#my mental state is faltering

[xoxxjk]

idk if anyone feels this way too, but life is so stale and boring. like i’m just in a boring ass routine with no true friends and a gay heart full of love and no gf and I don’t know how to fix or change that. i’m so tired of feeling and acting and talking and being surrounded by +35 year olds like i wanna feel fucking 23. I wanna smoke my ass off even MORE, i wanna not stress about bills or my car every fucking day, i wanna just hop in my car and see some friends and hang out and its fun and happy. I wanna go outside for smoke walks at 5am with my love because we couldnt go back to sleep. Or we start baking good ass food or fuck ILL bake and cook for her fine ass to wake up to or for us to enjoy. I wanna stay up till 2am like i used to (even up to 2 years ago) and just enjoy how I stopped watching the time so closely. I wanna travel or go camping or visit a cabin. I just wanna feel like however feeling like a young adult is. life is so stale and confusing and boring and its been this way for so long that i’m actually starting to falter faith that there’s an uphill to this. my only best friend is my sister (not that that’s an issue cause I love her ass to death), I just cannot believe there’s a good billion people & I have no other person to relate to and talk to because either they are, or I’m on, some fuck shit. Then if I try to make friends, half of the people I try to make friends with will have an expiration date of 3 days on the convo or will talk about themselves most of the time without making a slight notion or question that signifies interest in me like I am them. Like this shit is crazy and my stomach has a knot from this. idk man.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Saving Jacaerys during the battle of the gullet? I am not ready for this moment

Who else is not ready for this? I have not read the book, but I know it will be a sad day

Warnings: mention of injuries, death of a dragon,

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

—

Arrows were being shot by the fleet of the Triarchy and Jacaerys was making a big mistake making Vermax fly too low, but you were too high in the sky for him to hear your warning. 

Time seemed to slow as the inevitable happened: a crossbow bolt struck Vermax in the eye. The dragon let out a pained roar, spiraling uncontrollably before crashing into the sea below. The sight tore at your heart, but there was no time for hesitation.

Wasting no time, you commanded your dragon to go down, diving swiftly and weaving through the storm of arrows with remarkable agility. The salty sea air stung your face as you descended, your mind racing with fear and determination.

The chances that Jacaerys survived such a fall was slim, but you had to know for sure. You had to see for yourself.

As you neared the water, you could see the wreckage of Vermax in the churning waves. His green scales and the red of his wings. A tear fell from your eye. 

Please be alive. Please be alive.

Tearing your gaze from Vermax's lifeless form, you scanned the chaotic waters and the fires spreading across the wreckage. Suddenly, a splash of movement caught your eye. Jacaerys had managed to leap free and was now clinging desperately to a piece of wood from a shattered ship. Relief surged through you, mentally thanking the gods. 

You turned in his direction, but before you could get to him, an arrow sliced through the air, striking Jacaerys in the shoulder. He cried out in pain, his grip on the makeshift raft faltering as the arrow pierced his flesh.

‘’Dracarys!’’ you commanded, fury fueling your voice. 

Your dragon responded instantly, unleashing a torrent of fire upon the ship from which the arrow had been fired. The flames consumed the attackers, their screams lost in the roar of the blaze. Satisfaction filled your blood. Hurt the ones you love, and taste the revenge of the dragon. 

You called Jacaerys’ name and he looked up, his face pale with pain and exhaustion. He had a cut on his face and his shoulder was bleeding from the arrow, which was still in his shoulder. 

For a moment, relief washed over him, but it was short-lived as a wave crashed over him. He tried to hoist himself back onto the piece of debris but winced as a jolt of pain flared up his arm. His fingers slipped, wet from saltwater, and he fell back into the cold water, gasping for breath as he resurfaced.

Carefully, your dragon hovered just above the surface, and you reached out a hand, tightly holding the handle of your saddle with your other so you wouldn’t fall in the waters too. ‘’Take my hand!’’

With a grimace, Jacaerys stretched out his good arm, and you pulled him up with all your strength, straining against the weight of his soaked clothes and his own weakened state. He settled in the saddle behind you, safely. You felt him shivering behind you, the cold of the water and the blood loss clearly taking its toll. 

You needed to get back to Dragonstone quickly before cold would take him. You ascended into the air, wings beating heavily against the wind as you fled the scene, escaping the deadly range of the Triarchy's arrows. 

 ‘’You...you came for me,’’ Jacaerys said, his voice weak from the ordeal. 

‘’Of course I came for you,’’ you retorted, your voice a mix of concern and annoyance. What kind of wife would you be if you didn’t come to your husband’s rescue?

Once you landed on Dragonstone, you called out for a maester. Jacaerys’ clothes had dried a little on the journey back, but he was still cold…and bleeding. You asked the servants to fetch him dry clothes and followed Maester Gerardys, who took care of Jacaerys’ wounds. He carefully removed the arrow out and stitched the wound, stopping the bleeding. By the look of pain on Jacaerys’ face, it must not have been pleasant. 

The fire in the hearth crackled, slowly warming up the prince. His wet clothes were discarded on the floor and replaced by dry ones before settling into the chair by the fire, his silence deep and heavy, thinking back to everything that just happened.

You gently draped a blanket over his shoulders, enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth. ‘’What were you thinking, flying so low?’’

Jacaerys looked down. His lack of battle training and knowledge was what got him into this situation. What caused Vermax's death. A tear rolled down his cheek but he wiped it away.

You sat on the second chair, still in your riding gear. ‘’You need to be more careful, Jace,’’ you scolded gently, concern lacing your words. ‘’You're not some invincible warrior. You're the Prince of Dragonstone, your mother’s heir. Your life is too important to risk like that.’’

Your words came from a good place, but Jacaerys wanted to scream. He was tired of hearing people saying his life was important. He wanted to be on the battlefield and come up with strategies, he wanted to do something to be part of this war. 

But hearing the discourse from you felt different. To you, his life was more important than any of his titles. 

Jacaerys sighed. ‘’I'm sorry,’’ he said, his voice tinged with pain and regret. ‘’I was just...I guess I was trying to prove myself. I don't want to be known as the prince who sat on Dragonstone and let others die fighting for his mother's throne.’’

You understood where he was coming from, but proving himself to others was not worth jeopardizing his life. 

‘’You don't need to prove yourself by being reckless and throw your life away. The Queen would not bear losing another child. I would not bear losing you.’’

—

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[liliacamethyst]

Web of Shadow and Light (Part III)

Sequel to Webs of Fate

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 5.2 K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine

Part I Part II Part III

The Spider-HQ echo with an unsettling symphony - a child's piercing cries and the hushed whispers of concern from some of the multiverse's bravest Spider heroes. They stand clustered around the smallest yet most powerful disturbance they've ever encountered - a baby boy. His wails have been echoing through the HQ since Miguel left the room, leaving the baby and dozens of Spider-man behind. Each cry is a call for help that pulls at their hearts, demanding attention, challenging their patience.

After much deliberation and coaxing from the rest, Miguel gave his team an ultimatum - they have until dawn to find an alternative solution, before Gabriel has to be eliminated, before the universe collapses on itself. His voice was a cold whisper when he spoke, "Figure out another way by tomorrow morning, or..." Nobody dares to complete the sentence, not even Miguel, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the air. And with that Miguel was gone, and the baby immediately started wailing and hasn’t stopped since.

Now Gwen, with her brows knitted in worry, rocks the baby with desperate gentleness. Her blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a look of sheer helplessness painting her usually confident face. Beside her Peter B. is attempting to cheer Gabriel up but his efforts as pointless as they are endearing. The usually funny and charming Peter B seems to be losing a battle of wits with a one-year-old. It would've been humorous, had the situation been any different.

The sight of the little baby boy weeping his heart out, oblivious to the chaos his presence is causing tugs at their hearts, binding them in a collective resolution - they must protect this child. The shadows and the light, entwined in this web they’ve all been thrown into. And the clock is ticking.

Hobie scoops up the little boy, cradling him close in an attempt to soothe his relentless tears. "See, the cow says muhhhhh," he coos. His tiny cries falter, curiosity momentarily replacing distress. He gazes at Hobie with wide eyes, intrigued by the cool looking man. "And the butterfly," Hobie pauses dramatically, "well, the butterfly don’t say nothin’." He continues his little game, while rocking the baby gently in his arms. "And the pig says-"

 Miles chimes in with an eager grin, "Oink, Oink."

"Nah, bruv," Hobie laughs. “The pig says, ‘You have the right to remain silent!’”

Gabriel’s face scrunches up, and the waterworks start again. Hobie chuckles, "Fair enough, little fella. Cops make me wanna cry too."

Meanwhile Jessica Drew, clad in her black and white Spider-Woman outfit, her dark locks cascading around her shoulders, is leaning against the doorframe, half entering the room, her eyebrows raised. "Well? I assume he didn’t stop crying?“

Beside her Peter B.  with his shaggy brown hair and five o’ clock beard just shakes his head. 

“This is nuts. Nothing, and I mean NOTHING is working.“ Gwen states.

In the background, the cries of baby Gabriel cotinue, little fists flailing as he continued his tantrum. Jessica, arching an eyebrow, comments, “He’s still going at it?”

Hobie Brown, just gives her a quick nod. “Oh yeah, the kid has got a set of lungs.”

Suddenly, Pavitr Prabhakar, yelps as a makeshift toy, made out of wood and spiderwebs, hit him square in the forehead. "Ow! And one hell of arm throw."

Methodically, Jessica starts running through a mental checklist. “Diaper?”

Peter B. Parker nods. “Clean.”

“Food?” Jessica glances at Miles who holds a baby food jar and a bent spoon.

Miles, in his black and red suit, shrugs. “Kept smacking the spoon out my hand.”

“Nap?” Jessica's questions further.

The entire room answer in unison, clearly frustrated “Literally the first thing we tried.”

Pavitr smirkes at them. “Jinx.” But his joke is short-lived as Gabriels screams become even louder.

Gwen, then takes charge, “Ok, we have to do something,” her eyes flicking around the room with determination. She points to Jess, “You have to talk to Miguel. You’ve been around him the longest, maybe you can get through to him.”

Jess looks hesitant but nods.

“And Peter,” Gwen turns to Peter B who’s still juggling items in his hands, to entertain the baby and stop his crying. “Get Mayday’s toys. Maybe the baby’s just bored.”

Peter gives a thumbs up. “You got it, boss.”

“And Pav, Hobie,” Gwen instructs, her voice steady. “You need to rally the other Spider-people. We need everyone on board to protect this little guy.”

“Margo, you’re with me, girl. We are  paying our old friend Lyla a little  surprise visit. Something’s a little fishy with her.” Margo nods eagerly. 

As everyone scatters into action, Miles stands there, looking slightly lost and raising his hands. "Hey, guys, you forgot about me! What am I supposed to do? How can I help?" he calls out to the rapidly moving group.

Pav whirls around and points at Miles, "You, take care of the little guy, newbie," he says, as Hobie thrusts the still crying baby into Miles' arms.

"Great," Miles grumbles, balancing Gabriel on his hip and looking down at the squirming bundle of tears.

 He starts to bounce up and down gently, trying to imitate what he's seen in movies. The baby continues to cry, unfazed by Miles' efforts.

“Alright buddy, let’s figure this out together. I can swing through New York, so how hard can babysitting be?” Miles whispers to the baby.

Hours drag on and Gabriel's relentless cries continue to echo through the HQ. Despite his earnest attempts, Miles, armed with only his spider powers and limited babysitting experience, is unsuccessful in calming the baby. He’s tried everything he can think of – makinf funny faces, telling funny stories in a soothing tone, gently swinging him back and forth with his web-slinging skills, and even humming a little tune (it was Humble by Kendrick Lamar, but the thought counts, right?). At one point, he even tried to entertain the baby by creating animals out of webbing, but that didn’t work either. The baby is relentless, and his cries only seem to get louder. 

In the meantime in Miguel’s office, the echoing cries penetrate through the walls. Migel is sitting behind his desk looking at some documents, while Jess stands in front of him.

“Please, Miguel, it’s a baby boy. How did you imagine doing this, huh?” Jess exclaims, her voice rising. “Did you plan to build some sort of machine to just vaporize him? Or did you think of strangling him with your own bare hands? I know you’re not a monster.” But Miguel's face remains stoic, his eyes never leaving the papers on his desk.

“And look,” Jess continues, pointing vaguely in the direction of where the baby’s cries are coming from, “this baby is already older, and nothing has collapsed yet. The universe is still here.”

“I can’t risk any more lives, Jess,”Miguel responds coldly, finally looking up at her.

“But what if there is another way? We haven’t even tried everything. We have brilliant minds here. Let’s...let’s figure something out that doesn’t involve.. that,” Jess pleads, her voice softening.

Miguel looks at her for a long moment but his expression remains unreadable. The cries of the baby continue to fill the air.

Jess then turns her gaze towards Lyla, , who is stationed nearby, her holographic interface flickering with data. “Lyla, what are the kid’s powers? Run a genetics test, a DNA test. We need something to work with.” 

Lyla’s synthetic voice answers in an eerily calm tone, "I have already processed the genetic information, Jessica. Thanks very much, genius. As per my findings, the child’s power attributes remain undefined. In regards to the DNA test..."

Lyla hesitates just a fraction of a second, but enough for Miguel to notice. It's an unexpected response from an AI that's programmed to be efficient and direct. A strange tingle rises within him but he pushes it aside, refocusing on the matter at hand.

“is inconclusive.” Jess squints at Lyla. “Inconclusive? What do you mean? Is he an anomaly or not?”

“He’s an anomaly, certainly. However, the DNA analysis is...complicated,” Lyla maintains her composed tone. “Complicated how?” Jess presses on. “Just...unfamiliar and intermingled genetic markers,” Lyla responds vaguely. “The child is an enigma.”

"Miguel, please" she continues, turning back to Miguel, clearly frustrated with Lyla's vague responses that are not helping her case. Her tone is still serious, "this isn't some variation of a monster, this is a baby."

For a moment, Miguel’s gaze flickers, his usual icy aura briefly wavering. "It doesn't matter," he finally grunts, closing his eyes as if to physically shut out the argument. Jessica's voice turns unexpectedly brittle. "I didn't join the Society to kill innocent kids."

Miguel clenches his jaw hard. "We do what we have to do for the greater good. No exceptions." Jessica takes a deep breath, her next words coming out almost in a whisper. "What if there was my Gerald or a version of your-" she begins, but is quickly cut off.

"DON’T. Don't even go there, Jessica" Miguel growls, his hand forming into a tight fist. "And why the hell is it still crying?"

Jessica's gaze softens slightly. "That child, that little boy, probably misses his parents. Parents who are going through hell right now, searching for their baby." Miguel's fist tightens further, a spark of something, maybe regret, guilt,  flashing in his eyes. Jessica presses on trying one last time to convince him. "He was found in 586, right? Maybe we can reconnect with Su-" 

"No," Miguel interrupts sharply, his voice a final command. “Until tomorrow morning, Jess,” he finally says in a low voice, putting an end to Jess’ outburst. “That’s all. You can leave now.” 

There’s a heavy silence, where the only sound is Gabriel’s distant crying.

Jessica looks at Miguel, her gaze piercing. "Think about what you’re doing, Miguel," she whispers and leaves the room, closing the door softly behind her.

In the heart of the HQ, Margo sifts through the labyrinth of Lyla's concealed data. She uncovers a file that captures her attention – the baby's DNA results. "There you are," she mutters to herself, an air of triumph in her voice. As she opens the file, her eyes widen in disbelief, "Oh no…“

"What is it, Margo?" Gwen asks making her way over to Margo.

Margo's voice trembles slightly. "So, while looking through the hidden data, I found the baby's... there was a parental match."

Gwen's heart skips a beat. “I knew something was was off with Lyla. Of course she knows more. Well, who are the little guy's parents?"

Margo hesitates, then blurts out, "Miguel and Sunny."

Gwen stops dead in her tracks, her mind reeling. "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?"

"The baby's mother is Sunny, and the father is Miguel," Margo reiterates, her voice steady.

Gwen eyes widen. "But... are you sure? I know Sunny's baby. I was there when baby Gabriel was born!“

"Yes, I'm sure. There were two parental matches for the baby in the spider DNA logs:Sun Spider and Spider-Man 2099. When was the last time you saw the baby, Gwen? Babies change quickly at that age." Margo confirms. 

"Miguel and Sunny? That's not possible... how have we never noticed that there's something going on between those two?" Gwen's mind whirls with confusion.

"Oh, I noticed," Margo's voice holds a hint of smugness, "The way he was sneaking into her room at night? And the way he looked at her every time she set foot in a room, like a lovesick puppy. It was adorable. Wait, nobody else noticed?"

Gwen splutters, taken aback, "What? No, I... well, he's all 'we need to sacrifice ourselves to protect the multiverse. No more traveling for fun'" she imitates Miguel's voice with a teasing lilt, then she adds, "And Sunnys is literally the personification of a warm embrace."

Gwen's mind whirls but she continues, “ Woah, okay lets focus on the important part. I mean, I knew something was wrong with Lyla, but why... why would she do that?"  

"There's more, Gwen," Margo says, her voice shaking slightly. "I found another thing in her data. It's... it's about how she's processing information."

Gwen frowns, "What do you mean?"

Margo takes a deep breath before explaining, "In simple terms, Lyla's been teaching herself new things. She's changing, growing beyond her original programming. Her code is self-evolving."

"And the data about the baby?" Gwen asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Margo sighs, "She's been... twisting it, making the baby seem more dangerous than it actually is."

Gwen's mind reels with this new information, the world around her seeming to tilt. "But why?" she finally manages to ask. "Why would Lyla do this?"

"I don't know, Gwen," Margo admits. "But we need to find out and warn Miguel. And soon."

Meanwhile in Miguels office, the wailing becomes louder, almost as if piercing through the walls, trying to reach something, or someone. Miguel's face betrays his discomfort, as if the cries are tugging at his walls around his heart. There's a weight on his chest, something unidentifiable that makes it hard to breathe.

Suddenly Lyla’s holographic interface hums. She begins to show the outline various strategies for eliminating the child. Her voice, analtytic but almost cheerful, fills the room. “So, we could create a temporal displacement field, effectively erasing the child from existence. Or perhaps expose him to a slow-acting molecular destabilizer..." 

 "Based on the trial," she continues unfazed by Miguel’s lack of response. "the device should work as intended, wiping out any of its DNA and trace. Be like the anomaly never existed." There's a hint of satisfaction in her words.

Miguel, until now staring blankly at the wall, finally turns towards Lyla, his complexion pale and his eyes wide.

His insides twist painfully, the mere idea of bringing harm to this innocent child becoming now unbearable.

“Stop,” Miguel chokes out.

“Apologies, Miguel. We must consider all options for preserving the multiverse. You out of all people should know that,”Lyla retorts.

But something within Miguel snaps. His ice-cold distant facade crumbles. Rising abruptly, his chair clatters loudly onto the floor.

Without saying another word, he strides out of his office. “Miguel? Are you listening? Where are you going?” Lyla calls after him, but her words are unanswered in the empty room.

Walking down the hallway, Miguel slows down as he passes the room where the infant's cries come from. He pauses when he hears Miles' pleas inside.

“Little dude, if you stop crying promise I’ll get you some cool kicks. Maybe some baby Jordans? Please, please just stop crying,” Miles pleads, his voice sounding desperate and utterly exhausted.

After a moment hesitation, Miguel pushes open the door and steps into the room. His gaze, sterner than ever, as he takes in the scene: Miles looking near defeat, his energy spent trying to soothe the wailing child, his spider suit rumpled and hair disheveled.

"Enough," Miguel comms sharply.

Miles looks up from where he's been pacing with the baby, his eyes wide like he's just been caught stealing cookies from a jar. “You,” Miguel points at Miles, who is holding the still-crying baby. His voice booms with authority. “Put him down”

Miles, slightly dumbfounded, obeys and carefully lays the child down on his makeshift bed. “I need you to return to Earth 586. Get some of his belongings - toys, blankets, anything you can find," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But Miguel--" Miles startsbut gets cut off immediately.

"Now," he says, his red eyes flashing dangerously. Miles opens the portal hastily and disspears to your universe.

The crying has subsided to whimpers, and Miguel finds himself kneeling next to the little one, who reaches out for him. As if on autopilot, Miguel’s hands scoop him up abruptly from the bed.

"Quiet, niño. "Miguel growls at him with a  low and threatening tone. "I could just... do it right now." His irritation gets the better of him, and he bares his fangs at the little one. This sight shocks Gabriel into silence for a moment, his big, teary eyes widening at the sight. 

But then, to Miguel's surprise, the baby breaks into a fit of giggles, the sound infectious and joyous.

Gabriel suddenly mimics Miguel, baring his own little teeth – two tiny milk teeth and the beginnings of baby fangs peeking from his gums, causing Miguel to stiffen in shock.

Caught off guard Miguel's hold slips and Gabriel lands back on the web-shaped bed with a bounce. The baby's laughter ends abruptly and is replaced once more with tears and cries.

Still in shock, Miguel stumbles back a step, but Gabriel's cries soon pull him back into the present. With a sigh, he picks up the little boy yet again andGabriel immediately snuggles into the crook of Miguel’s neck, his tiny arms winding tightly around his throat.  Miguel swallows hard, unsure of what to do next. 

Then, almost instinctively, he starts to hum a tune he thought he'd long forgotten. "Tú eres mi sol de la mañana, el sol que brilla..." His voice is barely audible, the words shaky. Gabriel's little body relaxes against him, a content sigh escaping his lips followed by a quiet yawn. He nuzzles closer to Miguel, his tiny breaths falling into sync with the rhythm of the song. "...alegra todo, mi corazón," Miguel coninues softly, his mind flooding with memories. He sees a bright, lively girl with the same curious eyes as the boy in his arms. 

"Daddy," Gabriella asks, her large eyes bright with curiosity as she looks up at him, "why do you call me your morning sun? I'm not yellow."

Miguel chuckles at her innocence, his fingers gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He cradles her against his chest, looking into those eyes so full of wonder. "No, mija" he replies, his voice soft with affection "you're not yellow but you are my sunshine."

"But why?" She wrinkles her little nose, her childish curiosity making Miguel's heart fill up with love.

"Because, mijita," he begins, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, "just like the sun, you light up my world. You chase away the darkness with your laughter and your love. You are warmth, you are joy, and just like the morning sun, you are a new beginning, a promise of a brighter day." 

Gabriella blinks up at him, her lips curving into a small, and she hides her smile in the crook of his neck. "I like that, Papi," she whispers, "Sing the song again, please?"

“brilla, conmigo, brilla que brilla, alegrandome esta cancion. Tu eres mi sol de la manana…“

Eyes closed, Miguel draws Gabriel unconsciously closer, his heart full, and for the first time he’s feeling a sense of contentment he hasn't experienced in years. 

The moment is shattered by the sound of a throat being cleared, pulling him abruptly out of his peaceful trance.

Peter B is standing in the doorway, arms loaded with various dolls. "Wow, he's finally asleep," he remarks, looking between Miguel and the now sleeping Gabriel with a relieved smile. "I was starting to think that was impossible." 

Without responding, or even sparing a glance in Peter's direction, Miguel turns away from the door and heads to the bed. He gently places the sleeping toddler down, pulling a small blanket over him. Once he's confident that Gabriel is settled, Miguel quietly leaves the room, his demeanor as frosty and aloof as ever, making no acknowledgment of Peter's presence. 

Peter B is quick on his feet, rushing after Miguel. "I brought him toys from Mayday," he blurts out. "She won't miss them. She's not too good at sharing, but I guess she won’t mind in this case."

Miguel continues his stride, not giving Peter so much as a backward glance. "Que maravilla," he mutters under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Ignoring the dismissal, Peter B. reaches out and places a hand on Miguel's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Miguel raises an eyebrow and glances back at him half-heartedly, clearly not interested in a conversation.

Peter takes a moment, his gaze intensifying. "Hey, boss," he begins, his voice shaky yet determined. "We can't let anything happen to this boy, right?" 

At Peter's words, Miguel closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Back on Earth 586, you're in the throes of a meltdown. Your little boy, Gabriel, is nowhere to be found. You've scoured the whole city of Nea Yorkey, every nook and cranny you can think of, but there's no trace of him anywhere. Desperation gnaws at your insides, and fury bubbles up, hot and fierce. Your mind is in turmoil, swirling with anger and fear, clouding your ability to think straight. One thing is crystal clear though: whoever dared to touch your child will pay dearly for their actions.

You're frantically trying to find a way to contact anyone from the Spider Society, while simultaneously considering every possible avenue to traverse the multiverse yourself. Alchemax - the multinational conglomerate known for its cutting-edge research and technological advancements - seems to be your only hope. As you're about to make your way there, a sound from Gabriel's room stops you in your tracks.

Your Spider senses, already on high alert due to the unexpected circumstances, seem to kick into overdrive. Every instinct within you screams that something is about to happen. Your heart pounds in your chest like a wild drum as you slowly approach the room.

Meanwhile, in Gabriel's room, Miles is having his own share of troubles. In his haste, he stumbles over a toy car that starts making an assortment of noises and brightly lit animations. "Ah, this stupid toy!" he curses under his breath.

A thought suddenly crosses his mind and he wonders aloud, "Wait, does he need a blanket?" Just as he's about to reach for a small bunny stuffed animal that lay discarded on the floor, an intense blast of sonic energy sweeps across the room.

Caught by surprise, Miles finds himself flung across the room, his back hitting the wall with a thud. Before he can even let out a gasp, a spider web shoots out, pinning him securely against the wall. There he hangs, suspended, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His breath comes in shallow gasps as he attempts to comprehend what just happened. Well its safe to say he didn’t saw that coming.

Miles, still stuck against the wall, manages to blurt out, "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" you echo, incredulity lacing your tone. "You break into my son's room and ask me whoI am?"

Your mind races as Miles stammers, "Wait, your son's room? Wait, are you...are you a Spider-person aswell?"

Ignoring his question, you stride towards him, an aura of threat radiating off you. "Stop talking!" you command, "I ask the questions!" In your hand, a ball of solar energy forms, crackling with power and casting a glow across the room.

"Why are you here? Where is my son?" The words are more of a growl than a question, the motherly instincts in you sending waves of danger rippling across the room. "Your son is okay, please don't hurt me!" Miles pleads with a shaky fear laced voice.

Squirmy and visibly frightened, Miles stammers out his confession, "We-we took him...it was our mission... He's an anomaly...we needed to get him out of this universe, send him to his own, so it wouldn’t collapse and interfere with the multiverse...but he doesn't have one, and I'm so sorry..."

His voice dwindles to a murmur, words tumbling over one another in his haste. Amidst his ramblings, your icy inquiry slices through like a blade, "Who instructed you?"

A sharp wince contorts his face, betraying his fear. "Our boss..." he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, "Miguel... Miguel O'Hara."

The energy in your hand dissipates, leaving only shock in its place. It's almost too much to take in - the idea that Miguel, your Miguel, could have done something like this. "He's okay, we... we didn't know he was the son of a Spider-woman. I'm Miles Morales, by the way." he introduces himself, attempting to inject some normalcy into the situation.

"I'm Spider-Sun," you respond automatically, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"Wait … you?" Miles' eyes widen in recognition. "You're Sunny?" When you give a numb nod in response, he continues, "You look more like 'Stormy' if you ask me." Your gaze snaps to Miles, the intensity of your death glare immediately silencing his attempt at humour. "Sorry, sorry," he stammers, raising his hands in surrender. "I just...I've heard Gwen and Peter talk about you."

"They never stop talking about you," Miles continues, trying to regain his composure. "They always say you have such a radiant personality and how much they miss you. They take care of your son, don’t worry. Hes safe for now.” 

"What do you mean he's safe 'for now'?" you cut him off abruptly, your voice cold and hard. Miles gulps nervously before responding.

"Eh...we have until morning to find a solution for this...anomaly," he stammers. You interrupt him, seething with a fury that makes him cringe. "My son's name is Gabriel. He is not an 'anomaly'," you spit out the words like they are poison, hating the way they make your sweet little boy sound like some kind of mistake.

"Eh, yes, for Gabriel," Miles corrects hastily, "because, eh... if we don't find an alternative, they need to, eh...eliminate..." He trails off, speaking so quickly and softly that you almost don't catch his last word.

"ELIMINATE?????" You scream and for a split second, Miles is sure he sees your eyes blaze with a terrifying, luminating light. 

"We can stop them. We can talk to them and say it's your son," Miles says quickly, desperately hoping to calm you.

"I don't talk. Bring me to my son," you demand. Without wasting another moment, you order him to open the portal. "Y-yes, right away, Sunn... eh, Mrs. Sun, eh... Ma'am," he stammers, visibly trembling under your steely gaze.

 It takes him two shaky attempts before he manages to successfully open the portal, his hands still unsteady from the encounter.

Back at the headquarters, Peter chases after Miguel into his office. "Boss, all I'm saying is, what if Lyla is wrong?"

Miguel is pinching the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping his lips. The weight of the situation is quickly becoming too overwhelming and he feels himself teetering dangerously close to his breaking point.

Just at that moment, Gwen, Pav, Margo and Hobie burst into the office, their faces set withdetermination. "Miguel, there’s something you need to know.  Please hear us out. Margo and I, we found something.Lyla is - ," Gwen starts but Miguel is quick to silence her with a raised hand.

Just as Miguel is about to speak, the lights flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the room. Hobie looks around nervously. "Is that eh...normal?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Did you forget to pay the electricity bill?" 

The lights flicker even more violently, plunging the room into a dance of shadow and light.

With a violent burst, the door is flung open, and a brilliant surge of light blinds everyone. You stand in the doorway, an ethereal aura glowing around you.

"O'Hara!" Your voice thunders through the room, heavy with wrath and revenge. As Miguel turns around to face the source of the sound, a massive, lightning-tinged sonar blast slams directly into his chest. He's pushed backward, knocked off balance before he can brace himself for the attack. He tries to recoverr, to shift into defense mode but he doesn't get the chance. You're relentless, a solar goddess in human form, hurtling blast after blast at him. Miguel has no time to regain his stance, each attack landing with more force than the last. 

Gwen makes to step forward, her instincts screaming at her to intervene, but Peter grabs her arm, pulling her back. "That's Sunny," he says, his voice a mixture of awe and concern. Hobie's eyes widen comically. He cocks his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Our Sunny, eh? Blimey, I never knew she had it in her. That rebellious firecracker," he mutters, a distinct note of admiration creeping into his typically laid-back British drawl.

Miles bursts into the room, breathless and disheveled. He stumbles towards Gwen, his voice hurried and concerned, "I tried to stop her, but she was...she was furious. Woahhh, I've never seen Miguel get beaten like this before."

And he wasn't exaggerating. Miguel was fighting back, his fangs bared, his claws out and ready but he was no match for your rage-fueled attacks. You were right up in his face, delivering punch after punch at a brutal pace

"Where's my son, O’Hara? What have you done to him?" you demand, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

At your words, Miguel's movements falter. His defense wavers, and he barely manages to gasp out, "Your son?" He doesn't dodge your next blow, doesn't attempt to shield himself or strike back. Instead, he allows you to continue.

Miguel is shocked. His reflexes kick in as he sees the next punch coming and he grabs your wrist, halting your next powerful punch aimed for his face. He locks eyes with you, his gaze holding an emotion you've never seen in him before. Is it fear? No, it's much deeper, more profound.

As he stares at you, your luminescent eyes gradually lose their fiery intensity, shifting back to their human form.

"I... I didn't know," Miguel stammers, his voice a trembling whisper. "Lo – lo siento. I – I didn’t know.”

His breaths are ragged, and you can see a war waging inside him.

"But...how?How didn’t I know?" His voice is choked, your wrist still securely in his grip. “Your son?” Miguel continues,his voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes search yours and all he sees is raw, untamed anger with an aching pain that pierces his soul.

“Yes, MY son!” your voice echoes through the room like a whip. “Did you think that you could just take him from me? That I wouldn't come for him?”

Miguel’s grip on your wrist loosens as he stumbles back. His heart feels like it’s about to explode as realization dawns on him. The dark curls, the small fangs the baby had bared at him –pieces of a puzzle start falling into place. His own blood runs cold.

“Where is he, Miguel? Where’s myGabriel?” your voice breaks as you say the name, and it feels like another punch to Miguel's gut.

“Gabr...” Miguel chokes. “No... no...”

His voice is barely audible, the air knocked out of him by the significance of the name. His knees buckle, and he falls on the floor. "NO."

“You, who I thought would protect any child, wanted to eliminate my – our – flesh and blood!” Tears, full of anger and hurt, stream down your face, but your voice doesn't waver one bit. 

Miguel, still on the floor, looks up at you with tear-streaked cheeks. “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, on Gabriella’s memory. I-I wanted to do the right thing. I- I never, -Lo siento.” 

There’s a moment of tense silence as you look down at the shattered man before you,the love of your life, the father of your child, who almost made the most horrifying, unforgivable mistake.

Just then, from another room, the faint sound of a baby's cries pierce through the heavy atmosphere. You abruptly yank your wrist out of his grasp and towards the door to leave.

Your heart clenches as you break into a run, following the pitiful cries. You don’t look back.

Miguel remains on his knees. He doenst follow you, he doesn’t dare to move, anchored by the crushing weight of what he's done, as the sounds of Gabriel's cries fade into the background.

"Gabriel," he whispers, the name escaping his lips like a vow. A promise of redemption. And with that single word, Miguel knows he'll move heaven and earth to protect his child.

Part 4 "Webs of Redemption"

Hello, you wonderful souls! I want to say a big thank you for your patience and kind words about this series. I really appreciate each of your sweet comments and messages – they mean so much to me. Thank you all for the insightful ideas and suggestions you contributed for part 3. I've incorporated as many of your concepts as I could because they're simply brilliant. I'm eager to hear more of your thoughts, criticisms, and proposals for part 4. I also want to give a special thanks to Jess, @wolfjessedragon . Her inspiration and amazing ideas were the driving force behind Part 3, and I couldn't have written it without her! love you guys, keep being awesome!

[cal-flakes]

hi lover!! can we see dealer!rafe teaching innocent!reader how to do a bump pretty please 😋😋 my fav trope!!!

yes yes yes yes you fuckin’ can my love. (not proofread i apologise i am a sleepy girl rn)

‧₊🫧꒷꒦‧₊˚⋆

— “you lost or somethin’?” a smug voice appeared behind you, causing you to flinch in fright, lost in your own mind. you peered up at him, all glossy lipped and doe eyed, just like he expected. “oh— rafe! sorry, i was jus’ seeing if i left my charger in here” you explained, a sweet smile gracing your face. his brows furrowed, yet his shoulders relaxed, simply unable to keep up the intimidating act while you beamed up at him the way you did.

“and why would it be in here?” he questioned further, eyes narrowing slightly while a smirk tugged at his lips. “oh no— i mean, i didn’t leave it in here, but sarah said she might’ve let you borrow it or something?” your grin faltered slightly, picking up on the undertone of annoyance in his voice.

it wasn’t that rafe was scary— well, he was, but he made an effort not to scare you. how could he? his sister friend who always showed up in sweet little dresses, neatly styled hair, perfected makeup. the last thing he wanted was to scare you, if anything he wanted to know more. unbeknownst to rafe, you were just as intrigued— ogling him over the kitchen island when he came back to tannyhill late at night, interrupting your and sarah’s girly nights in. always offering to help whenever he seemed stressed.

taking a step back, he reached into his bedside drawer with ease, pulling out a familiar bedazzled iphone charger. “m’messin’ with you kid, y’mean this charger?” he chuckled, watching carefully as you let out a quiet, shaky breath before quickly regaining your smile. “that’s the one! thanks rafe!” you giggled, taking the item from his hands before heading for the door. “y’know, why don’t you stay for a bit? spend some time w’me? she’s got you all to herself all the time”

your hand retracted from the door immediately as the words left his mouth, though mentally scolding yourself for seeming so eager. “well— i’m sure she wouldn’t mind, just for little while”

— before you knew it, hours had passed, the only noise in the house being the movie rafe had picked as well as your giggles. you’d found yourself laying down on his bed, head resting on his knee as he lay against the headboard.

“y’look tired doll, y’okay?” he hummed, resting a lazy hand on your cheek as you released a surprised yawn, not wanting him to think you were getting bored. “jus’ a little, s’okay though, i can stay up a bit longer..” you spoke softly, turning over to face him now.

“i’ve got somethin’ that can help” he stated nonchalantly, reaching again into his bedside drawer, this time pulling out a not-so bedazzled baggy. your brows knitted together. “whas’at?”

“you trust me?” he tested, cocking an eyebrow as he sat up slightly. “course’ i do rafe” you smiled naively, watching as he opened the bag, tapping it gently as he poured out a small pile onto the back of his thumb. “this, is everything you need”

his other hand beckoned you forward till you were within his reach, carefully pulling you into his lap, legs slotted beside his as you tugged at the hem of your dress, doing your best to cover up. “now, your gonna close your other nostril, and sniff up— hard, m’kay? you listenin’ baby?” he instructed, tapping your jaw slightly as if you bring you back into the room, noticing the vacant look in your eyes as they stared at him in awe. “mhm”

swiftly, rafe pressed his hand to the back of your head as his other came up to your nose, guiding you through it as the grainy powder made its way up your nose, an unfamiliar feeling that only made your eyes water. “s’okay doll, it’ll hit you in a second alright?” he cooed, using the same hand to wipe away the pools building in the corners of your eyes before pulling you further into him.

“not just sarah’s little friend after all, huh kid?” he smirked, allowing you to nuzzle into his chest for a moment as you both waited for the high.

[luludeluluramblings]

Damian Wayne’s Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: Strictly Platonic, this ain’t no Game of Thrones.

A/N: I’m over halfway done with Part Six, but I need to fluff it up. Life is just exhausting me right now. I feel like my writing is downgrading despite my efforts. But, I’m assuming that’s just the exhaustion.

A/N: Also, how y’all feel about AI art? I have some images of the Smalltown Folks for visualization purposes, but I’ve been keeping them ambiguous in the story. I plan on giving background information on them, so if y’all wanna see ‘em lemme know.

Warning: Slight Obsession and Yandere Themes

Damian is so similar to his father and Tim in the way he sees Reader, his blood sibling. But, only after he realizes his mistake in pushing them away. He is one of the many that refuse to like reader on principle, yet the one of the quickest to fall into the obsession after the realization hits.

Damian has always thought of himself as the blood-son. Though, he’d grown less fanatical than he once was about it. It became his way of reassuring himself whenever he falls short of being Robin, or he can’t seem to live up to his own high standards. He’s the blood son, he is family. Bruce won’t abandon him. He’s worthy. He has a cemented place here.

His training and time with the League of Assassins caused him develop this need to constantly proof himself. Which still influences his behavior despite the family working to pull him from that unhealthy mindset. It’s still there, buried deep, and the fact that he was Bruce’s only biological child helped him keep that mental state at bay.

Finding out about the existence of Reader made that believe falter. Worse yet, Reader coming to join the family ripped that coping mechanism right out of his hands.

Bruce didn’t even know Damian existed until Thalia just dropped him off, and everything he and Bruce had took effort and time and so much work.

Yet, Reader instantly got it all. With no work, no fight, no blood, no sweat, no choking back tears because god forbid he cries. Reader had Bruce first. Reader had what he fought so desperately for.

That’s what stung. Damian was less concerned about being replaced as Robin, he had earned that title. But, he was concerned about being replaced as Bruce’s child. He no longer felt he had that exclusive connection to Bruce.

Damian can’t help but take it out on Reader. Yes, he has grown a lot of a person since coming to live with Bruce. But, Reader was just so fragile and weak and frustrating. It brought back a lot of old negative feeling he had thought he moved past. It didn’t help that Reader seemed to always be trying to squirm their way into his life. What more did they want to take from him? They’re nothing like him, or Bruce. Or anyone in this family. They don’t belong.

It isn’t until that night in the Kitchen, when they offer food the peace-offering to Damian, that he realizes he may have been wrong. That expression, that cold look, that had appeared on Reader’s face had look startlingly like Batman Bruce.

And, when the stopped attempting to talk to him, to wriggle their way into his life, he could shake the wrongness of it. Of course, his pride told him he had won and, for a while, he felt satisfied.

Until that phone call. Reader was always talking on that damn phone. Clinging to it like a lifeline. A weakness.

Damian overhead the conversation Reader was having with their other half-brother. The gentle reassuring tone. The unconditional love and care. Things he had craved. Things he sees other people have that he’ll never admit he wanted.

At first, he assumed it was a lover they were talking to. That love between family members still being a slightly foreign concept to him. But, when Reader confirmed it was their brother, something in him clicked with realization.

He wanted that. And, worse yet, he could’ve had that. But, Reader was now giving him that blank look. One of a stranger. Their walls had come up. They were no longer allowing Damian access to what they had previously offered him. How dare you withhold it? That affection is mine.

Of course, he’s disappointed. In himself and with Reader. He finally realizes that Reader had just been offering that love to him and he’d stubbornly foolishly refused. It’s not his fault, he didn’t know. It’s not his fault.

But, the thing about blood is that there will always be a connection. He has time. He can break those walls back down and bury himself in Reader’s affection. They already had a place for him anyway. He’ll let them cool off a bit before he tries again. In the end he is just taking what he’s owed.

[kayjaywrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350 Chapter Music Inspo: End of It - Friday Pilots Club

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

XxXx

Prologue

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle.

It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

...one year and a couple months later....

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a little over a year into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over a year of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over his naked chest.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remained.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

[lancermylove]

Only in a Towel Reversed 2 (HC)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Dateables x gn!Reader

Warning: Suggestive.

Prompt: They walk into your room and see you fresh out of the shower in a towel.

Series: [DB in towels] [Part 1 with DB]

———————————————

Diavolo

The prince excitedly entered your room to inform you about an upcoming party. He wanted to invite you personally, so in his excitement, Diavolo forgot to knock.

His face turned crimson when he saw you clad only in a towel. Apologizing profusely, he turned around but was too shocked to walk out of the room.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and made a mental note to always knock in the future. Slightly turning his head enough to where you could see his lips but not where he could see you, Diavolo gave a small smile. "You look beautiful/handsome."

With those words, he excused himself and walked out before the situation got any more awkward.

Barbatos

Generally, the bulter always upheld his manners, but he was in a bit of a hurry as he had seen a rat in the House of Lamentation. As soon as he saw you walked into your room, he averted his gaze and took a step back, offering you an apology for the intrusion.

Barbatos placed his hand over his heart and gave a slight bow with his eye still averted. Apologizing once more, he asked if you needed assistance in any way, be it getting your clothes or preparing anything to eat or drink.

Thanks to his butler training and ability to stay composed in any situation, Barbatos didn't blush even once, nor did he make the situation awkward. Even if you ask him to dress you, he will still maintain his calm and will not tease you in any way. He is just that good at his job.

Simeon

Simeon had been searching for Luke for nearly an hour, and in a panicked state, the angel opened your door without knocking. His usually calm demeanor faltered, and he immediately apologized, lowering his head to prevent his gaze from lingering on you.

Giving a heartfelt apology, he explained the reason to walk in without knocking and promised to be more mindful in the future.

Before he excused himself, he offered a sweet smile, still keeping his gaze away from you. "I will wait outside. Please let me know once you get dressed. I would really appreciate it if you could help me find Luke."

Solomon

Solomon casually walked into your room to check on you and spend time together. But when he saw you only in a towel, his eyes nearly popped from their sockets.

Raising his hands in surrender, he darted his eyes to the nearest object and apologized. The sorcerer turned his back to you and gave you privacy to change. To lighten the mood, he even joked around, "I promise I don't have eyes on the back of my head."

Just as he was about to step out of your room, he slightly turned his head and smiled playfully. "Lock your door next time; otherwise, I might just wish to see you without anything on."

Laughing, he walked out but regretted not being able to see your expression to his teasing.

Raphael

He walked into your room, completely forgetting that he had to knock. Raphael's jaw dropped at seeing you in a towel. For a moment, he stared, frozen in shock with red cheeks.

Realizing he had been staring at you, the angel apologized for his disrespect and bowed. It seemed like his brain was short-circuited, and he couldn't think anymore.

So, without saying anything else, Raphael marched out of your room and closed the door so hard that he nearly cracked it. But from the other side of the door, you could hear him whisper another apology.

Mephistopheles

When the demon walked into your room and saw you in a towel, his cheeks heated up. But quickly clearing his throat, he moved his eyes away from you and began to lecture you about the importance of locking your bedroom door.

That was his way of keeping his composure and dignity. However, on the inside, Mephis's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and he kept cursing himself for not knocking first.

To make matters worse for you or better, he continued to talk to you about requiring your assistance for an article for the RAD Newspaper. Mephistopheles completely ignored the fact that you were only in a towel and pretended everything was normal.

Thirteen

The moment she skipped into your room and saw you in a towel, her breath got caught in her throat. Her cheeks slightly turned red, but unlike the others, she gave you a playful smile.

The grim reaper looked you up and down and walked close to you. "Well, aren't you looking pretty? I wonder...what's under the towel."

Thirteen playfully reached for the edge of your towel, and depending on your reaction, she may or may not pull the towel. If you look scared, uncomfortable, or nervous, she will laugh and say she was only joking. But if you tease back or want her to be playful, Thirteen will gladly yank your towel and run out of your room with the towel in her hand while laughing.

———————————————

➣ Obey Me Masterlist: [1][2][3] ➣ Main Masterlist

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open ➣ HC/Scenario Requests: Closed || Quick Ask Requests: Closed || GIF Requests: Closed

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this fic really only happened bc @youunravelme sent the pic of mat in the brown suit and said he looks like he could be carrying a diaper bag 😂 and then my mat and squeaks-loving heart ran with that! i’ve been telling their story in bits and pieces and out of order, but this story has more mention of squeaks’ mental state post-partum

word count: 4.2k

tw: mentions of post-partum anxiety, mentions of being on anti-anxiety medication, body image issues,

summary: being a bridesmaid in a wedding out east is the perfect reason for a little family and friends getaway, but you can’t completely let go of your anxieties

You should be having fun, getting ready with the girls and having your hair and makeup done, but your chest feels tight and you’re finding it hard to breathe.

Maybe air. You need air.

Rubbing at your sternum with one hand curled into a fist, you wander over to the French doors of the bridal suite, pushing them open and sticking your head out onto the balcony. The slight breeze off of Sag Harbor Bay is helping, the salty air cool and taking an edge off the mid-July heat.

A cool hand lands on your shoulder and you jump, turning slightly to see Kristy’s concerned face. “Are you okay?” She asks, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“I…yes? No?” You falter, fist still pressed against your chest. You recognize the anxiety symptoms, familiar as they are, but you’re not sure what triggered it. You’d been laughing just a few minutes ago, all the bridesmaids getting the final touches before heading out to line up for the ceremony.

“How about some water?” Kristy’s already uncapping a water bottle and handing it to you as she speaks, a mom multitasking.

You’re sipping at the water, your head spinning a little bit, when there’s a knock on the door to the suite. You can’t see who’s at the door, but you do hear Syd call your name, laughing, “we have an uninvited husband and baby here.”

“Oh!” You don’t have to see Mat and Talia for the knot in your chest to ease and for your breathing to get easier. They’re exactly who you needed and you don’t waste any time in hurrying as fast as your heeled feet will take you towards the door to the suite.

Mat’s hovering at the door, looking handsome and polished in his suit, a far cry from the disheveled, bed-headed mess you’d left behind at the Martins’ Hamptons home this morning. He’s got Talia in his arms, her back against his chest so she can see everything that’s going on. Syd’s squishing her little cheeks, making your fifteen-month-old giggle wildly and wriggle in Mat’s arms. The skirt of her summery floral dress is bunched up under Mat’s forearm, exposing chunky toddler legs.

“Hey!” Mat looks up and grins at you, the delighted expression on his face flickering when he sees whatever expression is on yours.

“Mama!” Talia shrieks and lunges for you, Mat’s arms tightening reflexively around the wiggly toddler.

Syd laughs and gives her a noisy kiss on the cheek. “Aunt Syd doesn’t hold a candle to Mom, I guess,” she shrugs and you offer her a faint smile.

“She’ll change her mind in like twenty minutes,” you joke, reaching out for her and stepping into Mat’s personal space. “Hi, Bug. Having a good morning with Daddy? I’ve missed you.” There’s a wobble to your voice and Mat doesn’t miss it.

“Hey,” he ducks his head closer to yours, his cheek brushing against the side of Talia’s head, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”

It’s the exact same question Kristy asked a few minutes ago, but when Mat asks it, you can’t help the tears that well up in your lash line or the hiccuping sob that escapes your lips even as you try to press them together.

Mat’s face immediately falls and he quickly kisses the side of Talia’s head, murmuring to her, “you’re gonna hang with Aunt Syd for a minute, okay, Bug?”

“No!” You nearly yelp, holding Talia’s fingers tighter. You don’t want her out of your sight. “No,” you repeat, quieter. “Just…just let me hang out with her for a minute.”

Talia chants her few words, mamas and dadas falling happily from her smiling mouth, her hands tucked in yours. You can feel the anxiety seep from your body, your shoulders lowering from your ears.

Mat nods and he secures Talia against his chest with one arm so he can cup your cheek with the other hand. His thumb brushes softly against your cheekbone and you lean into his touch, barely concerned about the layer of makeup coating your skin. “You were okay this morning,” he says, a statement that sounds more like a question.

“Mhm,” you hum a reply, smiling widely at Talia and brushing her dark curls off her face. She scrunches up her face and squeals when you tickle her cheeks. “I…I was okay until a few minutes ago, honestly. I don’t know, Mat.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug, knowing that your anxiety is unpredictable lately, less constant than in the months following Talia’s birth, but no less severe when the attacks hit.

Talia reaches for the chain of your necklace, tangling her little fingers in the fine metal, and you finally take her from Mat’s arms, only slightly concerned about wrinkling the chiffon of your lavender bridesmaid dress. She curls up against your chest, her head fitting perfectly under your chin, and you have to swallow back another wave of emotion.

He leans slightly against the doorframe and studies your face. After a beat, he says, “do you think you’re tapering off the Lexapro too fast?”

It’s been three months since you started tapering off, guided by your doctor’s advice, and it’s been hard. Easier now that it’s summertime and Mat’s around every day.

You shrug, shake your head. “I don’t think so, no? I took it this morning anyway,” you sigh, pressing your cheek against the top of Talia’s head. She’s wiggling in your arms, fighting to get loose and run around. “I’ve never been away from her for this long.”

“It’s only been eight hours,” Mat raises an eyebrow. His hand is on your hip now, stroking gently, and you try not to think about the layers of Spanx under your dress, the way your hips have spread since Talia’s birth, the stubborn ten pounds that won’t go away. You’re back in your pre-pregnancy size, technically, but you just don’t feel right in your skin yet and the bridesmaid dress is only serving to emphasize just how off you feel. The extra padding at your hips and chest feels strange to you, even though Mat’s proven time and time again that he can’t keep his hands off of you, no matter your size.

“Yeah,” you agree. “But she’s always with me, all day.”

Mat sighs your name. There’s a little defensiveness in the slope of his shoulders now. “I have her though,” he says. “I can handle her alone.”

“I know,” the words spill out, “I know you do! You’re the best dad, Mat. I just…feel like…like? It’s not that I didn’t think you were okay, I missed her. It’s scary, not to have her with me.” The hiccuping sob is back, shaking your voice, and you have to hoist Talia higher up on your hip. She’s babbling to herself, wiggling around, and you know you should let her toddle around to get some of her energy out before the ceremony, but you can’t seem to let her go.

You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying not to think of the days she was in the NICU, when Mat was gone. You thought you were over that hump, worked through the trauma with your therapist and with Mat, but for whatever reason, today is really hard.

“Hey,” Mat reaches up and brushes at your cheek, wiping a tear away, “I know. Squeaks, I know. But she’s here and she’s okay and you’re not a bad mom.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready for this,” you huff, embarrassment starting to settle in your stomach. You’re being dramatic. You’d said yes to being a bridesmaid before you even knew you were pregnant with Talia and even after her birth, since Syd and Kristy were also bridesmaids, you’d figured you would be okay surrounded by your friends.

Mat leans in to kiss the corner of your mouth, mindful of your lipstick. “You’re fine. Just a bad brain moment,” he mumbles, using your therapist’s phrase for your anxiety. “T and I are going to be cool during the ceremony and then the three of us will party it up with everyone else, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, squeezing Talia one more time - getting an outraged squawk from her in return - before passing her back to Mat. They give you matching scrunch-faced smiles and you return a watery smile.

“Say bye to Mommy,” Mat jiggles Talia a bit and she giggles, waving and chanting a ‘bye bye, Mama’ in her sweet little voice.

“Bye bye, baby,” you wave back, your smile more natural now.

Mat leans in for one more quick kiss, Talia shrieking a giggle as she swoops forward in his arms. “You look beautiful,” he whispers against your cheek. “Lucky me, I get to go home with the hottest bridesmaid.”

Normally you’d roll your eyes at his flirting, but today you really needed the compliment. Your stomach warms and you smile gratefully at him.

He and Talia wave at you and she blows kisses, making you laugh as they head down the hallway and off to the outside patio where the ceremony will take place.

You’re feeling better after seeing them and when Syd and Kristy drag you back into the festivities and photographs, it’s fun again.

Mat’s sitting with Casey, Matt, and the kids towards the back of the crowd - daddy dare care while the moms are busy in the bridal party. You catch sight of Mat’s dark head immediately and your heartbeat kicks a little when you spot Talia’s matching dark hair over his shoulder. She’s standing on his thighs, her hands in his for balance, and when she sees you walking down the aisle, she shouts and waves at you, nearly losing her balance and tipping off of Mat’s lap. Casey’s hands shoot out and steady her before she can really go anywhere and you exhale in relief.

You wave at her behind your bouquet, an easy smile on your face.

The ceremony is a blur, your focus on Mat and Talia in the back. Towards the end, he has to slip out quickly with the diaper bag on his shoulder, but he’s back a few minutes later, shooting you a quick thumbs up.

By the time you get inside after photographs, cocktail hour is winding down. You, Syd, and Kristy find your little group immediately - Jack, Reese, and Winnie in a little dance circle in the corner even though there’s no real music playing. Alice, Cole, and Talia are looking rough, interrupted naps and a long day getting the best of the younger crowd.

“Hi!” You call out, setting your bouquet on the table the guys have commandeered, reaching out immediately for Talia. Mat offers her up easily and she clings to you like a little koala. “Missed you, baby,” you murmur, kissing the top of her head.

She’s got a handful of squished French fries, which you didn’t realize until her fingers loosen and a couple of them fall down the top of your dress.

“Ah,” you wince when the cold potato touches your skin. Mat snorts at the look on your face and stands up with a napkin to wipe off Talia’s hands.

“Am I allowed to stick my hands down your top to clean you up or is that public indecency?” He asks with a cheeky smile. There’s a smudge of red on his jaw - ketchup, most likely, and you smirk a little, amused that neither Matt nor Casey felt like telling him about it.

Before you can answer, all four of your friends chime in together, “public indecency,” earning an eye roll from Mat.

He ignores them and blocks your body with his so no one can see his hand disappear into your bra. He fishes out the fries and tweaks your nipple on the way out. You turn a gasp into a cough and glare at him. His answering smile is all faux-innocence.

“Now that you two are done being gross,” Matt rolls his eyes, even though he’s smiling, “are you ready to head in?”

The group is ushered into the main reception hall, floor to ceiling windows giving a gorgeous view of the water and the sun as it dips towards the horizon. The kids run off, pointed towards their table by Syd, and the adults head to the table right next to it, the toddler group accompanying. Talia slumps on your lap, looking like she’s fading a bit, until Mat pulls a piece of his roll off and hands it to her.

She beams at him and you make an attempt to get her to say ‘thank you’ that mostly ends up being gibberish unless she’s saying ‘Dada.’

“Feeling better?” Mat asks quietly, angled in your direction. You reach out to swipe your thumb over his jaw, cleaning off the ketchup, and he frowns down at your hand before huffing a laugh when he sees the condiment smudge.

You nod. “I’m good,” you reassure him with the truth. “I think I just really needed to see T this morning.”

His hand is warm on your knee and he nods, satisfied after he studies your face.

The bride and groom make their entrance, doing away with the entrances for the bridal party except for the maid of honor and the best man, and when it’s time for the couples to join them on the dance floor for the first dance, Mat takes Talia in his arms and after the distribution of kids to adults has happened, you’re dancing with Jack. He looks adorable in his little suit, seriously trying to spin you when he sees Casey twirl Reese.

“Jack, you’re the best dance partner I’ve ever had,” you laugh, helping him out by squatting and twirling under his arm.

He grins at you, showing off a smile of half baby teeth and half-grown in adult teeth. “Make sure you tell Uncle Mat,” he says. “Cause he said he could beat me in a dance contest, but I don’t think he can.”

“I’ll pass along the message,” you grin back. The music speeds up and you start swinging Jack’s arms in wide arcs, making him laugh. You push him out and pull him back in, wrapping him in a hug and tickling his sides. He breaks away and transitions into a few fairly impressive dance moves, including the Robot, which you’d love to know where he learned.

Mat dances over to you, Talia happy in his arms and wiggling along to the music. You take her and shimmy, making her laugh.

“Sick moves, Jacky,” Mat grins, ruffling his blond hair.

“Aunt Squeaks said they’re better than yours,” the seven-year-old shoots back, making an attempt to moonwalk away.

You burst out laughing and Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “Seriously?” He asks. “My moves are amazing!”

“Oh, look,” you smile, turning your head, “dinner’s being served!” It’s not, but it works to make Mat laugh and grab your hand to spin you and Talia in a circle.

Dinner is served a few minutes later and you and Mat trade off on who gets to hold Talia on their lap so the other can eat. Mat ends up with her for a good chunk of the meal, talking over her head and opening his mouth when she tries to reach up and shove a roasted potato past his teeth.

“Hey, cool it, girl,” you laugh, tugging at her hand when she misses his mouth and nearly shoves the potato up his nose. “Daddy doesn’t want to breathe in potato.”

Casey and Matt share a laugh before Matt chimes in, “his nostrils are big enough he’ll be able to breathe around the potato.”

Mat flips them off behind Talia’s back and you join in with their laughter, not even pretending to hide it when Mat turns a betrayed look on you. “My own wife,” he cries dramatically. “No loyalty even in my own home.”

You shrug and feed Talia a piece of your filet mignon. “I can’t fight the truth, baby,” you tease, leaning out of the way when Mat reaches for you to pinch your side.

The dance floor picks up again and you find yourself spinning with Mat’s arms around you, Talia taken by Syd to dance with her and Alice.

“She’s a little party animal,” you laugh, watching her wiggle while holding hands with Alice.

“Gets it from her mom and aunts,” Mat teases, hands low on your back, pulling you flush against his body. You can feel the gentle press of his cock against your hip, semi-hard behind his zipper. “She’s going to be a handful when she’s older, isn’t she?”

You nod. “Oh yeah, I think we’re going to have fun watching her grow up,” you murmur, emotion tightening your throat.

Casey and Matt swing Reese and Winnie in the air, Kristy shimmying with Jack. The little group is all laughter and smiles.

“I’m so glad we were able to do this,” you say after a few seconds. “The mini-vacation, the wedding. I know I freaked out this morning, but it’s nice to be around everyone.”

“Good,” Mat presses a soft kiss to your temple, swaying with you. “I was a little worried, not gonna lie.”

A little knot of guilt tangles in your stomach and you frown into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “I know this past year has been…” you trail off, too many adjectives applicable to describe the past year.

Mat laughs faintly, “I know. You don’t have to apologize, I’m just glad we’re pretty much back to normal.”

Over Mat’s shoulder, you watch Jack spin Talia in a circle to make her laugh. She laughs so hard she nearly falls over and your heart skips a beat when it seems like she might hit the ground. Matt catches her back and holds her until she regains her balance, still giggling.

“My mom mentioned coming down for a visit,” Mat continues. “Maybe we can take her up on that, let her babysit and go away for the night, just the two of us?”

There’s something in Mat’s tone, a little cajoling, a little frustrated, a lot hopeful.

You haven’t been away with just Mat since before Talia was born, haven’t even spent more than a handful of hours away from her before this morning, but still, you find yourself nodding. “That sounds nice,” you reply, meaning it.

Mat’s fingers squeeze your hips and you pull back to see his smile, grinning back at him.

It’s not the old normal, but the new normal is pretty nice too.

The night winds down and you leave the reception early, Mat’s jacket draped over your shoulders and Talia passed out in Mat’s arms. You help lead the older kids out to the cars, making sure Reese doesn’t trip over her feet. Everyone gets buckled into their appropriate car seats for the drive back to the Martins’ and you find your eyes closing while Mat drives.

His hand is warm in yours and the radio is playing quietly.

“You look beautiful,” Mat says into the silence.

You crack a small smile and open one eye to look at him. “You said that earlier,” you remind him.

“I wanted to say it again,” he turns to you at the red light and flashes a grin, making your stomach flip with butterflies.

“Well,” you squeeze his hand, “I like hearing it.”

Talia wakes up when you try taking her out of the car, whining and crying for you. Her little hands reach out and you take her from Mat, cuddling her close and stroking her dark curls, hoping she’ll fall back asleep. She’s overtired though and doesn’t settle until all three of you are in bed, her cheek pillowed on your chest and her hands fisted in your shirt.

“Shh,” you hum, quietly starting to tell her a story. She whines and wiggles and Mat drapes his hand over her back too, a warm, heavy weight that’s worked to soothe her since she was born. He tickles her back lightly and scoots closer to you, head propped up on his hand. Talia’s cocooned in between your bodies, her knees tucked up to her chest, and she slowly falls back asleep, her face going slack. Her grip on her stuffed cat loosens, even though the plush toy is wedged under her chin for comfort.

“Sometimes,” you whisper to Mat, looking at him over Talia’s body, “I can’t get over how perfect she is.”

He yawns and nods, dragging the light comforter higher up over you and Talia. “We’re pretty damn lucky,” he agrees. He closes his eyes and curls his body in a c-shape around you and Talia, breathing evening out before long.

You’re tired, but you stay up for a little bit longer, watching your husband and daughter sleep. Your fingers trace the curve of Talia’s nose lightly and she wrinkles it, snuggling closer to you in her sleep. Mat snores softly, his breaths ruffling the back of Talia’s hair.

It makes you emotional, to have your entire heart curled up next to you like this.

With a faint smile on your face, you close your eyes and drift off.

Mat lets you sleep in the next morning and you wake up around eight, with a still hot mug of coffee on the night table and a few rocks and shells next to the mug - Mat must’ve taken Talia out to the beach early. You take your time getting ready, pulling on jean shorts and a tank top over your bathing suit before padding downstairs. Being back in your regular clothes makes you feel more normal than the shapewear and bridesmaid dress from last night. You can ignore the extra few pounds and new shape to your body when you’re just in shorts.

There are pastries on the counter, crumbs and dirty plates indicating that you’re not the first person to wander down for breakfast. You pull off a piece of an almond croissant and pop it into your mouth as you head outside. As soon as you open the back door, you’re treated to the childish laughter and splashing noises from the pool.

“Morning!” Syd calls, waving from a lounge chair. “Come join us.”

Kristy beams at you from the next chair and then almost immediately frowns when Jack cannonballs into the pool, sending a huge splash of water into the air. “Jack! I thought I said no splashing!” She calls as soon as his head pops back above the water.

“But Tal and Cole laugh when I do it,” he argues, pointing at the two youngest, who, sure enough, are cracking up in Mat and Casey’s arms. Mat winks at you and you smile, waving as you take a seat at the edge of the third lounge chair.

“Talia and Cole also laughed when Dad dropped the egg carton, but we’re not going to keep doing that,” Kristy shakes her head.

Jack pouts, but to his credit, stops doing cannonballs and instead commandeers a dragon shaped pool float with Winnie and Reese hanging off the wings, shrieking.

It’s loud and chaotic and it’s perfect.

Mat swims over to the edge, Talia holding onto his hands while she kicks. “Good sleep?” He asks, splashing a little water onto your feet.

“Mhm,” you hum, “thanks for letting me sleep in.”

“Anytime,” he leans back, dragging Talia through the water. “T and I took a nice walk on the beach, chatted about all the birds we saw, picked up lots of treasures for Mommy.”

“Bird!” Talia pipes up, loudly and happily, looking around.

Mat grins at you, inclining his head as if to say ‘see?’

You smile back, giggling a bit, and then Mat kicks off the wall, swimming around and making boat noises while he navigates Talia through the water and around the obstacles of Matt, Casey, and the other kids.

“I love summer dad camp,” Syd sighs, stretching out in her chair. “It’s a nice little break.”

It’s definitely nice to have this summer experience as opposed to last summer’s insanity. You can finally enjoy watching Mat with Talia in the warm weather.

He tosses her a little into the air, catching her before she hits the water, and despite the way your heart lurches, you smile at the sound of her shrieked laughter mixing with Mat’s.

They swim past Matt and Alice reaches for Talia for a high-five, one of Talia’s favorite tricks. She looks startled when her hand keeps going and splashes down into the water, sending droplets flying onto her and Mat’s faces. Your husband laughs and wipes the water from Talia’s face before blowing raspberries against her cheeks.

It’s the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.

You surprise yourself, thinking about a second baby held in Mat’s arms. Neither of you have really talked about it that seriously and you’ve been sort of holding your breath, waiting for your brain and body to feel normal enough to do it all over again. But now, maybe it’s time to really start thinking and talking about a second baby. You do a little quick math in your head, if you get pregnant right away, easy like it was with Talia when you weren’t even trying, Talia would be just around two when a second baby would be born. That’s a nice age difference, even three years like Mat and Liana would be good too.

You chew at your lower lip, watching Mat and Talia. Smiling when she smushes his cheeks in her hands and bonks her forehead against his.

Yeah, a second mini-Mat wouldn’t be so bad.

[poisonlove]

Study Session | c.s

pairing: Cairo Sweet X fem reader

Summary: Y/n is terrible in literature and needs a hand

Words: 11.58 k

"Miss Y/S, could you come here for a moment, please?" Mr. Miller asks kindly.

I blink in surprise and walk towards the lectern, my feet almost stumbling on the wooden floorboards. I blush with embarrassment, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Cairo looking towards us with seriousness, organizing her belongings.

I swallow nervously and bite my lower lip, my eyes first glancing at Cairo and then at Professor Miller.

Now is not the time to think about your one-sided crush, y/n I mentally scold myself.

I force a smile and look at the professor with genuine curiosity. "Do you need something, sir?" I say, smiling happily, trying to hide my nervousness.

"I'm not sure how to put this..." Professor Miller sighs and takes off his glasses, looking up to meet our eyes. My smile falters seeing the concern and distress behind his eyes. Professor Miller sighs and takes the assignment I had done last week in his hands.

"It's... It's a mediocre work," he says hesitantly, almost embarrassed.

"To be honest... If you don't do something that impresses me, Miss, you'll fail my class," he says with a tone of voice almost guilty.

My palms sweat, and I try to remain calm. I knew I was really bad at literature, but I didn't expect to fail the year altogether. But what can I say? No matter how hard I try, I can't adequately transcribe what I think onto paper.

"I'm sorry," I whisper reluctantly, deeply ashamed of myself.

Professor Miller gives me a gentle smile, tilting his head slightly as he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"You have great potential," he states with conviction, trying to instill confidence in me. "But you simply have a few more difficulties," he concludes with a compassionate tone, seeking my gaze empathetically.

I stare into his eyes, noticing the intention of conveying moral support.

"Miss Sweet," Professor Miller calls Cairo's attention, making her focus on him.

"Yes, Professor Miller?" she responds with a radiant smile, her eyes shining for... some strange reason.

"Could you help Y/N?" the professor asks, looking at me sideways.

His request makes me feel slightly offended for not having a say, but at the same time, it puts me in a state of anxiety because I would have to work with the girl I've always liked.

Cairo's eyes focus on my figure with curiosity, making me feel nervous and embarrassed by her enchanting beauty. A small smile spreads across her lips before she looks at the literature professor.

Brown eyes looking at Mr. Miller.

"Alright," Cairo responds with a shy smile, which also makes the professor smile.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion, observing this strange scene with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Cairo's smile is kind but enigmatic, as if hiding something behind that seemingly calm façade. I wonder what it could be, but I decide not to delve too deeply into it at that moment.

Professor Miller seems pleased with her acceptance and nods with a pleased expression. "Great! I'm sure you'll make an exceptional team," he comments enthusiastically, encouraging us to work together towards our common goal.

"Cairo," says the professor, maintaining a dazzling smile, "if you succeed in the task, you'll earn an extra credit," he announces proudly, turning his gaze towards his student with a mixture of hope and trust.

Cairo smiles weakly, visibly embarrassed by the attention she's received.

"Well then," I intervene timidly, trying to dissipate the strange tension that has arisen, "shall we?" I add, looking at the girl I've always had a secret crush on with flushed cheeks.

Despite my shyness and the nervousness that overwhelms me, I strive to maintain a calm and decisive tone, hoping to convey confidence both to myself and to Cairo as we prepare to face this new challenge together.

(...)

"So... What do you think?" I say nervously, my hands fidgeting with the threads of my jeans.

I roll a thread around my finger and pull it, tossing it into the grass.

Cairo's eyes fixate on my paper attentively, her pupils moving along my essay with seriousness. The brunette lowers the sheet and looks at me carefully.

"Well?" I say, feeling my stomach tied up with nerves. "Hmm..." She starts hesitantly, tilting her head and leaning against the tree behind her.

The day was perfect, and we had mutually agreed to spend it outdoors doing literature. The rays filtering through the branches highlight Cairo's face, making her eyes appear light brown

She was... Beautiful.

"Is it okay?" She says timidly.

Cairo hands me back the paper, and I sigh in frustration. I could sense that something was missing.

"Come on... Tell me the truth," I say, looking at Cairo curiously. The brunette bites her lower lip and adjusts her posture.

"So... It's not bad, but..." she starts and bites her lower lip, thoughtful. "It lacks emotion... I don't see the passion... I don't perceive anything," she confesses, and I pout.

Darn it... I wanted the truth, but it was entirely heavy

"I knew I shouldn't have spoken," she quickly says, quickly moving her hand, noticing my frown on her lips. "It's perfect," she smiles broadly, and my eyes soften seeing how sweet and cute she was with that expression on her face.

The dimple was adorable, and her eyes sparkled when she talked about something related to writing.

"No... I asked you to be honest, and you were," I say quickly, smiling.

Her eyes look at me with curiosity, and I try to maintain eye contact as much as possible. "Okay..." Cairo murmurs before giving in to this staring contest, taking her notebook.

"I... " I start hesitantly, "have an old piece that I'd like you to read," I say timidly.

I was aware of the risk that she would realize it was about her, but despite that, I thought it was my best work. After all, I wrote it with all the love I feel for her.

"Oh... I'd be happy to," she says sincerely, her pearly whites showing her beautiful smile. Cairo's eyes light up at the mention of reading something, and she quickly reaches her hand towards me.

Shyly, I grab my backpack and search for my work, immediately noticing that it was sandwiched between two notebooks. My cheeks were red from embarrassment for having something so special to me crumpled and carelessly thrown in my backpack.

Cairo takes it without making any comment on its sorry state and begins to read it.

"In the twilight of our intertwined destinies..." The brunette had a focused expression, her voice soft and enveloping.

I wait with trepidation, observing every nuance of her expressions

"she emerges like an elusive shadow, a siren of my lost dreams, with chestnut locks like the earth." Cairo sighs "Her eyes, deep as the abyss of the soul, reflect falling stars and unfathomable secrets, like dark water on a moonless night, where the lost traveler wanders." Cairo suddenly stops, lips still suspended on the sentence.

Her gaze drifts amidst the words as a wave of emotion envelops her voice.

I remain silent, captivated by her interpretation.

The brunette continues, her voice now softer, almost whispered. "Her smile, a fleeting glimpse of light, a glimmer of hope in the darkness, yet also an echo of sadness in the relentless passage of time, a memory of what could have been."

Cairo voice resonates with the melody of the words, conveying every nuance of emotion contained within the text.

I was completely captivated by her facial expressions.

"Yet, amid the folds of uncertain destiny, remains a lost innocence and an unspoken love, an incomplete harmony, an unexpressed desire, like a melody interrupted in the night wind."

"In her breath dance promises of another life, where perhaps our hearts will meet, in the stillness of a world without end, where time is not the master of our destinies."

Cairo tightens the grip on the paper.

"But for now we part ways, like the waves leaving the shore, destined to wander alone in the depths of time. Yet, in the deepest recesses of my being, her essence remains engraved like an ancient melody."

As she reads those words, Cairo's tone of voice becomes soft and melancholic, conveying a sense of nostalgia and sadness. Her words are filled with emotion, with a slight tremor in her voice reflecting the depth of her feelings. Cairo seems to be carried away by the intensity of the text, and her reading is infused with an aura of melancholy and reflection.

"And so I venture into the night, with her memory as my guide, suspended between the pain of loss and the hope of return. In the silence of my soul, I continue to dream, hoping that one day our destinies will intertwine again."

After finishing the reading, Cairo remains silent for a moment, her gaze lost in deeper thoughts. I can sense her mind in turmoil, her eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Then, slowly, she lifts her gaze towards me, a spark of interest shining in her coffee-colored eyes.

"Who is the muse behind this extraordinary piece?" she asks, her voice warm and full of curiosity, while her expression reflects a sincere desire to understand the hidden meaning behind the words.

I knew perfectly well that I couldn't say it was her, so I just shrugged nonchalantly. "No one in particular," I add calmly, even though my heart was beating rapidly inside me.

"Yet it seems so specific," Cairo observes, glancing at the paper.

Her words make me uncomfortable, but I try to maintain composure. "It's just a product of my imagination," I say with a forced smile, hoping to divert attention away from myself.

"The only certainty is that she's a brown-haired girl with brown eyes," Cairo asserts with a mischievous smile, and a shiver runs down my spine. "The classic always attracts, it seems," she adds, chuckling softly.

Her observation makes me feel like butterflies are doing acrobatics in my stomach.

"Don't be stubborn now," I blurt out in embarrassment, trying to deflect attention from the imminent truth that Cairo is about to uncover with her acute intelligence.

Cairo bursts into laughter, a sound so genuine and contagious that it makes me feel special. Her laughter fills the air around us, wiping away any traces of embarrassment and fear, and I find myself laughing along with her, feeling light and free.

Cairo stops laughing and smiles, a look of sincerity painted on her face.

"It seems you were good at freelancing after all," she observes with a light and friendly tone.

Her comment makes me feel appreciated and recognized for my abilities, and I smile in response. "Thank you," I reply with gratitude, feeling encouraged by her approval.

"I think Professor Miller will like it," Cairo continues, biting her lower lip, lost in her thoughts.

A strange sparkle lights up her eyes, and at that moment, I decide to ask her a question that has tormented me for too long.

"Cairo do you have a crush on Professor Miller?" I ask timidly, curious but also intimidated by the possible answer.

Cairo blushes deeply. "What on earth are you asking?" she responds sharply, clearly embarrassed.

"From the way you react to his mention..." I say with curiosity, "and also you're completely red," I add with a timid smile.

Cairo shakes her head firmly. "No, no," she responds promptly, "I admire Professor Miller, but I don't have a crush on him. He's old, and, above all, he's married." Her tone is decisive.

"Well, gray hair isn't very attractive, right?" I ask with a smile on my lips, while I observe Cairo nodding slightly, smiling broadly and showing her dimples.

Freckles surround her face as her hair falls gracefully around her shoulders.

Cairo looks up at the sky, which is turning orange at sunset, a sign that the day is coming to an end. "I think it's time to go," she says timidly, almost regretfully.

"Is the study session over already?" I say in surprise, pouting.

Cairo nods and smiles. "So, do you like literature now?" she winks, teasing me.

"Not exactly, but the lesson goes better with you," I reply, aware of what I'm saying and noticing the slight blush on Cairo's cheeks.

I realize what I've said afterward and feel terribly embarrassed. A wave of nervousness overwhelms me as I notice a hint of pink on Cairo's cheeks.

Oh darn, I want to die, I think dramatically.

Cairo looks away. "Well, see you tomorrow.""Ah, yes, of course! See you tomorrow," I reply, trying to hide my embarrassment behind a smile. I feel the heat rising in my face as the embarrassment grows inside me. "Thank you for today, it was... interesting," I quickly add, hoping to alleviate the strange tension that had arisen.

"Thanks to you," she says softly, her gaze warm and comforting.

With a smile on my lips, I watch Cairo walk away. Despite the day starting off badly, it ended in the best possible way.

[valsverse]

but i love her !

summary: to say that leo valdez is absolutely enamored with you would be an understatement. so, why don't you like him back?

pairing: leo valdez x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

LEO VALDEZ does not just like you. no, it is much more than that.

leo's feelings for you surpass mere affection. his love for you is deep-rooted and unshakable, transcending the limitations of the heart and mind. he doesn't just love you with his heart, which can falter or stop altogether. nor does he solely love you with his mind, which may fail him one day. no, leo valdez loves you with every fiber of his being, every inch of his soul, and every essence of his existence. his love for you is all-encompassing, unequivocal, and forever enduring.

so why don't you like him back?

when you first arrived at camp, leo was immediately taken with you. while he had a reputation for falling for girls completely out of his league, this time was different. he knew deep down that he would do anything for you, even if it meant risking his own life. he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he realized this, but he was sure that you were the one he was meant to be with. despite piper's concerns, leo was undeterred in his pursuit of you.

as you sat at your usual table in the dining pavilion, enjoying dinner with your cabinmates, you were completely immersed in the moment. laughter filled the air as you chatted about your day and shared stories of past quests. just as you took a bite of your dinner, you heard your name being called out loudly and persistently. turning your head in the direction of the voice, you found leo standing right in front of your table. as you tried to recall any previous interactions with him, confusion washed over you. you've only ever spoken to the boy about a grand total of once, and you don't even remember giving him your name.

leo slipped into the empty seat next to you, his smile beaming as he waited for your reaction. gasps escaped the mouths of several of your cabinmates, because, well, isn't it forbidden to sit at another god's table?

“sooo, is this seat taken?” he asked suavely, and you mentally rolled your eyes at his attempt at charm, knowing exactly where this was going.

"well, it wouldn't matter if it's taken or not, because you aren't supposed to be sitting here in the first place."

he only smiled dreamily, seemingly unfazed by your response. the tension in the air grew thicker, and someone let out a snort, unable to contain their amusement at the situation.

it took you a moment to piece together what was happening. leo's sudden changes in behavior around you, the not-so-subtle glances, the smiles, and the way his eyes would light up - it all made sense now, although you didn't want to admit it. leo valdez had a crush on you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

leo leaned forward on the table, his chin resting on his hand. he was brimming with enthusiasm, and you couldn't help but feel just slightly uncomfortable in his presence. "can i ask you something?" he inquired eagerly, his eyes fixed on you.

you sighed inwardly, not wanting to engage but feeling obligated to respond. "do i have a choice?" you quipped, attempting to mask your discomfort. leo didn't seem to notice, too caught up in his own enthusiasm.

suddenly, he pulled out a metal rose from his pocket, presenting it to you with a flourish. "wanna be my girlfriend?" he asked, a hopeful expression on his face.

your siblings snickered around you as your eyes widened in absolute horror. your face felt hot with embarrassment as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"i practically just met you!" you protested, feeling the need to state the obvious.

he had clearly anticipated a different response, going so far as to prepare a metal bouquet in anticipation of impressing you. however, his efforts were in vain. "i'm sorry, but no." you replied firmly, not giving him any room for negotiation.

it was clear that this was not a successful attempt at romance.

from that day on, it had become the norm for leo to actively pursue you, as he had made it his mission to win your heart. you couldn't deny that he put in a great deal of effort. and he was plenty consistent. for months.

you couldn't help but notice his constant presence, as he seemed to magically appear everywhere you went, making it impossible for you to ignore him.

despite his persistent efforts, leo never pressured you into anything you were not comfortable with. he respected your boundaries and always made sure that he did not cause you any discomfort. it was clear that he adored you, but he never allowed his feelings to dictate his actions towards you.

interestingly enough, it was the reason behind your initial hatred for leo that began to fade away. unfortunately for you, once that seed of doubt was planted, there was no going back. you found yourself unable to justify your previous animosity towards him, in fact, you began to feel guilty for the ill feelings you harbored towards the boy.

after leo's clumsy attempts at asking you out, things became quite awkward between the two of you. you did everything in your power to avoid him, convincing yourself that you loathed him. however, despite your best efforts to push him away, the universe seemed to conspire to bring the two of you together. in fact, you even found yourselves forming an unlikely bond that some might even consider a friendship. leo would somehow magically appear in the same places you happened to be (though he always insisted it was a coincidence), and you found yourself unable to shoo him away as you used to do. yet, despite this newfound closeness, leo's attempts to win your heart remained as elaborate and over-the-top as ever.

from writing your name in fire surrounded by a heart, to asking you out with grand gestures and signs, he never seemed to give up. unfortunately for him, all of his efforts were met with either an indifferent stare or a frown.

maybe your feelings towards leo had changed somewhat, but that did not make him any less unbearable.

"i just don't get it!" leo complained to piper during free time that day. "i thought me and y/n were making progress, but today she didn't even look at me!"

piper paused from sharpening her dagger and looked up at leo. "what makes you think you were making progress?"

"she let me sit next to her yesterday."

piper couldn't help but let out a laugh, quickly covering it up with a cough. "that was for like two minutes," she scoffed.

leo's face fell. "but i swear i saw her wink at me a few days ago!" he protested.

"she was only blinking in your general direction."

leo mock-glared at the girl. "seriously, you're like an aphrodite kid, aren't you supposed to know this stuff?"

piper rolled her eyes. "shut up. okay, but seriously, come on. think about it. leo, you tend to get infatuated easily and your crushes never last. it's inconsistent. she probably thinks your feelings for her will change once you find someone new."

leo took a step back, not expecting her answer. "but that's not gonna happen!" he retorted, eyes wide with exasperation. "i love her, i swear!"

"prove it to her then." piper responded, running her fingers through her choppy locks. "go find her and prove it."

and that's exactly what he was going to do.

it's been days since you last saw leo. the usual sight of him following you around, asking to hold your tote bag, or just plain flirting with you is now a distant memory. your tote bag, which he usually holds for you, is now slipping off your shoulder as you sit alone with a feeling of emptiness. you've only seen him run in and out of the workshop, waving at you with the same fire in his eyes but not speaking to you. you keep looking for his head of curly hair everywhere you go, but the inevitable disappointment strikes you every time it isn't him.

although you had been trying to deny it, the truth was that you missed leo terribly. despite his occasional obnoxious flirtations, he was actually quite easy to be around — even more than that, even. maybe you had developed feelings for him that ran much deeper than you ever anticipated. you've been grappling with your emotions for quite some time now, and you were certain that your mask of indifference had already slipped off without your knowledge. you slumped against the wall you were leaning on, feeling the weight of your emotions.

if leo were here, he would have moved you to somewhere you could sit more comfortably, instead of a damn wall. if leo were here, he would have taken your tote bag off your shoulder already, making sure you were not burdened with anything. the absence of his presence now makes you realize just how much he meant to you and how much you miss him.

you pushed yourself off the wall you were leaning against, making your way back to your cabin to sulk, when it happened.

you spotted leo approaching you. his strides were large and purposeful, and you could practically see the determination in his eyes. you could tell he had just emerged from the workshop, his face smeared with soot, but that didn't seem to bother him at all. before you could even react, he had his arms on your shoulders, shaking his head as he gasped for breath, clearly winded from whatever he had been up to. "i've been looking for you everywhere," he said urgently, not giving you a chance to respond.

"okay, look. you know i like you, y/n. you're not like anyone else i've ever met. you're kind, and smart, and funny, and beautiful. and i know that sounds like a lot of flattery, but it's true. i don't think i've ever met anyone who makes me feel the way you do. you make me feel alive, and happy, and.. stuff. and i don't wanna lose that. don't wanna lose you."

he took a deep breath, then continued, "i'm not going to pretend that it was always you, because i've liked other girls before, when i didn't really know what liking someone meant. what i felt for them is not even comparable to what i feel for you right now. it hasn't always been you, but from now on it will."

"i can tell you feel the same way too, even if you try to hide it. you always have a little grin on your face when i come around, and i know you still keep all the things i made for you in your cabin, even though you act like you don't care. but i get it, you're scared. that's okay. i'll prove to you that there's nothing to be afraid of. i'll be devoted and take on more responsibility, because you inspire me to try harder. if you could just give me one chance."

he took a couple steps closer, reaching for your hand, and intertwining his fingers with yours when you didn't pull away. looking deeply into your eyes, he adjusted his grip, his crooked grin indicating that he had rehearsed what he was about to say.

"i guess what i'm trying to say is..." he trailed off, and then pulled out a metal rose from his pocket, just like the one he had given you when he first asked you out. however, this one was special, its intricate patterns reflecting everything that reminded him of you.

"wanna be my girlfriend?" he asked, just like he had all those months ago.

you didn't even hesitate, you just pulled him in by the fabric of his shirt and slotted his lips with yours into a long-awaited, giddy kiss.

a/n

ookaayyy it's been a while since i've read the books so leo may be a slightly ooc here?? or not?? y'all i don't know i'm trying. 😭😭

xx val

[invvuu]

LIPS TO EYES AND VICE VERSA — SIM JAEYUN

SUMMARY : sim jake sucks at being your tutor but he makes up for it by being your boyfriend. PAIRING : boyfriend!jake x gn!reader GENRE : established relationship, fluff / 1.6k words WARNINGS : jake is flirty, reader loses their mind because of jake ( there is a theme here if you couldn’t tell ) not proofread

﹙ 📑 ﹚ AUTHOR’S NOTE — why is writing author notes harder than the actual fics themselves,,, but anyways i guess i can just mention that i started writing this last night and then finished it while i was in online class as some sort of tmi (no cus why did i edit this draft five times already just to change the author’s note)

“MY EYES ARE UP HERE,” you say blankly — or rather, in an attempt to appear blankly as you look at Jake, your boyfriend and current tutor for the time being.

He had his chin sitting on top of his palm, fingers resting and occasionally tapping against the skin of his cheek. Jake had a couple rings adorning his fingers, all in silver except for the matching ring he bought for the both of you as a gift to ensure his commitment.

His hair was slicked back partly, slightly giving way for you to see his forehead. It also gave you a much clearer view of his eyes, hiding behind the clear lenses of the glasses he usually wears when reading or studying.

His eyes were a common sight considering the fact that he was your boyfriend and you see him almost everyday, however the only reason why you were bothered by them was because they didn’t focus on your eyes, but rather on your lips as you talked.

This was one of his flirty antics at work, the kind of antics you’ve gotten used to a long time ago but can’t help but still be affected by it.

“I know,” Jake responds back, attitude completely the same as it was in the beginning of your rant. Shortly after you notice the corners of his lips curving upwards into smirk, appearing to showcase that he knew exactly what he was doing.

And you were not surprised.

A sigh escapes your lips, “Jake, you’re supposed to be helping me with the lesson.” You spew out while raising an eyebrow at him, crossing both arms together in a direct manner. “Are you going to help me study or are you just going to keep messing around?”

He chuckles amusingly, grin not faltering.

“Messing around? I’m just admiring you, babe. You do know that you’re beautiful, right?”

Jake’s gaze starts to slowly trail from your lips towards your eyes, seeing the expression displayed on your facial features. “Besides, you were going off topic by ranting about Professor Kim and the Math exam.” He tilts his head, still appearing to be flirting with you.

“Well — yeah, and you’re supposed to be helping me pass the exam right now because I don’t want to fail,” you insist, attempting to get Jake back on track in acting as your tutor.

You then see him switch his focus onto the semi messy written notes, opened and sprawled across the table in front of you. “Huh,” he lets out, “You seem alright doing it by yourself though.”

Crap, he was getting to you. The way he spoke to you in a soft yet attractive tone rendered you flustered, and the way he looked like currently was definitely not helping your mental state at all.

With further inspection of his overall appearance, you can see he had his sleeves rolled up until it reached right below his elbow. This simple insight made you admire how evident his veins were on his hand, clearly seen due to his dress shirt’s sleeves not covering them.

He was, without a doubt, making you short circuit. And you absolutely hated that he was doing nothing but only the bare minimum.

“I still need your help either way.” Your tongue moves on its own immediately, mind trying to keep your thoughts at bay about him. You lay your hand on top of the written notes, sliding them towards Jake so he could read them properly.

“Oh, I was supposed to be your tutor or something?” He asks nonchalantly, brows raising up as he fixes his posture on his seat.

In response you roll your eyes and scoff, expression becoming a bit more irritated than it was in the beginning.

“So you just agreed to do this without even listening to me properly when I asked you earlier?” You inquire back, voice surprisingly sounding harsher as you continue looking at him.

Another set of chuckles blew out of Jake’s mouth. “No need to be so angry,” He then leans forward again, tilting his head another time, “I really am sorry though, but I was only doing my job as your boyfriend.”

His words sent shivers down your spine one after the other. It was annoying really, how much his voice had this much of an impact on you. His sultry and deep tone that he always used when speaking to you added another factor of why you were attracted to him in the first place.

From how he apologized, you could easily surmise that he wasn’t truly sorry. But the part where he mentioned that he was just being your boyfriend immediately gave you all of the reasons to forgive him.

You sigh, giving the attempt in ignoring your heart from fluttering another chance. Sim Jaeyun, Sim Jake, Jaeyun, Jake, Jakey — or whatever name he goes by, he truly knew his way to get to you no matter the occasion or if he had changed his persona.

At this point you were already losing your calm demeanor the more you interacted with Jake. Honestly, if it was him who drew the other half of your heart, you’d keep it against your chest without a single question.

He made you want to do impulsive actions, he made you want to embarrass yourself, and he made you want to become a fool. These thoughts were things that you wouldn’t dare to say out loud, mainly because you knew how stupid you would look like in doing so. You couldn’t help but wonder pitifully in your mind.

What was this man doing to you? You’re both dating now, so why does it feel like you were back to hopelessly crushing on him like before?

After all of these questions, you were sure that your mind was going to go haywire if he ever decided to graze his hand against yours.

“Babe,” Jake calls out, catching your attention as he waves a hand in front of your face, “Am I really that much of an eye candy to you?” He asks teasingly, eyes still looking into yours as he watches you flinch slightly at the sudden movement.

You then feel a tap on the tip of your nose, seeing a soft smile adorning your boyfriend’s features, “You’re making it harder for me to help you study if you keep acting this cute.”

As your heartbeat intensifies from his words, you quickly realize what had happened: you were staring at Jake and you weren’t aware of it.

In this point of the current situation, there was no mistake that you were an actual fool in disguise as a human. “Oh — uh, what were you saying?” You ask in a rather flustered manner as you place a hand at the nape of your neck, rubbing it gently the moment it touches it.

Jake grabs the pen from the table’s surface into his hand and clicks it a few times before answering, “I was admiring the view and it seems like you enjoyed yours too.” He cheekily prompts while giving out a small wink towards your direction.

Embarrassment quickly shoots through your mind at full speed, making you receive the desire to hide yourself from him further. “I was looking behind you,” you mutter, trying to create a valid excuse as your fingers begin fiddling with the edges of the papers sprawled across the table.

“You were looking at books about Shakespearean plays?” He stifles, turning his body to glance at the bookshelf to confirm his question. “Last time you told me that Shakespeare sucked, didn’t know you had a change of heart,” Jake shrugs sarcastically, the corners of his lips tugging themselves into a small smirk.

You frown slightly, letting go of the papers and allowing your hand to rest on the table. “I didn’t say he sucked, I said that reading and analyzing his works sucked,” you explain exasperatedly.

Jake can’t help but supply laughter at your words — the way you quickly tried to cover up what you were actually doing made him find you cuter than usual. With the intent of making the situation seem more entertaining, he points the pen at your face, “Then what about the books made you stop talking?”

“I just remembered about my assignment for History.”

“Really? History?”

You nod eagerly — a bit too eagerly for the matter. You tried your best to remedy the situation at hand but the seeping thought of Jake already knowing the truth was pretty much turning into reality.

“Yeah, I have to — um, read a chapter from Midsummer’s Night Dream and analyze it.”

“But I thought you were supposed to be reading Macbeth?”

The amount of counter statements your boyfriend kept saying were only making you more embarrassed. Embarrassed because at this point, you were sure that he knew exactly what you were doing a few moments ago.

“Just tell me the truth,” Jake prompts, “You were looking at me, it was very obvious.”

This was beyond what you were expecting for this tutoring session — actually, was this even a tutoring session in the first place? It was more like a stupid moment of you going feral over a man that you have been dating for almost a year now.

Sim Jaeyun was definitely a bad choice to have as your tutor.

“I have a challenge for you.” He puts his hands together on the table, as well as leaning back away from you to straighten his posture, “I’ll kiss you every time I catch you gawking at me.”

Hearing his idea makes you click your tongue subconsciously, because you knew that it would’ve make your life so much easier if this entire session didn’t happen, nor if you asked Jake to be your tutor in the first place.

© INVVUU 2024

[dancingbabya-notes]

"I love someone else"

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•->

Them to you

As a joke your lovely boyfriend decides to tell you that he loves someone else

(Look at that my first post of the new year, ngl I just took a whole bunch of WIPs and dumped them on different days. that might be the path i take from now on because I have 400 notes on my phone and growing)

<-•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•->

Midoriya

When the words came out of his mouth, he was expecting some kind of reaction, you never got jealous and showing your emotions never went past a smile. But he wasn’t expecting to be met with unadulterated silence.

“Did you—“

“Oh I heard you Zuzu, but remember what my quirk is?”

He stopped and smacked his face with a groan. Having the ability to peer into other people minds had its benefits.

Bakugo

He was curious, being around you it was just one feeling all the time. Unaltered happiness. But as the words left his mouth it was silent.

“I- am I n-not good enough for you?” Your voice cracks as Midoriya rivaling tears poured down your face.

It didn’t help that water was beginning to fill the space. Kirishima damn near beat the shit out of Bakugo for even thinking of saying that to You. Eventually focusing on calming you down.

Kirishima

“Oh.” It was the only word to leave your mouth.

He watched as your posture deteriorated and any energy was sapped right out of you. You didn’t bother with anything else and disappeared into your room. Hoping it was all a bad dream.

Kirishima had to worship the ground you walked on for weeks to gain your trust back.

Kaminari

He had been fine. But now he was covered in juice. You weren’t very docile, a flame burned in your eyes.

“Go be with them then, why waste your time with me,” you attempted to strode off and cry in peace.

But Kaminari pleaded for mercy.

Mirio

Your wings fell, but your smile only faltered. “Who?”

As the tears started to roll down your cheeks the mask cracks. Mirio held you to his chest to mask the tears.

It hurt him to play a joke on you like this. He will tread carefully from now on.

Tamaki

Boy had some balls today. Telling you that he liked someone else. Your hands faltered as the needle you’d been using went straight through your hand. The physical pain was nothing compared to what your mental state was at the time.

“Okay, that’s fine.” You muttered pulling the needle from your hand before wrapping it tight.

Tamaki practically prostrated himself in apology,

Todoroki

You almost puked but holding back the bile you didn’t even alter your expression forcing your face to stay happy. But when the words left your mouth the smile broke.

“How could you ever love someone like me?”

He wasn’t sure what to say, he didn’t like that you were sad and that he caused this. Todoroki left and when he returned he had any and everything he found is supposed to help.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine accidentally hurts your feelings.

Prompt: friends to lovers - "oh shit, are you crying?"

~ here you go @yourlocalnegroko, i hope you like this 🤍 ~

The hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses dance around the small, dimly lit bar in south London. The warm lowlights cast a shimmer over the faces of the customers and in a corner booth, you, Lemon, and Tangerine sit like you do every other thursday. 

You swirl your straw in your glass, your eyes distant as you look at the lime floating in your drink. This afternoon had gone to absolute shit. The man who had hired you had snapped, abruptly ending the hit you'd spent months preparing, so by now you're a bundle of frustration and exhaustion.

Tangerine, always the more observant Twin, had caught on to your foul mood. He's known you since you were teenagers and it has always been easy to read the tension in your shoulders as well as the tightness in your smile.

He leans against his seat and drapes his arm behind where your head is as he looks at you with a hint of a smile. "Why don' we all get piss drunk and knock yer frown upside down," he says a little sarcastically as his voice takes on an overly cherry quality and he pushes his index into your skin. 

You smile weakly and Lemon, who is sitting across from you, joins in. "Psh, fuck sloshed, bruv," he grins and turns to you. "You, me, Tan, and some  'Bohemian Rhapsody.'" he asks and looks to the small Karaoke stage, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tangerine scoffs and sniffs, clearly hating Lemon's suggestion.

You chuckle a little. "No one in here needs us butchering Queen, Lem."

Tangerine nods in agreement with you as he sends his brother a stern, disapproving look. He looks at you again and still sees the sadness in your eyes, his heart clenching. 

"Bullocks, you're a bunch of pricks. Alright, fine, no singing," Lemon raises his hands in surrender and then takes a sip of his beer, looking suspicious. He leans forward and points his index at you. "But hey, how about ya tell us what happened, huh?"

"Nothing." You answer too quickly.

Tangerine crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "Nothin? Ya think we're stupid, Y/n/n?"

You hesitate, then sigh. "Fine. I lost that job—the one in Munich, y'know? The one that would pay thousands? The old prick said he wanted someone more experienced."

"What an arse," Lemon chimes in.

Tangerine nods, his eyes softer. "Yeah, seriously, what the fuck? The fucker needs to learn some fuckin' respect. You're an amazin' assassin and he's what, some dick who can't solve his own problems?" he huffs and sips his beer, "he the prick with that comb-over we saw last week? Who does he think he's foolin', huh?”

You laugh at the mental image, but then your smile falters.

Seeing your reaction, Tangerine pushed further, his tone careless as his anger and annoyance built. "Honestly, ya don't need a git like him— if he wants some arsehole to finish the job, let him finish it, perhaps it's for the best. If he thinks he can find someone better, let 'im,"

Tangerine means well. He always does but he's never been the best with words. You're a little confused by what he means and in your vulnerable state, everything sounds bad. Your expression shifts from amused to hurt.

"Someone better? Why would that be for the best?" you ask, misunderstanding him as your voice stays quiet, "This job meant something to me. I needed the money and it was humiliating that he made me feel inadequate in a field I've worked in for years."

Tangerine frowns, feeling defensive. "Pardon? I-I didn't mean it like that—"

But it was too late. The sting of his words, even if unintentional, had stung and you can't help that forming pit in your stomach. You turn away, warm tears falling down my cheeks as my mascara stains my cheeks.

Lemon, noticing the shift, opens his mouth to say something, but Tangerine beats him to it. He moves quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. "Shit, are ya crying?" he mumbles and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. 

You stiffen for a moment, still hurt by the implications in his words. Finally, you relax against him and allow the tears to fall as they stain his shirt.

"Darlin', I didn't mean to make ya feel like you're somehow less good than us or any other man in the field—you're amazin', better than most," Tangerine whispers, his voice hoarse with sincerity. "I was tryin' to say that that absolute cock is gonna have a hard time findin' someone as qualified as ya—I, fuck, I just wanted to see you smile."

His confession causes a warmth in your stomach and you sniff, holding him tighter. You're quiet for a moment until you finally speak. "I do realize that now, Tan. I'm sorry I misunderstood. It's not your fault. It's just, everything feels so wrong now."

Tangerine continues to hold you. "Ya don't have to carry it all by yourself, ya know? We're here. I'm here. And I promise, you'll find a new job sooner rather than later."

"Ya can always work with us again," Lemon suggests nonchalantly, popping an olive into his mouth as he looks at you and his brother, a knowing look drawn across his features.

Tangerine brother nods, pulling away with his hands still near your hips. "Ya know we love when we work as a trio—like old times," he winks and he feels like he won when he finally sees you smile.

You sniff and wiping at your tears with your hand, feeling stupid for jumping to conclusions. Your smile widens as Tangerine wipes his thumb under your eyes.

"Can I drive the car?" you ask him cheekily, knowing how much Tangerine loves his car and how possessive he is over her.

Lemon barks a laugh as Tangerine's eyes narrow. However, Tangerine can't bring himself to deny you anything so he nods. "Of course," he whispers.

When you disappear into the bathroom to touch up your smeared makeup, Lemon turns to his brother and smirks.

"You're so fuckin' whipped."

Tangerine's cheeks turn crimson but he doesn't deny it.

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion, @thewinterv

[madaqueue]

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other’s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

[discordantwritings]

Taken Back (Crocodile x Reader)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MDNI, fem afab! Reader (reader is referred to as girl), degradation, oral sex, facefucking, clothed sex/ dry humping, idk what the nice tag for getting off on a shoe is

WC: 1.9k

Summary: Your old boss is out of prison and back in action. You know he doesn’t like loose ends so you make a play to kill him before he can kill you. Things turn out differently than you plan.

Notes: I am not sure if this is what the requester wanted but my mind went to places that I couldn’t stop and I hope they like it!

Tagging: @keiva1000

Sword griped tight you wait for the lackey pirates to pass as you sneak further into Karai Bari island. Sir Crocodile’s wanted poster weighs heavy in your pocket as you mentally run through your plan once again.

Get into his office. Kill him or die in the process. Finally be free one way or the other.

Shitty plan, but it’s the best you’ve got.

Ever since you heard the news that Crocodile had escaped from Impel Down you knew you had to do this. You knew he didn’t like loose ends. You knew him well, he was your old boss after all.

For years you had worked for Baroque Works, a special agent directly under Sir Crocodile’s rule. You would go so far to say you had a decent relationship with him, as decent a relationship as Crocodile could have. You appreciated his efficiency and ruthlessness and he appreciated your obedience and skill.

You were a spy, often away from Alabasta for months at a time, and you had been away when the Straw Hat Pirates had turned the country upside down. When you got back there was nothing left for you, so you had to rebuild your life. It wasn’t easy- but your skills were more than enough to keep you above water.

But then Crocodile broke out.

It was like a knife was hanging over your head held by only a fraying thread. In every dark alley you expect to see him or one of your old coworkers, every night you shove a chair underneath the doorknob so no one can sneak in. Living in fear wasn’t much of a life. So when you caught wind of your old boss’ new hideout you stole yourself a ship and started sailing.

Now you’re here, sneaking through carnival surplus and dodging the gaze of pirate clowns. You’re not sure how exactly Sir Crocodile got in business with Buggy the Clown but you can’t really spare that much thought to that right now. It’s just a fitting backdrop for your quickly declining mental state.

You navigate carefully according to the (thankfully sound) information you bartered for and avoid being spotted as you come up on the door to Sir Crocodile’s office. Instinctually you know it’s his- painted in that signature dark green he loves so much. Sword in one hand, short dagger in the other you seep your haki into the blades. Pitch black weapons ready, you shove open the door and prepare to attack.

Sir Crocodile looks exactly the same. You figured maybe prison would have done some damage to him, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. He was still the same broad, imposing, terrifying man.

A man who was standing in front of his desk facing the door. A man who knew you were coming.

You falter in the door way as he smirks at you. All the adrenaline you were running off of evaporates in an instant as you’re faced with the cruel fact you’d be outsmarted.

You really should have known better.

“It’s been a while.” Sir Crocodile says, absentmindedly polishing his golden hook with a cloth.

“It has.” Is the best response you can come up with.

“You were really thinking of killing me? I really thought you were smarter than that.” The slight disappointment in his voice hurts more than the fact he’s going to kill you.

“I didn’t want to wait around to be killed.” You turn the dagger over in your hand, fighting to keep your willpower strong enough to empower the blade.

“Fair enough.” You feel his eyes slide over your form and you fight not to shrink away. “But what makes you think I want you dead?”

“What?” That wasn’t a question you were ready for.

“I don’t think I stuttered.”

“No- I-“ Your stance shifted, letting your guard down slightly. “I’m a loose end. You don’t like loose ends.”

Silence hangs in the air as he seems to contemplate that answer. “That is true. But why did you never think I’d want you working for me again?”

…

Admittedly, that thought never crossed your mind. You were caught up in the countless ruthless slaughters you had seen at his hand and hook. Never did you think that you could come back, that there was room for you to come back.

And now you’ve probably destroyed that chance.

“I clearly had a lapse in judgement.”

“Clearly.” Sir Crocodile pushes himself off his desk and walks over to you and you drop your now useless blades to your side, willpower having run out long ago. “If it wasn’t me this whole gambit probably would have worked. It was good to know you still had all your connections and skills. And no one noticed you sneaking around.”

“You did teach me well.” You admit as he stalks over to you.

“That’s why I’m not going to kill you.” Crocodile is standing only a foot from you now, grey eyes bearing down on you. “I’m going to take you back.”

A confusing rush of emotions swirl in your head as you process the fact that you’re not actually going to die and actually just got your job back. “Thank you sir.”

“You will have to work very, very hard to make up for this though. You did think about killing me.” He saunters back over to his desk, taking a seat behind it.

“Of course.” Of course you would never expect things to just go back to the way they were.

“Double shifts, and of course every bit of information you gained while I was away.”

“I will compile all that information for you.”

“And I expect you to come up with some other ways to get back on my good side. You’ve always been creative.”

He wasn’t implying anything. But the crazy cocktail of emotions, adrenaline, and honestly the way your mind was always a bit in the gutter had you thinking about less conventional ways to get back on his good side. There had never been anything between you two but you can’t deny that you’ve thought about it- I mean who could blame you? He was strong, commanding, and incredibly handsome. And, while you didn’t want to get overly full of yourself, you swear you’d occasionally feel his gaze on you when you weren’t looking.

If you were wrong your head might go back on the chopping block but if you were right then you’d get back in his good graces pretty damn fast.

Worth a shot.

You walked over to his desk, one hand trailing on the dark wood as you walk behind it. “I was wondering, sir, if there was anything I could do for you right now?”

He looks up at you with a raised eyebrow, studying you before answering. “Depends. What are you thinking?”

Of course he was going to make you say it. You can see in his eyes that he knows what you’re implying. He’s playing with you.

You choose not to say anything else, simply letting your knees hit the ground in front of his slightly parted legs. You don’t move after that, choosing to fold your hands in your lap while you wait for him to give you an order.

“Oh well look at this. Seems you are smart.” He shifts in his seat, legs spreading wider. “C’mere.”

You shuffle closer to him, hands quickly finding his belt. You swear you hear him chuckle but you’re too preoccupied with the large bulge growing in his pants as you unzip them. Reaching under his boxers you pull out his half hard length and your mouth waters.

He’s thick- so much so that you know it’ll be a challenge to wrap your mouth around him. But that fact only spurs you on further as you nuzzle up to his base and press sloppy kisses against it. You feel him harden under you and you flatten your tongue and lick a long stripe up from his base to the tip.

“Stop teasing.” His fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard as he pushes your head closer in warning.

You don’t need to be told twice. Taking his tip into your mouth you swirl your tongue around it a few times before slowly taking him further into your mouth. Crocodile groans in appreciation as you sink down, his cock slipping down into your throat until your nose brushes against his pelvis.

“If I’d of known you were so good on your knees I would have hunted you down the second I got out.” His grip pulls you back ever so slightly just so he can shove you back down again. “We’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

It’s thrilling to let yourself be used like this, the drag of his cock in your throat foreign yet intoxicating. You’re already soaked, shifting unconsciously to try and get some friction to relieve the quickly growing ache. Of course Crocodile notices.

“Are you such a whore that you’re getting off on this?” Your eyes flick up and you see him grinning down at you. “Spread your legs.”

You’re confused but you do as he asks, knees going wide and holding onto his thighs for support. It isn’t until you feel the tip of his expensive shoe between your thighs that it all clicks. You grind down on the hard surface and moan around Crocodile’s cock.

“That’s it.” Crocodile mumbles appreciatively above you.

You let him continue to use you, filthy wet noises filling the room as spit drips down your chin and onto his lap. When he’s controlling your head it’s easy to focus your effort on grinding yourself against his shoe. It’s humiliating, degrading, disgusting, and you love it. Your head swims with lust, captured in the feeling of his cock throbbing in your throat.

You know he’s close when his grip tightens on your hair and his hips buck up every time he shoves your face down. If that wasn’t enough signs, his mouth gets looser, filthy words spilling out.

“Fuck you’re too good at this- tight little throat was made for my cock, huh? It’s like you were meant to take me-“ The pulling of your hair brings tears to your eyes, just on the verge of spilling over. “You’re going to swallow what I give you- take my fucking load-“

You feel his cum hit the back of your throat and you do your best to swallow as you’re still held down. You can only swallow so much before you feel him dripping out the side of your mouth and down your chin. Finally he pulls you off and you gasp for air, face still held up for Crocodile to see. His hook comes up to your face and collects the spit and cum on your chin. He presses the cold metal up to your mouth and you lick it up without a thought, earning a groan from Crocodile.

“Such a good girl.” You’re rewarded with him pressing his shoe up to your clit. “Be a good little whore and get off on my shoe.”

It doesn’t take long now that he’s helping, forced to look in his eyes as you moan and shudder, coming undone in a way you never thought you could. As you come down he lets you go and your head falls down to his lap, head light from your orgasm.

“You have certainly proven yourself.” You feel the hook lightly brush through your hair. “And now I’ll never let you go.”

[chosos-mascara]

all my love, suguru

chapter 3

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you’d had left?

chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru), general angst

masterlist

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Each step feels heavier than the last.  The school gates await you with your friends at the veil, yet you find yourself wincing with each step forward. A warm drink from home may have comforted your trembling hands, though amidst the unsettledness of your stomach this morning, you'd forgotten to make your usual to-go. 

As you breathe the brisk air inward, you wonder if this will be the final morning your secret will be held close, or if you'd find yourself ready to tell him the truth. 

Beneath his jacket, Suguru sweats profusely, chest rising and falling at a calculated pace. He attempts to deepen those quick breaths with an elongated draw inward, before pausing to push a steady breath through gritted teeth. The end goal is of course to fool himself into a meditative state, though with each breath being so forced, it doesn't seem to be working all too well. He perseveres; if others would read him as calm, perhaps he could believe it himself. But when your figure comes into his line of sight, he realises there is no way to soothe the panic raging within. 

Satoru lifts his blindfold, one blue eye emerging through the gap. There's a momentary pause before his technique activates in which he squints, and allows himself to adjust to the light. An extra few seconds are added to this to see if Suguru will stop him, though the brunette's silence is enough to answer his internal struggle. His eye glows, and the overstimulating light of the sun that Satoru has grown to hate shines bright; flames of cursed energy outlined by a bold dark blue starting to encompass his surroundings, a larger one dancing around you.

He's seen your energy many times, and recognises the peaks and troughs, and the flicker. There does seem to be more of a tremble than usual, a dip in that livelihood you carried though this can be a product of stress - he's aware you carry that burden. Satoru continues to stare, narrowing his sight further to focus at the core of your body, just below the navel in search for an answer to the question he's perused over all weekend. He finds it.

His jaw tenses. A seed of doubt is planted within himself, though it quickly stems into belief, blossoming finally at a deep uneasiness as he processes what he's seeing. Satoru notices Suguru's strain within the corner of his eye, a reminder to the fact he is awaiting an answer just as impatiently, though this is one that Satoru is unsure how to break. He begins to devise the beginnings of a plan when one small detail of that flame causes his mind to falter, and focus itself back onto you. There's something off about this energy you're housing as although he recognises traces of you, there's an angry dominance of a flame he'd known as well as his own. Satoru was sure this could mean only one thing; that his closest friend was the father of this child.

"So?" The brunette forces the question through his teeth, concern rising with each additional second the pair are stood in quietness. The self control Suguru prides himself on begins to slip as his only answer thus far has been that of Satoru's tensed jaw and stiff frame, language that should spell out the outcome clear as day, yet cannot be read while still in denial. "Is she?" He pushes only once more, voice dipping.

Of course, now this made sense to Satoru. The fear in Suguru's eye when Shoko had dangled this possibility before him, and the hesitance each of you had displayed when interacting. What hurt, though, is the fact that his closest friend would choose to lie to him, rather than to allow himself to feel some form of comfort? Had Suguru not trusted Satoru enough to share this burden with him?  

Suguru's hand wavers above his shoulder, above the infinite space between himself and Satoru that he couldn't break through with a twitch in his fingers. He was so distant from you, from this situation, and now from his friend, too.

Suguru breathes in lowly, believing an explanation is on the horizon that will relieve him of this thrumming in his veins and heart; even if the answer is one he hadn't wanted, he needed some form of relief from the unknown. His blood is pumping quickly now, whirring in his ears, a sick cacophony of noise buzzing around his head to rebound on his skull and ping against his brain. 

"She is, isn't she?" There's that small voice again, hollow breaths forced into his lungs just to stay alive all while fighting the dread within his bones. He feels ill, angered even, at his past self for making such a stupid mistake. A slip of the mind, an irresponsible fault birthed from lust and idiocy. If he'd have used some form of protection, or perhaps refrained from fucking you at all, he wouldn't be in this situation.

Moments from that night are etched into his mind, and he mulls over everything he'd done wrong. Inviting you to stay, looking into your eye, allowing your touch on his own cold and paling skin that wanted so badly to be held. 

He wouldn't be a good father, even if he'd wanted to be.

Satoru understands the inner turmoil Suguru is experiencing through one look of his face. His eyes are blank, wide, and his expression contorted to display the true fears he's living through. There is many things he could say about his friend, though the one that seems to stick out right now is unwell. 

"No," He prays Suguru doesn't pick up on his rigidness, and he forces his own unsettled hand to grasp at his. "She's not." Brown eyes flicker from their vacancy to meet with blue, and Satoru realises his hypocrisy. How could he be upset with Suguru for lying, when he has just done the same thing? 

Maybe Suguru should have questioned Satoru further. But right now all he could focus on was steadying his ragged breaths and rapid heart, palm drawing into his chest to feel the thrumming die down. You grow closer, and the white haired male is still struggling to process the truth.

You're able to tell something's awry with the pair, though you're much too anxious to prod when you're not given an answer upon arrival. Suguru looks startled by you, and Satoru is unreadable through his deadpan expression. You suddenly realise you are growing uncomfortable with their unease, a coldness prickling over your spine.

"We gonna stand here all day?" Shoko pipes up from behind you, a cigarette between her fingers. The smell of the smoke brings an acid taste into your throat, but you don't let on.  "You should quit that, you know." Your voice is quiet and you force a quirk to your lip, but Shoko doesn't seem to notice the strange aura hanging above each of your heads. She shrugs, continuing to walk toward the school building while you catch up. The others trail behind, and you can't shake the feeling of dread that seems to tail you. 

"Who've you got today?" She asks, hand pushed into her pocket to retrieve a small metallic box. She stubs the end of her cigarette out over the lid, then slides it to the side to place the nub inside.  "Third years, they're practicing for their theory." Your eyes feel heavy, another sleepless night resulting in your continued exhaustion. "Gross." 

You teach within your classroom for most of the day, weary by the end of it. Morning sickness should be renamed you think, with your head in the toilet bowl - it lasts all day. Thankfully the nauseousness didn't surface when teaching, though began after your final period, when you'd eaten a snack from the vending machine.

Finishing late hadn't been on your agenda, though neither had puking in the very toilet stall you'd found yourself to be pregnant within. These early pregnancy memories seem to favour the backdrop of your school, something you're unsure you'll look back fondly on.

You lock your class door once you're done filing today's work away, bag slung over shoulder and body ready to collapse into bed. When you're part the way down the hall, you feel a presence behind you, inching closer with much larger strides.

Satoru's kept an eye on you for most of the day, even when he hadn't wanted to - the sound of you heaving in the bathroom stalls isn't one he favours. He's spent a while contemplating his approach, though decides that ultimately, being forward is what he's best at. You're his friend, and right now he hates that you're in this alone. If only you'd just tell him, he's sure he can help.

A long arm wraps around you, and you close your eyes, letting out a breath. "Hi, Satoru." Although you hadn't intended your voice to sound so obviously deflated, your mood was entirely exposed through those two words. He raises a brow, but you don't see it under his blindfold, nor pick up on the bitter change in air. "How's my favourite sensei?" His forced tone grates your ears. You're not entirely sure why, you've been able to stomach his annoying nature until now, though you've never been this stressed and fatigue ridden.

"Suguru's your favourite, don't lie." Your reply is flat, even if it's a joke, but Satoru doesn't seem offended. "Ah, second favourite then." There's less playfulness, and you feel a little uneasy. "I'm good, how're you?"  The doors are before you, and you slip from his arm to open it, passing through and holding a hand over the glass to allow him to follow. He decides now isn't the time to ask, not when you seem to be on the defensive. 

The following morning seems to be the apt time, much to your distaste, with both Suguru and Shoko needed elsewhere by your usual meeting time. Much like yesterday, he watches you approach over the horizon, though this time he doesn't have to check for the flame he already knows is there. His jaw feels tight, but he wraps a long arm around you to start from where he'd left off. Satoru's forwardness isn't out of the ordinary, but there's an uncomfortable churning in your gut that tells you he's onto you.

"So," His tone is light and upbeat, but his intentions feel less so. "How are you?" "I'm good, thanks." Words you remember to have spoken only twelve hours before. Your reply is short, much like your breaths - shallow, controlled. "Great." He begins to lift himself from you, his head turning to glance over his own shoulder, and you take that downtime to recollect yourself. You have to think hard about how you're acting as not to seem abnormal. Is this how you usually stepped, how you usually spoke? If Satoru got a whiff of your sudden withdrawn personality, you know he wouldn't let it go. 

Though, you realise he's probably already noticed, because he was much closer now, crouched forward to your height and arm tightening to trap you. His blindfold is down, and you're glad it is, because looking him in the eye right now would likely send you into tears. 

"So, no morning sickness, then?" 

There it is. The wobbly smile you'd managed to feign began to falter, and finally, your expression drops. You knew it wouldn't take him long to figure you out through the bags beneath your eyes and the hunch in your back that things weren't right, yet you're still in denial he's certain. You reassure yourself that he's bluffing, using that conversation you'd had with Shoko the other day - you just had to play it cool.

"Are you going to tell him?" 

It seems you wouldn't have the chance to challenge him, because with those six words, you know that Satoru knows it all. You frown, skin crawling, a chill stemming from the ear he'd spoken into and splaying down your spine as if a parasite. You picture it, forking out in branches along with the veins in your body, cooling your blood dangerously cold. There's nausea too, paired with confusion before you force yourself back into your surroundings, eyes locked on the school's entrance. 

Without a reply you storm through, grateful for the empty halls as you make way toward the comfort of your own class. Satoru's no longer holding your frame when your shaking grasp takes the classroom key from your pocket, hitting it beside the hole a number of times before steadying your hand to finally slot and twist.

Only when you're inside, the wood closed firmly behind you, do you peer up to his face. Revealed is the stern line his lips cast themselves into, a gentle slope at the end of each corner. It's fairly obvious he's cast some form of judgement on you, and it's not favourable. 

"He doesn't need to know, Satoru. Don't push yourself into this." The quiet, unsure tone had been abandoned to make way for a forbidding one. It's silent as he stares at you, and you're wondering if the switch up had changed his attitude. Of course, much like before, you're wrong.

"He has a right to know." The impishness he'd used before fizzles out, and the ounce of comfort it had brought you along with it.  "I haven't decided what I'll do." You're defensive, but only because you're afraid of what he thinks. "Leave it, Satoru. It's not your place." 

In the midst of your spat, your glazed eyes glance to the clock above the blackboard. 8:15, you hadn't long until your students would be arriving. 

There's an overwhelming feeling within you to sit down and you decide to follow that need, dragging your feet over the floor until you're met with your desk. Your eyes drop to the glossy oak, it reflects the lights above. As you slump back, it dances.

"Have you told anyone?" Part of you expects him to leave, but he instead takes wide steps toward you, seating himself at the edge of your desk. He doesn't face you, instead looking toward the other empty chairs with his hands planted behind himself for support. You're left to question what he thinks of you after this.

"No, I haven't." The palms placed within your lap feel clammy now, eyes blurry as tears begin to fall, warm water dribbling down your cheek while your nose begins to run. Sniffling, you wipe your skin. The sound of your muffled sobs cause Satoru's head to turn, shielded eyes met with your vulnerability.

"He won't be angry." That soft voice is only due to pity; Satoru had always been an empath. It's likely to be his only weakness.

"I love him, I think." There is no chance of you looking to him once those words roll off of your tongue. Quietness follows your statement, and you begin to think Satoru isn't going to speak again. Perhaps it was unexpected, maybe unwarranted, though you can't say you regret admitting your feelings to someone. 

"Which is why I can't tell him." This is what's right, deep down in the pits of your stomach, you know this is it. There is a part of you that always knew you're going through with this pregnancy, but also a part of you that understands you won't ever find the courage to let Suguru know. 

"What will you do, then?" You're unsure if there's spite in his voice, or if you imagine it. 

"That's for me to decide." 

There's a knock at the door, and then it opens, Maki's head peering through. She looks between the two of you with a raised brow, and you're thankful that the tears had stopped falling. Sitting up straight, you run your palms over your trousers and stand.

"Good morning, Maki." 

Satoru takes his signal to leave, slowly making his way to the door though hesitating before walking through it. Ultimately, he decides not to push anymore than he has already, and makes his way to his own classroom. 

...

a/n: soooo what did you think about part 3? do we think reader is going to tell suguru, or is she going to run from him? i think we only have 1-2 parts left before this is concluded!

tags - @animeisforkings @emikisses @boredwithwrath @karazorel7 @tomiokasecretlover  @mrsoharaa @magey0412 @thisbicc @aemiliabruno @zeunys @sukunaspillow @caixgee @ssetsuka @pinkpunkdynamite @harlamarie @chilicopsticks @khoochie @hojoslutoru @karazorel @idkuluka @itztamar @magey0412 @strflp @kaeyakaikai -taglist now closed! if you're following me, look out for the next update this coming thursday.