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florencemtrash · 1 month

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”

“The ones he plans to torture for information.”

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.

“Azriel?”

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.

You needed this almost as much as he did.

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”

Yours.

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.

You stared at him in horror.

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.

“Hey there, little feather.”

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.

“She left me.”

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.”

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

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barefoothighlander · 11 months

Note

The way you write ghost and like a specific reader is so good it has me going insane, on that I just read the cottage one where Simon admits to himself he loves sweet things and would it be possible to get a baker reader x Simon, with him often comming because he's hooked on their desserts but also how fine they are

something sweet

this is possibly one of my FAV tropes, thank you!!

warnings: fluff, gn pronouns, mutual pining, mentions of food throughout, ooc!ghost, kissing, not proofread

People always assumed Ghost ate purely for nutrients, the majority of the meals he consumed on base or in the field involving all four food groups, centred on protein. The truth was he had to stop himself every day from eating entire sleeves of cookies, his favourite being the bourbon biscuits that his mum used to buy.

He had an insatiable sweet tooth, always having loads of sugar in his tea, sneaking into the mess late at night to steal sweets from the kitchen, if you were to search his pockets you’d find wrappers for candy littered throughout them.

He was less restrained when he came home, often buying some sort of treat to pair with his tea when he’d visit a cafe, he’d gone for a walk that morning and decided to explore a few shops, stumbling across a bakery that he’d never been into.

It wasn’t even a question of should he go in, the scent of baked goods wafting from the open door as he looked through the window, trays lined with pastries and cakes, he was practically salivating at the sight of them.

He felt out of place in the cafe, his eyes falling in various couples having coffee together, a few others set up with their laptops as they picked at their food.

“What can I get for you?”

He didn’t intend for the interaction to be awkward, he’d never stumbled over his own words but the sight of you, hair messy, sleeves rolled up, a mess of flour sprinkled over your apron as your wide eyes and bright smile looked back at him had him frozen.

“You look like a tea guy, earl grey?”

How could you possibly know that? He moves closer to the counter, doing his best to make his stride less intimidating as he approaches you.

“How’d you know?”

“Get a lot of customers, I’ve gotten pretty good at knowing what people like”

Heat flushed his cheeks under his balaclava, his eyes nervously moving from your face to the display beside him.

“What do you recommend”

You follow his line of sight, pursing your lips as you think over the options,

“The muffins are good, chocolatines are a favourite, personally I’m partial to the biscuits”

“Which kind?”

“Bourbons are my favourite, the empires are a close second”

He hums in response, “Those are my favourite”

“You have good taste”

He moves his gaze back to you, “I like to think so”

You huff a small laugh, your fingers tapping against the counter as you lose yourself for a moment in his dark eyes.

“So earl grey and some bourbons”

“Sounds perfect”

You swallow a lump in your throat, biting back a smile as you move to collect his order, you toss a few biscuits into the bag, placing the tea bag in a cup before pouring the hot water on top, capping it and handing the pair to him.

“I threw in a few other things I thought you’d like”

“That’s very kind”

His fingers brush against yours as he takes the items from you, the contact making the hairs on your neck stand up. You drop your gaze nervously, smoothing your hair before turning back to him,

“Have a nice day” You stop your sentence abruptly, your eyes squinting slightly at him,

"Simon"

"Have a nice day Simon"

It was less than 24 hours before he was back, strutting through the front doors, oblivious to the various shared glances between other customers, his sights dead set on you.

"Back so soon?"

"How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

"Those extras you gave me yesterday, that raspberry thing and those little chocolates, how'd you know I'd like them"

"I didn't really, just a guess, they're my favourites"

"You have good taste"

"I'd hope so, I'm the one that makes them"

In a moment of realization, he looks around, there's no one else behind the counter, no noises from the kitchen, it really is just you there.

"You own the shop"

"For two years now"

"That's impressive"

You tilt your head down to hide the flush on your cheeks, smiling, "I have something for you"

"You made me something?"

"Was hoping you'd be back"

It's his turn to hide his face, even behind his mask he's scared you'd see the pink tint to his skin, the way his eyes crinkle at the edges, you push a small tray toward him, a cup of tea paired with an assortment of treats.

"I am supposed to stay in shape"

"C'mon, try them" You nudge the tray a little closer

"Only if you eat them with me"

"Deal"

You turn to grab an extra fork, resting your elbows on the table as you portion off a piece of the small pastry in front of you, careful to create the perfect bite,

"Wait, you need to get some of the jam"

"You're telling me how to eat?"

"It has to be perfect"

You use your fork to push some jam onto his piece, nodding to yourself in satisfaction, he takes a quick glance behind him to see if anyone is watching before lifting his mask just slightly, revealing his lips, your eyes linger on them for a little too long, the soft arch of them, their plush pink tint.

"This is amazing"

His praise breaks your trance, your hand covering your mouth as you smile, hiding the food inside it, "I told you"

"You're right, I'll never doubt you again"

You let out a giggle and this time he can't hide his smile, a small dimple forming beside his lips as they curve, you could watch him smile all day.

"This might be strange but, what are you doing later," You ask with a breath of confidence,

"Working off all this sugar you're feeding me"

"What about you skip the workout and meet me here at seven?"

"I'd like that"

You bite back a smile, "Great"

You pack the remaining treats in a small bag, handing it to him before bidding him goodbye, your senses focused solely on him, completely ignorant of the line of customers forming in front of your eyes.

It's a panicked few hours around the cafe, rushing to fill orders, tidying the kitchen, and attempting to find time to fix yourself up before Simon arrived.

The bell atop the door rang at 6:53, apparently, he was insistent on being early, he calls out for you, your voice echoing from the kitchen as he makes his way behind the counter.

"Hey, you're early"

"You're a mess" His eyes scan over your flour-clad form, your hair a mess as your palms dig into a circle of dough.

"Had to get some orders done before tomorrow, wanna help?"

"Not sure how good I'll be"

"Please, I could use your muscles"

"Alright," He rolls his sleeves up his arm, revealing his tattoo before reaching behind him to grab an apron, securing it around his form. You erupt in a fit of laughter as you turn your gaze to him,

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing just, never pictured you in an apron covered in tulips and daisies"

"You saying it looks bad?"

"No, you look perfect," You say, fighting back your laughter, "Okay, grab a piece and start pushing it with your palms, just like this" You demonstrate the move to him, his curious eyes watching intently as you knead the dough, sprinkling bits of flour on it.

"Got it" He places a circle of dough on the table, dropping some flour onto it before digging his palms in, quickly turning to you with worried eyes as his hand forces a hole in the centre.

"Maybe not so tough, try like this" You position yourself next to him, your sides pressing against each other as you rest your hands atop him, guiding them into the dough, your gentle fingers intertwining with his.

"Got it?"

He shakes his head lightly, "I think you need to show me again"

You laugh lightly, the sound warming his chest as you slowly release your touch, urging him to work, "That's better, I have to make some icing so I'll be over there for a minute"

You move from his side, wiping your hands on your apron before standing in front of the large mixer, he watches as you struggle to lift the large bag of powdered sugar, dropping his task to help you. He lifts the bag with ease, watching as you release a small breath of gratitude,

"Wait not all at... once" Your instructions come too late, he dumps the entire bag into the bowl, a cloud of sugar enveloping the room as you drop your head in laughter.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know"

You raise your hands, palms to the roof as you smile, "It's okay, kinda looks like snow"

"Kind of"

His gaze softens as you close your ears, tilting your neck back and slightly sticking your tongue out, allowing the sugar to settle on the muscle, the sweetness dancing over your tastebuds.

You smile, lifting your head back up and opening your eyes, he's watching you with such adoration in his eyes, his heart swelling out of his chest, he'd never met anyone that maintained such a wonder in themselves, you were so warm, so kind, he'd always been punished for mistakes but the sight of you unknowingly creating a happy memory out of one of his mishaps has his brain rewiring.

He doesn't think, just reaches for you, one hand lifting his mask while the other grabs at your waist, tugging you into him, his lips crash into yours as if his addiction to sweets wasn't enough, you literally tasted like sugar, he couldn't get enough. His free hand moving to cup your jaw, his thumb swiping over the skin as you press yourself into him, your gentle hands settling around his arms as he holds you close.

It's intoxicating, his taste, his scent, tobacco, vanilla, and sugar, you had managed to escape the consequences of a sweet tooth until now, this was a taste you'd never get sick of.

He pulls back with a heavy breath, his chest rising against yours as he rests his forehead against yours, that beautiful smile beaming back at you as your flesh ignites under his touch.

"Kiss me like that again and I'll give you all the baked goods you want"

He lets out a laugh, a genuine laugh, one he hasn't heard in years before pressing his lips to yours again, smiling against your skin as the sugar settles around the two of you, cloaking the room in a soft white dust.

#cod mw x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley fluff #mw2022 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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milksuu · 6 months

Note

…the poly sett/reader/aphelios… ur insane for that one… i need a follow up🤭

-🎧

❥ prompt: Sharing is caring. And so is getting along. When it comes to you, Sett and Aphelios are working on it. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, fluff, teasing, cuddling, possessive boyfriend behavior ❥ characters/pairings: poly!heartsteel!settphel x f!reader

"This one is so cute, Sett. Your mama really knows which ones to get you," you smiled, rubbing your face against a PoroKing plushie.

"Oh, yeah. When it comes to Ma', I got lucky and ended up with the best," Sett said with a grin, "but, let's be honest here. You're the cutest thing on my bed right now."

Aphelios narrowed his eyes against his computer screen. Clicking and typing away. He was working on a sample Yone had sent him to dabble with for their next song. He would need to ensemble some lyrics to go along with it at some point. Except...he slapped his hands against his desk, turning a sharp chin towards you and Sett.

"Uh-oh," you said, wrapping your arms around Sett's neck. "I don't think Phelly likes us being all lovey-dovey without him."

"Looks like it," Sett agreed with a snaggle tooth smile. "I mean, he's free to come on over when he's done being glued to his computer. He's been ignoring us for hours. What did he expect?"

Aphelios popped the cap off a marker, took up his notepad, and scribbled:

I'm actually working. Unlike someone I know. I wOndEr wHo?

You gasped, covering your mouth. "Phelly's extra sassy today."

"Extra? Nah, he can be worse than this. Believe it or not, he's in one of his better moods today." Sett chuckled, lowering his head and planting a kiss to your collarbone. "Probably because you're here. But it's got me thinkin'. Wonder how his mood will change when I take you all for myself. Right in front of him."

You shuddered at the tingling feeling. "Don't you think you're being a little mean?"

"The boss can't be nice all the time. Sometimes, he's gotta play the big bad wolf," he grumbled a purr, carefully nipping at your chest with his canines. You couldn't help the fluttering of your eyelids and hitched moans.

Aphelios almost snapped the marker in half. He jumped out of his desk chair. And launched a calculated attack while Sett had his arms filled with you.

"Woah! Buddy. What're you doing—?" Aphelios snatched Sett's chin, and planted the black marker against his nose and cheeks. With quick strokes, he painted the look of an actual dog on his face. Whiskers, snout and all. "Wait, isn't this permanent marker!?" Sett released you from his hold, jumping out of the bed and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Aphelios released a 'hmph' with a satisfied glean in his eyes. He sat down next to you, laced his arms around you, and plopped you both against the bed.

"Maybe Phelly's the real villain," you commented, snuggling his bed of hair. "But you two need to play nice. Okay? That was a mean thing to do to Setty. You should both apologize."

There was a twitch in his brow. He was the mean one!? He needed to apologize!? He brought you closer, placing his face between your neck and shoulder. He shook his head back and forth.

"Yes. Phelly. It's the nice thing to do," you said softly. "I know you two won't always get along. But I know you both love each other very much. And I love you both very much, too. And we can show that when we apologize after we hurt one another. Right?"

Aphelios buried himself deeper into the crook of your neck. Muffling his whines and groans into the heat of your skin. He didn't like admitting fault. He'd rather throw a written apology into the nearest burning trash can than give it to the actual person. It wasn't his fault he tended to hold onto grudges. It was always the other person's fault for not taking his personality into consideration. If they cared enough, they would know that about him. And in that case, they were making the conscious decision to be put on his shit list. He was the reasonable one. As far as he could tell.

"Please, Phelly," you asked sweetly, planting a kiss to the top of his head.

He exhaled one last breath of resistance. Somehow, you always had an unfair advantage over him. Slowly, he left the warmth of your body. That was a painful in itself. He almost cowered back into your arms. Needing a bit more strength, he slipped his mask down, and took your lips. Applying just enough pressure to make you both moan. Alright. That's all he needed. He could do this. He took up his notebook and marker.

Just as Aphelios was about to leave the room, Sett appeared from the door. His cheeks bruised red from all the scrubbing he had to do. Aphelios shifted his gaze away. A silent grip ensnared the two. Sett rubbed the guilty knot at the back of his neck. After a moment of silence, he grumbled under his breath. "Listen, Phel—"

Aphelios flipped his notebook around:

Sorry.

Sett stumbled against his words. He hadn't expected Aphelios to be the one to apologize first. Or honestly, apologize in the first place. Technically, it was Sett's own fault for egging him on the way he did. Sett's trouble was evident in the frown lines against his face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry too, Phel." Sett sighed, ears drooped. "I shouldn't have teased ya'h like that. But I couldn't help it. I just wanted you to take a break and cuddle with us. That's all. Hope you can forgive me."

Aphelios paused. The marker squeaked against the paper. He tossed his chin away, cheeks stained pink. He flipped the notepad:

I'll forgive you. On one condition. I'm middle.

Sett's ears perked-up. Grinning like a panting pup, he swooped Aphelio's into his love-crushing arms. You laughed when Sett dove onto the bed, causing you to bounce from the weight. Unraveling Aphelios like a long awaited package, you and Sett planted kisses against his flushed cheeks. The both of you then secured your legs across him, took up his upper-body, and rubbed against his figure in every way possible. Aphelios whined and groaned. He wanted to be cuddled—not suffocated. Of course, with his luck, things had to turn out this way.

an: poly!settphel x reader is my new crack. give me all the fics pls. also, maybe the next part will be nsfw. hmmmm! thank you for the follow req. anon!

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #aphelios x reader #sett x reader #settphel #settphel x reader #league of legends #league x reader #poly!settphel x reader

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eilidh-eternal · 3 months

Text

Dancing in the deep end

Part of the Martyr in the Making series | Part 1 | Masterlist |

| 18 + MDNI | TattooArtist!Ghost x f!reader | CW dub con/non con themes, Simon being a possessive menace in general |

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to sit still today, fighting to keep a grip on the tense coil of compressed nerves within you. One wrong move—one wrong thought—and the tenuous bubble of calm that you and Kyle sit inside of is liable to burst.

It’s not the needles. Not the delicious pain of each pin prick that has you all keyed up.

It’s him.

And you’re doing your best not to think about it, focusing your attention instead on the collection of studs adorning Kyle’s ears and the glittering rhinestones that catch in the light each time his lips part to ask you another question. Inconsequential things about your work, plans with friends, or references you have saved on your pinterest board.

“Who are you gonna book with for that?” He studies the picture on your phone while he changes tips, handing it back when finished and returning his attention to the detail work on your right forearm.

“I’m not sure. I thought about Johnny. He’s good with realism, but this is more… macabre. Not really his style. And I don’t think I want any color, not for this. If I did I’d already be on your book.” You’d book with Kyle every time if you could. Prefer his affable countenance and comfortable conversation over the others. But they all have their specialties, and one size certainly doesn't fit all when it comes to artists.

He hums thoughtfully and the corner of his mouth twists up into a wry grin. “Sounds like something Ghost would take on. Definitely up his alley; all that spooky shit.”

So much for not thinking of him…

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” he quips, breaking into a sharp-toothed smile.

“Grinning like there’s some kind of joke around here that I'm not in on.” When he pulls back to pick up more ink you shift in the chair, draw your legs up to cross underneath you and roll some of the tension from your shoulders.

“There’s no joke, hunny bun. Not about you.”

“Then what’s so funny?”

He shakes his head as he returns to his work, still smiling to himself. “Ghost, that’s what. Bloke’s been broody these last few weeks. More than normal, anyway.”

Oh.

“Had a bit of a tiff with Cap’ earlier. Dunno what about, but… I might have heard your name bein’ mentioned.”

“I thought you said this isn’t about me.”

“I said the joke isn’t about you. Never said what we’re pickin’ on him for isn’t about you.” He pauses his work just long enough to wink up at you, and you answer with a groan. “You don’t like him?”

You’ve been doing your best to not think about him. Even if the feel of his hands, pushing and pulling to arrange you the way he wants, tracing roughened fingers over the letters on your thigh, lingers like a phantom touch against your skin every night. The memory of his eyes, depthless yet brimming with beguiling allure, is burned into your retinas, staring back at you everytime you close yours–every time you blink.

You’ve been doing your best not to think of him, and you've failed miserably.

“I don’t not like him, he just…” Kyle’s hand hovers over your arm, the numbing bite of his needle just out of reach, waiting for your answer. “He fucks with my head. Can’t figure him out.”

Can’t get him out.

His smile shifts, full lips curled up at the edges and bright, intelligent eyes narrowed with a knowing glint. “Maybe that’s the point,” he surmises, and returns his attention to the half finished highlights.

In the days that follow, you start to think Kyle is right. That the reason Simon’s burrowed so deep under your skin is because that’s exactly where he wants to be, settling in with the same permanence as healing ink. An ever-present paresthesia that spreads like brushfire through the dried up remains of your resolve. Impossible to ignore.

Against your better judgment, you book your next session with him. This time, you’re determined not to let him get the better of you.

It’s another large piece, stretching from the apex of your spine to just below your shoulder blades, and needs multiple sessions to get the finer details just right. In retrospect, you really haven’t set yourself up for success in this whole ‘don’t let him get to you’ matter with your choice of placement and the inherent lack of clothing involved, but you’re adamant about this time being different.

It’s John who checks you in and collects the same signature and waiver as they always do, making idle chat and asking how some of your pieces have been healing while you fill out the forms. Leggings cover the bulk of Simon’s last piece so you show him the work Kyle did instead, holding out your arm for him to inspect.

“Gaz certainly knows what he’s doing with pigment. Boy’s got a knack for vibrancy.”

“His work is as colorful as he is. And Johnny’s language.” His eyes crease when he laughs, a full-bellied sound that echoes through the studio.

“Ghost should be ready for you. Same room as last time.” He gestures towards the hall with a tilt of his head, an unruly strand of hair escaping the hold of product and pomade to sway with the motion. “Good to see you, hun.”

“Good to see you too, John.”

No escort this time. You’re becoming something of a permanent fixture here, your presence something they’re quickly growing accustomed to. Ingratiated among their ranks and trusted to see yourself to each of their stations without need of their guidance.

Three short taps of your knuckles against the door, fading paint and a mess of stickers that are peeling around the edges dampening the sound, and Simon’s gruff voice grants you entry. When you crack the door open his back is to you, arranging his inks and tips to his specification on a rolling tray, clad in his usual monochromatic black. He’s silent as you slip inside, dropping your bag on the counter and shedding your jacket alongside it.

“Go on and get settled,” he directs, gesturing vaguely to the padded table beside him that’s replaced the chair from last time. His focus remains on setting up his station but you don't miss the way he cocks his head, watching you from his periphery. Once you’re comfortable, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the table, he reaches for the tablet on the counter beside him. “Gaz sent over the design? No changes?” he asks as he scrolls through the notes.

“Yeah, I’m really happy with the suggestions and revisions you made. It’s exactly what I’d envisioned when I sent over the references.” You fiddle with the hem of your tee, twirling a loose thread around your finger. “Should I…”

He looks up then, and it begins—the internal battle between logic and instinct.

The latter begs to let yourself drown in his gaze. Swallow lungfuls of churning amber and nestle into the warm, mindless haze that creeps at the fringes of your mind like mist over the earth, tinged an ephemeral gold by the first rays of dawn. The former recoils from the flaring of pupils like they’re the unhinged jaws of a predator, swallowing all of the light in the room in a uniquely serpentine manner. Some fragmented imitation of self preservation screams for you to run.

It doesn’t scream loud enough.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” Pale skin puckers around his eyes. Fissures in granite, the molten core of him pouring through the cracks and searing every detail of them into your memory.

“Yeah, sorry…” The hum that reverberates in his chest ripples in the space between you in waves of gravel that settle against your skin like velvet.

“Gotta go print the stencil,” he begins, standing from his chair, and he draws your gaze up with him to his full height. “Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” Ink stained fingers brush against your cheek, and you realize it’s not a request but a demand when he doesn’t wait for your answer, worn leather creaking with each retreating footstep until the door closes behind him and you’re left in dazed silence.

You blink once. Twice. Drag a hand over your face to wipe away the feeling of phantom fingers, and release the breath you didn’t realize you’ve been holding in a dejected sigh.

This doesn’t feel different. It feels exactly how it did last time.

Sit. Stay. Behave. These are his demands, and you’re powerless to defy them.

Each word uttered from behind that inane mask has the effect of being yanked by a leash. Dragging you along with him until you learn to match his gait, the cadence of his steps careful and measured, but the collar around your neck only ever gets tighter, reeling you in to heel at his side.

It should make you angry. Should rattle your head with alarm bells and shrill, screeching sirens. But all there is, is silence. Thick, hazy, blissful silence that swaddles your mind in an ardent blanket of warmth. A proverbial pulling of wool over your eyes.

But perhaps that’s too kind, not cruel enough, for the man whose presence smothers rationale and suffocates logic. Who steals the air from your lungs to feed his own conflagration and feeds it back to you on words, whetted by a duplicitous tongue, that feel like licking honey from a honed blade. Warm and sweet–but at what cost?

You wonder briefly if the slow slipping of your sanity is the price to be paid, and balk at the probability that he has even yet come to collect. You wonder briefly, because that is all the time you have. All the time you're allowed before the door swings open and in walks the phantasm of a man with righteous intent.

When the door clicks closed behind him, it sounds more, you think, like the striking of a gavel. A thunderclap in the court of the heavens. The sealing of your fate by something far beyond your control.

“Up,” his voice rumbles in the echoing thunder.

What?

He’s standing over you, hands flattened and fingers splayed on the table on either side of you, staring down at you expectantly. “Gotta take this off to get started,” he explains when you continue staring blankly up at him, dragging a hand over to your hip and curling his fingers into the same hem you’d been toying with not ten minutes ago.

You can’t decipher whether it’s by some divine puppeteering or an infernal possession that your arms slowly lift and you allow him to pull your shirt over your head. Allow him to guide you down onto the table, prone with a pillow tucked under your head, and your right arm folded underneath. To unclasp your bra, unhook each strap from its band, and slide it out from under you.

He smooths transfer paper over your back, cold solution causing you to flinch at first contact, and he quells the beginnings of a whine with gentle sushing and a warm hand at your nape. “Jus’ some cold. Save those pretty sounds for me, hm?”

Time moves slowly, cocooned in a heady smoke and honey scented haze, threads of it woven into his blanketing aura, and it weighs heavy on your limbs. Makes your body feel as sluggish as your mind.

“That’s it, good girl.” Numb and high on praise, you barely register the added weight of his arm slung across your lower back. A faint humming permeates your cocoon, accompanied by a distant fluttering that traces slow lines over your back, and a small, contented sound resonates in your chest. “So pretty like this. Such a pretty, empty head.”

This feels different. Nothing like the last time. There are no nerves that hum like livewires in your head. No furtive glances or chills that creep across your skin when you’re caught staring. He welcomes it–encourages it–but like the rest of you, your eyes feel heavy, lids drooping under a lulling weight.

When that golden mist appears once more at the blurry edges of your mind, there is nothing that stops it from surging forward and swallowing you down to the dregs of slumber.

Waking up feels like surfacing from molasses, thick and syrupy tendrils of sleep still clinging to you and trying to hold you under a little longer. But there’s a stinging sensation that prickles your skin and won't go away, wrenches your body and mind free of its sluggish haze.

Your back feels raw, skin overworked and leaking plasma, but it's the stinging of your arm that clears the fog from your head.

You blink sleep crusted eyes against the harsh overhead lighting of the studio, spots dancing in your vision as it slowly adjusts. It’s been a long time since you've fallen asleep while getting tattooed, and you wonder if maybe you slept on your arm–had it twisted under you at some odd angle that’s cut off its circulation and made it numb with staticy pin pricks.

No, this is different.

Bright color blooms before you, and for a moment you wonder if it's a result of phosphenes; if the pressure of confusion building in your head has somehow distorted your vision.

It isn’t.

The bright colors are a result of the newest tattoo on your arm, more than several weeks old by now, and the burning, itching sensation that should have long since passed is a result of the thick layer of fresh ink that's been overlaid.

‘MINE’ stares back at you in the hauntingly familiar scrawl of Simon’s hand.

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

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navstuffs · 8 months

Text

Heart to-go

Pairing: RE2Barista!Leon x GN!Reader

Summary: You hate coffee. Of course with your luck, you end up falling in love with a cute blushing barista.

Warnings: COFFEE SHOP AU, SUPER FLUFF, blushing leon, tooth-rotting fanfic, reader DOES NOT like coffee (i could never), reader/leon are clueless and shy, sabrina and gabriel are names used in this fic, image taken from google

Author's Notes: hey, im back (sorta?kinda?). i had this fanfic saved for a while and since i haven't been able to produce new material, i decided to edit and post some of my old drafts. i plan on posting the other coffee shop au - nsfw version, but from now i hope you enjoy reading this one!

If someone told you before that you would visit a coffee shop and actually order the same cup of coffee every day, you would laugh at their faces. You don't like coffee, period. There is something about the smell or taste you just don't like it. Warm, cold, sweet, unsweet, with chocolate, you tried it all. It just isn't your thing, which made some people look at you as an E.T. sometimes, but hey, to each its own, right?

Your co-worker Sabrina is the one who invites you out to a popular coffee shop nearby your work. Before you even attempt to say no, Sabrina explains that yes, there were other drink options and some delicious pastries, like "some of the best brownies" she had eaten her entire life.

So you agree, with the promise you wouldn't regret it.

There is no line when you enter, around 5 pm. You pass this coffee shop often going to work, the smell strong in your nose if the door is open. You never entered, of course, but now inside, you must admit it looked cozy. A lot of natural light comes from the big windows in the front, illuminating the entire space. There are tables and chairs, at this time empty, compared to how full and hectic they could get in the morning.

As Sabrina orders her long order, your eyes wander the menu, written behind the counter on a giant blackboard. They had other options, as Sabrina explained before, such as handmade Italian sodas and some juices. When Sabrina is done, you turn your attention to the very attractive cashier. The kind you see on the cover of magazines, like a model or something. And cute. He has innocent blue eyes, a soft face, and blonde hair under the black cap. Your eyes glimpse at his name tag, "Leon," as he waits for your order.

"What do you want?"

And the words come out of your mouth before you can even think, something you would never have ordered in a million years.

"A coffee?"

You can feel Sabrina's neck twist, shocked. You ignore her, ignore how your voice went two higher tones than it should, focused on Leon, who continues smiling, patiently waiting for the rest.

"Sure, which one?"

"Coffee?" Your eyes roam around the many, many names and sizes as if you know what all those names mean, and you decide to risk it all. "How about your favorite order?"

Leon's eyes widen briefly before a faint red tone rises to his cheeks. He chuckles, surprised, before placing the order on the computer.

"Right, okay then, my favorite order. Anything else?"

"Nothing, that will be it."

You pay your bill without looking up. Sabrina looks semi-concerned and amused when you are done ordering, a strange smile on her face.

"Are you okay?"

"I panicked," You whisper, hoping Leon can't hear the panic in your voice as you pull her to a table before she can start asking more questions.

You sit to wait for your order, and you notice Leon and another young blonde lady behind the counter. He seems to be blushing about something she says, and you wonder if that wasn't the most adorable thing you've ever seen.

"You are staring," Sabrina warns, her voice denoting humor. Why does it sound like Sabrina is having fun with your misery? You look out the window to the traffic slowing down since it is the end of the afternoon. When your order finally arrives, you turn excited, expecting to see Leon but being greeted by Ashley's happy face.

"Enjoy!" Ashley exclaims before leaving. You grab your small cup of warm coffee with a top layer of foam on it. It smells like cinnamon and vanilla. You really, really don't want to drink it.

"Careful now, Leon is watching," Sabrina teases, making you turn to look for Leon. He is indeed staring at you, his blue eyes filled with expectation. When he catches you looking, he turns his face away, a deep blush on his cheeks, too focused on cleaning something behind him.

"I can do this." You tell yourself, taking a sip from the cup. Yeap, still bad. Still bad as the first time you tried it. You drink another small sip because Leon could still be watching before placing the cup on the table. "I don't think I can do this." You confess in a whisper to Sabrina, who doesn't answer. She giggles, drinking her coffee as water. She saves you the dignity to not tease you anymore, at least.

Noticing she wouldn't be any help, you take small sips while listening to Sabrina's news. It was easier to drink while she talked so that you could ignore the sour taste in your mouth.

When your cup is finally empty, you sigh in relief. You have done it. You are NOT disappointing any cute blushy barista today. Leon appears at the side of the table, eyes filled with expectation.

"How was it?"

"It was so good. My friend over here loved it, right? Right?" Sabrina smiles happily in your direction. You want to strangle her, but you nod, smirking instead.

"Perfect, Leon. Thank you."

Leon's eyes lock on you, and you stare back, starstruck. No one should be allowed to be this charming. His smile lights up his entire face, making him look even more special. The type you could fall in love with if you aren't careful enough.

"I will get those for you, then," He cleans the table, then leaves, nodding in your direction. When he is out of a safe distance, Sabrina sings low.

"I think he likes you!"

"Shut up, Sabrina!"

-x-

After that, you start to visit the coffee. Daily. You get to meet the rest of the employees: Luis, a handsome man with a captivating smile who constantly flirts with you. You already know Ashley, a young college student who is always excited to see you. And well, there is Leon. It is odd how you click so fast with Luis and Ashley; you could joke with them as much as you wanted, but things worked a little differently when it came to Leon. He made you nervous.

He always welcomes you with a warm smile and treats you with respect. You tried to tease Leon once, but it died in your throat when you watched his expression. He just looked so innocent, you just didn't want him to dislike something you did or said. What if he misinterpreted?

You also continue ordering the same coffee. Your newfound trick to not throw it away? Take it to work and give it to Sabrina. You know you are wasting money, but Leon's smile is worth every cent, especially when you place the money on the counter for "Leon's order". Like one morning, two weeks after your first visit, you enter the shop, and it is Luis at the register.

"Hello, pretty thing. Same order?" Luis asks, winking.

"You know me, Luis, I am loyal."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Luis sighs, pretending to be disappointed. Ashley waves in your direction when she sees you, asking. "Let me guess, another Leon's order to go?"

"You know, it is my dream. One of those days, you will enter those doors and ask 'Can I get Luis's order or maybe Ashley's?" Luis teases, "No, it must always be Leon's order. I have started to wonder why."

"I like his coffee," You whisper in your defense. Luis smiles, knowing exactly what you like. He points to Leon's back, too focused on a coffee maker. "Your boyfriend is waiting."

You show off your tongue, rolling your eyes and going toward Leon. He guides a cup of steaming milk into a to-go cup, almost as if he is drawing. You don't say anything, watching his concentrated face as he finishes. Every inch of his attention to whatever he is drawing. When Leon is done, he turns toward you, opening a smile.

"H-hey. Here it is."

He puts the to-go cup in front of you, uncovered. You find it weird but don't discuss it.

"Morning. Thank you. My favorite, as always." You grab a lid nearby, closing it. Leon seems disappointed but doesn't say anything. You quickly take a sip, holding back a scowl. "Perfect as always, Leon. Thank you. I don't even know where I would be without Leon's every morning... Leon's order, I mean!"

The frown is gone, and Leon smiles timidly, blushing. Of course, you must embarrass yourself in front of him, but honestly, you don't mind. Your mornings always got much better after seeing his smile. You leave the coffee, waving bye to Ashley and Luis. When you are gone, Ashley and Luis surround Leon, too curious.

"Did they see it this time?" Luis wonders.

"No."

"Such a nice person, but so clueless," Ashley sighs, holding her chin. "Maybe you should just try writing your phone number on the cup, it would be more direct."

"Or maybe they don't like me that much..." Leon declares, making his co-workers groan.

"Not this again, Leon."

-x-

Three weeks pass like that. You go in, say hi to Ashley and Luis, get your coffee with Leon, smile at each other, and leave for work. There is some teasing here and there from Ashley and Luis, you tease back, and that is it. You wonder if you should get a different order, but Sabrina seems happy enough with the coffee, you are happy enough to see Leon, so it works.

The next morning, you enter the café to find Ashley organizing a casket of brownies. After greeting each other, you grab one from the basket. So those were the limited edition brownies Sabrina always talked about.

"Hey, Ashley, are those the famous delicious brownies?"

"Yeah. Made by an extraordinary chef, but I can't reveal his identity. It is top secret."

"Can I get one? And also a Le-"

"Leon's order? Yes, yes, I know," She groans, sounding tired. Leon appears from the back office, opening his usual smile when he sees you. You like to think it is your special smile, but it is probably how he smiles at every single client.

"Hey."

"Morning, Leon."

He starts preparing your drink the way he always does. You wonder if Leon is bored or if he can even make it with his eyes closed. Maybe you should ask him if his favorite order has even changed next time? As you watch Leon work, you give a big bite to the brownie. It is delicious. The perfect balance between chocolate and sweetness.

"Ashley, those are so freaking good!" You exclaim, bringing her attention back to you.

"Oh really? Our chef will love to hear that!" Ashley says with a suggestive tone, giving a quick side look to Leon. You finish the brownie in a few bites as Leon puts your cup on the counter, his cheeks painted red. Again your cup is uncovered. You grab the lid and close it. It has become a ritual by now.

"Thanks again, Leon."

When you look up at him, Leon has a different expression in his eyes. He blushes, no more than he usually does, his hand raised. Before you can ask what is wrong, he places his hand over yours on the cup lid. His hand is warm, probably normal for someone working with hot drinks all the time. You don't say anything, waiting. Leon seems to be waiting as well, for you to say anything. Neither of you does, and the moment is broken when the door opens, a huge group of women coming in.

"Sorry, I don't know—"

"Bye!" You rush out of those doors, not looking back.

Well, that was certainly odd, you think. Leon has never touched you before. It seems that he wanted to tell you something, but at the same time, he was waiting for you to say something? When you get to work ten minutes later, the cup still warm in your hands, you search for Sabrina, not finding her. Gabriel, your other co-worker, explains she is sick.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Nasty flu."

"Oh, okay. I will message her later then."

You look at the cup in your hands to her empty table before asking Gabriel.

"Hey, do you want some coffee?"

"Free? Don't mind if I do! What has on it?"

"I guess coffee, milk, cinnamon? I don't really know."

"You don't know?" Gabriel asks, grabbing the cup from you. "You don't know what is in your cup? Here, let me smell it, I have an excellent sense of smell." He opens the lid to smell it and exclaims, "Awn, this is cute."

"What?"

"The heart."

"What heart?"

Gabriel carefully gets the cup to show you a heart drawing on top. You want to hit yourself in the head; is that what Leon has been doing? That's why he held your hand this morning to show the heart? No, it couldn't be. When Gabriel starts taking the cup to his mouth, you pull the cup back, placing the lid.

"Sorry, Gabriel, gotta go! I will return with another one!"

You rush back to the store, holding the cup firmly. Maybe, just maybe, Leon has been drawing those for you only, and you always close the lid? Maybe this is what he was trying to tell you this morning. What if Leon draws a heart for everyone? Shouldn't you be paying for that? What if—? No, no time to think of that. Perhaps this is your chance. You enter the shop, gasping for air. Ashley is nowhere around, and Leon is dusting around the table. When he sees you, his brows furrow, but he doesn't hesitate to get close to you.

"Are you okay? Something wrong?" Leon sounds concerned, his eyes scanning you.

You try to speak, still catching your breath. You pull the lid, triumphant.

"What does this mean?"

When you two look at the cup, the drawing is gone. There is just a mess of brown liquid, smelling like vanilla and cinnamon. You can't believe it. You turn to Leon, pointing at the cup and him, your mouth opening and closing.

"Have you been drawing hearts in my cup this whole time?"

"I have." He admits, blushing.

"Thanks?" Jeez, you couldn't come with something better. Leon nods as if understanding before starting to turn away. "No, wait, please, I mean, I like them. A lot."

His face lights up, and you wonder how someone can look so adorable. It is so unfair for you poor heart.

"Tha-that's good, then. I was wondering when you would see them."

"Well, 'cause the lady who drinks my coffee doesn't open the cups!" You try to explain to him, biting your tongue. Leon waits, confused. "Yeah, I don't like coffee," You finally confess your secret somberly, like a sinner talking to a priest.

"So wait. You don't like coffee and keep ordering it? Why?"

Well, now it is your turn to feel your face burning. Realization passes through Leon's face, and he starts stuttering something before three older ladies walk in, going directly to the cashier. He grabs your cup, his heart thumping as he rushes to write something. When Leon gives you back, you see his number written in black ink.

"Ca-can we discuss this better later tonight? If you want to, of course," Leon asks. You nod. "Then you can tell me all about your hate for coffee."

"I would love to."

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy fluff #am i happy with this? not entirely. but i laughed a lot writing this so this has to count for something

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sabka-dentist07 · 13 days

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Dental Clinic in Kandivali East Mumbai

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#Kandivali #Mumbai #Sabka Dentist Mumbai #tooth extraction cost #best dentist near me #teeth cap price in india #teeth cleaning cost #sabka dentist near me #teeth cleaning near me

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rileysluvr · 10 months

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simon riley loves to spoil his girl because i say so. nsfw!!

He made up for his absence by spoiling every bone in your body with what he could best offer: sex and money. It sounds conceited, he knows, but he just loves to spoil you.

You, in your pretty, sunflower-yellow mini dress, practically leading him everywhere you go like a little kid at the fairgrounds. His hand tightly laced with yours as if he’d lose you if he let go, your various shopping bags in his other hand. He’s not far off from being perceived as your bodyguard whenever you go out together, and if it’s sunny and he’s opted for the cap and sunglasses combo, you’d better expect to get a few stares.

Him, in his usual blue jeans and black t-shirt that hugged his muscles tightly and made him stick out like a sore thumb in the high-end stores he’d urge you to go in when he would catch you eyeing a mannequin’s piece in the window. He almost turns into the little kid in that sense, stopping in his tracks and refusing to budge until you give in and see if it suits you. And he knows it will. He’s got an eye for those things, and he knows nothing could look bad on you, anyways.

All of his focus on you as you take your time, watching your every move as he’s seated on the dressing room bench, fighting to keep his hands to himself rather than cupping one over your mouth and fucking you right there. How you’d do a spin for him in every dress you tried on and he’d give his opinion, knowing he’d be the one stripping it from you in time to come, very soon.

What d'ya think? you smiled, hands clasped together behind you as you rolled forward on your toes.

I think it looks perfect, he stated, reaching his hand out. You stepped forward and took it, and his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer. You want it?

You bit down on your bottom lip and nodded coyly, leaning into his touch before bending down to kiss him with joy. Then it’s settled.

His job paid well, and being a man of little needs and a taste for simplicity, he never knew what to do with all of it; if it wasn’t going towards his diet, or the 1969 Mach Fastback sitting in his garage, it was being saved, stored, waiting to be used for something good. That something, finally being you, no matter how many times you’d insist you could pay for your own. It felt good for him to put his money towards something worthwhile, and the eye-candy that comes along with it is certainly indisputable. He’s got a horrible sweet tooth; he has to satiate it somehow, even if it means bending over backwards and running his wallet dry to keep you all dolled up.

Money had never looked so good on a person. In the form of flowy little dresses and glossy pink nails that reflected you so well, new necklaces and hair appointments that always brought a bright smile to your lips. The flowers he’d buy you just so they could go in the vase on the coffee table by the couch, right alongside the book you both are working on as you’re sat on his lap, back against his chest. But his giant frame is just so damn comfortable, and his voice is so fucking soothing in that eased tone he’d use on the occasion you ask him to read aloud to you. Most times you end up falling asleep before you’re even a chapter in, and he notices immediately, setting the book down and settling into the couch with you in his arms because he always decides that being with you heavily outweighs any back or neck pain that will surely come. He is older, don’t you forget it, and he doesn’t think you’re ever going to get through the novel at this rate.

He would never lie and say he didn’t get equal amounts of pleasure from it all. He promised himself to have you bathing in it for as long as you’ll let him, and even if that ran out, you’d quickly learn that his doting would still be quite difficult to get rid of.

Then, after a long day of splurging and satisfying your every want, he takes you home, handles you like you’re nothing of weight as he strips you of your dress, and fucks you silly. Fucks you how only a princess deserves, or like you were his first and final true love, the only one to ever matter on this green and corrupt planet because every day he spends with you he’s getting closer to believing both of those to be more than true.

Your fingers pulling tight at the short hair on his head as he buries his face in your cunt. Heavy, big arms, one inked and the other blank for the time being, holding you down by your plush thighs because he knows how sensitive you can get after just your first round. And there’s no way in hell he’s stopping after one. It’d take either a million men or merely your sweet begging to pry him from you once he’s delved his tongue in. You can’t possibly blame him; you just taste so heavenly, he can’t help it nor his insatiable appetite. His groans grow to be louder than your own when he feels and hears you finish, and he’ll come up with a dumb and cocky smile, your cum coating his lips and the stubble around it when he pulls you in to devour your mouth next. Allow you to get a taste of exactly how good he treats you, as if you reminding him of it every day wasn’t enough.

Head hanging off the corner of the bed, the necklace he bought you tickling your jaw and behind your ear in the particular position. Your hips meeting his lap as he fucks himself into you so gently, calloused palms refusing to leave your tired body. He eventually pulls you up with a laugh, not wanting to go another second without looking into those pretty, drunken eyes of yours, or for you to wake with a sore neck the next morning. He doesn’t want you to ever hurt, or long for anything different. He wants you shaking, trembling in his arms with a blissful look on your face and asking, writhing for more so he can grant it. He’ll hug you as tight as possible to his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck to support yourself with the sudden change in position, giggling into his shoulder due to the titillating sensation his panting into yours causes.

However you want to be fucked, he’d do it for you with unending honor, and then some more, until you’d forget your own name, and his real one. How rapidly his next deployment was approaching.

He wrings you both dry and exhausted, still he takes the time to bathe you, fully on display for him as his soapy hands repair whatever damage he may have dealt you. Swaddle and coo you to sleep for a much needed afternoon nap, in his arms and the comfort of your shared bed. Watch you fall asleep, listen to your breathing slow into pure bliss before allowing his own to follow, and all that. He was in deep, and if Simon from a mere year ago saw him like this, he wouldn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Laugh at the sheer absurdity of his behavior, or would it be the idea of having something, someone, so perfect?

Cry because he must’ve fully lost it, entirely unable to recognize himself, or because the image was so beautiful?

Whatever it was—despite its utter unbelievability and domesticated feeling he thought he was allergic to—he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut

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minjix · 1 year

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skating mishaps → Vinnie Hacker x reader

summary: in which Vinnie’s teaching you how to skate and shit hits the fan

warnings: swearing, blood, pretty gory, concussion= sad boy Vinnie :*, and tooth rotting fluff, overprotective!Vinnie and Noah Beck makes an appearance, yay! also this is pretty long :)

a/n: i know nothing when it comes to concussions and treatments so please don’t sue me for using the wrong information <3

masterlist

Your heart was in your throat, as your hands grasped his, balancing on your skateboard which your boyfriend had gifted you.

You didn’t know how to skate, something Vinnie was aware of and wanted to fix. He told you about a dream he had, a dream were you and him were skating, hand in hand into the sunset. You laughed him in the face, not meaning to, and he took it personally. And now you found yourself on a custom made skateboard, made for you and paid by Vinnie.

His grin matched the Los Angeles sun, his skin tan, a temple of tattoos and small, barely visible scars. His blonde curls were swiped back under his cap, and the chain around his neck were its own star. He looked so fucking good, and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You wanted him to see you and go, that’s my baby, which he did, but you weren’t aware of it. The way he always kept and arm around your waist in parties, never letting you out of his sight. He adored you with his whole being.

So you agreed to letting him teach you how to skate.

You gasped as the board started to roll, Vinnie still in your grasp. “You’re doing great!” He smiled at, his brown eyes squinting. You could only nod and gulp.

An hour passed and you were getting significantly better, and then it all went to hell. Vinnie ran inside the house to grab more water, leaving you on the driveway with clear instructions to not skate without him. But you didn’t listen. You wanted to at least stand on the board on your own, and you did, for two solid seconds before the four wheels rolled under you, and flung the board away from you causing you to fall backwards with a shriek.

It sounded like a sonic boom when the back of your head hit the tarmac, your body following a second after. The pain that followed could only be described as an echo as you sat up, swallowing the bile that tried to make its way up. You were aware that you had hit your head, only you didn’t know how bad it was.

“Vinnie,” it was a mumble, you mouth stuffed with cotton as the world spun around you. Your arms shook, scraped and bloodied as they tried to hold you up. “Vinnie?” Slightly louder, and then he appeared by the door, bottles and chocolate bars in his hands, which were instantly dropped when he laid his eyes on you.

He yelled something into the house before sprinting towards you, almost slipping on some loose rocks. He kneeled down, his eyes wide as he grasped your head as carefully as he could.

“What the fuck happened?” He was frantic as his skin stained red from your blood which flowed freely from your head. You shrugged, half aware of what was going on. “Dunno, must’ve slipped or something,” you slurred as you tried to focus on him, your eyes wandering away constantly.

Noah ran up behind Vinnie, towels in hand. “I had Thomas call an ambulance- holy fuck!” The boy flinched away from your bloody figure.

“What’s happened? Why an ambulance?” You asked, trying to remove the towel which Vinnie used to apply pressure. “Y-you hit your head.” He was about to cry. He was terrified from the amount of blood that was leaking from your skull. “Please don’t move, Y/n, please,” he pleaded as Noah helped him remove your prying hands from the almost crying boy who’s own hands were covered in your blood.

“I told you not to get on it,” he said quietly, an far away echo of a siren sounded and more people had stepped out of the house with towels and water.

“I’m still fucking confused, what happened?” You sounded agitated, your legs restlessly kicking around. Noah glanced at his best friend who’s cheeks were flushed and eyes glassy from tears. He cleared his throat, focusing on you. “You hit your head, y/n/n.”

“Why?” The siren was loud now, grating against your skull. The brown haired boy gave you a small smile, waving at the ambulance as it drove up the driveway. “You fell.”

—————-

You sat on the hospital bed, a thick gauze wrapped around your head as a light were shined into your eyes. The doctor had introduced herself earlier but you had already forgotten her name. “right pupil is larger than the left,” she mumbled to herself as she took notes.

A knock sounded from the door, and a nurse stepped in, a gentle smile on his face. “Dr. Fletcher, they have some visitors.” You knew it was Vinnie.

“Let them in.” And you were right, but he was also followed by Noah.

Vinnie’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands shaking as he took you in. You were still dressed in your bloodied clothes, scrapes cleaned and bandaged and a thick gauze wrapped around your head.

“Will they be okay?” Noah asked as he stared you down after noticing his friend being tongue tied.

“Yep!” Your doctor gave the two boys a reassuring smile, “grade 2 concussion, so they’ll have to return for an evaluation tomorrow and the day after to assess their functioning, and if everything is as it should than my advice is plenty of rest and symptom limited activity.” You groaned, too many complicated words.

“My stitches?” You asked quietly, “oh! Right, they should dissolve by themselves, but keep the area clean and it should heal nicely with out any scarring.”

——————

Noah walked a few meters in front of you and Vinnie who’s hand was firmly grasping yours. “You scared me to death.” He whispered, not wanting to acknowledge the traumatizing scene that was replaying on a loop in his mind.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered back and he made you stop with a gently tug. “I love you, so fucking much,” his voice shook and his jaw tensed. You could only nod, “I love you too, and I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

His only response was to wrap his arms around you, kissing your cheek repeatedly. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts.” He cried and you immediately followed, tears of both shame and guilt rushing down your cheeks.

You grabbed his cheeks and leaned your forehead on his, and the gauze resting uncomfortably between you both. And you kissed him for all he was worth. And fuck, he was worth every breath of fresh air you breathe. He was worth waking up in the morning for, knowing he’d be resting beside you, soundly asleep with his curls in a disarray.

Your lips left his, “I love you too,”

#vinnie hacker <3 #vinnie hacker #vinnie imagines #vinnie x y/n #vinnie hacker angst #vinnie angst #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie fluff #vinnie x reader

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