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romanticintheory · 5 months

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Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could write an angst with Ghost/Simon where the reader was too clingy after having a bad day and he lashed out on her but he didn't think anything of it because the next day the reader was acting normal. He only noticed after a few weeks when reader became more distant and quiet. Feel free to ignore if it's too weird or you don't like it!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

this one is dedicated to all the ones who were hurt and never got that apology. hope this alleviates the pain.

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader || masterlist || request rules

-there was no one specific reason as to why today turned out to be a bad day. it just was.

-from accidentally burning yourself trying to make breakfast after waking up late to having to deal with the most insufferable customers, it just wasn't your day today.

-but it was okay, because you had simon to return to when everything was said and done.

-the frown on your face immediately softens the moment you see him walk through the door to your shared home. as soon as he pulls his mask and boots off, you make your way toward him and engulf him in a tight hug.

-you are painfully (but understandably) unaware of the thin veil of his patience and the frustration that had been brewing within him in the past few hours. he half-heartedly returns the embrace.

-"how was your day, si?" you ask him gently.

-"fine," he responds shortly, hoping there isn't more to the conversation.

-even after you pull away from him, you trail behind him as he moves around the house. this wasn't irregular behavior from either of you. simon wasn't usually the most talkative person in the room, anyway, but he loved to hear your voice. that was one of the things he loved about the two of you together; you filled the space he couldn't.

-today, though, was different. he was pissed off at all different kinds of people. for some reason, couldn't bring himself to tell you that he was having a bad day and needed some space, especially because it was evident you were having a bad one yourself.

-so when he turned on his heel after listening to your rambles for as much as he could take and lashed out at you, he tried not to think about the unbearable amount of guilt seeping into his veins.

-"would you just stop clinging to me for five minutes? god, 's like i can't get away from you or your constant fucking talking!"

-you had heard stories, mostly from simon, about the kind of man he could be when pushed to his limit. mostly, it was of violent, physical acts when it came to work or protecting the ones he loved. other times, he would tell you about when he'd lash out at others just like he did to you, now, and he always told it to you with a quiet fear. there was an unspoken meaning to him telling you about the times he's acted out: i don't want to do the same to you. i don't want to hurt you.

-but here he was, towering over you with a coldness in his eyes and a dryness in his throat from the sheer volume of his words.

-averting your gaze from his, you let out a meek, "'m sorry," and watch as he slams the door in front of your face.

-when he slinks into bed next to your sleeping form later that night, ridden with shame and guilt, he misses the tear-stained face hidden from him. after his outburst, you felt like all of the energy in your body had been taken away from you and retreated to bed early. you cried on and off for hours.

-you always thought you had a clinging problem. it was an insecurity you carried with you starting from childhood. friends would become acquaintances and family would keep you at arms-length. after years of believing the issue was you, simon walked into your life and told you different.

-if you stopped talking because you thought he stopped listening and was uninterested, he'd always turn back to you and genuinely ask why you stopped talking. whenever you apologized for hugging him for too long or asking to spend time with him for the third time that week, he'd always tilt his head at you and say in that low, sincere voice, "but i love you?"

-for all those reasons, you tried to give him the benefit of the doubt despite how much he hurt you. so, when he tries to bring it up the next morning, you do your best to brush it off. he was having a bad day. that was all. no need to make a fuss.

-"listen, love," he calls to you as you pop your piece of toast out of the toaster. "about last night-"

-completely disregarding his words, you look at the clock and stuff your phone into your pocket. "it's fine. honestly, simon," you tell him with the best smile you could muster. "i'm gonna be late. i'll see you tonight."

-you were so adamant on getting out as quick as possible that simon had no time to respond. he thought to himself that maybe he was making a bigger deal out of it than you. maybe there were no hard feelings and you were completely fine. after all, he was always overly worried for you, anyway.

-so, when you came home, he didn't mention it. it was as if last night didn't happen, and the two of you were perfectly fine. there were times where simon thought you were being a bit more restrained in your movements or words, but he tried to chalk it up to just him being overly paranoid. you said it was fine, so it was better not to push you on it, right?

-at first, you were doing really good at keeping yourself from overthinking the situation. however, as time went on and you paid more attention to how you acted around your boyfriend, you began to wonder if you were really that clingy.

-as the week progressed, your state of mind would deteriorate. what if it wasn't just a bad day? what if that was what he thought the entire time and was just waiting for the right moment to tell you? had he just been trying to cheer you up about your insecurities the entire time? and if he was, how much of this relationship was even real, then?

-the more you thought about it, the more distant you became. the last thing you wanted to do was make simon feel like he was being suffocated by you. you slowly stopped initiating physical affection with him, restricted talking about your day to a few sentences, and tried to answer simon's questions in one word when possible.

-he notices. of course he notices, it was like a stranger was living where you were supposed to be, and he missed it. he missed you.

-he asks you about your change when you're getting ready for bed, pulling the rest of your nightshirt over your head. despite being exhausted from work and looking like you were sitting out in the wind, he thought you never looked more ethereal than you did now.

-"(y/n)," he said.

-"hm?" you hummed to him, not turning toward his direction. you sat down on the edge of your side of the bed, turning off the lamp at the same time.

-your lack of emotional presence was starting to eat at him. he sat down next to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight and forcing you to lean toward him.

-"you alright?"

-"yes. why?"

-"i dunno, you just seem..." his eyes tried to find yours, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. "quiet."

-it was then that you looked at him, and it was scary to simon because he couldn't make out the emotion in your expression. there was nothing he could read.

-"isn't that-" you had to pause to try and stabilize your wavering voice. "isn't that what you wanted?"

-there was a tension-filled silence that settled in the room, and for a second you were worried that what you said was somehow incredibly offensive.

-finally, he chokes out, "i'm sorry."

-again, you try to muster up a smile. "it's fine, i already told you. i should've known you wanted space."

-"no."

-"no?"

-"it was my fault," he explains. "how could you 'ave known? i didn't tell you i wasn't in the mood that day, and that's not even considering the way i talked to you. i shouldn't have- nothing excuses what i said to you."

-still, you were convinced you were to blame. "well, i have a history of being clingy, so," you were trying to come up with more excuses for him. for most of your life, you had decided that you were the issue. it couldn't be any other way, right?

-"i know. it's one of the things i love you for," he says quietly. "not to sound cheesy but it's what makes you you, and i don't want you to lose that jus' 'cause i'm still shitty at communication."

-you knew in some capacity he was right. there was no excuse for how he talked to you, but the next words you wanted to say evaded you.

-simon thought about talking some more. instead, he grasped your back with one hand and slid his other underneath your legs, repositioning you on his lap. it was like a silent plea from him, a way of proving that he wanted to be close to you just as much as you wanted to be close to him.

-"you're sure i'm not too clingy?" you ask tentatively.

-"positive," he reassures you, rubbing small circles on your back with his thumb. "you wanna know something?"

-"what?"

-"if i wasn't so fucked up-"

-"you're not fucked up."

-"right." you never let him talk badly about himself. that was something he was still getting used to after all this time. being loved and learning to love himself. "well, if i didn't grow up the way i did and became the person i am, i'd probably be way clingier than you."

-"that's impossible," you deny, unconsciously letting yourself lean into his touch.

-"you don't know how much i want you. if my mind and body would let me, i'd be close to you all the time, showing you the attention you deserve."

-"you give me plenty."

-"agree to disagree," he stops with the circles and pulls you impossibly closer to his body. "but 'm trying. 'm trying to learn to let you love me and to not be afraid to love you. 'm sorry, love. i stopped trying that night, and i think it'll be the death of me."

-you let his words sink in, a thoughtful look on your face.

-"next time you'll tell me, right? what you're thinking?"

-"pinkie promise," he agrees, letting the hand under your legs slide out and raise his pinkie finger toward you.

-in return, you link your pinkie with his to seal the promise, and it feels as though the heavy tension in the air has cleared away.

-"i love you," he says, feeling bold from his previous admission.

-"i love you, too." there's that smile on your face. he never realized until now how he probably couldn't live without it.

-he kisses you on the lips, and for a moment the two of you just stay there in each other's arms, forgiving the past, healing the present, and dreaming of the future together.

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scoobysnakz · 10 months

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||* Maybe it's because he's safe and keeps you warm in times or need. Or maybe it's because he has those unruly salt and pepper hair and worry lines. Either way, you want him and maybe he wants you.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

pt2

||* dilf!miguel, vaginal fingering, praise kink, eye contact, perv!miguel, college-age reader, lap sitting, slight hair pulling, one shot, Daddy issues, Dom/sub, smut written by a virgin, not proof read

You're young. And oblivious. So painfully oblivious.

At first, Miguel had just assumed it was a defence mechanism. Don’t give them a reaction and they’ll leave you alone. But the more you smile at the guys flirting with you, the more you lean into their non-platonic hugs, the more certain he becomes that you’re just unaware.

And- in all honesty- he's jealous. He doesn't want to feel the shame that weighs down on his shoulders each time your expression softens at his praise. He doesn't want to feel guilt for watching your hips sway as you walk away. He doesn't want to be like them but he craves the audacity to leer at you in broad daylight.

Maybe it's his morals or maybe it's because he's a coward.

Either way, you’re young and oblivious. And deep down, he loves it.

It's worse in HQ, these men are meant to have morals, good morals, and yet they treat you like a fuckdoll to the eyes.

Your perfect, untouched, college body just for them to perv at.

And Miguel hates it. He hates how he has to ignore your pretty eyes staring up at him as he talks, how he has to scold every Spiderman for being a pervert, and he hates how he's just as bad.

Maybe if you weren't so bubbly sweet he wouldn't have to spend each night palming himself to the thought of your perky body, every shower spurting his hot cum on the misty glass and every moment alone with his office with the doors locked and hand muffling his moans.

“Migs?” that nickname, that only you can use, that only you dared to think of.

He turns to face you, a lazy smile drawn across his painfully perfect lips. “Princessa?” And you immediately try to hide the blush that threatens to bloom on your cheeks.

You hold out your hands, a tray holding a ‘spidey spectacular’ on top. In reality, it's nothing spectacular- a beef burger with barbecue sauce, large fries and a medium drink.

“Got you some lunch,” you grin.

He hops down from his podium, cringing at how your body tenses at the loud thud. “Why?” his tone is harsh, cold, forced.

He knows why. You care, you check in on him when no one else does, you randomly ask him if he's drinking more water than coffee that day, if he actually went to sleep the night previous- unknowing to the thoughts of you that kept him up.

“You haven't eaten today,” you stick your arms out, a playful smile on your face and he doesn't ask how you know. You just do, “and you can't capture those nettlesome anomalies on an empty stomach!”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Nettlesome?”

You laugh, a soft one that makes his core ache with need. “My literature professor has permanently engrained fancy words into my brain.” your shocking professor. Probably some perv who keeps you behind to help you with your tests and oggles at your perfectly shaped ass when you bend over to pick up a pen.

And a painful reminder that as mature as you may be, you’re still young. 18 years too young.

He takes the burger from the tray, gaze lingering on the second as he tries to decide if it's for him or not.

“I’m eating with you,” you answer his question without him asking.

“No, princessa.”

You huff at him, soft, rounded lips falling into a pout. It's a habit you've made- bringing him lunch and sitting with him to make sure he's actually eating the food you've bought no matter how hard he protests.

“Fine. I won't eat with you, I'll just sit and stare and probably piss you off,” you smile smugly at him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, turning away from you and throwing the paper from the burger in the bin.

You hum in response, not even caring for his grouchy attitude because it doesn't bother you. Because you're young, and you don't understand how men work yet.

He pulls himself up to his podium, glowing red webs dangling from the large metal disk where you soon follow.

Maybe you don't know, or maybe you don't care. But he can smell you, the rush of dopamine when he turns his back and you can see his trapezius shining deliciously in his dimly lit room.

You pull yourself close to him, hand resting just between his thigh and yours. So soft and delicate and he wants to ruin the innocence within them. Wants to see your dainty fingers wrapped around his cock, wants to see how you use those digits inside of yourself while- hopefully- thinking of him.

“How’s school?” he feels like an awkward uncle at an even more awkward Christmas party. Is this what it's come to? Him having to ask about your college life because that's your main focus because you’re young… er.

A small scoff escapes you, and you immediately cover up with a cough.

“I’m not seven,” you tease, hand held out to shove him but you immediately withdraw it which makes him frown.

“You look it.” it's your turn to frown.

You blink up at him, wondering if he knows how you crave these sweet moments between the two of you. You hate how dependent you've become on him, how you can't get through the day without thinking of him and using his health as an excuse to come see him.

“You’re an ass,” you fold your arms across your chest, nose scrunching in feigned irritation.

Miguel clicks his tongue at you, head cocking to the side in disapproval. “Language, princessa.”

You mutter a feeble “sorry”, a forced waver to your voice that makes him chuckle lightly.

You turn your head to face him, his dark, almost curls illuminated by the neon orange of his numerous monitors. His eyes meet yours, deep maroon paralysing you in place, peeking fangs slowing your breathing, chiselled features pinking your cheeks.

And you smile. A sickly sweet, beautifully innocent smile. Any other person would look away, grow red with shame, and maybe say something embarrassing. But you? You just smile.

Because you're painfully naive.

“Really?” you turn your head to face him, neck craned back so he gets a perfect view of your soft skin. “Do I look seven?”

Of course, you don't look seven. You look twenty, which you are. But you're mature and not in a creepy way. No one else would think twice about seeing if he's okay, and no adult would have their panties organised by colour like you do either.

The sound of his chewing eventually fills the bleak room. You can see him looking straight ahead through your peripheral.

“No.”

“A man of few words,” you grin.

“A girl of far too many.”

You aren't a girl. You’re a woman. You don't spend time chasing boys, you enjoy literature, and you have your whole life planned out. Kids don't do the things you do. Kids don't want a life with a decent man, with him.

“School’s boring,” you cut through the silence, voice soft, quiet, shy.

Relief washes over him like the first rainfall in the Sahara. He swallows- quickly, and brings his attention back to you- not that it ever really left you.

“It shouldn't be, you're smart, princessa, and if your professors are doing their job you should be engaged with their subjects,” he hates that he sounds so parental and demanding when he speaks to you but it's like a default setting. He expects the best from you because he knows you can achieve it.

You scoff and this time you don't bother hiding it at all. “Thanks,” you mutter dryly, “I’ll keep being smart and then school will be more exciting.”

He grimaces at your dull tone. He's used to your sparkly side, the smiles and the giggles and now you're acting your age, all attitude and sarcasm.

“That’s not what I meant,” he groans, his voice harsher than before.

“What did you mean then, Miguel?” you press on.

“I meant that you're smart enough to entertain yourself, unlike other people.”

And in its own strange way, his ‘complisult’ makes you smile. He sees who you are, that you aren't some immature child.

It feels nice not being viewed as a child for once. A slow, steady warmth travels through you. He's being nice to you, not a rare occurrence but uncommon enough to mean something.

Slowly, you edge your hand closer to his, fingers gently nudging against his own. You pause for a moment, knowing you’re pushing it and waiting for his reaction but when he doesn't pull away you give his hand a squeeze.

“Thanks,” your gentle voice making his cock harden beneath his suit, “in its own way, that was sweet.”

And you grin at him again. Soft lips beaming up at his plain expression as he tries not to think about how badly he needs some relief.

Against his better judgment, he squeezes your hand back. And the soft, nervous, almost squeak that escapes you makes it all worthwhile.

“It’s true. When I went to your universe,” not to jack off while you shower, “I saw your study notes. You work hard, princessa, and it's good, admirable,” hot.

All your life you be craved words so sweet. Someone to tell you that all those years of dedication to being the best and coming second is too, better than good. Someone to tell you that when they saw your study notes they didn't see you as dumb you have to revise but studious enough to want the best.

You don't even think twice about him being in your universe, just putting it down to an anomaly or another perfectly innocent reason.

He can smell it again, that dopamine rush. You pull yourself closer to him, taunting him unknowingly and let your head rest on his shoulder.

You do this often, allow yourself to lean against him, intertwine your fingers with his, plant endearing kisses to his stubbly cheeks when he helps you out. And you do it so secretly that it's almost sexual but the innocence you perform these acts with makes it feel painfully platonic.

All he can do is ride out this moment of pure torment. Cock stiff and thighs burning.

Deep down he knows he shouldn't be like this, savouring your innocence that he can so easily capture on cameras he can use later. You're so pure, sacred almost, that it feels wrong to even have his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Migs?” that nickname that only you get to use because if he gets to call you princessa its only fair.

Your hand slips off of his and moves to rest on his thigh. “Migs?” you say a little louder this time. He hums dully.

“Princessa?”

Sometimes you wonder if he knows how wet his voice makes you. The low rumble that passes through his chest, the silky smooth movements of his lips, the slight tinge of an accent that makes your cunt flutter.

You let your thumb travel over the ridges of his fingers, smooth over the peaks of his knuckles.

His hand is so big compared to yours, something that the two of you haven't ignored.

He wonders how the rest of you feels, past the tight lycra of your suit as it covers your wrists, against the fresh cotton of his bedsheets, flush against his chest.

The dull humming of the monitors accompanied by your heavy breathing and the subtle whirring of the random machinery warms up the silence between the two of you.

You shift yourself to face him, pretty lips pursed and brow furrowed.

Maybe it's because he's so safe right now. Or maybe it's because you failed your paper and his praise is all you need. But he looks painfully handsome.

Broad shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Soft lips parted in hunger. The sea of deep sepias and carmines that is his eyes.

Miguel has always been there for you. Well, maybe not always, but often enough. Your roommates being assholes? You can sleep at HQ. Suit ripped? He’ll make you a new one.

And in this moment, you can't see past that. He may be older, grey strands peppering his umber locks and worry lines framing his features, but that doesn't matter.

So you lean up close to him, faces inches apart. Just to smell him, just to see him, just to be near him, just to feel him.

He flinches at first, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. His gaze runs up and down your figure, trying to figure out what you're doing, your innocent expression leaving far too much up for interpretation.

For a moment the two of you just stare at each other, arousal burning white-hot in your core and bodies thrumming with desire.

A calloused hand moves to cup your cheek and pull you closer. Miguel lets out a low sigh, hot breath tickling your face and making your nose scrunch in a way that can only be described as perfect.

Your breathing slows and your heart hammers. He's so close, soft lips just within reach.

“Can I?” his voice is almost a croak, a desperate plea.

He can't tear his eyes away from your quivering lips. He wants to feel them against his own, taste you, have your mouth in his possession.

You don't get time to finish your feeble “please” before he's pressing his lips against yours.

It's soft at first, the two of you gradually warming to the sensation of each other. But when you let out a soft sigh something inside him switches. All morals and guilt go completely out the window and his senses are filled with you.

His tongue probes hungrily at your lips, seeking access to the warmth of your mouth and you happily agree. His hands slide down to your hips, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh crudely hidden beneath your suit.

“Need you,” you groan, hands gripping his chest with desperation. He silences you with another kiss, tongue immediately attacking yours, too impolite, too hard, too impatient to wait for your sanction.

He's blinded by lust, a desire that's been building up inside him for too long. His arm snakes to the small of your back, protruding talons catching on the material of your suit. He pulls you into his lap and you nearly gasp at the sensation of his erection brushing against your clothed cunt.

You lean back slightly so you can look at him, chest rising and falling with each pant. “Say something,” you pout, his mutism making your head swarm with confusion, “let me hear your voice.”

The neediness of your tone makes him smile, a boyish, cheeky one that makes your stomach flutter.

“What do you want me to say?” he questions, fingers tracing up and down the bridge of your spine.

“Just… talk me through it,” you pause, cunt fluttering and thighs tensing, “it’s my first time,” you admit quietly. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It's something you've never admitted, viewing virginity as a burden more than the blessing men do.

“Who said I'm gonna fuck you?”

Oh.

You purse your lips, your smile faltering and skin prickling with embarrassment as you fidget on his lap. His cock strains against his suit, hips threatening to buck up when you unintentionally grind against him.

You look down and a smirk forms on your face. You press the heel of your palm against his erection, eyes widening with arousal at the whine that escapes him. “This did.”

You swear that for a moment you can see a glint of red in his eyes, much darker, meaner, than his usual cool mahogany.

“Don't,” he grunts, hand gripping your wrist.

The excited grin on your face brings him back. He can't do this to you. He can't take your innocence, be the one to steal what makes you so pure. He's done things he's ashamed of, killed, lied, hated. He isn't deserving of the sweet bliss that’s you.

Your lips fall into a disappointed pout. Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve been too eager?

“I… I'm sorry?” you pose your apology as a question, unsure of what's actually going on. You’re inexperienced but this… this isn't normal.

“No, mierda, no, princesa,” and his hands back on your cheek, thumb tracing over the curve of your vermillion. “No digas lo siento.” your brow furrows in confusion but he doesn't elaborate.

He wants to ruin you, corrupt your pretty pussy with his hot cum and watch it seep out in think dribbles before he can stuff it back in with his fingers. But he can't.

That sweet innocence in your eyes, lashes fluttering with arousal from a simple kiss. He can't do this to you.

“Look at me,” he commands and on instinct, your eyes meet his.

“Good Girl,” he croons.

“I'm confused, Migs,” you push his hand off your cheek softly, head cocked to the side, “you’re confusing me.”

He brings a hand to your cunt and he cups it, the heel of his palm digging into your cunt. “Let me do this instead, hmm?” you nod in agreement, head too fuzzy with the strange mixture of arousal and bewilderment to even process the jolt of pleasure that shot down your spine.

The sound of ripping draws your attention down to your arousal-slick folds but he clicks his tongue. “Eyes on me, chica,” his tone is slightly harsher now but his eyes are still warm.

You don't know what he's doing. If he's coming or going. If he's teasing you or allowing this to go further.

“Mi-” he presses his index finger to your lips, not that he needed more than his intense gaze to silence you.

“You said this is your first time?” you nod again.

“No one else has touched you?” his fingers part the tear in your suit, your damp panties on show for him.

“No one.”

His thumb starts to slowly circle your cotton-clothed clit eliciting a soft gasp from you.

“Do you want me to touch you, princessa?”

Your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs but he doesn't flinch. A sharp talon nips at your weeping bud and you nearly cry. It sends a jolt of pain fused with sickly sweet pleasure coursing through your veins. “Asked you a question didn't I?”

You nod your head again, not knowing how to answer.

“Use your words.”

Your cunt is dribbling its juices all down your thighs- and he can smell it. His mouth is practically drooling at the scent it your arousal. He's trying so hard not to rip your suit all the way and split you open with his cock. But you're gentle, soft, sweet, delicate. So he has to be as well.

Taking a shaky, deep breath, you nod your head again, “I want you to touch me, Miguel.”

“Muy bein, princessa,” his thumb slips under the waistband of your panties and comes to rest on your clit but he doesn't stimulate you. Just leaves it resting on the hardened nub.

You whine at the lack of friction, hips trying to grind against his hand but his free hand holds you down.

“Migs, please,” you know you sound pathetically needy but you don't care. The man you've been lusting after since he first recruited you has his hand in your pants.

“Then keep looking at me,” he instructs, “wanna see your pretty face. Can you do that for me?” he grins at the twitching in your cunt caused by his words. That's all the confirmation he needs.

His thumb begins its slow pattern around the hood of your clit while his other hand rests on your waist, keeping you planted firmly on his lap. And maybe so you can feel how big he is.

His hands are surprisingly gentle. You've seen him kill before, seen the plethora of blood he can draw from someone with one fell swoop. Yet he's always been so careful with you, right now being no exception. Maybe that's what’s drawn you to him, the idea of him viewing you as something so sacred that he can't bring himself to damage your fragile body.

The tedious speed he's using is purposefully slow. He wants to draw this out for as long as possible, keep you a squirming mess on his lap, your sweet nectar running down to his thighs. But you want more; you’re too shy to ask for it but you want it.

You press your lips to his again, tongue slipping into his mouth almost sloppily. He's taken aback at first by your sudden burst of confidence but he doesn't protest. The hand that was resting in your hip moves to the back of your head to press you deeper into the kiss.

You whine hungrily and he rewards you with a faster pace. Your thighs clench around him, not actually expecting your plan to work. Your eyes flutter for a moment but he grips your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“Princessa, I'll stop,” his warning is heed enough.

Your mind’s a foggy blur of arousal and pure bliss. He keeps toying with your clit, slowing down when your gaze falters but speeding up and rewarding you if you've kept eye contact.

“Please, I'll be good, so good for you,” you mewl, craving his kind words of praise again.

“Will you? Will you let me see those pretty lips of yours smile so sweetly for me while I make you feel good?” you nod your head excessively, mumbled “yes I will”’s and “good for you”’s spilling from your lips.

The hot coil of pleasure tightens with each flick of his distal. More and more sweet moans spew from your loose hanging mouth which are just music to his ears. Your leaky hole clenches around nothingness but you're too shy to ask for more. Miguel’s thumb is good enough but what you really crave is that hard cock that's pushing up against your stomach.

Soft, sticky clicking sounds mellow in the warmth of the rooms atmosphere, arousal blending in smoothly along with the scent of your nearing climax. He can sense it, your hips stuttering and your nails digging into the meat of his chest. But he can't let you go just yet.

“Hold it for me,” its a command, not a request.

You bite your lower lip, eyes nearly watering as you try you hardest to hold back. Your poor cunt throne needily while it continues to pump hot juices all over his hand. “I-I don't know how,” you blubber, thighs trembling and hands twitching.

Your body runs white hot with pleasure while your mind teeters on the edge of climax.

“I know you can, be a good girl, princessa,” he pressed earnestly, two-toned lips falling into that signature smirk.

You let your head come to rest in the crook of his neck. He flinches at the warmth of your breath and grabs the back of your hair roughly. You whine at the sharp tug but don't protest further.

“Fuck did I tell you ‘bout looking away?” his voice is almost harsh but you don't care. Your whole body is tingling with so much euphoria, blood pumping hot with pleasure, that you don't even care about his talon catching on your clit.

You’re so close to cumming, to reaching that paradise he's dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick. “Let me, I-i can't, Migs.”

He frowns.

Once you're done that's it. He has to let you go, push off his lap and keep you at arm's length. But he can't bring himself to do that, get rid of your warmth and tiny frame.

“Migs? Please, let me…” you cut yourself with a silent moan.

Your mouth falls slack, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed. Warmth washes over you, trickling down your spine like honey from a jar. And for a moment you think you've gone deaf because Miguel’s lips are moving but you can't figure out what he's saying.

Your arousal spills from your cunt and all the way down his hands in a warm, blanketing trinket of your pleasure.

He clicks his tongue in disappointment but lets you ride out your high with his thumb remaining on your pussy.

“Fuck,” you breathe, voice cracking in a way that only makes his cock harden.

“Mmmm, did my princessa enjoy herself?” you look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust.

Your orgasm took enough energy for you to be exhausted now. You can barely lift your head let alone reply to him. When you try to smile your eyes just roll back slightly, your lashes fluttering and your nose scrunching.

You’ve come before, plenty of times, but this feels different. This time it feels all warm and gooey like it's going to stick to you forever. Maybe it's because it's Miguel’s fingers instead of your own toying with your cunt or maybe it's because you got to hold onto him. Either way, you've just cum all over his hands and can't form a proper sentence now.

Miguel smiles down at you, revelling in your blissed-out expression. Knowing that he's drawn this pleasure from you makes his insides churn.

“Pretty Girl,” he coos, hand smoothing your spine, “so pretty for me, hmm? Cumming just from me playing with her pretty pussy.” as if to prove a point, he spreads your sticky folds open with his thumb two middle fingers, a soft gooey sound catching your attention.

“Wonder if your cunt is just as pretty?” be slides a harsh finger inside with a grunt, eliciting a sharp gasp from you, “want me to fuck your tight hole, princessa?”

And you nod. Too fucked out, too tired, too needy, too in love with him without either of you knowing it yet, to push him away.

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #fluff #miguel fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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casdeans-pie · 28 days

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Dean's ribs are aching.

He presses a hand against his skin, feeling the solid bones under his palm, and tries to imagine the ornate carvings running across them - remembers what the x-ray looked like. But his mind keeps getting stuck on the feeling of Cas's hand, strong and sturdy, in the center of his chest, and the pleasant burn that'd taken his breath away when he'd pressed into him.

A sensation that had been perfectly balanced on the knife-edge of pain and pleasure.

Dean lets out a shaky breath and tugs the scratchy motel sheets closer as he turns over, unable to stop being so aware of it all. A particularly loud snore from the bed next to him tells him that Sam isn't having the same problem.

It only takes another few minutes of Dean gritting his teeth and willing himself to go to sleep before he gives up with an angry sigh.

When he exits the room quietly, hoping to get some air and clear his head, he nearly walks straight into Castiel himself. "Jesus, Cas!" Dean yelps, then catches his volume, glances at the room behind him, and adds in a hissed whisper, "What are you doing here?"

Cas, for once, looks startled and a little guilty. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice rumbling quietly, "my apologies, I didn't expect anyone to leave the room until the morning."

"Yeah, that doesn't really answer my question, buddy. You were kind of loitering."

Cas shifts his weight a little in a nervous gesture that amuses Dean because it looks almost human. "I've been informed that watching over you while you sleep from your bedside is" - he squints his eyes - "creepy."

Dean can't help the huff of a laugh that escapes him. "'Cause it is."

Cas frowns. "And I can no longer sense either of you due to your sigils, so..."

(Dean presses his hand to his chest, echoes of the pleasure-pain running through his ribs.)

Cas's eyes flick down at the movement, but snap back up before Dean can put a name to the expression that passes over Cas's face. "So I have been watching over you... both of you... from outside your room instead. While I still know your current location," he adds sadly.

"Keeping tabs on us like this is still creepy Cas," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. In fact, he's surprised to realise that he really doesn't mind the idea of Cas watching over him- them.

"I can no longer sense you," Cas repeats, more upset this time.

A blue neon sign for the motel shines from above them, casting a moody blue light over Cas - catching the tips of his messy hair, and lighting up his eyes so that they're almost glowing. He's lit up in a way that reminds Dean of the Angel he really is, and it makes his ribs ache.

Dean grips the shirt over his chest in a tight fist.

Again Cas's gaze flicks down.

"What do they say?" Dean says so quietly it's nearly just a breath.

Cas must understand what Dean means, even though what he said makes no sense, because he replies, "It means you are to be kept away from all the eyes of the Angels, and none have permission to know of your location or gaze upon you." Cas reaches a hand up, suspends it in the air, and then lets it fall back to his side.

Dean feels a pulse race through his bones as he impulsively reaches for Cas's hand and places it on his chest, covering it with his own and pressing it down firmly. Warmth that feels like protection and safety rushes out from where their hands press together.

"I give you my permission," Dean says quietly, into this moment they've created, under the unnatural blue light of the motel sign, and the silent night around them.

Cas's eyes are wide and Dean feels his hand shaking. "You..." he visibly swallows and licks his lips. "You shouldn't say things like that to an Angel, Dean."

"Yeah? Well, too late. I mean it Cas. You've got my permission. And I know that means jack to symbols literally carved onto my bones, but it means you physically checking in with me if you want to know where we are - use your cellphone - and if I text you our motel room, and you're not, y’know, doing rebel Angel stuff, you can be our lookout." Dean feels silly all of a sudden and drops Cas's hand, stuffing his own into the pockets of the sweatpants he shoved on before he left the room. "And if I can't sleep, maybe we can talk outside again like tonight. Or whatever."

After a beat of pure silence the light on Cas's face from the sign seems to intensify and Dean can suddenly hear it buzzing.

The handprint on his shoulder pulses in time with the beat of his heart and the ache in his ribs.

"I would like that," Cas rumbles, a gentle smile on his lips.

Dean clears his throat and absentmindedly rubs his chest again. "Okay. Well. Good talk. I should- I should go back to bed- lots of big days coming up- world to save- goodnight, Cas." Dean doesn't want to call what he's doing running away, but he certainly does a good impression of it when he turns around and ducks back into the room.

A soft, "Goodnight, Dean," follows him inside before the door clicks shut behind him.

#anyone else sad that they never bring up the rib carvings ???? just me ???#destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #destiel ficlet #deancas #castiel's angel powers #more fic at 12am lets gooooo ! who needs sleep anyway sleep is for the weak (I'm saying this and sobbing on my floor I need to go to bed)

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mirohlayo · 10 months

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THE ONLY ONE | LN4

( lando and you are on a break because of an argument. but he needs you back. )

warning : angst, fluff, some jealousy, happy ending ofc

word count : 5.1k

note : the longest thing i have ever written with 5k words 😭 pretty proud of it, hope it's not too long lol

!! english not my first language !!

lando sighs as he watches for around the 30th time your instagram story. it was a picture of your outfit of the day, but the little detail - or big detail for him - was the unknown man standing next to you and his clothes matching with yours. lando can't help but rewatch again and again your story throughout all the day. of course, he loves your outfit. he thinks everything suits you, either an elegant dress or just a big hoodie. it was not the problem. but why the fuck your outfit matched with the one of an other man than him ? he just don't understand. usually, he would be and was the only one to match with your outfit. it was kind of your love language, and lando loves it. every time you asked him to wear the same clothes as you, he never refused the offer and even lend you one of his hoodie. it is something very special for him, so when he saw you doing this with an other man than him, he really didn't like it. actually, he hated it.

and the worse ? he is once again looking at your story, laying in your shared bed in his monaco apartment, clinging to your pillow. oh poor him. there is still the scent of you and your shampoo filled in the pillow you used to sleep on when you passed the nights with your loved one. he's holding onto it anytime he's missing you, which is basically every minutes. he smells your fragrance, finding so much comfort in it. and he would also imagines you next to him, cuddling his body and playing with his hair. but these are just memories now. it seems long time ago for him, when the last time you saw each other was actually around 3 weeks now. but it was not a good last time. completely the opposite. and he curses himself when he remembers what happened that day.

"fuck, who is this... thing ? guy ?" he says, throwing his phone over the blankets. for real, who was this man next to you ? have you already forget him and moved on ? but no, you guys are still together. theoretically. yes, the last time you talked to each other was during an argument, but when you left him all alone in his apartment, you didn't say you broke up with him. you just left, furious and mostly hurt. you were on a break. you didn't talk together since the argument, didn't send any text messages that you both would always send every hours because of how much you missed each other. 3 weeks without any contacts. but the thing you don't know is lando still looking at your social medias accounts everyday, missing you dearly. sometimes he hesitates, if he should like or not your stories.

every days, every hours, every minutes, every seconds are hurtful without you. he's still playing again and again in his head the last smile he captured of you. he is missing you so fucking bad. and the only person he can blame is himself. yes, he is the one to blame at. he was the one who started the argument and the one to say the most rude and hurtful words. and he feels so much guilty about it. he can't stand the fact he was the one who hurt and upset the most precious person to his eyes. everything is his fault. and now he thinks he's just a fool who don't deserve you. it pains so much his heart, and he's getting sick of it. he needs you again. he needs to see you again. he needs to kiss and hug you again.

he let a scream out, overthinking about the situation. he grabs his phone and opens the text app. he clicks on your name, and starts typing something. but what ? hello ? hi ? can we talk together ? no. he just can't send you some stupid messages and thinks everything will be perfect again like 3 weeks ago. what was he thinking ? he sighs longly and decides to take a shower to stop thinking about you. but he damn knows that's impossible because every single thing reminds him of you.

like taking showers. you would often showered with him because he loves showering together. washing your hair and hugging you to warm your freezing body meanwhile the cold water was turning hot. and then after you doing his haircare routine, styling his damp curls while he was just looking at you with adoration. or when you guys would spend your evenings together, cuddling close under a woolen plaid on the couch, watching a movie until one of you two would fall asleep. or when you cooked some recipes and it ended up in a food battle. god he's craving of those moments again. he really needs to do something...

race day. it is sunday today and of course lando have to race. he don't know it, but you are in the paddock club. yes, even if you're on a break in your relationship, you couldn't miss a race and decided to attend it. those last 3 weeks, you didn't miss a single one races. you didn't attend them, because you were still hurt by lando's words and you didn't want his fans to see you present there, so you just watched the races and your papaya driver on the tv. but you missed so much seeing him in reality, so you attend today's race. of course, you are wearing glasses and a cap to not be recognizable. and you're also sitting in a hidden corner.

lando has no clue that you are here, watching his car moving around. and you have no clue that he is thinking about you and the way he's going to apologize to you. so as the race passes, you keep an eye on his car. your heart and your being feels weird. the amount of love you have for him is still here, and it never shaded away for the past 3 weeks. not a single bit. but of course you are still upset and hurt. the words he said to you broke you into tears. you love him so much, never you loved someone like that. so when he told you those mean things, you felt weak. and very very sad.

in a blink, the race is already finished. fans wave at the drivers who are celebrating the podium with their race team. you smile, admiring the place. you would be lying if you said you didn't missed races. you were always happy to attend one. maybe for the race, or maybe just to spend more time with lando. by the way, he didn't finish on the podium but still get p4. and despite the fact you are still gloomy, you are proud of him, like usually. because he's just the best after all.

now you have to leave the track. of course, you would have love to stay and join your favorite driver, but he don't know you are here and you don't want him to see you. because nobody has already apologize. and it's been 3 weeks since you haven't seen and spoken to him. it would be awkwardly embarrassing. so you have to take precautions and be prudent to not be seen by any mclaren team member. you go down the balcony's stairs, lowering your head and hiding your face with the cap. of course it has to be an orange cap, because it is the only hat you have. an other way to be even more discreet, huh. but it works well. you are now in the paddock area, just in front of the mclaren one. you recognize a lot of engineers and people who work with your boyfriend and you hope deep inside you they don't see and recognize you. but it seems like you failed it.

"y/n ?" oh. oh... it's not just anyone. it's not just a random maclaren team member. no. it is him. it's his voice. his voice that you missed hearing. it's lando norris. you stop, and don't know what to do. and don't know how to react. so you stay like this, turning your back on him. "y/n ? is it you ?" you close your eyes and exhale, you're not really in the mood to talk to him. the only person you shouldn't meet is now facing you. you turn around and keep your head low, you don't have the force to look at him.

you just remove your glasses and put them in your pocket. "why are you here ?" he asks confused, but you can tell he's concerned about it. "to... support you, i guess ?". you finally give up and cross his gaze. and it aches your heart. he looks tired, i mean of course he just finished a 2 hours race but still he looks even tired than usually. his face is pale, doesn't have much color. and his eyes are so tiny, so many emotions in them. "oh ok. huhh thank you...". he answers awkwardly. you bite your lower lip, the atmosphere is, well, very awkward yes. "so, how are you?" you ask to get rid of this tension.

how he is ? fuck this question. he doesn't even want to answer. does he really need to say that he blames himself every day, that he can't sleep because of how much he cries thinking about you, that he skips dinners because of how bad he's feeling ? he never felt like that with any person. it is the first time his whole being aches that much. but he can't tell you that, he knows you will not forgive him that easily. "good. and you ?" he says, avoiding your gaze. "good too" you hum sotfly. he knows damn well that's a lie, because even your tone betrayed you. he tries to take a look at you. his heart squeezes in pain, the view in front of him is heartbreaking. you look as tired as him. and as pale as him too. where is the smile he loves so much gone ? the shining sparkles in your pretty eyes ?

he fights the urge to pull you in his arms. but he's the one at fault, he can only blame himself. "hum, i'll go now" "no." he answers back to back and you look at him confused and surprised. "i-i mean you're going back to monaco ?" he stutters. "no, i'll join a friend of mine" you says coldly. "oh... ok..." god he sounds so sad, it pains you. you struggles to not hug him. because yes, you're hurt, but you still love him like crazy. "well... oh and good job today" you quickly say and starts to leave, not wanting to stay more here. you don't turn back, but lando is now smiling softly, watching you fade away in the crowd. "thank you, love" he whisper to himself.

he sighs, blinking slowly. now memories are coming back, and he remembers what happened that night, when everything went wrong in only one second.

- -

you were very tired. a hard day of work. so when you came home, in your lover's apartment in monaco, all you wanted was to follow him around like a puppy and cuddle him. you were so clingy and so needy. it was rare, very very rare for you to be like that, all clingy and needy, so when that night you doubled it, it was kind of surprising and shocking. usually, lando loves when you get clingy, when you want him all for yourself. because it not happens often, so of course he cherishes these moments. but that night, it was different. he didn't like the way you acted with him. you kept following him around the apartment, touching him gently and innocently. like grabbing his hand, placing soft kisses on his cheeks, back hugs. you just wanted his attention. you just wanted your lover. but he didn't seems he felt the same about you. first, he didn't care much. he just didn't returned back your affection. but the more you were getting clingy, the more he was getting angry. he started to hate it.

you tried to kiss him on the lips and instead of kissing you back roughly, he turned his head and your lips pressed against his cheek. you paused for a second, confused. you frowned and tried to understand why he did that. why your lover didn't return back your hugs ? your kisses ? why he acted like you didn't even exist ? you placed your hand on his forearm but he shifted. your heart squeezed, why was he like this ? usually, he was the neediest one and the one getting even clingier. you were lost.

"baby, why you don't kiss me back ?" you asked softly. lando sighed and he seemed annoyed. he didn't even dare to reply. which hurt you. you moved and stopped before him. "something is wrong ? something bothers you ?" you tried to understand why he was in this mood, you wanted to help him talk about whatever bothered his thoughts. but you didn't expect to hear that. "yes, you." he hissed. your face deformed. did you hear well ? "w-what ?" you stuttered. "you. it's you. you fucking annoy me". you blinked and took some few steps back. your being hurt, your heart was broken. "what do you mean ?"

"you're so clingy and needy and i fucking hate it. stop being like that and stop touching me. you're so annoying" he threw these words at you, giving you a death look as his furrowed his brows. oh pain was real. you felt weak, you thought it was all a dream. but no, your lover was here, saying harsh words to you and kept hurting your poor little heart. and while you tried to understand his behavior - because he would never talk bad to you like that - a bulb lighted in your head.

it was qualifying. you remembered lando's week went bad and hard for him. bad practices, no luck, his slow car, his poor performance... nothing went right. and you knew how much f1 had an important impact on him and his mental health. he was so hard on himself and sometimes he would overthink about why he sucks at racing. this explains why he was acting like a shit with you. you knew it was that. he didn't want to do a bad race tomorrow. so instead of calm down and talk about it with you, he let out all his anger on you. it was like he took you as a punching ball and kept punching you, until you broke in pieces. you understand how he felt, racing is his job, he has to be the best. but let out his anger on your poor person even though you did nothing wrong, you couldn't take that. yes, he had the right to be angry and annoyed and whatever, but being harsh towards you won't make his performance better. so you tried to talk with him. or maybe argue with him.

"lando, please. i know you don't mean what you say." he stared at you and then walk closer to you. his gaze get through yours, and a storm appeared in it. "yes, i mean it y/n. you're getting on my nerves and i don't like that. maybe i don't like you too". wow. it was harsh. it was like getting stabbed again and again. he don't like you ? he really meant it ? now you were about to cry. tears filled your eyes, and you breathed harder to not let them run. and of course lando noticed it. "what, really ? are you going to cry ? you're the one who started it all and you think you can cry ? gosh you're so pathetic y/n". you shook your head and looked away because you knew soon your tears will drop. was he saying bullshit now ? "oh, you're really crying" he made fun of you and your statement. but you couldn't stand here and just cry. you had to speak up, to explain how you felt and explain that letting out his anger on you was not the solution. "please lando stop. i know it's because of racing that you're acting like that. you can be upset and annoyed but it can't justify the fact you burst your emotions on me. i did nothing wrong, i just want to help yo-" "it's not about racing !!!!" he yelled at you.

you almost jumped because of how much he scared you. he never yelled at you. never ever. he was so different from the lando you knew. lando was the perfect, caring, kindness boyfriend. who was so in love with you. not someone who yell and hurt you. "you can't even see it's you the problem. i don't need your shitty cuddles and hugs and everything. i never wanted you and i don't even need you. you sucks". "lando pleas-" "i wish i had never met you". and then he passed you to crawl on the couch, turning on the tv. he looked like he didn't even care about you anymore. your heart cried as your being hurt. the best thing that have ever came into your life just said he wish he had never met you. how hurtful it is. and you thought it was the race who made him angry like that, but it seemed like it's not the reason anymore. just him speaking maybe the truth and what he thinks about you. and you wished you were dreaming. but no, it was not.

you never had an argument with him. or when something was wrong, you would always talk about it. but it was so different. the person you loved the most broke you. pain, yeah, pain filled your body. it ached badly. you just wanted to leave. run far far away. so he couldn't hurt you anymore. "i'm leaving. i can't stay with you anymore so i'll go" "then go. get out of my apartment. i would be better off without you". it was one sentence too many. your tears ran down your cheeks, your face. you couldn't stop them. so you just leave, shutting the door behind you, as the one who broke you started to realize little by little what happened. and it was when guilt started to kick him.

"so fucking dumb you are" max says again, cursing at his friend's behavior towards you. "i know. don't remind me. i'm such an idiot" lando says again, cursing at himself. he is laying on his bed, re-watching your new instagram stories while max is sitting on the other side of the bed. "and for the fucking 40th time please stop looking at her stories. you've been doing this since this morning." max states, and try to grab his friend's phone who dodge it effortlessly. f1 driver reflexes yes. "then you stop sitting on this side of the bed. y/n's perfume will disappear because of you and your stinky scent". max rolls his eyes and finally stand up. "you're miserable".

lando sighs, and throws his phone over the blankets. "max help me... i'm so fucking lost without her." "but it's your own fault. you're the one to blame at". he shrugs and shake his head. "i know it's my fault max. don't you know i'm literally dying every single day because of how much i miss her ? that i'm crying because i will never find someone like her ? i'm in a shitty situation and i don't feel well because she's not with me. look, i'm in a pitiful state even though we did not even broken. what will i be like if we break up for real ? i don't even want to imagine it because i already know it will be awful." he passes his hand in his hair, ruffling them. "i've never felt like that about any exes, anyone. it's the first time i suffer like this, i don't know what to do...". max looks at his friend and his gaze softens. he hates seeing his best friend suffer, he can't stand it. "lando i can help you. and i will help you. but you have to promise me that you-" "SHE TEXTED ME !!!" lando suddenly screams.

"what ??" max jumps on the bed and sit next to him. "MAX !! SHE SENT ME A MESSAGE" lando is going crazy, he is just shocked. he don't even realizes what happens, he thinks he's dreaming. his heart is beating faster now. but max sighs as he reads the text you just sent, a simple "i'm coming to pick up some things in the evening". it is more a negative message because it means you're not staying in your boyfriend's apartment, but still lando is relieved by this one text. "lando, she's not staying. she's coming to pick up things because she don't want to live with you" "but it's her first text since 3 weeks ago ! she thinks about me too!"

max shakes his head and closes his eyes because he's getting a headache. "mate you don't get it" he says. but his friend don't listen, he is too focused on his phone. because he knows he's going to see her girlfriend soon, and he knows it will be the moment to apologize, to show her how much he cares about her. "max, help me. give me advices please. i'm listening". and then the two would spend the whole afternoon together, the streamer giving advices to the driver. lando is prepared, he don't want to loose his chance.

and then someone knocks on the door. he knows it is you because it's now around 6pm. max left 30 minutes ago. so it means you two will be alone together. lando almost tumbles because he ran towards the door at the speed of his mclaren livery. he takes a breath and opens the door.

oh.

your pretty face. the first thing he saw. his heart squeezes at the sight of you. your eyes, scanning his face and his body while he does the same for you. he can't believes you're standing in from of him, even though he saw you last week on sunday. but he's feeling worried now. you look super tired. dark circles under your tired eyes, your cheekbones more visible. you are as terrible as him. nobody dare to talk, and you start to feel awkward. "can i enter or maybe i just stay here until tomorrow ?" you say. "o-oh yes, come..." he shifts and you walk inside the apartment. and a weird feeling seizes you. every rooms of the apartment holds a memory from you and your boyfriend. the kitchen where he would cooks your breakfast, the living room where you would play karaokes. you feel nostalgic. and remember these memories makes you want to stay, to forgive lando, to be back together like before. but you put yourself together and fight this urge. you came for your things, not for him. or maybe it was also your intention. "how are you ?" he asks cautiously. "good. what about you ?" you reply. "good too". no, lies. from both of you.

you make your way to the bedroom. the first thing you see is your pillow above lando's one, as is he was sleeping on it. and the fact is that he was truly sleeping on it, your scent lulled him every nights. you put your suitcase on the bed and open it, you don't want to waste time. but there is a problem. and it's a big one. you have to sleep with lando tonight. not maybe in the same bed, but still you have to pass the night in his, well your shared apartment. those past 3 weeks, you were hosting at one of your friend's house. when lando asked you to moved in with him, you sold your old apartment. that's why you had nowhere to go, and lando was so worried about it but you weren't aware of it of course.

but your friend's parents were passing through and decided to pay a visit to your friend's house. you didn't want to intrude, so instead of worrying your friend you said you will buy an hotel room. what a coincidence you are now in your boyfriend apartment, sweating because you are scared to ask him to stay. so waiting for the fateful moment, you keep packing up things. you can also feel lando staring at you and his intense look burns your cheeks. "do you need anything ? you want something to eat ?" he asks sudenly, and you can hear he's caring about you by his tone. "no i'm okay, thank you" you simply answer.

your heart start pounding faster, and you sweat even more. god why were you so shy and scared ? he is your boyfriend after all, why would he refuse ? you play nervously with your necklace, the one lando gave you for your first date. you never took it off since now. "are you... okay ?" your boyfriend gives you a concerned look, he noticed you stopped packing your clothes. you take a deep breath and move to face him. "hum... can i..." your words don't want to leave your mouth. "can i stay here ? does it bothers you if i sleep here tonight ? if so then it's okay i will fin-" "no stay please." he rushes back. you look at him surprised. "i-i mean it doesn't bother me at all. you can sleep here". you give him a small smile and a little thank you. he smiles back, but unlike you it is a big, happy smile. the exact smile you love seeing from him. "huh, you can sleep on the bed, i'll go with the couch". he adds and you just nod.

lando just keep staring at you. of course, it disturbs you because sometimes you are putting useless things in your suitcase. he takes advantage of it to admire you. your body's silhouette he loved hugging, your shiny and soft hair he loved styling, your presence and its hold on him. you truly are precious to him. he knows he can't live without you in his life, it's just impossible. he needs you. not tomorrow, not in the next few hours. no. he needs you now. right now. he just can't stand the fact you're right here and can't kiss him or push him on the bed to cuddle him. he approaches you, and gently grabs your hand. surprisingly, you don't remove it and he melts down in the touch. "y/n... please listen to me". you sigh longly and turn your face to cross his eyes. you are also tired of it. even if he hurts you so bad, you can't stay far away from him because you need him as he needs you. "i'm listening". he strokes the back of your hand and takes your chin in his fingers to lift up your head, forcing you to look at him.

"i'm so fucking sorry y/n. so so sorry. you have no idea how much i blame myself and i feel so guilty every day. i'm the worst boyfriend ever, i don't even deserve you. every single minutes i keep thinking about what i said that day and if i could i would go back in time. because i regret so much those hurtful and cruel words i said to you. and you have to believe me, i didn't meant not a single word. i can't stand the fact that i'm the one who hurt you when i said i would punch the person who would did it". you try to reply back but he's so into it now. "please let me finish. i love you. i'm so madly and deeply in love with you. if you ever ask me to bring down the stars and the moon for you i'll do it. i would do anything for you. i love you. i have never loved someone like that. even with my exes, i never felt like that before, i never wanted someone so bad than you. you're the only one for me. nobody can replace you y/n. you're the best thing that ever happened to me, and i'll never let anything and anyone taking you from me. i need you in my life and i want you in my life because i can't imagine it without you. when i said i would be better without you, i so fucking lay. it's completely the opposite, i'm nothing without you. i would do anything for you to forgive me. because you're the only one, and you'll always be the only one."

tears are now running down his cheeks. and yours too. gosh he just let everything out, he has never been so desperate over someone. you can't stand it anymore and hug him tightly. he melts down in your hug and squeezes you. oh he missed you so much. he hides his wet face in the crook of your neck and keeps crying like a baby. you rub his back slowly and place a soft kiss on his hair. "i love you too lando. i'm so in love with you and i also need you." you simply say, because you know he already knows you're infatuated with him. and you guys stayed like that for fifteen minutes, lando keeping his arms around you. he don't want to let you go. he's so afraid of it now. "let's go cuddle in the bed. or maybe you still hate it" you tease him gently. "no. please. cuddle me. be clingy and needy, i'm only asking for it. don't go away from me." you two crumble into the bed and put the blankets over your bodies. lando curls up against you, his grip tight on you that you can barely breathe. he hides once again his head in the crook of your neck and one of his hand slips under your shirt, stroking your back. you start playing with his curls, something he loves and craves very much.

"i love you so much my baby" he suddenly says. you smile and peck his side profile. "me too lan". he lift up his head and your looks cross. he can't help it and a silly smile takes place on his lips. and he leans in, kissing you softly, your warm lips against his. he missed kissing you, so he really struggles to pull back. "besides i was such a liar. i'm the most needy and clingy one." you laugh hard and kiss him once again. he returns back the kiss and traces his way to your neck, planting soft kisses on it. "no for real, i would literally die without your cuddles. and just without you actually". you giggle and, you spend the rest of the night together. showering together again, cooking together again, playing karaokes together again. and of course, he didn't slept on the couch. but in your warm embrace which he's sure he'll never leave.

#f1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #ln4 imagine #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #lando norris x you

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joonipertree · 7 months

Text

Sano Manjiro, the most frustrating man to have a crush on

You learnt that Mikey punched a guy who asked you out. Mikey refuses to explain why. Both of you are dumbasses.

Tags: fluff, stupid shit, getting together, friends to lovers, fem bodied reader, smut at the end, it's him just eating you out sjsns, slight Dom/sub undertones because I can't help myself

Mikey was a dumbass.

In every sense of the word, he was a short fucking dumbass with a deep melodic voice and great hair. The biggest dumbass in the world. You wanted to punch him in the face and kiss him at the same time. Genuinely, you couldn’t stand that man. In no way could you imagine him ever being a good boyfriend. He’d suck at it-----

“Oi, Sano Manjiro.”

The man in question turned, face dead and eyebrow twitching.

“What?”

“Did you beat up the guy?

“I beat up a lot of guys.”

“The guy who asked me out.”

Mikey sat back with his palms on the ground and Toman jacket secured on his back. His hair had gotten long, a bit too long for his liking and he still hadn’t decided how to cut it. You’d already taken the liberty over the last few weeks to tie them in pigtails and braid them to your heart’s content. He’d just walk around like that without batting an eye.

“Yeah, he went out with one hit. You could do better.”

“Do you know who you are? The fuck. That could have killed him.”

“He isn’t in the hospital or anything.”

You turned around, not being able to take a look at your friend anymore than you needed to. Everyone around you stared with either pity or annoyance. Sanzu, Emma and Ken-chin were utterly done with Mikey’s dumbassery and Chifuyu was done with yours. Baji and Kazutora were done with both of you. They just always choose the stupid people as friends.

“You weren’t gonna say ‘yes’ were you?”

And you weren’t. The boy had very bravely confessed his feelings for you (unlike some people) and before you could even tell him your answer, he’d told you to think about it at least. You’d appreciated it and left at that, already planning on saying no.

“Maybe I was, what’s it to you?”

“Oh my god,” Emma muttered out in agony.

"Maybe you should nurse him back to health then."

"Yeah I was already planning on it."

No you were not.

You left with an emphasis on your steps, back straight and eyes hard because you were stubborn. You didn't care if Mikey won at being the most stubborn person in the block, you would beat him at his own game.

♡

"You know he likes you. He has for years. He knows you like him. Just fuck already." Chifuyu moaned out, having gotten over the shoujo vibes very quickly after seeing the slow burn drag out.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

You wanted to deny it. Not deny that you were in love with Mikey but deny he was in love with you. Because admitting it meant hoping for something to happen and false hope got you hurt. People got close, they saw you in your humanity and ran away. The only people you trusted not to leave were your friends, Mikey included.

"Oh come on. I have given you a powerpoint presentation and a whole binder worth of evidence that Mikey likes you. I nearly got wiped out by Draken for taking one too many pictures."

You snorted. Chifuyu being a romantic buffoon with an overeager imagination made it harder for you to accept it. But you did acknowledge, not with the binder full of pictures and 'receipts', that Mikey had a soft spot for you.

You got close at 17, Mikey being an extroverted loud mouth and you being a shy but curious introvert. He took you on bike rides, talked to you while making eye contact, held your hand and pulled you next to him and you fed him bites of your food and let him sleep on your lap.

But you wanted to argue that….Mikey was just friendly like that.

It had been a few years before you noticed that Mikey rarely made eye contact with people while talking but always asked for your attention. You both were hopeless and were just waiting for the other one to confess. It was getting painful.

Chifuyu's eyes shifting to the side made you alert because he wasn't good at acting. And when he got up and ran, you knew who came inside.

"Hi, Captain! Bye, Captain!"

Mikey sat in front of you, dark bottomless eyes staring into your soul. You looked back at him, still pissed that he punched a perfectly nice guy. He then eyed your sundae and you immediately pulled it closer to you. He needed to learn that actions had consequences and that you weren't weak for him.

With a pout, Mikey placed his chin on his arms, splayed out on the table. It made you aware how broad he was, fingers nimble and boney and angular.

Pretty. Always so pretty.

"How's your boyfriend doing?"

Your teeth clicked and with a roll of your eyes, you established that Mikey needed to get pushed off a cliff somewhere.

"So you aren't gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Mikey drawled out, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

"Why you punched an innocent dude."

"He pissed me off."

"Why?"

"Did you say yes?"

"Answer me first."

"I did."

You glared, taking a petty bite of your ice cream in retaliation. Mikey glared back harder, only changing when he looked out the corner of his eyes. You were about to turn your head before he spoke up again.

"It was an accident."

Your snort was loud and unattractive, hiding your face to try and compose yourself. When you looked up,Mikey's face had softened.

"I don't believe you."

"It's the truth. Answer my question."

You debated your options. Because maybe saying that 'yeah I want to date him' would be going too far considering it would be a lie. But admitting that you didn't meant even more probing questions. Like why you were annoyed at Mikey for punching someone you didn't wanna date.

"Why do you care?" You retaliated like a dumbass.

"You're pissing me off."

"Good."

There was another pause. Mikey's hand moving to steal your bowl. You swerve it away from him with no chance of winning with his reflexes and the limited space. So your hand went to grab his wrist.

Your heart raced at immediate contact. You became all too aware of him. Aware of his delicate wrist, the muscle, the bone that jutted out, the blue veins against pale skin. You became aware of his reddened and bruised knuckles, his calluses and ripped cuticles. They were hands of a delinquent, that liked to grip things too tight and didn't mind rough surfaces and reveled in strenuous activity. They were big too, too big against your own hand and too rough for your soft skin.

And they were warm, soaking into you to leave a lasting impression.

Mikey let go of the bowl in favor of holding your arm, gentle and all encompassing. His thumb rubbed against your skin, causing goosebumps to form and a shiver to run down your spine.

"I was fighting with Takemitchy. The dude got caught in the crossfire. My hand landed on his face by accident. I can show you Mitchy as proof. He still looks run down. Even I took a few hits."

You saw. Saw the scratches on his face and the redness of his jaw. It made you want to chide him for not bandaging himself. But he always liked it when you did it. Your eyes couldn't meet his, staring at your fingers wrapped around his wrist and his thumb rubbing your skin.

"You need to stop fighting in public settings."

"It wasn't that bad. A tire or two got thrown around but that's about it."

"Where did you--- not gonna ask."

Mikey giggled, soft and gravelly. You were reminded that the years changed his voice in a way that was still his. There was a pause and you realised the question eating away at you wouldn't go away until you asked it. The secret you kept wouldn't help being hidden away. You were tired and just wanted him.

"You know……I talked to the guy today. Went to meet him."

Mikey's eyes instantly hardened, looking away with a click of his tongue.

"Ah, did he tell you I knocked his brains out? You shouldn't date a liar."

"No," you tried to keep your voice casual, "he told me that it hurt but you weren't even looking at him when it happened. He just got too close."

"Then why did you ask---"

"He apologised though, said he didn't know I had a boyfriend."

Mikey’s lips tugged upwards, turning his head to the side so he could catch his composure. And you were ready to slap the shit out of him.

“Huh, I don’t know what gave him that impression. We must look good together.”

“I feel like you saying ‘that’s for asking my girl out’ after you hit him might’ve done the trick.”

Mikey held his hands up in surrender, knees knocking against yours almost to tease.

"I didn't hit him, I just repurposed the accident. Didn't want it to go to waste."

"Manjiro."

"What?"

"I'm not yours."

"Since when?"

"Since always!!"

His eyebrows furrowed, leaning back with a huge frown like you'd just told him his house burnt down.

"What the fuck?"

"You can't just make me yours without asking me first, asshat."

"Everyone knows you're mine."

"I dont."

Mikey took your hand, lips on the back of it as if it was a normal part of his day. But your breath hitched and you froze. Because oh---

"I found you first."

Your palms slammed against the table.

"If you wanna kiss me so bad then do it on my mouth, you coward---"

And within the next second, Manjiro’s mouth crashed into yours. It nearly knocked you back, if it wasn’t for his hand at the back of your head, curling into your hair. You whimpered against him, his lips tugging into a satisfied smirk.

Chifuyu had yelled out, “Fucking finally!!”

The sound of your lips parting away from each other was enough to make you want to lean back in. Your lips weren’t willing to move even an inch away from him. He tasted good. Like vanilla. And he had trouble keeping himself away from you as well, leaving chaste kisses on the corners of your mouth, fingers keeping your chin lifted up.

A throat was cleared, your cheeks instantly burned with the realisation of where you were. Mikey glared at the waiter who just let him know that it was time to leave. And with fingers interlocked, Mikey pulled you away from the diner, sticking out his tongue to Ken-chin who sighed in relief and leaned against Emma.

You got on his bike without question, heart racing because oh god--

The door to his room slammed open and he barely paid attention to anything with his arm around you. You giggled as he lifted you up and swirled you inside with a flourish. Once the door was shut, his laughter was loud and warm as his lips crashed into you, hungry for more. And you let him lead you, combing your hand through his hair causing him to shiver.

Mikey hugged you close, gentle in his touch and you let him swallow you whole and envelop you. When his tongue prodded against your lip, you parted them easily as if he didn’t even have to ask. And oh, he felt good.

But Mikey will spend the rest of your lives telling you that you were the best feeling in the world.

“Mine.” Manjiro murmured out, sucking on your lower lip so harshly that your whole body did a visceral shudder.

You were breathing hard when you parted, eyes hazy but daring as you looked your best friend in the eye.

“You still haven’t asked me, asshat.”

Manjiro growled, eyes narrowed and twitching. Your head and body threw itself back as you burst out laughing, feeling free because you knew Mikey’s arm would never let you fall. That led your neck to be exposed to the littering kisses Manjiro gave out of vengeance.

You squealed as it tickled and felt your knees give out against the bed beneath you. He’d backed you up, without you noticing, like a predator cornering its prey for a meal well earned.

You felt yourself sink into the soft mattress, hand reached out to tug his shirt down towards you. Manjiro just stared at you, eyes gleaming with an emotion you didn’t understand and a grin so wide you could see all his teeth.

“Mine, in every timeline.” Mikey whispered.

And your breath hitched, speaking out without a second thought.

“Yours, in every universe.”

Manjiro’s eyes watered and he finally enveloped you, body a welcomed weight as he kissed you in slow languid bliss.

“Good baby,” he whispered and you whined out.

You pawed at him, liking the praise a little too much. Manjiro’s kisses left a wet hot trail as he went from your chin to your cheek. A wet sound heard every time his lips disconnected from you. You let him have his way, feeling his hand pat the side of your head.

You wanted to kiss him back but every time you tried, he clicked his tongue in disapproval and you just laid there as he poured his love into you. You had begun to tear up because Manjiro's love was overwhelming and it was for you.

Your eyes closed as his lips met your eyelids, tasting the salty tears and pulling back to inspect your face. You mewled at the lost contact, opening your eyes and pouting.

Oh, how dare he

He hushed you, hand patting your head again, lips continuing their venture on your face.

Your legs wrapped themselves around his waist. And both of you became aware of the effect the intimacy had on you.

Manjiro pressed into you, hips solid and confident. And you felt his bulge against your pussy, only his pants and your underwear in the way. it was enough to drive you insane.

You yearned and yearned and begged with pretty fluttery eyes that had him breathless.

“Yeah? You wan’ me, honey?”

And despite the embarrassment, you nodded with the biggest pout you could muster. And Manjiro melted just at that, ready to burn the world for you if you asked him to. In another timeline, he probably had.

“Haven’t even been dating for a minute and you're already so needy.”

He didn’t even let you blubber out a complaint before your underwear was exposed to him. And you craved him so badly that your legs made space for only Manjiro. He appreciated it, boney fingers squeezing your hips before imprinting the memory of the wet patch into his mind.

Oh you were so sweet. A type of pliable that was only given to those you trusted.

“Not allowed to hide anything, okay?”

And with that, his nose traced the outline of your pussy, tongue peaking out for a taste that just wasn’t enough for you. Your thighs squished against his cheeks and he groaned, pressing his full mouth onto you. Your hips jutted upwards, a cry weak and wobbly escaping your lips. And with effort, you spoke.

“Stop teasing, jerk.”

The warmth was too much, you could feel him right there but the cotton was in the way. Despite your protest, he lapped you up out of greed. And your hands clutched onto his hair.

“If there’s nothing between us, I won’t be sane.” You heard him say and it just made you needier.

“Don’ want you to be. Please.”

And with that, his hand ripped your panties out of the way. Manjiro took a second to stare in awe at your pretty pussy. It was so wet, begging him to eat it out, practically drooling. Many thoughts went through his head.

How it would feel to be inside you, how warm it would be, if he could last long in the tightness? If he'd ever be able to survive without the taste of your pussy after this moment? If he gave your cunt a smack, would you like it?

Manjiro decided that keeping you waiting was the worst thing he could possibly do.

Mikey was a lot more hungry than he thought he was. Your pussy was engulfed in his mouth.

The direct contact was enough to make him moan. Your own got stuck in your throat, not realising how overwhelming it would be. When his tongue prodded inside, you let him guide your legs against your chest so that he could have more access. And then it plunged inside and you let out a warbled moan that felt too loud in your own ears. With a hand covering your mouth, you tried to suppress the little sounds tumbling out of you.

Manjiro’s middle finger tapped against the plush of your thigh and he pulled away with effort to say:

“No hiding. Be good.”

You cried out, flexing your fingers in his hair as he went back to the task at hand. And you let yourself voice out the feeling, soft “ah, ah, ah”s filling the air and causing you to tear up in embarrassment.

“Wan’ to be-be good for you.”

“Mhmmm,” He answered with the vibration of his hum shooting through your pussy and into your back that arched almost painfully.

The orgasm came out of nowhere, crashing into you the second Manjiro’s mouth wrapped around your clit and sucked.

You didn’t even care how loud you were being, brain wiping out everything it had as your body arched and twitched. Manjiro only stopped lapping your cum when you flinched away, kissing your inner thigh before moving to you for a kiss.

You let him inside your mouth easily, whimpering and pawing at his shoulder as you held him close. You shook in his embrace, muttering out weak and tiny ‘thank you’s that had him chuckling at you.

“Did your Manjiro make you feel good, bubba?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, kissing the corner of his lips in appreciation.

#mikey x reader #tokyorev headcanons #mikey headcanon #mikey x you #tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev fluff #mikey imagines #tokyo rev x you #mikey sano x reader #mikey x reader smut #mikey smut #mikey fluff #manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #sano manjiro x reader #tokrev smut #tokrev x reader

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nightingale-prompts · 7 days

Text

Sparing Batboy

First | Previous | Next

"You need to sleep." Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick ran a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes were dark from lack of rest.

It had been two days. Two days without a sign of Danny. Not even a glimpse on a street camera or his phone or clothes going missing. He's just gone. Evaporating into thin air.

"I need to find him," Dick said resolutely.

Bruce shook his head and opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't say anything," Dick said through clenched teeth. "You don't get to say anything about what I'm doing. You have done the same thing."

"Dick this is not the time to-"

"I said shut up! If you want to be helpful then go back to looking for him. Otherwise, leave." Dick said before jumping to another rooftop.

Dick knew at the end of the day he knew very little about Danny. He never asked because he knew it clearly hurt him to talk about it. All he needed to know was that Danny needed him. From the moment he first saw that watery smile on that kids face on his face when he invited Danny to eat with him.

Bruce definitely knew by this point that Danny and Batboy were the same. Especially when he asked where his grandson was while they searched. He hadn't said anything else about it. Dick didn't care at this point. I wouldn't change anything.

Part of Dick hated it. He has spent so many years comparing himself to Bruce. Trying not to become him yet still stuck in his shadow. To not repeat his mistakes.

Dick had made his fair share of mistakes and had paid for each one. He had lost so many people either from his own actions or not acting at all.

But what can he do now?

He just wanted to find his son.

He just didn't want to hear what came next. Commissioner Gordon called in with a clue…no it was a message.

A pair of wings splayed to mimic the iconic bat signal on a rooftop. The bloodied wings were severed at the base of the bone.

There were very few villains in Gotham that would do something so violent, fewer that would show off their act so brazenly. This kind of of senseless violence just to anger Batman was the mark of none other than Joker.

Joker had gotten his hands on another member of Dick's family. Flashbacks of Jason and Tim filled his mind.

And something just snapped.

In another part of the city, a certain clown glared at the limp body of the teen.

He had hoped the kid would at least wake up after having his wings cut off but despite his body state he slept soundly. He even had goons try to beat the kid awake but while the blood stayed any injuries disappeared instantly. Metas were a pain in the ass.

In the realm of dreams, Danny was comforted in the arms of the Nocturne. He got to visit his sister and friends in their dreams.

Jazz squeezed the life out of him as she asked him every question she could. Danny tried his best to answer each of them.

"Relax Jazz, I'm fine. I just can't come back. You know how it is. A grand destiny and all that." Danny said.

"But you're still just a kid Danny. You have school and-and-" Jazz said frantically trying to find the words.

"And I'm still going. Clockwork and Nocturne are teaching me everything I need to know until I take the throne." Danny wasn't ready to tell her about his new life.

She didn't need to know that he had a new family. Not when she was what he had to leave behind despite how much it kills him. There wasn't a day he didn't miss her or think of her. Nothing could replace her.

Unaware of this Nocturne and Clockwork watched as Danny dreamed within a dream.

"We should just kill the clown," Nocturne said resolutely as he peered into the material realm.

"You swore not to interfere with the mortals anymore," Clockwork warned.

"I'm not like you, Kronos. I can't sit idly by and watch this happen. I actually care." Nocturne said leveling a glare at the time ghost, his eyes blazing.

"So you care for the boy now? I thought you said you couldn't stand children?" Clockwork smirked his eyebrow raised.

Nocturne huffed shifting the blanket he had laid on Danny to cover him properly.

"I am close to mortals. It is what I am. Children tend to have the most innocent dreams. They have nightmares they don't know how to handle. They are fitful sleepers and cry before they wake. They can't parse dreams from reality. So much care goes into forming their dreams but at the same time, I must scare them. To remind them they should be afraid of the dark. I just can't stand to make them cry and lose those sweet little dreams." Nocturne brushed his clawed hand against Clock's cheek. "I don't understand how you do it. You let them hurt. You know what will happen yet you do nothing."

"It is my purpose. I care but all actions have consequences. I can't weigh the lives of a few for all. I asked you to put the boy to sleep to spare him the pain, at least for now. Had I not, I fear his fate would be darker." Clockwork sighed leaning into Nox's hand.

"Then let's kill that man. I know you want to my love." Nocturne's smiled wickedly eager to return to the living world.

"That is not our role. No, there is another who will come soon." Clockwork said pushing his malicious lover away. "Besides if the boy wakes you know he will undoubtedly cause untold damage. You know how much he hates clowns as is. There will be no coming back from that."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. I would be very proud." Nocturne hummed in delight.

(Am I ever going to run out of bat pics/gifs? Let's hope not.)

(Also gay ghosts dads. You're welcome.)

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson #bruce wayne #dc joker #dc comics #dp clockwork #dp nocturne

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weird-and-unwell · 8 months

Text

“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.

I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.

At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.

I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.

I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.

I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.

I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.

Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.

I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.

"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.

Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.

But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.

I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.

Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.

And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.

But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.

#actually autistic #autistic #long post #autism

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softpascalito · 3 months

Text

I Healing Hands I Marcus Acacius I

Summary: Acacius returns home with an injury—and you try to care for him. But his ideas of healing (and baths) are a little ... different. Especially when you finally have some time to yourselves.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 2.3k Tags: Explicit, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Handjobs, Nipple Play, Dirty Talk, Bathing/Washing, Blood & Injury, Secret Relationship, Mention of Period-Typical Violence, Mention of Period-Typical Slavery, Not historically accurate

AO3 LINK // Masterlist

notes: i can't believe i wrote smut about romans. anyway, i can't wait to see the trailer, enjoy the porn <3

domus - a type of house dulcissima - sweetest anaticula - little duck (affectionate) subligaculum - a type of underwear (i had three years of latin so i absolutely know what i'm doing)

The domus he lives in sits on the edge of Palatine hill, a small house that feels more welcoming to you than any palace could. The atrium is decorated with a variety of plants, the green colors peaking through the columns that line the sides of the open space. You’ve come to know the details of this place well, from the feel of the stones below your feet to the artistically created, coffered ceilings.

As you let your gaze wander over the sunlit atrium, you find yourself looking at the small statue that sits in the middle of a small fountain, both almost hidden by the plants around them. The water below reflects the merciless sun above and sends small reflections of light dancing across the open space. The form of Apollo stands still, frozen in a heroic movement with one arm raised and his head held high.

The god of music, of truth, and most importantly, of healing. You always think your presence in this house must please him, because since being here, you have felt more healing than you have known before.

You hear Acacius before you see him, his breath coming in a little shorter than you’d like. His footsteps sound through the atrium and you catch glimpses of him as he passes behind the columns on the other side. Even from a distance, the way he’s holding himself tells you he’s hurt, not to mention the dirt on him and his armor. The golden details usually shine in the sun—now they look almost ancient, covered in grime.

You sent a silent prayer to Apollo, your eyes briefly flying back to the statue. When you turn back towards Acacius, he has rounded the corner, making his way over to you, though much slower than he usually would. A small sigh leaves his lips as his eyes land on you and you can see his body deflate visibly.

“Acacius.”

You’re by his side in an instant, attempting to let him prop himself up on you, to use your body to support his. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into a hug. You wrap your own arms around him, a hand finding his hair and attempting to brush through it—only to find it matted with blood. He must feel you tense next to him, a sharp breath escaping you as your fingers feel over his scalp, trying to locate the wound.

“Not mine,” he mumbles under his breath. He pauses for a short moment. “I promised I would come back.”

“You always do and yet I dread the day you will break that promise,” you say, a sad smile playing around your lips. You pull back enough to look at him, taking in the small cuts on his face and the deep lines between his brows that you want to smooth out until he looks as peaceful as he does in his sleep.

He does not protest when you try to take some of his weight on you, silently wishing you could take his worries too, and lead him away from the atrium and towards the small bath that is off to the side. You maneuver him through the small archway that is framed by beige columns on either side and into the middle of the room, the scent of the bath salts filling your nostrils as soon as you take a deep breath.

Acacius lifts his right arm—and immediately screws his face up in pain. You send a stern glance his way. “Let me do that.”

You nudge his arm to the side just enough to reach the leather strings that hold his armor together, slowly working your way through them until you can easily slide the dark leather off him, shaking your head weakly when you see how caked with blood and dirt it is. When you’ve placed the armor on one of the stone benches that line the wall, you move on to his braces and his shoes—and finally, the undercloth, taking it off just as carefully and leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you suddenly see the reason he’s holding himself the way he is.

A nasty cut marks his right side, just below the ribs. You swallow hard, reaching out and tracing the dried blood around it with a motion that comes naturally. You feel Acacius shift under your fingers, bringing his own hands towards yours and wrapping them around it. They fit perfectly, his grip strong despite his injury.

Your gaze is drawn back to his face by the movement and he smiles weakly. “It looks much worse than it is, dulcissima.”

He’s not wrong. He’s definitely had worse injuries, including the time he barely made it to the atrium, instead collapsing into your arms just behind the entrance to the domus. But, quite frankly, it doesn’t mean you don’t worry.

“It stopped bleeding halfway here,” Acacius adds, correctly interpreting your silence.

“Why didn’t you clean yourself at the baths? They would’ve tended to your wound.” You search his face as you speak.

“I wanted to be with you.”

You sigh disapprovingly at his response, though you can’t deny you like to have him close too, especially when he’s injured. Which, with him, feels like it’s every other day.

He leans down to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, mumbling. “It really does not hurt all that much anymore.” His arm sneaks back around you, though his hand is now wandering much lower than it did before.

You bite your lip, trying to give him another stern look but you can feel the way you begin to falter as he smoothes circles into the fabric of your tunic. “Acacius, your servants—”

“They are busy,” he assures you, dragging his lips over your cheek and towards your earlobe. “Besides, if any of them attempted to talk, I’d have their heads.”

You listen into the silence that follows, almost determined to catch a pair of feet approaching or a voice in the distance. But the only sounds that reach your ears are those of the small fountain in the atrium and Acacius’s breath against your skin.

“We won’t be disturbed,” he hums and you sigh in defeat, reaching down to undo his subligaculum, the soft fabric falling away to reveal the trail of dark hair that leads down towards his cock. You’re only mildly surprised to find him already half-hard.

“Let me clean you first at least,” you mutter, leading him further into the room and towards the small bath embedded in the tiled floor. You sit him down at the edge of it, letting him dangle his legs into the warm water. You reach for a cloth, wet it slightly and get to work. You start with his arms, watching as the dirt and blood starts to come off, revealing the tanned skin underneath.

You hear Acacius sigh above you and you feel his eyes on you, the soft gaze he looks at you with so different from the one he carries on the battlefield. His hands begin wandering again, dipping below the thin fabric of your tunic and you are just reaching down to wet the cloth again when he manhandles you into him, placing you comfortably on his lap.

You tense for a split moment before he catches your lips in a kiss—and then you hear yourself sigh as the protest inside you makes space for a fire that’s rapidly building in your lower abdomen. You can smell him, his sweat mixed with a hint of blood, you can feel the dirt rubbing off on you but you don’t care. You just want him.

His voice is a growl. “Merda, get out of that thing already.”

You obey, crawling off him and slipping the tunic off your body, carelessly letting it fall to the dirty floor. You see Acacius’s eyes raking over your body, taking in every curve like he’s seeing you for the first time rather than the hundreth.

“You are as beautiful as the gods, my dulcissima,” he mumbles, pulling you back onto his lap, one hand securely placed on your back to keep you from falling into the water behind you.

He’s careful not to lean on his bad side as he sneaks his free hand between your bodies, dragging it down ever so slowly until he reaches your mound, his index finger drawing a few circles around your bundle of nerves before moving on, a smile spreading over his lips when he finds wetness waiting for him between your legs.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as he inserts a finger without warning, the size of them always taking you slightly by surprise. His moves are shallow, never quite pulling his finger out completely but always keeping you on that delicious edge. When he adds a second one and starts curling them, he has you whimpering almost immediately.

“Marcus, please—”

“I thought I was Acacius to you. Just to make sure you do not—how did you put it—slip up,” he mumbles, a smirk on his face. The groan you intend to sound annoyed comes out much more desperate than you would like.

“You know we have to be careful—” you try to start, but with his fingers inside you, your brain simply does not work the way it usually does.

“One of these days, I’ll make you my wife,” he mumbles into your ear, his voice so low you can barely hear it. Without taking his eyes off yours, his thumb finds the spot that, combined with his words, almost drives you over the edge. “And you’ll live with me and we can make as many babies as you want.”

It catches you off-guard, but not in an unpleasant way. It’s just a fantasy, one that may very well be unattainable, but you like to let your mind drift there regardless. Judging by the twitch his cock gives against your skin, you’re clearly not the only one who does.

At that thought, you manage to hold off a bit longer and reach for him in return, enjoying the way his breath catches in his throat when your hand wraps around his attention-starved cock. His gaze flies down, to your bodies already so intertwined, touching each other impatiently. And you know he craves it as much as you do—to be even closer, to feel the weight of him nestled inside of you.

“You are so dirty,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand and making you whine at the loss. He wipes at some of the dirt on your thigh, mixing it with your own juices.

“And you seem to rather enjoy that,” you mumble back, squeezing him slightly. An affirmative chuckles leaves his throat before he lifts you up and lowers you into the small bath in front of him, the warm water immediately soothing your body.

He follows a moment later, stepping into the blue mass. A few petals swirl around on the surface, stirred by your movements in the water as he pulls you close again, his body seemingly all around you as he wraps you in his arms. Then he lowers his head, trailing kisses over your collarbone and down your skin until he reaches your chest, grazing his teeth over your hardened nipple.

“Marcus—” you whine, impatiently pressing your body into his, attempting to get any friction, a task made even harder by the water around you. “I want you inside, please.”

“Always so polite, Anaticula,” he mumbles into your skin but he does satisfy himself with one more nip at your skin before pulling back. “Is that what you want?”

You nod impatiently and feel him lining himself up below you, gently directing you towards the far edge of the bath, where he immediately braces himself against the wall for support with you in his arms—and just a moment later, you can feel him sink into you.

Your bodies mold together, his cock making you feel so deliciously full and complete. You can hear him grunt as he begins to thrust into you gently, his hands on your hips as he guides you onto him again and again, making you moan into his neck as you cling on, half a mind not to touch his injury.

Acacius groans your name, his movements speeding up slightly. “Come on, I want to see your pretty face, dulcissima.” You pull back enough to see him and press your forehead against his. Your thumb comes up to wipe a spot of dirt off his face and brush over his beard, the hairs of it more gray than dark, like they were when you first met, and for a few moments, you both just stare at each other as the water around you ripples with your movements.

“Let go for me.” It's just a whisper—and one you don’t think you could ignore if you tried. You feel the wave wash over you, your vision going weak as you fall apart—knowing that Acacius will hold you close until you’re put together again. You barely notice that he follows suit, spilling himself inside of you with whispered promises of all the things you’ll have one day.

You stay intertwined in the water like that for a while. Eventually, you begin to gather some in your hand and let it run down Acacius’s scalp, beginning to wash the dried blood out of the gray-streaked hair.

“You are going to let me put a proper bandage on your cut once we get out,” you state, earning a loyal nod from him. His eyes are searching yours again, carrying the soft look you know is reserved for you.

“I did come back,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion and you suddenly feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“I know.”

You kiss him softly and he kisses you back just as softly as you curl into him, inhaling his scent and pulling him close and ever closer, determined to let noone take you from him.

thank you for reading! feel free to follow my socials or leave a comment if you want more of slutty roman men <3

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chrisbesitos · 19 days

Note

i have a request! could you possibly do a fic of matt who's trying to look after his gf who's sick, but she keeps trying to push him away as she doesn't want him getting sick too? <33

KING OF EVERYTHING.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀matt sturniolo × fem!reader.

warnings: sickness, fluff, cursing.

synopsis: Y/N is sick and Matt wants to take care of her, but she keep trying to push him away.

Matt has been missing his girlfriend the whole day.

It's only been two hours since their last message, Y/N have said that she was going to have a nap, but Matt was already thinking that she was hibernate. But he's kinda worried, Y/N was sniffing and sneezing, Matt ask if she was feeling okay, but Y/N just pushed him away and tell him she was going to sleep on her own house.

So she barely texted him today and when they talk, Y/N said she was going to have a nap. This was two hours ago, now Matt is driving to Y/N's after bought some things for his girlfriend on CVS. He knows she is sick, but Y/N pushes him away like she always does. She is stubborn, but this is not gonna stop him from taking care of her.

After parking the car, Matt gets in the house using his keys. The house is silent, not even her cat came to receive him at the door like he always does. Matt leaves the bags on the kitchen balcony, he walks into her room and finds his girl in her bed, laying under the blankets with her cat. He approached, sitting in the corner of the bed, Matt removed Y/N's hair off her face, admiring her peaceful and pretty face.

He let a kiss on her cheek, this was enough to wake her. Y/N slowly open her eyes, blinking some times and stretch her arms.

"Hey, pretty." Matt said softly.

"Matt?" She replied with her voice raspy and deep. "What are you doing here?"

"You weren't okay yesterday and then you weren't answering me, so I came here." He smiles, patting her hair. Y/N shook her head, trying to sit on the bed, but Matt stopped her. He grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back to the bed. "You need to rest."

"You need to get back home, you're gonna get sick."

"I don't care and I'm not going anywhere." Matt said, rolling his eyes of her stubbornness. Y/N sights and crossed her arms, Matt let a kiss on her temple. "I'm gonna–"

"Matt! You can't kiss me, damn." Y/N pushed him away, Matt take a deep breath and sight.

"Fine, fine." He gave her a small smile. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"So don't kiss me." Matt giggled, but accepted.

Matt said to Y/N stay in the bed, he made her lunch and gave meds for her fever and pains. Even when Y/N was pushing him and don't letting him huge and kiss her, she was feeling sensitive from her sore body.

An hour later, Matt was sitting in her computer chair rolling his timeline on his phone, since Y/N didn't let he lay in the bed. Y/N was staring the TV, but she wasn't paying any attention. She had a pout on her lips and her eyes were watering, she look at her boyfriend and cries out.

"Matt."

"Yeah? You need something?" He looked at her, putting his phone aside. He knows what she wants, but wanted to hear from her.

"Cuddles. I need cuddles." She whimpered.

"I thought you didn't want to get me sick." Matt teased.

"Fuck that, I need you right now." Y/N opened her arms for Matt hug her, he giggled and smiled. "Please, my whole body aches."

Matt lay down on Y/N's side, he hugged her waist and pulled her to be next him, but she wants more. Y/N practically climbed his body, she lay her head on his chest and smiled. Matt kissed her temple, massaging her waist and whispering lovely words to her.

"I love you, pretty boy. I'm sorry for being stubborn the whole day."

"That's okay, I love you either way." He laughed, Y/N chuckled.

Soon, Y/N's aches seems to disappear, so she could sleep peacefully on Matt's arms without worrying about her sickness.

A couple days before, Matt texted Y/N saying they couldn't go out, because he got a flu.

Y/N: i told you so!!!!!!

sorry, this is very short :////

Tags: @lizzymacdonald06 @deliciousluminaryanchor @lushjunkie @sweetreliever @watercolorskyy

join my taglist!

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woozyvee · 27 days

Text

fried eggs and pillow talk

felix x female reader

rated: m

wc: ~5400

tags: coworkers au, smut, fluff

synopsis: it's not like you meant to fall for the charms of the office flirt and follow him home after a night out with your coworkers. either way, you are now left to deal with the consequences.

an: domestic lixie. hyunjin is felix's roommate. this is surprisingly soft, mayhaps i have a big fat crush on yongbok. stayed up past 4am to finish this bitch because fuck sleeping, amirite? (i'm not). anyway, enjoy!!

⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊

Pounding, piercing, disorienting pain.

For a good few seconds, that is all there is. You realize that this sensation is concentrated to your head. No, actually, your stomach, too.

After a few moments more, you remember that you have other senses, as well, which allow you to feel your sweat dampening the sheets embracing you and to hear the melodic songs of birds outside.

Lastly, you're struck with the idea that you possess the ability to open your eyes. It kind of makes the ache sizzling within you a little angrier and so you have to struggle some to pry your lids apart, but you eventually succeed. Though, as soon as you do, an expanding part of you wishes you hadn't.

Because you're met with a familiar mess of blond, frizzy hair.

In the same way that the early morning sunrays sting your eyes, memories from the previous evening come pouring in to sting your brain. You drown in flashing impressions of Felix's toothy smile as he buys you a drink, his hand holding yours as you stumble through the bar and past the prying eyes of your coworkers, his breath against your mouth as he swallows your moans while he fucks you into his sticky sheets.

Oh god. No no no.

You feel yourself freefall into awareness, stomach turning as you fully awaken into your grueling hangover, head pounding in time with your heartbeat and room spinning slightly. Or maybe you're still drunk, you can't tell. It doesn't help to sit up but it's an instinct, as you dizzily try to assess your surroundings.

Clothes are scattered messily across the floor - you're naked, he's naked. Felix's shoulders rise and fall steadily where he lies with his back facing you - he's asleep. The sun is bright outside, casting the room in a white, blinding glow - the busses have definitely started their schedule for the day. You remember Felix telling you his roommate is out of town - you could make your escape unnoticed. Your stomach grumbles, bubbling uncomfortably - you need to use the bathroom.

Having determined your first quest in the escape plan, you slowly uncover yourself from the duvet, standing up on unsteady feet. Your hands shoot upward to cradle your throbbing headache, eyes squinting to find your way into the bathroom as you try to ignore waves of nausea that threaten to pull you under with every other step you take.

It takes a distressing amount of time to settle your upset stomach, eyes closed to concentrate on not throwing up and feet planted firmly against the floor to prevent yourself from falling off the toilet and onto the cold, tiled floor. As you stand up, you swear gravity shifts and you grip the toilet to maintain your balance. For a moment, you seriously consider not flushing to decrease the risk of Felix waking up from the sound but quickly realize that it's a ridiculous thought and press the button, your headache pulsing in time with the loud noise.

What meets you in the mirror is nothing short of a walking, talking, swollen monstrosity and you quickly look away, cringing. After washing your hands and splashing your face with some cool water to counter the beads of sweat traveling down your forehead, you make your way back into the bedroom.

You release a breath you didn't realize you were holding when you see Felix, still unmoving atop his bed. Your narrow glare jumps between the articles of clothing spread around the floor. It is time to let the second quest in your escape plan commence.

It is certainly easier said than done to crouch down and pick your strewn-about clothes up when your sense of balance is thrown completely out of whack, let alone to stay standing on one foot at a time as you try to dress yourself while simultaneously keeping bile from rising from the pits of your stomach. It only takes a few times of bending down and standing back up before your ears are ringing and your headache is creeping its way forward to probe at the sides of your eyeballs, feet stumbling clumsily across the floor. And all you can think about is how the hell you are going to make it all the way back home like this.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when a hand lands on your shoulder and a disorienting jolt shoots through your body at the surprise.

"Wha-"

The only reason you don't fall over is because another hand comes up to steady you, holding you firmly until you've regained some semblance of balance. The hands have a sturdy grip on your upper arms and you can feel your heart trying to beat its way out of your chest when the hands slowly turn you around to face their owner.

Felix's eyes are barely open, eyebrows deeply furrowed and yellowish hair closely resembling a bird's nest atop his head once you face him. Somewhere far, far back within the tangled knots that are your mind, you resent the fact that despite looking like he was clubbed across the head, Felix looks nothing short of unarguably attractive.

Those swollen, pink lips were busy kissing you last night, you annoyingly remember.

He says nothing and neither do you, unsure of what to tell him in your half-dressed state, shirt still hanging from your fingertips and zipper still wide open over your crotch. Gently, almost blindly, Felix's one hand travels down your arm to take your shirt from your hold and drop it on the floor again. You can't protest through the tightened walls of your throat. With one hand on each of your elbows, he begins walking and steering you toward his bed. In order to not fall over as you stumble backward, your hands instinctively shoot up to grip his elbows as well.

"Felix," you rasp, finally finding your ability to verbally object.

"Shhh," is all you get as a response.

Just as the backs of your legs reach his mattress, Felix stops before slowly pushing you down, making you sit. He doesn't stop there, completing his task by guiding you back to lay on his bed again and pulling the covers over you before standing back up, fingers rubbing across his eyelid.

"Felix-"

"Sleep," he orders, his already deep voice even deeper now that it's laced with leftover fatigue. It makes something tingle beneath your skin.

When you seemingly give up on protesting, Felix stumbles away, probably toward the bathroom and you can't help but watch his bare butt as he does.

You'll resume your escape plan once the opportunity arises again, you think, determined to not stay here and prolong the embarrassment of your careless, drunken decisions. So, when you hear the distinct sound of water spraying from a showerhead on the other side of the wall, you inwardly pump your fist in triumph. Your chance to sneak out came easier than you thought.

But your eyelids are pretty heavy, you realize. And Felix's mattress is really soft. And the sound of him showering is kind of soothing. And before you know it, you're being swept back into an ocean of slumber.

* * *

Waking up again is slow, it's comfortable, it doesn't feel like suffocating in dizzying pain. You turn, hug the sheets tighter against you, head weighty where it sinks into the pillow. Sleep beckons you back into its grasp, to pull you far away from the reality of Felix's bedroom.

Shit.

You jolt upright, eyes darting around the room. Felix's room. Which you were supposed to escape from.

He is nowhere to be found. The sound of showering that lulled you to sleep is long gone, replaced with a heavy silence. The light swimming around in the room has turned a shade warmer, telling you that the morning has passed and long since turned into day. Your headache has nearly vanished and you no longer feel faint or nauseous. How long were you asleep for?

Your shirt and socks are not discarded on the floor anymore, now neatly folded on the bed beside you, next to a stack of seemingly clean clothes from, you assume, Felix's wardrobe. There's a sticky note on top of the pile and you reach over, grabbing it.

'Drink the glass of water, take a hot shower and put these on.' There's a smiley face at the end.

You look around and, indeed, a tall glass of water stands on the bedside table. Your heartbeat picks up in your chest and you feel somehow flustered, a bit overwhelmed by his kind gesture, even though it's small. It's still thoughtful.

The water isn't as cold as it probably was when Felix poured it up but it feels nice on its way down your throat, nonetheless. You don't hesitate to follow the instructions you were given, obviously abandoning your previous plan of making an escape. A shower sounds too nice, right now.

You take your time washing up, pleased to find that Felix has conditioner on his shower caddy. Less pleased when you unintentionally wonder if he only has it there for girls that he brings over, it being almost halfway emptied. You swat the thought away before the bitter taste of it can spread its way too far down your throat.

Felix's fresh, baggy clothes feel nice against your clean, moisturized skin. Much nicer than you think your clothes from last night would have felt; tight and smelly.

After hesitating for a moment, you fold the rest of your clothes and place them next to your shirt and socks on the bed, making sure to hide your panties on the bottom, in case Felix were to see. Which is admittedly a bit silly, considering that he has not only seen you naked, but been inside you. Still, you insist.

It's nerve-wracking to walk up to his bedroom door, especially when you start hearing that sounds are actually emitting from the other side of it, suggesting that he is very much there. But this makes you realize that he probably heard you showering, which means he already knows you're awake. You think that is what gives you the courage to open the door, hand slightly shaky around the handle.

You have an uninterrupted view into the open-plan kitchen from the gap formed by his door, where you quickly see Felix hard at work, engulfed by the sounds of something frying atop the stove as his back faces you. His hair looks washed now, closer to how you're used to seeing it every day at work.

Cautiously you move into the living space, feeling your heart jumping its way up toward you throat, climbing further with every barefooted step you take. You hate how you feel your hands trembling at your sides.

It's when you reach the closest counter that Felix happens to turn his head and see you. He's surprised for a second, before a warm smile spreads across his face, bright eyes looking you over. Your heart stutters in its climb up your trachea.

"Good morning, love. Sleep well?"

Love. Why does he think he can just call you that now?

You swallow, lick your teeth. "Um-" Your voice catches in your throat and you clear it. "Er. Fine?"

Felix's eyebrows arch skyward and you watch him purse his lips to hide his amusement, before turning to the jar in his hands. You chew your cheek, provoked.

"Hungry?" He glances your way.

You nod tentatively, noticing that eggs are what he is cooking on his frying pan.

"Coffee? Tea?" he asks, observing you expectantly.

"Um... tea?"

Again, he tries to prevent a smirk from forming across his lips, sort of failing. You think the insides of your cheeks might start to bruise from how you're chewing them.

"What's funny?" you dare asking, somehow riled by his amusement.

He cannot help but to break into a grin this time, snickering some. "Nah, it's just- You're so... I'm not used to seeing you this shy. You're usually so feisty."

You stutter in your stance, feeling your wide eyes blinking at him.

He takes in your form once more, where you're stood rigid against the corner of his counter, something fond swimming around in his eyes. "It's cute."

A blazing blush blooms across your face and your eyes turn to dart across the tiled floors, avoiding his stare at all costs. Another deep chuckle tickles your eardrums. "Shut up," you manage, but there isn't much bite in your tone.

"Yes, ma'am." You can hear the grin in his voice.

For the next five minutes or so, you watch in silence as Felix moves around his kitchen, preparing two cups of roasted green tea and plating the eggs from the frying pan. After one pinch of salt atop each egg, he places one of the plates next to you on the counter, followed by a fork and your cup of tea.

"Watch the tea, though. It's still hot. Might be best to give it a minute."

You follow his advice and reach for the fork. The two of you take your first bites in tandem. He watches you chew, then swallow. Your eyebrow twists at his shameless stare.

"Is it... edible?" he asks.

You blink, puzzled. "Yes? I- like eggs."

He nods, suddenly sheepish. "It's just- I'm not the best cook, so- Aside from the brownies I bring to the office sometimes, I- really don't make much else..." He chuckles at his own expense.

The corner of your lip twitches. "It's fine, Felix. The eggs're good," you reassure him, scolding yourself for finding his timid smile endearing.

You proceed to eat wordlessly, forks clinking against your plates as you do. You keep catching Felix looking you over, though, yet he seems unbothered by it as he doesn't stop. After about the tenth time or so, you arch another eyebrow in his direction.

"Why do- Is- What is it?"

He simply shrugs, plump lips curling upward. "Nothing. My clothes look nice on you, is all. I like it." He grins.

You feel your throat tighten and look away, unable to stop yourself from considering how many other times he has told somebody the same thing. Shaking your head, you shove the last big bite of eggs in your mouth, chewing silently with a deep crease between your brows.

"You okay?" You can hear the questioning arch of his brow in the way he asks the question.

"Fine," you mumble around the food in your cheeks.

"You sure?"

Your eyes turn to glare in his direction, meeting the slightly puzzled look on his face reluctantly. As you chew, you cannot really help the words that bubble their way up your chest, something inconvenient having formed them from somewhere in the backrooms of your mind.

Right after you swallow your bite, your mouth speaks of its own accord. "You had conditioner in your shower."

Felix blinks. "Yeah." He smiles. "It smells nice, right?"

You lick your teeth. "Is it yours?"

His head tilts sideways, making him look like a puppy. "Yeah?"

A sigh. "Is it- Was it- Ugh, never mind." You turn to your empty plate, fiddling with your fork, embarrassment catching up to you and effectively shutting you up.

"Huh? I don't get it."

Trying not to roll your eyes, you face him again, finding genuine curiosity there. It takes a while to structure the words in your head and even longer to make yourself utter them out loud.

"It's just- Usually guys don't use conditioner, especially floral ones and so... It just made me wonder. That's all."

For several long seconds, Felix simply watches you, no less confused. "If I have a girlfriend?!" He sounds mildly bewildered.

You cringe. "Not exactly..."

Silently, you watch him dissect your words in his head, turning them over, examining them closely. It's when you see a light of understanding flicker in his eyes, a delighted twitch catching at the side of his mouth, that you quickly turn away, not waiting to see the entertained smile growing on his face.

"I used to have longer hair, remember? Used bucketloads of conditioner back then. Just have some left over, now." You can hear the amusement in his voice and feel a shame-fueled heat crawling its way up to settle in your cheeks, finding that his words are making sense. "So, who'd you think I'd have it there for?"

You turn to shoot him a glare, provoked by the obvious glee shining across his features.

"Felix," you warn.

"Yes, love?"

Your heart seizes at the familiar pet name and you hate how he seems to notice, grin stretching further between his prettily freckled cheeks.

"Just- drop it," you grumble.

His head tilts to the side. "But I don't want to. I'm curious."

Your eyes narrow at him. He's unperturbed. "You know," you relent. "Just... girls."

He hums, unyielding. "Yeah, I know, but like, why'd you think that?"

Your head jerks back some, quizzically, considering the prodding look on his face. "Well, y'know, you're flirty. It just made sense for you."

It's Felix's turn to jerk his head away, seemingly taken aback. "Huh?"

You scoff dramatically, not suppressing an eyeroll this time. "Oh, come on. You flirt more than you actually work at the office. Especially with Sabae."

Felix's brows twitch. "Sabae?"

"Uh, yeah," you assert, as though it's obvious. "Literally every day. Even last night! Sometimes Laura, too. Since her desk's beside yours, I guess..."

"Laura?" He questions, but he no longer looks confused, a smirk slowly finding its way back onto his face.

"Yep. Not to mention Becky. You think it's a coincidence she always gets her coffee at the same time as you?" you ask, a bit incredulous.

"Becky," he repeats, grinning down at you.

"Yes, Becky," you confirm, unamused. "What? Are you denying it? That you're a flirt?"

"Am I not allowed to be?"

You frown, feeling somewhat caught with your pants down. "I- I didn't say that."

"Not directly, but sometimes one can say things without saying them, y'know what I mean?"

"You didn't answer," you steer the conversation back. "Are you denying that you're a flirt?"

"Are you denying that you're bothered by it?"

"You didn't even ask."

"Are you bothered by it?"

You huff and Felix keeps smiling, looking much too amused for your liking.

"I asked first."

"Will you answer if I do?"

"Fine."

"I'm not denying I'm a flirt, then."

The words catch in your throat at Felix's knowing expression. "I guess, I'm not denying it either, then."

"Denying what?"

You all but groan and he only giggles. "That it- peeves me, a little," you mumble, humiliation creeping up on you as you eye the floor beneath your curling toes.

As the delicate touch of steady fingers brush hair back behind your ear, you flinch, looking up to see Felix standing closer.

"You forgot to mention yourself, though," he points out, something soft in the way he beholds your face.

"Hm?" you question, feeling your heart skip within your rib cage.

"I flirt with you too. All the time. You haven't noticed?" He smiles, fondly.

You avert your stare again, fiddling with the soft material of the shirt draped around you. "Of course I noticed. But you flirt with everyone, so..." you shrug.

Felix mulls this over as his hand moves to hold the side of your neck, gaze shifting between your eyes before landing on your throat. His thumb brushes softly across the skin there and he watches the movement as you swallow, humming. Your mind inevitably floods with blurry images from the night before, his hands roaming your body, holding you against him, lips kissing you with a sloppy tenderness that feels too sweet as you're reminded of it. You wouldn't be able to move right now even if you wanted to, body completely frozen. But you don't want to.

"You're the one who's here, aren't you? Not them," he doesn't drop the topic, voice lower now than it was before.

"That- doesn't mean they haven't been."

"They haven't," he asserts without hesitating and by the way he says it, you're convinced he's telling the truth. The admission makes your lungs clench.

Saying nothing, he seems to await your response.

"O-kay," you give, voice small.

His sunny grin comes back, slightly lopsided, fingertips gliding gently along your skin as he lets go of you and steps back, grabbing his plate to turn toward the dishwasher.

Only once he pulls away do you realize that you're breathing heavier, and quickly force yourself into action, taking your own plate with one hand and the mug of tea with the other.

Following behind him, you watch him place his plate in the dishwasher before turning around and grabbing yours, winking at you as he does. You back away, situating yourself where the counters form a corner and take the first sip of your tea. It's nice, soothing. You think your nerves desperately need it.

Felix reaches for his own mug then, leaning sideways against the counter to face you, mirroring you as he takes a sip of his own.

"D'you like it?" he asks.

"The tea?"

"Yeah."

"Mm-hmm," you nod, honest.

He taps the side of his mug with his nails, scrutinizing you. You curl and uncurl your toes, chew your lip, anticipating what he is about to say.

"For how long has it bothered you?"

You suck in a breath, startled. "Felix," you scold.

He cannot help but smile wide. "C'mon. Humor me."

"No."

"You shoulda told me."

Your eyebrows contort. "Really? Why?"

He looks away, smile wiggling on his face. "I'd have liked to've known."

You roll your eyes, exasperated. "Of course you would've. Which is why I should've never told you, at all."

"Hey," he pouts.

Genuine unease seems to bubble somewhere in your stomach and you find yourself turning around, facing the countertop instead of the man now behind you. You feel exposed, in a way you rather would not and start doubting yourself. Even if everything Felix has said is true, it doesn't mean that your night together meant anything to him. It doesn't mean that girls from outside of the office don't frequent his place in a similar fashion to how you are now. And quite frankly, you feel a bit pathetic for even caring. You slept with a really handsome man who has got heaps of charisma, what did you expect?

"Hey," he repeats, voice smoother now, close to your ear. You stiffen as his hands find their way around your waist, underneath the fabric of his shirt, splaying themselves across your stomach. His front meets your back and you gasp quietly, shivering at his warm breath on the side of your neck. "I'm sorry," he nearly whispers, voice deeper than you knew it could be. Your nerves tingle.

His hand travels upward to hold your breast, testing the weight of it gently, squeezing it with care. Air hitches in your throat, almost making you choke.

"I'll stop," he says, fingertips teasing your perked nipple delicately. A wave of arousal shoots down between your legs and you unintentionally squeeze your thighs together.

"Wh-wha-" you question, unable to focus, to understand.

"I won't do it anymore," he clarifies, starts to leave faint kisses against your pulse, the hand not on your breast sliding downward to probe at the edge of his sweatpants hanging around your hips, his boxers. You try not to flinch but fail. He sighs into your neck.

The hand holding your mug comes down on the counter, spilling some tea over your fingers while placing it there, uncaring of it as your palms plant themselves atop the marble in an attempt to steady yourself. You sigh, sinking into Felix's frame behind you, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic of his boxers.

"W-won't do what?" you somehow remember to ask, nearly vibrating with anticipation as soft fingers weave between the short hairs surrounding your sex.

"I won't flirt with them anymore," he declares, his one hand rising past your breast to slip through the neckline of his t-shirt, digits widening to wrap around your throat, holding it gently. "I do it 'cause it's fun but I'll stop. Only you, from now on."

You can't decipher whether he means what he says or not through the fog of pleasure clouding your judgment, biting back a moan as he applies gentle pressure against your throat to make you lean your head over his shoulder. You comply, easily, putty in his hands. More warmth pools between your legs and you squirm.

"I-I'm getting your underwear all wet," you tell him, somehow apologetic despite everything. You remotely realize that Felix's manhood twitches against your ass, then.

He exhales a muted laugh into your warm skin. "Good girl."

You huff, equally unamused and aroused. "Sh-shut up." Your backtalk morphs into a whine, Felix's fingers teasing at the swollen lips surrounding your slit.

"Mmm," he hums, kissing your jaw and you shudder in his arms, needing him to touch you properly. "Want me to touch you, hm?" he asks as if he can read your thoughts, voice low over your cheek.

"Y-yeah."

Another peck against your skin. "Alright. Since you're so pretty, I will."

Finally, his fingers dip past your lips, gathering the results of your arousal before gliding gently across your clit. You jerk in his arms at the contact, enjoying the way he tightens his hold around your throat to keep you still, thighs involuntarily tightening around his hand.

"Spread your legs for me, love," he requests, fingers unmoving against your pulsing clit. "I'll make you feel good, I promise."

Shakily, you oblige. "Okay," you sigh, throat bobbing against the palm of Felix's hand as you swallow.

His digits resume their movement, tentative as they slide across your swollen nub and you can't help the tremble in your heavy breaths.

"You really are wet. And warm," Felix marvels, circling your clit softly, steadying you as you mewl in his embrace. "Uhh, I really wanna bury myself in there again," he confesses, fingers sliding down to gather more of your wetness before resuming his movements against you.

You can feel your pleasure building, burning and twisting somewhere deep within your abdomen, heavy and tangible.

"How does it feel, love?"

"G-good," you moan, helplessly grinding your cunt against the pads of his fingers as he touches you. "Fuck, uhh..."

"I know," he reassures you, trying a gentle squeeze with his grip around your throat. You whimper, overwhelmed. "You're doing so good, sweetie. Just relax, I've got you."

Your cheeks burn, likely searing against Felix's skin, heart growing with warmth at his gentle words. In the delirium of your pleasure, you find courage that you don't expect to, hidden words crawling their way up your tongue.

"Felix," you huff, breathy and needy.

"Mm?"

"I- uh, I like you."

You unmistakably feel a grin forming against your skin, Felix's arms squeezing to hold you tighter against him. "I know, my love."

His circles over your clit don't let up and before you know it, you're hurdling toward your release, muscles tightening all throughout your body.

"Oh- uh- I'm-"

"Let go, just let go. I'm here, I've got you."

And you do, seizing within his arms, eyes rolling up past your eyelids, throat tightening around a strained cry of pleasure under the firm hold of Felix's hand, heart beating aggressively in your chest as your nerves tingle euphorically. Your sex pulses against Felix's digits as he helps you ride your way through your orgasm, slowing his pace gradually into a gentle motion until your mind comes back down into reality.

Your chest heaves, body slumping helplessly into the one behind you. As your legs squeeze together and your hips jerk away, Felix lets up, slipping his hand back out of his boxers to hold you over your hip.

"How was it?" he asks, voice thick and gruff.

"M-my ears are ringing. Fingertips're tingling."

"Pretty good then." He's smiling into you still.

You sigh. "Yeah, pretty good."

Not releasing his grip, Felix grinds against your ass and you let him, still jelly in his hold. He carries what is at least a semi within the pants he's wearing, sighing a warm breath over your neck. "God, I wanna fuck you. Bend you over this counter, come inside you."

"Y-you should," you egg him on.

He only manages to groan before the sound of keys jingling catches your joint attention. You freeze together, waiting and assessing the threat before daring to make another move. And as you hear the keys being inserted in the lock of the front door, the two of you fly apart like repelling magnets. You catch yourself against the counter in front of you and Felix backs away toward the dishwasher, picking his now lukewarm mug of tea back up.

Your eyes lock across the kitchen area and yours widen, panicked. You try to ask him what to do by simply gesturing with your hands but all he can do is shrug, taking a shaky sip from the mug in his hands. You sigh, bewildered.

"It's only Hyunjin," he tries to console.

Your jaw slackens in perplexity.

You hear the front door open down the hallway, then slamming shut as you lean back to grip the counter behind you.

"Hey, Felix," comes a greeting.

You watch Felix shoot a strained smile toward his friend, who's in his line of sight but hidden from yours. It takes some effort to swallow the saliva pooling in your throat. "Hey! You're back. Didn't realize it's already two o'clock."

"What? Got up late?"

Felix shoots you a wary glance. "Eh, yeah. A little."

"Hey, everything good?" Hyunjin asks as his footsteps pad down the hallway and before you know it, his figure appears around the corner.

You freeze, as does he when he sees you. His eyes widen and you can only hope that he can't tell that your breathing is a little too ragged, cheeks a little too flushed, and you're thankful that he can't know that your ears are still kind of ringing.

"Hello," he says.

"Hi," you answer, voice meek.

His inquisitive stare shoots toward his roommate, raising a questioning brow before eyeing you again.

"Had a good trip?" Felix asks, gulping around big swigs of tea.

"Uh, yeah," Hyunjin hesitantly answers and you find yourself fidgeting under his eyes that keep jumping between you and the man that just made you come on his fingers, in their shared kitchen.

You can't for the life of you come up with something to say, stomach turning and head spinning at how somehow relaxed Felix seems already, maybe a little sheepish but not nearly as uneasy as you are, as if he already knows what is about to unfold. The cogs turning in Hyunjin's head might as well be visible as he assesses the scene before him, taking in all of your form stood in his apartment. You chew your cheek, squirming in your place in the corner.

"Ah," he finally sighs, something akin to realization dawning across his features as he smiles. He eyes his friend knowingly, hands landing on his hips. "This is the girl from work that you can't shut up about, isn't it?"

Your body goes rigid, only your eyes moving as you cast a quizzical glance in Felix's direction. There's a somewhat bashful grin on his face as he shrugs before hiding behind the lip of his mug. "Well, when you say it like that..." he mumbles, eyes averting down toward the floor.

You don't know what to call the feeling that pops and spreads in your chest, ticklish and exhilarating, a whole new wave of heat flushing on your cheeks.

Hyunjin laughs before turning to you, fully. "Well, it's good to finally meet you."

"Er, y-you too."

"M'guessing I'll be seeing a lot more of you around here, so we'll have time to get to know each other later. I'll leave you guys to it," he says, beaming as he turns and walks toward his bedroom, sharing a secret look with his friend before he disappears behind his door.

Sheepishly, Felix turns to meet your eyes and you raise an inquisitive brow at him. He simply shrugs, mouth blooming into a bright grin. You can't help but be infected, your own lips curving into a matching smile, warmth spreading from your chest and throughout the rest of your body.

Maybe your drunken mistake wasn't so much of a mistake after all.

⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊ ⁺⋆ ˖⁺₊⋆ ⊹₊

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moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

hi Mae! I've never requested anything before, so forgive me if I'm doing this wrong. Can I request poly!marauders x reader who has a cold? I've just gotten sick and I feel icky, and these type of stories always make me feel better 😅 no worries if you can't, thank you!

Thanks for requesting lovely! You nailed it don't worry <3

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Your home is suspiciously quiet when Sirius enters. You and James ordinarily beat him there, but there’s no blaring TV or sound of something sizzling in the kitchen, he can’t even hear the shower running upstairs. The only evidence of either of you are your shoes by the front door, yours lined up neatly as they always are and James’ strewn a couple of feet from the doormat (as they always are).

Sirius kicks his own shoes off, leaving them amongst James’, and starts to go in search of you upstairs. Only, as he passes the couch, he does hear something. A quiet whistling.

He turns, and there you both are. Slumped where he couldn’t see you from the door, your body laid over James’ and his head propped at a painful-looking angle against the arm of the couch, the both of you covered in blankets. Your breath wheezes in and out of you.

An unintentional tsking noise comes from Sirius’ mouth as he crouches beside you. He slots a hand underneath James’ neck, trying to alleviate the cruel bend.

His boyfriend makes a sulky groaning sound. Mile-long lashes (which go sorely unappreciated by their owner, by the way; Sirius would do much better with them) flutter reluctantly as James turns his head towards Sirius.

“Hello,” Sirius says softly, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of the other boy’s sleep-glazed eyes. “Are you very comfortable like that?”

“M’sweltering,” James admits, “but she’s cold.”

Sirius feels his brows furrow. “I meant your neck, Jamie.” But it is odd that you’d be cold, considering that he’s a bit warm and he has no blankets. You don’t usually get so chilled. “She’s cold?”

James makes a face that’s half pout, half frown. “She’s ill.”

Sirius frowns harder, and only then does he realize how unusual it is for you not to have woken while they’re talking right above you like this. He sets the back of a hand to your forehead and finds it scorching.

“Oh.” The coo drops from his lips almost without his notice. He feels your cheek with his other palm as if that will change things, but it’s the same. “Since when?”

“She was home when I got here,” says James. “Don’t think she ever made it to work this morning. I gave her some paracetamol.”

That had to have been hours ago. Sirius is about to ask if James is feverish himself, or what other delusion caused him to nap with you instead of calling him and Remus home, but you start to stir, saving your boyfriend a berating. Sirius’ attention goes to you.

“Hey, sweetness.” He strokes his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping to wake you gently. “You’re not feeling well?”

You make an unhappy humming sound Sirius takes to mean No. Sniffle wetly. James grabs a box of tissues from beside him on the floor and offers them to you like it’s a routine.

“When did this start?”

You blow your nose before replying. It sounds awful, and when you’re done Sirius can see that the tip of your poor nose already looks chapped. “I think it set in overnight,” you croak. James winces at the sound of your voice.

Sirius strokes your cheek again, doing his best not to look too severe. “And why didn’t you call us, lovely girl?”

Over the top of your head, James mouths emphatically, She wouldn’t let me.

You only shrug, burrowing further into your blankets. “No point. Why should you come home just because I’ve got the sniffles?”

Sirius sighs. He gives your cheek a mean little squeeze, standing and pulling out his phone.

“What’re you doing?” you ask suspiciously.

“Hush, don’t hurt your throat.”

You pout, but Sirius is not James, and while he’s far from immune to your sweetheart face, he won’t be swayed by it. Remus picks up on the third ring.

“Hi, love.” He answers already sounding weary, albeit lovingly so, used to Sirius getting home around this time and calling him impatiently. Remus works too much, Sirius comes home every day itching for a kiss from all three of you; it’s a routine they both love to hate. “I’m just about to wrap up here.”

“Right, I totally believe you,” Sirius scoffs (affectionately). Remus is always ‘wrapping up’ when Sirius calls, one chapter bleeding into the next until it’s dark and one of you goes to collect him. “I just wanted to let you know that our bird never made it to work today; she’s come down with something.”

He can practically hear Remus’ frown forming. “She didn’t say?”

“What do you think?”

A sigh crackles through the line. “And bad enough that she stayed home, hm?”

Sirius looks at you, finding your eyes still big and expression pouty. He pouts back. “Yeah, she’s got a wicked fever and whatever it is has turned her nose into a poorly tuned woodwind instrument.”

Your expression sours. James hides a smile in your hair. “It’s only a cold,” you say.

“Honestly, Rem, she’s incoherent.”

Sirius can hear movement on the other end of the line, the quiet snap of his boyfriend’s laptop shutting. “I’m coming. Try to get her to drink something, please?”

He appraises you. You don’t look particularly happy with him. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks, love. I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright, drive safe. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“That was so unnecessary,” you complain as soon as he hangs up.

“Sorry, I can’t understand you when you’re all stuffed up like that,” Sirius replies flippantly, pocketing his phone and crouching in front of you again. “All your consonants sound like ds and bs.”

He uses his cold hands to his advantage, pressing them to your cheeks and allowing his genuine sympathy to surface in his expression. It wins you over quickly; you tilt your face into his touch. Fever glazed eyes droop indulgently.

“Now, my lovely snot monster, would you like ice in your water or do you want it plain?”

Remus bustles in when you’ve halfway drained your cup. Sirius can tell he’s worried because he hardly kicks his shoes into alignment next to each other, not taking the time to bend over and arrange them as neatly as he always does.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says in his most dulcet tone, dropping a kiss on your temple while he feels your fever with his knuckles. “Jamie, you’re not ill too, are you?”

“No, I’m just here in solidarity,” James assures him from beneath you. “I’m tip-top, promise.”

Remus nods, his mouth an unhappy line as he appraises the two of you. “I think you need to lose the blankets, dove. We need to get your fever down.”

“But it’s cold,” you whine.

“It’s not,” Sirius promises you. “It’s just that you could roast a marshmallow on your forehead right now.”

“You can still have Jamie,” negotiates Remus, already peeling the blankets off you and balling them up out of reach.

“S’all you really need,” James says agreeably. You look unsure, but you relax a little when he cuddles you closer.

“And how about some tea?” Remus palms the side of your face, frowning slightly at the heat while he drags his thumb across your cheek. “It’ll help with your throat and keep you warm, yeah?”

“Okay, yeah.” You take Remus’ hand, bringing it to your lips. Your eyes are fever bright. “Thanks, Rem. I’m sorry you came home.”

“Now, what kind of thing is that to say?” Sirius teases. “I, for one, am very glad to have Remus home.”

You attempt a glare; it’s poorly executed. “I meant I was sorry you called him.”

“Well, I’m not,” Remus says firmly. Sirius fights the urge to stick his tongue out at you. “You should always call me, sweetheart. Or just any of us, but we can talk about that later.” (Oh, Sirius cannot wait. The scolding he wants to give you would have paled in comparison.) Remus gives your cheek a little pat. “I’m going to make your tea. Try to finish your water before I get back, please.”

Sirius follows him into the kitchen, pleased to hear you asking James to pass you your water behind him.

“Hey,” he says, coming up behind Remus at the stove.

Remus sighs, turning around and looping his arms around Sirius’ shoulders. “Hi.” He rests his chin atop his boyfriend’s head. It’s a welcome weight. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Don’t be.” Sirius runs a hand up his spine, feeling each knob. “Sorry I worried you on the phone. I was freaked when I found her like this. She’s alright, though.”

“She’s alright,” Remus agrees. “I just hate to see her so poorly. Her throat sounds awful, poor love.”

“I hate that she didn’t tell anyone.” Sirius intends to sound a tad bitter, maybe with an edge of teasing, but his voice comes out whiny and wounded.

Remus kisses his hair silently. He knows Sirius has trouble with the people he loves suffering in silence, even when it comes to things like this. “That, too.”

“I hope you lecture her into never doing it again.”

“That’s the hope.”

“James aided and abetted, too.”

The faintest traces of a smile in Remus’ voice. “You want me to do something about that, do you?”

“If you think so.”

“Mm. I think you just want me to be the bad guy.”

The kettle starts to whistle, and Sirius steps out from his boyfriend’s arms, pecking him on the cheek as he gets it. “I mean, you’re already so good at it.”

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