to walk you back to the mixing booth in a comfortable silence.

~*~*~

A sigh of relief flew out of you and your shoulders slumped forward as the house lights came on for the final time in Greta Van Fleets mini residency weekend. The crowed cheered louder than you had heard this weekend and the band bowed one last time before blowing kisses out into the crowd and malign their way backstage. You leaned back in your chair as the crowed around your floor level booth began to disperse and it wasn’t long before you had a clear path to the backstage hallway.

You made a quick beeline for the hallway, sneaking through the door before anyone remaining in the floor area could see where you had slipped through. Everyone puttering around the hallway and areas were full of smiles and laughs, a successful first residency in the books for up and coming rock band Greta Van Fleet. A huge accomplishment for any small artist. You exchanged quick pleasantries with each person you passed by, not wanting to seem rude as you slowly made your way to Sam’s dressing room.

You knocked on the door and giggled the handle slightly, waiting for an answer from the other side. A huff of annoyance could be heard as the doorknob turned and he ripped the door open.

“Josh I swear… oh, hi! You’re not Josh.” An embarrassed chuckle slipped past Sam’s lips as his expression softened. You weren’t sure what your face read as your heart hammered in your chest and you took a step back from him.

“I’m sorry I… I’m gonna go.” you mumbled, keeping your head hung and turning quickly on your heel to bee line it away from his door. Sam felt his heart break at your reaction, one he didn’t expect as his tone had changed once he realized it was you. Taking a quick step forward he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you flush against his chest, walking backwards into his dressing room and kicked the door shut.

“Not so fast. I’m sorry if I startled you. Josh has just been on our case because we’re on a time crunch. We need to be out of there by midnight we have a six am to catch. He’s afraid if we don’t speed out of here we won’t sleep and… I’m sorry I’m rambling.” He mumbled, slowly swaying you in place. You pulled a deep breath in through your nose and allowed your head to fall back, resting against his shoulder. You let your eyes flutter shut, committing the feeling of his arms around you and the scent that was undeniably him to your memory, knowing there was a chance you’d never see him again.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard I just… I wanted a few minutes before the whirlwind of your brothers swept you away and I didn’t get to say bye.” Your voice cracked a bit and you pulled in another breath to steady yourself, willing away the tears that were welling in your eyes.

“No it’s okay, I was gonna come find you once I had changed out of my stage clothes.” You nodded gently, and reached up, wrapping your hands around his arm. Sam tightened his grip on you briefly before letting go and spinning you in his grasp.

“It’s been one hell of a weekend. Thanks for hanging out and making sure our show ran smoothly. We wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” Sam reached up and pinched at the apple of your cheek, earning himself a sad giggle.

“Yeah well, there wouldn’t be a show to run smoothly had you guys not played.” You shrugged, tilting your head to finally meet Sam’s gaze. Sam smiled down at you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling your body flush against his. Pulling a shaky breath in through your nose, your reserve broke and tears flowed freely down your cheeks. A soft laugh escaped you, and you wrapped your arms tightly around Sam’s waist, allowing yourself to feel the emotions coursing through your body.

“Hey, hey now. It’s just til next tour. We’ll be back for another residency, I can promise you that.” Sam mumbled, swaying your bodies gently in place. He pulled a deep breath in and slowly released it, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

“You better come back. I’ll be highly upset if I see a tour announcement and we’re not on the list.” A boisterous laugh escaped Sam’s chest and the rumble of it vibrated against your ear, earning him another tearful giggle.

“Hey, look at me.” His voice was soft and he unraveled himself from you, holding his arms out as you pulled back from him.

“Aw man, your shirts wet.” You joked, knowing you were the cause of it. Sam shook his head at you and cupped your cheeks in his hands, running his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks to dry your tears.

“And so is your face. Promise me you’ll keep smiling that pretty smile, okay? We’ll be back before you know it, I’ll make sure of it.” He kept his voice soft, as if speaking to a child who was highly upset.

“I… I’m gonna miss you.” With your confession came a fresh wave of tears, and a sad giggle as you shook your head trying to will the tears away. Sam leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead, one you would have missed had you not been paying attention.

“I’ll miss you too. But it’s only until next tour, okay? In the blink of an eye we’ll be back to drive you even more crazy than we drove you this time.” He chuckled, pulling the cuff of his hoodie up over his hand and gently wiped away the rest of your tears.

“You better. Pinky promise?” You giggled through your tears and held up your hand with your pinky out, ready for him to link his with. He couldn’t help the way he rolled his eyes - the tears threatened to well up causing a prickling sensation he couldn’t shake - and he reached out to link his pinky with yours.

“Pinky promise. Now you gotta stop it with the tears because it’s all over if I start crying.” He chuckled, reaching out to wrap you in one more long, heart hammering inducing hug before pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“I’m gonna go clean up before the boss man realizes I’m gone. Stay safe out there, Sammy, please.” Sam nodded and reached out, wrapping his hand around yours gently.

“You stay safe too, I need you to be here to bug when we come back after all.” He chuckled, reveling in the way your smile lit up your eyes.

“Don’t you worry, I’m not going anywhere. Bye Sammy, until next tour.” You reached up and saluted him, earning yourself the absolutely wild laugh of his that had you swooning the day you met him.

“Until next tour.” He slowly let his hand drop from yours and watched as you made your way out of his dressing room, clicking the door closed softly behind you.

He let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and tipped his head back, letting the tears he had been fighting finally win. A soft ‘fuck’ escaping his lips as he tried to get his bearings and pack up the rest of his things, ready to hit the road to their next big destination.

TAGLIST: @readyforthegarden @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @dannythedog @sunfl0wer-power @vanfleeter @runwayblues @the-wicked-gnome @sinsofstardust @stardustvanfleet @allieisacrybaby @texas-bbq-pringles @freyjalw @girlattheseaside @asendingtothestarsasone @demonrat444 @sparrowofthedawnsworld @itsafullmoon @literal-dead-leaf

[jpitha]

Between the Black and Gray 3

First / Previous / Next

Ma-ren was busy.

Helena had called out so, they were down a server during the lunch rush. Ti'ka helped spread the load, so it wasn't insurmountable, but it was busier than she had been in a while. She had told Fen to stay home today just to give things another day to cool down so Ma-ren felt additional obligation to make some extra money.

A bell sounded, and an unseen hand from the kitchen slid out a plate of pancakes for that new human eating outside. Ma-ren grabbed her plate and the coffee pot and strode out.

"Here are your pancakes, sorry for the wait! Would you like another coffee?" She placed the plate in front of him and made sure he had napkins and syrup.

"I would love another cup, thanks so much." He grinned widely as she poured. "Hey, I'm sorry for staring earlier, you just look familiar."

"Oh it's all right. Maybe I just have that kind of face." Ma-ren flicked her tail and looked back towards the kitchen. "You're new here right? When did you arrive?"

He finished chewing the pancakes and swallowed. "Just came in a couple hours ago on a freighter. I'm going to see if I can find some work and earn enough for passage on to the next station."

"Oh? Where are you headed?" Ma-ren switched to Colonic smoothly. Then, she realized what she was doing, shook her head, and her ears twitched. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry. I apologize, you don't have to tell me your business."

He chuckled and waved his hand, dismissively. "I haven't had a chance to speak Colonic in years. It feels good, like dusting an old cabinet. "No, no it's fine. I guess I'm making my way to Lemilar."

"Well, good luck on your journey!"

"Thanks Ma-ren, I'll try." He looked down at his food and then back up. "Actually, Ma-ren, can you recommend a hostel around here? I need a place to stay for a week or two."

Ma-ren laughed. "Friend, there's no place like that for humans or K'laxi here."

The human looked around. "Yeah, I kind of got that impression from the welcome wagon down on the promenade."

"Oh? Did you meet Tam? How much did he shake you down for?"

"He tried for one hundred Stars, but he didn't get any."

Ma-ren blinked. "Wait, you beat up Tam?"

The human shook his head quickly. "No! I just dodged his half-assed punches until he got tired and left."

"Oh I wish I could have been there for that! Someone needs to take Tam down a peg or two. He goes after humans and K'laxi, and not just newbies on the promenade. He comes up here and causes trouble, and when security comes, they harass us." Ma-ren looks back at the kitchen. "Look, I have to get back to work, but anyone who can take on Tam and walk away deserves praise. I've got a couch, you can crash with Fen and I for a day or two while you figure things out."

He blinked. "Are you sure? That's awfully generous. You just met me, I don't even think you know my name."

"Hey, we take care of our own up here. Ancestors know nobody else will. There's no reason for you to sleep out in the common if you don't have to." She winked. "So, what's your name then, friend?"

He suck out his right hand. "I'm Gord. Pleased to meetcha."

Ma-ren leaned back. "What's the hand for?"

Gord looked at her, and then at his hand, and put it down slowly. "Don't worry about it. It's an old greeting."

Ma-ren's ears twitched again. "Well Gord, I'm on for another couple of hours and then I'll take you back to our place. I'll bring you the check for the pancakes, but I can keep the coffee going so the boss doesn't wonder why you're still here."

Gord finished his food and took out a battered pad and read while sipping three or four coffees while Ma-ren finished her shift. When she was finished, she walked out in her street clothes. "Ready Gord?"

Gord snapped the pad shut and picked up his pack. "Sure thing Ma-ren. Lead the way."

She took him to her apartment over on the other side of the floor. As they approached her building, they passed Da'reni sitting out front reading again, his gray muzzle buried in his pad. Ma-ren waved. "Hey Da'reni, I've got a boarder for a couple of days. New arrival."

Da'reni grunted and flicked his eyes up. He did a double take and stared. His ears flattened, and he looked like he was going to say something. Then, he fluffed his fur and grunted and went back to his pad. "Careful, newbie. You've got that kind of face. The one that gets security called up here."

Gord raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Ma-ren's tail flicked. "Don't worry Gord, that's just how Da'reni is. Come on, you can come up and meet Fen and get settled.

Ma-ren bounded up the stairs while Gord walked more carefully. When she got to the apartment door, she touched the locking stud and the door buzzed and opened with a loud click. "Fen hon, I'm back and I bought a friiiiiiiiend!"

There was bustling from the kitchen area. "Oh, who is it? Did you drag Helena back again?"

Ma-ren laughed. "Nah, newbie off a freighter. Get this, he managed to dodge getting beat up by Tam!"

Fen leaned around the corner, face covered in flour and a towel draped across her shoulder. "Okay, you win. Hey newbie, I'm Fen."

He waved. "Gord."

"Sit Gord, you drink tea? Too bad, I'm making some. I'll have cookies out in an hour."

Gord, Fen and Ma-ren sat around their small table, drinking tea while Gord brought Fen up to speed and telling them about dodging Tam.

"Shit Gord, I know how hard Tam can hit-" Fen rubbed her cheek "-first hand, and the fact that you dodged him is nothing short of impressive."

"Oh, it wasn't so much, but thanks all the same. He really telegraphs his moves, and I know that a Gren really only has three or four punches in them." Gord sipped his tea politely.

Gord put his cup down. "So Fen, Ma-ren how long have you been here? Sure seems like they are trying to get all the humans and k'laxi to move along."

Fen and Ma-ren shared a look and then laughed. "Oh Gord, we were born and raised here. Most of the time, the station authorities ignore us. Our parents came in on Spyglass and these days it's not going anywhere so we just... stayed."

Gord blinked. "Wait, Spyglass? The Starjumper? She's here? Where?"

Fen raised an eyebrow. "Docking bays thirty three through forty. We have a big fundraiser every year to pay the docking fees. We probably should just scrap it, but we can't bring ourselves to do it. It saved all of us."

Gord looked at them in horror. "Scrap her? No, you can't do that! Have you even asked her what she thinks of that?"

Ma-ren looked at Gord carefully. "Her? Gord, Spyglass is a ship. A creaky, old, cold, human made ship. It's probably the oldest thing on this station by a long shot. It's not alive."

Gord boggled. He shut his mouth and took a deep breath in, and then out again though his nose. He picked up his tea and Ma-ren noticed his hand was shaking. "Gord? What are you not telling us?"

At that, Gord smiled. "Quite a lot, actually. But that's neither here nor there." He sipped his tea, took another cleansing breath and seemed to collect himself. "Can we go over to Spyglass? Can we go in her?"

Fen shrugged. "I mean, it-she's cold. The reactors failed decades ago, but she's not like, guarded. We used to play there as kids."

"Will you take me there? It's important. I need to see something." For the first time since they met, Ma-ren noticed that Gord was nervous.

"S-sure Gord. We can head over." Fen looked up at the clock over the stove. "Curfew isn't for a few cycles, let's go now."

[creative-frequency]

Astarion x Reader: Contradictions and Other Counter-Measures Ch.1

Summary: If you want to spend some time with Astarion, you only have to say so. Though, it seems to happen just as well without saying anything.

Moments in camp during your journey to find a cure for the tadpole issue. You are a sorceress, daughter of the noble Caldwell family and Wyll's old friend.

Word count: 2067 Notes: Eventual romance, building friendships, camp shenanigans, game rewrite scenes, spoilers ahoy.

CHAPTER 1: Escape

The tavern sign creaks in the cool, windy night of the Lower City. The rain is calming into a drizzle after a full day of pouring torrent. Muddy puddles litter the roads and alleys of Baldur’s Gate. An errant step into one has already soiled your boots and the hem of your heavy cape.

You’re the only traveller on the road making your way towards the infamous den, hopefully looking like one with the promise of a cheap pint or blithe time on your mind. Though with the current dreadful weather, no one looks up from their feet or pays any mind to the hood covering your face.

And that is exactly why you chose tonight.

In your hurry, you fail to notice the pair of red eyes peering down from the tavern’s upper floor window to the street. They are already calculating possible openings for a temptation and chances for seduction.

Astarion is beginning to feel nervous as he turns away from the window. This streak of cold, quiet nights is proving difficult for someone looking for, well… people to meet. If only he hadn’t agreed to the stupid bet with Petras and Dal on top of drawing the shortest stick. Travellers and tourists don’t go out in this weather unless they absolutely have to. He wouldn’t either if he had a choice.

When no one else enters the tavern for a while after you, Astarion decides to take another look at the night’s menu of patrons downstairs. It has been slim pickings so far, but there must be someone, who even barely passes the bar to be served for his Master. He cannot return empty-handed. Not tonight.

Astarion descends the stairs leisurely, an empty wine cup dangling between his slender fingers. He walks towards his usual stalking spot in the corner, a vantage point from where he can see the faces of those walking in, but before he can sit down, a commotion by the bar draws his attention.

You are arguing with the burly bartender and apparently trying to hush the towering man with frantic motions. He says it’s not ‘that kind of establishment.’ And he rather loudly tells you to order something or get lost. You shy away for a bit, gathering yourself and making sure your scarf covers the lower half of your face. Some of the other patrons are already shooting curious looks at you. The attention is the last thing you need.

And thus, Astarion alters his course to prowl closer.

He scans your voice and frame, even though it’s difficult to make any conclusions as you’re dressed in something resembling a loose and large potato sack with a hood. Quite the fashion statement, Astarion sneers and almost turns on his heels, just as a glimpse of something golden catches his eye.

Astarion’s gaze narrows and he can’t help the slight curve of a smile forming. So you were trying to pawn off something at the counter. How silly of you to think that any local establishment that happens to be located in a side alley would be willing to do some side hustle as a fence. In Astarion’s experience, this kind of situation usually means a delicious damsel in distress and someone with no touch into the reality of Lower City life.

Perfect.

Astarion has never heard of anyone finding gold at the bottom of a potato sack, but with the unlucky streak he’s had, he is willing to give it a try.

“Is there a problem, darling?” Astarion says in the smoothest, most calming tone his 200 years of experience in the art of seduction can provide.

The golden glimpse – a ring with an intricate pattern on its surface – disappears into your cloak with such sleight of hand and speed that Astarion almost wants to applaud.

“Of course not,” you mutter, glance at him, do a double take because burning Hells, he is gorgeous, and turn away quickly. This is just the kind of attention you were trying to avoid by choosing the not-so-complimenting outfit.

There is something familiar about you, but before Astarion can look more closely, the grumpy bartender clears his throat rather loudly.

“Is there something I can get you?” he asks, clearly telling Astarion to mind his own damn business.

“Well, since you’re asking, you could stop treating this lady so boorishly and pour us both a glass of red,” Astarion says and places his empty cup on the counter along with the required coin.

“I don’t–”, you start but Astarion silences you with a worried look that says ‘let me handle the brute’.

The bartender glares at the pair of you before picking up the coin and turning around to find a bottle of wine.

You swallow the rest of your protest and fiddle with your scarf, compulsively lifting it to hide the lower part of your face.

And it truly is an exasperatingly familiar face, Astarion thinks, tapping his slender fingers on the counter. He knows who you are, for some reason. Or knows of you. He just quite can’t put his finger on it. But, there is one thing he knows:

When he is hunting for a bag of blood for his Master’s supper, meeting someone Astarion thinks he might know is always a bad thing. Random travellers, excitement-hunting tourists and the dregs of society make for the best prey. No one will miss them for days.

“Now, would you do me the honour of telling me your name?” Astarion asks sweetly, settling into his most irresistible smile.

You tug the hood lower over your face, avoiding the inspecting stare, but Astarion can clearly see how your eyes are darting around, looking for ideas for a false story.

“T-Tav. I’m, uhh, a merchant. Selling… the local farmers’ crops down by Waukeen’s Rest.”

Potato sack woman, indeed, but also the saddest display of deception Astarion has seen in years. Your voice, however, doesn’t ring any alarm bells of familiarity, so he might as well continue.

“Nice to meet you, Tav. My name is Astarion,” he purrs.

The bartender sets down two cups of red wine with a grunt and a glare, and walks away to serve the patrons by the other end of the counter.

Astarion takes the wine cups and offers one to you. You accept it but don’t drink.

“What shall we drink to?” he inquires.

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable with the situation. It is not quite the reaction Astarion is used to receiving when pointing his charms and full attention at someone. You’re avoiding his gaze, hiding behind the hood and scarf. How annoying.

“Darling, is something the matter?” Astarion asks in a hushed tone that almost convinces you to trust him a little. He leans slightly closer, just into your personal space. “You obviously didn’t come here for a drink.”

Maybe it’s his uncannily sharp skills of perception or you’re just that obviously desperate, but the jury of your mind is frantically trying to reach an agreement – and, unsurprisingly, it turns into Astarion’s favour.

You turn to fully look at him. It’s his first win of the night, but still far from winning the bet. Astarion’s expression stays neutral with a very convincing hint of artfully crafted worry.

“I need to get out of the city. Tonight,” you say so quietly that barely any sound leaves your lips.

Astarion leans closer like a co-conspirator. “Is that why you were trying to pawn off that ring of yours?” he asks and sips the wine.

You freeze. “No. I wasn’t trying to–”

Astarion hushes your rising panic. ”You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He draws an exaggerated thoughtful look at you and whispers: “In fact, I could help you.”

Your eyes narrow. “And why would you do that, good sir?”

“Oh, I like to call myself somewhat of a humanitarian,” he replies coolly, swirling the wine in his cup.

You still eye him suspiciously. Your scarf gradually falls, revealing red-painted lips. “Apologies for my wariness, but how exactly do you plan on helping me? The gates at the main road are closed for the night,” you point out.

Astarion shoots a humorous look at you. “Darling, there are other ways to leave the city besides the main road.”

You arch a brow at the suggestion. Unbeknown to each other, maybe both of your fortunes are about to take a turn.

“Such as?” you ask.

“Why spoil the surprise?” Astarion smiles irresistibly, leaning towards you, but you coil back.

“Can’t say I like surprises. Especially tonight,” you say and Astarion realises that he started reeling his catch in too early.

He places the wine cup on the counter and looks you in the eyes. Yours are surprisingly pretty – also beautified with skillfully applied makeup that doesn’t add up with the potato sack outfit. How curious. There must be a scandalous story to this and Astarion ponders forsaking his mission for digging out the details to sate his curiosity. If he hadn’t been on such an unlucky streak already, he probably would’ve changed his mind and actually pried for the whole story. It’s been years since anything piqued his interest like this.

“Very well then,” Astarion sighs, acting all exasperated at having to spoil the surprise. “My family happens to possess a portal for, ah. A quick escape.”

You twitch at the word ‘escape’ as your heart jumps – the reaction is so easy to read.

“Go back to the city? I barely made it this far,” you say quietly, brows furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

You realise you said too much and shut up for a moment. “Nothing. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Astarion would smile if the situation wasn’t so delicate. You’re too easy to manipulate.

“A misunderstanding? With who?” Astarion asks innocently with the appropriate amount of concern.

Just as you’re looking around for an escape from replying, the only door of the tavern is suddenly swarmed by three very loud Flaming Fist soldiers. Everyone turns to look at the door and you realise too late that your scarf has fallen again.

“There she is!” one of the soldiers yells and points directly at you.

You jump up from the bar stool and dash towards the stairs. Astarion turns curiously to look from you to the soldiers, but is suddenly met with the business end of a longsword.

Two of the soldiers run upstairs after you, the fugitive, as the largest one of them growls at Astarion: “What’s your business with her? And keep ‘em hands where I can see them.”

“Saer, surely there’s been a misunderstanding–” Astarion feels the sting of irony as he parrots your words. “I have no idea who the lady is. I was just buying her a drink.”

The soldier looks up at the bartender who shrugs and agrees: “He paid for them.”

As a testimony, your untouched cup of wine still rests on the counter. The soldier sheaths his sword.

“Now, this has been a tad too exciting an evening for myself, so if you’ll excuse me,” Astarion says and gets up to leave. He doesn’t fancy the idea of being thrown into a cell for the remaining night. Prison breaks are so exhausting and usually include wading through the sewers. Eugh.

The soldier doesn’t hear Astarion muttering as he is already marching after the others. But, he doesn’t even make it to the stairs when the heels of something quite large resembling a sack of potatoes land straight on his head. The man instantly falls flat on his bum from the impact, his armour rattling loudly.

You dash past the thunderstruck vampire spawn, spewing mild, ladylike profanities as you go and leave a faint blue stream of light in your wake. Your eyes lock with Astarion’s as you turn by the door to check if your pursuers have already recovered.

Astarion can’t help but burst into a fit of laughter.

On the following evening, he sees that the front page of the Baldur’s Mouth is graced by a photo of ‘Tav’, who turns out to be a progeny of the Caldwell family. And so he has his explanation for why you seemed so familiar and were carrying around a gold ring that is worth a house in one of the less classy neighbourhoods of Baldur’s Gate.

As for what you were running from, the paper offers no satisfactory explanation.

-

Next Chapter

My Writing Masterlist

[strljaem]

The sun dipped low over the city, casting a golden glow across the rooftops and turning the clouds into streaks of orange and pink. The hustle and bustle of the day was starting to wind down, and the evening air felt cool against your skin as you walked through the streets on your way home. It was a day like any other—except for the secret you were keeping from everyone.

Your boyfriend, Jaemin, was no ordinary boyfriend. He was Spiderman, the masked vigilante swinging through the city, protecting its people from all kinds of threats. But when he wasn't out fighting crime, he was just Jaemin—the sweet, charming guy who made you laugh and listened to your stories like they were the most interesting things in the world.

You'd met in the most unexpected way. It was a night like any other, and you were walking home from a friend's house when a couple of thugs tried to rob you. Fear gripped you as they approached, but before they could even touch you, Spiderman dropped from the sky like an avenging angel, webbing them up in a matter of seconds. He helped you to your feet, his eyes—those familiar eyes—glinting with concern behind the mask.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle yet reassuring.

You nodded, still in shock. "Yeah, I—thank you."

He made sure you got home safely that night, swinging through the city as you watched in awe. You couldn't help but wonder who he was behind the mask, but you never thought you'd find out—until the day you met Jaemin. The way he smiled at you, the warmth in his eyes, and the way he moved—it all clicked, and you realized that the mysterious Spiderman who'd saved you was the same guy who'd been making your heart race at school.

Now, as you walked through the streets, you couldn't help but think about the first time he revealed his secret to you. It was in a quiet corner of the city, hidden from prying eyes. He'd pulled off the mask, his hair tousled from swinging through the city, and looked at you with a vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat.

"I wanted you to know," he said softly. "I trust you."

Since then, your relationship had grown stronger, built on a foundation of trust and shared secrets. You were his safe place, the person he could talk to about the pressures of being Spiderman, the toll it took on him, and the moments of doubt that sometimes crept in. And he was your rock, the one who could always make you laugh even on the toughest days.

As you approached your apartment building, you heard a familiar voice calling your name from above. You looked up to see Jaemin perched on the edge of a nearby building, his Spiderman suit gleaming in the fading light.

"Hey," he called, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Need a lift?"

You laughed and nodded, knowing that a lift with Jaemin meant swinging through the city in a way that only Spiderman could. He shot a web down to you, and you grabbed on, feeling the rush of adrenaline as he pulled you up to the rooftop.

"Where to?" he asked, wrapping an arm around you.

"Anywhere," you replied, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Just take me with you."

With a nod, he shot a web to the next building, and you both soared through the city, the wind whipping through your hair as the lights below blurred into a dazzling mosaic. You felt the exhilaration of flight, the freedom that came with being by his side, and the knowledge that no matter what came your way, you had each other.

As you swung through the city with Jaemin, you couldn't help but smile. You knew that being with him meant facing danger and uncertainty, but it also meant love, adventure, and the kind of connection that could only come from sharing such an extraordinary secret. And as long as you had each other, you knew you could face whatever the world threw your way.

[rubydubydoo122]

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Something was different about Gotham. Sure the streets were relatively the same, but the buildings seemed different. Less run down. Newer. 

They passed a fire station that had an electrical board that showed any events, the weather, the time and… the date?

“Holy crow? It’s 2023? Does that mean I– does that mean I time traveled?” That would make him 21– nope, 20 because it was April. His birthday wasn’t for another 4 months. “This is so cool. Can I meet me?” Was he in college? Of course he was, there’s no way he would throw all that away. Did he get another growth spurt? He was probably cool. 

“I’m pretty sure you got de-aged, since you’re still wearing your suit. I think if it was time travel you would’ve showed up in your…” Stephanie glanced back at him like she had just realized something, but immediately shot her eyes back on the road “Robin costume.”

Wait. He wasn’t still Robin? A grown adult being Robin did seem kind of silly though. Dick had become Nightwing when he was 18. They kept calling Jason “Red Hood” . Was that what he called himself now? How in the world did he convince Bruce to let him use guns? Why did he use guns?

Steph lifted a finger to her com, “Um..quick question, who’s in the cave right now?” 

The question didn’t echo in Jason’s ear so he assumed that maybe she’d switched to a different frequency. Which was kinda rude, but also maybe polite because the reverberation is kinda annoying.

“Ok good, Oracle already filled you in. We’re coming up on the cave, Agent A, maybe you should put a sheet or something over the case.” a pause, “How am I supposed to know? I didn't know you people then.” she looked at Jason again, “He still has the white streak in his hair. If that helps?”

“I dyed… my hair?” He tried to get a glance of himself in the side mirrors and sure enough he had a streak of white near his forehead, “ Cool .”

They got to the cave, which had a lot more bat-themed vehicles than Jason remembered. No duh, it’s been like five years. 

They got out of the bike and walked further into the cave. Well, Stephanie walked, Jason waddled because his pants and boots were way too big. She turned around with her phone and took a picture with a shit eating grin. 

“What- hey! Delete that!” He reached to grab the phone but she moved it just out of reach. Screw her and her tallness.

“No can do, bitty bird. It’s not often I can get blackmail on the Big Bad Red Hood.”

She was basically a stranger and now she has a picture of him. Sure she was let into the batcave, and Bruce probably trusted her, but that doesn’t mean he was comfortable with her taking pictures of him. Jason’s eyes felt like they were burning in shame.

“Miss. Stephanie, don’t tease Master–” Alfred was cut off by a hug, 

“Alfie!” Jason couldn’t see Alfred pale in his arms. Because other than the white streak running through his hair, Jason looked almost exactly how he did before he… left. For Ethiopia. 

Alfred wrapped his arms tightly around him. Afraid that if he let go, Jason would run away and he would lose him for a second time. “...Jason.” 

Jason shifted in his arms, because hugs with Alfred were never this long, even when he was hugging Dick. Did Jason not see Alfred anymore? Nah, that could never happen. Even if Jason was angry at Bruce (which he couldn’t be for that long) he would still try to see Alfred at least once a week. But the hug felt good.

Alfred cleared his throat before letting go, “Dear god, you are practically swimming in those clothes. I’ll see if I can find something that might fit, Master Jason.”

And before Jason could thank him, Alfred was gone. 

He started walking deeper into the cave because if it really was 2023, there’d better be much cooler technology and if there wasn’t, Jason was gonna be really disappointed. 

But of course, since Jason was wearing clothes that were meant for someone who was Bruce’s size, he stepped on the leg of his pants and tripped on his boots while trying to catch himself.

“These boots are ten sizes too big.” Jason totally wasn’t whining as he kicked them off and started aggressively rolling up his pant legs, “You could probably put these pants on a giant and they’d still be a nuisance to keep up.”

There was a huff of a laugh that did not sound like Stephanie’s. “Well, you are usually kind of a giant, Jason. You probably scare more badguys than Batman.” There was a teen in pajamas offering a hand out to him, “I’m Duke.”

Jason accepted the hand, “Thanks. It’s nice to meet you, but I don’t think it’s possible to be scarier than Batman.” Who was this kid? He seemed about Jason’s age. Did he know Bruce was Batman? Was he the new Robin? 

Duke shifted from side to side, “Yeah, you’re right, I was just trying to start up a conversation.”

Alfred came back into the cave with a pile of clothes in his hands. “After you change, Master Jason, meet me in the medbay. I’m sure Master Bruce will want to run some tests.”

That meant he was about to be poked and prodded. And ever since Jason’s mom died–

No… It can’t end like this… Gotta get you out of here….I’ll save you mom…It’s locked! 

“Master Jason?” Alfred had placed a hand on Jason’s arm. 

“Thanks Alfred.” Jason took the clothes with shaky hands. That flash of– maybe a nightmare, left him feeling clammy. He could see Stephanie walking over to them and Duke was looking at him with a slight frown. They couldn’t see Jason like this, scared of what his own brain conjured up for no apparent reason. So he quickly headed towards the bathroom to take a shower, to wash away the sweat. Not the fear. 

He had… a lot of scars. Scars that he didn’t remember getting. The two most concerning being the one on his throat, and the Y shaped scar running down his torso. If Jason didn’t know any better, he would think it was a scar from an autopsy. But he was very much alive. 

Jason peeled his eyes away from the mirror and hopped into the shower. He felt like somehow, he was intruding his own privacy. And he was grateful for the turtleneck that was slightly too big because he wasn’t sure if the scars were something he wanted everyone seeing. Because the clothes he was wearing before seemed to cover them up.

Jason could hear the roar of the batmobile. Bruce . Yeah, maybe things have been kinda rough between the both of them recently, but Jason was confused, and scared, and all he wanted was his dad. 

Except by the time Jason had reached the Batmobile, it wasn’t Batman coming out of the driver's seat, it was–

“Dick?” Jason had to do a double take. His costume was a lot more muted. Less blue and more black. Also, since when did Bruce let Dick drive the batmobile? 

Two other people were coming out of the batmobile too, but before he could get a good look at them, he was engulfed in a hug. Which was weird. Really weird. Because Dick rarely hugged him. 

Dick pulled away, “I forgot how small you used to be.”

“I wasn’t going to point out how old you look, because I’m a nice person, but you look old. ” Even with the mask on, Jason could tell. Well, it was less physical, and more of a vibe. There was a different aura of maturity surrounding his older brother. He seemed to be less of a ball of rage and more… Well, calm. 

There was a mumble that came from near the batmobile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

The kid, who was maybe the same age as Jason. He held himself in a way that screamed, I’m better than you . And he had the Robin ‘R’ on his chest. But the costume held little resemblance to the normal Robin suit. Almost all the colors and light had been stripped from the costume. It fit the vibe of Gotham, but it couldn’t be Robin. He also got a sword. A sword. “Are those my clothes?”

“I dunno. Alfred gave them to me.” Jason pulled the sleeves over his hands and crossed his arms. 

Emo Robin was looking at him funny. Jason could see the puzzle pieces clicking into place. Before the look was covered by a look of arrogance, “Tt” and he stalked off. 

Dick watched as Emo Robin went to the cave's bathroom, and then looked back to the third person. The girl who had come out of the passenger seat of the Batmobile. 

“Remembers. Recognizes.” She shrugged and locked eyes with Jason. 

She had a mask in her hands, and was wearing all black with the signature yellow bat. The way she was looking at Jason made him feel like she knew everything about him, but it didn’t feel wrong. If anything, it was kind of comforting. He offered her a little smile. 

“I am Cass. Your big sister.”

Jason felt his smile widen even more, “I’ve always wanted a sister.” 

She just ruffled his hair in response. 

Jason looked back to Dick, “um… where’s Bruce?” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to ask the dude who was almost constantly getting into screaming matches with Bruce where he was, but Dick was driving the Batmobile, which meant they have to have made up in the past 7 years. 

“He’s just tying things up with Commissioner Gordon. So he sent us ahead.” Dick gaze was searching his face. “Do you want me to ask him to wrap up sooner?”

As tempting as that was, Jason shook his head, “Nah, he’ll come home eventually.” 

Dick opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then shut it, “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be back.” 

That… was probably the most awkward conversation he’s had with Dick. And that was saying something, because that conversation before Dick officially passed the mantle of Robin to Jason had been pretty tense. This was tense in a different way. 

“Master Jason?”

“Oh! Right! Sorry Alfie. I’m coming.”

[artralichoard]

Pockets of Time au

Ok so this au is inspired by the idea/theory thats like "once time travel has been invented, it has always existed." Its kinda parodoxy but I love it because that means fun things with Mikey! This au is also in thanks to my coworkers old roomate lol. i was just working on a different silly turtle au when my coworker was just like "did i ever tell you about my time traveler roomate?" and immidiately i knew I had to hear this, and goddammit was it so fucking cool and all I could think about is time traveler Mikey.

So the basic premis is that because Mikey's future self "created"/"invented"/did time travel, Mikey has always been a time traveler. And because of this has always experienced these strange "pockets of time" as he calls them.

These pockets of time are little moments that Mikey experiences through out his life. moments from the past, futures to come and futures to never come.

the first one he experienced was when Mikey was younger, around 9/10, him and leo were skating around the tunnels of the sewer, when they come across an abandoned subway station. they explore a little, when all of a sudden, Mikey walks into a section, and is met with a room filled with lights, and paintings. its got their projector and splinters chair. Mikey is confused how this all got here, wondering if its a prank leo is pulling. then leo calls for him, pulling Mikey's attention from the room, and when he turns back the room turned to the expected dark and dusty room. Mikey doesn't think much of it, until they are settled into their knew lair after Shredder and Mikey realizes he saw this.

the next instance is later, he is 13 and he's at a convention with his bros. he's looking at some JJ merch, and when he looks up to show off something to donnie, he finds the whole convention center empty. its completely abandoned. when he moves to a window, he finds the whole of NYC under some kind of martial law. theres a wall around the city, and what looks to be androids patrolling the street, and they have the foot symbol on them. He's pulled from the dystopian world by someone complimenting his turtle alien costume. the person is the only one in the building, Mikey doesn't even know how he got there. Mikey looks down at himself, telling the guy thanks with some half-assed lie on making it, and when he looks up the building is back to normal. The guy is still there, but so is everyone else. the place packed again, and his bros back at the table he left them. the guy walks away after and all Mikey can think is how something felt seriously off with that guy. he definitely was not yokai or anything, he seemed human but....

another instance is when he is 15 (pre-movie) and Mikey goes to follow his bros into Run of the Mill, but instead of seeing the familiar restaurant behind the portal, the laundromat that the restaraunt portal is attached to. but everything look new and clean, theres a few human there doing their laundry, and they were dressed weirdly, like from splinters older movies he's shown them. They don't pay any mind to Mikey so he politely excuses himself, going back into the alley way. When he tries again, he's met with tables, and servers and his bros calling him, asking what held him up out there. he didn't know how to answer that so he brushed it off with getting distracted by a possible mural spot.

It's not untill Jr comes back, and they learn HOW he got there that Mikey starts to think that these moments may have been more than just his imagination goiong into overdrive.

My coworker also mentioned how his roomate would be approached by others who could see into the future. So im just imagining Mikey, going to the HC for the first time and just attracting all these mystic users that work with time/fortunes/preminitions. and them just telling him things/asking him questions, and Mikey forgetting it ever happened, until their conversation comes to pass

Like someone from witch town approaches Mikey randomly and just hold his hands and says "the shaking will stop" and then walks away. and its not till after the Kraang and Mikey is looking down and his trembling hands that he finally remembers that interaction. And its the only thing that gives him hope that he'll be able to cook and do art again.

I have so much more on this au but this post is already so long. I have a 1 shot written and ideas on who the mysterious not-human Mikey sees in the convention is. So I'll probalby post more on this later.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Do You Believe In Magic (Kinktober)

Word Count: 2.3k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avatar last air bender characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Sokka and you were walking through the bustling streets of the Fire Nation capital, arm in arm, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape, and a light breeze blew in from the ocean, stirring the air around them. As you both passed by a busy marketplace, you suddenly stopped, your eyes fixed on a display of exotic fruits and vegetables. "Sokka, look at these!" you exclaimed, grabbing his arm. Sokka followed your gaze, intrigued by the colorful array of unfamiliar produce. He leaned in closer to examine the peculiar fruits, their vibrant hues almost too beautiful to be real. "Wow, I've never seen anything like those before," he remarked, reaching out a tentative finger to touch a deep purple orb that seemed to glow in the fading light. "What do you think they taste like?" He glanced back at you, your enthusiasm infectious, eager to explore this new culinary adventure together. You shrugged, a playful smile on your lips. "Who knows? Maybe they taste like pure bliss. Only one way to find out!" You darted forward, grabbing a juicy-looking fruit from the display and offering it to Sokka with a grin. "Want to be the guinea pig?"

Sokka chuckled, accepting the fruit with a nod. "I guess we're about to find out," he said, bringing the mysterious fruit to his nose for a whiff. It smelled sweet, but there was an underlying hint of something exotic and intoxicating. With a small shrug, he took a bite, his eyes widening as the flavor exploded across his tongue unaware of the aphrodisiacs in it. "Oh, wow… This is incredible!" He turned to you, grinning widely. "You were right, it does taste like bliss." You watched as Sokka's reaction, a sly grin spreading across your face. "Told you so," you said, plucking a fruit for yourself and taking a tentative bite. The same sweet and exotic flavor hit your taste buds, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine. "This is… really, really good," you said, your voice slightly dazed as the unfamiliar sensations began to creep through your system. Sokka felt a warmth spreading through him, a sensation he couldn't quite place, but it was undeniable. His heart was racing, his skin tingling, and there was an unmistakable throbbing between his legs. "Yeah, I feel it," he admitted, glancing sideways at you with curiosity and desire dancing in his eyes. "It's kind of intense." He reached out, tentatively placing his hand on your waist, pulling you closer. "Maybe we should find somewhere more private to continue this little adventure."

Your breath caught in your throat as Sokka's hand rested on your waist, the simple touch sending electric jolts through your body that you couldn't ignore. "Private… that might be a good idea," you managed to stammer, your own voice sounding foreign to your ears, sultry and filled with longing. You met his gaze, your eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and anticipation. "Lead the way." Sokka nodded, his mind already racing with ideas of what could happen behind closed doors. Taking your hand, he led you away from the crowded market and towards a quieter part of town, where the buildings stood tall and imposing against the twilight sky. "There has to be some secluded spot around here," he murmured, scanning the area for a suitable location. His grip on your hand tightened, fingers threading through yours as if he didn't want to let go. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest as Sokka led you through the shadowy streets, the growing tension between you both palpable and almost tangible. The subtle change in atmosphere only heightened the sensations you were experiencing, the cool night air caressing your skin like a gentle lover. As Sokka scoured the area for a secluded spot, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of excitement mixed with anticipation. "Hurry," you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.

Sokka spotted a narrow alleyway just ahead, hidden from view by the towering buildings on either side. It looked dark and secluded, perfect for their purposes. Without another word, he pulled you into the alley, pushing you gently against the cold stone wall. His hands found your hips, gripping tightly as he pressed himself against you, his arousal evident even through the layers of clothing separating them. "Is this secluded enough for you?" he asked, his voice low and husky, laced with raw desire. You gasped as your back hit the cold, rough wall, the contrast between its coolness and the heat radiating from Sokka's body sending shivers down your spine. His hands searing into your hips, his arousal pressing against you, the sheer need behind his words sent a surge of pleasure through your body. "Yes," you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, as you met his gaze, your own desire mirroring his. "This is perfect." With a growl of approval, Sokka leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, his tongue demanding entrance as he explored the depths of your mouth. His hands roamed over your curves, tracing the outline of your breasts, teasing over the hardened nipples beneath your clothes. The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the aphrodisiac fruit and Sokka's expert touch driving you wild with lust. Your mind was spinning as Sokka's lips pressed against yours in a scorching kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth, claiming every bit of your being. You gasped into his mouth as his hands glided over your body, igniting a smoldering fire within you. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the effects of the exotic fruit you had both consumed.

Breaking the kiss, Sokka trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there. His hands slid down to the hem of your top, slipping beneath to graze the soft skin of your stomach, inching higher until he cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. The touch was electrifying, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. Sokka began to gently caress your thighs, and you responded eagerly, opening your legs wider for him. Sokka teased you even more, making you twitch and moan as he continued to play with your sensitive skin. Your head fell back against the wall, a soft moan escaping your lips as Sokka's mouth traveled down your neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses in its wake. The sensation of his hands on your skin was divine, each touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. When he cupped your breast, you arched into his palm, seeking more of his tantalizing touch. And when his fingers graze over your thigh, you spread your legs wider, inviting him to explore further. Encouraged by your eagerness, Sokka's fingers traced up your inner thigh, slowly edging towards the heat between your legs. His other hand was still occupied with your breast, kneading and squeezing the tender flesh, his thumb circling your nipple. He could see how much you wanted him, how wet you were becoming, and it fueled his desire even more. With a low groan, he slipped a finger past your panties, finding your slick folds and teasing along your clit as he continued to grind against your thighs.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as Sokka's fingers finally made contact with your most intimate area, his touch sending bolts of electricity through your entire being. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his skilled ministrations as he teased your sensitive bundle of nerves. The dual stimulation of his hands on your breast and his fingers between your legs was almost too much to bear, the pleasure building rapidly inside you. Sokka could tell that you were close, the way your body trembled under his touch, the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips. He increased the pressure on your clit, rubbing in tight circles while his thumb flicked over your nipple, coaxing moans and whimpers from your lips. His free hand left your breast momentarily to slide down your belly, pausing briefly before dipping below his waistband to free his hard cock and slip it between your thighs before he started moving again. The feeling of Sokka's thick length sliding between your thighs was intoxicating, the friction causing waves of pleasure to crash over you. His relentless attention on your clit had you teetering on the edge of release, every stroke bringing you closer to the brink. Your walls clenched around nothing, desperate for something to fill them, and the thought of having Sokka inside you pushed you over the edge. Feeling your walls clenching, Sokka knew you were ready. He shifted, positioning himself at your entrance, teasingly rubbing the tip of his cock against your slick folds. "Ready for me?" he purred, his voice thick with desire.

Sokka trailed his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh once more, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of this passionate encounter. His hands slid down to your thighs, lifting you up so that you wrapped your legs around his waist, granting him better access to your most intimate areas. "Gods, you're so fucking sexy," he breathed out, his voice thick with desire as he ground his hips against yours. The sensation of Sokka's hard length pressing against you, coupled with the exquisite pain of his teeth on your skin, pushed you closer to the edge. "Please…" you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on. The desire to have him inside you, to finally experience the full extent of his love, was overwhelming. "Don't make me wait anymore," you pleaded, your body aching for release. Hearing your plea, Sokka wasted no time in shedding his clothes, revealing his muscular form bathed in the dim light of the alleyway. He positioned himself at your entrance, his tip pressing against you, teasingly slow. "I'll give you everything you need," he promised, his voice a low rumble as he thrust into you, filling you completely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as Sokka entered you, the feeling of him stretching you open, filling you to the brim, was indescribable. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure almost unbearable. You clung to him tighter, your nails digging into his back, urging him deeper, faster. "More," you whimpered, your body moving instinctively against his, seeking friction, seeking relief.

Sokka obliged, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more relentless. Each stroke drove deeper, hitting spots within you that you never knew existed. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed off the walls of the alleyway, adding to the primal nature of their lovemaking. "You're so tight, so fucking perfect," he groaned, his pace unyielding as he sought to bring you both to climax. The intensity of Sokka's movements, the depth of his penetration, was pushing you closer and closer to the brink. Every thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, each stroke drawing you further under his spell. "I'm close," you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back, to prolong the moment just a little longer. Sokka's grip on your hips tightened as he began to move, withdrawing almost entirely before plunging back into your welcoming heat. Each stroke was deep and purposeful, hitting that sweet spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. His pace increasing, driven by the need to bring you to the pinnacle of pleasure. He leaned down to capture your lips again, kissing you fiercely as he continued to pound into you, chasing your release together. Your entire body was aflame, every nerve ending hypersensitive to his touch. The feeling of Sokka's hardness inside you, the sensation of his body moving against yours, and the taste of his lips on yours, all combined to push you over the edge. "Sokka!" you cried out, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

Feeling your walls clench around him, Sokka let out a guttural moan, his own release following closely behind. He buried himself deep inside you, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself, filling you with his essence. Panting heavily, he collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. "That was incredible," he murmured, his voice hoarse from exertion. As your breathing slowed, you basked in the afterglow of your shared climax, the warmth of Sokka's body against yours comforting and reassuring. "It was more than I ever imagined," you admitted, a soft smile curving your lips. The intimacy they had shared, the raw emotion behind their lovemaking, had left an indelible mark on your soul. With a content sigh, Sokka slowly disengaged from you, careful not to break the spell that had been woven between you. He helped you down, his hands lingering on your hips as he stepped back to admire you. "We should probably get going before someone catches us out here," he said, though there was clear reluctance in his voice. Nodding in agreement, you took a moment to steady yourself, the remnants of passion still simmering beneath your skin. "You're right," you conceded, reaching for your clothes to cover your exposed body. As you dressed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Sokka, marveling at the way the moonlight highlighted the planes of his face, the strength in his stance. "But I don't think I'll ever forget this night," you said softly, meeting his eyes with a knowing look. Dressed once more, Sokka reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a gentle touch. "Neither will I," he assured you, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that contradicted his usual confident demeanor. With one last lingering look, he turned to lead the way out of the alley, the memory of your shared bliss fueling the rest of your journey.