Awww This Is So Cute - Tumblr Posts
heyyy!! so i have a request since you always seem to execute these so well.
sub!minho dom!reader
basically minho and reader are yk fucking and basically reader like licks and kisses his scar since he is insecure of it yk??
hopefully i typed that out right and it wasn’t too basic. I love your writing so much!!
AUGH i cannot wait for you to see the shit i just wrote about changbin in my drafts for tomorrow. so much kissing and licking over him FUUUUUCK. but ty for the compliment omg ?? hehe i love writing about body worship but i never write it SOOO ty for this!!
also, balls mentioned. i never mention,,, balls. but i mentioned them here. so. idk maybe im getting weirdly comfortable at the thought of ,,, balls.
-
Minho let his body shift on the bed as you peppered kisses over the column of his throat, threatening to suck and bite but knowing he's probably bite at you verbally the next day because he'd end up scolded for it in the studio. He relaxes when you lift your lips from his skin, glancing up to watch you pull back and run your hands down his chest. Your grasp at his sweater and lift it from him, carefully peeling it off of his form to toss it aside and let your hands drift over his bare skin.
Your thumbs slide over the gentle jut of his hips, just barely touching at the scar that had stretched over his abdomen as he grew into an adult. His hands come to find your wrists and gently grasp, only to be pushed away seconds later. One of your hands had locked around both of his, holding them up to his chest while he whines and gasps out at being restrained. His hips jerk upward and bump your chest as you lean down, letting your lips press kiss after kiss over the expanse of the scar. Though it's pale in color and just barely raised from the tan of his skin, it's still very clearly there and something he's iffy on you touching at all.
But he relaxes slowly under your lips, watching with shaky eyes the way you press the gentlest and softest kisses to the rough skin. He shifts lightly and lets his back arch as if pushing up against your mouth, enjoying the feeling of the attention on his lower half. "I --"
Teary eyed and pink in the ears, Minho melts into the sheets. He watches your tongue slide over the scar before you move slightly lower to suck a few marks over his hips that have him squirming. But he's so relaxed, so content with being restrained at the wrists by your tight grip and feeling your mouth on his skin - even if it was a sensitive area (and topic.)
His head lulls back into the comforter and as you kiss over his skin, he sighs. He never thought he'd be comfortable with you even touching his scar, but here he was - in love with the feeling of your mouth laving over it in nothing but admiration and love.
He jerks again when he feels your free hand tugging at his cock from over the thin grey fabric of his sweats, pulling the length taught and leaning down to mouth over his balls - to soak the fabric against them. Minho chokes, gasping out a whine and lifting his head to watch you one more time as his hips jerk upward towards your tongue, only now he was chasing your mouth in a different manner than before.
Maybe post-BPS world line
Ah, it's been a while here. I'm not sure I translated it well.
Here are some sketches of an old character of mine! Coffee cat!
This is Leoric, aka, Leo. I made him last year, and these are the most recent concept designs for him. When I made him I had Blaster!sans in mind.
I know it is out of season, but this is my Halloween character from last year. I call them Trick and they do have a brother Treat. Maybe on Halloween I will continue the trend and show you Treat.
I drew my girlfriend's cat!!
Meet my mice, Pinky and Calli!
Ignore my weird Ahh laugh lol
I was sure I had to finish the sketch of Crowley hugging Castiel's wings. I finished. But I couldn't come up with a context for what was happening.
I was sure I had to finish the sketch of Crowley hugging Castiel's wings. I finished. But I couldn't come up with a context for what was happening.
Little creek comic because I think they’re very neat 🥰🥰🥰
Craig can’t wink, it’s real and true I was told by Matt and Trey personally in a dream 🤭
Don’t repost
Maiko Week Day 6: childhood
I know it's officially over but here we are. My first time drawing fire and I really like how this one turned out.
He gives me many supportive friend/dad vibes
I love he
Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader
Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.
Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, eventual angst♡
Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.
Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ Chapters are a bit rushed, sorry bout that 😭 hope u enjoy tho
Chapter 1: Behind the chain
Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, underaged smoking, mention of death, horrible Spanish. Also, I don’t live in America so idrk how people talk there, so please bear with me.
FIC MASTERLIST
Next Chapter
“Hello? Yeah, I’m at practice.”
As your feet hit the ground, the chain link fence shutters from the release of your weight— a sigh escaping your lips as you pull your phone up closer to your ear. The sound of your aunt's nags echo from your phone, bellowing across the abandoned subway and overpowering even the sound of your boots hitting the damp ground. It was shrill, her voice. Like a fork being dragged down a piece of fine china. Activating the flashlight of your phone, you swiftly slip your head out of your hood, the new spot now staring back at you like an empty canvas— devoid of life and color. It’s tragic.
As you trudge down the narrow space, your senses begin to process the stench of the horror movie-like scenery. You could heard the pipes’ leaking going along with your aunt’s ongoing lecture about something you couldn’t recall— somehow distracting you from your search.
But what certainly made you uneasy was the chill.
You hated the cold. You hated the way it’d ice your feet, dry your skin, restrict your clothes, and clog your nose. Though ironically, autumn was the season you found most enjoyable. Most of the nostalgia you bore came from the sight of those scarlet leaves— the smell of pumpkin spice, your mother’s old scarves, and the earthly rich tones of orange and red. It’d been so long, though, since your last happy memory in the season.
Nowadays, the nights are just longer, and the days shorter.
Soon enough, you stop before a tall, white wall, making you gasp as though you’d just won the lottery. Only then you started bidding your farewells to your aunt, who was beyond exasperated with your hurried adieu. Shoving the gadget down your pocket, your backpack falls right off your shoulder with a small thump, eyes still glued onto the blank space.
You make your way towards one of the seats, settling down your stuff while slipping your vape out the crevices of your sleeve and taking a slow puff— the taste of peppermint flourishing through your lips and covering up the stench of whatever was rotting in the railways.
"You're early." A familiar, sarcastic growl emits from the shadows. You turn around as the light from your phone blinds him, making him wince.
“I missed you.” You playfully answered.
The familiar gleam of hazel blinks and stares right back at you, the same stoic stare narrowing from your comment.
“Sure you did.” He huffs.
In the back of your mind, the same phrase bellows.
Well, well, well. If it ain’t Miles Morales.
It was one night, two months ago, when the two of you first met. You were an utter mess, and so was he— and it just so happened that beneath all that rain, the two of you found each other at the right time, at the right place. Supposedly.
The two of you bonded in loneliness and art. It was almost poetic, especially knowing that the two of you were anything but good for each other.
But you believed that that’s what’s great about life— the reckless things, and betting whatever you have on the line, for a taste of something thrilling. Miles knew how to pull on your strings, and the idea of being understood was still new to you. Still, whenever you do find yourself in the comfort of Miles Morales, you can’t help but ask yourself:
Who will we be to each other?
How will we change each other’s lives after this?
You couldn’t quite tell if it was your gut warning you, or your anxiety just being a little shit, but you knew the time to hear the answers was drawing near. You had no idea whether the possibility mortified you or not.
One thing for certain though, was that you knew you wanted him, and you were willing to take the risk to see him over and over again.
Miles took a step closer, his height towering over you like a tree. With a single finger, he maneuvers your flashlight away from his face with a light push.
"Get that shit away from my face."
“Awe, but I wanna see that pretty face of yours.”
“Stop.”
Cat and mouse was your usual dynamic. Though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who the cat was.
He clicks his tongue, moving away from you to head over somewhere else. A few seconds later, the power suddenly lights up and brings the subway back to life. Miles stood by the power switch, staring right at you as if to examine your reaction.
You straightened your lips and raised your brows.
"Well, you should've done that sooner."
He lazily shrugged his shoulders, approaching you once more yet with more meticulous steps. "Wanted to scare ya." He cooly confessed, earning nothing but another chuckle.
"If you wanted to scare me, don’t look so pretty."
Said pretty boy furrowed his brows, making you grin wider.
"Ay, díos. You're..." For a short moment, he thinks of how to complete the sentence.
You hum. "I'm what?"
".. so fucking unbearable."
"Awe, I missed you too." You smiled in a sickly sweet way while placing a hand over your heart. That certain sort of thrill began thumping inside you again, an unfamiliar excitement that got you staring right at him mindlessly with that stupid look on your pretty face. As Miles replied with silence, you shrugged and pulled the mod up your tinted lips— blowing the smoke away from his face. Only then, you gestured it towards him.
"Want a hit?"
"Nah." He dryly replies. "That's your first step to a rehab, y'know."
A low laugh exits your lips, taking another hit while slowly walking around. "With how fucked up I am, I'm bound to end up in either jail, a rehab, or a mental institution— so," You snap your fingers. "I'm just gonna enter all three of them."
Miles looks at you, horrified.
"M’just kidding. Don't you think I look hot while doing it, though?"
He peels the horrified stare away from you, instead choosing to kneel before your backpack, unzipping the damn thing as though it were his.
"What'chu got?" He asks, a certain twang in his voice that lightened you up. You head over in less than a second, grinning stupidly like a little kid in search of favor. You pull the plastic bag out of your backpack, waving it over his face.
"Only the best for you." You wink. "I just kindly borrowed these from my school's art club."
Receiving the bag from your grasps, Miles pulls out the newly bought spray paints. He furrows his brows at the sight of the bold fifteens printed on the bottom of each bottle, a tag left as if to brag. "Kindly borrowed, huh?" He skims over the bottle, evidently impressed. "Fifteen dollars per bottle? That’s a whole heist right there.”
“I literally just snatched it off the cabinet.”
“You must go to some rich kid’s school or sum. You even look the part.”
He gestures over your well-kept appearance. Your clean boots, pressed jeans, freshly done nails, and fragrant hoodie.
And yet you continued to look at him like he was the crazy one.
"... Miles, it’s called neatness. A basic trait." You stand up, stretching your arms above your head, the ache in your bones subtly easing. "If I did have the money, my art would be in an exhibition, not in an abandoned subway."
He pursed his lips, somewhat convinced. "Touché."
As he unpacks the paints, you stay beside him, watching as he goes through the colors and lines them up in order. You shove your hands down the pockets of your hoodie, humming.
"So what'll you be drawing tonight?"
"I ain’t really sure yet… The Subway logo, maybe." He shrugs, an exhausted groan rolling off his tongue as he stands up. "… I ain't got shit. I'm drained."
"Then why'd you come here?"
"Felt bad for ya."
You smirk. "So you did miss me."
He takes a step back, turning his head the other way. "I sure do find your delusional ass amusing." He mumbled, trying to hide the anxiety gnawing at his throat. You hardly notice it, as you were too busy staring at the empty wall, but Miles was uneasy. Uneasy in a way that he was desperate to hide it.
"At least I’ve got an ass." You airily snap back, silence following like an awkward stench. "Did you bring your sketchbook with you, by the way?"
He then proceeds to go through his jacket, eyes widening from the realization. "Ah, shit. I did... Not."
"Awe." You blandly answered, pulling out your own from the pocket of your bag. It was small, convenient, almost like a notepad. "Well, I've got mine here." You toss it over, which he successfully catches. "They're not exactly as good as yours, but you can skim through the pages to find some inspiration."
The pages spin from the flip of his fingers. Tens of concept art, a few unfinished sketches, and some dabbling in watercolor appeared before him in a flash. As he goes through the pages, you take the moment to have a momentary smoke, straying not so far away just so he wouldn't inhale any of it. The nicotine eased you as it normally did, though now that you were looking at this pretty boy before you, you couldn't help but ponder about quitting. Just for him. Just for the sake of him.
Though the feeling the nicotine often brought you was addicting, his presence hit you harder than any other drug, affecting your system in a way that made your stomach whirl. He was like your favorite cup of coffee— the strongest coffee to ever linger in your presence. Strong enough to appear on a drug test.
It was damning.
Dangerous even.
As the page flips again, Miles freezes at the sight. You take the gadget away from your lips, approaching him immediately as he huffs.
"... Huh."
Bursting in neons of magenta and violet was the sketch you made of a certain vigilante.
"Oh, don’t mind that." You mumble. "That's just some random sketch."
He brings the paper closer to his sights, marveling at your talent. The markers and the ink, mirroring the image of a cat on the run. His pretty lips part, mouth hanging agape as he asks. "You know this guy?"
A hero of the streets, some sort of final pillar carrying the weight of New York's safety on his broad shoulders.
"Well, I've seen him— Prowler, from the news. I thought he looked pretty cool."
Prowler, a name all too familiar to you. How could you not know he was? A man hiding behind an iron mask, a digital purple hologram over the metals, making his silhouette mirror a panther’s. The man was all your father recently growled about, the memory of the heavy morning still engraved into your mind. You can almost sketch it out— The stench of his tobacco, the shrill of his angered voice, and the image of your poor housekeeper silently brushing some broken shards into the dustpan. You remember sitting by the dining table, solemnly choking on your breakfast as you forcibly shoved it down your throat.
Eyes downcast and hands shaking.
"You think he's cool?" Miles' voice tears you apart from the memory. He sounded almost elated, like a child in search of praise.
"Yeah, I'd always wanted to be a vigilante, fuck—" The vape rolls off your tongue unconsciously. "Like, my life is so damn boring, but at the same time, I've got too many responsibilities to handle so I can't do the things I like. But hey, that's life, I guess."
"If you've got too many responsibilities, then what the hell are you doing here? It's like midnight r'now, damn."
"I kinda told my aunt I had practice for band."
"You're in a band?"
"…. No." You deadpan. "That's the reason why I'm here, man."
He snapped the sketchbook shut, sighing as he plucked out the red and purple spray paints from the line. "God, you'd be one hell of a headache if I ever had a kid like you."
"Woah, slow down, sweetie, you're already talking about kids and you haven't even taken me out to dinner yet." You tease, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you watch him crumble. He straightens his lips, forcefully holding back a smile.
"… Shut that mouth for me, would ya?" He shot back. "Just shut up."
"Oo, make me."
He pops the lid off the red paint, the sound of a nickel ball being shaken up in a metal can soon following. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he curtly sprays the paint over your sleeve, earning a gasp from you. You quickly snatch the neon pink can and start spraying back, the chemical smell wafting over your nostrils as the sound of your giggles echoed down the halls. A minute later and the both of you began drawing your new piece while being drenched in paint.
"Hey, pretty boy.”
Miles instinctively turns to look at you, as though he prided himself in the nickname.
"I need to do the top part, can you boost me?" You ask, voice muffled from the towel pulled over your nose.
Maybe it was the exhaustion, but he agreed without making a sound.
He kneels, tapping on his thigh, gesturing you to take your step. Taking off your shoes, you cautiously climb over, feeling his hands brush against your calves, almost as if he was readying his stance to catch you just in case you fall. Initially, the pose seemed to be serving you well, but when your ankles started shivering, your hand latched onto his head, gripping gently in panic. Miles, who was, of course, caught off guard, began shaking. You finally took a step down.
"Fuck." You whispered. "Can you do it?"
"Hol' on."
"I think you just need to like, tiptoe a bit and—"
"Be patient."
And you did just that.
He stretches out his toes in an attempt to reach for the top, but he fails miserably. Miles then turned to you, bearing the pout of a frustrated child.
"... Ya already know what to do, right?"
"Mm, yeah."
An irrational thought crosses his mind, and it battles against his rationality like a civil war within the confines of his head. A second later, his lone finger signals you to come closer. You do so, and he looks up at the unfinished crown.
"I'm gonna carry you, a'ight?"
"What?" You blurt out. "Y-You don't have to—"
"Just balance yourself." He skips past your rant. "And you better do it well."
Before you could even intervene, he's down and offering you his shoulder. Hesitantly, you position yourself. Looking over at you, Miles skims over your face in search of approval. When your hand shakily makes its way over his other arm, Miles cautiously wraps his palm over the side of your knee, hoisting you up like a trophy he’d just won.
"You okay?" He asks.
"Y-yeah. Just— yeah." You stumble over your words, raising your hand over to start painting.
You could feel it tingling in your bones. Skin deep, rotting within the confines of your flesh, insecurity at its highest peak. And it shut you up. Miraculously, as Miles would say it. Your weight, your body, your own figure frightened you. It would be a lie for Miles to claim that he hasn’t noticed. But he stood tall, hardly showing an ounce of any struggle— which comforted somehow.
He was pretty strong, stronger than you first thought.
As you painted, Miles stood there in silence. Trying his best to focus on his breathing.
But the softness of your palm atop his shoulder, and the growing warmth of his own over your waist. Miles desperately tried to ignore growing warmth burning his cheeks. He resisted the urge to dig into the softness of your waist, and yet it remained like a taunt— allowing only his nails to grip over your shirt, the thin barrier over your skin. It seemed almost vulgar, how his hand was beneath your hoodie, gripping as though you were his favorite plush. How his wrist was pressed against the curve of your hip. Then and there, within the span of five minutes, the silhouette of your body was forever engraved into his senses, his mind, and his touch.
But no one spoke of it.
"... You done?" He groaned.
"In a bit, hol' on."
You thought he'd start complaining about your weight, but he didn't.
You were somewhat relieved, but at the same time, it flustered you.
And when the little scene ended, you and Miles stood there, backs pressed against the wall as you stared at your new masterpiece. You looked over the chemical stains on your sleeves, glancing at him. "This jacket's pretty expensive, y'know. It cost me like fifteen grand."
His face twisted in disgust. "You'd buy a jacket like that? In this economy?”
"It's a capitalist world we live in."
"No shit."
The two of you share a small laugh, evidently exhausted from the whole art process. It wasn't all that much, but it was based on one of your many doodles during class. The cursive that spelled out Stay Out was painted in an intimidating shade of red, its borders tainted in white and black— a crown of thorns resting above the text. It seemed like a warning, an open threat. Crafted by frustration, but upon its finish, you were eased.
"Next time, we should do something that says 'Eat the rich' or 'Vive la revolución.'" Miles suddenly suggested, jazzing his fingers comedically. You click your tongue. "We might get shot, man.”
“With all that smoking you do, you’ll wither away before the bullet even manages to get you.”
You raised your brows. “Okay, and?”
Miles scoffs at your ridiculous reply, but for a moment he thinks about it— some sort of plan in his mind. Sooner or later, he soon gently raises his palm without a word. You stare at his hand confusingly, “What?” you then asked of him. The boy then gestured over his lips with his fingers shaped like a v, imitating the act of smoking. “Lemme try, at least once.”
“… You’re kidding.”
“I’m being for real, ma, just let me try it once.”
You think about rejecting his request, but the curiosity had you fishing out your e-cigarette in less than a second.
“Okay, but if you die, I’m not paying for your damn ambulance bill.”
“Just uber me to the damn hospital.”
Miles then looks at it, glaring holes into the pen-shaped gadget as though he were waiting for it to speak. After considerably taking his time, he plucks it out your palm and starts a slow sip, the collision of the nicotine and the flavor flooding his tongue as the smoke enters his system. When the heat creeps in, however, he bursts out into a coughing fit.
You snatch the gadget away from his grasp as he groans.
“Careful.”
"What the fUCK—, ain't that s'pposed to calm you down?—" He slams his hand against the center of chest in an attempt to ease his lungs.
"… Did you fucking swallow the smoke or what?" You sigh while taking a sip, the smoke smoothly exiting your lips.
"... You know what? You are definitely gonna die early."
"Oh, darling, don't threaten me with a good time."
“Pu—” He coughs a few more times. “Puta, I almost died there.”
You take your palm and began rubbing small circles behind his back. “You shouldn’t do the shit I do, even if I look hot doing it.”
“Ain’t nobody told you that.”
“… Why’d you wanna smoke anyway?”
“I just wanted to know why you keep doing that.” He groans, staring at the pen in your fingers. “I mean— it’s unhealthy as fuck, hardly tastes good, and it’ll kill you the ugliest way possible. So why do it?”
You lower the pen as though your long-lost conscience re-entered your body.. “… I don’t know really.” You mumbled half-heartedly. “I think it’s what calms me down the most…? I don’t know.”
“… You don’t have, like, normal hobbies?”
“The fuck— of course, I do.” You swiftly shot back. “I just don’t have the time to do them.”
“Then what do you do at home?”
You blink.
“What— What do I do at home?” You repeat, thinking of it to yourself. “That’s a good question, what do I do at home?… I do chores, I study a lot. I-I take care the house.” Take care of the house? Yeah, shit I ain’t Mirabel Madrigal. As your mind short circuits, from a mile away, you could already guess his reply.
“I do that too, dumbass.”
You click your tongue. “.. It’s complicated. The time I usually have for myself is when I’m outside, that’s why I lied that I took up band for extra credit.”
You smoothed out the details of your life, picking out a few small details that were definitely not all that important.
"Is that why you're here?"
"Yeah.”
The boy curved his lips into a slight frown.
“I mean,” You shift closer, sighing as you palm the back your neck. “Sometimes, places like these are better than my own home."
"Places like an abandoned subway?"
“You make it sound like I’m homeless.”
“That’s what it sounds to me.”
"... It’s just.." You run your fingers through your hair, eyes glued onto the ceiling above. "I feel more at home in an abandoned subway more than my own house.”
Miles hummed. "… I'd always thought home would be more of a person," He tilts his head. "Rather than a place."
The silence was deafening, but this time, nothing was urging you to fix it— because there was nothing in need of fixing. You were comfortable, weirdly enough, as you never really found comfort in utter silence.
“It’d be nice to be.. Someone’s home.” You couldn’t help but utter those cheesy words. “I think I’d make a great home.”
Miles fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, holding back the words that echoed in his mind.
Yeah, you’re doing great.
Instead, what slips out of his mouth was: “How the fuck are you gon’ be a home? You’re a whole haunted house.”
“Oh, fuck you.” You roll your eyes. “If I’m a haunted house, you’re a rental where all the drive-by shootings happen.”
“Okay, what the fuck.”
“When you go low, I go LOWER.”
In the end, the two of you simply bursted into laughter, sinking down to the floor to take a seat. Another hour passed and so did a hundred topics. They flew by like the autumn leaves, leaving the both of you unconsciously huddling close for warmth beneath the large scarf you brought. Two birds of one feather, one nest. Easy conversations, light laughs, and genuine interest.
Even when the conversation grew darker, the two of you infinitely felt cosy enough to confide in one another. Especially when Miles spoke about his father.
You listened well, yet there was this ball stuck in your throat that you couldn’t quite swallow. A heaviness in your heart, a stiff feeling in your throat. However, your ears were welcoming. His tone was grieving, but his words resonated with acceptance.
"He used to drive me every morning to school... We'd fight over the pettiest things, and god, I hated it, but looking back, it was better then." He buried half his head into his arms. "I'd rather have him annoying me than have him not annoying me at all."
The words hit you like a truck, leaving you defenseless. In a moment, your walls crumble as these words crawl out your mouth. "... Sometimes, when we're with someone, you can't help but wish they'd leave you alone, but when they're gone, only then you'll realize how much you can't live without them."
Though your words were meant for Miles, you knew damn well that they were also for you.
"... There's some truth to that, I guess."
"Does that mean that you'd miss me when I'm gone?" You tease.
Your gentle gazes collide, and eventually, you see that Miles had softened entirely.
"... Maybe."
“.. Maybe?” You repeat his reply. “.. Should I annoy you more then?”
“You’re annoying enough as you are.” He huffs, pulling his knees to his chest. “I hate you so much.”
“Sure you do.”
You lean against his shoulder. “Hate me all you want. I’ll pretend to believe you.”
A light chuckle emits from his lips, but as it fades, he turns his head, burying his nose in the scent of your hair. You were fragrant, and it was addicting. Slowly, he shuts his eyes and basks in your scent.
Then he called out your name softly.
You hum, looking up at him— the inches between you closing in, cold breaths like white smoke intertwining. His cold fingers dance atop your own.
“What?” You whisper.
His lids were heavy, gaze switching between the pool of your eyes and the plush of your lips.
Then and there, you knew.
But something screamed at you in the back of your mind.
We can’t.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
And you pulled away before your lips could even meet.
"Shit." You cuss, clumsily pulling the phone out of your pockets. Your hands frantically scramble to answer the call, the look of Miles' defeated stare stinging the corner of your eye. "Hello?" You began, hearing the chauffeur's voice ask back. "Ma'am, where are you?"
Your fingers press the side of your phone, lowering the volume.
“We're currently clearing up the room right now. Can you please wait about thirty more minutes? Thanks."
As the call ends, you frantically head off to start cleaning up. Trying to evade whatever had just happened— at least, you try to. It invaded your mind and heart, left you breathless and unsteady.
You and Miles began picking up the bottles, shoving it inside the plastic. You then flung the strap of your backpack onto your shoulder, holding the plastic out to him. "You can have it."
Confusion was scribbled all over his face.
"Didn't you steal that from your school's art club?”
You look up, thinking about it for a moment before shrugging. "It’s their problem, not ours." You grin.
Miles shakes his head in feigned disapproval. "Tsk tsk tsk, eres una chica tan mala."
"Don't start, the only Spanish I know's from Dora."
"Que?"
"Queso."
You shove the plastic into his arms. "No hablo Español, lo siento." Was all you managed to form out of the past few weeks you started learning Spanish. You threw a hand in the air, waving him a fast farewell while pivoting your heel to leave.
“Can’t I walk you home?” A suggestion, and not a demand for the first time, Miles insists “It’s dark as fuck outside, and you might get.. Y’know.”
For a moment, you pause to laugh.
“Are you worried about me?”
He nods. “I am.”
“I— wait, what?”
He took a step further. “I am worried about you. It’s ten o’clock. I think I should take you home.”
Miles looked at you in a way you’ve never seen before. It was unfamiliar, or maybe you just weren’t good at paying attention, yet now that it was materializing before you— It overwhelmed you.
It was breaking you open.
You bite your lower lip, shoving your hands in your pockets.
“… I-I don’t know, I don’t think my dad would like that very much.”
“And I’m sure your dad wouldn’t like the idea of his lil’ girl getting hurt.”
There he goes again, towering over you, his cocky eyes never once leaving your face. Lil’ girl my ass, you can’t help but think. I’m tall, asshole. You just so happened to be taller.
“I’ll walk you home.” He reiterates. Now it’s an announcement, not a proposal. “You can tell me to leave when we’re near. I just need to make sure you’re okay.”
“… Miles,” The way his name rolls off your tongue had him weak, and you couldn’t even tell. “.. Okay, fine— But, only up until the Gristedes down the block. Until then, you go home, alright?”
Your voice was too soft, too mellow. It made his breath hitch, made his neck tense in this already cold weather.
“Aight.”
A goat walks into a Bar
This is my Witcher Secret Santa gift for the @thewitchersecretsanta event, my fic is for @martianapplecrumble I hope you enjoy and Happy New Year! <3
A Goat Walks Into A Bar
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Things I find cute that the OM! cast would do
- have a picture of MC inside their wallet
Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, Diavolo
- associate a character they like with MC
Simeon, Satan, Levi, Mammon
- the type to spam MC when they leave them on read
Mammon, Thirteen
- writes a love story based on MC and him
Levi, Simeon, Satan
- MC's personal space is his second home
Asmo, Belphie
- tell dad jokes
Solomon, Diavolo, Raphael
- likes to cook for MC
Luke, Barbatos, Solomon
- likes to cook with MC
Simeon, Solomon, Levi, Satan
- nags MC like a mom
Satan, Luke
- has an album dedicated to MC in their phone
Lucifer, Mammon, Beel, Asmo
day 7??!??! WHAT how. has it been a whole week what the hell
anyway! starss!!! so yes. rose day
Relationship Goals
Henry Emily and William Afton have been best friends for as long as they can remember. So, when William starts acting like a drama queen, Henry contemplates either enjoying the rare moment, or wrecking him…
Eventually, Henry finds a good compromise for both options…
This takes place WAY before the killings at Five Nights at Freddy’s. I wanted to establish the Men’s relationship in a very…fluffy light…
Hope you enjoy!
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