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nu-suave · 3 days

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YOUR FRIENDLY(?) NEIGHBOURHOOD(?) SPIDER-MAN feat. getou suguru

꒰ 2.4k꒱ there’s something up with your roommate, and you’re determined to figure out what it is and what spider-man has to do with it.

Despite what people may think, you’re not stupid; there’s something up with your roommate, and Spider-Man is somehow involved with it. Getou Suguru had been perfectly normal up until Spider-Man’s debut. More accurately, he’d normally been perfect. He never left dishes out, never randomly brought friends over without warning, never left washing lying around, you both evenly split chores with little argument, and he was so conscientious you occasionally mused over the idea of him even being real. He didn’t hog the bathroom even with a meticulous skincare and hair routine – rather, at some point you two ended up doing it together. You’d be pressed shoulder to shoulder in your small shared bathroom, rubbing moisturiser into your skin while he brushed his teeth, idle chatter exchanged throughout.

Then Spider-Man happened. Which isn’t to say you hate the guy – all in all, you think he’s pretty noble. Not many people would have the guts to do what he does, yourself included, and you know Suguru has a quiet admiration for the man, no matter how much he plays it down. No number of he’s just doing what he can or he could always be doing more for the community is going to change your mind. If you were to ask your best friend, who’s somehow gotten it in her head that you’re in love with the man and now spams you with roughly thirty edits of the vigilante a day, you’re his biggest fan. The problem is that he’s got something to do with Suguru, and whatever that is, your roommate is visibly falling apart.

He stays out later and sleeps in to hours he’d previously considered ridiculously late. You’ll wake up some mornings to the bathroom an absolute mess; items knocked over, something toppled into the sink, water dripping all over the floor, and the medicine cabinet torn apart. He neglects his chores, neglects his self-care routine, neglects everything. Despite the rapidly increasing hours outside of the house, his friends have confided in you that they’ve barely seen him; likewise, any conversation with him has halted abruptly. There’s no mutual skincare when he’s either sleeping or out, that horrid, filthy word; I’m going out, or I’ll be out tonight, or I’ll be out late, don’t stay up for me that has rapidly become the most popular phrase in his vocabulary.

You’ve been silently supporting him, cleaning up where he’s had no energy to. That doesn’t change the feeling settling under your skin, the quiet acknowledgement that something is very, very wrong. Tonight, you’re going to do something about it.

Which leads to the present moment: you, a bag in hand and your heart thundering in your chest and a tender bruise purpling on your collarbone, two men, passed out in front of you, and the man of your most recent ire, Spider-Man, your newfound saviour. You stare at his face, because you’re angry at him, and if your eyes dart even slightly downward all you’re going to be thinking of are those edits your friend loves sending you. That, or the two unconscious would be muggers on the floor before you.

You know Spider-Man has something to do with what's affecting Suguru, because you’d sneaked a look in his bedroom and found the photowall his best friend’s Gojou and Ieiri forced him to make completely replaced with Spider-Man hit pieces. He’d written notes, for God's sake, and you’re a little (read: incredibly) worried Spider-Man has somehow done something to either turn him into a die-hard fanboy hellbent on being his sidekick or a soon-to-be supervillain. You’re not sure which is worse.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart?”

You startle, abruptly refocusing on Spider-Man and his dumb, stupid eye lenses. Eyes narrowing, you readjust your grip on your bag. “I’m fine.” You say shortly, and decidedly do not mention the fact he called you sweetheart. He doesn’t call people sweetheart. You know this, because of all the soundbites attached at the start of those godforsaken edits, sweetheart has never been there.

Okay, maybe it’s a little embarrassing you’re using that as your point of reference.

He doesn’t leave, even though he’s Spider-Man and should probably be stopping another three crimes right now. Instead, he steps closer – you step back. He halts. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Alright. Where are you going?”

You take another step back, eyes darting to the edge of the street behind you. “What’s it to you?”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” His hands raise in a sign of surrender, hanging in clear view of you at the sides of his head. “I’m just worried. It’s risky for someone as pretty as you to be out so late alone with nothing to defend yourself.”

Someone as pretty as you– you cut that off for your own safety. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. In the end, you blink dumbly; he watches you, and you suddenly, viciously hate that you can’t see his face. He’s probably laughing at you right now, and you have no idea. “...Pretty?”

“Was that too much?”

Oh. Spider-Man is conscientious. “Um, no. It’s fine. Sorry. I just, um, wasn’t expecting it.”

“Really? I’d have thought–”

“Okay, maybe it is a bit much.” He immediately shuts his mouth. Stupidly, you kind of regret it, but you can’t be getting side-tracked right now. You’re going to be embarrassed enough recalling this memory, no need to make it worse by collapsing out of embarrassment or some other, worse alternative. “I was just heading home. I, uh, bought groceries.”

“It couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?” He asks. “Crime has been up around here lately. You couldn’t have gotten a friend to come with you?”

Spider-Man is scolding me right now, you think, a bit hysterically. Whatever. FIne. This is normal. “Um. No. I need it now.”

“Really? It couldn’t have waited until the morning?”

“No.” You say forcefully. “It’s for my roommate.”

“Your roommate.” His tone falls flat. You squint at him, and he jolts. “I mean, uh, what does your roommate need so bad? Did he ask you to get something?”

“It’s none of your business.” You hug your bag closer to your chest. Spider-Man, the root of whatever is causing this change in Suguru, doesn’t deserve to know. Wait. Pause.

Wouldn’t he be the perfect person to tell? His voice got all wonky when you mentioned a roommate, so maybe he knows Suguru is your roommate? And if he does in fact know that, doesn’t that mean he in some way knows Suguru? Which, as the cause of his stress, means that if you inadvertently guilt trip him by info-dumping, you could get righteous, conscientious Spider-Man to fix whatever is going on there? Or push him away, if crazy-fanboy-theory is right?

You ignore how full of holes your logic is.

“Walk me home.” You say. He stares. Squaring your shoulders, you tilt your chin up so you two are making proper eye contact, taking a step towards him. “What, is it an inconvenience?”

“No. No. It’s, uh, not an inconvenience.” You turn on your heel, continuing on your stroll to your apartment and ignoring the sound of his footsteps as he falls into step beside you. “I was under the impression that you weren’t too happy to see me.”

“Then why did you stick around?” You pause. There is a good reason to be surprised by your sudden change in attitude. “Sorry. I’m, uh, not in the best mood.”

“That’s okay.”

You clear your throat, training your eyes ahead of you. “It’s a surprise for my roommate.”

He fails to keep his tone even. “A surprise?”

“Yeah.” Your tongue darts over your lips. You need more chapstick. “He, um, has been feeling off lately. Stressed. Tired. He’s been, uh, leaving stuff around the apartment and he’s barely talking to me. I’m worried about him.”

“You don’t need to worry about him that much.”

“How would you know?” You ask pointedly. He doesn’t say anything in response. Twat. “He’s my roommate. You know, he hasn’t been taking care of himself. He’s got these deep bags under his eyes, he’s barely bothering to take care of his hair, and he’s been taking a bunch of paracetamol lately. He’s going through, like, three times the usual amounts of coffee, and he’s staying out so late that he’s sometimes still not home when I wake up. We haven’t hung out in ages, did you know his friends talked to me because they were so worried? And I can’t even talk to him, because when he’s not sleeping, he’s out. God, he’s always out nowadays. I don’t even know where he’s going, but he’s there all the time, and he won’t tell anyone, and–”

Spider-Man makes a vague shushing sound, impossibly soothing and impossibly familiar. “It’s okay, angel. I’m sure he appreciates being this cared about.”

“He better.” You huff, an intelligible feeling caught in your throat. You clear it, eyes skittering to the pavement beneath your feet. “I just- he’s really worrying me, you know? He’s a good person. Such a good person. I’m worried about what has him like this, but I don’t want to push him, so it’s like, how am I supposed to figure it out?”

“Maybe he can’t tell you.”

“That doesn’t help.” You groan, running a hand over the bridge of your nose. “But, um, I wanted to change that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know that it’s not going to make him more likely to tell me or anything, but I wanted to cheer him up.” Your fingers tighten on the strap of the bag, flexing and unflexing. You adjust your grip only for a covered hand to offer itself, palm up as his fingers linger on your arm. You pass him the plastic bag. “I don’t know when he gets home, so I was going to make Suguru his favourite and I’ve bought a bunch of snacks. I rented out his favourite movie – it’s this obscure film from the 80’s that he loves – and I’ve bought a new bottle of nail polish, I’ve got a face mask, I just thought… maybe I could incentivise him to calm down, and take a moment to spend time with me. I even bought scented candles. How dumb is that?”

“I think he’s going to love it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” His voice is firm and, when you glance at him, his face is turned towards you. Through the thin fabric of his suit, his adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “I think that’s incredibly thoughtful of you, and he’d be stupid to not appreciate it. It’ll make him really happy, I promise.”

“I hope so,” you mutter. ��Sorry for being a little rude earlier.”

“It’s fine. You were startled, there’s no need to apologise.”

“Still. I’m sorry.” Your hands move to rub at your cheeks, your palms warm against the chill of the night. “I, um.”

“You?”

“No, nevermind. It’s dumb.”

“Nothing you say is dumb,” he says sweetly, because Spider-Man is apparently the sweetest man you’ll ever meet, second only to Getou Suguru. “Whatever you want to tell me, I’ll listen. There’s no judgement here.”

You hum in reply, breathing in deeply and letting the air linger in your lungs before you exhale. You’re clearly not the mastermind you thought you were; that wasn’t so much guilt-tripping as it was venting, and there’s no repressed guilt floating about Spider-Man. If there is, he’s hiding it remarkably well. How embarrassing. You just vented your heart out on accident to a vigilante – a very attractive vigilante, might you add – and for what? A bit of catharsis? Suddenly, intensely, you feel like a piece of shit.

“Thanks,” you say finally. “That’s really nice of you.”

You both fall into an awkward silence. For a long moment, the only thing that sounds around you is the passing stream of traffic; someone rolls down the window of their car to hell ‘ayo, Spider-Man!’ as you walk past. It’s only as you near your apartment that you ask yourself; why did he even walk you home? Surely it wasn’t just because you told him to. How does he know where you live?

Well, there’s a rational answer to that. He probably was just silently following you as the two of you walked. But then again, shouldn’t he have asked? Aren’t vigilantes all about like, secrecy and secret identities? Wouldn’t he want to know where he was taking you?

All good questions, you’re sure, and all incapable of being answered.

“Thank you for walking with me,” you say finally, instead of why did you? Don’t you have a dozen other people you could walk home right now? “Um, stay safe. Thank you again.” There’s an awkward shuffle as you reach for your bag, fingers curling around the plastic as you tug it off his arm and he makes no move to help you. You offer him a small, hopeless smile.

“Hey,” Spider-Man says softly, “cheer up a little. I really think your roommate’s gonna love it.”

You huff. “I can only hope.” You tug the bag close against your chest, ducking your head in greeting. “Have a good night.”

Then you’re turning your back to him. You immediately hear the little thwip that must be the projectiles he uses to transport himself – you’ve heard they’re webs, but there’s no way he’s that into the gimmick – and, when you turn to look at where he once stood, no one’s there. Oh well. It’s not like you were going to invite him inside; you have a meal to make for Suguru for when he inevitably gets home at some ridiculous hour.

When you enter your apartment, you take a moment to just stare. Suguru is before you, breath coming in quick, short pants as he shoves a shirt over his head, showing for a half a second the broad expanse of his back. His hair is an uncharacteristic mess and, when he looks over his shoulder at you, there’s a fond curve to his eyes.

“Hi,” Suguru says, breathless and his cheeks lined with a soft shading pink. “Sorry, I just got back from a run.”

You blink at him, and decide not to ask what he was doing going for a run at 11pm. “It’s okay. I was getting stuff for dinner. I was, uh, hoping we could maybe have a movie night? We haven’t hung out much lately so, you know.”

His lips crack into a soft, warm smile. “Yeah. That sounds great.”

i genuinely wish i was better at writing because this does not do the concept of spider-man!suguru justice. is the pacing dog? yes. is the writing dog? yes. god i wish i had the energy to properly flesh this out.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader

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gatorbites-imagines · 11 months

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Floor to ceiling windows

Miguel O’Hara x male reader

Smut drabble

I blame tiktok for this one.

Scent kink and sweat in this, so if that isn’t your cup of tea, oh well. I felt I probably should start naming my drabbles, so I named this one, enjoy.

The sun shined brightly in through the tall windows into Miguels apartment, the type of apartment you see in movies or imagine when someone says millionaire. With windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, and white furniture so expensive you wouldn’t even dare sit down in fear of staining them with your presence. All looked too pristine, too expensive, like something right out of a magazine someone from your tax bracket would never be able to afford.

Well, almost everything. It would all have looked too well, if not for the large man draped across it, arm tucked behind his head and legs spread in what you’d probably fall the most foul menspread you had ever laid your eyes on. Miguel was wearing a sorry excuse of fabric he claimed was a tanktop, barely covering anything as it hung from loose straps, leaving the armhole going almost all the way down to his wasit. The tiny shorts he wore wasn’t much help either, ending barely a quarter of the way down his massive thighs, the poor fabric stretching to its full capability to try and contain the muscle, one way or another.

Normally you would be ribbing on him for his posture, how he looked like the image that most of those alpha male podcasters tried to shine but always failed at doing. But your mouth was quite preoccupied at the moment, as Miguel’s free hand was buried in your hair and pulling you closer to his exposed armpit. The flat of your tongue ran from the bottom of the crevice to the top, brushing over the coarse hairs of his bodyhair as the salty taste of his sweat covered your tastebuds.

It was hard to pinpoint how you’d found yourself in this position, half kneeling on the couch as you licked and sucked the salty drops of sweat off Miguel’s sweaty body, his musk filling your very senses, so strong that it almost left your eyes rolling. Maybe it was when you had stepped in through your own portal, thanks to your watch since you were part of the whole spider team, and the first thing you had seen was Miguels tan body shiny with sweat. Or maybe it was how his hair seemed less styled than usual, falling in natural waves across his forehead, some of it sticking against his skin thanks to his sweat, all which could be blamed on the harsh sun that shined in through the windows.

But one thing led to another, and here you were, your own spidersuit tucked off your torso and tied around your waist like one would a jacket. Gruff Spanish left his lips as the hand in your hair tightened and pulled your head this and that way, leading your tongue in whatever direction Miguel wanted it to be. As your thoughts blurred, you could focus on nothing but inhaling his strong musky scent and licking his skin clean of salty sweat.

At one point he had moved you, using his large height and inhumane strength to pull you onto his other side, so that you could lather his other pit with the same worshipping treatment, his grumbled praise constant as you kept up your task. Only after licking his torso clean did you find yourself on your knees in front of him, looking up at him with a spit and sweat slick face, your hair mused and your pupils blown.

A moan left you as his hand buried itself in your hair once more, his half smirk being the last thing you saw before your eyes rolled back and fell shut, as his grip pulled you in close, burying your face in the crevice between his thigh and his crotch. Maybe barging into his home uninvited hadn’t been the worst idea you’d ever had, you surely didn’t think so, and Miguel didn’t seem to mind much either.

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pigeonpeach · 6 months

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Be my muse

Chiori x fem oni reader

Summary: Chiori is trying to court her big oni friend but they’re too insecure to realize it.

A/n: I’ll be doing more fem oni x character series simply because its fun. But if there’s a certain character you’d like then let me know

“Hmm… maybe this blue would match your horns better.” Chiori, the renowned stylist in Inazuma had you stood on a pedestal standing straight as she threw at you a variety of kimonos and yukatas to wear. As a blue oni you weren’t accustomed to human society to well. Fashion isn’t really a big deal to Oni kind.. like at all… in fact most oni’s only wear thick and concealing garments in the winter. Most walk around with their chests exposed. As a blue oni you were also used to the scrutiny that you faced. Being considered a monster, a demon. All sorts of names.

Yet when you ran into Chiori one day while you were collecting lavender melons she seemed not to even consider you any different to herself. Even if you did tower over her, she showed zero fear. You couldn’t help but admire her as she would visit your hut in the wilderness on Narukami Island frequently. She was curious about your culture and your family but also your style. Turns out she HATED your pratical and unfashionable wardrobe and sought to make something better. According to her it is a crime that you decorate yourself with such hideous clothes. You foolishly challenged her to make something better than.

That’s thing about Chiori, she loves a challenge. Chiori loves to go outside the normal kimono patterns and flowing fabrics. She loves to experiment and draw inspiration from all over teyvat. So when you challenged her to make a outfit suited both for the life of a mercenary and a oni that still fits her stands of beautiful she saw a golden opportunity. You didn’t even have to pay a cent, but you did become her mannequin for the next few months.

“Look, Chiori I didn’t think you would take that joke so seriously.” You said as she placed yet another mock up on you. “I’m worried… shouldn’t you be making prettier dresses for your store?”

“You know its not like I’m wasting time. I’m still balancing my normal workload. Infact this is good because the more variety I can have the more attention I’ll bring.” She responds, not even looking up as she sews a piece to the slev

“I don’t think people look at mercenaries and wonder where they got their clothes.”

“They would if more mercenaries didn’t dress so hideously.” She remarks.

“Well..-“

“Don’t give me that practicality argument I’ve hear it all before. I’ve offered you a job as my assistant to which is significantly less dangerous.”

“My job isn’t that dangerous. I can handle the treasure hoarders and hilichurls with ease.”

“I don’t want you too though.” She says, you sense something different with her tone as she stitches a hole she spotted shut. Her hands moving the string as a spider weaves its web. It appears you’re too entangled in her strings to leave so easily now.

“I-I appreciate that.” You say. “But being your assistant would be difficult. I can’t travel with you..” you frown as you remember how she mentioned how she wanted to leave inazuma. You cannot however, being a Oni you were far removed from society especially In it’s paperwork. You have no travel papers or birth certificate because you born in a clan of Onis who saw no reason for such documents, your birth wasn’t officially registered with the Inazuma government as many others were. Which means you can’t legally travel outside of Inazuma. That’s what the lady in Ritou said at least.

“I’d stay if you wanted me too.” She said, her hands stopped their work as she looked up at you with a look that made you melt. “You’re beautiful you know, beyond your pretty face and soft hair… you’re far from what they say about you. You’re not a brute, you’re not even cruel, you have the biggest heart I’ve seen.” You can’t help but blush. She’s rarely as sweet as she is now.

“I don’t want to hold you back. You deserve to see the world, and I don’t want you to be stuck here.”

“If you could… would you go with me?” She asks. You pause. Leaving Inazuma would be a privilege. You only heard tales of the other nations and what it was like. You only saw a few trinkets from the other nations. What would it be like to feel the wind in Mondstadt, or to go swimming in Fontaine, supposedly you could breathe underwater. You’ve heard endless praise of the dishes in Liyue from the merchants you helped to escort. You even got to try one and you found they weren’t exaggerating. Perhaps you just never allowed yourself to dream of actually going there because you doubted that would ever be real.

“I would love to.” You say. “To explore the world with you would be a pleasure.”

Silence falls between you as you tense up. Did that freak her out? You weren’t sure if she was into you or not. Oni customs are quite different. You had read about human customs sure but you still couldn’t tell. She pulls away gesturing for you to spin around. You do.

“That Lady in Ritou.. she’s the one who told you that you couldn’t leave right?” She asked. You felt concerned, It wasn’t unlike Chiori to be a bit vindictive if she felt upset at someone.

“Yes, what did you do to her?”

“Well I had a word with her, and I found out she was full of it. You can easily file for a birth certificate as long as your parents come with you to testify its correct. It just costs a bit of mora.” She says going back to sewing.

“Yes I’m aware of that too. Its why I started my Mercenary career.”

“I could pay for it… save your money for the ticket out of here. Those government officals love to overcharge. Someone like you seems easy to fool. You’re too kind to them.”

“To be fair I have to be. If I’m even slightly mean or angry they act like I’m going on a rampage. My behaviors don’t just affect how they perceive me, but my entire species. I have to be calm otherwise they won’t even give me a chance.” You lament.

“I’ll be mean then, you know I have a bite to me. They can’t say anything if its me pushing on your behalf.” She says with a mischievous smile.

“But it could ruin your reputation.” You say

“With who? I could care less what they think of me. Those kind of people aren’t worth a cent of my time anyways.” She say’s confidently. “People don’t ask. Fashion designer to be their friend they ask a fashion designer to make them look good infront of their friends.” You smile as she again shuts down your worries about her. You’re not used to this. You’re used to fighting and arguing just to prove you have heart. You’re used to beans being tossed and always having to give a second chance when they realize they were wrong. You try to be understanding, you try to be otherwise you’ll be seen as unreasonable. But Chiori isn’t like that. She once kicked out a customer because they screamed at you throwing beans when you were just bringing her textiles in. She yelled at how disrespectful they were to her staff and that they wouldn’t ever be welcomed in her shop.

“Hey. Stop overthinking.” She smacked your face guiding you to look down. In your thoughts she moved to your front to start tying your custom obi.

“I’m not overthinking this time actually… i was just thinking about something.”

“If anyone in the outside world is threatened by you I’ll correct their assumptions. You really need to let me help you here.”

“Actually… i was just thinking about you…” you say, her eyes widen slightly, a rare sight as her confident frown is replaced with confusion. “You… thank you Chiori… I-I’m just..not used to someone like yourself…” you smile as she shakes her head briefly before regaining her composure.

“Its really not that big of a deal. Now, tell me.. did I surpass your expectations?” She says moving out of the way so you can see your new outfit in the mirror. You smile, not because its the most beautiful you’ve ever felt for a woman your size, but because she looks at you like you are one. Your confidence is boosted by the clear pride she exhibits in it.

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” You say. She raises her head in pride.

“Well good, I can get started on the others now.”

“Wait what?”

“Well, you don’t expect to travel teyvat with only one fancy garment do you?”

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #chiori #chiori x reader #oni reader #wlw #wlw post

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aerkame · 1 year

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"One of these days you'll slip up."

(Not in the Alive AU, just general Welcome Home, reader is from the normal world though)

Everyone (mostly Wally) x Guarded reader

__________________________________________________

Ever since you got here you were well guarded, never really giving away too much about yourself no matter how much one of your cheerful neighbors tried and tried to get you to open up more. Not even Barnaby's best jokes could crack you up.

It wasn't that you hated them, everyone could tell you weren't upset or anything like that, nothing like what Frank is sometimes, you would smile every now and then, openly play with Julie when she wanted to play games with you, and you'd give Barnaby a small chuckle if he made a good joke. You just had a hard time being open is all.

That's what brought you here today, sitting on a stool outside for quite some time as Wally sat across from you making a portrait. He had asked you earlier if you could do him a favor and be his muse for today, he just didn't know what to paint and you were the perfect muse! Amongst other reasons for bringing you out here.

"So...I heard you and Barnaby had some fun annoying Frank earlier today?" Wally softly spoke as his brush went across the canvas. He looked completely at peace.

"Yeah, it was fun, I didn't know Frank hated spiders though, I thought he would like all kinds of critters." You smirked slightly remembering the look on Frank Frankly's face when a spider came out of the "surprise gift" you and Barnaby had left on the porch. Though it didn't take long for Frank to figure out who done it with Barnaby's fluffy blue fur sticking out of the bushes nearby.

"That's good." He hummed before dipping the paintbrush in a different color. "So why are you always keeping yourself closed off?"

"What?" The question surprised you a bit.

"You're safe here you know, it's okay to open yourself up. If you're uncomfortable you can be more open around just me." Wally didn't look away from the painting for even a second. He just kept adding onto it while you sat there confused.

"I..." You weren't sure what to say really. You weren't uncomfortable, but you also didn't feel safe here. This wasn't your home at all but everyone acted so normal about everything.

"It's alright, one of these days you'll understand." he looked away from the now finished portrait of you, giving you a tilt of the head and that charming smile of his.

Uh oh. Wally isn't too happy that the reader isn't falling for his charm and letting their guard down.

Another short post, but I really wanted to share this while it was still on my mind.

#short post #fanfiction #requests open #welcome home #welcome home wally darling #wally darling x reader #wh #welcome home wally darling x reader

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pastafossa · 2 years

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“It’s... Really Yellow?” (Matt Murdock x f!Reader, Fanfic)

Ok so in honor of ALLLLLL the good Charlie news today and us getting a little more of him in the red and yellow suit in the trailers, I’ve decided to finally pull this little drabble out of my folders and finish it since I’ve gotten some requests about what The Red Thread!Reader’s reaction would be to Matt’s new suit. You do NOT have to have read TRT to get this, it’s just a nice bonus (and for those who DO read it, just know this is set *waves* in their future).

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Rating: Mildly NSFW at best. There’s some suggestive stuff, lots of innuendo, but no sex or anything.

Summary: Foggy needs you to help him convince Matt that red and reflective yellow are ridiculous colors to wear as a stealthy Devil. Unfortunately for Foggy, Matt knows exactly how to convince you otherwise.

Wordcount: 2,942

Warnings: innuendo, language, Matt turning the Devil voice on you, bad use of puns, Matt’s ability to look good in literally anything

“Look at me,” Foggy said fiercely, pointing at your eyes and then his. “You can’t forget what we talked about when he shows up. Ok?”

You scoffed where you’d leaned up against the humming a.c. unit, relaxing on the rooftop as you both waited. At least it was the rooftop of your and Matt’s building. There were far less things to worry about up here. “Of course I’m not going to forget. That’s ridiculous.”

“Good. Because it’s—I don’t know how you missed it last night—”

“I told you. I was asleep when he came in, and he had to leave early this morning for that case.” You rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I knew he was going to pick up the new suit last night, and I tried to stay up but passed out on the couch. Woke up in bed when he kissed me bye before work. I figured he could just show me tonight when he was done with his patrol.”

“Yeah, see, that’s my point,” he said quickly, absently shaking out one foot. He was probably trying to keep himself awake. It wasn’t often you both tried to stay up for the moment Matt came back from his circuit around the Kitchen. There had to be at least one person who kept normal human hours. “It should have woken you up. You wanna know why? Because it’s—”

“It’s yellow, I know. You’ve said.”

“Yellow!” Foggy thundered, flinging his hands up towards the sky in an apparent show of outrage. “Yellow and red, ketchup and mustard! How is this stealthy unless you’re disguised as a hot dog? He’s-he’s reflective! This is anti-stealth, and he already gets into too much shit when he is stealthy! He should have woken you up like a yellow disco ball or a mustard torch!”

“What even is a mustard torch?” you mused.

“A mustard torch is what he is now,” Foggy groaned, reaching up to scrub at his face. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. ‘Why not black?’ I asked. Do you know what he said? He just blinked at me like he was shocked and said, ‘but I’ve already done black twice, Foggy.’ That’s what he said!”

“I mean… he has, though, so...”

“Listen to me.” Foggy tapped his temple, trying to psych you up. “No getting distracted. He’ll try it. He’ll use every trick he has on you. You’ve seen him in court. And you are our only tiebreaker. Karen’s staying out of it, Jess just mocks every suit he wears, and Spider-kid is too innocent to bring into this. You need to hold the line. You’re the only one who can talk some sense into him about the hot dog colors. I need reconfirmation you’re with me on this. We need to be a united front.”

And granted, you hadn’t actually seen the suit yet since Matt had only gotten it last night and despite your best efforts, you’d unfortunately fallen asleep before he’d gotten back. But from what Foggy had said, it did sound… a little silly. It was red and yellow—and not just yellow, but apparently a reflective, gleaming yellow. Matt wasn’t exactly the best judge of color, obviously, but surely even he’d realize that painting himself like a reflective road marker would make the whole sneaky devil thing a whole lot more difficult. This was smug. It was cocky. It was…

Alright, so maybe it was just like him, but still. That was what you were here for. You’d be able to tell him he’d gone a little over the line again.

“Trust me,” you told Foggy firmly, nodding your head. You even widened your stance and crossed your arms, determined to stand strong. “I’m on your side.”

“Thank you! We can teamwork this, ok? So he comes, you see it, you point out the obvious, we get him a can of spray paint or something. Literally, any other color as long as it’s dark. I’d take fucking dark blue at this point, I’d take grey, anything but that ridiculous—”

The sudden burst of warmth inside your chest was the only warning you had before you felt the rush of a breeze overhead.

Years ago you might have ducked, but you’d gotten used to it by now, and instead, you barely blinked as Matt’s acrobatic leap carried him over you. The second he'd passed you, he twisted in the air, the movement transitioning into a smooth roll as he hit the ground. The rise to his feet was just as smooth, just as clean, the finish progressing in one fluid motion as he spun to face you before standing still to await your judgement.

“Theatrics!” Foggy barked, poking Matt’s arm. “That’s cheating, and you know it.”

“She needs to get the full effect,” Matt said defensively as Foggy poked him again, and…

Oh, you thought, your eyes sweeping down.

It had been a while since you’d seen him in anything like his first Devil suit, but you remembered fondly the way all that tough leather and strange fabric had drawn your attention to his broad shoulders, the powerful thickness of his thighs, and the endless breadth of his chest. This new suit looked much like the last in shape and in form despite a few obvious and less obvious changes—and if anyone besides Matt would know, it’d be you, since you’d stripped him out of that old suit often enough. And goddamn if you weren’t being reminded once again that Matt Murdock was always a five-course meal no matter what he chose to wear.

Your five-course meal.

“You are literally the color of a highlighter, that’s the only effect she… hey. Hey! Look at me!”

You darted your eyes guiltily back over to Foggy, breathing a little more quickly. “Yup, looking at you. I am focused.”

“The yellow!” he said quickly, jabbing urgently at Matt’s mask. “Remember what we talked about. Ok? Stay strong.”

Matt hummed. “Have you been tampering with the witness, Foggy?”

“It’s called preparing the witness. I’m not about to let you pull your Devil mind tricks on her.”

Right.

The yellow.

You could look at him and think about just the yellow.

Matt fixed his attention once more on you when he sensed your gaze return. And ok, so the mask was different. The dark, opaque eye lenses of the mask seemed an almost liquid-black in the low light, endless pools of shadow that saw right through you, saw into you beneath skin and bone, fathomless eyes made all the more startling when set within the gleaming, burnished gold of the full helmet. Because it was gold, not yellow, but gold: rich, rough as if weather-beaten, and luxuriously, dangerously warm, and yes, maybe also abso-fucking-lutely reflective, it was true. It would draw attention, maybe too much. But it… it wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, was it? Somehow, it still managed to look dangerous, like something belonging to a wild, untamed thing that you just wanted so foolishly to touch—

No, no, you needed to focus.

Matt parted his lips the slightest bit, drawing the air in across his tongue on a slow inhale. He swallowed, once, as if savoring the taste. And then…

The corner of his mouth tilted up in a smirk.

“Stop it with the sniffing and tasting thing,” Foggy snapped. “Seriously, she’s not gonna fall for that.”

Matt let his head gradually tilt, his chin tucking down. You knew that look. It was the look of a predator, the motion confident and dripping with intent, with knowledge of what was around him. It was how he hunted, how he hunted you, and your heart skipped a beat on instinct, a reaction far beyond your control. He opened his mouth bit by bit, drawing your attention to his full lips, to the curl of his tongue as he shaped the word.

“Don’t you dare, Murdock!” Foggy bellowed.

“Sweetheart,” Matt purred, his smooth voice nothing but warm smoke and a low, throaty hunger.

“Shit,” you groaned as your knees went weak, your body flooding with heat. It was that voice, damn him: that rasping Devil voice you always swore you could feel drag along your skin like a physical thing, like torn strands of silk, like the burning brush of his mouth and the heat of a flame. When combined with that familiar silhouette and the smooth motions of his body, there was little hope of resisting. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“The color!” Foggy shouted, throwing his hand in front of Matt’s face as if it would break the spell Matt had cast on you just now, cast on you months ago, years ago. “It’s fucking yellow! Focus, woman!”

“I, um… it is… yellow.” You swallowed hard as Matt dragged his tongue across his lips, trailing his fingers smoothly along the billy clubs at his hip. In fact, the rhythm his fingertips took up looked more than familiar enough to have certain parts of your body clenching. “It’s… it is… yellow, and that might be… attention-grabbing. Which is… not a good thing.”

“I think she needs to see the back,” Matt said abruptly.

“Don’t even think about it!” Foggy thundered. “I’ll throw you off this goddamn roof, I don't give a shit about your training!”

“Sweetheart,” Matt crooned. “Would you like to see the back?”

“She would not!”

Fuck.

“...Yes,” you whispered because the only thing as good as Matt’s front was his back, and you’d never seen his ass look like anything less than a five-star masterpiece that belonged in art museums across the world. “Yes, Jesus, let me see.”

“No-ooo,” Foggy moaned, dropping his face into his hands in defeat as Matt pointedly began his gradual spin, showing off his outline with a smug grin. “Jesus, woman. You’re selling your soul for an ass?”

“But it’s his ass,” you mumbled because it was. Matt had the best goddamn ass you’d seen in your life, and that glorious roundness was now cradled deliciously in tight red leather. And maybe Foggy was right. The yellow pattern along the side of Matt’s thighs was a little obvious, but it also brought out just how much muscle was packed on those thighs of his.

You needed him to get over here.

“Does no one see how obvious the yellow is? Am I the only person—”

“D, come here and let me touch your ass,” you whispered.

“I’m absolutely shocked at how scandalous this trial has become.” Matt shook his head as he finished his spin, doing his best to sound at least mildly dismayed, his mouth the mouth of a poor chaste soul who had definitely not fucked you on a church rooftop last month. “And how would your husband feel about that? I see that ring.”

“You two are literally the worst. You cannot be flirting over the ketchup-and-mustard suit. You cannot.”

“Can and am. As for how my husband would feel, he’s given me a free pass for the Devil since Daredevil saves the city on a regular basis,” you said breathlessly as you fixated on the breadth of Matt’s chest. Yeah, you could get used to the yellow. It was a lot but he’d find a way to make it work. “He’s known about my crush on the Devil for ages. So come over here and let me grope the evidence before I rule in your favor.”

Matt let out a playful growl and ran at you, catching you around the waist and throwing you up over his shoulder with ease as you shrieked before bursting into laughter. Matt quickly spun, slapping you once on the ass and making you squirm as he grinned at Foggy and you pointedly began to run your hands curiously over the suit. “Sorry, counselor,” Matt sighed. “Sounds like the verdict’s been rendered in my favor. Better luck next time.”

“You only won because you cheated!” Foggy groaned as Matt sauntered backwards towards the rooftop door. Hopefully Foggy thought that stumble was because Matt had misstepped, and not because you had, in fact, begun to grope hungrily at Matt’s ass. He couldn’t blame you. It was right there. “This was not a fair trial, and I object!”

“Objection denied. No cheating needed,” Matt snorted. “You should have known better than to put my wife on the stand.”

“I’m a weak woman when it comes to my husband’s ass and chest, especially when paired with the Devil head tilt,” you agreed. “I have not hidden this. I acknowledge my flaws.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you were this weak,” Foggy scoffed, crossing his arms.

Matt spun, slapping your ass again as you shrugged at Foggy, somewhat difficult considering you were still lazily draped over Matt’s shoulder, but you did your best. It wasn’t like you minded, after all. You had a great view of Matt’s ass from here. “Sorry, Foggy. I’ll make it up to you, but I gotta side with D on this one. I rule in favor of these ass-ets.”

“Oh,” Matt sighed, as Foggy made a retching sound. “Now I’ll really have to punish you, because that was a crime.”

“How many more years will I get if I slap your ass right now as an additional crime?”

“A lifetime sentence, Mrs. Murdock. I’d advise you to think very carefully before acting.”

You pretended to think about it for all of about point-five seconds. “Done.”

Smack!

His chest rumbled against your legs as a heated shudder rolled up his body beneath you, a motion easy to track with you draped over his shoulder, with your gaze fixed firmly on the line of him. And you’d gotten him good. The texture was a little different than the last Devil suit, but you still got a nice, loud sound of it, even if nothing would compare to bare, unobstructed skin.

He tilted his head very, very carefully, his lips brushing against your side. “You’re going to pay for that one when I get you inside, sweetheart,” he murmured, so quietly you knew it was just for you.

You were counting on it.

Foggy rolled his eyes as Matt wrenched open the rooftop door, and you threw Foggy a salute. “Despite my utter betrayal, I want you to know I love you, can’t wait to see that movie tomorrow. Use the other door on your way out, we’ll be locking this one.”

“Mustard-lover!” he threw at you, as you dropped your head to blatantly watch Matt’s ass again, the door shutting behind you both.

The second you were inside, Matt set you down carefully. Then he turned and stepped into you, herding you back with the broad line of his body. You gave in happily, ceding ground as he prowled forward until your back hit the wall, a shiver of anticipation running through you.

This never got old.

Your breath caught when he dipped his head, tilting it as he listened to the sound of your body, his tongue darting against his lips as he tasted you on the air, and you swallowed down an eager moan. He swayed in closer then, tempting you, inching closer until his mouth hovered over yours. Only then did his arms rise so he could brace his hands on either side of you, caging you in. Just like that, you were trapped, the Devil looming over you in heated shades of red and gold, rich lust and glorious indulgence. “Mm, now, sweetheart, I have one very important question before we start.”

Fuck, there was that voice again, nice and low. You couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him again, sliding your hands boldly up from his waist to fan out across his chest. “Uh huh?”

“Suit on,” he purred, his lips feathering against yours with each sinful world, “or suit off?”

“Suit definitely on,” you hummed, sliding your arms around him to drag your nails down the line of his back. “Someone’s gotta break it in, right?”

He threw you a feral grin, then, the low huff of his laugh rolling rich across your skin. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”

“Every day, D. Every beautiful day.”

-x-

“Ok, but is it… how yellow is it, really?”

“I mean, you’re not mustard-colored like Foggy says. More gold. But let’s just say if you polish that helmet too much, you might cause a car accident. That shit is really reflective now that I think about it.”

“Hm. I may have to change that in the future.”

1K notes · View notes

hollowwrites · 5 months

Text

Blindsided

Ominis x MC

Part 15

Summary - Ominis has become sick of Sebastian’s possession of the dorm room and has temporarily moved into the Undercroft. Finally…some privacy…

Again feel free to swap Evelyn with MC or Y/N

Warnings - 🌶️ Fingering, Female masturbation, Mild Choking, Biting, Praise Kink (If you squint) the word gusset (I know some people hate it) all characters aged up 18+

Sorry if this seems really awkward. I personally hate smut that is written just a bit too smoothly. If I’m writing two people’s first time…it’s going to be awkward and slow. Sorry if that’s not what you’re into. Fair play to people who wrote smut I am deffo a fluff gal. Sorry if this is bad. No one look at me!!!

Word Count - 6173

“Thought I’d find you here”

Ominis raised his head as though it weighed a tonne when he heard Evelyn walk into the Undercroft.

As normal when Ominis occupied the space, a faint piano could be heard from somewhere within the cluttered room. The smell of tea filled the cavernous space and the singular large chair he favoured had been pulled into a more central position, as though he were looking over the Triptych like a window.

Obviously he wasn’t.

But none of that really registered with Evelyn.

What concerned her currently was the way he flinched when she entered. Like she’d startled him.

“Hmmm, were you looking for me?” He asked lazily pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Oh…only all my life” she whispered scared to shatter the peaceful ambiance he had created.

He exhaled a laugh as she approached him her hands finding his shoulders and kneading softly into the harsh panels of his shoulder blades.

It had been a few weeks since the last trial and Sebastians attempts to try and solve the Mystery of the spider egg had been fruitless. It had gotten to be a bit too much, the boys dorm now covered in silk and arachnids from his initial attempts to solve its puzzle…Arachnids or Acromantulas, they’re weren’t entirely sure.

But all Sebastian was left with was an empty room full of spiders and an exasperated friend sick of pulling webbing from his hair.

Each night he attempted to resolve it but so far to no avail. And finally, after weeks of arachnid related torture, Sebastian finally asked everyone for help.

Ominis agreed, of course, on the condition that he would not be returning to the dorms until the trail was done. And only after every last eight legged demon had been purged from the halls.

So for now he resided in the Undercroft, a makeshift bed tucked under the Triptych, all blankets and pillows and no mattress.

Not that it was unusual for Ominis to sleep soundly in uncomfortable locations.

“Did I startle you? That’s very unlike you” Evelyn mused, softly digging into his shoulders. A long exhausted moan left his lips and his eyes closed slowly as she did.

“Sorry I wasn’t paying attention…I haven’t been sleeping” Evelyn opened her mouth to fuss, to ask the inevitable string of questions she usually did upon hearing that. He waved her off dismissively “Don’t worry not nightmares…been trying to figure out the next trial for Sebastian”

“I see…” her hands reached a standstill at the apex of his shoulders and as she did, he reached up, soothingly, brushing across her knuckles until a familiar dull poking, pricked his fingertips.

He smiled wistfully.

”You’re wearing my ring” he said mutedly

“Of course I am…It’s beautiful”

“You don’t have to…” he adds, though in a much quieter voice; not quite a whisper, but close.

“I know I don’t have to…but you gave it to me. It means something” she replied in kind, her tone matching his. Filled with love and adoration.

He smiles softly, taking her wrist between his fingers and pulling her around to his front. He rested his forehead against her stomach and sighed.

It was as though he was pulling her in for strength, using her warmth and affection to fuel him. And for what it was worth, it worked. He pulled away moments later, a charming albeit lopsided smile on his face. He rose from his chair, taking her hand effortlessly and looped his arm around her waist.

“Dance with me…” he demanded in a soft tone

“Is that how you ask?” He had already spun her around slowly, bringing her back to his chest as she said this. The smile on her face oozed into her words making her argument…completely moot.

“Oh…I apologise profusely” he said sounding not the least bit sorry. He took one long step backwards, heels clicking together as he bowed deeply. Somehow, his eyes never left hers…

“Please…” the word was lithe as it slithered from his lips and into her ears, sending a shiver down her spine. He chuckled before continuing; “May I have this dance?”

“Hmm…” she took a step forward as he rose back to his towering height. “Do I have a choice?”

“I’m afraid not, dear”

Despite his words, and despite the distinct almost predatory look in his eyes…he extended a hand to her.

The slight twitch of his fingers commanded her attention, and though she would never deny him, there was a pull towards him. Like destiny…or fate.

If one believes in such things.

She took his hand, though her fingers glided along his palm, wrist and forearm up to his shoulder as she tucked herself into him. She wanted to tell him to wipe the smirk of his face, but something about the curl of his lip…the smallest display of teeth as his smirk grew wider…

He looked…

…happy.

The eagerness at which he grabbed her waist was queue enough for Evelyn. She took his other hand gently in hers whilst his arm pulled impossibly closer. It had hooked itself just below her ribs and with his domineering height, pulled her almost off the floor entirely. She giggled softly, her toes the only thing keeping her grounded as their chests met.

Slowly, and with a more intimate nature than he showed her in the Common Room, he lead her across the desolate chamber.

Every now and then, he would stop to kiss her hand. Each time he paused, the kiss became less and less chivalrous.

First it was her hand, then her cheek, then his head stooped low so they could dance cheek to cheek.

And suddenly, he was nuzzling her neck, his nose drawing long arduous lines across her jaw.

Ominis took in a deep breath; her scent fuelling him further and made his eyes go glassy.

He strode forward, dipping her low causing her head to tilt back as he held her horizontal to the floor.

His hand splayed supportively across the small of her back, thumb stroking across her waist. His warm breath ghosted across her neck.

The sharp inhale from her lips snapped him out of his reverie. He gently shook his head and pulled her back to her feet, his hands sturdy as they held onto her waist just a touch too tightly.

His eyes remained fixed on her and unlike the usual calm pools she’d gaze lovingly into…

Two darkening wells stared back at her.

”How is it you never seem to fumble for my hands? You always seem to know exactly where I am….no matter what” she shifted uncomfortably under his direct eye contact.

She did want to know…it was a question she had on her mind for the longest time. But right now she just needed to move his gaze.

It wasn’t like he made her uncomfortable. It was the way he looked at her.

As she swayed, so did he.

As she leaned in closer, so did he.

It was one of an embarrassingly long list of things he did that caused her stomach to twist and turn.

And it was like he knew that too.

The look of calm and content happiness faded with the blink of an eye, replaced with this twinkle she rarely saw in Ominis.

She saw it almost daily in Garreth and Sebastian…but Ominis?

His devious nature wound the knot forming, tighter.

What is he concocting?

“Honestly?…” He started “…I’m not sure. Best I can come up with is my magic advances my sense of Proprioception, past what a normal person has”

“Pre…prop…what?” Evelyn tilted her head and he mimicked her, almost like he was proving a point.

“Proprioception…” he chuckled and the twinkle in his eye flared once more. “…let me show you”

He stepped away from her, his long fingers reaching up to undo the knot of his tie.

The last thing she saw before he wrapped the soft, silken material around her eyes was his wide, devilish smirk.

“Can you see?” He asked, amusement heavy in his voice.

“Not a great deal…” she muttered and lifted the tie slightly to peer at him. He paced back and forth in front of her before he disappeared just off to her right and behind her.

“No cheating…” Ominis scolded softly, plucking her wrist away from her body and keeping it there, letting the silken blindfold fall back to place.

“Do you see how you know where your arm is despite not seeing it?” He twirled her around as he had in the dance before and she gasped.

This is what he experienced on a daily basis and she can’t handle it for less than a minute.

It drove her insane.

She trusted him implicitly but the idea of him being in completely control of her in that moment…

…her stomach suddenly felt hollow and her lungs empty.

“That’s Proprioception, the sense of knowing where your body is in relation to itself” he let her arm fall back down to her side but not before kissing this inside of her wrist. She gasped again listening intently to the click of his heel against the stone as he started to circle her.

”Mine is just a little stronger. It extends beyond myself…things around me. So I can see you in front of me and so long as you don’t move…” he was silent for a beat, her breath catching when his voice was suddenly right next to her ear “…too quickly…I know where you are. What you’re doing…”

His words felt heavy as though they carried more meaning than a simple explanation of his abilities.

“I can focus it too like duelling. It’s much stronger if I have my wand” he continued casually, like the breathe upon her neck and his words weren’t setting her stomach ablaze.

He had to know.

He knew everything else

“I…see” she muttered shakily, her hands twitching to remove the blindfold. Once again, he caught her fingers, entwining them with his own, his chest flush with her back. He held their combined hands against her stomach whilst he pulled her hair from her shoulder. His finger danced across her skin as he did so.

She took in a sharp intake of air through her mouth, her lips seemed constantly parted as though she anticipated him kissing her.

Maybe it was wishful thinking.

He remained stationed behind her, his hand falling to her waist, feeling the steadily increasing rise and fall of her breathing against her ribs. His breath was warm against her neck and she could feel his lips against her ear as he breathed.

But…Ominis was a gentleman. And so released her, rather abruptly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know…” she whispered, a devious plan forming as she pulled the tie from her eyes.

He was showing marvellous levels of restraint.

Restraint she no longer had

Because of him…

“…‘Mystery Man’ still hasn’t asked me to the ball”

“Oh I know…” he grumbled, his voice low and strained.

“It’s starting to feel a little like no one wants to go with me” she sighed overly dramatically and took a step closer to him. His eyes went wide when he felt her getting nearer and nearer…until he could feel the heat of her chest against his.

He chuckled heavily.

“I don’t know. There was that Durmstrang…” he brushed some hair behind her ear, resisting every urge to pull at the strands and pull the noises he’d heard too few times. “…I think he learnt his lesson though. And there’s Prewett, but I think he knows better. It seems at least there’s some semblance of a brain between those ears”

Ominis laughed…darkly. It caused vibrations to emanate through both of their chests and he pulled away to ‘gaze’ down at her.

“I wonder why no one has asked me?” She pondered putting on the most saccharin, overly innocent tone.

“Probably because…” he growled out pushing forward slightly so their noses almost touched. He took in a calm breath “…they know you’re mine…”

“Have you staked your claim on me?” She whispered back, lips dangerously close to his to the point they brushed delicately against the full flesh of his bottom lip. “Because I don’t remember you asking…”

“I don’t need to ask…no one will take what is mine” his voice like music dancing it’s way across her skin but it sounded almost painful. The restraint he currently showed was…waning. “…I may no longer be a part of that family but…Gaunts are known for being quite possessive” His fingers brushed up her arms to cup her face, his fingers trembling against her cheek.

“Yes…of artifacts and trinkets…not really people”

“I’ve just found a different kind of treasure I wish to hoard away for myself”

“Stop…” she said sternly but playfully “Flattery will get you no where”

“Won’t it? Then why is that hummingbird of a heart of yours rattling agaisnt its cage” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Ominis…”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me…”

“I…I can’t…” he groaned his hands dropping to her waist, fingernails digging into flesh there as though he was physically keeping himself back

“You need to get off me before I do something…” his voice trailed off, low and husky. And filled with an emotion she’d not heard from him much before. He sounded…embarrassed

“What if I want you to do something?” She urged trying to sound level headed and calm, though she sounded whiney and needy as the words came from her lips.

His head dropped to her shoulder, as it often did when he sought comfort. His lips remained a breath away from her neck, trembling at the temptation to just sink his teeth in.

But that was selfish.

And that’s what he wanted.

He wanted to make her happy. Make her feel loved. Make her feel…

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” he confessed against her skin.

“Nor do I…” she whispered back, her hand reaching up to trace tiny intricate patterns across his back. She hoped they were talking about the same thing, she hoped he wanted this to.

She hoped she wasn’t making a fool of herself…

“It’s not that simple” he sighed and rested his full weight against her shoulder. “You can see. You’ll know when you’re…doing something I like. And there’s only so much books can teach someone with my…disadvantage” his face buried further into to her neck and hair. Like he was trying to hide away.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating, how much it pains me, to have you within inches of me and all I can do…is this?”

This was strange.

Normally he was quite confident with his abilities. Not moments ago he showed off how he saw the world around him with almost arrogant levels of confidence. Most of the time she forgot he was even blind, with how capable and independent he was.

But maybe this all felt a bit much. A bit too real.

Then suddenly she felt guilty for trying to coax him further.

“We don’t have to go any further than y-“ she started before his head snapped back up to look down at her, shaking his head over and over.

“No no no no no that’s not what I’m…I definitely do. If you do that is. I’m just…apprehensive” he tripped and stumbled over his words, trying to get her to understand his unique predicament.

Then her mind spiralled to how she had helped him in the past, how she’d taught him Herbology and Potions techniques, shown him the texture of materials, guided his hand when he needed it.

And her heart sank as an idea formed in her mind.

“Ominis, Do you want to try…being intimate…with me?” She asked shakily, her hands snaking up his arm to cup his cheeks, imploring that he listen to her. Thank Merlin he was blind, or perhaps her cheeks may have blinded him with how hot they were glowing.

“Desperately…” A dry, humourless laugh left him “…it’s practically all I have thought about since the First Trail…but”

“But…” she interrupted “…I have an idea”

She took a step away from him, his head quirked curiously to the right as he sought her out. It wouldn’t take him long, her fingers gently took his and she pulled him towards the armchair he normally resided in.

“Do you remember that Divination assignment? The palm reading?” She asked gently taking his hand and absentmindedly tracing over the lines on his hand. As she did he muttered softly to himself…

“Heart Line…Life Line…Fate line…”

He recited with perfect accuracy, though that lesson was weeks ago.

Then everything clicked and his cheeks burned hotter than he’d ever felt. Or that she’d ever seen.

“Are you…suggesting you can…show me how to…” Ominis’ words were careful and calculated. He’d come this far, he wasn’t ruining everything on a simple misunderstanding.

“It’s what other couples do…” She reasoned, suddenly feeling dirty or sordid for even thinking such a thing “…Only their method is trail and error and ours would just be a little more-”

“…Hands on” he smirked.

Bastard…how is he always so…so…

“Ugh…” Evelyn groans pulling her hand away from his palm and covering her face. “…It’s all just so unromantic now I think about it” she muffled from the sanctuary behind her hands.

“Oh don’t worry…” his long fingers looped around her wrists pulling them away and to her side. He took a step closer to her, his head bowed low to meet her gaze if she wished “…I have romance covered. That’s not what I’m worried about. I just need to know you’re okay with this”

As he spoke, his thumb drew tiny circles across her palm. It was almost as though they were dancing again.

“I am…” she breathed.

The smile he then wore was unlike any she had seen before. It had a softness to it initially. Like he was pleased she trusted him and she couldn’t help but mirror it. But then the longer they stood there, swaying slightly, the harder it grew. An edge to lips she hadn’t even seen when he’d pushed her against his bed.

And whereas last time there was a nervous, sickly feeling in her gut, now there was just…need.

Want.

He spun her again as he had earlier though instead of pulling her back to the exact same position, this time he pulled her so her back pressed against his chest.

“I’m so glad you suggested this, Evelyn.” He murmured over the shell of her ear, his fingers combing the hair from one side of her neck to the other.

“I am a fast learner. I’ve already learned what you like and what you don’t like…” she could feel his breath against her neck as he whispered down to her, his cheek nuzzling against the side of her face.

“For example…”

The smug smirk that tugged at his lips was so blatant in his voice.

And before Evelyn could question him, or combat him or flirt back gently as she usually would…

His teeth dug into the flesh of her neck, just below her ear.

She bit into her lip to stop the gasp from ripping from her. But he must have known. Must’ve heard the restraint in the hitch of her breath, or the way her shoulder squared in his arms. Because his teeth pulled back and he lapped against the divots he left behind. He licked broadly up her neck to her earlobe, making her shiver. And once again his teeth were against her as he grinned.

“Don’t silence yourself…please” he purred “I need to hear you. I need to know…”

“I understa-aaah!” She choked out. His lips closed around her earlobe, suckling softly before letting it go.

“Good…” he praised and even that sent a shiver down her spine. “…you must tell me if you don’t like something…”

It felt a little like he was trying to demonstrate what he meant. Like the next thing he did, he almost expected her to say no.

But she didn’t…

And she wanted more.

His fingers came up from her waist to undo the bow around her collar. When it fell away, he tossed it to the side like it offended him. Like he had some sort of vendetta against anything that kept him from her.

Then his hands were everywhere again. One tugged at the collar he had freed whilst the other moved towards the buttons of her blouse, again freeing more of her soft flesh for him to devour.

The moment her shoulder was available his lips found it, mapping across her skin.

And she was fine for the moment.

Her breathing fast and shallow as she enjoyed his attentions but she was fine.

Calm.

Collected.

Then his lips brushed over the sensitive area between her neck and shoulder and she gasped under her breath. A tiny soft sigh of pleasure that not even she was certain she made.

But he heard…

And in response his teeth dug harshly into the muscle. And she crumpled and fell against him with a loud and needy whimper.

She felt him grin, though his teeth still sunk in. Then his cheeks hollowed and the pressure against her neck felt divine.

“Ominis…” she whimpered and pressed against him.

“Too much?” he murmured as his lips left her neck with a sinful pop.

“Not enough…” Evelyn murmured, barely able to get the words out before his teeth were on her again.

Everything ramped up.

The pressure at her neck, the speed of his fingers on her blouse. Not even he could keep up with himself as he ripped a button from the fabric, pulling it from her shoulder.

The button pinging off and cascading to the floor broke something in Ominis and he groaned.

Deep and guttural from his chest.

She felt it vibrate through her back, arching against him to feel more.

That’s when her leg stumbled back and she felt a hardened bulge press against her rear.

The tiniest amount of friction that must have put against him caused him to growl, his fingernails digging into the flesh of her stomach as his hands started to explore under her shirt.

She inhaled sharply.

And her hand flew to her wand, tucked haphazardly in her waistband, directing it towards the Undercrofts entrance.

“Colloportus” she whimpered and the light at the tip of her wand fizzled out.

Ominis’ tore himself from her neck with a groan.

“What are you doing?” He asked but his voice was heavy, husky, heady.

“I’m not having a repeat of last time…” she murmured, staring at her wand in confusion. She shook her wrist and tried again…

…as Ominis’ hand drifted lower, his fingertips delving just under her waistband.

“Collo-portus” she gasped once again the spell failing as she muttered the incantation incorrectly.

Ominis just laughed besides her ear.

“Am I rendering you speechless? Powerless?” He purred, his other hand wrapping around her.

That hand hadn’t yet touched her skin. It had remained somewhat reserved, tugging at her clothes. So when it graced the skin of her chest it was significantly cooler than his other, forcing a gasp from her lips and her skin to pucker and tingle with goosebumps.

“You’re…” she started with a flash of venom in her voice, wanting to be frustrated at him. “…just stop a second. Let me lock the gates…” she breathed.

He chuckled darkly and removed his hands from her holding them up in surrender.

“Apologies, my love.”

“You’re not sorry…” she muttered and shrugged her blouse back over her shoulder, approaching the gate with a death glare.

She tried several times to lock the gates to no avail. Her hands kept shaking, her voice breaking. And just as she was about to give up and do it the ‘old fashioned muggle way’, the mechanisms in the gate forced themselves closed with a heavy ‘clunk’.

When she turned, Ominis was sat casually in his armchair, wand extended to the gate with a smarmy grin on his lips.

She approached once again muttering under her breath.

“Shut up…”

“Oh don’t be like that…” he crooned smoothly “…I like that I’ve affected you in such a way.”

His wand twirled between his fingers as she approached and she stood before him, pouting rather obviously. He simply chuckled and tapped his lap.

“Sit…”

His commanding tone sent a shiver up her spine and her knees buckled, bending to perch upon his thigh, despite her bratty and frustrated disposition.

His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her back again, flush to his chest. His other hand lifted her knee to rest upon his, repeating the process for her other leg as he slipped it over his own.

Then as he spread his own legs, pulling and parting her along too, a startled little mewl left her.

“Tell me to stop…” he whispered against her ear, his hand stilling against her waist

“I don’t want you to…” she breathed shakily, arching into him and once again feeling that pulsing heat pressing into her.

“You’re shaking…” he stated as though it were a reason for him to cease his tormenting.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing”

“Oh I know…” he smirked against her neck. “…I just wanted to hear you admit it”

He knew he was probably being overconfident. But that’s what Ominis did best. He was blessed with a silver tongue and so he would use it.

So far it was working.

Each gruff grumble from his lips sent a wave of goosebumps over her skin, and his fingers followed.

She shivered and this time they prickled along her stomach where his fingers lay dormant. It shot a pulse through him, his fingers twitching back to life to explore her.

Feel her.

He was learning so much.

He already knew about the scar across her waist, he thought perhaps she would flinch when his digits brushed across them but…she was moaning again.

Her marred skin was…sensitive.

So very…very sensitive.

Then he recalled she had another. Another Sebastian had given her deep in that Scriptorium across her heart.

What a perfect excuse to test his hypothesis.

He bought his hand up and over her clothed breasts, that simple act itself causing her to shudder and whine.

So what would happen if I did this?

His middle finger traced over the swirling pattern at her chest and once again a wave of goosebumps puckered beneath him.

For a second, he almost regretted asking her to be more vocal.

Her constant shallow breath filled his ears. Her soft sighs, and whimpers were more distracting than he assumed they would be

But, oh, how those noises were heavenly.

And thankfully, he found his body acting on instinct, no matter how distracting she had become.

His hands roamed, explored, squeezed, touched…delving to places he had never dreamed of finding on her.

Mapping curves and valleys of hers he’d only ever fantasised about.

When his fingers breached the soft lacey material of her bralette, she stayed silent.

She bit into her bottom lip to try and ease her need for him. Because this was too much. How had he not even touched her and yet she was a pooled and sodden mess.

Ominis mistook her silence for displeasure, and moved further in.

The books certainly hadn’t covered this. The few points of research detailed many erogenous zones across a woman. And though he wasn’t idiotic enough to think all women were the same, most books, most erotic novels he had read said the same.

So, purely for academic purposes, he gripped her just a little bit harder.

And was rewarded with the most beautiful and sinful whimper he had heard. With that very moan came another wave of goosebumps that he greedily followed. Like her very skin was speaking to him.

Ominis squeezed again, the soft flesh of her breast spilling out between his fingers as her manhandled her in the very best of ways.

He kneaded her, much for his own pleasure as for hers, and when he felt the tiny puckered nub between his fingers, he squeezed again.

Another sharp whine pulled from Evelyn’s chest. He felt it vibrate along her chest and for a second he was enthralled.

He copied that same action, kneading and squeezing and stroking, pinching her hardening peak near his knuckle.

Only his other hand reached up to her chest. Where he’d felt that vibration.

And with every gasp and murmur and coo he felt it.

So he chased it, rumbling up her chest to her neck where it was strongest before it left her lips.

“Ominis…” she muttered as her head rolled back onto his shoulder.

“I can move my hand if you want…” he spoke, somewhat strained after he realised his fingers wrapped around her throat.

“I…like it” she whispered, somewhat shamefully.

But Ominis was well past the point of caring. He’d built such a strong image in his head of her splayed across him, keening and mewling for more. For him.

And he had the luxury of hearing, truly hearing, everything he was doing to her. Perhaps he was better off…

His fingers tightened only slightly against her throat, feeling for each rumble of a moan his other hand was causing her.

Then his mouth followed in his hands stead.

Nipping, sucking, tasting every inch of her neck that he could access, the soft and gentle tugging of her flesh turned her to putty in his arms.

It was almost like he’d caught a nerve and her whole body squirmed with a moan. And she pressed deliciously against the painful throbbing in his groin.

He hissed at the sensation, both foreign and familiar to him.

And in that moment he realised she was learning just as much about him as he was her.

Because she did it again.

On purpose.

And as he gasped, he relinquished the hold his teeth had on her shoulder, panting against the wet skin of her neck.

So she did it again, rubbing herself across the length that was forced down his trouser leg, thanking every god there was that multiple layers of clothing were between them. Lest she be confronted with the slick she most definitely would leave upon his leg.

He gasped again, croakier and huskier than before.

And she laughed. A low seductive little laugh that triggered something in Ominis.

“Show me…” he demanded with a growl, snatching her wrist up and dragging it to her opened legs.

Perhaps she was a little too eager. He’d spent the past…Merlin knows how long, teasing her and her body ached. Her stomach had twisted and tightened with a desire she’d never felt before. Even when she was alone.

So she fumbled with his hand in hers, his other still tweaking and kneading at her soft mounds.

He ghosted over hers, softly, delicately copying her movements as she pulled her underwear to the side.

Then his hand left, straying to the fabric of her skirt, bunched around her hips.

“This is long enough, isn’t it?” He inquired flatly.

“Er…it’s comes to my knee why do you-“

Then he tore into her underwear, ripping along the gusset and exposing her completely. Whether he knew it or not, his knuckle dragged over her centre as he did and she twitched at the new feeling of someone else touching her so intimately.

“This will be hard enough without things getting in the way” his voice resonated from behind her, his chest vibrating against her back.

That was…understandable. And she would be lying to herself if the act of Ominis ripping her underwear from her didn’t turn her into a living puddle.

And it was getting ridiculous how long this had gone on for. So she snatched his hand from the hem of her skirt and positioned him over her again.

His hand mirrored hers the whole way. Like there was a second delay to everything she was doing.

Though when her finger dipped between her folds, and his shortly followed, he snatched his hand away in an instant, bolting straight upright. His finger and thumb rubbed together feeling her slick desire on his finger and his breath caught in his throat.

“You’re…” he held a note on his throat like he couldn’t think of the correct word. The appropriate word.

“…so…” he gulped and swallowed thickly, the bob of his throat brushing against her shoulder

“…wet…”

And whilst he was struggling to think of words, Evelyn was struggling to not run her finger along herself like she knew she liked.

“For you…” she murmured on an exhale.

Ominis could feel himself twitching against her rear and again something snapped within him.

His arm scooped her up around her waist, pulling her closer and tighter to his chest.

“Show me…” he growled once more in her ear before his teeth attacked her neck once again.

His finger ghosted over hers again, shaking as they dipped into that pooling well of want.

Her fingers twitched back into action, immediately finding that bundle of nerves at the top that made her toes curl.

And made Ominis’ head spin.

Whether it was his hearing, how well they knew each other, or how quickly he picked things up when explained properly, he didn’t know. But soon he got the idea of what she wanted. And she was going too quickly for his liking.

He could feel her winding and coiling like a spring in his lap, her panting little breaths filling the air and his name tumbling from her lips. She writhed and whimpered on top of him.

Then suddenly his mind filled with fabrications of himself being deep inside of her, those same noises tumbling from her. That’s same warmth he could feel radiating on his finger, surrounding him. And his brain went foggy and instinct kicked in again.

Just as she reached and clambered for that peak.

And her thighs clamped closed for that little friction she knew would push her over the edge.

He ruined it.

All at once it was torn from her as long boney fingers dug into the softness of her thighs, pinning her eager hand to the side and spreading her legs once again.

She could’ve killed him.

“Keep. Them. Open.” he spat through his teeth, moving his leg to pin her ankles behind his calves. She gave a few tester pulls, desperate for any form of friction as she felt that heat slowly dying between her legs.

She couldn’t move.

And her breath stuttered and whimpered needily. She was about to cuss him, turning and demanding he continue before that knot tied itself back up again.

But Ominis had other ideas. Ideas that perhaps right now she wouldn’t appreciate but future her would.

His fingers trailed over her core mapping every fold and divot. Easily. He slid in between over and over, delighting in every time his finger circled that nub that sent her shivering.

Then his finger slipped down, deep, entering her slowly. Carefully.

He almost felt bad for a second. The noise that left her. It sounded pained. But he pulled from her and that same needy mewling spilled from her until he did it again, her back arching into him. And this time it wasn’t so pained, more of an anguished sigh of relief.

It was…delicious.

Every sinful sound from her lips and each soaked ripple between her legs. He was simply exploring yet to her it was everything.

Him feeling her

Him pleasuring her

Him filling her.

With each pump of his finger she felt that knot loosening once more and when his other hand joined his first, rolling tiny circles over her most sensitive spot…she halted.

She became undone.

That release so close to being hers.

And he knew it.

“Let me see…” he begged, his hand pulling from her and hovering just in front of her face, his thumb replacing his own absence with dexterous accuracy.

She pushed into his hand, not trusting her vocal cords to maintain a readable level. Imagine the Undercroft being discovered after centuries because she had moaned too loudly.

His fingers drifted over her features, taking in the small knot of exquisite ecstasy on her brow. The heat from her cheeks. Her swollen, plump lips from her own teeth.

And as his finger ghosted her lips she took it into her mouth, tasting her own desire faintly on his finger. Not that, that’s why. She just needed something to mute her…

Practically crying into his ear, her head lulled back as she mumbled his name through her own teeth clamped around his fingers.

A comfortable warm silence fell over them as she slowly recovered, the white spots of her vision fading. Only then was she aware of the gentle kisses he placed along her neck.

“Why…” she panted “…are you so good at everything you choose to do?”

He chuckled, deep and low.

“I had an excellent albeit impatient teacher”

Masterlist

genuinely if any of you have any tips or anything please tell me this genuine pained me to write but im proud my first smut

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justfangirlstuffs · 1 year

Text

Just a Touch

You managed to locate a dark and quiet corner. Leaning against the wall, you lightly pressed your forehead against the brick. A low sigh left you, the coolness feeling disgustingly good against your heated skin.

“Since when do canaries hide away in the dark?” a low, growling voice asked from behind you.

Cabaret AU Drabble You x Sun and Moon

It was nearing the evening and your fever hadn't let up. It was baffling how your skin could feel so hot and yet you were shivering under your blankets doused in sweat. Staying in bed was not an option, however. You still had a gig to perform. In the line of show business canceling a job, especially from higher-end establishments, was a beeline to career suicide. The show organizers and event managers did not care if you were sick or dying, they only cared about you showing up as promised. And if you broke that promise they would likely never invite you again.

It was an incredibly unbalanced relationship where the performer was expected to show unfaltering dedication and loyalty, but the companies gave none of it back. No, in their eyes, you were lucky to be invited, they were doing you a favor, and woe be it upon you if you squander such generosity. So, you oh-so gracefully clambered your way out of bed, shuffled to your wardrobe, and wriggled into your work attire.

Normally you preferred to get dressed and dolled up at the venue but you'd rather not chance being too exhausted after the transit. You needed every drop of your energy for when you hit the stage. You put on your makeup, you curled your hair, you primped and primed until your mask of perfection was complete. Then you headed outside into the chilly dusk air to wait for the bus.

You nearly drifted off a few times on the ride over, narrowly missing your stop. You focused on taking one steady breath after the other, one small step after another. Mind over matter that's all it was. Just put on a performance until the curtain closes then no one can judge or condemn you and say you didn't give it your all. The bright lights of the cabaret FazOurs burned your eyes and for a moment you swayed. Then you took a deep breath, swallowing down your misery, and put on your best-winning smile. You may not be on stage yet, but eyes were on you, which meant it was Showtime.

As you weaved your way through the patrons, you spotted one of your favorite people and one out of two reasons that you didn't have to completely force the smile on your face. Sun was in the middle of entertaining himself, keeping a handful of the patrons spellbound by how he flipped cups and poured shots from over his head without managing to spill a single drop on his immaculately clean bar table. You would have been content to watch all night long as those hands and fingers forced liquid -the most mercurial of all the elements as far as you were concerned- to flow and dance to his whimsies.

He finished off the drink, adding the literal cherry on top of the crystalline ice to the scattered applause of those seated nearby. Only when the crowd dispersed and Sun began casually wiping down the bar did you saunter your way over, feeling so proud that you managed not to tip over sideways in the process. As planned, the bartender's gaze was drawn to your approach and his already cheery demeanor brightened all the more.

“Doth my eyes deceive me, or hath an angel descended from the heavens themselves?”

“Oh, love, quite the contrary,” you said, sliding into one of the chairs, thankful to have something to rest on. “The very depths of hell spat me out and now you're cursed to suffer my alluring charms.”

“The gates of hell might not be so bad if it's your company I'm promised,” Sun mused.

What a charmer. Sun managed to spin flattery as easily as a spider spun silk threads. But no matter how lovely the canvas of webbing is, it was still meant for catching anything foolhardy enough to fly too close. You are not foolhardy, but you were daring, and you did so love to tempt fate.

“An eternity with you” You hummed softly. “They would have to rename hell to heaven and then everything would just collapse in on itself, natural order destroyed.”

This earned you a chuckle of amusement. “Disturbing the peace and order. Yes, that does sound very much like you.”

You smiled feeling a little too pleased with yourself perhaps.

“Are you tired, darling?” Sun asked suddenly.

The question jarred you a bit and you realized too late you were leaning rather heavily against the bar table. You straightened up in your seat. “Looks like you caught me. Just looking for an excuse to be closer to you. I suppose I'll have to be a little more discreet next time.”

Sun’s smile did not falter, though you could tell his gaze was far more assessing now, eyes searching for chinks in the armor that you'd woven for yourself. That just would not do. The last thing you needed was for him to worry over you. Although the sentiment was sweet, you couldn't risk him thinking that you were incapable of performing.

“Well, as much as I hate to go and leave you lonely, I need to slip backstage to prep for the big opening number.” You slid off the bar stool and began making your swift retreat. “Try not to miss me too much.”

You heard Sun call out: “break a leg.”

In the back halls lined with dressing rooms other performers were already getting prepared. You were thankful you'd done yourself up ahead of time, even if it meant your curls wouldn't be quite as springy and your makeup might be a little flaked. Under the bright lights of the stage, no one would notice and you didn't plan to get up close and personal with anyone. Not tonight.

“Since when do canaries hide away in the dark?” a low, growling voice asked from behind you.

Ah, and there he was, your second reason to smile through the pain and misery. Straightening up, you opened your eyes to see a halo of soft red light surrounding you. Turning, you grinned up at the face of your favorite piano player, Moon. As usual, his hands were tucked away in his pockets; they seemed to live there when he wasn't at his piano playing.

“Who said I was hiding?” you asked coyly. “You don't think I stood here intentionally waiting for you to come find me? Tsk tsk, shame on you, falling right into my trap.”

Moon leaned down, his gaze scrutinous. Like Sun, he was rather tall and easily towered over you. Another nice thing about makeup, it would hopefully hide the fact that you were flushed like a ripe tomato. “Why do I get the sense you're up to no good?”

You laughed. “Dearest, have you MET me?”

He made a harrumph sound, but his posture was slightly more relaxed as he leaned back from you. “Yes, I have. Still questioning that decision.”

“A shame, because I would relive our first meeting 1000 times over given the chance.”

A growling scoff was his answer, one of his hands leaving the safety of his pockets in favor of pulling the front tip of his fedora down to hide his eyes. You inwardly chuckle. Moon wasn't quite as apt when it came to volleying compliments as his sunnier counterpart.

Just then you heard the stage coordinator call out, “Places everyone!”

You skirted around Moon. “Hope you can still keep up with me.”

He trailed behind you, and you're certain he called you a brat under his breath. You took your place on stage while Moon seated himself at the piano. You took deep breaths, doing your best to not sway on the spot as the announcer hyped up the crowd for the show. Then the music started, the trilling notes of the piano flowing and weaving into a wild melody. You longed to watch those fingers dance over the ivory keys, but you needed to focus. The curtains parted, light-flooded your vision and you could hardly see. The faces were darkened and blotted out by the mixture of shadows and your own blurring vision. But it was fine because you were a performer. You didn't need to see the audience, all that mattered was they saw you, and so you needed to be perfect.

You took one more steadying breath and belted out the first line of lyrics. It was all or nothing now.

-----

When Sun had wired a message to Moon that something was off with their star performer, the latter was of course put on edge. For one thing, performances at the FazOurs were the prime priority. They were the establishment's pride, and thus no one could afford to fall short. More importantly, however, the thought of something being off with you rankled him more than it should. He was also very aware that this detail shouldn't have been more important to him, yet it was. Sun and Moon had agreed when this whole mess started: nothing should be more important than focusing on their jobs so they could get out. And yet... there you were, and with just a smile and a wink, you kicked all rational thought out the window.

They weren't idiots. They were smart enough to at least try to keep a professional distance. Yet you spoke sweetly to them. You flirted with them. You treated them with kindness. You treated them like people instead of objects. You were, in a very sad and literal sense, their only friend. Yet that was a dangerous truth they couldn't afford to voice to you, nor were they allowed to touch you, due to their very strict protocols about having physical contact with human clientele, and consequentially, they couldn't allow you to touch them either.

Moon hadn't even been able to look you in the eye when you'd so casually reached out to touch his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, only to reflexively cringe away from you. He didn't want to suffer what look you might have been wearing, and later he cursed himself for being such a coward.

Now he watched you perform from his place at the piano, stealing quick and subtle glances so as not to draw attention where it should not be, for he should never be the focus. Earlier, the subtle signs of perspiration and hints of flush behind the makeup had been suspicious to him, however, you had the hop-step going and your singing was true as always.

The two of you pushed your way up the crescendo, and it was moments like these Moon knew Sun would envy him for. The moments where you and Moon were working in tandem to create something to mesmerize and spellbind the audience. Sometimes, he missed the spotlight, but for you, he didn't mind playing a more supporting role. Not when you had so much overflowing passion to give.

You belted out the last note, the air shaking with your well-placed vibrato and you struck your final pose. The audience erupted into applause, several of the patrons standing from their seats. You bowed and stayed there until the curtains closed. You didn't rise as Moon had expected. Instead, you fell with a soft thud onto the wooden stage.

There was barely any time for him to actually process his thoughts into a decision before his body had leaped from his bench and he was at your side. The other performers who were next up began to crowd around you, shocked and murmuring. Moon assessed the situation, eyes scanning and evaluating until his systems came to a conclusion that issued this as an emergency situation, allowing him to override the 'no touch' protocol. He placed a hand on your forehead and his sensors detected that you had a high-grade fever. He inwardly cursed, both himself for not noticing your distress and you for hiding it so well.

Moon lifted you off the floor, cradling you in his arms. “Out of the way,” he barked, and the other humans were quick to clear a path for him as he made his way to the back rooms.

-----

At his perch at the bar, where he saw all and everything, Sun was humming to himself as he cleaned his glasses for the third time and his bar table for the fifth. You had been resplendent as always, and your performance was impeccable. Perhaps he'd been worried for nothing. You did have a habit of throwing him off kilter, much to his amusement and chagrin. You always kept him guessing, something that made you both intriguing and dangerous.

You were kind and friendly to everyone you met. Well, everyone who you felt deserved it. Somehow, he and Moon had fallen into two of those lucky few. At first, Sun found your flirting to be cute, if not somewhat insincere. However, after enough back and forth, he'd come to enjoy your witty banter and lavish compliments. For most, he was just a bartender. Someone who people tended to offload all their problems and woes. But you? You'd been the first person to ask him, “And how has your night been going?” Such a simple and unassuming question, yet it was thoughtful, and it made him feel seen.

Just as he was about to take some orders, his eyes caught sight of his counterpart. With you in his arms. Unconscious.

He flashed the waiting patrons a smile. “Apologies, folks, but it seems I need to refill the ice tub.”

No one questioned the fact that it was still half full with the speed Sun uses to evacuate himself from the bar to go investigate. He catches sight of Moon heading to their quarters and tails him, ice bucket still tucked under his arm.

“What’s happened?” Sun asked in a hushed whisper as he slipped into the room behind Moon.

“They’re sick, feverish. It’s bad,” he muttered, not looking at Sun as his eyes scanned the room for an appropriate place to rest you.

The room was minimally furnished, as they weren’t allowed much in the way of comfort, there was a couch. It had several stains that hadn’t come out despite their efforts, so Sun asked Moon to wait whilst he took a few of the costumes and laid them out as a makeshift cover.

Moon set you gently down. You moaned softly, but your eyes remained screwed shut, your breathing labored. “I can’t stay,” Moon muttered, one of his hands lingering on the delicate curve of your wrist. The words were soaked with bitterness and Sun understood why.

“Go perform the next number,” Sun told him. “That’ll give me some time. Folks won’t mind not getting drinks for a bit if they’re being entertained.”

Moon grumbled but he nodded. His hand left yours, and the reluctance was evident in the twitching and curling of his fingers. He left, shutting the door behind him. Sun got to work taking some of the ice from the bucket and wrapping them in towels and placing them against your neck. You shivered and moaned again and he slipped off his jacket and draped it over you in the hopes you’d be at least a little more comfortable. He continued to dab around your face and forehead with an ice-cold cloth. For a moment your eyes flutter open, wide but not quite lucid.

Sun stole a moment to brush his thumb over your face. It was a moment that should have never belonged to him, yet he indulged in it all the same so he could later cherish it when your touch was no longer in reach.

“You stay strong, little songbird. Okay?”

You give a soft nod. “Mm-hm.”

Sun's hand carefully moved the damp cloth over your forehead. “You didn't think to maybe call in sick?” he asked, a thinly veiled layer of scolding in his tone.

“What? And miss seeing your darling faces?” You forced out, giving him a heavy-lidded smile, no doubt to mask the immense discomfort you were in. “Perish the thought.”

Sun made a huffing sound. He wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want you to think that any of this was okay. “This place isn’t worth killing yourself over.”

“I’m tired,” you breathed out, and it was probably the most honest thing you’ve said all night. So honest it shook him more than any of your flirty remarks. “How about you keep playing doctor and we’ll talk about this later, hm?”

“Of course,” Sun conceded. “Later then.”

“So, is it as nice as you dreamed?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Touching me.” You flashed him another laughing smile, despite the weariness in your eyes. “I know it’s certainly better than I’d imagined.”

Sun sighed. If it weren’t for the smile already stretching his face, he would have had to fight to mask the one your words had elicited. “You said you’re tired. Rest now. I’ve… we’ve got you.”

“I know you do,” you murmured.

Your eyes slid shut and before long your breathing evened out. Meanwhile, outside, the big musical number was winding down. He needed to return to his post. He grabbed himself a fresh jacket, letting you keep using his other as a blanket. You would be safe in their room, with no one to disturb you while you rest.

-----

Your sleep was restless and you’re pretty sure you rolled over to vomit at one point. You had very vague recollections of pleasant cold hands on your shoulders, supporting you whilst your stomach emptied itself of what little contents it had, before gently laying you back down. You didn’t think you dreamt of cool digits brushing your neck and forehead and sweet words of comfort whispered in your ear.

Your skin felt like it was harboring a furnace and your body ached like you’d been run twice over by a cab. Any time you tried to sit up your world tilted and spun, and you were resigned to flop back like a dead fish, close your eyes and surrender to blackness where you could find a brief reprieve in your suffering.

The next time you came to, you could hear the voices of your two favorite boys going back and forth with one another.

“...let them stay sleeping here?”

“How are we supposed to get them home?”

“There’s always the hospital.”

“No,” you croaked out, wincing at how pathetic you sounded. “No hospital.”

Both Sun and Moon stopped their conversing, their attention going to you. Sun was immediately at your side whilst Moon hung back. His body was hunched, restlessly shifting back and forth, like an old bad habit he couldn’t quite shake.

The yellow and cream digits pressed against your forehead and throat and you reflexively sigh at how good they felt against your feverish skin. “Your fever hasn’t broken, and you haven’t been holding down fluids.” Sun's voice was soft, but it had a firmness to it that was trying to make you see reason.

“I’ve suffered worse, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, doing your best to give him a smile of reassurance. “Have at least a little faith in me.”

Sun leaned forward until his blue optics were practically boring into yours. “Darling, you can’t fool me. You’re not fine. You’ve barely any strength. I’m telling you this, for your own sake, you should go to the hospital where you can get proper treatment.”

You just nodded along with what he was saying, until you leaned up, closing the inch or two of space and pressing your lips to his smile. You’re not certain what possessed you to do it. Could be the fever. Could be to derail him from thoughts of taking you to see a doctor. Or it could be that some part of you had been yearning for it for some time now. You felt Sun’s body lock up for a brief moment and heard a static warble of surprise from across the room before you felt the slightest pressure against your mouth in return.

When you parted from the kiss, Sun’s gaze had gone completely white. “Sorry, love. I needed you to stop speaking nonsense for a bit.”

Moon’s eyes were dilating from red to black, staring in disbelief, his body rigid, as though it had been him you had sprung the surprise kiss on. Your gaze returned to Sun who was still white-eyed and unmoving.

“Oh dear, did I cause you to malfunction? I didn’t think I was THAT good.” You gave a weak chuckle at your own humor.

You reached out to touch his face, maybe stroke his cheek, but his hand caught yours. Not roughly, no, it was incredibly gentle. The blue of his eyes steadily returned, and you couldn’t quite fathom their gaze. Did he seem… conflicted?

“In all seriousness,” you said. “If you even think of arranging to have me sent to the hospital, I will claw my way out of here and all the way home if I have to.” You shot a glare at Moon, making sure he understood as well.

A static huff of a noise emitted from Sun’s voicebox. “What exactly do you have against doctors?”

“Take me on a date sometime and I might tell you all about it,” you said sweetly, or as sweet as you could manage given how rough and hoarse your voice sounded.

This time, Moon was the one to sigh in annoyance. You knew to them you were probably just being a pain in the ass, an inconvenience. But you could not risk going to a hospital and having it ruin everything.

“Sun, go get them,” Moon said gruffly.

Sun met Moon’s gaze briefly, and you could tell there was a secret conversation happening. It made you just a touch nervous. Sun rose to his feet whilst Moon approached where you lay.

“Get who? Where are you going?” you asked, trying to sit up.

Blue and white digits settled on your shoulder, gently but firmly pushing you back down. “The manager keeps a stash of meds for emergencies. He probably won’t miss a few, and they might help with the pain and the fever.”

There was that paranoid part of your brain that suspected this may be a trick just to placate you, but you decided to trust them. You wanted to trust them with this much at least. You watched Sun leave the room, while Moon picked up a water bottle and held it to your lips. You cringed away out of reflex. In your line of profession, you’d been taught to never accept an open glass or bottle you hadn’t opened yourself or at least seen prepared.

“Drink,” Moon ordered. “Or I will carry you out of here and cart you to the hospital myself.”

You eyed him sullenly, unsure if he could and would actually deliver on that threat. You didn’t want to risk it and thus allowed him to tip some liquid into your mouth. The water felt good on your parched throat and even better as it slid down into your empty belly. You drank a few more swallows before he seemed satisfied.

“Try to keep it down this time,” he muttered.

This time? Boy, you must really have been out of it. He took one of the damp washrags and began dabbing around your forehead and neck area. His touch was far more measured and deliberate than Sun’s you noticed, like he was worried he might accidentally break you. You released another sigh at how pleasant of relief the coolness was, wondering how the rag could stay wet against the inferno blazing on your skin. You really were a mess. You’d never wanted them to see you like this, so weak and pitiful.

“Why did you hide it?” Moon asked, his low gruff voice sounding… angry? Hurt? No, he was probably just irritated because of your stubborn refusal to accept professional medical treatment. “You could have told me. Us.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference, love,” you told him, honestly. “I still had to perform.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” You say that bit with a hard bitterness, but your hand reached out to brush his arm. “I’m touched though. It sounds like you’re actually worried.”

A growl of static preluded his next words. “Of course I am.”

Oh… for a moment you were stunned speechless. But of course, there was no way he meant it the way you wished he would. Your being ill had been a risk to the establishment’s reputation. If you had fainted dead away in the middle of your performance, it would have caused an issue. You’re being here now was causing issues.

“I’ve got a little trick to help get rid of worries,” you said, a plan hatching in your brain. After all, you didn’t want to play favorites between the two of them, it would be terribly unfair.

“And what’s that?” he asked, his gaze suspicious but intrigued.

“Help me sit up?”

“You should be resting.”

“It’ll be only a moment, dearest.”

He sighed but decided to play along, surprisingly. His hand slid under your back and eased you up into a sitting position. You leaned on him so as not to sway. Glancing up, you lifted a hand and crooked your finger at him, beckoning him closer. If he knew what you were up to, he didn’t show it as he leaned down. Closer… closer… until you were able to take hold of his tie and lean up just enough to close that pesky gap. His sharpened teeth had a unique texture against your mouth, and you felt the hand on your back very subtly pull you closer before he suddenly jerked away.

Once more, his optics were shifting from red to black, as though his processors were having difficulties comprehending what just happened. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, little canary,” he growled.

“I always am,” you replied cheekily.

“Ahem.” The mock sound of a throat clearing attracted both of your gazes. Sun had returned.

With Moon’s help, you reclined back down on the sofa, his silken tie sliding from your grasp. Neither of them discuss what Sun just walked in on, but you wondered if maybe you just couldn’t hear it, or perhaps it was a discussion that would be saved for later when your ears weren’t present. A shame, you would have liked a bit of feedback. You supposed you’d just have to settle for the fleeting moments of reciprocation.

Sun approached you with a couple of small pills resting in his palm. “These should help.” Once more you were forced to accept assistance as he tipped the pills into your mouth, with Moon having you chase it with a few more drinks of water.

The rest of the night and morning passed with minimal chatter, as the pair of them insisted you save your strength and sleep. You acquiesced, though not before sneaking in a couple more teasing remarks about them just wanting to watch you sleep. You don’t know if anyone else was privy to your presence in their room, but no one, save for them, ever intruded upon you while you rested. At one point, you awoke to find Sun absent and Moon was in the corner. He was sat up, but his eyes were blank and a cord was sticking out of his back. He was… charging? You couldn’t help but stare, in awe of how vulnerable he seemed, and even more so he’d be willing to be in such a state with you there.

Searching around, you found your bag resting nearby and snagged it. From inside you pulled out a pocket watch, and it read that it was midmorning. The cabaret would be closed. Perfect time for you to sneak out. You still felt hot, and tired, and a bit winded, but some of your energy had trickled back. You could make it to the bus station, you could make it home. Much as you hated leaving without a word, you worried Sun and Moon might not let you leave in your current condition, and you didn’t want to raise suspicion with your watchdog/landlord by being unexpectedly absent for too long.

Still, you decided it couldn’t hurt to take a couple of souvenirs. You wrapped Sun’s jacket around your shoulders and shuffled over to where Moon sat. His shirt and suspenders were undone, and his tie had been set aside. You picked it up and pocketed it. Before you made your escape, perhaps it was only fair you left something behind in exchange.

You removed your set of star-shaped earrings, setting them down in place of the tie. One for each of them. A small ‘thank you’ for them taking such wonderful care of you. Slipping out of the room, you took care not to run into anyone as you snuck out the back doors and into the brisk morning, the sunlight far too bright after the pleasant dimness of their bedroom. You made your way to the bus stop, hoping the boys won’t be terribly sour about your sudden departure. You’d find a way to make it up to them. They wouldn’t be rid of you that easily.

#fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #moon x y/n #moon x reader #sun x reader #sun x y/n #fnaf security breach #sun and moon #cabaret au #justfangirlwritings #sun /moon x y/n #sun/moon x reader #dca fanfic

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dw-writes · 1 year

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Angry - Miguel O'Hara x Anti Hero!Reader

So. This isnt planned to be a fic - in fact Im writing it on my phone (which is something I NEVER do). But the idea came to me today and its itching the inside of my skull so I decided to write it down. Its silly - just an thought experiment to get the Across the Spiderverse brain worms out.

This isnt intended to be a romantic fic, either. At the point of writing this author blurb, i dont even know how Miguel fits into it beyond the main idea of him being venomous.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think

This isnt edited, and was typed out pretty quickly on a phone. I apologize ;;

WARNINGS: Swearing; Violence

"I bet you're wondering what I'm doing here." The bank robber - his name was Ryan, you remembered, and he was a pretty decent guy, just down on his luck too many times - nodded and mumbled behind the collect of irridecent that coated his mouth. You propped your foot on the side of another robber - Julian, Julius, Juli-something, he never really talked that much to you - as he tried to squirm towards his fallen weapon. "It's weird, right?" you mused, "One day, I'm the Black Cat, Nueva York's greatest burglar, the next I'm--" you cut yourself off as you hooked a foot around Juli-such-and-such's hip and tossed him across the bank floor. He released a muffled shout.

"Okay, so, what do you think of Moon Weaver?" you asked, "Too much?"

"Ain't there a Moon Knight?" someone in the bank quipped.

You twisted around, snapping your fingers down on your new, and very much stolen, web shooter. The man crumbled back against a cabinet. He was a banker, and annoying during robberies.

"I didn't ask you? I still don't know if you're gonna be saved by me yet," you replied. You turned back to Ryan. "No Moon Weaver?" you asked.

He shook his head.

"Damn," you sighed, "Anyway, I was telling this to my therapist up on the seventh floor - you should see her by the way, she's great - and we were going over how this started, but since you so rudely interrupted my therapy session, you get to hear it." You crouched in front of him. "Don't worry, you're not gonna remember a thing anyway. I'll make sure of it."

Ryan didn't reply.

You stood back up. "So, let's start at the beginning." You waved your hand as you paced away to another bank robber, kneeling to scoop up his limp ankle. "Remember that heist I was doing a few months ago? Priceless heirloom, lots of money, you know how it is. I was on the job, like normal, when that fucking Spiderman shows up." You dropped the man's ankle and crouched in front of Ryan again. "Have you ever seen him without his mask? He's kinda hot, but in that infuriating "I really wanna punch you" kinda way?"

Ryan merely stared at you. He wasn't a very good audience.

You huffed. "Anyway. He showed up, we did the whole song and dance - the chase, the quips, the obvious flirting with a good layer of sexual tension - and I give him the slip." You frowned at your own memory of that night, planting your fists on your hips. "Except, I didn't. He caught me around the corner, and we went down, grappling. I think I hit him a little too hard in a place that I shouldn't've - that's rude in a fight, you know - because he yelled and suddenly bit my shoulder." You turned back around. "He bit me! Like a four year old!"

You thought Ryan mumbled something that sounded like, "Seriously?" but it was too hard to make out.

So, you replied with, "Yeah! And I went home, and I started feeling weird." Then, you crouched again, your fingers dancing over your knees. "And you know how we all kinda know that he's a weird little freak that's, like, part spider, or werewolf, or vampire, or something freaky? Yeah, I think whatever it is gave me powers," you whispered.

Ryan's eyes went wide.

You shrugged and stood, cupping your fingers around his head. "Yeah, it was weird. And now, here we are!" Your fingers tickled as a surge of electricity arched away from them and through his skull. "Not that you'll remember it," you mumbled.

The robber thrashed as you stepped away, then slumped to the ground. You watch him for a moment, frowning, waiting to make sure he was still breathing. When he groaned, you stepped back.

Then, you snapped your fingers, turning around to face the whole group of thieves you had piled in a corner. "Oh, what about Night Spider? That's pretty cool!" you asked.

"It's pretty," came a delayed reply. You looked over your shoulder. It was a customer, one of the few that was still curled up on the floor.

You smiled, and bowed at the waist. "Why thank you," you preened, standing, and waving your arm towards the door, "What're you all still waiting around here for? Get outta here!" You watched as the customers scrambled to their feet. "And tell the cops it was Night Spider that helped you!" You backed away, eyeing an exit you normally took to escape a bank with a similar layout. "Not Spiderman."

You bolted as the cops rushed into the building.

Miguel watched from atop the roof across the street, an annoyed scowl etched deep into his face. He knew he shouldn't have bitten you that night - but how could he have known you'd have such a reaction?!

And now, you went from being a pain in his side to a fucking problem.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, swearing under his breath.

Lyla would never let him live it down.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderverse #marvel

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greyias · 4 months

Note

[ CUP ]: bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

Pairing: Gale x Tav Words: ~4700 Rating: T, despite any indications to the contrary Notes: I have no excuse for this, other than it made me laugh. I’m very sorry. Set late in Act 2, after the infamous spider meat scene. I should probably add a warning for the arachnophobic: SPIDERS

The walls of the tent seemed to loom around him. Normally a tight fit for Gale to stand up, now even more crowded as he finished his preparations for the evening. He couldn’t help but glare at the confines closing in on him, not exactly claustrophobic but also not a location he would normally choose to stage a grand, romantic gesture. He briefly contemplated the merits of conjuring the elaborate illusion of his tower back in Waterdeep again — but no, his concentration was already centered on a spell vital for his plans to try and make up for his outburst earlier in the day.

And even if it weren’t an issue, his Waterdeep illusion required more from him than he had after the day’s battles and puzzle solving within the depths of the Gauntlet of Shar. Which in itself was hardly the most romantic location to woo one’s paramour. Unless one happened to be a cleric of Shar, but even then, Gale doubted Shadowheart would find their current environs particularly stimulating in that way. And it wasn’t like he was trying to woo her.

And perhaps he wasn’t exactly trying to woo his beloved—just more… apologize? His normally boisterous paladin paramour had been unusually distant and quiet with him the entire afternoon and evening, and the timing between that and his less-than-accepting reaction to the reveal of her, erm, unusual proclivities could hardly be a coincidence. So, logic dictated that he make a romantic gesture to show that he accepted her, unexpected predilections and all.

His scowl deepened as he fussed with the stack of tomes that normally lay in a pile next to his bedroll, trying to make for the illusion of more space in the already crowded tent. This corner had seemed like the perfect place to get them out of the way, but every inch really was at a premium right now, wasn’t it? Hardly worthy of the grand, arduous gesture he was trying to pull off. If only he had some vestige of civilization, a romantic suite at an inn that wasn’t one sliver of concentration from disaster. Although he’d readily trade for even half the space of a thin-walled room at even the Last Light Inn at this point.

Although, considering one of the harpers had specifically warned them away from sleeping in any of the actual beds because of a lice infestation in the mattresses, that would probably also put a damper on the romantic atmosphere. Although really, after a century long of the inn suffering from a shadow curse, how were those vermin supposed to have survived? Barring the arrival on the head of an unsuspecting Elturian refugee, Harper, or Flaming Fist, it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. The buggers would need regular blood meals to survive any length of time, much less a century—unless they were undead shadow-cursed lice?

Hrm, best not take the chance. The living version of the buggers were bad enough, and toss in an undead, necromantic curse on top would just be an additional nightmare to deal with. Perhaps it was best to make due with the limits of his current environs rather than—

“Gale? Are you in here?”

Musings on the merits of undead lice were quickly derailed by the call.Wait, no—it was too soon for the guest of honor to arrive. “Uh—yes, just a moment!”

Before he could reach the entrance to intercept her, Ari peeled back the tent flap and stepped inside, a gentle expression of concern writ across her features. “You’ve been cooped up in here since dinner. You even missed Raphael, he says ‘hi’ by the way, and you wouldn’t believe what those scars on Astarion’s back—”

She froze, statement ending in a lurch as her gaze whipped over to the shadowed, far corner of the tent. Her eyes narrowed, then widened alarm before she flung herself fully into the space, maneuvering her unarmored body between Gale and the perceived threat. An appreciated, romantic gesture in normal times, but not at all the way he’d been picturing this going. As her bare fists balled up, arm reeling back for a punch he found himself grabbing her wrist in an attempt to keep the evening from derailing completely.

“Wait—no! It’s okay!”

“It’s not okay, there’s a giant spider in your tent!”

“That’s just Llarry—he’s a friend!”

Said giant spider, who had been settled back in the far corner, was sitting as comfortably as an enormous arachnid could in such a cramped space, legs crossed as if settling in for tea. One spindly, furry appendage waved as if in greeting. Although perhaps the gesture perhaps came across a little more intimidating to the uninitiated as Gale had to redouble his grip on Ari’s arm to keep her from punching in one of the creature’s eight eyes.

“See, see, friendly.”

Her protective scowl gave way to a deeply confused frown as she hesitantly lowered her fists. “I’m sorry—Llarry?”

“Well, technically his full name is Llarraggathssinssrigg, but really, he only uses that in more formal settings. He much prefers to go by Llarry.”

“You named the giant spider infesting your tent?”

Llarry reared back, front legs now waving irritably as a soft whisper of discontent escaped his mandibles. Ari’s balled fists started to raise back up at the action and Gale forcefully lowered them back down.

“No, no, of course not,” Gale corrected before they could get off on even more of the wrong foot… leg… tarsus… claw… whatever. The correct terminology wasn’t important at this particular juncture. “You know he doesn’t really appreciate the insinuation that he didn’t have a name before this, and also, it’s not very polite to refer to his presence as an infestation—”

“I can understand him perfectly fine, Gale!”

Oh. Right. The spell for speaking with animals had been one of the first things she cast each day in order to properly give Scratch and their resident owlbear cub morning scritches — here he had to settle for a potion to try and arrange tonight’s events. Although technically Llarry would have understood his instructions regardless, but considering the nature of the evening, it seemed only polite to have a proper back and forth about expectations, boundaries, safe words and whatnot.

Llarry made a series of elaborate clicking noises, front legs waving eagerly.

“Yes, of course,” Gale said at the reminder, “how boorish of me. Llarry, this vision of loveliness trying to valiantly punch you is Aravyn, although she does let her friends call her Ari.”

Llarry's multitude of eyes lit up as he trained his hopeful gaze on the half-elf.

“I have known you for all of sixty seconds. I’m not sure we’re to friends status yet.” As Llarry drooped dejectedly, some of Ari's defensiveness melted. “But I suppose since we’re already using nicknames, fine. You can use Ari, I guess.”

A trill of excitement escaped Llarry, far higher in pitch than expected from a beast of his size.

Seeing that indeed they were not about to be wrapped into a cocoon of webbing, Ari's defensive posture relaxed slightly, although she hadn't quite yet moved from her protective positioning shielding Gale. She tilted her head dubiously at the giant arachnid taking up a full third of the limited space. “So, let me see if I understand this correctly.”

“Of course.”

“You found a giant spider in your tent after dinner, and then made such good friends with him, you’re on a nickname basis with him.”

“Ah, not exactly that,” Gale said as he tried to step around her, although in the limited confines of the tent there wasn’t much room to maneuver without manhandling her. “You see, I brought Llarry here.”

“I’m sorry, what?

“Third level conjuration spell, really handy in a fight if you need some extra allies—but you know. I figured why not be a little creative, spice things up as it were, in a safe, controlled environment.”

“…what?”

“You know…” Gale trailed off, hoping he didn’t have to spell it out.

“No, I really don’t.” Ari glanced between the two of them with an expression caught somewhere between confusion and suspicion. “Explain it to me like I’m five years old.”

“Oh, this is hardly the conversation for a five year old.”

“Gale!”

The hint of irritation in her invocation of his name had him fiddling nervously with his collar. “Well, you see, I realize that things back in the orthon’s lair got a little unpleasant. And maybe I wasn’t as supportive as I should have been in the moment. But I love you, and I wanted to show you that I fully support your… proclivities. No matter how… unconventional they may seem at first.”

“Unconventional proclivities? How does a spider—” Llarry reared back with an affronted hiss at the rude generalization instead of his name, front legs waving irritably. Ari glanced at the display with a cautious frown before amending, “I’m sorry, how does Llarry fit into this?”

“It’s okay.” Gale abandoned fussing with his collar to give her an awkward but hopefully supportive pat on the arm. “It’s a fixation, we can’t help what we find stimulating. What one person may find a strange predilection, another may discover an unexpected fount of amorous adventure.” He ignored her trying to mouth the phrase in befuddlement, and instead offered an encouraging smile. “So as a show of good faith and open-mindedness…”

With his free hand, Gale made an expansive gesture at Llarry, who waved a giant furred appendage in a way that was definitely overeager to get the evening started. Damn it, Llarry, don’t get too thirsty.

Horror slowly dawned on Ari’s face, color draining from her usually rosy, freckled cheeks as she turned from spider to man. “Gale.”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Is this about the spider meat?”

“And there’s zero judgement here. This is a safe space,” he was quick to reassure. “The point is, I brought Llarry here to show that I want to make this work, unexpected kinks and all.”

Gale wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been hoping for was, but her slowly sinking to the ground as if her legs could no longer hold her weight was not it. Instinctively he made to steady her, batting away the giant spider arm that was also trying to do the same thing. Perhaps she was just overwhelmed at the magnanimity of the gesture, the whole-hearted acceptance of—

“I... I need a moment,” she said weakly, swatting both of them away as she hid her face in her knees.

“I… yes, of course. All the time you need. Although, maybe less than an hour? There is a time limit on the conjuration spell, so if you’d like to get started—”

Llarry eagerly extended a leg in her direction, and it was immediately shoved back.

“I said a moment!” she insisted more forcefully.

Gale quickly made a “cut it out” motion at the spider, who folded back in on himself into his cramped corner with a huff. He knelt down next to her, hands hovering uselessly in the air as he tried to understand this reaction.

“I have a feeling I may have made a miscalculation.” The opening statement was spoken at a normal volume, but the next was dropped to a whisper that hopefully only she could hear, and he did his best to not let any dread creep into his tone. “Does it have to be dead? Llarry’s pretty open-minded, but I don’t think he’d be particularly amenable to that arrangement.”

Not to mention that would be beyond the bounds of this particular spell. But baby steps. Unfortunately, his whisper wasn’t quiet enough as Llarry let out a noise that was neither disturbed nor eager. Intrigued? Oh gods, best to not contemplate that.

“Gale,” Ari croaked.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. Unless you don’t want me to be? Do I… need to leave the tent for this? Is this a private affair? I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I—”

She whirled on the spot, uncomfortably twisting as she grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and pulled him close, eyes wide as her voice raised loud enough for the entire camp to hear. “Stop! I’m not sexually attracted to spiders!”

“What—I mean no, not attracted to them, of course. I didn’t think that!” Not entirely. “Attraction and arousal are two different things. For example, some people like me get hot under the collar when they see a beautiful, strong woman tear a bloody swath through cursed shadowed creatures, and when you lick… rotting… spider… meat… you—”

“It was charmed!” Her grip on his collar shifted to his shoulders as she shook him fiercely. “The spider meat was charmed!”

Elocution left him. “What? But you—”

“It was laced with succubus spittle, Gale!” She fixed him with a wide-eyed, mortified gaze. “I wasn’t… I don’t get turned on by licking spider meat.” As Llarry proffered a tentative limb, she released one hand to shove it away. “Or any part of a spider!”

“Oh.” Gale blinked. “Oh. Why in the nine hells would anyone dope spider meat? With an aphrodisiac?”

“There’s no good answers there, Gale! None!”

“Oh gods, you don’t think Yurgir was—not with the displacer beast?”

“I have been unable to think about anything else for the entire day!”

“Okay, not to lose the conversational thread, but I want to be one hundred and ten percent sure on this point. Your titillated reaction was in no way genuine, and you do not have any desire to indulge in any arachnid-related fetish?”

“I do not.” It came out a defeated whisper as she buried her face into shoulder to hide her burning cheeks.

Llarry slumped and emitted a dejected trill, his evening clearly ruined.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“A relief?” She raised her head back up from where she was trying to hide from her mortification. “I thought you said you accepted me as I am—even the weird parts!”

“Yes, but that’s not a weird part of you is it?” He shook his head, then replayed back the words that he’d just spoken. “Wait—that came out wrong.”

“So you don’t accept my weirdness?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant!” Gale held up his hands defensively. “I love your weirdness, your unexpected nature—I just am a little relieved I don’t need to reserve a third level spell slot to summon a fey spirit in the form of a giant spider for you to salivate over if we want to get intimate!”

“What the fuck is going on in that tent?” Astarion’s loud voice drifted their way.

“Dark Lady preserve us, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to!” Shadowheart chimed in.

Okay, that was unfortunate. Another issue to deal with at another time.

“You—you didn’t use your sound dampening charm you created?” Ari whispered fiercely. “When you thought we were going to have a wild night of spider licking?”

“Look, Llarry requires a dedicated amount of concentration to keep on this plane of existence—”

“Oh, well if Llarry requires your concentration—”

The spider in question made an elaborate series of gestures with three of his appendages, clearly indicating that this was not a part of the relationship he had agreed to be party to.

“Please, Llarry,” Gale begged first to spider, then turned his attention to his girlfriend, “I’m trying here.”

“Trying what?” An edge of equal desperation tinged her voice. “Why, why, why why—” she caught herself, took a breath, then exhaled before finishing the question, “why did you feel the need to bring a giant spider into… this?”

“I already told you—I thought I hurt your feelings.”

“You did hurt my feelings—because you yelled at me!”

“And I was only yelling out of surprise,” he tried, oh he tried to stop himself from finishing the rest of that thought, but Gale of Waterdeep was nothing if not thorough in the worst of ways, “because you licked a dead spider!”

“I only licked it because it smelled weird and magical and off!”

“Oh yes, a great justification for supping a little essence d’arachnid — not to mention a sure fire way to pick up a food-borne illness.”

“Hey! I needed to investigate!”

“With your tongue? Did you see me putting ancient relics in my mouth?”

“Yes! I gave you several to stabilize your condition!”

“I—I didn’t eat them, I just consumed them, there’s a difference!”

“And that difference is?”

“Well, one involves a dead spider and your tongue—”

“You know for someone who’s claiming this was a safe space, I’m hearing a lot of judgement in your voice.”

“I’m not judging,” Gale insisted. “I’m just…”

Ari quirked a single brow, arms crossed as she awaited his explanation for why this was about his concern, not judgement. And this entire thing was a ridiculous misunderstanding as it was. Llarry let out a long series of very sincere, but chiding clicks.

“You’re not helping,” Gale muttered darkly.

“You have to admit, Llarry has a point.”

“I really don’t have to admit that.” He shot her a look. “And okay, let’s say I concede that inadvisable curiosity had you put your tongue on it the first time. But if you knew it was charmed, why in Faerun did you taste it again?”

Her cheeks flushed a deep, deep red again. “Because you yelled at me!”

“I feel like we covered that point already.” Gale frowned. “Have we reached a circle in this ridiculous argument? Or is it a spiral at this point?”

Llarry made a low inquiring trill, front legs gesturing in a fluid motion toward the tent flaps, as this was definitely not the fun evening he had been promised.

“Not now, Llarry,” both Ari and Gale sighed in unison.

Gale scrubbed a hand across his eyes, a desperation clawing up and squeezing at his chest as this conversation, if it could even be called that at this point, seemed to spiral completely out of control. Ah, control, what a beautiful, deranged illusion to grasp for.

Words. He needed words. “It was never my intention to upset you.” That was a good start. “When you grew distant, avoiding my gaze… can you really blame me for wanting to fix it?”

She stared at him, long and hard in a way that told him without any words, that yes. Maybe a little blame was being directed his way. He couldn’t help but wilt some at that.

“I can see you’re mad,” he started.

“I’m not mad,” she insisted.

“But you’re not happy either.” This really wasn’t going well at all. “Look, I may not have the cleanest track record when it comes to correcting mistakes in relationships. Possibly overcorrecting just a tad.”

“Just ‘a tad’? You don’t think this was a little extreme?” She asked softly, the trace of hurt in the question like a twist of the knife. “Instead of… talking to me first?”

“When you put it that way… I suppose going to such elaborate lengths without consulting you first was perhaps a little ill-considered.” The wounded look still lingered in her eyes, and he tried to swallow past that gnawing guilt trying to rise back up in him. “You just seemed upset, and you know how they say actions speak louder than words, and I know I use a lot of words.”

“You do,” she said quietly. “You know, the first time was out of curiosity.”

“I do feel like we’ve firmly established that fact.”

She shot him a look, but the heat in it was quelled by something a little more raw. “The second time wasn’t just because you yelled or the meat was charmed. It was what you said.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You suggested that we’d run our course.”

“I did no such thing,” he insisted, with a heat. “I would never—”

“You literally told me that, and I quote, ‘the time might just have come when you and I should split ways’.” After the verbatim recitation she dropped her gaze, looking anywhere but at him.

“That was a joke,” Gale insisted hotly.

“It certainly didn’t sound like one at the time.”

Again, she wouldn’t quite look at him, just like most of the afternoon that had started this whole sordid affair. Llarry’s eight eyes glanced between Ari, to Gale, and with a world’s worth of recrimination behind the action. Stupid summoned spider—why had he not let the damned thing leave the tent when they had a chance?

Spider voyeur be damned, he moved in, gently cupping her face and tilting it up so he could look her in the eye. He half-expected her to pull away, but she allowed the motion. The shuttered expression on her face cranked that vice around his chest one notch tighter, even as his thumb brushed lightly across her jaw line.

“I told you once that nothing would turn my heart from you,” his voice was naught but a whisper, but with no room between them, it might as well have echoed from the walls, “and that hasn’t changed.”

She swallowed and after a moment managed to summon the semblance of a smile. “Not even my unfortunate habit of sampling things I shouldn’t?”

“Not even that,” he breathed.

She let out a half breath, half-laugh in response, and this time when she closed her eyes it seemed to be in relief. It was a small win, but he’d take it, and the vice loosened enough so he could breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, leaning into him.

“Whatever for?”

“Overreacting?” she tried. “I probably should have said something too. I just… felt stupid about the whole thing. And you were just so angry when you were yelling at me to stop licking things.”

“I was concerned,” he insisted, and yes, maybe a little irked that he’d been ignored in the moment. “Maybe we can just chalk up this entire sordid affair to misplaced affections and intentions? I mean, I brought Llarry into our lives to prove my love, didn’t I?”

The third wheel cleverly disguised as a giant spider rolled all eight of his eyes.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, “it was a genuine misunderstanding. Anyone could make this mistake?”

“Anyone?” Ari asked.

“Okay, maybe just me,” he amended, “but I think it’s safe to say that you’re off the hook for the evening, my eight-legged friend.”

A woeful, keening sound left the spider, his large, bulbous head dipping low in clear dejection.

“It’s you not you, Llarry,” Gale insisted, “it’s me.”

The mandibles clicked in rapid staccato, intercut with distressed squeaking.

“Yes, yes, but given the new information we’ve all uncovered in this impromptu group therapy session, the parameters of our previous negotiations really don’t apply here.”

Another click, what counted as a huff.

“Come now, let me just release you from your service. You’ve got less than an hour left of existence, my friend, you should make the most of it.”

Llarry turned his octagonal gaze in Ari’s direction.

“No.”

Now, spiders couldn’t exactly snort, as they lacked the nostrils to do so. However every single spiracle across his large hairy body exhaled their frustration at the same time, and with a decisive shuffle of all eight legs pounding against the rug-lined floor of the tent, Llarry waddled his way past the embracing couple and shoved his way out the tent’s front flap and into the camp beyond.

“Wait, Llarry, don’t be like that—”

Almost immediately, cries of alarm went up from the rest of the party going about their evening, Scratch let out a loud growl as the owlbear cub screeched a warning. The clang of metal against stone indicated that someone had taken a swipe at the vorekink-friendly spider — and missed.

“Oh no,” Ari murmured, starting to move towards the tent flap to try and save their weird relationship counselor, “Llarry!”

“He’s up in the rafters already!” That seemed to be Lae’zel, presumably the one that had tried to cut the poor dejected spider in two. “Damn it elf, can’t you aim your longbow better?”

“It’s not my fault he’s faster than a Quickling on a sugar high!” Astarion snapped back.

“Okay, am I going crazy,” Karlach asked loudly, “or was that spider crying?”

“Leave that poor spider alone,” Wyll, ever the voice of reason, tried to bring peace and order back into their lives. Bless him. He tried.

“Yes. It’s clearly had a rough evening,” Halsin rumbled.

“I guess he’s fine?” Ari winced, turning back to Gale.

“He always did have a penchant for drama,” Gale sighed.

“You’ve known him for less than an hour.”

“But it seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?”

“Gods yes.” She buried her face into his shoulder again. “Do you think we have any chance of convincing everyone they didn’t hear any of this?”

“I’m afraid I’m tapped out of that particular magic for this evening.”

“Is there no justice in the world?”

“Modifying our friends memory? Probably not justice—I would say it’s morally dubious at best.”

Ari tried to sink her head further into the retreat of Gale’s night shirt. Unfortunately it was not nearly as voluminous as the folds of the robes he wore in the daytime, so there was not much solace to be found there. The muffled groan was the best she could muster. At that point, the tent flap shifted again and Karlach looked in, an eyebrow raised as she took in the sight before her.

“Soooo,” she managed to draw out the two-letter word out into multiple syllables, “you’re both alive I can see. Well, I mean we already kind of knew you were alive. Because of all the yelling.”

“Remarkable observation as always, Karlach,” Gale’s reply was dry, one hand busy smoothing the top of his mortified girlfriend’s head. “Can we help you?”

“Ah, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Look, the gang—” At Gale’s quirked eyebrow, she amended, “—okay, mostly Astarion because he’s nosey as fuck, sent me in to ask what the hells is going on in here? I told him if the spider tent’s a-rocking, don’t come a-knocking, but he insisted…”

“Just a little… mutual misunderstanding is all.”

“Uh huh. You know, if you want to keep it spicy, there’s a lot easier ways than the five million fucked up scenarios I imagined listening to all that.”

Another pitiful moan left Ari, but it was mostly muffled by Gale’s shoulder. He gave her head a consoling pet.

“She okay?”

“No,” Ari’s words were muted by her insistence of slowly smothering herself in her boyfriend’s shoulder, “just let ceremorphosis take me now. I don’t think even my soul wants to remember any of this.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” Karlach insisted.

“Astarion will never shut up about this,” is what Gale was pretty sure she said, but it was mostly just indistinct mumblings at this point.

“Hey, first wise crack from Fangs, and I’ll cave his skull in. Then we can have Withers bring him back. No harm, no foul.”

“Except for Astarion’s skull,” Gale pointed out.

“You’d do that for me?” Ari mumbled.

“For you, soldier? Anything.“ She gave Gale a lurid wink. “Well, I’m just going to leave you two lovebirds to go ahead and smooth out any remaining ‘misunderstandings’ you might have. Maybe just put up that fancy sound dampening charm before you really get going, ‘ey?”

With that, she ducked back out, a chuckle in her wake. Finally alone, Ari emerged from her refuge in Gale’s shoulder, a red crease marking where she’d pressed her face particularly hard against his clavicle. “You’re really smart, right? What’s the chance of a rogue portal appearing and swallowing us up before we have to face the others tomorrow?”

“Alas, a statistical improbability.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Gale tucked back an errant honey-blonde strand, attempting to smooth her now disheveled hair. “I think we might have to resign ourselves to being the talk of the camp, at least until the next insanity is thrown our way.”

She dramatically hid her face back in his shoulder, as if he’d pronounced the world was ending. “I am never leaving this tent again.”

#bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 tav #oc: aravyn #cw: spiders #look #look i can explain #(actually no i can’t carry on)#crackfic #not beta’d sowwy #i am yeeting this masterpiece out to the winds #and going to bed #greyfic

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noodyl-blasstal · 8 months

Text

With no apology to Stephanie Meyer

Day 8 of @taznovembercelebration and I got "vampire AU" and "ignore" - obviously this was the only way to go, short and stupid. (Yesterday's is here)

“Ignore my teeth.”

“Your fangs, you mean?”

“They’re just teeth, Taako.”

“Oh, right, so you just hate all teeth and want everyone to ignore them, do you? Do you hate my teeth? I thought you said I was handsome!” Taako’s going to get his answer, whether he has to bully Kravitz into it by talking at him or not.

“This isn’t ignoring them.” Kravitz is covering his mouth with his hand in a valiant effort to prevent Taako from paying attention to the fact he’s apparently a fucking vampire.

“It seems prudent…” Taako muses. Not moving out of Kravitz’s lap. “... to ask about them.”

“I don’t think it seems necessary.” Taako wishes Kravitz would take his hands away from his face and put them back on Taako.

“You’ve got a lisp.” Taako giggles in delight at the ridiculousness of it all. He finally gets his hot neighbour into bed, or, well, onto couch, and he’s gained a lisp and some blood sucking powers.

“I haven’t got a lisp!” Lisped Kravitz.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just different to usual. It’s nice, still you, and I like you.” Taako moves his hands back to Kravitz’s chest. The sooner they talk about it, the sooner they can get back to what they were doing before.

“You should be afraid, not teasing me. I’m a monster, Taako.”

Taako leans backwards so far that he nearly falls to the ground laughing. Kravitz has to guide him back against his chest with one hand. He’s fairly sure there’s tears streaming down his face. “Oh, oh, shall I go google the word vampire very dramatically. Go on, tell me to hold tight.”

“Fuck off spider money.” Kravitz says. Then adds, tentatively, “you’ve never going to let me forget this are you?”

“Not… a… fucking chance.” Taako squeezes out between laughter. “Fuck me, do you glitter as well? Please tell me I’m going to be boning my own personal disco ball? That’d be rad as hell.”

“We don’t sparkle.” Kravitz is sullen, but not Cullen, thank the gods. The thought of anyone watching him sleep makes Taako feel itchy.

“So you are a vampire then?”

“No?” Asks Kravitz, lacking any ounce of conviction.

“Fuck, wait, is this why you won’t eat anything I bake for you? I thought you were playing hard to get!”

“And it worked?” Kravitz sounds baffled at the prospect, “surely you just thought it was rude?”

“I thought it meant you were interested.”

“I am.” Kravitz nods towards their relative positions to reinforce the point.

“In draining me dry?”

“Not of blood.”

Taako snorts out an extremely undignified laugh. “Hold up, are you using my fear of getting murdered to death to hit on me?”

“Is it working?”

“Kinda.” Kravitz was exceedingly hot, and Taako simply has to assume that vampire powers mean that he’s got super strength that they can use irresponsibly.

“It shouldn’t be. You should be worried.”

Taako draws his lips closed. He really shouldn’t start humming Claire de Lune right now, but the temptation is strong.

“You’re comparing this to Twilight again aren’t you?”

“This is the skin of a killer, Taako.” Taako says in the gruffest voice he can muster.

Kravitz thunks his head back onto the sofa in frustration. “I’m just trying to be sensible. You should probably be a bit worried.” He says to the ceiling.

Kravitz is probably right… Taako should probably ask more questions and not use the opportunity to kiss his way across Kravitz’s collar bone and up his neck, but, you know, he’s right there and he’s topless and Taako is only one human man with a normal amount of resolve.

“I mean, I want you to, like, give me a brief run down? But Taako’s gonna keep doing this while you reel off the headlines - that work for you?” Taako punctuates the question with kisses, spreading them across Kravitz’s chest.

“You doing that is not going to help with, you know, the whole concentration thing.”

“Then talk fast.” Taako grazes his teeth against Kravitz’s neck, delights in the way Kravitz involuntarily shifts his hips in response.

“I’m a vampire.”

“Wait, what?” Taako feigns surprise and looks wide eyed at Kravitz. “A vampire? In my house? I’m shocked! Surprised!”

“Taako!”

“Fiiiiiine.” Taako rolls his thumb across Kravitz’s nipple, relishes the surprised noise it pulls from him. “You were saying.”

“I’m a vampire.”

Taako sucks gently at Kraitz’s collar bone, open mouthed and gentle, laves his tongue across the skin there. “Mmhm.”

“Have been for a while.”

He shouldn’t… he really shouldn’t… “How long have you been seventeen?”

“Taako, please.”

“Yeah, no, okay, sorry, if you were seventeen this would not be happening, no matter how old you actually were. That one was bad.”

“Thank you.” Kravitz waits to see if Taako has any more interruptions planned. He does, but Kravitz doesn’t need to know what they are quite yet. “It’s been like 5…ish years?”

Taako noses against Kravitz’s neck. “Talk faster.”

“I don’t eat people, there’s a blood bank guy, and I promise I won’t kill you.”

“Good enough for Taako.”

“We’re doing this?”

Taako pulls Kravitz down into a kiss.”This isn’t contagious as long as we use protection, right?”

Kravitz looks at him like he’s finally lost it. “Are you suggesting tooth condoms?”

“Taako’s not not suggesting them.”

“I… you…”

Taako’s face must give him away.

“You’re not serious?”

“Nope! But you know what cha’boy is serious about?”

“I think there’s a strong chance I should be concerned about whatever you’re going to say.”

“Investigating the contents of these.” Taako dips his hand below the waistband of Kravitz’s trousers. It doesn’t seem like he’s in any danger and he’s been hitting on Kravitz for months, it’s time to get them back on track.

“Promise you’ll stop referencing Twilight?”

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb.” Taako probably can’t push this much further, but also, how many opportunities is he going to get?

Kravitz snorts loudly. “Okay, that was the last one.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.” Maybe he won’t get that one, how closely did he study the source material?

“You’re the worst.” Kravitz says, and kisses him.

Check out tomorrow's prompt here.

#taz november celebration #taz nc #Noodyl Writes #Taakitz #Taako #Kravitz

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heliads · 8 months

Text

'wckd is good' part 2 - newt

Based on a past request for a Maze Runner fic set in the MCU where Newt was Venom, Reader was Spider-Woman.

part one / masterlist

a/n yes this is wayy longer than i expected lmao but i choose to see this as a good thing

Running has always been easier than staying to face the truth. As you swing back through the dark city, you hear Newt’s words echoing in your head with every snap of web hitting concrete and glass. It is foolish to let one conversation shatter your entire worldview, but even running can’t convince your mind to settle back the way it had been. Newt has done his part well.

Worst of all, you think he was right about you, about everything. Usually, when the moon hangs low over the city such that its glow can be hidden by the shadows of the skyscrapers around you, your worst fears about this city seem like they couldn’t be more true. On nights like these, you always see a monster lurking in the face of every man, the darkness bleeding from every eye. Now, though, in every face you see only a blond boy grinning back at you. If the worst monster you’ve seen lately was just a kid like you, what does that say about every creature you’ve killed in the name of preserving the peace? What does that say about you?

You don’t get into any more confrontations that night, electing instead to perch on the edge of a dark roof and watch the lights of the cars go by far below you. Your shift ends, but you only return to WCKD headquarters when you’re certain no one else will be there. A few rooms have lights on, but you avoid them as best you can. There is no one you want to see right now. No, not true— there is one person you want to see, but if he’s in WCKD’s clutches, it’s all over.

Sleep comes fitfully that night, as it has every night before that and will every night again. You see Newt reaching out a hand to you, smiling easily, but then his jaw ripples and the monster’s awful fangs come out again, distorting his charm into something terrible. You wake up screaming; for you or for him, you can’t be sure.

Even more restless than usual that morning, you decide to go on a walk to clear your head. Normally, walking around in the bright sunshine, seeing the smiling families, the upturned faces, all serves to lift your mood. A strong city is a happy city; this is why you do it, remember? You protect these people, all of them. It’s worth every sacrifice.

Turning down another street, though, your spirits refuse to lift. How many more people would be here if you hadn’t been in charge of taking them out? How many times did you get it wrong? How many Albys do there have to be before you realize that you can’t make judgment calls on someone’s life?

Lost in thought, your guard slips unconsciously. You don’t notice the hand snaking out to grab your arm until someone’s already pulled you under a shadowy overhang. Immediately, you’re on high alert, grabbing a knife from your belt to press against their throat, but your attacker just laughs. It is this sound and this sound alone, that call like the high-pitched ring of a bell, that stops you from slitting his throat.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Newt,” you warn him as you pull your knife away from his neck.

For someone who’s life almost ended, he seems remarkably unaffected by your words. “It’s lovely to see you, too. Didn’t realize you remembered my name.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s my job to know things. Don’t take it personally.”

“Yes, Y/N, because it would be terrible to not be as affectionate as you,” Newt muses. “Forgive me for wanting to be friendly.”

“Being friendly gets you killed.” You remark plainly. “So does trying to sneak up on an assassin. Don’t let that happen again.”

You turn away and walk back onto the sidewalk. Newt, however, just joins you without a heartbeat’s delay. “It’s not up to me whether this happens again. I think you wanted to see me a little more than you care to admit.”

You shoot him an angry look, but Newt remains resolutely cheerful. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Newt asks. Without giving you a chance to interject, he carried on blithely, “Or maybe you’re right. Here, I’ll give you a chance to prove it. I’m meeting up with some friends tonight to discuss our favorite enemy. If you don’t want any of this, feel free to stay away. Or don’t.”

He casually passes you a folded paper that’s been creased from staying in his pocket. A quick glance towards its contents reveals a place and time.

You arch a brow. “If this little gathering is happening so you can denounce WCKD, I don’t think giving the location to one of its best soldiers is really the brightest idea.”

Newt lifts a shoulder. “That’s what they said too, but I know what I saw last night. They don’t have a chokehold on you, Y/N, despite what you might try to tell me. Somewhere in there,” he says, brushing a hand against your temples, “you want out. Let me help you with that.”

You press your lips together, thinking. Going could be suicide. What if this is just a trap to take out WCKD’s finest agents one by one, and Newt’s just telling you this so he can lure you into letting your guard down?

At the same time, your mind whispers selfishly, what if he isn’t lying? What if there was a world without WCKD? You haven’t dared to let yourself imagine such a thing in a long time; security cracked down after Thomas and Minho ran away a year or so ago. There’s no way they’d let you go without a fight. If Newt’s friends had your back, then maybe, just maybe, you might win this one.

“You told your friends about me? Moving awfully fast, aren’t you?” You question.

Newt grins. “Don’t take it personally, baby. I tell them a lot. Doesn’t mean we aren’t special, of course, but you wouldn’t be the first girl I’ve brought home.”

You laugh, surprising yourself. “No need to get carried away.”

“Too late,” he says, smiling back at you, and then he turns down a corner and disappears into the crowd. You’re left clutching the note, wondering if this mistake might cost you your life, and if you’re leading any sort of life that’s worth saving to avoid a chance like this.

You shouldn’t go. Odds are, WCKD has someone tailing you, and even though you’re always careful to shake anyone you even suspect to be following you, there’s no way to tell for certain that you got rid of everyone. You check your clothes and personal items thoroughly for recording devices every time you leave WCKD headquarters, but what’s the precautions of one girl against such a massive organization?

You check the note once, twice, and then again. The time is later tonight, the pickup location outside the docks near the south of the city. Newt hasn’t given you many hours to deliberate, although you suspect that was intentional. The less time you have to ponder about whether or not you’ll take him up on his offer, the less time you have to turn them into WCKD if you decide to betray him instead of trying to run.

In the end, you put away your sense of self-preservation and head out again. You aren’t scheduled to go out on patrol until tomorrow, so you’ll have plenty of time in case something happens. You don nondescript clothing and pull a baseball cap low over your head to disguise your face. After taking a long, roundabout way to the docks to avoid suspicion, you stand on a pier, watching the dark water go by.

It was smart of them to pick this place. The sound of the tides, the churning of the boats up and down the water, the roaring of distant traffic echoing off of the tall buildings, all serve to muffle the sound of the strangers as they walk up to you. Normally, you’re able to sense trouble when it comes to you, but maybe your reflexes decide that your assailants aren’t a threat before your head makes that call, because you don’t notice anyone sneaking up behind you until they’ve already shoved a dark hood over your head and clamped a mouth over your hand to silence any shouts.

The second the hood is pulled over your eyes, you’re swimming in dark danger. You can feel the heartbeats of the people around you; four of them, men, young men. Boys. Newt’s age. Your age. They’re desperate, you can taste their fear like metal on your tongue. One of them has a limp. If you strike now, you could break a leg, roll away long enough to get the hood off of your head, then kill them all. They’d be dead before they even hit the ground. The blood would run scarlet into the river and ruin your last chances of leaving this hell. You’d be alive, though. Isn’t that why you do all of this, to live? Isn’t that the only motivation any of us have ever had?

A whisper in your ear, sharp and urgent: “Trust me. Please.”

Newt.

You don’t trust people. You shouldn’t. He knows this. If Newt set you up to die, though, he would have killed you already. Newt’s monster doesn’t need to sneak up on you and blind you to kill you. One snap of those jaws would do the trick. If Newt wants you to play by these shifty rules, there must be a reason. Strangely enough, you realize that you believe in him enough to want to know what that reason is.

You comply, going limp long enough for the others to seize hold of your arms and take you with them into a waiting car. They intentionally take a confusing, circuitous route so as to confuse you. Still, you carefully note each turn, how long you stop at traffic lights or stop signs. Then you’re bustled out of the car again and into a building with tall ceilings; you can tell from how your footsteps echo against the top that the sound has a long way to go.

Eventually, you’re sat down on a chair, your hands bound behind you. The others hover nearby, you can sense their presences. There are more of them now, probably a dozen. Mostly inhumans, with the occasional exception. Not bad numbers, but not enough to really challenge WCKD. That’s why they’ve gone to you, though, you suppose. Foolhardy, but not completely insane.

A voice, loud and challenging, calls you sharply back to reality. “Y/N. You work for WCKD, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer deadpan. “None of you do. That’s why you were so kind as to bring me here, right? You were desperate. Now, can you take this hood off of my head? I would hate for you to miss anything I said.”

The loud boy scoffs. “There’s no way we’re letting you get a good look at us. You’d just turn us in.”

You cock your head to the side, staring exactly where you think the boy’s eyes are. “Would I? I don’t need my sight to do that. There are fifteen of you in this room right now, but that’s not all of you. About five leaders, I think. All teenagers. One adult, though. He drove. And one little boy. I can hear your heartbeats. I know who you are.”

A young voice lets out a muffled complaint from the far side of the room. “I’m not a little boy.”

Instantly, he’s shamed into silence. “Shut it, Chuck. Don’t give yourself away.”

A weakness. You grin, even though they can’t see it. “Chuck? That’s the boy, then. If I looked up connections between boys named Newt and Chuck, how long do you think it would take for me to track all of you down? I’d start by checking security cams near the docks. We’re in the warehouses near the docks. I’d guess the third from the left in the second row, yes? Usually used for temporary storage of agricultural products, but you’re in between seasons, so it’s empty for now and you’ve been borrowing it for meetings.”

A collection of gasps confirms your theory. You press on. “I know where you are, I know who you are. Bonds and a hood won’t keep me. Hell, I don’t even need you to undo me. I can manage that by myself.”

See, your would-be captors were so distracted by their own seeming safety that they didn’t check to make sure your wrists were fully together when they tied you down. Also, they were so stunned by you being able to catch onto them that they didn’t notice you slowly pulling a blade from your sleeve, nor spot when you sawed through your bonds. You stand up easily, toss the ropes to the ground, and pull the hood from your head.

You’re greeted with fifteen shocked faces. Well, fourteen. One’s grinning proudly. Newt. He winks when you catch his eye, but he’s careful not to let his friends see. Another boy, with close-cropped hair and a dark glare, looks particularly unhappy about your little escape. This is the one who had been speaking to you, you assume, and there’s the man in the back who drove you here. Silver touches his dark hair near his temples, but he looks intimidating enough anyway. Close by him is a girl about your age.

The angry boy who had spoken earlier groans in disgust. The angrier he gets, the more his eyes start to flicker, turning from green to a fiery red. Sparks flash along his clenched fists. Another inhuman, then. Fire powers. He’s probably somewhere on your list. “Who tied her up? Winston, you know to make the bonds stronger than that.”

“Wasn’t his fault,” you call out, and hold up the knife you’d disguised in your sleeve to make your point.

The boy groans again. “What is that? No one checked her for weapons?”

“You certainly didn’t, Gally,” Newt points out.

The boy– Gally– tosses Newt an irritated look. “Don’t start with me, Newt. I bet you’re just delighted with her for this bit of showmanship, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Newt says, grinning over at you.

Gally looks like he can’t decide who he wants to throttle more, you or Newt. “Fine. Fine. Let’s get started, if that’s what you really want. How do we know we can trust you?”

“You’re the ones who kidnapped me,” you argue. “I think I should be asking that question first.”

Gally might actually try to kill you this time, so Newt quickly steps in before things can escalate further. “Play along, will you?” Newt asks. “We’ll get nowhere if both of you are bickering the whole time.”

You sigh. “Alright, fine. If I wanted to turn you guys in, you’d already be dead. WCKD doesn’t cut corners, you know that. We would have burned your entire establishment to the ground. Happy?”

“Very,” Gally remarks dryly. “We’re familiar with your typical way of handling things, thank you very much. We know how WCKD operates.”

“If you know so much, why do you need me?” You ask. “Newt knew where to find me even on my off day. I’m assuming you’ve done your research thoroughly or you’ve got a source, in which case you’d have no reason to reach out to me, too. Why take a risk like this?”

“Because our source is no longer in WCKD,” Newt interjects. “Our information is out of date. We want more relevant gossip, to put it plainly.”

You frown. “You used to have a source in WCKD? Who?”

Newt goes silent, something almost like pity in his eyes. Gally, unencumbered by weak things like empathy, answers your question. “Thomas.”

You draw in a harsh breath. “You know Thomas?”

This changes the whole situation. Thomas– Thomas was everything. He and Teresa were the very first to show up to WCKD. You were the third, but they’d been there for at least a year before you. It changed them, you think. It made them closer than anyone else. When Thomas left, it destroyed Teresa. You and Teresa have known each other for years now, but it’s nowhere remotely close to the bond she shared with Thomas. Nothing can ever match that.

Thomas had been the last of the good ones, you think. After he left, everything was ruined. It was the first sign of the end of days. If Thomas, Thomas the believer, Thomas, the one who was willing to give everything to cause even when it left him broken and bloody, could walk away, what claim did the rest of you have to anything at all?

Thomas’ departure changed the way that WCKD worked. Neither Thomas nor Teresa had been true experiments. Teresa was trained as a Black Widow, and Thomas made himself an indestructible shield, running around the city as Captain America and saving people wherever he went. They juiced him up a little to make him stronger, but nothing as intense as the rest of you. No cuts were made.

Thomas was the last ideal any of you had that humanity could be protected by other humans. Once Thomas was gone, WCKD started up their labs in earnest. Now, almost every one of their teenage recruits is modified in some way. They say it’s because you have to fight fire with fire, that you can’t possibly compete with mutants if you’re not more than human yourself, but many terrible things have been done in the name of scientific progress. This would not be the first.

And now you find out that Thomas had once been here. Thomas had been friends with everyone in this room. You look wildly from face to face, expecting to find the boy you had once pledged to defend until your dying breath. The two of you had saved each other on countless dangerous missions, but now he’s just gone, and you aren’t even entirely sure that you would recognize him were you to see him again.

Newt saves you from the peril of not knowing. “He’s not here,” he answers you gently. “Thomas got out. He told us to try to reach you, though. Said you could be trusted.”

“Not Teresa?” You ask softly. That surprises you. If Thomas could save anyone, wouldn’t it be her?

Newt shakes his head. “He said Teresa was better than him. She would never leave.”

“But I would?” You say bitterly.

“He knew you could save us, not just the city,” Newt supplies. You’re not sure if that makes it all better or worse, but it is an answer to fill the empty silence curling between your ribs, so that helps with something, at least.

You nod curtly. “Alright, then. If you’ve got Thomas on your side, I’ll help. Just– have you seen him recently? Is he still alive? I would ask on my end, but I don’t know if WCKD would tell us if they– if they killed him.”

Gally looks vaguely irritated. “No, the asshole’s still alive. He’s a major pain, won’t stop asking questions or getting in the way we do things, but he’s still kicking.”

You grin in spite of yourself. “That’s Thomas for you. He has a way of getting under your skin. He means well, though.”

Newt laughs. “That’s one way of putting it. He skipped town a week or so back. Said he was going to try to look for an old friend.”

At first, you’re confused about who that would be except for you and Teresa, and then– Oh. It hits you like a tidal wave. “Minho.”

Newt nods. “You knew him too?”

You smile. “The four of us were always the closest. Maybe we can do a little family reunion if I can get away without WCKD always watching my back.”

Gally coughs pointedly. “Let’s get back to business. You can reminisce later about the good old days of killing mutants together. You’re willing to help?”

You incline your head. “As best I can. Tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to get it. It might be slow going at first, I’ve got to divert suspicion, but I have access to just about everything. Perks of working for them since I was small. Satellite feeds, location tracking, anything.”

For the first time all night, you think Gally smiles. “You know what, I think we just might be friends after all.”

Isn’t that a lovely thought? As it turns out, Gally isn’t wrong. Days turn into weeks, and the information you accumulate for Newt’s friends steadily turns into a virtual mountain. You find mutants for them, people with abilities who WCKD would kill but they can save. They have friends, too, who are already on WCKD’s radar and need to be removed from the list. You pretend to kill them to erase any sign of their existence. After that, they can run without getting gunned down when they try to leave the city. WCKD has this place on lockdown, the only way you can escape their clutches is in a bodybag, so you fake that part and everything goes according to plan.

You usually rotate members of Newt’s group when handing off information to avoid suspicion, but your favorite blond shows up the most often. You heard one of the other boys grumbling once that Newt has a habit of insisting that it be him to meet up with you, even threatening to set his monster on someone who argued too hard against it, but that just makes you laugh. Newt’s a sweetheart. He wouldn’t hurt any of his friends to stop them from flirting with you. Hopefully.

One evening, the two of you are walking along the river for such a handoff when Newt breaks the one boundary both of you have had the good sense to maintain and asks you when you’re going to leave along with them. Newt’s friends aren’t interested in making a stand against WCKD, they just want to get the last of their allies out of the city before the whole thing burns down.

The more you research on Newt’s behalf, the more you realize how precarious the whole affair is. WCKD has no surefire way of keeping crime out. Their only solution for stopping violence is to nip it in the bud, so to speak, but innocents get caught in the crossfires more often than not. The murder rate is skyrocketing anyway. Nothing any of you do will matter in the long run, and it just puts the teenagers WCKD hires in harm’s way more than the adults who hide in the wings and keep their hands clean.

It’s like working just downhill from a volcano. At some point, the lava will flood into your streets and engulf you all in an inferno of blood and tears. You pretend that you can just work hard enough to fight that, but it isn’t working. It hasn’t since the start. You can push off the inevitable a few weeks, but it always comes in the end.

That’s why Newt and his friends are so interested in getting out. WCKD keeps clear tags on all mutants and inhumans in the area. The second any of you try to run, they send an assassin out to kill you. Supposedly, it’s all about containing the threat, but none of this has ever been about having a good motive, no matter what you say. Everything leads back to power. If you run the city with all the inhumans, you have more power than the rest. Easy as that.

You’ve been steadily helping people escape. Chuck was one of the first to go, all of you agreed. He was just a kid, hardly twelve. He ended up on WCKD’s list because he figured out how to turn his flesh and bone into any material. Soft skin could become as hard as diamond or as pliable as water in a second if he just thought about it. Often, he didn’t, electing instead to just ignore his mutation in favor of trying to blend in with the rest of the guys he idolized, but WCKD doesn’t forget as easily as a preteen.

There were others, too. Clint, a boy about your age, who could heal from any injury. Frypan found an old spell book and learned how to cook up portals to other places and fantastic rings of glowing energy. Zart could shrink as small as an ant or grow taller than a skyscraper. Jorge had a mechanical suit impervious to most attacks that let him fly so long as he kept it up to date; he taught a girl named Brenda how to do the same. They don’t like being apart.

Only a few remain now. Newt, with his monster. Gally, with his fire abilities. You, with your webs. Thomas has appeared a few times now to help ferry people out of the city. The first time you saw him, you nearly wept. It was like seeing a ghost. You assumed he had died a long time ago, but then you’d walked into the warehouse one day and there he was, making a sarcastic joke to Newt. He’d turned to look at you as you slowly approached, and said it was good to see you again. It had taken everything in you not to break down at that very moment.

So he’s alive, then, and Minho is too. Hypothetically, the rest of the boys you’ve been slowly ferrying out are with them. In reality, you have no idea if any of them managed to survive past the edge of the city, but you can hope. That’s all any of you have at this point, hope that someday, you’ll all live past WCKD’s imposed expiration date.

There is, of course, the idea that once the last of them leave, you’ll be left alone with the organization you’ve been steadily betraying, but truth be told, you thought you’d be found out long before the last of Newt’s crew left, so that decision was never going to be yours to make anyway.

Newt doesn’t care about that, though. Newt has told you that he’d break into WCKD headquarters all by himself if you were captured or discovered. So of course it makes sense that Newt is the one to look you in the eyes at last and ask when– not if, but when– you’d be leaving with the rest of them.

You let out a shaky breath. “I wasn’t under the impression that I would be going with you.”

Newt reacts as if you’ve slapped him. “Why wouldn’t you? You don’t believe in WCKD anymore. Burn them to the ground one last time, then leave with us.”

You sigh. “I would be abandoning the only life I’ve ever known. If I leave, WCKD would know for certain that I’d betrayed them, if they haven’t figured it out already. They have evidence of dozens of murders I’ve committed. If they wanted to, they could release that information and have the police drag me back to them. WCKD doesn’t like it when their experiments try to run away.”

You learned that lesson well enough with Thomas. Newt’s jaw locks at the mention of what WCKD had done to you, but he manages to keep his cool. “Exactly why you should leave. Where we’re going, no one will find us. It’s wild land in the middle of nowhere. There’s a total maze of forest cutting off outside access. We’ve got farmland and a big house for all of us. It’ll be a simpler life than we’re used to leading, sure, but no one can find us there. You’ll be safe, Y/N. We all will.”

You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the fierce hope in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes,” Newt says decisively. “We’re so close, Y/N. Most of us are gone, only a few left. Promise me that you’ll go with us when the last of us leave. Maybe we can fake our deaths or something to stop them from looking. Just promise me you won’t let me leave alone.”

Promises are dangerous. They have a way of being broken. Still, you nod, and press your fingers against his when Newt takes your hand. “I’ll do it. I promise.”

A sunrise of a smile splits Newt’s face. “I’m holding you to that.”

You hope against everything that he does. To be honest, hearing him talk, you almost think that you could do it; make it out alive. The last few kids are shipped out of the city, and then Newt meets up with you, says that only he and Gally are left. It’s time to go. You agree to meet him that night to run. You haven’t let your hopes truly rise all this time, but it’s impossible to avoid now. A life without killing. It seems like a dream, but it might be yours after all.

And then, a few hours before you’re scheduled to meet Newt to leave the city behind, you get a call from WCKD saying they want to meet with you to discuss recent progress. You text Newt from a burner phone telling him that you might be late and to go on without you if you take too long. You know he won’t, but the comforting lie that he might make it out without getting caught up in your capture carries you to WCKD.

Your heels click on the tiled floor. You know everyone here, you have since you were small. That fact used to fill you with pride; after years of watching people get replaced, you alone stayed, along with Teresa. You had what it took to put your life on the line and keep going. You were the best of the best.

Now, it just seems like another betrayal. How could all of those people watch you grow up and still condone what they had forced you to do? You try to imagine making Chuck go out and hunt down kids his age. It makes you sick to your stomach. All of these people are complicit in the blood caking your hands, and they will never, ever be accountable for it.

You’re certain that they must know what you’ve done. You walk to the conference room in a haze. Newt is on the other side of the city by now. Maybe he’s already out. Maybe they’re all out. If there was one good thing you did in your life, you couldn’t be more proud that it was for him. After years of senseless death, you saved the lives of other mutants just like you. It won’t be enough to wash your ledger clean, but it’s a start. It’s a shame it’s all over now. No more chances to improve. Just one last opportunity to die.

You walk into the meeting room and take the only empty seat. Around you are many familiar faces. Dr. Ava Paige sits at the head of the table, her second in command, a sickly man named Janson at one side, Teresa at the other. Teresa eyes you with no small amount of judgment. How righteous she must feel, knowing that of the three kids who started it all, she alone was capable of carrying out the blessed mission without getting corrupted. How challenging, to wonder why both you and Thomas needed to leave and she could never find a reason why.

Other WCKD officials and high-level agents crowd the ranks. There are only a dozen people in here, maximum, but Ava Paige has chosen them well. They’re all older than you, making the aura in here quite sinister indeed.

Once you’ve sat down and the door closes behind you (do you hear a lock slide shut, or are you just paranoid?), Dr. Paige begins. “We’ve had reason to worry about you, Y/N,” she says. “You’ve always been one of our best agents, but your quotas have been down as of late.”

“By quotas, you mean the people that I’ve killed, correct?” You clarify, sending a ripple of whispers around the room.

Dr. Paige’s face tightens. “I refer to the threats you have eliminated from our glorious city, but if that’s the way you’d like to put it, fine. You have killed fewer times, yes. Why?”

“Maybe I didn’t find any more threats,” you reply.

Janson arches a brow. “There are always threats. Have you lost your stomach for it?”

You smile, although the expression is cold. “I have a question, Dr. Janson. Why is it always me?”

He frowns. “Pardon?”

“Why is it always me out there in the field?” You repeat. “All of you in this room would rather send a child out to kill inhumans than do it yourselves. Does that ease your conscience? Does it reduce variables of concern for human life if you force a teenager to kill instead of doing it yourself?”

Ava Paige rises to her feet. “Y/N L/N, you have been a part of this organization since the start. I remember when you were fiercely dedicated to the cause. Don’t tell me you’re walking away now because you’ve decided to reinsert morals into the equation. What about the people who will die because you are no longer willing to protect them?”

“I’ll find another way to protect them,” you shoot back, “One that doesn’t involve murdering people just because you think they might one day become a problem.”

“That’s naive and you know it. You can’t leave,” Dr. Paige says, her face bleached pale.

“Why not?” You ask. “Are you afraid that I’ll tell people what you had me do? What will you do to stop me?”

When she remains silent, you realize that it’s not just you who has something to fear from WCKD’s actions becoming public. They’ve sanctioned killing dozens if not hundreds of times. They can’t afford to call you back without letting all of their dirty secrets go, and that is a loophole you will most certainly exploit.

You stand. “I think we’re done here. I am.”

They don’t try to stop you. Teresa, however, runs out the door after you. “Don’t you leave us, Y/N. You know what WCKD means to this city.”

“I know what it means to innocent inhumans who have to fear for their lives every time they leave their homes,” you retort.

She pulls you into an empty room. In the half-light of the nearby windows, her eyes are frantic. “You’re the only one I have left. The only one who believed like I did. You know we have a responsibility to this city.”

“Not like this,” you whisper sadly. “Teresa, you know this isn’t the way. We can still save the world in our own right, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of this much blood. There are other ways.”

“What, like with that little group of mutants you’ve been running around with recently?” Teresa’s voice is shrill, and you feel your blood ice over in your veins. “I know, Y/N. I know everything. I know you’ve been feeding them information. You’ve been working with the enemy all along.”

“Then why haven’t you turned me in yet?” You ask quietly. “That would be what WCKD wanted, to know about moles or liars. Why are you telling me this now?”

She’s silent for a while, then: “I wanted to know why you would throw all of this away for nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” you tell her. “I made friends there. Real friends, who wanted me to be safe.”

“They’re not your friends, I am. Those are perfect strangers who could be planning to kill you the second you all leave the city. You can’t trust any of them.” Teresa argues.

You look her steadily in the eyes. “Maybe not, but I trust Thomas.”

That finally gets through to her. Teresa rears back. “No. He wouldn’t–”

“He would,” you continue. “I’ve seen him, Teresa. He knows all of my friends. Thomas is the one who wants us to get out alive.”

She shakes her head, but the fight is gone from her eyes, you can see it. “No. That can’t be true.”

“It is, Teresa,” you say, then on a sudden urge, “Come with us. There’s still time. WCKD is going to destroy itself in a matter of months, you know this. I don’t want you there when the whole thing goes up in flames. Come with me. Stay alive.”

You reach out to her, but Teresa backs away slowly. “I can’t abandon the cause,” she whispers.

It hurts like a broken bone, but you can’t say you didn’t see it coming. “Goodbye,” you tell her at last. “Thank you for being my friend.”

She nods once, tight and controlled. “You should go now. Before they try to stop you.”

There is nothing else to say, so you take one last look at her and run. She’s saved you one final time by not turning you in, but she’ll do no more for you from here on out. This is the end of you and her, although if you were going to be honest, you would know that your friendship effectively ended when you first started going against WCKD. Everything past that was a betrayal of your work with her, and Teresa knew it all along but didn’t say a word. She has always been the best at sacrifices, hasn’t she?

You should still have time to get to Newt before their car leaves. He’s probably stalling with everything he has so you can make it to him, and you won’t let him down now. You practically sprint out the door and down the sidewalk, hurtling towards the pickup location. Secrecy doesn’t matter anymore. WCKD caught on to the fact that you no longer want anything to do with them, and they’ll be sending someone after you to kill you soon if they haven’t already.

You whip around a few corners. You’re meeting at the docks one last time, it’s just a few corners down. You take a shortcut across a parking lot, but several dark cars screech into the space behind you just as you enter. WCKD already. You swear under your breath and pick up speed, turning down an alley so they can’t follow you except on foot.

One of your stalkers is crazy enough to run after you. He’s bigger than you, and gains ground quicker than you’d like. You take several quick turns, but can’t shake him. The alley opens up to the docks, and you sprint towards the empty pavement of the loading area. You’ve hardly left the shade of the alleys behind when someone collides with you from behind, sending both of you toppling to the ground.

You shove the man off of you, staggering to your knees to come eye to eye with Janson. “Experiments can’t leave,” he growls. “We’ll learn from your bones if not your missions.”

He draws a gun from his belt and points it at you. “Come with me, now. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I can collect your corpse if that’s easier.”

You wonder if Newt is still here, if he can hear you. You hope that he’s already gone. It’ll be far worse for him to watch you die. He’s already watched too many of his friends lose their lives to WCKD, you cannot be another one.

You hold up your hand slowly. “Don’t do something you’d regret.”

“I should be telling you that,” Janson snarls.

You wait for him to be distracted trying to move across the uneven ground, then lunge for the ground, shooting a web at his hand to muffle the trigger. He shifts at the last second, and the spider web hits the trigger instead, sending a rogue shot against the side of a nearby shipping container instead of you.

You duck on instinct, rolling away in case he tries to shoot again. Janson looks half mad as he aims at you again. “You can’t leave us,” he says, “We made you. You cannot abandon your creators.”

There’s a shadow moving somewhere behind him. With a chill, you realize you know who it is. Newt doesn’t know that Janson has reinforcements; although they’re still a little behind, they’ll catch up soon enough. You cannot afford for Newt to be caught, not now.

You shout as loud as you can, “Don’t do it! You have to run!”

Janson glances at you, confused. “Who are you talking to?”

You ignore him, calling again to the shifting mass of shadows steadily growing darker by the edge of the shipping containers. “You have to go! Leave me!”

“No,” answers the darkness slithering across the ground, forming into a massive monster behind Janson.

Janson whips around, and his eyes grow large at the sight of Newt’s monster. It snarls at him, displaying rows of wickedly sharp teeth. He tries to shoot, but the monster grabs the gun with one muscular hand, forcing it away and snapping several of the bones in Janson’s hand at the same time.

Janson screams in pain. “This is what you leave us for, Y/N? This monster? You’re no better than everyone you killed. You’ll always be a disease upon this earth.”

“Actually,” the monster corrects, “You are.”

Before your eyes, the shadows start to run away from Newt all at once, but instead of disappearing like normal, they coalesce onto Janson instead. Janson’s head is flung back as the monster enters him, eyes shot with dark veins. When it’s over, Janson is comatose on the ground, arms and face shadowed with the monster, and Newt is running over to you, human, anxiously searching you for any sign of harm.

“I’m fine,” you promise him, “But– what did you do?”

“I gave it up,” Newt says wryly. “I didn’t need the hate anymore. I just needed you to be alive.”

At last, you understand. Newt needed the monster so he could protect his friends from WCKD, but that’s over now. The last car is about to leave, and then the city, the dying, all of it will be a nightmare that has finally ended.

He grabs your hand. “We need to hurry. Jorge’s waiting, but he won’t want to stick around much longer.”

You run with him towards the waiting car. Gally’s in shotgun, and although he’s always sworn that he doesn’t need any of you, you swear he almost smiles in relief when he sees you and Newt slide in. “Way to cut it close, you guys,” he admonishes you.

Newt rolls his eyes. “We’re here now, aren’t we? Let’s go.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that,” Jorge says, and pulls away into the night.

You watch the dock disappear behind you into a web of roads and street lights. You thought it would be impossible somehow, leaving, like there would be an invisible wall to keep you here. When the lights of the city fade into a dim skyline, then vanish behind the safety of miles of distance crossed, you realize at last that you’ve done it, you’ve left. Now, all that exists for you is a wild dream of a simple life, one with your friends where no one tries to hunt you down.

Newt takes your hand and squeezes it. “We’re out,” he says.

“We’re out,” you repeat in somewhat of a daze. “Where are we going again? What’s that place where everyone’s waiting?”

Newt chuckles. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. It’s just us in the middle of nowhere, but that’s the way we like it. Thomas managed to acquire a property surrounded by parkland so no one could build nearby. It’s just us. Nice place, though. Lots of green space. We’re thinking about calling it the Glade.”

A soft smile crosses your lips. “The Glade. I like that.”

It sounds good. It sounds, at last, like a quiet end to your otherwise violent story. Sometimes, though, quiet isn’t always bad. It lets you know that you’re alive, that you made it. Quiet tells you that you’re going to be okay.

first part requested by @thornyrose463

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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