#pocket x reader

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒂 .⋆♱

𖤐 Mina's reaction to laning with Reader

“Oh, hello, beautiful, I’m loving your outfit! Wait a second, is that my lipstick you’re wearing?! You know you could’ve just asked to borrow it.. Well, if I ever need a touch-up, I’ll be sure to steal some off your lips~.”

𖤐 Mina requesting to swap lanes to be with Reader

“Yeah, no. If I want anything done, I’m going to need a competent teammate.”

𖤐 Reader assists in Mina’s kill

“You should’ve seen the look on their face when I killed them! Or well- when we killed them, hehe~.”

𖤐 Pocket nearly kills Reader

“Get your PAWS off my Moonlight, Pocket! Are you okay?! Don’t worry, they’re never going near you ever again, I’ll be sure of it!”

𖤐 After the ritual

“So you wanna go shopping after all this? Really?! I knew you’d say yes! Our ruling over all vampires can wait!”

.˚⊹. ࣪𓉸 ࣪⊹˚. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒐𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏

𖤐 The Doorman's reaction to laning with Reader

“Do you feel all prepared for battle, my Dear? It’s okay if not, you know I’ll always have your back and make up for any slip-ups. And after the ritual, would you like to accompany me in having tea at the Baroness? Your presence would be delightful~.”

𖤐 The Doorman assists in Reader’s kill

“Thanking me? That was most certainly all you. You really showed them no mercy~..”

𖤐 The Doorman scares Reader through a door he suddenly placed

“Boo! Haha, your frightened face is so adorable! Apologies, Darling, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay in York Lane. And from the looks of it, you have it all under control.” 

𖤐 The Doorman protecting the Reader

“You went through my door just in time! And you managed to take out the Bookworm on your way out? I’m quite impressed~.”

𖤐 Adjusting the Doorman’s clothes after a fight

“I’m flattered, Dear. It’s somewhat comical; usually, I’m at your service. I hope you know that the Baroness will always have a room for the two of us~.”

-ˋˏ✄┈ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒆

𖤐 Paige's reaction to laning with Reader

“You want to know how my story is going? Oh, it’s going great! So great.. NO! No, you can’t read it! It’s too embarrassing.. Okay, well, maybe after the ritual, I’ll let you read it. I really do hope you like it..”

𖤐 Healing Paige while you’re both in a fight

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that! I would’ve been completely fine, I think.. You’re right! The protagonist never dies, especially when she has a family to come back home to, haha!”

𖤐 Paige assists in Reader’s kill

“That was incredible! You reminded me of the knight in the book I read this morning! You want me to be your princess? Only as long as I get to be your princess in shining armor, haha! Matching suits of armor?! Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

𖤐 Sneaking into the enemy base with Paige

“I’m really scared they might catch us.. I’m the bravest person you know? Oh, that’s so sweet.. Okay..! I can do this. We can do this! Let’s get those enemy shrines while they’re distracted!”

𖤐 After the ritual

“Okay, fiiine, I’ll let you edit my story after the ritual. But don’t judge me, it’s still not done! And don’t get suspicious if the main character is similar to a certain person I love. What? I didn’t say anything, haha!

𝑷𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒕 “𝑨𝒓𝒊𝒏” ⋆˚✿˖° 𓆏

𖤐 Pocket's reaction to laning with Reader

“It’s nice to see a face that I can trust.. Well, I know it’s a given, I am your partner after all, but it’s just nice to verbalize it to my Love…”

𖤐 Healing Pocket after a fight

“I’m okay, I promise. Though, I’ll admit, it feels really nice for you to be taking care of me as you always do, no matter our circumstances..”

𖤐 Reader is impressed by Pocket

“You thought I looked attractive when I finished off the Doorman? Oh, it’s nothing.. Thank you. I won’t let him get close to you, my Love.”

𖤐 There’s an enemy Mina

“Don’t worry, my Love, you know you have my heart. If I see her, I’ll hide in my briefcase for you, haha. But on a serious note, know that I belong to you, eternally.”

𖤐 After the ritual

“After this, you said you wanted to get ice cream? I’m down..! I won’t be able to hang around for long, as you know, but I hope you know every moment I have with you is precious.” 

© luvvforlife ✧.* all characters belong to valve from the game “deadlock” that is still currently in its play test as i’m writing this. the reader belongs to you, and all voiceline headcanons belong to me, aigis.

🐸 So, I think Pocket would have a lot of trust issues. A lot.

🐸 They’re able to function and make friends, but when it comes to deeper, intimate relationships they’d struggle. They’ve probably sworn off of those kind of romantic relationships altogether.

🐸 I mean, c’mon; they just barely survived an assassination attempt where the most likely suspect for hiring the hit was their own father, and all of that happened on the eve of the wedding they were supposed to have with some girl who didn’t give a single shit about the fact that someone, her fiance nonetheless, was supposedly killed, and only cared that she lost her fast track to wealth and status. Oh, and she still blames them for “ruining her life” as if they were expecting to be the victim of attempted murder. I think that would fuck anyone up.

🐸 Pocket tries to hide their identity too, and while how well they actually do that is up for debate, they still don’t want people to actively see Arin; they want people to only see Pocket. Getting close enough with someone to start dating would be risky, in their mind.

🐸 Them taking on the persona of Pocket isn’t quite the same as how some others hide behind titles and names. Pocket doesn’t hate Arin, and is mainly trying to run from that identity to protect themselves from literal murder. Pocket as an identity isn’t separate from Arin, instead, it’s how Arin will be reborn as their own person, the one who will pry what is owed to them from their father’s hands instead of passively inheriting it.

🐸 Not many people get that, and it's another reason why I think Pocket wouldn’t bother with relationships.

🐸 I really don’t think Pocket would at all be interested in anyone remotely similar to Mina. Basically, the wealthier or more privileged someone is, the less likely Pocket is to like them. Even if the person themselves are fine, just having the threat of those family politics looming beneath the surface is too much.

🐸 Pocket is the rich kid trying to play as an underdog. They aren’t a total poser (cough Billy cough), they do try and in many ways truly fit the bill, but there’s still that rich kid shine that no amount of grime can fully hide.

🐸 Finding someone who is genuinely an underdog, someone who has earned that grit and grime in whatever form; that’s the kind of person they’d genuinely like. Someone who is the opposite of the facades and pretending that comes along with upper class drama.

🐸 Whoever they take a liking to would also have to be able to understand the complexities of their situation and feelings. Not understand exactly what they’re going through and have gone through, but get why and how things would be so complex and conflicting for them.

🐸 They’d also have to be someone who is an escape from that complexity. Pocket would not like someone who is into drama and things of the sort. They wouldn't like someone who pushes or pries. Happy to listen whenever Pocket’s ready to share, but doesn’t try to pressure that information out of them.

🐸 I think they’d also want someone who is driven in some way as well. There has to be a hunger for something, even if pursuing that goal is subtle, or currently unlikely. The person Pocket falls for would be someone who has something they’re fighting for in some shape, way, or form.

🐸 To start off things would be friendly. Cheeky and playful, unserious and lighthearted. Even as the deeper feelings begin to develop, that airiness would remain.

🐸 Things would stay unserious, testing that line but never crossing it until the bond is tested; circumstances force at least one of them to become serious, and how the other responds to that shift, and how they treat one another when things fall out of their control and become difficult matters.

🐸 Being able to remain steadfast even when things are tough, and coming out the other side still having the same fire for your goals and the bond with Pocket is what’ll win them over.

🐸 It’s about proving that you can be fun and open together, but are able to be serious when that’s needed, all without treating them like they’re some child to be babied and protected.

🐸 Pocket, at any stage, would become incredibly put off if their bond with whoever they’re in this dynamic with causes the other to compromise on their goals or passion. I’m not talking about small meaningless things, but if there’s ever so much as a hint towards you being willing to change or abandon what you aimed for previously all for the sake of perusing your relationship with Pocket, they’ll no longer feel comfortable in that situation.

🐸 While they can seem a bit more… gloomy(?), they are playful when around people they feel safe with. That’s how most affection would come; as jokes, teases, or just them goofing around.

🐸 Small hugs, especially from behind are often. So are short kisses that are meant to provoke you into chasing them, only to watch as they lock themselves in their case, the sound of muffled laughter often seeping from within.

🐸 One thing they love to do is have their coat wrap around you, only to take its place moments later. Otherwise, sharing their oversized scarf is the go-to way of staying close.

🐸 Pocket in general prefers much sweeter, innocent forms of affection, even in private. They’re not opposed to more intimate gestures, but those are far outweighed by the sappier, dorkier moments. Not because they never happen, but cause those more innocent things just happen so frequently anyways.

🐸 In public they calm down a little, but aren’t as opposed to PDA as one would expect. There’s always some anxiety that being open about their relationship with someone could end up putting that person at risk, but, as established, the person they’d be dating would already have some sort of experience with the less stellar parts of life, so they know their partner would be more than capable.

🐸 They’d also never hide the risk that comes along with being their partner. As soon as they realize things are getting more serious, Pocket would’ve disclosed why they’re on the run and all.

🐸 The important theme of this relationship would be Pocket finding someone who came from the opposite walk of life as themselves, but being able to related to that person and be truly seen. Not as some privileged rich kid, but as the heir that’s ready to fight their way to something most others would expect to be handed, whether it’s rightfully theirs or not.

⋆˚✿˖°

The ascent up the stairs to your apartment complex feels long and agonizing. With every step feeling heavier than the last, your hand on the stair railing keeps you up while your face contorts in a grimace, remembering your awful work shift. 

But you keep your head up high, holding the bouquet of wildflowers close to you as you’re now in front of your apartment door. You let out a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in, and the tension in your shoulders feels a bit less tense. 

Work may have been stressful, but you’re not going to let it ruin your day. Instead, you let the butterflies fluttering in your stomach consume you as a shaky hand goes to unlock the front door. 

It was your anniversary with Pocket, and although dating for a year now, you can still feel your heart wanting to leap out of your ribcage. Your warm, clammy hand contrasts against the cool metal doorknob as you turn it, opening the front door. 

Your apartment, despite being small, is humble and cozy. Gradually, your minimalist home begins to fill with the clutter and belongings of your partner. It started with Pocket’s shoes, making a permanent home next to your own by the front door, the second toothbrush living in the cup on your bathroom sink, or the half-empty bookshelf you’ve been meaning to add more books to, now complete with Pocket’s favorite pieces of literature. 

Your eyes scan across the open kitchen and living room, your eyes locking on with Pocket’s. They close the book they were reading, standing up from the armchair in excitement at your presence, running towards you as you ready your open arms to embrace them, meeting them in the middle of your shared home. 

“Happy anniversary, Pocket,” you whisper into their ear, giggling to yourself when you feel Pocket’s lips against your neck.

“Happy anniversary, my love.” 

After a moment, removing themself from your neck, but not pulling away, they plant a small kiss on your lips, one that you reciprocate back with a smile. 

When pulling away, you note the small blush across Pocket’s cheeks as you unwrap your arms from around them. 

“These are for you,” you say, bringing the bouquet close to them. 

Pocket’s eyes widen, looking over the wide variety of wild flowers present in the bouquet with a grin, “They’re beautiful.” 

Pocket’s decaying hand accepting the flowers, the hand that was a reminder to them of their troubled past. 

“I believe they represent new beginnings,” you chime in, relishing in the way Pocket hugs the bouquet. 

And as you take in the sight of Pocket standing in the open area where your kitchen and living room meet, your heart soars. 

The sound of Pocket’s laughter surrounds you, “I’m glad to start this new beginning with you.” 

In a home, Pocket never thought they’d have a partner who they love dearly, to live comfortably as themselves: Pocket truly is the luckiest. 

In unison, you both move towards the kitchen island, as if it were practice, having performed these motions many times: with you emptying the flower vase of its old flowers and washing it clean of its contents, as Pocket begins to prep the bouquet for its new home. 

“How was work, my love?” Pocket asks, trimming the ends of the flowers with a pair of scissors you passed to them.

You let out a dramatic, exasperated groan; even just the mere mention of work was terrible as you fill the vase with water, “I was debating on leaving work early all shift.” 

Pocket bursts into a fit of laughter, having to pause their actions to compose themself, “That bad?” 

“You have no idea,” you sigh into Pocket’s shoulder, hugging them from behind as they finish cutting the ends of all the flowers. 

Gathering all the flowers by their stems, Pocket neatly displays the flowers in all their wild glory in the vase.

“They really are beautiful,” you confirm, peering at the side of Pocket’s face from their shoulder. 

Pocket glances in your direction, blushing and shyly looking away once meeting your eyes. “Thank you, my love.”

You and Pocket have been dating for a year now, living together for two. Yet when you look at them, it’s like Pocket was always meant to be here. 

They‘re perfect right where they are. 

They are meant to sleep in late with you on weekends with your legs tangled together, meant to read countless books in the cozy reading nook of the living room, and meant to experience mundane tasks like cleaning and cooking when you are off at work with a smile of accomplishment. 

Living with you, Pocket never realized just what they were missing.

Pocket will always be grateful for being found badly injured on the front steps of your apartment building. Both of you were apprehensive at first. You were unsure whether or not you should’ve invited a suspicious stranger into your home to recover, but the months spent living with Pocket have been the best. Your apartment didn’t feel as lonely anymore.

When Pocket’s health returned, it was difficult for them to admit that they enjoyed your company and presence while they were resting, especially after the attempted assassination. It’s been difficult for Pocket to trust and be honest with others. 

But with your calming voice comforting Pocket through their restless nights, as the pain made it hard for them to sleep, reading aloud the books you had bought them would always soothe them. A type of attention and care they haven’t had since they were young that warmed their heart.

It was lovely to feel that sense of familiarity. 

Pocket also really liked it when it was your day off work and you spent those days with them. The day would start with Pocket sitting at the kitchen island while you cooked, listing all the ingredients and walking them through each step, their eyes holding a certain charm of curiosity. 

Or when it was time to bathe, you would always help Pocket with brushing and drying their hair. They even liked it when you would wash their back and hair for them, even if they were a bit shy to accept your offer.

You never gave Pocket a reason to have any distrust in you. You are kind and caring because you can be, and Pocket will always admire and grow to adore you for that as they continue to live with you. 

Spending all this time with you felt so intimate and personal. Pocket wasn’t sure if they’d ever experience anything like this again, and you weren’t sure either. 

You haven’t laughed and smiled like this in a long time.

So just as Pocket was about to step out of your front door, nourished and healthier than they’ve been in years, you asked them to stay. 

And without thinking about it, Pocket accepted your offer.

The past year was full of moments of being vulnerable with one another, Pocket opening up to you about their dad and the briefcase they’ve been protecting, and the horrors of what it was like living out on the streets in constant fear. 

That night, you promised Pocket that you’d do your best in your power to make them feel safe. You didn’t know it then, but Pocket knew that the walls they’ve built up ever since the day their life flashed before their eyes were coming down, thanks to you. 

Looking back on it, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly when you both started falling for each other. Everything was so natural, gradual. When did the line that separated you both from being roommates to lovers suddenly erase? 

It was true, Pocket and you cared for one another since the very beginning. Touches that lingered were normal, smiles that made your and Pocket’s cheeks hurt were normal, and sitting close to one another on the couch during movie nights was normal. 

You think to yourself, setting the table as Pocket prepares the food onto the plates they made for both of your romantic dinners. 

It could be the time you came home from work, completely exhausted from your tiring shift. All you wanted to do was collapse into your bed and cry into your pillows; overtime was not fun. Stressed from work, and even more stressed considering you had all the chores you needed to get done before you could prioritize yourself. 

When you open the front door, you’re greeted with a spotless apartment with dinner already made, Pocket waiting for you at the table with a propped-up book they had been reading from. 

“You seemed like you were in a rush this morning,” Pocket casually mentions, closing their book, “So I decided to take care of your chores for you.” 

“Thank you, Pocket,” you say, voice wavering as you stumble into their arms, shoes still on, dropping your bag onto the floor, as tears blurred your vision. 

“Of course,” they comfort you, rubbing soothing circles into your back and kissing your cheek.

Pocket pulls away from you, apologizing, “I didn’t mean to-”

“Can you do that again?” You asked. 

Pocket chuckles, wiping the tears that streamed down your cheeks with their thumb, “Of course.”

Closing your eyes, you felt their warm lips across your cheeks once more. 

Someone was taking care of you for once. Not because they owed you, or needed something from you, but because they wanted to. Pocket noticed something was wrong and picked you back up when they saw you were slipping. 

Just because. 

Instinctively, you reach up to touch your own cheek as you reminisce about the moment, smiling to yourself.

“What’s got you smiling?” Pocket asks, drying their hands after washing them. 

“Thinking about your kisses,” you laughed to yourself, now embarrassingly rubbing the back of your neck. 

Pocket smiles, setting the plates at the table as they walk back around to kiss your cheek. Before Pocket could slip from your grasp, you pull them back into your embrace, pressing your lips gently to theirs, savoring their taste as their lips moved in sync with yours. 

Pulling away with a shared sigh, both staring at one another lovingly for a moment, and for this moment, you have to lose yourself in Pocket’s eyes before you break the silence, “Perhaps we should eat now before our food gets cold.” 

“That sounds like a great idea,” Pocket agrees, planting one last kiss onto your lips as you pull out their chair, helping them sit down. 

You sit across from Pocket, mouth already watering at the sight and smell of the home-cooked meal. The meal was clearly made with a surplus of love and care, as the flavor of spices burst immediately across your taste buds after just one bite.

The setting felt romantic and moody, the bulbs of the kitchen light imitating golden hour, painting the two of you perfectly.

Being able to catch up throughout a delicious meal will always be one of the best ways to spend quality time with Pocket.

“So, what was the book that you were reading earlier?” You casually asked. 

Pocket’s eyes widen, their speech interrupted by a fit of coughs from your inquiry, having to take several gulps of their glass of water to compose themself. 

“Oh yeah, I picked it up from the bookstore a while ago,” they try to mention with the same casualness, wiping their mouth with a handkerchief. 

You would’ve left it at that if you hadn’t noticed the small blush dusting their cheeks, or the distant look in their eyes. You could tell Pocket is lost in thought. 

Taking another bite of your meal, you decide to tease them a bit, “What was it about?” 

Pocket bites the bottom of their lip, going silent as they try to think of how to respond to you. 

Shifting in their seat, they finally reply, “It’s a romance book, I believe?” 

“You’re not sure?” You teased, acknowledging the way their sentence sounded unsure. 

Pocket feels their body heat up, the look in your eyes making them want to shrink in their seat; why did you have to look so good? 

The buttons on your work shirt were unbuttoned halfway, giving Pocket an enchanting view of your chest, with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, showcasing your forearms. Meanwhile, your hair, although no longer in its perfect style, remained sexy in a laid-back fashion. 

Pocket blinked to themself, snapping out of their daydream after you had been calling out their name, hoping their arousal wasn’t too noticeable. 

Pocket crosses their legs, shivering from the small friction of pleasure. 

“It was pretty romantic, I’d like to think,” Pocket starts, grinning to themself as a finger circles the rim of the glass cup, “Romantic, yes, but it was also very lewd.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, leaning back into the chair, eyes darkened over with desire, “Why don’t you come here and tell me more?” 

The legs of the chair scrape against the wooden floors as it's pushed out, Pocket excitedly rushing over to sit themselves atop your thigh, their arms instinctively wrapping around your neck. 

Pocket sighs, their eyebrows scrunch together as they feel your hand begin to stroke their clothed thigh, so close to where they need you. 

“From what I read, it was pretty good,” Pocket begins to describe, melting in your grasp, “It made me want to try something new with you.” 

“Enlighten me, wild one.”

Pocket whines, feeling you rub over their crotch from the outside of their pants as you begin to plant kisses on the side of their neck. 

Pocket whispers into your ear, causing your eyes to widen, heat creeping up to your own cheeks. Not wanting to wait any longer, you bring Pocket to your shared bedroom, laying them gently on the soft mattress. 

“So, let me get this right,“ you begin, Pocket hanging onto your every word as you unbutton the rest of your shirt, “You said you wanted me to fuck you like I was breeding you?”

Pocket gulps, sitting up, and allowing you to guide their cold hands to your chest, the warmth of your skin igniting their fingertips like magic. 

“Just like the characters in my book, please.” 

You chuckle to yourself, rubbing at Pocket’s forearms until you grab their wrists, pulling them close until their body is flush with yours, “Your wish is my command.” 

Your lips meet Pocket’s in a passionate kiss as you help them undress. You pull away from the kiss to pull their sweater vest off, your lips instantly latching back to theirs once the clothing item is discarded across the bedroom floor. 

Like muscle memory, your hands expertly untie Pocket’s tie, letting it fall as you unbutton their button-up. Pocket’s arms are wrapped around your torso through your open button-up shirt, the heat from your body radiating off them. 

Your tongue slides across theirs, desperately kissing them as if you both have been starved and deprived. In a sense, you both were. Pocket had only gotten through the day yearning for your return home, dinner awaiting you that would have to be eaten as leftovers. Meanwhile, you had only gotten through the day because of Pocket being at the forefront of your mind. 

Pocket’s tongue is slick against yours; the taste of the previous dinner remains, but you didn’t care as you suckled on the warm muscle, your hand moving down to grope their ass.

Pocket whines against your lips, heart pounding in their ears as they feel themself subconsciously grinding against you.

Anything to relieve the need they had between their legs. 

They will always adore this overwhelming feeling when their body acts on its own, seeking out whatever pleasure it can find. 

You pull away from the kiss, breathless as you stare down at Pocket, who is also panting. You stripped yourself of your button-up, feeling much more comfortable now that the fabric was off your body. Turning to Pocket, you help them remove their arms from the sleeves of their shirt, setting aside the garment as you gently hold their hands. 

Their eyebrows furrow at the sight of the purple skin of their decaying arm as opposed to their other untouched arm.

You bring their hands closer to you, kissing the delicate skin, “You’re beautiful, Pocket.” 

Their expression instantly softens, basking in the affection in your eyes. 

“You’ve been through a lot, and tonight I will be sure to take such good care of you,” you plant another kiss on their knuckles, “because you deserve it.”

Flustered, Pocket looks away with a big grin, “Gosh, you’re such a mush.” 

“I get it, I get it,” you teased, putting your hands up in fake surrender, “you just want me to get to stuffing your pretty hole.” 

Pocket whimpers from your vulgar language, tilting their head to the side and allowing you access to kiss their neck: starting from behind their ear until you finally trail the kisses to the space between their neck and shoulder. 

Pulling your face out from Pocket’s neck, you whisper into their ear, “My partner just wants to be bred like a cute little housewife, yeah?” 

Pocket hums in response, covering their mouth with the back of their hand, their other hand resting atop your hand that is rubbing their crotch from the outside of their trousers. 

Pocket’s head felt like it was spinning; they couldn’t believe you agreed so enthusiastically to their idea. You can’t believe it either. When living with someone, you inevitably learn a great deal about each other, especially in two years.

But even some skeletons in the closets can go unseen if you aren’t told about them. 

Always a fantasy Pocket kept pushed down, down the garbage disposal as they prepared dinner. Even in the back of their mind, they wished you would come home and take them over the kitchen counter as they adorned nothing but a pinky and frilly apron.

Frustratingly, Pocket pushes your hand away from their crotch so they can quickly remove their pants and underwear, now completely bare. 

“Impatient are we?” You ask, chuckling to yourself as Pocket lets out a huff.

“You have no idea,” they confirm, guiding your hand to their folds. 

Swiping your two fingers up their folds, your fingers immediately coating in their slick, “ Oh, you poor thing, if I had known you were this needy, I would’ve made sure you were stuffed every day.”

Pocket moans when they feel you begin to rub their t-dick, spreading their essence around as you start to nip at the side of their neck.

“Please,” they beg, lying across the fortress of pillows and blankets that make up your shared bed as you suck and kiss at the side of their neck. 

Leaving one last kiss on their neck, you coo into their ear, “Looks like I’ll have to make up for lost time.” 

Lowering yourself so your face is right in front of their cunt, you plant a small kiss on their t-dick before licking up the muscle. Your tongue flicks back and forth against the bundle of nerves before your lips pucker and slurp around it, your arms clutching around Pocket’s thighs as they drape around your shoulders. 

Pocket stares down lovingly at you through half-lidded eyes, their hand resting atop your head as the other grips the sheets of the bed. You work your tongue, applying just the right suction in a way that Pocket has always liked. Your tongue memorizes every nook and crevice as you wet their clit and cunt with your spit. 

One hand reaches out to press against Pocket’s stomach as your other hand strokes up their slit. Your fingers delve between their folds, rubbing their cunt until you let one finger slip inside them. 

A whimper slips past Pocket’s glossy lips, wanting to bury their face in the pillows, their cunt tightly wrapped around your finger. 

With your other hand rubbing at their stomach, you lift your head off their cunt as you regain your breath, “You would look so pretty with your belly all round and full.”

You both know that will never happen, yet some fantasies can still be enjoyable to think about and indulge in. 

Pocket moans, cunt fluttering around your finger as you start to thrust them in and out of them, their pussy practically gushing around just one finger as your mouth continues to pleasure their t-dick. 

“Please,” they mewl through gritted teeth, eyebrows furrowed, the pleasure sneaking right up their back.

You chuckle to yourself, the sound vibrating around Pocket’s clit, “Did that turn you on, my precious wife?”

Slipping another finger into Pocket’s cunt, curling them until you hit that sweet spot that always made them roll their eyes back in pleasure. 

“I can feel you tightening around my fingers,” you comment, your fingers continuing their teasing ministrations as Pocket’s wetness begins to soak into the sheets. 

Pocket whimpers, the slurping around their t-dick, the relentless pace of your fingers making their legs twitch, as an electrifying feeling creeps up their spine. 

Lost in all of the pleasure, a knot creates itself in the pit of their stomach. 

Pocket is putty in your hands, shaping them with your skillful mouth and fingers, inching them closer and closer to their release.

They attempt to push your head off their clit, afraid of reaching their orgasm too quickly. But they can’t help it, you know exactly what buttons to push to have their toes curl, their back arching off the mattress, and their hands gripping the bed sheets. 

“Please,” Pocket begs, hips subconsciously bucking to meet the thrusts of your fingers, “I’m so close.”

You shoot them a wicked grin, “Go ahead, cum for me like a good, slutty wife.” 

All Pocket can see is white, letting themself get overwhelmed by the pure bliss of their orgasm. And like a dam that has burst, Pocket moans loudly as their cunt flutters around your fingers, squirting into the palm of your hand, soaking your hand completely. 

“There we go!” You exclaimed, continuously thrusting your fingers inside their cunt, encouraging Pocket to ride out their orgasm.

Pocket whimpers from the sensitivity, legs twitching as you slowly withdraw your fingers. The sound of Pocket catching their breath fills the room, giving them a small kiss to the side of their temple, telling them you’ll be right back. 

Your figure discreetly slips out of the room, only for you to quickly come back with a glass of water. With Pocket finally catching their breath, they chug down the water until it is all gone, as you tuck some of the hair that fell into their face out of the way.

“You did amazing, Pocket,” you reassure, caressing their cheek as they lean into the warmth of your hand.

“Thank you,” Pocket says, grinning up at you as they set the empty glass on the nightstand.

“Do you think you have enough energy to keep going, my love?” You ask, holding Pocket’s chin, stroking their bottom lip with the pad of your thumb.

“I should,” Pocket answers, beginning to paw at your bottoms, wanting you to undress completely.

“Perfect,” you comment, “care to help me out?”

Pocket nods, getting up from the bed to go to the nearby closet to return with [a condom packet and lube./a condom packet, lube, and a strap-on]. Setting the contents on the bed, Pocket gets down on their knees and slips off your bottoms along with your underwear. 

They help you slip the condom onto your [cock/strap-on], applying lube to it in preparation.

Pocket lies back onto the bed, spreading their legs eagerly. Their head is crowned by the pillows, looking like a monarch as their fingers spread their pussy lips apart. 

“You ready, lover?” You ask, guiding the tip of your [cock/strap] up their folds, smearing their slick around, “Ready for me to fill your pretty cunt?”

Pocket feels a shudder crawl up their spine, their arm wrapping around you and ushering you closer, their decaying arm leaving a cool sensation across your back. 

“I’ve never been more ready,” Pocket sighs dreamily.

Slowly pushing your [cock/strap] into Pocket’s cunt, easing the length into them with a shared exasperated groan. You both look down, watching the length disappear into them, a sight that never gets old. 

You don’t move, letting Pocket adjust to the sudden thickness, peppering their neck and face with kisses, distracting them from any discomfort. From underneath you, you feel Pocket begin to shift, grinding their hips against yours, signaling their need. 

You chuckle, pressing one last kiss over Pocket’s lips as your hands grip the underside of their thighs, “I got it, I got it.”

“So needy,” you tease, kissing the side of their leg, slowly moving your hips back, “I’ve got you, dear.”

Thrusting your [cock/strap] back into Pocket, that electric pleasure coursing through their body as the tip of your [cock/strap] kisses their G-spot. Pocket’s moans are immediate, their walls wrapped lovingly around the girth. 

Pocket’s eyes practically roll back, their desire in the form of drool seeping from the corners of their lips, “I love being stuffed with your cock.”

“Oh. I know,” you coo, your thrusts slow and deliberate, making sure Pocket feels the whole length and thickness of your [cock/strap-on], “it feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mhmm,” Pocket hums, mind going numb from the euphoria, “it feels amazing.”

“So amazing, you want to just live on my cock forever, yeah?” You asked, the condescension in your question building up the pleasure you both are feeling. 

Their body flashes hot, every syllable ringing in their ears as the pace of your thrusts becomes rhythmic. 

Pocket whimpers, too embarrassed to respond to you, slick leaking from their poor cunt as it throbs around your [cock/strap-on]. 

Rocking your hips into Pocket, one of your hands detaches from their thigh to rub smooth circles on their stomach.

“You’ve been such a hardworking, stay-at-home wife,” you remark, the hand that was caressing their stomach trailing down until your fingers reach their t-dick, rubbing the bundle of nerves, “let me make all your thoughts disappear.” 

Pocket’s eyes are half-lidded; they swear they’re seeing stars with the added pleasure of you jerking off their t-dick, with the grinding of your hips that Pocket can just get addicted to: the mixture of pleasure that wraps around them like a blanket. 

You’re taking such good care of them. 

Pocket twitches in your hold, your body overpowering them in every way, feeling safe to hand themself over to you willingly. 

Because Pocket trusts you. 

“Let me make you forget everything but my name,” you whisper into Pocket's ear, leaning in close and licking up the shell of their ear. 

The walls of Pocket’s cunt tighten around your [cock/strap-on], their arms and legs wrapping themselves around your figure, never wanting to let you go. 

This slight change in position makes Pocket feel your [cock/strap] deeper. Their breathing picks up as the speed of your thrusts starts to increase, generously rubbing their t-dick in unison. 

“Fuck, [Name],” Pocket whines, soft brown eyes pleading with you, “I’m close again..” 

You rest your forehead against Pocket’s, their skin warm and slightly damp with sweat, “Yeah? You wanna cum again, sweet thing?”

Pocket’s back arches off the mattress, their slick practically seeping into the sheets, their grip on you like iron, “Please.” 

You chuckle in response, biting into your bottom lip as you thrust faster into their weeping cunt. 

Pocket is just too precious. 

Butterflies swarm your stomach as you start to pant, doing your best to retain the rhythm of your thrusts. Watching Pocket’s cute reaction is just so amusing; you can’t deny how much it is turning you on. 

“Cum for me then, my sweet wife,” you groan, “and don’t hold back.”

At this point, the only thing leaving Pocket’s lips is incoherent pleas, moaning loudly between breaths as you lift their legs over your shoulders, your [cock/strap] burying deeper into Pocket’s precious cunt. The sweet pace you had at the beginning is gone; instead, it’s replaced with the unforgiving and relentless pounding. The sound of their wet cunt taking all of your [cock/strap-on], the headboard hitting the thin walls of your apartment, as the mixture of your shared moans harmonizes throughout the room. 

Whether it is the neighbors or the whole world, you’re going to make sure they know just how much you love and cherish Pocket. 

Bucking your hips, your skin rubbing against one another as Pocket’s eyes wander between their legs to where you’re both connected, watching the way your [cock/strap-on] rams into their cunt, making their mind go dizzy at the sight, a coil in their stomach starts to form. 

It was intense, and Pocket was struggling to breathe. 

Pocket’s eyes are far away, their clit puffy and swollen from all the teasing, their essence dripping down from your [cock/strap]. 

Pocket won’t last long. 

You feel Pocket’s legs begin to shake, signaling to you that they’re about to cum. You capture their lips in a heated kiss, muffling their loud moans, as the tight knot in the pit of their stomach tangles and tightens until it is finally released. 

And with a full body quiver, Pocket’s cunt clenches tightly around your [cock/strap-on], their juices spilling onto you and soaking the sheets. Making a mess of the sheets that you’d both clean up later, as you savor the taste of their lips. 

Your hips continue to slowly grind against Pocket, riding out their orgasm until you both pull away from the kiss, breathless. 

“You did amazing, sweetheart,” you praise, caressing their cheek, “I’m so proud of you.”

Pocket chuckles, leaning into the warmth, still a little out of breath, “I love you,” they murmur into your palm, and kiss the flesh. 

“I love you, too,” you reciprocate back, kissing their forehead, their temple, their cheek, their nose, until you reach their lips. 

Pulling away, you hold onto Pocket, rolling over until they’re on top of you.

‘Whoa!” They exclaim, laughing to themself as they lay their head down onto your chest, listening to your heartbeat. 

You share a moment of silence, rubbing their back as you bask in each other’s warmth, as their walls still lovingly wrap around your [cock/strap].

“Happy anniversary, Pocket,” you softly whisper.

“Happy anniversary, my lover,” Pocket responds, grinding themselves back onto your [cock/strap-on]. 

Your hands instinctively cup Pocket’s ass cheeks, eyes wide in shock. 

“You never got to cum, right?  Want to go for another round?” They ask. 

You chuckle down at them, squeezing the flesh of their ass, “Pocket?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever ask me that question and I say no, shoot me.”

© luvvforlife ✧.* arin "pocket" fairfax belongs to valve from the game “deadlock” that is still currently in its play test as i’m writing this. the reader belongs to you, and the story belongs to me, aigis.

ZUKO

The warmth that spreads through Zuko's chest was one he used to only dream of. It's soft, light in a way he can't help but crack a smile at.

The wedding itself is nowhere near as grand as he's used to, but seeing the joy on both Aang and Katara's faces is worth more than any luxury afforded to him at stuffy noble weddings. He looks at you across the small clearing whilst you talk with Toph, who grins broadly as she leans against an Air Nomad statue that's definitely older than Aang himself.

"So," Sokka starts from behind, startling the usually composed Fire Lord when he slings an arm around his shoulders, "when's your wedding?"

Zuko balks forward, but is quick to steady himself, caught off guard by both the question and Sokka's sudden appearance. "Excuse me?"

smth smth chamberlain

"Don't remind me," Zuko groans into his palm.

Even as Zuko grows into the role of Fire Lord and his physique sharpens alongside his wit, he's still the same boy you'd fallen for at heart.

I.

The breeze sways your robe as you trek through the palace garden, the midday sun warm on your skin as it peeks through speckled clouds. In your years living in the Fire Nation following the end of the war, you've grown to appreciate the peaceful balance afforded by spring, and the new life that bloomed in its wake. Part of you wonders what your dear husband could be up to, though he's most likely still stuck in the meeting regarding the scattered remnants of the New Ozai Society. Your maids trail close behind as you ponder dinner, their professional stoicism cracking in lieu of marveling at the garden's beauty despite the earliness of the season.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Kirara, the younger of your two handmaidens, questions with a small tilt of her head. You offer a small hum in response, your fingers brushing the wooden railing lightly as you stop to watch a pair of koi swim calmly in the center pond.

There's comfort in routine.

Even now, as your feet begin to ache from the tightness of your too-small shoes, and sweat beads benath your robes despite their lightness, you remain poised—the picturesque version of a nobleman's daughter that you were bred to be.

Your eyes flit across the gathered crowd, finding each group your gaze settles on more bizarre than the last as unease brews in the pit of your stomach. A child nearly knocks you over in your stupor with a flutter of youthful recklessness and unbound joy, landing in the arms of his father who lifts him with a smile despite the shadow of war behind his eyes.

A pair of hands steady your fall, and you quickly straighten yourself before any attention is drawn, glancing around the courtyard before finally turning to your savior.

Mai's brow raises with the closest thing to amusement she could muster, the smallest quirk of her lips drawing an unladylike glare from you in your flustered state. She looks almost exactly like she had since you last saw her before she moved to Omashu, if not a little more worn.

She greets you casually, well, as casually as women of your standing could afford to be, offering a bow

POCKET

No one ever talks of the silence that lingers after a gunshot—how it hangs in the air, ringing almost tauntingly in your ears as the horror settles in.

You watch in slow motion as Arin falls, their gaze finding yours amidst the shattered glass and ruined cake. You see the shift between shock and uncharacteristic fear, to pain and haunting realization as your name slips from their lips, all within the three seconds it takes for them to hit the ground. The thud echoes through the estate's grand halls, and blood pools beneath them, painting both their suit and the pristine carpet a vivid crimson.

Yet no one moves.

Your eyes move frantically before your mind can settle, trying to form words that can't seem to come out.

Marla's hands cover her mouth, and she curls herself into the professor, who in turn wraps himself around her protectively. Even Mina's face betrays her shock, unable to retain the sour glare she usually held when being in Arin's presence for too long. Her rouge lips part, but nothing comes out besides a single shuddered breath.

SPIDER-MAN

A familiar ache quietly settles deep within Peter's bones as he swings through Manhattan, a sigh breaking past his lips as he shifts his shoulders back. The pain has long since subsided, though the fight's remnants remain stubborn, smattered across the skin beneath his suit in a mirage of color that'll be too tender to touch in the morning.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen had quirked a brow at his lethargic breaths, offering a stay on his couch earlier in the night. He'd velhemetly refused, rubbing the nape of his neck with a humble smile.

"Sorry, I think I'm just going to head home for the night. I've got a few calls to make."

Matt only tilted his head knowingly, offering a small hum and a wish for good luck before disappearing into the night.

His eyes begin to close against his will, and he wonders briefly if he should've taken Matt up on his offer when a buzz of his phone jolts him awake. He lands gracefully on a nearby rooftop, legs hanging over the unguarded edge limply as he pulls out his phone.

It's you.

He feels his breath hitch, tapping on the notification so fast that even he almost cringes, but his excitement dims the second his eyes skim the messages.

Can't call tonight, sorry, Webs, something came up :cc

I love you.

The universe truly hated seeing Spider-Man happy.

He types a quick 'I love you too' before collapsing back against the floor of the rooftop with a loud groan. The concrete is cold beneath him, but he can't bring himself to move when the heaviness in his limbs catches up to him at full force, anchoring him in place despite the growing discomfort in his back.

Above him, nothing but the moon and plane lights shine, drowned out by light pollution. He closes his eyes, trying to map out the stars you'd pointed out to him in his arms when he visited. If he thinks hard enough, he can still feel the warmth of your back against his chest, your elated giggle echoing through his mind like a haunting spectre—

"Doing good there, bud? You're not looking too hot."

Peter's eyes crack open, only to squint back closed with a groan when he's greeted by none other than Johnny Storm in all of his blinding brilliance.

"I've seen better days," he quips dryly, finally managing to will himself up, his elbows planted on his knees, whilst the Human Torch takes a seat at his side.

The blond waves him off with a roll of his eyes, the flames around him fizzling into embers in the chilled night air. "Haven't we all?" Johnny stretches his arms above his head, his stifled moan of relief tapering off into a drawn-out yawn before he nudges Peter's shoulder with one of his elbows, his lips quirked in a slight smirk. "Not that I don't mind the company, but what are you doing here, Spidey?"

"Was helping out at Hell's Kitchen for a bit, and was heading home for the night before you came along." Peter shrugs, fiddling with his fingers in his lap as he shifts his sights to the city below.

Johnny snorts out an incredulous laugh, "Seriously? Dude, did you really think you could make it home like that?"

"I feel fine," he flexes his arm weakly, only to be met with his best friend's blank stare, "see? Fine."

"Right, right," Johnny nods along, "because only a totally fine person would be almost passed out on a rooftop in Manhattan at 11 at night."

"What can I say? I'm a man on a schedule."

"Odd schedule you got there, buddy. Care to share? Maybe I can slot myself in—oh! How does a 3:30 sound?"

"Well, no," Peter huffs out a laugh, pulling his mask off with one swift motion, "this wasn't exactly part of the plan."

"Go figure."

"Oh, fuck off, Storm."

Conversation flows easily between the two, with Johnny regaling tales of the Fantastic Four's most recent venture with grand gestures and a lot of hyperbole, as well as Peter's occasional input. It's not long until Peter finds that the prior hollowness in his chest carved by your absence feels a lot lighter, if only briefly.

"Hey, why don't you crash at the Baxter Building tonight? Franklin hasn't shut up about you, you know, and little Valeria misses her uncle Pete very much. She's already on Biochem, can you believe that?!"

"You sure? I don't want to intrude…" Silence lingers between them, filled only by the distant city nightlife in full swing down below. A moment passes, and Peter weighs his options, filtering through the various pros and cons with a rhythmic tap of his finger on the concrete. Sirens sound a few blocks away, and Peter fights the instincts of his body to leap off the roof.

A swift punch to his arm is enough to draw him out of his head, his lips curled into a small scowl when he turns to face his uncharacteristically quiet companion.

"Peter," despite the easygoing smile Johnny wears, his voice is edged with an earnestness that makes Peter sit just a little straighter, his scowl falling to a look of confusion, "you're always welcome. You're family—never doubt that."

His lips part in disbelief before settling into a small grin, "…Right."

Qin Shi Huang

The Battle of Changping had been brutal, ripping through the lands of Zhào without mercy and leaving four hundred fifty thousand buried beneath the earth, their last breaths a prayer for retribution and the complete destruction of the Qín.

No man, woman, or child was spared, regardless of status or age.

Your brother had been amongst them, perhaps one of the best cavalry riders of the stationed warriors, so you've been told. He fought valiantly against Bái Qǐ's army, felling any who dared tarnish Zhào 's soil and attempt to cross his path. But it hadn't nearly been enough to spare him from the fate of being buried by his comrades, cursing the kingdom of Qín down to his last breath.

You had been born mere months after the tragedy, a ray of light graced from the heavens within the dark cloud that surrounded your brother's passing. Your innocent cries had filled the humble home, symbolizing the start of a new life in an era plagued by death.

But your birth was burdened by one small, undeniable truth.

You were a girl—someone who could not fulfill the legacy of your brother as your parents had hoped.

The more you grew, the closer you'd come to resembling your brother, down to the very crinkle in his nose when he tried to hide his dissatisfaction. But you were not your brother, not a warrior conditioned for peril, or trained to kill, merely a girl.

And that proved to be enough.

When news of the Qín boy's sentence had reached your household, it was like thunder rolling over a distant valley, imminent of a growing storm.

Your mother had held you close in her lap, her nose pressed against the crown of your head as you fumbled with a loose scrap of cloth with a grummy grin. Her eyes had been dark, tinted by the blackened seed of festered hatred for a boy no older than you. Your father fares no better, his hands tucked tightly beneath his chin, and his jaw taut with brewing rage.

"I don't understand why we shouldn't just kill him."

"The king of Zhào forbids it."

"He's Qín!" Your mother spits out the word like a vile venom, snapping her head to your father, who easily matches her rising temper with a tired sigh. "He deserves to die—to pay for his people's crimes in blood."

"I know," comes his grim reply, "but we must remain patient. It's not our place to decide his fate."

Your mother opens her mouth to retort, but the words seem to die on her tongue as your father reaches across the table, stroking your cheek reverently.

LANE

There's something wrong.

There was still the smell of mildew lingering in the air—unchecked despite your numerous complaints to RJ, and the freezer still hummed in the back, a constant source of noise not quite quiet enough to tune out if left in silence. No, it was something more personal, but you can't quite seem to put your finger on it.

You turn slightly to Lane, who lingers close behind you, his movements slower, more lethargic than their usually lazy drawl. He's quiet—too quiet, especially for him.

You blink for a moment with suspicion brewing in your gut, inclining your head to him slightly as you put the last chip bag on the shelf. "Did you need something, Lane?"

He grunts out a noise and shuffles closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. You feel him sigh into your neck, the weight of his arms heavy on your waist as you wait for a sarcastic remark that never comes.

Okay, yeah, something is really wrong.

You turn in his arms, about to question him, but he all but collapses against you, his forehead resting against yours as his shoulders sag in relief. You jolt away, taken aback by the sudden heat, and his eyes are slow to blink open, unfocused and lacking their usual mischievous spark.

The palm of your hand presses against his forehead, which you're quick to notice gleams beneath the buzzing fluorescents from a thin sheen of sweat.

"Shit, you're burning." You draw your hand back, missing how he chases it as you turn to drag him to the same employee-only room you usually try all night to get him out of. His cheeks are flushed a concerning shade of red, his lips parted slightly to speak, but he locks his jaw before anything can come out, biting down a wince when he swallows.

"I'm fine," he croaks out through a wet cough, though the paniful scratchiness of his voice fails to prove otherwise. All you can do is scoff at his incredulity, shaking your head as you flip on the light. The singular bulb flickers for a moment before illuminating the paint-chipped room and the small employee table, where you dump him unceremoniously onto one of the worn seats.

It creaks beneath his weight, his head slumping forward with a low groan while you rifle through your bag for some Tylenol and your water bottle. Worry creases your brow when you turn back to find him half-awake, trying to keep himself upright when he feels your eyes on him.

You approach slowly, brushing back his fringe gently. He looks up at you, leaning into the touch as a half-hearted smirk curls at his lips. "Gonna play nurse again, baby? Make me feel better?"

"You're so annoying, you know that?" You flick his forehead lightly with a fond huff, and he whines, his smirk falling to a deep pout. He pulls you closer by the waist, causing you to roll your eyes as his arms loosely find their way around you.

"I'm dying, and this is how you treat me? Some girlfriend you are," he grumbles beneath his breath sardonically, though the way he nestles his face against your stomach and clings to your legs renders his words moot. "You're supposed to treat me nicely—make me soup and spoon-feed me because I'm too weak and frail to do it myself."

You offer a hum in response, skimming the faded medicine label as you trace soothing patterns on his back. "How cruel of me," you quip back with a light snort before your eyes soften, landing back on him, "Seriously, though, have you eaten anything? I don't want you taking this on an empty stomach."

"Just a Monster."

"That's not—Lane!" You pinch the bridge of your nose in disbelief, shaking your head as you try to break free from his hold. He holds you tighter in response, mumbling about how warm you are and how he'll actually fall over and die if you leave him. He whines when you finally manage to escape the hold of his arms, wincing when he slumps back with a heavy cough. "I'll be back in a bit with something for you to eat. Don't do anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess."

You resist the urge to kiss the grin off of his face, sick as he may be.

"Idiot," you murmur to no one in particular as the door shuts behind you with a quiet click. You let yourself linger by it for a moment, listening to Lane let out the coughs he'd held back in your presence before sighing to yourself.

The store is hauntingly empty without Lane in your ear, left alone with the hum of the freezer in the dead of night. Regardless of the paranoia beginning to build inside you, you stalk through the aisles with vigor, searching for something both nutrient-dense and easy to swallow, which proves to be a harrowing task amidst the endless rows of processed junk.

You land on some apple sauce, contemplating which brand will take less of a hit to your paycheck, when a hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your stupor. The shriek that tears itself from your throat is embarrassingly loud and definitely unprofessional, but you can't bring yourself to care as you whip around to face your assailant.

"What the fuck, Lane?! I told you to…" Instead of the mischievous smirk you were expecting, you're met with the tinted visor of a familiar helmet. "Oh," you muster dumbly, shaking your head as you clutch the apple sauce close to your chest, "sorry, I thought you were someone else."

The biker tilts his head inquisitively, his hidden gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning to the surrounding area. "You're alone tonight." You don't see the small tremble of glee in his shoulders, nor the bashful smile that grows behind his helmet the longer he stays in your presence, your mind too honed in on Lane's illness.

Honestly, what was that guy's issue? What idiot comes into work sick?

"Is there something I can help you with?" It's your turn to tilt your head, garnering whatever shreds of that professionalism you'd initially lost and channeling it into the practiced, corporate smile you'd forged when you started working here. The biker—ah, what was his name again? You feel awful for not remembering, especially since he's always hanging around, but he never seemed to mind.

He slowly points to the two cups of apple sauce in your hands.

ONE PIECE

The serenity of the East Blue was almost jarring.

Nothing like the lingering sense of innate danger provided by the Calm Belt, where Sea Kings hide just below the surface of the tide at every turn, or the quiet just before a stray storm that quickly bleeds into ferocious winds and pelting rain.

No, it was simply…still.

You really feel it in the air as you step off the merchant's ship, tossing a bag full of Berries toward your escort's way with a small, thoughtless hum when he offers you his hand. You wave off his thanks with a flick of your wrist, already scouring the stalls of the bustling marketplace for anything in particular that strikes your fancy.

Shells Town is nothing extraordinary, save for the Marine base centered amidst the whitewashed townhouses and shops of civilians. It towers high, its presence looming overhead, bearing the familiar seagull crest that's clear even from your place at the dock.

You squint at it, watching the letters distort from the heat as you adjust the collar of your shirt. You feel almost bad for anyone caught out in the sun for too long.

Ah, well, not much you can do for them outside of offering your pity.

You stop before a textile stall after one more cursory glance at the base, your fingers brushing over various fabrics on display. The texture of the cloth is off—irregular in its weave, but light, most likely processed in a factory rather than hand-spun, like you would have preferred, though it's not too terrible, all things considered.

You take it in red, already sketching up a few uses for it in your head when you smile thankfully at the merchant.

Storing the fabric away in your travel bag, you continue your idyllic stroll through the port town with no particular destination in mind. The East Blue, for all its unnerving stillness, was a welcome change of pace. Some part of you wouldn't mind settling here, maybe opening up a shop of your own where you'd live a monotonous, yet domestic life.

But there was an even larger part of you that hungered for adventure, the part of you that held dreams you dared not speak aloud.

Then again, your thoughts begin to trail as you stop before a tall wooden board, not even the safest seas were free from piracy, so it's not like you'd truly ever be at peace. Wanted posters, both new and faded, cling to weather-worn wood, tacked on hastily by people not paid enough to care.

A smile unknowingly curls at your lips when you catch sight of a grin you've come to know too well, and beneath it, a higher bounty than when you last checked.

Great, as if that idiot needed anything else to be smug about.

With a fond shake of your head, you turn away from the board, but a sudden shift in the air has you pause before you can move. The plaza grows quiet, tense with festering discomfort as your eyes slide between each face of the formerly lively marketplace—

You briskly step out of the way before a shoulder could collide with yours, head tilted slightly as you watch the blond stumble to find his footing. He turns back to you, eyes blazing as though you'd just cursed his bloodline, and his lower lip juts out in a rather unflattering pout.

The two Marines accompanying him rush to his aid, stammering out apologies while you watch the scene unfold in mild bewilderment. He shoves the two aside, beelining it to you with righteous fury and a finger way too close to the trigger of his pistol for your comfort.

"You!" The barrel of the gun stares you down as he points it sloppily between your eyes. "Do you know who I am?"

"Am I…supposed to?" You raise your hands with the intent to de-escalate, but your response only seemed to further fuel his ire. He sucks his teeth, sneering close enough for you to notice the looseness of his suit. Your placating smile dims only slightly when you hear the safety of the gun click, but he doesn't seem to notice the narrowing of your eyes or the reflexive twitch of your hand despite his proximity.

"I'm the son of 'Axe-Hand' Morgan, and I should have you executed for humiliating me!" He's waving the gun wildly now, his other hand clutching the hilt of a sword. It flails with each of his movements, cutting through the air dangerously close to where you stand.

Still, you remain stationary, but your stance shifts subtley upon noticing the two Marines now blocking your potential exits.

You close your eyes and pretend to ponder for a moment before shrugging half-heartedly. "Nope, sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

Four more Marines are quickly approaching from up the street, two are tucked away in the alleys of nearby buildings, and three line the rooftops.

Talk about excessive.

But, these are the Marines, after all—and you learned quick that they are nothing, if not dramatic.

And to think you just wanted to enjoy a leisurely walk. Honestly, you were starting to like the quiet.

You stared at the now smudged writing that had been haphazardly scrawled onto your palm by your boss. Along with the letters melting together from friction and sweat, they were also written upside down to you, meaning you not only had to strain your eyes, but you also had to turn your hand and head like some curious bird to read the ink.

Tucked under your free arm was a box. The thick cardboard lacked any identifying features, save for a small stamped insignia, also slightly smudged, in one of the corners.

What were you doing? Where were you going? Well, you only had a vague idea. The writing on your palm consisted of unclear directions to an entrance to the pathways under the city, but also had directions for once you got down there. The issue?

This wasn’t your typical job. You weren’t the one who did these “cargo runs”. While you knew of the tunnels, you had never actually used them yourself. However, this was a last minute, urgent delivery, and you were the only one free so late on Christmas Eve.

The cool winter air seemed to taunt you more and more the longer you took to figure out where this entrance was. When you finally found it you let out a sigh, stepping past the threshold, cold air like a ghost on your back. It wasn’t all too warm down here, but compared to outside the stuffy corridor felt like a sauna. Even the smell of dampness and mildew was welcome at this point.

Faint vibrations from the city above gave the air a low, ambient hum, the only thing that filled the space with you.

Your boss had mentioned that you’d be taking a far less popular path in the tunnels. What they hadn't informed you of was how eerie this place was.

Now that the relief from escaping the cold had worn off, you almost missed the sound of cars and wind howling as it whipped between buildings. Each step you took made the earth shuffle and grind softly beneath your boots, the little crunches accompanying the uncomfortable hum.

That’s all there was for a while. Crunching, a low hum, and you frantically checking your palm hoping that you were going the right way. The only other interruptions you had was the distant groaning or creaking of infrastructure and chilled pipes somewhere far above your head. After that ‘while’ passed, something new happened.

You came across a dark, sketchy crossroads. It certainly looked like it wasn’t used often. In the time it took for you to glance down at your hand to see which way you had to go, a group four people slunk out from the dark of one of the paths.

“Wow, I’m surprised! People don’t come around here often!” One of the shorter ones came up beside you, nudging your shoulder with his. “What’s that you got there?”

The fact that gangs often terrorized people down in the tunnels was well known. It wasn’t appreciated by the average user, and often these kind of delinquents were chased off, but given how isolated this area of the tunnels were, you doubted help would be here anytime soon.

“Nothing important.” You attempted to steel your outward resolve. maybe if you didn’t seem bothered they’d let you go.

“Not important, huh? Then you wouldn’t mind handing it over, would you?” He smirked, a gold tooth catching the light of basically the only working bulb here.

The only path that wasn’t blocked off by a rough looking dude much larger than yourself was the one you had just come from. Or, you hoped so anyways; you hadn’t turned to look behind you, but could see the other three paths with a quick glance around, so unless there was a fifth person you hadn’t yet seen that meant the tunnel you had your back to was free, since the fourth guy was still beside you.

“I do mind a bit.” Now you had to weigh your options. Did you forfeit this delivery, which was urgent enough for you to have been sent here in the first place, and risk your boss being pissed at you, with no guarantee that you walk away unharmed by these goons anyway? Or, did you make a run for it? At least if you got away the delivery itself would be unharmed, even if it didn’t reach its destination at the intended time. There was no way you were fighting, and escape wasn’t a promise either, but it was your best bet; highest chance of success.

All of these thoughts happened in a heartbeat, and as soon as they concluded you turned on your heel and booked it, hugging the box closer to yourself. You didn’t dare turn around, only using the sound of yelling and four sets of footsteps behind you as your indicator for how screwed you were.

You barely managed to stop yourself from falling when you slid and rounded a corner. they sounded so close, and you were still so far. You also couldn’t remember the way out of here in the heat of the moment.

Running past a stack of old, empty crates and discarded wooden pallets, something wrapped around your arm and slipped over your mouth, tugging you behind the debris. Before you could even try to struggle it felt like you were plunged into lukewarm water. You were floating, but could breathe. Everything was tinged green, almost like you were in a swamp or marsh, and… was that a frog?

No time to contemplate. Your back met the cool ground as you were spat out of this strange little world that you barely had time to take in.

“I’m sorry, please don’t scream, they’ll hear you.” A deep but gentle voice filled your ears. the same thing that had grabbed you wrapped around your wrists to carefully help pull you to your feet. Their hands were soft but cold.

“What the hell was that?” The person in front of you wasn’t too tall, but wasn’t short either. Dark hair framed and swooped away from their face, and sitting around their shoulders was a rather adorable Christmas themed scarf, which hid they had tucked the bottom of their face into, unwilling to look directly at you.

“That’s a question I won’t answer.” You would have protested, but you realized that your cargo was missing.

Your head whipped around searching for it, anxiety refilling you. When you turned back to complain at your rescuer you almost bumped into their outstretched hand, the box held up before you, briefcase in their other hand down by their side.

“Ah. Thank you.” They nodded in acknowledgement. There was a moment of awkward silence. “I know you helped me already, but uh… You wouldn’t happen to know your way around here would you?” Finally they glanced at you.

“I do.” They rolled their shoulders, seeming to shake off some of the awkwardness from the encounter. “Quite well. Why are you here? In this area, I mean. No one ever comes down here anymore.”

“That’s a question I won’t answer.” You mirrored their earlier statement, unsure of how happy your boss would be if they found out you were just giving away info all willy nilly. They raised a brow at you, but a little smirk fluttered at the corner of their mouth before it was pushed away with a clear of their throat.

“I see.”

“Well, back to what I was getting at; you wouldn’t be kind enough to, say, maybe point me in the direction of…”

Shit. Who the hell were you delivering this to again?

“Um… What were their names again… Damn, all I know was I got told two names and one guy got called bad taxidermy from my boss, and I was told the other is some mutated sewer rat.”

“I know them. Your package is for them?”

“I guess so. And before you ask; no, I don’t know what’s in it.” They shrugged and gestured for you to follow.

“Well, I doubt it’s a bomb or anything. It probably would’ve gone off by now if it was.” You gave a small laugh, but beyond that, silence hung between the two of you. You followed your tour guide for quite a while. You almost decided to bolt again, wondering if they were also leading you into some sort of danger, but then you started to see the tunnels change. They began to look more lived in and well kept, for as well kept as underground tunnels could be anyways. The sound of chatter and the sounds of movement could be heard in the distance, too.

“Your scarfs cute.” They glanced at you, then down, then straight ahead again.

“Thanks.” Another stretch of silence fell over you two, only filled in by the noise of the more populated area of the tunnels as you now had to navigate around people and whatever they were transporting.

“Wow, I didn’t realize the tunnels were so… lively!”

“Yeah, at least in the most popular parts. It’s not usually this busy though.”

“Christmas rush?” They nodded. You nodded back in acknowledgment before asking another question. “So, mysterious saviour of mine; may I know your name?” They looked you up and down, chewing the inside of their cheek for a moment.

“Call me Pocket.”

“Nice to meet you, Pocket.” They buried the bottom half of their face into their scar, looking straight ahead.

“What’s yours?” The words were muffled, but you heard them nonetheless.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You didn’t get to talk with Pocket much more, as you finally reached the people you were meant to deliver the package to. You realized what your boss meant upon meeting Mo & Krill, but decided against repeating the descriptions of them from your boss. The two seemed nice enough.

Pocket also directed you towards the nearest exit, but had to run off. You managed to make your way out of the Tunnels much easier than how you had entered them, and finding your way home from where you emerged on the surface was also easy.

The moment you were home you decided to run yourself a warm shower or bath, whichever felt better right now, and gave your boss a quick call, hoping that they’d send you back to the tunnels sometime soon.