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bowieandqueen11 · 10 months

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Honeymooning With Steven Grant Would Include...

I’m so so sorry to the lovely anon who requested this - I tried to copy this into my drafts and accidentally deleted half of it :( I remember it being for honeymoon headcanons, so I hope this is alright love!

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @marc-spectorr.)

Warning: nothing too explicit, but NSFW so 18+ please!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Do you have any idea?? How soft I am for this?? I am so soft I am YEARNING you have made me yearn god I love this concept so much

I feel like the two of you would go somewhere sunny: perhaps a couple of weeks in Egypt, staying in a nice resort by the Red Sea, since Steven is so fed up of the dreary London weather. Just a really nice spot, where the two of you can hire out a boat for the day, and he can sit holding you at the back and feed you strawberries. If he’s not too busy trying to taunt you with the fruit, or giggling like bursts of sunlight as you nip at his fingers, he’s leaning awkwardly over your head to give you a sweet upside down kiss. His lips are so plump, so tender as his top lip latches onto your bottom one, that for a moment the two of you are lost in a sweet abyss where the only thing that exists is the tart tang of each other’s mouths. Or, the poor man is holding onto your biceps for dear life, only being drawn away from your lips by the feel of the boat rocking wildly from side to side.

As twilight began to flood in, flitting past your eyes like a gliding moth chasing the last drop of the honey sun with its velvet tail, you and Steven perch up from where you’re entangled on the chaise longue. Underneath the silver flecks of the waves, a few hawksbill turtles languidly glider underneath the navy froth. Steven’s eyes immediately light up, seeming to glow like shining jewels against the strung lights hanging from the masts. ‘Turtles’, he whispers and points towards the water, turning to look at you as if he’d just seen true magic. You grip onto his finger and place his palm flatly against yours, doing your best not to laugh when he squeals and buries his head deeply into your neck. ‘Yes love’, you caress your free hand through his stubborn curls, ‘those are definitely turtles.’

He nearly loses his mind when a dolphin appears above the crest of the water line. He has to lie down for a little bit against your chest, panting like crazy and his heart racing a mile per minute because even though it’s day one, he’s becoming a bit overwhelmed by all of this bless him. You just snuggle down around him, rubbing your nose against the shell of his ear and whispering sweet nothings until he finally calms down. He looks so calm, so peaceful, with his pursed lips rising and falling in time with his chest, that you’re not too surprised when he begins to snore a few minutes later.

He makes you leave the hotel room before dinner for a couple of minutes while he gets dressed. With an ear pressed up against the door, you ignore the weird looks you’re getting from the elderly vacationers heading down to the dining hall as you listen to the thud of Steven falling across the floor. He seems to be... jumping, probably trying to pull his trousers up quickly, which is followed by the sound of a hanger crashing onto the floor and a squeaky ‘oh, bollocks!’. You’re pressing a finger to your lips to stop yourself erupting when he finally unlatches the door, but it immediately drops down to your side when you take him in. He’s wearing his best polka dot yellow tie and sheepish smile, gazing down in terror at his feet and back up at you. He’s got a squashed box of chocolates in one hand, and a rather pressed bouquet of roses in the other; it almost takes your breath away, since he looks almost identical to the way he arrived at your doorstep for your first date. Even though you’re married now, his arm is still shaking as he offers it to you, and he still sighs a breath of relief when you loop your own through enthusiastically.

‘I’d been dreaming of this moment ever since I first put eyes on you, you know that love?’ He manages to say between shaking words as he leans you downstairs. ‘Every night. All I could blooming think about was how lucky I would be if I could hold your hand every night. You might as well pinch me right now, ‘cause I must be blinking dreaming.’

You spend a lot of your honeymoon down by the sandy strips, sharing a sun lounger and lying together underneath the warm shelter of a beach umbrella. He would read to you, his lips brushing against the tip of each with the pronunciation of each word: hot, tingly, the inside of his lip dragging against your earlobe from time to time. Eventually, when he noticed you were starting to fall asleep from where you were tucked up around his arm, he would become like a big child. He would teasingly shove you with his shoulder with a booming ‘tag, you’re it!’, before giggling as heartily as birdsong and running off across the sand. You finally manage to rugby tackle him down after a solid ten minutes of him skiting around the place, and he looks up at you as if you hung every swinging star in the sky as you hold him in place. Your legs are firm against the taut muscle of his calves, your hands pinning his trembling wrists above his head, and his breath is shaky as you press your weight against his lower abdomen, your bottom resting firmly against his groin.

He feels he’s about to pass out as you let go of his left wrist to run your fingers gingerly across the stubble of his jaw, before cupping his chin to hold in in place. He squirms beneath you, beginning to mewl as you lean down to kiss him. You’re quickly thrown to the side before lips can meet, though, as Steven manages to get you turned and shelters you from the massive wave that comes breaking onto the shore. When he looks down at you, sea water dripping down his wet hair and onto your nose with the most disappointed face in the world, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in laughter.

This man is the BIGGEST softie in the world oml. You come wandering out of the bathroom that night, not expecting to see Steven biting his bottom lip and jutting his chin out. He’s muttering nervously to himself, a quiet ‘oh dear, oh dearie me’ busting out of him as he squats down and runs back and forth across the floorboards like a terrified little crab. He’s grabbing at rose petals he tried to shower across the floor, not realising the cool night breeze would burst in through the French doors and steal them away. When he notices you from the corner of his eye, he quickly straightens up, hiding the woven basket behind his back. He pretends he doesn’t know what’s going on as you walk over to him, but when you drop your towel and grab the back of his head to bring him down for a fervent kiss, the basket is quickly dropped to the floor and the jig is up.

Bro.. bro... oh my god, the body worship this man is hellbent on showing you is beyond crazy on your honeymoon. Like, dear lord, turn it up by a hundred and you might get a little closer to understanding how this emotionally vulnerable, touch starved, drowning in love man might be. I mean, Steven’s always been a giver if you know what I mean, but this is just next level. He’s so nervous though the sweetie pie, that you decide to help him out by loosening his tie. He’s nearly drooling on the floor by the time you throw it off of him, standing there like putty in your hand and just watching with lovesick eyes as you undress him. When his mind finally registers the almost inaudible pop of his shirt buttons though, he’s full on racked by whole body shivers as your palms glide the material apart from his chest. His firm pecs tighten against the feel of your bare skin against his, and behind the breathless inhale he swears he could die quite happily right now as long as you just don’t stop.

When he finally can’t take it anymore, it’s your turn to groan as he grabs onto the back of your thighs and shoves you backwards, pulling your bottom until it’s resting at the edge of the mattress. He slots his frame between your legs, knees coming down onto the floor as he buries himself between your soft flesh in ineffable bliss. Your thighs tighten around his head, and he breathes against your inner thighs as he kisses a path up them, gripping tenderly onto the back of your leg. When a little bit of extra oomph seems to overcome him, and his teeth nips across your panty line as they try to pull the seam of your underwear down, he immediately starts cooing and pressing a delicate brush of his nose against the mark, as if in apology.

Although he’s far better around you, some nights Steven still doesn’t sleep very well. You do your best to wake him up gently on these days, unlatching him from where his legs have tumbled onto yours during the night to start the kettle going. The smell of peppermint tea always perks him straight out of his dreams, and so he curls the duvet around his head like a hedgehog diving into the soft mound of a giant marshmallow as he goes looking for you. His feet slog around the room until he reaches the kitchenette, and he feels his heart begin to fizzle and pound as if a thousand scarabs were flitting around trying to escape the mortal walls when he spots you bopping around to the static hum of the radio. He immediately scares the pants off you by wrapping his arms around your waist, joining in your dance by swaying your hips side to side in time with his own. He’s impossibly close, his warm breath tingling against your neck as he kisses you. Suddenly, you’re enveloped by darkness, realising Steven’s taking the opportunity to assimilate you into the duvet fortress as well, so he can lean down and kiss every inch of exposed skin on your face and neck as he can, with a billion rushed pecks. You finally manage to push him off by pressing your hand against his mouth, and he relents to go get some tea.

The two of you sit knee to knee, criss crossed on top of the unmade bed. ‘We’re married’, he suddenly says, sitting bolt upright as if he’d been shocked between sips from his cup. ‘Yes, Steven’, you reply as he turns to look at you with a smile of pure wonderment, ‘I remember. I was there too.’

‘But it wasn’t a dream. That actually happened. You married me. This isn’t a joke, is it?’

‘It’s not a joke, Steven. I love you’, you state plainly, grabbing onto the back of his hand.

You can see the tears begin to gather behind his bloodshot eyes, his bottom lip blubbering out as his fingers turn to grip, almost painfully, the ends of your own. ‘I love you more than everything in the universe, Y/n.’

I mean, it’s Steven Grant so you 100% go sightseeing around the place! He so delicately holds your hand on the bus, nearly vibrating out of his seat he’s so excited. He even manages to ignore the side-eyes of fellow passengers as you pass by a really exciting historic site, Steven’s shoulder butting against your own as he points out to everything through the window. He hunches over your side until he’s nearly fully leaning onto you as he begins to rush out a boatload of facts he’s learnt from his books back at home. By the end of the night he’s so exhausted he’s fully lying across both the seats, legs planted in the aisle and his head blissfully cradled in your lap. His content smile is literally beauty incarnate, and you can’t help but disturb him from his sleep by kissing the tip of his nose. He replies by latching onto your top lip when you go to pull away, pressing his tongue tiredly against your own before flopping back against your knee as if he’d just won the lottery.

Steven definitely makes you take silly photographs in front of everything you go to see: the picture he took of you jumping in front of the pyramids past Cairo end up pinned on the wall next to his fish tank. After he kisses you goodbye in the mornings before work, it’s become part of his routine to also press a kiss against your cheek in the picture <3

Although he did manage to come round one of the market stalls holding a stray cat in his arms. With pleading eyes, he sounded like he was about to burst out crying as he looked at you, sniffling.

‘Can we keep him?’

‘Steven, how are we supposed to smuggle a cat back in our suitcase??’

‘He can have my plane seat instead, I don’t mind :(’

He tugs you down back alleys during your last few days in Egypt, running down cobblestoned streets hand in hand, flying across the dusty ground like loose kites free in the breeze. He’s on the hunt for a second hand bookstore: one he gets lost in almost immediately. You finally manage to find him hunched over by a knobbly looking bookshelf in a dusty side crevice near the back of the small shop. You have to literally hitch yourself over a pile of pretty worn, ancient looking encyclopaedias, shimmy past a dusty looking globe, and brush through a gap between two lined oaken bookshelves before you spot him. He doesn’t realise you’re behind him until your arms are squeezing around his soft belly, and you’re kissing the bunched material between his shoulder blades. His hand comes up to squeeze your fingers as he gives you a loving, slightly embarrasssed ‘oh! Hello love! Fancy seeing you here!’

He becomes even more shocked when, after you’ve finished resting your nose against his back and just breathing him in for a moment, you spin him round to face you. His eyes widen as he drops the book he was looking at onto his feet, but the confusion is quickly replaced by his features melting into one of intoxication as you press a lingering kiss against the side of his mouth. His eyes are blinking slowly, trying to shut as he crumples against your chest, his elbow knocking backwards and nearly knocking over a few piles of books domino style.

He literally tells you he loves you at least ten times a day. It just blurts out of him, as if he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get to say it. Baby. Baby boy. He deserves this forever love, and has wished for nothing more since the two of you first met.

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant headcanons #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight headcanons #marvel #marvel imagine #oscar isaac #x reader

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desb3ar · 5 months

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Night Terrors

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Summary: You had a nightmare.

Warning: Chasing, animalistic actions, dark themes

Word count: 800+ (Short)

Your legs were on fire, pushing against the hard ground with overpowering adrenaline fueling your vessel. Your mind screamed madly at you to not let your taunting exhaustion prevail. There was a barreling threat on your shortening trail, hungry and desperate. The mindless monster seeks salvation through you, tasting whatever you have in store within the confines of your warm, sweaty skin. Your mouth ran dry when you heard the grunts and callouts, begging you to escape from your goal of finally getting away from him. You didn’t give in to his harrowing pleas, your instinct wouldn’t allow it.

Caught in his web and getting out every time, it was a repetitive hell that made surrendering seem like heaven. You told yourself, what was the point? Why even try? It felt like an endless, hellish game of cat and mouse and you got trapped no matter how careful you were to not trip, slip, fall, and fumble. Still, he didn’t catch you. You were far too slippery for him.

What could be done? His heightened senses laughed at you trying to hide from him. He could sniff you out in seconds, he could see you in the dark corners that had lied about the promised safety it would provide. He could hear the trembling breath you tried to quiet down, making catching your breath merely a death sentence. Before your lungs could replenish the sweet air back into its longing cavities, you were instantly caught. His face of pure malice and twisted intent shows up in mere seconds once you’ve recovered. Nothing worked, everything was against you. Everything.

You ran down to the empty streets of the underground, your legs begging for rest as you seek restlessly for refuge. Looking around as you moved with haste. Your eyes darted anywhere that could at least postpone your death. Keeping yourself together and yet you began to think that running for this long seemed to be useless knowing your end was inevitable. He will catch you.

Your legs, mind, arms, and whole being were riddled with hopelessness. There was nothing you could do against him. Your web shooters had nothing else to provide after you made an attempt to trap him instead, only for him to slash through the material like butter and run to you like nothing you’ve seen before. He was an animal, a carnivore neglected, trapped in a cage that finally was freed from the bars of the enclosure it had remained. Ribs showed through the skin, eyes wide with need for food, all things blurred in its vicinity, nothing wasn’t a victim to its terror it rained upon the poor people it encountered or sniffed out.

Your eyes threatened to spill more tears, blurring your vision as you, like you were a small-minded character only capable of performing horror movie cliches, made your way down an alleyway. Your last resort. You didn’t know why you tried. These horrifying moments end the same way, no matter how much you tried to counter it. You were in a dim corner, right beside rotting garbage, you felt your stomach turn at the odor. However, that didn’t grant a huge effect like the beety red eyes did when they locked onto you like he already knew exactly where you were. It only just now clicked with you that he had an AI. Telling him every detail he needed to know to secure his prize.

This meant that everything you did was pointless.

Your doom was sealed as he came down with such haste that you didn’t even have time to scream. Not here.

“...”

“... (Y/N)...”

“(Y/N)...!”

“(Y/N)!!!”

You were shaken awake. You heard the sounds of Miguel’s voice, it sounded like he was struggling, and you felt his hands try to hold you still, pressing hard on your shoulders with a tight grip. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, from the scratchiness of your throat, you’ve been doing so for ages.

"Baby! Open your eyes!" He pleaed. Just like in the dream.

You opened your eyes, greeted by Miguel’s gentle expression that was filled with fear and overbearing concern. Your yelling ceased, chest going up and down. You felt he had his body weight pressed down on your legs, his solution to keep your legs from flailing around, as if you were trying to run from your unforgiving mind. His worried eyes darted at your face which was drenched in sweat and tears. You had finally calmed down enough to utter his name.

“(Y/N)...” He melted, arms wrapping around you, holding you close like you had almost died.

He had been awake the entire time you had your dream, the sounds of distress bleeding past your lips stifled him awake. The way your calm body had progressively gotten restless genuinely scared him stiff.

You looked at him, unable to make sense of the sudden contrast of how he was in your dream and how he was now.

Miguel O’Hara, your love, your partner you’d fight demons for, had torn into you in your dreams. How he’s comforting you. Nothing made sense to you.

Why? -

Aaaaa. You didn't see that coming, did you? Well, surprise! That was something I've been wanting to write about for... A literal second. I'm in class rn as of typing this lol. Some horror for the holidays. Bound to get you in the spirit! ;D

I HOPE YOU LIKED THE READ!!

i'll try and make some art of this when I got time <33

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o hara

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h8ani · 7 months

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hi baby!!! this is for ur current event!!! ^^

i would like request numbers 38 and 41 in a childhood bestfriends to lovers (?) au with mitsuya from tr! <3

Nightmares

Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x Reader

Anime: Tokyo Revengers

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: f!reader, reader has nightmares, takashi is sickeningly sweet in this

Hehehehe I finally finished this, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🥹🥹 Feel free to request more!

Prompt List

You thought you had this under control, you really did, but the sweat on your palms and the way your breathing is staggered says otherwise. You’re usually able to calm yourself down and get back to sleep in an okay state, but you just couldn’t stop shaking, your heart was beating out of your chest and nothing you did could calm the static you felt in your body. Everything was tingly, it felt uncomfortable being in your bed, you felt uncomfortable being in your room, the nightmare that stays raging through your mind caused your cozy dimly lit room to form the terrors.

You didn’t want to resort to this but your body and feet willed you up and out of your bed. Fingers frantically turning your lights on causing your once dark room to be bright once again. The heartbeat that was once thumping in your ears had subsided, you could feel yourself calm down, though the shakiness in your body never settled. You stepped out of your room and walked to the opposite end of the apartment, feet shuffling quickly as the darkness in the apartment consumed you and you found yourself slipping in your roommate's room and closing the door faster than you meant to. The door shuts loudly and you mentally curse yourself and can only hope that you didn’t wake him up. You’re grateful his door was cracked open, it always is but you can only imagine how much louder you would’ve been if you had to open his door as well. You turn slowly, seeing his led lights glowing around his room brings a comfortable aura around you that the sigh that escapes you couldn’t be helped. You see Mitsuya sleeping peacefully, his head turned against his pillow and blankets covering most of his chest, you can’t help but feel bad for coming in unannounced now.

Mitsuya Takashi was your roommate for about two years now, though you’ve known him since you can remember. He was probably your closest friend thinking back on it, both of your mothers were childhood friends and they always laughed and said they’d do everything together. They went to the same school, had the same classes and coincidentally they got pregnant at the same time. You and Mitsuya were side by side all throughout life and even school, he even walked you back home before heading back to school to do his extracurricular activities. Once you both decided it was time to move out of your respective homes you both got a place together, you two have in simple terms been through everything together - although you’ve never had to wake him up in the middle of the night before.

You find yourself at the edge of his bed, he looks so peaceful you have half the mind to walk back out and deal with the after effects of your nightmare by yourself, but you knew it would just end up with you walking back to his room and finding yourself right where you left off.

“Takashi…” you mumble while slightly nudging him. He shifts by only a little, head rolling over to the other side. “Taka…Can I sleep here tonight?” You say louder, you can see him stir around more prominently while his head turns back to face you. His eyes slowly open and blink, it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim darkness that surrounds you. Once he finally sees you he lifts the blankets up giving you the silent okay to slip in.

You waste no time in getting under his blankets and cuddling up against him. He was warm like a furnace and you took all the warmth you could get. Your arms wrap around his waist while his arm settles around your shoulders and pulls you into him. “I’m sorry.” You apologize, unsure if the sudden heat you feel is because of your embarrassment or because of how warm he is. “I know your tired and this won’t-”

“Shh.” He quickly shushes you and closes his eyes once again.

“But-”

“I said shh.” His other hand reaches over and rubs your back, trying to soothe any anxieties you seem to have brought with you. You bite your tongue and don’t say anything else, just being around him soothed you enough that your body feels relaxed again. The tingling of your skin subsided along with just how tight your chest was feeling when you were in your own room.

Mitsuya didn’t mind you waking him up, he’s never been one to sleep through the night nor go to bed early anyways so a little disturbance of sleep by you was nothing that upset him. If he was being honest, having you by his side right now was a comfortable feeling to have.

You were quiet in his arms, you hadn’t made a sound since he shushed you and he thinks you’ve finally fallen back to sleep; your breathing had evened out and even the grip you had on him loosened. He opens his eyes, glancing down to you only to see your eyes wide open. He sighs, he turns his body so he’s now facing you all while scooting down the bed so he’d be eye level. His eyes meet your own, he could tell there were plenty of thoughts running rampant as you could barely keep up the contact, your own gaze falling somewhere else. When you meet his eyes seconds later his expression changed, face now scrunched up as he pondered over what to say.

After so many years of knowing you, he’s never known about your nightmares. Not once have you mentioned it to him or shown a sign that you were struggling. How long have you been struggling with this? He could have been there for you like he is tonight, held you against his chest and consoled you like he’s done for other things. Why didn’t you confide in him for this?

“What else are you keeping from me?” His words come out before he could properly think, mind still foggy from waking up not too long ago. The expression that graces your face can only be described in his words as adorably confused, your eyes widen, eyebrows furrow and lips pout.

“I don’t keep secrets from you.” You defend.

“You kept this from me.” Mitsuya shoots back, eyebrows raising as he looks at you. He can’t help but scan your entire face being so close to you.

“It’s not a-”

“If it’s not a big deal then you wouldn’t be in my bed unable to sleep.” He sees your mouth open and then close. You had nothing to argue with when you knew he was correct. A sigh slips past his lips. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No…”

Now it’s his turn to be the silent one. He’s unsure of what to say to you, unable to form the words he needs to reassure you and your mind. His eyes look elsewhere as his hand runs up and down your arm, it’s soothing to you; his hand was warm against your cold skin.

You stare at him, his eyes focused on something else. It looks as if he was lost deep in thought, concentrating on not making any eye contact with you. The low shade of the led lights that were cascading against his features made him look like he should be painted and shown off in a museum for everyone to see, though you’re happy it’s only you seeing him right now. He was attractive dare you say it, especially right now

His touch is soft, all of his touches are soft when it comes to you which you’ve noticed. It’s such a contrast as to how he perceives himself to others and what his life has been like.

Mitsuya never had the ideal home life, his mother worked late most nights so he had to take the roles of both a mother and father due to his father not being in the picture either. You’d always lend out a hand when you could, inviting him and the girls to your house to eat and relax if they didn’t want to be home alone; sleepovers were a constant thing even when you both were well into your teenage years.

You were never one for liking him being apart of the gang he was in, always calling you late at night with cuts and bruises because he didn’t want his sisters to see, you’d be at his house waiting for him while every meeting happened, you can still remember the anxiety you’d felt when he mentioned he’d be back late or if there were fights going on at the time. Mitsuya had a temper to him, easily controlled but he did have his slip ups. He’s snapped at others around you when he’d be too pissed off or just frankly annoyed with the world, but he never snapped at you. He was always soft and gentle when it came down to you.

All those times where you locked yourself in your room crying hysterically because of an insignificant high school boyfriend cheated on you, broke up with you and played with your heart he was there consoling you. He’d engulf you in his arms bringing you to his lap while he rubbed small circles into your back trying to calm you down in any way. He held you like you were fragile and he couldn’t dare to break you. Mitsuya cared about you and couldn’t help but be soft with you even despite everything he’s been through.

Your face felt as if it was set ablaze just thinking of him in such ways, he’s your best friend, always has been closer to you than anyone else. You wouldn’t dare ruin that with any thoughts of finding him attractive, even though pressed up against him and the way he’s staring so intently at you is giving you butterflies in the pit of your stomach. No. It’s just the anxiety of sleeping again, yeah that’s it. Just anxiety. No butterflies at all.

You're pulled out of your thoughts once his hand cups your cheek, you suddenly realize just how close the two of you are. Your senses came in full swing as all you could feel was the soft brush of his breath against your lips, the smell of his spearmint toothpaste he used before bed and the way his fingers grazed your cheek; rough yet soft finger pads against your smooth skin. “What are you thinking about?” He asks.

You.

“Nothing.”

“Still can’t sleep?” He smiles lazily at you, fingers still lightly touching your cheek. You shake your head in response. “What can I do for you?”

The sudden tension that wraps around you two tightens. Your eyes meet his yet no words seem to form in your tongue. What could you say to that? You didn’t know what to say. What did he expect you to say? Your mind was racing and the sudden tightness in your chest caused your body to stiffen.

His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers once again rubbing small circles there too. You held your breath feeling his hand settle on your nape. Mitsuya’s eyes glanced from your lips to your eyes, a quiet chuckle leaving him. “Relax.”

“I am.” You pout.

“Relax more.”

Your eyebrows knit together. “How?” you ask, you were molded into him against his bed. As far as you knew this was the most relaxed you’ve been.

A thought crosses his mind, something he didn’t know if he should smack himself for or applaud for even coming up with it in the first place. Would he be so low as to try this? He’s never crossed any boundaries nor would he ever want to, especially with how you came to him tonight. You were the closest one in his life, he loved you dearly, you were his best friend, but…

“Close your eyes.” He finally gets out, confusion crosses your features once again tonight.

“What?”

“Close your-”

“I heard what you said, but why?”

“I’m helping you relax, just trust me.” He says finally, his words do little to actually help you relax but it’s Takashi, if he says to trust him then you trust him with everything in you.

Your eyes show hesitation but you close them regardless. He watches as you squeeze them shut, a smile can’t help but appear on his face while he watches you. The hand on your neck finds its way into your hair, gently massaging the back of your head, he watches your face relaxes while practically melting into his hand. “Relaxed now?” You nod slightly, head feeling heavier in his hand.

You do feel relaxed, your body melts into his own as you subconsciously lean into him. His hands working at your scalp have you zoning out to only focus on his touch against you so that you miss the way he scoots closer until you feel his lips on yours. Your eyes shoot open just to see him pull away.

“Sorry…I just-”

“Do that again…” your voice is barely above a whisper yet he hears you interrupt him regardless. If he wasn’t so close to you he would’ve missed what you said.

He stares at you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to take it back. The pout is back on your face as he looks at you. Your hands slip to his sides tugging him closer, a neediness coming out of you.

“It’ll help me relax…if you kiss me again.” Your big puppy dog eyes look at him and a smile reforms on his face. He could never deny you when you look like that.

“Promise?” You nod quickly, face perking up instantly.

You felt the flex of his hand before seeing him lean in, his grip tightening as he pulled you to him. The kiss was sweet and gentle despite his grip on your neck, he was holding you so close and tight while his lips moved against your own. Your hands slid up from his sides to his bare chest while finally placing themselves on his shoulders, fingers slightly digging into him grasping a hold to center yourself. Your mind was in a frenzy from such a soft and sweet act alone.

He pulled away sooner than you’d like and you find yourself chasing his lips. “One more.”

“We should sleep.” His hand went from your neck back to your cheek, caressing it lovingly while looking at you.

“One more then we’ll go to sleep.” You batted your eyes at him, that same pout gracing your face once again.

Mitsuya knew that there was no sleep anywhere in his future.

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atiyasnake · 11 months

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What came after the King

So, I know there is a ton of summoning the ghost king and usually it ends up with Danny/Phantom coming up when usually it was expected Pariah Dark would show up. They expect this big bad dude, the Tyrant King but get the bag of sass and puns that we have deemed Danny to be since Ghost King Danny is a really fun thing.

But what if Pariah is indeed still the ghost king. What if that time when he was locked back into the sarcophagus didn’t qualify Danny to be the new Ghost King, so Pariah was still it. Just asleep like before. (many ways to make it so since ya know *imagination*) But overall, Ghost King is still Pariah Dark...and he can still be summoned.

That would serve for some pretty interesting scenarios. For the cults guys and ofc for the heroes who might be in a situation where their last resort is summoning the Ghost King. Most situations would probably end in world domination and destruction seeing as Pariah Dark isn’t such a nice dude.

So imagine, there we have Pariah Dark unleashed on the mortal realm summoned from the sarcophagus by cultists and making up for the time he has been locked away by causing destruction and poor heroes who are trying to figure out what the hell to do.

But then from the portal where Pariah Dark had been bringing in his undead army, something else came out. Something powerful that everyone can sense and they feared what else the Ghost King called to his side in his reign of terror.

A clawed hand connected to too-long arms. A body made of a black void. Eyes glowing a bright white with a green sheen. It crawled its way out of the swirling green portal and the temperature dropped. An unsettling chill deep in their bones grew along with a pressure that made their body feel heavy before too light. More and more of the body appeared and it was too big. It hurts to look at, to try to make sense of what they were looking at. A hero or two could have sworn that it was absorbing light, like a living black hole. It’s become too silent and some second guess whether they were even alive because they can’t hear the pounding of their hearts in their heads anymore from before.

Everyone in its presence was untethered, feeling like they are floating in a cold nothingness.

It’s a sudden change that left them catching their breath they were not even sure they were getting.

Then they watched as this creature looked at Pariah Dark, its eyes shifted in color and became brighter. Its body writhed where it was. Its claws grew longer and dug into the ground below. There’s suddenly a ringing in their ears and some notice that the creature had opened its mouth that they hadn’t been able to see before and don’t want to look at.

It’s angry, so very angry.

When it looked at them, they knew they couldn’t stop it. They could do nothing against the creature. Their death was inescapable. Deep inside of them, they knew.

But the eyes softened when it looked at them. The chill abated, becoming more gentle instead of harsh and biting. They could feel where their feet were against the ground again. They could hear the reassuring sound of the breaths they took and the beating of their hearts. They were no longer floating in an unforgiving void.

There was no question that the creature was angry but it was not directed at them. There was no malice in its gaze. A soothing croon echoed out from the creature, caressing them and lessening the pain in their bodies and panic in their minds.

A few of them noticed that they had been moved, further away from the destruction and other threats.

Seemingly, with one last glance, the creature looked back at Pariah Dark. It’s fury so clear but none of it touched them. They were still protected. And when the creature headed toward Pariah Dark’s Army, when it obliterated his forces with ease and finally met Pariah Dark with claws, an open maw, and a wail that shook the ground, they felt none of it.

The creature’s fight with the Ghost King did not touch anyone. It did not add to the destruction that had already surrounded them.

As Pariah Dark fought back and attempted to escape the clutches of the creature as it dragged him toward the portal, he was unable to. Despite every hit, scream, and curse the creature never faltered and all they heard was the scream of a King cut off as he was pulled through swirling green.

Leaving the heroes a mess to clean up and a lot fewer casualties/injuries than expected. But afterward, there is a mad rush to get rid of the ways to summon the Ghost King. To not have anything like it happen again. To never even consider summoning the Ghost King because no good would come out of it.

They did not want there to be any chance of the Ghost King coming back.

But it was not only because of the Ghost King himself, no.

But also for what came after the King.

But yeah! overall, it would be cool to see more fic/drabble/ etc of how it would be if Pariah Dark was summoned but as a result Danny/Phantom came after him, in any of his forms tho. this drabble here was if Danny came after in a more elritch form.

#batty ghosts #dcxdp #dpxdc #ghost king summoning #Atiya writes #idea #prompt #eldritch danny #in the eyes of everyone else there is this eldritch creature dragging back the powerful ghost king with no mercy that strikes terror in them #bit for danny its literally like WHO LET THE DAMN DOG OUT I SWEAR TO GO-#or something to that effect #Danny is a protector spirit #so like he goes after the king but makes sure no one else will get hurt #Danny is not the ghost king #but he will drag that ghost king's ass back into the realms with no mercy #Possible Ancient of Space Danny

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adore-laur · 5 months

Text

SUNSTRUCK

— a sensual addition to southpaw 🌞

——

TODOS SANTOS, 1992

Palms slick with saltwater spread atop the surfboard floating in Mexico's turquoise ocean, its waxed surface scorching to the touch as it sparkles underneath the smoldering sun. Heaving himself up with taut and tanned arms, Harry switches out the cool engulfment for a beating heat that strikes his skin just right. Droplets cascade down the toned muscles of his back. Freckles that have come out of hiding dot his face in scattered clusters. The ultraviolet rays of June naturally bleach his tuft baby hairs blond.

He's unequivocally thriving, surrounded by a yellow aura gleaming brilliantly in the daylight.

Lying on his stomach, he manually paddles over to where Sawyer is supine on her pink inflatable raft. With a caramel-colored complexion and slim, silky legs that shimmer from the start of a sun-drenched summer, she resembles a solstitial vision for the ages. She has never looked more relaxed in all the years he's known her for. Her limbs that soak up splashes of Vitamin D are loose and not tense from working stationary hours at her office desk. There's no wrinkled crease of frustration between her eyebrows that needs to be smoothed out, nor is there a troubled frown pulling at her lips that needs to be lifted. She's in her own bubble of iridescent ecstasy.

This hush-hush getaway has rejuvenated their souls. The lush ocean breeze and visually flamboyant architecture lured them like they were a message in a bottle destined for the shoreline. Harry finally has uninterrupted time to spend with Sawyer in private in a nestled town where no one knows his name. Domesticity has already begun blooming in the desert bungalow where they're staying. Whispered confessions of love and gratitude spoken around the rims of coffee mugs. Waking up with her in his snuggly embrace is a luxury he's still getting used to. Kisses followed by wandering hands careen lazy mornings and sleepless nights. Their relationship is flourishing every day, and it feels like paradise.

As Sawyer tans like a sun goddess, Harry grows increasingly bored. The sluggish waves weren't nearly powerful enough to triumphantly catch, so he resorted to catching some rays instead. It didn't pan out too well because now his back is burning, and his girlfriend isn't paying attention to him. It's a deadly combination he needs to fix pronto.

"Sawyer," he says, peskily flicking water at her. "There's a shark behind you."

Opening her pretty brown irises shielded with cat-eye sunglasses, she flips him off and grouses, "You're not funny."

Harry smoothly straddles his surfboard and points past her. "I'm serious. Don't move, okay? I can see its fin circling."

It only takes a single second for her precious face to drop. She timidly shifts her sunglasses to the top of her head and stares at him in terror. "Is there really?" she whispers as if the non-existent shark is eavesdropping on the two lovers. "What do we do, Harry? Oh no, what do we do?"

To not crack a mischievous grin severely tests his might. "I'll grab you and take you to land. Don't worry, baby."

"We can't!" she tells him urgently, her voice rising to a whisper-shout. Thankfully, she doesn't dare turn around to see if they're actually in grave danger. "It'll follow us if we move. We have to be smart about this."

Harry dramatically looks off into the distance like he's in a film playing a determined survivor lost at sea. "If this is the last time we see each other," he declares with faux valor, "I want to die knowing I tried saving you."

Sawyer gawks at his morbid statement. He thought it was romantic. "Are you out of your mind? Don't say things like that!"

There's a slight growl to her tone, and she appears borderline petrified, so he abandons his silly prank. He's close enough to her raft to stretch his body forward and lift her, so he does, but not before humming the menacing Jaws theme and wiggling his fingers in her direction. She looks bewildered as he grips her waist and carefully transfers her to his surfboard. Once she's sat in front of him, he clings to her like a koala on a eucalyptus tree, his perspiring chest pressed flat against her back.

"Hi," he murmurs, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. "There's no shark. I just wanted to be near you."

Sawyer stills, then hastily unwinds his arms from around her. "You're so annoying," she whines, harmlessly slapping his thigh and grabbing her raft so it doesn't drift away.

Harry cups her jaw and tilts her head toward him. "You love me. I annoy the hell out of you, yet you can't get enough of me."

Glancing at his lips, she situates herself in his lap and smiles. "It's true. My sunray makes me happy even when he's a complete ditz."

Harry suddenly doesn't know how to speak, too enraptured by her natural beauty paired with a doe-eyed gaze that melts him like an ice cube on a sizzling driveway. Those brown eyes could get him to do anything she desired. Does she know that? Does she see the influence she has over him? Does she know nothing made sense in his life before he met her?

Unable to express his undying commitment to her without stumbling over his words, he utters a simple and sincere, "I love you."

Sawyer places her hand over his heart. "I know it."

Eventually, the rolling tide brings them back to the shore. The Baja California peninsula's tip possesses powdery sand grains that carry on for miles. This particular beach, Punta Lobos, is a hidden gem, and no tourists infest the area during the week. Rocky bluffs border the water, and the occasional hiker will admire the oceanic view from their advantage point before retreating down the trail behind the cliffs. Other than that, there's no one lurking around and disturbing the peace.

Harry and Sawyer lie side by side, sand sticking to their wet skin as the foamy waves barely reach their toes. Their fingers instinctively interlock, palms smoother due to being immersed in saltwater for hours, and something about it sends a firecracker shooting off in Harry's heart. Sawyer's skin after sunbathing is always gorgeous — golden, silken, and stamped with secret birthmarks only he knows the locations of.

He suddenly feels hot all over. Blazing sunbeams mixed with coursing dopamine are making him antsy. Trying to ignore his straying thoughts only worsens the constriction.

Looking over at his girl, Harry swallows and swipes his thumb across her chin to garner her undivided attention. She squints and beams angelically at him, a sheen of sweat gracing her cheekbones.

"Pretty girl," he says, his knuckles tracing the shape of her jaw. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm thinking about where our next destination should be."

"Nowhere. Let's stay here forever."

Sawyer ruffles his wavy hair. "And do what?"

A thousand scenarios whip around in his brain, and he ends up settling on asking his favorite question. "Wanna make out?"

Her plump lips instantly melt into a blissful smile. She rolls over on top of Harry's body, her syrupy skin adhering to his as she clasps his cheeks with her hands. She grants him his wish, coaxing warm and salty kisses from his mouth. His greedy hands roam the back of her thighs, trailing them up and down her sun-kissed flesh. Her ankles prop up and cross over each other, and she hums into his mouth as their craving kisses deepen. The pendant with his first initial that rests perfectly between her clavicles reminds him she's not going anywhere, as does the ring he gifted her that's settled on her finger, the cool metal neutralizing his flaming body temperature.

The unfortunate cause of their breakaway isn't because their love-filled lungs are deprived of oxygen. It's because, after all, they're on a public beach, and the sound of distant chatter has them pulling apart as quick as a zap of lightning.

Sawyer stands, briskly adjusting her bikini straps and glancing around like what they were doing was a scornful obscenity. She's adorably flustered. On the other hand, Harry sits up and nonchalantly adjusts himself while pinching his swollen bottom lip. He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed excessive PDA isn't something Sawyer is necessarily comfortable with now that they're dating. She shies away from it, while he's quite the opposite. It's almost impossible to suppress the urge to touch and kiss her like there's no tomorrow, so he doesn't feel awkward about the innocuous disruption.

As he snatches his floral-patterned button-up that he left stranded on the sand and begins putting it back on, he spots his camcorder nearby. He brought it along to capture memories, which so far have mostly been of Sawyer in her feminine element—sunbathing on the poolside lounge chair with a magazine in her lap, curling her eyelashes in the bathroom mirror, dancing and singing to "Venus" by Bananarama on the bungalow sofa.

She's the center of his universe. The summit of beauty and love.

His gaze flits between the device and Sawyer, who is now red in the face. It's amusing, so he brings the viewfinder up to his eye and presses the record button. He purses his lips to hide his growing smirk as he zooms in on the small group of people strolling to the coastline and then on her rattled reaction.

It doesn't take long for her to notice. She jogs over to block the lens with her hands, fretting, "Stop it! This is so humiliating."

Harry laughs, lifting the camcorder to a height she can't reach. Sawyer is looking at him unimpressed, her arms crossed, and her head tilted to the side. The people most definitely saw them being handsy and smitten out in the open, but what's there to be sheepish about? Love is meant to be shown to the world.

"Are you embarrassed?" he teases, dragging out the last word.

She raises her eyebrows and nods. A hint of a smile plays at her lips, but it doesn't seem genuine. It appears insistent, one of hidden discomfort.

Harry isn't a total space cadet, so he takes it as a cue to quit messing around and acknowledge her unspoken signals. He stops recording and drops the camera in the striped beach bag slung over her shoulder. He then tucks his surfboard under his armpit and offers Sawyer his free hand. The energy between them has shifted by a smidge, and he doesn't like it one bit. The grains of sand beneath his soles have somehow turned into eggshells within minutes.

"Ready to leave?" he asks. Sawyer nods again, still ominously silent, as she ignores his hand and fetches her deflating raft. "'Kay. Let's hit the road, then."

They arrive at the rental car, a vintage orange convertible that made his pockets hurt. Sawyer wanted it, and he couldn't refuse her. The hood is up in case of unpredictable weather, so Harry straps and fastens his surfboard to the top while Sawyer hops in the passenger seat, throws her raft in the backseat, and shimmies back into her daisy dukes.

Harry sits behind the steering wheel, his lanky limbs struggling to comfortably fit in the restricted space. The engine rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition, and he rolls the windows down before reversing out of the vacant parking lot. He peeks at Sawyer a few times as he merges onto the highway winding along the coast. She's staring at the desert landscape ahead that's saturated with a golden haze from the forthcoming sunset. Cacti and dead brush sizzle under the evening sun. Mountains tower over the feathery clouds. Vultures circle in the sky as roadrunners scurry along the pavement. It's stark scenery but nonetheless transcendent.

None of his surroundings matter, though, when his favorite person to talk to is overtly ignoring him. He tries to convince himself that maybe she's just tired. No, that can't be right. He knows her. She's affectionate when she hits a wall and cuddles up to him sweetly, clinging to his arm like a sloth on its beloved branch.

The truth is that he messed up.

Before he can dwell on every misstep he took in the past ten minutes, an earsplitting BOOM cuts through the atmosphere, followed by a rapid whooshing sound. Harry firmly clutches the wheel as the vehicle suddenly loses equilibrium. Without outwardly panicking, he takes his foot off the gas pedal and lets the car naturally slow down before pulling it off to the side of the road and braking lightly.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath, heart thumping erratically. "Goddamnit. I think one of the tires just blew out."

Poor Sawyer has her eyes pinched shut and a death grip on his bicep. Harry snaps back to reality and kills the engine, listening for any odd sounds. Before he steps out, he gives the top of Sawyer's head a gentle, comforting noogie and murmurs, "It's okay. We're okay."

She shakily gets out with him and leans against the passenger side door, anxiously biting her polished fingernails while Harry perplexedly settles a hand on his hip and assesses the external damage. The front right tire looks like one of the clocks in Salvador Dalí's The Persistence of Memory — sad, melted, and a surreal depiction of an unfavorable outcome.

He looks up and down the highway, finding no signs of any buildings, vehicles, or humans. Something he does see, however, is a broken beer bottle a couple of yards behind where they were driving a mere minute ago. Most of the shards of green glass are scattered along the edge of the road, yet a few stray pieces are lying in just the right place for any vehicle that comes racing down the highway. It's the perfect puncture for a not-so-perfect boyfriend already on thin ice. Karma must have a vendetta against him today, but he won't let it clip his wings. When life gives him lemons, he knows how to make a delectable pitcher of lemonade.

So, Harry does what he's best at: distracting his girlfriend. He can quickly turn this misfortune into something fun and make Sawyer forget about how sour the day has turned.

Swiping his sweaty forehead with his wrist, he huffs and gets to work. He's changed a few tires in his life, so it should be done in no time. First, he takes his shirt off so he doesn't get heatstroke. The humidity outside is brutal, causing sweat to bead by his hairline and on his back. He makes a show of slowly unbuttoning it and slinging the fabric over his shoulder. It's obvious Sawyer's gaze is locked on him. He's willing to admit he possesses vanity over his physicality, and it doesn't help that the girl watching him constantly feeds his ego.

Next, Harry takes his sweet time and saunters to the trunk, where the rental agency told him the spare tire is located. Lifting the trunk and flexing his arms, he opens the well to reveal the tire. There's also a jack and lug wrench that'll come in handy.

After gathering everything, he kneels on the blistering road, loosens the tire's lug nuts with the wrench, and then places the jack under the vehicle's frame. He stretches his arms above his head before using the jack to slightly lift the car off the ground. After removing the lug nuts, he removes the ruined tire, momentarily glancing at Sawyer as he breathes heavily from his body's exertion in the unbearable heat. She's in front of the car now, looking at the sunset that paints elegant splashes of pink and orange across the horizon.

Harry grunts as he tosses the tire aside. Sawyer glances back, and he doesn't miss how her eyes flick down to his abdomen, now slick with a sheen of sweat.

"Wanna learn how to do this?" he calls out, grunting again when he picks up the pristine spare.

He's given no response as he lines up the holes and pushes the tire into the wheelbase. His biceps flex with soreness, and when he peers up again, Sawyer still looks at him, her eyes communicating something obscure. They have a little stare-down until he can't take it anymore and begins replacing the lug nuts. His jaw is clenched as he works quickly to try to get to the bungalow as soon as possible so they can untangle this yarn of bizarre tension.

Once the tire is secure, the old one is thrown in the trunk, and the tools are all put away. Harry walks over to Sawyer. She's perched herself on the car's hood, picking at her cuticles. Standing in front of her, he places his hands on either side of her thighs, his shoulders taut as he watches her eyes dance over the sky behind him. He kisses the tender spot below her jawbone, tasting and smelling residual coconut tanning lotion left there. Goosebumps rise across the expanse of her neck like a swelling tidal wave, and Harry can't help but bury his face in it and whimper pitifully. He's like a needy puppy when she ignores him, pawing for the tiniest bit of love and attention.

"It's so hot out," he complains before sighing dramatically. "Let's head back."

Sawyer doesn't push him away, which counts as progress. "I want to watch the sun go down," she says, lost in thought. "Who knows the next time we'll be able to on an abandoned desert highway."

He won't argue with that. He doesn't need to nor necessarily want to. If Sawyer wants to soak in the sunset, he'll endure the feverish weather if it makes her happy. Besides, she's right; little precious moments, such as experiencing the sun dip below the horizon, leaving behind a new, wispy portrait of captivating colors each day, are worth pausing life from time to time.

Sealing a kiss on her forehead, Harry hops on the hood and settles beside her. "I'll never learn how to say no to you."

☼ ☼ ☼

Back at the secluded bungalow, an unorthodox band of tension is still waiting to be snapped.

Sawyer has started cooking dinner with the miscellaneous ingredients she purchased from the downtown market yesterday morning. Canola oil is popping and sizzling in a frying pan, and julienned bell peppers of various colors are ready to be sautéed. Harry took a quick shower to wash the ocean and sweat from his sunburnt skin and has since changed into a white long-sleeved button-up tucked into teal trousers. He also has a pair of sunglasses over his eyes to help relieve spending hours in saltwater and squinting under the blinding sun.

Sawyer is in a tight, cropped blue camisole with low-waisted silk pajama pants. Her hair is down, golden beach waves reaching the middle of her back as she maneuvers around the kitchen area. Harry observes her from the dining room table, not quite knowing how to initiate a conversation without stretching the metaphorical elastic too far. Or worse, past the point of no return.

He watches Sawyer tilt the cutting board over the pan so the peppers fall into it. They immediately crackle when introduced to the heat. She then takes a wooden spoon and stirs the vibrant vegetables, turning on the overhead stove fan so the smoke doesn't set any detectors off. She's still ignoring him, entirely focused on one task and pretending there's not an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed before the night concludes. Harry knows if he brings it up, she'll shut it down, say everything is fine, and insist she's not angry. She's a terrible liar, so he'll save that tactic for another argument.

As he stares at the back of her head, he realizes he doesn't like her version of the silent treatment. It's okay if she won't talk to him, but acting like he doesn't exist is ruthless. So, he walks over to her and wraps his arms around her slim waist. She tenses but continues mixing the peppers in silence.

Okay, that's definitely not the reaction he wanted. Not even an ounce of acknowledgment when he begins kissing her neck, taking his time loving on the beautiful ridges carved there.

"Slow dance with me," he murmurs pleadingly, squeezing her.

"I'm busy right now."

Now, don't get him wrong; he likes her stubbornness. He even finds it incredibly endearing to a degree. But when it's directed toward something he's clueless about, he finds himself having to coax an answer past her adamant walls of defense. Being candid doesn't always end well, so choosing the proper approach is crucial if he wants to crawl out of the hole he's dug himself into.

Harry reaches around her preoccupied figure to flick the stove's heat off. The blue flame vanishes, and the sizzling ceases, causing Sawyer to sigh heavily as she sets the wooden spoon off to the side. She still doesn't turn around, even when Harry moves her thick hair over her left shoulder and starts planting warm kisses further down her skin, slower and more intentionally. She smells like the ocean breeze at the height of summer, sweepingly refreshing and pure. He doesn't know how he went so long without touching her like this.

Light from a dying yet persistent sunset pours through the slanted ceiling window. The nearby radio quietly plays a mariachi song that doesn't fit the fraught mood. Upbeat and punchy, the music is supposed to evoke happiness and camaraderie. It falls short this time, but like before, lemons can always be turned into lemonade.

"Do you know how to Salsa?" Harry pipes up while stepping away, giving her room to breathe.

"How to make salsa?" Sawyer replies distractedly. She's begun garnishing the semi-cooked peppers with fresh oregano.

"No, how to dance the Salsa."

She drizzles more oil into the pan. Her hand hovers over the stove's knob to light the flame again, but she retracts and mutters, "Um, not really."

Harry rolls his sleeves to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the counter. "It's all in the hips, isn't it?"

She glances back at him for a split second before leisurely spinning around and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you need something?"

"Sí, muñeca."

The almost invisible twitch of her lips doesn't go unnoticed by his attentive nature. "What is it?" she asks impatiently. "I'm trying to make dinner. You know, I've realized you always decide to be a pest when I'm not paying enough attention to you."

Busted. Well, at least she's talking to him now.

Harry begins clapping his hands to the song's rhythm in the background and swinging his hips in a terrible presentation of what's supposed to be salsa dancing. Sawyer arches her eyebrow and blankly stares at his uncoordinated movements. He's making an absolute fool of himself, but honestly, he just wants to see her smile. He'll go to the greatest lengths.

Shuffling closer to her, he caresses her limp hands and tries to get her to loosen up. "Let's dance."

“I'm not in the mood to dance."

He frowns dramatically, widening his feet to be the same height as her. "What's going on right now, hmm? We were having so much fun earlier."

Sawyer slides away from the stove and leans against the adjacent kitchen wall. A psychedelic painting of a gecko in the desert hangs above her. "It's not that hard to figure out," she says, looking everywhere but at him. It stings just a tad.

One of Harry's hands rests flat on the wall beside her, his thumb faintly yet purposefully touching the shell of her ear. He leans in and murmurs, "Are you still upset with me?"

The stubborn girl he knows and loves dearly steadily nods her head. "I'm furious. My body is on fire."

He bites his bottom lip with his front teeth as his piercingly intimidating gaze hungrily travels downward and lands on her exposed stomach. The silver bellybutton ring shining against her golden skin sets him on fire in an entirely different way. She's a delectable feast for the eyes.

Harry doesn't believe that her blood is boiling to the extent of fury, but he'll entertain her flair for dramatics. He says, "I'm sorry for shoving a camcorder in your face when you got embarrassed."

Sawyer gives him a puzzled look. "Huh? Oh, I don't care about that. I'm over it."

"Okay, then tell me why you're so furious." He's being thrown for a loop, and it's making him dizzy.

It's clear she's internally contemplating her response based on how her posture becomes less stiff. After rubbing her arm awkwardly, she says, "Because you're not nice."

Harry blinks slowly. Once, then twice. "What?"

"You were being a jerk by teasing me while fixing the tire."

It takes a while to realize his plan totally backfired. His innocuous teasing wasn't supposed to make her even more mad at him, and now he's stuck in a maze of figuring out exactly what he did wrong. Girls are so complicated!

Unless…

"Is that what this is about?" he asks, his lips quirking in amusement and slow realization. Perhaps the little show he put on for her had the intended effect after all.

Sawyer scoffs. "Stop smiling!"

He grins like a lovesick fool. "I'm not smiling."

"Yes, you are! Your eyes smile before your mouth does." She goes to tuck her stray baby hairs behind her ears, and when she does, Harry traps her fidgeting fingers with his hand still resting beside her head.

"Yeah?" he goads, his pulse throbbing faster. "When did you notice that about me?"

"I've always noticed it. It's so easy to tell when you're about to smile. Your eyes glimmer, and then you scrunch your nose."

"You like watching me?"

"Cállate. We're not finished with this argument."

"Go on, then."

Sawyer waves her free hand around as incomplete sentences get caught in her throat. "I— you— we can't keep doing this!"

Harry's heart falters at the vagueness of her confession. "What are you saying? Be gentle with me."

She gathers her crumbling composure, then carefully says, "What I mean is... we can't keep fueling this fire if we're not going to do anything about it."

The fire she speaks of has been wildly swirling in his stomach for a long time. He's managed to tame the carnal flames by waiting for Sawyer to declare her desires first since her comfort level is always his top priority. The opportunity has now risen, and he's lucky she has opened up this much so that he can jump in and kickstart the colloquy they've been hesitantly dancing around for months.

"Is this about sex?"

Pink spiderwebs of heat spread across her face. Harry's thumb presses down on the apple of her blushing cheek, her skin delightfully warm. It's nice to know a little fire has also been burning in her stomach. It's just a matter of tending to both of them. Kindle the flames until they roar with lust.

"Sort of," Sawyer mumbles, her eyebrows plunging with an unknown emotion. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to tiptoe around it anymore." Her hand reaches out to rest on his neck, her pleading body language igniting the embers again. "Harry, it's killing me. I can't hide it."

He cups the side of her head. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, baby?" His voice has stooped to a deep, gentle rumble that shelters her with compassion.

"I didn't want to rush into things." She drapes her arms over his shoulders and plays with the outgrown curls at the nape of his neck. "I want to take my time with you and soak you in day by day. Take slow sips of your sunshine."

Knees weak, Harry whispers, "Don't. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"With those eyes, Sawyer. Don't look all innocent when your words are the opposite."

She's completely clueless about how her imploring brown eyes can hold such seductiveness. Amber flecks swim in her irises, which are the color of dark chocolate. Rich. Exquisite. Tempting. Harry wants to break her off between his teeth like peppermint bark and swallow her silky, revivifying sweetness.

The tip of Sawyer's nose trails along his jaw, her lips brushing a path against his hot skin and setting fire to his loins. "I'm just tired of being patient. Does that make sense?"

Harry gives her a slight, truthful nod, then slumps his forehead against hers. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you. There's no need to be shy around me. I'm your boyfriend."

"What if you don't want the same thing? That'd be so embarrassing."

"Sawyer Alejandra, you are so goddamn stubborn. Do you want me to just give it to you straight? Because I will." He takes a deep breath before blurting, "I want to have sex with—"

She clamps her hands over his entirely-too-bold mouth. "Shush!" Pinching her eyes shut, she whines and grumbles, "Forget I said anything. I have to finish cooking dinner."

If there's one thing he knows about Sawyer's personality, it's that the second she feels an ounce of mortification, she immediately backtracks. He'd usually let it slide, but this topic of conversation is a tricky one to simply forget about and move on from like nothing happened.

Harry unwinds her hands from around his neck and keeps them cradled in his grasp. Then, while staring into her devastatingly gorgeous eyes, he says, "This tension between us isn't going to just magically disappear. Either we do something about it, or ignore it. Your choice."

Sawyer swallows thickly. "I want to, so badly. But I'm scared."

"Why?" he asks, trying to open her blooming petals. They're singed with uncertainty.

"It's an incredibly vulnerable act, dufus." She cutely wrinkles her nose.

"And we're incredibly vulnerable lovers, so what's the sitch?"

She brings their conjoined hands up to her lips and kisses his knuckles. Against his skin, she mumbles, "How do we even go about this? I've made it awkward."

He shakes his head in disagreement. "You didn't. Do you trust me to take the reins?"

"Of course."

"Then follow me to the bedroom."

Sawyer points to the stove. "But what about dinner?"

Harry pinches her cheek and starts dragging her down the hallway. "I know just the cure for an appetite."

☼ ☼ ☼

The queen-sized bed has sheer canopy curtains draped around it. They were too lazy to make it this morning, so the sheets are still crumpled, and pillows are strewn about. Sunlight streams through the open bay window, making the room glow a tender hue of honey.

It's alluring and also equally terrifying.

Harry went into the master bathroom to mentally prepare himself, even though he told Sawyer he was just freshening up. His reflection in the mirror peered back at him pensively. He fixed his hair about ten times, swiped another layer of deodorant across his armpits, and then gave himself a hushed pep talk before swinging the door open and putting on a cool, calm, and collected face.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach currently contradict everything he's trying to convey, especially when he finds his sweet Sawyer sitting against the headboard, the puffy duvet covering her bare breasts. The sun casts light on her stunning face and accentuates her apprehensive features. She's innocently staring at him as if she didn't knowingly climb into bed without any clothes on and sat there patiently waiting for him like the good girl she is.

And... he's hard already. Well, that's one less thing to worry about.

Harry clears his throat and strips down to his boxers, then slides into the space next to her, waiting with bated breath. Neither of them looks at each other, too hesitant to make the first move. They've both had sex with different people before, so it's not like they're blind leading the blind, but now that they're actually in the bedroom, all confidence has apparently flown out the window.

"We could start with, like, kissing or something." So much for saying he'd take the reins. He can't even speak properly right now.

In his peripheral, he sees Sawyer nod hastily. "Sure," she says, quieter than ever.

"Okay. Are you comfortable doing it naked since you're already... naked?" She laughs, and Harry smacks his forehead. "Sorry. God, I'm so nervous. You're making me feel like a teenager all over again."

Silence lingers long enough for him to finally gain the courage to glance at Sawyer. She locks eyes with him, then slowly, almost teasingly, lets the duvet drop and pool around her waist. Harry's mouth goes dry as he takes in skin he's never fully seen before. She's soft, shapely, and undeniably tempting.

Sawyer crawls on her hands and knees until she's straddling his lap. She still has her underwear on, lace boy shorts that hug her hips deliciously well. With blood rushing to his brain (and other places), his reaction is a bit delayed until his hands eventually find their place on her waist. He's breathing deeply, nostrils flaring as he ravenously wonders how she will look naked underneath him, pleasure etched on her face.

"You're divine," Harry whispers while toying with the flimsy hem of her underwear.

"So are you," she replies, rubbing a coquettish hand down his chest. "Hey, let's maybe skip the kissing part? I'm kind of impatient."

"Damn, all right. We're diving straight in?"

She presses her body against his torso and hooks her arms around his neck. "I want to feel you. I've dreamed about it."

A desperate groan sounds in his throat. "You're lying."

"I'm not. Then I'd wake up, and you'd be kissing me like you knew exactly what I needed. And your hands would get so close to where they were in my dream but never close enough."

"Yeah? Where were my hands in your dream?"

Her eyes flutter shut as if she's recalling the fantasy. "Mm... everywhere. Warm and heavy between my thighs. Sliding up my stomach." A lazy, sensual smile creeps onto her lips as she adds, "Around my neck."

Harry is tired of waiting a second longer. He flips her over so he's on top, his silver necklace with the 'S' pendant swinging over her collarbones like a pendulum. "Let me make you feel good. I'll give you the real deal."

Sawyer twists the chain around her pointer finger and tugs him closer. "Please. I want it more than anything."

"Dig your heels into my back," he instructs before shuffling down her body until his head is lined up with her thighs.

She complies, and the pressure on his shoulder blades makes him choke on a moan. Her bent legs effortlessly fall open, granting him access to the single layer of fabric that comes between him and paradise. He stares at her from his position, his hands hooking around her knees. She stares back at him, a vehement fire in her eyes.

"It's all yours."

Her readiness is enough for him to lose his last shred of self-control. He leaves a suckling love bite on her inner thigh, then murmurs, "Lift your hips for me."

She raises the lower half of her body, and Harry slides her underwear off. She assists him when it reaches her ankles by kicking it across the bedroom. He focuses back on the inviting sight before him. A shiver trails down his spine when he takes two of his fingers and circles them around her entrance. She's dripping wet.

Sawyer's jaw goes slack as she scratches her nails across the expanse of Harry's sturdy back. He hisses past his clenched teeth, loving the luxurious burn. Tingling and tantalizing sensations course through his system as he tests the waters, slowly sinking his middle finger past her drenched opening. He vigilantly gazes into Sawyer's eyes the entire time, gauging her expressions for the faintest flicker of pain or unease.

"Talk to me," he says.

"It stings a little, but keep going."

"You're doing so good. So, so good. Tell me if it's too much, okay?"

She nods with a raspy whine, so he adds another finger, then uses his thumb to press against her clit and rub halo shapes onto it. Her thighs tremble and tighten around his head, tiny gasps escaping past her lips. He leaves bruising, biting kisses on her skin as he skillfully works his fingers, which are now soaked with her arousal. Filthy thoughts invade his fuzzy brain, thoughts of dreams he's had himself. Vivid images of doing what he's doing right now, except they'd always be cruelly cut short by the breaking of dawn.

Harry grinds his hips into the mattress, alleviating the ache while his kisses move closer to where his fingers are. Sawyer's panted breaths motivate him to ask: "Do you want my mouth?"

"Yes, please. Eres tan bueno conmigo."

The foreign praise rolling off her tongue enchants him to dive into her sweet, sticky heat. He laps up her wetness like its melted candy, the taste dangerously addictive. He hums insatiably, palms spreading on her lower stomach as he swirls his tongue inside of her. His cheeks are ablaze with sex drive as his eyes train themselves on Sawyer's face. Soft, sensual sounds trickle out of her mouth, fueling the intensity with which he pleasures her.

Pulling away for air, Harry whispers, "I can't get enough of you," before replacing his mouth with his fingers. They slide past her clenching walls so enticingly, so perfectly.

"Harry," Sawyer moans, fisting his hair and tugging at the strands. "I-I'm almost there. It's so strong."

He removes all body contact while sucking his fingers clean, then catapults off the bed to quickly grab a condom before she loses her approaching climax. He sifts through his duffel bag, finding the box he secretly packed in case something happened on this trip.

Maybe he manifested it. Or perhaps his girlfriend is simply braver than him.

Making his way over to the bed again (tripping on Sawyer's unplugged curling iron in the process), he bounces back on the mattress and hands her the foil package. Her skin is glowing with an angelic radiance, but sinfulness cracks through when she pushes on his chest to get him to lay back. She straddles him and rips open the package with her teeth. The arch of her back, the excitement in her movements, and the slickness of her arousal are all he sees. She has no idea how heavenly she looks.

Sawyer's fingertips walk down his abdomen and brush over his length, which is straining against his boxers. "Can I?" she asks politely, her eyes wondrous.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Harry cradles her head and brings it down for a fond kiss, her hair tickling his face. "Feeling okay? Not in pain or anything, are you?"

She shakes her head. "No. I feel like I'm floating."

"Same here." He breaks into an aching smile, coming to the realization of how special this moment is. "I love you so much. I'm gonna remember this forever."

"Me too." Sawyer slides his boxers off, their harmonious breathing mixing together. Harry's cock breaks loose and rests against his happy trail, reddened and throbbing. "Woah."

He laughs at her reaction. "Don't act so surprised. It's all your fault, baby."

She blushes and carefully rolls the condom on while Harry stifles moans by biting his knuckles. He won't last very long, but he'll make it worthwhile for her. He'll take his time, just how she likes it. Soak her presence in. Slow sips.

He sits on his knees, then motions for Sawyer to recline and spread her legs. Once she's in position, he settles an arm on either side of her body and hovers over her. He tucks her hair behind her ears and leaves a hungry kiss on her lips. "Ready?"

"Yeah," she exhales. "You?"

"Totally."

"Change my life, sunray."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he lines it up with her entrance. He reminds himself to go slow as his tip sinks into her, and he keeps it there as he watches Sawyer's face. Her shiny lips are parted, eyebrows pushed together. Her legs squeeze him while her hands hold onto his biceps. The muscles of her cheekbones twitch. God, she's an angel.

"I've got you," Harry says, a thrilling knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Fuck, you were made for me."

He sinks further into her wet warmth, one hand grasping her leg to bend it more. She's tight, yet he's able to fit himself all the way in. Gasps leave both of their mouths at the feeling of him bottoming out, and it's like everything is moving in slow motion, the golden haze in the room adding to the delicacy of the moment.

"Mierda. Oh my God, Harry. Oh my..." Her fragile voice, leaking with whispery weeps, shatters his poise as he begins thrusting in and out. Sawyer's limbs become weak, her feet slipping down to the dip of his spine. It's all hot breath and swallowing each other's noises with sloppy kisses. Being inside her is a level of intimacy that electrifies every part of his soul. It's unfamiliar territory that binds him closer to the girl he wants forever. The orange flames they stepped around for years are now a cool, sapphire-blue.

Their hips reconnect with each thrust, a beautiful sound fused with their satisfied moans. Harry's pendant sways forward, his neck straining. Sawyer's nails pierce crescent moons onto his back, followed by more scratches that make him shudder.

"Goddamn," he chokes out, his cheek pressed against hers. "You feel stellar. I'm close. Give me... Christ, give me something to dream about."

"I'm there," she says. "I love you. I can't hold it any longer."

"Let it go, Sawyer. C'mon."

Arching her back off the mattress, she orgasms with a cry of release, and the vision of her has Harry immediately spilling out into the condom. It's powerful, otherworldly, and absolutely life-changing. He pulls out and lays on top of her, embracing her in a hold of overwhelming adoration as he whimpers into the pillow beside her head. They both melt into each other, sweaty and happy, coming down from their individual climaxes.

Every minute that passes, the room grows darker due to the moon painting the sky black with stars. Only the wind and their breathing fill the space, cool and heated gusts reciprocating. Harry can feel Sawyer's lips against his temple, curving up with a smile every so often. He's got a permanent smile as his fatigued gaze stares at the ring on her finger. He feels like sunshine is bursting from his pores and serotonin is being absorbed.

Sawyer is the first to move. She uses her remaining strength to get up and tightly wrap the sheets around her naked body before stepping out onto the balcony. With the door open, he can see the full moon illuminate the expanse of the flat desert, cacti and palm trees looming as far as the eye can see. The lack of humidity at night causes a balmy breeze to encircle her body, whipping her tousled hair.

"Can I tell you a secret now that we've had sex?" Harry asks from his place on the bed. His voice is sore and hoarse.

Sawyer turns around and bites her lip with a giddy grin. "Shoot."

He disposes of his condom, then puts his boxers back on and joins her, not caring about the chilliness. He still feels warm inside and out. "Do you remember our phone call last September when I was in South Carolina with a broken wrist?"

A flash of remembrance crosses her moonlit face. "Yeah. I was so worried about you."

He cradles her cheeks and pertly kisses her nose. "You took such good care of me when I got back."

It's the absolute truth. All the tagalongs to physical therapy, icing his wrist while cuddled on the couch, being a shoulder to cry on when he got frustrated—he couldn't have done it without her.

"I hated seeing you in pain," she says, looping her arms around his torso. "It hurt my heart."

"Never mind that." He inhales deeply and pushes forth his confession. "You... when you said you missed me during that call, a feeling came over me. Something in your voice made me weak. And something happened to me that had never happened before. I don't even know why I'm telling you—"

"Spit it out, Harry."

His head tilts back as far as it can go. "Fuck's sake. I got hard, Sawyer. Your voice made me hard."

Her mouth hangs wide open. A well-timed gust of wind passes like an awkward moment in a cartoon. "Um, wow. I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"You don't have to say anything. Just thought you should know now that we've done the deed."

Sawyer giggles, hiding her face in the space between his pecs. "First off, please don't call it that." She looks at him and continues, "Secondly, you thought I should know that you got hard in South Carolina?"

He starts laughing too. It's contagious around her. "I should also probably tell you that I jerked it out in a crummy Holiday Inn shower. It was quite pathetic and sad."

She sputters out a boisterous cackle that echoes across the barren desert. Harry's cheeks flush instantaneously. "I appreciate your honesty."

"On a more serious note," Harry starts, gripping the balcony railing with one hand, the other on her hip, "I appreciate how you forced a confession out of me the next day. Don't know if I've ever told you that."

Her expression turns sorrowful. "I didn't mean to pressure you. It had been building up inside me for so long, and you looked so beautiful that night. My heart spoke for me and—"

Harry cups her jaw and kisses her unexpectedly, making her squeak. It reminds him of that night in the rain when his blue raspberry lips collided with hers for the first time. He pulls away slowly, fitting his nose over her own and swaying her slightly. "You did everything right. I was a coward who was frightened of rejection. The thought of ruining what we already had was nauseating."

"You thought I would've rejected you?"

"I never really know what you're thinking. That pretty brain of yours holds so many secrets."

Sawyer steals a ripe kiss. "Can I tell you one right now?"

"Always."

She kisses him again before saying, "I see forever with you. I want to wake up in your arms every day. I want to laugh with you until our sides ache. I want to kiss you until I get dizzy."

"Sawyer," Harry whispers, his eyes softening.

"I mean it. No one will ever make me feel this type of love again."

"I feel the same. You're all I need."

"Te quiero. Mi alma es tuya."

He nips her neck, slow and tender. "If you keep speaking Spanish to me, we're not getting any sleep tonight."

"Sí? Quieres más rasguños en la espalda?"

"Gonna tell me what that means?"

She gracefully traces the tattoo on his abdomen and says, "I can show you instead."

Harry's stomach suddenly grumbles with hunger, ruining the intimate moment. He peers at the twinkling sky above and laughs at the inconvenient interruption. "I would love that, but I'm absolutely starving right now. We skipped dinner."

"There's cold peppers on the stove."

"Delicious," he says sarcastically, shifting his gaze to her again. A few seconds pass before something he wants to mention pops into his thoughts. "Hey, did you know this month marks five years since we first met?"

Sawyer gapes at him, genuinely surprised. "No way. Five years?"

"Crazy, right? Five years since you almost gave me a concussion."

"I still feel terrible about that," she admits with a pout.

Harry remembers everything about that day, even when his brain got jolted by a killer volleyball serve by the prettiest girl on Cocoa Beach. Her brown eyes up close, holding gentle concern for a stranger. That sassy hand on her hip thing she still does today. Clementine fabric against caramel skin. Orange juice in a bottle. Summerboy.

"But if that never happened," he says quietly, "then we might've never spoken to each other."

Her dreamy hum tells him she's musing about it too. "That's true. Isn't it mind-blowing how the tiniest of decisions can affect the entire course of your life? I like to think that every past choice of mine led me to you."

He admires the way her voice gets wispy when her mind wanders. "Word. Does post-sex make you all philosophical and shit?"

She shrugs. "Maybe."

"Cool." Harry backs away while holding her hands until their fingers eventually slip from each other's grasp. "Well, while you brood about Plato's teachings, I'm going to snack on your world-famous half-cooked peppers."

"Have fun with that."

"I will. Love you." Halfway through the doorway, he suddenly stops and rushes forward, giving her a suffocating hug, his lungs breathing everything about her. "All jokes aside," he murmurs, "I also believe everything I did brought me to you. And it just makes sense to be in love with you. Okay, bye."

He's off and running toward the kitchen before she can say anything else, not even the shadows of night on the floor being able to darken the natural luminescence he leaves behind.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #sunstruck #southpaw series

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manias-wordcount · 1 year

Text

Not that Bad (Vi x Reader x Caitlyn)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗬 𝗠𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥'𝗦 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗦 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗢𝗠-𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘. 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆'𝗮𝗹𝗹 >:]

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You suppose waking up when your rest was so peaceful and so deserved and so needed, is always a hard task.

Still, you try to make the best of it. You try to make the most of it. Taking it slow. Taking it one day at a time. And learning how to appreciate the little things. The little moments. The little pieces of happiness that exist all around you. The bed is cramped, but you’re together. Your apartment is cold, but they’re warm. You’ll have to get up eventually, but for now, you won’t. Things could be worst. Things could be a lot worst.

And so when you wake up, the first thing you notice is the heavy arm around your waist. Slung down low and holding you so tight. A body has no business being that warm. The second thing you notice is the tickle of a warm breath brushing against your skin. Soft and steady and ready to lull you back to sleep if it so wanted to. And it looks like it did. A body has no business being that comforting.

But the second thing you notice? It’s the sound of your son. Giggling, shouting, and banging on your bedroom door. Ready to take on the morning. Ready to seize the day. And most of all- ready to terrorize you until someone gets up and handles him. Or he tires himself out.

Whichever comes last.

“Ugh,” It’s Vi who reacts first. Out of the three of you, she’s always been the lightest sleeper. And so, it’s her groan that really gathers everyone’s attention. It’s what knocks you out of your trance-like state of listening to your son’s usual shout of wanting someone to eat breakfast and play cars with him as soon as possible. If it weren’t for Vi, you probably would have laid there for an additional three minutes before your mind finally caught up to what you were listening to. But then again, if it weren’t for Vi, you probably would have been this tired in the first place. Man, that girl can snore. “Your Hell Spawn has awoken.”

As she brings up the very affectionate yet oh-so-unfortunate nickname she has for your son, Vi turns her head to look at you and uses the arm slung over your waist to deliver a quick pinch for good measure. In an instant, you’re frowning and scrunching up your nose in response. A quick bloom of pain spreads over your body. And then just as quickly, it vanishes. Leaving you alone with Vi’s warm yet sleepy gaze peering into your eyes beneath a mess of pink hair. You try not to think about that smile she gives you as you mentally prepare yourself for a fun-filled morning of your son serving you cereal and begging you to play race car driver. You try not to but it’s never that easy. Not when she starts to pull you in and pull you close like now. But by then, the other person in your bed has already begun to stir.

“Don’t call him that,” Caitlyn mumbles simply, a wave of sleep still washing over her voice. You turn your head away from Vi’s to face Caitlyn. All it takes is a simple crane of the neck, and suddenly, you’re face to face with her as she tucks herself further into your grip. Her breath just brushes past your lips as you take in the sight of her before she ducks in for a quick kiss on your skin. Like Vi, she sports the messy hair and an exhausted look all too well. But unlike Vi, she’s more than content with just laying at your side and keeping her eyes closed as she lets the sounds happening outside your bedroom window rock her back to sleep. And with a short delay, she continues in a voice no less heavy than a thousand rocks “He’s not that bad.”

You open your mouth to resort. You know your son. You raised him, fed him, clothed him. Protected and comforted him. Hell, you’ve ever spoiled him rotten on more than one occasion. And there will not be an ounce of hatred in your blood towards your son. Ever! That’s why the sudden bout of silence coming from the other side of the room surprises you. It’s unlike your son to give up so easily. Never mind that the milk and cereal are put in a place where he could access both all the spoons he could ever want or need to his heart’s content. Never mind all that. He wanted to pour everyone some cereal, and then he wanted to assign everyone a car. You had a feeling he was going to keep shouting until he got his way.

At least, that was what you thought was going to happen.

The silence coming from the other side of the room suddenly makes itself known to you. It’s a dull sound. One that you more than appreciate. But it’s one that makes you concerned as well. After all, this is your little boy. Your loveable tyke. Your tiny terror. And if it’s one thing that you’ve learned after five years of being a Mom, it’s that silence can just as good as it is bad. And for some reason, you have the

“He’s quiet…” Vi remarks, the same type of suspicion growing in your stomach now present in her voice. She pulls herself to sit up, the covers sliding off of her body and settling in a weird position on top of you and the girl still trying to doze off right beside you. You suppose you can’t really blame Caitlyn for taking the chance to snuggle closer to you and tug the covers over her body to keep warm. The poor girl did have to pick up an extra couple of shifts these past few days. And you don’t blame Vi for starting to get a little worried about your son’s sudden shift to silence. She’s an older sister. She knows how they work. She knows what they mean.

And now?

SLAM! BOOM! CRASH!

It’s sad to say that all three of you can imagine what that means.

At the sound of things falling down and falling apart in your apartment, you shoot up in bed- Caitlyn following close behind you. A couple of seconds of racing hearts and stuttered breaths fill the air before you hear the tell-tale sound of a guilty party. The infamous “Uh-oh” from a very, very concerned little boy. Unsure of how to fix whatever it is that’s now broken and needs to be replaced (Or hidden, until the next fragile piece of whatever comes in the mail).

And sadly, you can already imagine your son rummaging around for a brush and a broom so he can clean the floors of whatever mess he threw himself into.

So at this point in time, you release a deep breath. Right beside you, Caitlyn lets out a sigh, almost ashamed of the fact that she had just defended your son a couple of minutes prior. On the other side, Vi lets out a thoughtful huff, almost as if she’s ready to take Caitlyn’s position and lay down the law for your little one. And as tempting as it is, you know she would be just about ready to break once your son hits her with a set of puppy dog eyes. And while you’re sure Caitlyn would fare much better in a lecture against your son, you have a feeling the soft snores that are starting to fill the air tell you that’s not an option. At least, not now.

So with a reluctant spirit and a brave heart, you push yourself up and crawl out of bed. It’s an agonizing process. You feel the cool air of your apartment push up against you as the blankets fall from your body. And when you leave the comfort of your bed shared by two others, you’re more than ready to give up and let someone else deal with it. Especially now that your feet are touching the Undercity’s shittiest, coldest tiled bedroom floor in the world. But you don’t let that stop you. No, you just hold your head high, take a deep breath, and you-

A hand grabs your wrist. A gentle, yet firm grip. It’s no surprise that it’s Vi’s warm, comforting hand circling around your arm. But it is a surprise that she’s tossing up an eyebrow at you expectantly and giving you a half-smile.

“We’ll go together,” She tells you evenly as if there’s no room for debate. Not that you would, anyways. It’s said in a quiet tone you appreciate in your still somewhat sleepy state. An offer you can’t refuse. Not on a slow morning like this one, at least. And a second later, she adds to it. With a quick turn of her head to the woman who was sleeping on your opposite side, now pushing even more exhausted-looking self out of your bed too. “Come on, Cupcake. Up and at ‘em.”

“Don’t rush me,” Caitlyn responds pointedly with a yawn. Her eyes are still just barely open, but she manages to find her way to the two of you as she takes a hair tie off of her wrist and puts her hair up. You open your mouth to tell her it’s okay- that she can go back to bed instead of dealing with this. After all, you know she had a long, long couple of days. But she’s quick to raise her hand in your face in a shushing motion, her mind already made up as she settles to stand in front of you two. “Well… shall we?”

A hand grabs your left one. Another grabs your right. You look to both sides and see varying gazes of preparedness. But you wasted long enough. It was time to face the little monster (who you can now hear sweeping through your thin, thin walls) on the other side of the door.

“We shall.”

But that all being said, you suppose things could be worst. Things could be a lot worse. Sure, you know a pink-haired secret softie who would be no good at lecturing your son because she’d break within twenty minutes might not be the best help with your current predicament. But she’s already standing on your left. And yeah, you know a sleepy, sharp-eyed snoring solider who looks like she’s about to go back to dreamland who would do even less to help your cause. But she’s already up and swaying on your right. But honestly? You don’t mind that much. You have the two women you love most of all by your side, ready to take on the world with you. So things can’t be that bad. Besides, at least, he’s not doing anything else that could-

CRASH! BANG!

…On second thought…

“MOMMM!!!”

…maybe things couldn’t be worst. Maybe they couldn’t be worse at all.

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softpascalito · 7 months

Text

Pedro Pascal Kinktober Day Seven

Wax Play - Joel Miller/Reader

Summary: Joel and you are paired up for patrol. There are a lot of things unsaid, a snowstorm rolling in and some candles. Go figure (or go read i guess).

Relationships: Joel Miller x Reader

WC: 1900

Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Content, Genderneutral Reader, Wax Play, Nipple Play, Infected, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Temperature Play, Snowed In, Two decade old ravioli

AO3 LINK

notes: hi babes! another joel piece today, one that is actually one of my favorites! if you enjoyed the first week on kinktober, lmk in a comment <3

_______________________________

The day is cold.

It's a normal patrol and you stomp through the snow that's been blown into the abandoned house, still high on the success of taking out two runners all by yourself. It's a split moment of distraction as you miss the noise coming from the open bedroom door next to you and that split moment is all it takes as the clicker shoots out of the doorframe and slams you into the nearest wall.

“Fuck!” A yell escapes your throat as you try to keep the Infected out of arm's reach, your fingers digging into the fungal plates on its chest as you stare into a face that has lost all its resemblance to the human it must've been years and years ago.

Its mouth is wide open and for a split second you think the agonizing scream you hear is coming from the creature in front of you. Then you realize it's your own.

The moment seems to stretch on endlessly, the fear in your chest starting to be replaced by a dreaded feeling of being doomed, of the realization that this may really be it, when he appears in the hallway.

The gunshot rings in your unprotected ears and through the fog you hear the dampened noise of the clicker falling to the ground next to you, a thud before its body finally goes still.

The grip on you is gone but you can just stare blankly into the thin air in front of you. A few moments later, likely after making sure there's no more Infected around, he's there, in front of you. And now the grip of terror that the Clicker had on you mere seconds ago is replaced by one of tenderness as Joel gently pulls at your shoulders, helping you steady yourself.

His lips are moving but you can't make out the words. You can tell he holds his breath as he lets his hands roam over your body for a few seconds, turning your hands and bending his own neck one way and the other to check for bites. His touch seems to linger slightly longer too, but this time you're thankful for it.

His rough fingers glide over your neck, pulling at your thick winter jacket slightly to make sure there are no scratches on the delicate flesh of your throat. After a glance at your back, he finally seems to let out a small breath of relief and nods as he steps back, allowing you to take a shaky step of your own into the middle of the room.

He kicks the fungal plate on the floor that is now splattered with blood. ”Jesus, this place is overrun with them.” His gaze only lingers on the body for a few moments, then he turns to check the surroundings once more. It pauses on your form, still shaking, your gaze not meeting his.

“Come on, we're done for today.” Joel mutters and he gently nudges your elbow, staying closer than usual as he leads you back to the horses.

The patrol stop on this route is a cabin in a small resort by a lake, a few miles over from Jackson. It's quite scenic, but also harder to reach and unfortunately, more prone to attacks from Infected.

“It ain't too far now.” Joel calls to you through the snow blowing around your horses.

It takes a little longer than usual to get both of you into the saddles with how shaken you still are and the abandoned house has cost even more time. The wind has picked up while you have been inside and now the storm seems to be getting closer by the second, inevitably making the way back to Jackson that much harder.

“Should we turn back?” You pipe up, speaking again for the first time. He shakes his head, ”No, I reckon it's best to just find shelter. Cabin should be stocked up.”

During the winter months, it's not unusual for patrols to stay out overnight, especially if running into bad weather or blocked paths. Noone will worry if you spend the night here and go back in the morning.

Just as the wind starts to get really uncomfortable, you spot the large wooden sign marking the entrance to the small resort and Joel leads the way to the cabin frequented for the patrols. You lead the horses into the attached garage and shovel some snow into a tub to make sure they have some water while Joel secures the area.

After he declares it safe to stay, he locks the front door, ”Ain't like anyone gonna make it out this far in the storm either way.” He mutters under his breath but he is rather safe than sorry.

You stay quiet, huddled into a corner as you wait for him to give you more instructions. He doesn't.

Instead, he gets out some cans and stirs up a quick dinner for both of you. The two decade old ravioli taste like nothing to you and you struggle to even finish the small portion he has handed you.

Darkness has fallen when you're both done eating and Joel finds the candles spread around the small cabin and starts lighting them, glancing through the curtains as he does. Then, his gaze wanders back to you, still in the same position you've been in since you arrived.

“You're awfully quiet over there.” He mutters.

“Sorry, just- It's been a long day.” You reply quietly, staring at the empty cans in front of you. You can practically feel his gaze on you as he speaks, ”Yeah, reckon it has been.”

You both stay quiet for a moment and he returns to your side, pushing the half-empty cans away with his boot before he sits down, his gaze never leaving your form. His voice is quiet and gentle when he speaks.

“It didn't get you.”

“I know.”

He pauses again for a moment. And then-

“I wouldn't let it.”

“I know.”

Your own voice is shaking and suddenly, you feel like crying. He stirs next to you and a split second later you're cuddling into him, your face resting against the middle of his chest, the leather jacket he refuses to stop wearing framing your head on both sides.

Time doesn't matter as you stay enveloped in him, taking in the scent that smells like safety, the voice that sounds like a distant lullaby and the arms that feel like home around you.

You can feel yourself falling asleep and eventually, Joel nudges you a little. He has pulled your can of food back towards you and sighs, ”Come on, finish dinner and then you can go to sleep, hm?”

You whine into his chest and he sighs. ”Look, I'll warm it up for you again.”

He does, turning the small cooker back on to generate a little more heat, all the while keeping one arm securely around you. When he's satisfied, he turns the small flame off again and pulls you back a little.

You gaze up at him and he sighs softly before grabbing a fork and, one by one, bringing the leftover ravioli to your mouth. You know you would never admit it, but you do feel a little better once your stomach is actually full and you yawn a little as he cleans up while you reach for your sleeping gear.

Not wanting to attract attention, you don't start fires unless absolutely necessary so tonight it's staying warm in your thick jackets and sleeping bags. You huddle into the corner of the cabin, crawling into the bag as Joel brings a candle over. He reaches for a shelf above you but the wax is already quite melted and a small drop falls down onto your exposed arm. You yank it back, hissing a bit before it turns into a whine. ”Watch it,” You mutter under your breath and Joel almost instantly stops in his tracks.

Not because he's worried. But because he knows that whine.

It's the same noise you make when he's buried deep inside of you, when you beg him to finally move.

Slowly, careful not to drop too much, he repeats his motion, this time on purpose.

“What are you- Joel!” The hot wax hits your arm again and the combination of the warmth in contrast to the coldness that's surrounding you draws another whine from your lips. He smirks at his find and places the candle next to the makeshift bed, kneeling down so he can place both hands on the top of your sleeping bag, waiting for permission. You nod quickly and he pulls it down until it pools at your hips before tugging on your sweater:” Why don't you take that off for me, darlin?”

You comply, raising your arms as he helps you out of the thick piece of clothing. He carefully places it next to you before his hands return to you, fingers ghosting over your chest and tracing the lines and curves of it. The cold immediately gives you chills and Joel rubs the palms of his hands over your sides and your stomach for a moment to warm you up before leaning down to kiss each side gently.

Then, he carefully reaches for the candle and you watch the flickering light of it dance over his features as he tilts it very slowly right above your chest. Your gaze wanders to the source of light and you watch as the wax slowly begins to flow towards the edge until eventually a small drop falls down- and the hot sensation it creates on your skin travels through your body and from your chest right down to your middle. The whine is a breathless gasp this time and a curse escapes your lips, ”Fuck-”.

Joel chuckles lowly, clearly enjoying himself. He repeats the motion in different spots, letting a few small and then larger drops of wax fall to your skin until one hits your nipple and you gasp loudly in response, your legs clenching together as the heat from the candle seems to transfer to pool in your lower abdomen. Your hand darts out from under the covers to grab at Joel's shirt, fisting it in your hand. ”Joel, please ,” You whimper.

“Please what?” He hums, a soft tone of amusement in his voice.

“Please touch me, please, it's too much, it feels so- I don't know, I just need- I need you-” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself any longer.

He chuckles again, a little softer now and shushes you as he puts the candle away, placing both hands on your chest and scratching at the hardened wax. It stings a bit as it comes off but it's just the right amount of pain and this time, he catches your whimpers with his mouth as he leans down to kiss you deeply, occupying what feels like every inch of your body.

He crawls over you, mouth never leaving yours as he shifts into the sleeping bag with you, his hands beginning to wander lower.

You spend the night entangled, limbs mixing under the thick fabrics of blankets and jackets and sleeping bags until you no longer know where he begins and where you end. He kisses your neck as you drift off to sleep hours later.

The night is warm.

#pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller #joel miller / you #smut #wax play #kinktober #softpascalito #the last of us

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tulipe-rose · 22 days

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Imagine how ironic, if not hilarious, it would be if yet another ginger took his last breathes while laying between Dazai's arms. I take it to be an interesting scenario multiple accounts attempted writing, and succeeding magnificently at that. I really enjoy reading the bitter tragedy interpreted by dozens of unique perspectives, such that I though I might as well add in my own. (Someone else probably thought of this first, so please don't call me a thief. If you do find a similar opinion, I'd appreciate it if you could politely link the post for me to read.)

Chūya Nakahara. Great Port Mafia executive, and wielder of his infamous gravitational ability; one of the most fearsome abilities out there. Enough to spark terror in the hearts of those whom once dared to oppose him, and survived to witness the light of day by some miracle. Said ability however, doesn't stand alone. The demon Arahabaki, a power that bears great weight on the ginger head's shoulders, occupies the young man's body around the clock. When activated, all sense is lost,and blind rage is left to lead.

Such a devastatingly extraordinary sight, quite fit for the demonic entity.

Finding beauty, or positive significance in such a hazardous display was something unique to the demon prodigy alone.

Chūya never truly resorts to using the Arahabaki demon unless backed into a corner, having complete faith in his partner's capability of halting him when the job was taken care of.

This time was supposedly no different. There occurred a fierce battle on a certain tranquil night, one that'd go down in history. There wasn't much of an option, it was a do or die situation, the stakes being the lives of his comrades. Chūya never hesitated when it came to protecting those whom treated him well, and had a significance in his heart. He'd never abandon them, even if they were to throw him under the bus. He was far too loyal.

Anyhow, Chūya slowly starts reciting the verse he seemed all too familiar with, before slowly descending into a feral state. The battle commences, and it's an utter disaster.

The enemy won't budge, and the corrupted Mafioso would be sent into more of an unintelligible state of madness, desiring destruction.

An issue arises, and that would be the absence of a particular lanky-beanpole, waste if bandages. By now, Dazai would be stepping in to break Chūya free of his corrupted chains, yet he's nowhere to be seen. Hell breaks loose, and the Arahabaki demon inflicts it's final blow.

...

Chūya Nakahara's body would crash to the ground before collapsing. His consciousness returned to him with great strain, and he was aware his last moments were his current. A faint sequence of haggard breathing could be heard. Though not having enough strength to take a glance at them, he knew whom these breathes belonged to. He knew that sound like the back of his hand; they didn't know each other for so long for nothing.

A soft croak escaped his partner, it's goal to grab the bandaged man's attention. The tone of voice was extremely faint and airy, yet Dazai paid undivided attention to every word. "'Agh... Hurts like hell..."

The messy man races over to cradle his partner's body, sensing the consciousness withering away. "Oh Chūya... You..." Dazai repeated to himself more than anything, his face rested into a frown, whispering in a low tone laced with subtle desperation. Regret was evident, and an expression that had been hidden away for far too long adorned his face next; sadness.

Dazai readjusts Chūya's position in his arms, "Now, now, Take it easy." Chūya looks on in mock irritation, before coughing up a handful of blood, causing him to recoil in exhaustion. "Damn it... This is probably it for me... Though I had no idea waking up was an possible... I'm... saying this only once... .. Don't you dare die, you damned Mackerel... That weretiger needs you..." Dazai looked on in muted horror, anxiety, strong denial and sorrow. The moment he never assumd to come, the one that he had happily dreamt of; it's here, and Dazai couldn't help but feel helpless. He held Chūya tighter, never daring to interrupt. "Ane-san..." His speech was sluggish, and his breathing patterns were inconsistent. Most of his words came out incoherent, and much was left unsaid, but Dazai knew what was to be done.

''AUGHHGU..." Pools of blood spewed out, staining his clothes further, his consciousness blacking in and out. "Ugh... I wasn't expecting it to be peaceful anyway... You- know... What to do... So I'll leave it to you..."

Abrupt silence hit, and the ginger's body went limp; embracing a long overdue rest.

The brunette gave his partner a melancholic look, clutching onto the small statured corpse gracefully lumped in his hold.

〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

(I kind of hate how it turned out ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡. Whatever--, moving on with life.

I personally view this as platonic soulmates/Friendship where bonds go deeper than blood/complicated siblings????(Not really), please don't judge me ＼⁠(ﾟ⁠ｰﾟ⁠＼⁠))

#bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #writers on tumblr #saff-ron tag #ao3 writer #what if scenario #dead Nakahara Chuuya #was this too ooc??#i'm dtill trying to understand Osamu and Chūya #I'm still pretty confused on some of their characteristics #especially Osamu #i really wish to get this man one day the way Chūya does #ughh #platonic soulmates #platonic skk

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j0kb0x · 11 months

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Over-analyzing the shit out of “Meet The Spy”

- You’re insane if you said you suspected Scout. The writers of this short did a good job hiding the fact that this was Red Spy in disguise at the time. The whole narrative of deceiving the audience is a perfect way to bring out the character’s affects on people and to show how much of a threat he really is.

- Speaking of which, what makes the character even more horrifying is the Spy’s general ability to seemingly psychoanalyze people around him. Blu spy (subjectively) shows signs of suspecting the disguised Scout, and Red spy roleplays as Scout so accurately, right down to his over the top ignorance and pretending to cut himself with the blade of his own butterfly knife. He couldn’t have done this without throughly gathering information on his own teammates. Creepy mf.

- Speaking of that scene where Red Spy pretends to cut himself, the whole action itself is GENIUS writing. Not only are the other mercs being deceived into thinking this is the real Scout, but the audience is as well. Because no spy would do such a terrible job demonstrating a basic opening balisong trick. Only someone as over his head and stupid as Scout would pick a weapon up too confidently without thinking twice and then promptly cut himself with it.

- After Scout sends a random storm of insults Blu spy’s way; he then adds “No offense..” At the end. If you watched this short the first time you wouldn’t have caught it, but this random proclamation at the end is Red spy’s own self awareness and sarcasm shining through. Showing how ironic it is that he’s indeed resorting to insulting himself in order to pass off. He doesn’t think that about himself at all; let’s be honest. This isn’t enough to be a slip up because it has double implications. You can also interpret this as Scout not wanting to get on Blu spy’s bad side. Red Spy knows how to choose his words wisely.

- Blu spy’s “I can assure you, they weren’t like me.” Is another double implication. It could be either seen as passive aggressively objecting against Scout’s insults, or even threatening the Red Spy he suspects might be disguised as Scout. Lots of fucking social mind games here for the audience to try and understand.

- When Scout sees the Blu spy’s head get blown clean off, he reacts as if he’s shocked at soldier’s lack of impulse control. Not only did Red spy deduct pretty quickly he had to react like this in a spilt second, but also you can notice his mask beginning to slightly falter in this scene as he realizes his main competition was now gone. The way he steps forward to check if Blu spy is truly dead is way too off-putting and doesn’t fit Scout’s typical body language whatsoever.

- Finally, Scout’s expression turns into a dead fucking hard gaze once he realizes he has the perfect opening here, now that soldier and heavy are distracted. This gave me chills as a kid. Then the disguised Red Spy throughly demonstrates he’s fully capable of doing a knife trick. The camera is right at his hand and makes sure to place emphasis on this moment as realization slowly sets in for the audience that they’ve been completely misled this entire time.

- Red spy finishes Blu spy’s sentence before he got blasted to smithereens. Showing once again how ironic the situation is, perfectly balancing ironic humor and the feeling of pure terror. “Right behind you.” Comes off more raw than it should. Emphasis on this line is done perfectly by Dennis Bateman. Sounds both like a velvet whisper, and a snake hissing before striking. 10/10 acting here.

#j0kb0x #tf2 #team fortress 2 #meet the spy #spy tf2 #scout tf2

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notyour-valentine · 2 years

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The Boy in the Window 13 ~ Tommy Shelby x Reader (Series)

Chapter Summary: Tommy, despite his plan, prepares for the worst. So must (Y/N).

Notes: I can almost taste the end...but the end of what? That's the question... I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Here, you can find my [Masterlist] and the [Series Masterlist]

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Smut/ sexual content (18/21+). Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Expect spoilers for Peaky Blinders Season 1-4.

Wordcount: 3413

Part 13

[Previously]

The betting shop looked entirely different by day than it had at night, with sun falling in through the windows, illuminating the dancing dust.

There were no shadows now, constantly creeping up on the milk glass doors, but she was still afraid.

The same hand that had caused her terror the last time she had been here was now the only one ensuring she didn't fall apart.

He had come and told her to come with him to the office and so she had, letting his hand on the small of her back guide her past the tables and the chalkboards all the way to his office at the end of it.

Emma and Charlie had joined, exploring his office curiously.

To her surprise, the boy had never been here before. Then again, why would Tommy Shelby, if given the option, bring their child here? Why would anyone, apart from a last resorts?

Charlie in particular adored the painting of a horse behind his father's desk, while Emma fell in love with the swivel chair.

(Y/N) saw that contraption as an accident waiting to happen and on any other day, she would've told Emma to stop, but today she didn't have the energy.

"Tommy, why am I hear?", She asked.

"Insurance.", He told his desk, not looking up to meet her eyes.

From the paperwork placed at his side, he pulled out several sheets of paper.

"They're already set with the lawyers. Only thing missing's your signature."

"Signature for what?", She asked.

Tommy took a deep breath and walked around the desk, standing so close that the children wouldn't hear.

"If it goes wrong, I don't know how many will be left.", He said, his tone void of all emotion, which made her shudder.

It.

She had heard this ominous it a lot on the last few days.

The great it he had in motion, that apparently could end this vendetta with the Italians, that occupied his mind and body alike, keeping him away during the day and making him get up at ungodly hours during the night.

He didn't explain it to her but she didn't ask either. She didn't need to know more about it than she already did- she knew it was a risk, a gamble.

"How many?", She asked.

"Of us. If it goes south, it'll definitely be me and who knows who else. We'll all be there."

Tommy cleared his throat and handed her some papers.

"What's this?", She asked once more, her eyes glancing over the Shelby letterhead.

"I'll not leave it to the fucking parish to decide what happens to my son.", He said sharply, flipping a few pages over to the final one.

There she could find his own signature, as well as that of the lawyers, and of Mrs. Gray.

One gap remained.

Under it, someone had typed out (Y/N) Hale, née (L/N).

"Everything's sorted. There are people, independent people, who'll know what to do and deal with the paperwork. You can trust them."

"Tommy, are you certain?", She asked.

He gave a quick nod and handed her the pen, his face a mask of stone, with not a muscle betraying him.

(Y/N) stared at the white paper, watching the ink of his signature blur in her vision.

Once this was over, it couldn't be undone and the implications were not lost on her, their weight, the responsibility.

But he was sure, and she couldn't deny him this small fragment of certainty, not when he might very well be going to his death.

Not too long ago, in this very same room, she had feared what would happen to her daughter if she were to die.

It was not a feeling she ever wanted to experience again, nor one she would wish on even her worst enemy if she had one.

His hand found the small of her back as she leaned over and signed the document, shaking as she put the pen aside.

Beside her, Tommy breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

He averted his eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose before turning back and pulling her in, so that she had her head resting against his shoulder, his arms holding her in a secure embrace that only made her feel more uncertain.

"We won't need it.", She promised, or prayed- maybe.

His only answer was a kiss to her temple.

They only broke apart when Charlie tugged at her dress.

"Can I get a hug too?", He asked.

Tommy reached down and lifted him up so that he sat on his hip, stroking his hair from his forehead.

"Tomorrow, you'll go on a trip.", He told him, his voice changing to a lighthearted tone the way only parent’s voices could.

"Curly will take you and Emma and (Y/N) on the boat and you'll go to a forest to have a picnic."

"Are we, Mummy?", Emma asked, pushing past the chair to join then.

(Y/N) only nodded.

It involved the Changrettas coming into Small Heath. It involved Arthur and all of the Shelbys in one spot.

And it meant that Tommy wanted her and the children away for the city.

(Y/N) hadn’t even found the ground to argue on and so here they were.

That day, Tommy stayed. He stayed for lunch and after, stayed for tea and dinner, played with the children and bathed Charlie.

Afterwards he went up with her to put them to bed, listening to the stories, and then the song.

She left the room before he did, not wanting to disturb his goodnight to Charlie.

Instead, she went back downstairs and sat down on the sofa, drawing her legs under her.

The room was completely still, and yet her ears ached as if a matching band had been playing for hours.

She could feel the strain from the frantic beating of her heart, not just in her soul like the poets did, but in her chest, the way old people would complain about.

And she was afraid- so deeply afraid.

Tomorrow, she thought, Tommy could be dead.

Tomorrow Charlie could become an orphan.

And then what?

(Y/N) knew she shouldn't feel as daunted as she did. She had lost people before, had buried and mourned them- a mother, a father and sister, a husband and a brother. It was nothing she hadn't done before, nothing she hadn't gotten through before, but the thought of tomorrow was a bottomless pitch black pit, so grim and ghastly it drained any lighty, any last fragment of hope.

What would she do?

He had said there were plans in place, people who'd tell her, who'd guide her and show her but what would she do?

What could she do?

What words were there which she could say to Charlie? To explain?

Would she even be able to say them if she knew?

(Y/N) leaned her forehead against her knees and took a shuddering breath.

The worst part was that it was nothing but a selfish fear, not just for Charlie, but for herself, her own, personal, cowardly, selfish reasons- reasons she had no right to.

And she had no right to the tears that burned on her cheeks either, nor to the way her lip trembled, or how her throat tightened.

She had no right to any of it, but she felt it all the same and she didn't know how to make any of it stop. And she knew it was too late to try.

Somewhere along the way she had crossed the Rubicon without being able to handle the tension as the dice spun, preparing to spell out her fate - and that of the children.

When his hand found her shoulder, she flinched so hard she nearly fell off of the edge of the sofa.

At once, she brought her sleeve up to her eyes, scrubbing at them the way one would scrub at a stain in the desperate attempt to get rid of it.

"I'm fine.", She hissed, getting up from the sofa.

During her escape to the kitchen she made the mistake of glancing at him, only to be met with piercing, pale eyes, opened wide and filled with pain that only proved the agony she felt to be more than appropriate.

(Y/N) braced herself on the kitchen table, leaning forward as she fought for control over her shaking hands, her hitching breaths, her thundering heart and her foolish tears.

It was a futile battle, but she had known that before she started, otherwise she wouldn't have left the room.

"(Y/N)."

He said her name so softly, so gently, it seemed almost uncanny when spoken by a rough voice like his.

She forced her eyes shut and shook her head.

"It's fine.", She assured him, not turning to look at him, only to hear him sigh once more.

When she realised he had moved to stand behind her, she regretted coming here, because now there was no way out unless she wanted to go past him.

That meant looking at him, and allowing him to look at her and that was something she really didn't want to happen, not while the tears were still coming.

She so hated to cry.

His hands found her shoulders.

"I said it's fine.", She repeated, her voice betraying her the same it had before as she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

With determination, but entirely without force, he turned her around.

(Y/N) hid her face from his sight with her sleeve- or at least she tried to.

Instead of pulling her hands away, he drew her in until his chin rested atop her head.

She took a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of him- of his cigarettes and the shaving cream he used, of soap, of whisky and smoke.

His hands found her back and began to draw circles between her shoulder blades. Up and down. Up and down.

"It'll be alright.", He whispered.

(Y/N) was desperate to believe him. She wanted nothing more than to let the tension in her shoulders fall from her, to melt into his embrace and believe him.

But she couldn't.

"You don't know that.", She insisted, her voice trembling through her tears which threatened to soak through his shirt.

Thomas Shelby took a deep breath before correcting himself.

"You and the children will be alright."

The pain in her chest was so sharp at his words, she very nearly buckled over, the implications not lost on her.

"There are things in place-"

She forced her eyes shut and shook her head, not wanting to hear this once again.

So what if he had things in place?

So what if there were people that would tell her where to go and what to do?

All (Y/N) did was shake her head as if that would block out his words and the harsh reality they carried.

In a desperate, futile attempt to draw back, she turned her head away, knowing she wouldn't have the strength of will to pull all of herself out of his reach.

His hand found her cheek, smudging the tears with his fingers as he tried to stroke them away.

“(Y/N).”, he whispered, turning her face to his.

She had forced her eyes shut so she had no warning until she felt his lips on hers. They were as soft and cautious, almost hesitant, as they had been the night of Charlie’s birthday, when he feared her possible rejection.

His hand was still holding her face with such care as if she were a glass figurine he feared would shatter.

She didn’t want him to kiss her and she didn’t want to kiss him back. She didn’t want to melt into him, to drown in the warmth of his embrace, to have the pleasure he could give her wipe away her worries. She doesn’t want to hold him close and be held in equal measure.

But wanting and needing were to very different things.

And she needed him, in the same, burning desperate need he seemed to feel for her.

Her hands found his chest, running up the fabric of his shirt to steady herself against him as she kissed him back.

His hands had left her face and pulled her blouse from her skirt. Even when he began to undo it, button by button, he didn’t stop kissing her.

The warmth of his hands, as they brushed the white cloth off of her shoulders kept any chill at bay, and spread a burning of their own as they found her shoulders.

Her own trembling fingers were far less skilled as they fidgeted with his buttons. He had to help her get rid of it, and broke the kiss to do so.

(Y/N) stared at him.

By now, she knew every mark on his chest, every scar, every tattoo. She knew what they felt like under the touch of her lips and the caress of her hands - she knew, and she hated that she knew.

She hated how used she had become to him, how familiar his skin felt on hers, how natural it felt for his arms to wrap around her.

She hated the way he sat her down on the sofa so gently and how she felt no shame when he knelt down in front of her.

And she hated herself for doing nothing to stop it.

But how could she? This might be the last time…the very last time…

His fingers burned on her skin as they unclasped her stockings, rolling them down gently. When the fabric passed her knee, he leaned down to kiss it.

He repeated it on the other leg, only this time, he pushed them apart and kissed the inside of her knee, finding the spot of one of her childhood scars.

(Y/N) knew it was no accident.

His fingertips traced a line down her leg and the way they barely brushed against her skin made her shudder.

Once he reached her ankle, he closed his hands around it and lifted it atop his shoulder.

“Relax.”, he whispered, his lips redder than they usually wore, flushed and swollen and glistening slightly. “I’ve got you.”

She tried, she really did.

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the back of the sofa, while he continued to trace kisses on the inside of her thigh, the image of his dark eyes and shining lips burning in her memory.

“Tommy!”, she whispered. “Please…”

Nights ago, he had begged her to make him feel better and now she was asking him the very same thing - or at least to make her forget, even if it was only for a moment.

At first it was enough for her to melt into his touch, but as she grew ever more lightheaded, she just had to touch him, in any way she could, to hold onto him, else she feared she’d fall into an abyss of her own.

(Y/N)’s hands shook as they found the back of his head, her fingers coiling in his hair.

Somehow that only seemed to urge him on as he quickened the movements of both his fingers and his tongue. One of his hands pressed down on her already trembling thigh while the other reached up to steady her hips, limiting the way she’d writhe and squirm.

“Tommy-”, she managed to whimper, her voice barely more than a breath, as he brought her right to the edge, but she wasn’t ready, not yet.

“Tommy.”

Only when she tugged at his hair with more force, did he allow her to bring his face up.

In doing so, she almost lost her balance and very nearly crashed into his shoulders.

“(Y/N)?”, he asked, just as out of breath as she was.

Instead of answering, she pulled him in and crashed her lips to his.

If this really was their last night, she wanted to hold him, as close as possible, independent of the many pleasures he could coax from her in other ways.

For a second or two, Tommy seemed struck with her change of pace, but then one arm found its way around her back, pushing her up against him.

Her own hands found his chest, fingers brushing over skin, tracing his scars and the tattoos, all these little details-

A desperation gripped her, urging her to reach out again, to touch them again, to kiss them again, because if she didn’t memorise them now, she could never get the chance again and that would mean forgetting.

Another shudder, a darker shudder ran through her, making her tighten their embrace.

His hand had to force their way between their two bodies in an attempt to undo his trousers, brushing against her burning skin, letting her feel even the slightest of movements.

She buried her head in the crook of his neck, and so he must have felt her faint gasp when he entered her.

He moved slowly, almost painfully so, and in stark contrast to the rush she had felt earlier.

Because as soon as something starts, it is only counting down to the end and this end…

(Y/N)’s fingers dug into his shoulder, her nails biting into his skin as she clung to him.

Every thrust pushed her closer, every thrust brought her closer to him.

The kisses she pressed on the side of his neck were wet frantic, a futile attempt to say things she couldn’t voice.

But the grew ever sloppier, mixed with trembling gasps and shudders.

His own lips covered her collarbone and chest with his hot breath and kisses, and yet their affect transcended her skin, leaving their mark in the depth of her soul, a mark she knew would stay far longer than the remnants of his physical touch.

She clung to him when he brought her to the edge and crossed it, and kept holding onto him even after he had found his own release.

“Not yet.”, she whispered.

His arms tightened around her in response, not caring for the heat, for the coat of sweat that covered the both of them, just like she didn’t.

When (Y/N) dropped her head onto his chest, she trembled, and when she heard him sigh, she realised he knew that this time it wasn’t from either cold or the aftermath of her pleasure.

Tilting his head, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head, burying his nose in her hair.

It was the creaking of the floorboard that woke her, the kind of creaks that they only made in her bedroom upstairs.

And she was in her bed, lying on her stomach, her head facing the room.

Since the last thing (Y/N) remembered was forcing her eyes shut to stop any possible tears as she listened to his thundering heartbeat, she knew she hadn’t made her way up here on her own.

And yet, the bed was cold.

She could hear him moving around in the room though, the groan of old wood, the hiss of fabric, even the click of metal cufflinks.

But (Y/N) didn’t open her eyes.

That would mean looking at him and that would mean watching him leave.

The thought alone made her heart clench so fiercely in her chest, her face nearly betrayed her.

The bedframe squeaked slightly as he sat down on the side of the bed, dipping the matrasse.

(Y/N) held her breath. She knew it was a childish thing to do - as if just because she couldn’t see something would prevent it from happening.

That perhaps the adult thing, the right thin, would be opening her eyes and sitting up.

But she couldn’t.

His hand was as warm as the caresses of the summer sun as it touched her naked shoulder.

“(Y/-”

Tommy broke off before finishing her name, instead ending in a sigh.

She could feel the grip of his hand, which had already been gentle, become even softer.

For a moment he just sat there, as her heart thundered in her chest so violently, she thought he must be able to hear it.

But if he did, he didn’t let it change his mind, as his hand smoothed down some tangled strands of her hair.

When he bent down, she could feel the fabric of his shirt against her skin a mere heartbeat before he kissed her temple, letting both his lips and his hands linger.

The bed creaked again, as goosebumps covered her back and arms in the absence of the warmth of his touch.

Her breath hitched when he pulled the blanket all the way up to her neck.

Her hands coiled into the fabric until she could feel her fingernails dig into the palm of her hand even in spite of cloth between them as the lock clicked into place.

But that sound wasn’t nearly as bad as hearing the front door close a few minutes later - proof, that he really was gone.

(Y/N) wouldn’t have gathered the strength of will to get up that day if it hadn’t been for the children, or the way her jaw tightened, giving her mere moments to reach the basin.

End of Part 13

Part 14

Thank you for reading! I’d be very grateful for feedback of any kind!

Taglist:

@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @watercolorskyy

@books-livre

TBITW Taglist:

@kaitebugg03 @esistmon @chlorrox @theshelbyslimited @budugu @woofgocows @orkwardx0 @judig92 @100percentamess @kabbuu @esposadomd @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @starsnsecrets @lady-loves-a-lot @katiepie67 @acoolnight @chaotic-onigiri @ohshititsfenharel @muhahaha303 @globetrotter28 @xoprincessmel @shittingonyourgrave @pessimisticbiitch @elisa20beth @simran-preet19 @majesticcmey @akiisbae @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @vodkainthecoffee @pearlstiare @jk-acc @cutecurly-hair @lovecleastrange @kishie8

#Peaky Blinders #Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Thomas Shelby Imagine #The Boy in the Window #valentineswritings

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whattheheckmidoriya · 1 year

Text

A Soldier's Lullaby

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader

Warnings: none!

Word Count: 2,401

Genre: Fluff, comfort

Description: Restless as ever, Levi found it hard to fall within slumber's warm embrace. Luckily, his late-night awakenings have guided him to you— an angel with a honey-glazed voice and all the right words at your disposal, perfect to lull the insomniac back to sleep.

Author's note: It's finally here!!! It's been so long since I've written something, but I feel like this was such a sweet piece to help me get back into the swing of things! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!💖

Masterlist

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•

His mother used to sing to him as a kid.

Her singing wasn't anything extraordinary, but it was sweet and kind, and he loved the hushed melodies she used to coo into his ears until he'd fallen into the serenity of deep slumber. He remembers the nights he'd scoot a little closer into her embrace, seeking warmth; reaching out for safety. She'd sing to him then, serenading him with whispered lullabies until he surrendered himself to the pull of rest.

Levi remembered his mother like this— gentle, kind, and angelic in a world that didn't deserve her. He couldn't remember the words she once sang him to sleep with. Her tender lullabies were buried somewhere under the rubble of his fractured heart, aching to sink into his bones and flourish into something sweet and beautiful. He did, however, remember the tune her words carried out. The Captain often found himself humming along to the songs of his past, treasures that he so desperately clung to, as he busied himself with the stacks of paperwork that cluttered his desk. It made him feel a little bit more human, a little bit more like her.

He might've forgotten the sound of her voice, but he could never forget how her words made him feel. Nothing could ever make him feel safe the way she did, always so gentle and graceful when shooing his nightmares away at night with the hushed coo of a lullaby and a kiss to the top of his head. She was Humanity's Strongest.

Memories of her were fuzzy, but precious. He kept them close to his heart, safe where they could live on for just a little bit longer.

With a sigh, the Captain let his head fall back, closing his eyes to allow them a fleeting moment of rest. A weighted breath deflated his chest, his shoulders sinking as the aches of his bones settled deeper within him. Scarred hands were stiff with the hours of writing that strained them, relief spreading through his bones as his joints cracked and popped. Only when he opened his eyes did he realize how late it had gotten. The flame of his candle would be flickering to its end soon.

He frowned at the dying flame. Any other person might've taken the lack of illumination as a means to usher themselves to sleep, resorting to finishing the remaining workload the next day, but he wasn't any other person. Sleep wasn't a luxury he savored often, always just beyond his reach. It'd be cruel for him to entertain the idea of rest, fully knowing what terrors would await him the moment he squeezed his eyes shut.

With a pout of defeat, he grabbed his cup of tea, pressing it to his lips but grimacing as the drink slipped into his mouth. Cold.

"Damn it," Levi grumbled under his breath, his eyes stinging under the weight of exhaustion. With a tired groan, he pushed himself off his chair, abandoning his desk before grabbing his coat. He might as well grab a new candle while he's out making himself a fresh cup of tea.

The grounds were empty when he walked over to the mess hall, all cadets having retreated back to their quarters hours prior. Chilly winter air nipped at the Captain's face, tinting his nose and cheeks pink as he fastened the buttons of his coat. Nights like these, cold and quiet, reminded him of the times his mother held him just a little tighter, swearing to protect him from all harm— the chill of the night included. He smiled a broken little thing at the memory, missing her a little more that night than usual.

She'd scold him for being up so late. Levi huffed as he reached the kitchen, wasting no time setting the water to boil. He wondered what type of tea his mother would've liked. Something sweet? She certainly didn't have a taste for bitter things like he did. Tea wasn't a pleasure they could afford back in the Underground, but maybe she would've liked the drink as well had she ever had the chance to smile under the sun.

High-pitched whistling snapped the Captain out of his thoughts, and he quickly pulled the kettle away from the heated stove before sorting through tins of tea. Once he'd found what he was looking for, he set to work and it wasn't long until he was sighing in relief as the familiar aroma of black tea settled deep within his chest, easing its way into his lungs. The low temperatures of the night didn’t bother him as much now that his hands thawed under the comforting warmth of his cup, a new sense of tranquility loosening his shoulders as he pushed past the doors of the mess hall and into the training grounds.

Levi had no intentions of lingering outside for too long, knowing he still had much to do in his office. Still, he couldn’t help but stand under the moonlight as a sweet, soft voice flooded the air, carried by a cool breeze. Brows pulled together in curiosity, he instinctively followed the sound while being mindful of the fresh cup in his hands. It’d be a tragedy if it spilled. With ease, he navigated through the towering, twisted trees of the training grounds, each step silent and deliberate. As he pushed on, his heart ached with something as painful as it was beautiful. The voice pulled him in like a siren would its prey. He fell victim to how each honeyed word balmed over every sapling of common sense that sprouted within him; he let his guarded heart fall.

Familiarity thrummed through his chest, sinking into his veins and spilling down his fingertips. His breathing staggered, his lungs burning, unable to function properly as the words clinging to the air became clearer the nearer he got to their source.

He hadn't meant for it to happen, he didn't want it to stop. He hadn't meant for the twig under his boot to snap, hadn't meant for it to be so loud, so frightening. The singing stopped, the air now tense with uncertainty.

"Who's there?" Caution clung to those two words, though they held no malice. Levi sighed in relief upon realizing who he'd stumbled upon.

Moonlight bathed him as he stepped around a tree, the angelic sight easing the knot of anxiety in your stomach. "It's me," he raised a hand in mock surrender, the ther still nursing the fresh cup of tea.

Gaping at him, you fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves. You eyed him carefully, your gaze softening upon noticing the steaming cup in his hand. "Couldn't sleep?"

The Captain frowned but didn't look away from your glimmering gaze. "Not tired," a lie, he knew, but when understanding twinkled in your eyes, he knew that he didn't have to explain himself to you. "And you? Nightmares?"

You snickered, shaking your head. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips warily and he didn't miss the way your eyes flickered away just as something nostalgic flooded them. "No, not tonight," you said.

Levi hummed, but didn't push any further. He knew what you meant— knew you were much like him when it boiled down to horrible sleeping habits. It wasn't unusual for the Captain to bump into you in the forsaken hours of the early morning, hours that should've been spent resting but were instead full of restlessness and unease. Most times, however, he'd find you in the mess hall or lounging around the fire pits, not deep within the woods surrounding base.

"You won't get any taller standing there," you chimed, looking away from him and angling your face up to the sky. "Sit with me before your tea goes cold."

Levi grumbled a few curses under his breath, but didn't turn away from your invitation. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the plush grass. He didn't miss the way you smiled softly when his shoulder brushed against yours.

Silence settled itself comfortably over you both, with it an air full of ease and understanding that only you two could fall into. Leaves rustled along to the pull of a breeze, swiftly twirling in the air before cascading all around you. Not many stars dotted the night sky the way you had hoped, but the moon was bright and beautiful above you. It was more than enough.

Levi watched you quietly, sipping at the tea in his cup. He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment you entered his life, nor the moment you began to mean something to him. You were simply there one day and never left. Sometimes it became hard to remember his life before you, but he couldn't fathom the thought of spending the rest of his days without you. Such a thought didn't sit well in his stomach.

"You were singing," he commented. It wasn't a question, but curiosity still lingered in his tone. Lowering his gaze, he took another sip of his drink before speaking up. "I didn't know you could."

You huffed a low breath of amusement. "Because I never told you." Shaking your head, you continued, "It's not something I do often anymore— not after joining the Survey Corps."

Levi hummed, tilting his head at you. "You have a nice voice," His gaze didn't waver as he spoke. "You're not horrible at it." That got a laugh of surprise out of you, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep yourself quiet. Even when trying to muffle your laughter, your smile was as wide as ever, your eyes squeezed with joy. His heart ached pleasantly at the sight.

"Shit," you choked on a laugh, a hand clutching your heart as you tried to settle down. "Thanks for the reassurance."

He only shrugged, though the softened look in his eyes spoke volumes. "Reminds me of my mom," He hadn't entirely meant for you to hear that, but he continued when noticing the way you perked up. "It's comforting."

You smiled. Levi had told you about Kuchel before on a night much like this one, when neither of you could will yourselves to sleep and the exhaustion brought the rawest parts of you forth. Without much thought, your hand found his and you offered a gentle squeeze, your heart fluttering when he reciprocated the gesture.

Taking a good look at him, it was hard to ignore the darkened shadows under his eyes or how his eyelids fluttered heavily in a bitter battle for rest. You took a chance— a shot in the dark before bringing forth a hushed question.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

At that, Levi's eyes widened, though he wiped the look away as soon as it came. A beat passed before he answered, and you could practically see him play around with possible answers in his mind.

"It's okay to say no," you reassured with a smile.

He shook his head. "That would be nice."

Carefully, he set his empty cup down and scooted closer to your side, the hesitation in the act eliciting a giggle from you.

You pulled him in, inviting him to lay his head over your lap, your fingers instinctively finding their place in his hair. Smiling down at him, you tilted your head. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah," he rasped, meeting your gaze.

Absent-mindedly, you played with his hair, not quite sure as to where to go from there. Nerves swirled within your stomach, lurching your heart into a quickened beat.

"You're supposed to sing now." Levi breathed, eyes heavy though twinkling with wonder.

Pouting, you playfully flicked his forehead. "Shut up, I'm thinking of a good song," Cupping one of his cheeks, you caressed his skin gently, feeling the tiny scars he bore under your touch. "You wouldn't know of any, would you?"

He didn't answer— not immediately, at least. Hesitation weighed on his chest, his fingers curling around the grass blades beneath his palms. A breath sunk his chest.

You didn't hear it at first, too enveloped in your own mind to notice. But it was warm and careful and sweet. A simple tune, old and familiar, rippled through his chest, thrumming within his throat. You felt him relax the further along he went into the song. He continued, as he did all those years ago while wrapped in his mother's embrace. He hummed now just as he had done then— softly and timidly.

Soon enough, your own voice followed the melody, each syllable spoken by your tongue a precious little thing he hadn't known he'd been yearning for. It felt right, he thought. The way each word was crafted and forged by your voice, the way they seeped through his ears and tickled his heart. It felt right.

Fluttering eyes peered up at you, and he swore the exhaustion was making him see things. The moon kissed your skin with so much grace, fierce and beautiful, illuminating your face in such heavenly manner. An angel. A star. A little cosmic wonder only he had the pleasure of witnessing.

Feeling his eyes on you, you met his gunmetal gaze, a giggle bubbling past your lips as you pushed through the lullaby. Delicate fingers traced over his skin; over his brows, down his nose and across his lips. His eyes dropped under the warmth of your touch.

As his eyes fluttered, his humming faded, sinking back down his throat. You sang, still, smiling down at him. You cradled his face oh so tenderly and he couldn't help but sigh in relief. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last felt this safe.

"You're safe to sleep," you whispered into his skin, bringing his knuckles to your lips before pressing a kiss onto them. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Without much of a fight, he fell limp in your hold, his fingers squeezing yours gently before his breathing evened out. "Thank you," he rasped, his voice so tender and quiet you would've missed it if you hadn't been paying attention.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as the tension melted away from his muscles, his jaw slack under its own weight. He was so lovely. Gently, you smoothed out the little tension lines between his brows, humming in satisfaction when he moved closer to your stomach, burying his face in your belly.

"Goodnight, Captain."

•

🏷 Levi Ackerman taglist

@leviackermanmyhero245 @violet-19999 @celestair @ms-sin-city @ghostly-haunted @andrastesbeard @ikisstoga @izukus-gf @bluetima @lemonboi69 @aconstructofamind @figlia--della--luna @imjustasimpxd @notgoodforlife @bubsonnobx @a10vely-yutazen @just-sana @Loca-raccoon @Hjnhuh @geese-goose18

#shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi ackerman fic #levi attack on titan #levi x you #levi x y/n #aot levi #levi aot #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #captain levi x reader #captain levi fanfiction #captain levi x you

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chocolix76 · 2 months

Text

What if Moon and Solar found Ruin too late when he was kidnapped by Eclipse?

Word count: 1,675

CW: Dismemberment

Ruin scooched backwards in a frantic attempt to put as much distance between himself and Eclipse as possible, the latter approaching with slow rhythmical steps as if trying to prolong his terror as long as possible. Once his back hit the solid and slightly damp wall of his holding cell, Ruin had to quickly come to peace with the fact that there was no way out. The open door behind Eclipse taunted him, holding freedom just out of his reach. There was a barrier in front of the door.

“I’m going to torture you, Ruin,” Eclipse drawled, stopping just a foot in front of where Ruin was curled into a ball. All he could see was the taller animatronic’s white eyes glaring at him through a shadowy figure. “I’m going to tear you apart piece by piece.”

“T-Torture?” Ruin stammered, holding his arms out in front of him as Eclipse attempted to close the space between them, most likely to harm him. Eclipse scoffed, grabbing Ruin by the wrist and twisting his arm backward in a direction his joints were not made to go. “N-Now Eclipse, let’s talk about this, shall we? Th-There’s no need to resort to torture is- is there?”

There was a heavy silence that passed between them before Eclipse burst into laughter, filling the eerie stillness of the bunker. His grip on Ruin’s wrist only grew tighter as he attempted to wiggle out of the taller animatronic’s grip, forcing a cry of pain from escaping his voice box.

“Of course there’s a reason to torture you. You made me,” Eclipse accused, twisting Ruin’s arm back even further when he attempted to cut in and argue otherwise, letting out a cry of pain that only made the wicked smile on Eclipse’s face grow larger. “You made me and even the people you consider your friends don’t trust you. They might even take their sweet time looking for you if they even noticed that you’re missing. By the time they find you, you’ll be nothing more than scrap. You’ll be a warning to the others.”

Only now did the pure weight of the situation Ruin was in finally catch up to him, glancing frantically around the room for anything that could save him without success. Eclipse had removed any possible weapons from the room, leaving the only modes of self-defense to be his own fists which Eclipse was currently holding.

“Eclipse, I promise I did not make you!” Ruin cried, hating how weak and vulnerable he sounded and how that only seemed to fuel Eclipse’s malevolent intent. “If I made you, I would not have you- have you kidnap me! W-What do I have to gain from making you, hm? Nothing!”

“Shut up if you know what’s best for you,” Eclipse hissed, using his free hand to grip where Ruin’s chin should be with enough force to leave dents in the faceplate. Ruin squirmed in discomfort, trying to think of something, anything to get himself out of this situation, but his mind failed him. “Enough stalling. The more time I waste, the more likely Moon is to find you. That is, if he even wants to find you.”

The last sentence echoed in Ruin’s mind like a gunshot, leaving him wondering what Moon was doing with the information he had been given on Ruin’s whereabouts. Had he put in any effort to come and find him, or was he continuing on with his day in hopes that Eclipse would one day return him? He wondered how Moon would feel to find his destroyed body outside the daycare. Would he feel guilt? Remorse? Before he could think about what Moon was doing any further, the feeling of Eclipse releasing his chin pulled him back to the present.

Eclipse released Ruin’s wrists, turning on his heels and making his way towards the entrance to the cell as if he was changing his mind last minute. The tension that had built up in Ruin’s shoulders didn’t release, pulling himself into a sitting position as he wondered what the abrupt change of heart could possibly mean. That was until his entire body seized as an electric shock tore through his body, Eclipse turning around with that wicked smile of his to watch as Ruin writhed in pain.

Someone was screaming. They were screaming so loud that Ruin wanted nothing more than to lift his hands to the sides of his faceplate and attempt to block out the sound, but his arms refused to move as yet another shock coursed through his body. He was screaming. He was in agony and Eclipse was enjoying every second of it. As the burning of the latest shock slowly tapered off, giving Ruin a moment of relief, hatred that he had never experienced before swelled in his chassis. The moment he was given the chance, he would make sure Eclipse suffered the agony and terror he felt. However, that hatred was soon forgotten as another wave of pain coursed through his body.

“MOON! SOLAR! P-Please, someone help me!” Ruin screamed, his cries mixing with the sound of Eclipse’s laughter. “PLEASE SOMEONE HELP!”

“Aw, isn’t that cute? Ruin is crying for help,” Eclipse cooed mockingly, walking up to where Ruin was curled up on the ground once more, trembling from pure terror and the aftermath of the electrocutions. “Too bad I’m the only one that can hear you and your precious Moon and Solar won’t be here to help you anytime soon. It would be a miracle if they come for you at all! Now…what next?”

“E-Eclipse, please…” Ruin pleaded, grasping at the hem of Eclipse’s pantaloons. The fabric was familiar and comforting underneath his fingertips, helping him think clearly through the haze of pain that muddled his mind. The familiarity was short lived as Eclipse swatted his hand away with a disgusted scowl. “I-I think that was more than enough torture for the day. Surely I could- could prove to you that I did not make you. Th-There’s no need to torture me for something I did not do.”

“You’re right, why didn’t I think of that sooner! We could talk this out and everything will be just fine!” Eclipse cried as if he had come to an enlightening conclusion, before abruptly grabbing Ruin’s arm as tugging it with such force that it was struggling to remain within the socket. “BULLSHIT!”

Ruin shrieked in pain, reaching out and grasping Eclipse’s arm and attempting to loosen his grip, but the taller animatronic held on for dear life, refusing to let go. Ruin could feel his arm socket creaking, white hot pain radiating through his shoulders and throughout his body as wires were agonizingly pulled from their proper positions. After one painful yank from Eclipse, he could suddenly no longer feel his arm at all. He was barely aware of the loud thud his dismembered arm made when it hit the concrete floor or the sound of Eclipse’s laughter. Everything felt as if it were surrounded in a thick haze of agony and exhaustion. The last thing he saw before his optics flickered out was the piercing white of Eclipse’s eyes.

_____________

“Ruin? Ruin! Speak to us if you can!”

Slowly, the world started to come into focus. First came his sense of sound, next his vision. As Ruin’s optics readjusted, he could see Moon kneeling next to him, waving his hands in front of Ruin’s face. He couldn’t move or speak even if he wanted to. The incapacitating burning pain that spread throughout his body made the thought of moving the slightest inch or speaking a single word unbearable. Ruin could see someone’s shoes lingering in the doorway, trying to croak out a warning, but all that came out was a harsh squeak of feedback.

“He’s alive, Solar. Not in good condition, but he’s alive,” Moon stated, turning his head towards the figure standing in the doorway. It bothered Ruin the way the lunar animatronic didn’t sound the slightest bit relieved. It almost sounded as if he could have died, and Moon couldn’t have cared less. “We’re gonna bring you back to the daycare, okay? Solar, help me lift him up.”

Ruin was only partially aware of Moon taking his remaining arm over his shoulder and hoisting him into a standing position, Solar pressing himself against Ruin’s damaged half to serve as additional support. He was grateful that Solar and Moon had come to rescue him, but underneath the relief was a multitude of other emotions he was too exhausted to explore at the moment. There was hatred towards Eclipse, betrayal and hurt towards the people he considered his friends and anger towards himself for not being able to stand up against a threat. He felt his head drifting down to rest against his chest as they made their way out of the bunker, Solar pushing it back up.

“Stay with us, Ruin. We’re sorry we didn’t get here sooner, but we’ll have you fixed up in no time,” Solar promised, his voice much softer than Moon’s had been. It wasn’t entirely sympathetic, but it made Ruin feel at least somewhat comforted.

“Barrier….Eclipse…” Ruin croaked, only now wondering how the two of them managed to get through the magical barrier Eclipse had put up to keep him from escaping, and quite possibly to keep anyone from rescuing him.

“We’ll talk about that once you’re better. Let’s focus on getting you back to the daycare,” Moon replied, readjusting his hold on Ruin.

A tense, yet somewhat comforting silence fell over them as Solar and Moon led the way back to the place Ruin one day hoped to call home. It had been a terrifying day, but the knowledge that he was alive and would soon feel better was enough to put him at ease. Once he recovered, Ruin vowed that he would prove to the celestial family that he was trustworthy and could be considered a friend. Until then, he was glad to be going back to the comfort of the arcade.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #sun and moon show #sams ruin #chocolix writing #cw dismemberment #tw dismemberment #dismemberment

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