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vellichxrr6782 · 1 year

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CHAPTER ONE, fever dream high.

SYNOPSIS: your well-wishing managers suggest a preposterous idea, to combat your sharply decreasing fan-following.

CHARACTERS (in this chapter): childe, jean, zhongli.

CW/TW: childe and reader overreact, childe is already dating someone else.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k words.

<- previous chapter | cruel summer masterlist | next chapter ->

"so... let me get this straight."

falling in love is unplanned, unnecessary, and uncalled for.

that was what you told yourself. you had your goals set in front of you, and love was just a little pastime.

unfortunately, for you, you didn't really have time to pass with pastimes.

"you want us to date...?" you finished, your disbelief obvious in your tone. you crossed your legs, fidgeting with your fingers.

maybe that’s why the mere idea of love was enough to set off your fight-or-flight response. morbid, and quite frankly, ironic, considering you were an a-list actress who acted in romance movies most of the time.

"well, pretend to date.." your manager, jean clarified. her voice was a little shaky, as if she already knew your answer.

what. the. hell. your only emotion in that moment was disbelief. you’d certainly been asked to act in some odd movies with odd plots, but this wasn’t a movie. this was real life. and your one trustworthy manager had just stabbed you in the back by even suggesting such a preposterous idea.

(you are most definitely over-reacting right now.)

unacceptable.

"come again?" the unfortunately-familiar ginger-haired male beside you raised a brow, just as bewildered as you at the mere thought. “us…both?” he pointed to himself, then pointed to you, his voice hesitant as if he were treading into dangerous territory.

"pretend to be in a relationship, childe." childe's manager, zhongli spoke calmly, taking a sip of his tea as if he were unbothered. "for the media."

for the...media? relationship? love? kissing? foreign words. absolutely foreign words to you.

your schedule and your own rationality didn't allow you to fall in love. not to mention, your poor partner would get caught in the limelight, which they might not even want. you didn't really want your private life to be on display for everyone to come and give their opinion on.

you weren’t a big fan of change, especially when the change came in the form of childe ajax tartaglia, with his many names but only one sole purpose in life; to be the death of you.

and you knew, people said, “you’re going to be the death of me,” in a romantic sense.

but childe was going to be the death of you because you loathed him.

with all the above information taken into consideration, you knew your answer immediately.

"NO!" on instinct, you both yelled in chorus, aware of how terrible this idea was.

"calm down, let us explain- " jean began, waving her arms around frantically.

"your explanation will not change my opinion. jean, you know how i’m against faking things to the media's satisfaction." you crossed your arms defensively, and jean sighed, opening her mouth to explain.

"just hear us out- "

"there's nothing to hear you out about! i have a girlfriend, for archons' sake, zhongli! what, you want me to publically cheat on her?" childe furrowed his brows, and zhongli kept his composure, shrugging.

"break up with her, then." zhongli nonchalantly spoke, his gaze firmly fixed on the tea in front of him.

"gods, i didn't know you out of all people could be so insensitive!" childe snapped at his manager, and jean raised her voice, clearly exasperated from all the yelling.

"if you would just not jump to conclusions, and let us explain, it would be absolutely splendid."

you and childe sat down on the stools beside each other, zipping your mouths to hear whatever nonsensical explanation your managers had come up with. although you were certain it would do nothing to change your mind, of course. you were just as stubborn as childe was.

"everyone knows about the undeniable chemistry between you two."

"please phrase it better." you made a disgusted face, impatiently clicking your shoes against the floor.

undeniable chemistry made it sound like you were willing to go on all-fours, running around trying to smooch childe in public.

that’s a very… unflattering visual. you made a mental note to erase that from your mind forever.

"your acting is so convincing, that your fans genuinely think you both are in love." jean continued, cautious of every word she was saying, as if she was walking on eggshells, "and you both are a popular pairing in most movies and shows you're casted in. this makes you two a very anticipated and highly-adored pairing.”

"and?" childe frowned, exasperated. "you're telling me stuff i already know. i know i'm amazing. you can skip over that, y'know?"

"you're shameless, that's what you are." you said, narrowing your eyes in distaste. “you are a pathetic excuse for an actor.”

"well, at least i don't have an ego the size of my head, to the point where i don't think about others and only care about my own image and act like a spoilt brat-"

"childe." zhongli glared. "jean, continue."

"...but when you check your recent popularity reports, they seem to be going down by quite a bit, due to a new actor taking the screens."

now this was news to you.

every month, there was a popularity poll released for teyvat’s entertainment industry. ranging from actors, to dancers, to singers, to almost anything that would be considered a part of the industry, the higher ups would write a proper article on who was rising to the top, and who was falling off the charts.

it was a simple yet subtle tactic to motivate stars to do better in their work, and see where they currently stand.

you and childe had been at the top for almost two years. it was absolutely wild how many people were loyal and adoring fans of you both, especially when you two worked together. you were quite used to being number one.

and as stated before, you did not like change. so this sudden decrease in your rank? how could you let that slide?

"who's this new actor?" you spoke, in your newfound sense of hurt-pride. "and what do you mean, i'm not doing as well?"

"see what i mean when i say, 'only care about my own image'?-" childe whispered loudly. without hesitation, you stomped on his foot. he cried out in pain, immediately scowling at you when he recovered.

"the media will soon move on from you both and focus on the rising star, thus resulting in a drastic decrease in both your popularities." zhongli put down his porcelain cup on the table, hands on his lap. "so me and jean thought about ways to get you both back on the headlines."

"might as well commit a crime. then i’ll be sure to be in the headlines." childe murmured, "kaeya has been rather annoying these days. i'm sure no one will notice if he disapp-"

"please, no." jean raised her hand, and childe sank into his seat in disappointment. "since the public is anticipating a confirmation regarding the both of you dating... we assumed-"

"the only way to let you both be the 'next big thing', was to confirm that you both are indeed, in love."

was this the most stupid yet intriguing idea you’d heard all your life? yes.

did you want to do it for your rank, even though you would actually get a stroke if you dated childe? also yes.

your head was spinning at the mere thought of having to play a stupid game, just to get your number one rank back.

and with such high stakes, too? acting to be childe's lover in the movies was already such an annoyance.

childe, or ajax, has acted in many, many movies with you over the years. enemies, friends, lovers and strangers. just through movies, you felt like you've experienced all the stages of a relationship with him.

and to make it an actual, official relationship?

well, it was still acting. a fake relationship. so has nothing changed? you'd still be pretending and faking your emotions. would it really be that bad then? considering you’d have to lie to everyone around you, maybe.

contemplative silence filled the room.

"you only have to do it for a few months." zhongli reassured, but it didn't help lift the atmosphere much. "till the shooting for the newest movie you both have been working on is done."

"you guys can officially call it quits on the premiere day of the movie you both are currently working on." jean nodded in agreement with zhongli.

"it's like a contract of sorts." zhongli smiled, "so please consider and accept our offer. and keep in mind that we do whatever we do with your best interests in heart."

"...i need some time to think." you straightened up.

"i don’t, it's a no from me." childe got up, dusting invisible dust off his clothes. "sorry 'bout it. but i'm not pretending to like someone because i'm not as popular as i used to be. my life isn’t a movie, and i can’t play the role of y/n’s lover behind the screens."

"childe, please reconsider. this could be a huge push for your career. you'll be thankful in the long run." zhongli urged, standing up to follow behind childe, who was already about to leave, sparing no second thoughts.

"i'm not lying to the people who admire me, neither will i lie to myself." he turned towards the door, sighing. "... but still, let's see where things go."

he left, and the room went silent.

you didn't know if you should've been disappointed that childe said no, or relieved. for now, you’d be relieved. besides, what’s the harm in being second sometimes?

“well, i was looking forward to the premiere, imagine if no one showed up, haha.” jean crossed her fingers, hoping this would work.

and it sure did.

“what?” you seethed, “no, not at all. everyone will show up.”

“well, the actor who’s currently beating you both is also working on a movie, rumoured to release around the same time as yours.” zhongli smiled, “considering your sharp decrease, i’m certain that by the time the shooting for the movie is over, you both are doomed.”

doomed.

that word echoed in the back of your mind.

childe peeked in through the door, “sorry, forgot my keys.” he grabbed the keys laying on the table, and waved. “see ya-”

“ajax,” you called, your back straight, a serious look in your eyes, which made him nervous. “break up with your girlfriend. you’re getting a new one.”

published on; 28th february, 2023. writing belongs to @/vellichxrr6782 on tumblr.

#[🔖 vellichxrr writes ]#[ 🎬 cruel summer ]#genshin childe #childe genshin impact #childe x reader #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #genshin tartagalia #childe tartagalia #tartaglia x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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mxmentos · 2 years

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rewrite the stars.

character(s) ; mona x gn!reader genre ; star-crossed lovers word count ; 1007 cw/tw ; very annoyed mona, not proofread (when is it ever) a/n ; told yall ill make y/n the good guy this time <3 i wrote this in a rush, you can tell by the ending 💀💀 sorry for the lack of content- and yes, the old hag is mona's mother in this au lol

“are you out of your mind?!”

your grip on mona’s arm loosened, but your fingers remained firm and made sure she couldn’t escape. you weren’t done with this woman just yet. mona’s pale green eyes flashed at yours with anger, grunts escaping her parted lips as she tried to free herself from your grip.

“[name], i demand you to release me at once! do you know who i am? i’m the daughter of the most praised astrologer in the entirety of teyva-”

“will you quiet down, star-lady? i’m trying to get us out of here.”

“star-lady?! i will not let myself be disgraced with such preposterous nicknames. release me at onc-”

you placed your free-hand over mona’s lips, muffling her strained voice from escaping into the woods. “you’ve been hanging out with fischl a bit too much, haven’t you?” you whispered, listening keenly to make sure the two of you were alone.

“no sign of the old hag’s guards here, mona. there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“that’s not who i’m afraid of,” mumbled mona. you removed your hand from her lips, finally letting go of her arm. mona was extremely upset with you. she knew you were an idiot, but she never would’ve imagined you do this sort of thing. her cheeks flushed with rage as she began to unleash all her anger on you.

“what. were. you. thinking? grabbing my hand as i was plucking berries in the royal garden, and running at full-speed! did you not take a pause and think about the possibility of my master, who was admiring the stars in the balcony, taking a glance below and seeing me carried off to the woods by some lunatic i fell in love with? and how would you consider…”

mona continued along with her rant, but you weren’t really listening to what mona was saying. she stood before you, her deep violet hair illuminated by the moonlight alone. arms crossed, she strutted back and forth, angrily rambling about how careless you were. you admired everything about her; the quick movements she made with her fingers, the way her ponytails swayed along as she strutted back and forth… oh, you were so in love with the woman in front of you.

“...we could’ve been in so much trouble. are you even listening to me?”

you let out a soft chuckle, which made mona’s cheeks burn even more. she didn’t know if she was angry at you or happy to see both of you together in the forest, free from both of your families, and ready to burn the woods with your desires. but alas, she knew that wouldn’t happen; there were too many faults in the stars to ignore.

“[name], don’t you understand? i can’t go back… because of you! and now i’m stuck with you and i don’t have anywhere else to go… just the thought of me waking up to see your ugly face in the morning makes me sick-”

“mona… we both know that you wanted it.”

mona's pupils dilated at the sound of that. “wanted… what?” mona shot a puzzled look at you, but you knew her true intentions. she wasn’t ready to talk about the subject of you and her being together. the both of you were deeply in love the moment the delicate thread of your fate interlocked with hers, tying a beautiful knot. but the both of you knew that unless you did something about it, that knot will slowly fall apart, and the threads that once held each other would finally let go.

“you wanted to be free. to be free and roam across the woods. so what if we cause a forest fire? at least the forests would burn from the desires in our hearts. my longing to be with you grows by the day, and im sure that in the depths of your delicate heart, you have that same longing. mona, the universe has destined our relationship.”

mona bit her lip; as much as she wanted to believe you, she just couldn’t. she could never forget the fine morning when she decided to dive into the depths of the stars, wanting to see the path of destiny laid out for you and her. saying that the path was not charted the way she expected it to would be a bit of an understatement.

“[name], our story is inscribed in the stars, the universe only guides us to the path foretold.”

you let out a deep sigh; unlike mona, you didn’t believe in astronomy. how would you let a few specs in the sky determine your fate? it sounded extremely unrealistic, but you made sure not to mention it to mona.

“listen, [name], as much as i want to be with you, there is simply no reality in which we would have a happy ending. you know how much the megistus family despises you and your family. besides, the stars don’t paint a pretty picture of us in the sky. i think that it’s… better if we stayed apart.”

no. that wasn’t true, and you both knew it.

you wanted to be with her, even though it would all end up in flames. there’s not a second that went by without you thinking about her. your heart was aching from the distance between you and mona, you couldn’t be separated from her any longer. and you knew that deep down, she felt the same.

“don’t you get it, [name]? the stars have been inscribed with our fates. must you continue with your pointless convincing?”

mona looked at you with starry eyes, a tear trickling down her cheek. she wanted to believe you, she really did, but the stars said otherwise. you gently cupped her cheeks, causing her cheeks to flush. as you stared more into her eyes, you could see endless galaxies spanning across, hiding the truth of the universe.

“...why do you keep fighting for a future you know we can’t cherish?”

“because if the stars were truly written, then we can rewrite it.”

fic by @/mxmentos on tumblr. do not repost this fic without my permission.

#꒰🍷꒱┊❝ mo's fics. ❞#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin #mona x y/n #mona x you #mona megistus #mona x reader #genshin mona #gn!reader

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lastchancevillagegreen · 3 months

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Saturday, 3 February, 2024:

Thinking Back: The Anthology 1970-1975 Brinsley Schwarz (Lemon) (released in November 2023)

This might be the most perverse of the quartet of releases I obtained this past Saturday in the post. It indicates that I suffer from substantial amounts of, what a friend describes as "the sickness," that which record collectors are susceptible to.

Way back in May 2021, I picked up the five CD set Brinsley Schwarz Original Album Series. I was quite enthusiastic for this set and when January 2022 rolled around I began playing it at the pace of one album per month until I finished it. I intended on leaping right into Nick Lowe's reissues from Yep Roc, but my experience with Brinsley Schwarz was such a miserable experience I couldn't even think about listening to Nick Lowe. Matter of fact, my deep unhappiness with Brinsley Schwarz made me question whether or not I even liked Nick Lowe (as preposterous a question as my endless asking myself, 'do I really like XTC,' but I'm serious, on a good day, I'm not sure I like Lowe's work or XTC). Truth be told, I think I dislike more of their work than I like, which is almost hard for me to even fathom. One day I'll come to terms with both Lowe and XTC, but for now, let's focus on the Brinsleys.

I played their debut January 2022 and I thought that their self titled debut was outstanding. Then with each progressive album they became a little less sterling to me until by the final album Please Don't Ever Change, I was certain I absolutely despised the band and their pub rock/ faux country-Americana/ boogie band sounds.

So why on Earth buy a seven disc box of a band I despise? The sickness, right? Well, I lacked the band's final album in that five album Original Album Series and who knows? Maybe it will be such a natural to lead into Lowe's solo debut Pure Pop For Now People it will all suddenly make sense. Then there is the fact that this box also includes the unreleased album It's All Over Now (which isn't that unreleased, it was officially released in 1988). Plus the box has 64 bonus tracks, mostly live (many from the 2021 Japanese four disc box set Live On The Road). If I'm going to hate a band, let me hate them properly and exhaustively.

Besides, maybe it was my mood, maybe it was the music I surrounded that Brinsley Schwarz box with as I listened to it and other things. If I simply accepted my own initial reaction to things, I'd never claim the Go-Betweens as one of the few bands I consider my favorite. It took me playing the first two Go-Betweens albums endlessly before I came to fully embrace that band. I'm probably not going to ever claim Brinsley Schwarz as my favorite, let alone allow them in my Top 500 (a ridiculous concept I only just begun using as an example). But I know this much: I'm going to listen to even more Brinsley Schwarz music and decide a second time what I think of them. There is nothing wrong with reassessing your assessment.

Above you see the front of the clamshell box and then the back of that box. The third photo shows you the spine I will be seeing on my CD shelf.

The photo below shows you what the back of the booklet looks like. I didn't photograph the front of the booklet as it looks exactly like the cover of the box itself. The second photo is the inside of the booklet. I specifically focused on that seventh disc, the bonus album It's All Over Now.

Below you will find the front and the back of the each wallet card the disc is housed in. The third photo in each series will be the CD for that particular album. So, first up is the debut album Brinsley Schwarz from 1970.

The second disc in this set is Despite It All, also from 1970.

Disc three is the band's third album, Silver Pistol comes from 1972, which is where they really started getting on my nerves. They perform some of the most annoying covers known inside my head (Niki Hoeke Speedway is one of the worst things I've ever heard).

Next up is the album Nervous On The Road from 1972, containing more god-awful covers (I Like It Like That and Home In My Hand, the latter being a stale staple back in the 70s of bar-bands that I despised back in the day when I went to actually hear bar bands).

On album five, 1973's Please Don't Ever Change, the Brinsleys get seriously under my skin by including a live version of Home In My Hand, a song that I just despise and having to suffer from its inclusion on two of their albums is insufferable.

Technically the band's final album was 1974's The New Favourites of Brinsley Schwarz.

The final piece of this seven disc box set is It's All Over Now which was recorded in 1975 but wasn't released until 1988.

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cynettic · 3 years

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hi, i hope i'm not bothering you, but i can order a Scaramouche × Kitsune reader, the two met before the vision hunt (and before he was a fatui if you want) the reader was always in the same place, sometimes having a conversation , the good old routine, but with the hunting of visions the reader disappeared not wanting to give up his own vision, and years later a reunion, SFW or NSFW is by your will, thank you, I really admire your work

Summary - Scaramouche met you as a child, growing up with the constant assurance that you would be right there, sitting at your spot where he could meet you with every visit. He isn't happy when you suddenly disappear.

Pairing - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warning - Slight Yandere warnings?

Penpal - Ahhh- hope this is what you were looking for. I couldn't find a spot to put much nsfw unless I considered writing more for the series ( I could, just put a request in if thats what you’re looking for ). But I hope you liked it!! You're not bothering me at all and I'm glad you like my work!

A/N - Alright- so considering that with the 2.1 update with Scaramouche coming in, I just wanna state beforehand that I wrote this prior so I dont know if we learn about his backstory or anything!!

Link for Part 2

Stay With Me

Scaramouche was used to the routine he’d found himself going along with every visit to Inazuma. As a child he’d pass through the wild fields that stretched just beside his hometown, adventurous and curious with all the tenacity of a child.

And of course you, a kitsune that sat perched on the ground awaiting the Kitsune Saiguu, was bound to notice him. Unlike the other earth kitsune statues, you hadnt turned to stone during your wait. Instead, staying in the same place did you interact with travellers and the locals, which included Scaramouche.

“Fox person!” The little boy chanted, pulling at the hems of your clothing. Bright blue eyes bore into your own, and you slowly shifted your head to pay attention to the boy who was on the verge of bouncing on you.

Humming in reply to his excitement, the little boy paused, both of his small hands still tightly clasping the fabric of your clothes. Soft matted hair brushed past his face in a messy manner, calling out the boy for his boundless running and rebellious urge to keep his hair messy despite his parents wishes.

“Play with me!”

Staring at the boy only a moment longer, you simply chuckled at his antics. “I’m afraid I cannot move from the spot in which I dwell~ Perhaps I’ll be able to entertain you if you bring cards?”

But the young boy had made up his mind at the statement to which you couldn't move. A pitiful frown enfluged his face as he cast you the nastiest glare a five year old could muster. “Boring!” He shouted into the distance of the fields, dramatically turning on his heels and bouncing up into a sprint away. You watched his small figure fade away into the background, absentmindedly sighing and returning to your mindless thoughts.

As a child, Scaramouche would pass by you fairly often. Frequent when he asked you to play with him, and storming away with the same expression when you denied him. Nothing out of the ordinary, you’d lived for an exceptional amount of time, and even though grumpy children were not your specialty, you’d grown accustomed to their behaviour.

Growing up, Scaramouche got no better. You soon noticed his violent tendencies before they became an issue, the way the children shied away from him when playing Temari. Hiding in front of a tough exterior, he scared them away and laughed, approaching you later with tearful sob.

“Will you play with me?” He asked again, trying to hide the fact that he still wept when the other children pushed him away.

But your answer stayed the same, helping him wipe his tears and coaxing him into your arms. Not the first time you’d made contact with a human, but the first time you held them in such an affectionate manner.

It was clear Scaramouche was beginning to see you as some sort of pillar of reassurance when he began running away from home to simply ask to be held. You always welcomed him with open arms, urging him to head back to his household and sort things out. There was no harm in simply providing love and comfort for a child who received none was there?

“Now now, hurry back home little one. Your parents must be growing awfully worried if you’re out by this time at night.”

“My parents dont care about me!”

Darkness slowly pooled into the fields, an obscure shade covering the two of you from the tree you were under. Biting back form your normal emotionless statements, you pondered for something to soothe and convince the boy. Misunderstandings and hardships were normal from what youd seen with children, and you could only offer your hand on his shoulder, a promise. “Go back, I promise to stay here if anything further happens. But you shold give them another chance dont you think?”

And so he’d sprint back to his hometown, and you wouldnt hear from him again till he ran up right up to you a few days later. Begging you to play a game with him. The normal you supposed, and with a grin that seemed to stretch wider with every day, you told him the same thing you told him every single time.

“You cant move?!” Scaramouche nearly yelled one time, tiny fists curling at his side. “Thats… thats stupid!”

“It is isnt it?” You only smiled in response.

Unsatisfied with your response, he clawed your arm, pulling you with all his might. Strong, you realized with surprise that he was much stronger than most children his age. Easy enough to tug away from, but strong enough to take you off guard.

Snapping your hand back to your side, you narrowed your eyes. You weren't angry… no, you hadnt felt strong feelings like that after the disappearance of the Kitsune Saiguu. “Do not attempt to move me,” was your curt response, said in the most stern voice you’d used with the boy.

He’d looked at you only a few seconds longer before bursting into tears, turning away and running. You didn't feel regretful for defending yourself, only turning once more with a tired sigh to stare at the distance.

But just as you stayed ageless, Scaramouche grew older. Still, crossing each others pass was inevitable when you sat in the plains, just alongside the path that lead to his hometown.

With a permanent scowl that seemed to stain his face, he still seemed to have mature a tad bit. Maybe hadnt improved in the social department, because he now scared children and adults and alike, but more mature…

“Hm? Whats this?”

Once again, sitting criss cross under the large tree that provided the perfect shade on sunny days, you stared at the boy expectantly. His hands hesitated at your question, but he resumed shuffling. “Cards,” he simply said in response.

A small featherlike feeling flitted across your chest, making you feel lighter and… almost ticklish. A small smile crossed your face, and you recognized the emotion to be one of adoration. For him to have remembered words you’d spoken years ago, it gave you a warmth you’d sorely missed. A warmth akin to watching him and the other children grow up.

“Ew, dont smile like that, its creepy.”

Swatting at his head, he frowned further when you laughed. “You’re more mature,” you pointed out, lazily leaning back. “You need to work on your people skills though, as someone who hasnt moved in years, thats pitiful that I know more than you.”

“Shut it!”

But as he grew up, you hardly got to see much of him. He’d reached your height and then fully disappeared, leaving no goodbye. And much as you hated to admit it, you hardly noticed, not when days passed in a flurry. You were used to being by yourself, entertaining the kids and greeting the people that passed by.

Sometimes, there’d be the reminder of the warmth he’d given you. But it was quickly overshadowed by your duty to remain seated in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. A dedication kept in its earnest, but beginning to dwindle.

Inazuma was beginning to change.

“The vision decree…” you repeated, staring at the traveller who’d mentioned it to you. “Care to elaborate?”

The new archon threatenening to take away visions from every inhabitant of Inazuma. It was preposterous, so much that you didnt move. Your vision meant the world to you, but so did the Kitsune Saiguu. You werent sure just how you weighed the two till you saw civilians passing by you, ones you recognized, ones that didnt recognize themselves.

It was snowing, cold snowflakes melting into your skin while your hair soaked in the water. Unflinching, you hummed to a little tune, awaiting someone to pass you so that you could attempt to strike a conversation of somesort. The unnatural weather distanced all who entered the field though, and you simply waited. For the Kitsune Saiguu, for someone, or for some form of entertainment, you didnt know. You Slowly closing your eyes, you decided not to care.

“Im gone for five years and you’re still sitting here like a dumbass.”

Eyes snapping open, you find yourself face to face with a complete stranger. Dark purple hair with dark blue eyes, piercing and dangerous in a way you dont recognize at all. Fancy clothing that you cant identify or put a name on.

The boy took a step towards you, crouching down to stare at you directly. His eyes scanned over your figure briefly, and he brushed the snow out of your hair and ears with one flick of his hand. In the next, he was offering a coat to you. “Take it, you’re probably getting cold.”

You leaned forward, ignoring the coat he offered you. Gently, you raised your hand to brush the hair from his eyes, centred on the way his pupils widened. Offering a small moment of surprise and one glimpse into the small childlike blue eyed wonder he was. “Kiddo,” you breathed, pulling your hand back and scanning him once again. “You’ve grown.”

“And you havent.”

Snickering at his comment, you took the coat. You didnt need it, but he looked like he didnt either. He was already wearing clothing that kept him warm, and with careful observation and an untouched coat, you settled on the fact that he’d brought it here. Brought the coat here for you.

“Still havent improved with those social skills of yours have you?”

He scoffed, letting himself fall back till he was sitting fully. “I dont want to hear it from someone who refuses to move an inch for years. Lazy ass.”

You open your mouth to retort, but instead laugh at his comment, shaking your head. “Gained some humour on your journeys have you? Bad words too it seems. Anyways...” He had sat down, which meant that he meant fully well to sit, chat, and catch up. That familiar warmth filled your chest, a contrast between the cold snow. “Welcome back.”

It wasnt often that Scaramouche visited Inazuma, but when he did, he was sure to visit you. The two of you would sit down for hours, talking about the most trivial topics. He never mentioned what he did in his time away, and you never asked.

But things began to go downhill when news of the vision decree finally took action.

“Its no joke anymore! The Raiden Shogun has taken custody of almost a hundred visions!”

In that moment you made your decision, weighing your vision over the Kitsune Saiguu. Awfully selfish you knew, but you’d spent decades sitting there in wait.

And for the first time you sat up from your position on the ground, clumsily stumbling upright but gaining balance. It takes a few steps until you’re back to normal, and you begin your journey in order to escape the Raiden Shogun’s vision hunt decree.

_-_-_-_

You didnt expect to see him again.

Long grass tickled at the skin of your legs, making you adjust your footing to no avail. Sun slowly descending past the mountains to mark the start of an evening and the soon approaching night. A normal day of exploring the mountains and islands of Inazuma, observing the constant changing situation, and running away from the vision decree like a favourite past-time.

With the exception of a firm grip on your wrist.

Dark purple like hair, same hate brimmed eyes and lavish clothing. You recognized Scaramouche the moment he had appeared, looking just as surprised as you were. That being before he snatched your wrist and snarled, “You.”

You wouldve considered it pure luck to find him, an unexpected reunion with someone you actually remembered. But no, his tone had some predatorial edge to it that had you cringing. Hard. “Yes, its me.” You answered back with a frown, trying to loosen his hold. “Nice to see you too, is something the matter?”

He only seemed confused at your words, pulling you closer.

“Something the matter?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, to start, you’re not sitting at your damn spot.”

Taken aback for a moment, you wondered if that sole fact was what drove the boy to such lengths. Surely he couldn't be so troubled over the fact that you moved… “The vision hunt decree, I'm sure I mentioned that I was sticking around in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. I decided to wander around and avoid the conflict until I could settle back.”

“You could’ve waited for me,” he stated almost instantly. “I could have protected you.”

You felt your brows furrow quizzically. “Wait for you? Why in the world would I-”

“Why wouldn't I?” He pushed you closer till he could fully grab both wrists, taking a step closer as if his words would resonate clearer in your head. “You took care of me as a child, it would only be fair for me to repay the favour.” But he only seemed to be looking for excuses. “And besides, you can't just up and leave… I didn't know.”

Before you could interject with the obvious answer that he didn't need to know, you stopped. You’d lived decades, nearly centuries if you’d kept count, and you had learned to read people's expressions even when you’d stayed away from them for so long. He didn't know. It hit you in the most unpleasant way that he wasn't aware that it was none of his concern. To him, you were just another thing he needed to keep track of, something he had control over. His face basically screamed, ‘I depended on you to stay in that place.’

Deep breath in and out. You’d lived long, longer than him, you could deal with a child throwing a tantrum.

“Don't worry,” you gestured to the vision ta your side. “I'm strong enough to protect myself, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be back when the vision decree ends.”

Unconvinced, he pulled you closer, just until your faces were mere inches away from each other. “No,” he said in a stern voice. “I’d rather you by my side, where I can protect you. I hate to question what you’re capable of, but you’ve been sitting down for as long as I’ve known you for.”

“I’ve lived decades more than you,” a simple reply, hopefully enough to get by him. You snatched your hands back with ease, ears flinching slightly when a cold breeze swept past you. But you stayed firm, not wanting to look vulnerable against the imposing air he had around him.

Still unconvinced. “You’re coming with me.”

“No I’m not.”

You’d known him as a kid, watched him grow up along with all the other small ones in his hometown. And maybe you admit you cared a smudge bit about the warmth he gave you when settling down to play cards, but he was different. He had changed in the worst way and you weren't about to deal with it.

“So you’re not coming with me voluntarily?” He asked softly, taking a small step to which you responded by stepping back. He had his hands up, as if telling you he wouldn't hurt you. But the way he said voluntarily sent shivers up your spine.

“No.” Hand on your vision, you held your own hand up threateningly.

He took his time when tilting his head, taking a deep breath in, and then appearing in front of you in just a short stride. Too quick to react, you hesitated before you could attack him. You didn't want to hurt him, he was still a child in your eyes, and you paid the consequences for that. He slid his hand just along your neck, and a jolt of electricity seemed to thrum inside you just as you collapsed in his arms.

Scaramouche was quick to catch you, hoisting you up into his arms dearly. “I do hope you’ll come to understand,” he said softly, cradling your unconscious form in his arms. Making sure not to crush your tail when carrying your legs, he looked past the mountains, sigh resting on his lips.

Because Scaramouche liked to have control of the things he held dear. Like keeping all your valuables neat and tidy in a closet, he was happy knowing you were safe and stable in that spot you always sat on.

And he couldn't have you moving could he?

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin oneshot #genshin fanfic #genshin scaramouche #genshin scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #cynshealthysfw #genshin fluff

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lefaystrent · 2 years

Text

Kid Logan au pt. 8

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic lamp

Summary: In which Logan admits he may need some help.

Masterlist link

________________________________________________________________

Virgil opens the front door. He looks down at his visitor.

“Why do I have the feeling something’s up?” he asks.

Logan stands in the apartment building’s breezeway and glances upwards searchingly.

Virgil rolls his eyes, though not unfondly. “Not literally. Just the feeling that this isn’t just a fun hang out visit.”

“Oh.” Logan realigns his gaze with Virgil’s. He fixes the knot of his tie despite it being perfectly neat. “And why have you come to this conclusion?”

“Instinct. Anxiety. Common sense. Take your pick,” Virgil says and leans back into the apartment. “C’mon.”

Logan follows wordlessly. As he shucks off his shoes at the door at Virgil’s prompting, he wants to ask what he meant. He runs through recent events, parsing through anything that might pertain to the situation.

Well, the only reason Logan’s here at Virgil’s home on this Saturday morning is because Logan had called and asked if he could come over.

Wait.

What was the exact wording he had used?

“Virgil, please prepare yourself, I am coming over for a visit.”

Oh. That wasn’t asking. That was telling.

Logan curses inwardly. Hindsight truly is 20/20 and Logan has never had good vision.

“I apologize for—” Logan begins, stumbling now as he follows Virgil through the small apartment, but Virgil shushes him.

“Shhh.” Virgil emphasizes with a finger to his lips. He glances at a door down a hallway and then motions for Logan to head into a nearby bedroom.

Curious, Logan goes without a fuss. The bedroom is filled with band and movie memorabilia, most of which Logan has heard Virgil discuss excitedly one time or the other. The walls are decorated in fake cobwebs and the thick purple curtains have rows of black spiders lining it, giving it the “spooky vibe” Virgil always strives to maintain. The bedspread features a skull face with an out-of-place white rabbit plushie nestled among the pillows, its floppy ears worn ragged with time.

Overall the room is cluttered yet neat, save for a pile of clothes crumpled in the floor at the end of the bed. Virgil’s bookbag sits by the dresser and his hoodie is tossed over a gray beanbag chair in the corner, so this truly must be his personal space.

Virgil quietly clicks the door closed. Logan raises his brows.

“Sorry,” Virgil murmurs, scratching at a reddened cheek. “I didn’t mean to cut you off. My dad’s just asleep right now.”

“At ten in the morning?” Logan questions.

Virgil snorts as if he’s being the preposterous one. “Dude, it’s Saturday. I’d still be sleeping if you didn’t call me.”

“Ah,” Logan says and adjusts his glasses. “I do apologize for that. I believe I could have thought this through more and approached this visit more . . . considerately.”

Virgil shrugs and walks around Logan to retrieve his hoodie. He puts it on. “Thanks, I guess. It’s whatever.”

Virgil flops down onto the beanbag chair. Logan perches on the edge of Virgil’s bed. He considers how Virgil mentioned his father but not his mother.

“And your mother?”

“Hm?”

“Is she out today?”

“Yeah, she works weekends usually. My dad works nights at a limo service, so he’s usually out for a couple more hours.”

“Lit.”

Virgil snorts again, this time holding a hand over his mouth to hold in his snickers.

“Did I use the term wrong?” Logan asks, taking an educated guess from Virgil’s reaction.

“What do you think that means?”

“Is it not synonymous with a phrase of agreement? Such as ‘I see’?”

“I mean, not really? It’s more like, ‘cool’.”

“Understood,” Logan says, automatically reaching for his notecards and realizing that he had left them at home.

Damn.

“So what can I do for you?” Virgil asks. He’s leaned back, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands resting in his jacket pockets. He’s relaxed in the safety of his room. “I’m sure you didn’t come over to listen to my ukulele skills.”

“…you own a ukulele?” Forgive him, but his curiosity really knows no bounds. Plus, this is Virgil. Virgil? With a small stringed instrument?

Logan assumes Virgil is merely joking at first, but then he raises a challenging eyebrow and reaches towards the other side of the beanbag, next to the corner of the room where Logan can’t see, and pulls out an actual ukulele.

The ukulele is baby blue and covered in what can only be described as ‘emo’ stickers.

“Ro and Pat got it for me for Christmas a couple years back,” Virgil explains. He sits it on his chest in the ready position but doesn’t strum it. “I only know one song though.”

“…‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’?”

“No.”

“‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’?”

“Who do you think I am?”

“‘Never Gonna Give You Up’?”

“You will never know.”

“May I ask the audience for a hint?”

“I am putting the tiny guitar down now and we are going to do the serious talk thing that you came here for, Logan.”

“Right, certainly,” Logan says and flushes a bit at how his curiosity got away from him. He folds the tip of his tie over itself, over and over. There is no point beating around the metaphorical bush. “I came here today to seek advice on how to fix my friendship with Patton.”

Virgil tilts his head in thought, but other than that shows no surprise in the topic of conversation. He stays silent, staring at him long enough that Logan has to refrain himself several times from snapping at him to say something. This is Virgil’s house that Logan is intruding in. He has every right to take his time. Logan can just sit here and let Virgil think of a serious, thoughtful response that Logan can easily wait for—

“What?” Logan snaps.

Virgil shakes his head, a trace of a smile on his lips. “What makes you think your friendship with Patton is broken?”

Logan pauses and looks off to the side as if he’ll find the answers to the universe in a My Chemical Romance poster.

“Because it isn’t working as it should,” Logan finally answers. He frowns. “And in my experience that means something is broken.”

Virgil holds out a hand to stop him. “Bent does not mean broken, and that’s all it is, just bent out of shape a little. He’s still your friend and you still want to be his, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You just gotta admit that you were an asshole. Or tell Patton, ‘Hey, you were being an asshole. Not cool, dude.’ And then he apologizes and everything’s fine.”

“Why does this scenario have to include one of us being an asshole?”

Virgil looks taps his chin for a moment. “Huh, ya know, I guess I’m just going on how me and Roman make up after a fight. I guess other people are different.”

“…I guess I was a bit of an asshole, in all fairness.” He’s glaring down at his fingers. His thumbs circle each other, round and round, because he can’t sit there and not do something with his hands. There’s the reminisce of the anger he felt that day, still boiling in his gut, but its calmer now and pointed more noticeably towards himself.

“As a professional asshole myself, let me be the judge of that.” Virgil smirks, but he’s quite somber. Under all that snark and dark eyeshadow, he’s nothing if not kind. He just doesn’t see it in himself most of the time.

It’s why Logan came to Virgil in the first place. He trusts him.

Logan takes a breath and tells him.

“I’m from the future and that makes it hard to relate to my peers. If my interpersonal skills weren’t already bad enough, I have to deal with the fact that I have the mentality of a twenty-nine-year-old stuck inside the body of an eleven-year-old. And yes, you would think it to be a fascinating learning experience. It’s not every day that someone discovers time travel. But I digress, the following existential crisis is not recommended. Hashtag, thanks Obama—Virgil? Are you listening? You’re looking rather pale actually— well, paler than usual anyway.”

“Did…did you just say… like, legit time travel?”

“………..you’re about to have one of those existential crises I just recommended you don’t have, aren’t you? Because I’d rather we skip that part. I didn’t factor it into my schedule. Unfortunate, I know, but if we could just—”

Virgil vaults off the beanbag and scrambles out of the room.

“Lovely,” Logan surmises before chasing after him.

#sanders sides #logan #logan sanders #virgil #virgil sanders #patton #patton sanders #lamp #platonic lamp #writing #fanfiction #kid logan au

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wrenhyperfixates · 3 years

Text

Eyes Closed

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Loki escapes to his Midgardian’s house to decompress when the stress and pressure becomes too much. Spending time with you is just the thing he needs. Warnings: very short; excessive fluff A/N: Inspired by the song Eyes Closed by Bearings. Hope you all enjoy! :)

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90 @myraiswack @mythicalgarlicknot @what-a-flammable-heart @mlqcikemenmc

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki didn’t think he’d ever been so tired in his whole life. And after his latest mission, he felt ready to break down. Some Asgardian criminal had been wreaking havoc on Midgard, so Thor and Loki had been tasked with stopping him. It should have been easy considering they knew all about the villain. Except that worked the other way around, too, and he knew just how to get under Loki’s skin.

It hurt having his past dredged up and dangled in front of his face like that. Made him feel weak, fragile. Not that he would ever let his fellow Avengers know. Feeling tired and lonely, he stole away to his Midgardian’s house. And, yes, he considered you his Midgardian because none of his teammates knew bout you. By keeping your relationship a secret, he felt he could best keep you safe. Plus, this way you didn’t have to worry about the press.

“How are you doing?” you asked, bringing over a cup of tea for him.

“Admittedly, still not amazing,” he responded, eyes closed. He was currently laying on your living room floor, enjoying the feel of the cold wood beneath him. He’d already told you all about the mission which, at very least, had been successful. “But getting better.”

“Is there anything else I can do to help?”

Loki contemplated as you carefully lifted his head and put it gently back down in your lap. You began lightly scratching his scalp, working your fingers through his hair. Your lilting laughter filled the room as he purred from the simple action. As you waited for his reply, you leaned forward and placed tiny kisses all over his face, saving his lips for last.

“Well, my sweet little mortal, this is certainly helping,” he chuckled.

You hummed as you continued to tenderly massage his head. Just enjoying the way you could be together and understand each other without having to speak, the god felt himself calm down considerably. Once he visibly relaxed, you ceased your ministrations and went to lie with your head resting on his chest. Instinctively, his arms wrapped around you. Your comforting scent filled his lungs, and you nuzzled against him as the last of the tension left his body. He always felt the most content when you were in each other’s arms.

“Thank you, my love,” he whispered. “For taking care of me.”

“You’re welcome, darling,” you responded, tracing patterns on the exposed skin at the nape of his neck. “You know what I think?”

“No. Do tell.”

You looked up at him, admiring the slope of his jaw from your vantage point. “You need a vacation. Something relaxing where you can decompress. Even superheroes deserve a break every now and again.”

His heart swelled hearing you call him a superhero. No matter what the rest of the world thought of him, he could never see himself as anything other than a villain. A worthless, vile criminal. But you? You told him he was far more than that. Just think; him a hero? It sounded preposterous, especially when you sprinkled in about a million other flattering adjectives. But you looked at him so sweetly, touched him so lovingly, that he began to believe you.

Loki truly did not know what he would do without you. Didn’t really want to think about it either, for that matter. He had a few times, though, and came to the conclusion he never wanted to have to say goodbye to you. Never wanted to leave your side. So if he was going to get away from his hectic life for a time, he would certainly need you to come with him.

“Perhaps. But only if you join me,” he finally replied.

“Deal,” you giggled as he kissed the top of his head. “So where are we going?”

“Hmm, how about you pick?” he suggested. “I will take you anywhere and everywhere you want to go.”

That was true for the most part, but he desperately hoped that you wouldn’t say Asgard. You’d mentioned wanting to visit before, and Loki had promised that you would some day. He was, however, putting it off for as long as he could. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed he was dating a mortal or anything like that. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He supposed it should be odd he was embarrassed of a magical realm with a golden palace, but he certainly didn’t have very fond memories of the place. Or the people there.

“Alright then. What about Paris?” you asked. “You know, the city of love? I think that sounds good for us.”

“Indeed it does, my little mortal,” he eagerly agreed, glad you hadn’t mentioned his home world. “The arrangements shall be made.”

The two of you chatted for a while longer, never getting up from your spot on the floor. For so long, Loki had been searching for something to make his life complete. He hadn’t realized that something was actually a someone. Here with you, he knew you were all he needed, he’d do anything for you. So of course he obliged your next request.

“Hey, Loki? Will you please sing for me?” you innocently questioned.

He had always been self-conscious about how he sounded, but you always told him how enchanting his voice was, how much you loved it. It was actually an accident the first time he sang for you. He’d been preparing dinner at your house for the first time. Out of habit, he began to sing, forgetting he wasn’t alone. Then you came up behind him and hugged him, telling him he sounded beautiful. His face was bright red, but he was thrilled you enjoyed it.

Thinking of that time, he sang the same song he had then. You’d requested it multiple times since, and it had quickly become one of your favorites. It was an Asgardian tune, so you couldn’t understand the words. You just liked the way he sounded, though. You never asked him what it was about, either. Instead, you liked to make up little stories in your head. By now you knew it well enough to hum along to certain parts, which made Loki unbelievably happy. He wanted to write a song for you, one day. He’d actually started one, but knew there was so much he still wanted to say. But some day, when he’d perfectly and completely put into the lyrics how much he loves you, he’d sing it.

Soon he’d tell his teammates, or at very least his brother, about you. That would be unavoidable if he was going to spend the rest of his life with you. But for now, he just enjoyed his time with you, undisturbed by the world. As if you knew what he was thinking, you kissed ever so gently over where his heart beat within his chest.

Troubles long forgotten and still singing, laying in his love’s living room with his eyes closed, Loki smiled brighter than he ever had before. And, without even having to open up those brilliant blue-green orbs, he knew you were smiling right back.

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Riding

*not my gif*

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

Part two to interruptions but can be read as a stand alone as well. My entry to our weekly challenge.

Summary - Steve's cock is too big. Will you be able to ride it?

Warnings - smut, light bondage, dom steve, sub reader, light anal stuff, mean daddy Steve

Pairing - Steve Rogers x brat!reader

Word count - 1.7k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You waddled the whole way back to your room, cursing at Steve the entire time. Here you thought you could go to his office, flutter your eyelashes and be cute so you could get what you wanted from him: attention. You should've known better. Steve was soft most of the time, he could never resist, especially not when you call him your daddy and give him your puppy eyes, make him pity you and love you.

But he had no room for disobedience, he let you know that plenty of times. He had never , how ever not made you cum. He did fulfil your wish, you’d give him that, he fucked you senseless, both your pussy and your mouth, but he didn’t let you cum. That’s just preposterous. That man loved eating you out and prided himself on making you delirious with pleasure. What’s more is that he filled you up with his seed and made you walk all the way over to your apartment.

You laid on your side of the bed waiting for Steve. You felt his spend seep out of you. You could use it to play with yourself. Maybe break out your dildo, it had been a while since you’d used it. Would pissing Steve off some more work in your favor tonight? Probably not.

You sat up as you heard the knob to your bedroom door being twisted. You gulped at the sight of your man. His long jean clad legs made their way to you. You perked up in excitement as you saw him taking his Henley and undershirt off.

It was time to suck up some more. “Can I suck you off again daddy? Please?” You gave him a shy smile hoping he'd show you some mercy.

You moaned at the sight of him removing his jeans, the buckle of his belt clanking against the floor. “No” He grunted as he plopped down next to you “I’m pretty tired I’m going to sleep. Maybe tomorrow princess” He said but you could still make out the small smirk on his face.

“Oh then I should get comfortable too” You shrugged taking off your shorts and shirt, leaving you completely nude. Two can play at that game. You snuggled up to his side making sure to press up your breasts against him. “I can still feel you inside me daddy. It feels so warm and nice” you rubbed your thighs together “I’ll stain the sheets” You shook your head “That’s okay. You’ll help me change them tomorrow right?”

He hummed at that. You threw your leg over his hip smirking at the feel of his erection. “You wanna feel daddy? I think you’ll like it” you took his hand bringing it between your legs. You ran his fingers up and down your folds. Your slick mixed with his cum. You swore you heard him gulp beside you.

He growled climbing on top of you pining your hands above your head and pressing you into the mattress with his body. “Enough of your games” he released you hands digging into the drawers in your bedside table. “What are you doing?” You asked, desperately pushing your core up against his hard cock. Which was unfortunately covered by his black briefs. You stopped as soon as he gave you an angry look.

“You’re really testing my patience today” He warned pulling out the red silk ties he often liked to use on you. Whenever he felt you weren’t being good and didn’t deserve to touch him or just because he felt like it. You presented your wrists to him, to get in his good graces, so he could tie them up. You watched in awe as he wrapped the ties around your wrist tying it up in a complicated knot. He pressed your bound wrists above your head, into your pillow. “These stay here. Understood?”

You half heartedly nodded, disheartened at the fact that you wouldn’t be able to grab his ass or dig your nails into his back. He harshly slapped you on your thigh. “Yes! Yes daddy, I understand” You said quivering your lips, he only leaned back to take his briefs off. Dammit none of your tricks were working today. You whimpered at the sight of his hard cock, slapping against his abs. He pushed your thighs apart as he settled between your thighs.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock. With the two veins running up from his base, his angry pink mushroom head dripping with your favorite creamy goodies. “Daddy, can I ride you?” You asked before you could think otherwise. You cursed yourself as soon as the words left your mouth.

You had never ridden Steve’s glorious cock. You tried once but he was too big for you and because he likes to take care of you. He liked being in control anyway. Any other day, he might’ve considered it. But with how mad he was right now, you seriously doubt it.

He chuckled at you “Fine princess. Why don’t you give it a shot” You frowned at his patronising tone. You’ll show him. Or at least try to. He settled on his back beside you, one hand under his head and another lazily stroking his cock. You got up and straddled his thighs. You put your bound wrists in front of him. Hoping he’d get the message and take them off, for now.

“What?” he sighed, his strokes becoming faster.

“Stop that! It’s my job” You whined pushing his hand away from his cock. You whimpered again as he laughed at your neediness. He put both his hands under his head smirking up at you. “Uh...daddy will you take it off” You requested.

“No” He smacked your ass. You yelped as you fell forward but balanced yourself with your bound wrists on his abdomen. “I’m waiting” He said Impatiently, stretching out under you.

“Mm” You were nervous but you could do it. You moved a bit forward so you could line him up with your pussy. You were already lubed up and turned on so he slid in pretty easy. Your moan turned into a whimpered as you completely sank down on his cock, sitting on his pelvis. You closed your eyes, feeling so filled up, so content and complete. It was as if a part of you was missing and he was finally back inside you, where he belonged. You moved your hips in slow languid circles, rubbing your clit against his pelvis.

“Ah!” You yelped again as he spanked your ass, the smack echoing in the room and leaving a delicious burn, You fell forward, putting your weight on your wrists which sat on his abdomen.

“Do it properly” He commanded. His tone leaving no room for negotiation. “You said you wanted to ride me. Think you can’t take it?” He quirked a brow at you.

You took a deep breathe raising your hips, whimpering as he slid out of you. Slowly and unsurely you sank back down on his cock, his tip hitting your cervix as you threw your head back. You looked at his lust blown eyes, his contorted face, pleading silently to help you out a bit. He pushed his hips up hitting your special spot as you screamed in pleasure which almost etched on pain.

“Come on baby you can do it” he cooed and you cried at his praise.

Soon you were bouncing up and down on him as he kept spuring you on “Such a good doll” He said one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts, his thumb grazing your stiff nipple before he pinched it before his thumb and his finger. “You look so pretty fucking yourself on me princess” He wondered out loud.

You increased your pace, chasing your end, his cock hitting your spot should render you all worn out and useless, but right now you wanted to please him more than anything and show him how strong and capable you were. “I can –“ you couldn’t finish your thought distracted by his palm squeezing your ass, his thumb pressing into your pluckered hole and his other hand squeezing and playing with your titts.

“I think I like this” he smiled “I get to touch you anyway I like” you gasped as he pulled his thumb out of your bum and spanked you again “You can what sweetheart?” He asked looking into your hooded eyes, his hand which was playing with your titts coming up to caress your cheek.

“Nothing” You shook your head as you tried your best to keep sliding him in and out of you, suddenly feeling so exposed and vulnerable in front of him. He could see all of you, struggling so hard.

He said your name sternly holding onto your face and asking you again “You can what? Answer your daddy”

“I can feel you. So uh –“ you tried your best to contain your moan but it slipped out “so deep inside me” you said feeling yourself almost tipping over the edge. He groaned at your words, firmly holding onto your hips “Can I come daddy? Please?”

“Yeah you can come princess” He planted his legs hard on the mattress and he held onto the back of your neck. He drive up into you, hitting your spot relentlessly until he had you cumming and milking his cock. You couldn’t hold yourself up you collapsed on his chest as he kept fucking into you until he came, spilling his seed inside you, making you feel even more full.

You went into the cloudy state, the one where you always went after being fucked into oblivion, you called it your heaven. You whined as he pulled out of you. You had hoped he’d be inside you longer, so he could keep his cock and your insides warm. He put you back on your back as his fingers worked to undo the silk ties that held your wrists together. “Wh – what are you doing?” You stammered as you felt his hot tongue swipe a strip against your raw and overworked pussy.

“I’m cleaning you up” He sucked onto your clit drawing a groan out of you “So you don’t stain the sheets. Lay back princess” He pressed his palm on your stomach as he cleaned you up and made you cum some more to make up for his meanness.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or leave me an ask!

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leviathanswingman · 3 years

Text

cavity and sweet tooth; DiaLuci oneshot

“Lucifer, can you come here for a moment?”

Lucifer, sitting by the fireside with his head bowed ever so slightly, bangs softly brushing against his cheeks, lifted his head from the paperwork he had been working on for hours and hours with no end in sight.

He turned his head towards the source of commotion, barely able to suppress a sigh as he took note of Diavolo sitting on the ground of the house of lamentation’s music room, cross legged and soft-spined, evidently lost in conversation with none other than Lucifer’s antisocial little brother Leviathan.

Seeing them chatting as if they were life-long friends, Lucifer couldn’t help but suppress a sigh he could feel rising from the depths of his soul. With Diavolo’s devil-may-care personality, fraternizations of this sort rarely ever worked out in his favor.

After all, the demon prince had originally paid the house of lamentation a surprise visit to discuss several work-related issues that had come up on short notice . To no-one’s surprise however, that had quickly turned into Lucifer doing the actual work while Diavolo was fooling around, attempting to lure Levi into another semi-deep conversation.

“Yes?” Lucifer asked, admittedly curious to find out what exactly those two had been going on about. Leviathan was extremely reclusive by nature, so for someone to catch his attention, the topic of conversation must have been quite captivating.

He pushed up the glasses that had been sliding down his nose inch by inch, readjusting them appropriately.

Diavolo mustered him and let out a sigh. “Come here, just for a second!” When there was barely any reaction coming, he shook his head impatiently and beckoned Lucifer over. “Do I have to implore you? I promise it won't take long. I want to try something out Leviathan here mentioned-”

“Right, right.” Through years and years spent as Diavolo’s friend and right hand man, Lucifer had learned that when confronted with another one of Diavolo’s outlandish requests, indulging him before inevitably shutting him down was the easiest way to go.

He sighed once, but put aside his paperwork regardless and got up from his chair. Of course he knew this foretold nothing good. Still, it was Diavolo who was asking. And although the man often failed to remain professional, determined to break down all of Lucifer’s carefully built up walls, Lucifer knew he could trust him. Even in moments like these when Diavolo was really hellbent on testing his patience.

He walked over to Diavolo and Leviathan, stopping inches away from them and crossed his arms. “So, what's all of this about?”

Diavolo looked up to him and threw him a displeased look. “Lucifer,” he started and before Lucifer could so much as answer, Diavolo had already closed his fingers around Lucifer's wrist, giving it one big tug.

Taken off guard by Diavolo's sudden boldness, Lucifer let himself be pulled down to the ground with nothing but a badly hidden stumble.

Levi, who had been lounging on a couch behind Diavolo let out a stifled laugh before Lucifer caught his eye and gave him a proper glare, shutting him up for good.

“Diavolo!”

The demon prince let out a low chuckle as he watched Lucifer readjust his position. As soon as he was sitting semi-comfortably in front of him, Diavolo grabbed Lucifer’s forearms and lifted them

“I hope I didn't startle you now, did I?” he said with a low rumble to his voice, his eyes focusing in on Lucifer's hands which were hidden by his lavish black gloves. “Would you take these off for a second?”

Lucifer's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He lifted his eyes to look at Diavolo, whose attention seemed to be strictly focused on Lucifer's hands.

“I suppose,” he answered, yet before he could do as much as lift a finger, Diavolo was already busying himself pushing up Lucifer’s sleeve, hooking his index finger in-between smooth fabric and even smoother skin, successfully freeing Lucifer's left hand.

“There we go!”

“Remind me as to why we're doing this again?”

Diavolo scooted a little bit closer, now facing Lucifer as he took hold of his right gloved hand. “No need to look that grim. As I said, I was just wondering about something Leviathan has brought up ever so passionately. You'll be free to finish your work in no time.”

A small scowl crept up on Lucifer's face as he turned his head towards his little brother. “Levi, if this is anything but appropriate I will make sure to turn you into-”

Before he could finish his sentence Leviathan had already taken hold of his belongings and bolted out of the room. To be quite honest, Lucifer couldn't remember the last time he had seen him run quite as fast.

Lucifer decided to put his focus back on Diavolo just as he felt one of his fingers glide along his skin before disappearing in the gap between glove and hand, successfully pulling off the second glove as well.

For a moment Diavolo ogled Lucifer’s hands, hands that were seen covered way more often than bare, before raising his hands as if to give a high five.

“Mirror my movements,” he said with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his admittedly pretty eyes.

Lucifer stared at his raised palms for a moment or two until Diavolo started to get tired of waiting and motioned towards Lucifer with a quick circular motion of hand.

“Hold them up like this,” he said, putting both his hands back up at chest height.

“Diavolo, I really don't see the point in any of this,” Lucifer protested, but followed suit anyway. He mirrored Diavolo's motions, throwing him a quizzical look from behind their hands while doing so.

Diavolo threw him a blinding smile as he connected their hands palm to palm, gently but confidently, making sure that they were lined up perfectly at the bottom.

The tips of Lucifer's fingers, softly pressed against Diavolo's digits, were tingling curiously under the gentle feeling of skin against skin.

It wasn't that Lucifer was touch-starved, no, he was simply not used to these slow, soft, almost tentative touches; especially coming from Diavolo.

“Well, won't you look at that!”

“What specifically am I supposed to look at now? This is ridiculous. I still have work to do so-” he started, but before he could stand up again and return to his stack of papers Diavolo pushed his hands against Lucifer's perceptibly harder.

“Don't be like that, just look!!”

Lucifer pushed back out of reflex.

His eyes dropped down to their hands and, surprised by the unexpected sight, Lucifer felt something click in the back of his brain.

Graceful, slender hands stood in contrast to slightly bigger, stronger looking ones. For once, he did not push back in retaliation, but mustered their joined hands instead.

The sight made him feel almost nostalgic. Hands, once curled to uncertain fists, were now joined in mutual obedience and respect. It was a strange and perhaps vulnerable thing to take note of. He shook his head, face to face with his own mushy thoughts.

Still, instead of pulling away as his instincts were telling him to, Lucifer pushed back as Diavolo also considered their hands for a moment, letting out a rumbling laugh before dropping his fingers a bit to fully slide them between Lucifer’s.

“Even your hands are positively stunning, Lucifer. Pray tell, how do you manage any of it? Stunning from head to toe,” he practically mumbled, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, revealing the slightest hint of dimples on his cheeks.

Lucifer, unsure of what to do with his hands as he pretended to not have heard any of Diavolo’s flattering mumblings, furrowed his brows as he quickly blew a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“There you go buttering me up again like that. What even is the use of all of this?” Experimentally, he spread his fingers a little bit further apart and threw Diavolo a quick glance from under his lashes. Finally, he grew tired of keeping his fingers upright and dropped them unceremoniously, decidedly ignoring the fact that theoretically, if you were being really strict, he was holding hands with Diavolo right now. He forced himself not to think about it beyond measure.

“Permission to compliment?” Diavolo asked belatedly, a mixture of joy and mischief painting his features delightfully carefree.

“Absolutely not.”

They were adults, and additionally to that, two of the most respected demons all across the devildom. Them holding hands like frivolous adolescents would be ridiculous, preposterous even. If any of his brothers were to see him like this, they’d certainly laugh like the hyenas they were.

Certainly, Lucifer wasn't about to get embarrassed by him and Diavolo holding hands. Except for the fact that without any doubt, he was indeed feeling undeniably embarrassed.

He cleared his throat. “So, has inspiration finally struck hard enough for you to tell me what this is all about? If I recall correctly you mentioned this having been caused by another one of Levi's nonsensical ramblings?”

Diavolo’s eyes were still trained on their joined hands. He ran his thumb across the back of Lucifer’s hand and let his middle finger rub along Lucifer’s protruding knuckles. For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, unaware of the redness that was unmistakably dusting his friend’s neck and ears.

Lucifer, ever so aware of his body’s own reactions, suppressed them with sheer dedication and efficiency before his tired mind could come up with any more funny ideas.

He cleared his throat and forced his attention back to their previous topic of conversation, away from Diavolo’s beautiful -of course solely objectively speaking- fingers rubbing soothing circles into the back of his hands.

“So what sort of nonsense was Levi trying to convince you of?” he tried again. And in spite of himself, Lucifer caught himself suppressing a sigh accompanied by a shudder as Diavolo ran his thumb over smooth skin, turning it into a huff before the traitorous sound had even so much as a sliver of a chance of slipping past closed lips

Although he was known all across the lands for his professionalism, that didn’t mean he was unresponsive to outward stimuli. And no matter how easily exasperated he was by Diavolo’s lack of work morale, Lucifer had grown somewhat fond of the future demon king. Not that he would ever be caught dead admitting to such a foolish thing out loud.

“Oh, nothing much. He just mentioned it being a ‘sacred trope’, i think that’s how he put it, therefore I couldn’t help but feel tempted to try it out myself! So what do you think, Lucifer?”

Lucifer averted his eyes and successfully crushed the overwhelming feeling of sheer mortification daring to overtake his body.

Of course, Diavolo had been swayed by Leviathan’s absurd ramblings, overtaken by a morbid sort of curiosity he often liked to display as a born-to-be isolated from most of society. There was nothing more to it than that.

Lucifer untangled his fingers from Diavolo’s, standing up abruptly.

“This is not only a waste of my time, but also yours. We should get back to work now. There’s no reason to bother with this any longer.” Without any hesitation, he turned back around to the abandoned stack of paperwork sitting lonely by the fireside. He took a third of the work off the pile, placed a pen on top of it and pushed it into Diavolo’s lap, who blinked at him sheepishly for a moment. Diavolo then threw him one last look, which was glaringly obvious a pout, and let out one big, dramatic sigh. “You are incorrigible Lucifer, has anyone ever told you that?”

Lucifer allowed himself one last look at Diavolo’s almost cartoonish sulking expression before he averted his gaze from the playful twinkle in Diavolo’s eyes down to the way the fabric of his pants was stretching under the promise of girthy thighs and delicate skin, willing himself to come back to his senses before it was too late and he had officially lost all common sense. “Get back to work, Diavolo. You know I’m a busy man and neither of us have all day.”

He threw the demon prince one last stimulated look, calmed his heart, picked up his pen and started writing.

#my writing #obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me lucifer #dialuci #diavolo x lucifer #lucifer x diavolo #fanfic #oneshot #hand holding #fluff #i finally felt satisfied with this #been sitting on it for months!!#i actually posted this yesterday already but felt really insecure and deleted it again #won't do that now tho bc i checked it again and changed some minor details and now i feel good about what i came up with :)

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hanibalistic · 3 years

Text

#507A9E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff, high school au, faint mutual pining, implied rich kid au

word count | 2190

warning | fighting, mentions of injuries

tag | @fluffyskzclub

note | i miss hyunjin pt.2 // maybe a universe?

the first thing that popped into your head when you saw students running toward the school courtyard, whispering and chanting about a fight that had broken out, was that the person better not be hyunjin.

you knew hyunjin ever since middle school but you two only recently introduced yourselves to each other when your homeroom teacher made it your responsibility, as the class president, to keep track of him—both his poor grades and his even poorer conduct.

you two never had to chance to speak to each other before the beginning of your tutoring sessions. surely, even if you had the chance to talk to him, you would not have taken it with his rebellious reputation contrasting so stronger your clean-slate one. most of your encounters were of you frowning and sneering at him whenever you saw him get taken away to the principal's office, or when he and his friends create a ruckus during school assemblies.

your poor impression of him stayed long even after you began tutoring him in the corner of the school library, afraid that you would be seen together. he was always late, sometimes with a hazy attitude and sometimes with bruises and cuts on his face. he was always late to the sessions, but he was also always present.

on his third failed calculus test hyunjin came around.

you never knew why but he suddenly did a 360-degree turn and he came around. he started to pay attention in class and he paid attention to you, he did his homework and the additional questions you assigned him, he jotted down notes and read them during his free time. with the third failed test, he decided he would work hard for some reason.

he was still late to the tutoring sessions, though.

but! with his newfound motivation, you, too, came around and began seeing him in a much friendlier light. you greeted him in the halls, you talked to him outside of the library and about topics other than academics (like his adorable puppy kkami, who you adore more than hyunjin, not that adore the boy or anything), you two moved from the corner to the main study center of the library, and you learned to treat his wounds whenever he has them.

hyunjin became a good friend of yours, and he only listened to you, which you realized after a friend mentioned it to you. you thought it was preposterous, but the thought of it made your stomach flutter with faint romantic delight anyway, the knot in your throat refusing to admit out loud that you might just find him the smallest bit attractive.

like when he would smile confidently at his practice test as he hands it to you, only for it to turn into a cute frown when he watches you add cross after cross on his answers. or when he would arch one brow at you in acknowledgment, a boyish smirk playing on his lips, after you accidentally catch his eyes in the classroom during a long lecture. or when his solid, pressuring gaze lays itself on you as you tend to his wounds outside in the school garden, his eyes holding the gentlest of affection as he looks to you as the only person to have ever existed on this earth.

no, you are not attracted to him. not at all.

"excuse me–i'm sorry, excuse me!" you said as you pushed yourself through the overly excited crowd.

once you made your way to the front, your jaw clenched and your brows furrowed. there hyunjin was, hands clutching a poor student's wrinkled collar, and the scar under his eye reopened. it was him who got in a fight! you did not know why you hoped for an alternative.

there was a glint in hyunjin's eyes—something akin to happiness, a thrilling excitement, perhaps, like the freeing of his soul being trashed into the depths of his easy insults and clenched fists. there was no anger in him, not an ounce. you knew what his anger looked like when it was directed to another, and this was not it.

this was free will. he was fighting because his body could and he yearned for the temporary excitement of it.

you felt your heart sink a little. out of everything that could make his face light up like this, fighting people has to take the crown? you wanted hyunjin to be happy but not with such a method! you also don't want to completely strip the entertainment away from him either!

if you wanted him to stop, the best way would be to find something else that can make him feel as excited as he does now, but what could it be?

"hwang hyunjin!" you hollered when you saw him throw a punch at the other student, your thoughts vanishing immediately.

stomping forward, you grabbed onto the back of his shirt and yanked him behind you. you pushed the other student away, glaring at him to run away before you turned to hyunjin. you tilted your head then, looking at him carefully, then you walked toward him.

"oh, come on, [name]," he whined, preparing to move around you. "don't ruin the fun!"

"hyunjin–hyunjin, look at me," you said, putting your hands on his shoulders and stopping him from side-stepping you. when he focused on you, his eyes turning soft, you smiled. "stop."

he stayed silent for a second before he sneered. he tried to shove you aside. "move away–"

"hyunjin," you sighed, feeling the longing for movement in his body. "do you understand you did something bad."

"if you are trying to talk me out of fighting–"

"you understand," you interrupted him, "that you did something bad."

you could hear voices in the background criticizing you. you were unsure of what, exactly. it was either of you stopping the fight or of you assuming you could stop the fight by talking. you ignored the background noises and focused on hyunjin, looking at him expectantly. you just needed him to tell you he understands.

"jesus, yes! now move away–"

"great. then i'm so sorry about this."

hyunjin was about to side-step you again, adding force into his hands as he pushed you aside to search for the kid who ran off, but you removed your grip on him and took a step back to get into position. his confusion worked in your favor when you anchored your weight on your feet, and with a strong swing, you punched him square in the face, knocking him down.

you grimaced at the pain that reverberates through your knuckles, while hyunjin laid on the floor with his face covered by his hands.

"what the fuck!" he yelled into his hands, his head pressed against the grass field with a pained look.

you scoffed at him as you rubbed your hands together. you felt worried for a second, but then it cooled down when you came to terms that he has got to have experienced worse. it was not the impact of the punch that made him dramatize his reaction (although, surely it did hurt his pretty face) but the unpredictableness of the punch that did so.

he would be fine. he always was.

you looked around you, glaring at everyone who came looking for a show, and you waited for them to disperse before you return your attention to hyunjin.

"come on, let's go to the nurse's office," you said as you moved closer to him, knelt, and took his hands from his face.

not a single stain of your punch. it was all just the invisible pain and his tendency to exaggerate.

"you look fine."

"i'm not fine!" he retorted with a whiny shout, snatching his hands away from yours and sitting up. he placed his hand on one propped-up knee and turned to you, annoyed. "you punched me!"

"talking clearly wasn't doing the job, so i did what i had to do!"

"punching me is what you had to do? not call a teacher or something?" he exclaimed incredulously, eyes widening at you in disbelief.

you closed your mouth. you had not wanted to get him in trouble so you resulted in dealing with it on your own. he has a week-long clean streak of not messing with the teacher, you wanted to keep it that way. even though you failed to consider if anybody present would snitch on him, or you, or maybe even the both of you.

"yes...?" you squeaked as you ducked your head, then you slightly eyed up, grimacing at him apologetically. "i didn't want to get you in trouble."

hyunjin watched you through the silk of his long black hair. he took in your words; the way you said it so bashfully, and how you shrunk under the thought of you making a mistake on his behalf. he understood that it was ultimately your good intentions looking out for his own good. your contrasting naivety shone into his eyes, and he wanted to cradle your face in his hands and be gentle with you.

heaving a sigh, he leaned on his hand that supported his torso up. licking his lower lip, he shared a knowing look with you and asked, "you know how to throw a punch."

you scowled lightly then, playing with your fingers as you sat on the grass field. "yeah, my mom had me learn how to fight ever since i was young."

"that makes sense. self-defense is good."

"yeah," you breathed out a laugh, "a little more than that."

"hmm?"

"my mother has a very odd job."

hyunjin smiled questioningly but he didn't ask. he merely took a look behind you at the grand structure of the school he stumbled upon after his parent's death and he nodded in acceptance.

he was never supposed to enter an elite school like this, where every student seems to have some dark family secrets down their sleeves. dark secrets not as in family feuds and estrangements (although those were certainly present as well) but dark secrets as in blood money and corrupt authorities.

rich people problems, but make it guns and roses.

he would not be surprised if your family had some weird history hidden in the closet. what he was wondering about was how you got stuck in a normal middle school with him.

"is your nose okay?" you asked timidly, facing forward at him.

your expression made him recall the time he found you wiping tears from your eyes at the library, glaring at his failed calculus test as if it had been your own, and he realized that you did care and you weren’t doing this because you were asked to.

it made him remember how most things he has done—studying, paying attention, staring at you, not getting into trouble—have been for you.

he just could not control his habits sometimes and he hoped you wouldn’t get too upset with him today for missing the tutoring session.

hyunjin hummed. it was fine, the pain subsided long ago, but he would be damned to not take your concern to an advantage. pouting quickly, he twisted his torso and let himself fall on your lap. he could feel you panic above him and he giggled lowly to himself, his eyes closed.

"i feel dizzy, you might have given me a concussion," he said.

you gasped a little, then you denied, "no way, that can't be possible."

"don't invalidate my concussion," hyunjin said. "it is what i feel."

you sucked in a breath.

there is no point treading through that territory with him, there is no point treading through that territory with anyone.

sensing your silence, hyunjin dared to open one eye to peek up at you. you were staring down at him, eyes ablaze with curiosity as you waited for him to speak.

the sunlight fell like gold sand and split when it reached your head, casting sparks over you. almost a spitting image of an angel, if he knew what an angel looked like.

your innocence was as gentle as his mother once was, and your determination a faint recall of his father's brightness. but your face was entirely your own; your eyes, nose, cheeks, lips. a kind face, a calm face, a face of someone he has come to fall catastrophically in love with.

hyunjin felt his eyes waver, he felt the warm watery dust his in eyes waver like flashes of lights seeping through gaps of leaves on a tree. his fingers itched to reach up to your face, to cradle you, to be kind to you, but he pressed them to his sides and only allowed himself a smile at your direction.

"i'm going to rest my face," he said.

you frowned, but the guilt of punching him asked you to stay with him, so you nodded. "okay."

hyunjin relaxed on the ground. his eyes were closed, but if they weren't, you would have seen—the thrill in his eyes of being able to be with you, the excitement of being close to you.

it would not be something akin to happiness, it would be happiness.

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 5)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: nearly 2.5k

warnings: vague description of a wet dream, some sensual implied stuff (??),

moodboard and inspiration credit to @evnscvll

In all your life, you’d never had a wet dream. Not even in high school when so many of your peers were coping with puberty and budding sexuality in similar ways— not even when you’d wanted to have one about David Kapoor, the cutest guy in senior year who didn’t even know you existed but that you were somehow convinced was going to fall madly in love with you one day.

It never did work out for you two, but you’d finally managed to have a wet dream. This one, though, was about Sebastian.

In your dream he had cornered you in the kitchen, kissing you deeply before tossing you onto the table and— well, the rest doesn’t bear repeating. It was all very ‘discount bin romance novel’ wasn’t it? The exotic, rugged farm boy roughly taking the formerly-prudish businesswoman in the middle of the house, too deep in the throes of passion to care if someone walking by saw them.

You didn’t find it all that sexy by the time you woke up; moreso just humorous. That’s preposterous, you thought to yourself, nobody’s ever gonna love me like that.

It was something your husband had said to you once. You couldn’t even remember what the context was anymore, but clearly it had had an impact on you to be repeating it internally now. Just last week, Mrs. Alberti had gotten on your case for speaking poorly of yourself. Clearly, the things you said about yourself to others were nothing against what you said about yourself to yourself.

Your papers had only taken a day to dry, but the ink was pretty severely smudged. Knowing your publisher wouldn’t accept them in a manuscript, you resolved to retyping the most damaged ones— a good mindless task to do while you pondered your next steps plot-wise. You’d seen Sebastian less for the past week, and it was no accident; you’d been avoiding him because you were trying to nip this in the bud before it got any worse. Your divorce isn’t final yet, you need to heal. This is fantasy, not reality. You barely know each other. Your divorce isn’t final. Your divorce. Isn’t. Final.

That was the mantra you found yourself repeating as you retyped the waterlogged sheets; so much for the plot-pondering plan, eh?

You heard someone coming up the stairs, and you knew it was him because the steps were coming too quickly to be Mrs. Alberti. “Come in,” you instructed before he’d even knocked.

“Bună ziua,” he greeted as he opened the door, leaning inside. “Am pregătit cina, ai vrea să mănânci?”

“Hm?” you asked as you turned around in your chair, adjusting your reading glasses. However, his question became more obvious through context when you saw he had oven mitts and an apron on, and was holding a wooden spoon. “Oh, um, I’ll be down for dinner in a minute. Soon.” You held up a few fingers, hoping he would successfully interpret them into minutes.

“Arăți bine în ochelarii aceia,” he motioned, pointing towards you.

“I’m sorry… what?” you asked, not sure at all what he could be talking about.

“Ochelari. Sunt drăguți,” he re-emphasized, but it was useless as you gave him another confused look. He sighed, straightening up a bit as he began a new method: “Îmi plac,” he said, pointing to himself and then giving a thumbs up, “ochelarii tăi,” he pointed to you, and then made circles with his fingers and brought them up to his eyes.

You laughed a little, but you were pretty sure you got what he meant. “You like my glasses?” you clarified, reaching up to wiggle them on your face a bit.

“Da,” he grinned. “Pari inteligent.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, and he nodded back as he shut the door and his footsteps faded back into the kitchen.

Once a few more pages had been redone, you gave your hair a quick combing before heading down for dinner with Sebastian. It smelled a little strange by the time you went downstairs, but when you swung open the door to the kitchen, you were instantly hit with a wave of acidic air, forcing you to wince and cough. Even that didn’t help much, and you forced your eyes shut as they stung.

“Jesus Christ,” you yelped, “the fuck are you cooking? Tear gas?!”

“Oțetul te irită?” he asked, not sounding as concerned as you would’ve hoped considering your obvious pain. It was like you could taste it in the air, and it wasn’t until you managed to open your burning eyes again that you realized what it was: vinegar, in a huge jug right next to the pot he was boiling it in.

“You’re boiling vinegar?” you realized incredulously. “God, Europeans are fucking weird.”

He just looked back at you with bewildered bemusement.

“In America,” you tried to explain, “we don’t eat vinegar. We clean our floors with it.” You pointed to the jug and made a motion meant to indicate scrubbing a surface, and he laughed a little.

“Americanii sunt prea sensibili,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, turning back to the stove to stir his pot of disinfectant which he apparently planned to serve you as a meal. “Am avut ciorbă de oțet de când eram copil.”

You’d typically considered yourself an adventurous eater— even with vinegar-pickled things, like kim chi which you’d learned to acquire a taste for— but this one put you to the test. Considering the smell alone had singed your sinuses, you were nervous what would become of your innocent tastebuds. But after he served the soup (a dark orange color, so apparently it wasn’t just the boiled vinegar) into a bowl for you and another for himself, you found the taste of it oddly pleasant when you sipped it gently from your hesitant little spoon.

“Vezi, nu e așa de rău,” he smiled gently as he watched you fail to recoil in disgust from the flavor.

“Just like ma used to make, huh?” you chuckled as he ate the soup with incredible speed, even going as far as to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the last few sips that way.

Eating dinner in silence with him was unexpectedly comfortable. “You wanna know something funny?” you found yourself mumbling aloud. “I enjoy talking to you more than anyone I ever did back home, and you can’t even understand me.”

His smile softened as he stared back at you, apparently sensing the change in your tone as you spoke.

“See, right there, that’s it: you’re listening to me. You know it’s useless, you know you won’t be able to tell what I’m talking about, but you’re listening anyways. Over two billion English speakers on the planet and none of them have listened to me like you do.”

Then you heard yourself, and it was so heart-breaking that you had no choice but to laugh. It was just a chuckle at first, but then you couldn’t stop it, even when you realized how confused Sebastian would be. Everything is funnier when you know you shouldn’t laugh, and soon you could barely breathe as tears warmed your eyes from the force of it.

“I’m sorry,” you tried to spit out between your fits of laughter, but it was barely comprehensible anyways. Sebastian began to laugh with you, if hesitantly and with a hint of confusion.

“De ce râdem?” he asked gently.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, calming down a bit, “I’m sorry I just… I was just imagining what my husband would say, if he knew I was here…” you trailed off as you laughed again, starting over. “If he knew I was here, falling for someone I’ve never even spoken with.” You shook your head, resting your face in your hands as you chuckled lightly. “Oh, he’d hate this. He’d tell me I was out of my mind.”

With a slow sigh, your laughter subsided as you wiped the wetness from your eyes.

“He’d be right, but… I don’t really care,” you decided. “He’s not here. If he wanted to find me, he would. And maybe it’s because he’d hate this that I’m having so much goddamn fun doing it.”

When you looked at Sebastian again, his face was serious, yet anything but stern. Suddenly, you weren’t thinking about your husband anymore. Of course you logically understood how odd this all was, how impossible it was for you to be slowly finding yourself in love with someone like him, but it felt right, and true, and real. It made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense in every way that mattered.

“I’ll help you clean,” you offered as you stood up, realizing you’d gotten lost in your train of thought and probably stared at him for a bit too long. He stood up with you, helping you gather the used dishes and letting you wash them in the sink while he put the remaining soup in the refrigerator as leftovers for another time. “I’ll cook for you tomorrow,” you promised, “something real bland, like the English cook.”

“Sper că nu intenționați să gătiți pentru mine cândva, nu suport mâncarea occidentală,” he mumbled as he continued to wipe down the countertop with a damp towel.

With the kitchen clean, you knew you should get back to writing your book, but you were compelled instead to read somebody else’s— so, as you slipped onto the couch with one of a few of your favorites that you’d brought with you, Sebastian summoned the same copy of Dracula you’d seen him reading a few times and took the loveseat. Not much else happened after that, save for you shivering from a draft and him tossing a throw blanket on you.

“Ce carte citești?” he asked you eventually, breaking the silence. When you looked up, he was pointing at your book. “Book?”

“Right,” you laughed, “I taught you that. My book, uh, it’s good.” You closed it, leaving your finger inside to mark your place as you showed him the front cover. “On the Road? Ever heard of it?”

He just cocked his head to the side.

“Jack Kerouac?” you continued. “It’s about going on a long journey in search of… freedom.”

“Acesta este cel despre zombi?” he asked.

“Sure,” you nodded, wishing more than ever that you could know what he was saying. He smiled and got back to his own reading. Indulging yourself for a moment, you watched his face as it fell into a neutral expression while he read, his eyes trailing along the page as he continued to read. You didn’t realize it, but when you returned to reading your own book, he got his chance to look at you.

A long day of writing meant you had more than earned an evening to relax by the fire; late summer became early fall, and early fall turned into the need for a fireplace so much faster than you’d anticipated. The days were temperate, sure, but as the sun began to sink lower, so did the warmth. You started your evening with a hot shower, though you didn’t let yourself get too greedy with the limited supply of hot water, knowing Sebastian relied on the same supply for his own baths. When you finished, you dressed yourself in a fluffy lavender robe, feeling especially pampered when you put on a little moisturizer before heading downstairs to cozy up with the fire. You were already getting chilly, the heat from the shower fading as your wet hair and bare feet cooled you quickly. Therefore, it was more of a scurry to the fireplace, which you hadn’t expected Sebastian to be tending or you wouldn’t have come down in a robe. He’d seen you in less (namely, his shirt and nothing else, which was horrifically embarrassing) but something about this felt more intimate, like all your defenses had been washed away in the shower, too. Didn’t help that he was shirtless, again. Wasn’t he cold in this weather?! Must be all that muscle keeping him warm.

“Bună seara,” he greeted.

“Good evening,” you returned. Stepping closer, you rubbed your hands together as you felt the hot air radiate towards you. “It’s nice,” you sighed contentedly.

He smiled back at you, moving the logs slightly with the iron poker. Sparks jumped and fell off as he shifted them, joining the ashes below— you’d always thought fire was so beautiful, even if it was dangerous, and you took in a long breath through your nose to smell the tinge of smokiness in the air.

“Te încălzești?” he asked quietly as he set the poker aside and stood beside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing through the fabric of the robe to try to warm up a little faster. Seeing you shiver, he reached out and rubbed your arms for you, which made you tense up slightly before relaxing and breathing out. “Mai bine?”

You nodded a little, your gaze drifting slightly.

“Warm?” he asked, making your eyes jump back up to his. You swallowed dryly as he looked back at you.

“Warm,” you repeated, “yeah. Good job… when’d you learn that?”

He didn’t answer, watching your hands as they reached out for his arms, finally making delicate contact with his tanned skin before drifting up to his biceps, his shoulders, and finally his chest. He put his own hands on top of yours and held them there, looking back at you as your heart started to beat rapidly and with no signs of slowing down. “Warm,” he repeated, only slightly above a whisper.

“Oh yeah,” you agreed hoarsely, “very, very warm…”

He smiled a little; it wasn’t mischievous, it wasn’t conniving or predatory or malicious. It was subtle but gentle in a way you had absolutely no plan to save yourself from, no protection, no armor, no neutral territory. There was only heat, so strong that your toes weren’t cold anymore and you didn’t even remember that your hair was still damp. Not only did you let his heat consume you, but you didn’t even think to stop it, to swallow your desire down, to run away and say goodnight and hide in bed from the icky scary feelings. No, you looked right back at him and let those eyes pierce right through you, that cold blue changed entirely with the warm firelight reflecting in them.

“Do you want to come to my room?” you asked slowly. The words were useless, but a glance back to the stairs that led to your door and back at him asked the same question with much more efficacy.

He nodded, and you stepped backwards as he followed you: across the house, up the stairs, and to your room. You opened the door. He shut it behind you.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan rpf #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n

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in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather · 3 years

Text

[Amortentia]

Clyde x witch!RC

The first prompt for Magic May, based on a few prompts and conversations with @safarigirlsp

Summary: Clyde comes to your home looking for a good luck potion, but leaves with so much more.

There were two distinct ways people entered your home: through the front door if they were invited and friendly, or through the back door, if they were looking for something they likely thought they shouldn’t be.

Clyde entered one evening by the back door, pale as a sheet and shoulders high, like he was expecting a giant axe to come swinging down, fixing to slice him in two right down the middle.

He was told that if the door was unlocked and a candle burned in the window, you were admitting visitors.

But when he entered, no one seemed to be there.

That is to say, you clearly couldn’t be too far, with one cauldron brewing on the stove and another in the fireplace.

Clyde lingered in the doorway, craning his neck inside, expecting you to pop up from somewhere, each passing second making him consider turning around and leaving. So to stop himself, he made his feet step forward, and forward again, like he always did when danger lay ahead and he had to face it.

The kitchen was clean and cozy, but it was brimming with pots and dried plats, small boxes and strainers, vials and papers with slanted scratchings on them. He didn’t dare read any of the writing, suspecting some ill might come of it so he squeezed his hand, feeling his lucky ring between his knuckles and huffed out a breath.

As if something compelled him to turn, he saw something that equally terrified and excited him – a cauldron bubbling. The same compulsion brought him closer and had him examining it.

The small cauldron was filled with thick and rich liquid, with vapors rising from it. It had an eye-catching mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rose from it in spirals despite the still air. But what struck him most was the scent of it.

At first it smelled like paper, that distinct thick, old kind, yellowed over time and layered with scents of time and leather binding, an absolutely decadent scent. Then suddenly it turned herbal, at times zesty and tart, then refreshing and green, the occasional flowery bloom scattering across it. Lastly, his mouth turned gravelly, from the stark scent of crystals, or minerals, and their rocky, earthy smell.

The smell, captivating and alluring, seemed to travel down his nose and coat his tongue and throat like a drink, making his belly feel full and bubbly warm.

You rushed in because you smelled something burning, which should have been impossible. You looked around for the source, but all there was was the Amortentia on the stove. It had never smelled like anything to you, but now it… did? It smelled like burning meat? No, bacon? That’s preposterous. You felt your eyebrows pull together in confusion and the scent cleared out as fast as it came, making you momentarily relax. In fact, not only did it not smell like anything was burning, it suddenly smelled incredibly fresh. Like a morning in the mountains, dewy and foggy, lush and fresh and earthy. Willing the scent to disappear, you turned to the other cauldron, but that just had a big batch of Pepperup Potion brewing, mostly sought out for common colds, that was flying off the shelves these days. And that had only ever smelled like mint and made the room heat up. When you turned back, the scent had transformed again, smelling strong and sharp, like a cellar stacked with dusty wooded casks filled with delicious rich amber whiskey. With unsteady hands, you put the lid over the cauldron and turned the heat all the way down, finally acknowledging the man standing in your kitchen.

“Sorry for the wait, I had to…” - how do you explain to this man that you had to catch some glumbumbles before they flew off and potentially infested beehives, making the honey depression-inducing? – “…chase off a cat from my garden.”

If he believed you, he didn’t particularly look like it. – “Are you, uh…” – he didn’t know how to ask. To say the witch seemed kind of crass. You nodded when he trailed off and he gave you elevator eyes, taking in your form from head to toe. Clyde was aware he was gawking and it was rude as hell, but he couldn’t stop it. – “M’sorry, it’s just… ya look…”

“Surprisingly normal?” – you offered and he couldn’t formulate a response. – “Maybe disappointingly normal?” – you tried again. Honestly, people still expect witches to dress in black dresses and pointy hats, and cackle the day away riding on a broom. And while cackling the day away riding on a broom is undeniably fun, it doesn’t pay the bills or help get one integrate into society.

Clyde cleared his throat and told himself to get to the point before he looked like an even bigger fool. – “I was told yer able to make a potion for luck.”

“I am.” – you assured him calmly. – “What exactly are you looking for? A little bit of confidence and euphoria, or the really hard stuff?”

“I think I’m lookin’ for the hardest thing you’ve got, ma’am.” – he answered after pondering for a while and for some reason, you throat felt hot and parched all of a sudden. It didn’t help to acknowledge that he was staggeringly well-built, with lips that looked sinfully delicious and hair so lovely and shiny you could have sworn he was already using your potions for growth and shine.

So. Felix Felicis. You had Ashwinder eggs lying around in the freezer somewhere for love potions and such – always in demand - but where are you expected to find Murtlap? Not that this guy would understand your plight.

“Mh. I see.” – you nodded and swallowed the frog in your throat, mouth still annoyingly dry and clumsy. - “Well, there are three things you need to know.”

Clyde nodded with focused eyes and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to be scrutinized, noting with curiosity that their shade was a dark shade of amber, kind of like the… whiskey you smelled a minute ago.

“It’s very expensive.” – you started, effectively dissuading him from his plan.

“I thought it would be. Jus’ name yer price.” – Clyde answered confidently, resolute not to let something as pedestrian as money or possessions stand in the way of finally having some luck.

“Not so fast.” – you cautioned against dismissing your warnings so quickly. – “The other thing is, it’s not a very common order. I don’t have any lying around.”

Clyde shrugged, lips pouting as he discarded this notion as an impediment. - “I can come back tomorrow? Or a coupla days?” – he offered nonchalantly; after all, what’s a day or two more after a lifetime of bad luck?

“It takes six months to brew.” – you said bluntly, sure that the wait would deter him. People who came looking for such radical stuff usually wanted it right then or it would be useless against whatever disaster they were trying to get out of.

“Six months?” – Clyde repeated, outraged. His expression seemed to as what sort of incompetent witch you were if one measly miraculous potion took you half a year to make.

“That’s right. Because…” – you leaned in, commanding his attention, and silence, again. – “…it is extremely powerful. Which makes it dangerous. It’s catastrophic if brewed wrong or rushed.”

Mesmerized, he kept squeezing his ring, and leaned right in too, like the words could disappear to the air if he was too far away. – “What do ya mean by...catastrophic?” – his tone was afraid, but imbued with a lust to hear what you had to say; some perverse desire to have his lifelong superstition justified.

“I mean brutally toxic and deadly.” – you told him and his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the rest of his face stony. - “Even if brewed to perfection, take too much and it’ll be the last thing you do.” – you warned, but then leaned back and shrugged. – “There are probably worse ways to go, but I still wouldn’t recommend it.”

Clyde swallowed and thought hard, a heavy silence falling over your kitchen.

“I’ll see ya in six months then?” – he confirmed and you agreed.

When the troubling scent of whiskey wouldn’t leave you alone the whole night and then when you kept smelling burnt bacon even thought you had yesterday’s quiche for breakfast, you decided it was time to call the aunts for some insight.

“What do I do with a bad batch of Amortentia?” – you asked, worried that it might fall into the wrong hands if not disposed of properly.

“What happened, dear?” – aunt Sybill asked.

“Nothing. I mean, I don’t know. It smelled weird.” – you tried to sound casual.

Pause.

“Hello?” – you asked, worry creeping into your voice as you did, and Sybill smelled your tension like a bloodhound.

“What did it smell like?” – she asked as if it was just a matter of innocent curiosity.

“I don’t know. Burnt bacon. The woods. Whiskey, I think.”

You could hear the grin three states away. – “So who is he?”

“Or she!” – Allerga cut in, you were clearly on loudspeaker by now. – “You know I’ve always thought it would be a she, I bet I’m right.”

“What’s the point of betting if you can read palms?” – Sybill grumbled, the two having a chat totally separate from you, as if you weren’t in profound distress.

“For me to win?” – Allegra answered and turned her attention back to you. – “So who’s the lucky girl?”

“There’s no girl, or guy. I haven’t met anyone.”

“Oh, honey.” – Sybill was almost sympathetic to her dumb, oblivious niece.

“Amortentia is supposed to smell like something.” – Allegra reminded, like you didn’t already know. There’s not a teenage witch out there who does not daydream about what Amortentia would smell like to them one day, it’s the first thing they ever learn about it. – “Really, we were more worried when you were brewing it and smelling nothing, distributing it all willy-nilly.”

“Will you do me a favor?” – Sybil cut in, in her no-nonsense way. – “Pop your fridge open for a second.”

You did, not figuring out in the first instant what she was doing. – “Take a look at your butter.”

It lay melted in the dish, despite being in the fridge. A sure sign that someone in the house was in love. – “Plain old stick of butter. What about it?” – you attempted an unperturbed tone.

“Ha! She’s lying!” – Allegra gloated.

“Face it like a grown up, you met your match. Congratulations.” – Sybill said matter-of-factly, like he was serving you a subpoena. – “And don’t call to ask stupid questions.”

“But…” - she hung up before Allegra could squeal her delight or you had time to protest.

Clyde was furious.

When his head cleared, he realized he must have somehow ingested that potion he was dumb enough to inspect. If not, then what the hell was going on with him?

Every night, he dreamt of a woman riding a broom, or burning sage, or stirring a cauldron.

He kept smelling old books and weird plants wherever he went; his heart wanted to fly out of chest and it would take ages to calm down again.

When he tried to date, it was disastrous. He would zone out and not hear a word the woman was saying, making him blush furiously in embarrassment when caught. When one of them tried to kiss him, he recoiled so hard she stumbled and almost fell into a heap on the floor right there at his feet. He couldn’t really focus on what she said afterwards, just like he was unable to focus before as well, but he wouldn’t blame her if she had cursed him out good and proper. After all, the only communication they had was if their eyes happened to cross at the bar and then she would stare daggers at him and promptly go back to ignoring him.

He was counting the days to go get his potion, but what excited him was walking up that small winding path to the back door, entering that enchanting kitchen again and finding that fantastically ordinary witch inside.

Clyde replayed the encounter in his head daily, almost hourly as time went on, and each time, he noticed something new in the starkly vivid memory. The different specks of color in the eyes, how the voice nibbled at his ears and caressed his brain, how the air tasted sweeter and thicker inside that house, making him feel blissful.

He was under a spell and completely livid.

Exactly a day before the six months elapsed, you were busy cooking up some Draught of Peace, to alleviate anxiety – another top seller – and considering taking some yourself.

The Felix Felicis was almost done. It was a real beaut, a textbook example of the potion. You observed the liquid, that perfect, elusive shade of molten gold, with large drops leaping like goldfish from its surface, never spilling. Tomorrow, you would take out the few drops for Clyde and store the rest carefully. Just having the stuff around made you nervous; there were certain aspects of life that shouldn’t be meddled with and, though you routinely did, it didn’t mean you were any more accustomed to them or welcomed the danger of messing with things like love, hate, luck, death…

Clyde’s outrage was festering and mounting as the day drew nearer, now reaching a fever pitch and he couldn’t stay away a minute, let alone a day, more.

There was no candle in the window, or even a light on in the kitchen, and the door was securely shut. He didn’t want to go as far as destruction of property and tear the door down, and anyway, he assumed there were charms on the door to keep it in place. So he settled on hammering his fist against the door incessantly until you opened.

There was no time to change out of your penguin onesie pajamas – thanks, Allegra, for this laughing stock and boner pesticide, much obliged – so you ran downstairs before Clyde banged the door off its hinges.

You opened it halfway, but stood on the threshold and whisper-yelled, though any neighbors who was interested in the commotion would tell tall tales of what happened tonight whether or not they heard your conversation. – “What do you think you’re doing?”

“May I come in?” – Clyde whisper-yelled tersely, not wanting to have this conversation on your doorstep.

“There’s no candle, the door is locked. Don’t you know what that’s supposed to signify?”

It was difficult to seriously argue with a woman dressed as a penguin to go to bed, but Clyde would sure give it a try. – “I do. That’s why I took the trouble of knocking.”

“Well, don’t trouble yourself in the future! You’re early, your potion will be ready tomorrow.”

“You best step aside, ma’am, cause I’m comin’ in.” - he warned and charged inside.

“Oh, for the love of…” - you let him in and closed the door behind, taking a steadying breath.

“You put a spell on me.” - Clyde accused, not mincing words.

You rolled your eyes, it wasn’t the first time someone imagined the symptoms of a curse and came whining to you. - “I don’t do freebies, Clyde.”

“Then a curse maybe?”

|I’m far too busy to be cursing people for no reason.”

“Then what happened t’me?” - he asked, looking rather tortured and exasperated.

“How should I know? What do you think is wrong with you?”

:Well, it started that evening when I came here.” - he said in an accusatory tone. - “And ever since, I keep smellin’ yer house wherever I go, with all the plants and old books, and… I dunno, rocks or something?”

“Crystals”. – you supplied, heart sinking.

“Oh. Right. And I dream about you every night, I can’t focus on anythin’, it’s like I’m possessed or somethin’. So undo it, whatever happened.”

“Let me ask you something. Do you keep any butter in you fridge?”

He frowned, but answered anyway, in case the lifting of this awful curse had something to do with it. – “Er, well, no, not anymore. I used to, but it keeps melting, it’s been doing that for months.”

“About six months?” you suggested.

He nodded.

You sighed. This was not how you ever pictured it. An angry bartender yelling at you in the middle of the night how you cursed him. – “There is no spell, Clyde. No curse.”

“Then what about that thing in the cauldron? It all started when I smelled that damn thing you were brewin’ the last time I was here.”

You nodded, not trying to deny anything. – “Yes, yes, that was Amortentia.”

He raised his eyebrow inquisitively at the name.

“A love potion.” - you confirmed his suspicions.

“Uh huh!” - he proclaimed, feeling vindicated.

“A love potion doesn’t create real love. It makes infatuation, obsession at best.”

“Well, there you go.”

“Potions don’t go beyond infatuation. No one has managed to create the truly unbreakable, eternal, unconditional attachment that alone can be called love.” - you sighed, feeling with every work how your heart opened to him. - “But when you smell it, if you don’t ingest it, you get a clue about you true love is like. To you, it smelled like books, and herbs, and crystals. To me…” - you felt shy all of a sudden. the air pressure seemed to change in a blink, with Clyde’s indignation dissolving and his focus quiet and intent on hearing what you had to say. – “I smelled the woods. And whiskey. And burnt bacon.”

His face dropped, elongating to twice its usual size and he looked like he might keel over. You thought of getting him some of that fresh Draught of Peace, but perhaps he needed some smelling salts and vivifying slap to the face.

At length, he did finally speak. – “So what are ya tellin’ me here? All these things I’ve been feeling – the agitation, distraction, the dreams, the constant thoughts of you and this place?”

“I’m afraid it’s just the fervor of plain old love.” – you answered apologetically.

You had just finally admitted it to yourself, you didn’t want him to leave so abruptly. But that’s exactly what he appeared to be doing.

“Clyde, wait.” – you followed him, but like a reverse vampire, couldn’t get yourself to step over the threshold and leave your house.

He walked away unsteadily, shaking his head, turning before he was out of earshot. – “No, there’s gotta be some mistake. I can’t be in love with a witch.”

Well, fuck you too, you mouthed, filling the small metal vial with the potion six months in the making, replaying the scene of him running from you like you were Baba Yaga or some shit. If you were as bad as him, you would replace the Felix Felicis with some Fungiface or Maximum Turbo Farts Potion.

But no.

You’d come to terms last night that this quiet, burly mass of superstitions was your love, even if it would take some getting used to, especially now that you were unceremoniously dumped before you ever even had the chance to enjoy your newfound love. He could have his liquid luck and you would have to find a way to drown your own sorrows. He just better not come back around after he got what he was after.

The whole day, and night, passed and Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

You expected him every morning, day and night for a week, but he never came.

Must be that the price he assumed he’d have to pay for the potion was too high. Or, mortifyingly, and you wouldn’t entertain the idea for long, maybe he just didn’t want to see your witchy self again. Well, fuck you too, you mouthed your mantra and tried to move ahead.

Weeks passed and you cured pockmarks, summoned concentration and calmed overexcited nerves for your customers. Lilies withered and begonias flowered. You read books and baked new kinds of cakes and thought about that damned shiny haired bartender every waking moment.

It would go away one day, you lied to yourself, resolving to stop buying butter and save yourself the melted reminder of your misfortune.

After some months elapsed and Clyde’s infatuation grew, taking deeper root than even the feelings of superstition and wariness he had since childhood, he came back to the enchanted house.

This time, he did it right, walking inexorably, with long, eager strides to the front door. Before knocking, he thought he should have something to say. Something meaningful and romantic, that clearly and elegantly expressed what a dumbass he had been, spooked of his own feelings, but still how dearly and completely he loved every bit of you.

In his contemplation, it seems like hours had passed, the flowers he had brought sagging and wilting in his hand as he sat on the stairs and searched for the right thing to say in vain.

You’d been aware of his presence from the get, wondering why he was taking his sweet time. But you knew, deep down. It was difficult to find the right way to brooch this true love stuff.

So, magnanimously, you silently opened the door and walked over to him, laying your hands over his shoulders and sliding them down his chest in a cross, holding one wrist with the opposite hand and leaning your face against his.

He smelled like the woods and like the rest of your life and you held him for a long, long time.

#clyde x reader #clyde logan au #witch!rc #magic may

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lightsupinthenorth · 3 years

Text

Damn it, I’m calling you mine

Read on AO3

When Alternate-Mobius (as Loki has taken to calling the Mobius from this timeline in his head) comes to get him out of his cell and lead him to one of the interrogation rooms for the umpteenth time in however long it is he has been stuck in this cursed timeline, Loki lets himself be dragged there without protesting.

Protesting got old fairly quickly, considering it accomplished nothing at all. It doesn’t even get on the nerves of the TVA agents and hunters as it did in the timeline Loki left against his will.

Alternate-Mobius’ grip on his forearm is firm, firmer than it usually is. As if he were afraid Loki was going to make a run for it. As if Loki were stupid enough to think it would be of any use, after all this time. Loki would be insulted if he could muster enough energy for such an emotion.

As soon as they’re inside the interrogation room, Alternate-Mobius locks the door behind them. That’s new, too. Loki’s eyebrows raise slightly, but Loki doesn’t question Alternate-Mobius. What is even the point? He’ll know soon enough what the man is trying to do. Probably.

Alternate-Mobius fiddles with his TemPad for a few seconds and a familiar orange portal opens in front of them.

“Follow me.”

Loki nods, ready to obey, but Alternate-Mobius doesn’t move. Instead, he opts to stare at Loki with a frown on his face.

“Really? You’d follow me just like that? You’re not even going to question it?”

It’s Loki’s turn to frown. Why would Alternate-Mobius ask such a useless question? Has he yet to register how Loki’s fire has died out ages ago?

He shrugs.

“Okay then, let’s go…”

Loki swears he hears Alternate-Mobius mumble “what the fuck have they done to him?”, but he doesn’t have time to think about it any further before he’s pulled by Alternate-Mobius through the time-portal.

Before Loki can blink, he’s in a living-room with Alternate-Mobius by his side. All he can focus on apart from that is his own confusion.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t been expecting something this benign.

“Where are we?”

“Oh, so you still have some questions then. Thank God, you had me worried for a second over there.”

Loki, instead of unpacking what Alternate(?)-Mobius just said, glares at him until he relents.

“We’re at my flat, it’s a long story, I’ll explain everything later. First, tell me if you’re okay.”

His gaze travels the length of Loki’s body, as if he’s assessing damage, and then he’s staring right into his eyes. Maybe he’s searching for the damage in his soul, then. There’s a lot to find, without a doubt.

The concern that radiates off of the man brings a realisation to life in Loki.

“Mobius?”

Of course, it’s Mobius. Alternate-Mobius is also Mobius. But what Loki is really asking is “are you my Mobius?” Because that’s how he thinks of the first version of Mobius he got to meet. He can’t ask that, though. Mobius couldn’t possibly react to such blatant (and misplaced) possessiveness in a positive manner.

“Yes.”

Loki wants to take the simple answer at face value, but he has to be sure. He has to be sure he’s got this right. He couldn’t cope if he accepted this as true only to have his fragile hope ripped away from him later.

Sylvie betrayed him, sending him to an alternate timeline where everything that had become familiar to him at the TVA was here and not here at the same time. It had been torture. Especially seeing Alternate-Mobius constantly. The other version of Mobius only served to remind Loki of what – of whom – he had lost.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

It’s not comfortable, being on this side of lies. Loki has a lot of experience as a liar and as the one being lied to. He far prefers the first configuration, it has to be said.

“What would I gain by taking you here and lying about which version of me I am?”

“Seriously Mobius, now is not the time to answer a question with another question.”

Loki is dead on his feet. He cannot fathom how he manages to stay standing. He fears it will not last much longer.

“I… I don’t know. Ask me something only your Mobius would know.”

Loki blinks a few times, trying to come to terms with this Mobius (whichever he is) saying “your Mobius” like this. Like it’s easy. Like it’s an evidence.

It turns out that Loki worried for nothing, earlier, when he kept himself from asking if this Mobius was his.

After a small eternity, Loki focuses on Mobius’ request instead of on this insignificant (but not for him) detail.

“How did we find out Sylvie was hiding in Haven Hills, Alabama?”

Loki could have asked Mobius a lot of things, but this question seems like a good option. No one knows about this but them. Loki doubts Mobius put it in the reports or mentioned it to anyone, because it’s just a detail, a clue that led them to Sylvie. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But Loki remembers it, and he’d bet his Mobius would too. The elation they felt when they reached their goal is not something that can be forgotten easily, after all. At least, Loki hopes not.

“We found out because you’re clever and we make a great team, but I don’t see how that’s gonna convince you I’m your Mobius.”

Loki feels winded by Mobius’ words. The praise, the acknowledgment of their partnership, and the “your Mobius” (for the second time in a matter of minutes). However, he can’t let himself lose his focus.

“That’s very nice of you to compliment me, and we do make a rather spectacular team. But I’m asking you about the clue which led us to the right location.”

“Oh, you mean Kablooie?”

As soon as Loki registers the words, his knees buckle and he might have fallen down if Mobius weren’t there to steady him. He extends his arms and Loki instantly grabs them. His heart is beating so fast he’d fear a heart attack if he were human.

“It’s really you.”

Loki hears his own voice crack with relief, and his eyes fill with tears.

“It’s really me.”

Loki didn’t need the confirmation, but it is so on brand for Mobius to give it to him anyway that Loki gets the impulse to throw his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He tries to resist the impulse for a mere second before giving up entirely and engulfing his Mobius in a (perhaps overly) tight hug.

Mobius wraps his arms around Loki in return, hugging him back. That’s when the tears begin to fall in earnest. Before he knows it, Loki is sobbing uncontrollably in Mobius’ embrace. It’s most undignified and he’s probably ruining Mobius’ shirt, but Loki’s too far gone to care. Anyway, Mobius has seen most of his life when he was working for the TVA, and Loki’s done his fair share of embarrassing things. This is not the worst one, by far.

Being vulnerable is still difficult for him, but he has no control over himself right now, so vulnerability is the only way to go.

Mobius has an armful of crying god, and he’s taking it in stride if he does say so himself. He’s been looking for Loki for so long, he’s been through so much to find him that he’s prepared to accept anything Loki throws at him now that they’re finally reunited.

“There, there. It’s going to be okay now.”

Mobius continues to whisper reassurances in Loki’s ear until Loki’s sobs subside. Mobius is loath to break their embrace, but they can’t possibly stay like this much longer considering Loki has looked on the verge of keeling over ever since he got up from the floor of his cell. When he saw him, Mobius had to make a conscious effort to reign in a gasp (the hunters guarding Loki’s cell would have found that mightily suspicious coming from the Mobius he was then pretending to be). Loki is thinner, there are bags under his eyes, and his skin has taken a blueish tint which, rather than being reminiscent of his origins, looks sickly. Now that Loki’s finally safe, Mobius wants nothing more than to take care of him and nurse him back to health.

“We should probably sit down. Would that be alright?”

Mobius can feel Loki nod, but Loki makes no move to separate himself from him.

Okay. Mobius can work around that.

He slowly walks them to the couch without letting go of Loki. They fall on it rather gracelessly, and Loki immediately rearranges himself so he’s lying down with his head face down on Mobius’ lap and one of his hand gripping his knee. He wishes Loki would let him see his face, but it certainly isn’t the time for requests.

Mobius passes the fingers of his left hand through Loki’s messy hair and Loki shivers against him.

“Is this okay?”

Loki’s only reply is a hum. Mobius interprets it as acquiescence, so he repeats the motion again, and again, and again. To comfort himself as much as Loki.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?”

Loki’s grip on Mobius’ knee tightens and he whimpers. Mobius’ stomach drops.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I… I’m fine. Just… can we stay here for a while?” Loki’s voice is hoarse and tentative, as if he were expecting Mobius to turn him down. As if it were a credible outcome. Preposterous.

“Of course, anything you want. But, please let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

Loki hums again, and Mobius goes back to playing with his hair.

It must be hours before either of them speaks again. Loki’s turned around by now, so he’s facing Mobius while still resting his head on his lap.

“Do you have a bathtub?”

“I do.”

“I could go for a bath… But…”

He’s reluctant to voice his desires. He’s been attached to Mobius as a barnacle to a rock for longer than he can tell, and Mobius must be tired of him by now. Maybe he’s been tired during this entire display of neediness and has only tolerated it for Loki’s sake. Mobius is decent enough that it doesn’t sound particularly far-fetched.

“But what? Go on.”

“Would you… would you mind staying with me while I’m in the bath?”

“Sure.”

Mobius looks unphased, but Loki still needs to ask:

“Are you sure it’s no bother? I know I’m being clingy and…”

Mobius interrupts him:

“Rest assured, you’re only the one clinging to me because you beat me to it. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore than you want to be apart from me.”

Loki frowns, as if facing a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“Really?”

“Of course. Why do you think I looked for you for months?”

And it makes sense, from an objective point of view. It’s a wonder Loki can’t wrap his head around it.

“Oh” is all he has to say.

“Yeah, oh.”

Loki will wonder later how exactly Mobius managed to rescue him. He’s not strong enough to deal with that conversation at the moment.

“Come on, let’s get that bath running.” Mobius says, sitting up straighter.

Loki gets the message and pulls himself up. He only loses physical contact with Mobius for a handful of seconds before he reaches for his hand and slide his fingers between Mobius’.

They walk to the bathroom hand in hand and Mobius only lets go when Loki has to undress. Mobius looks away until he’s in the bath, hidden by the bubbles. It’s a sweet, if useless (Mobius probably saw Loki naked in countless occurrences on the TVA tapes), gesture.

Loki would ask Mobius to join him if he had the courage. He can’t find it in himself. He’s been bold enough as it is. Besides, it would definitely cross the line. To be honest with himself, he’s not sure this line exists anymore, but he ought to pretend it still does. For Mobius’ sake, if not for his own.

“Can I wash your hair?”

The prospect of Mobius’ gentle hands back in his hair is a pleasant one, to say the least. So, Loki immerses himself in the bath to wet his hair and comes back up, before replying:

“Please, be my guest”, trying for a teasing smile that probably comes out looking wrong.

Mobius returns Loki’s fond smile, relieved to finally see a positive emotion displayed on this beautiful face.

He grabs his bottle of shampoo from the edge of the bathtub and squeezes some of it into his palm. It’s cheap stuff, with a cheap artificial apple scent. Surely not up to Loki’s standards. However, Mobius doesn’t reckon he’ll care after his forced stay in the Alternate-TVA.

When he starts rubbing the shampoo into Loki’s hair, Loki shivers again, and then moans. Mobius puts the reaction in a corner of his brain so he can examine it later. It might be a thing.

Mobius takes his time (which is to say, he takes far more time than is necessary), before he finally requests:

“Bend forward and close your eyes for me, please.”

Loki complies without a second thought, and warmth spread inside Mobius at the display of trust.

“Good boy.” Mobius says it without thinking, as he’s reaching for the hand shower.

Loki tenses up, and Mobius instantly regrets the words. They’re out, though, there’s no calling them back.

Thankfully, before Mobius can go into a full-blown panic caused by his own stupidity, Loki relaxes again, even though his breathing is now laboured.

That’s quite a lot to unpack there. Mobius will make sure to come back to it in the future. Until then, he focuses on rinsing Loki’s hair without making a mess. He then wrings the excess water out of it as gently as he can and grabs a towel from the rack attached to the wall.

He hands it to Loki and looks away again to give him some semblance of privacy. He hears Loki get up and say:

“It’s okay, you can look. I don’t mind.”

Mobius should decline, but he’s too weak. It’s so hard to not keep his eyes on Loki constantly when he has just got him back.

So, Mobius looks at him, and instantly notices Loki’s lower torso is covered in bruises. They’re stark against Loki’s skin, which is now back to its usual paleness, sans blueish tint.

Mobius must have visibly reacted, though he’s not aware of it, because Loki takes a glance down his own body and flinches.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

“Don’t apologize. Not for that.”

Loki’s mouth clicks shut.

Once Loki’s dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants (both black, thankfully) that he borrowed from Mobius, he brushes his teeth with a spare toothbrush.

Then, Mobius manages to talk him into eating something and having a cup of herbal tea (camomile), even though it ruins the point of the aforementioned toothbrushing.

What would he not do to appease Mobius and keep him from worrying? Loki prefers not to know.

They retire to bed soon after that, tangling together under Mobius’ fluffy comforter. Loki’s about to fall asleep, lulled by the repetitive motion of Mobius’ fingers running lines on his back, when Mobius speaks:

“I… I know I should let you rest before broaching this topic but… I won’t be able to think about anything else all night if I don’t ask…”

Loki’s tempted to tell him to spit it out, but he refrains, letting Mobius continue at his own rhythm.

“The other me… is he the one who, you know… the bruises?”

“No. He wasn’t particularly nice, but he was never outright cruel to me.” That much could not be said about many other agents of the Alternate-TVA, but Loki refuses to get into that. “Nevertheless, he was… wrong in so many ways.”

Mobius’ hand stops moving up and down his back.

“How so?”

“He was... different. He hated Josta, he didn’t care about jet skis, he was right-handed… He was cold, warier of me than you were, and a bigger stickler for the rules. He… he just wasn’t you.”

His Mobius was everything this other Mobius wasn’t to Loki. He was trustworthy. He brought him hope. Because he had seen Loki, he knew almost everything that could be known about him, and still he believed he could be someone good. The other Mobius had not witnessed any of Loki’s numerous lies and betrayals, and still he trusted him far less than his Mobius did despite every piece of evidence proving he should not.

Loki can’t comprehend the undeserved trust Mobius has for him, but he is grateful it exists.

“He sounds like a jackass.”

Loki lets out a teary laugh.

“He was. Thank you for rescuing me from him.”

“You’re very welcome. I needed it as much as you did, anyway.”

“You’ll tell me how you did it, right? Tomorrow?”

“Anything you want”, Mobius says for the second time that day.

And, by the Norns, does Loki want. He wants so much.

He raises his head from Mobius chest and places his lips on his. He keeps it brief, pulling back before Mobius has time to react. The line is crossed, annihilated. What can Loki say? He’s never been good at denying himself what he wants.

“Was that okay?”

Mobius exhales slowly, his body going lax after tensing up from the surprise.

“More than.”

“Good.”

They stop talking, then. Loki falls asleep in a matter of minutes, hopeful for the first time since Sylvie pushed him through a time-portal to get rid of him. Things are still a mess, but there’s a slight chance they’re going to be fine and, for now, that’s enough.

Thanks for reading ;

#Loki #Mobius #Lokius #fanfiction #hurt and comfort #Loki spoilers

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plainlo-inthemorning · 3 years

Text

Shine a Light, part 6

A Loki series/Lokane fic. Rating T.

Previously: Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5

He is already spinning around and bracing himself as his boots touch the concrete, half expecting to see the beast come tumbling towards him.

But the air is mercifully still where the door has snapped shut.

The evening sky above him is heavy with clouds, and a light mist of cool rain touches his face.

Cool.

He looks down at his hands. They are still shaking from the adrenaline, but no longer blue. Nor do his clothes feel rough against his skin.

Did he consciously change back to his Asgardian form as he went through the door? He is not sure. Whatever the shape or shade, his body feels oddly disconnected from his brain and Loki idly wonders if using the tempad so much within a short time span might be affecting him on a cellular level.

Then again, if that was the case would the Minute Men and analysts at the TVA not have been suffering from chronic time travel fatigue?

Who knows, perhaps they did. A number of them certainly looked worn out.

Tempad “jetlag” (an apt mortal word) or not, unwillingly running into variants upon variants of old enemies on this treacherous timeline coupled with the incessant longing for her has caused Loki’s grip on reality to slip ever more from one destination to the next.

What reality? a mocking voice in his head whispers, sounding maddingly similar to the little devil clock.

You have no idea where you are, who you are or where you’re going. You’re a man out of time, for all time, always.

He straightens and draws in a few deep breaths, surveying his new surroundings: A narrow brick terrasse. At the back wall, a glass sliding door reveals a room covered in darkness, but as nothing moves inside (his night vision remains far superior to that of mortals), Loki turns instead to take in the view of … London.

There is a taste of early spring in the air, and before him as far as the eye can see, the rooftops and spires of the city stretch out into the distance.

Millions of little lights flicker in the dark and the fumes of traffic and city grime mix with whiffs of different cuisines drifting out of air vents.

He has been here once or twice before, though not in decades, and there are whole clusters of towering structures of glass and steel that he does not recall from on his previous visit.

The house by the ocean in 2016, Budapest in 2015, New York in 2014 and now London in what he assumes must be 2013. As methodical as the backwards count has proven to be, as confusing are the destinations and varying seasons.

Only they cannot possibly be random.

Free will is an illusion.

The eerie feeling that even this, his ill-thought-out ‘quest’, is being guided by an invisible hand in charge of his destiny is so dispiriting it’s comical. He can’t quite decide whether to feel perversely honored that some higher being – a version of He Who Remains? – would take interest in toying with him, or furious that he has been singled out for this preposterous punishment of drifting through another Loki variant’s timeline.

It is no use dwelling on either emotion. He has no one to measure his pride against, no one’s expectations to live up to expect for his own, and, frankly, by now that bar is scraping the floor. There is no telling where the female variant of him went and Loki has no means of contacting the TVA or the analyst-interrogator even if he wanted to (he really does not anymore).

Loki unclenches his fists.

Seeing as each destination may have been an intentional set-up for whatever bizarre reason, the question is which character from his past he will encounter in this place. He vows to himself that no matter who he bumps into, he will attempt to reactivate that silver tongue of his and gather actual, useful information.

No more chaotic exits.

Provided no one tries to kill him on sight or squash him through a wall.

The terrace is furnished only with an old sun chair and a few plants, but the room beyond the glass door appears very lived in, with books stacked on the floor and several shelves, a large couch, a couple of armchairs, and what looks to be an adjacent kitchen area with a dining table.

Amazing how most mortals spend their years in such small, crowded dwellings.

Using only his magic, he slides open the door. It makes a low swooshing sound. Quiet as a cat, he steps over the threshold.

It hits him immediately, like walking into a wall: The scent of lavender.

And Thor.

The apartment is quiet, but they were here and recently.

He has been delivered right to them.

Loki is once again frozen in place.

His initial plan when knocking out that man in the canteen at the TVA and stealing his tempad was to find Thor and Jane at the scene of his own moral redemption (well…) on Svartalfheim. Where he supposedly saves their lives. Find them and use the momentum of their unfiltered gratitude to deliver the news that, most regrettably, the universe is likely coming to an end if they do not devise a plan together to prevent a multiversal war – preferably enlisting the help of Thor’s colleagues, too, and in the best of scenarios, Asgard.

Seek out Thor before saving Jane’s life, and Loki would have to first win his brother’s trust in the aftermath of the attack on New York. Find Thor after Svartalfheim, and there would be the small matter of explaining how the variant faked his own death and, after having thus broken Thor’s heart again, took the throne of the Realm Eternal.

Not an ideal conversation starter, even for them.

From the reel, he knows that there were other moments, much later, when he and Thor would become friendly again. After Ragnarok, before his end.

But Loki also knows that this need to get to Svartalfheim has as much to do with her as it has with Thor. Perhaps even more so.

Something important transpires between himself and the brown-eyed scientist on that brutal, barren planet and if it is the last thing he does, Loki will find out what it means.

It does not make any more sense now than it did when he sat in the kill me kind of room, transfixed by her face, but if he had had any initial doubts as to whether he was simply imagining the magnetic pull of her, those had been effectively shattered to atoms when she threw her arms around his neck outside the white house.

“Where did you go, handsome?”

Nothing on this timeline seems to be playing out as it should. Which of course also means that the events on Svartalfheim may never have occurred at all.

On this timeline, a variant has more or less befriended the Avengers in the years after New York when, according to the proper Loki fate, he should have been on Asgard. And, in a few years from now, the variant will somehow be with Jane.

Jane, who has stayed in this very apartment. With Thor.

Briefly, Loki is back to wondering if Thor dies and how, but then he remembers what Bruce said about their “family soap opera” and Loki’s “victory”.

Could it be that he and Thor actually fought over Jane?

As much as he wishes it otherwise, even Loki finds it hard to believe that his variant would have beat the God of Thunder in a fight. The might of Mjølner is formidable. And though his brother has not quite discovered it himself yet, Loki has always suspected that Thor has his own kind of magic.

Then there is Jane: Without having ever conversed with her, Loki would be surprised if Jane would appreciate being treated as a prize to be won.

He is getting a headache. A rare thing for a god, but there is no putting the puzzle together with so many pieces missing from the board. Since he has no hope of using the tempad to transport him off Midgard, maybe the best thing to do would be to just wait here and see if Jane and Thor come back. He has been specifically sent here, has he not?

Without really noticing, Loki has moved to the blue, puffy couch. He sits himself down and leans back into the soft cushions, letting out a sigh. When was the last time he slept or ate anything? There is a sense of fresh paranoia as he realizes that he cannot remember doing either at the TVA, expect for when he fell asleep during research.

“Time works differently at the TVA. You’ll see”.

He stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns. On the wall opposite from the couch is a paper calendar: 2013.

He takes in the rest of the apartment but does not magic any of the lights on. There is the open kitchen, a tiny hallway with a coat rack and a few pairs of shoes, and two more doors to the left of where he is sitting.

Getting up suddenly feels immensely tasking, but Loki nevertheless hauls himself to his feet and goes to inspect the other rooms. First, there is the washroom. The scent of lavender is stronger in there, even more inviting, and spotting a stack of fresh towels on a shelf, he considers taking a shower. It is not as if he cannot easily use magic to uphold appearances (wait, were there showers at the TVA?), but that is no substitute for the soothing feel of warm water running down his body, relaxing his tired muscles.

Yes, he will shower. And cast a spell on the apartment, so he will be alerted if anybody attempts to enter.

He takes a small comfort in his powers being restored.

Loki reckons the other door leads to the sleeping chambers but just to be sure, he magics it open with a flick of his wrist.

A window with closed blinds. A wooden bookcase to one side, volumes and magazines piled high. An old, white wardrobe with brass grips. A pile of clothes strewn haphazardly on the thick yellow rug on the floor near a large, unmade bed.

Unmade – and not empty.

Loki stands perfectly still, one hand still raised.

Why did he not sense that someone was here?!

Seeing as Clint (Bird-Eye?) managed to surprise him in Budapest, perhaps Loki’s “wolf’s ears” really are failing him.

Even so, his nose is working just fine. Unless …

Then he knows. Of course.

His tongue tastes bile.

Inching closer, he sees the black hair spilling over the madras. His own lean, sculpted body whose long limbs and handsome Asgardian features Loki has never felt less appreciation for than right this very moment.

The variant is deep asleep. And half-naked under the sheets.

Something twists in his stomach at the scene. Something small and pathetic and evil that wants out. A foul, winged creature batting against his ribcage with sharp claws.

He takes another step forward.

How has the variant not been alerted to his presence yet? He seemed strong – very strong – in 2016.

Loki studies his twin’s face. His own exact face. Same high cheek bones, same long, dark lashes against a pale complexion. Only this close, the man’s skin has a faint ashen sheen to it. A few tiny beads of sweat glisten on his temples and, yes, Loki hears it now, his breathing is slightly labored.

He is injured. Enough to dull his senses.

It is not the madman from the Void, as Loki had feared after their first encounter. His energy is quite different from any of the other variants, and Loki suspects he may be the closest to a perfect double that he’s encountered yet (and please, let this one be the last. No more variants or Loki will forget which life was his own).

Stepping so close he can lean over the bed, the reason for the variant’s sedated state becomes evident:

Tied around the man’s mid-section, just about visible over the sheets, is the upper edge of a large bandage. Loki sniffs. Yes, he can sense the wound and the ugly tinge of dark magic still surrounding it, like a poisonous signature: This was inflicted by a blade of the dark elves. The variant has come from Svartalfheim after all.

The cut must have been near fatal, but from the smell of it, it is healing well, aided by the variant’s own powers and what can only be human medicine, judging by the clinical odor.

Even so, why was he not taken to the healers on Asgard?

Because he is evading his punishment for the attack on New York, Loki guesses.

Thor and Jane must have brought him to London instead of delivering him back to Odin. Although thanks to Heimdall’s watchful gaze, the All-Father will be aware of what has transpired. In his condition, the chances of the variant being able to use his magic to shield himself from Heimdall are next to none.

Still, he is here. No one has come for him yet.

Loki does not know which is stranger: That the variant is legitimately, badly injured and not currently in the process of dispatching Odin off to some home for the elderly in New York, or that Odin has allowed the variant to be taken to Midgard instead of the dungeons.

Presumably neither the All-Father nor Thor are aware of the variant’s role in Frigga’s death.

Though he tries to shake them off, the images remain crystal clear: The queen mother, killed by one of Malekeith’s monster.

A shiver suddenly runs through the variant’s body on the bed and Loki holds his breath. The man shifts under the sheets but does not wake.

So, dear ‘brother’, your Nexus event was that you nearly died for the people who care for you instead of following up your heroism with deceit, as I would have done.

What sentiment.

The winged creature growls.

Loki could kill him right now.

Kill him and take his place.

It would be easy, so easy to slit his throat. It is not as if he has not committed murder before.

“I don’t enjoy hurting people. I don’t enjoy it …” But this is not ‘people’.

This man is a murderer as well.

The variant has already veered spectacularly off course from his fate, and yet there are no Minute Men next to his bed, holding him accountable for his “crimes against the sacred timeline”, nor will he be apprehended in the following years.

This man got “the Time Keepers’ stamp of approval”, just like the Avengers.

It is so monumentally unfair it is enough to make Loki’s fingers grasp for an invisible dagger. The variant’s existence makes a mockery of the life that was cruelly stolen from Loki by the TVA and for that he loathes him with every fiber of his identical body.

Why should the variant have any more right to live?

Because he will make her happy.

Loki forces himself to rein in the rage. The man will play a part in Jane’s life.

He stares at his sleeping double.

The variant is worthy.

Or just simply unbearably, ridiculously lucky.

No matter what, he must live, but if Loki stays here much longer, he fears the variant’s chances of making it past 2013 will rapidly decrease by the minute.

Loki cannot stand to look at him, nor will he contemplate the fact that the variant is comfortable enough in the apartment to discard his clothes.

If he does, he will stab him to death. And relish in it.

Loki is about to magic himself away to find somewhere nearby to wait for Thor and Jane’s return, when a noise reaches him from the hall outside the apartment.

Someone is coming towards the front door, keys in hand.

Jane.

He should leave immediately. Disappear before she can turn the key in the door.

But he does not.

Still looking at the sleeping, half-covered form in front of him, something finally snaps instead. The winged creature shrieks in delight.

A quick spell ensures that no sounds from outside the sleeping chamber can reach the variant, no matter how light his sleep becomes.

Another one renders all the light switches in the apartment useless.

Then Loki swiftly picks up the clothes from the floor, looks it over, and changes his own black outfit into what he is holding: A dark green, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of soft, well-known black leather pants that makes him feel both a bit homesick and a lot stronger.

Don’t do this, don’t do this.

A voice, not the clock this time but his own. He ignores it.

He does not know what Jane’s relationship with the variant is of this time or what state of mind she expects to find him in, but she has let him stay here – and right now, she is alone.

Her fingers weaving through his hair while the sun beat down on his back.

His conscience will not allow him to kill the variant, yet Loki cannot resist the temptation to be him.

Again.

But just for a heartbeat or two.

This last part he promises to himself and to her, though it does nothing to bury the shame.

Perhaps he did not change at all during his time at the TVA. Perhaps his true, villainous self just lay dormant, biding his time, while various oppressors walked all over him.

Is a stolen moment with her worth more than his honor? Is it worth jeopardizing his one chance of enlisting Thor’s help?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

This is lowest you have ever sunk.

Shut up.

He steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, but not before catching a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the wall. His hair. The variant’s hair is noticeably longer. He cocks his head to the side once and the difference is levelled out.

In the hall, Jane is fiddling with the keys. When the lock clicks, Loki is sitting on the blue couch again, trying to appear casual while his pulse is racing as fast as when Bruce turned green before him.

And there she is.

Hair windswept, cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, wearing a dark green parka, jeans and boots.

Her eyes find his in the low light and a warm smile spreads on her face. His heart leaps into his throat.

“You’re back”. She does not stop to take off her jacket or attempt to turn on the lights before coming towards him and, unsure of what to say, he stands up. She stops in front of him, apparently a little unsure of the situation herself. She bites her lip.

“So how did it go?”

Her voice sounds at once both concerned and hopeful and her eyes are wide with expectation.

She is searching for some sort of positive affirmation and so Loki smiles down at her and says the only thing that seems fitting:

“It went well”.

Jane exhales loudly and her smile returns. “It did?!”

“Yes”, Loki replies, grinning at her (her smile is too infectious) and hoping she will not ask him to elaborate on whatever the subject is.

“Of course it did! I mean, you’re still here, aren’t you? Oh Loki, I’m so insanely relieved!” Jane laughs and looks like she is about to throw herself into his arms (automatically he reaches for her) when she stops herself mid-motion. “Sorry! I nearly forgot. Again!”

She takes one of his hands in both of hers, and Loki swallows hard as her fingers softly caress his with unmistakable intimacy.

“But seriously, you two didn’t fight, like fight-fight, did you …? I hope Thor didn’t …”. She trails off and looks at him questioningly.

“No. No, we didn’t fight. Don’t worry. We both … behaved”. Loki tries to catch up while keeping his replies as vague as he hopes he can afford.

The variant and Thor have had words, and Jane has worried about the outcome. Could it have been a discussion of whether to return Loki to Asgard? But then why has Thor not come back to the apartment?

In fact, why go anywhere else to talk at all, with the variant being as beat up as he is?

Because he and Thor both expected a row not suited for the indoors.

“Okay, you sit, you’ve moved around enough for one day. I’ll fix us something to eat and you’re going to tell me everything”. Jane gently lets go of his hand, then shoots him a teasing smile. “Unless you’ve emptied the fridge. Again”.

“Um”, is Loki’s inspired contribution to the conversation.

“Uh oh, pasta it is then”, Jane laughs, and goes to shrug off her jacket and boots in the hallway, revealing an open flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath.

Was she wearing the same thing that day in the desert town? It looks familiar.

Jane flips a light switch next to the coat rack and makes a “huh”-sound as nothing happens. She tries a lamp next to the dining table with the same result.

“Has the electricity gone again? Was it out when you got back?”

“Ah, yes. It was”.

“The landlord seriously needs to fix this, that’s the third time this week…good old London”. Jane scoffs but does not sound all that bothered.

“Can you work a little magic for us?”

When Loki does not move, Jane walks up to him (now even shorter without her footwear) and lightly places a hand on his arm, nudging him back on the couch. “Sit. And shine a light, please”.

He lets her push him down, and her hand moves up to rest on his shoulder. Now he is the one looking up at her. She is standing between his legs and there it is, the affection in her eyes that almost makes him forget that he is not the man it is meant for.

He wonders for how long he can get away with not saying anything remotely coherent before she suspects something’s amiss.

Obeying her wish, he holds out his palm and a small, orange flame appears, casting a warm glow on both their faces. Motioning with his fingers, he makes the flame float elegantly over the low coffee table in front of the couch where it stills in the air.

“I was thinking more along the lines of just making the electricity come back on, like last time, but okay, that is very pretty too”. Jane looks at the little light with wonder and Loki thinks he sees the stars in her eyes again.

Then her attention is back on him. Her fingers brush against his hair. They linger by the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I don’t know if it’s relief, but it’s almost like you look a bit … different”. Jane’s eyes roam his face, his hair. “Do you even still have a fever?”

Before Loki can answer her hand is touching his forehead.

Jane shakes her head in surprise. “It’s much better than this morning. Maybe it was good for you to get some real air after all. It has been almost three weeks …”

How easily she touches him. How sad that he's not used to being touched anymore.

He has only to lay his hand on her forehead in return and he could use his powers to reveal glimpses of her past (yes, he kept many of his gifts from the female on Lamentis).

More specifically, what has happened between her and the variant.

But not without revealing himself in the process.

Her left hand is still on his shoulder while the other now travels down the side of his cheek. He leans into her touch and closes his eyes, just breathing in the scent of her skin when he feels her bending down and locks of her auburn hair tickle his face.

He opens his eyes and looks right into hers, inches from his.

You have not earned this.

You are deliberately, selfishly, monstrously taking advantage of her.

I am a monster.

And then her mouth is on his and he does not say no.

To hell with his soul.

--------------------------------------------

For a second, she thinks she feels him tense up.

But as soon as her lips melt onto his and he immediately, hungrily reciprocates the kiss, everything is right again.

Crazy, sure, but also oh so right.

Jane literally never wants to stop kissing him.

She actually told him exactly that the other night. Or, accidentally blurted it out as they were coming up for air, since she is falling for him so fast her brain apparently cannot keep up with her mouth.

Immediately she had felt embarrassed, but it did not last longer than it took for him to raise a teasing eyebrow at her and pull her close again. “Why, Doctor Foster”, he had purred in that low voice that he absolutely knows makes her go weak, “by all means, please…(and he’d kissed her) don’t…(another kiss) stop … (kiss) Ever”.

Then he had leaned back a little, still gently cupping her face between his large hands, and flashed her the most gorgeous, happy, wickedly lascivious smile she had seen on him so far.

Not many people radiate smoldering sex appeal while simultaneously suffering from the agonizing pain of a wound inflicted by an alien sword, but of course Loki pulls it off with flying colors.

From there on, there had been no returning to ‘movie night’.

Now, trying not to break the kiss, Jane carefully moves to sit herself down on the couch as well, making sure not to press against him. For two weeks, they have been making out like teenagers whenever they are alone. Somewhat hindered by his injuries, obviously, which prohibits him from moving much – it is both very, very hot and insanely frustrating.

The first time she had kissed him, he had been too stunned to move a muscle anyway.

The second time, he had nearly ripped the wound open again.

Since then, they have tried to take it slow, although on more than one occasion, Loki has been all but begging to throw caution to the wind – “I’ll heal!", “It doesn't hurt!” (said as he looked like he was going to pass out), and, Jane’s favorite, “It might make me heal faster”.

His impatience would be quite funny if it was not because Jane was feeling just as dizzy with want.

She has been going for a lot of runs in Hyde Park lately.

“Do you have a death wish?!”, she had asked him teasingly at one point when he had spontaneously grabbed her hand as she passed him the kitchen and pulled her tight against him, only to groan loudly in pain when her body collided with his bandage.

Then he had looked suddenly very serious and let her go, and she had instantly regretted the comment.

She knows enough about his past not to joke about things like that.

“Oh. Oh, no”.

That was all her mind had been capable of thinking when she and Loki had locked eyes in the palace on Asgard, right after she had slapped him (surprising both herself and everyone around her).

He had looked down at her with his trademark arrogant smirk, except as soon as Thor and Sif had turned away, his gaze had turned infinitely softer, and Jane had felt something monumental start to shift inside of her.

Something that had nothing to do with the Aether coursing through her veins.

Not long after that, on that awful, doomsday-looking planet, he had saved her life. Twice in quick succession. And for a horrifying second, it had looked like he would die right in front of her.

The memory makes her involuntarily shudder a bit and, drawing her legs up on the couch so she can twist to face him more directly, she runs her fingers through his long, silken hair, and nips at his lower lip… and is startled when his head jerks. For real this time.

Jane draws back.

“Are you okay?”. Perhaps things did not go as smoothly with Thor as she had hoped.

It was a big ask after all.

Once more she feels a sharp pang of guilt. It is not just her and Loki’s worlds that have been turned resoundingly upside down in a matter of one turbulent month.

Loki seems lost for words, and the sadness flooding his face shocks her.

He is far from okay.

In fact, he looks close to tears. Were it not because she had just felt his cool forehead, she would have assumed it was the fever flaring up.

Jane feels her stomach tie itself into a knot. They are taking him away from her before they have even had a chance be together.

Or, even worse still, he has regretted everything about their unlikely union.

“Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry…”

Here it comes, Jane thinks as nausea builds. Erik is about to be proved right about him.

She lets go of him. He is clearly wrestling with himself.

And he does look different. Is this what him dropping the mask looks like?

It is more than just his facial expression, it is his entire posture. Even wounded and half delirious with fever, Loki usually carries himself with no small amount of pride.

His eyes are so lost.

What the hell is going on?

“Just tell me, Loki”. Jane tries to disguise how alarmed she suddenly feels. His touch is the same, and yet it is like a stranger is taking over the man in front of her.

He inhales deeply and runs both his hands through his hair. Entirely without wincing as he lifts his elbows above his chest, she notices.

“Okay”, he begins. “Jane…” (the way he says her name, like he is tasting the word) “…you have every right to hate me for what I’m about to tell you. I truly deserve nothing less.”

She feels the tears welling up.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this.” Her voice breaks and Loki has the audacity to look taken aback.

“Are you being dragged back to Asgard, or are you dumping me? After trying so hard to get into my pants?!”

It comes out way too harshly, and Loki appears genuinely flummoxed.

Also, his face has gone red.

“Oh, Jane, no, he’s not going to… He won’t leave. I mean- ”

“What?” A chill runs down her spine.

“’He’? ‘He’ who? Thor?”

Before he can answer, they both jump a little as her phone suddenly goes off in her bag by the door.

That inane ringtone.

She still has not changed it.

Erik. She promised she’d let him know as soon as …

Jane wants to ignore it, but then her mentor will most likely keep calling and she cannot put it on silent from the couch. Loki probably could though, but she is not about to ask.

“Wait”. She holds up a hand and gets up.

While rummaging in the bag, a single tear runs down her cheek. No. She will keep her composure and listen to what he has to say like the commonsensical grown-up woman that she is.

Was.

She’s only just begun to get to know him properly, so why does it feel like she won’t be able to live without him?

She pulls out the damn phone and presses the button on the side.

The she straightens up again and turns. “Okay, Loki …”

Jane gasps.

The room is dark. And empty.

No, he didn’t!

“Loki!”

No answer.

She stalks over to the couch and frantically looks around. Nothing.

“Loki, don’t you dare!”

The phone vibrates in her hand. Shaking all over, Jane answers the call. “Erik?”. Her voice is very small. “Yes, hi, Jane, it’s me. Listen, has Loki gotten back yet?”

She starts crying. “Erik, he left. He was here when I came home and just now, he disappeared! He didn’t even say goodbye.”

She can hear how desperate she sounds.

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?” Erik sounds confused.

“He is gone! I turned my back on him for one second and he vanished!” Jane’s voice breaks.

“Look, Jane, I really can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe you misunderstood him? He came to see me not two hours ago after that thing with Thor and, well, let’s just say he went out of his way to make a case for himself. And you…”

“What? What did he- ”

“Jane?” Darcy’s voice cuts through. She must have taken the phone from Erik. “The lunatic is absolutely batshit crazy about you, okay? Stop blubbering. He’s probably just bored and fucking with you since you’re not actually f- ”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Muffled sounds, as Erik wrestles the phone back.

“Come on over, Jane, okay? We’re all still at the lab. Ian’s made tortillas if you can believe it”.

“But…” Jane wavers. Is Loki really playing a joke on her?

Erik is not taking no for answer: “Jane, don’t indulge these little games of his, okay? Come have dinner with us, and I’ll tell you what he told me before. And if he isn’t back later tonight, it’ll be my pleasure to enlist Thor to beat the crap out of him. It’s long overdue”.

Despite herself, Jane cannot help but smile.

“Okay. I’m coming over”. She exhales. The feeling of unease is subsiding a bit.

“Good girl”, Erik says. “Tell her to bring beer!” Darcy shouts from somewhere in background.

Jane hangs up and puts on her boots again. Loki and Erik had an actual conversation with no casualties?

She grabs her jacket and slams the front door behind her.

He really is infuriating, that prince of hers.

If he turns up later, she will make him pay dearly for scaring her.

No making out for a week.

(Yeah, right.)

To be continued in part 7 ....

This was supposed to have been the final chapter. Only 'someone' needed extra time star gazing. Please forgive me him!

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