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blingblong55 · 3 months

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Happiness-Simon "Ghost" Riley

photo credits: @ave661

Part 1

---- F!Reader, angst, divorce, ex-husband!Simon, dad!Simon, happy ending ----

A/N: I owe it to heal you so...here it is, second/final part

It's been two years. Two years of missing his laugh, the warm blanket he would cover you in, the little whispers when he was sick and you were there to baby him. If you see him pass his new girlfriend, you see yourself kissing him. Does she whisper sweet nothings when he is anxious? Does she make herself a fool just to see him smile? There is happiness after him, yes but there was happiness because of him. Happiness, what a cruel world.

"Where is Daddy taking you?" "Daddy wants to surprise…" your son says her name and each time you hear it, your heart and mind block her. "…so he is taking us to the park," your son is so innocent.

By noon, the girl that you swear you're kind to arrives holding his hand. "Ready, buddy?" Simon asks and carries his son. Why must they look like a perfect family? Did you and him ever look like that?

"Bye mummy!" your son waving as he walks out with his father. "Bye, sweets," you fake that smile.

As the door closes again, there it is, that funny feeling and all you can do is drink wine and look at old photos. That white dress, the same one he swore vows to, the same one you wore as you two danced in an empty kitchen. Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny played as he whispered how in this life, you were his person. If only then your heart knew the lie those words held.

You tried to move on, but every guy that you talked to or were set up with was compared to him. No smiley face after the text? Simon would do it. The new date didn't hold your hand when crossing the street? Simon made sure to hold it and went past that, Simon parked close to the restaurant, just so your heels wouldn't hurt you.

Dirty dancing in crowded kitchens, whispers during dinner with friends and kisses that felt like renaissance paintings, that is what Simon gave you and now, he gives it to her.

"Marry me, marry me for all I've got and I swear this world is yours, my world and heart are all yours," his desperation presents. "I'll marry you if you marry me," you smile and he laughs. His strong arms wrap around you as he spins you around the room. "Oh my love," he says when he kisses you.

Ten at night, Simon and your son at the door, "We're home!" your son runs to hug you and you smile, hugging him back.

A flashback runs to you.

It's a secret ceremony, two people, one backyard, two rings and two vows. "I always asked myself why me? I met you in a crowded street, a busy lane and there you were. Two years of understanding you, all your problems, all the nightmares, understanding that heart of yours and….here I am. I swear on all I've got that no one will ever replace you, no one can." You wipe tears away as you read. "I have no idea what the future holds, I'm a mess and…you love me. It must be a curse to love me and you bit the apple. You're a mess, I love you and it's a blessing to love you, I'll kiss you to wake you up."

In those pale brown eyes of his, Simon finds tears that run down. "I want to be the girl you always dreamed of and every day, that's what I'll try to be." ---

"Mummy?"

"Huh, oh yeah. How was it?" You ask Simon. "Not long enough," he kisses your cheek as he walks inside. "Where is she?" "Home, I dropped her off." He answers and walks upstairs. Simon Riley, the same man who has you looking for all the poisoned apples, waiting to give that kiss his lips need.

Eleven at night, little one asleep, Simon hugging you goodbye and as he pulls away, you keep him there. "Don't leave, I'm tired of playing strong," you whisper and his heart shatters.

Was this not what you wanted? He forced himself to love someone new and yet, you were there, begging with those eyes of yours for him to listen to the silence of pleas. Those big arms of his, wrapping you in a blanket of home.

"…I broke up with her, that's why she didn't come with us," he confesses and in that moment, that tunnel with the light at the end appears again. "What?" you pull away and he nods. "I can't love her like I do you. I feel like I'm cheatin' on her each time my mind wanders to you. I compare her to you. She doesn't make me laugh, she can't do it."

"Simon-"

"It's not like I dated her for long and she understood, that and she also wants her ex-husband back," he laughs at the irony.

"I'm not asking that you take me back, that all goes back to how it was before but what I am asking is that you give me Friday at 6 pm, dinner at our favourite place, on me." There it is, that smile of his. His dimples show when he sees your eyes go wide.

"I don't know-" "Dinner on Friday, 6 pm and I swear you'll love me until we are old and grey," a young Simon Riley once told you. You were just 23 and he 26. Looking at it now, it's funny how life works. Date nights, always at the same shitty restaurant you both grew to love, always a Friday at 6 pm, always tulips, always a kiss on your hand because he loved how you blushed.

He hated change, he hated how he never saw himself celebrate your 12th anniversary and he hated how he missed you dancing in the kitchen, that white dress on you and how he kissed your body on every anniversary since the first time he called you his wife.

Traditions, those never seem to end.

2 years later, one secret renewal of vows, one backyard, two rings, two vows and three hearts, four if you included that baby girl in your belly.

Simon Joseph Riley and the obvious beauty of his missus R/N Riley. Spring, flowers, the giggles from your son and the warm laughter of your husband and you serving lunch with that big belly of yours. "Boys!" you call out.

He bit the apple, you kissed the poisoned lips and now live in a dream with the perfect little family.

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thatone-brightstar · 11 months

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The Bear & The Fox (Carmy Berzatto x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 13: Epilogue

Words: .9 k

a/n: super long and sappy a/n at the end if you wanna stick around!

There’s something about the way the setting sun rays bounce off the moving water, creating little twinkles over the surface that you find extremely mesmerizing. You can’t tell how long you’ve been standing on the soft grass and staring out into the lake, the watch on your wrist has been replaced by a thin gold bracelet and the dress didn’t really come with pockets to carry your phone. The music is still playing behind you though, and no announcements for the toast have yet broken your peace.

‘It’s probably best to head back inside’ you think as the late autumn wind has slowly been numbing the bare skin of your forearms. But you make no effort to move your heels from the ground, instead wrapping your arms tightly around yourself with eyes fixed on the changing colors of the sky above.

The fabric that falls over your shoulders is soft and the familiar smell of his body wash and cigarettes has strings pulling at the corners of your lips. He kisses your temple, warm lips burning a print on the cold skin under.

“Joyce asked me to come get you…” Carmy whispers over the shell of your ear, erupting more goosebumps over your flesh than the frigid wind ever could. “It’s almost time.”

“Hmm, do you think she’ll notice if we bail?”

He snickers and wraps his arms around you and the jacket to keep you warm. “I’m pretty sure she’ll notice her maid of honor’s missin’.”

“Nah, I think she’s too in love right now to care.” You turn in his grasp and lock your hands behind his neck. “We could… head home early? All this love’s made me horny and you look fucking great in a suit.”

Another snicker vibrates in his chest and blows clouds of steam over your face. He leans down to trap your lips in his for what feels like the hundredth time today, but no amount of repetition could ever make you tired of having him this close.

You sway from side to side with the breeze and the music floating in the air while your lips take their own rhythm, sweet and gentle and everything you hoped to receive one day. Carmy follows your light movements with his own awkward steps, clumsy outside of his comfort zone but enthusiastic in his own little way.

“Speaking of-'' He pecks your lips between words. “I wanna ask you somethin’...”

“Oh baby, it’s too soon for marriage don’t you think?”

“Ha ha, very funny…” He bickers back, sliding his palms under the jacket and spreading over your back.

“I mean, we could try but I don’t think my last name would look too good on you-”

“So in this scenario, I take your last name?”

“What, d’you expect me to take yours?” You pull away with a teasing smile, but keep a hold of his shoulders as you slow down your movements. “Ah-ah, sorry, my love but no. Mine just has more…personality.”

“And is that before or after we move in together?”

“Oh, definitely after we… wait what?”

His words make you stop in your tracks to concentrate on his nervous expression, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows too many times.

Your teasing smile turns soft under the careful gaze of his sapphire blues. “You serious?”

He nods too quickly and takes each of your hands in his. “Uh… yeah. Is that something you’d want to do… with me?”

You pull your hands from his hold and for a speck of a second you see fear flash behind his eyes, then it soon disappears when he feels their cold palms rest above his cheeks.

“Carmy Berzatto, it would be my absolute honor… to be your roomie.”

He groans, rolling his eyes and letting his head fall forward, softly hitting your forehead as it lands.

“I’m sorry baby, you just made it too easy!” You say through a soft laugh. “Besides, I thought we already did… I spend more time at yours than mine.”

“I know but I meant it, like officially. Like a place for the both of us, y’know? A space where you can hang your paintings and for all my shit. You can make your art and I’ll cook a-and I won’t have to worry if you’ll be there when I get home cause it’ll also be your home too…”

You stare up at him in full admiration, head clouded with love and all the little scenarios of a life you could share together. With your heart full in your chest, you raise your lips to press a kiss on his nose and make him open his eyes down to you.

“That sounds absolutely lovely, mi vida.”

“Yeah?” He whispers with a spark of hope that floods his eyes.

You nod back, lip trapped between your teeth. “...yeah.”

Hi!

oh my god, we made it!! Thank you so much to everyone who's commented, liked, reposted and ranted with me over these two wonderful idiots. This is the first time I've ever finished anything I've written and the overall love its received makes me so excited!

This is some sort of a series, so don't be too bummed that some questions have not been resolved yet, don't worry they will be ;)

This has been such a great experience and I’m so happy I found so many of you who embraced my characters and love Carmy and the show as much as me. I can’t wait for the second season and to see what’s in store for these fools in love.

My dms and asks are always open if you ever wanna talk or rant cause I'm always open to rants about this man!

Thank you again,

Amy xx

Taglist: @pearlstiare @teteminne, @beebslebobs, @harrysmatcha, @yum-yahgurt, @pussy-f41ry, @kirakombat and that’s it lmao

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sitizelter · 5 months

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🩵Sky Full of Stars🩵

Loscar ♡ Pt.4

Pt. 4 finally here!! Sorry it took so long, but now that the season's over I can take more time to write 😭😭

╰──────── ♡⁀➷ ────────╮

The ringing of the church bells echo the streets of Melbourne, meaning it had just turned 6pm. Oscar finally comes back home after closing up the workshop, he pops a sliced apple in his mouth before trudging back to his room.

With a grunt, he throws his bag on the floor and falls onto his bed. The sunlight peers through the crack of his window, golden hour had come. He rolled over onto his back, dialling in Logan's number to videocall him.

A content sigh escapes from Logan as drowsy eyes blink open to flashing numbers signifying an incoming call. Squinting against the morning light streaming in, Oscar's cheerful face fills the display stirring a sleepy smile to his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite delinquent." Logan chuckles softly still finding his voice, rubbing the remnants of dreams from stubbled cheek.

Taking him in leisurely sprawled across rumpled sheets, Logan notes the weary lines etched onto Oscar's face.

"You look exhausted, mate. Everything all sorted at the shop?" Logan inquires gently, seeing as ever through his brave mask to the weariness beneath.

"Some... 'fans' found out I helped my dad out here. Started clobbering all over the place, got me here feeling buggered out." Oscar murmured out with a heavy sigh.

Brows furrow in concern as Oscar's admission washes over the american through the speaker. Fans can be notorious, bringing praise one moment and chaos the next without care.

Oscar swore under his breath as he massaged his temples, "Sorry Loges, y'know how I am."

"Don't you dare apologize, mate." The other says gently yet firmly, shaking his head. "I understand the pressure better than most. You've nothing to explain to me."

Holding his exhausted gaze, Logan let steadfast care shine through his own. "You did well to make it home in one piece, yeah? Try and get some rest now - I mean it, Osc. No tinkering or plotlines tonight."

A soft chuckle escapes as the american thinks to distract. "Maybe put your feet up, watch some Netflix. I can gripe at you for missed calls in the morning when you've got your spark back."

"No, wait Logan-" Oscar suddenly shoots out. He clears his throat, regaining his composure.

╰──────── ♡⁀➷ ────────╮

"Stay on call with me. Your... voice helps to clear my mind." The aussie explains. He adjusts himself on the pillows, getting comfortable.

Logan blinks in mild surprise at Oscar's outburst, unusual to such candid vulnerability from him, before melting into an easy smile. Oscar's request sends warmth spreading through his chest where stress and uncertainty once gnawed.

"Alright then, mate. You've got me." Shifting to mirror his snug position, Logan gets cozy against piled pillows and watches the other expectantly through the screen.

"Well now what do you want - me serenading you to sleep like a lullaby?" Logan teases gently to lighten the atmosphere, hiding his own concern for him. "I haven't got the pipes for it I'm afraid. But I'll talk your ear off as long as you need, Osc. That I can manage."

"Just relax and rest now, yeah? I've got you."

Oscar sighs in content, glad that the other could understand how he's feeling then. "What did you dream about last night?" The aussie asks, his voice is soft.

Logan ponders Oscar's question thoughtfully as he tries to remember what he had dreamt of the previous night. A faint smile plays at his lips, fondness evident in lowered tones.

"Actually, there was one that's stuck with me. We were back in the park near your dad's shop, remember - the one with that huge gum tree we used to climb?"

Chuckling softly at the image, Logan nestles deeper into feathery pillows and lets nostalgia's soothing warmth embrace his tired bones.

"We must've been... what- 15? 16? Sun was just starting to set, painting everything orange and rose. And we were laying in the grass, talking for hours like we used to..."

His gaze softens as it meets Oscar's through the screen. Quiet falls between, filled instead by memory's gentle refrain. For what need have words, when hearts have known each other so long?

"I'm glad it was that one," Logan whispers finally, hoping Oscar hears all he had left unsaid too.

"I'm glad you dreamt of that one too," Oscar breathes out.

"Sorry that our calls have been quite... short lately. Ugh, it doesn't feel the same, I miss us. When are you visiting again?" Oscar turns his head to look at Logan in the screen. His eyelids were half-lidded, with barely visible eyebags underneath them.

A pang of longing lances the american's chest at Oscar's weariness shining plain. He wishes nothing more than to reach through the call and gather Oscar into arms, let his head find rest upon his shoulder as days go by.

Stroking fingers tap a thoughtful rhythm upon blanketed thigh as schedule runs through his overtired mind. "Not sure offhand on exact dates... few weeks maybe?" He ventures tentatively, hating the uncertainty.

Their gaze holds tenderly through slowing blinks. "Tell you what though - why don't I shuffle things around and come next weekend instead, if you'll have me? Barge in, cook us dinner, we can put on a show and just relax, yeah?" A soft smile plays on his face, hoping the offer of sooner solace may lift spirits, if only briefly.

Oscar's eyes shined for a moment. "Yeah. Of course, next weekend would be great."

"I'll make sure to tell mom that you're staying over. Hopefully she'll make her Shepherd's pie that you love so much." Oscar teases, his playfulness making an reappearance from underneath his tired outlook. A genuine grin brightens Logan's face.

"God, I can taste it already." Logan sighs wistfully, relishing memory of flavors mingling on the tongue. "Your mum's Shepherd's pie is honestly the cure for everything bad. And her company, of course!"

Warmth blooms anew in Logan's chest at thought of familiar embraces, gentle smiles and care that emanates from the walls of Oscar's childhood home.

"Get some rest soon, mate. I'll sort the travel details tomorrow."

Oscar nods, "Mhm, G'night." He mutters out. He looks at the other through the screen again, with Logan's face being brightened up by the morning sun.

A faint smile plays once more on Logan's cheeks as fond gaze lingers warmly upon Oscar. His cares are the american's own; if that alone can offer even moment's solace, all the journeys of world are worth the walking.

"Now get some rest, darling. I'll see you soon." Logan whispers before he ends the call, with his heart so very full.

╰──────── ♡⁀➷ ────────╮

Once the call ends, it only leaves Oscar alone with his thoughts. His eyes are wide open, with his ears ringing and repeating those last few words spoken by the american.

"Darling. Did he really call me 'darling'?"

Oscar felt blush fill in his cheeks. He rolls over and buries his reddened face into his pillow. He felt like a 8th grader that had just fallen in love again, kicking his feet while blushing like crazy.

The aussie takes a minute to calm down. Logan might've only been teasing him. But what if he wasn't? What if he really meant it?

A shy grin appears on his face. He swears he isn't being delusional, more like... optimistic.

"Darling." Oscar whispers, with his heart fluttering.

╰──────── ♡⁀➷ ────────╮

#OKAYY 4TH PART OUT #oscar at the last part is literally me #ALSO streets are saying that logans contract announcement is coming on tues?#god i rlly hope so #james bowel has to stop playing with my feelings #f1 #f1blr #logan sargeant #ls2 #oscar piastri #op81 #loscar #f1 rpf #f1 fanfic #🩵🧡

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vecnuthy · 9 months

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🔀 jopper please or if they aren’t your thing Steddie please!

Thank you, Anna!! I can (hopefully) do Jopper 🤩 This paints a cool scene, especially if we keep the element of them taking so long to finally fall together. It's a proper au! This absolutely stunning song weaves such a vivid tapestry, and I'd be remiss to ignore it.

She couldn't do this anymore. Being in this place, surrounded by the same trees, the same fields, the same hills that reached tall and stretched far, blocking her from the sea where she belonged was literally killing her. She dealt with the little deaths for almost two decades, clinging to the life she had, the lives she'd created in her two children, but they had the same pallor in their eyes that she had long gotten used to.

But this wasn't a life she wanted for them. She had chosen this for herself, back when the opportunity arose. She'd found comraderie in the form of teens her own age, wanted a taste of the life that they led among air, rain, and cloud. To feel the soft grass on her feet and the brush of her hair - dry, frizzy, and full - against her skin. She fell for a boy who was kind and brash, moody like the coastal weather but warm like the fire on her hearth. And, god, did he glow. Smelled of tobacco and wood and musk and made her feel fizzy and light like the head of the ale he drank at the tavern after a day in the wood shop with his dad. She'd often brush the saw dust from his hair or his shoulders, marveling at how it got everywhere while playfully calling him a mess. He had kind eyes even while he gently pushed her away, telling her not to fuss through an uncharacteristically bashful smile.

But anything with James Hopper ended before it even started.

Another guy swept in, promised her security and belonging but slowly left her broken and abandoned with two kids and a cloud that never left her. And she was angry.

Angry at Lonnie for being a piece of shit.

Angry at the life she carved out with her bare hands, trying so hard to make it all fit right, only to manage to bring to kids into it who only knew the drudge of the town, the absence of their father, the pain and ungodly din of his presence when he came back.

She was angry at herself for leaving the ocean in the first place.

When her younger son almost died at the hands of other kids his age, fueled by hate and rumors, she decided it was enough. She left.

It had been almost twenty years since she felt the ocean on her skin, and it welcomed her back eagerly. Took in her kids as if they were its own, because they were.

They found belonging, going somewhere their father couldn't follow. Existing in a place he had always been terrified of, which made Joyce feel vindicated, finally feeling at peace in her own skin with the heavy weight of salt water pressing around her.

She would go ashore every now and then, mingle with the people and just walk around. She wondered if she would ever see him again, though — the boy who embodied a summer thundercloud and its warm rain that glittered in the sun as it fell. He — Hopper — was, obviously, a man now, who had made his own family established in that very same coastal town. He used his woodworking skills to build boats now.

And then, one day, she did see him.

His feet dangled over the pier as he ate an apple. His pants were rolled up over his calves, loose shirt rolled up to his elbows, and she knew that bearing through the mass of muscle he'd accumulated through a life of manual labor. She even recognized him behind the thick mustache he now wore. She thought it suited him.

He looked older. Looked tired. There was a weariness in the air around him.

Eventually, Joyce came to realize that he took a boat out every Tuesday, sailing it up and down the coast, loop it around a small island a mile out from the shore three times. She'd follow it, watching as he and the crew manned their stations, running quality checks.

She also picked up that he still visited a tavern, which is where she eventually reunited with him.

"You're a mermaid, aren't you," he stated, pulling deeply on a smoke in his mouth as Joyce stared in shock, trying to process what he said.

"I thought it was just my imagination at first. My mind dredging up old bones from the seafloor, but then they saw you too. Two weeks ago by Sattler Island. They thought you were a dolphin."

He took in her appearance, then added, "You look different. A good different though. I saw you once with him, and you looked like a shell of yourself."

"I was a shell of myself. Wait, was that a sea shell joke?" she quipped back, making him sputter into his cup with a choked laugh.

She caught him up to speed, told him why she left, about her sons, how well they'd been doing since leaving Hawkins, getting to experience the stories Joyce used to tell them firsthand. The friends they'd made. How they flourished.

And he listened, well into the night, apologized for not doing something about Lonnie. As if he could have.

As if she would've listened.

She learned that he was alone now. His daughter had died of smallpox years ago and left he and his wife with a grief so strong that it broke them apart.

They fell back into each other's lives, and, unwilling to let the other go again, made up for lost time. In the time after Jonathan and Will became settled, an opportunity came up for Hopper to sail for a while, just take off and go, so Joyce followed with him. They got a taste of how big the world could be. How clear and how murky, how angry and calm the sea was in various places. She was part of the sea, though, and amidst it with Hopper by her side, knowing that her kids were doing well, she never felt adrift again.

Send me a 🔀 with a pairing and I'll make an au based off of the first song in my shuffle

#jopper #insert her fire and his caring gruffness in *gestures broadly* there. you know they bicker but it's great #thank you for sending in the ask!!#ask game #vec fic

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raven-eruri · 2 years

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Levi’s smile is frozen in time, forever laced with grief and sorrow.

Much like this place, he thinks gloomily as he enters the small Bed and Breakfast on Kirstein Street, a bell jingling as he pushes the heavy wooden door. The house, clean and quiet, smells like cinnamon and apples. The landlady emerges from the kitchen, wiping her flour-covered hand on her apron. She greets him cheerfully, producing a small pair of thin round glasses from her pocket as she registers his name in the big leather-bound guest’s book on the counter.

“Ackerman, you said?”

“Yes. Levi.”

“That’s not a common name around here,” she remarks idly.

“I’m not from here.”

Levi takes in his surroundings, half-listening to her perky chatter. Everything about the house screams old-fashioned, from the floral wallpaper to the gleaming, spotless hardwood floors. As he scans the room, his eyes fall upon the portrait of a middle-aged man hanging proudly above the fireplace’s mantle. He looks about forty, standing proud and at attention, his right fist curled up on his chest, above his heart, inches away from an elegant bolo tie nestled in the collar of his green military coat. Marleyan soldiers wear grey, not green, and rank is shown by stripes on their shoulder pads, not stones around their necks.

“Who’s that?” Levi asks, a bit curious.

“Hum?” she raises her head, follows his gaze. “Oh, that’s Jean Kirstein, the 16th Commander of the Survey Corps. Great man. He was the officer responsible for brokering the peace treaty that ended the war in 864, after the bombings and the second Marleyan Offensive on Paradis,” she explains. “He was a distant relative of my husband.”

Levi nods. Other portraits are scattered around the room, showing more people in old military uniforms, posing with the same proud salute that was the habit of the old Army. Offering their hearts, if Levi recalls his history lessons correctly. On the right, Levi spots a smaller portrait of a boy with golden hair, a resolute and determined expression painted on his face. There’s a harshness to him, something hollow in how his eyes are fixed in front of him — like he’s looking at something beyond the painter, something only he can see. This is not the kind of expression Levi would have expected to see in someone so young, he thinks as he averts his eyes, uncomfortable. A bit further from the boy’s painting, above the couch, is a small round miniature of a messy brown hair soldier, one eye covered with an eye patch, the other eye piercing and tired. It doesn’t look much like the other paintings — it’s more of a sketch, really, but the lines are sharp and manage to capture the image of the soldier, freezing it in time. It makes Levi feel uneasy, somehow. The portraits are another reminder of the ghosts inhabiting this place, casting an old, eternal shadow over the otherwise warm room.

Levi can’t wait to get away from this place.

“Those are more portraits of the Survey Corps Commanders,” the landlady says upon noticing where his gaze has landed. “This is Armin Arlert,” she points to the young boy with the deep blue eyes, “he became Commander during the Rumbling, after the previous one, Hange Zoë,” she motions to the other portrait above the couch, “sacrificed their life to allow their comrades to escape the island."

Levi gives her a polite smile, turning back to the counter, eager to escape the weight of the dead commanders’ gazes.

"My late husband, may he rest in peace, harboured a bit of an obsession for history and all that related to the Jaegerist Insurrection and the Rumbling War. He had the greatest collection of books and writings about that time on all the island. When he passed away, I donated everything to the Sina National Archives, but I didn’t have the heart to get rid of the decoration.”

Levi nods again, uncomfortable.

“Are you interested in history, dear?” she asks.

Levi fumbles, trying not to show his annoyance at being called dear. “No. Not really.” He picks up his suitcase as she motions for him to follow her up the stairs. “I thought —” he falters. “I thought this was frowned upon?”

“Oh,” she lets out a small humph, condescending. “It used to be, yes. But it’s been over a hundred years now. We Eldian folks remember, of course. But Marley doesn’t care for it so much anymore.” She says that in a strange tone. The words are spoken lightly, but they carry a weight that takes Levi by surprise.

She breathes through her nose, curious. “Is it your first time in Paradis, dear?”

“Hum, no,” Levi coughs. “I was born here."

She stops midway up the stairs, raising an eyebrow. "Are you visiting family, perhaps? How lovely.”

“I’m here for a funeral, actually."

Her face falls upon hearing that, curiosity slowly replaced by sympathy. She lays a hand on his forearm, patting his biceps. "How dreadful. I’m so sorry to hear that. You have my condolences.” She studies his face for a bit longer than Levi feels comfortable being watched, so he casually snaps his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes and motioning to the door on top of the stairs.

“Thank you. Your brochure said the rooms were equipped with a private bathroom?"

"All of them! We take great care of our guests here; don’t you worry about that."

She unlocks the door, and they step into a small and plain but cosy guest room. The walls are bare of paintings or portraits, which Levi is thankful for. A double bed sits in the middle of the room, made of sturdy oak wood that matches the rest of the furniture. The quilt lying on top of the bed looks handmade, just like the lace doilies sitting under the lamps on the bedside cabinets framing the mattress on both sides. He takes a few steps into the room, setting his suitcase next to the dresser.

"Breakfast is served from 7 to 9 am. The rooms are cleaned daily, so we’ll ask that you vacate the room for at least an hour each morning. How long will you be staying with us?”

“Only a few days, hopefully,” he responds. He doesn’t plan to spend a minute more in this place than necessary. He’s been here for merely two hours, and already he’s feeling his old self sliding back into place, replacing everything he worked so hard to rebuild. To heal.

He thanks the landlady several times, each one more strained than the previous one, before she finally takes the hint and leaves the room — and when the door closes behind her with a light click and silence fills the room, he finally allows himself to breathe.

Deeply, eyes closed. Inhale, exhale. Once, twice, a third for good measure, until he feels his nerves relaxing and his heartbeat settling down.

He doesn’t have time to get distracted or overwhelmed by uneasy memories.

He’s here for one task, and one task only.

In forty-eight hours — seventy-two at most — he’ll be back on the boat, returning to his life, job, and Isabel. He’ll leave the island and never set foot there again.

Dragonfly in Amber | Chapter 1

#eruri #eruri fic #eruri fanfic #erwin x levi #levi ackerman #erwin smith #shingeki no kyoujin #this is an Outlander inspired AU #ackerbond #eruri au

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courtofmatchups · 1 year

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Hi!! Would love to get a match-up if you get a chance <3

Name: Alex Pronouns: she/they Orientation: demisexual!! Age: 21 MBTI: ENFJ Sun sign: Aries Moon sign: Pisces Rising sign: Cancer Favorite color: Blue

I'm a biology student and love learning about the world around me!! I love reading both fiction and non-fiction, I especially enjoy historical fiction! I also enjoy doing more art-oriented things such as painting, drawing, writing, crocheting, sewing, etc. I am also super spiritual and enjoy doing tarot and some witchcraft energy stuff. Another thing I enjoy is playing videogames, I am particularly obsessed with Stardew Valley and the Sims.

I want to say I'm very observant and can be quiet when taking in a new situation. However, once I am comfortable I can be very adaptable to my environment and the people around me, and try to match their energy and mention things they might be interested in. While in a social event I can appear very extroverted and do feed off the energy in the event to keep going, but once the event is over I do need some time alone to recharge. With my friends I'm very touch-y (love hugs and cuddling!) and will make sure to always take care of others. I've often been called the mom friend. I'm very empathetic (almost to a fault) and used to be the therapist friend, but have since decreased this as it was a bit much emotionally.

I do take great care of my appearance, and looking and feeling stylish is really important to me on the days I have more energy! I'm a ring girlie, and enjoy wearing a variety of jewelry items. My favorite thing is choosing fun earrings to match my outfit, with my current favorites being either my lightning bolt earrings or my strawberry milk ones.

I own one cat, her name is Cassie and she is a chubby black cat and I LOVE HER! she is the best thing ever, the apple to my eye. If someone doesn't like my cat, immediate red flag.

Sorry if this was a bit disorganized, I wasn't entirely sure what information might be helpful and what might not.

It seems to me that you have captured the heart of...

The Ravishing Warrior:

Violet Muller!

Oh, dear. Violet has taken quite a few L's when it came to dating, but it seems like you're the breath of fresh air she needs. Your demisexuality implies that you're only willing to be with someone only after you feel a deep emotional connection, and quite frankly, that's exactly what she wants. Polyamory isn't quite her thing, after all.

I think Violet would appreciate your energy as well as your interests. It's actually canon that she likes to make accessories, so she would like to make some especially for you. She also likes to admire pretty things, so you can count on her absolutely loving anything you make. The ones you make for her even more so.

Also: CUDDLES. Violet would absolutely love cuddling you. You also mentioned that you were the mom friend of your squad. Violet knows how tiring this is, as she is a mom friend herself, so I can see the two of you helping each other unwind after a long day of keeping your friends in line

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#violet muller #court of matchups #court of darkness #court of darkness x reader #violet muller x reader #court of darkness matchups

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theclo4ked1 · 5 months

Text

I feel like I've been stepping up my art game up a bit in these last few fortnights. Ever since that one pencil crayon drawing, my art has become so much different and I've been liking what I've been making, which is a plus since I'd be creating things I'd ideally want to keep and not throw away or sell. At this rate, I'm afraid I'll suffer another burnout, by Winter no less. I can feel it, too.

One of my last projects was a study of abstraction. Five drawings, each one after the first are to become increasingly abstract, but I took it one step further to try to do bizarre things and made the final drawing what I thought was unrecognizable entropic mess, but peers saw remnants of objects from the past drawings, so I guess I did an unconscious artistic action.

Charcoal has been a go-to recently, for good reason. It's been lots of fun to just go to town, absolutely scratching and smudging and smearing all over my paper. It's also faster than a pencil on my usual 18" x 24" papers. These drawings are approximately 9" x 12"; sizes which do not fit the scanner tray of my printer, so a few centimeters of the bottom of each image is cut off, but I don't think you're missing much.

The base objects, from left to right, are some tin flower pot, a ceramic container that reminded me of Greece, an old tea kettle, a glass bottle, and part of one of the trees and plants in the back of the room I was working in. My intention was a slow start and then quickly melt into the insanity, which was kinda hard to gauge with five drawings. By the third, things began to pick up. The tea kettle turned into an apple with two fingers, the tin flower pot became an unidentified cephalopod, and the background tree becomes a slime/ooze or acid tidal wave (I can't remember which substance).

I remember working and spending, admittingly, not a lot of time on this project. I made the first two drawings in an evening, and the final three in an afternoon. To me, the abstraction didn't just mean breaking things down into "just lines", it meant warping reality and going beyond the guidelines; breaking rules has become somewhat of a mantra in my works. That's how I add my own twist. Originally, my take on this project was "ol'right, i can break things down into geometric shapes". You can see the results differ than the initial plan.

Since I didn't deconstruct my composition into "just lines", it hindered my time. My workflow, or how long I spent on one drawing, could have exponentially (or logarithmically?) accelerated had I went into "just lines", but because of how I end up going, each drawing took a larger fraction of time that I could have evaluated. The best as I can explain is "every drawing is made 30 minutes faster than the last". Inaccurate, but that's how I'll put it into perspective. I even tried being more explorative in the sense that I gave every drawing a different style as the abstraction went on.

ZERO: It's the original still life, it was drawn as one-to-one as I could. It looks pretty good coming back to it and digitizing the final image.

ONE: The "sketchy" or "cartoon" style, where the objects have black outlines and a lack of detail in the lighting and shadows.

TWO: For this one, I challenged myself to make one without smudging to create value, opting to crosshatch and few solid black areas or lines that are just pure darkness, like on the ring.

THREE: What I called the "One Detailed Object", in this case, the open eye that gazes into you, I hope. Not much to say about this one.

FOUR: Finally, the chaos. On the back of the paper, I labelled it "The Mess" as my style guideline, so here I just went nuts, but not just blindly putting lines anywhere, no I had some intention, but again, I didn't notice that I had aligned a few objects from the past drawings until my peers pointed this out.

And unlike my painting series, I did NOT make an extra one because I was too tired. Heh. Thanks for reading!

#illustration #charcoal #charcoal art #charcoal drawing

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/3/23

AGH I CAN'T STOP WORKING! I only have 3 more beads to go! I really wanted to get to bed early tonight because I'm really tired but... I just can't stop now, I'm so close. I already Brillo-prepped them too, so all I have to do is the final buff.

Alrighty, that only took about half an hour to wrap up. The beads are all done, they look great and they're all strung on a doubled piece of hemp for now. It was so long ago that I prepped these... I don't even really remember my plan. I think I was going to make this a knotted bead necklace, but I don't know if I wanted to add a clasp to it or have it be closed. I don't know if I have enough beads for that. I guess we'll see tomorrow.

Big day, lots of accomplishments. I woke up after about 5 hours of sleep, but got back to sleep pretty quickly, didn't even get out of bed. That was a relief. I had dreams about being with my ex, which was... difficult. And alien. But I shook that off and started my day. Yoga was nice today, I did some Factorio over first meal.

I went straight to work on my griptape to finish it off. I loved the vibe of listening to Heilung and painting on the floor, so I went with their live album. It's really good. All I had to do today was the highlights, and I knocked that out. Did a big photoshoot and... it's done!

Then I decided to relocate my suncatcher to a position where it can catch more light throughout the day. Where it was, it only really caught light between 5-7PM. I'm hoping this new spot will give it more light access. I had to run a string through an eye bolt mounted in the ceiling. That eye bolt was about 16 feet off the ground. So I took a big line of hemp twine and tied a rock to the end of it, and reached it over from my loft about 6 feet out to the eye bolt with one of my carved staves, and fed it into the hole with a second staff, the one I usually go walking with. It was a hell of a workout holding two oak branches by the hilt, trying to maneuver a rock through a 1" diameter hole like 5-6' away. But luckily, I picked a good rock. It fit snugly, but I got it through and it worked first try. So that's all rigged up and good to go, and super adjustable too.

Then I showered and headed out to the skatepark. When I got there, there were 6 people there. A group of 4 kids that looked college age, and two people closer to my age that looked like a couple. I did my usual thing, showing up on my hybrid board with the AirPods in, getting my trick board out of my backpack, finishing my apple and then off I went. It's weird going to the skatepark by myself when everyone else there is a group. For me, at least. And I'm actually starting to wonder... are my AirPods sending the wrong message?

Like... I keep my volume super low and transparency mode on for safety, if anyone wants to chat I can hear them clear as day. It's a really good habit to stay in, especially when riding on streets, so you can hear cars coming. But I'm kinda wondering... does me wearing headphones send the message "don't talk to me"? Because today was the first time someone talked to me, and I feel like it was almost a fluke? Meh, that's too harsh. It was entirely thanks to her, it was 100% the woman's initiative that made it happen.

This chick who... is most likely younger than me but somewhere around my age... was standing next to me when I was skating a low box. I was really bashful being one of the worst skaters at the park. I can talk all day about how skating is not a competition and it's just you trying to improve. And I bet most of the people at the park did not give a shit. But I was pretty self conscious, I often feel like I'm just gonna get in the way or something, it's... not helpful thinking. And you know, sometimes I have good days and I don't care at all... and some days I have days like today. But I pushed through it.

The woman was short, blond, very thin. Like... almost concerningly thin. And had a lot of tattoos, including a face tattoo. This wasn't the first time I saw a face tattoo in person, but the first time I saw a decent sized one, and on a female. And it was a new experience. I'll put it that way for now and elaborate in a minute. She complimented my grip tape and I said "thank you, I did it myself." And she seemed genuinely blown away, like she legit didn't believe me. And I was like, "yeah, I did," and then said, "I'm a professional artist." I really don't know why I keep adding in the word professional. From the second I got home I've been trying to convert kicking myself over that into... "it would make me feel more comfortable if I dropped the 'professional' part. I can just say I'm an artist, that's fine." It's always the little things that get you caught up, right?

She immediately asked if I had an Instagram. I was literally going to post my progress photos of making the grip tape before leaving, and I decided not to so I could get more skate time. She gave me her phone and had me add myself to her Instagram. The whole thing was just, so goddamn alien to me. Just having another human speak to me, let alone a female around my age, let alone a human in person in close proximity to me, and having an actual conversation... it was just... I got really "what do I do with my hands" pretty quick. But that was a cool moment, it meant a lot to me.

However... yep, there's always a however... my anxiety was on the prowl today. And what I'm realizing... it's not a fun realization, but it's important. Some of the most important are the least fun, I'm starting to notice. Anxiety is... judgement. It kinda has to be, right? Like... anxiety is a defense mechanism put in place to keep you safe, right? So... what anxiety does is scan the information it's receiving and... forms a judgement of whether that is safe or a threat. Information = speaking in front of 1000 people. Anxiety = you might screw up, you might do bad, people will laugh, people will emotionally hurt you because of that. Reaction = piss yourself and avoid. So, anxiety functions as an intermediary step between information gathering and reaction. And it is quite literally a step where you are judging and categorizing info based on your past experiences.

So... what I saw was... a super thin girl, like gaunt-in-the-cheeks thin, with a face tattoo and... a big scar on her shoulder. And my anxiety reminded me that I'm in a city now. And flashed back to last summer when my highschool "best friend" told me vivid horror stories - I mean straight out of Trainspotting or Requiem for a Dream horror stories. And flashed back to the last person I met on the side of the road, who was obviously high as fuck. And I got anxious. I was afraid she was a meth head or something. I feel bad for making that snap judgement. And hell, maybe she is, who knows? But like... was it really fair of me to be cautious around her when she had given me no reason to be afraid?

I often feel like a dog that has been adopted from a shelter. Only... I haven't been adopted... I'm just sorta... out here. Alone. Trying to human, somehow. I'm always trying to keep myself safe, at all times. Wow, it's almost like I have PTSD or something, weird...

But yeah, I feel bad about being judgmental. And... despite her being around the same ability level as me... I tried to keep a little distance from her because she was there with a guy. The guy had a buzzed mohawk and was really good. Like... I'm always just in awe when I get to see talented skaters in real life, and I get so intimidated. I really hope to get over that some day. But it's just how things are for now. But I tried to keep my distance from the chick because... I didn't know if they were together and I didn't want him to get the wrong idea. I obviously have pure intentions and I'm just trying to make friends... but yeah. Anxiety can be very convincing.

So... I just kinda went back to skating, doing my thing. I got a lot more comfortable with the FS half cab. I'm really starting to understand it a bit more now. When I try to whip it around, it just does not work. But if I just sorta... pop and hop, and not worry so much about facing forward right away? It works pretty smoothly. But what completely made the trick for me was just facing backwards while I set up. That just made the trick possible.

I did some pretty long boardslides on an old railroad tie that was there. But that thing was sticky as hell, and I'm not brave enough to wax something at a skatepark, honestly. Not that I have wax... I got a bit more comfortable with my nosemanual position, but I'm still figuring it out. I did a few runs of ollie onto a small box and FS 180 off. So yeah, more practice. And I had a good time. I think I was there for a good hour and I was the last one to leave.

When I left, I passed by the couple who were waiting for a ride. The guy and I exchanged our first words saying "have a good one", as I rode by on my hybrid board like some kind of cyberpunk hippie. XD After all that intimidation and "not wanting to upset him", he seemed very nice. Then I was back in bliss-mode riding down the roads with tunes on, carving and cruising. That thing is so much fun to ride, I swear. My only complaint is that my back trucks might be a tad bit too loose, but it keeps me going at a slow pace so its not so bad. And then the couple passed by me again about 2 blocks down, and we all waved at each other. So that was a good vibe to end on.

So the whole like "I was being judgmental and distant and kinda anti-social" self-flagellation didn't really start until well after I got home. And I've been pretty good at keeping it productive. I think a good habit to get into is... instead of going "why did I do ____, that was dumb..." Let me give an example. Introducing myself as a professional artist. I was kicking myself because of that. I don't like it, but when my depression and my anxiety team up... I'm severely outmatched, so... sometimes I don't win. What I'd like to do is... instead of going "why did I introduce myself as a professional artist, I have under 100 followers and she can see that, that's embarrassing," I would like to try... "ooo saying 'professional artist' is a little difficult for me right now, maybe next time I can just say 'artist', that might feel a bit more comfortable." I think that's a much more gentle way of going about it, and it's actually actionable instead of just being harsh and self-disciplinary.

Self-discipline is fucking useless when you don't have context or a plan. It's just punishment for having experienced something. It's useless and harmful. The most important part of any uncomfortable moment like that is... integrating the lesson learned. Focusing on that, rather than dwelling on the mistake portion and laying into yourself, is a really good way to break self-abuse cycles. Not easy to do, but it does good.

So, for example... I was being harsh on myself for judging this chick. Specifically, for judging her because of her scars, which she obviously can't help. And... getting personal (but I mean duh, it's a journal...) - it kinda reminded me of an ex of mine that used to cut herself. And that... was a difficult memory. Let me be super clear here, that association of mine? That's not fair to her. But it's part of what happened for me. And my self-protective centers started screaming "be careful, be aware, you've seen this before, she might self-harm".

Welp. After I got home? I skimmed over her Instagram. And she had X-Rays from a broken collarbone. And I mean fucking shattered. And I just felt so fucking bad. And I was like... I mean, in hindsight, it's hard for me to even understand how I would jump to a conclusion that someone would cut or burn themselves in such a visible and odd location. But... trauma brain does weird shit, and swears it has the best intentions.

So... what I'm struggling to do is find a way to convert that... I mean, it's clear I'm still beating myself up over it and I still feel shameful. But that's not only not healthy, it doesn't lead anywhere. I just beat myself over it until that part of my brain is tired or moves on to something else. That's... not a great way to live life. So... I'd like to actually get a lesson out of this. And I think the lesson is to not judge quite so hastily. Not assume so much.

I think a huge part of that is isolation. A huge part is being alone and having to keep myself safe. And lately I've just been erring super on the side of caution. So... I'm giving myself forgiveness for this, it's been a struggle lately. And if I see her again, I guarantee she will have had zero idea any of that happened. She probably just thought "oh, he just wants to skate," and then went and skated herself.

I just so often feel so compelled to apologize to people for things like this. Because I have so many fears of the judgement of others myself, that I have to brute force through just to take the trash out sometimes. Judgement of my skin condition. Judgement of the unique combination of frankincense, nag champa and dragon's blood that I wear instead of deodorant. Judgement of me being 36 at a skatepark and struggling to ollie on a 8" box. Judgement of be having AirPods and a hybrid board. The things that some people (like me) would go "holy shit, that's really cool!" (remember, that's a judgement too...) That force has kept me in isolation for a long time. And the more that stuff like this happens? The more I realize that those judgmental anxiety fantasies? They live in my head. That hyper-judgmental force... lives inside of me.

It lives in other people, too. Sure. Don't get me wrong. The "former friend" I was talking to the other day was being super judgmental of entire demographics based merely on... a font. Which... ironically... was the exact demographic he was from... He was ripping on "fake blue collar" people, who don't even know how to use tools and shit... and I was just... it took everything in my power to not be like... "dude, I have met your parents and been to your childhood home that was in the suburbs! I've lived here way longer than you have and I've only lived here since I was 11!" And it started to hit me. And I bet this is like... a thing, you know? Projection... right?

To find something repulsive or terrifying in others, outside of ourselves... but it's really the repulsive or terrifying thing within us. And despite me often being compulsively compassionate, I often find myself being harshly judgmental. Not nearly as much as the past, and not even a fraction of a shadow of my parents... but it's there, and it showed its ugly face today. And honestly? I'm not sure how to manage it.

Because being judgmental? Profiling people? It can keep you alive. It can help you read a situation where, otherwise, you would've gotten mugged. But being in survival mode 24/7 is no way to live, and no way to build any form of relationship. Be it a partnership, a friendship, or even an acquaintanceship.

So yeah, a lot of thoughts today. But the big things of the day - finished the grip tape (phase one), finished the beads, strung the suncatcher, and posted a photo time-lapse of the grip tape to Instagram. With music I wrote in the spring, too. Finally found use for all those random riffs I write. Time lapses, social media videos.

So yeah, feeling a big sense of accomplishment. So... I'm going to actually let myself feel that for a minute because I'm realizing... I've kinda just been turning all of this into a life lesson and I haven't really taken time to celebrate victories here. I met two new people, and they could very well turn into new friends if they frequent the park and live nearby. I finished the mandala on my grip tape. I finished the beads. I did some circus act stringing a rig on my ceiling hook. I posted one of my art pieces in a public forum. I got a lot done, and I should really be proud of that.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

Text

a place for the weary

Convincing the boys to take a break and rest their head on your lap, because they all work so hard and need a comfortable place to just ... be - plus … some of them just need love and affection (please)

Includes: Albedo, Diluc, Scaramouche, Kaeya

Warning -> SFW

Character X GN reader

Albedo

He’s busy, always busy - whether he’s working on some research in the labs or out in the field, he’s hardly ever taking a moment to stop. What he finds most relaxing is drawing, painting the scenery in front of him until he gets it all perfect, and while you love to watch how his face twists, his eyes scrunch together as he examines the lines on the page, you also wish he would take a moment to do nothing

If you suggest the activity to him, he may wonder what could be the purpose of it; he might ask you a lot of questions as he leans down to rest his head on your lap

“Albedo,” you call out to him as you watch him shuffle through the crates examining the bottles and other items sprawled in the container. He tilts his head to look at you, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a glass contained filled with some sort of liquid. “You’ve been working for so long, come take a rest.” You pat your leg and invite him to join you on the soft blanket you’d laid out some time ago.

“I’m trying to make sure we have …”

“I know,” you chuckle, “and it’ll be there for you after you take a quick break.”

He straightened himself out, his torso stretching and overcorrecting slightly as he elongated out his muscles. The bottle slipped further into his palm as he moved his hand up and down, bouncing it slightly as he contemplated your suggestion. You knew it wasn’t like him to take breaks like this, still, you hoped he would at least this time.

“If it makes you feel more productive, bring your notebook so you can draw.” That seemed much more enticing, you smiled to yourself as you watched him retrieve his journal before falling in place at your side.

You were always persistent in getting him to take a moment, a small second to stop moving or relax his eyes which only seemed to be tired when he rested against you

After the first few times, he had tried a couple of different iterations until he found the best position to be the one he was participating in right now. Legs bent so he could prop his drawing notebook or journal onto them; his legs acting as a makeshift easel so he could sketch or paint what was in the background

He may be inclined to share his thoughts with you, perhaps dominating the conversation as he ponders on rhetorical questions and thoughts that fill his mind, but you don’t care because your hands are busy in his hair anyway

After finding a comfortable place for his head, the back of his hair pushed itself up as he slid along the edge of your thigh. You shifted so he could have enough space and while he began to work, you could continue reading through your book. These moments you cherished, these simple, peaceful moments that allowed you to be close to him while giving him all the freedom he’d ever shown you.

Every once in a while you glanced down to his notebook and became transfixed by the way his pencil moved across the page. How each line transitioned from nonsense into a masterful capture of the world stretched out in front of him. It was incredible how his eyes were able to see so much and his hands moved to copy it all down. He didn’t seem to mind the corners of the page fluttering in the wind or how leaves would fall haphazardly around him, resting quietly on his chest or in his hair.

Your hands instinctively went to retrieve them, your thumb sliding across the bumpy surface and fingers pushing against his soft blonde hair. Letting the leaf meander on its way to the ground, you returned your fingers to his head. The tips ran over his forehead, trailing until they came to rest on his outer ear and carefully you tucked some strands of his hair behind it. You heard him sigh and noticed the quick movements of the pen slow to a near stop, a sign for you to continue.

Carefully, you returned your bookmark to the page before resting it onto the blanket. Your hands found their way back to his hair and they began to work their way to his scalp. Your nails sliding along, underneath, below, and over each strand as if you were inspecting it all. The soft texture of it, and the reaction of its owner, made the experience all the better.

After a while, Albedo seemed to pull himself away from the trance you had put him under. A line here, a curve there, his pencil began to move again and the once empty spaces of the paper grew into a beautiful work of art. You too returned to the book you were reading but left one hand against his hair, your fingers moving every once in a while.

The two of you shared in a moment, uninterrupted, and through the connection, the both of you felt more energized than before.

Diluc

Relax? What is relax -> Diluc doesn’t know how, when, or what he would even do to relax so getting him to take a break, to have a moment would be a battle to say the least

You’re much more likely to find success if he’s tired, like super tired, tired to the point you see him shaking his head or rubbing his eyes with his fingers - here he is less likely to deny you - here you have more push in your persuasion

You walked into the study knowing full well what you would find when you pushed open the door. There he was, just as you had imagined him, with his head peering down at documents, his fist balled and pressing against his forehead, his other hand gripping a pen and moving across the papers.

The light from the midday sun slipped through the window and surrounded him in a beautiful glow; an ethereal being with hair the color of juiciest apples and skin paler than the cups of china stocked in the kitchen below. If Diluc would allow it, you’d have stolen several photos of him while he worked, but he wasn’t fond of pictures.

You walked up to the desk and noticed that he had barely eaten the lunch the maids had prepared for him, a few bites taken but nothing substantial. He continued his work even as you approached the front desk, moments like these reminded you how much he trusted you. To allow someone to invade his space like this was an unbelievable sign of faith from the ever distrustful Diluc Ragnvindr.

“Diluc, are you finished with this?” You asked, resting your hand on the edge of the desk and the other grazing the edge of the plate.

“Mm?” He looked up at you, his eyes fuzzy and tired, you glanced with your eyes toward the plate and he followed their gaze. “Oh, yes. I’m finished.” You gave him a weak smile as your fingers closed around the cold ceramic. His head dropped back to the paperwork and you shook your own. Moving to place the plate on the tray next to the entrance of the study, you quickly returned to him but this time moving to his side.

“How’s it coming?” You asked him, your hand drifting toward his shoulder and you grinned as his torso shifted to press deeper into your touch.

“More and more orders are coming in. Seasonal changes always bring business, but it’s difficult to keep the orders together.”

“Hmm, well I know you’ll get it done, you always figure it out.” You slid your hand along his back and noticed how he stopped the movements of his pen. “Why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m far too busy for that.” He voiced, pulling himself back and away from you.

You reached for his hand, your fingers sliding over his bare skin. He disliked wearing gloves while he worked like this. “Indulge me?”

You’ve instructed him to remove his jacket, the heavy fabric would distract from the relaxation you explained would come - he’s a bit hesitant about it, but you’ve asked so nicely how can he possibly say no to you

He will lay on his back and look away from you in an effort to hide his embarrassment or weakness - as the master of the winery, the owner of this business, the pride of so many resting on his shoulders he always told himself that he has to hold it all together, until the day he realized you were the only thing holding him together

He melts, purely and simply, the ever stoic Diluc finds peace with you

His head provides a nice pressure on your legs, his shoulders press against your thigh as you help him get comfortable here. He’s so tall that his feet fall off the daybed, but he doesn’t say anything or really move after. One of his arms rests at his sides while the other lay across his stomach, and you can’t help but smile at the tense way his fingers wrap themselves into a comforting fist.

“I won’t hold you here for long, just try and relax.” You express knowing full well he will have a hard time doing just that. You’ve made sure his hair isn’t tucked underneath him and you admire the way it contrasts with your dark pants. With deft fingers, you undo the ribbon that keeps his hair in place, and as soon as it’s released you begin to fan the strands over your legs.

Carefully, you run your hands over his hair, pressing lightly as you start at the crown of his head and work your way over the red pool on your lap. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed his fist beginning to relax, the way his long fingers extended across his stomach told you that he was finally committing to your request. From there, you decided to work your way through his hair, your fingers sifting and moving through the mess of wildfire on top of his head.

Each time you moved to a new, untouched spot he relaxed more. His legs bending slightly, his hands opening up, his expression softening and soon, he began to turn toward you. His head moved, forehead now pressed against your hip, his body shifted just slightly to be closer to you.

You began to softly hum, the sound of your voice adding to the calming atmosphere of the quiet study and, in a matter of minutes, you could see the steady rise and fall of Diluc’s chest, the inhale and exhale of air as it slipped past his lips and the irregular twitch of his fingers as he slipped off to sleep.

A maid entered the room shortly after and when she saw the two of you in the back of the study and noticed the smile slightly hidden under your index finger as you indicated to her of the sleeping man on your lap, she bowed and exited the room.

Scara

Grumpy - the embodiment of grumpy and absolute worst at taking any suggestion, ever. So when you bring this idea up to him, he’s super against it. He doesn’t want to appear, look, seem soft in any way - ‘what is this silly little thing you are asking me to do?’

He’d push the idea away every time you bring it up -- that is until the day your legs look so tantalizing they are practically calling his name. Perhaps it's the way your hands rest in your lap as they hold onto a book, or the light as it hits your legs, or just the sound of your voice as you offer him a place to rest again and again - he finally succumbs

You’ve been sitting in Scara’s living room for some time now. You learned early on to let him do his own thing and not get in his way, he had made that very clear. Still, you were happy he let you invade his space, that he let you be someone that he tolerated more than most. It definitely ignited your pride to have someone of his stature interested in you.

Though, the only issue with him was the fact that he was always on the move. He never seemed to be stationary for long, and often would be gone for days or weeks at a time, sometimes with a warning. So, you learned to keep yourself busy and take in every moment you could with him.

He had been in and out most of the day so you found yourself preoccupied with your things. Reading, working, relaxing, whatever followed the requirements of the day; you just went with the flow. Today held those sentiments very strongly as you got comfortable on the couch, one leg resting underneath you and the other bouncing on the ball of your foot. You had been engrossed in your book for so long, the characters' adventures gripping you and pulling you through every hill and valley they traveled. You were so absorbed in the words that you didn’t notice Scara calling your name, or how he stood in front of you with his hands on his hips.

Fingers entered your vision and a loud snap sound directly in front of you. You looked up startled and when you saw his face you finally welcomed him.

“Hey, I didn’t notice you were home.” You show him a kind smile and receive nothing in return.

“I was calling you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“What have you been doing all day? Lazing about what it looks like.” He crossed his arms and looked around the room before returning his attention to you.

“I’m taking a break, you’re welcome to join me.” You added, patting your lap.

“I’ve already told you I would never do something so childish.”

You chuckle, slipping your fingers in between the pages of your book. “I know, figured I’d give it another shot. Are you heading back out?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He replied; conversations were often like this with him, short and to the point and almost always without any real answer. So you returned your attention to your book, the pages calling your name as your eyes scanned down the page before landing back on the sentence from which you had been pulled from.

You were drawn back into the scene only to be ripped out of it once again. The book in your hand was pushed to the side, your elbow knocking into the arm of the chair and your head snapping to the source of the disturbance. Scara’s face suddenly came into view as his head rested against your lap, his eyes staring at the ceiling and cheeks speckled with the color silk flowers.

He has this response to things that can throw others off so quickly. He’s violent and angry, but he shows these small signs of humanity in his actions, simple, small things every once in a while it reminds you of a small child who isn’t sure what he really wants

The more he participates in this activity, the more likely he will invade your lap whenever the urge comes over him. He’ll push whatever is in your lap away, if he’s feeling really nice he’ll pick it up and place it elsewhere, otherwise you learn to never hold anything breakable here - he won’t look at you either, his eyes will look away, always, and he expects you to know what he wants, don’t make him beg for anything

You never once expected him to follow through with your request, not in a million years. So when he settles against your legs, his face right next to your stomach and eyes looking upward at you, you're unsure how to respond.

“Well, I’m here.” He says, crossing his arms and legs as he waits expectantly for your attention. You’re so taken-aback that you can’t help but burst into laughter. Covering your face with your hand, the sound of your voice spills into the room and makes the harbinger shift against you. “I knew this was stupid …” He huffs and you have to use so much more strength than you anticipated to pull him back.

“I’m sorry. I just … I never expected … please, don’t go.” You look at him with hopeful eyes and with a sigh he returns his head to your legs. While one of your hands rests against the top of his head, the other works to save your place in your book before resting it on the end table. You don’t even notice that your fingers have started to play with the short locks of his hair until you look back at his face and see his eyes closed.

You stall, but only long enough for him to slightly open his eyes and look at you, his expression of ‘did I tell you to stop’ speaking volumes. So, you start to work your fingers through his hair, the dark purple strands slip easily through your fingers as you shift them around. Spreading your hands out and pressing the tips of your fingers against his scalp and, as your bravery grows, you move your fingers toward his jaw and along the edge of his hairline. His short hair gives you a great view of his face, and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve ever really had the opportunity to look at him. He’s incredibly handsome, one reason he was able to capture you so easily, and the longer you played with his hair, the further the corner of his mouth moved into a faint smile. You would do almost anything for that smile.

A soft chuckle sounds from your throat and the calmness of your actions is gone in an instant. His eyes are open and he’s slipped from your lap, his feet connecting to the floor and the warmth of his body dissipating from your legs. You protest, but he’s already halfway across the room and is clearly trying to keep you from looking at his face.

Kaeya

He is all about this activity - honestly, he’s all about any type of touch you want to offer him and while he has a lot on his plate, he will take these moments to be with you. He doesn’t care either where or around who, he may be partaking in this delectable experience - his mind is filled with you and, when you hold him, touch him, love him, he can think of nothing else

You hadn’t seen him all day, which wasn’t uncommon when there were new recruits or the knights were preparing for a subjection out in the wilderness, Kaeya was typically busier during these times. So, when there were days he wouldn’t be able to get away, and you knew he would continue to work until everything was done, you would find your way to him and offer him a short reprieve from the duties of his work.

He was standing in the hallway consumed in a conversation with one of the knights. His usually peppy demeanor seemed faded, his shoulders drooped a bit further, his gestures more muted as spoke with the other party, and overall, he didn’t seem as energetic as he normally was.

The closer you got, the more attention you drew, and soon Kaeya turned to look at what was drawing the eyes of his speaking partner.

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” He perked up when he saw you, the light in his blue eyes flashing, a smile stretching across his face.

“Hey! I wanted to stop by since I had a moment. Are you free?” You asked him, crossing your hands behind your back and giving the other knight a quick head nod who returned your hello in a similar manner.

“Of course, I will spare all my time for you.” He closed the distance between the two of you, an arm draping around your shoulder and pulling you close.

“Captain, we’ve been asked to …”

“Yes, yes. I’ll get right on it.” He affirmed to the knight before turning all his attention to you and ushering you down the hallway toward his office.

“Are you sure you are free? If you need me to come ba …”

“Nonsense, how could I pass up this opportunity. Do not worry your pretty little head.” He laughed, his smile wide and eyes closed.

“Okay, I won’t keep you long then.”

“Oh, but I was hoping you’d save me from this boring day.” He laughed and squeezed you closer to his side, even though you could tell he was more tired than usual he was still able to give you so much of his energy.

Kaeya will turn his head toward you, he’ll wrap his hand around your waist because even here he cannot get close enough

Here, he can breathe you in and be the center of your attention - which is his most favorite thing

What he prefers, what he loves most, is when you touch his face, stroke his cheeks with the back of your fingers or your hands as they slide over him, the way you run your fingers along his brow, his jaw, and across his neck - these actions will give him the chills and it may be the only time you truly see him react in such a way

When you get settled onto the couch in his office you call him to you. He eagerly takes the space next to you as if it was always meant for him.

“Lay down, you look exhausted.” You explain, extending your arm around him and waving him to rest in your lap.

“Hah, are you trying to take advantage of me?” He asks, moving closer to you rather than doing what you asked.

“If taking advantage of you looks like letting you take a break, then yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing here.” Your laughter fills his ears and he remembers just how much he missed the sound.

“How can I possibly say no to you?”

“I know, I’m pretty convincing. Now, come here.” You pull on the sleeve of his arm and he quickly follows your guidance. His head settles onto your thighs, his face as close to your stomach as he can get, and his hands resting against his chest.

You help him drape his hair over your leg and start working your way through his bangs, sliding your fingers along his forehead. His playful smile slips into a relaxed expression as he takes in the feeling of your touch on his skin. The way you trace your fingers down his cheek, over his nose, across his lips, his jawline, he is beyond happy here.

“Do you know when you might be able to take a real break?” You ask, running your fingers through the blue strands of his hair, admiring the way it looks as you move them to places they don’t normally rest.

“It seems there are many days ahead of us. These new recruits are …” He lifted his hands into a shrug before dropping them back onto his chest, “Well, progressing at their own pace we’ll say.”

“So it’ll be a while.”

“Perhaps. Don’t fret though, I’ll always make time for you to refill my reserves.”

“I’ll take on that request.” You look down at him and catch his eyes staring back, he moves his hand to rest against your arm and gives it a tight squeeze before turning his face toward you. His eye closes and even as the conversation dies down, as his breathing becomes slower, and his hand slips down the side of your arm you know he won’t fall asleep. He never falls asleep when you are with him like this, no matter how tired he is he refuses to miss a single moment.

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Adjustments

When Y/N is getting tired of staying at home with the baby while Harry tours.

word count: 5k

contains: sexual content, language, a dash of angst

It was still early but Harry didn’t mind. When he was on tour he craved sleep like no other. To be in his bed, spooned around his love, and no alarm set.

However, the deep desire for sleep is just a faraway thought now because he’d rather be sleep deprived and wake up to his curly-haired baby any given day.

He looks to you. Mouth slightly open, face stress-free, and peaceful. Harry hated coming home from tour to see the bags of exhaustion under your eyes from taking care of the baby all by yourself.

He constantly had to swallow back guilt. He tried to do everything to make it up when he was home.

Harry didn’t find touring as exciting and fun as he use to. He sometimes counts down the tour dates until he’s home.

Sometime he can’t wait for the concert to wrap up so he can sneak in a quick FaceTime before you lot head off to bed.

Sasha was two, her birthday near days away, and Y/N had been running around like a mad-woman trying to make sure her party would be perfect.

Y\N sometimes held herself to the exceptions of other celebrities wives. Ballon arches, custom cookies, and beautiful decorations.

However, unlike other celebrities, you did this all yourself. No event planner, nobody except Anne and Gemma.

Harry wants you to sleep as much as possible and allow you the luxury he gets on tour. Sleeping in until noon sometimes in the empty, cold hotel room with nothing else to do.

He can hear Sasha babbling incessantly from her little bed. The little yellow railings preventing her from falling out or escaping.

Harry heaves himself off the bed, tugging on some sweatpants that had been thrown off hurriedly when you’d told him you’d been wet for him since he walked in the door last night.

“Hi, hi little love,” Harry murmurs as he opens the door to her bedroom. The yellow flowers hand-painted from the wall setting the theme for the room.

Sasha was a good baby and an ever better toddler. However, almost as a little teenager, she sure did have her mood swings. They weren’t quite out of the terrible twos stage yet.

She wanted her mom as she stood there.

“No, mummy,” Sasha whines, tugging on Harry’s cross necklace with force after he scooped her up.

“Hey, we don’t do that. Remember we treat people with kindness.”

After a promise of chocolate chips in her pancakes, she agrees to help Harry cook you breakfast.

It was messy and his bare chest was covered in flour. Not quite sure how the little girl had gotten it into her curls but they were managing.

Harry loved watching Sasha play with the cooking utensil. Smacking whisk around, looking quizzically at a spatula.

It made Harry want to buy her a little play kitchen. He was surprised they didn’t already have one. He thinks they might have on in their New York City apartment that they haven’t traveled to recently.

He makes a point while Sasha is chewing at the pancakes to search to find one. He finds a same-day pickup at a local toy store and orders it.

That’s one thing he loved about making so much money. He could spoil you and the baby, his family with everything and anything they want or need.

Y/N always struggled with accepting gifts from Harry but as they years went on and they got married and combined bank accounts. (well she brought a hefty three thousand to the marriage, he graciously gave her full-access to his money).

A few weeks after your wedding, when you went to an ATM to get twenty pounds out for a cash-only restaurant and when the receipt said you two had six-hundred thousand and some change in just one of your CHECKING account - well you nearly almost fainted.

You had been worried about the three pound service fee before seeing that.

Harry could sometimes get ahead of himself. He’s had disposable money since he was sixteen. Y/N would sometimes hum, asking if he really needs a fifteen-thousand dollar wool Gucci coat.

Y/N would make it a point that she doesn’t want Sasha to grow to be materialistic and spoiled. So Harry was scolded every once in a while when he gave into Sasha’s puppy dog eyes.

Maybe not the best decision but he planned to set it up when you were out for lunch this afternoon with a friend. Hopefully, you wouldn’t notice? If he strategically put it in the playroom.

“Mmm, what’s all this?” You murmur, tying your silk robe at the front. Just enough cleavage showing that Harry feels a twitch in his joggers. Sue him, basically everything his wife did turned him on.

“Pancakes, mummy!” Sasha giggles, syrup coating her cheeks and fingers. “Kissy?” Her dad had taught her that.

“Yes baby,” you agree, leaning in to press a kiss to her soft curls, avoiding her sticky mess.

“Kissy?”

You look up to your pouting husband with identical absurdly wild curls from bed.

“Spoiled, you lot,” you tell him before padding over to him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

Forever the horny teenager, his large hands finds your bum and pull you closer - deepening the kiss.

“Miss you s’much on tour, all I think about,” he whispers into your mouth. “Your tits, your cun-“

“Harry!” You laugh, smacking at his chest, “Can’t talk like that in front of the baby!”

“She didn’t hear,” he grumbles, giving your arse one last squeeze, “Tonight.”

“Tonight,” you agree back, ignoring the pinch of arousal.

—-

Sasha was putting up a fight when she realized that you were leaving without her. Grabbing at your leg as you tugged on a Gucci sneaker.

“I’ll be back soon, Sash,” you assure her but to no avail.

Her cheeks ruddy red and splotched. Tears staining them as she wails dramatically at the top of her little lungs.

“I don’t know if I should go,” You sigh as Harry wrestles her tiny body off of you so you don’t trip.

“No baby, you need a break. She can’t hold you hostage,” Harry laughs as Sasha wriggles a little in his arms.

“Call me if you need me to come home.”

“I’ll be fine, now go, have a mimosa for me,” Harry smiles down at his daughter who is staring at you like you’ve just killed her beloved pet.

You can’t help but giggle at the glare, “so scary, missy. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

Sasha buries her nose into Harry’s neck. Her sobs more sad than angry at this point. Which makes your heartbreak a little.

—-

Sasha was getting impatient with her father. As he attempted to figure out how to screw on the oven door to the overcomplicated design.

She occasionally ran off with a piece he needed so it took much longer than he’d thought. But this thing was sophisticated, you pour water into a little tub and it runs through the faucet like a real sink.

Sasha gave her father a wide smile when he had finally told her it was all done. He helped fill the little shopping cart with plastic fruit and veggies.

She was babbling to herself happily, occasionally making sure her dad was still in the room with her.

Harry had grabbed his journal off the kitchen table and was scribbling down mismatched lyrics about how much love he was filled with.

His last two albums were nearly just songs about you. The next one was definitely going to include tracks about his baby.

When he hears the alarm sound and get shut off, he knows your home and he feels a little twinge of anxiety in his stomach.

Distraction? That should work right?

“Hi baby,” Harry greets, planting a kiss on your lips before squatting to untie your sneakers for you.

“Well hello there!” You look around surprised to not see your daughter toddling to you as well. “Is bug sleeping?”

Harry shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, “Um, no. Just playing in the playroom right now.”

“Was she good?” You asks, noticing he’s changed clothes. He loved to laze around in joggers if he could. “Did you go out?”

“Just for coffee,” he covers, technically - he did grab a coffee for himself at a drive-thru. “How was lunch?”

“Good, mimosas were shit so I only had one. Missed you guys too much. So glad your home,” you sigh into his chest, basking in his tight arms around you.

“Only 73 more concerts to go,” Harry replies.

He can feel your shoulders tense at his lame attempt of a joke. It wasn’t funny to you, not in the slightest.

“Just 73, huh?” You shoot back, untangling yourself from his grip. “Just another eight months away from your wife and baby.”

“Love...” Harry begins, swallowing hard. He was just as emotional as you when it came to it.

You shake your head, swiping at the stray tear, “Just forget it,” you huff before trekking off to see your daughter.

Harry is cautiously trailing behind you with a bowling ball of nerves in his belly.

When you walk into the playroom and see the new kitchen set - you stand nearly frozen in the doorway.

“Mummy! Mumma look at what daddy got me!” She chirps, standing to come to you. You easily lift her up and accept the plastic apple she hands to you proudly.

You feel a tightness in your throat, “it’s so nice, baby.”

“Nice,” she repeats, “come play, mumma.”

“I just got home, give me a few minutes and I’ll be back in,” you promise with a kiss before placing her back down.

She seems satisfied with your answer and scurries back to where she had placed her babydoll on the countertop - feeding it.

“Can we please talk in the kitchen?” You asks, trying your best to keep your voice level in front of your daughter.

Harry dejectedly nods and follows you into the kitchen, dragging his boot-clad feet a little.

“Look, I know your mad, lovie. But I just got the idea and didn’t think too much about it. Know y’don’t want to spoil her but-“

“Do you not listen?” You ask harshly.

He looks at you dumbfounded. Unsure of the question. It sounded like it was a trick question.

“You’re unbelievable!” You whisper-shout so Sasha doesn’t hear.

Harry feels himself getting defensive, “You’re tha’ mad about a bloody toy? I’m her father allowed to buy her things too!”

“No, Harry. It’s not about that. It seems like your so busy with your job that you just tune me out on our calls.”

Harry’s brow furrows. That wasn’t true in the slightest. It was the highlight of his day to hear your voice and how it went at home.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Harry snaps, his voice a little louder.

“Go into the storage room off the side of the garage.”

He gives you a confused look but obliges, after trailing through your maze of a house. He reaches the large extra room.

When he opens the door, his heart sinks. He immediately knows why you’re so upset with him.

A beautiful, hand-painted kitchen set is sat with a large pink bow in the room. The hutch saying in cursive, “Sasha’s Kitchen.”

It was her favorite colors - blue and yellow- with painted images of all her favorite characters like Peppa Pig and Blue from Blue’s Clues.

He remembers how excited you were on the phone that night - when you revealed her third birthday present and how perfect the artist had made it.

Harry had been listening -truthfully- but he was also nearly asleep after two encores of Kiwi onstage and a meet and greet backstage.

He felt like shit now. Disappointed in himself for ruining this surprise he knows you were looking forward to giving her in a mere few days.

But the excitement of another kitchen set surely would be lackluster now.

“Baby, m’so sorry,” Harry says quietly, with guilt bubbling in his throat. “I was listening. I just...I forgot.”

“Nothing we can do about it now it,” you bite out. Disappointed at the ruin surprised making you prickle with anger towards your forgetful husband.

Harry begins to apologize once again but you don’t let him, “I need to put her down for a nap.”

—

You drift off as well in your bed- taking advantage of Sasha being asleep in the next room over.

Harry doesn’t quite know how to fix this situation. He’s much too embarrassed to call his mum or sister who would just give him another earful.

He felt like being on tour has been mucking everything up. He loved his job, most days. But days like today - he wishes to never see a recording studio or microphone again.

Harry’s pondering all this when he hears a cry from the baby’s room.

Sasha is stood, bleary-eyes with a sad frown as her father enters.

“Sweet pea, what’s the sad face for?” He hums as he tucks her into the curve of his slim hip. Bringing her down onto the main level so you aren’t awoken.

“Daddy, kitchen?” She sniffles, pointing towards her playroom.

He shakes his head. Deciding the least he can do is bathe her so you wouldn’t need to later. She still had remnants of fruit pouch in her cheeks.

“No, darling. S’bath time. Then you can play,” he boots her nose. Snatching some clean baby clothes from where they’re folded and waited to be put away on the coffee table.

“No no no,” she whimpers angrily, shaking her head and smacking her arm against her father’s tattooed chest.

“Sasha Anne, no hitting, absolutely not,” Harry uses his firm father’s voice that he didn’t have to pull out very often.

“No bath, daddy, no!” She wails with all the dramatics of an A-List actor.

“Hey, mumma’s sleeping. We cannot yell,” her father hushes her as he trails into the bathroom.

“Mean daddy!” She exclaims as he wrestles her into the tub. Splashing the water and wriggling away everytime he tries to cup water over her head to rid her of the shampoo.

“I know, I know, so mean,” he acknowledges sympathetically. A headache arising in the front of his skull from his baby’s high pitch noises and shouts.

After another fight into clothes, she’s still not happy when she’s sat in front of her kitchen. She throws the plastic toys around and whining anytime Harry moves an inch.

He’s feeling a little overwhelmed if he’s honest. With his worry about your precious argument and the unusual tactics of your toddler - he was stressed out.

“Binky,” Sasha looks expectantly at her father.

Oh, good idea. She loves that.

Harry can’t find any lying around like usual so he digs through the drawers around the living room until he finds one.

After cleaning it off, he hands it to her and she pops it in her mouth happily. Her attention now direction back towards her new toy.

He let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t quite sure how you did this alone so much of the time.

—

When you finally wake from a fitful nap, you hear noise from the playroom. You’re still extremely frustrated with your husband but it’s less intense. Until...

Until you walk in and Sasha turns around, smiling around a binky you surely thought you’d thrown away.

Sasha was getting too old for a pacifier - even though she was just using it when she was really upset or at night.

You’d been binky-free for three weeks. And all the crying and tears from your daughter where now meaningless.

“Where did she get that pacifier?” You grit out.

You had told him multiple times you were weaning her off of it.

“She was fussy. I gave it to her, tha’ alright?” He asks cluelessly.

“Harry! I’ve told you so so many times that I’d been weaning her off of it. She just stopped crying about it a week ago!”

“I told you about this - just like the kitchen. God, you get so goddamn wrapped up in your career that you forget important things like this!”

“Baby...” Harry whimpers, hands up in surrender. “I keep, I keep messing up. I’m - I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I’ll tell you were your mind is, Harry. In the countries your traveling to, the concerts your performing at. You promised me...you fucking promised when we started trying for a baby this stuff wouldn’t happen!!”

Harry’s face crumples, “yo-you’re my everything, lovie. You and bug. None of this means anything without you. I’ll quit music, never write another lyric or sing another note if that’s what you want from me.”

He meant that fully heartedly too.

When he wrote If I Could Fly and write the lyrics, “I’ll give up everything, just ask me to.”

The fans, the producers, you - don’t truly know how much he was being truthful in the lyrics.

“I would never ask you to do that. I want you to do what you love but I want you to follow through for your family!”

At your raised tons, Sasha begins to whine, looking with wide, concerned eyes.

“Mummy?”

With that, you scoop her up. “M’going to your mums. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watches anxiously as you pack Sasha’s bag. He feels useless as he hands your her fruit pouches and crackers from the pantry.

As you snatch the car keys from the entry tables, Harry asks in a near whisper, “What’s going on? I’m so lost.”

“I’m lost too. I jus-just can’t keep doing this. It’s too hard for you to be away from us like this. I feel like a single mom sometimes.”

With that, you’re out the door and on your way to your mother-in-laws.

For the first time ever, Harry had a fleeting thought that you’re going to divorce him. He knows it’s not just about the toy and the pacifier.

He hasn’t been home enough. As much as he tries, the FaceTimes don’t make the distance and time apart any easier.

You have all the responsibility of this little human and your heart twinges on days you’re missing you husband and you constantly at met with his little replica.

Harry feels like he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s only had a handful in his lifetime but this one was intense.

He grabs his phone and dials the number to his best friend. He really needed a shoulder to cry on right now.

“Hey mate! What’s good, big boy?” The Irish man belts into the phone only to be met with sniffles and tears.

“Niall, I don’t know what to do.”

—

Anne was expecting you. She had set up tea with little cake in the back garden. Sasha was excited to chase the cats around the greenery. Her cute jumpsuit sodden with dirt and grass stains in no time.

“I’m sick of being at home alone all the time with Sasha. I miss Harry too much, she misses him too much,” you croak, attempting to keep your tears at bay.

“I want Harry to continue his career and live his dream. Most people never get the chance he’s gotten. I-I just need him.”

“Oh honey,” she rubs my hand soothingly, “I can only imagine. I know I missed him fiercely to the point it was unbearable when he was sixteen. I still miss him too.”

“I...I’m going to sound like such a bad mother,” you take a deep breathe, “would I be a bad mum if Sash and I joined Harry on tour?”

“Do you think that’d make you a bad mum?” Anne asks softly, a small smile on her face.

“No, I don’t think. I’d be happier because I’d be with Harry and we could actually be a married couple 24/7. She would get to see her dad everyday.”

“I think you’ve found you answer,” Anne chuckles, pouring more hot water into your cups.

“It will be so stressful.”

“More stressful than it is now?” Anne replies.

“Nothing can be more stressful than right now.”

- -

The talk witdh Niall helped only a little bit but enough to not feel like he’s going to vomit every other minute.

He was worried you were going to come in here and ask him for a divorce because he couldn’t follow through on his promises as a husband and a father.

Harry was ready to do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. He’s not above groveling and begging for you to stay.

It is dark when you pull in, toting in a sleeping child in your arms that you pass off to Harry who’s waiting at the front door.

He tucks his baby into her bed, tugging the blankets over her, and staring down at her sweet, cherub face for a little longer than usual before heading into your master.

You’re sat on the corner of the bed, biting your lip, and playing with you flashy large diamond ring as a force of habit.

“Baby...” Harry rasps, not touching you but kneeling down in front of you.

“I can’t do what we’re doing anymore,” you begin, completely unaware that Harry thinks you’re about to ask for a divorce.

“I don’t think you’re going to agree with what I have to say, but I think it’s the best,” you swallow harshly, hoping he doesn’t shoot down the proposition.

“Please, I’ll do anything, lovie. Don’t leave me, don’t divorce me. I’ll do anything’ you want, sweetheart. Please, I need you. I’m so inlove with you.”

Harry is full on sobbing by this point, hanging his head against your knees as he attempts to catch his breath but finding it hard.

“Harry!” You murmur in confusion “baby, look at me, please?”

It takes him a moment to meet your eyes, your face is soft but wrinkled in concern.

“What are you talking about? Divorce?” You choke out the words. Never in a million years would you willingly agree to part from your husband.

“I know I’ve been fuckin’ up. I can’t bloody figure out how to balance shit. I’ve not followed through and neglected you n’ the baby. I’m a bad husband and a bad dad.”

“Hey,” you said with force, bringing your hand under his chin so he has to keep eye contact. “Do not ever say something like that again. You are the best husband and father. You provide for us. You love us more than I’ve thought possible. You’re perfect for Sasha and I.”

“You said you couldn’t do this anymore,” Harry chokes out, letting his ringed hands rest on the tops of your thighs. His diamond wedding rand flashing in the light.

“Oh, H. I’m sorry - I didn’t mean with you.” You chuckle lightly, “how could you ever possibly think I’d leave you, pet?”

He shakes his head, “it’s because y’too good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

“Hush,” you hums, running a hand through his curls. “I know how to fix this.”

“How? I’ll do anything f’you,” Harry would agree to jump off The Empire State Building for you without a second thought.

“The baba and I are going to join you on tour. I know we agreed it’s be too much but I can’t imagine it can be any harder than this.”

Harry’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.

“That’s if you’ll have us,” you whisper coyly, excited by his reaction.

“Yeah, baby. It means I get to fuck you every night,” Harry growls pushing you back and up into the bed before crawling on top of you.

“A teenage boy, I swear,” you giggle, flushed just thinking about how much more time you’ll have together.

“S’it so bad I want t’fuck my wife? That I’m so bloody gone for you that I’d do anything f’you?” He presses against your lips before demanding entrance.

“You can have me in your bed every night,” you agree, letting his tongue twist with yours with fever and urgency.

“Mmm, only groupie I’ll ever need.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, allowing him to slip your shirt over your head and attach his lips to your collarbone.

“Can’t wait to fuck you in every country - like we did when you toured with me before the bab.”

When he tosses your bra across the room, you gasp at his mouth finding your nipple instantly. Nipping and suckling at the sensitive nerves with intent.

His hand doesn’t waste anytime, skillfully unbuttoning your jeans and zip with one hand before cramming his large palm inside to cup you in his hand.

“Only pussy I want, fuckin’ made for me,” he groans at the warm wetness he feel through the thin underwear. The tips of his fingers stroke over your clit with confident movements.

“Stop teasing!” You whine, wriggling out of your jeans and panties in one go. Harry is still completely dressed above you - which shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

“Don’t know how I thought you’d ever leave me. Y’fucking obsessed with my cock,” he laughs - sure of himself now.

“If you don’t touch me, I swear-“

“I’ve got you lovie, best wife ever, y’know? Just wanna please you,” he promises the damp skin on your neck, landing nips and bites that will surely leave a mark.

“Then please me,” you demand, your tone a higher pitch than usual for your arousal.

You’re rolling your hips upwards to meet his jean-clad center. The friction feels delicious against your sensitive nerves.

Harry takes hold of your hip with one hand to halt your grinding, his other hand finding your heat and without hesitation - slides two thick fingers into you.

“H, yeah,” y/n moans, rolling her hips down to meet his hand. Her arousal coating his knuckles and he can’t describe how sexy that is.

He curls his fingers towards the top of you tight wall, finding the little spongey spot that has you bucking your hips and whimpering.

“Oh, did I find the spot, love?” Harry teases like he doesn’t know. He’s been an expert in pleasuring you for the past eight years.

“Yes baby, m’gonna come,” you nearly slur with pleasure. The cold metal of his rings brushing against your heated folds in relief.

“Only gonna let you come - if you promise me you’ll come again f’me.”

“I will, H. I wil-“

“Ssh, s’okay. Give it to me, my love,” Harry croons sweetly, leaning to suck a nipple as he speeds up his minstrations.

Your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace, your hips meeting his curled fingers on every thrust as he pushes you over the edge, “fu-fuck,” you moan, trying your best to keep your voice down.

“Tha’s it. M’wife looks so fuckin’ gorgeous when she’s coming on my fingers. Need you on my cock,” Harry grunts, removing his fingers and working to get his clothes off as fast as possible.

He’s positioning himself at your entrance with intent, wasting no time pushing in. No matter how many times you took him - it was always a stretch but it was immensely pleasurable.

“Love you, love our family. Can’t wait f’you two to join me on tour,” Harry pants, attempting to keep his thrust slow and meaningful but he was so turned on he was already becoming sloppy.

“S’going to be so nice. Spend everyday with my husband,” you hum, wrapping your legs around his waist and resting your feet on his bum. You can feel the muscle flexing from his thrusts.

“Yeah, never get tired of hearin’ that word.”

“Husband?” You giggle, “we’ve been married for five years.”

“Still can’t believe you agreed to,” Harry murmurs, his lips pressed against your temple as he becomes more determined. His thumb finding your clit and giving it hard, tight rubs.

Harry could have anyone he wanted. Millions of people lusted after him. It was hard to believe sometimes that he only wanted you. But in moments like this, you never questioned it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, biting his full bottom lip.

He growls, “hush up. Let me fuck you, yeah?”

With that, the only thing that leaves your mouth is whines and gasps as he hits your spot on every fluid thrust with a determined thumb on your nerves.

“Cl-close,” Y/N shutters, legs quivering with sensitivity and arousal.

“Baby, baby wait f’me, m’close,” he begs against your skin, licking and kissing wherever he can reach. He speeds up his movements and you fell him tensing up, his mouth dripping open in an o shape and his eyes squeezing shut - his telltale sign.

You allow yourself to let go at that point and ride out the waves of intense climax with him as he weakly thrust a few more times until he lays his weight on top of you.

“The bubby is going to love South America,” Harry smiles into your mouth. His large palms massaging at your shaky, wet thighs.

“I think she’s going to love being with her daddy more,” Y/N replies, a hand coming to cup his jaw in a slow, languid twist.

—

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milazka · 3 years

Text

not the greatest feeling ever | 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: fuck it, i’m not doing a summary, i’m so bad at it. oh! there’s smut btw.

warnings: smut, cursing, mentions of blood, underrage drinking

last thought: i’m proud of this one, took me a lot of time to write, but i think it was worth it! enjoy your reading! love, milz.

─── ° • ❀ ───

The gentle breeze twirls her golden locks in all directions. She hums the lyrics of You never can tell, having watched Pulp Fiction for the hundredth time last night. Her irises are fixed to the slightly damp roadside covered with fresh fallen leaves from this morning rainstorm. The last rays of sunlight caress her baby-like skin as they disappear into the horizon, painting the sky in a mixture of orange and rose.

“C’mon grandpa, you’re slow as hell!” she teases Marcus, turning her head back to stick her tongue out at him. Standing on his skateboard, he sends her the finger, scraping the pavement with his over-used black vans to gain speed and eventually catch up with her.

“That’s how the turtle won the race, dumbass,” he gently nudges her shoulder with his hand as he rides his board besides her. She gives a sharp turn of the handlebars to move her tires out of the sand and back on the pavement, giving him a death glare.

“I almost fell in the ditch, shithead!” he simply laughs, his head falling backward. His dark colored hairs, normally slicked back, are ruffled by the warm September wind, giving him a laid back look that fits him perfectly. She adores hearing his laugh; it's one of the purest and most delightful sounds. It was only recently that she heard him laugh again, having not heard it for months after the day they lost the third musketeer of their trio. It was one of the hardest moments of their lives, but sharing this kind of experience brought them closer than ever. Charlie was there for him when he hit rock bottom, stroking his back while he cried on the shower floor, freezing water running down their damped bodies. She was also by his side the first time he went to therapy, soothingly squeezing his hand before he entered the office.

“If someone had to fall in a ditch, it would be me.”

“You know that Max and I made bet on how long it would take you to fall in a ditch?” she replies, checking his reaction at the corner of her cerulean eyes. He grins.

“How much did you bet?” he curiously asks, one eyebrow arched.

“Fifty bucks,” his eyes almost snap out of their sockets. He stops, stepping off his board.

“Fifty bucks?! That’s insulting, thought I was worth more than that,” he shouts as she makes a u-turn, retracing her steps, stopping in front of him.

“I’ll give you half of it if you wait ‘till June,” Charlie sarcastically says to him, elbows leaning on the handlebars of her bicycle. He caught a glimpse of light in her gaze; a twinkle of amusement he always finds in the corners of her softly crinkled eyes when she smiles truthfully.

“Deal,” he winks at her, drawing a small laugh from her slightly parted lips. He picks up Charlie's polaroid from the basket at the front of her bike, signaling for her to ride so he can immortalize the moment for her. Marcus knows she keeps those famous polaroids in an old converse box as a source of happiness; they're memories of moments she doesn't want to forget.

He takes the little camera to his eyes, snapping a picture when Charlie turns her head to the side to look at him, smiling like there is no tomorrow. As the picture is slowly developing, he hears a squeal of tires and a squeal of surprise from the distance.

“Fuck Charlie!” he shouts, running towards her as she sits, holding firmly her right forearm. His heart tightens at the sight of her painful face, her traits are torn by pain and he can see tears gathering at the corner of her squinted blue eyes. Marcus hates to see her in pain; he knows she's not the type to complain about anything so when he sees her azure eyes filling with water, he knows it's serious.

“You got a few scratches,” he whispers, running his eyes over her legs and arms. “We’ll go to your house and clean you up, okay?” she nods, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Marcus tucks his skateboard under his arm, grabbing the handlebars and seat of Charlie's bike simultaneously.

─── ° • ❀ ───

“Hold still,” his hazel eyes are focused on the mid-depth cut on her forearm. His bushy eyebrows furrowed, giving him a severe, almost cold sober look. She takes a big gulp of the rich whiskey she borrowed from her father's secret stash.

“Oh fucking hell!” she swears between her clenched teeth when the rubbing alcohol makes contact with the exposed flesh of her forearm. “That’s not the greatest feeling ever,” she whimpers, her forehead resting on his shoulder covered by his green olive shirt.

“I know, angel, I know,” he runs his hand through her blonde hair, gently stroking her scalp in a soothing way. She keeps her head resting against his shoulder, holding back the tears that threaten to run down her flushed cheeks.

“I’m usually the one taking care of you,” he knows it refers as much to all the times he fell off his skateboard as it does to when he hit rock bottom when their friend passed away. Charlie isn't used to being taken care of; she has always been able to look after herself without anyone's help.

Crying is for the weak.

She swallows her tears, putting her mask back on with a slight smile.

“Your new neighbor saw me fall,” she changes the subject, pausing to take another gulp directly from the whisky bottle. “Great way to make a first impression,” a light laugh escapes from her lips, but she halts when she notices his gaze turning away almost discreetly. “What’s wrong?”

Over the years, she has learned to read him like the palm of her hand; she knows he looks away to the left when he is hiding something from her and that he scrapes the back of his neck when he is embarrassed.

“I-I had sex with her,” he blurts out, avoiding her gaze while he still applies pressure on the bandage covering the wound on her forearm.

“Holy shit,” her eyes widened, not expecting this kind of disclosure. “Wait, what about Padma?”

“You know she is not my girlfriend, Charlz,” he sighs, finally sustaining her non-judgmental azure irises. It' s one of the things he likes about her; she never judges him and even if she did, he wouldn't know since she hides it so well.

“Was it good?” she does not insist about Padma, knowing perfectly well that she is the first one to know. He doesn't answer, looking thoughtful as if a million thoughts are running through his head. He steals the bottle of alcohol from her, gulping down a few ounces of the throat-burning liquid.

“What aren’t you telling me, Marcus?”

He shuts his eyes, exhaling loudly.

“I don’t know if I was good… God, I don’t even know if she came!” her heart tightens; he looks distraught and she knows that this is a big deal to him, after all, he just lost his virginity. He breathes heavily, his jaw as tightly clenched as his fists.

“Show me.”

“What?!” he opens one eye, eyebrows furrowed as if he was questioning if she was being serious.

“Show me what you did, I’ll tell you if it’s good,”

“You’re drunk, Charlz…I don-” he stops as soon as her silver rings coated hands grip the hem of his olive shirt, grazing the soft skin of his lower abdomen with her fingertips. Sitting on her knees, she brings her head up to his neck, pressing her lips against the skin. The feeling of her wet lips on his burning skin sends a shiver running through his spine.

“I’m sober enough to remember everything and give you my consent,” she whispers to his ear and he almost moans when she slightly nibbles his lobe. Her hands slips to the back of his neck, forcing him to hover over her as she lies on her back.

Both his hands are lingering on the buckle of her belt, struggling to undo it. She clutches his chin with one hand, plunging her reassuring gaze into his. He looks nervous, his hands trembling slightly when he takes off her jeans. She presses her lips to his Adam's apple, feeling him tense up at first, but relax as she sensuously slides her tongue up to his sculpted jaw.

“A-are you good with two figers?” he nervously asks, his right hand resting on the edge of her panties.

“Yes,” he hesitantly slips his hand into her panties, parting her legs with his other hand before sliding his index and middle fingers up and down her folds. She can see him blush when an almost quiet moan escapes her lips at the feeling of his fingers inside her core. He pumps them in and out slowly, as if he was afraid to hurt her.

“Try to curl them in a ‘come here’ movement,” she demonstrates with her own fingers. He nods and mimics her actions, making her whimper under him.

“That feels good,” she encourages him. “What did you do next?” she softly asks, rubbing her thumb against his cheek to sooth him.

“Hum, well, we-um, you know, did it,” he says, blushing like a little child who just got his first kiss with the popular girl.

“You didn’t go down on her?” she asks, looking quite shocked. He seemed clueless. “I mean, you didn’t use your mouth?”

“Uh no, should I have?”

“You boys really know nothing about female pleasure,” she sights. “Try watching lesbian porn next time, you will learn A LOT more,” He almost chokes, not expecting to hear this come out of his best friend's lips while his fingers are still inside her. They've always been comfortable with each other, but not to the point of talking about the kind of porn they listen to. The idea of her best friend watching porn and getting herself off almost made him cum in his pants.

“You do know what a cunniligus is, right?”

“God, Charlz, I’m not five years old! Yes, I know what it is!” he exclaims, his ego lightly bruised by her question.

“Well, show me then, playboy,” she challenges him, a cocky smile slipping on her lips. the alcohol going slightly to her head.

He pulls her to the edge of the mattress, kneeling at the foot of the bed between her legs. His lips kiss the skin on the inside of her thighs, sucking it until he sees a dark red mark appear. He gets rid of her underwear in the blink of an eye before placing her legs over his shoulders. He darts his tongue out of his mouth, licking a long strip between her folds without giving her the chance to acknowledge what was going on. He stops once his tongue rests on the bundle of nerves, licking around it in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she moans. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“You really think I've never watched lesbian porn?” he teases her, biting the inside of her thigh, making her body jolt. He dives back his head to her core, sucking her clit into his mouth.

At leats he know where the clit is.

"Oh my god Marcus," she moans, squirming against his grip. He places his arm over her lower abdomen, pinning her body against the mattress. She can feel his two fingers sliding back into her core, the sudden feeling causing her hips to buck up against his face.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me, hun?” he praises her, fingers curling inside her just like she taught him. She could barely feel herself, letting out a series of high-pitched moans as Marcus tongue was working on her bundle of nerves.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, her head pressed down against the matress. Her fingers tangle in his dark hair, tucking at the roots as she let out a cry, the euphoric feeling taking over her body for a moment. Marcus looks up to see her eyes shut tightly, her legs shaking on his shoulders. He can feel her core pulsating around his fingers as she comes down from her high.

He took a mental picture of her, engraving this moment in his memory forever.

─── ° • ❀ ───

taglist; @cognacdelights @ellegotohell @janedartist

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cryoaquila · 3 years

Text

beach lovin’

prompt - childe and you spend a day out on one of the beaches at the golden apple archipelago before heading back to your tent for some sleepy nighttime activities.

pairing - childe x gn!reader

tags - nsfw, dom!childe, sub!reader, established relationship, lazy sex, spooning, fluff.

wc - ~2.7k

nsfw content under the cut. +18 only. minors dni.

the setting sun paints the sky and ocean a beautiful pinkish-orange color. you stretch your arms above your head after dozing off for a few minutes. there was an umbrella above you and a thin towel between your body and the hot sand below. seashells that you and your boyfriend had collected earlier in the day sat beside you along with fishing rods and a few sandcastles. now your boyfriend was cooling himself off in the ocean while you soak in the last of the rays before the moon claimed the sky, the first day out at one of the golden apple archipelago beaches winding to an end. suddenly, some seawater splashes onto your bare legs. you glance toward the ocean, seeing childe wading in the water. he winks at you before saying, “you know, the water is almost as fine as you are.”

his compliment causes you to chuckle, “oh, is it?” you playfully ask as you sit up, stretching your arms out above your head for a few seconds.

“yeah, but don’t take my word for it, join me and see for yourself.” he splashes you again, the water cool against your warm skin, “see? doesn’t it feel good?”

you purse your lips, “it does feel nice...” you stand, glancing at the sky, your sun hat blocking the setting sun as you notice stars becoming visible in the evening sky, “ok, i’ll join for a bit, but when it gets dark out let’s head back to our tent for the night.” you were already feeling a bit tired from the fun had earlier, but one last dip in the ocean sounds like a lovely and relaxing way to end the day. you toss your hat onto the beach towel before wading into the water until it reaches your waist, a little shiver running down your spine. childe decides to help you adjust quicker by splashing you, which causes you to yelp in surprise, a mischievous snicker crackling from him upon seeing your reaction. you glare at him before jumping toward him and splashing him with a large wave that soaks his hair, causing it to hang limply into his eyes. the sight of him, with his hair covering his eyes and his deadpan expression, causes you to giggle.

“alright, if that’s how you want to play...” he mutters as he slicks his hair back before jumping toward you, trying to grab a hold of you. barely, you manage to scramble away in glee, wading away from him and further into the deeper water which now reaches up to your shoulders. he follows, still trying to catch you, laughing, “you can run but you can’t hide!” he grabs one of your shoulders and pulls you back into him, “got you!” he picks you up and you gently push against his chest, trying to free yourself from his grasp, a large grin on both your faces. quickly, he leans down to give you a wet, salty peck on the lips before tossing you into the deeper water, your whole body going under, causing your hair to get soaked like his. as you swim back to the surface you see him sticking his tongue out at you in a teasing, annoying manner. little did he know, you had a surprise for him... your cheeks puff out before you spit some seawater from your mouth and into his face which causes him to flinch away and duck into the water for cover. you snicker as his head emerges from the water now that it was safe. “wow, that was low, even for you.” he sneers.

“i know, that’s why you didn’t expect it!” you cheer before he splashes you once more, the rest of your evening spent playing in the water, trying to soak each other to the bone before the sun disappears from the sky. spending the evening trying to catch one another begins to tire both of you out quicker than you imagined and childe pauses his chase of you to yawn as you blink a few times, your eyelids feeling heavier than you recall. “come on,” he says, slowing wading over to you to take your hand in his, “the sun’s almost gone, so let’s head back to the tent to get some shut-eye.” you curtly nod before yawning yourself. together, the two of you head back to shore, hand-in-hand.

while drying yourselves with some towels, you both head back to the camp you two had set up upon arriving at the islands. you throw the used towels beside the smallish tent that you two were sharing before digging through your backpack to retrieve some dry clothing to wear to bed - shorts and a shirt for you and just shorts for him. neither you nor he were shy about changing in the open here, for the islands were abandoned of all people, a perfect little vacation spot for just the two of you. you notice him steal a glance as you slide your swimwear off and you can’t help but tease him a little by ‘accidentally’ dropping your sleepwear into the sand. you bend down to pick them up, shaking your hips a little as you do so, biting your lips to try not to explode in laughter at your own antics. a blush crosses his cheeks before he quickly looks away and, admittedly, you were thankful he was unable to see your naughty grin for then he’d realize you were doing it on purpose and give your mouth something to do other than grin wildly. after picking your clothes up you throw them on before asking, “turn the lantern off when you’re done, please. i’m going to head inside.” he nods before you disappear into the tent. you lay down on your side, the bottom of the tent was lined with multiple blankets and pillows, all of which were as soft as a real mattress. you yank a big quilt over you for the air began to become chillier by the second.

you gently hum upon hearing your boyfriend enter, your eyes half-lidded as you feel him lay on his side behind you, sliding under the same blanket you were under. he wraps an arm around your waist, bringing himself just behind you, curving around your body. you feel an added, very welcome warmth from his presence, and you scoot yourself closer to him, wanting to feel more of his warmth. as you move, you accidentally grind your ass against his groin, a motion that, after a slight pause, he returns, pushing his hips forward a bit. although it was an accident on your end, you feel an interest in continuing the little grind session and you press your hips back into him once more, causing him to clear his throat. he moves even closer to you, his whole body now pressing against your back, and that’s when you feel his hardening cock through his shorts. he presses his groin forward once more, a little reluctantly, seemingly unsure if this was what you really want. you too were beginning to become turned on from the grinding, the feeling of his hardening member pressing against your butt only getting you more excited. you return the motion eagerly, pressing into him without hesitation, and soon the two of you begin grinding in unison - he pushes his hips forward and you press them backward. neither of you spoke, the only sounds interrupting the silence were the waves crashing against the beach, the scuffing of blankets, the slight rock of the tent, and rapid breaths escaping from yours and his lips. you think about pinning him to the ground, ripping his shorts down so his hard cock bounces out for you to suck, but you were so very comfortable, snuggled under the quilt, on the verge of sleep if not for the heat erupting in your nether regions. you knew that he was feeling the same way as you were, otherwise, he would already have your shorts and underwear yanked down to your knees and force your ass up in the air for his viewing pleasure. instead, the two of you continue spooning, grinding against each other.

he grunts as he adjusts himself, his arm that was over you now trailing up and down your body. his movements were slower than usual, lazily tracing his fingers across your clothed top before lifting it up, granting access to your nipples, the excitement, cold air, and his fingers flicking them friskily all causing the small pink nubs to begin hardening, a little murmur of a moan lingering in your throat. he then traces down your body and to your shorts, slipping his hand past them and your underwear. he wastes no time pressing his finger to your hole, prodding it, feeling just how excited you were as it puckers from his touch. even though you were drowsy, your body still reacts with a little shake of anticipation upon feeling his fingers against such a sensitive area, the excitement causing you to begin waking up in increments. you bring your knees up ever-so-slightly, pressing back into his fingers, wanting him to plunge them into you already and quit with the slow-moving teasing for you were quite ready for him. you hear him chuckle which causes you to pout as he finds amusement in your neediness and, disregarding your wants for him to hurry, he slides a thin finger around and across your aching hole in little circles, caressing you and keeping you wondering when he’d finally push them inside. this lasts for a few more minutes before you feel his hot breath against your neck hasten, his finger stopping just inches away from your hole, and as he presses his lips against the back of your neck in a kiss he slides a finger in. you squirm under the blankets, adjusting to the digit within you as he begins to move around instantly. he squeezes your exposed hip with his free hand, sending a little thrill down to the area he was giving plenty of attention to; the thrill causes you to lightly clench around his finger, and you hear one of his beautiful, soft gasps as he thrusts his hips against your ass again, this time out of pure want to stuff you full already. impatience causes him to hurry up his movements, another finger joining the first, both spreading you eagerly with scissoring-like movements, pushing against your walls, wanting them to give so that they’d allow his dick inside with ease. you tightly shut one eye and your cheeks redden from the needy movements of his fingers to the faint squelching sounds that were being produced from his actions.

you let out a frustrated sigh upon feeling his fingers leave you, your hole twitching from the sudden emptiness - but that doesn’t last long. he takes hold of the hem of your shorts and underwear, yanking them down to your thighs, just enough for him to gain access. you then feel something much bigger than a finger pressing against you, looking to enter, a whimper escaping your lips as he smears his tip’s precum against your skin. to help him ease in, you lift your legs up a little further, which allows childe to slide behind your pelvis and inside you, the movement accompanied with a deep groan from him. you were used to his size by now, but the first feeling of him pushing within you, spreading your walls further than fingers would allow, was a feeling you were never quite ready for, a feeling of crazy, dizzying pleasure along with a hint of pain that disappears as soon as he begins to move. the darkness only adds to the feeling since your sight was not a factor due to the pitch-black night. instead, your sense of touch was stronger, every little thrust of his amplified which causes your whole body to spasm around him. he brings a hand from your hip to your chest, rolling a hardened nipple under his forefinger while lazily thrusting into you in long, leisurely strokes. each thrust causes the blanket to move with your movements, the tent to shake a little, and if the two of you weren’t on a vacated island you’d feel quite embarrassed from the noticeable sex the two of you were having. thankfully, no one was nearby to see, nor was anyone around to hear your dirty moans, which began slow and soft and became louder with each thrust. he, too, was beginning to make his own noises - one particularly deep thrust that causes you to cry out makes him moan out your name in a low, raspy voice.

his movements became wilder, quicker, the sleep leaving as lust and want began to take over. he presses his lips against the back of your neck once more, sucking and licking the sensitive area, leaving a small little hickey for his eyes only. his hand moves from your nipple to your stomach, gripping gently for support to keep you in place on your side since his new, quicker pace causes both your bodies to rock at an increased speed, the tent now shaking violently from your conjoined movements. you grab the back of his hand, your nails against his skin, your cries music to his ears, his moans music to yours. the feeling was immaculate; you want more, more of him, taking you and your senses, the chillness of the air didn’t matter anymore as you felt both incredible and incredibly hot, a few droplets of sweat slipping down your chest and between your overstimulated, reddened nipples. hot, hot, hot, as if the summer sun was high in the sky and all you could think about was how good it felt. your mouth was continuously open now, letting plenty of moans escape, your cheek rubbing against the pillow beneath you as he continuously rams inside you, his movements no longer leisurely. your moans are loud, echoing across the bare sands and sea. the hotter it got, the more your body began to tighten around him, the feeling, the heat, all accumulating downward where he was thrusting into you before finally being released in a mind-numbing orgasm. a wave of coolness rushing over you as you flinch and arch your back, curling your body. one hand grips tightly onto his while the other was gripping the blankets below you, your knuckles turning white before letting go. your body rocks with each wave, akin to the ocean outside, and you hear childe whine behind you, knowing he could feel your orgasm around his cock, the heat and tightness squeezing his sensitive member, begging for his own orgasm and begging for his cum.

as he continues to thrust into your tight, orgasming hole, you feel his cock shudder. he grabs your hair, yanking on it, not too hard to hurt you but enough to cause you to throw your head back in correlation to his tugs. you know he’s close, he only ever grabs your hair when he’s close, and now that you were done seeing stars you begin helping him come to his own finale. you dig your hips back against his cock and balls each time he thrusts inside you, your motions causing him to go even deeper than before. the sensation, along with the trail ends of your orgasm, makes his body shake. your breaths become uneven as he releases while buried deep inside you, his own gasp louder than yours was, causing you to half-chuckle, half-sigh lovingly at how glorious he sounds. he rocks his hips into you, his movements slowing significantly, using your walls to help pump his cum out inside you before, finally, he comes to a stop.

as you feel his warm cum fill you up he pulls out, causing you to grit your teeth and squeeze your thighs together as some of the liquid follows his cock out. his head collapses onto the pillow behind you and he pulls you closer to him, his soft dick pressing between your ass cheeks. you hear a relaxed sigh from him and couldn’t deny the pure relaxation you were feeling as well. the sleepiness that was there before has returned tenfold, your eyes barely able to stay open as your body rests into the blankets and pillows below. you hear a few cute little snores echo from your boyfriend behind you and you decide that the two of you can clean yourselves up tomorrow. tonight was just about rest after an amazing bout of lovemaking.

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #tartaglia #childe #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut #childe x gn!reader #childe x reader smut #genshin impact writing #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin writing #genshin scenarios #written

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

Text

𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙈𝙪𝙨𝙞𝙘 | E.Kirishima x Reader

Pairing: Kirishima/ reader, Bakugo/ reader (mentioned)

Summary: You shouldn't want him and he shouldn't want you, it's sinful and forbidden. But he can't help coming back to you, and you can't do anything but take him in every single time. Until today that is.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Aged up characters (twenties), NSFW 18+, plot with some p//rn but it's not very detailed, unprotected sex (please use condoms everyone), cheating, casual penetrative sex, jealousy, the seggz is pretty vanilla though

↪A/N: tennis player Kirishima, tennis player Kirishima, idk how I came up with it but I can't get it out of my head, written for @doinmybesthere 's 3k event collab and based on The Hills by the Weeknd, don't be shy to tell me if you liked it, I almost wrote 4k in a day which is unusual for me

5.30pm [Missed Call: Red]

5.31pm [Missed Calls(2): Red]

The bubbling notifications are spamming your phone, each call, succeeding the other in persistence and length, making your phone crawl onto your coffee table in restless buzzing. To your salvation the device is on silent; you're just unable to bear the overwhelming sound of your ringtone echo through the empty walls of your apartment, to let it bounce between concrete like a slimy ball, only for it to hit you on the face with tremendous force.

It's one of those days that you can't answer Kirishima. Too perplexed in the wields of your mind, blaming yourself for this horrendous situation, delivering raw swears at him for simply existing.

You don't know how it came to this nor when was the exact moment things switched. Was it at the party that you met him? Or the thousandth time you took him in and let him ruin relationship after relationship. Either way it was horrible for not only you, but also him, and all the people that have been caught up in the sidelines of this rotten affair.

You shouldn't want this anymore and truly, you don't. You're tired of being the second choice, of hiding behind your little finger, crying yourself to sleep at night, only to put on a sultry face for every time he comes. Once, twice a month.

[New Messages: Red]

Babe, you there?

Read 5.38pm

[New Messages: Red]

Babe I got practice at 8.

I know you're reading those.

Read 5.39pm

[Red is typing…]

[New Messages: Red]

I'm outside btw

A fresh, tremendously sharp wave of anxiety rushes through you at the little notification -it can't be like this again, not today. The thudder in your chest is unbearable, heart too weak to stomach the weight of your decision, fingers too reluctant to type out your response.

He's probably smirking while staring at his phone, not a single care in his head. It's loathing to your mind as you confirm your speculation, shooting a glance out of your window, landing your eyes on his car.

He shouldn't be here.

His thousands dollar car doesn't belong in your urban street, not in your side of the town. And it's so dangerous that he's doing this to see you. You've played the worst scenarios in your head a thousand times, millions of headlines on sites and the news about this; Eijirou Kirishima, on his way to claiming a fifth Grand Slam, caught in affair with university student.

Atrocious, degrading, exposing. A hit to his career that would bother the media for a couple of weeks and paint your name in mud along the way.

Why can't he just be content with the model that he's with? You're nothing like her, not as pretty and you don't have her body, you don't have her face, but he still says he finds you better, says he knows you better, but he just can't be with you.

[You]

Can't do it today

Sorry

You're good to yourself, only when you deny him and only when you feel the satisfaction of being the one to do so. It's pointless to sulk over saying no. He can go fuck other girls, play with their hearts and leave you to your otherwise peaceful life. Even if it is just for today.

You don't have the chance to let a smile creep to your face when your doorbell rings. The jiggling sound bursts into your eardrums once and twice, three dreaded times and they're enough to make your stomach churn, your neck tight and your skin ache.

You contemplate on opening the door for him, subconsciously letting yourself feel like a vulnerable prey, who, after running away to save yourself, is choosing to walk into the wolf's den, so willingly that you can feel yourself drifting away with each step you're taking towards the door.

"Babe,"

The swing of your door handle, the crack of your wrist, the creaking of your door as it opens to reveal him; they're all embarrassing. You can't tell if they fall short on his ears, too caught up in the way he looks -all swollen muscles and tall legs. You're running out of courage to say no and he knows this.

He's not as innocent as this cheeky smile frames him out to be, he's not the sweetheart everyone wants him to be either.

He's Eijirou, who's selfishly standing on your door, who's barging his way in your apartment, who's grabbing your cheeks and slamming your face in his, biting your lips until he draws blood, just to punish you for standing up against him.

Your door is slammed behind him, one bend of his knee and it's falling into its rightful place. To shield the sins of your affair, to bring you comfort and privacy as he attacks parts of your neck, your chest. Places that only squeeze perfectly under his touch.

"Babe," He calls again, in between soft kisses. "What's gotten into you?"

You frown and try to look away, past his cocoa colored orbs, past the swelling that's taking over his lips -and yours- with a numbing, tingling sensation.

"Eijirou—"

"I don't have much time in between training, I got a game the day after tomorrow."

It's always like this, you know. He doesn't have to tell you twice or try to excuse his own self for what he does or how he acts. You're pushed between schedules, or slammed into his timetable like a truck when he feels like indulging with you again, hidden between the lines of his free time.

You're sure at this point that it's the thrill he's after. The sinful taste of your lips on his, how he feels in control while chasing after you, when you can't keep up with him.

His lips don't taste like sour cherry anymore, but you let them wiggle against yours with triumph, you let him want to catch his breath as he pulls back and you put the minimum effort in returning the passion you receive.

You pull back, ignoring the words he's whispering against your face, only to take in his features once again.

Soft black hair pulled into a low ponytail, spiky bangs that fly all over his face and his tips drowned in a fiery, foxy red. The only reminder for who he was before his tennis career blew up. For who he was before he turned into this cocky womanizer whom you're desperately after with a longing heart.

"I'm just not in the mood today."

"Well let's get you in the mood then huh?"

He smiles, nose scrunching and chapped lips hiding behind his gums as his hand moves to your thigh, tagging your shorts with furry. As if he's desperate to have you, right here and now. As if bending you over the couch will help put out a fire in him. That's how he always convinces you to keep this going.

He's making you feel like not having you this way is insufferable.

You're buried in the crook of his neck while being pushed onto the couch, nibbling a soft spot that you've found, rubbing his skin on the top of your tongue. You know how to do this without leaving a mark, you can hold back from wanting to take all you can get from him.

But today it's different. It's going to be the last time.

It's not like any other time you've told yourself that you are going to end this. Today you're going to leave a mark, you're going to bite your way into his skin and drink from his poison -the intimate attention he's only ever willing to give- and you'll get drunk in it.

"Fuck," He grunts against your lips. "Fuck, don't stop that feels good."

You don't stop, eager to listen to him, to breathe into his neck before you wrap your lips a little lower and closer to his collarbone. You should be asking if this will cause him problems, but gone is the guilt that veils your coinsense otherwise. You suckle on a spot and then another, stealing his groaning moans one by one as they fall from his lips, plushing them softly in a spongy part of your brain, where they can rest forever, until you've forgotten them.

"Get your shirt off Eijirou," You plea, ogling eyes watering from the pressure that's applied in the apex of your thighs and he's quick to follow your command, lips curling upwards in a sweetheart smirk.

You're going to miss the way the apples of his cheeks cover his eyes when he smiles like this. But there's no going back for you and him.

With legs that feel like burning rubber you hug around his horse, watching the way his muscles flex and fold with his snappy movements. His shirt, tousled and wrinkly, tossed in an unknown corner of your living room, only for him to guess where it is after he's gotten his fix of you.

Thick fingers probe at your sides, pulling your shirt downwards in a silent plea, take off your shirt, give him the satisfaction that he wants, indulge into this as much as he wants you to.

But today, you're not in the mood for this. So instead of pulling your shirt off, you unbuckle your pants, pulling them down at the most dreadful speed, making him bite his lip impatiently.

You won't miss this, the way he's expecting so many things of you.

And if he notices something's wrong, he doesn't say a word, presumably content with getting what he wants; the rear view of the gap between your legs, where he can bury himself and get lost for the next thirty minutes.

"Fuck baby," he moans. "Why do you smell so good?"

You grunt, averting your gaze from his as he pushes your bangs away from your face with the back of his hand. You want to miss his puppy eyes. Ghosting him won't be easier for you if you don't.

But damn if he couldn't read you this well, things would be easier.

"Not in the mood to talk?" You look even further away to avoid the question, "babe, you can tell me if you're not well, you'll feel better if you let it out"

You don't need someone to tell you how to feel. You've decided when the two of you are going to be through. It's set and done, even if he feels at the top of the world right now, you won't inflate his ego anymore.

"M fine Eijirou, put it in," You bite his lip, putting huge effort in making him forget about what he thinks it's bothering you. "Want you to put it in m'kay?"

Sultry, fake voice, he's heard it all before and he doesn't have the right to call you out for it. Whatever he does next, you're his for the moment and for the last time.

Repeating is your rightful way of convincing yourself of not giving up on your decision. If only he could have broken up before deciding to wet himself in you, if only you hadn't taken him so eagerly, if only you hadn't become just like him. Welcoming him despite availability status, afraid to lose him, saying that a little sex wouldn't hurt. If you could do this on repeat, then you could get rid of him quite as easily.

You're not better than him and he's taken your vulnerability to him for granted. He's loved the attention you've paid him from time to time, whenever he's given you so much as a mere call.

You should pretend to moan, to hurt his ego, but as he's delving into you, slowly, mellowy, his kisses feel like burning sunshine, August breeze against your skin, kissing your shoulders lightly. It hurts that this salvation is coming from his mouth, as it moves rhythmically against every inch of you.

"Fuck, fuck, ah, you feel so good, you know that?"

You don't answer, nor do you wrap your lips around him. You don't move them against his when he goes to kiss you, but you coo into his warm embrace once his hands come to cradle you in a tight embrace.

"I love you," He slips up and you contemplate on whether you have to start hating him from this very moment. "I just wanna be with you, I—" He grunts. “—this is why you don't believe him, but nonetheless you hold a moan in as well. "Fuck, I'll break up just for you.”

Now that's a new one. A new addition to the long list of red flags you have with his name on top. You can't fall for it. You absolutely can't. If you do, he'll treat you just like this, he'll fuck behind your back and kiss you goodnight before going off to sleep with someone else. Like he's slept with you, once, twice, thrice.

And you're going to hate being the one who's fooled, despite deserving it more than anyone else. And another girl, or guy, is going to be his subject of desire.

You shouldn't want him to be yours, but you're lewding your 'I love yous' out of your mouth like they're nothing, poisoning your heart until there's nothing left but dust and sucked up blood, all devoured by the greed he's made you feel.

"You love me too?"

"I do," You cry, rocked between him and the couch, neck hurting by the way he's digging his teeth in yours.

"I'll fucking leave everything for you babe,"

He shouldn't. He won't. You tell yourself he's only saying this because he wants to come, to make you feel dirty with his actions and fish out words that make him ecstatic or send him over the edge from your mouth.

Rhythms are peaking, his hips burning from his movements, foreheads are dripping in sweat, lips taste salty against each other. The perfect picture, the most tingling sensation, and you're too fucked to go back, or keep yourself content with him. It feels the same as the last time, a numbing knot in your stomach, commanding you to rip your heart out and throw it away, spooning mewls out of your mouth.

If you could, you'd mute him, not wanting to listen to how beautiful he sounds as he's coming down from his high. If you could, you'd look away, and wouldn't try to burn the image of his body as he's falling apart in your mind.

"That was—" The sigh that leaves his chest through his mouth is liberating, you can tell—"amazing. I still love you, so much babe."

His hand soothing the pain of his thrusts, does nothing to make you feel better. You want to shove it away, but you don't, unhappy with the way you're turning out to be.

"It's time for you to go, Eijirou, isn't it?" You remind him. A hand pushing him off of you and quickly smoothing your T-shirt over your legs to deprive him of the view that'd make him wear a smug of triumph.

"So quick to get me to go. Did you find someone else again sweetheart?"

You don't reply as you're putting on your underwear and pants, shoving his shirt into him with a heavy hand.

"You did, didn't you?"

"None of your business, go off to your practice, your girl, don't patronize me anymore."

He gruffs, beautiful features scowling in that stormy gaze that reeks of his authority, "Here I am pouring my heart on you and you found someone else"

"Eijirou, it's seven thirty, if I were you, I wouldn't be late for practice. You got a game the day after tomorrow."

No more dealing with his pouting, you're going to bawl your eyes out if you have to do it. The sooner he's out of your house, the sooner you'll get this over with; the tight lamp in your throat, the image of him smiling at you like this, him admitting feelings that he shouldn't have.

Hurting him isn't the role that suits you. Because you can't do it. You can't hurt that warm sunshine he has on his face. He has to be the one to hurt you like he's been the one to drive you away. It's too late for him to change or reverse your roles.

You don't want to fight and he knows it.

He knows you, so well, well enough to use you as he wishes to, letting you believe you're using him too. You're going to make him watch you slip away, and he won't do anything about this.

So he's eager to leave as you're pushing him out of the door, he doesn't cup your cheek with his hand, and doesn't kiss your forehead tenderly like he always does.

"You should come to this party Mina is throwing, let me meet your new guy."

Like hell you'd ever do this, he knows, but teasing won't hurt a bit. Eijirou can deal with you dating other men, he's claimed you well before, he'll do it again if he has to, especially now that he's decided to have you.

"Yeah yeah, and if I do, don't ever call me again, 'kay?"

You're too good to not do as he says, or not to fall back to him, and he's too good to not come back to you. To him, you're a match made in heaven, to you, you're a lost cause, burning in the fiery pits of hell as atonement for your sins.

He doesn't know that you'll fall apart before dressing up, how you'll tell yourself you're not doing this for him, but as a statement against him.

You're no better than him, in fact, you're worse.

…

The only problem is, that when Eijirou pulls up at Mina's party after practice, you're already there. Drink in your hand, flared jeans hugging your legs, layered tank tops that cover the bruising truth of this evening, laughing at whatever your friends are saying.

When he puts out his phone, calloused fingers furiously typing a text addressed to you, you're too far gone into another glass, dancing a little dance before grabbing everyone's cups to go for a refill, greeting them in that silent way of yours, drunken smile.

And then you'll pass him by and blink at him, you'll mutter a small greeting and he'll grab you by the hand and whisper in your ear just how hard he'll take you driving the night. You'll swoon, moan, forget about the drinks and follow him anywhere he leads you.

That's how everybody knows about the two of you.

This time, though, you don't cast a single eye on him. In fact, you're tainting him, walking past him while ignoring him, leaving him awestruck and hurt, like his confessions earlier in the day meant nothing to you.

It's a hit to his heart, how your jaw drops as you bump into Bakugo over the kitchen counter, eyes too wide at the sight of him. How your finger dances playfully on his chest and as you smile at him when he whispers something in your ear.

It's infuriating how you drop the cups near the sink and follow Bakugo outside, or how the blond waves at him with a pressed smile against his lips, signaling that he'll be busy for a while.

His insides churn, tummy aching in a feeling of guilt, one unlike anything he's felt before. Losing you doesn't taste in the way he thought he would, it's worse; sour and poisoning. It makes him flee the party, furious and bitter.

When he's back, his body is heavy, feet dragging him across his apartment, mind blank as he follows his basic routine before bed time, fixated on how easy it seemed for you to just ignore him and flee with one of his friends as soon as he came over to the party he invited you to, wondering how you could be so ruthless with him all of a sudden.

Sweet talking Kirishima with a smile of gold, the sweetheart of the professional Tennis scene and you're over him in the split of a second, pushing him away from you without an explanation or heart wrenching speech. Not giving him the satisfaction of some closure, just forcing the cold tempo of your sudden departure in the depths of his heart.

He pays no mind to the girl that sleeps beside him, back turned to him like she's oceans apart, despite the unspoken bound that's keeping them together. He'll leave her, make up for all the damage that he's done, in any way that he can manage to.

It all comes down to the fact that no one can love you like he does, no one can want you like he does. Someone can do it better, but you have to want him.

5.30am [Missed Call: Red]

5.31am [Missed Calls(2): Red]

[New Message: Red]

Fuck, with Bakugo out of everyone?

Delivered: 5.31am

[New Message: Red]

Did you have sex with him?

Babe answer me.

Delivered: 5.32am

[New Message: Red]

I'm breaking up with her tomorrow morning.

And I'll come over.

Babe.

Babe please.

Delivered: 5.33am

[New Message: Red]

I'll take you on a date and we can talk about us okay babe?

Let me know when you wake up.

I love you.

So much.

Delivered: 5.38am

Read: 10.23pm

[You]

(Attached Image)

Sorry 'Red' even if you sound like a total douche, cheeks forgot her phone at my place.

I bet on her answering your late night drama when she takes her phone back.

[Red is typing...]

Super thanks to @celestidarling for proofreading this and giving me the biggest pump of confidence to post

↪Up Next: Dragon King Bakugo

#eijirou kirishima #kirishima x reader #eijirou x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #bnha #kirishima x y/n #bakugou x reader #Kirishima #mha fanfiction #mha #bnha fanfiction #kirishima fanfic #tw: cheating #kirishima smut #bnha smut #mha smut

589 notes · View notes

wannabe-fic-writer · 3 years

Text

WandaNat x Reader : Inhale pt. 2

Summary: She never ceases to surprise you.

Warning: Smoking, Cursing, One Suggestive Joke

Word Count: 1,998

Part 1

* * * * * *

The white paint stares back at you as you lay on your bed. Your view of the ceiling is obscured by the red ball you toss up into the air. It gets slightly smaller as it moves away from you, then larger as it falls back down.

Your hand catches it and throws it back up into the air, repeating the same process as the tv plays on monotonously from the corner of the room.

Boredom has been washed over you for the past few days. Your girlfriends went on a mission last week. You were able to pass the time during the first week, keeping yourself distracted by hanging around the team, training with Steve, going for a run every time your fingers twitched towards the cigarettes you had hidden in your closet. All of that was failing to work right now.

It seems, though, that you don’t have to suffer through it much longer. F.R.I.D.A.Y chimes up after hours of quiet with an alert that Natasha and Wanda were back and heading to the room.

You instantly perk up, pushing yourself to a sitting position on the bed and glancing at the door frequently, ready for your girls to walk in. Except they don’t.

The gleeful, happy to be home, response you were expecting is replaced by their clearly upset demeanors. A frown sits on Wanda’s face like you’ve never seen and Natasha’s expression remains neutral.

They don’t acknowledge you save for a glance in your direction. Both of them go into the closet and quickly change into more comfortable clothes. In an instant afterwards they’re leaving out. And you’re left beyond confused.

With the possible reasons for their behavior and clear attitudes in your head, you don’t take offense to it. You give them some time to cool off, going back to tossing your ball in the air and catching it as you watch tv.

Around an hour or two later you decide they’re fine now, or at least fine enough to talk to. So you get up, heading first to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water and then to the general training room.

The sound of familiar huffs and the pounding of fists against a leather bag let’s you know your assumption was right. Your redheaded love is off to the fair side of the gym, headphones in her ears as she beats on the punching bag.

You smirk at the sight of her. Not only do her yoga pants and sports bra look great on her, you always find her focused and slightly aggressive expression kind of hot. She glances at you as you approach and you know she can hear you despite her headphones.

Stopping behind the bag, you lean on it, showing off your smirk to the woman.“ If you really want to work off your frustrations I can think of a good way to do so.” Natasha grunts, rolling her eyes and focusing on punching the bag.

With a sigh, you move to her side, gently taking her taped up hands and moving in front of her. Forest green eyes look into yours and you give her your best encouraging smile. She knows what your silent question is and sighs.

“The mission went south. We suffered a civilian casualty and others got hurt.” Her expression and tone remain neutral but obviously she’s upset about this. It isn’t her first time dealing with this kind of thing from a mission but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t hate every bit of it.

“I’m sorry to hear that baby.” You raise your hands to her arms and gently rub them, squeezing a little in between.

Natasha’s heart warms at your soft comforts.“ I’ll be okay. Wan is more torn up than I am. She-” The woman shakes her head,“ she blames herself.”

You frown, prepared to ask for more details. Then you figure you can ask the girlfriend who’s more deeply affected by it.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Natasha nods at your words.“ You gonna be okay?” A teasing smile forms on your lips.“ I know you’re my super tough ex-assassin but I’m here if you want to talk.”

Her lips tug up in the corner at your teasing words, but it quickly becomes a sincere smile when you offer your ear. Slowly reaching up, she runs the pad of her thumb along the apple of your cheek.“ I’m okay detka. I’ll let you know if I need to talk. Or your other services.”

You chuckle softly and nod. Leaning forward, you press a soft, quick kiss to her lips and part, heading off to find your other girlfriend. The not so tough witchy one you love just as much.

Finding the woman proved to be a little harder than you thought it would be. She wasn’t in any of the places you thought she would be in: the library, the theater, the common room. You wrack your brain for ideas as to where she is and when the last place pops into mind, you can’t believe you hadn’t thought of it first.

It’s a quick jog to the elevator and an even shorter ride up to the top floor. From there you take the stairs up to the roof.

She’d stolen this spot from you a few months after you started dating. She and Natasha found you up there smoking once and through the year and a half she would find you up here, sometimes sneaking a smoke when you shouldn’t be.

Her long brown tresses fall down her back freely, the rest of her beauty hidden as she faces away from you. Though you still find her insanely cute that she’s in your hoodie and some stretch pants.

The long slow straightening of her form clues you in on her deep breath, her body relaxing as she lets it go. You only get a little confused when she pauses and does it again. A thought that you’re unsure of, but the physical cues make you curious. The familiar movement of her arm, the deep breath, the pause.

“Wan?” You call with an indescribable look on your face.

Your brunette girlfriend’s shoulders drop and she turns to you. Immediately your eyes focus on the small cylinder in between her fingers, watching as it rises and rests between her lips.

She takes a quick pull, pauses, let’s a little smoke go, then it all comes out in a straight shot that disperses in the air. It’s such a smooth combination of actions that leaves you wondering if she’d done this before.

Deciding to hold your comment on that until after she’s completely calm, you take a different route. Approaching her still pacing form, you cross your arms and ask,“ was it that bad?”

A snort leaves her lips and she takes another drag.“ Worse.”

“Tell me.” Your hand reaches for her free one and you pull her towards you as you sit on the ledge of the roof.

Her hand squeezes yours. Your eyes drop from her green ones to her lips as they wrap around the cylinder again, cheeks caving a little, then her lips puckering slightly as she pushes the smoke out.

“I heard Natasha get hurt,” she starts, fingers once again tightening around yours,“ I looked away for a split second and he got away. We caught him but not until after he shot the tires out on a car. It flipped and crashed into another one.” Her jaw clenches, eyes glossing with tears.“ He hurt a man and his son and- and killed a woman.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you stand, pulling her a little closer to your form. You’d been down this road a number of times. Being on the Avengers team since the beginning almost, you know exactly what it’s like to make a mistake and have others pay for it. It was a deep hole that never ceased to make you hate yourself. But you didn’t want Wanda feeling that way.

“Hey,” you reach a hand up to cup her cheek, looking into her eyes,“ I know that it hurts. And it’s easy to blame yourself. But it’s not your fault. He made the choices that resulted in that woman losing her life, not you.”

“But I’m supposed to be the hero. I’m supposed to save people. And I didn’t.” Her accent thickens as she gets choked up, eyes glossing over.

You sigh, taking the cigarette from her hand and putting it out on the ledge, then pull her into your arms. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands slip up to your shoulder blades.“ You are a hero. A great hero. However, you’re not a perfect one. None of us are. It sucks in situations like this but you can’t save everyone no matter how much we want to. It doesn’t make you a bad person or any less of a hero.”

From the flicker of emotions in her eyes, you can tell it’s still going to take some time for her to cope with this. Still though you see a glimpse of that soft look and you can also see that she believes you to a certain extent.

Raising your hand, you gently push the corner of her lips up. She whines and turns her head away, noncommittally pushing at your side. It makes you laugh and she presses her forehead against your chest.

“Wanna tell me where you got that cigarette from?” You ask.

She pulls away, producing a pack of cigarettes. Brows furrowing, you flip the top up and count the cigarettes inside. There were four missing.

“Did you smoke four whole cigarettes before I got up here?” An incredulous tone laces your words, disbelief flooding your system.

Has your habit rubbed off on her? You know she and Nat found it attractive but did that lead Wanda to try it? It’s a terribly unhealthy habit, which is why your girlfriends wanted you to stop, and you certainly didn’t want Wanda getting into it.

“No, I didn’t smoke four. I got these from your boot in the closet,” she tells you.“ Which means you smoked them.”

“I-” you try to think of what to say.“ That was over the course of a few weeks. I haven’t had one in months though.” You know you didn’t need to give her an explanation but you wanted her to know you were still doing well.

Wanda and Natasha were very well aware of your progression towards quitting. They could even tell the difference in your behavior. Both women were incredibly proud and admittedly you were proud of yourself as well. You had confidence you would be able to completely quit in the fairly near future.

The younger woman smiles softly at you,“ I know you haven’t. And you don’t have to worry about me starting. It’s actually very nasty and I didn’t feel it did anything for my stress.”

“Good. I don’t want you forming an addiction and I don’t want to die if Nat found out you’d started by smoking my cigarettes.”

“She knows now.”

Nearly jumping a foot in the air, you turn around to see your other girlfriend smirking a little at you. A nervous chuckle leaves your lips and you scratch the back of your neck.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha steps to the side to stand beside you and Wanda. Her hand slipping into yours, the other held up towards Wanda.

Wanda sighs and places the pack of cigarettes in Natasha’s hand. The redhead pockets them then takes the younger woman’s hand.“ Neither of you smoke again.” She states plainly.

Looking at Wanda, you both nod.“ Never again Miss Romanoff.” You and Wanda say simultaneously, bright smiles shown to Natasha.

It’d be harder than that for you but not impossible. Especially not with the support and encouragement of the two women you loved and needed the most.

* * * * * *

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