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slut4slytherinss · 5 months

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Gold Rush

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Summary: in which (fem!)reader is in love with Mattheo, but so is everyone else. Reader pushes her feelings deep down, convinced Mattheo, beautiful Mattheo could never love her. In doing so, hurting herself, and a certain curly haired boy.

3,014 words

Warnings: cursing, fighting, slight mention of sexual content, reader being self-conscious, Mattheo being an idiot, Mattheo and his big ego, angst, potentially more parts(???), not proofread bc I don’t have time, a few references to movies IF YOU SQUINT, possibly ooc Mattheo (I haven’t read Everything Black in a hot minute forgive me), use of Y/n, Tom Riddle is Mattheo’s father in this, Regulus is in fact dead (rip my man), Mattheo and reader being a bitch lol, in character-ish Enzo but not headcannon Enzo, THEO IS IN THE SLUG CLUB FOR THE PLOT IM AWARE THAT HE WASNT IN THE BOOKS

2nd person pov

Hufflepuff prefect reader

Female reader

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

Your eyes are trained on the dark haired boy, specifically those deep eyes. “I know I’m pretty, you don’t have to stare, love.” Mattheo grins, you quickly dart your eyes away, “I wasn’t staring.” you murmur. He scoots his chair back, the feet scraping against the old library floor, he stands up and walks towards you— not even bothering to push the bloody chair back in. He takes a seat right next to you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “You really should be studying, y’know? Can’t have m’girl failing her exams.” My girl. You roll your eyes. “I’m immune to your charms, Riddle.” You say, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself of that. “Are you, though? I mean, remember in first year when you—“ you quickly cut him off, a foreign red flush invading your cheeks. “I was eleven!” You whisper-yell, his grin widens at your embarrassment. “Okay.” He drags the word out, “Some things never change, badger.” You furrow your eyebrows “Excuse me?” “Y’know? Badger, you’re a Hufflepuff, unless you’re shagging Diggory and stole his tie.” He gestures to your yellow tie, you roll your eyes. “First of all, Cedric is taken and if you call me badger again, I will ruin your pretty face.” “You think I’m pretty?” Another eye roll. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me, they’re gonna get stuck back there.” Before you can reply, a girl you recognize as a Slytherin fifth year, only younger than you by a year, calls for the boy sitting in front of you. “Mattheo! I don’t have all day, c’mon.” He looks back at the blonde girl and sighs, “Merlin’s beard,” he murmurs, then calls out to her “I’m coming Eloise!” Causing you to let out a laugh. He gives you a look, making you laugh even harder. But once he walks away, you realize that he, Mattheo Riddle, is probably hooking up with that girl, that absolute model, making your smile fade. Making you feel like an idiot for even thinking that he’d like you. For thinking you should inflate his ego even further by confessing.

But I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. Everybody wants you. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

You clutch your books close to your chest, dodging the hundreds of children rushing to get to class. Like every other day. A paper airplane comes straight toward you, it’s about to hit you clean in the forehead, you duck just in time— but a hand reaches out and catches it. You look over to thank the person, it’s Mattheo. Of course it’s Mattheo. That damned boy never leaves you alone. “You alright?” He asks, seeming genuinely concerned. Of course he does. He always does. “I’m fine, Riddle.” You spit out, fighting back your horrid feelings. He tries to speak but you just walk toward the potions classroom.

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush.

You sigh as you walk into the lavatory. Standing in front of the sink, you splash your face with some water. Trying to cool yourself down. “Y/n?” Fucking Mattheo. “I really don’t have time for your bullshit, what are you even doing in the girls la—“ you cut yourself off as you see Mattheo, a girl against the wall, not Eloise, a different girl. An older girl, a seventh year. Looking annoyed as ever. You let out a breath of surprise. Shaking your head you turn back around and walk out of the bathroom. Feeling like an idiot. Like always when it comes to that boy.

I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush. Everybody wants you. But I don’t like a gold rush.

“Wait! Y/n—“ he rushes out of the bathroom to follow you, he grabs your wrist and you turn around quickly. “Let go.” You spit out, he tenses his jaw. “Why are you even acting like this? You don’t need to get so pissed just because you’re jea—“ Slap. Your eyes widen, as well as his, “Did you just slap me?” “No.” you reply quickly. “You just slapped me.” he persists, “No I didn’t.” “Yea, you did.” “Yes I did.” you finally admit. “Why?” He asks, “You said I’m jealous, I’m not jealous. You just have a big head.” “I have other big things.” You slap him again. But this time on his forearm. And, oh Merlin. Why is his arm so muscular? Why are his eyes so deep and brown and beautiful? Why do his oh so pretty brown curls look so pull-able? Why do his lips look so perfect and kissable? Was he always this beautiful? Of course he was. He was always beautiful. You’ve known that since the first time you saw him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominos.

You walk into the Slytherin common room with Dorothea, one of your closest friends, she’d convinced you to come to this party. And you’d stupidly agreed. You stupidly got drunk. You stupidly found Mattheo. You stupidly kissed him. You stupidly hooked up with him.

You look around the room, Mattheo has his arm under your neck. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself “yeah, okay. I can get out of here.” You roll over a bit, pulling the covers off of yourself carefully. You easily get out of his warm, soft bed. An odd coldness filling your body as you do so. You slip on your shoes and realize that you don’t have your shirt on, you look around his room, which is surprisingly clean— minus the clothes everywhere, on the doorknob, there’s your shirt. How did it even get there? You shake your head and walk over to it, putting it on over you. You hear Mattheo groan and you quickly look over, he’s still asleep, but reaching out in the bed, as if looking for you. It takes you a moment before you realize that you need to leave before him and his charm pull you back in.

I see me padding ‘cross, your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

It’s been 3 weeks. 3 weeks since you went to that party. 3 weeks since you found Mattheo. 3 weeks since you kissed him. 3 weeks since you hooked up with him. 2 weeks and 6 days since you woke up in his room and mission impossible escaped. You haven’t spoke to him, or anyone in Slytherin at all. In fear that he told everyone he knows and you’d never live it down. He didn’t. But you don’t know that. You’re choosing out a dress for dinner, you’re in the slug club, but so is Theodore Nott and those two are friends, best friends even. So of course Mattheo was the boys plus one. No matter that. Dorothea suggests a simple dress that shows off your body, but you shake your head, “No, Dor, that— that doesn’t compliment me right.” So you choose a dress that goes down to your knees, it’s long-sleeved, completely covers your cleavage, which was the goal of course. You paired it with some old converse, not liking the feeling of heels on your feet all night. You have your hair done nicely in your favorite style.

“No Mattheo, I really don’t agree with that, you’re so— so contrarian.” You shake your head, “Oh give me a break!” He groans, but you just give him a look, calling him an asshole with your eyes. He’s just told you an opinion on the muggle-world, he’s a pure blood, seriously, who does he think he is? Giggles can be heard from others sitting around you, including Dorothea and Theodore who are sitting next to each other. Slughorn tries to get you two to stop, “O—okay, Mr. Riddle, Ms. Y/l/n, please refrain from arguments at the table.” “This isn’t an argument, it’s a debate.” You correct.

As you’re walking back to your common room, you overhear some girls talking “Oh, wouldn’t they be such a cute couple?” One of them giggles, the other nods in agreement “They argue so much, plus, doesn’t Y/n Riddle sound so nice?” “Oh I dunno, I’m kind of jealous of her.” A third one adds. Your eyes widen as you realize they’re taking about you and Mattheo. You quickly butt in their conversation, “We would not be a cute couple! He’s insufferable and his ego is larger than himself!” You huff.

At dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit. And the coastal town, we wandered ‘round, had never seen a love as pure as it.

“You know that you can’t avoid him all day, right?” Cedric tells you as he notices you staring in Mattheo’s direction in the Great Hall. “I can and I will.” The boy rolls his eyes, “C’mon, when me and Cho get into—“ “Don’t compare you and your girlfriend to me and Mattheo— that’s just.. no!” you mock gag, shaking your head. Cedric just grins at you knowingly, “Why are you smiling at me like that?” you ask, Cedric licks his lips “No reason.” “Shouldn’t you be making out with Cho in a broom closet or something?” you tease, he laughs “Yeah, probably. Shouldn’t you be getting in Mattheo’s pants again?” “Leave it Ced, it will never be.” You murmur as you look down at your tea, mixing it around lazily with your spoon.

And then it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause you know it could never be.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You stop dead in your tracks, goddamnit. Why is he everywhere? You slowly turn around on your heels, face reddening, “I’m not avoiding you.” you reply simply with a shrug. “Yes you are, I’m sick of it.” He rolls his eyes. “What’s it matter to you? We aren’t friends.” “What are you talking about? Yes we are.” “No, we’re really not Mattheo, you only talk to me when you know I’m going to leave.” You spit out, annoyed with everything, “No I don’t! I talk to you all the—“ you cut him off “Just leave it, I’m done here anyway.” You say before turning back around and walking away, “Well— don’t come crying back to me when you realize no one else cares!” He yells, letting his emotions and large ego get the best of him. “Fuck you!” “You’ve already checked that one off!”

‘Cause I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush. I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush. I don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch. Everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

He is such an asshole! Who the fuck does he think he is?! He has no right to speak to you— or anyone for that matter — like that. You huff as you walk into the Great Hall, feeling his gaze immediately land on you. But you won’t give him the satisfaction of meeting that gaze. Taking a seat at your own houses table, you can hear his friends laughing loudly, stupid boys. The only time you do look over at him is when you hear his fork slam against the table and he stands up from his seat, to be fair, the entire Great Hall looks over at him. He ignores his friends and clenches his jaw as he walks out of the huge room, brushing right past you and leaving a small gust of wind from where he walked. Your lips slightly part as you watch him, but you look away just as quickly. Refusing to let him get his way. You shake your head as you now look over at his friends — who you now realize are staring over at you. Furrowing your eyebrows you mouth an annoyed “What?” to them, hoping to get any explanation. Theodore just shakes his head at you, and Lorenzo Berkshire mouths back a “Nothing.” making you even more annoyed with these boys. You decide to take matters into your own hands and stand up, making your way to the Slytherin table where they’re sitting. “Hello, boys.” you raise your eyebrows expectantly. “Uh — hey..” Blaise Zabini murmurs, “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with that dickhead who just walked out of the Great Hall making a scene?” Draco Malfoy laughs at that “Dickhead? Did you just call your little boyfriend a dickhead?” “He’s not my boyfriend Malfoy!” you exclaim which causes Draco to laugh and Theo to nudge his arm, Enzo speaks up “Um, Y/n he’s just upset you’re ignoring him.” now the rest of the boys groan, collectively murmuring little “C’mon man!”’s and “Enzo!”’s he throws his hands up in apology. Eyebrows going up you look at them, “Seriously?” you scoff “he’s mad at me because I’m not talking to him? After what he did?”

Walk past, quick brush. I don’t like slow motion double vision in a rose blush. I don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush.

“Why don’t you just make it easy for him and tell him how you feel?” Theo speaks up with a shrug. “Excuse me? And how exactly do I feel Theodore?” you ask, twisting toward him. “You want him, obviously.” “Everybody wants him! I don’t — I don’t like that horrid feeling!” you exclaim loudly, catching the attention of others around you.

Everybody wants you, but I don’t like a gold rush.

Lowering your voice, you rest your hands on the table, pushing Blaise’s plate away to do so. He stops in the middle of his chewing to give you a glare, then continues slowly chewing. “You’ve liked him since fist year, admit it.” Blaise speaks with his mouth full, so it’s a bit muffled. “Shut it and eat your potatoes Zabini.” you spit out. He shrugs and does just that. With Zabini out of the conversation Draco speaks again, “But really, stop leading our boy on.” “I haven’t led him — or anyone for that matter — on!” now it’s Theo’s turn to speak “Well.. you did kinda sleep with him and then leave the next morning,” “That was a mistake.” “Still shitty.” Enzo says. You huff, “That’s — no! Even if it was shitty, it’s not like I’m in love with him. He shouldn’t’ve expected anything from me.” Draco raises an eyebrow “Wow, didn’t know Hufflepuffs were such—“ “Dude, don’t finish that sentence.” Enzo says with an eye roll before looking toward you, “If you don’t like him, then don’t lead him on, it’s not difficult.” Looking him up at down for a moment, you sigh and your eyes move around the group at a quick pace. “Tell him I don’t like him, and — that I’m sorry or whatever.” Damn. That hurt you to say. Who knew it’d be this hard to get over him.

What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful, with your hair falling into place like dominoes?

As you lay in your bed, miserable and alone, you think about Mattheo. Because of course you do. He’s plagued your mind since first year. Rolling your eyes, you silently curse yourself for not realizing how horrible it was to fall for him. He’s got the perfect life, minus the fact his father is literally the dark lord, still, he’s rich. He has hundreds of girls in love with him and multiple in his bed. You aren’t going to be any of those girls, not now at least.

My mind turns your life into folklore. I can’t dare to dream about you anymore.

You hear your name called out by a familiar voice, Pansy Parkinson, her loud — but not angry — footsteps reverberate along the stone walls of the castle. You stop walking just as she catches up to you, out of breath. She reaches for your shoulder to steady herself and you grab her arm to help her. “What’s wrong Pans?” You ask once she catches her breath. “Riddle told me about what you said.” You wince at the mention, “Oh.” She must notice the look on your face since she adds a quick, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad, that boy needs to learn that not every girl is in love with him.” As an afterthought. “Never mind that, you are,” you furrow your eyebrows “—in love with him. You’re in love with him.” She finishes, which causes you to stammer out a quick and defensive, “Am not!” In response. “You literally gave him a bouquet of flowers, which you handpicked, in first year.” “In first year! Yeah, but that’s not now!” She rolls her eyes, “Come on Y/n/n, you’re just going to end up hurting yourself if you keep saying that.” She then removes her hand from your shoulder and you do the same, “Okay, I’ve got detention now, see ya later.” Then she runs off. She literally runs off after telling you that you’re in love with Mattheo Riddle. As if you didn’t know that. As if you didn’t sleep with him.

I see me padding ‘cross your wooden floors. With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from the door.

The last slug club meeting of the year before you leave for Christmas. You aren’t supposed to bring plus-ones, but Slughorn likes Theo too much and let him bring Mattheo. You sit slumped in your chair, dressed nicely though. Dorothea is sick so she couldn’t come. And Mattheo has the audacity to sit right fucking next to you. Purposely making those contrarian remarks, to get you to speak, so he can hear your voice again. Annoyed or not, he wants to hear it. But you don’t. You just stand up and move to sit beside Theo. Mattheo swallows and stops talking, looking down at his food.

At dinner parties, won’t call you out on your contrarian shit.

You sit by a garden in Hogsmeade, looking at the flowers silently. Of course, thinking about those girls from a few weeks ago at the Slug club meeting, how they were talking about you and Mattheo. Did everyone think that way? That’s impossible, he’s him, you’re just you. You barely know jack shit about each other. Sighing, you lay back in the grass and fiddle with the strings on your cardigan. It will never be.

And the coastal town, we never found, will never see a love as pure as it. ‘Cause it fades into the gray of my day old tea. ‘Cause it will never be.

He stands at your doorframe, knocking on the door rapidly. Hearing you groan on the other side and sheets ruffling. He quickly tries to fix up his messy curls and look at least a hit presentable, you open the door as he’s smoothing out his shirt, he’s in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you’re — well —in your pink unicorn pajama set, that causes him to grin widely. But then he hears your voice murmur a sleepy “Mattheo?” and becomes serious again. “Um—hey.” He smiles gently, out of character for him. “I know it’s late and all, I just had to um.. talk to you.” You rub your eyes and yawn, “Well?” You ask, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I know we aren’t close or anything, but I really fucking like you. I mean—really like you. It’s so weird for me to feel this strongly over.. well, y’know a girl who I barely know. But you’re just different, you make me feel things—things that no one else does.” He watches you watch him nervously, this is really different than the Mattheo you know. “Anyway.. what I’m trying to say is, I think we’d be really good together. I want us to try it out, if you’d have me?” “Mattheo I—“

Gleaming, twinkling, eyes like sinking ships on waters. So inviting, I almost jump in.

A/N: IM SOOO SORRY FOR THIS TKAING SO LONG TO WRITE(literally ignore my spelling mistakes wtf) ANYWAY YEAH, LMK IF I SHOUKD MAKE A OART TWO OR SMTHING?????

PART TWO

MASTERLIST

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jpitha · 6 months

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Do What it Takes

Everyone goes on and on about the humans, how strong they are, how dangerous their world is, their risk management (or lack thereof) and even their ability to process the rather worrying things they call “food.”

One thing I haven’t seen though is people discussing their… aspect that I find fascinating. They even have a word for it - grit. It’s this ability to take on unimaginable stress, and maintain that strength of resolve. That realization that the only thing they can do is endure. They even have a saying. “When you find yourself going through Hell, keep going.” Hell here is a substution for any kind of hard times they’re currently experiencing. It’s an idiom, don’t worry about the specific meaning of the word. The saying implies that if you’re “going through hell” then you need to keep going, because otherwise you won’t ever get out of the hard situation you find yourself in.

When it was first explained to me, a lot of what I saw about the humans snapped to place, like magnets on a table.

Once, back during the war I saw a single human shoulder a crew operated slug thrower and - by themselves - hold off an entire Zenni boarding party long enough for the rest of the ship to mount a defense. Not only did they shoulder and fire the weapon themselves, but they survived!

Others weren’t so lucky. I’ve heard tales of humans walking into active reactors to stop an overload, blinding themselves from ultraviolet radiation to repair a hull, and sustain withering gee forces to crush attackers. When asked why they’d do that, most of them replied that they just “did what they needed to” or that “they do what it takes.”

I’m not here to say that we can’t do that either. Having grit or strength of character isn’t solely a human development. But maybe as a result of the world they evolved on they tend to have grit in greater supply than other sapient species. They “do what it takes” because they’ve always had to do what it takes to survive.

A human friend has recently offered to take me to Earth, their homeworld to “see the sights.” His only warning about his own planet was that we should probably avoid some months. I asked why.

He waved his hand dismissively as if it was just a minor trifle, an inconvenience. “Oh, it’s hurricane season in the fall. I don’t know if you want to experience one of them.”

“What’s a hurricane?” I asked, cautiously.

“It’s a large storm that spins up over the ocean as the planets way to help remove some heat from the water. They can get pretty wild sometimes.”

When a human tells you that something can get “pretty wild” one’s fur tends to poof out.

I said I’d think about it, and went back to my cabin to research these Hurricanes. About an hour later I was shaking in my seat, glued to my pad watching video after video of houses just… disappearing in the wind and water.

The next day, I confronted him about the hurricanes. Once again, he was dismissive. “You get plenty of warning, and time to evacuate, they’re not that big of a deal.”

I bristled, and my ears twitched. “Not that big of a deal? But your homes get destroyed!”

He nodded. “True, that does happen. But, it’s not a surprise and we come prepared. You do what it takes if you want to live there.”

I think I’ll take him up on his offer.

#writing #humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #sci fi writing #humans are space capybaras #humans and aliens #jpitha #humans are space australians

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msfantasy-comics · 4 months

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The Wayne Welcoming

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: A short story sequel to The Family Meet and Greet, where Y/n meets members of the Wayne Family one by one.

A/n: honestly… I don’t like what I wrote…. But it took me a whole month to write it - so I’m just going to publish it.

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown

Steph keeps following Damian because she really wants to meet Y/n, Tim is following Steph to ensure her enthusiasm isn’t over exerted, as if it wasn’t already.

“Go away!” Damian shouts at the two who’s standing by the light post. Stephanie wearing her incognito hat and glasses. Whilst Tim just stands there out in the open with his hands in his pockets, not even attempting to hide himself unlike Steph, whose standing behind the thin pole as if it was a genuine hiding spot. Steph looks over her shoulder to see what Damian was talking about. As if her disguise wasn’t absolutely transparent. “Stop following me.”

Steph releases a small whine. “Aw but you two have been dating for like ever… I just want to meet her.”

“I don’t care, you weirdos will scare her off. I’ll never introduce her so long as I live.” Steph begins to swoon.

“Aw that’s so cute Dames, you’re such a protective boyfriend… too bad she’s here anyway.” Reaching her hand over Damian, Steph joyfully grabs your hand and begins to shake your hand with an unmatched enthusiasm. “Hi my name is Steph, and this is Tim! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Damian is sooo secretive! I tried to meet you like a million times but Damian always ruined our plans!” You begin to giggle, caught off guard for the unfiltered joy running off of Steph. Her over excited hand shake continues to the point of shaking your entire arm. Damian grits his teeth, ripping Stephs grasp from your own.

“Go. Away.” He says, eyes bearing into Stephanie’s soul, an earnest threat swimming in Damian’s ominous gaze. Steph winces at the sincere danger floating in the air.

“Alrighty, so what are we doing today?” Tim asks, immune from Damian’s demands.

“No. No. No. Go home. Right. Now. Or else I’ll call Conor to come get you.” The two besties look at each-other silently before laughing.

“… you know Conor would just join, he’s dying to meet Jon’s new friend.” Damian goes red in the face. You slug your arm around Damian’s shoulders in a friendly embrace.

“Come on, let’s seize this impromptu meeting! It could be fun!”

Jason Todd

You stood alone at the end of the red carpet, the cameras were flashing as arriving couples walk the velvet floor to have their photos taken before entering the Wayne’s Gala.

You looked around nervously, looking for Damian, waiting to walk the carpet with him. Instead, the ushers were rushing you to begin your walk alone.

Your requests to wait for your partner falling on deaf ears as they attempt to force you to walk the carpet by yourself. Panic filling you as the ushers continue to shout and push you towards to start of the velvet walk. You felt incredibly anxious to step out in front of the cameras, the attention was overwhelming.

Jason sucks his teeth, irritated that the ushers were putting unnecessary pressure and seemingly, ruining your night.

“The brat needs to pay better attention.” Jason mutters to himself, abandoning Roy with an eager gold-digger who is clearly not catching onto Roy’s disinterest. Walking up behind the beautiful girl. He loops his arm around your form, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“I’ve got things from here.” He guides you towards the velvet carpet and begins to stride slowly as the cacophony of shouts and flashing lights assault your senses. Jason digs his fingers into your side, grabbing your attention.

“Don’t pull faces, the press will run it for months.” He reminds you, pulling out his sparkling toothy smile.

You both walk the carpet together, before shortly reaching the entrance to the Gala.

“See first timer. It’s not so bad.” He says with his award-winning smile. His attention turns to a cranky Damian and Roy.

“I can’t believe you just ditched me like that.” Roy utters in betrayal as Jason shrugs unapologetically.

Dick Grayson

A drawn out yawn escapes Damian as he slowly stumbles into the sun room, ready to start the day with Alfred’s world famous onsen eggs.

But instead Damian is greeted by the most peculiar sight.

Shoulders touching, Damian sees his beloved girlfriend oddly cosy with his older brother Dick. More specifically, why the fuck is Dick slinging his arm around his girlfriends back, his chin resting on her shoulder as he looks down at the phone held in her hand. Giggles escaping the odd duo as they continue to watch whatever is on your screen.

Jealousy bubbles under Damian’s skin watching his brother touch his girlfriend in and oddly familiar way. This level of physical touch took Damian months to build up to, only for Dick to do it seemingly over night.

“Morning!” Dick beems seemingly, unbothered by the evasion of his girlfriends personal space.

“Morning Grayson. If you touch Y/n so familiarly again, I’ll break your fingers.” He threatens without so much as a blink.

The two sit, staring, only to break out in fits of laughter.

“Aw Dames! You’re such a protective boyfriend!” Dick cooes pulling Damian into a embrace, the scowl on his face looking dangerously similar to that of a cornered dog.

“Hehe, so protective.” Y/n also cooes, sandwiching Damian from the other side with a playful peck on his cheek.

“Oh god, now there’s two of you.” He mutters limply between his overly affectionate brother and partner.

Duke Thomas

The incessant buzzing amongst the couch cushions is ruining the heart-wrenching scene playing out on the TV screen.

On one hand, Duke is keen to remove the irritation immediately as to not further ruin his viewing experience.

On the other hand, Duke is not keen to relive the experience of finding Damian’s phone only to see a private message not meant for him.

However, the continuous vibrations running through the couch is grating on Dukes nerves. He cannot hold back any further. Stripping the cushions which were once perfectly place, moulding around his form, now strewn amongst the floor until Duke is able to find the black phone laying innocently under the seat covers.

Turning the screen he sees dozens of missed calls from Y/n.

Immediately, Dukes stomach drops to the floor as he quickly realises that Y/n may needed urgent help and instead of answering the phone like a normal person, Duke just tried to phase out the noise until it went away, all because of his favourite show.

Fumbling the phone, Duke quickly returns the call immediately, praying to any god that Y/n was okay and not dead just because he wanted to finish the last 7 minutes of the episode. God that would suck.

“Hello?” Y/n answers, her voice is shaky, as if confused.

“Erm-Y/n? It’s Duke, I found Damian’s phone and I saw your missed calls - AreYouOkay?” Duke blurts quickly. The line is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time because a snorting laughter blasts through the phone.

“Oh my god! Yes I’m okay! I was just calling Damian’s phone because he can’t find it! I promise I’m okay!” Giggles follow, which leaves Duke stunned.

“Why don’t you guys just use phone location services?” The line falls dead silent before another snorting laughter burst through the phone.

“Honestly I completely forgot that was even a thing! Hey do me a favour? Don’t tell Damian, I want to see how long it takes him to figure it out.” Oh Duke likes you. Damian’s loving girlfriend now pulling a harmless prank of the Wayne’s resident bad boy.

“Okay. $20 he finds the phone through some form of tech tracker.”

“$20 that he’ll use Goliath to try and locate his phone.” Oddly specific, but Duke is game.

Bruce Wayne

Damian would never willingly come to any Gala. Not without trickery, bribery, or blackmail encouragement.

But right now, Bruce stands in astonishment as Damian grills the poor event planner for not arranging for Y/n’s place at the VIP table.

“Everything has to be perfect. Please reset the table immediately.” Damian orders with crossed arms. Now examining the staff scrambling to reset the VIP table to ensure you had a place to dine next to him.

Shock was one synonym for what Bruce was feeling. He was sure Damian, would never set foot in the ball room, so long as he lived.

Yet to Bruce’s utter surprise, Damian pitched the gala event, hired the planners and set out the invitations.

Damian wasn’t just attending the gala… he was hosting the gala.

“I’m late for my red carpet walk with Y/n. Hurry up and finish.” Damian snaps, taking quick strides towards the exit.

Why was his dear son hosting a gathering he loathes attending? Why, it’s because Damian’s beloved girlfriend expressed her desire to one day attend such an event. She was in aw of the glitz and the glamour and wanted to try it at least once.

Instead of just taking his beloved partner to the next event. Damian insisted that if she was to attend, it will be the best gala she would ever attend.

So now, Bruce watches in delight as his children, who also never willingly attend a gala, along with Y/n boisterously bound around the hall, engaging with other guests, eating the hors d’oeuvres, clapping along to the entertainers and finally eating the delicious four courses whilst the MC engages the crowds interest, greasing the wallets of the wealthy for funding of social causes.

Damian’s eyes looking at his partner in adoration, gaging her delight at his hard work.

Y/n abandons her seat during the speeches to sit next to Bruce.

“Hi Mr. Wayne, I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier. My name is Y/n, it’s a pleasure to finally meet Damian’s father.” You smile shyly, sticking out your hand.

Your face is set with confidence, but your slightly shaky hand suggests your nerves are firing away with nervousness.

Smiling he takes his future daughter-in-laws hand and gives it a sturdy shake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too Y/n. Please, call me Bruce.”

Talia al Ghul

“So you’re the girl whose stolen my sons heart.” Your neck just about breaks, your startled heart thumping at the sudden presence. Your demeanour is reminiscent of a frighten bunny.

A scowl presses along her face in irritation and dissatisfaction. “You’re who Damian picked to partner with?” Her mocking tone dripping with venom.

“Uh… yes?” Y/n utters awkwardly, not quite sure what to say in the presence of Damian’s supposed mother.

She hums unamused. “This is going to be interesting.”

And just like that, she was gone.

#dc imagine #dc x reader #batboys #batboys imagine #batboys x reader #Damian Wayne x reader #Damian Wayne imagine #Damian x reader #Damian imagine #Robin x reader #Robin imagine

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Note

~elementary drabble/question~

joels hair needs cut, but doesn’t trust anyone to do it. does he attempt it himself or does he ask reader??

A Helping Hand

pairing: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: M (allusions to sex, no actual smut)

wc: <1k

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Hey, baby?” Joel’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs as you and Sarah laid comfortably on either end of the couch, eyes glued to tonight’s program of choice, MTV’s: Sweet Sixteen.

“Yeah?” you called back, not moving from where you laid with your cheek pressed against a throw pillow.

“Can you come up here?” he asked, making Sarah grumble as your conversation drowned out the TV. With a sigh, you tossed your blanket off and slugged your way upstairs, exhausted from setting up your classroom for this year’s Open House.

“This better end in an orgasm for me,” you mumbled as you met him at the top of the stairs.

“Not why I called you up here, but we can arrange that, I suppose.” He grinned as he leaned in for a kiss, his arms slipping around your waist.

“What did you want, then?” you mumbled against his lips.

“Need you to cut my hair,” he mumbled back before ending his reply with another kiss.

“Why? Don’t you have a barber for that?” you asked, pulling away to look at him.

“Mom always used to do it,” he answered, grief and the desire not to talk about said grief thick in his tone. You nodded, swiping your thumb across his bearded jawline as you held his face, silently agreeing to leave it at that.

“Do you have everything?” you asked instead. “Scissors or whatever?”

“Got a hair clipper thing. Don’t know how to use it, or at least I don’t trust myself to use it. Might fuck around and cut it all off—“

“No, no. Let’s not do that,” you interrupted with a laugh.

“Why? You don’t think I could rock a buzzcut?” he asked with a half smirk, folding his arms over his chest. You held his forearms as they remained crossed, leaning in to try and give him a kiss but he dodged it.

“So sensitive,” you teased, poking the swell of his stomach.

“You’re dodgin’ the question.”

“I like your hair like this,” you reached up and combed your fingers through his dark brown waves. “Enough to pull on.”

“Alright, seductress,” he chuckled, a blush forming on his face as he gently pushed your hand away from his head so he could walk you into the bedroom with a pat to your ass. “Keep your hands to yourself and I’ll give you what you want later.”

“And if I don’t?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at him as you turned to walk into the en-suite. Joel’s smirk widened into a grin.

“Guess we’ll find out,” he shrugged before taking a seat on the closed toilet lid. You walked to stand in between his knees, his hands resting on the outside of your thighs as you finger-combed his hair.

“How short do you want me to go?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled against your skin as he lifted the hem of your shirt up so that he could plant a few teasing kisses right above the waistline of your pajama shorts. “Shorter, but long enough that you could still pull it.”

“Now who’s the seducer?” you purred, though you throbbing from the deepness of his voice paired with the soft press of his lips above where you desperately craved him.

“Sorry,” he lifted his head up and looked at you with those round eyes of his. “I’ll let you work.”

You gave him a chuckle and a shake of your head as you pulled yourself away from him and over to the sink where he had the clipper laid out with an assortment of guard sizes. You picked a pretty large guard, not wanting to take off too much on your first go around, and placed it on the clipper before returning to him on the toilet.

“You know I’ve never done this, right?” you asked with a chuckle. Joel simply shrugged.

“I trust ya,” he replied softly, his eyes just as tender as he looked up at you. It made you melt, an adoring frown growing on your face as you pet his hair back.

“Okay,” you hummed before leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “I’ll try not to fuck it up.”

After trimming his hair as short as your heart could take, you breathed a sigh of relief at a job well done.

“Think I’m done,” you announced, fingers sweeping some of the stray hair off his forehead.

“Do I still look pretty?” he asked, his eyes locking on yours while his hands lifted to hold your hips. You smirked down at him, leaning over to ghost your lips over his.

“You look gorgeous,” you whispered, relishing in the puff of a chuckle he let out before pressing his lips against yours for a sweet kiss.

“Lemme have a look.” He stood up and walked over to the mirror above the sink to check himself out. You stood behind him, watching his reflection as he moved his head around to look at it from every angle he could manage before nodding in approval. “Well done, baby.”

“You need to shower off all this hair.” Joel nodded in agreement before turning to you.

“You gonna join me?” he asked in a mumble as his lips brushed against yours.

“Duh,” you grinned. “You gotta pay up somehow.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller reader insert #joel tlou #elementary

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silassinclair · 1 month

Note

It’s my first time requesting, so I’m sorry if you don’t understand my bad english ;-;

May I request a GN readerx Yandere Wild West Outlaw (my brain can’t remember his name) with a reader who sleeps anywhere on anything? There will be one time this man has seen his darling somehow out of the ropes and is sleeping on the roof.

I understand if you don’t wanna do this request, but if you do it thank you from the bottom of my heart! <3

Always take care and take a break when needed~

This request is so silly I have to do it. Also your english is great, don’t sweat it!!

Yandere Wild West Outlaw x Sleepy Reader

CW// Nothing, just wholesomeness

Masterlist

It’s yours and Maddox’s first night together after he took you from your home. You two are camping out in the desert by a cave. There’s a small fire lit and Maddox’s horse Jasper is munching on some carrots.

But it’s been awfully quiet, the outlaw thinks. Why is it so quiet?

He realizes it’s because of you! You’re usually always thrashing and screaming at him and now you aren’t!

He also realizes that you’re no where to be found… It makes him panic slightly. He shoots up from where he’s sat and he looks around the camp. The desert is dangerous, what if you got stung by a scorpion or bit by a rattlesnake!?

“You come out from where you’re hidin’ missy! Or I outta shoot-”

He nearly trips and falls flat on his face. Looking down he sees you taking a dirt nap, quite literally in the dirt. How did you get so far away from camp? Did you sleep walk? Fall asleep while trying to escape? Whatever it is Maddox doesn’t give a damn, he’s glad he found you.

“You’re a dumb little thing. What would you do without me?”

From this moment onward Maddox sees a repeating pattern. You sleep anytime, anywhere. And on occasion you can even “teleport”. He thought about calling a priest to perform an exorcism on you once.

“Sweet Jesus, this ain’t possible… How’d ya get out here!?”

When you fall asleep while on his horse he sits you in front of him so he can act as a back rest. He doesn’t want you falling off now.

Loves it when you fall asleep on him. You’re so vulnerable when you’re asleep like this. He can touch you without getting yelled at or smacked. So he takes advantage of it.

Combs his hands through your pretty locks of hair and caresses your plush cheeks. Sometimes when you squirm in your sleep from a nightmare he shushes you like a baby and rocks you back and forth.

Stays by your side from now on when you’re asleep after… the incident.

The Incident:

After over a week of being on horseback and foot Maddox finds an old house for them to settle in temporarily. It’s a cute house with victorian architecture. It’s definitely abandoned and all the owner’s belongings are still there. They most likely fled due to the Native American tribe near by but Maddox isn’t afraid of them. He actually gets along with the tribesmen better than the whites who hate him for being half American and half Mexican.

“This place is nice. It almost the same size as my old home.” Y/n mutters as she admires the decor. But her eyes feel heavy, she needs to sleep. This past week has been exhausting.

Maddox notices how worn out she is. She’ll be no good to him if she’s a mopey, tired slug. So he brings her upstairs to the main bedroom. The bed is dusty but it’ll have to make do.

“You’ll sleep here sweetheart. But I’m gonna have to tie ya’ down. I don’t need ya’ escaping now.” Maddox ties a rope from the bed post to her ankle.

Y/n doesn’t even bother to yell or fight back from being tied down. She just falls asleep immediately like a hibernating bear. When she’s asleep Maddox unpacks some supplies down in the living room. He also cooks up a can of beans and digs in.

It’s quiet. All his life he’s been alone, but he’ll never admit he feels lonely. He’s never had anyone to trust or rely on. Most nights he’ll sleep under the stars and talk to Jasper. But he’s a horse so talking to him is one sided.

Even though Y/n is sleeping just upstairs he misses her. Misses her snarky comments, creative insults, and the way she smacks his chest when he gets too close.

“What are you doing to me woman..” The outlaw mutters to himself as he trudges himself up the creaky wooden stairs. He’s in front of her door and he opens it slowly, peeking his head in. But then he slams it open when he sees she’s gone.

“Y/n?” He shouts, looking around the room and searching every corner. She’s missing again! Maddox runs like a cat out of water as he searches the whole house. What if she got hurt!? He could never live with himself.

He kicks open the front door and looks around the property. What if the tribe found her and thought she was a threat? Every negative outcome of what could happen to her comes to his mind. Getting eaten by a coyote is a possibility too.

Maddox takes his hat off and grips his black hair.

“FUCK!” He shouts and kicks the dirt on the ground, the cloud of brown blowing with the wind. Maddox walks back to the house in defeat where he tells Jasper that Y/n’s gone, and she is never coming back. But the horse only exhales loudly and shakes his head back and forth.

“She’s gone buddy. I know you liked her but she’s probably dead in a fuckin’ ditch somewhere!” The man snaps.

Jasper slams his front leg down and neighs loudly. His nose is pointed up towards the house.

“What are ya’ on about you?” Jasper never behaved like this before unless he wanted to try and tell him something. He’s a smart horse, so any sound or motion me makes is usually when he tries to convey a message.

Maddox looks up at the house where Jasper is looking and squints his eyes. He puts his hat back on to cover his eyes from the beating sun. Looking closer he sees a familiar head of h/c hair on the roof!

“Y/n!?” Maddox says in disbelief. How the fuck did she get up there!? Does she even know she’s up there? Probably not.

“Shit boy, what do we do?” He turns to his horse. Jasper neighs louder and Maddox looks back up and sees that she’s about to fall off the roof!

“SHIT!”

Y/n turns in her sleep and falls off the roof. Maddox feels his heart drop and he breaks off into a sprint. Just before she hits the ground he catches her, making them both fall to the dirt.

“Y-You?” Y/n wakes up and sees she’s outside and that god forsaken outlaw is beneath her. His head is under her dress making her squeal and scramble away.

“W-What in the hell!? What do you think you’re doing? Why am I outside and why was your ugly mug up my dress!?”

Maddox groans and rubs his head. He turns to her with a glare and grabs her wrist, pulling her up.

“I ain’t ever takin’ my eye off you again! You ought to be a witch or somethin’!”

From that moment onward Maddox sleeps next to Y/n in a bone crushing cuddle. When he feels her move in the slightest he wakes up and tightens his hold. No way in hell will he let something like that happen again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #obsession #maddox graves #western #cowboy #request #reqs open

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wastefulreverie · 2 years

Text

"This can't be legal," Danny said in a weak voice. "I mean, how are they allowed to do this?"

Lancer tensed. "It falls under a gray area. If you ask me, the Anti-Ecto Prevention Act gives them far too much jurisdiction."

The GIW, full in pure white HAZMAT suits from the overlarge hoods to the fitted boots, ushered in the next student from his class. Poor Lester walked into the tent, looking green in the face. Sweat rolled down his temples and his hands shook as the suited agent clasped his shoulder and pulled him through the curtains.

Paulina sniffed. "I don't want to be microchipped."

"Were you even listening at all?" Wes scoffed. "It's biodegradable. It'll be out of your system within a year and prevents you from being overshadowed. Unless, of course, you are a ghost." His eyes flitted to Danny. "Then who the hell knows what it'll do to you?"

"I'm not doing it." Sam crossed her arms. She was sitting on the gym floor, cross-legged. "It's unconstitutional, the total principle of it."

"I can't believe I'm agreeing with Manson," Paulina said. "But they'll have to drag me in there before they insert something underneath my flawless skin."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Not that I object to being overshadowed, but I'd rather not have the U.S. government tracking my every move."

"There's not trackers in them," Lancer said. "They were adamant about that when we were told about this."

"Great," Sam drew out, "the untested ghost repelling microchips with unknown side effects being nonconsensually administered to minors allegedly doesn't broadcast our current locations to the government. That eases my nerves."

The tension in the room was palpable.

"I have uh, I have epilepsy," Nathan spoke up. His voice was short and clipped. "Do they even know how this'll affect that?"

Lancer put his head in his hands. "Dear Lord. I didn't sign up for this. I hate this."

The curtains were drawn back again. An agent, possibly the same one from a minute before but it was hard to tell since they all looked the same in the HAZMAT suits. He looked down at a clipboard.

"Fenton?" he called. "Daniel Fenton?"

Danny stared at the floor from where he was standing, not daring to look up and inevitably see everyone's eyes on him. The tiles on the gym floor looked like maple-colored planks of wood, but there was a thin film of clear plastic—or maybe rubber—when he slid his shoes against it.

"Fenton," repeated the agent, "come with me."

He didn't look up.

No. Because if he looked up, that meant he would have to do something. He wanted to avoid this for as long as he could.

There was a sound of rustling and in his peripheral vision he saw his classmates move out of the way as the agent stalked toward him.

He stumbled backward, not quite tripping, but struggling to keep even footing. Oh. He hoped he hadn't phased his feet through each other. He used to be bad with that. This would be the worst time and place to fall into old habits.

The agent gave him an unreadable look, face obscured by the HAZMAT mask, but Danny could feel the man's impatience as he waved the clipboard.

"Fenton. You're up."

"No."

His classmates glanced at him nervously and the agent shifted his weight, giving an agitated huff.

"Kid, you don't get a choice in this. This is for your protection."

"I can protect myself, thanks," he snapped. "I think I'll do fine without your little ghost zapping chip embedded in my arm."

"I don't know who you think you are, but just because your parents are ghost hunters doesn't make you exempt from this. All students, no exceptions."

He locked eyes with the man behind the mask. Well, it was a calculated guess at where the man's eyes were but Danny hoped his stare came across as menacing.

"It's nothing more than a pinch. I promise this won't be half as bad as you're imagining."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be."

Wes cleared his throat.

"Fenton's a—"

Without warning, Sam pulled herself to her feet and slugged Wes in the face. Hard. He stumbled backward and almost fell on one of the bleachers. Blood dripped from her knuckles and from his nose. Oh. That was going to bruise badly.

Lancer cried in alarm.

"Miss Manson!"

"Sorry, Mr. Lancer. Muscle spasm."

"We don't have time for this." The agent reached forward and grabbed Danny's shoulder as he'd done to Lester minutes before. "Come on. Let's get this done."

Danny stood his ground, and the agent pulled against him. He was stronger than the agent, and despite that, he'd phased the bottom of his shoes into the uppermost layer of the gym's floor. He wasn't going anywhere.

"How in the world—?"

Paulina started sobbing at the top of her lungs.

"I don't want to be here! I don't want to be chipped! I want to go home!"

The agent turned toward her, startled. "Now, calm down now—"

Wes staggered forward, blood dripping onto the floor as he moved. Some fell onto the agent's pristine, white boots. He jumped away from Wes like he'd been burned.

More students joined Paulina, clamoring that they didn't want to be chipped either. Sam raised her bloodied fist and shouted—an unhinged, almost feral scream while Danny gradually phased his shoes deeper into the floor. Mr. Lancer pulled a book out from somewhere and was waving it around, a loose bookmark falling out as he did so, in a futile attempt to capture everyone's attention.

Three identical agents ran out of the curtained tent at the sound of the chaos.

"What is going on!" one of them barked.

"Sir, the students are being uncooperative," the first agent said.

"I need medical attention," Wes said, unhelpfully.

The new agent, who Danny decided was the boss, accessed Wes and the drops of blood on the first agent's boots with horror.

"Agent Kilo, you didn't…"

"No, no. It was the girl."

He nodded his head to Sam, who hid her bloodied fist behind her back.

"He's a liar!" she said. "He hit Wes! We all saw it!"

The other students gave tentative nods. Ever the performer, Paulina flinched away from Agent Kilo, as if afraid he might strike her. In the midst of it all Lancer did nothing.

"Kilo," the boss's voice was stern. "That's not how we do things."

"But I didn't—"

"You're dismissed for now. We'll discuss this later." He turned to Wes. "I do apologize."

Wes looked at him like he'd grown an extra head. "Alright?"

Agent Kilo stormed away, muttering something about lying, conniving brats and threw his clipboard on the ground.

Lancer stepped in. "If I may, I do say that my students have been through an emotionally stressful experience here and I don't know if they should continue with this today. Besides, Mr. Weston does still need medical attention and I believe that should be our top priority."

The boss grunted. "Right. Return to class. We'll continue this at another date."

He waved a hand and the other agents headed back to the tent. Meanwhile, the students trailed after Lancer toward the opposite end of the gym—all sighing in relief.

As they left the gym, Sam caught Danny's shoulder and hissed in his ear. "Danny, the clipboard."

The discarded clipboard was forgotten on the floor.

"Mark our names off," she hissed. "I'll keep them distracted."

He nodded. He tapped into invisibility and retrieved the clipboard. A ballpoint pen was clipped to the top of it and he marked off the box beside his and Sam's names, doing his best to emulate Agent Kilo's loopy initials for the official confirmation. With any luck, the man wouldn't remember it later among all the chaos. With better luck, the man would be dismissed from the GIW completely.

He flipped the clipboard face-up and left it closer to the tent so that the agents would find it. He flew back into the corridor and met up with Sam, who was lingering near the end of the group.

"Got it." He dropped back onto the visible spectrum. "We're officially chipped."

"Oh, thank God. You're a literal lifesaver."

Wes turned, holding a wad of paper towels against his bloodied nose. "Please tell me I'm not the only one who just saw Fenton appear out of thin air, right?"

"You're concussed, Weston," Valerie said, not bothering to turn around and check. "He's not a ghost."

"Manson did not give me a concussion!"

"Yeah, Agent Kilo did," Nathan brushed off. "Keep up. The GIW can suck it."

That was something they could all, unquestionably, agree on.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Sam Manson #Wes Weston #Fanfiction #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #Phicc #Fic #Phic #wrwritings

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neonovember · 10 months

Text

Golden Boy

part two to this request

warnings: suggestive content, miscommunication, angst if you are a tortured poet, highschool love, protective!carmen, touch depirved!carmen, mention of death

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: okay, okay, yes i know i said this would be a two part series, but god i have too much to say and it didn’t feel right to cram it into two parts. Also i wanted to add a little smut snippet and of course that required its own chapter??

The ring of the Beef doors resound through the murmur of the kitchen, the lunch time rush had dissolved to a quiet pull, regulars coming in for their pick up orders and the occasional customer seated in one of the back booths.

The soothing quiet the crew had been relishing just moments ago is interrupted by the familiar boom of Richie’s voice and the loud bang of the cartons of produce he’d left on the counter.

“Guess who the fuck I ran into down at the Market” Richie yells, beaming with the kind of smile you’d only have with the worlds biggest secret on your tongue.

The crew gathers at the kitchen station, hands rubbing tired eyes as the work day slugged on.

“What, Richie?” Sydney humours him, throwing the last of the chopped vegetables into a pot to slow cook, wiping her hand on her shoulder towel as she looks up at Richie.

“Our very own Bug” Richie replies, eyes glinting as they watch the white linen shirt of Carmen’s back stop suddenly.

Carmen pauses, the sound of his knife falling with a clank. It takes a moment for him to turn around and face Richie, partly because he doesn’t want to meet the goofy pull of his features that told him he was playing around and partly because he doesn't want to face that what Richie said might be true.

But he faces him anyway, because he always will for you.

“What? You saw a bug? Really Richie, you had to come all this way--” Sydney groans out, pressing a finger between her eyebrows, smoothing out the skin that has begun to wrinkle there.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you guys don’t know her”

“Her? You got a little lady you've been keeping from us Richie?” Tina replies playfully, swatting a towel towards Richie who barely dodges it.

Carmen coughs abruptly at Tina’s comment, in which Richie bites back a grin, before raising an arm up in surrender.

“She’s an old friend of the family, Carmen and her used to be real close in High school. Come to think of it, she was your only friend actually, and was way out of your league” Richie says with a condescending tone, there is a look of thoughtfulness on Richie's face like he's actually thinking about Carmen’s high school experiencing and remembering the clear lack of friends he's had beside you.

The sound of cat calls and oooh’s resounds throughout the kitchen, the crew coddling this small but rare piece of information about Carmen’s past. Carmen wasn’t exactly conversational, whilst he regarded the crew as his flesh and blood that didn’t stop him from keeping a lot of himself and his past hidden. There was always the air of mystery that followed Carmen Berzatto, and it seemed the persona was about to deteriorate as a look of anger flashes across Carmen's face.

“Oh fuck you Cousin, She never even liked you” Carmen replies defensively, before the realisation that you were in town hits him full force.

“How did we not know this, I mean no offence Carm, but you didn’t seem like the type to be..open to friends” Sydney voices, the look of shock not hidden from her voice

“It was different with her, right? I didn't have to- she was- it was just different” Carmen mumbles, the visions of you seem to take over Carmen's mind, like visors, all he can see now is you. The curve of your neck, the smell of Lavender and shea butter from your mothers garden and your lotion. Carmen can almost taste it again, and its reminder has him craving you in a way that was all too dangerous for a man like him.

Especially since you were back in town, maybe not even a block away from him, holy fuck, you were back in town.

“Wait, uh, she’s in town?” Carmen replies, sheepishly, scratching his neck in nervousness that didn't go unnoticed by the crew.

Carmen? Nervous? About a girl? Oh this was good.

“She came down for work, designing a whole piece of Madison Avenue. Think she’s staying for a little while” Richie replies “You should ask her when she comes tomorrow, you guys still talk..right?’

“Yeah uh, ‘course” Carmen mumbles, a feeling of grief washes over him like a wave, and without blinking, without a shudder of a breath you consume him again.

The New York winter was brutal, nothing like the December’s in Chicago, and the thought causes a grumble of cold air to leave Carmen’s mouth. Carmen couldn't help comparing everything in New York to the city he ran from, it was a habit akin to a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

Swarms of yellow cabbed taxis and car’s move through the city streets painfully slow, splashing waves of dirty street snow onto the frosted sidewalk. The rush of strangers wrapped in a decade of layers, the protective wool and fleece wrapping their hands and necks, make their way back to their apartment and homes, eager to feel the warmth of fireplaces and heaters and escape the ice cold snap of the unforgiving winds and falling snow.

Carmen should be making his way home, in fact if he hadn’t stopped abruptly at the scene in front of the open pane window of a shop, he'd had felt the warmth of his century old apartment heater by now. Walking back would be the right thing to do, it would be the sensible thing, but Carmen wasn’t known for his sensibility and recklessness was all he knew. Especially when it comes to you, always when it comes to you.

So Carmen has found himself, stood stationary, looking rather strange in the middle of the street as city goers grumble and step around him, looking into the dimly lit art studio cramped between a Chinese takeout shop and a fabric store.

There you were, crouched in a chair, scribbling on a canvas across a wide workbench, papers and pens scattered messily in front of you. You haven't changed one bit, and maybe it had felt like centuries ago for Carmen when in fact it had only been a couple years but it was as if someone had taken a picture of his memories of you and placed it in front of him.

You were so beautiful, it stole Carmen's breath away, it skipped the rhythmic beat of his heart and caused it to hammer against his chest in that nervous way you’ve always made him feel. Even surrounded by papers and stained coffee mugs and the drag of stress and sleep deprivation weighing on your sunken shoulders you are the most beautiful thing Carmen has ever, and will ever see.

Were you real? Carmen’s feet are stone, like if he steps through the doors, if he moves even an inch you'll slip between his fingers and disappear from his vision again. He has to see you, he has to apologise and tell you everything that has happened, he has to feel your head resting against his shoulder, he needs to fall back into the gentle rhythm you both shared before it was lost to time again.

But before Carmen can move from his spot on the sidewalk, before he can even catch your gaze, he watches, in horror, as a tall haired man walks over, dressed in a brown knitted sweater and slacks that looked simple in the expensive way, and wraps his arms around you before behind.

His heart shatters completely, and he can't stop himself from watching on, you throw your head back with a laugh, hugging him back with a grin as he whispers into the nook of your neck and it's the twist of the knife in his stomach, tearing the entirety of its contents onto the sidewalk, staining the frosted pavement crimson with his innards.

And it was like Carmen was 15 again. Seeing one of his classmates ask you to prom before he could even utter those words, watching the way you danced effortlessly in his hands beneath the gleam of the disco ball above. Your date had two left feet, and Carmen wanted to rip him off of you and replace his skittish dance moves. Carmen wanted to give you what you deserved instead of a football jock who couldn’t make you laugh.

That same childlike feeling of anger and jealousy spreads through him, that was sood replaced with anguish. He had lost you, he had waited too goddamn long and had lost you. What the fuck was he doing? How did he think he could just walk through those doors and stumble into your life again, and somehow fall back into the same familiarity of your friendship like nothing had changed?

Carmen had done stupid things before, but Carmen had felt utterly foolish then. You were mystifying, of course you would be in a relationship, there were probably hundreds of men that threw themselves at you, and it wasn't like you were waiting for him.

The memory of saying goodbye to you was still fresh, he could remember the time when you turned your back to him, and the same way the sun shone through the hallways windows when you turned your neck to meet his gaze for the final time.

He could remember what he had for breakfast, cereal with not enough milk and an apple, he could remember how he had two different pairs of socks on, one itching him throughout the day, he could remember the feeling of the ingrained drawings of your Geography teacher’s sketchbook, he could remember the way you looked at him when he told you to promise him not to say goodbye.

He remembered it all like it was the day he died.

That day had been marked into his body and mind, into his subconscious until it was all that consumed him. Wherever he was, he looked for you, he searched and yearned for you in crowds and lines for coffee, in the driver's seat of cars next to him stood stationary at the traffic lights.

Everytime he closed his eyes all he could see was the way you looked at him like you didn't believe him and it broke something, because it had been true. Carmen had promised to see you again, and he lied, and that late New York evening, it was like Carmen had died a second time.

And just like at 17, Carmen makes peace with watching you on the sidelines, bottling up any feelings he had for you in fear it would ruin everything you both shared. You were his greatest friend, and he couldn't allow himself to be selfish, not when you were you, and he was him. He didn't deserve you, and it didn't matter how hard he yearned for you because you were too good for him.

And it’s that thought that causes him to step away from his spot on the sidewalk, the imprint of his boots marking a spot on the concrete where the fallen snow hadn't touched yet, before it’s soon covered in the white flesh of frost, hiding that he was ever there.

From that moment on, Carmen watches you from afar, the unyielding desire to ensure you were safe at all times consuming him until his protective gaze fell over you like a blanket. He had kept up with your moves, silently cheering you on with each award and recognition you received throughout the years, whilst he himself began to climb the culinary ladder, or knife. He had never let his eyes waver, and then Mickey died and he came running back to Chicago with his things and a broken heart.

“Yeah, you all will meet her tomorrow at the dinner” Richies words cause Carmen to shake himself from his vision, what did he just say?

“You, You did what?” Carmen questions, unable to keep the shrill from his voice as the crew look towards him in confusion.

“Yeah I invited her, it’ll be like a catch up for the fam, she could see all the work I’ve done and see how you haven't changed-”

“Fuck Cousin, you- you should’ve told me before, now i got to make sure everyone has something to eat, and- and i got to add a a second chair” Carmen begins to mumble out, running a hand through his curls stressfully as he began to pace around the kitchen.

“Hey, Carmen relax, we've got room for one more person” Richie chuckles

“Wow, Jeff, just the sound of this girl’s name has got you shitting bricks. I think someones in loveeee” Tina singsongs with a grin, but there was something soft behind her eyes, in fact everyone in the kitchen smiled with a hint of happiness at Carmen's behaviour.

They had thought their Chef was closed off to love, and having felt its strength, each of them in their own ways tried to get Carmen out there, whether it be blind dates or meet cute’s, but it never worked out, and Carmen had always kept that part of life secret from even Richie and Sugar.

It seemed now, that you had been the mysterious woman that had stolen Carmen's heart, and they were giddy with excitement to finally meet the person who had gotten Carmen Berzatto scared shit less.

“Hey Cousin, why don’t you help me unload the rest of the cartons from the truck?” Richie replies, a subtle way of getting Carmen out of the kitchen and into a space that had fewer faces watching his every move.

“Yeah, uh okay” Carmen replies, following Richie to the back of the Bear, resting his back against the brick wall of the alleyway.

There is a silence that stretches between Richie and Carmen at that moment that Richie would usually fill with slanted jokes or rambles. But even Richie knew you were a sensitive topic for Carmen, and he waited patiently for him to approach the topic on both of your minds.

“So, we haven’t spoken in nearly 8 years and she's coming tomorrow to my restaurant” Carmen replies, and Richie nods along.

Carmen shakes his head scoffing, looking up at Richie with a look of fear and embarrassment and elated happiness all in one.

“I don’t know what i’m gonna do Cousin, I- I don’t know what to do with myself with her, fuck what if ruin everything?”

“Hey, hey easy, I was poking fun at you before but you and her, that was something else entirely that the rest of the Family would never come close to understanding. When you were together, it was like, it was like I could see the anxiety and stress physically leave you, you fucking laughed with her Carm, when you weren’t in the mood to even smile, even after everything you’d see her and it was like nothing else mattered, like no one else mattered.

I mean, the whole family was betting on you both running off and getting eloped, you were both in your own bubble, and did not give a shit about anybody else.” Richie chuckles, resting a hand on Carm’s shoulder to stop him from pacing.

Carmen looks up at him with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his canines into his lips

“What if she doesn't want to speak to me?, Ya know, what if she came for- for you and Sugar and-and she doesn't even want to see me” Carmen rambles, fear taking over any sense

“Are you kidding Carmen? You both hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade and she still said yes to coming to the fucking Beef of all places on a Friday. She wants to see you, Carm, you've just been too stupid to see it, you've always been.” Richie replies, shaking Carmen like he was trying to shake the sense into him.

“You know what you have to do now, right?” Richie says, when you've both rested on one of the stools, lighting a cigarette for warmth against the bite of the cold.

“I’ve got to make tomorrow fucking perfect, thats what I’ve got to do. Which is almost impossible for this goddamn place” Carmen groans out, taking a drag from the wrapped tobacco stick.

Richie lets out a laugh, rubbing his stomach as he leans against the brick layered wall.

“Don’t know about that, they just might for her” Richie replies, before getting off of the stool, dusting his jeans and walking towards the pick up truck.

“Where are you going?” Carmen calls out

“You thought I was kidding about these boxes? Chop chop cousin, we gotta get them in before it fucking rains” Richie yells back, letting out a laugh at Carmens loud groan.

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mr-bas00nist · 9 months

Note

chris redfield getting his muscles worshipped and his pecs fucked 🙏🙏

OKAY I KIND OF STRAYED FROM THIS REQUEST WITH A BIT MORE BUT THE BLUEPRINT IS THERE 😭

Pretty Boy

Chris Redfield x Male Reader

Cw: Body worship, mentions of insecurities, chest job, massages, oil and praise. Chris needs someone to treat him like a king tbh

Chris was the hardest working man you’ve ever seen. The things he’s gone through would make anyone want to give up but not him. He was a workaholic, you knew he was distracting himself from his sorrows and pain. All the deaths of his men he’s experienced still breaks his heart to this day. He needed a break, a day to just be treated like he was a god.

It was another one of those nights were Chris comes home late. He slugged himself into the door with a tired look on his face. All he wanted to do was get his gear off and go to bed. He took his boots off as he looked around. You weren’t there. “Honey?” He calls out to you.

He sees you descending down the stairs over to him. “Hey handsome.” You smile gently at Chris as you come from behind him. You begin to take his gear off of him gently. He allows you too with an intrigued smile. “What’s the occasion?” He asks curiously as he’s left in his BSAA shirt and cargo pants.

“Im not allowed to just want to take care of you?” You ask curiously as you look at him. You look deeply in his warm tired eyes. He shrugs, “I don’t understand why you’d want to I guess.” He says with a laugh trying to cover up his insecurity. You shake your head with a sigh. “I have a surprise for you.” You smile as you begin to walk up the stairs hand and hand.

Chris noticed the soft sound of meditation music playing as he looked around. He saw your nightstand with a bunch of different bottles on it. He looks over to you a bit confused as you just hand him a towel. “Go get undressed.” Chris tilted his head but he didn’t argue as he just went in the bathroom to take his clothes off.

He comes back with a towel wrapped around his waist. You motion to the bed as he lays down on the bed face first. He turns his head to look at you as he sees you with oils in your hand. “Why are you doing this sweetheart?” He asks curiously as you look at him. “Because you deserve it,” you ran your hand through his hair. “You work so hard every day. You deserve a break and some love.”

Chris was tense as usual. There were knots everywhere in his body. Neck, back, shoulders, arms, legs and feet. It was obvious Chris hadn’t gotten a massage in years and you were happy to help. The feel of your warm hands tenderly massaging him made his heart jump and his muscles thank him. You were finishing up the massage as he sat up.

He groaned in relief as he stretched freely. He felt like he was a teenager again. You smiled at him as you began putting everything away and back. Chris watched you, still naked with only a towel around his waist. He wanted to repay the favor. “Hey babe?” He spoke looking over to you.

You looked behind yourself looking at him. “Yeah?” You answer curiously. “I want to repay the favor.” He spoke with that sweet smile. You laughed a little as you sat on the bed. “Have you ever even given a massage before?” You joked around with him. He shook his head with a laugh before he looked at you softly. “I mean in a different way.”

He got on his knees infront of you as he began to unbuckle your pants. “Oh….” You spoke with realization. You didn’t protest though. When he took you out you were already semi—hard from the massage you gave him. His groans, whimpers and moans of relief got you going to be honest. With a few pumps you were at full size. He smiles looking up at you as he began to suck on your tip.

You let out a quiet moan as he took it in his mouth. He gently swirled his tongue around giving kitten licks on your slit. You leaned back enjoying his warm mouth happily. He pulled off as he began to stroke you with his large hand. You looked back down at him. “Your so pretty you know that?” You spoke quietly. “I could say the same thing.” He hummed lowly.

You watched as he stroked you and took you in his mouth. You looked down at his body admiring it. Each part of him was gorgeous but your favorite part especially was his chest. Years of muscle build up and a bit of chub did his pecs justice. You pulled his head off your dick for a second leaving him confused. You then motioned to his chest as he laughed a little.

He’s given you a chest job before so he had no problem doing it again. He put his hands on his pecs as he leaned in. You felt his warm flesh envelope you making you let out a groan. He began bobbing up and down with ease due to the massage oil that was still on his body. You grabbed the sheets desperately to not shove his head down. He smiled up at you before leaning down to take you in his mouth.

The added stimulation made a coil in your stomach tighten. “Fuck Chris….” You moaned out as he continued his actions with vigor. After barely a minute you began to twitch, a reaction Chris knew so well. “You close?” He asks pulling away from you with his mouth while still continuing to massage you with his pecs. You nod as he smiles.

“Cum for me.” And with that said you came all over his chest with a groan as your orgasm ripped through your body. You grasped at the sheets trying to ground yourself. Chris slowed down as he gently rode you through your orgasm. He pulled away with a pleased hum at his handiwork. You look down at his chest.

It was covered in cum, your handiwork. He looked down at his own chest with a smirk. “You we’re eager huh?” He asks already knowing the answer.

“How could I resist?” You teased with a smirk.

#dom male reader #dom reader #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x male reader #resident evil x reader

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waxingrunes · 7 months

Text

I’m seeing too much of this across all channels and I need to write a little something on my humble blog with my humble amount of followers, because how else am I going to get this off my chest.

Some of you need to remember that this whole world we created is pure, fiction. It’s based off fiction and we are building off fiction, forking off in different directions with characters we love.

The canon vs fanon debate is ongoing and quite honestly, mind numbingly pointless and you all consistently contradict and overlap one another with whatever discourse you’re riding that week. You lot wanna argue a point by saying, “these are my hc’s and I can do what I like with them stop taking everything so seriously teeheehehehe” then uno reverse that the next minute by screaming, “that would never happen *insert name* is this or is that” but fuck canon right? Fuck JKR? Or is it more, fuck the parts of canon I don’t like and I’ll take the parts I do so I can shove them down the throats of creators who represent these characters in an opposing light. The amount of posts I’ve seen floating around these sites that are people preaching to their audiences about how dumb they are (unless it’s meant to be satire, I’m not a brainless sensitive lump with no humour bone) for liking certain things, or enjoying certain things, or preferring certain aspects in a character is astounding. Take pause before jumping on your high horse over a fictional character and shaming people for moulding them into what they enjoy. Is this not the beauty of fiction, imagination; the ability to twist and turn over different traits and appearances within our palms and make them into our own little dress up dolls?

Here’s my two cents as a WOLFSTAR artist, not a Marauders— if I want to make Sirius into a teacup and Remus into a sea slug and have him curl up to sleep every night in his bowl, then I’ll do that with fine china detail. If I want to make Sirius someone who refuses to wear nothing but a specific shade of tangerine and Velcro strapped trainers, I will. One day I might throw Moony into a boxing ring and have him be a middleweight champion, stained by the blood of his opponent whilst his wolf is chomping at the bit to come out just before the full moon threatens to take centre stage. If I want to make Sirius 6ft tall and Remus 5ft1, I will. Why not draw an AU of them as the rocks from Everything, Everywhere All At Once? Maybe, they can be something as simple as a boy and a boy who look the way you want them to look, fuck the way you want them to fuck and fall in love and fight, and scream, and cry, and make up a million different ways.

Let’s get more specific as the seal’s broken. Why not make Remus plus sized and give him a beard or a dad’s bod at age 23. Or maybe because he’s lighter haired he doesn’t have dark hair like that and only has a smattering of it across the ugliest of his scars. Consider this— moony with softer hips but fuller sturdy shoulders. Or long, slender limbs with a deceptively hidden strength owing to his wolf, stronger than James though he doesn’t look it. Onto Sirius, try to tell me I’m not going to put him in thigh highs and fem the shit out of him whilst he holds a bat in one hand covered in the blood of someone who tried to disrespect his Moons. Alert the press when someone erases every single one of his tattoos only to replace them with hyperpigmentation. What about giving him a beater’s build and a long thick trail of naval hair that he likes to call his ‘seeker’s delight’. What about a hairless Sirius who has a soft life and likes to make herself pretty for her 6ft 4 boyfriend every weekend when he gets on the train to visit.

How about, I stick with my personal holy take on the boys and present you with a harmless middle ground where Moony is whatever the fuck I want him to be physically, emotionally, or characteristically but always a wet fucking cloth for Sirius. A grape, under a thumb, you could say. And a Sirius, who is too whatever I want him to be physically, emotionally, or characteristically but will always be Moony’s biggest cheerleader.

Stay with me whilst I offer you the brain stretching, risky, taboo thought for you to ponder on: stop trying to please people. Stop absorbing all these takes that pressure you into thinking you’ve got to include every fucking thing that shaves you down and boxes you into their squeaky clean little creator! Indulge in what you like. Make it public, make it known and make it as loud as you want. Feels good on this side of freedom.

Lastly, quick (none of this has been quick) circle back to myself being a Wolfstar artist, not a Marauders one. I will not be shamed into drawing the women in this fandom, I will not try to even out my art with equal parts women and men, in fear of being called misogynistic. I came here for Wolfstar and I stay for them; I get 95% of my muse from them and enjoy drawing these idiots nearly every single day when I can. I’ve a busy life, a job, the luxury of a family that love me and a couple friends I’d like to keep too. If and when I draw, it’s going to be what I want to draw and want to indulge in, not to check off your boxes of inclusion. I am not going to defend my choice of indulgence to you. I am not going to refute women or wlw ships and in fact, eat up stories or art where they’re prominent. Will I have muse or will to do a piece on them? Probably not. If I do, I will and if it’s not done to a standard deemed appropriate enough by the council, well shit I hope I get an honourable mention in one of your hate threads on Twitter.

Grow up. I am the type of person who has a more or less rigid taste on these boys and what I, enjoy representing them like and you runts will run your throats hoarse before I turn an ear. I am not the type of person to see someone who doesn’t like what I prefer and start slamming my keyboard and slap them with a red card. I’ll move on but appreciate the take in silence. Some of you really, come across like you’re stomping your feet in a tantrum, some of you sound like you’ve never been told to shut the fuck up a day in your life and some of you, some of you, really think you’re a messiah.

Fuck your canons, fanons and righteous attitudes towards people who are quite literally, not real. You are not a deity of the Marauders, you are a fucking loser offline just like the rest of us.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

SNAIL & THRUSH (II)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER III ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death, thoughts of violence, banter but it’s more just straight up attacks

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Can you—” An aggressive sigh sounds out over the air as your fast-walking form continues on; the earth molding to your shoes. “The area isn’t locked down this far out, Ma’am. Can you just get in the bloody car, please?”

Your eyes stare straight ahead, half-lidded, and could probably melt a sheet of metal if they had to.

Not answering, you continue to walk back into town, ignoring Gaz entirely as he attempts to coax you into the large car he’s driving. The window is down, his accented voice hitting your ears and bouncing off the invisible barrier you had put there to block out his prattle about a mile back.

You utterly refuse to enter the vehicle, even if you were already as tired as a marathon runner. The person driving followed you at a snail’s pace at his wit's end.

Stepping on gravel that crunches under your weight, your fists swing clenched beside you in small clipped arches. If volatile had a picture attached to the definition page, it would be you.

Not only had you figured out Samson Row was dead before you could kill him yourself, but now you had to deal with weapon and drug lords who had it out for you and your mother.

Under your breath, quick worded mumbles are missed over the car’s engine, the slow forward motion of tires that stir the dust and leaves you blinking quickly.

You’d both been at this ever since you’d forced your way out of the garage back on Base and had restrained yourself from making a scene because they had refused to give you your laptop back.

“Protection detail,” your lips curl, thinking over Laswell’s clipped sentences. “Like I want your help after all of this. Just open your home, why don’t you?” Sarcastic flails of your hands leave Gaz groaning and rolling his eyes at the childish scene, a hand going to rub over his neck soothingly. The attempt to bring clarity back to himself only barely works. “Just accept that we can’t keep our own operatives on a leash—but here! Just take the one that forced you into the back of a van and put a revolver to your forehead—God!”

“Are you done out there yet?” Kyle calls, single grip over his hat as he glares out the windshield, no longer wanting to look at you as your teeth bare else he’d get to the end of his rope before he even started climbing. “Bit of a walk back to town, y’know. Not exactly how I’d want to spend my morning, copy?” He mutters the last sentence under his breath.

Don’t want to spend any bloody mornings like this.

“If you tell me one more time to get into the car,” you level as you crush a weed in your way, “I’m sprinting off into the field and making you run after me.”

A long scoff and an exasperated shake of his head later, Gaz is growling an acknowledgment; tapping his fingers over the wheel. Did you not understand the severity of the situation? Hell, it was like you didn’t even care! This was his job, and he took it very seriously. There was no room for fuck-ups.

The car continues to waste gas and slug along, even if the Brit wanted to hop out and drag you into it like the stubborn brat you were acting like.

“How many years overseas?” He asks himself as your form stomps farther away before he presses his foot to the gas lightly and hears the gears squeak. He pulls up beside you moments later, lips tight. “Fuckin’ hell mate. Have a go at this.”

“I can hear you, idiot.” Your voice sounds off, face turning slightly his way. The mid-morning sun was warm, but the breeze from the not-so-far-off Lake Michigan was a welcome feeling as it went over heated skin. “Talk quieter so I don't have to.”

Kyle didn’t understand how you could wear that thick jacket, though. It was slightly chilly, sure, but not that bad out. But he certainly wasn’t going to ask. Not when you were acting like you were going to shank him in the kneecap for breathing in your direction.

“Brilliant.” He spreads his digits from where they curl over the steering wheel, shrugging his shoulders to himself mockingly. “Anything else I should know, Ma’am?”

Drive into a tree, you want to snap, but refrain. Even if seeing the Brit’s eyes go small and jaw go tight was a smirk-inducing sight, what you wanted was silence. A silence that you would probably never get now that your house was being invaded without your say.

At least it’s only him, trying to find light in the situation was your father’s specialty–not yours. Your body forces out a tight breath to calm down. Could you imagine what would have happened if Laswell had forced the one with the dead eyes to watch me? Ghost?

Your body shivers tightly. If Price was at the top of your list of people you feared, Ghost was second. You couldn’t stand to feel those blue orbs lock on you in the rear-view mirror when they’d brought you in. You already had enough ghosts living at the mansion, you didn't need another.

A few seconds later, the car beside you comes to a fast halt with a ruckus of crunching gravel. You hope for a moment the car will turn around and disappear into the background.

“...Y’know what, yeah? I’m solid walking.” The clashing of keys being ripped from an ignition makes you blink in horror, head whipping to the side to watch as the car door is shoved open.

Sergeant Kyle’s tall form greets you as your legs stall, shock coating your lungs.

“The hel–” you stop your sharp tongue. Gritted words fall instead. “And what are you doing?”

Gaz’s body goes to the back of the car, popping open the trunk and throwing out bag after bag as your jaw drops. He grasps one of the largest—a duffel bag—and slings it over his back. Two more are taken in one hand as his muscles writhe, though it looked like the apparent weight doesn't bother him much.

The Brit ignores you, striding past as his long fingers go to his right ear.

“Actual this is Bravo 2-6, I’ll be needing a pickup for a vehicle about a mile down-road. Parked near the edge. You copy?” A pause as you watch him continue on, looking back and forth from the still metal to his clenched fist over the straps of his belongings. A small sound escapes your throat. “No,” Gaz huffs a stiff laugh in response to the conversation you can’t hear. Your ear tips burn. “No, there’s not a damn thing wrong with the bastard, believe it or not.”

“Hey!” Calling loudly, you stare at the figure as it gradually gets farther away, feet spread apart and the air smelling of corroding anger saturated in lake water.

“Affirm, Actual. Will do.” Kyle smoothly utters, taking his hand off his earpiece and fixing the black cord that descends from it so it won’t get in the way of his shirt collar.

Not thinking much of your absent footsteps, the Brit’s head tilts. His ball cap blocks out the sun from his eyes yet they still squint at your practically vibrating silhouette.

“You coming then, Love? Long walk.” Your hands snap to your pockets, the one finding the small coin immediately and bringing it into a tight grip. Suddenly, Gaz’s dark Adam’s Apple was the most offensive sight you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Best get to it, then.”

You can no more say you were fighting off a string of curses more than you were struggling against the rampage of your heart. Kyle just turns back around with a small smirk growing at the apparent slackness of your jaw; brown eyes crinkling. His internal scoreboard marks a point under his name.

Staying stationary for a good minute, stance tight and mind running, Laswell's words come back to encompass your consciousness in between the seething hatred you hold as the two of you become more separated. The price on your head—the threats to your mother’s safety as well as yours.

Your thighs tighten.

For better or for worse, you had to stick close to Kyle for the simple fact that he knew more about this than you did. Trained to be a killer and not hesitant to pull the trigger of a gun for the sake of his precious orders. Even now your eyes snap to the open expanse of the military base’s outer fields; the long grass and the dark ruts in the dirt. Blinking, your tense feet slam the ground as you start forward begrudgingly.

Fine. I’m an adult. I can handle it. But…maybe getting in the car would have been better than walking beside him. Your jaw clenches, not willing to admit that small fact to the man ahead of you.

“Do you get tired of being a piece of work?” You call loudly, catching up quickly at your pace as though the man was hanging back purposely, also knowledgeable of the situation.

He couldn’t just abandon his charge.

Kyle glances at your side profile, quirking a dark brow and sloping his chin. Being this close to him made your nose scrunch at the smell of his cologne, the scent not unpleasant but ultimately still attached to him.

“Actually, Ma’am, I take it as a compliment. Means I’m doing my job.” A pause as he fixes the hold on his gear, grunting. Not able to help himself now that the opportunity presents itself. “Do you?”

Keeping a wide berth between you too, your face tilts to the sky, finding the whizzing forms of water birds and growling like a dog choking on a bullet. The hatred in the air was palpable; none too eager for the job ahead.

My protection detail, you send long glances at Kyle thinking over the title again, studying his strong back and the sharp stab of his nose as it twitches to the scent of native switchgrass seeds. Keeping your studious attention far away from his brown orbs, you peel at the sides of your nails inside your pockets. The person I need protection from is already right beside me. How ironic can my life get?

But you can’t really be surprised, after all, you had expected to see him and the others again someday. Just…not like this. In the ground would have been preferable.

As you both walk in a strangling silence, your thoughts go back to your mother; wondering if she would be okay. The woman was far more stubborn than even you—there were few things that pulled her away from her work in helping others.

Taking one hand to itch at the skin under your left eye, you stifle a yawn.

At most, you’d text each other perhaps once a month. Quick updates and brief conversations about the weather like strangers. You couldn't talk about your nightmares or your father even though she’d been informed about the accusations on her deceased husband.

You didn’t know if the CIA agents had told her the specifics about how he died when they delivered a detailed condolence letter and forced signatures of silence. It would destroy her if they did.

Maybe I’ll call her when I get my phone from my nightstand back home.

You narrow your vision. An urge to hear your mom’s soothing voice hit you like an anvil. She couldn’t make this better, but she’d certainly be able to help.

Gaz’s eyes rove and observe the land, his combat boots leaving prints behind him. But his inspections always lead him back to you. His charge. The phantom from his past that had never really been forgotten just pushed to the side in between missions. The girl who seemed to not give a damn that he was the only person able to keep her alive at this point.

The line on Kyle’s forehead deepens.

Part of him was completely fine with keeping his voice in his throat; listening to the chatter of birds and the clink of his bags’ zippers as he carried the great weight of them with no complaint. Another piece, the loose, reliable, part of him that followed procedure was hesitant to try and articulate how dire this was out loud to you because that wasn’t how this usually went.

The target on your back was no joke, even Laswell knew it. But the soldier carries the burden of detail.

Would she take me seriously if I don’t try to tell her, is the question. The Sergeant makes a noise in the back of his throat.

First impressions are a lock and seal as he was sure you were well aware.

His lips part, half a word formed before the skin gradually falls shut again. Kyle takes a glance at you once more, looking at your wound-tight form and the utter mental exhaustion on your face. Despite his reservations about you, a sliver of regret finds his heart.

You hadn’t asked for any of this, and while you weren’t giving him much slack, his dry sarcastic nature hadn’t helped either. The two of you were just good at making the other go insane, no matter how much time you did or didn’t spend together.

Kyle would never admit it, but it slightly impressed him.

“Should be back in town near o-twelve-hundred.” He clears his throat, trying to lose the bleeding of his stoic words. Make them lighter; airier. Attempt to be cordial. “If we keep this pace, of course. Then I can set up and be out of your hair for a bit.”

Your feet had come to a slow drag-legged stop. Gaz blinks, noticing from the corner of his vision, and does the same—his tightness immediately going to confusion. He looks around the area, though spots nothing out of the ordinary.

Hell, what did I say now?

But he sees your distant gaze with a stilling of his facial features, gaze falling to what you were staring quite hard at.

You blink down at the corpse near the side of the road.

Its small body was covered in dirtied feathers; colors of orange, gray, black, and white speaking through despite the obvious decay. A beak so long it took up larger space than the skull.

Belted Kingfisher.

When an animal dies the eyes are always the first to go—maggots and flies, whatnot. Soft and squishy. You don’t know why, but looking down at that small, dead, bird you longed to know what its eyes had looked like. The color, the intelligent sheen of them. Now only a black eye socket gives its voided opinions like a mute judge.

You’d spotted it quite by accident, just looking over the landscape as the Brit tried to speak to you. A breeze ruffles the feathers that are left over the frail being and you find for the first time in a long while your head is completely silent.

Your muscles loosen.

“...Ma’am?”

Violently flinching, the brief contact to your shoulder is snapped back in an instant, Kyle going to splay the offending hand in a sign of no harm. Dark eyebrows tight. Taking down a full breath, you miss the concern in the Sergeant’s expression, the steady look. There’s a moment when the world holds its air; the animals nearby fall wholly still as the wind carries every unsaid word better than you can annunciate it.

Your stomach rolls at the reminder of his touch, even through layers of clothes. Gaz murmurs a question of which you ignore.

Shoving past him, on your way past his tilted face you growl upwards, “Keep your hands off of me, Garrick.”

You increase your walking speed, trying with all of your might to fight the impending explosion of anger and anxiety. It was like your hands wanted to grip him by his neck, shove him down to the floor and let him know what it felt like to hurt the way you do. For a moment glimpse the life draining from his amber optics.

But any sort of physical pain, or even death, could never amount to knowing what you’d gone through. Not to mention you’d probably get your ass handed to you in mere seconds.

Staring after with wide, creased, eyes, the Brit waits for a moment before he looks down at the small bird carcass you were entranced by moments prior.

His head tilts, lungs filling.

“...Poor bugger.” He frowns and observes the way you quickly walk on with emotion on his lips. Gaz sighs and shakes his head, raising a brow back down at the now-soulless body as the telltale signs of a migraine start to pulse. “Recon I’ll be ending up like you in a bit, Mate.”

He catches up easily, even with the weight of his bags and you have to wonder how anyone thought that this was a good idea.

The devil beside you walks so far removed from normal life that it astounds you, and the rest of the trip is stuck in an uncomfortable silence reserved for those who dislike one another.

Town can’t come soon enough, and you’re stopping at Hector’s Café along the way to your Estate.

“It’s best to go straight back,” you thin your lips and slip into the building, the door creaking behind you as Gaz waits at the entrance. “I need to secure the property ASAP.”

“You’ll get to wreck my home all you want in an hour.” Your backpack was on the main counter, and you walked to it slowly; drawing out the Sergeant's annoyance as much as you could. If you can’t hurt him physically at the moment, mentally was just as good a substitute. “I need my backpack.”

“Oh, you mean the one that left a dent in my skull.”

“Yes. I think I’ll end up keeping it as a family heirloom. Frame it maybe.”

“Ah, Lovely. Glad I can be a part of such a defining moment.” Strap in hand and a sarcastic retort on your breath, a great ruckus sound off from the backroom.

Before you can react your jacket sleeve is being pulled sideways, a form shoving itself in between you and the kitchen door. Your eyes widen, feet stumbling to a stop before adrenaline stabs itself into your heart.

“Son of a bitch!” Rushing out, Hector wields a skillet in one hand—raised halfway above his head with a rabid snarl. “You!” He points it at Kyle, who has a small pistol gripped in his hands; bags haphazardly dropped back near the entrance. Your lips pull to a smirk when the Brit’s ready stance lessens. His wide shoulders lower like a dog’s neck fur. “You think I don’t know a government conspiracy when I see it! I lived in Jersey, motherfucker! What have you done with ‘er?”

“Hector,” you peek over Garrick’s shoulder as the Sergeant spares you a look. “Easy with that, man….Aim for the throat, though, would you?”

The skillet lowers, bright eyes landing on you while yours stick to his growing smile and twitching mustache.

“Kid!” Loud laughs echo. “Holy hell, you scared the shit out ‘o me this morning. What was that all about?”

“Misunderstanding, Sir.” Gaz tries to explain, placing the pistol back into the belt of his pants as you clock it before stepping out from his shadow. It looked like an X12 to you.

When did he get that, your eyebrows tighten and store that thought for later. There might be a chance to use that against him if you could get your hands on it.

The Café owner glares at the Sergeant as you fix the backpack strap over your shoulder. “Did I ask you, Son? I’m speakin’ to the lady.”

“An Ex.” You lie smoothly, feeling Kyle’s shocked eyes on you instantly. Itching at the back of your neck, you feign embarrassment. “Cheated on me in high school. When he showed up, well…I did what I’d wanted to do for a while.”

Letting the sentence trail, you were excited for what came next. Genuine giddiness builds in your lungs; fighting a smile as the Brit stutters beside you. Gaz’s eyebrows pull up even higher.

“Cheated…” Hector’s accent becomes more prominent as you twist on a heel and begin heading to the door—only then do you anchor a hand to your mouth to stop the belly-deep laughter. “Oh, you’ve some nerve, showin’ back up, Son. How dare you make her see your face—!”

“Sir, I, bloody hell, I’m not—” Gaz grumbles, shooting heated glances at your disappearing form. “This isn’t….” Stuttering like a rookie. Everything in VIP Protection Training and his copious years in the army was pulling null.

But no one was ever pulling his strings like you and it’s only been a few hours.

“See you, Hec!”

“Hey! Come get this piece of trash out of my building.” Your face turns sideways, and Kyle notices the smirk immediately. His chest goes heavy with a wave of seething anger.

“C’mon then, Kyle. You heard the man, didn’t you?”

If looks could melt people like gold, you would be a puddle of great Midas's curse before your skin hit the air outside, kicking the Sergeant’s bags away with a foot.

Oh…she’s wicked, she is. The steps he takes are firm, a great cloud over his head as he re-situated his cap with taut fingers and grunts aggressively under his breath. Insulting him directly was one thing, but the chips at his character were cruel. Can I even do this? Hmm, Laswell might still be able to pull me out, let me join back up with the boys.

But everyone was counting on him for this and his stubborn side knew that he’d gone through far worse than a few verbal attacks. Physical strength was needed for this job, but many overlook the larger aspect. And if there was a single thing that Kyle Garrick was prideful about, it was his mental fortitude. Rare were the times that rigorous interrogation even put a dent into his psyche.

“Just hold out,” he grumbles, ignoring the Cafe owner’s now-known disgust and picking up his bags. Gaz almost felt regretful for being so swift to place his body in front of a possible threat but scolded himself for thinking that immediately. This was his job. “She’s just scared, yeah? Doesn’t want to be around the bloke who,” he slightly cringes and lets the building’s front door close behind him, seeing your jacket ahead and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Who shoved her in a fucking van and put a gun to her head…Christ, Kate, what were you thinking assigning me to this?”

For the remainder of the small journey, Gaz stayed behind you, calming down as your enjoyment of his torment swiftly ended. Small victories weren't worth it, especially when the Brit says nothing in retaliation. Did your little dig at his character really insult him that much? It wasn’t the worst thing you had thought you could say. Not by a long shot.

Sure it seemed that you could piss him off, even if he never snapped and exploded with anger—he didn’t seem the type beyond back-handed comments—but if he didn’t respond it made no difference.

You…you wanted to hurt him. Make Garrick suffer. You just didn’t know how to do it effectively, or if you could. Now you knew, though, that attacks on his person and morals were the way to go for quick results of muteness.

The iron gate of your home was up ahead, and with a delving of fingers, you produced a key from your back pocket, moving your wallet out of the way to grasp it firmly.

I want them all to suffer. Your mind wanders as you twist the lock, hearing the metal shriek at you in figurative suffering. Blinking, the shadow behind you causes your body to be hyper-aware. A plan forms grimly, and you have to think if you even have the courage to try it.

“Hm,” you huff, shoving open the gate and calling over your shoulder. “Close it behind you!” Tossing back the key.

Kyle catches it, you know, because of the small thump of material meeting a ready palm. A moment later you’re walking through a path of weeds and overgrown bushes, eyes scanning the hedges blandly. You hear the gate close and a moment later, footsteps.

Gaz twirls the key in between his fingers, trying not to say something about the state of the place. But his brown vision roves from one area to another with muted shock.

Didn’t expect this.

Everything was falling into disrepair, even the gargantuan mansion of white and black coloring which normally would have been a grand sight to anyone with sense. Windows were all shut, the lawn looking more like a forest; the concrete underfoot was layered with dirt and insects—grass bleeding into the cracks.

What should have been a multiple-million-dollar home was looking more like an abandoned lot.

Kyle turns his confused stare to the back of your head, looking down at the key in hand.

“Past its prime, I’ll say that.” He speaks to himself, keeping his manners despite the discourse between the two of you.

It was one thing to bark back and forth like animals, but another to involve the place where one lives. But, your family was well off. There was no reason for it to look like this.

“Any staff I should be aware of, then?” he needs to ask as you ascend the front steps to the double doors. “Gardeners,” Garrick glances quickly at the greenery and coughs, “or, butlers, maids…anything like that”

“Everyone quit because of the publicity.” Your voice is unusually distant, and you push aside a raggedy welcome mat to produce another key. This one is smaller and rustier, belonging to the main entrance. “Shocker, people didn’t like being harassed on their way to work by camera crews and news anchors. Didn’t hire after that.”

Kyle’s feet shift, a strange feeling entering his skin as he blinks at you.

You slip through the doorway first and immediately dart to the side table to the direct right—dropping your backpack dismissively with a quick, yet silent, slam. Heart jumping, your adrenaline spikes.

Normally the small table would be reserved for purses and other small belongings, but before Gaz can come into the mansion you grab the slick body of a penknife and shove it into your sleeve with twitching fingers. Eyes snapping to the corners of the large foyer and looking over the gray walls and navy curtains. Creaking hardwood.

“Nice place you got ‘ere,” Kyle tries to lighten the mood, if not for your stubborn sake than for his. Easier to get the job done if at least one person was willing to engage, and he’s willing to attempt it again. The bags in his hand are carefully placed down.

A hand snaps to your father’s gag and you yell when he rages, body shifting forward feebly before a shadow descends upon you. A swift force keeps you back, and your head snaps upwards.

“Been in the family forever.” You slowly slip the blade out, trading weight from one hip to another and keeping it hidden. “Not really mine, at the end of the day.”

The hand digs into your shoulder, forcing you to stay in your seat as your lips quiver. It’s not delicate, the hold, and when your eyes scrunch in pain, he somewhat lessons it though not enough to stop the sting.

A slight relief at the non-confrontational action lets Gaz force out a chuckle.

“Lots of places like that over in England—you have to wonder how they’re still standing, eh? Solid foundations.” A pause. “Proper interesting pieces of history.”

Never would the image of sepia-colored eyes like those leave you again. Inlaid in brown skin and below dark eyebrows.

You stop fidgeting, all thoughts for a moment stilling. What had he said?

“You—” Stopping yourself, you turn and tilt your head in his direction, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks around the stairs to the second level and the small seating areas. Your voice echoes like it usually does; like a ghost unwilling to go to rest. Kyle closes the door behind him with one hand, only looking at you directly when it’s fully shut.

“What’s that, Love?”

Your feet rearrange over the rug.

“You’re…interested in that kind of stuff?” Kyle sees your hands clench but thinks nothing of it. His curiosity fills his lungs when he becomes familiar with the deadly expression on your face.

The material of his clothes moves as he shrugs, turning his gaze away when he knows it makes you uncomfortable. Gaz wasn’t ignorant—he knew you didn’t like looking people in the eye. As his orbs find the dusty and dim chandelier hanging dangerously above them, he notices your eyes now settle back on him.

“Not overly, but I can say History was one of my best subjects back in Secondary Education—erm,” his lips pull tight, a tiny pinch of a smirk on his face, “high school as you call it.”

You fiddle with the weapon secretly, unblinking vision stuck to Kyle’s feet. His comment made you think about the assignments you still had to complete for college; the papers to write. After all, if you flunked out of all the courses, you’d never be able to take your father's place at the museum. It was your ultimate goal, at the end of the day. Become like him.

The inability to move made your teeth bite down, but common sense won over. You place your hand into your pocket and slip the penknife inside, your other holds itself out loosely.

I have to be smarter than that. Discreet.

But you really wished you could have slid the blade home.

“Key.” Gaz nods, moving over and dropping it into your awaiting clutch before you rip it away and toss it to the side table.

“Ma’am,” the Sergeant’s face twists, but you’re already stalking past him, going off deeper into the house. Brown eyes follow. “I know you don’t want me here,” his voice bounces at the stark emptiness of the mansion, “but the only reason I’m staying is to keep you safe. I’m not expecting you to—”

“East wing is all yours.” You’re halfway up the stairs and still going, feet silently stomping over the various moth-eaten rugs. But the man cannot see your face as he’s left with a line on his forehead and a blunt frown on his lips. So much for your few seconds of compliance. He’d thought he was getting somewhere.

“I’d rather be closer. Encase there’s—” Again, he’s cut off. There’s going to be a lot of that.

“Keep to it after your little exploration. And don’t try anything, my father installed security cameras.” You didn’t give away that you didn’t know how to operate them, but that was beside the point.

Reaching the top, you head to the west and disappear down a hallway. Kyle hears one last comment bounce.

“I leave at eight every morning!” He’s left alone with only faint light and silent walls.

But, with a shake of his head and the grabbing of bags at his feet, he can’t say he’s surprised.

Looking about, Kyle takes in the lack of personality and blandness all around, forgetting for a moment that this home once belonged to a late museum director. He had expected more character—more expression. Certainly more light.

This place was at a stand-still, like time didn’t begin or end in this house and it simply was.

He sighs, nodding. He’d just have to work with it. “East wing. Brilliant.”

His mind still held doubts about this—had ever since Price had given him the order straight from Kate. How can you protect someone that rightly hates your guts? You had more of a chance of tearing him a new one than he did of getting you to cooperate. And that was saying something, considering he was professionally trained in hand-to-hand.

Again, Gaz had to ask himself if he was capable of doing this job. He thinks back to that mission three years ago, expression pulling tight as he jogged up the stairs and took a swift right.

He regretted what had happened, yes, but at the end of the day, it was just another target who had gotten what he deserved. It was what the Sergeant did—got his hands dirty to clean up messes and keep everyone else safe.

Your father couldn’t have been any more of a good influence than a bad one. Gaz had seen the file on him. The countless dead.

He wasn’t a good man, how couldn’t you see that?

“Mate, that was her fuckin’ father.” Growling, that sliver of civilian common sense slithers back in like a rope around his neck when he goes deeper into the house, past various open doors that show meeting rooms, libraries, offices, and art rooms. No bedrooms yet. “Christ, you’re losing it. Man got his bloody head blown off right in front of ‘er.”

When had he become so desensitized to this?

His brown eyes glared at the floor when he realized he couldn’t remember being horrified by anything he had seen in the last few years.

Death was death—didn’t matter how bloody it was, or how drawn out. At the end, all of it was just red.

But he’d never taken a moment to think about how that would be for someone like you. Unused to violence. There was a grand question that Garrick still didn’t know the answer to. Were you a hostage in that little stunt, or were you just leverage?

The Captain knew the answer—leverage. There was never any intention to actually pull the trigger on you. Kyle would have flatly refused if there had been, as would Soap. Ghost was still an enigma, but part of the Sergeant wanted to believe that he didn’t want that either.

Samson Row.

An overwhelming hatred struck the back of his skull as he entered the first room he saw with a bed in it, setting his bags on the covers and pushing his fingers to his nose bride. Eyebrows pull in.

No use getting like this over a dead man. Stay focused.

His fingers had only just begun to toss off the duffel bag from over his back when he first saw it.

His hands paused, body going as still as a stick when he breathed in tightly.

It was a portrait of your family. Picturesque. Mother on the left father on the right, and you—younger, of course—in the middle. Gaz blinks away to study the rest of the room.

It was incredibly large, with chairs and a couch covered by white cloth to imitate oddly-shaped ghosts and the same navy curtains over a wall of nearly all window panes. And yet no personal belongings other than the picture.

Brown eyes filter back, staring long at the small girl with a wide smile; the mother with a hand on her shoulder, and the father looking down at his daughter with a nearly missed look of adoration. Garrick half expected the image to bed down and kiss you on the forehead.

Looking away with a clenched jaw, he huffs.

Wordlessly, the Sergeant once more grabs his belongings and walks out the door.

—

You shook above the bathroom toilet, your breaths a heaving mess of warring instincts. Take down air or let the swirling of your gut cease—the offers were tempting. You’d been in here for most of the day, knees grinding into the tile with the efficiency of a blunt chisel; clothes ruffled as your jacket lay tossed on the floor back in your dark room.

Throwing your empty stomach up.

Struggling to think over the day, you force yourself back from the white porcelain, shuffling on jerking legs to rest your back on the opposite wall.

“He’s in my house. Oh, Dad, one of them is in your house.” Fingers weave through locks and clench tight, hitched words loud in the silence you’d grown to comply with like an old God. Cryptid horrors that stalk the hallways that you see from the corners of your eyes, ghosts that won't leave. “I couldn't do it, why couldn’t I just try?”

The penknife. It would have been instantaneous.

But you knew deep down you’d never even be able to get close.

Sweating and panting, you can almost hear him walking the halls, studying the layout with invasive digits. A parasite. And you’d just let him in.

The price on your head was scary, sure, but there was already a threat in your very home; learning the rooms like he had any right to be here—like he knew the memories that lived in the walls. Holidays were spent in the main living room, meals made as a family in the kitchen as the butlers watched with happy eyes. The man-made pond in the back behind a wall of green trees because your mother loved to watch the birds.

This house was generations of your very bloodline. Stories along every surface. History.

“He can’t be here.” You gasp, curling inward as you try and suck down larger breaths. Trying to calm yourself down with reassurance. “He’ll leave soon. He has too. He will.”

Just wait until Mom gets back, she’ll make them go away. The thought makes air return to your lungs; shaking come to a drawn-out ceasing point. Blinking, you let your hands fall to your lap, body slouching forward. She’ll make it all go away.

When you find the strength to rise, your feet only stumble slightly, propelling you out of the bathroom towards your bare-bones room. A bed, nightstand, dresser, and couch are the only articles of furniture seen outwardly; a fireplace set into the wall with a rug by it. Curtains drawn closed and smelling of charcoal and old linens.

Peeling back paint, you stare heavily at the nightstand’s drawer, seeing the copper handle and thinking. But you shake your head and dispel the thoughts.

The acidic taste in your mouth made you smack your lips, almost enough to make you want to gag again. But as easily as the high of injected panic came, it went with a low of immeasurable depths. Still, though, your fingers twitched with unruly nerves; anxious at every creak in the wood outside the door.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Exiting your room, your socked feet know where to step so the wood doesn’t talk back at you, one hand rubbing up and down your face to bring the aliveness back. You needed coffee. Something with caffeine or an immensely high sugar content to keep the rest of this at bay.

As you turn a corner, your stomach grumbles, sweatpants bunched at your ankles. Food too, you decided.

Walking through the large, arched, entry to the kitchen, you make your way through in complete blackness. You frown, though aren’t surprised you’d spent most of the day inside your room—past the fabric barrier, the hidden French doors to the patio let in the faint light of a dying sun.

Around seven, if you had to guess. The loss of time to you should have been concerning, but you had in fact grown used to it.

Year number one after your father’s death was…really nothing more than a blank slate. But you didn’t want to remember any of that, truth be told.

Stumbling to the fridge, you grip the handle and pull.

“Bit late for supper.” Yelling, you jerk your hand back and whip to the shadow in the entrance.

The light snaps on with a flick of a finger, and the sheepish smile on Gaz’s face leaves vexation perforating the large room.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Do you mind, Garrick?” Your eyes go to his chest, looking away just as quickly when you spot he’d taken off his outer later and was only in the white t-shirt that hugs his physique. The army pants still remained. “What are you even doing down here? I told you to stay on your side.”

“Not really able to do my job from the corner, yeah?” He walks closer, noticing the layer of dust over the gas stove, and raises a brow; wisely knowing not to comment. “Heard you comin’ down, thought I’d make sure everything was solid.”

“I’m fine.” You take out an old carton of milk, nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the interior. Kyle’s eyes narrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now leave.”

You were too tired for this.

Slamming the milk back into the fridge and closing the door, you plan to make the trip back to your room on an empty stomach. Kyle clears his throat, seeing an opportunity presenting itself.

I have to get her to at least tolerate me.

He’d take every occasion he could get.

“How about I have a go at it?” He speaks quickly as you freeze in the entryway, light from the kitchen spilling out into the hall. “Sandwiches?”

Your gaze stays dead ahead, numbly stuck to the paint of the wall as if it was going to move and entrap you. Lips pulling back you feel your heart skip a beat.

Kyle continues, hopeful.

“Can’t say I'm an expert at it, but I spent a good few weeknights fixin’ my own meals on Base.” You can hear him moving behind you, opening the fridge back up, and grabbing the few items you had that weren't expired. Opening cupboards that your father opened. Grabbing pans that your mother made eggs in. “...Ma’am? That alright?”

Your eye flinches minutely, cheek pulling upward in response. Yet the churning in your stomach was volatile, and if you went another hour without food you’d probably be passing out every time you stood up. What harm was there in taking advantage of the man? A meal was a meal, and you’d only had coffee today anyways.

Saying nothing, you take one step backward and pivot.

Gaz watches in shock, not expecting you to take him up on his offer. By the heat in your eyes, he supposed you wished you didn’t.

I didn’t see her at all after she disappeared into her room—not even when I was doing a sweep. The Sergeant had memorized the entire mansion layout in only two hours, going into every room except the one that had been closed tight. Yours.

It wasn’t hard for him, though it was tedious the fourth run of the place. He’d counted every window and every entrance or exit door and had locked every one that led outside.

But he kept re-walking past that closed door; his feet taking him back even as his mind stayed focused.

Gaz’s hand had been poised to knock at one point during that time period but had only stayed stationary before it fell back down to his side. It was best not to push too hard. Inch before the mile.

In the kitchen, he sees you slip onto the island bar stool, always keeping a side-eye on his hands as they dig through sparse ingredients.

Egg sandwich it is, then.

Your voice rasps out, “I don’t remember ‘cook’ being in the detail description.”

“Well, I sure hope it wasn’t.” Kyle chortles. His brown optics spare you a quick dart, seeing your form tense over the marble countertop as he swishes away dirt from the stove; placing a pan on top. You seem subdued…fingers twitch over the handle before his eagerness to earn your favor slowed. Sickly.

Your skin is sunken, eyes blinking fast and snapping back and forth at every sound his body makes as if he’d pounce on you. Keeping an ever-heavy glare to where his pistol was sitting in the clutch of his belt—visible from over his shirt.

The Brit swallows and looks back.

“My job’s just to make sure you live another day, yeah?” The man’s voice lowers and you look to the coffee bar near the abandoned family table. “I’ll be in the background the entire time.” Leaving the chair, you go to it and speak as the sound of cracking eggshells hits your ear like a caving skull.

“I have rules.”

Garrick nods firmly, but you don’t see it as you open a bag of fresh grounds and grab a mug.

“Copy, Ma’am. It’s your house—I’ll follow what I’m told.” He shifts his arms into a crossed position and leans back against the island as the eggs sizzle. You know he wants to say more, and too tired to care to give a retort or interrupt him, you let Gaz continue. “But I’m not willing to let that interfere with my mission. Any order I’m given’ll override what you tell me if it has to, even if it’s dodgy.”

You watch dark liquid fill the coffee pot in a deluge of blackness like a wave of ink, and with that inkiness, the pit in your stomach gets larger.

You could always poison him. Your eyes blink, hearing the slight beep of the machine in front of you as you grip your mug.

Nightshade.

“Well, then,” Kyle looks for plates and finds a stack in a cupboard near the entrance. “What do I need to know, Ma’am?”

Hemlock.

“I don’t like people messing with my things,” you level, filling your cup to the brim as Gaz takes the pan off the heat; putting out the flame. “Stay out of my room and the room next to it if you insist on walking around.”

Choosing the opposite end of the wide island, you put your cup down and sit. A plate with a piece of bread with the yellow and white sight of scrambled eggs is slid into view. Kyle does what’s best and goes as far away from you as possible to eat his fill as well.

The built man stands.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he admits, “I’ll be taking a look around every day, but I doubt anyone would try and break in.”

The fingers which had picked up a small piece of egg paused with it halfway to your mouth.

Castor Bean.

“Why do you say that?”

“The curtains.” You spare a glance at his nose, watching him take a bite out of the bread and act like the answer was obvious. He swallows and you follow the action with a tight throat. “Erm, no offense, Ma’am,” you raise a brow slowly, “but am I safe to assume you never open them? Least, not all the way?”

“What do you think?” You eat your food and take a long sip of your drink, downing half the mug in one go. You really just wanted him to disappear like a bad dream.

Large quantities of Daffodil.

“Less of a chance of anyone else knowing where your room is—would take too long to figure out. Wasting time like that isn’t how foreign cells operate…quick and easy, y’know?... Any others?” Kyle finishes his plate quickly, moving to place it in the sink; not wanting to dwell on the comment.

You take a few bites of your own, wondering silently how he can eat so quickly, and nod.

“If you hear me screaming in the middle of the night, leave me alone.”

The air thickens.

Kyle blanks as you continue eating slowly, taking brief intermissions between bits to sip down more coffee. The tired moments of your sluggish eyes and twitching fingers. You don’t think to explain further, content to hear in those few moments absolutely nothing besides the beating of your own heart.

Rosary Pea. Induces tremors, high heart rate, and burning in the back of the throat. Fatal.

Your mother also liked her plants, though you doubted the fauna in the back garden was still alive. You hadn’t bothered to keep it up after the gardener quit.

“I’m…not following.” Gaz scratches at his chin, face pulled back in confusion, lightly shaking his head. “Screaming?”

“Screaming.” Taking the empty plate, you wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “In the night. I was quite clear.” A devious smirk whittles itself over your flesh like wood. “You’ve heard my scream before, you’ll recognize it. Sound carries.” Dismissively you toss your free hand. “As I said, it’s an old property.”

Gaz tries his best to not engage, but the words he’d been wanting to tell you slither off his tongue after a moment's thought. He had to make you understand. Strain forms again.

His head shakes with a slight parting to his lips. No matter what, every conversation always led back to an argument. “Do you think this is a joke?”

You’re walking back to your seat with the coffee pot in hand, scooping up your mug with the intention of bringing both back to your room.

You don’t answer right away, causing the man to call your name sternly; seriously.

“I hate you. That’s not a joke.” Your words bounce, not at all hollow like the wound in your heart. Violent and utterly true.

You didn’t want this man around—you didn’t want him in your house, you didn’t want him in your city, you didn’t want him living.

Walking off, the suffocating air trails after you as you disappear into the darkness, avoiding the truth.

But this situation is not a joke. Not at all, but you can never say that out loud. Where would your thin bit of control go? The brief moments of pleasure when you make Kyle’s patience and lax nature devolve into annoyance—even anger.

The words follow after you in a deep, aggravated, sigh.

“Yeah, trust me, Love, I’m well aware.”

Cold was a day in hell before you admitted to this boy you were terrified.

But how many more days could you keep that act up? Three? Five? Ten? How long was this even going to go on?

Your mind was scattered, torn between duty and self-preservation. Killing the Sergeant would lead you down a dark path, one you weren't sure you could take by yourself. But was that justice?

Is that what Dad would want? You have to ask yourself as you make your way back to your room in pitch blackness, guided only by the old walls of a home even more dented and destroyed than you were.

But the worst part was that you didn’t even know the answer anymore. And everybody who could help was limited to a stray cat that didn’t like you and a mother who left you here alone during your darkest moments.

The house was filled with ghosts, but you’d never felt more alone.

TAGS:

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luveline · 2 years

Note

Hey! First off, I love how you write and how you write the reader, it’s super comforting reading about how a character can like someone with a personality like mines. So thank you for doing what you do! And if requests are open, I was wondering if you can do something with either Steve or Eddie (whoever you prefer!) where they are dating a reader who gets teary-eyed when they get yelled at? Like they try really hard not to cry but sometimes emotions get the best of them? Please don’t feel pressured to write this if you don’t want to tho! Thank you again for all your hard work, you are very talented! 💜

thanks so much for requesting!! steve shouting at a quick-to-tears reader and comforting her :'( ♡ fem!reader | 0.8k

He doesn't mean to shout at you. Steve had a long day, and it's not an excuse, but his short fuse is shorter still. It's all panic as you reach over the stove top that he just told you was hot. He's standing by the sink about to clean the dishes and has that weird feeling, a premonition of what you're going to do before you do it, and he turns to see your abdomen bending over the stove and he loses it.

"Babe, christ! What are you doing? I just said that was hot!" he yells, surprising himself. "You're gonna burn yourself."

You blink owlishly and flinch back onto your heels away from the stove. Steve's heart pounds in his chest urgently.

"Shit," he says, more scathing than he means to.

You bite the inside of your lip and swallow. Steve can already see it happening, how your eyes have grown glassy in seconds and your hands have started to shake.

"Shit," he says again, softer.

You blink hurriedly and turn your face from his. He can see how hard you're trying to stop yourself from crying, hands wringing, fingers squeezing cruelly.

"I'm sorry," he says.

You wave your hand at him weakly and stare at the light hard.

Steve holds a hand out. You don't move away, so he wraps it around your wrist and stands by your side. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay. I just… I was startled." The word feels clunky in his mouth.

"No, I know. If you didn't I would've burned myself. That would-" You huff as a tear breaks free. "That would be something to cry about. I'm sorry."

Steve feels guilt like tar clogging up his veins, seeping into his capillaries. It's a hot flush.

He's tentative as he wraps his arm around your back, hand spreading wide over your abdomen. It doesn't feel right, any of it, not the yelling or the frosty feeling between you both. He feels like an idiot, and a shithead, and a total jerk.

"I'm really sorry," he says again, sincere and kind of heartbroken to feel your shoulder's frantic rise and fall where it leans into his chest.

"It's fine," you say. He has a hard time believing you with tears slugging down your face.

"I didn't mean to yell." He's going in circles. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I don't mean to cry," you reassure him, voice hushed. More delicate than tissue paper. "I just- you just-"

"Scared you?"

"No, Stevie. You don't scare me." You giggle, semi-delirious. He sags with relief, forehead dropping to your temple.

You twist in his arms. He lets you do exactly what you want to and ends up with his hands behind your head, your own arms curving around his waist.

"You're being too nice to me," he says.

"How'd you figure?"

"Giving me a hug when you should be calling me an asshole." His hand smooths over the back of your shoulders and up the slope of them, fingers massaging into the top. "Please don't cry."

"I don't mean to," you say pointedly, still very much crying. "Was just… overwhelmed."

He winces. "Right. Gotcha."

"Are you mad at me?"

He noses down the side of your face so you can feel his smile on your hot cheek as he says, "No. You should be mad at me, though."

"Maybe in a minute. I'm busy."

Steve laughs and pulls your face away, hands dedicated and devout as they cup your cheeks. He wipes away your tear stains, a horrible twinge of self hatred in his chest. Making you cry sucks. He doesn't ever want to be the reason you're upset.

"Sorry, babe," he says again, trying to decipher how you're feeling and if you've actually forgiven him.

Your softening expression lets him know that he is, though he couldn't guess if it were the crush of your lashes coming together as your eyes crinkle, or maybe the gentle pout to your lips, or even the way your cheeks apple just slightly, like you're close to smiling. Whatever it is, Steve thinks you're beautiful.

"It's fine, Stevie. You can make it up to me."

He springs away from you, ready to scrub the floors with a toothbrush, ready to break his back. "Anything you want."

"Will you hang the sieve back up?" you ask.

Right, the sieve. You'd been trying to hang it up on the rack above the stove. That's why you'd almost burned yourself.

"Yeah," he says, taking it out of your hand sheepishly.

"And then I want a kiss. A good one. Fireworks," you add.

He grins. That's more like it.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

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justfangirlstuffs · 6 months

Note

rain showers from the cozy autumn prompts? either for sea slugs or enthralling you enthralling me? - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

GREY DAYS

Featuring @scarredlove's sea slug boys. <3

Wordcount: 3050

Grey. It dominated the mid-autumn skies, blotting out the sun with thick storm clouds and drizzly rain. You were home alone, hunkered under a thick blanket, still in your pajamas. You’d felt little urgency to get dressed since, according to the weather forecast, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. It wouldn’t be so bad if it hadn’t been like this for the past two days now. The monotony was getting to you.

Going over to your window, you pried the window open. A misting of rain carried on a light breeze was there to greet you. You closed your eyes and called out with your heart, picturing him in your mind’s eye before calling out his name.

“Sun? I’d really like to see you.”

Moon would likely be asleep, and Eclipse was always touch and go. Sun was typically the safest be, especially during the daytime. You waited for a minute or so, staring out into the gloom as raindrops misted across your front. Pretty soon you were starting to shiver from the chill.

You shut the window, leaving it open just a crack before moving towards your bed, intent on burrowing under your blankets until you warm up again. The squeak of sliding wood announced an arrival at your window. Your head whipped around, expecting to see a flourish of bright reds and yellows akin to a summer’s dawn. Instead, you were met with dusky maroons and pale gold across a backdrop of inky black.

“Oh… hey,” you greeted lamely.

Gold eyes surveyed you as Eclipse cocked his head to the side, the frills around his face twitching in what might have been irritation. “I wasn’t aware my company was that big of a disappointment.”

“No, not at all,” you said hurriedly. “I was just…”

You were cut off as Eclipse’s huge hand grasped the top of your head and playfully tousled your hair. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Don’t be so uptight.”

“To be fair, it’s hard to tell you’re joking when you look like you’re about to bite my face off,” you muttered.

Eclipse’s fingers grasped around your jaw and bent down so that his sharp smile was gleaming inches from your face. “I’ll only bite if you ask me to,” he said in a husky whisper that rolled through you with the force of an undertow threatening to pull you under.

His low chuckle made you huff petulantly in the face of his antics. He wanted a reaction, and he got it. So, you wrapped your arms around him and bit into his shoulder. A low hiss sounded next to your ear, not of pain, but of surprise.

“I see someone is feeling spritely today.” Amusement highlighted the otherwise dark tones dancing in your ears like a comforting melody. You gasped as you felt teeth dig into your shoulder, not hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to send a spark of thrill and contentment curling in your gut.

“I thought you said only if I asked,” you murmured teasingly.

“You didn’t need to use words for me to know, Angelfish.” His voice caressed your ear, his mouth ghosting over the sensitive flesh, making your skin heat.

Still, you wanted a reaction and you’d gotten it. You’d take the win. “So, where’s Sun?”

Eclipse drew away enough to meet your gaze. “Sunny sends his regards, but he isn’t feeling well. So I came in his stead.”

Concern pricked at your heart like an icepick. “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be just fine,” Eclipse assured, his hand smoothing down over your hair to fix what he’d mussed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said brightly. “Today’s been… fine.”

Eclipse squinted at you. “Just ‘fine’?”

“Yeah, maybe a little lonely. Bit of cabin fever building up.”

“I can certainly help with that. If you think I make an adequate substitute,” Eclipse remarked wryly.

“I suppose I can suffer your company for a bit,” you returned with a grin.

“Shall I steal you away then?”

“You’re gonna have to catch me first.”

Eclipse’s eyes widened in surprise as you bolted to the door and fled the bedroom. At first, you didn’t think he was following you until you glanced over your shoulder and squeaked out an ‘oh shit’. The slug was surprisingly fast out of the water, and his flowing robes made it look like he was gliding across the floor like it was ice. You scrambled down the stairs three at a time, landing awkwardly but managing to avoid turning an ankle. Even with your efforts, you were barely keeping ahead, turning a corner just in time as Eclipse’s claws swiped for you.

Your downfall came when you fled to the living room, your foot sliding out from underneath you when you stepped on a pile of magazines your cousin had left lying on the floor. A yelp of surprise left you, but before you crashed into the wall, a pair of hands caught you, one cradling your head while the other was secured around your waist. Chest puffing, you stared up at Eclipse whose face was pinched up with concern.

“Thanks for that,” you mumbled.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he murmured, and you were helplessly lowered down onto the carpeted floor. “I’m still debating what to do with you, now that I’ve caught you.”

The words sent a shiver of delight rolling up your spine, causing you to squirm beneath him. In a single motion, Eclipse pinned both wrists above your head, securing them with a single hand while the other tapped a finger against your cheek. Your heart, already accelerated from the chase, went in twofold from the action. You struggled, more experimental than an actual bid for escape, your body pushing and pressing against the constraints that were his body and his hands. The motion seemed to excite him, and you couldn’t help but grin. Eclipse may be the ‘big’ brother, but he was still the baby. He liked having attention just as much as Sun and Moon, even if he was sometimes brusque about it.

“I’m still up for you stealing me away,” you said. Not that you were bothered by the positioning, but the floor was starting to become just a touch uncomfortable.

Eclipse seemed to sense this, as he relinquished pinning you in favor of scooping you up off the floor. “Let’s be off then.”

“Wait, I should probably change,” you suggested.

“There’s a change of clothes waiting for you there,” he told you. “From your last visit.”

“Oh, I was wondering where those went…”

Eclipse kissed your forehead, and you were quick to slide into unconsciousness. When you next awoke, you were in their sea cave, their home. Eclipse said it was a way to expedite travel but… you wondered if it was because they wanted to keep the location of their home a secret, even from you. Which… fair. Everyone was entitled to have a secret or two.

However, it wasn’t Eclipse whom you awoke to, but surprisingly Moon instead who had curled around you a cradled you in the folds of his cloak while you slept. “Hello, sea star,” he greeted with a wide grin.

“Ah, I got ditched,” you said with a mock sigh. “Tell Eclipse my heart is broken beyond repair, and I shant ever recover.”

Moon snickered. “He said he was sorry, but he wanted to look after Sun.”

“Is Sun going to be alright?” you asked.

“Just a stomach ache. Ate something he shouldn’t have. I’d take you to see him but he gets extra cranky on rainy days.”

“And he won’t get cranky knowing you’re hogging me to yourself tonight?”

“He’ll live.”

The cave had been strung with lanterns that glowed a soft sepia, and a woodfire housed in a circle of stones crackled merrily, providing warmth against the otherwise wet and chilly weather.

“Did you do all this?” you asked Moon in surprise.

“Most of it,” he said with a shy smile. “The others helped some.”

You sidled up to the fire to help dry you off. You were always soaking wet whenever they brought you to their home, so you at least suspected that they took you underwater through the ocean to get there.

“Moon, when you bring me here how do you… I mean how do I…” You paused, trying to figure out how to word your question.

He seemed to figure out what you were gunning for. “Breath spell,” he said simply. “Allows humans to breathe underwater for a time.”

“Wow, that’s incredible and super useful,” you murmured.

It didn’t escape your notice that Moon was keeping a respectful distance from the fire. Probably afraid of drying out or his robes catching aflame. Moon once told you that it was their robes that allowed them to come and go from the sea, and should anything happen to them, they would be stuck on land forever, cut off from the sea, from their home. Thus, they safeguarded them and hardly ever took them off.

Once you were mostly dry and your clothes only slightly damp, you shuffled over to Moon who had been fidgeting restlessly as he waited for you. He happily invited you into his space, pulling you back into the crook of his lap.

“Missed you,” he murmured, nuzzling your ear.

“Missed you too, Moonie.” You bit your lip when you felt his teeth gently bite and nibble along your neck, occasionally pressing a gentle kiss over the skin.

“The sea salt tastes so good when it’s on you,” he purred.

“You always were the biter out of the three,” you remarked with a soft chuckle.

Back when they were just little slugs living in your aquarium, you used to stick your hand in the water and wait for them to swim close enough to touch. Moon was almost always the first to approach, and he would weave himself between your fingers and nibble on the tips. You found rubbing a spot just under his ‘chin’ caused him to lazily spin, allowing you to run your finger along the length of his body.

“You never seemed to mind,” Moon murmured, nuzzling against your neck.

“I didn’t,” you answered honestly.

With a mischievous grin, Moon took one of your hands and brought it towards his mouth. Your cheeks heated and your heart skipped when he took one of your fingers into his mouth and softly bit. It was a little unnerving, having your fingers in between teeth that looked like they could serrate through a cinder block. However, you trusted that Moon wouldn’t do something so vicious as to bite off your fingers. He was always sweet and gentle, even if he had a bit of an impish streak.

“I’d like to go swimming with you sometime.” The statement was more a request than anything.

“Mm, sounds like fun,” Moon chuckled. “I can chase you through the seaweed beds and kelps forests.”

“Not sure how much of a chase it’ll be considering you boys can easily outswim me,” you remarked with a laugh. “But yeah, I’d love that.” You reached under his chin and gave it a soft scritch.

Moon’s eyes dilated and he let loose a rumbling purr, flipping onto his back with you on top. You squeaked in surprise and he grinned up at you. “Do that again.”

—

At some point, during your cuddles with Moon, you passed out again. You hadn’t meant to, but whenever he started humming at doing his light show, you couldn’t help it. Considering you had a touch of insomnia the night before, the added sleep was nice and left you feeling more refreshed. Even though you didn’t hear the rain anymore, the low rumblings of thunder still reached your ears. Opening your eyes, you found that once more your partners had changed during your time in snoozeville.

“Did you have a nice nap?” a warm voice asked.

You lifted your head to find you’d been making a pillow of Sun’s lap. His long fingers were stroking through your hair, threatening to lull you back into a dozing state. The fire Moon built had burned down, leaving only smoldering embers desperate to hang on and stay alight. Judging by how dark the sky was, it was nearing the evening time. Just before Sun was usually due to start winding down in his activities.

“How are you?” you asked, your concern resurfacing. “They told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m doing better,” he said softly. Though looking at him, he definitely seemed off. His colors were far less lustrous than usual, and his eyes typically gleamed so brightly were dim. But he smiled that sweet smile at you. “Besides, I couldn’t let those brutes have you all to themselves. Do you like your gift, by the way?”

“My…” The question trailed off when you noticed that something dangled from your wrist that wasn’t there before. You stared in amazement as you found a chain of sea shells, pearls, and a sea star glimmering around your wrist, threaded by an elastic band.

“Did you make this?” you asked in astonishment.

“Yes,” Sun said proudly. “It took me a bit, but each piece of that is from a willing donor.”

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said, trying to find better words but failing miserably. “I love it.”

“I’m glad… and I’m sorry,” Sun murmured. “I wanted to see you. I just… didn’t want you to see me so…” He hummed, absently brushing a hand over the array of appendages surrounding his face. “I’m supposed to be your Sun. Your little ray of happiness, even when things are at their darkest.”

“Sun…” You reached out a hand but stopped. You grabbed your water bottle, spraying the water over your hands to clean them. “May I touch you?”

A faint smile passed over Sun’s mouth as he reached his hands out your clasp yours. “My precious pearl is so very thoughtful.”

You gently squeeze his long fingers. “It’s okay to have an off day. I have them all the time. You’ve helped me through a lot of them. So, I’ll gladly help you through yours.”

Sun effortlessly pulled you into his lap, enveloping you in soft folds of butter yellow and cherry red. He took one of your hands and brought them to one of his rays. “You can feel them… if you like.”

You carefully brushed your fingers over the delicate appendage, and it twitched against your touch. The texture was incredibly sleek and smooth and the more attention you gave it, you could hear a rumbling purr building within Sun’s chest. His large hands combed over your hair, rubbed over your back and brushed over the exposed skin of your arms and legs.

The explorative touches made you smile, once more thinking about Sun’s tank days. You had learned fairly quickly that you had to let Sun come to you, to let him be touched how he wanted. Then, once he felt like he was dominating the situation, he wouldn’t stop brushing and nuzzling your hand until you pulled it out of the tank and he would wriggle in his sluggy form of an indignant pout. Not a whole lot has changed on that front, but lately, Sun was getting better about letting you touch him. So long as your hands were clean first and you gave him fair warning. As for him, well… you basically gave him permission to touch as much as he pleased, so long as he was willing to back off when you became uncomfortable.

You shivered when his cool fingers snuck beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing over the curve of your stomach and the arch of your back. “You’re so warm,” he mrumured, his purrs thrumming through your body. You were turning into putty between his fingers as they fondled and caressed you in their gentle exploration. His hand splayed over the bare skin of your back as he hugged you flush against him. Your heart knocked loudly in your ribcage as you felt like you might disappear amongst the swaths of color that surrounded you.

“S-Sun…” You bit back a groan as his fingers gently pressed into your taut back muscles. As much as you wanted him to do it again, you weren’t quite ready for him to go any farther. “That’s a bit much.”

Sun hummed his disappointment, but his hands slipped out from beneath your shirt. “Apologies,” he said, keeping his hands busy by cradling your face. “I got a bit enthusiastic there.”

“I love your enthusiasm,” you told him, smiling in reassurance. Leaning up, you gave him a soft peck on his cheek.

The rays around his face twitched and almost seemed to curl towards you. Those eyes, they were gleaming again. So bright and endless, like the sea. You could swim in those eyes. Or drown in them. Titling your head back, Sun pressed his lips to yours. His usual eagerness was absent, instead chose to slowly savor your kiss. It wasn’t long before you felt that drunken giddiness and your hands grasped at the air, only for Sun to catch your hand in his and hold fast to you, keeping you from sinking too far too fast.

Your whole world tilted, and when your mouth was at last relinquished, you found Sun lying back on the sand with you lying atop his chest. “I’m tired,” he murmured.

“That’s okay,” you said, relaxing against him. “I’ll stay if you want.”

His fingers raked through your hair before rubbing lazy circles over your back. “I’d like that very much, pearl.”

The two of you lay there, just soaking up each other’s presence. Occasionally Sun would say something, and you would answer, but you knew it was just him trying to keep you entertained when he didn’t need to. You didn’t mind at all when he dozed off, trapping you in the folds of his arms in the process. So much for that change of clothes.

As you lay there, you started to sing the ‘rain, rain, go away song’. Sun’s arms hugged you closer, a content sigh humming through him and through you, eliciting visions of sunlight rippling through water. Reminding you both that no matter how grey the days were, the sun would shine again.

#fnaf sundrop #fnaf moondrop #sun x y/n #sun x reader #moon x y/n #moon x reader #eclipse x y/n #eclipse x reader #sea slug au #justfangirlwritings #cw biting #cw suggestive

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