#i have this stupid weight on my throat…i feel like i’m a child again and i couldn’t speak bc i can’t speak

[bunny-extract]

please can i request feral konig with a breeding kink

i've written and posted this before, but i'll have something new this weekend B^) feel free to throw more ideas in my inbox!

König x f!reader / 18+! MDNI / breeding, dirty talk, size kink.....filth.

You push the head down, lower and lower until it notches back into place, right inside of you. König’s eyes find yours, mutterings finally silenced.

“Again,” you tell him, but he’s searching, sure that he heard you wrong, even if his body understood. His heavy balls pat against your ass when he tries find sense in your demand. "But. But, what if--"

You push your arms over your head in a stretch, your breasts arching up to tease your nipples against the scruff on his chin. You want him to put his mouth back on you. He does too, but the hand that rubs the space below your navel makes his concern clear. You tilt your head at him. “But what? What if it takes?”

And just the words being out in the open has him reeling. His eyes snap back to yours, wide, caught. You meet him with a smile, pressing his hand down lower, firmer until it’s over the bump where his cock bulges from within you. “Isn’t that what you want?”

And it’s deserved, really, when König rips himself out of you just long enough to toss you onto your stomach, hips dug into the bed when he re-enters you in a swift, embarrassingly loud stroke. He pumps you twice before letting his weight sink him lower, deeper into you.

“You have no idea what I—want.” 

The moans that he punches out of you are obscene, and you’re thankful you can smother them in the mattress. König rarely takes you from behind, always wanting to look at you. Was obsessed with your expression, the bounce of your breast, the view of him bulging your stomach, but flat on your front like this his cock kisses the very end of your cunt and threatens to fuck you right to your womb. It’s the deepest he’s ever been, the tip of him feeling like it would reach your throat if he kept pushing it in. Every slap of his hips has your ass shaking in response, and all you can do is let him bludgeon your little cunt, head shaking as he grabbed your shoulder for better leverage. “I’ve worn the shape of my cock into you, Liebling. It feels so good. I can feel your guts when I’m this deep.”

He’s bent over you, one hand gripping the head board hard enough that his tanned knuckles blanch white, the other lifting your face from where you’d burrowed it. You’re drooling, eyes unfocused until you look up and, oh lovely. It’s his black-smudged eyes that meet you, upside down. His face splits in an almost frightening smile. Now he can fuck you stupid and watch.

König meets every moan from you with the slap of his heavy balls to your clit, his head coming down to rest against your shoulder. The briefest prickle of stubble when he leaves open-mouthed kisses across your neck. It has you tightening, fingers twisting around the hand he’s used to prop himself up on. You can feel him smile against your pulse, the only warning before he bites into it. 

When he pulls back you can feel his spit warm at your neck, the tender start of a bruise blooming beneath it. He’s snaked his arms around you in a gentle headlock, squeezing once just to laugh and let go. Another time, he promises. You’re buzzing, and that’s before his other hand takes one of yours, guiding it beneath your stomach to frame his cock. It’s hard to wrap your head around how big it is, how it disappears inside of you. 

“Play with yourself. I want to feel it,” he urges, puppeteering your fingers with his own to roll your clit. You take over, but his hand stays, ghosting along with you. 

“That’s it. I want to see you fat with my child, your little body taken with me. I’ll sow my seed until it’s deep, Liebling. Are you sure you want me to? Tell me that, please.”

You’re cock drunk, absolutely ruined off of this man. Not even sure what you’re sobbing out until it reaches your ears: desperate, pathetic little cries of fill me, fill me, fill me. 

His thrusts are sloppy but no less accurate, the head of his cock grinding too perfectly into your squishy g-spot and sending you halfway off the edge. You’re spasming around him, the wet clutch you have around his cock outright crude, and he laughs, muttering almost to himself, “Messy girl, you always make such a mess.”

He’s pulling apart your cheeks, getting his fill of the sight of you speared on his cock.

“How are you still hard,” you whine, aftershocks wracking you. He can feel them, you’re sure.

König slurs against your neck, almost laughing. His hips snap back down into you, and your pussy welcomes him home. 

It’s hours and hours later, when you’d been fucked half to sleep, sated and full with König resting inside of you. He’s spent, but the more come that leaks out, the more he has to put back in. When his hips shift, you don’t even stir. 

Quietly, he whispers into the outline of his teeth pressed to your shoulder. “Your little quim can take more, Liebling. I’ll fuck you until you are full with a whole litter.”

[mikkomacko]

Thank u for doing requests ! What about giiving kisses on mob boss Nico’s scars (if any)?🥹🥹

This is so sweet oh my god I’m gonna cry. (This also somehow turned into a smut scene at the end so happy first smut scene of mob boss Nico!)

Thank you so much for requesting! I hope I did it justice!

————————————————————————-

It wasn’t a big dead, not really. Just an off-handed remark Jack had made after Nico chirped him for getting a bad haircut.

“You should spend more time worrying about that lip of yours than my haircut.” He’d yapped, motioning to the recently split lip Nico had gotten. “Eventually your girl’s not gonna wanna kiss it better.”

It had healed just fine and yeah for a bit there you’d avoided the raw wound, but now that it’s just a sliver of a scar it’s fine, right?

Nico can’t help it. He’s picking at it, smears of shaving cream still splattered across his jaw and cheeks. He picks at it until the skin of his lip is red and raw, and it hurts so badly he has to stop.

In a frantic spiral he’s suddenly spotting all the little marks on his face. Every scar left over from teenage acne to fist fights to hitting his head on the coffee table as a child, Nico feels manic as he takes them all in.

Maybe he shouldn’t have shaved. Maybe he should’ve let his beard grow out, creep up his cheeks and down his neck to hide all the ugly marks.

Down and down and down the rabbit hole he goes. Wiping the shaving cream off with a towel, Nico spots the ugly mark on his collar bone from where he’d been nicked with a knife. The one on his abdomen from where he’d been kicked with steel toe boots.

Something ugly and ashamed rises in his chest, threatens to choke him. He scrambles out of the bathroom, haphazardly shutting off the light as he rushes to the closet. In his haste to cover himself he misses you already lying in bed. It’s not until he’s yanked on a hoodie and sweatpants, finally able to breathe easy, does he notice you watching him with bewilderment.

“You ok boss?” You ask him, slightly amused.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feels like throwing up. What if you saw all of them? Like really saw them? Sat in front of him and saw all those ugly spots at once, all his ugly spots?

“Fine,” he mumbles, climbing into his side of bed. He feels stiff and awkward, ignoring your gaze as he reaches to shut off the bedside lamp.

You make a confused noise in the dark and Nico blinks until his eyes adjust. Then he’s lying back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers ache to reach for you, to touch your skin. But he’s terrified of you touching his skin and suddenly deciding you don’t want to anymore.

Stupid fucking Jack and his big mouth.

The sheets shuffle, the mattress moving with your weight. “Nico?” A hand pats down the duvet, then slithers across the blanket until it’s resting over his chest.

“Hm?”

“Baby you’re on the edge of the bed.”

“M’just hot.”

“Maybe it’s the winter clothes you just put on?”

Nico hesitates, scrambles for an excuse. “Not feeling well either. Don’t want to get you sick.”

“You ate three plates of pasta, Schoa. I don’t think that’s contagious.”

Clearing his throat, Nico pathetically shrugs. Something’s welled up in his esophagus, is choking him and he wants you to reach over and make it better.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong or am I gonna have to piss you off first?”

He closes his eyes, feels the weight of your hand on him. That feeling chokes him again, makes him panic until he’s spiting out his worst fears to you.

“Do you still want to kiss me?”

Nico expects you to laugh, to kick at his leg and tell him he’s being ridiculous. But he thinks the pathetic whimper of his words has given away how dire this topic is to him.

“Oh baby,” you breathe out, “I want to kiss you all the time.” You sound sincere, like you’re thinking about kissing him right now. It makes his face hot, embarrassed and insecure for some reason.

His silence is thick, hanging in the air so heavily you have to sit up in bed and crawl over him. Nico can’t help it, his hands moving on their own to find your hips as you push the blankets back and straddle his thighs.

“Nothing could ever make me not want you.” You whisper. In the dark he finds your eyes, the moonlight coming through the window gleaming in them. They look shiny and blurry, warped by the night- no by him. Because he’s got tears in his waterline.

“You didn’t want to kiss my lip,” he mumbles like a child, “when it was hurt.”

You stroke through his hair, press your palm to his cheek. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you, not because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

“What if next time it’s worse? What if the cut is bigger and then the scar is and it doesn’t get better?”

“What-Nico where is this coming from? Did something happen?”

He’s silent, embarrassed again. “Jack said if my scars get any worse you won’t want to kiss them better anymore.”

“Oh Nico baby,” you huff in disbelief. “Have you ever noticed that Jack doesn’t even have someone to kiss his scars better? Who does he think he is?”

You’re right, but he doesn’t feel better. So he just shrugs, makes some weird noise of protest in his chest because he’s scared and hurt.

“Can I please turn the light on?”

Nico leans into your palm, heart thumping loudly in his chest but he mutters his consent. The lamp flicks on and at first he’s blinded. But then you come into view, one of his shirts on your shoulders and you’re pretty hair frizzy on top of your head.

You look so beautiful over him.

“Oh my god, what has Jack done to you?” You ask softly, stroking your thumb under his droopy eyes that are still wet with unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

Your fingers trace his face, over the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheeks and the slope of his nose. Your thumb outlines his lips, your eyes following its movement with such adoration in them it makes his heart ache.

“You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” you say with earnest, stroking the scar on his lip. “No cut or bruise or scar is ever going to change that.”

“Yeah?”

You lean down, ghost your lips over his. “Yeah Nico,” you promise, sealing it with a kiss. He runs his hands up your back, holds you as you trail kisses over the little marks of his face.

Nimble fingers dip beneath his hoodie, touch the warm skin of his stomach. “Can I take this off my love?”

Sluggish, Nico nods. He sits up enough to help you wiggle it off of him, falling back into the pillows as you throw the hoodie to the side.

You sit back, admiring the skin of his chest and abs with your hands and lidded eyes. “All I see when I look at you, is the brave and strong man that I love.”

Sliding down his body, you mouth at his collarbone with soft and needy lips. Nico sighs contently, lets your breath tickle his skin and grows warm at the way you touch him so sweetly.

Sometimes he wonders how you can treat him so softly, how you can take him in those soft hands and turn him into a puddle.

“Baby,” he whines, unsure of what he’s even calling for. All he knows is that he loves you and you’re making him feel so good.

“Let me love on you,” you request, word pressing into the column of his throat. “Let me show you how beautiful and sexy you are Nico.”

He tangles his fingers in your hair, shudders as pleasure nips at his belly and blood rushes to his cock.

“Fuck, yes, please.”

You’re slow and diligent, finding any and every place on him that is marred or changed and showering it in kisses and loving touches. He’s sweating and panting when you get to the edge of his pants, peeling the band down to reveal more and more of the scar there.

“This one’s my favorite,” you say so quietly he almost doesn’t hear you.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head, brain foggy with lust. You peer up at him through thick eyelashes, blinking sultry over the planes of his body. Lips hovering over the mark that trails down the v of his hips and the top of his thigh.

“My favorite,” you mumble into his skin, kissing at the point of his hip. Then you’re pulling his sweats down even more, innocent eyes watching him hiss when his cock jumps free, red and hard against his abdomen.

“Why?”

Your lips curl up, wicked as you bite into the inside of his thigh just enough to make him twitch. “Because I get to see it every time I’m down here.”

Nico’s brain short circuits, shuts down when you bite into his skin again and it feels so good he might come untouched. He doesn’t want to though, not that he needs to tell you that.

You nose at his cock, mouth wet and hot against the base of him and his bones turn to jelly. He falls back into the mattress, widening his legs for you to get closer.

Grounding himself with fingers in your hair, Nico whimpers when you drag the flat of your tongue up his length, gentle fingers wrapping around his girth.

“Baby,” Nico whines again, and you’re already kissing at the thick head of his cock, all teasing flicks of the tongue and lips sticky with precum.

“I know pretty boy,” you assure, sweet and loving. Nico moans, ears growing hot at the pet name. “So pretty, from those big eyes of yours all the way down to your pretty cock, huh?”

His hips buck up, eyes rolling back and he twitches in your hand. Jesus Christ, now he knows why you love when he talks you through sex. The rawness of your words, the truth in your tone, how utterly sweet you sound saying such filthy things.

“Make me cum,” he begs, tugging on your hair encouragingly. “Please just -fuck!”

You swallow him down easy, fitting his cock into your warm mouth just how he taught you. Like it’s habit now, to have his cock dripping into the back of your throat while your tongue licks at the underside of him.

Nico’s so worked up and sensitive he’s already throbbing and threatening to blow his load. That fire licks at the base of his spine, curls his toes and has him blubbering nonsense. You bob your head, drooling down his length and cupping his balls in your palm.

You’re so soft and warm, so loving in everything you do. Nico thinks it might kill him one day, how much you love him. But that would be a hell of a way to go.

His cock throbs, twitching in the hollow of your cheeks and you stroke a free hand over that favorite scar of yours. That’s at it takes and he’s seeing stars, coming so hard on your tongue it twists painfully at the pit of his stomach.

Dropping his hands from you, heavy like his bones are made of lead, Nico fights to catch his breath. Your merciful on him, easy and gentle as you kiss your way back up his torso and to his mouth.

Nico doesn’t peel his eyes open until you’re messily mouthing at his parted lips. Your tongue tastes like him, breath hot and he groans into your mouth as he kisses you back.

“I lied,” you pant when you part from the kiss. “This one’s my favorite actually,” and your pecking a kiss to the scar on his lips.

“Baby you just sucked the soul out of me,” Nico croaks, wrapping his arms around you and pinning you into his sweaty chest. “I can’t take anymore compliments.”

You giggle, touching your nose to his. “It’s the truth this time, I love that one. It’s the first thing I see every morning, the first thing I see after you kiss me.”

Nico hums, smacks a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Yeah? Do you think that’s pretty too?” He goads, smirking when you blush and roll your eyes. “Pretty like my cock? Or pretty like my eyes?”

Laughing, you wiggle in his hold to try and get away. “Oh shut up!”

“Noooo keep telling me how pretty I am, boss please?”

[laundrybiscuits]

(Continued from Part 1)

Steve’s first thought is that he’s died and this is the afterlife, which makes no sense. But it makes a hell of a lot more sense than Eddie Munson, frozen in the doorway of the bar, staring at him.

Another patron pushes past Eddie, because he’s kind of blocking the entrance, and Eddie stumbles a little. It seems to shake him out of whatever stasis he’d been in, and he turns back towards the door.

Steve fucking vaults over the bar. Even lunging full speed, he barely manages to grab Eddie’s jacket in his fist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, dragging Eddie back inside. “I swear to god, Munson, I will track you down like it’s 1986 all over again.”

Eddie lets out a choked little laugh. “Okay, okay, Harrington. Cool your jets. I’m here, you got me.” 

His voice is a little different. Rougher, maybe. He still sounds like himself; he still looks like himself. 

Steve clamps a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck like he’s scruffing a cat, and hauls him stumbling along to the back room. “Taking my break, Laurie,” he calls on the way. It’s a slow night, and Laurie likes him. He’ll have as long as he needs to deal with the Eddie Munson Situation.

He lets go of Eddie once they’re in the back. He doesn’t want to. He can’t stop staring. The idea of Eddie has followed Steve around since he was 19. Having the flesh-and-blood guy in front of him is tripping him out. It’s like double vision, the way he sees Eddie and also all the Eddie-related thoughts he’s had over the years all at once, all crammed into one space. 

Eddie’s visibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight. His eyes are darting around like he’s scoping out exits. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. 

“I don’t forgive you,” Steve says. It feels like the words are being scraped out of him with a butter knife.

“I…” Eddie hesitates. “Yeah, I get it. Okay, I’ll just. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Steve’s reaching out before he even realizes he’s moving, grasping tight at Eddie’s shirt like a child and crowding close. “No, no, I don’t want—you can’t do that again. You can’t leave again. You don’t get to fucking leave like that.” 

“Oh, Harrington,” says Eddie. He folds Steve into his arms, so carefully, and then Steve’s clinging to him, head tucked into his shoulder, shaking like a tornado. 

It’s fucked up, but this might actually be the first time they’ve ever touched in a deliberate kind of way, aside from the kind of shoulder-slaps and awkward jostling that teenage boys do when they don’t know how to be in each others’ space without it being some kind of fight. Steve doesn’t live like that anymore; he thinks nobody should have to live like that. Now, it’s so easy to curl into Eddie and soak up every little thing, the way his skin and hair smell a little bit like sweat and smoke, how all of him is here under Steve’s hands. 

Steve wants to crack open his own ribcage and stuff Eddie inside. 

The thought is so sudden and solid that it snaps him out of his little breakdown. He needs to stop thinking about Eddie as a defining moment of his youth and start thinking about him as someone who probably has plans for his life that don’t involve being clung to by Steve Harrington for all eternity. 

It’s just that he’s had his whole adult life to let the what-ifs and possibilities ferment in him, shaping who he is, and there’s just no way he can ever be even a little bit normal about Eddie.

He’s got to try, though. Steve pulls back and clears his throat. Eddie’s eyes flick down to where Steve can’t quite make himself let go of the grip he has on that stupid leather jacket, but Eddie doesn’t say a word. It might be a kindness, or Eddie might’ve just learned some tact in the last decade.

“So,” says Steve. “Explain.”

Eddie starts talking right away, no hesitation, like he’s been waiting to be asked.

“Okay, so, after everything went down, the feds took my body back and kept it for a couple years to run their creepy little tests on. Normal fucked-up government stuff. Got the shock of their lives when I started thrashing around all monster-y, very Night of the Living Dead. And then by the time they figured out I was, y’know, coming back, we figured it’d be kinder to just let you all get on with your lives. I wasn’t even talking like I was human for a few years, and by that time, the kids were practically done with high school, so. That was pretty much that.”

“How long,” says Steve. An awful image is starting to take shape behind his eyes.

“How long what?” Eddie tilts his head, looking confused.

“How long were you alone. How long were you locked up.”

“Oh. I dunno. Are we counting from, like, when my body first regained consciousness? Or when I first remembered who I was?”

“Either. Both.”

“A while, I guess. It really sucked, I’m not gonna lie. But…they didn’t even know I was me, so I can’t really blame them.” Eddie huffs out a croaky little laugh. “Harrington, you gotta understand. I didn’t know I was me. They basically had a wild animal of unknown demonic origin for their little menagerie, so they weren’t too psyched about me starting to be, like, a person who might possibly have rights again. I think I really messed up some of their research.” 

“I wish—they should’ve told us. They should’ve told—we would’ve helped. We would’ve done something.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Four walls and a roof, got my Fancy Feast twice a day.”

“Fucking hell, Eddie. How long have you been out? Wait, how long have you been in Chicago?”

“Not that long. They ran out of funding a few months ago, so now I’m kind of a tag-and-release deal. Wound up here a couple weeks ago, just trying to figure out what comes next.” 

So at least it's not like Eddie's been running around just existing in the world for years, and Steve missed it. He feels relieved, and then he fucking hates that he's relieved, because at least Eddie wouldn't have been a damn lab rat. 

He wants Eddie to be happy. he really does. He's just greedy, is all. He had all these scraps of Eddie that he hoarded jealously through the years, thinking there'd never be any more, and now it's overwhelming to be able to look and touch and breathe the same air. 

Steve just needs to keep remembering that Eddie's his own person. But maybe it's okay that he's going to be weird about Eddie, because Eddie is looking back, taking in whatever there is of Steve to take in. The glasses, maybe, or the earring. 

“What happened to you, Steve Harrington?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, like he’s talking to himself. Maybe he is.

“You did,” says Steve. 

Eddie looks up, almost cartoonishly surprised. His mouth actually drops open. 

“We weren’t friends or anything. You didn’t know me.” Even as he says it, Eddie’s wincing like he knows he’s wrong, or maybe just like he knows he's being cruel. He doesn’t take it back, though.

“Fuck you, Eddie. Christ. If you think it didn’t fucking kill me that you died, fuck you.” 

“You’re still kicking, ain’tcha?” But Eddie’s already jostling close. He’s like a cat, trying to comfort Steve by climbing all over him. 

It’s fucked up that Eddie is having to comfort Steve about his own death, when Steve’s had a whole life in the years when Eddie was lying alone on a government slab somewhere. He’s said yes and yes and yes to Robin, to chances, to the Eddie he’d carried around in his head like a song that won’t let you go. Steve went to London with Robin, and walked through Camden Market in the sunshine thinking Eddie would’ve loved this, all while Eddie was getting hooked up to monitors underground. Steve went dancing in Paris and kissed a beautiful man with dark, curly hair who spoke almost no English by the Seine, while Eddie was clawing his way back to humanity.

Steve’s had every good thing because of Eddie, because he wanted to live the kind of brave and colorful life that Eddie'd had stolen from him, and now Eddie’s rubbing his back gently and going, “Hey, it’s okay, it all worked out fine. You’re okay.”

“I grew my hair out for a while,” says Steve. 

Eddie audibly gasps, clutching at his heart and reeling dramatically. “Tell me there are photos, Harrington. You can’t just say that and not show me photos.”

“Yeah.” Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s jacket. “I can do that. Give me a second to talk to my boss and we’ll go see the photos.” 

He pauses before he opens the door. Eyes fixed firmly ahead, he says quietly: “Eddie. Um. You should know. If you pull another runner on me, I’m—I’m not gonna survive it, man. So just…promise you won’t leave without telling me first.”

“I won’t,” says Eddie. “Promise.”

(series tag)

[zer0inbox]

SMALLTOWN DEMON SLAYER,

from a shuffled playlist                   inspired by the southern gothic, the preacher’s daughter, and demon slaying. lyrics slightly tweaked for clarification.

i’ll hold my breath for three more years.

god loves you, but not enough to save you.

good luck taking care of yourself.

that's how my daddy raised me.

if they strike once, then you just hit 'em twice as hard.

if i bend under the weight that they gave me, then this heart would break and fall as twice as far.

the more it hurts, the less it shows.

i still feel like they all know. that's why I could never go back home.

god, i've tried.

if it's meant to be then it will be.

i forgive it all as it comes back to me.

i can't let go when something's broken.

it's all I know and it's all I want now.

you lost your chance.

with good luck, i'll find the dark.

it’s my primary instinct to protect the child.

i had a dream that it would end like this.

what's gone is gone and you can't bring it back around.

you can't illuminate what time has anchored down.

your divination should acquaint you with the plan.

all i want is to save you.

the space between us is as boundless as the dark.

you can't intimidate me back into your arms.

no one can hear me.

i can see that you want me going downhill, too.

you ripped me open, then you kissed me.

i adore the bludgeoned affection.

i swear, i’m the shell of a man.

my mom, now she’s a saint.

i killed them both, and they're buried under a sycamore.

you think I'm psycho, don't you?

i'm having crazy dreams again.

i woke up in his room, standing right there by his bed with my hands around his throat, wishing both of us were dead.

we will wade in the shine of the ever.

no one is born to hate, we learn it somewhere along the way.

hardly a maverick, lesser than average.

your vulnerability is stronger than it seems.

you know it's okay to have a bad day.

just get this one thing done.

i went to the bar to get a little closer to myself and learn things i never really wanted to know.

i want to be where all the stupid shit i say sounds so romantic and true.

i'd rot in hell with you.

live with me in this sin forever.

we take things a little far, but you couldn't name a place I wouldn't go with you. 

home is the last place that i'd stand to be with anyone but you.

beware the bottled thoughts of angry young men.

secret compartments hide all of the skeletons.

you know damn well where you'll go.

i want to be someone else or i’ll explode.

you want me? fuckin’ well come and find me.

you soon find you have few choices.

when i was a child, i heard voices ; some would sing, some would scream.

all you have is your fire.

don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.

i knew that something would always rule me.

i’ll make you a believer.

put me to the test.

you know i’m a forgiver.

i still hear you cry.

circumstance will decide.

you’re a ghost on the highway, and i’ll love you forever.

i want to eat out your bitter heart.

you gotta show me where it hurts.

there's a beast and a burden kicking, spitting on your bathroom floor.

good things die all the time.

god bless your heart, vengeance is mine.

kiss me like you mean goodbye.

so if I fight the good fight, will hairlines recede? will lines deepen in face to craft a look of defeat?

my little saturday night became a sunday remorse.

at last, my good friend, we are even.

don't you leave me in the ground alone.

but you and I will never find that peace.

it's too bad that all these things can only happen in my dreams.

if you want to scream, scream with me.

[kindnessisweakness2]

Delusional -Part 22

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Delaney questioned Alex as he stood from the table and made his way towards her. “Ah Ah Ah...” He sarcastically wagged his finger at her. “Wow, Teller really has re lit the fire in you. Think your untouchable?” He challenged her, the look in his eye begging her to say something, to fight back. "Your Mom called me. She wants me to take you back. Begged me pretty much.” Delaney scowled at him. “What is it you want Alex? Im done playing this fucking game with you.” Alex smirked at her. “Isnt it obvious? I want you dead. i just want to enjoy fucking with you first. By the time im done you’ll be begging me for death. It’ll be a mercy.” Tears stung at Delaneys eyes. "Why? What have I done to deserve this, any of it?" Alex studied the broken woman in front of him. She looked tired and scared. Part of him debated just giving in and killing her quickly. Maybe he had put her through enough. But despite any reason he could think of to give her mercy, he knew he wouldn't be fully satisfied until he had her blood on his hands. Soaking in his skin, the spray of it coating his face. Oh he couldn't explain how bad he craved it. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Pointing the gun at her again he nudged his head towards the door. “Get rid of them. If you say anything, hint at anything being wrong i will kill them and you.” Delaney shuffled towards the door with Alex at her back, digging the barrell of the gun into her side. She was trying her best to stay calm, but all she wanted to do was break down. Let it all out, the screams, the tears. Fear and Anger weighed heavy on her chest. Opening the door just enough to pop her head out, her worried eyes fell on Halfsack. Trying to keep a neutral face, but secretly hoping he would notice something off and tell Jax, Delaney managed a small smile. “Hey, Jax sent me just to check on you, Make sure you didnt need anything. I know you guys arent in the best place right now, but he cares Ya’know.” Kip started to Ramble. Delaney’s eyes filled with tears she couldnt stop. Clearing her throat trying to move the fast growing lump, she tried not to think that this would possibly be the last time she laid eyes on someone in her family. If she knew yesterday would be the last time she saw Jax, she wouldnt of wasted it arguing. The issue of Tara seemed stupid now. Now that today would be her last day. Tried not to think of their little baby tucked away in her belly, another one they wont get the chance to raise. Death would be a blessing in that regard, she wouldnt have to feel the pain of losing another child. “I-Im Fine. Thank you. P-Please tell Jax, that i love him, m-more than a-anything.” Halfsack smiled but looked at his  VP’s old Lady quizzically. She was weird,But he couldnt put his finger on it. Is this what pregnancy hormones does to women? Kip nodded at her anyway and started to head back towards his bike. “Oh and Kip?” He turned as she called. “Please can you tell him I’m Sorry?” Kip couldnt hide the confused look on his face but before he could question what she was sorry for the door was shut. Getting on his bike, He headed straight towards Gemma’s. He couldnt shake the feeling something was off. 

“Jax i think you need to go home.” Halfsack walked straight into Gemmas Kitchen, finding his VP sat at the table drinking a coffee. He looked like he had been up all night with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Is she okay?” Gemma questioned worriedly. The last thing her son needed was anything to happen to Delaney and the baby. “Shes weird, i dont know how to explain it. Somethings off Jax. She said to tell you she loves you more than anything, but she was all stuttery and was trying to stop herself from crying. And then i was about to leave she called my name and said to tell you she was sorry.” Kip really couldnt explain the panicked feeling it left him with, but he needed Jax to go home. “So do you think she was just upset about the argument we had? Crying is normal right? Shes pregnant and hormonal.” Jax tried to think logically. Maybe Halfsack was overthinking this. “No baby, i think we should go check on her. If he thinks something is off, its worth checking out. Shes been through alot recently, lets just go make sure she is fine.” Jax nodded at his mother. He didnt want to wait till Monday to go home anyway. This thing with Tara was sorted, he’s handled it, so he was hoping they could move on. He could go home and start getting ready for their little miracle baby. Their boy. Even thinking about the baby made a smile stretch on his face. The three of them. Their own little family. Grabbing his Kutte, Jax followed his mom out the door and headed to his bike. He was going home. 

There were many times in her life that Delaney pictured her death. Planned it, hoped for it even. Part of her always knew Alex would one day be the cause of it. But one thing she didnt imagine, was that it would happen in Jax’s house. There she was, on her knees infront of Alex, in Jax’s living room. Gun only a few inches from her forehead. 1 Shot. Clean. Execution Style. Thats all it would take, and she would no longer exist. Would Jax be the one to find her? No, she didnt want that image left for him. She didnt want him to see her like that. It would haunt him. How long would he wait before seeking comfort from another woman? Would it be Tara’s arms he fell back into? She hoped not. But the thought of him running to a crow eater for comfort didnt make her feel any better. She could see the front door in her peripheral vision, like it was taunting her. Her only escape route and she couldnt take it. A punch to the side of the head brought her out of her thoughts. Fuck. “Are you even listening?” Alex spat at her. She winced as pain shot down her face and through her jaw. “Yeah, some shit about your gonna kill me. Leave my body for Jax. Whatever. I told you earlier. Im done with your games. You wanna kill me? Get it fucking over with.” Another smack split her cheek and had her seeing stars. Her ears were ringing with the force of the smack and she blinked hard trying to come to her senses. She heard the safety click off on the gun and her stomach dropped. “Are you gonna cry?” He taunted. Gritting her teeth, Delaney looked forward. Was she fuck going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her panic. No if she was being taken from this earth, she was doing it swinging. She was fighting. She wasnt going to make it easy for this bastard. “Any Last words my love?” He grinned as he looked down at her. So scared, but trying to be so strong. He could see it in her eyes, the fear, and he would be lying if he said it didnt make him happy. “Yeah, I hope that Jax tortures you before he kills you. I hope he hurts you so fucking bad. Makes you cry like the pathetic little boy you really are on the inside. Theres a reason you are the way you are Alex. What is it huh? Mommy didnt love you enough? Did she not hug you? Did Daddy beat you? Was he never proud? Were you never good enough Alex Reid? Tried your hardest but never got daddy and mommy’s approval.” She could see the rage flicker in his eyes. It was working, she was getting to him. With any luck he would kill her quickly. 

Pulling up to the unusually quiet house, Jax was instantly worried. Usually the music Delaney played could be heard in the street it was that loud. And if you stood at the bottom of the drive you could see her dancing and swaying about the kitchen to the beat as she cleaned or cooked. There was always movement in their home, but now it was eerily quiet. Deciding instantly they needed to be careful Jax walked to where his mom sat in her car. “Prospect was right. Somethings off. Stay here, call the rest of the guys.” Gemma’s face showed her worry instantly. “Ya’know shes probably in bed getting rest like the doctor told her yesterday. You should probably leave her alone, let her rest. The doors not smashed off, its not trashed and theres no sign of an intruder. Jax maybe give her time.” Gemma tried to reason with her son, there was no sign of anything being wrong apart from the house being quiet. Sleeping people dont make much noise. Jax shook his head as he thought about what his mom said. He had the same feeling as Halfsack now he was here. His stomach twisted painfully. He just had to see her. Once he saw with his own eyes he would know she was okay and he would leave her to rest. “Okay, your probably right. I’ll go in through the garage and just check on her.” Knowing her son wasnt going to rest until he saw her in the flesh, Gemma agreed. Lighting a cigarette, she sat back and waited for Jax to come back. 

[ravendruid]

An Empty Perch

Spoilers for Critical Role Campaign 3, Episode 68. Also available on AO3.

Keyleth wakes up in total darkness. A darkness that not even her elven lineage can peer. She feels like she’s floating in a cold liquid, and the smell of copper is strong in her nostrils. She has been through this before, only once, a long, long time ago. She had been a child then, compared to how she felt now. The weight on her shoulders had just started to manifest itself when her overconfidence made her make a mistake that would result in her death—temporary, yes, but death nonetheless.

Well, fuck. Keyleth thinks, closing and opening her eyes again as if that would do anything to change the nothingness. She tries to move her arms in front of her chest, but it doesn’t work, and she can’t feel her legs. In fact, Keyleth realizes she can’t feel anything. 

“Hello?” She calls from what she assumes is a lying down position. How embarrassing. She thinks. Is this how I meet her?

“You can come out now. I’m… awake?” Keyleth tries again. Is she really awake? No, that’s stupid. I’m dead.

“Keyleth of the Air Ashari,” An ethereal voice interrupts Keyleth’s thoughts. She knows who it belongs to, having heard it once before, and the memory of a white porcelain mask floats in front of her. Except it’s not really a memory anymore. She starts big—larger than a titan—and becomes smaller the closer the face approaches Keyleth, who realizes she’s not lying anymore as she looks at the darkness where the eyes would be in the mask.

“Voice of the Tempest,” The voice continues, still coming from the darkness surrounding Keyleth. “I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.”

“Me neither, but I guess everyone has to meet you one day, right?”

Keyleth would very much rather not have to meet the woman—no, the entity—who took her most loved person away from her by herself. In all these years, every time she has imagined her death—which was more often than one should admit—she always imagined him with her. They would walk hand in hand through the dark limbo that separates life and death, and he would finally bring her to meet his mistress. Alas, Keyleth is alone, and Vax is nowhere to be seen.

“My champion—” The voice continues, ignoring her attempt at a joke. “—he needs you.”

Keyleth’s heart jumps in her throat (why is she feeling a heartbeat? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead?), and she takes a step back, aghast. What is happening? She asks herself, realizing she moved. Her fingers wiggle in her hands, her elbows bend, and her knees buckle slightly with her weight. Keyleth can feel her body again. She can see the moving shadows behind the porcelain mask, moving like raven-dark hair being rustled by the wind. Keyleth can breathe in the aroma of copper as her lungs fill and empty in her chest. 

“I’m… confused.” She voices. “I thought I was dead.”

“Not yet. Not if I have a say in it.”

“Why?” Keyleth defies. She knows the Matron of Ravens must have a bigger plan in mind if she is to allow Keyleth to return to her body and continue her life of suffering and pain, and she hates it. She hates being at the mercy of the Gods. What good have they done to her? They have brought her naught but pain and suffering in her life. Especially her.

“You have to save him.” Ah. There it is. It all comes with a price.

“And if I won’t? Will you take me then?”

A woman now stands tall in front of Keyleth, who hears something she never imagined would come from a God, especially the God of Death. The Matron laughs, and while Keyleth can’t see her lips behind the mask, she knows she’s smiling at her.

“We both know that will never happen. Please,” The Matron’s voice changes. She begs in desperation.

How dare she. Keyleth balls her fists in anger. How dare she beg me to save him. So he can return to her? Anger courses through her veins, hot like fire. So I lose him again?

“He’s suffering,” The goddess speaks again, her plea flying true to Keyleth’s heart. She realizes the Matron loves him just as much as Keyleth does, and her anger boils hotter.

“Why?” Keyleth is shaking. Her vision goes red—as much as it can within the darkness—and blood trickles down her hand from where her nails carve on her skin. “Why did you let him go? Why didn’t you stop him if you love him so much?”

“Because, child—” Keyleth’s head snaps up with a feline growl at the mask. “—it’s not me who my Champion loves, and not even I can meddle in the affairs of two people whose threads are intertwined, even in death. Which is why I will not allow you to die until he’s by my side.”

“And if I fail? What if I can’t save him?” Anger gives room to insecurity.

“I know you will do everything in your power.” She’s not wrong.

Thirty years ago, Keyleth promised Vax’ildan she would see him again. She did, a year later, thanks to Scanlan’s wish, but the Vax’ildan she saw then wasn’t the same man she had loved. He was still there, somewhere not so deep that he wouldn’t recognize her and his friends, but he was different. 

“What if—” Keyleth lowers her voice, afraid to voice her fears lest they become real, “What if it’s not him anymore?”

“It will always be him,” In all the years Keyleth has spent pouring over books about the Matron of Ravens, she has learned a great deal about the mortal who became God. She imagined her to be stoic and merciless, someone incapable of empathy and love. Yet, she can’t be any more wrong. The more they speak, the more Keyleth feels the love the Matron has for her Champion and the more she realizes they have more in common than what she wants to admit. 

“What if I can’t let him go?” Keyleth knows it isn’t in her power to decide that, but she has to try.

“You won’t have to,” Kindness resonates in the ether. “I have seen the perch you built at your bedroom window. I have seen the seeds you give him, the trinkets he leaves behind day after day.”

Keyleth smiles at the memory of the large raven who started visiting her thirty years ago. It wasn’t long until she built the perch out of cherry wood and vines, allowing it to swing if the raven wanted, just outside her bedroom window, the one she always left open just in case. Every morning Keyleth stands by the window, open palm full of seeds and treats that he pecks at softly while she drinks her coffee. Some mornings she tells him all about the previous day’s adventures. On others, they just sit in silence, looking at each other. Keyleth has never dared to cast the spell that allows her to know for sure, lest she be disappointed, but she has never needed to. Keyleth has always known deep in her bones it is Vax.

“I’ll save him,” It isn’t a pact. Never a pact between Keyleth and a God. 

“I know. I will forever be grateful to you.”

The gratitude of a god? What am I supposed to do with that? Keyleth scoffs. 

“Go now, child—” That word again. “You have much work to do.”

This time, when Keyleth opens her eyes, she is bathed in sunlight so strong it makes prickly tears fall down her cheeks. She is in her room in Zephrah, the one with the tapestries that remind her of all she has done—and the price she paid—and the large window overlooking the mountains. She tries to sit, but her body stings from the slashes and cuts. All she can do is turn her head and look at the closed window where beyond the glass, she sees the mossy and flower-covered perch where once a large raven stared at her with kind beady black eyes.

The perch is empty, and so is her heart. Not for long. She promises. I will see you again.

[kaerimichirami]

the future beckons

Falling into the emptiness of my being, I reckon my failure. The unmet expectations, the loud noises from afar—it all bursts into my face as I stare at my sly shadow, wondering how I’ve managed to keep it. They say counting the days only makes the wait longer, but what am I supposed to do? Trapped in this flash, with the surrounding flashing lights ready to attack, I hold the anger to my chest, babying it and begging for an answer. For freedom, for anything, but I am unable to move, as I am stuck to me.

The shadow laughs at me, oh-so derisive, and, deep down, it pities me, which seems worse. Am I only that? So pitiful a mere shadow can’t help itself but find me a poor little creature. It reeks of something I am unable to describe, but it drives me so mad, as if I was drowning in my own stupidity.

Stupid. How could I be anything but stupid? A creature who struggles to identify itself. Who cannot say "I" but to complain, who treats life like a chore and every chore like death, who treats its senses as traitors, and who doesn’t welcome anyone inside its cage?

Bent, torn, broken. It still reeks of it. I walk slowly with my wounded feet, trying to search for whatever ignites that feeling, but it is all the same, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the poarch, the memories, the agony, the bedroom and the corridors.

That cunning shadow follows, even where there is no light; its fingers strum through my neck and hairline, and the feeling lingers for much longer. No matter what I do, it follows, or, maybe, me, in my pitiful stupidity, am the one following the shadow. But it mimics my every inch, and it gives me that unpleasant look, and it beckons me to once again stay with it.

I notice how we share those wounds, as it seems to limp like me. Does it hurt? Could it be that this tangle of damp sins hurts like I do? I could treat it, but whenever I try to touch the shadow, it disappears into thin air and then reappears behind me.

What a fool!I couldn’t be a light trick, not even from the most skilled man. It is, certainly, something poisonous, a curse, something useless to bear that only brings your demise, like the child I was to my poor mother. What laughs at me is nothing but the reflection how funny my misery is.

I can’t touch it, can’t get rid of it, can’t use it to help me, can’t even make it stop following me. I can’t feed it, can’t lull it, can’t put it in nice clothes, can’t give it a haircut, I can’t raise and love it as my own. It’s a part of me, or maybe it’s me, but it’s unlovable, as it’s the rest, and I can’t do anything but watch it succumb the day I do.

Too far for anyone to percieve me, still too close to hear their laughs and bring me to tears. Too lonely to even try not to be, and unable to go too far with these wounds and this thing following me. I used to hear the nasty comments about the way I walked and saw the moms mad at their own children pointing at me. And if I’m not a threat, the unknown shadow is scary on its own, following me and sentencing me to keep living this life.

I could try to escape, but it always finds a way to me, and, as I said… I can’t run or walk that far. I could stop drinking and eating, I could sleep less, and I could cut my throat right now, but I always keep looking at the same things and hearing the same things, and I never put an end to this.

It looks like they’re throwing a party next door. It surely sounds fun to everybody else, but I have this thing—this weight, these chains, this lack of everything—and this overwhelming power the shadow has on me. I can’t go. I can’t think of going. I can’t dream of going. I can’t. I don’t think I know where the keys are, and I need to sit down… and there’s the shadow, and everything else and everything else and everything else and everything else and everything else and everything else, and there’s my mother, and there’s my childhood, and there’s my age, and there’s my weak body, and there’s my dry lips, and there are my wounds, and there’s something that reeks, and there’s my bad vision, and, I said, there’s the shadow… and the wounds. And the living room, and the corridors, and the kitchen, and the porch, and the bathroom, and the attic, and the basement, and all that’s chained and hidden there; and there are the photos, and the mattress, and the tea cups, and the slice of pound cake, and there is so much I need to do, and I’m limping and my back hurts, and I can’t figure out who or what I am.

At this point, it must hear my thoughts. It laughs at me; it laughs at me crying. I feel like a child again, being laughed at and neglected, but at least the shadow didn’t bring me into this world. I wanted a moment of peace, but the shadow doesn’t understand this. I just wanted a small, very tiny, moment to look out, but the shadow doesn’t let me be. It could at least care for me. It could feed me, it could lull me, it could dress me, it could hold me tight, and it could console me, but the shadow doesn’t do anything but laugh at me or defy me. The shadow doesn’t do anything good for me. No one does. I don’t even do.

How many nights did she spend resenting, repenting me? How many days of those nine months did she wish to throw me up or to bleed me out? When did the shadow and I shared that space? When did I start limping? When did the noise start bothering me? It’s all still the living room, the photos, the corridor, the attic, no, not the attic. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to visit those days. I don’t want it.

I don’t want to live by the shadow, but I don’t want the party either. I want them to stop singing so loud… what life could they live that make them so happy? What could they be thanking? The sun? The food? The love? Then, I wish there was only night, that there was a flood or drought, and that all love dies and only their shadows remain. This is driving me crazy. I’m not loved, I’m chained, and there’s the attic, and the basement, and there’s that old man, and there’s what I’ve done and what I shouldn’t have, and there’s my dying passion and there’s my aborted future, and there are the days when I tried, and there are the moments when I was relieved, but now there is nothing else.

It’s me, the noise, the shadow, and what reeks. And I know what reeks. The shadow does. I need to end it, I need to end its filth, I need to end its madness, because it’s not the limp or the fucking porch, it’s the shadow, and it’s the noise, but when the sun comes they shall fall into their slumber, but the shadow will keep following me even if I’m drowning.

If I don’t end it, I will end it, and if I die doing it, then I can still claim victory. It reeked of its muck, but it will now reek of its blood. If I can’t slash my own throat, I will slash its. If I can’t be raised with love, I won’t even attempt to raise it. I will bring it to hell and if it comes back to life I will slaughter it once again. I will crush its dreams like it crushed mine.

It stops following me, and I can forget about the attic, the basement, the man, the child I was, the static, the reasons, the agonies, the punishments, the curses. It stops following me and then sun wakes up, putting everyone else to sleep. It stops following me and my limping stays, but my lips are soft and plump. It stops following me, and my bitterness becomes sweet. It stops following me and the living room is not the same anymore. It stops following me and I still won’t sing or celebrate, I still have nothing to take, I still can’t walk that far… but it has stopped following me.

[bilvy]

…

[lovelybarnes]

stairs- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, mention of bruce banner warnings: minor injury, overprotective!bucky barnes about: prompt character carrying s/o up the stairs OR overprotective!bucky at its finest another installment for jamecember! @writingsbychlo

“bucky, this is completely unnecessary—”

“i beg to differ—”

“i beg to differ your differ!” you exclaim, moving slightly in bucky’s hold, making your arms quickly loop around bucky’s neck, pulling yourself tighter to him even if you’re aware he would never drop you, and you’re only further proving him right every time you tighten your grip on him.

“‘m not gonna let you go up the stairs with that broken leg, doll. it’s just not gonna happen.”

you sigh, pointedly looking at the elevator you just passed.

“it’s broken.” bucky deadpans, although you could have sworn you’d just seen the nice couple a floor down from yours getting on, and the doors are missing the sheet of paper letting you know the elevator is out of service, but you don’t feel like arguing too much about it. bucky seems to be enjoying this, anyway.

“i don’t think so,” you say simply, “and even if it was, it’s just a broken leg. i’ve jumped off a bridge and into tony’s stupid hard metal suit’s arms with much worse. i’m not dying, i can walk up a couple flights of stairs.”

bucky’s lips set into a line as he fake contemplates your words, “hm, well, i don’t care and i’m pretty sure banner’s exact words were to keep you off that leg.”

“bucky, it was like three days ago, i’m also pretty sure i have to actually use the leg so i can walk on it again.”

“you will, just not on five flights of stairs.”

you laugh, eyeing the bolded number three above the elevator and smiling awkwardly at one of the tenants you’d seen a couple times as she passes beside you, eyebrows furrowed as she observes your boyfriend carrying you up as if you were a child. “y’know, you’re the one who wanted to get an apartment on the highest floor possible.”

“i told you, dove. best view for my best girl.”

you can’t help the coo that slips out of your throat, twisting a hand around bucky’s jaw and pulling his skin onto your lips, feeling the pull of his cheek as you press a kiss to it. his eyes remain forward, concentrating on getting up the stairs, but one of his hands squeezes your thigh, a promise he’ll return the kiss you just gave him. “still, it’s a lot for you to walk with me in your arms.”

“‘s my favorite thing to do. besides, steve can’t force me to go out on his morning runs now, i’ll tell him i exercised with weights.”

“smart. what’re you gonna do when i can walk again and you have no excuse?”

“i’ll find one,” bucky shrugs, and then pauses. you cock your head at him before you turn, realizing you’ve arrived at your apartment without your notice that you were even on the floor.

“gotta get the keys,” he tells you, gently setting your feet down on the floor and you stretch, watching as he unlocks the door and beginning to walk inside until he suddenly pulls you back, a frown etched on his face “hey.” he pulls you closer and into his arms in one swift movement with only a startled yelp from you, a hand on his chest and small smile on your lips. “what’cha doin’ there, doll?”

he doesn’t set you down again until he drops you into the cushion of the couch, softly falling on top of you to press a few kisses on your nose until he arrives at your lips. “maybe i should break bones more often,” you murmur.

“only things that can be fixed with band-aids at most, dove.”

[erodasfishtacos]

Acting Up (mini blurb)

thanks sm to Sarah who generously donated to my ko fi. she requested a blurb about mlbrry going to get ice cream as a family so here you go! with a little harry in DAD mode.

—

It was a hot night and the kids were a bit stir-crazy, so was eight-month pregnant YN in the house while Harry had been traveling to play.

“Mama, what’d y’want?” Harry murmurs, hand rubbing her bump as they wait with one hand as he has Ezra propped on his hip on the other side.

“Everything sounds so good,” She groans as she looks over the menu, pregnancy hunger was a real thing.

Her bump was bigger than any of her other pregnancy and she was quite miserable - though trying to make the best out of it.

“I’ll buy y’the whole menu,” Her husband replies as he reviews the menu board in front of them as well.

“Then I’ll be as big as house,” YN quips, hands running through Cash’s curly locks as he hugs her leg

“Just more f’me to love on,” He hums happily, moving to grope her bum a bit until she smacks his off with an eye roll.

He sees out of the corner of his eye his oldest taunting his middle child with goofy faces.

“Easton, enough,” Harry scolds as he sees Cash’s eyebrows furrow as he gets frustrated with his older brother.

Six and four - what an age.

The oldest stops at the firm tone of his father, huffing and giving his brother a dirty look before moving to stand next to his dad.

When they arrive at the order window, a teenage boy steps over to greet them, his mouth drops open as he sees who it is.

“Y-you’re Harry S-Styles,” The kid stutters, his face flushing red and his eyes wide as he stares at the celebrity.

Harry smiles kindly with a chuckle, “I am. Are you fan? Pleasure to meet you.”

“Daddy, why does he know your name?” Cash asked in confusion as he peeks around his father’s leg.

“‘cause he plays babeball, stupid,” Easton replies with an attitude towards his brother.

“Mama!” Cash shrieks offendly.

YN sighs, cupping Harry’s hand on her belly for moment, “Order me a banana split with peanut butter and extra strawberry. I’m going to go talk to East.”

YN pulls Easton to an empty table with enough room for the five of them and also to accommodate her belly.

“Why are you picking on your brother?” YN uses her mom mode voice as she watches her son pout out his lip.

“He stole my dolphin stuffie earlier!”

Of course.

“Is that the proper way to treat him though?” YN questions directly, tilting his chin up so she can make eye contact.

“No mama,” Easton mumbles, struggling to keep his mother’s gaze.

“Will you say sorry to him when he comes over?” YN encourages.

He agrees, lisps out an apology before Harry hands him a bowl of chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

After a few minutes, YN winces and stands from the table, a hand going to rest of her back.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Harry asks with concern laced in his tone. He was currently feeding Ezra little bits of strawberry that was dripping down his chin.

“Just my back is achey, I’m just going to stand and eat,” She grumbles, shifting her weight side-to-side as she takes small bites of her banana split.

“Stop it!” Easton whines when Cash sticks his finger into his older brothers bowl and submerges it in his ice cream.

“Cash,” Harry states, reaching for his middle son’s arm “Get y’hand out of your brother’s food, right now.”

Cash listens but snickers when he realizes he’s managed to annoy Easton.

When Harry looks back to his wife, he then hears Cash shouting, “No!”

The parents look back to see Easton with chocolate ice cream as his nice white shirt and Cash with a sticky hand of melted dessert.

“Cash!” YN scolds on frustration, they were really usually good with each other but today was not their day.

She sits down her food to rustled through the diaper bag for wipes. She cleans off Cash’s hands with a pointed stare as Harry reaches over to clean up Easton.

“You’re done,” Harry tells Cash firmly, picking up his son’s bowl that he hadn’t finished and dumping it in the garbage. “Y’don’t get ice cream if y’just goin’ to throw it.”

That sends the middle one into a meltdown and it makes it even worse when Easton taunts, “No more for you!”

It has Cash standing up and darting around the table but Easton sees him and gets up to bolt away from his grasps.

“Stop running right now,” Harry raises his voice, groaning when Ezra starts to whimper at the chaos and holds on to Harry tighter.

“Boys! Listen to your fa-“

Easton darts around his mother but Cash isn’t as agile yet and knocks right into the front of her calves causing her banana split to drop out of her hands and for her to stumble.

“Baby!” Harry panics, instantly moving forward to grab her arm and pulls her towards him so she tumbles into his chest instead of backwards.

“Oh my god,” YN whimpers, her breathing becoming quicker as her heart rate spikes from the scare, hands coming to her bump.

The boys are frozen still were they’re at. Eyes wide and tears welling at the fear their mother got hurt by them

“Mama, y’alright? Sweetheart, I know Y’got scared. Breathe for me,” Harry soothes more worried about his wife than scolding his kids.

“If I would have fallen,” YN is tearing up, anxiety spiking through her chest at the thought of the baby getting hurt.

Harry is breathing heavier than he’d like to admit too.

“Don’t cry, s’okay. The baby is perfect, y’keeing them so nice and safe, bein’ a perfect mama,” He assures her, kissing her temple and brushing away a tear.

Ezra is distressed too, of course the sensitive little boy is, chanting, “mommy, mommy, mommy.”

She clears her throat, smiling softly at her youngest boy, “M’okay, Ezzie. It’s all okay.”

“Mama, hold me,” Ezra begs, reaching out his arms to be switched to his mother but Harry holds him tight and shakes his head ‘no.’

“Not right now baby. Mommy doesn’t feel very good,” YN tells him, chest still pounding, back still aching.

And when their youngest starts sobbing, screaming that he wants his mother, well...YN starts feel overwhelmed by her two olders ones who are whimpering because they know they’re in trouble and Ezra tantruming.

“Sweetheart,” Harry can tell by the tears bubbling up along her waterline what’s going on, “Baby, y’okay. What do y’need?”

YN sucks in a deep breath, gathering her thoughts for a moment, “I just need a minute alone. You can have Easton and Ezra finish their ice cream. Then come after you’re done.”

“I can do that,” Harry replies sadly, he couldn’t stand seeing his wife upset or scared - it was one of the worst feelings for him.

When YN grabs the car keys and leaves towards the car, Ezra settles as soon as he’s being fed ice cream again. The boys hesitantly go back to their seats across from their dad.

Harry knows they’re young. They don’t understand what it would mean if they knocked their heavily pregnant mother over but it doesn’t mean aggravation isn’t running through him at the two. 

“Daddy...” Easton sniffles cautiously, kicking his feet under the table as his chest shutters.

“Yes?” Harry answers calmly, looking up from Ezra to meet his son’s gaze - the same green eyes staring back at him.

“Do you and mommy hate us?” His oldest asks as he wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“No, mama and I love you two with all our hearts. But daddy is very upset with you two right now, do you understand why?” 

They both nod in agreement that they do.

“Why are we upset?” Harry prompts as he takes a wet wipe to rubs over Ezra’s strawberry stained face.

“Cause we made mommy almost fall,” Cash lisps shamefully.

Harry nods, “And we tell you very often that we have to be careful with mama because she’s got a baby in her belly and we have t’keep the baby safe.”

“Are we in trouble?” Easton voice is still quiver with his guilt.

“I’ll have t’talk to y’mom but if it happens again, y’both are goin’ to be in a lot of trouble and y’gonna get a consequence. Do you understand that too?” 

They nod in unison. Easton hadn’t touched his ice cream again, gets up to throw it away as he loiters - looking towards the car where his mother is sitting away from them.

Cash gets up to but slowly walks around the table to his father. 

“M’sorry daddy,” He squeaks tearfully, moving forward and digging his face into Harry’s bicep.

“Cash,” Harry soothes, grasps his son lightly under the chin, “I love you very much, okay? We just can’t do things like that. Y’need to listen to daddy and mama.”

He nods in understanding before crawling up into his father’s lap, right next to Ezra - who gives him an affronted glare when he realizes he has to share space with him.

When they’re done and Harry has let enough time past, he walks the little group of boys toward their SUV.

He opens the passenger side door where YN is reclined a bit, hand on her stomach and the air-conditioner blasting cold air on her face.

“The boys have somethin’ t’say,” Harry smiles softly, leaning over to give his wife a quick kiss.

“M’sorry mama,” Cash whispers.

“Me too, mommy,” Easton adds on.

“I forgive you both. You just have to be careful with me. You’re sibling is in here and we have to keep them nice and healthy, right? I love you two more than anything.”

-

[isimpfortoomanypeople]

So this is it? Sebastian Stan x actress reader

Chapter 9- don’t delete the kisses

You’ve got a part in the new captain America film, during filming the directors have asked the lead actors to live together to build chemistry. What you didn’t expect was to find yourself in a relationship with Sebastian Stan, you thought everything was going well till one date night Sebastian breaks up with you.

Warnings: alcohol

A/N: welcome to the final chapter of the fic, thanks for all the love and support I can describe how grateful I am. I’m sad that this story has come to an end, I’ll definitely write one or two one shots following this, mostly because I’ve become too attached to my own character Jamie 😂 Apologises for all spelling and grammatical mistakes as I’m super dyslexic, enjoy

And now I’m home, a little bit drunk and I ask myself, what if it’s not made for me? Love

“You know that you don’t have to do this right?” Jamie sighed looking at you while you laced up your shoes. He was at a loss with this whole Sebastian situation, you were his best friend and deserved the world but part of him worries that Sebastian would open old wounds and infected him with his little lies he loves to tell. Jamie felt selfish at times as there’s been moments that he wishes he could scream at you, that you were wrong for wanting him back and you needed to move on, but he couldn’t kick you down further, it just wasn’t right so he bit his tongue hoping that Sebastian proves you all wrong.

You felt your shoulder cave into you, you couldn’t look Jamie in the eyes as you knew exactly what you’d see. Jamie looking at you with pity like you’re a fool for giving Sebastian a second chance, the weight in your stomach has been churning all day in anxiety over tonight. You didn’t need someone else to exaggerate the self doubt you were already feeling.

“I know, but I do love him Jamie. Am I stupid for loving the man who broke my heart and continued to further twist the dagger in my heart months after the breakup? Yes I am I know I am! But this is why I’m doing it, I want to see if we can rekindle this romance or if it’s dead forever and I can finally move on” you quietly spoke, your voice cracking with the tears threatening to spill out.

“Honey he was a dick to you, I know you love him but you can love him and move on with your life” Jamie exasperated, he tried swallowing down his frustration towards this situation, but the bitter taste made it creep back up his throat.

“Don’t you think I know this? Jamie why are you making this hard for me? You’re supposed to be my best friend now you’re lecturing me like I’m a fucking child!” You gritted your teeth, your nostrils flared trying your hardest to keep your anger at bay.

“Because you’re acting like one Y/N, are you forgetting who has to constantly pick up the pieces after he breaks your heart time after time again? Because I’ll tell you right now Y/N it feels like a kick in the teeth you going out with him again tonight, I won’t be there to pick up the pieces” the frustration rumbled out of Jamie’s voice, his jaw clenched with so much tension he’s surprised that it didn’t break.

You froze in shock, a cold sense of disbelief washed over you, your mouth agape upon the impact of his words.

Jamie sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, he took a few steady breaths to regulate his emotions. He looked over at you and felt a dagger of guilt plunge into his stomach, seeing your eyes prick with tears only twisted the knife in further. He didn’t mean to hurt you and if he could take back those words he would, but he couldn’t and that’s what hurt him the most

“Y/N-“ “Fuck you Jamie” you spat looking him dead in the eyes with a cold expression.

Before he could say another word you walked towards the door, only when you knew he was out of sight did you felt the hot tears pour down your face.

——————————————————————————

By the time seb arrived the red splotches on your eyes vanished only leaving your eyes a little puffy, you prayed that Sebastian didn’t comment on that as it’s the last thing you needed right now.

“You look beautiful” Sebastian spoke his eyes trailing up and down your body, taking in every part of you, admiring everything. Taking mental photos incase this was the last date he was to have with you.

“Thanks” you softly smiled closing the car door behind you, “you don’t look too bad yourself”. He lightly chuckled reminiscing in the days where this was his daily, how he’d kiss you tenderly, how he’d wake up with you softly snoring on his chest, how soft your skin is or how your smile could lighten his day. But he was an idiot and pushed you to the wayside. You felt him lean into you but he stopped himself midway, “sorry” he muttered sheepishly and drove away.

The car ride to the bar was spent in silence that was thick with uncertainty, each party wanting to pull the other one into their embrace, but mentally stopping themselves having to remind them of why this date was in place in the first place. You were going to see if this relationship was worth saving without anything influencing your decision.

The bar was full of couples taking photos of themselves with cocktails that looked like it was worth the same price as your rent. You stiffen your posture upon arrival, the bar was so different from any bar you spent with Jamie on a Friday night. The bars you were use to felt comfortable full of locals raising a toast towards the end of a working week. But this bar felt uncomfortable like the only way you needed to get in was to be a poser.

Sebastian tried his hardest to win you back by taking you to the most expensive and exclusive bar in LA, but this was not your scene at all. You felt out of place.

“Two glasses of Malbec” Sebastian called at the waiter who took your coats.

Sebastian smiled at you with a mixture of love and devotion that you could of sworn that you melted on the the spot under his charming smile.

“ hi I’m Sebastian Stan and who may this beautiful woman be?” He lifted an open palm out towards you for you to shake, he definitely stayed true to your words wanting tonight to be a clean slate for you both. “Y/N/L/N” you smiled shaking his hand back. “What a beautiful name” he returned the same smile your face held. “Well I’ve just moved here I’m an actor, I’m staring in the new captain america movie” He lightly chuckled “What a small world as so am I”

The waiter returned with both of your wines, you both took a large mouth full of the scarlet liquid in front of you hoping that it gave you courage to speak the words unspoken.

“Seb I’m going to be honest, this place isn’t us it’s never been us. I don’t care about your money nor your fame, I miss us and how we used to have movie nights over a bottle of wine or how we could just spend hours not speaking just melting into each other’s embrace. Seb that’s us, not some lavish bar to show your emotions to me, it almost feels like you forgot how we use to be. I wanted this night to see if we have something worth saving, but how can I save something that feels so unnatural?” You sighed taking a swig of your wine, so far tonight has been a disaster and you feared that it would further cemented the thought that plague d your brain that maybe this was a bad idea.

“I’m sorry”

Your face illuminated in shock, not expecting him to admit defeat to this so called “perfect” night.

“I tried to do this stupid shit that you are told to believe what a perfect date is, and I wanted to do what I could to win you back. That I forgot what we use to do, I’m so stupid” he sighed massaging the stress out of his temples. Fuck ,he thought, he had truly lost you for good.

“We could finish our drinks and maybe go on a walk? You know do something that is more like us?” You suggested after seeing the pained expression on his face, but a small part of you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt as you’re still deeply and madly in love with him.

“I’d like that”

——————————————————————————-

You both spent the rest of the night walking around the sights of LA, Sebastian never taking his eyes off you the entire time.

“Seb you’re not looking at the sunset, it’s so beautiful” “It’s not my fault I have such a beautiful view in front of me” “You’re such a sap”

You both filled the hour laughing and catching each other up on your days since you last spoke. Your cheeks aching from smiling too much, you felt your body gravitate towards him but you had to stop yourself reminding yourself what tonight was for. Your body shaking as the realisation hit you, fuck you wanted him too. This felt comfortable, this felt familiar, this felt right, while a small part of you screamed out loud how dare you feel this way, what is wrong with you?

“Are you okay? You’re shaking” “Oh” you spoke with embarrassment “I’m just cold” “Here take this” he placed his jacket over your shoulders, you felt your body relax under the warm fabric and under the smell of his cologne.

You laughed “forever the gentleman” “Only for you Y/N, only for you”

——————————————————————————-

“Thanks for tonight” you smiled, slipping off his jacket from your shoulders, you stared deeply into his blue eyes, the blue salvation was still there wanting to sweep you back.

“I had an amazing time Y/N, I was such an asshole for the way I treated you and I don’t deserve to have this date tonight, but I love you Y/N and I’ll respect your decision if you choose not to continue this” Sebastian spoke his voice cracking with nerves as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, his body stiffen in anticipation awaiting your response.

“Seb I’ll be honest I didn’t know if tonight was the best idea, I thought I was a fucking idiot for saying yes to you at Mackie’s birthday. But after tonight I’ve reflected and compared the pros and cons, there could be a chance that you could do something this shitty again and I don’t know if I could cope if history repeated it’s self. I realised something tonight I do want you, I’m madly in love with you Seb even when my heart was breaking into pieces I still loved you. I want us to work and I will be prepared to work through what had happened but I’m still going to remain true to my word and that is to take it slow.”

Sebastian’s eyes teared up, he felt his chest heat up and his heart rapidly increased in speed. He couldn’t believe what he has just heard. Your own eyes started to well up and for the first time in a while you had happy tears forming. You wanted to lean over and kiss him but it was too soon.

“Thank you” he let out a light laughter heavy with disbelief that you was his again. “But if you do hurt me again I have no problem in sending Jamie after you” you joked, but there was definitely some truth behind that slight threat.

——————————————————————————-

The television hummed quietly in the background as you open the door, the apartment was dark making you believe that Jamie was asleep. Your heart grew heavy, you chewed your lip as the events of early this evening washed over you.

“Jesus Christ” you screamed out loud as you felt a pair of arms wrap around you pulling you close to them.

“I’m sorry” Jamie softly spoke, the guilt also weighed equally as heavy on his behalf, you are his best friend and it pains him to have hurt you.

“I’m sorry too, I know that you only want the best for me and I appreciate you being a great friend” you replied wrapping your arms around him.

“No don’t be honey, I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that, you’re an adult and if you believe Sebastian is the best for you, then I’ll support you completely. Now how did the date go?”

——————————————————————————-

“Enjoy the movie” the director called out to the audience, a loud roar of applause followed, the theatre was full. Fans, family, friends all came together to support the film’s release. The atmosphere was electric unlike anything you have ever experienced. You’re still in disbelief as you sat down in your seats, two years ago you were waiting tables awaiting your big break, now here you are at your first film premiere for marvel. You were still in shock and reality still hasn’t hit you.

You spent the day with jamie both toasting with a glass of wine before the red carpet for both of your nerves. He held your hand in the car rubbing soft circles on the back of your hand to calm you down before the door opened revealing the red carpet in front of you.

“Hey, are you okay?” Sebastian asked as the lights started to dim. “It still hasn’t hit me yet, this doesn’t feel real” you whispered back “It’s real, you deserve it” You smiled and leant your head on his shoulder reaching out to take his hand. That action made his heart grew, you couldn’t see as the lights were dark but the grin he held was nearly as bright as the screen in front of him. He definitely isn’t going to let go of your hand anytime soon.

——————————————————————————-

“Seb I’m stealing your girl” Jamie stated as he linked his arm through yours whisking you away out of the Theatre. Anthony and Sebastian followed suit walking towards the after party.

Sebastian stared at you in awe, looking at you like you were the most perfect beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on.

“How is it going?” Anthony asked, chuckling at how loved up his best friend his. Like his whole brain turns to mush and his jaw falls to the ground whenever you’re around. “It’s going good, I’m still in disbelief that she’s mine. I’m never going to let her go again”

Looking behind your shoulder you smiled at Sebastian giving him a wink, which made his whole posture crumble under your power.

Tonight is just the beginning.

And now I’m home, a little bit drunk. Somethings don’t change, and I know now you and me were meant to be in love.

A/N: 😭 it’s over, thanks again for all the support. If you liked this story be sure to check out my other story Victory Girls which is reader and Bucky Barnes in 1940s. Also stay tuned for one shots from this story and I’ve gotten some more story from different fandoms such as stranger things on the way

Tag list: @sebsgirl71479

[wri0thesley]

I'd love to request more Naoya smut with him and a now pregnant!reader from that breeding fic because him busting a nut thinking about how good they'll look knocked up really made me feel some type of way!!! maybe reader-chan will even finally get a smooch from this HORRIBLE man. If you are not into doing continuations on requests no worries tho and thank you for your incredible writing as always, Nat!

reader can have a little smooch. as a treat. don’t let naoya hear you say he’s not a good husband <3

Expecting - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.3k)

Both of you got what you wanted. Naoya got more than he bargained for. sequel to covet.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni! afab reader, fem pronouns. pregnancy sex, light lactation, misogyny, power imbalance, breeding kink, mentions of alcohol, naoya perhaps having some Feelings???.

[comments/reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

Naoya catches you every so often for the next month and you easily roll onto your back for him, helpless under the brush of his fingers and the snap of his hips. He smirks at you when he passes you in the corridor, but you have nothing to show for all of the times you’ve warmed his bed – yet.

When you do, though – when a month and a half passes, and you are beginning to feel sick in a morning, and your monthly bleed has still not made itself known – you go to Naoya with deference in your eye. Once a servant, always a servant – and you are not stupid. You know that what you carry inside you is a bargaining chip.

Naoya wants someone who will submit, and you want an end to the life of drudgery and roughened hands and back-breaking work, of being ignored or reviled or mocked for having the misfortune to not be born with Zenin as a surname. Naoya takes you to a private, discreet physician with an iron grip on your arm and his light eyes sharp.

It’s amazing, how quickly a man like Naoya Zenin can set things in motion – when it’s not simply confirmed that you’re carrying his child, but that you’re carrying his son. His heir.

It’s so easy for him.

Suddenly you are no longer a maid, but Naoya’s betrothed – and though the other members of the household look at you in disgust, knowing that you spread your legs for the title, none of them dare risk Naoya’s ire by being outright rude to you. He and his family spin it like silk; not that Naoya took advantage of a servant, but that you have been part of some grand, beautiful Cinderella story – that Naoya is in love with you.

(It’s probably for the better that the Zenins prefer servants who can see cursed spirits, at the very least – if you had not had any kind of talent for jujutsu, who knows what would have happened to you? Naoya would not have risked his son being born utterly ordinary).

And then you are Naoya’s wife. It wouldn’t do, of course, for the future head of the family to have his heir and son born out of wedlock, even if society have progressed enough that you falling pregnant with said son was before the betrothal. The latter is a disgrace; the former is a laugh over a cup of sake in the dark, a toast to Naoya’s virility, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge at how lucky Naoya is to have found someone who gives themselves up so utterly and completely and easily, including their virtue--

You know that Naoya is not in love with you. You are fairly certain that the only thing Naoya loves is his name, and the power imbued therein. Still. You share a bed with him, and you’re given silken kimonos and pretty hair ornaments and anything that you ask for, and you are . . .

Respected is not quite the right word. Not for a woman who is Naoya’s. Certainly, he does not respect you.

But you are not reviled, not ignored, not beholden to the demands of your betters. Now, you are one of the betters, and if your fellow servants are frustrated that they have to bow to you in deference, they do not dare show it knowing that if you asked Naoya, he would have them punished for the transgression.

You had perhaps thought that once you were bearing his child, Naoya would lose interest in you. You know as well as anyone that nobody would bat an eyelid at Naoya seeking his pleasure somewhere else; it’s almost expected of him to have a mistress, a concubine, to go and sow his wild oats just in case the one he has placed inside of you does not yield the crop expected--

But he doesn’t.

Naoya hates you out of his sight. He is always touching you; hands sliding over your hips, cupping where your bump has become soft and round and pronounced, snapping servants to attention if he thinks you look tired or wan or pale. You accompany him almost everywhere. He looks up from speaking to his father to seek you out, as if to reassure himself that you are still there – and some tension in his shoulders seems to drain away.

He is still Naoya, of course.

You are still swiftly reprimanded by him if you speak out of turn, he still gets servants to do anything for you so he doesn’t have to do it himself, you still walk three steps behind him with your head bowed unless he bids you to do something else – but as time goes on, and your hips widen and your stomach grows and you feel the baby kick, something in him softens.

And something else hardens.

His desire on your flesh, on your form, does not wane. You grow used to the feeling of tangled silken bedsheets below you, of Naoya’s handsome face above you, of the groan and the whine as he spills himself inside of you for the third time that night. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

That initial thrill, of being wanted by someone like Naoya, doesn’t fade at all, even though you too are now bowed to in the corridors and the people below you have to jump at your command. And Naoya is not cruel for no reason. Despite the arrogance in his tone, the condescension that drips off of his slow, drawling words, the particular way he has of raising one eyebrow and letting his gaze crawl over you – you have come to enjoy being his.

You did not want equality, after all. You knew your place.

You just wanted better – and Naoya has provided you that in spades.

He’s got his arms spread out over the pillows, his shoulders strong, his eyes hungry as he watches you strip off the kimono you have been wearing today. Your wardrobe now is the height of luxury; all beautiful embroidery, delicate colours, fabrics that cost more than your former monthly salary. Kimono are not made to cling to your body; though people can tell that you are pregnant, it does not over-emphasise your hips or the newly swollen, heavy breast, or the curve of your stomach. Those are things that Naoya never tires of seeing, as the fabric pools around your ankles and the hadajuban is discarded and so are your underwear, and you stand before him utterly bare and unmistakably carrying his child.

“Stay there,” he says, “let me look at you.”

You are a good, well-trained, obedient thing. You stand there as Naoya’s gaze roves over you, straying over and over again to where your hips have filled out even more, where your stomach is curved – where your breasts have begun to droop a little from how heavy and swollen with milk they are. He sighs as he looks you over, and it is the sigh of a man who is indeed very pleased with his work.

“You can move,” he says. He moves the covers off of him, and you are not surprised to see that he is bare; that his cock is already stirring, heavy and thick between his thighs. “Come.” He crooks a finger at you, and you are grateful to be able to move, to take the weight off your ankles as you’re permitted to sit on the bed beside him. His arms wrap around you – they are strong, and certain, and he holds you like you are his property.

Which you suppose you are. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder and he makes a soft huff of amusement, but doesn’t say anything about how brazen you are. You are permitted some special favours, now that you are Naoya’s, and now that you are fulfilling your purpose so beautifully.

Naoya’s lips brush your ear, his tongue lapping at the curve of your neck, the joint between throat and shoulder. You sigh prettily, the warmth of his mouth on you making you shiver. One of his hands curls around your breast, enjoying the heavy weight of you in his hand. Thumb and forefinger gently pinch your nipple.

He was rough with you the first time, but now he treats you like porcelain – and the idea that you are precious to Naoya Zenin sets your stomach aflame, makes your breath stick in your throat. He tugs at it softly, coaxing you to sigh, a drop of liquid leaking from the sensitive nub as you squirm backwards into his lap. His tone is lightly warning as he says;

“Come on, be good. It’s a good sign, sweetheart.”

He calls you sweetheart in front of other people and the ones who have bought this rags-to-riches Cinderella story exchange looks that say ‘isn’t she lucky?’. You hear the light edge in it, the smirk, the loftiness – but it always seems to break into something that’s almost fond, when he’s inside you and touching you and his teeth bite into your neck.

“Just that your body is doing what it’s supposed to do,” your other nipple is subjected to the same treatment, and you feel Naoya’s breath hitch, his cock stir behind you and dig into the small of your back. “I think the moment he’s in his nursery I’m going to fuck another son into you, dearest.”

“Mm?” You say, a little breathless as his hand goes lower. He sweeps his palm over the curve of your stomach, pausing where the skin is tight and swollen. His cock twitches once more at the reminder of how utterly his you are, and how wonderfully you are doing your purpose. How lucky he is, to have found someone submissive and well-trained and obedient and sweet, who looks so luscious full of him.

You drive him to distraction even when you don’t realise he’s looking at you.

“Thighs apart,” he grunts, into your ear, and you comply with the docile nature of someone raised to serve. He loves that about you. Loves, too, when he dips his fingers between your legs and your slick coats his digits, a soft whine catching in the back of your throat as he circles your clit and little shocks spark all through you, making you almost clamp your thighs back around his hand.

You do not, though. You are well-behaved. And you and Naoya have played this game enough times that you know that this is leading to relief for both of you.

One of his long fingers slides inside of you and you widen your thighs more, your soft whimper breaking and pitching – it’s such a servile, sweet little noise that Naoya cannot help but crook his finger, let it rub against the textured spot on your inner walls that has you clenching and gasping.

Since your pregnancy, you have become so sensitive. Naoya is the kind of man who hates working to pleasure a woman – who considers your orgasm a choice, and his a foregone conclusion. But with you swollen and full with his seed, he is slow and indulgent – and it is so easy, now that a brush of his palm makes you shiver and a tug of his teeth on your earlobe makes you gasp.

The finger is pulled out of you, and Naoya raises it to your lips, hooking his finger inside so you open your mouth and let him press your own slick onto your tongue.

Your tongue gently suckling at his finger reminds him of the insistent pounding of need inside of him; the stiff cock, leaking pre-come. He’d gotten so distracted touching you and enjoying you he’d almost forgotten about his own pleasure, and he sighs as he props himself up on pillows and reaches for you.

“Get comfortable,” he tells you.

His preference is to have you beneath him; that, he thinks, is his wife’s proper place. But it has begun to be difficult, with your stomach so distended – and he is nothing, he thinks to himself with more than a touch of smugness, if not an indulgent provider. A good husband.

(That’s what he thinks, anyway. You are not hurt. You get pretty things, and him in your bed, and the estate’s servants at your beck and call, an expensive wedding ring on your finger and the honour of his name affixed to yours, and his seed taking root inside of you. What else could you ask of him?)

So you are permitted to spread your knees, to climb on top of him – to gently sink your tight, wet, heat about his cock and seat yourself comfortably on the muscle of his thighs and the flat planes of his stomach.

“If you had my view,” he says, teasingly. “Mm, you were really made as breeding stock, weren’t you?” The words make heat rush to your face as he cups your hips in his hand again, squeezing the new covering of plush flesh that you’ve acquired since your pregnancy. “My wife.”

The words send a quiet thrill through you. You sigh as he bottoms out, as your body meets his entirely; your hands splaying on his shoulders. He is not flat against the bed – that position is too weak, not fitting for a man of his stature. But he is propped up with pillows behind him, so that he can admire how you look as your teeth bite into your plump bottom lip and you lift yourself just a little off his straining cock, before letting yourself fall back down.

He lets you set the pace. If you are to be permitted to ride him, he thinks, you may as well be the one doing all of the work. Part of him, too, is afraid of touching you too much – of hurting you, when you have something so precious inside of you. He would not admit that to himself – that’s not a thought process befitting of someone of his stature. But . . . it nibbles at the corners of his consciousness.

He cares about you. He does not want to hurt you. He does not want you to be uncomfortable – not when you are doing such a good job, when you are so lovely for him, when he is so grateful to have found you--

It’s no more than I deserve, he reminds himself.

And to brush back thoughts that are not proper for his elevation station in life, he lets himself watch the bounce of your breasts. Lets his fingers dig into the even softer, rounder thighs. Enjoys the sight of your mound bouncing on his cock, the feel of your slick walls clinging to his cock.

You are so beautiful, swollen with his child.

It is the first time he has ever looked at a woman and saw power in them. There is, he thinks, a power in what you have – in the glow about your skin, the brightness of your eyes, the curves and roundness and soft, supple flesh. The thought almost frightens him – but then, you push up again and your eyes meet his own for just a moment and he remembers that you are swollen with his child and have the power of him inside of you, and it becomes comforting.

Without him, you’d be nothing.

So he watches you with hungry eyes as you move your hips on his cock; as his length sinks inside of you, as you angle yourself just so – so that every stroke of your hips makes his cock rub against the place inside you that earlier had you seeing stars. Your breath is getting faster and faster, your fingers on his shoulders flexing as the tight string of your release is wound inexorably closer and closer.

Naoya allows himself a groan; a light thrust of his hips, in time with your own. The chase of your warm, tight walls as you try and pull away. He lets his gaze wander to how his cock is coated in your slick, all wet and shining in the light of the bedroom – and he is once more reassured. This is his. You are his. This wetness, this need – this is all for him. The way your body has changed is because of him.

His own release is creeping up on him.

Today, though, he decides he will be merciful – he reaches forward , curving his fingers just so, so that he can toy with your clit as you continue to fuck him. He rolls the bud with the pad of his fingers (soft; he wields just one weapon, and most people do not get to see it. Most of his harder work is done with his technique, and you have seen him apply expensive hand cream to keep himself handsome), knowing your body as well as he knows his own.

He prides himself on that, and you have spent enough nights in his bed that it is second nature to him. Women are predictable, he thinks, smirk on his face as your channel clenches around his hard cock and you come, whimpering out his name--

(In bed, he prefers Naoya-sama, and you are a good wife. Your tone is servile, soft, obedient – and in return, Naoya is almost sweet to you.)

He thrusts his hips roughly up into you, chasing his own release as your body spasms and trembles about him. You are still so tight; so hot and taut where the aftershocks are making you tremble. It’s the sight of your body, quivering under your release, that does it in the end.

Your hips and stomach and breasts and thighs, all rounded with the miracle of bearing life. All softened and plump; meek and pliant, a perfect little wife. His perfect little wife.

As he feels the tension inside of him snap, one of his hands winds about the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Naoya’s grunt of pleasure is lost in the kiss, his mouth against yours hard and hungry. He is not willing to give up his dominance even here – but . . .

He has not kissed you so intimately before.

He has always avoided your mouth, preferring his lips on your chest or neck – turning your face away if it had seemed you might go for his mouth (later on, he had not bothered – he knows you well enough now to know that you would not dare.)

He tastes like wine. Like fancy, expensive sweets; the kind that you could have never afforded before you were his, but he has had at his disposal for his whole life. Like a cross between freedom and a prison--

He groans as he fills you up; his cock twitching, shooting out thick ropes of his come to land thick and heavy in your insides. Your whimper at the sensation is lost in his mouth, but Naoya fails to miss it – the fingers around the nape of your neck stroke through your hair, almost comforting, as he pulls back from you.

His lips are shiny, full and pretty. The grin that he gives you is crooked – and though you know it should not, though you know you should hate him for being arrogant and cruel and considering you lesser than him, the grin sends a rush of affection all through you.

If you were sentimental, you would say that the affection is mirrored in his own pale eyes.

(Naoya is glad you are not; you cannot see, beneath the triumph that you are claimed and carrying his heir and the hunger for your body and the pleasure that you are exactly the kind of wife that he wanted, that perhaps he does care about you.)

“My little wife,” he says, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek, hot with the rush of blood. “You’re so good for me.”

And you’ll carry on being so.

You’re so lovely when you’re expecting.

[kazuharem]

"Hiraeth" ↠ Childe [ANGST]

"Can you be homesick for something that is not a home?"

Characters: Childe x GN!Reader (You)

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 3,592 I’m sorry, I got carried away

Warnings: Archon quest spoilers, Childe's story quest spoilers

A/N: This is my first ever Genshin fic, so please look after it kindly! Inspired by Childe's pinkie rings and brought to you by my panic over having to fight him 🤡 AKA help I love this man so much

Special thanks to @seerie and @tartagilicious for carrying my butt; this is all for you, please enjoy~ ♡

Part II: Quatervois

HIRAETH: (n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return to; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

But everything is shattering and it's my mistake

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

“If you were Fatui, I imagine that you would be entitled to a generous reward from the Tsaritsa herself.”

You freeze at the voice, dread settling in your stomach like dead weight. No, it can’t be.

But the figure approaching you slowly is unmistakable.

No, please.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” You stutter, panic making your lips unable to form proper words.

Childe smiles, but you notice it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s a deadened look in his azure pupils. “Oh come on now, what do you think I’m doing here?” He gestures grandly at the Exuvia, and you shake your head wildly, scrambling backward to move in front of Rex Lapis’ body.

No.

Memories of everything the two of you shared comes rushing at you like a whirlwind and hurt floods your system. Your mind goes blank save for the panicked chants of no, no, no.

Our lives don't collide, I'm aware of this

“You-you were playing me to get close to the Exuvia,” you spit the words out at him. You feel like an utter idiot, completely betrayed and blindsided. How stupid. You knew he was Fatui. You knew he was one of the eleventh Harbingers.

He smirks, the expression now maddening to you instead of endearing. “Don’t act so surprised. You’ve seen this world, you of all people should know that this should have been expected.”

He was right. You had been the one who had let him in, had let him get close. And now you were going to pay for it.

You draw your sword as he approaches slowly, the tip of the weapon sickeningly close to his throat. Archons, please let this be a nightmare. You desperately hope that this was all a prank, someone popping out of the corner to say “Gotcha!” But he is close enough that you can feel the heat emanating from his body and you know it is no joke indeed.

“I won’t allow you to get near the Exuvia,” you say bravely.

Childe grins and there is a tangible excitement in the air. “Oh? So you do intend to fight me?” His glee is disturbing, making you instinctively step back.

Was this really the same man who had whispered sweet promises about his wintry homeland? Was the man before you the same as the one who had pretended to be a toy-seller to protect the innocence of a childhood dream?

“We’ve now come to my favorite part. A simple pleasure, and one that I am oh-so-delighted to be sharing with you,” Childe continues, and suddenly the bow that was slung over his shoulder appears in his hands. “The battle.”

Your gaze wavers ever so slightly as you consider your opponent.

You of all people knew how much Childe loves to fight, the thrill of the battle is what drives him. He chases after it like a drug. But on the other hand, you knew the consequences of what would happen if Childe got his hands on Rex Lapis’ Gnosis. You’ve seen it happen firsthand to Venti, after all.

“I won’t kill you,” Childe proclaims, “I’ll just play along, to feel the thrill of the battle. Besides,” he smirks again, and it makes your skin crawl. “You can never defeat me anyway!”

You grit your teeth as you glare at him, “I can never defeat you?” You can’t help but feel the dangerous edge of white-hot anger run through you, like a hot knife through butter. “You’re completely delusional!”

The laugh that comes out of his chest tells you he is pleased with your answer, “Fighting talk, I love it! Now, let’s see if you live up to it!”

You barely had time to react before arrows start flying in your direction, pure muscle memory is what keeps you out of harm’s way. Your body goes on autopilot, instincts taking over as you do all you could to defend yourself against the onslaught of his attacks. But you refuse to go on the offensive, something Childe quickly notices, and he presses you. The attacks get more ferocious, but you do your best to parry them.

A blade, forged out of water, appears out of nowhere and knocks your sword out of your hands. When you move to follow after it, Childe is standing in front of the Exuvia. ”Not bad, your swordsmanship is quite impressive. But that’s as far as you’ll get.” He sounds triumphant. “I’ll be taking Morax’s Gnosis now!”

“NO-”

There is a blinding light and then nothing. You raise your head to look at Childe, who is staring at his hand. The gloved palm remains empty.

A shocked gasp leaves your mouth as Paimon and you exchange confused looks.

“Well…” Childe begins. The look in his eyes is foreign to you, a brief flash of confusion burns away to reveal fury. You instinctively lick your dry lips, feet unconsciously moving backwards. The Childe who stands before you is not the same Childe you’ve known.

“I see, this is most unexpected,” his voice is much too calm, and you shiver involuntarily. He turns to you. You notice that he clearly looks different now. A purple aura glows around his entire body as he stalks towards you. You’re not sure if it was your imagination, but he looks bigger, more threatening. “You beat me to it, didn’t you?”

Mute, you shake your head, but Childe doesn’t seem to notice. He turns slowly, his manner imposing.

“Where is it? Where is the Gnosis?” His voice is akin to that of a growl, and you gulp.

“I don’t know, I don’t have it!” Your words emerge as a frightened yelp when he jumps down from Rex Lapis’ corpse, causing you to stagger from the sheer force. Lightning crackles all around you and you’re forced to scramble.

“This is going to cost you!” A brilliant streak of violet electricity and suddenly, the ground disappears under your feet. You freefall, wind whistling in your ears, and you make an effort to protect your head from the fast-approaching surface.

Pain blossoms in your body and you can’t help the whimper that comes out before everything goes dark.

Your sword clatters next to you. Childe lands on the ground, his boots creating craters. Everything is far too quiet. He makes his way over to you, brow creasing as he assesses your surroundings. You do not move.

“Hey-” he calls your name, but you give no response. Paimon gives him a dirty look as she keeps trying to revive you, shaking your lifeless form frantically. Worry overrides the anger and panic sets in.

Get up, Childe pleads silently, watching your limp body. GET. UP. Panic rises in his chest when Paimon tugs desperately at your arm.

The tiniest groan of pain, so small, that he nearly misses it, and you begin to move feebly. Relief engulfs him like a tidal wave coursing over his entire body and Childe staggers, trying to keep his Foul Legacy under control. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he watches you lean heavily against your sword, using the weapon as a means to prop yourself up.

The differences and impulses and your obsession with The little things you like stick, and I like aerosol

He shouldn’t be worrying about whether or not you get up. He shouldn’t care. He was a Harbinger after all. The Harbingers prided themselves for being the Tsaritsa’s weapons of war, without being susceptible to useless things such as emotions.

And yet, Childe feels his insides twist unpleasantly as you force yourself into a fighting stance, breathing labored and sword arm trembling.

“I’m not going to let you get away with this,” you say, but your voice has no force, no life. Childe sees the exhaustion settling in and guilt gnaws at him.

But failure is not an option for him. It’s better to end this now.

He grips his staff as he sneers, “You never had any chance of beating me to the Gnosis. In fact, you had no connection to the Gnosis, no matter where it had been taken.” It’s easier for him to be the bad guy if it means he didn’t have to see your tears. It’s better if you were angry, instead of being hurt by the likes of him.

“Unfortunately, it’s time that our battle ends. My quest still beckons.” Despite every fiber in his being protesting, Childe raises his staff. Currents of electricity sizzle in the air.

Just before you throw your arm up to block the blow, you see him hesitate. The hesitation lasts only a split second, but it is enough. You knew. For someone who loves the thrill of the fight as much as Childe did, he never hesitates in battle. Hesitating means the difference between life and death. Hesitating means you lose. As the purple beam of lightning hurls towards you, a small smile appears on your face.

The bolt lands mere inches from you, making your eyes squeeze shut from the stifling air, but the smile remains on your face.

He missed.

When you open your eyes again, Childe is nowhere to be seen.

━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━

The days following the battle with Childe and Osial have you attempting to help others. It wasn’t until Zhongli had suggested that you rest and Paimon threatening to tie you to your bed, that you relented.

And on one sunny afternoon, you watch the bustling streets of Liyue from the window, confined to your bed, lest Paimon unleashes her wrath.

A quiet knock breaks you out of your thoughts and you murmur a soft “Come in,” expecting to see Zhongli for tea or Baizhu with your daily medicine. The battles had taken quite a toll on you.

You were not expecting, however, the ever-familiar figure in gray with a somber expression.

“Have you come back to finish killing me?” The words that you utter are flat.

Childe winces slightly at your frigid tone and starts slowly towards you.

“Stop.” You throw out a hand and Childe obeys, watching you cautiously. “Before you say anything, tell me this.”

He cocks his head as he waits. And suddenly, you feel the urge to cry, but you shove the feeling down.

“Tell me,” you say, voice hoarse from unuse or unshed tears, Childe does not know. “Who are you? Who is the person who stands before me?” You were trying to put up a front, but he can see the cracks beginning to form. Your voice wavers. “Are you Childe, the pride of the Tsaritsa, the person who went on all these adventures with me, my cheerful comrade in arms? Or are you Tartaglia, the eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers, bloodthirsty and power-hungry, the one who tried to kill me the other day?” There is a hitch in your throat as you continue, “Or…are you…Ajax,” your voice is trembling, the name pushed through your lips as if difficult to say, “Defender of Childhood Dreams, the person willing to give up his reputation to save the hero-like image Teucer has, warm-hearted and kind, the one named after the hero. Ajax, the one who made those promises to me?” You press your lips together as you look away, gaze landing on the window, where it stays.

Childe is silent, for he does not know the answer to your questions either.

And my hopes, they are high, I must keep them small Though I try to resist I still want it all

Minutes pass and the silence is overwhelmingly stifling.

“Does it matter which version of me is before you?” He finally breaks the silence. You squeeze your eyes shut at that, not wanting to see, to hear him.

He sees you grit your jaw, tension running a clear line, the same place where he had loved to press soft kisses against. “Yes, because I’m trying to figure out if all the memories we shared were real or not.”

“And if they were?” Childe breaths out, the ghost of his words hovers in the air between the two of you, “What if I told you that they were, every last one of them, as real as the sunlight filtering through the window right now?”

“You expect me to believe that?” You laughed dryly, sound grating and harsh. The laughter continues as you pull off the silver ring on your pinkie and flick it at him. Silver circle catches the light, a tiny streak glinting in a wide arc, and the two of you watch as it sails towards its original owner. Childe catches it by instinct, swallowing hard when he did so.

“And what about this promise?” You challenge, raising your brow. “You sounded so sure when you made this promise.”

“You’ll love the rest of my siblings,” Childe murmurs. He grabs your hand and holds it up for his inspection under the moonlight. “I’m very proud of them. They’re great kids.”

You laugh as you lean back into his arms with a satisfied sigh. “You’ve been saying that so many times, but we haven’t gone to Snezhnaya yet. I’m starting to think you’re a hoax.”

“I promise,” he turns to you, gaze earnest, “I promise I’ll take you there.”

“Pinkie promise,” you offer and waggle your pinkie playfully, “Or else, I’ll throw you on the ice.”

Childe smiles, cerulean eyes disappearing into cheerful slits, as he hooks his pinkie around yours, “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off, so you never lie again,” he recites the ever-familiar nursery rhyme. “Close your eyes, I have a surprise for you.”

You look at him questioningly but obey regardless. You feel Childe take the hand that he had been holding and something cold glides up your pinkie.

“Ajax-”

“Shh, don’t want to ruin the surprise now, do we?” Warm fingers grasp yours and you feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. Lips, albeit chapped, press against the unfamiliar coolness, as if branding some sort of unspoken vow.

You give in to the urge to open your eyes and you do, just in time to see Childe sit back with a relaxed smile. “Wha-“ you begin and that’s when you notice a silver ring around your pinkie. “What’s this?”

Childe smirks, a self-satisfied upturn of his lips as he grasps your hand again. “A pinkie promise,” he proclaims proudly. He curls his pinkie around yours but this time, there was a gentle clink. You see a similar ring glinting on his finger. “I promise I will take you to Snezhnaya and you will get to meet my siblings. That is a promise I fully intend to keep.”

Your pinkie tightens around his and there is the distinct clink of your rings knocking together. You decide you rather like the sound of it.

“What about the promise?” You ask again.

Childe does not speak, but you notice his hand tighten around the ring ever so slightly. You can’t read the look in his eyes.

“If you make a promise, you keep it. If you make a mistake, you apologize…” You softly repeat the words he had said to you long ago. “The nursery rhyme Teucer taught me… You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again,” you recite the words, each one hammering a nail that would seal your fate. “Looks like you’re going to have to break the promise,” you settle back against your pillows with finality.

He swallows then, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. As much as you hate to admit it, you feel hope rising inside of you at the sight.

Was any of it real? Were his feelings genuine?

But the fact remains still, was that he had betrayed you.

“We’re going on two different paths. You, on the path to power. Me, to find my brother. Our paths should never have converged,” you are surprised to hear that your voice is steady, not betraying the turmoil you currently feel raging inside of you.

Only fools fall for you, only fools fall

Childe closes his eyes, sighing softly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, so faint you barely catch it, “Truly.”

You feel disappointment settle in and you berate yourself mentally. What did you expect?

“You’re full of contradictions,” You breathe out, drawing the covers closer to you as if they could block out the hurt. “You refuse to let Teucer know about your real job because you wanted to protect his childhood, yet you do everything in the name of the Tsaritsa. Who even are you?” You laugh, but there is a little catch in your voice. “You make all these promises with honeyed words, yet you tried to kill me when you believed I stole the Gnosis from you, just because I happened to be in your way.”

“As one of the Eleventh Fatui Harbingers, it’s my duty to see the will of the Tsaritsa fulfilled,” Childe reminds you. It was a reminder you didn’t need. You can’t help but notice the loneliness in his tone.

You snort derisively, “The will of the Tsaritsa. Does it include nearly destroying entire cities, putting thousands of innocent lives at risk?” Does it include getting close to me to gain my trust only to betray it in the end? Was I part of this plan? You want to ask, but you were afraid of the answer.

“She will get that which she desires,” Childe is firm, and you have to bite down the disappointment.

“So where does that leave us?” The question comes hurling out before you can even begin to process it. You bite back a curse.

Childe exhales. “You should know…Anyone who strives as I do to grow stronger shall be called a friend, even if our friendship can only be shown in battle against one another,” he says softly. The expression on his face is forlorn. “The next time we meet, it will be on the battlefield.”

You laugh in disbelief, “Friends,” you scoff, “Friends don’t cross blades with one another.” Friends don’t betray one another, you wanted to add, but you held your tongue. “It would be more fitting to call us enemies.

“I harbor no ill will towards you,” Childe’s admission is nearly silent, “In fact, most of my happier memories were those shared with you.”

“It’s too late,” you grit out and there is venom in your words.

Childe studies you as if trying to commit all of your features to memory. You think to yourself that you have never once seen this expression cross his face, lost and melancholic. “Farewell, comrade,” he finally says quietly, “I hope you find all the answers to the questions you’re searching for.” He turns to go.

“Ajax…” you call his name, his real name. It comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself and it hovers nervously in the air. He stops at the sound of his name, and he turns back to you, expression unsure. “You hesitated,” you say simply. “Inside of the Golden House. You hesitated to kill me. And you missed on purpose, didn’t you? That means you lost.”

Childe does not say anything. He offers you a slight smile as he pulls the door open. And just like that, Childe is gone from your life, leaving the same way he had entered.

Only fools do what I do, only fools fall

━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━

Nighttime finds Childe under the tree where he had made the promise to you. It overlooks the ocean, Liyue lights blinking in the distance, a would-be pretty sight if he had better company save for himself. It’s a moonless night and Childe thinks to himself that it is fitting for a night like this.

“You seem quiet, what’s going on?” Childe asks as he plops next to you, jostling your arm.

You huff at him, moving your sketchbook out of the way, “Careful,” you warn.

Childe pushes himself onto his elbows, curious, as he peers down at the paper. “Your brother?” He asks, voice gentle. “Are you thinking of him again?”

You nod, filling in the details of your brother’s face. “I wish I had more information,” you sigh.

He watches you work, your expression was forlorn, lost and Childe wishes he could do something to alleviate your pain.

“You’ll find the answers, I know you will,” Childe offers, draping himself over you. His body presses against yours and the familiar warmth calms you. “Don’t forget I’m assisting you as well.”

“I’m just…homesick I guess,” you admit as you shade the contour of your brother’s jaw. “Have you ever heard of this word?”

“Hiraeth,” Childe mumbles. He remembers what you said to him.

“Homesickness for a home you cannot return to. The nostalgia, the yearning for the lost places of the past.”

It makes him think of warm arms and cheerful laughter. Of quiet nights under the stars and dreams uttered against lips. Of playful fights and adrenaline-fueled battles. Of forgotten duties in lieu of lazy mornings in bed, surrounded by the mere essence of one another.

It makes him think of you.

Home is not a place, it’s a feeling. It’s a person.

It’s you.

He presses a kiss to the smaller of the silver rings, his whisper lost to the wind. Nothing but the sky and the trees bearing witness.

“You were my home.”

Fin.

For more of my works: 📖

[keichan]

Firsts with Sakusa Kiyoomi

A collections of firsts with Sakusa Kiyoomi

A/N: 

I’ve had the idea of this story in my drafts forever now, but I sat down yesterday and finally brought it to life! I have never wrote for Sakusa before, but I hope that you guys enjoy my personification of him!

word count: 7.2k!

warnings: vomiting, nsfw content that will be italicized, swearing?

Please interact with this story! I’m restarting my blog back up and I lost a lot of moots! Send me asks and whatnot!

The first time you saw Sakusa Kiyoomi was when he silently strolled down the hallway in elementary school. He had a blank stare at all times. Never strayed too close to any of the other children. A gloomy looking child that you did not particularly want to approach. His hands remained glued to his side and looked to be sulking. He blended into the crowd but if you paid enough attention, he barely stood out. He crossed your mind for the slightest second before you were sucked back into conversation with your friends.

-

The first time you heard his voice was when he was talking to another boy in your grade level. Who you found out was his cousin. Their interaction was quiet and somewhat dull. His cousin, Motoya, asked if he wanted to go to an after school activity with him. Sakusa nodded briefly and said “sure”. His voice was quiet and bored. You wondered as you walked past the boys what they were talking about, however, you were quickly distracted yet again and proceeded to move forward without a second thought.

-

The first interaction between the two of you was your third year of middle school. Sakusa Kiyoomi was nothing but a background character in your life. You ever so often saw him since the two of you were in different classes. However, you shared a class with Motoya so it wasn’t too rare to see the boy. 

You walked out of class upon dismissal, but hung around campus with your friends, knowing that your parents were at work and it was redundant to return so early. It was an unanimous decision to go to the convenience store outside of campus to grab a quick bite with the chore money that took a few weeks to rack up.

Walking outside of the gym a volleyball rolled to your feet. You picked it up before looking to your right to see who it belonged to. Sakusa Kiyoomi walked calmly over to you with his  hands  at  his side.  There was no one else in the gym. He was playing by himself.

He came to a halt, looking at you expectedly. You fidgeted the ball in your palms before asking. “Are you practicing all alone?”  He nodded curtly with a deadpan expression that said give me the ball. 

“I see.” You tossed him the ball gently before following your friends that have already walked ahead. 

At the convenience store you grabbed things you thought Sakusa may have liked.

“Why are you grabbing so much? Also, I thought you didn’t like daifuku.” Aya commented as she browsed the shelf next to you. Your nose scrunched up. “I’m just craving it.” You shrugged her off. She didn’t reply as she grabbed a carton of apple juice. 

All of you checked out and parted ways in front of the store. It wasn’t long before you peeked your head into the gym to see Sakusa slamming  the ball against the wall continuously. He was roughly the same height as you, but each time he struck the ball, there was an undeniable force behind it. 

You took your shoes off, outside of the gym before clearing your throat nervously.

The boy caught the ball as it ricocheted off the wall. His black curls stuck messily to his forehead and he turned to you with a confused expression. Holding up the plastic bag with one hand,  you offered him a small smile. 

“Looked like you were working hard, so I brought this for you.” 

He blinked at you. Not a word. 

“I can just leave it somewhere if you’d like. I just have to-”

“I was actually getting kind of hungry.” He said quietly. He walked to the edge of the gym and sat down. You followed his lead quietly. Upon sitting down, you opened the bag,  preparing to dump  everything on the floor before he raised a hand to stop you. 

“The floor is rather dirty, I would prefer you not to do that.” He said plainly “Please.” he added. You nodded and opened the bag towards him so he could get his pick. Luckily for you he went straight for the daifuku. He meticulously unwrapped it and began to munch silently. You followed suit and you began to eat a custard-filled bread roll. 

“Sakusa, right?” You turned your head to the boy. “Kyosuke?” You faltered.

He shook his head. “Kiyoomi. And you?”

“L/N F/N.” You answered. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. 

“What high school are you going to try to go to?” 

“Itachiyama.”

“Really? I want to go there as well. Maybe we can study together for the entrance exams together.”

“I’m going to get in on a sports recommendation since I’m on the volleyball team here.” He said nonchalantly as he flattened the snack’s wrapper on his thigh. You nodded. His curtness didn’t particularly bother you. 

“Fair enough.” You brushed off your skirt and began to make an exit towards the gym. You began to slip your shoes on outside of the door before waving over to him. “Let me know if you change your mind about studying. I’m in the same class as your cousin. Keep the rest of the snacks. Work hard.”

-

Roughly two weeks later Sakusa Kiyoomi was waiting outside of class 3-B. Ignoring Motoya he approached you. “Let’s study for entrance exams.” Motoya looked at you oddly and tailed the two of you as Sakusa lead you to the library in silence.

You sat in front of the curly haired boy, pulling out your journals and folders excitedly sliding them towards Sakusa. Motoya sat beside him, earning a subtle glare from Kiyoomi.

“I looked at everything they’ve made available for students who are applying, organized it, and color coded it. I have a plan to get in. 

Sakusa carefully eyed over your notes as he skimmed the pages. Your handwriting was incredibly neat. Everything was so organized that even an idiot could get into Itachiyama. Not that he was thinking that you were stupid by any means.

That was the first time you saw Sakusa smile because of you.

-

It was now your first year at Itachiyama Academy. You walked through the gates of the school sandwiched between Sakusa and Motoya. Somehow the three of you managed to be in the same class.

As the semester progressed, you began to settle in a routine with the boys. You would sit at practices, reading books. After they finished, you would all study at someone’s house and part ways. 

It was dipping into the summer. Tokyo subtly rose in temperature as the rainy season commenced. 

Sakusa stood outside of your home with an umbrella since he was fully aware that you refused to bring one to school any time that it rained. He looked down to his cellphone. You were always punctual so it didn’t make sense to him that you weren’t outside yet. He knocked on the front door to your family home. No answer.

He used the spare key under the plant to go inside. He propped the umbrella against the door and took his shoes off before making his way upstairs. You weren’t in your bed but he could hear someone gagging in the bathroom.

His face contorted into disgust at the thought, but proceeded towards the room. He opened the bathroom door to see you hunched over the toilet. Your hair pooled over your shoulders going forward as you choked on your own vomit. Sobs quietly echoed the room. 

He cautiously moved forward and gathered your hair in his hand. He turned his head away from your body to cover his distaste for the situation that he found himself in.  You jumped startled in place before you started vomiting again. 

“Sorry, I didn’t text you. I’ve been here for hours.” Your voice was incredibly weak.

“I wish you took care of yourself. Then things like this wouldn’t happen. Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice croaked. Sakusa flinched at that. He knew the feeling all too well.

“You know if you used an umbrella in the rain you wouldn’t get sick. Plus you’ve been pulling all nighters with school for no reason. Stop overexerting yourself.”

“Shut up.” You groaned. “Go to school. I’ll take care of myself.”

He rolled his eyes. He grabbed a hair tie from under your sink and tied your hair back to the best of his ability before leaving the room. Going downstairs he began to make hot green tea with honey, a glass of water, and cut up an apple, your favorite fruit, and grabbed a mask out of his backpack and put it on before returning to the bathroom. You were leaning against the wall, your features were flushed as beads of sweat developed along your forehead.

Sakusa sighed as he squatted in front of you. 

“Drink this. Rehydrate. Put some food in your stomach.” 

“Go to school Sakusa.” You muttered as you placed the cup to your lips gently.

Sakusa began washing his hands into the sink, ignoring you.

“You ought to go lie down so your body can repair itself.” He turned around before gathering the cups and the bowl of fruit from you. He placed it on your bedside table before he felt a weight collide with his back. He turned suddenly to catch your body.

“Sorry, I must be really weak right now.” A laugh barely escaped your lips. You were face to face with him as he supported you up. All he did was nod before he gently lowered you onto the bed, placing you under the sheets.

He walked over to the bathroom and found a small towel. A sigh of exasperation escaped his lips. He already had known that you were overdoing it academically, but now it finally showed physically. He didn’t understand you sometimes.

He returned to your room once more to see that you were out cold. He used the cloth to gently dab the sweat off of your face before folding it inside out and resting it on your forehead entirely. Sakusa supposed that it would be alright to skip school that day to help his friend out.

“Thanks, Kiyoomi.” The words poured quietly from your lips. His head jerked up suddenly

That was the first time you didn’t call him by his surname.

-

“Okay hear me out. Yes, you’re insanely talented at volleyball. No, I am not telling you how to play, BUT I think that if you approach the AB attack that you guys have been working on this way, I think that you can achieve it somewhat better.” You shoved your diagram that you drew out to Kiyoomi. His eyes scanned over everything. You flipped the page in front of him. 

“This is the way that you’ve been doing it, but I think that with your spiking range, you wouldn’t have to exert yourself and overextend yourself from this side of the court.”

Sakusa laughed pulling your notebook closer to himself. 

“This is actually genius. How did you know I couldn’t get it?”

“You’ve been spending more time practicing solo than normal so I just paid a little more attention when I’ve been able to come in and watch.”

“I really appreciate this! Do you mind?” You shook your head. “It’s all yours. I have some other ideas in there as well since nationals are coming up.”

He giddily slid it into his backpack before checking his phone. 

“Shit. I didn’t realize how late it was. The subways are probably packed by now.” He groaned.

You slung your bag over your shoulder. The crowds outside were moving meticulously outside. A sigh escaped your lips. You turned to Sakusa as he hooked a mask over each ear with a gloomy expression.

The two of you walked out of the cafe and headed towards the JR line. The crowd was astonishingly hard to walk through. Well, it was easy for Saksua since he could see over the sea of people. You reached out for his sleeve and managed to grab his hand. He looked back and gave you a weary acknowledgement and continued to tread forward. You barely managed to get into the train car with him. Your fingers tangled with his as you were shoved into his side. You looked up to see his eyebrows furrowed and expression darkened.. This definitely isn’t the first time that Saksusa had been unfortunate enough to get on the trains with rush hour. 

“You good, Kiyoomi?” You tugged on his arm gently as you whispered. He nodded looking down at you. A man beside you accidentally shoved you forward. Sakusa quickly laced his fingers in yours before he anchored you back to his side. You squeeze his hand gently as a quiet thanks.

In roughly ten minutes the doors opened to your stop. Sakusa led the way, weaseling the two of you outside of the train station. He let out a sigh of relief as he climbed the stairs onto the open street.

“Much better.” he mumbled. You absentmindedly followed him to his house as he continued to hold your hand.

“Kiyoomi, you know you can go ahead and let go now.” He froze in his tracks and looked down to your hands and returned his gaze to your face.

“Apologies.” He said before he let go. His hand returned to his side.

“I think I’m going to call it a night here. I’m going to Motoya’s to study the notes. I’ll text you if I have any questions.” He raised a hand to bid farewell and walked to the direction of his home. 

Your eyes traveled down to the palm of your hand. You studied it. Each finger as you rotated it. With a subtle shrug, you turned to the opposite direction and made your way home.

That was the first time you held hands with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

“What do you mean I can’t braid your hair for a game? It’s getting longer and it would look adorable. Right, Motoya?” You twirled one of Sakusa’s curls gently in your finger. Motoya glanced up from his phone laughing. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“ Don’t support her. You’re going to make her think that she’s unstoppable.” Sakusa groaned and thudded his head against the table. 

“Can I do it for fun though?” You whined as your ran your hands through his hair.

He sunk in his chair in defeat. “Fine.”

You excitedly stood up and got to work. 

After a few minutes you were finished. His hair was barely short enough for it to stick into a little poof in the back. You quickly took out your phone and snapped a quick selfie with your back camera. You laughed at the photo as Sakusa grabbed at it.

“I didn’t know that you were going to take a picture of me, you ass! Delete it!” 

“Nah, this is too good! Kiyoomi I really think you should do this for a game! You look precious!”  

You quickly ran over to the couch next to Motoya, showing him the off guard picture you got of the two of them. The two of you were in hysterics. Sakusa ran over to the couch to join the two of you. Placing an arm around your shoulder he broke into laughter as well.

Lose hair flowed on the sides of his face. His eyes squinted shut as his laughs filled the room.

“You ought to delete that picture though, seriously.”

You shook your head at him. 

“This is too good. I might just send it to your whole team.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

After some time, the three of you settled down and watched a movie. You rested your head on his shoulder. His arm never left your side. The three of you passed out cold. 

Motoya’s mother laughed at the view she had of the three of you as she took her shoes out of the door. Her own son was sprawled out on the end of the couch, snoring the night away. Kiyoomi’s head rested on the couch. Tufts of hair were popping out of the braid. His arms loosely wrapped around you. Your head rested against his chest and your arms rested around his stomach.

She laughed quietly to herself, leaving the kids to sleep.

This was the first time that you fell asleep on Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

“What do you mean that you didn’t have a good time at the camp? It’s literally for the Olympics!” You had your hands on your hips as you stared at Saksua. He sulked in your kitchen chair. He came over as soon as he had gotten back from camp.

“I do not understand how Shiratorizawa lost. Kageyama Tobio wasn’t necessarily an extraordinary feat to watch-”

“You do understand that there’s a reason why he got invited there as well, right?”

“I’m trying to be realistic here.”

“Well since both schools are going to nationals, maybe you can play them in the bracket. You’re the number two ace in the country because you worked hard Kiyoomi. I don’t care if some brat from Miyagi rubbed you the wrong way. You need to get over it and do your best. You and Motoya leave in two weeks.”

The two of you had spent the last hour bickering of his experience. Sakusa had a negative thing to say about almost every player that was there.

“If I want to analyze my potential opponent then I think you should allow me to. You’re not playing on the court whatsoever so I think you should keep your opinions to yourself about this situation.”

“Kiyomi, I’m literally the one who has helped you get to where you are now. I’ve spent hours of my own freetime, even getting physically ill coming up with ways to help you and Motoya improve your skills to be better players-”

“But nobody asked you to do that.” He glared at you. You falter at what to say next.

“I did it because you two are my friends. And I want you to succeed.” Each word articulated from your mouth excruciatingly slow. As if you were questioning yourself.

“You have a lot to say for someone who has never played the game before.” Sakusa snapped at you.

“Get out.” 

“What?”

“Get out of my house. You do not talk to me like that here.” You made your way to the front door, holding it open.

“Out Kiyoomi.”

“I think we’re having a little miscommunication.” He rose from his chair. He hands beared out to you as he stepped towards you cautiously.

“No. Grab your bag. Put your shoes on and leave. I understood with clarity everything you just said to me. Now I’m asking you to leave. You said everything you wanted to.”

Sakusa’s head did not hang low as your gaze pierced through him. He slung his back over his shoulder and walked towards you. His height towered over you before he bent down, slipping his shoes over his heels.

He walked out without another word. 

That was the first fight you had with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

-

In the next two weeks you didn’t walk to school with the boys, you did not study with them, you did not watch practice, you didn’t use breaks at school to visit their classrooms. Anytime Motoya had reached out, you politely avoided him. If Sakusa did it was like he wasn’t even there.

Nationals were now upon the boy’s volleyball team. You followed the group solemnly to the bus.  You had signed up as an official volunteer and there wasn’t any way to necessarily get out of it since you had already been excused from the school days.

You sat alone on the bus. Far away from your two friends. The ride was short. Upon arrival, you carried the medical bag to the team’s designated area for the day.

It was a clash of teams mingling at the entrance of the arena. Not one member of the team had made it to the area yet. You turned to see Sakusa’s standing in the corner of the room. His forehead creased and his chin tucked towards his chest. There were too many people for him. Motoya was mingling with random  teams. You let out a small sigh and made your way to the designated area. 

A hand gently rested on your shoulder.

“Can we talk?” Kiyoomi asked. He towered over you in height. You couldn’t see his face due to the mask, but he radiated stress. You nodded and sat next to him in the hallway.

The apology was quick, sweet, and straight to the point. You graciously accepted and it wasn’t any worry at all. 

You could never truly be mad at him.

You continued to help the boy’s volleyball team until they lost the tournament.

You waited on the side of the court for the boys to come off. However, Sakusa was approached by fans and reporters. 

You stood patiently on the other side of the toom. The opposing team’s captain approached you. He shyly flirted with you. Sakusa watched from afar as he continued to chat with the reporter. 

This was the first time Sakusa Kiyoomi felt jealousy.

-

You, Kiyoomi, and Motoya stood side by side posing for pictures for your families. High school diplomas proudly in hand.

Kiyoomi graciously slipped away from everyone for a brief moment. His parents were fawning over the fact that he got accepted into college on a sports scholarship. Same with Motoya. Your parents were openly wondering what college you would choose to go to. You got accepted to five different ones, one of them the same as Kiyoomi.

You and Motoya bid your parents a farewell and began to leave the school together for one last time. Kiyoomi stood at the gates waiting patiently for the two of you. His blazer now slung over one shoulder, he used his other arm to gently rest around your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at the dinner, Motoya. I’m going to walk Y/N home.” 

Motoya dipped his head in acknowledgement before parting ways.

You and Kiyoomi laughed and reminisced over the last three years. The late nights studying. Hanging around each other's houses. Him keeping you company as you read your books at cafes. The cat you two found outside of the school your first year. The god awful game of telephone pictionary that almost got the three of you suspended your second year of school. The failed attempts of learning how to play volleyball in third year. It seemed that all of the memories so precious to your heart were coming to a cease.

Your laughs faltered as you approached the gate of your home. 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave for Osaka.” You laughed nervously as his arm slid off of your shoulder. He unconsciously moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Easy. Just go to the same school as me. It’s not that difficult of a decision.”

You laughed. “You know I haven’t even begun to choose the college I want to go to yet. I haven’t weighed the pros and cons of each school. Plus you got a full ride.” You sighed.

“Well a pro is that I’m there. I think that’s enough.” He tilted his head at you.

You let out a short laugh before turning your head away from him. “If only it was that simple.” You wondered aloud.

“I have to see how good the program is for what I want to do. I know that they’re the top in the country for it but will it really benefit me? What if financial aid doesn't end up coming through and I have student loans out the ass? What if housing is full? If I don’t have anywhere to live?” 

Your thoughts were cut off by Kiyoomi stifling a laugh. He used a single hand to cover his mouth as he looked down at you. You shoved his chest playfully. 

“What’s so funny?”

“You worry too much for someone who’s so smart.”

You rolled your eyes at him. He ran his hand through his hair before he rested it on his neck, his gaze never leaving yours. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how pretty I think you are.” He reached over and cupped your face. His long slender fingers gently tucked the rest of your hair behind your ear. He felt your skin heat up below his hand and laughed.

“Are you trying to be funny because you’re really bad at it.”

Before you could even react, Kiyoomi quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His lips were soft as he gently pressed his lips against yours. Your hands rose up quickly against his sides. Slightly panicking. He tilted your chin up slightly and you finally kissed him back. 

You felt him smile against your lips as he pulled you closer.

He pulled away. Grinning like an idiot.

“I think you should go to that school in Osaka with me. I’m going to have an apartment and everything.”

You placed your arms around his shoulders and his slinked down to your waist.

“We’ll see.”

Kiyoomi’s body sunk into itself.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for quite some time now and that’s all you say? ‘We’ll see?’ It’s really not enough.” 

“I mean who said I haven’t been waiting to kiss you too?” 

He raised an eyebrow at you as you leaned up to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“For how long?”

“After nationals in our second year when I saw a horde of fan girls for one of the best aces in Japan.” You reached up and pinched his cheek. “I thought to myself that I wasn’t jealous or anything, but I think I’ve thought about you romantically for a while now.” He narrowed his eyes at you before shaking his head for you to let go of his face.

“But you’re right. You’ve never told me I was pretty before, Kiyoomi.” You used your hands to bring his face down to yours. 

That was the first time you and Sakusa Kiyoomi had ever kissed.

-

Sakusa Kiyoomi was disappointed to say the least that you did not follow him to college in Osaka. 

Or so he thought. 

Two weeks after his move there was a knock on his apartment door at 7am in the morning. Kiyoomi was a morning person, but he had no clue who it could possibly be. He pulled a sweatshirt over his body and pulled on sweatpants over his boxers.

There you stood with a suitcase in each hand.

“I chose Osaka because I don’t think I can handle being away from you for four years.”

Kiyoomi enveloped you in a hug, making you drop your luggage. He pressed your body against his chest and buried his head into the crook of your neck. He peppered kisses on your  cheekbone until you turned to face him. He held your hands and kissed you sweetly before pulling you inside. 

“Kiyo, you need to grab my bags.” You mumbled into his mouth. He gently put you down. Grabbed your bags and placed them inside and turned to face you. You looked at him expectantly with your arms open towards him. Without missing a beat he picked you up and spun you around.

“Are you sure you want to go to school out here?” He pressed a kiss to your temple. You nodded against his chest.

“One exception though.” You pulled away from him.

“Will you be my boyfriend, Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Yes.”

This was the first day you spent as an official couple.

-

The semester was beginning to take a toll on the both of you. Fortunately enough, the both of you managed to be taking the same courses for your basics and had a basic study regiment in the evenings. Kiyoomi’s volleyball practice ran from ungodly hours of the morning and the fatigue was catching up to him as finals week set upon the two of you.

You returned from the library and walked into the bedroom to see Kiyoomi sound asleep, laying on his side snuggling a pillow. Quiet snores spread through the room as his mouth was slightly agape.

You quickly showered and changed into a shirt of his before snuggling into bed beside him. You ran your fingers through his hair causing him to lean into your touch.

“Y/N” He groaned into the pillow.

“Hm?”

“C’mere.” He lifted up his arm as an invitation. You quickly obliged as his arm encased you into his chest.

“How was studying? Sorry I left so early.” He yawned.

 Your arm wrapped around his side as your fingernails began to graze his bare back.

“It’s fine, Kiyo. I know how tired you’ve been lately. Being a student athlete is tough enough as it is.” 

“I don’t want you to be stressed out because of my incapabilities.”

“You’re only human. And I’m stressed out because college is tough, not because you’re incapable of things.”

“I know.”

“Your voice is cute when you’re tired.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.” 

“Nevermind.” 

“I beg your pardon?.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re super handsome when you’re dead quiet. I know I can’t see you right now, but the whole brooding thing  you usually have going on is usually pretty nice in my opinion.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, Kiyo.”

“Y/N  I’ll literally make you do all of the cleaning next week.”

“But Kiyo-”

“Shut up.”

“Anyways. I’ve missed you.”

“We live together. And study together. And go to school together.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Remember that one time that you fell down the stairs in our second year? In front of the entire class?”

“I hate you.”

“I love you.”

“What?”

You sat up abruptly staring down at your boyfriend. He sat up, propping his hands on either side of his body. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

“I love you, Kiyoomi.”

A lazy smile graced the black-haired man’s features.

“I mean it!”

“I know you do. That’s why I’m smiling.”

“I really mean it, Kiyoomi. You’ve been my best friend since middle school. We spent every waking moment together. I got to grow with you as friends. I had the opportunity to watch you bloom into your passion by bringing you daifuku one day because I saw a quiet boy practicing all by himself. I’m so lucky for that moment of time. Even though we’re busy now, we get to hold each other at night and see each other’s achievements during the day. I think it’s so amazing that we have each other.  I just want to cherish you.”

“I love you too.” He clasped his hand over yours.

“And I mean it too.”

That was the first time you and Sakusa exchanged ‘I love yous’.

-

The semester had come to an end. Kiyoomi rested his head on your lap as you watched TV and he watched volleyball highlights on his phone. You played with his curls absentmindedly.

“I can’t believe that Kageyama Tobio is playing on the Olympic team this year.”

“Who?”

“The kid who beat Wakatoshi our second year.”

“Oh that one.”

“I want to play in the Olympics.”

“I know Kiyo you just need to keep doing what you're doing and you’ll be on that stage in 2020.”

You pulled out your cell phone and took a picture of the two of you. Managing to get his glare and everything. You shoved the photo you just took in his face. 

“Look! Do you know who that is?”

“Me. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Correct!” You exclaimed. “He’s also my boyfriend and a future Olympian! A future representative of Japan’s men's volleyball team!”

Kiyoomi laughed. He locked his phone and just kept on laughing.

“You’re so precious.” He managed between laughs. He pulled his head from your lap and squeezed your cheeks with both of his hands.

“My girlfriend believes in me!” He sang song.

You placed your hands over his and pulled him forward into a quick kiss.

“Am I not supposed to?”

“I never said that.”

“You’re kind of suggesting it. Do you not like me anymore?”

He leaned forward, putting his lips on yours once more.

“You know I don’t like you, I love you.”

(nsfw)

Butterflies rose in your chest at his words. You gave him the dopiest grin before you leaned into  him once more. Your body leaned into his. Kiyoomi’s hands rose under your shirt as he pulled you on top of his lap. Your legs fell on either side of him as your fingers ran through his hair. As your hands reached the back of his head you fisted his curls, earning a quiet groan from the man underneath you. His hands pressed roughly into the skin of your hips. The surprise let Kiyoomi slip his tongue into your mouth.

He began to place open mouth kisses down your neck as his hands traveled up to your breasts. You quickly slid your shirt off over your head to give him more access. His kisses continued across your collarbone and down to your breast. 

“Kiyo-” Your breath hitched in your throat as he swirled his tongue.

“Hmm?” He mumbled into your chest. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” You said firmly, as you slid your hands to his shoulders to get him to look at you.

His dark eyes sparkled at you and nodded. 

You got off of his lap and made your way to your room. Dropping your shorts to the ground, you kicked them to the corner of the room. Before you could even reach the bed, you were enveloped in a hug from behind. Kiyoomi’s bare chest warmed your back as he began to kiss your neck, your shoulders. A hand firmly on your hip and a hang squeezing your breast. His hands traveled your body hungrily. You turned to meet his face. Caressing it with the back of your hand you placed a gentle kiss on his nose, making him smile at you.

Your hands draped over his boxers as you generously worked them down his legs. Placing, small, eager kisses on his lips.

“I don’t think we have condoms-”

“Yes we do. They’re in my nightstand, I bought them just in case we ever-”

“Mhmm”

You lured Kiyoomi over to the bed as you stroked him. He opened the bedside table and carefully tore the wrapper before rolling the condom on. He hovered over you as he lowered you onto the bed, his lips not leaving yours once. His fingers caressed you, slipping in and out slowly, you moaned into his mouth, making him speed up ever so slightly as he kissed all over your body. He wanted to show you physically how much he loves you.

He positioned himself between your legs before slipping himself in. The two of you gasped at the newfound sensation. He moaned into your neck as your hands failed to grab at his back. He kissed your cheek and smiled at you. He began to roll his hips into you repeatedly. He was weary of his actions as his hands roamed your entire body. He didn’t want to go too slow or two fast. He never asked, he just studied your reactions as he pressed deeper into you. He began to hold a steady rhythm as moans began to spill from your mouth. Each sound encouraging him to unconsciously move faster. 

“Kiyoomi.” Your nails sunk into his back, your lips struggled to find his. He moaned your name into your neck. He was reaching his climax as he shuddered inside of you. He kissed your forehead gently. 

“I love you. Forever. I cannot imagine anyone else I’d share this life with.”

You stared at your boyfriend. He was studying your face with great intent as if to check if he made a dent. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. You pushed it back making his curls bounce as they flopped back down. His body rose and fell steadily as he caught his breath over you. He gave you a small smile as he flattened your hair on your head, he gently pulled out of you before sitting on his knees and sliding the condom off of himself.

“Give me a second please.”

He walked to the bathroom and disposed of it and began to pick up the clothes from earlier and put them in the hamper. He returned to your side. He propped up his head on his hand as ran his fingers through your hair.

“I’m so lucky. Everyday.”

You smiled as he placed yet another tender kiss on your lips.

The night ended with Sakusa curled on your bare chest, fast asleep while you held him dearly through the night.

That was you and Sakusa Kiyoomi’s first time.

-

Today was Kiyoomi’s first V-League game. 

You were never typically awake at the same times that he was. Ever. 

You sleepily followed him around the apartment. He brushed his teeth first. You stifled a laugh as he began the skin care routine you taught him in high school. He ignored you, but followed suit. Next he fixed his bed head. Well you did. You sat on the counter with him between your legs as you gently raked product through his hair. 

“Omi Omi.” You sang as he relaxed into your hands. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? I think Miya was onto something when he started calling you that.” 

“No he wasn’t. He tainted the second half of my name when he started that shit.”

“Don’t be that way, Omi Omi!” 

“Shut up!” He yawned. 

“Or what, Omi?” You hopped off the sink and walked away from him.

“You’re gonna do what you did to me, last night? Right now?”

A sly grin rested on his lips before he pushed you to the bed. 

“Good thing we woke up early.”

-

You stayed arm and arm with Kiyoomi at the bar where his teammates won. The Black Jackals won their very first game. 

You glanced up at your mask-clad boyfriend as he glared at his teammates. 

“Omi Omi! I didn’t know you were bringing your girlfriend!”

“Hi! You must be Atsumu!” You extended your hand to shake his, but Sakusa cut in front of you. 

“Don’t touch him.” He rolled his eyes. 

“It’s called being courteous, Kiyo. You ought to try it!” You shoved his chest. 

“I can’t believe Omi Omi has a heart. He actually talks about us at home.” Bokuto bunched up his shirt on his chest, his eyes watering. 

“You’re telling me.” Atsumu huffed. 

“To be clear, the only person I respect on this team is Meian and I think it’s all valid.” Sakusa glared at the two men. His gaze lost it’s focus once he heard your laugh and reeled back into the conversation that you were having with Hinata. 

His teammates smiled as they were watching a never before seen Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

As the night progressed more and more drinks were spread amongst the team. 

You and Kiyoomi balanced the drinks the best you could, but after all, it was your first time drinking. Ever. 

Both of you, equally wasted, exited the bar and ordered a ride home. Laughing up the stairs the two of you tumbled into your bedroom. Kissing and everything in between. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi looked at you like you were the light of his life and he made sure you knew it. 

You studied his features as he drunkenly told you stories of when he was little. His dark brown eyes squinted at you as little laughs escaped his mouth. Anytime he smiled one corner of his mouth rose higher than the other. Anytime Kiyoomi reached for your hand, he always managed to be the most gentle with his spindly fingers. His kisses were so soft. Even now as he continuously reaches down to kiss you. Even though your own lips are numb from the alcohol rushing in your veins. 

This is true love. 

-

“I told you that you’d be in the Olympics.” 

You wrapped your arms around him as you stood behind the couch, smothering his cheek with kisses. 

“I know! I’m glad everything paid off!” 

“Me too. Me too.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever dated an Olympian.” You stared at the phone in Kiyoomi’s hand. The congratulatory email. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think about marrying an Olympian? Pretty practical, right?”

You grinned from ear to ear. 

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had in a while.”

“I’d like you to know I’m full of great ideas. I mean we’ve been together for six years. And it’s because I kissed you since you wouldn’t kiss me. I think that it’s a fair assumption that I’m the brains of this relationship. I also made the idea for us moving into this city home. I also made the executive decision for us to buy a cat.”

“Kiyo. That’s not how that went. You know damn well I brought the cat home when you were done with practice and you hit me with the whole ‘I guess we can do it if we clean the litter box everyday’. I think you’re remembering things incorrectly. Per usual.”

“Dunno, but it took my decision making to allow her to stay in this home.”

“Uh huh. Now that I think about it, it would be my first time marrying an Olympian.”

“Well duh. I mean look at me.”

“ I was talking about Miya, you dolt.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I guess you can take the role of the funny one.”

-

The first time Sakusa became a parent. He had almost passed out in the delivery room. He’ll never acknowledge it to you, however when friends asked he claimed that childbirth was ultimately disgusting. 

His eyes shone the moment your son entered the world. 

He held him delicately as if he could break. He was laughing as he gently brought him down to you. 

You stared down at the baby you and your husband had brought into the world and you couldn’t help but think of the first time you saw Sakusa Kiyoomi and the blessings the boy brought into your life.

(A/N) the smut scene wasnt supposed to be good!!!!!!!!! It was their first time so it wasn’t supposed to be some god tier orgasming experience. It was supposed to be plain and about their connection!

thanks for reading (:

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.I) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN : PART ONE 

Summary:  Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, slight angst, f!reader x dad! Iwaizumi 

A/N: There will be 2 or 3 parts of this oneshot! Depending on how long I feel like writing. Thanks for checking it out and stopping by! Let’s dive into some Iwa moments :,)

NEXT PART --> 

---

“What’s your return policy on rings?” 

The saleswoman smiles sympathetically behind the counter. That stupid sympathetic smile he’s been getting for weeks on end now. And it never stops; with his co-workers, with his family, his friends...

Iwaizumi’s sick of it. He’s sick of having to prove that he’s doing just fine, thank you very much. When in truth, his heart is constantly being torn apart and stomped upon as is people have nothing better to do than torture him in their free time. 

“I’m sorry, but these rings have been brought more than three years ago, and our warrant only lasts for three years,” the saleswoman keeps on talking but it doesn’t matter, for Iwaizumi can already feel the anger slowly creep up through the back of his neck, can already feel the vibrating emotions clogging up his sense of judgement. 

His fists clench at his sides upon impulse, the physical pain of his nails driving into his palms enough to remind him to stay cordial. It’s not the woman’s fault, the better part of him chants, it’s not her fault at all. 

“Fine,” he manages to grovel out, barely, “thanks anyway.” 

He all but storms out of the shop while shoving the rectangular box back in his pant pocket, and though it’s been more than four months since his ugly divorce with the woman he’d hoped to share the rest of his life with, the weight of their promise hangs heavy and hot upon his thigh. 

The thing is, Iwaizumi is mad. He is seething. If one were to give him a bat, he’d probably destroy the entire town by himself. Not because she was the one that cheated, not because she was the one going behind his back numerous times a week to seek out her lover when he’d been basically driven mad between Hoisuke’s cries and the stress of call meetings scheduled back to back. 

No, he’s angry. Because how the fuck could she do this to Hoisuke? How can she break the child’s heart like that, so ruthlessly, without even thinking twice about the consequences? 

Because if there is a victim in all this, then it’s definitely Hoisuke. And not only that, Hoisuke understands that his mother has been acting strange, that she doesn’t return at regular times and that her hugs now smell of cigarette smoke with a bittertaste of alcohol. 

Iwaizumi is so caught up in anger that he almost blunders past his battered Hyundai, red and chipping away at the corners. Still, this car holds so many memories, the good and the bad ones. 

“Can’t you get a newer car? I thought your company could sponsor you,” the ghost of his wife’s voice echoes through his head, a blatant reminder of all the things she’d found wrong in his life.

“Why?” he’d tilted his head around to fix his gaze on her figure bending over the sink. The TV was playing in the background and he thanked the gods that the morning comics were taking up Hoisuke’s attention, enough to distract him from his parents’ quibbles. 

“It’s just--so old and tacky.” 

“It still works well, doesn’t it? Why change it now?” 

She’d paused, hesitated slightly before blundering on, “It’s embarrassing. My colleagues keep asking if we're poor or something."

"Who cares what your colleagues think?"

Fuck her, Iwaizumi mentally swears as he turns on the ignition. Fuck her and all her needs for a better life. As if the life they had wasn't more than enough. Pulling out into the street to join the incoming traffic, he blinks away the sudden tears accumulating at the corner of his eyes and swears once more, this time aloud, glad that Hoisuke isn't in his presence when he gets in such a foul mood.

Iwaixumi may be angry. He may be filled with pent-up rage from the memory still attached to the day he'd discovered a used condom in their bathroom trash. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

That doesn't mean he does not still cry into his pillow over it every night.

----

"Please don't forget to do your homework for tomorrow! We'll correct them before moving on to the next chapter," you call out to your students as excited chatter fills the air. Students rise from their seats, some calling you bye and waving as they all file out of the classroom and you can't help the small smile lingering over your lips even though your feet are killing you.

Outside, parents have already lined up to collect their kids, the chatter and bustle of people ebbing away down the corridor as you let out a soft sigh.

"Miss?"

You jolt, not realizing that one of your students stands by the table wringing his hands, "what's wrong Hoisuke? Dad's not here yet?"

He shakes his head, watery eyes blinking up at you as he raises his thumb to his lips. You stand quickly and motion him to come close until he's within reach before your hand smoothes over the back of his head, "it's okay. He's probably stuck in traffic. I'll wait with you."

It's not surprising that parents get tardy once in a while and you're all too accustomed to those slight change in plans. Thankfully, you manage to distract the young boy with some coloured crayons and a piece of paper while you dial for his father's number.

It keeps ringing. No one picks up.

You try once more, one more time after that. But still, nothing. It shifts to voicemail. You decide it's better than nothing, "hi Iwaizumi-san. This is Y/N, Hoisuke's teacher. I was just wondering what time you would be picking up Hoisuke? Please call me as soon as possible. Thank you."

You end the call only to spot Hoisuke's eyes on you, intent and impatient for you to explain, "it's okay," you tell him with a smile, "he'll be here soon. Don't worry. Do you want to keep colouring some more?"

Hoisuke nods, to which your smile widens. It's those special moments, where your shyest students express themselves, that your chest warms with sympathy and affection. You've been there, you know how it feels like not to be heard, and you appreciate every interaction they offer you.

Being a primary school teacher is tough, especially since it wasn't in your original plans. But the satisfaction of bringing up some of the world's future leaders cancelled out all the late nights correcting tests and scrambled weekends trying to finish off as many worksheets as you possibly could for the coming week. You can’t complain, not when you have a decent salary that keeps bread on the table and a roof over your head.

A tug on your sleeve brings you back to Hoisuke looking up at you, a scribbled drawing of what seems to be of him and his dad. You feel yourself chuckling at how he's drawn both their hair in brown spikes, erratically extravagant and yet so close to reality.

"That's really good, Hoisuke!" You beam down at him, "what do you and your dad do on weekends?"

He shrugs shyly, head averted to the side so that there's no need for eye contact. And in the shyest voice he can muster up, he says:

"Daddy brings me...to see Mama," Hoisuke's words are barely above a mumble, "they live in different houses. They can't live together anymore."

Uneasiness squeeses in your stomach, followed by sympathy for this soft-hearted boy. You had overheard some of your colleagues giggling about Hoisuke's dad being attractive and single -- a combo that teachers adore -- but that doesn't mean that the weight of his words don't lay heavy on your own conscience.

"Do you miss your Mama a lot?" You ask him softly. Unconsciously, your hand finds a way to smooth over his head.

The boy doesn't pull away. Instead, he nods, "sometimes. But it is better this way. Daddy smiles more now. And there's no one to shout and make noise."

"Are you happy, Hoisuke? With your dad?"

He nods and to your amazement grins, "daddy is funny. He tells me not to swear but when he burns the food he always swears. And then he says to shush and tells me to close my ears. He also makes me pancakes every Saturday morning before I go see Mama."

Right on cue, a figure bursts through the open classroom door and both your heads snap to see a drenched, older version of Hoisuke who looks like he just finished running a marathon.

"I'm--" he wheezes, causing you to stand in alarm and concern, "I'm sorry I'm--so late--"

"Daddy, you forgot me again!" Comes Hoisuke's statement as you ask Iwaizumi if he's okay. He shakes off your worry with a flick of his hand and a shake of his head, "I'm fine. Sorry-- there's a nasty rain outside--"

"It's okay," you reassure him as Hoisuke practically barrels into his father and almosy knocks him off his feet.

"Sorry Hoisuke," you watch Iwaizumi's hardened features soften ever so slightly as he ruffles his son's hair. Then, looking back up at you as you bring over Hoisuke's backpack, he says, "thank you. For looking after him."

"It's no problem, honestly. We had fun didn't we?" You grin down at your student and are delighted to find Hoisuke grinning back up at you, albeit shyly, "I put his homework in his diary. He'll need to complete it for tomorrow so that he doesn't fall behind in class."

His father nods, "alright. Thanks."

"Daddy, your hair looks atrocious," Hoisuke says, tugging onto his shirt.

"Atrocious huh?" Iwazumi's eyebrow rise, "someone was listening in their English class today."

"Atrocious means that it looks bad. Daddy, your hair looks bad."

"Thanks buddy, I knew that. Now say bye to Miss Y/N."

"Bye bye, miss Y/N," Hoisuke says, wriggling his short arm through the air as you wave back with a giggle. His father nods at you in silent thanks, makes a move to walk out of the class, only to swivel back to you just as you're collecting your bag.

"Uhm," he clears his throat, causing you to jump slightly, "yes?" You blink back at him and try hard not to stare at the way his white shirt clings to his toned chest, translucent from the rain.

"Do you need a ride?"

-----

You've known Iwaizumi since high school. Having graduated just two years later than he did, his reputation had preceded him throughout the school halls even though you'd never actually had any face to face interaction with the said man. Iwaizumi doesn't know this of course and you are adamant about keeping it a secret. But that plan seems to be unraveling before your very eyes the moment your small talk turns towards your academic history.

"You're from Aoba Johsai?" His surprised glance doesn't escape your notice, especially since that's the most reaction you've gotten out of him.

"Yeah," your eyes stay glued to the row of cars crawling through the motorway, "I remember you went there too, right?"

"How'd you know?"

"You were Aoba's ace volleyball player. Everyone knew who you were."

His silence answers you and for a moment, you fear that you might have offended him. Not that it's something to be offended about.

Before you try to scratch your brain for some kind of response -- any response -- Hoisuke pipes up from the back seat, "Daddy was famous back when he was in high school. He hit the ball like kapow! And jumped so high he can touch the sky."

"Oh? Have you seen him on camera?" You turn slightly, a small smile dangling off your lips at how adorably amazed and excited Hoisuke seems to be.

"Yeah! His spikes are so awesome! It goes pow! And it zooms! Like a cannon ball!"

You burst out laughing, "yes, your father was amazing whenever he was on the court. Every girl in our class had a crush on him."

"What's a crush?"

"Hmm, you know when you really like someone. You like like them, you want to be together with them. Like, girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Oh," Hoisuke draws out, "did you really like daddy too?"

"Yeah I did."

"What?" Iwaizumi almost chokes on his own spit at the same time traffic eases and you're glad for the distraction, for you're certain there's a scattering of colour upon your cheeks.

"Do you really like him now?" Hoisuke persists, undoubtly untouched by the embarrassment taking over his father's features and you swear that more than ever, you want to laugh at how flustered Iwaizumi looks.

You decide to play nice though and instead turn to wink at your student, "that's a secret for me to keep."

You don't have to look twice to know that the man beside you is bursting into hot flames.

-----

"Did you really like Mama before you started living separately?"

Iwaizumi swears that he's never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Not when he's had to state that he was divorced, not when he had to sign divorce papers half drunk off his ass. Not even when he'd raged after his said ex-wife after finding a tie that wasn't his own in his laundry pile.

Now is probably a good definition of what uncomfortable means.

"You're not gonna let me off the hook are you?" He steals a glance at Hoisuke from over his shoulder while stirring the vegetable curry, "yes, I really liked your mother."

"Did she?"

The word 'yes' almost slips past his mouth. Except, he isn't sure whether that's the truth and decides to shoot back with, "have you finished your homework, Hoisuke? You know it's due tomorrow. Miss Y/N said so."

"Do you really like miss Y/N?"

"What?" Iwaizumi frowns, "well--no. Not like that."

"Why?" His son whines, "I really really like Miss Y/N. She's nice to me and she never shouts. And she bakes good cookies!"

"How'd you know that?" Iwaizumi leans over to taste a bit of the sauce. Not bad, he thinks and mentally pats himself on the back. A few weeks ago, he would've probably burnt the entire house down.

"Because she bakes them every month. Every time we finish a test."

"That's nice of her."

"Yes," there's a pause as the man fishes out a bowl in which to serve the curry, "daddy, what do you do when you really like someone? Do you marry them like you and Mama did?"

"Uh--yeah. Sure."

"Then does that mean I need to marry Miss Y/N if I really like her?"

"Yup."

"Daddy!"

Iwaizumi bursts out laughing. Turning off the stovetop and bringing the bowl over to the dining table, he reaches out to ruffle his son's hair with a grin, "you're the one who has a crush on miss Y/N."

"She's too old for me Daddy," grumbles Hoisuke while scooping out two rice bowls as the pair sit down for dinner, "but she'll be good for you."

"Not that simple, buddy," Iwaizumi says as he dumps two spoonfuls of curry into his son's bowl, before doing the same with his own, "there's a difference between like and love."

A frown falls over his son's face, so like his own that Iwaizumi can't help but chuckle, "what is the difference?"

"Well, when you really like someone, you might want to get to know them better. Or play with them andd shit--stuff like that. When you love someone, it's..." he hesitates, "it's different."

"Why?"

There goes that innocent question that punctures his chesy a little too deeply. The brown-haired man steadies his gaze upon the calendar fixed on the wall opposite him as he answers with:

"When you love someone, you want to live with them. You want to start a family with them. Their happiness," his brown orbs switch back to his son's focused attention, "their happiness is all that matters."

Maybe it's the fact that he's not used to speaking so truthfully about such things. Maybe it's just Hoisuke who suddenly realizes the layers hidden beneath his father's poker-faced exterior. But for a moment, neither of them speak, as if bewitched by a silencing spell if broken by the scraping of cutlery against porcelain.

"Did you love mama?"

Hoisuke's voice is small, fragile. So fragile that Iwaizumi pauses just as his spoon reaches his mouth, glancing over at his boy. His beautiful boy.

"Yeah."

Another short pause. "Did she love me?"

"Of course she did," Iwaizumi's face softens. To be honest, Hoisuke hadn't showed any kind of restraint during the entire divorce procedure, had merely accepted things as they had unfolded before his very eyes. But sometimes, Iwaizumi fears his son might be keeping more from him than he lets on.

He ressembles his mother a lot in that sense.

"Then," wet coffee-coloured eyes blink up at him, lips trembling with a hoarse whisper, "why'd she leave?"

Before his father can say anything, the young boy bursts into tears.

Iwaizumi rushes over, clasping Hoisuke in his embrace as the child buries his face into his neck and cries and cries and cries. His little heart beats like wild horses and with every sob echoing through hid body, Iwaizumi feels his own heart break over and over again. One of his hands rub comforting circles of Hoisuke's back, while the other smoothes over the back of his head as he murmurs soft nothings in hopes that it will calm down the young child.

"I want--" Hoisuke's voice is thick with tears, "I want Mama--"

"Shh, hey it's okay," Iwaizumi murmurs out, "s'alright kiddo. I got you."

Hoisuke falls asleep eventually, the soft sniffles dying out into even breaths as he slumps against his father’s shoulder, probably tired out from his earlier emotions. Iwaizumi takes this as his chance to tuck the boy into bed, glad that he’d listened to the small subconscious in his head telling him that Hoisuke would be falling asleep sooner rather than latter. 

As he smoothes over his son’s hair, a part of him wonders how much Hoisuke is still silently hurting from his mother’s departure. He can’t imagine it; suddenly changing lives like you’ve merely changed your bed sheets and Iwaizumi had been so caught up in his own heartbreak, in his own bout of silent rage, that he’d forgotten that along the way, Hoisuke was also a victim to their endless fighting, the cold war that had broken his family apart. 

He wishes he can take the pain away, ease it somehow. But it’s not that simple. The truth is, no one can actually predict how a heart gets broken, nor when it does. The only evidence are the repurcussions. And it’s only now that Iwaizumi gets to see it truly take its form. 

Leaning over to press a soft kiss to Hoisuke’s forehead, Iwaizumi murmurs his silent goodnight before walking out and gently closing the bedroom door behind him. 

He leans onto the hard wooden surface and rubs his eyes. It is only upon pulling them away that he takes notice of the family photograph hanging on the opposite wall, frozen smiles wrapped up in lies.

He really needs to take that down.

-----

[nastybuckybarnes]

Deep End  -  Six

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 4.6K

A/n: Okie dokie! I’ve got an epilogue planned but I like this. The epilogue will explain shit better but I've known that this would be the end since pretty much the beginning LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

When Steve hears you stop struggling, stop fighting and stop crying, he’s nervous.

It’s been a while since he locked you up there, and he really should check on you soon, if only to make sure the baby’s okay after that stunt you pulled.

He pushes the door to the bedroom open, eyeing your figure carefully.

You look like you’re asleep. If he wasn't so attuned to your body, your heart and your breathing, he wouldn’t have noticed something’s wrong.

Your heart is beating rapidly, far faster than normal. And it’s weaker than usual.

Your breathing is shallow and strained, and your face is lacking its usual healthy glow.

He rushes to your side, tearing the rope from your wrists and touching your face carefully.

Your skin is hot to the touch, and he feels fear settle in his gut.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to help. He’s never really had to help you like this, the doctor’s always been nearby.

He grabs his phone, calling the doctor and pacing nervously.

“Sh-she’s burning up and her breathing is shallow.”

Steve's stomach drops as he listens to the doctor’s instructions, answers his questions and comes to the realization of why you’re like this.

He rolls you onto your left side, tears welling up in his eyes at how unresponsive you are.

The doctor hangs up after telling the super soldier that he’ll be there soon.

His heart is in his throat as he tries to undo the damage of his punishment, putting the evidence back in the box and kicking the rope under the bed.

You’re still unresponsive, heart weak, but your breath sounds a little less strained.

Monster. That’s what you called him. What Natasha called him and what Bucky’s asset called him.

Maybe you’re right.

But he wants you. He needs you. Giving you up would be giving up a piece of his soul and he’s not ready to do that yet.

~*~

The doctor informs him that both you and the baby are okay, but being on your back for so long was compressing a major vein supplying your baby with oxygenated blood. If he’d gotten there any later it might’ve been too late.

With strict instructions to keep you on your left side and make sure you stay hydrated, the doctor takes his leave.

He stays by your side, holding your hand tightly in both of his as he really comes to terms with the fact that it was entirely his fault. He almost killed you and your baby to prove a stupid point. To discourage you from doing the very same thing.

His heart is heavy in his chest as he listens to your heartbeat get stronger, to the baby’s heartbeat continue fluttering like a hummingbird’s.

Those two sounds bring him peace, if only temporarily.

Shattering his peace is the sound of the front door opening, followed by tiny little footsteps clomping up the stairs.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Sarah.

Steve shoves himself to his feet and quickly leaves the room just as his daughter tries to enter.

“Sarah, mommy’s sleeping.” She frowns up at him and shakes her little blonde head.

“I need to talk to mommy!”

She walks around his legs only for him to scoop her up in his arms.

“She’s sleeping right now, honey.”

Sarah shakes her head angrily, beating her tiny fists against his shoulders.

“Let me go! I want mommy! Mommy!! Put me down!” She starts shrieking. Full-on screaming bloody murder right in his ear, and he loses his grip on the wriggling child.

She slides out of his arms and runs into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed and shaking your shoulder.

“Mommy?” She’s got little tears on her face, and they don’t cease when you don’t wake up.

“Why won’t mommy wake up?!” She looks up at Steve with terror written on her face and it shatters his heart in his chest.

“Sarah, mommy’s sick, okay? I had the doctor come over and he said that she needs to rest and when she wakes up we’re gonna need to make sure she’s got plenty of water, okay?”

Sarah’s big blue eyes are filled with tears and she shakes her head.

“I want mommy!”

She clings to your torso, crying against your shoulder in fear.

“Sarah, honey, mommy’s gonna be okay. You just gotta give her some space, okay? How about I set up a movie for you?” Sarah sniffles and slowly pulls away from you, looking at her father and shaking her head again.

“I want mommy! I hate you!”

Steve then realizes just how crucial you are. How important you are, not only to him but to his daughter as well.

Losing you would hurt so many people.

“Honey, you gotta give mommy and I some space, okay?”

He picks up the five-year-old, despite her quite literally kicking and screaming, and sets her down outside the bedroom.

He shuts the door quickly and locks it even faster.

Sarah stands outside, wailing her head off and pounding on the door with her tiny little fists.

She cries for you, over and over again, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s brought back to what you said about him. About how this isn’t love.

He sits down at your side again, trying desperately to drown out the sound of his daughter crying outside as his thoughts overwhelm him.

He hasn’t been the nicest to you, that he’ll openly admit, and he makes mistakes probably more often than he doesn’t. But he loves you. He needs you.

Tears well up in his eyes and he lets out a shuddering breath.

He’ll make this right. He has to. Sarah deserves a mother, so does your unborn baby. And -though he may not deserve you- he needs you. The monster will be hard to fight, but losing you will be harder.

The damage he’s done might be irreversible, but he’s gonna do what he can to make things right, to give you a better life.

You don’t wake up for a few hours, but when you do you’re confused.

Your back aches and you feel a little dizzy as you remember what happened, how you got here.

Steve watches as you regain consciousness, confusion pulling your brows together before you slowly open your eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles soothingly.

You look up at him then drop your gaze to your belly, bringing your free hand down to rub it gently.

“Am I... are we okay?” He nods gently, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I was... I don’t know, trying to teach you a lesson. And all that did was hurt you. Hurt the baby. I wanted to show you that trying to hurt yourself and hurt the baby wouldn’t fly, but I ended up doing far more damage.”

You swallow hard and struggle to push yourself into a seated position, wincing at the throb in your head.

“The doctor said that you shouldn’t move too much, and try to stay on your left side when you sleep. I-I didn't know that sleeping on your back was bad.”

You take a deep breath and look up at him, waiting for the anger to take hold in his eyes but it never does.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. For scaring you and not trusting you. I... I lost you for so many years and now I have you back and... I don’t wanna lose you again. But everything I do to try and keep you close, make you mine... all it does is push you further away and I’m sorry.”

His apology takes you by surprise, and you eye him skeptically.

How are you supposed to know if he’s telling the truth?

He drags one of his hands down his face and for a moment you can truly see just how old Steve Rogers is.

The exhaustion of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders finally shows in the lines near his eyes, the bags beneath them. But what really displays his age is his eyes. They’re so full of trauma and pain and weariness.

For the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve Rogers looks his age.

“I-I’m sorry, too,” you whisper, surprising him.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking. I just... I wanted to punish you for what happened to Natasha. What you did. I wanted you to hurt but I just ended up hurting myself in the process.” You look down at your hands, trying to figure out how you want to phrase what you have to say.

“People argue, Steve. But what you do... it’s beyond that. We’re not... there are so many things wrong with what’s happening between us, what’s happened already, but I can’t leave. Sarah’s too attached and all I want for my little girl is to have a happy life. To have the happiness that was torn from me.”

Guilt settles on his chest, but he lets you continue speaking.

“I want my daughter to have a good life. I don’t want her to be afraid of-of people. The way I am. She loves you, and I know... I think you love her. You haven’t hurt her yet, and I hope it stays that way because at the rate we’re going, I'm not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do this.”

The pure fatigue on your face is more than enough explanation, but the idea of losing you is too much for him to bear.

“No, don’t say that. I’m gonna get better, okay? We-we were happy once. And we can do it again. I’ll be gentle and patient. I just... I need you, (Y/n). I need you a lot and the fact that you have such a tight hold over my every thought makes me angry. But I’m not gonna take it out on you anymore, okay?”

You let out a deep breath and eye him carefully.

“You’ve said that before.”

He thinks back to the time you spent in that cabin in the woods, where you turned his friends against him.

He has said that before, and look at where he is now.

“This time it’ll be different.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him. So if he’s gonna try, fine.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping she’s still safely out with Morgan.

Steve’s face falls again and he stands up and opens the door to your bedroom.

Sarah sits crumpled in a ball, her cheeks covered in tears.

“Mommy!” She all but screams the word, launching to her feet.

Steve tries to take her hand but she yanks it away from him, shooting him a glare then running to the bed and climbing up beside you.

Your heart breaks when you see how sad she looks, and you hug her to your chest.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.” She sniffles and climbs onto your lap, climbing to you like her life depends on it.

You wonder what happened while you were unconscious, what Steve did to upset her so much, and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

You look at the man, your thoughts written plainly across your face, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No. I just told her she couldn’t come in. Not ‘till you woke up. She uh... she stayed right outside the door.”

You soothe your daughter, rocking her as much as you can manage with the pain rolling down your spine.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You hold her close to you, trying to calm her down while Steve looks on helplessly.

Although his daughter loves him, loves being here with him, nothing can compare to the bond that the two of you have.

The monster in him hates it. Hates that he’s not as close to his own daughter, blames you for it. But he pushes that part of himself down.

He made a promise. And this time he’s not gonna break it.

~

"Are you sure you’re okay with it?” He asks for the thousandth time.

You only shrug, fixing your hair in the mirror as the doorbell rings.

“It’s a little too late now, Steve. Besides, I don’t really care. Sarah’s gonna have fun and that’s all that matters.”

Your daughter took a few days to warm up to Steve again, but now that she has he’s not gonna risk anything changing that.

He takes one last look at you, at how pretty you look in your blue sundress, then leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“I love you, (Y/n). I can send them away.”

You take a deep breath and shake your head.

“Sarah’s excited. Besides, I wanna know what we’re having.”

You plaster on a forced smile and it breaks his heart, but he turns and heads downstairs to greet the guests.

Ever since you got hurt, he’s been nicer. Far gentler than he's ever been with you, and you’re not complaining.

Steve has the potential to be a good person, that much is obvious, but he chooses not to.

He hasn’t hurt you again, or even yelled at you. No, he’s been patient and understanding and it’s such a sharp contrast from who he was before.

You can hear him greeting the guests warmly, chatting on and on about this and that and whatever else.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you leave the faux safety of the bedroom and head down the stairs, smiling at your guests.

People that you’ve never seen before are in your house. Well, that’s not true. You’ve seen them on TV.

The Avengers are in your living room and kitchen, talking softly amongst themselves.

In the presence of these superheroes, you feel small. Weak. And you can’t fight the urge to find Steve as anxiety crawls up your spine.

He’s in the kitchen, talking animatedly with Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. Iron Man and Falcon.

He looks so at ease, his face split open with a laidback grin.

Sam’s eyes find yours and he says something to Steve, making the blond turn to you with a soft smile.

He waves you over and you obey, one hand resting delicately on your bump.

“Sam, Tony, this is my (Y/n). (Y/n), Sam and Tony.” You nod politely at them, sliding your clammy hand into Steve's nervously.

You haven’t been around this many people in a very long time.

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman who’s got Captain America so hooked! All he does is talk about you,” Sam says, a grin on his face.

You smile at him, looking up at Steve.

He nods encouragingly, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles to try and ease your anxiety.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you. About both of you.” Tony smiles looking down as someone tugs on his pant leg.

“Can I have a sleepover at Sarah’s house?!” Morgan asks excitedly, her little face full of glee.

“You’re gonna need to go ask your mother. You know she makes all the decisions.”

Tony’s gaze lifts to yours when his daughter runs to find her mom.

“Is it alright if she sleeps over tonight?”

Steve nods then looks at you.

“You alright with that?”

You’re not sure if it’s a real choice or a test, but you don’t want to find out.

“Of course. She’s always welcome here.”

Tony nods with a smile, then resumes whatever conversation they were having before you showed up.

You tune out what they’re saying, carefully rubbing over your stomach and poking at your baby whenever they decide to kick you.

“(Y/n)? Did you wanna help me set the food up outside?” Pepper’s voice breaks you from your trance, her hand coming to rest softly on your shoulder.

You look up at Steve, silently asking for permission, but he just leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips and lets go of your hand.

You follow Pepper, setting up the table in the backyard silently for a while before she clears her throat.

“How are you feeling, (Y/n)? Sarah told us you were sick.”

You swallow hard and give her a tight smile.

“I’m feeling better. Tired all the time but this little devil is to blame for that.” You poke your belly only to be met with another kick.

Pepper nods, smiling at you.

“Are you excited?”

That question throws you for a loop.

Are you? Are you excited to have another baby?

You’re excited for Sarah to have a sibling. Excited to get to hold your baby and love your baby. But the reason why you’re having the baby in the first place? The father of your baby? No.

“Yeah, I am. A little nervous, too.”

She sits down by your garden, patting the seat next to her.

“You look tired, (Y/n). More tired than a mother should be. You’re wearing yourself thin.” You keep your lips sealed, not wanting to say anything that might make Steve mad.

She sighs and sets a gentle hand on your knee.

“I don’t know what your... relationship is with Steve, but I know you’re unhappy. He’s a good guy, deep down. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t work yourself to the breaking point because it’ll be even harder to build yourself back up. Especially with a brand new baby.”

You let out a shuddering breath and nod.

“It’s just hard. I’m trying but... it’s hard.”

As you talk softly with Pepper, Steve observes the two of you.

You look so sad, so defeated. He hates that he made you look like that.

“She’s unhappy, Steve.”

He turns to the voice, eyebrows raising.

“Wanda. I didn’t know if you’d make it.” He pulls her into a hug. “I heard about what happened in Westview... Wanda, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She sighs, pulling away with a sad smile.

“No. But I will be.” Her eyes travel back over to you for a moment, feeling the pain and the sorrow in your soul.

“Do you think she’ll ever be happy here? With me?” Wanda sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, feeling your thoughts, your energy.

“It’s hard to tell. Right now she’s so... numb. Nothing but sadness and... hopelessness. Her spirit is crushed, Steve.” She reopens her eyes and turns to the blond.

“You can’t keep her here like this. It’s only a matter of time before she gets fed up and tries to do something drastic. Again.”

Steve knows. He fucking knows that. But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to lift your spirits.

He's given you more freedom, let you make more decisions for yourself. He’s been gentler with you, hasn't forced himself on you.

Not forcing himself on you isn’t something to gloat about, but given the history between the two of you, it’s something fairly major.

He just wants to keep you in his life. He needs to keep you in his life.

He turns to the young woman beside him, a thought bubbling into his mind.

“Could you... do something to make her happy? Make her enjoy her life here? Make her love me again?”

Wanda’s mouth curves down as she looks at you, watches you play with your daughter and Morgan.

“Steve, it’s not right.”

The blond lets out a pained breath, shaking his head desperately.

“I just want happiness, Wanda. Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I suffered enough to deserve a happy ending?”

Wanda’s eyes glow red with sorrow as she’s reminded of her own happy ending that she had to give up.

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, dropping her gaze for a moment before looking over at his desperate blue eyes.

“We don’t always get what we deserve. It’s hard and it hurts, but we can't control everything. And at some point, we need to let go. No matter how hard it is or how much it hurts. We can’t hurt other people because of what we think we deserve.”

They both look back over to you, your own eyes already on the pair, but dropping as soon as you see them turn to you.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t do that.”

Tears stab at his eyes and he huffs out a breath through his nose, turning on his heel and walking away from the party, from his friends.

His abrupt departure catches the attention of a few people, yourself included. Before you can get up and see what’s going on, Bucky’s on his feet and heading into the house.

The woman Steve was talking to makes her way over to you, smiling gently.

“Hi (Y/n). I’m Wanda.” You smile at her, eyes darting towards where Steve disappeared from then back to her.

Bucky re-emerges only a few moments later, shaking his head at Natasha when she gives him a quizzical look.

You turn to Wanda with a strained smile.

“Could you just watch Sarah for a minute? And make sure she has something to eat? The foods ready.” She nods, watching with sad eyes as you walk back into the house to see what’s wrong with Steve.

“Steve?” You call softly, looking around for him only to find him sitting on the couch in the living room, his face in his hands.

“Why can’t I have what I want?” His question catches you off guard and you move to stand in front of him.

He shakes his head sadly, pulling his hands off of his face to grab yours, holding them tightly.

His lips brush over your knuckles gently, before he presses the back of your hands against his forehead, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“This isn’t right.”

Your heart races in your chest, stomach tying in knots as you try to figure out what he’s talking about.

“What are you talking about? Is everything okay? Did... did I do something wrong?” Maybe you shouldn’t have talked to Pepper earlier. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and smiled.

“I can’t keep you here.”

One sentence. Five words. Sixteen letters.

That’s all it takes to have your heart stuttering.

“What... what do you mean you can’t keep me here?” You try your hardest not to let your hopes get too high. Maybe he’s going to kill you. Maybe that’s what it is. It’s certainly something more up his alley than... the alternative.

He slowly raises his head, teary red eyes staring up into yours. 

“You know what I mean.”

You shake your head, needing to hear him say it himself.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes, the words hurting him but he needs to say them.

“You're free to go. You and Sarah.”

The breath gets knocked from your lungs, eyes wide as tears start to blossom. This is a trap. A test. It has to be. There’s no way...

“You’re letting us go?” You ask softly.

He sighs again, nodding as tears find their way down his cheeks.

“Yeah... I guess I am.”

You’re silent, staring at him and waiting for him to tell you it’s a joke, to punish you. But he doesn’t. No, instead he lets go of one of your hands and stands up, his chest almost brushing yours.

“You said I don’t love you... but I do. I love you. Or maybe I love the idea of you, I don’t know. But either way... I hate how sad you are. How sad and afraid I make you. You're free to go wherever you want.”

You’re practically hyperventilating.

After all this time, you never truly thought he’d ever let you go. That he’d have even a shred of decency left inside him.

He cups your hands together and carefully places something inside them, then turns and walks to the front door, grabbing his keys and leaving the house.

You stand silently, staring at the object in your hands until standing becomes too hard and you think you may throw up.

Then you sit down, silent tears trekking down your cheeks.

“(Y/n)?” You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, but Natasha’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“(Y/n), are you okay? Where’s Steve?”

You stare up at her then look back down at the tiny, life-changing object in your hands.

“He let us go,” you whisper, your glossy eyes raising to hers again.

She looks half as shocked as you feel.

“What?”

You sniffle then wipe the tears off of your cheeks.

“He’s letting us go,” you repeat, pushing yourself to your feet and holding your bump.

“Really?” You nod, eyes finding the backyard through the kitchen window.

Sarah and Morgan are playing outside with Sam and Wanda.

“What are you gonna do?”

Your heart is so full of confusion, full of pain and hurt.

“I’m gonna go cut the cake, then have a talk with Sarah.” She nods, a small smile on her face.

She heads back outside and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before you go out and face Steve’s friends.

You toy with the dainty thing he dropped in your hands before nodding to yourself.

This is what’s right. It’s the right choice for both of you.

You entertain his guests for a few more hours, not wanting to clue them into anything in case they disagree with your decision, with Steve’s.

Only after the presents are given and the cake is almost completely devoured do they finally start to leave.

Wanda helps you tidy up the backyard, writing her phone number down with a soft smile and a whispered ‘if you ever need a friend’.

Everyone bids you goodbye until only Bucky and Nat are left, the metal-armed soldier staring intently at your left hand before a smile spreads across his face.

He surprises you, pulling you into a gentle hug and nodding his head.

“Congratulations, (Y/n).” You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but for some reason, you don’t think it has anything to do with the baby shower.

They leave too, and then you’re virtually alone, Sarah and Morgan asleep upstairs.

After cleaning up every last inch of the house, you head upstairs to go to sleep.

Steve isn’t home until after midnight, long after he lets his tears run dry and his heart stop shattering. It just aches now. Hurts.

He let you go. He really did it.

Deep down he knew this would be the outcome. Either this or your death, but he never wanted to accept it. Refused to admit it to himself.

But seeing Wanda... after all that she’s been through... and she’s still standing strong.

He takes his shoes off and drops his keys on the kitchen counter, freezing in his tracks when he sees the covered plate of cake with his name written on it.

The batter is blue.

A boy.

He’s gonna have a son.

A son that he’ll never get to meet. He’s given you freedom, and he doubts you’ll let him be a part of your child’s life after all that he’s put you through.

He slowly makes his way upstairs, his heart hurting when he sees no sign of your things in the pristine house.

When he pushes open the bedroom door he freezes in his tracks.

There you are, sleeping in his bed. No bags are packed, nothing is out of place, and the dainty diamond ring sits on your finger.

You’ve made your choice, he realizes, his heart jumping for joy in his chest.

He sheds his clothes then climbs into bed with you, wrapping you up in his arms and sighing heavily.

Maybe Wanda was wrong.

Maybe he’ll get his happy ending after all.