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bunicate · 7 months

Note

i neeeeedddd more wrio <///3 i don’t wanna wait so so long for him to come out <///3 and i wanna read more filthy filthy smuts and suuuper long angsty smutty fics :((( i need him in a way that would get me lobotomized in the 1900’s </3

dnt u hate how genshin is just stringing us along and taking 4ever to give us more wrio stuff ! ! I want him in a very gross way nd I dunno if this little fic is at all filthy, but i wrote smthn while I was having my breakfast earlier ^_^ I also probably misspelled his name so many times bc my grammar check wasn’t working nd i got lazy ! but just know nonnie, ur icky thoughts are welcomed here !

pairing ꒱ྀི wriothesley x fem reader — warnings ꒱ he calls you little girl once ! ! + slight exhibitionism + finger sucking + size kink + blowjob mention / wc ꒱ 1.3k / 18+

you’d like to say that you were good at being discreet. it’s not that you’re intentionally trying to be, but when faced with several trials and tribulations, you believed the gods themselves were testing you.

after all this time, you thought you were inured to wriothesley’s effortless charm. it bothers you that he doesn’t even try— that your boyfriend with broad shoulders, a big chest, and big hands could stand there, and you were already thinking of all the sloppy, messy ways you could end your night.

you spend far too much time staring at veiny thick fingers that dwarf your tinier ones. especially when he holds your pink phone, hello kitty, and heart-shaped charms and all, and his big thumbs end up pressing a button he never meant to. how such a simple and mindless mistake makes you wonder about putting his big fingers somewhere else.

It was a newfound desperation you didn’t know you had in you and it just didn’t stop there. it’s the casual dominance in his behavior that makes butterflies erupt, fluttering their delicate wings in your belly.

when the brown sugar you needed to make a fresh batch of cookies rested on the tippiest top of the shelf you were irked to say the least.

it sat there mocking you because it knows you can’t reach it, and it’s none other than wrio himself who barely extends his hand above his head that brings it down with ease.

and then you see it.

it’s only a slither of skin, only a thick patch of untamed hair leading to his groin.

that’s all it is and that’s all you saw and yet you feel . . . bothered

“i didn’t need your help,” you mutter while pouring the contents into a pink porcelain bowl, careful not to make a mess.

you got snappy because of all things, it’s his height and taut stomach that make you flustered. you cut your eyes and upturn your nose busying yourself with the mixing and measuring, but wriothesley is no fool. your attempt to appear unfazed — not aroused was meaningless. he didn’t bother to question the veracity of you words when the soft cotton flush of embarrassment coats your cheeks like a paintbrush and he was the painter.

he excites you.

you know it and he knows it.

“sure you don’t.”

he’s smug and you don’t like it. you hate it, even. why is he always quick and sharp-tongued, and so astute?

it was one of your earlier dates together. things were still new and you wanted to make a bit more effort and maybe you went slightly overboard. you cursed yourself for wearing heels that day. they were a tad bit too high— but they were pink, and glittery, and a butterfly charm dangled by the strap of your ankle.

you couldn’t not wear them, your outfit depended on them. they just had the unfortunate luck of succumbing to the little pebble that laid in the middle of the sidewalk.

before you could even register your heart-dropping, warm, big, bulging arms enclose your waist, keeping you from colliding with the ground. when you instinctively reach out to grip them you felt the muscle beneath your fingers. you were sure your silk panties were ruined .

and to your dismay, the twitch of your legs trying to smother that burning heat between your thighs didn’t go unnoticed.

so observant wriothesley is, and you hate how easily he could read you, but the desire was mutual.

he constantly had to fight every signal in his body that yearned for you — that yearned to separate those plump thighs and perfectly ruin, and stretch that seeping little hole with his fingers. the thought plagues his mind the entire time.

you both go out for another outing and it was just meant to be an innocent dinner, but god — would you stop looking at him like that?

just stop pouting, stop doing that little furrow with your eyebrows, and stop putting on that sparkly lipgloss.

it’s moments like this where he’s thankful for his status. he’s quiet, and big enough to deter people from peering over his shoulder. a booth far away enough in a corner, makes it easier for the duke to get away with acting out in public— stuffing your mouth with his fingers.

even when sitting he towers over you. the dip of your clavicle kisses by the ends of your hair. so put together even in the process of ruin.

two of his wriothesley’s daft and ring-clad fingers stroke your tongue, spit coating the appendages. he could’ve busied them separating your puffy lower lips, but why would he when he can make you gag instead?

soft moans escape in the form of gurgled cries, you suck his fingers like a lollipop that was just too big for your tiny mouth. he’s rubs the insides of the orifice as if it were your pussy, with expert strokes that send your eyes reeling backward.

you pucker around them, lips tight, and you just croon like a good puppy.

“you like it when I stretch your little mouth? yeah, you do.” as if the arch in your back and the clench of your legs weren’t enough it would be your eyes blinking up at him submissively.

“you can open up a little wider— just like that, baby.”

and he’s knuckle deep by now and maybe he should stop, and not encourage you to be so obscene but he wasn’t thinking straight. it’s been a long enough week, [its tuesday ] but wriothesley works hard and some trouble once in a while can’t be that bad. neuvillette shouldn’t mind. he’s sure if he could see you now he’d be at your mercy. drooling around his rings, tits pushed up and makeup smeared— could anyone actually resist you?

“that’s my good girl, perfect little throat.” and he can’t wait to fuck it. If your mouth looked so delicate stretched around his burly fingers, what would it look like around his much bigger cock. that excites him — to think about the tip of his length poking the side of your cheek and thickening in the expanse of your throat. to be gifted with your drunken expression because he’s just too big and your brain can’t compute.

“you can pretend it doesn’t bother you, but I know you like when it when I get rough with little girls like you,” he drawls, in a deep and husky tone, low enough to fall on your ears alone.

there’s a fire that it ignites within and he controls the flame. you want to tell him no, to defy him, but it would be so unconvincing. you’re nearly falling apart, bursting at the seams with wanton hunger and thirst and it’s written all over your face.

it gives wriothesley a rush the more he fixates on your mouth. he talks big, knowing you're teetering on the edge of a mind break. he whispers how filthy you are for letting him fuck your mouth with his fingers. he teases you breathlessly that spit looks better on your lips then the lipgloss and that you can’t seem to stop re-applying.

things were fairly new, only soft gropes, intense kisses, and humping between leather and lacy frills were exchanged . this was the most erotic he’s seen you as of yet and its the closest you both have ever been. it made him eager for so much more.

“ you like how big I am thats why you’re letting me stuff your mouth."

and he dreams bout filling it some more— to the brink with his milky white, breeding your throat like it was your cunt until rivulets spill from the sides. Its right then and there that he wishes for no one else to be in the room so he can finally have you . he’s broken you down, and all you can do is listen.

"when i take you home, you'll be a sweet girl for me, right? no back talk and no more attitude ?”

you nod and even with a mouthful, you obediently open to speak.

“y-yes sir.”

such dangerous words.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x y/n #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x you #wriothesley smut

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trulyhblue · 3 months

Text

Girl(friends)

Lauren Hemp x Aussie! Reader

Warnings: fluff, coarse language, awkward, OG Man City

A/N — I'm in a Hempo phase rn so be prepared. Short one today x

______________________

You dreaded the days when you weren't playing football.

It was the one thing you couldn't live without, your adoration for the sport was larger and more demeaning than anything else. The solidarity, solace, and peace you found in running up down the wing, the ball at your feet. The feeling of utter elation when the ball went into the goal, past a defender, through the goalkeeper's reach. The celebrations, the assists, and everything else in between.

You could talk forever about football.

Except on Media Days.

You hated the unknown of it. You had managed to excuse yourself beforehand from most of these shoots since you weren't among the best-known players of the club — save that for Keira, Gee, and Lucy. But on the rare occasion that you were chosen for the quick photoshoot or challenge with one or more of the girls, you remained relatively quiet, speaking when you must and laughing when you should. You had no trouble with any of the girls, it was just in front of the public's view, and you were squirmish.

You pulled yourself out of bed after hitting snooze thrice, hearing Alanna ramp on downstairs. You made sure to stay in bed for another ten minutes. You changed into your team's tracksuit and a random top, making your way downstairs, slouching into one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

"Oh, wow." Alanna chuckled, holding out a coffee towards you. "You look delighted. Excited for today, are we?"

You simply offered her a grimace, taking a large sip of your coffee, hoping the taste would clear your evident distaste for the day ahead.

Alanna was a social butterfly. She was used to feeding into the Media's hand whenever they came becking. Most of the City girls were the same, it was a very jovial team that trusted one another well enough to have fun in the security of their job.

All the girls had arrived by the time Alanna and you had trampled in, wearing matching blue kits. Hayley was laughing with Georgia in front of a couple of cameras, a ball at their feet as they struggled to keep the ball off the floor. Gee tried to kick at the Aussie's feet, by didn't catch the ball in time to get the point. Raso threw her hands up in triumph, the cameras panning to Gee rolling around on the floor.

On the other side of the indoor training field were Lucy and Keira, standing around a giant-sized game of Janga, talking to the PR Managers behind the camera as they posed questions to the two of them as they played. Alex, Lauren and Chloe were sitting by a desk, on their phones as they waited for their turn to be called up.

The gush of blood that rushed to your cheeks when Lauren smiled towards you sent Alex and Chloe into a fit of giggles. The duo were always around to tease the two of you with your beyond-obvious, mutual pining. You wouldn't call it embarrassing, but there were certainly times when one of you would go out of your way to gain the other’s attention.

When you first met, Lauren tried to give you a tour of the facilities, but she ended up getting both of you lost. She apologised over and over profusely, and she dreaded the awful, first impression she had left you with.

You and Alanna sat beside them, greeting them with conversation before falling into a satisfied silence. Your next game was the Manchester Derby against United. The team had been training non-stop this past week, today is the first day without strenuous drills and exercises. Nevertheless, it was still a day at work, and to be honest, you'd rather be sweating ten times over than talking to a camera.

The thought of doing a video alone daunted you as you watched Hayley and Gee from afar. On a regular day, Hayley would be your Media Partner; the two of you always did videos with one another. On the odd day that you didn't, it'd be Alanna. If not Alanna, it was with a group of you. Now that you thought about it, the two Aussie girls were the only ones you had done a video with one-on-one. The feeling of someone different was tormenting. As the five of you sat silent on your phones, you hoped and prayed all of you would be doing a video together.

While you kept to yourself for the most part, save for the Aussie girls, you would go out of your way to make sure Lauren was your partner in drills. You’d try your hardest when she was watching, and vice versa. The blonde would hit the ball as hard as she could into the back of the net, and you’d be that landed with the assist. In games, you had been quickly dubbed as a duo due to the chemistry you seemed to have in the game. Fans would swarm at any interaction you’d have with her.

But to their dismay — and apparently most of your teammates — you and Lauren had never been in a video together.

But, to your surprise, you spoke too soon.

"Alright, Ladies, are you ready?" One of the PR girls came up with an iPad, scrolling through whatever it was she was looking for, and glancing up. You noticed Lauren straightening up beside you, holding her arms over her chest, waiting for the woman to finish her sentence.

You found yourself catching sight of the slight furrow in the girl's eyebrows; the concern written all over her face. You knew she was worried, and you supposed you were too. "We've got Greenwood, Kelly, and Kennedy over there. You've got interviews."

You tried not to look too relieved at the news, hiding the smile in response to the girl's identical groans. No one liked Interviews. They were serious, solemn, and no fun whatsoever. It was always boring questions about your job as a Midfielder, or how you maintained a balanced life outside of football. It wasn't the fans' favourite video to watch at all, but it was more for the professional side of it than the Media. Everyone had to do it. You were just glad that today it wasn't you.

"Hempo and Y/l/n, we've got an auto-complete interview."

"That's not fair, those are so much better," Alanna whined at that, throwing her head back like a toddler. "Hempo, surely we swap."

Lauren pursed her lips together, cheeks going a bit red at all the eyes on her. Alex and Chloe waited for her response, a smirk aligned on each of their faces.

"Nah, leave her Lani." Alex sounded, prodding the blonde with her elbow.

Lauren's cheeks went a deeper red when Chloe laughed. "Hempo's been wanting to do this for ages."

"Shut up, Kelly." Lauren snapped in a mutter, turning away to march off towards the direction of the lone white background and chairs. You turned to see the two Brits giggling to themselves, dragging Alanna over to the back doors.

"Have fun, Y/n/n."

"Hope you're as excited as Hempo!"

You shrugged them off, sauntering over to the set-up. Lauren was already sitting on a stool, playing with the rings on her fingers, wearing a prominent scowl.

"Are you alright?" You asked, sitting on the spare chair, tensing when you accidentally knocked your knee with hers.

Her pale cheeks disappeared, replaced with the blush you saw from before. "Yes, they're just annoying. Very annoying."

"Having a laugh, I 'spose." You reasoned, though the blonde didn't come off as too convinced. "But you're right, they're silly."

The blonde simply hummed in response, the both of you listening to the man behind the camera.

"Okay, guys, this is really straightforward." He said, readjusting the camera as he spoke. "You just got to introduce yourselves before you start, then we'll give you a board full of questions and you've just got to answer them. All good?"

Everyone watched the two of you nod. No one could deny the definitive awkwardness between the two of you, and the obvious hesitance toward what you were about to do. It was safe to say neither of you was fit to talk on and on, especially under the scrutiny of viewers.

You didn't know the cameras were already recording, choosing to fiddle with your hands as you waited. You could tell by the definitive look on Hempo's face that she was just as reluctant as you were. The blonde glanced at you from the corner of her eye, shuffling in her chair before she muttered towards you.

"You have an eyelash."

You spun to face her. "What?"

Lauren's face reddened, her beady brown eyes widening at your sudden response.

Without thinking, she pulled her hand out from her pocket, reaching to pinch something off your face. She was gentle when pulling away, holding her finger up to reveal the eyelash she had picked. She watched as you blew it off, giggling meekly at the benevolent interaction.

"You ready?" One of the people asked behind the camera, making the two of you leave your intimate bubble. "When you're ready."

Lauren nodded towards you. "You can start."

You sighed, trying to hide the smile that crammed your lips. "Hello, my name is Y/N, and this is Lauren Hemp," You waited for the blonde to finish your sentence, but when you were met with silence, you took one look at her stupefaction and continued. "And today we're going to be doing a... what is it?"

Lauren lifted up one of the boards that balanced against the end of her chair. She picked it up, surveying it, reading out the bulk letters at the top. "An auto-complete interview."

"Right. That's what we're doing."

The two of you left the introduction at that, an empty silence vacating the set.

Thankfully, a voice sounded from behind the camera. "Who's starting?"

Lauren shrugged, filling the ungainly silence. "I can."

You both stared at the board in between you. "I think you peel them off." You spoke, motioning at the tape that covered half the sentences. Lauren took your advice, skinning the first sticker to reveal the question.

"Who is Lauren Hemp's team?" You read out, making both of you giggle. "Oo, that's a good question."

"I play for Manchester City." Lauren played with the tape in her hand as answered. "But I play for England in the National Team."

She peeled off the second one, waiting for you to read it. "Who is Lauren Hemp's favourite teammates?" You spoke, rubbing your head in deceitful confusion.

Lauren laughed, glimpsing at you with a beaming smile. "We haven't known each other for long."

"Yes, but I'm very charismatic." You shook your head, sighing. "But go on, who is it?"

"Well," She thought to herself for a second. "I'm close with all the girls but... I'd have to say Esme, of course. She's my best friend."

"No brainer, clearly." You made a point to roll your eyes, huffing about, but it was plain to see that you were only joking. "Alright, who is Lauren Hemp's... boyfriend?"

There was a bit of an awkward interlude, leaving everyone looking around the pitch. Lauren, however, fell into a cynical fit of laughter, with you following shortly after.

"No boyfriends for me."

You didn't know why, but your stomach recoiled at the thought of Lauren with someone. It was a great relief to hear that she wasn't. "None at all?" You couldn't help but ask.

Lauren was quick to reply. "No, no boys... or girls at all."

"Right." You replied, placing the board onto the floor, hoping no one was noticing the pink across your cheeks. "Who's next?"

The next board was displayed between the two of you like before, except this time, your name was typed across it. Lauren shuffled closer to you, pinning the board to her side. “Go on then.”

You peeled the first question off. “Who is Y/N Y/L/N’s favourite team?”

Lauren looked at you, laughing when you were silent. “Well, I'm not answering, you are.”

“Yeah, well, hold on, I'm thinking.” You scoffed, pretending to whack the girl playfully with your board. She swatted you away, grabbing the board from where it rested on your thigh and smiled.

“I'm gonna say the Matildas because why else,” You could hear the Blonde’s indistinguishable disapproval, clicking her tongue. You’d later find out when watching the clip that she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest affectionately. “But yeah, my childhood club was Sydney FC, so I’ll stick with my roots.”

“But she plays for City,” Lauren added, both of you giggling at your ambiguity. You never liked these types of questions, especially when the media took them out of context. You love City with all your heart, but it was easy for people to twist things and make it out that you didn't mean what you said.

“But I play for City, yes, and I love it.” You repeated, proceeding in ripping off each of the stickers as the game went on.

Lauren was patient when it wasn’t her go, adding in her opinion and a subtle joke every so often, basking in your immediate reaction each time. You bounced off one another like wildfire, seemingly knowing what the other was going to say before it was said. You were intellectual in what you shared, favourite meals, celebrity crushes, words of advice — pretty much anything the questions asked. Without knowing, you and Lauren discovered more and more about each other without directly asking. Your relationship blossomed, even with the presence of the cameras, into something tangible, free, and warm.

When it got to the end, you were still holding the board, fiddling with its edges as Lauren wrapped up the last of her questions. Somehow, you felt a little upset that the video was coming to an end. You wanted these questions to keep on coming. You would spend hours listening to the girl talk about what she loved and who she was. But by the time the last question lingered, you feel into comfortable silence.

Ever so slowly, Lauren inched her hand closer to the board you were holding, brushing her pinky and ring finger across your thigh as she did so. You pretended to conceal your flustered state by smiling, giving her the board to chuck away.

You didn't know how you coped when you felt Lauren keep her hand on your thigh.

“Well, that's the end of the video,” She finished, looking towards the camera, then to you.

You smiled back at her. “We hope you enjoyed and if you what to see more—”

“Well there's no more videos of us.”

“But go check the channel anyway.”

“Bye!”

_________________

manchestercity

manchestercity — watch our fan-fav duo answer your questions on our youtube channel!!! 🩵🩵🩵

Coming out later today 💪🏻💪🏻

tagged: laurenhemp, yourusername

Comments:

alexgreenwood — I'm as excited as @ laurenhemp, right @ chloekelly???

^ chloekelly — the real ones know 😂

^ user19 — what r they talking about Lol???????

^ chloekelly — yeah, Hempo, what are we talking about?

^ laurenhemp — STOP

User1 — they are so cute omg

^ user2 — IKKKKK

user22 — Alex and Chloe’s comments?

^ user25 — they know something we don't

^ alexgreenwood 👀

^ user22 — HELP

yourusername — hope you all enjoy 🩵

^ manchestercity — 🩵

laurenhemp — thanks for having us!

^manchestercity — 🩵

^ user3 — the blue heart is just so 😍

User4 — “you've got an eyelash.” “what?” UGH THE SOFTNESS OMG

^ user5 — the way Y/N lets Hempo brush it off and blow it away 😭😭

^ user6 — they definitely had no idea they were recording.

user7 — OKAY ADMIN FINALLY FEEDING US WITH THE HEMPO x Y/N CONTENT

^ user8 — RIGHTTTTT LIKE IM HERE FOR IT

user10 — they will win us the league.

^ user11 — why didn't they work together sooner?

^ user10 — fr

laurenhemp (pretend its you, luv u keira)

laurenhemp — winner winners

tagged: yourusername

Comments are limited.

Yourusername — stargirl 🌟

^laurenhemp — 🫶🏼

alexgreenwood — yeah the girl(friends)

^ chloekelly — yeah the friends…

__________________________________

A/N — this was really rushed and cut up but there isn't enough Hempo fics out there. I rlly didn't do her justice tn 🫠

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pinkie-pop · 8 months

Text

"We've Seen The Devil—He Was Hiding In The Mirror."

Part I Part II

Inspired by @shiny-jr's "I didn't ask to be isekaied" and "We just got a letter, wonder where it's from" series.

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Twisted Wonderland Various x Reader, Self-Aware AU, Yandere TWST

Synopsis: They swore to love you. Oh, how far they've fallen. No matter, though. For that oath is not theirs alone.

Word count: 3k

Includes: Nightmares, PTSD, maggots and insects (briefly), obsession, trauma, panic attacks

"You are no savior—nor purpose nor God. You are damnation—a phony and fraud."

--------------

Already having retreated to the relative safety of Ramshackle dorm, you get to the work of stripping your layers and washing yourself of the night’s events. The clothes you came in are marred in dirt and blood. Just looking at them has you feeling overwhelmed, and so, rather than try to wash a week's worth of torment from the garments, you opt for the much simpler approach of throwing them into the fireplace and borrowing nightwear from Yuu's dresser.

Approximately three hours have passed since it ended, and the thunderstorms have only gotten worse. You suppose he must still be upset; it seems that not even his beloved retainers could keep him in check. The never ending thunder has long since lost its terror, and as the adrenaline of the night begins to wear off, you find yourself lounging on the couch, less and less inclined to use your remaining energy to clean out your wounds. Maybe you'll just ask Grim to cauterize them later…

There's nothing interesting about the ceiling you are staring at so intently, and so you let your eyes glaze over as your mind drifts off to greener pastures you'll never have the chance to visit.

It's the middle of spring: your clothes are light and airy, the gentle wind causing them to flow around you like a flower in bloom. You have spent the day picking apples from an orchid, and you are now going to have a picnic in a nearby meadow. You descend down the hill in woven sandals, careful not to spill the contents of your basket. A gust of wind almost knocks the straw hat from your head, but the air is cool and refreshing.

Upon reaching the base of the hill, you take a moment to admire the world around you. The sun is warm upon your skin, but the gentle breeze keeps the heat at bay. Leaves and blossoms fall from the sky, mingling with the blooms of the flowers surrounding the area. A butterfly flutters by your nose in greeting, then drifts off to the next new thing. You cannot see the birds, but you can hear their songs as you pass through, looking for the perfect spot to place your blanket.

You find that spot in the middle of the field. It is surrounded by flowers, but not so much so that you would risk crushing them with your blanket. You set down your basket and open it up, careful to pick out the best-looking apple from earlier. You close your eyes and take a bite…

…But it rots the second you bite into it. Maggots gush from the cavity and into your mouth, wriggling and writhing under your tongue. Millipedes and roaches crawl all over you. Worms invade your senses. Ants burrow beneath your skin. They creep and crawl, slithering and squirming, and—

Your eyes shoot open, and the sensation is gone.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, the apple falls from your hand and rolls away. You collapse on your back and attempt to refocus your attention on the sky above you. There’s something interesting about the clouds today.

The first looks like a dove flapping its wings,

The second resembles a woman dozing off.

That one is almost a musical note, and that one looks like a smile. And—no, that isn’t quite right.

It is far more similar to a smirk.

The mouth widens as storm clouds gather and swirl around you. Dancing around in a cruel ballet. Thunder cracks in the distance as acidic rain hits and sears through your skin. The flowers turn to gravestones, and the songbirds begin to scream in human voices. Thorny vines reach up and take hold of your limbs, cutting through your flesh and bones as if they were made of nothing more than paper.

You are already halfway to being buried alive when you realize you’re being pulled in. Desperately, you try to claw your way out of the soil that threatens to swallow you into its suffocating embrace, but it's of no use. It isn’t long before you can no longer fight back. It isn’t long before you—

You bolt upwards, clasping your chest as you heave and gasp for air. Your nightwear is drenched in a cold sweat, but you can't find it in yourself to care. Your whole body feels as if it's on fire, and your whole body heaves with each labored breath. You leap off the couch, nearly tripping on the blanket you didn't know you had, only for a fit of nausea to throw you off balance and cause your fall regardless.

Of course, as if the rest wasn’t enough, sickness has also decided to take its turn in making you miserable. You reach a hand to your forehead, checking for fever. Unfortunately, your entire body is burning up, making this a rather ineffective method. You let your hand drop to your side and take a moment to orientate yourself.

Gathering the thin blanket you had nearly tripped on earlier, you wrap it around your shoulders like a shawl and step into the kitchen. You find a handtowel near the sink and run it under cool water, then place it on your forehead, hoping that your fever will start to break soon. Sighing, you look around the kitchen as it occurs to you that you’ve never been here before. The area wasn’t accessible in-game, and you were too exhausted to look around when you first arrived. The floors are clean, the dishes are all tucked away in their cabinets.

Oddly, however, was the fridge, which, save for tuna and water, was entirely devoid of the contents one would expect a fridge to have. There were other peculiarities, too. Despite supposedly having been abandoned for decades, the dorm was in surprisingly good shape. Nothing seemed to be falling apart, and you were unable to spot even a single crack in the walls or floorboards.

It was then that you remembered Ignihyde’s chapter starts with Ramshackle’s destruction and ends with its renovation, and begin to feel a little silly. Although, the renovations still do little to explain the emptiness of the refrigerator.

Light from a nearby window hits your eye, and you turn to see that the clouds have cleared, making room for the moon’s rays. It is then that you realize that the weather has finally cleared up. Without rain or thunder to interrupt your sleep, you should be able to drift back off with relative ease. Provided, of course, that the nightmares don’t wake you up first.

Feeling a little better, you head back to sleep.

———

The water is cold enough to give you a brain freeze, but luckily (or rather, quite unluckily), your migraine is already so painful that you hardly notice. Even after rifling through every cabinet you could find, you're unable to spot anything resembling medication. You're halfway to trying your luck with a suspicious potion you found hidden in a kitchen cupboard when a voice from the foyer steals your attention.

"Mrah! Wake up already!" You poke your head out from behind a wall and peer into the living room, where Grim is excitedly shaking a pile of blankets. "C'mon, get up already!"

"Grim…?"

"MYAH!" You flinch as Grim leaps into the air, violently swerving his head around in—you assume—frantic search for the source of the disturbance. Upon spotting you, Grim visibly relaxes before tensing up once again and puffing out his chest. "Jeez, don't scare me like that."

"Could you not yell? I have a bad headache," you mutter, unwilling to raise your voice higher than a whisper. Grim, however—perhaps due to his feline features—, has no problem in hearing you and quickly offers a hushed apology. When he does, you nod at him to continue on with whatever he had wanted to tell you earlier.

"Thought I’d take ya on a tour of the place. Y’know, since you passed out before gettin'ta see anything yesterday n’ all." You suppose you don't have anything better to do. Maybe one of the rooms will have Aspirin.

"Alright, lead the way," you say, and Grim, perhaps already forgetting that you are unwell, quickly scampers away. It takes you a moment to catch up to him.

"This is the bedroom,” he says. ”Honestly, I can't believe ya fell asleep on the couch when you could've come here instead." Your gaze falls over to the bed, where someone appears to already be sleeping on it. "Oh, that's just Yuu. Been like that since before you arrived. No one knows what's wrong with it. We can just move it later."

"Do you think they'll wake up soon?"

"What's it matter?" Your surprise must show on your face because Grim seems to see it as a prompt to continue. "I mean, you're already here, aren't you? Whaddaya need Yuu for?"

"Isn't Yuu important to you? They've been with you since day one…"

"You've been with me since day one. Yuu's just our henchhuman." You frown. "C'mon, it's not a big deal. Yuu isn't even human." Well, that would explain the oddities you noticed earlier. Even so, the cold indifference in his eyes is chilling. Yuu was supposed to be like family to Grim. How could things have turned out like this?

Perhaps sensing your discomfort, Grim changes the subject. "C'mon, I'll show you the other rooms."

———

"This is the guest room ya worked on with that hammer. Not that you can tell. After Yuu shut down, everyone went crazy and destroyed the place. Normally they’d be trippin’ over themselves ta’ fix it, but…” Grim trailed off, leaving you to fill in the blanks yourself. As your gaze travels across the room, taking in all the broken furniture, torn wallpaper, and scattered stickers, something pops out at you. Something you don’t recognize.

"What's that over there?"

“Hm? Oh, those’re offerings.”

Well, that certainly raises more questions than it answers.

“For you, duh,” Grim flicks his tail, “Most of the stuff’s enchanted, so it didn’t break even when they tore the place up.” One gift catches your eye. A box of bottles in varying colors and sizes, each with a small label pressed onto their side.

“Those’re from Kalim. He brought a ton after Yuu got sick. Apparently, he bought even more than that, but Jamil stopped him before he could–” You don’t bother listening to the rest of his explanation and instead get right on to skimming through the bottles’ labels. If they’re for Yuu, then surely they aren’t poisoned. After all, Yuu is important to them. You would know that better than anyone.

Upon finding the bottle that matches your ailments, you pop it open and empty the contents into your stomach. It’s horribly bitter, but your headache vanishes on the spot. Nearly completely rejuvenated, you grab a piece of hard candy from a nearby stack of food offerings to rid your mouth of the taste.

Ah, if only potions existed back in your world, too. How very convenient they are. Grim, however, does not seem to share your sentiment. “Myah! At least read the label before ya’ drink something like that! Ya barely glanced at the thing before chugging it. Yer real reckless, ya’ know that?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. I'll even read it out loud, okay? It says…” You begin reading the label description, but stop when you get to the recommended dosage. "Ah."

"Huh? Why'd you stop?"

"I think I may have taken too much…" You say, a bit sheepishly. "It's probably fine, though." Grim appears entirely unconvinced. You don’t blame him for it. You yourself are not entirely convinced. But it was merely a potion, and you had, earlier, survived being hit by lightning. A potion would not be your downfall. You will be fine.

“There are other rooms you wanted to show me, right? Let’s go see them now. I promise to tell you if I start feeling ill.”

“Alright.” Grim’s worry seems to be quelled, at least somewhat. That is good, you think. Although your own worry still sits in the back of your head. Surely, you will be fine.

Yes, you will be fine. And so, you go to see the other rooms.

"Betcha didn't see this before, right?" He was right. You never saw—never even heard of—Ramshackle's library. It's an impressive room, albeit a bit old. The renovations must have skipped this room, though you’re not sure why.

“Do you like to read, Grim?” “Me? No way. Yuu seemed’ta really like this place, though. So I figured maybe you would, too.”

You nod, a sort of nostalgia washing over you as you browse through the titles. “I think I’ll stay here for a while,” you tell Grim.

“Myah, just don’t take too long, okay?” You smile at him, and he leaves.

And just like that, you are alone. It takes a moment for the realization to sink in on you: you are alone. And it is by your own doing, no less. What a terrifying lapse in judgment! What an egregious oversight! It was daylight, now. Nearly evening, but not night. No, it would be many more hours until night. It was daytime, early afternoon, and you were alone. Your shadows give away your location. The light betrays your every move. If the bell were to ring now, if someone were to walk past you in the hall.

Dear Gods, if someone were to recognize you—

No, now is not the time to panic. You have made it this far. All the way to the library. You have made it to the library, and it is daytime. The bell has not yet rung, but it will soon. You must hide. You must keep eyes on all routes of entry and escape. You must find a weapon.

You don’t even realize that you are shaking. You don’t even realize that you are cowering—that you are backing away. You knock into a bookshelf. It is an old bookshelf. Unsturdy. It is an old, unsturdy, bookshelf, and you have knocked into it.

It falls.

You fall.

It all crashes down on top of you.

Books hit your head and body, edges digging into your skin. The books fall and hit you, and you don’t know what has become of the shelf they were resting on. Has it fallen with you, or has it remained strong? Was it really old and unsturdy? Or was that simply your impression? You suppose it doesn’t matter. The books fall all the same.

Your eyes fall shut.

———

Your eyes flutter open. Good morning, world.

“Good morning, Grim.”

“It’s 6 PM,” he says.

“Good evening, Grim.”

“Right…”Grim pauses. “Hey, are you feelin’ alright? After ya drank that potion, ya sorta just…passed out. I read the bottle, and it said drowsiness was a side effect, but you were out for hours. I was startinta get real worried, y’know?” You hum, and go to rub the sleepiness from your eyes. When you do, a book is knocked over the side of the bed and falls to the floor. “Huh? Hey, where’d ya get that from?”

“Hm? Oh, I must have picked it up at the library, somehow.” “The library?” “Yeah, the one you showed me earlier.” Grim places a paw on your forehead as if checking for fever. Finding nothing, he pulls back to look at you.

“We don’t have a library.” Ah.

Well, isn’t that something?

“I must be remembering wrong,” you say. You are not nearly as on-edge as you perhaps should be. In fact, you are entirely unconcerned. In your precious panic, had you exhausted all your energy? Or was it something else? The potion that you drank was certainly suspicious. You doubt it could be poison, but that does little to rid it of doubt. It was your only clue as of now, though. That, and the book. Grim appears to be saying something to you, but all you hear is bubbles.

Bubbles flow from his mouth and replace his words. Bubbles float up to your ears and encase them, isolating you in their silence. Bubbles flood your vision and senses. Your head hits a bubble as you fall down onto the mattress, and bubbles fall into your eyes as they shut a final time.

———

Your eyes snap open. Air fills your lungs and darkness fills your vision.

Your head hurts, but you feel better. You are no longer sleepy-eyed and foggy-minded. You are awake and sober.

There’s a book by your side. You can see it clearly, despite the dark (You’ve grown rather used to the dark this past week, you find comfort in it). It’s the same book you had earlier, when you had first woken up. Had you even woken up at all? Perhaps it was all a dream.

Regardless, the book, at least, is not a dream. This book is very much real, as is this Grim, who is curled up and snoozing by your feet. You think that Yuu is real, too. Although you cannot see them. You do not know where they have gone, and you do not think they have woken up. Perhaps Yuu was not real, after all. Perhaps someone has simply moved them.

The book is real. And it is addressed to you.

Yes, you.

Not Yuu, nor ‘The Player’, but you.

Your name, your actual name, was written on the cover. It is unnerving to see your own name after so long. You are not sure who has written this book, but you think you can guess.

There is only one person, after all, who has access to it.

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farfromsugafanfic · 2 months

Note

Stray kids reaction to seeing surgery scars on their s/o

Anon 🐻‍❄️

SKZ Reaction To Seeing Surgery Scars On Their S/O

Genre: fluff, suggestions of smut

Warnings: mentions of surgery, body insecurity, cancer, mention of disease and injuries

A/N: My first anon 🥹 thank you so much and I hope you enjoy it. Also, thank you for 1,000 followers 🥺

Chan:

Chan knew about your appendectomy scar and how it was one of your complexes, but you'd always managed to keep it hidden from him. He tried to express that it was perfectly normal to have surgical scars and that it wouldn't change how he felt about you, but it still took you time to show it to him.

Pulling up your shirt, you winced as the keloid scar became visible. Chan stayed quiet before gently running the softest part of his fingertips over the rough scar.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Sometimes," you said. "But not too much anymore."

He nodded in understanding and reached down to intertwine your fingers.

Minho:

Minho understood why you were scared for him to see your scoliosis surgery scar because he too had a surgery scar that he felt self-conscious of. While he'd sometimes caught a small glimpse of it, you always tried to keep it hidden. Eventually, though, it became impossible to deny the intimacy growing between the two of you.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he said, trying to lighten the mood with some light sarcasm. It seemed to work since you laughed and some of the tension in your body. When you finally threw your shirt aside, his breath hitched at the long vertical scar down your spine. It lined up with the curves of your body linearly, making your body look like two butterfly wings sprouting from the scar.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous."

Changbin:

Changbin knew you had a tumor removed from your kidney as a kid, but it never crossed his mind that you might have a scar. While you sometimes even forget about it, there are times you get reminded. Someone looks a little too hard at your abdomen when wearing a crop top, or someone was bold enough to ask what happened.

You'd long put your childhood brush with cancer behind you, but when Changbin first noticed your scar, your body filled with dread. Would it be the last straw and he would finally find you completely unattractive and dump you?

However, Changbin didn't say a word and just placed his palm over it. He'd continue to do this, sometimes without even thinking about it, just reminding you that he loved every part of you, even the parts you sometimes wanted to hide.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin noticed that you always wore long sleeves. At first, he didn't think much about it, until there was an especially hot day when you refused to take off your long-sleeved shirt. When he questioned it, he saw the panicked look in your eyes and knew something was wrong.

After a bit of soft prodding, you eventually explained that you'd broken your arm as a kid and had had surgery, leaving you with a scar. Hyunjin was silent for a few moments.

"Is that all? You thought I would mind that?"

"Well, I mean, you're so gorgeous."

"I still have scars, babe." He chuckled and reached for your sleeve, gently pulling it up and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the scar. He didn't say anything else, but gently leaned down and kissed the scar.

Jisung:

When Jisung first met you, it was at a large event where you'd had your makeup professionally done. But, the next time he saw you, it was a late night at the convenience store where the scar from a skin graft surgery you'd had after getting a burn on one side of your face. Compared to what it could look like, it was relatively minor, but the scar was visible and you'd only just got used to doing small errands like this without covering it up.

Jisung can't lie and say it didn't catch him off guard, but it only made him more interested in you. He bought you a pudding and chatted with you, deciding not to mention anything unless you did. This surprised you because most people couldn't help but ask for the sob story of the car accident that resulted in major burns to your face.

Eventually, you did tell Jisung what happened though it took time and getting over some insecurities. But, Jisung's openness about his insecurities and your insistence that they didn't matter to him helped you come to realize how enamored he actually was with you.

Felix:

You and Felix were both very open about your insecurities and who you are. However, you could never get yourself to show your biopsy scar. The scar was small, but noticeable. So, you kept it covered. As you and Felix became more intimate, you knew he would eventually see your scar.

Felix was a sweetheart. You knew he wouldn’t care and that such a small flaw would not affect how he felt about you. Yet, still, there was a nagging worry. When Felix does see the scar and notice the way your body tenses when his eyes graze over it, he takes your hand and kisses the back of it gently.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he said, as if he were looking at you trying on a dress and not gazing at your scar. His hand brought yours to his cheek.

Seungmin:

On the outside, it wasn't obvious that you had lupus, but Seungmin had begun to notice that you never drank—not even beer or wine. He didn't mind but found it a bit curious since it was not something he was used to with people around his age. Still, he didn't ask questions. That was until he was staying the night at your apartment and caught a glimpse of the hockey stick shaped scar on the right side of your abdomen from having a kidney transplant.

His eyes widened as he began to put it all together. He didn't flip out but did ask if you were okay. After you explained, he felt better but also felt bad that you felt like you needed to hide such a major part of yourself from him. From then on, he would sometimes find himself absentmindedly running his fingers over the scar when you lie together.

Jeongin:

Jeongin knew you'd had knee surgery a few years ago after tearing your meniscus. But, he'd never seen the scar. Of course, he was never actively looking for it but realized that you never showed your knees at all. When asked about it, he could tell it was a touchy subject, but a few sweet words and reassuring touches calmed you.

Rolling up your pant leg, you showed him the scar. It was larger than most other similar scars because your injury had been extensive. The scar—at least in Jeongin's eyes—wasn't too visible, but he made sure to give you a cute peck on the nose and encourage you to wear what you wanted since surgery scars were nothing to be ashamed of.

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ferrstappen · 11 months

Note

what about a pr relationship with max? 👀

plot twist: it’s real | max verstappen

Everybody was whispering about a secret guest on the Red Bull garage. It was Brad Pitt, but you on the other side, walked freely around the paddock in Miami, just another celebrity making an appearance, no one suspected you would be his co-star, Brad Pitt’s love interest or something along those lines.

However, the public did suspect something was going on between Max and you after the GP, even official Red Bull videos of you asking him questions as he drove at an extreme speed.

You started following each other in social media, tagging him on multiple stories during the weekend. The last one sent people into a frenzy, it was simple, just Max holding the trophy, blue eyes shining as he directly smiled at you; face red and sweaty, dark blond hair sticking to his forehead and extra fluffy from humidity, even the tip of his tongue was visible from how big he was smiling.

It was calculated to the second; every post, every appearance, every smile.

Anyone who was mildly involved in gossip and celebrity drama was aware that PR relationships were a think of the past, no one having the time to do such things nowadays.

Plus, with Deuxmoi on every corner and every available information, it wasn’t a particularly smart move.

But no one said anything about hinting at something, studied long gazes, bad jokes on camera, walks on the beach, leaving clubs early with Max acting as a bodyguard of sorts. Of course people were speculating, young rising Hollywood star actress and Formula 1 prodigy, a talent so natural it was unbelievable.

A power couple.

Both you and Max were aware this was just to boost a movie while attracting more people to F1. But somewhere along the way, lines became a little blurry; hugs weren’t mechanic, laughs were real, the butterflies appeared and suddenly, you were holding hands during your beach walks.

You were wearing his cap while walking on the sunny Los Angeles streets, boarding a plane to wherever the GP was taking place, the paddock, it became part of your every day look.

Max was seen on movie premieres, not walking the red carpet but quietly inside the theatre, his jet was seen landing on LAX more often, making appearances on movie sets.

During the weekend of the Monaco GP you decided to make it official, boyfriend and girlfriend. You fell asleep on his arms, naked chest under your head as he laughed at something you said, insisting he should be sleeping for FP3 and qualifying, but he couldn’t, enjoying the way the way your breathing slowed down along the cata purring on the floor.

It was still unknown to everyone else, though. Of course, people in the paddock knew, Kym Illman photographing your arrival early in the morning sporting the Red Bull cap. Other celebrities attending the iconic GP noticing the obvious nature of your relationship, with Max’s hand not even trying to hide the fact they were resting on your ass, fingers sneaking under your blouse to caress the skin.

Then, the obvious started to happen.

subject: Motorsport and Hollywood rising stars in love.

email: [email protected]

Message: I have it on good authority Hollywood’s newest sweetheart will be starring along an iconic and heartbreaker actor in a driving movie, even the actor in question attended the Miami Grand Prix a couple of weeks ago.

The surprise is that the predicted winner of this F1 season and the actress are in a committed relationship ever since they met since this winner, gives-you-wings f1 team will be sponsoring and working in the movie. A source even told me they were seen making out on his yacht during the Monaco Grand Prix, and the actress was sitting and laughing with the driver’s mom and sister 👀

user1: i bet my life this is max Emilian verstappen and (y/n), why else would max be seen in universal studios???

user 2: what about Florence Pugh and Charles Leclerc?

user3: no way, Florence attended with her bf!!!

user4: it’s giving pr for the movie💀

user5: (y/n) even comments on Victoria Verstappen’s post!!! and Max went out for drinks with Daniel Ricc, Pedro Pascal and Bradley cooper after the met, they probably met on set bc they’re filming with (y/n) They’re not even hiding at this point!!!

Well, you kept hiding until it was time for the movie premier. Everyone from Red Bull was invited; Checo, Daniel and Max arriving together, Christian and Geri were naturals, but Max was waiting for you on the red carpet.

Your Versace dress was the perfect fit, Max couldn’t help but look at your ass and boobs, not caring photographers were everywhere, it was time to stop sneaking and pretending you were just friends.

His arm found its place on your waist, dedicating you his brightest smile before kissing your lips, people screaming your names, but your eyes only found his blue ones, shining under the flashes and holding his hand.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen au #football #f1 x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader

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wri0thesley · 1 year

Text

home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him.

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be.

But there are plenty of negatives.

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you.

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months.

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow.

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer.

You think not hearing anything might be the worst.

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time.

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest.

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand.

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him.

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe.

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there.

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms.

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you.

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.”

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache.

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . .

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him.

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway.

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while.

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest.

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for.

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry.

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit.

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees.

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs.

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.”

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick.

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp.

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh.

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine.

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.”

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end.

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess.

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’.

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his.

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin.

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you.

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.”

There’s no question of doing anything but.

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release.

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration.

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?”

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest.

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes.

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink.

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless.

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses.

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!”

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port.

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?”

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful.

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you.

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be.

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine.

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved.

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together.

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name.

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air.

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment.

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach.

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in.

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets.

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy.

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut.

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most.

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself.

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you.

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging.

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.”

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another.

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you.

#commissioned work #writing #not sfw text #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha posting #chubby reader posting #bnha smut #mha smut

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angelbunny-arts · 8 months

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Behold,,,,. Every hermit design I’ve created over the past year and a bit: with heights and chibi versions of wings included>:D

Species, fun Details and height sorted version under the cut !!

- Grian

A parrot avian in some universes, a shapeshifted watcher in others, it’s a 50/50 which one I decided to go with

Avians in my mind take on the wing patterns of a bird they connect with, which usually happens at around 18-23. Instead of facial hair they grow feathers around their cheeks and in their hair.

His earring is a present from mumbo ^^

The gold detailing on his wings have the watcher symbol and suns on it, and his shoes have suns too! (why suns you may ask? “Grian” is the Irish word for sun, and according to my myth/history nerd friend there was an Irish sun goddess named Grian)

-Mumbo jumbo

An albino enderman

He dyes his hair because it looks cool, you can see a bit of his natural roots

A feather keychain on his belt from Grian

- GtwScar

A half-allay

He’s got heterochromia with the HOTGUY colours>:)

His ears and canine teeth are rounded! In contrast to half-vexes who’s features are sharper

Him and cub have matching vex magic earrings

His design is probably the one that keeps to the original skin the least, but it also happens to be one of my favourites to draw so

- Cubfan

A half-vex

I don’t have much to say here, he’s just kinda silly? I suppose there’s the fact that I decided that convex gets a diamond as their shape, so he’s got some of that detailing

He was originally supposed to have glasses however I am terrible at remembering glasses even though I wear them so they just kinda vanished

His hair is probably one of the most fun to colour too:D

- Geminitay

An elf (the antlers are accessories)

She’s got a whole bunch of little leaves everywhere:DD and some cute gold detailing too, otherwise a pretty simple design with not much to say on it

-impulse

Just a regular dude tbh he’s just a guy/pos

He’s got five visible places where I’ve snuck an “i” on him (but there’s one more on the bottom of his shoes)

The yellow In his hair also matches with my skizz, who has blue in his hair

- Pearl

Either a human or an avian, it’s another 50/50 and depends on what I went for with Grian as well if I have him included

If I go the avian route, her wings are small and usually kept under her jacket.

The moon detailing changes with the moon phase! Her hair also gets more floaty depending on how full the moon is

The knot on her shirt is in the shape of a moth

- Tango

A soot fairy, they’re known for working with and manipulating fire and creating machinery.

He’s got heels and he’s absolutely slaying. That’s really it I can’t pick my favourite detail it’s all fantastic. Look at it

I looked at fire/firemen vests for his jacket? That’s a fun fact

- Docm77

A creeper/goat hybrid

There’s like.. so many butterfly motifs on this man it’s fantastic. I also love the horizontal pupil

He looks like a mix between a tired dad and a mad scientist, which was initially not what I was going for but I’m keeping it

————

And, as promised, the height check (for people that are the same height I put whoever looked taller first)

(also disclaimer I made most of these heights up and are not accurate to the ccs)

#art #mcyt #hermitblr #hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #geminitay #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #tangotek #docm77 #bun art!!#apologies for the random avian lore infodump it will happen again<3

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navybrat817 · 1 year

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Down Again

Pairing: Soft!Dark Ari Levinson x Female Reader Summary: Getting settled into your life with Ari is easier said than done. Word Count: Over 2.2k Warnings: Tagging (D)ubcon to be safe (please do not read if this upsets you!), (e)xplicit (s)exual (c)ontent, (u)nprotected (v)aginal (s)ex, (p)ossessive behavior, soulmates, telepathic link, (p)orn with feels (it's me,) soft!dark Ari Levinson (he's a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Header by yours truly. A/N: Continuation of Wear Me Down. Our poll winner and @flordeamatista sensed it coming. I hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @galatially, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When Ari brought you to your new home, far away from your old place, you didn't go kicking and screaming the way you expected. You still weren't sure what he did for a living, but the way the few men around him averted their eyes in his presence stopped you from lashing out. If grown and capable men feared him, what would that spell for you if you tried to run? Who would help you anyway when they discovered you were trying to outrun your soulmate?

In some ways, you couldn't complain. The house was beautiful and spacious, plenty of room for you to be on your own while Ari worked. Anything and everything you could possibly want, you had. The moment you thought of something, he made sure it was there because he took the time to enter your mind and pay attention.

"But you still won't look through mine, will you, sweetheart?"

You wrapped the soft blanket tighter around you as you ignored Ari and stared out the bedroom window. The growing storm tempted you to open it and wash away your tears with the rain before you remembered the cries were inside your mind. You counted a few of the drops as they hit the glass and traced their paths with your finger, doing your best to ignore the pull to answer your soulmate. It was when you imagined his beard against your neck that you replied.

"What will I find if I look?" you asked.

It was strange to speak in your head, but it felt more natural than you expected. Whenever he spoke, it was like butterfly wings brushed against your temple. Soft kisses that said you weren't alone.

You'd never be alone again.

"Whatever you want."

But you didn't want to venture in the depths of his inner thoughts. He showed you enough of them as it was. Your bodies tangled together in your new warm bed. A ring on your finger. An intimate wedding where he made love to you right on the altar. Forever entwined and never apart.

You gasped when your legs opened on their own, beckoning for him to join you. "Stop," you whispered out loud, but it was as if you shouted.

"I'm not doing anything. That's all you."

Ari was right. He may have fed you the images, but you were the one who kept replaying them in your mind. He knew the kind of flowers you wanted on your wedding day, the sweet scent surrounding you as you closed your eyes and inhaled. His tux tailored to perfection, emphasizing his massive frame until you itched to see what was underneath.

He's breaking me, isn't he? No. I'm still me.

In a sense, some part of your old self was still intact. It was also buried deep down under the crumbled life you built for yourself. The job you used to have? Gone. He made sure of that once he claimed you.

And Luke.

Your heart lurched, but you didn't dwell on your ex. There was no point. Ari would likely knock the door down and fuck any thought of him away if you did. You were too tired for that today.

"I'm going to sleep, Ari. Do not join me. Just do whatever it is that you do."

He chuckled in your mind as you went to bed. Your recent fitful night of sleep ended with you waking up to the slow and deep thrust of Ari’s cock. He had worked you over first with his tongue before you were completely awake, the scratch of his beard leaving an invisible claim as his tongue lapped up every drop of you. Recovery time meant nothing to him as you whined, your thighs trembling as he sheathed you. The aura of red surrounding him almost seeped into your skin, another display of ownership. Would others see who you belonged to?

"I'm joining you whether we actually sleep or not."

You shivered at the implication. When you were younger, you didn’t understand or appreciate the value of sleep. You felt like you’d miss out on something if you didn’t stay awake, so you fought it as much as you could. As you grew older, you wished you hadn’t skipped out on the opportunity to rest. If only to hold onto the chance for lost dreams.

But how can I miss them if I never had them?

You dreamt of your soulmate now when you slept. The gorgeous and dangerous man who invaded and took over your life. The person who convinced you that you belonged to him. You felt in your core that he was right, as much as you didn't want to.

Because it wasn't my choice. I never had a choice.

"You know,” he gently began. “You could just ask me what I do. I'll tell you."

The connection between you and Ari was there by chemistry, but not your emotions. As much as he upheaved your life, he was at least trying to build something more. He didn't hurt you when you refused to comply with his whims. He attempted to talk through things with you and treat you well when he wasn’t bending you over the nearest surface.

You closed your eyes instead of offering an olive branch.

Maybe tomorrow.

The stubborn flame inside you dimmed more and more. Was a life with Ari really going to be so bad? He would take care of you, but it seemed like you were the only one who had to sacrifice something. How was that fair? Did he give anything up for you?

You weren't sure how many minutes passed when the bed dipped, but you didn't open your eyes. Ari would make it known if he wanted your attention. He did so by pulling the sheet from your naked body a heartbeat later, making you shiver as the cool air hit your skin. You could have put underwear on and at least give you that barrier, but why ruin another pair?

“You can try to sleep if you want to, sweetheart,” Ari said in a low and throaty voice as his body glided over yours, his bare chest brushing against yours. A whimper left your mouth a moment later as his lips moved over your fluttering pulse in your neck. “But I can't resist you like this.”

Pliant. Taking everything he gives me.

Insatiable would be a good word to describe Ari. Once he had a taste of you, he needed more. He didn't need to say it with his mind because he told you with his body. How did he have the stamina to take you over and over?

Is it the need for his soulmate that fuels his desire?

"Ari," you whimpered, wishing nothing more than to rest for just a little while.

"It's beautiful when you say my name," he said, using a knee to push your legs open. You resisted just enough that he had to put a bit of force into it. And you didn't need to look between your bodies to know he was hard and aching. "You should do it again."

Your eyes flew open when he began to push into your sensitive pussy, your walls still welcoming and wet despite the slight discomfort. Still a bit stretched from earlier made it easier for him to sink each inch in until he bottomed out. The groan he let out had you shuddering as he lifted his head to stare down at you. Was he an angel or a demon?

He's both.

You brought your hands up to his shoulders and rested them there, which made him pause. He was waiting to see what your next move would be. Would you dig your nails in and urge him to fuck you in deep strokes? Or would you attempt to push him away and keep fighting a losing battle?

“It’s all just… too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes so you couldn’t see the darkness in his blue eyes.

Shades of red moved behind your eyelids when he covered your mouth with his. It wasn’t long before you kissed him back, allowing him to invade your mouth the way he had with your cunt. Your senses. Every single part of you began and ended with him.

That was why it was too much.

“Too much? It’s not enough,” he whispered in your mind as he resumed his thrusts. "I'll never get enough of you. One day, you'll feel the same."

That's what I'm afraid of. That isn't love. Love takes time and care. This is obsession. I can't lose myself. I can't.

Because who are you now without him?

His hand, heavy and warm, gripped your hip as his lips curled into a smirk. You couldn't stop your pussy from squeezing around the length of him and it told him what he wanted to know. No matter how much your mind tried to fight him, your body welcomed him home.

“You’ll come around,” he promised as you pushed your hips back against his. “Sooner than you think.”

It was like he threw fuel on the fire, igniting the tiny flame. He was so sure of himself, so rooted in his convictions. What about yours? With more strength than you knew you had, you shifted your bodies until you straddled him. He didn’t look the least bit surprised as he lay beneath you, choosing to put his hands on your hips and rest them there.

He was waiting again to see what you’d do.

“You think I’ll come around just because you say so?” you asked, lifting your hips just to slam them back down. “Because my pussy loves your cock?”

“There she is. My stubborn little soulmate even though you know we belong to each other,” he moaned as you set your pace. "Go on, sweetheart. Take me the way you want to. That’s it.”

“Do you have to talk?” you asked through your teeth.

“Shut me up then,” he challenged, squeezing your hips for good measure. “Fuck me until all I do is grunt and moan your name.”

You rolled your hips, trying to remember if you ever felt so full before him. The way the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot, it was a wonder that you hadn’t gushed all over him. Yet. His light touch as he slid his hands to your breasts encouraged you to move faster and throw your head back, but he let you stay in as much control as you could. You’d take it as a small win.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever had and it’s all mine. Like my cock’s all yours,” he said in your mind as he sat up and wrapped your arms around your back, crushing his chest to your as you lifted your head. He groaned against your lips as you rode him harder, losing yourself to pleasure you didn’t ask for, but craved. “Fucking take it. Make me come. Make me pump you full. I know you want it. I want it, too.”

You lost yourself to his words, pleasure pooling in your stomach as you reached up to yank on his long hair. The growl you were met with spurred you on, getting closer to the edge as you eagerly bounced in his lap. You hoped this impending orgasm wouldn’t leave you feeling empty after.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your head fell back again with a sharp cry, spasming around him with your release. He gripped the back of your head when you tried to squeeze your eyes shut, your face still contorted in ecstasy as he thrust up to chase his own end. He wanted you to look at him as he emptied himself inside you. A twisted part of you wanted it, too.

"Mine."

A familiar warmth bloomed deep in your core moments later as he finished, the sound of Ari grunting your name reaching your ears. He surprised you by laying back, taking you down with him as he twitched inside you. Both of you panted as he held you and you didn’t have it in you to try and roll away.

Every time Ari took you was like a cut to your heart, slowly making you bleed out. With each whispered word he spoke though, the wound closed. You didn’t feel the same ache you normally did and that frightened you. Was your heart slowly becoming his by giving him your body willingly? No. You refused to let that be the case.

And you refused to shed a tear when he pulled you closer.

“You’ll say it back. And you’ll have my ring on your finger.”

Because it wasn't enough that he had all of you, he needed you to take his last name, too.

“Having my body is easy,” you said in his mind as your eyes slipped shut, your breathing still ragged. “My heart is a bit harder to get.”

“I’m a very determined man,” he promised, kissing the top of your head with a small nuzzle. “Besides, you aren’t going anywhere.”

You bit your lip to keep from snapping back in denial. "If you say so."

Maybe you would try to run, after all. If only to see how long it would take for him to catch you. Because if Ari Levinson truly wanted your love, he’d have to earn it. He owed you that much.

What do we think? Will you run? How long until Ari catches you if you do? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Misc. Chris Evans Characters Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x y/n #soulmate!ari levinson x reader #soft!dark ari levinson x reader #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you

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badchoicesworld · 8 months

Note

hello hello hi ! i hope you're doing well ! may i request a miles!42 and hobie with like a butterfly mutated reader (masc) ? ironically he's more bug than beauty and has alot of features that he tries to hide (antennae, long ears and :3 mouth that opens up to a long tongue to suck up food ? he has teeth too but theyre sharp with fangs in the splatoon inkling way. skin is like a bug's sort of hard and exoskeletonly and bro is just really fluffy. like his wrists and neck have fluff)

reader is a result of like a weird science experiment gone wrong so he sort of feels like an alien trying to fit in whenever his features pop out. he just wants to live an ordinary life but somehow keeps on gettinh pulled in the middle of every superhero fight there is :'). also ! ARTKIDDD

im sorry if the req got really specific to work w aha :') hope you have a good one !

hobie brown and miles42 with butterfly mutated boyfriends !

huge fan of these mutated readers, i am however a tmnt man so (i fuckin see you btw, my most active friend and that tmnt blog)

separate, established relationships

warnings: nah

pairing: hobie brown x masc!reader, miles morales!42 x masc!reader

requests: check out my guide/masterlist

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

we all know hobie’s a massive fan of making a statement, so he thinks that you look absolutely incredible with your mutation

will likely go through a phase of insisting you should embrace it and flaunt it, he’s gotta be told a few times that you just wanna live an ordinary life

sounds a little boring to him, but whatever suits you, y’know?

he’s not the guy to go to however for tips on how to blend in, do not ask

you’ve got a butterfly mutation, he’s got a spider mutation- he calls you the bug boys sometimes when he’s feeling hyped up and you can feel how you wanna feel about that

if you ever tell him about your mutation, about the experiments and such, it just fuels hobie’s habit of antagonising authority n all that

you’re like walking proof of the government taking advantage of the people through the systems they put in place to protect them but in reality are just some form of propaganda to give the public false hope and sense of security

yeah, hobie wasn’t surprised when you told him

not too pressed over it either since it’s been and done, no point in getting worked up over something thats irreversible and apart of you now

feels disrespectful to even feel bad to a degree

of course he feels bad that you were experimented on, but he’s not gonna say anything about your actual mutation

does however have something inappropriate to say about ur tongue im sorry

yknow what hard skins good for ? drawing on, let him please

yknow what fluff around you ur neck and wrists is great for ? hobie and his desperation for contact, ur mad comfy dawg

he likes to wear his studded collars and wrist bands in the same places as your fur sometimes, matching innit

hobie absolutely recognised how badly you want to have an ordinary life, so can honestly empathise and sympathise when you somehow manage to find yourself sucked into every super scrap in the city

he can try diverge the fights, but can’t promise a thing since they tend to be unpredictable

hobie’s plenty happy to diverge from large crowds with you if it helps you stick out less, he’ll navigate for the two of you and somehow come up with insane routes to get to where you need to be

will diy you clothes tailored to your mutation, shirts with holes in the back for your wings just so they don’t have to be uncomfortably folded under clothes n stuff

miles42

i feel like with society going up in flames, standing out is something you generally wanna avoid in earth42, just doesn’t seem so safe

so miles definitely goes the extra mile (ha) to make sure you’re not gonna stick out too much

if you’re smaller than him he’ll for sure lend you certain things to wear if they cover you up well enough, he knows just about every nook and cranny in the city to hide in whenever your features decide to make a guest appearance

like if you’re ever just walking down a street then your antenna poke out, he’s very fast to act and doesn’t make a big deal out of it

now you either just chill in an alley together or start making your way home through the intricate backstreets miles can effortlessly navigate

he appreciates your mutation though, it’s one of them things that he can silently admire and daydream about instead of worrying about the future

realistically ? you could be a result of a really shitty human experiment gone wrong at oscorp, god knows they can take advantage of the people without a spider-man to protect them

if you ever reveal this to miles, he’s obviously upset, but it’s probably predicted at this point

i imagine in his universe that they’re a force to be reckoned with

asks his mum to make things for you sometimes, to help you feel better about your appearance and to help hide certain features that you wanna

can completely understand your desire to want an ordinary life, he does too

he’ll help you achieve it, it’s one of his dreams and he can only hope to share it

your mutation takes time to get used to but it gets to the point where miles simply won’t bat an eye at your mutation, he treats you like any other person in the world except he loves you- wants so badly for you to feel normal if that’s what you want

in the least condescending way he will insist from time to time for you to stay home, just for your own safety if he starts to notice a particular rise in stats

he completely understands your desire to just blend in, but it’s not worth it if you’re genuinely at risk

he gets into the habit of doodling butterfly features on scraps of paper, on the back of his hand during classes- you’re on his mind a lot

says that he’s indifferent towards ur fluff but then he’ll fix it up for you after putting a shirt on and it’s a lil outta sorts

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

sorry this is kinda brief and not great, i’ve been out of it for the longest time but i’m tryna provide 💪💪

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adore-laur · 5 months

Text

DADRRY: PART THREE

— part one | part two

October - Flashback

Leaves from the oak and cottonwood trees are changing color at last. Their shades of varietal greens bleed into marigold and maroon ones to commence autumn in California. The weather is more than adequate when it nears the end of the year, with days never below seventy degrees. Brisk winds blow by the ocean and migrating clusters of monarch butterflies flood orange milkweed with their stained-glass wings, looking similar to the plants they flutter around.

Driving alongside the premature sunset, you press on the brakes and pull into the crowded parking lot of the restaurant. Harry has been setting up and bartending for a wedding's cocktail hour, which he seldom does under his title as head chef. He mentioned before he left that he wanted to talk to you about something important after his shift, so he reserved a table in the dining area where both of you could eat dinner and discuss. Luckily, he doesn't have to work his way into the early morning since someone will replace him once the reception officially starts.

It's Harry's last shift before he's home for an extended period. He managed to save all of his annual vacation days and is free from work for the last month of your pregnancy, as well as the twelve weeks of paternity leave he's allowed once the baby is born. That means four months to adjust to a new reality.

It's difficult to imagine how much convincing it took and the scheduling difficulties he had to come across to get everything sorted out. You're worried the restaurant will crumble without his supervision, but you shouldn't judge his expertise on the matter. He knows what he's doing.

You stroll through the front doors while smoothing the chiffon fabric of your dress that flows over your bump. You have been frequently wearing Harry's shirts ever since your stomach has gotten too large to wear your own, but you wanted to look nice for yourself tonight. It has been grueling trying to accept your changing body, which is why you strive to do little things to take care of your mental state. And even though you've been more concerned about your physical state lately, if something as simple as putting on a pretty dress will boost your confidence, you'll take advantage of the opportunity.

Carefully weaving through the decorated tables, you peer at the bar area built against the farthest wall. Harry's familiar back profile is turned to you as he washes cocktail glasses. His defined muscles shift under the tight, black button-up he wears, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing the tattoos on his forearms. He's also sporting fitted slacks with matching attached suspenders. He's been growing out his hair within the last couple of months, the curls now flourishing past his ears. He always keeps them pushed back with a bandana or headband so they don't fall in his face while he works.

You don't want to be a nuisance and steal a seat from any guests, so you stand off to the side and wait for him to finish his cleaning duties. His bulky rings clink against champagne glasses as he dries them and puts them under the counter. You can hear him faintly whistling along to the music coming from the nearby banquet hall.

Once Harry finishes wiping clean his station, you watch him sneakily take out his phone and start typing something. You assume he's texting you to let you know he's done. He then washes his hands while another bartender walks behind the counter to clock in—they must be the one replacing him. You're not too knowledgeable about who all tends the bar since Harry is usually in the back running the kitchen, but it's intriguing to see him in a different environment nonetheless.

He gives the employee a friendly squeeze on their shoulder before clocking out and heading in your direction. He nearly brushes past you while taking his phone out again, completely oblivious of your presence, and you laugh before stopping him with a hand on his chest. It makes him stumble back with a confused pout, but he soon smiles in surprise when he recognizes you.

"How'd you get in?" he asks breathlessly, kissing your cheek.

"I told the security guards at the gate that my husband works here, and I'm picking him up. If they said no, I was going to tell them my water broke."

He smirks proudly. "Clever. How are you feeling? Baby's good?" He holds your upper arms, and his eyes scan your body as if you've changed drastically since you saw him only six hours ago.

"All good. Just a sore back like usual." You toy with one of his suspender straps. "What about you? It's your last shift for a while."

Exhaling happily, Harry clasps your hand in his and says, "I feel fantastic. Let's go eat, yeah? I'm starving."

He guides you through an open doorway leading to the restaurant's dining area, where the reserved table is. In the back of the room, you spot a candlelit booth with plates, silverware, and two glasses filled with ice water. The water doesn't go unnoticed by you, considering he set a goal for himself to stop drinking alcohol along with you.

A vase of beautiful red roses on the windowsill catches your eye as you sit down. Harry slides into the seat across from you. Only a few other booths are occupied—otherwise, the room is serenely quiet, with the occasional clink of metal and sprinkle of light chatter.

"You look angelic, by the way," Harry says before taking a delicate sip of his water.

"Thank you," you whisper, nudging his foot with yours under the table. "I like your suspenders. They remind me of when you used to be a rookie assistant chef that I'd come to visit. You would wear them under your chef coat with a fancy little neckerchief. I thought you looked so adorable."

"Now I'm old and weathered," he says wryly.

"Well, you're turning thirty soon. Plus, you'll be a dad in a month. Isn't that when someone officially becomes a DILF?" You're not sure why you casually mentioned the acronym over a romantic dinner, but it's too late to retreat now.

Harry's eyes gleam, and he fails miserably at hiding a smile under his scrunched nose. "Pardon? What are you trying to insinuate, darling?"

"Nothing! Never mind,” you backtrack, embarrassed that you ever spoke. "I was only trying to bring up a nice memory—reminiscing, if you will. Forget I said anything."

"I'm definitely not forgetting that. The ugly neckerchief, however..." He laughs at himself. "God, that feels like forever ago. Time flies."

"I thought it was kind of attractive," you mumble around the rim of your glass.

He raises his eyebrows as a warning not to start something you don't want to finish, then clears his throat and sets his forearms on the table. "Speaking of work, that's what I wanted to talk to you about tonight. I want you to keep an open mind, okay?"

Your lips downturn in curiosity. Just as you're about to reply, a waiter arrives at the table with a tray of steaming dishes and places them in the center. You had texted Harry what you wanted from the menu after he left this morning, and since he's the boss, everything is free, cooked to perfection, and served promptly.

"Thank you," Harry says politely before focusing back on you. The waiter leaves, and you begin picking at your food to distract yourself from your increasing heart rate.

"Um, did you say work? Did you get a promotion? Is that even a possibility for a head chef?"

You physically see the color drain from his face. "So," he says nervously, ignoring your questions, "the baby's coming soon, yes? Obviously."

"Right..." you reply with a suspicious tone.

Shifting in his seat, he runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Listen, the restaurant during fall and winter isn't as busy as the summertime. You know that. And because of that, I want to be home with you and the baby as much as possible. I will with paternity leave, but once I go back to work my hours will pick up again, and it'll be—"

"Harry, just tell me," you interrupt gently. He has a bad habit of running circles around topics.

He blows out a short breath. "I'm demoting myself. It's in the works that I'll be the sous chef when I return, so that means fewer hours and more time at home."

You're glad you haven't taken a sip of water yet because you almost choke at the admission that left his mouth. Demotion? He has never mentioned that word to you before.

"Can I ask why in the world you would do that?" you ask sharply. You don't mean to sound snippy, but pregnancy hormones, on top of Harry's revelation, cause a pit of unwarranted annoyance to simmer in your gut.

"Love, let me explain." He reaches forward to grasp your hand across the table and squeeze it. "This is my choice. It's final, all right? I'm not going to be working ten hours a day, six days a week while you're at home with our baby. That's ridiculous."

"Harry, what about—"

"Stop while you're ahead because you're going to overthink it," he replies calmly. "If you're worried about money, don't be. It's only a slight decrease in my wage. Everything will be fine."

Your annoyance wins as you slide your free hand down your face. "You realize that we'll need more money when the baby comes. It's common sense. Why would you think cutting your hours and pay is smart?"

Harry scoffs like what you're saying is absolute insanity. He leans in closer so the impending argument doesn't disrupt anyone's dinner, his voice hushed yet stern when he retaliates, "Would you rather me come home every day absolutely knackered and then spend a maximum of four hours with our child before I have to get up to do it all over again? Hmm?"

You shake your head in irritation and stubbornly remove your hand from his. "It's called adapting. It may be tough at first, but it becomes second nature. We just have to wait until the baby gets here to figure out a schedule that works."

Harry falls back against the booth and throws his hands up in frustration. They slap against his thighs before he says, "Do you realize how stupid you sound right now? You're talking about money and scheduling like we're fuckin'—"

"I'm leaving." When you stand, Harry's mouth instantly clamps shut. You don't care that you barely ate your food—you can't listen to him anymore. You're awfully close to lashing out.

Heading the way you came from, you hear Harry's footsteps behind you. Once you're in the parking lot, you groan when you remember that he has to ride home with you since you dropped him off earlier. While you struggle to unlock the car, you see Harry in your peripheral, striding to halt you from going any further.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." His shoulders sulk, and he looks genuinely distraught. "Can we just talk this through when we get home, please?"

Your eyes dance over his defeated expression. You don't have the choice to say no since you live together, plus you promised years ago never to go to bed angry. So, you nod your head, and he gives you a timorous smile before withdrawing to the passenger seat.

As you drive, you give Harry the harrowing silent treatment. He deserves it, especially since he's looking out the window and pouting like a child with his arms crossed. The only sound in the confined space is the air conditioner running and cars zooming past on the highway. Your stomach grumbles, and you feel terrible about leaving two plates of food at the restaurant untouched.

After several minutes of dreadful silence, Harry finally breaks the tension when you park in the garage. He grabs a white envelope tucked in the console and asks, "What's this?"

Oh. You forgot about that.

"Nothing," you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Harry rolls his eyes and flings it onto the dashboard, then reaches over to take the key out of the ignition to unlock the front door. Seconds pass before you hear a slam and an echo from him shutting the door harder than necessary. It causes you to swallow down more vexation. There have been tiny arguments more often since you got pregnant, and you blame your hormones every time for getting irritated so easily. Harry usually isn't the reason for those heightened emotions, but there are situations when he can be so stubborn that you just want to shake him out of it.

Eventually, you get out of the car with the envelope in hand and head down to the beach for some time alone. It'll be nice to sit by the water and cool down, figuratively and literally. You have an inclination that if you try to hash it out with Harry right now, it will only result in more regretful words.

You reach the private stretch of sand, holding your bump protectively as you decline the wooden steps. It's chilly by the oceanside this time of year, so you grab a towel that was left on the railing from previous evenings and drape it over your shoulders in case you get cold. The October sun has fully set, with orange and pink streaks expanding across the skyline.

You sit down and reflect on the unfortunate escalation of your conversation with Harry. You love him and could never feel an ounce of hatred toward him. He has never given you a reason to doubt anything, but to put his career on the back burner without mentioning it to you is hurtful. You almost feel guilty knowing he made the choice because of you and the baby. You sometimes shy away from being the main priority because you don't want to feel like a burden. In retrospect, it's incredibly thoughtful that he wants to work less to spend quality time with the baby when they arrive. On the other hand, you can't help but worry that you won't be financially secure because of it.

"Hungry?"

Your head shifts to find Harry walking toward you with a spoon and a strange-looking fruit in his hand. It's impossible not to smile when you note the outfit he changed into—banana yellow trousers and an argyle knit sweater. All of his rings are off except for his wedding band.

He's the love of your life and has nothing but pure intentions, so how could you not trust his decision?

"What is that?" you ask, pointing to the half-cut fruit as Harry plops down next to you.

"A papaya," he replies with a shrug. "A blog said at thirty-two weeks, a baby is as big as one of these bad boys. So, naturally, I bought one."

You have to turn your face so he doesn't see your smile. You're not giving him the benefit of seeing you crack from his endearing ways just yet. "You're an unusual man, Harry Styles. Do you plan on buying more fruit for the last four weeks?"

"I already put pineapple on the grocery list," he says unconcernedly as he scoops out a chunk of the fleshy fruit. "Anyway, I didn't come out here to discuss fruit." His tongue sticks out as he takes a bite, the spoon leaving his mouth with a pop before he points it at you. "Still mad at me?"

You internally sigh, knowing it's useless to continue acting like he's in the wrong. "I can't stay mad at you. And I don't know why I got so worked up. I was just being overdramatic."

Harry hums in thought as he swallows another bite. "Expressing how you feel isn't overdramatic. Don't apologize for having those feelings, especially toward me. Yell at me if I'm being a dick, kiss me if I'm being a dreamboat—it’s simple, baby." He finishes his little speech by shoving another spoonful of papaya into his mouth, chewing introspectively while staring at the waves.

"Was it Socrates who said that?"

He plucks your bottom lip with the spoon and murmurs, "You're feisty today."

"Back to the topic," you say before he can proceed. He knows it riles you up when he calls you that. "Money shouldn't have been what my mind first went to. It's still a concern but ultimately, making time for our family is the most important thing. I apologize for freaking out."

"You're forgiven." He scoots closer and holds a spoonful to your mouth. You accept the sweet flavor as he adds, "And I'm so sorry for calling you stupid. Please know that is the furthest thing from the truth."

"We all say things we don't mean sometimes. It takes basic empathy to understand that part of life," you reply. There's no use in acting like you haven't done the same thing in the past.

Harry slings an arm around your shoulders, bringing you in for a warm side hug. "What you said is true, by the way. We have time to figure things out and adapt. Let's enjoy the last month we have to ourselves.”

You nod in agreement and say, "I also want to thank you for being so thoughtful and putting our family first. I trust you with this new chapter in our lives. I don't doubt you at all."

"Don't worry about it," he says with a kiss to your temple. "I'm proud of you for dealing with every mental and physical change these past eight months. And I will always be here for you through the good and bad moments. In sickness and in health, remember?"

You smile fondly and take the white envelope out from under your leg. "Are you in the mood for a good moment with me?" Harry looks confused, but he nods anyway. "When you saw this in the car, it's not nothing like I said it was. It's from when I went to my prenatal appointment a few days ago. I know we decided to find out the gender a month before, so I have the results. I haven't looked at them yet."

Harry's eyes widen, and his mouth parts as he sets the papaya down. "I am not prepared for this. Wait, hold on. Let me breathe for a second." His head tilts up toward the sky as he takes dramatic, calming breaths.

You laugh and set the envelope on his thigh. "Do the honors, Styles. Let's see if your prediction is right."

He picks it up and carefully opens the seal. Unfolding the paper filled with medical information, he quickly skims the tiny lettering to look for the answer he's been waiting for.

"Holy shit," he says, his voice cracking as his hand covers his mouth.

"I'm guessing you're right?" you ask, your eyes watering.

"Girl. We're having a girl. Jesus, I'm gonna cry." He wipes away his tears. "Why am I crying? I was confident it was a girl."

"Because it makes it more real," you say, leaning over to kiss his damp, rosy cheeks. "Now we know for sure."

"Come here, honey. Let me take a look at her."

You sit on your knees between his spread legs. Harry sets the envelope down and lifts your dress, revealing your bump that puts quite some distance between you and him. His hands splay across the taut skin as he leans down to kiss right above your belly button. He gazes up at you under his wet lashes and smiles against your stomach, his dimples carved deep with happiness.

"I love you," he whispers with a sniffle. "I love both of you so much. With my entire soul."

Within the simple moment, everything falls into place.

——

July - Present Day

Everything is falling apart.

Well, not really, but you sure feel that way as you bend over the toilet at seven in the morning and empty your queasy stomach once again.

It's the first Sunday in July, marking ten weeks of your second pregnancy. When you woke up with a wave of morning sickness a couple of hours ago, you noticed something peculiar. As you were rubbing circles on your abdomen to ease the nausea, it appeared that your stomach had seemingly popped overnight. The curve was more prominent and firm, a small bump you must have mistaken for bloating. The bump is pretty much nonexistent in a loose shirt or hoodie, but anything tight will hug it and be a constant reminder of baby number two growing in there.

Dizzily standing, you move toward the sink to brush your teeth for the umpteenth time, then gurgle some spearmint mouthwash to diminish the rancid taste in your mouth. Pots and pans can be heard clanging downstairs as you wipe your lips, and the occasional giggle from your daughter mixes with Harry's theatrical voice, which he puts on whenever she watches him cook.

The smell of sizzling bacon doesn't help the swirling feeling in your stomach as you head downstairs to the kitchen. Their lighthearted commotion grows louder, and you stop to stand in the doorway to soak in your favorite part of Sunday mornings. Harry is in front of the countertop, and your daughter stands on her tiptoes on a step stool next to him, the two of them watching pancakes turn golden brown on the griddle.

He's in full dad mode with tired eyes and an outfit that screams: I have a toddler and pregnant wife at home. In other words, a black button-up with pink flamingos and grey pleated trousers. They don't match whatsoever, but you know he doesn't care.

He voyages around the kitchen, pouring orange juice, dropping chocolate chips into the batter, and ensuring your daughter's little hands don't touch anything hot. Your hand subconsciously holds your bump as you think about how you'll get to see him interact with a newborn again — cradling them, teaching them to walk, pretending to eat their hands and feet. He still does that with your daughter, but it breaks your heart knowing she'll grow out of it one day.

"Good morning," Harry acknowledges with his back turned, halting your daydreaming. How does he always sense your presence?

When you don't say anything, he turns to glance at you while setting a heart-shaped pancake on a plate. Your smile grows wider as you curl your pointer finger to beckon him closer. He gives you a confused look before unplugging the griddle and instructing your daughter not to touch anything on the counter. She'll be too distracted by the cartoon playing on the television to even notice that the both of you will be gone for a moment.

Sauntering toward you, Harry sticks his thumb in his mouth to lick the excess batter off. "What's up, baby?"

"I have a surprise to show you," you whisper, accepting his kisses.

"Yeah? S'it my half-birthday or something?" he asks, his voice still gravelly and slurred from sleep.

"No, this isn't about you," you tease with a pinch to his side. "Come with me."

You grab his hand and lead him to the bathroom just down the hall. Turning the lights on, you stand in front of the mirror and say, "I'm ten weeks today. I woke up with a little morning sickness, but look!" You lift your shirt and turn to the side to get a better angle of your stomach. "It was just pudge before, but it's an actual bump now."

Harry stands behind you and rubs his hands over the swell. "No fuckin' way. You… this happened overnight. I was spooning you this morning! How did I not notice?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice either, and it's my own body." You shake your head disbelievingly and place your hands over his. "I read that women's second pregnancy will have them showing earlier. I guess that's why I popped so soon. Last time, I didn't show until fourteen weeks or something like that."

He hums lowly, pulling you further back against his chest. "I've missed seeing you like this. It makes you glow more than usual." His mouth is by your ear when he quietly murmurs, "Makes me hard."

"You're so naughty in the mornings," you say, removing yourself from his grasp and pulling down your shirt. "C'mon, let's eat breakfast."

Harry whines in protest, gently grabbing your face and turning it toward him so he can nip your jawbone and then lock your lips together. After your stolen moment alone, the both of you head back to the kitchen to enjoy another blissful Sunday morning.

——

Takeout pizza is on the menu tonight. The trunk of the Volvo is open, with blankets and pillows strewn about to create a fort-like space for the three of you to sit in. Harry had driven the vehicle down to the beach so you could watch the sunset and feel the breeze from the ocean.

You get comfortable in the trunk and set paper plates and napkins down. Harry and your daughter are in the beach grass picking the wildflowers that blossom there. Her hand grips bunched stems while her other holds her dad's as they wander. Her precious fruit-patterned dress flows in the wind.

Moments later, they come strolling toward the car with soft smiles. Your daughter clambers into the trunk with your help and hands you a makeshift bouquet of yellow and purple wildflowers.

"Thank you, sweetheart," you say with a kiss to her windswept hair.

Harry places his hands on either side of your thighs and leans in for some of your affection. You peck his lips; they're pink from the strawberry Kool-Aid he made earlier. Before he retreats, he glimpses at your baby bump. He exhales and looks at you with a crooked smile, his thumb stroking the underside of your baby bump.

"Kumquat," he says with a click of his tongue.

You laugh, albeit not understanding. "Come again?"

"A baby at ten weeks is the size of a kumquat," he explains like it's a well-known fact.

"Interesting," you say. "Well, the kumquat is hungry, so get up here and cut the pizza."

Your daughter is oblivious to the conversation as Harry scoots next to you and begins rolling the pizza cutter. His forearm flexes, and the veins bulge when he does it. "Small bites, little lady," he tells her as he puts a slice on her plate.

Reaching behind you, you grab a bottle of sparkly pink nail polish you brought out. "She told me when you were picking up the pizza that she wants you to paint her nails."

Harry nods and pats his lap. She excitedly sits between his legs and waits patiently. After taking the bottle of polish from you, he shakes it when his ringtone suddenly goes off. He juts his lips out as he reaches into his pocket to check the number.

"Hello?" he answers, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder. He opens the cap and begins painting her nails.

You observe his facial expressions. He has a serious look and frequently nods as he listens to whoever's on the other end of the line. You pluck a green pepper off the pizza and hold it up to him. He opens his mouth and takes it, scrunching his nose as a thank you.

"I'm good for tomorrow? Are you sure?" he asks through his chewing. You hear an unfamiliar muffled voice before he says, "Awesome, thank you. Call me if anything changes. Okay, bye." He sets down the nail polish and hangs up before resuming painting her pinky finger.

"Who was that?" you ask while tucking a wildflower stem behind his ear.

"My boss," he says, licking his thumb and wiping a smudge he made. I don't have to go in tomorrow since there are barely any reservations."

"No sparkles," your daughter blurts before you can reply. Harry freezes and eyes you perplexedly.

"What?" you ask. She points to one painted nail and purses her lips. You gently take her hand and observe it closely — no sparkles are showing up. The polish must have gone bad. "I'm sorry, baby. It must be icky polish. We can take it off and get another one."

It's almost scary how quickly the waterworks start. You exhale as you take the plate from her so she doesn't throw a fit and make a mess everywhere. She's crying and staring at Harry like he's the cause of no sparkles. Well, maybe he didn't shake the bottle enough, but you keep your mouth shut so you don't make matters worse.

Harry grabs her waist and props her in front of him. "We're not gonna start this. Mumma said we can get some more, all right? Behave, or I'm not painting your nails."

You could have predicted what happens next from experience. Her harmless fists hit his chest in frustration as she sobs. Undried polish smears all over his shirt. Harry has always been good at controlling these minor mishaps, so he inhales deeply before lifting her writhing body.

"Early bedtime it is, then," he mutters while walking toward the house.

You begin cleaning up the short-lived dinner. It isn't anything new you've had to deal with, but it exhausts you, especially when she has a tantrum during family time. You take the pizza box out of the trunk, then close it and decide to clean everything else tomorrow. You drive the car to the garage and lock up everything before stepping inside.

After putting the pizza in the fridge, you slowly go to your daughter's bedroom, listening for any crying or screaming. A sigh of relief leaves you when only subsiding whimpers indicate she's done for the night.

Your heart softens at the sight you walk in on. Harry sits against her headboard, his feet hanging past the edge of her tiny bed as he cradles his baby girl. He soothingly rocks her side to side, his eyes closed as he rubs circles on her back. Her heavy eyes are barely open, her tear-stained cheeks smushed against Harry's chest. She's in her pajamas now.

You kneel next to her bed, and she extends her arm, reaching for you. Harry jolts awake, sharply inhaling and blinking open his eyes. His grip loosens when he notices that she wants you. You stand and take her in your arms, her legs hugging your waist. You then sit by Harry's thighs and quietly laugh when you see the residue of nail polish staining his shirt.

Harry lazily grins and clasps his hands behind his head. "It's not funny. I bought this shirt because of her, and this is what I got in return. She's a proper menace."

You squeeze his ankle in good nature before replying, "I wonder where she gets it from."

He gasps in faux offense and grabs your daughter's hand, shaking it playfully. "Mumma's being mean, don't you think?"

She sleepily shakes her head. You raise your eyebrows smugly before smattering her cheeks with kisses until she smiles and tiredly whines into your neck.

Harry yawns before catching your gaze and jerking his head toward your stomach. "Should we tell her?" he mouths.

Your heart rate quickens. You're not too worried that she'll get upset, considering she has asked on a few occasions — as best she could with her limited vocabulary — if she could have a sibling. You think it's time to tell her the news now that you're showing.

As you nod eagerly, Harry swings his legs over the mattress and crouches between your knees. You shift your daughter so she's settled sideways on your lap, then nod again to let him initiate the conversation.

"We have something to tell you, sweetheart," he says, a fond gentleness in his tone reserved only for her. Her head turns away from the safety of your neck. "You know how you've been asking about a baby brother or sister?" She nods languidly, prompting him to ask, "And do you see her belly?"

You situate her next to you so you can lift the stretchy material of your tank top. Harry says, "There's a baby in her belly." He guides her hand to your bump. "Your brother or sister is growing in there."

Her expression is unreadable at first, but then she gazes at you with curious eyes. "Baby," she utters drowsily. She's about one second away from slipping into a deep sleep.

"I don't think she'll remember in the morning," Harry says with a laugh.

You smile dotingly and stand before tucking her into bed. You kiss her forehead and watch her doze off as Harry tells her goodnight, whispering his boundless love for her and sealing his truthful words with a feather-light kiss to both of her cheeks.

Shutting off her bedside lamp, you leave the room with Harry hot on your heels. You're in the process of pulling your tank top down on the way to your bedroom, but before you can reach the door, Harry grabs your hips, stopping you in the dark hallway.

"You can't look this good and go straight to bed," he says lowly, his breath warm and intimate.

"Mom needs her sleep before work tomorrow," you reply with a smirk, keeping to yourself that you wouldn't mind staying up a bit longer if he continues praising you like this.

"Please, baby," he murmurs, his hands drifting dangerously lower. "Just a quick one, yeah? I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

Don't give in, you think to yourself. Make him work for it.

"Anything?" you ask sensually as his fingers begin to brush along your inner thighs, causing your knees to weaken temporarily.

Harry licks his lips, his tongue poking your neck with the faintest touch. "Don't act like I wouldn't let you ruin me, darling."

You clench your thighs around his hand, and he hoarsely groans against your skin. "But I'm so tired, Harry. It won't last very long if I want to do what I want with you."

"Like I give a shit." He cups your core with his palm, his impatient fingers stroking over the fabric of your silk pajama shorts. "You could give me the sloppiest blowjob ever, and I'd still worship the ground you walk on."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to moan. "Will you run me a bath afterward?"

"We can just fuck in the bath instead if that's what you fancy."

You ponder for a brief second. "It would be an easy cleanup. We'd have to do it in the downstairs bathroom, though, and you'd have to be quiet. Think you can handle that?"

"Dunno. Do you plan on making me scream?"

"I could put those suspenders you wore today in your mouth to shut you up."

He exhales a sexy sound, one that reveals you caught him off guard. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

You hum and grab his hand, raising it to your mouth to nip at the calloused pad of his thumb before walking down the stairs to the bathroom just around the corner. The porcelain tub awaits, and you turn the knob and plug the drain, water gushing out. The bay window it sits in front of exhibits the endless ocean and horizon view. The sky is fading into starlit blues and purples.

Once the water is high enough and sufficiently warm, you shut the faucet off and begin removing your clothes. Harry enters the bathroom a few moments later and quietly closes the door behind him, flicking the lock. He unbuttons his shirt painstakingly slowly while facing the mirror, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

While he undresses, you step into the tub and watch him. He's taking his trousers off now, his exposed back muscles flexing along with his biceps as he shimmies the garment down his legs. His body is truly something from an empyrean vision. Every indent and definition on his skin magnetizes your eyes.

He's entirely stripped when you break away from your reverie, his legs gracefully stepping over the tub's ledge to settle behind you. A muted moan escapes him when his cock rubs against your lower back.

"Already making noise? I haven't even started yet," you tease, leaning into him.

"Can you blame me? I've got my wife" — his fingers glide against your pulsing entrance — "dripping for me already. Absolutely soaked."

"Then do something about it."

Harry palms your clit, and you instinctively bend your knees. "I thought you wanted to be in control tonight."

"Will you be good? You have a reputation for getting antsy and taking over."

His hands travel upwards and squeeze your sensitive breasts. "Yeah? Does that bother you?"

"You know I like it when you're submissive. Especially when you whine for me and try to touch me when you know you can't."

"Go on, then. Take care of your husband."

You turn around and straddle his thigh, your name inked permanently above his kneecap visible through the water. "I'm going to take care of myself first."

"Ride it. You're the only one who's allowed to." His hands try to latch onto your waist, but you slap them away.

"Touch yourself while I ride you."

Harry's tongue pokes the inside of his cheek as he exhales heavily. He grips his cock, squeezing and twisting to relieve himself from the throbbing ache. You begin grinding on his leg to relieve your pressure and stifle your moans in his neck, your core slick with arousal as his thigh muscle flexes with each motion. He starts pumping, one arm resting on the edge of the tub. Your hands place themselves on the side of his neck, and your thumbs apply light pressure there, causing him to release a choked moan.

You shush him. "You have to be quiet. What do you need? Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you since you're being so good."

"You," he whispers with a pained look etched on his face. "Need you around my cock. Need you pressed against me. Please, please, please."

His voice dies with each plead, and you cradle his limp head as he fully submits to you. Whenever he begs, you entirely unravel. Your dominant wall crumbles with his whines, and his deep voice always goes a pitch higher to show his desperation for you. His pink lips form solicitous praises and carnal noises of desire. You want to kiss them until they become swollen and numb.

"I know," you say, kissing the scrunch between his furrowed eyebrows. "Fill me up. I'm ready."

Shakily lifting on his thigh, you get Harry to sit up more in the tub so he can line his cock up with your entrance. When you slowly sink, he stretches your walls and hits you deep, a breathy moan leaving your mouth. Your fingers scratch his soft stomach, and your body leans into him as you begin to ride him. Your hand reaches down to squeeze one of his balls, making him let out a guttural moan before you stop him by covering his mouth. His muffled whimpers encourage you to go faster, your stomach pressing into his abdomen with each thrust.

"D-don't want to," Harry stutters through ragged breaths. "Let me come on your stomach. Please. You're so beautiful like this."

Who are you to say no to such a filthy request?

"Are you close?" The question lingers, and Harry seems to be spaced out from pleasure because he doesn't answer. You can feel him throb inside you as he jerks his hips up at a different angle. His glistening chest is heaving, his eyes pinched shut.

"Harry." You cradle his cheeks to bring him back to earth. "Are you there?"

He hears you this time, nodding fervently until, little by little, he slips himself out of you to stand up in the water. You get up with him and sit on the edge of the tub so he towers over you, and he holds his cock and looks up at the ceiling as he comes on your stomach and chest. You hold his free hand to balance him, his legs trembling and his lips pulled inward to stop any moans from escaping.

His warm release drips down on you, and once he finishes, he falls to his knees in the water, some of it splashing over the tub and onto the floor. His hands grip your ankles to put them over his shoulders, leaving kisses up your legs. You spread them more so he can finish you off. You could quickly come in two seconds if he puts his mouth on you.

"Fingers or mouth?" he asks, hair falling over his eyes.

"Mouth. Can I come on you, too?"

He whines against your inner thigh. "Yeah?"

You whimper and nod. Harry immediately latches his mouth to suck on your clit. There's already pressure building in your lower stomach. He moves down to lick inside of you, his nose nudging your clit as his large, veined hands splay almost protectively on your bump.

"Feels so good," you say, placing your hands on the tub's edge to steady yourself. "I feel it. Please don't stop."

He licks a long stripe, not holding back by fucking his tongue inside so deep that it makes you ache. Your legs tighten around him as you clench multiple times until you can sense your burning climax approaching.

"Harry. Please, I need—" You can't finish your sentence because Harry stands up abruptly and hooks his hand under your knees to lift you, carefully stepping out of the tub and sitting you on the rug. It's messy, and it's uncoordinated. However, he's never one to give you a stagnant sex life.

He's cradling you as your body shakes, then lays down on his back so you can fulfill your request. You straddle his torso, your clenching core settling on his abdomen that's deliciously slick in the low lighting of the bathroom. His thumb presses onto your clit, a move that always allows your orgasm to boil over.

Your neck tilts back, and you orgasm. Harry's hands are everywhere — kneading your ass, rubbing up and down your thighs, groping your breasts. You're grinding on his stomach as you ride out the last of your release, your hands on his sternum. His skin is sticky with your arousal, and you eventually collapse on your back next to him in exhaustion.

"C'mere, love," Harry rasps, his arm extended. You're too far away."

You breathe tiredly, your hands resting on your bump. "I can't. My legs feel like jelly."

Harry snorts and sits up with a groan. He quickly unplugs the drain and crawls over to hover above you, leaving a wet kiss on your stomach. His hand blindly finds a towel around and begins wiping you down.

"This is the lamest aftercare ever," you say, laughing. The dry towel doesn't feel nice on your sweaty skin, and Harry's movements are lazy from the physical exertion.

"That's enough outta you," he slurs through his exhaustion, gently wiping your stomach.

"Should I take off work tomorrow?" you wonder aloud. "I want to sleep in."

"Yes," he whispers, grabbing your hands to sit you up. His eyes take in every bit of you. "Look at you. You're gonna be the death of me."

Every nerve of yours seems to tingle at his words. "Hey, remember when I was pregnant last time, and you nearly broke my back during sex?"

Harry cackles way too loud, and you hush him as his hands slap over his mouth. "I was so scared when that happened. But I could only take you from behind because you were ready to pop, so it's not entirely my fault."

"Excuse me? How is that not your fault?" You yank the towel from him and begin cleaning him. "I'm surprised you didn't make my water break with how hard you were going."

"Jesus, you've got a dirty mind. Save it for later, would ya?"

A comfortable silence ensues while you both get up, wrap towels around your bodies, and then head to the bedroom. You pick out one of Harry's shirts and a pair of underwear to wear as he slides into some black boxers. While you ruffle your slightly damp hair, he sneakily picks you up and lightly tosses you on the bed, making you squeal in surprise.

"Gonna take off work tomorrow?" he asks, kissing down your throat.

"Yeah. I'll lie and say my morning sickness is bad."

His kisses move to your cheeks. "And what if it actually is?"

"Then my husband will wait on me hand and foot," you say with a grin. "Feed me soup in bed. Massage me. Kiss me better."

Harry tucks your hair behind your ear. "You know I'd do that anyway, right? Just say the word, and I'll do anything for you."

You stare at his kind eyes and inviting lips. His shadow of a dimple even when he's not smiling. His perfect nose that resembles your daughter's. His cheeks that were meant to be pinched fondly. His bunny teeth that made you fall in love from day one. The love of your lifetime with a soul that shelters a heart overflowing with endless love.

"I love you."

A whispered reciprocation is spoken, and it's all you need in this world.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #dad!harry #dadrry #dilfrry #harry styles #adore-laur

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nightmareworks · 8 months

Text

hi i have been Cooking lancer fic

Once again, we meet Union Auxiliary Pilot, (28th Voidcombat Division, Mercenary Wing Bravo,) ["Kingfishers",] Callsign- VI The Lovers. We meet Miss Allison Wax (she/her) [Her Body, a borrowed face]

And her Loverboy (he/him) [Stone Butch Death Machine]

(both art gotten from @skycrimedraws who NAILS IT EVERY TIME BABY)

"Hey boss man," The words fell out of her lips, halfway through (the next words were a question) when her CO interrupts with "I told you not to call me that." She stops. (She doesn't flinch, its not flinching.) [She kind of just needs to run through some maybes.] For just that moment, there's no one in the body in front of the CO. And then she starts again, words coming back out. "Alright, alright. CO, what's the job you got lined up for me and my Loverboy?" The CO gestured to the spare chair with a file, and Allison picked her way across the floor. (She walked on the tips of her toes, even in the sneakers.) [She walked with a gait to big for her body, like her legs were blades.] {She's En Pointe} She pulled out the chair and sat, crossing a leg across her lap and looking at the CO through her bangs. "The next mission shouldn't be for a while yet, Miss Wax." The CO's voice was always even, collected. That's why they were the CO. That's why they wore Union Grays and Allison wore what she always did. (Just put clothes on Her body) [What kind of clothes did She wear before Allison?] A thought dismissed with the disappointment of nearlight engines. "Really now, CO? How long are you gonna keep me up? More time in medbay?" The CO shakes their head, opening files, going through them. The work seems endless, running a Merc Lance. (But what's Alllison gotta worry about work?) [Gets to wound up, being in a ship conapt too long without her Loverboy.]

"So is it more time with the headmeds?" The CO looks up from the papers and gives that kind of pained smile as Allison snatches a file off the table to read. (One of the ones with the Mission Seal on it.) [Can't read Unionite Legalese for shit.] "No, Miss Wax, you're scheduled for wind-down, but you don't need to go see one of the after-action therapists- unless you feel the need of course." So she started paging through the mission file, going over the after action reports compiled from her Loverboy (From his eye, from his soul.) [The stars are beautiful at 2,000 kmph.] "So there's really no jobs, CO? Not even basic patrols? I get bored when I'm stuck down too long." The CO holds out their hand, and she returns the file. (She likes to feel like she earns her keep.) [That's just polite, for all the things Union offers.] "Miss Wax," the CO begins "I understand that talented pilots get odd without flight." That's the thing about Grays- they're willing to work with you more than they aren't. (Its not that Allison thought they were pushovers.) [Just the most reasonable kind of people, mostly.] I can organize testflights for you, if you see that there isn't more work for the technicians." There's what she wants to hear (But not quite).

"Work's good for me, CO. You wouldn't let a butterfly starve in a jar, would you?" The CO folds the file closed. (Her file.) [The one that says "Obvious signs of long-term Chronos exposure."] Doctors let you read files out this way. Its nice to know they care, at least. CO gives their answer. "Miss Wax, war's a failure and you're a contingency. Glory only comes with time. Take your mech out, call it a patrol if that helps, but my job is to make sure the mercenaries stay healthy and stay flying." There's more, Allison knows there's more, and she stops a moment. For that split second, she's not in Her body. Allison is watching Her sit there, in the chair, in Allison's clothes, across from the CO. (The look on their face is kind of worried.) [People still caught in their meat don't like being reminded of it's hold on them.] Allison picks a maybe, a series of words that seem right, and then the moment is over, and she's back in Her body. "So where are we headed, CO? You can at least let me prepare for the future."

"We're headed to Dawnline, Miss Wax. There'll be work aplenty for you in the Long Rim and beyond."

======

The cavalry technician looked up at the frame he was gonna work on. It was a custom job, one of the Lancers that the Aux had brought onboard when coming out of the Range. Long haul ships for Union do that sometimes, guard presence in exchange for amnesty and escape. Good people get trapped places. He just wasn't sure whoever flew this thing was the best kinda people. "Beautiful damn monster you are." The mechtech murmured under his breath, looking through a sheaf of printouts. Specs for the machine in front of him, an IPS-N Frame the pilot apparently fit together herself. He didn't, really trust the speed listed under its maximum output. That kind of speed would make someone grayout (The speed at which the blood of a human body begins to pool in the limbs, causing the pilot to lose consciousness). Redout even. [The point of g-force at which the brain is starved of blood, and dies.]

He looked up again at the machine and saw it was staring back at him, great singular eye tracking along its axis, to cast its baleful red upon him. He noted it, and looked back to his notes. Looking for if this thing had a casket it in, a C/C programmed to play tricks. The normal shit pilots pull on their technicians. He came up around the great black thing in its bay, and stared it in the eye from the gantry. It stared back, body making the clittering hiss of a mech at rest. (Mechanized Cavalry frames that are in regular usage are rarely quite things.) Coolant pumped through the entire frame, keeping the coldcore under wraps until it really needed to go. Fusion engines, power-reroutes designed along the Albatross style… where the verniers and thrusters aren't shaped for an RPV. (Remote Pilot Vehicles aren't uncommonly retrofitted for pilot use, he notes under his breath) [Under that red eye.] He eyes them again, as the giant thing keeps staring. There isn't any record of a computer smart enough to do anything of worth on this machine.

It was strictly Turning-Compliant, according to the CO's paperwork. That left the damages to repair. Bits of slagged armor along the leg-blades and shoulder plating. Nothing a few hours work with the rigs wouldn't fix. The mechtech flicked a few switches and brought the frame up to the light, to the arms that pulled and printed in smooth motions as his fingers danced across the keys. It was slower going than he thought. And the mech was making a noise. It was keening, a clatter-chatter at once both rumbling low and piercingly high. Something was wrong with the feedback from the mech-harness, reporting simple and blunt legionspace attacks. Best the cavalry technician could manage was to remove the offending plates before the assembly limbs gave up and stalled. That's when a hand touched his shoulder, and a voice rang in his ear. "My Loverboy doesn't know you, mechtech, but I do. Gimmie a minute to settle him down and you can get back to work."

The girl walks past him then, almost teeter-tottering as she glides across the floor on the tips of her shoes. She moves her legs wrong, picking her way as much as stepping. The cavalry tech looks at the mech's legs and puts together the kind of pilot he's dealing with. The kind that have gone in a direction past human, hunting for something else. (He'd never really known someone in full body prosthesis) [Was rare, in his neck of the galaxy.] She moves like her mech even as she steps off the gantry and onto its chest, placing hands against the grinning skull. Ever since she came in, the eye's been locked onto her alone. He worries and wonders what kind of monster he's got to work on now.

===

He screams for her, against the void, he tears away from the cling-gravity of the UNS-CV Paris (Like the commune, she offers) [Like lights, the therapist offers back.] But the past doesn't matter when the future is laid out in the bleeding world of 2000 kmph. She was safe from everything, safe from Gravity itself as she lay coiled in her Loverboy's guts, aching through Chronos haze and picking his flight path for him as a beautiful dance. She wanted him to run through his paces, and he was eager to please. To show her what he could do. How he was built for her. Like a butterfly flitting across a windless sky, like a shark dancing through a school of fish- Loverboy puts on a show for his girl.

She's spinning him a dance, putting the engine to its test. Her Loverboy screams for his girl as he dances, frame keening against the speed and void. (Allison watches Her legs twist against the seat.) [That's how she knew the engine was art] {State-of-the-art affection} She doesn't like to think about home. Not home anymore, and not worth thinking about. More Gravity shorn free from her under the speed. So what's it worth if its pulled away so easily? Home wasn't ever home, no matter how much anyone told Allison it was. What's where you're born compared to where you'll be? (What's the flesh you were born in but another place to be trapped in?) Allison feels her brain reel as Loverboy spins in a piroutte ascending. It doesn't spin in place, but it recognizes the forces working upon it as her Loverboy pulls into a rise. (The snap from horizontal to vertical would snap necks.) [But when you don't have Gravity, moving is easier.]

Verniers howl with force as Allison considers Her. (And the changes Allison had made to Her.) [Would She mind? Would She understand?] There are protective tendons, built from the same kind of whipcord steel that run through Loverboy. There are stabilization systems built into her braincase, that absorb and disperse the shock of sudden shifts of g-force. There's a dozen, a hundred little aftermarket touches to Her body that Allison has made. (But is it really that bad, when the body is aftermarket?) [When the body wasn't built for you.] Allison still watches Her, curled as Allison left Her. (Back curved gentle. Arms on knees, resting eyes against forearm.) [The clunky implants hooking Her to Loverboy peek their tubes from beneath Her shirt] She was still perfect. Still beautiful. Everything Allison had wanted to be back then. There She was, with Allison's brain in Her body, Allison's Loverboy hooked through feeds to Her back.

Allison reached in the stopped little flaring moments between directing Loverboy through his dance. They were all the same moment. Allison reached out, and cradled Her face, and said Her name. Something Allison couldn't ever know. (How was she supposed find Her? Long way from Ketherese.) [From everything from that life.] Everything but her Loverboy. He counts the micromovements of her eyes. His own whirrs and focuses, keening as the scopes hone in on a target and his body twists with his girl's desire. He counts the times she stops existing as a presence registered at the controls. He rolls over and considers in his clicking thoughts the ways he loves her. His adoration burns in him as retros flare and he lands blades first, touching against an asteroid with the grace of a butterfly upon a blossom. His thoughts turn and his computers chitter and churn. His whitewash tanks purge into rawmat resivors and a new batch is rapidly encoded, new chains of acids and code written by mute-drive, a silent organ buried deep in his frame, coiled round and through his girl.

The Hyperkinesis Module develops a novel admixture of nanites and adrenaline and feeds through the connection to Allison, filling her endocrine system with a soothing electricity synchronized to readouts and full reports of engine efficiencies, micrometeor grazes, and heat venting. (His body hisses for her, waste gas for heat disperial in null atmosphere environments) [He bares his heart to her, reactor dropping as he stretches against the asteroid.] Allison leans forward, the Chronos uptake stretching from her back and into the cockpit's back wall. (Little tubes running up to her spine and kidneys) [One of the other aftermarket touches to Her body.] Allison's face reaches through the holoscreen outputs of Loverboy's eye. She kisses the armored outer hull of her cockpit. (She stands to her toes.) And her Loverboy gently touches off the asteroid, into the void, gently floating in the empty place beyond Gravity.

Allison lowers her oxygen uptake, and rides the Chronos her Loverboy made for her. (She dreams like an editor.) [Looking at scenes and picking them.] A wash along the nervous system, stuttering climbing up her spinal column and into the brainstem. She dreams of Ketherese, and what was left behind. Consider the Gravity that's been shed. (In the embrace of her Loverboy.) [Memories are the only thing you can't shed.] Her grandfather's dirt is far from everything she'll ever see again. No one will see the frontiers she sees. (Allison will see things even She'll never see.) [Or maybe they'll see the same stars some day.] {Face-to-borrowed-face.}

No one she had ever known would see what she sees, know what she knows. (She'd shed them, like her old body.) [Like Gravity.]

#lancer oc #lancer rpg #lancer #Allison & Loverboy #they! are! deeply! in! Love!#also allison talks like a freak when she isn't in her own head #kinda love that for her #spacenoids man they're weird

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