#wanderer artefacts

[primofate]

i'm trying to motivate myself to farm his bis set but it's honestly really hard (ar 59, burnt out as hell). That and I don't really have a team comp built around bloom reactions so it's not as efficient.

Also the information I give below is my personal suggestion, also gotten from several guides I've followed.

As of now, I'd recommend a mix of any of the 2-pieces between the ones that give +15% anemo damage bonus and +18% atk, or 4 piece shimenawa, if you don't mind not having his burst up as much. Obviously the newest one is the best for him but ya girl's tired™ with artifact farming so he'll take what he can get for now.

For weapons, aside from his signature, all of the 5-star catalysts with atk/crit substats can work for him (kagura's, lost prayer, skyward atlas). 4 stars include the dodoco tales, the widsith, solar pearl, and mappa mare—the blackcliff catalyst works too but it's not as viable.

The team comps... Imma be honest with you, mine is also clunky. It's recommended that you have a good shielder because he's super vulnerable to getting interrupted— i haven't tried him out for abyss because I don't have a good comp for him, and also because faruzan never came home (plus apparently she's only good at c6) so his damage isn't like floor 12 clear worthy just yet. One team comp I wanted to try is double pyro + anemo with venti, bennett and ideally thoma for the shield, but I don't have thoma built 💀 there are others like a taser team with a hydro character + two electro ones (ex. Fischl + beidou), but again, ideally he needs a shield and I don't have beidou built either. Another is freeze with layla, but I don't have her. I have diona built but her shield isn't as strong.

TL;DR I don't have a solid group recommendation, sorry ;-;

Anyway yeah, here's my take on his builds. You can probably find tons of these in the internet already, anyways. Sorry for rambling in your inbox!

I'm going to ramble as well! Haha!

Weapon wise I managed to get his signature so I'm alright with that.

I'm gunna put a keep reading on here so it's not too long

Artefacts...Well, just like you it'll take some time to farm the new domain so I've slapped a 4pc Viridescent on him for now. But also I don't really know if I want the new artefact on him, I know it's the ideal one but I think Viridescent is better for elemental reactions and I love playing with that (except that I don't even have much proper elemental reactions with his current team comp, lol. So I'm still going to farm for the new artefact)

I also wanted to do double pyro with benny and thoma but just like you my thoma isn't built and I don't think I really want to build him if he's not a very flexible team player (e.g. If I can't put him in other teams I'm not gunna bother) So my current team for Scara right now is Yunjin (for the Normal Attack and Attack Speed buff) + Zhongli (for the shield) so that gives me double Geo with 15% damage increase and the last character I usually switch it in and out depending on what elemental reaction I want plus the talent effect on Scaramouche. The problem with this team comp is that it doesn't really play a lot with elemental reactions hahaha it just seems very limited, but it works, since my Yunjin and Zhongli has been properly built since forever and they are very flexible characters. Much like you I've been constantly looking at other shielders though, to at least get a non-geo character to be a shield (I always feel like putting a Geo in an anemo forward team is a waste but I don't have a lot of choices at the moment haha)

True that there are a lot of online guides but most of them rely on Faruzan! That and they almost always assume that we have all the characters built and don't really mix and match a lot of diff characters so its nice to hear what others have!

I'm surprised you didn't get Faruzan tho! Haha.... I C6ed her before I even got Scaramouche...I guess he was being real stubborn, lost my 50-50 to Diluc before I got him but eh, I like Diluc.

Thanks for your time! :D

[aliienloart]

Kuni 🤍

[anemou]

“You seem familiar.. but I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Hiiii, I loveeeee ur work ❤️

I was thinking about a head cannon of how some of the mw2 characters (ghost, soap, König, etc) would react to their partner sending them a nude photo?👀👀👀

Sorry if you did this already but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tho cuz I definitely would have read it already 😭

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Special™ Photo from Their S/O

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Non-Specific/Explicit Implications of Smut, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You', Singular Mention of Graves Throwing Himself off a Cliff, Dominant! MW2, Submissive! MW2, Dominant! Reader, Submissive! Reader, Profanity, etc.

Ghost

He will literally stare bug-eyed at the picture you’ve sent him like 👁️O👁️

Since it’s a physical photograph, he keeps it on him like a chapstick, which is to say all the time.

He isn’t risking ANYONE besides himself seeing it.

And when he’s about to embark on a mission, he keeps it tucked into his vest right where his heart is so that it’s practically part of him.

He likes to think that, somehow, you can hear – feel – his heart beating, know that he’s still alive and fighting so that he can come home and see you.

And when he returns from a mission and goes to his quarters, he has some…alone time.

You know, to really study the picture.

Not that he doesn’t know every curve and edge of your body already.

But that doesn't stop him growling your name into the pillow as he rocks against it, a hole cut into the bottom of it – a poor imitation of you.

A makeshift lover.

If anyone ends up seeing that picture – if they stole it from him, if by some act of God (because that’s what it’ll take) it slipped out of his vest or pocket – they are in for a World of Pain™.

There won’t be a time they won’t flinch upon hearing Ghost’s name, or when they see his shadow like an omen on the wall as he commandeers the halls. Prowling.

He’d feel pretty guilty about someone else seeing you how he does, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

So he’s definitely going to make it up to you when he gets back <3

König

His heart can’t take this kind of torment.

He’ll be looking down at his phone, the image of you burning into his skin like a holy artefact.

He definitely gets more jumpy around people when he has his phone on him.

Will literally clam up and shove it into the deepest recesses of his pocket if someone comes too close.

Even when your picture is safely stored behind a password-protected photo album.

He has to excuse himself from training or other commitments whenever his mind wanders back to you, and subsequently that image (which is basically all the time).

Sometimes he calls you while he’s sorting himself out.

He just needs to hear your voice – to feel closer to you.

It’s the only way he can finish.

“Engel,” he rasps, his breath stuttering, “I need you,”

And everyone just looks at him like he’s grown a third eye when he returns because, unbeknownst to him, König can’t keep quiet, and everyone who has never heard even a peep from him is suddenly aware of the carnality that lies beneath his skin, wired into his soul.

And at the centre is his love for you, boundless and overflowing so that the rest of his teammates know it, too.

Not that they mind all too much.

They all sit and think that you must be one beautiful person to evoke such a response from König.

Soap

Will tease you back.

Sends a mirror pic of him in a tight black shirt, saying something like ‘You’ll see the rest when I get home.’

Is absolutely ravenous when it comes to you.

No cap, goes absolutely ham in the shower when the image of you in nothing flashes in his mind.

His low moans are enough of a warning for the rest of the 141 to stay away for the next half an hour or so.

Aside from that, he’ll just look at the picture because he finds you beautiful.

Stares at it while he’s in bed. Laments on how much he misses you ☹️.

He’s counting down the days until he can see you again, and with each that passes, he can feel your silhouette becoming tangible in his hands, as if you were stepping out of the photo.

Sometimes, he dreams that you’re there with him, nestled between his arms.

Other times the dreams are a little more…graphic.

But Johnny can’t help it.

He just can’t contain himself when it comes to you.

Valeria

If you thought her violent tendencies could never extend to you, prepare to be amazed.

The second this woman sees what you’re trying to do – or, rather, what she thinks you’re trying to do – she is not happy.

You could have sent that image with the purest (within reason) of intentions; just letting Valeria know that you miss her, wishing her a good day – whatever.

What she sees is you trying to manipulate her by using your body as an instrument of destruction.

Dramatic, yes. But Valeria has never been one to take chances.

She’ll be deceptively calm over text: ‘Don’t tease me, Darling. You know what happens when you do.’

All day, all she can see is that image.

Whenever she turns a corner, you’re there; whenever she’s talking to someone, you’re peering at her over their shoulder; when she’s alone, you’re sat with her – on her – trying to take her attention away from her paperwork.

Redemption is a baseless concept when Valeria returns home that evening.

You will not know rest until she’s done with you.

Price

“Fuckin’ Hell, Love,” he’ll say, the darkness hanging on his voice tangible even through the voice note.

“What’ve you been up to while I’ve been away, hmm ?”

Will not rest until he knows he’s got you hot and bothered.

This entails him sending increasingly risqué images of himself; first, just one of him flexing, his arms thick and crawling with veins.

The next is of his shirt raised just below his chest, the dim light of the room keeping enough of him shrouded that his identity is unknown to all but you, his wide silhouette taking up most of the picture.

And, if you decide to be resilient against his attempts to make you feel as you have him, you’ll receive a series of menacing messages.

‘Don’t get too comfortable, Angel’, he’ll say.

‘You never know when I’ll come through that door–’

He grins as he sees you’ve read his message, hanging on his every word.

‘And ravage you.’

And you know he means it, too.

Meanwhile, he’s multitasking; keeping a clear, professional head and giving orders while resisting the primal urge to drop everything and find you.

And no amount of pleading or tears will spare you from his wrath when he returns.

Horangi

Regardless of how well the military life trained his self-discipline, nothing can dampen the sheer need Horangi feels whenever he receives a special picture from you.

I’m talking: he will literally sit in silence for ten minutes because he’s got a raging issue he needs to take care of but can’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Will thunder down the hall to the nearest bathroom when the meeting’s over and take out his frustrations there.

When he calls, you’d better pick up the first time.

If you don’t, you’ll have Hell to pay when gets home.

“Baby,” he breathes down the phone, the fog already making his mind frost over, his body burning up.

“What have you done to me–”

These brief encounters are the only thing keeping him sane while he’s away; they make him feel closer to you.

And, repaying you in kind, he returns one night, in the silence of the moon hours.

He finds you, pulls you to him, clutching on tight as you begin to wake.

And, between delirium and consciousness, his voice is all you can hear.

“Shouldn’t have tested me, Sweetheart,” he says, whispering as though partaking in a secret.

“Now I’m going to have to challenge you.” His arms are snakes as they constrict you.

“Fall asleep before I’m done with you, and I promise there will be no end to your suffering.”

Alejandro

Teasing a man as passionate as Alejandro is not going to end well for everyone involved.

Expect to receive a barrage of very choice texts back.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me’, he’ll say, followed by a photo of the tent in his trousers.

And a sinister: ‘But you will’.

If he’s away on business for even just a few days, he’ll go practically feral whenever he sees that picture of you.

To everyone else, he’ll be the leader Alejandro Vargas they all know him as – ruthless and righteous.

Yet, there’s something different in the way he walks as he excuses himself from the table, his destination unknown.

His gaze is narrowed and his teeth are grinding, rabid in disposition.

And when he gets home, no matter how long of a day it’s been, you’re in for a very long night.

He’ll appear behind you, a spectre, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t test a soldier, Love,” he says, his grip tightening.

You don't turn around, an exhilarating fear keeping you frozen.

He leans down, his mouth just at your ear, his breath hot.

“Because you never know when he’ll snap.”

Rodolfo

This man is usually rather quiet and submissive when it comes to the more personal aspects of your life together.

But when you send him a picture that makes him question how long he can keep his composure for, you’re in trouble.

You’ll be receiving a phone call from a very exasperated Rodolfo, who, despite his best efforts, has succumbed to your charm.

Definitely a growler when he’s in a dominant mood.

More of a whimperer when he’s not.

At times like these, you get both.

“Darling,” he breathes, the back of his head pressed against the cold cubicle wall. “Look what you’ve done to me…”

His whining is more than enough to let you know the effect you’ve had on him.

And it’s what he says next that makes your blood run cold.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

The husking baritone in his voice tells you he’s being truthful.

And if you try to clap back with something witty, or even an apology, Rodolfo just laughs.

“The time for mercy is long past, mi Amor,” he tells you.

“All you can do now is prepare for the Reckoning.”

Graves

This smug idiot.

Definitely smirks to himself when he gets that picture.

Has to resist the urge to show it off to everyone in the boardroom because he’s just that proud to have you as his partner.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, he’s still going to give this presentation in front of all the major shareholders.

Why ?

Because he’s Graves. Also, because he knows he has more money than everyone else in that room, and, consequently, more power.

Will shoot you back a text like: ‘Mighty fine work, Babydoll’, followed by, ‘You’re getting a promotion when I get home.’

Yes, he uses corporate jargon when discussing intimate matters.

He’s a businessman at heart, he can’t help it.

Definitely more playful than most of the others on this list.

The type to take his time with you and make you laugh while he does so.

But when he wants to be rough (and when you want him to be), he can be.

And he gets mean when he’s like that.

I’m talking hair-pulling, name-calling – basically just bullying you, but consensually.

Does his best to take care of you, though.

If he found out that he’d actually upset you, he’d literally jump off a cliff – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Expect many lavish gifts if this happens, though.

But don’t tell him that I told you that 👀.

Gaz

Will nearly drop his phone – it turns to butter in his hands.

He looks over his shoulder at least fifty times before he’ll allow himself to look at the photo again.

Poor boy’s face is turning red, his palms are sweating, he can’t think straight.

Paranoid 24/7 that everyone knows he has that picture of you.

But it doesn’t intimidate him enough for him to even try to keep quiet in the barracks when he has some alone time.

Similar situation to Soap; everyone knows to steer clear of whichever room Gaz was last spotted walking into for a while.

It would take him a few days for him to send a picture back.

More than likely, it’ll be of him in a scarcely lit bathroom in nothing but his boxers with a very prominent outline in them.

Followed by a text with something to the effect of: ‘Been thinking about you all night, Sweets’

And God forbid you send him another image of yourself. And definitely do not send a message saying ‘Aww, has my good boy been behaving himself ?’

Will literally send him over the edge.

The rest of the 141 can’t commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the day after that.

And when Gaz gets home, just know that your phone screen can’t protect you anymore.

Not when you have a man made of pure intellect and solid mass running full-force at you with all the pent-up energy seen only in a nuclear reactor.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[tomurakii]

I like bloodweave. Okay. But I DON'T like the version of them in fanfic where Astarion is a dick and Gale is like. Whining and pleading for him to be emotionally vulnerable (or just. Nice to him) prior to the relationship being established. Because that is just not accurate. Gale needs the player to express interest in him during his weave-teaching scene before he even considers hitting on them properly. Gale is entirely resigned to his fate and needs someone else to pull him away from it. Gale only starts being sweet and romantic and devoted after you accept his love confession and give him hope for the future. Gale says fuck all and then slinks away to cry privately if you break up with him.

Like he isn't chasing after people lmao. He isn't dropping to his knees and crying about anything much less this dickhead he met a week ago. He is overwhelmingly passive about literally everything personal to him up to and including his own death (provided there are no casualties/there is a good reason) until after the player expresses that they care about him. Astarion is not doing that in any of these fics.

Like Gale is friendly and a dork and doesn't wanna get murdered but he fully has a suicide plan. He thought the artefacts would help him survive but he didn't believe he'd ever truly live again. If Gale confessed and Astarion said/did like one (1) mean thing afterward Gale's romance is closed off forever. He's wandering into the forest to cry. He's killing himself immediately. His fragile ego and self worth can't take it. You have to understand that when we joke about him being pathetic it's not bc he's like. Sopping wet and chasing people down and begging for a scrap of attention. It's because he craves affection but would literally rather die than ask or even hope for it until someone else forces that hope back into his serotonin-deficient tadpole brain.

[marvelmusing]

Set In Stone

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sankta Alina and the Darkling rule over those who live in the hidden realm of magic. Alina herself is particularly fond of turning those who trespass onto their kingdom into statues. Legend says they like to toy with their victims, and if they think you’re pretty enough they just might keep you forever.

Warnings [18+]: sexual content, non consensual human to statue transformation, dub con fingering, very brief anal fingering, nudity, mild threat, Aleksander and Alina collect people consensually (excluding the reader), praise kink, sensory depravation, smidge of humiliation kink and exhibitionism

A/N: just me dropping a big fic out of nowhere, don’t ask me what this is, I don’t even know, it’s mostly vibes (kinky magical vibes)

My Masterlist

“Did you know, I can choose what kind of statue someone will turn into?”

She ignores the quiet, fearful whimper that escapes you. Instead, she continues to talk, playing with your hair as she sits in your lap. Despite the blindfold looped around your head, you keep your eyes squeezed tightly shut, your heart hammering against your ribs. She hums thoughtfully.

“I think I want you to be marble. Something smooth.” Her hand rubs over your thigh, pushing aside the delicate fabric of your dress to reveal your bare skin and a shudder runs through your body. She laughs. “My apologies.” Her tone turns teasing, dripping with faux sympathy. “Are my hands too cold?”

Being an expert in Ravkan mythology, you had expected to find some artefacts or ancient stone carvings in these caves - not the infamous Sankta Alina. Known as a trickster goddess, the more recent legends state that she turns her victims to stone with a mere glance.

The dress you’re wearing was picked by the men who had sent you down into the caves, no doubt in the hopes of enticing the saint or perhaps even the Darkling himself. Another shiver prickles over your skin.

She presses a kiss to your cheek. Her lips are plush and warm, a painful heat sears down your body, stoking the traitorous arousal between your legs.

“Don’t worry, little statue. You won’t feel the need for warmth for much longer.” She kisses the spot beneath your ear, her nose buried in your hair as she breathes in a sigh. The affection makes you tense, confusion stirring in your heart.

“I usually pick limestone or granite for the humans intruding on my husband’s kingdom. They get broken up and used for construction.” Her hands wander over your body, feeling every inch of you. She curls a hand around your throat, squeezing momentarily and laughing when she feels your pulse leap. “But you. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection.”

Her fingers reach for the ties of your dress, tugging lightly on the knots over your shoulders. Instantly, you squirm, holding the fabric close to your chest. She grasps hold of your chin tightly and you whimper in fright. When you continue to shift nervously, she clicks her tongue sternly and you freeze in place.

“Good,” she says softly, as you lower your hands down to sit at your sides which allows her to pull the front of your dress down. “A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.”

Her nails tear at the rest of the dress, ripping the bodice until it reaches the slit at your legs. Goosebumps spread over your skin, your nipples hardening at the sudden chill. She hums appraisingly, her fingers dancing over the waistband of your underwear, before she removes the garment with a harsh tug that makes you squeal.

“There we go. I prefer you like this.” The smile is evident in her voice. She sinks a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful to bear your throat to her and you can imagine her smile twisting into a grin. “Let’s get you into a better position.”

She urges you down onto your knees, nudging your thighs apart with her foot. There’s a knot in your stomach and a stiffness enters your body, your muscles quivering beneath your skin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she murmurs. “It isn’t actually my eyes that turn people into stone. That’s a silly myth. It’s my touch. Can you feel it happening yet?”

Panic spears at your heart and you realise how deep the ache inside you actually is. A weak moan vibrates in your chest as the weight of your bones becomes noticeable, heavier than usual as they press into the softness of your body.

A pained whimper catches in the back of your throat and she hushes you soothingly. Her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her touch burns like a gust of winter wind. A tear spills from your eye, cool against the painful heat of your cheeks.

“There, there. It’s alright,” she soothes. “It will happen slowly, at first, as your bones and muscles change, but when it spreads to your organs I’ll make it quick for you.” She brushes your hair backwards, working it into a more presentable style. “Can I see your pretty eyes before the end?”

With trembling hands, you pull off the blindfold which you had thought would protect you from this fate. The light in the cave is low, but it’s a startling change from the darkness behind your blindfold. Blinking away the blurriness, your eyes immediately lock onto the figure in front of you.

She’s beautiful. Impossibly dark eyes with a frightful amount of perception lurking in their depths. Bright white hair that casts an angelic glow over her features and you can’t tear your eyes away from her. She’s wearing a kefta, a garment you’ve never seen before aside from the illustrations in picture books. The silk is black, embroidered with golden threads.

She smiles widely, her expression softening as if she’s watching an adorable baby animal.

“Such a sweet little thing. He’s going to love you.”

She settles her knee between your thighs and you gasp at the sudden contact. Her smile widens into a grin as she cradles your face between her hands, forcing your back to arch slightly. Anxiety thrums beneath your skin as your body stiffens further. Panic begins to wind its way around your insides when you realise you can no longer move any of your limbs.

The sensation is cold and painful, each part of your body aching fiercely as it changes from warm flesh into hard stone. Each breath you take is frantic, despite her soothing words. She steps back to admire you as the pain spreads over your face, your features hardening into stone.

Sound is muffled, your ears filled with a soft roar like the distant waves of the sea. Her voice echoes through your consciousness, though you struggle to catch one singular word. Then she touches you.

She runs her hands over your breasts, admiring every dip and curve made into smooth marble by her. Her touch is methodical, checking over every inch of you for any imperfections in the stone. Her fingers stroke between your legs searchingly and the urge to squirm coils violently inside you. But you can’t move.

Her soft laughter echoes as she steps away from you.

Seconds, minutes, hours go by. With your senses narrowed, sound is indistinct and your sight is nonexistent. All you can feel is an incessant throbbing between your legs. The world fades in and out of focus as you drift thoughtlessly, tethered only by your unending arousal. Then someone approaches you.

“Oh Alina,” he remarks in an appraising sigh. “She’s beautiful.”

A deft finger traces along the underside of your jaw and a shiver fights beneath your skin at the feeling of two sets of eyes on you.

“She still experiences sensation,” she explains, a glimmer of pride in her voice. “Has full consciousness, though that won’t be too capable given her current state of constant arousal.”

He places his hand on your stomach to steady himself as he leans down to take a better look between your legs and the heat and pressure of his palm makes a silent moan writhe in your throat. There’s a molten sensation in your core. If he pressed his fingers against the seam of your cunt, you wouldn’t be surprised if he found it soft like wet clay.

“I know you wanted a piece for our bedroom.”

“You’ve outdone yourself.”

There’s a hint of shyness to her voice as she says,

“You like her?”

“Alya, she’s perfect.”

“I don’t know much about her temperament, but she made the sweetest little whimpers when I changed her.”

His hand strokes your cheek, fingers dropping down to trail between your breasts.

“I don’t mind if she needs some housetraining, and the girls will help her with the rules.”

She hums quietly in agreement, reaching over to cup one of your breasts, pinching the nipple. There’s no pain, but the pressure of her fingers makes your stomach flip somehow.

“I think, with a little breaking in, she’s going to be such a good girl for us.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Bright moonlight wakes you. There’s a stiffness in your limbs; you had been sleeping in an awkward position with your legs folded beneath your body. Blinking your dry eyes, you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

An unfamiliar bedroom, decorated in black silk and shimmering gold accents. The covers shielding your body are thick and cosy despite the gloss of nervous sweat gathering over your skin. The events of the last day are hazy in your mind, vague words and strange sensations blurring together, indecipherable from your dreams or nightmares.

There’s a knock at the door and you freeze in place, your heart hammering with fright. Drawing the covers up to cover your naked body, you stand on shaky legs and approach the door cautiously.

The moment you open the door, someone says,

“Oh, you are pretty, aren’t you?”

Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, pinned delicately at the sides to frame her beautiful face. Smooth cheeks, flushed prettily with a rosy hue and wide eyes the colour of the summer sky. The rest of her hair spills down her back in gentle waves. She’s wearing a robe, made from a rich emerald green fabric that flares at her waist, where the belt has been tied neatly. The garment halts at her knees and her feet are bare, toenails painted a pearly pink.

The girl beside her is equally gorgeous.

Her eyes are as dark as midnight, singular stars shimmering in each of them as she looks at you. Full lips curl into a smile full of mischief. Dark hair cascades over her shoulders, creeping down to frame her breasts. The deep blue robe she’s wearing clings to her figure, showing off an ample amount of cleavage and her bare legs - the hem is much shorter than the red haired girl’s robe.

They are both wearing necklaces, identical to the one you now notice is hanging from your own neck.

Everything about them both is polished and pampered, yet their beauty seems effortless and innate. You have the distinct feeling that if you stripped them of their fine clothing and pretty jewellery they would be even more stunning.

The compliment offered so casually makes you draw back on yourself, tightening your grip on the covers shielding your body.

“Thank you?” you say shyly.

The dark haired girl smirks and your stomach flips. The other girl’s smile is friendly as she gestures to herself and then her companion.

“I’m Genya. This is Zoya.”

The door handle remains grasped tightly in your other hand, your body half hidden by the door. Genya seems to notice your apprehension.

“It’s okay, we’re like you.”

“Like me?”

“We’re part of Aleksander’s private collection.”

Her words stir at your thoughts, jostling the back of your mind. Then you remember. I think my husband will like you. I think you will fit in perfectly amongst his private collection. It wasn’t a dream. It was all real.

“Aleksander?”

“Alina’s husband.” Zoya’s eyes narrow fractionally, her gaze assessing you. “The king.”

Sankta Alina’s husband. The Darkling.

“You remember Alina, don’t you?” Genya asks gently.

Swallowing hard, you nod. You certainly remember her. The phantom sensation of stone spreads over your skin, drawing goosebumps to the surface. Entranced at the sight, you stare down at your arms, turning one of your hands over so that you can study the lifelong grooves and marks on your skin that now seem foreign.

“How- how am I back as me?” you ask quietly, continuing to stare at your hand.

“Not a statue, you mean?”

Gaze flicking upwards to meet Genya’s eyes, you nod.

“Alina’s magic only holds during the daytime. The night is when Aleksander’s magic comes to life.”

“So what happens to us during the day?”

“We turn back into statues.”

Instantly, your stomach drops. Glancing towards the window further down the corridor, you see a glimpse of the night sky. Anxiety gathers in your chest at the thought of turning into stone again once the sun rises. Zoya tilts her head at you with something like suspicion in her eyes.

“Alina doesn’t usually like to keep trespassers intact once she’s transformed them.”

Reading between the lines of her statement, you frown at them both.

“You came here willingly?” They nod. “Why?”

“Aleksander and Alina keep us safe.”

“By being their statues,” you state incredulously.

Zoya shrugs.

“Partially.”

Before you can ask her what she means, Genya interrupts your line of thought with a question.

“Did Alina tell you what material she made you into? I’m alabaster.”

“She said she wanted me to be marble.”

“Marble?” Genya muses quietly with a thoughtful looking smile. She appears to be suppressing a smirk, pressing her lips together as she turns her head to the side, away from Zoya. The dark haired girl in question draws her brows together, scrunching their perfect shape as she frowns.

“What kind are you?” you ask, before you can lose your nerve.

Zoya lifts her chin, a prideful glimmer in her eyes as she says,

“Bronze. I’m the centrepiece in the grand hallway.”

Despite your confusion, you nod slowly, feigning comprehension. Zoya seems to be expecting some sort of reaction from you, which makes you fidget anxiously. Genya’s smile softens kindly before she explains,

“We all have our own personal place in the house when we change into our statue form.”

“Oh,” you say, as understanding dawns on you. “I heard her - Alina - say she wanted a piece for their bedroom.”

Zoya scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Most of us started off in their bedroom. Don’t be insulted when they move you elsewhere.”

Something twists in your chest. Disappointment? Annoyance flares beneath your skin as you bristle at your own emotions. Why are you disappointed at the thought of not being wanted by them? They’ve abducted you. Genya places her hand on your forearm and you flinch at the sudden contact. She drops her hand instantly, smiling in reassurance.

“Alina and Aleksander usually like to keep an eye on a new edition to their collection. Once you’re more settled, and they’ve gotten to know you, they will find the perfect spot for you.”

She glances down at the bedcovers wrapped around your body.

“Alina has asked us to help prepare you for breakfast.”

You blink at her.

“Breakfast?”

Zoya smirks.

“Just because we’re statues during the day doesn’t mean we don’t eat.” Her comment makes your cheeks flush warm with embarrassment over your ignorance.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Genya prompts you gently. The prospect of food makes you realise how empty your stomach is. You nod hesitantly and she smiles. “Can we come in?”

You nod again.

Zoya strides in confidently, moving directly towards the bathroom to begin drawing a bath. Water tumbles from the faucet, spilling into the bathtub with an echoing rush. Soon, the room is filled with steam and the sweet scent of soap. Genya extends her hand towards you, which you take tentatively. She entwines her fingers with yours, giving them an assuring squeeze before she tugs you gently towards the bathroom.

Zoya has untied the belt of her robe, loosening the front of the garment so that it hangs casually over each of her shoulders. She’s wearing nothing beneath her robe. Unable to pull your eyes away, you stare at her body with heated cheeks. She smirks, crossing her legs elegantly as she sits down in the chair next to the bath.

“You’ll get used to it,” she remarks teasingly. “The rest of us statues rarely wear real clothes in the house.” She grins. “It makes for easy access.” Her fingers dance along her thighs, slipping momentarily beneath her robe and your stomach flips at her insinuation. You can’t ever imagine feeling so comfortable being naked.

Genya tugs lightly on the bedcovers wrapped around you. Instantly, you turn your face to look at her, your eyes widened.

“Do you mind?” she asks softly.

Swallowing hard, you steel yourself and nod with as much bravery you can muster. Loosening your grip, you allow Genya to drop the bedcover to the floor. A tension enters your body, every muscle stiffening as you stare directly ahead, to avoid both their gazes and the chance of seeing your own body.

Zoya turns her body, muscles stretching languidly as she reaches for a bottle of bath oil from a nearby shelf. Out of the corner of your vision, you think you see her eyes roll.

Genya offers a hand to help you climb in which you take shyly as you clamber unsteadily. Once you’re settled in the warm soapy water, she traces her fingers delicately through the bubbles.

“You really are pretty,” she says softly. “I can see why Alina liked you enough to keep you.”

Her words prickle over your skin, embarrassment and disbelief and painful hope coiling around one another as they rush through your veins. This time, you can’t even muster a word of gratitude. Genya doesn’t seem too bothered though. She begins to scoop a handful of water, pouring it gently over your back.

Throughout your bath time, Zoya remains an observer, while Genya takes it upon herself to bathe you. Her nails scrape delightfully over your scalp, drawing soft moans from your lips quite involuntarily - much to your embarrassment. With each sound you make, they share glances and stolen smirks that make your cheeks warm.

Zoya retrieves a thick towel, patting your body down herself when you step out from the water. The instinct to cover your body prickles over your skin, but there are too many parts of yourself to hide so you settle on rubbing your arms nervously, feigning a shiver. Genya takes your hand again, leading you back into the bedroom.

She sits you down in front of the vanity table by the window, while Zoya opens the wardrobe and begins to search through the cacophony of clothing nestled inside the cabinetry.

Genya smoothes creams and ointments over your face, using a soft brush to sweep powder and swipe shimmer across your eyes and cheeks. She collects a dewy gloss on her fingertips, dabbing the substance onto your parted lips. She styles your hair effortlessly, in a manner that has you staring in awe.

“Why do they keep us?” you ask her. She frowns slightly, brows drawing together as she hums quietly in confusion, her gaze remaining focused on your hair. “What do they get out of it?”

She hesitates.

“We all offer them something different. I think both Aleksander and Alina would consider me as a companion.”

“You’re friends?”

She nods. Looking away from the reflection of her in the mirror, you glance at Zoya as she spreads a garment out across the bed. She lifts her eyes, meeting yours from across the room as she smirks.

“I guess you could say I’m their concubine,” she says with a pleased smirk, pride woven between her words.

Her admission makes your stomach flip, your eyes lowering to your knees self consciously.

“What will they want from me?”

Genya places a hand on your shoulder, which draws your gaze back to hers.

“Whatever you’re willing to give them.”

Her words are reassuring but before you can ask for clarification, Zoya is moving towards you with a dress in her arms.

“How about this?”

A soft blue dress. The fabric is practically sheer and the hemline is indecently short, but with your current nakedness you would be willing to wear anything. Slowly, you trace your fingers over the fabric, admiring the gentle shimmer of silver throughout.

“It’s beautiful,” you admit.

The two of them help to tie the strings at the back of the dress, fixing it into place on your body. Nerves begin to gather in your chest and you fidget with the hem, rubbing the material between the pads of your fingers.

After a few final adjustments from Genya, she takes you by the hand once again and begins to lead you out of the bedroom.

The nerves thrumming through your body prevent you from admiring the house as you follow Genya and Zoya towards the dining hall. As you approach the doorway, you can feel them both looking at you.

Genya says your name quietly and you turn to face her. Before she can say whatever is weighing on her mind, Zoya turns and stops directly in front of you, blocking your way. She and Genya share a look that you struggle to decipher. Then, Zoya seems to win whatever silent argument has ensued.

Genya squeezes your hand in reassurance, before she walks into the hall. Once she’s out of sight, Zoya turns back to you.

“Listen. If Alina has decided to keep you, she must care about you already - for some reason.” Her tone is incredulous, as if she hasn’t figured out why Alina has decided to keep you. “A word of warning, they both have a sadistic streak. Aleksander just hides it better. They will want to humiliate you and push you to your limits. If that’s what you’re into, you’re a perfect fit for them. If it isn’t, tell them, and they will find some other use for you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not getting replaced by someone who didn’t even have to ask to be here. You’re not getting everything I’ve been working for.”

Unable to stop yourself, you argue,

“And what if I’m a perfect fit for them?”

She wrinkles her nose slightly, her mouth quirking with a barely suppressed laugh.

“You’re not. You’re too soft, I can tell. You won’t enjoy half the things they want to do with you.”

Her accusations make you bristle. She doesn’t even know you. The thought of being around Alina again, and meeting her husband, does make you nervous. In all honesty, you might be too soft for them. But there’s a curiosity deep inside you that longs to discover that for yourself - without any help from Zoya.

“Thanks for the advice,” you say stiffly.

The smirk remains on her lips as the two of you walk into the hall, her hand pressed to your lower back.

There’s intricate crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting an iridescent glow over the polished marble floor. The surface is cold against your bare feet and you shiver at the sensation and the reminder of how your flesh had changed to hard stone.

Along each side of the dining hall, there’s a row of marble statues, one in front of each window. The expression etched onto most of their faces is terror, their bodies bent into odd angles with a strange elegance as they all seem to have been captured in the midst of fleeing. Each one of them are morbidly beautiful, smooth features twisted by fear in a manner that makes your stomach turn.

By the time the two of you reach the dining table at the end of the hall, you’re shaking in anticipation. Zoya moves away from you, sitting herself down in the seat next to Genya. There’s a number of other people already seated and you can feel their eyes on you. The only familiar face is the one who keeps your attention - Alina.

She lowers her glass with a smile that widens as you draw closer, beckoning to you when you realise there’s no chair available for you.

“Come here, little statue.”

The nickname feels silly, given that the majority of the people at this table are probably also statues. Does Alina call them by the same term of endearment?

She pushes her chair back slightly, providing some space for you in her lap. Swallowing down your nerves, you take a deep breath and sit in her lap. She curls her hands underneath the crook of your knees, dragging you closer, and heat rushes through your body. Her smile twists with amusement.

“I see you’ve met Zoya.”

At the mention of the girl sitting across from Alina, you nod rigidly and Alina laughs. She strokes your cheek fondly, her eyes roaming over your figure.

“Before you eat, we need to check you’re fully human again. Make sure there’s no stone left in your body.” She hooks a finger under your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can peer up your nostrils. “Nose seems clear.” Holding onto your chin, she turns your head from side to side. “Ears as well.”

Embarrassment burns over your cheeks and you can feel your pulse beating its way along your throat at the thought of everyone’s eyes on you. She presses her thumb against your lips.

“Open your mouth.” When you obey, she slides her thumb into your mouth. “Good girl.” Instinct has you closing your lips around her digit and she shakes her head with a stern expression. “Ah ah. Keep it open for me.” She presses the pad of her thumb down on your tongue and your stomach flips. She smiles. “There we go.”

Drool spills from your mouth as your tongue goes heavy, and panic grips at you when you remember how her touch had turned you into solid marble.

“Relax, little statue,” she teases. “My magic doesn’t hold during the night.”

“Mine will hold,” Aleksander counters with a small smirk, twirling his fork between his fingers. Then his gaze locks onto yours and he grins. “Though I have much more restraint than my wife, and I quite like the idea of you with a beating heart and warm body.”

Even with her thumb in the way, you manage to whimper and they both laugh. He beckons to you, fingers gesturing between you and himself as he says,

“Come now, Alya. Let me see my gift.”

She removes her thumb from your mouth, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek as she murmurs a warning.

“Be good.”

Even though Alina is the one who turned you into a statue, she’s familiar. Her husband, Aleksander, is a complete stranger. The pressure of impressing him weighs on your mind as you look over at him shyly. Unable to stop yourself, you glance across the table at Zoya. She presses her lips together, suppressing a smug smirk and frustration prickles over your skin.

Straightening your shoulders, you scrape together enough courage to move towards Aleksander. He uncrosses his legs, leaning back in his chair. His eyes move between you and Zoya, observing the brief interaction. Amusement glimmers in his dark eyes as he tilts his head, appraising you as you approach his chair.

His hands roam over your body, gripping at your hips to guide you into his lap. He smoothes his palms over your thighs, slipping beneath the soft skirt of your dress to grasp at your bare body. He traces his way over your hips and waist, curving upwards to admire the rest of you.

“What’s your name, little gem?”

Suddenly shy, you murmur your name to him. He smiles and repeats it in a low voice that makes heat spread over your face and neck. He circles his thumb over your cheek, stoking the fire burning beneath your skin.

“There are a few more areas we need to check,” he informs you. A frown creases at your brows as you think over the areas Alina had checked, and consider what spots she might have missed. There’s a smirk in her tone as she says,

“I thought I would save them for you, Sasha.”

He settles his hands back on your hips, dipping to trace the crease at the top of your thighs, while his thumb strokes your mound.

“May I?”

Realising where he intends on touching you, the breath catches in your throat. Turning to look at Alina, you find her expression fond as she regards her husband. Dumbly, you turn your head back and forth to stare at them both, unable to answer properly.

“I-”

“I’ll be gentle.”

You blink at him, confused. Zoya had said they would both enjoy humiliating you. Why is he asking for permission? Why isn’t he forcing you? He could spread you over the table in front of everyone to examine your remaining holes. Why does the thought of that excite you?

His hand presses against your stomach in an assessing manner, his head tilted as he seems to be searching externally for any stone left inside you. The expression on his face is serious and you realise Alina was telling the truth. Hesitantly, you nod in consent.

He nods with a soft smile.

“Just keep your eyes on mine.”

His fingers trace over the seam of your cunt and your eyes flicker between each of his, fighting to do as you’re told. His smile widens as the pads of his fingers sweep through the mess of arousal gathered there.

“Good girl,” he murmurs appraisingly. “That’s it.”

He sinks a finger into you slowly. A low moan catches in the back of your throat and his smile widens slowly. His finger curls searchingly, tilting to explore every inch of you, and your back arches with a small gasp at the sensation.

The skin of your thighs tingles with pleasure, your thoughts hazing over as he thrusts his finger teasingly inside you. Suddenly, you remember where you are. The sensation of so many eyes on you makes you bite on your lower lip, cunt tightening involuntarily around his finger. Sensing your dual embarrassment and arousal, he slips another finger inside, stretching you out delightfully.

The slight twinge of pain makes you whimper and he hushes you soothingly. The sounds escaping you seem to encourage him. He kisses along your neck hungrily, his lips moving eagerly over your pulse point. He increases the pace of his fingers, your toes curling with pleasure.

“There we go. Such a good girl for me.”

His teeth nip lightly at the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you inhale sharply. He smiles against your skin, his nose grazing the hollow of your throat as he murmurs more praises. The pleasure runs up your spine and you moan softly.

When he presses the pad of his thumb against the puckered hole between your buttocks you grow tense. Weakly, you shake your head and he hushes whatever protest you might have voiced.

“Easy now. Just relax.” He cups your face with his hand, keeping your eyes fixed on his as he eases his thumb into you slowly. “Deep breath.”

It’s intrusive and humiliating, yet he seems genuine in his care. Each breath you take comes out in stilted little gasps until he removes his thumb from you. He kisses your cheek, as a reward, before he murmurs,

“All done.”

Aleksander assembles a plate of food for you to share with him and he feeds you by the forkful, seated in his lap. Occasionally, Alina will lean forward to touch you - a soft squeeze to your breasts or thighs.

After breakfast, Genya shows you around the house, explaining a little more about the new life you’ve found yourself in and you follow her on shaky legs.

“Alina made the majority of the statues in the house,” Genya tells you. “She takes great pride in their maintenance.”

“Maintenance?”

Genya smiles, her cheeks flushing.

“During the day, when we’re in our statue forms, she likes to clean and polish us.”

“Oh.”

The image makes your blood rush hot beneath your skin - Alina with a cloth, polishing your marble body which has been frozen in place by her magic. Flustered by the idea of being so totally at her mercy, you glance towards the open window. A cool breeze strokes your cheeks and you take a moment to admire the sight of the grounds outside.

“Are we allowed out into the gardens?” you ask.

Genya regards the outside warily.

“Sometimes.” She reaches for the window frame, pulling it shut carefully. “If either of them are displeased with you, you might find yourself decorating the fountain on the front lawn.”

Being turned into stone is bad enough, you can’t imagine being left outside in the elements, where anyone could see you. The concern must be visible on your face, because Genya settles her hand on your arm.

“But you’re marble, I doubt they would risk damaging you like that.”

Lost in thought about what you’ve discovered, you hum quietly with a small nod.

The library is by far your favourite room. Once Genya realises you’re content to stay amongst the books whilst she seeks out her partner, David, you’re left on your own for the first time since you awoke.

It doesn’t take you long to find the books on magic. Absorbed by the words in front of you, the world around you fades as you read everything you can. Magic users in Ravka have always been called Grisha. General knowledge regarding their abilities has changed over the years. Originally, their power was divided into specific orders, but over the hundreds of years since the myths of Sankta Alina and the Darkling first began, their magic has developed.

One particular spell attracts your attention. The ability to turn someone into stone - and how to reverse the effects. An arm curls around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. Aleksander’s voice is low as he muses against your neck.

“That is a particularly complex spell.”

Heart pounding, you turn your head to face him, your grip on the book tightening.

“I wasn’t- Well I’m not Grisha, so it wouldn’t work.”

He tilts his head at you.

“Yes, you are.”

Perplexed, you begin to shake your head minutely in disagreement.

“I’m not.”

He nods his head, a condescending edge to the motion. He reaches over the book, flicking back several pages before he stops to trace his fingertips across a specific passage of text. It’s hard to forget that his fingers have been inside you and the memory has you growing warm.

“Read it aloud,” he instructs you.

“Should the object of this spell be Grisha, the effects will not be permanent. During the spellcasters height of power, the object will remain in their new form, shifting into their original form during a lapse in power.” The frown on your face deepens with each word you read and once you’re finished you look up at Aleksander. “What does that mean?”

“At sunrise, you will turn back into marble.” You nod. Genya had explained that to you earlier. “If you were an ordinary human, you would be a statue forever.”

“But I’m Grisha,” you state, unconvinced. He nods. His eyes slide slowly over your body, studying every inch of your expression and you struggle to meet his gaze due to its intensity.

“Do you want to free yourself?” he asks.

“I don’t think I want to be a statue for half of my life.”

“You don’t sound certain.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, fuelled by his statement. No one in their right mind would choose to be a statue - would they? And yet, you think of what Genya and Zoya had said. Aleksander and Alina offer them protection. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly as he watches you, shrugging as he decides to save you from your thoughts.

“Alina’s magic surpasses whatever latent power you possess,” he states. “It would take several hundreds of years for you to master such a spell.”

“Would you teach me?”

“No.”

“The stories say you taught Alina everything she knows.”

“You dare compare yourself to my wife?”

His words are sharp, yet there is a teasing smile dancing over his face and his eyes sparkle with a dangerous humour. Instantly, you shake your head, your stomach twisting itself into knots as you step backwards. Panic closes your throat as your spine presses against the bookshelf.

“N-no. I wouldn’t-” You stammer, before adding, rather self deprecatingly, “I couldn’t-”

Aleksander steps forwards, closing in on you. He laughs softly, hooking a finger under your chin. His smile fades as he looks into your eyes, his expression growing serious as he whispers against your lips,

“Don’t doubt yourself.”

He leaves the barest hint of a kiss there before he steps back, striding out of the library without another word to you.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

As the night draws to a close, your muscles begin to ache, anticipating the change your body is about to undergo. Genya walks you to the northern wing, stopping in front of the door that leads to Aleksander and Alina’s bedroom. She gives you a hug, wrapping her arms around your body for a brief squeeze of reassurance.

“They like you. I can tell,” she whispers.

“Thank you for today, Genya.”

She draws back, sweeping a stray strand of hair away from your face. Her thumb strokes your jawline briefly before she withdraws with a smile.

“See you tomorrow night.”

You nod shyly.

Then you’re alone.

For a moment, you consider fleeing down the corridor to find somewhere to hide. Then you hear movement from inside the room and the low sound of Alina’s voice, talking to her husband. Inhaling deeply, you curl your fingers around the handle and open the door.

Alina turns at the sound of you entering, a smile spreading over her features as her eyes lock on yours. She’s dressed in a soft bath robe, her damp hair bundled at the top of her head. Aleksander is sitting at the foot of their bed, his legs crossed casually.

There’s a fuzzy pain filling your head and you blink back tears as Alina extends a hand towards you which you accept.

“Where does it hurt?” she asks, rubbing your hand soothingly. Emotion catches in your throat, a hot tear spilling down your cheek.

“I- Everywhere.”

Her expression softens.

“Come here.” She draws you into her arms and you press your face against her chest, squeezing your eyes shut. She pets the crown of your head gently. “Come sit with me.”

She guides you over to a low daybed, settling your head in her lap as she sits. The velvet is plush against your skin, moulding into the shape of your body as you lie down beside her. She slips the shoulders of your dress down, pushing the fabric to your hips.

Heat prickles over your cheeks as you tug at the dress, ignoring your embarrassment as you pull it down your legs to pool onto the floor. The thought of being naked is still daunting, but Alina’s words ring in the back of your mind. A pretty statue like you shouldn’t be covered up by clothing. I want to see every part of you.

She smiles at the sight of you baring yourself to them both. Aleksander sits down beside you, stroking his hand along the bare curve of your waist.

“If you’re relaxed when you change, you will stay in that state in your statue form.”

You blink hopefully at him.

“I will?”

Alina hums softly in affirmation, cradling your face between her hands. Her thumbs stroke delicately over your cheeks as your muscles stiffen involuntarily. Aleksander’s hands wander over your body, providing soothing and affectionate touches as you try to fight the instinct to panic.

“Deep breaths,” he instructs you gently.

Trying to be brave, you nod. Despite your best efforts, a tear slides down your temple into your hairline. Aleksander wipes it away carefully as your body freezes in place, rigid as you begin to change into solid stone. They both murmur reassurances that become less comprehensible with each passing moment.

The world fades into darkness.

Alina continues to stroke your hair and face carefully. Her fingers trace over your features, wandering over your lips, up to your nose, before she smoothes her way across your brows. Aleksander was right, you do feel relaxed, especially with Alina touching you with such reverence.

She slips out from beneath you and the sensation of your head remaining suspended in the air without support makes you momentarily unsteady. The fear of tipping over clutches at your silent heart. Her hand curls under your head, keeping you in place as she replaces her lap with a velvet cushion.

The action has emotion welling in your chest, feeling cared for even in this moment - even when you aren’t human. Aleksander stands and his footsteps move over towards the centre of the room. The sound of bedcovers creasing with his presence have you assuming he is sitting on their bed - watching you and Alina.

When her touch disappears, you imagine her turning to look at Aleksander. The feeling of her weight leaving the daybed makes you want to reach for her.

She laughs, giddy with joy. Her feet pad hurriedly over the floor as she moves towards her husband. His hands rub over her skin and you can imagine her bounding into his arms.

“I really like her, Sasha,” she whispers.

The sound of them kissing makes your stomach flip.

“I do too, milaya.”

Her voice is quiet and with your mindset growing hazier by the second her words are barely intelligible.

“You don’t think I’m being silly, getting my hopes up so soon?”

He sighs.

“If it was anyone else, I would tell you to be cautious with your heart. You love so deeply, milaya, I don’t want to see you hurt again. But I have a good feeling about this one.”

They kiss again and your thoughts melt into nothingness as the sun filters in through the curtains.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

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Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

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[polakina]

his undoing

pairing: steven grant x reader

rating: explicit

outline: you found Steven adorable and attractive, he found you assertive and attractive. The two of you were an unlikely pair about to intertwine.

warnings: dom/sub tones, sub steven (yay), masturbation, edgeplay, flirting, teasing, unprotected sex, fingering, mirror sex, hand jobs

requests are open! hope you enjoy, petals <3

masterlist

II

Dusty antiques and floor cleaner perforated your nose as you unlocked the door to step into the museum. Being the first person through the door really made you appreciate the quiet, the complete silence that greeted you as you walked along the tile floor, shoes clacking against the cold, hard surface. It was calming, being alone inside the content confinement of history. There really was no place you’d rather be than here.

Setting up for the day and making sure to do a sweep of the building before opening it to the general public, all you had to do now was wait for your staff to arrive. Donna got on your nerves a lot more than you wanted to admit, her patronising attitude and cruel demeanour wormed its way under your skin like a scarab beetle digging beneath soil. But you had to remain professional for the sake of keeping your title as ‘the boss’.

JB was quite possibly the worst security guard you’d ever hired, but you couldn’t let him go, not when there wasn’t anyone else to take the position if you did. So he stayed, and he watched videos on his phone while absentmindedly ignoring the passing public entering the museum. The place had never been robbed, and no one had ever tried to steal anything. But perhaps that was what JJ needed to finally realise that he needed to take his job seriously. A little fake robbery to boost his security skills.

You’d thought about it half-jokingly, convincing a friend to act sketchy inside the museum and see if JB would notice and escort them out. But you realised that your friend would probably “rob” the whole museum before he even noticed that anything was missing. So it was most likely a better idea to put a pin in that idea. For now.

But then there was Steven. Sweet, quite, adorable Steven. He kept to himself mostly, but he was a major history nerd and the kindest person you’d ever met. Even though he only worked in the gift shop, you’d caught him multiple times with the kids that had come on field trips and wandered off to the gift shops to look at the stuffed toys and pretty pictures. He told them fun facts and gave weirdly adorable descriptions of how people were killed in Ancient Egypt, often using his hands to demonstrate. It amused you, but also warmed your heart to see his interactions, and just witness how lovely he was with everyone, and how genuine. All he wanted to do was talk about the artefacts, all day every day if he could. If there was a position you could give him where he could do that, you would. But there weren’t any open positions as of yet, which you had to sadly remind him of every time he got the courage to inquire to it with you.

But there was something else about him that you liked. You couldn’t quite place your finger on it, but it was there. Of course, you tried not to think too hard on it. Any sort of workplace involvements were strictly prohibited. Besides, you were his boss, you were everybody’s boss. It would be…so inappropriate. Right? Yes. So it was wise to just not think on it at all, pushing it to the very back of your mind.

Eventually all of your staff came in and went about their respectable jobs, Donna of course, micromanaging everyone else when she thought you weren’t there. You’d have to do something about that eventually, but right now you had a giant stack of papers the size of the sarcophaguses in your museum that were waiting for you to flick through and sign. So you made your way over to your office on the first floor to do just that, purposefully walking through the gift shop to get there even though it took you out of your way a little. You ignored the way your heart dropped a little to see Steven nowhere to be seen, but you could hear him shuffling around in the storage room behind the desk. There wasn’t any reason for you to actually seek him out, so you pushed on, forcing yourself to walk to your office.

-

You felt as though the stack of papers grew with every sheet you cast aside. Were they multiplying? They had to be. There was no way you still had this many to read. You needed a distraction, or some sort of way to procrastinate for a few minutes. Anything.

It was a blessing to you when your office door was knocked on. Four little knocks rumbling through the wooden door. Only one person you knew knocked like that. Quiet and quick, they were. As though the person who knocked almost didn’t want to be called in.

“Come in,” you said, loud enough to be heard through the door. Quiet whispers and feet shuffles were your only response until the door knob twisted, a little rusty at first. You reminded yourself that you needed to oil that door knob before you were trapped inside the office from a faulty door.

Just as you had guessed, Steven popped his head around like a little meerkat sticking its head out of a burrow. “Hello!” He greeted in his consistently sweet voice, accompanied by that adorable smile.

“Steven, hi,” you smiled back, pushing your chair back to stand up. “Everything okay?” You leaned forward as Steven walked over to your desk, halting just on the other side of it with a few files in his hands. He seemed…nervous? It wasn’t often that he wasn’t nervous around you, in all honesty.

“Yes, oh yes, everything is fine,” Steven was quick with his words, with the way he spoke. Everything always felt sort of rushed, as though the words were coming out faster than his brain could register them. It was a little chaotic, but it was Steven’s way and had been since he started years ago. “I just brought up those files you asked me to get from archives. I know you said you wanted them before I left yesterday, but I completely forgot. Sorry about that. I thought I might have been able to catch you earlier this morning, but it’s been a bit hectic with the different school trips and stuff.” Even you sometimes had a hard time keeping up with him, but you always managed to push through it.

“Steven, it’s fine, don’t worry. I forgot too, it’s okay. But you came at the right time, I finally have space on my desk for more files,” you gestured to the little square space of wood that you could see of your once empty desk. It was cute to see Steven’s eyes widen as he finally saw the sheer amount of paper already on your desk.

“Oh, shoot, I didn’t realise you- that you already had work here. I can bring it back later if you want? Or…never, since I really don’t think you want any more work right now. Sorry. I probably should have remembered that you have these papers to sign. I can just-”

You were already laughing before he’d finished his sentence. Not at him, no never at him. Just at how flustered he got, how worried of the size of piles of worksheets and letters and documents filling your office. If you’d organise and collated everything a little neater, you probably wouldn’t have as much to do as you’d think. “Steven, it’s fine, it’s my job to work the documents. Just as it’s your job to be sweet with our customers and be the bright smile they see as they come into the shop. Mine’s just a little more boring. Here, I’ll take the files, they look a little heavy.” You held out your arms for the documents and Steven blinked a few times and it took him a few moments to move towards you and hand you the files.

Your eyes focused on the yellow filed papers, but his focused on you. Your fingertips brushed his as you took the documents from his hands, and you could almost feel the way he recoiled from your touch. You tried not to think about it too much. But he did. His ears went a little red and his lips turned up into the tiniest smile. God, he was acting like a school boy. Even on the way to work, he played the words like a mantra in his head. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. But it still couldn’t stop him from thinking. Thinking never did any harm, did it?

“Was there anything else? Or is that it?” You asked, eyes looking over his face and taking note of his red-tipped ears, his puppy dog eyes that often captivated you whenever you spoke to him. They were like a trap. A trap that he didn’t realise he was setting, but somehow you were always caught in it.

“No, no that was everything, I-I think,” he rushed out with a quick grin. Steven held his breath as you set the documents down and leaned over the desk once again, placing your hands flat on the surface to hold yourself up.

“Everything alright? You seem a little..flushed.”

Steven just shook his head, a little unconvincingly if you said so yourself. But you didn’t press into it. “I’m all good. Pretty swell, actually. I’ll-um, I’ll leave you to it then, get back to the shop so I don’t miss anyone.” With a final smile he was gone, the last you saw of him being the back of his messy curled hair disappearing behind the door and closing it swiftly behind him.

It was cute, the way his ears and cheekbones flared red whenever he was around you. Whether it was because he was nervous or...something else, you couldn’t tell just yet. But there was something on your mind, you could feel it. Maybe you’d figure it out by the end of the day.

-

She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your boss. She’s your fucking boss-WHY WASN’T IT STICKING?! Steven repeated his mantra over and over again with each step down the staircase leading back to the gift shop. He couldn’t think about you, not like that. He had though. In the past. He’d thought about you often. Too often. It was the reason his ears went red when he saw you, but he prayed you never noticed that. It would definitely embarrass him if you did.

He found you…assertive. Sure, you were the his boss. But he’d had bosses in the past, and none of them were quite like you. You had a way of commanding and calming an entire room by just walking in, your voice had such an authoritative tone to it, he never wanted you to stop talking. It wasn’t an occasional thing, but there were times when you snapped. There were times when your superiors had called to discuss what had gone wrong, or what you had to do to improve the workplace. Or when your plans to expand the range of antiquities had been rejected because the artefacts were to be sent of for auction somewhere in the middle of Italy. You hadn’t been in a good mood for the entire week, and it had caused you to snap at everyone, including Steven.

But what was strange was that…he didn’t hate it. That was the weirdest part. It should have offended him, or made him angry that you would act so pissed off like that. But it didn’t. It made him feel something, alright, just not what he expected it to. The way it made him feel small, made him feel insignificant in a way that made him feel a little fuzzy on the inside. It was a new feeling for him. Well, not entirely new, he’d felt it for a few months around you. But the snap and the angry gravelly tone in your throat when you told him to “get the fuck out of my office, Steven. I’m not in the mood for you right now.” He left that office with a racing heart and an aching he couldn’t quite alleviate. Not in work anyway.

It was so unprofessional. He couldn’t have these ideas and thoughts running around in his head. He couldn’t be thinking of you being so…assertive with him, and him liking it. could he? It felt wrong. But then again, it felt so right. You had come to him later that day, less full of anger and more full of guilt than anything else.

“I need to apologise for how I spoke to you earlier. It wasn’t right, I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you,” you had said. But all that raced through his mind in response was no, please. Take your anger out on me. I liked it. He physically had to shake the thoughts away.

“It’s alright. You were stressed and I came to you with more problems at the wrong time,” Steven explained, shrugging it off with his ever present sweet smile. I liked it I liked it I liked it I liked it. It played in his mind repeatedly. He tried so hard to ignore it. But it played like a broken record. Over and over again. Reminding him of how much he liked being ordered around by you.

You hadn’t been that unhappy since that day. Steven couldn’t deny that it made him a little sad. Hearing your voice bellow, the way you intimidated people a little when your voice was raised. It was a tad threatening at times, but he loved it. He often wondered what you were like outside of work. Were you just as assertive there, as commanding as you were within these walls? What he wouldn’t give for just a taste of that in the right situation. Perhaps other men, other women, had experienced your kind of authoritative tone in closed quarters, followed your orders with complete submission. He was jealous of them, to say the least.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have thought about you while at work. Not as in depth as this. It was shaping up to be a little bit of a problem for him in certain places. And there was no way in hell that he was going to make it home without taking care of his little…problem. Perhaps he could sneak into the toilets before he left for the day.

-

It was a miracle you hadn’t gotten any papercuts from all the papers you’d been sifting through together. You were ninety percent sure that your arse had created a perfect indentation into the velvet seat you’d been stuck in all fucking day. Standing up, you stretched your legs and stretched your arms over your head with a soft groan as bones popped in your shoulders.

Your jacket had been discarded hours ago, the summer heat in London particularly unbearable this year, contrary to practically every year before. So it left you in just your simple white shirt, the top couple of buttons popped open to let the air flow and cool you down. Glancing at the clock above your office door, you noticed that it was around the time where staff would be leaving. Perhaps you would be able to catch Steven before he left to go home. So you made your way down to the main viewing area of which was now almost empty. Donna was packing up her bag and JB was nowhere to be found, as per usual. But neither was Steven, to your surprise. Surely he hadn’t left yet, he was always the last one here besides you, taking his time to walk around the museum, observing the artefacts like it was his first time in the museum.

“Hi, Donna,” you smiled politely as she turned towards you with her constantly present neutral expression. Was she always this gloomy? Jesus, you should probably talk to her about that.

“Hey,” she responded, her voice dreary and clearly bored.

“Leaving?” You asked, and she nodded in response. “Has Steven gone home, or is he still around? I didn’t see him on the way down.” Donna pointed to the staff room towards the back of the building.

“He’s been in there a while, I think. Not sure why, but I’m certainly not waiting around for him,” she gestured, tossing her bag over her shoulder. You nodded, waving a goodbye as she made her way towards the exit.

“Alright, no worries, see you Monday, Donna,” you rolled your eyes as she tossed a half-assed wave behind her. Now it was just the two of you, no one else was left in the building. You made your way to the staff room to see if you could find Steven and see whether he was leaving yet.

“Steven?” You called out. No response. Where the hell was he? Not in the staff room, and you couldn’t hear any movement or noise in the staff toilets. You pondered to yourself, wondering if he’d left without anyone seeing, but that thought shot down when you noticed his bag hanging on one of the hooks attached to the walls.

So you set out to find him. He wasn’t in the shop or its storage room behind the desk, he wasn’t wandering the museum and its artefacts. That only left downstairs; the archives or customers bathrooms. Making your way down the marble steps, you were grateful to see the lights on downstairs. He was here. Somewhere. So you called out his name again, and was pleasantly surprised when you heard…something in response. It wasn’t a word per se. More like a noise. But it was him, you knew it was. The noise came from the men’s bathroom, and you felt very weird about going in there, but you were more curious as to find out why he was down here in the first place.

As you neared the door that was left slightly ajar, the noises became clearer and turned into words. “Fuck fuck fuck,” was all you could make out. Was something wrong? Your hand reached for the handle to push the door open further, but it was as though some invisible barrier stopped you, halting your hand on the handle, frozen to it.

Your name. You heard your name. Not in a way where you thought it could have been intentional. No, it reached your ears as a sort of whimper. He whimpered your name. You really didn’t know how to react, but you had to control yourself for the present moment, ignoring how it made you felt. You were now even more curious, so pushing through your little frozen moment you pressed against the door and it swung open quietly.

You’d never seen a prettier sight. Truly, you hadn’t. If it was in a different location, perhaps you’d have preferred it more, but right now you didn’t care. Steven, pants unbuckled and unzipped, hunched over the sink with his hand fisting his hardened cock, was quite possibly the last thing you’d expected. His face was flushed, ears still that deep maroon red, pupils blown out as his mouth fell slightly agape, your name the only thing on his tongue.

He was gripping the sink so hard that his knuckles were the same colour as the white marble counter, as though he was hanging on for dear life. You bit your lip at the sight, leaning against the doorframe with your arms folded across your chest. You shouldn’t be watching this, it wasn’t right. But who better to find him than the name of the person he was calling out to as he got himself off. You tried so hard to ignore the dull panging sensation between your legs as you took a deep inhale.

“Has anyone ever told you how pretty you looked like this?” At the immediate sound of your voice, all of Steven’s ministrations stopped, even his breathing, you thought. He didn’t look at you, not wanting to believe that you’d walked down here to find him masturbating with your name falling from his tongue. “Because if not, then they need to get their eyes checked.” You pushed yourself off the doorframe and took a couple of steps in Steven’s direction.

“I didn’t realise you’d-wasn’t expecting you-shit.” It was sweet, the way he tripped over his words, the blush from his ears reaching his cheeks. You just smiled, making your way over to him slowly, as though he was a timid animal and you were doing your best as not to spook him.

“You weren’t expecting me to…what? Walk in here and find you jacking off to the thought of me?” you suppressed another smirk as Steven’s eyes widened and he turned away from you even more. “Oh don’t be all shy now,” you leaned in to whisper your next words directly into his reddened ears. “I happened to like it, Steven. The way you sounded, your little whimpers and moans. All for me, were they? Getting off to the thought of me a regular thing for you?” Steven just nodded, not trusting himself to speak as your lips brushed his ear. “I thought as much. If I’d have found out sooner, perhaps I would have been able to do something about it earlier.”

Then you heard it fall from his lips. The one word that would give both of you what you wanted. Please. Please, please, please. It was whiny, desperate, needy. Perfectly explaining how Steven was feeling in that very moment. “Oh, honey,” you mused, leaning against the counter and cupping his jaw to make him face you. “You want me to do something about it?” All Steven could do was nod, his puppy dog eyes searing into your soul. “Use your words, baby.”

“Please, touch me,” Steven practically begged in a small voice, leaning into your touch. You just smiled and leaned in, pressing your lips to his softly. He kissed you back with more force, more desperation. But this wasn’t up to him. Sure, this was for him. But that didn’t mean he was in control here. You just had to remind him of that.

He whined as your lips left his, his mouth chasing yours but to no avail because you’d already pulled away. “Easy, baby. You’ll get what you want. But only when I see fit, okay?” You expected to see disappointment in his eyes, but you were surprised when they lit up with what looked like excitement. “So you’re going to be good for me?”

“Yes, I swear. I’ll be good for you,” Steven promised, his knuckles on the verge of breaking with the force he gripped the edge of the sink. So you smiled sweetly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips before releasing his jaw from your grip.

“Good boy,” you whispered, noting the way he quietly whimpered at the praise. You moved to stand behind him, your hands coming up to hold his waist, causing him to inhale sharply at the contact. One of your hands moved further around to his stomach and slid down past his slightly creased white shirt. “You want me to touch you here?” Your fingertips ghosted over the base of his cock, noting how it twitched at your slightest touch. He was sensitive, needing from not cumming yet. You’d interrupted him before he could finish, and now you were going to use that to your advantage. “Aw sweetheart, already so needy for me? I’ll make you feel good, don’t worry baby.”

The second your hand wrapped around his cock, the sweetest moan fell from Steven’s lips and his head hung between his shoulders. It sent a shiver through your spine and wormed its way down between your legs. You planned on pulling more of those pretty noises from him before this was over. Moving your hand up and down his cock at a slow pace, you felt his hips jut forward to meet your speed. But you knew he needed more. Faster, or harder, or something. But this wasn’t something you wanted to rush.

“Baby boy, if you want to cum you’re going to have to do something for me,” your words stayed vague, but engaging enough to catch his attention. He looked up and met your eye through the mirror. “I want you to look at yourself through the mirror. If you look away, I’ll stop,” you asked, but there was no room for negotiation, and Steven knew that. So he obliged, his eyes flicking between you and himself in the mirror, trying his hardest not to look down at the way your hand worked around his dick.

“That’s it baby, you look so good like this,” you whispered into Steven’s ear reaching up to press soft kisses along the side of his neck, all the way up to the sweet spot behind his ear, feeling how he shuddered under your touch. “Want you to see yourself when you cum, see how pretty you are.” Steven was still hunched over as he looked into the mirror, his body pressing against yours as his hands fought to hold him up.

Your touch made him weak. It made his head fuzzy with only thoughts of you. Just you. Your voice sent all his blood rushing to his dick, your words making pleads and begs want to roll off his tongue until his words were reduced to whimpers just for you. Just for you to hear and act on.

Nights he’d spent with his own hand fisting his cock, images of you running through his mind as they brought him closer to the pleasure you made him feel by just occupying his every waking thought. The way you carried yourself around the museum, your presence as you stepped into a room, the way your voice travelled along the winding marble clad halls. Whenever you called out his name for help, it made him feel needed, wanted, willing to be there for your every beck and call. All he wanted to do was please you, at the time, only professionally. But after a while it turned into something more. After a while, when your voice called out, mad or in need of assistance, he wanted you to call out his name like that for different reasons. To order him around, give him instructions. Tell him what to do, tell him what you wanted to do. To do to him.

But now it wasn’t his hand around his cock. It was yours. Your delicate fingers deftly stroking and squeezing his cock in all the right places to make him squirm and come undone from your touch. It was your voice right in his ear, speaking praises that made him weak at the knees. You’re doing so good for me. My good boy. You want to cum?

He almost couldn’t believe it to be true. And the fact that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you? it made it all the more better. It was bubbling in his veins, the pleasure on the verge of flowing through his body, clouding his mind with absolute heaven.

“Baby, you want to cum? Want to let go? Hmm? Tell me,” you pulled his words from him. He nodded, making eye contact with you briefly before remembering the rules and looking back at himself.

“Yes, yes please. Let me cum, I’ve been so good,” Steven begged, his words choking on the last syllables as your thumb ran over his reddened tip to draw a bigger reaction from him. His hips ground more into your hand, needing more friction. Just a little to push him over the edge. Your smirk told a different story though.

“Oh so needy to cum, aren’t we, baby boy?” You teased, revelling in his gaspy moan as you tugged a little harder, feeling him grow closer with each passing second. But your hand slowed, slowed enough to pause his impending sense of bliss. You heard a broken please and it sent the feeling straight to your pussy. You held him there, the sense of pleasure almost unbearable and unreachable at the same time. It was almost as though you were testing how long he could hold on for, how long he could refrain from coming undone until it was painful.

“No, please don’t stop,” Steven whimpered, looking at you once more, his eyes pleading and desperate, irises resembling melting chocolate as he molded against you, his limbs almost giving up on him. “Please, please don’t stop now. Let me cum, I’ll do anything.” His moans and begs like music to your ears as he tried to convince you to let him cum. God, you wanted to. But it was so much more rewarding to see him work for it.

Steven couldn’t deny that this had been one of his several fantasies for a while now. Your entire control over him, over his undoing. Only your words and your actions could determine when and if he was even allowed to cum. He loved it, your command, your voice filling his ears and seeping into his brain.

His eyes were pricking with tears by the time you felt it was an appropriate time to let him undo beneath your hands. He was such a beautiful sight, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to expose his neck and the top of his chest, his eyes already looked fucked out and you were nowhere near close to being finished with him. “You’ve been so good for me, Steven baby. So just for that, I’m going to let you cum,” you could hear his sigh of relief as he felt your hand move faster, the other hand reaching to cup his balls. It was all over for him then. “And after that, sweetheart, I’m going to let you fuck me. You want that?” You peppered kisses along the side of his neck and down his shoulder as his breathing started to turn to breathy gasps for air.

He came hard, all that pent up tension finally able to be released, his body relaxing, elated as he finally fell apart in front of you. In front of himself. You were glad you made him look at himself in the mirror, because it made it so much hotter to see him cum like his. You could see all of him, his face flushed, his chest heaving, his arms flexed. “There you go, pretty boy. You did so good for me. Such a good boy.” Your hands moved to his waist, spinning him slowly to face you. He looked at you, eyes blown wide with the wave of ecstasy washing over him. You smiled as you grasped his chin gently between your fingers, pulling him down for a kiss. Your lips melted together, Steven groaned as you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, taking control of the kiss to which he immediately obliged.

Steven turned the two of you so that your back was against the counter next to one of the sinks. You pressed against the counter, Steven pressing against you so you were trapped between the two. Steven’s hands roamed across your body, hesitant at first in case you stopped him. But when you didn’t do anything to halt his wandering palms, he touched you wherever he could before you decided that he wasn’t to let himself roam freely.

His palms trailed up your hips to grip your waist, his fingerprints burning into your skin as they wandered higher and higher. You cupped the sides of his neck, trying to stay composed as his fingers ghosted over your breasts, moving to the buttons on your shirt. “Please, can I…” He didn’t even finish the sentence before you were nodding, pulling him down for another kiss.

“Of course, baby,” you replied, moving your hands from his neck to the counter behind you, using your strength to push you up onto the flat marble surface. It was amusing to see how quickly Steven situated himself between your spread thighs, settling snugly with your legs framing his hips.

You pressed your lips against his once again and Steven began undoing the buttons of your shirt until they had all been popped open. He pushed the shirt off your body and took in the sight of you, his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store. “Can I touch you? Please, I want to make you feel good.” His voice was so pleading, so small, you couldn’t help but flutter a little at how much he wanted you when it was so evident in his voice.

Your ankles hooked around his lower back, pulling him flush against your body as you linked your arms around his neck. “You want to make me feel good? Want to be good for me while you fuck me?” Steven’s knees went weak at the words. He wanted nothing more than that. Nothing. And neither did you. “Well, come on Steven,” you guided his hands down your body. “You can’t fuck me while I still have pants on, can you?” You leaned back on your hands and watched Steven work, watched his hands make quick haste of the buttons and zipper of your pants, quickly pulling them down your legs and tossing them onto the counter behind him.

His mumbles against your neck vibrated up the column of your throat, mumbles of how pretty you were, how much he wanted you, how pleading he was to touch you, to fuck you. It turned you on just to know how much he wanted you, wanted this. One of his hands roamed up your thigh, gripping your hip and pulling you flush against his body. Steven was already ready to fuck you, his cock practically throbbing with want. His unoccupied hand drifted to the apex of your thighs, feeling how wet you were through your panties. It made him hard to know that he made you feel like that.

“Let me touch you,” Steven pleaded, raking his finger lightly across your damp panties. “Please, I’ll be so good. I want to touch you so badly.” It was ungodly what this begging was doing to you. It sent flutters down your spine, through your entire body, eventually all settling in your pussy. As soon as he saw your nod of permission, Steven wasted no time, not even taking the time to pull your underwear off. Instead he just pulled them aside, glancing down at your glistening folds, a guttural noise erupting from his throat at the sight of you. Steven knew better than to tease, so he got right to the point. Your head fell back as the pressure of his fingers dragged from your hole to your clit, collecting your juices on his fingers. Using your own wetness, he coated his fingers and pushed one into your dripping hole. You gasped at the feeling of how thick just one of his fingers were. Already you felt the sense of euphoria filling your mind like a hazy fog. Too soon. It was too soon. You had to keep your control somehow.

“There you go, baby boy. Doing so-aah-so good for me,” you bit your lip to suppress a moan, holding out to hide how good he was making you feel. All Steven wanted to do was make you feel good, he felt as though it was his purpose. And fuck, was he doing that job justice. Your toes were practically curling as a second finger slipped into your core, his digits working harmoniously, brushing deep strokes in a curled motion to find a spot to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. He wanted to please you. He wanted to make you see heaven. He eventually found it. His cock was once again rock hard at the gasping moan that escaped past your lips as his fingers angled into a part of you that set something alight within your core. “Fuck, fuck…right there, Steven.” One of your hands held up your weight as it rested flat against the marble surface behind you, while the other gripped his shoulder, holding him close.

Steven used this closeness to litter your neck with kisses, his lips dragging along your skin, teeth lightly grazing the column of your throat. You felt his teeth gently nip at your sensitive skin, so you felt it appropriate to remind him of the situation. Your hand which once gripped his shoulder found its way into his dark curly locks, tightening your hold on his hair to which earned you a quiet whimper as you pulled his head back away from your neck. You made sure to remember that. “Careful, pretty boy. You mark my neck and I’ll mark your entire body so that every time you look in the mirror or see yourself naked, you’ll be reminded of me and what I did to make you feel good.” Your voice was dangerously low, teasing him, daring him. He couldn’t deny that it turned him on incredibly quickly. Embarrassingly quickly, actually.

It tempted him, but you both knew that if that were to happen, it wouldn’t happen in a museum bathroom. You’d want him in a more private space, where you could take your time with him, take meticulous care in learning every inch of his body. Much to his delight, you kept a firm hold of his hair, gripping it tightly as you pulled him into a kiss. His fingers worked faster inside you, repeatedly hitting that one spot that had your vision blurring and your legs shaking. He was good at what he did. It got you wondering how much experience he actually had here, or if he was just going purely of feel and observation.

He kept note of every noise, every moan and every change in your expression as his fingers stayed buried deep in your sopping hole. Your control and his obedience made both of you hornier than either of you cared to admit. It was clear that this was not the only time that you would be in this position. It was just the beginning.

As his fingers brushed perfectly against that deep pleasure filled part of you, you felt your muscles tightening, a rush of ecstasy trailing up your body at a hasted pace. You were on the brink of pure bliss, the tingling of electricity shooting through your nerves just aching to make you feel all that pleasure. And Steven was pushing you over the edge. It shot through your body like a bullet. Your muscles clenching and contracting around his fingers, your back curving into a slight arch as your grip on his hair became a steel fist, unmoving and unbreakable. You let out a moan directly into Steven’s ear, and if he was not already trying to cum on the spot, he was certainly trying harder now. He felt your juices around his fingers, your body pulsating with delectation.

For a second only your breaths could be heard in the room, but your praises for him soon followed. He could only revel in them, the words, the pet names, all reducing him to putty in your hands to play with and move as you solely desired. Your lips almost let a quiet gasp slip through as his fingers retracted from inside you, the empty feeling soon making you crave him once again, a little too quickly. His face was buried in your neck after you released his hair, kissing along the skin gently before mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear.

You didn’t need to grip his hair again to make him look at you. Your voice would be enough to get his attention. “Steven, if you want to say something, you have to look at me, sweetheart,” you pried, smirking when he lifted his head to meet your eye. “Come on, baby. Use your words, or you won’t get what you want.”

That certainly convinced him to tell it to your face. “I need you. Please. Need…more.” Steven was hesitant to say it, his ears tinting pink at the tips. It sent electricity through your veins, hearing his yearning tone adjuring for you.

“Oh, you want more? So desperate aren’t you? Desperate to fuck me, baby? You want that? Come on, say it. I know you can, sweetheart.” Your words were his drug. He was already addicted. Nodding, he admitted his wanting thoughts, “yes, want to fuck you so bad. I want to make you feel good. Please, let me do that.” He was yearning for you. Eager to please. Eager to earn your praises.

So you pulled him close, close enough so he felt your breath on his cheek. “Now that you’ve felt what it’s like for me to cum on your fingers, how about I cum on your cock next? And if you’re good and do as you’re told, I might even let you cum inside me.” The whimper that exuded from the man between your legs stirred something inside you. something akin to primal.

His second whimper only became vocal when you trailed your hand down between both your bodies and wrapping it around his wanting cock, twitching in your fingers at your touch that was not yet just a distant memory. “I will, I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be good. Just please…” It was getting harder and harder to deny him, to hold off until you’d seen he’d had enough. Therefore, you had to give him what he wanted because it was what you wanted too, you wanted it desperately, you just had the willpower to hide that. Nodding, you watched his eyes widen with anticipation as you guided him closer to your still sensitive pussy. He wanted nothing more than to be inside you right now, his face truly said it all.

The second he felt his dick push inside your wet walls, the man practically crumbled before you. His mind went numb and all he could process was how good you felt around him, how perfect and fuzzy it made him feel as he buried himself deep inside your pussy. Nothing made him feel this good, and you had barely started yet. He wasn’t even fully inside you, not yet pushed to the hilt and his whimpers and moans were already filling the room.

You were feeling all kinds of things in this moment. Pulling him closer, it made him immerse himself completely inside your velvety walls and Steven released a guttural groan that seeped into your ear and melted like honey. Wrapping your legs around his waist, caging him in, you pulled your bodies flush together. Your pebbled nipples brushed coarsely against the sleek fabric of Steven’s crinkled shirt and it sent shivers through your spine.

Buried at the hilt, Steven was already on the brink of releasing deep inside of you, and he hadn’t even moved yet. The poor man wasn’t going to last long, but there was no way he was cumming without your permission. The punishment perhaps wouldn’t be as pleasant. “Can I move?” you heard him whisper against your neck, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you against him, the other gripping the edge of the white countertop.

You nodded, biting back a gasp as his cock shifted inside you, dragging out slowly until only the tip stayed engulfed in your warm before he pushed back in. Quicker. Harder. His thrusts were desperate and wanting, every ridge and vein of his dick scraping across your walls and sending shockwaves through your core until your every thought only consisted of him. Just him.

“Doing so good, Steven. So good for me,” you praised, feeling him clutch your body a little tighter. “But come on, pretty baby. I know you can do better than that.” You trailed your lips up his neck, pressing soft kisses in your wake until you reached his jaw. It was at that point that you felt him move harder within you, a powerful pace that could very well break the marble counter you were sat atop. “That’s it, baby, just like that.” And he didn’t stop, eager as ever to please you, to make you feel the most pleasure in those very moments. His pace stayed the same, unrelenting and unchangeable. Already so desperate for release, Steven was entirely drunk of the feel of your pussy clenching a vice around his cock.

He hit something devastating inside you, and it made you grip him tighter, a shocked gasp slipping past your lips as he rammed the same spot repeatedly with perfect aim. Steven’s fingertips held you so tightly you were certain that bruises were going to be tattooed into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not when his cock felt so good, when his whimpers melted into your body and flowed through it like a lifeline current.

“Want to cum,” Steven managed to breathe out between each drag of his cock, his hand on your waist trailing down to your ass and pulling you further into him to meet his thrusts, “please”. He was free roaming along your body with his hands, letting them wander. The desperation in his touch, the grasp his hand had on you. Your arms were slinked around his shoulders, one hand carding through the hair at the base of his neck and gripping the locks that collected there. But once you felt his touch roaming along you, and his begs in your ear, you shifted the hand on the nape of his neck.

Instead to moved it around his neck to wrap around his throat, your fingers pressing gently against his pulse point until you felt the throbbing beneath your fingertips. “You want to cum, huh?” Your voice was low and deep and it had a gravelly undertone. It certainly caught Steven’s attention. There was nothing in his eye or expression that indicated that your hand was not welcome where you had placed it. In fact, there seemed to be a sort of excited twinkle in his chocolate irises. “You don’t get to cum until I say so, okay? You make me feel good, and if I feel you’ve done that well enough, then perhaps I’ll reward you.” There was no space for him to retaliate, or for him to beg to get his way. If he tried, there was a chance Steven wouldn’t get what he so desperately desired.

So instead he nodded, his lips parting as you gripped his throat a little tighter. Not tight enough to cut off his airway, just to make the blood rush to his head and make his eyes roll to the back of his head in bliss. “So are you going to behave?” you whispered, breath hitting his face as he looked back at you once again.

“Yes,” he breathed out. You smirked, moving to loosen your hold on his neck, “good boy”. Surprisingly, he caught your wrist in his hand before you could fully let go. Shaking his head, he asked you to not move it, “please…keep it there?”

Your eyebrow cocked, not expecting such a reaction. But you did. You held his neck, gripping it firmly as he fucked you, his cock moving in and out of you, scraping against your walls and hitting your sweet spot. Your other hand gripped his shoulder, nails digging into the tough bone of his shoulder. With your nose nudging against his cheek, it gave you all the access you wanted to whisper your filthiness directly into his ear.

You could feel it. The stirring in your core, the build up about to explode. It was in the way your legs closed tighter around his waist, the way your walls gripped him and how your breathing became uneven and ragged. Steven could feel it too. So he held you more securely, unyielding and persistent to make you see stars. The tip of his cock itched that spot inside you that you were unable to reach yourself, and it was continually and consistently brushed against hard. Until your eyes saw black spots in your vision and you cried out in pleasure, the first time you’d let anything particularly vocal slip from you. It was all Steven needed to hear to push harder and faster, never letting up until you were cumming on his cock.

He felt your juices flood him, drowning his cock in your pleasure, in your bliss. Eyes flitting down between your bodies, Steven watched as your wetness seeped out of you. Nothing could have turned him on more than that sight. It fuelled his everlasting need for you.

“So good, Steven,” you breathed, letting your head fall against his shoulder, panting heavily as your muscles slowly began to relax around him. “You did so good for me, baby.” You kept your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles interlocked to cage him in. “Now, do you want to cum too?” He was already nodding before you’d even finished your sentence. “Yes, yes please, let me cum. I need it so badly. I’ve been good for you. Please, I need it. Need you.” Need you. Heaven to your ears. So you obliged. Letting him take what he so craved as his reward.

His thrusts were just as powerful now, but slowed to a snail’s pace. It didn’t take much stimulation of your sopping core for him to release inside you, spilling himself along your walls and painting your insides white. Still buried to the hilt, he stayed exactly where he was, not moving an inch as he regained breath into his lungs. Steven’s hold on you loosened on you slightly, but his touch never left you. No words were exchanged, the room only being filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing. You’d both gotten what you’d wanted, what you’d craved for so long, and more. But somehow you still felt as though there was more between you. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. You’d only just started this, and there were no plans to end it so hastily.

“Feel okay?” you asked Steven, removing your hand from his throat and tilting his head up with one finger under his jaw to make him look at you. He breathed a quiet yes, leaning into your touch as you cupped his cheek with the same hand. “More than okay,” he responded with a small smile. “And you?”

You just smirked brushing your thumb against his flushed cheek. “Good. I feel good. Come on, we should get out of here, sweetheart. Go somewhere else, yeah?” His eyes lit at the prospect of leaving here with you. So he nodded, groaning as he pulled himself out of you and watched his release drip out of you. Cleaning up and redressing, you both revelled in the shared comfortable silence, pressing chaste, soft kisses to one another’s lips as you got ready to leave.

“We can’t let people know about this, ever. You know that, right?” You had to make it known that this sort of…complicated situation you shared could be detrimental to you both. “We have to act normally inside these walls. As though we’re just colleagues. I’m still your boss, and you’re still my employee.”

“I understand,” Steven said, nodding as he grabbed his bag and as you buttoned the last few buttons on your short. “But outside of work…?” His tone was hopeful, and it made your insides flutter at his optimistic voice.

You smiled, turning to look at him with an upturned pull at your eyebrow. “Outside of work, we can explore more of this,” you mused as you trailed a finger down his chest. “But you do acknowledge, I’m still in charge. Or do you need a little reminder?” Your eyes never left his, a little daring twinkle in your eye.

“I-I’ll remember. I promise. I’ll always obey you,” he swore, gazing at you with his pretty puppy dog eyes. You smiled, satisfied. “Good boy,” you praised, taking his hand and leading him upstairs, “now let’s go. There’s still a lot that we need to learn about one another. And the night’s not over yet, baby”.

The two of you walked out of the museum without leaving a trace of anything that had happened. Heading out into the dead of night, you were right about one thing. The night certainly wasn’t over yet, you had only just begun.

[vigilskeep]

Remembering that the dalish religion is illegal is abruptly making me so mad at marethari. I mean I was already mad but oh my God. The danger that merrill was in. Remember how the only time we see a captured keeper, it's in the gallows where they *checks notes* tortured him to death. And marethari sent her into kirkwall??? Of all places! What the fuck was marethari thinking. She really had no compassion for merrill at all shoutout to merrill fr

yeah. restrictions on the alienage seem fairly lax in kirkwall—merrill mentions being just another elf as why she can stay unnoticed there—but once again it’s absurdly lucky that the random human marethari handed merrill to not only accepted merrill into their life forever but also spends their time wandering around with their group doing paying mercenary work with apostates. beyond having a house full of books and certain artefacts that i’m sure would see her dead or tranquil on the spot, i think merrill, being visibly dalish and not exactly having legal marketable skills, would really be struggling to even survive without that helping hand. i wouldn’t be surprised if marethari expected her to simply come home hungry or scared after a week or two

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Ace

You couldn't remember the last time you had a good night's sleep. You've been suffering from insomnia lately and no matter what you tried, nothing worked.

You tried to tire yourself to the point where you expected to sleep while walking but to no avail. You've tried sleeping pills, meditation, relaxation exercises, you've even been to a sleep lab, but none of it helped.

You were tossing and turning in bed and sleep wouldn't come. When you were at your best, you fell asleep for a few hours at most and when you woke up, you felt as if you had run a marathon.

After all those sleepless nights you had ugly dark circles under your eyes and yawned constantly, it's a wonder you didn't tear your mouth open. No sleep, however.

You wandered around town trying to tire yourself out enough to fall asleep for at least a few hours. You wandered mindlessly through the city until you reached a street you had never been on before. There were strange shops everywhere, offering the strangest goods.

A small antique shop, which also offered goods related to the supernatural, caught your attention. Truth be told, you were getting desperate from the lack of sleep and you had nothing to lose.

You walked in and the bell rang. But you didn't see anyone anywhere. You were there alone. You decided to explore there. There were all kinds of books, talismans, artefacts, and just about anything possible.

There was even a strange fruit in the small basket. One was purple, another was scaly, and another looked like a heart. You were about to take one and take a closer look when a saleswoman appeared like a ghost next to you.

"What can I help you with?" she asked you You immediately pulled your hand to yourself and confided in her about your problem. The saleswoman just nodded before smiling mysteriously.

“I think I have something that could help you,” and with that, she took you into the back of the store, which you hadn't gotten to yet. There on the shelf were stuffed teddy bears wearing cute outfits. Everyone looked different.

The saleswoman reached for the teddy bear, which had black wavy fur, black shorts with an orange belt, a red and white bracelet on the left arm, a red beaded necklace and an orange hat with two blue smileys, one frowning and one smiling, and a string of red beads sitting above the rim.

"Teddies are protectors of dreams and sleep. This one is perfect for you,” she said and handed it to you. His fur was soft and you had the impression that it was slightly warm. It was such a nice feeling. "Just put it on your bed when you go to sleep, although you get the best results if you put it through the fire," she explained.

You didn't really believed her with that, but you already had a nice feeling about him, so you decided to try it and bought a teddy bear.

Already that evening you took the teddy bear to bed with you. You were hugging him and partly had him as a pillow. As soft and warm as he was, he soon lulled you to sleep. It was the first night that you slept through the morning without any problems and felt rested and full of energy in the morning.

By that time, you fell asleep without any problems and you slept well. You were joking about sleeping like a baby. In addition, you felt great and full of energy after sleeping.

I mean, the first few nights you still had nightmares to begin with. But you were consumed by the fire in which you saw the person. This person burned all your nightmares to ashes.

Instead, you started having dreams full of adventures. In those dreams, you always somehow ran into a young man with black hair and a freckled face who was dressed just like your teddy bear. You could say he looked like a teddy bear turned into a human.

At first, you saw him out of the corner of your eye or from a distance. He later moved on to you and took you on all sorts of adventures. You explored new bizarre islands, searched for lost treasures, fought pirates, took you on a ride across the ocean on a fiery raft, and the like.

Every day you looked forward to what new things you would do together in your dreams. You knew that he had introduced himself to you several times in your dreams, but every morning you forgot his name and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember.

With each dream adventure, you looked forward to it more and more and daydreamed about it. You imagined what if he was real and what if there was so much more between you.

You fell asleep best by the fireplace or by the sound of a roaring fire. All you had to do was sit by the fireplace and within five minutes your eyelids would be heavy and you would be asleep. You didn't even have to have the fireplace.

An ordinary candle was enough for you. You watched as the flame danced on the wick and soon you fell asleep. You woke up in the morning with a blanket over your back. You had no idea when you came to get her. You were sure you fell asleep without it.

Waking up with a blanket over your back didn't seem as strange as anything else. It happened that you fell asleep at the table or on the couch and woke up in bed. The fire in the fireplace was out and the candle was blown out. It should be properly burnt, you would expect wax everywhere, but no. As if someone extinguished it for you.

One night you had less sleep and woke up in the middle of the night. You squinted around and had the impression that you weren't alone there. Someone was lying on the bed next to you.

That someone pulled you back to bed. You cried out in shock, but the stranger didn't mind. He pulled you close and wrapped his arms around your waist. You could feel his hot breath on your ear.

"Go to sleep. I am with you. I'll protect you," he whispered, running his hand over your back. It was pleasant, plus it radiated a pleasant warmth and very soon you fell asleep again. When you woke up in the morning, you hugged the teddy bear tightly.

You thought about the instructions the saleswoman gave you. Let the teddy bear go through the fire, whatever that means.

You took the box of matches and placed the teddy bear right next to it. You lit a match intending to try to set him on fire. But before the flame could reach the teddy bear, you blew out the match.

You would just destroy him and then who would protect you from bad dreams?

One evening you read a book by candlelight. You put your book down, leaning on your arm and watching the fire. The thought of letting the teddy bear go through the fire came to you again.

You took the stuffed animal and slowly put his paw to the flame. You didn't expect the speed with which the stuffed animal would burst into flames, and out of shock, you tossed it aside to avoid burning yourself. Flames completely enveloped him.

You quickly recovered from the shock and wanted to try to put it out. You were already taking the blanket to cover him and try to smother the fire when a pair of strong hands grabbed you and pulled you away from the fire.

"Carefully! Otherwise, you'll burn yourself!” you heard a familiar voice from your dreams. From his arms, you watched as the teddy bear turned into a pile of ashes within minutes. The person was watching with you and resting their head on yours.

When the teddy bear burned, you turned to the stranger and couldn't believe your eyes.

“Ace?” escaped your lips and you didn't understand how you suddenly remembered his name. Ace just smiled at you saying that it took you quite a while to let him go through the fire.

You didn't quite understand him, so he explained it to you. As a teddy bear, he was limited only to your dreams and the times when you were asleep. Thanks to the fire, however, it can now protect you both at night and during the day.

"I had to fall asleep and this seems to me," this was too much for you. You couldn't believe your eyes. After all, it was too good to be true. You even pinched yourself, but that only proved to you that you weren't asleep.

“You're not sleeping,” he said softly, leaning down to you until your lips were almost touching. How many times have you almost kissed in a dream, but it never happened. But now he was waiting for you.

You tilted your head and closed the space between you in a kiss. This was too real. Ace was real and he was only there for you. Your own protector...

Sleep Protector Masterlist

[primofate]

Hello! I miss seeing you in my feed 🥰 Regarding Scaramouche, I currently use 2 pc viridescent and 2 pc shimenawa on him since the new domain isn't treating me well. For my team comp, I put him on a team with Kazuha because I'm attached to him and with Bennett and Diona so he could get the pyro and cryo buff from his passive!

I hope you're doing well btw <3

Awe thank you!

I don't think the new domain is treating anyone well hahahahha! I've just slapped a 4pc Viridescent on Scara for now while I'm figuring it out.

I know what you mean about being attached to Kazuha, I think that's what I feel about Zhongli as a shield, my team can't function without him lol. I was also looking at a Benny + Diona combo since the pyro and cryo buff from Scara's passive are nice! Benny is very team flexible as well, as in he fits in any team but I literally found out my Benny isn't built properly, idk what I was doing! Haahaha so I'll have to build him first. I'm contemplating on whether to build Diona further or not, but probably not. I did think that Benny/Diona have pretty much similar uses though (Both of them heals, and I've always had the mindset that if I have a shield, then I don't need another healer in the team since the shield will protect from damage or vice versa)

Thanks for your time! :D

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Requests Info

• Moon Knight Fics Masterlist Two • (this masterlist got too long so I had to make another one)

•Chain Reaction•🍑•Jake Lockley x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• OneShot • Summary: Jake has a surprise for you.

•Harvest Moon•🍑•Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• OneShot • Summary: Being Khonshu's avatar has some... unexpected effects.

•Price You Gotta Pay•🍑•Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• OneShot • Summary: Steven has his own plans for you this evening.

•Good Boy• 🍑⭐️•Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals• OneShot • Summary: Steven discovers he has a certain reaction when you call him a 'good boy'.

• Tell Me About It • 🎀⭐️•Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Jake comes home tired after a long day.

• Ink In Water • ☔🎀⭐️•Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: It's raining, Marc can't sleep.

• Vivid • 🎀⭐️•Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Sleepy!Marc comes home to you dyeing your hair.

• Spoiled Rotten • ☔🎀⭐️•Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Arguments with Marc always end the same way.

• Personal Time • 🍑•Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Series • Summary: You're helping Steven to find his reading glasses when you accidently find his personal toys instead.

• Blemish • 🎀⭐️ • Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Marc comes to your aid when your skin picking disorder raises its head.

• Feels Nice • 🍑⭐️ • Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • OneShot • Summary: Giving Marc a head massage quickly gets... heated.

• I'm Staying • 🎀⭐️ • Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: If there's one thing Jake's used to, it's pain.

• Embrace • 🎀⭐️ • Jake Lockley x F!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Things had never been easy between you and Jake.

• Get Well Soon • 🎀⭐️ • Steven Grant x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Reader tries to get to work with an ear infection, Steven comes to the rescue.

• Dark Necessities • 🍑 • Jake Lockley/Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Series • Summary: Before he left Egypt, Jake destroyed all the remaining ushabti’s – setting all the previously imprisoned god’s free. Including Set.

• Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite • 🍑⭐️• Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • OneShot• Summary: Marc can't take without giving in turn.

• A Helping Hand •🎀• Jake Lockley • Rating: PG • OneShot• Summary: Jake doesn't often get days to himself. But when he does, he likes to make sure that someone is looking out for Marc and Steven.

• Sleep Tight •🎀⭐️• Jake Lockley x F!Reader• Rating: PG • OneShot• Summary: Jake has a nightmare. You try to help.

• Good Night •🎀🍑⭐️• Steven Grant x F!Reader• Rating: 18+ pals • OneShot• Summary: Steven has to be up early. It's a shame he can't get to sleep.

• Bonuses For Fifteen Points •🍑• Steven Grant x GN!Reader• Rating: 18+ pals • OneShot• Summary: You and Steven settle in for a comfy night in front of the TV watching quiz shows. But it’s not too long before your mind starts to… wander.

• More Than I Remember You •🍑• Marc Spector x F!Reader• Rating: 18+ pals • OneShot• Summary: Steven starts a relationship, Marc tries to stay out of it. 

• Egg Fried Rice •☔🎀• Marc Spector x F!Reader• Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Out of the three of them, Marc had met your mother last.

• The Boy With The Thorn In His Side• 🎀 • Steven Grant x F!Reader • Rating: T  • Series • Summary: Steven Grant’s day is going poorly to say the least. He’s lost days, missed his date and now a stranger has sat down opposite him who seems to know him? It would be nice if our favourite Gift-Shopist could catch a break.

• Cariño • 🍑 • Jake Lockley x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Series • Summary: You’re pretty good at procuring hard to find items for others, for the correct price. So when Jake Lockley hires you to steal an Egyptian artefact it should all be plain sailing. Right?

• A Simple Misunderstanding • ☔ • Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: M • OneShot • Summary: You’re on a mission to get a ceremonial dagger back from a cult, you’ve despatched all the members and got your hands on the prize. Surely now’s the moment you allow yourself a chance to catch your breath?

• Do You Want To Dance? • 🎀 • Steven Grant x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Steven goes to a coworkers enagement party and runs into you.

• Special Delivery •🎀 • Steven Grant x GN!Reader • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: Being a delivery driver in London isn’t all bad, you get to see your favourite gift shopist pretty regularly.

• Wrong Food Order •🌙• Steven Grant, Marc Spector & Jake Lockley • Rating: T • OneShot • Summary: How the 3 guys react to recieving the wrong food take away order.

[justcallmefox89]

Inferior Part II

Gale, Lae'zel, Astarion, and X'aa'nath reach the creche.

“I would like to state my objection to this plan one last time.”

“My people offer you purification.”  Lae’zel sneers at Astarion.  “Or would you rather succumb to the parasite in your head?”

“Oh it’s not the purification I object to, darling.  It’s the wandering around an abandoned monastery full of murderous gith I have qualms about,” Astarion replies, baring his fangs at her.

“All will be well, Astarion,” X’aa’nath interjects quietly, stepping between the two.  “My kin will not harm you.  I swear.”

Uncertainty flits over the vampire’s delicate features for a moment, but he manages a small smile and nods his assent.  “After you then, my dear.”

As Lae’zel shoulders open the doors leading to the lower levels of the abandoned monastery, Gale steps closer to X’aa’nath.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gale whispers, taking note of the slightly panicked way the sorcerer’s eyes are darting about and the harshness of his breathing.

“I…” X’aa’nath falters monetarily, but quickly collects himself.  “I am githyanki.  Purification is the will of my queen.  I must obey.”

Gale’s chest squeezes at the resigned tone of his voice, but a warning cry prevents the wizard from responding.

“Sentries, to arms!  Istik.  State your purpose.  Quickly!”

X’aa’nath snarls at the guard’s insult, baring sharp teeth, and takes a threatening step forward.

“Stand down, gish,” Lae’zel commands.  “Is it not Vlaakith’s command to welcome her faithful?”

“I expected no visitors, faithful or otherwise.  Especially in the company of the Khou’zal’s runt.”  The guard eyes X’aa’nath scornfully.

The air crackles with electricity and X’aa’nath’s hair floats around his shoulders as the faint smell of ozone permeates the air.  Astarion slinks behind Gale as X’aa’nath’s eyes take on a faint, blue glow.  The four guards freeze in place, clawing at their throats as an unseen entity quietly siphons the air from their lungs.

“You dare speak the name of the great Jhe’stil Kithrak Khou’zal with such scorn, gish?”

A shiver crawls up Gale’s spine at the soft, threatening tone of X’aa’nath’s voice.

“As much as I do adore drama, don’t you think one of you should do something?” Astarion whispers urgently as the guard’s boots begin to smoke.

“Kin.”  Lae’zel places her hand on X’aa’nath’s shoulder, wincing as a stray tendril of magic sparks against her bare skin.  “We require their aid.”

He silently glares out her out of the corner of his eye, refusing to relinquish his hold over the guards.

“You can kill them after we’ve been cured,” she promises under her breath.

Gale begins to protest, but Astarion is quicker, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his words.  “Shut.  Up,” he hisses.

X’aa’nath takes a deep, shuddering breath and reluctantly begins reeling in his magic; the guards slump to the ground, sucking in air with deep, greedy breaths.

“We require treatment.  Where is your ghustil?” Lae’zel asks.

One of the guards raises an arm and gestures towards the general direction of the infirmary with a shaking hand.

“Come, kin.”  Lae’zel tugs on the sleeve of X’aa’nath’s robe, urging him to stay close to her.  Astarion and Gale follow the pair closely, senses heightened as they venture deeper into the creche. 

The githyanki of this creche are in near constant motion, unease marking their movements as they carry out their daily activities.  X’aa’nath and Lae’zel whisper to each other in gith, their expressions becoming increasingly troubled. 

Astarion clears his throat.  Loudly.  “Would either of you care to share with the rest of the class?”

X’aa’nath hangs back with Gale and Astarion, glancing at Lae’zel before answering.  “An Inquisitor is visiting the creche.”

“Why?  Is he part of the search for the artefact?”

X’aa’nath shrugs, rubbing his forehead.  “Potentially.  No matter the reason we need to stay far away from him and leave as soon as we have concluded our business with the ghustil.”

“Kin!”  Lae’zel calls. 

X’aa’nath hurries to catch up to her, throwing them one last concerned look over his shoulder.

The group finds the creche’s doctor hunched over a microscope, painstakingly dissecting a mindflayer tadpole and muttering to herself.

“If you require treatment, take a seat, kin.  Or do you have a question?” she asks suddenly, turning away from her dissection.

“I am Lae’zel, of creche K’llir.  I have come for purification.”

The doctor pushes away from her workstation, suddenly energized.  “Cursed is the day that even we become ghaik incubators.  How long has it been since you were infected?”

“Several days.  Any with none of the initial symptoms associated with ceremorphosis,” X’aa’nath answers softly.

Her eyes light on the sorcerer with a sort of predatory glee that instantly sets Gale’s teeth on edge.

“You are infected, but showing no signs of cerebral impairment?  Fascinating.  Either your tadpole is special, or you are.  We must find out which.”  A pause.  “Though as Khou’zal’s experiment you are rather unique in your own right.  An interesting specimen for study either way.”

Gale catches a barely there movement out of the corner of his eye as Astarion unobtrusively slides a hand towards his daggers, a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying his unease at the doctor’s interest in X’aa’nath.

“To the zaith’isk.  I will ensure that you are cured.”  She claps her hands, urging them towards a device made of twisted flesh and pockmarked metal.  “Few ever experience the zaith’isk.  You are very lucky, kin.”

A strange magic, cold and alien, emanates from the device.  Gale stays a safe distance away, unnerved, Astarion at his side.  Lae’zel and X’aa’nath have no such qualms, staring at the device with an almost reverent fascination.

 “The zaith’isk.  Vlaakith’s purity, distilled.  My duty.  My right,” she murmurs.

X’aa’nath’s gaze flickers uncertainly between her and the machine, but he ultimately bows his head in respect and takes a small step away.  “Go ahead, kin.  You’ve earned it.” 

“Praise Vlaakith, let it be done.”

“Sit, child.”  The doctor urges Lae’zel to lay back onto the machine.  “Let the zaith’isk end your suffering.”

“Why do that sound ominous?” Astarion whispers to Gale.  The wizard just shakes his head, trying to calm his mounting anxiety. 

“You must focus on the parasite at all times.  The zaith’isk will do the rest,” the doctor continues, making a few small adjustments to the machine. 

Without warning a nearly blinding light flashes through the room as the zaith’isk groans to life.  X’aa’nath falls to his knees, hands clutched in his hair as he cries out in unison with Lae’zel.  Wariness of the alien machine forgotten, Gale moves next to X’aa’nath holding him tight as he screams in gith.  

“Vlaakith tavki na’zin.  Vlaakith tavki na’zin!”

“Yes, children!  Speak the Tla’ket!  Meditate on its verses!” the doctor cries gleefully.

“What the hells is happening to them?” Astarion demands, shouting to be heard above the roar of the machine and the giths’ pained cries.

“I don’t know!” Gale responds helplessly.

“Isn’t that your job?  To know things?”

Lae’zel screams again, thrashing against the machine.  X’aa’nath shakes in Gale arms and trickles of blood leak from his nostrils.  Despite their obvious pain, both continue to chant in gith, entreating their queen in to cure them.

“So… we’re just going to stand here and let it kill them?  Is that our plan?” Astarion asks, beginning to panic.

So close to X’aa’nath, Gale feels the artefact he carries stir to life.  Faint vibrations radiate from the artefact, and a droning buzz soon drowns out the other chaos in the room.  The zaith’isk shakes and rattles ominously, the light surrounding it now painful to look at.  Gale realizes what’s happening with only seconds to spare; he shoves X’aa’nath flat to the ground, shielding him with his body at the zaith’isk explodes.

Thankfully Lae’zel is thrown free from the worst of the wreckage; Astarion helps her up as Gale carefully wipes the worst of the blood away from X’aa’nath’s face with a clean handkerchief before helping him stagger to her feet.

“What madness is this?  The zaith’isk nearly destroyed me!” Lae’zel shrieks.  “I am githyanki!  I will not be ghaik!”

The doctor lets out a screech of anguish.  “No… no!  The zaith’isk!  What have you done?  My life’s work… gone.  And yet she lives… and so does her parasite.”

“The zaith’isk tried to kill Lae’zel,” X’aa’nath slurs, holding onto Gale’s arm for balance.  “And it failed.

“The zaith’isk does not fail.”  The doctor glares at him.  “The only variable in the experience was her – and her parasite.  And I will uncover how this happened.  Wait here.  I will gather my tools.”  The doctor storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Clearly agitated, Lae’zel begins to pace.  “I followed protocol.  I kept to my faith.  And yet the zaith’isk might have killed me.  The ghustil tampered with it.  Traitor – and there may be more still!  This must be why the Inquisitor has come.”

“Kin,” X’aa’nath sighs, leaning heavily against Gale.  The wizard tentatively wraps an arm around his waist, pressing the sorcerer close to his side.

“No!  Vlaakith does not abandon her faithful!  The zaith’isk was tampered with.  There is no other explanation.  Now hurry.  We must go to the ch’r’rai and inform him of the doctor’s sedition.”

X’aa’nath’s shoulders sag as he recognizes the futility of arguing with her.  “As you say, kin.”

“I don’t want to alarm anyone,” Astarion calls out as he tries to open the door that exits the doctors laboratory.  “But we��ve been locked in.”

[patchwork-crow-writes]

Possessed by Grief - an essay on MyHouse.pk3

Here's that essay on MyHouse.wad I've kept threatening to drop like a big anvil, which I definitely did not forget about for like a month :P Seems like an opportune moment to publish it, what with all the recent influx of interest in the game - and so I present some more of my thoughts on this masterpiece. Enjoy :)

MyHouse.pk3 is a game about grief.

It is a game about nostalgia and regret, obsession and devotion, confusion and despair. A game that asks if it's ever possible to escape grief's clutches, or if each apparent success only makes the net close tighter around us. A game that compels us to seek answers, and provides only further questions.

This is also a game about love, and how grief scrunches it up impossibly small and stretches it out impossibly thin, as we are forced to reckon with what this person really means to us, what impact they've had on us, and how we can possibly continue to exist in this world without them.

It is by all accounts a common thing for prospective modders to recreate their own houses, or those of their relatives, as part labour of love, part test run for future projects, part rite of passage. I imagine that playing through one is akin to a virtual property tour, with added demon killing and grunting. And perhaps this was all MyHouse.pk3 was ever meant to be - just another map of just another house, albeit uploaded as a tribute to its original owner who passed on.

What we get instead… is nothing short of an electronic manifestation of grief itself. The house changes as we play, as demons thought vanquished return stronger than ever. New hallways jut out at impossible angles while old doorways vanish into thin air. We wander through wildly different versions of the house's floorplan - a brutalist office block that changes in size, a perpetually-flooded bathhouse suspended in an eeriely tranquil skybox, an abandoned daycare falling into disrepair, an empty airport devoid of life, adjoined to a bathroom with a bloody secret. Mirrors become portals to alternate versions of the same house, where everything is the same except reversed. You jump out of a plane and seemingly wake up back at the house, but time has passed and everyone has moved on and the one thing you thought a concrete certainty ("Safe as houses", so the saying goes) is literally sold off behind your back and you turn around and there's nothing there anymore, it's just gone.

No-one asked you. You did not consent to any of this, and yet it has happened all the same.

And life ticks on and you try to move on but you can't. Even the Underhalls, Doom II's second level, provides only temporary respite, as you are immediately spat back out right where you began, and the whole process starts over.

THIS is what grief does to someone. It freezes you in time, folds your mind into endlessly recursive origami shapes that loop on themselves again and again, removes an old keystone from the bridge of your psyche before stepping back to watch the structure slowly crumble to ruins. You flail helplessly as you are caught between trying to invoke what you've lost in meaningful objects and places, and tossing everything aside and trying to escape into some new, different reality. The past contains bittersweet memories of happier times you can never return to, while the future promises nothing but a bleak pseudo-existence utterly devoid of meaning. You cannot go back. You cannot move forward.

And all the while, you torment yourself with the same questions, over and over and over: Why did this happen? What do I do now they're gone? Could I have changed something? Could things have been different, if I had just been kinder/braver/better/gentler/more attentive?

Grief haunts MyHouse. It is the unseen hand that shapes the world and all the artefacts scattered throughout it. It is the force that compels Steve to continue adding to it, convinces him that only he can do what is needed, and he becomes as dependent upon the map to frame his loss as it is dependent on him to shape it. There are no ghosts or demons, no supernatural forces at play here - just one person trapped in his despair and loneliness, pouring everything he has into the one last thing that connects him to his dead friend. And in the finished map, we see exactly what Tom was to Steve, just how precious and irreplacable of a friend they were to him, just how fathomless his depth of feeling for them. So deep that Tom may very well be "the only person I [Steve] ever loved."

Grief and love are intertwined, they cannot be teased apart. The deeper and more profound the love for someone, the greater the agony experienced when they are taken from you. For Steve to have constructed such an elaborate, multifaceted, labyrinthian space, and to have done so deliberately as a trubute, it becomes increasingly obvious that he was motivated by a love and a grief so abyssal and all-consuming that there was no-one and nothing he valued more in life - to the point where it must have seemed that he, too, had died alongside his friend.

This house and all of its impossible multitudes is a digital mausoleum, built not so much for a person as for a relationship, dedicated to stupid in-jokes and childhood traumas and painful secrets, plagued by a burning love that cannot be spoken yet has to be expressed lest it destroys the one who harbours it. It stands as proof that Tom existed, that the bond they shared was real. And through all the confusion, the hopelessness and the heartbreak, a way forward begins to emerge.

Grief never truly goes away, is never truly "beaten" as a video game final battle may be. But it does become easier to navigate, its twists and turns becoming more familiar with each pass, with each story shared between others who are struggling alongside us. Contentment can be reattained. Life does, indeed, go on. Love is not negated by death, but endures forever in how we choose to honour those who are no longer with us.

Thanks for reading.

[gritsgigabits]

Living with the slashers

Have some headcanons for what it would be like to live with some of the murder boys <3

TW: Very slight NSFW for Brahms because… Brahms.

Jason Voorhees

Naturally, you live with Jason at Camp Crystal Lake. Or at the site that once was Camp Crystal Lake – the place hasn’t been in a presentable condition for years and it shows.

You and Jason have taken over one of the old cabins together and you’ve done your best to make it as homely as possible. You spent an enormous amount of time scavenging the camp for anything that could be used as a decorative item and bought some LED strips for easy affordably lighting.

A car is pretty much a must if you live with Jason and ever want to go anywhere. There haven’t been buses to or from the area in forever, not since the camp closed down. So if you want to go shopping, you better get yourself a trusty bicycle or a car to get to the nearest service station!

Jason is very helpful when it comes to making you feel at home. You want that big heavy bench moved to your porch? Jason’s got you covered. You want him to carry another bed into your cabin to have more sleeping room? Jason is already on it. You want the lake moved an inch to the left? Jason will do his best.

He just wants to make you feel at home. It’s been a long time since he had the change to take care of and please someone other than himself, and it’s nice to feel needed.

Bubba Sawyer

You’re going to have the best time living with Bubba (and the rest of the Sawyers). Think about the abandoned theme park in Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 and tell me it wouldn’t be the greatest place to live, ever!

The place is riddled with spaces to explore. Bubba often feels compelled to follow you around in your adventures because he is worried that you’re going to get lost or hurt.

Bubba himself didn’t pay much attention to his living environment before you came along. He enjoys running around with you and looking through all the stuff littered in the park.

His favourite game is hide and seek. He loves to be the one to seek because it’s always exhilarating to find you. He knows the place so well that he always wins, as it’s basically impossible to hide from him.

The park is big enough that you always find a peaceful place if Drayton’s complaining or Chop Top’s shouting gets on your nerves. You and Bubba can crawl into the deepest, most remote tunnel that there is and cuddle in the welcome silence together.

Pyramid Head

You live with Pyramid Head in Silent Hill, which is basically one of the worst places that you could be forced to live in. It’s dangerous. Really dangerous.

Pyramid Head doesn’t let you wander round alone – you’re only allowed to leave his lair with him trailing right behind you because he doesn’t believe you can fend for yourself against the various monsters.

Even if you are good at fighting and procure a vast array of weapons to carry with you, he won’t let you go alone.

If you obey him, you end up being stuck in his lair for most of the time. It could get really boring really fast, even though Pyramid Head tries to entertain you by bringing you random objects and artefacts from all over Silent Hill.

You could always sneak off while he’s away. Just don’t count on him saving your ass if you end up in trouble. He warned you and if you didn’t listen, you deserve whatever is coming for you (or at you).

Brahms Heelshire

You live in the Heelshire mansion, obviously. You are never getting out of there – not alive, at least. But it’s a big place with all that you could need to survive, so it’s not a bad deal.

Brahms thinks it’s an excellent deal, because he gets to have you all to himself.

You could convince him to install a fibre-optic internet. You know, just so you could order stuff online. If you make a good point of it, Brahms might let you spend the family money on it.

At first, you live by Brahms’ strict routine. Knowing his parents are not coming back, however, you could start to teach Brahms some new rules. Because you’re now the (wo)man of the house, it should be your rules that you two live by, not his late mother’s rules.

Brahms isn’t really attached to the material things in the mansion, so if you want to spend time refurbishing, he is okay with that. Just don’t expect him to help you – physical labour isn’t his thing.

Unless you promise him a reward for helping you. A blowjob would be a fine example. Brahms will have one as advance payment now and another one as a reward, thank you very much.

Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t like to share living space. He wants to be on his own and not accountable to anyone. You are no exception.

Michael will come and go as he pleases and even if you pressure him to move in with you, he refuses to bring his stuff over. Mostly because he has no stuff.

He hadn’t moved in with you but hadn’t told you where he lived either, so one night you decided to follow him to find out where he goes when he leaves your apartment.

He must have a place, you think, a lair, or at least a type of headquarter.

It’s impossible to spy or stalk Michael, though. He is onto you as soon as he walks out the front door and senses notices you sneaking out after him. Just to be an asshole and to confuse you, he walks round the block several times.

And finds it endlessly amusing when you follow him religiously.

Until you realise that he knew all along you were following him, and you get pissed off. You proceed to scream your frustration out at him in the middle on the street.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Stolen | Marcus Pike (Day One)

Series Summary | A week on from the biggest museum theft in history, you find yourself shipped to D.C. to track down the most important British archaeological artefacts, stolen from right under your nose. You didn't plan on Special Agent Marcus Pike getting under your skin in the process. Special Agent Marcus Pike didn't plan on falling for you either.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Archaeologist/Curator F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4k

Warnings | Marcus being the biggest and best gentleman ever, some flirting, food consumption, but nothing else I can think of.

Authors Note | OKAY. So, I watched The Mentalist and IMMEDIATELY knew I needed to give this sweet boy his happy ending, so here we are. This fic is super self-indulgent so I apologise in advance. I'm currently completing my master's degree to become an archaeologist so that's where this really comes from. This is a reader insert and whilst there will be very few physical descriptions in this fic, it is assume reader is British, although not explicitly stated, and she has the nickname 'Jones' - guess where that one came from? 👀 If you like this then please consider reblogging, commenting or popping into my ask! I'd love to hear from you all! And a massive thank you to my darling @morning-star-joy for being the best beta for this fic, ilysm.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The ticking of the clock is starting to annoy you. It’s silent in the room, three people, including you, sat around waiting for the appearance of the team of people who were hopefully about to make all your problems go away. They’re late, which is even more annoying, because every second lost to waiting for these people are seconds lost trying to locate what had been stolen from you. 

You pull at the dry skin around your thumbnail, pulling it a little too far, drawing blood. You suck the side of your thumb into your mouth to stem the bleeding which helps, before you’re checking the watch on your wrist, annoyance bubbling beneath your skin. Fifteen minutes late and counting. 

Your assistant is sitting next to you, writing God knows what in her notepad. Normally her eagerness to please and her exceptional organizational skills were welcome by you, but the scratching of her pen on the paper is just adding to your irritation. Sat next to your assistant Lizzie, is Peter, an aging Metropolitan Police officer who is no doubt completely out of his depth. He’s starting to bald, and age had not been kind to his face, which is wrinkled and makes him seem far older than he already is. When you’d first met a week ago, he’d introduced himself and told you he hoped this would be his career defining case to crack because he was less than a year away from retirement and his hefty pension. 

What he had wished to be an easy case had turned into something much more complicated than anyone could have imagined, which is why the three of you were now sitting in a glorified glass cage in Washington D.C. Waiting for someone to hopefully help crack the case and crack it quickly. Although your boss wasn’t here, you could feel him breathing down your neck. 

Another look at your watch and it’s now twenty minutes late. 

“This is ridiculous.” You mumble, turning in your seat to look around at the office outside of the meeting room you were in. 

Men in suits wandering around with folders in their hands, women sat at desks typing their way through reports. There’s what you assume to be an intern walking hastily through the bank of desks, dropping mugs of coffee down to people who don’t even acknowledge his presence. Then, you spot two men walking towards your meeting room with purpose. They’re deep in conversation with each other, one holds a similar manila file as the rest of the office, the other, older and more handsome is the one who pushes open the door. 

“Sorry for making you wait,” God his accent is jarring, what you wouldn’t give to be back in London, surrounded by your own people, “We were just catching up on the files.” 

Pete is the first to stand, he shakes the hand of the older man who introduces himself as Marcus Pike, head of the Arts Crime division here in DC. The younger man is Steven, his partner. There’s already a strange air of respect between the men, law enforcement officer to law enforcement officer, even if they do work on completely different sides of the ocean. 

Lizzie introduces herself quietly until they fall to you, “Nice to meet you both,” You say stiffly, reaching out to shake their hands and tell them your name, “I’m the Curator of the department of Britain, Europe and Prehistory at the British Museum, I’m hoping you might be able to help us.” 

Marcus motions for you all to take your seats, taking hold of the folders from Steven, “We’ve read the files but maybe you could take us through what happened?” He’s directing the question toward Pete, because of course he is, but Pete is deferring to you. 

“About a week ago,” You begin, opening your own files, “There was a break-in at the British Museum as I’m sure you’re aware from your own files,” You shift some papers around to find the clutch of photographs, “Highly sophisticated from what Pete has been able to tell us – the thieves managed to cut out CCTV coverage and the alarms before they even entered the museum, which meant no-one knew anything was wrong until I came in the next morning to find half of my collection gone.” 

“What exactly was taken?” Marcus asks, thumbing through his files to find the answer that obviously isn’t there – if this lot can’t put together a case file properly, how the hell are they going to help you? 

“The most recognizable would be the Sutton Hoo helmet,” You slide a photo of it across the table to him, “Anglo-Saxon, incredibly important archaeological find, along with this gold belt buckle from the same collection,” Another photograph is slid across the table to him, “And this purse lid and the collection of coins found within it.” The final photograph is passed to him. 

“You have any leads?” Marcus speaks, again mainly towards Pete, who again, defers to you. 

“We managed to pick up this CCTV from the pub across the road, which shows the group of people loading the items into a van,” You slip the print outs across to him, “Pete and his team managed to track the van to a depot just outside of Heathrow airport, that was raided less than twenty-four hours after the heist, but it was empty,” you sigh, sliding more grainy CCTV printouts over the table, “Then we’ve picked them up getting a flight here to D.C. but after that, the trail has gone as far as we can follow, hence why we’re here.” 

This time Marcus speaks directly to you, “Any idea on motive?”

You shake your head, “We can’t figure it out if I’m being honest,” You massage your temple, a familiar ache brewing behind your eyes, “We know a lot of our collection in the museum is contested, the Benin Bronzes and the Parthenon Marbles for example, countries have been calling for repatriation of their items for years, but this is all British, everything they took belongs in that museum, so apart from it being a massive fuck you to us, we don’t know.” 

Marcus and his partner are silent as they study the photographs you’ve given them so you decide to keep talking, “All of these items are instantly recognizable too, the second they appear on any market, black or otherwise, we’re going to know about it, so it can’t be about selling it for money either.” 

Marcus is nodding in understanding, “It’s not a lot to go on,” he shrugs, turning to Pete, “Do you have the flight number you tracked them on?” Pete nods, slipping a bit of paper across the desk to Marcus, “We’ll have a look at the CCTV on our end and see if we can pick up the trail here, in the meantime, Pete feel free to make yourself at home here, we can get you a desk set up so you can work alongside us,” He turns to you, “I’m assuming as Curator of such a large collection you have work to be doing whilst you’re here too,” His tone is dismissive which has rage pooling inside you, “We’ll call you if we have any news.” 

“This case is my number one priority,” You interrupt, “I want to be as closely involved in this as Pete is.” 

It’s Marcus’ partner who is speaking now, “With all due respect ma’am, this is a job for law enforcement, these heists can get dicey, and we wouldn’t want you putting yourself in any unnecessary danger when we’re more than capable of handling this ourselves.” 

“Please,” You snort, “I was an archaeologist before this, I’ve worked in literal war zones, so don’t talk to me about unnecessary danger,” You stand, noticing that Marcus’ expression softens a little, “I want a daily meeting on the progress of the case starting tomorrow morning so I have something to report back to our board of directors, and I want to be present when you follow any leads out in the field, these items are incredibly fragile so I want to be the only one to handle them when we find them, understood?” 

Marcus nods his head, giving into your demands, “We can meet every morning at ten for a progress report if that works?” 

You nod and start gathering your belongings, noticing as Lizzie follows suit. Pete is also standing, smoothing out his uniform as he shakes the boys’ hands again, letting them know he’ll walk the two of you out before coming back up to get on with some work. 

“I want to know everything Pete,” You say to him when you finally get outside, stress gets the better of you and you’re reaching into your jacket pocket for the packet of cigarettes and the lighter you’d bought at the airport when you’d landed, “I need to know whatever they’re planning – if they leave anything out of those morning briefings I want to know, are we clear?” 

You think you might actually scare Pete judging by his expression, “Of course,” He’s stuffing his hands in his pockets as you light the cigarette and take a long drag, “I’ll keep my ears open for anything.” 

You check your watch as you take another drag of the cigarette, “I’ve got to get back to the hotel for a check in with Hartwig, you’ve got my phone number,” You direct to Pete, “Anything happens, give me a call.” 

He nods in understanding and is taking his leave as quickly as he can, leaving you with Lizzie to wait for a cab. 

“I really do hate Americans sometimes,” You mumble, “The biggest theft from a museum, possibly ever, and no sense of haste in them at all.” 

“At least he was cute.” She shrugs, and your eyes are going wide, “What? I’m just saying if we’re here for the foreseeable future, it’s nice to have something to look at whilst we’re here.” 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” You try and say sternly, but chuckle anyway, Lizzie had become a fast friend in the year she’d worked for you, “Is your jetlag killing you as much as mine?” She nods, “I don’t think there’s much left for either of us to do once I’ve caught up with the team back home, so just take it easy for the rest of the day, yeah?” 

You ride in a cab together to the hotel, bidding each other goodbye with flimsy plans to meet for dinner if neither of you fell asleep before then. The room you’d been given was huge, king size bed, a bathroom that not only had a full walk-in shower but a bath as well, a desk that you’ve already made into a makeshift workstation, laptop currently plugged in and charging. There was a lovely view out of the window, but it was one you couldn’t fully enjoy, wondering where in this city, if anywhere, your precious artefacts were being kept. 

There was a chime from your laptop, signaling someone had joined the video call, so you set yourself up and accept the invite. Within seconds there were three or four squares of your colleagues back in London, and Hartwig Fischer, the museum’s director, who skipped all pleasantries and headed straight into wanting an update. 

“We just finished meeting with the Art Crimes division here,” You begin, “We’ve brought them up to speed on what was taken and where Pete and the Met had managed to get to with the investigation, we’re working with two agents who have said their first port of call is to see how far they can trace the gang from the airport here and then take it from there.” 

“And I assume you’ve stressed the importance of this collection to them?” Hartwig is speaking now, “It’s imperative we get them found and back where they belong as soon as possible.” 

“I did,” You nod, noticing the roll of the eye that your boss, Mark, gives at his question, “We’ll have progress meetings here in D.C. with the team every morning at ten, so I’ll schedule calls with all of you at around four each afternoon your time, but I’m afraid that’s all I have to update on.” 

Everyone says a mumbled goodbye and you’re about to close your laptop when an email pings into your inbox from Mark. He’s been a good boss to you since you made the premature switch from archaeological field work to curatorship nearly three years ago, always had your back and had supported your ideas for displays and conservation. As a man who had spent his entire career working up the Museum’s staff structure, you were somewhat of an enigma – archaeologist turned curator, he’d affectionately taken to calling you Jones, after Indiana Jones, which, whilst it had annoyed you at the beginning, was now the best term of endearment you could come to expect from him. 

Doing a great job already, Jones. I know you’d rather be here than the States but we’ll hold the fort. Go get em. All best, Mark. 

You smile but choose not to reply. Instead, you toe off your shoes and shed your suit jacket before climbing onto the bed. You set an alarm on your phone for an hour from now, hoping that Lizzie would do the same so you could have company for dinner later, before falling into a fitful nap, full of images of your precious antiquities in various states of damage and decay. 

When you wake from your nap it’s clear that you’ve slept through the alarm you set. It’s dark outside and you can see through the window that the city outside is lit up. You roll over and check your phone. Three texts from Lizzie who obviously hadn’t been as lucky as you to fall asleep. 

Dinner? I didn’t manage to fall asleep. 

Taking from your silence you did, I’ll wait. 

Okay, I’m starving so I’m going out to hunt for food, speak later. 

Then there are two missed calls from a number you don’t recognize. It’s an American number, so you’re dialing back before thinking, just in case you’ve missed an important development in the case. It takes three rings for someone to pick up.

“Agent Pike.” 

“Oh, hello, I just woke up and had some missed calls, so I was just checking in.” 

You can hear some shuffling on the other end of the phone and then the background noise dissipates, “Sorry, should have known jetlag would have been a killer for you,” You hum in agreement, “Listen, I didn’t upset you earlier, did I?” 

What an odd question. 

“Marcus, I don’t know you, how could you upset me?” 

“I don’t know,” You think you can picture him shrugging on the other end of the line, “Felt like maybe I’d been a bit dismissive of you, if we’re going to work together then I wanted to make sure we’re all good?” 

You really did have bigger problems to worry about that didn’t involve making sure Agent Pike thought you hated him, but he was right, if you were going to work together, you needed to be able to trust each other, “We’re all good, don’t worry, I’m just getting a lot of stress from my side.” 

“I can imagine,” You hear him sigh a little at the other end of the phone, “Have you eaten?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Have you had dinner?” He asks again, “If you’ve been sleeping then I assume not, I can show you the best twenty-four-hour diner in town if you are hungry?” 

You’re about to refuse, wanting instead to order room service and soak in the bath, but then your stomach makes the most unholy noise, and you think that a measly room service portion isn’t going to cut what your body obviously needs. 

“Sure, okay,” You reply, “Where shall I meet you?” 

“You’re in luck, because it’s just around the corner from your hotel, I’ll meet you in the lobby in an hour.” 

“Wait, how do you know where I’m staying?” 

“I’m a federal agent, it’s my job to know.” 

You’re about to reply when you hear the familiar tone of being hung up on. You hang up yourself, throwing your phone to the bed as your drag yourself into the shower to freshen up. You’d come straight off the plane and to the offices and then back here to promptly fall asleep and you felt gross. You tied your hair up into a knot on the top of your head, deciding that right now, Marcus Pike was not worth washing your hair for, before standing under the hot stream of water for longer than anticipated. 

You rush to get ready, throwing on the first thing you can pull from your suitcase, which happens to be a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that you remember wearing to one of your first excavations. Its threadbare by now and you have to wear a t-shirt underneath it to be semi-decent to go in public, but it’s always been like a comfort blanket to you. 

When you exit the elevator and head into the lobby, Marcus is already waiting for you. He’s in the same suit as he had been this morning, clearly coming straight from the office, but he’s left his FBI badge behind thankfully. He stands and greets you with another handshake. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” He speaks as he leads you from the hotel, “I think this is my favourite place in all of D.C. to eat.” 

The walk to the diner is quiet. Marcus is typing on his phone as you walk, lifting his head only to make sure he’s not going to immediately walk into someone or something. He mutters something about emails piling up and a mumbled apology, but it’s not long before he’s guiding you into a diner on the corner of a street and greeting the waitress on the door by name. 

The waitress, who clearly knows Marcus well, is leading you to the very back on the diner and into the last booth they have available. You shimmy into one side and Marcus does the same opposite you. He doesn’t reach for the menu like you do though. If this is his favourite place to eat you can only assume that every person who works here knows exactly what he’s going to get. 

Your point is proven when the waitress brings two mugs of coffee, filling his first. You put your hand over yours so she doesn’t pour any in, “Sorry, can I just get a glass of lemonade please?” 

She smiles at you and nods, taking your mug away. You watch as Marcus adds creamer to his coffee and an unholy amount of sugar, he must notice your face of disgust because he’s smiling, “What?” 

“I just don’t know how you can drink that stuff so late at night,” You shrug, looking down at the menu, “I can’t drink caffeine past three in the afternoon because I’ll be awake all night.” 

“Occupational hazard I suppose,” He takes another sip, “Our team works odd hours a lot, art thieves don’t seem to rest much so this keeps me sharp.” 

You nod in understanding before turning your attention back to the menu. It’s huge, far bigger than any menu you’d see in London, you’re spoilt for choice, “What do you usually get?” You ask. 

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” He grins, “Side of bacon if I’m feeling it.” 

You look at your watch, “At nine at night?” 

“Don’t tell me breakfast for dinner isn’t a thing across the pond?” 

“I mean, I’ve been known to eat a bowl of cereal late, I guess.” 

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.” 

When the waitress comes back you decide to follow his lead, chocolate chip pancakes and a side of bacon – when in Rome and all of that. 

“So, have there been any developments today?” You ask, sipping the lemonade through your straw. 

“I’ve got Steven searching the CCTV from the airport, if we can pick them up there then we’ve got a good chance of following them to wherever they might be keeping your artefacts, but it’ll be at least tomorrow morning before we know anything.” 

“Is this what you’ve always done?” You’re not great at making conversation with people you don’t know, but the thought of an awkward silence is too much for you to handle right now. 

“Pretty much, I worked Art Crimes down in Austin for a while and then transferred to D.C. just over a year ago now,” He’s draining his coffee and motioning for the waitress to top him up, “How about you, you said you were an archaeologist before this, right?” 

You nod, “Yeah, worked as a field archaeologist straight out of university, got to travel the world, which was pretty cool, and now I’m confined to the walls of a museum that a lot of people hate these days.” 

“Why the change?” 

There’s a pause for the waitress who drops two huge plates of pancakes in front of you, you have to admit they look pretty bloody good. Marcus covers his in syrup and passes you the jug, you add your own syrup and dig in. 

“Fuck, that’s good.” You can’t help yourself from moaning as you chew on your food. 

“I told you they would be good,” He smiles, digging into his own plate, “So, why the change?” He asks again. 

You shrug your shoulders, “I had an accident, recovery meant no fieldwork, and I had to pay my rent somehow, so this seemed like the natural jump to make.” 

“What kind of accident?” 

You look him dead in the eyes, “Pass.” 

He’s looking at you whilst eating and you think he might press you, but he relents, “So, London then, always wanted to go, is it as good as everyone says?” 

“Probably best not to ask the person that lives there but it’s decent,” You start eating your own food again, “It’s a great city and it’s a lovely place to visit if you enjoy being busy but it can lose its magic when you live there too long.” 

There’s a long silence whilst the two of you continue eating and you can’t stop the way your brain thinks back to Lizzie’s observation. You must admit that Marcus is pretty cute. No. You try and tell your brain, we are not doing this here. But it doesn’t relent, tracing the curve of his nose and how his eyes are the colour you like your coffee in the morning; how his plush bottom lip, shiny from the sticky syrup, is just begging to be kissed. No, absolutely not. Just because you’d spent the last however many years focusing on your career and trying not to die and as a result were the loneliest person you’d ever met; didn’t mean we need to start fantasizing about the very cute FBI agent sat across from us. 

“You alright there?” Marcus’ voice cuts through your thoughts. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts, “Yeah, sorry, guess I’m still pretty tired from the flight.” 

“Understandable,” You notice he’s finished his food, “You done there?” 

Your own plate is half finished but there’s no way you can fit anymore into your stomach, so you nod, he motions for the waitress, who clears everything away and brings your leftover pancakes back in a to-go box for you, along with the bill. 

Marcus is reaching for it, but you swat his hand, “What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Paying for dinner?” He says defensively. 

“Don’t be silly,” You murmur, rooting around in your bag for your wallet, “Company card,” You smile, flashing the card from your bag, “If they’ve got me out here chasing after thieves, the least they can do is pay for our food, right?” 

“Remind me to always phone you for dinner then.” Marcus muses, a glint in his eye that has you swallowing deeply. 

Paying is relatively painless once Marcus has explained how to properly tip the waitress, still something that confuses the hell out of you, even once he’d shown you how to do it. You’re standing and gathering your bag as he reaches for your to-go box, “Don’t worry, I won’t steal them, I’ll carry them whilst we walk.” 

“My hands do work, you know?” You tease, and the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows at the innuendo isn’t lost on you. 

“Just trying to be a gentleman after we got off on the wrong foot earlier.” 

“Are you a gentleman for all the women you barely know, or am I special?” You tease, as he holds the diner door open for you and starts on the short walk back to the hotel. 

“You might joke but you’re not far wrong.” He’s chuckling but there’s an undercurrent of something else to his voice, maybe frustration, which tells you there is much more to Marcus Pike than might first meet the eye. 

It’s another short walk until you’re back in the hotel lobby. Marcus hands you your box of pancakes before he stands awkwardly with you whilst you wait for the elevator to arrive at the ground floor. 

“Well, thanks for showing me the best place to eat when I inevitably forget to do that during the day,” You smile, a genuine one this time, “Hopefully you’ve got some more places to recommend?” 

“You have no idea how long that list is,” He’s got his hands stuffed into his pockets and he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, his nervous habit, you observe, “Maybe if you’re not busy with meetings tomorrow I can show you the best Italian place?” 

Just like you were earlier, you go to open your mouth and decline when you stop. Sure, he’s supposed to be a professional colleague, and an Italian restaurant is a far cry from the diner on the corner, but what would you be doing otherwise? Room service and an overpriced glass of wine followed by no other option that sorting through all your emails. Just because you were here on important business didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy D.C. whilst you did it, and was it so bad if that came with the company of your lead agent who just so happened to make your knees a little weak? 

“Do they have tiramisu and good white wine?” You asked as the elevator door opens, Marcus walks forward with you, putting his hand across the divide so it doesn’t shut prematurely. 

“The best outside of Italy,” He claims, “Not that I’ve ever been, that’s just what the menu says.” 

You laugh, “It’s a date then.”  

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[willowedhepatica]

Beatrice was amazing in battle. 

Calculating and swift with the motions of her staff. Her movements precise and hits clean, connected to muscle memory from hours upon hours of training. 

Training that no one had forced upon her but herself. 

The group relied on her. Camila looked up to her. Ava she– Ava depended on her as an instructor. Her protector. 

Calm. 

Collected. 

Never ever faltered. 

Could never falter. 

She needed to be perfect. 

For the mission. For the world. 

Except, when she pulled herself away from the group and closed the door behind her she looked down at her hands that shook. 

It frustrated her. How her heart couldn't catch up with her brain. Stuck in the one sliver of a moment when she felt nothing but terror. For one blinding second in a fight where the weapon of the enemy came so close she could feel it grazing her skin. See the flicker of an image where it dug into her throat, her abdomen, her chest. When the bullet from a fired gun shot past her and she could hear the ringing in her ears. Smell the scent of sulphur and burnt metal. Taste it on her lips. 

And think, this is it. This is what ends me. 

It was worse now. 

Worse when the shot of a gun or the clanging of weapons from a further distance made her body tense up and eyes wander to the point of contact. 

Looking for Ava. 

Always looking for Ava. 

It didn't matter that she was the warrior nun. That she had a divine artefact with an ever humming light that would heal her wounds and power her through fights that were far too big for her. Beatrice was still terrified. Her heart still stuttered. Clenched and squeezed and throbbed like it belonged to her. Like Ava had grabbed it with her bare hands and breathed life into it. Breathed fear into it. Made it catch on fire like it was an actual working organ in her body and not a fake prop that had been put there when her real one was lost. 

Beatrice should be terrified. 

She should push the feelings away. Take her heart back and settle it elsewhere where no one could reach it. Not even her. 

Except Ava took a hold of her shaking hands and pulled her closer. Soft and tentative and so utterly warm, thumb tracing circles over her open palm. It left her body tingling. Made her want to take more until she grew addicted to it. 

But she couldn't. She couldn't, she couldn't. 

Never falter. 

Not even in front of her. 

Especially not her. 

Except she saw it. Ava had an obscure ability of seeing through her wall and perfectly constructed armour. Beatrice had a hard time admitting that perhaps it was just her who let her protection, her image – slip whenever Ava was around. Her heart did no longer listen to her brain and she wondered once again if Ava had gotten a hold of it. 

In a way, Beatrice knew she had. 

Ava guided her hand up to her own chest, placing it over her heart where it beat a steady rhythm. 'I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.' She'd said. And oh how much two simple sentences could convey. How the thread that had spun through their lives and left her tripping never pulled Ava away. Even when slipups made the yarn knot and the string tear by use. It would never snap. 

Ava wouldn't let it. 

Beatrice couldn't let it. 

She crumbled then. Her body falling into Ava's and hands digging into her clothes in an attempt to hold herself up. Her whole body shook. Beatrice let it. Let it consume her as Ava held her in her arms and pressed her closer. 

She could hear Ava's heart beat against her ear. 

Beatrice was amazing in battle but she couldn't deny that it made her shake. That her body was as reactive as the heart thrumming in her chest. 

Because it was there. 

Alive.

And Ava could see it so clearly. So openly it made her feel vulnerable. But also it was Ava and she tucked her closer to her chest like she never wanted to let her go nonetheless. Not even when she saw that the thrumming in her heart sometimes stuttered. 

Beatrice allowed herself to falter. 

In front of her. 

Maybe if it was in front of her. 

It was okay.