#I used to like being sick as an excuse to rest

[wutheringmights]

.

[videostak]

Rly annoying thing my family does is when i ask them to do smthn and they immediately in complete agreeance go "ok! No problem :)" and then just not do it and then when i inevitably have to do it they act like either grateful that i would do it or act annoyed and tell me they were totally gonna do it lol. They usually act the latter in situations where instead of saying ok they come up w/ a complete bs excuse as to why they cang so that even when i accept their excuse and do it for them they still act upset that they didnt get to do the thing i asked of them

[boyapologist]

called in sick for work for the first time today and I feel so fucking guilty

[pinkandrainyclouds]

Old people at the doctors will genuinely shove you of the way if you try to sign up before they do even though it’s not your fucking fault that you didn’t see them since they WERE WAITING IN THEIR CAR instead of by the door

[redeemingvillains]

obliviate - mattheo riddle

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

word count: 5k

a/n: okeeey i know this is longer, but i actually adore it so much! kinda put my heart + soul into this one! extremely special shoutout to @pizzaapeteer's research on mattheo's favorite quidditch team, which provided a name i needed at the very end (hint hint!) ♡

warnings: angst (but also fluff, pls, it's me), use of the cruciatus curse, voldemort being voldemort.

soundtrack: dancing to the sound of a broken heart - galantis

OBLIVIATE (v.) -- To forget, to wipe from existence.

You noticed before he did.

It was early; the morning sun was just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting his bedroom in a deep golden hue. Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in Mattheo’s arms, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest at your back, his warm breath on your neck. Normally this was your very favorite way to wake up, but something was off, something had made your eyelids flutter open, a feeling, a foreboding.

You didn’t want to wake him, gods knew he needed his sleep, so you squinted slowly around the room until your eyes rested on the very arms that were wrapped around you.

It was his dark mark, writhing against his skin.

No— you thought, but in an instant, Mattheo jolted awake, breathing heavily like he was coming out of a nightmare, or coming into one, and within a moment he was pulling his arms out from around you and you immediately felt cold for their absence.

“Matty” you whispered, turning to face him and reaching out for him, but he was already up and out bed, pulling his clothes on haphazardly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, looking longingly at you for the briefest moment, tangled in his sheets, perfect in the morning glow, your eyes begging him not to leave.

“Stay?” you asked quietly, and his stomach lurched. Fuck if you didn’t have the ability to bring him to his knees with just one word; but his arm burned and ached with impatience… He wouldn’t be kept waiting much longer and Mattheo could only come up with so many excuses as to why he was always late without exposing the truth, desperate to protect you.

“I have to…” he started, but he didn’t finish the statement, didn’t want to say what exactly he’d have to do and thank the gods you never asked.

“I know” you sighed.

“I love you” he said, leaning forward to kiss you sincerely, his fingers brushing your jawline, taking one last piece of humanity and goodness with him.

“I love you more” you whispered as his form disappeared in front of you, leaving you alone.

Mattheo knew the moment he arrived that something was deeply deeply wrong.

He recognized his surroundings at once: the Riddle family manor. The halls echoed with a silence so familiar to him and his childhood it felt like his heart stopped beating so as not to make a sound. Besides silence, though, he also felt the other hallmark of his childhood: loneliness. He was alone; not one in a mistakable mix of followers that he could slip into undetected, he was home, and he was alone, and he felt an uneasiness, a sickness settle over him as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise and he turned to see his father stepping out of the shadows.

“Twelve minutes” he said by way of greeting, avoiding Mattheo’s eyes as he approached him like a predator would its prey.

“Twelve minutes. From the time I summoned you, until now. What, pray tell, was so pressing, so urgent as to cause your delay?”

Mattheo’s mind swept quickly over the image of you in his bed, your hair splayed on his pillow, the smile on your lips and your soft whisper as he’d apparated, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“S’early” he said, kicking himself for how his voice waivered in its reply.

Voldemort nodded in mock understanding, like he was considering this, drawing out the silence between them, painfully so.

“So not only are you late, but you are also lying” he said, emphasizing the last word, spitting it like a hiss, his black eyes snapping to Mattheo’s in way that caused him to jolt in reply, an automatic defense mechanism against the only living being capable of scaring him as Voldemort stormed towards him, entering his personal space as his voice rose.

“Do you remember what happened to Alexei Donovan when he lied to me?” he asked.

Mattheo’s eyes shifted between his fathers, swallowing, vividly remembering watching Nagini devour Donovan limb from limb.

“ANSWER ME!” his voice boomed.

“Y-y-yeah” he stuttered.

“Yes, my Lord” Voldemort corrected him.

“Yes, my Lord” Mattheo repeated.

And then Voldemort’s tone changed completely, as he took a step back and a smile spread across his inhuman face, which was somehow more disturbing than the alternative.

“But I am a merciful Lord, aren’t I?” he asked, his head cocked, daring Mattheo to disagree.

“Yes, my Lord” he said.

Voldemort nodded in approval.

“Yes, I am. And what a relief that must be to Ms. YLN at this very moment, hmm?” he asked, his eyes clocking Mattheo’s reaction as the blood drained from his face, his eyes blew wide and his shaking hand reached for his wand.

You watched the empty space where Mattheo had apparated like he might change his mind and come back, perhaps willing him to, before you laid back down, settling for his lingering warmth and his smell against the sheets when you heard footsteps outside the door.

You sat up, excited...naive you would think later, so fucking naive with the hope that he had returned, only to feel the blast of the door getting blown off of its hinges as you moved to cover your face from the flying debris.

Mattheo was breathing erratically, his chest visibly rising and falling with pure, unadulterated rage mixed with a fear so palpable it was like he could taste it on his tongue. He was desperately trying to rein in his emotions and failing miserably as his mind catapulted over every worst case scenario.

He spoke, finally, conjuring the only thing he could think to say as his brain continued in overdrive.

"Don't" he said firmly, threateningly, his voice level for the first time that morning.

His father smiled broadly without an ounce of kindness behind his eyes as they narrowed.

"You never learn… What did I tell you? What have I always told you? This—" he said, gesturing to Mattheo's body shaking in fight or flight mode "—is weakness. Look at you!" he said with disgust, with disdain, "You're worthless. You can't decide what to you, your mind is divided when it should be focused; you're thinking of her when you should be thinking only of yourself!"

Mattheo heard every word he was saying, but all he could think about was you, about how to get back to you, how to stop whatever had already begun; but it was like chasing a train on foot that had long since left the station, no matter how badly he wanted to jump in front of it, it was far too late.

"So, one question remains" Voldemort said, circling him again. "You...Or her?" he asked, sneering.

Mattheo's eyes flicked darkly to his father. "Me or her what?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you understand that I can't allow this relationship to continue with the way it's destroying you, and while the Carrows provided me with a lengthy list of ways we could enforce that" he said, smiling, letting the threat of his most devoted followers linger. "I have something much simpler in mind." He stopped pacing, snapping to face Mattheo fully, his robes flourishing around him.

"I will have your memories" he said proudly. "And one of you will forget their feelings for the other... forever" he whispered as Mattheo felt weak in his knees, like they'd buckle beneath the weight of what had been said.

"So, whose will it be?" Voldemort asked.

You felt excruciating pain in every limb, every tendon, every bone, and when you opened your mouth to scream, the Carrows took your words.

All you could do was watch them through the tears that poured out of your eyes in your silent struggle, willing, praying for Mattheo to come back, pleading with him in your mind; please, please, please you thought even as you felt your resolve and strength waning.

Mattheo's mouth had run dry and there was bile in the back of his throat at the impossible decision before him: Either forget the brightest light in his life, perhaps the only thing keeping him steady in an ever-spiraling world, forget the way your skin felt under his fingertips, the smell of your shampoo, how tightly you squeezed him when he hugged you, or the sound of your laugh, the way you listened sincerely to him with your full attention or rubbed his back when he couldn't sleep; forget the only and most sincere feeling of love he’d ever experienced.

Or worse, meet your eyes and not see a light behind them, the way they'd twinkle with adoration for him, watch you forget him completely and live life instead as your friend, a bystander, maybe even watch you fall in love with someone else... His stomach lurched.

...But in a way, isn't that what you deserved? To live a life free of all of this, free of him and the pain he caused you, constantly, every time he had to leave, every time he had to live this second life. You were meant for more than this, you deserved to be loved by someone who could give you everything in return.

"Hers" he spluttered. "Take her memories" he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Voldemort nodded obligingly before waving a hand, dismissing him.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in your four-poster bed, a soft smile on your lips as you saw the morning sun just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting your bedroom in a deep golden hue.

Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in your sheets. You felt refreshed, though you had the smallest echo of a headache that you attempted to rub away as you got ready for the day.

You made your way down to breakfast, settling in amongst your friends.

"Good morning!" you said cheerfully as you took your usual seat between Pansy and Blaise.

"Good morning, babes!" Pansy chirped as the boys nodded, waved, and greeted you in various acknowledgements. You grabbed a pastry and pressed closer to Blaise to help him with the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. You were deeply focused on the black and white print when Mattheo wandered in, sliding onto the bench across from you. His movement caught your eye and you glanced at him and offered a small wave before returning your attention to the paper.

And that was all he got.

A glance, a smile that he tried to hold on to, to see if there was even a glimmer of recollection behind it. But there was nothing.

The spell was strong. It had tied up every lose end. Your things were gone from his room, your pictures together wiped clear by the time he returned, even your hair tie had disappeared from his wrist. And when he crawled into his bed, and realized your scent was gone from his sheets, he pulled his pillow over his head to mask his muffled sob.

Now not even his friends remembered your relationship, he realized, as he looked around at them, all totally unphased by the fact that you weren't glued to each other's side. At once he craved the way Theo complained incessantly about your PDA, and Blaise teased him for being whipped. He would give anything anything for something other than the complete ignorance in front of him.

He'd never felt so alone.

A few days later, you noticed Mattheo was...off. Even moreso than usual. You were used to him being standoffish, reserved, a total closed book, but you sensed something different about him. You had never been close, but something about his demeanor kept catching your attention.

"Are you okay?" you asked him that weekend at the Slytherin house party.

You'd had to raise your voice to be heard over the crowd and the loud music and his eyes snapped to yours, almost in shock, before they began intently searching your face.

You looked back at him, confused, waiting for a reply.

"M'fine" he said finally, taking a long drink from his cup in an effort to occupy hands that desperately wanted to pull you into him and lips that desperately wanted to tell you a truth that didn't exist anymore.

"Lighten up, Matty!" you said, gently shoving him on his chest as you walked away, and he nearly choked on his firewhiskey, because there was only one person in his life that had ever called him that, and it was you, beginning the night you'd first time told him you loved him.

He watched you walk away and fade back into the crowded party, wondering, daring to hope that there was a way to get you back.

After that night, Mattheo’s attention on you increased tenfold. The following morning he'd squeezed his way next to you at breakfast, nearly knocking Blaise off the bench as he slid you your favorite coffee.

"Oh!...Thank you?" you'd said, surprised as you peered over his shoulder at Blaise and then looked down at the latte. "How did you—?"

"—Can I walk you to class?" he asked eagerly, a smile on his face.

"Suuureeee" you said hesitantly.

Then, he wanted to walk you to every class, and he'd even offered to carry your books. It was kind, endearing even, but it felt misplaced, so out-of-the-blue that it caught you off guard and confused you.

"Mattheo, I really want to thank you for everything you've been doing for me" you said finally as you walked out of your potions class to find him waiting for your eagerly, like a puppy, a smile on his face. Your eyes shifted to the classmates that walked by, eyeing the two of you together. "I just want you to know, I'm not really looking for anything serious. We're friends, that would be a little...weird, you know?" you said gently.

A moment.

And then he felt a chasmic split in his heart that he didn’t think he’d live through once, let alone twice. It had never occurred to him that there was a world in which you wouldn’t fall madly in love with him again as your words brought a memory rushing forward...

"Is this going to be weird?—" you asked, breathless, until his lips cut you off again, crashing to yours as his hands pulled you further against him in the broom closet. "—Darling, I could not care less" he murmured against you, and you laughed as your fingers tangled into the curls at the base of his neck and he felt your tongue against his own. “Mmm our friends are going to lose their mind” you whispered, grinning wickedly at him.

"Matty?" you asked, concerned at the look on his face, pulling him out of the memory, even as he tried and failed to hold on to it.

His eyes refocused on yours as his face darkened.

"Why are you calling me that?" he asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" you asked, taken aback at his tone.

"Matty. Why are you calling me that?"

"I—" you started before looking up at him, confused, feeling the dull ache of one of your more frequently occurring headaches coming on. "I-I don't know" you said quickly, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pushed past him.

He turned and punched the wall forcefully, feeling his knuckles crack in response.

Weeks went by. Every second in your existence was a painful reminder of what he would never have again, and yet he refused to distance himself, desperate for your laugh even if was for someone else, your smile, even if he wasn't the one to put it there.

Sometimes he swore he saw the slightest recollection in your eyes; he'd catch you looking at him, and you'd smile when he caught your eye, but it was always friendly, never like the look you used to give him, with the glimmer of something sinfully mischievous beneath it that had the two of you tumbling into his bed between classes.

The whole situation was setting him on edge, making him more anxious and fidgety than he'd ever been. But, of course, no one seemed to notice, his friends either chalking it up to his normal idiosyncrasies or bewitched to ignore his unusual behavior.

Now he was staring at the book in his lap, reading the same line over and over and over again, his mind running ragged as you sat beside him. At this distance he could smell your perfume, could feel your warmth radiating next to him and his heart ached at your proximity.

He hadn't realized he was doing it at first, but his leg was jiggling incessantly between the two of you, his jitters working at the pace of his mind, his body's panicked response to being so tantalizingly close to you, so desperate for you and not being able to have you. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his leg, resting there gently as fingers began to trace a familiar pattern on his thigh, causing his jittering to slow along with his heart, which had now dropped into his stomach.

He glanced sidelong at you, afraid to move an inch, terrified that you would stop. He noticed you hadn’t broken your concentration on your book, perhaps hadn’t even realized you were touching him, it was like your body was moving on autopilot to comfort him in the very way you used to, tracing hearts on his thigh before nuzzling into him or pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.

He held his breath with the hope that this might mean something deeper, that there was a piece of you that remembered him as he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the pattern of your fingers, the simple touch nearly bringing him to tears as he tried to let himself live in the memory of you.

You were right at the very best part of your book, the plot finally taking off, when you felt the familiar ache in your head that very quickly turned to a throbbing that brought you back to the present moment, and made you realize your hand had been resting on Mattheo’s thigh.

“Oh, gods!” you said suddenly, pulling your hand back quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” you started until you saw the pained expression on his face, his eyes closed, his head hung as his hand carded through his hair. Your headache was pounding in full now, enough to make you wince and touch your temple. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with concern.

“YN—?”

“—S-Sorry!” you said quickly, gathering your things and beelining for your room.

“Have you noticed anything… different with Mattheo recently?” you asked Pansy that weekend.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping casually through a magazine as she sat next to you, admiring her nails as she painted them a deep emerald.

You’d tried to ask as nonchalantly as you could, but she looked up at you with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I don’t know he’s been so… strange with me. He’s wanted to walk me to class, and carry my books, he wants to hang out all the time and he somehow knew how I liked my latte…?” you trailed off, leaving out the way your hand had ghosted over him, the expression on his face, and your recurring headaches that didn't feel like a coincidence anymore, flaring up every time you were around him.

A moment passed but Pansy didn’t reply and when you looked at her you saw that her expression hadn’t changed; she was staring blankly at you, not saying a word, which was extraordinarily odd to put it mildly.

This was the type of gossip that would usually have her on her feet, screaming, spiraling, devising a messy plan to get two of her best friends together, but you were getting nothing in return, less than nothing.

“Pans?” you goaded, prompting a response.

Her head tilted slightly, abnormally in a way that was starting to creep you out as her blank stare continued and you slowly pulled yourself upright and away from her.

“Let it go” she said flatly. “You’re imagining things.”

You were taken aback and started to respond before she interrupted you.

“—I mean, you can’t think that he’s into you or something, do you? He would never go for you… what would he see in you? What could you possibly have to offer the Dark Lord’s son YN? He’s got girls lined up out the door for him.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you sat up fully now. Never once in your almost ten years of friendship had she ever said anything like that to you before. You were hurt, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was very very wrong as fear fluttered in your heart at her dark words and unnatural expression.

Suddenly, your mind snapped black for a moment to another time you felt foreboding, felt fear in your bones, screaming silently with no one to hear you and you stumbled to your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes as your head throbbed so hard you were afraid you were going to be sick.

Pansy looked up at you, and smiled, unphased by the way you were shaking or swiping at your running mascara as she smiled. “Want to go to dinner babes?” she asked cheerful again, like she had forgotten everything she’d just said to you.

“I-I’ve got to go” you said quickly, as you made your way for the door, desperate to find the person you sensed was responsible for this all.

You made your way to the common room in slow motion, like one of those dreams where you’re running but not actually going anywhere. You felt flushed and feverish as your body began to tremble and the room felt like it was distorting itself. You looked around frantically and found Mattheo walking in your group of friends on their way to dinner.

“YN!” Blaise cheered, noticing you approach as Draco and Theo turned in concert, smiling widely at you with uncannily happy expressions.

But the minute Mattheo’s eyes landed on you, his smile dropped to concern and he quickly approached you, closing the distance between you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, reaching for you before pulling his hands back awkwardly.

“Can I talk to you?” you winced as your headache intensified “Please?”

“Yeah, of course” he said eagerly, motioning to his friends, “I’ll catch up with you” he said, nearly ignoring them completely as he led you back towards their now empty room.

He shut the door behind you both and you swayed on your feet before moving between the four poster beds and sitting on the edge of his.

There were five identical beds in the room and he tried not to read too much into the fact that you’d known which was his, even though in this reality you’d never been here. And then he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart of you being here, alone with him, in his room, shaking the thought from his mind quickly as he took in the pained look on your face, your eyes pinched closed as you rubbed your temple

He came quickly to you, kneeling in front of you, moving to place his hands on your legs and pulling back, never knowing what the fuck to do with them anymore around you.

“What’s going on—” he started.

“—What did you do to me?” you whispered harshly, your eyes fluttering open, your face scrunched angrily in accusation.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Mattheo, something is very very wrong, and you can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He stopped breathing. It couldn’t be.

“Our friends aren’t normal, people around us aren’t normal, and I feel like my insides are on fucking fire” you said, grimacing. “And it only happens when I’m around you. I’m not an idiot, Mattheo, is this because I turned you down?”

For his part he looked like he was about to cry, he didn’t look threatening or guilty, just enormously sad as he looked up at you with his amber eyes and your headache split to a nearly debilitating degree and tears flowed from your eyes in pain.

“My head” you said in a muffled sob.

You felt his warm hands rest on your legs, the first time he’d let himself touch you in months and you felt another flash in your mind, him smiling down at you with a lopsided grin in a way you’d never seen him look at you before, with adoration, with longing, with love, but it didn’t feel weird this time, it felt normal, so familiar…

“YN?” he whispered and your eyes fluttered open to see his transfixed on you, scanning your every feature, his expression full of concern. “Please hear me when I say I would never ever hurt you.” A lie he realized too late as he looked at you now.

“I-I know that?” you said shakily. “Somehow I know that but I don’t know how else to explain this or how I’m feeling” you said, sniffling.

“Fuck!” he muttered in frustration as he stood up and started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He was certain that something was happening and yet he had no idea how to help you, the image of you crying in pain on his bed making him physically ill.

You sniffed again and said the next sentence so softly he swore he'd dreamt it.

“You have a scar on your shoulder, here” you said, gesturing over your own shoulder blade, tracing the same pattern of the raised skin on his back.

“You take your tea with milk and two sugars” your voice wobbled but was gaining strength as you kept speaking and he turned to look at you.

“You write left-handed but play quidditch right handed.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, words tumbling from your mouth now, like a broken dam.

“You always wanted a dog growing up and if you’d had one you would have named him—"

“—Zoryn” you said simultaneously. He moved to approach you, crouching in front of you again as he stared at you in awe, unable to believe what was going on.

Your eyes opened at his voice.

“After my favorite quidditch player” he said. “YN you’re the only person who knows that.”

“Why do I know these things?” you asked, pained.

He opened us mouth but nothing came out.

“Matty” you were practically beginning him to help you understand but he was too scared to be wrong, too scared to tell you the truth.

“...I’m the only one that calls you that” you whispered, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, you are” he said quietly, gently.

You reached out tentatively, your hand trembling and touched his cheek and he let his head fall against the palm of your hand, nuzzling into you as his eyes fluttered closed. You sniffed again.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here” he said tenderly.

“B-But you weren’t there” you said, breathing heavily all of a sudden, panicked. “I-I was scared and I wanted you there and you weren’t there…” and just like that your eyes blinked to his and memories came like an avalanche as you stood and he rose his feet beside you.

The first time he kissed you, the feeling of his warm palm in yours, tangling your fingers in his curls, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest in bed, the way he’d pull you onto his lap at breakfast and everyone would moan about it, him nuzzling into your neck, his arms around your waist and his hand at the small of your back in the corridor between classes. His lopsided grin as his amber eyes twinkled down at you and he whispered “Gods, I’m crazy about you, darling”

“I remember! I remember!” you said finally looking up at the real Mattheo standing in front of you, his face somewhere between sheer panic and shock and suddenly the inches between you were too much as you flew into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as he lifted you off the ground.

“Fuck baby” he said as you felt him shaking beneath you. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. He made me. M-made me choose, your memories or mine and—“ he choked up as hand came to rest on the back of your head, holding you closer to him “—I didn’t want you to live a moment in any reality thinking I didn’t love you.”

“It’s okay, Matty, it’s okay” you murmured against him, clinging to him, to the moment.

“None of this is okay” he said back.

“It’s ok now” you reassured him.

He made to pull back but you squeezed him tighter, afraid.

“I don’t want to forget” you mumbled into his neck.

“You’re not going to” he said through a laugh, the first time the sound had left his lips in months.

“Let me guess” you sniffed against him, fighting the knowing smile on your lips, “because you’re unforgettable” you grumbled at his cocky humor.

“Well, yeah” he said, laughing genuinely now, even as you pinched him.

“But more importantly—” he said as he took a step forward to lay you down on his bed so he could look at you, could finally see the sparkle of recognition in your eyes that he had been craving. You were looking back at him like you were committing his every feature to memory, your stomach flipping at how beautiful he was, at how you could ever forget it, tracing the scar at his eyebrow, his flushed cheeks, his lips and noting the twinkle in his eyes.

“—You’re not going to forget because the most powerful wizard alive already tried to make you, and it didn’t fucking work.”

You smiled at him, resolutely. “I could never forget you.”

“That’s right, baby” he said as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, lingering for just a moment, savoring it like it was the first time all over again.

taglist: @dustie-faerie, @urfavfrenchgrl, @darlingshecried, @thegoddessofnothingness, @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @sectumsempraaa

[ilovemitsuya]

Hiii!!! Can I request a ff where reader is sick and is trying to hide it from Sylus but he notices right away and insists he take care of her.

sylus x reader

The first signs were easy enough to ignore. A dull ache in my chest, a persistent weariness that clung to me no matter how much I rested. I told myself it was just stress, but as the days passed the symptoms grew worse. My strength began to wane, and the pain became harder to hide. I stared at my computer not noticing a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at your screen for a while now.” I look over my shoulder to see Tara staring at me.

“I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.” I said as I looked away from her.

“I think you should take it easy. You’ve been overworking yourself a lot.” She thought for a moment, her finger resting on her chin. “I know! Me and the others are going to do karaoke you should join us.”

I thought about it for second. I could really use the time to go out but I couldn’t even speak, let alone sing. “I’m sorry can we do it next time?”

Tara put on a frown “Awh, next time you better go. Promise?”

I looked at her with a smile

“Promise.”

Besides, I’m meeting up with Sylus later on. Suddenly i remembered that he had a business trip he was talking about. He said I had to go but I can’t let him see me like this. Otherwise he would stay with me and not even go himself. It was an important trip I didn’t want to ruin it for him.

I knew Sylus would notice eventually.

He was too observant, too attuned to every detail of my life.

So I hid it. I avoided his gaze when I would have to excuse myself when the coughing fits became too intense. I thought I was being careful, and that I could keep this secret until I found a way to manage it on my own.

But I underestimated him.

╔══════╗

“You're late, sweetie." he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “If I had to wait any longer I would’ve sent Mephisto out looking for you.”

Sylus said leaning back on his motorcycle.

“Yeah, that won’t be necessary.”

Sylus gave me one last look before he threw a motorcycle helmet my way nearly dropping it.

He patted the seat behind him when he noticed I wasn’t moving.

I was way too tired to even move.

“Get on or I’m leaving without you.”

I snap out of my thoughts and quickly scram to sit behind him.

———-

At first it was subtle. A slight hesitation in her step, a flash of pain quickly masked by a practiced smile. Sylus watched her from the corner of his eye, his mind a whirlwind of calculations.

She was careful. Too careful. Avoiding his gaze when she thought he wasn't looking, suppressing coughs when she thought he wasn't listening. But Sylus knew. He always knew.

He sat in the chair by the window, the vastness of the space outside doing very little to calm his mind. His fingers tapped against the armrest, each tap a mark of his growing frustration. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.

“Mephisto, keep a close eye on her.”

caw caw

She had been acting differently for days now. And while she thought she had done her best to hide it, Sylus was not one to be easily deceived.

╔══════╗

I knew he started watching me more closely. His eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look I knew so well. I could feel his suspicion growing, could sense the weight of his gaze on me even when I wasn't looking. But I kept up the act, clinging to the hope that I could keep him in the dark just a little longer.

Later that evening he barged in the room without warning, his presence filling the room with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I looked up, startled, meeting his eyes only to see the truth in them - he knew.

"You're sick," Sylus stated, his voice low and void of the warmth he had once reserved for me.

For a moment, I tried to deflect, to brush it off as nothing. "What? I’m perfectly fine.” I said trying to hold in my cough. Perfect timing.

But it was the way the energy shifted in the room. The way he loomed over me with a commanding presence, his expression unreadable made it clear there was no escaping this. "Don't lie to me." he hissed, and the force of his words sent a shiver down my spine.

"You're hiding something."

I shook my head, standing to meet him. But there was a hesitation in my movements, a reluctance I couldn't fully hide. "No, I haven't. I've just been... tired. There's nothing to worry about."

But Sylus was done with her evasions.

He grabbed her wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her from retreating.

"Don't lie to me, Sweetie." he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Something's wrong. I can see it. You've been hiding it from me, and I want to know why."

I pulled my wrist from his grasp and took a step back, shaking my head. "It's nothing, Sylus. I'm fine.

You don't need to worry."

"Don't you dare try to shut me out," he growled, his tone sharper than he intended. "I know something is wrong, and I won't let you deny it."

Sylus thought she might continue to deny it. But then she crumbled, her shoulders slumping as she finally let her guard down.

"I've been feeling sick," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It started a few days ago, and it's just been getting worse. I didn't want to tell you because I wanted you to let me go to that business trip with you.”

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a surprising gentleness.

“Is that what this is all about? You were hiding your sickness because you wanted me to let you go on the business trip?”

I leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in days. "Yes, I’m sorry.”

His expression hardened again, but there was a softness in his eyes that made my heart ache. "Well, you’re right, you’re not going."

“But I—“

“I’m canceling the trip. I’m staying here with you until you feel better.”

He looked back at me, and for a brief moment, I saw something tender in his gaze, something that reminded me why I had fallen for him in the first place.

“I knew something was wrong. Mephisto snitched you out.”

That damn bird.

"Let's get you to bed," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "You need to rest."

He picked me up bridal style and held me in his arms.

"I'm fine, Sylus. I don't need to be treated like-"

He silenced her with a look, one that she couldn’t argue against. "You need to rest," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "And I'm going to make sure you do."

Without waiting for her response, Sylus guided her toward the bed.

She hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion was too much, and she allowed him to help her lie down.

Sylus moved with a surprising gentleness, adjusting the pillows and smoothing the blankets as he settled her in.

Once she was comfortable, he sat down beside she on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was soft, tender. A stark contrast to the man who ruled Onychinus with an iron fist.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that was almost protective.

"You need to let me take care of you. You’re like a sick kitten who needs to be monitored."

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"I didn't want to worry you,"

Sylus's expression softened even further, his thumb gently tracing the outline of my cheek. "You worrying me by hiding things is worse," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you."

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to my forehead, lingering there for a moment as if he was attempting to strengthen me.

When he pulled back, my eyes were already starting to droop, the weight of the day finally catching up. But even as sleep began to claim me, I reached out, my hand finding his.

"Sylus," I murmured, voice drowsy. "Stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere,” he promised. His voice steady. He slipped under the blankets, his arms wrapping around me protectively. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sylus held her close, his fingers gently stroking her hair. He listened as her breathing slowly evened out, the tension in her body melting away as she drifted into sleep.

For a long time, Sylus simply watched her. His mind racing with plans for when she wakes up. As she slept, Sylus allowed himself to relax, the tight coil of worry in his chest loosening for the first time in days. He would take care of her, no matter what it took. Because she was worth protecting at all costs.

I’ll kiss anyone who requests

[bbyquokka]

drunk

– jeongin is drunk - in more ways than one .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing | yang jeonging x fem reader

genre | established relationship , smut – 18+ is strongly advised!

cw | jeongin is drunk , explicit language , face sitting , oral (f rec) , breast play , masturbation (m) , face riding , 'girl' is used , unprotected penetration

words | 2.7k ~ ( 2,776 )

notes | another piece i wrote when i went on a break! i dont write for jeongin enough :( i hope u all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

m.list — tag list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

soft grunts and groans from beside you fill the space of the car you're currently driving.

the streets are somewhat quiet. the headlights from cars passing by blinding you but the night is calm and quiet which, for a saturday, is unusual.

what's even more unusual is for you to be driving around in your boyfriend's expensive car, with him being drunk and groaning in the passenger seat. his eyes closed as his temple rests against the cold glass of the window, providing some cooling relief to his sweat coated skin.

jeongin, chan, seungmin and hyunjin decided that tonight's the night that they’d go out and have a ‘lads night.’

you don't mind jeongin going out. you trust that he (and his friends) will care and look out for one another. you trust that, when one has one too many, they will stop it from becoming a disaster.

and that is the case for you.

jeongin can handle his drink–to some extent. chan texted you urging you to pick up your not-so sober boyfriend from the club, claiming that jeongin has had one too many shots and alcohol his body can handle.

“feels good.” you stop at a red light to look at your hazy boyfriend. his usual well-kempt hair is disheveled. a beautiful pink haze sits pretty on his glowy, sweat stained skin.

“what feels good, baby?”

“i love you, you know that right?” he mumbles, ignoring your question. you laugh softly and nod.

“i know. i love you too.”

“really?” he lifts his head up from the cold glass, his eyes wide and glistening, like a love sick puppy.

“really. forever and always, remember.” jeongin nods and leans over, hooking his long pinky finger with yours.

“pinky promise.”

“pinky promise.” you repeat with a smile. jeongin sits back in his seat, a grin adorning his facial features and making his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“i’m one lucky man, yn. i’m the luckiest man in this entire world! no.. wait, galaxy!” as the red light switches to green, you start to drive as you listen to your loved one babble on with himself.

after a few minutes of babbling, it falls silent. the only sound is the roar of the car engine and passing vehicles. you think nothing of the silence, until a few small breathy pants ring in your ears.

maybe he is sleeping? is your first thought until you hear a low, guttural grunt. your ears perk up at the sound. you quickly glance to the side. you can only see jeongin slouching in his seat, his head hanging low with his chin tucked into his chest, hair hiding his face.

you focus on the road. the roads may be quiet but that's no excuse to act stupid.

“hurts.” jeongin pants, his voice strained a little. you panic a little.

“what hurts, baby?”

“yn.. it hurts.” he mumbles. he looks up at you to catch your gaze but you keep your eyes on the road. “yn.. help me. please.”

his usual soft voice is now laced with desperation; like he is begging for you.

“tell me what hurts, darling.” is it his stomach? he is drunk after all, so maybe he needs you to pull over.

“help me.” he begs, on the verge of tears. you drive to a nearby car park, shutting off the engine and taking off your belt.

you look at jeongin. the pink haze has now turned red, spreading to his ears. his eyes are hazy and glassy. lips glistening from the saliva.

“baby.. are you ok?” you lean over to him, placing your hand on his thigh gently. he tenses under your touch. 

“hurting.” he repeats. his breathing slowly becoming short and laboured.

“your stomach? if you need to throw up, it's ok to baby.” you squeeze his thigh as reassurance but that causes jeongin to let out a soft grunt and tense more under your hand.

“no.” he huffs, his patience running very thin. “it hurts.” you stare at him, utterly confused. with a huff, jeongin grabs your hand that's on his thigh and places it on his crotch.

“oh. oh!” his cock is straining against the rough material of his black jeans. he bucks his hips in the palm of your hand for some sort of friction but it's not enough to suffice and feed this hunger he has. “why.. how?”

“i..i dont know. i just… looked at you and now i feel so hot and bothered.” his chest rises up and down fast. he squirms in his seat, pulling at the fabric of his shirt as a way of saying ‘get it off me’

“i want to see you.” his eyes scan you, undressing and eating you up. you feel bashful and aware of his prying eyes. he takes his seatbelt off and struggles to unbuckle the belt of his own jeans. “take them off.”

“excuse me?” you stutter. 

“take them off. your pants. off. please. i want to see you, yn.”

“we're in public, jeongin. anyone can see us!” you stumble over your words.

“the windows are tinted.” he states. an argument you lose in an instant. you can't deny, however, that his request has left you feeling a little tingly in the pit of your stomach. “please.”

you nod, giving in to him; as always. you take off your pants, throwing them to the side. jeongin watches you, eyes never leaving you as he licks his lips hungrily.

“c’mer.” rough hands grab your waist and pull you onto his lap. you have no option but to situate your legs on either side of him. his large hands reach behind you to grab the soft flesh of your ass.

“mhm.. missed you.” he murmurs as he massages, squeezes and plays with your ass cheeks. you chew your bottom lip gently, your body twitching every now and then. he buries his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. more guttural groans erupt from the back of his throat as he takes in mouthfuls of your scent. “smells good”

“we should go home. you're drunk.” you say in an attempt to stop him. 

“’m fine.” he states. “just want to touch you some more, that's all.” his lips start to pepper kisses along the skin of your neck. they’re soft and gentle at first, but they’re quick to turn into hot, wet open mouth kisses where he leaves behind marks in the form of purple bruises and teeth.

“then can we go home?” you struggle to say due to you slowly losing your composure as jeongin attacks you sweet spots. his large hands playing and fondling with your ass cheeks, occasionally disappearing under the fabric of your t-shirt to stroke your growing hot skin.

“maybe. or maybe i’ll just devour you right here, right now.” he purrs. you shuffle on his lap to get comfy, your core throbbing and stomach tingling. your fingers dig into his shoulder blades as a way to help ground yourself.

“devour me? how?” you play dumb. your body tingles with pleasure. your core is throbbing and you can feel your slick being soaked up by your panties, creating an embarrassing wet spot.

“like this.” his seat falls back, taking you with him. in one swift moment, he manhandles you onto his face so you're straddling him. his large hands on your thighs, gripping them with force.

“baby!” you peer down at your hazy boyfriend, his head between your legs. you feel his breath fanning against your clothed core, the dampness in your panties intensifying with each puff of air.

“what?” he says nonchalantly. 

“you're unbelievable!” you squeak in embarrassment. the lewd position you're in makes you feel bashful; even though it's not your first time like this with him but it is a first in public.

“and you smell good.” he groans. his long finger trails from your thigh, to your inner thigh and to your clothed core. he presses his finger against your core, against the wet patch on the fabric and hums in satisfaction.

“you're wet.” he states, feeling somewhat cocky and proud. “i haven't done anything and you're wet.”

“s-shut up! you don't have to state it. gosh, this is so embarrassing.” you whine.

“not embarrassing. hot. so fucking hot. you have no idea the effect you have on me, yn.” he peers up at you, his foxlike eyes boring into your soul. he turns his head slightly, planting open mouth kisses on your inner thigh, closing in on your core.

he runs his finger in between your folds, adding a bit of pressure when his finger bumps against your now swollen clit. with each bump, your thighs jerk and twitch. jeongin can feel you throb against his finger.

his own cock throbs at the sight, touch and smell of you. it's begging to be free–and it will be in due time.

“wanna taste.” he mumbles as he hooks his finger on one side of your panties and pulls the flimsy fabric to the side. if it wasn't for his patience being paper thin, he would’ve ripped them off you. the very sight and smell of you is driving him insane and it hurts. the cold air mixes and hits your slick folds, making you gasp. “holy fuck.” 

you watch your hazy boyfriend lick his lips as if he is about to devour a meal. he brings your hips forward a little more. you buck at the sudden contact of his warm and wet tongue being pressed against your cunt.

“j-jeongin.” you moan out softly. he grabs the hem of your t-shirt, bringing it up to your lips.

“hold this.” he instructs against your folds. you bite down on your t-shirt, the fabric rises up and exposes your soft stomach and breasts.

his tongue is back on your cunt, lapping your slick and core like a dog lapping up water. he sucks and kisses your clit, rubbing the swollen bud occasionally with the tip of his tongue.

he grips onto your ass, pulling you down on his face more. you worry that you might crush him and try to resist but his strength overpowers you. 

hot open mouth kisses on your cunt. jeongin slurping and panting like a dog in heat. his hips bucking in the air as he eats you, gathering your slick on his tongue. he whimpers and moans at the taste, his rough hands keeping all your weight on his face as you crush his skull.

your legs tense around him several times. his tongue slips between your folds and into your core. jeongin is a mess. a panting, pussy drunk mess as he tongue fucks your core until you’re sobbing. 

once confident that you’re going to keep all your weight on him, he removes his hands from your ass. his large hands slide up the softness of your stomach to under your breasts where he grabs them roughly, one in each hand, to squeeze and toy with them.

your moans are muffled by your t-shirt. a damp patch forming from your saliva as you struggle to keep the fabric between your lips. your hands have found their way to jeongin's hair, pulling and tugging at the strands.

the air in the car is thick. the windows misting over with condensation. you don't want to be loud but you want to be at the same time.

the thrill of knowing that you're in public, having you pussy eaten by your boyfriend who is completely pussy drunk and fucked out because of you makes you tingle.

one of jeongin's hands leaves your breast to reach behind you. you hear him fumbling with his jeans, struggling to unbutton and unzip them. he grunts in frustration before lifting his hips up to pull down his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs.

he shivers as his hand wraps around the base of his throbbing cock. he squeezes a few times before rubbing his thick, veiny cock. he treats himself by rubbing his pink head with his thumb, smearing the over flowing pre cum around his sensitive head.

he's a mess. you're a mess. his chin and lips are coated in saliva and slick. your body is hot and coated in sweat. the stimulation of everything is too much for you. you feel light and woozy but you don’t want the pleasure to stop. jeongin tries to time the strokes of his hand with the thrusts of his tongue inside you but he fails quickly, becoming uncoordinated and sloppy.

“not gonna last long. ’m sensitive.” he mumbles. you nod, unable to speak as you feel the same. your stomach is tight, a knot forming very quickly. his tongue leaves your hole to lick between your folds, his nose bumping against your clit.

you're just a sobbing mess. tears spilling for the corners of your eyes. your thighs crushing his skull. hands not knowing where to be placed for stability so you settled with one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the window, leaving a handprint behind in the condensation.

your only thought is how much (and how badly) you want to cum.

jeongin is no different. his cock is hot to the touch. tip sensitive and begging to be inside you. his hand isn't enough for him to feel satisfied and he knows it, but he wants to wait until he gets home to have his way with you.

“close.” he groans. as you open your mouth to talk, your t-shirt falls back down.

“m-me too.. oh fuck, me too.” you kick your head back, succumbing to the pleasure. you rock your hips a little on jeongin's face, a smirk on his face as he watches you lose yourself in the pleasure he's providing.

“you're so fucking hot, yn. look at you riding my face like a good girl.” his words are muffled but it's loud enough for you to hear. you can't respond however, just nod and moan at his words..

“feels good. feels so good, baby. wanna cum.”

“want to cum on my face? make a mess outta me?”

“yes. i do. want to make a mess on you.” you beg.

“go ahead. do it. cum for me, yn.” the coil in your stomach tightens and snaps. your thighs shake as your orgasm hits you hard, knocking the air out of your lungs and making you see stars. you cry out his name like a mantra, jeongin lapping at your core to catch your essence that spills from you.

his hand picks up in pace before soon, his own hips buck and cock throbs as he cums onto his own hand and stomach. slow, languid strokes of his cock to help ride out his high as he licks you clean before the high subsides; leaving you both breathless and exhausted.

you lift yourself up and off his face the best your jelly legs can muster. you look down at him, shivering as that look in his eyes from earlier is still there.

“we need to go home. now.” he instructs in urgency.

“are you ok?” 

“no. i’m not. it still hurts, yn.” you look behind you to see his hand still stroking his cock, which has failed to go soft from his orgasm; but now it's angry. sticky sounds emit from his cock as he uses his own mess to stroke himself.

“jeongin…” you start only to be cut off.

“yn. i don't think you understand the urgency of my situation. if you don't drive home right this second, i am going to drag you onto my lap and fuck you until you can't walk in the morning.” 

you swallow at his words. they go straight to your core. 

“that.. doesn't sound like a bad idea..” you mumble, looking at your, now somewhat sober, boyfriend.

“i don't think you un–”

“no, i understand.” you mumble, removing his hand from his cock. you shimmy down to line yourself up, holding the base and rubbing his tip between your soaked folds. “and i don't mind. we've come this far, so why stop now?”

“...fuck.” he holds onto your waist as you slowly lower yourself onto his member. his size stretches you, and because of your earlier orgasm, you're tighter than usual. 

he hisses as he shieths himself in your tight cunt. the warmth and tightness makes him stop breathing for a nanosecond. he watches his length disappear and become encapsulated with delicious warmth.

“just know–hng, fuck!–just know that you can't go back on your words. it's going to be a long night for you, yn.”

[sillyuin]

Searching you

Genre: hurt/comfort, angts ??, very domestic fluff.

Pairing: Seungcheol x gn!reader.

Warnings: Reader is ill, couple arguments, crying, scoups being a walking green flag.

- Yuin’s note: At this point it is no longer necessary to say that every time I get sick, I write something that completely reflects how I feel.

Seungcheol knows how individual you are and respects that. He understands that you like to do things on your own, how difficult it is for you to ask for help, and even thought he is very proud of you, he will not hesitate to help when the opportunity arises.

However, that day he did not feel very proud. Seungcheol had returned from running some errands and when he entered the dining room, the first thing he saw was an unpleasant surprise. You were slumped over the table, your arms crossed as a pillow, with a thick blanket over your body.

He set the groceries down on the counter and approached, careful not to wake you up, but he barely got closer when you raised your head with clear agitation.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he said, almost in a whisper. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

“Waiting for you…” you replied in a broken tone, looking down at the table.

Seungcheol pressed his lips together with frustration, and when he tried to place his hand on your shoulder, you shook him off a bit roughly, turning your face away to avoid seeing him. But that didn’t stop him.

“y/n,” his voice sounded kind and firm at the same time, but it became steady when you shrugged your shoulders and ignored him. “I’m talking to you, look at me.”

You pushed the chair back with a heavy noise, standing up to face him as if confronting an enemy. Not even his concerned gaze made you tremble; in fact, it might have made you even angrier.

“Where the hell did you go?” you asked, raising your voice slightly.

“I went to buy medicine and something for you to eat,” he replied calmly, trying his best to not pay attention to your irritable behavior.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You took a step forward as if you wanted to intimidate him, but Seungcheol stood his ground.

“I wanted to, but you couldn’t sleep last night because of the fever,” Cheol took a step forward trying to reach out to you; however, you stepped back two paces, curling up a bit under the blankets. He swallowed hard. “You needed to rest.”

“That’s just an excuse,” the sad tone of your voice reached Cheol’s ears like a loud noise, and your tear-filled eyes made his hands tremble in a mix of panic and confusion. “I needed you, and you left me!”

A heavy silence filled the apartment. Seungcheol looked at you with a downcast gaze, unsure of what to do. He felt rejected. He was trying to respect your space, your feelings and your illness. The only thing that mattered to him was you to be okay, even if it meant swallowing his pride and pleasing you.

However, his heart skipped a beat when he felt a familiar weight on his shoulder, as you were wrapping your arms around his waist in a desperate attempt to hug him.

He embraced you gently, placing one arm over your shoulders and using the other to pull the blankets away, gripping your waist to draw you closer to him. Your body was trembling with fever, so weak that you couldn’t even cry; still, you clung to him like the world’s gonna end, resting your face against his shoulder as the tears started to flow by itself.

After a few minutes, you regained your breath and barely pulled back to look into Cheol’s eyes, letting him wipe your face with the sleeve of his sweater. He felt that if he broke the hug, you would too, and kept his hold on as the moment lingered.

“I had a nightmare,” you said, tightening your hands around his torso. “I woke up scared, shaking, and when I saw that you weren’t there, I got angry.”

“I'm sorry,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“No, I'm sorry,” you rested your face back on his shoulder, adjusting the hug a bit. He instinctively did the same. “I got mad, and you were just trying to help. You’re a sweetheart.”

Cheol smiled, leaving a little kiss on your shoulder. “I think the fever went up, your skin is burning and you’re saying weird things.”

A slight whine made him chuckle softly. “Why are you never serious?”

Seungcheol moved back a little, holding your face between his hands, giving you a big smile, and finally kissing you on the forehead.

“Don’t you like how I am?” He raised an eyebrow, making a face that made you laugh.

“No… I love you just the way you are.”

Cheol gave you another peck on the forehead before picking up the blanket from the floor and guiding you toward the bed. He went to the kitchen to fetch some medicine along with a glass of water, and as he returned to the room, you were sitting at the edge of the bed waiting for him.

“you're so stubborn” he said in a resigned tone and huffed, making you laugh. He was happy to see you in that state despite the sickness.

After taking your pills, you curled up in the blankets. Seungcheol sat on the floor, his arms crossed over the bed with his chin resting on them, wanting to stay by your side until he was sure you were asleep, no matter how long it took.

Your eyes slowly opened, and when you saw him, you couldn’t help the shy smile that spread across your face. You reached out your hand towards him and he took it, tenderly kissing your knuckles.

“Thanks for everything,” you closed your eyes again and squeezed his hand. “You really are a sweetheart.”

“You make me one” He smiled to himself as he pecked your knuckles once more. “I love you.”

[p1astr81]

nothing special -fc43

in which: Franco’s flirting with the journalists almost causes him to lose something dear.

pairing: Franco Colapinto x journalist!fem!reader

warnings: angst, fluff (at the very end), Franco being clueless and stupid, borderline emotional cheating, not proof read (sorry!!), use of y/n

an: sorry this is so late I’ve been sick and it’s also exam week. n e way, ty to everyone who has been patiently waiting ♡︎

‧‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Franco was a flirt. It was in his blood. It happened without him even thinking about it. Like an instinct. Everyone was sure that flirting was his fuel, like it was his coffee in the morning.

You always thought his persistent flirting during interviews was quite funny. You would remain professional while he tried every trick in the book to get you to break. It never happened, and it massively intrigued him.

He begun to purposefully flirt with you, and eventually worked up the courage to ask you out.

That was two months ago, and you’d been dating since. You thought your relationship was good, and while it may have been too early to say, you felt secure. Well, up until your conversation with Marie.

Marie, one of your journalist friends, walked along with you through the paddock. “Franco has a serious flirting problem. I thought he would have stopped after I agreed to that date with him but I think if anything, he’s more persistent.” You laughed, but it actually worried you a little. While there wasn’t any threat to your position yet, you felt a looming anxious feeling that your boss would eventually do something about his very public displays.

“Oh that’s just him. He flirts with all of the journalists.” Marie let out a small chuckle. Your face fell, your steps faltered. “What do you mean?” You were hesitant with your inquiries. Her words insinuated a fact you did not want to face. “Well, you didn’t think it was just you, did you? I know you’re dating and all, but before that—and even now—he still flirts with like all the girls.” Marie spoke to you in a tone that suggested the fact was common knowledge. Maybe it was, but you still weren’t aware of it.

You felt totally blind sighted. Betrayal twisted in your gut, swirling the contents of your lunch and threatening to force them back up. “I’ll… I’ll catch up with you later.” You fumbled to excused yourself from the conversation and ran the last few meters to your car.

In the solitude, you didn’t know what to do. Were you to scream? Cry? Curse the air? “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” You chose to be angry, hitting the steering wheel with every word. “How could you be so stupid?” You grip the wheel, your head falling forward to rest your forehead on the top of the faux leather. “Of course this would happen.” You laugh pathetically to yourself. “Of course!” You gasp, tossing yourself back against the seat. Your arms thrown out to the side. “He’s hot. He’s famous now. I’m just a journalist!” You had not realized you started crying until the hot streams steadily flowed down your face. You flipped the visor down to peer at yourself in its mirror. “Why would he want you?” You stare through your own eyes, trying to find an answer to your question, but doubt had already infected every region of your brain and you couldn’t see past it.“Stupid.” You muttered under your breath, and shoved the visor back up.

In silence, you drove yourself back to your hotel. You just wanted to shower the events of the day away, and bury yourself into your notes.

As you were flipping through your notes and rewatching the clips from the prologued media day, your phone began to buzz.

You left him on read. His obliviousness had started to irritate you. It wasn’t fair to you. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t have you and still flirt with other women. It was borderline emotional cheating.

He was one floor away. You could confront him in person, but you had no proof. You had no proof. It hit you then that you were believing Maria’s words without an ounce of proof, just a belief on the base of friendship. You opened a new tab on your laptop, quickly searching Franco’s name. You selected the first video of him that came up, a spark of hope in you that Maria had been lying.

However, that spark quickly diffused. Within the first twenty seconds of the interview, Franco was flirting with the journalist. To make matters worse, she was a journalist you were acquainted with, one you knew he had seen you chat with on numerous occasions.

You were just another journalist. You were nothing special to him.

This time, it wasn’t betrayal that overrode your senses. It was anger that ignited a fire in your stomach. Anger at the audacity. Anger at your own stupidity and obliviousness. Anger at this acquaintance.

You shut the laptop in one forceful shove.

———

Friday came quickly after a tireless sleep. You stood in the media pen as the drivers gave you dull answers to your questions about free practice. It didn’t affect you that much, as your eyes kept drifting to find the boy adorned in his deep blue fireproof shirt.

Often times your eyes only absorbed his bored figure, his eyes darting everywhere but the journalist who was wringing him for answers. The other times though, you’d caught him in the act, his body language unmistakable. The kind of body language that could only be accompanied by flirty words and that charming smile—which only ever made an appearance when he was flirting.

Dread burdened you, weighing heavy on your heart. “You okay?” Alexs body was stretched past the barrier, and he asked the question lowly so the mic wouldn’t pick up his voice. You realized you’d left him in silence for more time than what was considered professional.

Alex and you have gotten closer through your relationship with Franco, nearly close enough for you to comfortably call him a friend.

“Yeah, sorry. Spaced out.” You laughed, trying to brush it off, but the sound came out nervous and laden with the dread that caused your heart to ache.

Alex wasn’t stupid. He’d followed your eyes and seen the disappointment that clouded your expression. He refused to comment on it then and there, only bringing it up to Franco in private.

“Did something happen between you and y/n?” Alex questioned his teammate. They stood together in the back of the garage while the team finished up their duties for the day. “No. Why? Did she say something to you? I think she’s avoiding me.” Franco spoke quickly, hoping to squeeze an explanation out of his teammate.

“She didn’t say anything,” Alex started, to which Franco huffed. “But when she was interviewing me, she was completely zoned in on you, but she looked…” Alex tried to find the word to describe your expression. “Upset? Like with the look on her face, my first thought was that the two of you broke up.”

Franco scoured his memories for whatever event would have caused you to act in such a way. To look at him with such an expression. He could only shrug, completely clueless. “I don’t know. But last night she was making excuses not to come over, and this morning when I asked her if she wanted to eat breakfast together, she made more excuses.” Your distance frustrated Franco. Sure, he saw you in the media pen, and in the paddock, but he had to keep things somewhat professional there. He couldn’t be affectionate.

Alex sighed and clapped Franco on the shoulder. “I think you’re gonna just have to corner her, mate.”

———

It was not his intention to be creepy. But by standing outside what was seemingly a random person’s hotel room, he definitely achieved that.

You rounded the corner of the hotel’s hallways. You were rapidly typing something on your phone, unaware of his presence just a few meters away.

To not startle you completely, he softly called your name. Your footsteps ceased, your eyes wide as they stared at him. After a moment, your expression changed from one of shock, to one of distaste. From where you stood, you dug your keycard from your bag. You ignored him, brushing past him to let yourself into the room.

He stopped the door before it closed on him. “Y/n come on. You’ve been avoiding me all day.” Franco pleaded with you. You laughed bitterly. “Yeah, it’s on purpose.” You muttered, tossing your bag onto the bed. “But why, amor? What have I done?” He followed you with his eyes, watching as you stood as far away from him as possible. “You’ve made me look like a fool!” You exclaimed. Your eyes, glaring at him with a terrifying level of ferocity, were covered with a sheen of tears.

Franco’s expression twisted into a look of confusion, which only fueled your fury. “How- I don’t understand?”

“You’ve been flirting with every other journalist! And everyone sees it. Do you realize how humiliating that is for me?” A tear ran hot and slow down your cheek. You didn’t bother wiping it away.

“Flirting with…” Franco sighs, “the only journalist I flirt with is you.” He took a step forward, but didn’t dare to progress any further as your hand shot up to stop him. You swallowed the knot in your throat. “I was really hoping you’d just own up to it.” You tell him quietly, your disappointment palpable. You took your laptop from the back, typing something quickly. “Tell that to the videos.” You tossed the laptop on the bed to face him. He watched his own face on the screen as he flirted with a woman who wasn’t his girlfriend.

Franco never even realized he’d been flirting.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I had no idea.” He confessed. She laughed at his apology. “No idea? Come on, you can think of a better excuse than that.” She shot back harshly. She crossed her arms over her chest, physically closing herself off from him.

“I’m honest!” He pleaded. “It was fully accidental. I would’ve never done that to you on purpose.” He shook his head with fervor, trying to make her understand. “You remember how I was when I flirted with you! I was a mess, fumbling over my words.” He continued, but it did little to convince her.

She shook her head. “Just leave, Franco.” She instructed, her voice quiet but firm.

He froze. His heartbeat slowing to a dull, stagnant rhythm. His body felt heavy, as if someone replaced all of his blood with lead. “Are you— ending this? breaking up with me?” He shook his head, not wanting to believe it himself.

She considered the question for a moment. “No. But I need time.”

“So… a break?” Franco’s voice cracked.

“I don’t know.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Just go, please.”

“Y/n-“

“Franco.”

The firmness in her voice got his body moving again. The last thing he wanted was to upset her, so he did as she requested. Without another word, he exited her hotel room.

———

It had been week. A long, agonizing, painfully lonely, and miserable week.

He missed her texts. The morning and night ones, and all those in between. Including the daily updates about whatever seemingly mundane activity she was conducting.

He missed her voice. Her laugh. Her jokes.

At least he got to see her face, even if it was from across the paddock. Even if it hurt him. It hurt him to see you. His stomach lurched, a crippling pain blooming inside his stomach at the sight of you. On top of that, it felt like someone had a white-knuckle grip on his heart.

It made him come to the scariest of realizations, one he would never admit this early on. Especially not when things between you two felt over.

To make matters worse, you had to interview him.

“Quite a decent Friday for you and the team. Do you think you can continue the momentum into tomorrow?”

It was terrifying to him, the way you looked right through him. Like he was every other driver here. Like he was nothing special to you. He pushed down all of his feelings, forcing himself to be professional for once.

“Uhm,” unwillingly, his voice cracked. He quickly cleared his throat. “Yeah, definitely. I think the car is well suited for the track, so we’ll definitely try and get through to the last of qualifying tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Franco.” He frowned, usually you’d have more than one question for him. At least three at the minimum. But you’d turned around and started conversing with your camera guy. He supposed it made sense, but it still hurt.

———

Somehow, Franco went the whole weekend without cornering you and forcing you to give you guys a label, whether it be broken up or on a break. He needed a definitive name for what was going on. He needed you to define the boundaries.

So he found you in the paddock club, sitting by yourself with a coffee cup in front of you. Silently, he took the empty seat across from you. You looked up, and took a shaky breath at the sight of him. You tried to stand and bolt out of there but he was quick to grab hold of your hand. “Y/n, please. I just need to know what we are now.” He pleaded, his voice so low that you nearly missed his words.

You glanced at your surroundings. “Can we go somewhere more private?” You felt too exposed to have this conversation here. Too many peering eyes. Franco nodded quickly.

He led you to his driver’s room, the thought to lock the door crossing his mind but he didn’t want to freak you out, so he kept the lock undone.

“I don’t know what we are.” You confessed with a deep sigh. “I know, and that’s killing me.” Franco muttered and sat on the physio bed. “I don’t know if I can talk to you, or text you, or call you, or even look in your direction.” He fiddled with his fingers. Like he said, he wasn’t sure if he could look at you.

You leaned against the wall across from him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You hurt me. You humiliated me. You made me feel like I was worthless. Like I was nothing special to you.” The disclosure wasn’t intended to hurt him, or incite pity in him. You just wanted him to understand.

He nodded. “I know. I know. And I’m so sorry for that. It was fully my fault and I can’t change what I did, and I know that. And you’re so so special to me. More than you know.” It was impossible to describe just how much he cared for you without dropping those three little words on you. “If you want to break up, or want a break, I get it. But I- I don’t want that.” He met your eyes. His big brown eyes silently pleaded with you. His puppy look was always impossible to resist.

You pushed off the wall, stepping to stand in front of him. “I don’t want that either.” You told him honestly. His big brown eyes looked up at you and glimmered with hope. “But it might take me a little time for me to trust you again.” A subtle smile outlined Franco’s lips. “So… we’re still…?” He was hesitant with his words, leaving the labels up to you. “Boyfriend—girlfriend?” You suggested. His smile broadened. He gave a subtle nod.

“Yes.” You answered simply.

[yanderefarm]

Can I request Emil catching one of his maids flirting with us

yandere king emil

cw;; violence, stalking, yandere stuff, manipulation

im gonna post this bc i don't think its bad per-say but i don't know if it fits exactly what you wanted. if you're not satisfied feel free to send your request again!!

i don't really imagine this as the reader being oblivious but more like looking past all the obvious red flags because they thought they had a friend who could understand them better than the other people around them including emil.

also im a whore for rofan manhwa bullshit. please check off "cartoonishly evil maid/noble woman minor love rival" on your bingo cards.

usually emil wouldn't feel threatened by the lower class, obviously you wouldn't be interested in them. except you are.

he notices it first when she comes into your shared bedroom in the morning. she's not the usual maid and the way she goes about pouring the morning tea is atrocious, probably because her eyes are glued to your half dressed body. you smile at her and thank her even though she spilled some of your tea with her gawking. when emil mentions dismissing her for her unacceptable behavior you just brush it off saying she was just nervous.

apparently that day the normal maid was sick. and she's still sick a week later. you're currently in the garden trying your hand at some embroidery but you're not very good at it. emil watches from his office window as that maid comes up and offers to help you. you are too excited to accept her help, can't you see she just wants something from you? he finds himself hoping she accidentally pricks you with the needle so he can have a good excuse to kill her. she didn't.

then there's the bath incident. usually he likes taking baths together but you wanted to be alone. that would be fine if he hadn't just watched that annoying maid slip into the bath room. he finds himself following her. the bath room is full of steam as you soak in the hot water making it hard for emil to see anything exactly. but he'd recognize your relaxed form anywhere. the maid steps through the thick steam and asks if you want her to apply some new oils to your hair. its something she found at a market and its supposed to be relaxing lavender. its technically her job to do these tasks so emil can only watch in frustrated silence as she gets to run her fingers through your hair. you smell like her for the rest of the night and god it makes him angry.

every time he sees you with her his stomach twists in anger. he can't be angry with you, you're a kind person and you've proven it time and time again. but this maid. she doesn't deserve your kindness, she doesn't deserve to gently touch your arm, she doesn't deserve to laugh with you. he's asked you what you think of her and you tell him it's so nice to have a friend and how apparently she was born in your home kingdom before moving here. it makes him want to kill her even more. but he holds back because you're just so happy.

finally she goes too far. you're outside excitedly talking to her about a new book you read. you showed him that one too but he didn't share your excitement for the story. not like she was. he wanted to run over there, to run her through with his sword. but he couldn't stop it. he watched helplessly as she touched your arm again and with a blushing face she shyly confessed her feelings. he watched her try to kiss you. he watched the way your face changed from shock to horror. your eyes darted around until they landed on him, you always knew he was nearby if you needed him.

apparently she'd lied about being from your home country to get closer to you. apparently she'd learned your native tongue at another job and used it to manipulate you. apparently she heard a rumor that you would take concubines and she saw it as her chance to climb the ranks. emil was standing behind her, his blade through her chest and his eyes dark with anger. you stood there with tears in your eyes looking at him with so much hurt.

emil isn't lenient with maids that flirt with you anymore. they get a warning from the head maid and if they continue the behavior then emil reserves the right to punish as he sees fit. its not always violent, sometimes he just sentences them to jail for 10 years.

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lando norris

how the other half lives lando norris x older!reader rating — 18+ (sex, coarse language, age gap) —requested by lovely anon, thank you for the wonderful idea.

"merry christmas… hello!" lando sang as he guided you through the wide open front door of his parents' home. 

the holiday festivities had already begun by the echo of christmas tunes filtering through the open plan along with the rich smell of a delicious home-cooked lunch inviting you in. 

“we’re in here, love!” his mum sang back from down the hallway, every step getting you closer to all the cheerful voices melding into a sound of pure joy. 

that sound truly summed up lando’s family. they were joy personified. you had met them a couple of times in passing, mostly at races or whenever lando had a formal event to attend. they were always by his side, supporting and cheering him on and you adored how much they loved their son. 

you hadn’t been to their home, lando's childhood home. of course you wondered what it would look like, curious to know how the man you had fallen in love with grew up. the two of you were from vastly different backgrounds but all was fair in love and war, no preconceived notions or judgements — only mutual respect and a connection that couldn't be ignored. but you were curious to know how the other half lived, failing to suppress a giggle when you bypassed the study. 

"golden boy," you whispered, pointing to the small shrine dedicated to lando and his career that was set up in what looked to be his father’s office, earning yourself a gentle shove.

"oh god… that's embarrassing," he muttered quietly with a smirk as you took a couple of strides in, running your fingers over the karting trophies all lined up in a perfect row.

“it’s cute. they’re so proud of you.”

all lando could do was smile and hide his blush. he was the twinkle in their eye and all you wanted was for them to like you. 

your relationship with lando was somewhat untraditional, being five years his senior. age is nothing but a number, he had said when you first met through mutual friends on a holiday in mallorca, the connection between the two of you growing instantaneously. he was the charming brit that your friends had warned you about, single and destined to fall head over heels for you — and he did. lando couldn’t believe his luck when you waltzed into the villa, a sight for sore eyes and a smile that made his heart clench with something resembling love. 

the age difference wasn’t a problem at first, most of his friends were older so it made sense that he would blend into the group without a second glance. it wasn’t until the perfect spanish bubble burst and you found yourself cuddled up in his arms, reuniting after a couple of weeks apart and feeling the weight of it all on your shoulders. his life was chaotic, an excuse to be perpetually young — adrenaline filled and without real life responsibilities. 

“i just don’t want you to get sick of me because i have a 9-5 job and a mortgage. it’s boring adult stuff that gets me down and you're doing what every kid dreams of. we’re from very different worlds — god, what would your parents think of you dating a 30 year old…” you’d barely taken a breath when lando rested his hand on your cheek with a sigh. 

“there’s a reason why our worlds collided and i wanna know where it takes us. i'm falling in love with you and i think you are too so let’s see what happens, yeah? plus, you’re like a dream girl to take him to the parents — they’re gonna love you.”

and from day forth, you put those fears behind you and focused on the beautiful moments happening right before your eyes. spending the holidays with lando and his family was a dream, all of the sleepless nights worrying about what they thought was wasted when all you needed to do was trust the man you loved.

“ah, my two favourite people,” lando’s father greeted as he bundled lando up in a hug and pulled you in next with a grin the size of the moon, “so uncle rodney is making cocktails and you can pop any presents under the tree in the living room — lando can show you.”

“thanks so much again for inviting me, adam,” you whispered, earning a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder, “of course, love — we’re glad you were able to join us.” 

lando clasped your hand and showed you the way. the house seemed to go on forever until finally spotting the biggest christmas tree you had ever seen, “wow.” 

“we go big in the norris household — not just with the tree,” he motioned towards the tower of presents, mostly labelled with his sweet niece's names.

"it’s so beautiful," you admired before kneeling down and carefully placing the presents you two bought under the tree, spending a little extra time inspecting the one that had a little card hanging off the side with your name scribbled in lando’s distinctive handwriting.

"oi, behave yourself," lando scolded playfully, catching you red-handed shaking the small box with a guilty smirk.

"what are you gonna do? tell on me?" you teased, peering up at him with puppy dog eyes and playfully poking at his hip. lando gently captured your wrist and helped you up from the floor before dragging you in close for a hug, "maybe you won't get your present from me now. how would you like that?" 

your face fell into a pout as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, "okay fine," you surrendered, rolling your eyes at lando’s triumphant grin. 

"hmm, that's what i thought, darling."

—

the norris clan were an absolute riot and lando was spot on with his prediction about everyone being too drunk to take any notice of the two of you. once everyone got their chance to chat to lando about racing and what was in store for the off-season, they went back to telling hysterical family stories and reminiscing about the old days. 

every time someone new told a story, you were blessed with a glimpse into the person lando was before you met him — all the little stories from his childhood and teen years really enriched the emotional side of your relationship and for the first time, it felt like both the physical and emotional sides had caught up with one another. you’d never felt emotionally closer and it solidified all of the feelings and conversations the two of you had been having lately. what did the future hold? where did you see yourselves in five years? so many of those questions fumbling around in your head were answered just by sitting and listening to his family. 

all you wanted was to feel like you and lando could happily spend the rest of your lives together and for the people closest to him to approve of that decision. the car ride home was quiet — lando humming the christmas song stuck in his head while you watched the twinkling city lights of london off in the distance.

"my parents really love you.”

you smiled to yourself while hanging your coat over the back of a kitchen stool, heart pumping a little fast than it was before.

“you think?”

lando nodded, smiling as he leaned against the counter in your shared apartment and admired the way your nose scrunched up, unsure of his genuinity. you were glowing under the warm christmas tree lights stretching up the walls, eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope that his words were true. 

“i know they do. so do my sisters. and my brother… everyone loves you,” lando stepped forward and pressed your hips against the kitchen counter, sliding you easily up onto the surface. “—but i love you the most.” 

“love you the most too, baby.” you whispered before wrapping your legs and arms loosely around his body, pulling him in for a long awaited kiss. 

the two of you had been on your best behaviour all day, but seeing lando playing chasey with his nieces and making them laugh until their little faces were red made it really hard not to drag him to a quiet corner and beg for him to give you one of your own. he knew what you wanted, what you needed, making quick work of your underwear and skirting the thin material down your legs while you tugged on the buckle of his black belt. 

“so ready for me,” lando teased as his fingertips glided between your shaky thighs, embarrassingly easy if it weren’t for the fact he always had you like that. he fucking lived for having you dripping for him.

“mmm, need you to be ready for me too,” you played with a couple of quick strokes of his cock, earning a loud, raspy moan in your ear. it sent chills down your spine as he grasped your hand and took over, haphazardly lining himself up and nudging forward with a grunt.

“yes,” you whimpered, tightening your grip around lando’s shoulders as he lifted you slightly, guiding your hips in time with his, desperately chasing his high. 

“feels so fucking good,” he groaned into your mouth, as your head tilted back in pleasure. 

“lando?” you half moaned, half asked as his eyes squared with yours. “yeah?” 

“when do you think we should tell your parents that we’re trying to have a baby?” 

lando’s eyebrows furrowed as he continued to slide into you with a pace quicker than any fast lap he’d ever clocked, “fuck, baby,” he groaned, trying to hold his composure, “um, that’d be a long conversation about responsibility and marriage probably — they would want to meet your parents…” 

“are they super religious?” you were panting, lips only centimetres from his. 

“we have to stop talking about my parents while we’re… while this is happening,” lando groaned, face screwed up as he picked up the pace again —hips snapping deliciously in sync. 

“god, yeah, sorry, sorry!” you muttered, stifling a laugh as his hot breath washed over you in a chuckle. 

“lemme try and give you one before we start telling people, yeah?” he breathlessly whispered into your ear, pressing kisses along your collarbone with a smile, “you’re so bad…” 

you sighed, “i’m definitely on the naughty list this year.” 

“absolutely,” lando chuckled and gave you a soft kiss before getting to work on your ultimate christmas gift.

a/n — soooo keen to keep adding to this little story. let me know what you think!! and thank you all so much for getting involved in the end of (f1) season sale. it has been so fun writing for you guys this past month and hopefully i will be able to finish it off over the next couple of weeks but this fic felt like the best way to say goodbye to the formula one season ✨

[dooberific]

I absolutely love your writing!! Idk if you're open for request, but if you do, can I request doctor!reader with Harumasa? He loves to go to infirmary not only he can pretend to be sick but also just to see them

Double trouble cause I thought it sounded like a fun combination. Does using a 1988 song name as the title make me sound old? 🤔

❝ 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘊𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 ❞

harumasa x afab!doctor!reader

genre: fluff, I projected a little bit into this???

summary: if being in love with your cute doctor wasn’t bad enough, she’s completely clueless when it comes to romance

wc: 1.6k

The end of your pen tapped thoughtfully against your plush lower lip as you skimmed your notes. Once. Twice. Your eyes dart to the opened paper file on the counter beside you.

 Even cracked it was a solid two inches high and crammed full of health histories, specialty consult results and prescription sheets all bound haphazardly with what looked like ties from a bread bag. You really needed to get an actual binder to hold it all, but as of now you had other problems to address.

“Well,” you swiveled your chair around as you clicked your pen, eyes still skimming your intake sheet before you looked up with a smile, “Good news is nothing seems to be wrong. Well, let me rephrase that, wrong when compared to your baseline.” 

It was an important differentiation to make when you were dealing with one of your most tasking patients. In your two years of clinic practice in the city you had never needed to spend a series of days pouring over a patient file, heck, even before you graduated and were staged as a resident in the clinic in the Outer Ring it wasn’t so extensive. 

Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome was a bad actor, and Asaba Harumasa seemed to be its favorite role to haunt. 

He coughed pitifully, a hand splayed over his chest as he shook his head. “Are you sure, Doc? My body’s aching all over and my head feels funny, and I—,” he coughed again, “can’t seem to shake this cough.” 

You frowned, scribbling another note on your papers. “Have you been taking all your medications as indicated?”

“Just as the doctor ordered…actually,” a pensive expression decorated his face as he fisted the fabric of his work shirt, “maybe I have a deficiency in something, I think I ran out of some of my vitamins.” 

You perked up immediately, flipping quickly to his laundry list of medication and supplements. “Which one have you been missing? A? C? K?”

“I think it was vitamin you.”

“Oh.” You pulled your prescription pad off the desk. “I’m going to write you an order for  Vitamin U. Try adding some cruciferous veggies to your diet, leafy greens, broccoli, stuff like that. Call me if it starts giving you stomach problems.”

You tore the slip off your pad as you extended it to him, the paper decorated in your curling and messy script. 

“Do you need a work excuse?”

Should he just quit? This was the question he asked himself every time he stepped out the door of the clinic back onto the street, paper bag of medication in his hand. 

White coat syndrome was a very real affliction, though his heart wasn’t racing and his blood pressure wasn’t spiking because he was anxious. After the fourth visit you just assumed it was his baseline response to see his pulse spike randomly through the exam, after all, his syndrome mainly seemed to impact his heart and lungs. 

What you didn’t know was that wasn’t his baseline, nor was it a mutation of his syndrome not documented by his past physicians. It was simply a biological response to something else you conveniently seemed to not notice: the raging interest he had in you.

Rest assured he was absolutely mortified when he figured it out himself, laying on his back staring at the ceiling in the dark as he realized he was enthralled by the very idea of you. Your intelligence, your nimble hands, the way you tapped your pen against your lips when met was a challenge you hadn’t quite deciphered, your warm smile.

It wasn’t a complete lie when he would tell you he felt feverish, or that his stomach felt sick and his heart was racing, he felt all those things with horrifying clarity tenfold when your hand pressed against his forehead after noting aloud that his skin seemed flush and clammy. 

Was it crossing a line to be flirting with your doctor? Definitely, he was sure he was toeing some doctor-patient professional relationship line, but if he ended up in someone else’s care later then there really wasn’t anything holding him back. 

But he was growing increasingly convinced that if you weren’t intentionally playing dumb that you might be a little thick when it came to the nuanced science of flirtation because he had shifted from casual to nearly outright and you never batted an eye.

How else could you have misinterpreted his texts from last week? He was half-giddy with excitement, sure he had you this time.

I miss you.

Your appointment isn’t until next week, you didn’t miss anything. Have a good night :)

It haunted him nearly as much as the day he forgot his work excuse and asked you to text it to him, how proudly he had flipped the phone screen to show Tsukishiro until she squinted and asked, “Why do you have heart emojis around your doctor’s name?”

A devastating blow to his ego. But so was every failed attempt to catch your eye. 

“Do you have an inhaler? Cause you just took my breath away.”

“Hold on, I’ll grab one from the cart. You’re supposed to carry your own inhaler, Mr Asaba!” You scolded, disappearing for a moment before tossing him an inhaler. 

“You look a little under the weather yourself, Doc. Sure you aren’t deficient in vitamin M E?”

“Ah, I didn’t put as much makeup on today.” You cupped your cheeks with your hands thoughtfully. “I feel fine though, thanks for your concern.” 

“I’m no organ donor, but I’d love to give you my heart.”

“Your medical condition prevents you from joining the organ donation program.” You didn’t even bother to turn around when you acknowledged him.

“I think my heart just skipped a beat when I looked at you.”

“You’re on a medication that regulates heart rhythm, should I write you a cardiology referral?”

He went to text you again as he walked home for the evening. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. You just weren’t getting it, or maybe you were just too kind to tell him you weren’t interested or even that you had a boyfriend already on his numerous visits. Maybe he should just give you some space?

But maybe that would be cruel when you were standing on the sidewalk waiting for the light to change, mascara smeared down your cheeks as you sniffled. He pocketed his phone.

“Hey Doc, you alright?” 

You tensed, head swiveled in his direction before you quickly turned your face away, hands swiping at your cheeks before wiping them on your dark scrubs hastily.

“Oh, hey Mr. Asaba.” He frowned at your attempt at a cheerful tone, your voice still wavering from your tears before you cleared your throat. “You, uh, don’t have to call me Doc when the clinic is closed.” 

“And you don’t have to call me Mister when I’m not sitting on your exam table.” He retorted, catching the little quirk at the corner of your lips as they quivered in a small smile.

“Want me to walk you home? It’s kinda late.” 

“No, but thank you.” You peered over your shoulder towards the restaurant just behind you. You gripped your bag tighter, inching closer to where he stood beside you on the curb.  “Actually, would you mind..?” 

He didn’t have to ask you what was wrong, within the first five minutes of your walk you had apologized to him multiple times, started crying again, and spilled your heart out.

Six bad dates in the span of a couple weeks came to a head over a plate of chicken parm, your date kicking back as he declared you to be dull, hopeless, slow, and much uglier in person than your dating profile picture (which was your clinic profile photo). 

“He said that I “couldn’t take a hint”, whatever that’s supposed to mean!” You cried indignantly before you turned to him, eyes puffy and wet from your tears. 

“Am I that bad?”

He sucked a breath between his teeth. “Well, not to play the devil’s advocate but I’ve been flirting with you for weeks and you didn’t notice.” 

You stopped dead in your tracks. “What?!”

He held up his hands defensively, but before he could say anything your head had already hung low, shuffling your clinic sneakers on the dirty sidewalk outside your apartment.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice was small as your shoulders sank. “I’m not very good at stuff like this.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers grazing his choker. “I noticed, but it’s fine. You just need things to be a little more straightforward.”

He took a deep breath, clasping his hands together as he pointed at you. “I think you’re very pretty and charming in your weird doctor-y kind of way, so I would like to take you out for dinner sometime. Like, romantically.”

He was sure you gave yourself whiplash for how quickly your head snapped up, eyes wide. You brushed your tousled hair back from your face, cheeks flushing brightly enough he could see them burning under the streetlights.

“Oh, okay….when?”

“Tomorrow after you get off? I’m dreaming of beer and fried chicken if you aren’t opposed.”

“Of course not!” 

He was a little taken aback by how aggressively you answered, your hands clasping around one of his as if he was about to dematerialize before your very eyes.

“Great, then I will see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Doc—I mean, (y/n).”

“Good night to you as well.”

He turned to leave. He was practically screaming inside like a teenage girl you just secured a prom date, a new lightness to his step in the wake of his victory.

“Harumasa!”

He paused in his step, head whipping around to face you. You still stood on the stoop, a smile plastered across your face like he hadn’t seen before, one that lit your eyes up and dimpled your cheek.

“Thank you!”

He gripped his chest over his heart as it flipped wildly in his chest. His grin was pained when he looked up at you. 

“Doc, I might actually need emergency care this time--,”

Rey 2024

[kedreeva]

i have an odd animal husbandry question you seem like you might know the answer to, your comment about stan reminded me - ive been thinking about getting into backyard chickens for a couple years and the thing that makes me hesitate most is hard culling. im confident in my ability to put down an animal thats sick, or infirm, or for food, but for like, temperament? or for poor egg layers? just sticks on me for some reason. i think it would feel like telling them theyre not a good enough chicken for me. how to you process this part of animal husbandry?

This will be a little long, so bear with me.

If you want to keep use animals (animals bred for a purpose, to be used for a purpose instead of kept as a companion), you gotta get good with the idea that they are here for you under the agreement that you will only keep them as long as you need to. When you take them on, you are agreeing that you will release them to whatever their next life holds for them as soon as you do not need (or they've completed) their service. Maybe for some people that's just release to the biological cycle of life, for others maybe there's an eternal rest, for others maybe it's reincarnation. For soft culling that's just moving to the next household. Whatever it is, you are allowing them to pass to it in as humane a way as you can, and ultimately it is the single greatest kindness and gratitude you can show to them, to give them proper care while they are here and allow them to end with little to no pain- something animals outside of our care rarely get. You are thanking them for their service, and letting them go. Worth does not even begin to factor into it.

It is not easy to take a life. It is NEVER easy, regardless of reason, regardless of excuse, regardless of anything. It is ALWAYS heavy, and it will always hurt you. And it should. I am grateful for the weight of taking a life, because it reminds me that it is serious, and reminds me to take the production of life seriously, because at some point any life I cause to come into existence via breeding animals will have to end.

On top of that, some things ARE heath related that do not seem health related. Aggression in domestic animals IS A HEALTH ISSUE. A cock is aggressive because he is stressed about intruders, containment, mating threats, resource guarding, etc. Even with the best of care this can be true, and unfortunately for you both, this means the animal is not suited for domestic keeping. The same goes for animals (in any stripe of use, but particularly private care) that display repetitive stress behaviors from normal, proper captive care (for example, mice that are food chewing are stressed and should be culled from lines where possible because they are not having a good time). You are doing them a disservice to keep them in a stressful situation you cannot change because of their biology. It has nothing to do with not being good enough for you, and everything to do with producing/keeping animals that do not experience that stress in captive care and releasing the rest from duty because they will not be okay in any captive care.

For some issues (poor egg laying, for example) you CAN pet-home culls instead of hard culling. It's harder to do, you will spend time finding people who just want pets that don't intend to breed or don't care, but it can be done. However!! Is the bird just slow at producing eggs because her genetics say that's how fast eggs get produced, or is she producing slowly because there's a health problem that isn't immediately evident? Is her ovary damaged, is her reproductive tract infected, does she have a disorder that prevents her from processing food correctly so she can't get what she needs to produce eggs as fast as normal? Are you setting the bird up for failure (and someone else for heartbreak/money troubles) sending them to a pet home? Is it something which could lead to pain/suffering down the road if she's allowed to continue? Hard to say without spending a lot of money. Are you willing to risk your reputation, if someone takes a surprise illness/genetic issue down the road badly ("Oh THAT breeder sold me a sick/unhealthy bird/bird with bad genetics"), and compromise your ability to find homes for healthy birds down the road?

You are okay with culling a bird for food- there's nothing that says you cannot eat the bad temperaments, the poor egg layers, the one with genetic issues, and so on. And if you can tell early enough that you, personally, can't make use of the meat, there are plenty of folks with other animals that would LOVE feed for those animals. Take yourself down to a local reptile expo, grab the business cards for a few people who have big snake babies (retics, burmese, anaconda, redtail boa, even BP) that say they'd be interested in taking culls, OR look up local bird of prey rescues in your area (or reptile rescues or big cat rescues if there are any) and ask if they'd be interested in culls. There is ALWAYS someone that can use what you can't/won't. You may have to jump through some hoops to donate to some kinds of rescues (health testing for example), but it's an option you can look into if you want to combat the feelings you're talking about.

As a last note- and I am saying this gently and holding your face in both hands: do not anthropomorphize animals in reality.

In YOUR eyes, you are culling them an illness or an injury or for food or for temperament or for poor quality or or or---- it does not matter to the animal why you are culling them. A death is a death, to them. They are here, and then a thing happens, and they are no longer. They do not understand life or death or afterlife or reincarnation or that they are here for a purpose or not a purpose or literally anything you as a human might impose upon them in your head. They live while they are alive, and then they are not. They do not "want to live" in the "avoid death" sense because they do not necessarily understand "death" as a future concept. Instincts that have worked well to preserve life have been encoded in their DNA to one degree or another, they can and do respond to avoid pain, but with little exception (like... maybe elephants and dolphins and a crows and a few others), it's unlikely that they understand the connection between doing those things and being alive/avoiding death.

So while TO YOU it may feel like telling the bird they are not good enough, and TO ME it feels like allowing the bird to move on in peace... the bird doesn't know either way, and honestly the reason hardly matters. It is alive in the present, and one way or another it will not be alive someday, and you are responsible for making sure that the one way under your control is so peaceful or quick that the bird hardly knows it is no longer alive. The bird doesn't care about (and cannot understand) the why of their death, any more than they understand their pain/stress and how it relates medical assistance; it's why animals often freak out, refuse meds, etc. They don't hate the vet or the car or the carrier or anything- they just simply don't understand human stuff and react according to instincts/what they do understand. If you treat an animal like the animal it IS rather than the person you imagine it to be, you will find yourself with a lot better relationship with them during life, and be able to frame their passing a bit better later on.

[dollishmehrayan]

HOW BATBOYS TAKE CARE OF SICK!READER ── .✦

a/n: this was requested by a anon (here) I hope they get better though but Lowkey flu season is kinda in but I haven’t gotten a fever or flu or cold all year surprisingly but last time this time around my birthday I was in bed because of the same flu too 😭

(Tags: batboys x sick!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Response: Bruce is not the type to show a lot of outward emotion, but when it comes to his S/O being sick, he’s all business. He’ll immediately take control of the situation.

What He Does: He makes sure you have all the proper medicine, checks with the best doctors in Gotham, and ensures that you rest. You’ll wake up to a tray with hot tea, some soup, and a blanket tucked in around you.

Care Style: He’s quiet but thoughtful. He’ll check your temperature often and make sure you’re hydrated. He may even work late into the night, but he’ll sneak into your room occasionally to check on you.

Humor: If you’re extra strong and act like your not sick, he might raise an eyebrow and make a deadpan joke about how you’re not allowed to go vigilante when sick.

“I didn’t take you for a hero when you’re running a fever, but I’ll make sure to add it to your file.”

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Response: Dick is the opposite of Bruce when it comes to showing his care. He’s incredibly affectionate and wants to make you as comfortable as possible.

What He Does: He’ll keep a stash of your favorite comfort foods and drinks on hand. You’ll find him sitting by your side, doing anything to cheer you up. He might even bring in a portable DVD player or set up your favorite show, just to keep you entertained.

Care Style: He’s a nurturing caretaker. Dick is constantly checking in with you, holding your hand, and making sure you’re feeling okay. He might even tell you stories to distract you from how miserable you feel.

Humor: His humor comes out when you’re feeling better. He might tease you about how dramatic you were when you had to stay in bed.

“I know you're sick, but I think you might have been faking it with that ‘I’m dying’ act. I’m pretty sure I’m more dramatic than you.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Response: Jason is very protective, especially when you’re sick. His initial reaction will be pure panic (he's not a fan of seeing you vulnerable), but he quickly shifts into overdrive mode, focusing on getting you comfortable.

What He Does: He’ll get super practical: medicine, blankets, food, making sure you’re hydrated, and then he’ll sit with you, watching over you. He’s not one to baby you too much, but he’ll definitely make sure you’re pampered.

Care Style: Jason can be tough and blunt, but when you're sick, he’s extremely attentive. He’ll help you with everything from bringing food to checking on your temperature, and he’ll hover over you with little complaints, even if he’s clearly trying to hide his concern.

Humor: Jason’s humor is very dry when you’re sick. He’ll joke about you using the flu as an excuse to avoid doing anything.

“Not like you’d be any help with the bad guys while you’re over here acting like you’re on your deathbed.”

“I’m dying, Jason!”

“I’m still going to make you soup, but you better make a full recovery before I let you get dramatic again.”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Response: Tim is a caretaker by nature, and if you’re sick, he’s going into full research mode. Expect him to be the most methodical about it, making sure you get the best medicine and a recovery plan.

What He Does: Tim will make sure to check your symptoms, research flu remedies, and put together a detailed plan to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. You’ll get healthy snacks, warm blankets, and an endless supply of your favorite teas.

Care Style: He’s very hands-on. Tim will likely be the one to prep your medicine doses, change your sheets, and even do some light chores so you can rest. If you need something, he’ll already know what it is.

Humor: Tim’s humor comes out in gentle teasing. He might make fun of how dramatic you’re being, but always in a loving way.

“You’re seriously not going to drink the tea I made? I mean, it’s not like I researched five different remedies or anything.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Response: Damian’s reaction to you being sick is a mix of irritation (because he doesn't like seeing you unwell) and a deep sense of duty. His pride might keep him from outwardly showing how concerned he is, but he’s actually very sweet when he’s worried.

What He Does: He’s the one who will give you strict instructions on how to recover faster, sometimes sounding like a miniature doctor. He might be a little bossy, but it’s coming from a place of wanting you to get better quickly.

Care Style: He’ll keep checking on you, ensuring that you’re resting and following his orders. He might even hold a glass of water up to your mouth, but don’t expect much coddling.

Humor: If you argue with him about taking the medicine or following his advice, he’ll roll his eyes, but there’s a soft spot in him that he won’t admit.

“You are not allowed to leave the bed. You will be much more useful as a fully recovered individual.”

“I’m fine, Damian.”

“No. I will call the League of Assassins to make sure you stay in bed if necessary.”

OVERALL TRAITS FOUND IN THEM ── .✦

Comforting: They’re all deeply caring, but their ways of expressing it vary based on their personality.

Teasing: There’s an element of teasing and dry humor, especially when you’re feeling a little better.

Protectiveness: All of them become especially protective when you’re under the weather. They want you to rest, and while they may not show it, they’re worried about you.

Little Gestures: Whether it’s bringing you tea, sitting quietly with you, or making you laugh, each of them will express their care in unique ways.

[tossawary]

At the end of "Fullmetal Alchemist", Ed Elric quits the military, has given up his ability to "play god", and is (as he has been since he burned his fucking house down as a tweenager) homeless, disabled, and crashing at the Rockbell place to help his very sick brother recover.

And it's easy and funny to imagine Edward Elric essentially becoming the house husband of successful and innovative automail mechanic Winry Rockbell (and later a stay-at-home dad). Small family businesses are pretty much always a mess of needing an extra hand just to answer phones and the mail, to schedule appointments, to deliver and pick up parts, to organize stock, to "just hold this for a second for me", and so on. Pinako is not getting any younger and could use someone to cook dinner and fix the roof while she rests her back!!! Winry is busy!!!

There is also always a lot to do in a rural community, so I'm sure that Ed would find another hobby in the absence of alchemy and could turn it into a gig if necessary, if he really doesn't like automail. He has a lot of skills that he could potentially turn towards an income. I've also generally assumed that Ed made a pretty decent amount of money as a State Alchemist and still has some generous savings on that front.

But I was also thinking that it would be kind of funny if being a State Alchemist came with incredible retirement benefits. Like, the military wants to lure people in with wealth and power and resources - and then make alchemists desperate enough to keep these things that they become walking weapons of war, commit horrible crimes against humanity in the name of "research", and/or resort to human transmutation and become viable sacrifices. Ed never had to worry about getting kicked out (and presumably losing his benefits) because he was a perfect human sacrifice from the get-go (although he didn't know this). I'm guessing a lot of State Alchemists were never actually able to retire between dying in wars, failing out of the program (the brass finding excuses to save money! Bosses are always cheap!), getting arrested for speaking out or actually getting caught publicly doing bad shit, and being murdered for their crimes against humanity.

But, in theory, maybe the State Alchemist retirement benefits were absolutely incredible if you could somehow survive long enough or get permission for an early, "honorable" retirement, because King Bradley (who let's say set up this financial bait) somewhat reasonably assumed that Father would completely destroy the country before he'd ever have to pay out a pension. Which means that Ed could be out of the military for years and somehow still costing Roy Mustang a lot of money.

[remlionheart]

Hello beautiful

Can I put in a request where Megumi and reader both have a partner but are fully attracted to each other and Megumi of course plays it stoic, indifferent etc. but then something happens( I haven’t figured out what event exactly, maybe they get drunk at a party?I’ll leave it up to you 🤍) and they succumb to their needs( a little coercion from Megumi oops) and Megumi is just so pussy drunk, whiny, non sensical blabbing mess and reader baby traps him 🥴🥴

I just need Megumi so bad, he plagues my mind every second of the day… I need therapy and Jesus. Thank you if u decide to go with it, love everything you do 🤍🤍🤍

Hi pretty ♡ Sorry to say - no Jesus here, but maybe this can be therapy for both of us bc I’ve been thinking about this ask heavily since I got it. And what better time to start a depraved lil drabble than at midnight on the night of a full moon? 🌙✨

((as always, all characters are aged up to 21+, if u don’t enjoy that feel free to scroll along ♡ all trigger warnings are in the request itself, lemme know whatcha think, luv u ✩࿐࿔ ))

⋆˙⟡MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Megumi’s new girlfriend was sweet, kind, cute. Always by his side no matter what and tonight was no exception.

She was smiling at you with her hand wrapped delicately over his arm, asking you how you’d met your date… who was also, at your side and wrapped around your arm. He was cluelessly bantering back and forth with her while you and Megumi exchanged the same pointed look.

It was subtle, the way his blue eyes lingered on your boyfriend’s hand placement, watching him gently squeeze your hip as he laughed at a joke that two of you had missed entirely.

You'd only been been dating this most recent fling for a few weeks - it was hardly anything to be jealous of, but the fact Megumi had noticed at all gave a sick part of you satisfaction. It was an unspoken rivalry you had with him, one that you typically found yourself on the losing end of. He’d fuck someone, so you would too. He’d date someone, so you would too. He’d show up to this stupid fucking party with a date, so you would too.

It was the same pitiful dance that you'd been doing for the last year and a half, your feelings for him always right on the tip of your tongue but never at the right time.

Watching his girlfriend rest her head on his shoulder as the four of you continued on with your mindless banter was your own personal hell and yet, you said nothing. Instead, mirroring them, clinging onto your own date harder as you pretended to care about whatever work story was being tossed around.

The night carried on like this for the next hour or so as the once small house party started to evolve into something rowdier. The music getting louder and the living room getting more and more crowded as you knocked back three more drinks.

You were dizzy, trying not to lose your balance while you excused yourself from your group to go venture upstairs in search of a bathroom. Your boyfriend had offered to come with you, but you insisted that you were alright, shooing him away with a smile as you told him to go get another drink.

He seemed to be enjoying himself and you didn’t want that to end just because of your pathetic urge to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want you back.

Your footsteps came to a clumsy pause, a small, drunken laugh escaping you as you entered the bathroom and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your red dress was shorter than you remembered it being when you left, your hair just as perfectly disheveled as your thoughts. You steadied yourself before taking a seat, letting the music from downstairs provide you with a comfortable sense of privacy.

You had just washed your hands and were in the middle of throwing your hair into a bun when the door opened unexpectedly. Your ankle almost sprained from how quickly you’d whipped around, your heart stalling in your chest as Megumi looked back at you with the sound of the lock latching behind him.

“The hell are you doing, Fushiguro?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms folding over his chest as he rested his back against the door. “Since when do you date coworkers?”

You almost laughed you were so stunned, your posture straightening a bit as you continued to keep your attention focused on your reflection and not on him. “Since when do you care who I date?”

“I don’t,” he shrugged, “just don’t want to hear you complain about it later when things don’t work out.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a stupid smile at how annoyingly apathetic he had to be at all times. “And you felt it was necessary to follow me into a bathroom to let me know that?” You countered, finally turning to face him.

It was the first time all night that you’d seen his stoic demeanor start to waver.

His eyes narrowed as he raised his brow at you, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “You’re drunk.” He quipped, taking a slow step towards you. “Just because your boyfriend’s careless enough to let you go running around by yourself doesn’t mean I am.”

Your throat was suddenly dry at how close he was to you, his tidal wave eyes flooding your senses as they dragged down to your lips.

“Your girlfriend’s downstairs.” You reminded him, desperately trying to ignore the heat that was gathering at your center.

“I know,” he breathed, his hand traveling up to the back of your neck as he held you in place. “But you’re right here.”

“Megumi…” Your voice nearly trembled, your insides catching fire at the feeling of his lips grazing yours. “We can’t…”

Your protest was hardly convincing though - not with the way your body was having its own private conversation with his. Practically begging to be touched as he wedged his knee between your thighs just to see how much temptation you could withstand.

He knew you wanted this. Knew that you thought about it just as much as he did, if not more. You’d always followed him around like a lost puppy. Always mirrored whatever he did like your intentions weren’t glaringly obvious. He’d been fighting to restrain himself for the last year and a half. Did everything he could to not succumb to the carnal urges that plagued him every time you showed up to his house in the shortest sundress he’d ever seen. He kept himself busy with other girls - lied to himself and pretended that it wasn’t you he was thinking about when he closed his eyes and thrusted into them. But you were everywhere, not just tonight and not just right now, but always. A constant thought in the back of his mind. A task he couldn’t ever mark as complete. A gnawing, agonizing, need that he couldn’t fight for one more fucking second.

“I’m so tired of it always being someone else,” he said against your lips, letting out a heady little exhale at how submissively you were staring back at him. “I want it to be you.”

The coiling tension in your lower abdomen felt like it was going to snap as the firmness of his knee pushed at just the right angle, giving your clit a much-needed brush of friction while his words swirled lazily through your mind.

He was right- you must’ve been drunk because there was no way he was prompting you to grind on him. No way that he was parting your lips with his tongue. No way that his grip was tangling into your hair as your hips began to rock rhythmically against him. No way that he was helping lift your bra over your head all while a mere staircase separated the two of you from your partners.

There was simply no way any of this was real.

His mouth was warm against your skin, kissing and nipping across your collarbone while his hand palmed at your chest. “S’fucking pretty,” he praised, his gaze pointed at the way your dress had nearly hiked all the way up your hips as you kept riding his leg.

“Show me what you do when you’re alone thinking about me,” he panted, “just like that, don't fucking stop.” His voice was sinful bliss trailing back up your neck, your dress now only covering your midsection as he pulled the straps of it down over your arms so that the top half met where the bottom half had ridden up.

You were dangerously - pathetically, close to cumming, not caring at all who heard you as your nails dug into his shoulder blade. Your needy little clit still pushing and pleading into his leg. “More,” you begged, “please - this isn’t - fair.”

“It’s not fair?” You hated the moan that slipped out at the sickeningly sweet way he mocked you. “Poor thing." His mouth was warm and torturous in the shell of your ear. "You know what I don't think is fair?"

The whimper you let out was all the answer he needed though.

His fingers wrapped delicately around your neck - an odd sense of security laced into them despite the way they were cutting off your oxygen. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to want you this bad.” His other hand suddenly roaming along the curve of your hip. “I don’t think it’s fair that I have to pretend not to care when you do dumb shit like dangle new men in front of me.” His lips returned to yours, catching all the little whines that were escaping you. “And I really don’t think it’s fair how hard I’m about to fuck you while he’s downstairs waiting for you.”

It definitely wasn't the sentence that should've brought you to your breaking point, but it did. His grip tightened on you, fingertips digging perfectly into each side of your neck making your vision blur and your center ache. Your moans were every bit as broken as your thoughts, your eyes not leaving his while he nodded back at you.

"That's it." His grasp slowly began to release, loosening up with each whine you let out for him. "Cummin’ so easily for me.”

The room was still hazy, electricity dancing along your skin as he gently helped bring you to your feet before turning you around. You watched him from the reflection in the mirror, a dizzy smile cutting across your face while you watched him slip your dress all the way off and bend you over the counter.

"Fuck," he groaned, admiring the slick glistening off of you as he undid his belt. He ran two fingers between your folds, his mouth slightly dropping open at how sensitive you were to his touch - the cute little noises he could coax out of you by barely doing anything and the way your back arched so perfectly for him.

"Look at me," he breathed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder as he lined himself up with you.

His eyes trailed back up to yours, his tip carefully prodding at your entrance while he watched the desperate little expression that had taken over your features. "God damn," he hissed, his breath hitching in his throat at how faithfully your walls were swallowing him.

You were so wet, your brain and body both completely enamored with the sight and feeling of him sinking into you. The waiting game you'd been playing was well worth reward and you were enjoying every inch of your prize.

He was stretching you so tenderly, going deeper and deeper with each thrust. Though he'd told you to look at him, he seemed to be the one having a hard time maintaining your stare. His pretty blue eyes were glazed over, his composure starting to leave him the longer he looked at you.

"Oh my god," he groaned, "why do you feel so fucking good?"

His rhythm became harsher, both his hands grabbing onto your hips as he used you to his liking. “You know how many times I've thought about doing this, huh?" You weren't sure where your moans ended and his began, the rest of the world slipping away as he continued to blissfully bully his way into you. "Look at you, so pouty and pretty. Taking me like such a good girl."

His words made you clench, your cunt nearly suffocating him as he kept letting out more incoherent praises. He was just as lost as you were, just as dazed-out and unaware of his surroundings. The only thing keeping him grounding was the sound of you whimpering his name and how it kept getting needier and louder.

He wanted people to hear. Wanted everyone in the entire house knew that he had you bent over with your tits pressed against the counter and your ass flushed firmly against him. Wanted them to know that it was his name you sang out when you came.

“Megumi -” you whined, “right there, ohmygod, right.. the - re.”

Your walls spasmed around him, little hearts and stars suddenly filling your vision as your eyes rolled back. “Please,” you begged, chasing the blinding white light of your release as far as it would go, “cum inside me, please - fuck, don’t stop.”

He knew he shouldn’t. Knew you weren’t on birth control. Knew you well enough to know how desperate you were to keep him around. He knew all the risks. Knew what a terrible fucking idea it was and yet,

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he grunted, his movements just as needy and out of control as yours. “For me to fill you up,” he was losing himself to the thought, “to go back downstairs with me dripping down your leg? Yeah, I bet you fucking would.”

It was the worst idea. Every reasonable part of him screaming at for him to stop.

“Y - es! Please, please - ah~!”

But the sound of you begging made that reasonable part of him disappear entirely, replaced by an absolutely unhinged part of him that he didn’t even know existed until that very moment.

He wanted your belly to swell, wanted everyone to look at you and know that it was him who had bred you and that it was him who would do it again and again. He was going to make the whole world know you were his and it made him fucking feral.

He groaned, chest heaving as he gave you one last punishing thrust, burying himself as deep as he could as he twitched inside you. His breath hitching in his throat, his mind only filled with you and your body only filled with him.

A beautifully damning warmth coated your walls while you shot him the prettiest, haziest smile he’d ever seen. Both of you slowly returning back to reality.

He carefully pulled out of you, watching the mess the two of you had made spill out of you as he grabbed your shoulders and turned you around to face him.

His hands were warm against the sides of your neck, thumb placed firmly under your chin to tilt your head up towards his, “Next time you decide to shove another guy in my face,” he said, “you better make sure they’re not dumb enough to leave you alone with me.”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡