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cbeargyu · 2 days ago

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just a bet for you [2]

summary: you fall for him, deeply, blindly. you give him everything—including your first time. but when he confesses it was all part of a bet, your world collapses. months later, he realizes too late that his feelings were real. but now, you’ve moved on, and when he tries to reach you, you make it clear: he doesn’t get a second chance.

pairing: heesung x fem!reader

genre: high school au, angst, heartbreak, slow burn, betrayal, one-sided love, emotional fallout.

warnings: emotional manipulation, virginity loss, betrayal for a bet, mentions of bullying, intense emotional scenes, crying, self-worth issues, explicit heartbreak, mention of physical intimacy, slap scene, heavy angst, no happy ending.

wc: 4,3k

notes: hi!!🩷 thank you so, so much for all the love the first part of this story received, it honestly made me so happy to see the response :D! you guys make me really happy, i love you all so much. stay tuned because i’ll be posting the other two heesung stories i promised you soon <3 also, if you want to be added to the taglists for upcoming fics, feel free to fill out this form! you can specify which groups or idols you’d like to be tagged in, it would help me stay a bit more organized 🫶🏻

PART 1 HERE.

taglist: @rikiholic @jjongsies @heelovesmeknot @imzhouxinyu @firstclassjaylee @xoxobooksstuff @bbokaricentral @bonsaijoons @ily6968 @annnna1234 @lavxndxrsworld @titttuaf @ball-312 @yujinsbabyi @guppiechuu @mymentalityprince @g3n3v13v33 @pjselee @lovetia @ikeulims @skzenhalove @kukkurookkoo @leechqnsgirl @wonniejamz @lookmaxxxomg @meowmeowjang @yeahhhhsuperhumannn @hyuukas @aheewonenthusiast @lilyofthevalley6 @fabulousarepo4 @zhenyaf1z @antisocialties @deezbin @princesspeachicedtea @heeseungissm

you didn’t go to school for two weeks after it happened.

at first, you told your parents you were just tired. that maybe you were coming down with something. that your body ached. and it was true, in a way—your body did ache, but not from any illness they’d understand. the ache sat deep in your chest, in your lungs, in the pit of your stomach. it made it hard to breathe, hard to eat, hard to sleep without waking up in tears.

you cried until your throat burned. until your pillow was soaked. until your fingers curled into your sheets in the middle of the night, wishing you could claw him out of your memory. you kept replaying it over and over again—how he held you, how he kissed your forehead, how gently he moved inside you, how he fed you soup and looked at you like you were made of glass. and then how he broke you in the same room he touched you like you mattered.

you didn’t understand.

you couldn’t understand.

someone who loved with actions—who tied your shoelaces when they came undone, who waited at the gate after school, who sat in silence with you in the library just to be near you—how could that all be a lie? how could someone fake the way his thumb brushed over your hand while you solved equations, or the way he held you like the world outside your bedroom didn’t exist?

you told yourself there had to be something real in it. maybe not all of it. but something. he couldn't have done all that just for a bet… right?

but while you cried yourself sick, the others were laughing.

heesung and his friends—jay, sunghoon, the others who had always hovered around like shadows—were joking about it in the cafeteria. about how you’d fallen hard. about how easy it had been. jay even said he didn’t think you’d go through with it. sunghoon just laughed and said, “i guess love makes girls blind.”

and heesung?

he laughed too.

smirked and said, “i told you. i knew she’d give in. i know her type.”

and maybe something in him tightened when he said it. maybe something in his chest flickered, sharp and bitter. but no one noticed—not even him. because in front of his friends, his pride had to survive. so he played along. like you had meant nothing. like none of it had mattered.

and yet… when you came back, everything changed.

you walked into school two weeks later with your head held a little higher. your eyes were tired, but they didn’t tremble anymore. your uniform was the same, your hair was the same, but there was something different about the way you carried yourself. you smiled at your teacher when she welcomed you back. you answered roll call like nothing was wrong. when people whispered in the halls, you didn’t flinch.

you told everyone your parents had taken you out of town to visit your grandmother. “we didn’t plan it,” you said easily. “they just made the decision last minute. no signal where we were.”

you sat in class like normal. you took notes. you even hummed quietly during break.

and people noticed.

not in the cliché, dramatic way. not like you suddenly became the “hot girl.” it was quieter than that. it was in the way people looked twice when you walked by. the way they hesitated before talking about you. the way they no longer saw you as invisible, but as something they couldn’t quite define.

and heesung noticed too.

he saw the way your posture had changed. the way you didn’t glance around nervously anymore. the way you answered questions with confidence, how you laughed with classmates you never used to talk to. something about your presence was louder now, even if your voice wasn’t.

and for the first time since he left your house, he started remembering.

he remembered how your hands shook when you first held his. how your eyes lit up when he brought you strawberries one afternoon because you mentioned liking them in passing. how he watched you sleep once, and something inside him clenched in a way he didn’t understand back then.

he told himself it was all an act. that he was just playing the part. that every kind gesture, every glance, every soft breath against your skin was planned.

but not all of it was.

some things just... happened. some moments weren’t rehearsed. and now, watching you from across the room, something sharp curled beneath his ribs.

regret.

and that feeling only deepened when, one afternoon, you were walking past the lockers and someone called your name.

“y/n!”

you turned, blinking, and found a boy you didn’t recognize very well—jake, from class 1-b. tall, warm smile, honey-brown hair. he jogged over with a little out-of-breath laugh.

“you dropped this earlier in the hallway,” he said, holding out your pen.

you blinked at it, surprised. “oh… thank you. i didn’t even notice.”

“yeah,” he grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “figured you’d want it back. it’s cute. the little star charm’s cool.”

you laughed, a small, real sound. “it was a gift. from myself.”

he laughed with you. “solid choice.”

he walked with you to class that day. not flirtatious. just easy. light.

and heesung saw it all from the other end of the hall—your laugh, your comfort, the way jake looked at you like you were bright and new.

and something in his stomach twisted.

for the first time, he wasn’t part of your world.

he had no place there anymore.

and maybe—just maybe—that was the part that hurt the most.

heesung didn’t notice it all at once.

at first, it was just a quiet discomfort. something small. like the subtle ache of a bruise you forgot was there until someone brushed against it. a flicker in his chest that he ignored. a hollow feeling he pushed down with laughter and noise.

he told himself he didn’t care. that he had won. that it was just a bet and he had gotten what he wanted. his friends kept saying it, too—how easy it was, how good the payoff had been, how funny it was that you actually cried.

but every time they said your name like it was a joke, something in him tensed.

still, he smiled.

still, he laughed.

because that’s what he was supposed to do.

until you came back.

you walked into school like someone who had been rebuilt. not louder, not flashier, not dressed any different—but something in you had changed. you didn’t slouch anymore. you didn’t stare at the floor when people passed. your steps were quieter, but more certain. like you didn’t need to be noticed to be seen.

and worse—you didn’t look at him.

not once.

not even when your eyes passed over his. you looked right through him. like he wasn’t there. like the boy you gave yourself to had died and become someone you didn’t recognize anymore. it was the first time he realized you could move on. that maybe he hadn’t broken you the way he thought he did.

and that’s when it started.

the ache.

every day after that, it grew heavier. he tried to ignore it—he flirted with other girls in the hallway, he laughed louder than necessary, he stayed out late. but none of it filled the space you left behind. the silence of your absence followed him everywhere, curling like smoke around his collarbones, pressing against his lungs.

and then came jake.

at first, he didn’t even know the guy’s name. just some quiet boy from a different class—friendly, golden-haired, always polite to teachers. but suddenly, he was sitting beside you during lunch. carrying your books when your arms were full. walking with you to the gate after school. he never touched you too much, never made it look like anything romantic, but it didn’t matter.

heesung saw the way you smiled around him.

not the way you used to smile at heesung—shy and tentative—but brighter. lighter. like you were no longer afraid of breaking.

and worst of all, jake did things heesung used to do.

he tucked your hair behind your ear when the wind blew too hard. he waited for you outside the library, leaning against the wall with both hands in his pockets like it was the most natural thing in the world. he passed you notes in class—not cheesy ones, but simple things like “don’t forget to eat lunch today” or “i hope your morning was kind.”

and every time heesung saw one of those moments unfold, his chest tightened.

because he remembered.

he remembered how you used to look at him like that. how you used to reach for his hand without thinking. how you once whispered “thank you for choosing me” after he kissed your forehead in your room.

he told himself it was all fake. that he had played a role, nothing more.

but some of it hadn’t been fake.

some of it had been instinct.

some of it had been real.

and now it was gone.

sometimes, at night, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking of the way your voice trembled when you said you were happy your first time had been with him. the way you clung to the blanket when he stood to leave. the way you ran after him, bare feet against the floor, tears already falling—and he didn’t turn around.

he should have turned around.

now you were healing without him.

and he… he was unraveling.

that's why he didn’t expect to see you again that day.

it was just a normal afternoon—at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. the courtyard was half-empty, students trickling out after class in lazy, aimless waves. heesung had been walking with jay and sunghoon, shoulders slouched, backpack hanging loosely from one strap, half-listening to some story jay was telling that didn’t really matter.

he wasn’t paying attention. not until he heard your laugh.

soft. low. the kind of laugh that used to only come out when you were comfortable, when you forgot to be afraid. he froze instinctively—eyes lifting before his mind could stop him.

there you were.

sitting on the edge of a planter box under the tree near the gate, legs crossed at the ankle, your head tilted as you listened to jake say something beside you. he was holding a bottle of water, a backpack slung over one shoulder. he handed it to you, and you took it with a small smile, your fingers brushing his for just a second.

heesung couldn’t hear what you were saying. but you were smiling. you looked healthy. rested. you looked like you hadn’t spent weeks crying over him in the dark. you looked like you’d finally let go of the hand that once shattered you.

and you didn’t look his way—not once.

that was the part that felt the heaviest.

“damn,” jay muttered beside him, loud enough for the others to hear. “she moves on fast.”

sunghoon snorted. “wonder if she cried in jake’s arms, too.”

they laughed. a few other boys chuckled with them. someone else said, “what was her name again? the one you took home? y/n, right?”

heesung didn’t say anything. he kept walking, but his pace slowed.

“maybe she’s just collecting boyfriends now,” jay added with a grin. “first heesung, now jake. who’s next?”

“bet jake has no idea she was begging heesung to stay, crying like a kicked puppy.” sunghoon whistled. “guess jake likes secondhand toys.”

the laughter grew louder. more shameless. more cruel.

heesung stopped walking.

he didn’t say a word. he didn’t laugh. he just stared straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight it ached. his fingers curled tighter around the strap of his backpack, knuckles white.

they were still talking about you like that. like you were nothing more than a punchline. like you hadn’t mattered. like you hadn’t loved him.

and he said nothing.

because saying something would mean stepping out of the mask he’d been wearing this whole time. it would mean breaking the image. it would mean admitting that you weren’t just another girl. that what he did wasn’t just a joke. it would mean facing everything he’d been trying to ignore since the moment he left your house and walked away from the girl who had given him everything.

he told himself it was better this way. that it was cleaner if he stayed silent.

but his silence was starting to rot him from the inside out.

you were still sitting there, unaware. jake stood up, pointing at something in his phone, and you leaned slightly to look. he held the screen closer, and your knees brushed lightly—casual, natural, the kind of touch heesung remembered vividly.

and for a second—just a second—he wished he could go back.

not to change what happened, not to undo it, but to tell you that it hadn’t all been a lie. that not everything had been a game. because when you smiled at him, something inside him had moved. and when you cried, something inside him hadbroken. he just hadn’t known what to do with that feeling. so he buried it. mocked it. pretended it never happened.

and now it was too late.

jay slapped a hand on his shoulder. “what, you mad he’s got her now?”

he didn’t respond.

just shook him off gently, like the touch annoyed him.

because yeah. maybe he was mad.

but not at you. not at jake.

he was mad at himself—for letting go of the only person who ever looked at him like he wasn’t just a name behind a pretty face. for breaking something he didn’t know how to fix. for being too much of a coward to say, “stop,” when they started laughing.

and for still staring at you like you were his, when he gave you every reason to walk away.

he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

the room was quiet except for the hum of his fan and the soft ticking of the clock on his desk. it was late—past midnight, maybe closer to two—but sleep didn’t come easily anymore. not the kind that left you rested. not the kind that made mornings worth waking up for.

his body was still. but his mind wouldn’t shut up.

he hated how loud your memory was in silence.

he closed his eyes and it came rushing back. the way your fingers curled in his shirt when you kissed him the first time. how you trembled under his touch but still whispered “i want this with you.” how you winced when he entered you, how your nails dug into his back as you cried out, how you smiled, teary and flushed, afterward, whispering “i’m happy it was you.”

he hadn’t meant to remember all of it—but it wouldn’t leave him alone.

the way you used to wait by his locker just to walk home together. the way you brought him tangerines because he said he liked them once. the way you blushed whenever he tucked your hair behind your ear. how you laughed when he teased you softly. how your voice always dropped when you said his name like it meant something more.

he thought he’d buried all of that. he thought forgetting you would be easy.

but nothing about you was forgettable.

he sat up in bed, breathing heavy now, like the air around him had thickened. there was a tension in his chest—an ache that didn’t go away when he rubbed his hands over his face. it stayed there, lodged in his ribs, aching like guilt, like grief, like a question he’d never asked himself until now:

did i love her?

and the silence answered back:

yes.

yes, he did. maybe not from the start. maybe not all at once. but somewhere along the line—between the library books and your gentle voice and the way you looked at him like he was someone worth loving—he had fallen for you.

and now you were gone.

really gone.

not just physically, but emotionally. spiritually. you no longer belonged to his world. you no longer turned at the sound of his name. he could pass you in the hallway and it would be like walking past a ghost.

he hesitated, looking at his phone on the nightstand.

his heart beat faster.

his hand trembled slightly as he reached for it, thumb hovering over your contact. it was still there. he never deleted it. he never even changed your name. just y/n—plain, simple, the way you saved yourself in his phone that first night.

he stared at it for too long.

what do i say?

what could i say?

sorry? i miss you? i didn’t mean it? i was wrong?

they all felt hollow. they all felt too late. but he pressed the call button anyway, like maybe—maybe—you’d still want to hear his voice.

it rang once.

then the screen went black. call declined.

he froze.

his stomach dropped.

he tried again. and this time—

“this number is not available.”

his throat tightened. he tried to breathe through it, but his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

you had blocked him.

not muted. not ignored. not paused.

blocked. completely. entirely. with finality.

and just like that, it hit him like a blow to the ribs.

she doesn’t want to hear from me. she’s done.

what did he expect?

that you’d pick up in the middle of the night, voice soft and sleepy, still waiting for him? that you’d cry again, say his name, beg for answers? that you’d run into his arms like nothing had happened?

how fucking foolish.

his fingers tightened around the phone, then let it drop beside him with a dull thud.

you weren’t waiting. you weren’t hoping. you weren’t his anymore.

you had walked away. healed. outgrown him.

and he—he had stayed the same. still pretending. still running. still hiding behind silence and laughter and people who didn’t care if he burned.

he laid back down, arm over his eyes, chest hollow.

he wouldn’t call again.

he wouldn’t message.

he wouldn't show up pretending to be brave.

not because he respected your decision—but because he was a coward.

and because facing your rejection now would destroy what little was left of him.

so he let the silence stay.

just like you had.

days had turned into weeks, though heesung wasn’t sure when the shift had occurred. time had begun to bleed together, slow and indistinct, like the blur of water slipping down a window during a storm. everything felt quieter than before, but not in the peaceful way—no, it was the kind of silence that made his skin itch, that wrapped around his lungs and refused to let go, like grief that hadn’t quite finished forming. he still walked the same halls, still sat in the same classrooms, still laughed at the same tired jokes, but the world around him felt distorted, as if nothing was quite where it used to be. and it wasn’t. not really. because you weren’t there anymore—not in the way that counted.

you didn’t look at him anymore. didn’t flinch when you passed each other. you didn’t hesitate, or soften, or seem remotely affected by the empty space he left behind. and maybe that was what finally started to eat at him—not your absence, but your indifference. it was easier when he thought you hated him. hate meant fire. hate meant he still lived somewhere inside you. but now... now you looked through him like he had become translucent, like he no longer held a single thread to your world. and god, it hurt more than he could stand.

he told himself he didn’t care. repeated it like a prayer each night when he stared at the ceiling in his dark room, one arm slung over his eyes to block out everything except his thoughts. but the truth clawed at him like something alive. he remembered everything—your hands in his, the soft pull of your smile, the way your head fit perfectly on his shoulder, how your voice cracked when you said “i’m glad it was you.” he had tried to forget, but it came back in waves, sharp and suffocating. he remembered how you kissed him like he mattered, how you trembled but still trusted him, how your eyes fluttered open afterward, full of something so painfully pure it nearly undid him.

he couldn’t forget. not anymore.

the ache that came with those memories had become unbearable—dense in his chest, heavy in his throat. and when he walked into the chemistry lab that afternoon, all he wanted was to disappear for a little while, to escape the noise of the halls and the suffocating press of guilt that followed him like a shadow. he didn’t expect to see you there.

you were standing near the lockers, facing away from him, your body half-tucked behind the tall cabinet where the beakers and tongs were kept. you moved carefully, methodically, as if each motion served a purpose. your back was straight, your hair pulled out of the way, the sleeves of your uniform rolled just slightly. you looked so calm, so self-contained. you looked nothing like the girl he remembered sobbing under a blanket while he walked away.

he froze. completely.

for a moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. he felt like the air had thickened, like he had walked into a memory and it had decided to come alive just to punish him. his gaze locked on you, and as if some invisible string snapped taut between you, you turned.

your eyes met.

and everything around him went still.

his heartbeat stuttered. there was a pressure behind his eyes, behind his ribs, like something raw had clawed its way out of him. and for the briefest second, he thought maybe—maybe—there was something still left. maybe you’d say something, anything.

but then you blinked, cold and calm, and turned away again without a word.

you folded your lab coat neatly, placed it on the stool beside you, and grabbed your bag. you were already halfway to the door when his body reacted before his mind could.

“wait—”

his voice cracked through the silence, rough and desperate.

you paused, fingers on the sliding door, shoulders tense.

“please. y/n… wait.”

he moved toward you, slowly, like every step cost him something. and just before you could open the door, he reached out, fingers brushing your wrist.

you flinched.

your reaction was immediate, electric—your body snapped away like he had burned you. your eyes turned to his, not wide with surprise or hurt, but narrowed with fury and something else—disgust. your voice, when it came, was sharp and low and full of ice.

“don’t touch me.”

he stepped back instinctively, guilt spreading across his face like poison. he lifted his hands slightly, palms open as if to show he meant no harm. but it didn’t matter. it was already too late.

“i just… i need to talk to you,” he said, voice softer now, almost breaking. “please. i know i don’t deserve it. but just let me—”

“you used me.” your voice cut through the room like a blade, and he fell silent instantly. “now you want me to believe you care?” you shook your head, bitter disbelief dripping from every word. “don’t insult me. save your guilt for someone who asked for it.”

he took a shallow breath, but your words didn’t stop.

“you didn’t defend me when they laughed at me.” your tone trembled now—not with weakness, but with pain long held. “you laughed with them.” you stepped forward, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “so don’t act like you regret it now.”

his lips parted, his throat worked, but nothing came. not until you finally said the last thing he’d been terrified to hear.

“you never loved me, heesung.” your voice cracked, but you didn’t look away. “you loved the way i looked at you.”

that broke him.

he looked down, shoulders heavy, breath unsteady. he wanted to deny it, to explain, to beg—but the truth swelled inside him like a wound finally bursting.

“i did,” he said softly, eyes flicking back to you, desperate. “i did love you. i swear i didn’t know it until after, but—” he choked, biting down the panic that rose in his chest. “yes, it started as a joke. a fucking stupid bet. but it stopped being one the moment you smiled at me like i meant something. when you held my hand, when you kissed me back, when you… when we were in your room, and i held you—”

you slapped him.

hard.

his head jerked slightly to the side, the sting spreading across his cheek like fire.

you were shaking now, but your voice was steady.

“don’t you dare bring that night up.”

your eyes were red, but not from weakness. from rage. from betrayal. from the kind of heartbreak that people don’t walk away from whole.

“you planned it. all of it. you got close to me just to win. you let me fall. you let me love you knowing the whole time you were going to rip me apart. and you did.” your voice rose, thick with tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. “i hate you, heesung. i hate you. leave me alone.”

he opened his mouth, but you were already walking away, grabbing your coat and bag, shoving past him like he wasn’t even there. and this time, he didn’t follow. he didn’t try to stop you. he just stood there, one hand on his cheek, chest collapsing in on itself.

he watched you disappear through the door.

and for the first time, he didn’t just feel regret. he felt loss. real, permanent, irreparable loss.

and he knew.

you would never look at him again.

not even with hate.

because even that… required caring.

and you were done.

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joiigurl · 4 months ago

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💤. falling asleep in your bf anton’s embrace

genre: fluff

wc: 312 words

🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི 🦕 ྀིྀི

The night air was cool as you curled up on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket. The soft hum of the television played in the background, but neither you nor Anton were really paying attention. Instead, you were tangled together in a quiet embrace, his arm draped lazily over your waist while your head rested against his chest.

“You’re so comfortable Ant,” you mumbled sleepily, nuzzling closer.

Anton chuckled, his voice low and soothing. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true,” you murmured, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. His warmth, his scent—everything about him felt like home.

His hand slipped under the hem of your sweatshirt, his palm warm against the small of your back. His touch was slow and lazy, fingertips brushing lightly over your skin in soothing circles. The sensation sent a shiver through you, not from cold, but from the quiet intimacy of it—how natural and familiar it felt to have him hold you like this.

“You okay babe?” Anton whispered, his voice laced with fondness as he felt you melt further against him.

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Mhm. Feels nice.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from his chest. “You’re so sleepy,” he murmured, his fingers continuing their slow, comforting movements along your back. The gentle stroke of his hand made you feel weightless, like you could float away into dreams without a single worry.

Anton shifted slightly, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your temple. “Go to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers traced one last, lingering path up your spine before settling at your waist, holding you close. You sighed in contentment, breathing in his warmth, his scent, everything that made you feel safe.

“I love you,” you mumbled, barely conscious.

His arms tightened around you, his lips brushing over your forehead in a lingering kiss. “I love you too.”

And with that, you drifted into a peaceful sleep, completely safe in his embrace.

#kpop #riize x reader #riize #lee chanyoung #lee anton #riize anton #shotaro #sungchan #eunseok #wonbin #seunghan #riize sohee #riize is 7 #riize imagines

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lollipop-bribes · 5 months ago

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The marketplace of Garreg Mach almost rivals those of the halidom back home, despite the smaller scale. There are peddlers of all sorts of goods, from meats and spices to weapons and armor, to board games and teddy bears. A marketplace says a lot about the surrounding area's resources, as well as what's in demand.

Gaius has admired many a stall on this trip, so far having purchased a vial of sword oil and a jar of honey (Jars!! Of honey!! No more hive-heisting for Gaius!!!). There's one, though, that happens to be last in his rounds, manned by a short redheaded girl who looks…familiar in a way that he can't place. Hopefully he doesn't have an unpaid tab with her from another space and time.

The girl's wares are sound. Silver knives with ornate handles, tinctures in fancy frosted glass bottles, and household tchotchkes of all sorts. The merchant seems a bit expectant as he carefully examines the goods, and finally, the subject of all his searching is before his eyes -

- and he can't help but be disappointed. Gaius is an appreciator of all things sweet, essentially without exception, but the candies that are on display here are probably on his lowest tier. She only has those white, chalky sugar tablets, the kind that he used to snag in a pinch as a child not much younger than the peddler, but never left him satisfied.

Gaius isn't gonna punch any gift horses. But demand requires supply - and he sees something in this girl. Something savvy enough to meet that need.

He shakes out his coin and presents the exact amount to the little lady. "Three bags of the sugar tabs please, miss. Though…do you think you're gonna get any other candies in soon? That's a big gap in the market, y'know. The candy lady only rolls by about once a week."

@lilmerchant

a sucker's born every minute

#[thread] a sucker's born every minute #[ic] a little sugar in my tank and watch out!#[support] anna #wc: 312 #gaius said smarties are the worst halloween candy

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thehusbandoden · 1 year ago

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Ice Cream Thief -Husband!Bakugo Katsuki x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

A/n: I don't simp for Bakugo, so pls let me know if his scratched your itch.

General info:

Genre: fluff/crack/comfort \\ wc: 312 \\ fem reader \\ posted: 03/15/24

Summary: you are having a terrible time. Your baby kept you awake all night kicking, you stubbed your foot on the stupid nightstand, and Bakugo has been working almost twenty-four-seven. The one thing you’ve been craving all month is ice cream... but you come out to find it eaten. With the carton still. In. The. Freezer.

“Bakugo Katsuki!” You call from the kitchen, seething with rage.

“What do ya want, woman?” He calls back from the living room.

“Don’t you ‘woman’ me! Get in here before I make you!”

“Oh give me a break.” He grumbles, walking into the kitchen to see what you were yapping about. His eyes flicker to the empty carton of ice cream... and he realizes he’s in trouble.

“What. Happened. To. My. Ice. Cream.” You growl, a hand on your swollen belly. The one thing you’ve been craving all month is ice cream. Your baby kept you awake all night kicking, you stubbed your foot on the stupid nightstand, and Bakugo has been working almost twenty-four-seven. This was the last thing you needed, the straw that broke your self restraint.

“I’ll just buy you mo-”

“Katsuki! Why did you have to leave the carton in the freezer?! My heart just tore itself apart! I needed that!”

“It’s like nine in the mor-”

“I need *something* to calm me down Katsuki! Why did you have to eat it?! Not only that but you left the carton in the freezer! And now I-” tears of frustration bubble in your eyes, your hormones are going haywire, and Bakugo can see that.

Warm muscular arms wrap around your soft form. Bakugo brings you to his chest, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you slowly begin to calm down.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your beloved. “Ice cream thief.” You scoff, looking up at your tsundere husband. He smirks down at you, pecking your nose.

“I’ll buy you more, okay? Stop whinin’.” You huff, but don’t respond as you bury your face in his warm chest.

You sigh in relief, knowing that out of everything and anything- yes, even your beloved ice cream- you craved your beloved husband’s tender touch above all else.

~~~~~

Bakugo's masterlist | Masterlist | Navigation | You can tip me here<3

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated <33

~~~~~

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way -minus reblogging.

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bucketgetter535 · 27 days ago

Text

No Margin for Error: Chapter Eleven

CW: Non-explicit smut but like… idk

WC: 4.1k

Notes: what’s uppp… just for reference after this chapter Azzi has 312 points in the championship and Paige has 313…

The hotel suite was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner, which wasn’t doing nearly enough. Singapore heat had a way of clinging, even after you peeled yourself out of the fire suit, even after the cameras stopped flashing and the champagne dried sticky on your skin. It lingered, like a fever.

Paige sat curled on the couch, hair still damp from the shower, one leg tucked up under her. Her body buzzed. Not the kind of buzz you wanted after a win, not the adrenaline rush or the pride, though those were there too, somewhere underneath. This buzz was too sharp. Behind the eyes. At the base of the skull. Pressure, not joy. Her head throbbed every time she turned it.

She closed her eyes for a second and pressed the cool glass of water to her forehead. It didn’t help.

The race had been hellish, if she was honest. And she’d won. She’d won. She’d outlasted everyone, including herself. But now her skull was pulsing like it had its own heartbeat, her limbs hollowed out and wrung dry. Hydration, maybe. Probably. But also… she knew.

The concussion. Belgium. She had been fine. Was fine. Mostly. Sort of. But ever since then, long races under extreme conditions sometimes stirred something up in her head that she didn’t like.

She wasn’t going to tell anyone tonight. She would feel better in a few hours. Probably.

There was a soft knock on the door, then the gentle click of it opening. Azzi stepped in like she belonged there, because she did.

“You’re acting weird,” she said, not unkindly.

Paige cracked one eye open. “Am I?”

Azzi crossed the room, barefoot and in a tank top, her curls damp with either sweat or water from a shower. Paige couldn’t tell. She perched on the arm of the couch. “You didn’t even answer your phone when I texted you three trophies and a champagne bottle.”

“Sorry,” Paige said. “Think I’m… dehydrated. Or something.”

Azzi frowned. “You drank like four liters after the race.”

“Guess I needed five.”

There was a pause, the kind where Azzi was clearly trying to figure out what was joke and what wasn’t. Paige didn’t help her out.

“You were incredible,” Azzi said finally, quiet, the words resting gently in the air between them.

“Yeah,” Paige said. “I think I left my soul in Sector Two.”

Azzi smiled at that, a little, but she didn’t laugh. She watched her a second longer, then said, “You really don’t look great.”

Paige shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

Azzi touched her arm. “You sure?”

No, Paige thought. But also, yes. Because she’d survived worse. And also, it wasn’t like this wasn’t manageable. It was. Just inconvenient. Just something she had to work around.

“I’ve decided I’m going on vacation after the season,” Paige said suddenly. Her voice sounded faraway even to her.

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“I don’t care what happens. Where I finish. Where you finish. I’m going somewhere with no cameras and no helmets and no screens. Somewhere boring. A forest. A beach. I don’t care.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Paige said. “I’m cashing in. You wanna come?”

Azzi hesitated just long enough that Paige opened her eyes again and met her gaze.

“Where we going?” Azzi asked.

Paige smiled, faint and real and tired. “Somewhere with air conditioning.”

Azzi snorted. “Deal.”

The air was still heavy. Paige’s skull still pulsed. But Azzi was there, and the room was dim and quiet, and tomorrow would come soon enough.

For now, Paige leaned back against the cushions and let her eyes fall closed again, Azzi’s fingers brushing over her arm like an anchor.

She’d won Singapore.

She didn’t feel good. But she’d won.

–

The air in Singapore had barely cooled by the time Paige boarded the flight out. She didn’t even bother changing out of her team polo, still damp with sweat along the collar. Her suitcase was half-zipped, and her sunglasses stayed on even in the dimly lit lounge. She wasn’t going home. Not yet.

The meeting had been set quietly. Private jet, neutral ground. Somewhere in Europe. Her agent had called it “a conversation.” That was how they always started. Paige knew better.

She arrived late morning, escorted through a side entrance of the hotel like a visiting monarch. Red Bull had rented the top floor. Of course they had.

Christian Horner greeted her in the hall like they were old friends. Helmut Marko nodded once, expression unreadable behind dark lenses. Paige’s agent gave her a brief look, measured, careful, and said nothing.

There were others in the room, too. Quiet assistants. A lawyer. One of the marketing execs who only appeared for big moments.

They got to it quickly. No soft pitch, no fluff.

One of their drivers was retiring at the end of the season. Everyone knew that.

What no one knew yet, and what Horner made abundantly clear within the first five minutes, was that they didn’t want to replace him with a junior. They wanted someone ready. Fast. Clean under pressure. Capable of championships.

They wanted her.

“Ferrari’s a great team,” Horner said, seated comfortably across from her. “You’ve thrived there. Nobody’s denying that.”

“I’m leading the drivers’ championship,” Paige said, not smiling. “We just locked up the constructors’ before the season’s even over.”

Horner nodded like she’d said something fascinating. “And yet you agreed to take this meeting.”

Paige didn’t answer.

Her agent did, voice calm but edged. “We agreed to take this meeting because we don’t make enemies lightly.”

Helmut spoke for the first time. “You’re still very young. You’ve had a long plan. Steady development. Measured decisions.”

Which was true. Paige had never made the jump too early. Not from karts. Not from F3. She’d passed on the first round of F2 contracts. She had played the long game. And it had worked.

“But at some point,” Helmut said, “you stop building. And you start choosing where you want to plant yourself.”

Paige folded her hands in her lap. “I like where I’m planted.”

Horner gave a dry smile. “Do you?”

She paused. Because yes. She did.

But the room wasn’t interested in that.

“The thing about Ferrari,” said the marketing exec, finally chiming in, “is that you’ll never not be the other driver. You’ll always be the outsider.”

“I don’t care what they call me,” Paige said.

“But it matters who you win with,” Horner added. “Legacy. Identity. And let’s be honest—this year is different.”

The subtext crackled in the silence that followed.

This year was different.

Because this wasn’t just about championships. It wasn’t just about speed.

This year, Paige was fighting for the title against the other half of Ferrari’s firepower. Azzi.

“We know your… situation,” Horner said delicately. “It’s no secret that you and your teammate are well…close.”

Paige looked up. “Say what you’re tryna say.”

Another silence.

Christian exhaled like he was trying not to be rude. “You’ve become a brand together. You and Azzi. We don’t care about that. Honestly, it’s good PR. But what we want to offer you is something Ferrari never can. You won’t share the spotlight. Or the strategy.”

Paige’s jaw tightened.

“We can build a car around you,” Helmut said. “We can build a team around you.”

That was the pitch.

Not just a seat. A kingdom.

Paige stayed quiet.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t that simple.

Ferrari hadn’t always been easy. But they’d been loyal. They’d taken her as a teenager and given her time. They’d backed her when no one else would. They’d let her come into her own without turning her into a media puppet.

And more than that, she and Azzi worked.

Sometimes they screamed at each other in debriefs. Sometimes they shared headphones on long flights. But they worked. Together, they were lethal. They made each other better. And this season, this insane, beautiful, brutal season, they had carried the prancing horse all the way to the front.

Red Bull couldn’t promise her that.

“Thank you for the offer,” Paige said finally, tone flat. “It’s a lot to think about.”

Christian stood, extending a hand. “We’ll give you time. But not too much.”

As the meeting ended, her agent touched her elbow and walked her out in silence. Only when they were alone again did Paige finally speak.

“I’m not leaving her,” she said.

“I know,” her agent replied.

Paige looked out the hotel window, down at the quiet street below. The road to the championship had never been simple. But this? This was something else entirely.

The world wanted a winner.

They just didn’t care what it cost.

–

Paige was sitting on the edge of Azzi’s hotel bed with her fingers curled around the corner of a thick envelope—stamped, printed, signed. It was heavier than it looked. Not physically. Psychologically.

She hadn’t told Azzi she was bringing it.

Hadn’t even meant to open it.

But now it sat between them like a third presence in the room, a neat stack of papers tucked into a branded Red Bull sleeve, the unmistakable shimmer of a contract that could rewrite her entire life.

Azzi didn’t touch it. She just sat cross-legged across from her, still in her practice kit, damp from the late Texas heat.

“I knew they were talking to you,” Azzi said. “Didn’t know it got this far.”

Paige nodded, eyes on the wall.

Azzi picked at the hem of her shorts. “What’s the number?”

Paige blinked, then laughed under her breath. “That’s the first thing you ask?”

“You weren’t gonna say it,” Azzi said. “So yeah.”

Paige reached back and pulled the top sheet out of the envelope, holding it up for Azzi to read. The number was in bold near the bottom of the page.

Azzi gave a low whistle. “Okay.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even know contracts had that many zeros,” Azzi muttered.

Paige smiled. “I didn’t either.”

The number had hit her harder than anything in the meeting. Not because she’d been thinking about the money. She really hadn’t. But Red Bull had clearly decided they were done playing coy. They weren’t offering her a seat. They were offering her a team.

Paige leaned back on her palms. “I wasn’t gonna take it.”

Azzi looked at her. “But now?”

“I don’t know,” Paige admitted. “It’s not just the money. It’s the timing. The way they talk to me, it’s like I’d be the only priority. No strategy compromises. No split marketing. No teammate they’d ask me to share a podium with unless I wanted to.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Wow. That last part sounded personal.”

Paige gave her a look. “You know what I mean.”

Azzi just smiled faintly.

Paige ran a hand through her hair and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve never been in a championship fight like this. And I don’t even know if it’ll happen again. What if I lose this one and everything changes? What if that offer disappears?”

“You’re not gonna lose,” Azzi said softly.

“Maybe not. But maybe I will.” Paige looked over at her. “You’re not exactly slow.”

Azzi shrugged one shoulder, humble like she didn’t know she was a two-time world champion.

The silence between them wasn’t tense. It was familiar. Weighty in the way only real decisions could make it. Paige knew Azzi wasn’t going to beg her to stay. That wasn’t who she was. But if she looked close enough, she could see it: the little line of tension in Azzi’s jaw. The flicker of worry behind her dark eyes.

And just like that, the door opened.

Azzi’s voice changed instantly. “Mom!”

Katie walked in with two plastic bags from some overpriced natural grocery store, followed by Jon and Jose, who were loudly arguing over something irrelevant. Paige stood up immediately, smiling before she even meant to.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Katie said, pulling her into a hug. “You look tired.”

“She’s always tired,” Jon announced.

“She’s probably hungry,” Jose added.

“I’m fine,” Paige said, laughing. “It’s just hot.”

Katie looked around the room like she already knew a conversation had been happening. She didn’t press. She just set the bags on the counter and said, “There’s fruit, coconut water, and those snacks you like. Azzi didn’t tell me what you wanted, so I guessed.”

Paige’s heart swelled in that stupid way it always did around the Fudds.

Azzi moved to help unpack, but Jose immediately ran over to show her something on his phone, and then they were all talking. Family noise, overlapping and alive. Paige stepped back to take it in.

It hit her then, quietly: this was the part of the circus that had never felt like a circus. This hotel room, this noise, this warmth. It felt like a place she could exhale.

Azzi caught her eye across the room. For a moment, Paige forgot all about the contract. About Red Bull. About anything outside this circle of light and sweat and easy familiarity.

Later, maybe even much later, they’d come back to the envelope.

But for now, it sat unopened on the bed. Forgotten, if only for a little while.

–

The stars were already out by the time Paige slipped into the booth next to Azzi at the quiet little steakhouse tucked off a side street in downtown Austin. There was still the faint thrum of post-race energy in the city. The hum of engines long cooled, the street crowds slower now but still lingering, still watching. But inside this booth, it felt almost ordinary.

Almost.

Azzi had changed out of her fire suit and into a black crop top and jeans like the race had never even happened, hair slicked back and cheeks still flushed. Her medal hung from a thin strap on her purse like it was just an accessory. Paige, who was still feeling sweat-sunk and vaguely shell-shocked from the race, looked across the table at her and almost laughed.

“Why do you look like you didn’t just spend two hours lapping me?”

Azzi smiled. “Because I didn’t lap you.”

“Could’ve,” Paige muttered, picking up the menu.

Azzi leaned on her elbow, casual, smug. “I thought about it.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help grinning.

The race had been brutal, though, not for its chaos, like Singapore, but for the sheer helplessness she’d felt from the first practice lap to the checkered flag. Azzi had just been better. From the start. Her car, her lines, her timing. It was all crisp and fluid and annoyingly flawless. Paige, on the other hand, had spent the whole weekend feeling like she was playing catch-up in a game that had already ended.

And then there was the five-second penalty (track limits, her own fault) and the fact that the podium only became hers because of someone else’s time drop.

“You’re still third,” Azzi had said afterward in the cooldown room, standing in front of the fan with sweat running down her spine. “That’s podium.”

“Yeah, barely.”

Azzi turned, a smirk curling her mouth. “Five seconds isn’t barely. That’s a whole nap.”

Now, sitting across from her and listening to her chat with the waiter about sides and sauces, Paige was reminded again of just how frustratingly easy Azzi could make things look.

Tim and Katie sat to Azzi’s left, flipping through menus and politely asking for wine recommendations. Katie looked relaxed, hair tied back, a soft cardigan over her sleeveless top. Tim had the same calm air as always, quiet pride tucked into the corners of his posture, a man who didn’t speak often but never missed anything.

And Paige, despite knowing them both for a while now, despite being their daughter’s girlfriend, still found her palms getting clammy every time she looked at them.

“You okay?” Azzi asked, nudging her foot under the table.

Paige nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just…tired.”

Katie smiled across the table. “It’s okay to look tired after a race like that. You both held your own out there.”

Paige smiled, then cleared her throat. “Azzi won by, like, twelve seconds.”

“That just means she was overdue,” Tim said mildly.

Azzi grinned. “Thank you.”

Katie’s gaze slid gently to Paige. “And you kept it together, even with the penalty. A lot of drivers would’ve let that mess up the rest of their race.”

Paige tried not to melt into the booth. “Thanks, Mrs. Fudd—I mean, Katie.”

Azzi stifled a laugh into her napkin.

Dinner unfolded in soft waves after that. Warm bread and slow conversation, a few stories about Jon and Jose, who had opted out of the meal in favor of exploring “the nightlife,” as they put it, though Azzi had muttered something about “probably just looking for free Red Bull merch and girls who know how to pronounce Verstappen.”

Paige relaxed gradually, laughing more easily as the meal went on. It helped that Azzi kept touching her under the table. Just little brushes of her knee, her hand settling on Paige’s thigh for a second too long, a teasing graze of her pinky against Paige’s when the waiter brought dessert menus.

It was subtle, like always, but grounding.

By the time they were stepping out into the night, full and a little tipsy from a shared glass of wine, Paige felt almost like she could breathe again.

Azzi tugged her hand gently as they walked. “You were so nervous back there.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You definitely were.”

Paige sighed. “Your mom talks like she’s reading me.”

“She kind of is,” Azzi said, grinning. “But she likes you. She really likes you.”

Paige looked over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She told me.”

“Good,” Paige muttered, then added under her breath, “’Cause I’m kind of in love with her daughter.”

Azzi glanced sideways at her, her smirk softening into something quieter.

“I know,” she said.

And Paige smiled, even though her chest felt tight with everything she still hadn’t decided. Red Bull. The title fight. The end of the season barreling toward her like a freight train.

But right now, walking through a warm Austin night with Azzi’s hand in hers and the stars blinking overhead like nothing was wrong, it didn’t matter.

At least not yet.

–

The hotel room was still dim, curtains pulled mostly shut against the Mexico City morning. Their flight had been pushed back again—something about weather over Austin—so the urgency to get up had slipped out of the room hours ago.

Azzi was still in bed. Paige was, too, stretched out across rumpled sheets, half beneath the covers, her bare legs tangled with Azzi’s.

Neither of them was in any real rush.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Azzi said, voice low and still laced with sleep. She was propped up on one elbow, watching Paige with a lazy kind of adoration.

Paige cracked a small smile, still not fully awake. “Thanks,” she mumbled, voice thick. Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes yet.

Azzi leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her jaw, then lower. “Big twenty-three,” she murmured.

“Mhm.” Paige rolled toward her slightly, smiling against the pillow. “I feel old.”

“You feel hot,” Azzi said, casually. “And spoiled.”

Paige’s laugh came out quiet, shoulders lifting under the sheets. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm, not today. Today I’m thoughtful,” Azzi said, shifting downward, her mouth brushing along Paige’s collarbone now. “And you, birthday girl, don’t have to move a muscle.”

Paige blinked her eyes open then, just barely. “Azzi…”

But Azzi was already under the sheets, already working her way lower with slow precision. Her hands slid up Paige’s thighs, spreading her gently, confidently. There was no question about what she was doing. No pause. This was for Paige. Because it was her day, and because Azzi wanted her to feel it.

Paige let her head fall back, mouth parting as she exhaled.

“Relax,” Azzi murmured against her skin, voice muffled but steady. “I’ve got you.”

And she did.

The rhythm she set was patient but relentless, like she had all morning to give. She read every reaction without needing words. Every breathy sound Paige gave, every twitch of her fingers in the sheets, Azzi responded to it all. Adjusting pressure. Deepening her hold. Making it known: this wasn’t casual, not today.

Paige didn’t say much (not that she could have anyway). Her hands gripped the sheets tighter as the heat built, slow and consuming, and the only thing louder than the pulse in her ears was the soft, consistent way Azzi kept her anchored. Kept her right there in the center of it. Until it broke. Until Paige was gone under it all.

And Azzi didn’t move.

She didn’t let her drift too far. She stayed between her legs, hands wrapped around her thighs, mouth still pressed gently against her, as Paige came back down.

Only then did she finally surface, resting her chin on Paige’s chest, eyes bright and calm.

“Happy birthday,” she said again, voice light now. “Still feel old?”

Paige gave a breathless laugh. “No,” she whispered. “I feel wrecked.”

Azzi grinned. “Good.” She crawled back up beside her, pulling Paige in so her head tucked under her chin. “That was the first gift.”

Paige didn’t even have the strength to answer. She just curled closer, letting Azzi hold her in that quiet morning light.

–

The hum of the jet was low and constant beneath Paige’s feet, a background rhythm she was used to by now. Different cities, same altitude. But this time, nestled into the leather seat with Azzi’s knee brushing hers, it all felt… slower. Softer.

Maybe it was because they’d had to leave that hotel bed too soon.

Maybe it was because her birthday had started better than she ever expected.

Or maybe it was just the altitude making her heart do weird things.

Either way, Paige found herself leaning a little closer than usual. Her fingers brushed against Azzi’s on the shared armrest. Then again, this was Azzi’s jet, and it wasn’t like there were cameras around. No engineers. No PR managers with overly polite smiles. No mechanics tossing glances their way when they walked a little too close in the paddock. Just the two of them, a flight crew that already knew the deal, and a sky stretching wide above the clouds.

Azzi turned to her, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “You okay?”

“Mhm.” Paige nodded, then, after a moment, rested her hand on Azzi’s thigh. Casual. Sort of.

Azzi blinked, but her eyes softened almost immediately. “You sure?”

Paige gave a quiet little smile, the kind she usually reserved for podium ceremonies and weird late-night FaceTimes with her younger brother. “Just didn’t wanna leave the bed yet.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath. “Oh. That’s what this is.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, a hint of pink brushing the tips of her ears. She leaned her head briefly against Azzi’s shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Azzi’s arm went around her without a second thought, warm and easy.

Paige wasn’t usually like this. In fact, she’d built a reputation for being a little hands-off in public, even in private sometimes. Cool, composed, never too much. The kind of girl who opened doors and paid the bill but didn’t always reach for a hand unless she really meant it.

But right now? Her thumb was tracing lazy circles over the seam of Azzi’s jeans. She was pressed in close like she couldn’t bear the few inches of space that might sneak in between them. And every time Azzi’s arm tightened slightly around her shoulders, she felt steadier. Like her body was remembering something her brain hadn’t caught up to yet.

“You’re really sweet today,” Azzi said after a minute. Not teasing. Just an observation.

“It’s my birthday,” Paige mumbled.

“Mm. Gonna milk it all the way to Mexico?”

“Maybe.”

Azzi laughed again, this time deeper, head tipping back against the seat. She squeezed Paige’s waist gently. “Good. I like this version of you.”

Paige shifted just enough to press a kiss to Azzi’s shoulder through the soft cotton of her hoodie. “Don’t get used to it.”

Azzi’s voice was warm. “Too late.”

They stayed that way for most of the flight, drifting in and out of light sleep, the kind of half-rest that came when the sky was too bright and the cabin too quiet. Every time Paige moved, Azzi adjusted without saying anything. Reaching for her hand, brushing her thumb across Paige’s knuckles, curling into her like they’d been doing this for years.

Maybe it was the calm before the storm. Mexico always felt like the beginning of the end. Just four races after that, and everything would be decided. Titles. Futures. Contracts.

But Paige wasn’t thinking about any of that right now.

All she could feel was Azzi’s steady heartbeat under her palm and the way her own body felt okay for the first time in what felt like months.

Safe.

Soft.

Loved.

And for once, she let herself have that.

Even at thirty thousand feet.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #uconnwbb #pazzi fics #dallas wings

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coyotelip · 10 months ago

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starchaser microfic: sunflower || office romance || @into-the-jeggyverse || wc: 312

“I heard Regulus has a tattoo?”

“Are you surprised? Look at his friends, it would be weird if he didn't have any tattoos.”

“Fair enough... where do you think? And what?”

“Anywhere, we've never seen him with a short sleeve. And it's probably something like crows or boring figures. A classic black picture with a meaning.”

“Maybe a wolf?”

“Oh, no, too corny and pretentious.”

James finishes making his coffee and moves toward his table, moving away from the conversation, which makes him hold back a laugh. For such a quiet person, Regulus always draws a lot of attention to his persona and has almost the entire office whispering in the corners, discussing their theories about their colleague's hidden life.

Their hypotheses about tattoos became the main topic of discussion after a group trip to the bar, and it made James incredibly amused. After all, he was the one who started the tattoo rumor and knew it would keep him entertained for the rest of the week.

But few people know what is really hidden under Regulus's clothes, and even more so, no one knows that James is aware of every drawing and mole on their strategist's body. Work ethics, the ban on office romances, and all that crap... It doesn't matter.

James doesn't care if anyone knows about them, he will still get into his car after each workday and drive towards a house that is not his, use his spare keys, change into his slippers, and enjoy undressing Regulus, who is so cold in the office but so open to him at home. One by one, his clothes will fall to the floor, and James will slowly kiss his bare skin, approaching the bright yellow sunflower patterns that cover the man's skin in a dense row just below his chest, so that he can touch each petal with his lips.

#regulus black #marauders #james potter #jegulus #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #english is not my first language

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sunrenity · 1 year ago

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ribbons ✶ nishimura riki

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ he loves tying pretty ribbons in your hair.

nishimura rikiㅤ✶ㅤfemale reader . g fluff, est relationship, boyfriend! riki . wc 312 (0.3k) . bookshelf

EACH MORNING, YOU SIT at the vanity, light filtering softly through the window. the room fills with the gentle rustle of fabric as nishimura riki chooses a ribbon from the collection. his fingers, deft and careful, weave through your hair, pulling strands into delicate braids and knots.

"hold still," he murmurs, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. you do, letting the warmth of his touch and the quiet intimacy of the moment envelope you. the ribbon slides through his fingers, vibrant against the dark silk of your hair, a perfect contrast that makes you feel like a piece of art.

he steps back, eyes scanning his handiwork with a satisfied nod. "there, perfect," he says, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. you catch his reflection in the mirror, his eyes filled with affection and a hint of pride.

"why do you always do this?" you ask softly, turning to look at him.

his grin widens, playful yet sincere. "because i love making you look even more beautiful," he replies, threading his fingers through the finished braid. "and i love the way you smile when you see it."

you smile, the simple joy of his attention and care making your heart flutter. with each ribbon he ties, riki's love is woven into every strand, a testament to the quiet moments that bind you together.

you smile, the simple joy of his attention and care making your heart flutter. with each ribbon he ties, riki’s love is woven into every strand, a testament to the quiet moments that bind you together.

"plus," he adds, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear, "i just love seeing you happy."

you laugh softly, turning to kiss his cheek. "you always know how to make my day."

riki chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "and i always will."

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solsticehymns · 3 months ago

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snooze: drabble

james potter x f!reader / fluff / muggle au / domesticity

summary: james is much more of a morning person than you, always ready to start the day with seemingly endless energy. you would rather stay in the warm bed.

a/n: had a lot of love on the drabbles i've written that are more cutesy, slice of life, james being the perfect man so this is another little snippet of cutesy domestic energetic james hehehe enjoy!!! -sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 312

The mattress lifts, and the warmth beside you fades. Confused, reaching out, pawing at the sheets with a sleepy murmur, you roll onto your front to assess.

James isn’t there. You glance around the entire room—nowhere in sight.

You then hear a faint whistling coming from the kitchen, just outside the door, left slightly ajar.

A smile crosses your face. He’s still there.

“Jamie?” you call out to him, voice thick and hoarse with sleep. Some rustling, a clink of a mug being set down. Footsteps, and then he comes through the door looking like he’s already been awake for hours.

How he looks so put together in the mornings, you never know. He’s always been an early riser, whether it’s to go on an early morning run, answer emails… You don’t know what he does, only that he's already done half of it before you've even opened your eyes.

“Morning, lovey,” he chirps to you as he enters, eyes bright and sparkling at you. You moan and cover your face with the sheets, eyes needing a break from the light.

“What time is it?”

“Almost seven.”

Another deep, soulful moan from you. “It’s a Sunday, James, come back to bed.”

He looks down at you with lovesick eyes, shaking his head. “No can do, love, got the whole day ahead of me. What are you gonna do today, Sleeping Beauty?” He reaches out and pokes your side through the layers of blankets.

You pull the covers down to glare fondly at him.

“Want breakfast?” he asks without missing a beat. You pause, looking him up and down—he’s nearly buzzing with energy.

“How many cups of coffee have you had already?”

“Oh, come on! It’s a beautiful day, come enjoy it with me!”

“The bed is pretty nice too, y’know…”

“So no breakfast?”

Your stomach grumbles. “…Yes, breakfast. I’ll be right there.”

☀️🌻 masterlist

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incandescentwarmth · 1 year ago

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@jegulus-microfic – Day 12 • Amortentia • wc 312

•••

“Remus, Remus!” Regulus came rushing into the great hall with James trailing behind him. He stopped abruptly, almost making James bump into him. “Help me, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” flailing his hands between him and his fluffy-haired shadow.

James put a hand on Regulus’s bicep rubbing gentle circles into it, looking down at how his dark curls sat against sharp cheekbones.

“I don’t see the problem.” Remus replied hesitantly.

“The idiot drank amortentia this morning and won’t leave me alone.” He huffed, brushing off James’s hand and taking a step away just for James to take a step closer again.

James looked dejected and reached out to brush a lose curl behind his boyfriend’s ear, running his finger across the line of his jaw. “Reggie” he whined.

“I’m not sure how to help, Regulus. He’s not acting much different than usual.”

Sirius came running up to them then, ruffling James’s hair and moving to stand next to Remus. “What’s up, why’s Reg here?”

“Pads! Hi! I’ve been with him all morning. He’s been super grumpy but he’s so pretty when he is.” James said excitedly, stroking the side the younger’s face which earned him a groan from Sirius.

Ignoring his brother’s presence and the show of affection from his doe-eyed boyfriend, Regulus turned back to Remus. “I can’t put up with this all day. Please just help me.”

“Help with what?” Sirius questioned, looking between the two of them.

Regulus let out a loud whine of frustration, “What is wrong with you two!”

“James supposedly drank amortentia.” Remus told Sirius.

Sirius looked wide eyed at James now. “Really Prongs? I thought people started going crazy when they have it? You seem fine.”

“What are you talking about! He’s acting like a crazy lovesick puppy!” Regulus shouted.

“Yeah… that’s pretty much the norm for him when you’re around, Reg.”

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #marauders era #marauders #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin #sirius black #starchaser #sunseeker #amortentia #fanfic #microfic #james potter x regulus black

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devildomcuties · 8 months ago

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Kinktober Day 1: Lucifer

pairing: lucifer x gn!reader

genre: smut 18+

summary: Lucifer enjoys toying with your empty little head.

wc: 312

warnings: degradation, dom/sub undertones, oral sex

kinktober day 1: dumbification

date: October 25, 2024

Lucifer cackled as you dropped to your knees. He sat in his chair with his leg crossed over the other.

“You’re just a dumb whore for me, aren’t you?” Lucifer asks with a smirk. “Can’t deny a man with authority, huh?”

You remain silent, despite the retort that sits heavily on your tongue.

Lucifer laughs, shaking his head.

“You run around these halls like you own the place, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly.

“Funny,” Lucifer scoffs. “Think your pacts with us are enough to cater to you. You’re just an airheaded little bitch, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you respond as your thighs tremble. You place your hands flat on your thighs, ignoring the ache of the cold floor on your knees.

“Tell me,” Lucifer cackles. “What is it you were after?”

“Nothing,” you answer honestly as your mind spins.

Lucifer laughs in his seat, the sound makes your thighs press together. Empty-headed except for him, his every move, his every sound.

“If you were any smarter I’d think you were lying. However, we all know nothing goes on in that tiny little brain of yours. You’re nothing but a cock hungry whore, right?”

“Yes,” you nod, nearly drooling.

Lucifer smirks. “Then who am I to deny you? Open up for me.”

You open your mouth wide for him. Lucifer smirks as he wraps his hand around his hard cock. He pats it on your tongue a few times before he pushes it further into your mouth. You welcome him with a greedy moan, losing yourself to the feel of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Nothing but a cock hungry whore for me. Head empty, tongue out for a cock,” Lucifer sneers as he hits the back of your throat. You swallow around him and he grasps your hair, fucking your face until you’re sobbing over his fat cock.

#obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me fanfic #obey me kinktober 2024 #lucifer smut #lucifer drabble #lucifer x reader #obey me imagines

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cvoq · 1 year ago

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In Commemoration of Her

Synopsis ﹐ You and James Sunderland are at Lakeview Hotel, planning to stay the night when he unlocks a key memory.

content ﹐Rated R (MDNI), SPOILERS! darkfic, smut, angst, non-con, pwp, descriptive/smut sex, somno, grinding, fingering, squirting, rough sex, p n v sex, james sunderland x fem!reader

╰╮wc 3.3k

Mary was a bright, sweet woman. Illness plagued her body when she was young and died 3 years ago from what you’ve heard. Apparently this “Maria” looked exactly like her, but where was she? You’ve heard so much about Mary this Mary that, that you knew James really did love her; For that reason he and you are at their special place, hotel room 312 looking outside of the illuminated Toluca Lake.

“James,” The name rolls sweetly off your tongue admiring the lakeside view. “It’s beautiful here..”

The cool moonlight hits your skin, reflecting you off the window. You’re wearing a white frilly sundress with spaghetti straps. As soon as you came off of work a few days ago, you took a trip to West Virginia with your bags packed heading to the homey-tourist-attraction; Silent Hill.

James was seeing something completely different. You turned around getting a glimpse to check on him, he previously placed a cassette tape into the TV that the room provided but it was just static. He was engulfed in what he was watching though. You chose to let him be in his thoughts and focus on yours.

As you recall, many strange things have been occurring ever since you came. While following James around, a little girl by the name of Laura tagged along with the two of you. She too was fond of Mary, however not so much of you. All you could remember was the girl's words that she exchanged with you in private while at the bowling alley.

“–James would never replace Mary!” She exclaimed clearly upset, her eyes welled up with tears ready to spill.

“I’m his friend,” You reply quietly trying to give the young girl reassurance. You watch her hold back from crying, feeling guilty. “Nothing will happen between us, everything that I’m doing right now is for her.”

“Rea-lly?” Laura asked, stifling through her words, rubbing her eyes with her hands.

“Really”

If only that were true. You wonder to yourself what the hell you were doing alone with a man in a hotel room during the dark. You really can’t pretend that you weren’t attracted to James. Ever since you’ve met him at the gazebo after wandering in the town for what seemed like hours, you’ve become “travel” buddies.

You choose to snap out of it, turning your attention towards James. He was on the armchair, slouched forward. He looked as if all life had been erased from him. Melancholy, miserable, you felt the feeling emanate with the void of silence.

“James?” You call out, taking a step closer to him on his right side.

“Mary’s,” James muttered with a pause. You pay close attention to what he’s trying to say. “Mary’s gone.”

You stand in silence, watching as James takes time to reflect on himself. You follow his eyes to see that he’s looking at the bed behind him tucked away in the corner with the night lights, staring at the pillows. You knew and took account of how lost and unstable James came off to be, but it never occurred to you how severe it was.

You pressed your lips, speaking softly to him. “Is everything..-Are you doing alright there?”

He stayed still in the same position, still not responding. It pains you to receive silent treatment from him but all you can do is wait for him to open up.

“I killed her,” James tells her with a defeated voice. His head stayed down as he looked at the floor right in front of him, not bothering to look up at you.

Your eyes widen and you respond with nothing. Didn’t he love her? You try to reason that maybe James was imagining things from all the pent up guilt he must have felt, but it really did seem that yes. James killed his late wife.

You’ve never felt more convicted.

“I’m going to wash up..” You say after a minute of pure silence between the two of you and James nods in response. Hopefully a quick shower would drain away all your worries. You promptly leave to the bathroom, leaving James all alone by himself.

For almost an hour, you stood under the shower thinking to yourself. You continued with the regular routine of brushing your teeth, combing your hair, and putting on a fresh pair of clothes which you had thanks to hauling around your suitcase everywhere you went. You felt refreshed that you were in new clothes but felt a dawning sense of pressure and guilt still there. You’re also a bad person if you somehow still manage to like him, a murderer, after all he’s done right?

Finishing your alone time, you swing open the restroom door stepping outside of it. “The bathrooms free for use,” you spoke while looking around the room to spot for James. There he was, on the bed without a blanket on top of him, fast asleep.

James' shoes weren’t even off.. he still had his jacket on, he was knocked unconscious. You scurry to his side of the bed he was occupying. The last you could do was get his shoes off for being able to book a room for the two of you. So you take off both his black leather boots from his feet carefully, trying not to wake him up. After placing them down nearby his bedside you look at his military jacket.

You contemplate if you should change him out of it but you wonder if it would be considered overstepping. You furrow your brows with your eyes lingering in his state. When James slept, you came to notice how his face was definitely more relaxed. His hair fell out of the way he styled it and his crease on his forehead seemed to vanish. He glowed under the warm light of the lamp, but he was a stressed guy.

Sighing to yourself, you move your hands to clasp onto James' jacket. Although you had to maneuver his arms and had to tug a lot, you managed to get it off revealing his gray long sleeved shirt. You place the coat on the nightstand beside you and get ready to tuck him in the sheets when you notice something.

A bulge, a bulge in his jeans. Your face flushes, staring at it for quite some time. Who knows what would’ve happened if you tried to take his pants off? What’s surprising is the size of it. It looked as if it was uncomfortable resting there.. but you just quickly covered James in a blanket.

You wonder where to sleep. The couches only seated one person and the night was cold. Surely, if you slept on the right side of the bed it would be fine. So you chose to climb in the sheets, on the far side facing away from James.

After turning off the lamp, you try to close your eyes but that led to you thinking about what you just saw. You smothered your face into the pillows but can’t help feel your cheeks warm up. You know it’s wrong. James only has love for his wife and you should respect that, so you doze off to sleep.

You wake up in a daze, feeling something press up against you. There’s a weighted feeling lingering on your back. A pair of hands hold your waist and- Shit. Who was doing this?!

Your eyes open slowly to catch a glimpse of your situation. It was James, rutting into you.

He grinded into your ass pressing his hardon into you. Grunting softly into the crevice of your neck that you felt his scratchy stubble rub against you.

What was worse is that you were turned on by this. He was in such close proximity, you could feel the heat emitting off of him. You tightly press your legs together clenching your thighs for dear life, feeling something build up inside of you.

“James..-”

“Help me with this, please..” He begs breathily, pressing you tighter onto himself.

“Al..” You hesitate for a bit. “Alright.”

James reached for your chest, groping onto you. You can feel his rough hands through the fabric, much larger compared to yours. He’s pressing them and messaging them with his palms, running his fingers over your now hardened nipples as you jolt at the sensation.

“I’ve needed this,” He admits grudgingly, taking in your smell. You’re so clean, floral.. so different from him.

You don’t know whether to feel relieved or shameful.

By now your top is ridden up, so James takes his time to place his hands on your stomach to feel your bare skin. You feel so hot, it’s suffocating. His calloused hands slide further to reach your supple breasts. Having you hitch your breath. He takes his time toying with them, squeezing your buds in between his fingers in a firm manner.

“-You’re teasing me..” You manage to utter out, embarrassed.

“Just a few more minutes,” James mutters, still rubbing your skin.

He then moves his hand down into your pajama pants, trailing to your soppy cotton panties. Running a finger up and down your slip, sometimes visiting your clit. You try to suppress your reactions but you can’t help bucking your hips into him.

“You’re -wet there.” James remarks in a quiet tone. It came off as he was flustered or akward, maybe a mix of both. You felt your heat pulse from his words.

“..I want more,” Communicating to him sheepishly. Afraid of seeming whiny and demanding of doing too much while doing too little, you reach your hand back touching his clothed erection. Then pressed your hand on it, trying to feel his girth through his jeans. His warmth emanated off of it.

James groans in response, nodding his head in affirmation. He moved your undergarments to the side revealing your glistening folds, slick from it was still strung onto your panties like a string. He’d blush, admiring how messy you were and rubbed his fingers up and down your hot pussy.

He slid a finger in, watching as you suck it in. Wetness seeped out from you onto his hand as he watched your face contort. You really did put lube to shame..

James worked his way to getting two fingers inside you. You let out soft “ohs” and “ahs!” with a flushed face. Your body felt so hot but your core was even worse, it craved for more and latched onto his fingers as he tried to pull out. Filthy noises spilled from your pussy, embarrassing you from the wet sound you were producing.

He rubbed his pads on the walls of your soaked cunt, noticing you tense up around them as he’s preparing to slide a third finger into you. There James feels a spongy area, feeling it and pressing his fingers on the spot.

“James-!” You yelp, tossing your head up. You feel yourself gush from your pussy, not used to the unfamiliar feeling.

He clenched his jaw feeling himself throbbing with need. The way you said his name was so endearingly erotic. James' pants felt so tight that any friction he felt within his confines almost had him losing it.

You clench around his fingers, gripping his hand placed on your waist as you let out a whimper. However all James does is tighten your grip on you, pressing down on your stomach continuing to fingerfuck you. You bury your face into the pillows as you feel the need to urinate as pressure builds up.

James then stuck another finger in, thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace watching as you go slack in his arms and your hips wiggle trying to escape his grasp. Did you have to be this sexy?

“Auh-Shit!” You moan, coming undone.

Warm clear fluid expels from your cunt as your abdomen tenses up, arching your back like a cat. You're so tight, trying to keep James fingers in as you shudder through your organsm. All that pressure is gone as you begin to feel a tingling sensation across your body.

After a couple of seconds of rest, you hazily look down to see the sheets drenched by you. James looks at his pants, wondering what he just did to you seeing all your essence on him. You squirted.

It took a lot of self control for James to not end up cumming hands free. His dick is pulsating like crazy as he tries to not succumb to the cloud of lust impairing his decisions. It’s too late.

You feel the mattress and sheets shift as you try to come back to your senses as your eyes wander around the hotel room, you see him on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I can't—” James exhaled in a shaky voice while looking down at your body. “Can we.. for tonight..”

You kissed him boldly for the first time, pressing your lips against his somewhat chapped ones. James' eyes widened but he eventually closed his eyes just as you were doing. He relaxed, getting more comfortable with touching you by rubbing your thighs. When James had the chance, he prodded his tongue in your mouth. You and him shared spit and saliva as your wet tongues went back and forth with each other. Messy like a makeout session but more intimate.

You run your hands over his chest, pulling off for fresh air as a string of saliva connects both of your mouths.

“Please,” You plead in a needy tone, looking into James’ green eyes. You toss your soaked panties to the side, spreading your legs apart feeling your slick coat the insides of your thighs. “Take me..”

Quickly, James unzipped his pants, although fumbling and took his cock out from his boxers. James sighed at the feeling of the cold air, giving his dick a few strokes spreading the leaking beads of precum across his shaft.

God, it looked so pretty. All you could focus on was how lengthy it was. He was well groomed too. You’d clench around nothing thinking about that thing being inside you.

You watch as he rubs himself on you, coating him with your slick. You gasp at the feeling of friction whenever he hits your clit and couldn't come to ignore his little grunts of pleasure.

James slid into you, bullying his cock into you halfway. He’d sigh at the feeling of how tight you were around him. Wet walls encapsulating him as he’d groan at how much he’d missed this feeling. You however, felt the stretch as you gripped onto the sheets. Legs shakingly wrapped around his torso.

He continued to bottom out, forcing his way into you. Hearing the audible squelch that came from you and James from doing so. You hissed at sensation, feeling so filled up as you place an arm covering your eyes arching your back.

-And that’s when something happened.

As you were still adjusting to his size, he quickly pulled out and slammed into you.

James' rapid thrust did not stop. His balls hit you each time he went in and out. He was completely infatuated looking at your body, watching your breasts bounce everytime he did that. You easily accepted his cock because of how drenched your little pussy was. He treated you if you were a fleshlight, something to be taken out on.

“Wa-it-! Too -rough!” You wail, not used to the fast pace. Your hips couldn't keep up with the pace as they quivered, having yourself being pounded by this man. Was it supposed to sting this much?

He ignored your request, drinking up the site of you as he let out a suppressed moan. James watched as your expression grew on your face, showing how lewd you were. Gripping you by your waist he fucks yourself onto him as he plunges into you. More focused on the heat of the moment than the lasting consequences.

Skin slapping echoed off the walls of the room. You try to get a hold of yourself, but your body was reacting in different ways. Your sloppy cunt leaked out onto the messy bed sheets, dirtying the vicinity more. You felt your pelvis rub against his, which already got sticky from you. So many moans left your mouth, but you can’t help but wonder what was going on in James' mind for him to be treating you in this way with the little amount of thought you had left.

“Hah..—You’re -driving me crazy,” James’ exhaled in between grunts having a tighter hold on you. He leaned his head down to your chest and latched onto your nipples. Sucking hard onto your tit as if he was expecting you to lactate out of nowhere or something.

Your head rolled back into the pillows, getting so much stimulation as your body jolted from his assault. The way James treated you during sex was like a cheap hooker and you couldn’t help but feel disgusting for loving all of it. Your legs at this point were in the air and about to give up. You just needed more time to experience this, but based off the way there was buildup of pressure in your core, it wouldn’t last too long.

His saliva coated your chest as he managed to hit the same rigid point in your walls. You let out the most salacious sound as you bucked your hips into him, urging James to do it again. Everytime he managed to grind himself against that one spot you’d tense up and clench around him with your gummy walls. All this time he was holding off the urge to release right in you. You were too good for a guy like him.

James had to reciprocate in one way or the other, so he moved one of his hands from your waist, trailing down to your pelvic region. He got his hands lubricated in your hot slick, and began circling your bundle of nerves sending you ablaze. You tighten around him like a vice, feeling yourself gushing all over his cock. He managed to try and go as deep as he could go, as if he was trying to reach your stomach.

Pleasure hit him like a flood. Warm ropes of semen filled you as he groaned, waiting for his load to empty inside of you.

You feel the substance flow into you. Suddenly, realization hits you and began pressing your hands on his chest.

“-James’ pull-out!” You urged quickly, unsure if Plan-B was available around these parts of town. Even so, James wouldn’t budge off of you. He instead gave a few pumps, riding out his orgasm while rubbing your clit, coaxing you to your bliss in which you quickly followed.

“I’m-!” You sob with a hoarse voice. You held onto James’ shoulders for stability reaching your peak. All the buildup crashes down on you as a pulse is sent all the way from your spine, making you bend your back from the mattress. Milky fluid bubbles out of the seams around his cock. You almost get knocked out from how powerful it was. Crashing onto the sheets.

You both stay in silence, catching your expirated breaths trying to regain yourselves. You hear James heavy breathing as he rests on top of you, engulfing you in a hug.

Moonlight shunned through the windows, being the only source of light in the room. You couldn’t make out his face but he clung onto really hard. Your face went cold after the afterglow washed over. James just came inside of you.

You tried to get him off but he was too heavy, his grip increased more. Almost enough to bruise you. You felt warm splotches on your shirt, looking down at James, beginning to apprehend your situation.

“Mary..” He crooned, burying his face into your chest. “Mary..”

authors note ︵ ✦ Didn’t see that much works for Silent Hill 2 so I thought I’d contribute! Interpret the ending however you like, first fic! Once I get my AO3 account, I’ll probably post this..

#Spotify #silent hill #silent hill 2 #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #smut writing #dark fic #angst #fanfic #horror #horror games

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afyrian · 1 year ago

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drive in movie w/ akaashi | wc: 312 m.list

soft wind runs along your arm, sending goosebumps up and down your extremities. you bring your hands up, rubbing them on your biceps in the hopes of warming yourself up. however, your efforts seem fruitless as the wind just picks up more. your fingers quickly tap against your arm, mentally ready to stand up and find akaashi.

luckily for you, you didn’t have to lift a finger as a jacket is placed across your shoulders, “sorry, they’re selling ramen here, figured it’d be warm.. and the line wouldn’t be long.”

you look up at him, watching as he smiles to himself, grabbing the two bowls of ramen off of the hood of his car. you quickly look back at the screen, your infatuation of him feels far too large for how long you’ve known him. and frankly, you’d rather akaashi not see you looking at him like he’s your soulmate.

“it’s okay, this jacket was definitely worth the wait,” grabbing your bowl from him, you flash him a quick smile, feeling the warmth of the broth travel through your fingers.

“well that’s good,” akaashi moves his chair a little closer to you, your hands nearly touching as his dangle off the end of his armrest, “i hope you like this movie, i know you’re a big fan of this genre, and the director.”

you purse your lips, staring at the passing commercials, the little radio beside you playing the corresponding noises. honestly, you would like any movie that akaashi showed you, his view of the world more beautiful than you could ever comprehend. even if you didn’t like the movie itself, you’d like it simply because of the love he puts into showing it to you.

“yeah, i think i’ll love it,” turning to look at him, you can feel your fingers touch ever so slightly, a shock running between them.

#akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi #keiji akaashi #akaashi keiji #hq fanfic #haikyuu #hq #hq fic #akaashi fluff #hq akaashi #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #☆ drabbles

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vinylfoxbooks · 1 month ago

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May 1 - White Rose | @moonchaser-microfic | wc: 1,113 Purity, innocence, new beginnings

James’ neighbor has a white rose bush.

They don’t know the new neighbor, but last week, when they were getting back from their day out with Sirius and Pete, there were a couple boxes outside in the hallway and the door to flat 314 wide open with someone rummaging around for the first time in nearly a year.

James doesn’t really remember what happened to the last person, they had moved in only a couple months before, but they can just briefly remember the police being involved and a lot of yelling. Other than the brutal and loud move-out, the neighbor was fine. James never really talked to him, and he did seem kind of weird, but they knew each other’s names and would nod politely if they ever crossed paths in the hallway or were out on their balcony at the same time.

But after his arrest? Someone came and grabbed his things and there hasn’t been anyone next door in a long while.

Until last week.

James has heard the person fumbling around a couple times, accidentally bumping into walls and they’ve heard the tail end of curses through their semi-thin walls which just tells them that the new person is getting settled in still. It’s probably why they haven’t seen each other yet.

But James does know that, as of sometime today, the person has brought out a potted bush with a couple of small, upcoming white rose buds and settled it in the corner of their balcony next to an old lawn chair and a glass table with an ashtray in the center.

Although it’s bleak and minimal, James can’t blame the person, they themselves had their balcony nearly empty until their mum mentioned that they had a beautiful view and couple both people and bird watch from. It’s especially useful--their comfortable outdoor chair, the fairy lights strung across the ceiling of it, and some of the potted plants they’ve recently fostered from Lily, Mary, and Pandora--when they need a moment of not-silence-not-overstimulation. The gentle breeze that’s usually washing past their building, the slight hum and haw of street noise, laughter as a group of friends walks past down below, the comfortable cushion of their chair that Effie reupholstered for them. Sometimes they’ll bring their guitar out and strum something up until they’re ready to go back inside. Sometimes they’ll just go out onto the balcony with a crochet project so they don’t have to listen to the couple in 312 fuck or argue.

And now they have the pretty view of a blooming white rose bush.

It makes James wonder about the person. The type of person that would have a well-taken care of bush with lavish leaves and large buds but also a ratty chair and an old glass table with a gray-stained ashtray. They can’t help but wonder if it’s a family or a couple. Though, they doubt that’s likely since there’s only one chair.

They don’t have to wait long to find out more about the new neighbor.

One day, on another day where James just needs a come-down, they grab their guitar--made by their great grandpa, decorated with flowers and vines by their great grandma, and passed through their family--and head out to the balcony. Only to stop in their tracks when they see the neighbor sitting outside, just a couple inches away on their own close-by balcony.

He’s-

James tries to make their intake of breath as quiet as possible so as to not alert the new neighbor, who seems like he’s in his own world. But he’s stunning.

Tall, as far as James can tell even if he’s sitting down, and lanky, his form mostly hidden by a tatty old jumper with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric of it drooped over where the cuffs presumably are, and comfortable dark brown pants. His hair is a golden brown and fluffy, though not messy, and his face and arms are littered with scars. He’s staring off, likely seeing something that isn’t there or not seeing anything at all, with a hand occasionally bringing a lit cigarette to his lips and a wooden cane, decorated with the occasional metal patch and worn in some places, leans against the arm of the chair.

If James were a painter, if they had any artistic bone in their body, they would draw it. Or paint it. Or even sculpt it. But they’re not, and they’ve only mildly dabbled in photography--and even then, it’s usually of birds or plants--so they’ll just have to remember the scene for what it is. Besides, it would be creepy to just take a picture or paint something of this man.

But he’s as beautiful as the white roses are going to be, James is sure of it.

They force themself to stop lingering awkwardly in their doorway in case the man looks over or takes notice of them. They force their feet to carry them and the guitar in hand to the chair, settling down in it, but they don’t make to play the guitar. Not with the new neighbor out here, they don’t want to bother him.

“You can play it,” the neighbor says, his voice sending chills down James’ spine, raspy and not low but not high either way. They turn to look at him, shocked, but he’s not looking back at them.

“What?” They choke out.

The neighbor hums, finally turning to look at them, turning beautiful, solid brown eyes onto theirs, “Your guitar. I don’t mind if you play it, so long as you’re not horrible. You don’t have to wait until I go back inside.”

James clears their throat, “Oh, I-” they look down at their guitar, “Thank- thank you.” And with that, the man nods and goes to look back out at the view while James picks up their guitar and properly places it against themself. They take a moment to work out some chords in their mind before finally giving the instrument a strum.

They don’t think too hard about what they’re playing, they don’t put too much pressure on making it perfect--even knowing that the neighbor is listening--just mess around until they have the basics of something that sounds good.

Eventually, there's the creak of the chair as the neighbor stands up and James glances over to watch him stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. He looks over at them, “It sounds good so far.” Then he turns to walk inside and, at the last moment, hums, “My name is Remus.”

“James.” They manage to get out just before the man walks inside and shuts his balcony door behind him.

Part Two

#marauders #dead gay wizards #james potter #remus lupin #james x remus #moonchaser #nonbinary james potter #microfics

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