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scuderiahoney · 3 days

Text

Every Second

charles leclerc x reader

masterlist

summary: the world is ending. you’re right where you belong. 2.6k words

warnings: major character death (apocalypse au, everyone dies), charles & reader have a daughter, talks of death/afterlife/end of the world, it’s mostly sad not gonna lie

a/n: had this idea a LONG time ago, finally finished it today. loosely based on the music video for Older by 5SOS. see also: Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe & FINNEAS and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers. you get the vibes.

The world is on fire.

For once, you mean that literally. You’ve been saying it for years, in reference to politics and pollution and the general temperature of the planet. But now, the world is literally on fire.

Charles is pacing laps around the whole apartment. He’s unable to sit still, even now. The tv is on, the volume low, photos flashing by on the screens. There’s a countdown, ticking along at the bottom of the newscast, telling you exactly how many minutes you have left before the whole thing falls apart. You’re not sure how they seem to know. You won’t take the time to find out.

The next time Charles walks by you, you reach out and grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He stops in his tracks, and your fingers brush against his skin. He doesn’t look at you, hasn’t for hours. He stared at the ceiling, now. He’s angry, you can tell. It’s eating him up inside.

“Amour,” you say, calmly, quietly. “You will wear a path in the carpet.”

The irony of what you’ve just said doesn’t hit you until he lets out a bitter laugh. You realize, then, that by tomorrow there will be no carpet. There will be nobody to see the path he’s worn. Everything around you will cease to exist.

It’s funny, the end of the world. It doesn’t feel like you thought it would, though you’re not sure you spent much time devoted to the thought. You had worries, sure, but they always seemed so distant.

“We should wake her,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “I want… every second.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Okay, I’ll get her.”

“No. Not- I’ll go with you,” he says, twisting his hand to grab yours, then repeating, “I want every second.”

You stand up from the couch. He keeps your hands linked as he follows you to your daughter’s room. She’s asleep in the crib, barely one year old, head full of dark curls and a smile that bears his dimples. She looks peaceful. For a moment, you hate to disturb her. It’s the last time you’ll pull her from her crib. You understand, now, why he wanted to come with.

Charles walks over, reaches in with one arm, and scoops her up. It’s only then that his eyes meet yours, as he cradles her to his chest. The two of them make such a perfect picture. You’ve seen it before, after races when he’s tired and sweaty but always wanting to hold her, when he gets back from long trips and she clings to him for hours, when he gets her up in the morning and brings her to your room to wake you up.

He swallows tightly as she shifts in his arm, pressing her tiny round cheek to his neck. You tug on his hand, lead him back out to the living room. He squeezes so hard you think your fingers might fall off.

It won’t be long now before your daughter is fully awake. She’s already beginning to wiggle slightly, her eyelids fluttering. You don’t dare to try and let go of Charles, but you head for the kitchen and start warming up a bottle for her.

It’s what you’d do any day. It’s odd, because the apocalypse is breathing down your neck but your baby still needs to be fed. Other things, you’ve chosen to neglect- the trash will stay in the overflowing can in the kitchen. The mail will go unopened, bills unpaid. There’s a layer of dust on the fireplace mantle that will stay there until the mantle itself ceases to exist. You warm up your daughter’s bottle, though, and try to listen to the sound of the microwave instead of the sound of your husband’s crying.

She’s awake, now, and tugging at your hair with tiny fingers. Charles untangles your hands and wraps his arm around your waist instead, uses it to pull you into his chest. His grip is so tight it would almost be claustrophobic on any other day. Today, if you could melt yourself into one person with him, you would.

The microwave beeps, and you both jump. You grab the bottle, turn to your husband, your daughter. She’s yawning, her head on his chest, her hand still caught in your hair. She doesn’t know. She won’t ever know. There are so many things she won’t get to learn. You’ve dreamt of this your whole life- of love, a family, people to call your own and a home to spend your life in with them. In the end, your time has been so short lived. There are only so many minutes left. The clock on the TV counts down, and your chest aches with every second. You will lose them today.

Charles seems to sense your train of thought. He leads you back to the couch in the living room. He half sits, half lays with your daughter, legs up on the sofa, and holds his other arm out for you. She’s beginning to fuss, because she’s hungry- the most simple of human predicaments. When you sit down, he pulls you into his chest, to face him, your back to the tv. Even on the last day, he will try to shelter you. He curls his arms around you and your daughter while you hold the bottle to her mouth.

“My girls,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “My beautiful girls.”

You’d thought, when you had gotten pregnant, that Charles would want it to be a boy. A mini him, someone to teach karting and racing and follow in his footsteps. But before you even found out, he’d been insistent it was a girl, that she was going to be just like you, that he was going to be wrapped around her finger, same as he was around yours. And when she was born, his dark hair and your eyes and the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen, Charles had bawled his eyes out, holding her in his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead.

He’d been so excited, told you all of his plans. There’d been days on the boat with her, days in the water, days at races with giant headphones to protect her ears. Her father had doted on her and loved her, had talked about her every chance he got. She was going to grow up with all the love the world could possibly have to offer and then some, surrounded by it, bathed in it.

It’s not fair. You’ve had years to live, you’ve gotten to be your own person, but she’ll never get that chance. You suddenly feel short of breath, chest tight, heart racing. Charles feels it and wraps his arm tighter around you. You stare at your daughter’s face, her tiny eyelashes, the little slope of her nose. She deserves so much more time. You rub your finger over her cheek as she drinks the bottle.

“S’not fair,” you mutter, blinking back tears.

“I know,” he says, murmuring the words against your forehead. “It’s not.”

There’s so much more you could say, but the words won’t come. How do you put that into words? The terrifying, all consuming fear of what is coming. There’s no stopping it now. Maybe it’s not worth dwelling on.

“You know,” you say with a sniffle. “She’ll never have to be afraid.”

Charles nods. “Nobody will ever hurt her.”

You reach out and hold her hand, her tiny fingers in yours. Her skin is so soft, unmarred by the world. She will never face heartbreak. She will never lose anyone. She will never have to worry. She’ll also never make her first friend, or have her first love, or her first job or first car, or… the nevers pile up and weigh heavy on your chest. The whole weight of the world is on you.

You press your cheek to Charles’ chest and let the tears flow. It’s silly to hide it. He holds onto you tightly.

There can’t be much time left, now. You can feel the seconds slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. You have this uncontrollable urge to kneel on the ground and try to scoop them all up. The bits and pieces of your life together with him. You want to hold it all close to your chest, try and shelter it from the impact.

“The wine,” Charles says. “The wedding wine.”

You’d saved a bottle. It was meant to be opened on your tenth anniversary. It’s in the cupboard in the kitchen, a white bow around the neck, a label with a photo of the two of you custom printed by a friend. You’ve been married for three years now. At the time, ten years had felt so far away. Now it slips through the gaps in the cupped hands of your heart.

Charles passes your daughter into your arms and stands up. You cradle her to your chest and press your lips to the top of her head. You whisper to her, remind her how much she’s loved, how much you care for her. Charles returns with the bottle and two glasses, and the corkscrew you’d been gifted as a wedding present. You try not to dwell on it, try not to think about his brothers giving it to you, engraved with your new last name and with a note to accompany it- When you argue, or feel sad, or happy, or anytime, stop and share a bottle of wine together.

You take their advice- of all the times to take it, now feels like your best bet, though you’ve lived by little things like that your whole relationship. When Charles was gone for extended time periods for races, he always returned with a special bottle of wine, always made sure to set aside his first day back just for you, and eventually, for your daughter too. It was one of the things that bothered him most, he’d told you- he never felt like he had enough time. Stretched too thin between all the things and people he loved, everything that’s important to him. He pours you a glass of wine and hands it to you, and you wait while he pours his own. You clink the glasses together and take a sip. It tastes the same as it did on your wedding night, and fresh tears fill your eyes. All your family and friends, there to celebrate the two of you, and now it all comes to an end.

There are picture frames on the wall behind the couch. You stare at them, the tears in your eyes blurring the photographs, but you know what you’d find there. The wedding photo, when he’d kissed you for the first time as your husband. There’s the photo of the two of you on his first day at Ferrari, smiling bright and wide and happy and not having any idea how important you’d become to each other. There are family photos- just the three of you, and ones with your extended families, too. There are landscapes from your vacations together, pictures of you with friends out at parties, your whole lives, hanging up on the wall. All the photos will be destroyed, soon, along with the rest of the world.

Your daughter is dozing off against your chest. You turn to try and take a peek at the countdown on the screen, but before you can, Charles grabs your head and holds, firmly. It can’t be long now. Sometime this morning, just after sunrise, you think they said on the news last night. There’s sun filtering in through the curtains. Your breath gets caught in your chest. The dawn of a new day, of the very last day.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, lips against your forehead. “Don’t panic.”

“The world is ending, Charles,” you choke out, voice frantic. “We- we’re going to-“

“I know,” he mumbles. He knits his fingers with yours, right on top of your daughter’s back. “I know. Stay with me. Feel me? Feel her breathing? Just stay right here, my love. You are safe here.”

You’re not, you’re the least safe here that you’ve ever been, but you know what he’s trying to say. You feel the soft rise and fall of her back beneath your hand, feel the way he squeezes your fingers. Stay here. Stay with me. You take a deep breath against his neck, wondering if you can breathe in enough of him that he’ll be a part of you forever. Forever. What does forever even mean, now?

“It’s not enough,” you mutter. “It wasn’t enough time. We deserved more time.”

He nods, and when he speaks, his voice sounds raw. “It wasn’t. We did. But it never would have been enough, my love.”

“If you had more time,” you start, and you hear him choke on a sob. “What would you do with it?”

He’s quiet for a moment. There’s a million different options, a million different answers, a million things still left to do. You wonder if he’s thinking of the same thing as you, though.

“I would spend it right here,” he says, and you fall to pieces. “Right here, with you in my arms, and our daughter with us, and I would tell you how you are the love of my life and- and how I will find you, in the next life, and we will spend forever together. Over and over and it will never be enough,” he sniffles, his tears falling against your forehead.

“Give me a million more years, and I would like to spend them all with you,” you tell him, voice thick with your tears. “Every second.”

There’s a loud noise from somewhere outside. Your heart should be racing, but it isn’t. Charles wraps you up closer, pulling you around your daughter, trying to cradle both of you in his arms. This is it. If there’s anywhere you’d want to spend your last moments, this is the place.

“I will see you soon, my love,” he says into your skin.

Neither of you are religious, and you haven’t talked about your thoughts on the afterlife in any serious sense, but in that moment, you believe it, and you know he does too.

“Nothing could ever keep me away. We said forever,” he adds.

“I love you, Charlie,” you say, leaning up to kiss him. “Forever and ever.”

As the world falls apart around you, you bury your face in his neck and let it happen. There’s nothing you can do, now, except spend every second with him, with your daughter. All the seconds you have left.

…..

The Ferrari factory is bright and shiny, full of people who stare in awe. They have a new driver today, a new prodigy who’s meant to bring victory back to Maranello. You’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of it, by the people staring, by the buzzing underneath your skin. It’s too much, but you can’t back out now. You’re being lead through the crowd, and you hope you don’t look as terrified as you feel.

“Oh, and this,” your new team principal says, “is Charles. Your race engineer. You’ll be working very closely together.”

Charles turns around, eyes already sparkling. He grins, a dimple divoting his cheek. He’s cute. He gives you a warm feeling in your chest, like something familiar. When he shakes your hand, you swear you feel a spark. You’ve never met him, you’re almost sure, but it feels like you know him, or maybe, like you used to. It’s the strangest feeling, but it’s a comfort in this sea of strangers.

“Welcome to Ferrari,” he says, and it’s the millionth time you’ve heard it today but you could cry, still. For some reason, it means more coming from him. “You’re going to love every single second.”

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully @arian-directioner @racingheartsposts @sakuramxchii @mynamejeff5 @c-losur3 @casperlikej

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noosayog · 2 months

Text

003 an unexpectedly sweet valentine

❥ warnings/content: kuroo tetsuro x reader, sfw, slight angst if you squint, mostly fluff, jealousy

❥ wc: 3.4k

❥ valentine's masterlist, regular masterlist

“Good morning, senpai!”

Your senior of one year turns around as he changes from his outside shoes to his inside shoes. “Huh? Oh, morning.”

“It’s raining hard today, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure is.”

“Did you bring an umbrella?”

“Nah, forgot it.”

“Aw, too bad! I remembered mine today!”

“Good for you.”

The conversation comes to a lull. Senpai stands there looking at you, as if to ask, anything else?

Somewhat awkward, you wave to him. “Have a good day, then!”

He nods, turning away to make his way to his first class of the day.

“Wowwww,” a voice from above you drawls. “That was a painful watch.”

You swivel around to face Kuroo, your classmate.

“Shut up, Kuroo,” you growl at him.

“‘Morning Senpai! Have a good day Senpai!’” He mocks you in a high pitched voice.

You give him a swift kick in the shins, satisfied when he bends over to cradle the spot.

Kenma appears from behind him, shaking off the stray droplets clinging to his hair. “You deserved that.”

“Morning, Kenma,” you snicker.

Kenma returns your greeting, heading off to his own class in the year below yours and Kuroo’s.

A tap on your shoulder gets your attention. “Sorry about him. He’s just in a bad mood because of the rain.”

“Kai-kun!” you greet. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for this idiot.”

“Hey!” the idiot in question protests.

Another head pops out from behind Kai. “What’s going on? Talking rooster head trash? That’s a conversation I can contribute to.”

“Morning, Yakkun.”

“Can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Kuroo complains.

“Shall we head to class?” Kai asks, easily ignoring him.

“Yep!”

“Hello? We’re all in the same class here!” Kuroo wails as he runs after the three of you.

In your homeroom, Kuroo, Yaku, and Kai all head to their seats as you take yours by the window. You greet your friends who sit by you, excited to ramble about your encounter with the cool Senpai from the basketball team whom you’ve recently developed a crush on.

“What do you like about that guy anyway?” your friend asks.

“What do you mean? There’s so much to like!”

She gives you a dubious look. “For example…?”

You start counting on your fingers. “Well, he’s captain of the basketball team, so he’s tall-”

“You like him because he’s tall?”

“He’s older, so he’s more mature-”

“Right,” she nods sarcastically. “Being a year older makes him so mature.”

With two fingers up, you’ve run out of reasons. Your friend rolls her eyes at you.

“Personally, I prefer the volleyball guys in our class.”

“Kai-kun?” you nod empathetically. “I can totally see that. He’s kind and smart. Yakkun, too. He’s energetic and outgoing.”

“Kuroo’s included in that group too, you know.”

You wrinkle your nose.

“What’s your beef with him? He’s tall, smart. Lots of people in our grade would say he’s funny too. He’s actually pretty popular.”

You shake your head, “the most that guy has going for him is his friendship to Kenma. I can totally see someone getting close to him so that he’ll introduce them.”

Your friend just shrugs patronizingly, like you’re beyond reasoning with.

“Anyway,” you switch topics. “Senpai forgot his umbrella today, and it’s going to rain all day. I’m going to watch basketball practice afterschool and offer to share my umbrella with Senpai on the way home. Wanna come with?”

“Pass.”

You shrug. “Suit yourself.”

–

“Did you hear that?” Yaku elbows Kuroo, whispering not very quietly.

Kuroo swipes at the elbow, rubbing his ribs and mumbling for Yaku to keep it down.

“Damn, what’d you do? She thinks you’re such a loser.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kuroo grits out.

Yaku holds his hands up in surrender. “Just pointing out the facts.”

“Hey, now. Let’s not be too hasty,” Kai cuts in. “It might just be a temporary infatuation with the basketball club guy. There’s still hope!”

Kuroo groans and slumps forehead first onto his desk. Even when Kai is trying to be nice, it makes him feel so pathetic.

–

When the final class of the day ends, Kuroo lingers in the classroom, still racking his brain for an excuse to keep you from going to the basketball club. He trails after you as you get up to leave the classroom.

You’re taking a drink of water when Kuroo watches your friend shoulder into you a bit too hard, leaving you to stumble backwards, hands flailing to keep your balance. The uncapped water bottle in your hands goes flying into Kuroo, dumping its contents into the bag in his hands, containing the spare jerseys the volleyball team had planned on using for practice matches today.

Kuroo drops the bag, arms coming up to support your back and keep you upright.

When you’re stable on your feet, you quickly pick up your water bottle to staunch the flow of water, though it doesn’t matter much anymore given the jerseys are all soaked through.

“Hey! What did you do that for?” you scold your friend. You turn to Kuroo, “thanks and sorry…” you trail off, not knowing how to remedy the situation.

When Kuroo catches the wink your friend sends him, he catches on. “Aww man, now what’re we going to do for practice?”

Yaku cuts in. “Oh, it’s fine. We can just use the spare-”

Kai slaps a hand over Yaku’s big mouth, dragging him off towards the gym. “We’ll head to practice first. Why don’t you figure out the situation, Kuroo?”

“Kuroo, I’m so sorry, but this was all her fault. Hey-” You turn to where your friend was standing, but she’s gone.

“We needed these for today’s practice. You’re just gonna have to help me out with the laundry to get these dried before the 3v3 drills then.”

You pull a very displeased expression, mumbling something Kuroo can’t quite hear but is definitely a curse out of your friend.

“Can’t I please make it up to you some other way? I have really important plans today.”

Sure, as if trying to suck up to that basketball captain counts as really important plans.

“All you have to do is toss these in the dryer and wait until they’re done. It’s the least you can do.”

You offer a begrudging, “fine,” hauling the wet bag and following behind a triumphant Kuroo.

As promised, it takes you less than an hour to dry the jerseys, passing the time by watching the volleyball club boys warm up and run drills. As you pull the jerseys out of the machine, Kuroo meets you by the locker room.

“All done! Now can I-”

“Man, it took too long to dry them. We had to restructure our drills since it’s too late to start practice matches now.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Look, Kuroo. I’m sorry, but I have no say over how long a dryer cycle is.”

“I know. It just really put us in a hard spot, especially given that Nationals are around the corner…” he sighs audibly. “But it’s fine, I know it’s not totally your fault.” He sighs again.

“Ok, ok” you give in. “What can I do to make up for it?”

It takes all of Kuroo’s willpower to suppress a victorious grin. “Hmmm,” he pretends to deliberate. “Aha!” he exclaims. “You could be our manager until Nationals are over. That’d help the team and Coach Nekomata out a lot.”

You hesitate. “Manager? Why don’t you just find a permanent one? Everyone says you’re all popular-”

“Everyone?” he smirks.

“Yeah. Personally, I don’t really get it, but,” you miss the slight dimming of his grin. “I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d be more willing… I mean, more helpful than I would be.”

“Figures that you’d try to weasel your way out of this.”

“Weasel my way- wait just a second-”

“It’s fine,” Kuroo cuts you off, turning around to leave you there. “You’re right, we’ll just find someone who’s more responsible.”

“Hold on, Kuroo!” you grab the back of his jacket, pulling him back.

This time, the grin on Kuroo’s face spreads in full force.

“I’ll do it. I am not irresponsible.”

“Great, you can start tomorrow.”

You cross your arms over your chest, huffing indignantly like you’re satisfied that you’ve restored your reputation, your plans to be alone with basketball-senpai completely forgotten.

Hook, line, sinker.

–

Your job as the volleyball club manager is actually enjoyable. Save for the extended time you now need to spend in Kuroo’s company, you make friends with the rest of the team, especially the enthusiastic younger class.

During lunch time, Kuroo will often request that you join Kai, Yaku, and him on the roof.

“Why? I deserve freedom from you outside of volleyball club hours.”

“Interesting that your commitment to taking the position of manager only extends to certain hours.”

“What? Slander! I’m committed-”

“We were going to discuss and review our plays from previous games, but I guess we’ll manage without you. Just hand me the notebook and we’ll review without you-”

You stand abruptly, slamming your palms on your desk. With the notebook in question in hand, you storm past him, making your way to the roof access stairs without another word.

“Well?” you demand when Kuroo doesn’t follow. “Are we going or what?”

Kuroo grins. “Coming.”

In your indignation, you fail to ever catch the grins from Yaku, Kai, and your friends.

Sometimes, those lunches end up being just you and Kuroo, Yaku and Kai often being called away halfway through. Once all volleyball business is complete, you and Kuroo finish eating in relative peace. Often, he lies down to spend the rest of break napping. You tell yourself it’s too awkward to leave him there without a word, so you sit quietly to keep him company.

One time, you had awoken to a sound of a camera shutter, realizing belatedly that you had fallen asleep on Kuroo’s shoulder. When you crane your head to face the boy in question, eyes wide and swiping at your lip in case you were drooling, you’re met with the usual smug grin on his lips, but his eyes are warm. Instead of smacking him and throwing a scatching remark, your cheeks heat up and you avert your eyes like an embarrassed schoolgirl.

–

When February rolls around, the entire student body is buzzing with the excitement of Valentine’s Day. You haven’t had any more development with basketball senpai, with your time mostly preoccupied with volleyball, but you’ve long standing plans to make Senpai chocolate. You’ve done research by asking around to find out that Senpai likes dark chocolate.

“Have you thought about making the volleyball boys chocolate?” Mari asks you.

“Yep, I plan to.”

“And Kuroo?”

You choke on your water. “Why would you single him out? Of course… because he’s a part of the volleyball boys…” you trail off.

Your friend props her chin on her palm, expression bored but the corner of her lips twitch. “Uh huh,” she says in obvious disbelief.

Your inner turmoil is exacerbated when Kenma says to you, the day before Valentines, “despite his looks, he likes sweeter chocolate.”

“Who?”

Kenma just gives you a look, waving as he makes his way home.

The following day, you show up to school, hands full with all the chocolates you made the night before. Each bag is wrapped in an individual baggie with a white ribbon except for one that is wrapped special, in a small box with red ribbon.

For Senpai, obviously.

Your first stop of the day is your friend. You hand her a bag and she smiles, quickly opening it and popping it in her mouth right in front of you.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“Mmmm,” she closes her eyes, savoring the sweet treat. “So sweet. Milk chocolate? Weren’t you going on about how Senpai likes dark chocolate?”

“I… made different batches.” you lie. You brandish the box with the red ribbon. “Senpai’s was made special.”

“Still sticking to giving that boring Senpai chocolate, huh?”

“He is not boring!”

“Sure, whatever.” She peeks into your bag to look at the array of all the baggies you plan on giving out today. She looks up at the red ribbon box in your hands then back into your bag. “Just that one box? And it’s for Senpai?”

“... yup.”

“What was that pause?”

“What pause?”

She just rolls her eyes and turns back to her textbook.

–

“Did you hear that? It’s for the basketball guy.” Yaku elbows Kuroo’s ribs.

“Can you stop elbowing me?”

“That’s not important right now! She’s still going to give that guy chocolate!”

“I know, I heard,” Kuroo hisses.

Kai gives Kuroo a pitiful look that ticks him off. “What are you going to do?”

“What is there to do?” Kuroo replies, keeping his eyes focused on the homework he has on his desk. “I’m going to grab a drink from the vending machines. Be right back.”

He gets up to walk to the furthest vending machine in the courtyard. Maybe the walk and the winter air from the garden will help him cool his head.

When he gets back with a can of tea in his hands, Kuroo sees you standing at his desk, where Kai and Yaku are still loitering around before class starts. He watches you hand each of them a bag tied tastefully with white ribbon. He lingers in the shadow of the doorway, watching Yaku and Kai thank you, then you walking back to your desk without leaving a third bag for Kuroo.

He feels like he could use another walk right then, but the teacher catches him in the doorway and pushes Kuroo into the classroom to start class for the day.

He makes eye contact with Kai and Yaku, who shake their heads at him, answering his unasked question.

–

At lunch, Kuroo disappears on his own. He thinks to himself that he just needs the time to cool down, in fear that he’d embarrass himself in front of you by asking where his portion of chocolate is. He would feel bad enough if you just handed him giri-chocolate that you have everyone else. He would die, though, if you said you didn’t prepare him any at all.

As he sits alone in the rarely frequented stairwell of the west wing of campus, he sighs.

What does that guy have that he doesn’t anyway? Every conversation Kuroo has overheard between you two has been terribly boring. He gives dry, one-worded answers. He’s not funny nor particularly smart. He’s tall but so is Kuroo? Maybe he’s good at his sport, but Kuroo is taking his team to Nationals. He’s obviously not into you, whereas Kuroo himself? You get the picture.

Anyway, he doesn’t think it very presumptuous to think of himself as a better match for you. The two of you joke and laugh together. You get along with his closest friends. Despite your sharp tongue, you seem to be comfortable enough around him. He reminisces of the one time you fell asleep on his shoulder on the roof. He had been wide awake and frozen solid, scared that even breathing too loudly would shatter the moment. He would never tell anyone that the photo Yaku had snapped of you drooling against his shoulder was saved in a password-protected folder in his phone.

He sighs again, all the tension leaving his body as he lets himself feel all the feelings he’s been holding back. A heavy arm rests over his eyes, squeezing them tightly when he feels the sting behind his irises threatening to surface.

Unable to pull himself together enough to face you in class, he ends up at the infirmary for the rest of the day, citing a headache. The nurse offers one of the beds and Kuroo gladly takes it, napping the afternoon away, a temporary escape from thoughts of you.

The break is short-lived as he wakes up just in time for the last class of the day. Not even the prospect of his favorite subject, science, can improve his mood as he drags his feet to the lab classroom. He makes his way to Yaku and Kai’s table, not meeting your eyes. His teammates give him questioning looks but say nothing when Kuroo shakes his head and immerses himself in the lesson for the day.

Class goes by even more quickly than normal and before he knows it, the dreaded time of day has arrived. He packs slowly, hating himself for wanting to eavesdrop on your plans for the rest of the afternoon.

“So, what’s the plan?” he hears your friend ask you. “Volleyball or basketball?”

“Not sure,” you reply. “Gotta go, see you tomorrow!”

Kuroo watches as you hastily grab your things and leave the classroom. He ignores your friend’s prying eyes on him as he walks out after you.

In the hallway, he spots you speeding away towards the shoe lockers. As he contemplates chasing after you, he hears a call of your name.

Kuroo watches in mild horror when he finds that the voice belonged to the captain of the basketball team. His eyes stay glued to the boy who approaches you, all charming smiles and grinning snake eyes. The two of you are too far for Kuroo to hear your conversation but he can see your expression morphing into one of bashfulness.

All his emotions spill over as the scene unfolds right in front of him in slow motion. He watches your hands dig into your pocket, making the motions to pull something out and likely hand it to your senpai. It all happens so quickly, but before he knows it, Kuroo’s grabbing your hand and dragging you away.

Something - wind? His boiling hot jealousy? - roars in his ears, any protests you let out going right over his head. It’s only when the two of you reach the garden behind the gymnasium that he lets go.

He freezes, back still turned away from yours.

It hits him then. He drops your hand like a hot potato, almost giving into the overwhelming urge to bury his face in his hands, crouch down so low that he’s buried in the ground.

“Kuroo?” he hears you call tentatively.

How was he going to get himself out of this one?

So he does what he does best with you.

Cower.

He turns around, putting two hands behind his head to feign nonchalance. He forces out a laugh and in the lightest voice he could possibly muster at a time like this, he sticks his foot in this mouth.

“You were gonna give your chocolates to that senpai, huh? You better be glad I interrupted and saved you the embarrassment of getting rejected in front of the entire student body.”

You blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I really saved that guy back there. Knowing your cooking skills, you might as well have poisoned him-”

A box thrown at his face interrupts him. He catches it before the fall to the ground, staring at the offending hand that launched the item. He then looks to you, thoughtless as your eyes begin to water.

“They’re for you, asshole. If you don’t want ‘em so badly, go throw them away for all I care.”

As you turn around and storm off, Kuroo sees one of your hands coming up to rub angrily at your face.

He gives chase once more today. It’s easy to catch up as he gets in front of you, face craning to look at you, to validate that he’s not going crazy and you’re really crying over him.

You turn away stubbornly until Kuroo grabs your arms, holding them up in the air to trap you.

“Let go!” you thrash.

But it’s easy for Kuroo to keep them still, unusually quiet as he looks and looks until he gets his fill and confirms that he’s not dreaming.

“They’re for me?” he asks.

“Yes, you idiot. Do you wanna add deaf to your list of defining characteristics? It can be right up there with moronic, insensitive, stupid-”

He chuckles; he doesn't even know where it came from, really.

Relaxing, he lowers your arms back down but keeps his hold. “And are they the ones you made for all your friends? Or are they…” he trails off, staring into your eyes to get his meaning across.

You cringe, neck shrinking to retract your face into your scarf. Averting your eyes, you mutter, “the second one.”

He suddenly engulfs you in his arms. The squeeze he gives you forces a little squeal from you.

“Oh my god,” he rubs his cheek against the top of your head like an overgrown cat. “You’re so cute, I could die.”

Your cheeks feel hot as you repress the urge to smile.

Instead, you mumble, “die then.”

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lucifers-rubber-duck · 1 month

Text

𖤓 Being married to Lucifer would include 𖤓

Pairing: Lucifer X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of depression and slightly suggestive content. Reader doesn't have a defined gender.

Waking up with morning kisses ❣

• He likes to hug you before you two sleep, is almost funny seeing him trying to be the big spoon when he's so tiny.

• It's no surprise he's a very clingy man, and that would just double when you two got married.

• Kisses aren't limited to morning tho, he'll get any excuse to give you even a peck. Lunch kiss, Goodnight kiss, Afternoon kiss, anything you can think of will be a good time to plant a smooch on your lips.

Eating the best of what Hell has to ofer ❣

• I believe with my whole being that Lucifer is a fenomenal cooker.

• He can bake anything you ask for, doesn't matter what, he will do whatever he can to make it the best meal you ever had.

• You can expect to have breakfast on bed at least once in a week, he'll sit besides you in bed and wait until you finish eating, wings around you and smiling like a idiot because he just adores seeing how happy his cooking makes you feel.

• He will ask you to cook with him too, he especially enjoys baking apple pies and pancakes and will often make cookies shaped like ducks. He sits and waits in front of the oven until it's ready and really enjoys when you also make him company.

Deal with his rubber ducks everywhere ❣

• Lucifer isn't the most organized person, yes, he enjoys doing the cleaning most of the time, but he finds it a hard time making sure all his ducks are in place.

• Sometimes you'll be going normally with your day, walking by the house and suddenly you will step on one of his rubber ducks, making it squeak.

• You tried putting them on a shelf once, making sure they were out of the floor, but in less than a week that shelf would be full because he would just keep making even more ducks and having nowhere to place them.

• His solution to it is to just shove them into his office, making piles and more piles of yellow rubber creatures, they will stay there until you two can think of a better solution.

• He gifted a bunch of those to you as well, you have your own place to put your collection, it's full of duckies themed of things you like, one of them looks like Lucifer, the other looks like you and a smaller one that looks like Charlie, the three of them have a special place and are always together in your collection.

Help him to clean himself ❣

• Sometimes his depression can get the best of him, when it happens he doesn't have the energy to even get out of bed, you'll have to help with all his chores and simple things.

• Help him get up, help him shower, brush his theet, fix his hair, help him get dressed and make sure he eats, sometimes even hygine is hard for him to do alone and the help you give him means the world.

• Also, make sure to tell him that you don't mind helping him, even with menial tasks like those, he's very insecure when these episodes happen and is scared that you might leave him because of them, he doesn't want to be a burden, so tell him how much you appreciate being his partner.

“I'm sorry for making you do this...” he silently says, head resting on your lap as you bursh your hand through his blond hair, it was one of those days and you two were sitting togheter on his office couch, he didn't have the will to do anything today and you had to help him even clean himself up, he felt like shit. “I'm such a piece of trash.”

You shake your head, grabbing his chin and making him look at you, he looks so tired and defeated, and at the same time looks at you like you're the only thing making him less miserable.

“Don't say that Luci, you know I love you a lot don't you? I don't mind helping you when you're feeling down” you move him around, enough to be able to give him a hug, pulling him closer to you so he could be comforted, you hated seeing him like that, you wish he could see how amazing he truly is, see himself the way you see him. “And hey, you were able to brush your theet by yourself today, I'm so proud of you for that.”

He's at verge of tears when he hears you say that, he pulls you closer using his wings, putting his head on your chest. “Thank you so much dear.” He's glad he has someone like you in his life.

Having to deal with bite marks ❣

• Lucifer is... How to put it. Rather possessive.

• But not in a creepy or unhealthy way! No no no, he simply adores you so much he can't help but mark you as his sometimes.

• His sharp theet can make a real number on you, he tries his best to be as gentle as possible, asking your permission before ever biting you anywhere, but he always aims for visible spots.

• Sometimes it makes you so embarrassed that you ask yourself why did you let him bite you in the first place, like when Charlie asked about it once and you had to make the worst excuse ever just to not tell her that her father was the one who did it.

• When you told him about it he just laughed, that made you a little annoyed but he promissed he would be more careful later. (This time he gave you a mark on your thigh before putting his tongue into work)

Hearing about his wishes to form a family ❣

• Man daydreams about forming a family with you, he can't help but just think about how precious it would be for you two, Charlie and a new child to take a new family picture.

• He doesn't force that idea onto you, he drops here and there how much he would love a new child, but if somehow you showed that you were uncomfortable with it he would stop, you and Charlie are enough for him and he won't try to change it for a fantasy.

• But if you want to adopt, probably a Hellhound or even a Imp since there's no human children in Hell, he will absolutely be supportive and be there with you through the adoption progress. He'll make sure to treat the child as his own and give them as much love as they deserve.

• If the adopted child is a girl then? He'll just be the happiest man alive, he's going to spoil her, never want to let her go and will dress her up in every opportunity. He'll for sure cry before you all take a family photo and say how much he loves you and his daughters.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin x y/n #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel imagine

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 10 months

Note

Conrad and reader are seeing each other in secret but everyone knows because they’re shit at hiding it

Requests: for conrad x reader, they're in a secret relationship (maybe reader stays in the summer house with everyone) and they get caught?

Could you do a sex with conrad fisher fic?

Warnings: smut, p + v,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You and Conrad were not as slick sneaking around as you thought you were. Three weeks into summer and everyone already knew you were hooking up. The smell of your perfume lingered in Conrad's jeep in the morning and Jeremiah swore he saw a bra in his brother's bedroom when Susannah asked to get his laundry basket for the cleaning lady.

What confirmed that Conrad was seeing someone was that Steven’s bedroom was right next to Conrad’s and he could hear the headboard hit the wall on some nights. He even heard some girl moans, which he quickly downed by putting his headphones on. Conrad was his friend, but he didn’t want to hear him pleasure a girl. That was just too much.

You were fisting the bedsheets with your hands, biting down your bottom lip to try to stifle your moans at every snap of Conrad’s hips. It was past 11pm and everyone was asleep so you had to be quiet. Susannah was cool, but she wouldn't like her son sneaking a girl in at night to have sex. Even if he was eighteen.

Your back arched up off the bed for him, buried so deep inside you. Sweat was sticking to his chest and his hands had found purchase on your thighs, keeping them open while he pounded into you.

‘’Ahh, don’t stop, Connie. I’m close,’’ you whispered in the dim-lit room, feeling your orgasm hurtling toward you. It was so hard to keep quiet and control yourself when all you wanted to do was scream Conrad’s name.

He nodded, one hand leaving your thigh and crawling where your bodies met to start rubbing against your clit while looking at you like you’re the only important thing in the world. Conrad might be portrayed as cold hearted, but with you, he was always warm and sweet — unless you didn’t want him to.

When it all became too much, you clenched around him one last time, your toes curling and legs shaking as you came all over his cock, a series of quietest moans slipping from your mouth. Conrad climaxed shortly after you, spilling into the condom with a swallowed groan. He ran a hand through his messy hair, then pulled out and threw the used condom in the trash before coming back at your side.

He seemed lost in his world for a few seconds, his face resting over your breasts as you scratched his back, waiting for him to come down from his high and catch your breaths. Conrad's post-sex affectionate nature was truly endearing; it was unexpected, yet incredibly sweet and vulnerable.

As much as you cherished the moment, the reality of the outside world nudged you back to your senses, forcing you to detach yourself from Conrad. ‘’Sorry, but I really need to pee.’’

He groaned in protest, disappointedly letting you go.

You put your panties back on and Conrad lifted his head from the bed, looking at you with a mix of longing and tiredness. ‘’You’re coming back, right?’’ he asked, seeking reassurance.

You nodded, offering a reassuring smile, as you slipped one of his shirts on before quietly leaving the room.

As you emerged from the bathroom, you hadn't expected anyone else to be awake at this hour, but to your surprise, you almost walked right into a sleepy-faced Jeremiah in plaid pajama pants.

‘’Jeremiah. Hi,’’ you greeted him, trying not to look flustered.

A smirk drew on his mouth, confirming his assumption. ‘’Hi,’’ he responded, seemingly amused by the situation. His smirk widened as he leaned against the hallway wall, his eyes playfully glancing over your disheveled appearance. ‘’So, I guess Conrad's having a good time?’’ Jeremiah teased, raising an eyebrow mischievously.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the embarrassment was evident on your cheeks. ‘’Eh…I should probably get back to…’’ you trailed, glancing towards Conrad's room.

Jeremiah nodded again, his smile softening. ‘’Mmh. Good night, Y/N.’’

‘’Good night, Jere.’’

When you returned to Conrad’s room, he was still on his bed, except he had moved under his comforter and blanket, nestled like a child. The sight made you want to crawl under and fall asleep beside him.

You shut the door and Conrad looked up when seeing you. You shifted on your feet, a little nervous, about to tell him something you didn’t know how he would react to. ‘’I just saw your brother. He knows.’’

—

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

TSITP taglist: @msmarvelknight @maritaleane @dingus0401 @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti @lomlolivia @5sosbands @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @gilbertscurls @brandirouse86 @leilani-nichole @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @bchindureyes @bellysbeach @slytherinambitious

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher fanfic #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty imagine

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morganbritton132 · 10 months

Text

Eddie posts a Tiktok one night from the air mattress him and Steve are sleeping on in Wayne’s living room. It is late. It is dark.

Eddie looks unimpressed at the camera because he went to bed on a pretty firm mattress and woke up during the slow slide to Steve.

He pans the camera over to Steve and his side is practically deflated. He’s pretty much sleeping on the floor at this point so Eddie pans the camera back to him and says, “Think there might be a hole in this air mattress, y’all.”

Steve shifts in his sleep and Eddie slides a little more towards him before he adds, “You know that 50 Cent tweet about his grandma making him take the trash out? That’s how I’m feelin’ right now.”

“Cause this is bullshit. The couch fucks up my back. Why am I not at a hotel?” He mutters to himself, sliding the rest of the way down and flopping on top of Steve. “I have two Grammys.”

Falling on top of him woke Steve up just enough for Eddie to get him up and moving, “C’mon, baby, on your feet. Let’s go. We’re bunking up with Wayne tonight.”

Steve, who will not remember this conversation in the morning and is going to wake up confused, just lets Eddie guide him into the bedroom like, “Kay.”

#they of course don’t ever stay in a hotel when they visit because Eddie misses his uncle and wants to stay with him #Wayne: *wakes up fifteen minutes later because of Steve’s chainsaw snoring*#Eddie: no worries you’ll eventually block it out. plus I put him on the edge so -you know- distance #Wayne who has witness Steve fall out of bed multiple times: put him in the middle boy #eddie munson tiktok saga #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson

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s4toryuu · 4 months

Text

12:37 am — gojo satoru; sashisu

gojo satoru refuses to drink his medicine…

reblog to help gojo get better

out of everything you could call satoru, you think dramatic takes the top spot. so when you wake up in the middle of the night, you listen out for what could possibly have waken you up.

“koff! koff! UGH!” you recognized gojo’s voice from the dorm building behind yours.

oh my fucking god. you sighed. that morning, that idiot had to get sent to his dorm because he kept coughing every time yaga spoke. he sneezed and sniffled, so you assumed that he was actually ill and didn’t just decide to up his antics for no reason. besides, he was a little quieter than usual today.

you got up to put on a jacket and practically stomped to gojo’s dorm, where you were met with his open door and geto standing against the door frame.

“satoru, I told you the medicine wouldn’t be as effective later on.” geto sighed. you noticed his socks. they were pastel with characters on them. you ignored it to yell at who probably gave it to him.

“gojo! if you’re gonna cough just cough! you don’t have to yell after!” you said before sliding one of gojo’s slippers. there that idiot was, laying down faced up with arms stiff on his side and his comforter raised up to his chin. “are you playing dead?”

gojo groaned. “guys.” he sniffled. “I think this is it for me. suguru, I always loved you. y/n, I did steal your marshmallows last movie night. shoko—where’s shoko?” he looked up, illness suddenly voided for a second until shoko appears behind you. her dorm is a couple doors from yours after all. the snow-haired drama queen’s head fell back on his pillow and his sickness returned.

“eh, what?” she muttered to him before stepping inside. gojo started coughing again.

“are you contagious?” you asked before shifting away from gojo’s bed. geto took the medicine he got from gojo’s counter and placed it on the latter’s nightstand.

shoko walked over and sat on his bed. she placed her hand on gojo’s forehead before snickering. “you’re burning up. you really are gonna die.” she laughed.

you all chuckled, except gojo who whined again. “can’t you use reverse cursed technique on me shoookooo…”

“nope. I’ve only done it on physical injuries. why won’t you just drink the medicine?” she took the plastic little spoon and wiggled it to gojo’s face for emphasis.

gojo screwed his eyes shut and shook his head like a child. “don’t wanna.” if it wasn’t 12:37am on a school night you might’ve found it adorable.

“you might really die, satoru.” geto shot from the foot of gojo’s bed. he definitely woke up from his coughing and subsequent yelling, seeing as geto’s room is right next to gojo’s.

the next morning after your first class, the three of you gathered in the cafeteria and geto stirred up a plan.

“he’s probably not drinking it because he thinks it’s bitter.” you conclude.

suguru sipped on his tea. “ah, I know. that’s why I got the honey flavor version.”

“how are we gonna force him to drink it? it’s not like we can force feed it to him.” shoko shook her lollipop. you were just glad it wasn’t a cigarette.

“he’ll just turn on his infinity. I think we have to ambush him.” you laughed at the image.

“geto, summon a cursed spirit to hold him down.” shoko joked.

the cold breeze practically slapped you while walking to the dorms. geto was sure your victim was still asleep. he had the spare key when you thought to take off your shoes for maximum stealth. the two followed.

geto stood in front of the door to block the light while you and shoko slithered in. it was dark except for the nightlight by satoru’s night stand. you could make out the important things. the untouched medicine, and gojo sprawled over his bed under his sheets. he faced the left side cuddling a pillow. tissues filled the trash can dragged by his bed and some on the floor. poor kid.

geto tiptoed to the other side of the bed where satoru was faced while shoko prepared the poison. you got in position across geto and stifled a laugh at shoko trying to break the seal as quiet as possible. she tiptoed next to you and nodded to geto.

“satoru” geto called out. “satoru, wake up.”

“sugu…” gojo whined. he didn’t open his eyes. geto gestured for the syrup-filled spoon. shoko handed it to him promptly and again, you stifled a laugh at your plan.

“satoru-kun. aaah,” geto opened his mouth. geto using “-kun” was too funny.

surprisingly, satoru opened his mouth slightly too. what the hell? this wasn’t even part of the plan. suguru took the spoon to satoru’s mouth.

shit, it would probably just spill out with the way he was faced, you realized. you lunged to push satoru’s shoulder to the right so that he would face up. you decided him choking on it was better than it spilling. because that way it would at least get in his mouth.

gojo woke up. he made eye contact with you and immediately tried to get up. he moved his hand to push yours off but you held his shoulders down with your weight and geto got all the syrup in.

“MMGHFHG!” gojo yelled with his mouth closed. he struggled against you, and you gave it 5 seconds before his strength took over and even less before he activated infinity.

“geto!” you called and he took over your hold on sicko’s shoulders.

gojo started kicking, and you straddled his shins.

“swallow!” geto exclaimed as gojo tried to push his hands off. shit, this wouldn’t work.

“geto! get on!” you yelled and geto straddled gojo’s stomach.

“swallow it!” suguru grabbed gojo’s arms and held them against the bed by his head.

“HHNGNGGHH!” satoru shook his head.

“satoru! it’s honey flavored!” geto argued.

shoko laughed and you heard her camera shutter. she stood far enough to snap a picture and you realized what it looked like. you were straddling gojo’s calves while suguru was straddling gojo’s, uh… lower stomach with his hands pinned by his head.

then, as if on queue, the door opened. your heads snapped to the door and you saw your sweet (to you, at least) junior nanami for about .7 seconds before the door closed again.

you flew off of gojo’s calves. “nanami! wait!”

this ended with a lot more stsg than I thought lol

#𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺𝘶𝘶’𝘴 #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #sashisu #fluff #crack #jujutsu kaisen #drabble #nanami kento #nanami is traumatized #fanfic #gojo x reader #satosugu

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hyewka · 1 year

Note

I was reading soobin's only voice live translations and when he read the comments, one of them said "come on soobin don't be shy, it's okay come closer to the microphone" and he answered saying "um no, if I come closer I might sound like a pervert so I'll pass" and i was like 😩😩

I find it very interesting the way he has said the word pervert referring to himself before, not just in that live, he knows HE KNOWS HE IS ONE

Ok that's all lol I'm not that good on expressing my feelings in English bc it's not my first language but i tried😩

btw good night!! hope u are okay 🥰

- 🦇 anon

warnings; perv!soobin, panty stealing, masturbation, breeding kink because...duh LOL, mentions of hentai, humping a body pillow, not proofread

a/n; he has no filter lol but soobin as a perv is sooo real might as well be a headcanon 😂

soobin who often kept to himself, his shy reserved nature not doing much but push people away from his circle. he's okay with it, came to terms with the fact that it was hard for him to reach out to others over the bare minimum, and therefore he'll naturally stay a loner.

so when you first tried getting close to him, starting small talk just because you sat by him, he expected the usual. most people gave up trying after his third unintentional curt response but you... didn't. not in the bombarding questions way but more like the next day, the same good morning, with a genuine chirpy tone. like you actually had a good morning.

you were the total opposite of soobin, it was proven time and time again- he brought black coffee to lectures, you always always brought caramel frappes- soobin was undoubtedly awkward, and then it felt like being charming came easily to you, like you were genetically coded to have people swarm around you like a bee with a flower's nectar. soobin being no exception.

soobin who found that a good morning from you seemed to always assure him a good mood. not long before he succumbed to finally asking for your number, which you happily, though a little caught off guard, provided him with. who knew that he would've been the first to make an advancement?

you got close very quickly- to you, soobin was a sweet guy who just had such a pure image, the freshness of his personality was endearing, so you liked being around him.

all intentions were pure, or at least that was what soobin chose to believe at first. the first time he thought of you as more than a friend was when you begged him to go to the frat party on thursday, oh just how fun it'd be to get trashed- all your reasons were unconvincing, but you were unrelenting, so he ended up going, meeting you at the kitchen where you texted him to find you. through what felt like a million sweaty drunks he had to maneuver, he finally found you.

soobin whose relieved instinct is to shout out your name over the music quickly die down, instead, your name coming out as a small whisper by the last syllable, his eyes honed on your dress, horny bunny can't help but look down at your cleavage, cupped and full in your bodycon, gulping at the way they looked so plush. it got even worse when you spotted him, excitedly waving him over to you- then worse when as much as he tried tuning into your ranting, people eventually crowded the kitchen, meaning you had to get closer, and closer, and then finally, he couldn't help his eyes trailing down.

poor boy who ends up sporting a boner, so anxious as he begs you to let him go home, you worriedly thinking he got too overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people, so you usher him to go, patting his back as you tell him to call you when he gets home.

he never ends up doing that, too ashamed that the moment he got home, he had his back pressed his door, too impatient, bunny's dick so hard it's painful, frantic pace on his shaft as he heaves, shut eyes picturing your cleavage once more, then the slight bounce he caught when you walked over to get another drink, oh what he'd do to see them bare, just a little peek seeing you undress-- his hand already soiled with his warm seed,, the fastest he came.

he hoped that this was a one time thing, how awkward would it be talking to you if he jerked off to you every now and then? yeah, he swore the reason he got so worked up that day was because of the drinks he had.

you often stuck to a specific wardrobe anyway so he wasn't counting on this happening again.

soobin who's right for the first few weeks, until he casually checks his feed, seeing that you posted a picture on instagram-- you had a sinister red lipstick, low cut black top, seated in a dining area, posing with the prettiest smile.. and oh god, he's reaching down his pants again, hands so hesitant and slow as they finally hold his dick, phone on the other hand, swiping left for the last slide-- a selfie.

all of a sudden, he's quick, pulling out his swollen dick in a swift motion, heavy breathing as he stared down at the picture, jerking off like crazy, your tits practically out on display-- who could blame him? pervy soobin who ends up spurting his slimy cum all over his phone screen, a strained final exhale, finally feeling the guilt pool in his chest.

soobin who now replaces the content that gets him off, often of anime girls dumbly bouncing on cock, getting their tummys filled with cum, over and over again-- dirty sight that he gives up just for an innocent selfie you took with soobin a few hours ago at the usual frozen yogurt place you hung at.

soobin who's under the protection of his sheets, his room pitch black as he bites down painfully on his lip, frantic breathing, jerking his poor dick to overstimulation at the picture on his phone screen-- it didn't even have to be of your cleavage anymore, just your face did it for him, eyes with a flutter rolling to the back of his head just at the thought of fucking your mouth.

pervy soobin who convinces himself that this was normal, he's sure tons of guys with female friends have done this, he wasn't weird. it was in his nature, right?

soobin who finally gets invited over at your flat because you were tired of always going out, preferring to stay in this time with some pizza. all is well, no pervy thoughts seeping into his rotten brain, until he asks to go to the bathroom.

"oh! you'll find it, it's like to the left-- right of you. it'll be to the right of you." you had your black frames, similar to soobin's, blanket over your legs with a pizza slice on your hand-- he knew you weren't going to abandon the comfort to show him around.

"don't take too long!" he hears you shout behind him, and he huffs out a laugh. you always seemed to get him smiling, for whatever reason.

soobin who mistakes the laundry room for the bathroom, opening it to spot the washing machine, and almost closing the door before he sees through the creak of the door the basket full of clothes. your clothes.

pervy soobin whose feet are still, staring at the abundance of clothes. his dick twitching in his pants, thinking of whether a pair of your underwear was buried in there, but then he immediately slaps himself out of it, shutting the door with a large bang. so flustered as he quickly tries to find the bathroom.

soobin who swears he has morals, who swears he'd never do it, he'll keep his dirty thoughts of you under his blankets at home, without having to raise suspicion.

he doesn't hold onto his set of morals for too long, too far gone at the thought of how you'd smell, how he'd feel to have your panties wrapped around his dick as he did his daily jerk off-- once those thoughts were in, his hands were less controlled.

when you told him that you might be late getting ready, he suggested to wait for you at your living room. which you naively didn't think of much, saying why not.

he didn't have ulterior motives, he swears. it doesn't matter, he ends up in front of your bedroom door, where you were changing, obviously locked, so his eyes trail to the sinful room.

he slowly turns the door's knob as to not cause any sound, seeing that the basket full of your clothes was still there. it's like treasure, dirty boy who's like a thief, anxiously rummaging through the basket, and finally, his hands grip onto a pink lace-- your underwear. there's a few, but he decides he can do with just one, you wouldn't know if he only took one.

hurriedly, he crumbles it in his big hands, getting up from his knees as he quickly stuffs it into his pockets. it's okay, it's just a one time thing.

his hands are sweaty when he gets home, the entire time he was hanging out with you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, holding onto your underwear in case you somehow spot it, or it falls out- both unlikely situations. but this was his first time doing this, the anxiety building up to the brim.

soobin who lives out his fantasy, the irony of him thanking god for such a sinful wish- he had hoped the laundry basket were dirty clothes waiting to be put in the machine.

the pair he picked up was in fact unwashed, just a deep sniff and he smelled you, such a scent that immediately makes him grow a boner, legs spread apart on his couch as he continues taking a whiff, moaning out your name, palming his dick over his sweats, too impatient to fully get it out, so needy, tears brimming at the shame the closer he gets to cumming, finally stuffing your underwear into his mouth in attempt to drown out his moans, but he still ends up saying your name through the restriction of your underwear, muffles as he chants your name the more he chases his high, his drool staining your cute panties, oh how dirty he was when he finally soils his pants at a flash of you on your knees, just for him.

perv!soobin who uses the pair of your underwear all night, masturbating like a sex crazed addict, spilling his seed all over them, dried cum under yet another load, then another...then another.

soobin who humps his anime girl body pillow, your underwear stained with his cum stuffed in his mouth, eyes rolling back at the imagination of having you under him, stretching you out, slamming his dick into you, with each thrust, your breasts bouncing up and down, so lewd, your mouth hung open dumbly, spit all over, begging him to give you his seed-- oh, how soobin dreams, "you wanna have my babies? y/n you wanna carry my babies? h-hah, g-gonna breed you-- gonna- gonna cum!"

hips getting more unrelenting against his poor pillow, with a final cry muffled in your underwear, thinking of spurting his load deep in your tummy, "fuckkk.." he groans, filling you up so well, the image of his seed seeping out your pussy when he pulls out gets soobin's hips to grind against his pillow just a little more before he finally gives out, so exhausted for going so long, your underwear still loosely in his mouth, drenched with his spit, as he flutters his tear stained lashes shut.

soobin who deep washes your panties, so guilty the next day, trying to scrub off with his hands the scent of his cum, but with all fail, he ends up trashing it. he won't do this again, he can't, he'll never.

...right?

########################

2nd a/n: ok. wow. i really am in my soobin thought dump lol beomgyu's position getting threatened 😭 i might actually do a version for all members im so into this whole perv thing

#txt smut #soobin smut #soobin hard hours #perv!soobin #soobin hard thoughts #🦇 anon #txt hard hours #🌷. rana thoughts

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

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This is a short Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader fic for @lauraliisa and @pasta-m1lk who requested a part 2 of the Hot Seat fic. I won’t be making a part 3 for this; I prefer to leave the rest to your imagination (sometimes I, too, like to torment the ones I love 😈) The fic is SFW, I promise.

Yesterday at the morning debrief, he was back to his usual self, dressed in his military uniform, with his signature skull balaclava, tactical boots and gloves. He eyed each of you independently and gave orders for the day’s duties.

Toilets. That was your day’s duty. Cleaning the fucking toilets.

And as if that wasn’t enough to torment you, he turned in front of everyone and yelled your name.

“Y/N,” he said, “will be quite tired after cleaning duty, don’t you all think?” to which everyone replied with the “sir, yes, sir,” including yourself.

“To thank her for her service,” he continued, “she’ll receive an exceptional deep tissue massage treatment after she fulfils her duties,” and added a “lucky her.”

Soap was standing behind you. “What the fuck did you do this time,” he whispered, and you discreetly asked him what a deep tissue massage meant. He smirked and said, “you’re about to find out.”

Under normal circumstances, a deep tissue massage would have been revitalising with the occasional “good hurt”.

This “deep tissue” massage was like a compact hell week; there was no relief from pained muscles, and full of “bad hurts.”

He made you run 8km with your bergen, do a fuckton of reps consisting of press-ups, burpees and sit-ups, then wash, rinse and repeat.

“Again.” He ordered, and you obeyed.

“Again.” He commanded, and you did as you were told.

“Again.” He said one last time, and you warned him that you were about to throw up, to which he replied with a simple “good.”

He might have thought you were over-exaggerating, but you couldn’t hold it anymore. You stood up with all the power you had left, ran to the nearest trash bin, dipped yourself halfway in, and began to gag. The smell of rotten food didn’t help.

You didn’t hear him approaching, but you felt his glove brushing the stray hairs off your forehead, his other hand gently patting your back.

He didn’t speak until you wiped your mouth with your hand.

“Better?” He asked.

“I didn’t mean to make a fool out of you, sir,” you explained in between gasps, “on the contrary, I was trying to be,” you got another gasp, “discreet, sir.”

He kept stroking your hair and back until you were finished talking. He then helped you up and held you by the shoulders.

“Seems like you’re not well, soldier,” he said in a low voice, “I would suggest requesting a sick leave.”

You were covered in sweat, your hair all messed up, you smelled like a trashcan, and your body ached in places you never knew existed. But you stared at Ghost, dumbfounded. This could have easily been a trap.

“I’m not si-“

“I’ll give you tomorrow off,” he stopped you, “how’s that?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he squeezed your shoulders and shot you a meaningful look. He kept nodding, signalling for you to answer in the same manner.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, looking at him hesitantly.

He patted your shoulder. “Good,” he said, “now, what are you up to tomorrow?”

Your mouth dropped to the floor. “I, um, I’ll be home, I guess, sir.”

“So,” he tilted his head, “no plans for tomorrow?”

“N-no.” You replied, still in disbelief.

“Huh, what a coincidence,” he said, putting his hand on his hips, “I’m on leave tomorrow as well.”

“C-cool…” You muttered. What the fuck was he up to.

“Would you like to go for a coffee tomorrow morning?” He asked, “or tea, in your case, because,” he gestured at the miserable state he brought you in, “you know, you’re sick.”

You kept staring at each other. You couldn’t see Simon’s expression, but you looked like someone picked you up with a giant claw and dropped you right in the middle of a David Lynch movie.

“Should I take your silence as a- “

“Yes,” you nodded vigorously, “as a yes, sir; you can take it as a yes.”

He came this morning with his motorcycle and picked you up; he brought an extra helmet for you and secured it on your head.

He drove you to a café close to the pub you first saw and identified him without his mask, the reason behind all that hazing you’ve been through. The reason why you’re both here now.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you tell him.

“Why not?” He asks, “you’re sick and on leave.”

“I’m not sick,” you whisper with a smile, “and neither are you.”

He shrugs. “Oh, but I am sick,” he opposes you, “sick and tired of serving and ordering and,” he looks around, “killing.” He whispers.

You nod empathetically. He diverts his gaze from you and looks at the street, almost embarrassed for admitting it. You think of his mask; he doesn’t wear it to cover his good looks as you first thought. Ghost is a persona for the battlefield—for serving and ordering and killing. This, right here, sitting in front of you, is Simon.

“Hey,” you snap your fingers to distract him from his thoughts, “you promised me coffee.”

“Tea,” he corrects you, and you shake your head.

“I hate tea.” You say.

He shoots you a death stare and looks up at the sky.

“Why?” he wonders out loud and smiles, “why didn’t I ask you about that before taking you out on a date?” And gestures at the waiter to come and take your order.

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Text

the ebb and flow of fate part 2

(part one) (part three) (part four) (part five) (epilogue)

Cazriel x f!Reader

Summary: “Harmless” she repeated, an edge to her tone. Still, he sensed fear creeping into her. Good. A part of him thought. If he needed to be the one to put the fear into her for her own safety, he would do it gladly.

Word Count: ~6.3k

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, slight degradation?, light bondage, shadow play, oral (m!receiving), masturbation, nightmares, flashbacks, references to sa, stalking, injury, violence, brief mention of panic attacks, bad handling of trauma

A/N: i’ve rewritten this a ridiculous amount of times and i’m very nervous, I'm planning on about 5 parts!

Cassian shot her a wink the next morning. Thank the Mother only he and Azriel were around, because she turned bright red and nearly fled the room. Only the fantastic muffins in front of her kept her rooted to her seat. Mother knows she’d thought about it all last night, up until the early morning hours, hand between her legs trying to relieve some of that pressure. She had the distinct sensation they knew exactly what was running through her mind.

“Long night?” Azriel asked, mouth indenting at one corner.

“Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?”

Cassian let out a low chuckle and shook his head. Azriel crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair - amusement starting to grow on his stupidly beautiful face. She waited, seeing if they’d say anything else.

“Can you blame us for being … curious?” Cassian asked, sitting next to Azriel, pushing his chair a little too close to be just ‘friendly.’

She spotted Azriel’s arm shift, and a slight inhale from Cassian.

“Mother above,” she muttered and snatched her muffins. If she stayed any longer, she might get a bit too curious. She stalked out of the room, ignoring Cassian’s laugh following her.

She should’ve burnt them - tossed them in the trash or sidra, but each time she ripped the seal, unfolding the crisp parchment with shaky hands. With each one, her guilt at hiding them grew as well. They’d … changed, each one laced with a different threat. Not a threat, she reminded herself. The Night Court’s borders were impenetrable, and he was all the way in Autumn. Some kind of infatuation he would get over. She let out a low hiss as the page sliced the edge of her finger, bringing her finger to her mouth. Work, she had work to do, it would take her mind off this. Gods, she was already running late and if someone found out she bled on a book … thankfully the cut sealed itself within the next few minutes. Her eyes glanced at the clock, she’d have to for-go her usual walk and winnow.

Clotho’s pen floated as words appeared on the paper and she spotted the slight furrow of her brow beneath her hood. Something is bothering you.

“Nothing new.” She fidgeted, shifting on her feet as Clotho gave her an assessing look.

Merrill wants to see you. She didn’t bother hiding her groan, drawing a small smile from the priestess. Best of luck.

Merrill, after grilling her with questions on her latest findings, was surprisingly pleasant. As pleasant as she gets, and even offered her some different manuscripts and books she’d recently found that might interest Rhysand. She made sure to thank her, receiving a small nod in reply. Her feet carried her to the small nook on the fourth floor she’d claimed years ago, books piled up to her chin. A tripping hazard, that’s what she was.

Her mind wandered. A week ago, she’d seen Cassian and Azriel. A week since she’d spotted them that night, and the subtle teasing the following morning. Since then they’d both been gone. It wasn’t uncommon for them to be away for prolonged periods of time. Their absence didn’t exactly feel intentional, but the actions prior to it did. There’s no way Azriel hadn’t already noticed her out in the hallway, even if he was highly distracted by his current activity. She’d, embarrassingly, analyzed every detail of that moment. It was branded into her mind at this point. For research, of course, she reasoned to herself. The only conclusion she could come to, taking into account the next morning as well, is they wanted her to see it. They weren’t surprised, not one bit.

She’d taken her work home with her that night. It was getting to closing hours in the library, and the texts had caught her attention enough she didn’t want to stop. She barely paid any notice as she wandered in, settling down in the small Townhouse library and spreading her papers and books haphazardly over the table. A bit of magic propped two different texts open in front of her, and she put her pen back to the parchment already scribbled with notes. She’d have to transcript those into legible handwriting later.

Moments later, she felt a shift in the air around her - then a cool blade against her next. The scent was familiar, and she went still - all of her muscles freezing in place.

“You’re dead.” A cool voice said - no amusement or mirth present.

“I hate you.” She hissed.

A snort. “No you don’t.” The blade, thankfully left and she whirled around, shoving her chair out behind her, hoping it would hit the asshole. It didn’t, of course. He only leant against the window, one hand returning truth teller to its sheath. She wondered how many people got close to that blade without meeting their death - or a world of pain.

“Nice to see you too.”

His mouth quirked up at the corner. “I should tell Cassian how-”

“No.” She interrupted, “no you shouldn’t.”

He raised a brow. If he told Cassian, she’d be stuck in the training ring for hours tomorrow - up at some ungodly hour and miserable, all before work.

“Don’t tell Cassian what?” She yelped as he emerged from between the shelves. “We had a feeling you’d end up right here.” He teased. An ambush.

She groaned. “Is this your idea of ‘nice to see you’?”

He pretended to think about it, before crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. Her feet left the floor as he squeezed most of the air out of her, the rest coming out as a wheezing, inelegant, laugh.

When he finally let her down, after spinning her enough times she was dizzy, she barely had enough time to catch her breath before Azriel wrapped her in his arms. She could only think about how good it felt to be with them, to have their arms wrapped around her - bodies pressed against hers. Even if the hug ran a few seconds too long to be purely friendly, she didn’t mind.

He released her, looking down at her with a softened gaze. Not quite a smile, but a definite improvement from him holding a knife to her throat.

“I missed you.” She said, before realizing just how close they were standing. She cleared her throat and took a step back. “How was your … trip?” She asked weakly, shifting her eyes between the two of them.

“Fine.” Azriel answered, just as Cassian said, “Miserable.”

She bit on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“And your week?” Azriel asked, and she understood the message - not something up for discussion.

“Boring,” she answered. Not wanting to say I missed you both, or I couldn’t stop thinking about you. She would not act like a pining schoolgirl. To their faces. But, her filter had its limits because she asked; “did you do that on purpose?” and fought her wince at her own words.

Azriel’s eyes flickered and from the corner of her eye she saw Cassian take a few steps towards him. “Do what?”

“You know.” She clenched her jaw. They know exactly what she’s talking about - especially based on Cassian’s grin.

“If you want to know something, you need to use your words.”

A part of her, one she shoved deep deep down, went molten. But, she couldn’t hide the red flush covering her cheeks. “I have work to do,” she said quickly, grabbing her chair and pushing it back towards the desk, hiding her face beneath her hair and doing her best to look like she was actually reading.

She heard a low laugh as they left the room, and only once the footsteps faded did she let her head plunk against the desk. “I’m so screwed,” she whispered.

Two letters arrived today, both written out to her by the ‘same person,’ with slightly different handwriting. She frowned at them, one - courtesy of him was expected. But … she hadn’t heard anything from her friends in weeks. She settled on getting the nasty one out of the way.

Her fist crumpled up the paper as she shoved it deep into the drawer. Another letter, more iterations of the same things written before. No need to make a big deal out of nothing. I’ll find you in this world and the next. A shudder ran down her spine. Harmless, she told herself. A temporary infatuation - something he’ll get over.

Every time she approached the fire, papers clenched tightly in her hands, that damn tattoo would start pricking, sending zips of pain down her chest. She found herself turning back around, shoving them into the back of the drawer - willing herself to forget. If they were out of sight, maybe they’d slip out of her mind - and this would all be over. Part of her realized it might not be that easy.

Slowly, she forced her hands to open the second. A brief recap of her last few weeks, her father apparently trying to set her up for an advantageous marriage. But, she seemed pleased with a few of the suitors - describing them in detail - and a specific one she was fixated on. Another local lord's son. Her lips curved into a smile, good, she deserves something to make her happy. She shuffled through the extensive letter - three gods-damned pages.

When will you visit again? My cousin is eager to see you. Maybe you could explore your relationship more, he’s mentioned he’s written to you a few times. You should answer.

She dropped it like it had burned her. Writing to him? She told her exactly what happened. This one, she found herself able to toss in the fire. Her friendship could burn with it.

“You’re an asshole,” she muttered to Cassian, rubbing out a bruise in her left arm. He snatched her hand away.

“That’ll make it worse.”

“Maybe I like the pain,” she snipped back at him. A glint crossed his eyes, gone as soon as it came. “Besides,” she continued as if she’d never seen it. “You’re a sadist.”

A snort came from Azriel in the corner, leaning back against the wall. Shadows swirled gently around him, he had one knee propped up on the wall behind him - arms crossed over his chest. The flush on her cheeks wasn’t entirely from training, something they didn’t need to know. “If you think he’s a sadist, train with your sister.”

She rolled her eyes, and elbowed Cassian. “Why do you think I stick with him?”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”

“Have you … heard from your friend recently?”

By some miracle, she managed to keep her reactions neutral - heart rate steady, breaths even. “I got a letter yesterday,” she admitted. “She’s looking at suitors.” Her nose crinkled with the last word.

“An arranged marriage?”

“In a way. She described each of them. In detail.”

Cassian cringed, “I don’t think I want to know.”

She thought of how she ranked them on potential bedroom prowess. “No, you really don’t.”

“Have you … asked Rhys for her to visit?”

Azriel’s question was careful. She knew his shadows were monitoring her every reaction. At her silence, they both went still.

She shook her head. “I’m not ready to see her.” I don’t know if I ever will be. They seemed .. relieved? “Why are you asking?”

He met her gaze, a cool assessing look on his face. “Wanted to know.”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, but she left it for now.

Hands brushed against her sides, down her ribs, over the curve of her ass. Soft kisses were pressed to her shoulder and neck. Caged in between two warm bodies.

She woke with a start, and a coil building in her stomach. Dreaming, again. Wrong, this was wrong on so many levels. Water, she needed cold, cold water. She debated the risk of running into them - just like she had before, but as far as she knew the two of them were still on some mission and hadn’t returned. Her feet hit the soft carpet, the full moon shone through her window - casting her room in a beautiful, soft glow. Her lips curved up at the corners.

Lost enough in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the sounds, coming from Cassian’s room this time, until she was nearly at the door. Her footsteps faltered, her body turning - not again, her back was already turned as she heard him.

“If you’re that curious, you might as well come in.” Azriel’s voice was rough as he leaned against the doorframe. Slowly, she turned back around. His chest was bare, a slight sheen of sweat glistening on the muscled planes of his chest and stomach. Hair disheveled, lips puffy, cheeks flushed. She’d never seen him like that before. Great, something else to fuel her dreams.

She must’ve been staring, “see something you like princess?” Cassian’s voice came from behind him, and she blinked, startling back into the present. Azriel’s smug face made her want to wipe it right off him - to march back down to her room and pretend she felt nothing, but then his hand reached out. A clear invitation. LIke a god damned fool, she took it.

He was gentle as he tugged her inside, and she knew she had a doe-eyed look. The face of someone completely in awe and completely out of their depth. His hands gripped her shoulders as he walked her back - not towards the bed. The back of her knees hit a chair, and he pushed her shoulders down. She fell rather inelegantly into it, drawing an almost mocking smile from him. His eyes traveled slowly down her body - pausing on her bare thighs - her nightgown ridden up to an almost indecent level, before flicking back up. The hazel hue burnt into her.

“Can you be good and sit there?”

Her cheeks flushed in humiliation and she nodded.

“Words.” His voice had changed, lower and firmer, a clear demand.

“Y-yes.” She stumbled over the word.

“Yes, what?”

“I can be good.” She squeaked. “And sit here.” He gave her an approving nod.

Azriel fisted a hand in Cassian's hair. Knees hit the ground. Fingers dug in his waistband. Gods, she watched as Cassian’s lips parted, Azriel letting out a low groan.

But, his eyes met hers. ”Is this what you think about at night?” How was he speaking?

”W-what?” She asked with a breathy voice. The way he looked at her … like he could see all the way inside her, see every dirty thought and fantasies she had. Maybe he could. His eyes lingered on her thighs. She pulled her dress down as if it might hide any lingering scent of her arousal.

“Show me.”

“I don’t-”

“Show me.” He repeated, a shadow brushing the back of her neck in a comforting gesture, she could read the other words in his eyes; if you want to.

Damn her. She did. Her hands slipped between her thighs, keeping them closed as much as possible. Shadows tugged at her knees, cool air hit her, hit her bare cunt - she’d worn nothing beneath. He shook his head in an amused away, broken off by a low moan as Cassian’s hand twisted around his base. He still had a hand in the other male’s hair, slowly pushing him up and down.

Her eyes fixed on him - on Cassian, as two fingers brushed up her folds, slowly beginning to explore herself. If they were going to put on a show, so could she.

Azriel, she noticed, quickly lost any restraint and she dug her teeth into her bottom lip. His breathing grew heavier, faster as Cassian moved quicker, cheeks hollowing out as if he wanted to finish, if only to watch her. A different kind of power flooded through her, and she shot a half smirk at Azriel. A few minutes passed - maybe, she wasn’t keeping track, but he’d cursed under his breath, thighs clenching, and Cassian stilled.

She barely noticed as Cassian pulled away, finally caught in her own haze of lust. Something cool brushed against her inner thighs. She yelped, trying to shift but shadows wrapped around her thighs and held her in place. Azriel’s eyes met her own; say the word and it stops. She gave him a small nod, and her hands were pulled away, secured to the sides of the chair. She didn’t bother trying to hide her shaky exhale, or her racing heart. And couldn’t hide the arousal slowly pooling beneath her on the chair. The shadows seemed to solidify as they circled around her clit, inside her, trailing up and down her thighs.

It took barely a minute before she was panting, soft whimpers leaving her mouth as she fought to keep the noise inside. If anything, the two of them looked … amused. No matter how attracted she felt to them, how much she wanted them to touch her, she wasn’t sure if she really could. Not with everything that had happened, everything still … happening. The thought drifted from her mind as the circling sped up, shadows almost vibrating against her.

She couldn’t hide her noises this time, eyes half lidded but fixed on the two of them - how they watched her, as her walls clenched and thighs shook.

Then, it was over - shadows gone and released. She tried to calm her racing heart, to steady her breath.

“Satisfy your curiosity enough?” Cassian asked her, adding “Princess,” as an afterthought. Her legs snapped back together, dress pulled down to cover herself, and cheeks flushed.

Her hands braced the sides of the chair. Fleeing, that was the best solution now. Why had she stayed? Well, she knows exactly why - but gods this was humiliating. A quick nod, and she shoved herself to her feet, having to keep a grip on the chair to stay steady.

“I thought I said to use your words.” Az said, the same firm tone as before, but he had a cruel smile playing on his lips as he turned to Cassian. “Didn’t I?”

A low laugh left the other male. “You did.”

“Seems she’s not capable of listening.” They spoke of her like she wasn’t there, and while his head was turned she started stumbling towards the door, legs still shaking.

“Now you have something to fuel your fantasies,” she said over her shoulder, winking at them with false bravado, not even closing the door behind her. She only breathed once she’d reached the staircase, sitting heavily on the top step to try and get her heart to stop racing. From now on, she’d keep a glass of water in her room at night.

“She liked it.” Cassian commented after the door closed. “We liked it,” he turned to Azriel - who now had an extra flush on his skin.

Still, he rolled his eyes. “Another thing for her to dream about.”

“And us.” Azriel gave a noncommittal hum. “Think she’ll come back?” He leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on his forearms. He wondered if they’d been a bit too much. If they should’ve asked her to stay after, to reassure her somehow. Get her to relax. Mother save him - he wanted to touch her, hold her, do … too many things.

Azriel only shrugged his shoulders before taking his leave, closing the door behind him. He flopped back on his bed, running his hands through his hair and hoping they hadn’t messed up.

Azriel knew he had to find her, and slipped from Cassian’s room as quickly as he could. One of them might be better now, and considering he’d led her right into it - he knew it had to be him. Just to check she’s alright.

Her defenses were down as he snuck up on her, sitting right on the top step. He made his footsteps heavier as he approached, taking a seat next to her - leaving a good foot of space between them.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled, hands covering her face.

“Why?” Her hands slid up her face, tightening in her hair. “It doesn’t … have to happen again,” he offered when she didn’t reply.

“Right.” She said hoarsely. “A mistake.”

His chest tightened. If that’s how she sees it … “Right.”

The fingers tightly clenching her hair loosened, shoulders folding slightly inwards. Relief.

“I’m … did I push too far?” Azriel felt unusually insecure. She wasn’t just anyone, for gods sake it was his brother’s younger cousin. One of his closest friends' younger sister. More importantly, his friend.

“Nothing I didn’t want,” she finally looked at him. Cheeks still flushed, a half smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. For once, he couldn’t read her. “Consider my curiosity satisfied.” She shot a wink at him. Y/n rose, brushing her dress down, and turned back down the hallway. His eyes tracked her departing figure. Legs no longer shaky, shoulders held high. A string tugged at his chest. Go after her, a part of his subconscious rose, mistake, mistake, mistake another repeated - and he stayed in place.

Something to fuel your fantasies.

When she was out of hearing range, he let out a groan.

Cassian was surprised when Azriel stalked back into his room. Less so when he explained the conversation he had.

“Did she really call it a mistake?” He asked. He knew Az was telling the truth … but that didn’t seem like her.

“She did. And looked relieved when I agreed.” Azriel replied.

Cassian tensed next to him, he hoped y/n didn’t think Azriel spoke for the two of them, but realistically he knew she did. “I didn’t think it was one.”

Mistake. Why the hell did she say that? It doesn’t have to happen … Does that mean he would’ve wanted it to? She got no sleep that night, the whole situation playing over and over again in her head. And the conversation after. Did she really want it to happen again?

They’d built a friendship over the years, and she doesn’t want it to come tumbling down over this one incident.

“Mistake,” she muttered to herself - drifting into sleep just before dawn.

She startled as her door flew open. Cassian stood in the doorway - fully dressed in Illyrian leathers and grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“Noooo,” she groaned, shoving her face back into the pillow.

“Long nights are no excuse.” She flipped him off and he let out a long-suffering sigh - but left. She hummed in content, and rolled back over to sleep.

Sleep didn’t come, and a large bowl of ice cold water soaked her. She let out a screech loud enough he covered his ears. “I’ll kill you,” y/n snarled.

He raised a brow, as if he was daring her. Her eyes rolled. “Get out, I need to change.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen princess.”

“Out,” she pointed to the door, but let out a low laugh.

“I’ll be back in five,” he said over his shoulder.

“Ten.” She countered.

“Seven.”

“Fine.” She glanced at the clock. He would be back in exactly seven minutes, she didn’t doubt that.

At least he seemed to be acting as usual. Azriel, she’d have to see. There was no doubt in her mind he’d reported their conversation back to him. Az was harder to read, but he had his tells.

I’ll see you soon, my heart.

Be careful where you wander.

I’m getting tired of waiting.

Six months of this bullshit, she winced at the nickname - and he had the nerve to write it like a fucking poem. “Deranged,” she muttered, shoving it into the drawer. He couldn’t get to her, she reminded herself. For some reason, she hadn’t burnt them. Every time she went close to the fire, something stopped her. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Maybe it was time to say something. After the … mistake, a few nights ago - she didn’t know if they would react differently. But, she had reminded herself several times nothing had to be different. Nothing had to change.

“What’s deranged?” An amused voice said from the door. Cassian. She froze, shoving the drawer closed before turning around, leaning back against the desk. His eyes narrowed, he’d clocked every movement on hers. “Keeping secrets?” He raised a brow, striding into her room.

“No,” she answered, a bit too quickly.

“We need to-” she heard Azriel from the doorway. A shadow curled around his shoulders, around his ears, and his shoulders tightened.

“Secrets?” He murmured, following Cassian inside.

“Did I invite you in?” Y/n snapped. Her heart raced, palms starting to sweat. They glanced at each other, before looking back at her.

“Didn’t realize friends need an invitation.” Cassian drawled. Her hands tightened around the desk. Something about the word friends struck her, but she ignored it. “Have a secret lover?” If she didn’t know better, she’d say his voice was a little tight.

“Maybe,” she teased, and both of their eyes flashed. Maybe it wasn’t as much of a mistake as she thought. Then, she thought of how much she was about to ruin, and braced herself. Her chest pricked, their proximity, combined with the proximity of the potential threat making the bargain tug on her. Her hand rubbed slightly at her collarbones, and she realized the mistake too late. “There’s … something I need to tell you. Please don’t be mad.”

A heavy silence filled her room. “What is it?” Cassian’s voice was tight.

“Don’t get angry.” She insisted. More silence. They wouldn’t make that promise. It was too late now to turn back, too late to refuse to tell them.

She turned, heart racing, and slid open the drawer. Her hands shook violently as she gathered the balls of parchment, smoothing each one out as best she could. They waited for her and felt their stares - digging into her back and side like a brand. Footsteps sounded across the room as her hands tightened around the papers, eyes clenched shut. Wordlessly, and without sparing a glance in their direction, she held them out.

Azriel took the papers from her hands, careful not to touch her. Cassian was a step behind.

Azriel’s eyes were scanning the papers, but he kept his on hers. Her pretty eyes passed over him in favor of the exit as she took a step to the side. His wing reflexively flared, ushering her back towards them and blocking her path. In any other situation, he might have laughed but anxiety, guilt, and shame rolled from her in equal waves. They didn’t promise not to get angry, not wanting to make a promise they would break. Still, she was shaking like a leaf and he bumped her shoulder with his wing - in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Only she retreated back into herself more, shoulders curving inwards. He frowned.

Beside him, Azriel was too still. Confident y/n wouldn’t flee, he looked over his shoulder. He hadn’t missed how she rubbed the bargain tattoo on her chest and a pit grew in his stomach.

Several minutes passed as they read together. Azriel would read one before passing it off to him. Letters dating back to months ago, she’d organized them by date. A faint and unfamiliar male scent lingered. A fiery rage grew inside of him with each one.

As he finished the last letter, Azriel spotted the envelope on the desk and snatched it. Addressed to her, her friends name on the outside, but someone else's signing off at the bottom. He’d kept an eye out for any letters or packages coming in after the incident. His anger was split between her, the male, and himself.

“Did you reply to any of these?” He asked, tilting his head to look at her. She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Look at me.” She blinked and slowly did, her shoulder straightened, chin lifted, but a slight tremor in her hands remained and a few tears pricked the corner of her eyes.

“Why didn’t you say something?” His eyes dropped to the tattoo on her chest, peeking out above her top. ‘Anyone does that to you again, you tell us.’ They never specified when. In his peripheral, Cassian looked ready to throttle her or break something.

“I just did.” She snapped at him, her temper flaring.

“Why didn’t you say anything six fucking months ago?” Cassian finally exploded.

“They were harmless.” Y/n matched his pitch.

“If you really thought they were harmless, why did you keep them?” Azriel added cooly. Cooly, but he was struggling to keep his temper in check.

“I tried to get rid of them.”

“And why couldn’t you?” He asked mildly.

“Because of this,” she waved at her chest. Point made.

“Magic,” he emphasized, “thought they were a threat.”

“No.” A muscle in her jaw clenched. “Magic thought it was something similar. That doesn’t make it a threat.”

Cassian let out a disbelieving laugh. He was inclined to do the same.

She ran her hands through her hair, “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“No.” They both answered at the same time.

“We had an agreement.” Cassian added.

“It wasn’t a fair bargain.” She winced after. She did set it up, after all.

“It’s supposed to keep you safe,” Cassian kept arguing with her.

“I can handle myself.” Her eyes were starting to line with tears. Cassian was still angry. He knew that anger - the kind that wouldn’t stop for anything. Wouldn’t stop until he left a path of destruction behind him.

“Really?” Cassian’s brows rose, “Can you? If you can’t recognize a fucking threat?” He was nearly yelling, almost screaming at her.

“Out,” Azriel all but ordered, shoving him out the door. “Cool off.”

Cassian snarled at him, but left without another word.

Azriel fixed her with a look, and she fidgeted - some of the temporary bravado falling away. His delivery wasn’t any gentler, but at least he wasn’t quite bubbling over with rage.

“He’s right. The problem is you don’t fucking think.” Cold, he kept his voice as cold as ice. Let every bit of disappointment, anger, and betrayal sink in.

“What do you mean?” Her entire body seemed to stiffen, expression turning to stone.

His filter disappeared as the words came out. “Why didn’t you leave autumn early?”

Her eyes shuttered closed. “So this is my fault now?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” It was too late for him to take it back. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t leave. Didn’t take herself out of a dangerous situation.

“You made it pretty fucking clear.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t show Rhys.” He switched angles, he knew the loopholes as well as she did.

“I can’t.” Honesty, finally a bit of truth out of her. Tears finally dripped down her cheeks, her face fell, eyes turning empty as her body seemed to cave in on itself. Azriel could stomach a lot of things, but the broken look in her eyes … he had to turn away and leave, before he gave into the temptation to go hunt that male down, hunt him for causing this. Even though he knew part of it was his fault.

Go back. Go back. His shadows were almost pleading, but he ignored them, only sending one to keep an eye on her. Hopefully keep her from doing anything else stupid. Or at least giving him a warning.

After he was out the door, he realized he’d left the letters behind. He debated turning back to get them … later, he could find those later. Now, he needed to find Cassian.

Her jaw was open as Azriel left the room. Turned his back on her. Maybe she had messed up - but to imply what happened was her fault?

They can’t understand if you don’t tell them, said a soft feminine voice. One she recognized well enough.

“Why do I have to explain my trauma?” She murmured out loud. The priestesses had recommended journaling, but anything written down would be fair game here.

Her eyes spotted the letters still on the table. She could hide them now. Gods, she wanted to be petty like that … but if Azriel genuinely thought he was a threat. A threat to her could put others in danger, and that’s not something she could handle.

A plan formed; find him, give him the letters, get the fuck out of here.

She gathered them, and mustered as much confidence as she could to stride out of the room.

Her senses took her down the hall, down a set of stairs, to a smaller office, not used frequently. Did they meet here frequently? She shoved the very inappropriate thought out of her mind.

Sure enough, they were liplocked when she entered. Surprisingly, they burst apart as she flung the door open, letting it bang against the opposite wall. Maybe they mistook her for someone else. She only tossed the papers at him, letting them flutter to the floor in front of him.

“Here’s your evidence,” she put as much venom into her voice as she could, and pivoted to leave. Plan almost finished. They were out of her hands now, out of sight and maybe out of mind. At least she was halfway there.

Azriel re-appeared in front of her, using his shadows to move through the small space. She startled, stumbling backwards - her back hit the desk and she braced her hands on it.

“Don’t leave Velaris.” Every word was laced with a threat and warning.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’ll drop you off in the House of Wind if I have to.”

Every muscle in her body went stiff.

Fifteen years old, her first attempt to leave Hewn City. A door closed. Locks slamming on the outside. Wards trapping her in. Suffocating, she couldn’t breathe - not even the windows would open. She grabbed at her hair, pulling angrily against it - like the pain might bring her back down to earth. “No no no no,” she ran to the door, trying the lock again.

“Get it together,” a voice snapped her out of her reverie. Cassian was in her face. A small bit of worry showed in his eyes, but overshadowed by his anger. She flinched, shrinking back into herself.

He blinked, and took a step back. She was shaking, why was she shaking? Get it together, she repeated his words to herself, and managed to straighten her shoulders.

“Fine. I’ll play by your rules.” For now, went unsaid. Cassian’s brow furrowed. Probably confused by how easily she gave in. “But,” she fixed Azriel with a pointed stare, “don’t think I've forgiven you.”

He let her shove past him, stalking out the door.

“What did you do?” She heard Cassian.

“Nothing. She’s overreacting.”

Part three. Get the fuck out of here. She had to do that, or she might say something she really regrets.

They stayed well out of each other's paths.

Technically, the library was open from dawn till dusk. She took every advantage of it, throwing herself into work and convincing Mor to train after dinner or haunting one of her friends' doorsteps if she wasn’t available. Her sister didn’t question it. Half of her expected the small tattoo to start pricking at her, but it hadn’t. Maybe the intention behind it was not to hide inside the house. Either way, she wouldn’t question it. By some miracle, she’d managed to avoid both of them - although they were in Velaris. A strong shield around her room kept sounds out and in while she was sleeping. Pride kept her from asking if they were staying somewhere else.

“Will you train me?” She’d asked Mor later that day.

She shot her a surprised look. “I thought Cassian did.”

“I need a break from him.”

Mor looked contemplative. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she gave an exasperated sigh.

“I thought you’d never ask.” The wicked glint in her eye made y/n think she might regret this.

Her efforts lasted for two weeks.

She was pinned against a brick wall, one arm against her throat, cutting off her windpipe. Another hand lifted her dress, “I know you like playing hard to get,” a voice whispered in her ear, teeth biting at her neck …

The scene changed, a gentle hand brushed against her cheek, lips grazed against hers - before she was shoved back. She couldn’t see, everything was hazy but the voice was clear as day; “I don’t want anything to do with you.” Azriel. “We don’t want anything to do with you.” Cassian.

Her body lurched forward and she clutched her hand to her mouth. Not as bad as last time. Her hand reached for her nightstand, grabbing the glass of water she always kept there. Moving on muscle memory, she brought it to her lips, waiting for the cool liquid to slide down her throat.

Empty. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. Was it worth wandering downstairs? Her stomach churned again and she flung herself out of bed, not bothering to put on shoes as she stumbled for the doorway, clutching her glass to her chest like a child with a doll.

A small fae light grew from her palm to hover above her, guiding her down, down, down towards the kitchen. Twisting the tap, water filled her glass to the brim. The cold liquid slid down her throat, soothing the burning. Two chugged glasses later, she filled it again to take it downstairs. The door hinges creaked behind her, and she spun around - water sloshing over the sides of the glass, dripping down her bare thigh. She couldn’t move.

Cassian stood in the door, wings tucked in tight, still in his leathers - hair tousled as if he’d just flown in. The first time she’d seen him in two weeks. His eyes tracked the water dripping down her thigh, before darting back up to hold her gaze, his expression unreadable, his hand white-knuckling the doorknob. Twelve soft chimes of the clock. Midnight. He turned, closing the door behind him with a soft snick. Something in her chest cleaved. Wood dug into her back as she slid to the floor.

#cazriel x y/n #cazriel x reader #cazriel #cassian x azriel x reader #azriel x reader x cassian #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian x reader #acotar smut #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #cassian acotar #acotar x reader

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mysillyside · 4 months

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Domestic Lawlight is so funny to me these two would be the most annoying insufferable argumentative difficult couple ever.

Here's how I imagine a "Light asks L to help with basic chores" conversation going (they've been married for years):

Light: Hey L, take out the trash today.

L: I don't want to.

Light: Ok? I fail to see how that's relevant. I didn't want to spend my entire morning cleaning your smelly roach infested room, but I did anyway. Would it kill you to at least not throw your candy wrappers on the floor? You have a bin you know. Two bins.

L: I was planning to pick up the wrappers later today but you beat me to it.

Light: You always say that and then never end up doing it.

L: Just because Light-kun is too impatient to wait, doesn't mean I'm lying. You can't prove I wouldn't have picked up the wrappers had you waited, so this is a baseless accusation.

Light: So I'm the problem. For cleaning your mess.

L: I like how my room looks. Perhaps Light-kun should stop being judgemental of people with different lifestyles.

Light: Do I need to keep stressing that your room had a roach infestation problem.

L: The roaches are my friends.

Light: You are being unbelievably difficult. Is it that hard to take out the trash?

L: I don't want to.

Light: "I DoNT wAnT TO". Why do we have to have this conversation every time I ask you to help me with chores.

L: If Light doesn't like doing the chores I will just get Watari to do them.

Light: L. Watari will not be able to do your chores forever.

L: 20%.

Light: ??? I cannot believe you. I can't believe you are insinuating I would kill my father-in-law because I'm reasonably angry with you for throwing a tantrum every time I ask you to help with basic chores. Will my Kira-relapse percentage rise if I demand you do the dishes today too?

L: 30%.

Light: You are insufferable. Like actually insufferable. You know Watari's gonna die one day, right? He's already really old. I won't be here forever either. Who's gonna take care of you when that happens? Might as well start learning to be an adult now at 30. Better late than never.

L: I wouldn't worry. Light-kun is younger than me and I'm the one in actual threat of dying while doing my detective work. Besides, I'm married to Kira-kun. It's a miracle I haven't ended up dead yet. In any case, Light-kun will most certainly outlive me.

Light: ...I'll make you regret this, L.

Light: *angrily storms off with the garbage bag fuming with rage, already starting to craft a detailed extremely elaborate step-by-step plan to fake his own death so he can teach L a lesson about the importance of doing his goddamn household chores*

#if you don't force your blorbos act like an old married straight couple who hate each other but refuse to get divorced do you even love them #light is correct here btw. you know its fucked up when light “murdering is my coping mechanism” yagami somehow has the moral high ground #death note #l lawliet #light yagami #lawlight #💬 katposts #🤪 sillygoofy #✒️ katwrites

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moralesmilesanhour · 4 months

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piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission:

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did.

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face.

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation.

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’.

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register.

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration.

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap.

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully.

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?”

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness?

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow.

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register.

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?”

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet.

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap.

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it.

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown.

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

You tap your nails on the table, thinking.

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too.

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?”

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face.

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother.

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler!miles #moralesanhour

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