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lunarxcity · 2 days ago

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Why him? (Part II to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort (Buckle up bc this part is in Azriel's Pov after reader left him for Autumn. I swear the comfort will come eventually)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Part I if you missed it

Azriel has never been more confused in his long fae life. You guys have been perfectly in sync for hundreds of years, had seen each other at your bests and worsts and now it seems like everything is crumbling down and he doesn't even know what's happening. First, it had begun with his almost kiss with Elain, which Rhys had interrupted with probably the meanest thing he had ever said to him. Then, his shadows tell him that you're getting ready to leave for Autumn immediately without telling anyone.

He begins to tell Elain this when his first shadow, the one that had reached out to him in the depths of his father's dungeon, begins crying. He feels his shadow break away from himself and run to stop you from leaving. His shadow lets out a melancholic cry, unlike one he's ever heard from them. He feels the shadow's emotions, the panic and the fear of you leaving. You guys have never left for a mission without at least corresponding to one another.

He tells Elain that he that he thinks something is seriously wrong and he needs to see you right now to make sure everything is okay. He runs to your room and when he gets there, he sees it's already full of the rest of the inner circle minus Rhys. He watches as they go silent in his presence, each one a deer caught in the headlights.

The room immediately became thick with tension and he didn't know why. It couldn't have been because he brought Elain with him? He looks to you and you look almost sickly, trembling and heavy breathing with bleary, dull eyes that look drained of the life he had become accustomed to. Something was seriously wrong.

While Autumn had been one of the more problematic courts as far as diplomacy goes, it had been relatively stable recently. Beron's reign of terror has been suprisingly quiet lately. There shouldn't be any reason to send you there. Besides it wasn't a particularly safe court and Azriel would rather be sending 50 spies to their death than to put you in jeapordy.

The entire time he was in the room he felt that you had been off. For cauldron sake you had snapped at him when he had only been concerned for your safety. You don't do that. Well, not without reason of course, and he wanted to know the reason so he could fix it because that's what you guys do for each other. How was he going to do that when you wouldn't even look him in the eye.

It didn't help that he couldn't get a grip on his frantic shadow that was holding you down. It also didn't help that Eris appeared out of nowhere and whisked you away to Autumn before he could say anything. He was going to go after you when Rhys had shown up and told him to stand down. Rhys, who had said deplorable things to him about the Elain situation. But nevertheless, he choked down the hurt he had regarding his whole argument with his brother.

You had left so suddenly and now everyone in the room had gone quiet, the weight of your absence felt by everyone immediately. He didn't even get to give you your solstice gift.

Speaking of Solstice, everyone would usually stay up late drinking and laughing but the minute you left it felt as if someone took a bucket of ice water to every single person in that room. Rhys announced he was going to bed and everyone else agreed and followed. They said their goodnights in the most polite fashion, the way they would to a courtier not their brother on Solstice. Nesta dragged Elain away before she could retort that she needed to stay with Azriel.

All the warmth had seeped out of the room with your absence and he wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on without you. Although you hadn't been glued to the hip as you guys usually were, due to him spending more time with Elain he knows he would've noticed if there was something wrong. Deep down in his heart, as shrivelled and marred it had become, Azriel knew that something was seriously wrong and he committed himself to finding out what it was.

The spymaster is the perfect person to have been chosen to solve the mystery of your sudden switch up, and Azriel swore he would get down to the bottom of whatever it was. Him and Rhys have been vying in the competition of who knows you best for centuries. He decides to start his investigation by searching your room. Yes, it's technically an invasion of privacy but anything that puts you and your happiness or safety at risk is an emergency in Azriel's book.

He has his shadows scour around and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary minus the missing stuff you had packed. A dozen or so books missing, a quarter of your closet gone, and all the trunks you had in the closet were absent. You had packed a good amount of your stuff, enough to last you a month at the least and years at the most.

He begins to look for more clues, and he notices that you had left the stationary that he had gifted you on your 400th untouched on your desk. It started off with a simple stationary set with a gold-tipped quill and obsidian star-flecked ink, then when he saw your eyes light up he would find excuses to get you more ink and pens over the years. Now your giant desk is sprawling with different inks, wax seals, stamps, pens, quills, you name it it's there. You have never left the Night Court without at the very least the original set in tow. Even during the war, you packed the gold-tipped quill in your small bag.

Azriel's stomach dropped. He knew it probably wasn't malicious, and you had probably just been in a rush and had simply forgotten, but the idea that not even a small part of him was with you left an ugly feeling spreading throughout him.

He continued to look around the room and saw that you had left everything Azriel had ever given you. The training boots he had especially made for you sat worn out on the floor next to the bookshelf, which he now noticed only housed the books that Azriel had given you, which he had noticed was a substantial amount. The travel pack he had made for your measurements, since the Illyrian one's were quite large and heavy, was left on the floor with nothing but the first aid kit that he had requested Madja to make you in case of emergencies in it.

Azriel had spent countless hours in your room, but never realised how much he comprised it, but maybe that was because all traces of you were now gone. You took the jewellery that Mor had given you, books Nesta had lent you, even the blanket that Feyre had given you made from the Coat of the elusive WinterBeast. It doesn't even get cold enough in Autumn for you to use it. You even took the apron that Cassian sewed you the one time Nesta dragged him to a sewing class on date night. For Cauldron's sakes you even took the enchanted ruby ring that Amren gave you, why would you do that when you prefer Saphire. He had noticed that when you had left, you changed out your regular sapphire jewellery in exchange for the purple diamonds and starlight emblems that Rhysand had given you.

Yes they were Night Court family colours, but it was the first time he had seen you without any blue for a while. He didn't like it. You were a sentimental person and had brought pieces of everyone in the family with you, except for him and Elain. Maybe this was your way of protesting their sneaking around, especially with talks of a Blood Duel coming into play, but you have never outright avoided him before.

He continued to pace around the room, trying to come up with solutions and possibilities, when his foot hit a box that had been hiding under your bed. Perfect cobalt blue wrapping with a silver bow, Azriel knew he had just found his Solstice present.

Hiding Solstice presents from Azriel had always been hard work. The shadows would see and get excited and tell their master of the gifts long before they were wrapped and under the tree. You, however, were somehow the only one who could surprise him. You refused to let him find out, leading to you not even putting your present under the tree. He would receive his gift late at night when everyone had gone to bed, and the stars in the sky were fighting to stay up, the threat of sunlight imminently close. You would creep around in the shadows of him and steal leftover Solstice cookies and have your own gift opening either in one of your rooms or next to the embers of the fire that had been roaring all night.

Azriel had committed many atrocities in his life, his line of work almost required it. He didn't know what came after this life, and every day, he wondered if the Mother would even let him go on knowing all that he had done in this one. To go against the Mother was one thing, but to go against you was another. Azriel knew that he would forsake the Mother a hundred times over before he would forsake you. Even if this present was meant to be his anyways, you aren't here to give it to him so how does he know he can take it? But what if this present is actually a clue, and you purposefully hid it to spite him. You were still Rhys' blood, you guys can get a little petty at times.

Besides he did technically give you your Solstice present. Azriel always had an easy time with gifts, he listens in on conversations about what people want and gives it to them. While there is a lack of sentimentality there, everyone is happy so why does it matter?

But you always give the most thoughtful gifts, the gifts people didn't know they wanted but needed. He tries to keep up with you, but he just isn't sentimental enough to be good at those kinds of gifts. He gifted Elain a necklace, because that's what the jeweler said that women liked. For you though, he knew he had to come up with something big.

He came up with his gift months ago when Azriel had to go on a month-long mission to help keep the Spring Court from falling. When he came back, his first shadow darted to you, swirling around you happily. It had been whispering about you constantly during his time away and had only calmed down in your presence. It clicked for him, and while this shadow is the most important to him, the one that had reached out in the darkness when he was at his lowest, he knew deep down that it in some way it had belonged to you. Always preferring your company to his, always asking about your whereabouts, always calming down in your presence. He told his shadow and the shadow was elated the shadow came up with different ideas to always be with you, as a bracelet, in your hair, even as a part of your shadow.

While others had always been weary of his shadows, you treated them like a pet. Talking to them, petting them, and never missing an opportunity to call them cute. While the shadows are sentient, they are a manifestation of himself, and where others cowered in fear you embraced them wholeheartedly. It was probably the most intimate thing that Azriel had ever done for anyone he even had a mini speech written down about how grateful he was to have you in his life, but he never got to give it to you because you left before he had the chance. He didn't realise that the shadow had managed to escape with you until after you were gone.

You had just left but he missed you. The lack of knowledge of your return had him spiraling. He needed to know why you left because then he could know how to bring you back. In his desperation for answers and current lack of a better judgement he decides to open the present.

He rips open the cobalt wrapping paper to find a navy box littered with silver stars that looked like the night sky. He takes off the lid of the box and starts ruffling through the shiny paper you stuffed the box with, an extra layer of protection to block his shadows from seeing what was in the gift.

The first thing he had pulled out was a matching blade and sheath. The hilt was intricate, it started blue and bled into a violet littered with specks that he could only see after turning it over, pure starlight. The hilt had little stars and swirls engraved in it, an Illyrian design, but the actual shape of the blade and craft of the blade hailed from Dawn.

The blade of a Peregryn general was the sharpest and lightest blade that you could find in Prythian. The craftsmanship is a very regulated process and no one is able to get them. No one else is allowed to wield them and the blade dies with the Peregryn, they are blood bound. They are heavily enchanted and are basically a lifeline for any peregryn soldier. They only break when warding off a death blow.

There usually a bit smaller, no bigger than a throwing knife. He pulled out truthteller to compare the size and it was a perfect match. The matching sheath was gorgeous, all dark leather and intricate designs. More swirls of shadows and stars and little specks of blue and purple, a mix of you and Azriel.

He was aghast. He had mentioned being bitter about the Peregryn blades and made a joke about how Illyrians were the better winged fae in the past Mother knows how long ago, but he never thought you would actually be able to acquire one, let alone customise it to his liking.

He was touched, but he tried to suppress his feelings so he could maintain his control and continued to look through the box. The only other thing was a pair of gloves, but knowing you, they must have been a lot more than a pair of gloves. Also from the Dawn court, they had the same level of intricacy in their design and appeared to match the rest.

Azriel put a glove on and felt immediate relief. You knew that the cold would sometimes aggravate the scars on his hands and while he was still able to function for all these years, it wasn't comfortable to say the least. Azriel hated asking for help, he couldn't do it, so he has suffered in silence, enduring like he always does. You had these gloves imbued with a healing magic, from the Dawn Court, the court with the best healers in Prythian.

He knew that you had likely spent years crafting these gifts and working with blacksmiths and healers, calling in favor after favor, swaying high lords all for his sake. No one has ever done something like this for him.

His heart swells and then breaks. You had done all of this for him and now he had let you down without knowing why. You gave him a lifeline and he was going to waste it on a Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. He was going to waste years of work you had put into this surprise trying to take someone’s mate away from them, the very thing he had always wanted. Shame fills him and the thoughts begin to flood his mind.

The thoughts of how he doesn't deserve you. Thoughts of how he has failed you and will never be able to fix that damage that he unknowingly did. Thoughts of how you finally saw the faults in him like everyone else and you had decided that enough was enough and you decided you didn’t want anything to do with him. Thoughts of how he had lost the one person who had always been unconditionally there for him.

The thoughts just keep coming and he doesn’t know how to stop them. His shadows frantically swirled around him unable to deal with the distress of their master. Mental distress becomes physical and the weight of existence is heavy on his chest.

Azriel falls to his knees and holds his new blade, your blade, to the left side of his chest. He crumples in on himself and the shadows surround him. Wetness begins to stream down his face and he can’t even begin to comprehend why. What is this agony he was feeling.

His vision blurs, not that it matters since his shadows surround him and block the light. His breathing is erratic and his heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. His chest swells with emotion heavy as pain, almost as if there was a phantom knife lodged in his chest. He had never felt this way before, he was very good at keeping his composure but right now he was a complete and utter mess.

Trying to get himself together before he completely falls apart he’s able to prop himself up against your bed. Your scent immediately hits him and a wave of comfort rolls over him. Even in your absence you’re taking him down off the ledge. The minute he picked up your scent it was like he was finally able to think clearly.

He was emotionally and physically spent from all that had happened tonight, he needed the small comfort of whatever part of you he could get. You would laugh at him for this and scold him for not writing a letter, he would give anything for you to walk in and say something like how he’s a big illyrian baby who can never ask for help. You would laugh and stay with him until he feels like he can be alone again. You were meant to be here laughing with him and crying over how touched you were by his gift, instead he was here by himself crying because of how touched he was by yours and how he wishes you were here.

Like a child that just had a nightmare, he crawls into your bed and wraps himself up in the blankets and your scent. His body relaxed, his heart rate steadies, his breathing evens, and his shadows calm. Everything instantly feels better and what seemed like the end of the world moments ago now seems manageable. Your scent lulls him to edge of sleep and he drifts off with thoughts of you on his mind.

part III

taglist: @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons

note: I really tried to get this out in 24 hours so it may be a bit rushed and completely unedited... but thank you everyone for your support and thank you for everyone on the taglist! This may be a bit of a boring chapter, but I feel like it's necessary to flesh out the relationship between the reader and Azriel. Until next time!

#azriel #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel angst #azriel x reader angst #azriel x reader series #azriel series #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader hc #wm series

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tiramissyoucake · 2 days ago

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GODDDD THE PATHETIC MARK I SWEEAAAARRR WOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFF IM GOING INSANEËÊĘĖ

I got a grosser one for you and I'm using this chance to word vomit about it.

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI

CW: masturbation (no nut), shirt sniffing, Mark gets caught

Staying over was fun for Mark, he gets to take in your room's surroundings, know more than he already does and being around you all the time was the best part. Although you were still a person with responsibilities, and these days Mark's schedule was emptier than yours.

He'd wake up to see you get dressed, catching a goodbye kiss just in time and other times he'd wake up with a note and a quick breakfast (those were the worst, but the food was good.), he'd always be home waiting for you, he saw no purpose in going back to his place when he could greet you when you're home.

The hours were agonisingly slow as he tried to do whatever around your home, clean up, loaf around, dishes, anything. Today he decided to clean up your bedroom just a bit, your messes were much more manageable than his own, stray clothes and misplaced items.

He was half way through separating a few clean and dirty clothes, he figured he'd toss these in the laundry after when he stopped at one of your T-shirts, there was a distinct smell, the one he's come to associate with you.

... No. He shouldn't. His hands clutched the shirt, lowering it just a bit, who cares if it smells like you? It's not like he'll die without taking a whiff, that same scent that floods his senses when he cuddles you, when he buries his face in your neck or your chest.. or... when he kisses you after you come see him..

He doesn't need it. He's better than this. He was Invincible for God's sake.

The internal struggle went on but Mark was proud of himself for rationalising, peeking at the shirt after throwing it aside, it taunted him.

Mark furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at his watch, it would still be 2 hours before you were off work.

... he lied, he's not better than this.

Harshly snatching the shirt from your bed he pressed the fabric to his nose immediately, taking a long sniff he shuddered as the thought of you flooded him, how did you always smell so good?

Falling to his side on the bed, he hugged the shirt closely while breathing it in, taking a short pant between each whiff he took. The lingering scent on your bed, the shirt, the softness of the mattress and sheets, this was his personal little heaven.

He whimpered as one hand kept the shirt up to his nose while the other moved down his own body, slipping past his waist band, he felt so disgusting, touching himself while sniffing your clothes. He didn't care right now, he needed this.

Tugging down his pants, his hand immediately got to fisting his cock, your shirt helped fuel the fantasies; memories from previous nights where you let him fuck you until his balls were drained, fantasies of things he wanted to do to you. He let out small moans into the fabric, face flushed as he bit his bottom lip.

Mark laid on his back, clutching the cloth in his fist as he kept it up to his face while his hand eagerly moved up and down on his cock, a quiet squelching noise underlayed by his moaning and whimpering even after it was muffled into your shirt.

"Babe?" His eyes shot open, sitting up quickly to make himself decent, his scrambling caused his knee to slip off the edge of the bed, tumbling down to the ground.

Mark grimaced as he heard you let out a small laugh, tugging up his pants quickly and using the bed as some kind of cover, his face was beet red, mortified.

"Babe, are you okay?" You asked while walking around the bed, in your work attire but loosened. "Bad time?"

He sputtered, he didn't realize he was still clenching the shirt. "N-no, I was just- uhm, your shir- your clothes. I wanted to.. clean up the place- just a little, it's.. it's nice but I wanted to help."

"By touching yourself while sniffing my shirt." Damn it. He hoped you would just lie to him and let him save face.

He stayed quiet, ashamed as he stood up. "... 'm sorry, I-I just didn't see you this morning and I just.. got this idea and- y-y'know how people's minds work when they're horny..? They're actually less disgusted..! ... sooo..." he was digging himself a deeper hole by rambling.

You smiled, cupping his cheek and kissing the corner of his lips. "I don't mind, babe. It's... kinda cute? Plus, who's to say I didn't touch myself to those pictures you send me?"

His erection returned almost tenfold at that, perking up. "... really? You really do?"

You shrugged, a smug smile on your face.

He'll send you more photos if you let him sniff your shirt every once in a while.

#your stars have aligned .•°✧✦✧#invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader

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alchemistc · 22 hours ago

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Actually you know what I don't think I've really seen anyone talk about how TYPICAL of Buck it is to revert to sex as a coping mechanism. Like yeah he's absolutely grown and changed from Buck 1.0 but let's look at his last year or so from his perspective:

Buck discovers new facets of his sexuality. He starts dating a dude who turned him into a feral little jealousy gremlin

Bobby leaves the 118 and leaves them with fuck ass Gerrard. Bobby almost dies.

Buck has a BOYFRIEND and he sees a future with him

Buck finds out something about his boyfriend that he can't square with, and gets frankly awful advice about what his boyfriend went through to make him Like That. He also continues to be not taken seriously about himself, his feelings, his wants and desires, his concerns

Buck gets dumped. He pushed too hard too fast as he tends to do and he gets dumped for it. Rinse and repeat

All of his friends immediately jump down his throat for wanting to talk to the dude who dumped him. He bakes. And bakes. And bakes and bakes and bakes and it doesn't stop him from missing the guy who dumped him

His best friend leaves. And while Buck can understand it it hurts enough to make him act a little out of pocket.

(Can we talk about the way everyone in his life infantalizing him absolutely makes him behave in childish ways in response? No? Okay I'll shut up.)

His sister gets kidnapped? And almost dies?

He moves out of a place he's lived in for five years to help his best friend. He cannot sleep in the new place.

He tries to make new friends but the thing is he already has a best friend and right now all he has available to him are stories about his best friend. So he tells them. To exhaustion.

So yeah. He's disconnected from a lot of his support systems because they just have other shit going on. (I do not blame them for not making him their number one priority and Buck doesn't either but they're still ...missing.)

He runs into his ex. His ex gives him a SCRAP and what does Buck do? He turns it immediately to sex. And he thinks to himself: this is what I'm good for this is what I can offer THIS will have to be enough even though this man has validated me: the way my brain works, the tangents I go on, the over-reactions I have and the way I get obsessive. But Tommy dumped him. So. Sex will have to be enough for Buck.

Like I just think we're undervaluing exactly how much this regression to fuckboy Buck makes sense. He's not doing it to be an asshole. It's a fucking survival instinct and he's been in survival mode since the second Tommy dumped him

#bucktommy #idk i think seeing so many of mimi's 'y'all are being mean about buck' posts (paraphrasing) sent me into a tailspin #evan buckley #like of COURSE he jumped into bed without thinking things through of COURSE he undervalued what it could mean to tommy #because tommy deflects and jokes and goes with the foow right up until he SHUTS THE FUCK DOWN #anyway #i think they're both fucking idiots but i still want to crack open their skulls and peek inside to figure out WHY they're like that

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everythingne · 13 hours ago

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little miss wingwoman (4) - ln4

Christmas Day starts without a hitch, but when you have some wine with Max, and Lando with his family--you find that maybe Penelope isn't as crazy as you think she's been these past few weeks. Also, Max Fewtrell finally makes his appearance.

warnings/notes: holy fucking shit y'all iM SO SORRY?? its been... too long!! hopefully this quarter will be a lot lighter for me, and I wont be as depressed (tmi but yay meds!) so i can get this baby FINISHED.

(prev | next)

It's early when the Norris' come back to the apartment, whisking into the home with an absurd amount of energy. You pause in the doorway, looking over at the family squishing through the front hall as they discard shoes and jackets, happily chatting with Lando.

You stood in the kitchen, making by far the most simple breakfast you could muster while the family was exchanging. Humming softly along to the radio. Despite knowing they'd welcome you, theres something that makes you feel a bit awkward joining in on the morning festivities. And so, you use the excuse of cooking to hide away from them all. It feels like you're encroaching, so you just keep your head down.

It's Mrs. Norris who intercepts you in the kitchen, a soft smile on her lips as she sets a little bag down on the counter, "Merry Christmas."

"You didn't have to." You immediately say, and Cisca shakes her head, pressing the gift a bit closer to you.

"I know my son, and in the course of a few days with him you've managed to make this flat look like a home, teach him to cook, got us gifts, made sure he didn't screw up Christmas... I think you deserve a little something, yeah?"

Inside is a bottle of wine, some brand Lando had probably seen you buy during a trip to the store, and a little wad of cash and some gift cards. Nothing big, but still more than you were expecting.

"Oh, Mrs. Norris, thank you." you say softly, stepping over to give her a tight hug. She only smiles, giving you a little squeeze on the arm, before ushering you to tell her what to do to help you with breakfast. Fifteen minutes later, plates are being piled up with food while you entertain Savannah's girls with their gifts. The whole apartment feels cozy, and when you lift your head--almost every time you catch Lando watching you with a tiny smile.

It's noon when Max calls.

"I know I said you'd be off for the holidays..." he starts, tentatively, "but Kelly's not feeling the best and doesn't want to cook, and I can try but we know how that goes--"

"It's alright, Max." You quickly reassure him, handing little Mila over to her father as Oliver nestles the half asleep toddler to his chest. You run a hand along the top of your head and sigh, "What time do you need me over?"

"When can you get here?" Max says and you look around. Lando's entertained with his family, and Savannah and Oliver give you a little nudge to go.

"Let me grab my bag." You say into the phone, followed by a bye as Max thanks you, and you turn on your heel to rush into your bedroom. You're midway through packing when a soft knock gets your attention and you look back to the door--Lando giving you a soft smile.

"Going to see the little princess?" He asks softly and you toss your bag over your shoulder as you stand, sighing and rubbing the side of your neck as if it aches the way your chest does when you see the sadness in Lando's eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kelly's sick again and--" "--Don't apologize," Lando holds up a hand, "It's your job."

You run your hand along your neck, moving closer, "I still feel bad--"

"--I'm not going anywhere, you know? Our place will still be here when you're done."

"Our place?" You tease softly, stepping over as you tug your bag over your shoulder, stepping up to stand nearly chest to chest with Lando. He smiles, gently leaning on the side of the doorframe.

"Yes, our apartment. Forget... staying here while you look for a new place." He murmurs, gently taking one of your hands. Every ounce of his confident bravado fades, and he offers you a sheepish smile, "I didn't realize how much I missed having a roommate until Max ended up moving out, now he lives with P--which is awesome for them but... having you around is quite wonderful too."

"Wonderful? You're using big boy words today!" You smile and Lando flushed, playfully punching your arm in response with a little scowl as he huffs,

"Can you stop ruining the moment?"

You laugh, pushing his shoulder and grinning when he stumbles back, smiling at you as you tug your purse tighter around your shoulder, "I'll see you later, yeah? When I get back to our apartment."

Lando just nods, grinning as you wave goodbye to his family. He escorts you to the door like you're a guest, holding your bag and phone as you throw on a pair of nice sneakers, and when you take your bag back you have to resist the urge to kiss his cheek.

As you're walking to the elevator, you catch the blush on your cheeks in a mirror, and have to swallow it down as you jam the 'up' button for the elevator because standing in the hall longer will make you want to run back to Lando.

Upstairs, Penelope is waiting for you in the hallway, her arms crossed. When you inquiry on why she's so upset, she huffs, "you haven't kissed him yet!"

"Kissed who?" You ask, looking up to Max in the doorway who struggles to cover Penelope's mouth as the girl goes to shout. He ends up smushing her face into his palms, using his heel to keep the door open as he speaks at half Penelope's volume in the early morning.

"She thinks you and Lando are dating or something." Max supplies, making you pause half step as you nearly stumble over your feet in shock. Dating? Did people think you were dating? Did Lando's family think you were dating?

You sputter, "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"He's really nice to you, and he smiles when you talk, and you get all blushy when he's around!" She demands, stomping her little foot, and you laugh--running your fingers through her hair before walking into the home as Max holds the door.

"He's just a friend." You say softly, though it's not your feelings you're protecting. You know he's a sweetheart. It's Lando for crying out loud, he'd rather cry than hurt someone's feelings with something said outside of the heat of the moment. And even then, you'd been there for times Max had Lando over for chats after stressful weekends, or listened to Max when he ranted about how much pressure was put on the guy.

Penelope continues to protest for a while, and you worked on grabbing the ingredients for the dinner Max tells you Kelly wanted to make while she blabbed. But when someone knocks on the door, you wipe your hands off on your apron as you go to grab it.

Lando's on the other side, your phone in hand, sheepishly murmuring, "I realized I never handed it back to you."

If you could hear Penelope's mischievous giggle from the other room, you would've looked back at her, unfortunately Kelly's laughter along with Victoria overpowers the sound of Penelope running across the kitchen to the living room with Nino at her heels.

"Oh!" You laugh softly, taking the device from his hands with a tiny smile, "Thank you, I hadn't even noticed! Penelope's been keeping me busy and--"

Something bonks your forehead.

"Oh." Lando's face turns red, and you blink up to see a tiny little buschel on a string. It swings, bonking you again, and you follow the string to where Penelope proudly holds her makeshift fishing rod of misletoe right between you and Lando.

"Penelope Piquet-Kyvat." You snip, looking at the girl who grins with all her all teeth, practically ear to ear.

"You have to kiss, thats the rule!" she chimes, and Kelly gasps, slowly getting up to do her little pregnant waddle across the room--attempting to take the rod from her daughter's hand. It was clearly some type of gag gift, based on how hard Victoria was trying not to laugh while Max looked mortified.

"Penelope! Come on, leave them alone!"

Lando coughs, trying to cover up a laugh, and without thinking you whack his shoulder to keep him quiet. But when your eyes meet, its impossible to not laugh. Being quiet to make Penelope know what she was doing was rude would be best, but with the tears in Lando's eyes from him trying not to laugh, it's impossible. You let a giggle out, covering your mouth, before you both crack and start cackling.

"Penelope, come on," Lando waves a hand, "I'm not kissing her, we aren't dating."

"But you could be," Penelope reasons, crossing her arms as the toy is finally yanked from her hands by Kelly--who playfully whacks a giggling Max with it when she crosses the room again--sending Victoria and Sophie in fits of laughter.

"Penny, come on." You sigh softly, but the girl is set in her mind that you two will end up together. She crosses her arms, pouts, and all but throws a tantrum before she shouts,

"You have to kiss!"

Lando looks at you, eyes flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes a few times. Kelly and Max are now trying to get Penelope to leave you both alone, and for five minutes, you try to get her to give it up. Then Lando laments, and gently presses a kiss to your cheek instead. Which, if her giggles are any sign, satisfies Penelope for now as she runs into her Mom's awaiting hands.

Max mouths a sorry, trying not to laugh as Kelly fails to scold the toddler, and your attention is drawn by Lando gently squeezing your wrist.

When you glance over, he sheepishly murmurs, "sorry for just... doing that without asking."

"It's fine, Lan." You give him a soft smile, "Penelope might stop bothering us now."

Lando laughs at that, and you do to, but the underlying tension of the moment stays and lingers like a phantom pain long after Lando goes back downstairs. You feel the tingle of the kiss through cooking, serving, and eating dinner. Max cornering you while you're cleaning up isn't surprising, especially not when he hands you a bottle of wine and tells you to finish it.

"Max." You deadpan, "I'm here to work."

"Penelope went to bed, works over." Max shrugs, then nudges the bottle to you, "Drink it or I will and then Kelly will be mad because she still can't drink for a few months."

You blink, and laugh, pouring the rest of the bottle into your glass. You're already a bit dazed from drinking some wine earlier with dinner, so you know this'll end with you tipsy and trying to hide it.

When Max cheers when you take a sip, you roll your eyes, "Drink something too, Kel has that pregnancy mocktail mix she found online that I still think tastes like tequila."

"Oh, true." Max breezes past you to the get the little mix. It was some holistic medicine thing a friend of hers had told her helped with crazy pregnancy hormones, and Kelly agreed. He poured half of it in a glass and then topped it with ginger soda, and Kelly happily came to sit in the kitchen with you both while you finished cleaning.

They talked numbly behind you as you dried dishes and put them away, humming to yourself between intermittent sips of wine until Max decides to push it a little when he sees you're halfway down the glass.

"A kiss on the cheek is pretty close." Max says. You pause, peeking over your shoulder at him, seeing him narrow his eyes at you, "To a real kiss."

"No," Kelly nudges Max with her arm, "Pen thinks they actually kissed."

"Oh lord," you whisper, rubbing the dish a little harder and Kelly snickers. Finishing off her drink and announcing she's going off to get ready for bed. You put away the last of the dishes, downing your wine in one solid gulp in silence, before Max chimes.

"Would you date Lando?"

"Max." You turn around, looking at Max with a confused face.

He continues sharply, waving his hand, cheeks rosy from the strength of the wine, "I wouldn't mind it, if you dated him."

"Seriously?" You huff, putting the towel down a little harsher, "why are you asking this right now?"

"Because I have eyes? Everyone sees the way you two look at each other, I honestly think it's only a matter of time before one of you just says 'fuck it' and kisses the other."

You stare at Max, and he takes that as a sign to continue, "And Lando's like... the only driver I'd trust."

"Max, I'm not dating Lando." You deadpan to him, now fully turning around to face him, "Just because Penelope, and apparently everyone else thinks we have some sort of chemistry, doesn't mean I'm going to date him."

Max hums, crossing his arms before he stands, handing you his glass to pop in the dishwasher, "Why not? He's not the worst, honestly."

"Max, I just met him!" You huff in frustration, "I barely know him, I barely have spent time with him, can you just cool it?!"

Max blinks, and you groan, scrubbing your hands across your face in frustration, "And even if I wanted to, my track record for dating isn't good. I doubt it would go well, and I doubt he even likes me."

"I wouldn't second guess that last one," Max chimes, "He was the first person to jump at having you stay with him when I sent a text to all the drivers in the group chat asking if anyone had an extra room. And he wanted it so bad."

And after that, he bids you goodnight, and leaves the room. You stand in the kitchen for a long while, just staring at the spot where Max left. In the corner of the room, Penelope's mistletoe haunts you, and you feel the ghost touch of Lando's lips to your cheek again before it's gone.

Lando's in a similar predicament.

"I don't know, Ma." Lando hums, taking dishes from her arms and helping her put them away while his father helps his siblings corral the little ones and their gifts in the living room. The Norris family's bundles of energy are fussy now with exhaustion, Christmas day having been quite the adventure.

"What don't you know?" Cisca pauses, looking at her son as she hangs the towel to dry.

"I just met her, Ma. Sure, I've seen her around for two or so years, but her living with me is so new and... I wouldn't want to come off too strong."

Cisca tsks, gently squeezing Lando's arm as she passes him to dry off her hands on another towel, "You just have to ask, Lando. Which... may be easier said than done, but I'm sure knows you're a nice boy. Honestly, I still think one of the most romantic things your father did was ask me, very softly, if he could kiss me in the car on the way home."

Lando leans on the counter, shaking a hand through his curls as Cisca smiles at her son, "He was nervous, he didn't wanna seem too forthcoming--much like you. Just ask her if its okay."

"But what if it messes everything up?" Lando sighs, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the thought of giving you a kiss--because if he thinks about it any longer he might turn Ferrari red, "I wouldn't wanna make her uncomfortable."

"It won't, trust me." Cisca says, looking over her shoulder as the door lock clicks open and you step in, a bundle of gifts thrown over one arm and your purse dangling from your fingers. Se can tell the both of you are tipsy, and she smirks to herself before pushing off the counter--pausing to play music off the Google Home, before going to help her kids get packed up.

Lando snorts at you, stepping over to steady you as you try to pry your heels off. You look up at him and huff, "Does Max also shove drinks down your throat when you're with him?"

"Only now that Kelly's pregnant and the smell of liquor makes her sick," Lando hums, his hands holding onto your arm as you wiggle out of your shoes. He takes your purse and hangs it up where you always do while you go to drop the gifts from the Verstappen-Piquet's in your bedroom.

That's when Cisca appears with Adam, smiling at you, "Well, it's back to the hotel for us before the toddlers throw a tantrum and the adults get too drunk."

"Do you need me to drive you, Ma?" Lando calls from down the hall as Cisca gives you a parting hug.

"No no, I got a rideshare." She waves a hand, "It's not a huge deal, spend time cleaning up, there's quite a bit."

"I'll make sure he does," You give Cisca a soft smile, "thank you again for the gifts."

The little clump of Norris' in the hallway slowly diminished through the front door after goodbye hugs and leftover distribution. Once they're all gone, with a promise to text when they arrive safely in their hotel, you and Lando begin to tackle the cleaning process. He's working on the living room reorganization while you tackle the kitchen, and when he comes to help you after resetting the couch, the two of you are humming along to some Bill Crosby song when Lando dramatically begins to sway.

"Feel the vibes," he explains when you laugh and ask what he's doing, and through the 'vibes' you end up holding hands and jokingly swaying around the kitchen. It's clean...ish, for now, and Lando gives you a little spin for flourish.

The spin knocks you off kilter, and his hands reach out to grab your waist, steadying you and keeping you from fully slamming against the counter where he sets your back to rest. You catch yourself, one hand on the counter, one hand on Lando's shoulder. Your elbow is bent, sort of digging into his bicep as he leans forward to balance himself on the counter.

His hip bumps yours where he stands, accidentally partially between your legs, and you lift your head to nearly bump your noses. A giggle leaves your throat, and Lando's all smiles. There's a pause, as the music slows to its final swell where you think: Oh, here we go. This is it.

And then the moment is shattered as NuevaYoL blasts at full volume.

"Google!" You and Lando whip around to shout, your voices blending into laughter as you tipsily stumble over to turn off the song. As you laugh, Lando leans on your shoulder, and even if it didn't end with a kiss, his smile in that moment tells you all you need to know.

Maybe, somehow, Penelope had been right.

Lando wakes up the next morning to a headache he can only attribute to the alcohol, and the sound of Max laughing in the kitchen. He pauses, and distinguishes.

Max Fewtrell.

Groaning, he kicks the blanket off of him. Why Max and Pietra decided to come over the day after Christmas was beyond Lando's understanding. He couldn't think of anything they'd planned, so why were they here?

Then, he hears Max lament, "Lando's a pussy, you gotta push him." followed by your pretty laugh and, yep. Okay. Thats enough out of Max.

"Max!" He shouts, cringing at the pain it flairs behind his eyes as he snags a t-shirt out of his dresser and throws it on haphazardly. Shuffling on his feet, he ends up hitting the wall before managing to open the door. You're perched on the couch corner next to Pietra, who's scrolling idly through her phone, a cup of warm coffee or tea in your hands. Lando can't tell from here, but the kitchen smells like both. Pietra and Max's mugs settled on the table, along with an empty plate of food, telling him the two have been here for a while.

"Ah! Sleeping beauty!" Max cheers and you snort into your coffee, "Thought you died from alcohol poisoning."

"Shut up, you--" a yawn cuts Lando off and he scrubs his hands across his face, "I'm fine."

"You look exhausted, Lan." You say, worry tinging your tone, and Lando can't help the flutter that attacks his chest. Part of him wants to slap his chest to make it go away, but that would be more obvious.

"I'm just waking up, thats all." Lando waves a hand, but he can feel the burn in his cheeks that Max raises an eyebrow at. At that, Max stands, making his way over to drag Lando into the kitchen with some boring lament about Quadrant work. You huff a tiny laugh into your drink, again, and Lando thinks his heart skips before Max punches his shoulder blade.

"Ow?!" Lando turns around to whack Max back, and the two shove and shuffle deeper into the kitchen until Max grabs both of Lando's wrists, and whisper shouts.

"So, new roommate, and you didn't say anything?"

"I was busy."

"What were you busy with? Fucking her?"

Lando gawks, pauses, then shouts, "Max!"

"Sorry." Max pauses, hand up and the conversation drops back down to whispers, "you're the out of pocket one and I needed a turn because apparently I'm now that last to know things. I had Penelope Piquet tell me this in the line at the store."

Lando sighs, leaning against his counter and rubbing his face, "Of course it was Penelope. And I'm sorry for not telling you, I just... kind of forgot that I was hosting Christmas and luckily Yn's like the best nanny ever and fixed my whole damn apartment and saved the holidays and..."

He pauses, looking through the hall to the windows that mirror the living room where you and Pietra are curled up on the couch gossiping. She leans in to whisper something, and your head throws back in a laugh that echoes right into his heart and speeds it up.

"Oh." Max hums, "you're whipped."

"It gets worse, though," Lando sighs, "My mom did a list of Christmas activities in Monaco. We get to do the Christmas Village today. And, guess what ballet the company is putting on this year?"

"Swan Lake? The Nutcracker?" Max hums and Lando shakes his head.

"Well, one group is doing Swan Lake, but Penelope begged her mom to get me and Yn tickets to Giselle as a gift for Christmas." Lando cracks his neck, "Which, according to Oliver, is romantic. And now I have a five year old telling me I have to go or else."

"Oh, you poor thing." Max cackles, whacking Lando's chest, "it's a ballet, what could go wrong?"

Lando blinks at Max. Just about everything, he wants to say, especially when a very enthusiastic Penelope Piquet has clearly been secretly being his wingwoman.

And she will stop at nothing to see this through.

TAG LIST (FULL):

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

@nikfigueiredo @ilovechickenwings @supertrashbread @sltwins @mwuaferrari @si1ver06 @linnygirl09 @kikiki81 @kittylolly4 @lazybot @celestrablack @tylerstacobell @formula1fordisaster @sheblogs @suns3treading @kqliie @jxnellat @anxiousbananna @hard4ndsoft @majasophieanna @diorbrxtz @freyathehuntress @obxstiles @cstads-blog @wierdflowerpower @delululeclerc @honethatty12 @henna006 @chlmtfilms @littlegrapejuice @piastrams @ravisinghs-wife @sturmatt @sagestack @bravo-delta-eccho @eiffel-hood @widow-cevans @ash88-yep @emryb @changetyre @raynetargaryan2 @callsignsiren @mayusaatma @sid-is-gr8 @awritingtree @urstepdaughter

(more in comments... comments based tag list is still open!)

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n

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calebsangelbby · 1 day ago

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・❥ OVERSTIM WITH CALEB (PART 2) !!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: some scenarios in which caleb would react to being overstimulated !!

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , public sex , dry humping , overstimulation , porn with no plot , dom!reader , sub!caleb , use of y/n (once)

a/n :: heres part one ! this is most likely the last part , hope you enjoy :)

IN PUBLIC :: look , sometimes caleb cant help himself . all the time when he sees you to take you out on dates or just a casual hangout at a café , you look so unbelievably scrumptious he just has to have you right there ! he'd reach his hand over to place on your thigh , slowly sliding higher and higher until you notice . he doesn't stop though ... why would he ? in his depraved mind , he's gonna finger you senseless right then and there in front of all these people ... but little does he know he'll be the one going senseless . you'd slap away his hand and before he knows it you're unbuttoning his jeans on the down-low , looking around to see if anyones paying attention before slithering under the table . caleb is whispering to you and grasping at the sides of his seat , fighting actual demons trying to not make a sound as you slurp up his cock . he was doing pretty well at being quiet before his cum shot down your throat and you kept going . poor boy has slumped his head on the table , eyes squeezed tight , knuckles white from how hard he's gripping your hair , hips twitching without control . his attempts to be undercover are futile as he's so sensitive to your mouth ... the whole restaurant is giving him stares and whispers of concern :/.

DRY HUMPING :: now i didn't know it was even possible to become overstimulated by dry humping , but caleb proved me wrong . it doesnt matter if you guys are clothed or not , he can still feel and imagine your perfect cunt with precision; making it easier for him to fall over the edge in his pants . especially when he can feel your warmth through the fabric ?! best thing ever . that euphoria wouldnt last long before it was replaced with the familiar feeling of overwhelming pleasure ... too much pleasure . "w-wait pips- hah, fuck.. s'too much baby, stopstop.." he'd murmur , grabbing onto your hips as an anchor . although he already came , by the mere thought of how dirty your guys situation was , you didnt come along with him . you didnt necessarily mean to overstimulate him .. it's just a natural instinct to want to chase the high of an orgasm . underneath you , the dampness of his trousers was getting to your thighs and making it easier to slide across his lap . this would go on until you came for the first time and him for the second , thrashing underneath you .

BEING AWAY FOR TOO LONG :: would happen if he was away on a prolonged mission , he would get so needy and desperate for you that he physically couldn't stop . he'd cum multiple times and still have more to give , overstimulating the both of you . it'd get so bad to the point where he's sobbing big crocodile tears and begging himself to stop , drooling like a dog onto your chest , seeking the sweet embrace of your breasts . "i know pips .. i know , im s-sorry. it's too much for me, too . i just cant stop when ive been away from my perfect pussy for too long . " but you know his apologies arent for real . every thrust of his hips would send a jolt of white-hot adrenaline up his spine , not even pleasure anymore; forcing himself past the limit solely for the purpose of staying inside of you for longer . after he cums for what felt like the 1500 time , he'd lay atop of you , motionless . he's quite literally incapable of moving other than the aftershocks shaking him . the next day you both would woke up at 12pm and stayed in bed together the rest of the day , lacking the ability to walk right .

BEGGING :: obviously , caleb would beg for you almost every time you guys had sex; but there are some nights where he's particularly more vocal than usual . you've noticed that a way to get him like that is to have him on all fours , pleading for you to stop jerking him off . "please baby please .. im too sensitive, im a pathetic mess, im disgusting and filthy . im begging you, y/n, please. " while he spends lots of sweet time talking , it never works . it always ends the same , with your hand (or cunt) on his dick , making him squirm and moan for you for hours on end .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in conclusion :: overstimulating may just be this boy's favorite activity!

#lnds caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #lads #lads boys #lads caleb #lads caleb x reader #caleb lads smut #lads smut #caleb smut #caleb x you #lads x reader #lnds smut #lnds x reader

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meowf4ngs · 1 day ago

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more of roommate!ghost bc it's good to know that he can be happy too & he deserves softer mornings.

mdni.

cw: biting mention

prev.

the smell of coffee permeated the flat, the place he used as a minor safe house---to settle down for an hour or two---has now turned into a place where he relaxes in, somewhere he looks forward coming back to, and not the empty place it once was.

and sure, the boys---the idiots he adores but won't admit---have helped tried to decorate the place. the telly that his captain told him to buy, the coffee table that gaz pointed out at a passing furniture store, something to hold documents and his pints; the leather couch that he doesn't regret buying but makes his eye twitch---soap's the one that told him he should blow money on before they all shimmied the damn thing in.

but now---there's her.

his roommate---the little thing that showed up at his door to answer his ad about it on craigslist---he should yell at her for being reckless but that's another days problem.

when he walks into his, their, shared kitchen; he's greeted by the sight of bedhead, too short shorts that makes him rethink of better things---like a cold shower or running straight into traffic.

either way, she's looking over her shoulder---the softest smile he's ever been graced with, his throat tight and his hands turn into white knuckle fists before releasing their grip---a heavy sigh already on his lips, he really needs that cold shower.

"Mornin' Simon," and there's her voice, light and melodic even in the early mornings, sleep lines on her cheeks, the way her eyes sparkle just slightly---he's very much fighting the urge to put her on the countertops of the island, and do something roommates don't do.

ghost's voice is gruff, deep brown eyes flicking towards her outstretched fingertips in the cupboard and back to the sliver of skin of her stomach, "Mornin' sweetheart," and he's already walking over, grabbing the mugs---because she's sweet like that, she bought one for him when she went into town.

a thoughtful bird.

a sweet little thing---he wonders if she's as sweet as she acts.

the coffee gets poured and they're leaning on opposite sides of the countertops, and he can't help but admire her in the light---not especially the way the sweater dips off her shoulder, collarbone showing off---his teeth ache.

her eyes are fluttered shut, lips pressed to the rim of the mug, and he's watching the way her throat swallows---he's a little jealous. especially when she smiles, a shiver down her spine and looking right at him---he nearly chokes.

"Are you doing anything today?" she's asking him, and he's stuck on the way her lips glisten, how she smiles like she's not afraid of him---like he can't just lift her with a single hand--he exhales, soft, slow; which is interesting.

he's never been soft until her.

"No, I'm not," his voice is heavier, deeper---licks at the flames of his thoughts of wanting to add something less than appropriate, but he's got more self-control than most---better than soap anyway that's for sure, he's also pretty sure the Scot would beg to differ, but to each their own.

he's snapped out of his stupor when she breathes a sigh of relief, something of contentment and he wonders how to bottle that noise up, how to take it with him when he's out on the field---wonders how to make her his.

"Really? that's great---we can be lazy today." she's grinning, sipping her coffee once again before moving to make breakfast, the sounds of things moving and her mug being put down.

and ghost just stares, lashes blinking at her--he swallows hard, his heart hammers and he moves his gaze to look at his coffee, the dark liquid rippling back at him.

god, his teeth ache.

god, he needs to sink his teeth into her.

#bibis mewling #simon ghost riley #cod simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #Simon ghost Riley x reader #ghost x oc #simon riley x oc #call of duty fanfic #I'm actually so happy everyone liked the one that I made before :)#its also good to know that im not that ass at writing as I thought but the world turns !#slight mentions of the others bc I always need to include them in someway #also the idea of his teeth aching bc she's too sweet like a cavity did anyone catch that #something something Simon Riley likes biting bc of ownership something something

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angelltheninth · 1 day ago

Note

Hi just wanted to say that I love reading your invincible fics !! If your still accepting requests; would it be ok if I request dating hcs on Mark , Eve and Rex please 🙏 (separate if possible) love them so much (reader I’m fine with female or gn ^^)

I love those three too! I will gladly accept your request.

Pairing: Mark Grayson, Eve Wilkins, Rex Sloan x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, dating, kissing, flying, power use, flirting, banter, established relationship, superheroes

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Dating one of them would be great, but imagine dating all three?!

The best boyfriend you could ask for, will take care of you no matter what you need

More on the shy side when you first begin your relationship and easily flustered

You have to be the one to kiss him first, he doesn't exactly have a lot experience with dating

Always got tongue tied around pretty women and you are no exception even after you begin dating

Uses his powers to impress you, or tries to impress you, but he almost crashes into a building because he was too busy flirting with you to notice it

Happy to be affectionate in public, always holds your hand while you walk together

Stays up late to talk to you, Mark is pretty stubborn when it comes to ending the call first

Listens to your heartbeat from far away because it helps him relax and puts him to sleep easier

His phone is filled with pictures of you in various outfits, some of which you bought on your dates, others that you had in your closet and sent pictures to him

The best kinds of dates are the nightly flights he takes you on, high above the city, somewhere private, there are so many romantic spots to explore around the world

Eve compliments you a lot before and after you begin dating, that and affectionate touching are how she expresses her love the most

When she wants to kiss you and you're on the other side of the room she floats right next to you and plants a quick kiss on your cheek right before moving away

If you want to kiss her back you're gonna have to catch her first, which might prove a bit of challenge but the reward will be worth it

Kisses your hand a lot and enjoys the way it makes you blush, you're like a pretty princess

Doesn't let anything interrupt your cuddling sessions and if there's anything either of you need to grab she will levitate it within arms reach

Loves helping you with your makeup and buying you makeup and various accessories, most of them matching

Not shy about taking showers together when either of you spends the night at the others place

Absolutely melts on the inside when she wakes up and sees that you cooked her favorite food to make her feel better when she had a bad night or a bad mission

Hugs you tight when you sleep next to each other, kissing your forehead before she fully falls asleep

On your anniversaries she always tries to come up with something new and fun for the two of you to do together

Big flirt compared to your previous boyfriends and will use any chance to make you blush

Can be the big spoon or the little spoon, it doesn't make much difference to Rex as long as he gets to hold you in his arms all night long

Enjoys leaving kiss marks and bite marks on you, grinning like a lovesick fool when he sees them on you while you're getting dressed

Kisses you in front of his friends and teammates when ever he gets the chance

When it's your anniversary he makes his own fireworks, maybe slightly less flashy but he wants you to see the effort he put in

Gets slightly jealous when he sees other heroes trying to flirt with you

Often works out in front of you since he knows you enjoy seeing his muscles, and the occasional invitation to get into the shower with him after he's done

Huge fan of sleeping over at your place and leaving his clothes there, but he pretends he does it on accident

Actually he does that specifically to see how you're wearing his clothes more and more, during the day and when you're going to sleep, wearing one of his shirts

Instead of just kissing you he will often instigate a long make out session, he can't keep his hands off a pretty girl like you

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salemrph · 3 days ago

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Careful, kitten

Summary: Sylus is tense, quiet, and clearly off his game and you can’t help but poke at him to figure out why.

Character: Sylus & MC/You

Genre: unresolved romantic-sexual tension, pre-relationship, teasing

Word count: 3.5k | Reading Time: 14 min | AO3

A/N: Had this for a while in the draft, I needed to see Sylus flustered somehow, without getting off character. Story is base on the moment with the Lipstick and the helmet, but not the moment itself. Picture source

You crouch down, placing a small dish of food near a group of stray cats. It has almost become a ritual to go feed the cats in the park. Sylus picks you up on his bike on those days in the morning, sometimes you still notice the tiredness and the dark circles under his eyes from not having slept enough. Or not having gone to bed at all. You have told him many times that you don't have to see each other so early, that you want him to sleep a few hours at least. But the gentleman insists that he doesn't want to keep you waiting and prefers it this way. He's just as stubborn as you sometimes are. Sylus is standing behind you, sunglasses on. It's a gorgeous day this morning, it's getting warmer. You enjoy the rays of the sun that caress your skin.

The usual trio of cats approached, the cautious steps quickly turning into eager little trots as the scents of food reached them. You smile when you see them eating.

“Not so fast… you will choke, Marshmallow”. You are very immersed in the scene of the three cats eating with fervor.

His lips parted slightly before he closed them again, exhaling through his nose. “You’ve started naming them?”

“Of course I have”. You gestured lazily at the largest of the three. A round, fluffy white cat with a soft gray patch over one ear, currently inhaling its food like it hadn’t eaten in days. “That’s Marshmallow. He eats like he’s in a competition. Every time.”

Then pointed to the second one, a lean, all-black cat with striking green eyes, the one who always lingered just a bit further back, observing before approaching. “That one’s Phantom. He’s a little dramatic.”

You grinned in satisfaction before finally gesturing to the last one. A scrappy little tabby with a torn ear, the smallest of the three but easily the most energetic. “And that’s Bandit. Tries to steal everyone else’s food and somehow still stays tiny.”

Then, with a smirk, he said “Mephisto will get jealous of all these new friends you're making.”

You scoffed, nudging his arm lightly. “Oh, please. Mephisto knows he’s irreplaceable. This is just my little morning gang.”

Sylus hummed, gaze flicking to the trio of cats devouring their meal. He coursed down, eyes flickering back to you. The way you sat comfortably on the pavement, fingers gently brushing against one of the cats, hair slightly tousled from the breeze, it was an oddly soft image. More cats approved, Sylus pulls out more small food out of a bag. As soon as he popped the lid, the cats perked up, their ears twitching at the familiar sound. You watch him with an amused smile.

“It still surprises me, for someone who acts all untouchable, you sure are soft on them.”

Sylus huff, not looking up “They’re be a nuisance if they were starving and desperate.”

“Uh-huh” You don't say anything else. Marshmallow gets closer to him. Sylus just scratched him behind the ear, the cat leaned into this touch, purring loud enough. A small chuckle escaped you.

“Your hands are really beautiful, you know.”

Sylus froze. His fingers stopped mid-motion, his eyes moved to you. You weren't even looking at him, when you said that. You were still watching the cats, head tilted slightly, your expression thoughtful “Long fingers, clean nails, nice veins… a bit rough. I bet people would pay just to see them in those hand model ads.”

Sylus blinked. He flexed his fingers instinctively, as if trying to understand what you were seeing. They were just hands, functional, efficients, and dangerous. These hands had killed many times. Ended lives without hesitation or remorse. The blood that had once coated them wasn't something that could ever truly be washed away. And yet, here you are, calling them beautiful.

He scoffed, still trying to follow you. “Don’t say weird things first thing in the morning.”

You just hummed, Sylus exhaled sharply, looking away. He massages his eyes, slightly lifting his sunglasses. He wasn't a morning person. Never had been. And this one was especially hard. You’ve started to blurt out things like that latly, without a second thought, throwing him off in ways he wasn’t prepared. Normally, he’d have some sharp remark, a smirk, a teasing jab to keep the balance from tipping too far. But today? No chance. He hadn't slept much. With that bit of sleep he had gotten was plagued by a dream so vivid, so tangible, that waking up had felt like a cruel joke. You were tangled in his sheets. Fingers gripping his shoulder. Lips parting in breathless whispers saying his name…

So vivid that when he woke up, the first thing he had done was grip the sheets in frustration, jaw tight, body thrumming with leftover heat that had nowhere to go. Even if he had taken the time to deal with his painful erection that very morning, it wasn't enough. Not after a dream like that. It was getting difficult.

Difficult to sit next to you without his mind wandering. Harder to keep his gaze from lingering on the curve of your neck, the way your lips parted slightly when you focused too hard. Harder to pretend like he wasn’t aching every time you said something dangerous without even realizing it. It wasn’t fair. Today, he was tired. His patience was worn too thin, his self-control stretched to its absolute limit.

“You okay? You look kind of out of it”

“Didn’t sleep much”

“Nightmares?” you frowned slightly.

Sylus snorted, shaking his head. “Not exactly” Far from it. If it had been nightmares, that would have been easier. This was needed. It was hunger, deep and aching, wrapped around him like a slow-burning fire that refused to go out.

“You sure? You seem…”

“I’m fine.” He cut in too quickly, voice rougher than intended.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. Clearly, you aren't buying it. But you didn’t push but you didn't drop it entirely either. Instead, you turned back to the cats, scratching Phantom under the chin as the sleek black cat purred in contentment.

His mind was still stuck on your voice, breathy and needy from his dream, whispering his name in ways you never had in reality.

“Well, whatever kept you up, it must’ve been pretty intense.” His brain was still rebooting when you smirked lightly. “Was it a mission thing? Or something else?”

You rested your chin on your hand, watching him like you were solving a puzzle. “Wait… don’t tell me you got into a fight with Mephisto again.” Sylus blinked. You nodded to yourself, looking way too serious now. “It makes sense. The broody look, the weird tension, the fact that you’re avoiding eye contact. Did you two have a jealousy spat over the cats?”

“You think this is about the cats? What's wrong with your head?” Sylus shakes his head then he runs a hand down his face, his fingers pressing against his temples. He needed this conversation to end. Immediately. “We are leaving. I need a coffee.”

Still sitting on the pavement, you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. "Okay…? You could’ve just said that instead of having a mini crisis."

Sylus didn’t respond. He was already walking away, jaw tight, hands shoved into his pockets.

You frowned slightly before glancing down at the cats. "What’s his deal?" Phantom, as if in solidarity, flicked his tail and turned his head away with an exaggerated huff. You chuckled, shaking her head. “Yeah, I don’t get him either.”

Today, he’s weirdly quiet.

He keeps rubbing his fingers over his temple like he’s trying to will away whatever is bothering him. He runs a hand through his hair too often, exhales too heavily. You tilt your head, watching him, amusement bubbling in your chest. Oh. Oh, this could be fun. Maybe if you push him a little, just a little, you’ll figure out what’s wrong. What could possibly go wrong?

The engine growls beneath you as Sylus kicks the bike into motion, but you can feel the hesitation in his movements, the slight rigidity that wasn’t there before. Sylus inhales sharply, fingers gripping the handlebars tighter.

"Hold on" he mutters, voice tight. You grin. You press yourself closer than usual on the back of his motorcycle, arms wrapped snugly around his waist. Normally, you keep a respectable grip, not too loose, not too tight. But, you let your fingers drift just a bit lower, brushing the firm muscle at his waist. You don’t miss the way his entire body tenses beneath you. Oh… Interesting. You’re sure he curses under his breath.

By the time he pulls up to your destination, you can tell he’s barely holding himself together. The moment the bike comes to a stop, he mutters a firm “Get off.”

You blink innocently. Sylus twists around to look at you, and he’s struggling. His red eyes are dark, sharp, his jaw tight like he’s fighting something. And it’s glorious.

“Off. Now.”

You huff playfully, but slide off the bike, stretching as if nothing happened. Sylus stays seated for a moment longer, like he needs to breathe. This is too good.

At first, you thought maybe he was just tired, maybe a little irritated about something mission-related. But now? Now, you’re starting to suspect it’s something else entirely.

Because every little touch, every offhand comment, every time you press even slightly into his space, he reacts. Not in a big way, no, he’s too good at keeping himself composed for that. But you see it. The flicker in his eyes. It’s like he’s… sensitive. And then it hits you.

Oh. Ohhh. Maybe he just…

…hasn’t gotten fucked in a while. Sylus is an attractive man who could have anyone relieve his stress. You've read in some articles that men with so much power often forget to relax. You almost laugh at the thought. Is that what’s wrong with him? Is that why he’s all tense and restless? Well. You’re not cruel. But you are curious. Which is why you decide to push. You wait until you're sitting across from him at a café, sipping on coffee, watching him struggle to act normal. His usual confidence is still there, but it’s fragile, like it could crack at any second.

You smirk. "You know, Sylus…" you start, propping your chin in your hand, voice slow and thoughtful.

He lifts a brow, already looking suspicious. "What?"

Your smirk widens. "I read something interesting earlier."

Sylus exhales, dragging his fingers over the rim of his cup, gaze flicking to you warily. "Should I be worried?"

You shrug, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "Apparently, if someone goes too long without… a release…." you pause just long enough to see his fingers tighten slightly "...their body starts getting all restless. Irritable. Sensitive."

His eyebrow twitches. Sylus lifts his cup to his lips. You continue, your voice taking on a casual, almost curious lilt. “Have you… released yourself lately?”

And then he chokes on his coffee. You blink, watching in fascination as he coughs into his fist, setting the cup down too aggressively. He tilts his head slightly down, running a hand over his mouth, exhaling sharply like he’s trying to stay alive.

You purse your lips. "Wow. That was dramatic."

Sylus glares at you, voice rougher than usual. "What kind of question is that?"

You lift your shoulders in an innocent shrug. “It just made me think. Maybe that’s why you’ve been all weird today. Maybe you just need to, you know…” You gesture vaguely with your fingers. “Take care of…”

Before you can finish, Sylus snatches the small bun from your plate and shoves it into your mouth, effectively silencing you. Your eyes widen in pure betrayal as you glare up at him, muffled by the mouthful of bread.

"Kitten…" he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he’s suffering some great burden. "You know very well that I adore you, but do me a favor and keep those ideas to yourself."

You chew slowly, staring at him, piecing things together. His grip on his cup, his stiff posture, the way his gaze seem desperately focused on anywhere but you. He’s embarrassed. Flustered.

You swallow the bite of bread, smirking as you tilt your head. "You’re blushing." You lean in, resting your chin in your hand. "You’re really telling me you’ve never gotten like that?"

Sylus exhales sharply, shifting in his seat. "Sweetie…" he said, warning.

"Come on," you press, voice dipping just a little, teasing. "You’re all moody, tense, acting like you haven’t had a moment to yourself in forever."

Sylus suddenly leans forward, his face mere inches from yours. You freeze. The café noise around you fades as his eyes flicker with something you hadn't seen.

"Kitten," he murmurs, low and smooth, "do you really want to know the answer to that question?"

You blink. Your heart does an unexpected little flip. …Wait. Did you just? Did you accidentally walk into his trap? Your throat bobs. Sylus’ smirk curls back into natural place. He sees it, sees the moment the teasing turns back on you. And that’s when he leans back, taking a slow sip of his coffee like nothing happened.

"Eat up."

You stay silent, but your mind is racing. He thinks he won. He thinks he got the last word. But no, oh no, you’re not letting this go. You know you’re right. You just need to make him admit it. Still, you force yourself to drop the subject for now, watching as he takes another casual sip of his coffee, like he didn’t just send your thoughts spiraling with that stupid smirk.

You spend the rest of the day together, running errands, taking the long way back through the city. Sylus, despite his usual sharp awareness, seems tired. It’s the kind of exhaustion he hates showing, but even he can’t hide it completely.

By the time you both make it back to your place, the sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden streaks across the floor. You unlock the door, stepping inside as Sylus leans against the frame, rubbing again his tired eyes.

You glance over at him. "You should take a nap."

“I'm fine, I can go home.”

You gesture toward the couch. "Nap here. You can leave after." Sylus stares at you for a moment. Then, in a move that genuinely surprises you, he actually sighs in defeat. He shrugs off his coat, tossing it over the armrest before sinking onto the couch. You make space, removing some plushies and pulling out a blanket. You move away to get some water when a strong hand suddenly grabs your wrist.

Your voice hitches. "Sy-!?" pulling you down onto the couch, straight into him. Your back hits solid warmth, his body firm beneath yours, and for a brief moment, you forget how to breathe. His head drops forward, resting against your back. A slow, steady breath fans against your shoulder. Your carefully crafted schemes? Gone. Vanished. Replaced by the very real, very warm reality of Sylus beneath you, his breath slow and steady, his body solid and impossibly close.

"C-Can you sleep like this?"

Sylus doesn’t answer. Instead, he just lets out a low growl, shifting slightly as if trying to get comfortable. You swear you feel the vibration of it through your whole body. You shift slightly, trying to regain some sense of control. "Sylus?"

Again, no verbal response. Just another slow breath, another barely-there rumble of a sound. His arms tighten just a little more around your waist. You swear he’s doing this on purpose. You stay completely still, your mind racing, desperately trying to figure out your next move. But then Sylus nuzzles slightly against your back, and every single thought leaves your brain. Oh, this bastard.

You huff, twisting slightly to get a look at his face. "Hey, are you actually asleep or just pretending so you can mess with me?"

Nothing. Just the slow rise and fall of his chest, the completely at ease expression on his face, his lips slightly parted, his head still resting against your shoulder blade.

…Okay. Maybe he actually is asleep. That was quick. He must be really at the end of his strength. You bite your lip, debating your options. You could move, try to wiggle out of his grasp, but that would mean more contact, and you’re not sure if you can break free that easily. Or you could be evil. Your lips curl slightly.

You shift again, this time, intentionally. A slow, careful movement, rolling your hips just slightly in his lap, like you’re innocently adjusting your position. The reaction is instantaneous. Sylus lets out a low, sharp inhale, his grip tightening just a fraction before his entire body freezes. For a moment, there’s silence.

So, you do it again. Another small roll of your hips, your weight pressing slightly into his lap. Still nothing. You try it a few more times and then you feel it. Something hard presses against your butt, unmistakable even through layers of fabric. Your breath catches. Your entire body locks up in realization, the warmth rushing up your spine now burning at your face. Oh. Oh, shit.

You freeze completely, pulse hammering, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The firm press of Sylus' thighs beneath you, the heat of him against your back, the fact that you started something you weren’t sure would lead. You just wanted to tease him and now he is hard under you.

“Kitten...” Your heartbeat slams against your ribs. His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Stay still.”

You bite your lip, waiting, expecting him to react, to throw some cocky remark your way but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays completely still like he’s fighting something, like he’s trying to force this moment back under control. You’re not going to let him. Slowly you shift your hips again. Sylus exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching where they rest against your waist.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "Are you going to tell me why you’re so tense?" You push further. "I mean, you’ve been acting weird all day." You let your voice dip just slightly, playing into the innocence of it. "Wouldn’t have anything to do with what we talked about this morning, would it?"

Sylus finally speaks with a dangerous rasp against your ear.

You want to burn this into your memory. Your heart is thudding, loud in your ears. You swallow, barely trusting your voice as you whisper.

"You should stop."

A shiver actually runs down your spine because of that tone. That is not his usual teasing. Slowly, cautiously, you turn your head to look at him, really look at him. And that’s when you see it. Sylus’ face is flushed. His jaw is tight, his lips slightly parted like he’s struggling to breathe evenly. His hair is slightly messy, strands fallen across his flushed forehead.

His eyes flick to your lips… then lower, linger on your thighs, before dragging back up to meet yours. That paralyzes you because Sylus never looks like this. Your mouth goes dry. You’ve seen Sylus in many states: bored, smug, amused, deadly. But this? This is something else entirely. You’ve imagined it, sure. On lonely nights, in quiet fantasies, in those dangerous thoughts you don’t usually entertain for long. And it’s such an erotic image that the idea of getting off his lap now feels like a death sentence. Like stepping away from something you might never get the chance to see again.

“…Why?”

His eyes darken instantly. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand comes to rest on your thigh. Is light but the heat of it burns through the fabric.

“Because if you keep going…” he murmurs, but stops himself. A mocking smile appears on his lips again. “Why do you want to know so badly?” His thumb brushes the inside of your thigh, maddeningly light. “Is it curiosity?” he continues. “Is it the power? Or…” his eyes flicker to your lips again, “do you just like imagining it?”

Your heart stutters. He leans in, just enough that you feel the heat of his breath ghost over your cheek, his voice a whisper meant for no one but you.

“Be honest, kitten. Is it me you’re thinking about… when you’re restless?”

Your pulse trips.

“You ask that like you want it to be you.” You tilt your head, eyes dancing with mock thoughtfulness. “I mean, it could be. But there are so many options. It’d be unfair to name just one. Why so curious?” you murmur. “Feeling a little... worked up yourself?” You move a bit more on his lap. He is still hard, you bit your lip.

“If I said yes,” he murmurs, voice low and velvety, “would that change anything?”

Your lips twitch with a teasing smile. “Maybe,” you say, leaning in just enough to make it sting. “Or maybe I’d just watch.”

“Careful, kitten. If you watch too long… you might beg to join.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lads #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x reader #sylus blushig #cute sylus #sylus fanfic #sylus fanfiction

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slutforpringles · 1 day ago

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As someone who spent way too long analysing data and nerding out over Daniel's driving style throughout his McLaren and AT/VCarb stints, people like this that tweet total nonsense about subjects they clearly have no understanding of annoy the absolute shit out of me (especially since Daniel's driving style has been so thoroughly discussed on about a gazillion reddit threads, a thousand articles and hundreds of youtube videos so a quick google search would have corrected this for you). But since apparently the internet has decided that facts no longer matter; no Daniel doesn't brake early, no he doesn't drive in a similar way to Lawson and no Yuki doesn't drive similarly to Max.

"While it would be dangerous to try to simplify Ricciardo’s 2021 cause to a single issue, it did often come back to how he attacks a braking zone and tries to rotate the car. Despite being famously adept at late-braking passes, Ricciardo’s preferred style in normal conditions is to brake slightly earlier, with less pressure, and roll the speed into the corner. That requires a positive front end to get the car rotated. At medium and low speed, the McLaren was ill-suited to this technique. Team-mate Lando Norris was much more effective with a later, harder brake that facilitated a sharper rotation and allowed him to get on the power again quicker. Ricciardo could not quite drill that technique into himself, even though he got better at it through the season. But the reason he couldn’t is probably twinned with the reason he didn’t know what his strengths were as a driver: this is something baked into him from an early age, the kind of technique that comes subconsciously to top-level athletes."

Ricciardo drives the car very differently to regular driver Yuki Tsunoda, but also to Pierre Gasly - who was AlphaTauri’s spearhead for several seasons. They prefer a later-braking approach with a sharp, later rotation - the V-style we often hear drivers talk about, and that Ricciardo wanted to move away from at McLaren but couldn’t. The way Ricciardo brakes and approaches a corner puts very different demands on the car and tyres, and requires (and instigates) a different kind of car behaviour. What you saw in Mexico was the result of AlphaTauri really adjusting the car to that for the first time. Ricciardo prefers to carry more speed through the corner by making it more of a ‘U’ shape. To do that he needs a little rear instability on entry to turn in, and enough grip to rotate the car mid-corner without the rear breaking away. The McLaren had a lot of peak downforce but it was not always usable, making the car unstable and inconsistent to drive in certain corners and conditions. That was murder for Ricciardo’s preferences. And even now, in a McLaren regularly scoring podiums, Lando Norris says he wants to ‘U’ a corner but has to ‘V’ it off because the car can’t handle that. “One of his big limitations has been the front end,” says Eddolls. “So the [new set-up] directions have been able to improve the front end of the car for him, accepting the stability compromise and how that impacts the tyre temperatures through the corner and through the lap.” It may sound surprising given this was his Kryptonite at McLaren but what Ricciardo has been clear on from the start at AlphaTauri is that he could live with a bit more rear instability. There were signs of this right back in Hungary, where Ricciardo drove the car for the first time. There, and in his second race in Belgium, there was some under-rotation in the car. While the AlphaTauri lacks the aerodynamic peaks of what Ricciardo was driving at McLaren, it seems to have a more stable platform. It’s consistent, and understandable. So Ricciardo actually found that he could cope with some more rear instability than it had, to help give him the front end he needed, without it prompting the kind of inconsistency in car behaviour that he could not handle the way Norris could at McLaren. The key to understanding the difference is to consider that not all rear instability is the same. AlphaTauri has battled some specific corner entry trouble all season, mainly when its drivers were braking late into heavy braking zones. Given he generally struggled with rear instability at McLaren, it was initially a concern that this might be an issue for Ricciardo. But with the way he drives compared to Tsunoda, Ricciardo didn't counter the same issues with the AT04. Instead, Ricciardo knows what to expect from the car and is able to take it to its limits more comfortably. Since Ricciardo’s early races before the summer break, the team has added a bit more aero load through upgrades, and the new set-up direction has now unlocked an even more Ricciardo-friendly balance. In Mexico, Ricciardo was able to use the stronger front end to rotate the car through the corners more to his style - braking a little earlier but riding it a little longer, giving him the grip to turn the front in mid-corner and carrying speed through. The result was being at ease with the car in qualifying, visibly leaning on the front and throwing the car around more.

I'm not saying that Daniel would have necessarily jumped into the Red Bull and been 100% comfortable straight-away or been right back to his absolute best. But I do think given the way he has demonstrated (even throughout his struggles at McL) that he can drive a car as long as it has the strong front end required for him to then be able to use the rear instability to rotate the car through the braking phase of corners, and that he can live with a great deal more rear instability than a driver who brakes later like Yuki or Pierre, that he had a much higher likelihood of success in a Red Bull car than most other drivers. I'm not even saying that I don't think Yuki deserves a chance in the second RBR seat, but I do think the team continuing to throw drivers in with very little thought to how their driving style compliments what is clearly a tricky car to master is stupidity personified. For Yuki's sake, I hope he manages to make it work. 🫠

quotes via: one two

#as I said best of luck to Yuki #I just think Red Bull continuing to make the same mistake over and over again is incredibly frustrating and tiresome to watch #daniel ricciardo #yuki tsunoda #liam lawson #red bull racing #formula 1 #f1

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unknown-ends · 2 days ago

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First time I'm doing a detailed reblog like this but I was having too much fun reading this so... here you go:

It was a Saturday night—which, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.

You're not in my walls, are you? That's a little bit too close to the truth.

He’d stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, “I need help finding the toilet.”

What are you, a child?

And ya know what? In a world where he doesn't have half a foot in the dark side of things, he totally would see you, decide he wants your attention and then scramble to get it in without a care. Much like he did in here

But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didn’t really complain. Much.

A'ight, stop reading younger me like a book.

At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.

Ah, he knows me well. The only way to buy me is with food.

He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You don’t move.

Awww, lookatiiim being a cuddly baby

He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. “You’re warm,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Like… those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.”

I didn't know fuzzy blankets could insult you, where have you been going that they hurl insults at you?

Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.

Damn... me next, please

The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz “was an act of violence.”

No, no, he's got a point

“I liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, ‘Well. That’s it. Guess I’m not letting her go now.’”

What a fucking loser... I want him.

how to accidentally catch feelings while baby-sitting a man-child | sylus

synopsis : You were just a quiet, book-loving college student trying to survive academia and avoid emotional damage—until Sylus crashed into your life like a hot, smug hurricane who never left. For two years, he flirted, slept on your couch, fended off frat boys, and called you “wifey,” while you convinced yourself it was all meaningless chaos. But after one drunken kiss, a fake date, and the shocking revelation that he remembers everything and actually meant it, you’re forced to confront the ridiculous truth: Sylus isn’t just hot and dumb—he’s hot, dumb, and hopelessly in love with you. And unfortunately? You might feel the same.

content : fluff, college!au, sylus being drunk(not really), crackhead energy writing, comedy

writer’s note : i had too much fun writing this, and i mean TOO much

It was a Saturday night—which, in your world, meant a sacred ritual of staying in your dorm, reading a good book, and letting Spotify decide your fate with its chaotic shuffle.

A peaceful, introvert’s haven.

Your roommate had long since abandoned you for brighter, sweatier pastures, hollering, “I’m gonna get laid tonight!” as she tottered out in an outfit that could’ve doubled as a napkin.

You’d only offered her a solemn nod and returned to your paperback and playlist, cocooned in your sofa bed like a content little hermit.

Nothing could disturb your peace.

Until something did.

A knock.

You blinked at the door. Once. Twice. Frowned. Who knocks past 10 p.m.? Who dares?

Your mind immediately went to one person—your best friend, Sylus. The same Sylus who had texted earlier, bragging about some frat party he was going to “grace with his presence.” You had rolled your eyes then.

You were rolling them again now.

Still, you peeled yourself from the embrace of your blankets with a martyred sigh.

“Coming,” you muttered like a wronged Victorian heroine.

And there he was.

Sylus, leaning on your doorframe like a drunken Greek tragedy. The unmistakable scent of alcohol hit you in the face like an offended slap.

“W-Wha—Sy??” you gasped, arms flailing as you caught his teetering form.

He slumped against you dramatically, mumbling something that suspiciously sounded like “Need… y-you,” into the crook of your neck.

Your entire spine straightened. Goosebumps. Betrayal.

“Again?” you asked, somehow dragging his dead weight into your dorm like a disgruntled EMT.

You dumped him onto the sofa, where he sprawled like a starfish in distress.

“How much did you drink?” you asked, already grabbing your emergency water bottle—standard best-friend-care protocol. You tilted it to his lips.

He tried to drink it sideways.

You sighed, loud and long. “Of course you’re useless.”

His eyes fluttered open just a crack as he sipped at the water, managing to prop himself up with one wobbly arm like he was posing for a very tragic Renaissance painting.

“You’re so… nice,” he slurred, dragging the word out with an attempt at a smirk that looked more like a sleepy grimace.

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “Yeah, yeah. Save the drunk flirting for someone who didn’t just haul your dead weight off the hallway floor.”

This wasn’t your first Sylus Situation.

Probably wouldn’t be your last.

You and Sylus had met on the very first day of college. You’d been an eager, introverted bookworm just trying to get to your dorm before anyone could talk to you.

And then—bam—Sylus. Tall, cocky, and very lost, standing in the middle of the corridor looking as confused as a cat in a swimming pool.

He’d stopped you by physically planting one muscled arm across your path and declaring, with absolute seriousness, “I need help finding the toilet.”

A moment you would never forget, nor forgive.

You had rolled your eyes back then too—but still showed him the way, mostly because he had somehow clamped onto you like a gym-sculpted koala.

To this day, you had no idea why someone at age eighteen had the physique of a Marvel extra, but you had learned not to ask too many questions when it came to Sylus.

Especially when he was drunk and whispering compliments like you were the second coming of hydration.

Now, two years in, you and Sylus were pretty much inseparable.

Not exactly by your choice, of course. He had basically crammed himself into your life like a determined cat forcing its way into a box half its size—and then refused to leave.

Ever.

But you, being the kind-hearted, ever-patient soul that you were cough pushover cough, didn’t really complain. Much.

In his own chaotic way, Sylus had proven… useful.

He was your self-appointed human shield against overly confident frat boys who thought “You read? That’s hot” was a seductive line.

More than once, he’d slung an arm around you and declared, “She’s taken. By academia. Leave her alone.”

You, in turn, had helped him survive the academic hellscape that was calculus. Which mostly meant sitting beside him during study sessions and watching him squint at formulas like they were written in ancient Sumerian.

At one point he tried to bribe you with tacos to do his entire homework.

You took the tacos and still made him do it.

It was an odd, messy sort of friendship. One built on sarcastic banter, mutual blackmail, and late-night ramen runs.

And maybe—just maybe—a little too much unspoken something lingering in the quiet spaces in between.

Like right now, for example.

He blinked blearily at you from your sofa, shirt slightly rumpled, hair a tousled mess, water bottle still clutched like a lifeline.

“You know,” he mumbled, “you’d make a great wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Drink your water before I drown you in it.”

He grabs the bottle and downs it in one dramatic go, like he was auditioning for a Gatorade commercial.

Then he thrusts it back at you with all the triumph of someone who just solved world hunger.

“There. I finished it,” he announces, his arm swaying a little as he wobbles in place, clearly very proud of his accomplishment.

You roll your eyes but take the bottle anyway, muttering something under your breath about man-children and alcohol tolerance.

You place it on the table and then, with the kind of exasperated sigh that only comes from long-term best friend duty, plop yourself down next to him on the sofa.

He immediately slouches, his shoulder knocking lightly into yours, like his body had decided it belonged at a thirty-degree angle from yours. You don’t move.

It’s not like this is the first time he’s drunkenly ended up in your space.

Sylus had a talent for turning up half-conscious on your couch like some sort of overgrown housecat that went out, got into a fight, and came back demanding affection and snacks.

Still, as he leaned a bit closer, you caught the faintest scent of his cologne beneath the layers of beer and poor decisions.

That same one he always wore—the one you refused to admit you liked.

He gave a tired little groan and let his head loll toward you. “You’re warm,” he muttered, barely above a whisper. “Like… those fuzzy blankets. But with better insults.”

You blinked. “Thank you, I think?”

He gave a lazy grin, eyes barely open. “Anytime, wifey.”

You smacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

“OW.”

You had to admit—though only internally, and only under very specific, delusional circumstances—you might have feelings for the guy.

Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. Absolutely not. You’d rather eat a raw onion whole.

Besides, you and Sylus were practically heaven and earth. He walked through campus like he owned the place, girls tripping over their own feet just to bat their lashes at him. Your dorm mate had been one of them, once.

Keyword, once.

That ended the moment she got bold and tried to drape herself all over him like a weighted blanket in heat.

Sylus, being the tactful gentleman he was, had responded by physically lifting her off and shoving her away with all the grace of a bouncer at closing time.

She hit the floor with a squeak and a very visible bruise forming on her hip.

You’d been mortified.

While Sylus looked mildly annoyed, you were busy apologizing profusely, scrambling to help her up while simultaneously smacking him on the arm.

“What is wrong with you?” you’d hissed.

“She was being gross,” he’d replied simply, like that was an acceptable answer. “And touching me.”

“She’s a human being, not a leech!”

“A touchy leech,” he muttered, unfazed.

That was the thing with Sylus.

He never asked to be popular. Girls just looked at him like he was the answer to all their bad decisions.

But you? You were the one dragging him by the ear out of messes he caused. The one making excuses.

The one covering for him when he showed up drunk or bailed on class or told a professor their quiz “was an act of violence.”

You were the constant.

And somehow, in a very twisted way, you were okay with that. Even if your feelings stayed buried beneath layers of sarcasm and very loud sighs.

Especially now, when he was leaning half-asleep on your shoulder, muttering something about you smelling like books and cinnamon and safety.

And damn it, you liked that too much.

Your expression softened despite yourself when you heard the soft, steady rhythm of Sylus snoring.

He had slumped a little more against your shoulder, completely out cold now, mouth slightly parted in the most annoyingly adorable way.

With a small sigh, you leaned forward, grabbing the throw blanket from the armrest and carefully draping it over both your laps. He didn’t stir.

Just exhaled, warm and slow against your collarbone.

You reached for your book again, flipping back to the page you had abandoned during The Great Drunken Entry of Sylus.

And then, as if summoned by the universe purely to torment you, your Spotify decided to betray you.

Under the Influence by Chris Brown began to play.

Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

“Oh, no,” you whispered like you were in a horror movie and the killer had just creaked open the door.

Because you remembered the last time this song had come on while Sylus was drunk—less drunk than tonight, unfortunately.

That time, he had turned to you, eyes low and voice deep, and said with a completely straight face, “This song represents the things I want to do to you.”

You had choked on your drink. He had passed out shortly after.

You had spent three business days trying to pretend it never happened.

And yet, for some completely inexplicable reason, you never removed the song from your playlist.

Why?

That was a question for your therapist.

You shot a nervous glance at Sylus’s sleeping form. He twitched a little, mumbling something unintelligible.

“No, no, no, no,” you whispered under your breath. “Don’t you dare wake up.”

He let out a soft sigh.

You stared at your phone, debating if skipping the song would be too loud and risk waking him.

You decided to risk it.

Your finger hovered—then paused.

Because deep down, despite your better judgment, part of you wanted to hear what he might say if he woke up again.

And that was the real betrayal.

You scrambled through your playlist like a woman on a mission, muttering curses at your past self while frantically searching for something—anything—less incriminating than Chris Brown.

Eventually, you landed on something soft and unassuming, a gentle acoustic ballad that sounded like it belonged in a rainy café montage.

Peace.

At last.

You settled back in, the weight of Sylus still warm beside you, blanket tucked around your legs, your book finally resting in your hands again.

You exhaled slowly.

And then, without warning, the air was violently knocked out of your lungs.

“Wha—!”

One second you were comfortably seated.

The next, Sylus had flipped you flat on your back, your book flying out of your hands with a soft thud.

A startled yelp escaped your throat, legs tangled in the blanket, brain scrambling to catch up to the fact that you had just been ambushed.

He hovered over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, eyes half-lidded but open—definitely awake now. Great.

“Sylus!” you hissed, face heating. “What the hell?!”

“Shhh,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he hadn’t fully emerged from dreamland yet. “You moved.”

“I was reading.”

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering across your face with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Then he mumbled, almost like a confession, “Thought you left.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I—Sylus, I live here.” You tried to squirm, but he just shifted closer, lowering himself so his forehead bumped gently against yours.

“You smell like lavender,” he whispered.

You were going to die. Right here. Of cardiac arrest and secondhand embarrassment.

“And books,” he added softly, eyes fluttering shut again. “You smell like home.”

Your hands hovered awkwardly in the air, unsure whether to shove him off or pull him closer.

You did neither.

Because the worst part?

You liked hearing that more than you should’ve.

“Why are you… so cute?” he slurs, eyes glassy and unfocused, his breath warm against your lips.

You barely had time to process the question—if it was a question—before he leaned in and slammed his lips against yours with all the grace and coordination of someone who definitely shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery.

Your brain short-circuited.

Yep. He’s super drunk tonight.

It wasn’t even a kiss, really.

More like a very committed face-plant. His lips mashed clumsily against yours, all instinct and zero finesse, like his drunk brain had gone, “Target acquired—initiate smooch protocol.”

You froze. Arms still mid-air. Eyes wide. Mind absolutely screaming.

It lasted all of two seconds before he let out a satisfied little hum and promptly collapsed against you like a human pancake, burying his face into the crook of your neck as if the kiss had been a casual prelude to nap time.

“…Seriously?” you croaked.

No response. Just light snoring and a very warm, very solid Sylus draped across your body.

You stared at the ceiling.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

You were definitely not blushing.

Not still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Not wondering why the hell your heart was racing like you’d just run a marathon.

Nope.

Totally. Fine.

—•

The next morning, sunlight peeked through the blinds, warm and accusing. You blinked groggily, only to realize that your limbs were pinned.

Sylus was still slumped against your body, face buried in your shoulder, arm thrown around your waist like a weighted blanket with abandonment issues.

He was out, dead to the world, breathing softly like last night hadn’t been a whole fever dream.

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then, very carefully—like you were defusing a bomb—you began to wiggle out from under him.

One leg. Then the other.

You held your breath as you slipped free, standing over him like some war-weary survivor of battle. He didn’t stir.

Honestly, you were impressed. You could have probably vacuumed the room and he’d still be there, drooling peacefully.

You didn’t have time to process it. Class was calling.

And you had never gotten ready so fast.

By the time you made it to your seat, slightly out of breath and still pulling your hoodie over your head, your mind was already spiraling.

The lecture blurred into a series of droning syllables you couldn’t quite absorb.

Because God, you hoped he didn’t remember.

If he did—if he looked at you with that signature smirk and said anything about last night—your soul might physically evacuate your body.

You kept your head down, notebook open but blank, your pen frozen mid-air.

And still, your thoughts wandered.

Back to the feel of his lips on yours—sloppy, warm, unexpected.

Back to the sound of his voice, low and slurred, calling you cute like it was a sin he couldn’t forgive.

Back to the way your heart had reacted like it was hearing something it had been waiting for.

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and before you could stop yourself, you caught it gently between them. Just to see if you could remember.

And—damn it—you could.

Which was exactly the problem.

Class ended faster than you realized.

One moment you were lost in a daze of accidental kisses and existential dread, the next, students were filing out around you and your professor was reminding everyone about next week’s quiz that you absolutely did not hear.

You packed your stuff in record time and bolted, telling yourself you’d walk it off. Or compartmentalize. Or, ideally, both.

It was a crisp morning, birds chirping, sun shining, world spinning just fine without dragging your dignity behind it. You were just starting to calm down, your feet falling into a steady rhythm along the pavement, when—

An arm slung over your shoulder.

You stiffened like someone had just hit your internal panic button.

“Thanks for not waking me,” came a familiar, smug voice from your right, laced with far too much amusement for someone who had been drooling on your hoodie six hours ago.

You turned your head slowly—like in a horror film—and there he was.

Sylus.

Disheveled but well-rested. Hair tousled. Hoodie slightly crooked on his frame.

Looking every bit like someone who had zero regrets and somehow still got eight hours of sleep.

And worse?

He was smirking.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Then you exhaled, long and slow, a rush of relief loosening your spine. “So… you don’t remember anything?” you asked as casually as you could.

His smirk deepened. “Nope.”

You nodded, clutching your bag a little tighter. “Good. Great. Fantastic.”

He glanced sideways at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You look tense,” he said, as if you weren’t actively reliving one of the most unhinged nights of your life.

You kept your face blank. “Do I?”

“Mm-hm.” He leaned in slightly. “We didn’t do anything weird, did we?”

Your soul briefly tried to exit your body.

You cleared your throat, gaze fixed straight ahead. “Define weird.”

Sylus chuckled, his grip around your shoulders tightening playfully. “Knew I could count on you to protect my innocence.”

You resisted the urge to shove him into a bush.

Because he didn’t remember.

And maybe that was for the best.

Right?

—•

Later that afternoon, Sylus had peeled himself away from your side with his usual casual flair, stretching like a cat and shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

“Got a date,” he’d called, walking backward with that insufferable grin. “Don’t miss me too much!”

You managed a forced smile, waving him off like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Because the moment he turned the corner, a sharp, unwelcome pang bloomed in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy—not exactly.

Just… something heavy. Something tight.

Something you couldn’t name without digging into places you weren’t quite ready to go.

You sighed, long and low, and forced your feet toward your next class, pretending that maybe you’d feel better if you just kept moving.

Spoiler, you didn’t.

Classes passed in a blur, lectures droning like white noise in the background.

You tried to focus, really, but your mind kept drifting—back to last night, back to his weight against you, his breath on your neck, the taste of his lips.

Back to the way he didn’t remember.

And now here he was, out on a date, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d left you in.

You returned to your dorm that night with your brain fried and your heart somewhere under your shoe.

You flopped onto your bed face-first, ready to disappear into the mattress forever, when your phone buzzed.

Sy: getting drunk again tonight lol

You groaned, dragging your pillow over your head like it could block out both the light and your bad decisions. You tossed your phone aside with more force than necessary.

“He better not come here again tonight,” you muttered to yourself.

But even as you said it… a tiny, traitorous part of you kind of hoped he would.

And that was the worst part.

Of course he did.

Because why wouldn’t he?

You stared at the door for a solid five seconds after the knock. It was almost comedic at this point.

Like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and Sylus was its favorite punchline.

You dragged yourself up, already exhausted before you even turned the knob.

And there he was.

Leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn’t been out on a date just hours ago, like he hadn’t already hijacked your emotional equilibrium last night.

The now-familiar scent hit you immediately—his signature cologne, warm and clean, now drowned under the unmistakable sting of alcohol.

Not subtle this time.

He smelled like he’d gone swimming in a cocktail shaker.

He grinned at you, lazy and lopsided. “Hey, wifey.”

You stared at him. Blinked once.

Then sighed. “I literally said, ‘He better not come here again tonight.’”

He tilted his head. “But I always come here.”

You resisted the urge to bang your head against the doorframe. “You have a room. A perfectly good room.”

“But yours has you in it,” he said, like it was the most logical argument in the world.

And just like that, your heart did the thing again—the flutter, the ache, the full-body sigh of someone dangerously close to caring too much.

You stepped aside wordlessly, letting him stumble in and flop onto the sofa with all the grace of a drunk swan.

He missed the armrest entirely and groaned into your throw pillow.

You closed the door.

“Don’t throw up on anything,” you warned.

“Never,” came his muffled reply. “I have standards.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure you do.”

As you fetched the water bottle—again, you glanced over at him. Hair a mess, face flushed, shoes still on.

And yet, somehow, despite it all—despite the alcohol and the chaos and the absolutely maddening way he lived inside your head—he still looked like home.

And that was the problem.

You sighed—again—and knelt beside the sofa, already in caretaker mode. It was routine now. Predictable. You unscrewed the cap of the water bottle with one hand and gently lifted it to his lips, not even bothering to ask this time.

But tonight was different.

Because he didn’t drink.

He didn’t even move.

He just stared at you.

Silent. Still.

Your brows furrowed as you held the bottle there, confused. “Sylus,” you said softly, nudging the rim against his bottom lip.

Still nothing.

You looked up, properly meeting his gaze—and froze.

He wasn’t out of it this time. His eyes, though glassy, were clear. Awake. Watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

Your hand slowly lowered the bottle.

“What?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes never leaving yours. “You were biting your lip in class today.”

You blinked. “Wha—how do you even—?”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he murmured, almost like an apology.

Your heart dropped.

He remembered.

The kiss. The things he said. The way he collapsed on you like you were something he could fall into without consequence.

He remembered everything.

Your voice caught in your throat. You straightened up a little, putting distance between you. “You said you didn’t remember.”

He smiled faintly. “I lied.”

And just like that, the air shifted—heavy, warm, dangerous. The room felt smaller. Your heart louder.

You didn’t know what to say. So you didn’t.

You just stared back, bottle still in your hand, feeling everything you’d tried to bury clawing its way to the surface.

He sat up with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his hair as if he could shake off the tension clinging to the air between you.

You watched him closely, bottle still in your hand, heartbeat pounding like a warning.

Then he looked at you—really looked at you—and said quietly, “I didn’t go on a date.”

Your brows lifted.

“I didn’t even drink tonight.”

That made you pause.

You stared at him, eyes narrowing slightly. And?

Your expression said it all. So?

He shifted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced like he needed something to hold onto.

His frown deepened, not from annoyance but from something far more raw.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked, voice softer now—less teasing, more real.

You blinked.

No smirk. No sarcasm.

Just Sylus, stripped of his usual bravado, staring at you like he didn’t know what else to say—like the weight of what he felt had finally grown too heavy to carry without showing it.

And suddenly, everything felt louder.

The silence. The breath you didn’t take. The confession waiting just on the other side of his words.

Because maybe… you did get it.

You just weren’t sure you were ready to.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face in frustration like he couldn’t believe he was having to spell it out.

“Come here,” he muttered under his breath—low, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.

But before you could even react, his hands were on either side of your face, warm and certain, pulling you toward him.

And then—he kissed you.

Not like last night.

Not messy or sudden or slurred with alcohol and adrenaline.

This kiss was different.

It was gentle. Intentional. His lips moved slowly against yours, like he was trying to say everything he hadn’t had the courage to say out loud.

Like he wanted you to feel it—feel him.

There was no rush. No stumble. Just soft, quiet honesty.

Your hands, unsure at first, slowly rose to grip the front of his shirt. His thumb brushed along your cheek, steadying you, grounding you.

And for a moment, the noise in your head stopped.

No questions. No what-ifs. Just the feeling of him—real, solid, and heartbreakingly tender.

When he finally pulled away, barely an inch, his forehead rested lightly against yours, breath mingling with yours in the stillness between you.

“I remember everything,” he whispered.

“And I meant all of it.”

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

The words settled between you like something fragile and warm, and terrifyingly real.

You barely had time to absorb them before he sighed, shaking his head with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated.

“For someone who’s considered a nerd,” he muttered, thumb brushing against your cheek again, “you’re so stupid.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me?”

He gave you a look—the one that always came right before he said something that would both annoy and fluster you to death.

“You seriously didn’t notice? Two years of me practically living in your room, fending off every guy who looked at you twice, ‘accidentally’ falling asleep on your shoulder, telling you a Chris Brown song described what I wanted to do to you—”

“I thought you were drunk!” you hissed, flushing.

“I was,” he admitted, smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I was lying.”

You stared at him, heart a riot in your chest.

He leaned in again, voice softer now.

“I liked you even before I knew what to call it. When you helped me find the toilet on the first day, and I thought, ‘Well. That’s it. Guess I’m not letting her go now.’”

You blinked, wide-eyed. “That was… the first day of college.”

“Exactly.” He grinned, nose brushing yours. “And you’re just now catching up?”

You opened your mouth to argue. Nothing came out.

He laughed under his breath, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. “God, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

You were still staring at him, wide-eyed, frozen in the moment like your brain had blue-screened.

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You had so many things to say, but your thoughts were tripping over each other in the hallway of your mind, arms full of emotional baggage.

He just chuckled.

Low. Warm. Smug.

That infuriating smirk curved at the corner of his lips again, the one that always spelled trouble and somehow still made your heart flutter.

“You really are slow,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Guess I’ll just have to make it clearer.”

And before you could process that ominous statement—

He kissed you again.

But this time, it wasn’t sweet or tentative.

This kiss was deeper. Hotter.

Full of all the pent-up feelings he clearly hadn’t been hiding as well as you thought.

He pressed you back into the sofa, one hand cradling the side of your face while the other slid around your waist like he already knew he belonged there.

You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, body reacting faster than your brain could.

And he groaned—low in his throat, like just the sound of you was enough to unravel him.

He pulled back only a breath’s distance, lips barely brushing yours, voice rough. “Still think I’m joking?”

You couldn’t think at all.

And maybe, for once, that was okay.

You didn’t answer him.

You couldn’t.

Because the second your breath hitched, the second your lips parted like you might say something—he kissed you again.

And this time, it wasn’t hesitant.

It was consuming.

All heat and hunger and tension finally unraveling between two people who had been orbiting each other for far too long.

Sylus pressed you further into the cushions, his body aligned with yours like he belonged there. Like this had always been inevitable.

His hand slid from your waist to your hip, fingers curling just enough to make you shiver, while his mouth moved against yours with growing urgency—soft and then firm, teasing then demanding.

Your hands were in his hair before you even realized, pulling him closer, needing more. He groaned into the kiss, low and strained, like he’d been holding himself back for too long.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with restraint. “Always walking around in those stupid sweaters, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

You whimpered as his mouth trailed along your jaw, down the slope of your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that made your back arch slightly into him. His name slipped out of you before you could stop it—breathy, half-plea, half-warning.

He stilled for half a second, like he needed to hear it again.

“Sylus,” you whispered, and just like that, the last thread of control snapped.

His hands were under your sweater now, fingers splayed across your waist, not rushing—just feeling. Like he wanted to memorize you. Commit every inch of you to memory.

You gasped when his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper. As if he were trying to tell you something he didn’t quite know how to say.

And in between every kiss, every breath, every graze of skin, you heard it loud and clear.

I want you.

I’ve always wanted you.

Only you.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling, chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths.

Your hands were still fisted in his shirt, your bodies still pressed close, but you needed a second—needed to breathe. Because what the hell just happened?

“Holy shit,” you whispered, voice raw and dazed.

Sylus stilled, eyes searching yours, flushed and breathless. “Too much?”

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. “No. I just…”

Your brows furrowed, a stunned laugh escaping you.

“I’ve been walking around thinking you didn’t feel the same for two years?” you said, incredulous, voice cracking on the last word.

Sylus blinked, then tilted his head slightly, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“You hid it ridiculously well!”

“I practically moved into your dorm.”

“You ate my snacks and called me wifey. That’s not a confession, that’s just being annoying.”

He laughed, the sound husky and breathless. “I flirted with you constantly.”

“I thought that was just your default setting! You flirt with the barista.”

“I don’t press her against the sofa and kiss her like I’m about to lose my mind,” he muttered, his voice low, his thumb brushing along your jaw. “Only you.”

Your heart clenched, hard.

The air between you shifted again, softer now—less fire, more gravity.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t want to know,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I thought… if I hoped too much, I’d ruin it.”

His fingers curled gently around the side of your neck, grounding you. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

“I’ve been yours,” he said quietly, “since the first day you showed me where the toilet was.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—and kissed him again.

This time, you didn’t stop.

You kissed him like you were catching up on everything you hadn’t let yourself feel.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this moment since that first awkward hallway encounter.

There were no more games. No more pretending. Just whispered names and stolen breath, soft laughs between kisses, and the feeling of finally, finally being seen.

By the time you fell asleep tangled in each other on the sofa—his hand on your waist, your head tucked under his chin—it was quiet.

Not the lonely kind.

The peaceful kind.

The kind that only comes when you’ve stopped running from something… and finally let yourself fall.

#this whole thing was a delight #unknown loves: sylus

584 notes · View notes

himasgod · 3 days ago

Note

hello!! i saw that requests were still up, and to seize this opportunity... may i request for diasomnia dealing with a merperson s/o? it'll just be interesting seeing them deal with fish... - 🎣 anon

Diasomnia x Mermaid/Merperson!Reader

Headcanons of what a relationship between the Diasomnia boys and a merperson would be like…

Malleus Draconia

For him, having a mermaid partner is something fascinating and unique. He's heard stories about sea creatures, but he never imagined falling in love with one.

He has no problem with the water, but the ocean isn't exactly his favorite habitat. However, for you, he'll learn to swim in the depths without difficulty.

He takes you to explore places on land you may have never seen, like ancient forests and hidden ruins.

If there's an oceanic tradition for engagement, he wants to participate in it.

He finds it adorable when you get excited about seeing rare human objects on land, but he doesn't understand why you're obsessed with forks. (REFERENCE ❗❗)

Lilia tried to explain the reference to him, but he didn't understand.

When you try to teach him how to communicate underwater with songs or ultrasounds, his voice booms so loudly it scares the fish away…

But we all know he sings very well. Thanks, masquerade event 🙏

If you choose to sleep out of the water, he'll use his magic to make sure you're hydrated and comfortable.

Lilia Vanrouge

"Oh, how interesting! It's not every day you meet someone who can breathe underwater~"

He's met merperson in the past, but each one has their own habits. He has a blast discovering yours.

Without warning, he can jump into the water to surprise you. The worst part is that, while it should be difficult for someone his size to move so quickly in the water, Lilia seems to simply defy logic…

He loves to cook for you, but his dishes aren't always suitable for sea dwellers (or anyone, really).

The first time you tried his food, you were sick for two days. Still, he remains convinced that "maybe this time it will taste good."

Sometimes he uses his magic to turn things around: if you have a tail, he'll give you legs for a day, and if he has legs, he sometimes puts on an artificial tail to swim with you.

He finds it very amusing to watch others deal with the problems of him dating someone who lives in the water. Especially Sebek.

"Did you know that mermaids used to seduce sailors in ancient times to sink their ships? I wonder if that's what you did to me~"

He's just joking, but who knows…

Silver

At first, he wasn't sure how the relationship would work, since his world and yours were so different. But that doesn't stop him from wanting to be with you.

If you sleep in the water, Silver will try to stay on the shore to keep an eye on you…

Bro fell asleep on the sand

Sometimes he wakes up in the water because the waves have swept him away. More than once, you've had to pull him out before he floats too far out.

He prefers to swim in lakes or rivers with you rather than in the open ocean. Partly because he doesn't want to lose sight of you, and partly because the salt water gets in his eyes MY POOR BOY 😭😭

He wants to learn to understand the mermaid language, but it's complicated. He hears you sing underwater and sometimes tries to imitate it, though he's not very good at it.

If you teach him how to breathe underwater with the help of a spell, he'll feel strange at first, but he'll love the experience.

Gentle underwater caresses and hugs. Since he moves slower than you in the water, you use him as a floating pillow when you need to rest <3

Sebek Zigvolt

"A MERMAID?! HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THE YOUNG MASTER HAVE A FRIENDSHIP WITH A MERMAID?!"

He doesn't really have anything against you personally… but he's having a hard time accepting it. You have a different culture and different customs, and that baffles him.

So he started watching you every way he could to make sure you didn't do anything strange with Malleus.

It takes a while to get used to it, but he eventually accepts it and becomes a very protective companion.

Bro ended up falling in love with you 💖💖

He doesn't like swimming. Or rather, he doesn't like to admit he's not very good at it. He tries really hard to keep up with you in the water, but sometimes he feels more like a dog splashing around I LOVE HIM

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! I CAN SWIM PERFECTLY WELL!"

Meanwhile malleus magically floating him so he doesn't sink

He gets very excited when he learns about merperson traditions and the importance of music and song. He may not admit it at first, but he enjoys it when you sing to him ❤️‍🩹

"IF A MERPERSON IS GOING TO BE MY BELOVED, THEN I'LL GET STRONGER TO PROTECT THE SEA!"

Suddenly, he has a new personal workout: holding his breath as long as possible to patrol the water with you…

but ends up passing out.

I love him sm please protect him

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst x you #diasomnia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge #silver x reader #silver vanrouge #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst oc #twst wonderland #t

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liberty-barnes · 3 days ago

Text

to the girls made of glass

Arthur Leclerc x Female!Reader

Part 2 to you will not always want to shatter

Summary: The next day. (In hindsight, he doesn't know why he told his family anything)

Warnings: mostly fluff but also this turned out sadder than i expected it to? but happy ending dw, lorenzo has eldest child syndrome, mentions of masculinity and its expectations in our patriarchal world, mentions of the media being dicks (specifically about a child being born out of wedlock)

Word Count: 2.5k words + however many are in the texts

Estimated Reading Time: 16 minutes

A/N: i don't know how but i ended up making a part two so. enjoy, i suppose! don't forget to add yourself to my taglist if you wanna be notified in the future <3

the purse mentioned in this fic is the Multitaker Bag in Blush by Poppy and Peonies aka my dream bag (and the essentials is indeed all of my essentials...might have a problem)

Title from Shelby Leigh's book girl made of glass

Masterlists | Formula One RI Masterlist | Taglist

Arthur took a deep breath, shaking his hands at his side, trying to shake off his nervousness as well.

07:58.

He rang the doorbell.

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door before it opened and he was face to face with her again.

(Y/n).

“Hi, love, come on in, I’ve just gotta get my purse, which is… somewhere, surely.”

Embarrassingly, he was frozen in place.

“Arthur?”

“You look really pretty.”

He could feel his cheeks heat up as soon as those words made it out of his mouth. That was supposed to be an inside thought. Was it too much to ask for the ground to swallow him whole?

She smiled at him, eyes going all soft and shiny and… wow. Just wow.

“You’re cute.”

She grabbed the front of his sweater and dragged him inside. He really should try to care more about her manhandling him. Surely, normal people would feel disgruntled by it, right?

Meh, who cares? Not him.

A loud skidding sound made him snap his head to the ground, right before Circe collided with his shins.

“Oh, hello there.”

She made a sound which he could only described as an impatient scream, rubbing herself all over every part of him she could reach, stretching her paws as high as they could go. He crouched down to pet her, although frankly, it felt a lot more like she was the one headbutting his hand hard enough that he feared there would be bruises.

“Yeah, fun fact, she’s actually an absolute menace and she missed you a lot. She tends to scream if we don’t immediately give her attention.”

He frowned.

“But she was so calm yesterday.”

(Y/n) only cackled loudly, clipping on her earrings.

“Yeah, cause she was on her absolute best behaviour until she was sure you were infatuated with her. That’s gone out the window now, I’m afraid.”

She looked around her, huffing loudly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, where did I put that damned purse? I swear my things always decide to disappear the moment I need them.”

Arthur looked up from Circe’s very soft fur to where (Y/n) was standing right in front of him, hands on her hips.

Huh. Nice view.

Shut up, Arthur.

“What does it look like? I’ll help you find it.”

“It’s a blush pink bag from Poppy and Peonies, it’s got black edges, and creases on the sides from the amount of times I’ve managed to overload it.”

He nodded and got up, moving along with her while looking for the bag. There was a bag on her kitchen counter. Pink. black edges. Creases on the sides. “Um, is this… is this the bag?”

He pointed at it, and (Y/n) looked up from her spot near the couch in the living room.

“Yes! You found it! Thank you so much, angel, can you bring it to me?”

He lifted it up, surprised at the weight of it. She walked over and took it from him effortlessly.

“Um… Are you sure you’re gonna need all that?”

She nodded, putting on her shoes.

“Of course, it’s only the essentials.”

He blinked at her. His essentials were his phone, wallet, and keys. Those fit in his pockets.

“Essentials?”

“Yeah, you know. Phone, keys, wallet–”

Okay, so, much the same.

“A small first aid kit, small water bottle, chapstick–”

That was understandable.

“Phone charger, a bag of period essentials, pen, tiny notepad, chewing gum–”

Right, it was starting to sound like a bit much for a trip to the bakery.

“Makeup wipes, tissues, hard candies for if my sugar drops, a pill organiser with all the tablets needed in case of an emergency, headphones–”

She was still going?

“Sunglasses, mirror, portable toothbrush and paste, tiny makeup bag with my essentials, mini deodorant, mini perfume, mini hand lotion, mini sunscreen–”

Arthur didn’t even know so many miniatures existed.

“Nail file, fidget toy, and a Swiss army knife. The essentials.”

Arthur thought back to his mother and the giant purse she carried everywhere. And how Charlotte and Alexandra always had an extra ‘big’ purse that they left in the car when going out in addition to their ‘small’ purse that they took outside with them. Wisely, he decided it was best not to comment.

“Makes sense.”

The smile he got in return was definitely worth his silence.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

She grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the flat, leaving a disgruntled Circe behind.

He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but smile about it.

—

The bakery was really nice. (Y/n) ordered a hot chocolate, despite the weather being nowhere near cold enough to warrant it. They sat outside, on a little two-person couch, facing the water.

It was nice. Peaceful. Comfortable.

He brought the cappuccino he ordered to his mouth.

“So, what did you tell your family about me?”

His guardian angel must have been watching over him because he narrowly avoided choking on his sip of coffee.

He looked at her, wide-eyed.

“How did you know I told my family about you?”

She smirked mischievously and he felt a chill go down his spine.

“I didn’t.”

He blinked at her.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I expected you to. So, what did they say?”

She ‘expected him to’?

Maybe his mom and sisters-in-law were right when they said she knew how pathetic he was.

“Well, Lorenzo’s convinced you’re secretly an axe murderer.”

She laughed loudly, eyes crinkling shut.

“Fortunately, he’s alone in that thought. Everyone else was just happy I met someone…”

He hesitated, deciding to keep the rest to himself, but something must have shown on his face because she suddenly turned to him.

“There’s something else.”

He avoided her eyes.

“Come on then, out with it. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll take offence to.”

“Well, um… They just said that uh… They kinda… forgot? That your dad had an older daughter. Since you didn’t go to races a lot, but your siblings showed up every now and then when Kimi was still racing.”

It felt awkward to say. Uncomfortable. But she surprised him yet again by not appearing the slightest bit offended, only smiling in a bittersweet way.

“Yeah. Dad learned early on that it was safer for me to stay out of the public eye. I went to races almost all the time, actually, people just never saw me cause I stayed out of the way.”

“But your siblings–”

“Were born of a happy, loving marriage. Whenever they’re mentioned, the media just focuses on how well-raised they are, and how sweet it is to see them support their father. As for me… It didn’t quite work the same way. Whenever people were reminded of my existence, they just wanted to see how bad of a fuck-up Kimi Räikkönen’s bastard daughter would grow up to be. Dad didn’t want people talking about me that way, so he made sure they never talked about me at all.”

She stared out at the horizon, only a small hint of sadness present in her voice.

“That must have been hard.”

She pursed her lips.

“It was, at first. It took me a while to understand why I couldn’t be in the garage with everyone else, watching the race, hugging him for good luck before he went out. But the older I got, the more I came to appreciate it. Even though he couldn’t show it to the world, I never doubted that Dad loved me. I didn’t get to be my father’s daughter in the way my siblings do, but I got to be myself in a way they likely never will. I got to grow up without cameras in my face, without people gasping whenever they heard my name. I could go out with my friends and make mistakes without fear of the consequences. I got to choose what I wanted to do with my life without the general public’s opinions clouding my judgment. That’s a luxury people like me don’t often get.”

He couldn’t help but imagine a little (Y/n) in the Ferrari garage, wanting to wish her Dad good luck but being unable to because of the cameras around.

“You’re very strong, you know? I don’t know if I could be as understanding about it if I’d been in your shoes.”

She shrugged.

“It is what it is. No point in crying about it.”

She looked back at him with an easy smile on her face.

“What about now, though? Do you still have to hide?”

She tilted her head to the side.

“I mean, I don’t have to, I just don’t have a reason to change. The media would probably focus on all the wrong things in my life, only thing they’d care about is that I don’t have a job that makes money.”

“How so?”

“I got a Bachelor’s in business and comp sci, but I never wanted to just work for a greedy capitalistic company. It’s just not me. I’m lucky that my dad has more than enough money to provide for our family for generations to come, so I wanted to give back, in a way. I work as a web manager for a few charities around the globe, all non-profit, and do a ton of volunteering in my free time. But that means that my only source of income is my trust fund and the money my dad sends me.”

He looked at her with barely concealed awe in his eyes.

“(Y/n), fuck… That’s amazing, that you’re doing all this.”

She shrugged.

“I like it. And Dad supports me wholeheartedly. But if the media knew–”

“They would just paint you as another spoiled nepo baby who refuses to get a job.”

“Exactly.”

He felt–

Honestly, he couldn’t fully describe what he felt. Anger. Sadness. Righteous fury. The sudden and overwhelming urge to wrap himself around her like an octopus and shield her from the media’s eyes.

“Are you done with your drink and food?”

He blinked at her.

“Um… Yes?”

She smiled mischievously again, like the previous conversation had never happened.

“Good. Because we have reservations in thirty minutes.”

“Wait, what?”

“What is this place?”

He looked around in wonder. Everything was so colourful, so big. He could practically feel his body buzzing with energy.

“Trampoline park. Usually it’s full of people, but on a Tuesday at half nine in the morning? I’d be surprised if we weren’t the only ones here.”

She walked over to the reception desk, leaving Arthur to look around in wonder. There was a foam pit, rope ladders, and was that a climbing wall?

“Come on, pretty boy, leave your stuff in the locker and take off your shoes, time to have some fun.”

He felt his cheeks heat up at the nickname. He practically tripped over himself to get ready.

“Off we go.”

She took his hand and started to run in the direction of the trampolines.

He looked at the smile on her face and had the sudden thought that, so as long as she kept smiling at him like that, he’d follow her to hell and back.

—-—

Arthur was asleep on her couch. After two hours spent at the trampoline park and a hearty meal of lasagna and steamed broccoli, he seemed to have fallen into a coma, head pillowed on her thighs and arms hugging Circe to his chest.

She ran her fingers through his scalp absentmindedly. She’d changed the channel as soon as he’d fallen asleep, continuing her rewatch of Bones. There was no work to be done today, so she could afford to relax.

Her eyes were starting to get heavy when her phone beeped with a notification.

By the time she put the phone down and looked back at Arthur, he was awake and staring at her with sleep-filled eyes.

“Hey, baby boy. How you feeling?”

He hummed, nuzzling into her hand.

“Still tired?”

He nodded, eyes fluttering close when she hit a spot on his scalp that practically made him purr.

“Hey, (Y/n)?”

His voice sounded hoarse from sleep, but oh so adorable.

“Yeah, love?”

“Why do you do that?”

She furrowed her brows.

“Do what?”

It seemed to take an eternity for him to voice out what he was thinking.

“The nice things. You made me food, and paid for our breakfast, and you drove and opened the door for me. Why?”

She shrugged minutely.

“I don’t know. I guess I just enjoy taking care of you. Do you not like it?”

“No, I do!”

He looked like he was afraid she’d stop if he didn’t get the words out fast enough. To be honest, it was quite sweet.

“It feels nice…”

She traced the blush on his cheeks with the pads of her fingers, feeling her carefully guarded heart want to burst out of her chest and hand itself over to Arthur.

“Well, good. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He kept looking at her while she gently ran her fingers all over his face, feather-light, tracing constellations in the barely-there freckles.

“I wanna date you. But I don’t think we should.”

She fought against her every instinct to bristle and lash out. It felt awfully familiar to be told she “shouldn’t” date someone. But what was it this time? Was it the money? The fame? The media?

Or was one day enough for Arthur to realise she was simply not good enough?

That no matter how hard she tried, she was still nothing more than a bastard child, abandoned by her mother, abandoned by the world, never deserving of anything more than she was already lucky enough to have?

“If you date me you’ll be back in the public eye. People are gonna take pictures of us everywhere. And they’ll tear you apart just for being with me. But you’ve worked too hard to create a safe life. I’m not worth you giving that up.”

She locked eyes with him.

“You should not be trusted to make decisions if you’re gonna be self-deprecating about them.”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” she ran her thumbs under the dark circles that still stained his eyes. “But shouldn’t that be my choice to make?”

“You’re too good for me anyway.”

She laughed ruefully, heart starting to beat a bit faster.

“Many people would disagree.”

“Many people would be wrong.”

“I disagree.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

He said it with such conviction, such absolute certainty, like he was shattering years upon years of her feelings of inadequacy.

“Where did you even come from?”

He blinked innocently up at her.

“My mother’s vagina.”

She pushed him off the couch.

translations for the finnish (which i got off google so pls forgive any mistakes)

I love you, dad

I love you too, snowflake

tadaaa! hope you guys enjoyed that! before you ask, no, i do not have any plans to make a part 3 to this for two reasons: first is because idk what i would write, and second is because the quote that these fics were named after (to the girls made of glass / you will not always want to shatter) was a two-part one and i don't know what i'd name the third. so it will stay as a duology.

Don't forgot to comment and reblog, asks and DMs are always open!

-Love, Miah <3

For the people that wanted part 2:

@aykxz98 @camelliaflow3r @sarah-thatstings-ann @sinofwriting @mountainshuman

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #to the girls made of glass

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