#and I just fucking CROAKED ON THE TRAIN

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men Getting "She's busy bro" Text

Request: Hi!! I waited patiently (and eagerly) for your requests to open again, I'm so happy!! I love your writing!! I laughed so hard at the previous request where you mentioned Tara. I have another "Tara is on thin ice" idea, lol. Tara and Mc are having a girls night at Mc's place. Mc is cooking or just doing something, mc's receives a message from the lads men (something random like "hi, how are you, I'm off work"). Tara tells Mc she got a message (since Mc is doing something and she can't answer), and mc tells Tara to reply for her. All good and sweet, what does Tara reply with? "Hi, all good, she's busy now, she will talk to you later!" (Basically, the "she's busy bro" prank but with an oblivious Tara that didn't mean to prank them, lol)

AN: Hey anon, I am sorry for how last I am posting this. But thank you for requesting such a fun scenario. I hope you enjoy this!! Might be ooc at times but I am woman of dramatics so excuse me.

Ingredients: 75% fluff , 25% drama

My Fav: Zayne 🥺

Genre: She's busy bro, prank

Pairing: LaDS boys x fem reader

You’re in the kitchen, half-focused on stirring the pasta and half-listening to Tara rant about her latest training match when your phone buzzes on the counter.

“Hey, your phone just lit up,” Tara says, leaning over to check the screen. “It’s one of the guys. Something about ‘how are you?’ and ‘off work.’”

“Just reply for me,” you say, tossing a handful of garlic into the pan. “Tell him I’ll get back to him later.”

Tara shrugs, picking up your phone and squinting at the message. Her thumbs fly over the screen as she replies, “Hi, all good, she’s busy right now, she’ll talk to you later!”

She hits send with a satisfied nod, setting the phone back down without a second thought

Rafayel:

You lunge to catch Tara as she collapses, her hands flying to her throat, her breaths coming out in sharp, choking gasps.

“Tara!” you gasp, your watch buzzing with frantic alerts, the tiny screen flashing red with proximity warnings.

And then you see it. The curving, sinuous tendrils creeping from the edges of the painting on your wall. The one Rafayel gifted you not long ago. The inky black swirls ripple like living shadows, curling toward you.

You snatch your phone from the counter, one arm still braced around Tara’s trembling form, your body blocking her from the painting as the tendrils inch closer. You hit Rafayel’s contact, your finger jabbing the call button with a fury you can barely contain.

He picks up on the first ring, and you don’t give him a chance to speak.

“Stop it. Now.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, the sound of crashing waves and distant seagulls crackling through the line, but you don’t flinch.

“I swear to the fucking seas,” you snarl, your voice low and dangerous, “I will never talk to you again if you hurt her.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end, a flicker of hesitation, and then the tendrils retreat, coiling back into the frame like startled serpents, the air around you cooling as the painting slowly still.

Tara collapses against you, her breathing evening out, her death grip on your arm loosening as she gasps for air. You meet her wide, dazed eyes, your own heart still hammering in your chest.

She gives you a shaky, crooked grin. “That was kinda hot,” she croaks, her lips twitching into a weak, mischievous smile, and your heart melts on the spot.

It takes Rafayel three weeks of pleading, apologizing, and bribing (both you and Tara) to be forgiven for 'the incident'. He sends flowers, chocolates, and a rare pearl necklace that you suspect he made with his anguished cries.

But the painting stays. “For protection,” he insists, his tone defensive, his eyes shifting away from yours when you bring it up. “You’ll thank me one day.”

You roll your eyes, but don’t push it.

Xavier:

He just shows up at your door. Because, of course, he does.

However busy you were, he could stop it. He is a victim to the sunk cost fallacy. If he has to pull you out of some other guy’s orbit, he’ll do it, no hesitation.

He knocks once, twice, each rap firm but patient, the ripped delivery package dangling from one hand, his other tucked casually into his jacket pocket.

The door swings open, and he inhales to deliver his practiced excuse." “Delivered to wr....” He blinks, momentarily thrown off as Tara opens the door, her hair a chaotic mess, pasta sauce smeared up to her cheeks like she’s just face-planted in a pot of marinara.

Behind her, you’re hunched over a massive dish of pasta, a noodle dangling from your lips, your eyes going wide as you choke at the sight of him, your face turning a lovely shade of tomato red.

“Oh, he—uhgh!” you splutter, breaking into a fit of coughing, nearly dropping the fork in your hand.

Xavier’s eyebrow twitches, his frown slowly morphing into a wide grin as his shoulders relax, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he takes in the chaotic scene.

There’s a long, painful beat of silence.

Then Tara, completely unfazed, just wipes her cheek with the back of her hand, shrugs, and steps aside. “You coming in or what, dude?” she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Somehow, Xavier ends up joining your girls’ night, plopping down on the couch, grabbing a fork and helping himself to the monstrous bowl of pasta, because why not?

He makes a few snarky comments about your terrible math skills, but shuts up when you threaten to make him eat his own disastrous cooking as punishment.

Predictably, he’s the first to fall asleep. Conveniently, on your shoulder, his head tucked against your neck, his soft breathing mixing with the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background.

Zayne:

Zayne, of course, doesn’t take the bait.

He’s the only one who doesn’t react to the “She’s busy, bro” text like it’s a declaration of war, because he’s seen this sort of thing before.

As a surgeon, he’s often out of reach, his pager passed off to a resident while he’s deep in the OR, his hands steady, his mind clear as he cuts through flesh and bone. He knows what it’s like to be unavailable, to be occupied with things that demand his full focus.

So when he gets the text, he just blinks at his phone, smiles a little, and sets it down without a second thought, already mentally filing away a dessert he can bring you later, something to help you relax after your busy day.

And he does. He shows up that night, a paper bag in one hand, his coat still smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the faint lines of old scars.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, a little shy, like he’s not sure if he’s intruding. “I brought tiramisu. Thought you could use a break.”

He’s literally the most precious bby, and you have to resist the urge to hug him right there in the doorway.

Sylus:

He’s in the middle of a deal, lounging back in his leather chair.

He checks his phone on a whim, his fingers flicking over the screen, and sees your text. His lips curl into a slow, arrogant smile as he types out a quick, casual, “Hey, what are you up to, sweetie?”

When the "She's busy, she'll call you later," text comes back, the smile freezes on his lips.

Busy? Busy?

His mood sours instantly. His fingers curl around the edge of his desk. He flicks his gaze back to the fumbling dealer in front of him, and his generosity reserves run dry.

“Out.”

The dealer stumbles back, wide-eyed, sweat beading on his forehead as he stammers out a “Y-Yes, sir!” before practically tripping over his own feet to escape the room.

Sylus leans back in his chair, teeth gritted, jaw tight, the soft click of his metal-tipped fingers against the desk the only sound in the now-silent room.

But just as he’s about to mentally spiral, his phone buzzes again.

“Made a pretty big batch of pasta, would you like some?”

He blinks, eyes flicking to the photo you’ve attached. A literal tub of way too much pasta, the noodles piled high, the sauce thick and steaming, a chaotic heap of carbs that only you and Tara could possibly miscalculate into existence.

He huffs, a quiet, exasperated chuckle slipping past his lips, the tension in his shoulders melting away. He leans back, his head tipping against the cool leather of his chair, a small, fond smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll be there in 20. Don’t start without me.”

And just like that, his mood is ruined in a completely different way, his dark, dangerous aura slipping into something much softer as he straightens his tie and stands, already picturing you waiting with a bright grin and a mismatched fork.

Caleb:

“Why does she get to use your phone and I don’t?” Caleb storms around your apartment, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor, his uniform still perfectly pressed.

It’s been an hour of this. A Fleet Colonel throwing a full-on tantrum in your tiny studio, pacing like a caged animal, his jaw clenched, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he’s debating strangling the nearest pillow. You did put your plushies away at the first given chance.

Pouting. Whining. Sharp, accusing glances thrown your way every time you so much as move.

You’re honestly grateful that Tara had left before this. She’d probably just laugh and egg him on, and you don’t need two chaotic messes in your living room right now.

“Caleb, I was busy,” you try to reason, leaning against the kitchen counter as he paces. “I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

He whirls to face you, his eyes dark, his jaw ticking, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, untouched by the cap he’d clearly ripped off the second he stormed through your door. Your mind unhelpfully drifts to the way that uniform clings to his shoulders, the way his collar hugs his throat, and nope, now is not the time for that.

“Busy?” he spits, his voice a low, irritated rumble. “Busy with what? And why with her, exactly?”

You sigh, pressing a hand to your forehead, already exhausted from the emotional hurricane that is Caleb. “I was cooking, Caleb. With Tara. I didn’t want to leave you hanging, so I asked her to text you back.”

He scoffs, his shoulders tense, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to try that excuse again.

Rage bait Tara is Colonel Caleb’s worst nightmare come to life. Given how you never seem to care how close she gets to you, how easily she invades your space, how unapologetically she teases you.

Much to Caleb’s dismay, you never seem to mind.

[tojisun]

simon grunts, his chest heaving as he palms at his chub, tracing the twitching muscle of his cock and letting out a hiss at the muted pleasure that razes through him. he shivers at the heated look you give him, your pretty eyes awash with desire, scalding as it trails down the lines of his bulk until it settles on his flesh.

“ah,” you whisper and simon nearly moans at the awe in your voice.

“s’right, baby,” he says, feeling the way he pulses underneath his low-hanging sweats. “s’all f’r you.”

there is a whine that drags itself from the base of your throat, so primal in the way it scratches your vocal cords, and simon has to fist his cock to stop himself from rutting against his palm.

“i can’t,” you whine, pouting, your eyes still trained on his groin. “‘m gonna be late for work.”

“please,” he croaks out, breathless himself. “how about jus’ the tip, love? jus’ give daddy a taste of you ‘round me, yeah?”

simon knows it is playing dirty to pull this card on you—to exploit your one weakness—but simon’s guilt is tucked underneath his stretching need, the desire bloating as it leaks past his rationality, leaving him with thinning restraints.

your sharp inhale is all the answer he needs.

he bites the inside of his cheek to tamp down the smirk dancing to the corners of his lips.

“okay,” you reply, tentative and quiet. “but just the tip, you promise?”

“swear,” simon murmurs.

like a goddamn liar.

he relishes in the squeals dripping from your parted lips, only for them to be muffled into your pillow.

he’s got you on your knees, your front all but pressed flat on the bed, your arms having lost the energy to keep yourself up as simon fucks you from the back. he’s got fistfuls of your ass, using them as sweet, sweet leverage as he manhandles your body back to his cock.

“so good f’r daddy, sweet’art,” he rumbles, his voice so deep it even sounds foreign to him. “so, so fuckin’ good, love.”

he punctuates his words with hard thrusts; drawing his cock out slowly, deliberately torturous so he can watch the way your hole grips at his cock, not wanting to let him go, before punching it back in. he doesn’t stop and keeps pushing his cock past the gummy press of your walls until his hips are pressed flush to the fat of your ass.

then, he repeats the process—sharp snaps of his hips leaving you twitching, and simon watches with a crazed giddiness as your hands uselessly scratch at the sheets as though that could tether you.

he bends forward, his bulk covering your trembling body. “such a cute darlin’ for me, lovie.” he ruts his cock along a particular sweet spot. “say ‘thank you’ to daddy?”

he hears a warbled reply from where your head is pressed to your pillow.

“hmm? wha’s ‘at?”

simon cups a hand on your forehead and carefully pulls, tipping your head up just enough that he can hear you.

he hears a hiccuped sob, then, “than’ you, daddy.”

simon giggles and presses a kiss on the back of your head. “what a good doll y’are.”

something about that makes your body tremble, spasming in his hold, and simon watches with awe as your toes curl, before he has to let go of you at the sudden tightening of your walls. his eyes go white, his ears ringing with a sharp static.

he feels so, so overwhelmed at the expanding euphoria that washes over him, lapping at the synapses from the back of his skull to the cavity of his ribs.

“you came,” simon mutters in awe, his voice passing through his teeth like a gritted hiss. “christ, lovie-”

-

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[theorist-fox]

Johnny's invited to dinner

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish

Word Count: 900

18+

CW: smut!!! this is literally smut. blowjob, handjob, various jobs that don't involve a salary. smug johnny. assertive dom simon but soft with you and you only.

Masterlist 🦊

“Agreed to have ya ‘ere to look, not to talk, MacTavish.” 

Simon’s voice is a growl that unfolds like an earthquake, reverberating in your skull. It cracks at the edges when your lips, wrapped around his cock, slide a little further down.

Johnny stands less than a foot from where you kneel, fully dressed but with his dick in hand, stroking idly and passing his thumb over the slit every now and then. 

“Ach—but she seems to like it.” Johnny’s lips quirk in an impish smile, and his hand travels the space between you and him to tangle his fingers in your hair. “Don’t you, bonnie?” 

Simon pierces Johnny with a look. It’s smothered by the way you moan appreciatively around his cock.

Johnny chuckles hoarsely. “Aye, she does.” 

And then he pushes your head forward—slowly but ever so demanding. You comply, following Johnny’s lead, until your nose is buried in Simon’s curls and your eyes are shining. 

You gag around him. Simon smacks a fist on the bed. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

He’s quick to recollect his bearings and uses his thumb to wipe a tear down your cheek. Your eyes crinkle at the corners, and he takes that attempt at a smile as eager consent. One he makes sure to have, once again, by cocking his head inquisitively—you nod, or try to, and he sighs. Gently, Simon smooths the hair away from your forehead in silent thankfulness. 

“Fuckin’ hell, alrigh’.” Johnny grunts, too focused on the sight of Simon’s cock disappearing in your mouth to notice the silent communication happening. He speeds the movement of his hand, tugging at the foreskin right above his glans. “How's she feel, L.T.? Gimme the details.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Johnny tuts. “Ye gotta tell me—been selfish with her for too long. I get why, but don’t keep me in the dark now, uh? Feel like we're past that."

You start bobbing your head, gently guided by Johnny’s hand, while holding onto Simon’s thighs. He feels completely corded, like a rope ready to snap.

This is not what he thought would happen when you offered to have Johnny over for dinner.

But fuck it if he's going to complain.

Your head is cradled everywhere around it like it’s something precious and fragile—Johnny’s hand at the back, Simon’s palms now both at your cheeks.

“She’s warm.” He replies flatly, burying grunts and growls deep in his chest.

“Aye—coulda guessed that.” Johnny huffs. “Elaborate, will ye?” 

It’s then that you shift your head from side to side to accustom your jaw to his girth. Simon’s tip touches somewhere deep down your throat, and you choke around it. Your nostrils flare, and your eyes drown in tears Simon catches with his thumbs. 

“Fuck—” He grunts, rolling his eyes. “She—she’s fuckin’ melting me, Johnny. Tha’ enough?” 

“Yeah?” Johnny croaks. “Takin’ you deep—aye, sir?” 

“’Firmative.” 

“Can see ye bulgin’ down her throat,” he says, and Simon feels the sick need to go and check with his thumb. God help him, Johnny’s right. 

“She’s tight.” Simon pants. 

“Bet she is,” Johnny croaks. “Can’t wait to feel her myself. Right, hen?”

Simon watches you struggle to find a way to reply. You can’t speak because your mouth is busy elsewhere; you can’t nod, or you’ll choke. You opt for your hands, wrapping one around Johnny’s thigh and squeeze, digging your fingernails into the denim of his jeans. He stumbles forward, just a tad closer.

Johnny rewards you by massaging your scalp with his pads, a hoarse hum of approval passing through his lips. 

“Trained her right, L.T.” He chuckles.

Simon gives him a look that would normally freeze him on the spot, but it only prompts Johnny to stiffen and bite back a moan. 

“Didn’t train her, you twat.” Simon huffs gruffly, giving a tender brush of his thumb on your cheek as you work your mouth down his shaft. “She ain’t a dog.”

Johnny’s smirk falters, but Simon’s sure it’s not because he’s being reprimanded by his lieutenant but because he’s on the verge of finishing. Judging by the heavy furrow of his brow, he clearly doesn’t want to—not yet.

“Aye she ain’t.” He agrees, voice cracked and breathy. “But she’s a learner. Look at how she takes ye—that ain’t talent, can’t be.”

Johnny winks at you when he catches you struggling to look up. 

You huff from your nose, rolling your eyes fondly. His lips quirk, and he softens you up by grazing his nails down your scalp until your skin rises in goosebumps.

You push your head back against Johnny’s hand, and he takes that as a sign to go on. 

“That’s fuckin' hard work, right there.” He growls, and then guides your head down Simon’s cock once again. His thighs tighten under your fingertips, spine straight and knotted when you swallow him all the way down.

“Careful, Johnny.” Simon warns through gritted teeth. Even though he’s on the verge of toppling over, his voice still sounds delightfully rich—stern and commanding.

Then, he directs his eyes to you.

Yours soften, probably because his cheeks are awfully pink, and the crinkles of his eyes stretch in that way he reserves for you only. “Alrigh’?

You hum in reply, blinking up at him with clumped lashes and happy, bloodshot eyes.

“Three taps on my thigh when you need, yeah?” He says. “Go on.” 

You tap Simon’s thigh three times. He brushes his thumb down your cheek before placing his hand over Johnny’s wrist at the back of your head.

He squeezes it until his knuckles turn white, and then he nods his way. Johnny swallows a rock lodged in his throat when he meets Simon's hooded gaze.

“Go on, Johnny.” His hand on your cheek remains soft and soothing, but his eyes, locked on Johnny’s flushed face, hold a darkness you’re not allowed to see.

“Make me cum."

Hey!!! We officially reached 1k people so I thought I'd scare you away with some filthy smut.

I love you all. Truly. Thank you for being here and making my days 10 times better.

-theo 🦊

[fushiguruuzzzz]

the night was young, laughter ringing through the room like vibrations of joy, and yet katsuki bakugo just would not kiss you.

of course, he had not bothered to partake in the game of spin the bottle. sitting lazily on the couch nearest the circle of giggling teens, he had barely lifted his eyes from the rim of his cup before grumbling a rough “no.” despite the response being entirely in character for the blond, the immediate denial — almost as if he had been long prepared to deny the opportunity to kiss you — was mildly humiliating. it was a difficult task to conceal the embarrassment coating your face in warmth, but you hoped that those around you were too inebriated to notice. they were, luckily… except for him. all too sober, he almost felt bad, but he believed his reasoning was enough to justify his firm dismissal.

denki nudged him by the shoulder, giving him a look that was promptly ignored. “dude,” he said quietly, almost gritted.

a nasty glare was shot in his direction, one that spoke multitudes. oddly enough, it seemed to soften into something more complex when it dropped to his lap, but his words were brash all the same. “kaminari, shut your trap. now.”

denki ran a hand down his face, groaning. it seemed that everyone in the room had a shared sort of exasperation; they somehow saw right through him in a way you could not. for once, you seemed to be the only one that did not understand him.

your attempts to dismiss it and move on, to put the spotlight elsewhere for but a moment, were flushed away when mina interjected with a “why not?”

red eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw ticking. “because.”

“bakugo!”

“no.”

“c’mon, man!”

he was visibly growing flustered, brows knitting together in barely concealed frustration. fists clenched, the red plastic of his solo cup crumpled enough to make a sound. “I said no. fuck off.”

a series of protests and drunken whines echoed through the muggy room. “just do i-“

“not like this!”

a pause. his face went red. the room fell silent in what was barely a beat, eyes boring saucer shaped holes into the both of you. your lips parted almost as if to speak, but nothing came out save for a single dry croak. everyone looked at you except for katsuki. ever the confrontational, suddenly shying away from a bit of eye contact.

turns out that yes, he had refused to kiss you, but not out of disgust or even a lack of romantic attraction to you. he had refused to kiss you in the dingy confines of this dimly lit room, countless eyes trained on you, putting on a show that would be forgotten by morning. he had planned to do it some other time — properly — because he knew that was what you deserved. not the taste of cheap liquor and erupting cheers, but the gentle embrace of a lover and the bliss of something new.

a/n: why am I writing for mha and katsuki of all people what is wrong with me

[pellucid-constellations]

If You Cared to Ask

Azriel hasn't been listening. You got hurt. Sometimes, an argument can't be boiled down to just one instance.

Part 2

“You never listen! I have tried over and over to get you to understand but it’s like you don’t even care.”

Azriel’s brow twitched in irritation, the only tell on his otherwise passive face. “That is not true. We have sat down and discussed this at length, y/n. I listen.” 

You laughed, an incredulous pressure weighing down your shoulders. “Okay, fine. You listen, but you never hear me, Azriel! I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall most of the time.” 

“I can reiterate every word you’ve ever said to me. I hear you and I listen to you.” 

Anger twisted through your gut at his nonchalance. You clenched and unclenched your fists and tried to ignore the heat slowly encroaching upon your ability to remain composed. Although, compared to Azriel, you were not even close to the picture of calm. 

“Tell me why it bothers me then,” you seethed through clenched teeth. “Reiterate it for me, Shadowsinger.” 

Azriel’s jaw shifted as he clasped his hands together in his lap, the faelight in the kitchen clashing harshly with the planes of his face. He leaned back in his chair and let out a tortured sigh that almost sent you reeling. 

“You seem to believe,” Azriel began, his voice a low drawl. “That I am blatantly avoiding you—that I am choosing to serve my high lord in place of spending time with you. Both of which, I am not doing. I simply have a duty to this court, y/n. You know that.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Azriel,” you rolled your eyes. “Making this about duty and honor. Making me seem like I’m the crazy one for being angry when you promised me—” 

“You know there is little I can do about promises,” Azriel snapped, a hint of anger finally showing through in the darkness of his eyes. “You knew when we were mated that I have responsibilities that go beyond our relationship.” 

You pushed back from your seat at the table and set to pacing in the kitchen, fighting the urge to tug at the roots of your hair. “Yes, obviously, Azriel, but this was so important to me. I needed you there and this isn’t the first time I’ve been abandoned without even a word.” 

“Abandoned,” Azriel scoffed. “I would hardly call not showing up to your clinic at the camps one day abandoning you. Rhys needed me to—” 

“I needed you!” you shouted, your hands pressed to the countertops and your gaze frantic as you stared at Azriel’s unmoving figure. “I needed you, Azriel. I had every eye on me in that camp and when Devlon’s men had me yanked from the clinic for what I was doing I needed you to—” 

“He did what?” 

“Oh, don’t act like you care now.” You waved off the staunch posture he had adopted and rolled your eyes for a second time at the piercing hatred that had taken over his expression. “Don’t you dare act like you have the right.” 

“You are my mate, y/n. If anyone put their hands on you—” 

“Well, they did. Bruised up my arms and everything. But you were so busy with your duty to your high lord that you couldn’t give a shit until after I was thrown into the mud surrounded by the women I was supposed to be helping up there.” 

Azriel’s hands turned white as he clenched them in his lap. His lashes fluttered and his brow furrowed and he looked utterly lost at the situation—unable to formulate any kind of response to what could be considered his failure. 

“I thought you were simply setting up the back rooms. I didn’t know you were starting the practice or speaking to the camp,” he croaked, eyes downcast and searching the floor. 

“Except I told you I was. I told you two weeks ago and then again right before I left.” 

“I—I can’t remember you saying that.” 

“Of course you can’t. Because if it isn’t Rhys giving you orders or Cassian leading training you’re absent. You stand right in front of me and you’re not even here.”

Azriel finally looked up from the ground and met your eyes with the same torture his sigh made you privy to earlier. But this time it was rooted in something else—this time, he seemed to finally grasp the weight behind your words. 

But you were utterly sick of trying to get him to this point. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he expressed, pain in the furrow of his brow. “I hadn’t realized—with Rhys just returning to Velaris I’ve been so caught up in—” 

“I’m sorry too,” you cut him off. 

Azriel froze. “What?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and felt the dread begin to rise. You knew you were going to hate this part, but you hadn’t expected Azriel to apologize. He hadn’t apologized for anything in months. You’d been alone in this relationship and he chose the day you’d packed your bags to show remorse.

“I can’t do this, Azriel. Not right now.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

The silence in the kitchen was oppressive. Azriel had leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and you were on the other side of the kitchen counter, protected by a barrier you knew you should have put up weeks ago. Your eyes never left his. 

“I can’t do this with you.” 

Azriel breathed in sharply, his eyes widening. “No,” he stressed, heaving up from the chair. “No, y/n, don’t—what do you mean you can’t do this? Explain it to me.” 

Your mate attempted to round the counter and reach for you, but you weren’t going to accept the affection…not when you had been begging for it for months. Not when he was only ready to give it to you now.

You backpeddled until you reached the hall. Azriel didn’t follow, afraid you would take off. 

“I’ve been telling you this was a problem for months now. I thought it was just an adjustment period—I knew that having Rhys back would change things at first and I was okay with that. Your brother returned from hell and you needed to be there to support him. To support your family. 

“But I’m your family, too. And you forgot that. I can’t—I can’t be relying on someone like that right now. I’m doing too much at the camps for you to… forget about me so easily. I can’t keep building you up in my mind just to be disappointed and hurt.” 

Azriel's jaw quivered. 

“Emotionally and physically. I would’ve asked someone else to come to the clinic with me yesterday, but I chose you. And you forgot about me.” 

Azirel looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach, his shoulders caving in with his anguished breath out. You pressed your lips together as you watched him, all of your anger morphing into a twisted sort of guilt that didn’t sit right in your gut. 

“Please,” Azriel whispered. His hands shook at his side. “Please, I’m so sorry, my love. I never wanted—Please, don’t leave me.” 

“You don’t get to have both, Azriel.” Your voice was as weak as his. “You don’t get to have me and treat me like I’m something you deal with on the side. I matter more than— 

Azriel shook his head and broke through your words. “You matter more than anything. I’ve been a fool. I know I’m an ass. Please, let me fix this, my love. Please don’t leave.” 

You clenched your fists so hard your nails embedded into your palms. 

“I need time to be alone.” 

Azriel was quick to nod. “I’ll give it to you. I’ll leave and—” 

“No, I need… more time than that. I have some things packed. I’ll be back, but… I need to leave. I can’t think clearly around you.” 

A choked cry left Azriel’s throat and the sound burned at your waterline. “Where?” 

You only shook your head. 

“Tell me where. Please. How am I supposed to know you’re safe?” 

“How were you supposed to know before?” 

Part 2

[littlelovelunette]

Filthy Troublemaker (2)

⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader x Sevika ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

Sugar mommies!Ambessa Medarda and Sevika, threesome, sex, implied passing out, fingering, mommy kink, sucking dildo, begging, mild degradation, throat fucking, mild smacking, sado maso dynamics, choking, manhandling, orgasm control, cold!Ambessa

Your eyes fluttered open, body barely containing enough energy to get off the floor. The cold marble floor was stuck to your tear-dampened cheek, your eyes moving to survey the surroundings in an attempt to read the room. Were they still mad at you? Or had their anger simmered down?

Your eyes met Ambessa's cold golden ones and you knew she wasn't done with you just yet. She grabbed your throat and heaved you up, dropping you onto the bed. Your hands reached for the mark that formed on your neck from her rough handling.

“I'm sorry,” you croaked out weakly but she wasn't listening.

Sevika reached for the bottle of lube resting on the bedside table, and picked it up. She opened the cap and tilted it, coating your lower body with the lubricant.

“There we go,” she muttered under her breath before taking a step back and looking down at your trembling form. Ambessa's big hands worked to spread the lube out on your vulva, massaging it onto the skin.

You moaned when she rubbed your clit, her hands working methodically as she pushed in two thick fingers. Even if your pussy had taken those big dildos just a bit ago, Ambessa's fingers felt as big as ever. You clenched around her invading digits, a schlick sound issuing from your pussy.

Ambessa chuckled. “Easy, little one. Relax. I'm not planning on hurting you, yet.”

You tried your best to let your body react but it just didn't comply. Ambessa’s thick fingers coerced out more wetness, moving in and out at a steady pace. Your thighs were shaky as you fought to keep them open because closing them would just mean you're earning yourself another round of ruthless punishment.

“Mommy, I'm sorry,” you screamed when Ambessa roughly shoved in a third finger.

“Quiet, girl,” Sevika snapped at you instantly, silencing your helpless sobs.

“Mommy,” you called in a weak voice, desperate to try to get Ambessa's pity if not Sevika's. Sevika rolled her eyes, grey eyes trained on Ambessa's scarred back for her reaction but Ambessa's lips were sit in a tight thin line, her fingers twisting in your pussy making you scream out again. “It’s too much! Mommy, please! I'll be good, I promise, I'll be good!”

Sevika cut your cries out, shoving one of the dildos Ambessa used on you in your mouth. It still tasted like you.

“What a bratty bitch.” Sevika said, forcing you to deepthroat the toy, “Keep tellin’ ya’ to shut it but you never listen, do you?”

Your eyes closed tightly in pleasure, moaning around the dildo as you squeezed your gummy walls around Ambessa's fingers.

“I'm gonna cum,” you said in a muffled voice, voice incoherent due to the toy in your mouth, shivering and whimpering.

Ambessa’s lip purse deepened as she curled her fingers just right, dragging them slowly against that sensitive spot inside you. "Don't cum,” Ambessa commanded. Sevika smirked, enjoying the dynamic as she eased the phallic toy out of your mouth.

“Wh-what?” Your voice stuttered.

“I said, don't cum.” Ambessa repeated before she pushed in all three fingers knuckles deep.

You bucked your hips instinctively as your thighs trembled. Every nerve in your body screamed with pressure, tension coiling tighter and tighter.

“I can't hold it, mommy, please,” you begged. “I really can't, I can't!”

Sevika huffed and put the dildo back in your mouth, muffling your whines. Your face twisted, gagging around the big toy as you were forced to taste yourself again. Ambessa's fingers weren't fast paced but they were deep, and slow. It was perfect, so perfect you wanted to cum.

Your thighs came together, right then— Ambessa smacked your inner thigh, “Open.” She commanded.

“C-can't,” you mumbled around the dildo but Ambessa smacked your inner thigh again, your legs fell open and her fingers reached deeper, rubbing against your g-spot deliciously.

Your tongue wrapped around the dildo, pussy clenching up around Ambessa's fingers again.

Sevika chuckled, “Wanna cum badly, huh?”

You nodded weakly, whimpering when Sevika's other hand grabbed your jaw, thrusting the silicone dick in and out of your mouth mercilessly. You choked on your own spit, drool running down your face as you struggled to keep up with her. Eventually, you lost it and finished all over Ambessa's fingers, body locking in place for a few seconds. Your body shook, pleasure crashing over you in uncontrollable waves as Ambessa kept her pace steady, relentless, milking every second of your climax.

Your eyes fluttered close, you were too tired to continue. "Please," you said incoherently. Maybe, just maybe they'd stop now.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

_

[anyshowwitharainbow]

Cooties (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary:

You've got COOTIES! AKA: You're sick and you loathe it. Don't worry, though! Rio and Agatha will take perfect care of you. That's what loving, doting partners are for. One of them is even a doctor! Your marriage to the two of them is like Allstate: you're in good hands.

A line to entice you:

“Behave, bunny. Don’t forget she needs this just as much as you do.”

Warnings + Tags: 18+ MDNI, fluff and smut, sick!reader, caring Agatha and Rio, Rio g!p, bottom reader, mommy!Agatha, daddy!Rio, cg/l themes, no mention of pronouns except 1-2 'they's, clit/pussy/cunt used for reader, pet names

Words: 5.4k

A/N: I bet you couldn't guess this...I'm sick and in a court of law I will blame cold & flu meds for the creation of this fic. This is my first x Reader fic- so be gentle! I write 800% for fun and I will make edits as I catch the need for them. Feel free to comment anything you see that needs to be edited! (I'm sick, I promise there will be some errors...pretend they're endearing...)

AO3 | My Fics | pt 2

Cooties

You are pissed.

You feel like shit, and you’re pissed about it.

Less than 48 hours ago you started to feel a dull aching in your back that you tried to write off as stiffness. Shortly after, when your throat constricted painfully when trying to swallow, you knew you were in for. Rio clocked the impending illness rather quickly.

-

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Rio’s tone was gentle, but cautious. Too cautious.

“I’m fine, Rio.” You snapped. If Rio’s eyes doubling in size was any indication then your bark must’ve carried its bite.

“Right,” Rio drawled, “so is this an emotional grouchy or a physical grouchy?”

“Neither,” You rolled your eyes at how easy it was for Rio to breeze past your harshness.

It only took a tilt of Rio’s head to earn a heavy sigh of defeat from you.

“I think I’m getting fucking sick.” You mumbled through an unabashed pout, your anger rapidly deflating under Rio’s attention.

“Oh, I see,” Rio coaxed, “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Rio’s arms wrapped you in warmth and a gentle kiss on the forehead followed.

As Rio pulled away, you grimaced at the look of concern you found etched into her features.

“You do feel warm,” Rio confirmed, cementing your fate.

“Noooooo,” you whined, burying your head in your hands.

“Hush,” Rio soothed while prying your hands away from your face, “None of that.”

-

That was just last night, but it seemed like an eternity since Rio had rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some ‘preventative’ treatment.

-

She had proudly presented a small cup full of purple-ish liquid and a few pills of varying sizes. When you hesitated to relieve her of the bounty of medicine she brought you, she rolled her eyes.

“Seriously? If I was going to poison you I would’ve done it by now,” she reasoned, clearly unimpressed with you.

“It’s not that,” you croaked plainly through your growing congestion, “We do happen to know a doctor though. Should we maybe wait for her recommended course of treatment?”

Rio analyzed you with equal parts suspicion and humor. Her annoyance carried little weight, but she maintained her rouse of offense just the same. You couldn’t handle the hurt, even fueled by jest, that tore at you from deeply brown eyes.

“Fine. I’ll take the mystery drugs. Can you get me something to get the taste out of my mouth?” You had mostly trained yourself out of your gag reflex, but liquid medicine always served to remind you had one. Your stomach felt queasy just thinking about downing the thick, syrupy, mentholated liquid.

As soon as Rio exited the bedroom to retrieve you something with a stronger flavor than the medicine, you hurriedly grabbed your phone.

Aggie 💜

You: Hypothetically, if I started feeling crummy 2 days ago and now feel like I got hit by a bus…would I need to take a purple liquid, a gel capsul, a white pill that’s the size of my face, and a pill that looks like a little red m&m?

Three gray dots danced for a few seconds before disappearing. They reappeared for a split second before Agatha’s contact photo appeared from an incoming FaceTime call. You had barely pressed ‘accept’ before Agatha began pressing you for answers.

“You know better than to not tell me when you aren’t feeling well,” she admonished through the phone.

She was nestled into a too-well lit hallway that looked to be the definition of sterile. Her hair was up in a ponytail and youl noticed the dark circles that settled under her eyes. She looked tired- so, so tired. Guilt didn’t have much time to eat away at you before she continued.

“When did your symptoms start? Are you running a fever? Where’s Rio? I need to know what she’s trying to drug you with.”

“I’m fine, Aggie.” your voice gave out halfway through her name and she gave you her best unimpressed face.

“Yeah? Then why do you sound like Steve-O swallowed a frog?” Her comeback was punctuated by a laugh from the doorway.

You groan when your eyes land on Rio sauntering toward you with a Diet Coke and an assortment of your favorite snacks. The last thing you needed, on what was surely your deathbed, was getting tag teamed.

“Good one, babe,” Rio calls to the phone before her eyes landed on you, “Steve-O the Snitch has a nice ring to it.”

“Almost as good as Dr. Vidal.” Agatha’s look was pointed and it melted the smirk off of Rio’s face in an unprecedented amount of time.

“I channeled you, Dr. Harkness. Want me to show you the bottles?” Rio laughed, but Agatha didn’t.

“Yes, actually.” both you and Rio waited to see if she was joking. She was not.

“Yeah, okay,” Rio conceded and grabbed your phone before swiftly exiting the room.

You could only make out a few words before their voices were too far to hear. From what you could tell, Agatha was accepting Rio’s compliments on her description of your voice.

They’d both pay for their smugness. One day…when you didn’t feel like you might die. You threw your head back against the pillows which only served to make you dizzy from the quick movement. You mourned the times you took a non-stuffy nose and a clear chest for granted. Your wallowing-in-pity was interrupted by the soft patter of Rio’s footsteps coming toward you. A sigh of relief escaped you when you heard Agatha through your phone.

Good, you thought. You wanted the chance to tell her goodbye. An ache buried itself in your chest. Agatha had been at the hospital for almost 72 hours and you missed her. Your rapidly on-setting illness only heightened the ache and you felt your throat constrict against the swelling emotions.

“Cleared for take off, bunny,” Agatha announced when Rio handed your phone back to you. “Rio just needs to take your temperature first then you can take the meds. You need rest- so no reading or scrolling or whatever you choose to do until 1 AM. Understood?”

From beyond your phone, Rio made a face to poke fun at Agatha’s intensity. When you chuckled, Agatha spoke far more gently, but still firmly.

“I mean it, love. You won’t get better if you don’t give your body time to fight whatever has a hold on you. The meds are going to try and knock you out. Will you be good for me and not fight it?”

The gentle prodding and soothing of Agatha’s tone turned you into putty. You were becoming more and more pliable and cared less and less about fighting it off. As if she could read your mind, Rio settled into the bed next to you and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ve got our little fighter, Dr. Harkness,” Rio said surely, “They’ll be good. I’ll make sure of it.” Rio’s voice dipped lower and you felt her hand reach down and give you a soft pinch on your side.

“I have no doubt,” Agatha feigned uncertainty, but you both could see a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Behave- both of you. When I get home in a few hours you both better be asleep.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” Rio chuckled before reaching for the phone to end the call. “We both love you very dearly. Have a good rest of your shift, be nice to the interns, goodbye!” Rio rushed, likely in an effort to rile Agatha up.

“And clothed! Rio, I mean—” Agatha’s frantic final words were cut short when Rio tapped the ‘end’ button. She chuckled conspiratorially before setting your phone on the headboard and turning her full attention toward you.

“You think she’ll come home early just to kill me?” Rio teased, fishing a thermometer out of the pocket of her joggers.

“If she comes home early it’ll be to check on me. Killing you would be an afterthought.” Your smugness had its intended result and Rio’s jaw fell open in offense.

“Open up, you little shit.” She chuckled with you before nestling the thermometer under your tongue and tapping a finger under your chin so you’d close your mouth around it.

You let her give you the medicine and help you sip on the Diet Coke she had brought. After putting on a movie you’d both seen way too many times, you fell asleep halfway through the pack of sour gummy worms she slowly fed you one by one while she softly scratched your scalp.

-

Now, you wince at the small bit of light that peaks around the edges of the blackout blinds that line the bedroom windows. The same hands that soothed you to sleep offer you more medicine and your favorite bottle filled with, presumably, fresh water. When Rio raises a finger to her lips to indicate you should be quiet, you become aware of the warm weight nestled into your back and thrown over your side. Agatha is home.

You nod your understanding to Rio and quickly take the meds. Your entire body aches and you feel like you’ve been water boarded. An uncomfortable amount of weight is pressing into your skull and you're sure your head could explode. Still, the pressure can’t dim the tinge of excitement you feel now that Agatha is finally home. You skillfully down the pills with a silent swig of water. Fueled by the subtle pride in Rio’s eyes, you throw back the shot of liquid medicine like you were 19 again at a bar that never ID’d.

This proves to be a mistake as the iciness of the syrup hits the back of your throat. You grimace and your lungs falter as you try to out-will the need to choke, gag, or do anything but swallow the medicine that was quickly coating every corner of your mouth. Rio mouths ‘swallow’ and you focus all of your energy on following the order. This focus is stolen when a familiar shushing meets your ear.

“Relax, baby,” Agatha mumbles through sleep, “Un-tense your shoulders. Breathe as much as you can through your nose.”

You let her instructions will your actions. Your shoulders fall and stay relaxed even when Rio giggles at the whistling noise your nose makes when you try to breathe through it.

“Now swallow,” Agatha groggily coaxes.

You comply effortlessly and in the haze of stuffiness and recent slumber you're mesmerized by the sure comfort the woman holding on to you provides.

“Good, bunny. Now come here.” The pet name cements your headspace and you help her turn your body towards her.

Her eyes remain shut, and your heart flutters at the easy confidence she cares for you with. She doesn't need to rouse from her place of sleep to settle you down. Agatha never has to make you feel safe, because when she is near safe is all you are. This truth sings sweetly as she nestles you under her chin and plants her lips softly on your forehead. She grunts before sliding her hands up the back of your t-shirt and holding you as closely as she can.

“You have a fever,” She lazily declares before you wiggle a leg in between hers, aiming to get impossibly closer. “The medicine will help soon. Rest your eyes, bun.”

You would prefer to stare at how peace is settled into all of her features. The small, relaxed lines earned from years of laughter, worry, and joy begin to blur as your eyelids feel heavier and heavier. You move to match her by sliding your hands up her vastly oversized shirt. As your hands travel up to find her back you can’t help but to give her ass a light squeeze on the way. This earns you a small chuckle before the feeling of Agatha’s cool skin and her gentle caresses on your back lull you back to sleep.

The next time you wake, your throat is painfully dry and Agatha’s presence is noticeably vacant. You grunt before stirring, grumbling through words that aren’t fully forming yet.

“I like the way you think.” Rio chuckles at your grumbles as she finishes the paragraph she is reading and marks her place for later. “Tell me more, mi corazoncito.”

“Everything hurts,” You groan, “If you’re secretly death, you can take me now. Put me out of my misery.”

“I would never,” Rio feigns offense, “not when you don’t say please.”

Her smile is replaced with the shape of an offered kiss. It is unclear whether the growing dizziness is due to your illness or the pillowy lips that lazily meet yours.

“Don’t wanna get you sick,” you croak as you push against her shoulder.

“Hush. I’m death remember? I’ve come to take you,” Rio offers suggestively.

Before you can respond to her antics, another voice breaks through the remnants of the quiet barrier left from the morning.

“Trying to seduce our patient, Dr. Vidal?” Agatha questions with a raised brow from the doorway.

“Trying would imply that I’m not succeeding,” Rio smirks and you roll your eyes. You aren’t opposed. For some reason, being sick makes you feel extra needy and you’ve always been prone to trying everything you can to get one or both of them inside of you.

You do, however, want to shower first. You figure your fever broke twice as you feel damp but also layered with the remnants of older sweat.

“You are not succeeding because someone needs a bath,” Agatha’s eyes playfully dare Rio to challenge her and she continues when it looks like Rio might, “The real doctor is ordering a bath. Keep your cock away from our patient or I’ll order a cage for our little friend.”

The snickering that escapes you throws you into a coughing fit and Rio looks torn between concern for you and offense at Agatha. Once you recover and they are certain you are getting enough oxygen Agatha goes to the connected bathroom to run the previously prescribed bath. Imagining the warm water soothing your muscles is much more enticing than the thought of hauling yourself out of the bed.

Rio answers a request you never verbalize when she effortlessly hoists you into her arms and begins carrying you to the bath. She stops after a few steps and her eyebrows furrow.

“Did she just call my dick little?” She looks into your eyes earnestly and you know she is waiting hopefully for your laughter. You don’t make her wait for long.

After the incredible bath you still feel dull, but somewhat rejuvenated. You are able to stomach a hearty portion of soup and crackers and you reel in the murmurs of approval and praise from both Agatha and Rio. Though you still feel the weight of your congestion, your body aches far less than it had this morning.

Now, you are sprawled out between Agatha and Rio on the couch. Your head is in Agatha’s lap and Rio sits underneath your thighs. Their hands lay entwined on your stomach and you find the way Rio’s thumb brushes over Agatha’s hand in time with the gentle massaging Rio gives your thighs much more interesting than whatever was on TV. The three of you aren’t often able to lounge around for an entire day doing absolutely nothing and you relish in the peace that surrounds you.

Your need for closeness begins to swell and suddenly laying on the two women isn’t quite enough. Before the nibbling of the inside of your cheek can become noticeable you begin to draw lazy patterns over Agatha’s tummy. She quirks a brow, but makes no move to stop you or look down at you. You let your finger drag a line on her t-shirt over the underside of her breast before you trace what you assume is her areola. Your finger catches on a quickly budding nipple and Agatha inhales sharply.

When your eyes flick to hers you find far more need than you thought you would. You remember, all at once, that while Agatha worked her 72 hour shift she missed you and Rio just as much as you both missed her. The concern she expressed when she found out you were sick wasn’t surprising, but the way she’d clung to you since she got home and carefully watched over you now makes you realize how much not being able to care for you while on her shift must have affected her.

Agatha’s hand unlaces from Rio’s and caresses your cheek. Your breath hitches as she lifts her shirt and scoots down just enough to where if you turn your head you’ll have easy access to her nipples. You feel your face burn red when you feel Rio’s newly free hand sneak under your shirt and rub your stomach just above your underwear.

“I think Mommy wants to make you feel better, bunny.” Rio speaks lowly and it makes your stomach tighten under her touch.

Rio scoots closer and your ass now rests fully in her lap. You feel her bulge poking against where your ass meets your thighs and you clench around a painful nothingness. You meet Agatha’s eyes, asking permission, and she coaxes you closer to her chest.

“Daddy’s right, baby. See, because I’m your Mommy I have special superpowers. I was worried about you before you even texted me. There was something in my body that just wouldn’t settle quite right.” She continues to stroke your cheek as she speaks, “One of my residents asked me a question and I didn’t even hear it. He repeated himself three times before I had to tell him to bug off.”

Your smirk at imagining Agatha looking at the resident like he had three heads is matched by a chuckle from Rio.

“Bohner?” Rio asks, knowingly.

“Had to be Bohner,” you confirm before looking back at Agatha for confirmation.

Ever the show woman, she relishes in making you both wait. After a beat of silence she relents.

“It was Bohner,” She smirks, clearly enjoying her ability to play to her favorite audience, “But as I was saying…my superpowers mean I can feel what you need.”

Her eyes pool with lust and its hard to feel anything but the weight of her attention.

“It makes me need you too. Can you be good for us, baby?”

You nod and let yourself be guided to one of Agatha’s nipples. She lets out a guttural moan when you begin lapping and nipping at her. You don’t unlatch until Rio’s cock rubbing you through your underwear makes you gasp.

‘You’re so fucking wet,” Rio speaks in equal parts awe and lust, “Daddy forgot how needy your body gets when you’re sick.”

Agatha’s body jerks beneath you and you realize she is touching herself. Rio must realize too, because she grunts and bucks her hips. Her cock is nestled against your cunt and poking out from in between your thighs. You try your best to gain more friction to no avail.

“Mommy must like watching Daddy rub against your pussy, bunny. Be quiet now, let’s see if we can hear how wet Mommy is for us.”

Agatha groans and shifts. The sudden squelching makes it clear she has moved from her clit to fingering herself. You let out a pathetic whine and your strained voice isn’t louder than the raunchy, wet noises coming from Agatha’s cunt.

“Fuck, Mommy.” You groan and the noises only get louder and faster.

Her eyes fall to you and you’ve never seen her more hungry and wanton. She shushes you and guides you back to her nipple.

“That’s it, baby. You make Mommy feel so good. Mommy’s going to cum for you and then help Daddy make you feel good, okay? Just keep going—” Agatha cuts herself off with a loud moan.

“Fuck, Aggie. I bet you’re going to squirt for us. The only time your cunt sounds that greedy is when it wants to put on a show.” Rio’s cock is so close to your clit. If she just pressed up a little further… “What do you think, bun? Do you want to see Mommy make a mess for us?”

“Mommy’s going to cum for you both. Turn around, baby. Watch Mommy fuck herself.” Agatha is panting through her commands, “You’re so good for me. Letting Daddy fuck your thighs while I make myself feel good. I can’t wait until these fingers are making you feel good too. Maybe I’ll use my cum to make sure Daddy’s cock is nice and wet for you, hmm? Is that you want, bunny? Daddy fucking you full of her and Mommy’s cum?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you whine. “Please cum for me.”

“Tell me you need it, bunny.” Agatha’s demand sounds dangerously close to a plea and you are certain Rio can feel your cunt throb.

“I need your cum, Mommy. I need you.” You know you sound pathetic, especially through your floaty, congested stupor.

You feel wetness smear on your thigh and realize Rio is leaking precum. This realization doesn’t have time to melt your insides because your eyes catch the frantic movement of Agatha’s hand as she fucks into herself. You're surprised to find every finger but her thumb buried deeply in herself.

It doesn’t take much longer for Agatha to explode. A near-silent scream is punctuated by a yelp and then the soft patter of liquid falling across the coffee table and floor. Your head falls with Agatha’s rapid breathing and you figure you’d be content to stay here forever. Rio, however, has other plans.

She scoots out from under your legs and towers over you before leaning down and giving Agatha a soft kiss that teeters on hungry.

“You should let us watch you fuck yourself more often,” Rio teases before pulling away from Agatha. “That was fucking hot.”

“I’ll consider it. Take this one to bed, please.” Agatha looks down at you and smiles when you begin to fuss at the idea of moving. “None of that, bunny. I’m coming too, don’t worry.”

With her promise, you allow Rio to hoist you into her arms and cart you off to bed. Agatha is close behind, a familiar brown bag in tow. As soon as Rio settles you down onto the bed, you clock Agatha’s slight demeanor change. You don’t dream of complaining because seeing your wife in doctor mode was hot.

You let her check your pulse with the thin analog watch that sat on her wrist- face turned inward. You memorize the path of the small furrow in her brow as she concentrates. She pulls her stethoscope out of her bag and she attempts to pull you upwards so she can access your back. When a groan escapes you, Rio tuts and Agatha lets her take over moving you.

“Hush, bunny. Let Mommy listen.” Agatha lulls, unfazed by your fussing.

You comply, stifling a hiss at the cold of the stethoscope on the bare skin of your back. When Rio chuckles at your displeasure, you give her your best scowl that melts away as she places a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Big breath in,” Agatha instructs.

Rio holds her forehead to yours and takes a deep breath in, in time with your own. Each time Agatha further instructs ‘again’, Rio breathes with you. It is meditative to a point where as Agatha’s hand retreats from under the back of your shirt you find yourself disappointed.

The stethoscope is safely tucked back in Agatha’s medical bag and she produces a thermometer next. Rio is peppering your lips and cheeks with soft, pillowy kisses so you try to wave Agatha away. Her brow raises, silently asking if this is truly the hill you want to try and die on.

Either Rio has eyes in the back of her head or she knows you both too well because you feel her breathy chuckle as her lips move to your neck. She plants a kiss on the shell of your ear before whispering to you.

“Behave, bunny. Don’t forget she needs this just as much as you do.”

Rio is right. Health is Agatha’s area of expertise and she won’t be satisfied until she can tangibly prove to herself that, while you are sick, you are okay. You bite down on your lip at the feelings that threaten to bubble over at being so cared for that it impacts these two incredible women so much. Before you have the chance to comply, Agatha speaks up.

“I don’t like it when you two conspire,” she grumbles through squinted eyes. “I can always get the thermometer that goes up your—”

“NO! Look, wide open. See?” you frantically offer your open mouth, not missing the way Rio's eyes linger there for a moment too long for it to be considered wholly innocent.

Both women chuckle at you and share a knowing look. The way they can communicate without sharing any words threatens to burst your chest. You are feeling so much that trying to sort through it all was overwhelming. The loudest feeling screeching through your body is a wanton need for closeness. You need both of them. All of them. Everywhere. All at once. Rather than whine, you know the fastest way to get what you want is to continue complying.

Rio takes the thermometer from Agatha’s hand and sets it gently under your tongue.

“Close up, buttercup,” she coaches.

Agatha rolls her eyes at the rhyming and you give your best unimpressed look.

“Tough crowd,” Rio hums to herself, not even remotely put off by the lack of outward appreciation.

You are constantly in envy and awe at the sureness Rio meets life with. Sometimes, you are certain she has been dropped from another planet to observe and assess the one you share. Every interaction seems to be processed as new data to add to her understanding of the world around her. As a result, others thoughts and reactions to her own hardly ever cause her any sort of grievance. The only path for Rio is being every ounce of herself, and she is perfect.

Through your dreamy gaze that casts tiny, floating hearts around Rio’s head, you miss Agatha climbing into bed behind you. Right as the thermometer beeps Rio quickly retrieves it. You hadn’t even had time to make yourself cross eyed trying to read the number on the small screen. Rio quickly shows the number to Agatha, who only nodds her head to signal that Rio could put it away.

Part of you wants to know what your temperature was, another part of you is content with it being information you don’t need to worry about. If you need to worry, Agatha or Rio will let you know. Everything else you know they will take care of. With Agatha behind you, her legs on either side of you, and Rio gently pushing you back so you fully rest into Agatha- you feel fuzzy and warm. You are safe. You are cared for. You are loved.

As Agatha’s nails gently scratch up and down your arms, Rio quickly rids herself of her briefs. All three of you remain in oversized, worn t-shirts that have seen better days. When she settles in between your legs you squeak when you feel the staunch hardness of her cock nestle against your center.

“We love you so much, bunny,” Rio breathes in a whisper, gently rocking against you. “We’re so sorry you don’t feel well.”

“That’s right,” Agatha hums. “We can’t make it go away, but we know what your body is asking for.”

Agatha’s hand settles over your heart and the intimacy of her touch and the intensity of Rio’s gaze causes your breath to stutter.

“See, it’s part of my superpowers, you know?” Agatha continues, “It’s my job to know that when you feel icky because you’re sick it makes what’s in here louder.”

Agatha taps on your chest a few times to signify what ‘here’ is. Rio punctuates the movement by placing a tender kiss on each visible vein that runs through Agatha’s hand that's now settled back over your heart.

“If you had it your way I bet you’d want us to tote you around all day. On our hip, in a carrier, whatever meant you were nestled right against us the entire day.” You could hear the knowing smile that forms Agatha’s words. You feel your cheeks burn hot at being so known.

“You just need us close, right, bunny?” Rio speaks softly from her place above you and you whimper when her cock catches the edge of your underwear and meets your slick folds.

“Oh, God, Aggie. Our little bunny is soaked. You really do need us, don’t you?” Rio turns her attention back to you before taking a breath to steady herself.

Agatha presses a kiss to the top of your head and throws an arm across your chest, holding you near. Her other hand tenderly meets Rio’s face and their lips meet in a loving, languid kiss. There is no urgency in their movements. You all have forever to share this moment. An unspoken certainty of such echoes in the air around you before Agatha's low voice meets your ears again.

“Daddy’s going to give you everything you need, baby. Are you ready to take her? I’ll be right here.”

You nod your head, but Rio makes no movement to enter you. Only when you feel Agatha give a nod does Rio fully push the fabric that conceals you aside to sink herself deep within you.

You whimper at the sudden fullness and your eyes are entranced by Rio’s needy gaze. Agatha gently shushes you while peppering kisses on the top of your head.

“Good, bunny.” Agatha coaches, “That’s all you needed wasn’t it? For Mommy to hold you while Daddy fucked your pretty little pussy?”

Words are beyond you- you know nothing but the feeling of being doted and loved upon and the fullness that makes your belly bloom.

“We’ve got a pro on our hands- taking you so well.” Agatha feeds Rio’s thrusts with her words. “Does that feel good, Daddy? Making our little bunny feel better with your cock?”

Rio’s eyes screw shut and her head falls to your shoulder. She turns her head slightly so she can kiss your neck. It doesn’t take long before the kisses turn into pants and moans.

“Daddy, I need more.”

You pant in time with her thrusts. She nestles her hands under your hips and somehow is able to reach even deeper inside of you. You aren’t sure if its the medicine or if Rio is just that good, but you see stars. If you're honest its probably both.

You hear praise and cooing coming from both Agatha and Rio, but what they're saying is lost on you. Your body is only focused on how it feels to be consumed by Rio and enveloped by Agatha. You feel the thrusts begin to rut even deeper and know Rio is close.

“Please, Daddy. Cum in me. I need to feel you. Please, please, please. Give me your cum.”

You are a mess and you know it. You don’t always love to beg, but there is nothing else you want to do in this moment. The way you are needed just as much as you need breaks everything inside you. The only thing you are is theirs. And they are yours.

You feel dizzy, but coherent. Before you know it you are full of cum and Rio has switched places with Agatha who is now gently lapping at your folds. The moans coming from her chest are filthy and you could ascend into heaven when you see her use her tongue to move Rio’s cum up to your clit and coat you with it before giving you a wet, purposeful suck.

Rio is whispering filthy nothings into your ear: Mommy looks so good tasting my cum from you, baby. Look at how worked up you made, Mommy. You’re so good, bunny. I can tell you’re close…cum for us, mi amor.

Between her consistent stream of words that reach you in all of the right places and Agatha’s skillful tongue that knows exactly what you need and where you need it- you are somehow even more of a mess than you were with Rio inside of you.

You reach your peak at an earth shattering intensity. Once you come down, you do your best to comply anytime you hear an instruction. Despite your best efforts everything quickly becomes fuzzy before you drift into a deep, satisfied slumber.

[i-cant-cast-that-yet]

Y'know, I read a lot of Jiuyuan--or really just anything Shen Jiu in general, and Id like to pitch this idea to the class:

Disciple Shen Jiu who fuckin haaates men, right? Shen Jiu who goes to brothels to sleep bc he just can't around the other boys knowing full well how shit his reputation is bc of it but Fuck You he's gonna do what he has to to get some fucking rest on this shit ass peak of pretentious rich-kids who wouldn't know the tip of their sword from the hilt unless it was jammed in their throats--

Disciple Shen Jiu who's seen just about every flavor of man in the streets both from his nights with his jiejie's and from his time with the Qiu and the slavers, and loathes them with a passion and is, shamefully in his mind, afraid of them.

Standoffish, rude, holier than thou, venom spitting queen with a cruel streak a thinly veiled mile wide, Shen Jiu. A scum villain in the making.

Enter Disciple Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan, in all his millennial transmigrator glory. Hikkikomori ass lame ass chokes on a meatbun and fucking croaks after reading a porn harem web novel for the fucking plot (cough-lbh-cough) Shen Yuan.

This rando ass dude with Shen Jiu's family name--no they aren't related stop asking, Shen Yuan why do you look grossed out do you wanna fight??--

Shen Yuan who doesn't get close to any of his shijie's, bc "Oh they're all gonna be in Bingge's harem at some point, I don't wanna steal the protagonists wives!!"

Shen Yuan, a shut-in nerd in his early to mid 20s, who also shirks any of his shixiong's attention for other reasons. He's not big on sports in the first place, and as cool as swords are they're fucking heavy!!! Where's the training montage skip button, system!?!? All this (ugh) comraderie...he just wants to stay in the library and pretend the scrolls are as interesting as zhongdian was, okay?

Shen Jiu, who sees these avoidant traits in a boy with his name and a face that looks like his and assumes Shen Yuan has the same traumas as him.

He hates men, Shen Yuan included for both the happenstance of his birth and also because he's an idiot, but now he's seeing more of him reflected in this dude and it itches.

Maybe he bullies Shen Yuan like he does Binghe. Maybe Shen Yuan, who isn't actually a teenager in his own head like lbh was and fucking hates the scum villain (he called for castration in one life and he'll do it again!! This life gave him cultivation and a sword, he'll get creative if he has to) fights back.

Puts all that time in the forums to good use and verbally eviscerates the guy. Hits on several sore topics all at once and if it wasn't for the very public scene being caused Shen Jiu might have killed this upstart instead of just throwing a punch and jumping him like he currently is.

And listen. Fighting between peaks is typical. The Qing Jing peak lord of the time could care less if Shen Jiu fights the Liu kid from Bai Zhan--there's history between the peaks as it is. But the two Shens beefing so publically?? That's bad for Qing Jing's image.

Shen Jiu might be hated, but Shen Yuan is adored by several key figures across the sect and this Shizun can't tell if the brat did it on purpose or not but it's troublesome either way. Shen Jiu is here on Zhangmen-shixiong's head disciples request, so she can't get rid of either of them.

So she strategizes. It's like her whole thing.

Qing Jing peak lord-jie sticks the Shen's in the xianxia equivalent of the get along shirt. She makes them go on missions together, do chores together, etc. They'll either snap and kill one another or become friends. She wins either way.

It's bad at first. Blood is drawn, fans are thrown and broken over heads. They're too alike and too different and Shen Jiu sees himself in this kid but also every rich boy who wastes their own potential and privilege that they can't realize they were blessed with and he haaates it. Shen Yuan is pissed bc this ass is cruel and awful but so fucking sympathetic once he's spent enough time around the guy to put some pieces together. Bro loves a problematic blorbo and Binghe was a lot of things in pidw, but the product of Shen Jiu's projection is chief among them and Shen Yuan is getting a whole lot of it right now and it puts a lot into perspective.

...................

This is getting away from me now. It's late. Maybe I'll pick this up later.

[peachesofteal]

Simon and Johnny love a good game. 

They get bored, when they're not at work. Climbing the walls and lurking for long hours in the gym, at the bar. You can only watch so much television, can only read so many books. They try to broaden their horizons when it comes to cooking, but so far, they're slow learners. 

But games. Games can be fun. Not board games, metal pieces and paper money, folding maps and cards. No. 

Simon loves a cat and mouse game. The most dangerous game. A game that ends with catch but never release.

And Johnny's always more than happy to oblige him. He's even better at it, in a way. Simon skulks and sticks to shadows, where Johnny roams in the sun, smiling at old women and babies, chatting up whoever's behind him in the check out line. Finding a mouse is never hard for him.

Tonight’s mouse is a touch too skittish for Simon’s liking. Even though he enjoys them scared, the last one pissed herself when he threw her over his shoulder. He wasn’t a fan.

Still, Johnny likes you. Simon would never deny him, though you do throw a curveball.

You’re scared, but you’re smart. You pick up on them sooner than your predecessors, head half turned over your shoulder, clocking the shadow from the corner of your eye. Survival instincts lead you to stick to the crowded street, avoiding the left you’d usually make to head home to your apartment. You zig, cross to the other sidewalk, you zag, weaving through couples and groups of people taking their time, you have your keys between your knuckles.

You’re managing until you make the fatal error.

The train.

Why do they always think a confined, underground space is a good choice?

One time they chased a mouse through a fucking tunnel.

Made her pay for it, at least.

Simon laughs out loud, Johnny chuckling in his earpiece. “She was doin’ such a good job.”

“Just as well. I’m getting hungry for dinner.”

“Are you having fun?” Simon cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest, and you shake your head rapidly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. His cock grows heavy, and he squeezes it over his pants, Johnny licking his lips. Fuck. He loves it when they cry.

“Fun?” You croak, confused little wrinkle in your brow. “Wh-what?” Your mouth is hanging open too, and without thinking, he rams his fingers into it, shoving them back past your tongue until you gag. Johnny clicks his tongue, strokes your jaw before cupping it, immobilizing the hinges and forcing it wide.

“Want to have a bite before we get ‘er home?” There’s another man in the same car, on the other end, watching. He hasn’t said anything, done anything, moved at all. He’s only watched. A sick fuck like the rest of them. Simon knows he won’t intervene, so he pulls his fly down. The man pretends to glance away.

“Have you sucked a cock before?” You make some awful hissing noise like a strangled cat.

“C’mon bonnie, hold still.” Simon forces himself past your teeth. You’re shaking so hard it’s like your bones are rattling, and when you stay frozen, Johnny guides you, dragging the heat of your mouth back and forth on Simon’s cock. It’s hot, and wet, and his toes curl. It’s like getting high, like a cigarette after a huge dinner. Euphoric. Satisfying.

The man at the other end of the car turns to give the situation his full attention, but not to stop him. Instead, his hand creeps down the front of his pants.

“Aww mouse, I think he likes ye.” Johnny’s cock is also hard, swollen against his thigh, and he rips your tense grip free from the seat to press it to his erection, kissing your temple. “It’ll be my turn, when we get home.” You try to jerk free, thrash, but it only forces the blunt tip of Simon’s cock deeper, and you start to gag uncontrollably. Johnny’s practically shivering with excitement.

“Don’t puke.” He grunts, fucking your face, slamming deep as he pumps his cum down your throat. You moan, eyes slipping closed. Defeated. Trampled under foot. Poor little mouse.

It’s adorable. You’re helpless. There’s too much going on, him, Johnny, the fucking creep still rubbing away at his crotch, and he feels bad. They should be taking better care at this point. They always need to butter them up before setting them free in the maze.

“Lights out, Johnny.” Fingers find those pressure points on your neck, and then the next thing they know, you’re slumped over, asleep on Johnny’s chest. What a cutie.

“Think we can keep her for a bit?” Simon rolls his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

[bonniepop]

“hey.”

you swivel your head, hair fanning around you. atsumu is standing to the entrance of the sparring grounds in just his shirt and trousers, and your mind betrays you by acknowledging his handsomeness. your face falls into a familiar scowl. “what do you want?”

he nods at the sabre as he walks closer, ignoring your animosity. “done with practice?”

“all my students refused to spar me,” you grumble, wiping at the sweat on your brow with the back of your hand. “cowards.”

“i’ll spar you,” he says then, eyes flitting to you.

your eyebrow hitches up. “you’re joking.”

“i may not be as good as my wife,” he says, moseying over to the sword rack. “but i can handle myself.”

you watch as he picks something relatively pliable, similar to the one you held in your hand. the word wife makes you bristle, and your nerves light up. “and if i kick your ass?”

he pauses briefly, and says, almost solemnly, “then i’ll deserve it.”

your eyes follow him as he walks to the center of the empty training arena. you walk, taking tentative steps closer until you were a duel’s distance away. brandishing your sword, you get into position, and atsumu mirrors you.

“widen your stance,” you tell him, and he looks down to adjust. you ensure that the next thing he sees is you charging at him.

there’s an unreasonable anger within you as he fluidly parries your attacks, because he’s a prince, of course he was trained in swordfighting, but the fact that this wouldn’t be an easy victory ticked you off.

he deserved to have his ass kicked.

he’s quick on his feet and has a long reach, so you find yourself dodging a few swings, but the second you see him flick his wrist in a move that looked like a retreat, you’re incensed. “are you going easy on me?”

you dart down and swing your leg, catching his ankles. he yelps as he falls, but he manages to roll away and get back up. you cry out, opting to hurl your sword at him.

he dodges, but it’s by crouching low, and you ram yourself at his torso. your shoulder hits his rib and he lets out a pained huff, but you make quick work of disarming him, sliding his sword in your grip as you push him unto his back and straddle his sides. you point the tip of the blade at his neck as the dust settles around you.

his brings his hands up to surrender. “okay, okay, i give up,” he breathes, a thin sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. “you win.” your chest heaves in time with his, and you lean back and toss the sword to the side.

when you get up, he pushes himself up by his elbows. “for the record,” he croaks as he cradles his side, “i didn’t let you win.” 

“you withdrew your blade,” you point out, collecting the fallen swords and putting them back.

“you were going so fast i didn't even know what i was doing,” his face crumples in effort as he stands up. “holy shit, you kicked my ass.”

“yeah, well,” you say, sheathing the sword so roughly that the rack rattles. “i’m mad.”

“i know,” he says, hobbling over to you. “look, i’m—”

“save it,” you say, raising your hand before walking away. “i’m not interested whatever you have to say.”

you can hear atsumu hobble after you. “i know, but—i’m sorry. i just... i’m sorry, okay? i fucked up.”

“yes." you don’t want to hear it, you just want to go and leave and hide somewhere you won't see his face, but your feet slow in their tracks.  "you did.”

“but i didn't do it."

you turn to him slowly and look at him straight in the eye. "didn't do what?"

"i didn't sleep with her," atsumu admits, coming closer. “i lied.”

your temper flares to an alarming degree that you force yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath. it calms you none. “why?” you demand when you open your eyes to glare at him. “we were doing so well, atsumu. we were finally making this farce of a marriage work, and then you go and—”

“because,” he interrupts angrily, “i want this to be a real marriage.”

the answer takes you by surprise, and the rest of your retaliation dies in your throat.

“when this first started out, i wasn’t under any illusion that this marriage would actually turn into the real thing,” he says, visibly annoyed. “you didn’t want me—hell, you didn’t even like me! you’ve made that very, very clear, and i got the picture. i was willing to just be the husband who didn't give a shit about his wife, just like damn near every fucker in this kingdom, but then i got to know you, and i—” it's as if his rising frustration hit a ceiling and evaporated into smoke. he sighs, defeated. “i wanted to get a reaction out of you.”

you huff. “why?”

“because—" he hesitates, "because after the banquet—"

your memory flashes quickly. the gentle of his hand on your lower back, the heat of his breath near your ear. it was pretend, you kept telling yourself that night, pretending that things were not the way they were, the agreement you'd both discussed that whatever ire had wedged itself between you two be forgotten in the face of neighboring kingdoms.

"—i wanted to know if things had changed.” his eyes meet yours. "that by any chance, that the—" he stops himself, but your memories are faster.

the feel of his lips, softer than you thought they'd be, warmer than they had any right to be, against the back of your hand, against your cheek, against your mouth. fast, fleeting.

wanting.

his eyes meet yours, as if hearing your memory. “if what we have has a chance at the real thing.”

your chest flares with warmth, but then a sharpness takes over when the night plays further in your head. him pulling away, flirting with another woman in plain sight; him, flashing you the most antagonistic sneer you've seen on his face as the ballroom thins and he escapes with a woman, making sure you've seen.

he hurt you then.

“you betrayed my trust,” you say, trying to control your voice, but it croaks pathetically. it’s a feeble excuse, even to you.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters sincerely, coming closer. “i'm sorry, i truly am. trust me. i—” he huffs, “i miss you.”

your throat tightens and you sniff.

“getting to know you," he continues, "even when you were a nightmare, was—was fun. sneaking around and playing games and making fun of people was fun. i actually… i grew to like you, because you’re not as bad as i thought you were, and at this point i’m hoping that you don’t think i was as bad as the asshole i made myself out to be in the beginning, and at the banquet. and i—” he swallows, “i’m hoping that, now that you know me… that this could be... that things could be different."

he groans and looks up at the ceiling. “god. what is happening to me.”

it’s such a juvenile reaction that it makes your lip twitch. “do you even know what you’re asking?” you ask, trying to school your expression. “what makes you think this will work?”

he tips his chin down to look at you. “we’ve survived this long, right?” he asks, coming closer. “what’s another eternity? besides,” he reaches forward to brush your hair back. “you’re not so bad.” 

you sniffle and he presses his forehead to yours, eyes closing. “i’m really sorry,” he whispers. “please forgive me.”

you swallow, wanting to respond with so many things, but instead, you say, “you’re not so bad either.” 

he pulls back in surprise, and the smile that takes over his face is blindingly bright.

[dreamermonica]

—gender neutral reader, teen gojo x reader hence the preferred use of glasses, established relationship, slight cursing, just a fluffy scenario i had to post with my crippling gojo brainrot before i hibernate once again

“ah.” GOJO says flatly out of nowhere. “my head's starting to hurt.”

you subtly glance at him from the reflection of the opposing side of the train's tinted windows, watching the way he removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. you inwardly sigh.

“i can't tell if you're being serious or you just want attention.”

gojo gasps dramatically from beside you, “why would i lie about something like that?”

“can you really blame me for being distrusting?” you say blankly, giving him and and his offended face the stink eye, “especially with the amount of times you've whined out to me like some child who wants to get uppies from his mother?”

you silently relish in the way he stays silent, pouting at you whilst a victorious grin rests on your lips, your gaze returning back to the novel in your hands.

“told you so.”

he whines your name in defeat and lays his head against your shoulder, “my head does hurt though...”

the way he said it urges you to think that he is, indeed, not kidding, and most definitely wasn't just seeking attention—voice stripped of any type of cheeriness, coming out hoarse more than anything.

you pursue your lips as your gaze quickly flits to his face, before dropping to the sunglasses situated on his lap, folded neatly as his eyes are closed shut.

right. the object reminds you of what is probably causing him the headache. six eyes.

your heart nearly cracks at the small grimace on his expression, jaw clenched as his arms are crossed, head still leaning against your shoulder as he focuses on heaving steady breaths. you immediately feel bad now. terrible. horrid.

“toru,” you say, alarmed, slightly panicking as you drop your novel onto your lap, hand situating themselves on both sides of his face as his eyes still remain shut. “i thought you said the glasses helped?”

“they do,” he croaks out, the grimace slowly disappearing as he takes in the warmth of your palms, “but they don't just block out everything, you know.”

“did you overuse your eyes again?” you're ready to scold him, he can tell from the way your tone is slowly turning into one of a nagging mother hen. “this is why you should use blindfolds.”

he only breathes a noise of contentment when you start rubbing circles on his temples, practically melting in your hold.

“well—to be fair,” he starts, one eye opening, and sarcasm still evidently present even with a headache, “we were up against a pretty tricky special grade earlier. i may be the strongest, but that doesn't mean i should let my guard down. you told me that yourself.”

you hold back the urge to roll your eyes, instead staring at him unamused. you caress his cheek gently, “close your eyes, idiot.”

your annoying boyfriend deliberately opens both as if to spite you, cheekily smiling as he stares back at you, “i can still see cursed energy even if i do, babe.”

you still aren't impressed. he chuckles at your expression.

“plus, my headache disappears faster when i see pretty girls.”

“oh, fuck off,” you angrily pinch his cheeks in response as he yelps out in pain, before opting to cover his eyes with one of your hands instead. you feel his eyelashes as he blinks in confusion at the gesture.

“does this help?”

“not really. i can still see cursed energy.”

“oh.” you move to remove your hand, “my bad—”

what you don't expect next is that he keeps your hand in place above his eyes with his own, feeling your knuckles under his palm as he moves to rest his head against your shoulder once more, his eyes still covered by your palm.

“i thought it didn't help?”

“it doesn't but i like you touching me.”

you blink, clearly weirded out by the way he worded that.

“...seriously?”

“yeah, darling. now, as much as i like your voice—i really want to sleep right now, so be quiet before i kiss you stupid right here in public.”

you immediately and effectively shut up at that, hearing an awkward cough from the man sitting across from you. you send him an apologetic look, before glaring at gojo, who's now snoozing his way to wonderland.

you have an inkling that he probably won't be wearing blindfolds anytime soon. especially with how he's grinning like a madman even in his sleep with your hand over his eyes.

you sigh—noting to bring a blindfold each time you go out with the man from now on, not wanting a sore arm everytime you take the train home. you can already picture him pouting in response.

“the child that you are, gojo satoru,” you murmur whilst leaning against his head, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple.

“...you're lucky i love you.”

extra:

donning his sunglasses as he exits the train, he cheerily says, “that was the best nap of my life!”

his headache is gone, which is a relief—but unfortunately, yours is still standing right in front of you.

you clutch your numb arm—already feeling the soreness that'll come after shortly.

“i take it back. i hate you.”

“aw, love you too, bae.”

Zzzz...

[lisenberry]

141 when they find out reader has been crying:

(an earlier brain worm had me expanding this to all of them)

Price: He pulls you into his office and shuts the door. It barely closes before he turns on you, crossing his arms and looking down with his chin tucked against his chest. He rocks back on his heels once, twice, while he waits for you to spill.

You can only blink up at him, willing your tears not to fall while he's watching you so intently.

"What is it, sir?" You finally chance the use of your voice, but instantly regret it. Your miserable croak isn't hiding anything.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me why you've been crying." His tone is gruff, like sandpaper over rock salt, but his eyes soften imploringly.

For a minute, you want to tell him everything, but instead you just give in and cry harder. For a moment, he looks disappointed, but he simply pats you awkwardly on your shoulder and grabs a box of tissues from his desk drawer.

He motions to the sofa in the corner where you sob quietly for a half hour more while he finishes his paperwork. He doesn't know what's going on, but he's not going to let you do it alone.

Ghost: It doesn't matter where you hide, he finds you. The kitchen? He's in and out three times. Tea, a spoon for his tea, another tea. He crowds your space each time, no matter where you stand. Forcing you in circles as you try to keep your face averted.

For a silent man, he manages to make as much noise as possible to distract you to the point of almost asking him, "What the fuck, Simon?"

You finally move to a bathroom stall, but before long you hear the door open and two large boots stop just beyond the door. You know it's him by the size alone.

You hold your breath for a beat, and then two, so long that you wonder who is going to give in first. You know you've got about 3 minutes before you pass out. But just as you're about to stand up and face him, he turns and leaves without a word.

Exactly ten minutes later, he finds you in the rec room, dragging someone by the neck. It's not until Ghost kicks the man's knees out from under him, forcing him to kneel in front of you that you realize who it is. Some asshole from the other team who was giving you a hard time in training this morning.

With Ghost's knee pressed painfully between his shoulder blades, he grits out, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! It won't happen again!"

He's not the reason you're crying, but watching his face turn ten shades of purple does make you feel a little better.

Gaz: He keeps his distance and hates to see people cry because it always makes him cry, too. He doesn't know why. Movies, talk shows, commercials, they just get him right in the feels.

But every time you look up, his golden eyes meet yours, glistening with empathy. You simply shake your head at him and go about your day, until eventually, you get a text.

You mad at me?

-No, I'm fine.

You sure?

-Yep.

Fucking xxxx again, innit?

Of course he'd be the one to guess right. He paid the most attention, listened when you talked and remembered every detail. To be honest, he'd been the one you confided in the most for that reason.

He took your silence as a confirmation.

I hid some ice cream in the freezer. Unless Soap got to it first.

Soap: You head back to the kitchen again in search of the contraband ice cream, hoping it's the good mocha chip flavor you love, only to find Soap has beaten you to it. He innocently scoops out the last bite before seeing your face crumble and guiltily tosses it into the sink.

"Och, shit. Was that yours?"

"No, it's okay." Could this get any worse?

After dealing with these four, you just give up and slink back to your room.

"You know what you need?" He charges you before you can get any further.

"No, Johnny, don't!" Not one to listen, he pulls you up over his shoulder in one swoop and fireman carries you out to the gym.

"We're going to sweat it out, yeah? Always makes me feel better. Whether it's fighting or fucking is up to you."

You finally laugh at the absurdity of it, for the first time all day.

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 12 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

A/N: Get ready. . . 👀

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

“Okay, you’re all set,” the paramedic says, patting my shoulder. He crumples the packaging of the butterfly closure strips he just used on my cheek up in his fist and throws it into the trash can next to us.

I sigh and shoot him a thankful smile before hopping off the stretcher and climbing out of the back of the ambulance.

As it turns out, none of my injuries are life threatening. My stomach is just bruised and the cut on my cheek isn’t as deep as I originally thought it was.

If I’m honest, my confidence to beat Ghostface again is actually what took the biggest hit. I’m in my prime, physically, and I thought I knew what I was getting into, but this Ghostface is different than Amber and Richie.

He is more. . . rutheless, and the way he fights makes me believe he has some kind of professional training.

“Y/N!”

Oh no.

I slowly turn around to face a fuming Sam. Now that the initial worry has worn off she’s mad and I’m not at all surprised when she shoves me after brushing past another paramedic to get to me.

“Hey, calm down.” I lift my hands placatingly, but she’s not having it.

She scowls and glares incredulously. “Calm down?” she hisses. “Calm down? You almost got yourself killed with that little stunt of yours back there. What the fuck were you thinking?!”

I glace over her shoulder to see Tara watching us with a smug look and her arms crossed over her chest. She sees me looking at her and I silently plead she’ll come over and get Sam to back off, but she doesn’t. She just looks away and I feel my stomach sink.

This is definitely payback for earlier when I didn’t defend her against Sam.

Little shit.

“I wasn’t thinking, okay?! All I wanted was to get you and Tara out of there and I did. You’re both okay,” I argue, turning my attention back to Sam.

She scoffs and pokes my shoulder, stepping closer so we’re almost chest to chest. “And what about you?! Huh? You could have gotten killed!”

Usually I’d be nervous if she was standing this close, but right now I’m simply exhausted and irritated. Why can’t she just say thank you for what I did and move on? Besides, I’m fine!

“But I wasn’t,” I shoot back, looking down at her with as much defiance as I can muster. “I’m still here, am I not?”

“So, what? You’re just going to keep putting yourself in danger until you inevitably do get yourself killed? Do you have no sense of self preservation?” she spits, the fury in her eyes taking me by surprise for a moment.

Why is she so mad? I saved her life!

“If it is to make sure you and Tara are safe then yeah!”

Silence.

Sam stares at me with wide eyes and takes a step back before whispering, “You would die for us? For me?”

Exasperated, I throw up my hands. “Of course, Sam! Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

It’s true, I would die for either of them. Not that I want to, of course, I like being alive, but if it comes down to it, I’d rather it be me than them.

That’s how much I love them. That’s how much I love Sam.

All the fight leaves Sam’s body and she just stares at me with confusion written all over her face. There’s also something else in her eyes, but I can’t quite place it.

Why is it so hard for her to believe it? I almost died saving Tara twice before, so why would that have changed? Why wouldn’t I do the same for her?

“But. . . Why?” she croaks which makes me huff in disbelief.

Is she seriously asking that?

Because I fucking love you, I want so scream, but before I can open my mouth a police officer steps between us.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Detective Bailey is asking for you guys at the station and I’ve been told to give you a ride,” he says politely and I look at Sam one more time to see she’s lost in thought before nodding and following him to his squad car.

I slide into the middle seat next to Tara who’s already in the car and nudge her with an unamused look for leaving me alone with Sam before letting her hug my arm for comfort. Sam gets in as well a moment later and we spend the drive to the police station in silence.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Sam says quietly, getting to her feet and pointing at her now vacant chair. “Just take a seat. We’ve been here for hours and you haven’t stopped pacing once.”

We’re alone in an interrogation room and there are pictures of the latest Ghostface killings on the table. I can’t stand to look at them any more and I’m beyond tired, so to keep myself distracted and awake I pace around. Well, until now.

Sam eyes me expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest, but I just shake my head.

Tara is asleep with her head on the table, and I know I won’t be able to sit still when I sit down and I don’t want to risk waking her.

I also know that tonight’s been a lot for Sam, even more than for me, so she should really be the one sitting down.

“Y/N. . .” she warns, but I just shake my head again.

“You’re tired, you sit down. I’m fine on my feet,” I say only to yawn a second later.

“Are you now?” she deadpans and I sigh, turning to resume my pacing.

I don’t get very far though because before I know what’s happening, Sam’s grabbed my elbow and dragged me to the chair.

She pushes me to sit down on it, and I’m about to protest and stand right back up when she plops down on my lap.

“Just sit. . .” she mumbles.

My brain short circuits and I freeze, feeling my heart race in my chest when she leans back against me, resting her head on my chest.

I know I could easily get her off me and stand up, but I don’t dare to move.

What the fuck is happening?

At the bodega she was about ready to rip my head off and now she’s doing this, whatever this is. . .

We haven’t been this close since we were kids and she snuck into my room and I don’t know how to react, or where to put my hands. I can just hope she can’t hear how fast my heart is beating.

I have to admit, she feels warm and the smell of her perfume brings me an unexplainable comfort, but I’m currently more awake than I’ve been all night even though the opposite seems to be true for her.

She lets out a deep breath and gets more comfortable on my lap and when I hesitantly wrap my arms around her middle so they’re not just awkwardly hanging by my side she puts her hands over mine and interlaces our fingers.

What is happening?!

The resolve I had to stay away from her so as to not get hurt again is dwindling, leaving me utterly confused.

I don’t know what I want anymore, but I do know that it feels right to have her this close.

Still, I want to ask her what she’s doing since she’s with Danny— or is she?— but I don’t get the chance because before I can pluck up the courage to do it, the door flies open.

Tara jerks awake and sits up with wide eyes, frowning momentarily when she sees the position Sam and I are in before turning back to what I’m assuming is Quinn’s dad, Detective Bailey, who just walked in.

“Sorry for the long wait,” he says, closing the door behind himself. When he turns, he looks at Sam and me weirdly, but he doesn’t comment on it.

Still, it makes me feel uneasy, and I want Sam to get off me, but she just holds my hands tighter and shifts so she faces Bailey more directly as he sits down at the other side of the table.

He throws a Ghostface mask onto the table and says something about it having been found at the apartment crime scene. I don’t pay much attention because I’m still distracted by Sam sitting on my lap.

He also goes on to ask us all about our alibis and I only give a short answer, saying that I just got into the city and that I was with Sam and Tara the rest of the night.

“Was the party before or after this?” he asks Sam and I tense underneath her when he shows us a video of Sam trying to lunge at the girl who threw her drink on her.

Where did he even get that?

Sam squeezes my fingers, but her voice is level when she replies, “Before. . .”

Tara huffs. “The point is we were with people all night.”

Bailey nods, although it seems almost reluctantly and it’s silent for a moment before Sam asks the question I’ve been meaning to ask myself ever since we got here.

“So, our roommate’s dad just happened to pull our case?” she asks and I see something like irritation flash in Bailey’s eyes before he answers.

“The detective who had the case offered it to me because it involves Quinn. But I can totally give it back if you’re uncomfortable,” he says and the way he says it almost makes it sound like a challenge.

Of course it makes sense that he’d work on this case, but my gut tells me that something’s not right about this whole thing.

I could also just be tired and hungry though, after all, I’ve been up for almost twenty four hours now and the last time I ate something was back at Liam’s which was just some leftover chocolate cake.

The two sisters share a look, Tara seemingly skeptical of the situation, but then Sam sighs and relaxes back against me, saying, “It’s fine.”

Bailey nods and he looks almost smug and I frown for a moment, but then he goes on to talk about Sam’s stolen license and I zone out again.

That is until the door opens once again and a uniformed officer tells Bailey that the FBI is here, claiming jurisdiction over the case.

The FBI?

“What?” Bailey clenches his jaw and gets to his feet. “Where are they?”

He leaves the room without looking back and as soon as he’s gone, I let out a long sigh. This is not how I thought my trip to New York would turn out.

“This is all so messed up,” Tara whispers.

“Yeah.” Sam nods and for a couple of seconds we sit in silence. Chatter from outside the interrogation room is the only thing to be heard, well, that and the clock ticking on the wall above us until Sam gets to her feet, pulling me up by my arm as well.

“What are you—?” I start but she’s already dragging me to the door.

“I want to know what’s going on,” she says.

Tara shrugs when I look at her, and before I know it the three of us are standing in the hallway where Bailey and a blonde woman I don’t recognize are in the middle of a conversation.

“Kirby?” Sam asks, letting go of my arm.

“Hey, Sam,” the blonde— Kirby— says, sending Bailey a placating smile before pulling Sam into a hug. “Tara. . .” She smiles at the younger Carpenter before shifting her attention to me. “Oh, and Y/N, hey.”

Kirby, Kirby, Kirby. . . Why does that sound so familiar?

“You guys know each other?” Bailey asks with a somewhat displeased look.

“Yeah, we went to Woodsboro High together,” Sam explains, the surprise of seeing the blonde still present on her face. “She was a senior when Y/N and I were freshman.”

Ah, yes. That’s why her name rings a bell.

The two of us never really saw that much of each other around school, but now that I know who she is I remember her from back then.

Wow. . . That feels like forever ago. I’m really getting old.

An officer walking by and handing Bailey another Ghostface mask in an evidence bag, this time from the bodega, cuts our trip down memory lane short.

It turns out it belonged to Charlie Walker and Jill Roberts, both of whom were Ghostfaces which makes me feel uneasy.

Two Ghostface masks belonging to previous Ghostfaces have been found now, and it’s pretty obvious that it’s not a coincidence.

The question is though, why would the current Ghostface leave them at the crime scenes and how did he get his hands on them in the first place.

Aren’t those masks evidence? Shouldn’t they be locked up at a police station somewhere?

“Whoever’s doing this,” Kirby says, snapping me out of my thoughts, “is a student of the killers who came before. . . Maybe he believes Sam is the latest in a long line.”

Excuse me?! Sam is not Ghostface.

I gape at Kirby, but Tara and Sam don’t seem too surprised by what the blonde just said.

This is definitely part of what I’m still missing. . .

Sam grabs my arm again and goes to brush past Bailey and Kirby, saying, “Good luck with that, but we’re getting out of town,” only to be stopped by Bailey who steps in her way and says, “That’s not possible. You’re all persons of interest in a double homicide, so you’re not allowed to leave town.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, speaking up for the first time since telling him about my alibi.

Kirby nods with an apologetic look, trying to convince us to just work with them to get this solved as quickly as possible, but Sam just shakes her head.

“Yeah, no. We’re leaving.” She spins around and leaves, and Tara and I are quick to follow her only to run into Gale Weathers and a whole bunch of other reporters outside.

It’s a struggle to get through them, especially getting past Gale who since writing her book on what happened is dead to me, but after Tara punches her we manage to flag down a cab and get away.

When her book first came out, I was a little irritated because she said she wouldn’t write about what happened, but then I read it and I was furious. She portrayed Sam as unstable and a born killer, which made me furious, and then she even tried to get an interview with me to talk about it which I, of course, refused.

I’m so tired, I bet I could fall asleep standing up right now. I just got out of the shower at Sam’s and Tara’s and am now pulling on the clothes they lent me. Well, technically they’re Chad’s because his are the only clothes that fit me, but he’s got them stored here for emergencies.

Originally, I wanted to go to Liam’s to get my stuff, but I couldn’t risk Ghostface following me and potentially finding out about Liam.

Then, my second thought was to go out and buy some stuff while Sam and Tara went to meet the others on campus to talk about what’s going to happen next, but Tara refused to let me go alone.

Which is how I ended up here, in Sam’s room, half dressed in a pair of loose jeans, with damp hair and an aching stomach.

I can’t find the sweater Tara tossed my way earlier, so I just take a seat on the edge of the bed and close my eyes, trying to indulge in this little moment of peace while the other’s are in the living room and in the kitchen making dinner.

I know now that the reason Sam was assaulted by that girl is because there’s rumors going around that she instigated all the murders in Woodsboro and then framed Richie for them. It also clears up why Kirby said people think Sam is a Ghostface, however it doesn’t explain why I haven’t heard about this until now— until Ethan mentioned the rumors online which led me to go down a rabbit hole on my phone before showering.

I’m appalled by it, and mad that people even consider believing this shit, but I’m also disappointed that neither Tara nor Sam told me about it.

The door creaks open behind me, but I don’t open my eyes or turn around until I hear Sam clear her throat softly.

I wasn’t expecting her, so I’m quick to get up and look for the sweater since I’m still half naked.

“Looking for this?” she asks quietly as she picks the sweater off the floor on the other side of the bed.

Ah, that’s where it went.

“I— Yeah,” I take it from her with a tight-lipped smile and quickly put it on, not missing the way her eyes dart to my scars before I cover them.

I don’t like how awkward things are between us, and I don’t like how confused I am about my feelings for her.

Her sitting on my lap at the police station is one thing, she could have just been tired and clingy after what happened, but this, the intense way she’s looking at me right now. . . That is something else entirely.

I love her. I love her more than anyone, but I don’t want to get hurt again.

“You know,” she says with vulnerability seeping into her voice. “I don’t actually hate you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I— Okay. I mean, I wasn’t thinking you did, but. . .”

She chuckles sadly and shakes her head. “Not now, no, but—“ she runs her hands through her hair, “—years ago, you stopped me from going home with that guy, Josh, I think was his name. You stopped me from doing something I would have regretted for the rest of my life a-and I threw it in your face. I told you I hated you and I never forgot about it.“

When our eyes meet, I see tears glistening in her eyes, making me frown as I take a step forward.

“Sam. . .” I whisper, but she averts her shame-filled eyes. “I know you didn’t mean it. Even back then, I knew. You were hurting and you needed someone to blame, so you blamed me because I was closest to you. It stung, yes, but I never held it against you. If I’m honest, I even forgot about it until you just brought it up.”

“But then why do you hate me now?” she asks, her voice cracking.

She’s still not looking at me, so I close the distance between us and tentatively brush my fingers against her cheek. “What are you talking about? I don’t hate you.”

She unconsciously leans into the touch, her watery eyes finally meeting mine again. “Then why are you shutting me out? After what happened last year I thought we were fine, but then. . . after Christmas you started acting weird a-and I don’t understand why.”

Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. I never meant to hurt her by keeping my distance. All I wanted to do was protect my heart.

I let my hand drop off her cheek and clench my jaw.

I’m so tired of this cat and mouse game. I don’t want to get hurt again, but she deserves to know the truth. I mean, what better time is there than now? We could all die tonight, and I’m not prepared to take this secret to the grave with me. After all, I was already going to tell her last night before we were interrupted and taken to the station.

“Because. . . I love you,” I whisper shakily.

Sam’s eyes widen but I continue before she can say anything.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids, Sam. It’s always been you, but I’ve kept my distance these last nine months because I realized that you don’t—and will never— feel the same way about me. I never meant to hurt you in the process. . .”

I shudder. There’s no turning back now. For a moment Tara’s muffled laugh from the living room and the heartbeat in my ear are the only things I can hear.

“How would you know?” Sam croaks, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Know what?” I ask, frowning at her lack of reaction.

Her eyes dart over my face, searching for. . . I don’t even know what.

“That I don’t feel the same way?” she whispers, stepping closer.

“What?” I was expecting everything but that. “I don’t—“

“You’re such an idiot,” she mumbles, surging forward and kissing me.

I choke in surprise, my hands flailing around for a split second before my eyes fly shut and my arms find their way around her waist.

This is everything I ever dreamed of and more. Her lips taste like the cherry lip-balm she likes, making me swoon, and her fingers digging into my neck send shivers down my spine.

If she wasn’t as pressed against me as she is, I’m sure my knees would give out under me.

As great as this is though, I can’t help but suddenly think of Danny and I pull back right before she can deepen the kiss.

“Sorry.” She pants against my lips, resting her forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t have just—“

“No.” I shake my head. “I-It’s okay. . . More than okay actually.” We both chuckle. “But what about Danny?”

She sighs and pulls back enough to look at me, her fingers playing with the damp hair at the back of my neck. “I told you. We’re not a thing. We used to fool around for a while, but now we’re just friends.”

“Friends?” I ask skeptically.

“Yes, friends.” She shoots me a knowing look, the tiniest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “He’s always wanted more, but I told him it’s not happening because I’m in love with someone else. . . I’m in love with you.”

I know she’s basically already said it, but hearing her actually say it makes me gasp softly which in turn makes her smile a watery smile.

“I love you,” she whispers again, pecking my lips. “Always have and always will. I just— I never told you because when I realized it, it was right before I found out who my real dad was and I didn’t want to drag you into it. Then, I left for five years and when I came back, I didn’t think I deserved to tell you. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most, but then we were getting over it and I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get a chance to tell you after all. . . and then you started shutting me out.“

I chuckle in disbelief and pull her into a hug, burying my nose in her hair. “I shut you out because you never reacted to what Richie said and then you said all that stuff about long distance relationships and—“

“I didn’t say anything about what Richie said because I didn’t think he was actually right. After everything I’d done, I just didn’t believe that you could ever be in love with me,” she argues weakly, tightening her arms around my neck. “And the whole long distance stuff, I just— I wasn’t talking about you. With anyone else, I wouldn’t want it, but with you?! You’re the exception to every rule.”

Well damn. If only we’d talked sooner.

I sniffle and blink back a wave of tears before pulling back to look at her again.

Tara’s going to be so proud of us.

“I love you,” I say, feeling my heart flutter at the way her eyes sparkle when I say it.

She moves her hands from the back of my neck to my jaw, her thumb gently touching the cut on my cheekbone. It makes my skin tingle and when she whispers, “I love you, too,” I lean down to brush my lips against hers.

She hums and goes to deepen the kiss, but then a scream from the living room makes us jump apart.

_______________________________________________

And BAM! There it is! It finally happened, people! We kissed. Be honest, was it a little rushed, or are you guys happy with it?

Writing it, it felt a little rushed but we’re twelve chapters in now, so I think the timing’s okay.

Anywayyy, hope you liked it!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[sunskisser]

hi, my darling!! i love, love, your writing, and just wanted to say that i am obsessed! may i please request scarf (i can't find the emoji) 😭 with our dearest remus? the prompt would be — “is there anything i can say to make this less awkward?”

thank you so much darling! <3 and here’s a scarf for you🧣(found the emoji for you haha 😉)

mistletoe | r.l.

— “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

remus lupin x reader —★— word count 1.7k

summary: you attend your neighbour, sirius’ christmas party, where remus saves you from a bully before kissing you under the mistletoe :)

cw: fluff, mean bully cormac mclaggen, protective remus <333, reader gets panicky, sirius is a protective + matchmaker friend haha

Your eyes dart around the living room nervously, drink sloshing around the cup in your hand. The music from the speakers is booming, blaring disco lights making it hard to see much. You can’t seem to spot any familiar faces.

Sirius, your next-door neighbour and friend, was throwing a huge Christmas party. All his old friends were there too. You were familiar with them, having seen them quite a bit whenever they went over. And they seemed nice for the most part, if a bit raucous. You think you’d probably feel better around them than stranded in this buzzing, foreign crowd.

You continue taking cautious steps forward, eyes trained on the ground as you push your way through bodies of people dancing and snogging and puking and – fuck.

You don’t even realise that you’ve spilled your drink all over someone until he, not very nicely, alerts you to it.

“Hey!”

It doesn’t occur that he’s calling out to you. Your hearing is all but closed off to the noise of the party.

“Hey – you!” All of a sudden there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist, and you freeze, quickly whipping around to find the source. It feels like your flight or fight mode has been activated, and you’re squirming away before you can even spot his face in the sea of people.

Breaths are loud, deafening in your ears. They might be yours, or maybe they’re those of the crowd starting to gather round. You’re not quite sure.

Your eyes land on him. The buff blonde in front of you, grip tightening around your wrist as he pulls you closer. There’s words coming out of his mouth. Spit landing on your nose. But you can’t seem to make out a thing he’s saying, phrases like stupid girl and bitch slipping through your consciousness and adding fuel to the fire of panic in your throat.

You open your mouth to apologise, though you’re not quite sure what you’ve done. Nothing comes out but a pathetic croak.

The scary man’s voice gets louder and louder. You’ve never quite seen rage in human form, but here he was. Here he was. And he was going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it.

“Hey, man.”

Another voice, getting closer. It’s softer. Gentler. You feel an arm around your waist, and the touch is kind enough to not make you want to pull away.

“Let go of her, please. It was an honest mistake.”

“But this bitch –”

“I said,” you can hear the hint of hardness in the nice man’s voice, “Let go.” Somehow, you know it’s not directed at you. His grip on your waist tightens the slightest bit, but careful not to hurt.

There’s a beat of silence before the harsh hand leaves your wrist. The relief is immediate, the familiar feeling of a come down after a painful high. Your skin doesn’t feel so foreign to you anymore.

“Thank you,” the kind man says from beside you, though he doesn’t sound very grateful. “I’m sure Sirius could spare you one of his shirts, if you’d like.” Once again, there’s no actual apology in his tone.

Without waiting for a reply, you feel yourself being gently steered away. You look around as you walk, spotting expressions of shock and humour and all sorts of funny feelings.

You twist your head to take a look at your saviour, feeling like your heart might stop beating all over again.

Remus Lupin. You liked him more than you knew him.

You’ve seen him a few times at Sirius’ place, spoken to him even fewer. Yet nothing but sweetness came to mind at the thought of him; all softness and pretty scars and kind smiles. You think maybe the word gentleman was made for him. Even Sirius seemed to be lovelier in Remus’ presence, which was saying a lot, because you thought your neighbour really was quite lovely already.

You’d never seen Remus so riled up before. Honestly, you didn’t think he was capable of it. There was a silly little feeling in your tummy, to know that he had gotten so worked up to protect you.

“Sweetheart,” his voice brings you back to the present. And he’s back to normal, back to the soft, calm man you so adored.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles bemusedly, though his brows are bent with concern. You realise he’s brought you to the kitchen, where there’s fewer people and more air to breathe. The feeling of his thumbs gently rubbing your wrists is almost too much to bear. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m –” you try not to shudder as the thought of the angry man comes back to you, “fine. I’m fine.”

Remus gives your hands a squeeze. “Okay. You’re okay now, yeah? I’m sorry about Cormac. He was a dick in high school too,” he sighs. “Once a dick, always a dick.”

You let out a giggle. “Really?”

He grins, a proper one. “Yeah, really. One time, James — you know James, right? The bespectacled one with the curly hair —” he continues when you nod, “— yeah, so James walked right up to Cormac and —“

“Hey,” Remus is interrupted by Sirius, breathless as he shoves past people, into the kitchen. His brows are pinched together as he pulls you into a half hug. “Hey, babe. Are you good? I heard what happened just now with McLaggen, the asshole.”

“I’m okay, really,” you squeak out as Sirius pulls you even closer. “Sirius —“

You feel your cheeks heating up when you hear Remus chuckling. Sirius lets you go from the hug now, but his grip on your shoulders is vice-like as he looks you over like a concerned mother hen. “Are you sure you’re okay? He didn’t touch you, did he?”

“Well, he did, but —“

“He touched you?” Sirius sounds close to appalled. Remus is snickering now, and you feel like digging yourself a hole and crawling into it. “The bastard! I’m gonna —“

“Sirius!” you hiss, cutting him off. “I’m all good, I swear. Remus got me out of it.”

Sirius flicks his gaze over to Remus. In a split second, you know what’s coming when you see the twinkle in his eyes.

“Sirius. Don’t you dare.”

He flashes you a quick grin before turning to his friend, wiggling his eyebrows. “So, loverboy here saved you, huh?”

Remus quirks an eyebrow at you questioningly. You turn to Sirius with a pleading look; you knew he knew all about your little crush. But of course, he wouldn’t stop there.

“Did he swoop you into his arms? Catch you as you fell?”

“No…“ you mumble shyly, shoulders up to your ears.

“Well,” Sirius smirks, “He can now!”

The only warning you get is a wink, before Sirius’ hand is on your shoulder and he gives you a push.

You let out a yelp as you tumble backwards, straight into Remus.

Embarrassment washes over you as his strong arms immediately come around your waist, swiftly pressing onto your stomach as he steadies you. “Woah, woah, easy there. Are you okay?”

You blink. “I… um… I…”

The feeling of his hands on you is distracting, too much to take. It’s like your legs have turned to jelly, tongue to rubber. Words turn to dust on the tip of it.

Maybe this is how you perish, you think. You’d die of shyness in Remus’ arms; perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

A loud gasp startles you out of your reverie. Both you and Remus turn to find Sirius staring at you with his hands on his cheeks, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape.

“Oh. My. God,” he gushes, stepping towards you. “What do we have here?”

You shoot him a glare, hoping it conveys both your desperation and annoyance. Sirius seems, or rather pretends, to understand nothing.

“Would you look at that?” he continues with a grin, chucking his head upwards. You look up to feel your heart drop.

There’s a quiet snort from Remus at the sight. Green leaves, red ribbon adorning it. Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Sirius exclaims, as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

You cringe, immediately hanging your head to stare at your hands. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth and hope the red on your cheeks isn’t as obvious as you think it is.

Sirius is annoyingly loud as he continues to yap, but your heartbeat is louder.

Remus clears his throat. You blink, whipping your head upwards to find him looking at you with an apologetic smile. He rubs the nape of his neck bashfully. “Is there anything I can say to make this less awkward?”

A soft huff of laughter escapes you despite yourself. “No, I… I don’t think so.”

He grins. You feel your resolve melting into a puddle. “Kiss me.”

Remus blinks, eyes widening for a split second before his lips quirk upwards. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you breathe, hoping you don’t sound as anxious as you feel. “I mean, not because I want you to or anything —“ you laugh nervously, “— but because it’s mistletoe, and — oh.”

Remus’ lips are on yours in a moment. The squeak you let out dissolves into his mouth, hand gently cupping the back of your head.

You feel his soft hands on your waist and his sweet lips on yours and you feel like you’re falling all over again.

This is what that muggle singer Sirius loved — Elvis Presley — must’ve been feeling, you think, when he wrote Can’t Help Falling in Love. He must’ve been kissing the epitome of love itself, because you seemed to be falling into Remus, melting into his touch. If you were a fool for rushing in, then so be it. You’d be anything to taste his lips again.

Remus lets go all too soon, though you’d probably feel the same way if he let go after a lifetime. He gives you that sweet, sweet smile again, and you can’t help but smile back.

“You know, we don’t always have to be under the mistletoe to kiss.”

“We don’t?”

“No,” Remus grins, “like right now.”

He tugs on your waist, stumbling until your back hits the wall. He kisses you again, and you’re suddenly very grateful for Sirius. You’d have to thank him for three things this Christmas — introducing you to Remus, inviting you to this party, and most importantly — for that song reference.

san’s christmas sleepover