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monocaelia · 2 years ago

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with my hand in yours.

as your fingers trace along the lines that make up their palm, they wonder how such a wonderful being like you could ever love someone like them. aka; little abstract thoughts about what their hands would be like.

feat. al-haitham, childe, diluc, kaveh, scaramouche, xiao.

genre : fluff. light angst but it's not that serious.

note : school sucks and i want to hold hands w childe so bad rn so here is the product of that thought.

❀ AL-HAITHAM

contrary to what you may think, al-haitham's hands are large and calloused; not to the point of being overly rough, but enough to know that he keeps his hands busy from both paperwork and dealing with unruly people that come across his way. which is surprising considering that he was always one to take the easiest route out of any situation.

but you suppose someone who is adept at using a sword and dealing with eremites and annoying scholars can't just get away with smooth hands.

your hand is much smaller than his in comparison, especially so when his encases your own while you reach for a book you cannot quite reach within the house of daena. you insist that you could reach it yourself, but after minutes of watching you struggle and nearly make the bookshelf topple over as you lean more and more onto the shelves, he decided to take matters into his own hands. although you hate it when he aids you without you asking for help, he finds it endearing, especially so when he gets an excuse to hold your hand like this.

sometimes, the scribe doesn't understand your fascination with his hands as your fingers lazily trace shapes and lines across his palm while his eyes skim through the book in his hands. your body rests against him, head gently propped on his chest and fingers busy with his. although it was a distracting feeling, it was one he welcomed and preferred rather than the presence of his dramatic roommate.

though, al-haitham cannot deny that he doesn't find the contrast between the size of his hands and you amusing. how different your jaw feels in his palm as he lifts your face up to keep your eyes on him during your study session. your soft skin against his rougher hands was a nice feeling, a contrast that he finds humor in despite the blank expression that never leaves his face.

even if you push him away, fed up from his constant deadpan comments and dry teasing, your hand always finds their way back in his with fingers intertwined as he skims through the next book that catches his attention. with a gentle squeeze and a kiss placed on the tops of your knuckles, al-haitham holds onto you until it is unfortunately time to part ways. but even then, the ghost of your palm presses against his when you're gone and he cannot wait to hold you once more.

❀ CHILDE

the scars the decorate childe's hands are ones that he holds with much pride. they're living proof of the battles that he has conquered and pushed through with mere strength and wit; and there isn't a moment where he would ever hide his battle scars.

childe's hands are rough and calloused with toughened skin from years of fighting, both from training for the fatui and also from surviving through his time in the abyss.

but despite it all, a sign of humanity shines through his hardened hands; light freckles dust the back of his hands and his knuckles and travel up his arm. though they aren't as condensed as the ones that shower his cheeks like the stars, they're still enough to attract your attention to them when his gloves are off around you.

his hand often clings onto yours as he guides you to places you've never seen before in his home nation. with gloved hands intertwined with one another, childe eagerly tugs you along the banks of morepesok, gently guiding you along the more troublesome and icier parts of the path so you wouldn't slip. his hand, sturdy and strong, gently presses against the small of your back while the other holds one of yours as you hop over a rock.

other times, his hand is held carefully by yours as you admire all of scars with him. the young harbinger finds it humorous when you stare at him in shock after telling you about the battles he fought to get them before getting a firm lecture by you about taking care of himself. he doesn't see the big deal; if he's the fatui's biggest asset when it comes to fighting, why wouldn't he want to be used as their weapon?

however, seeing your tearful expression as he comes home battered from a serious battle shatters his proud heart into a million pieces. he warned you about the duties he has a fatui harbinger, and yet you continued to love him and stay by his side. childe wasn't a good guy, per se, and there would be times where there would be no signs of him coming home at all. but you persevered, telling him that he was crazy for even thinking that you would be scared away because of his job.

his thumb, rough and heavily scarred, brushes away the tears from your cheek as you clean up the blood that soils his clothes. you're so much different than he is; someone who is not bludgeoned and terrorized by the horrors of the abyss or the power of the fatui. and yet you hold him like he is your world, like he's fourteen again and didn't have the scars of the world on his body.

❀ DILUC

diluc's hands tell the tragic tale of his past; scarred from years of avenging his father with only his great sword by his side and burned from training and utilizing the pyro vision that dangles by his waist. he is damaged and hurt from years of betrayal and the deep scars that run up his hands to his arms are visual evidence of them.

but, despite his cool attitude and standoffish personality, his hands are the warmest you have ever felt. as if the agony his heart experienced in the few years of his adulthood failed to extinguish the flickering flame that keeps his soul ablaze.

the young master of dawn winery's rough hands hold onto yours gently, fingers cupping your own as he brings them to his lips as a polite, yet cheeky greeting knowing you would fluster at the mere act. they're playful, often traveling up your arms after his small greeting and pulling you into his embrace. the flame that was once ignited by rage, burning with the intent to harm those who have wronged him, now lulls you in with the intent of making your heart race.

diluc is aware of the effect his hands have on you, especially during battles where the two of you are fighting alongside one another. gloved hands quickly reach out to grab you, pulling you behind him as his flaming great sword slams forward to knock the abyss mage into the ground. although the battle was over, his hand does not leave your arm and you knew at this point that he was leaving it there deliberately.

his touch, as playful as they get sometimes, were also one that you found solace in, especially when the cold winter air of mondstadt nips at your skin. although diluc worries you find his hands worrisome to look at and feel, all of his disrupting thoughts melt away when your hand squeezes his in return. and so, hands roughened by the most painful of memories hold yours and give you the comfort that you seek.

and comfort you, they do. when the heavy rain outside the winery drenches you to the bone, diluc's warm, scarred hands quickly pull you inside. he doesn't ask you what happened, instead waits for you to tell him yourself, and with a towel in his hands he dries you as much as he can. attracted to his touch like a moth to a flame, your shaking hands quickly grasp onto his own and cling to his being like he was the sole reason you were still sane.

and just once, diluc is happy that you find relief in embers that once burned with no remorse.

❀ KAVEH

kaveh's hands are slender and smooth, contrary to the fact that he wields a heavy claymore as his weapon of choice. anyone would assume that his hands are rough from hours spent on studying architecture and building miniature and actual scale models of his designs, but those who know the young architect are aware of his fondness towards body and skin care.

if anything, the only flaw that hinders kaveh from having the perfect, flawless hands that anyone would dream of would be the smudges of both ink and graphite from his drafts of architectural buildings that stain his fingertips and sides of his hands.

you can't imagine the amount of times your face had ended up accidentally smudged by the inked fingers of your lover. soft, thin fingers lovingly brush the side of your face, moving a stray strand of your hair that obstructs his view of you, only to reveal a smudge of graphite where his fingers just touched. no matter how many apologies spewed from his lips, the smudge remained and small bouts of laughter escape from your lips before reassuring the young architect that it was fine.

however, when his fingers are clean, they're often found touching you in only the most innocent ways. his skilled fingers gently rub in the moisturizer on your face, huffing in fake exasperation as you laugh and attempt to escape his pinching and prodding. with enough squirming and chuckles, kaveh finally squishes your face in between his soft hands, tilting your face to look directly at him. affection is evident with the way he stares at you, smile warmer than the sunshine that radiates brightly in sumeru city, before he quickly bends down to peck at your puckered lips.

there's nothing but love and care in the way that he touches you, regardless of when or where it happens. his nimble fingers find their way to your arm when you drift asleep against him, waiting for him to finish up his draft of the new building he's designing. they graze across your skin, skimming everything that makes you you, the you that the architect loves so dearly.

sometimes he wonders what you see in a simple architect that shoots too far to land on the stars, but if you're beside him with every step that he takes, kaveh feels as though every star is suddenly in reach.

❀ SCARAMOUCHE

ball joints similar to a dolls connect and form the hands that belong to scaramouche, a permanent reminder of the reason he was birthed into this world. as much as he hates looking at them and no matter how much he does to erase his past, they haunt him and contain the memories that he wishes to leave in the past.

maybe then, he would feel more human and let his once fragile heart breathe once more.

similar to a doll's hand, his hands are also smooth and dainty with only a few permanent scars on his fingertips. faint lightning scars trail from his finger tips to his second knuckle and slight calloused fingertips from tending to the doll he calls his "wandering companion."

despite the living proof of his existence as a puppet, there are a few moments where he feels human, where he feels as of his heart could beat once more and hope is flourishes throughout his weathered soul. when your fingers intertwine with his and your palm presses gently against his own, it's as if his forgotten heart had grown wings, fluttering on its own after years of stagnant pain.

feeling your pulse beat against his skin and the gentle tug of his arm as you lead him reminds the wanderer that despite his harsh past and the betrayals that led him astray, he lived through them and is living life anew, a life where he controls the trajectory of his life. and one where he is loved by you.

as much as he hates his hands, he cannot stop you from loving them in his place. when you kiss his fingertips and rub comforting circles across his skin, it's hard for his hatred to fester and grow; for how can he hate something that you love.

not that he would ever admit it to you; always flicking your roaming hands away from his and pinching the fat of your thumb when they reach for his. he calls your touch "annoying" and a "nuisance," but when it's his turn to watch over you during the night, his pinky never fails to interlock with yours.

❀ XIAO

xiaos' hands are rough to the touch, fingertips slender and sharp like the talons of a hawk ready to snatch its prey from where they lay. after centuries of fighting off enemies and protecting the mortals that reside peacefully in liyue, it would be more surprising if not a scar decorated the yaksha's skin.

he is cool to the touch; not needing to generate body heat as he has no need to stay warm and used to the cold from serving his previous master.

blood stains his palms from the lives he took, whether it was accidental or on purpose he doesn't remember any more. innocent lives were mixed in when he dealt with enemies and his karmic debt affected those around him even if he wanted to suffer alone.

and yet, you hold his hands as if he were a small finch; fragile and prone to dying even though he is anything but. your hands are so warm, nearly encompassing his entire being with a mere brush of your fingertips against his. it was inviting, enticing, something that he craved even though he shouldn't.

despite pushing you away when his karmic debt was going to take over, your hands still found his and held on with little to no regard of your own wellbeing.

"as long as i get to you, it doesn't matter," was always your excuse when he demanded why you did something so reckless.

even if he hated the thought of his curse harming you in the worst way possible and feared the mere possibility of losing you, the yaksha could not calm the happiness that fluttered in his chest as if erupting a nest of a million crystalflies within the cavity of where his heart used to be.

you who kiss the scars that litters his hands, as if you were scared that the young adeptus would be the first to disappear from your life, deserve better than him, someone who has innocent blood pooling from his fingertips. but he does not have the heart to deny you from holding his hand and pulling him close, for he loves you too much to even humor the thought of a life apart from you.

#alhaitham x reader #tartaglia x reader #diluc x reader #kaveh x reader #scaramouche x reader #xiao x reader #alhaitham scenarios #tartaglia scenarios #diluc scenarios #kaveh scenarios #scaramouche scenarios #xiao scenarios #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #didi writes

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briaroftheroses · 3 months ago

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Right Here In My Arms Tonight

warnings: angst, grieving dead loved one, no happy ending // wc: 700+

spencer reid x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

A million thoughts flew through Spencer’s mind, as they always did, as if his brain was the superhighway. Rain pattered softly against the window, dark clouds looming in the night sky, as he cuddled himself further into the bed.

He replayed the previous few weeks in his head, recalling every small detail. He always thought it was a gift, that he would never forget the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy, the look of your hair in the soft morning sunrise, the image of your skin in the moonlight. Now, he felt as though it was anything but. Cursed to remember the feeling of your bodies tangled together, the sound of your melodic laughter, the memory of hushed whispers in the dead of night, hidden from the world in a cocoon of blankets, and knowing it was all gone.

He couldn’t help but wonder if it was all his fault, as self-doubt and pity creeped in. Could he have been better? Is there something he could have said, or done? Was he too dependent, too self-critical, or not affectionate enough? Or was it inevitable, like the last embers of a once warm and glowing candle dying out?

A part of Spencer didn’t want to believe that it was all over. He was a man of logic, facts were everything to him, yet you seemed to have stripped that all away. Facts meant nothing when he felt lost, half-convinced he would look up and you would be there, smiling down at him, looking like an angel sent from heaven. That’s what you were to Spencer, it’s what you always had been. His saving grace.

The team had been constantly checking over his shoulder, out of concern, and a worry he would return to his old habits. The thought almost made Spencer laugh. You would be so disappointed if he started taking dilaudid again, so guilty that you drove him to it. No, he wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t let you see him like that. You would come back, right? And when you did, Spencer would be sure that he was ready, not hopped up on drugs.

“Sir,” woman’s voice rang out softly in the room, almost afraid of startling him, as if anything too loud would set him off.

Sir. He wasn’t Spencer there, not Doctor Reid. He wasn’t anything, not without you.

“Sir?” The same voice called as Spencer refused to look up, only burying his face further into the blankets. Spencer was sure it would work, that if he could just hide himself then none of this would be true, just a bad dream that could be warded off with a sheet.

“We need to prep the body,” those words seemed to somewhat knock Spencer out of his stupor of denial as he glanced up. He still refused to look at the nurse, his gaze trained solely on you, on the bruises and cuts maring your face. You were still beautiful, you would always be beautiful to Spencer. You could be covered in scars, and violent purple bruises, and be bald, for all he cared. He would never meet someone more perfect, more ethereal.

“She’s going to wake up soon,” Spencer voiced adamantly. The heart monitor had flatlined long ago, but it was as if Spencer never even heard it.

He did, he absolutely did. It’s what threw him into a pit of despair and agony, the sound being the final note in Spencer’s life, the soundtrack to the end. He couldn’t possibly go on, not now. Not while you lay still beneath him, body battered in from the ubsubs attacks, breathing stilling to a halt.

No, this wasn’t right. None of it was. You were supposed to wake up, hold him, kiss him, and marry him. Spencer’s fingers toyed idly with the shimmering ring on your finger.

“She’ll wake up,” he repeated, with such conviction you would’ve almost believed him, if not for the way his hands shook and you lay lifeless in the hospital bed.

Spencer always knew everything, something he took great pride in. He had his whole life planned to the moment. But, with every second that you remained unresponsive to his hushed words, and delicate kisses to your face, his future slowly swirled around the drain, leaving only blackness behind.

And the million thoughts in Spencer’s head finally stopped, replaced with only you.

written by @briaroftheroses, august 15th 2024

tags: @fear-is-truth @slutforgarlogan

a/n: woke up in an angsty mood today and made my first spencer fic 🤪

also i’m so sorry i haven’t post a fic in like five months 😭 i have been writing, just nothing’s been getting finished

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #mgg #spencer reid angst #angst #my writing 🤍#cm #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you

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lucid-loves · 10 months ago

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Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 8

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 5k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction.

Chapter Synopsis: You’ve arrived in Paris and have successfully infiltrated the catacombs. However, things take an unexpected turn for the best and worst.

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

The train approached the station right on time, the brakes smoothing out right onto the platform. By now, the train station was busy with people. It wouldn’t be hard to lose someone within the crowd. That was why it was so important to tag the targets instead of relying on eyesight alone.

From a suitable distance, the 141 tailed Makarov’s men, making sure to blend in when necessary. It wasn’t hard to look like one of the many groups of tourists in Paris. An odd group, but a group nonetheless. Soon enough, you halted the chase, allowing the targets to head to their destination. If you followed them all the way to their secret entrance, you all would be spotted immediately. For now, it was wise to head to a hotel spot nearby and track the targets by computer. The men weren’t used to hotel hopping so much. According to you, it was much less conspicuous to stay in a hotel rather than a guarded building on behalf of the United States government.

Not that they were complaining. They were grateful to have comfortable beds while on a mission. There were many, many missions that required them to sleep on the ground. Sometimes they didn’t have sleeping bags or cots with them. The actual beds have led to most of them getting better rest than normal.

This hotel looked just about the same as the last one. Pretty generic, clean, and only local art on the walls that looked similar to the many artists on the streets. The room pairing was the same as well. Soap and Ghost in a room, Price and Gaz in the other, and one all to yourself. You didn’t mind bunking with any of them if it was necessary. Right now, it just wasn’t.

Ghost was a little disappointed that you didn’t invite him to stay with you, but he wasn’t surprised. Admittedly, a part of him did love the chase. He also had a new motivation when it came to you. Complete the mission and convince you to stay. He knew that you were wavering when it came to the possibility of going back off the grid after everything was over. While he wasn’t sure what you would end up doing if you decided to stick with him, he didn’t care. He just wanted you by his side.

Perhaps if you could see how capable he was during the final stages of the mission, you would.

You all sat in a bedroom, carefully tracking the targets and their luggage. On a large map, Gaz began to trace the trail for Paris on the surface. Price was going through local cameras as well to determine their secret entrance. Soap was looking at a laptop that kept track of them with red dots. All of it took coordination and relying on each other. When it came down to it, the 141 was like a well-oiled machine.

As soon as Gaz noticed that the tracking route didn’t match the Paris roads and Price lost sight, Ghost and you began tracking the targets on a different map. A massive map of the catacombs. When men went one way while the luggage went the other, you both picked out a focus and traced them on the map. The targets went deeper into the catacombs each minute, amplifying just how dangerous this mission was going to be.

The targets were far from where tourists were allowed to be. It seemed like they were venturing into parts that haven’t even been discovered yet. If the 141 wasn’t careful, they could get lost or die. Whichever came last.

The team spent hours mapping it all out. By the time you all had a better grip on the labyrinth layout, it was nightfall.

You’ve skipped lunch with the team in order to memorize the route. Worst case scenarios, you lose light or lose the map. Memorizing the routes could save you if the worst happened. It took you a long time, though. By the time you did, you were starving for dinner.

Thankfully, Simon saved a room service plate for you. He didn’t like the fact that you skipped lunch, but he decided it wasn’t worth the fight. All that mattered was that you had something in your stomach for dinner. Not that you were completely engrossed in your meal to really enjoy it, though.

During dinner, you went over the plan with the team. It was proving to be much too dangerous to have all of you enter the maze of bones. There needed to be backup on the surface. It was finally decided that you, Ghost, and Gaz would go into the labyrinth while Price and Soap tracked you from above. Before leaving, you would plant trackers on yourselves. Then, after entering the maze, Ghost and Gaz would separate from you to head to a different part of the catacombs for standby. You would follow the target route, refine the map with new discoveries, and find Makarov to assassinate him.

If Makarov wasn’t there, you would call him there. However, that meant spending a night underground.

As everyone geared up in their rooms, you sat alone in yours. You’ve never been nervous about a mission before. You have always kept your cool, confident that you would be able to finish the job no matter what happened. In and out. Undetected. The fear of death never even had you anxious. Now? Now it was different. There were actually many things on the line for you. Too much at stake to make any mistakes.

There was a soft knock on your door before it opened up. Simon stood in his full gear. Bulletproof vest, helmet, boots. Everything that told the world that he was a soldier. As much as you wanted to admire it, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, your gaze focused on your twiddling thumbs.

“Hey, you alright?” He came closer, kneeling in front of you to see your face better. Having you be nervous was making him nervous. What could possibly have you, the greatest assassin in the world, rattled?

In response, you shook your head. “I never feared death because I never had a life. It’s different now.”

“Oh. . . Hex. . .” He called out, his gloved hand caressing your cheek. For the first time, you leaned into his gentle touch. It nearly had his heart explode for you.

“Sorry. This won’t be a problem once I’m down there and I find my groove. I’ll be okay.” You reassured him and yourself. Giving yourself a pep-talk was new too.

Just for a moment, Simon wanted to share this short time with you. To be the one to calm your nerves. He lifted his mark partially up, kissing you deeply to break your anxious thoughts. When his kiss finally registered in your brain, you couldn’t help but kiss him back like it was the last kiss you would ever share with him. If things went wrong, it may very well be.

When he pulled away, his eyes were sharp. Confident. “You’ll be perfect. I know you will.”

Your chest stung painfully at his words of encouragement. Focusing on what could go wrong wasn’t helping you believe in yourself. All you needed to believe in was Ghost. With a resolute nod, you accept his support. “Yeah. I’ll be perfect. Thank you.”

His heart swelled at your quick recovery. If he could, he would follow you all the way through the catacombs and back.

Simon gave you one last kiss before pulling down his mask again, already missing the feeling of your lips pressed against his. You felt that absence as well, hating and loving that you could now never imagine a life without his kisses. That just made you more determined to finish the job with grace just how you’ve always done.

In the dead of night, Ghost quietly peeled back a manhole cover, revealing nothing but sewer at the bottom. Gaz raised a brow at the reveal, expecting to see bones on bones already. You double checked the map to make sure this was the correct entry point. Unfortunately, it was.

One by one, you climbed down to the sewers, careful not to land in the waters. Ghost spoke into his earpiece. “Entry successful. Can you read us?”

“Crystal clear, Lt. Be careful down there. Who knows just how many of Makarov’s men are there.” Price stressed, carefully watching the monitor from the safety of the hotel bedroom. Soap was tasked with coordinating a mass arrest and seize of weapons once Makarov was confirmed dead. He was on the phone coordinating the plan while Price focused on his team under Paris.

Carefully, you made your way through the sewers, following the same path as the targets from earlier. The walk already felt long as it was dark, cold, and quiet save the sound of water dripping every so often. No chit chat. No small talk. All focus.

Eventually, you all came across a dead end. Gaz and Ghost began to feel the wall, trying to determine if there was a secret they were missing. You checked the map to confirm your positions. Just as Gaz swiped his hands over the left side of the wall, he felt something out of place. A piece of brick that jutted out just slightly compared to the others. When he pressed down on it, the wall popped open, waiting to be opened like a door. Gaz relayed the information to his captain while you marked it on the map. On Price’s end, he marked a similar map, wanting to match yours with each new discovery.

Beyond the wall was nothing but pitch black darkness. There was no light for what seemed like miles. When you all turned on your flashlights, you were met with the remains of people from floor to ceiling. Bones dating back hundreds of years surround you. It was eerie. It was somehow a little worse than being surrounded by freshly dead bodies. Perhaps it was the more profound sense of death that made the endless halls feel grim.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel a bit creeped out as well. Skulls were his signature icon, wearing one right on his face. Yet here, it didn’t feel right to wear his mask so blatantly. It was like all of his kills were haunting him now through the bones of thousands.

Gaz let out a shuddering breath, trying to get himself under control. It wasn’t a pretty sight, being down there. He wondered how the hell tourists felt so excited to visit this place voluntarily.

For you, it all just felt like a bad omen.

“Let’s go. We don’t want to linger for too long.” You announced, trying to shake the heebie jeebies off your shoulders. The others followed closely, listening for human life when their flashlights didn’t reach far enough into the depths.

After walking for a few miles, you finally approached the anticipated fork in the path. It was time to go your separate ways for now. As you stared down your path, you took off your jacket along with your tracker. Ghost’s eyes narrowed, a fire already erupting in his chest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The stagnant air was cold, already giving you goosebumps beneath your long-sleeved shirt. “They may search me if we need to go with Plan B. As soon as they find the tracking device, radio, and earpiece, they’ll kill me. Or capture me for interrogation. Either way, that’s not ideal.”

“How are we supposed to know where you are then? How are we supposed to communicate?” Gaz question, growing worried about your sudden decision as well.

You threw your jacket to Kyle, him catching it with his fast reflexes. Ghost clenched his jaw tight, almost cracking teeth. He didn’t like this one bit. But, if this is how you perfected your craft, he had no choice but to accept it.

From your pocket, you took out a small bobby pin that matched the color of your hair. You pressed the button on the end, causing it to start connecting to the 141’s earpieces. A new dot popped up on the monitor that Price still watched as well. Through the bobby pin, you spoke softly, your voice coming through their ears. “This is a new piece me and Kate have been working on for a while. It’s more discreet. This will be hidden in my hair and less likely to get spotted even with a search. Any complaints?”

“Hear you loud and clear, Hex. Good thinking, bringing a discreet backup. I’ll have to ask Kate to get me one of those.” Price praised, lightening the mood. Ghost still had complaints, but he kept them to himself for now. There was something heavier weighing him down.

Simon didn’t want to split up. He thought that he would have no problem with it back in the hotel room when he was comforting you. Right at the moment, however, he didn’t want you to go. Especially without your jacket.

Before you could go off on your own, he pulled you in for a tight hug, not caring if Garrick saw. Kyle, being pretty intelligent about these things, pretended that he didn’t see anything and turned around. Simon would have to treat him to a drink later.

“Be careful, kitten.” He squeezed you tight, the hug almost crushing your lungs. In response, you wrapped your arms around him too. Well, as much as you could with all that gear on him.

Reluctantly, he let you go, allowing you to look up at him once more before turning to disappear into the darkness. When Simon turned to go on their designated path, he heard a familiar voice snicker in his ear.

Soap was having a little laugh. “Kitten?”

“Can it before I decide to add a new set of bones down here.” He threatened, something that even you heard from down your skull-decorated corridor.

In the cover of darkness and a faint flashlight, you made your way down the catacombs. At this point, you were completely relying on your map and instincts. The halls never seemed to end. It was so difficult to determine how much further you needed to go as well. Taking a deep breath every step, you moved forward.

Suddenly, there was a yellow light in the distance. One that casted haunting shadows on the walls. There were voices too. Voices engaged in casual conversation like it was a regular Tuesday night at work. This was it. You were finally close to finding the main center of this operation.

Hiding in the shadows, you waited for the men to pass before going down the path behind them. More light illuminated the way, ensuring that even Makarov’s men could come back safely. The confidence Makarov had in this secret was amazing. Few guards, a few too many lights, and footsteps standing out on the dirt floor. It didn’t take long for you to figure out the guards’ path pattern either.

You lowered your voice to a whisper, the bobby pin coming in clutch. “Found their hub. Preparing to infiltrate now.”

“Copy that. Ghost and Gaz are in position as well. Keep us updated, Hex.” Price answered back, carefully watching your new dot enter the heart of the operation. Hopefully, if things went well, he was planning on trying to convince to stay with the team as well. You’ve been a good influence on the group. You’ve challenged them to think outside the box, take the time to think about unexpected possibilities, and to rely on the psychological aspects.

John couldn’t remember the last time they were so close to catching Makarov since his escape from prison. It felt like they’ve been chasing after him for forever. The fact that you were able to get a step ahead of him, something the 141 has failed to do until now, meant a lot. The fact that you were willing to put yourself so close to danger spoke volumes about your character too.

The team could really use someone like you.

For now, Price would table that conversation for later. He needed you to come back safe first.

Sneaking around the operation was quite easy for you. The guards were pretty lax in terms of security. With how narrow the catacombs were and how many boxes of weapons they had, you were able to get pretty perfect cover. On your map, you marked down where you were as well as the amount of weapons were down with you. You relayed the information to Price and Soap, them also take note of it on their side.

Everything was going smoothly. Except, there was no sign of Makarov anywhere. Not even a mention of his name from his men. You had a bit more area to explore, but that seemed like a waste of time. There was no evidence in knowing if Makarov would come personally within the next hour or the next week. You were genuinly hoping that it wouldn’t have to come down to this. “No sign of Makarov. No evidence of future arrival. Plan B.”

From Ghost’s position, he and Gaz looked to each other. It looked like they were going to be down there longer than planned. They did have the option to leave and come back later when Makarov does finally arrive, but they would never do that to you. Not after all that you’ve done for them. They were going to stay down here with you for as long as it will take. Ghost confidently spoke into his earpiece. “We’ll be here.”

“Plan B is a go.” Price confirmed, his muscles tensing up more than they were before. Everyone was feeling more tense. They were nervous for you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was going to happen. Then, you emerged from the shadows, hands up in surrender. It took a whistle to get someone to notice you. Once someone did, everyone was pointing their guns at you. Questions were yelled out to you in different languages you couldn’t understand. It wasn’t until someone big and burly came over and spoke to you in English that things could get a move on.

“You! Who are you?! How did you come down here?” He growled, his finger hovering over the trigger of his pistol.

Calmly, you explained yourself, careful not to make any sudden movements. “I’m an assassin. I wish to speak to Makarov for employment.”

“And you infultrate our operation to do so? How do I even know that you aren’t lying to me? Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now and save everyone the trouble.” He argued, his muscles aching to fill you with bullets. Something about you didn’t seem right to him. However, he couldn’t say that he wasn’t impressed that you had found their operation.

“I consent to a search if it will make you feel better. All I have is a knife in my boot and a twin pistols on my hips in terms of weapons. Take them. I figured that sneaking in like this would catch attention. I’m pretty good at my job. I can be a very valuable asset.” You promised, hands still in the air, not even flinching to defend yourself.

The men looked between each other, silently trying to decide what to do with you. Their boss gestured to your body, prompting a few men to take your weapons off your person. Paranoia of more was quelled thanks to you wearing tight clothes. “She’s clear.”

“Anyone follow you down?” The boss asked, his tone becoming more relaxed.

You shook your head and chuckled a little. “I wouldn’t be a very good assassin if there was. Search me for communication tools.”

They were buying your performance, not even realizing that they were taking orders from you like dogs. The 141 listened carefully through your bobby pin, fists clenched as they tried to keep it together. They couldn’t help it. They were protective of you now.

Ghost heard the shuffle of clothing, imagining how those men have their dirty fucking hands on you for a thorough search. He wanted to storm right through the catacombs to you like a demon from hell to cut their hands off. Doing so would compromise the mission, but it would probably feel worth it. He had to bite his cheek when he heard you hiss.

Someone got a little too handsy with their search, your tone biting as if you really will bite. “Hey! Watch your fucking hands!”

“Just being thorough, girl. Follow me.” The leader finally said, his men ushering you along right behind him. Price and Soap carefully tracked your position, making sure that their map would be able to lead them right to you when the time came as you were unable to update yours.

You were led to a more open corridor that was divided into sections almost like rooms. In one of them was a small table, two chairs, and a small battery lantern, much like a makeshift interrogation room. You were guided to have a seat, to which you complied. Across from you sat the one in charge around here while a couple of men with rifles manned the exit. The rest dispersed, business as usual.

“So, you’re telling me that you want to help Makarov. Why?” He questioned carefully, his eyes scanning you for any kind of slip up. Any indication that you weren’t who you said you were.

You leaned back in your chair casually, arms across your chest. “I’m only interested in going through an interview with Makarov himself.”

He have a mocking laugh, not knowing that he was eating right out of your palm already. “What makes you think he’s gonna come all the way here just to interview you? What do you think this is? A cooperate job? Why do you think you are so special?”

Smirking, you shrugged your shoulders. “I found and broke into this operation, didn’t I? You may have the rest of the world fooled, but if I can waltz right through your skeleton entrance, it won’t be long until your enemies do. You guys need help. I can provide that.”

He raised a brown and stroked his chin in thought, his brain mulling your words over. You had a point. By the time they noticed you, you were already right in the middle of their big secret. There was obviously a loose end somewhere. Makarov wouldn’t be happy with that. Perhaps they could use the support of a skilled assassin.

“What’s your name, girl?” He asked, interest piqued.

“Don’t have one. Wouldn’t be a good assassin if I did.” You lied effortlessly like it really was the truth.

A few seconds passed before he finally took the bait. If anything, Makarov would kill you instantly the moment he suspects something wrong. The ghost weapon parts were going to need a final approval too before being shipped out.

With a heavy sigh, he caved. “Alright, girlie. I’ll leave this business you have with Makarov. You have to stay here, though. Unless told otherwise, you will not leave this room.”

You were left alone in the open room, obeying the order for the sake of the mission. You could hear some sighs of relief from the bobby pin close to your ear hidden within your hair. First part was over. However, that didn’t mean that the hardest part was done with. Things were only going to get more tense from here on out.

You spend hours sitting and doing nothing. You couldn’t even engage in any conversation with the 141. If you weren’t going to die from a bullet, you were going to die from boredom. When the boss of the catacombs operation came back, you nearly sighed in relief. “Makarov will be here within the next twenty-four hours or so. Until then, you are confined here. Good luck, girl.”

After that brief interaction, he left once again, leaving you to wait out even more. No food. No water. Little light. Nothing to do but wait.

The same went for the 141. At least they had each other in closer proximity, though. You, on the other hand, had no one by your immediate side. Hopefully, this would be the last time you would have to be alone like this.

There was no telling if it was still night or day. There was no telling as to how much time has actually passed. Ghost and Gaz had been quite on their end, cutting of communication briefly to avoid you or them being discovered. Soap and Price were silent too, trying to work out final steps on their end. After a certain period of time, you truly felt isolated. This wasn’t like being alone in your cabin. There, you had the sounds of nature surrounding you, books to read, things to do. You could see sunlight and moonlight from your windows.

Here, there was nothing but bones, dirt, and the tiny light of the lantern. Even the men guarding you decided to turn in for some rest, situating themselves further away from you, but still in close enough range to notice an escape attempt.

A chill ran through you, making you rub your arms with your hands. You were beginning to get tired and hungry. Just as you tried to slip into a cat nap to pass the time, a low voice woke you back up. Hearing it felt like you were being brought back to the land of the living. “Hey, kitten. How are you holding up?”

You didn’t say anything back for a moment, listening for eavesdroppers. Your voice dropped to a whisper so faint that it was like a spirit speaking. “Fine. You sure you want to keep using that nickname right now?”

“I had Price patch us for a private line for a moment. Gaz is sweeping the areas around us. It’s just you and me.” Ghost reassured, grateful to hear your voice like this. He didn’t like you being isolated the way you were. At the very least, he hoped that his voice would provide you with enough company to tie you over for several more hours.

Your heart felt lighter already just hearing his voice through the pin. Quietly, you go up from the chair to lay on the floor, not caring if you were getting dirt all over yourself. You just needed to stretch your back and legs out. Try to relax as best as you could. “What time is it out there?”

“Nearly noon. It doesn’t feel like it.” He groaned, hardly believing that there was sunlight somewhere himself. It was way too damn dark under Paris.

“Tell me about it. I can’t tell if only a couple minutes have passed or a couple hours. Time seems to stand still down here. The skeletons aren’t helping.” You half-joked, causing Ghost to actually chuckle. The dark sense of humor that you were demonstrating now made him miss you more than he already did.

A moment of comfortable silence passed between the two of you, both of you feeling more secure in the dark now that you have heard each other’s voices. Yet, an unsettling feeling began to take over your stomach, tying it in knots. “Ghost?”

“Yeah?”

“If anything goes wrong, you’re prepared to say goodbye to me, right?” You shakily breathed out.

The nature of your whisper still nearly knocked the wind right out of him. The way you said it, like it was an absolute, an unavoidable inevitable, scared him. Genuinely. “I won’t let something like that happen. I’m not gonna lose you.”

Suddenly, you bolted up from the floor, ears trained on a sound you heard further down the catacombs. You almost thought that it was just the illusion of darkness getting to you until you heard it again. Faint chatter from afar. A familiar voice that you have only heard through tv speakers.

“Y/n.” You confessed your real name to him with a heavy heart.

Simon almost didn’t register it. His heart nearly stopped beating. “What?”

“Y/n. My name is Y/n.”

Before he could say anything, let alone find the words to say, he heard the chattering too from your end. The voice was undeniable. Quickly, he radioed Price to reestablish the communication lines again. “Captain. It’s Makarov. He’s arrived early.”

You returned to your chair, dusting yourself off just before the man of the hour entered your line of sight. With a sinister smile, he entered your room and took a seat across from you. “It’s not every day that I have someone demand to go through an interview with me. In fact, I never held a formal interview before. Nor took demands from anyone. This better be worth my time.”

“Trust me, Makarov. The information and help I have for you is gonna be worth both of our time. I would be lying if I said that their was something out of this for me too.” You faked a gracious smile, something you weren’t sure was selling it enough.

Thankfully, you had Makarov’s attention. For now.

“I’m listening.”

Taglist:

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sandwitchstories · 6 months ago

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Accidentally Happily Ever After: Chapter 2

This story was never meant to turn into a 4k+ words per chapter story, but here we are! The second chapter is up for the Sanemi x Y/N unplanned pregnancy story! I hope you enjoy reading it! likes, comments and shares are always welcome!

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

Chapter 2: I'm gonna love you, like I'm gonna lose you (over 4k words)

Summary: Y/N moves in with Sanemi and they begin their life together. Some domestic bliss, some angst and a whole lot of gratuitous smut

CW: AFAB reader, AFAB terms used to described the naughty bits, lots of smut, MDNI, pregnant sex,

Sanemi pressed his lips together as he looked around his home. He had asked Y/Ni to move in with him. He still wasn’t sure what the hell they were, but he wanted her near, he wanted her here. He needed to know she was safe. That his unborn child was safe.

There were boxes everywhere. Her clothes haphazardly hanging out of a chest in his bedroom, her cookbooks in his kitchen, a box of her favorite books in the perfect spot to stub his toe on… He saw a sketchbook and picked it up, curious and distracted from the pain in his foot.

“Hey! What are you doing, Mr. Nosey pants?” she said, coming up to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding it up.

“My sketch book,” she blushed, holding out a hand for it.

“Whatcha got in here that’s got you blushing?” he asked, holding it higher, out of her reach.

“Just give it back,” she said, opening and closing her outstretched hand.

“I will… after I look in it,” he said, turning quickly away from her.

“Ugh, give it back!” she laughed, following after him.

He danced out of her way, leaping backwards with his incredible strength. She followed after him, every bit as agile as he was, chasing him out into the yard. He jumped back up onto the roof in front ofher. “Don’t even think of bringing your pregnant ass up here.”

“Then bring my book back down here, you asshat!” Y/N called, hands on her hips.

He grinned as she stormed off, realizing he was going to do what he wanted anyways. He shook his head, wondering what she didn’t want him to see. Jealousy went through him. Was it other men she was drawing? Was there someone else?

Jealousy coursed through his veins as he opened the book. Drawings of Rengoku (of course! The fucking perfect golden boy), Obanai, Kabamaru, that ditz with the pink whip that Obanai wanted to bone, Shinobu, that loser Giyu who pissed him off to no end, fuck even Genya and those 3 idiots with the pet demon? But not one of him… he saw a pack in the back of the book was dog eared, mark holding a place. He flipped to it, curious what was there.

So Y/N did draw him too after all, a whole damn section of her sketchbook was apparently dedicated to his ugly mug. He felt like he was seeing himself through her eyes and it made him speechless. She knew every scar on his body better than he did. She had drawings of him laying down sleeping, smiling in the kitchen, working out, training, fighting… him with his dog… “So she has thought of me as often as I have thought of her after all…”

He hopped down off the roof, heading inside to find her. Y/N was sitting on the floor of his room… no, their room, folding her clothes, humming softly. He paused, momentarily taking in the sight of her. Domestic bliss had never been his thing, but he suddenly found himself understanding the appeal.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asked without turning around to face him.

He set her sketchbook down on the small dresser she had brought with her.

“You’re talented,” he said, sitting down next to her.

“Coming from you, that's high praise,” Y/N smiled at him before leaning over and kissing his cheek, giggling at the shocked look on his face. She cupped his face with her free hand. “I may draw others occasionally, but you are my muse, handsome.”

He blushed and looked away, “Yeah. Whatever.”

She laughed again, going back to folding her clothes.

Sanemi reached over and brushed some hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I can’t wait to see the sketches you draw of our baby.”

She blushed and gave him a small smile, “For me… I can’t wait to draw pictures of you and our baby together. My own little family… something I never thought I would have.”

Sanemi noticed tears gather in Y/N’s eyes and he pulled her into his lap, wrapping an arm around her to hold her close, the other settled over her lower belly. “Never thought a guy like me would be sitting here, with his pregnant woman in his arms… shit, holding the whole damn world in his arms. But here I am. I promise, I will always keep you both safe… and I will be here, Y/N. Every step of the way, I’ve got your back. You’re not doing this alone, we are a team, you and me.”

She adjusted to wrap her arms around him, giving his neck a tender kiss before tucking her head under his chin, smiling as he gently kissed the top of her head. “Not just a team, Nemi. We are a family.”

“Yeah, we are,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head again. “We are.”

3 months had passed since Y/N had moved in with Sanemi. She was starting to show and all of this finally felt more real. She no longer went on missions of any kind, though she was still assisting with training, just not as hands on as before. She helped out at the Butterfly Mansion when Shinobu needed help. When she was not doing that she kept busy taking care of things around the Wind Hashira Estate as well. She was happier than she had ever been in her entire life. Happier than she ever thought she could be. And she was soaking up every second of it, terrified it would not last.

She had come home the night before, her social battery fully drained. She needed some time away from the others, in her own space. She wished Sanemi was home but the work of a Hashira was never done.

Y/N laid down in bed, curling up with Sanemi’s pillow, taking a long slow inhale. She missed the asshole. He was trying hard to open up to her and she was falling even more head over heels in love with him every single day.

He did have a way of setting off her hormones though- good, bad, and ugly. She either wanted to hug him tightly, jump his bones, or strangle him. Sometimes all 3 at once.

She had never thought this was where she would be, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. She closed her eyes, hearing the storm whipping up outside, thunder rolling across the sky. She nodded off to sleep, hand rubbing her belly.

This mission had been a bad one. Dead kids were never easy… especially with his past. Sanemi could still see his siblings’ faces as they lay in puddles of their own blood… but it was even harder this time, knowing he had his own child on the way.

One of the slaughtered women had been pregnant… slaughtered like cattle with an equally wronged young child in her arms. He and Obanai had been too late to save them… but he had taken great pleasure in slaughtering that demon and bathing in its blood.

The trip back to the mansion had felt longer than usual, just wanting to see Y/N, grateful she had been somewhere safe. She was supposed to be staying at the Butterfly Estate when he was gone. He came back only to find out she wasn’t fucking there! She was back at their home, where she had no protection… no fucking help…

The speed he traveled over the distance was faster than he had ever gone before. His heart was in his throat, he felt almost sick with fear. What if something had happened? What if he was too late again? He couldn’t lose her! He had spent so many years so fucking angry… so fucking alone… he didn’t want to go back to that… he never wanted to go back to that… he couldn’t live without that crazy woman… and his child… his unborn child he already loved so much… He was almost in a full frenzy of fear when his estate came into view.

He jumped to his bedroom balcony in one leap, knowing she would be there. He moved through the shoji door at the speed of light, barely pausing to close it behind him to keep out the storm. He raced forward until he reached the side of their recently gotten western style bed. (It was easier for Y/N to get on and off already and she was only going to get bigger. Plus, bending her over the side of it was nice…)

He stared down, desperate for her to breathe. Y/N let out a soft snore, her hand moved in her sleep to rub her belly, like she was comforting their child already. She sensed him it would seem, she blinked up at him before giving him a sleepy, broad smile. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“You weren’t at Shinobu’s fucking mansion.”

“I wanted to come home, big deal,” Y/N yawned, rolling onto her back, staring up at him as she woke up more.

“It is a big fucking deal! There is no one here to help you if I’m not here! There’s no one here to fucking protect you!”

“Nemi, I’m a Hashira. I’m far from defenseless or helpless.”

“Right now you fucking are though!” he snapped, his terror at the thought of losing her was overwhelming.

“Nemi,” she said, leaning forward to grab onto his pants, urging him forward. She scooted back and grabbed onto his shirt, pulling him down with her as she laid back on the bed. She took his hand and put it to her face. “I’m right here. I’m okay.” She slid his hand down her body, resting it over her belly. “We’re both right here. We’re okay.”

He kissed her, feeling out of control and needing the reassurance that she was safe, she was okay. His kiss was anything but gentle. It was desperate, raw. But she needed this just as bad judging by the way she hungrily clawed at him as he shed his shirt, undoing his pants and freeing his cock and pumping him in her fist.

“Fuck,” he groaned, yanking back the blanket to show her nude form. “Were you waiting for me, beautiful? Wanting to be ready for me when I came home?” He moved his hand between her legs, forcing her thighs to open before he slid his fingers into her center.

She was already wet for him. He broke their kiss and moved quickly to bury his face between her legs, needing desperately to taste her. The sounds she was making and the feel of her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer made his cock throb. He shoved two fingers into her center as he worked his cock with his other hand. His mouth latched around her clit, sucking, licking and flicking at the sensitive pearl, enjoying the feel of her bucking against his face and her juices coating his fingers.

“More, Nemi, need you, need your cock,” she moaned, grinding against his fingers and pressing herself more on his tongue.

“Not until you cum for me, princess. You gotta cum for me first if you want my cock,” he said, licking up her slit from his fingers to her clit again. He started moving his fingers harder and faster, returning his mouth to her. The second his fingers found that special spot in her hot, slick core he went into overdrive, abusing it and her clit until she came, screaming his name.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he encouraged her as he fingered her through her orgasm.

He quickly shoved his pants to his knees, in no mood to stop to deal with the belts still on his lower legs or rid himself fully of his pants. He was too desperate to be inside of her. He needed the sanctuary of being buried balls deep in her cunt. Needed to watch her pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, watch her eyes roll back into her skull as he fucked her deep and hard, chasing away the visions in his mind of the horror scene he had encountered just hours ago

He slid the swollen head of his cock up and down her slit. “Are you ready for me, beautiful? Ready for me to give you this cock you want so bad?”

“Yes! Stop teasing me and fuck me!” Y/N said, still panting and shivering from her orgasm. The blunt head of his cock hitting her sensitive clit on every pass made her twitch on every contact.

“Shhh, I got you baby, I got what you need right here,” he said, lining up his cock and slowly feeding it to her, inch by thick inch.

“Fuck,” she moaned as he filled her, hers fingers digging into his sides as she wrapped her legs around his hip, trying to pull him deeper, deeper inside her.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he groaned as he bottomed out, flush against her.

“Don’t hold back,” Y/N said, reaching up to cup his face as he leaned over her, hands braced by her shoulders. “Take what you need.”

He kissed her, his mouth devouring hers, tongue sweeping in to duel with hers, dominate hers. His hips began to move faster and harder. He broke their kiss to rest their foreheads together while he pumped into her, “You doin’ okay, baby?”

“Better than,” she kissed him again.

“Good. Wanna make you feel so good…”

“You are, baby, you are,” she said, hands on the back of his head, kissing him almost desperately.

Sanemi realized at that moment that Y/N had missed him as much as he missed her. It was evident in the way her legs were still locked around him, her hands constantly touching him everywhere she could, the neediness in her kiss. She was addicted as he was, and it made his cock even harder.

He grabbed her hips and pulled her tighter against him, onto his lap, fucking deeper into her. The feel of her pussy swallowing him, embracing him, clenching around him, it was fucking paradise. “Fuck, you take my cock so well, baby. Taking it so good for me.”

She clenched as he spoke, her hips were rocking and grinding against his, trying desperately to get some friction on her swollen clit, it was begging for attention. He grinned as he saw her struggle. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? Is there something you want? Use your words.”

She blushed, it was like she didn’t realize he was literally balls deep inside her the way she flushed before she spoke, “Rub me while you fuck me. Rub my clit, I’m close baby.”

He growled at her words as he moved one hand to rub and press on her clit as he fucked her. “Like that baby?”

“Fuck yes!”

He adjusted his hips and his=t that special spot once again making her cry out and coat his cock even more. “Right there baby, right there?”

“Shit! Yes, please! Oh gods!!” Y/N cried out as he pounded into her. “Oh gods, I’m cumming! Nemi, I’m cumming baby!”

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he panted as chased own high.

He was so fucking close. She was so tight and hot and wet, fluttering and pulsing around him as she coated his cock and groin with her juice. He kept stroking her clit as she came. When she arched her back and called out his name, thrown into another orgasm she pulled him over that edge with her.

“Fuck, I’m cumming, Y/ N, I’m cumming,” he damn near whimpered, sweat dripping off his forehead.

“Fill me up, it’s what I want,” she said, kissing him and nipping at his lip.

“Fuck,” he kept pumping until he was empty, slowing to an eventual stop and resting against her. He moved one hand to cup her face, leaning over her, wanting to check on her.

Y/N covered his hand with her own, turning her face to kiss his calloused palm. “I’m okay, Nemi. I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”

“I know, I know… I just…” he worried. He never wanted to do anything to cause her or their child any pain. That thought, coupled with exhaustion and the weight of this mission, took the last of everything he had in him.

“I know, baby, I know,” she smiled kissing his palm again. “But I’m okay, I’m better than. 3 orgasms and you’re home to hold me through the night? Better than okay. And it’s because of you.”

He kissed her gently several times before he withdrew. He plopped down next to her, finishing undressing before laying down with her and pulling her into his arms. He needed to feel her safe and sound, cuddled into him. The weight of her on him, the feel of her swollen belly against him… They were okay, and they were together. Nothing like what he saw earlier can happen to her as long as he is by her side.

“I love you,” she said softly as she cuddled into him. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He blinked back tears as he looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck couldn’t he say it back to her. He kissed the top of her head, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other wrapped around her. “Same.”

She smiled against his skin and kissed his chest gently. “I know.”

He smiled. As long as she knew… that was all that mattered.

The next morning he was making breakfast when Y/N came rushing into the kitchen excitedly. She had something to show him that could not wait. “Stop what you are doing, right now!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Sanemi asked, arching an eyebrow.

Y/N gave him a huge grin, “Turn towards me and give me your hand.”

He set down the knife he had been using to cut cheese for their omelets and turned towards her. He held both his hands up showing they were empty. What the hell was she up to now. “Alright, now what?”

Y/N excitedly took his hand and placed it on her belly. She smiled as the look of shock took over Sanemi’s face. “That’s the baby kicking! You can feel it now too, right?”

Y/N was startled when Sanemi dropped to his knees, one hand rested on the side of her stomach, one arm wrapped around her hips. He laid his face on the other side of her belly, feeling his child moving within her womb.

Y/N ran her fingers through his soft, white hair. “Nemi?”

“Yeah, I can feel the baby moving,” he said, his voice a little hoarse from emotion.

Y/N held him closer, “I have been able to feel the baby moving for about a few weeks now, but Shinobu had said it might still be a little longer until you could feel it too.”

Y/N smiled as he pressed his lips to her belly, and the hand around her hips gripped a little firmer. She was thrilled he could feel the baby too. Tears gathered in her eyes as she looked down at Sanemi.

Her scarred up, tough guy, asshole, warrior. He was hers, and it was obvious how much he already cared for their child. Most people wouldn’t think Sanemi capable of being soft, gentle, loving, but he was. He was all of those things and more. And once again she felt herself fall a little more in love with him.

He kissed her belly one more time before standing up. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her towards him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. Sanemi gently kissed her forehead before kissing her upturned lips in soft, slow kisses.

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. “So, what’s for breakfast? We are hungry.”

He laughed, kissing her one more time before stepping. “Omelets.”

“Oh, yummy!” She watched him grab an onion and start slicing it. She smiled knowing if she pointed out that he was a bit teary eyed he would blame it on them.

“I gotta make sure my girl and my baby are well fed,” he said as he worked.

“Want me to do anything?” she asked, leaning against the counter watching him.

“Nope, just sit your pretty little butt down on that chair over there and wait for your food.”

Y/N was hungry again. But it was not for more food. No, the omelet had been plenty. It was Sanemi she was hungry for. Something about watching him cook and now watching him do the dishes just did something to her. Maybe it was because he was shirtless and damn it was a helluva sight. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones? Whatever it was… she wanted her man again.

She got up and walked the short distance between them, wrapping her arms around him from behind, hands splayed on his stomach, she pressed herself against him. She laid kisses on his bare back. She smiled as she felt a small tremor run through his body. She kept peppering his skin with kisses, but let her hands travel up and down his front, barely touching him.

“Y/N…” he said, his voice barely more than a growl. “What are you up to?”

“I’m hungry,” she said, smirking against his skin.

“Oh yeah? And what is it that you are hungry for?”

“You,” she answered, letting one hand move down his front to cup his cock through his pants. She bit her lip and moaned softly against his back as she gave him a light squeeze. “I want you for dessert.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as she rubbed his cock.

Y/N kissed down his back until she got to the top of his pants. She moved her hands to his hips to help steady herself as she lowered to her knees. “Turn around.”

He did as she asked, letting out a slow breath as his lavender gaze locked with hers. She smirked up at him as she undid his pants, letting them fall to the floor. No fundoshi, just his bare skin. She licked a line down his stomach from his belly button, trailing his light haired happy trail down to his groin.

She moved a hand to stroke his cock as she looked up at him. Gods, he was gorgeous like this. Cheeks slightly flushed, eyes wide open, mouth agape, totally focused on her and her alone. She leaned forward towards the leaking tip of his cock. She locked eyes with him as she licked his tip and took him into her mouth. She moaned at the taste of him on her tongue.

She kept their gazes locked as she worked more and more of him into her mouth. She missed being able to throat him, but damn pregnancy had made her gag reflux even more sensitive.

“You look so pretty like that,” he panted, leaning against the counter and burying one hand in her hair, cupping her head as she worked him. “So pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

She moaned around his cock, she had one hand helping her work his cock, lathered in her spit, and one hand moved to fondle his sack. She loved the way he whimpered and began thrusting into her mouth, his thrusts controlled so he didn’t go too deep.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so good with that mouth,” Sanemi moaned.

Y/N lifted her mouth off his cock, still stroking it, she moved her mouth to lick and suck at his balls. So full, so sensitive. He whimpered, holding her head closer. He loved when she sucked his sac, even if he would never admit it out loud. She gave equal attention to both sides before returning her mouth to his cock.

“If you keep this up, I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” he warned her, knowing her gag reflex was sensitive.

“Is there somewhere else you would rather cum?” she asked, stroking his cock and looking up at him.

“I wanna cum in your pussy,” he said, pulling her back by her hair and helping her stand up.

Keeping her head pulled back he kissed her passionately while his other hand yanked off her belt and ripped open her robe so he could grope at her tender breasts. He dipped down, lifting her up and spinning around to put her on the counter he had just been leaning against.

He kissed down her body like he was ravenous, leaving marks and wet patches as he went until he reached his destination. He shoved her legs apart, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter.

Y/N placed her hands behind her and braced her feet on the edge of the counter, spreading herself as wide as she possibly could, giving him as much access as possible. She could feel how wet she was. The way he licked his lips before he lowered his mouth to her was absolutely wicked.

“Fuck, so wet baby,” he moaned against her, licking up and down her slit with the width of his tongue.

“All for you baby,” she said, biting her lip as her hips moved against his face. He added two fingers to her dripping cunt as his mouth moved to her clit.

“I love the way pregnancy has changed your body, did you know that?” he asked as he moved to kiss her.

She wiped his mouth with a hand and it made him chuckle. She moaned into his kiss, tasting herself on his tongue. His fingers were still working blissfully in and out of her dripping hole.

“I love how much more sensitive you are. Your tits are getting bigger, look so fucking good, baby.” He kissed down her body to her breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth, sucking it deeply and rolling it with his tongue. Y/N’s hand clutched his head to her chest, pressing herself against him, more, she wanted more.

He kissed lower. “Seeing your belly start to swell with my baby in there, fuck, Y/N, it’s so god damn sexy.”

He laid a trail of kisses down her body, over her belly, and down. He looked up as he scissored his fingers inside her, making her cry out. His thumb found her clit, rubbing it back and forth as his fingers fucked into her hole. “And your pussy, gods, baby. You’re so sensitive, and you get so wet for me. Almost dripping for me… fuck… you’re incredible baby…”

She whimpered at his words. The way he worshiped her body, and told her how beautiful she was as it was changing meant the world to her. “Nemi, please.”

“Please what baby,” he asked, returning his lips to hers.

“I need to feel you inside me, please,” Y/N whimpered into his kiss.

“Anything for you, sweet heart,” Sanemi said as he lined up his cock and pressed into her.

Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips, locking him against her as she arched into him. She cried out as he started to move. He kissed up and down her neck, peppering her with kisses and praises as he kept a steady pace.

“Kiss me, please,” she begged as he pumped into her.

“Anytime, any place, anywhere,” he muttered before capturing her lips.

He leaned her back, arms wrapped around her so he could thrust deeper into her hot, tight core. “Fuck, you feel so good, Y/N.”

“So do you. Feels so good to feel you inside me,” Y/N panted, her nails digging into his skin, leaving red crescents in their wake.

He slowed his pace and started grinding with each thrust, rocking his hips against her, stimulating her clit with every thrust. He held her to him as close as they could get with her belly between them. He pulled his head back. “Look at me.”

She opened her eyes, locking gazes with him.

“We’re gonna cum together princess, and I wanna watch as you fall apart on my cock. Wanna… look into your eyes while I fill you up… fuck I’m so close, Y/N…”

She bit her lip, rocking her hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum… I’m right there baby…” He shifted the slightest bit and his cock rubbed against that special spot in her slick walls. She cried out in pleasure. “Fuck, there baby, right there!”

“Oh fuck, your getting so tight on me, cum for me baby, cum for me.”

She cried out his name as she came, eyes rolling back in her head no matter how hard she tried to keep them on Sanemi.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s my girl,” he encouraged her. Her walls flutter and clamping around him was his undoing. “I’m cumming baby, I’m cumming.”

He pumped a few more times before leaning her back on the counter and resting on his palms while he tried to catch his breath. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.”

She laughed. “I can’t help it. These hormones got me craving you more than ever.”

He groaned, grinding against her, smirking as she whimpered, still so sensitive. “I don’t mind at all. If this is how I die? Buried balls deep inside of you… what a way to go…”

She laughed. At that moment the baby decided to make itself known, delivering a firm kick to the front, hitting Sanemi’s stomach. Sanem smiled, pulling out of her and leaning down to kiss her belly, smiling as the baby moved. “You gotta be patient, little missy. Right now I don’t gotta share her with you. You ain’t done cooking yet, Little Bit.”

“Little Missy?” Y/N asked, running fingers through Sanemi’s hair.

He looked up at her and smiled. Gods he had the most beautiful smile in the world and his next words took her breath away.

“Yeah, little missy… I hope we have a girl… and that is just like you.”

“And Little Bit?” Y/N asked, blinking back tears at his sweet words.

“Yeah…for a nickname,” he blushed. “Because our baby is a little bit of me and a little bit of you.”

“It’s perfect.”

#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi shinazugawa smut #shinazugawa sanemi #kny smut #kny x reader smut

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askdacast · 11 months ago

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Life Series SMP/Eyes and Ears AU Thematic Discussion + Theorycrafting (pt. 1)

WARNING: Extremely long post

Kachow what’s poppin fellas, I’m back at it again talking about boomer block Youtubers and their surprisingly in-depth improv series. Now that the Life Series’ 5th season has finally concluded, I’m back on the lore train and poor Scar is left to suffer the consequences, and Martyn’s concluded yet another lore stream, I decided to compile a long master post of lore notes and theories about what we have so far.

Obviously all the ‘lore’ of the Life Series is purely unofficial; Grian has not approved any of it as being actually official/set in stone for what he intended the series to be. Most of it has been us in the crazy fandom extrapolating their really good storytelling, and also “semi-canonized” by Martyn in what he calls the Eyes and Ears AU (and this post assumes you are familiar with it). As someone who’s been a fan since the beginning way back in 3rd Life, I’ve pretty much hopped on the lore train since the beginning as well (if casually) and enjoying all the different extrapolations/analysis/angst written around the players. Rather than just theorizing lore details in a vacuum, however, I’ve always liked imagining the lore based around the reoccurring themes, symbolism and arcs we’ve seen across the series. I’d been bouncing my various thoughts and theories around these themes for a while, and finally I decided to compile my notes together.

This post is basically my imagining what the Life Series/Eyes and Ears AU story is “about,” as if it were a fleshed-out, long-running and story-driven tv show. Initially this post started as simply a gigantic “Eyes and Ears Theory,” me trying to sus out my own theories/ideas of what the Life Series’ mysteries were based on Martyn’s lore. However, considering that Martyn is ALSO writing the lore on the fly, and I have some details I would interpret differently or change, this ended up less a ‘theory’ and more ‘me writing an entire AU/interpretation of the Life Series as a whole.’ My intention is NOT to ‘correct’ Martyn’s lore, nor to claim my theory as the ‘right’ interpretation; rather, this is my personal interpretation of what the Life Series story is about, based on information shown in the original SMP and in Martyn’s AU.

One last disclaimer: I am ONLY drawing on lore details from the Life Series, Martyn’s lore streams, and Minecraft EVO, and also references to the iRL creators. I am not drawing on any story from other SMPs such as Pirates or Empires; there may be some Hermitcraft references here and there.

This is going to be very long, and a multi-parter, because I can’t summarize to save my life. And I promise I’ll come up with a proper name for my series of posts another time. If you’ve stuck around to read, I thank you.

Part 1: The Overall Plot + Understanding the Watchers

Recap of official lore details

Although Martyn hasn’t given specific details on the Watcher + Listener species (he hasn’t come up with a name yet), we know the following details for sure (from EVO, lore streams etc.)

Watchers + Listeners + The Council are all deity-like beings of the same species, and they all consume human emotions

The Council are the upper ranks/possibly leaders, whereas the Watchers + Listeners are separate factions

The Watchers are at LEAST two high-ranking members of the species (the two dots being outcast from the wider circle, as is their logo)

The Watchers were behind Minecraft EVO, where they gave all the players tasks (much like Secret Life) and eventually ending in them fighting the Ender Dragon separately

While the Watchers may not have been evil in EVO, they certainly became so AFTER, when they began to crave more negative human emotions, viewing them as “tasty” (Martyn’s words), s p i c y

They first kidnapped Grian at the end of EVO season 1, turning him into a Watcher to possibly have him join their ranks, but he’s gone rogue after realizing what their plans for the Life Series were, and plans to rescue his friends from them

The Life Series was the Watchers’ ploy to trap the players in an infinite death game where they betray and cause each other pain, all to harvest their negative emotions. Grian, in defiance to this, takes control as the ‘game master’ to make the whole thing…well, a game, so that his friends can enjoy, have fun and ease their anguish. In Martyn’s words, this is like “pouring ketchup all over the Watchers’ sundae.”

The Listeners (EVO season 2) are an opposing faction to the Watchers who disagree with their methods, although why is unknown. They’ve attempted to contact some players (e.g. Jimmy) before back in EVO in order to oppose the Watchers, but it’s not known how successful they were. They’ve also tried to swap in players in the Life Series before (e.g. subbing Lizzie and Gem for Pearl and Cleo in Lim. Life) in order to sneak them in and try to subvert the game. The Watchers kidnapping Gem for Secret Life is partially in retaliation to the Listeners. The Listeners may not be good and may have nefarious intentions also, it is as yet still unknown.

There’s potentially a third faction, the Speakers, but very little is known about them and Martyn doesn’t want to elaborate on them yet.

Okay, but what are the Watchers even after?

"Accept your fate."

From here on out is my real conjecturing/theorizing. The main question on my mind has been why are the Watchers doing what they’re doing? Obviously Martyn has confirmed that they are malicious deities who find negative human emotions tasty, but this raises further questions. Why exactly do they desire such emotions, or need them to survive (if they do, anyway)? Why do they favour negativity, when the other members of their species consume a wide range of emotions? They were confirmed to be outcast in some way from the other factions for this ploy, so what does that say about them then?

The whole species fundamentally do not understand human emotions (or perhaps do not even possess them)

This seems to me the most logical conclusion. These are powerful deities who can create miniature worlds/dimensions, life, and time to an extent (death loop). They should theoretically be self-sufficient, so I doubt that their consumption of human emotion is for survivability reasons (i.e. I don’t think Watchers will literally die if they don’t consume emotions, the same way humans die without food). What seems more likely is that human emotions bring them some benefit to their intelligence or power that they’d otherwise be quite non-functional without. (Think like the demons in The Promised Neverland, who regress to feral natures/lack of sapience if they don’t eat humans)

The Watchers’ powers and their lab-rat experimentation on the players gives a huge vibe of not being able to understand human emotions in an involved way, but only from a distance. They know methodically things like murder and betrayal cause panic and anguish, so they enforce these experiences through the game, mechanics like the Boogeyman, the Secret Tasks etc. But they don’t really know internally why these emotions come about the way humans do. Being above time, they probably don’t understand why the funny small animals have so much attachment to their transitory experiences and memories (more on this later).

world's angriest pumpkin

The Watchers are Losers, Actually

Going further, don’t you think the Watchers have a very misanthropic mindset all around? “Anguish and panic are s p i c y.” They conversely have a complete disgust for positive emotions, and can’t stand Grian making things fun for everybody. It almost feels like they have the mindset that only things like hatred and fear are exciting, bringing motivation and life to the humans, whereas things like happiness and fun are ‘useless’ because they don’t bring about the same results. Let’s also not forget their name – Watchers – and that Martyn’s confirmed them to be symbolically based off us, the audience. It’s almost like a commentary of the worst of the entertainment industry, of an audience who crave watching anything and everything to satisfy their own desires, even at the expense of the privacy and safety of the entertainer. Given the current state of the internet and social media, I don’t think I need to elaborate how awful things can get.

In other words, I believe the main motivation the Watchers are eating humans emotions is because they WANT to understand and ‘take into themselves’ such emotions. I don’t think they’re totally emotionless – Martyn does portray them with moments of glee and anger. But their understanding of emotions is superficial (self-centered, if you will) at best. As deities with no needs, being above time, they have nothing to be afraid of and nothing to feel sad or anguished over. It’s a boring, dull and empty existence. And that’s precisely why they’ve set up the Life Series game: by kidnapping a few humans and putting them through the artificially constructed wringer of panic and betrayal, they think they can create a human farm of such rich, complex and exciting emotions, all for themselves to enjoy at their own pleasure and fill the void they have.

(Listeners’ side note: If all that is the philosophy of the Watchers, it’s probably not difficult to see how/why the Listeners oppose them. The Listeners likely disagree that negative emotions are the most optimal state of humans, and unlike the Watchers do not think human suffering is just tasty popcorn one can eat at one’s pleasure. Their name – Listeners – implies they’re a more sympathetic faction, as in they listen to one’s troubles and heart rather than take delight in suffering at a superficial level. But if they are the same species, it’s very likely they have the same lack of instinctive understanding of human emotions that the Watchers do, and this could cause…problems.)

Why turn Grian?

All this is also why I believe the Watchers kidnapped Grian + turned him into a Watcher in the first place. Firstly, if they were going to concoct their plan to trap humans, they needed a collaborator from the humans in the first place. Secondly, and most importantly, this collaborator was going to be their only direct source of how human emotions work/feel like, and therefore what were the most optimal conditions needed to ensure their death game would generate the most pain and anguish. They picked Grian because he’s always the ‘leader’ of the SMP players, the person gathering and organizing everyone, so logically, he is the most ‘representative’ of the humans, and the one with the greatest ability to control them.

Of course, it’s also true that Grian was a little $#@% throughout EVO and actively rebelled against the Watchers’ tasks, so making him their collaborator might seem strange. Ignoring the meta reason that the ending was written to explain Grian’s exit from the series. But I figured in this case, they considered the benefits more than the costs. Grian’s chaotic nature is not unlike the Watchers’, considering how much he loves causing pranks and trouble to others. So, as a huge oversight, they think Grian is just like them: he loves to see people suffer, so they think. Additionally, the Watchers are desperate to understand how Grian gets his fellow humans to follow him and do what he asks with little effort. You’ll notice the Watchers have very direct, authoritative ways of trying to wrest control (e.g. the tasks, “do this or you fail”), and they get very petty and upset when people rebel against them (re: Scott’s refusal to be the Boogeyman, their motto is a very demanding “OUR WILL BE DONE.”) They see Grian’s charisma as yet another aspect of human emotions they fail to understand and thus WANT to possess for themselves.

Pictured above: The Watchers, coping and seething

Of course as we know, the Watchers believing Grian would help them is a major oversight. Becoming a god doesn’t just fundamentally change who Grian is, and he definitely doesn’t want to consign his friends to an infinite death loop of suffering. That being said, I don’t think Grianhas truly gone ‘rogue’ so much as taken as much advantage as possible of his ‘deal’ with the Watchers. We can guess the Watchers promised to him some kind of control/leadership over his friends’ circumstances as long as he worked for them, which led to them giving him the keys to the Life Series. In other words, so long as he fulfils their requirements of things being a death game that will generate ‘food’ for them, and lets them revive everyone each loop, he gets to decide how the games go.

And we know exactly what Grian’s done with this: he created the green-yellow-red lives system, he creates a fun gimmick each season, he inserts himself into the game as a player, all to bring out the best and most creative side of his friends rather than the worst. The Boogeyman probably is the only gimmick the Watchers added on their own initiative (re: Martyn’s POV in Last Life) in order to make things more spicy. Probably Grian’s conversation with the Watchers each time goes, “hey, I got an idea on how to bring out the most creative ways for everyone to cause pain in each other, [comes up with some bullcrap justification for the game’s fun mechanics].” I like to think the Watchers were going to make the death games even more vicious, cruel and competitive, but because of Grian’s wrangling he’s convinced them that a slow burn from joy to horror creates better results, and they tolerate it as long as they see him useful.

Memories and Emotions

There is also one BIG detail of the Watchers’ plan I’d like to mention: Martyn claims that the Watchers do NOT erase the players’ memories. At the end of each season, they consume everyone’s emotions so that there’s no more angst/ill will towards each other, and they start each season afresh. The players remember what’s happened in past seasons, but they don’t continue to hold the pain and negative feelings they had towards each other.

I don’t buy this, for numerous reasons.

For one, Martyn has confirmed the Watchers ARE capable of removing people’s memories. The one memory they have outright altered was the ex-EVO players’ (Martyn, Jimmy, BigB etc.) memory of what happened to Grian: they don’t remember that Grian was taken to be turned into a Watcher, and instead remember it as him either going missing or dying after the Ender Dragon fight. All this presumably to not give away the Watchers’ schemes and to ensure they still listen to Grian as if nothing ever happened.

More importantly, however, memories are vital to humanity’s emotional experience and mental health. I am not an expert by any means, but there are studies showing how people with amnesia, PTSD or other conditions affecting memories have flashbacks/emotional reactions to trauma they don’t remember consciously. The Watchers have (supposedly) done something far more simplistic yet fantastic by just eating up everybody’s emotions. All this, even though they see humans as emotion factories, constantly able to generate emotions just by existing, by their ability to draw and create meaning through emotional experiences, and by creating memories – the clearest embodiment of a mortal’s attachment to time (which if you remember, I believe the Watchers have no concept of).

You cannot just tell a human to stop feelingcompletely (under normal circumstances anyway), but especially not if they remember something very very traumatic.

Besides, there ARE clear instances when some of the players remember the events of past seasons and are STILL not over them! Impulse and Tango still being bitter/distrustful after Bdubs betrayed each of them separately, Cleo distrusting BigB for the same reason, Scott referencing Flower Husbands a lot, Pearl feeling betrayed by Cleo/Scott when they supposedly broke up the Gaslight/Gatekeep/Girlboss trio at the start of DL, Bdubs’ “I wanna be your favorite son” in Secret Life, the list goes on. Note that I’ve only listed negative/bittersweet instances; there are plenty more cases of the players remembering past seasons and alliances positively which the Watchers may have ignored. The point is, if the Watchers truly consumed everyone’s emotions to the point of a clean slate, they haven’t exactly been thorough. Nor do I think it’s very conducive for them either – don’t they want players to have enduring, unending, unresolved pain, the sweetest of all (to them)?

No, I think the Watchers HAVE been erasing/suppressing the players’ memories – they’ve just been very selective which ones. Martyn’s said that the Watchers do not care what families or connections they separate so long as they get the people they want and the plans they want. I’m going to assume the players in my theory/the Eyes and Ears AU are exactly the same as their CC counterparts. In other words: they’ve stolen Grian away from his wife. They stole Martyn away from his and his daughter. Ditto with Skizz, Impulse, Tango etc. They stole Scar away from his family. Joel and Lizzie are the only couple they didn’t separate, perhaps because they needed both for their plans, and also so they can inflict the most torture on them by ripping them away from each other, over and over again. And in order to ensure the complete submissiveness of the players to the game, the Watchers have taken away their memories of their past lives, their families, basically anyone who isn’t a fellow player in the game. The Watchers don’t erase the memories of bonds between seasons, because it’s a pain to have to teach the humans how to play all over again, but they erase any memories they find disadvantageous to keeping the game running.

They might even go one step further: while they haven’t erased the players’ memories of who each other are (so as to not cause confusion), they do try to suppress important memories. Things like how they met, the times they confided in each other after a bad day, cried on each other’s shoulder, laughed in each other’s successes, the times they hung out with each other’s families. Imagine the different alliances constantly gravitating to each other, but never being able to remember why they care about each other so much. Imagine Bdubs’ “Come on, you know you and I go way back!” when trying to justify taking Cleo’s stuff, and Cleo laughs back, even though she can’t quite remember what exactly Bdubs has done to warrant that. Imagine Joel or Lizzie trying to remember why they loved each other so much.

They fight and kill some of their friends, and protect others, because…because why again? It’s for survival value, surely, so the Watchers whisper. It’s because the strong must congregate with the strong and leave the weak to die, surely. It’s because Martyn’s always been a loner, and always will be, and should remain so. So they tell him. So they whisper, this is a deathmatch for a reason.

Grian’s Fundamental Rebellion

I think all this is the real reason Grian is rebelling against the Watchers. The most immediate reason is obvious: he wants to free his friends from this death loop. But the deeper reason as to why he’s rebelled is that the Watchers are torturing and robbing his friends of their humanity. They’re taking a tight-knit group of friends who love and would do anything for each other, and turning them against each other in a cruel and unescapable death game. On TOP of this, the Watchers have constantly messed with their heads in order to make them obedient and submissive to their schemes and the worst of their human nature, trapping them in fear, pettiness and paranoia. Of course Grian is upset. Of course he wants to save them from this fate. It’s an insult to who he knows these people to be.

This all leaves Grian in a pretty precarious position. While outwardly the Watchers want to make him a lackey as the “game master”, both he and they know he really wants to save his friends (they probably see it as their ‘cattle’ showing a bit of resistance, which once again they need to suppress). And while on one hand he’s making the games fun to ease his friends’ pain and bring the best out of them, this is just a hotfix rather than a real solution. In order to really rescue the players, Grian’s got to get them to rebel against the Watchers as well. Refuse to play by the rules, by the expectation that they must murder and kill without mercy, without any attachment to their alliances or past friendships. Make everyone like Scott refusing to be the Boogeyman, or Skizz constantly trying to be wholesome (until the bloodlust gets the better of him anyway).

Ironically in order to achieve this, Grian’s best bet is to try to jog everyone’s lost memories of each other and the things they lost, both good and bad. But ultimately, this is going to make them (in the short term) suffer more. This is where you can insert all your Desert Duo/Flower Husband/whatever alliance you like most angst. But more practically, I like to imagine when “the cameras” are not watching, when Grian knows no one will notice or catch him, he sneaks around to the different alliances, even the ones he’s not part of, to ask them how they’re doing, if they remember anything from the past etc. (in a meta sense, the players edit and cut stuff from their videos all the time; who’s to say he isn’t trying to catch a quick chat while everyone’s mining?!) It also reflects in why Grian is constantly trying to make alliances with different people instead of just gravitate to one person, he needs to check on everyone and capitalize on every single opportunity. (besides the meta reason, being that cc!Grian wants to be creative, and sticking to the same person all the time isn’t very entertaining from a content creator perspective)

One last detail about the winners: I don’t have much to say about the fragments yet, because Martyn (sneaky boi) hasn’t yet revealed the significance of the fragments nor of their healing, although he has hinted Bad Things™ will happen if a player gets too fragmented. But I do think the winners are important: with the game finished, they give Grian a very short window of time to talk to one person directly, without Watcher interference. They’re always the last to be killed/swept away/revived by the Watchers, and I can imagine there’s a brief period of time when their souls are being transferred to The Void w/e where Grian can step in and interfere. In my theory, Grian passes on some sort of clue/push to the winners, as like a subtle message about what they can do to stand up to the Watchers. I’ll detail on what I think these individual messages were in part 2. Needless to say, 3rd Life was a traumatic experience for Grian for many reasons, but the nail in the coffin was the fact that he won, and therefore there was no way for him to pass a message onto anyone.

Conclusion

Hooooooo jeepers that was long @A@; Thank you so much for your patience reading this if you made it to the end, I really appreciate it. As I said, I’ve had these lore ideas bouncing in my head for a LONG time, and with the end of Secret Life I couldn’t get out of my head the different trends/symbolism that was popping out of an improv series. It honestly speaks a lot to how genius our favorite block dudes are at improv, that they can turn their improv nonsense into a coherent narrative. I really wanted to try my hand at fleshing out such a narrative, and with Martyn constantly drip-feeding lore to the fans, I had more than enough material to not just put out guesses but construct something a full XYZ. As I mentioned, I enjoy workshopping themes and characters a LOT more than just worldbuilding or “what if this or that” details in a vacuum, hence why I’ve written all that I have, so this was a fun exercise for me all around!

Next time in part 2 I talk about Character Development™, or character specific notes and details I’ve noticed and extrapolated from what we’ve seen of each individual player, as well as what their different arcs across the seasons mean for them within the lore. Stay tuned for another wordbarf!

Bonus list of works I was inspired by for this loredump:

Log Horizon

The Promised Neverland

Danganronpa (ironic as I’m not really a fan of this franchise, but the first game has an otherwise solid premise which I found really similar to the Life Series)

The Fate franchise (when Martyn asked “what’s Fate?” on the latest lore stream, let me tell you I couldn’t stop laughing; NO MARTYN DON’T GO INTO THE WEEB RABBIT HOLE)

Various amazing animatics from the Traffic fandom: Earth, Bang!, most of Melloz Heist’s works, and of course all the amazing fanart

Way too many conversations with my friends about fantasy species

#what have I done #trafficblr #traffic life #traffic smp #life series smp #life series #eyesandears #eyes and ears theory #inthelittlewood #thematic discussion #theorycrafting #3rd life smp #last life smp #double life smp #limited life smp #secret life smp #long post

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wiinterz · 6 months ago

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ain’t no story fit for us | satoru

pairing: satoru x black plus size fem!reader

genre: established relationship, one-shot

warning: fluff(?), heavy angst, character death, blood, injuries, usage of a gun, detailed with the injuries, betrayal, deception of religion

word count: 1.6k

summary: he’s your best friend, your boyfriend, your one and only. there was nothing in the world that could pull you two away.

☏ ᴛᴀʏ’s ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛs: old one-shot!

songs: sweet gin by leisure suite. lover, you should’ve come over by jeff buckley.

recs I taglist I help hub I jjk m.list

storm-blue eyes darted around the area, his porcelain hand wrapped around your ebony hand. lips pressing kisses that scattered everywhere on your shoulder as the two of you walked. the sky had been empty, a void that looked exactly like his eyes.

sliver buildings filled the streets as the two of you walked. you kicked the pebbles under your sophisticated boots, ones he bought for you. he was quiet, muted, yet brain full of static like a tv. his arms wrapped around you tightly, his heart pounding.

you had no idea what was wrong with him if anything was wrong with him. he denied it each time you asked but you knew him well. his eyes which were glint in color had been completely distorted.

his pink lips were cracked, eyes glistening from his demons. his mind roared like thunder in the storm while he stayed silent like the eye of the tornado. he held your hand tightly, feeling as if he would lose you.

he was terrified of himself, of what he saw when you weren’t there. when the loneliness crept in, dragging him out of his bed.

he tugged on his midnight purple sweater, his black pants matched with his black sneakers. ones that got dirtied up by the puddles in the streets. the streetlights reflect on your face, your eyes lighten up as cars beep and drive by. you had your earphones in, and you and satoru sharing them.

the sounds of music. something so peaceful yet never helped him.

you held onto him, walking past strangers, some occupied with their phones, maps, or food. you, however, were occupied with figuring out where your train was. going down to the subway, you let go of his hand, handing your ticket. satoru tapped on his thigh, his head hopping to the beat of the music. you looked around the subway, people in different styles and different expressions walked by. some with urgency in their steps while others seemed to have no care in the world.

the white light cast on his skin, he’s looking up, his diamond-cut eyes had been drowned with pearly salts that hit his cheeks. he’s uncommunicative, the cords of the song taking over his consciousness.

you stare at him for a moment, taking in his beauty, one that makes you yearn for him. your heart beat for him, your soul kissed his ever so kindly — yet he was rigid and could never completely comprehend your love.

he’s like a guardian angel, staring up to the gates of heaven, ones that cast him out, like the fallen angel. the palm of his hands scarred from his nails, pushing into his skin, cutting down. causing him to bleed a bit. dark blood dripped on the floor and his shoes. he kept looking up, biting on his bottom lip. yielding to his demons, that greed for his salvation.

you walk up to him, picking his hand up slowly, and opening his palm. he looks at you, gulping. you were his savior, you lit the candlesticks that had been darkened from the touch; his touch.

his mouth parts open, yet nothing escapes. birds stuck in cages, banging to be free. yet, nothing.

you go in your bag, take out a wet wipe, place it on his skin, you rub it softly, muttering sweet words to him. things to remind him, that he’s safe. though he wished he could believe it, however, it felt as if it were lies — he was not safe, not when you weren’t around. yet it was an unforeseen war coming, one you couldn’t save him from that would take satoru to choose a life with you or without you.

licking his lips and rubbing them, he kisses your cheek. on time, the train comes, opening the doors to let people in and out. you guys go on the train, sitting down on the seats. satoru still listened to music while you went through your bag to make sure everything was in there.

once you had everything, you kept your bag close to you. satoru rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping his hands around your arm and closing his eyes. you stay quiet, opening up your book as you read to yourself, becoming engrossed by the story immediately.

the lights flicker above him, pushing past people as shoulders hit each other. he coughs, blood spitting on the ground. his shoes are a mess, dirt covered on it. his beige color shirt matched with the background. people ignored him, yet he stuck out like a sore thumb. he knew it, yet he didn’t care, that was the least of his worries. finding an ivy-green painted wall, he leans on it, covering the side of his stomach. applying pressure on the gash.

groans leave his lips, and his dark brown eyes stay closed. he’s got a horizontal cut on his left eye, a bit of blood spilling out and covering his sclera. his long black hair covers most of his face, and his left hand fully bloody. tears fall to his neck, messing up the collar of his shirt.

he’s a deadman walking and he knows it. different shades of grey sully his soul.

you wrap your fingers around his non-injured hand, kissing his forehead, pushing his white hair back a little. satoru looks at you with a weak smile. he kisses your lips and rubs your cheek.

to satoru, you look like a goddess of purity, if water spilled on your skin, it would make beads that you could hold and make jewelry out of. your hands were warm in contrast to his cold ones. your hands kept him feeling like home was you. and in his mind, if heaven truly existed, you would be the true embodiment of it.

the train goes to a stop, letting you know you reached your destination. satoru stands, holding his hand out for you. you take it and the two of you walk together. once you were out of the train, you guys turned to the right, walking down, you knew you had to walk upstairs to get out of the station. yet in hindsight, the walk to the stairs seemed farther than usual.

satoru kept holding your hand, his other fingers tapping on his thigh to make a beat. it was his way of keeping him calm through the crowded area. a little trick you taught him anytime you got overwhelmed.

pushing up from the wall, he groans a bit and starts to walk. placing his hand on people’s shoulders, some freak out while others give him a foul look. though he couldn’t care less, he was making it through the crowds, seeing the figure he wanted. his target, his victim, his success.

he smirks, his eyes glimmering with a deception of happiness. he was a false god, and he was content with the title. cause in some cases, he was a god to others, he was that fallen angel, who burnt everything beautiful. he burnt himself in the midst of it all. his eyes widened, when people got in his way, making it harder for him to get ahold of his trophy. yet giving up was far too easy for his liking, he was close to tasting succession.

his chain of hands praying slipped out from under his shirt. dangling down, a bit of blood has splattered on it, rusting the sliver.

once he sees his trophy once again, a smile appears on his face. he walks up only to be pushed right back into the sea of people. yet never giving up, he made his way to his victim. in his mind, it was filled with sickening sentences of death. some saying crush the soul from the outside in. others begging for him to create a massacre that would be a blurry beauty.

yet he stuck to one, his original prophecy plan.

pulling the gun out from his back pocket, he holds it, meters away from his victim’s back.

you accidentally dropped your lipgloss, watching it roll, you sigh and turn around, about to pick it up. your eyes widen seeing a man — the man, holding his gun, pointing it at you.

satoru hears you gasp, making him turn around to see what nightmare you uncovered. in the blink of an eye, the gun’s position moves with you, as you take up your lipgloss and slowly stand straightly. the cold metal moves swiftly, staring deathly at your man.

satoru eyes widen, tears forming immediately to the revealer of his betrayer. “suguru?” his voice soft like a pillow, yet held so much weight, something similar to the weight the gun placed on suguru’s hand. he levels the glock with satoru’s face, tears with the mixture of blood flowing down to his cheek. in the process of his feelings, his finger pushed hard on the trigger, feeling the gun spring a little.

the bullet crackled through the gun, and the shutter of the weapon was loud, making everyone around see the destruction. satoru’s body jumped a bit, his head going forward while the rest of his body fell back. hitting the ground, you scream, immediately going to the ground and holding him like a child.

you look at suguru who stares at satoru. no words needed to be spoken, their eyes did the talking. a silent argument between the two as people ran and became worried about themselves instead of satoru.

satoru’s eyes were full of pain, of genuine hurt. his own best friend, his brother — causing such devastation to fulfill his demon’s needs.

suguru stared at satoru, while you kept coddling satoru, crying for someone to help. your pleas made suguru feel worse than better. and yet, he did nothing but watch you struggle, watch his enemy suffer.

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mxeve0 · 1 year ago

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Spiderman Noir X Fem Reader

I know that technically he's 19 in the comics, but after being voiced by Nicholas Cage he just has to be like...idk 40.

Warnings: Angst, mention of scars and sh, daddy issues?(if that's a warning idk)

The Shadow of a Shadow

Part•1 (Part•2)

The blank ceiling of your makeshift dorm was starting to shift and change the longer you stared at it. There wasn't much in your room except a bed and wardrobe, a small bathroom consisting of just a sink, toilet and shower, a small kitchen with one counter top as well as a stove and fridge and a small seating area with a giant TV fixed to the wall. You couldn't really complain though, it was the least the Spider Society could do. Your own universe had abandoned you after deeming you an unfit and reckless role model due to your abilities.

Of course you had the same basic abilities as every other Spiderman, it was just your webs that were different. In order to produce webs, you needed an open wound with a supply of blood, which you could then weave into the webs. After being weaved they worked just the same, but having a superhero that had to harm herself to save the city wasn't acceptable.

Seeing the people you risked your life to save turn the back on you was the last straw. It wasn't like you wanted to open a wound every time you had to fight, and yet they couldn't appreciate you. You left your universe and had been hopping around others for a while, and when you finally went back, everything had gone to shit. There was no longer a sense of right or wrong, no morality in the public and the government had collapsed. There was no saving it.

You'd gone to Miguel to see if there was anything he could do, but his stoic silence gave you the answer you feared the most. It was one of the only times when he'd shown any sympathy when he offered to give you a place to stay within the society's HQ. With the help of a few other Spidepeople, a storage closet had been turned into what was now your dorm room. It was great, and you appreciated them giving you someplace to stay. But without a city to protect, what kind of Spiderwomen were you?

You sighed and stood up from the couch. It was small and uncomfortable if you sat on it for too long. Stepping out of your room, your eyes took a second to adjust to the bright light that flooded in through the large windows. You joined the traffic of the other Spidepeople who filtered in and out of different rooms in the building, only to later join back into the hoard. It was like some sort of hive mind.

You recognised a few Spiders as you sauntered along, and Sun-Spider gave you a friendly "good afternoon" even though you thought it was morning. You weren't quite emotionally stable enough to hold out a conversation. You needed something to help you cope, but you had nothing. And then, like some sort of miracle, the darkness of a familiar black jacket and hat caught your attention.

Noir was just about to walk past you. You two had spoken once or twice, mainly about how tough being Spiderman can be, but you never had a real connection with him. Now you wanted one. Somehow, despite not speaking to him that often, you had a gut feeling that he'd give you the closure that you needed. That he'd listen to you and assure you that you're doing your best and that's all that matters. Maybe it was just your daddy issues taking advantage of the fact that he was just under twice your age and emotionally stable.

You turned on your heel and joined the train of people that were walking the opposite way. Being a few people behind him made you grateful for the fact that he was taller than most Spidepeople. You kept track of his fedora that bobbed up and down as he walked. If you could catch up to him and stick right behind him, then maybe you could go from there. You slipped between the gap in the people in front and landed yourself right behind him. Now you just had to talk to him.

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

Talking to him seemed to be a lot more difficult than you originally thought. You'd followed him around for the rest of the day, and had disappeared back into your dorm when he went back to his own universe. You'd never had a problem with talking to him before, so why now? It had been 3 days since you had created your little plan - if you could even call it that - and you had gotten nowhere with it. You were sitting on a balcony when you spotted his darkness amongst the crowd of colourful suits, so you hopped down and got back to following him, trying to build up the courage to talk while doing so.

The feeling of someone watching Noir grew as he traversed his way down to the lower levels. He knew it was you. At first he thought it was a coincidence when every time he turned around you happened to be there. But the more and more it happened, the more he realised it wasn't a coincidence. He noticed you the most when you seemingly wait for him to come back, and when you'd follow behind him when he went to get coffee, even though he remembered you telling him you couldn't stand the stuff. Though the biggest clue for him is when you'd grab the sleeve or back of his coat as you followed him through crowds of Spiderpeople.

He didn't mind though; you were quiet and didn't bother him, and even if you were to talk to him he found your previous conversations quite pleasant. But he still couldn't help but wonder why you had begun to cling to him all of a sudden.

He wasn't oblivious to what had happened in your own universe, but he didn't know the full details. All he did know was that you barely left your dorm, and when you did, you never seemed to speak.

Today, Noir had been back in the Society's HQ for quite a while now, probably close to 6 hours, and he hadn't seen any sign of you. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he enjoyed your presence, even if you didn't say much, and he was starting to miss it.

He figured that you were most likely still in your dorm, and thinking that it couldn't hurt to check up on you, he made his way over. Your room was tucked around a corner on one of the main floors, far enough away from the noise of all the Spiderpeople that would walk past. He knocked on the door and waited for your response. You hummed loud enough for him to hear, and he opened the door. You were laid on your back on your couch, throwing some kind of metal ball in the air repeatedly. It was probably a vital component for some sort of machine, but you had a habit of taking things apart only to never figure out how to put them back together. This was evident thanks to the pile of metal and wires on your coffee table.

Noir stepped in and closed the door behind him. You sat up so that he had somewhere to sit, and once he was sat you laid back against him. He picked up some of the wires and scraps of metal and began to mess with them, intertwining them. He had no real goal, he just enjoyed playing with the technology that he didn't have. You place the metal ball on the table and got yourself comfortable resting against him.

The two of you sat in silence for a while the only noise being the clicking of metal as Noir put the pieces together. All of a sudden, he piped up.

"Not that I don't appreciate the company, but I'm just wonderin' why you've started to cling to me all of a sudden." He turned his head to you and you could feel his breath on the top of your head. You stopped playing with the hem of your top. Feeling your heart in your throat, you sat up and stopped leaning on him. How were you supposed to tell him 'Oh yeah well you know everything has gone to shit and everyone is overwhelming except you, and I don't know if that's just because you're quiet and you don't force conversations, or because you kinda feed into my daddy issues since you're older and so authoritative, and really I just need someone to tell me that I'm doing good and you seem like the right person to do it.' Absolutely not.

"Well, uhm." You took a deep breath, trying to form a coherent sentence. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. This was so embarrassing. "So, obviously everything in my universe has gone pear shaped so now I'm stuck here and it's just really depressing because how am I supposed to be Spiderwomen if I don't have people to save? I guess I just feel like I don't really have a purpose and I don't want to be a burden to anyone so if I am annoying you I'll leave you alone but I guess what I really want and why I'm sticking to you like a web is just because I need someone to reassure me about everything. I don't know why it chose you in particular I just feel like it's more authentic being told that you're doing a good job by someone who's older since they have more experience. Not that I'm saying you're old." Your fists grabbed the fabric of your trousers as your eyes remained glued to the floor. Blinking away the tears, you looked up at him.

Noir was silent. The big white eyes of his mask stared at you blankly. He wasn't even moving. It was hard to tell how he was feeling. Your gut feeling was that he thought you were weird and annoying and wanted you to leave, but you knew he wouldn't just tell you that bluntly. You looked at the way his hat cast a shadow on his mask. You guessed that behind the mask he looked just the same as every other Peter Parker. Yet for some reason you had convinced yourself that he looked better. His voice broke you out of your daze.

"Well..."

#spiderman noir #x reader #into the spider verse #spiderman #story #angst #fluff

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 15: Stop, You're Losing Me

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael needs a stapler, but you realize too late that you told him to check all the drawers on your desk, and he finds something you never wanted him to see.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, protective Michael

Word Count: 5.7k

A/n: I wanted to wait with finishing posting this, but I had a really shit day and I probably won’t get to write for this series for a while now, anyway, so this might be the only Mikey snippet you get to see for a while :( My life’s all over the place and once I pass my last final (which I’m counting on) there is a lot more stress coming toward me. Mikey is gonna move to the background a bit. But it also gives everyone time to catch up with the updates. That being said though, the angst train has arrived. Hop on!

You settle in at home later that night, pizza cartons in front of you both as you indulge in the dinner you agreed on that you would have.

You’re happily chewing on your breadsticks and sipping your wine while Michael is having a glass of water (when he told you he doesn’t drink, you reminded him that he did when he came to visit you at the café the night you were both having a bad time, and he told you that he decided not to drink anymore after that, so you let him be).

Work wasn’t as exhausting with him there. You had fun. And when you saw him and Sarah talking about your little spider incident, you found yourself smiling because you could tell she was trying to accept him, and Michael was kind enough to respect her boundaries.

Whatever happened between them while you were getting milk, you’re not sure, but you’re glad they found common ground. Whatever that ground might be. She doesn’t know everything about you, so she couldn’t have shared truths about you that you don’t want him to know. Whatever they talked about, it doesn’t matter because you’re happy now.

You watch Michael as he eats, his hair standing in all possible directions; he ran his hand through it a few times before, trying to ease the tension in his scalp. He did a lot of heavy work before prison, in prison, and with Amanda, but today has been exhausting in a much different way–positively so. His bones ache, but he feels good about it, and that makes the soreness and the exhaustion so much more rewarding.

He looks endearing like this. Even though he’s slightly sweaty, disheveled, and tired, he is still so endlessly beautiful to you. Like an antique vase adorned ihr paintings not many understand; that’s what his scars are too you, and everything else he might hate about himself.

He looks content–happy, almost–and you want nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. He deserves to feel this way more than anyone else in this godforsaken world, you think. He deserves to be loved and happy, and he deserves to move on the way he wants to.

You reach for one of the breadsticks and point it in his direction. “Breadstick?” you ask.

He snaps out of his thoughts, smiling tiredly at you as he leans on his hand. “That’s the last one,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m offering.”

“They’re yours.”

“You want it or not?”

“You’re still hungry–”

“Want me to feed it to you?” You get up. “You know I will.”

Michael chuckles. You approach him with the breadstick, your lips curled up into a smile. His eyes meet yours. “Ya really gonna feed me?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

You shrug. “You look a bit tired, I'm just trying to help.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Then why do you act like one?”

With a playful huff, he opens his mouth slightly. You hold the breadstick in front of him, pretending to contemplate for a moment before bringing it closer, closer, and just as it reaches his lips, you swiftly pull it back. “Hmm, or maybe I changed my mind,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Playin' hard to get with a breadstick now, are we?” he retorts. “Tha’s low, love, even for you.”

You giggle and give in, bringing the breadstick back to his waiting lips. He takes a bite, savoring the flavor, and you can't help but feel a surge of affection for the man sitting in front of you.

“Taste good?” you ask.

Nodding, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. You chuckle. As soon as he has successfully swallowed, you lean down to press a kiss to his lips that are still oily from the grease of the pizza, and you both taste like garlic and onions, but he’s still too sweet to resist.

You hold his head up with your finger under his chin, tugging a little at his beard, and he deepens the kiss. Your finger moves from his chin to his cheek now, and you pull him flush against you. His hand strokes leisurely over your back, and you sigh happily into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss for a quick breath, you rest your forehead against his. His hand is tangled in your hair now, gently massaging your scalp. It’s an instant snooze button for you. You could fall asleep like this in his arms and it wouldn’t matter, but you’re sweaty and your mouth tastes like pizza, so you eventually need to clean up. For now, though, you can rest together at the table, and share some more kisses until one of you starts getting drowsy enough to cut it short.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

He nuzzles his nose against yours. “I love ya too,” Michael murmurs.

You press your lips on his cheek. “I love you,” – you kiss his other cheek – “I love you,” and you continue pressing your lips all over his face until his nose scrunches and he giggles when it tickles.

“You know what I do?” you ask.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck. “Let me guess,” he says, “ya love me?”

“Mhm, I love you.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Michael lets out a soft sigh when you start stroking his hair, and another confession slips past your lips, followed by the same three words as many times as you can say them, and he returns them every single time.

Eventually, you start yawning. “We should get washed up,” you tell him.

He kisses your collarbone. “Yeah, we should.”

“Did you fill out all the insurance forms?”

“Yeah.”

“And your forms for the solicitor; got them, too? I don’t remember what they’re called.”

He nods again.

He got an appointment with his solicitor fairly quickly after he begged the secretary to put him through. He feels good about his chances in the case with Anna–a case that isn’t even a real case yet–he just needs a professional to tell him if he’s right. He needs to hear that he’s not getting his hopes up but that he actually has a chance.

The past few meetings had been awful, but he feels more positive this time around because he has proof of his efforts to be better now, and you promised you would vouch for him if someone required proof that he is in a relationship–you promised you would provide all he needs you to provide and more, and he’s thankful for that.

Michael offers you a soft smile. The forms are on the living room table; he left them there after filling them out while you were waiting on your food and you decided it would be a good idea to clean your cupboards–he wasn’t allowed to help.

“Yeah, I just need to staple ‘em,” he says. “I’ll take care of it when I’m home.”

You rub your eyes. “Or you could use mine,” you say.

“Or I could do tha. That’d be grand.”

You get off his lap and make your way to the living room with Michael in tow. “It’s in one of the drawers on my desk. Knock yourself out.”

You’re not conscious, you can’t be because if you had been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have offered him to check your desk for a stapler, let alone your drawers, instead of doing it yourself.

Michael moves over to your desk. There is no stapler on the top, so he pulls open the first drawer. The one with the lock. He doesn’t think about it at the moment because it opens, but then he feels the lock on the outside and he remembers all the times he watched you lock it in the morning before you left for work.

Your eyes widen. “Not that drawer!” you call out, but it’s too late.

You made a mistake and now his eyes are focused right on the newspaper clippings and brown paper file you are so careful to keep locked away at all times.

You forgot to lock it and it’s your fault he‘a seeing them now, but you still find yourself feeling so violated. This is your privacy and he is staring directly at it, not moving an inch away from it. He doesn’t pretend he didn’t see them; he stares at the contents as if he has every right to.

It starts slowly breaking your frozen heart. It doesn’t thaw, it breaks, and ice is a vulnerable state of consistency. Either it melts or it breaks, and when it breaks, it hurts. You’re fragile. This is hurting you–he is hurting you–and the glass shards start digging into your soul as they nick artery after artery.

Michael’s eyes fall inside the drawer, and it’s then that he realizes that your secrets run even deeper than the phone call he overheard–they run deeper than anything he could have expected and more. It’s earth-shattering, to say the least.

He takes the papers out of the drawer, his fingers tracing over the brittle newspaper clippings. But there is more where it came from.

“Love,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “What is this?”

He doesn’t want to accuse you of anything. He wants to give you a moment to explain, to tell him what you’re hiding and who hurt you, but when his eyes fall on you, he is met with a brick wall.

‘3-year-old killed in a car crash’

‘Car accident leaves 3-year-old dead, two more injured and police baffled’

‘What really happened on December 13th?’

And the file he’s holding carries your last name. The first name, he doesn’t recognize, but the surname is undoubtedly yours. There is a post-it on one of the pictures; a little girl next to a bigger yet still little girl. Eleanor, it reads, with the year 2015 written underneath it. He was still in jail back then.

Six years ago.

Your eyes are glued on the papers he’s holding, and his shock mixes with yours.

“You weren’t supposed to find this,” you whisper.

“What the hell happened?” Michael asks. His eyebrows furrow and his hazel eyes fill with the purest form of concern, and when you look into them, your heart tears open a little more. “Why– who is Eleanor?” He asks out of genuine curiosity, which is precisely the problem.

You snap out of your daze, and the trap snaps shut around your ankle as the steel curtain closes, trying to keep the smoldering fire out.

You tear the file from his hands, hugging it tightly to your chest. The wolves are circling in on you and you have nowhere to run. The walls of your apartment start caving in. The ticking of the clock sounds deafeningly loud in your ear, the voices screaming out of every corner of your mind, and you just want to scream.

You want to scream because it hurts so much, and yet you can’t ask for help or talk about it because there is still a part of you inevitably holding you back. You’ve been forced to shoulder it alone from the beginning, and now that Michael caught a glimpse of the truth, you feel like he has torn the bandaid off your scars, but they weren’t fully healed yet, so you’re bleeding out internally all over again until you die a slow and agonizing death.

His eyes soften and he takes a step forward. He knows he crossed a line, but he couldn’t help it. It was instinct to grab the documents. He had hoped you would tell him, but he should have known that you would start feeling cornered by him. You’re not the most open person out there; you remind him of a frightened deer, almost, and he is supposed to protect you from heartbreak rather than cause it. But here you are, close to crying, and you curl in on yourself.

“I didn't mean to–” he whispers. “God, I’m so sorry, love. I wasn’t thinkin’…”

You shake your head, hugging the files tighter. He knows too much. The more he knows, the more danger he is in. The more he knows, the more vulnerable you grow. And the more he knows, the more real the truth becomes and it starts eating you alive the same way it did four years ago. You wanted nothing more than to be happy. You were happy for a moment, but it was torn from you in an instant.

A few seconds is all it took for everything to change.

“But–“ he takes a deep breath, finding some composure left in him. “If you talked to me, I could help ya.” Michael’s hazel eyes hold a hopeful glint that hits you like a knife. “I know ya’ve been hidin’ some things from me and I get it, but… if yer in danger,” he says, “I need to know. Ya don’t have to carry everythin’ alone. You told me tha.”

You bite your lip. “You shouldn’t have opened that drawer,” you say.

Silent anger. He knows your defensive response all too well.

“I was just lookin’ for a stapler,” he reminds you softly. “Ya told me to, remember? For my documents. I didn’t mean ta– I would never invade yer privacy on purpose.”

Not on purpose and especially not out of malicious intent.

He thought about it, but thinking and doing are two entirely different things. He’s not that type of person. You’re supposed to know that. You know him better than he knows himself, but right now, neither of you seems to have really known the other. Or so it feels like, anyway.

Michael is defeated, and now he is the one cornered because curiosity got the better of him. He should have ignored it.

“It wasn’t your place,” you repeat. “You weren’t supposed to find it.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He takes another step forward, his hand reaching for you as he tries to pull you back from the edge, but you recoil. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” he says. “If you don’t wanna talk, that’s alright, but… but this seems serious, love. Please, talk t’me. At least tell me that yer safe or- or that I’m overreactin’, and I promise, I’ll drop it. Just please…Give me somethin’, anythin’, to know yer alright and this isn’t as serious as I think it is.”

Your jaw tightens. You’re being unfair, and you know that before you even open your mouth, but you’re raging inside, you curse yourself and the world and your father, and you think about Maya and all that you could lose, and you can’t do this to him. He was never meant to find out, especially not like this; that’s on you and you alone.

If you had put in just a little more effort, or if you hadn’t let him in in the first place…

“You know you shouldn’t have seen that,” you say, your tone growing a lot more stern. “You know you shouldn’t have seen it and yet you took it out. I told you, I struggle with commitment, with trust, and you abused it! Michael–”

“Hey,” he interrupts you. He doesn’t raise his voice, but he matches your tone. “I was worried,” he repeats. “I was worried ‘bout ya, that’s all. You can’t blame me for wantin’ the woman I love to be safe. That’s not fair.”

“It wasn’t your place!” your broken voice roars across the room. “You violated my trust. You could have just let it be. You–” You break off to take a deep breath. The lump in your throat gets stuck.

You want nothing more than to step forward, fall into his arms and cry, but you’re stuck. You are physically unable to move, and it is all your fault.

“I could tell somethin’ was off,” Michael takes another step toward you, “and I’m sorry for lettin’ my curiosity get the better o’ me. I know this is your life and your privacy–believe me, I do–but… somethin’ isn’t right here. Something’s botherin’ you. I told ya, I’d do anythin’ to protect ya. I wasn’t jokin’ when I said tha, pet.“

Something about the look in his eyes tells you that he was honest then and he is just as honest now. Deadly serious.

But you’re too caught up in whatever poison is infecting your bloodstream with its ideology to see things clearly. “No,” you whisper. “This fucks up everything.”

“What does it fuck up? Tell me.”

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t… you weren’t supposed to happen, but you did anyway, and so I tried keeping it from you, but I failed again, and now everything’s so fucking fucked up. Fuck!”

“Yer not makin’ any sense right now. What’s goin’ on? Talk t’me, please. I can see yer hurtin’ and it breaks my heart–“

You take a step back when he comes even closer. “No,” you say.

“Does it have anythin’ to do with your sister?” he asks, and by now, he’s not even trying to hide what he did anymore. “When she called ya this mornin’ and you went to your bedroom to talk. Does tha have anything to do with it?”

“What?” You look up to meet his eyes.

He didn’t… did he? You were being careful. You went into a different room. You whispered. You made sure he wouldn’t hear.

Did he hear you? If he did, you’re beyond fucked, and the worst part would be that he kept it to himself the whole day without admitting it to you.

Liar, a voice in your head calls, and your defenses become stronger, the alarm blaring and you want nothing more than to run.

Michael takes a deep breath. The guilt in his eyes is answering enough for you, but you are too stiff to move anywhere, and he is coming closer by the second.

“I wanted to check on ya ‘cause ya didn’t look alright, and I overheard the phone call with your sister,” he admits. “I didn’t mean ta, but… I did.”

“Oh, my God!” Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you swear you can feel your heart stop.

So he knows. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough to draw conclusions, and now that he’s found the file, he knows even more, and your whole life suddenly crumbles at your feet like paper that has burned to ashes. It hurts, but the pain isn’t good or pleasurable this time; you’re in emotional peril with nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. You’re Jesus nailed to the cross. You’re stuck in a maze full of thorns. You can’t get out.

He’s right in front of you now. “Someone’s hurt ya,” he says, “In more ways than one. I can tell. They’re still hurtin’ ya. And… I think I know who it is, I just need ya to tell me so I can help. I promise, I won’t let anyone come near ya. I love you so much,” he says your name, and his hand lifts in the air to cradle your cheek. “Just tell me and I’ll raise fuckin’ hell.”

The touch that made you feel safe before feels like a deadly brush of wind now.

You recoil, and Michael’s heart joins yours on the floor. “Don’t… don’t touch me,” you say. It’s not just words, you’re pleading him to get his hands off, and you have never done that before.

Your voice breaks. Tears start welling up in your eyes, but your body is so wound up, they won’t fall.

You know you can’t be close to him. Even the thought of his touch hurts you. You need to be anywhere but here, and he needs to be somewhere far away from you, too.

Michael pulls his hand away. God, you hate yourself. He looks like you just reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and squeezed it in front of his eyes. The blood coats the floor along with the frozen pieces of your own heart, but it is his essence that paints the saddest picture. Maroon spills on the carpet, but this time there is nothing and no one to clean it up and pour it back into the glass.

“Please,” he begs.

You take a deep breath. “Maybe you should go.”

“No,” he doesn’t move, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I can’t leave you like this.”

“Michael…”

He shakes his head. “Not before you let me in.”

“Stop,” your voice breaks again, and you can merely hold back the treacherous tears.

He reaches out but stops himself this time. You look so broken and he can’t help you because you won’t let him, and he has never felt so torn inside. Being burned alive is nothing compared to how you’re making him feel now, and he should probably pull away for his own sake, but you wouldn’t be like this if you didn’t need help.

“I love you,” he breathes, “So let me love ya. Please. You just have to tell me what’s goin’ on and I promise I can fix it.”

You swallow. “You don’t get to decide what I should or should not tell you,” you say. “And you had no right to pull those papers out and confront me as if I owe you an explanation.”

He wants nothing more than to scream. “I would never do tha.”

“But you did.”

“That’s not what happened and ya know it!”

You flinch a little at the sound of his voice, and he curses himself for losing his temper.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just scared and- and worried. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean ta yell–“

It hurts that you won’t talk to him.

Your warmth disappears completely. Centimeters turn into a meter, and soon you’re standing right by the front door, your back turned to him as your hand hovers above the handle.

“You should go,” you repeat.

“You can’t mean tha,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry I yelled, but please–“

“It’s not because of that.”

“Jesus, I know! I�� What happened? Everythin’ was fine five minutes ago, we had dinner, we kissed, and now– why can’t ya just talk to me? I thought we trusted each other well enough by now ta know that there is no judgment. Ya know there isn’t, love. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Don’t push me away–”

Your voice cuts through the air like a knife, and it lands right in his chest. “I want you to leave,” you keep on insisting.

He shakes his head. Standing behind you, he turns you around and grabs your face with his hands. You whimper. It hurts. He isn’t being harsh; his fingertips just hurt because they’re so gentle, so careful, and you can’t stand it.

“Please,” he presses his forehead against yours, “don’t do this. Not over a fuckin’ stapler.”

But it’s more than a stapler, and he knows it.

Your nails dig into his wrists. “You have to go,” you say. “Please, you have to. I can’t…”

Michael clutches onto you, refusing to let go. “No. I love ya, and I'm terrified that if I leave, it's over for us. Just tell me we can survive this and tha... tha you still want us and I’ll go and give ya space, but I need to know that you won’t leave me.”

Your heart aches at his words, but you can't offer him any reassurance. “I don't know–”

“I can’t live without you anymore. I need ya, love. Just think about this.”

“Please, Michael,” it is your turn to beg. “Right now, I need you to go. I need… I need you to leave. So please just do me a favor and go.”

In a moment of desperation, Michael leans in and kisses you. Even his lips burn.

You find yourself moving against him, but only for a brief moment before you gently push him away. “Stop it!” you snap. “This isn’t– I told you to leave.”

“I’m so sorry–” He lets go of you.

You open the door.

Michael's gaze lingers on you for a moment, his eyes pleading with you to change your mind. But he knows, deep down, that you're right. Reluctantly, he turns away. His emotions wear heavy on his shoulders, dragging them down to his feet. But he doesn't want to fight with you. So he grabs his coat and the unstapled documents on your living room table and walks through the open door into the hallway. You're standing there, across from him, but you're still so far away. You're unreachable.

He glances back at you. “Are ya sendin' me away forever or just fer now?” The question is a hard one to ask, and the answer, he knows, is going to be a bitter pill to swallow no matter what you tell him.

You shift from one foot to the other, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” you whisper.

He was right; it is a very bitter pill to swallow.

He got you not so long ago and now he is losing you, and he doesn’t even understand why.

“Just answer me one more thing,” he says. “Did I just lose ya?”

You look down, unable to answer. You lost yourself, but there is no way you can explain it to him in a way that would make sense.

Without another word, he nods and wipes his nose, and then he heads toward the stairs. Your eyes linger on him, but when he turns around to look at you, the door falls shut and you’re gone. Just like that.

Michael is tied to the ground, the roots of his pain keeping him tethered there. He hears you slide down your door and then you’re sobbing loud enough to fill the hallway with your sad symphony.

He wants to turn around, run back to you, and kick the door down to take you into his arms, but he’s hurt too, and he knows that if he runs back to you, you will only push back harder, and so he straightens his shoulders and leaves.

He loved and he lost you, just like everything in his life, and he can’t help but feel like this is his fault all over again. He wasn’t made to be loved.

In a moment of desperation, he pulls out his phone and sends a text, ‘Need a ride.’

Only a few seconds later, Jimmy’s name shows up on the screen, asking for the address, and he lets out a shuddering sigh of relief.

The road to your apartment isn’t long, and with Jimmy’s driving style, the black car pulls onto your street in less than thirty minutes. His brother lets down the window, eyeing him and the tears in his eyes.

“Hey,” he says.

Michael opens the door to the passenger side and gets in, foregoing the greetings. He’s still mad at him, but Jimmy is his brother and there has never not been a time he called him when he was in trouble. Tonight is no different.

Jimmy looks at him. “Ya wanna tell me why ya told me ta pick you up here?” he asks.

Shaking his head, Michael looks out the window as the landscapes start passing by. He bites down on his thumb, trying hard to keep the leftover tears at bay when he thinks about you broken on your apartment floor, crying as if you’re in excruciating pain, and he is nowhere near to help.

But you don’t want his help, he needs to accept that. He can’t fix everything or everyone. And he can’t help you if you don’t want him to. It’s sad and it hurts, but it’s true.

“What happened?” Jimmy once again asks. “Was it yer girlfriend? Did she hurt ya?”

Michael shakes his head again.

“Then why do you look like yer about to drown this car in tears?”

“I just needed a getaway car,” he answers.

“Getaway car from wha?”

He’s not sure. Your relationship, maybe, but he would never run away from that if it wasn’t necessary. You made the choice, not him. He needed to get away before his heart could break anymore, that’s why he called Jimmy. He needs to go home, whether he likes it or not. And his brother is still family, despite how many times they argue.

“Michael,” Jimmy urges him. “If she hurt ya, tell me and I’ll make sure that little girl knows she messed with the wrong family.”

“No,” Michael says, and this time his tone takes a dangerous tone. “You don’t get to touch her. Stay out of it. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“Then tell me the truth!”

“She lied.”

“About?”

“She lied,” he repeats, his eyes once again trailing over the landscapes and city lights. “She lied and kept secrets and then she told me to leave, but she didn’t hurt me on purpose. Shit happens. We’re over. That enough for ya?”

Jimmy sighs, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says.

But Michael doesn’t really hear him. The cotton engulfs him and with it, your sobs fade into the distance and the loneliness makes its home in his heart all over again. Gone is the happiness and the butterfly effect; it’s just him now, and he figures that maybe, this is exactly how he is supposed to be–lonely and alone.

You’re not sure how long you have been lying there on the floor. It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, you don’t know. Your eyes are burning from the tears you shed and your voice is hoarse from sobbing. The door is locked, but you somehow still wish Michael might come floating through it.

You’re such an idiot, but you can’t take back what you said. You shouldn’t. It was the right choice. Maybe pushing him away the way you did wasn’t the best idea, but the choice itself was the right one.

If it was the right choice though, why does it hurt so much?

You manage to lift your aching body off the cold floor and into the kitchen where you find the wine bottle from dinner. You’ve only had a glass and it was still full when you got it. There’s enough to get rid of the pain, and yet not enough to make you forget. You don’t want to forget. You deserve the despair that comes with remembering, but you need some balm for your soul, and wine seems like the best choice to knock yourself out.

Michael didn’t deserve any of the things you said, and you should have never developed that crush on him in the first place. If you hadn’t, you couldn’t have hurt him so shortly after declaring your love for him. You tore his heart out, twisted the dagger deeper inside, and then impaled his heart and soul, too. You saw him slowly dying inside when he left, and you feel so guilty for making him go through so much shit again simply because you can’t face your own feelings.

You loathe yourself.

The papers he retrieved from the drawer land on your coffee table with a thud. The bottle of wine is already at your lips as you take a big swig, and then some more. You stare down at the articles and the file, and your eyes turn from sad to dead. You shut them off, all these unwanted emotions, because you fucked up now anyway and everything else is fucked, so shutting it off and focusing on fixing what you can fix is what you would do.

You’re angry, and it’s not just the wine that makes it feel so much stronger. The feeling consumes you. You have a fire inside of you that turns into an inferno and is ready to burn every hurdle in your path to the ground. You never had that before, and it makes you more determined now than ever.

It’s three in the morning when the cellphone in London rings and tears Maya out of her sleep.

“Jesus–“ her sleepy voice sounds from the other end. “Do you know what time it is?”

You take another swig of wine, and the bottle is almost empty now. The papers are splattered everywhere. Chaos has ensued around you. You are nowhere near closer to discovering the truth, but at least you’ve found a bottle of tequila and some lime juice. The wine isn’t empty yet, but you’re almost there and then you will focus on the harder stuff.

You thought you would find something, but you’re still empty-handed and angry, and your finger pressed that call button without your permission.

“Hello?” Maya asks again. She calls your name. “Are you there? Are you alright? You know I have to somehow find a way to hide that 3am call from Dad, right? It’s not funny if you’re not gonna talk to me.”

“You know,” you finally speak up, your speech slurring, “he said they were on their way to dance rehearsals.”

“What?”

“The M25 was not the way to her dance studio, especially not the turn they took off of it.”

You kick the picture in front of you aside. You’ve had enough. You should burn them. You should burn him.

Maya hesitates before she asks, “Are you talking about Ellie?”

“There were no other cars. He wasn’t speeding. He just stood there with the passenger side toward where the truck was coming from, and…” You trail off.

She says your name again, and this time tears are audible in your little sister’s voice. “Stop,” she begs you.

“He wanted it to look like an accident by speeding before,” you say, a pained scoff leaving your lips, “but he can’t fool me.”

“You promised–“ Maya cuts off to take a deep breath. “You promised you wouldn’t dig. Why are you digging?”

You empty the wine bottle with another large gulp. Your features don’t contort. You barely taste the alcohol anymore. It reminds you of water. You grab the tequila next, but it’s hard to open the bottle with one hand. You go for it with your teeth. It works. The taste is more potent, sharper, and more bitter, and it adds to the buzz in your head that makes everything seem less bad.

Oh, but the anger burns brighter than ever because everyone knows what happens when you pour alcohol or gasoline into the fire–the flame is only going to grow, and eventually it’s going to end up out of control. You can’t put it out without putting your life at risk, so you need a firefighter, but with a fire as large as the one inside of you, even a fire truck would come too late.

The same way they came too late to save your sister.

You swallow. “It should have been me in that fucking car with her,” you say, your voice void of emotions yet so loaded at the same time. “Or with him, and then he could have killed me instead of her, but it wasn’t… it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

You’re so empty, you can feel the tears in your chest, but they won’t fall. You have nothing left to give. You’ve bled out.

Taking a deep breath, you take another sip of liquor. “I’m gonna get you back,” you state as a matter of fact. “It’s what I should have fought harder for in the beginning.”

“By snooping around what happened six years ago?” Maya shoots back. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s gonna be the title of my biography.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Slightly buzzed. Doesn’t fucking matter. He killed her–“ you put the bottle back to your lips, “And he’s gonna suffer for it. You shouldn’t have to stay with him or Mom or anyone else. You belong with me.”

“I know he hurt you–“

“He abused me. He never touched you, but he touched me all the time and I am sick and tired of letting him control me. All of us. I’m gonna tie that accident to him,” you say, “and then I’m gonna watch as he burns. I’m gonna hurt him the same way he hurt me, and then I’m gonna get you back.”

Maya shakes her head against the phone. “He’s going to kill you,” she pleads, trying to somehow emphasize her words, but you’re too drunk and too angry to see clearly.

You chuckle. “I’d like to see him try.”

“I don’t want to lose you, why don’t you get that?”

“Oh, I get it. Why do you think I’m doing this? It’s not because I find some perverted enjoyment in reliving all of this shit, I do it because I love you. I’m doing this for you.”

“Please,” she calls out for you, “Think this through! Don’t do it. There has to be another way.”

As you put the bottle of tequila down, your eyes focused on the empty wall before you, and you sigh. “Take care of yourself. We’ll talk soon,” and with that, you hang up on her.

You turn back to the files on the floor. The message with ‘I just threw up, can’t come to work tomorrow’ is quickly sent to Ava, and then you toss your phone aside. What’s left are you, your liquor, and the papers, and as you stare at the picture of the happy child and her little sister as they’re sitting in the garden together, your fist tightens around the neck of the bottle.

He might think he won, but you’re determined to cut his lucky streak short. He made you suffer twenty years, and you’re going to make sure he gets much more than that.

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #x reader #chaos theory

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three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat · 2 years ago

Note

I love Wind having master sword burns so so much, please give deets :D

*taps mic* I wrote that fic like, nearly a year ago, so I don't remember much, but I can provide a few details (most about the fic itself, as the whole "MS burns" thing is pretty simple

You can't wield the Master Sword if you do not have the hero's spirit. Zelda, however, as the descendant of Hylia, can wield it (which doesn't make sense to me but whatever)

This was actually before I hopped on the train of Four being Zelda’s cousin, I think, so really I was going for the descendant of someone with the hero's spirit also being able to hold it (to a lesser degree)

I've always visualized Wind's scars to cover his entire hand (hands?), like he laid it evenly on a sheet of hot metal, as opposed to like, just where the hilt touched him. No unblemished skin.

I started another fic about Wind without the hero's spirit (entitled as "ANGST HAMMER" in my docs, whereupon he used the Master Sword to kill Dark Link, and thus died himself) but never got more than a few lines (enclosed below, because I will probably never finish it unless a sudden bout of inspiration strikes. Be warned, it's quite old)

A detail only in that fic- Wind also has scars on his shoulder from where the hilt of the Master Sword rested

(Fun side note- those two are the only fics where my hc of "Blue becomes Edward Elric when his height is mentioned" is present)

This fic was intended to be a looooot angstier but somehow it ended up as a comedy. Writing Wind is just very fun and it's somewhat hard to take everything seriously from his pov

I looked up whether or not WW Link wore gloves to base the placement and extent of his scars on

The burns never got past, like, second degree. Most of the pain was like, a magical thing (the divine curse mentioned by Sun)

There's a running gag in my fics of a Link meeting another Link and calling them "Other Link", and here Sun does it as well (she and Sky are dumbass4dumbass)

This isnt relevant at all but someone made art of the scene where Groose picks up Wind and looking at it now, I just realized Sky is standing in the "you know I had to do it to em" (I think anyway) pose and I'd be upset but that's just so funny

Wind has always known he doesn't have long.

Ever since he pulled the Master Sword, he's held his lifespan in his hands, grains of sand spilling between burned fingers.

Was it not enough? To fight Ganondorf, blood from broken blisters slickening the Master Sword? To live every day in pain, sometimes not even able to do the most basic of tasks?

(He already knows the answer, has known it since the first day he drew the Goddess's blade.

It never will be.)

"Good thing the old man is here, right?" Wild says, nudging Wind's side and sending a jolt of pain through him.

Today has been a bad day; he'd woken up unable to curl his fingers in all the way, and his shoulder has been burning, only worsened by the hilt of his sword rubbing against the scars there.

"Yeah." He agrees, tuning back into the conversation. Sky had been demonstrating how his beetle worked, only to wedge it in between two branches out of arm's reach.

"Is it just a hero's spirit thing to be short?" Legend asks. "Time is the only tall one here."

"I don't know." Time says, ruffling Wind's hair. He tries not to wince at the jolt it sends through his already frayed nerves. "The sailor might still get taller than me."

Wind tries not to laugh at that; if Legend is right, then he really might be able to get taller than all of them, if the curse doesn't kill him first.

"I could still get taller." Four rolls their eyes.

"Yeah, right." Warriors scoffs. "You're even more of a shrimp than Wind."

"I'm not a shrimp! This is a perfectly normal height!"

"For a ten year old, maybe."

"I don't know." Legend says. "I think it's more like an eight year old."

He twists the blade into the Dark Link's chest, fire burning through him. It howls, clawing at him.

"Wind, no!" He hears Time yell.

He looks back, smiling. "It's what heroes do, right?"

#this ask took a little while to respond to because i forgot it existed lol #mb and nancy scream about hats #mb's writing

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nikatheotter · 2 years ago

Text

I have a deal

So if you vote for Scar I will give you a ticket to my fanfiction train

During your journey you will expirience

-a lot of Scar angst

-not only Scar angst but also Grian angst

-basicly a lot of angst

-traumatic childhood expiriences

-gay romance

-murder

-murder mysteries

-canibalism

-capitalism

-fluffy fluff

-horror

-group therapy

-a lot of AUs

And more

You can also request a little one shot you only have to prove me that you voted for Scar

All of this for the small price of voting for Scar

The train will start as soon as the poll

Vote for Scar and hop on board! Destination - trauma!

#vote scar #mcyt sexyman #mcytblr sexymen poll

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thatredheadwriter · 3 years ago

Text

On the Mat

Marc Spector x reader

You’re Marc and Steven’s ‘guy in the chair’ for lack of a better term, helping them with all things techy. When you get injured trying to help on a mission, Marc decides you need to learn how to take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen again. Gym training with Marc turns into something else entirely.

(A/N: Y’all, I actually BLUSHED while writing some of the dirty talk. Personally, I think it’s pretty steamy. Let me know what you think with a comment or a reblog!)

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Marc Spector of the show Moon Knight. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing

Injury to reader (canon-level, nothing too bad)

Mild angst

Stitches

Marc is a cocky asshole

combat/fight training

Teasing/degradation (it’s not supposed to be sexual at first, but it is)

Oops, my Praise Kink is showing

DIRTY TALK

Fingering

Oral (female receiving)

P in V penetrative sex (protected)

Choking

Hair pulling

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you slapped at Marc’s hands that prodded your eyebrow.

“You’re not fine, (y/n), you need stitches,” he slapped your own hand away and continued examining the wound. The blood had stopped, mostly, and was beginning to dry down the side of your face.

“So then stitch me up, I’ve seen you do your own a million times.”

He shook his head, “I should take you to a hospital.”

“God, no, I hate hospitals, Marc. I’d rather die. Please, can you do it?” you begged, pouting a bit. Although he pretended to dislike you, you knew it was a facade.

“I don’t have any anesthetic, and the scar won’t be pretty,” he warned, gathering his first aid supplies and straddling a chair across from you.

“Fine, then I’ll look like a mysterious badass. You pull it off well enough,” you smirked.

“You know, this isn’t funny. He nearly took your eye out.”

You hissed as he dabbed at the cut with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, “The bad guy got a lucky shot in is all.”

“He would have killed you if I hadn’t shown up. There’s nothing lucky about that,” his gaze was focused on your eyebrow, but the intensity of it made you want to squirm.

“I disagree. I’m very lucky to have you to save my ass all the time.”

“Can you please stop joking? You almost died today, very stupidly I might add.”

You rolled your eyes, but Marc placed a hand on top of your head to keep you still as he raised the threaded needle.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. A sharp pain pricked at your temple and you fought the urge to wince, instead just shutting your eyes and trying to breathe. The two of you stopped fighting as he worked, carefully sewing in eight stitches from your left temple to the top of your eyebrow.

“You did the impossible today, you know,” he said as he dabbed at the now-sealed cut on your face with more alcohol.

“What’s that?”

“You got me and Steven to actually agree on something.”

You giggled at that, “And how did I do that?”

“He’s been saying for a while now that it’s too dangerous for you to be in the field, and after today, I have to agree.”

“Oh, please, like you could have stopped me from being on that roof.”

He tossed the used supplies in the trash. “I know. Which is why tomorrow, we start your training.”

“Training?”

“I’m going to teach you how to fight since you’re no good at staying out of them.”

“Why not start now?” you asked, hopping up from your seat.

“No, you need to rest now. And don’t think I’m gonna go easy on you, cause I’m not.”

“Ok, Mr. Badass Mercenary, whatever.”

Oof

The breath left your body as Marc slammed you into the mat once again before standing up and offering you a hand. You took it but glared at him angrily.

“Is this fun for you? It seems fun for you,” you frowned, dusting off your ass once more as Marc circled you.

“I told you I wouldn’t go easy on you, and neither will the bad guys. So really I’m doing you a favor,” he smirked, enjoying having you inside his area of expertise now.

“Oh fuck you, Spector,” you sneered, making your way to the side of the mat where you’d set your water bottle. “Try telling that to my tailbone.”

“You’ll be fine,” he scoffed. “Ready to go again?”

“No, I’m not! Because you keep fucking just attacking me and saying very cryptic, unhelpful shit. This sucks and I’m not learning at all. You’re an awful teacher and I hate training,” you huffed.

“Ok, ok,” Marc threw his hands up. “Let’s go over to the heavy bag, I’ll teach you a few things.”

You sighed heavily and trudged over to the corner where Marc had fixed the second hand gym equipment. You had a feeling not all of the new equipment he’d obtained was exactly for sale when he got it.

“So what, I just hit it right?” you hit the bag lazily.

“Not like that.”

“Okay, then, Mr. Moon Knight, how do you want me to hit the bag?”

“Actually, Steven’s Mr. Knight, I’m Moon- Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Look, you’ve got to set your stance, frame your arms, hit with a locked wrist, and follow through. Think you can do that?”

You rolled your eyes, “I think I’ll manage.”

You ran through the checklist in your head, and struck out at the bag hard, but it barely seemed to shudder.

“Here, watch me,” Marc move you aside and took his stance next to the bag and hit it several times in rapid succession, sending it swinging back and forth on its chains.

“Show off.”

“Here, let me show you the form,” he beckoned you over. What you did not expect was for him to place his hands on your bare waist.

His foot kicked at your right ankle, nudging it forward and out a bit, before moving your left one back.

Marc’s hands slid up your body and up to your shoulders, setting them in position before moving down each of your arms and putting your hands in a proper defensive position in front of you.

“You want to hit with your knuckles, make contact with the first two here,” he tapped over your wrapped hands, indicating the places he was talking about. “Lock your wrist and deliver the energy straight through. Imagine your target is behind the bag.”

You took a deep breath, and punched the bag again. It felt better, but you nearly fell over and lost your balance. You likely would have ended up in the floor if it wasn’t for Marc’s hands flying to your waist and steadying your center of gravity.

“Better, but you’ve gotta stay loose. Put your weight on the balls of your feet and bend your knees a little. Yeah, that’s good,” his hands left you once again, but he stayed close as you followed his instructions. “Tighten your core. Yep, good. Now you’re going to hit again, but this time, engage every muscle in your body. Imagine the power coming all the way down from your thighs.”

This time you looked at the bag and imagined the face of the asshole who nearly killed you yesterday and hit hard.

“Good girl,” Marc praised, sending a shiver down your spine. “You learn fast.”

“Thanks,” you said meekly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flustered you’d become.

“Now that you really know how to punch let’s go back to the mat, see if you can actually manage to hit me,” he taunted.

You were determined now more than ever to finally land a blow on Marc Spector. Of course, you didn’t actually want to hurt him. But if you could trade blows with him, knock him down or stun him even a little, you’d finally feel like you could do something to protect yourself.

The problem was he was a slippery bastard.

He moved faster than you could plan for, so as soon as you struck out at where he was, he was somewhere else, wearing a shit eating grin and taunting you to continue.

“Come on, (y/n),” he’d say, after dancing away from another nowhere-near miss. “Can’t you even hit me once.”

“Aw, can’t you do it?”

“And I’m your friend, I imagine your enemies will have an easy enough time taking you out.”

“You’re pathetic, it’s been thirty minutes and you’re not even close.”

Finally you let out a scream, lunging at him and missing again, only to land on the mat hard.

Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as you swallowed the lump in your throat and rolled onto your ass. Marc was laughing at your feeble attempt to tackle him. You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your chin on top of them, staring at the floor.

“Alright, you’ve had your rest. Come on, we’re not done until you’ve tagged me at least once. And by the looks of it, we may be here all night.”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“God! Why are you so fucking mean, Marc?” you yelled, shocking your trainer whose teasing smile quickly faded from his face. A few stray tears made their way down your face as you sniffled and pushed yourself up off the ground.

“(y/n), I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help,” he tried to close some distance, but you backed away.

“How? By making me feel like shit, huh? Telling me that I suck, making me feel like a failure?” you cried.

Marc ran a hand down his face, “God, no. I was just trying to motivate you. I didn’t realize…I wanted you to want to hurt me.”

“Well, jokes on you, asshole. It didn’t work,” your lower lip trembled as you spoke and you couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

“I see that, and I’m sorry. Please, (y/n), forgive me?”

You looked at him and rolled your eyes. He was too handsome to stay mad at for long and he knew it.

“Fine, but you have to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Well, I guess your shitty ass motivation kinda did work because now I really do want to hit you.”

He furrowed his brow, not following. “Okay, so-”

“Okay, so I’m going to punch you. And you’re going to stand still and let me.”

Marc scoffed, “And if I don’t?”

“I guess maybe I won’t be feeling so forgiving. Maybe I’ll just wipe every electronic device you have and replace all of the files with that one song you hate so much.”

“You wouldn’t.”

You smirked evilly, “All your files, replaced with ‘What Does the Fox Say?’ or you let me hit you once and we call it a night, yeah?”

Marc swore under his breath before moving to the center of the mat. His arms dropped by his sides and he sighed, “Ok, come get it.”

You were far too giddy as you moved into position and adopted your stance in front of him, giggling at the bored expression on his face.

You weren’t expecting the thud that came with punching a person with all your might. Your fist hit him square in the chest and you seemed to do a pretty good job knocking the wind out of him. But you didn’t get much time to celebrate.

He grabbed your wrist and flipped you. In a flash you were pinned to the ground, Marc’s hands holding each of your wrists by your head and his body perched comfortably atop yours. His chain had fallen outside his shirt and now dangled in front of you.

“Good girl, that was a solid hit,” he praised, tossing his head to get a loose curl out of his face. “But you’ve gotta be ready for the next attack.”

“Thought you were going to let me hit you,” you whispered, unable to manage anything else in such close proximity to the man whom you’d secretly lusted after for months.

“I said you could hit me, I never said I wouldn’t retaliate,” he said growled.

You couldn’t help but whimper at the sound, and you squirmed underneath him. His grip on your wrists tightened harshly. Your hips bucked up against him and he growled once more.

“You better stop doing that, princess,” he warned. You looked down to where his body trapped yours and gasped when you saw a bulge forming in his gray training pants. Your head snapped back to meet his eyes once again, and although his face was still hard, his eyes had softened.

“If you don’t want to do this, tell me now,” he urged. “Tell me now and I’ll stop and we can pretend this never happened.”

Instead of answering with words, you decided to let your body do the talking. You used the little bit of space you had to roll your hips up against him. A deep groan emanated from his chest and his eyes rolled back a bit. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you looked up at him innocently through your eyelashes.

“Fuck.”

You half-absorbed the curse as his lips crashed down on yours. He was urgent, on a mission. The kiss was sloppy and needy and hot. Your teeth clashed and your tongues fought for dominance. It was a short fight, you conceded quickly, allowing him to explore your mouth freely.

While he distracted you with his tongue, he was working your body, maneuvering you just to his liking. When he finally pulled away and allowed you to catch your breath through swollen lips, you realized your hands were now above your head, wrists pinned in one of Marc’s large hands.

His position above you had changed as well. Instead of straddling your waist, he now sat over one of your thighs, knee in between your legs. You gasped as he shifted it up a bit, pressing it against your clothed center. Your body reacted instantly, grinding against it and searching for any form of friction it could find.

“You’re a needy little thing, aren’t you,” he teased, watching you squirm.

“Please, Marc,” you begged, pouting a bit for emphasis.

“Please what, baby? Gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Just please touch me, or let me touch you, or…fuck I don’t know. I need more!” you whined.

Marc raised an eyebrow at that, “That wasn’t a very nice way to say that, was it babygirl?”

You shook your head no.

“I bet a pretty girl like you can find lots of nice words to use for me. That is unless the mere thought of me fucking you senseless has got you so cockdrunk you can’t even think straight,” he cocked his head, waiting for your answer.

“Please, Marc. Please, I need to feel you. I’ll be good, just please touch me,” you pleaded, locking eyes with him.

“Yeah, you will. Gonna be my good fucking girl,” he smiled, releasing your wrists.

Your hands flew to his shoulders and dug into the cloth and flesh there as he pulled you in for another bruising kiss. With his hands now unoccupied, one held him up from crushing you while the other mapped your body.

He roughly squeezed your breast through the fabric of your sports bra and identified the nipple underneath, pinching and rolling it in his large fingers. You moaned into his mouth.

Soon his hand was traversing lower, eventually coming to cup your sex over the spandex shorts you wore. He could feel the heat building there and it made his cock throb.

“You want me to take these off?”

You nodded, but he only shook his head and chuckled.

“You’re going to have to use your words, baby girl,” he teased, running his hand up and down the inside of your thigh.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?”

“Take ‘em off, please,” you urged, bucking your hips up against his hands. He grinned at your eagerness.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down your legs, along with your panties, with you lifting your hips just enough to help him get them down around your ass. He tossed the fabric to the side somewhere and worked his way down your body so he was eye-level with your glistening cunt.

“Is all this for me, baby?”

You sat up on your elbows so you could see his face as he took his index finger and ran it up over your hole and up to your clit, making you sigh loudly. Your noises seemed to really do it for Marc, as he quickly abandoned his teasing approach and dove in head first, literally.

One finger plunged deep into your cunt while his tongue lapped at the arousal that had gathered between your folds. Your hands clenched into fists and you swore if it weren’t for the hand wraps, your palms would have been bleeding. It was only the taste of copper that made you realize you were biting down on your lip, although it wasn’t doing much to stifle the pitiful whimpers and squeaks coming from your chest.

But then he pulled away, making you whine.

“Was close,” you whimpered pitifully. He mocked your pouty face as he sat up and pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing his stunning torso.

You didn’t get long to admire it before Marc was on you again, kissing your neck and marking you with his teeth. His hands ran up your sides and slipped up under the fabric of your bra. You sat up all the way, with some effort, given that he was pressing you down, and raised your arms over your head, allowing him to pull off the restrictive fabric and toss it aside to join your discarded shorts and panties.

“I’ve dreamed about these tits, you know. Did you think I didn’t notice when you started wearing those fucking low-cut tops? I nearly came in my pants the first time I saw you in a bra.”

His rough hands came down to palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading the sensitive flesh there before pinching and rolling your nipples hard, pulling them up and away from your chest. Animalistic grunts and groans tumbled out of your lips as he worked, worshipping your chest.

“Please, no more teasing. Need your cock,” you whined, your hips rutting up into the air and searching for some friction.

“Yeah, you’re sure? You’re sure you need it?”

“Please,” you pouted, hands reaching down to palm his bulge through his pants. He hissed in response, making you grin.

Marc didn’t need any more convincing. One hand reached into his pants and freed his cock, which sprang against his hard abdomen in excitement. The tip was flushed and swollen and a bead of precum was springing free at the tip.

“Fuck,” you groaned. He was big, bigger than you expected. But it made sense, you supposed, given how perfect the rest of him was.

Marc reached over as far as he could, his hand disappearing into the pocket of his gym bag, and coming out holding a distinctive shiny wrapper. You watched, entranced, as he tore open the foil packet and rolled the condom down his impressive length. You couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that he was prepared for something like this.

“You’re sure you want this?” Marc asked, pumping himself a couple of times before lining up with your entrance.

“Yes, I really, really do. What about…what about Steven? I mean he’s kinda along for the ride, isn’t he? Is he okay with this?”

Marc surprised you, barking a laugh. “Steven? He’s more than okay with this. He stares at your ass even more than I do.”

The thought made your face flame, but was it really so embarrassing given that you were laid out in front of him, getting ready to be split apart on his cock?

Marc leaned over you pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “If you want me to stop, tell me.”

You nodded quickly, and then your eyes were squeezed shut as he entered you for the first time. Once he was fully sheathed inside you, touching parts you didn’t know you had, he stopped for a second. The room was silent except for the sounds of your breathing.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he swore.

“Just shut up and fuck me, Marc,” you groaned, your hands scrambling to grab whatever bit of him you could, eventually settling around his neck, tangling in the short hair there.

He laughed as he pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, hard. Marc set an unforgiving pace, leaving you fucked out and speechless almost instantly.

“There are those ugly words again sweetheart,” he tutted. One of his hands trailed up from your breast to grab your chin before slipping two fingers past your swollen lips. His heavy fingers pressed down on your tongue and forced open your jaw,

Never in a million years had you imagined you’d be lying bare in a gym being fucked silly by Marc Spector with his fingers in your mouth. It was so filthy and carnal and the mental image of it made your cunt clench.

“God,” he swore, “You like that? Like having my fingers in your mouth?”

You nodded as much as your current position would allow, not that you could have even formed words if you wanted to. Every drag of his cock along your sensitive walls had you seeing stars.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he asked, pulling his hand from your mouth and going back to torturing your nipple.

“Please…need…” you panted, trying to tell him, but your mind was already so far gone.

But Marc knew.

“Need me to rub your clit, pretty girl?”

You nodded furiously and one of his hands moved to rest over your hip. His thumb reached down and worked rapid, hard circles on your clit.

“Come on, cum for me, baby,” he urged.

Your hands flew to his wrist and tugged, pulling it upwards. He was close to his own release, but he slowed a bit as his brow furrowed.

“What do you need?”

“Choke me,” you breathed.

His eyes widened almost comically and if you hadn’t been seconds away from cumming, you would have laughed. He watched in fascination as he let you guide his hand up to your throat, his large hand easily fitting around it.

Marc had choked partners before, but to do it with you was something else. He looked deep into your eyes as he applied just the right amount of pressure to the sides of your neck, effectively reducing blood flow to your brain.

All the sensations combined in an explosion of ecstasy as your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your hands tightened around Marc’s forearm and your fingernails left tiny crescents in the flesh.

A high, broken sob was the only thing that punctuated the wet sounds of skin on skin. Marc released his hold on your throat, but left his hand in place while the hand that had been pleasuring your clit now gripped your hip harshly. He was fucking into you with all he had, low grunts and curses falling from his lips like prayers.

As you lay there in complete bliss, your hands returned to his dark curls once more and fisted them hard. Your tired cunt clenched around him one last time and his head dropped to your chest as he filled the condom with his release. His hips stuttered as he worked through his high and finally he came to a rest deep inside you.

“You did so good for me,” he praised, lifting his sweaty forehead from your skin, reaching a thumb up to wipe a tear away you hadn’t even realized had slipped out. “My pretty girl,” he praised.

“Yeah?” you asked, leaning into his touch.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “M’sorry for earlier. I just worry about my girl, you know?”

You nodded sleepily.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Come on,” he pulled away from you, making you whine at the loss of contact. Your folds were sensitive as he slipped out,

“Hey, Marc?” you asked as he helped you up and started leading you towards the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“You know how I said I hate training?”

He grinned, “Mm-hmm.”

“If that’s how training’s going to end, I so don’t hate training.”

thatredheadwriter’s Masterlist

#moon knight #not a spoiler #marc spector smut #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant smut #moon knight smut #moon knight imagine #dom!marc spector #dom!marc spector x reader #dom!marc spector x sub!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x reader smut #filth #smutty smut smut #moon knight oneshot #marc spector oneshot #marc spector imagine

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tatorthots · 3 years ago

Text

— KNY | Waking Up Before You

↳ Characters: Tanjiro Kamado, Inosuke Hashibara, Zenitsu Agatsuma x fem!reader | BONUS: Kyōjurō Rengoku

↳ Warnings: slight angst (only Tanjiro), mention of scar

↳ a/n: idk what it is but something about Tanjiro makes my brain go ‘angstangstangstansgt’ and I can’t stop it hELP but the rest is fluffy and cute so enjoy !

TANJIRO

It’s been over 40 min since Tanjiro’s been awake, and though he knows he should be up getting ready for training, he really couldn’t do it — one glance at your peacefully sleeping face and he found himself slipping back underneath the covers

He’s not quite sure what it is; if it’s the way your eyelashes flutter each time he brushes stray strands of hair from your forehead or the warmth your plush body radiates under the pads of his fingertips as he traces the dips of your curves — whatever it is, it’s enough to keep him planted in bed all day

‘She looks so calm…’ Sighing, Tanjiros smile faltered, ‘Maybe it’s selfish of me to keep her by my side. The danger I constantly put her in just to keep her with me, it’s not fair.’

His fingers find their way to the discolored scar you got when fighting an unexpected ambush of high-ranking demons. The mark on your rib cage served as a constant reminder of what you sacrifice to be with him, it always made his usual soft eyes darken with guilt and anger. Gently circling over the scar his mind clouds with insecurities

‘She deserves more, better.. she-‘

Before Tanjiro could continue his self-sabotaging thoughts, he felt nimble fingers interlace with his. Maroon irises widen as they dart up, only to land on you as you bring his hand to your lips, pressing a loving kiss on his calloused skin

“Good morning, my love” A sleepy smile settled on your lips, “How long have you been awake?”

“G-good morning—! I.. I-um haven’t been awake too long...” His brows gently knit as he meekly glanced down at your interlaced hands. His thumb rubbed small circles, hoping praying you didn’t notice the solemn glint in his eyes

But you knew Tanjiro well. You’ve memorized every little quirk he has, noted each of his habits and what emotion they’re linked to. He was easy to read, which is why you knew exactly what he wanted to say

“Tanjiro?”

“Yes?” He stopped his movements

“I love you. Never forget that, okay?” Reaching your hand up to caress his cheek you saw his eyes slightly water

So you did what you always do whenever he’s fighting his own demons — you hold him under the covers as you whisper sweet nothings and praises into his ear, kissing and cuddling him until you were sure he felt reassured enough to start the day — together

INOSUKE

It was currently 5 A.M. The sun had barely started to rise above the horizon and this wild boar was already rummaging around the room to get ready for another day of training with Gonpachiro

Given any other day, he’d rather be caught dead before waking up any time before 10 A.M, but after the battle with the spider family — and his struggling encounter with the ‘Father’, he made it his mission to train even harder

“C’MON C’MON C’MON—!! Rest time is over! It’s time to start training until our bones shatter!” Bouncing up and down the bed, this King of the Mountains already had his swords in hand and boar head on

“Mmph Inosuke give me... 5.. more....” and there you go falling back asleep for the nth time

With a frustrated gaze and a heavy sigh, he got an idea. An awful idea. Inosuke got a wonderful *awful* idea. With a light hop off the bed, he sauntered over to the furthest corner of the small lodge, his chest held high and lips etched into a smug smirk. Reaching the corner he swiftly turned on his heels and ran full force — heading straight for you

With a loud thud and a harsh punch to your stomach, your boyfriend had tackled you off the bed — or more like flung you to the wall. Groaning and clutching your side you shot up, seething with anger you glared at the direction of a swinging door, watching as your lovers figure slowly got smaller and smaller in the distance

“IM GOING TO KILL YOU—!! YA HEAR ME?!” Quickly changing into your uniform and grabbing your sword you raced out the door, intent on actual murder.

Inosuke still running full speed to the training grounds, raises one of his swords triumphantly in the air

“TRAINING HAS NOW OFFICIALLY BEGUN AHAHAHA!!!”

ZENITSU

To say you were a beautiful gracious sunshine goddess to this Demon Slayer was an absolute understatement — a pathetic one at that

Zenitsu loves you, he practically worships the ground you walk on, and he has every intention of letting you know how deeply his affection runs

“Y/n-chaaaann~!” Zenitsu cooed as he gently rubbed his face on yours, “It’s time to wake up my angel. I already made you breakfast!”

“Mm..?” Fluttering your eyelids open, you were met with the sight of a beaming Zenitsu holding up a tray of eggs, toast and fruit. “Ah. Good morning sweetheart” rubbing the sleep off your eyes you gently smiled, “You didn’t have to go through the trouble of doing this, Zen.”

“That’s what makes wanting to that much better, doesn’t it?” He placed the tray on your lap , kissing your forehead before leaning back

“Have you eaten?” You questioned as you placed an egg on top of your toast

“Hm? Oh no, not yet. I spent more time than I thought trying to take eggs from the food basket Inosuke sleeps with…” Looking to the side in an almost grimly manner, “I mean, I know he was raised by boars in the mountains but does he really have to act this way?”

A light giggle escaped your lips as you watched your lover groan at your wild friends antics

“Well this certainly won’t do.” Placing an egg on another slice of toast you continued, “I can’t have you missing breakfast, now can I?” Gently lifting the half-sandwich, you raise it up to your boyfriends lips

Zenitsu stared at you wide-eyed for a second before a feverish blush makes its way to his pale cheeks, “O-oh.. um ahh~” he opens his mouth as you place the toast between his teeth

“Oh? You got a little something on you” Zenitsu hums in question before you place a kiss on his soft lips, “Got it!”

RENGOKU

It wasn’t new for Rengoku to wake up before you, in fact, it was almost routine

Though you never knew how much longer you stayed asleep, mostly because he always insisted on letting you rest unless something urgent has happened

Softly groaning you flutter your eyelashes open, moving to stretch before a certain someone caught you by surprise

“… Hm? EH W-WHA-” Looking straight ahead, you immediately locked eyes with golden irises staring intently at you

To most, this would’ve been a sweet scene to wake up to — had he not been 2 inches away from your face peering bright-eyed right into your soul with a beaming smile adorning his features

“Rise and shine, my angel!,” Rengoku’s voice boomed as he swiftly stood up, “It’s time to get dressed! We have an important lead to follow today” Walking around the bed he began readying your clothes, “Oh! There’s also this tea shop nearby that sells breakfast. The shop opens up at 8 and it’s currently 7:32 so if we hurry we’ll be able to get all the fresh fruit we want before everyone else gets there.”

“Ah. I see you’ve finished scouting the village?” Throwing your legs off the bed you took the clothes Rengoku prepared for you with a quick kiss in exchange. Honestly, you questioned where he even found the time to scan the area — if you recall correctly you didn’t reach the village until late last night, and it was barely morning. Does the man even sleep?

“Of course! The earlier I finish scouting, the more time we’ll have to enjoy our morning together.” With a cocky smirk, Rengoku walked up to you as you buttoned up your uniform, “You should know that time spent with you is worth losing rest over, my little flame.”

Your heart swelled at the sound of your pet name, blushing you looked up at your towering boyfriend before he leaned down to place a passionate kiss on your lips, his hands snaked around your waist as he pulled you closer to his broad chest, “Hm… maybe we can spare a couple minutes extra as well?”

Bonus

On your way to the tea shop Rengoku spotted a vibrant singular flower laying on a merchants table.

“Excuse me, how much for the flower?”

The old merchant eyed him before his eyes flickered to your form, currently bent down talking and laughing with a couple of curious kids ooo’ing and aah’ing at your uniform.

“Take it, consider it a congratulations gift.” The merchant smiled as he handed the wrapped flower to the young Hashira.

‘Congratulations gift..?’ It didn’t take long for him to figure out what the merchant meant by that, after all, it’s definitely something he’s been long prepared for.

Bonus-Bonus

“Um.. so how long do you think it’ll take before he wakes up?” A worried Tanjiro asked, scratching the back of his head.

“She... she’s a demon.. there’s no other explanation..” With Zenitsu starting to fall into a spiral of despair, he took cover behind Tanjiro, fear stricken as he peers at his poor friend — who’s been out cold all morning

“Guys it’s not that bad,” you matter-of-factly state as you gently drag your victim boyfriend underneath the shade of a tree.

Though you will admit that perhaps throwing your sword at Inosuke hard enough to hit the back of his head with the handle was a bit much.

But then again, he did basically fling you to the wall this morning so *ahem* feels pretty justified to me

#jay writes ! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ♡̷̷̷ ⋆⁺₊⋆#kny x reader #kny headcanons #kny x y/n #kny imagines #giyuu x reader #tanjiro x reader #rengoku x reader #inosuke x reader #zenitsu x reader #kny scenarios #demon slayer imagines #kyojuro rengoku #kyojuro x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader

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