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luveline · 14 hours ago

Note

this request may be a bit of a long shot, but would you be willing to write a drabble for mouth of september? maybe she gives the boys a scare either by going out and then not coming home at the time she said she would or maybe she faints from not having eaten enough? totally okay if you don’t want to or if you want to use this as a prompt for something else, mos has just been one of your fic series that i think about pretty consistently even two-ish years later.

anyway have a great day and hope you’re doing well jadey <3 love u

I love you! me writing this actually did feel like a longshot but not cos I didn’t love it and not cos I don’t love u, I hope you enjoy it!! been so long since I wrote this !!🩵 fem! 4k words

cw suicidal thoughts/suicidal ideation

It’s cold tonight.

You blow on your fingers, feeling them warm, stiffness lanced for precious few seconds. You didn’t mean to walk so far from the house, not while the wind is racing like this. The corner shop just seemed to move around while you weren’t looking. You should’ve asked Sirius to go with you, he has a better sense of direction, even if he would’ve complained the whole time about the shit weather.

Remus would’ve come and not complained, but he was sleeping at the time and waking him felt cruel. James would’ve come, racing around in Lily’s car, but then he would’ve followed you back into the house insisting on making you some supper or a cuppa or something, and what you’d wanted was to be alone. A bar of chocolate wouldn’t hurt either.

Stupid travelling corner shop, you think to yourself. Stupid me for fucking losing it. Should’ve just stayed home. Can’t even walk to the shop.

You take a deep breath. You give the streets a wretched, embarrassed glare and flop down onto the nearest bench. Fuck’s sake. Lost and freezing to death.

If Sirius were here, if he heard what you were thinking, he’d frown at you with that dark pinch to his eyes and tell you to Stop it, now.

He’s maybe half of the reason you’re out of the house tonight. Maybe all of it. It’s all complicated and horrible and everyone thinks it’s a bad idea but the thing is that Sirius himself isn’t complicated, he isn’t horrible. He’s kind to you in funny ways, and when you’re together Sirius makes you feel like you’re someone worth being kind too, which doesn’t happen often.

Your self annoyance fades to something more familiar soon enough. Everything goes quiet, leaving you there with your heart, quick and slow beating, can’t seem to choose, and your cold feet. Your socks feel too tight.

Your teeth start to chatter. You can’t sit here forever.

(But wouldn’t it be better? If you stayed? Caught cold?)

If you get poorly from the cold, you’ll feel miserable from the moment you wake up. You’ll be ill at work, which will make work worse. You’ll have to stay in your room so you don’t get one of the boys sick, and that really would ruin your week. Nothing means anything if you don’t get to see your best friends.

You gather yourself up and turn toward the street you’d just walked down, determined to retrace your steps.

In the distance, a familiar shape is jogging toward you.

“Y/N?” James shouts, sounding as though all the breath in the world has been sucked from his lungs. He doesn’t stop jogging until he gets a few feet from you, where he bends to catch his breath. “Fucking hell!” His head snaps up. “Fuck, shortcake, are you alright?”

You close the distance. “I’m fine.”

“Are you?” He forces himself to stand, breathing hard as he grabs you by the wrist. “Are you okay? You scared me so badly.”

You grab his arm back. “I’m really fine, I’m fine, what’s wrong?”

“You’re what’s wrong, you aren’t home!” James swallows a lump. “You left a note, you’d be home by seven. It’s nearly ten. Remus rang me in a fit ‘cos he didn’t know where you’d gone, we thought–” James gives you an imploring look, though it’s so so sorry at the same time, you feel your stomach twist into a hard knot. “We thought you were having a bad night.”

“James.” Embarrassment makes you soft-toned. “I’m really sorry I scared you, but I got lost, that’s all.” You don’t really like to lie, only James seems to need to hear it. “I’m glad you found me. I was worried I wouldn’t get home.”

James gives a breathy laugh. “Oh, good.”

You’re pulled into a hug.

“Sorry,” you say.

“No, it’s okay.” He rubs your back with force. It feels more for him than you, though you don’t exactly mind it. You can pretend as much as you want that you don’t like it when the boys give you affection, but they know it’s not true, and they know it’s alright to give it to you most days. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine as long as you’re fine.”

“Fine,” you say.

He pulls away. “Oh, god. Alright, let’s go back to the house. It’s freezing, you’re not wearing a proper coat?”

“I didn’t plan on being out long.”

“No?”

He takes you by the shoulder to encourage you back the way you came. “Just wanted some chocolate,” you say.

“I’ll get you some.”

You both know it doesn’t add up. James doesn’t make you say much else, relieved you’re alright, and you fester in the guilt of worrying him so harshly.

“Where are your glasses?” you ask.

“I forgot them in the car.”

“Where is the car?”

“Remus thought you might’ve gone to the library, you were supposed to take that Sky-Fi back.”

“Sci-fi.”

“Right, the space books. He took it to see if you were walking home, I said I’d come this way, and Sirius…” James grimaces. “Not sure where he went. He was already out by the time I got to the house.”

“How are we gonna find him?”

“He’ll come back eventually.”

You stick close to James’ side, dodging crisped up leaves and following him down the dropped kerb and finally onto a familiar road. “Guess I’ve lived here so long, I should’ve known the way,” you say.

“It’s alright.”

You bite your cheek for a second. “I’m really sorry, James, I– I didn’t– is it really ten?”

“…Aren’t you cold?” he asks softly.

“I didn’t think about it.”

“I wish you would.” He pokes his tongue against his cheek. “I want to know if you’re having a bad night. It’s alright if you were. If you need more time, more help, it’s okay.”

“It’s not like that… not all of it. I was walking to the shops, I swear. Just feel so,” —your voice slips into a colour of shame you despise— “weird sometimes. I’m sorry I made you worry. I don’t know why I keep doing this.”

“Is this a common occurrence?”

“Not the walk, just. Just this. Making you worry. I didn’t mean to make everybody worry.”

“Well, I am worried. When you disappear for a couple more hours than you say you will, it’s scary.” James gives you a shrug. “I love you, I’m gonna wonder where you are.”

“But–”

“I worry about Sirius when he goes to the pub until who knows when, worry about Lils when she does too many hours at work. I worry about Remus every day, his eyes are worse than mine ‘cos all he does is read,” he says with a laugh. “It’s fine.”

“I worry about you too,” you say.

“About what?” he asks, stricken.

“Remus told me you can pop your knee out from your kneecap when you weight lift. I know you think it’s fun and stuff, but that’s scary.”

“I’m getting fit!” He rolls his eyes. “Lily likes my abs.”

“Well I liked you when you were soft.”

James cackles at your poor fake-flirting. “I’ve never been soft, take that back! You know being captain made me solid as a rock.”

“James?” a voice calls.

You look up at the same time. Sirius is sitting on the wall in front of the house smoking; he takes a harsh, quick drag and stabs it out so hard that ash sullies his fingers as he stands.

“Oh,” he says, blowing the smoke from his mouth quickly, his breath a ragged thing as he bounds across the road to hug you. “Sorry.”

You don’t get what he’s sorry for. “It’s okay.”

He smells so strongly of smoke it’s like he’s blowing it under your nose, but he’s not so sharp to the touch. You falter at being touched kindly, feeling tension in his back as you curl an arm around him.

Sirius digs his face into your neck.

“Hey?” you ask quietly.

He steps back suddenly, an accusing fist held between your two abdomens. “Where have you been?” he asks, and there’s the sharpness to match his smell, scowl turning his grey-blue eyes to pitch, lashes in a furious tangle. “You can’t do that. You can’t just disappear for hours.”

“I’m sorry–”

“It’s not okay.”

“She said she’s sorry,” James interjects, “maybe let’s leave it?”

“Being sorry doesn’t erase the last two hours of us panicking, though, does it?”

“She got lost–”

“James, it’s okay, it’s–” You shake your head. “Maybe you should go inside to warm up? You’re not wearing a coat either.”

“I was in a rush.” James gives Sirius a warning look. “I’ll make you a cup of tea. Five minutes and I’m coming back out.”

James trudges up the garden path to the house. You twist your hands together, staring into Sirius’ face, wanting to see every bit of his anger, keeping tabs on all of it so as not to be surprised. You should’ve known he’d run out of patience with you eventually. He’s had to deal with your awful moods more than anyone else.

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you realise how scary it is to worry you’ve hurt yourself?” Sirius asks starkly.

You flinch. “It doesn’t exactly feel great for me, either.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Still, he softens. You feel like you’ve cheated. “I don’t understand. You got lost? How far away from the house were you?”

“I don’t know, I was trying to go to Del’s.”

“You’re not being honest with me, or any of us. It’s not fair. My heart is like a fucking racehorse,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest, fingertips smudgy with ash, “’cos all I’ve thought tonight is that you’d gone off and jumped off of a bridge or something. I know you wouldn’t.” He lets his hand fall. He quietens. It is almost apologetic, how he slows. “I know you wouldn’t. I knew you’d come home. But please don’t make me think about it.”

He’s gone pale in the cold, his hair in twists and tucked haphazard behind his ears. In his thick bomber jacket and his jeans, he could’ve just hopped of the bike, windswept as he is, but it’s the mark of worried hands having pushed his hair back repetitively rather than the weather, though the longer you stand there in the wind, the more tangled it becomes. “I dont get why you’re so determined to be alone,” he says.

You don’t want to talk about it. When do you ever? More than ever, you’d like to stalk past him and slam your bedroom door, let him know you’re fine by yourself and seething, let him stay ignorant to you as you squirm in a bed you’ve come to hate. How often do you lay there wishing you could be alone forever? It’s not fair to anyone. It doesn’t make sense. They all love you and you feel sorry for them, ‘cos you tricked them, ‘cos you’re nothing worth thinking about for long.

Sirius won’t stop frowning at you. It makes the drowning feeling worse.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, hoping this time it’ll stick. “I don’t know what happened, I just wasn’t thinking. I don’t feel very well.”

“I know.” He scoffs to himself. You relax at the hint of self-deprecation. “It’s not your fault. I’m fucking furious with you but I know you can’t help it.”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. For saying you’d jumped off a bridge, that’s horrible, but you really fucking worry me sometimes and I’m so relieved that you’re okay that it’s making me horrible.”

“You’re not horrible.”

“I’m mean.”

“You’re not.”

“No, I am. You’re the only person who doesn’t see it. Or at least doesn’t say it.” Sirius rubs his face, scraping a stray hair from his nose. “Sorry for shouting. Here,” —he holds out his arm— “let’s have a proper one.”

He hugs you nicely, no force to it, less lingering smoke. The scratch of his cheek catches yours, his hand at the bottom of your back, your jacket and shirt rising with every sweep of his touch. You press your closed eye to his hair.

“Why didn’t you come and sit with me or– we could’ve talked. Could’ve just led in bed, doesn’t matter, I would’ve gone to the shop with you.” He squeezes you, pressing his nose to your shoulder. “I can be morbid. We can be two miserable layabouts together.”

“I didn’t…” You cringe. “Sirius, it’s not on purpose, I swear. I didn’t do it to make you worry.”

“I know that, Jesus.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you’re home.”

You pull apart as a car turns onto the street. That’ll be Remus. Another for your troupe of worry.

“What do you think, is he mad at me too?” you ask.

“Remus?” Sirius gives you another half hug. “‘Course not.”

And true to form, Remus climbs out of the car with a fond smile. “Hey, where have you been?” His hair ruffles in the wind, scars turned palest purple in the cold. “You need to learn how to tell time.”

You let him hug you. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright, let’s go inside though. Have some tea. Did you eat much today?”

You ignore the question. “Tea,” you say.

“Yeah.”

Remus ushers you down the path to the house, Sirius on your other side like bodyguards.

“Thanks for, uh, looking for me.”

Remus takes you by the forearm. “We’ll always look for you. But next time, wake me up first.”

You nod gratefully. “Uh, okay. Thank you.”

“Stop saying thanks. It’s alright, Y/N. It’s fine.”

That’s what you’ve all said, but it doesn’t make it true.

—

James goes home, though he doesn’t want to. “I can stay,” he says over the rim of his mug, half-pleading, wanting you to ask him to. “We can have a sleepover.”

You insist that you’re really fine, he has work tomorrow, it’s late. When he doesn’t move, you say, “I feel bad enough that you were out looking for me in the cold.”

Your voice is pathetic and scratchy and he can tell you’re going to cry, they all can, so he doesn’t push it anymore than that. He goes home, and you go to bed, and Remus follows you up a little bit later with a glass of juice and some thick, buttered slices of teacake.

“You okay?” he asks, climbing into bed next to you where you’re laying down.

“Fine.”

“Didn’t eat much today?”

“No.”

“Have the juice, at least.”

You take the glass.

Between your sorry sips, Remus picks at one of the slices of cake, steals looks at you, though he doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing.

“Sorry about today. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You can stop saying sorry.” Remus lets his head tip from one side to another. “I can hear it in your voice that you don’t want to say it. Not that I don’t believe that you’re really, actually sorry. But you keep repeating it because you’re worried I want you to do that, and I don’t.”

“It’s what I should say.”

“Well, you’ve said it.” Remus turns to you, all bookish and rakish at once, lovely but tired, and he must be giving you a similar appraisal. “I wanted to be your friend the second I first talked to you. It wasn’t guilt.” He shakes his head. Wasn’t ’cos they’d played that prank on you with the shoe-eating goo, spied on you crying in a school hallway, overwhelmed. “I just liked you, and that was without any sort of knowledge of what you’re like. Now that I know you, I couldn’t be rid of you. Truly. I love you, you know that?” He smiles gently. “Even when you need time and you disappear. Please… don’t really go anywhere though, will you?”

“I won’t.” You decided a long time ago that ending your life wasn’t in the cards. There are terrifying moments, numb ones, blink-and-it’s over ones, where you feel like it’s the only option you have. But it ends eventually, or it sinks into a background to be forgotten until the next time it aches.

“Are you eating properly?” he asks.

“Remus–” You shake your head as he brings a hand to your forehead, like he might stroke your hair. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You don’t like answering, that’s all.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ve made you talk much more than you would’ve liked to, tonight.”

“I like talking to you. To all of you.” You rest your head on his thigh. “You really are my favourite people in the world, Remus. I wouldn’t… wouldn't give you up.”

“Good,” he says, stroking your forehead just a few times. “‘Cos we can’t be without you.”

Sirius finds you collapsing in on one another a little later and rounds the bed to lay on your other side. He doesn’t bother sitting as Remus did, pulling the blankets up and slipping in beside you without worrying about what parts of you are touching parts of him, nor the slip of your back where your shirt’s riding up, nor how warm it is under the quilt. He grabs the end of your t-shirt and pulls it flat over your stomach, before his hand spreads out there, and you realise half-heartedly that he’s hugging you from behind. The room is barely seeable. Remus is nearly sleeping. Your tea cake went uneaten, left stodgy and dark on the nightstand.

“This okay?” Sirius asks.

“Yeah.”

He burrows nearer, rubbing his nose against the back of your neck, then taking a long breath of you.

“Are you mad?” you ask.

“Not anymore.”

You can’t believe that any of them could love you so much as to look for you. That James would want to stay the night, and that he’d let you turn him away. If you had any energy left in you tonight you would’ve done the same to Remus, and then Sirius. James won’t be happy when he finds out they’d slept in the bed with you and left him out, but he’ll forgive it eventually. None of them should care so much about you, what’s special about you? What’s even really good? What’s worth it?

Sirius breathes behind you. He doesn’t seem scared to touch you, not worried to lay as close to you as your bodies will allow. His heat sinks into you.

“Know any poems?” he asks, letting you shift into his back as he pushes an arm beneath you, curling, really holding you to him, a spoon of a hug.

“What kind did you want to hear?”

Sirius doesn’t answer. You hold still as his hand begins looping over your stomach.

“I can’t remember anything right.”

“Can you guess at one for me?” he asks.

You stare at Remus’ falling chest. You’re lucky to have good friends.

“I read one a few days ago, a couple of times, it was only a few lines.” You wait. Sirius doesn’t say anything, so you start to relay the poem slowly, stringing the words together as they come. “The world was a… nautilus shell... And the world was a grain of sand.” Your voice is odd, but the lines come to you regardless. “The world was a honeycomb… And the world was a strip of tender bark.”

Sirius lets his lips warm your neck, asking softly, more touch than sound, “That was the whole poem?”

You take his hand where it’s against you. “That’s it.”

He nods.

The world was a nautilus shell. And the world was a grain of sand. The world was a honeycomb. And the world was a strip of tender bark. You run through the poem again, three times, tripping over strip and tender and bark as Sirius’ breath warms your nape.

“Please don’t do that again,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to–” You force yourself to stay still. “I would never do something like that to scare you.”

“Nobody in this room or out of it believes that you went on your walk tonight to scare them.” His nose tips down your neck. His hand spreads wider over your stomach. It feels so weird, so warm and rigid. It’s the best touch you’ve ever been given, and it doesn’t matter because you’re so ashamed of yourself —you went on your stupid little walk with at least some bad intent, and your friends noticed because they love you when they shouldn’t bother. This is a stain now, something you’ll remember. “But I can’t take it. Do you get that? I can’t take it. James found you two hours ago and I still feel like I don’t know where you are.”

“Didn’t mean to.”

“I know, love.” He actually does kiss your neck then, quiet smack of a real kiss. “I know. I know.” His forehead presses to your shoulder as he settles in. “You’re okay. I’m not mad.”

“Me neither,” Remus croaks.

You let yourself relax enough to feel tired. Warmth from either side of you threatens to bowl you over.

“How are you feeling now?” Sirius asks.

“Fine.” Always fine. They deserve better honesty. “I didn’t want to hurt myself. Jus’… I needed to move, like, go, and I hate this part. I don’t think it should matter that I’m not– that I don’t feel well.”

“Don’t get upset,” Sirius says quietly.

“I’m not.” You sound tight. “When I want to be somewhere, it doesn’t make sense that it matters. In the moment, I don’t remember that you…”

“Love you?” Sirius asks.

“I know why you were worried, I promise. I don’t live in a bubble. I know I’m selfish.”

“Not selfish.”

“It was, though.”

“You’re thinking about it like we have a problem with what you did, and it’s my fault because I got so mad, but it’s not really that you did it.” His hand curls shy of your breastbone. “I was mad, but– darling,” —you squeeze your eyes shut— “you’re not on trial. You don’t have to prove your way out of this, all we need to know is if you’re alright now.”

“Not really.”

Remus gives a half-sleeping mumble.

Sirius sits up in bed to look at both of you. “We love you. We,” —he gestures between you and Remus emphatically— “aren’t going to stop. No matter how many walks you go on, how many scares you give me.” He frowns at you sympathetically. “We’re not getting any further, are we?”

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” He grimaces, dark around the eyes. “I’m a right prick and I’ve made a right mess of everything.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, chancing a touch, terrified you’ll be reprimanded for it but knowing, as you know he loves you, that you’re allowed. The tips of your fingers touch his collarbone. Sharp thing.

He pulls a jib, lips all up and thinned like a smirk gone wrong. “Love you.”

You must’ve petrified him. He’s never so open with his feelings, even when it’s half-joking like this.

“I love you, too.”

He makes another face. Good enough, it says.

“Make me hot chocolate?” you whisper.

“Mm, come on.” He pulls you from the bed by your wrists. “Don’t complain when it’s gritty. I’m not skilled as Remus.”

“Quite right,” Remus mumbles.

You hug him quickly before you leave.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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ghouldtime · 3 months ago

Text

Alone. Truly Alone. Chapter Three.

Johnny didn't want someone who asked questions - to him, anyways. That didn't mean you wouldn't try to get your own answers

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Johnny (he insisted you call him that after you very reluctantly agreed to his deal, stating that "John" was too formal) didn’t need someone who asked questions. Asking questions meant thinking and thinking meant trouble. He didn’t need someone asking anything about the man framed in the only picture he had, nor did he need to be questioned on why there was an uncanny frakensteined monster that bore that very person's resemblance living in an abandoned military facility.

Of course, you’d still think of those questions. Anyone with a single braincell and any scrap of common sense would. You’d think about them until your brain melted and oozed out your ears as they ceaselessly tore at your mind, lingering on the edges of every other thought you had.

Asking him at this point though wouldn't get you anywhere, aside from maybe in a hospital bed. Pushing the already probably mentally unstable man further when he clearly had a whole storm brewing behind those distant blue eyes was a flat out stupid idea. When someone carried such a beastly burden day in and out, adding even a feather to the weight they carried could cause them to snap. If you wanted answers, you’d have to play it smart and ride the sands of time until the tempest faded into a mild breeze, taking the pressure that ceaselessly weighed him down with it.

Besides, you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth and do anything to cost you your newfound side job that rolled into your lap when you needed it most. You needed it and the money almost as much as Johnny needed you.

Aside from a wonderful therapist, what Johnny needed was someone to run some errands for him. The way he phrased it could’ve made it seem almost normal. Almost. He just needed you to sometimes pick things up and drop things off for him - things he said he didn't have time to do.

Before you could even begin to regret agreeing or start gathering the courage to start verbalizing anything, another $100 was shoved in your awaiting hands the second he summoned you to his house once more not even two days later, effectively tying your tongue in a knot and forcing you to swallow anything that threatened to rise up back into the pit of your stomach where it belonged.

"You're certainly a wonderful sight for sore eyes" Johnny said as he held the door open for you, the lopsided grin that stretched slightly too far for comfort donning his face.

Underneath your fingertips, the crinkle of the crisp bill he'd shoved in your hands offered an ounce of comfort and familiarity as you stepped into the haphazard blend of the contrasting house. Once again, the overpowering stench of bleach reached your nose, causing it to wrinkle as your eyes watered. The soapy, pungent basic scent of unnaturally clean stood as far too much, like he had just scrubbed every single nearby surface with it twice.

Holding your breath just enough to make it through the hallway without burning your lungs, the shaky exhale that escaped you when you reached the kitchen was anything but certain, unlike the man who lead the way with a spring in his step.

"How 'bout a cuppa?" He offered as he gestured for you to sit in one of the uncomfortable, cheap, ugly modern chairs that lined the matching too sleek table.

Though the thought of something to drink was a nice gesture and tempted your slightly parched throat, it wasn't one you could accept. Drinking something from his house, even if he made it in front of you, had you on hesitate as uncertainty made itself known in the way your stomach twisted. Sure, it might give you something to sip on and take away from your nerves - but you didn't know what he'd consider normal or what he could put in it.

"Thanks, but no thank you. I'm good." You declined, your brows knitting together the smallest bit as your hands locked together, a closed-lipped smile donned your features as a polite peace offering.

Johnny simply tipped his head and shrugged in a 'suit yourself' gesture as he turned his back to you and took ahold of the kettle. "Maybe one day you'll come 'round to it. The Brits are wrong on many things but tea isn't one of them." He noted while he filled the blue metal device to the brim before setting it unceremoniously on the stove.

Humming in a truly neutral agreement that could be taken either way, you chose not to say anything in addition. A steady, rhythmic clicking broke through the silence before the gentle whoosh of the flames igniting quieted the air once more.

Johnny busied himself around the countertop and the island, whistling an off-tune song you couldn't quite recognize. While you weren't sure what song it was, there was no denying that his tone was off. Whether that was on purpose or not, you had no idea, but it made your skin crawl. A grimace crossed your features when the continual bad intonation didn't get any better. Why couldn't he have at least picked something to be on pitch with?

Thankfully the half-cringe that passed upon your face went unnoticed as he began searching through the orange toned cabinets and drawers at his own leisurely pace.

Naturally, your eyes were drawn to the man as he worked in his element. Your own natural curiosity tugged on the little part of your brain that egged you on to watch and try to figure out what he was doing. The weight of the world might have rested on his shoulders, judging by the slight tension he always held in his muscles and the lines carved deep into his face after many sleepless nights, but he didn't show it elsewhere.

He moved about as if the burden he carried were nothing more than a backpack, an annoyance that could eventually be shed. If you were able to look at his face closer, you're sure the shadows of dark bags would line underneath his eyes, darkening his features as if trying to externally express the gloom he felt.

To see that meant you'd have to look him in the eyes, though. You're not sure you were ready to meet the intensity of his head-on gaze again, or have to explain why you were staring. Blinking out of your stupor, you snapped your gaze to the tiled floor, trying to find something else to draw your attention.

The too stark, too barren kitchen loomed around you at all angles and provided no relief or point of interest. Looking anywhere else did little to help your nerves and thoughts alike when the clashing gaudiness of the wallpaper and the modern furniture greeted you no matter where you turned your eyes.

No matter what, you most certainly didn't want to look at the one picture on the wall - the one that reminded you of the thing you'd seen.

Though the man in the picture wasn't nearly as monstrous and had all the correct, human proportions (in the right number too, mind you), taking a single glance made your stomach churn. Sheer, primal dread and horror weren't an easy feeling to shake, especially when you caught glimpses of it every time you so much as turned your head to the side.

When he finally started talking again, a silent breath of relief escaped you as you relaxed marginally, thanking all heavens above he gave focus on other than the solitary portrait that hung on the empty wall.

"You don't know how... how happy I am."

Metallic clattering rang out as he shut yet another drawer before the one beside it was squeaked open from the rattling force. Though he spoke aloud, you weren't sure if he was more talking to himself or to you.

You didn't dare to breathe a word when he seemed to have paused for a moment, muttering something under his breath before he shut that drawer too and opened a cabinet below. "... to finally have someone to help me." He added as an afterthought as he popped back up, a small, rusted metal box in his hand.

Clunking against the counter as he gingerly placed it down, the rusty hinges squeaked in protest as he popped the lid, inspecting the mysterious contents with scrutinizing, unblinking eyes before he nodded to himself, clamping the lid shut once more before you had a chance to see what was in it.

"Things have been..." He trailed off with a small, dismissive circle of his hand as he turned his back to you again, upper cabinets flying open as he dug through the few items precariously perched in there once more.

He didn't continue his sentence, shaking his head to himself, the words he refused to speak evaporating into thin air. The grip you had on your own hands tightened as you bit your tongue - you weren't going to pry. No questions, you reminded yourself, as your mind filled in the blanks with many words that it raced to think of to finish his sentence for him.

Difficult? Terrible? Agonizing? Stressful? You're sure you could place them all on a Bingo card and score instantly.

No matter how much you wanted to ask, wanted to figure out what was going on, you weren't going to ask. You couldn't. The fragile balance that hung in the silence of the air depended on it.

Johnny seemed to like talking to himself anyhow, even if it was filled with beats and pauses and half finished sentences to match. It's like he either expected interjection or didn't know how to talk after having spent so much time alone.

"Ever since the exp- accident," He corrected himself in such a rush you didn't catch what he almost said, "Haven't been able to do nearly all of what I wanted."

Johnny didn't give you a chance to think about it as he huffed, his shoulders sagging, “Cannot drive anymore.” He spoke in a rougher grit, nodding to his missing left arm.

Frustration wrote itself all over his face in the unmistakable narrowing of his eyes and the tension held in his shoulders increasing tenfold as a scowl crossed his features. But like everything else with him, it hardly lasted a few noticeable seconds before the grin that was all too theatric made its appearance once more. “Unless you want to see the gas station version of Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift, I wouldn't let me get behind a wheel.”

His warm, mirth filled chuckle and toothy smile could almost be mistaken as genuine if he weren't staring right through you with a certainty that made your hackles raise. "That's where you come in. Real life saver, you are." He noted as he finally found what he was searching for, depositing it in a drawstring bag alongside the metal container.

Just in time, the kettle whistled a shrill pitchy noise. Steam billowed out of the small opening. Like a dog drawn to the beck and call of its owner, he trotted right on over to it, pouring it into a metal thermos he already had set aside in his impromptu kitchen rearranging spree.

Screwing the top on, he settled it in the bag before drawing it tight. Fabric cinched underneath the motion and, testing it to be sure nothing would spill, he finally picked it up and promptly deposited it on your lap.

"Well, best be off with it then." He said as he clapped a hand on your shoulders, guiding you to your feet. You swallowed, already knowing where he was going to ask you to go. "If you're fast enough, the water will still be warm when you get back if you change your mind on having a proper cuppa."

Going there in the evening light proved to be significantly less unnerving than visiting in the pitch blackness of the night. Considering you at least could see a hair better and knew what to expect as far as the layout go, it eased your nerves but the constant unsettled feeling remained on your shoulders as an unseen weight all the same.

On one hand, you now knew what was lurking in the dark. On the other hand, you now knew what was lurking. With six arms, three heads, and enough eyes to see into the past, present, and future at the same time, jumping to meet it again wasn't on the top of your to-do list.

Unlike the first time, though, it was a quick in and out. That was the mantra you repeated to yourself as you exited your car, crawling back in the small opening in the rusted, chain link fence. In and out. You'd be done before you knew it.

The steady thump of your heart against your ribs echoed far louder than any noise in the run-down facility as you trekked through the halls with careful steps. Every so often, you'd freeze and listen, looking for any clues of the thing - the very thing you were here to deliver a bag to.

You don't know why exactly Johnny wanted you to do this so bad or what he included in the very item you carried close to your chest. If he was trying to feed you to the monster, he was doing a piss poor job at it. And if it were something elicit, then why on earth would it involve a thermos of hot water?

Those questions were shoved to the back of your mind as you heard a small clink down one of the halls - a noise that sounded like metal on metal.

Goosebumps prickled your arms as your body froze. Placing the bag down next to the wall on a drop spot you, for once, listened to your heart and bolted.

You didn't wait around to see if the thing was lurking around the corners, watching your every move. You didn't want to see if it felt friendly today. In and out. You're just here to do your job - not here to be eaten.

True to his word, the water was still warm by the time you returned to collect your payment. Not that you were going to have any of the tea he offered, but it meant the job was done and you now had enough money to soothe your erratically beating heart as you justified your (probable) bad decisions.

Johnny was all smiles as he thanked you earnestly, ignorant to your internal plight. His earnest words that paired with his glee of, "Have an evening as lovely as yourself," lingered on in the air, going unanswered as you took your money and hurried off back to your dwelling.

Not wanting to deal with any more questions or thoughts regarding it or anything around it for the night, the TV went on the moment you got home. White noise filled the space as its distant chatter reverberated, the familiar flashing lights of the flickering screen soothing you as it wrapped around your senses like a warm blanket on a cold day.

Scarfing down your dinner, you settled on the couch for the night, letting the noise of the television lull you to sleep instead of your own mind.

Sleep held you as long as it could in its embrace as you dozed away, but it could only do so much to keep you down when an all too loud text pinged on your phone. Cursing yourself for not having put it on Do Not Disturb, you blearily blinked at the illuminated screen.

Blocky letters shone 5:15 am on the lock screen, yet another groan escaping you. It's too early for this. Setting it down for another moment as you squinted, you rubbed your eyes with the heel of your palm as you slowly came to your senses.

Focusing on the name would be fruitless when you already mentally calculated who would have the audacity and the lack of common sense to text you this early.

"Morning bonnie :), up for another task?"

No wonder he seemed so exhausted all the time, you mentally groused as you reluctantly went through your morning routine at none too fast of a pace. Anyone who woke up at the ass crack of dawn had the right to be. There's plenty of other things weighing him down but right now, all you could think of was how it was too damn early for this.

Even though it was too early, far too early for your taste to be doing anything, Johnny was all smiles as you pulled up, as if he'd already been up for hours and was almost happy about it.

This time, he wasn't fumbling through anything or assembling things together. Sitting on the old, creaky rocking chair on the porch, he already had a bag beside him. The worn canvas rucksack was considerably larger than the drawstring he'd had you take the day prior.

"Good morning." He greeted from the small landing as you sauntered out of your car, the usually present smile that put the pink lights of dawn to shame held itself upon his fine features once more. "Know I already said morning, but wasn't good til I saw you."

The warm, blush colors of the sunrise matched your cheeks perfectly as the familiar heat of a flush rose upon you in a matching warmth of the early morning's rays. It's too early for this....

Handing the bag off to you, his eyes followed your every movement once more as you took it from him into your grasp. "Same place as last time." He instructed without another word more.

The thermos settled on the side of the bag radiated warmth as it settled against your skin as you balanced the luggage out in your arms. How you wished you could feel the same warmth all over as you lay buried in your bed, dozing underneath your fluffy blankets as you should've been at this time.

Nodding, you offered a strained smile, ignoring how his fingers drummed in rapid succession on the armrest of the chair. "Got it." Was all you said before you turned on your heels before you could second guess what you were doing.

The third time through the building proved to somehow be even easier. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation or irritation that ebbed away the nerves that normally had you hesitating, but you carried on through the same path you'd trekked twice prior.

Exactly as Soap instructed, you went to set the bag down right where you had prior. Except when you got there, you froze.

There on the ground lay the same thermos you saw him fill and the deflated, compacted form of the drawstring bag. Folded with precision, the bag lay pinned by the thermos, as if it had been placed with delicate intent in mind.

Swallowing back the sudden dryness of your mouth, the small steps you took towards it now took longer than ever before. As if it may burn you, your hands shook as you held your breath when you reached out to grasp them. The light weight of the metal bottle shouldn't have caught you off guard, but it did. Whatever did this - no, whoever, clearly had great control of themselves.

It couldn't have been that thing, right? That was a monster, a beast. Maybe it was someone else - someone else here who he was helping.

You didn't want to think about it too hard or the implications of it. Taking a deep breath, you choked down your nerves and snatched up the bag and empty bottle before depositing the rucksack.

Looking back wasn't even a thought that crossed your mind as you hightailed it out of there, your mind racing faster than your feet.

By the time you returned to Johnny's house and rang the bell, he'd already taken a shower. The fresh scent of his cologne clung to his skin as he opened the door, the overgrown shag of his mohawk curled on the very fringes with dampness.

"Back so soon?" He asked, arching an inquisitive brow, his attention focused on the lines of your face the second you appeared.

Though you tried to hide the small tremors and the paleness of your features as your mind and heart raced despite the contrast of your feet rooted in place.

"Christ alive, everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." He asked as he tilted his head.

Alright? Alright?? How could it be alright when now for sure you knew that something, something possibly intelligent, was there. The thing you've brought something too held life, conscious thought, and yet weathered away every day in that building.

Seeing the bag folded so neatly opened a pandora's box of questions that you don't think you could ignore for any longer, but you weren't going to spill that to him.

Hurrying out a nod, you forced a smile and cleared your throat, trying to get yourself to appear normal. "Y-yeah! Fine, I'm fine. Just uh... a bit tired! Not used to being up this early." You said, trying your damndest to play it off with an awkward chuckle.

Pleasebelieveitpleasebelieveitplease-

His eyes studied you, a frown pursing his lips as he once again searched right though your soul with those intense, blue eyes. For those few, tense moments, you swore he dug right into your mind, trying to find reasons to call you a liar as he sunk his claws in and tore.

Yet his gaze softened as he scratched the back of his neck, the smile turning sheepish. "Sorry - forgot not everyone is used to waking up before the sun. Old habits die hard." As if trying to make up for his 'mistake', he didn't wait a second as he fished out the $200 from his pocket - no envelope this time.

The bills made their way into your pocket as you snatched them up. "Thanks." You rushed out as you took a step back. Johnny arched a single brow as he just kept staring, as if expecting something.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his acute gaze as he simply kept staring the same, scrutinizing look pinning you down from afar. Averting your eyes, your offered a half-there nod as you took another step back, "Anyways I uh, have a long day ahead."

Your mind wasn't really in putting together neat sentences as it kept circling back to seeing the bag and thermos set so nicely, so purposefully, as if awaiting someone to return to them.

Shit, right. The things. Shaking your head, you stiffened at your realization. "O-oh! Right, almost forgot." Pulling your own utilitarian bag off of your back, the sound of a zipper broke the hush of the early morning air. Revealing the still-folded bag and his bottle, you held it out for him to take.

Surprised wasn't the exact word you'd say described Johnny. Though his brows arched and his grin faltered for a split second into something much bigger, he held his position. The slight shake in his fingers as he plucked the items from your hands was palpable as was the breath he held as he turned them over, the pads of his fingers tracing them as his attention dragged downwards into the paltry weight of the objects themselves.

For a few reverent moments, his whole attention focused right on those items his gaze piercing through it. While you were thankful that attention was no longer on you, it didn't help the unease that always seemed to follow, remaining slung around your shoulders like an old, uncomfortable pal who made their appearance at the worst times. When you shifted from foot to foot, his eyes snapped right back up as he blinked out of his entranced daze.

"Right, I won't hold you any longer. Thank you again." He said, as he steadied himself with a deep breath, "I'll see you tomorrow."

You didn't have a chance to protest before he closed the door, leaving you standing right there on the now empty front porch.

Turns out, Johnny preferably needed you to go every day of the week to that place. You weren't sure how to feel after discovering the fact that the thing was probably intelligent and was indeed capable of such delicate tasks - but the money talked far louder than your hesitancy. It's a wonder he didn't run out of cash but hey, you weren't complaining. Sure, it wasn't ideal to go there and to keep questioning your sanity, but money talked. And what it was saying was "Keep doing what you're doing".

Though unease lingered in every one of your hairs that stood on end and the goosebumps that prickled your flesh every time you visited, it became significantly easier as you fell into a routine. Nothing would stop the way you always found yourself glancing down the dark hallways with wary shifts to the balls of your feet, ready to bolt at a moments notice, but you no longer had to look over your shoulder or halt in your movements every time you heard a small noise.

Johnny would either have you come by early morning or late evening, and would hand off a bag. Sometimes you'd talk to him a bit or more accurately, he'd talk and you'd listen as he packed the bag. You'd then take it, go right back into the abandoned fort, and trade it out with the bag always placed with such neat intent and now-empty thermos.

Now, anyone sane would've suspected something extremely suspicious, if not illegal. After all, who would pay vast amounts of money to drop off a full bag and pick the empty up if it weren't dealing with illegal substances?

Johnny. That's who.

Much to your surprise, everything was normal in every bag you brought - it always was. He'd pack them in front of you or if they were ready to go, they held the same, ordinary objects. Not to mention, you'd always double checked them just to be sure you weren't playing an unwitting part in some smuggling operation. You didn't always make the best decisions but you weren't stupid. Yet they were never abnormal.

No matter what, there'd always be a thermos of hot water and a sealed, labelless letter. Otherwise, it was a mixed bag, quite literally. Sometimes he'd thrown in a fleece or woolen blanket, other times some personal hygiene items, or board games or decks of cards, or even photographs and books. It didn't take long for you to realize that they were care packages meant for what- no, whoever was in there.

You weren't dealing with an it or a what or a that or a thing, it was a who. Someone who he clearly cared about and someone who you sincerely suspected was the man in the portrait or had been at some point in time.

The more days that you found yourself delivering yet another package, the more curious you found yourself - and the less fearful. After all, this was clearly a being who clung to some part of their humanity - someone capable of considerate actions and thoughts alike.

Frankly, it he never went after you in the first place. You'd realized that as you spent yet another night pondering in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. By all means, he could have attacked and killed you. He could have done that the moment it saw you for the first time and taken you by surprise in the Tartarean void that he called his home amidst the decaying walls.

He could've chased after you and snapped your neck before you had a chance to run for it. Hell, he could easily ambush you as you dropped off the daily supplies. And he could probably do it all without flinching or missing a single beat, as if he were completing a task as simple as fetching the morning paper.

But he didn't. He never even came closer. You hadn't seen him since the first night. Instead, the only trace you ever saw that he was by was the neatly placed bags and the empty thermos, always properly set up.

No monster would do that. No true monster would have those manners or such a capability, unless it was playing the long haul to gain your trust before it feasted. But that would've been long, long ago.

You didn't know what to make of it. And you knew Johnny would be no help, as many thoughts as he had. Not once had he ever brought the beast up - nor did you. Talk around him was something you both danced around, never quite getting to it.

That didn't stop you from doing your job as kept on delivering all the same. You knew better than to ask who this being was to him beyond someone he'd very likely known - and known well. He wouldn't be ready to admit that. No matter how many times you caught him staring at the sole portrait that hung on the kitchen wall or smoothing his thumb over the silver cross that dangled around his neck, he never dare breathed a name.

Asking Johnny wouldn't help, so you figured you might as well bypass the middle man. Living in the dark was something you couldn't do anymore - and you're sure he (the temporarily nameless being that he was) would like to finally have some light shone on him for once. It was time to talk to the creature you'd tried to desperately avoid in the first place.

Finding him was out of the question. You most certainly weren't going to walk through the dingy, damp halls once more to throw yourself at him. You doubted he would want that either. Considering he hadn't been around, he likely valued some semblance of privacy.

He could read - you figured he could read. After all, Johnny had sent him many letters. If they remained unopened, you didn't know, but it didn't stop Johnny from writing them all the same. Before you could get ahead of yourself, though, you decided to try a simple trick.

Clinging to a whiteboard with one hand, bag in the other, you crawled through the dark halls you'd come to know like the back of your hand. You didn't need the headlamp anymore but it certainly helped when your eyes hadn't adjusted.

Setting the bag down in the usual drop-zone, you balanced the whiteboard on your thighs and uncapped an expo marker. The squeak of the black pen filled the air as you inhaled a slow breath, trying to calm the anxious, anticipatory beating of your heart.

"Hi! :) I'm -" You hesitated. Writing your name was a bad idea, especially when it was a place you weren't supposed to be. The last thing you needed was for anyone else to find it and track you down, as unlikely as that may be.

Settling on "A friend of your friend." You continued to write, " The one who has been bringing the bags. What's your name?"

Setting the board down and capping the marker once more, placing it just below, you took a step back. You didn't know for sure if he could write or read, but it was worth a shot and was better than nothing. The question wasn't revolutionary but if answered, you'd finally have an inkling of who you were dealing with and more importantly, a proper name to call him.

As you headed back to the exit once more, you glanced back for the first time. For some reason feeling a pang of disappointment you saw nothing lying in wait in the shadows and heard nothing to match. Shaking your head, you dismissed the ridiculous thought as you scampered off, taking the empty bag and thermos that had been left to hold up your usual part of the routine.

You'd never been particularly excited to go back, really just following through for the money (and maybe a scrap of pity for Johnny), but today your legs couldn't carry you fast enough through the halls as you came back. Pitter pattering in your chest, your heart hammered away on your ribs as the familiar burn of exertion tugged at your muscles but you refused to let it slow you down. If anything, it only fueled the burning desire to get there fast.

The moment the whiteboard entered your line of sight, you somehow picked up speed further before leaning into a sliding stop in front of it. A thump echoed as the bag fell from your hands, your breath catching as you stared at the sight that awaited you. Your eyes widened at the smudged ink and the one, half-shaky word scrawled underneath. A name.

Simon.

Rolling the name over and over in your mind until you surely wouldn't be able to ever forget it, you snapped a picture of the whiteboard so you'd have a piece of it forever. To finally know the name of the being you had delivered countless things to marked a huge step forwards. There were many, many things you wanted to ask but for now you knew one, very important thing.

His name was Simon.

You itched to write more, to ask him fifty million questions now that you knew he was human enough to answer, but you couldn't get ahead of yourself. Your hands trembled as you uncapped the marker, tracing each letter of his name with your finger as you erased it, the feel of the letters forever etching into your soul.

"Its nice to meet you Simon." You kept it simple to start as you pursed your lips, racking your brain for the proper route to go here.

How long had he been here? Did he know what day it was? Who was he to Johnny? Why was he here? How did he get like that? What does he eat? How does he eat? Why doesn't he -

No.

You weren't going to do that. No matter how much there was to learn, you couldn't force your thirst for knowledge onto him or overwhelm him with questions. Trust for those answers had to be earned, not given, if he was anything like most.

Considering that he likely hadn't had direct human contact and interaction in how long, being compassionate would do you well. Maybe you could earn his trust more by helping him out further and listening, even if you had yet to physically say a single word to one another.

"I'm sorry for running from you. I didn't expect anyone to be there." You continued, figuring an apology of any kind was overdue but a late one was better than none, "Is there anything I can get or bring for you to make you more comfortable?"

The apology wasn't the best or hell, even that great. Limited space on the small whiteboard, however, was quite a curse. And if he had any bit of humanity - the kind you had, he'd understand very well why you ran. Anyone would in your shoes. It wasn't anything personal but now knowing he had conscious thoughts, guilt gnawed at you.

Likely, you still would've run anyways, but when facing with the unknown and something as threatening appearing as him, it's better safe than sorry. He'd understand, right? You were just a human in the end. A human who had very human reactions in the face of danger.

Once more, you set the marker down and read over your words, double checking to make sure your spelling still held up and the words were big enough to discern. They weren't perfect, eloquent, or fantastic but they were a starting point and they were yours. That was good enough for now. Resisting the urge to linger in the hall, you capped the pen and made your way out of the building once more, following the same path you'd always taken, already yearning to turn back.

Thankfully, the night passed in the blink of an eye and lady luck decided to roll the ball in your court the next day as Johnny picked an early time. Your heart raced at the same rate as your body as you sprinted through the halls, all caution thrown to the wind that whipped over your head with the motions. Reminding yourself to at least set the bag down instead of throwing it, you glanced at the board, your eyes widening.

Scrawled in a much neater, larger handwriting that took up the board, your breath halted in your chest. The beating of your heart faded into a background hum as your blood ran cold, a pit growing and sinking in your stomach so fast its as if you swallowed lead.

There wasn't an item or thing requested. Underneath, just like the day before, there was a name. But it was a different one, one you had at the top of your contact lists.

Johnny.

જ⁀➴

His many clouded eyes had stared at the simple, innocent question written on the white board. They stared and stared, until even in his constantly unfeeling state, they ached with soreness around the edges.

Anything.

Such a word was the most dangerous thing you could've offered to a desperate man who had long since drowned in the rivers of despair. To you, it was probably nothing more than a simple considerate thought. To him, it was a lifeline being thrown out in a tsunami, offering a thin rope to pull him out of the impossibly huge wave that kept him down. Attempting to grab it and crawl out may be fruitless but without any options left, the slimmest chance of improbable survival was always better than none at all.

So he took the rope you threw him and clung until his nails dug in and all six of his hands were burned and his skin chaffed. He held it close, grappling it with every ounce of strength he had left, tying it in knots to cling on further to the chance that was being offered - to have the anything, the only thing, he needed more than the second chance at life he had been granted.

He knew deep down that it might be an impossible request to pull him out, to get him what he needed beyond anything else in this world, to fulfill the visceral yearning that scorched his soul and burnt him with red hot pokers every day in an otherwise numb existence.

But when he had nothing left, nothing at all aside from his miserable existence in this liminal purgatory, playing the only Hail Mary he clung onto now that he was given a chance was his own way of accepting the line which you threw him and pulling back as he desperately tried to grapple out.

After all, a dead man had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

His everything that now stood just on the horizon, so close he could almost see those beautiful blue eyes again and trace over the silver of a scar that split his brows once more.

160 notes · View notes

justmeinatree · 1 year ago

Note

please please please (NO PRESSURE BUT) (IM BEGGING YA)

something extremely smutty where like niall is working out: (literally need nothing else completely go ham its up to you but just like LOOK:)

the little jerk as he lifts up yk what im talking aboutt lets not pretend we're not *respectfully* looking.

as if i could say no to this 😅 it’s not the smuttiest thing, but if we’re open to a part 2, there’s a lot of room to play 😏

Word Count : 1.3k

it was the breathy grunts that first got your attention.

you’d never cared much for niall’s workouts, always preferring to have the quiet time, enjoying a cuppa, maybe a book or tv show. but as you were just getting cozy with your tea, pulling the blanket over your legs, you could hear him from down the hall.

it piqued your interest, the sounds he was making having reached your ears, and for some reason, shooting down to your centre, leaving a little tingle of interest.

and for that same reason, you were now leaving your warmth and comfort, flinging the blanket back over the arm of the couch, trudging down the hall.

once you pop head around the doorframe though, eyes coming into contact with your boyfriend, the tingle of interest in your cunt quickly turned to a dribble of excitement.

because fuck, was this the scene you’d been missing out on all these years ? you’ll have to remember to scold yourself for that one later, but for now, your brain was short wiring. niall was currently laying on his exercise mat, legs bent up at the knees, slightly spread, his arms straight up above his head, doing some sit ups with an exercise ball in his hands. and, since the universe wanted to punish you even more, with every flex of his abs, his hips would thrust up just a bit with the force of the movement.

he was glistening, a sheen of sweat all over his skin, torso bare for your eyes to ogle. and when did your drip of excitement turn into a full fledged puddle of arousal ? how long had you been watching ? why are you quite literally feeling yourself leaking down your inner thighs ?

it’s once he lays back down, taking a moment to breathe between sets, that you make your presence known. you weren’t exactly trying to, but a small whimper managed to escape your throat without permission. but really, his entire body was stretched out, muscles flexed, and if you look really closely, you can see the outline of his cock through his shorts. you really can’t be blamed.

niall’s eyes flick over to the door, noticing you, quirking his eyebrow, “what is it, love ?”

you bite your lip, heat rising on your cheeks at the prospect of being caught. however, niall was your boyfriend, had been for a long time, and moments like this don’t much embarrass you anymore, “d’you always look this good while you workout ?”

a loud breathy chuckle erupts from niall, echoing through the room, “gonna start joining me, sweet girl ?”

you squint at him, tilting your head to the side, looking at him with a playfully untrusting look, “was this your plan all along ?”

and so maybe he wanted to see if being a little louder than usual, a little more grunty than usual, would make you come over. and maybe he chose to forego his shirt, and maybe he spread his legs a tiny bit more than usual, in an effort to keep you around. “does it really matter now ?” he smiles innocently, “can see how wet your thighs are getting.”

“i hope you plan on doing something about that,” you smirk, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s antics.

“can’t do anything from way over there,” he hums, nodding his head in a come hither motion, “c’m’ere.”

as you finally step into the room, waltzing over to niall, he quickly reaches out for your ankles, his sheer strength taking over your moment of weakness, making you stop with your feet spread on either side of his head, eyes locked straight up between your thighs.

it was still early enough in the day, you hadn’t changed from your sleep shorts, tiny piece of fabric without any panties, something niall typically likes to tease you about, “why even wear anything if you’re gonna put those on,” he always drones on before bed.

but for now, he’s not complaining a bit, a fairly good view of your sopping cunt, peaking through the drenched fabric, arousal coating your inner thighs, “s’a good thing i’m parched,” he groans, hands gliding up your calves, stopping behind your knee, abruptly giving a tug, making your legs buckle. you squeak loudly, echoing through the room, as you were caught off guard, knees colliding with the mat underneath niall.

with your cunt sitting right above his face, niall groans, feeling the hot hot heat radiating off of you, “christ, and i thought i was warm,” he mumbles, his tongue darting out to lick along your skin.

he swirls around your thigh, taking his sweet time, lapping up any bit of arousal that’s made it way past your shorts, before moving onto the other thigh.

your legs were trembling, head tipped back, as your breathing accelerates. he was avoiding any area near your pussy, every ounce of your being aching for more. more tongue, more touches, more niall. more, more, more.

but once your skin was cleaned up, he pats your legs, groaning, “perfect post workout snack. think m’gonna jump into the shower now, baby.”

your eyebrows furrow immediately, because absolutely the fuck not, “like hell you are,” you quip, shuffling yourself until your centre is hovering right above his stiffening member. “you clean me, i clean you,” you murmur, leaning down over him.

and just like he did for you, your tongue slowly laps up the beads of sweat over his stomach and chest, feeling the ridges of his abs with every stroke.

your eyes flutter shut, the musky, heady scent of sweaty man wafting through the air, the salty taste on your tongue, it was doing things you never could have imagined. not once had you really given workout niall a chance like this, something he always does much too early in the morning for your liking. but the more you were delving into it, the more your brain was swirling with want. with need.

you couldn’t stop, too caught up in licking as much of him as you could, tongue flicking over his nipples, mouth attaching to his pulse point.

and it was working. you were teasing him right back. his telltale little breathy pants huffing against your ear whenever you were close to his neck, fingernails indenting your hips, his cock now painfully hard.

you’re not even sure niall’s noticed that his hips have started rolling, searching for any sort of relief, something you’re not too keen on giving into quite yet.

so a moment later, you pull away, coming to a stand, “better get that shower going, we have some things to do today.”

niall scrubs his face in his hands, groaning loudly for a moment, before getting up with you. and as quick as a flash, he’s got you scooped up in his arms, running off.

you squeal again, laughing loudly, as he whips down the hall, around the corners, and into the washroom. he quickly closes the door behind himself, setting you down on your feet, pinning you against the wall, “can forget about all those things you have planned today. gonna be too busy.”

you hum, your body melting against the wall, as niall’s mouth leaves a trail of open mouth kisses over your shoulder and neck, teeth nibbling on the shell of your ear, “hmm tell me. tell me what we’re gonna do.”

“gonna start by showering with me,” he murmurs against your ear, “and if you’re a good girl, i might use the shower head on you.”

you whimper, nodding quickly, “please, fuck. what else ?”

niall tuts, shaking his head, “depends how good you are for me. now how about stripping down and washing me off in the shower ?”

“yes, yes anything. m’a good girl, i promise.”

……

Masterlist

#niall horan #niall horan writings #niall horan smut #smut #niall horan fic #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan x you #niall horan x reader #niall horan blurb #niall horan imagine #niall horan one shot #niall horan masterlist #one direction #hello lovers #writings #justmeinatree

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butchersboobs · 8 days ago

Text

Twist

A Billy Butcher pov fic.

Tissues at the ready...

NSFW below the cut - MDNI

Words: 1,771

PART TWO

Tags: @babyfri3dric3 @dumpy-little-nobody

_____

It's a bloody miracle - supermarket's dead, for once. No screamin' kids, no pensioners 'avin’ a barney over the last tin o'custard. Just me, me basket, and a list o'shite I can’t be arsed t'buy. Bread. Milk. Whiskey. The usual bollocks.

I’m by the biscuits, tossin’ up between 'obnobs and bourbons when I see ya. Strollin' down the aisle, clear as day, pushin’ a trolley like you just stepped out the life we 'ad together and into some domestic fuckin’ fantasy.

And you ain't alone. There’s a kid wiv yer. A boy, ‘bout three, maybe four. Dark 'air, big eyes, and I swear to Christ - he’s a bloody photocopy of me.

Me blood goes cold. Can’t move, can’t breathe - I just stand there like some prize twat, starin’.

You clock me. Yer face does this wide-eyed panic fing, like a fox cornered by a pack o'dogs. “Billy,” ya say, gobsmacked.

I nod atcha, casual-like, even though me 'eart’s bangin’ like a fuckin’ drum. I glance at the kid, then back at you. "Who's this little bloke, then?"

You 'esitate - a bit too long, if ya ask me - then put yer 'and on 'is shoulder, all protective. Like you’re expectin’ me t'kick off. "This is Oliver," you say. "Oliver - say hello to Mummy's... old friend."

Old friend, my arse.

I crouch down, meet the kid’s eyes. E’s lookin’ at me like he’s sizin' me up, and bugger me, it's like me own bloody face is starin’ back at me. "Alright, Oliver?" I say. "I’m Billy. Nice t'meet ya, mate."

The kid nods, all shy-like, and grabs 'old of yer leg. And before I can ask another bleedin’ question, yer mutterin’ some excuse about bein’ in an 'urry, and you 'n the kid bugger off sharpish

But it's too late to run now, love. I know full well that li'il lad is mine.

I fuckin' know.

-----

I coulda left it there. Shoulda, really. But you know me - can’t leave well enough alone, can I?

So I drop me basket right there, leave some poor sod to restock the 'obnobs, and I follow ya. I keep me distance, mind. Stay outta sight. Ain’t tryin’ to scare ya - just... I dunno. Just wanna know where you're takin’ 'im.

Ya lead me to this little 'ouse on the edge o'town. Curtains drawn, toys littered in the garden. You get the kid inside, shut the door, and that’s that.

I stand there for a bit, feelin’ like a right cunt. Should I knock? Walk away? What the fuck ya s'posed t'say to a woman who walked out on ya years ago wivout bovverin' to tell ya she was up the duff? Or that she'd dropped yer sprog?

-----

Didn’t sleep a bloody wink that night, did I. Nah. Tossin’, turnin’, replayin’ the 'ole fing in me 'ead.

Oliver’s face, your panic. That gut-punch of realisin’ I got a kid. My kid. Couldn’t shake it.

By the time the sun came up though, I’d made me decision.

I’m back at yer door before I’ve even 'ad me morning cuppa, knockin’ loud enough to wake the dead.

You answer in yer dressing gown, 'air a mess, lookin’ like ya just rolled outta bed. “Billy,” ya say, pissed off. “How the fuck did you find me?”

I shove me hands in me pockets, tryna look casual. “We need to talk.”

You sigh, step aside, and let me in. The 'ouse is nice enough - small, cosy. There’s toys everywhere: blocks, cars, some dinosaur wiv one leg missin'. But no sign of Oliver.

“Oliver’s mine, ain’t he?” I say - no point pissin' about, is there.

You stiffen. “Billy—”

“Don’t you dare lie to me. I seen 'im. E’s me all over. Ain’t no denying it.”

Yer shoulders sag, and ya look at the floor. “Yes,” you finally fuckin' admit. “He’s yours.”

The room tilts. I grab the back of the sofa to steady meself. “Bloody hell.”

I should be angry. Furious. But all I feel is this weird, 'eavy mix o'pride and terror. I’ve got a son. A son.

“Why didn’t ya fuckin' tell me?” I ask, me voice low.

“Because you’re you, Billy."

That stings, but I can’t argue. You ain't wrong. My life’s a fuckin' mess, and it’s no place for a kid. Told meself that a thousand times since I met 'im yesterday. But the need to see 'im again just won't fuck off.

“Look, I can't just walk away, alright - not wivout... I dunno. Seeing 'im. Properly, I mean.”

“Billy, I don’t—”

“I ain't asking for much,” I cut in “I just... I just wanna meet 'im properly. That’s all.”

Then a little voice pipes up.

“Mummy?”

We both turn. Oliver’s standin’ in the doorway in 'is pyjamas, rubbin’ 'is eyes.

You soften instantly. “It’s okay, baby. Go back to bed.”

But 'e don’t. 'E just stands there, lookin’ at me.

“'Ello again, Ollie,” I say, crouchin’ down to 'is level. “Sorry if we woke ya., mate”

He don’t say anyfin, just keeps starin’ at me wiv those big brown eyes.

You sigh, running yer 'and through yer hair. “Fine,” you whisper “You can see him. For a little while. But he doesn’t know who you are, Billy. He’s too young to understand.”

I nod. “Fair enough.”

-----

I never thought I’d be 'ere. Never thought I’d be playin’ bloody games wiv a kid. I mean, I’ve been in worse places, yeah, but this… this is summink else.

Oliver’s sittin’ on the floor, this scrappy little toy truck in his 'ands, lookin' up at me like I’m some sorta mystery he’s tryna solve. Me - Billy Butcher - the last fing a kid like 'im should be dealin' with.

“So, you like trucks, ay?” I ask, squattin' down beside 'im, tryna make me voice sound less like a bloody crook. Can’t be talkin’ all gruff and growlin' at the poor lad, can I?

Oliver looks up, eyes big as saucers, 'is little 'ands gripping the truck like it’s 'is best mate. “Yeah! It goes vroom vroom!” 'e says, 'is voice 'igh-pitched, full of excitement.

I blink at 'im, a bit taken aback. Kid's got more energy than a bloody power station.

I chuckle, leanin' back on me 'eels. "Yeah, I can see that. Goes fast, does it?" I’ve no idea why I’m askin'. I couldn’t care less about toy bloody trucks, but somethin’ about the way 'e says it, so eager, like it's the most important fing in the world—fuckin'ell, it almost makes me wanna play along.

“Yeah!” he nods so 'ard, I’m 'alf expectin’ 'is little 'ead to fall off. “And when it goes fast, it boom boom!” He slams the truck down on the ground, makin’ it bounce.

“Boom boom, ay?” I laugh, a proper one this time, catchin’ myself off guard. Ain't 'eard a sound like that in years. Can’t even remember the last time I genuinely laughed.

The kid grins, lookin’ up at me wiv that hopeful look, like 'e’s waitin’ for me to join in on the fun. I’ve never been good at playin’ games wiv kids, 'specially not after what 'appened with me own bloody family. But 'ere I am, messin' about with some toy truck, tryna figure out 'ow t'not screw this up.

"Alright then," I say, takin’ the truck from 'is 'ands. "Show me how it's done, mate."

Oliver giggles, 'is little face scrunched up in concentration as he starts tappin’ 'is 'ands on the floor, making engine noises. Vroom, vroom, boom boom!

I can't 'elp but smile. It’s awkward as fuck, but I’m damn well tryin'. Maybe I’m not so bad at this after all. Don’t matter that I don’t know the first fing about toys, or that I ain't got a clue what the 'ell I’m doin’. What matters is the look on the kid’s face, the way 'is eyes light up every time I play along.

"Oi, kid, I fink your truck’s got more power than mine," I tease, pushin’ the toy truck across the floor with a bit too much enthusiasm, makin' it slide all the way to the other side of the room.

Oliver looks at me with wide eyes, 'is mouth open in awe. “Really?”

I give'im a little smirk. "Yeah. Faster than a bloody Formula One car, that is. Your truck's a bit of a monster."

E’s noddin’, 'is mop of black hair bouncin’ wiv every movement. “It is! It's the fastest in the world!” 'is words tumble out like he’s tryna convince me. 'E really believes it. And that’s somethin’, innit? Kid’s got imagination, that’s for sure.

“Right, right,” I mutter, noddin’ along, but then I get a bloody idea. "Tell you what, Oliver. How ‘bout you race your truck against my truck? Let’s see oo’s faster."

I rummage through me pockets, pullin’ out me old lighter. It ain’t much, but it’s a novelty car one, wiv wheels, so I push it across the floor wiv a cheeky grin. "It’s not as flashy as yours, but I reckon it’s got a bit o'speed in it."

Oliver’s eyes go wide, and before I know it, 'e’s on his knees, eagerly makin’ little engine noises again. "Ready, set, go!"

We both push our 'trucks' across the floor, and I can’t 'elp but laugh as e’s all serious about it. Kid’s givin' it his all, makin’ these wild noises, and I’m just pushin’ a bloody lighter, tryna make 'im fink I’m into it as much as 'e is.

But then, just as we’re about to finish the race, 'e lets out a loud yell and scoops up both trucks, clutchin' 'em to 'is chest like 'e’s won the Grand bloody Prix. “I win! I win!”

I raise me 'ands in defeat, laughin' despite meself. "Yeah, yeah, you’re the fastest, kid. I give up. You beat me."

E beams up at me, so proud of 'imself that 'e can’t even sit still. “I’m the best racer ever!”

I can’t stop smilin’ at 'im, watchin' 'im prance about like a little king. For a second, just a second, I forget I'm me. Forget what a fuckin' mess me life is. I’m just… 'ere. Wiv 'im. Wiv Oliver. My boy.

“Yeah, mate, you are,” I say, me voice quieter than usual, a little softer. "You’re a bloody star, you are."

And that’s the fing, innit? There’s summink about this little lad that gets t'me, summink I can’t shake. I know I said I just wanted to meet 'im, but I’ll be damned if I can just let 'im go now.

That kid deserves a far better man than me for a dad.

But for 'im, I’ll bloody try to be that better man.

PART TWO

#billy butcher #billy butcher imagine #the boys #billy butcher x you #billy butcher fanfic #billy butcher the boys #the boys billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x ofc

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simonrileysfavteacup · 10 months ago

Text

Peace

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gf!reader

Word count: 1K ish?

Warnings: skinny dipping, simon being fine while he chops would, manly muscles, manly tasks, simon who works all the time

Summary: With Simon, vacations were always rare, so you soaked up every chance you got.

(This is the lake I imagined, the one from The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Snakes and Songbirds, this includes the cabin where Coryo finds the gun)

Vacations with Simon were always hard.

He’d always be working. All the time. He’d come home from a mission just to go on another one the next day. If he wasn’t on a mission, he’d be writing reports or working out in your home gym. Never gets a break.

So when you invited Price and his wife over to dinner, you secretly begged for a leave for Simon to take him on a vacation. Price, being the good dude he is, obviously says yes and sends Simon off on a vacation for three weeks with you.

And here’s a lil headcannon, Simon hates sand. And heat. So no tropical areas. :( No bahamas trip for you.

More so, you settled for a little cabin, deep in the woods, in British Columbia, Canada. And yeah, it sounds lame, but it was perfect for you and Simon.

One bedroom cabin, a fireplace in the living room, and a cozy bed with the best duvet. It featured a little tiny shower that you and Simon shrunk into every morning, mostly just to be close to each other because the shower was half the size of Simon. And one of Simon’s favourite additions, an axe for wood chopping. The cabin faces out to a large lake. Everything was concealed by trees, leaving just you and Simon alone. There were no distractions, just the very-much-needed break.

Simon would wake up every morning to chop wood, his way of working out. His exact statement was that the woods were peaceful and the swinging with the axe was good for his arms. And he did it shirtless, of course, just as he did when he worked out at home.

Toned chest, glistening with sweat in the early morning of the hours, hands gripping the axe he grew to love in the last week, grunting every time he brought the axe down.

You stood at the entrance of the cabin, leaning against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand as you stare at him, practically eye-fucking him. He was panting, a pile of wood sitting next him, fully chopped. You had no purpose for it but the fireplace, which you kept lit every evening as you two ate dinner. Simon’s grunts were reaching every nerve of your body. He looks too damn good for it to be 6 A.M. in the morning.

“Do you want tea?” You speak up, breaking his focus on the wood. Your eyes stay on his abs as he looks up, chuckling softly.

“Would love a cuppa, lovie,” he looks back down at the wood. “Admirin’ the view, hm?”

“You look really good, honey,” you bite your lip to hold back a giggle.

“Bet I do,” he moves back to chopping his wood.

“Don’t we have enough fireplace wood?” you tilt your head, still staring at him.

“Just havin’ fun with it now, lovie,” he shrugs. “Helps me stay in shape, migh’ as well.”

“You don’t need any help staying in shape, honey. You look fine to me,” you giggle.

He chuckles softly, “Ya keep feedin’ me them deserts and I’ll end up bigger than the lake.”

“You love my deserts,” you giggle.

“Damn righ’, I do,” he looks up at you and smirks.

“When you’re done, lumberjack, come inside. I’ll make breakfast, ‘kay?” you smile. He nods and continues his chopping.

You head back inside, pulling a pan out from one of the cabinets, preparing a batch of scrambled eggs. You make Simon a cup of tea as well, setting it aside for him. He comes in moments later, sighing as he stretches. He grabs a plate of the eggs, taking his cup and sitting down on the couch before patting the spot next to him.

You sit down next to him. “You wanna go for a dip in the lake after this?”

“Always,” he smiles.

The two of you eat in silence, taking in the environment around you. The soft rustling of the trees, the chirping of birds, the smell of fresh air, and the sight of the sunlight filtering through the windows. Staying in a cabin in the middle of the forest wasn’t ideal, but it was perfect to you. The quiet solitude of nature and the fresh air provide a peaceful refuge to recharge and rejuvenate. The sounds of nature, from the songs of birds to the gentle whispering of the wind, create a harmonious cacophony that calms the mind and spirit.

It was truly perfect to the two of you.

You left both your dirty dishes in the sink to worry about later, heading outside to join Simon, who’s already stripped down to his boxers. He jumps off the dock and into the lake, making the loud splash of the water echo through the empty forest. You follow him, stripping off your dress, jumping into the lake in just a bra and panties.

The satisfying splash as you break the surface and the sensation of cool water against your skin, followed by the refreshing feeling of weightlessness as you glide through the water. The taste of salt on your lips and the sensation of the sun's warmth upon your face as you emerge from the water, breathless and invigorated. Simon’s arms wrap around you, holding you flush against his chest, smiling. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, biting back a giggle as he pulls you underwater with him again.

The two of you spend at least an hour in the water, giggling and splashing each other with water, suppressing loud laughs. When you finally decide to get out, Simon pulls you in for a kiss, heading into the cabin to grab a blanket and a towel. He dries you off before drying himself, motioning for you to lie down on the blanke the laid out like a picnic. He lays down on his side, pulling you in to lie your head on his stomach. He intertwines your hands, kissing your temple.

“Thank you for forcing me to come on this trip,” he smiles.

“Thank you for putting up with my bullshit and always doing whatever I say,” you giggle.

“Always will, lovie,” he kisses your temple again. You look back up at the sky, squeezing his hand.

This.

This was what peace felt like.

#ghost call of duty #ghost cod #ghost imagine #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon riley cod #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #cod #the ballad of snakes and songbirds

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winniethewife · 3 months ago

Note

can i request a steven smut where him and fem!reader have hate sex

Hi Anon! sorry this took so long! but think of this as a mini-bonus kinktober!

It's got nothing to do with love (Steven Grant x F!reader)

Warnings: Angst, Hate fucking, dub-con, Dom!reader, Super villain!reader, sex on a couch, Biting, PinV, Show-accurate DID, Marc/Jake switch at the end,

Words: 968

Steven was just happy to be spending a normal evening at home, He had spent the day dealing with everything at the museum and he was ready to just enjoy a nice cuppa tea and read his new book. But all that changed when he walked into his flat to see a woman sitting on his bed.

“What the? Who are you? What are you doing in my flat?” He asked, the confusion evident in his voice. She looked at him with eyes filled with fire, she stood up and takes a step closer to him.

“Oh so that’s how we’re going to do it this time huh? You’re going to play the naïve little man who knows nothing.” She taunts, her voice dripping with venom. Steven wasn’t at all sure who she was or what she was talking about but the way she was walking up to him, like a predator stalking her prey. “You’re going to just conveniently forget that you interfered with my plans the other night? Months and Months of planning down the drain…”

“Honestly, I don’t have any clue what you are talking about…” Steven uttered

“Stop pretending! I tire of these games darling.” She replied. Steven felt kind of hysterical at this point, but he felt absolutely insane when she did what she did next. She reaches out and grabs his shirt using all her strength to pull him against her and pressing her lips against his. Kissing him with a crazy amount of aggression. Continuing to push against him until they had run into the wall across the room behind him. He stumbled back, the force of her aggression sending his balance off-kilter. His back hit the wall and he let out a low groan at the impact.

"I’m going to rip you apart, taste every inch of you..." She growls between kisses. Steven wasn't expecting the sudden and fierce kiss or how she spoke to him, her voice a mixture of anger and desire, his body responded to it instantly. He wanted her, needed her, and now that she was pressing against him, he felt like his mind was going to go wild.

"I…I’m not sure… you are but…" he managed to say, his voice raspy with want "Please, don't stop."

"You want this? You want me to fuck you? You want me to use your body? You want to fight this out with your cock inside me and my hand on your throat while I tell you everything I plan to do to you?" she growls, that same anger laced in her voice, accompanied by a dark desire. Steven's body trembled at her words. The image it conjured in his mind was both thrilling and terrifying. He could see the anger in her eyes, but beneath it was a heat and need that mirrored his own.

"Yes," he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. She continued to kiss, bite and pull at him. Pushing him onto the couch and straddling his lap as she held onto him. She began to tear off his clothes, not particularly caring what happened to them, Her lips making her way from his, down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as she dug her nails into the soft flesh of his shoulders. All this aggression mixed with lust was flooding Steven’s better judgment, his cock hardening in his boxers, small grunts and moans leaving his lips.

“Fuck…please…” Steven Whines, bucking his hips up into her, desperate for release. She immediately stops moving and glares at him.

“This isn’t about you getting what you want Darling, this is about you paying penance for what you’ve done.” She hissed as she dragged a sharpened nail down his chest, leaving a trail of electricity in her wake, Steven let out a low groan, he was wondering what the hell he had one to her, but was too distracted by her hands working on his belt and slowly tearing off his pants to really care, He then watched entranced as she slid out of her own clothes. He had definitely seen a woman naked before…right? He was pretty sure but at that moment looking at her he wasn’t at all sure because she didn’t look like anything he’d ever seen. As she positioned herself above him, Steven felt the hornist sense of Deja-vu his hands immediately found their place at her hips, had he done this before? Before he had time to figure that out he was pulling her down onto him vigorously, thrusting up into her with a rapidly increasing pace.

She held on tightly to the back of the couch as the man beneath her slammed up into her again and again, she wasn’t exactly sure why he was pretending not to know her, after so many encounters of the two of them just like this, in different cities around the world, She would make a plan and Moon Knight would inevitably interfere, then they would meet up and fuck each other senseless. This was how it always went.

“Mgh…fuck you feel so good on my cock like that. Need to…fuck…gonna…” His trusting became more irregular as he got closer to his climax. She huffed, this wasn’t usual, he usually lasted long enough to bring her to the edge and back before he would find his own finish, she tilts her head, finding that sensitive spot at the base of his neck and bit down hard. Steven let out a yelp, then instinctively flipped her on to her back, his length pushed still deep inside her as he hovered over her, the world fading away. She looked up at him startled, but when his eyes opened again a look of recognition crossed the man’s face.

“Oh…it’s you” he growls. Things were about to get interesting.

Masterlist

Tags: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial @queerponcho

#moon knight #steven grant #x reader #moon boys #moon knight smut #moon knight x reader #request #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac x reader #oscar issac characters #oscar issac x reader #oscar issac hernandez estrada #oscar issac smut #steven with a v #steven grant x reader #female reader #kinktober

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myriadparacosm · 29 days ago

Text

Sitcom AU - 1. The one with the bride

wolfstar; jegulus; dorlene; panryly; rosekiller

"What I mean is that it's not right."

"Isn't that kind of homophobic?"

Marlene scowls at Pandora, who quickly pinches her lips together with a coy look, making Remus chuckles in his cup of tea.

"No, no, hear her out," Sirius cuts.

"Two male penguins?!"

"Still can't believe you didn't hear about that before," Peter mentions, stirring his new cup of coffee.

"They got an egg too?! When they have been trying to steal one but they get a reward instead?!"

"That was one solution to stop that behaviour," Remus sagely comments.

"If I did that, I wouldn't be given a child!"

"You don't want one, Marl'."

"Thank God for that too— ouch! Fuck! I'm on your side!"

"Just accept that penguins have more rizz than you," Mary says before ducking at the pillow. "Hey!"

The waitress clears her throat from behind the couch and Marlene smiles toothily at her to lose it as quickly when facing them again.

"As if you have any."

"Shouldn't we be happy that gay penguins are accepted and loved? Especially if they raised a little baby!"

"I believe, their chick was also a lesbian," Remus comments

"Their child too?!" Marlene exclaims in shock. "What is going on in this world?!"

"I could present you someone if you are that desperate," Pandora gently offers. "I have this co-"

"I don't need help!"

Sirius grimaces with a nod. "You do."

"Like you are any better, slag."

"I'm on your side!" He argues with a waving hand that she slaps away. "Cunt!"

"On her side against— queer penguins?" Peter wonders.

"I just can't bloody believe it."

"Sometimes, I wish I was a penguin," Remus mutters and pauses at all the eyes jumping on him. "Erm."

"And you call me desperate."

"You literally have a feud with penguins now?" Mary points out.

Sirius laughs before looking up just in time for James to walk in Hogwarts. Marlene sighs, not bothering to glance since these two always predict whenever their other half is around.

"Hi James!" Pandora greets.

"Hey," he grins even if it's a tad sadder than usual while he puts his wet umbrella against the rack already full. "Whatcha talking about?" He asks, sitting down next to Sirius who scooted over and immediately puts his arm on his shoulders.

"Marlene discovered animals can be queer," Peter explains. "And wants to fight a couple of penguins."

James laughs, turning to her. "But that's so cute!"

She scowls at him. "They have it so easy while we have to bloody pay taxes and they got a marriage and child for free, how is that right?!"

Mary leans toward James. "She got a bad date last night and-" she shrieks at the kick in her back, getting her face smashed in the couch's bottom. Marlene cackles evily just as Mary rounds on her. "You better not have used your shoes on my new shirt!"

The waitress pays them no mind, used to their antics, as she nods at James' order before walking behind the counter.

"Knee."

"You're such a cunt. Don't come whine to me about pain from your trainings because I'm never massaging you again."

"You alright, Prongs?" Peter asks. "Where is Lily?"

He shrugs. "I'm alright. She had work to do so," he says and smiles at Sirius who squeezes him with his arm. "I'm really fine. Just a bit bummed out."

Remus offers a supportive smile, leaning out of his armchair to pat his knee. "You're still friends."

James sighs and takes the cuppa from the waitress' hands with a polite smile. "I know… It's just that I kind of hoped her- us, to be it."

"It's her loss, mate," Sirius says with a startle at Remus' slap on his arm. "What?! It's the truth!"

"Lily is our friend too," he retorts with a pointed look but Sirius only rolls his eyes.

"At least it ended well."

"It might be awkward for some time but everything will be fine," Pandora promises. "You just can't picture her naked anymore."

James blushes. "I wasn't going to! And I know that, I'm just disappointed that it ended up— like that."

"You two dated quite quickly," Mary points out. "It's not that uncommon to realise that despite your attraction, you were both better off as friends."

"And that she is a lesbian."

James scowls at Marlene. "First off, she was almost never attracted to anyone before. Second, she is attracted to me. Third, she is trying to figure it out so don't push her around, Marl'."

Pandora nods. "Yes, I want Lily to stay our friend too. She is lovely."

"Why do you assume I'm going to bully her? I'm just sharing facts!"

"Because you are one," Mary sniffs and flips her off when she sticks her tongue out.

James watches them with an amused grin and meets Sirius' eyes with his own unsure gaze. "She would like that too but she is worried. I told her that it doesn't change anything but…"

Sirius pats his cheek before petting his hair. "Don't worry. I'm sure it will be fine."

"She might only need some time," Remus agrees.

"Breakups, as nice as it went for you two, is still hard," Mary adds with a sorry look. "You were both— intense."

Peter shares the sentiment with a nod as they watch James drinks his cuppa and Sirius brushes his wet hair to cheer him up. He smiles at them, lips wordless for several tries before rolling his shoulders.

"I still love Lily, maybe not as much as a lover like I wanted but at least we are. She offered me a chance to try and… If I'm honest, I felt it for a while."

"Oh, Prongs."

"No, it's fine," he promises with a quick comforting smile at Sirius. "I was happy. Think she was too but you know, no sparks or anything. Comfy but more like friends with benefits rather than lovers."

"Shouldn't it be like that?" Marlene wonders, putting down her cup on the coffee table. "Maybe you only got through the honeymoon part."

"We can't really judge on that," Peter slowly says. "No one has been in a serious relationship more than you. Even Re-"

"Let's not talk about him," Remus interrupts.

Sirius glances at him before settling back on James. "I'm sure there is someone out there that will give you all the sparks you want."

James sighs. "It's stupid but I had everything planned. Now I have to plan another wedding, with someone else, in God knows when but I want to find my soulmate-"

"Lobster-"

"To build our lives together and get married," he finishes with a fond but torn expression.

The doors of Hogwarts slam open and the rain furiously takes advantage of that small gap before it closes after a figure stumbles through on heels. The cafe falls silent, everyone doing a double-take at the long white wedding dress, beautiful despite its soggy state.

"And I want a pony!" Pandora blurts out with eager eyes at the apparition.

The disheveled black hair clashes with the long veil scrunched up in it while the bride frantically looks around with wide bloodshot eyes, which almost pops out of her skull when landing on a gaping Sirius.

"Oh my God," he gasps out, hand frozen in a tangle of James' hair as he straightens up in his seat.

With blank and tears brewing eyes, the bride stumbles to the couch, completely missing the step of the entry but she saves herself with a thunderous look and nails digging into the couch.

"Sirius! Oh my God, there you are," she gasps out.

"Holy crap," Marlene blurts out.

Sirius stares at the bride before jumping out of his seat. "What are you doing here?!"

The bride scowls, angrily pulling at her skirt before throwing it to point out the obvious. "I went by your apartment but then I only found your landlord who told me you might be here-- which you are and I finally found you..," her voice cracks the more it goes as her already ashen face blanches.

Sirius is quite close to follow her by the weak step he takes but stops himself. James is as flabbergasted as him but by his frown he might have recognized her. Remus glances between them before almost inching over the edge of his seat, ready to stand up.

"Pads?"

"Hum, would you like a cuppa?" The waitress asks with a worried frown.

The bride almost glares at her, ramming her dress in one hand, before turning back to Sirius.

"I need your help-"

"How the hell are you even here?! Found me?"

"Sirius can't actually be secretly married, is he?" Peter whispers but Remus is at lost of words.

"I know all your whereabouts."

"Can someone explain to me what's happening?!" Mary exclaims with a barely hushed tone, leaning against Pandora's shoulders to stare at them closer.

Sirius jerks, glancing frantically at them until he lands back on the bride who started to breath heavily.

"Oh my God, breathe!" James says, standing up with a gesture at the couch. "Sit down, catch your breathe."

She ignores him. "I need your help, Sirius-"

"Did you just run out of a wedding?!" He exclaims.

"Yes, mine! You— ne fais pas l'idiot !" She argues with big gasps of air, chest bobbing not by much despite the speed under her corset. "I ran off because I couldn't do it, not anymore. I… I just can't. I had to crawl through a window but I had no idea where to go except to you," she gasps out with a fever splattered on her cheeks, "I think I broke my ankle because of these stupid heels."

Sirius takes a deep breath, leaning onto the couch to look at her legs, before looking up. "What's your shoe size? 13, right?"

"What? No, I'm not a child anymore, Sirius! 5," She says, exasperated.

Every patron are still watching when Sirius jumps over the coffee table to get to Mary. She can barely make a noise before her shoes are grabbed and she shrieks when Sirius only tugs harder.

"Sirius! Stop!" She shrieks, clawing at the rug when she is dragged, before throwing a disbelieving look at them. "Wha- can anyone help me?!" She gasps when one of her shoes finally gives up and Sirius almost falls on Pandora before he does the same for the second shoe.

No one moves and even the bride seems stunned by Sirius, who walks up to him to hand him over Mary's shoes. James gapes at them.

"Padfoot?"

"My shoes?!"

"Free heels."

Sirius throws blindly the pair of sparkly heels on the couch, helping the bride stay upright as she tries to put Mary's shoes on with one hand while the other shakily holds on the dress. Mary, baffled, glances at the heels before taking them with a shrug.

"Sirius?" Remus cautiously calls.

"Don't come in the apartment for like, an hour at least!" He calls as he leads the bride outside, helping her as keeps tripping despite the new shoes.

They watch them through the windows, along with everyone else, while Sirius hastily tries to untangle the veil from her long black hair before throwing it out on the street as they disappear around the corner. Pandora turns to gape at them in excitement.

"What just happened?!"

Remus slightly shakes his head and turns to James. "Prongs?"

He jerks to face them, still standing in front of the couch, and his mouth finally shuts with a loud noise. "Huh?"

"Have an idea who that was?"

"She looked a lot like Sirius," Peter comments.

James nods, clearly in his thoughts, before sitting down with a last look at the windows. "It's Regulus."

"Who?"

"Sirius' brother."

"Sirius has a brother?" Peter asks in disbelief. "Since when?!"

Mary frowns. "Hum, then explain why his brother was wearing heels and wearing a wedding dress? Stealing my shoes?"

"You are wearing the heels," Pandora points out.

"Because he stole them and they are clearly expensive— even if they don't fit with my current jeans."

"He is trans," Remus says. "That's the brother who didn't want to run away with him when they were younger?"

James nods, glancing at the windows again. "Regulus."

"You knew?! How come didn't I know?" Peter asks.

"Wait, is he a trans man or a trans woman because I'm lost," Pandora interjects.

"Trans man," James explains. "He— well, their parents aren't quite accepting that part but he still stayed with them. That's why he looks so… not."

"God, was that a forced marriage and forcing him to stay a woman?" Mary asks in horror. "Wait, is it Regulus as a man or? Strange name."

"That's the name he picked for himself."

"You knew him from your private fancy school?" Peter wonders and looks at Remus. "But you weren't there, so how did you know?"

"Erm, Sirius might have mentioned it to me," he admits. "Barely…"

"Oh my God, their parents must be going crazy. They are just insane-"

"Holy crap, Sirius with tits is hot." James stares in disbelief at Marlene, finally coming back to earth by the looks of it with a slight scoff. "What?! I never thought that would happen! And they look terrifyingly similar!"

"I thought his family was in France," Remus mentions, confused. "How did Regulus find Sirius like that?"

"Should we go check on them maybe?" Pandora asks, straightening up on her knees. "He said to not come to the apartment but maybe we can bring some warm food and drinks for them. Make Regulus feel welcome."

James gasps. "Do you think he is going to stay?"

Marlene frowns at him. "Wait… Didn't you have this huge crush on Regulus?! I remember something about Sirius' sibling!"

Mary cackles at James' vivid blush. He makes a rude gesture at her while Pandora smiles fondly at him, joining him on the couch to rub his shoulder. Remus smiles with a sorry on his lips, remembering James' infatuation on his best friend's brother back when they met during university where Sirius only showed up sometimes to visit with no mention of any sibling except for James.

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emma23 · 2 months ago

Text

The awkward art of flirting:

Steven grant x reader

————————————————————————

Steven Grant’s heart pounded in his chest, louder than the Egyptian drums that had played in his dreams last night. He stood outside the dimly lit warehouse, a nondescript building hidden in the maze of London’s abandoned industrial district. This was the hideout of one of the city’s most notorious criminals—you.

His mission? Gain entry, gather intel, and get out without getting caught. Easy, right? Wrong.

Steven wasn’t the sort of man who infiltrated anything—let alone a villain’s lair. Yet here he was, trying to channel every spy movie he’d ever seen, which, frankly, wasn’t many.

"Okay, Steven, you can do this. Just... be charming, be confident," he muttered to himself, wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. He pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit room.

The interior was surprisingly cozy, not at all what he expected from a villain’s lair. It had more of a… lived-in feel, with mismatched furniture, stacks of books, and a coffee table littered with half-empty mugs. You were sitting on a couch, reading a book, and looked up as he entered. Your eyes immediately narrowed, recognizing him as soon as he walked in.

“Well, if it isn’t Steven Grant from the British Museum,” you drawled, not even bothering to hide your smirk. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Steven froze. This wasn’t going according to plan—not that he really had one to begin with. “Oh, um, hello there,” he stammered, trying to recover. “I was just… uh… passing by and thought I’d… pop in?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Pop in? To a villain’s secret hideout?”

“Er, yes?” Steven winced, realizing how ridiculous that sounded. “I mean, no! Not a villain! A person! A very interesting person. I just thought we could have a… chat?”

You tilted your head, amused by his awkwardness. “A chat. With me. Right.”

Steven cleared his throat, trying to summon what little courage he had left. “Yes, I thought maybe, you know, we could, um, get to know each other? Over tea, perhaps? I make a mean cuppa.”

You blinked at him, unable to tell if he was genuinely trying to flirt or if this was some kind of elaborate joke. “What are you doing?” you asked, genuinely curious now.

Steven shuffled his feet, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “So… this isn’t working then, is it?”

You sighed, setting your book aside. “No, Steven, it’s not. But I’ll give you points for effort. It’s not every day a museum gift shop employee tries to flirt his way into my hideout.”

He scratched the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Yeah, well… I’m not really good at this whole espionage thing, am I?”

You stood up, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “No, you’re not. But it’s oddly endearing. What exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”

Steven gulped, realizing he was in over his head. “Honestly? I was supposed to gather intel, but… I think I’ve mucked it all up, haven’t I?”

You studied him for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Well, Steven, you’re lucky I find your bumbling nature somewhat charming. Otherwise, you’d be in a lot more trouble right now.”

“Really?” he asked, blinking in surprise. “You think I’m charming?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you retorted, though there was no malice in your voice. “Come on, let’s sit down and have that chat. You’ve clearly gone to a lot of trouble to get here, so the least I can do is hear you out.”

You led Steven to the kitchen area, where he fidgeted nervously as you prepared tea. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the clink of cups and the whistling kettle. When you finally placed a steaming mug in front of him, he thanked you quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the hum of the refrigerator.

“So,” you began, taking a seat across from him. “Tell me, what made you think you could flirt your way into my hideout? Was that your idea, or did someone else put you up to it?”

Steven’s face turned redder than the bricks outside. “It was… er, sort of my idea. I thought maybe if I came across as… friendly, you wouldn’t be so… suspicious.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Steven, you walked into a villain’s lair with a nervous smile and a cup of tea as your only weapon. That’s more naïve than suspicious.”

Steven looked down at his tea, feeling like a fool. “I just… I wanted to help, you know? I’m not like Marc. I’m not brave or strong, but I thought maybe I could do something useful. I just didn’t want to be useless…”

Your expression softened. Despite your hardened exterior, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. “You’re not useless, Steven. You’ve got a good heart. That’s more than I can say for most people.”

He glanced up, surprise and gratitude in his eyes. “You… you really think so?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “But yeah, I do. It’s refreshing, really. Most people in my line of work are either power-hungry or just plain cruel. But you… you’re different.”

Steven didn’t know how to respond to that, so he simply sipped his tea, letting the warmth of the drink calm his nerves. The silence between you two wasn’t awkward anymore; it was comfortable, almost companionable.

“So,” you said after a while, breaking the silence. “What are you going to do now? Go back to your normal life, pretending this never happened?”

Steven hesitated, his mind racing. Part of him wanted to run back to the safety of his ordinary existence, but another part—the part that had brought him here in the first place—felt a strange pull towards you. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to keep living like this, not knowing who I really am or what I’m capable of.”

You studied him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Well, Steven, you’re already doing more than you think. You walked into the lion’s den, and you’re still here. That’s something.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but I’m not sure how long I’ll last. I’m not exactly cut out for this.”

“You might surprise yourself,” you said, standing up and extending a hand to him. “Come on, let’s see what you’re really made of. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up liking it here.”

Steven stared at your hand, torn between fear and curiosity. Finally, he took it, letting you pull him to his feet. “You won’t, um, kill me, will you?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Not today, Steven. Not today.”

As the evening wore on, the two of you settled into an easy rhythm, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Steven found himself opening up to you in a way he hadn’t with anyone else, telling you about his struggles with Marc, his love of ancient history, and his dreams of a life less ordinary.

You listened intently, intrigued by his honesty and vulnerability. There was something about Steven that made you want to lower your own defenses, to show him a side of yourself that you kept hidden from the world.

Eventually, the conversation turned to your own life, and you found yourself sharing more than you intended. You told him about your past, your reasons for choosing the path you did, and the loneliness that came with it. Steven’s empathetic nature made it easy to talk, and before you knew it, the barriers you’d built around yourself started to crumble.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Steven asked quietly, genuinely curious. “You don’t even know me.”

You sighed, staring into your tea. “Maybe it’s because you’re different. You don’t judge me, you don’t try to manipulate me. You just… listen.”

Steven smiled, his heart swelling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. “Well, I’m glad I could be that for you. Even if I am a bit of a… bumbling idiot.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re not an idiot, Steven. You’re just… you. And that’s not a bad thing.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. Then, before either of you could think twice, you leaned across the table and pressed your lips to his.

Steven’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he found himself kissing you back, his hands trembling as they moved to your waist, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, and soon, the table between you was forgotten as you both stood up, still locked in each other’s embrace. Steven’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but the strongest one was how much he wanted this—wanted you.

The two of you barely made it to the bedroom before clothes started to come off, piece by piece, falling to the floor like discarded memories. Your hands roamed over Steven's chest, feeling the softness of his skin and the faint ridges of his muscles. He was surprisingly fit for a man who worked in a gift shop, and the thought made you smile against his lips.

Steven’s hands were hesitant at first, nervous and unsure, but as you guided them over your body, he grew bolder. His fingers traced the curve of your waist, then moved upwards, gently brushing over your ribs before settling on your shoulders. His touch was both tentative and eager, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening but didn’t want to stop.

“You’re sure about this?” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes. They were wide and dark with desire, yet there was a tenderness there that made your heart skip a beat. You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’m sure, Steven. More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He smiled back, a relieved laugh escaping his lips. “Good, because I really don’t know what I’m doing here, but I… I want to. With you.”

You chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss him again. “Just follow my lead,” you murmured against his mouth. “I’ll show you.”

With that, you guided him to the bed, gently pushing him down onto the mattress. He watched you with rapt attention as you climbed on top of him, your legs straddling his hips. His hands settled on your thighs, gripping them lightly as you leaned down to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the feel of his lips against yours.

As the kiss deepened, you felt Steven’s body respond, his hands moving up your back, pulling you closer. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, fast and strong, matching the rhythm of your own. The connection between you was electric, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.

You took your time exploring his body, your hands running over his chest, down his arms, over his stomach. He shivered under your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers brushed over sensitive spots. You could feel his arousal growing, pressing against you, and it fueled your own desire.

Steven’s hands were everywhere now, touching, exploring, learning. His fingers tangled in your hair, then moved down your back, tracing the curve of your spine. He was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to hurt you. It was sweet, and it made you want him even more.

You moved your hips, grinding against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening on your waist. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “That feels… amazing.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him again. “Just wait,” you whispered. “It gets better.”

You guided him inside you, taking him slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully buried within you. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and connection that left you both gasping. Steven’s hands gripped your hips, holding you close as you began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm.

His eyes were locked on yours, filled with a mixture of awe and desire. He was completely focused on you, on the feel of you, the sight of you, the sound of your breathing. It was as if nothing else existed in that moment but the two of you.

The room was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—soft gasps, quiet moans, the creak of the mattress beneath you. The rhythm of your bodies was in perfect sync, a dance of pleasure that built higher and higher with each movement. Steven’s hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go.

You lost yourself in him, in the feel of his hands on your skin, his breath against your neck, his body moving with yours. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only this, only him, only the connection between you.

When the climax finally came, it was like a wave crashing over you, pulling you under, drowning you in sensation. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body shuddered with release. Steven followed moments later, his own climax tearing through him with a force that left him breathless.

You collapsed against him, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating in unison. Steven wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his face buried in your hair. You lay there together, the world outside forgotten, the only sound the steady beat of your breathing.

You woke to the gentle light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Steven was still asleep, his arm draped over your waist, his face peaceful and relaxed. You watched him for a moment, feeling a strange sense of contentment. It had been a long time since you’d let anyone get this close, but with Steven, it felt… right.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, grabbing a robe from the floor and wrapping it around yourself. You moved to the window, looking out at the quiet streets below. The world was waking up, and soon, you’d have to face reality. But for now, you allowed yourself a moment to just be.

Behind you, Steven stirred, stretching and yawning. He blinked sleepily, then smiled when he saw you standing by the window. “Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

You turned to face him, a smile playing at your lips. “Morning,” you replied. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I have in a long time,” he admitted, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. “Last night was… incredible.”

You walked back to the bed, sitting on the edge and leaning in to kiss him. “Yeah, it was,” you agreed. “I didn’t know you had it in you, Steven Grant.”

He laughed softly, pulling you into his arms. “Honestly, neither did I. But with you… everything just felt right.”

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Steven was silent for a moment, then he gently tilted your chin up, making you look at him. “Now, we figure this out together,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know one thing—I want to face it with you.”

You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through your chest. “Together,” you agreed.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt hopeful. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you could face them, as long as you had Steven by your side.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant #oscar isaac #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac characters #moon knight

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mikedfaist · 6 months ago

Note

after reader invites him over and they have their night together how does that go? do they talk in the morning and get back together or do they say some more dumb stuff?

first, i want to apologize for switching back and forth with the povs. i have been awake since 5 am, and its 10 pm and my brain is liquid soup. also, this isn't my best -- hence liquid soup brain -- so bear with me, i am only a person

She texted him out of the blue – 10 AM on a Wednesday. She had woken up, taken a shower, and returned to bed with her cuppa. As she sat there, bundled up in her blankets on her side of the bed, she couldn’t help but feel entrapped by the loneliness. Engulfed and suffocated. If he were here, he’d be right there by her side, either a hand on her thigh or his head resting in her lap. Now, he’s somewhere else.

Can you come over sometime today to talk? I’ll be home all day.

Rotting in bed, but she doesn’t add that.

He responds ten minutes later as you were doom scrolling on Instagram.

Of course. I’m leaving brunch right now, I can be at yours in 20.

Yours. That stung. It was ours.

30 minutes later there’s a knock on the door; he’s apologizing for running late, the train stalled underground. You also notice he didn’t use his key. His hands are dug deep in his pockets, and you watch him meander in the entryway waiting for your cue.

“Would you like some tea? I put the kettle on a bit ago…”

So fucking formal for the same guy whose balls have been in your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek as you revel in the sight of the man who without a doubt is thinking the same thing.

He shakes his head politely. “No thanks.”

You two sit on the sofa, a space separating you two that feels unnatural. He’s playing with his hands in his lap, staring blankly ahead at a magazine on the table. Numéro Netherlands. You were on the cover this month.

You have to be the first to talk – you invited him over – but you don’t know where to start. The last time you two spoke didn’t end well, and you aren’t sure whether to blame it on the fact you weren’t entirely sober, or that the anger carried with you was still prevalent and scorching beneath the surface.

“Thanks for coming…” He looked up at you with a surprisingly horrified expression. He really did come here thinking you were officially ending things. Cutting ties. Taking his key. “I’m sorry for how things went last time—”

“Stop, you had every right—”

“Michael, I fucking swear, just…” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “This is already hard for me, just let me talk.”

He felt his stomach fucking drop. This really was it. He hung onto the mere idea of a chance you would take him back, but now all hope was evaporating before him. His hands were clammy. He could feel his heartbeat in his head. He started to break out in a sweat.

“I miss you…and I hate what happened, and how it happened, and I wish I could just go back and redo the whole thing… It fucking kills me waking up and you’re not there, and going to bed and you’re not there, getting off stage and the one person I want to see isn’t there.”

He couldn’t figure out where to focus his attention. Her fingers picking at the skin by her nails, the magazine cover, the lone dog toy left absent by the coffee table.

“I just want to go back to how it was before… I don’t know if that’s possible, but I think about it a lot.”

“I want to try.” He bites his lip at the shakiness of his voice. He’s treading lightly, too worried to overstep and break apart everything they’re building up right now. “If you’re willing, I… That’s all I want, really.”

“I guess it’ll take time to find our footing again.” She forces a smile, but her eyes hold deep sadness. “I still love you. That never changed.”

Eventually, he agrees to a cuppa, but it becomes long forgotten when she sits on the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, and Mike strides in between her legs to hold her. The first time they’ve touched each other since before the fight a month ago. One kiss – hungry and passionate – leads to his fingers in her hair, and her knuckles white holding a grip to his shirt. Her hand falls beneath his top, cascading along his hip, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

He suddenly remembers the morning he fucked her against this very counter, a mere months ago, and how now they’re coming full circle.

“Bed?” You’re breathless, separating for only a moment but Mike is chasing back after your lips. You can feel him nod, but he doesn’t make a movement to separate from you. “Babe?” It falls so naturally from your mouth that it doesn’t register immediately, until Mike parts from you and lets his head fall to the nape of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, letting him have his moment.

“I love you,” you feel his words pressed against your skin. He places a soft kiss to your neck, before lifting his head back up to face yours. Without a word, he mindlessly moves the kettle from burner and turns it off. “C’mon.”

He follows you up the stairs, and instinctively shuts the door behind you both. He undresses you like it’s a sin, taking his time feeling over every inch of exposed skin he could find. He really couldn’t believe his luck. He came here thinking he was losing you forever, and now he’s in your bed. He’s scrambling out of his clothes, watching you intently as you pull your shirt over your head to reveal your bare chest.

He doesn’t remember the last time he truly made love to you. Things have felt different since the new year, and things slowly began to break apart. Sex devoid of passion. It was no wonder things fell apart as they did.

He holds you taut against him as he ruts into you, a feeling you missed deeply. You don’t even feel embarrassed for how quick you feel that knot tighten in your stomach; you happily welcome it. You’re cumming hard around him, digging harsh red lines on his back as he chases his own high not far from yours.

Two more rounds, and by now it’s late afternoon. You two lay in an entanglement of exhausted limbs and bedsheets. He’s in the same spot you were daydreaming about only hours ago. His eyes are closing, but he’s reaching out blindly for your arm, tugging you close to him.

#mike faist imagine #mike faist #mike faist x famous reader

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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

Text

notes: I did a lot of research for this and yes, the manuscript I reference is a real thing. I didn’t put its name in though because that felt a step too far 😂 set in the light, the dark, and the spaces in between after ch3 so hope that’s ok! requests like this give me life.

relationship: aziraphale x immortal!reader x crowley

rated: G, pure fluff

word count: 1.4K

if you like my work you can buy me a kofi!

You’re the one who makes the tea.

That’s because you’re the only one who changes how you have it: sometimes you fancy a chai, or a green tea, or a lapsang souchong. Sometimes with sugar or a little bit of milk, sometimes with neither, sometimes with an oat alternative. It changes. You’re human, you go through phases.

But Aziraphale and Crowley? Nah, they’re creatures of habit. Despite the angel’s wide and experimental palate he’s oddly rigorous when it comes to his cuppa. For him, it’s loads of milk and four sugars, drowned to the point where it could hardly be called tea any more. Crowley likes his black and strong and nowhere near anything that could affect the taste. You wring the teabag tortuously into his mug with a teaspoon before grabbing all three servings and heading into the shop.

You put yours down first, on the side next to the book you’re currently reading, then hand your husbands theirs. They both take them from you in the same way, the way they have done for centuries now, a domestic ritual: accepting the mug you offer and then your hand, pressing a little kiss of thanks and affection to the back of it.

A heartfelt intimacy just between the three of you.

☕️

“Hurry Crowley, it’s starting!”

“Yes, yes, alright angel, hang on.”

“We won’t hang on and we’re not pausing it. Not a threat, just a fact,” you call into the kitchen. A couple of seconds later, Crowley emerges from the kitchen with three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

“I’ll be mother, then,” he mutters as the other two of you barely take your eyes off of the telly. You’ve got your legs slung over Aziraphale’s lap and he only takes a break from stroking your knee in absentminded, loving circles to take the proffered glasses from his husband, one for himself and one for you. Crowley plonks down the other side of Aziraphale and throws his own legs over him too, the two of you playing footsie for space across his plush thighs. Eventually the three of you find a comfortable pile and settle in.

“Another ten weeks of torture begins,” Crowley says as the Bake-off theme ends and the show starts. You nudge him with your toe.

“You don’t have to watch it with us,” you tell him. He harrumphs but doesn’t argue because, really, of course he’ll watch it with the two of you. It makes you both happy.

🍞

Your work is as a consultant for museums around the country, which is a fun way of saying you get paid a lot because you know a lot. But mostly, you only know a lot because you’ve been around for a very long time. So whenever a shard of pottery or a scrap of clothing needs dating they call you to come and put its history into context.

Also, for the bigger museums, it’s a chance for you to smuggle out the stolen artefacts and return them to their country of origin. You consider it a hobby, a bonus perk of the job.

You’ve set up this exhibition. It’s for pottery around the end of the Roman rule in Britain, stuff you’ve found and identified around the country on archaeological digs. You lead Crowley and Aziraphale through, discussing your findings in detail, before you come to a small, surprisingly intact, terra sigillata oil lamp. It sits on its own, spot lit. You asked for it that way.

“See this? I made this. Over a thousand years ago,” you tell them, quietly, gently putting your hand to the glass of the display case. Aziraphale and Crowley take a careful look at the engraving on the object. It bears the profile of a man, and with the sharp cheekbones and little glasses there’s only one person it could be.

“Oh, Nightingale. It’s lovely,” Crowley says, surprisingly touched. He wraps an arm around you and buries his face into your hair.

“You could say I’ve held a flame for you for a long time,” you say, and grin. Crowley groans.

“Did you put my face on a lamp just to keep that pun up your sleeve?”

“Maybe.”

🔥

You next return to the museum when you pick up that Aziraphale is jealous. He isn’t jealous often but he’s pants at hiding it, and it’s not hard to guess why: he’s just seen that Crowley stuck with you for such a long time you put his face on a piece of bloody pottery. You’d probably be a bit put out too.

So for a couple of weeks you throw yourself into your work to find the thing that will make it even. And you do, even though it takes a lot of overseas bargaining and promises to do some pro-bono work.

You finally get the museum in America to agree to send it over for a showing. You arrange a special exhibition specifically for this, where it’s held behind a huge glass case in a dark room with only a small light on it.

But you get special access because, well, you’re you. So you sneak Aziraphale and Crowley in one night and walk into the display room, wearing a face mask and a pair of protective gloves.

There it sits: the Canterbury Tales. One of the oldest versions in the world.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale gasps, peeping over your shoulder to inspect. “I can feel the adoration coming off of it in waves. This was a labour of love, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I’d let you have it for the shop if I had the power. But I think they’d notice if I shoved this one down my top,” you sigh, scanning the pages for what you’re after, then stop dead when you find it.

“Here. Look.”

You point to one of the illustrations, a mounted rider on a beautiful white horse. Aziraphale takes in a quiet breath and draws closer. Because just as plainly as you put Crowley on your oil lamp, you drew your angel in the Canterbury Tales. Curly hair, pink face, beaming smile.

“Oh my,” he whispers. You stroke the little picture and remember toiling away over painting it, repeatedly wiping your brow to make sure your sweat didn’t smudge your work.

“I put you in all the copies I could get my hands on. And you,” you turn to Crowley, “your face is probably buried on my pottery in a dozen dig sites across the UK. I’m just saying I’ve loved the two of you since the day we met; always have, always will.”

Your husbands look at each other and then at you, before as one they step forward to embrace you.

“And we’re lucky to have you,” Crowley whispers in your ear, as Aziraphale kisses your cheek. Their hands meet at your back and they interlace their fingers with each other, you wrap your arms around them and stay like that for a moment; three working parts of a whole.

They kiss, and then they kiss you. You feel warm and rosy. Then you spend the evening reading through the book from beginning to end.

📖

You keep your wedding ring on a chain around your neck at work. Not because you’re embarrassed that you're married; far from it - it’s far too precious to risk losing while constantly taking protective gloves on and off all day. So you don’t blame your colleague for asking you on a date. He’s young, fresh out of uni, and of course has no idea you’re old enough to be his grandparent forty times over.

“That’s very kind,” you tell him, and his face falls because he knows where this is going, “but I’m already happily married.”

He sighs in embarrassment but manages to recover quickly, instead telling you: “they must be someone special to have you.”

He’s doing the polite thing by not assuming the gender of your spouse but it turns out “they” is right on the money. On cue, Aziraphale and Crowley walk through the door to pick you up at the end of your shift. You wish your colleague goodbye and go to meet them.

“Evening, darling,” Crowley calls.

“How was work, my love?” Aziraphale follows up.

“Oh, fine. I’m tired now. And hungry. Can we go and get dinner?”

You link an arm through either of theirs, heading out into the London afternoon.

“Ooh yes, that is a good idea. I quite fancy fish and chips!”

“Let’s go to that spot round the corner. They make their own tartar sauce. Crowley, are you getting your own chips or nicking mine when I’m not looking?”

“The best tasting chips are the ones you steal.”

“Oh, he doesn’t even deny it—!”

Your colleague watches you leave the building, a little dazed, and supposes it takes all sorts to make a world.

Taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul @idontmeanto @smile-eywa @staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @cool-iguana @bdffkierenwalker

#crowley x reader x aziraphale #good omens x reader #ineffable husbands x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphale x reader #Request #fic: the light the dark and the spaces inbetween

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matt0044 · 6 months ago

Text

What we can learn from “The Jaune Arc Discourse” (TM).

Well, to start with, people are really resistant to being corrected on lies at worst or overstatements at best.

Like if nothing else, the Does RWBY Like Women poll was illuminating in how it showed me that a veeeeeery weird myth about Jaune Arc has persisted beyond its true relevancy.

Volume 1 of RWBY features Jaune Arc in the spotlight for… what? Four episodes? The minutes of each adding up to roughly twenty minutes, the length of an average TV episode?

While he was featured in the previous storyline where we are given an eight episode arc introducing us to our eight main protagonists, he was a lot more… ancillary as comic relief. A discount Lavernius Tucker with Felix’s voice if you will.

He's Vomit Boy in episode one. Episode two has him introduced more formally as somebody who helps up Ruby after a bad first impression on Weiss. He later appears more prominently pining over Weiss and catching Pyrrha's attention before falling to bracing himself in being catapulted into the Emerald Forest.

He's bailed out by Pyrrha and it's set up that he's in over his head by not knowing what Aura is or at least wanting to know how it works. An exposition sponge as I heard on fan call it. I could go on but the point is that all signs pointed to a Butt Monkey Ron Stoppable sort who was likely there for cheap laughs.

Amusing enough but I worried if that's all he'd be personally. Lord knows that some movies give the Comic Relief character too much comic relief and, well, not enough character. But after Ruby and Weiss have their leader/lance headbutting, the four episodes that followed reassured me that there'd be more to Jaune than meets the eyes.

But to circle back to the main thesis, it's actually fascinating that the myth of Jaune hijacking the narrative for himself is this pervasive when the offending story in question... is very much a self-contained character piece. It's way less about the wider story involving Ozpin, Roman Torchwick (at the time) and the White Fang.

It has relevance in how Pyrrha starts mentoring Jaune after he deals with Cardin and gets over himself (for now) which trickles down into future stories. Even then, the next story arc right back with Team RWBY with nary a sign of the everyman in question. A story arc that does deal with elements of the main plot, leading directly into Volume 2.

And in Volume 2, Jaune trying to woo Weiss and being ignorant to Pyyrha's advancements was just a subplot scattered in the first half of the story. It very much piggybacks off of Team RWBY's whole deal.

Volume 3 has what I consider to be a reversal of what's been known as Trinity Syndrome.

Namely the sort where a male character goes off the square off with the main villain mano-e-mano after shoving the female character/his love interest away so she won't get hurt. An egrigious example being when the love interest CAN FIGHT and back him up.

However, Pyyrha instead shoves Jaune out of the way after kissing him and goes off to face Cinder in a very fatal battle. It was honestly a brilliant (as much as the term may be disliked these days) subversion of the cliche.

And it’s Ruby who sees her death and gets the trauma induced power up. Jaune only has a scene of angst before that and was the one to call Ruby to have her try and back up the one he just realized he loved.

Jaune from that point on is an Everyman Protagonist who is forced to remember that he’s not THE protagonist. Yet the myth persistently proclaims that he hijacks the narrative from the titular Team RWBY despite only four episodes being wholly dedicated to him and his head space.

How did we get here?

Well… there’s the fact that not everyone finished Volume 1 and that not everybody, well, watched RWBY. And that would be fine on its own. You gave it a shot and it wasn’t your cuppa joe. You saw the trailer but clicked on something else.

I get it. That’s fine. Contrary to popular belief, nobody in the FNDM will really fault you for it. Less fine is when you spread faulty readings of RWBY and from those heavily biased against it no less.

It cannot be emphasized enough that tearing into RWBY is a cottage industry on YouTube. Hbomberguy might have the biggest platform but you’ll find multiple channels with lengthy series on “RWBY bad, here why.” And they are actually amongst the FNDM. They know how the YT Algorithm game is played, how it rewards engagement above all else. And sadly, negativity and rage pay more bills.

It’s why there are few positive videos or at least few that are pushed into the recommendations. Many often borrow the same points from each other born from the V1 days, namely that Jaune is allegedly given favoritism by the writers while we somehow “don’t know who the main girls are.”

From four episodes.

I also think it’s also to do with how it’s not that he actually did steal screentime… so much as many anticipated he would. A lot of shows and movies I grew up with would have strong female characters but any potential they had was hindered by the male lead and his hero’s journey. See the above Trinity Syndrome I referenced.

But Jaune didn’t do that. Even when he was central to an event like his semblance being awakened, it’s a healing/power boost that he gives to others. Weiss getting skewered might’ve brought it out but it lead to her getting back into the fray while he was largely to the sides.

Seems more like he shares screentime if anything.

People cling to these myths despite legit fans actually pointing out, “Hey, that’s not true actually and here’s why,” because that hate being told they are wrong more than being wrong. And because there are many around these who reinforce this “truth,” they feel content with it. No need to challenge it when it “feels” right.

So Jaune Arc stole screentime. Because that’s what “everyone else” is saying. By you need to question popular opinions. You need to realize that sometimes… a fan community is based on lies.

”Trust me, bro” is not the gotcha you think it is.

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iblameashley · 10 months ago

Text

Dating Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Civilian | Male | Gay

Content: Headcanons, Gay stuff, First dates, Budding relationship, Pre-relationship, Alcohol use, Mixed emotions, Military stuff, Guns, etc.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley | Male

!!!SFW!!!

Note: This is kind of an in between of short-story and bullet point dating headcanons. I've wanted to write this for a while, but lacked motivation to go full story mode... sorry! Also, I do not know UK Gun Laws or how Gun Ranges work there, so just... go with the flow, OK?

It happened weeks ago; Simon stared down at his phone with a sense of dread, though you'd never have known just looking at him. He didn't even know why he had agreed to download this fucking app to begin with, though as usual it was at Soap and Gaz's insistence... and pestering. All he had wanted was some quiet on his day off, not to be harassed by yet another chatty man looking to suck his dick in an alley.

Sighing, he scrolled to the message that had just come in – a handsome young lad with a wide smile and kind eyes. It had started innocently enough, the usual pleasantries first, briefs answers after, and the long wait to see how long it would take to either receive a dick-pic or have a request for one.

Neither happened. In fact, the lad had actually carried on a decent conversation over the course the last few weeks, inquiring about hobbies and interests, career and what he was looking for. But then the lad had asked that they meet up on the upcoming weekend.

It's ironic that Ghost decided to ghost the poor lad. He didn't block him – frankly, he didn't know how – he simply didn't respond and closed the app. It was for the best, at least that's what he told himself, though he had blatantly lied to Gaz and Soap when asked how it was going, claiming all he could find was horny men looking for a quick hookup. Not that Gaz or Soap understood why that was a problem; they assumed Ghost getting laid couldn't make him worse.

But then they found out he lied, a casual glance at his phone when a message came in, and then another, asking about the date and apologizing if he had offended Simon.

Its rare that anyone could corner Ghost, but that's just what Soap and Gaz did, hounding their commanding officer until he ran out of excuses.

“Ye owe the lad an explanation.” Soap chided him, a finger pointed in his face.

“Agreed, you can't leave the lad hanging!” Gaz chimed in with a disgruntled look on his face.

So Simon agreed to apologize and reply to the poor lad, and even agreed to a date. He was ready for this, he knew he was charming and could flirt with the best of em', he just had no need to before. He simply wasn't interesting in dating.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Cuppa

Simon: He felt nervous for this date, in many ways it felt like a blind date since he had only ever seen your face in a few pictures. He dressed nicely (Button-down, fitted jeans, boots and some cologne was dabbed behind his ears where the mask hooked), He was confident, pleasant, charming and funny throughout the date. But he saw the way you looked at him with every passing question and answer and was beginning to think this was a mistake. You weren't compatible... but why did that bother him?

You: You arrived early and found a nice little table at the cafe to wait for Simon. To say you were surprised by the giant of a man who appeared would be an understatement. As you both settled in and ordered drinks, you attempted to dive right into it. Your talk walk halting and awkward as Simon dodged most questions about himself with grunts, shrugs or one-word answers. His insistence on using terrible puns and dad-jokes made it more difficult to get to know him. It was frustrating, to say the least, but you persisted. He did at least ask some questions about you, which eased things, but you knew that if this was all he was willing to give, it would be difficult to go on more dates, let alone start a relationship.

Movie and Dinner

Simon: Of course Simon would agree to a movie date followed by dinner. It meant that he got to sit in silence and darkness for about two hours, and then could have a bite to eat after where you would likely do a majority of the talking. He had already tried his best on the first date, it was up to you to pick up the slack this time. The movie went fine for the most part, except when you grabbed his arm during a jump-scare that made him roll his eyes.

Over dinner, he picked away at the curry on his plate while you discussed the movie. He was surprised by your review of the movie and its themes and found himself agreeing with you on many points. Maybe you weren't such a terrible date after all. He decided to pay for dinner, despite your protests.

You: It was stupid of you to choose a thriller for a movie date, but you really wanted to see the movie and no one else would go with you. Since Simon agreed, you made it a date and added dinner after. Thank the good Lord it was dark in the theatre; you turned bright red at the jump scare and felt bad for grabbing Simon's arm. You felt the way he tensed, but were too embarrassed to apologize to him.

Dinner went much better and Simon actually became more engaging as you discussed the movie and its plot. He seemed to enjoy your nerding out and even cracked a small smile.

As dinner came to an end, you thanked him for the (genuinely) enjoyable night and get ready to pay, since the date was your suggestion. Simon wouldn't allow it and ended up paying regardless. Maybe this lumbering, awkward man wasn't so bad after all.

Pub Trivia

Simon: Simon's intelligence isn't limited to Military knowledge, so he decided to take you to a pub trivia night, though he couldn't understand why he had this continued desire to impress you. You. Just some civilian who had taken an interest in him.

In between the rounds and pints, he started to talk to you about his mates Gaz and Soap who gave him the idea for this date. You'd like them, he was sure, but it was too early for you to be meeting his friends, he was sure to remind you.

You: You couldn't deny the Simon was an encyclopedia of general knowledge, his brain was like a sponge, it seemed. He had filled in the sheets of answers rather quickly each round, but you got the chance to flex your brain full of useless pop culture knowledge in the last few rounds.

What really entertained you though, was that the drunker this man got, the more he was willing to open up to you... you should have got him pissed sooner. You laughed when he reminded you it was too early to meet his friends, despite never asking to. This man was ridiculous and in its own way, it was endearing.

Aquarium

Simon: He had agreed to a date with you a few weeks prior but had to cancel due to deployment. He promised he'd take you out when he got back, but by the time the mission was over and he returned to base he didn't want to do the obstacle course. You surprised him when you offered a less energy-intensive option, and here he was at the aquarium now.

As you two strolled leisurely through the dark hallways of glass staring at a multitude of sea creates, Simon found himself actually relaxing; something he was unaccustomed to after a long mission. You stood unreasonably close, but he allowed it, figuring you were uncomfortable with all the other people wandering close by.

A brief stop at the aquarium cafeteria (for an unimpressive meal that would have made the mess hall staff on base look like Michelin Star chefs), filled the both of you up enough to know you'd make it to dinner and something more satisfying.

You managed to convince Simon to take a walk through the gift shop, and ended up buying him a pack of face masks with a shark-teeth pattern on them. He was surprised and delighted, though he wouldn't admit that to you.

You: Your heart sank when Simon tried to cancel the date - but you also understood he just came back from deployment. Maybe you were getting to know him better between the dates and texting, but you could feel his exhaustion, so you offered an alternative; a stroll through the aquarium.

It was rather cold in the building and you found yourself drifting towards Simon... that's how it started anyway. He smelled good too, and you felt comfortable with him. You desperately wanted to hold his hand, but figured that was a boundary too far for right now.

You treated him to food in the cafeteria, swallowing it hard and trying to hide your dissatisfaction with the offerings while he ate everything on his plate with his usual impassive face.

There was no plan to buy anything from the gift shop, you just liked wandering them to see what was there... but the sight of the face masks was too good to pass up. Simon always showed up to a date in a mask, and only took it off when eating, drinking or for a quick smoke. So it seemed fitting and perfect get these shark-print ones for him. You thought you could see a smile under his current mask as you handed them to him.

Shooting Range

Simon: Simon was absolutely intent on showing off his sharpshooting skills to you. It was the closest thing to 'giddy' that he allowed himself to feel as he drove you to the range. Simon is an expert in his field, matched only by sparingly few men - and several good women too.

But there was also a feeling of caution and anxiety as you both signed in and got your gear ready. Simon watched like a hawk as you eyed the guns over before making a few selections. A Glock 17, Mossberg 500 and M4 Carbine... Interesting selections.

This was as handsy as Simon had ever been with someone, ensuring that your safety gear was secure and that you followed instructions to the letter. He was already hesitant about this activity to begin with, but you seemed genuinely interested.

Simon ensured that you paid close attention, and that he assisted you with aiming as well as stood close by as you fired. What he wasn't expecting was your proficiency with the Mossberg. You each took turns firing at targets, and to no surprise to either of you, Simon was the winner... though there were no winners, it was all in good fun. But if there were, Simon would have won.

You: You chose the Glock because it had always fascinated you, the Mossberg because you grew up in the country and were familiar with similar shotguns and the Carbine because it seemed the most military of the selection.

You couldn't stop the thrill that ran through you as Simon checked all your gear and guns, ensuring everything was secure and safeties were on before going straight into his lecture about gun safety. You listened to him speak with confidence and authority, happy to see him in his element. You wanted to make sure you gave him and the guns the respect they deserved and did everything he said without question - or at least with very little question.

Your heart raced as Simon kept close. You knew very little about guns overall, but the way he pressed himself against you to help you aim, the calm voice he spoke in as he guided you, the feeling of his hand on your back as he stepped away to let you take the shot. You were melting with happiness.

The biggest thrill was when you fired the Mossberg several times. The look on Simon's face was priceless as you expertly handled the shotgun and even gave him a run for his money with your accuracy, but that was a secret to share another time.

You gracefully conceded your defeat to the expert in front of you, but couldn't help but notice what might have been pride in his look as he reviewed your targets one last time.

Cooking Class(es)

Simon: It's not that Simon is bad at cooking - he's really not - but he didn't have the opportunity to flex his skill often, and he had a select few dishes that he excelled at. So when you suggested this date, he was a bit apprehensive.

But Simon was a man used to following orders - usually - and listened intently to everything that was explained to him, so he settled in at the table next to you and took charge.

He needed a bowl? You had it for him already. Needed something washed? It was already done and drying. Missing ingredient? Nope, on your left. Simon appreciated your own attentiveness to the task, and how you made it go so much more smoothly.

And then the dessert section came up, and Simon floundered. Hard. Main courses aren't a challenge for him, but Simon doesn't bake. Not for a lack of interest, but a lack of time usually.

You picked up the slack though, and he reluctantly ceded control to you, letting you guide him in making the Zeppole.

Simon's demeanour softened as the class came to an end and you both sat there sampling the homemade ravioli, a glass of wine and eventually the Zeppole.

Before you parted ways, you gave Simon a tight hug, demanding he return it otherwise you weren't letting go. Simon decided to simply return the hug instead of forcing you off him.... not because he actually liked the hug from you.

You: Simon seemed to be taking this class very seriously from the moment he arrived. He stood in a typical rigid manner while listening and nodding along as instructions were given. The only thing missing was a few 'Yes sir!' replies.

The man made a complete mess though, and you found yourself quickly cleaning up after him in an attempt to keep up with his pace. But even still, you had fun. You got him the things you both needed for the meal, made sure the table was tidy and even engaged in some small talk.

It took everything in you to not laugh out loud as you say the panic in Simon's eyes as he read the instructions for the dessert. It was like he was reading a completely different language and, after a few failed starts, you took over and guided him.

As the class came to an end, and you could both indulge in the meal you created together. You clinked your wine glass against his and took a bite of the ravioli that was mostly his handiwork. It was good! Dessert wasn't too bad either and Simon gave a contented smile as he ate the last of the Zeppole.

You both relaxed on a nearby bench after the class for a few minutes, letting the meal settle in your stomachs before Simon explained he needed to get back to base. You stood up to say your goodbyes, but noticed how he lingered. How he hovered over you; closer than you were accustomed to from him. Taking the chance, you stepped closer and wrapped your arms around his waist and lowered your head into the crook of his neck. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, and you begin to worry you misread the situation; joking that you weren't going to let go until he reciprocated, and gently his hands found their way to your backside and pulled you into the best hug you've ever had. Simon held on longer than you did, though you never truly let go until his hands fell to his sides.

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