#built in aside option

[jackalopegothic]

god i love the nether. love when a world a corrupted, less sapient version of an existing humanoid, bringing into question the tenuous, spidery membrane between both species.

like imagine being a piglin, you’re this guy. and the guy beside you is you but fully an animal.

(ignore him zombiefying)

[sevsgiirl]

— do the girls back home touch you like i do?

sevika x insecure!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: having feelings for the most feared woman in zaun had more cons than it did pros - her being popular amongst women and a regular at the brothel just to name a few. it hurt because you knew with her history there’s no way she’d return your feelings… right?

word count: 5.5k words.

tags: insecure!reader, jealousy, miscommunication, public sex, oral sex, vaginal fingering, porn with feelings, top!sevika, bottom!reader.

it was silly, honestly.

you knew it was a shot in the dark for sevika to reciprocate your feelings. much or less consider you an option on her roster.

sevika gets around. there was no denying that, and you’ve come to terms with it the second you caught these stupid little feelings that just wouldn’t go away. no matter how hard you tried.

you assumed it would. back when silco hired you to be his informant, you saw the opportunity as nothing more but an upgrade from your previous jobs. it’s safe to say, you’ve gone through a lot just to get to where you are now. whether it was scrubbing the floors of a dingy, run-down diner that made jericho’s look like a michelin star restaurant, to going as far as thinking about working at babette’s.

but then silco saw some potential in you that not a lot of people have seen before, and you were grateful for it. a lot of your co-workers were tolerable, just as long as you looked past the carnage of their jobs, it was pretty easy to get by when working for silco because he never really asked you to get your hands dirty.

no, he asked sevika to do that.

you knew she was different from the others the second you laid eyes on her. she remained unyielding in the eyes of catastrophe, she gets the job done no matter how tedious the assignments were, and she navigates through life like an enigma.

you were intimidated by her at first. when she walked into a room, her presence demanded to be felt, crowds of people would always make space for her to walk through and she could silence someone with just the heat of her glare. it was then you understood why she was silco’s number two.

but despite her brooding personality, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards her. maybe it was the allure of wanting something you can’t have, but every time you were sent on a mission with her, this desire to know her better always tempted you. even though you wouldn’t know the first thing to say to strike up a conversation with the older woman, you couldn’t deny that what you felt was beyond just physical attraction. you were intrigued by everything about her.

it tethered the line of obsession but hadn’t quite got there yet, the better way to describe it was infatuation.

she’d occupy your thoughts but not so much to the point that she was all you thought about, but when you did, you had to force yourself to snap out of it before it became borderline creepy, and you wanted to justify your feelings thinking she wouldn’t feel the same in a million years.

not only that, but her reputation precedes her.

you knew your hesitation to make a move stemmed more from just being shy or thinking you wouldn’t get along with the older woman, and it was because her sexual proclivities scared the hell out of you.

again, she gets around, far more than most people. before you worked for silco, rumors regarding his second in command traveled through the streets of zaun in whispers, whether it was good or bad, it didn’t really matter.

one detail that caught the attention of many, specifically those of women, were her frequent nights spent at the gardens. you couldn’t deny that aside from being incredibly scary, so much of sevika’s appeal came from her appearance as well - her tall stature, impressive built, corded muscles, the rigged lines and hard angles of her face. she was just as beautiful as she was domineering.

that’s why it didn’t surprise you that women tend to set aside her notoriety in hopes of sleeping with her, but that doesn’t mean the thought didn’t cause your insides to flare up with jealousy.

as mentioned, you thought about working for babette at one point. when your low paying jobs in the past couldn’t suffice to get you through the week, the idea came to mind on some occasions. but you knew it wasn’t easy work, not to mention your looks paled in comparison to the girls you’d seen working there. all slim waists, toned arms, long legs, big tits and even bigger asses.

you didn’t possess any of the traits that made the girls there appealing.

you just set aside the idea because your ego wasn’t big enough to make you think you were up for the job, and knowing that’s where sevika prefers to spend most of her nights made your insecurities worse.

especially when she’d stroll through the last drop late at night littered with hickeys and bite marks around her neck that she’d let the world see without shame, and how you’d just ogle at them with the ugliest emotions churning in the pits of your stomach.

it didn’t help when silco’s men would poke fun at her for it “damn, was the night that rough? you gotta take it easy on those girls.” they’d joke as a sly grin would make its way on her face.

“they love it,” would be her response, which would earn a roar of laughter from the group meanwhile you’d walk away after eavesdropping, with a heaviness in your chest that wasn’t there minutes ago as you tried to erase the image of sevika indulging herself with countless women.

you understood the intention behind it. you knew it was her way of escaping the stress of silco’s workload, and having sex with multiple women was just as much of a coping mechanism as gambling and drinking was.

that doesn’t mean it wasn’t any less painful to think about, even though you knew you couldn’t have stood a chance.

because how could you? who even were you in the bustling, chaotic world that is sevika’s life? if simply nothing more than just her co-worker?

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

you didn’t think she’d ever acknowledge you outside of work.

you’ve had your fair share of interactions but it was all professional so those don’t count. you were delusional but you weren’t delusional enough to think that your quick conversations about paychecks and shipment were considered bonding.

it wasn’t until an incident transpired in one of her missions where silco asked you to come along, and it so happened that the firelights decided it was a good day to ambush you, sevika and the rest of the team.

you cowered away from the commotion because it’s not like you possessed any of sevika’s combative skills. you were an informant, for crying out loud.

but you weren’t quick on your feet, and when the leader of the firelights threw one of their bombs in your direction you were crystallized in place near the cargos, unable to move.

you knew the crystals would dissolve after five minutes, you were aware of how their weapons worked, but the fear of being unable to move still stressed you out, and as you kept squirming you caught sevika’s eye who was immobilized herself.

one thing led to another, silco’s daughter came up from underneath the airship and began firing at the firelights, grazing you with one of her bullets as you let out an agonizing scream in response.

suffice to say, the mission went horribly and everyone who go out was reprimanded by silco, because of course he’d never put the blame on jinx. while you on the other hand, were hunched over the bar later that night, nursing your sides that were still bleeding due to jinx’s mishap.

thieram was more than happy to help, aiding you with your injury but your pain tolerance wasn’t necessarily high, so every time he dabbed you with the wash cloth dunked in alcohol, you couldn’t help it as you let out a wince, clutching thieram’s forearm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, cringing at your pitiful state “I don’t know how-“

“move it.”

your eyes widened as the shadow of sevika’s tall silhouette casted over you, pushing past thieram while she took the bottle of alcohol and cloth from him. she nodded at you for you to raise your shirt up.

“let me see the wound,”

blushing, you were debating whether or not you should let sevika see you in such a compromising position, but she probably only wanted to help and couldn’t care less about seeing you exposed.

so you did as you were told and let her press her large palm onto your rib where a lot of the bleeding came from.

you hissed, gripping the sides of the bar and sevika cursed “fucking jinx,”

you shook your head “it’s okay, it’s not that big of a de-“

“but it is,” she grumbled “if only she did her fucking job and didn’t lose her shit, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

gulping, you tried not to overthink her choice of words and how she only focused on your injury and not the rest, considering you weren’t the only one who got the brunt of it.

“it’s fine, I’m just worried if the others are tending to their injuries.”

“don’t worry about them,” she muttered “they’re built for these kinds of things, you aren’t.”

you snickered, pretending to take offense “excuse me? are you calling me weak?”

sevika couldn’t hide her amusement, wiping away at the little blood smeared on your lower stomach.

“not weak,” she replied “I just don’t think a pretty little thing like you is meant for this kind of work. you’re not equipped for it.”

“I can look out for myself, you know.”

she hummed, her grey eyes staring up at you “maybe, but still. it’d be better if you didn’t need to.”

you tried not to let her words get to you, and calling you a pretty little thing didn’t help with your growing infatuation. perhaps she was just playing coy with you, you thought.

but then silco continued to let you join in on her missions, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart fluttered every time she’d ask you to ‘keep close behind’ or how she’d shield you with her massive frame every time danger was imminent.

if she couldn’t trust you to look out for yourself, then she did it for you.

you wanted to excuse it thinking since she’s already lost so much men she didn’t want your name to be crossed off on the list as well. but that doesn’t mean you stopped dwelling on it.

especially when on most nights where she’d catch you in the last drop, she’d ask you to have a drink with her. going as far as to teach you how to play cards when you’d watch her gamble with the rest of silco’s men and how she’d win every time.

“you’re so good at this,” you said in awe during one of her games which earned a chuckle from her.

you were seated right next to sevika, not too close but not too far apart either, that sometimes you’d feel her elbow brushing against yours.

“want me to teach you then?”

“hey, that’s not fair, how come she gets to have you as her teacher while we’re stuck here getting our asses beat?” one of the men she was playing with chided in.

she only ignored him, flipping her cards over to reveal she’s won yet again, making them groan “then play better.” she quipped, turning over to you with a smirk on her face.

you swore butterflies almost erupted out of your belly. she was so smug, but radiant in her victory that you couldn’t even bring yourself too feel bad for the others, if you’d get to see her this way all the time, you hoped she’d win all of her games.

the guy huffed, taking a swig from his beer as he looked up at her, grinning “I dropped by the gardens today, by the way. lily said she missed you.”

you froze as those words left his mouth, but sevika remained ambivalent by the information as she shuffled her cards “I’ve just had a lot on my plate,” and perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but you swore you caught her eyeing you for a brief moment.

“well, better not to keep those girls waiting. you know you’re their favorite,” the table laughed and sevika couldn’t help herself from joining along.

“ain’t that right,” she said, chuckling.

you gulped, feeling a lump in your throat as you forced yourself not to spew something bitter because really, who were you to act jealous over who sevika chooses to spend her time with?

she may act flirtatious with you from time to time but it’s not like it meant anything. you wanted to set it aside, and tell yourself it was just never going to happen. spend less time with her if you need to.

but as if it fate wanted to play a joke on you both, that was thrown out the window when one night, sevika came stumbling into the last drop all battered and bruised. her prosthetic dangling from her arm in ruined wires while she tried her best to steady herself as she walked in.

instinctively, you rushed to her side and examined her state “sevika, oh my god.”

she groaned “it’s not a big de-“

“like hell it is,” you reprimanded as you told thieram to fetch the first aid kit and inform silco of sevika’s condition.

she was against it but you simply silenced her, pulling up a chair as you pushed her down “you need to be more careful.” you said.

“stop fussing over me, I’m built for these kinds of things. it’s my job.”

“just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you have to be so reckless! you’re more than just silco’s killing machine. you can’t keep putting your life on the line like this.”

sevika remained silent before soft laughter bubbled out of her, making you raise an eyebrow.

“I guess this makes us even.”

“what?”

“from when you got hit by jinx’s bullets,” she said as realization dawned on you “I guess we’re even now.“

you rolled your eyes at that “I’m not doing this because I owe it to you. you’re more than just my co-worker.”

she eyed you, curious “what am I then?”

there was a moment of silence as you knelt down in front of her, staring at the uneven lines of the wooden floorboards, refusing to meet her eye.

“a friend, if you’d let me,” you muttered.

she hummed, leaning against her seat “I don’t do much of those,”

you snickered “you don’t do much of anything really,”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you realized your mistake but decided to keep it going anyways.

“you’re too guarded. you keep your circle too tight, and I haven’t really seen you out with anyone. romantically, I mean.”

you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut, but you couldn’t help it.

she was silent for a minute “I didn’t know you kept tabs on whether or not I date.”

you scoffed, although it sounded unconvincing “I do not.”

then there was that god awful smirk on her face again, eating away at you as she cocked her head to the side.

“sure you don’t, princess.“

your mind immediately went haywire because oh god, did she know?

on one hand, you weren’t exactly subtle. even thieram would tease you about it. noticing the way you’d sneak glances at sevika whenever she strolled through the bar and you’d hear him let out a snort from behind the counter.

“take a picture, it’d last longer.” he’d joke while you flipped him off.

but judging by the way she teased you about the idea, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that felt a bit hopeful that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

because if there was, it wouldn’t hurt to try and seize the opportunity.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

when silco suggested the group had a day off and to use the bar to their liking for one night as compensation for a successful mission, you were elated. for a number of reasons.

because this is it. this is the moment that you’ve been waiting for, to finally make a move and to squash your fantasies once and for all.

you’re aware about wanting to keep your feelings at bay and to never let sevika know about them, but as the days flew by it was getting harder and harder to stay silent.

especially since the night you tended to her injuries and how she reacted at the idea of you taking an interest in her, and how she didn’t seemed fazed by it, if anything, she seemed intrigued.

it was worth a shot, because it’s better to say you tried than not at all.

so on the night of the party, you went out of your way to doll yourself up for once. your days were normally mundane and your job was tedious enough as it, so you never saw a reason to dress up. living in the under city, going out partying and sleeping with people was scarcely something you ever thought about.

but that doesn’t mean you never anticipated it, and so you went digging under your closet for the handful of dresses you’ve stolen from a couple of boutiques in topside. something you kept for special occasions and this was one of them.

you settled for a black halter dress that stopped below your thighs and also accentuated your cleavage, along with a pair of sheer dark tights that allowed you space to move around freely.

you rummaged through your drawers and pulled out a couple of broken makeup pallets, likely expired, but you didn’t really care as you meticulously dabbed silver eyeshadow on yourself and applied some red lipstick.

you inspected yourself on your mirror and let out an approving hum. you looked nice. you didn’t really consider yourself drop dead gorgeous but when you made some effort to make yourself presentable, the pay-off was worth it.

your chest swelled with hope thinking maybe this will be the day sevika sees you, really sees you. not just as a co-worker, friend, but someone worthy to replace the girls at the gardens with…

with that, you slipped on your combat boots and strode out of your apartment building, walking through the streets of zaun and not minding the lewd comments thrown your way by the men passing by you.

you showed up at the last drop and one of the bouncers, after taking a good look at you, opened the door for you while shooting you a sly grin.

perhaps you’ve outdone yourself, or maybe the people around you just weren’t used to seeing you all dressed up but either way, their reactions stroked your ego. all that’s left now was to just find sevika.

you made your way up to the bar where thieram was busy serving drinks, and he didn’t recognize you at first until you called out to him.

he blinked as he said your name “damn, is it really you?” he chuckled “you look great.”

“thanks,” you said, smiling “I never had the chance to wear something like this before but since silco is in a good mood…”

“and it suits you. everyone’s eyeing you like a piece of meat, I don’t know if you can tell.”

“yeah, well. they don’t matter,” you looked around “where’s sevika, by the way?”

because she was the only one that mattered.

she was the reason why you even showed up looking like this, why you got out of your comfort zone even though these types of settings weren’t your thing, but you tried, because you wanted to prove yourself to her.

thieram turned to the side and pointed to his left “she arrived about an hour ago.”

you stood up and were about make your way towards her when the sight that greeted you quickly stopped you dead in your tracks, all previous excitement dying as you sunk to the nearest stool.

because there, in her usual booth, sat sevika with not one, but two girls cozied up against her sides while one of them was practically sitting on her lap, and the other was kissing along her neck while a cigarillo was dangling from her mouth. making more room for them to grind against her as she whispered in one of their ears, causing the girl to giggle as she grabbed sevika’s jaw and connected their lips.

you took a step back as your chest begun to feel heavy, while the room suddenly felt ten times more crowded as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scene in front of you because of course, this just had to happen.

how dare you think you had a chance when she went out of her way to bring two of babette’s girls to this blasted party when she already visits them on a regular basis? how dare you think you ever stood a chance against these girls, with their pristine clothing, nicely styled hair and perfect bodies?

you wanted the world to swallow you whole.

“hey, you okay?” thieram asked as your breathing became shallow.

you nodded, harshly swiping the tears that threatened to spill at the corners of your eyes as you walked back to the exit.

“y-yeah, I’m just-“

in your stupor, you didn’t even realize a man was behind you not until you bumped into him, causing him to spill his drink and cuss you out as you started apologizing, creating a commotion.

“I’m so sorry!” you said, your cheeks heating up as you looked around the room before your eyes landed on her again.

but this time, sevika was staring straight at you.

swallowing nervously, you pushed past the sea of people and made your way out of the bar, not even bothering to say goodbye to thieram as you busted through the doors of the back exit, breathing heavily as you slid against the wall of the bar, with your hands on your knees and your tears ruining your makeup.

you should’ve known this was a mistake. you mentally scolded yourself over and over because who were you fooling when you thought sevika would spare a glance your way? even if you dolled yourself up, in the end sevika had countless of women to choose from, and you were never going to be an option. no matter how hard you tried.

stewing in self-pity, you wiped away at your cheeks and stood back up, planning to just head back home and forget the night even happened when the doors of the bar suddenly burst open, making you jump as you whipped around, and your breath hitched when you were met with sevika’s steely grey eyes.

she assessed your frenzied state, staring just a bit longer at your attire, scanning your legs up to your thighs until it stopped at your chest, which was heaving erratically, drawing attention to your cleavage.

“leaving so soon?” she quipped, not hiding the shameful way she was ogling at you “especially when you look this pretty?”

biting your tongue, you tried so hard not to let her words get to you. no. this is what she does, she butters you up and makes you think you have a chance then she turns around and makes you feel like utter shit. this is what she does and you’re not going to sit around making an idiot out of yourself.

“I’m just not feeling good is all.” you said as you attempted to walk past her.

but you were immediately stopped when she grabbed your arm, though her touch was gentle “let me walk you home. it’s not safe especially when you’re out here dressed like that.”

you couldn’t stop yourself, you were filled with so much unnecessary bitterness that as soon as those words left her mouth, you could only scoff before ripping away your arm, causing her to look at you with her eyebrow raised.

“I can handle myself, just go back to those girls that were all over you. it seemed like you were having a great time with them anyways.” you spat, attempting to bristle past her.

however, you gasped when she not only blocked your path but abruptly pushed your body against the wall of the building. not too harsh but with enough force to make you look up at her in compliance.

she towered over your smaller form and took your chin using her prosthetic hand, her metal fingers making you shiver as her breath mingled with your own.

“what’s with the attitude?”

“just let me go-“

“the fuck I will,” she cut you off, her tone harsh “now, I’ll ask again, what’s with the attitude? you’re never like this.”

you clenched your jaw “never like what? you don’t even know me enough to make assumptions of how I normally act.”

“like a bitch is what I’m saying,” she said through her teeth “seriously, what crawled up your ass? you show up looking like this and you can’t even be bothered to stick around let alone have a drink,”

“why should I?” you shook your head “you looked too busy anyways. just forget it and go back to those-“

“what’s with you and the girls I brough-“

“because why waste your time on me?” the dam finally broke, and all your thoughts came flooding out as sevika blinked at you, dumbfounded “you never give me the time of the day even though we’ve been working for so long, and it had to take me getting injured for you to even strike up a conversation with me. you’re always at the gardens and I know it’s none of my business what you do with your time but just…”

you looked to your feet, regret washing in “just forget it. it’s so stupid.”

however, her grip on you only tightened “no, you’re right. it is none of your business, that’s why I want to know why you’re acting this way. I’m not a mind reader, princess. you can’t expect me to know what you want and you haven’t really made it easy either. you think I wanted to wait that long to approach you? talking goes both ways. and you avoiding me so much in the past hasn’t really given me the chance to get to know you. fuck, I even thought…”

you waited for her to finish as she faced away from you “thought what?” you said, your voice merely a whisper.

she sighed as she pressed her body closer to you “I thought you didn’t like me. you never a spoke a word to me but I’ve always noticed you. you’re so good at your job but you only kept to yourself. I just thought you found me and the others too vulgar. I get it. we’re different. but then you had a drink with me and you seemed genuinely interested…”

you inhaled sharply “I was, and still am.”

“then what’s the matter? why are you acting like you’re disgusted with me all of a sudden?”

“it’s not you! it’s just…” you let out a shaky breath “it’s just hard to be around you because I’ve always noticed you too. I was just intimidated but I’ve admired your work ethic, just everything about you really, so much that I even… god, it’s embarrassing.”

“no,” she pulled you closer “tell me,”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, looking away “it’s silly.”

she lifted her flesh hand and pushed away the strands of hair that fell over your face. leaning closer that you felt her lips brush against your cheek.

“you got a little crush on me is what you’re saying?” her mouth quirked into a teasing grin as you groaned, trying to push her away.

“you’re such an ass…” you muttered as her hands slowly maneuvered down to your thighs, and suddenly, she was lifting you by her arms and against the wall as you squealed.

her nose nudged your jaw, leaving a soft kiss underneath and your hands found purchase on her strong shoulders.

“you should’ve told me sooner…” she purred, her voice deep and enticing “it would’ve saved me a hell lot of money from visiting the gardens when I could’ve had you all this time.”

you weren’t given the chance to speak when she suddenly captured your lips in a fervent kiss, making you gasp as she lets out a growl hearing your needy whines.

eventually, you surrendered to it, moving in sync with the frenzied way she was kissing you. almost as if she was just as desperate for this as you were.

you rolled your hips against her torso and sevika lets out a chuckle at your urgency, taking your legs as she wrapped them around her waist.

she took the ends of your dress and pulled them up, tearing your tights down and you let out a whine “s-sev… we’re outside-“

“then let them hear,” her breathing was staggered from all the movement “I’ve waited for this for so long.“

you bit your lip “yeah?”

she nodded, slipping your tights off your legs and discarding them to the side “if you think whatever feelings you’ve had for me was one-sided, you thought wrong.” she kissed your lips with bruising force and you could only moan against her mouth “ever since I laid eyes on silco’s pretty little informant, you’ve always been on my mind.”

her fingers felt down your covered cunt, and you writhed against her palm as she pushed past the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them off, teasing you as your slick met her calloused fingers, making her head spin “you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, princess?” she asked softly.

you nodded as you begun soaking her palm with your juices, riding her fingers and she parted your folds, thumbing at your clit before she slid one finger in, feeling at your gummy walls before adding a second finger and soon, she was scissoring them in you as your forehead dropped to her shoulder.

jostling in her hold as your body shook, she curled her fingers and started a slow pace that got you moaning her name, and she nodded at your desperate sounds “yeah, that’s it, baby. let everybody know how much you needed this.”

she bent her head down and nipped at your jaw while you humped her scarred hand in earnest “you should’ve fucking told me sooner. do you know how much torture it was to see you walk around the office, all pretty and shy, and not wanting to make a move because I thought you didn’t like me? when all this time your tight little pussy has been weeping for me to fill it.”

you cried out, getting closer to that awaited peak especially when she starts to piston her thick fingers inside you at a maddening speed “I needed this so much, sev. fuck.” you admitted, completely lack of shame.

“I know, baby. now that I know how much you’ve needed this I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” she said and you opened your tear stained eyes to look at her.

“do I feel better than the girls you’ve had before?” you whispered and she nodded, an urgency to it as if she wanted to drill it inside your head that she means every word.

“fuck yeah, baby. I can’t wait to have you in every way that I like. on my tongue, around my fingers…” you let out the most obscene moan at her words “and my cock.”

your orgasm tore through you like a punch to the gut, your mouth falling open into a guttural cry as you creamed against her fingers while she kept curling them inside you, already feeling overstimulated while she talked you through it.

“that’s it…” she said in awe “you feel so good, baby.”

she slowly pulled her fingers out of you and you whined at the loss. but your eyes widened when suddenly sevika planted your wobbly legs down onto the ground and knelt down in front of you and started lapping away at your soaked pussy, her pupils blown wide as she began cleaning you up.

once she was done, she stood up and helped you into your underwear, breathing heavily before connecting her lips with yours. you melted as you tasted yourself on her tongue and the kiss was warmer, gentler this time.

she pulled away, leaning her forehead against yours “let me take you out?”

it took a while for your mind to process her words, still fuzzy from the aftermath of your orgasm but once it sunk in, you could only chuckle as you smiled up at her.

“usually you’d ask that first then try to have sex with me in an alley…”

there was a playful glint in her eyes “what can I say, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

you hummed, cupping her face as you drew her in for another kiss.

“yeah, me neither.”

[acheronsociety]

✶ WHEN THE STARS REFUSE TO LIE

in which... you try to break up with your fuck budy, sirius black, but he's not ready to let you go just yet.

pairing: sirius black x slytherin f!reader word count: 1.6k content warning: angst ✶ fluff ✶ some cursing, and sirius's irresistible rock star charm

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 time Sirius Black kissed you, it was behind the tapestry of the third-floor corridor. He tasted like rebellion and danger, like the cigarettes he never admitted to smoking behind the Owlery. You were just supposed to be his alibi. A pureblood Slytherin to keep his mother’s mouth shut and her claws from shredding the life he built outside of 12 Grimmauld Place.

But you wore your emerald-green gown like it was armor forged in fire. You looked every bit the darling pureblood, but your smirk had razors tucked in the corners, and your laughter mocked the polished table settings and wine-stained hypocrisy of the Black family name.

You made the room your stage. And Sirius—Sirius couldn’t look away.

He should’ve known.

From that dinner onward, you were a secret. The kind he craved more than firewhiskey and freedom. Behind the pretense of Slytherin-Gryffindor enmity, you two unraveled rules and clothes alike in broom closets and forbidden corridors. You knew how to laugh just loud enough to get away with anything. You didn’t ask for promises. He never offered any.

But you ruined him anyway.

Because you didn’t need him.

And that scared him more than anything.

Now, it’s days after the final Quidditch match of the year. Gryffindor won. Sirius sent you a single line by enchanted parchment: Meet me. Usual place. Celebrate.

But you never came.

Not to the Whomping Willow. Not to the Astronomy Tower. Not to his bed with the charmed silencing spells. You disappeared like mist when the sun rose, and when he checked the Slytherin common room on his map, your dot was gone. 

You vanished. No note. No closure. The kind of silence that says more than shouting ever could. The kind of silence that makes Sirius Black get on his flying motorbike and cross counties to stand outside your window in Wiltshire.

You hear the purr of the engine before you see him.

Then a thud. Window latch. The scent of leather and wind.

He’s inside.

He lands in your room like he owns it—like the world is tilting and he’s the only one immune. His black boots sink into your velvet rug, fingers flexing by his sides, heavy rings glinting with every twitch. His jacket is half-unzipped, revealing a threadbare Muggle band tee, the hem riding up slightly to show a sliver of skin and a sharp hipbone marked with ink.

Sirius looks like sin made tangible. Hair mussed, jaw tight, eyes lined in sleep-deprived defiance.

He looks like trouble. He looks like yours.

And he looks livid.

You’re already standing. You don’t flinch, but your fingers curl into the bedpost behind you.

“Sirius.” you cut a quick glance to your bedroom’s closed door out of the habit of this little secret of yours. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stalks forward a step. Stops. “You’re avoiding me.”

You lift your chin. “You noticed.”

His nostrils flare. “You didn’t show.”

Your arms cross, slow and deliberate. “You’ve got options. I assumed you wouldn’t be alone long.”

That lands. His jaw ticks. “Bloody hell, you think that’s what this was?”

You shrug, casual cruelty—a perfect Slytherin deflection. “Isn’t it?”

He moves again. This time close enough that your breath catches. “I didn’t sneak around Hogwarts for months, blowing off my friends, just to toss it aside.”

You tilt your head, defiant even when your heart is hammering. “You didn’t exactly make a declaration either.”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

You laugh once. “Right. Because we both knew the rules. No strings. No mess.”

He stares at you like he’s trying to memorize your lies. “I never bloody looked at anyone else.”

You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “Not even that Ravenclaw girl who keeps trailing behind you like a stray? The one Potter keeps pushing on you for stupid double dates?”

He steps in. Too close now. His voice drops. “She’s not you, Trouble.”

Your breath hitches at the adoration with each he mumbles the nickname. He sees it, and it makes him angrier.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you say, before he mentions to inch closer.

“Neither did I.”

He reaches up—like he might touch you—but stops, fisting his hand by his side instead. The restraint in him is louder than any outburst.

You take a step back toward your desk, creating space like it’s armor. “You hate everything I represent, remember?”

He follows, slowly. “Yes, I thought I did, yes.”

“Then why are you here?”

You watch Sirius’s hand run through his messy locks, his eyes burning with something between disbelief and frustration. “Because I’m not walking away just ‘cause you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you snap.

“Yes, you sure as hell are.”

Your hands tighten around the edge of the desk. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Black.”

“Well, I’m not trying ‘cause I know what fear looks like. I see it every time I look in the mirror.” His voice falters, then steels. “But I still showed up, didn’t I?”

You swallow, voice quieter. “You think I want to be some name your mother checks off her list?” 

“You’re not her fucking list! You’re the exception.”

You laugh, bitter and hard. Your locks tingle your cheeks as you shake your head softly. “You’re too good at this.”

“At what?”

“Making girls believe they’re the only one.”

Sirius exhales sharply, then crosses the room so fast you barely register it. His hands land on either side of you, bracing the desk behind you, caging you in. He doesn’t touch you. But you feel his heat. His tension. His goddamn truth.

“I’m not playing a role. Not with you.” he dives in search of your eyes as you refuse to look at him. It takes the tip of his nose to brush yours for him to finally reel you in. “Never with you.”

Your heart aches. But your pride clings.

“I need it to stop,” you grunt.

His throat works around something raw. “No.”

“Sirius—”

He leans in, forehead touching yours. “You think this is easy for me? You think I like that you’re the one person I can’t shut out of my head?”

You close your eyes.

“I hate that you’re the one thing I never meant to want,” he breathes and the warmth of it, lingering on your lips, makes you want to melt onto him. “But here I am, Trouble… Don’t do this to me.”

Your voice breaks as you inhale as much of him as possible. “I just– I can’t do this anymore, Sirius...”

His hands drop, but he doesn’t step back. “Then tell me it didn’t matter. That it meant nothing for you.”

You open your eyes. “Don’t make me lie.”

He looks at you like the war is already lost. But he’s not leaving the battlefield.

His hand comes to your jaw as he stares deeply into your eyes, much like he’s laying down the only weapon he has left. “Then fucking be with me.” His voice is tight, rough. “I don’t get why you’re trying to end this.”

You exhale drily, trying to pry your face out of his hold. Unsuccessfully, your fingers brush instead against your temple like you can wipe the thought away. “Because I don’t want to be a fucking anecdote, for fucks sake. Some story you tell your mates later—about the time you fooled around with the Slytherin girl, the pureblood exception.”

His brow furrows, deeply, painfully. You’re not even looking at him now, eyes flicking to the window like freedom might still be out there. “I’m tired,” you say, softer now. “Of being someone’s secret. Of pretending it doesn’t sting when I see the way they all fawn over you. I can’t do that anymore.”

He stays right there in front of you like an impassive wall. His gaze burning your temple, your cheek, your mouth. “So what—you want a boyfriend, is that it?”

You look at him, jaw tight. “I don’t need the label. But if you’re with me, you’re with me. No secrets. No side comments. No ‘it’s complicated’ when someone asks.”

Sirius blinks. Then he shrugs, all defiance and affection wrapped in a guy trying not to fall apart. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend. What else do you need?”

You slap his chest without thinking—open-palmed, not hard, but pointed. He bends back a second before straightening his spine and lets out a surprised chuckle.

“I’m fucking serious about this!” you snap, the words cracking on emotion. “You can’t just be—whatever—about it. I’m not going to be with someone who doesn’t... like me like me.”

Sirius grins now, not smug but almost awestruck. Like he’s never seen you like this. Like he’s never seen anyone like this. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, Trouble,” he murmurs, voice thick with affection, his ringed fingers tangling with your hair, “You’ve been walking me like a dog for months, and I haven’t even complained.”

You freeze.

Then shake your head slowly, lips trembling somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah.” He dives in close again, his other hand coming to brush your cheek. Gentle. Real. “But I’m your idiot. If you’ll let me be.”

For the first time since this started, you let yourself lean into him. To feel the weight of his body, not burning, not to seek a release from it, but tenderly. 

You whisper, eyes like a warning, “If we do this... it really stops being a secret.”

“Good,” he says, voice gravel. “Let it.”

Then his mouth crashes onto yours, and your knees almost buckle if it weren’t for his damn hands anchoring you in place.

© ACHERONSOCIETY, 2025. all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim these work as your own.

[xiaq]

I want an AU where Steve is a werewolf and Eddie is a vampire except neither of them know about the other.

Eddie is the frontman of an up and coming band, but he's left his coven and surrounded himself with humans. They perform after sunset anyway so it's easy enough for him to hide his nature.

Steve has similarly left his toxic family pack and built his own pseudo-pack through the kids. He works as a park ranger. Or an ornithologist. Or something else nature-y/nerdy. But no one knows about his furry little secret.

Maybe Steve ends up attending a concert with one of the kids who has VIP passes and Eddie zeros in on Steve immediately at the meet and greet because he's pretty and preppy and delightfully out of place and also he smells good. And Steve is having similar thoughts, but he tries to play it off because there's no way an honest to god rock star would be interested in him and his polo and his boat shoes (also his hearing is temporarily fucked from the concert, so he doesn't register Eddie's lack of heartbeat).

After some light flirting, Eddie invites Steve back to his hotel and Steve is like, you know what? Yes. I am going to have a one night stand with the gorgeous front man of a metal band and I'll probably fall a little in love with him by the end of the night and it will break my heart when he kicks me out in the morning, but it will be an experience. Let me go drop off my kids and I'll be right back.

Except what he doesn't know is Eddie is planning to have a little snack while they're in the throes of passion––not enough to hurt Steve or anything, just enough that he'll have a pleasurable blackout and wake up tired but sated.

The only problem is that neck-biting (that breaks the skin) for wolves is the equivalent of marriage.

So when Eddie bites Steve, instead of a venom-drunk human, peacefully slipping into sleep in his arms, he gets a very horny, very confused, werewolf who is now insisting that they're married.

I can't decide if it would be funnier if Wolves/Vampires didn't know about each other, Ie:

"You're a Werewolf?" Eddie says, "What do you mean you're a werewolf? Werewolves exist? No. Shut up. Prove it."

And:

"Holy shit. A vampire. Vampires are real," Steve reaches for Eddie's face and Eddie is so baffled by the everything of this situation that he lets Steve pinch Eddie's top lip and peel it up off his fangs for a mortifyingly long moment. Eddie draws the line when he starts poking at Eddie's incisors, though.

"Why do I feel funny?" Steve mutters. "Will your venom kill me?"

"How should I know," Eddie hisses, only a little hysterical, "I didn't know wolves existed until two minutes ago, I've never bitten a wolf before."

"And you won't be biting any others, mister. Infidelity is not ok."

The other option is that wolves and vamps DO know about each other but stay so isolated in their covens and packs (and loners are super unusual) that they never interact. So Steve and Eddie are both like, dang, I'd been raised to think all of your kind were smelly/ugly/gross, but you uh, don't fit into that box at all. Weird.

Regardless, Steve (still naked, probably) crosses his arms all huffy, like, "well, we're married now, you're not going to bite me and then cast me aside like some harlot," and Eddie is like "...I'm weirdly ok with this, actually. No arguments here." And eventually they live happily ever after.

[this-user-is-new]

has anyone else noticed that the writers were absolutely reluctant to fully commit to the darker implications of piltover's actions? like the gas attack on zaun? but tbh the writers' self-sabotaging of arcane's potential as social commentary is not what's really frustrating, it's that it's not just a missed opportunity, it’s a deliberate avoidance. the writers couldn't make piltover that bad, at least not through the characters we have to follow.

with the gas attack, what we get are scattered hints: a single man coughing, kids praying to janna in a song (in a way that’s super easy to miss), and worship of a painting of janna. but the show never fully depicts the suffering caused by the gas. it never commits to the atrocity and by refusing to depict the actual impact, the show softens piltover’s culpability and allows a big part of the audience to either overlook or justify it.

but the gas attack aside, the writers had two opportunities to make an explicit statement about systemic oppression, environmental racism, and the true cost of unchecked industrial power but they avoided doing so. and those two clearest instances of this avoidance are in how the show handles viktor and orianna:

in season 2, viktor’s story is literally warped to avoid blaming piltover. viktor, a character who should represent the suffering zaunites endure because of piltover’s neglect, is instead pushed into the role of an irredeemable villain for a marvelesque shit show. his transformation discards his humanity so blatantly that the audience is distracted from the actual injustice: he was dying because of piltover.

his ending is framed around jayce’s “beauty in imperfection” speech as if he should have just accepted his disability rather than seeking a cure, when the reality is, he wasn’t just disabled, he was dying because of the system piltover built. that was his entire struggle in season 1, but by season 2’s end, the narrative no longer engages with it to protect piltover.

as for orianna, she is reduced to an easter egg as a gift to league of legends fans (which is funny because the show ruined her lore for them), but more importantly, to avoid critiquing piltover.

her lore was an explicit condemnation of piltover’s disregard for zaunite lives. she was a little girl who helped zaunites, got sick due to piltover’s pollution, and had to slowly replace her own body with machinery until she lost all humanity. but arcane erases this. she’s barely a cameo, and the audience isn’t even told how she died. the show doesn’t just sideline her suffering, it removes it entirely, sanitizing piltover’s guilt in the process.

more importantly, all of this lets a big part of the audience defend piltover. for instance, by never showing the gas’s impact, the show gives certain viewers the option to ignore it: no bodies, no long-term sickness, no undeniable, inescapable horror. and i'm sure we've all seen how this allows for interpretations that justify piltover’s actions in the fandom, whether that means erasing the gas attack’s consequences or framing it as acceptable because the victims are zaunites (who are often conveniently portrayed as violent criminals).

also, ekko’s line about rescuing more people because of gang fighting is a perfect example of how the show subtly misdirects the audience. yes, gang violence is an issue, but it’s not the only crisis. the gas remains, it spreads, it poisons the people, especially the children working in factories. those are also people the firelights must have rescued. but the show chooses to highlight one crisis over another, and we know why ...

anyway, it's sad that the writers had no balls. they let so many people feel comfortable not thinking too hard about piltover’s crimes, and comfortable enough to insult anyone who criticizes characters participating in those crimes, especially caitlyn and her squad.

[darkmatilda]

𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer finds you in a place that might be attacked and tries to save your life—only for you to end up saving his instead

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reader is at a club, mention of consumed alcohol in the past (but not drinking in the fic) spencer gets (lightly) beaten up, reader kills (shoots) the unsub

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.8k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

There were many things Spencer Reid hated about clubs.

He had stepped into one just five minutes ago, and he had already checked off most of them. The purple and pink lights played a never-ending game of tag, intertwining, their intensity constantly shifting—one moment revealing the silhouettes around him in sharp clarity, the next melting them into a single, writhing, deafening mass. Completely cut off from their surroundings—bodies so absorbed in swaying to the pounding beat that they paid no mind to brushing against random strangers or accidentally shoving them aside.

He lost sight of Prentiss almost immediately. They had agreed to split up, sure but he would have preferred to at least know which direction she had gone. There were too many brunettes around to pick her out, and every time he tried to look around, he lost what little control he had over his path, colliding with someone's shoulder.

Eventually, he slowed his pace, nearly coming to a stop—one motionless pillar among the swaying crowd, set apart not just by his stillness but by the reason he was there in the first place.

Work felt like too trivial an excuse. Preventing a tragedy…maybe a bit too grandiose.

Another case, another unsub. This time, a more local one. Someone sneaking into clubs, specifically tampering with fog machines and replacing their contents with toxic gas. One moment, the crowd lost in dance. The next, gasping for breath and collapsing in convulsions on the floor, a pop song cruelly lingering above them as they took their last breath.

Well, not in every case—many had survived the attack. Thanks to their testimonies, they had built a profile of the unsub before they even identified him.

And once they had the profile, they were able to predict when and where he would strike next. Not exactly where. There were several clubs on his radar, forcing them to split into pairs. Time was against them, and they couldn’t afford the delay that bringing in a larger team would cause.

His gaze found the DJ booth. Deep down, he knew Prentiss was doing the exact same thing, wherever she was. Right next to it stod the fog machine—meant to enhance the sensory experience, he supposed, though he didn’t entirely understand the appeal.

In any case, they couldn’t just arrest the guy. Mostly because this guy wasn’t him. They had determined that the unsub had to sneak in to execute his plan, likely disguised as a maintenance worker—someone unremarkable, someone no one would question. Equipment needed servicing from time to time, after all.

That left them with one option. Observation. Waiting for the right moment. Literally waiting to catch the unsub in the act. 

He knew he had to get even closer.

That wasn’t exactly easy, given that it was a Saturday night and the club was packed wall to wall. Spencer took a deep breath—air thick with heat of the bodies—and fixed his gaze straight ahead, hoping that focusing would at least minimize how often he bumped into people.

The tactic itself, in theory, sounded like something that had a chance of success. He couldn’t control the movements of the people around him, but he could control his own—could force his awkward body to maximize its barely existing coordination, slipping through the crowd with as much grace as he could manage.

In practice, however, he froze mid-step the moment his eyes locked onto a single, specific point just ahead of him.

At first, he thought he was imagining things. The play of lights was deceptive—he could have easily been mistaken.

The thing was, when it came to her mistaking her for someone else was nearly impossible. And Spencer had long suspected that it wasn’t just about physical attractiveness.

At that moment, she was surrounded by women—women who had dressed in whatever made them feel their most confident for a night out, women who, as a result, looked undeniably striking. And yet, none of them had caught his eye as quickly or as completely as she had.

Maybe it was simply because he knew her, and the human brain was wired to pick out familiar shapes. Or maybe it was that obscure thought that had once crept into his mind—that there was something almost siren-like about her. In the way her hips moved so fluidly, in how people instinctively seemed to make space for her, in the way every gaze that landed on her lingered just a second too long, caught in quiet admiration.

And that was the ironic part.

Despite all the glances she effortlessly drew—glances she had long since grown used to, had learned to take in stride—she still somehow managed to feel his.

Spencer, still frozen in place, registered the exact moment her eyebrows lifted—first in surprise, then in amusement. He also registered how, almost without hesitation, she started moving toward him.

She didn’t need to elbow her way through the crowd. She never did.

Watching her fluid, measured steps slowly closing the space between them, he finally grasped one crucial fact.

She was in the same club as him. At the same time as him.

But he wasn’t there for fun.

He was there to prevent a mass poisoning. And it wasn’t until she stood right in front of him, head tilted slightly, lips curved in that playful way of hers, that it hit him. 

She had no idea what was potentially about to happen.

None of the other people there did. 

"Spencer Reid," she said slowly, deliberately, as if tasting his name for the first time.

He heard her perfectly despite the pounding music, but apparently, she decided he hadn’t—because she took another step closer. A step that cut through most of the already minimal space between them.

He had to tilt his head down just to keep his gaze on her.

"In a club. Alone. The world must be ending, because I’m not nearly drunk enough to be imagining you."

He felt his body take in a breath without his permission. His gaze flicked above her, back to the DJ booth. The same DJ as before—he recognized him by the neon pink shirt. No one had taken his place. No one was near him. Yet.

Their eyes met again.

His throat simply refused to work. He had no idea what to say, and not because someone had just bumped into his back, pushing him even closer. He had to steady himself with a light grip on her shoulder to avoid crashing into her entirely.

He glanced at his own hand on her skin, bathed in the pink and violet glow of the club lights. It looked almost forein, as if it didn’t belong to him.

Spencer didn’t know what to say—not because she was there, but because she was there. In this place, in this moment, where so many things could go wrong.

Sure, they worked together. But she wasn’t here on a case. Tonight, she was just another unaware, innocent civilian—one of the many people it was his job to protect.

Protect, but not warn. A warning would cause chaos among everyone present, sending them rushing toward the exit, ruining their chance to catch the unsub just when they knew the location he planned to strike.

Her hand waved in front of his eyes, making sure he was still present. Spencer swallowed, forcing himself to say something—anything—while he figured out what he really should say.

"Do you often imagine me when you're drunk?" he asked.

The very first thing that came to his mind. Surprisingly, it didn’t turn out to be such a terrible choice.

The woman pursed her lips in a thin line, as if genuinely considering it.

“It’s happened a few times,” she admitted without a hint of embarrassment, in the most casual tone possible. She let out a quiet chuckle, as if recalling something. “Last time, I was flirting with some guy, also in a club. I was convinced it was you, but the longer we talked, the more something felt off. Some element. I just didn’t know if it was the flirting or the fact that you were in a club at all…” 

He let her speak while his eyes once again scanned the surroundings. He reminded himself that they weren’t alone. The people around them—people just as unaware of the potential danger as she was.

Of course, he assumed they’d manage to prevent it. But he wouldn’t be himself if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind what if…

Then he’d be guilty of not telling her. Of not simply ordering her to leave immediately. She probably wouldn’t have listened—knowing her—but he would’ve found a way to make her.

He chalked it up to a natural instinct. They didn’t have to be particularly close for him to not want anything to happen to her. They didn’t even have to particularly like or tolerate each other.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried about all the other oblivious people in the club. But it was definitely harder to distance himself from her—when it was her face he saw nearly every day.

"Are you here alone?" Spencer asked suddenly

He must have interrupted her—her lips remained slightly parted.

"With a few friends," she stated, pausing as she studied him analytically. "Why? Asking if you can join us?"

He sighed at her response. A few friends. If he told her, she’d probably want to warn them too—which wasn’t surprising or wrong—but there was a chance that those friends also had friends here. And in the blink of an eye, it could trigger mass panic. Chaos.

He shut his eyes for a moment, hesitating.

"Spencer, what is wrong with you?" Her voice reached his ears, and he felt her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle shake.

When he looked at her again, her expression had completely changed.

Full of realization.

"Wait, I think I know what you’re doing here."

He had hesitated long enough for her to figure it out on her own. But at least that forced him to make a decision faster.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leaned in toward her—something that, logically, made no sense. Their conversation was already happening within such a small space, close enough that he could see the way the light above them shifted in her eyes. There was no need to lower his voice conspiratorially. And yet, for some reason, he did.

He leaned in near her shoulder, speaking close to her ear.

Her hand remained on his shoulder, waiting for whatever he was about to say.

"Go home," he said simply.

She didn’t move, though he felt her fingers press slightly deeper against his skin, as when he confirmed her own suspicions.

"Take your friends if you have to. Just leave, okay?"

He waited for a moment, certain he could feel her taking a deep breath, steadying herself, keeping calm. When he straightened just enough to meet her gaze again, she was composed.

She didn’t know what exactly was happening—she had every right to be panicked—but she wasn’t.

"Is it really that serious?" she asked.

He glanced toward the DJ booth, scanning the situation. He considered her question. Honestly? No. Not that serious. They didn’t even have confirmation that their unsub was targeting this particular club.And yet, he gave her a small, confirming nod.At worst, she’d lose one night of fun with her friends for nothing. Better that than losing her life.

She answered him with a nod of her own.

Spencer watched the movement, exhaling slowly, but as his gaze dropped once more to the space just beyond her shoulder, he noticed something strange.

He straightened fully, and her hand slipped from his shoulder, falling away.

She turned, following his line of sight, but she didn’t know what to look for. A moment later, she turned back to him, confused. But he knew. And he had just seen it.

Reid stepped past her.

Oddly enough, pushing through the crowd no longer felt like an issue. He looked over his shoulder—almost reflexively—meeting her eyes for one brief second. Go home tried to tell her again, with no words. 

Some might find it strange how quickly he recognized the unsub in the crowd. While some would call it a hunch or instinct, he would simply call it experience. So many solved cases, so many profiles written, so many criminals interrogated. He had simply managed to pick him out. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was that the unsub would recognize him.

Not personally, but he would sense that something was off the moment their eyes met by chance.

He might have been aware that the FBI was on his tail.

Either way, as soon as he realized Spencer was heading toward him, he abruptly changed direction, picking up his pace. He was no longer moving toward the smoke machine—now, he was weaving blindly through the crowd.

Still, Reid couldn’t just let him slip away, of course.

He stayed on his heels, hoping that Prentiss was somewhere out there and had also recognized the man as their unsub. That she had even noticed him at all. He didn’t know whether the unsub was armed, but either way, he couldn’t reach for his weapon while still surrounded by people. His breathing quickened from the pace he was keeping, but he couldn’t afford to slow down—not if he wanted to keep him in sight.

Where was the unsub going?

He found out soon enough when he saw him slip through the emergency exit—somehow left unguarded—into a dark, empty alleyway.

Spencer realized he had made a huge mistake after just the first two steps. He had looked around too slowly, focusing too much on the left side when something hit him in the face from the right. The force was too much for a bare fist. He suspected brass knuckles. Mostly because it knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling onto the hard pavement. As he shielded his head from the fall, the weapon slipped from his hand. Instinctively, he reached for it, a reflex, considering how badly the world was spinning in front of his eyes.

Before he could even brush it with his fingers, the hard sole of a boot landed on his toes, not breaking them, but definitely pulling more than just a pained hiss from his lips. The sound of dragging—the weapon kicked far out of his reach. He cursed under his breath, and possibly out loud. Not only because he had been so easily disarmed and neutralized, but because the realization hit him quickly. When a criminal doesn't bend down to retrieve a dropped weapon, it usually means one simple thing. They have their own.

And well, for the first time, he didn’t feel satisfied by being right. When he managed to prop himself up on his elbow with controlled movement, still feeling the pulse in his temples, the first thing he saw was the gleam of a barrel aimed directly at him. A long moment where their eyes locked. Spencer was about to say something. A lot of words pressed at his lips—there had to be a way to stop him from pulling the trigger. He knew the entire profile, and he could manipulate him. 

But before any sound could escape his mouth, the shot rang out.

The stab in his chest was so intense that he thought—he was absolutely certain—the shot had hit him. His heart—there was no point in even pressing his hand to it to check. It would have been covered in blood in an instant, and he wouldn’t even have time to look at it before he collapsed back to the ground, this time dead. But that didn’t happen, although something did fall.

The tall figure right in front of him collapsed to the ground, revealing who had been a few steps behind him.

The hand gripping the weapon so confidently that for a moment, he thought it was Prentiss.

That would have been the most logical option. After all, they had been sent there together, and it was her he expected to see. Not someone who had come to spend the evening with friends. Someone who, despite his warning, had followed him for some reason and, at the right moment, had lifted the weapon that had been knocked away by the unsub Spencer’s weapon and aimed it.

Someone who now stood still, staring down at his fallen form, with one hand still extended in front of them until it fell stiffly to their side.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment that felt almost unreal.

Finally, Spencer forced himself to look away from her and, feeling like he was in some strange dream, clumsily managed to get to his feet. When he succeeded in standing upright, her figure appeared right next to him, her hand gripping his shoulder, as if ensuring he wouldn’t fall again. For the first time in a while, he breathed— the taste of the air after almost being shot was strange. He needed two more breaths like that before he could even begin to process what had just happened. Her face—not directly in front of him, but slightly to the side, so that he had to turn his head to look at her. 

It might have sounded illogical, but he had the feeling that fear was only just beginning to appear on her face. When she shot the unsub right in the back of his head, her expression had shown nothing at all.

"I..." Spencer began, stopping as the pain pressed against his skull again. It was dull, but when he placed his hand on it, he didn't see any blood. He took that as a good sign. A sign that started to slowly clear things up. The unsub was dead. Okay, that happened. Sometimes, capturing him alive just wasn’t possible.

But he hadn’t been killed by him, as he perhaps should have been. He had been killed by her. How had she even ended up there?

"I told you to go home," he said sharply.

For a moment, she was silent, staring at him in disbelief, as if she couldn’t understand the meaning of his words. Meanwhile, Spencer felt a fleeting surge of anger. She had followed him, which was absolutely irresponsible. If the unsub hadn’t uncovered the weapon, or if he had decided to pick it up, she would have been completely defenseless because, as far as he knew, she hadn’t been carrying her own. And then she would have found herself in a dark alley with, quite simply, a murderer.

Her lips parted and closed again, as if trying to speak, but instead, she snorted. At least, she tried to. It wasn’t her usual, mocking snort, although she attempted it. It came out weak, barely audible, and then Spencer lowered his gaze, noticing that the hand holding his gun was trembling. She tightened her grip on the handle, trying to stop it.

“And some thank you?” she asked. “For, hmm, let’s see, saving your life?”

He felt a bit stupid, to be honest. Especially when he noticed her taking a deep breath and turning her head toward the body lying on the ground.

“I didn’t aim for his head,” she admitted, more to herself than to him.

He looked at her profile with hesitation. He hadn’t thought about it before, but this was probably the first time she had ever killed someone. Most of her work in the FBI had been in the confines of the lab, and she was rarely in situations that would require something like this.

Yet, she had still done it. Shoot, at the right moment, without hesitation.

Seeing that she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the dead man, he gently reached up and touched her cheek, turning her face back toward him. She flinched at the gesture, her eyes momentarily widening, almost vulnerable, before she clenched them shut, tension rising in her temples.

“But it’s a good thing I did,” she said, opening her eyes again. She shook off the emotions that had briefly settled there, adopting her usual expression. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice anything had changed. “Otherwise, he probably would’ve killed you. So…”

She didn’t finish, shrugging stiffly.

Spencer felt an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, rising up to his throat. A sudden wave of guilt, knowing that it was his fault and his lack of field skills that had led to this situation. He had to swallow it down before he could speak again.

“He killed a lot of people,” he told her. She deserved to know that. “And he was planning to do the same today. Maybe even to you. Your friends, and…”

He didn’t know what else he wanted to add, or if his words were in any way helpful. He hoped they were. They both lingered in silence, and Spencer realized that, in fact, he hadn’t even thanked her for what she did. But, well, that was life, not a favor to be repaid with a simple thank you. He knew, though, that he would be able to return to the daily grind of things as if nothing had happened, without offering anything in return. His gaze fell once more on her hand, still gripping the gun. He gently took it from her.

“I shot him,” he suddenly said.

The woman gave him a confused look.

“If anyone asks,” he added, aware that she still didn’t quite understand what he meant. In fact, he was having trouble putting it into words himself. “I mean, technically, you shouldn’t even know about all of this. No one knows you were here, so...you can just...forget about it, if you want.”

It wasn’t that the killing would get her into trouble. Considering she saved his life, she wouldn’t face any real consequences. However, her name would have to be mentioned in the report. Not a big deal, but Spencer just had the feeling that the less it attached to her, the better.

She was silent for a long time, and Spencer thought maybe she didn’t like the idea. He even considered retracting his words, just dismissing it as nothing. But then he noticed and heard her take a deep breath, and for a brief moment, something resembling a grateful smile appeared on her face.

“Okay,” she agreed with a weak nod. She glanced thoughtfully toward the club before turning her gaze back to him. “I guess I should go then.”

She didn’t move, as if waiting for something else.

“Right,” he muttered. “Right...thanks, by the way. For, you know, saving my life.”

It seemed like she was on the verge of a quiet chuckle, and he felt a little better.

“You’ll make it up to me somehow,” she replied.

This time, she didn’t acknowledge his words with a nod. Instead, she stepped closer, looping one arm around his neck, resting her chin against his shoulder, and staying still in that position, letting out just a sigh. Spencer, for most of the moment, felt too frozen to respond. And when he finally managed to, when he placed his hand gently on her back, returning the embrace, it was only a second before she pulled away and walked off.

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU Part 5

Part 4

Warning on this one for description of vivisection injuries

Bruce is the first out of the Batmobile when they pull into the cave specifically to raise a finger to his lips and sign to his collected children to be quiet.

Dick, Damian, and Tim all beat them there, and Steph seems to have invited herself back from patrol in order to see what's up with the creature nobody could see over video feed.

Alfred hovers quietly because of the unknown injuries that likely need treating.

The kids all give him varying prompting looks of confusion about the order as he moves to open Cass's door for her.

He turns and signs to them what Cass had carefully signed to him in the car.

She thinks he's asleep.

Everyone's eyes bug out in surprise, Dick and Steph both making faces like they want to coo out an ‘awwwww.’

Damian seems like he would be tempted to do the same if he wasn't still more than a little wary.

Cass climbs out of the car slowly and carefully, trying not to disturb the sinuous shadow who still has his head tucked into her shoulder and tail and arms wrapped around her.

Steph's eyes get wide, the only one of the kids present who hasn't seen him yet. Alfred barely reacts aside from a slight rise of the brows.

Alfred inclines his head towards the medbay, but Cass hesitates and shakes her head.

It's a little difficult when she's trying to make sure the creature stays secure, but she manages to sign awkwardly behind his back.

Very scared when I mentioned doctors. Probably trauma.

Waking up in anything resembling a medical facility probably wouldn't go well, in other words. Alfred hums quietly, mulling that over for a moment before he nods and gestures for the kids to come help him.

Quietly and efficiently, the group pulls a bed and supplies out of the isolated medbay and into the cave at large, closer to the lounge area the kids have slowly built up through the years than anything.

Ideally the change of venue will be unnecessary, but if the creature does wake up it's worth trying to lessen the chances of immediate backlash.

It's really no wonder he passed out, Bruce thinks. Cass had made it clear he was exhausted and on the verge. None of them are under any illusions that that's not why he accepted her help.

She was the least terrifying option and he was running on fumes.

Alfred glances at Cass, and that's all the prompting she needs to come over and very gently lean down to set the creature on his back on the bed.

Alfred is just as gentle when he has to carefully pluck the shadowy claws out of her cape in order to get him to let go, and Cass carefully unwinds the long tail from her waist and legs.

When she straightens back up, Bruce closes his eyes hard for a moment and bites back a wave of nausea.

Jesus Christ. Medical trauma? No fucking wonder.

Bruce forces himself to open his eyes and look.

Whatever this creature is, whoever he is, he must have escaped straight off of an operating table. The green blood is leaking from haphazard stitches just barely holding a massive Y incision on his torso together.

Vivisection.

Distantly, Bruce hears Dick retching. Sees his kids in varying states of distress over the same conclusions Bruce has just come to.

Mostly, he's focusing on trying to breathe through his anger. It's of no use to any of them right now - they need him calm.

It's strange, looking at the creature's face now. With eyes and mouth closed it's a blank slate of black, no features to be found. Like a mannequin head, misty white hair still unbound by gravity.

Parts of him are just barely translucent, mostly the edges of limbs. Bruce has never seen anything like him.

Alfred catches his eye with practiced ease, signing quickly and looking solemn. Bruce can see the pain hidden behind his calm features, his dismay that something horrific has been done to a living creature.

There is not much I can do without opening him back up, especially not knowing what he is or what is normal. Disinfect, stitch and bandage. Then hope for the best.

Bruce sighs slowly through his nose, feeling helpless but nodding. 

Alfred turns to Cass for a moment.

I assume because you are calm that he is not meant to be breathing?

Bruce nearly chokes, eyes darting back to the dark figure on the bed. Indeed, there's no motion.

Cass nods. Her chest is very green.

Hasn't been. Seems fine.

He doesn't breathe - at least not visibly. Is he like a salamander, does he take oxygen in through his skin?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter right now. This creature - this boy - needs help. He needs his chest disinfected and his scant few stitches redone.

From the looks of them, Bruce would bet money that he did those stitches himself not too long ago.

Masterpost

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° i knew it, i know you, i called it

( barou shoei x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my childhood friends to lovers series!

♡ word count — 1.4k

♡ content — shoei barou x fem! reader, childhood friends to lovers, mention of "the king" once or twice, nickname 'princess' used but like not when they're together, wrote this very late at night, not proofread

♡ synopsis — You and Barou Shoei were eternally blessed in the way that you were born with a connection...a deep rooted love for each other. But to be the best, barou may just have to rip those roots from the ground.

Some people are born lucky.

They come into the world with an immediate connection, a bond predestined by the universe itself. There is no awkward first meeting, no uncertainty in whether they belong together—because from the very beginning, they do.

You and Barou Shoei were eternally blessed in that way.

Your families were intertwined long before you could form memories. Your mothers were best friends, and so were your fathers, which meant the moment you and Barou were born, you were inseparable. You were together before you could walk, before you could talk—before you even knew what it meant to have a friend.

And at first, that was all you were. Two newborns who cried in sync, two toddlers who played together without a care in the world. Your parents would joke that you were a little prince and princess, fated to rule the world side by side. And maybe, in some small way, that was true.

But you didn’t truly become best friends until the age of five.

It started with glue.

Glitter glue, to be specific.

The class had been given an assignment to make an animal on a sheet of paper using only glue, and you had your heart set on a bright red glitter glue to bring your masterpiece to life. But as you reached for it, another boy shoved you aside, grabbing it from your grasp.

You fell to the floor with a startled gasp, wide-eyed and confused as the boy smirked down at you. But before you could even process what had happened, a shadow loomed over you.

Barou.

Even at five years old, he had a presence about him—intimidating, unshakable. He had gone for a simple white glue, uninterested in the colorful options, but the second he saw you fall, his priorities changed.

His small fingers snatched the glitter glue right out of the boy’s hands, dark eyes narrowing. “You must not know who she is,” he said, voice filled with all the authority a child could muster. “You just hurt a princess.”

The boy’s lip quivered before he burst into tears, running away as fast as his little legs could carry him.

Barou didn’t even watch him go. Instead, he turned to you, his tiny hand reaching out. “Get up,” he said simply.

You took his hand, gripping it tightly as he pulled you up.

“Thank you,” you murmured, but you didn’t let go of his hand—not even after you were steady on your feet again.

Barou didn’t pull away either.

“I’ll always protect you,” he told you with such certainty it made your chest feel warm. “Mom said to.”

And from that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

Barou’s love for soccer started in junior high.

Even in the little league, he dominated the field, his aggressive playstyle making him a force to be reckoned with. He was ruthless, tearing through the opposition with raw power and unwavering determination. His parents cheered him on, and so did you—his biggest supporter, always standing at the sidelines, watching as he built his kingdom.

You were there the day he became a big brother.

Sitting on the floor of his room, the two of you were finishing up homework when his parents walked in, holding up two tiny baby onesies.

“What are those for?” Barou asked, brow furrowing.

“Oh, don’t be silly! You know they’re not for you,” his father laughed. “You’re gonna be a big brother, Shoei! To two sisters!”

Barou wrinkled his nose. “Ew.”

You, however, saw through him. You saw the way his ears turned pink, how his lips twitched like he wanted to smile but wouldn’t allow himself to. He was happy.

And as his sisters grew up, Barou's overprotectiveness expanded. You had always been the recipient of it, but now his sisters were, too. You watched him gently hold their tiny hands, watched him glare at anyone who so much as breathed near them wrong, watched him be perfect—because that’s what he was to you.

That’s when you realized it.

You liked your best friend. No. You loved Barou Shoei.

It took him two years to realize he liked you back.

By then, his parents were both working, and his soccer training was more intense than ever. With him being busy, you became the babysitter for his twin sisters—now two years old.

One day, you brought them to one of his games. They sat in the stands, cookies in hand—cookies you had baked for them. For him.

Barou didn’t mean to get distracted.

But when he glanced over and saw you standing there, smiling, holding onto his little sisters like you belonged with them—something in him faltered.

And in that moment, he ran straight into another player.

He hit the ground hard, grass scraping against his skin, pain flaring in his palms and the back of his legs.

But he didn’t care.

Embarrassment burned hotter than the sting of his wounds. He refused to sit out, refused to even acknowledge the pain. He wouldn’t humiliate himself in front of you again.

After the game, you sat with him in his room, dabbing at his cuts with a damp rag, concern written all over your face.

“What happened?” you asked. “You never fall like that.”

Barou kept his eyes on the floor. “Got distracted.”

“Huh? By what?”

You looked up at him, so effortlessly beautiful, so close. And Barou—thirteen years old, arrogant but utterly helpless in the moment—leaned forward and kissed you.

It was barely a second, barely anything at all. But it was enough.

"You," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

One word.

One word and everything in your life was changed.

And that was it. That was the moment. You loved him. He liked you. And from then on, you were something more.

High school came faster than you wanted it to.

You were still together, still best friends, but you saw less of each other. You joined the baking club. He devoted himself to soccer. But no matter what, every sweet thing you made somehow ended up in his hands.

"But I made them with love," you’d argue, pushing a cookie into his palm. "So you have to eat them, Sho!"

He never had the heart to tell you he never ate a single one.

He wanted to be the best. He had to be.

You still attended every one of his matches, cheering for him as he became The King on the field. After one particular victory, you ran up to him, all smiles and sunshine, throwing your arms around him.

"I'm so proud of you!"

Barou barely reacted, still thinking about how the opposing team had managed to score twice.

"You're too serious," you laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Come on, let's celebrate."

"Yeah…where do you wanna go?"

"You always let me pick," you teased. "This is why I love you."

The words lingered. Barou stared at you, then at the scoreboard. Could’ve scored more. Could’ve been better.

He exhaled. "I love you too."

The letter from Blue Lock changed everything.

Barou had no doubts. No hesitations. He was going.

Becoming the best striker—nothing mattered more.

He told his parents. They celebrated. He told his sisters. They cried.

Only one person was left out of the conversation.

You.

When you came over a few weeks later, dropping off another cake, you spotted the half-packed suitcase on his bed.

"Sho? Where are you going?"

Barou froze. Oh.

He had forgotten to tell you.

That’s when he explained. And that’s when he saw the look on your face—tears, heartbreak, anger.

“You’re leaving,” you whispered.

“Yeah, but—”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Barou clenched his jaw. “It’s not a big deal.”

But to you, it was everything.

“You can’t just leave me.”

"You can’t," you whispered. "I love you."

Barou felt something twist inside him. He ignored it.

"Do you actually think we'd last out of high school?" he scoffed. "You’re a distraction."

The words were cruel. A lie. But necessary.

Your voice broke. "Sho—"

"Get out."

He saw the moment your heart shattered.

And when you left, the door slamming behind you, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

But if crushing you meant becoming the best, so be it.

Months later, you sat alone, hugging a stuffed bear he won for you at a fair.

You told yourself you wouldn’t watch the U-20 match.

And yet, here you were, staring at him through a screen.

Tears blurred your vision.

You would never get over him.

Because Barou Shoei had wrapped chains around your heart.

He had taken the key with him.

And you would love him forever, even when he left you behind.

where are my barou girlies RISE!!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[river-of-wine]

Molly O'Shea is Irish on purpose. Everything about her was written on purpose for a reason. I rattle on a lot about Irish identity in Red Dead, but it seems to only be taken into account when discussing Sean when it comes to the Irish characters, and that is to be expected when Sean talks about it the most. However, it is a relevant part to every Irish character in the game. The O’Driscolls more as a unit, as we’ve only got two named members of that gang who aren’t just there to shoot you and be shot, but it’s still immensely important to recognise when discussing them and how they function, operate and exist. It’s important for Colm, and why he pronounces his name like that, his rejection of his Irish identity in favour of assimilating more with America, presenting himself as an American man, whilst taking advantage of the disenfranchised men from his same background and exploiting them just the same. It’s important for Kieran, even with his own disconnection from his culture and how out of place constantly seems to be. And it’s important for Molly. They’re all Irish on purpose. There was a choice made for this character, for every character who falls into any kind of vulnerable class in this country, in this time, in this society. There’s a reason why Dutch van der Linde - who willingly uses the exploitation and genocide of Native Americans to further his own goals, who runs a gang full of people indebted to him with no choice, no safe, realistic options other than to depend on said gang for their survival and safety - is written to be in a relationship with a young Irish woman. Molly’s age tends to be the aspect of their imbalanced relationship most frequently examined, to the point where little else about the unbalanced scales of their dynamic is looked at in equal measure here. Yeah, it’s very weird how Dutch is about young women, and it’s pointed out by Molly herself, that she - a woman who is referred to on multiple occasions as a girl rather than a woman, who is older than Mary-Beth but still clearly young herself - is too old for him. Molly being young is important and intentional, but so is Molly being Irish. She is in an abusive relationship with an older man, but she is also in an abusive relationship with an American man, and this is as inseparable from their dynamic as her age is. This is 1899 America, and this is Dutch van der Linde. This is a man we know - especially with Red Dead Redemption in mind - will exploit the vulnerable and whose violence towards women is no secret. Molly is in this gang for incredibly different reasons from everybody else around her, and even in comparison to the other Irish gang members she is out of place, but functionally, she needs the gang just the same, and Dutch has made this young, vulnerable woman completely reliant on him, only to cast her aside and refuse to give her such basic respect as her first name when she becomes more trouble than she’s worth. He does not treat Molly like a person. He does not value her feelings or her needs, he will only give her any attention when it is done in his terms, the results of his emotional abuse and neglect are nothing more than inconveniences to him. He doesn’t respect her. He doesn’t value her. The woman he gawks at, the younger, more desirable woman he attempts to make a move on when Molly loses her appeal, is a young American woman. Mary-Beth is younger, yes, but she’s also American. Molly can never be younger, and she can never be American. Molly is the only Irish woman in the gang, and it is her that Dutch is in a relationship with, and it is her who is treated by Dutch the way she is. Inherently, Molly’s status as an Irish immigrant is built into both her character and this relationship. That was done on purpose. Her poem is written the way it is on purpose. Molly is Irish on purpose. Do you see what I’m getting at here? Am I making sense?

[scarletcomalies]

Wanda has been your best friend for almost ten years now, meaning you could trust her to chat about anything, without restricting yourself by prudeness or filters. But that trust went too far one day.

Word count: 1,119

Warnings: 18+ content, guided masturbation through phone call, kind of innocent and inexperienced reader.

A/N: I promise I'm NOT procrastinating this story, you'll have it sooner than you think, but, well, college... 💔

It was a big step, considering that you failed to enjoy every time you explored yourself with your fingers alone. As much as you tried to play music, lie down, and imagine exciting scenes, you ended up frustrated because it wasn't enough. So you opted to buy a little help. Maybe this way you would be able to explore your tastes and to please yourself properly.

Your best friend, Wanda, had recommended an online site. It had all kinds of artefacts, many of which you didn't know existed, or considered too potent a level for a newbie like you. So you went with the safest option; a simple ten centimeter vibrator, with three levels of intensity.

And nothing...

You felt the tingle of the vibration inside you, but nothing built up. It was just a pleasurable sensation that led to nothing.

You had sent a message to Wanda, telling her that you had already received it, and just when you turned off the toy and put it aside, your phone notified a message from the redhead, where she asked you to tell her about your experience.

"It's useless, Wanda!" You answered, such a simple message but all your frustration could be transmitted in this one.

"What do you mean it's useless?" She replied.

"Maybe I'm anorgasmic or something, because I can't finish. I didn't feel it helped me."

You were perplexed when your phone screen displayed her name, indicating that you were receiving a call. This was unusual of her, but you didn't hesitate to answer.

"Honey," she let out a giggle, as soon as you picked up. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Well, when I feel needy, no matter how much I stimulate myself, I don't orgasm. Not even with the toy. It's horrible," you answered honestly.

These kind of talks were frequent between you, and that was something you loved about your friendship. No judgments, no prejudice, much less in the face of topics that, at the end of the day, were completely normal.

"Yeah, but what did you do with the vibrator?" She inquired.

"Well, I put it inside, the usual," you replied matter-of-factly. You didn't understand why other girls did get to feel something when they had something in there, and you didn't. Why you were more complex about everything?

"Just like that?" She exclaimed, and at your confirmation, she let out another laugh. "No, darling, you have to tease yourself, make yourself desperate for your own touch."

"And how do I even do that?" you asked curiously, but also with a hint of relief. She seemed to have the solution to your problem.

"It's complicated, do you want to try it now? I'll guide you through every step," she proposed.

The thought of hearing her voice guiding you, that she would be listening to you as you pleasured yourself, made the anticipation take over, again initiating that feeling that was begging to be satisfied.

When you thought of Wanda, or when you spent many hours together with her, that feeling came no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. It was no surprise when you realized that this was not something usual and that you definitely felt attraction towards her.

But you didn't want to ruin the friendship you treasured so much.

"No, that would be weird," you replied, feigning aversion to such a thing, when really, that was all you needed.

"Oh, come on!" Wanda exclaimed. "It wouldn't. I'd be helping you get to know yourself, please yourself. I won't even see you."

You sighed softly in resignation. She was right, maybe a lot of friends have given each other advice like that.

"Okay, fine," you agreed. "What do I do?"

Wanda was glad you couldn't see her smile of victory when you agreed, or else, she would've also given herself away.

"First, spread your legs, and place the tip of the vibrator on your clit," she instructed you.

You did as she asked, and no sooner had you pressed, when you felt an electric current run through your body in a matter of a fraction of a second.

"Oh, shit!" You exclaimed, withdrawing it as if by reflex.

"What do you feel?" She inquired curiously. She was aware such a cute little thing like you wouldn't be able to take it first time. But that was what she was there for.

"Weird, like a swift current!"

"Exactly! Please try to place it again, and little by little, apply pressure," she replied. "At your pace, there is no rush, darling," she purred, making your core throb in desperation at her raspy voice calling you that pet name.

Again, you did as she asked.

The intense vibration made all the nerve endings in that area react deliciously to the stimulus, and again, it sent that current through your body.

You let out a little murmur of pleasure, feeling yourself lose control over your body. Your back arched, your eyes closed, and your free hand fisted your sheets in an attempt to keep you grounded and resistant.

"Good girl, apply more pressure for me," Wanda added, noting from your murmurs that you were becoming familiar with the sensation.

Applying a little more pressure caused you to emanate your first moan since forever. That snapped you out of your trance briefly, and you realized you moaned with your friend on the other end of the phone.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, beginning to feel your cheeks heat up.

"None of that," she countered. "Don't hold back, let me hear you."

In a matter of minutes, you alone learned to listen to your body. You explored different areas and found your most sensitive spots. You were so focused on not leaving a single inch untouched, that you even forgot that Wanda was listening to the mess of moans, whimpers, and murmurs of her name that you were letting out.

"Mmm, Wanda!" They became more audible tones, signaling that you were close. There was too much to process, but Wanda decided to quiet her thoughts and allow herself to be delighted by the wonderful sounds you were making.

Hearing you cum for the first time was the most beautiful of all, by far.

A scream of pleasure too desperate, even animalistic, for your own good. Your so innocent set could not withstand that longing finally reaching its highest exponent, after so much stagnation. She was even surprised your little lungs allowed you to scream like that.

Wanda provoked all that in you, without having touched you... yet. But she made up her mind that it would change.

"Start over, but don't you dare cum," she commanded you. "I'm coming over in ten," she established, before hanging out.

[everythingisromant1c]

p1: chemistry read w/ co-star!james

co-star!james potter x actress!reader

summary: before filming can start, your director has to ofc find the perfect person to play your love interest, + what better way to do that than to have a chemistry read?

a/n: i will not pretend to know anything abt film/tv production so this is more than probably innaccurate 🙏 also this first one is not my best work but dw more drama will ensue. <33

full series - masterlist

You'd wanted this job more than anything. You'd worked harder than anyone you knew to kickstart your acting career and knew this opportunity was just the way to do it. When your agent called you about an audition for the lead role in a new show titled 'South Bay'—a drama named after the L.A. region itself—and gave you a sample of the pilot script, saying you fell in love with it wouldn't be a stretch. And after those few months later when you'd received the call that you'd gotten the part, it was safe to say you were walking on clouds for weeks afterward.

Your amazing director Minerva had cast you first and foremost, knowing your role was key to the show's success, and you'd already built a strong relationship with her after just a few weeks of knowing her.

After casting you, she'd informed you that the show's next order of business was finding someone to play your character's—Cassidy's—love interest, Aaron. When she'd told you that initially, you didn't think anything of it. But when she told you they already had gone through the first round of auditions for the role and that it was time for the infamous chemistry reads, you had to try your hardest to stay completely calm.

Aside from the fact that you'd soon be meeting the person you'd have to spend hours working with every day for God knows how many months, you also knew that the casting directors were going to be looking extra careful at the romantic chemistry you were supposed to have with the actors they brought in. You willed yourself not to get worked up when the morning came for the chemistry reads with the men auditioning for Aaron, and reminded yourself that your role in the show was already secured. Yet, for some reason, you were still on edge.

Luckily, the casting directors had narrowed down their options from the hundreds of actors who had come to audition for the role of Aaron originally to just a handful, making your job much easier. By the time noon came around, you'd already read from the script with three different candidates.

Just as you'd expected, they each had done a close-to-perfect job in their auditions. Your personal favorite was the second actor you'd read lines with, a sandy-haired guy named Remus who you thought was a really nice person as well as actor. It was important to you that the person you were going to have to pretend to be romantically interested in was a person you at least liked, and it was all too easy to imagine working with someone like Remus.

You'd expressed your thoughts to Minerva when she'd asked for them, and she nodded in agreement—a good sign—before the two casting directors beside her were calling for her attention.

"This next one, Minerva," cooed the curly-haired woman you knew as Poppy from next to her, "we think you're going to like."

"Am I?" she asked, lips curling up.

"Oh yes. When we saw him we knew right away we had to bring him in for the chemistry reading." Poppy nodded to you. "He looks promising. And he certainly has the background; his parents are Euphemia and Fleamonet Potter."

The other casting director hummed in agreement, not hiding their impressed and widened eyes. "Not to mention, he has that accent."

You had to fight your expression from turning sour. A Potter? If there was one thing you didn't appreciate in the world of acting, it was nepotism. After working so hard and starting from the ground up to get your acting career where it currently was, the last thing you wanted was to have to see your director swoon over some guy just because of who his parents were.

Nonetheless, you had faith in Minerva to pick the person who truly deserved the job. You watched her nod at the two women beside her, intrigued nonetheless. She waved a hand over to the security guard by the door in the corner of the room.

"Bring Potter in?"

The burly man nodded and exited the room briefly, and not a minute had gone by before he returned with the man you assumed was the young Potter in tow.

You subconsciously stood up straighter when you saw him, trying to push away any premeditated opinions of the man approaching. Brown curls and a genetically gifted bone structure you could see from feet away, he walked into the room confidently with reason. He immediately offered the security guard who had brought him into the room a handshake, and you watched as the tall brick wall of a man lit up with a bright smile from the gesture. Potter then rolled out more charming words of greeting to the director and casting directors, and you took the opportunity to scan him over in more detail.

With an interest you couldn't explain, you saw that he was strikingly handsome in the kind of way you'd expect the son of two celebrities to be; he was wearing a black t-shirt that clung to him flatteringly, with that sort of movie-star quality you knew audiences always swooned over. It didn't help that the moment he walked in you saw each of the directors turn to each other with raised brows and suggestive smiles that only widened when he introduced himself, charmingly posh British accent and all. You had to fight back from rolling your eyes at their reactions.

"James," greeted Poppy, standing up from her seat to give the man a handshake.

"Poppy," the man regarded, and you felt your eyebrows raise at the fact that he was already on a first-name basis with the head casting director.

She sat back down after a moment, keeping her attention on the man—James—as she spoke. "James, this is Minerva McGonagall, the Director of South Bay."

"I'm such an admirer of your work, Mrs. McGonagall. My parents took me to see your adaptation of Henry Shay's novel about three times when it first came out."

Your parents, you thought internally with some distaste; the famous actor and actress power couple. You had to stop yourself from shaking your head.

"Please, just Minerva," the director responded warmly, and you noted that she hadn't told any of the other actors to call her by her first name. "And thank you."

Poppy nodded happily before she held out an alarming hand towards you. "And let me introduce you to the wonderful actress who is going to be playing South Bay's leading lady Cassidy Ward."

You plastered on a smile and introduced yourself as plainly and confidently as you could, definitely not feeling suddenly conscious of your appearance as his warm-colored eyes raked over you.

James took that second to scan you over before realizing with a simmering feeling in the planes of his chest that there was something special about you he couldn't make out, something that had him wanting to greet you with more than a handshake. He refrained, thankfully, not saying anything after you finished introducing yourself for a second you felt was a beat too long, before scrambling to hold out a hand to you.

"I'm James. James Potter," he said as if you hadn't been already made aware of his last name. "It's an honor to get to meet you."

You didn't know why but his clear flattery only made you more uneasy of him, knowing it was something he'd probably gotten used to pulling out to impress whatever important or famous people he was busy meeting through all the connections he probably had.

You stopped yourself in your tracks; you were being unfair. You'd only known the guy, if you call it knowing him, for under a minute. Shaking off the odd feeling that was creeping its way into your stomach, you shook his held out hand with a polite nod, though that didn't the prying feeling inside you go away.

"Alright." Minerva clapped her hands together, looking between the two of you. "We're just going to do a read-through of scene number thirty-four, Episode three." She motioned towards the camera crew set up behind her, them shooting her a thumbs up.

She turned back around, looking between you and James pointedly. "Remember, your characters Cassidy and Aaron are the only two characters in the show who have known each other for longer than just a few months. They're close. That connection has to be visible, however you want to show that to us."

You didn't know why, but you felt uneasy. You nodded at Minerva regardless, seeing the supportive but anticipatory look behind her eyes as she glanced between you and the man now standing in front of you like you held the answers to all her problems.

James looked surprisingly calm and collected, like there was nothing in the world that could make the James Potter nervous. The more you looked at him and the confident set of his shoulders, the more you thought that was true.

Your director smiled. "Whenever you're both ready."

You nodded, taking a breath in before turning to James. "Where were you last night?"

You watched as James reacted to you in character, his strong brows pulling inwards. "What do you mean?"

You momentarily were taken aback by the almost effortless switch in his accent, but pushed the thought aside. "Last night. When everyone else was at Ryan's party. Where were you?"

He shrugged slightly. "I was in my dorm."

"Really? Because I knocked on your door and no one answered."

"I must've been sleeping. Why do want to know so badly?"

"I don't know, maybe because half the football team got caught last night breaking into the Dean's office."

"You don't think I did that, do you?"

You stared at him and then down at the floor. James—or Aaron, really—shook his head at you, his tone dropping. "I can't believe this."

Then he turned away from you and, as the script had told you to, you grabbed his wrist softly.

"Aaron, wait," you called, and the connection of your fingers to his arm had them tingling with a certain kind of teeming energy, though you didn't let it show on your face. "Of course I don't think you did it. I just don't know what to think. We're supposed to be best friends, yet you won't even tell me where you were."

James let a second pass before he said his next line, and it was like you could see his character's inner turmoil flickering through his mind restlessly when he said, "You want to know where I was, Cassidy?" You nodded. "I was talking with your Professor."

"Professor Brown?" you frowned. "Why?"

"I was trying to get him to let you submit your final thesis late."

"What? You know he told me I couldn't because-"

"Because of me." He paused dramatically, stern jaw working. "The only reason you missed the deadline was because you were helping me when I got too drunk to even make it up the stairs to my dorm."

"That's ... that's really nice of you, Aaron, but you know how Brown is-"

"He's letting you turn it in late for full credit."

"What?" You widened your eyes. "How did you ..."

"I told him how it was my fault you missed the deadline. And I told him about how good of a student you are, how you've never turned in anything late once, not even when we were in high school. But most importantly," he took a step closer to you to hold your hand, something you noted wasn't in the script but made your fingers flood with feeling. "I told him what a good person you were. How kind you are. Even to idiots like me who get black-out drunk during finals week."

You blinked at him, letting a smile overtake your face for a moment. "You really didn't have to."

"I did."

He squeezed your hand and, even if it was only acting, the way he was looking at you so meaningfully made something in your chest tighten excitedly. You didn't have to act when you shifted your gaze to the ground nervously. Why the hell were you nervous? "I don't know how the hell you got him to say yes."

"Well, I also have to wash his car for free for the next six months, but that's just a small detail."

You let your jaw drop. "I can't believe you'd do that for me."

"Of course I would." James took another step closer, still holding tight onto your hand and not breaking the immobilizing eye contact he'd established with you the whole while. "I'd do anything for you, Cassidy."

He nodded slowly, truly looking invested. Then, in a beat as short as a breath but one that must've felt like minutes to you as you stood there unmovingly, he leaned forward. All you could do was blink as his handsome—ugh, handsome—face neared yours before tilting itself to the right, where he left a soft but lingering kiss on your downstage cheek.

Then he pulled away again, the distance between you maybe a few inches smaller than before, before finally whispering, "Anything."

That definitely was not in the script. Your eyes blinked in an alarm that surely was no longer in character, but James looked unbothered, something you were finding was his natural state of being.

You felt your mouth go slightly dry at the intensity behind his eyes as he looked at you, but the last thing you could do was look away now, so you stayed rooted in your place in front of James as you waited for your signal to break character. Waited and waited; you felt dizzy.

"Cut!"

Minerva immediately clapped, the casting directors doing the same, and you felt like you could finally breathe as you dropped James's hand that was still holding yours and turned away from him, not sparing the man a second glance for nervous reasons you couldn't place. Maybe it was because of the fact that the feeling of his stupid lips was still lingering on your cheek.

Your director's tone was neutral when she said, "Great job, you two," though you watched as she turned passionately toward the two casting directors and they began speaking in hushed tones.

You shook your leg subtly as you waited, an antsy habit that you couldn't identify the current cause of, and you felt James lean down next to you, something that sent a nauseating feeling of déjà vu through you.

"Don't worry," he whispered lowly, taking your mannerisms as a sign of distress. He noted that even when frowning you looked extremely pretty, though at his words you left his lips your frown only deepened. "You did great."

You turned to him in confusion and some offense, trying to keep your voice hushed as you asked, "Excuse me?"

He shrugged a shoulder, eyes flicking over your figure for a split second that you definitely noticed. "You just looked tense, is all."

You stared at him blankly, not knowing what he could possibly be implying. Was he saying your acting looked tense? That you didn't look sure of yourself? Like you weren't already the lead and that he was the one auditioning? 

You fought the urge to say that maybe you looked tense because he'd just kissed you on the cheek out of nowhere, and stayed defiantly silent. When you didn't say anything back he let his lips turn up into a lopsided smile that you were sure must work on all the ladies, almost a smirk, and he nudged you in the shoulder a bit like you were old friends. Who was this guy?

Whatever you thought he meant by the statement, you didn't get to say anything back, because Minerva had pulled away from her conversation and was staring expectantly at the two of you. You did your best to soften your expression away from offended and back to neutral.

"Well," she said, turning to the man beside you. "Thank you, James, for coming in."

"Thank you," he responded, tipping his head politely. Then he took a step forward and shook each of the casting director's hands, and you watched with a foul taste in your mouth as their lips visibly fought against fond smiles.

When he turned back around, he held his hand out to you as well, and you regarded it for a moment before shaking it like you did at the start of his audition, though this time it was definitely against your will. His hand was warm and smooth, like he hadn't worked a day in his life, and you hated the fact that you even noted how it felt at all.

Like he knew you didn't enjoy his presence, he smiled at you with something knowing shining in his eyes that you hated before he took his leave, the door to the room shutting behind him.

"That was ..." began Poppy, shaking her head slowly, "Perfect. Just perfect."

You couldn't help the way your lips parted almost exhasperatedly. "Really?" You hoped you hadn't revealed your surprise in your tone.

"Yes," Minerva responded instead, also seeming to be in awe. "Wow." She gestured with her hands exuberantly. "It was like I could see the show coming to life right in front of me."

"Not to mention the chemistry between you two." Poppy tipped her head at you, smirking as she fanned herself. "I mean, wow."

You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from saying anything you'd regret. Your throat felt dry. If you heard one more 'wow' from any of their mouths in reference to James Potter again you thought you were going to lose it. You tried to keep the premonition out of your voice as you bravely asked, "So, do you think you're going to cast him?"

Minerva paused for a moment in thought before answering you. "I mean, he was the last actor we're considering for the role, and I think he was the best we've seen today." She looked between the two other casting directors who nodded agreeingly at her words. "But I'd like to know your thoughts."

You blinked at her. "My thoughts?"

"Well, yes," she answered plainly. "He's going to be playing your love interest. And I like to hear my actor's opinions."

You pursed your lips at her words, feeling flattered but also not knowing how you were feeling at the prospect of having to work with James all the time. Although, deep within you, something was nagging at you—something you absolutely did not like—and telling you your answer.

The truth was, the scene you acted out with James felt realer, had come to life more than it had with any of the other actors that day. Maybe it was because he'd taken such liberties with the role, sure, but regardless, he did a great job. The thought made you hate yourself when you finally took a breath in to speak.

"He ..." you began unsurely, and then sighed. "He was great. Really great."

"Perfect!" Minerva clapped her hands together again, and something in your stomach churned. "We'll make contact with him as soon as possible." Her eyes twinkled as she regarded you. "I can't wait to have you two leading South Bay. I have nothing but hope."

"And," Poppy added, "it'll be great for publicity having a Potter in our cast."

The two other directors at the table nodded and murmured in agreement, and you fought from sighing. You thought of the days you'd spend on set with James Potter, of all people, not only having to get along with him but connect with him, with someone who clearly thought they were above you, enough to reassure you when you had already gotten the lead role. And then you thought of what it would be like to release South Bay to the public, your first leading role, only for Potter's undeniably charming face to be the audience's main focus. It left a sour feeling in your mouth.

But it wasn't just that horrible premonition that annoyed you; you didn't know exactly what bugged you about him in particular but you knew it hadn't gone away with his formal handshake or well-practiced manners. In fact, that'd probably only worsened the feeling.

But there was nothing you could really do about it now. At least, not if you planned on keeping your job. You were a professional, you knew that. But that didn't mean it was going to be easy to maintain that title. You really did sigh then, and something rooted in your gut told you it was going to be a long year of shooting.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Dodge Challenger

This 1970 Dodge Challenger Has a Rare Feature You Probably Never Knew Existed

Introduced for the 1970 model year, the original Dodge Challenger was short-lived, being retired at the end of 1974. However, four years were enough for it to become an iconic nameplate. More than 50 years later and the first-generation Challenger is also a sought-after collectible.

With total production at almost 77,000 units, the 1970 Challenger is far from rare overall. Still, some versions are tricky to find nowadays. The HEMI variant is arguably the rarest at 356 examples made, including 60 cars fitted with the Special Edition package and only nine convertibles. The latter is rare in 440 and 440+6 guises, too, with only 163 and 99 units sold, respectively.

Conversely, the non-R/T cars are far more accessible, with about 56,000 units built. Interestingly enough, the base six-cylinder version is rarer at a little more than 10,000 examples. This leaves the non-R/T V8 cars as the most common, at 45,367 units. The list includes Challengers fitted with 318-, 340-, and two-barrel 383-cubic-inch (5.2, 5.6, 6.3-liter) mills.

Unfortunately, there's no production breakdown for each engine, so models fitted with them are usually considered mundane. But it's not always like that because some of these cars came with options that turned out to be rare. Like the Dark Burnt Orange example you see here, which carries the A66 340 Performance Package.

Available with the four-barrel version of the 340-cubic-inch V8 (less potent than the 3x2-barrel offered in the Challenger T/A), the bundle came with goodies such as Rallye wheels, heavy-duty brakes and suspension, wheel lip molding delete, and an R/T Performance hood. It's basically an R/T-like Challenger without a big-block engine.

So how rare are these A66-equipped Mopars? There are no specific figures to run by, but word has it only a few thousand units were ordered like this. But that's not the only thing that makes this Challenger rare. It's the fact that it's a very early A66 Performance Package model, a piece of info determined by the "340 four-barrel" decal on the hood.

You see, Dodge changed the decal to a metal badge after a few months, and the guy who restored this car claims it's a super-rare feature. Moreover, this Challenger was also fitted with a locking gas cap, yet another rare option from the 1970 model year. Too bad there are no records to determine how scarce this specific configuration is, but we're looking at fewer than ten units if we also include the color.

Rare features aside, this Challenger is also one of the very few classic muscle cars that have been in the same family since new. And as you might have already guessed, it got a rotisserie restoration a few years back. But it's still very original, down to numbers-matching body panels and drivetrain components. It's also proof that a Mopar doesn't necessarily need a 426 HEMI to stand out.

[so0thsayer]

Forest's calling | Halsin x afab!reader

As promised, this is the halsin romance scene written out and extended in my interpretation :3 (NOT THE BEAR OPTION) I'm sorry this took so long omg

Also! First time writing smut so... You've been warned lol

eat your young - hozier

WARNINGS: pure and uncontained horny, smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, a lil bit of biting and marking, badly proofread (I'm lazy)

Enjoyyy

You never thought you could ever catch the eye of someone as amazing as Halsin. But, here you are, a couple hours since Halsin's confession and proposition. Just the thought of it makes your stomach flip over itself and over again.

You walk through the quiet forest, following the path that leads close to the water. Hearing your own footsteps and crickets builds up the anxiety of anticipation, but you continue your venture.

As soon as your eyes come in contact with Halsin's large form, you release a small breath of relief. Just seeing him there, waiting for you with his hand pressed against the rough bark of the tree made your nerves disappear. The light of the moon illuminated his presence. He looked beautiful, tantalising and tender... surrounded by his element. Surrounded by nature.

As you take a few steps closer, Halsin turns his head to meet your gaze, his hand trailing down the bark as it comes to his side as his warm smile greets you.

"You came. I was concerned you might have had doubts. Or that this may have been all too soon..." He speaks in the usual calming and kind tone, but with a hint of doubt beneath it.

too soon? This couldn't be soon enough. You have silently craved him ever since you first became acquainted with him after saving him from that dingy goblin camp built up in an abandoned selunite temple.

"Put your doubts aside, Halsin." You coo. "I'm here."

His smile seems to grow slightly as he soaks in your reassuring words.

"Yes, you are. And you're perfect."

His words only add to the flame already blooming in your lower stomach.

"I’m almost frightened to touch you – if I give in, I may not be able to stop until I have devoured you." He admits with a confident smirk.

That sets all your senses aflame, pure lust and arousal coursing through your veins as you try to hold back a small gasp from how straight forward he was being.

"I trust you."

He smiles again, his eyes flicking down momentarily before returning to your face. "Never the less, I will be gentle."

Halsin is quick to disregard his clothing, quickly revealing his bare form to you. "Or at least, I will try."

Your eyes widen slightly as you gaze upon Halsin's naked body for the first time. Your eyes flick from his chest, his arms and stomach, and down to his large shaft. You quickly move your eyes back up to his face as you feel the heat rising in your cheeks, not wanting to be too greedy.

He quickly takes the few steps to press your bodies together, pulling you in by your waist and capturing your lips in a deep, passionate and long kiss. His tongue is quick to glide across your bottom lip, silently asking for access. As you part your lips, his tongue instantly collides with yours, twisting and dancing.

When this kiss slowly breaks, you take a few paced steps, moving behind a tree, gazing back at him with a cheeky grin. Halsin follows your steps, watching as you lift your shirt and remove all of your clothing.

"Just as nature intended." He pants lightly from anticipation as he looks at your form in its full, his eyes eagerly feasting upon the beauty of your naked body.

"Come here to me-" His words come out it a growl as his eyes start to glow a beautiful gold hue. He breathes deeply, seemingly trying to control himself. You gasp as you watch him, his body falling to all fours as the gold shimmer covers his tan skin, leaving behind the fur of a brown bear. His wildshape. When his new furry form takes over, he sits back, just looking at you with his head tilted slightly. It's all over in a minute, the familiar druidic glow returning as his humanoid form returns.

"Forgive me." He stands up again, a pleading look in his eyes. "I... lost the run of myself. Sometimes, if blood runs hot enough, it's difficult to tame the beast." He looks almost as if he's cursing at himself under his breath.

Your gaze never once judges him. You even found it quite flattering that you could have such an effect on the big hunk of an elf. And when you tell him that while welcoming him back to you, he smiles gratefully.

"I need no further encouragement."

He is quick to grab your waist again, spinning you both around and pushing your back against a tree as he kisses you deeply once again. After a short moment of having your lips connected, he pulls away, eyes never leaving your face as he slowly kneels in front of you. He trails in mouth over your torso lightly, venturing down while never breaking eye contact with you. As he reaches his destination, he waits a few seconds, seeing if you had any objections. When he gets the all clear, he grabs your thigh and hooks your leg over his firm, muscular shoulder before delving into your arousal. You gasp and rest your head back against the tree, his tongue skilfully caressing every sensitive part your body has to offer. When your hand finds his hair, he takes the initiative to slide one of his thick digits into your dripping entrance.

You almost choke on your own moan as your body eagerly takes his finger in, the pleasure coursing through you feeling border line too much. When he's sure you've adjusted to his thick finger, he adds a second, causing your back to arch off the tree.

"Halsin-" You gasp.

He hums against your clit, the vibrations making you go insane. You hold back from the urge to grind your hips for more friction. He slowly starts to move his fingers inside of you, making you squirm. His free hand grips your hip tightly, keeping you still and grounded. As he pumps his fingers in and out of you, his tongue occasionally travels down to where his fingers preform his ministrations, tasting your pleasure and savouring it like the last drop of honey in all the realms.

You can feel your climax start to approach you, but you can tell you wont last much longer when you feel Halsin's fingers curl within you.

You gasp, gripping his hair tighter, your other hand coming to cover your mouth. You feel your insides clench around his fingers, your orgasm washing over you in an intense wave of pure ecstasy.

He groans as he feels your nails dig into his scalp, the prick of pain only encouraging him more as he helps you through your climax.

He takes his fingers out of you, a small whine escaping your lips at the absence. He looks up at you with passion, licking his fingers clean of your essence, never breaking eye contact. You feel a shiver roll up your whole body as you try not to let yourself go limp and collapse from the intensity of it all.

He slowly rises, panting softly while his hands return to the the soft skin of your waist yet again.

"More?"

He nuzzles his face into your neck, kissing it tenderly before nipping at the skin softly. You feel yourself surrender entirely within that moment. You are comfortable in his arms, loved, and utterly spoilt in his embrace. His lips find your throat as he guide you to the forest floor, hovering above your body and crawling over you, thighs on either side of you while still attacking your neck.

You can feel him sucking and marking your sensitive skin, kissing and licking the hickeys and light teeth marks he left behind.

He pulls back, leaning back on his knees, gazing down at you. His eyes are filled with adoration, like he was seeing a goddess for the first time. You feel the blush creep over your cheeks a little as his eyes scan your every feature before his chuckles light at your reaction, diving back in and meeting you lips.

"Are you ready for me?" He murmurs against your mouth.

When you nod he smiles tenderly, stroking your cheek before cupping the side of your face.

"If, at any moment, you feel as if you need to stop or I'm being to rough, you will tell me straight away, understood?"

His stern but loving tone only makes you want him more. The way he cared for you made your heart and walls flutter. You give another nod, anticipating whatever the rest of the night may hold.

He positions himself between your legs, rubbing your thighs softly after he sits them around his hips. He intertwines one of his hands with yours, pinning it beside your head as he holds his cock with his other.

He slides the tip through your folds and groans, feeling your wetness while the sensation makes you bite the inside of your mouth.

His gaze flicks to your face, watching as he slowly feeds his cock to your entrance, one inch at a time. You squeeze your eyes shut, his dick stretching you to accommodate his size.

After what feels like an eternity, you both let out a noise of pleasurable relief as he finally bottoms out, both of you squeezing each other's hand tighter.He gives you a minute to adjust to him fully, still watching your expression closely, looking for any visible discomfort.

"Gods,... That's it. Good~.." He groans, slowly pulling his hips back until only the tip remains, before sheathing himself inside you once again. Your small moans and gasps were making it increasingly difficult for him to stick to his word and be gentle.

He picks up the pace, rolling his hips while trying to find the angle that brings you the most pleasure. And when he sees the way you arch your head into the grass, he smiles to himself, knowing he's found it.

The way you grip his shoulders makes him insane, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His teeth trace your skin, making you lace your fingers into his hair, silently begging for more.

He let out a low noise before nipping and eventually sinking his teeth into the plush skin, his hips starting to pick up speed from the excitement.

You mewl, your free hand traveling down his muscular back, the tendons in your hand stretching over his skin and tightening.

"you're beautiful." He grunts. "So, so beautiful..."

His tongue licks the teeth marks he left behind, soothing the throbbing ache. He moves to your shoulder, sucking, hard.

You clench tightly around him, making his hips stutter for a second. Your sweet sounds fill his ears and the forest around you. He gets off to the idea of being surrounded by such a natural place while fucking you. Just as nature intended, of course.

As your moans deepen, so does he, pushing as deep as he can, craving and needing more of you. The passion can be seen in his eyes as he looks down at you, bareing his teeth while looking down at your face contorting with pleasure.

As you lock eyes with him, your insides flutter, your orgasm approaching. He can feel it before you even say anything.

"halsin-" you pant, trying to form your words.

"I know, my heart. You're doing so well..." His words sooth your through the overwhelming sensations as you try to calm your breathing.

As your body finally snaps, giving in to the waves of extreme pleasure, halsin groans loudly, his pace becoming erratic as he gets the go ahead to finally let go.

His body stills, then twitches a little, letting his balls spill into you.

You both let out a relieved sigh, back Ng in the after glow.

"By the Oak Father, you are perfect. It's hard to believe I managed to keep my hands off of you until now."

You chuckle, feeling the same way about him.

He rolls off of you, holding you close. As you look up to where the leaves cradle the sky, you can only imagine what your future holds with him.

Creds to @kodaswrld for the borders :3

Halsin pic edited by me

Masterlist

Sorry about the rushed end, I yet again accidentally posted it instead of saving it to my drafts.... And for some reason you can't send it back to your drafts or copy the whole thing to your clipboard. So I just left it and quickly made up something lol

I hope you know I was laughing at myself writing this the whole time gn

Lemme know if you want more stuff like this in the future :3

[lostreverb]

nighttime reading

(dad!peter maximoff x fem!reader) in where your husband's on night duty and runs into a bit of trouble trying to prep a bottle...

content: fluff (idk that's really it), daughter's name is luna b/c uhm canon ig!, might ooc or like lack of character idk I'm not great a writing peter aha..

a/n: started this WIP a while ago but the evanverse discord gave me the inspo to finish it so this is for them LOL

--

3 AM. once again the baby monitor fires up, the shrieking wails of your newborn waking you. you begin to instinctively rise from your laying position with a groan. you get about halfway up before your husband peter wraps a toned arm around you, pulling you back in.

"nggh... babe..." you protest his affections with irritated whines, knowing you need to be tending to your daughter right now not cuddling (as much as you wanted to).

peter lets out a low hum and peppers your face with soft kisses. you try to fight the impending slumber but your eyes begin to flutter through his attempts to coax you back to sleep.

"i've got'er..." he mumbles into your hair, giving you one last squeeze before getting out of bed himself and trudging across the way to the nursery.

"alright, kiddo work with me tonight we've gotta let your mama get some rest..." peter turns the soft light lamp on, walking over to the crib he so awesomely built without reading the instructions (by far one of his greatest achievements... aside from creating his daughter of course).

he leans over to see the 2 month old's tiny and delicate body tense as she cries, hands gripped in small tight fists.

with a gentle touch, he lifts luna from the crib, cradling her securely in his arms. he rocks her softly, bouncing slightly on his feet.

for a moment, the cries soften, and peter breathes a quiet sigh of relief. but then she lets out another sharp wail, a hungry, insistent cry that lets him know she’s not going to be easily soothed tonight.

peter heads downstairs with her, still adjusting to this slower way of moving. normally, he’d zip around the house at inhuman speed, but with a newborn, that’s a no-go. for the past couple months, he’s been learning to slow down for her—taking the stairs, walking instead of zooming. he’d even forced himself to learn to drive. slowing down had sucked, but for his two favorite girls he’d do anything.

in the kitchen, he opens the fridge and sighs when he realizes the last bottle is gone. all that’s left is frozen breast milk, and luna’s cries tell him that waiting for it to defrost isn’t an option. no way is he waking you up either. it’ll have to be formula.

peter opens a cabinet and grabs the formula container, peering at the label and trying to remember the steps you’d shown him. he squints at the tiny font, racking his brain. “uh… powder or water first? shit, i can’t remember…you don’t happen to remember, do you?”

he chuckles and glances down at luna his expressioin shifting when he sees her little face red and frustrated. a pang of guilt hits peter. he should’ve paid more attention when you taught him. “sorry, baby girl. i know. don’t worry, i’ll figure it out.”

he squints at the label again, bringing it close to his face. the letters on the label were pretty much illegible to his eyes, no matter how close he brought the container to them. “stupid tiny words…” he mutters. “your old man’s getting old, luna…”

peter huffs, finally accepting the inevitable, and heads to the bathroom. reaching into the bottom drawer, he pulls out a small glasses case he’s been hiding from you. using his free hand he brings the glasses up and flips them open using his mouth to slip them on. he hates how he looks in them and hates how they feel on his face, but damn... he really needed them. he stares down at the canister, finally able to read the label and prepares the bottle carefully, determined to get it right for her. no more bsing the things he couldn't read.

as he finally settles into the couch with luna nestled in his arms, feeding her the bottle he’s made, he finds himself gazing at her small face. for the first time, he can clearly see every detail—the curve of her cheeks, the faint little dimples, the perfect mix of both of you in her delicate features.

“i’m holding the most beautiful girl in the world in my arms… did you know that?” he whispers softly. luna’s innocent, unfocused eyes meet his, and she keeps suckling, making him chuckle. “ahh, i’m sure you know. your parents aren’t too bad-looking either, huh?”

“looks like i’ve been demoted from my title,” you say with a sleepy smile as you step into the kitchen. “rightfully so… she’s pretty cute.”

“she is…” peter agrees, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “but babe, you should be sleeping”

“just needed some water,” you say, moving to the sink and filling a glass.

he nods, watching you as you sip, your gaze shifting to the open formula container and his glasses, still perched on his nose. “couldn’t read the label?”

"uh- well- yeah... how did you-"

“the glasses,” you both say at the same time, sharing a laugh.

“i actually like them on you,” you say with a smirk. “honestly, it’s… kind of hot.”

peter, well aware of his bedhead, the beginnings of stubble, and his deep set eyebags, laughs. “I think you need more sleep.”

“well, maybe,” you say with a yawn. “but hey before I head back up.. I just wanted to tell you... I’m proud of you. I know you feel lost sometimes with little luna and me, but you’re doing a great job, babe. you’re a good dad.”

hearing your words, peter feels the weight of his self doubt lighten. becoming a parent scared the shit out of him, especially since he didn't really have a father figure to go off on. but hearing this from you, he feels a rush of gratitude and relief.

when you finish your drink, he takes your glass, setting it aside as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “go get some rest...”

you press a soft kiss to his lips, squeezing him in a quick hug before leaning down to gently stroke luna’s head. then you head upstairs. peter watches you go, smiling to himself, then looks down at his daughter with a chuckle.

“hey, luna,” he whispers, stroking her cheek. “you okay with your old man looking like a grandpa?”

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns @evanbabybear @melsimps

[orteil42]

Between the recent custom buttons post with the pipe bomb and the gamification post with the post -deleting boss fight I'm starting to get absolutely feral over the idea of you making a social media platform.

The companies that run the current options are cowards.

i would honestly love to give it a crack and were i younger and sillier i think i probably would. unfortunately by now i've become a bit too aware that creating a social media website is one of those nightmare projects that is guaranteed to be 500 times more work and trouble than you initially expect, and if i get into that i'd never have time for anything else. i'd also have to deal with hiring an actual team and be an actual company instead of just some guy who codes in his bedroom. and then let's say maybe the website takes off and we get a few thousands of active users. after a while our uptime becomes terrible; people can't log in, posts won't load. tech sites are starting to make fun of us. we have to grow, get bigger servers, hire more people. eventually i'd have to confront the fact that despite my cute take on monetization our social media isn't recouping the growing server expenses and our seed money is drying up and people at the office are starting to bang at my door to get paid. do i pull the plug and throw away everything we've built so far? likely not, even my own ego aside there's too many people's livelihoods on the line. other folks on the team are motivated to make this work, and a feedback loop forms where we start to ever-so-slightly readjust our values if it means we get to survive another quarter. i get more cynical; our ad slots are more and more intrusive, our monetization strategy gets shiftier and more aggressive. we accept funding from less and less savory entities. we start collecting user data beyond simple telemetry. if we've gotten big enough by that point, we may choose to restructure and begin taking on shareholders. this is a deal with the devil, and we now have a fiduciary duty to play nasty and treat our userbase like livestock in order to secure short-term profit. we can't just stop accepting new users; continued growth demands that we throw away what's left of our ethics to accommodate the gargantuan swaths of money that hundreds of thousands of database calls per second require. those of us who disagree with the new direction are gradually nudged away from positions of power. me, i've either been kicked out of my own project a while back or i've adapted to become someone i would've despised a few years prior. this is all assuming the website didn't crash and burn a few months after launch from either my technical shortcomings or my inexperience with management, or maybe just because our site ended up being too niche to really snowball. it is fun to think about tho!

[the-reader-insert-gazette]

Pretending? Not This Time - F!Reader x Sunday

Featured Column - Honkai Star Rail

They agreed to act like a couple for the sake of a mission. Neither of them ever said when the performance was supposed to end after the mission was over.

✒️ Word Count: 2895 🏷️ Relevant Tags: Nameless!Sunday | Pretend Relationship Turned Not-So Pretend | Convincing Fake Couple | Non-Canon Planet Setting

Happy Easter to those who celebrate!

They were barely off the platform when Sunday laced their fingers together.

[Name] didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance over. Didn’t even pause in her stride.

But he felt the flicker.

A quiet shift in her grip. A precise, controlled breath drawn in through her nose. And then, as if nothing at all had changed, her thumb idly brushed along his knuckles like it had always belonged there.

Convincing. That was the point.

Not too convincing, though.

The trail to Kshira Vitra IX was still fresh. The Stellaron on this planet hadn’t gone rogue, it was being used. And somehow, it all led to a couples retreat posing as spiritual healing, where the guests were being used as test subjects.

'Couples only. No unbonded attendees allowed. Peace, love, and gentle detoxification.' read the poster

The most reliable intel had come from inside, which was the issue. Or, more accurately, it had required them to go inside.

And the only way to do that?

“Confirmed partnership. A relationship, or binding emotional connection. Cohabitation optional, but recommended. Our guests must be in union with another.”

Dan Heng had blinked at the screen as he read the attendee requirements, dry as ever. “So we need a couple.”

“Or people who can pretend to be one,” Himeko added.

Sunday had turned his head slowly toward [Name]. He didn’t even smile. He just tilted his head, just enough for his gold earring to catch the light.

“We could try.”

And for reasons [Name] would blame on stress, caffeine, and not enough sleep that week, she agreed,

“All right.”

The place was… over the top. Marble columns polished to mirror-like shine. Silk drapes and vines from every corner. Low, dreamlike music piping through warm-lit halls. But it was the staff that made her wary, they were too helpful, too curated, always drifting just close enough to listen.

To top it all off, their suite had one bed.

Of course.

She threw her bag into the wardrobe and pretended not to see Sunday observing the space with the mild interest of a man measuring a stage.

He wandered toward the balcony doors. Opened them just slightly.

Then, with the same calm cadence that made him so difficult to read at times, he said, “We’ll be watched. Everything from posture to tone. They’re gauging our chemistry.”

“I know,” [Name] murmured, setting her coat aside. “I read the field brief. We only have a few days.”

He turned. Leaned his shoulder against the glass.

“And in that time, we need to convince a facility built on intimate trust that we’re genuinely close.” A pause. “Would it help if I touched you now and then?”

She raised a brow. “If you have to ask, you’re not convincing enough.”

He smiled at that, one of the rare ones that reached his eyes, and stepped closer. “Duly noted.”

They were absurdly good at this.

It should’ve been a performance. It was a performance. That was the whole point. But there were no lines to rehearse. No script to follow. Just Sunday pressing a kiss to her temple when the attendant passed by, [Name] curling her hand into the fabric of his coat while they strolled past a fountain, and him drawing lazy circles on her back while lounging in a sunroom with other guests.

“Your partner looks at you like you hung the stars,” said a softly smiling woman in one of their detox seminars.

[Name] didn’t miss a beat. “He just really likes stars.”

Sunday followed suit, speaking at the same time as [Name]'s deflection, “Only because she reminds me of them.”

Later that day, alone, she asked, “Was that really necessary?”

He didn’t look up from the fruit he was slicing. “There was an attendant in the hallway. The camera’s disguised in the chandelier.” A beat. “You do remind me of them, though.”

Of course he said it like that. Lightly. Carelessly. As if her face hadn’t gone a little warm, and his fingers hadn’t lingered an extra second brushing hers when he handed over the plate.

She was already tired of holding her breath by the next evening.

They were doing too well. The system flagged them as exemplary. Their rapport was “soothing to observe.” A guest counselor asked them to share their “ritual of connection” in a group session.

[Name] nearly choked.

Sunday didn’t miss a beat. “Each night, we set aside fifteen minutes for recalibration. No distractions. Just honesty.”

“Even when you're frustrated?” someone asked.

“Especially then,” [Name] said, crossing her arms.

Sunday tilted his head toward her, amused. “Would you like to recalibrate now?”

She kicked his ankle under the table.

Later, when they were alone again, she asked quietly, “Is it easy for you?”

“What is?”

“This. Pretending. Touching. Saying the things you say.”

He looked at her for a long moment. The moonlight spilled in behind him, catching the edge of his halo.

“No,” he said. “It’s not.”

The words were quiet, but not guarded. Not a defense. They sat in the space between them like something half-carved—real, but unfinished.

[Name] leaned against the balcony rail, arms folded, her gaze angled downward toward the glimmer of the artificial lake. From here, the facility looked flawless. Uniform. Tranquil. A latticework of glass and light pretending it had nothing to hide.

But they’d seen enough by now to know better.

Guests murmuring about dreams they never experienced before. Reflections that didn’t quite match. Moments that felt like memories, but weren’t theirs to begin with. And no matter how gently the staff smiled or how warm the handwoven blankets were, there was something pulling beneath it all.

Like the world itself was smoothing out its edges—sanding them down until no one could tell what they used to be.

She closed her eyes briefly. “You’re good at it, though.”

“At pretending?” he asked, stepping up beside her.

“At making it feel like it isn’t,” she said.

That earned a breath of a smile, genuine, quiet, a little lopsided. “I’ve had a lot of practice giving people what they want to hear. I used to believe it was kindness.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.” His voice dropped slightly. “But not when it keeps them asleep.”

The wind shifted just then, soft and strange and carrying a scent that reminded her of pressed leaves and lavender oil, comfort meant to mask. [Name] glanced up at him, noting how the breeze barely moved the edge of his coat. Even now, there was something unshakeable about him. As if the world bent around his stillness.

Yet he was quieter tonight. Not just in words, but in the way he carried himself. Like whatever part of him that had needed to be the poised face of a system no longer had reason to be.

“We’re almost done here,” she said. “Once we hand off the notes, someone else can come in and finish the job.”

Sunday nodded. “Himeko will want it cleaned up by the book. March’ll turn it into a heartfelt rescue op.”

[Name] snorted. “Dan Heng will say it’s inefficient.”

“And still end up leading it.”

They shared a smile, brief but familiar. Like they'd known each other longer than they had. Maybe it was just the forced intimacy, or maybe something real had threaded its way through the act without either of them noticing when.

“Do you ever think about what happens after?” [Name] asked.

“After what?”

“All of this.” She gestured faintly—to the suite, the mission, the pretend-softness of it all. “When it’s not part of the assignment anymore.”

He looked at her then, not as Sunday the reformed heir, or the Dreamweaver-turned-passenger—but just as someone standing beside her, watching stars that didn’t belong to either of them.

“I think about it more than I should.”

[Name] let that sit.

And when she turned to go back inside, she didn’t let go of his hand.

The next morning, the system upgraded them.

“Model partnership,” said the message in their shared inbox. “Congratulations. You’ve both been selected to lead this evening’s Fireside Surrender Ritual. Your continued presence enhances the harmony of the retreat.”

[Name] groaned into her pillow.

“Tell me that’s optional,” she muttered.

Sunday, halfway through buttoning his shirt, just glanced over his shoulder. “Optional in the same way gravity is.”

“Fantastic.”

Still, they played the part. Led guided affirmations beneath an artificial sunset. Offered thin slices of candied lotus root to other couples as symbols of vulnerability. Sunday took her hand in his, eyes trained on hers with all the gentle reverence of someone who hadn’t been raised to perform it.

And when he leaned in and touched his forehead to hers briefly, just enough, it was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.

No one told them to do that.

No one was suspicious though either.

Their final report was nearly finished by the time they returned to the suite.

[Name] laid out her last few transcribed logs, most of them referencing altered perception and dream-shifting patterns that couldn’t be explained by simple suggestion. Sunday cross-referenced them against the cognitive fade maps he'd built, patterns of thought dissolution tracked from other guests' accounts.

“This doesn’t look like traditional manipulation,” she said. “There’s… something recursive about it. Like the dreams are feeding on each other.”

“And strengthening with each new participant,” he added. “It’s beautiful, in a way.”

“That’s one word for it, regret not scheming that yourself way back when?”

He glanced at her with an unamused expression, then back at the projection. “No, I've learned my lesson... Well, if it's not beautiful, then what would you call it?”

She hesitated, thinking for a moment.

“Honestly? Lonely.”

That surprised him. He didn’t speak for a while after that. Just reached out to draw a line between two nodes on the display.

They were close enough now that their arms brushed when they leaned forward.

When [Name] turned slightly, her shoulder settled against his. He didn’t move away.

“You never really stop missing it, do you?” she asked.

“The Dreamscape?”

“That, and being looked at like you know all the answers.”

He hummed, not quite agreement, not quite denial. “I’ve found better things to be now.”

She tilted her head toward him. “Like?”

He met her gaze. “Something that doesn’t need to be believed to still be honest.”

She paused for moment before her voice dropped to a murmur. “You’re not pretending right now, are you?”

“I haven’t been for a while.”

The air between them turned still.

Not in the fragile way that begged to be broken, but in the kind that lingered, aware of its own weight. A breath held just before the plunge. The light from the room’s wall panels had dimmed to a soft gold, bathing the space in that fake-sunset warmth the facility loved to simulate. It should’ve felt artificial.

It didn’t.

[Name] exhaled slowly, like the admission had settled something behind her ribs she hadn’t realized needed it. Sunday hadn’t moved, but he was watching her the way he sometimes looked at constellations—measuring, quiet, reverent in a way she never knew how to take. She turned her eyes back to the table, to the projection still hovering between them, half-finished now.

But the mission felt… far away.

“You’re going to say something charming again,” she said finally, tone dry, “and I’m going to pretend it didn’t get to me.”

“No,” he said softly. “Not this time.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t fill the moment with some veiled metaphor or brush her hand with his thumb or tilt his head like it was all part of the performance. He just sat there. With her.

It made her nervous in a way battles never had.

She reached for one of the marked notes, any excuse to look down, but her fingers grazed his instead. He didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

Not even after a beat.

He let the contact rest there, simple and undemanding, like he was offering something without putting it into words. And that scared her more than anything he could’ve said aloud.

Because it meant it was real.

Because it meant she had to choose whether to let it be or make something or it.

[Name] cleared her throat. “We’re off-shift now.”

“Yes,” Sunday said.

“You can stop… all of this. The handholding. The looks. The... lingering.”

“I could.”

“But... neither of us want that... do we?"

His expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened.

“No, I think not.”

She didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward, closed the last of her notes, and reached for the projection. It dimmed with a quiet blink. The task was done.

And still, his hand hadn’t left hers.

[Name] looked down at their fingers, then up at him.

“You don’t know what this means,” she said, not unkindly.

“I don’t need to,” he replied.

Something in him had shifted, and it wasn’t just the role he’d chosen to shed. It was the way he waited. Open, steady. Letting her decide how to meet him there.

[Name] didn’t lean in all at once.

It wasn’t planned or practiced. It just happened slowly, naturally, the way a tide meets the shore. No hesitation. No dramatics. Just her fingers brushing the side of his face, and then her lips finding his.

It was soft and more real than anything they’d rehearsed these past few days.

He breathed her name into the space between them like a secret, one he wasn’t asking her to echo, just hold.

And she did.

When they finally parted, it wasn’t because the moment faltered. It was because it didn’t.

Because it could’ve gone further, lingered longer, turned into something they weren’t ready to touch just yet.

Her forehead rested lightly against his.

Sunday smiled, but it was tired around the edges. Not from her, never from her, but from the knowing. The weight of responsibility that tugged just outside the warmth.

“We should finish the final pass,” she murmured. “Get the last of the logs prepped before our window closes.”

“I know.”

His hand slid from her cheek, down to her wrist, just a brush of his thumb before he let go.

[Name] stood first. She didn’t rush. She didn’t look back right away either.

But she felt the way he moved behind her, quiet as ever, yet more solid now. Grounded, not because of the persona he'd worn before, but because something about that kiss had made him more certain. More here.

When she reached the terminal, she glanced over her shoulder.

Sunday was already at the interface, syncing the last of the flagged dream patterns into a clean relay.

He didn’t say anything, but he caught her looking and offered a small nod.

No need for anything else.

For now, they had work to do.

The retreat eventually came to an end.

No sudden alarms, no masked escape. Just a soft chime at dawn and a courteous message: We hope your journey toward inner peace continues wherever the stars may lead you.

The bags they’d never really unpacked were waiting at the door. The same attendant who’d checked them in offered a perfumed cloth and a serene smile as she led them toward the shuttle bay.

And still—still—they walked hand in hand.

It wasn’t for surveillance anymore. The surveillance had stopped yesterday. [Name] had personally traced the last of the internal eyes and flagged the outermost nodes.

But Sunday still curled his fingers around hers as they moved through the garden courtyard. He still placed his hand lightly at the small of her back as she climbed the shuttle ramp. She still leaned into his side on the descent, eyes closed for a moment longer than necessary.

It wasn’t habit. Not really. Habits were unconscious. This was choice. Quiet and deliberate.

And neither of them were the type to say so aloud.

When the transport finally docked at the Express, the crew didn’t comment, though March gave them both a very long look and mouthed something exaggerated as they passed. [Name] ignored it.

Sunday didn’t. He gave the faintest nod in March’s direction. Acknowledgment without explanation.

Inside, everything looked exactly the same. Same worn rugs. Same hum of the engine underfoot. Same quiet between departures.

But as they moved down the corridor, shoulders just brushing, she realized something had shifted.

They weren’t walking apart anymore.

They weren’t measuring the distance or angling their bodies just right for appearance.

They were close. Effortlessly so.

And when they reached the cross-section where their quarters split, [Name] paused—not to correct course, not out of confusion. Just to look at him.

Sunday stopped too.

They hadn’t said what came next. Not in detail. Not out loud. But he reached up, tugged lightly at the edge of her coat as if to straighten it and then left his hand there.

“I’ll finish the final analysis,” he said, voice low. “Pull the relay logs before sending them over to Himeko.”

She nodded. “I’ll clean up the rest of the behavioral data. There’s some drift in the patterning I want to map before it’s archived.”

They stood like that for a breath. Two.

Then she added, almost as an afterthought:

“My door’s open. Later.”

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled that quiet, sure kind of smile that didn’t need performance behind it.

“I know.”

And then they went their separate ways.

For now.

The intention was to post this yesterday for ya know, Easter Sunday--but then the Ottawa Senators lost and I just couldn't (yes, I am Canadian).