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cosmicbucky · 8 months

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wallpaper

summary: bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 1000

warnings: fluff, nonspecific friends to lovers, this was just a dumb idea i had

《《《《 ♡ 》》》》

The first time Bucky changed the wallpaper on your phone, it was an accident - kind of. He sat on your couch, lazily scrolling through the photos of Alpine you insisted he looked at, because you simply couldn’t resist having a Halloween photoshoot with her while he was off on yet another mission, leaving her in your trusting hands. He was happy you were in the kitchen, because he would never let you see the smile he wore as he browsed the album, chuckling silently to himself over how elaborate these photos were. His mood swiftly changed when he swiped incorrectly, an array of different options suddenly presenting themselves to him. He swore under his breath as he tried to make them go away, but he only made it worse as the option to change your wallpaper came up. With an annoyed huff, he just kept tapping, figuring that eventually he would get it back to how it was. After a few more grueling seconds, he sighed in relief as he was once more face to face with Alpine sitting inside a jack-o-lantern candy bucket - how was he supposed to know that photo was now both your lockscreen and homescreen?

“Did you change my lockscreen?” you curiously asked when you finally sat back down beside him, taking your phone and checking it for any new messages.

“Did I what?” he asked in confusion, his head snapping up from his own phone to look at you with a scrunched brow.

You could only laugh lightly, turning your phone to display the new photo brandishing your screen. The second Bucky saw it, his eyes widened almost imperceptibly as his face flushed ever so slightly.

“I, uh- sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to, your phone is just - it’s different than mine.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly, your chuckles growing into more laughter as you realized it was also your homescreen. “It’s okay, Buck,” you assured softly, laughing quietly as you changed the photos back to their precursors. “It could have been worse, at least it’s not an embarrassing photo or something.”

You were too busy fixing his mistake to notice the glint that sparkled in his eyes, a smirk growing on his face as your words gave him the most incredible idea he’s had in a while.

The second time Bucky changed your wallpaper, it was very much not an accident. You left him your phone so he could look at the photos you took on your latest trip, unpacking your bags as he split his attention between listening to your stories and scrolling through a seemingly endless array of new pictures - which he truthfully enjoyed, but he was on a secret mission for the perfect, nondescript one to choose.

“Again, Buck?” you giggled, flopping on the bed beside him as you took your phone back.

“What?” he asked, just innocent and clueless enough to not raise any flags.

“You and your fat thumbs, I swear,” you mumbled under your breath, changing the photos back once more, completely oblivious to his proud little smirk.

It took three more times for you to suspect that Bucky had started doing it on purpose, but your suspicions weren’t proven correct until he took a photo of you to display.

“Did you- when- really?” you stammered as you looked between him and your phone, half annoyed and half impressed because when did he even take this photo?

He only grinned in response, laughing about how long he was able to do it under the pretense of it being an accident before running away in a fit of giggles, dodging the pillow you threw after him.

From that moment on, it became a game for him.

Any opportunity that presented itself, Bucky snatched your phone and changed your displays to the most embarrassing and ridiculous photos of yourself.

A sunset was changed to you mid-sneeze. Alpine was changed to you post-nap. You partying with the gang was changed to an extreme close up of your face in that very photo. Louisiana docks were changed to you mid rant as you yelled at him to give you your phone back. A cherry blossom was changed to you passed out on the couch, wrapped up in a hoodie you stole from him and drooling all over the sleeve of it.

As time went on, you stopped being surprised whenever it happened, and you grew to enjoy it. It was a silly thing, but it was a silly thing that only you and Bucky shared. It was a special thing, a cherished thing. It was your favourite thing.

Neither of you realized how the dynamic between the two of you started morphing into something else right in front of your very eyes. It was slow. It was gradual and complex and delicate and went unnoticed for almost a whole year.

It was only noticed now, as Bucky took the opportunity to grab your phone as you slept soundly against his chest. It had been a while since he was able to get a chance to do this, and so he eagerly unlocked your phone, already running through different ideas of what picture to use.

He was caught off guard when the picture staring back at him was from a few weeks ago. It was the day you finally convinced him to let you drive his bike after months of endless asking. It was a photo neither of you knew Sam took until later that night, when he sent it to both of you.

It was you, sat in front of him on the bike and wrapped up in his arms, one securely planted on either side of you as his hands rested on yours, guiding you through everything as you both gleefully laughed at the fact that you actually managed to convince him to do this.

For once, Bucky didn’t have the heart to change it.

He couldn’t.

It was his wallpaper, too.

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nanaslutt · 7 months

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Do you think any of the jjk men could be into curvy/thicker women?

oh are u kidding? 100% absolutely. I might be projecting bcs i myself happen to be into thicker women, but allow me to allaborate… ahem…..

NSFW & SWF

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

SFW

Toji would absolutely love getting on his knees in from of you and sliding those soft knee high socks up your legs, his big hands caressing how your beautifully legs feel covered by the fabric. Using his massive palms to jiggle them around, smiling to himself as he watched them move.

Choso’s brain would self destruct seeing you in public for the first time, how your curves fill out your clothes fucking perfectly???? the way your hips move when you walk???? Your cheeks, how your skin looked soft to the touch. He had never felt like towards anything or anyone before, but something about your body in that pretty green sundress you were wearing was making him feel all kinda of flustered.

Gojo would be so obsessed with your ass. He would constantly be laying on your ass while you’re on your phone texting your friends, occasionally turning his head to bite into the fat of your ass, making sure to leave kisses on it afterwards. Groping it while you were doing dishes, slapping it while you stood in line at a coffee shop, the way it just looked so absolutely perfect in every. single. pair of pants you wore.

One of Geto’s favorite past times is to makeout with your tummy… he would be laying on your thighs, just caressing them while you relaxed together, and suddenly your shirt is pushed up under your breasts and he’s massaging the skin of your waist, kissing your tummy and hips, pulling back to stare at the stretch marks on your skin and shake his head in disbelief at how pretty they looked, dropping his head back to pepper more kisses on them. You better bet this extends to every other part of your body as well.

The first time Nanami saw you, you were in a bikini, and he had to sit down because all of the blood in his brain flooded to his toes. He had to cover his mouth and stop his jaw from dropping as he watched you descend into the water. The waves crashing against your skin, making you giggle at how cold it felt. The way time froze when you got out of the water, droplets falling down your body of which he was very jealous of, how the color of the bikini complimented your complexions so fucking well, he just had to ask you out to dinner, he needed to see how that perfect body looked in a nice dress.

NSFW

I just know Toji would love eating it from the back too. Spreading your ass and burying his face in your cunt, using his big hands to massage the fat of your ass to bring you back against his mouth. He would pull back after absolutly ravaging your pretty pussy and leave mean slaps on your ass, relishing in the way your skin recoiled at the contact.

Gojo would happily die between your thighs while you sat on his face. He would beg you 24/7 to suffocate him with your pussy. Thick thighs squeezing around his head while he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it. His hips would fuck up into the air at just how soft and supple your thighs felt in his big hands while he gripped them for support.

Don’t even get me started on Nanami. If you ever sent him photos of new lingerie you were trying on in some dressing room.. oh boy. The red background of the wallpaper, the dim lighting, the way your thighs and stomach were squeezed by the decorative straps of the fabric, how your tits were absolutely spilling out of the lacey bra????? He would get hard instantly, not being able to stop the fantasies of covering your mouth and fucking into your wet pussy right in that dressing room. Ripping the not-even-paid-for piece of clothing for the sin of obstructing his veiw of your body);&(&:$

Choso would be absolutely enamored with your love handles too i just know it. His large frame standing behind you in a mirror, gripping the fat on your waist so hard, his nails digging into the skin as he looked in the mirror at how the skin squished between his fingers. Not being able to look away from that sight combined with your tits freely slapping against your skin from his rough thrusts… He was gonna cum way too fast from just how hot you looked.

Geto would love to watch your ass ripple back against him when he gave you mean thrusts into the bed. He had you ass up, face down in the sheets, and he was fucking into you like a mad man. Spreading your ass to get a better view of your pussy that was absolutely swallowing up his thick cock, the way your wetness was creating a sticky mess on his pelvis made him feel drunk. He would yank your hair back. making you bend your body into a mean arch and moaning at how your body folded for him…..

safe to say I think the jjk men like thicc girls..

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oneforthemunny · 1 month

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what we do in the shadows |familiar!eddie munson x vampire!reader|

prompt: eddie is your familiar, but sometimes, he can be more than just your supernatural servant.

based off the fx show, what we do in the shadows. a little au version with eddie and the gang from hawkins :)

contains: au. familiar!eddie, vampire!reader. mentions of murder. vampire things. blood. types of vampires (energy vampire lol). mean! bitchy! reader. alludes to smut?? sorta smut but not really but slight dom!reader x sub!eddie. language. minors dni.

“Eddie!”

The muffled screech jolted Eddie from his mundane dusting, the feathered duster falling with a heavy thud onto the dark carpet, dust flying in a cloud at his feet. “Son of a bitch,” Eddie huffed, chains of his belt rattling when he bent, snatching the duster off the rug.

“Eddie! Can you not hear me?” The piercing scream echoed through the hallway, echoing off the dark, wallpapered walls. Eddie knew he needed to hurry, that the banging on the coffin’s lid would come next, your fury following for the rest of the day.

“I’m coming, Mistress!” Eddie’s teeth gritted, sliding down the dim, candlelit halls. How this place had managed to not burn down yet, Eddie wasn’t sure. The three of you were careless enough with the candles, always leaving them burning without a care. He supposed it was his job.

“Eddie! Where the fuck is he?” Your muffled tone came from the coffin, black and dramatic in the middle of the room.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Eddie huffed, pushing his bangs back out of his eyes. He needed a haircut, desperately, but with his new career, he supposed that wouldn’t happen anytime soon.

“Finally,” You growled. Eddie was met with your glowing amber eyes narrowing in predatory rage when he lifted the coffin’s heavy lid. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?” You snapped.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie nodded, swallowing back a snapping comment. “I was dusting down the hall, and I lost track of-”

“-Nevermind.” You snapped, rising quickly into a standing position. “Help me down. I have much to do today.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie stood to the side, offering his hand for you to take as you climbed down. He always wondered why you insisted on being helped out, as if you couldn’t fly out, snap your fingers and be wherever you wanted to be. It was symbolic, he decided, a way to ensure that he knew his place.

Your hand slid into his. His skin tickled when you brushed your long, claw-like nails that were freshly painted every Tuesday. He’d gotten very good at it, Eddie thought. A hiss fell through the room, your hand pulled back with a sizzling burn, teeth bared towards him in threat.

“What- Eddie! What have I told you about those rings?” You pointed accusingly at his rings- silver. It was a habit, to slip them on in the morning, one he hadn’t broken yet. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

“No, no.” Eddie shook his head frantically, tugging the rings off, shoving them in his pocket. “I’m sorry. I-I forgot-”

“-I’m sure you did.” You rolled your eyes, lips pursed in displeasure. “Don’t let it happen again. I burn myself again on those cursed things, and you’ll not have a hand to put them on anymore. Understand?” You clipped, nose in the air as you climbed down, nails digging into his skin just enough to solidify the threat.

“Yes, Mistress.” Eddie swallowed, following the commanding sway of your hips. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“Good.” You chirped. There it was. The whirlwind that was your emotions. Mood swings, Eddie never understood why they called them that until he met you. How you would go from raging to sweet in the bat of an eye. Maybe it came with being a vampire.

“Get my dress.” You waved your hand, the heavy mahogany closet door flinging open with ease.

“Which one were you wanting today?” Eddie swallowed his agitated sigh.

It had been a rough couple of days, the three- fuck, four, of his new found ‘roommates’ had been on a bender of sorts. A bender that would put the rockstars he idolized in high school to shame, much more metal than them. It was fun, Eddie would admit, but it was tiresome. Especially when he was still very much human, and so very exhausted.

“The black one.” You hummed, looking into a mirror you couldn’t see yourself in. Habit, of course, even after all these years.

“They’re all black, Mistress.” Eddie gritted, eyes pinching closed.

“The one with the long sleeves.” You waved him off. “You know the one I like.”

And he did. Eddie knew most everything about you at this point. Which dress you liked, your preference of food source, how many candles you liked lit at a time.

Eddie pushed through the racks, stopping when he saw the velvet garment. It was what you were wearing when he first met you. At the Hideout, where he was still bussing tables, hoping to finally get a weekend gig. You strolled in, magnetic from the moment his eyes laid eyes on you. So… intriguing in your tight velvet dress, fastened with a corset that held you up and in beautifully. Initially, he’d went to try and ask you out, and you’d humored his attempts because you were hungry. Then, after a few hours of conversation, you both decided he’d be a better Familiar than a meal.

“Eddie,” You hissed, breath whistling through your fangs. The sound never failed to make Eddie’s spine tingle, hair raising on the back of his neck in fear. “Have you hit your head? Is that it?”

“No,” Eddie grumbled, pushing the wooden hangers.

“Then what is it? Hm? Why are you dragging your feet today?” You snapped, hands curling around your hips.

“My apologies, Mistress.” Eddie huffed. “I’m just- nevermind. Here. I found it.” Eddie pulled the lacy material, hanging sleeves and bouts of black fabric out of the closet, hanging it on the door for you.

“No, finish what you were going to say.” Your eyes narrowed into his, commanding, but lacking the usual tone of challenge and threat. “You’re what?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. Do you need help zipping up this one-”

“-No, answer me, Eddie.” You lifted a finger towards him. “Do not make me use compulsion. I know how groggy and moody you get after it, and I have many plans for today. I’d rather not, but if you’re not going to comply, then I will be forced to-”

“-You don’t have to- Fuck, I’m just tired.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat, running a hand over his face. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Why?” Your head tilted, lips pursed in curiosity, reaching for the dress before sliding behind the dressing curtain.

“Because,” Eddie tried to focus on the carpet, on the candle wax that dripped off the table, anywhere but the curtain you were behind though he ached for even a silhouetted sliver of your frame. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Maybe you should get a coffee?” You peaked over the bamboo wood, a brow lifting in… playfulness?

“I think Robin has the lock box in her room. Ask her for it and go get yourself one.” As if draining a victim of their blood wasn’t enough, Eddie’s career consisted of stealing from them too. It always left him feeling a little uneasy, guilty, robbing the deceased.

“I’m alright. I just need a second to wake up.” Eddie muttered, heel of his palm pressing to his eyes, rubbing so hard he saw stars.

“Fine, but I better not hear one yawn during the house meeting.” You glared, stepping out from behind the dressing curtain. “You know how that irks me. Zip me.”

Eddie stood, one hand holding the top together, pulling the zipper slowly up your spine, finger brushing over your spine. Your skin was cold, like ice, a chilling reminder of what you truly were.

“Last chance.” You turned, swiping your shoes from the floor, discarded from the night before. “Before I go and wake the others.”

“I’m fine.” Eddie nodded softly, lips curling with the hinting of a smile. “Thank you.”

Your lips pursed, shifting at the sudden gratitude. He knew you were about to say something mean, put him down to establish your own dominance, you were predictable that way. “Don’t thank me,” You scoffed. “It’s not for you. I don’t want to hear your yawning.” You scoffed, eyes rolling hard towards him, before you were stomping down the creaking wooden planks of the hall.

The Creel Mansion was still standing strong, despite its abandoned looking exterior. It had been your refuge for years, decades even, since Victor had first brought you there. It was his house before, but now all that remained of him was a portrait at the end of the hall, half covered by a black veil you refused to let Eddie move.

“Robin!” Your shrill tone made Eddie wince, ears ringing at the pitch. “Nancy!”

“What?” Robin groaned, her voice muffled with sleep from the door of her coffin, which you pulled open, uncaring of disrupting her slumber. “What- Why?”

“House meeting. Hurry, before he gets home.” You muttered, turning over your shoulder towards Eddie. “Eddie, go check downstairs. Make sure he didn’t slip in early.”

Eddie nodded, grabbing a small handheld lantern- a gift from you. He kept burning himself with the candle opera you’d gifted him, and when he wasn’t searing his skin off with the flame, he was turning to quickly and extinguishing all the flames. You told him it was because he’d wake you up with his fumbling in the dark. When you’d included the batteries with the small lantern, Eddie was convinced it was because you were growing a soft spot for him.

A creaking of a door had Eddie jumping, looking through the flickering flames with his bright plastic lantern. “Uh, hey,” Eddie stepped closer. “Anyone there?”

The silence was an eerie answer, Eddie swinging the lantern around. It was times like this, he really wished that the electricity still worked, that he could flick a light on, and see what was lurking in the shadows. The dining room appeared empty, a few spider webs and lots of dust, but lack of any danger Eddie could see.

“Looking for something?”

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck-” Eddie jumped, nearly dropping his lantern, tripping over his own feet to scatter away from the figure in front of him.

“Did I scare ya?” Jonathan’s lips curled in a half smile, standing rigidly in the doorway. “You know, they say if you get scared easily, you’re not living right. That’s a saying that’s been repeated and found all throughout history. In Christianity, oddly enough, is where they-”

“-Alright, Jonathan. I got it.” Eddie lifted a hand, his heart still hammering. He could feel his lids beginning to droop, eyes starting to gloss over the way they always did when Jonathan ‘fed’. A shitty excuse for a vampire, Eddie thought, What the fuck even is a psychic vampire?

“Oh,” Your face fell, contorting into a grimace when you came down the steps. “Jonathan, you are home early today.”

“Yes, I decided to come home early today.” Jonathan droned in a painful monotone that had your shoulders tensing. “I didn’t want to miss the house meeting.”

“Wonderful.” You grimaced, looking at Eddie with an annoyed sneer. He fought back a snicker, turning to the bat down a cobweb that he missed. You could be funny at times, when you wanted.

“I know you three tried to hide it from me, but you always talk too loud. You forget the walls are thin. Which reminds me, did you know that back in the early nineteen-hundreds when this house was first built, that architects of that time used-”

“-Yes, Jonathan. Please, shut the fuck up.” Robin groaned, falling into the leather armchair.

“Jonathan, I really can’t humor you today.” Nancy glared at him lightly. “You know the rules, if you’re going to be in a house meeting with us, you can’t feed off of us.”

“I know.” Jonathan lifted his hands. “Sorry, I can’t help myself.” He turned to Eddie with a grin. “Guess it’s just you I’ll be feeding from.”

“Not from my Familiar either, Jonathan.” You snapped, teeth baring in territorial threat. “Eddie is off limits.” Eddie’s chest swelled with pride, chin tipping towards the floor, hoping it would hide his blush.

“Why are we even having a house meeting?” Robin rolled her eyes, the bags under her eyes especially prominent from lack of slumber.

“Because,” You hissed, shoulders tight with annoyance. “You three need to get your own familiar.”

Robin scoffed, Nancy rolling her eyes in agreement. “What?”

“You three always call for Eddie to do everything, and it distracts him from me.” You jabbed a sharp nail into your chest. “I need him to be attentive to my needs, not yours. Go get your own familiar.”

“Oh, please-”

“-We only ask him to do a few things that should already be done-”

“-I have to agree with Rob and Nance on this one.” Jonathan lifted a finger.

“Do not call me that.” Nancy hissed, her teeth baring in the dull light of the room.

“Nan?” Jonathan turned, eyes lighting up though his expression stayed neutral, the way it always did when he was feeding.

“Ok,” You lifted your hands, stopping the attack Nancy was about to launch. “Find your own familiar. Eddie is my familiar, and is to attend to me exclusively.”

“I’m sure he does.” Robin muttered, Nancy’s snicker making your ears burn- well, it would, if they still could. Eddie’s cheeks did burn a bright red, shifting at the innuendo.

Your eyes narrowed, a threatening glare that neither of your roommates seemed phased by, only furthering your irritation. A sharp snap of your fingers, heavy soled steps clicking down the hall, and Eddie was following you.

“Idiots,” You hissed, flinging the door open. “All of them. I should’ve told them no, that they’d have to find their own nest, but oh no. I had to feel fucking generous and kind that day.”

Eddie stood in your doorway, hands rubbing down the material of his jeans, unsure of what to say, what to do. His eyes on you, waiting for your next command, for you to tell him what you were wanting, what you were thinking.

“Are you just going to stand there?” You huffed, a lashing tone that had Eddie jumping.

“No, wha-what do you need me to do?” Eddie stammered, uneasy with the glare you were giving him, so menacing. He knew better, or at least he thought he did, that you wouldn’t hurt him. You’d chosen him to be your Familiar for a reason… right?

“I don’t know, something?” You scoffed, eyes rolling back over his frame. “Maybe start with changing your clothes. We’re going out tonight and I’m not being seen with you in that.”

Eddie’s lips pursed, jaw grinding tight. He’d blame the lack of sleep on his agitation. “What do you want me to wear then, Mistress?” Eddie’s tone was bitter, toying on the edge of annoyance.

“Who are you speaking to-”

“-You.” Eddie snapped, shocking both of you. There was a pause, realization washing over the two of you. “I just- I like what I have on, ok?” Eddie’s tone was softer, looking down at his ripped jeans and holey band tee. “It’s what people from this century wear.”

Your lips rolled, flattening into a furious line. For a moment, Eddie thought you might pounce- fully preparing himself for the hiss, the baring of teeth, to feel his throat being ripped from his neck. Instead, you simply huffed, turning on your foot.

“Fine.” A quipping, positively moody huff of a reply came. In that moment, you sounded petulant, human.

“If you insist on wearing mauled clothing, then so be it.” You shrugged, a snarl still pulling on the edge of your lips.

“Thank you.” Eddie nodded, swallowing down the tremble in his throat. “And, uh, thank you for before, too.” You turned, brow lifted in intrigue. “For- During the meeting.”

“I didn’t do that for you.” Your reply was quick, teetering on defensive. “I did that for myself. I can’t wait for you because they’re too lazy to go out and compel their own Familiar.”

“Right.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He gave up, ready to throw the towel in. Clearly, you were set on your mood and there would be no changing it. No swaying it with charming kindness today.

“I’m going to go.” Eddie stepped towards the door. “I’ll go dust or something. Just let me know when you’re ready to go-”

“-No.” Your voice echoed through the halls, bouncing off the walls, a sense of urgency that had Eddie freezing.

You wrung your hands in front of you, anxiously. “No, just- stay in here.”

Eddie frowned. “You just told me to go do something.”

“I know,” You huffed. “But, just stay in here with me. Robin and Nancy won’t be ready for hours, and… and if you go down there Jonathan will try to feed and drain you, and-”

Eddie recognized the ramble in your tone, a sliver of humanity breaking through the cracks of your cold, monstrous exterior. It was rare, you to turn soft like this- needy, but Eddie knew why you did it. He knew what you wanted.

“Fine.” Eddie nodded, stepping into your bedroom, shutting the door carefully so the candles didn’t blow out.

A lingering pause fell between the two of you, thick with an uncomfortable but familiar tension. Routine but an oddity all the same.

“What do you want me to do in here, hm?” Eddie’s voice dropped, slow steps across the hardwood towards you. “Just sit here and stare at you.”

“No,” Your chest tightened. It had been years since your heart had beat, but you swore Eddie could make it skip. “Surely, there’s something better that we could do to pass the time.” You declared, voice a little shaky with desperation to regain your control.

“Yeah? What do you have in mind?” Eddie’s lips curled in a smirk, his face near inches from yours. “I’m at your service, Mistress.”

Your body tingled with heat, the only warmth you craved, the only warmth you needed. You were shocked, when you first transitioned to your undead state, that this feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger.

“I think you know what I have in mind.” You glared at him, half heartedly. “Don’t make me beg, or I’ll make you beg later.”

“I would never, Mistress.” Your thighs twitched, Eddie’s hands sliding over the lacy material of your dress, the swell of your hips. “I’m your faithful servant. You just tell me what you want- whatever you need.”

“Hm,” You breathed slowly, your body closing in with him, chest to chest. Your nails raked over the etched skin of his forearms, dragging a sharp nail up his neck, to his jaw. Eddie shuddered, fingers sinking into your waist

Your lip grazed over his, mouth parting just barely, your fangs hovering over his bottom lip teasingly. Eddie swallowed back a moan that you didn’t miss. Your eyes met his, darker now- nearly black, the way they always darkened when you got like this. Aroused and needy, entirely hungry for something.

“You’ve got to be quiet this time.” You gave him a pointed look. “They heard last time. They’re starting to catch on.”

“Sorry.” Eddie swallowed, nose brushing over yours. He wanted to press his hand to the back of your head, kiss you with an urgency, but he knew better. That wasn’t how you liked it. Oh no, you liked the anticipation, the adrenaline filled excitement that came with teasing.

“Who cares if they know anyways?” Eddie muttered brainlessly, eyes glossing when they met yours. “What’s so wrong with it?”

“It’s unnatural.” You whispered. “Complicated.”

“What’s so complicated about it?” Eddie scoffed lightly, hand sliding up your spine, towards your zipper. “You’re turning me into a vampire anyways, right? Why’s it matter?”

You hesitated, breath hitching and ghosting over his lip, chilling him. “It’s just- it makes things difficult now.” You stammered, fingers sliding through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about that now.” Your thumbs pressed lightly to his temples, his eyes meeting yours.

“For now,” You purred, lips curling in a small grin. “I think you should thank me again, but this time,” Your nose brushed over his. “By letting me sit on your face. That seems fair, right? You thank me, I keep you quiet- a win-win.”

Eddie blushed, lips spreading in a wide grin. “Yes, Mistress.”

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

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You don't like silence

Part of the Metanoia series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

The house is silent, but inside your head a brumous storm swirls, wispy tendrils of fog curling around delicate gray matter.

Your routine—watching Johnny walk Isobel to school, going to work and coming home, just in time to glimpse Johnny leaving to retrieve her—has changed.

You still watch from the window, mug bleeding warmth into cold, stiff joints from between your palms. Peer around the curtains every morning as the pair amble down the pavement together.

A new month brings a steady influx of meetings and end of quarter reporting, projected sales and last minute production tweaks, but your days are no busier than normal. Rarely miss a lunch break. Leave no later than three each afternoon.

Dinner, if you have any, is ready by five.

Even so, restlessness lingers in the midnight moons hanging beneath your eyes, darkens the air around you with somnolent clouds, and you list in the torpid deluge that rains down.

Sleep evades you altogether most nights, and you’ve made a game of picking out patterns in the knockdown. Faces, animals; nebulous, nameless things.

Some nights, when the faces of strangers, burned into your retinas, find their way into the patterns of textured drywall, you listen.

Isobels room must be on the other side of yours, beds sharing a wall. On the nights you manage to make it upstairs, you can hear them both. Isobel’s slow and measured pronunciations. The lilt of Johnny’s voice, filling in the blanks where she pauses on a word she doesn’t yet know.

They’ve finished all of her animal books, which means the imitated roars of big cats and bleats of farmyard animals have morphed into exaggerated accents. Sing-song rhymes about the importance of kindness, accepting differences, and other life lessons told through colorful illustrations and whimsical narratives.

Every now and then, if you’re lucky, she falls asleep within a few pages, and you can pretend that the low, pillowy rumble of Johnny reading is just for you. A gentle coaxing made of velvety words, swaddling your mind, heavy with exhaustion, and cradling it to his chest against the maelstrom you’re spiraling in.

Sometimes she stirs, woken hours later in the placid, milky hours before dawn, just as your eyes begin to droop. Tiny feet patter across the hardwood like rain, muffled in uneven intervals by what must be a rug or runner in the hall, on her way to Johnny’s room or the washroom maybe.

You wonder if it’s full of frilly, feminine things, her room. Pinks and purples, dolls and plushies. Does she have princesses or ballerinas on her bedding? Do posters and drawings line her walls or does floral, pasted wallpaper?

She likes Mulan, you remember. A warrior. Fighter. Soldier. Like Johnny.

Probably not so frilly, then.

Perhaps they could make a fighter out of you. Press you into the mold of their little family–strengthened by loss and galvanized with love–and breathe life into clay limbs. Carve a soldier from the malleable earth. Shape you into something useful.

Now, most of your nights are spent huddled in the living room, listening to the droning of the television. Throw blankets suck you down into the sofa like quicksand and each breath draws them tighter and tighter around you, filling pockets of air with crushed velvet and fleece. Tonight, you let them swallow you whole. Sink willingly into a latibule of plaid and warm cashmere.

The cold and quiet of your empty home isn’t so bad when you can hear Johnny moving about on the other side of the wall. Isn’t so unbearable when the warm timbre of his voice chases away the numbing fog that muddles your head.

There are nights that he calls you, like he knows. Knows that you're drowning in the silence.

He does that now, after he puts Isobel to bed for the night. Calls to ask about your week. Casts a lifeline into the churning ocean between you, procellous waves lofting you on spuming peaks, and calls your name from the battered, broken shore.

A lighthouse calling to a ship, lost in the mist on a perilous sea.

Last Thursday he asked about the cookies you made with Isobel. Asked if you would be willing to share the recipe with him–teach him–so that he could make them with her for a school event coming up in the spring.

The tenderness with which he speaks of her is a balmy breeze for your gelid heart. Soothes the burn of ice floes in your veins. Melts weeks of tension from aching muscles.

Now, his voice is somber, pensive, as it filters through the lack of insulation between you. “Friday. No, ah havnae told ‘er yet. Jus’ got the call.” He pauses, and you think you hear a muffled sigh. He sounds tired, too, accent thicker than honeyed whiskey rolling off his tongue, dropping consonants in favor of deep, throaty vowels. “Aye, ah ken. She’ll be happy tae see ye though.”

He’s on the phone, talking about Isobel. They must have family visiting soon, or a family friend if Isobel knows them well enough to be excited.

You wonder what the MacTavish family is like, if they’re a rowdy bunch. If they’re a large, extended family. Johnny seems like the kind of man who comes from a close knit community, one where you grow up down the street from your cousins and spend summers terrorizing small towns together.

“I’ll talk tae ‘er in the mornin’. Ah- No.” There’s a pause again, and even with layers of sheetrock separating you, you can feel the weight of his silence. “No, Mam. She’s… ah worry. Leavin’ ‘er like this. Piss poor timin’.”

He’s leaving? Without Isobel?

It’s muffled through the wall, and you feel like you can’t have heard that correctly. He mentioned the army, but you had thought, with a child at home, that his work wouldn't be the sort that requires travel.

Ice floes turn to glaciers in your chest, frozen spikes threatening to pierce brittle, fragile muscle, and the clouds swirling overhead descend upon you.

Lost in the mist, and he’s leaving.

He’s leaving, and he’s taking the sun with him.

“Ye cannae keep it from the lassie forever, John. Ye havnae even told 'er what ye do?”

Christ, this woman…

“She knows ‘bout the army,” he defends. “Cannae say much more.”

Fenella MacTavish clucks her disapproval. “Ye’re heids full of mince.” Dishes clatter and a cupboard closes a bit too forcefully on the other end of the line.

Johnny runs a hand through the disheveled strands of his hair, overdue for a trim, well outside of regulation length. “Mam—”

“Dinnae ‘Mam’ me,” she cuts in. “John Alexander MacTavish, ye tell that lass what she’s gettin’ herself intae—or I will.”

“Mam,” he tries again, voice pitched low, “Not yet. Cannae send ‘er off, naw like I do wi’ Bell. It’s safe enough here.” You’re safe with him here. “Dinnae like knowin’ she’s alone—Christ, I can hardly stand tae have the wall between us when I ken she’s hurtin’—but there isnae anythin’ I can do that’s naw already been done. Kate’s made sure of that.”

Fenella huffs and he can’t quite make out the garbled muttering on his end, but he has a fair idea of what his mother is blathering about beneath her breath. “Kirsten—have ye gone tae see 'er?” she finally asks, mercifully shifting the conversation out of your direction. “Has Isobel?”

“No,” he admits, and guilt twists in barbed coils through his chest.

He’s been meaning to, to drive up for the weekend and take her to visit her mothers grave, now that she’s older. Stay with her gran and look through the old albums. She's only ever seen the few photos they have at home, hanging in the hall near the kitchen.

Sometimes she asks about her. If she liked the things she likes. The way rain freezes on the tall grasses and tree branches in the winter, making glass gardens of trellises and window boxes. Extra whipped cream and blueberries for her pancakes.

If she would have walked with them to school in the mornings. Take her to the park down the block in the summer. Hiking in the fall, looking for wisps darting about beneath the fallen abscission.

Isobel is so much like her mother there are days Johnny swears it’s her refusing to eat the dinner he’s made. That it’s her complaining about cold weather and overcast skies in the heart of winter, bemoaning how long they have until spring revives the land. Swears it’s her voice that wakes him in the middle of the night. Her ghost, standing in the dimly lit doorway of his bedroom, a blanket pulled ‘round her shoulders and a teddy dangling from her hand.

“I’ll take ‘er, then.” Johnny can hear the grief that tempers his mothers voice, turning anguish to steely resolve. “I’ll come by tomorrow evening, let ‘er have a few hours with ye at home before ye say yer goodbyes.”

“Thank ye, Mam,” he says on a strained exhale, lungs rattling with fragments of his own grief. It slices into old wounds until pockets of air become sanguineous aquifers, bubbling up in his throat and leaving a sour, metallic taste on his tongue.

“I meant what I said earlier,” she reminds him. “Ye tell yer lass. Dinnae leave ‘er in the dark like ye did Kirsten.”

The line goes silent and Johnny sinks back into the old corduroy sofa, pushed up against the wall beside a shelf overflowing with picture books in the living room, and a ragged sigh unfurls from his chest.

The television across from him is dark, turned off when he took Isobel upstairs for bed, but he can hear an old rerun of Taskmaster playing softly behind him.

He listens, every night, for you. For the sound of your fridge, opening and closing. The soft ‘clink’ of porcelain against granite. The oven timer or the microwave.

He prefers the former. Knows, after these last few weeks, that you cook when you’re in a good mood. Usually go to bed soon after. The sound of the microwave precedes long, muted evenings and little sound from your side of the wall. He won’t hear the stairs creak beneath your sluggish feet until the wee hours of the morning. If at all.

He listens in the mornings, too, while he makes Isobel’s breakfast. Makes sure he can hear you doing the same. Smiles to himself when he glimpses movement in the window beside your door, a miniscule swaying of the curtain, and he holds Isobel’s hand a little tighter as they navigate lingering ice patches on the pavement.

The phone call with his mother, making arrangements for Isobel, masked the sound of your movements earlier, and his fingers twitch against his leather phone case.

When your side of the wall is quiet, he knows a storm is brewing; that you’re sitting in the eye of it, waiting for the walls to close in around you.

He doesn’t know if you’ve eaten tonight. Can’t hear anything beyond the muffled television and occasional creak of the sofa beneath your shifting weight.

So he calls.

One… two… three… four… “Hi, Johnny.” Soft and breathy. Like the air the words are spoken on has borrowed from the softness of your lips as it spills into the receiver.

This is the way you sound when you’re tired, he’s learned, all soft and rounded syllables. Too exhausted, even for your own nervous habits. You don’t have the bandwidth to explain every little thing like you normally would; don’t bother with rationalizing your actions aloud.

“Hi, bonnie. What’s cookin’?” It’s cheesy as hell, but it earns a huff of a laugh from you and it tempers the jagged edge of his worry—a knife, lodged between his ribs.

“I, uh… I had leftovers. Takeaway, from a work thing.” He’s never seen you with takeaway. Always canvas bags full of groceries and the occasional frozen box dinner.

How empty is your fridge? When was the last time you went to the grocer?

“Didnae take ye for the ‘easy’ type. Ye always make me work for it.”

“Work for it?” He can picture the pinch of your brows. The way your lips quirk to the side when you’re confused.

“Aye, got me makin’ puppy eyes an’ beggin’ for yer scraps.” You laugh again, more of a scoff, but it eases some of his worry all the same.

“When have I ever made you beg, Johnny?” He’s been begging any higher power that will listen to see you smile again, and he’d give anything to see the smirk he knows is dancing at the corner of your mouth right now.

“Could do it tomorrow,” he blurts before he can think better of it. “Come over. Show me that recipe again.”

Don’t make him tell you he’s leaving over the phone.

“I thought… you said the charity event is at the end of March, right?”

“Aye, but I think I’ll need a few lessons ‘fore my bakin’s fit for auction.”

He needs to know—needs to see—that you’re well before he goes.

“And you want to start tomorrow?”

“Why not?” He’d have you baking in his kitchen now if it weren’t for the late hour.

There’s a stretch of silence, interrupted only by the faint crackling of static and the sound of your breathing. “Do you have flour? Sugar? Anything to bake with?” you ask, and he answers with a proud ‘yes’. “Okay… okay. I can come over after work tomorrow.”

“I’ll ‘ave Bell home early then. She’ll want tae help.” Your amused sigh echoes across the line, followed by the faint rustling of fabric and then the soft pattering of stocking-clad feet over hardwood, fourth and fifth step creaking softly as you climb the stairs. “Off tae bed?”

Another sigh–on the tail-end of a yawn, he realizes. “Yeah. Well, trying. Don’t get a lot of sleep these days,” you admit, and though he’s successfully abated the storm of your thoughts, he wishes he could disperse it entirely.

Be the shelter you seek, at the very least.

He’d nestle you in the warmth of his bed, tucked close and sleeping soundly in the cage of his arms. Anchor you to him with a leg hooked between yours, whispering adulation against the howling, taunting winds.

He would make himself a rock to let your tempestuous thoughts batter and besiege. Weathered and whittled down to pebbles on a beach, he’d roll in the undertow alongside you. And when he is but sand on the ocean floor, still, he would drift and settle wherever the storm of you takes him.

“I used tae read for my sister when we were weans. She’d wake, spooked from a dream, and come tae my room in the middle of the night.”

“You have a sister?” A door clicks closed and blankets whisper over sheets as you settle in for the night. “What’s she like?”

“A lot like our Mam. Headstrong. Stubborn.”

“Are you the oldest?” You sound further away. Muffled. Like you’ve got the blankets pulled up to your nose and the phone beside you on the pillow.

“I am,” he lilts.

“She gets it from you, then,” you murmur, and his chest tightens.

“She got a fair number of things from me, I’d wager.”

He continues on, speaking just above a low, gravelly whisper. Reminiscing his early years and the trouble the two of them got up to. Thick as thieves and wild as the kellas cats roaming the highlands.

Your interjections dwindle, turn to soft hums and slow, even breaths. Sleeping.

He listens for a few more minutes to the soft, sweet sounds you make, little chuffs and sleepy hums, the susurrations of shifting sheets and nightclothes, and he whispers into the darkness, “Goodnight, sweet girl.”

Work passes you by in a blur, meeting after meeting chipping away at the hours and minutes ticking by on the analog clock perched on your desk.

The drive home is uneventful and it feels as though you’ve passed through a wormhole somewhere along the way. Can’t quite remember making the turn into your neighborhood from the main road.

Normally, Johnny would be leaving to retrieve Isobel from school right now, but as you gather your things and step out of the car you hear your name being called from several houses down.

Braids bounce and red wellies squeak as Isobel darts ahead of Johnny, weaving around patches of ice to get to you, and you step up onto the pavement just in time to keep her from running into the road.

She barrels into you, wrapping her arms around your leg and smooshing her face against your slacks. “Ye’re back!” she squeals, fingers curling into the fabric.

She’s leaving.

Your hand settles atop her head, soft wisps of curls tickling the pads of your fingers where they’ve escaped their plaits. “Where did I go?” you ask, and she tips her head back to look up at you.

“Bubby said ye were busy with work. Sometimes he gets busy too, and I have to stay with my gran.”

They’re both leaving.

Johnny’s caught up with her, lingering a few steps away near the walkway leading to your door. When you look to where he stands, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, windbreaker bunched up around his forearms where a tattoo peeks out, the corners of his eyes glimmer.

A smile curves the corners of his mouth, and it’s an odd mixture of grief and happiness that flickers there in the crook of his lips and set of his brow, sloped upwards and creased in the middle. His hair is longer than you remember, scruffy sides and tufts of mohawk curling at the ends, loose strands tousled around his face.

Wind blows at your back and a single tear tracks down the sharp plane of his cheek, disappearing in the dark shadow of stubble that lines his jaw.

“I have been busy with work,” you confirm, peering down at Isobel once more. “But I didn’t leave.”

You’re staying, and they’re leaving.

The wind picks up and she presses closer, shielding herself from the cold behind your frame. “Let’s get ye inside and put yer book bag away. Then we can catch up over cookies an’ milk,” Johnny says as he closes the distance between you.

“Cookies?!” Her excitement carries on the wind, and his smile sharpens, bright and hopeful, but the whetted edge of sorrow undercuts the warmth.

“Aye, but we’ll have to make ‘em ourselves.” He brushes a stray lock from her eyes, fingers brushing against yours where his hand settles beside it on her crown, and dread blooms low in your stomach where warmth should.

She ducks away from you both, bolting towards their front stoop, and you’re left with both of your hands hovering in the air, his half curled over yours, staring after her.

You pull away first, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I just need to sort this–” You gesture to the tote full of binders and your laptop. “–and I'll be right over.”

He fishes his keys from his pocket and takes a step back, towards Isobel. “We’ll be waitin’,” he says with a wink, and turns to take her inside.

There's flour in your hair and matching handprints on your slacks, and neither Johnny nor Isobel have fared much better. You’re all a mess, and the cookies you’ve made are tantamount to your disheveled state–lumpy, dry masses of something more closely resembling a biscuit.

“Dunno what ah did wrong,” Johnny muses, breaking one in half and inspecting the crumbly texture.

You sit beside him at the kitchen table, watching Isobel dunk half a cookie into a glass of milk. “It’s the butter and flour. The ratio is imbalanced–not enough fat.” She doesn’t seem to mind, stuffing the entire piece in her mouth and readying the next, fingers covered in crumbs that fall in her milk.

Johnny shifts beside you, sliding out of his chair and taking a bite out of his cookie as he moves towards the fridge. “Still tastes good,” he says around a mouthful and pours two more glasses, placing one down in front of you when he returns. “But I’ll need another demonstration when I’m back, I think.”

You take a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table, breaking off a chunk to dunk in your milk, and ignore the mirrored sensation in your chest. You knew this was coming. You know he’s leaving.

“When you’re back? From where?” you probe. No need to dance around the subject.

He shifts again, uncharacteristically nervous, and speaks softly. “Have to leave for a little while, for work,” he explains. Your cookie turns pliant between your fingers and you bite off the softened corner, chewing slowly while you listen. “Willnae know where they’re sendin’ me to until the briefin’.”

“When are you leaving?” You stare down at the crumbs swirling in your glass.

“Tomorrow morning.”

The foreknowledge of his impending departure doesn’t make the break any cleaner. The fracturing feeling in your chest widens into fissures and chasms, jagged edges crumbling, tumbling down into the festering darkness.

When you lift your gaze you find that he’s been watching you–studying you–and his hand has crept across the table, close enough you can feel the warmth of him. “How long?” It comes out wobbly. Unsteady.

You’re drifting out to sea again.

“Few weeks. Maybe a month.” Your chest feels like it’s caving in.

There’s a knock at the door. A canary in a coal mine, warning come too late.

“Gran!” Isobel’s chair nearly topples as she pushes back from the table, racing from the kitchen to the front door.

Johnny’s hand covers yours, long, callused fingers curling around your clenched fist and squeezing. “I’ll be back before ye know it,” he murmurs, smoothing a strand of hair away from your face and tracing the curve of your jaw as he stands.

He only goes as far as the kitchen doorway. Your heart’s already somewhere in the North Sea.

“Hi, Mam.” He’s greeted by an older female voice and pulled into a hug by a woman a whole head shorter than him. Isobel hovers nearby, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot, and tugs at the older woman’s–her grandmother’s–cable knit sweater.

“Gran, come meet our friend!” she says, and tugs again until she lets go of Johnny.

You stand from the table on wobbly legs, fighting to balance your listing emotions and put on a warm smile as Johnny’s mother slides past him into the kitchen.

The resemblance between the three of them is uncanny. Johnny shares his mothers dark coloring, rich hair and warm skinned, and they all have the same eyes–steely hues of grey-blue, spiraling outwards from inky pupils like storm cells.

“So, this is the lassie next door ye willnae stop glaverin’ on about?” she asks no one in particular as she openly appraises you.

“Mam–” Johnny begins, a simmering warning, but she holds up a hand to silence him.

They carry themselves in a similar manner, in the set of their shoulders and broad stance. She may not stand as tall as he does but she’s no less imposing, and it’s an effort not to squirm under her scrutiny.

Seconds feel like hours as she looks you up and down, cataloging the flour on your pants and in your hair, glancing to her left where Johnny stands in a state of equal disarray, and a knowing look flickers like lightning in her storm cloud eyes.

“It’s good tae finally put a face wi’ a name,” she says, smiling, and pulls you into a hug, too. “Call me Fenella, or Fen, whichever ye like.”

You return the gesture hesitantly, looking over her shoulder to Johnny for guidance and finding none. He simply smiles back at you from where he leans against the doorway, something unreadable in his expression lingering beneath it.

“It’s nice to meet you too… I- I’d love to stay, but should probably be heading home. I have an early morning and wouldn’t want to intrude on your visit,” you say by way of excuse.

“Ah’m naw stayin’ long, dear,” she explains, finally pulling away. Isobel returns to her side, pressing her shoulder to her thigh, and Fenella’s hand settles on the crown of her head. “Here tae take the wean for a stay wi’ her gran.”

“Is yer bag ready, leannan? D’ya have all yer books for school?” Johnny asks from where he stands, hands having found their way into his pockets again. His shoulders droop, broad frame deflating before your eyes. Leaving her behind, even with his mother, takes a toll on him.

Isobel leans around her gran to say, “I’ave all my books. And Mr. Ghost.”

“Goan an’ get yer things then, Bell,” Fenella ushers her out of the kitchen, climbing the stairs behind her to her room.

You watch until they disappear above the half open staircase, but Johnny has been watching you. Watching you navigate the shoal of your emotions, razor sharp rock scraping against a flimsy hull.

“C’mere, lass,” he entreats, one arm outstretched towards you, and your feet move of their own accord, carrying you forward until his hand settles on your shoulder, momentarily moored in the eddy of a tide pool. “Didnae mean to tell ye in the middle of… this.” He gestures above him to the sound of footsteps overhead. “Only got the call yesterday.”

With your hands folded at your front, you stare down at them, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. “It’s okay. I understand—”

“No, lass, it isnae okay,” he interrupts, hand gliding up your shoulder, your neck, and coming to rest on your cheek. He lifts your gaze back up to his and he’s wearing that nameless emotion, staring down at you with a pained expression.

This hurts him as much as it hurts you.

“The job I do, it isnae always… predictable. Dinnae get much warning when I’m called in for assignments. I should have warned ye…” his thumb traces soothing arcs over your cheek, but it does nothing for the gaping hole in your chest. “I’m sorry… I should have—”

“It’s okay, Johnny. Really.” The lie feels like rubbing salt into a wound, burns the back of your throat like you’re speaking around a lump made of sandpaper, and your voice comes out scratchy and raw.

His hand lingers on your cheek, eyes darting from yours to your nose, lips, cheeks, brow. Memorizing.

“Let me walk ye home?” You nod, unsure if you can speak around the cordolium lodged in your throat, and his hand moves from your cheek to your waist, guiding you through the razor rock and churning tide to the front door.

His arm remains firmly around you, fingers digging into your softness as he escorts you across the meager expanse of your lawn.

There’s an SUV, still running, parked in front of both houses and left to keep warm while Isobel gathers her things. She and Fenella step out into the brisk evening air just as you and Johnny reach the top of your stairs, and Isobel waves to you as they descend. Your arm feels leaden as you lift your hand into the air, waving back to her.

“She‘ll miss ye. Talks about ye all the time,” Johnny says beside you, unwilling to let you go just yet. “I’ll be missin’ ye too,” he admits, and you thought you’d found the bottom of the pit in your stomach. Thought you were already lying at the bottom of it.

You were wrong.

The well of your affection for them feels bottomless. The floor crumbles, residual tremors of the quaking in your chest, and you’re falling, falling, falling…Even with his arm around your waist.

You fell in love with the man in front of you. Fell in love with the darling little girl climbing into her grandmother's car. You’re already in love with Fenella and her dedication to her family.

You’ve been falling this whole time, no safety net in sight.

“I- …” Your voice cracks, and you try again. “I’ll miss you, too. Both of you.”

You’re falling, and they’re leaving.

There’s little warning, just a tug of your blouse, before you’re being folded into his arms. A wide palm cradles your head to his chest, fingers threading through your hair, and he presses his cheek to your crown.

“Won’t be able to use my phone a lot, but I’ll call when I can.” He murmurs his promise into your hair. “If… if I’m not here an’ somethin’ happens… I gave my Mum yer number. Saved hers in yer phone when I gave ye mine.” He pauses. Sucks in a shuddering breath before he continues. “Whatever it is, she’ll help.”

You nod your understanding and he pulls back just enough to see your face, guides your head to look up at him and says, “Promise me. Promise that ye’ll go to her if ye need anythin’,” with a desperation you’ve never heard from him.

So you make another promise. Let your eyes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours and ghosts his lips across the chilled skin of your brow.

And then he leaves.

Isobel is sorted, buckled into her car seat and saying her goodbye’s to Johnny, and Fenella MacTavish stands beside the driver’s side door, watching.

She’s said this goodbye a hundred times. Sent him off to god knows where to fight a war she’s never heard of. It never gets easier.

Isobel’s door closes, and her son turns to her with pain in his eyes. “I hate leaving ‘er.”

“Which one?” she intones, and Johnny leans his hip against the B pillar.

“Both of them. The three of ye.”

“Then make sure ye come back tae ‘er–tae all of us,” she advises, and pulls him into one last hug. “I cannae bury another child.”

Next>>>

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dahliakbs · 2 months

Text

Damian Wayne x Child! Reader (Part 1) - This won't do —⁠☆

Synopsis: after seeing the state of your apartment Damian pulls some strings and changes your life on step at a time.

Masterlist , Pillager Of Art

"Are your parents attending the pta meeting?" Damian asks.

After seeing the wretched state your house was in Damian chose to stand at the door.

The moldy yellow floor of your apart was covered in dirt and whatever substances you managed track back into the house. The walls in the same sorry state with a moldy yellow wallpaper that was covered in nasty cracks and stains that could never be removed.

The tiles of your flooring were covered in a bottomless pit of clothes and whatever else was in that pile. Your window didn't show some immaculate view of Gotham City instead it was closed off with would. Glass shards left on the floor in front of the window after a stray bullet was shot through your window.

"Oh my Dad, he's not coming" you say as you make your way towards your kitchen.

Damian couldn't bare looking into the kitchen to see what mess was made in their so he chose to stair the ceiling instead.

"Why not?" He tilts his head to the side, he was told by Alfred that events like these were the only way to see how your child was progressing and apparently it was mandatory for parents to attend so why weren't your coming?

"Oh, my parents are dead" you said as if It didn't bother you and it didn't.

Your mother had sadly passed away during child birth.

Your dad tho...

He was a piece of work, never cared for your well-being AT ALL. You basically raised yourself in this house. The only reason you hadn't starved yet was because your father left food in the cupboard for you to use (mostly unhealthy cheap food).

You barely ever saw your dad and when he died you hadn't even noticed, not like he ever came home anyway. The only way you knew was when the news broadcast came on and you saw a blurred out image of a man that vaguely resembled your father.

There were several gunshot holes scattered around the figures body and by the looks of it he was probably just getting off of work before the death occurred.

The situation never bothered you, having no adults around was a blessing if anything.

"My parents can't come but I'll wait with you until your dad does" you replied and gasped when you found what you were looking for.

"Dami you have to try one" you turned to him with a cup of ramen noodles in hand.

"No thank you, aren't there other options?" he asked as he began to list off foods he'd already eaten before.

Safe to say, you hadn't even know those foods existed or eaten anything that wasn't microwavable.

This wouldn't do.

When he left your house that evening he made it his mission to find a way to get you out of that situation.

And that he did, when the day of the PTA meeting arrives Damian is oddly quiet. Not as if he talked much anyway.

While you both waited for his dad to finish speaking with the teachers he'd a held a tight grip on your hand as if to silently tell you not to run off anywhere.

"Dami I still don't know why you told me to bring all my stuff with me, are we having a sleepover?" You asked, you were told to bring all necessities which means that you needed your tooth brush and whatever you could salvage from that mess of a house.

"You'll know when we get there" he said calmly which only made your excitement grown even more. He was already pretty used to your energetic behavior so this was nothing.

At last the meeting had finished and you were all exiting he building.

"Is this the friend you told me about Damian" his father spoke up only to receive a nod in return.

You had never noticed how eerily similar they look but now that you were stood right before him you realized noticed the shared features.

"(Reader) right" Bruce got down in one knee so he could speak to you at eye level. Now, extending invitations to join the family weren't an everyday occurrence but if his son was so hard pressed on your living conditions and even brought up good points as to why you can't live there.

Plus he knew you were a good kid.

"A little Birdy informed me of your living conditions and they wanted me to extend an exciting offer to you" he spoke to you in a way that made your excitement peak.

You were so excited that you hadn't even noticed when you got in the car or when you arrived at the manor or when you arrived at Damian's bedroom door.

For you everything went by quickly, so quickly that when you woke up the next morning you couldn't even remember why you were in Damian's house or why you were currently bundled up across from his sleeping face.

He must've bundled you up while you were asleep. He was always considerate but rarely ever showed you that side of him.

"Dami, I need to go home" you said groggily.

"Your not going anywhere" he instantly replied.

"But I can't stay here forever, I need to go home" you said in a worried tone but he only raised a brow.

"I knew you weren't listening" he sighed.

"Just go back to sleep" he waved his hand in front if your face which seemed to do the trick because you were knocked out within seconds.

And just like that you were silently adopted into the family.

#batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfamily #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x child! reader #batman x child reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #dc x you #dc #dc x reader

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rninies · 4 months

Text

✮ roses

౨ৎ gojo satoru x reader. fluff, gn!reader, gojo loves flowers (like... he loves them a lot) — wc: 1171

notes. finally had time to publish a new fic hi everyone

gojo satoru loves roses.

when you first became friends with satoru, you were immediately bombarded with little facts about roses almost every day — ranging from what each color means or even how long they grow. to be completely honest, you found it really cute. the way his eyes sparkle when talking about them, and his hands getting excited, flailing around.

that is probably one of the reasons why you started having a crush on him. not like he would know anyway. you had no plans on confessing your feelings to him anytime soon — you’re too afraid of breaking your friendship with him. a cliche reason, but it’s true. you don’t want to throw your three-year friendship with satoru down the drain.

these past few days, however, you notice satoru has been super focused on his phone lately, much more than usual. at first, you thought he was just admiring his new phone wallpaper he boasted to suguru around twice per day, but when you find out he’s been texting someone secretly, you got curious (and slightly jealous).

“toru, what’re you looking at?” you asked, trying to look at his phone. satoru immediately hides his phone, placing it inside his pocket. you raised your eyebrows suspiciously. “why’d you hide your phone? are you… watching something weird?”

“what? no!” satoru exclaims, sounding offended. “i’m not watching anything weird, you weirdo. how could you even think that? i was just-” he sighs. “you know what, never mind.”

“huh? come on, tell me!” you poked his shoulder multiple times, earning a groan from him. satoru grabs your hand and stops you.

“do that again and i’m going to throw your favorite plushy out the window.” satoru threatens and you immediately stop. he smiles, satisfied. “good. you stop pestering me with questions and i’ll treat you to anything you want.”

“deal!” you exclaim. did he get a girlfriend? was the only thing on your mind because what else would he be so secretive about? you’ve been best friends for three years… so that’s the most plausible answer.

it was finally the weekend, the day you’d been looking forward to this whole week since you were able to relax without anything or anyone bothering you. as you scrolled through your phone, you hear the doorbell ring.

you weren’t expecting anyone, so this is a total surprise. regardless, you still went downstairs and opened the door, thinking satoru was here to annoy you again.

instead, you were met with a delivery man holding a… bouquet of roses in his hands. “are you y/n l/n?”

“oh, um, yes,” you reply hesitantly, staring the bouquet. “i-is that for me?”

the delivery man smiles. “yes! here you are,” he hands the bouquet over to you and you can finally notice that they are a gorgeous color of red. “and here’s the note from gojo satoru.”

you freeze, from satoru? why would he send these to me? is this a joke? you quickly regained your composure, smiling at the delivery man. “a-ah, really? thank you for delivering these to me.” the guy quickly leaves after giving a small comment about how cute satoru is for delivering these to you.

you closed the door behind you and immediately inspected the flowers, counting six roses in it. you open the note which is only filled with “call me when you receive these :P” taking your phone out from your pockets and dialing satoru’s number.

it took three rings for satoru to answer. “hello-?”

“toru! why’d you send me these flowers out of nowhere? is this a joke? are you playing a trick on me? what is the meaning of this?” you bombarded satoru with questions, not even giving him time to say hello.

“hello to you too, y/n.” satoru chuckles. “you received them already? that was quick.” that was the only thing satoru said to you, and you swear your heart was about to burst.

“gojo satoru. i’m being serious right now!” you exclaimed, desperately wanting an answer. “why did you send me these flowers? roses to be exact. six of them!”

“if i tell you the answer it won’t be fun now, is it?” satoru replies teasingly. you swear, if you can just jump inside your phone and magically appear inside satoru’s room, you would just smack him.

“gojo satoru if you don’t tell me the reason right now i’m going to personally come over to your house and smack you.” you threatened, though it is basically an empty threat to satoru, knowing he can easily stop you using his damn infinity.

“oh, i’m so scared,” satoru sarcastically say, which annoys you even further. “look, how about you research the meaning behind these roses and let me know, yeah?”

you groaned, mentally slapping yourself. “if i find out it means something terrible i’m never talking to you again.”

satoru only laughs and says a quick “good luck!” before ending the call. you immediately open google, quickly searching up the meaning behind six roses.

6 Roses: The perfect way to say, “I want to be yours”.

the whole world seems to have stopped, your face turning a bright shade of red as you almost drop your phone. your heart was beating so loudly and your hands were shaking that you can’t even press satoru’s number.

so, instead of calling, you ended up walking to his house (after a few minutes of calming down). you let out a shaky sigh and pressed the doorbell.

satoru opens the door and you immediately pull him closer to you. “what is the meaning of this?” you immediately shove your phone in front of his face.

he gives a quick read on what was on your phone and smiles. “yeah, what about it?”

“i-” you can’t even speak. the mere though of saying you like him back seems like it was too much for you to do. “what the fuck, satoru! h-how’d you know i like you?”

“you aren’t necessarily good at hiding your feelings, you know.” satoru says with a small laugh and you wanted to bury a hole and stay there forever. “but i find it cute. you have this lovestruck look on your face whenever i start talking about flowers. i initially thought you are in love with flowers just as i am.”

“h-huh?! i do not have a lovestruck look on me!” you exclaim, embarrassed that he actually noticed something like that. “i can’t believe you sent me flowers instead of directly confessing to me,” you glance at the flowers in your hand and a small smile appeared on your face. “though i guess it is something you would do.”

“right? aren't i so romantic?” satoru says with a proud tone and you laugh. “so, do you like the flowers?”

“yes.” you reply. “can't believe i fell for a cheesy, romantic flower boy.” you teased.

“you love this cheesy, romantic flower boy though.” satoru replies with a teasing grin.

you laughed and took his hand in yours. “yeah, i do.”

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sugarlywhispers · 5 months

Text

ex!b.katsuki x reader ; m.izuku x reader — bakugou cheats on his gf, with midoriya's girlfriend.

☆– warnings; ANGST. mention and description of panic attacks, swear words, cheating (bakugou to reader; uraraka to midoriya), description of a fight. But it ends in fluff~ c;

☆–a.n; honestly, i don't know if i'm going to add another chapter... i still have a bit more of ideas for this, but i don't know ._.

in the meantime, i hope you liked this new part! <3

also, i hope ya'll have a wonderful beggining of 2024!!! may this new year bring lots of good thing for everyone, lots of love and adventures, new amazing things and wonderful people to your lives!

love ya'll so much, wish you all ALL the good things life can bring; no more tears, except happy ones. <3

A few weeks go by, and Midoriya and you keep in touch, texting almost everyday. Talking about random stuff, important stuff, whatever the mood is. But it's mostly cute, random stuff, getting to know each other kind of feeling. It's funny how you both have been around each other for so long and did not actually know one another.

The texting was cute. Like a picture he sends one afternoon, when his shift is calm and almost finished, when the sun is setting, taken from up high in a building. A beautiful sunset picture that you use as a lock screen wallpaper on your phone. Or that one selfie he sent when he shared patrols with Hero Shoto; you remember thinking how cute he looked posing next to the hot and cold Hero, with two fingers of one of his hands pulled up on a peace sign. Or a picture of a little puppy Hero Deku found on a rainy morning shift. He took it to the closest vet so they could help the little animal, and you find that so fucking heroic it makes your heart jump from the cuteness.

"I wonder… who has you smiling like that? Oh , I know… Mister Greeny," Mineta mocks, his eyebrows shaking up and down suggestively.

"Shut up," you bark and hit him on the upper arm strongly. He simply laughs.

Three months pass faster than you actually realize. You're better, you feel better. You haven't had a single panic attack since Midoriya Izuku entered your life. Which is good… it means good.

He is good.

Since that first Friday you grabbed coffee together, you both decided to make it your day. Each and every Friday morning, Izuku and you would go to grab coffee at that same shop you went to the first time; then he would walk you home as the gentleman he is.

It's Friday and you're waiting for him, it's a bit late already, but you know he is coming. He had a night patrol but he insisted to not break the new tradition - his words. You found it cute, so you didn't protest.

But now you're worried, because it's almost 30 minutes since you have been waiting and he hasn't come yet. Then it becomes 40, 45, 50 minutes. You feel your neck itchy, but you try to ignore it, looking at your phone. Waiting for a notification, waiting for Mid‐ Izuku to contact you. But nothing.

It's already been 1.10 hours long and no sign of him. You sigh and decide to go home, it's been more than an hour already. Probably he had something coming up at the last minute, or he simply forgot. He probably had a rough night and he didn't have time to meet you. You're not as important as his job, obviously.

You grab your things and exit the place, the kind girl behind the counter smiles sadly at you and waves her hand as goodbye. You smile, or at least try, in her direction and leave the coffee shop.

You feel itchy all over. This… This is… weird . Why are you feeling like this? You have no right to feel… disappointed, hurt . He's a Hero. He's freaking Number One, pro hero Deku. His job will always come first. But you can't help it. It's like…

You're not my priority, Y/N. Understand that you'll never be. I have to concentrate in my job if want to fucking be Number one.

You haven't heard his voice in your head for a long time now. And hearing it again is… painful. Hurting. Choking .

Every sound around you feels a hundred times louder as you walk, every light blinds you and you don't realize you're bumping into almost everyone around. The pressure on your neck is getting stronger and you can't breathe. You can't think. Your vision is turning black, like that night at the ramen shop with Mineta. A panic attack . You're having one in the middle of the street. How embarrassing . How pathetic .

You want the blackness to finally evolve you, and don't let go.

And then you see it, you feel it. Green eyes and strong hands grabbing your shoulders. You know those green eyes, you have seen them before. He's moving his mouth but you can't hear his voice. He looks worried; why is he worried? You feel rough hands that grab your face as softly as he can, and they are cold. You aren't used to the cold, but you like it. It's refreshing.

"...hear me? Y/N, please breathe, okay? Breathe with me," his voice is comforting, so you follow him, you breathe with him. "That's it… You're okay. We are okay."

The sight around you starts to clear, the blackness dissipates and you see clearly. His face is the first thing your eyes find. You know him. "Izuku?"

" Yes! Yes, it's me… Hi, love," he smiles relieved. You look around realizing you're in the middle of a circle, with him. People are watching, some worried, some annoyed. Embarrassing .

You realize then that Izuku's hands are around your face, holding you with no intention of letting go. "Izuku…"

He blinks, realizing then probably your surroundings and nods. "Yes, come one, let's go…"

Izuku helps you stand, his arm surrounding your waist pulling your weight on him so he helps you walk. Everyone starts clapping, clearly recognizing hero Deku even in his civilian clothes.

He walks you to your apartment in silence. Until you walk into the building, "There's no elevator?"

"No, it's been broken since before I got here," you know your voice sounds throaty, and the expression on his face says it worries him.

He sighs looking at the long stairs ahead. He knows you live on the fourth floor. "Okay, then," he says before picking you up, bridal style.

"Izuku! I can walk!"

"No, you can't. You have been putting your weight on me the whole way here."

"Still, I…"

"Shut up. Let me help," his tone it's so authoritative you have no other option than to do that. Shut up and let him help, because you know you wouldn't be able to climb those stairs up on your own even if you tried.

On the way up, you can't avoid watching him. He looks… angry . You have never seen him like that, or better said, you have never experienced his anger, you have seen him angry on the TV, fighting villains.

"I'm sorry," you say, and he stops midway, his eyes traveling to your face.

"You're apologizing for having a panic attack?" He's frowning, his tone incredulous, but serious. It makes tingles run your body.

"I'm… Yes, it's embarrassing ," you feel your voice crack a bit, and you hate that.

"Y/N, it's not embarrassing. It's a trauma response. And it's okay to go through it. But you need to heal…"

You look away from his face, tears already burning your eyes. You can't help but hear his voice again.

Having panic attacks in public is embarrassing, Y/N. You have to control them. Don't be fucking weak.

" He said… he said they were embarrassing."

You know you shouldn't be saying this to Izuku, but you said it even before you could actually think it.

" Who said-…" Izuku stops mid sentence. Takes a deep, deep breath, and continues climbing the stairs in silence. You don't dare look up. He's so tense and angry, you don't really have the courage to witness that right now.

When you arrive at the fourth floor you signal him which one is your apartment. And even when you are in front of the door, he doesn't put you on the ground. He stands there, waiting patiently, as you search for the key card on your bag and when the door is open he enters with you in his arms. He of course takes his shoes off at the entrance and walks inside.

He doesn't say anything as he sits you over the small couch and sits next to you, his arm touching yours and taking almost all the space around you. His smell is around and you like it.

His face is even closer to yours when he asks, worried, "When were you going to tell me you have panic attacks?"

"I… I don't want to bother anyone with them." You tell the truth. You can't lie to him.

"That's what he told you? That they are a bother?" You simply shrug, not really wanting to answer. "Y/N, I'm not angry or feel like this is a bother. I'm worried, you need help."

"I am going to therapy. I've been going since I'm five, Izuku. I had a handle on them, they weren't recurrent until…"

"Until he left you," he finishes for you, slightly shaking his head and you nod.

Izuku sighs, standing up and you watch him. Is he going away? Is he embarrassed and going away, deciding not to involve or do anything with your broken self?

"Do you mind if I make us both tea?"

You shake your head rapidly in answer. He smiles and walks towards the kitchen. You follow his every move, being a small apartment it's easy to do it.

Izuku is… staying . For tea. He's not leaving. He's not leaving you alone after a panic attack. Like Mineta. But he's your best friend, Mineta has always been there; like you have been there for him even after the war he had to be part of at such a young age and he tried to push you away. Izuku doesn't have that obligation. Izuku… is your friend? Well, that's how you like to think of him since you got to know him this past months. But the category of best friend was not there for him yet. You were just getting to know each other. So, why is he here? Why does he stay?

"It's ready," he suddenly says, sitting back next to you with the two mugs of tea. He gives you one and you accept it a bit startled.

The sudden smell of lemon with honey tea that invades your nose as you bring it closer to drink immediately relaxes you. You smile after taking a sip.

You look back at him and he's watching intently at you, like he's waiting for your reaction.

"You remembered," you say and you really want to cry now.

He smiles, a hand flying to the back of his head to scratch it nervously, "You said it was your favorite."

You did. On a text message, when the topic was favorite drinks . But the fact that he remembered that you said it, it is… overwhelming.

Silence again. On your part it's more relaxed, but you can feel him a bit anxious. You decide to give him space, time to say whatever it is that it's inside his mind.

Until he does.

"You're not the only one… struggling still… with all that happened." He says as he sets his mug on the little coffee table in front of you. It's very small, mostly for decoration. Only space for the two mugs you're using at the moment. Izuku then lays his elbows over his knees, fingers fidgeting in the middle clearly showing his nervousness. "I have nightmares. Very bad ones, since the war. Uraraka used to help a lot, she was always there for me when I needed her."

This is the first time he talks about her this willingly, so you just keep silent and give him the space he needs to say whatever he wants.

"I was finally getting better… and then… she wasn't there anymore…"

"The nightmares came back?" He simply nods. You can't help yourself but to direct your hand towards his shoulder in a form of comfort, which he accepts with a small smile.

"I guess… we are two broken people, trying to pick up the pieces left. Aren't we?"

His eyes shine with tears he refuses to set free, probably also what your own looked like. He smiles sadly at you, before patting your hand that still holds his shoulder.

You both stay in silence for a little while before Izuku breaks the silence again.

"I'm sorry about today. I had…" He sighs. "I had a discussion with a partner."

Partner? You know Izuku doesn't have many partners. One is Hero Shoto, who also is his best friend. You doubt he had a discussion with him, you couldn't actually see Shoto in a heated discussion at all. And the other one is… Oh .

"What did he do now?" You don't even have to mention his name. You and Izuku know who you're talking about.

The green-haired man rolls his eyes. "We have been civil. For the sake of everybody around us. And if I'm being honest, we work well together. In fights, we understand each other perfectly. So we decided to just be professional and not bring up anything that happened."

You know this. Izuku had already told you this once, when he called you on his lunch break to talk to you about a cute little butterfly that he would send you the picture of when he was less busy and you heard Bakugou's voice on the back calling for Izuku. They had been on a mission together.

"Until…" Izuku continues, "Until this morning, when he decided to bring up our Friday morning's coffee."

" What?! " You frown. How did he know? Nobody knew, besides Mineta and probably Shoto on Izuku's side. Nobody else knew… unless…

"Paparazzis discovered us. I don't know how. I'm always careful when meeting you. I take a lot of turns and I disguise myself the best I can so they don't recognize me. But they found out." He sighs, a hand sliding his green and black curls back. "They released an article yesterday. About us."

Izuku takes out his phone, searching for something before showing it to you.

NEWLY BACHELOR, NUMBER ONE PRO HERO DEKU, FOUNDS NEW SWEETHEART?

Yes, my readers, this is apparently what it looks like. A young, pretty lady like this caught the attention of the Symbol of Hope quite fast, if you ask for my humble opinion.

We don't have much information about her, sadly. Only that this lady has our favorite Pro Hero on her clutches... Look at the way he looks at her in the following pictures!

Isn't it cute? Let me be honest, as a fan of Deku myself, I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken, but I also think that this man deserves all the happiness anyone can give him. Don't you agree? And after that sudden break up with Pro Hero Uravity that caught everyone by surprise, makes me think… Does this lady have anything to do with it? Did she catch Pro Hero Deku's heart from before, causing the break up? Mmm, so many questions, readers, that we don't have the answers yet! But no mind, we will try our best to find them! Be patient, and in the meantime, show a bit of support for our favorite Number One Hero.

You feel like vomiting. Your picture, clear as day, has never been on the front page of a magazine. Bakugou has always protected his privacy so meticulously, and that included you. The media and his fans knew he had a relationship, but he never let anyone get a glimpse of it.

And here you are now, on the front page of Go-zzip Hero magazine, the picture showing you sitting in front of Izuku in that coffee shop, talking so close to his face it practically looks like you're kissing. Oh, shit . You do that? You actually speak that close to him??

You swallow thickly, looking back up at Izuku.

"I am so sorry, Izuku, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. None of us did. But I'm sorry I wasn't more careful…"

"Don't be silly. This is not your fault."

"Yours either."

You both smile shyly at each other. This is… chaotic. Being involved with him is… OH, SHIT.

"What? What is it?" He asks as he sees your eyes open wide in fear.

"Your fans are gonna kill me..."

"No, they aren't…"

"Yes, they are! Oh my God!" You stand, after putting your mug over the table next to his, a bit wobbly on the legs which makes him react fast to hold you if you fall, but you don't. You start walking one way to the other of your small living room. "I'm so food for the fishes… they are going to kill me!"

Izuku chuckles. "No, they aren't, Y/N…"

"Don't laugh! Yes, they are! Especially after what that journalist said! They even hinted that probably I was the reason you broke up with Uraraka!"

"Which is not true. I'll call my manager and PR team and ask for an interview with the magazine and clarify this. You don't have anything to worry about. Neither does Mineta. I'll clarify that we are just friends…"

That makes you freeze in place, frowning. "Mineta? What does he have to do with this?"

Izuku frowns too, looking confused at you. "Aren't you… Isn't he… Aren't you dating ?"

"WHAT?!" By Izuku's flinching, you realize you raised your tone a bit louder than you intended. "Sorry…Mineta is my best friend, Izuku. He's like a brother to me."

Izuku looks so confused, "But… But you always speak about him. He cooks for you, he is… he is here almost everyday for you, and he did all that stuff to piss off Bakugou for you, like a…"

"Like a brother would." You smile. "I do think that somehow our souls are connected, because I know I could leave apart from anyone, except him . He's that annoying sticky thing you get used to living with and don't want to unstick, because if you do something will miss. Because he's my brother. I wouldn't be able to live without his annoying ass." Izuku laughs with you. You walk back to sitting next to him as silence comes back. Then, you keep talking, "Mineta has been there when I had no one. Even when we were five years old and my parents died in a car accident, provoked by a hero-villain fight." Deku tenses, but keeps his attention on you. "We used to play heroes when we were kids and fantasize about how we were going to be Number One. Both of us, together. And then the accident happened. I was left alone. I didn't have much family around, only my old great-grandma that was barely suitable to raise a child. So I was given to the state. I went to an orphanage."

You don't know why you're baring your soul to Izuku like this. This was a painful, very intimate part of your history nobody knew but Mineta. Not even Bakugou knew. He never insisted for you to tell him. He simply accepted that you were Mineta's best friend, end of sentence. He never questioned anything. Now you wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That's when your panic attacks began?" He asks a bit timidly. You nod.

"It happened that same day, when I was given the news about their deaths. A kind lady had been there with me, explaining what it all meant. She was kind, but she didn't have much experience. Imagine walking into a room as a kid where your parents are lying dead in two stretchers and being told these are your parents and you're not gonna see them anymore ." Izuku flinches again, a chill clearly running down his back. "A few hours later, I had my first panic attack. I lost consciousness for almost an hour. It was the longest one I ever had and doctors were worried not enough oxygen had gone to my brain, considering that even when I woke up I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Until Mineta and Auntie Asiki came to see me at the hospital. The second Mineta lay down next to me in the hospital bed, I started crying, and he held me. We were kids, not knowing anything about life, and he still understood that I needed him. Auntie Asiki offered to bring me home with her and Mineta, but the forms to the orphanage had already been filled and accepted. It would take a lot of money, lawyers and procedures to let her, a single mother, take my custody. And while her heart and intentions were hugely appreciated for even thinking about it, it was impossible."

"I didn't know Mineta's mom was a single mother." Izuku frowns, probably guilting himself about it, because of everything they, as class A, had been through their years at UA.

"He doesn't like speaking about it. He really has to trust you to tell you about it."

Izuku nods, instantly respecting that decision. He then scratches his neck again.

"So, you and him are not…"

You chuckle. "Not even if he was the last man on Earth." Izuku laughs too.

" Ouch , that wounds me so deep, bun," Mineta's voice is heard from the entrance as he walks inside your apartment.

Shit , you haven't heard him at all. The worry on your face is visible, because you have been talking about him, about his private life, and you hadn't consulted him before. You feel so bad, so worried he'll get mad at you.

Mineta sees you and simply shrugs, "It's okay, bun, I trust Midoriya." He then winks at you and you feel the worry disappear completely.

"Thank you, Mineta. I promise I won't speak about it to anyone."

"It's okay," Mineta answers Izuku, pulling his thumb up in his direction. You smile watching their interaction. "I'm not here though to have this conversation." Your best friend gets closer to where you are, a worried expression on his face. "I was told you had another one, in the middle of the street.." You sigh, looking down at your hands that lay in your lap. "Was it because of him again?"

You nod and Mineta is the one who sighs this time.

"About Bakugou?" Izuku asks then, frowning.

You nod again. "My therapist is helping, but yes, they appear after I remember something, random things he once had said to me."

"Why it doesn't fucking surprise me…" Izuku barks as he stands from the couch and walks, just like you had moments ago. Mineta opens his eyes wide, watching amused at Izuku's reaction.

"He's such a fucking jerk… But we already knew that, didn't we?"

Izuku immediately agrees with Mineta.

"I should have punched him harder," Izuku's comment makes you choke on the tea you were about to swallow.

"You what?!" Both you and Mineta speak at the same time. You look worried about the whole situation, the discussion clearly hadn't been a simple one if there had been fists involved. Mineta looks like a kid given the awaited present on his birthday.

"What really happened, Izuku?" You ask, worry clear on your tone.

"He saw the article, clearly. I came back from night patrol and was changing in the locker rooms, the whole night shift was there preparing to go home at the same time the morning shift was getting ready to start their patrols. And he started making comments about you and me, about how I apparently like his leftovers, about how you are a gold digger and now went for me."

"He did not fucking say that!" Mineta stands up, ready to beat some ass, Bakugou's, specifically.

"He did! I couldn't not do anything. I tried to be civil and only told him to stop talking about us, that he didn't know anything. And I told him to stop playing the victim, because he was none. The only victims in this story are you and me," Izuku looks at you like he's assuring you, "They don't have the right to even comment on this."

"Hell yeah, Midoriya!" Mineta cheers, raising his hand for Izuku to high five him, and the green-haired does, animated. You shake your head trying to hold your smile back. "What did corn-head say then?"

Izuku laughs at Mineta's nickname for Bakugou, bumping his fist again with the man in agreement.

You roll your eyes. Jesus , men are such idiots with nicknames.

"He then said that… I don't know if I should repeat it…" Izuku and Mineta both look at you, Mineta already intuitively knows.

"He talked… he talked about our sex life, didn't he?" You ask after a minute of silence.

Izuku nods.

"Tell me you did punch him hard though…" Mineta is fuming, you can see the smoke coming out his ears, metaphorically.

"Of course I did. Twice, before someone pushed me away."

"Well done, man." Mineta high fives Izuku again.

"You shouldn't… you didn't have to…"

"I won't let him or anybody speak about you that way, Y/N. Now that I know all you've been through, I won't even give them a chance to."

You move before you think, again. One second you're seated on the couch, and the next you're hugging Izuku. Arms around his neck strongly, as your face hides in your arm and his shoulder. It takes him a second, but he reacts by hugging back, strong arms surrounding your waist as delicately as he can, but also firm and securely.

You heard Mineta walk out of the living room towards the kitchen to entertain himself with anything.

And you feel… safe . You feel so safe in Izuku's arms, it's so comforting and nice.

You feel him take a deep breath over your head, as if your smell was comforting to him. You like that idea. That at least in something so insignificant like your smell, he finds comfort and peace. Relax and ease.

"Thank you, Izuku," you whisper only for him to listen.

He shakes his head, "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I do, though. Not only for those punches," you say backing away just a bit so you can see his face. He smiles proudly at the mention of the punches. "But because you helped me with my panic attacks… Twice."

"Twice?" He asks confusedly, but you nod.

"The first Friday we went to have a coffee, remember?" He nods, "I was waiting, and because it was my first time out of my apartment without Mineta I was feeling overwhelmed and… and then you appeared at the door. And all I felt was relief… I felt safe with you there, so it stopped even before it began."

You are looking at his eyes, and you can see the emotion in them as you speak. He then rests his forehead on yours and takes a deep breath, clearly pushing his emotion back in so he can speak.

"I'll be there for you… I want to be there for you, if you want me…"

"I want you," you immediately answer, "I want you to be here."

"Then I will."

"I also want to be there for you," you scratch the back of his head softly, as he bites his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He looks like he's trying to control himself from doing something then and there, and that makes you smile.

"I want you . I want you to be there too." He repeats your exact same words, making you feel tingles all over your body as you feel his fingertips caress lightly, timidly, the bit of skin showing at your waist.

"Then I will."

You feel him moving, his nose caressing yours in a cute manner. Slowly getting closer, lips barely touching and…

"Sorry to be a cockblock, but your phone is ringing, Midoriya."

The bubble is popped , so you both back away, clearing your throats and fixing your clothes out of nervousness.

"Oh, yeah, ummm…" Izuku walks back towards the kitchen to search for his phone. "It's Shoto. He's probably heard already about the fight this morning. I should pick this." You nod, signaling to your room for his privacy and he thanks you as he walks there.

Your eyes follow him until the door is closed, and then they go towards the kitchen, where Mineta is standing, hip against the counter and a bowl of snacks in his hands he found somewhere, eating them slowly as he looks at you accusatory. A knowing smirk in his face.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything… yet."

You roll your eyes. "Spit it out." You walk towards him, picking some of the snacks on the bowl and eating.

"I have nothing to say, Y/N."

That's impossible, he always has something to say.

"Or should I call you Ms. Midoriya from now on?"

Ah, there it is.

You punch him in the arm and he laughs out loud.

PART I - PART II - PART III

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s6lars · 5 months

Note

happy bday bb!!!! i missed you so much i’m so happy i found your account! do you think you could just do a headcanon of how pedri is as a bf! it’s up to you if you want to include smut

⋆ ˚｡⋆ 📂 pedri as a boyfriend …

contains smut, minors dni.

— the meeting.

he was back home in the canaries and met you a house party one of his mates had hosted

it honestly was just an instant connection

he had gone around talking to different ppl throughout the night but the second he started talking to you …

you were the last person he spoke to. bcs he would not speak w anyone else

but after that it was mostly silence, and he was sad bcs he rlly wanted to get closer

when he was back in barcelona, he found out you lived there too

and after some time and a million encouragements from fer

he had the courage to formally ask you out and you two hit it off not long after that

basically, a he fell first & he fell harder moment 🫶🏼

— dating life.

this man is so gentle with you. just so soft spoken, so attentive, so caring

and let’s not forget how clingy he is

you could be doing anything — chores, just scrolling through your phone and he’ll sneak up behind you and bury his face in the crook of your neck

and he wouldn’t say a single word. just dead silent

but that means all he wants is cuddles and you’re more than happy to oblige !

lets you go in his closet and steals whatever you want. genuinely half your closet is just his hoodies and t-shirts now

speaking of his closet, when you first got your hands on it, you were appalled to say the least. but you’ve since gotten it under control and no more ripped skinny jeans it is

in my eyes, pedri’s love language is quality times.

so when he has the time, it’s date night almost every single week ! renting out literally the whole restaurant so it’s more intimate and romantic

when he’s a bit busier, he does it in other ways

he’ll hire a private chef fer to his house, decorate the dining room with flowers

speaking of …

gifts. always. constantly. and spontaneously!

he’ll ask you what you want for your birthday, or christmas, etc — and you always say you don’t want anything. but then a few days later, you’ll get texts like: “gold or silver?” “what size shoe are you?” “do you like clutches or purses more?”

he’s a simple guy, he’s not flashy, and unless it’s for a new phone or a new car he hates splurging. but when it’s with you, then it’s a whole other story.

loveeees showing you off to his family and friends

he’ll run late to lunch with his friends and say something like, “sorry, my girl was too clingy this morning.”

and they’ll all be fake disgusted but he loves it

oh and about pet names

mi mujer — my woman, when addressing you, it’s his go-to.

and bebé for when he’s speaking to you directly

— the launch.

pedri is famous, which means one way or another, the public will have to know about you guys.

pedri is generally a private guy so i think he’ll let it out slowly

which means … soft launch !

it starts with a goal dedication, he makes your initial with his hands and blows a kiss to the camera

and ppl are instantly like whoa. who was that for

and then it picks up

he posts holiday pics and there’s little bits and pieces of you in them

your hair creeping in a mirror selfie, your manicured hands on a steering wheel, your reflection off of a mirror in a restaurant

and now it gets real serious

fans catch him with a girl as his wallpaper but your face is covered by his hand holding the phone

the bomb drops when he posts a pic on his story. it’s a mirror selfie, you’re both dressed up, and you’re the one taking it. he’s standing behind you, one hand across your abdomen.

both your faces are cropped out. still, ppl are like yeah, he has a girl it’s confirmed

finally, he post a whole dump for you, probably for something special like your birthday and he lets the world know he’s yours !

— the spice.

remember when i said pedri was very gentle earlier?

well he can definitely pull a 180 in bed

i see him as more of a switch, and it depends on his mood

at the start of the relationship, when you were navigating what you both enjoyed in bed, you had to guide him a lot

and that’s when you found out he loves being praised, and asking you to praise him

“does that feel good?” “fuck, right there, yeah?” “like this?”

and when he’s not in control he doesn’t shy away from letting you know how good you’re making him feel, always in your ear

ok but let’s get into how he is when he’s in control

generally at first your sex was pretty vanilla, but you were so tired from work one day and just needed to let it all out

and pedri delivered — he had you bent over the couch, and when you thought you were done, he carried you to his room and made you watch in the mirror as you took him

it was unexpected. but not unwelcome

has a thing for when you tug his hair or leaves scratches on his back. it hurts, but it eggs him on further

and if he's really feeling confident, like if he just won a final or scored an important goal, his stamina is quadrupled. you're not stopping until your legs physically give out

always, always makes sure you get aftercare, even if he can barely stay awake himself

even if it's as simple as just getting you something to drink or standing next to you while you're in the bathroom afterwards, he just wants to let you know that he cares about you

gets super cocky the morning after. especially if he sees you limp a bit

you'll tell him off because you'll have to be at work or smth and he'd sit there with a grin and say, "you were the one who kept begging, harder, please—" (you'd throw a pillow in his face before he could continue)

but it's fine, the morning sex makes up for it ♡

#@s6lars #@s6lars: pg8 #football x reader #football imagines #football headcanons #football x y/n #pedri x reader #pedri imagines #pedri x you #pedri fluff #pedri headcanons #pedri smut #pedri angst #pedri x y/n #pedri one shots #pedri scenarios #pedri drabbles

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

Text

Insecurities

Pairing: Husband!Charles x Wife!Reader

Rating: Pg-17

Warnings: Angst, Misunderstanding trope, parental anxiety, fear of child loss, talks of divorce, good ending

Requested: Yes/No

Request: hey can you do something with charles where the reader and he had a baby a few months ago and she is super insecure with her body, thinking that he is no longer attracted to her, there may be some misunderstanding in which she interprets the wrong things and draws these conclusions

Part One: It's Too Early

A/N: Made this Pt.2 to It’s Too Early

It's not supposed to be easy being a parent; being a parent is giving up this part of your life and becoming this whole new person, whose in charge of this little life. It petrified you beyond belief. Pierre was born at 26 weeks old. While you never told anyone, you were worried something would go wrong, and he'd be taken from you.

You were nervous and terrified to hold your son, afraid you'd hurt him somehow, not even meaning to. Charles....god, Charles was perfect. He took everything thrown at him and acted like it never affected him, he was excellent with Pierre, and some of you hated it. Why couldn't you be natural like your husband?

Charles was patient with you, but you could tell his patience was wearing thin but he wasn't home 24/7. Of course, he'd be happy to wake up in the middle of the night to soothe his crying son. He wants to do everything while he's there. But you were always there, and it wasn't helping you. It was breaking you down; you loved your son unconditionally, but a small part of you that went through all those negative tests you were terrified that if you got too close, the universe would play some cruel joke and take him away.

Charles could see how being home always with Pierre dragged you down and how you've changed; you even refuse his touch. That's what hurt him more. You didn't want to be intimate anymore, he knew it took a while for a woman to heal after giving birth, but he wasn't going to push it and started to provide you with space. You didn't want space; you just couldn't figure out how to talk to Charles about all your insecurities.

"Baby, let's go out for dinner tonight; Pierre can watch the baby, and we can....talk," Charles says, stepping back from you when you step near him.

You feel your chest grow tight with the rejection from your husband; he hasn't touched you since Pierre was born, and you know it was because your body was no longer its usual self. You nod your head in agreement and walk to your shared bedroom, thinking about what you should wear, but everything is either too form-fitting or shows off too much skin, and you can't even feel comfortable in your own skin. Why would you show it off?

You shower and try hard to make yourself somewhat.....sexy, trying hard to get your husband's attention back. You walk down the hall wearing only a robe since you need to breastfeed Pierre before you leave, but you freeze, hearing Charles's voice talking to someone on the phone.

"Nothing is where it is anymore; is that normal?" He asks the person, and you freeze, looking down at your chest. You knew that breastfeeding would change your breasts, but you didn't think that Charles would care so much about it enough to talk to someone over the phone about it.

"Yeah....but why can't it go back to normal? It's such a turnoff." He groans. Hearing that, you swallow back the tears and shake your head; walking into view, Charles turns and smiles at you brightly, acting like he is happy to see you. It was a slap to the face to see him putting on such an act when he was talking about you in such a way.

Picking up Pierre, you take him to his nursery, confusing Charles. You loved feeding Pierre in that little den corner, where the sun hit perfectly, and you could watch the sea and people below. He took a picture one day of you two together. It was the 2nd day home, and that's been his wallpaper for about 4 months. He loved that picture and used it to show this perfect family to fans and others.

The doorbell rings, and you come out wearing a loose dress that covers you but is still pretty; it is a gorgeous light purple color, and Charles wanted nothing more than to kiss you, but he knew you didn't want to be touched. Pierre comes through the door with a bunch of presents, making you laugh, and without thinking, you hug adult Pierre, causing Charles to stutter in his steps. His wife, who rejects his touches, is happier to touch someone else than him? He didn't know what to do.

"We should get going," Charles grumbles, patting his buddy on the back, who nods at him, and you list everything off, and how you pumped, and there was breastmilk in the fridge if he gets hungry. Pierre finally has to shove you out the door, Charles and you standing outside your home like you were strangers to one another. People who didn't even know each other or how to talk, you're married and have a baby together. Why would it be this way?

Walking to the restaurant, you keep your hands busy with your handbag, which would typically be wrapped in Charles's hands. But he kept his in the pockets of his suit jacket, both silent as you walked to the restaurant. You feel your breath leave when you come face to face with Brasserie du Cafe de Paris Monte-Carlo.

It was your first date, your first anniversary, where he proposed to you, and you had dinner as a married couple. Jesus Christ, you went here after discovering you were pregnant to celebrate. Was this another slap to your face? To shove how much you and your body have changed since you gave birth if it was, Charles was much crueler than you ever thought possible.

"Ahhh, Mr. and Mrs. Leclerc, seeing you back after the baby is a pleasure. How is the little one?" The head waiter asks, having seen your family grow right before his eyes. You both were perfect and an actual image of true love to him. But tonight, the couple in front of him was not the one he was used to; instead, it was almost like shells of the couple.

"He's doing wonderful, Benoit. Thank you for asking." You smile as he leads you to your favorite seat. It was the one overlooking the famous Monte Carlo casino, you loved this view, and Charles saw your old smile. He swore he could see the old memories playing across your eyes.

"Well, please enjoy," Benoit says, laying down the two menus and walking off but keeping a close eye on his favorite couple.

"I wouldn't drink wine." Charles cuts, making you look up, confusion on your face, and he clears his throat.

"You're still breastfeeding. Alcohol isn't wise while still doing it." He states, trying to start a conversation, but all it does is drive the knife deeper into your heart. Just another way for him to show off how he was a better parent than you.

You just hum in agreement, and Charles curses himself, knowing he just made things worse while trying to talk to you, his wife, the woman he loves more than life itself, and he can't even do that. You both order and sip on water while Charles sips on some old expensive liquor.

"Do you want a divorce?" You don't know why you blurted it out, but you did. Charles sucks his drink down and chokes on it. A sputter of coughs leaves his mouth while gently hitting his chest, trying to regulate his breaths.

"What?" He snarls, furious beyond means that you would even ask that.

"Do you want a divorce? Because clearly, you don't want me anymore." You lean back in your seat, refusing to even look at him.

"You ask me if I want a divorce, and you can't even look at me? Y/n." He hisses, anger and being scared shitless getting the best of him.

You turn and look at him, and his anger dies. Your eyes gave everything away, the hurt, sadness, rejections, everything was right there in front of him, but he was too wrapped up to notice how much you are hurting.

"Baby, Y/n. What's going on? You don't talk to me anymore or let me touch you, but you can touch other men. I have been patient with you; I know healing after birth takes a while, but....you just feel apart, and I'm trying hard to be strong for you, but I can't help you if we don't talk." He whispers, not wanting people to hear you.

"Am I a horrible mother? I ask myself that question all the time. Wanna know why? Because when I'm next to you or you tell me something, I feel like I'm a failure. I'm terrified that if I get too close to our gorgeous baby, the universe will just take him away, and I wake up every morning dreading the day it happens. What then, Charles?" Your throat tightens, trying hard not to cry in front of all these people.

Charles stares at you in shock before grabbing his drink and swallowing it now.

"Listen to me," He pleads and leans forward. "You...there is no one else in this entire world, fucking universe I would want to be Pierre's mother. You fought day and night to get him here, and he is. He's healthy and happy, and fuck, the way he looks at you like you're his whole world, is because you are. You're his mother; he loves you, feels protected by you, and craves to be near you. I know this because I have felt that same way every day since I met you. I married you and created a life with you because no one else could do it, and I would kill anyone who ever thought about taking you or Pierre away from me, Y/n." He whispers, tears forming in his eyes.

"You say all this but refuse to touch me, and I heard you earlier on the phone talking about how nothing is where it is anymore and how it's such a turnoff." You choke out, dabbing your eyes as the waiter brings you your food.

"Wha-" Charles clears his throat and looks at the waiter. "Thank you." The waiter scurries off, sensing the tension between you two. "Y/n, I was talking about my new steering wheel for the car." He explains, and you can't help the laughter that escapes your lips.

"What? Your damn steering wheel?" You curse, laughter getting louder while Charles rubs his temples.

"Yes, they moved all the buttons to different places. I was talking to one of the engineers. Putain." He curses, shaking his head.

"Then why won't....why won't you touch me anymore?' You whisper, cutting into your steak, mouth watering at the smell of spices and butter.

"You wouldn't touch me; I figured you didn't want to be.....intimate with you recovering, so this entire time, have we had one big misunderstanding?" He asks, cutting into his Lobster Bisque. You reflect on all your interactions and groan, nodding your head and making Charles chuckle.

"If being a parent was easy, love, the world would be perfect. It's not easy, and you know what? I want us to promise something." He bites into his food and nods at how it melts in his mouth, and you can't help but giggle at how he does that whenever he eats something he loves. He even did it to you for the first time; he went down on you. Still does.

"What's that, Char?" You ask, moving your free hand to grab his, and he smiles, lifting up and kissing your fingers.

"Once a month or whenever we feel we misunderstand each other, we breathe, sit, and talk. We can't keep this up. We have Pierre now, and maybe some...more in the future. We need to stay strong." Charles mumbles, kissing your wedding ring and then the palm of your hand.

"Char." You whisper, making your husband stare up at you, his thick lashes covering half of his eyes, giving those eyes that would make any woman naked.

"Check, please!" Charles yells, making you laugh and lean over, kissing him gently.

"Always be there for me?" You ask; glad to have this man in your life.

"Always." He whispers, unable to wait for the rest of his life with you.

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kkuraissante · 7 days

Text

✧ ultimate bias ✧

In which y/n is a big fan of Sakura (ft. aespa!y/n)

[y/n confessing her love for Sakura during an interview]

“so, y/n who is your celebrity crush?” the radio host in front of her asked.

hearing the question, the rest of her members looked at each other, sharing a knowing glance. “huh, well… I think some of the fans may noticed it based on my phone wallpaper, but my celebrity crush is sakura from le sserafim.” y/n admitted shyly, lightly scratching the back of her head.

“I actually became her fans during pd 48 and have been her fans ever since. You don’t know how happy I was when I heard that she will debut again into a new girl group after the disbandment. I cried so hard after watching the intro videos,” y/n confessed.

karina laughed after hearing her comments, “yeah, you wouldn’t believe how crazy she is for sakura. she collected albums and merch, basically a hardcore fan”.

“no, but do you guys remember how she sneaked out of the dorm during our free time to attend izone fansign? It was legendary. She talked our ears off about sakura that day” giselle added, groaning at the memories.

the host and members laughed hearing the remarks.

“well, I mean, who could blame me, she was perfect. a literal angel.” y/n tried to defend herself. “hopefully I will be able to go to her fansign again” y/n sighed happily at the thought.

“you heard it guys, you need to steal y/n heart from sakura” the host joked.

[y/n’s room tour during her vlog]

“hi guys, today I will be showing you my room” y/n waved at the camera, standing outside her bedroom door.

“so, here is the entrance. this is a custom-made sign that I bought on the internet and essentials to keep my sanity,” y/n gestured to a red sign that read ‘yoo jimin do not enter unless permitted’ in the middle of the door.

opening the door, y/n waved her hand excitedly for the camera, “welcome to my sanctuary.”

“first thing first, this is my closet, it’s a little messy since we’ve been busy these past few weeks, but its usually not this bad, I promise!” y/n said seriously, raising her pinky finger up.

“here is my desk, with my gaming setup. I’ve been playing valorant and lol whenever I’m free. over there is my keyboard and guitar wall. the black guitar is a gift from jimin unnie and the white one is from taeyeon unnie. this is actually my first guitar that I bought with my money” y/n showed everything before raising a red fender Stratocaster, showing it proudly.

“moving on, this side is the bed. it looks comfy right?” y/n shoot the bed before raising the camera upwards, showing the hanging shelf, filled with albums, mainly her senior and izone albums. “and here is my album collection. most of these are gifts from sunbaenim during promotion and the only albums that I bought myself are the izones one” y/n smiled proudly at the camera.

“look, this one is signed by all members” she showed the bloom*iz album. “Sakura was so pretty during this era,”

“and this is my photocards collection” y/n opened a photo album. “it’s mostly Sakura but I have other people too. this one is my favorite,” y/n raised sakura perfect night pc, “she look so cute with the glasses right? oh! I also want to flex a little, are you curious? this is not sakura, but I really like it” y/n show off a chaewon photocard. “ I think this is one of the rare photocard and are sold very expensive, so i’m really happy that i have it. also, chaewon-ssi looks so pretty here"

“so, that’s all for my vlog. thank you for watching the video. I love you MY’s, byee” y/n blowed a kiss at the camera before the vlog ended.

[karinanana]: y/n is literally one of us

[y/n_wife]: I never expect that I will finally see an idol that collect photocards

[fimmily222]: y/n is the biggest sakura stan. we have an idol piona!!

[amboya.amboya]: I know the rest of her members are tired hearing her fangirling over sakura. look how much she rambled about her throughout the vlog.

[thirstyfory/n]: the rare chaewon pc is killing me

[y/n showing her things during live]

“hi! Welcome to my weverse live!” y/n grins at the camera in front of her before reading the comments on her phone.

“unnie, what items has you bought recently?” y/n read out loud. she scratched her chin before standing up abruptly, “wait a moment guys, let me pick some stuff up” she apologized, moving out of the frame, towards her bedroom. after 5 minutes she came back, holding a bunch of stuff on her arms.

“sorry for the wait but I’m back! let me review all the things that I bought recently”

“first thing! its a t shirt” y/n raised a white t shirt, “it’s very cute right? i bought it in Japan during one of our schedules”

“this hoodie is also bought in Japan” y/n raised a black chrome hearts hoodie, “now I have a matching hoodie with Sakura” she blushed slightly at the thought.

remembering that its live, she tried to change the subject, quickly picking up the next item which is a headphone accessory. “oh, I bought it because it look cool, like, why does sakura always wear the coolest stuff” y/n whined at the camera. “she’s just so perfect”

“and the last thing is this” y/n raised a big basket filled with knitting yarn and needles. “I’ve noticed that sakura has been knitting a lot recently and I want to also try it. maybe trying to give her a handmade beanie if i succeed later”

“this is the first thing that I make” y/n picked up what looks like a knitted leaf. “it’s for headphones, but I think I screwed it to the point its unrecognizable, it’s way too crooked and ugly. minjeong teased me the other day saying that a year old could do it better than me” y/n pouted, remembering the teasing that she has to endure from her members that day.

“let’s move from my bad knitting projects…”

#sakura x reader #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim x reader #kpop x reader #miyawaki sakura x reader #le sserafim sakura #kpop imagines #girl group imagines

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hometoursandotherstuff · 3 months

Text

Here's a 1930 home in Reno, Nevada that looks like a beautiful French chalet. So, why hasn't the 5bd, 4.5ba $1.1M home sold? Perhaps it's the decor?

But, who wouldn't want to come home to magical pink swirling walls & ceilings?

Or to relax in front of the fireplace in the huge, distorted-funhouse-mirrored living room.

And, if you're not dizzy yet, don't go in the bathroom. The mirrors in here look coppery. I do like the pink fixtures, though. Isn't this bathroom gigantic?

Is this the dining room? I don't know, I'm so disoriented. (Is that a trap door in the floor?) Maybe this is a dining/family room combo.

I thought that this was a bath, but it's the kitchen. Wow, look at the cabinetry. It looks like they attached big 3D appliques to cheap doors.

Don't think you've escaped the swirls, b/c they're in the bedroom, too. Shouldn't they have matched the wallpaper pattern, so it looks seamless, though?

This could be the primary bedroom with the draped ceiling and shelves.

The en-suite is nice. I mean, in comparison to everything else.

Wow. Well, it's a bedroom, but the daybed suggests it's a guest room.

Here's an idea I never thought of. Names all over the ceiling.

We're in the new addition to the house and it has a nice floor and stone. There's a kitchenette in the corner, so it must be an entertaining space.

Up the spiral stairs, there's another open room.

Now, we're in the newest addition.

Could this be another primary suite? A grand piano in the corner of a huge room with an open bath nook. I have no idea, but surely there's plenty of room to enclose this.

Is that a bar in the corner? Maybe this is a rec room.

A room with 2 steps down and an alcove. I don't think it could be a bedroom, but who knows?

By the look of the stone floor, which seems to be a bit of a rough terrain, this may be a sun room. I can't tell if it's clouds or a map on the ceiling.

There's a day bed in here off the sun room, so maybe it's a lounge or a guest room.

I think that this is a guest powder room, but the mirrors throw me off.

The original part of the house.

Here's a pond with a walkway.

And, the newer part each have courtyards.

The newest addition. I'm not sure, but the gate is probably the entrance to the property, which measures a total of .25 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/720-California-Ave-Reno-NV-89509/7262661_zpid/?

#french chateau style home #houses #house tours #home tour #unusual homes

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repulsiveliquidation · 7 months

Text

Blueberry Pancakes

Part 2 of Fore!

Leah Williamson x Reader, part three coming soon!

Warnings: fluff with smut at the end! This is too cute, I loved writing this.

word count : 2.2k

You drove home with big smiles on your faces, your hand in its rightful place of Leah’s lap as she played with your fingers. She eagerly hopped out of the car when you parked in your driveway, opening your door for you.

“Why thank you, m’lady.”

“Of course, pretty girl.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Did you already forget my spiel earlier? I think you’re the prettiest girl ever.”

“I remembered, I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“I’ll never stop telling you, beautiful.”

You lead her into the house, your puppy Riley eagerly jumping up on her. The golden retriever puppy matched her energy, both of them yelping in high pitched voices in excitement. You stand and watch them, a fake pout on your lips. Leah looks up with a huge smile that falls when she sees you pouting, walking over and pecking your lips till the pout disappears.

“Was my pretty girl jealous?”

“No one is jealous, Williamson.”

“Ouch, I got last named. That one hurts, Y/N.”

She fakes getting shot, stumbling back and falling onto the couch. Riley goes over to her and jumps onto her chest, licking her face eagerly. She giggles and plays with her, the sound of her laughter fills the room.

“Fuck,” you think “I think that’s the cutest sound in the world.”

You’re snapped out of your trance when Leah stands in front of you holding Riley in her arms. You melt instantly, pulling your phone out to take a picture. They both smile identically; you make it your new wallpaper as Leah puts Riley down. You watch as she walks into the kitchen to help herself to a glass of water, a thought comes to your mind. “I’ve only just met this girl and she’s reeling me in hook, line and sinker.”

You’ve settled Riley in her crate, the puppy having fallen asleep in Leah’s arms as you were taking a shower. You both swapped and you pulled out some clothes for Leah to borrow. Her hair is slightly damp and she’s wearing your hoodie, the scene doing things to your heart that you’ve never felt before.

The same can be said about Leah; the intoxicating scent of you on the hoodie along with the domestic view of your perched in bed with a book makes her insides all bubbly and excited. She’s only known you a couple hours but she feels at home, she feels safe.

“I’ve actually never slept over at someone’s house like this before.” She tells you quietly, suddenly feeling the need to be honest with you.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s normally just…you know.”

It clicks for you.

“Oh.”

“But,” she begins, “I really don’t want to fuck this up. No one has ever meant this much to me before, I want to do it right.”

“I want that too, Leah.” You assure her, reaching a hand out to her. She takes it and climbs into bed as you put your book down and turn the lights down. The moon shines itself dimly into the room, a sliver of light casted on her beautiful face. She immediately pulls you into her chest as you settle yourself into her side. She sighs, your legs tangling so perfectly.

Sleep comes easy to both of you, the comfort of each other’s arms drifts you both to sleep filled with dreams of one another.

Leah wakes up to a cold bed. She sits up and rubs her eyes feeling a little sad till she hears the sound of singing fill her ears. She smiles and walks out of the room, the view before does things to her that she knows she will never get used to with you; you’re cooking and singing along to a record playing in a mind of your own. She walks up behind you and wraps her arms around your middle which causes you to yelp but relax when you realize it’s just her. You lean back into her body and smile, wiping your hands clean before turning in her arms. Yours find themselves around her neck and you both lean in at the same time again. The kiss is just as electric as the first time, Leah’s lips curled up in a smile as her hands hold your waist.

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

“Morning, I hope you like pancakes. A little birdy told me that you’re picky.”

“As long as they aren’t blueberry, we’ve got a winner.”

“Fuck, blueberry is my favorite.”

A look of panic sets on Leah’s face which makes you burst out laughing as your hands reach for her face and kiss her one more time.

“Never change, Leah Cathrine. They’re not blueberry, those are disgusting.”

“What do you do for work?” Leah asks as she dries the plates. You’re soaping the last mug, smiling softly at her.

“I’m the assistant head coach at the club.”

Leah nearly drops the mugs she’s wiping, jaw dropping to the floor. If she wasn’t sure about possibly marrying you, she sure as hell was rightnow.

“You have no idea how sexy that is to me right now.”

“I am flattered you think so.”

“You have to give me lessons. What are your rates?” Leah cheekily asks, grinning down at you.

“Oh I’m expensive, I’m not sure you can afford me.”

“Does being your girlfriend come with a family discount?”

“I think that can be arranged.” You smirk, pulling her into your arms. “Are you being serious about the girlfriend thing?” you ask her seriously, as nerves build in a pit in your stomach.

She nods earnestly, blue eyes boring deep into yours. “I know it’s sudden and we’ve only just met but you’re it for me. I understand if you don’t wanna label us yet.”

“I think assistant head coaches girlfriend has a nice ring to it.”

“I don’t think you girls understand how pretty she is.”

“We get it cap, she’s the bees knees.”

“No, she’s not just the bees knees McCabe. Put some respect on her name, she’s out of my league yet she thinks I’m beautiful.”

“Wow, she’s got you on some strong drugs huh?”

“She’s intoxicating.”

Training goes on forever according to Leah since it had been three grueling hours since you last texted her. She checks her phone any chance she gets, even changing the chime to be a unique one to your contact. She still checks every ding, stomach sinking when your name doesn’t pop up. She’s in the changing room when suddenly your unique chime goes off. She nearly drops her phone and fumbles before answering your call.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Hi you.”

“I’m done with training, wanna grab a coffee at the café?”

The café you both visited on your first date had become your spot, a secluded table at the back of the shop your table. The place was now special to both of you, the secrets and stories that table knew.

“I was thinking about maybe giving you those lessons you’ve been begging for. My 3pm student cancelled and he was my last one for the day.”

“I would love that.”

“Do you maybe wanna bring the girls? I’m sure they’ll like a little decompress after a day at training.”

“Actually, you might be onto something. I’ll see you in an hour, pretty girl.��

“Can’t wait! Be safe!”

Leah arrives 40 minutes later with Viv, Beth, Alessia, Lotte and Katie in tow. Leah proudly introduced you as her “pretty girl,” which made you blush hard. You got the girls all set up and gave them a quick lesson as Leah stood back with a smug look on her face. While the girls started to hit balls all over the place and have fun, you turned to your smirking girlfriend.

“I was talking to you too you know, when I was teaching.”

“I know what I’m doing, angel.”

“Says the girl who was literally begging me a couple days ago to give her lessons.”

“What can I say, I’m a visual learner. Give us a swing, pretty girl.”

“Okay, you owe me a tenner if I can hit that board.”

“You’re going to be ten pounds poorer by the end of this.”

You’ve practiced this shot so many times you could do it blindfolded but Leah didn’t need to know that. The girls had stopped to watch you, hearing you make a bet with their captain. You take your shot and hit the board dead center, the girls cheering for you and Leah scowling.

“You’ve done that before haven’t you?”

“Wouldn’t have bet if I didn’t think I could win, sweetheart.”

“You’re lucky you’re so drop dead gorgeous.”

“The usual?”

“Yes please.”

“That’ll be £13.50, please.”

“Here, baby.” You say, setting down Leah’s coffee and pastry before sitting in the booth beside her. She smiles and cuts the mince pie in half, handing you a half and eating hers. Today marked 6 months since you began dating and Leah was nervous. There was a question she had been wanting to ask you for a while but she wondered if she was moving too fast for you. You had been the best thing that had happened to her in a while and everyone around her could see a change in their beloved captain.

“It’s such a nice day out.” You say to no one in particular, slowly stirring a sugar into your coffee.

Leah, because she is a 26-year-old child, says “Not as nice as you babe, treating your girlfriend to a mince pie,” with a mouth full of said mince pie. You flicked off a piece that flew out of her mouth onto your lap and smacked her arm. She swallowed and grinned, scrunching her nose cutely. You merely shook your head and smiled fondly, your heart growing tenfold at her daily antics.

“Pretty girl?” Leah says after a while, coffee cold and forgotten on the table.

“Yeah?” you answer, lacing your fingers together with hers. “She’s so warm.”

“I’ll understand if you say no. It’s a big commitment but like I said early on, you’re it for me.”

“Spit it out, Lee.”

“I want you to move in with me.”

“Fuck, Lee.” You breathe out, her hands absolutely ravishing you. She’s getting impatient, nearly ripping the brand-new two piece she got you a week ago after saying yes to moving in with her. She had just come home from training, tired and wanting a nap when she saw you laid out on the bed wearing the most beautiful set. She knew the black would look smashing on you; she mentally thanked Alessia for helping her pick it out.

“You’re wearing too much, pretty girl.” She growled, unclipping your bra and tugging your underwear off. Her mouth latches onto your breast skillfully, suckling and nibbling gently while her hands traced your lines. She was attentive to your responses, hands kneading your flesh as her mouth switched to your other breast.

“W-Wanna see you, baby.” You managed, reaching for her training shirt which she obligingly pulled off. Her shorts followed suit, mouth going back to assaulting your body. She marked you and bruised you, the heat between your legs beginning to be unbearable. Her long fingers found themselves drowning in your slick, body screaming for her to touch it and give it pleasure.

“You’re so wet, this all for me?” she quips, scooting down to be face to face with your pussy. You could only whine, legs draping themselves open wider as she leaned in and licking a fat stripe up your wet folds. She moaned lewdly, slurping at your hole like a starved woman. Her hands pressed your legs wide and back, grip pinning you down in the best way possible.

She ate and ate, mouth suckling on your swollen clit as she fingers worked you open. The coil in your stomach was wound so tight you didn’t have time to tell her you were coming. She grinned wide when you came all over her face, slick dripping down her chin.

“Good girl.” She praised, licking up your mess. She surged forward and your lips met in a searing kiss, your whines drowned by her lips as you tasted yourself on her tongue. You gasped for air once she pulled away, a cheeky grin on her face.

“I want you to sit on my face.” You asked her boldly, to which she nodded and clambered and hovered over you. She too was soaked, body easing herself down to ride your tongue. Her hands gripped your hair tight, merely using you like the toy you were. Her athletic body held her up comfortably as your tongue darted out to give her to ride. Her mouth was one that needed a bar of soap used on afterward, filthy suggestions leaving her lips as she used you to get herself off. With a scream of your name, she came, collapsing back onto you with a satisfied grin on her face.

“That’s one way to celebrate moving into the house.”

“Our house, pretty girl. This is our home now.”

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