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matchadobo · 9 months

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KIDD; kidd being sweet

wc: 1653 summary: just wholesome shit warnings: afab reader, none

silently humming to yourself, you scrubbed the dishes with the sponge coated with foamy soap as it enveloped your hands with its froth. it was a normal day around the victoria, most of the crew had stayed in the dining hall to play cards, drink with the others, or just chat with everyone. it was your turn to do the dishes, you almost bribed others to do it but decided to get on with it. you really were looking forward to going to bed early, but that’s too bad.

to everyone’s surprise, including you, the door slammed open. you met your lover’s eyes as he had his usual scowl plastered on his pale ass face. you furrowed your brows, waiting for an explanation. he stood there for a while before giving everybody a glare and a grumble. it was an unspoken order to get the fuck out of the room so he can be alone with you. you sighed to yourself in endearment, shutting your eyes and letting a sigh out from your smiling lips.

soon enough, the hall cleared and he stomped his way towards you as his heels clicked under the woody floors. he met your eyes before making his way behind you and snaking his flesh arm around your waist. “’m tired.” he meekly greeted, a sigh following afterward when you felt him lean half of his weight to you as he placed his chin atop your head.

you chuckled softly, continuing on with your chore. “a little busy here, captain. mind letting me go?” you sardonically remarked despite leaning into his touch. he let you go with a grumble, leaning by the countertops beside you as he crossed his arms. “should’ve let the others do it, you’re the captain’s wife for fuck’s sake.” he clicked his tongue.

“that’s just childish now, isn’t it?” you finally finished as you dried your hands off with the towel hanging on the cabinet handle under the sink. “i’m done now, don’t get too pouty about it.” you teased, poking at his nose as he let out a huff of annoyance despite his flushed cheeks. “besides, i like doing it for the crew. it’s nice seeing them relax for a while.”

“thought being the mom was killer’s job.” he shifted his legs where you can fit between them as he pulled you closer by your hips. he leveled himself with you as the counter supported his weight.

“he doesn’t get enough credit for it, though.” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck. “did you miss me that much?” you tilted your head, raising a brow.

“you have no idea.” he buried his face on the crook of your neck, reveling in your perfume. “i’d fuck you in here if i wanted to,” he whispered in your ear. despite being married for years, his low voice never fails to raise goosebumps across your skin. “but i don’t really need that right now.”

you jolted lightly in shock, looking down at his red mane of hair. “come with me to the bow.” he placed a kiss on your shoulder before letting you go and walking out of the room.

you heed to his request and followed him, the bright sunset almost blinded you as the breezy dusk of winter welcomed you. the salty scent of the sea wafted across your nose, a refreshing feeling that always puts you at ease.

he sat at the edge of his ship, feet hanging loosely as it submerged in the sea from time to time. you sat beside him, almost falling if it weren’t for his hand on your side. “is there something wrong, love?” you looked up at him, but all he did was lay his head down on your lap.

“don’t overthink it.” he brushed you off, “i just miss you.” he looked at you through his half-lidded eyes.

your face almost exploded from being too flushed, and you looked away with both of your palms hiding your face. “why’re you acting weird?” your sentence was muffled but it was enough to send him laughing.

you peeked behind your fingers at the joyous man before you, the reason behind his laughter was none other than you. “ah, fuckin’ hell. we’ve been married for years and you still can’t wipe that stupid flush in your cheeks when i’m around.” he said in between little laughs. “makes me wonder why i’m the goddamn same.”

you finally put your hands down and combed them through his relaxed crimson locks while the other was drawing shapes on his chest with your fingers. “just remember how you confessed like a mess back then, then you’ll know.” you teased.

he looked away, clicking his tongue again as he tried to hide the blush on his snowy cheeks. “yeah, and your cheeks were red as hell when i did. all you replied was random shit and then you started kissing me, right?”

“shut up.” you pressed your lips together, flicking his forehead. “we were both pretty dumb about each other back then, mostly you though.”

he grumbled as a reply, nuzzling himself closer to you. “i was like that cuz you’re making my goddamn head spin each time you look at me, it’s just fuckin’ different when you do.” he sincerely replied, covering the upper half of his face with his arm as it became immensely red. the golden ring on his finger that he made himself shone against the glistening shine of the setting sun.

“how’d it go again? you’re too fuckin’ pretty it’s pissin’ me off that all i wanted to do is kiss you and fuckin’ touch you and fuckin’ lo-”

before you could finish your sentence he pinned you to the ground. it all happened too fast but now, he was above you with that arrogant fucking grin you fell in love with. how he has complete power over you and how you are willing to heed all his commands. how his eyes shone as he studied how the red in your cheeks never disappeared but got more prominent at his actions.

“yeah? you were sayin’?” he leaned closer.

“-and you fuckin’ love me it makes you so crazy you’re choking on your saliva.” you finished, “the hell does that even mean?” you added while laughing and wiping the tears off your eyes, covering your face once more.

“dumb way of saying i love you, i guess.” he placed a kiss at the corner of your eyes where tears formed earlier.

“you were so cute then, god.” you smiled, holding his face between your hands.

“calling the pirate king cute ain’t cuttin’ it, lovely.” he got off you, sitting back as he gazed . “for the record, you were the one who was stutterin’ and shit, it’s goddamn adorable.”

kidd became more open when you two got married. maybe because of the ring, or maybe because he finally got serious with you. that fateful day where he finally had the balls to face you and tell you how he truly feels even though it’s still a puzzle to him how much you fucked him up. not in a bad way of course, if anything, you fucked him up so much he’d wanna change the world for you, much more his self. he wanted to make you know that he loves you, that he’d do anything for you. he’d want to let you hear his praises and insults, he’d want to let you hear how much you deserve the world, he’d want to say i love you to you and he’d always look forward to how your eyes brim with so much love the same way his does each time he looks at you. it sometimes catches you off guard when he just blurts out things about how he loves you.

“hm? that why you married me?” you sat up, leaning on his shoulder and brushing your fingers by his veiny arms.

“if there’s one brat i’d be more than willing to be stuck with for the rest of my life, it’d be you.”

“ah you’re making it hard for me to stop feeling hot.” you placed both of your hands on either side of your cheeks.

“ain’t my problem i turn you on.” he grinned over his shoulder, arrogantly looking down at you.

“it’s not even that!” you shuffled in your seat trying to regulate the heat in your cheeks. “have i ever told you that i’m very proud of you now that you’ve learned to say how you feel?”

“well, pretty stuff.” he tucked a hair behind your ear, flicking your forehead afterward. “you teach me some pretty things like that all the time, you been rubbin’ too much off of me.”

“i gotta get used to you being sappy, this is catching me off guard way too much.” you leaned back by your arms, looking at the sky.

“you gotta do better than that then.” he snarked, pulling himself up and walking towards your shared quarters. “i’m going to bed, come if you want to snuggle or some shit.”

you chased after him almost tripping over yourself. “what did you eat today, kidd? you’re so generous!”

“other than you, nothin’ out of the ordinary.” he said with a grin, letting you enter the room before him as he held the door wide open and watched you flush from head to toe. “i just enjoy seeing you all hung up on me.” he stared you down, pinning you against the door. “wanna take this to the bed?”

“i miss the sweet kidd, bring him back!”

“too bad he wants a quickie right now.”

and so the night went on loudly, filled with screams and moans of laughter and pleasure. your days were either filled with him being sweet or him being horny, one or the other, or maybe a combination. either way, you’d be in bliss with the love that is him.

wrote this half asleep, i miss him :(

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dhampling · 3 months

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sylvan gn!reader, 2.8k

THIS IS IT! THE UNICORN FIC! ALSO COINCIDENTALLY A 300 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION PIECE! THANK YOU!!! based on THIS ask, where a chance series of encounters in youth come together on one night, where everything just clicks for Astarion and his unicorn. this has plagued my brain. this is all i know now. i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. wc: 2.8k c/w: descriptions of mutilation. fluff. reader WAS a unicorn. yippee.

A bed of burning coals. Belly on a smooth stone slab.

Low candlelight as Cazador works, each measured smite into the milky flesh of Astarion’s back feels akin to a dull goring; blood a balm of cooling as it spills.

A mouldering steak.

With each biting shovel of the gouging blade he knows this is a horribly permanent form of disfigurement.

The pale face in the very periphery of his waning vision, flickering often to look at some tome of reference before conferring with Dufay in frequent sharp whispers.

He wipes the skin to clear his canvas after each twist of his tool. A searing rag. He can feel the fluff, the grit, as it settles deep into the exposed sticky blazing valleys between his shoulder blades. He feels the birth of rancid infection. The prickle of each and every prick along his tendons that the debris sets alight.

He knows little else in this moment.

He knows his limbs are useless in tight leather binds, but that this isn’t a case of reprimand as a flaying or a visit to the kennels may be. He’s been good this month. He hasn’t pushed his luck, nor toed the line. He hasn’t even seen Godey in a four tenday.

He knows that the gods can’t hear him down here, wherever here is. He was mercifully sedated at one point, but now all that remained were the paralytic properties of whatever was in the chalice presented oh-so-mightily to him at dinner. That his foetid, mortified carcass won’t allow him to howl, or whine, or scream.

He thinks that he had a similar tool to this when he was young.

He remembers the cool blunt edge in the kitchens and running the tip of his small thumb along it. Feeling it in his pocket, warmed by the heat of his still-breathing body. Sitting in the forest just the other side of the fence with a small wicker basket of apples beside him. Woven blanket underneath linen tunic, woollen overcoat despite the early Kythorn sun; juices running down his little chin as he looked up at the birds singing through the canopy of trees.

He then remembers his mother’s beckon call, leaving the cores to rot on the peaty floor; seeing the yellowing flesh dotted with twigs and brown leaves, glistening still.

“Are you coming?” He whispers sharply, head peering around the yawning mouth of your tent.

You stretch and roll your wrists, freeing your eyes of sleep with a soft rub.

“Hm?”

Astarion clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. You look at him in a daze.

He bristles in the post-gloaming purple dusk, your amber candlelight bringing his face warmth as his eyes scan your face. Behind him you can see a tapestry of stars starting to form in the sky.

His head shakes a little. Claps once. Incredulous.

Oh.

“Overslept.” You mumble. He sighs.

“Gods.’

Pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

‘You have five minutes before I pull you out of this foetid little pit, whatever state you’re in.”

He turns on his heel.

“Is that a threat?” You shout after him.

His head ducks quickly back in.

“A promise. Just so we’re clear.”

A nap in the thulsun heat. A day of rest. Astarion ‘knock, knock’-ing on your tent flap as you read and slinking in like a cat, perching precariously on the chair you use to throw your unwashed armour onto after battle. Several quips about the smell. You threw a pillow at him. Hard. He repostured and continued on breezily.

He’d ‘gotten wind’ of a gathering happening on the beach twenty minutes from camp. Scavengers finishing up at the Nautiloid wreckage throwing some debauched farewell to the Ravaged Beach before some bastardised mercenary force comes in to begin clean up. All the good stuff now gone, but plenty of wine; and, obviously, an opportunity for ‘a little bit of fun’.

He’d blinked at you coquettishly, leaning on the back of the chair, daring you to ask just how he’d gotten wind of such an event.

It’s rare you’ve bounced off another with such ease since your change. You’re too intelligent for his seduction techniques - the ones you hear him rehearsing quietly to himself from his tent each evening - to work the simple way he intends. That doesn’t mean the pale elf has had no effect on you, however.

You take comfort in knowing exactly how you’ll find him every time you look, and he’ll always be ever so pleased to hear that you have been looking.

A wink. A flash of those porcelain white fangs.

An invite to your bedroll for the most sordid of midnight snacks.

Chatter between friends, an ever-present whiff of flirtation; the quirk of a moonlit lip and the pleasure of mutual relief in the dead of night.

You fumble around the darkened tent in underwear searching for your discarded camp clothes as his fire-lit silhouette lingers outside.

Astarion thinks about the apples from time to time.

Tough, yet yielding. Biting. Sweet flesh bursting in season, ripe and white. Scraps of red skin stuck between hungry teeth. Seeds in their hard little hollows, stalks with small dry leaves. The way the juice ran so freely down his chin in the light of the sun and dampened the back of his hand as he’d wiped it away.

His full wicker basket empty by afternoon.

Highsun courtyard feasts. He remembers the animals; his mother joking with beaming eyes and a wine-dipped cheer about his ‘druidic potential’ as she held him close, hand on his head, the other on his chest, he stood against her legs as she wittered. Time spent watching for an opportunity to slip through the gate and sit in silence with the birds.

Cazador trenches into his back deeper this time. What Astarion assumes must be blood spatters into his hair with the force of flying blue jay shit, and he’d know.

He remembers the first time he saw the unicorns in the forest, how bewildered he felt. Startling white in such vivid contrast to the surrounding browns and greens.

They weren’t skittish like the deer were, nor could they have been ‘lost property’ like the horses who often roamed by. The kobolds were mean to him on more than one occasion and the boars who passed were simple creatures.

As a decisive yank is made and the gouging tool changes direction, fully embedded in the flesh it tears, he thinks about the smallest one.

Despite being fraught with innuendo and obvious peacocking, Astarion’s company is a reassuring distraction from your current tadpole predicament. A parody of traditional pursuit wrapped in genuine affection. He knows he doesn’t have to bring the bravado, because you’ll play along regardless.

And this eventide, alongside the fallen Nautiloid; he glows.

Skin soaked in the deep gloaming ambers and yellows of the campfire. Laugh of treacle, like a dozing highsun; a dawn chant on Lathander’s day - he tips his head back in a cotton lull and the quiet threat of his smile brimming through his sharp incisors devastates you.

You watch on from the open mouth of a scavenger tent astride a pile of pillows and blankets, surrounded in distant light and pilfered goods. A warm breeze carries the firesmoke and to your side is a newfound silver chalice full to the brim with heady Arabellan Dry.

He looks every part the favourite of the gods.

Sways gently in his seat. Imbibes generously. Lifts his arms wide in gesticulation with oft-rotating conversational partners and tells stories in hushed tones with the most salacious quirk threatening his brow.

Occasionally throughout your jaunt, you’ll wonder if he should be holding your mind like this.

Then his eyes meet yours.

Gods.

It feels like they all watch as he moves to you. Adonis in the flesh; effusive as his fingers circle the rim of his glass and he sinks to crossed legs beside you. Face by face.

“I am so fucking bored.” He mutters. Smiles widely at a passing new acquaintance before sighing a grumble.

“Which one was ‘bored’ again?” You peer mockingly into the crowds, searching with a hand resting atop your tired brow.

He elbows you. Hard.

“You sound remarkably sour, pet.”

“I’m not sour. I’ve had a beautiful evening” You sip. A gentle breeze rolls over you.

Astarion lolls his head back a little.

“Beautiful wasn’t really the plan though, was it?”

You turn to him. Narrow your eyes just the smallest bit.

Astarion tilts back and looks to the sky. He opens his mouth as if to speak. Closes it just as fast.

“What?”

You picture him falling in love with every single one he’d spoken to on the beach this evening; lifting locks of hair around nimbly twirling fingers and pulling another warm body closer. Tilting his head downwards, eyes remaining forward; struggling for words in covetous gasps. Seduction.

A small laugh. Gods.

“Beautiful. Fucking a stranger in a beach cove isn’t necessarily what I’d call beautiful, dearest.”

“That was your plan?”

“Wasn’t it yours?”

You stop for a good moment. Astarion clicks his tongue in thought. Blinks with the urgency of dripping treacle.

Gods. The memory alone would be enough to bring a smile to his face, and he remembers it so very vividly.

The apples. A baby unicorn.

One late Elient afternoon, the first time any of them had approached. His fingers stickied with juice. It didn’t appear to be cautious by any discernible means, refusing the peel he’d hesitantly offered far out on the flat of his palm.

Little thing. Just about his size, he thinks; and he was always small.

He remembers sniffing with a cold and haphazardly wiping his sticky fingers on the front of his coat. Reaching out so it could smell him.

Chewing open-mouthed, eyes closed, smoothing his face with the back of his hand.

They’d fall about together on feeble legs, his flailing arms and gentle nudges. Days on days spent venturing into the forest where it’d be waiting for him in the same clearing as always.

He remembers easing into the apple flesh with the tool edge and gently wiggling it into the crisp white to ensure a deep enough pit. Skimming imperfect rounds of the skin. Bouncing the resulting red spiral between his thumb and forefinger.

Cazador reaches for the dagger. A hundred-thousand molten pins.

The moon overhead. Unwavering in clarity. It almost feels like you’re on the precipice of a different world.

“You’re weird, you know.’ Astarion breaks his silence. The revellers continue to drink, to dance and talk clumsily around you.

Your eyes meet his. He wavers on the edge of certainty, but the performative lowering of his lids shows you he isn’t too sure. There’s a front to the nonchalance.

‘What are you?”

“Hm?”

“Fun. I said there’d be fun. You aren’t partaking.’ He takes a sip and swills it around his mouth whilst collecting his thoughts. The dossier. Racking through pages in his brain.

‘I can’t be completely sure, but I’ve met a lot of humans in my life. Seduced them. Given and taken like a market teller.’

His hands move as he speaks, a considered pattern of gesticulation.

‘And you simply… you’re above it all. You don’t even smell human. What are you?”

There it is. If you weren’t inebriated you’d be tempted to laugh him off.

Tonight, however; your bones are thoroughly wine-sodden.

Your companion has a twinkle in his eye. A beach of prospective lovers and he has collapsed at your side in respite. If he persecutes you as they would then you’ll die with his face the last thing you see. It doesn’t feel like a bad compromise.

“Not human.” You confirm, looking at your fingernails with a pert nod.

He laughs in a slight of vindication.

“Try me.”

“Sylvan.”

You can’t be sure if it’s from embarrassment or underlying fear that your head falls into your sweaty hands. Astarion’s snide streak plays at the fray of your mind.

“What? Half wood-elf or something?”

He sips.

“Unicorn.” You lift your fingers and flutter them around the sides of your head meekly.

Splutters.

“Explains why there are none roaming the actual woods anymore, I suppose.”

He’s taken it surprisingly well, all things considered. You aren’t sure what you’d expected. A minute of silence. The lazy roll of waves along the shore.

“What do I smell like?”

Maybe he’s wary of the driftwood stake near your hand.

“Apples. People don’t smell like apples. Usually sweat. Or perfume.’ He runs his tongue over his teeth and sniffs.

‘Not apples. I should’ve -”

Apples. A softness in the way he says it, you note. Favoured fruit in the allotments running the edge of the forests.

‘I’ve not had an apple in so long.”

He finishes with a wistful smile, topping off the wine in hand and refilling it with a swift glug.

“Do you miss them?”

“Apples? I-’

The cogs turn slowly - he wets his bottom lip and looks to the sky once more. His brow furrows as you watch him think.

‘I used to sit in the forest, just around the back of the garden wall. I was about- I’d have been about up to here?’ He lifts his arm to just above where his sitting head rests.

‘I was tiny. All day long. Peeling the skin, gnawing away. Ironic.”

Pauses as if in remembrance of something. Grimaces.

You smile fondly and reach for his arm. You’re willing to entertain the line of dialogue. It distracts from the situation and he seems open to indulging in it.

“Funny.”

He scoffs and taps your hand softly before taking it in his. Cool fingers lock around yours.

“How so?”

“Gods, a long time ago now - there was a boy I met who did the same thing. Fascinated by them. Would sit and peel them with a little tool. Strange thing.”

You take a sip as you imitate the focus of the young thing, pretending to work tunnels into the cooling air with your near-empty chalice.

Astarion whips his head to face yours.

“Two hundred years ago?”

“Why?’

He’s watching you as if you’re holding something very fragile in your faux-gouging fingers.

‘I suppose so? Round about then. Bit longer, maybe two hundred and th-”

“Me. It was me.”

Your eyes meet.

It’s the kind of moment you’ve read about in your downtime, the way the clock stops. Everything feels silent. The sea stops rolling soft on the shore, the voices around you are naught above a whisper; the glass in the hand not clutching yours set firmly on the sand as he shuffles to face you head on.

Apples.

You watch his eyes soften wholly. Not a single ounce of guard; no sense of hesitation. Two glimmering rubies in the moonlight.

“His eyes weren’t red.” You smile.

It takes a moment for him to react. He’s studying your face reverently, with newfound interest; mapping each of the lines and blemishes with a hand hovering over your cheek.

And then he laughs. The most beautiful sound in all the realms, melodic.

“They weren’t.’

He points to the scarred fang marks above his sagging collar.

‘I was also alive at that point.’

Astarion takes a few comfortable minutes to look at you as he strokes over your hand with his thumb. You’ve spent enough of the past few weeks looking over him to know him almost by heart but you’ll indulge with the context of the revelation before you.

“Look at us now, then.”

Your voice cracks. You didn’t realise the sheer size of the lump in your throat.

“I -’

He presses his free hand to your cheek as he did when you were both young. Soft. Jowls ablaze at his wine-sticky touch.

The sincerity in his gaze is brutal. If you weren’t so deeply enamoured you might just vomit.

‘The longest night of my life, I thought of you. The apples. How -’

Astarion takes a moment to survey you. You obviously look nothing like you did back then, aside from the brightest eyes he’s ever seen in all two hundred and thirty nine years of life and the same softness in how they revere him.

‘How you never came back. I waited.’

It’s then that you crumble.

‘How happy I knew I’d be when you did return.”

It’s cataclysmic, the way he talks. The last person who was kind to you and he thought you’d left him by choice this whole time. Remembering you in his darkest moments. All you’ve both suffered and here you are, on this rancid beach in the middle of nowhere; your hand safe in his.

“It wasn’t by choice. Never.”

The look on his face suggests he’s toying with the idea of playing the fair maiden, but he sees the way you crack and almost takes to tears himself.

“Well. You’re here now, and we have a lot of lost time to make up for. It helps that I was already fond of you, of course.”

He brushes the hair from your face and plants a deep kiss on your forehead as you bring your arms around his waist, hesitantly.

It’s a start.

One you’d never have seen coming when waking aboard the crashed nautiloid in front of you; but glorious nonetheless.

#astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #my writing #unicorn stuff

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myheadhurtscutely · 26 days

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Star Stationary - Modern!Anakin Skywalker x Reader - Chp. 3

C ` Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary ` You heed ani's advice and try to go on the date with his friend, but you wind up on a whole other road, in someone else's car. Everything happens for a reason i guess?

!Warnings! Angst. But little fluffy bits here and there

wc ` 2k

notes ! this is closely based on characters, Jim and Pam, from a tv show, The Office.

Chapter one Chapter two

One date. That's all it was. One date.

You had called the number Anakin so kindly gifted you. The guy answered, and you swear you didn't even catch his name. Not that he didn't tell you. To be honest you just didn't care. Unless it was the blue-eyed boy you dream of every night. you. didn't. care.

The date rolled around. A cold and windy Sunday, not out of the norm lately. You weren't trying to impress this stranger you were soon to see, but it doesn't hurt to dress up a little. It made you feel cute. You also subconsciously knew that you were dressing up just in case. Always just in case. What if Anakin walked in to grab a coffee to go? What if you passed by him on the street as your head hung, listening to the breeze in one ear, and some jazz melody in the other. You knew it was crazy but it's what made each day kind of exciting.

After adjusting your hair pin just right, you slid on your gloves and headed out to the cold world. A good 10-minute drive to downtown, and you had arrived. You paid your parking meter and began to walk, passing small, and grand shops along the way. The air nipped your reddening nose, frost bit your cheeks, and a wind carried your beath to the next street. This was your first time around here since you moved. New sights and smells matted themselves into your memory. It was all so wonderful. Lusty dusk haze mixed with the hanging lights on restaurant patios, and led your path as you made it to the cafe.

Ring! The small bell chimed as you pushed the glass door open. Pastries and soups wafted into your nose, and some coffee names caught your eye. It was a nice place. A bit intimate for a first date, but you weren't one to be picky. A low lighting hung over about seven booths, covering the walls of the cafe. You looked for the man you were to be meeting. He said he had short, fading ginger/brown hair, and a beard. Wow. How descriptive. Luckily there was only three groups of people in the cafe. A group of teens, a couple, and a man with a beard at the booth closest to the door. Ah, there he is.

He wasn't bad looking by any means, a bit older but that didn't deter you. His eyes were downturned, and kind looking. To be honest, you looked for Anakin in him, but there was no resemblance.

"Hello? Are you here to meet someone?" Your voice was quiet to accommodate the deafening silence of the cafe. He smiled and nodded.

"Yes," His smiled beamed a bit too bright for you. It made you feel bad for how much your mind was not even willing to give this guy a chance. "are you..." his voice trailed, checking your identity.

You answered politely, giving the appropriate response. He stood up out of the booth. He was tall and had the most stereotypical dad bod. It worked for him. He was handsome, but not like Anakin. No one was like Anakin. He was in a league of his own entirely. The guy stuck out his hand, guiding you gently into the booth. You obliged and scooted into your side of the booth as he sat back down.

The silence was the worst thing you had endured in a while. It was painful. He was sweet but awkward.

"I must say you are stunning by the way. I'm sorry if that's too forward." You blush in response, no matter who from, a compliment was appreciated. You reassured and thanked him. Conversation begun to drag on, though you wouldn't call it 'conversation.' Much of it was one-sided. Not through any fault of his, the chemistry just wasn't there. None of your hobbies aligned with his. His humor wasn't one that made you laugh, but most of all,

he just wasn't Anakin.

You genuinely felt horrible for being unable to give him a try, despite his best efforts to connect with you. It was getting bright outside though, and you both knew the date was coming to an end.

After simple goodbyes to a stranger, you made your way out the door. No “i’ll call you later”s or “i had a nice time”s were said before you left, but that was ok. No reason to give a man false hope like that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────

The rest of the weekend was spent with you rotting in your bed, shaming yourself for you continuing dreams of a future with Anakin. He nor his Padme deserved that.

Eventually ripping yourself from your disheveled sheets, you silenced your alarm clock and did your routine for the morning. You weren’t gonna be late at all, but you definitely didn’t plan on being early to work today. A simple white button down, a pencil skirt, and your trustworthy coat were sufficient for the day.

Packed and ready to go, you shut your car door and made your way to your office. On some backroad, a sputtering started. “Oh fuck.” You said breathily. You weren’t much of a car person, and now was not the time. You had left 15 minutes later than you normally would’ve and this was a bad setback. The car slowly slid to a stop, ignoring your foot on the gas pedal. On the side of the road now, in some grassy patch, you laid your head against the wheel and cried. It had all been too much lately, and now this.

Who would you even call? You have no friends or family around. You just moved here. In that moment isolation was the only fitting feeling.

Pulling out your phone you scrolled through contacts. Endlessly. Most of them being from back home so they were of no use to you. Then it hit you, the only other person near, that could be up and about at this hour. Anakin.

You hesitated before pressing his contact. What if he got upset with you for calling so early? What if you were bothering him. What if Padme answered. The thoughts swirled in your head like a rising storm, but you eventually pushed through and rang him.

ring…

You became nervous, and slightly embarrassed. Please please pick up. The cold surface flush against your cheek.

The dial tone stopped, and the phone crackled as Anakin's tired voice answered from the other side. "Hey Snickers," he yawned, "are you okay?" You wanted to squeal. After scolding yourself silently and quickly, you responded.

"Hey, im so so sorry for calling so early. I just didn't know who else to call. I was on my way to work, and my car broke down and and now I'm going to be late." Thats when the embarrassing sniffling started as you continued to ramble worries and apologies to his tired ears.

"Hey hey hey, calm down it's gonna be okay, stay there. Can you send me your location?" You mumbled a 'Mhm". "Great, thank you sweetheart, I'll be there soon." Mummbling a goodbye, you removed your phone from your red-hot ear. 'Sweetheart' was he feeling ok?

A few minutes after the location was sent, a black car rolled up to the front of yours. Anakin popped out of it, sending a smile and wave your way. His hair was still untamed from his haste to get to you, but he still had on his buttoned shirt and his usual work pants. You smiled back, and the two of you came to meet in the middle.

"Hey, you ok?" He asked, gently rubbing your shoulders.

"Yeah" You shrugged into his warm hands. "It just like, crapped out on me I guess. I really can't be late Anakin." He seemed to stare at the car and back at you, then the car again.

"Hmm, how about you let me take you to work today and then we can worry about this later?" He gave a sideways smile while blowing a stray curl out of his eyes.

You sighed and smiled at him, "I really don't want to impo-"

"Stop. I offered; you could never be an imposition to me." His hands found their way to your shoulders again, as if he was holding you to the ground to keep you from floating away.

"Ok but I'm giving you gas money." Anakin laughed in your face, guiding you over to the passenger door and opening it politely.

"I'm a big boy, don't worry about it sweetheart."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────

The ride was relatively quite, with Anakin’s music playing in the background. “So” he had opened the room for air, “how’d your date go?”

Your body tightened up. You didn't want him to know, it was embarrassing. Plus, maybe pretending you were fulfilled relationship wise, would help get Anakin out of your head. "It was alright." You tripped over your words, as if your mouth was running a race, trying to speed through the sentence as fast as you could.

Quickly shifting the ball to his court, you prompted your own question. "What about you and your girl?" Anakin pursed his lips. His beautiful brows furrowed, and you suddenly got a feeling of guilt for contorting his poor face.

"My girl? Oh, Padme?"

"Yeah."

"So-so." He waved his hand in the air in a tilting motion showing half-and-half whilst laughing. You laughed along with him, trying to include yourself in whatever odd conversation you had just conjured in the cold car. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course, Anakin." You could've sworn his eyes fluttered at the mention of his name falling from your lips.

"I've been living with one of my buddies for about 2 weeks now..." Anakin turned his head ashamedly. "Her and I just were too different, and things got heated, and... I don't know. It's like I just realized we weren't in love anymore. So did she."

The car was now in park. It was still dawn outside and both you and Anakin sat in silence for a short while. "I'm um, I'm so sorry Anakin." Your heart really did hurt for him, but there was also a gnawing voice, condemning you for feeling a twinge of poor hope in your heart at the new turn of events.

"It's okay, it had been coming for a while." He sighed and looked over to you, "you kinda set it in motion." He laughed. Your eyes widened in horror and surprise.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Anakin smiled that goofy godforsaken smile at you, pushing up his glasses.

"She had begun to get jealous of you after she saw your purple pen in my pocket, and rightfully so I guess." He looked back down at the floorboard in the car. You cocked your head to the side, giving him a questioning, intense stare.

He looked at you, his eyes half-lidded for a moment, "You're beautiful, and smart, and funny. Hell, if I was a girl I'd be jealous too."

Your face flushed and your lips curled into an unwanted smile, revealing your emotions at your very surface. "Oh, shut up." Was your only comeback. I mean what were you supposed to say? Your heart was slamming into your chest as if was begging to get out and lie next to his.

"Wow," He clasped his hand over his heart dramatically, "I'm so hurt."

"Oh no! Whatever shall I do!?" You jest back, the air now seeming lighter. The both of you just smiled and laughed at each other. "C'mon goof or were gonna be late."

You both open your respective doors, but not without Anakin rushing to your passenger side to help you carry your things inside. It was picturesque the way both of your silhouettes playfully knocked into one and other on the way to the entrance of The Office.

An; IM SO SORRY PLEAVE FORGIVE MY SINS ITS BEEN FOUR MONTHS SINCE I UPDATED THIS SERIES. Im getting back on the grind tho i swear. Seriously thoguh, i really appreciate the support on this series and couldnt be more thankful :)

tags ` @darthgloris , @queenie-official , @bby-imasociopath , @mxltifxnd0m , @jayrami3 , @robertsmithclone , @brainscabs , @bimbo-baggins86 , @t8lzw, @nxck-bxtch, @ddarling-ddearest-ddead, @signmethefuckupmhmm

(<3)

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen x reader #anakin x reader #anakin x you #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin fanfiction

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bettyfrommars · 9 months

Note

Monster Eddie Jobs: haunted clown doll. Poltergeist. One of those paintings where the eyes follow you around. INCUBUS

haunted clown doll it is

hauntedClownDoll!Eddie x Reader

another blurb from The Nightmare Factory

Nightmare Factory Masterlist

Another step in Eddie's journey to find the Nightmare Factory job that will entice you to want to get to know him. A lot of you darlings came through with a handful of fun, creative requests, and I'm excited to keep them going through spooky season! I will also be using others that were mentioned in this particular ask, and always happy to receive more! I stayed at the Clown Motel once and lived to tell. There really is a cemetery right next to it, no lie. wc: 1.5k

18+ONLY, mature themes, nightmares, clowns, longing

The Clown Motel in Tonopah, Nevada gave you the creeps, but all you needed was a quick bed for the night, and $65 was about all you could afford. There was an old cemetery next to the property, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed it was all a staged setup to add to the spooky appeal of the motel. But, no—the headstones were all very real, dating back to the late 1800’s.

You saw him when you first came in—he was impossible to miss. The life-sized clown doll dressed in colorful stripes with a wide mouth and round, rubber nose. He sat in the middle of a square nook filled with clown dolls of all shapes and sizes. Some were ceramic, some were cloth. Some were wood, carved to look like a nutcracker. The big clown had one hand in his lap and one hanging down his side, and his eager eyes sought you in a way that made you avert your attention until you were done checking in.

Your room was on the second tier and you took some time to get cleaned up before calling over to the restaurant across the way to order some food. On you way back across the street, clutching the styrofoam container in your hand, you caught a glimpse of something bright in the cemetery.

It was dusk, and you wondered if maybe it was someone visiting one of the burial sites.

But, with a muffled scream you noticed—for a split second—that it was the same clown doll from the lobby standing like a statue by one of the headstones.

It was watching you, leering at you, and it lifted its arm in a stiff wave as the wind blew back the silk of his costume.

You blinked and choked, and when you focused on the spot in the distance again—the clown was no longer there.

Eddie materialized in the cemetery to get a better look at where you were, and then he tripped over his floppy shoes and almost impaled himself on a handmade, wooden cross.

He cursed under his breath, wondering why he chose Haunted Clown Doll over some type of apparition so that he could be near you without making you uncomfortable. First of all, he thought having a physical body would solve the communication problem, but of course—the clown’s face couldn’t move, and his voice came out as not much more than a mocking cackle.

Second, it was only a three day training, and most of it was just watching safety videos about how to walk in the shoes. They also taught him to sit for a while, and then stand in the corner, and then hover near the bed when the person having the nightmare least expected it.

They repeated a lot of the same shit at the training, and when he crossed his arms over his chest to sink back in his chair, he started to fall asleep.

He snorted awake with a start when the teacher—-a professional Nightmare Clown with a gaping maw of sharp teeth and a bright green wig—-barked his name.

“Sorry,” Eddie said groggily. “I’m listening.”

“Is that right?” The teacher clown also had cat’s eyes for pupils and a polka dot jumper with ruffles at the wrists and blood stains across the front. “Indulge the rest of the class and tell me what the last rule was I just went over.”

The “class” consisted of 3 unfortunate souls, including Eddie.

Eddie could not contain the yawn that stretched his mouth, so he spoke while it was happening. “Going under the covers,” he answered. “When the person puts their head under the covers, they are safe, and we can’t touch them or scare them.”

“Exactly, now, how do we keep them from going under the covers?”

Eddie must’ve blanked out on that one. “Um, we can’t?”

The teacher heaved a weary sigh, cocking their head. “Distractions, Munson. Doors that fly open, a face in the window, whispers in their ear.”

This was all beginning to sound way above his pay grade, and he wasn’t interested in being the best student or the best employee—he just wanted to see you again.

He should’ve dematerialized before you caught a glimpse of him from across the street, but some insane part of him hoped you might recognize him—even though you’d never seen his actual form, and he was dressed like a literal clown this time.

A car honked, jolting you from your reverie, and as you jogged the rest of the way into the parking lot, your eyes darted around, hoping to god that you would not see the clown again.

On your way to the stairs, you passed by the glass front to the lobby, and found yourself looking in to make eye contact with the clown doll again. Its eyeballs were painted on, but somehow—you felt like they were watching you, as if someone were looking through from the other side. Both of its hands were in its lap, now, and its shoulders were hunched; big, oversized red shoes planted on the floor; short, frizzy orange hair sticking out of a floppy sleeping cap.

You went up and watched some lame sitcoms while you ate your dinner, and you tried to forget about the inanimate clown doll that was gnawing at your brain.

Eddie noticed how you took the time to check in on him on the way to your room, and his heart leapt. And then, he thought he was the one dreaming when he watched you descend the stairs and return to the lobby a few hours later.

The night manager popped his head out to ask if you needed any help, but you confessed you were only there to look at the clowns.

One in particular.

You made your way over to stand at his side and covertly whispered in his ear. “Was that you out in the cemetery today?”

Eddie’s clown hand fell from his lap to sway at his side, making you jump back, eyes widening at the coincidence.

When you found the nerve, you leaned closer, inspecting the wide, painted smile on his porcelain face, the brown of his irises.

You were so close, Eddie could smell you. You radiated fresh lavender and coconut hand lotion and a tang of garlic from the dinner you just ate. He watched your lips move as you whispered to yourself, something about, “where have I seen this clown before?”

Eddie couldn’t speak though, he could only chuckle, and he didn’t think it was the right time.

The body of the doll was so lifelike; you had to feel it for yourself. With a shaky hand, you reached out to touch his shoulder—it wasn’t soft like stuffing, it was hard, like a store mannequin. You bent down to squeeze the thigh, finding that it was made of the same solid material.

Eddie could feel everything, the way you were caressing him. On his plane of existence, he parted his lips and let his eyes roam over your face. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss you.

You bought some souvenirs—-a shot glass and a mug for your mom—and then returned to your room for the night.

It took you a while to get to sleep, but when you finally dozed off to the point that your body jerked from an imaginary fall, clown Eddie was sitting in the chair in the corner. The maniacal smile stretched across his face was locked in place—his eyes unblinking as they stared across the room at you.

You rolled over with a groan, pulling the covers closer to your chin as you went.

Eddie materialized at the side of the bed, at your back, tilting his head, wishing he could crawl in and put his arms around you. He’d take his big, stupid shoes off first.

The next morning, you woke up refreshed, and busied yourself around the motel room getting ready for the last leg of your road trip, oblivious to the way Eddie had been standing at the foot of your bed all night.

After your suitcase was in the car, you went to drop the key off at the front desk, and noticed the life-sized clown was no longer therr. You went over to inspect the area: its chair between the shelves of smaller clowns was gone too. There was not a trace of it, as if it had vanished.

“Hey, so, where did you put the huge clown that was down here?” You asked politely as you passed the man your key.

He squinted at you, a bit confused. “Huge clown, you mean the nutcracker ones?”

“No, the really big one,” you turned to point to the area where it had been. “It was taller than me with enormous red shoes, a really creepy smile. It was sitting right over there when I checked in yesterday.”

The man bent forward over the desk to see where you were pointing, even though he had no idea what you were babbling about.

“We’ve never had a clown that size,” he assured you. “But I wish we did. It sounds like something from a nightmare.”

#the nightmare factory #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie munson #the clown motel #Eddie Munson fluff #hauntedClownDoll!eddie #Eddie Munson x reader

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wannab-urs · 25 days

Text

Something in the Orange

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC!Sonya

Summary: Something in the orange tells me you’re never coming home.

Warnings: Sonya is Sarah’s mom, bittersweet ending - we all know Sarah’s mom wasn’t there in the game/show okay? Symptoms of Postpartum Depression, not diagnosed or treated. Joel calls her Sunny, Sonya does not want to be a mom, ANGST, smut but it’s in the past, mentions of separation and divorce, excessive drinking, intervention moment, song fic kind of? WC: 3.7k

A/N: I can’t believe I not only had a Joel idea, but then actually wrote it. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about it all day and screaming back at me. And thanks to @dancingtotuyo/@catchallfangirl for editing for me <3. Fic based largely on the song by the same name.

Joel Miller Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

It'll be fine by dusk light I'm telling you, baby These things eat at your bones and drive your young mind crazy But when you place your head between my collar and jaw I don't know much but there's no weight at all

Sonya is curled up in bed, on top of the comforter, trying not to fall asleep before Joel gets home. He’s been pulling double shifts at the factory to pay for all the expenses of having a baby. A baby she didn’t want.

Well that’s not quite true. A baby she didn’t plan on having, that she had fallen in love with the idea of and decided to keep. She had been excited to be a mom, if a bit terrified, but who wasn’t? She thought that with Joel by her side, they could do anything. But having a baby has caused her nothing but grief.

She knows she’s supposed to love her child more than anything on the planet and that makes her feel broken, like she’s failing at this woman thing, this mother thing. She cares for Sarah, of course she loves her, cherishes her, or whatever. She does her duties as a mother and it fucking sucks. She just wants to go back to how it used to be with Joel, before the baby. Before he started pulling double shifts. Before she was nothing more than a wife and mother.

She hears the front door open, the shuffle of Joel taking off his boots by the door, the clatter of him in the kitchen, heating up the plate of food you left for him. You lie in bed and listen to him clean his plate and put it in the sink – not the dishwasher – and you sigh.

He goes in to check on Sarah before he comes to your room, and you feel a bit jealous. You used to be the first person he kissed when he got home. You used to have dinner together every night. He used to come home and dance with you, make love to you, spend real time with you. But now, he comes home and eats and goes to bed. And it’s all because of her. For her.

Sarah, despite only getting to see him at the occasional midnight feeding and on weekends, has taken to him wonderfully. What she’s really jealous of is how easy it is for Joel to love Sarah. He doesn’t seem to mind getting up after a 16 hour shift to feed her or change her diaper while she feels put upon every time she has to stop cleaning or cooking or watching tv to care for her. He’s all smiles any time they’re in a room together while she wears a permanently exhausted expression.

And Sonya doesn’t get any of those smiles from him anymore. Only his brows pinched in the middle, furrowing over his eyes, an exasperated “Sunny, I can’t,” when she begs him to come home early and help with the dishes, help take care of their daughter. “I’m helping the only way I know how, Sunny. I’m making sure we can pay our bills and give Sarah the best life she can have.”

“What about my life? What about me?”

“You’re her mother, Sonya. She is your life now. Or she should be.”

That had been a nasty fight. He practically accused her of not caring about Sarah. And that just wasn’t true. She may not feel that bone deep motherly love she’s supposed to feel, but she does love Sarah. She is so beautiful. She has Joel’s eyes and her nose, Joel’s smile and her hair. She’s a perfect little combination of both of them, and she knows she should feel more strongly for her. It’s like there’s a wall built up around her heart that won’t let Sarah all the way in. Unfortunately, it won’t let Joel in either.

Joel comes in and sits on the bed. You sit up beside him, legs dangling over the edge.

“I can’t, Joel. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Can’t what?”

“Be stuck in this house all day taking care of a helpless child and cooking and cleaning for a man who’s never even here anymore.”

“It’ll all be fine in the mornin’, Sunshine. Just a rough night.”

“It’s not just tonight, Joel. Why don’t you ever listen to me? I wasn’t meant for this. I don’t know how to be a mom or a housewife.”

Joel pulls her legs over his lap from where they’re dangling off the bed. He tucks her face into his neck and runs a soothing hand over her back.

“I am listenin’, baby. I don’t know how to be a dad anymore than you know how to be a mom. But we’re figuring it out together, huh? I know you’re scared, but I’m right here with you. Ain’t goin’ nowhere without you, pretty girl.”

He doesn’t get it – could never get it. It’s not being a mother that scares her, it’s being trapped. She can’t escape the housework and the baby needing all her attention all the time. Joel can’t go back to working one shift a day unless they want to lose the house, but she can’t stand being apart from him for so many hours of the day.

“No, Joel, I can’t do it. I can’t,” she’s crying now.

She’d never wanted kids. Never wanted to be a stay at home mom. Going anywhere with a six month old baby is a nightmare. She’s practically entombed in this house.

She sobs into Joel’s neck, her own tears and snot smearing on his skin and back onto hers. She doesn’t want to leave him. Not when he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her. She loves him so much, but it doesn’t feel like that love is enough to keep her tied down as she is.

The separation and the stress of a new baby is driving a wedge between them, a cavern so wide she could never cross it. She thinks back to three summers ago. She was newly graduated from high school, Joel having graduated the year before, and they decided to drive out to the lake and celebrate. She sat in the passenger seat, bare feet on the dash, backseat stacked with blankets and pillows and a cooler full of beer.

They swam all day and then in the evening, she read a book while Joel cooked burgers on the camp stove. They ate and talked and laughed and kissed. When the sun started to go down, they filled the truck bed with the blankets and pillows and laid down to watch the sunset. Joel had kissed her fiercely as the sun dipped below the horizon. He slid his big palms under her shirt and tossed it to the side. She had kissed down his neck while they both scrambled to get undressed. He was inside her before she even had her jeans kicked off her legs, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she was, how good she felt. He kissed her as hard as he could as he dropped a hand to her clit, driving her closer to coming. His tongue tangled with hers as she came with a cry he smothered with his lips, swallowing it down his throat and muffling his own groan as he came inside her. She loved him more than anything in the world at that moment.

He had been everything to her. He was still everything to her. And now Sarah was supposed to be everything to them. But where did that leave them with each other? They were stupid kids, in love with each other and with life. She never expected that having a child with him would ruin everything. She doesn’t want to leave him, she really doesn’t. She’s terrified of being without him.

“I have to go, Joel.”

“Let's talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

She curls up on the bed, Joel folded around her in that perfect way he fits with her, and cries herself to sleep while he snores in her ear.

Sarah starts crying at about 2 am and Joel gets up to feed her. She hears him talking softly to her and her heart cracks. This is going to be the hardest thing she’s ever done.

And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't 'Cause if I say I miss you I know that you won't But I miss you in the mornings when I see the sun Something in the orange tells me we're not done

Joel wakes up in his bed alone. Her side is cold and untouched except for the pillow, which he managed to bury his face in as he slept. It still faintly smells of her shampoo. He misses her so desperately he can’t breathe. It’s like her absence ripped a hole in his lungs and he’s been trying to patch it ever since.

He thinks about calling her, but he knows it would backfire. If he calls her and says he misses her, it will push her further away. If he doesn’t call her, she’ll never know how much he misses her. But she also won’t know he’s failing. That he doesn’t think he can do this without her. And she won’t know that he’s waiting patiently for her to come back.

Sarah cries from the other room, and he drags himself out of bed to take care of her and get her ready for the day. He tries to smile down at his tiny daughter in the crib he built himself, but he can’t form the shape with his lips, can’t dredge up enough happiness to even fake it.

“Okay, Sarah. You’re okay baby girl. Let’s get you changed, yeah?”

Joel picks her up and carries her over to the changing table. He explains what he’s doing as he changes her diaper and gets her dressed for the day. He puts her in a striped onesie and matching striped leggings. He carries her out to the kitchen and places her in her high chair.

“What do we want to eat this morning, huh? Bananas or sweet potatoes?” He holds each jar out to her and she waggles her left arm in the air. “Bananas it is.”

He straps a bib around her before he feeds her breakfast. “Can’t believe you’re already eating baby food. It’s like you grew up on me overnight, darlin’.”

After she eats, he leaves her in the high chair while he tries to clean the kitchen. She gets upset before he can even finish the dishes. He goes over to pick her up, gently cradling her head against his shoulder. She hiccups, spitting up all over his shirt and her own.

Joel sighs and goes to change her, stripping off his shirt and tossing it toward the washing machine. He gets her into a whole new outfit, replaces his shirt with a clean one, and packs a diaper bag. He feels a pang of sadness at Sunny not being there. He doesn’t know how to be a dad by himself. Should he wait to dress Sarah until after she’s eaten? Sunny always handled the mornings on weekends, since he worked so late. She would know what to do.

“Alright little lady, it’s you and me. We’re getting groceries today, doesn’t that sound fun?”

Joel feels like an idiot talking aloud to someone who can’t answer him back, but he read that talking to your baby is good for them and he’s going a little crazy alone in this house. His mom calls just as he’s about to walk out of the door. She offers to watch Sarah while he runs errands.

“I got it, Ma. We’ll be just fine.”

Accepting help feels like failing.

The grocery store is a nightmare. Sarah’s car seat makes the cart difficult to push. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to buy, throwing random cans into the cart that look edible. An old lady approaches him as he looks at the terrifying wall of diapers. He has no idea which ones Sunny usually bought.

“Oh is daddy babysitting his little girl today?”

Joel bristles. No. He is not babysitting his own goddamn daughter.

“Yes ma’am,” he grits through a forced smile, like he’s baring his teeth.

“She’s a beautiful little girl. Good on you for giving Mama a break.”

Joel nods and keeps his forced smile up as he grabs the nearest package of diapers and quickly leaves the aisle. Is it really so obvious he doesn’t know what he’s doing? Can everyone see he’s only faking it, that he’s clueless?

Sarah starts crying, and he tries to soothe her by rocking the car seat in the cart. It doesn’t work even a little bit, so he goes through his mental checklist – she’s been fed, it’s not naptime, it’s not too loud or scary in here. He picks her up out of the car seat and notices her drooping diaper and the worst smell that has ever hit his nostrils. She needs to be changed. Great.

He sets her back in the car seat and buckles her in, takes the cart over to the bathroom, carries her inside the men’s bathroom and… there’s no changing table. He checks all the stalls just to be sure. He can’t use the women’s restroom. He huffs in frustration and takes Sarah out to the truck to change her. He left the cart of groceries by the bathroom, but fuck it he can try again tomorrow. He changes Sarah’s diaper in the backseat of the truck and straps her back into the car seat, now safely secured to the seat.

She still hasn’t stopped crying. He makes sure she’s strapped in well and then just sits in his front seat for a while. He can feel his frustration building up. If Sunny were here, it would be so much easier. He bets there’s a changing table in the women’s restroom. He bets single mothers don’t get asked if they’re babysitting their own damn kid. The world isn’t accustomed to single dads, not built for them.

And fuck he doesn’t want to be a single dad. He wants Sonya with him, with Sarah. He wants to struggle through the hard shit with her and come out the other side stronger than ever. But that’s just not in the cards for him. He decides to let his mom watch Sarah tomorrow while he goes to the grocery store alone. And it feels like a failure. It feels like he fucked up again. He can’t do something as simple as get groceries, something Sunny did dozens of times.

Shortly after he pulls into the driveway, another car pulls in behind him. He warily approaches the stranger who gets out with a packet in his hand.

“Joel Miller?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Are you or are you not Joel Miller?”

“I am. What’s this about?”

“You’re being served divorce papers.”

Joel’s stomach drops as bile rises in his throat. Divorce. He had thought, this whole week, that she’d snap out of it and come home. But this? Ending their marriage? That’s a permanent separation. Something tells him, in that moment, that she is never coming back home to them.

He somehow makes it inside with Sarah, setting her car seat gently on the ground before he collapses. He sobs for a while, grieving the loss of everything they’d had together.

When they first bought this house, they were both barely over the age of 20. Her parents had loaned them the down payment. It was in a good neighborhood, a good school district. Probably well out of their price range, but they were gonna make it work.

The day they moved in, they had nothing but a mattress and some blankets and pillows. They had laid it in the living room, right where he lies now. They ordered Thai food and ate it on the floor and then they curled up together on the mattress. He’d taken her slow and easy that night, savoring the feeling of her wrapped around him. He’s pretty sure that’s the night they made Sarah.

Joel has to call her, has to hear it from her, and not some random courier her law firm hired. But she doesn’t answer and it goes to voicemail. He begs for her to come back. That this is too hard for him all alone.

Sarah starts crying, needing to be let out of her car seat. Joel hangs up and leans over to grab her. He holds her as tightly to his chest as he can without hurting her.

“I love you, babygirl.”

To you I'm just a man, to me you're all I am Where the hell am I supposed to go? I poisoned myself again Something in the orange tells me you're never coming home

Sonya drops her bags by the door and heads into the living room. The red light on her answering machine flashes, showing she has a message.

Sonya had a wonderful day – she went to the farmer’s market, met up with friends for lunch, checked out some bookstores and little shops. She’s afraid to listen to the message, afraid it will be him.

She presses the button and listens to it play.

“Sunny, baby. I need you. I can’t do this by myself,” his voice breaks. He sniffles a bit. “If you don’t call back I’ll… I’ll sign em. If that’s what you want. Fuck. I never thought I’d have to do it without you, Sunshine. Thought we were it. I miss you so fuckin’ much. I love you. Always will.”

She hears Sarah crying in the background and starts crying. She slumps onto her couch and lets the tears fall. She feels so incredibly guilty. Not for leaving, no. That was the best decision she could have made. She feels guilty because she’s relieved. Relieved she doesn’t have to cater to the whims of an infant all day, that she could afford to buy herself a coffee, despite only working as a receptionist. She feels guilty for leaving Joel to fend for himself.

But she won’t let his sweet message and her gnawing guilt stop her from living a life she can be happy in.

Joel stumbles into the house, less than a drink away from piss drunk. Sarah is at his mom’s for the night, as she is more often than not now. God the house feels so empty without her. There’s no meal waiting for him in the fridge, no Sarah to kiss goodnight, and no Sunny to cuddle up with in bed after a long day. He faceplants in his empty bed and cries himself to sleep.

She used to dance with him in the living room. He’d come home from work and she’d be dancing by herself in the kitchen to Etta James and he’d wrap his arms around her and kiss her like it was gonna be the last time. He’d drag her into the living room and slow dance with her until a timer went off in the kitchen or she could smell the food burning.

He wakes in the morning with a hangover and a stinging ache in his chest. He gets ready for work and comes out of the bathroom to find his mom and brother standing in his living room, Sarah cradled carefully in Tommy’s arms.

“Joel, we need to speak with you.”

“I have wo–”

“We’ve already talked to your boss, you have the day off.”

And Joel supposes he should have seen this coming. He’s been in nothing but a downward spiral for weeks. His family sits him down on his couch.

“You’re missing your daughter growing up Joel. If you’re not careful you’ll miss her first words, her first steps. You’re going to drink yourself into an early grave at this point.”

“I know.” Joel looks at Sarah sitting peacefully in Tommy’s arms and regrets the time he’s missed with her already. She seems bigger, closer to sitting up by herself, probably getting close to a whole bunch of milestones. Sonya is going to miss every single one of them, and he really doesn’t know what to do about that.

“I know it’s hard, but we’re here for you, we will help you,” his mama reassures him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

All he can do is be the best he can be for his little girl.

He decides to sell the house and most of the furniture and move into a two bed apartment with Sarah. Standing in the empty house he bought with Sunny, picked out furniture for with Sunny, it finally all feels real. She is gone forever and no amount of whiskey will make her come back. No amount of wallowing in self pity will make her change her mind.

Moving to the apartment is a total gamechanger. Sure, the kitchen is tiny and cramped and the two bedrooms combined are smaller than the master suite at the house. But it’s enough for him and his baby girl.

He quits his job at the factory and starts working construction, freeing up his evenings to be with Sarah. Sometimes he has to work weekends, but his mom is happy to see Sarah, now that he’s not staying out all hours of the night. He has Sarah every night now and watching her grow is the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed

One night, after he’s gotten Sarah bathed and in bed, his phone rings. The caller ID shows Sunny’s name. He wants so badly to answer it. He looks at the phone until it stops ringing and his answering machine picks it up.

“Hey, um. Call me when you get this?”

He nearly gives in, nearly rips the phone off the receiver and tells her he’ll welcome her back with open arms. But he looks around at his tiny apartment filled with baby toys and furniture he picked out all by himself, and he doesn’t see a place in his life for her anymore.

He knows he can’t allow her back into his life now when she could so easily tear down all the hard work he’s done on himself, on being a dad, on being a better man in general.

He loves her and he always will, but it’s too late for them.

#joel miller #joel miller fics #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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twogyuu · 1 year

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"This One's For You"

Pairings: SVT HHU x fem!reader

Synopsis: "This one's for you" - but do they make the shot?

Genre: Fluff, crack, basketball!au

Warnings: mentions of food and zac efron in vernon's part

WC: ~1.3K

Permanent taglist: @nanamioo @bibinnieposts @woozarts @wonuziex @rockwidthyou @sleeplessdawn @jeonghanniehae95 @sadkidwarexpert @aceofvernons

A/N: Inspired by the latest Inside Seventeen where they play basketball. Idk about you all, but literally, only heart eyes for Jeonghan Seungcheol in this one 😍🥰. I have close to zero knowledge about basketball other than how to play HORSE (but even that's blurry now). I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies 😭

Seungcheol:

It's as if everything was playing in slow motion all at once. The crowd screaming and cheering around you become muffled, the movements of each player a blur - everyone, except for him. Seungcheol finds you in the crowd after dribbling by player on the opposite team. Sweat clinging onto his raven-colored locks, plastering them to his forehead and skimming over his dark pretty lashes, he catches your eye, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.

"This one's for you," he mouths.

With the flick of his wrist, he jumps every so slightly to give his shot an edge. The orange and black ball sails in the air, skimming past the fingers of everyone between him and the basket. The ball catches in the red hoop, spinning around it once before swishing through the white net. The crowd erupts in a thunderous hurrah, his teammates running in his direction. Mingyu grabs him by the waist and picks him up out of excitement. In this moment, all eyes are on him, but he only has eyes for you.

Wonwoo:

"Oh c'mon - just give it a shot," Seokmin encourages him. The younger man bounces the ball twice, squatting into position before tossing it towards the basket. It bounces off the paint-chipped backboard with a dull 'thunk' before taking off to the side towards the fence.

With his fingers spread tight, Wonwoo adjusts his spectacles with his middle finger, pushing it up his nose. Dusk had fallen and the orange glow from the street lamp by the corner wasn't enough for him to make out the basket clearly.

"Here," Seokmin passes him the ball, breathless from chasing after it. He peers over at the bench where you had been silently sitting and watching them for the past fifteen minutes. "Do it for Y/N."

The space between Wonwoo's brows perk up at your name. He follows Seokmin's gaze, a nervous smile curving on his lips when he makse out the outline of your figure.

"When did you get here?" he calls.

"A while ago," you shrug. You tilt your chin at the basket. "Shoot."

He chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his head. Basketball wasn't his strong suit. He only came out on Seokmin's insistence - can you blame him? He had a soft spot for Seokmin. Mimicking the younger's position earlier, Wonwoo bends his knees and holds the ball at an angle in front of his face. However, rather than tossing it, a new idea blooms in his head and he straightens his back, holding the ball to his chest.

"What are you doing?" Seokmin asked, confused.

Without a word, Wonwoo spins around back facing the hoop. He couldn't see the hoop well anyways - what difference would it make shooting it backwards?

With a sheepish smile on his face, he turns to you and utters, "This one's for you." Your mouth opens in awe, perhaps to say something to stop him, perhaps to tease him, but no words come out. You were surprised to see him be so . . . bold.

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he squats, both hands under the ball and throws it behind him. He waits for the sound of the ball hitting the backboard to reverberate to the court to open them.

Wonwoo didn't expect it to work, but the screams of joy from Seokmin and your aghast gasp was enough to tell him different - he made the shot.

Mingyu:

"Mingyu! Mingyu! Pass! Pass!" Chan screeches, waving his hand. He was positioned to the right of the basket, Soonyoung nowhere in sight to block him. It would be a clean pass with an easy lay-up, Mingyu calculated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mingyu could see you watching fervently, however, your fingers curled tightly around the green-wired fence as you watched the boys fight for the ball. Seungcheol, several inches shorter than Mingyu, raises his hand in effort to block him, but Mingyu swiftly dribbles past. Finding a clearing at the free throw line, he shouts with all his heart, "This one's for you, Y/N!" before jumping perhaps a little too excitedly and shooting for the basket.

It catches in the hoop, spinning. Everyone turns and waits in anticipation as the ball spirals on the red rim several times. Unfortunately, the velocity was too fast, the ball veering off outside the basket.

Embarrassed, Mingyu turns to you, his hands glued to his side and a frown on his face. The other members where already chasing after the ball, Mingyu's attempt at a free throw long forgotten.

"Sorry," he mouths.

"It's okay, Gyu," you giggle, "It's the thought that counts.

Vernon:

The rugged basketball court is silent - only the chirps of city crickets filled the humid air, sweat clinging onto your skin in droplets. All eyes were on Vernon, but he didn't seem to mind, walking in circles, casually dribbling the ball until he settles on a spot along the free throw line.

Vernon and Mingyu had made a bet: one free throw shot - the person who misses buys ice cream.

Mingyu made his shot - it's only up to Vernon now to see if he could even the score.

"I don't he's gonna make it," you whisper to Seungkwan anxiously. "He's too . . . chill."

"Have a little faith, will you?" Seungkwan berates. He clasps his hand together and squeezes his eye shut, as if he was saying a silent prayer for Vernon, nonetheless. "He's not that hopeless."

Eyes trained on the hoop, Vernon bounces the ball in a v-shape from hand to hand. He catches it, not uttering a single word. Rather, he turns to you, his lips curving into a small smile where his right corner rides a little higher than his left. You could make out the faint shadow of his dimple.

"This one's for you," he tells you softly, followed by a playful wink.

There was a round of teasing "ooh's" and "ahh's" from his friends watching.

"This is getting serious!" you heard Chan sing.

On the contrary, Seungkwan begged to differ. "Oh god," he feigns vomiting. "If he misses, this is going to be so embarrassing."

You blush, quick to divert your eyes from him, brushing the goosebumps forming on your arms. Vernon wasn't the sappy type, but the moments where he was flirtatious, always took you, and everyone else he knew, aback.

Your eyes flicker up when you hear the hollow sound of the rubber ball meeting the cracked green pavement, the ball bouncing a few feet in front of the hoop. Did it already pass through the hoop?

The squeals and cheers of relief from Mingyu as he jumped onto Soonyoung like a monkey was suggested otherwise. Seungkwan tugged you along to meet your boyfriend.

Suppressing a sheepish grin, Vernon sucks in a sharp breath, scratching the nape of his neck.

"Nice try," Seungkwan sighs. He runs off to go pick up his ball (he refuses to let Seokmin and Jeonghan throw it on a roof again like his volleyball), leaving the two of you alone.

"Sorry," Vernon chuckled half-heartedly, turning to face you.

You shove his shoulder. "Where did you learn how to say things like that?"

"Like what?" he asks.

"'This one's for you' - misses completely," you scoffed. You wrap your arms around his neck and peck his lips nonetheless.

Vernon shrugs nonchalantly, hands coming up to rest on your waist. "They do it all the time in the movies - High School Musical, Seventeen Again -"

"Alright, alright, I get it, Zac Efron," you cut him off, rolling your eyes teasingly. "You're a winner to me anyways."

He scoffs and rests his hand on your waist. "That's because you get ice cream either way."

You roll your eyes, "We gotta get you out more, bro."

Vernon winces back, eyebrows crinkling together. "Did you just call me 'bro'?"

You slip away from him, but he holds onto your wrist.

"Practice makes perfect," you say to him, "Gotta play more with Seungkwan instead of holing up in your room, so you can beat Mingyu next time."

He relents, shrugging it off and walks with you to the court entrance, following behind everyone else.

"Alright, bro," he mutters.

#seungcheol x reader #mingyu x reader #wonwoo x reader #vernon x reader #svt hhu x reader #svt hhu #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol crack #mingyu fluff #mingyu crack #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo crack #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen crack #seventeen headcanons #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

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intothegenshinworld · 6 months

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🍂*₊“𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧”

wc: 1.2k (no beta, we die like the light in Childe's eyes) prompt used: "sharing scarves" for the falltober prompt 'event' of @astronetwrk! a/n: this post has been queued weeks in advance.

The sweltering summer days had given way to gloomy ones. From dusk to dawn, rain would fall down from the skies, the once bright colors of blooming flora now replaced by stale brown, further intensifying the bleak atmosphere.

And just like the seasons, your clothes had changed these past weeks as well. The once short and breezy outfits had been replaced by sweaters and jeans, and it still left you defenseless against the cold winter zephyrs in Snezhnaya. Every breeze made you shiver, and the only solution was to clutch your jacket closer to your body and bury your hands as deep as you could in your pockets.

You had been waiting for your boyfriend, Ajax, who definitely should’ve been back by now. He had told you to wait at one of the lonely benches out in the town streets while he’d fetch hot chocolate from a small cafe, but when you checked your phone, ten minutes had already passed, and you knew the lines couldn’t be that long.

So here you were, idly watching other people pass by as you waited for his return.

If you knew Ajax (you did, you’d been with him for a while now), you’d bet money on the fact that he’d gotten distracted by the new Halloween decorations hanging everywhere in the town.

These last few days, Ajax had been rambling non-stop about ‘Halloween’ and how he’d bring his younger brother, Teucer, for trick or treating, something he’d done for many years now. He wanted to get matching outfits with him, but when Teucer threw a fit, saying; “I’m not longer a kid”, he turned to you instead.

If he was taking this long, he’d probably be stuck behind a window, eying a decoration he hadn’t seen before and thinking of the next matching outfit to suggest to you.

A ping chimes from your phone. It successfully throws you out of your daze and you grab the phone with a sense of urgency. The sooner you’d be able to put your hands back in the safety and warmth of your pockets, the better.

After you unlock the screen with your numb fingers, you click on the notification from Ajax. It’s a selfie.

Half of his face is hidden behind his red scarf, his nose that barely peeked out from behind the fabric is dusted a soft shade of pink, it brings a nice contrast to the freckles coating his cheekbones and bridge of his nose. In his left hand, he holds a small flimsy-looking tray with two paper cups (the hot chocolate, you assume), and behind him is an adorable illustration of two ghosts.

A puff of air escapes your lips. You can’t hide the smile that forms on your face.

Quickly, another notification pops up and you send a message back before he has the chance to scavenge the internet for white sheets with cut-out holes.

The message is read, and his status turns from online to offline soon after. It only takes a few seconds before you see your boyfriend rushing to you through the streets.

“Are you alright?” Ajax’s eyes glance up and down your figure. His face is scrunched into an expression of guilt and worry.

He moves his free hand to yours as he sits down next to you on the bench, frowning when he feels your cold hands. He gently rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “We’ll need to buy you gloves. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to get cold so quickly.”

“I wouldn’t need any if my boyfriend would keep me warm instead of hunting ghosts on store windows.” You retort back with a cheeky smile. His mere presence is enough for you to feel warmer again.

His worry falters for a moment, replaced by a smile before returning. “Here, —” He removes his hand from yours and wiggles one of the paper cups from the flimsy tray. “Drink up. It’s the best you can get in Morepesok”

To your delight, the hot chocolate is still warm when you bring it up to your lips. You don’t need to wait for it to cool down, it’s the perfect temperature, and you sigh in content after downing half of it in one go.

Ajax brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. “You can have mine as well. I’m used to Snezhnayan winters, I can handle it.”

You roll your eyes as you huddle closer into your jacket. “It’s autumn, dumbass.”

A snort escapes his lips. “You call those flimsy two weeks of ‘brown leaves’ autumn?”

Fair enough.

You scoff, and the puff of air that escapes your lips forms into a small cloud before it dissipates again.

While you were both studying in Liyue, Ajax had often mentioned how gentle the weather had been compared to the conditions he grew up in. He’d talked about ice fishing, a thing he still does, and made fun of the foreigners coming to visit the Nation during the winter months.

It’s ironic how you’re one of those people now.

“Hold this,” Ajax shoves his own cup into your hands and removes the scarf from his neck. He seems adamant about keeping you warm and doesn’t give you time to question him as he wraps the fabric around your face in a delicate manner.

With the scarf out of his face, you’re able to see how he purses his lips in concentration as he tucks the end of the red fabric into a loose loop, preventing any cold air from attacking your neck any further.

It smells like him. You first catch a hint of lavender from the laundry detergent his family uses, but with the scarf right at your nose, you also notice how it failed to fully cover his natural body scent.

In a way, the scarf comforts you. Not only is it warming you up and preventing you from the cold breezes, but it also reminds you of the moments spent in his arms.

You look up into his eyes when he finally stops fussing over you.

“But now you’ll get cold.“ Your voice comes out muffled.

Ajax bumps his shoulder gently into yours. “See it as payback for making you wait.“

He takes the paper cup he had previously shoved into your hands and drinks his own share of hot choco. “If you feel bad about it, you can always offer to share.“ He turns to you with a cheeky smile on his face.

And while you know he wasn’t being serious, you urge him closer.

Like he had done with you before, you shove your now half-empty cup into his hands before removing the fabric around your neck. With a little bit of help on his side, you’re able to wrap the scarf around the both of you. Admittedly, this doesn’t nearly provide as much warmth as it did before, but Ajax was already making up for that.

His shoulder is comfortably pressed against yours, and when he turns his head to face you, your noses are but a mere inch away from touching each other.

You smile. “Tell me about the diy ghost outfit?“

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you your half-full paper cup. “Couldn’t let me enjoy the moment for a little while longer?”

#childe x reader #childe #tartaglia x reader #genshin x reader #astronetwrk #modern au #tartaglia #if you liked the fic- consider commenting or reblogging <3 #btw #you and childe studied in liyue #now youre either living together back in Snezhnaya or you're visiting his family and u return to liyue later #whatever floats your boat #also #Childe is not traumatised in this au #he's living his best life tormenting you with matching outfits <3 #I also HC him having adhd so I'm sorrynotsorry for hinting at that anywhere LOL

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rosewaterandivy · 9 months

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keep the windows open wide

🎵🎵 I like the way that your hair tangles, the way your suntan’s only on one side 🎵🎵

Summary: Summer roadtrippin' with Steve.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem reader

WC: 2K

Warnings: the usual - prose idolatry and feelings (my blog is NSFW 18+, minors DNI), self-edited, waxing poetic about summer Steve.

A/N: Inspired by “When We Drive” by Death Cab for Cutie & reading poetry, as per usual. Reblogs, feedback, & likes are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

divider by @newlips

There’s something poetic about a midsummer drive in an ancient car from god knows when. Indigo blue with the paint peeling off. Dry snakeskin ridged cellophane on rolled down windows, crinkling a static refrain as it flaps violently against the glass pane.

The air conditioning occasionally works, so you make do with dry summer breeze sweeping through. Blessedly, if it pleases, surging down the neckline of your shirts, cooling your backs for only a second. A small ice chest is under your foot, full of popsicles and Gatorades. The trash bag is shoved in the backseat behind Steve, overflowing with crushed plastic and stained wood sticks.

“You alright?”

A dull pang behind your eye. You shove the sunglasses further up on your nose, hoping the dark lenses will be enough to dampen the bright summer sun blazing through. With one hand, you scrounge around for your bag in the footwell. Steve reaches over, popping open the cooler to rifle around.

Piercing the foil, you pop the pill into your mouth and swallow. He tears open a packet with his teeth. “Here.”

A small smile as you take it from his slack grip. Electric blue like the way he shocks you with his touch. The sugared ice slides right down your throat and soothes the fever in your fingertips. A warm hand falls to your thigh giving a light squeeze.

Steve has already returned to his side, staring at the road ahead, eyes catching the mile marker signs.

You end up stopping at dusk.

Not long after taking some maxalt for your migraine, Steve suggested that you try to lay down for a nap in the backseat. “S’okay honey, I got the wheel.”

Clambering over the console and settling yourself against the bench seats proved to be a momentary relief. The issue, as it happened, was the being in motion bit. The nausea crept in slowly enough that you could alert Steve.

“We gotta stop.”

“Like, right now?”

He reaches an arm behind him to seek you out, warm hand against the damp of your limbs. As if he has to feel for himself to ensure you’re right where he left you.

“Gettin’ dizzy,” You rasp, arm thrown over your eyes.

Steve hums a patient tune, squeezes your forearm, fingers lingering against your skin and you watch as the sunbeams drape his chest like a mantle.

“Jus’ that place, there,” You sit up and blearily point at what you hope is a motel sign.

Steve turns off the highway and into the parking lot with a sigh. Killing the engine, he turns toward you, looming over your prone state in the backseat.

“The It’ll Do Motel?”

“Sure.”

“But,” He sputters, eyes taking in the sign that’s seen better days, perishing the thought at what else in the motel had seen better days—

“It won’t do,” frustrated.

“I don’t think we’re in a position to be picky here Harrington.”

Another beleaguered sigh as he runs his hand through his hair, the muffled shutting of the car door. You close your eyes, curling up against the seat cushions while attempting to take steady breaths in and out.

“Just your luck,” The motel clerk greets him with a bright smile. “We’ve got one room left for tonight, and it’s all yours.”

Steve takes the key from the woman’s hand and signs the guest check-in form. Thanks her for the help as he turns to leave, the buzz of the neon sign clicking on to display ‘No Vacancy.’

He returns to the car to see you passed out in the backseat and is careful when easing into gear to park in front of your room for the night.

“C’mon champ,” He says, nudging you awake.

You scrunch your nose and sit up feeling like an eyesore next to Steve. Tummy quivering at the sudden motion, you brace yourself against the car door. Steve’s there in an instant, hands wrapping around your arms, steadying you.

It’s unfair how effortlessly handsome he looks. Hair windswept and annoyingly perfect, bronzed skin, the barest hint of five o’clock shadow against his jaw and cheeks—

“Hey.”

He’s peering up at you from his crouched position outside of the door, eyes finding you through the hazy blue of the evening. You turn and blink, looking back down. “Hey.”

Your breath rushes out like a current as Steve stands, reaching in slow-motion, or what feels like it as your blood thumps in your ears. The collar of your ratty Hawkins Phys. Ed. shirt soft against the column of your neck. He’s close. Nose nearly touching your cheek, hair centimeters away from your jaw.

The wind gusts by, lifts tendrils of your locks onto exposed collar, pulling forth a shudder. Under the chill of the night air, your goosebumps prickle awake, stinging your chest with apprehension.

“You gonna make it?”

Steve places his hand on your chin, a light stroke of his thumb and pointer, and it feels like a firework. Scorching hot, igniting every nerve ending. He doesn’t wait for either protest or approval. Instead, he slides back into the growing darkness, extending only his hand. The surface glistens like a beacon, slivers bouncing light over his eyes.

A brief nod, the pain behind your eye flaring up again momentarily as you slowly stand. He’s there, as he’s always been, a guide in the darkness and always close enough to touch. You lean against him while he opens the door, key jangling against the metal of the doorknob.

Ushers you inside the dark cool of the room with ease, a hand to your lower back as he closes and locks the door. Barely able to make out that there’s one bed in the room, you mumble,

“Don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He quiets your worries with a low purr.

“Y’sure? I’d be fine on the couch.”

A press of his stubble to your neck and then a soft sigh. You don’t quite know what it means, this affection. Transient poetry, at least. Requited love, if only.

“S’fine,” You get out before collapsing on the bed, tugging Steve down with you. Sleep coming swiftly thereafter.

Steve doesn’t sleep as easily as you, too wound up from the drive— he can still feel the phantom wheels turning beneath him despite it all. Didn’t want to chance the sound or light from the TV waking you, so he contented himself drawing lackadaisical patterns onto the exposed skin of your side.

Shirt rucked up from tossing in your sleep, seeking out the warmth of his body, not satisfied until your fingers found purchase against his waist, head tucked against his chest— the sound of his heartbeat lulling you toward blessed oblivion.

Chilled from the A/C blasting through the room, your hands somehow slipped beneath the worn cotton of his shirt, splayed against the dip of his low back in an effort to warm them. You were an absolute menace in sleep, desperate to seek out any shred comfort and warmth even in your unconscious state.

Steve didn’t mind it, in fact, he was more than happy to oblige.

The imprint of your body is a solid comfort against his. Has to remind himself to just act normal. Because you’re friends on a roadtrip, a desperate attempt to escape the summer heat and drudgery of Hawkins. It shouldn’t matter that his heart flutters in his chest with each breath you take, that he’s trying so hard to keep his eyes and hands to himself.

But it does matter, because it’s you.

He can’t remember where he’d picked it up, but once upon a time Steve had heard something that stuck with him and it was something like this: that falling in love was like falling asleep, slowly at first and then all at once.

And he hadn’t realized he was falling until he was in the middle of it.

As close to you as he’s ever been.

And you, blissfully unaware and lost in dreams— snuffling against his chest every so often and turning to burrow in even further, as if you possibly could. Steve would let you, without question— you could cleave and carve into the cage of his ribs, make yourself a home there if it meant he got to keep you.

Just for a while, at least.

It’s with this thought that he finally succumbs to sleep.

Morning broke over the treescape early, shone white and livid into your tired eyes. Steve found the two of you tangled in the sheets, fingers entwined and you snuffling into the pillow. He squeezed your hand, pulled you up with him, and let you shower first.

The axels squeak as you pull back onto the highway, leaving the sleepy motel behind in the early morning light. Steve’s riding shotgun, sunglasses lazily thrown on and balancing precariously on his nose— he’s leaning back against the seat, facing the window.

Before leaving town for good, you spot a drive-thru that’s not too crowded and get in line. The intercom sputters to life— the cashier greeting you lazily all the while trying to remain hospitable. Steve’s shoulder brushes against your cheek as he clambers over the consol to place the order, his shirt smells like the sage and cedar of his cologne run through with a bit of detergent.

He rattles off your order like it’s nothing, route memory at this point—two hash browns, one black coffee, a bacon egg and cheese biscuit. Adds a sprite on as well, because you’ll inevitably want one later. The attendant rattles back the order to Steve’s satisfaction and the car lurches forward. He’s retreated back to his side now, save for the hand on your leg.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, Steve is tactile like that; always has to have contact with some part of you— hands, fingers, thighs, so you think nothing of it. The static of the radio crackles through the car as he fiddles with the dial until catching on a nearby station.

“Shit yeah,” he says, settling back into the seat. Sings along with the Eagles, “Come on baby, don’t say maybe, I gotta know if your sweet love is gonna save me.”

Steve sings along to the radio while you follow the sloping curves of the Rocky Mountains. It makes your heart swell because damn, how’d you get so lucky?

He only gets louder as the song comes to an end, turning to serenade you through the mountain pass— you grin, trying desperately to focus on the road while his fingers tap idly against your thigh.

“Here Stevie,” you say linking your fingers through his, and place both entwined hands on his thigh.

He chuckles, bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a kiss. Warmth floods your chest at the motion, the intimacy of it— so much for not getting distracted, dealing with Steve Harrington and his wiley ways.

Steve lets your hands drop back to rest on his leg, eyes twinkling with some secret knowledge.

“What?”

“You called me Stevie.”

“Did I?”

“Uh huh,” He smiles, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “S’nice.”

“That so? Might happen again,” you tease, pastel hues breaking along the treeline as the car chugs up the slope.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

You hum in response. He turns toward you, glasses pushed up into his riot of hair— bedhead run rampant only mildly contained between the plastic arms of his sunglasses. Eyes unguarded, flecks of golden patina surveying you steadily.

Gold like his summer skin under the sun. Gold like the laughter that bubbles from your mouth as he sings along to the radio and points out every kind of wildlife he sees. Gold like how you’ll miss him, miss this— carefree summers by his side, seeing where the road takes you.

In your head and heart you know, like you’ve always known, that it’s always back to him. Steve knows too, but for now is content to watch, waiting for your permission.

The road stretches out long before you, as the sun bursts above the horizon heralding a new day.

#steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff

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xbalayage · 7 months

Note

Hi, i see your Chevalier fics and I love it so much. Could you do one again? If you're not busy hehe

I was thinking about his route where MC had fallen asleep beside him and woke up beside Chevalier. What do you think Chevalier was thinking after witnessing mC had fallen asleep beside him. Something like that hehe

Home

Chevalier/Reader Fluff WC: 283 A/N: It's been so long since I've read Chevalier's route and can't recall this scene very well - so I went about my own twist on it and did something a little diferent. I hope that was okay! :) And for once I took some inspo from a song I was listening to.

A California King bed was what it sounds like; a lavish plush of mattress fit for a king that seemed to go on for miles. Once bared empty and hallow, with the constant threat of death knocking at the door, was now warm and comfortable with the companionship of your ethereal beauty resting peacefully by his side. A romantic at heart, he never dare allow it evidently to lay present in the sea of sheets before. Chest to chest, nose to nose, palm to palm, how simple yet intimate it felt to be so close. To find comfort in the heaven sent seemed otherworldly to experience it firsthand; was he even worthy to bask in the holy light of innocence and purity when he was anything but? His hands were tainted and ruined by blood from the lives that'll never see the light of day once more. Never get to hold their loved ones again like he had the honor of doing; maybe some guilt from realizing his emotions did lay dormant in the void of his mind. The guilt of being this incredibly lucky, he'd happily bathe in holy water if it meant his sins could be repented. He never made rash decisions that wouldn't be the betterment of the nation - some innocent would have to fall. But because of you, he's realized from the flutter of your eyelashes twitching in your sleep that perhaps there were better ways at managing the forthcoming future. And it laid in the palms of your sleeping embrace. To have you, to hold you, to cherish you from dusk until dawn. And at that same given moment, her pure eyes open to stare into his soul and give him salvation. " He reached for her and he saw her smile and the voices melded into a single word from God: Home. " - Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven

taglist; @nightghoul381, @yvelk, @celiciaa, @drachonia, @aquagirl1978, @here-for-gilbert, @alvieeru, @scummy-writes, @randonauticrap, @maries-gallery, @misty-moth, @violettduchess

#chevalier michel #chevalier #ikepri chevalier #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince chevalier #ikepri fanfic #fics.#my fics.#asks.#anon.#i didn't post anything yesterday so i'm just throwing this out there fhdsjakflhd

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sam-glade · 8 months

Text

State secrets

@another-white-hole put something in the tags. One thing led to another, and...

Context: canon-adjacent fluff

Characters: Gullin, Anthea, Lissan

WC: 970

CW: a little swearing

Days of Dusk taglist (please message me to +/-): @acertainmoshke @another-white-hole @cee-grice @cljordan-imperium @elshells @poetinprose

“I’m very sorry, Madam General, could you… repeat that, please?” Gullin said and held his breath. Every muscle in his body was tense as he looked at the woman sitting behind the antique desk. The servant had caught him in the corridor and informed him that she requested his presence at his earliest convenience. Which meant, instantly.

General Anthea regarded him with a level gaze. Prince Anthea, he corrected himself. He was in her residence, and she was out of uniform, so he supposed he should treat her as the head of state.

“Lissander has been incapacitated and is currently recovering in the green suite. Knowing his propensity for talking as he regains consciousness, it would be prudent for someone with sufficient clearance to be with him,” she said, looking at him pointedly.

“Incapacitated how, my prince?” he blurted out.

“One of our Humble Keepers has found him behaving suspiciously, and applied an anaesthetic, following a short struggle,” she explained without a hint of impatience.

A Humble Keeper. Shit. Gullin felt sweat prickling at the back of his neck. If there was anyone capable of standing their ground against any Sword, it would be a member of the order.

“My prince, and if I can ask for more context, what’s he run into–” in your house. He bit his tongue. “–That the Prince Successor can’t hear about?” Not that he wasn’t grateful for the notice. It just didn’t add up.

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“I believe it will become clear when he wakes up.”

All right, she wasn’t going to divulge any more information. He stood up and bowed, crossing his hands flat on his chest.

The suite that Lissan usually stayed in when visiting the greathouse was decorated in lively shades of green. Right now the windows were open to let in fresh breeze that stirred the lacy curtains. Gullin dragged a cushioned stool to the side of the bed and looked at Lissan’s still features. If it weren’t for the bruise blooming on his left cheekbone, he’d look as if he were simply asleep… but no, he was too still. He normally stirred and smacked his lips in his sleep, while now he was lying perfectly immobile.

Gullin sighed, sitting more comfortably. At this point waiting for this idiot to wake up had become a routine. Not a pleasant one, but not stressful either. At least the furniture in the princes’ greathouse was more comfortable than what the Healers would offer him in the hospital in Redguard.

He occupied himself by listening to the sounds coming through the rustle of the curtains. The peacocks screamed at each other every now and then. Horses whinnied in the stables, the sounds almost impossible to pick out at this distance. There were distant footsteps sounding around the house, some clanking and shuffling as the staff went about their duties. Boring. Safe, but boring.

It was lucky he’d been around – he was spending a lot of time around the greathouse in the weeks leading up to the winter ball. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in charge of security for the event, other than because the First Prince’s Adamant Guard believed in trial by fire, and wanted to test Gullin’s skills. Gullin shook his head. He didn’t mind, and it was not far outside his area of expertise.

Finally Lissan stirred.

“Mm… zesty.”

Gullin frowned, not convinced that he hadn’t misheard.

“…Four ounces of sugar…”

What the fuck?

“Lissan?”

He muttered something incomprehensible. Gullin wiped his face. On one hand, he was glad not to have more state secrets dumped onto him in this utterly confusing manner. On the other – this was the first time Lissan was that delirious.

His nose twitched and he opened his eyes, grimacing.

“Ow.”

Gullin helped him sit up a little and brought a cup of water to his lips. Not the first time he’d done it, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last.

“Headache?” he checked.

“Yup.” Lissan licked his lips. “Elements, whatever that guy did to me is going to put me off cake for a long time.”

“...Cake?”

He grinned, and promptly grimaced.

“It was delicious, but not worth the headache.” He rubbed his temple pointedly.

“Cake,” Gullin repeated incredulously.

“Yeah. The big white thing. Looked unfinished, the icing was half-done, but I’ve got to say, someone’s a genius, to add lemon juice to buttercream, it works so well with sugar, while I’d imagine that with honey…”

The First Prince’s odd request finally made sense.

“Lissan!” He shut up. “Before you go on, the First Prince herself has implied that whatever you’ve run into may constitute a state secret.”

Lissan blinked at him once, then again.

“It was cake.”

“Exactly.”

A cake that the Princeling couldn’t know about, as much as he loved anything sweet. A cake that became relevant a week before the grandest ball of the year. A cake that the First Prince cared about.

Oh, Elements.

“Okay,” Gullin began and wiped his face. “First, not a word to Ianim. He must not know about its existence.” Lissan looked at him in confusion, but Gullin carried on; “Then, you’re going to work with the cooks when Ianim isn’t around. He took you out to his favourite tea houses and treated you to all sorts of cakes, right? So you know what he likes?” Lissan nodded, his eyes wide. “You’re going to tell them exactly how to make it more to his liking. And then you’re going to report to the First Prince that it’s perfect. She won’t accept anything less than that. Do you understand?”

It took a few seconds and a headache-induced grimace, before he grinned.

“This might be the only time I say this, but: I’ll do as my Prince commands.”

#I love Gullin's and Anthea's interactions #they have a surprisingly similar sense of humour #snippet #my writing #writeblr #writeblr community #writers of tumblr #days of dusk #original fiction

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kuroosdarling · 2 years

Text

𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐

*.ﾟ Kuroo x reader

*.ﾟ wc: 1.1k

*.ﾟ for my dear luna<3 @writingbymoonlight thank you so much for partcipating in my event !! i hope you like it :’)

after long days of studying and working hard, going to the park near your apartment for a walk was something that helped ease your mind. taking in your surroundings, watching the little animals run by, and of course, people watching helped cleanse your mindset.

although today, it was different. insecurities ran through your head as you thought about an upcoming deadline. even though everything was completed, you felt like something was missing.

the cold was brutal today, biting away at your nose as you trucked through the snowy sidewalk. The sun hid behind the wall of gray above, not bothering to make an appearance. Fitting for the day you had. All day felt like a state of dusk. The mellow, somber vibe that was just threatening to consume the world in total darkness.

All the thoughts and insecurities clouded your mind. You were hardly paying attention to your surroundings, instead, opting to travel inside your mind as you attempted some sort of self-reflection.

“GOT YA!” a voice boomed behind you. you didn’t even have enough time to turn around, a huge snowball had hit your back. the surprise of it all and the unsuspecting ice below your feet had you scrambling around on the pavement. all you could hear was howling laughter behind you as you fell down onto the cold pavement. scowling, you look up at the assailant.

the moment his eyes met yours, he stopped laughing. his face heated up into the darkest shade of red you had even seen. his hazel eyes were wide and he was almost frozen on the spot. you let out a huff and start to get up.

“hey-“ he started, holding out a hand to help you up. you stare at it for a moment, considering whether or not you want to take it after the stunt he just pulled.

“that’s not how you get someone’s attention, you know.” you say, still down on the ground as you had accepted your fate.

“i am so sorry about that, truly. i thought you were my friend. we’re having a huge snowball fight and i just got caught up in it. i guess i forgot that not everyone at the park is playing it.” he gulped, obviously feeling bad about what he did. you sigh and accept his hand, immediately getting pulled up so you were face to face with him.

“easy mistake. although, you know you have to make it right.” you tease, your earlier sour mood starting to lift off of your shoulders as you talked to the pretty man with an even prettier smile.

“oya? how should i make it up to you then?” his smile easily turning into a smirk. you roll your eyes as the idea rolls into your mind.

“turn around and let me hit you with a snowball then.” honestly you weren’t sure where this boost of confidence came from. it felt good though, breaking away from the negative thoughts you were having. he looks at you for a moment, making sure you were actually serious. with a sigh, he turns around while you scoop up snow, molding them into your perfect weapon. “payback.” you whisper under your breath, a smirk slowly spreading across your face.

a few perfect snowballs later and you were ready to unleash your attack. you launch one, hitting him square in the back. by the time kuroo whirls around, betrayal swimming in his eyes, you launch the other two. kuroo was shocked, he honestly hadn’t expected this turn of events. in a clumsy, half attempt at retaliation, he sped towards you, picking up snow and throwing it at you with no sense of strategy. he didn’t even bother to make them into snowballs, blinded by his sudden need for revenge.

kuroo miscalculated though, the icy sidewalk had other plans for him. he slid towards you, losing his balance. not wanting to watch him go down like this, you reach out your hand to help steady him but it only ends up bringing you down along with him. the two of you fall into a heap of snow. kuroo tilted himself so you fell on him instead of the harsh sidewalk. one thud later and you were both down, half buried in the snowpile.

“oh my god, are you okay?” he said as you rolled off of him, trying to hold back his laughter in case you were upset. but you weren’t. in fact, far from it. the day had started off gloomy but this miraculous meeting had turned the whole day around. you look down at him, allowing yourself to laugh loudly. not a moment later and he’s joining you. the two of you laying in the snow, laughing like you didn’t have a care in the world. he rubbed his arms, pretending to be in pain. “man, we got to stop falling for each other like this.”

you turn to look over at him. his hazel eyes shone brightly, the sun starting to come out and enhance his beauty. his smile took up most of his face and you knew that you reflected the same look. sitting up, you rub your arms as the snow started filtering into your coat.

“thank you. i needed this.” you say, smiling softly at him. “as weird as this might sound, i’m glad you hit me with your snowball.” he smiled back at you, sitting up as well.

“anytime. so, now that I have your attention, what do you say about getting some hot chocolate with me?” he smirked, dusting some of the snow off the top of your jacket. you nod. hot chocolate sounded amazing and it would be nice to get out of the snow before you froze.

“that sounds great. you’re buying though.” you tease. he stands up, holding out his hand for you to grab. you don’t waste any time this time, grabbing onto it and being pulled up by him. he didn’t let go of your hand for a moment, looking down at where your skin met his before looking back up at you.

“i’m kuroo by the way.”

Cliché- mcmtoon

Oh luna!! My sweet luna<3 this song i think sums up your early relationship days hehe. Especially in reference to this meet cute !!! bc the way you literally fall for him >:)) all of this screams falling in love with kuroo lol and believe me, he is falling right back!! This man would be so so in love with you. He’ll always gush to everyone about how you guys met and how adorable it was, ready to share the story with anyone who will listen. And you better believe that every year you guys go to the park to have a snowball fight and get some hot chocolate at your favorite lil cafe<3

taglist: @crystal-lilac @hyeque @sunaispretty @kennedy-brooke @tsukki-lover @mxonigirimiya @oooohno @khinux @anejuuuuoy @tetsustulip @isentsworld @g4bb1 @kitsunekanojo

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo fluff #haikyuu x reader

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ei-banana · 1 year

Text

pairing: eisara (sfw)

wc: 1k

From the depths Sara pulled her…

———

Ei often dreamed in shades of red. She waded through rivers of blood, arms at her sides and fingers threading through waist-high sludge, the musk of death wrinkling her nose as she tread onward.

The crimson sea opened up for her and her alone, raging storm at her back, breath lost in its howl. Wind snapped at her neck and wailed like the distant past, tugging at her hair until she stumbled. It brought the floor up to her knees, the way the clouds flashed with eminent thunderstorms, lilac like sister’s loving gaze; blood poured into her mouth the further she was swept under, choking her silent before the first shout of agony could surface.

In that sunken place of desolation, she floundered, wishing to rise from the waters of her sin and swim to shore, but the searching hands from below took hold. They wrapped around unbound hair, teasing with their gentleness, pulling sharply until her eyes pricked with the pain. The first drop of blood to trickle down her forehead scorched like a blessing, the warm feel of it enough for her lashes to flutter and her arms to outstretch—accepting abandon with intrepid openness.

It swallowed her whole, for she deserved it; nothing of the pious citizens’ praise could convince her otherwise. They prostrated at the feet of some imaginary god, one whose true name they would never know, whose hands caked with viscera and stained the fine linens of her carefully made bed.

Just before the unhinged serpent’s jaw could descend from the heavens—riotous screech ricocheting off of its alabaster teeth—Ei woke screaming. The noise pitched high with childlike fear, cheeks ruddy and wet with bitter tears. The Archon clutched at her aching chest, feet slipping on the sheets as she forced herself upright.

She could not breathe like her body so wished to, could not focus on one sensation above the rest when the whole of her body felt as if a pyre set ablaze. Ei had been drowning for well over five centuries now, stumbling into the waking world, drenched with sweat and trembling something awful. There was nothing new about the way she floundered now.

The Archon, in her attempts to hide away such pitiful bellows, had forbade the dwindling ladies in waiting from stepping behind her chamber doors long ago. She donned herself in doughtiness each morning, untrusting of their clumsy hands with such frayed coverings. Should the veneer crack, they would no doubt see the beast within, the one that cowered in fear. Unbecoming such a notion was, and she curled her lip in frustration, breath wheezing past her cold lips.

Much the same as ever before, she would gather herself swiftly and make for the door with a placidness the title of Raiden Shogun begot. Much the same, except for the way the sheets shifted to her left, groggy general rising with a croaked note of confusion.

“Ei?” Much the same as yesterday, and the day before that, Sara rubbed at her eyes, brow furrowed with worry.

“I—” Words of assurance scraped up her raw throat, trapped behind jittering teeth. She could not speak or move, only rock with self consolation.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Sara said, voice muffled by her yawn as she sat up, legs crossed and back straight. “We can just sit here for a while, dawn hasn’t yet broken.”

Her eyes were knowing, patient, overwhelmingly kind; the way they closed before her chest expanded beckoned Ei to follow. Such loving attentiveness, unwavering after years of much the same… did it not whittle away at Sara’s own senses? The general cracked an eye open then, encouraging smile balming enough to whisk away the twining tendrils of guilt.

The first breath loosened her shoulders, the next centered her trembling core, the very place where she thrummed with agita. One breath in, full until her chest burned with it, the next one out and resounding in the still room. The walls tinted navy with early dusk, and Sara’s sleep-rumpled shirt smelled of the morning glories they had reclined amidst just yesterday morning, smiles locked and hands roving.

Such a pleasant memory had the harsh grit of her teeth releasing, lips loose and voice throaty. “I was at the eye of the vortex this time.” Her words remained tremulous, but Sara merely hummed. “I thought for sure I would—” die.

The word often danced at the edge of her tongue, though it had never dared to fall. Sara held out her hand in lieu of a response, sighing when Ei grasped it readily, forehead burrowing into a covered shoulder. She tilted until they both fell back, cushioned by the mountain of pillows.

“I often dream of a burning forest.” Careful words brushed the crown of Ei’s head. “The lush green up in flames, my kin turned to ash.”

The Archon curled her fingers into the front of Sara’s shirt, the rumble of recollection tugging at her eyelids. Adrenaline made its hasty exit, stiff arming exhaustion over the threshold in its place; Ei fought valiantly to remain wakeful, a fruitless task as ever.

“Perhaps we ought not venture into the realm of dreams alone,” she slurred the mumble into Sara’s neck, searching blindly for her hand once more. “Hold on tightly so that I may follow after…”

Her words made little sense, though in the haze between wakefulness and sleep they settled almost prodigiously. Ei pressed her lips to the hinge of Sara’s jaw before she fell, much the same as always, and drifted softly into the endless swirl of chimeras.

—

Ei stood at the edge of rising waters, ocean’s foam breaking over her ankles like lace. A shout to her left and she turned, teeth flashing with the brilliance of Sara’s majesty. The taller woman cupped her hands before Ei, fingers unfolding to uncover a whorl shell of startling symmetry.

Its carapace glinted an apricot hue, bright beneath the sun, and Sara tapped at its center most point. “If you listen to the vortex, surely you will hear the comfort of the sea.”

The general pressed its open end to Ei’s ear then, smiling almost imperceptibly when their eyes met. Rolling waves and gentle wind greeted her, alluring all the more when she cupped a hand over the back of Sara’s own. They held the shell together, firmly in place when she stole a sound kiss from chapped lips.

She pulled back and Sara’s eyes flickered with something profound. Ei often dreamed in shades of gold.

#eisara #raiden ei #kujou sara #drabble #cw blood #cw panic attack #character study #this is a drabble I did for day 5 of eisara week- comfort!!

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