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secretgamergirl · 7 months

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How a Computer Works - Part 1 (Components)

I am about to teach you on a real fundamental, connecting up electronic components level, how a computer actually works. Before I get into the meat of this though (you can just skip down below the fold if you don't care), here's the reasons I'm sitting doing so in this format:

Like a decade or two ago, companies Facebook pushed this whole "pivot to video" idea on the whole internet with some completely faked data, convincing everyone that everything had to be a video, and we need to start pushing back against that. Especially for stuff like complex explanations of things or instructions, it's much more efficient to just explain things clearly in text, maybe with some visual aids, so people can easily search, scan, and skip around between sections. It's also a hell of a lot easier to host things long term, and you can even print out a text based explainer and not need a computer to read it, keep it on a desk, highlight it, etc.

People are so clueless about how computers actually work that they start really thinking like it's all magical. Even programmers. Aside from how proper knowledge lets you get more out of them, this leads to people spouting off total nonsense about "teaching sand to think" or "everything is just 1s and 0s" or "this 'AI' a con artist who was trying to sell me NFTs a month ago probably really is an amazing creative thinking machine that can do everything he says!"

We used to have this cultural value going where it was expected that if you owned something and used it day to day, you'd have enough basic knowledge of how it worked that if it stopped working you could open it up, see what was wrong, and maybe fix it on your own, or maybe even put one together again from scratch, and that's obviously worth bringing back.

I'm personally working on a totally bonkers DIY project and I'd like to hype up like-minded people for when it gets farther along.

So all that said, have a standard reminder that I am completely reliant on Patreon donations to survive, keep updating this blog, and ideally start getting some PCBs and chips and a nice oscilloscope to get that mystery project off the ground.

Electricity probably doesn't work like how you were taught (and my explanation shouldn't be trusted too far either).

I remember, growing up, hearing all sorts of things about electricity having this sort of magical ability to always find the shortest possible path to where it needs to get, flowing like water, and a bunch of other things that are kind of useful for explaining how a Faraday cage or a lightning rod works, and not conflicting with how simple electronics will have a battery and then a single line of wire going through like a switch and a light bulb or whatever back to the other end of the battery.

If you had this idea drilled into your head hard enough, you might end up thinking that if we have a wire hooked to the negative end of a battery stretching off to the east, and another wire stretching off to the east from the positive end, and we bridge between the two in several places with an LED or something soldered to both ends, only the westernmost one is going to light up, because hey, the shortest path is the one that turns off as quickly as possible to connect to the other side, right? Well turns out no, all three are going to light up, because that "shortest path" thing is a total misunderstanding.

Here's how it actually works, roughly. If you took basic high school chemistry, you learned about how the periodic table is set up, right? A given atom, normally, has whatever number of protons in the core, and the same number of electrons, whipping all over around it, being attracted to those protons but repelled by each other, and there's particular counts of electrons which are super chill with that arrangement so we put those elements in the same column as each other, and then as you count up from those, you get the elements between those either have some electrons that don't fit all tight packed in the tight orbit and just kinda hang out all wide and lonely and "want to" buddy up with another atom that has more room, up to the half full column that can kinda go either way, then as we approach the next happy number they "want to" have a little more company to get right to that cozy tight packed number, and when you have "extra" electrons and "missing" electrons other atoms kinda cozy up and share so they hit those good noble gas counts.

I'm sure real experts want to scream at me for both that and this, but this is basically how electricity works. You have a big pile of something at the "positive" end that's "missing electrons" (for the above reason or maybe actually ionized so they really aren't there), and a "negative" end that's got spares. Then you make wires out of stuff from those middle of the road elements that have awkward electron counts and don't mind buddying up (and also high melting points and some other handy qualities) and you hook those in there. And the electron clouds on all the atoms in the wire get kinda pulled towards the positive side because there's more room over there, but if they full on leave their nucleus needs more electron pals, so yeah neighbors get pulled over, and the whole wire connected to the positive bit ends up with a positive charge to it, and the whole wire on the negative bit is negatively charged, and so yeah, anywhere you bridge the gap between the two, the electrons are pretty stoked about balancing out these two big awkward compromises and they'll start conga lining over to balance things out, and while they're at it they'll light up lights or shake speakers or spin motors or activate electromagnets or whatever other rad things you've worked out how to make happen with a live electric current.

Insulators, Resistors, Waves, and Capacitors

Oh and we typically surround these wires made of things that are super happy about sharing electrons around with materials that are very much "I'm good, thanks," but this isn't an all or nothing system and there's stuff you can connect between the positive and negative ends of things that still pass the current along, but only so much so fast. We use those to make resistors, and those are handy because sometimes you don't want to put all the juice you have through something because it would damage it, and having a resistor anywhere along a path you're putting current through puts a cap on that flow, and also sometimes you might want a wire connected to positive or negative with a really strong resistor so it'll have SOME sort of default charge, but if we get a free(r) flowing connection attached to that wire somewhere else that opens sometimes, screw that little trickle going one way, we're leaning everyone the other way for now.

The other thing with electricity is is that the flow here isn't a basic yes/no thing. How enthusiastically those electrons are getting pulled depends on the difference in charge at the positive and negative ends, and also if you're running super long wires then even if they conduct real good, having all that space to spread along is going to kinda slow things to a trickle, AND the whole thing is kinda going to have some inherent bounciness to it both because we're dealing with electrons whipping and spinning all over and because, since it's a property that's actually useful for a lot of things we do with electricity, the power coming out of the wall has this intentional wobbly nature because we've actually got this ridiculous spinny thing going on that's constantly flip flopping which prong of the socket is positive and which is negative and point is we get these sine waves of strength by default, and they kinda flop over if we're going really far.

Of course there's also a lot of times when you really want to not have your current flow flickering on and off all the time, but hey fortunately one of the first neat little electronic components we ever worked out are capacitors... and look, I'm going to be straight with you. I don't really get capacitors, but the basic idea is you've got two wires that go to big wide plates, and between those you have something that doesn't conduct the electricity normally, but they're so close the electromagnetic fields are like vibing, and then if you disconnect them from the flow they were almost conducting and/or they get charged to their limit, they just can't deal with being so charged up and they'll bridge their own gap and let it out. So basically you give them electricity to hold onto for a bit then pass along, and various sizes of them are super handy if you want to have a delay between throwing a switch and having things start doing their thing, or keeping stuff going after you break a connection, or you make a little branching path where one branch connects all regular and the other goes through a capacitor, and the electricity which is coming in in little pulses effectively comes out as a relatively steady stream because every time it'd cut out the capacity lets its charge go.

We don't just have switches, we have potentiometers.

OK, so... all of the above is just sort of about having a current and maybe worrying about how strong it is, but other than explaining how you can just kinda have main power rails running all over, and just hook stuff across them all willy-nilly rather than being forced to put everything in one big line, but still, all you can do with that is turn the whole thing on and off by breaking the circuit. Incidentally, switches, buttons, keys, and anything else you use to control the behavior of any electronic device really are just physically touching loose wires together or pulling them apart... well wait no, not all, this is a good bit to know.

None of this is actually pass/fail, really, there's wave amplitudes and how big a difference we have between the all. So when you have like, a volume knob, that's a potentiometer, which is a simple little thing where you've got your wire, it's going through a resistor, and then we have another wire we're scraping back and forth along the resistor, using a knob, usually, and the idea is the current only has to go through X percent of the resistor to get to the wire you're moving, which proportionately reduces the resistance. So you have like a 20 volt current, you've got a resistor that'll drop that down to 5 or so, but then you move this other wire down along and you've got this whole dynamic range and you can fine tune it to 15 or 10 or whatever coming down that wire. And what's nice about this again, what's actually coming down the wire is this wobbily wave of current, it's not really just "on" or "off, and as you add resistance, the wobble stays the same, it's just the peaks and valleys get closer to being just flat. Which is great if you're making, say, a knob to control volume, or brightness, or anything you want variable intensity in really.

Hey hey, it's a relay!

Again, a lot of the earliest stuff people did with electronics was really dependent on that analog wobbly waveform angle. Particularly for reproducing sound, and particularly the signals of a telegraph. Those had to travel down wires for absurd distances, and as previously stated, when you do that the signal is going to eventually decay to nothing. But then someone came up with this really basic idea where every so often along those super long wires, you set something up that takes the old signal and uses it to start a new one. They called them relays, because you know, it's like a relay race.

If you know how an electromagnet works (something about the field generated when you coil a bunch of copper wire around an iron core and run an electric current through it), a relay is super simple. You've got an electromagnet in the first circuit you're running, presumably right by where it's going to hit the big charged endpoint, and that magnetically pulls a tab of metal that's acting as a switch on a new circuit. As long as you've got enough juice left to activate the magnet, you slam that switch and voom you've got all the voltage you can generate on the new line.

Relays don't get used too much in other stuff, being unpopular at the time for not being all analog and wobbily (slamming that switch back and forth IS going to be a very binary on or off sorta thing), and they make this loud clacking noise that's actually just super cool to hear in devices that do use them (pinball machines are one of the main surviving use cases I believe) but could be annoying in some cases. What's also neat is that they're a logical AND gate. That is, if you have current flowing into the magnet, AND you have current flowing into the new wire up to the switch, you have it flowing out through the far side of the switch, but if either of those isn't true, nothing happens. Logic gates, to get ahead of myself a bit, are kinda the whole thing with computers, but we still need the rest of them. So for these purposes, relays re only neat if it's the most power and space efficient AND gate you have access to.

Oh and come to think of it, there's no reason we need to have that magnet closing the circuit when it's doing its thing. We could have it closed by default and yank it open by the magnet. Hey, now we're inverting whatever we're getting on the first wire! Neat!

Relay computers clack too loud! Gimme vacuum tubes!

So... let's take a look at the other main thing people used electricity for before coming up with the whole computer thing, our old friend the light bulb! Now I already touched a bit on the whole wacky alternating current thing, and I think this is actually one of the cases that eventually lead to it being adopted so widely, but the earliest light bulbs tended to just use normal direct current, where again, you've got the positive end and the negative end, and we just take a little filament of whatever we have handy that glows when you run enough of a current through it, and we put that in a big glass bulb and pump out all the air we can, because if we don't, the oxygen in there is probably going to change that from glowing a bit to straight up catching on fire and burning immediately.

But, we have a new weird little problem, because of the physics behind that glowing. Making something hot, on a molecular level, is just kinda adding energy to the system so everything jitters around more violently, and if you get something hot enough that it glows, you're getting it all twitchy enough for tinier particles to just fly the hell off it. Specifically photons, that's the light bit, but also hey, remember, electrons are just kinda free moving and whipping all over looking for their naked proton pals... and hey, inside this big glass bulb, we've got that other end of the wire with the more positive charge to it. Why bother wandering up this whole coily filament when we're in a vacuum and there's nothing to get in the way if we just leap straight over that gap? So... they do that, and they're coming in fast and on elliptical approaches and all, so a bunch of electrons overshoot and smack into the glass on the far side, and now one side of every light bulb is getting all gross and burnt from that and turning all brown and we can't have that.

So again, part of the fix is we switched to alternating current so it's at least splitting those wild jumps up to either side, but before that, someone tried to solve this by just... kinda putting a backboard in there. Stick a big metal plate on the end of another wire in the bulb connected to a positive charge, and now OK, all those maverick electrons smack into here and aren't messing up the glass, but also hey, this is a neat little thing. Those electrons are making that hop because they're all hot and bothered. If we're not heating up the plate they're jumping to, and there's no real reason we'd want to, then if we had a negative signal over on that side... nothing would happen. Electrons aren't getting all antsy and jumping back.

So now we have a diode! The name comes because we have two (di-) electrodes (-ode) we care about in the bulb (we're just kind of ignoring the negative one), and it's a one way street for our circuit. That's useful for a lot of stuff, like not having electricity flow backwards through complex systems and mess things up, converting AC to DC (when it flips, current won't flow through the diode so we lop off the bottom of the wave, and hey, we can do that thing with capacitors to release their current during those cutoffs, and if we're clever we can get a pretty steady high).

More electrodes! More electrodes!

So a bit after someone worked out this whole vacuum tube diode thing, someone went hey, what if it was a triode? So, let's stick another electrode in there, and this one just kinda curves around in the middle, just kinda making a grate or a mesh grid, between our hot always flowing filament and that catch plate we're keeping positively charged when it's doing stuff. Well this works in a neat way. If there's a negative charge on it, it's going to be pushing back on those electrons jumping over, and if there's a positive charge on it, it's going to help pull those electrons over (it's all thin, so they're going to shoot right past it, especially if there's way more of a positive charge over on the plate... and here's the super cool part- This is an analog thing. If we have a relatively big negative charge, it's going to repel everything, if it's a relatively big positive, it's going to pull a ton across, if it's right in the middle, it's like it wasn't even in there, and you can have tiny charges for all the gradients in between.

We don't need a huge charge for any of this though, because we're just helping or hindering the big jump from the high voltage stuff, and huh, weren't we doing this whole weak current controlling a strong current thing before with the relay? We were! And this is doing the same thing! Except now we're doing it all analog style, not slapping switch with a magnet, and we can make those wavy currents peak higher or lower and cool, now we can have phone lines boost over long distances too, and make volume knobs, and all that good stuff.

The relay version of this had that cool trick though where you could flip the output. Can we still flip the output? We sure can, we just need some other toys in the mix. See we keep talking about positive charges and negative charges at the ends of our circuits, but these are relative things. I mentioned way back when how you can use resistors to throttle how much of a current we've got, so you can run two wires to that grid in the triode. One connects to a negative charge and the other positive, with resistors on both those lines, and a switch that can break the connection on the positive end. If the positive is disconnected, we've got a negative charge on the grid, since it's all we've got, but if we connect it, and the resistor to the negative end really limits flow, we're positive in the section the grid's in. And over on the side with the collecting plate, we branch off with another resistor setup so the negative charge on that side is normally the only viable connection for a positive, but when we flip the grid to positive, we're jumping across the gap in the vacuum tube, and that's a big open flow so we'll just take those electrons instead of the ones that have to squeeze through a tight resistor to get there.

That explanation is probably a bit hard to follow because I'm over here trying to explain it based on how the electrons are actually getting pulled around. In the world of electronics everyone decided to just pretend the flow is going the other way because it makes stuff easier to follow. So pretend we have magical positrons that go the other way and if they have nothing better to do they go down the path where we have all the fun stuff further down the circuit lighting lights and all that even though it's a tight squeeze through a resistor, because there's a yucky double negative in the triode and that's worse, but we have the switch rigged up to make that a nice positive go signal to the resistance free promised land with a bonus booster to cut across, so we're just gonna go that way when the grid signal's connected.

Oh and you can make other sorts of logic circuits or double up on them in a single tube if you add more grids and such, which we did for a while, but not really relevant these days.

Cool history lesson but I know there's no relays or vacuum tubes in my computer.

Right, so the above things are how we used to make computers, but they were super bulky, and you'd have to deal with how relays are super loud and kinda slow, and vacuum tubes need a big power draw and get hot. What we use instead of either of those these days are transistors. See after spending a good number of years working out all this circuit flow stuff with vacuum tubes we eventually focused on how the real important thing in all of this is how with the right materials you can make a little juncture where current flows between a positive and negative charge if a third wire going in there is also positively charged, but if it's negatively charged we're pulling over. And turns out there is a WAY more efficient way of doing that if you take a chunk of good ol' middle of the electron road silicon, and just kinda lightly paint the side of it with just the tiniest amount of positive leaning and negative leaning elements on the sides.

Really transistors don't require understanding anything new past the large number of topics already covered here, they're just more compact about it. Positive leaning bit, negative leaning bit, wildcard in the middle, like a vacuum tube. Based on the concepts of pulling electrons around from chemistry, like a circuit in general. The control wire in the middle kinda works in just a pass-fail sort of way, like a relay. They're just really nice compared to the older alternatives because they don't make noise or have moving parts to wear down, you don't have to run enough current through them for metal to start glowing and the whole room to heat up, and you can make them small. Absurdly small. Like... need an electron microscope to see them small.

And of course you can also make an inverter super tiny like that, and a diode (while you're at it you can use special materials or phosphors to make them light emitting, go LEDs!) and resistors can get pretty damn small if you just use less of a more resistant material, capacitors I think have a limit to how tiny you can get, practically, but yeah, you now know enough of the basic fundamentals of how computers work to throw some logic gates together. We've covered how a relay, triode, or transistor function as an AND gate. An OR gate is super easy, you just stick diodes on two wires so you don't have messy backflow then connect them together and lead off there. If you can get your head around wiring up an inverter (AKA NOT), hey, stick one after an AND to get a NAND, or an OR to get a NOR. You can work out XOR and XNOR from there right? Just build 4 NANDs, pass input A into gates 1 and 2, B into 2 and 3, 2's output into 1 and 3, 1 and 3's output into 4 for a XOR, use NORs instead for a XNOR. That's all of them right? So now just build a ton of those and arrange them into a computer. It's all logic and math from there.

Oh right. It's... an absurd amount of logic and math, and I can only fit so many words in a blog post. So we'll have to go all...

CONTINUED IN PART 2!

Meanwhile, again, if you can spare some cash I'd really appreciate it.

#computers #computer science #history #electronics #education #relays #transistors #vacuum tubes

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mintmatcha · 18 days

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Inevitable Things: chapter six

Aizawa x reader fic

cw: cisfem reader, no quirks, office au, miscommunications, slow burn. full tags available on AO3 (linked in masterlist)

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Fridays are also the only day where you don’t go directly home after work. Instead of catching the late night Orange line, you snag the Blue and take it down, down, down, right out of the city and it’s the almost surreal serenity of the suburbs. Street lights and cars turn into trees as the sun dips low. Only the ambient sounds of your music and the wheels on the tracks keep you company as you pass familiar stops, all the way to the end of the line.

From there, you walk: down the dark sidewalks, across the one lane roads, stopping only in the little diner along the way. It’s hours later when you finally make it to the doorstep. Before you can knock, the door is ripped open.

“You’re late.” The shortest woman you’ve ever seen stands there, hands on her hips and glasses shoved to the top of her nose bridge. Her scrubs are baggy, but clean, with the name of her service stitched on the pocket: UA Palliative. “I thought you were hit by a car.”

“Sorry, sorry.” you try to laugh her concerns off.

“And you’re sweaty.” Nurse Chiyo clicks her tongue at you as she hands you a face mask. “You should really let him send a car.”

A car would be faster, but you can’t justify someone footing that bill when your metro card has money on it. “The exercise is good for me.”

The woman scrunches her face and gestures to the bag you’re holding. The bottom of the brown paper is practically see through with grease. In the other, you have two styrofoam cups, taken from the diner down the road. “And that food is good for you too?”

“It’s a friday treat.”

“Just don’t feel bad if he’s not hungry,” she sighs with the weight of someone who knows. “Towards the end, the appetite tends to dwindle.”

You slip on your face mask and slip off your shoes. Toshinori Yagi’s home drips with old money; subtle detailing mixed with hints of extravagance, it's the air of wealth with none of the gaudiness. The halls are sparsely decorated, only the occasional artwork and statue to keep you company as you walk to the back of the home, past the luxurious, yet almost never used kitchen and through the abandoned living room. There, in the middle of it all, hangs an oversized picture of Yagi back in his acting days.

If it was anyone else, it might seem egotistical, but the man on the wall might as well be a completely different man, a Yagi from another universe. Bound solely in brightly colored latex, this Yagi grins ear to ear, flexing an obscenely thick bicep for the camera. The Hollywood cameras and actors are a blur in the background. It’s from the set of his first All Might movie-- the one you’ve seen hundreds of times. The longer you stare, the more jagging it is. At 55, Yagi is twice the man that he was in his twenties, but a quarter of the size. All of the important pieces are there -his smile, his laugh, his energy- but there’s a part of him, always locked away in a time where this picture was taken.

You press on into the study. This room is a stark contrast from the rest of the house; it’s cluttered, all flat surfaces stacked with magazines and printed articles. Coloring pages litter the floor, in between broken crayons and pencils.

In between it all is a stick of a man, dirty blonde hair buzzed short enough you can see the shape of his skull. He’s pouring himself over some reading, tired eyes tracing the page with a monotonous haze. He’s lost weight again; you can see it in the sharp dip of his cheeks.

“Happy Friday.” You rap on the door frame and he jolts up in surprise. Hand over heart, he laughs in delight, even though he knew you were coming. “How are you?”

“I thought-” He inhales. You can’t remember all of the details of what’s happened to him, but you know one of his lungs is practically nonfunctional and the other struggles keeping up. “You’d be celebrating your birthday.”

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” He pushes up to stand, but you wave him back down. “You should be. Out with friends.”

“I’m happy where I am, sir.” You place everything on the table in front of him and then retreat to your side, your drink still in hand. Once you’re far enough away - six feet- you take off your mask. “Chocolate Peanut Butter shake and extra crispy fries, just for you.”

It’s his favorite. No, it doesn’t have the nutrition he should be getting, but… well, he’s going to die no matter what. Let the man have a fucking milkshake. He takes it in both hands, like he’s cradling an award or a piece of gold.

The first time cancer struck him, Toshinori Yagi decided to leave acting and do something with his money. He didn’t have a family to take care of -- and his sister is independently wealthy-- so he invested in medical technology. He hired a team that knew better than him, put some of them through school, and grew a rather successful business from the ground up, no formal training of his own. Now, ironically enough, he’s wealthier than ever, and still pouring it into product development.

“You do too much.” He picks the darkest fry of the group and crunches down on it.

It’s the least you can do. Isolation is taxing; you don’t mind sacrificing a bit of time and $19.76 for a quick meeting and meal. You settle down in your usual spot- a fluffy velvet chair in the corner of the room- and take a long sip from your own drink.

“How are things with Shouta?”

You choke so hard it goes up your nose. How did he know? Did the interns figure it out and pass along the word to the whole office? How are you going to explain to your boss that you’ve sexted his colleague? Or did Aizawa tell him? Oh, what if he shared those pictures--

“Wh-what about him?”

Yagi gives you a strange, tired look, brow knitted with a kind concern. “You called me- about his employee?”

You physically sigh with relief; no one knows. Everything is good; you need to stop panicking. Aizawa won’t share the pictures; it’d ruin his career faster than it’d ruin yours. Besides, he’s apparently embarrassed of you, so why would he even show you off? “Oh, well, everything’s good. Kaminari is back in the office.”

Your boss chews a single fry for a long while. A melancholic twang stirs inside you. No, you haven’t known him as long as some people, but over the years you’ve gotten attached. He’s a fair man, a good one too. Watching him waste is… it’s hard. Plain and simple. On the books, you say that you visit for work, but it’s honestly a social call, something to quell your worries.

“He wasn’t very happy when-- I called,” Yagi draws in from his nasal tube as he talks sometimes and it cuts his words short.

“Yeah, I know.” That’s an understatement. You chew on your straw as you try to decide how to respond. “Aizawa had some choice words for me afterwards.

The look on Yagi’s face tells you that he already knew that. Word always makes it back to the big boss one way or another; even sick, he always has his fingers in every pie.

“Don’t let him-” He runs out of breath in a weird spot. “Push you around. He’s a strong personality.”

That’s an understatement too. You wish you could stomp your feet and demand for his removal, but unfortunately Aizawa is very, very good at his job. Besides, you don’t especially want him fired. Maybe just… a series of paper cuts everyday for the rest of his life. Or that his train never comes on time. Nothing serious.

“Trust me- I won’t.” You throw an arm up and flex. “I can put up a fight.”

“No fighting.” The man tries to give you a stern look, but it just looks a bit silly. As demanding as it sounds, it's like being scolded by a grandfather; there’s too much affection between you for anything to feel threatening. “Don’t wage any wars in my office.”

“No promises!” you tease. “Ready to go over reports?”

He smiles back, those hollow cheeks pulling into tiny apples. “Of course.”

…

It’s late when you finally make it home. Yagi had forced you into a car, calling it a birthday gift, and the drive was long and quiet. The driver turned on some soft music, songs with the tinkle of piano, and you almost dozed off by the time he rolled into your apartment complex.

You kick your heels off and strip out of your work clothes as you enter your apartment, letting everything stay where it falls. In the wake of Touya, your place is pretty much empty, with the carpet still pressed in spots where lamps and tables used to be and a jammed lock that won’t click closed. The less time you spend here, the better. You throw yourself onto the couch -something too big to take, apparently- and flick on the television. The usual mindless garbage you like is already on; perfect background noise as you play on your phone.

There’s nothing super new going on. Couple of group chat notifications. Nemuri had texted you to check in-- so did Hizashi. And-

Aizawa’s unopened messages stare at you. There’s no reason to read those texts, right? It’s just mindless sex talk. In fact, he probably doesn’t want you to ever see those texts again.

…Unless he said something important. Maybe he had told you to play dumb at work! Oh, that would open its own can of worms, but at least it would explain why he said to forget everything-

Wait, that wouldn’t make sense. You two were alone at that point. He could have been normal or said something like ‘wow, love your tits!’ or--

Ugh. He wouldn’t say that! Ugh!

You pull on your messaging app again. You need to get this over with.

-> I bet you looked so pretty when you came.

The preview still makes your skin prick with unwanted excitement. The lust nipping at your ankles isn’t easy to ignore as you tap the button and open the conversation. The immediate visage of your words, your drunken musings and flirtations, makes you physically cringe. Luckily, the new messages take up enough space to keep you from seeing your own nude visage.

The first response hits you like a truck.

-> Do you have any idea what I’d do to lick your fingers clean? What I’d do to smell your perfume on your skin?

The thrum of your heartbeat goes funny for just a flash of a moment and you have to shake off any semblance of arousal. No-- you do not like this. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about that thought! You don’t want the warmth of his tongue or the tickle of his breath against your pulse point, or that little bit of scruff against your lips-

The video is below the first message. It’s paused on an out of focus still, but you can make out the golden touched skin of his stomach and the blur of hand. Heat flickers in your core at that, but you tense your legs and try to ignore it.

Get yourself together. It’s just a fucking jerk off video. You scroll right by it.

-> Look at what you do to me. It’s all for you.

There’s a couple of minutes between that text and the final one.

- >I think you fell asleep. Talk in the AM.

And… that’s it. Nothing else.

That told you nothing, other than the fact that Aizawa Shouta is just like any other man: a horny freak. A sexy, amazing texter of a freak, but still a freak regardless! When you move, you can feel the wetness between your legs spread against your pussy lips.

You turn over and try to focus on the medical drama that’s onscreen. Ugh. Ugh! You're over this man and his fucking bipolar attitude and his work bullshit and his, his, his….

The click on the wall ticks away.

His kind of alluring demeanor.

You turn back to your phone. Maybe the video has an answer. Yeah.

The volume on your phone thrums with audio, low and deep, when you click the image. It takes you a second to realize it’s a groan- unabashed and loud- and you swear it resonates deep down into your own lungs.

This video is aimed a bit higher than the other and is shot from farther away, probably resting on a desk from the looks of it. It feels silly that you ever confused him with Touya. Shirt clutched between his teeth, Aizawa’s skin is a deeper color, completely untattooed, and his chest is filled out with weight. A broad, thick hand is white knuckle tight around his cock, glazed and dripping with wetness. It’s thick, oh god, it’s thick, and he’s holding it so tightly that it must hurt. Your jaw aches at the sight of it. Everything about him is wide//, from his cock to his thighs to his slightly soft middle.

A bead of precum rolls from his tip as he slowly drags his hand up and back down. His entire body jumps and twitches with the sensation, a red blush tickling down his chest and another moan on his lips, muffled by the fabric of his black shirt. He makes the same sound again, this one softer, almost affectionate--

And you realize something that feels like a punch to the gut.

He’s saying your name.

Heat flushes your body. Oh, you can barely breathe out of fear you’ll miss something. With a high, tight sound, Aizawa’s body goes stiff, but his cock kicks as he comes undone. Spend splatters down his chest and onto his black shirt, pearl string after pearl string. Just like everything about him, it’s too much.

And then the video ends.

You digest this for a long moment. Then, you watch it again. And a third time.

There's a tremor in your hands as you put your phone down. Okay, that didn't give you any information, but it- well-

Fuck, it was hot. Really fucking hot. Unfortunately, terribly, awfully, horrendously hot. You want to scream and kick and rub your clit just a little, because all you need is a little friction and you'll cum for him again--

No. You can't give that victory to him, not again. Even if Aizawa will never know about it, the universe will.

You grip the remote and turn up the television's audio, trying to shift your focus on to the interpersonal drama on the screen. You’re stronger than this. The little thing between your legs does not dictate your behavior!

You don’t jack off that night.

Or the following night.

Or the following.

No, you resist. You punish yourself for even entertaining the idea of cumming to the idea of him again.

Monday morning you are unsurprisingly cranky when you settle into your desk. Kicking off your shoes and booting up your computer, you stretch in your chair and try to pop the kink in your shoulder. Thirty must be catching up with you, because you didn’t sleep well all weekend. Every muscle in your back is bunched, but the little bits of movements seems to be helping-

“Jesus fucking christ, I'm sweating through my fucking shirt.”

Bakugo's accent slips out as he gripes, pulling his shirt collar away from his neck as he walks. It’s easy to forget that he and Izuku grew up in the same hometown, but when he’s genuinely pissed, that homecooked Southern twang comes out. You look up to see what's gotten him so aggravated before nine. Sweat dampens his hair and glitters his skin. Oh, and he's right, that white shirt is absolutely clinging to his middle, into that tight, tiny, toned, slutty little waist of his--

Oh, god. You slam your foot into the edge on your desk in hopes the pain douses whatever horny monster had overtaken you. Is this just life now? Practically drooling over every man with a pulse? Bakugo Katsuki is gay and very much not your type-

“You okay?” Izuku gives an awkward laugh. He and Denki are apparently right behind Bakugo, equally worn. Well, almost equally. Denki doesn't seem to be sweaty at all, despite his puffing. “You're like, making this weird face.”

Shit. Quick-- lie. “Cramps.”

“Damn, hate that,” Kaminari grips his stomach in sympathy. The other guys share an uncomfortable glance.

“So-” You change the topic. “Why are you guys..?”

“The elevator is shot.” Bakugo hooks a thumb behind him towards the stairs. “Had to carry this fuck ass bed up to the fifth floor for that meeting today.”

The investor meeting: even though Toshinori Yagi is wealthy, the newest bed prototype still needed outside funding. These fine millionaires require occasional proof that their money is being used well, so once a quarter they get jammed into the nicest room in the building and get a rather boring lecture from the important department heads. You usually sit in and try not to nod off when Enji starts in with the accounting information.

“The entire elevator?” You lean back in your chair and try to see. Sure enough, some technician is fumbling away at the buttons. “No one tell the ADA.”

“Actually, the ADA is a law, not a governing body,” Izuku chirps. “It's enforced by the DOJ, EEOC, and, oddly enough, the DOT-”

“How do you know this shit?” Denki says.

“Healthy curiosity,” Izuku tries to say.

“‘cause he's a fucking genius.” Bakugo says at the same time, louder and more confident. “Using that big head of his all the time.”

Izuku touches his temples with a concerned frown. “You think my head is big?”

“Massive.” Bakugo elbows his lover, all saccharine smiles. “It works for me though.”

Kaminari snorts and the other blonde throws him an icy glare.

“What? You gonna make a joke about massive head?”

Kaminari throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes, surprisingly annoyed at the jab. “I was going to joke about his head working for you, but whatever! Ruin my fun.”

“As much as I love head jokes-” you interject. “I do need to get work done.”

Kaminari turns to you with the sweetest of smiles, so syrupy that everyone else recoils a bit with suspicion. “Like what?”

“Getting everyone’s powerpoints together, printing out our reports, putting those reports into actual human words and not engineering garbage, greeting our guests-- blah, blah, blah.” Just talking about it makes your head ache. “Plus the other daily reports and---- Kaminari, no.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!”

“You were going to ask me to do your work again!” you say.

“Come on, please?” He puffs his bottom lip out like a kicked dog. “I have to leave early this week and -”

“Denki, you’re so fucking stupid.” Bakugo groans. He starts to leave and the other two follow behind. “I'm too tired for your shit today.”

“There’s a gay joke hidden in there.”

“I'm going to report you to fucking HR.”

“See you at lunch?” Izuku asks from over his shoulder. You shake your head-- you’ll probably just sneak one of the forgotten italian ice cups from the freezer when no one’s working. There’s so much to do and not quite enough time.

You’re solving that little frozen treat into your mouth when Aizawa makes his appearance. It’s strange to see him so late in the day; pure embarrassment must be keeping him away. His usual sunny yellow sweatshirt means you can’t even pretend not to see him when he rounds the corner.

Aizawa is as he always is; a bit scruffy and properly annoyed. His expression is neutral, if not a bit sour, but the crinkle in his brow is tighter than ever. The bunch to his shoulders only gets higher when he spots you.

This is really the guy that's been tearing you apart? Really? Why couldn't you have fallen for Hizashi or Enji or-- anyone else that isn't wearing a neon hoodie in the office.

“You should really take a proper lunch.” Those deep bags under his eyes are darker than usual, almost purple; he must be drained, but he’s been avoiding the coffee machine. A twang of sympathy hits you-- lack of caffeine might actually kill the guy.

When he walks towards you, you're reminded of how pretty he is, even without proper sleep. High cheekbones, smooth olive tone skin-

Your fighting spirit almost fades, but the post it note taped to your monitor catches your eye. Be mean. Yes, that's right.

“Well, uh. What do you want?” Your tone is a bit snappy.

His eyebrows twitch up in momentary surprise, but Aizawa recovers quickly.

“The elevator won’t be fixed until tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles against the wood once. “Move the investor’s meeting from the top floor.”

“Say please.”

Aizawa is half turned and midstride when he realizes what you said. He looks back at you, brow knit.

“Excuse me?”

“I said.” You hit the spacebar with a bit too much force. “Say please.”

“I-” You expect him to fight or argue, but he just sighs, hands on his hips in defeat. “You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't demand things. Can you please move the investor’s meeting from the top floor down to the ground floor? Thank you.”

That was more sincere than you expected. Your stiff upper lip almost wobbles. Almost.

“No.”

He gives you the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen. “What do you mean, no?”

“I said no.” You push back from the desk and let your wheeled chair roll away. “There’s no reason to move it. The room upstairs is already set up for the meeting-- full demo bed included. I’m not moving everything.”

A muscle tightens in his jaw. Seems like that good attitude is on a short fuse. “There's a second demo. I'll have the boys wheel it into the meeting room on this floor-”

“It’s a less finished model though, right?”

“That's…” Aizawa huffs. You know you’re right and so does he. “Yes. Sure. A less complete model, but it’s still leagues ahead of what they saw last time- ”

“We shouldn’t use it.” You have no right bossing him around, but you try to embody Bakugo and his cunt-like behavior. “They are going to see the best we have to offer. Besides, the fifth floor meeting room is bigger and nicer-- and it's already set up.”

“I-” He leans forward, arms crossed on to your desk. It’s not threatening, but rather humble, as he meets your eye. The silver healed skin of his scar catches the light differently than the rest of his face. “It’s four full flights of stairs.”

“And you can walk.”

A beat passes. Then another. Aizawa stares at you, dark eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“I have never, ever thought of you as a cruel person.” He doesn’t blink the entire time he speaks, deep, endless black eyes boring into yours. “But time and time again, you show me that side of you. “Well-” You don’t blink either. “I’ve always thought you were awful.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, quiet but with an edge. His lips are curled so high you can see his gum line.

You should let it die here. Let him walk away. Escape with your dignity.

But your teeth and tongue are sharp, and the look on his face is only sharpening their edges, so follow the instinct and go in for the kill. As you stand, you lean on to your hands and push yourself face to face to Aizawa. Unabashed, unafraid, unblinking.

“You wish you could.”

His face collapses. Then, it hardens again, even tighter and more disgusted than usual. The flat ridge of his nose is crinkled with a snarl, eyes narrowed so thin they're practically closed. When he pushes away to stand, Aizawa jams his hands into his sweatshirt and flexes his jaw, up and down like he's chewing on every insult and curse he wants to throw your way. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again with a deep exhale.

“Fine.” He says through closed teeth. “Fifth fucking floor.’

And with that, he turns and marches off back down the hall.

By the time you breathe again, you realize your hands are quaking. The adrenaline is still pumping through your veins, rushing your heart faster and faster. This must be how a marathon runner feels when they cross the finish line-- because this is victory.

Sorry, Yagi. War has been waged.

You did say no promises.

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lexisecretaccx · 28 days

Text

A+ Student Pt.4

Masterlist!

(Fem reader, bit of angst.. ish? suggestive, dramaa , got a lot to catch up on so this is a pretty long part😚 you guys deserve it tho, not proofread!)

Summary: Y/n is a great student in her college, always getting good grades. Her college professor Matt, thinks she can get even higher ones with some “extra credit.” That is until she meets her new gym teacher..

(Quick little note: hey guys I haven’t written in a while so I may be a bit rusty but I hope it’s ok)

“How’d you get here so early?” Lizzy walks up to me, I’m sat on the bench where Chris’ stuff was previously. “Oh I.. I came in here at break to get ready before everyone.. I feel insecure for anyone to see me getting dressed.” I lie through my teeth, less than half hour ago the exact person who is teaching us this gym class was balls deep inside of me.

“You are stunning y/n,” Liz chuckles “no need to be insecure but okay.” She side hugs me gently. As the class fills up Chris walks through the door from the cupboard, the exact one we were.. you know. His eyes dart to mine and I awkwardly smile. “Okay girls, we have an important choice to make..” he starts to speak.

“You have a choice between what you wanna do in gym class, basketball with me or soccer with Ms Jones.” He clears his throat, “so uh.. stand on this side of the room if you wanna do basketball, and that side for soccer.” He points and shrugs. I stand up and follow Lizzy, she starts to walk to the Soccer side and I pause.

“Y/n? You love soccer right? Come on.” She smiles, “I’d rather.. step outside my comfort zone, you know.. push myself to try something new.” I smile enthusiastically, but the truth is I just wanna see Chris more. “Oh okay! I’m good at basketball I’ll do it with you.” She walks back over to me.

There’s about 8 girls on the basketball side and the rest are standing for soccer. I guess they’d rather have a female teacher, I would too if my teacher wasn’t so hot, but it’s pretty bare I don’t know how we’d do with 4v4 in basketball. “You won’t like this..” Chris talks to the class, interrupting my thoughts. “We have to mix the female and male classes,” complaints fill the gym.

“I know, I know you guys don’t like it but, because of the work being done on the boys gym, the boys need to come into here. Temporarily, and then the class can go back to normal and we won’t have to split it.. okay?” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. All of a sudden, the boys pile into the gym.

Chris explains what either options are and all the boys start to pick a side. It’s fairly equal in the end, either side having a good amount of us but I start to feel anxious at the difference in how many girls are doing basketball compared to soccer. There’s a good 20 boys on this side.

The other group goes to the soccer field and we stay put. I get budged by a boy, he’s gotta be at least 6ft. “Ouch.” I mutter, he turns around to face me and I realise just how tall he is, the height difference is too different I don’t like it. “You alright? Sorry my friends push eachother around.” He chuckles awkwardly.

“I’m okay thanks.” I go to turn away and his hand places on the side of my arm, I tilt my head in confusion. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around.” He smiles, his brown eyes looking down at me. “I’m y/n, I tend to keep to myself.” I shrug. “I’m Mason.” He looks me up and down, “how tall are you?” He laughs lightly.

“I’m 5ft 3.. why?” I smile nervously. “I’m just worried how you’d do with a bunch of 6ft something boys playing basketball. You’re the shortest here.” He laughs. I hold back a smile, “I’ll be good. Bye Mason.” I rolls my eyes and I feel his gaze burning into me as I walk to Lizzy. “Flirting much?” She smirks, “no.. he’s not my type.” I shrug.

“Hmm sure.” She laughs slightly, I look over and see Chris looking at me, he turns his head to face the boys putting up the basketball hoops. I smile to myself, “ohh.” She whispers, drawing my attention to her, “hm?” She grins, “you like the teacher? I thought you liked Professor Sturniolo?” I shrug and sigh.

“Right let’s get into teams, we need two captains to pick the people for their team..” Chris spoke, “what about you Mason?” He scans the room, “no girls wanna be captain? Okay then Will you can be the other.” He smiles. His perfect smile.. perfect teeth. “Y/n.” Mason says my name and I look up to him, “what?” I awkwardly look around, “I want you on my team.” He looks down at me.

I look around, I’m the second person he’s picked.. why me? I know nothing about basketball and I’m not even his friend. “Oh.. okay.” I walk over to him. I see Chris glaring in the corner of my eye.

The teams get picked, Mason picked Lizzy because she’s my best friend, Which is nice I guess. They start to play, I don’t know much on basketball and I freeze when 5 boys rush past me to get the ball. “You okay?” Lizzy calls to me, she’s lucky she’s a tall girl. 5’9, she can keep up with them but I look like a lost puppy.

“No.” I say back to her and she chuckles before pointing next to me frantically, I turn and a basketball comes plowing into my face. I freeze again, not wanting to embarrass myself by crying but that fucking hurt like a motherfucker. I feel tears build in my eyes and Chris runs over to me, “hey you good?” He speaks softly and calmly, hands on my shoulders.

“I..” I go to answer but I just start crying. Without thinking he pulls me into his chest and hugs me. The sounds of feet scuffing on the ground stops, “you’re okay, just a scratch.” He smiles as I pull away from the hug and he turns my face, holding my cheek and observing the scratch. It feels like nobody’s here, it’s just us. Until..

“Everything good in here?” Its.. Matts voice? Chris’ hands drop off of me and all the other people are watching me. I feel nervous as Matt walks up to us, “I don’t have a class, thought I’d watch my brother teaching.” He spoke falsely as his eyes meet mine. “She ok?” He’s talking as if I’m not there. “Uh yeah.. gonna need to clean the scratch though.” Chris awkwardly chuckles.

“I can take her to clean it? Maybe she can explain how she walked out my class earlier.” He smiles, and a few ooos come from people around me. “Uh yeah okay.” Chris says, but I know deep down he doesn’t want me alone with Matt.

“Come on.” Matt motions me to walk with him. “Distracted in class?” He spoke up, breaking the short silence. “Uh no. I wasn’t looking and it came out of nowhere.” I shrug. “At least Chris was there to give you a little comfort hm?” He spoke harshly and sarcastically. I just hum in response.

“Where’d you go when you stormed out of class?” He turns into the janitors closet, where the med kits are kept and I follow. “To the bathroom.” I lie, “don’t lie to me y/n.” He sits me down on a stool and grabs a med kit off the shelf. “I’m not..” he cuts me off by shushing me. “You went to gym class didn’t you? Wanted to practice? I bet you weren’t practicing basketball were you?” He hisses as he leans down with an alcohol wipe in his hand.

“I.. what do you” I breathe in sharply as he pushes the wipe on my face without warning, the stinging causing my eyes to water. “Ow.” I look up at him, blue eyes burning into mine. “You think I didn’t try to find you after you didn’t come back? I did.” He seems hurt.. does he know? He grips my chin and turns my head to get better access to the scratch which is bleeding lightly.

“What do you mean?” I speak innocently and he groans. “You’re a slut.” He smirks, “fucking slut.” He stands up and bins the wipe. “A slut? What do..” he cuts me off, “stop asking me what I mean y/n. You know exactly what I’m saying, you and Chris were.. practicing in the gym closet hm?” He sighs. My face goes red.

“I didn’t.. you were flirting with that new girl, I just..” I also sigh, he scoffs, “flirting? Don’t turn this on me, I wouldn’t have done anything with her but you? You brought it upon yourself to..” he grumbles as his eyebrows knit together, “well if you don’t want anything with me why should it matter? You said it yourself, you don’t wanna lose your job.” I smirk.

“I thought you wanted me y/n.. me.” His voice cracks slightly but he collects himself and leans against a shelf. “I’m a college student Matt, I’m gonna fuck as many people as I want and can, don’t take it personal.” I laugh. “You don’t get it y/n..” “no you don’t get it Matt.. I wanted you, so badly, I still do but Chris? He hasn’t treated me like shit.” I lean my head back.

“I’m sorry y/n. I just love my job I don’t wanna lose it.” He whispers, “you’ve made that clear professor Sturniolo. Thanks for helping with this scratch.” I get up and walk out the closet. He follows after me. I’m being dramatic I know, I’m making this about me, it’s his job and he loves it I shouldn’t try to get it the way but.. “Maybe I could show you that I do care?” He whispers as he catches up with me. “What do you..” I look at his face, his pupils have dilated and he’s smirking.

“Oh..” I turn to him, “what changed your mind?” I chuckle lightly, “I imagined Chris’ face when I tell him I fucked you better than he did.” He whispers his face full of lust, I fight my instincts to kiss him, because of cameras. “you really shouldn’t be so competitive.” I smile as I continue to walk. “Where can we go?” He mumbles.

“I’m not doing it with you right now, I’m still worn out from.. basketball?” I lie even though Matt knows what I mean, there’s a janitor at the end of the corridor. “Oh okay.” He fake pouts as I turn into the gym, “I’ll text you.” I smile before we part ways.

As I enter the gym, Chris walks up to me. “All good now?” He asks, tilting his head. “Yeah.” I smile lightly before I walk up to Lizzy, “you seem happy?” She laughs, “yep all good.” I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder and they turn me around. Mason, I forgot about him. “I’m so sorry, on behalf on James. Your cheek okay?” His hand hovers over the fading scratch.

I pull away from him, “yeah it’s okay thanks, maybe get James to apologise to me himself instead of you.” I look over at James, who waves awkwardly. “Copy that.” Mason spoke, stifling a chuckle. “Why are you laughing?” I ask, “Im sorry it’s just.. don’t worry.” He pats my shoulder and walks away.

Lizzy goes to say something but I stop her, “don’t. I’m not into him.” She laughs, “he’s into you though, why aren’t you into him? He’s tall, brunette, brown eyes, strong.. he’s the whole package.” I huff, “if he’s so amazing why don’t you ask him out?” I speak impatiently. “Because I’m.. I’m uh not into tall people.” She chuckles awkwardly.

“There.. you aren’t into his height and I’m not into his.. everything.” I smile softly.

Class ends and we sit in the gym, “wanna skip Math?” Lizzy speaks up, budging my arm to get my attention. “Where would we go?” I ask curiously, “the bathrooms? We can make a fake out of order sign and chill in there.” I laugh and grab her face, “Lizzy you genius!” I bring our faces close before letting go.

She clears her throat, “they don’t even use out of order signs anymore, they write it on paper it’s easy to copy.” She smiles at me and I quickly pull out my notebook, I hand her the notebook and a pen and she scribbles down “out of order.” She grabs tape out of her bag and sticks it on the top.

We run to the bathroom and stick the note on a door and sit in the cubicle. She sits on the toilet seat and I’m on the top of the toilet, where the flush is. My legs are either side of her and I accidentally kick her. “Sorry.” I whisper.

We hear someone enter the door and they start talking, “I’m telling you, I would climb him like a tree, have you seen his tattoos?” It’s the new girl, Kelly. “Not my type Kel.” Some girl speaks back, “yeah you love stuffing yourself full of bbc don’t you.” Kelly laughs loudly, “don’t say it like that, but.. basically yeah.” They start to giggle.

“Also how can you have a crush on a teacher? That’s like weird.” The other girl spoke, me and Lizzy are staying silent. “Yeah I wouldn’t do anything with him, I wish I could but maybe I’ll hit him up once we’re out of college.” She laughs, and they leave the bathroom.

She was talking about Matt.

A/n: ooooo, drama. Sorry for the long break, my posting is gonna be pretty messed up because your girl has appointments😚 but anyways.. y’all know I love to add to the plot so we’re plotting super hard rn, I need to feed y’all, ur basically my children fr<3 anyways I’ll stop yapping but dw you may get some Matt smut soon? Whattttt🙈 Also who tf is Mason bro💀 bros obsessed.

Anyway hope it was ok, I haven’t written in ages.

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mintkookiess · 1 year

Text

I like you, okay?!

A/N: Fluff fluff just fluff after the whole fiasco with "It's Always Been Her." (I need to recover from it)

Anyways, enjoy!

Love,

Mint

POV: Miles comes into your room at 3 am unexpectedly :3

Tags: Miles Morales x reader, slight cussing, LOTS OF FLUFF, sassy annoyed reader, confessions

Word count: 1k

At around 3 am, your phone started dinging, making you groggily grab your phone from the bedside table.

The sudden light from the screen made you wince. "Why the fuck is Miles texting me, it’s too late for this.” You groaned as you clicked on the unread message from him.

Hey Y/n, can I come over real quick?

You clicked your tongue in frustration, placing a hand over your eyes, and rubbed softly in a poor attempt to wake yourself up before looking back down to type the shortest possible reply that you could muster at the time.

Sure.

After hitting the send button, you huffed, chucking your phone across the bed.

As your eyes start to close once more, a soft stealthy tapping at the window makes you open your eyes again, making you grumble from great annoyance at how your best friend always found the worst times to sneak into your bedroom.

Spiderman or not, this was plain fucking torture.

"Are you ready?~" You hear a muffled voice as the window opened wider. "Oh God, please no." You groaned, throwing a pillow over your face. This was your last attempt to just drown him out, but apparently, nothing is going your way tonight.

You hear the soft padding of feet, accompanied by the familiar thwip sound of his web-shooters, swinging himself into your bedroom with a soft thud and faintly landing on his feet.

"What do you want Miles?" You said with your voice muffled by the pillow. "I know this might be a horrible time to ask, but do you think I could stay for a while?" He asked with a sheepish smile. Miles stood by your bed, awaiting your response.

You nonchalantly wave your hand off at him, eager to just get this over with. "Do whatever you want man."

Miles' eyes glistened in delight. "You're so kind tonight, what's changed?" His stupid ass question just made you want to throw him out the window.

You didn't respond, too exhausted to even think of a sassy remark. It was literally 3 in the morning, you did not have time for his antics.

However, he merely chuckled at your lack of a reaction as his lips curved into his usual smile. "Sorry, I'm a bit of a night owl. What with patrol and all that, but I couldn't go without seeing you. Your eyes have been haunting my dreams..." He trailed off.

"Ah yes, it's me being your sleep paralysis demon telling you to stop bothering me at such an ungodly hour." You replied sarcastically, finally removing the pillow from your face as it started to give you a hard time breathing.

You turned to lay on your side and looked up at him, clearly unimpressed. It was just too late for this shit.

Miles sees this, and suddenly gets defensive, sitting on the edge of your bed across from you. "Maybe if you weren't always so busy with classes—"

He suddenly stopped talking as he realizes what he said. Miles' face slowly turned red and he was internally hoping to all the gods existing that you wouldn't spot it from the darkness of your room.

Ah, maybe I should just jump out of the window. He thought as he took a deep breath in, his fingers tapping against his thigh anxiously. "I like you, okay?!" He quickly said, nervously looking up at you.

"You... WHAT?!" You suddenly yelled, causing you to sit up in shock, mouth agape and eyes widened. What the hell is this guy on about now?! And at 3 FUCKING AM?

"Okay okay, I know. Totally stupid to just jump the gun here but it's so hard to sleep. Sometimes I lose focus when I'm being Spiderman. I spend an awful lot of time thinking about you. Y-You're funny, kind, smart, all the things I like in a person." Miles rambled on, not even daring to stare directly into your eyes for fear of seeing your reaction to his sudden confession.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing. "Is this why you deliberately tried to be my lab partner when I was new at school?" To which Miles' nervous expression became that of a guilty one.

"Maybe..." He admits, his voice sounding even less confident than before.

"Don't you like that Gwen girl from our class? I would've assumed because you two are literally so close." The guy in front of you only shrinks further into himself, feeling his heart sink and his face fall. "Gwen's like a sister to me. She isn't you." He said with a slight emphasis that really sounded more like a whine.

Miles' words are slow but honest. His eyes trail up to the wall behind you to try to keep a brave face, which was slowly crumbling by the minute.

You snuck a glance at him before exhaling loudly. You flip your fingers back and forth, signaling him to come closer. "I guess you can cuddle with me." You mumbled, ignoring the way your cheeks are heating up.

Not even wanting to see his reaction, you place your blanket back over your entire body, laying back down on your bed, facing the wall and away from him.

He seemed surprised, and his face instantly lit up. Miles let out a happy gasp as he grabs your blanket gently, climbing underneath it as he cautiously wraps an arm around your waist and snuggles up against your back. He even mustered the courage to bury his nose in your hair.

Miles' heart was beating erratically, rendering him absolutely speechless as he held on to you as if his life depended on it. Well, it was a dream come true for the poor boy. He'd been practicing how he'd confess to you for the last three months.

"You do know that you're going to have to work hard to get my 'yes' right?" You mumbled, trying to use every ounce of energy left in your body to numb the way his arm around your waist made you feel. "I'm fine with that," Miles quickly replied, his words soft and comforting.

"As long as I can be with you, in any capacity, I am content." He chuckled. Shortly after the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep, still in each other's arms. Or more like, you were still in his arms.

Fin.

See more of my Miles content here babes!

(if yall wanna be on my taglist feel free to let me know!)

#miles morales x reader #miles g morales #miles morales x you #miles morales fanfiction #across the spiderverse #spiderman #miles morales x y/n #fluff #miles morales fluff #miles morales x reader fluff #love confessions #miles morales confession #this is so cute im sobbing

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yuujispinkhair · 1 year

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Blow jobs with the HSR men

Pairings: Caelus, Welt, Dan Heng, Gepard, Sampo x Reader (female) Genre: smut, fluff Warnings: 18+, smut, oral, cum-eating, cock-warming, praise, use of the name Daddy (Welt), somnophilia kind of, with prior consent though (Dang Heng), semi-public sex (Sampo). All characters are of age. This story is 18+. Minors don't interact.

Caelus: To pass the time

++ Every time you are between missions, you always end up in Caelus' room. It starts innocently with sitting on his bed and eating snacks together to pass the time, but you always end up with his pretty cock down your throat, bopping your mouth on it like it's the most delicious lollipop you have ever tasted.

++ And it truly is addictive. Sucking Caelus off is so rewarding because he is so damn cute. His legs are spread sluttily, and he watches you with heavy-lidded golden eyes, flushed cheeks, and ruffled silver hair, looking so horny and so in love with you.

++ You love touching him, love caressing his toned thighs while you call him your pretty boy, and watch his hard cock twitch at the praise, pre-cum dripping down on his firm abs, practically begging you to take him in your mouth.

++ The moment you wrap your lips around his leaking tip, Caelus is in heaven, moaning and gasping so sweetly for you.

++ You get so wet just from hearing his cute moans and mewls, soon catching yourself rubbing your horny pussy against his muscular thigh, spreading your cream over him, driving him even more crazy.

++ Caelus can never hold back when he feels how wet you are. And so you end up in the 69 position only seconds later, getting your pussy eaten out by this sweet, eager boy, feeling him pamper your clit with sweet hot kisses and fuck your tight hole with his tongue while you suck his gorgeous cock with all your love.

++ You rub his heavy balls lovingly, already craving his big load. Moaning around his hot cock, murmuring encouragements against his wet and twitching tip, mouthing it lovingly, and telling Caelus to let go and cum for you.

++ It's so cute when you hear his desperate cry and feel his hips buck wildly, pushing his cock deep into your warm mouth as he cums, twitching and pulsing several spurts of hot milky seed down your throat.

++ He is your favorite snack and your favorite pastime, and you always come back for more every night, giving him blow jobs and letting him fuck you until you see the stars even behind your closed eyelids.

++ You know that in the morning, you will get greeted by an annoyed look from Dan Heng and a teasing comment from March because sweet Caelus simply can't hold back his moans when you two are fucking.

++ But you wouldn't want him to. After all, those moans are the cutest thing you have ever heard, and you always suck extra sweetly on his gorgeous swollen tip just to hear him make more of those cute noises.

Welt: As a stress relief

++ Welt is always so hard working, always so busy, giving his all to the missions he manages. He has flowers delivered to you with a note where he apologizes for not being able to spend more time with you, but he still has so much to do today.

++ You know what he needs. A man like him deserves some little break. And so you surprise him in his office room, smiling sweetly as you lock the door behind you and slowly walk towards his desk in your shortest little skirt and halterless lace stockings. Still looking classy enough so people will think you are here for a business meeting, but sexy enough to make Welt look away from the screen on his desk and let his gaze wander admiringly over your body.

++ "I am sorry, darling, but I must finish this report. You look so lovely, though."

++ He looks stressed, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, shoulders tense from sitting here all day. You drop to your knees right then, crawling under his desk, eyes never leaving him. "Then I'll keep you company."

++ You smile sweetly up at him as you hug his legs and snuggle against him, rubbing your cheek lovingly against the bulge in Welt's pants like a cute, affectionate pet.

++ He stays calm. The only indicator that he is affected by what you do is the large steady hand that lands on the top of your head and pets you gently. And the growing hardness against your cheek.

++ You pepper kisses on his growing erection through his pants, sighing happily and telling him in that bedroom voice, "You deserve a little break, Daddy. Let me take care of you."

++ He keeps typing his report even as you unzip his pants and free his hard cock, letting it slap against your face before you rub your cheek against it again, this time skin on skin, the way Welt likes it best.

++ The room is silent except for the clicking of the keyboard and the loud wet noises of your mouth slurping on Welt's cock. You move slowly, tenderly, giving him all the love and care he deserves for being such a hard worker.

++ He lasts a long time, just enjoying your warm, wet mouth on him as he does his work until you hear a quickening in his breaths, barely noticeable. And then: "Come sit on my lap, darling."

++ The report is forgotten momentarily when you climb onto Welt's lap, crying out in pleasure when he pushes his hardness into your dripping wet cunt, unhindered by any panties since you conveniently "forgot" to wear them. You know that Welt always wants to cum in your pussy, stuffing you full of his warm seed until you are overflowing.

++ And he keeps you on his lap afterward, pussy full of his cum, while he finishes the rest of his report.

Dan Heng: To help him with his nightmares

++ When Dan Heng has one of his nightmares, it is hard to rouse him from them. He is trapped in his dream, gasping and breathing heavily, body shaking from fear, but unable to wake up. But you have spent many nights next to him, and by now, the two of you have figured out what helps him feel better.

++ And so you turn on your belly, your head resting on his thigh, and take his still soft cock in your mouth and suckle lovingly on it, spoiling him with your love and affection.

++ You know that this is the cure for his nightmare. Warming his gorgeous cock in your wet mouth and massaging his tense thighs. You enjoy the feel of him hardening gradually against your tongue, filling you more and more every second.

++ You can feel the veins on his now fully hard length throb and taste the first pearls of pre-cum, sweet and salty at the same time. And finally, Dan Heng's harsh breathing gets replaced by soft sighs of bliss.

++ You can tell when he wakes up because suddenly, his long fingers grab your hair, and you hear him groan loudly. He is desperate now, mind still fuzzy from sleep, leaving him so honest about his arousal and his need for you.

++ The mask is off, his usual aloofness is gone, and Dan just lets his primal instinct take over and snaps his hips to fuck needily into the warm comfort of your mouth. You moan around his throbbing cock, sucking him eagerly, wanting to chase the last traces of his bad dream away.

++ His pace is erratic, so lost in the pleasure and comfort your mouth provides. You give him your all, sucking lovingly on his needy hard length until he cums with a desperate-sounding cry, almost a sob.

++ And you keep suckling on his pretty mushroom tip with all your devotion, drinking his warm cum to the last drop, only pulling away when his cock softens and slips out of your mouth by himself.

++ You press one last loving kiss to his cockhead, and Dan breathes a soft, "Thank you, darling."

Gepard: As a reward for his sense of duty

++ You are always worried when Gepard is away on his duty to guard the city. His job is dangerous. Anything could happen out there in the cold. So you feel relief wash over you when you hear the key turning in the lock, and you drop everything to greet him.

++ He has barely closed the door behind himself when you are there, getting on your knees and smiling up at him, hands already working open his belt. You can't help it. You just crave him so much after being worried about him all day. You need him in your mouth, feel him fill you, and taste him.

++ And most of all, you want to do this for Gepard. You want to reward him for being a hero. Praises spill from your lips, telling him how brave he is, how strong and reliable. He deserves to get spoiled, deserves to get this gorgeous cock sucked until he cums.

++ Gepard's head falls back against the door with a soft thud, a low moan falling from his lips as your hot mouth sinks onto his fat cock, taking him in so sweetly all the way so that his swollen tip hits the back of your throat.

++ His mouth overflows with expressions of love and praise. You can feel all the tension fade from his body as that buff, strong man melts under your touch, becoming all putty in your loving care.

++ "Oh, sweetheart, you are so good to me!"

++ He doesn't hold back. He knows that here with you, he is safe. He is home. And his beautiful little wife is here to shower him with her love. And so he gives himself to you completely, moaning unrestrainedly, loud and sexy, and so obviously in love with you.

++ His fat cock almost makes you choke, but you keep going, looking up at him with admiration in your gaze, silently telling him that it's ok that you can take him. It's that gaze that makes him bust. A loud moan falls from his lips, strong legs shaking as he cums so hard for you, telling you over and over again how much he loves you while his thick ropes of cum fill your mouth.

++ You are surprised to find he still has enough strength left to swoop you into his arms and carry you to the bedroom because he wants the next load to be deep inside your pussy.

Sampo: A fun affair anytime he is in town (or maybe a little more)

++ He is a shady man, and the bar you meet him in is just as shady. Sampo is a patron here, coming by anytime he is in town. Sometimes every night, sometimes only once a month. It's been weeks since you saw him, but tonight he is here, sitting in his usual little booth, sprawled on the shabby leather couch, legs spread lazily, a playful smirk on his face while his eyes travel unashamedly over your body, clearly undressing you in his mind.

++ "Hey, sweet thing, long time no see. Come say hello to me, ok? Keep me company tonight, please, or I will cry."

++ He makes a fake pouty face, the one that always makes you roll your eyes and laugh. He knows how to lure you in with his questionable charm. He is an idiot, and most of the things he does are not really legal. And you think he probably has several girls and boys in every city. But as much trouble as he seems, Sampo is too much fun to stay away from.

++ So when he pats the space next to him on the leather couch, you sigh and walk over to him, joining him in his booth.

++ He always brings you little gifts from his business trips. Here in this city, you are his only one. This time he has a pretty-looking necklace for you, and sooner than later, you find yourself leaning over his lap, the golden chain dangling down from around your neck and brushing over his thigh while your tongue circles his swollen cockhead.

++ You have one hand wrapped around the thick base of Sampo's cock, while your mouth is moving up and down his length, tongue lapping cutely at his slit and licking up every drop of pre-cum he gives you, so hungry for him that you moan.

++ He always makes you act like a slut. That's just the effect he has on you. A little wild, a little risky. You aren't complaining, though. Not when your pussy throbs with heat at sucking him off right here in the bar, barely concealed from curios glances by a ratty, almost see-through curtain.

++ Sampo sounds smug when he groans, "Fuck, I missed you! And you missed me too, it seems, huh?"

++ You don't even object. Maybe it's because your mouth is stuffed full of his throbbing cock. Or maybe it's because as cool as he tries to act, you can hear how breathless he sounds.

++ Sampo is always far too needy when it comes to you, and you bask in the knowledge that he would have never been able to wait until he got you alone in his room. He wants you too much.

++ You suspect he is in love with you, even though he always acts like this is just a little game between the two of you. But the way he is rutting desperately into your mouth and making all those needy little noises lets you know exactly how much he is into you.

++ You realize too late that he tugged on the curtain in his riled-up, horny state, revealing a bit more of the two of you to the rest of the bar. But you can't bring yourself to care. Not when Sampo's moans get even louder, and he fucks your mouth so needily.

++ "Fuck yeah, keep going, baby! I want the whole bar to see that I'm getting my dick sucked by such a pretty thing like you!"

++ He barely finishes the sentence before his hips buck helplessly, and his warm cum floods your mouth, unable to hold back his orgasm any longer.

++ You smile when you let his cock slip out of you, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand while Sampo slumps bonelessly onto the couch. You are definitely his favorite. His only one in this city.

Thank you so much for reading! All these fine men have been on my mind a lot, and I wanted to do some headcanons to get a feel for writing them. I had lots of fun with this! I hope you enjoyed the stories too! Which one do you want to suck off the most? :)

Comments and reblogs make me happy!!

#hsr x reader #caelus x reader #welt x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #sampo x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gepard smut #welt smut #dan heng smut #sampo smut #caelus smut

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entomjinx · 2 months

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ONE PIECE CHAPTER 1113 SPOILERS!!!

It's tagged, it's in bold, if you didn't see it that's on you, but I'm sorry. (I'm also a little sick so sorry for how this starts to turn a little insane at the end.)

The reveal makes perfect sense. I've seen a few people struggle to figure out where it came from, so I'm gonna explain why it makes perfect sense and then pop off with some silly theory.

The first hint at the fact that the One Piece world is sinking exists all the way back in Long Ring Long Island.

That seems like an odd place to start, but it's the first time we're shown how drastic the tides of the ocean in the One Piece world can change. It's enough to separate entire parts of an island, causing it to appear as separate islands, once every year.

This implies that the tides change drastically over the course of much longer periods than it does in the real world.

After that, we get to Water Seven and discover that it's sinking, and that the Aqua Laguna is getting worse every year. We also know that it's caused by the water receding at Long Ring Long island. We're also outright told that they want to make the city float to stop the sinking problem.

We also, much later, see just how high Wano is in altitude.

Knowing that the Redline is so tall that it cannot be passed by any ship, cannot be broken through, and that Mariejois is sat right on top of it only adds to why it makes sense.

The world isn't "sinking," those some islands technically are(Water Seven, modeled after Venice), the tides are going to rise exponentially, and fast.

The force of the water would instantly drown most people, and those who survived would be those who could get to higher altitude islands, the sky islands, Fishman Island, or the Redline.

And because I know someone will try to point this out: land bound plant life can temporarily survive underwater, so Ohara's 5000 year old library tree would be fine for a a bit while submerged. There's lots of places with high tides who's plant life is just fine. (This also could explain why they'd be so willing to throw the books into the water. Not only was it to save them from the fire, but many of them had likely been submerged for long periods of time before. They knew the books would be find in the end because they had record of it. And well, it's mentioned in the chapter that Vegapunk means to finish what Ohara started.)

This would also explain how thorough the government was able to be with wiping out information from the void century. If only a few places can survive, then few things that tell the truth will survive, and even fewer people.

Do I think I'm 100% correct about any of this? Or course not, it's Oda. It's One Piece. Things are pretty much never predicted with 100% accuracy. But that's my thoughts on why it makes sense. Now we get into theory:

I have several points to make, so I'm going to write out the shortest ones first.

-This would, completely unironically, explain some of the centuries long racism campaign against fishman. They have no reason to fear the high tides. They will survive no matter what happens on the surface, and that scares the humans who cannot.

-I think that the extreme tide is a part of why the bridge is being built in Tequila Wolf. I believe the bridges purposes is to connect all the highest points of the world so there's no need for ships to carry them. This way, the Celestial Dragons will still have access to more slaves, produce, and anything they can't get within Mariejois on their own during the time period when everyone drowns.

-and now we get to the big one:

I think that the reason the 20 kings and their people destroyed the ancient kingdom is because the ancient kingdom had a way to survive the high tide while keeping the maximum number of people safe in the process, and while being able to save many more people. They refused to ask for help, and were instead afraid of the power the ancient kingdom held, so they sought to destroy it.

I think that the ancient "weapons" were instead a means of survival, and the reason they were hidden is because the 20 kings would have used them as weapons instead. We don't know much about the ancient kingdom, so much of this is speculation.

I think Pluton was a large enough ship that it could carry the entire kingdom. We've already seen some massive ships in One Piece, and Iceburg intends to turn the entirety of Water Seven into a ship, so the idea of an island sized ship isn't all that odd.

If you continue to think about it, why did none of the Beast Pirates manage to find Pluton while searching for the poneglyph in Wano? I have two theories for this based on the fact that we're told Wano would have to open it's borders in order to get Pluton. If the walls would need to be torn down, then we can continue to assume that Pluton is massive.

Theory one is that Pluton is is hidden within the mountain itself, and that the mountain was man-made to hide the ship. Not only would the walls need to come down, but the mountain itself would have to be destroyed. They would also need a way to survive the high tide without it, so creating a mountain that is high enough in altitude to keep them safe would have been a necessity. I think this is the more believable of the two theories.

Theory Two is that Pluton is Wano. The entire island is the ship, and many of Wano's people descended from the people of the ancient kingdom or those they rescued. This one is much less likely, but it's still a possibility in my mind.

We know that Poseidon was the former mermaid princess, and that the current one is Shirahoshi. She can control the sea kings. Why would this be important? Because if everywhere floods, then the sea kings, who are already very large creatures, suddenly have an influx of room to move, food to eat, and places to lay eggs. It would cause a population spike. *However,* that would cause an ecological disaster within the food chain. The sudden influx of sea kings would be desperate for any food they can get their hands on, and many would likely die of starvation. This means they need some way to repel them from the large ship.

We don't know anything about Uranus yet, so I've nothing for you.

Another thing we know about the ancient kingdom is that they seemed to be friendly with everyone, or at least it's implied via how many friends Joy Boy made.

Fishman: Along with the bonus of having Poseidon, the fishman also have access to the tree resin from Sabaody. Should the ship(Puton) or the ancient kingdom ever need to submerge in order to keep people safe or to have a temporary air bubble, They'd be safe.

Lunarians: The people who originally lived on top of the redline. Sinee the redline is high enough to not sink, it would have made sense for them to be trade partners.

Skypians and Shandians: Another race with wings. if the tides really got too high, then they could join them in the sky sea for a time. They could also trade with them.

Minks: Zunesha was a friend of Joyboy's. We don't know much else about that situation, but it's likely that Zunesha is plenty tall enough to keep the minks from drowning, and they could have traded often as well. Maybe Zunesha was even able to do something similar to the giants.

The Giants: This feels like the most important one to me, and not just because of recent chapters. Obviously the giants think very highly of Nika/Joyboy, but it's also very likely that Elbaf is tall enough to survive the high tide, and if not, the the giants themselves are. If you look at what's known about current giants, some of them are tall enough to walk along the sea floor, and the ancient giants were so large that it's said they pulled and moved continents.

Why is that bit important? Because a ship the size of an entire island would likely need a lot more than sails buoyancy to move quickly. The ancient kingdom was pulled by the giants. They moved to different areas to rescue people and to trade so that life continued while the tide was at it's highest point.

Another random thing that supports this is the giant's vehement hatred towards Charlotte Linlin. She has Totto Land, which is supposed to be a place where all races live in harmony, but it would be a mockery of what the ancient kingdom was like, and for giants, who live about 300 years, that's only a few generations back. They would still have stories about the ancient kingdom and remember the truth.

Again, I don't think anything I predict will ever be 100% accurate, but I hope you enjoyed my rambling nonetheless.

#one piece #one piece chapter 1113 #one piece spoilers #one piece theory #nika #joyboy #one piece ancient kingdom #this kinda turned into stream of consciousness at the end #so I hope it makes some sense.#if you read all of it #thank you #I love and appreciate you #drink something eat something and take your meds today

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eveningepiphany · 5 months

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pirates gold | H.S series, part three

[series masterlist]

summary: finally, a break from the ship is in sight. you and harry end up in a very pirate-y bar, but even a good night can’t last forever. and seemingly, neither can uncomplicated feelings.

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, teasing, sexual mentions, tension, pining, protective h, y/n being an absolute menace, mentions of death and disappearance, alcohol, violent themes.

a/n: this is really humbling to post after so long. I hope you all enjoy it, I’m so sorry for the wait.

———

You don’t realise how easy it is to forget sometimes.

How fast an old life can fall out of view, and shed off you like an old skin. How on occasion, it happens so quickly you don’t even register it’s occurred.

The shortest periods of time can alter how you view your life. You didn’t realise how different being on a ship was when compared to living on land— not until you bridged between the two while conscious, and felt the transition with your own body.

Your feet had came to the ground more unsteady than you’d thought. Maybe you forgot how to walk too. As dark had already consumed the town, you’re not sure if you were shaking out of anxiety or genuinely from how long it’s felt like it’s been since you’ve stood on solid unwavering ground.

Harry, whose hand occupied the flat of your back, felt the intake of breath your lungs pulled in as you finally made it all the way onto the dock.

He had come back into his room to find you asleep, curled into his side of the bed, knees tucked into your chest. To it, he’d smiled… legs carrying him over to glance over your peaceful frame closer.

Examining the rise and fall of your chest, as air passed through your nose softly. He noted that your hair looked damp, and he almost chuckled at the fact you’d seemingly helped yourself to a shower.

He gently said your name, “Y/N…”

When you didn’t stir, he muttered it again, hand coming to jostle your shoulder slightly. The touch woke you up, your legs uncoiling from their tucked up position, stretching out down the mattress.

A tiny sound whimpered from your throat as you started to fully wake up, eyes flitting open with a sleep-induced glaze over them.

“Evenin’.” He remarked, “fancied a shower and a nap, aye?” When you took in his frame standing next to the bed, he had an armful of brown paper bags.

You sighed out, sitting up, “Not much else to really do.”

However your brain was rerunning the fact you had plenty you could’ve done since you found that key in one of his pockets. Mentally, you had to shove it away so you didn’t end up with a guilty look plastered on your face.

“Well, waits over, dove. Got ya some clothes, you’re welcome to pick something out before we go. Want you t’blend in.” He placed the bags down onto the bed for you to shuffle over to.

You felt oddly curious, like a child on Christmas. All these bags filled with things for you. The abundance of clothes you pulled out shocked you, because there really was half a wardrobe in there. Including a pair of boots, ones you’re not sure how he figured out would fit your feet.

There was also white linen blouses similar to his own— others black lace with intricate detailing, and brown fitted long sleeves— and also an array of pants, all slightly differing in styles. You stumbled across a black under-bust corset, and your eyes shifted to him. He was leaning against the wall watching you, a smirk over his lips. That wasn’t even the only corset he had bought, there were 2 others.

However, the satisfied look on his face only grew as you reached the bottom of the last bag. Several undergarments lay folded, bras and underwear.

“Had to do some guessing with the sizing of those…” His voice comes from a few feet away from you. All too close given the fact you’re staring at intimates he bought for you.

Your face was flaming red, unable to contain the embarrassment that was coursing through you, purely at the fact he was shopping for your underwear and bras— probably imagining you in them. Someone acting so casual about this was throwing you into disarray.

His passing comments and dirty teases were one thing, this however, was another.

“Everyday you get a little more pervy.” You bite out, and he laughs at your defensive tone.

“Did you suggest I leave you without any? A thank you will suffice perfectly fine. No need t’insult me when im jus’ looking after you.” A smug smile fell over his features.

“Harry.” You groan, voice warning him, and he let it go after rolling his eyes.

He allowed you to pick out what you wanted, watching you flush as you discreetly pulled a set of undergarments out of the bag.

You had picked a white linen shirt, matching his own, and a black pair of pants. He let you change into them in his bathroom, but when you’d come out adorned in clothes that perfectly fit the pirate energy, he was holding what he’d deemed as the final touch.

The black under-bust corset.

“C’mere. You’ll be fine.” He says at your immediately displeased face.

“You might not be.” You sneer, frowning at him as the loosened corset hangs in his hands— leather shining with the golden reflection of the candle light around the room.

He walks over to you, since you clearly weren’t going to be the one to do it, and a tut comes from his pink lips, “Always so stubborn.”

You decide to just let him— since partial freedom is in sight— and you stepped into the corset, allowing him to slide it up your body, until it was in place underneath your breasts.

“This fine?” He checks in as he tugs the strings, waiting for your confirmation before the leather was too tight to your waist.

“I still think I should just elbow you.” You glare, hands clenched at the sides of your thighs with the looming pressure of the garment.

His attempt to be courteous was to no avail, clearly. And the white linen gets sinched inward, and he wrenches the strings roughly with purpose.

His deep laugh sounds, and with that firm pull you’re bought close enough to him you can feel his warm breath against your ear as he leans down.

“Let’s not be mouthy, dove. Not when I’m in control of how tight this thing is on you.” He tugs the laces a final time, hard enough the material feels like it’s completely restricting your diaphragm— making you hold your breath for a moment.

At your silence, he lets his hand relax, in turn the strings loosening enough for you to intake a breath. Your soft gasp makes his stomach heat up, warm with an unexplainable feeling.

He ties the corset at the back, and you don’t even get to step away before he’s linking arms with you.

“You look good." He states with a nod, and your eye's veered downward to see the corset against yourself.

That was what lead you to here, stepping off the pier, lit only by the latern Harry was carrying, and onto dirt.

Dirt that may have been separated from your feet with a pair of shoes, but was amazing to feel press against your boots again.

You were so eager to touch something other than wood, that this was like heaven.

The sea lapped up against the shore a few metres away, as the earth transitioned back into sand on the shore. You felt deep anticipation to get further away from the uniting of the two worlds. Because away from anything regarding the ocean and the vessel that floated upon was freedom in your mind.

Harry could see every micro-expression on your face, despite the weak candlelight. The way your eyes had lit up at the sensation of soft dirt below you, and it was endearing. He’d never seen one get so excited over merely dirt.

The air was warm, and felt like a summer night— but the breeze that blew through your hair was crisp. Whispering hints of a change in weather sooner rather than later.

He watched the wind twirl your hair, and he was almost envious of it. Watching its fingers comb through it, in such a way he could only imagine himself in its place with an intense longingly.

“The boys are at the bar. But if that’s not your scene, what we do is up to you.” He supplies, watching your eyes slant to him.

You hadn’t really thought this far ahead, what you’d do once you were off the boat. You looked at him, and then back to the cobble path that lead presumably into the heart of Sintir.

The buildings were lit up, warm light glowing, “Do they have a night market?”

“Mhm, infact they do.” He nods, beginning a slow walk to encourage you onwards.

Oddly enough, as his body was pressed to your side, you felt safe. He was something familiar in this new environment. “How exactly are you going to hide me?”

The pressing question to you was merely a slight concern to him.

“Chances of them knowing that you’re the missing princess is unlikely. And if they have seen the posters with your face on it, I somehow struggle to believe they’ll connect the dots.”

“That’s a lot of faith you have in that.” You comment, boots hitting the cobblestone with the same clacks they did back at home. There was a sense of invigoration that rushed through the blood beneath your skin at the sound.

It bought back your nightly adventures around Kelna, where nothing mattered. And all you had to worry about is what time you were sneaking back through your window without getting caught by your own guards.

It was nostalgic in a weird way. The kind that threw your mind spinning, since the memory was so fresh yet so distant. Too much had changed in the time from then to now.

“‘Cause y’don’t really look anythin’ like your picture.” He comments, dragging his gaze along your frame again, playing a mental spot the difference. He’d seen the flyers earlier that day, and was honestly unconvinced it was really you himself.

“God— tell me they didn’t use an ugly picture of me from 2 years ago…” It’s the kind of thing your parents would do, but Harry only shakes his head, letting out a prompt cackle at your distress.

“No, they didn’t use an ugly photo of ya at all. You’re just s’put together in it, hair slicked back in this fancy satin dress and pearls.” The two of you are walking between the first two buildings facing the sea, luminaries lighting up the path.

He continues, waving his hand as though it adds something to the conversation, “Now, y’hair is down now, all wild. And you’ve got this untamed look in y’eye. No one would look at ya an’ see y’fine dining in a gown.”

You’re not sure what to make of all of this, since he’s talking of you like he’s certain. Coming from his own perspective more than anyone else’s.

“They see a pirates girl. Probably look at you and think y’wrapped around my finger.” He nudges, and you finally scoff, “I would prefer they see it the other way around. That you’re following me like a lost puppy.”

“That’s never usually how it is, though.” He raises his brows, and your arm slips out of his, walking backward as you face him.

“But maybe it could be in their mind. They see you foaming out the mouth for me. And it’s like that ship docked over there,” your point in the direction you’d both originally came from, “is all mine.”

The concept feels like a power trip. You do wonder how many female captains there are in this world. Likely not enough.

“Sounds like quite the fantasy y’ve built up.” He muses.

“I want to go to the pub.” Your tone is certain and confident. To this he raises his eyes brows in challenge.

“Perhaps you’ll share a drink with me, dove?”

“Or it could be the other way around.”

“Well, it couldn’t, because you don’t have any gold to pay with. An’ things here aren’t complimentary like they are at home.” He huffs in amusement, poking fun at your previously lavish lifestyle.

“I don’t need gold,” you begin with a smirk that’s starting to spread across your mouth, “all I need to do is undo a few buttons on this blouse and I’ll probably be able to get a round for the whole crew on the house.”

You’re walking backwards, hands clasped together behind your back, a grin on your face that makes him feel insane.

His eyes immediately darkened, pupils blowing out at the thought of what you’re insinuating. Flirting your way for a free drink… something he can’t imagine you’ve ever done before. Yet would probably succeed at like you have a million times over.

“Right,” He clears his throat, trying to calm himself down, “didn’t take much for you to start whoring yourself out for some booze.”

“It’s not whoring… men are horrible creatures. They’ll do anything if they think it’ll get their dick wet.” He thinks you’re so… uneducated and naive. That just because you’re in a court, that you know nothing of the males on this earth.

However it’s quite the opposite. Sexual topics are strictly forbidden in the palace and court meetings… but elsewhere, when it’s private and no one is around to hear it, men help themselves to the topic.

They have no concern discreetly passing by you, head turned in whisper, just to tell you what a body you have. Or just how badly they want to…

And on the street, it’s even worse. So you know more than enough when it comes to that. That makes you anything but stupid to a man’s intentions.

He picks up the pace of his steps to breach the distance between you both, so that if you were to stop walking suddenly— he would probably crash into he was that close.

“You’re not doing that.” He says, tone serious.

“Why not, afraid you’ll get a little jealous?” You’re flirting with something dangerous now. Eager to prove a point.

“Don’t try to get a rise out of me. Because I said you’re not. Do y’want a drink or not dove? Because the way you’re headed, all your getting is a glass of water.”

“Whatever.” You scoff, still unsatisfied, but resigning your argument for now.

“I’m concerned your attitude will only worsen with alcohol in your system.” He deliberates.

The streets have now fully lit up, with other people starting to appear, and the nightlife is able to be heard from where you are.

The singing happening in the tavern can now be heard as you round a corner into what can only be deemed at Sintirs town centre.

A night market is clearly running, and you can see the pub a few doors down from it. Men and women out the front, drinks in hand and cigars hanging from their lips.

He catches up to you enough to slide his arm between your elbow again, silently obliging you you to stay right by his side.

As you get closer to the tavern, he verbalises this.

“You don’t move from here,” He pulls you tighter into his frame, “and you don’t make any trouble. Otherwise it won’t be pretty.”

His tone is firm, unwavering. You nod to it, accepting the rules begrudgingly, “Yes, Captain.”

You both come to the door, and he pulls it open. The building on the outside was rustic bricks, and inside it was the same— except the flooring was wooden. As the door opened, a bell chimed, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming amount of noise.

Men were shouting, and bellowing all about. Drunkenly chatting, playing darts, and stumbling around. There were women too, but they were not near as rambunctious. All of them were dressed like pirates… and it was clear this place was specialised for them. Maps on the wall, and news clippings of what appeared to be local Sintir pirates were framed around the place.

A few blokes stopped to greet Harry. And he engaged in short conversations. But in the back of his mind, he was regretting bringing you in here. Not because anyone recognised you, but because he could see every single slimy gaze that dragged over you.

One man stopped him by the darts—Harry had called him Evan— he said greetings to the captain, but his gaze never left you.

You had noticed immediately, and it was a bit disgusting. It made you regret calling Harry a perv. Because he was nothing like this.

It immediately pissed Harry off, the way the brutish and large man was eyeing you up and down like you were an object. And his blood spiked when he considered the array of things likely running through Evans head.

The grip he had tightened on you.

It’s protective, you feel. And at the least, you know you’re safe with him.

Harry almost regretted putting that corset on you now. It made you look too good. Too enticing.

He, unlike others clearly, has a moral compass. And enough human decency to see you as a human opposed to a sexual object. He was forgetful that most men lacked that ability.

When he spots his crew, he uses it as a quickly conjured excuse to get away from the other pirate. And as he leaves, he tugs your body in front of him, shadowing your retreating figure from prying eyes.

You’re a bit overwhelmed, in all honesty. But accept it as normal— you hadn’t been anywhere so busy for a while now. Especially when it’s in such a rowdy way.

The second his crew spots the two of you— your body sheltered by his own, and his hand on your hip urging you forward— Niall, the blonde one whose name you finally remember, lets out a bellowing cheer.

“She made it!” He’s excited like you’re an old friend of his, and he drunkenly rises up from the booth the boys had taken.

Harry feels a little more at peace knowing he’s now with his crew— the two of you are less likely to be bothered now, and he knows his mates will look out for you as well. Prisoner or not, you’re still a human.

Niall barrels towards you, and Harry renounces his hold on you. Chuckling as he pulls you into a drunk bear hug.

You’re unsure what to do with your hands as he rocks you around like a child, “Glad ya here, lovie.”

“Mmhm…?” You agree, looking helplessly his crew mates as they cackle hysterically— smacking their hands down on the table and sloshing their pints of beer in fits of laughter.

He eventually slides his arms off you, and hiccups, “are ya havin’ a drink?”

His already heavy accent is slurred as you make out what he’s asking, and you don’t even get an answer in before he reaches over the table and grabs you his.

Sliding the cold glass, around 3 quarters empty, into your hand.

“‘Ave mine! I’ll go get anotha’” He chortles, and then stumbles off just like that.

Harry watches in surprise as you bring the glass up to your lips and down the rest of it without hesitation. Hoping alcohol will take the edge off all the overstimulation you’re having in here. Calm you down a bit.

The rest of his crew whoop and cheer for you, which at the least gives you a bit more confidence.

Before they can all hand you over their half finished beers, Harry comes back to your side, head craning down to talk in your ear.

“Let’s go up t’the bar, get ya somethin’ fresh, instead of people leftovers.”

You nod, walking with him as he pulls you through the crowd.

At the bar, there’s several people sat at the stools. Including a touchy couple, that are practically feeling each other up, front and centre. She is sitting on the seat, but is taller than the man that’s between her legs. Clearly she’s in charge, and you smirk.

Go girl, you thought, and Harry clocks your pride for the woman. Something stirring in his chest.

He ignores it, going up the bar to place on order.

The lady at the bar, whose got muscles on her like an absolute god, nods at him to rattle off his order.

“Two beers and a shot of the best liquor y’ve got, thanks, Naomi.” He asks, but you interrupt before she can walk away.

“Make it two shots, please.” To your quick mouth, she smiles. She has dark skin, and a beautifully done head of braids, it’s clear you’ve piqued her curiosity.

“I’ll make it two,” she smirks, getting two shot glasses from beneath the counter.

“And who is the second one for?” She asks, implying she wants your name.

You slide your eyes to Harry, who is shocked that you’re trying to get his permission for giving your name. He blinks sharply in disapproval.

“Mary.” You nod, listing the fake name off like it was nothing. It was a common enough name, so she takes it.

You don’t realise how effortlessly you and Harry are communicating without words until he ghosts his thumb over your forearm, and you know he’s thanking you.

Naomi smirks at you, “Well, miss Mary, I have to say i quite admire you.”

You give her a thanks, and she slides the two shots on the counter, going on to prepare the beers.

“Been a while since your captain here has bought a girl around… nice to see.” The irony of the situation could almost make you laugh.

“Well, someone’s oughta keep him inline. Otherwise he’d end up prisoner somewhere.” You supply, putting up your best pirate imitation for her.

He shakes his head, your play on words half amusing, half unbelievable.

“Was good to see you, Naomi, thanks for the drinks.” He says, grabbing the beer while you grab the shots.

She gives her momentary goodbyes, and he walks over to a vacant barrel to place the beer down.

You follow suit, but with only one of the shots. You toss the other back before he can say otherwise. The brownish-gold liquid burning a trail down your throat.

He watches in disbelief. You are so shockingly rough around the edges, that the idea of you being a princess feels unfathomable to him.

“You broke a lot of those royal rules, didn’t you.” He raises his brows, voice unreadable.

Licking over your lips, the strong alcohol gives a zip up your spine, “on occasion.”

“Christ.” He mutters, picking up his own shot and downing it.

The two of you take your beers back to the booth his crew was at, and you drink that and whatever else got handed to you by his crew mates— that you’ve officially learned most names of— and are well and truly a bit drunk.

You were sat between Liam and Harry, and the night was actually quite fun.

It was nice to truly forget the situation you’d landed yourself in.

That was until, as the night drew on, and once the early hours of the morning were likely in play, the pub quietened.

It was now regular noise level, just drunk and tired chatter, and someone came over to your booth.

A lanky guy, sporting long dreaded hair with olive coloured skin. Despite his moderately tan complexion, there was an almost queasy undertone to it. It stained a faint yellow tinge under his eyes, and screamed future liver failure the longer you stared.

Yet a gold tooth that peaked through when he flashed a smile. He looked like the epitome of a pirate.

“Ah, Styles and his crew are back in town.” He announces rather loudly, like as if he has an audience he’s talking to.

“Leon… Hello.” Zayn drawls, far from enthralled to see the man.

“Great to see you all,” he claps his hands together, smiling, “now, I’ve jus’ come round to spread the word…”

It piques the men’s interest slightly, and they all start to pay attention to the skinny bloke.

“Garrets boat was found the otha’ day.” He states, looking between the boys, eyes stopping momentarily on you.

Harry pipes up from where he’s sat next to you, and if there was anything amiss, the only telling thing would be the way his hand snakes to your knee, tensing around it slightly.

It’s his bruised hand, and you try to draw your attention away from it.

“I’ve heard word of that… did he not turn up with it?” Harry asks, nonchalantly.

“No… it was in perfect nick, jus’ without its capan’.” He sighs out, stepping forward to trail his boney hand over the wood pattern on the table, “Reckon someone’s got him… so keep an eye out for raiders.”

“Mm, alright. Thanks for the heads up. Hope ya’s stumble upon him…” Harry nods, hand clutching your knee harder.

The man’s missing…

And suddenly, it clicks in your brain.

Despite his crews unreadable faces, you are almost certain that the man currently in the chambers of their ship is the same person Leon is on about.

It sends a wave of anxiety through you. In a room full of pirates, you are something they all would want. Yet for varying reasons.

You’re suddenly grateful again that Harry and his crew seem to only have the intention of money with you.

What a horrible thing to be thankful for in this world, you think.

That you’re happy the people who kidnapped you don’t want to use you in worse ways. Don’t want your body or to keep you as a souvenir.

You’re drawn from your spiralling thoughts as Leon speaks again,

“Ah, and you have a las with you too…” he remarks, although it adds no substance to the conversation.

“Mary.” Harry provides, and the boys all exchange a glance.

“You keep your eye out too then, sweetheart. You women have an attention to detail that us men don’t...” He flashes his golden tooth, and gives a final nod to the crew before turning away.

You purse your lips, glancing down at your lap, trying to hide your frown. Confused if the approach was a convoluted kind of threat, or just an odd exchange.

“That’s us done for the night,” Harry says, his previous relaxed tone was gone. It was riddled with seriousness now.

“Give it ten so it doesn’t look suspicious, and then we’re leaving.”

That was confirmation to you that Garret is the man below deck… and you were itching to ask questions, but knew now was likely not the time.

The tension aided sobering everyone up, and after around ten minutes they all collectively rose. And Harry scooted out of the booth, and gestured you to follow suit.

You slide out, leather gliding against your skin as you got to the edge and took his hand without protest. Despite being upset at this situation only minutes earlier, you craved to feel safe.

So as anxiety was welling in your chest, you easily allowed him to pull you against him. Tan hand clasped around yours as he held you firmly close.

This time, he held you with his good hand, free of dark purple bruises.

You transfixed on his complexion instead now. It was completely different to Leon’s. Tan from the sun, yes. But Harry was— as always— all beauty. Liquid gold was accidentally spilt into the colour of his skin. It shone under even the dingest of bar lightings, and never failed to completely encapsulate your attention. His skin had no sickly undertone.

Tiny freckles and beauty marks that trailed up his forearm. They were colour of chocolate… and he was perfection.

Christ.

You got pulled out of your trance by the tug of his hand, his bruised one busy fishing out a small bag of gold.

It’s unbelievable the state he can put you in. It’s otherworldly, and you feel sort of ashamed how easily your mentality can fold to him.

Taking you up to the counter that Naomi was scrubbing down with a rag, he placed the small coin bag atop the bar.

“Thanks for your hospitality as usually, there’s a little extra for all your help.” He was keeping the exchange short, bidding his farewells after her gracious appreciation.

She smiles a goodbye to him, yet eyes slide back over to you,

“And you too Mary, keep y’man in-line.” She teased, and Harry genuinely rolled his eyes.

“I will.” You stated, voice oversaturated with faux confidence.

With that, you all left the tavern. It felt odd stepping into the now cold air, a change coming in quicker than expected. The market having packed up for the night likely hours ago.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin as the boys moved in haste, a unity of clanking boots against the paving.

“Y’shivering.” Harry remarked.

“It’s colder than it was earlier.”

“Even the tropics must feel the cold.” Tanner states matter-of-factly.

Once out of the town centre, they start running— it was sudden and unexpected. Like once they were fully out of view, urgency could be expressed.

“This’ll warm you up.” Harry raises his voice against the wind, pulling you along to match his pace.

By the time you made it back, storming across the pier, you were near breathless.

Blood pumping, and you did feel a little warmer at the least.

“Alrigh’, Liam, are you right enough to get us going?” He asked, patting his back as the boys walk along the temporary bridging from the pier to the ship.

“Plenty fine, H.” He nods certainly.

“That’s the way…” his voice raises, “Ashton, Miggs, batten down the hatches!”

His pirate-y tone was prevalent as he threw orders left right and centre. Before you knew it, the ship was starting to move from port. You were shocked, considering half of them weren’t even fully sober. But you supposed this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, readying up the ship for something unexpected while half drunk.

Maybe things were done better that way, with beer in the blood, you supposed. More officiant.

Once he was finished confirming what everyone was doing, his voice lowered, and gaze softened as he turned to you.

His eyes fell where you rung the bottom of the corset cinched around you. You were evidently anxious, it was written all over your face.

“Cmon, dove…” he walked the minor distance between you, “I’ll take you back below deck.”

“To the chambers?“ your voice was abundant with sudden fear, and the thought of going down there knowing there’s likely a corpse in the room across from you made you feel sick.

“No.” He immediately clarified, “My room. You’re not going back down there, Y/N.”

He said it with such certainty, and you wondered what changed to make you a permanent fixture in his room.

You were lead down the increasingly familiar way to his bedroom, “Nothing you can task me with?”

He laughed at your question, “Nothing, love. I doubt you even know how to tie a knot on a rope.”

You couldn’t say you properly did. And then you wondered why exactly you offered to help, considering you have no business aiding people who kidnapped you.

“I don’t.” You sigh, as he lets you into his dark room. He felt oddly domestic, stepping through the doors quickly to light a wall lantern so you can see.

“Then you’re better off safe in here, the waters already a bit rocky.” The ship was rising and falling more dramatically than this morning, which added to your list of things to worry about.

“Harry,” you say his name before he can walk out.

“Y/N?”

“Can you be honest with me…?”

He huffs a laugh, “Tha’ depends.”

“Is the man in the cells dead?”

The seriousness in your tone has him dead quiet. And you can hear the ticking in his brain as he decides on whether he’s answering you or not.

The innocent look in your eye pushed him to be truthful. He wasn’t used to this. Seeing someone undeserving of being captive on the ship. It was always horrible people.

“I’ll go a step ahead of you, yes, Garret’s dead.” He answered like he knew your next question would be that. And he was right, because it was.

You draw in a breath, the only sound heard is the crashing of the ship against the waves.

“Does that scare you?” He asks, and then asks deeper, “Do I scare you?”

You pause to then think how to answer that.

“Yes and no…” You deliberate, because you truly don’t know. You felt safe with him today, but the concept of what he’s probably done to people is eye opening to say the least. And always the potential of what he could do to you.

The air was thick— the alcohol in both of your systems clouding your judgements— and something churned in your hearts. There was a shared breath in, and out.

You feel the cruciality of the moment, and are certain he can too.

Right now, this goes much further than the taking of a royal, the trapping of a person. It’s a question that the answer can only create more confusion.

Because why on this cruel, twisted earth would you be thinking of any response other than a plain, hard, yes.

A breath catches in the back of your throat, and the real answer slips out with a rasp.

“You scare me because I don’t know how to fully hate you. I hate you, but not like i should.”

A half blink, and the look in his eyes switches. It’s unreadable for a moment, blank in processing.

He steps closer, feeling an urge to touch you that he can’t explain where it come from. It’s so forceful he breaches the distance between you faster than he can rethink it. Fingers reaching out to brush a gentle stroke over your cheekbone.

Your lips part, the haze in your mind making you wonder if this was a dream of sorts.

All Harry is thinking about is the fact he wants more right now. The same whirlwind that pushed him to cradle your cheek with his hand is begging his lips to brush against yours.

He pushes it down into the pit of his stomach, replying with a tone so tender he wonders how it come from himself.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise on the damning of my own soul.” He reassures.

The lines have blurred. Blurred from keeping his prize safe, to keeping you safe.

His words feel like they carry too much weight to be coming from a pirate. Like the impact they have is meant for manipulation.

And if that’s they’re intention either way, it worked. Because a part of you resigns to believe it.

He waits for confirmation on your end that you understand, and you give that to him through a curt nod.

“Good. I’ll be back later, you go to sleep.”

Your heart wrenches for no apparent reason as he lingers close to you for a moment longer. Then he drags himself away from you, despite the intense urge to do otherwise.

You catch his eyes a final time as he leaves the room. Leaving the door unlocked…

It tempts you, but with the boat rocking like this, you think better for yourself.

Now you want to throw yourself off the ship again, but for an entirely different reason.

You’ve laid trust in him. Something you said you wouldn’t ever do. Oh how that promise to yourself broke quickly.

But you’re drunk and vulnerable, and his words were so soft and sweet. Two sides of yourself are at war.

Yet either way, you feel it can only lead to a plethora of bad things. It’s all too much for you right now.

Unlacing your own corset, you wiggle out of it, then slip out of everything else. You stand in only undergarments, realising how truly exhausted you are now that you’re back in his room.

The alcohol and emotional turmoil settles deep in your bones, you feel it rattle heavily with each step.

You grab soft clothes he bought for you today, and pull them over you, taking off your bra.

The storm is coming. You feel it within you. It’s a foreshadow of your mentality, the precursor of what’s to come with all of this— and the ever growing complexity of your feelings.

You crawl into Harry’s bed, ashamed at the way you inhale his scent. Hating the way it’s turned into a form of reassurance.

He has kept you safe this last week, which in your subconscious— whose clinging to any sort of saftety— means he is something to you that he shouldn’t be. And you wonder when he went from something you disdained to something you craved connection with.

The idea of stockholm syndrome was familiar to you, but didn’t resonate. Or maybe you were in denial… who fucking knows. All you are sure of is that he makes you feel somewhat stable. Your body craves that shred of stability more than anything.

Either way, it didn’t stop you from nestling into his sheets. Or falling asleep curled up in them.

Nor did it hinder you from when he finally returned to reach out for him, all while still hazed with the slumber you were just in.

A meek call of his name came from your mouth as he gets into his bed, it was at least an hour or so later. The sun would be closer to rising then not, but you choose to haul your body closer to him the second you could.

He sighs with relief of finally laying down, the weather sounds worse outside now. It’s gotten harsher sooner than he expected, something hurrying the system further south. Although it means it’ll hit earlier, at the least it’ll be over in a day or two.

He must’ve gotten undressed, because as you press yourself into his back, his bare skin is warm to the touch.

It was evident feeling him now that the sun coursed through his veins, it replaced the blood of a regular person. He spent so many hours in it, it seemed to be a part of him.

“You’re so warm.” You stated quietly, half conscious.

“Mm, and you’re so bloody cold.” He mutters, voice deep and ready for sleep. His comment causes him to roll into you, tugging you closer into his chest.

Somehow, regardless of if you had been asleep for an hour, you still felt exhausted. Maybe it was the drinks too, they were settling a slight hangover upon you. So, shamelessly you coiled further into his arms.

Your hands snaked up his bare back, and into the hair at the nape of his neck. The curls were damp as you played with them.

There’s definitely still something in your system, and he notices it as well.

“You’ve gotta be still a little tipsy… ya all over me dove.” He laughs tiredly.

Your front is pressed to his, his scent equally as distracting as the slabs of muscles you could feel up against you.

“Tipsy and exhausted.” You murmur, eyes fluttering shut as you carry on playing with his hair.

“Oh, are y’feelin’ needy?” He teases, voice slipping into a shockingly deep lilt, one you’d caught glimpses of yesterday morning.

It sparked a feeling in the pit of your stomach, “Shut up.”

The two of you did eventually go quiet, nothing but the sounds of mixing breath and the brush of hands against skin.

His own hands had taken refuge on your waist, rubbing gentle circles with calloused fingers. Somewhere in the back of your head you reevaluate for the seventh time just how intoxicated you still both were. Enough alcohol in your system to completely blur the lines.

You couldn’t even claim in the morning the cuddling was an accident on part of your sleeping selves. You’d have to try and pass it off as the drinks from earlier. Which although true, feels like a harder excuse to play off this significant.

You were wrapped up in his arms. Voluntarily. And… enjoying it.

It’s a horrible thing to be indulging in. It’s only going to spell you more trouble. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

He felt you slip back into a quiet sleep, evident in the way your fingers ceased their movement where they sat, tangled in his hair.

In the silence of the night, he thought about you.

Images trailed carelessly through his mind, dragging up ideas of what the two of you looked like right now. He wished he could see it from an outside perspective.

The way you had completely settled into his frame. Chest to chest.

He could feel the ridges and dips of your body too easily, only separated by a thin cotton sleep shirt you’d put on.

Something throbs inside of him at the touch, and to make matters worse, you stir, throwing your leg over his hip just like you had the night before.

He feels dirty as he conceptualises the idea of something more with you.

He wishes he didn’t drink now, because he can’t get the vision of himself inside of you out of his head. He’s weak after some beer and liquor, he lacks self-control, even when half of him is begging to sort himself out. Now, because he hasn’t stopped himself early enough, his prick has swollen in his boxers.

Thank the stars you’re asleep.

He stays deathly still, pursing his lips, waiting his boner out.

Staving away the idea of being pushed inside of you. Such a pretty girl, you were. It’s hard not to wonder how good your mouth would be against his own.

It takes atleast 15 painful minutes for his cock to soften. He’s thankful for being tired, because once the thumping of his heart calms down, he allows himself to pull you further into his hold.

He will let himself have this, at the least.

———

Waking up was almost a carbon copy of the morning before.

A tangle of limbs, but you’ve had a warmth that’s sprouted through you the entire night.

However, this time, Harry was already awake.

The hours of sleep you got were minimal. And the sun wasn’t even fully up. It was mostly cloud coverage outside the window. The room still dim.

He watched you wake up, thankful it’s now— because otherwise he would’ve had to get up and go. Too much to do to be laying in bed with you, unfortunately.

He got to watch your eyes slowly open, their glossy appearance. They lazily scoped the room, as if re-familiarising your brain with your surroundings.

Then they dragged to Harry’s face, catching the softness of the morning still on him.

“I have a headache.” Was the first thing that croaked from your lips.

Your throat hurt and the hangover was clearly in its full effect. You did not usually drink that much.

He hums a laugh at your lack of greeting, starting off the morning with a complaint. Oddly charming somehow?

He wanted to kiss you still.

“Big night for you last night?” He asks, jokingly, but he knows you didn’t drink enough to forget anything.

“Don’t tease.” You plead, head dropping back down to between his chest.

He strokes a hand along your back, “We oughta get some food into ya.”

His gentle encouragement falls on deaf ears. All you’re able to do is fall back into his hold.

“Dove.” The coo he lets out does nothing but makes your stomach flutter.

You shake your head against the warm skin of his chiseled chest. All the muscle there… fuck it makes you light headed.

But you can’t think about that.

You just wanted him with you right now.

“Harry.”

Hearing his name makes the heart in his chest clench.

“Stay here.” You say, simply.

At his momentary silence, your voice drops.

A whisper.

A plea.

“Please?”

Everytime you talk to him like that, a piece of him unravels.

Already too far in, he throws another handful of cation to the wind. Before he knows it, there will be nothing left.

His quiet demeanour is unusual. Where was his quip that usually followed?

You were slowly poisoning him.

“You’re like a drug.” He states.

You’re not sure how to feel. Is that good… or bad?

“Is that bad?”

He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his body weight to the side, moving you to be facing one another.

He stares into your eyes, searching for something. An answer maybe.

But it’s just not one he’s going to find yet.

Time is a virtue, they say.

And maybe if he waits long enough, unravels far enough, gives away enough of himself. He’ll know.

He’ll find out what it is about you that drags him in.

Maybe you’re like the current. Yet he’s not sure if it’s taking him out to a reef, where paradise lay. Or dragging him out into a rip.

His eyes wander the plains of your face.

And finally, he speaks.

“I guess we’ll have to find out.”

———

taglist:

@saturnheartz @slap-me-harry @ilovehsstuff @ameerakane20 @matildasatellite @harrysslut7 @sunflowersey @styleswiftie @anotheryoutubefanpage @straightontilmornin @oknothanks26 @closureesny @angel-upon @brother-lauren @maddie7writes @tenaciousperfectionunknown

(—comment or reach out to be added to the taglist for future parts🤍)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #pirates gold #piraterry #pirate harry styles #royal y/n #fantasy #writing #I have the worst upload schedule ever I am so sorry #fanfic

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oncasette · 5 months

Note

FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!

bradley bradshaw + the prompt: after a heated session, they admire their flushed partner and softly place a peck on the cheek. it feels so bradley to me!!!!!

this is the shortest blurb ever but my brain has not been in writing mode for a while! i love you!

you'd never felt so hot. not sexy hot, either. you were scalding to the touch and sticky with sweat, and you were just now starting to cool down under the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan above you.

you could feel bradley's gaze on you, heavy through his tired eyes, and the weight of his hand still hanging over your waist. your eyes flicker over to him when you hear movement. the sheets rustle beneath him as he bridges the short gap between you to place a short kiss against your heated cheek.

"what was that for?" you ask, a whisper of a pant still prevalent on your breath.

"you're fucking adorable, you know that?" he asks. your body heats again. so much for cooling down.

"oh, yeah?"

"yeah," he exhales.

"you're not too bad yourself, bradshaw," you reply.

#r's 3k #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun #miles teller

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autisticlancemcclain · 10 months

Text

Lance takes the long way there, now.

He doesn’t have to. Technically, the way their rooms are set up, he’s barely any farther from the hanger he needs to be in come battle time. From the very beginning, it was he and Keith in the left wing by Blue and Red’s hangars, Hunk and Pidge in the right by Yellow and Green, and Shiro by the royal ring with Black. Shortest distance to their lions, most prepared for battle. It would probably make sense, logistically, for some room switching to happen, or at least for Keith to take Shiro’s room, but that’s…it’s not happening.

Lance has had the castle fully mapped out since his first month in space. Pidge may have reigned queen in the vents, but it was Lance who carefully marked down every tile that when stepped on opened a stairwell, every divot in the walls that cracked open a pathway. It was Lance to walk the six hours from the highest point of the castle’s peak to the lowest pitch of its bowels and boiler rooms. It was Lance who walked the echoing servant’s passages, brushing dust from his jacket when he made it back to a regular hallway only to realise that there wasn’t any, in a castle sealed for ten thousand years, not even a cobweb. (It was Lance, too, to discover the bunker rooms and hidden staircases of the Garrison. He most certainly didn’t sneak out every other night by merit alone. And further still it was Lance to knock on the wall behind his childhood bed and realise it was hollow, and find the tiniest of little holes, right where the wallpaper met the floorboards, just barely wide enough for narrow fingers to poke through and tug. Lance has always been good at finding small, hidden places, at poking and prodding until secrets are revealed to him. Lance has always been ineffably nosy, he’s just quieter about it.)

To get to Red’s hangar, you have to pass Blue’s. That’s how the rooms are set up. Blue’s zipline reaches out first, and twenty-two steps later is Red’s. On the first day after Lance had crawled on his hands and knees to beg by the barrier between him and his Lion, on yet another mission called to them in the night, Lance had swung down into Blue’s hangar by habit, and when his feet hit the floor he choked, realising, and had barely managed to sprint back up the way before Allura questioned why the zipline wasn’t at the beginning. He’d ducked into Red’s reluctant embrace with lungs that wouldn’t fully inhale and a throat that was closing.

He knew better than to try the passages, easier as they would be.

He avoided passing Blue’s hangar entirely, now. He already felt her absence, the gaping hole of her abandonment, all the way in his room, in the bridge, in the dining hall, in space. He felt the sharpness of it awake and in sleep. He felt it when he lay under his bed, knees pressed to his chest, eyes blank and head empty. He felt it when he felt nothing else. He couldn’t escape the hollow pain of her rejection, but he most certainly couldn’t stand to walk down the same paths he used to run, beam pulling at the muscles in his cheeks, heart galloping in his chest, sparks lighting up his head. The emptiness of her and of himself lingered there, in her spaces, and Lance couldn’t face them.

He goes around.

———

Lance knows it’s stupid and torturous. But he makes his way to the training room anyway, in the dead of night, once he hears Keith’s breathing finally slow through the thin wall separating their beds. It must take him an hour just to creep out of his bed and down the hall, socked feet soundless on the cool polymer floors, breath caught in his lungs, paranoid that someone is going to pop out behind him and ask him what the hell he’s doing (as if anyone has paid him that much scrutiny and attention in his life, except maybe Iverson).

Half of his hesitance is trepidation, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

The knowledge that this is a bad idea rings in his head for the entirety of the walk, but he banishes it the second he walks through the training room doors, locking them behind him, walking brashly in and throwing open the cabinet in the farthest corner. He snatches a headset before he can talk himself out of it, forcing his hands steady as he sticks the electrodes on his temple and under his hair at the back of his neck, like Coran did all those months ago. It feels far more daunting without the brush of the advisor’s gloves on his skin to accompany them.

He’s grateful at least that the headset doesn’t make him click through his own memories, search for particular snapshots the way he might search for sad songs when he’s already upset. It’s the same premise regardless, and he knows the only thing he’s going to do is devastate himself, but at least he’ll be devastated. At least that will be something.

The first memory to play must be early space, the first few days of the Voltron mission. There’s no death in his eyes yet. They look bright and brown and sparkling, the way they do in family photos, matching his mother and brothers and sisters. He watches as he crows, whooping to no one as he pushes Blue’s throttles as fast as they will go, whipping himself around in barrel rolls. There is no audio, but he can feel the team’s yelling in his head, the shouts to stay on task, but he remembers the way he felt like he was floating, like Blue’s energy was billowing around him, carrying him throw the air. He remembers feeling like his belly had bottomed out, like he was doing exactly what he was made to do.

The memory loops, same thirty seconds on repeat again and again and again and again and again and again and again and he lets it and he doesn’t cry and he doesn’t feel pain or sadness or loneliness or anything but the same bottomed out feeling, only now he knows he’s not floating, he’s falling, and every time he hits the ground it gives out from under him and he gets lower and lower and lower.

———

He ends up in Blue’s hangar by necessity. He knows Allura’s head injury is worse than she is letting on, and he’s simply closer to her.

He doesn’t let himself think as he sprints to her. He doesn’t let himself take in his surroundings (the deep blue accents the faint smell of the ocean the pinned up drawings from kids he’s gotten over the weeks and months the blankets and pillows he kept in the corner for rough nights the gigantic bottle of nail polish he had Coran synthesize for him to paint Blue’s claws the the the the the), keeping his eyes firmly on Blue’s, telling himself he’s not looking at her but through her, to his friend, who is hurt, who needs his help. By the time he makes it to Allura, by the time he helps her out of her seat and down the ramp, Coran has already come rushing in with his armful of medical supplies, whisking her away to a pod. He hears the rest of the team talking at the other end of the zipline, waiting for them, and he wills himself to follow them, for his feet to move, for his legs to function, and they don’t, and his knees stay locked, and suddenly he is a butterfly pinned through the chest, stuck in a glass box.

One by one, starting from the outer lights and making their way to the centre of the hangar where he stands, the overhead lights flick off, plunging him into flickering darkness except for the faint blue emergency lights, and the glow of Blue’s particle barrier up between them, and the deep yellow of Blue’s headlights. His eyes begin to lose focus, with the lighting change, until he is not staring through the particular barrier but at it, at his own reflection, at the way it lines up perfectly with the Blue Lion.

His legs give out from under him.

He’s not sure he feels it when he hits the ground. He’s lucky he doesn’t hit his head, although that’s in part because he cannot tear his eyes away, as if they are tied on a string to the Blue Lion. He feels stuck, and his mouth feels glued.

“You left me,” he manages, voice smaller than it’s ever been. He doesn’t feel her prodding at his mind in response, not like he should, but unless it is wishful thinking there’s a sharpness in the air now, the stunning smell of regret and of pain.

He wants to sink into it. He wants to let it envelop him, wants to let himself feel it in full, but he can’t, he doesn’t know how to let it seep into his pores. He tried to strain his ears, his mind, anything, to hear her, hear her apologise or excuse herself or anything, even tell him straight that she is done with him.

He thinks of how his best friend has been pulling away from him for weeks, how he chased after the taxi that drove his sister to the airport when she left for school, how he used to leave a space for his father’s boots every single day by the door long after everyone else had given up, how he would duck away from the first of his mother’s kisses when she picked him up from preschool, sniffling. There is a toddler in his head, feet planted on the floor, hands clenched at his side, tears and snot screaming down his face, cheeks bright red in rage, screaming at the top of his lungs YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND! YOU DON’T WANT ME ANYMORE! YOU LEFT ME AND I WILL NEVER EVER FORGIVE YOU! and the voice is loud and echoing and the only thing he can hear and he has heard it all his life and he has never learned how to block it out, how to make it go away, and it will never go away and never grow up.

“I hate you,” he chokes out, and the lie is bitter on its way out of his throat, and he doesn’t regret it at all.

He drags his legs upright and steady with his hands and flees.

———

pt 2

#i love writing emotionally angsty fics that are non linear and disjointed so bad #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #langst #lance angst #lance & blue #betrayal #brown eyed lance #autistic lance #insecure lance #post s3 #red paladin lance #my writing #longpost

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pearlywritings · 1 year

Text

Soft kisses for unwerving hearts

synopsis: Even the stoic men can melt and show they care. All they need is a loved one and a good portion of loving kisses.

pairing: Capitano, Pierro x fem!reader (seperately)

tw: fluff, comfort, established relationship

word count: 2.1k+ words

a/n: soft kisses for these two men were suggested by a lovely anon💛

Capitano

“Commander, Lord Il Capitano has arrived and awaits you in your personal quarters.”

“Good. Have his soldiers been taken care of?”

“Yes, My Lady. They were stationed in barracks on level 2.”

“Wonderful. Treat them just as any of our fellow warriors. If anyone acts against the set rules - you know how to deal with them.”

“Of course.”

“Then dismissed.”

Just as the heavy doors slide closed behind the leaving figure of your second-in-command, you sigh and put the pen aside. The never-ending blizzard outside must’ve taken a lot of strength from your superior’s subordinates - the Harbinger can pride himself in his army, the strongest one of all, but even they feel the toll of the torturing cold and winds ruling in the furthest of the Snezhnayan borders.

You stand and grab your fur-lined cape - while the base’s structure is to be admired (the work of art of both Dottore and Sandrone after all), and the interior never is deprived of warmth, the shortest way to your quarters is by an outside bridge - not many would dare and cross it.

Pure white obscures your vision and howling of the winds is almost deafening - but you’ve been long but used to it. In the wall of snow you easily make out your surroundings. The sharpness of your hearing is more than enough to detect if there is anything out of order. But today it’s so calm, almost serene, and your own heart fills with tranquility and comfort. It feels like it’s been years - and sometimes it is.

Another thick metal door slides open and close, and you pat your collar and hood, swiping off the stubborn snow. Two Pyro Skirmishers greet you with a respectful bow, and you shortly nod, passing by and further down the corridor, right to the doors of your rooms.

The Captain is already standing when you step inside. Tall, broad and looming, he only abandoned his own overcoat, body still clad in heavy pitch-black armor. The void of his helmet is staring at you, unmoving and unpredictable, but you only feel a keen sense of familiarity just from his presence alone.

He waits until the doors are closed and locked, meaning no eavesdropping, no interruption. He waits until you shrug your cape off and place it next to his, and you know he is not taking his eyes off of you. He waits until you walk closer, when there are only three steps left between your bodies, and only then reaches his arm to you. Big hand in a clawed glove is turned so the palm faces up, and you do not reject his offer.

You are leading him further into the rooms, holding his hand tightly, and his grip on yours is just as firm. Neither of you has spoken anything yet, but somehow already understood so much. That’s what it appears to be like - being married.

The sofa deeps significantly when the man lowers himself on it. You do not follow him, instead you step between his legs and instantly, but so gently put your palms right on the sides of his helmet, as if cupping his cheeks.

“May I?” You know you do not have to ask, but something about it is indescribably special. Capitano nods. Despite common opinion, the headpiece is easy to lift and slide off of his head. Just as it leaves its place your hands are enveloped in a tender hold of much bigger ones, prying the helmet from them and putting it to the side.

You are stricken. Precious dark gems of his piercing eyes stare right at you, and your toughened heart cracks under the spell of them. Capitano never understood why you were so enamored with his eyes, but if letting you see them would put this adoring gentle expression on your face, he’d be an idiot to not give you such an opportunity.

“I missed you,” your admission tugs on his heart and the stoic man takes a deep breath, suddenly having a hard time keeping his feelings at bay.

“And I missed you,” his voice, oh his voice... Only hearing it makes you realize how much you missed its rich thickness, its low rumbling, its nerve-wrecking gruffness.

You missed him.

Your husband welcomes you in his arms when you lean close, wrapping your arms around his neck, forging your lips together. His are chapped, and yours are no better, but in this very moment the kiss you share is so so soft. His hold on you is strong, yet delicate, thumbs pressing in your ribs, barely scraping you with its sharp ends. With content hums you relax, letting go of your ever-present mask of a fierce protector of Snezhnaya border, baring the person you are to your beloved - his wife.

When the air becomes too little to keep pressing one kiss after another on each other’s mouths, you draw your faces back, but not too far. Capitano trails his kisses down the side of your jaw, and you peck the bridge of his crooked nose, right over the scar crossing his whole face. It feels a little surreal.

“Could’ve given me some notice about your arrival,” you murmur, rubbing your nose against his cheek, tightening the grip around his shoulders.

“Wanted to surprise you,” the low hum comforts you, and you chuckle, kissing under his scarred eye.

“Aren’t you here with an inspection though?”

“I am,” he confirms and, gripping your hips, drags you into his lap. “But I know you have everything under control. You do not need a warning,” he nudges your chin, and you tilt your head back, letting him leave a kiss on the small open patch of skin on your neck.

“Mhm… Given your troops are tired, we’ll start tomorrow?”

“That is correct.”

“You’ll stay the night then?”

Your eyes meet again, and you swear you see the corners of his mouth lifting in the smallest smile.

“I will. Every single one.”

Pierro

Servants bow to you, bound by respect, as you roam the halls of the huge mansion the second person in Snezhnaya is residing in, yet never having called it home. You nod in response a little absent-mindedly, quickly forgetting about these small interaction, as your mind is preoccupied with other matters. Fingers fidget with an intricately forged bracelet on your wrist, seeking comfort in the physical bond you and your husband share. How many days has it been? Eight. Eight days since he’s moved back from the Palace and eight nights of barely witnessing him by your side in bed.

Now, it’s not his absence that worries you - when you live for centuries, you start perceiving time quite differently, and Pierro makes sure to show that you, his beloved, is never forgotten. No, that’s not the case. What you are concerned about is his tendency to overwork himself to literal exhaustion, and as far as you could see with your own eyes, that is exactly the case. Yes, he shares meals with you. Yes, he comes to bed for an hour or two. Yes, he doesn’t deny your presence, when you come to his office and take over some of the papers to lighten his burden. However, there is never an actual break in his schedule, and this fact doesn’t let you rest properly. Should you-

“Oop-!”

You almost trip over the rolled carpet. What the..?

Snapping out of your thoughts, you look around the empty corridor. This one looks familiar… Ah, right! You already passed it, around half an hour ago, you think? Two burly male servants even warned you about the delivery of new carpets you had ordered to replace the old ones.

You deeply sigh - this is really serious, if you do not even notice what is happening around you, thinking only of your husband’s condition. Something needs to be done.

The Jester doesn’t even lift his head when three knocks bounce off of the external side of his study’s door.

“Come in.”

He’d call himself incompetent, if he couldn’t even make out the steps of the companion that chose to share an eternity with him. Without looking up your figure is clear before his sight, and he keeps writing as you are walking in and closing the door behind. He still doesn’t face you anyhow when you end up directly by his desk, observing the mountains of work placed there. It lessened significantly, compared to the first time you saw it, but is still worth a whole week of staying glued to the table. Your worries resurface.

“Beloved?” The gentle call of your voice affects him - it’s subtle, hidden in a tiny twitch of his hand, yet it’s enough to tell you his attention shifted. You decide to proceed.

“It came to my attention that you’ve really been overworking yourself. It concerns me.”

The man sighs. He is aware, and he is far from being fond of the dejected frown on your face, that he is sure you are wearing right now. Were you any of his colleagues he’d just dismiss you, but you are his partner and he sincerely values your sentiments. There are ways to delicately lead you away from this, but he knows you will not budge this time.

So he decides to listen.

Your heart swells when he puts his quill down and straightens in his chair, rolling his shoulders and leaning his back into it. Finally his visible eye is on you, and the dark circle on his pale skin, surrounded by the silver of his hair, is too apparent.

“What do you suggest?”

Even his voice is hoarse, indicating he hasn’t interacted with anyone for quite some time. On you though it has a slightly different effect - suddenly you have a nagging urge to kiss his throat. Maybe you can. Maybe you will.

“A break. Just an hour-” he narrows his eyes at you, which makes you scoff. “Fine, half of an hour. With me. We don’t even need to go anywhere. Just you without touching any work, not even thinking about it. You must understand that going on like this you’ll never get rid of your heachaches,” you try to reason with him, and by the way his gaze shifts, focusing on his clasped hands in thought, you know it’s not in vain. He is considering your proposition.

“Oh, and when I said half of an hour, I meant every day,” star-marked pupil darts back at you, but you hold your ground, staring right back at him. Your proposal hangs in the air, and somehow, your husband has no desire to fight against it. Pierro isn’t sure what was the thing that convinced him - your determination written all over your person or the real wearing out he started to experience, which became obvious after you voiced it out of concern, but he decides to entertain your idea.

“Alright,” the smile that appears on your face plucks at a hidden string of his heart, and with a quiet groan the Khaenri’ahn-born gets on his feet.

You sweep him to the armchair (which you quickly moved to the fireplace) and make him sit there, comfortably perching on the armrest yourself. His eyes are closed as your deft fingers are dancing across his features. You do not take his mask off, not this time, not when you have only half of an hour, but you make sure to glide the fingertips over its cold surface.

Pierro doesn’t pinpoint the moment when you start kissing him. At first it’s subtle - just your lips ghosting over his heavy eyelid, down his cheek and the corner of his mouth. Then you switch to pecking - his chin, his cheekbone, his brow, his forehead, leaning in his personal space more and more to reach higher… He finds it endearing and soothing, consoling even.

And finally you place a proper kiss. It lingers on his lips far longer than any other before, and just as you are ready to break this spell, he reaches forward and reciprocates, taking a hold of your hand, letting the flames play on the metal of your wedding bracelets. Very soon the work is moved to the back of his mind, focus completely stolen by your lips and gentle kisses, and it doesn’t seem like you plan to stop until the time is up.

If his breaks are going to be spent like this - in your embrace, in your affection, he doesn’t mind it becoming a constant part of his daily routine.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #capitano x reader #capitano x fem!reader #il capitano x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #pierro genshin #capitano genshin #genshin impact fluff

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