#crack? it's mostly like self-indulgent

[moonstruckme]

Hey !

So I've just come out of a week with an absolutely awful cold where I lost my voice and it was absolutely exhausting.

So, if you'd like I wanted to request a poly!marauders x sick reader with fluff and coddling when reader lost her voice and they're being overprotective and soft . Maybe emt!marauders? As you'd like ✨️

Thank you 💕 🌸

Ugh hope you feel better soon my love <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 915 words

Sirius’ thumb draws circles into the fat of your hip, your head heavy against his chest. You’re letting your cheek smush against the material of his shirt, your entire body lax with lethargy. You really feel mostly fine, but it’s difficult not to indulge in some self-pity when your boyfriends are treating you so tenderly. 

“Are you tired, love?” Remus’ voice is low and dulcet, his eyes honey-colored in the afternoon light spilling through the window as he watches you from his chair. 

“No,” you rasp. His eyebrows stitch together compassionately. “Just comfortable.” 

You can very nearly feel the smugness emanating from Sirius at that. He kisses the top of your head, and Remus rolls his eyes at whatever face he’s made that you can’t see. 

“Do you want to try to gargle some saltwater before you have your tea?” Remus asks. 

You sigh, sinking further into Sirius’ side. “Maybe later.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, please stop.” James hisses through his teeth as he carries in a steaming cup of tea. “It hurts me when you talk, you sound so awful.” 

You shoot him a wry look—thanks—and Sirius grins. 

“I think you sound dead sexy,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

You laugh, and even that sounds warped and awful. “Yeah?” you say, reaching up for the tea as James passes it to you. Your voice squeaks, cracking horrifically. “Just like this?” 

“Prick.” James sits down beside you on the couch, kicking halfheartedly at Sirius’ leg. “Don’t encourage her.” 

You have to quell your giggling before you trust yourself to take a sip of your tea. It’s so sweet you think it might be half honey, not that you’re complaining; the effect is immediate relief for your raw throat. Remus unpauses the film you were watching, and James pulls one of your feet into his lap, massaging it like a stress ball through the material of your fuzzy sock. Sirius is still drawing heavy circles into your hip, and despite your claims of alertness, you’re well on your way to actually falling asleep when you notice Remus has turned subtly away from the TV and appears to be scrutinizing you. 

“What?” you ask. 

“Sweetheart,” James begs, his fingers tensing around your foot, “please.” 

“You really won’t let me check your throat for strep?” Remus asks. 

For James’ sake, you confine your response to a shake of your head. 

“Why not?” he presses, fully turning his back on the film. “If it was strep, we could get you some medicine. I don’t like seeing you sick, dove.” 

You send him a sorry little smile, but your answer hasn’t changed. 

“Why don’t you let him just have a look?” James coaxes. Sirius’ free hand comes up, laying flat over your forehead as he checks again for a fever. 

“Because it’s gross,” you say. James winces but doesn’t complain. “And because I think my breath must be awful. It’s only been a couple of days anyway.” 

“It could be a lot longer if it is strep throat and you don’t treat it,” Remus points out.

James leans closer to you, beckoning. “Give me a breath, and I’ll let you know if it’s horrid.” 

“No!” you lean away from him, laughing. 

“Why not?” 

“Bec—” Sirius takes the opportunity to get his index finger in your mouth, wedging it between your teeth. 

“Sirius!” you squeak, all the s’s of his name reduced to vague shushing sounds. “What are you doing?” 

James and Remus snicker at your lisping, but Sirius is the picture of cool composure, watching you steadily as you wrap your hand around his wrist. You give a tug, but he curls his finger around the inside of your bottom teeth and holds fast. 

“I could sit like this all day,” he says, disgustingly proud of himself, “or you could let Remus check your throat for pesky little spots.” 

You stare him down. The problem with Sirius is, he stares right back, and it’s difficult to feel very intimidating when you’ve got his finger sticking out of your mouth. He drops one eyelid in a wink. You’re loath to give into his smugness, but after a few seconds you roll your eyes.

James takes your tea from you as Remus comes forward, getting out his phone light and stooping over you, and you allow Sirius to tip your mouth open. 

“Ugh, rank!” he jokes, immune to the glare you send his way. Remus ignores you both, steadying himself with a hand at your jaw as he peers inside your mouth. 

“Stick your tongue out, dove?” he requests, and you do, heat creeping up your neck. James squeezes your foot sympathetically. 

“I think,” Remus says softly, brows furrowing as he looks a moment longer, “you’re in the clear.” 

You let out a little cough, curling towards your chest as he steps away and James and Sirius cheer. 

“Told you,” you can’t help but say, voice scraping. 

“You were right, angel,” James indulges you, squeezing up the length of your calf. “So what does this mean?” 

Remus shrugs. “That it’s probably not strep throat. Could be anything else, we likely won’t know unless it gets worse.” 

“Steady diet of tea and honey?” Sirius asks gravely. 

“Certainly,” James answers in the same serious tone. “And rest. Lots of rest. Probably shouldn’t move on her own.” 

“So, business as usual,” you joke. Remus chuckles as Sirius stamps a kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Smart girl,” he praises. “Glad the fever’s not gone to your head yet.” 

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐇 ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 & 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Messy, honey Trippin' on cracks in the concrete You're so clumsy Got me thinkin' maybe you like me

➸ you leave a bad review about Onigiri Miya on your food blog. Osamu is a little annoyed about it but mostly worried why you cried so much in your food across of him at the counter.

❉ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 ongoing!

✰ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 & 𝐂𝐖 (updated as the story progresses) meet ugly (my beloved!!), slow burn, enemies to lover vibes but not full on (they don’t hate each other, they are just a little messy and confused), SFW but will have some mention of alcohol and sex at some point, descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks (chapters will have an additional warning at the beginning), a lot of food mention obviously, mention of various pairings (Yukie/Konoha, Matsuhana, Bokuaka)

❦ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐒 real housewives of Y/N ❁ boyish whimsy

❉ 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗 (✑ contains written parts)

prologue: dog tags chapter 01: love bites (✑) chapter 02: malewife era chapter 03: croquettes chapter 04: rotten apple (✑) chapter 05: lovers quarrel chapter 06: Miya kisser club (✑) chapter 07: 2AM lychee soju (✑) chapter 08: you up? chapter 09: my side of the bed chapter 10: to be loved chapter 11: siren song (✑) chapter 12: pomegranates chapter 13: the beach episode chapter 14: the bathroom floor (✑) chapter 15: coming soon

✮ 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒

moodboard (Pinterest) bonus chapter: honeymoon suite bonus chapter: ask the cast! unlocked lore: oikawa & y/n friendship

❖ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 open - fill out this form to be added (or removed, no hard feelings ♡)! minors DNI!

a/n: this is my first SMAU ever and i'm not entirely sure what i am doing but when has this ever held me back? it's actually based on a drabble i wrote the other day and might also be the most self-indulgent thing i have ever written if you enjoyed this, i would LOVE hearing your thoughts as the story moves on! ♡

[pinkroseblooms]

obsessedloner!Choso/chubby!f!Reader) pt.1

Summary: modern day college au! Choso pines over his cute classmate. Ngl this is super self indulgent, probably OOC, with lots of fluff and smut, borderline crack really. Enjoy!

Warnings: stalking, unhealthy behavior, p in v sex, unprotected, possessive/obsessive behavior, smut, and etc. Choso is clingy and borderline yandere.

wc: 4.2k

You’re a sweetie pie, friendly to everyone but seemingly not close to anyone. You wear cute dresses and blouses, and have adorably round cheeks, so plump and cute, with a warm smile that puts every person you speak with at ease. Choso on the other hand, though not socially inept per say, simply doesn’t put much effort into socializing with his classmates or really any person outside his tight knit circle. All Choso really needs is his family and a couple close friends, the ones he’s had for years. He doesn’t need to win any popularity contests and with his pale, nearly translucent skin, inky black hair, and somewhat somber expression, Choso had something of a reputation for being creepy. Walking down the street, zoned out eyes and a thin lipped frown, it wasn’t uncommon for a person to double take, wondering if they had seen a hulking onryo in physical form.

And so, when he met you, Choso was at a loss. Suddenly everything he did seemed so awkward and stilted. He was fumbling over himself attempting to make your acquaintance; from being assigned to class projects or during group discussions, of which Choso found himself hanging on your every word with rapt attention no matter how boring the subject material actually was, he could never seem to find the right thing to say. It was a miracle when he was able to speak at all, outside of strictly school related topics. 

On a mild sunny day, it was a classmate had ultimately been the one to indirectly help Choso make a connection. They had pointed him out to you, who had been sitting unaware on a blanket in the campus courtyard with a book and a snack, Your peaceful, cozy study session outside was interrupted when a classmate came by to say hello and warn you of the strange man watching you from the smattering of trees and bushes surrounding the area.

“He’s always staring at you.” They winced as Choso ducked further behind the large oak he was half obscured behind. “What the hell? I can call security for you.”

“Oh it’s Choso.” you beamed in his direction, waving one of your arms over your head. “Hey Choso! Wanna study with me?”

Unsure if he was hallucinating, Choso ventured from his spot, steps heavy as he walked briskly to where you were camped out on the grass. Your classmate gave you a strange look. "Will you be okay?”

“Aw, he’s just shy.” you told them, your smile widening as Choso lingered a few feet away from the edge of your blanket.

“Uh huh. Alright then” 

With a shrug, they left you and Choso alone; for a few seconds, neither of you spoke.

“Hi.” Choso looked from you to the retreating classmate, and back to you again. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure!” you patted the spot next to you. “Are you hungry? I have some cookies in my bag, made them myself.”

You chatted with Choso about nothing in particular; he mostly nodded or gave one syllable answers as he munched carefully on the cookies you offered. He heard you talk about baking once or twice before; granted Choso is pretty neutral on most desserts but ever since hearing about your casual hobby, one of his favorite fantasies was you gifting him with sweets made with care: chocolate on Valentine's Day, a special cake for his birthday, or maybe you wearing nothing but a cute apron in his kitchen while he pinned you over the table and-

Well, maybe he's getting ahead of himself.

“You know, you could have just come over. How long were you gonna stand there?” you asked after Choso finished the cookies; you had brought extra, hoping to see him around campus again. Nothing said, "let's be buddies" like sharing homemade goodies, right?. “Besides, someone might think you’re stalking me.” you joked.

Choso hadn’t exactly meant to follow you; he really had intended to come over and greet you properly, ask if he could sit or if you wanted to get a coffee, something. Every time he tried to approach you, Choso ended up lingering near you, telling himself he would say something, a hello at the very least, but his feet would end up feeling like lead blocks and his palms would get clammy. Besides, you looked so content to be alone typing away on your computer or leisurely reading a book in your lap. What if you thought he was annoying? What if the only reason you treated him nicely in class was because you didn’t want to be rude and you secretly thought he was an off putting weirdo? Just imagining you looking up at him with apprehension or disgust made Choso’s resolve crumble. By the time he found an ounce of nerve to take a few steps toward you, you were already heading out of the library or the courtyard or the campus cafe and he was left feeling stupid and cowardly. Besides, of nothing else he could be near, just in case someone unwanted came along to bother you. Choso would put a stop to that easily.

“Sorry. I was going to, but you looked busy and…yeah.” Choso scratched at the bridge of his nose, nail grazing over the tattoo; his stomach flipped, remembering how you complimented it the first week of classes. No one else really talked to him but everyone seemed to like talking to you. He had been so surprised, he hadn’t even said thank you, just nodded and averted his eyes back to his notes. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You don’t bother me. Actually,” you pause before taking out your phone. “I was going to ask during our next class: do you want to exchange numbers?”

Choso looked up at you, stricken faced and back straight. “You were?”

“Sure, this way we can make plans to hang out.” you explain casually, smoothing out your skirt as you shifted toward him, contact list open and ready to add his name. With that brief movement, your skirt hiked up higher over your thighs just well past your knees; Choso bit the inside of his cheek and prayed you didn’t notice his gaze flicker downward. It would take less than a second to reach over, feel the exposed skin, squeeze with his rough hand, and then he could get a better idea of how it would feel to have his head trapped between your quivering thighs while he-

“You mean it? So," Choso gazes at you hopefully; his eyes are so intensely fixed to yours that you almost feel the need to look away. "We would see each other outside of class?”

“Yeah, let’s get coffee or something. Also, if one of us is already busy, we can just reschedule. Or, you know, we can just text each other whenever. No pressure.” you gave him a thumbs up. “Sound good to you?”

“That makes sense.” Choso types his number into your phone; the pads of his finger are thick and he’s trembling a little, so he has to redo it twice. “Um, can I sit with you? Like, right now, I mean.”

“Of course.” you nod and scoot over a little to make more room for him on the blanket. “By the way, that song I heard coming from your earbuds the other day, it sounded good; what was it called?”

Choso was wrong, assuming approaching you would be the thing to test his will power and courage the most. Now that Choso has your number (he put a little rabbit emoticon by your name, his cute chubby bunny) he has to rein himself in from messaging you every fifteen minutes and even then he knows he texts you too much. Even so, no matter how many messages Choso sends, you never seem annoyed. Weeks go by and Choso has gone from sending you brief inquiries about the class material and when the next day off is to regularly texting you good morning and goodnight, links to videos he thinks you’d find funny, songs that remind him of you, pictures of ramen from the new spot he and his brothers had gone out to eat at, even an occasional selfie that had been taken about a dozen times until Choso felt confident enough to send it.  And that wasn’t getting into the questions, unprompted and random, about your favorite color, food, time of day, your family, your birthday, your preferred sleeping position.

You can’t lie, the attention is flattering and you find your heart seize up whenever Choso is brave enough to approach you first, when he starts cracking jokes, bringing you coffee and snacks every class, and finally volunteering more and more info about himself without your prompting. You want him to share things about himself with you, to feel comfortable and at ease. It took a little time and careful coaxing, but it was well worth getting to know this fiercely strong yet oddly gentle man. Choso who seemed to operate on a completely seperate set of rules and morals than most people yet still tried so hard to please you, as if it were his life's mission to do so. You never felt so curious about someone or so determined to have them be a part of your life.

In a short amount of time, Choso has become your shadow, always scrambling to pack up his notes and pens to follow you when you leave the room, practically bounding at your heels when you say you’re going off campus for a meal or shopping. He insists on accompanying you, offering to foot the bill, carry your bags; if you so much as sniffle, Choso is urging a packet of tissues and a bottle of tea into your hands. He knows it’s a lot, but he can’t help himself and you’re so quick to return the favor, to pay for him, bring him little gifts, check up on him if he’s looking particularly tired (usually because he was up all night stalking your socials and planning your next “date”)

You say one nice thing to him and Choso wants to shower you in praise; he doesn’t care if it’s excessive. Sure, technically you’re not his girlfriend, but in Choso’s mind, you might as well be. Besides, he’s happy just making you happy. So when the day comes where you put it all out on the table and ask him to be honest about what his feelings are, Choso is surprised he even has to spell it out.

“What are we?” 

The movie has been paused and you put aside the bucket of popcorn Choso had just made fresh for you with extra butter topping along with the pack of your favorite candy as a surprise gift for movie night. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the hem of the band t-shirt Choso had lent you when he accidentally spilled coffee over your pretty new blouse. You never did give it back and Choso had never asked for you to return it. This is the first time he’s ever seen you so hesitant. 

“Listen, Choso, I like being your friend, I really do. I’ve never gotten this close to anyone before. You’re very...special to me, but I haven’t been completely honest with you.” you admit quietly. “I really, really like you, as more than just a friend. I’m sorry if that makes things weird. I know when you care for someone, you go all out, so maybe I’ve been misunderstanding this whole thing. I just had to tell you. You deserve to know. You’re such a great guy, I hope you’ll consider still being my friend.”

“I love you. Be my girlfriend.” 

Choso’s tone is so blunt and matter of fact, you’re almost startled into silence. 

“Oh. You love me?” 

“Yes.” 

"Oh." you repeat, still a tad taken aback. "I guess I was worried over nothing. I figured you might have a crush on me, unless I was mistaken, but I...really didn't expect this. Choso, are you sure? When you say love, you don't mean like a friend; you mean, love in 'that' way, right?"

Choso nods, pretty much looming over you; his outward expression is stoic, but you recognize the way his hands clench at his sides and his posture stiffens as him trying to calm his own nerves.

“I do. I meant it exactly how it sounds. I always wanted more, but I didn’t,” he shifts from one foot to the next, unsure whether it would be okay to sit next to you. “You aren’t scared of me? It’s really not…too much?”

Choso’s blood runs cold as you abruptly stand; you’re leaving. It’s too much too soon. Your patience has run out. You think he’s an overbearing freak and you’re going to run away, block him, avoid him. His eyes widen as you stare at him resolutely and it takes every ounce of strength he has to not crumble at your feet and beg you not to leave, to just give him a chance to show you how happy he could make you, the lengths he's willing to go to have you love him.

"I, I'm sorry." Choso steps forward, as if to block your path. "Just hear me out, one more time, plea-"

“I think I love you too.” you say softly, reaching for him slowly and cup his face in your warm palms; Choso brings his large hands up to cover yours, like he's trying to get you to squish his face. “I want to be with you.”

“Are you serious?” Choso exhales shakily. “You really love me?” 

You nod and lean forward barely a centimeter. “You’re really just too cute; can I kiss you now? Am I moving too fast?"

The words are barely out of your mouth before Choso wraps you into an almost painfully tight bear hug, your face is squished into his chest, arms trapped to your sides as Choso mutters softly into your hair.

“Are you really mine?” Choso asks quietly, his deep voice cracking a little as he drops onto the bed, cradling you like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind any second now, caging you with his whole being. “I know I get carried away. I just want to keep you safe. If I could, I’d keep you by me all the time. Is that wrong?”

“I don’t mind.” you smile into his sweatshirt and inhale his scent deeply. “I know you’re not a bad person. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Never!” Choso looks scandalized and you can’t help giggling a little at his bulging eyes and gaped mouth. “I’ve never had a girlfriend before. I’ll try to do my best; if I ever hurt you, even by accident, you can hit me.”

“But I don’t wanna do that.” you tell him with a pouty frown. “Aways so extreme. How about we just talk and apologize or something?” you wriggle out of his strong iron band like arms enough to look him in the eyes properly. “Choso, you’re kinda squeezing too tight, can you…?”

Choso immediately loosens his hold, but he doesn’t give you any additional space. “Sorry.” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “Can we still stay like this for a while?” 

“Oh shoot, I was going to make a joke about you taking my breath away.” you grin impishly and return the hug with your newly freed arms. “So, about that kiss? Not that we have to! I guess we’re already moving pretty fast.”

“Not fast enough.”

"Huh?"

Choso’s eyes flicker to your mouth and his tongue darts out to lick his own bottom lip briefly. “Can we?”

“What?” you have to gather your thoughts as Choso sits back; your legs are on either side of his hips now as you find yourself propped up on his lap. He’s looking at you with a familiar intensity, but you can’t help feeling a little nervous; after all, it’s the first time you’ve been this close to each other, in this kind of position.

“Wanna kiss.” Choso’s words come out faintly slurred, despite not having a drop to drink all night. The movie that had been playing on his tv is still paused, the only source of light in the room. Choso had one hand on your lower back to steady you; the other was on your hip, his thumb rubbing circles underneath the hem of your shirt. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Okay. Thank you.” you offer him a smile before leaning in again, pressing your lips to his lightly, once, twice, three times, until Choso apparently decides chaste pecks aren’t enough. He groans into your mouth, the tip of his tongue wet and broad, tentatively licking as you part your lips wider. He’s getting loud now and suddenly his hands are gripping your thighs; you gasp, but it’s muffled by Choso’s mouth fully over yours as he rocks his hips. He’s grinding into you, hands rubbing your thighs and waist, traveling up your body to your chest. He loves how your plush tummy feels, how his fingers easily sink into your thighs. Choso has the sudden urge to bite into your chubby cheek.

“Choso,” you manage to break the heated kiss only for him to switch to nipping and sucking at your neck. “Wha-what are you-?”

“Can we keep going?” Choso pants, resting his head on your chest. “Please? Can I touch you more? Please?” he’s groping your breasts, staring at them almost in awe. “I want to see them. Can I…?” Suddenly, a look of dread overtakes his needy expression and he draws his hands away back to your waist. “Is it okay? If you don’t want to, I’ll stop. I just,” he breathes in and out shakily; you can feel him, pressing in between your legs. He’s hard, moving frantically, like he's not in control of his own body, rutting against your plump ass and pussy to feel some relief, frustrated he can't feel you completely with stupid clothes getting in the way. “Sorry. I want it so bad, I’ve never done anything before, so…but I can wait, I just get so worked up and you feel so soft, I'm s-sorry-”

“It’s alright, I’m just surprised: I've never seen you like this before.” you confess as you run a hand through Choso’s hair; it’s still a bit damp. He showered before you came over for movie night; you don't think he anticipated this, but then, Choso’s been surprising you all evening. “Are you ready? I'm okay Choso; you’re making me feel good. I didn’t think you would want to go farther than kissing, but if you're up for it,” with a teasing smile, you spread your legs and rub against him. “Do you want to fuck me tonight, Choso?”

Choso can’t speak for the moment, so he nods his head rapidly, cheeks flushing, brows furrowed as he rocks his hips in time with you, nearly bucking you right off his lap from the force of it. 

“Hold on.” you slowly lift your shirt over your breasts; you hadn’t bothered wearing a bra and from the way Choso lets out a ragged curse, you think he appreciates that. “You definitely want to keep going? Here, you can play with them; it’ll feel better if you get me all wet first. Go ahead, touch me all you want.”

“Does this feel good?” Choso’s thumb lightly rubs back and forth across one of your pert nipples; he’s practically salivating as you keen and whine, back arching, your hands gripping tight onto his broad shoulders. “Can I use my tongue?” he slowly moves forward to the other side, lips parting already, eager to know how your skin will taste.

“Oh god, yes!” your voice pitches higher as Choso gently circles the tip of his tongue around your nipple before suckling it; his hand gropes at your other breasts, pinching and rolling his thumb and forefinger carefully around, sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Choso's looking up at you through his eyelashes with a hooded adoring stare. You look like a dream come true, writhing on his lap, his shirt pushed up to your neck; he’s been dreaming of this, having your tits in his face, his hands, in his mouth, imagining how they’d feel, what your skin would feel like on his tongue.

After a few minutes, Choso releases your breast from his mouth. “More.” he demands in a low, hoarse voice. “Want more. Wanna see it…wanna see your pussy now.” you move up on your knees so Choso can slip your shorts down past your thighs. His fingers trace the cloth of your panties almost teasingly but really he just wants to savor every moment of this. Choso feels how wet you are through them and gulps. He's so close. He’ll get to feel you soon, feel how hot your insides are, how hot and wet your pussy will feel on his throbbing cock. Hurriedly, Choso yanks off his own sweatpants, barely taking a second before he has you on your back, head propped up on his pillow and recently washed comforter. He hoped it would be like this someday, that you would be here for him like this, naked, legs spread, his shirt still pushed up to show off your cute tits, your shining eyes basically begging for him to split you open on his cock. He’s happy you’re his first time; if Choso has his way, you’ll be his first and only. 

“I want to fuck you while you wear my shirt.” Choso strokes himself, from his base to his pink, leaking tip, settling between your thighs. “You’re mine now, right?” he asks, grunting as the thick head of his cock prods at your soaked pussy; he’s teasing your clit, loving the way you toss your head back, the way you’re actually dripping as he bottoms out. The feeling could knock the wind right out of him if Choso wasn’t so determined to have you just as overwhelmed and needy as he was feeling right now.

“Is this okay? Does it hurt?” Choso pistons his hips, holding your thighs open as he moves inside you; you manage to shake your head before letting out a shrill wail as Choso begins grinding into you as deep as he can. He’s rambling, greedily grabbing at you, holding you open, kissing and biting all over your exposed neck and breasts. “Fu-fuck, you feel so good! So soft and warm, I can’t get enough….wanna cum deep inside. Does it feel good? Am I making you feel good, am I making this pussy feel good?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” your nails drags over his shoulders and back as you struggle not to go limp from the force of his thrusts. “Choso, want to cum, touch me, please, I can’t take it anymore!” 

“You’re gonna take it. Gonna make you cum all over my cock.” Choso mutters; he’s slowly lapping at your hard, oversensitive nipples, salivating, completely lost in the way your pussy is clenching and the sweet pain of you scratching him, the burning red lines surely visible against his pale skin but he’s happy to let you mark him up. “Like this?’ he reaches down, still holding one of your legs up slightly while his free hand rubs his fingers over your clit. “Fuck yeah. I felt that, felt your pussy gush again. Go on, go on,” Choso grinds himself into you as he rubs your swollen clit, steady and quick. 

“CHOSO!” you scream as your body spasms; the sheets underneath you are damp and your body is hot and tense. The way he's stimulating every one of your most sensitive places is driving you crazy, you can barely think, just feel and listen to Choso’s low, raspy voice egging you on. “Oh god, please! I’m gonna-” 

“Yeah, cum on my dick. Cum all over me, you look so fucking hot right now, so cute...my chubby bunny.” Choso’s lips form an oddly soft grin as he watches you come apart; he feels it, feels you cumming around him, your pussy suddenly impossibly tight as you shake and sob. “Sh, sh, you’re okay.” his touch is slower, gentle on your clit, letting you ride out your orgasm. He thinks you’re so precious, twitching and whimpering as you come down from the high. “Shhh, relax. I’m going to move, okay? Can I?” 

Somehow you hear him through the haze and your rapidly beating heart and you nod. “Ye-yes, I want it. Keep fucking me.” you carress his cheek, smiling weakly. “Keep going, cum in me Choso. It's okay, I love you.” 

That’s when what little self control Choso had left snaps like a twig.

“Thank you." Choso wraps your trembling legs around his hips, anchoring you to him whole he shoves his cock as deep as he can inside you. Your mouth falls open but you can't even scream; somehow, it's like Choso’s gotten even harder. "Oh fuck thank you, I can’t believe it, can’t believe you’re letting me, thank you, thank you so much!” The headboard is knocking into the wall; all you can do is cling to Choso as he moans and babbles under his breath, rams his cock in and out of you like a man possessed. “Mine.” Choso has you wrapped in his arms again, pressing your limp ragdoll body to his. Your voice is too weak to let out more than little whispers of moans and frail, broken cries. “Fuck, you’re really mine.” Choso smiles down at you, cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with affection; he’s so close to cumming but he doesn’t want this to end. “Wanna keep you here with me all the ti-time, in my bed, gonna fuck you until you can’t go anywhere. Heh,” Choso kisses your temple with a satisfied, drunken smile as he strokes your fucked out face almost reverently. “You like that? Your pussy just got so tight. Let me, okay? Let me just take care of you from now on.” he picks up the pace again, molding you to him, kissing you as you go light headed; you may just pass out from this, but you don’t care, too busy getting swept up in Choso’s pleas and whines as he gets closer and closer to his own release, though he's the one at your mercy.

“Can I? Can I really cum in you?” he stutters, more begging than asking but either way he’s already losing himself in the sensation as his cock twitches and throbs with overstimulation. “Yes, yes, more, wanna stay like this, deep inside, gonna cum, gonna cum, shit, I’m gonna-!” Choso’s jaw clenches tight and he buries his face into your neck with a long, rough sob, rocking against you until he’s sure every last drop of his cum has been spilled deep inside your aching pussy. He has you in another deathgrip of an embrace but you melt into his arms, smiling dazedly as Choso brings your hand up and presses a loving kiss to your palm. 

“Sorry...I got carried away again, didn't I?” 

“You don’t look very sorry.” you pant, poking his tattoo lightly and let out a soft laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sit up for a bit.”

The bridge of Choso’s nose crinkles and he does look a bit guilty now. “Sorry. I’ll take care of you. Hang on, I’ll get a towel.” 

“Mm, thank you.” you kiss his forehead. “You made me feel really good, I’m just super worn out. Could you bring me some water?” 

Choso nods and quickly stands up to fetch what you need; he’s still a bit dazed himself. When he comes back into the room, you’re still wearing his shirt with nothing else; he can see his cum slowly dripping down the inside of your thigh and has to stop himself from mounting you again. It’s obvious you’re tired and besides, there’ll be plenty of time for round two tomorrow morning when you’re waking up in his arms. “Hey,” Choso murmurs as you settle in under the covers with him. His finger lightly traces a particularly large love bite on the side of your neck. “Are you really mine?” “Choso, you really do worry too much.” Still, you can’t help but smile; he’s staring again, waiting raptly, looking absurdly innocent and almost childlike as he gazes at you beseechingly. “I’m all yours.” you kiss him tenderly once more before snuggling into his chest; Choso inhales sharply and has to fight back the tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He could die of happiness right now but then he wouldn’t get to have more kisses. 

“Come over for dinner tomorrow? I want to introduce you to my family.”

“I’d love to.” you sigh, content as Choso’s hand strokes up and down your back. “I can bake something.”

“Would it be too soon to say you’ll be their sister-in-law?”

“Hm, let’s hold off on that for a while.”

“Okay, I can wait.” Choso smiles, kissing your head gently. “Do you want to have kids?”

“Choso.”

“Sorry, right.” 

“It’s alright.” you murmur sleepily. “Talk later, sleep now.”

“Okay….can we do it again when you wake up?”

“Yes.”

[chloryn]

anyway if no one else will i guess it has to be me!!

klaus hc’s : the situationship edition

part one

content warning;; klaus x reader, klaus with he/they pronouns, female reader, friends to friends who have sex ?, unexpected boners, sexualization without knowledge, guilty conscience (for a minute), oral sex, 90% not canon, mostly just self indulgent writing

a/n;; there’s simply going to have to be a part two, i tried to get all my thoughts out and i couldn’t. it’s three a.m. and i got out what i could.

- it’s his fault truly, i feel like he is such a romantic

- friends first, you’d meet in the evening, at a record store maybe right before closing, or maybe in a café

- when it comes down to people asking about how you met neither of you have the same answer, always the same line

- “we’ve known each other forever”

- late night phone calls to soothe each other

- klaus would be the first to ask you to come over past the usual “hang out” hours

- “i’ve really tried everything y/n, even the hour long meditation cd”

- “please just come over and sit with me?”

- “i’m bored to death” (he’s literally immortal)

- you agree, you’re only a few blocks away from the academy anyway and besides, you couldn’t sleep either

- klaus would meet you halfway and walk you back, he hates the idea of you outside, alone, in the dark.

- definitely the first time you’ve had a good look around their room, you’d only been in it a handful of times and only for a moment or two

- klaus is a messy kind of organized, but it feels so much like him

- his bed sheets are burnt orange, and their duvet is a dark blue, there’s tons of pillows and fuzzy throws littered on the bed. it feels cozy.

- his nightstand is the cleanest thing surrounding you, an incense burner, a pack of old cigarettes, a bottle of high dollar whiskey, and some jewelry strewn around.

- it smells like the night in his room, one window cracked to let in a breeze, a soft candle burning with the scent of pine, and the scent of him causing you to feel oh so comfortable

- for a moment you question why you hadn’t spent more time with them here, why you wouldn’t want to experience such a private part of your best friends life

- but that was it exactly, this was too private

- but klaus felt better, he felt so much safer with you around, with people around in general but when he had called you he knew he wanted you specifically

- he wasn’t completely honest with you about why he couldn’t sleep or what was bothering him, he didn’t want you to know his past or what kept him up at night

- he was lucky enough to have convinced ben to let him have alone time with you, as he wasn’t sure he could keep up that charade much longer without at least claiming to be delusional

- nothing happens the first time you stay over, or the second, or third even

- the weirdest thing to happen is the morning after, at least the first time he walked you out you wore your own clothes

- by the the third “sleepover” you had strolled into the kitchen, one of their sleep shirts and a pair of boxers you prayed passed as shorts thrown on

- you had only been caught by diego and five, both of which seemed to have been in shock and blubbering, obviously a little disappointed in your decisions by the looks they gave

- you knew it looked strange, you weren’t completely oblivious. the real problem was that you expected klaus to be more conscious of what they were thinking. he wasn’t.

- after your third night over in less than two weeks ben broke the news to klaus, everyone in the house, including him honestly, thought you two were hardcore banging. maybe even more since you were sleeping over and wearing his clothes out.

- klaus was APPALLED.

- they literally had no clue what to say, he was slightly embarrassed but also he didn’t completely mind, it was obvious you two were just close friends

- the next time though he was outside your front door when they called.

- “hey”

- he was too nervous someone would embarrass you, what if you were to find out about what everyone was thinking. his house was super off limits right now.

- he figured you’d be more than happy to sleep in your bed anyway.. and maybe they wanted to snoop a little

- you guys spent such little time at your house

- the reality of it was a horrified expression and profuse apologies, you didn’t have nearly as much space or even an excuse to why your house wasn’t as tidy as you wanted it

- you let him in, walking the both of you back towards your bedroom after noting a couch is no place for a sleepover

- deja vu

- klaus would examine all your trinkets, take note of how everything smelled of you, he truly felt so calm

- “y/n?”

- as if it couldn’t get worse, he pulls out your vibrator from beneath the blanket where he sat. snickering, his ears turning a light pink.

-face flushed you would take it from him, scrambling to put it in your bedside drawer

- it finally clicks, he gets it, he knows why everyone thinks you two are at least messing around. because for the first time, he has a painfully hard cock, and it’s just the idea of you touching yourself in the same spot he’s lounging about on

- he tries so hard to play it cool, covering himself with a blanket, using his hand to gently push it down before you notice

- “you wanna do a movie tonight?”

- “ooo of course!”

- you’d beg him to watch a slasher, and as per usual he’d give in, even though he hates them passionately

- comfy clothes, and popcorn with m&ms mixed in, and sugary sweet drinks to pair with

- “pleaseeee” he’d give into your crocodile tears, giving up his clothes to please you

- turning around so one another can change clothes, covering your eyes with your hands

- shirtless klaus

- after his first *ahem* problem, it would only get worse. you’d hide your face in his chest during the jump scares or when things would get eerie, tucking your arms around his torso

- only wearing a pair of thin pajama pants, opting out of the boxers he had so kindly given to you to wear as shorts yet again, even though your entire closet was mere feet away

- he can feel the curve of your breasts against his arm, and your legs slightly intertwined with his and it may actually give him a heart attack

- god it made him feel so guilty, to know you trusted him with so much of you, your life. just for him to be sitting here, in your bed, sexualizing you while you were just trying to hang out

- he tried everything to make it stop, even thinking of how ben would scold him if he were here

- you probably had a quarter of the movie left when your balance would betray you, accidentally slipping and grazing your forearm against his dick

- both of you bolting up. a mixture of shock and embarrassment across your faces

- your thighs clench ever so slightly at the thought of his arousal being over you, tension fogging your brain

- “y/n i’m so sorry”

-“fuck”

- “i don’t know what’s going on with me tonight”

- cue klaus clambering to get up, but you ushering them back down

- “what if.. we just tried it?”

- “maybe we’re just horny, it’s not a big deal”

- soft kisses, wide eyes

- pulling down his pants, his head slightly purple with pre cum leaking, smearing on his happy trail

- “are you okay with this?”

- “you’re allowed to say no”

- slowly kissing up their thighs, licking and kissing up the shaft, suckling hickies onto their lower belly

- SO so sensitive

- “ahh, st-stop”

- “i- i’m not joking, please- please i’ll cum-“

- smooth about the transition, slipping off their pants and straddling you ever so slightly to slide his hands under his your shirt, nudging your breasts further into their hands, whimpering when their fingers wrap around and twist your pebbled nipples

- “you sound so pretty”

- “fuck, are you sure?” “you’re okay with this?” “tell me if you wanna stop, okay?”

- with your consent he slowly tugs on the waistband of his boxers that rest on your hips, letting your shirt fall back down, he may be fully naked and bare but he doesn’t wanna push you to hard

- he waits for your little nod of approval before hooking his fingers, and sliding them down your soft legs

- klaus has seen bare skin before, he’s seen people who had their cocks leaking for him, or their pussy glistening and puffy waiting for him, but he’d never seen anything that compared to you

- the way you were dripping, pussy swollen and visibly aching, clit prominent and perked up, over him, if there was a heaven waiting for him he was sure he’d found it

- he’d start slow, flattening his tongue, lapping all the way up, moaning every time the taste of you hit his tongue, until he got greedy, swirling his tongue around your clit, sucking and teasing, reaching his free hand under your shirt again to palm your tits

- messy and a bit uncoordinated, bucking your hips ever so slightly as your climax approached

-pulling his hands back and wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you still

- “‘m gonna cum, please, oh god”

- “i’m right there please honey, please”

- the endearment, that’s what would send him over the edge, he’d replay the sweetness of it in your voice over and over coming untouched, moaning and crumbling all while still pulling you closer to your orgasm

- following your orgasm till the very end, letting you guide him through, he’d speed up and slow down for as long as it took as long as he knew he was giving you a complete experience

- nuzzling and lapping up your sap

- “you’re so sweet” “so divine”

- he’d be so exhausted after, but he’d want you to have everything you needed

- “can i get you anything?” “i’ll grab you some water” “let’s clean up, i’ll help you”

- after he was sure you were well taken care of and comfortable, he’d ask you to lay with him. to soak up the afterglow of it all.

- he’d never had this kind of erotic experience before but he knew he may never have it again so he wanted to savor it. and potentially attempt to make it so good you wanted it to be a regular occurrence.

- he would give you the option of him leaving or staying, the sleepover boundary had officially been crossed creating a whole slew of new possibilities

- “stay, please”

- cuddling while sleeping was like a whole new kind of intimacy for him. the way your hair tickled his nose, being able to hear your steady breaths.

- bonus content: ben appearing at an ungodly hour to make sure klaus is okay, and realizing not only would he have to live with his nosey decision, but also with the fact that he couldn’t tell anyone what he knew.

[pargaliteo]

bf texts with mingyu!

genre: fluff, crack, fake texts

warnings: slightly suggestive

hello! this is very self-indulgent and my first ever time posting on this blog but I’ve been incessantly reading smau (mostly fake texts obv) and I just couldn’t help making one myself lol. hope you like it!

the last one is a poem by Abu Hasan al-Sari!

[mickandmusings]

sunday kind of love

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: for six days a week, the miller household is nothing but hustle and bustle from the crack of dawn each morning until midnight each night. life is fast-paced and hectic between work and school, full of responsibilities and deadlines. but, for one day each week, all of it is forgotten for a day of pure relaxation.

or

why sunday is the best day of the week, according to joel miller.

warnings: pure fluff very little plot; reader is a housewife (not like 50's housewife don't worry, only mentioned); unmentioned but envisioned slight age gap; first piece with no y/n; I wanted it to feel like a cozy autumn morning; author is desperately in love with joel miller and wants to be his little wife; this was a random thought from my brain, so it's purely self-indulgent, enjoy :)

*this is probably the smallest and most plotless thing I've ever written, sorry friends.*

-

The air is still.

It lacks the usual chaos of a normal morning in the Miller household. Joel's alarm isn't blaring loudly enough to be heard in the hallway. Sarah's pitter-patter of footsteps down the stairs do not sound. The sound of Tommy's truck engine roaring in the driveway, and, eventually, his rattling for food in the kitchen, never reached the sound barrier. There's no bustle of Millers chattering aimlessly in the kitchen, or the clashing of various pans and plates for breakfast. The radio in the kitchen doesn't play the morning news after a Top 40 hit, and the TV hasn't been turned on since earlier the night before. The house is entirely silent, safe for the hum of the running central heating system, and the quiet clicking of the analog clock in the kitchen.

Up the stairs and through the door on the left lies one Joel Miller, weary brown eyes still closed in sleep, chest rising and falling with deep, heavy breaths. Beside him, or, more aptly, curled into his side and resting against his frame, is his wife. She's been awake for nearly fifteen minutes, simply watching her husband sleep next to her, watching his eyes twitch as he dreams, his lips parting with soft snores. She smiles, her heart warm with the thought of him finally getting the rest he deserves. She was grateful for her husband's hard-working nature. Joel's contracting business allowed her to stay at home, and she and Sarah always had everything they needed and most of what they wanted-Joel was hopelessly in love with his wife, and could easily be persuaded into almost anything by one look from his daughter. His wife did realize the toll it took on him, as much as he tried to hide all of his fatigued movements as he stumbled through the door each night. She'd pleaded and argued with him about contributing in her own way, but he'd shut her down with a sweet kiss and a stubborn refusal each time. Now, she watched him rest, the kind of deep sleep he needed.

For once in the history of possibly the entirety of its existence, the Miller house was quiet, mostly asleep, because there was nothing on the agenda. No work, no school, no after-school soccer practices or late night projects, there was simply rest, a whole day to do absolutely nothing.

She gives Joel's sleeping form one last smile before giving his bare bicep a light kiss. She slides out from under his arm as silently and stealthily as possible, not wanting to disturb his earned peace. She does so successfully, sliding the duvet back over her now empty side to keep the spot next to him warm even in her absence. She pads across the carpet, tossing one of Joel's well-worn sweatshirts over her frame to combat the chill. Autumn had finally fallen over Austin, and its bite was evident in the morning, but she welcomed it into their home like an old friend-autumn was perhaps her favorite part of the year.

Her sock-clad feet pad down the carpeted stairs with practiced ease, her arms stretching above her head, hoping to shake out the sleep still encasing her bones. She lets out a yawn, bringing her arms into her chest as she scrunches, finally releasing her sigh as she shuffles over to the kitchen. She makes quick work of starting up the coffee pot, watching as it drips for a moment before shuffling over to the living room. She greets their feline friend perched cozily in an old armchair by the window, scratching behind her ears as the furry friend nuzzles against her hand. Her hands move to push open the blinds of the windows, letting in the early morning light, which her aforementioned friend seems to enjoy, plopping into a spot where the sun shines on the carpet. She chuckles at the cat, moving over to light the fall scented candle sitting atop the tall entertainment system, she clicks the lighter and the flames flicker in a wave, as if to greet her.

The sudden quiet of the coffee pot alerts her that her morning caffeine fix is finished, and she hastily pads back into the kitchen and pours a hearty amount into an oversized mug. With the first sip, she feels her entire body sigh in content, the perfect start to her perfect day.

She finds herself gravitating back towards the dining room, plopping into one of the well-loved chairs and curling her legs up to her chest, enjoying the view out the glass of the back door. The trees had already begun to shed, the grass covered in shades of red and yellow. Joel would grumble about the mess, but she would speak highly enough of the changing scenery that he'd forget all about his complaints. She's watching a neighborhood dog make his rounds around the houses, sniffing mailboxes and greeting the morning runners, when footsteps on the stairs alert her of someone else's presence now up and awake. Judging by the heavier footfalls, she assumes it's her husband and she internally groans, she'd hoped he would get more sleep, he deserved it.

Sure enough, when she turns, she meets his big brown eyes peering back at her lovingly. He's clad in an inside-out shirt he'd likely pulled from the basket of clean clothes inside their bedroom-she hadn't got around to folding them just yet-and his gray boxers, hair sticking out in every direction, still messy from sleep. He yawns and rubs his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes as his steps draw closer and closer to her. He leans down to kiss her good morning, his mustache tickling against her skin. It's a sweet front for his real goal-quickly sliding the mug of coffee out of her hand for his own taking. She says nothing, letting him think she's fallen for his charms blindly, as if it was something he'd never pulled on her. He gives a sly grin as he brings the mug to his lips, taking a gulp before pulling a face and drawing the mug back to his wife's waiting hands.

"Should've given me a warnin', baby, that was...awful."

Joel did not much care for his wife's seasonal flavored coffee, and he particularly hated the pumpkin-infused brew he'd stolen a sip of.

"Oh boo hoo, Miller, you're the one who stole my coffee."

Joel rolls his eyes, shuffling to their kitchen to brew his own pot of coffee. He shuffles back over, quickly picking his wife up into his arms and slides into her chair before plopping her back into his lap. His wife rolls her eyes, leaning into his chest as silence falls over them. His left hand rests on her hip, his thumb rubbing small circles onto the spot, the morning sun bouncing off the gold band on his hand. The only sound between them was the dripping and soft rumbling of the coffee pot and the morning birds singing through the windows. Without a word, both halves of the couple enjoy their lazy morning, happy to have momentary bliss. Soon, Sarah would be trampling down the stairs in search of breakfast and coercing her father into taking her to the movies, but, for now, Joel sits half-awake with his wife in his arms, staring out at the beauty of an early Sunday morning in Austin. In a feeling he's only just grown accustomed to, Joel feels content, peaceful. Well, until he notes the heaps of leaves covering his front lawn.

"Damn leaves already fallin', have'ta to go buy a new rake."

His wife sighs as he plops her back into the chair, running his hands through his hair with a grumble as he fixes a steaming mug of his own coffee. So much for her lazy Sunday.

-

[ilycosy]

❝ DO YOU MIND ? ❞ | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing : luke castellan x child of calliope!reader

summary — being the child of the mother of all muses, you're used to affections. boys and girls flock to you like you're a sweet, lovely thing, but they soon drop it when they realize that you're nothing like a muse. what happens if the camps precious, golden boy starts talking to you?

warnings : reader is a little toxic under their politeness, reader is also described to be feminine but there's no specific prns! luke is also kind of obsessive? he wants reader so bad.. not proofread (that's for babies /j)

aﾉn — i haven't written in a long time so bare with me, nor have i written for the pjo fandom ever (though ive been in it for a while..) this is also vv self indulgent (daughter of calliope here <3) so sorry if this isn't relatable ♡ lowercase intentional :)

being the child of the mother of muses has always been annoying— you've never had a break to just be. whether it be people chasing after you, or people who envy the attention you attract. there was always something, which you resented extremely.

if people were asked about you, they'd have only good things to say. you're beautiful, lovely, polite; but not a muse. it sometimes got annoying that it mattered so much to people, having others constantly talk about how you were never romantic.

you seemed to be uncomfortable with it at the very least, very few felt the resentment you held for love. those few could never confirm it though, having you reassure them that you're just a private person. ("there's no need for grand things, dear. i love you without such things." you'd say, through gritted teeth.) which is what might have drew luke castellan to you.

he saw through the politeness, observing you almost ever since you got claimed. he can picture when you got claimed, your embarrassed smile when an apollo girl had written a song for you. publicly performing it, you had lit up; literally. you were fifteen then— nothings changed in these past years.

luke can't remember all the times you've been confessed to, having songs, poems, even paintings done of you for your affection. but he can remember all the times he watched your facade crack; the way your smile stretched too wide to be real, your eyes dimming when you realized it was just another confession, or how you seemed to never interact with aphrodite boys anymore.

he finds it amusing mostly, how could such a pretty thing resent something people would kill for? either way, he finds himself being drawn in like you're a siren. the way your eyes darken at the mention of your mother, how you reapply gloss whenever you're nervous— he could go on really.

"are you going to eat that?" he finds himself asking you before he can stop himself, pointing at the yogurt bowl right next to your plate. he has half a mind to make sure he doesn't clam up when you look up at him, fluttering your lashes.

you gently push the bowl towards him, continuing on your morning like the best swordsman in the camp isn't talking to you. he pauses for a moment, licking his lips as he thinks of a reason to prolong this conversation.

fate seems to be on his side though— his brother, chris, being to busy talking to clarisse to even glance his way. he sits down, looking across from you as he eats the yogurt. he almost forgets that staring is rude.

"do you mind?" you ask, raising an eyebrow at him as you take a bite out of your crossiant. somewhat annoyed by the curly haired boy, your leg bounces steadily. "do i mind what?" he asks, like he's stupid— for some reason, you can't help but let your annoyance take over.

"why are you here," you start, pointing at the empty table. void of friends, you always sit alone until somebody claims they're in love with you. "you usually sit with your brothers and annabeth."

he shrugs at your questioning, not being able to find it in himself to hold back a teasing remark. "you know where i usually sit?" he asks with a small small, but the glint in his eyes show a certain smugness that gets under your skin.

you smile back at him, stretched too far and there's a bite in your voice hidden under honeyed words. "bye castellan," you croon sweetly. "hope you find your way back to your seat!" is all you give him, a morsel of fake attention that sends him reeling.

the next day, you wake up a bit later than normal. rising from your bunk around nine means you've missed breakfast, a deep feeling of anger surges through your core in a flash before you stretch and get dressed for the day.

when you leave the hermes cabin, you're stopped by a familiar figure. tall, brown hair, and a stupid smug grin. "hey angel," luke almost sings with how pleased he sounds with himself. "i have a presant!"

he reveals a crossiant and cold coffee, the faint warmth of the once fresh crossiant eases the deep feeling in your core even more though the coffee makes you want to vomit. "i don't like coffee." you state, taking a bite of the baked good. "but thank you, castellan."

he barely has time to respond with a you're welcome or an im sorry before you're smiling, too wide for his liking, and walking away. he debates following you, trying to talk to you like he's desperate for a friend. but he decides against it, wondering how to keep a conversation going with somebody that hates being sought after.

a week passes of the same routine— luke catching you at odd moments during the day, offering you little things to keep you around for a moment longer. you find it annoying, but keep a pleasant attitude anyways, it certainly helps that he's not bad to look at.

a small rumor spreads through camp, luke castellan having a crush. it barely takes the day for people to speculate that it's you.

it almost disappoints you, not having expected the camps favorite to fall so easily— doesn't he have any other girls? you debate on telling him that you're not open for relationships right now, having been in so many already, you could very easily blame any one of your exes.

but you don't have the chance to reject him the next time you see him because he's talking already, smiling at you like you'd fall so easily. "do you wanna help plan an activity with me?" he asks, offering you a delicious smelling tea.

"why would you want me to do that?" you question him, almost allowing yourself to have a genuine lazy smile but you just force a docile confused tilt. you sip on the tea, the once tart raspberries are now sweet in the tea mixing with a hibiscus flavor.

you're too busy drinking to notice him begin talking, he's mid laugh when you tune in. "— maybe you could help with setting up the theater?" he suggests, you pretend like you know how you got into a full conversation with him by subtly trying to exit it.

"why not have the apollo counselor help?" you say sweetly, setting the tea down and turning your full attention onto him. he feels sick to his stomach at how you look at him, soft features with a sugared tone. your eyes look at him like he's below you, like he's a nuisance, and for some reason that might be his favorite part.

he searches your face for a moment, glancing at your cold eyes before he chuckles. "maybe i want to spend time with you," he smiles like a cat, curling on his face with a pride that shouldn't make you as heated as it does. "i think you want to spend time with me too, yeah?"

you almost roll your eyes at his suggestion, but unable to squeeze out of this one without being mean, you agree to help him.

it only takes a couple weeks to fix up the theater due to the lack of counselors wanting to help, so it's safe for the younger kids to have a play— after that, it's back to the apollo children to plan. you sit back on the stage floor, sipping on a water bottle as you bask in the cold dusk breeze. "do you mind?"

a voice speaks from behind you, rasping slightly. you don't even have to look to know who it is, "no, castellan." you say, because you can't think of a reason for why you would mind.

luke sits himself down next to you, his knee brushing yours as he looks down at your water with a stare that could only be described at halfway pathetic and endearing. "here," you say, handing him the bottle. "i don't need you to die of dehydration on me."

he takes it gratefully, drinking it almost empty in three big gulps that make you roll your eyes with a small scoff. "did you just scoff?" he questions, an odd excitement in his voice.

you quickly try to deny it, hands coming up to animate how you didn't scoff or anything of the sort. but he already has a grin like he's drunk of the noise, "you definitely scoffed! that was so funny," he says with a loud laugh that makes you shush him, afraid of other campers hearing.

"i don't know why you hide that." he mumbles on your hand, fighting the temptation to lick it so you release him. those thoughts subside when your pretty eyes look up at him in confusion, "your annoyance." he clarifies.

"im not annoyed," you say, a bit defensively as you pull your hand away from him. "bit rude of you to say that, castellan."

he rolls his eyes in response, one of his arms coming behind you to rest on the stage. you can feel the ghost of it barely grazing you, "you're definitely annoyed," he says matter-of-factly. "you're almost always annoyed, or angry."

you fight back a scoff, but then give up. rolling your eyes you turn to him, searching his face for how he noticed, why he's doing this— but you come up with nothing. "why do you care?" you almost snap at him, drumming your fingers on your knee.

"i don't," he says like it's obvious. "im the same way." there's a beat after he says it, a silence that seems more comfortable than awkward like it should be. admitting his anger to you felt like a breath of fresh air, because he knew you'd understand him.

you bite your bottom lip, turning to face him. "that hatred," you start, almost in disbelief that you finally have the opportunity to talk about this. "it doesn't go away huh?" the question is phrased more like a statement, barely asking for confirmation.

he nods, not speaking as he watches you. there was no need for an explanation on what the hatred was, he knew as soon as you began talking. the gift from your mother was never really a gift to you, a burden of what it means to be a demigod is all it was.

you never knew what was genuine, or what was your mothers doing. but you felt a sense of ease with the hermes boy, nothing like all your previous relationships. "do you think it's bad," you mumble, almost ashamed.

"do you think it's bad that we feel this way?"

your question is softly spoken, genuinely interested in his opinion. he feels himself almost feel guilty for you, but he can't lie. "no," he wraps an arm around your waist. gently bringing you closer. "i think we might be the only ones in the right."

he says it with such confidence, a lack of guilt or unease in his voice that it makes you smile. not a sweet one, but a prideful one. one that could reflect the pride of a god, finally validation for the deep seated resentment that almost quenches that thirst for revenge.

minutes of silence pass by, the sun fully set as you lean your head on his shoulder. inhaling the pine and deep smell of his cologne, you hum. "are the rumors 'round camp true?" you ask.

he feels a small blush creep up his neck and ears, spreading across his face as he realizes that you heard about those. he never meant for his half-brothers to over hear a private conversation (said private conversation was in the bathroom, luke washing his hands while chris talked loudly about how he could get clarisse to go on a double date if he'd just ask you out already.)

"uh," he laughs awkwardly, his fingers drumming on the soft skin of your waist. "do you mind?"

you can't help the small smile that spreads across your face, "no." is all you need to say before his wet lips are on yours. hungry and desperate for your attention, which you give him without another thought.

[whitedovebby]

— TLC

Spencer x fem!nurse!reader

TW - Brief mentions of a child vomiting and a blood test?

WC - 1,176 (proofread, but there may still be mistakes).

Genre - Fluff, fluff, fluff! Soft, nurturing Spencer, literally mostly plotless and just a self-indulgent idea that popped into my head, so I decided to write it. Please bear in mind that I haven't written/published anything in a loooong time, and it's my first actual published Spencer fic, so feedback is so so appreciated! If you read it, I hope you enjoy it. I really enjoyed doing this! ♡

(Disclaimer: I know nothing about being a nurse other than what my mother has told me in the past, and she mentioned that the 'easier' days can sometimes be hard, too).

Summary: After a challenging day at work, Spencer gives you a little much-needed care.

---

Fatigue seeps its way into your body, flowing through your muscles in the form of tight aches that linger incessantly between your shoulder blades, across your lower flanks, and all the way down to the soles of your feet. You feel stiff yet heavy, like a dead weight, and Spencer can tell as much as soon as you set foot into your shared apartment.

You’ve just arrived home after clocking off from a gruelling 12-hour ER shift - feeling mentally and physically drained from being rushed off your feet - and in desperate need of some TLC from your boyfriend.

“Welcome home, angel,” Spencer greets, watching you slip your feet out of your plimsolls and hang your jacket on the coat hook. You turn toward him and offer a half-smile, to which he immediately responds with a sympathetic one.

“Rough shift?” He asks.

“You don’t even know how rough,” you reply, dragging your heavy body across the living room to the couch, where Spencer sits, legs folded with a book resting on them. Flopping down beside him, you tip your head back against the backrest and let out a long sigh. “If it wasn’t a kid with a fever puking all over my scrubs, it was a stubborn old guy arguing with his wife over refusing ‘unnecessary’ blood tests.”

While you rant away, Spencer closes his book and sets it on the coffee table, twisting his body to face you fully, leaning his back against the arm of the couch. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel the way his gaze drifts over you, taking you in in all your exhausted glory. He always puts all his attention on you whenever you’ve clearly had a rough day, and every time, it’s as if he’s trying to calculate the best way to ease some of your burdens.

“It wasn’t even like there were any severe cases today, but sometimes the ‘easy’ days are just as hard.”

Your eyes crack open, and you watch as Spencer reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently, eliciting a slight hum of something between pain and appreciation.

“You’re all tense,” he muses, repeating that same little squeeze, and it’s then that you see the evidence of a thought flashing in his soft, brown eyes. “Take your top off.”

You let out a puzzled laugh when he instructs this out of nowhere. The instruction came quite far out of the left field. For a moment, you wonder if this is his idea of trying to tempt you into something physical, and if that’s the case, his timing couldn’t be worse. You’re sore and tired and gross-feeling. Not to mention absolutely starving. And after a moment’s pause, you start to speak.

“Spence, I’m not really–”

“That’s not what I’m thinking,” he cuts you off before you can even finish what you’d started, almost like he had read your mind. He can read you as well as one of his damn books sometimes. “I want to give you a shoulder rub,” he continues, rubbing his hands together and blowing into his cupped palms, presumably to warm them up. “So, take your top off and turn around. Please.”

You’re silent momentarily, staring at him and studying his face before a soft smile crosses your own. You feel a little foolish for assuming he was trying to get frisky with you when you’ve already made your fatigue as evident as you have. He’s too sweet for that.

With a soft nod and a quiet ‘alright,’ you sit forward and peel your tank top off over your head, setting it down on the empty space on the other side of you. After turning around so that your back faces him, you let your shoulders sag, the black strap of your t-shirt bra sliding down to hang loosely off the side of your arm.

A few short seconds pass, and then you feel Spencer’s nimble fingers brush your skin as he carefully pulls open the clasps of your bra, allowing the two halves to fall open. “This too,” he prompts softly, and you can hear the grin in his voice, making you grin too.

“After a day of saving lives, I think that’s all the excitement you need right now,” he mumbles, dipping his face to kiss the nape of your neck once. A shiver passes through you when his breath fans across your skin, and you smirk at his words.

“Right,” you huff through a giggle, shrugging your bra off, too, leaving it with your tank top. Spencer’s hands curve over your shoulders, beginning a tender yet firm petrissage with his fingers and thumbs. You already feel like you’re melting, his touch adding just the right amount of pressure to your taut muscles, the knots slowly ebbing away.

“Does that feel good, angel?” He asks, feeling you sag under his ministrations, and you merely hum in response while your mind floats away, carried along by this moment of comforting bliss. “You can take that bun out of your hair when I'm done,” he says, “if I’m right in thinking you have a headache, that thing definitely isn’t helping… restricting all that blood flow with how tight you’ve got it. Your scalp must be crying.”

His thoughtful ramblings bring you back to the present with a light laugh. His constant combining of practicalities with his loving gestures warms your heart in an almost sickeningly sweet way. His way of loving you is just so uniquely Spencer, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Whatever you say, Doctor Reid,” you eventually respond, and there’s a playful edge to your voice, to which he responds with an extra little squeeze of your shoulders.

A comfortable silence falls, and you enjoy your boyfriend’s skilled hands as they soothe away some of your aches, but he soon speaks again, sharing with you the plan he’s organised in his head for how the rest of the night will go.

“After this, you can grab a shower… and I’ll cook you up something tasty and filling. Rossi recently gave me another one of his ‘famous Rossi family recipes’–”

A snort forces its way out of your nose at that, Spencer joining in with a chuckle before carrying on as if the concept of him cooking something recommended by Rossi isn’t wholly amusing.

“Then we can get into bed, and… you can get a decent night’s sleep.”

“Sounds exciting,” you remark, but there isn’t an ounce of genuine snark in your tone. In fact, you’re feeling somewhat spoiled in being so well looked after like this, even if you won’t admit it aloud.

“I’d hardly call it ‘saving lives’,” you argue, too stubborn to take his compliment as it is.

“Well, too bad you’re wrong,” Spencer retorts, smiling against your neck where his lips are still pressed. “You’re my little life-saving angel.”

All you can do is grin in response, biting back another whimsical retaliation and instead settling with, "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree."

"Fine by me. I know I'm right, anyway."

[creamflix]

MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE DESI BOYS! — featuring gojo, nanami, sukuna, toji, choso, geto  content warnings: south asian & desi settings/culture/reference(s), certain non-english phrases or words have been written in italics. established relationship, more of character headcannons than x reader moments. lots of fluff and crack and very self indulgent. part one

gojo makes the most ridiculous pick-up lines that don't even make sense. “you're the gulab to my jamun.” you still tolerate him. he's raiding all the vogue india magazines you have and is critiquing every single cover as if he knows what he's doing (suprisingly he does). he hates not being the center of attention so he goes so far as to learn bollywood choreography, screeching at your cousins when they miss a step. throws a tantrum when he is dragged off the stage to make way for the next family performance. if he figures out you like paani puri, you best believe he is finishing his plate even if he is left with tears and a runny nose at the end of it. he needs to prove he's the strongest even if he keeps asking for multiple sukha puri at the end. needs to be chained under a tree during diwali because no gojo, you cannot light twenty rockets at once. begs you to take photos of him with lit sparklers or bombs in his hand. he's the only man you know who can burn milk while making kheer. he “covers it up" by adding five spoons of sugar. his excuse? “it needs to be sweet anyways!” he's also the type of guy who'd get along with literally anyone, even your bitchy grandmother from your dad's side. he loves arijit singh. he was the dude who defended kesariya's lyricism when it released. obnoxious when he plays tum hi ho super loudly during car rides, though his favorite song is raabta. can't get over deepika padukone, almost cried when you told him she's married and even has a kid now? demands om shanti om to be played during every movie night, ignoring everyone's groans of protest. unironically liked chennai express.

nanami is so insistent on cooking for your mother once that it turns into one of those “no please i insist” arguments in the middle of the kitchen. promptly solved by you ordering takeout, much to their dissapointment. sweats a ridiculous amount when he wears a kurta but insists on wearing it to every family gathering. insists on holding the edge of your saree when you’re walking down stairs because he’s terrified you’ll trip. takes rangoli competitions way too seriously. he’s that guy using rulers to make the lines perfectly even while kids scribble around him. epitome of manners. always folding his hands and touching his elders feets. naturally, he is a family favorite. loves listening to lata mangeshkar after a long day. he's one of those people who listens to retro music while drinking tea. he loves amitabh bacchan's movies. adores the family themes in k3g, but mostly watches it for amitabh's towering presence.

suguru is the designated family member to oil everyone's hair with champi. you know that little train you used to make with your grandmother, your mom and you? yea he's leading it always. bonus points if he braids it after he's done. no one's allowed to oil each other hair because “suguru's hands have magic in them.”  the habit of eating with his hands grows on him and he does so even when coming back home. loves drinking fizzy drinks out of those glass bottles - those really retro ones with the plastic straw. when you're not around he's secretly practicing the lyrics to all your favorite songs and sings them with your drunk uncle(s) during karoke night.when asked how he learned, he casually says youtube. a man of manners like kento - touching his elders feet and all that jazz. your family collectively swoons over his manners and looks. loves aishwarya rai's movies, quotes devdas occassionally, and you try not to ruin his moment by giggling.

sukuna spends half of the time in your the terrace, partaking in activities that are but not limited to; air-drying the papad he made himself, shooing away anyone who tries to get close to the home-made pickle he has sealed in glass containers (with a little help from your mom), and feeding the pigeons. pigeons. he takes the last job very seriously too, and throws a hissy fit if anyone gets to him before he does. comes back home every evening with a tan that gets darker and darker by day and complains about it to you. a very good bargainer. gives the women in his family scary dog privileges when he walks behind them with all their shopping bags. your cousin brothers love him because he’s the only one who can beat them at arm wrestling. will hold your belongings when you get your mehendi done. tries not to smile when he sees you hiding his initial amongst the design. this man....he's always blasting sidhu moose wala. i don't know why, he just seems like the type of guy who does. loves nawazuddin siddiqui. gangs of wasseypur is his comfort movie. yes, comfort. also loves sacred games, quotes the scenes to scare off random people.

choso is always tasked with buying the raw materials for family functions - extra vessels, flowers, paper plates, you name it. he leaves at the ass crack of dawn and comes back at noon with enough supplies to sustain your family's next generation as well. and yes, he did bargain well. but in all honesty he didn't even need to try that hard since the whole neighborhood loves him so they always throw in freebies along with a ridiculously low rate for literally everything. the first one to ask guests if they would like to eat or drink something, already rushing to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. the golden boy of hospitality. ends up sitting with the aunties during pre-wedding functions and learning how to play the dholak. gets ridiculously good at it by the end of the evening. loves sitting on the floor with your cousins to eat thalis instead of at the dining table. he says it feels more relaxed that way. likes lighting flower pots and sparklers during diwali as opposed to other crackers, prefers watching your family burst the bigger ones. i hate to say this but he probably listens to prateek kuhaad like a basic bitch and cries over his music because it "reminds him of you." what a guy. his favorite actress is alia bhatt and outright had a breakdown when he watched raazi with you. he was put on a movie timeout for one week effective immediate after that.

toji becomes such a diva the minute he finds out about matkas. always wants his drinks to be cooled and served from it, otherwise he refuses to drink it. water from a bottle? please, that is so 2020. always walks around with an unbuttoned kurta, not that anyone is complaining. in fact, you probably understand now why every aunty always gifts him a kurta for every occasion. the designated nariyal opener during temple visits. acts smug about his skill but secretly loves being helpful. knows all the family drama and fills you in on it every night before bed. refuses to let any random guy ask you to dance. he’s the guy standing in the corner, glaring at potential suitors while casually eating jalebis. eats mirchi like chips, leaving your family absolutely stunned. earns a ton of respect from your dad. i just KNOW this man listens to yo yo honey singh during his pre-workout...stop playing. his favorite actor's probably sunny deol, because "he's literally me."

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[kolyubov]

Rises the moon.

✧ pairing. Doa3 x gn!reader

✧ word count. 2k.

✧ contents. fluff, ooc doa3, relationships are not specified (this is not necessarily romantic, take it as you please <3), mostly self-indulgent. if I missed anything, please tell me.

✧ author's note. it's been so long since i posted anything,,, i hope this is good enoughwaaaaeuxjwunxsk

It was past midnight and the apartment was enveloped in silence. You couldn't hear anyone talking in the living room, meaning everyone was asleep.

To be able to enjoy a quiet rest in this place was rare. Midnights are the most bustling hours, when everyone gathers to discuss “important” business until early in the morning, before leaving for whatever they have to do.

Considering this, you could have had a nice sleep for once… if it wasn’t for the rain storming outside.

A sudden thunder crash caused you to abruptly wake up in the middle of your dream— Your heart thumping quickly against your chest and your breath coming out in heavy gasps. You felt disoriented for a few seconds until you eventually calmed down.

Usually, storms don’t scare you, in fact, they’re quite enjoyable along with a lecture or a movie, but not now when you're alone in your room and in the middle of the night, surrounded by the darkness and with your vision barely helping you to perceive your surroundings.

Among the dark, shadows shape into tall monsters lurking from the corner of your room, seemingly waiting for the right moment to lay their ghostly hands on you before disappearing after each lightning. The brief second of luminance makes you realize that those shadows are just that, no one was going to actually hurt you.

Yet, going back into the land of dreams was difficult under these circumstances.

You tried by closing your eyes, ignoring the “monsters” and the loud rumbling of the thunderstorm, and taking deep breaths to calm your unsteady heart but you just couldn't fall asleep. The unsafe sensation wouldn't go away, perhaps until the sun rises again.

However, you had some kind of idea that could help you sleep.

You sat on your bed for a while, contemplating the storm through the window that doesn't seem to end anytime soon and trying to gain the courage to leave your room.

Maybe this idea wasn't the best one you could have, but it was the first thing that came to your sleepy brain, and it's not like you were in the mood to think of any consequences due to what you were going to do.

With a light groan, you leave the comfort of your bed and grab your fluffy pillow in between your arms. The wooden floor cracks under your feet as you make your way to the door of your room then carefully opening it, peeking through the small gap, making sure no dangers are around before stepping outside.

Luckily, the hallway was slightly illuminated with one lamp that hung from the ceiling— The old wooden floor cracks under your deliberated steps as you make your way to his room. Once you stand in front of it, and just as you place a hand on the knob, another sudden thunder makes you jerk in surprise.

Was that a sign from God to not do this?

Without properly rethinking —also too tired to think of any potential risks— you twist the knob, and immediately your eyes land on his sleeping peaceful form; almost completely wrapped with a blanket but letting you see his face. His lips barely parted and his eyelashes rested over his cheeks.

It's not every day when you see Fyodor sleeping on a comfy mattress…

Until now, you had always seen him working day and night underground, sitting in front of his bright purple monitor screen and typing away weird codes or messages that seemed impossible for you to deceive. And if he was not working underground, instead, he was taking a stroll through the city or drinking tea in some restaurant that picked his curiosity.

But sleeping didn't seem to be like a normal activity for him to do.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, hm?”

Fyodor's groggy voice makes you snap out of your thoughts. Now he’s looking at you with a gentle smile as you stand on his doorframe, gripping your pillow awkwardly as you wait for some type of permission— And almost as if he’s reading your mind, he motions for you to come closer with his hand.

The mattress sinks under your weight as you get into the bed and place your pillow just beside his. Wasting no time, Fyodor wraps his blanket around your frame. And it takes some time for you to realize that he's gladly sharing his personal space, which adds to another unusual thing he's doing tonight.

“I couldn't sleep.” You mutter, as he pulls you closer.

“Why's that, dearest?”

“The storm…”

A small chuckle escaped his lips, finding adorable the fact that you needed company just because of a mere storm. Though, he knew the answer even before you said it.

One of his hands —usually cold— is now warming up your cheek, cupping it and rubbing small circles with his thumb as if to soothe you, to tell that he’s there for you without any words needed, simply light touches and whispers shared in between the two.

And for a small second you return the gesture, gently tracing the dark circles underneath his eyes as you scan his features; his thin eyebrows, his purple eyes, and his nose before finally stopping at his lips— His lower lip a little bitten and red.

Unconsciously, your own lips twitch upwards as your mind clouds with the idea of kissing every inch of his pale skin, having him softly laughing underneath you.

To hide your smile, you rest your head against his chest, pressing your ear to where his heart is. The soft thud makes a gentle symphony, a calming sound, that allows any tension left in your body to slip away. Fyodor’s presence fills your senses, making you forget about the rain violently storming outside. Something pulls you closer as your arms wrap around him.

Fyodor doesn’t complain of the proximity, instead, his slender fingers play with your hair, twirling it around his digits or untying knots that were made while you were sleeping before the thunder strike woke you up.

It’s not a surprise that your eyelids eventually start feeling heavy, with all the sweet caresses and the warmth provided, your body is ready to resume your sleep, enveloped in the most comfortable shelter you could ever ask for—

“Oh…”

One of Fyodor's hands cups the back of your head tenderly, pulling you flush against him as if to avoid someone from snatching his most precious thing.

“…What’s wrong, Fedya?” You want to pull away, but a high-pitched giggle comes from behind you, accompanied by the sound of rustling the sheets.

Seems like we have company.

“What are you two doing sleeping without me? That's mean… Leaving a friend out is not nice, dovey.” Nikolai grumbles as he climbs to the bed, lying on his side and hugging you from behind, “Why not come to me when the storm startles your peaceful sleep, hm?

The jester seems not afraid in the slightest to have physical contact with Fyodor, or anyone really…

You can feel his hand removing Fyodor's from your head before he nuzzles against the crook of your neck; the tip of his nose brushes up and down your skin purposely to tickle you. Oh, how much Nikolai loved hearing your giggles as you squirmed around his bear hug, it made his heart almost beat out of his chest.

“I do not recall asking you to show up in my room, Nikolai.” By the tone of his voice, Fyodor doesn't seem pleased with the additional company taking space on his bed and ruining your peaceful encounter.

Nikolai’s hands trail up your ribs, and without any warning, he begins tickling you— not stopping even as you try to pry them away among laughs.

“Dove, you’re not gonna make me leave, are you?” He whispers against your ear, voice whiny and you are almost completely sure that he's pouting right now, hoping you at least feel pity for leaving him out, “Tell Dos that you want me to stay…”

But just by eyeing Fyodor, the answer is more than clear on his face. Refuting his words to let Nikolai sleep with the two of you is most likely ending with you and the jester being kicked out.

“C'mon, C'mon! You're scared of the storm, aren't you, birdie?” Nikolai pecks your cheek and pets your hair dramatically. “Poor baby! Shouldn't we help this frail dove together, Dos?”

“There's no need for that.” Fyodor's patience is going thin.

Nikolai clicks his tongue in annoyance, sitting up on the bed with his arms crossed like a child and glaring at Fyodor for a while, trying to convince him just by holding eye contact until he gives up, knowing there’s no room for negotiating.

“Fine, I'll leave… Gosh, you're such a killjoy.”

As he slips out the bed, muttering curses under his breath, Fyodor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It's not the first —and definitely not the last— time he has to put up with Nikolai’s behavior.

God blessed him this time, it seems. He didn't need to make too much of a fuss to make Nikolai leave.

When the door opens and the jester intruder is ready to leave in order to resume the calming moment that Fyodor was truly appreciating, instead of leaving, Nikolai throws his arms up in the air excitedly.

“Dear Sigma! What a great surprise!”

The casino manager stands in the doorframe, rubbing one of his eyes. It appears like his sleep was interrupted as well.

“Uhm… Could you guys keep it down, please? I woke up because you're so noisy and I'm trying to—”

Sigma didn't have time to finish speaking before he was dragged by Nikolai, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him to the bed. Fyodor’s bed. Then pushing him down to the mattress as if he was nothing but another plushie added to the collection.

“Gogol! I didn’t come here to have a sleepover!” Sigma complains, rolling his eyes before meeting your gaze, and giving you an awkward smile.

Then meeting Fyodor's.

Something didn’t seem to add up.

“Am I… missing something?”

“This little dove needs our help, my dear friend! You see, the storm ruffled their lovely feathers so they needed to shelter in our embrace.”

Sigma raises an eyebrow at the jester’s words, and even if he's stuck in this —unwanted— situation it's not difficult to understand the message. He sighs, lying back on the bed and holding your hand, “It’s going to be okay, angel.”

He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before bringing it to his lips and placing a soft peck on the back of it. He cares about you more than he hates having to deal with Nikolai.

The four of you managed to fit in Fyodor's bed with little space in between. Nikolai's head is now resting on your chest, him in between your legs, his arms around your waist. On the other hand, Fyodor and Sigma were lying on each side of you, either playing with your hair or stroking your hand. Any soft touch brings you closer to dozing off.

Fyodor mutters a small apology because of his "friends" behavior. His fingers graze your palm before he locks his fingers with yours as well. Silence slowly begins flooding the room; you feel perfectly safe with them around, so you close your eyes, letting your body relax.

“Oh! I have the greatest idea, how about we have a sleepover and do our nails and—”

“Nikolai.” The three of you called his name almost as if grounding a child; making the jester frown and pout.

You couldn't suppress your giggles, thinking that this might be the first —and the last— time you'll have the three men from the same dangerous organization sleeping together in the same bed only because they care about you, in their own way.

The storm slowly fades away, forgotten in the warmth of their embrace.

When waking up the next morning, you'll have to face the pain in your limbs from being entangled around them… And wondering how you and Fyodor ended up in between Sigma and Nikolai's hug.

© 2024 pinklacydovey — Do not copy, repost, or recommend my works on other platforms. reblogs are welcomed and appreciated!

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious? Part two.

He Was A Punk, She Did Ballet...

I do not know why I've included so many bloody Shakespearean references into this crackfic about a sk8er boi wizard, but since I'm writing this by the seat of my pants with absolutely no plan or outline, I'ma let my subconscious cook. Also, I'm hesitant to call this a "crack fic” any more. Let's call it tender crack. A crack fic with feelings.

Content: MEET CUTE MODERN AU. 🛹 Mentions of “magical drug use” (the recreational smoking of mallowsweet*), mentions of alcoholism, swearing.

*not my original idea. I've read this idea in a few fics before and think it's genius so credit to whoever wrote it before me!

Word count: 3.2k~

👉 PART ONE HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Madame Puddifoot's Tea Shop, previously known as Steeply & Sons, was a garish, pastel-pink nightmare that took prominence in the village square like an overdone sponge cake at a corporate buffet.

The preferred meeting place for first dates, romantic rendezvous and anyone looking to indulge in tiny, outrageously overpriced cakes, Sebastian had been inside only once in his life and didn't wish to repeat the ordeal again: lace doilies, frosted cupcakes and sickeningly sweet tea was not his idea of a good time.

‘In a village brimming with interesting places,’ he grumbled, keeping in step with the little redhead beside him, ‘he invites you to Puddifoot's?’

Having naturally charmed Mr Brown into giving her a special discount on every book in the shop ("...a munificent diminution for the fair danseuse!”), a request to return any time day or night (“Antemeridiem, noonstead, or crepusculum!”), and an invitation to join the village book club (“...whereupon we postulate and divagate into scintillating literary excursuses!”), they'd left Tomes and Scrolls only after Sebastian, growing irritated by not having her full attention, had ushered her out the door and into the bustling street beyond.

Was he jealous of his middle-aged, married landlord simply for speaking to her?

… Yes.

‘What's wrong with Puddifoot's?’ she asked, sparing him no glance as she weaved through the main street.

Across the village square, the tea shop's frosted icing-sugar windows winked merrily at them under the midday sun.

Sebastian pulled a face.

‘Their cakes are small!’

‘Their cakes are small?’

‘Offensively so! And as far as first dates go, it's the most predictable, uninspired place he could have chosen! Puddifoot's, really?’ he scoffed. ‘Ominis might as well have admitted he hated you and been done with it.’

She stifled a laugh behind her hand. ‘Those are some wild aspersions,’ she said delicately. ‘Where do you prefer to take your dates in Hogsmeade, then, if you're such an expert?’

He bit his tongue before he could blurt out the words ‘Shrieking Shack’ — not that he ever took dates there; mostly he went there to smoke mallowsweet by himself and wallow in self-pity. Even so, it'd still be a better choice than squeezing into a lumpy, overstuffed loveseat while fairies dumped confetti over his head and people he wished never to see snogging snogged with unbridled relish and vigour.

‘I would take you somewhere fun,’ he scowled. ‘Like —’

‘Like a wedding altar?’

Sebastian flushed. ‘No —!’

‘Oh, oh! L'hôpital?’ She turned to him with a surprisingly impish grin for someone so renownedly elegant.

Something funny wiggled in Sebastian's chest.

‘Trust me, you don't want to date Ominis — he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse!’

‘I thought he was your best friend?’

‘He is! That's how I know he's a pompous rich boy with a stick up his arse! Look —’

Running a hand through his tangled hair, he pulled her aside to a shady spot beneath an old, gnarled oak and tried not to loom over her: at almost twenty-one years old, Sebastian had started growing early in life and hadn't yet stopped.

Fuck, why was he so bloody gigantic.

‘You won't like him,’ he said, hunching awkwardly. ‘He won't make you laugh, or take you anywhere fun, or —’

‘Propose marriage while bleeding from the head?’

A nearby merchant — a humpbacked witch with one eye and somehow too many teeth — let out an amused cackle, but Sebastian was too distracted by the strange little wiggle in his chest to tell her to sod the fuck off.

Brilliant. As if a head wound wasn't bad enough, now he was having heart palpitations as well? Had he overdone it with the Shakespearean theatrics and inadvertently brought upon his own tragic, untimely death? Was he to die at her feet as Romeo for Juliet — only via self-inflicted concussion over a quick-acting poison?

Fuck it — if today was the day that he died, he'd at least try for a first (or last?) date. As a wise man once sang: Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear?

‘Don't go on a date with Ominis,’ he said, swooping his stupid hair out of his face. ‘Go on a date with me.'

She blinked at him. ‘What, now?’

Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over.

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm… Because I already have a date?’ She shrugged past him, but he only lumbered after her like the big, brainless troll he was.

‘Wait —!’ He held up his palms. ‘Look, I know you get some blood-soaked guy coming up to you on the street, you don't know me — but I know me, and I promise I'm —’

‘A dirty, rotten, sneaky little rat!’

Sebastian whipped around.

‘Ominis!’ he squeaked.

In all his years of dragging his best friend into detentions, secret underground lairs, and Muggle mosh pits against his will, the sight of Ominis’ sightless eyes boring into his with all the fury of his Slytherin lineage never failed to strike fear into Sebastian's heart.

It also, simultaneously, never failed to amuse him.

He didn't hesitate. With an absurdly high-pitched giggle and not a single logical thought in his addled brain, he grabbed Aurélie by the hand and took off running.

Board in one hand, girl in the other, he pelted through the village, twisting and turning through back alleys and narrow openings, scaring children and the elderly alike as he barrelled past them, cackling hysterically.

Suddenly, he was fifteen again, facing off with Peeves after being caught on another midnight jaunt through the Restricted Section; challenging an unsuspecting victim to an unsanctioned duel simply because he was bored; running from the prefects when he was inevitably caught nosegrinding down the Grand Staircase at two in the morning.

He hadn't felt this alive in years!

Beside him, the ballerina kept pace easily, pivoting round corners and leaping over obstacles with all the grace and finesse befitting her profession. As they dashed across someone's backyard, whipping through rows of freshly hung laundry, Sebastian caught the edge of a smile on her face before a pair of granny knickers slapped him across the cheek.

The wiggly thing in his chest giggled and kicked its feet aaaaall the way to the outskirts of the village, where a low stone wall at the end of an alleyway ended their daring escape. Beyond it, rugged and heather-brushed, lay freedom.

He looked at her.

She looked at him.

‘Over?’ he suggested with a hopeful waggle of his brows.

‘Well, I can hardly go back now,’ she returned with a wry shrug.

Grinning, Sebastian piffed his board over the wall and then turned to offer his little companion a helping hand. But to his surprise, she was already up, balancing atop the precariously narrow wall in a position he vaguely recognised as something ballet-shaped.

He gawked for a moment, unashamedly admiring the entire length of her legs, from ankles to knees, from knees to thighs, from thighs to butt.

‘Careful,’ he warned, scrambling up after her. A steep decline on the other side of the wall made him nervous. His hands hovered close, ready to catch her should she lose her balance, but she only peeked at him sideways with a smug expression, footsure and composed.

Cute.

‘This is the fifth position,’ she explained, framing her arms above her head. ‘It is the pinnacle of ballet's basic stances.’

‘The fifth position, huh?’ he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. ‘Skipping ahead a few bases, I see.’

She ignored him.

‘It may look simple,’ she sniffed, turning her face to the sun, ‘but it takes years of training to reach complete security.’

‘Okay, show off,’ he snorted, climbing gracelessly down the other side of the wall. ‘Nothing about twisting your feet backwards like that looks simple to me.’

Safe now from the wrath of angry best friends and verbose shopkeepers, they picked their way carefully down to the banks of a shallow stream. A copse of willows drew them into a clearing, a dappled green reprieve from the midday sun. Sebastian couldn't remember ever coming across a spot as beautiful as this — but perhaps the company made it so.

In the middle of the clearing, she turned and caught him gawking.

‘Come here,’ she said. ‘I want to take a look at your head.’

Sebastian gulped. ‘My — my head?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh la la, the bump on your forehead!’

‘Oh.’ He'd almost forgotten. ‘My head’s fine,’ he lied, but she looked at him so sternly that he shut up and bent his stupid head for her inspection.

Please don't look at me with those eyes, please don't hint that you're capable of lies.

Gently, she pressed her fingers to the bump above his eyebrow.

‘Does this hurt?’

‘No,’ he winced, his voice rough. And then, ‘...Maybe a bit.’

‘Thought so.’

Her fingers left his face but returned a moment later holding a little jar of funny-smelling ointment.

Sebastian held still.

‘Hold still,’ she said.

Sebastian held more still.

With a touch that gave him full-body tingles, she pushed his hair back and dabbed a little ointment over the cut.

‘That stinks…’ was the best thing he could think to say.

‘It's Essence of Dittany,’ she explained. ‘I use it on my feet after a long day of dancing.’

He pulled a face. ‘You're putting foot cream on my face?’

‘It's Essence of Dittany!’

‘Yeah, for your feet!’

‘Oh, mon dieu.' She rolled her eyes. 'How old are you?’

Sebastian cracked a grin. ‘I'm surprised I didn't tell you that already.’

‘If you did,’ she began, tucking the jar back into her pocket, ‘I wouldn't forget it the way someone forgot my name two times. — Now…’ Without warning, she reached up and cupped his face between her soft little hands.

Sebastian's knees almost gave out.

‘Look at me,’ she said, and he looked, and looked, and looked, and thought he might not look away ever again.

‘Are you dizzy?’ she enquired, her face so close he could feel her breath.

Yes.

‘No.’

‘Dazed?’

Very.

‘No.’

‘Faint?’

Only when you touch me.

‘I'm fine,’ he murmured, but the tremor in his voice said otherwise, and his racing heart racing said otherwise, and the way his gaze kept dropping to her lips definitely definitely said otherwise.

I dread the thought of our very first kiss, a target that I'm probably gonna miss.

‘Okay,’ she said after a good long frown at his face. ‘But if you feel like you're going to fall…’

Sebastian almost told her he already had.

Thankfully, a sudden rustling in the greenery diverted him from embarrassing himself further, and from out of the treeline came another unexpected redhead (this one considerably less pleasing to look at than the one whose hands had just been on his face.)

‘Weasley?’

Garreth Weasley gave a start. ‘Sallow? What are you doing here?’

A fellow Hogwarts graduate and self-proclaimed “potion prodigy”, Garreth supplemented his apprenticeship wages at Pippin's Potions by selling his own “special blend” of mallowsweet on the side (unbeknownst to Pippin, of course, who, like most of the older generation of Hogsmeadians, vehemently decried the “grave misuse” of an otherwise unremarkable magical herb.)

Sebastian suppressed a groan: his mallowsweet dealer was the last person he wanted to see right now — especially when said dealer had an annoying habit of trying to steal his girlfriends.

Unsurprisingly, Garreth's eyes lit up at the sight of the pretty girl before him.

‘Hey, Aurélie!' said he. 'Nice to see you again.’

‘Again?’ Sebastian's mouth fell open. ‘You know Garreth bloody Weasely as well?’

‘Oui. We met just yesterday at your potion shop… Uhh, Peepins?’

‘Pippin's,’ Garreth corrected, his expression so jovial that Sebastian wanted to punch it right off his stupid freckled face. ‘I helped her pick out the best Valerian sprigs for her —’

‘— For my fudge!’ she cut in. ‘Oui, fudge. I'm making some. Fudge, that is. For — erm... Eating… Because it's, um… Nice? I think.’

Sebastian eyed her suspiciously. Why was she so nervous about fudge?

‘Right,’ he said, turning back to Garreth. ‘Anyway, did you want something, Weasley? Because we're in the middle of a date right now, if you can't tell.’

‘A date?’ spluttered the girl he most definitely was not on a date with.

‘A date?’ echoed Garreth, who looked slightly put out by the news. ‘Why aren't you at Puddifoot's, then?’

‘Oh, for fucks—’ Sebastian threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘There are other places besides Puddifoot's to go on dates, you know!’ he exclaimed. ‘All that mallowsweet's annihilated your imagination!’

Garreth's expression brightened. ‘Oh, speaking of —’ he said, procuring a small brown package from his pocket. ‘Got a new strain I'm looking to test out. Figured you'd be the perfect candidate.’

He tossed the package at Sebastian's chest: all three of them watched as it bounced off and hit the ground. Nobody moved to pick it up.

‘I don't know what you're on about,’ Sebastian lied, his eyes flicking nervously over the literal ballerina next to him; the epitome of elegance and refinement, he was certain she'd never smoked a bloody ham let alone indulged in the questionable (mis)use of mallowsweet.

Utterly fucking clueless, Garreth scooped up the package and held it out to him. ‘To be honest, I swore never to sell to you again after last time.’

‘Last —?’

‘Remember? You called me a “soulless fire crotch” and accused me of ripping you off —’

‘I never —!’

‘— but Leander reckons he's “giving it up” again, so now you're the only buyer I've got left who'll test out the experimental stuff.’

Unable to avoid it any longer, Sebastian snatched the package out of Garreth's hands and did his best to look thoroughly mystified. ‘Mallowsweet, you say? For potions, right?’

He sounded ridiculous even to himself.

‘Potions?’ Garreth looked puzzled. ‘No, you're supposed to smo—’

‘Smoulder it over a low flame before brewing, yep, I know, got it! Well, thanks Garreth, always a pleasure seeing you!’

‘But — you —’

‘Goodbye Garreth!’ He gave him a rough shove in the direction from whence he came.

‘Alright, alright, I'm going! Bloody hell. You fall off your wheel board or something?’

‘Skateboard,’ Sebastian said through his teeth. ‘It's a skateboard, Garreth. I know it's got wheels and it's very confusing for you, but —’

‘Oh!’ At this, Garreth turned. ‘Your uncle's up at the village, by the way.’

Brilliant. Uncle Solomon had a way of showing up drunk whenever things were going well for Sebastian; if he was at The Hog's Head already, he was probably halfway drunk by now. By nightfall, he'd be banging on Sebastian's door demanding to know where Anne was.

Sebastian didn't bloody know where his sister was. Nobody did.

‘How long's he been there?’

Garreth shrugged. ‘Not sure, but he was still upright last I saw…’

It was times like these that Sebastian was glad his twin sister had disappeared. Years of trying to hold together a splintered family had taken its toll on her; after all, looking after a drunken uncle and a brother obsessed with the Dark Arts wasn't exactly conducive to healing.

The hastily scribbled note she'd left had read: I can't die in Feldcroft. Please look after our uncle.

By the time Sebastian had found it, she was long gone.

He hadn't heard from her since.

No sooner had Garreth's flaming red hair disappeared into the brush than the baggie of experimental mallowsweet was yoinked unceremoniously out of Sebastian's hands.

‘Oi!’

‘Ooooh, you have a mallowsweet dealer?’ Aurélie danced out of his reach, giggling. ‘Can I try some?’

‘Wh — no, he's not a dealer!’ he spluttered, tailing her across the clearing. ‘And no, you can not “try some”!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s for potion-making!’

Grinning mischievously, she took a little whiff of the package then pulled a face and immediately thrust it back at him.

‘Eurgh, what are you brewing? Dungbombs?’

‘No — Wiggenwald.’

‘You're a terrible liar.’

‘Actually,’ he said, tucking the bundle into his hoodie pocket, ‘I'm a Slytherin. And if you must know, mallowsweet helps me sleep.’

‘So you do smoke it!’

‘Yes, mother, I smoke it.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Can't you just use potions for that?’

‘Oh, you mean like a Sleeping Draught?’ He quirked a brow. ‘Or is it the Draught of Peace you’re brewing up with your precious “Garreth Weasley approved” Valerian roots?’

‘I told you, it's for fudge!’ she snapped.

‘You're a terrible liar,’ he smirked. ‘You don’t use the sprigs of the Valerian plant in fudge unless you intend to knock yourself unconscious for several days. — Or are you hoping to use it on someone else?’ he added, thinking of Ominis.

‘Oh, and you're an expert on fudge now, are you?’

‘I passed N.E.W.T level potions,’ he said smugly. ‘So unless you’re brewing a Fire-Breathing Potion — which, as an aside, I don’t think you need — then you're lying about the fudge.’

‘I don't see why it's any of your business!’ With a dramatic huff, she stomped across the clearing and threw herself a fallen log by the creek's edge.

‘It's not,’ he chuckled, sitting beside her. ‘It's just not very fair for you to accuse me of lying when you're telling little fibs of your own, is it?’

Secretly amused, Sebastian waited out the stubborn silence that followed and tried to act like he wasn't acutely aware of her arm pressing against his. There was a strange sense of familiarity about her presence, as if in some other lifetime they'd sat together just like this, side by side beneath the trees.

Eventually, she spoke again.

'If you must know,’ she began, her voice tight, ‘I've been under some... stress lately. And now I can't sleep without, well…'

'Without knocking yourself out with a Sleeping Draught?' he offered helpfully. ‘I know what that's like.’

'Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to use “substances". Not that my Muggle instructors would ever recognise the effects of a Sleeping Draught, but still…' She heaved a heavy sigh. 'It's just… I've been dancing almost my entire life. My goals, my plans, my future — everything about me revolves around ballet.’

‘And now?’ he prompted.

‘Something happened…’ she said slowly. ‘Something that made me realise that I don't know who I am outside of the thing I've been trained for my whole life. — That's why I'm here, actually.’

He nodded understandingly. ‘To find yourself?’

‘Oh — no, because I accidentally blew up the dance studio with my magic.’

Sebastian choked.

'I'm the only ballerina with magic, you see,’ she explained, patting him gingerly on the back. ‘The Ministry had to obliterate everyone who witnessed my, erm… mishap, and I was ordered to take the summer off for "stress relief" lest I violate the Statute of Secrecy by exploding on stage or something. So…’ She waved her hand flippantly. ‘Here I am.'

Sebastian began to laugh.

‘You blew up your dance studio?’

‘I didn't mean to!’ she wailed. ‘It was awful! I broke all the mirrors! — It's not funnyyy, stop laughing!’

But he couldn't. Too far gone for composure, he hid his face in his hands and laughed til his cheeks hurt.

‘You know…’ he said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘I could teach you a far more effective way of relieving stress.’

Her scandalised look almost set him off laughing again.

‘I'm talking about skateboarding,’ he snickered. ‘Why? What were you thinking of?’

[coryosmin]

Sickly Confessions - Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

summary: reader has a cold and now it’s coryo’s turn to take care of her. could be a second part to feel better but also can be its own fic. this is self indulgent mostly because i’m sick rn.

warnings: fluff, soft!coryo, ooc coryo because truthfully he wouldn’t be this soft, this really is just self indulgent, 1,200 words of rushed fluff

When Coriolanus saw you enter the Academy building looking like you’d been hit by a bus, he knew you were sick. Your eyes had bags underneath them, you looked exhausted and sniffling. Coriolanus walked up to you, greeting you as he always did. “Hey,” he greeted, taking your arm in his. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking at your form as you guys began to walk together.

You looked up at him, shaking your head no. “I don’t feel good,” you murmured. Your voice was hoarse, causing Coriolanus to frown. You had a sore throat. He stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop as well.

He brought his hand up to your forehead. “You’re burning up,” he said. “You shouldn’t be here today.”

You leaned into his touch, the feeling of his cold hand feeling so good on your forehead. “Got an exam today,” you replied, frowning. Coriolanus understood. He was much the same way, wanting to at least get through the day so he didn’t miss his assignments and such.

“For Professor Satyria,” he murmured, keeping his hand on your forehead for a moment before pulling away. “After her class though, you need to go home and rest.” You simply nodded your head, beginning to walk to your first class. Professor Satyria’s class isn’t until right before lunchtime. So you still had at least half a day until you could go home. You and Coryo continued walking to your first class.

You could hardly focus in class and it concerned Coriolanus quite a bit. You looked like you could fall asleep at any given moment and by the time it was exam time, your cheeks were so flushed that Coriolanus figured you likely had a high temperature. Once the exam ended, you all walked out of the class and you could barely stand straight. Coriolanus was right beside you, a hand on your waist. “Let’s get you home,” he murmured into your ear.

Coriolanus Snow never missed a class. He always goes to school, even when sick. So the fact that he left early was huge. And you realized, even in that sick little foggy brain of yours, that Coriolanus must truly care for you a whole bunch if he was willingly bringing you home in the middle of the school day. “You don’t have to bring me home,” You murmured, leaning into Coriolanus. “You vowed to yourself to never miss a class.”

Coriolanus shook his head. “Maybe so,” He replied, already guiding you out of the building. “But you’re my best friend and you would do the same for me too.”

And you couldn’t ignore that logic. Because you would take care of him in a heartbeat. He’s been your best friend since the two of you were young children. “Okay,” You agreed, unable to find a reason to combat him. You were just so tired and needed to rest. You wanted nothing more than to lay down and fall to sleep.

When you and Coryo arrived at your apartment, you realized neither of your parents were home. Your father was on some work trip and your mother was out visiting her parents for the day. So you had the apartment to yourself other than the Avoxes. “Go get changed,” Coriolanus said, taking his shoes off at the door. “I’ll see about getting you something to drink.”

Coriolanus walked off towards the kitchen while you made your way to your bedroom, getting changed into a pair of pajamas and then getting into bed. You sat underneath the covers with your back against your headboard. A few minutes later, there was a light knock on the door. “Come in,” you raised your voice, causing it to crack.

Coriolanus opened the door with a small tray in his hands. There was a glass of water, some medication, and a sandwich. “I told one of your Avoxes that you were sick. So they prepared this tray for you.” He spoke, putting the tray on your lap. “You should eat. You need the nutrients to get better, dove.”

Dove. That certainly was new. You nodded your head, looking up at Coriolanus. “Will you be staying with me?” You asked.

Coriolanus gave you a small smile, reaching to move a piece of your hair out of your face. “Of course,” he murmured, taking a seat on the bed. “I’ll stay for however long you need me to.”

After you had eaten and taken the medication, you felt ready to fall asleep. Coriolanus took the tray off of your lap, placing it on the floor temporarily. “Get some rest,” he said, his blue eyes looking at you.

You bit your lip as you looked at Coryo with droopy eyes. “Would it be too much to ask you to cuddle me?” You asked shyly, looking at your best friend.

Coriolanus’s heart melted as he looked at you, unable to help the smile on his face when you asked him. He’s usually much more composed but you’re sick and vulnerable anyways. It doesn’t matter if he smiles. “Of course, dove.” Coriolanus moved to lay down next to you, taking you into his arms. You were very warm and he knew that he had the possibility of getting sick too. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was his best friend being comfortable and getting better. And if he could provide comfort to her, then he shall.

Coriolanus wrapped his arms around you, bringing your head to his chest. You breathed in his scent as it provided you with comfort. His body was naturally cool which allowed you to get a reprieve from the heat of your fever. You snuggled into him. And in your sick dazed mind, you spoke, “I love you, Coryo,” not caring about the nervousness or the repercussions of your words when you eventually become clear minded.

Coriolanus’s heart fluttered in his chest as he looked at you, trying to comprehend the words you spoke. “Love me how?” he asked carefully.

“Like in love with you,” you replied.

Coriolanus shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re sick.”

You pulled away slightly to look up at Coryo, still staying in his arms. “Sick or not, I love you, Coryo.” You said honestly, looking at your best friend.

Coriolanus took a deep breath, unsure of how to respond. Until he does. Because ultimately, he will always love you as well. “I love you too, dove,” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now get some sleep. We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

And so you fell asleep a few minutes later, comforted by the feeling of Coriolanus’s arms wrapped around you and the fact that your best friend loves you too.

[aka-indulgence]

So, Ramattra huh? :3c

Ok so um. He’s completely taken over my mind for the past month 😭 I’m in love with this man

Usually I’m a sucker for the villains who are evil mostly for the sake of being evil or aggressive monster types but he’s like… morally gray complex? My (personal opinion) least favorite thing about supposedly morally grey characters is when they’re basically just evil except they go “oh but my backstory,” >:/ But here you can see why, there’s a lot of injustices towards omnics in the overwatch universe and you can see why he’s fighting so hard to make a change, even through any means necessary.

I’ve only started playing recently and every time I play as him I just find every little thing he does attractive orz the way he moves is so determined and confident, the way his hand strains when he’s shooting his primary fire/raising his shield… his scarf makes him look so majestic when he runs… his hair, gives him this effect that makes him look elegant? I want to tie his hair back for him huhuguhghuh

And oh my god don’t get me started on his nemesis form I’m dead 💀 He turns into this huge beast of a robot with big arms?? And his voice gets an extra.. filter to it that makes him sound scarier and growlier? I used to not like how his original arms were still visible, but now it’s yet another thing why I love him uhghehgfg he looks so confident with his arms crossed while he’s pummeling his enemies into submission and his cable hair flowing in the wind liks swoosh… and things get ramped up when he’s doing his annihilation ultimate, he can just run into the enemy team and suck their life force(?) Also this is a meta reason but I think it’s hot when he ults and the team scatters away from him 😳

and ough HIS VOICE AUGH HIS VOICE!! He always sounds so controlled and collected, and when he’s in nemesis form it’s like his restrained rage gets unleashed, phew… ngl I’ve been rewatching “Ramattra Voice Line” videos so much jkdshfnejf I love all versions of his ult line, whether its “SUFFER, AS I HAVE!” or “Rip them to pieces,”, or even the april fools line bc I just think he’s silly and dramatic in that one 🥺

I also watch a lot of his interactions, because despite his (understandable) hatred for humans, he’s respectful and polite to a lot of the other overwatch heroes. I imagine it’d be easy to write him as someone who dislikes all humans, but he shows appreciation to humans he thinks are kind and helpful to omnics, even if they might not like him. Even to humans he isn’t a fan of his conversations are still polite and reserved, or at the very least, he’s passive aggressive- but he never gets into a “grr I hate all of you” thing that Reaper has (lol)

His conversation with Venture especially makes me soft… he sounds encouraging to a human who wants to go to the Shambali monastery.

And of course his interactions with Bastion and Zenyatta are soft and gentle because omnics and knowing Zenyatta from the monastery.

I just- what if I’m his favorite person? What if I’m his exception to his hatred for humans? What if he was contrasted by a soft human? What if he says “Only you,” to his human? What if the hands he used for violence were also used to gently hold a delicate human he loves? uhuguhguhuhgufdgdfhgjdfhgd

I’m being self indulgent here and I say I wanna kiss Null Sector’s leader !!!! I want him to press his forehead to mine!! I want him to dink his mouth on my cheek and I do the same on his cool faceplate! I want him to cradle me with his nemesis hands! I want to hold his face when his faceplate gets cracked and his handsome, intense eye is visible and looking at me like I’m his treasure! ARGHRGHRG

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Hiiiii I hope ur doing good but can I request the greaser gang with fem!black reader :33 (this is very much self indulgent heheehe)

Summary: The Outsiders x Black!Reader

Warnings: none Author's Note: sorry if I got somethings wrong againnn

PONYBOY CURTIS

Thinks you're so pretty and have the prettiest eyes

Stares at them, Def gets “lost in them”

buys you cds of all your fav music so you can listen to them with him

Will ALWAYS be with you. He thinks he can intimidate the socs away

JOHNNY CADE

Very insecure abt yalls relationship because he doesnt think hes cute enough to be with you

Stands in the pharmacy to read about your pop culture in magazines

Thinks your hair is so attractive, loves running his hands (gently) through it

he'll get literally red faced, screaming, attacking anything if you get insulted or jumped, he's gonna be your ride or die.

SODAPOP CURTIS

Obsessed with your facial harmony

When your doing your hair he'll help you separate the curls for you

Loves seeing you in his DX shirt because of your perfect figure

If you like a certain artist, he'll definitely try and sneak you into the concert

STEVE RANDLE

His love language is food, so hell cook whatever your mom gives him recipes for

If you don't like it, he's making that same thing everyday until it's perfect for you

Loves your fashion sense, he tells you that its like dating a model

Tries his absolute hardest to get you the right color jewelry, like he has a note of either gold or silver 

TWO BIT MATHEWS

Perhaps a little insensitive and rude without trying to be, like hes trying to crack jokes but some of those dont land

IMMEDIATELY respects the boundaries you put down, backs off quickly.

Likes doing your “girly” stuff with you, but he mostly tells you to do it on his sister so you two can bond

Turns out her hair hold a really pretty curl and she asks you to do her hair everytime you come over, hes literally so in love with the fact that you two get along 

DARRY CURTIS

Tries his best to not be rude, its like hes always walking on eggshells.

He has you explain everything to him so now he has 100 mental notes about everything you do, like, eat etc.

Tries to treat you like a queen and saves up so much money for fancy dates and stuff.

No one fucks with you because hes on semi good terms with socs and good terms with greasers. So ur just in the middle ground

DALLAS WINSTON

Once again (say it with me guys!) DALLAS IS A WHITE BITCH

doesn't understand anything, will lowkey judge you for many things

Literally tried to bag you as a challenge, but kinda fell for your charm

Hes not head over heels but he's falling, just will never admit it.

[shirohige-pirates]

Sing for Me

Marco x afab!reader

Word count: 3.924

CW: oral (receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, mdni

Summary: Static electricity was enough to cause a strange problem, and Marco's losing his mind over it. He can hear your thoughts, and your on his mind way more than he expected.

Random inspiration, and completely self-indulgent.

Marco felt like he was losing his mind at first.

As far as he could tell it had just been a simple static shock between the two of you the other day. The build up of static in the current dry climate had just made the random brushing of fingers as you two worked together bite more than it should of.

Enough to cause you both to pull your hands back and shake them, laughing over it easily.

There hadn’t been anything else. No odd weather. No strange devil fruits or devil fruit users. No curses or odd alignment of the stars. Just that one unexpected crackle of dry electricity between you both.

And now he had a problem.

He could hear your thoughts.

And they were… detailed.

He was infamous for being able to keep calm. Thatch needled him all the time for how he looked on the brink of a nap every waking moment of any given day. He might be the First Division Commander, but he was easily approachable, and exceptionally laid back.

He’d worked to be that way. He didn’t want anyone to feel as though they needed to stay at arms’ length with him. But your thoughts were going to break him.

You thought about the shape of his lips. Wondered if he could transform just his tongue, and how deep it could go. You thought about the shape of his teeth against your skin, how it’d feel to have his talons at your throat. You wondered if he had a knot because of his devil fruit, and seemed fairly well convinced he could keep going all night.

He was flattered, and flabbergasted.

His second major problem was the simple fact that you were his assistant. There was no avoiding you.

Not that he wanted to avoid you, but until he could figure out how to un-hear your thoughts he was desperate for a break. He had been mostly certain you found him at least a little attractive - lucky him, he was pretty smitten with you himself, but as the commander he wasn’t going to pressure you like that.

That was less of an issue now. Your thoughts weren’t just lewd, you held him in high regard and seemed to love him dearly, but knowing all of it because of whatever this was, felt wrong. He couldn’t act on things he wasn’t supposed to know.

Two weeks later he was losing his mind. He’d even tried to create another static charge between you in the hope that it would sever whatever happened.

It hadn’t worked.

The night before last he’d been walking down the halls and gotten too close to you. There was, it seemed, a range limit, and there were plenty of places he could escape to for his own sake.

Marco, please.

He froze, standing in the hall and realizing that he was coming up on the showers.

Fuck I just want you to touch me, play with my tits. Lick my clit. I want to see those beautiful eyes looking up at me while you’re between my thighs.

He’d put his hands over his face, but that wasn’t going to block out the sound of your voice in his head. Nothing in his body wanted to move. If anything he was desperate to get closer. To give you everything you wanted of him.

Instead he stood there and listened to you fantasize about him until he could hear relief wash through you.

The way you always thought about wanting to fall asleep in his arms after you came was the hottest part of all of it. The wet spot in the front of his pants was a recurring issue, but he was able to get himself out of the hallway before you left the bath. It was everything he had in him to not just palm himself right there in the hall.

He could endure it. He had more self-control than that. He could.

He would.

He did.

Until he finally cracked.

The two of you were doing inventory for the medical supplies. Despite the size of the ship, Marco’s supplies and his office were relatively small. The crew was strong, haki stopped most injuries, devil fruits many others, and his devil fruit meant there was really only a need for major injury type supplies.

But even if the stock was small compared to the crew size, it was still important to keep it tallied and organized correctly.

You’d picked up a box of rolled up gauze spools and the thought in your head went straight into his.

I wonder if there’s enough gauze in here for him to tie me up and muffle the sounds while he fucks me stupid? Fuck that’d be hot.

He heard you sigh, soft as it was.

Marco’s amazing though, there’s no way he’d look at someone like me.

“Oi.” Marco says, setting down what he was working on and coming over to where you were knelt by the box of gauze rolls.

“Hm? Did you need something…” You look up and the words fade on your lips. Marco’s looking down at you with a strange expression. “… Commander?”

Marco looks up at the ceiling, letting out a long breath before he kneels down and looks right into your eyes. “I’m sorry, yoi.”

“S-sorry? Sorry for what?”

“… I’ve been able to hear your thoughts.” He begins, as you stare at him blankly for a second. “For the last couple of weeks.”

“My… how?”

“I don’t know, yoi.” He admits, rubbing his forehead. “We had that static shock a couple weeks ago and since then…”

“Since… my thoughts.” You stammer, understanding dawning on you as blush dusts Marco’s face.

“All of your thoughts.” He asserts.

Holy shit Marco’s blushing!

“Oi! Hey, stop - stop thinking!” He snaps, face burning bright red.

You clamp your hands over your mouth, even though you hadn’t said anything out loud.

All my thoughts?

Marco flinches. “All of them.”

Oh no.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner I-.”

“No it’s… it’s… I wouldn’t know what to say either.” You admit, hands on his shoulders, head down, eyes closed. “I… I should apologize.”

“Don’t.”

Your eyes open and you look up at him in surprise. He can’t hold your gaze for long before he looks away.

“You can think of me… however you want.” He clears his throat and looks back at you. “But… don’t think about yourself like that, please.”

“Like…?”

“There’s no way he’d look at someone like me.” He says, repeating your earlier thought. Your eyes go wide, and gratefully for you both your mind goes blank. Marco smiles, it’s soft and warm and he reaches out, brushing his finger tips against your cheek. “You’re beautiful, yoi.”

“I…”

“I’ve been listening to you praise me for weeks.” Marco says, his voice soft and low, eyes hooded, as he leans a little closer. “I’d be honored to… exceed that praise.”

“I - I… I…” Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water a few times, and it’s a credit to Marco being Marco that he’s keeping a straight face.

He leans forward, cheeky grin pulling at his lips, as he moves so he can speak right by your ear. Words meant for you and no one else. Not that anyone else was in the room with you both right now anyway.

“I can transform just my tongue.”

Your hands flinch against him and you can’t stop the nervous whimper that escapes you. The stark realization of everything he had to have heard sinks into you.

Holy fucking hells.

His hands are on your arms. You could pull away if you wanted, but he wanted to make sure you knew it was okay to stay. Okay to keep your hands on him. Okay for him to know your thoughts because he wasn’t going to hold them against you.

“I…”

“Take your time, yoi.” His voice is warm and reassuring. “You can just think it.”

I’m so embarrassed.

“Don’t be, you’re allowed to think what you want.”

You’re so hot it’s not fair.

The soft chuckle sends a thrill down your spine. “I’m flattered, pretty bird.”

I’m nobody, I’m just-

“You.” He says, gripping your arms a little harder and leaning back so he could look into your eyes. “Are everything.”

You suck in a breath in such surprise that you nearly hiccup. You can feel tears welling up in your eyes as emotions crash inside you. It was a whirlwind situation and you didn’t know what to think. It didn’t matter if he could read your mind, there was nothing you could even hold onto.

“I’ve… loved you… for a long time.” He says finally. “As your commander I didn’t think it was fair for me to say anything.” He explains. “But -.”

“I love you, too.” You manage to say, the words that had been stuck in your throat finally coming free. Tears spill down your cheeks alongside the words and you hide your face in his shoulder. “Don’t listen to my thoughts!”

“I can’t block them out, yoi.” Marco retorts, laughing as he hugs you, fingers against your back.

“I feel so bad,” you admit, words muffled against his shoulder.

“For what?”

“I objectified you so bad.”

“Your thoughts are your thoughts, it’s okay. You didn’t say anything unwelcome.” He assures you. “You didn’t smack my ass.”

“I wanted to.”

“I know, yoi.”

“It’s a perfect ass.”

“Oi. You’re killing me.” He sighs.

“It’s gotta be all those aerial maneuvers.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“You can hear everything?”

“Mm. There’s no overlap when you talk, and it’s not like it’s so loud it drowns out everything else.” He explains. “But it’s still your voice.”

“Mm.”

“And since I like the sound of your voice,” he begins.

“Don’t, no, no, no, don’t say that.” It was too embarrassing.

“But you don’t moan in your thoughts.” He continues, going down a line of thought you hadn’t expected. “I don’t… yet… know what that sounds like.”

You can feel the shiver roll through your body, trembling against the hug Marco has you in. A shivering sigh, part moan part whimper, escapes between your teeth as you tilt your head up, letting the involuntary sound out right by his ear.

“That… is not nearly enough, yoi.” His voice sinks into your skin. “I want to hear more.”

Please.

“Say it.”

“Marco.” You sigh his name and as far as he’s concerned there’s nothing else in existence.

He lifts you up easily, one arms under your thighs as he almost puts you over his shoulder when he stands up. You yelp in surprise and laugh as you hear him clear supplies off the desk behind you before he sits you on the desk. His hands are on either side of your thighs, and he’s bent down enough to be face to face with you.

“Kiss me,” he commands and you lean forward, closing the small gap between you both, brushing your lips against his. Dry and warm, you lick your lips and close your eyes, leaning in again and slipping a hand around his shoulder, tugging him closer as his hands leave the desk to grip your hips.

You moan sweetly as the kisses deepen, letting the satisfied sound rattle against your ribs. His hands shift up your sides, pulling your shirt up as they move further and further up. When you raise your arms up over your head he grabs the gathered clothing and pulls it up and off, tossing it aside before putting his hands on your skin.

You lean back against the sensation, biting your lower lip and moaning.

Marco’s kisses trail down your neck and over your collarbone, his fingers undoing the hooks of your bra with unexpected struggle.

“Need a hand?”

“Nope,” he says as he finally gets the troublesome hook to let go.

He pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside, his lips barely leaving your skin. You slip the straps of your bra down, leaning back against the hand against your back, helping to steady you as he bends lower, raining kisses on your stomach as he gives you room to toss the bra aside. Your fingers dance along the back of his head as he works his kisses back up your stomach toward your breasts.

“Lean back, yoi.” He murmurs, guiding you to lay back against the desk. Your legs curl around his waist as his hands move over you. A heavy lick against your nipple pulls a sweet sound from your lips. He presses a finger against your tongue, letting you roll the muscle against the pad of his finger. His other hand teases the other breast as his mouth works against your flesh.

Moaning against his finger your mind fills with thoughts on how good it feels. How he could do this forever if he wanted. How it feels so much better than you had imagined.

“Ruthless.” He mutters against your skin, sucking the stiff nipple a little roughly as his fingers pinch the other, sending jolts of pleasure into your chest like lightning. You cry euphorically against his finger, body tensing from the delicious sensations.

“More, please, Marco, more.” You gasp as he teases you. “It feels… so good, ahhhnmmm ♥”

He straightens up a little too fast, his hips hitting against the desk roughly. You can feel his stiff cock against your thigh through the layers of clothing.

“Don’t rush, yoi.” He teases, bringing your legs together and tugging your pants over your hips and up your legs.

“He says as he pulls my pants off.” You tease, letting your bare legs fall back open on either side of his waist.

He sticks his tongue out at you, and it keeps going, long and tapered, wiggling at you as he kneels down in front of the desk.

“Oh gods,” holy shit. “Oh wait,” that’s going to feel amazing. “Marco, wait, that’s gonna be-.”

He pauses, gaze locked on yours. The look on his face makes the blood rush through you. He can hear your thoughts, and your words are at odds you know, but you don’t know what to think.

He watches you, and slowly sticks his tongue back out, pressing it right against the hood of your clit. His gaze stays on you as the tongue shifts, flicking and teasing your clit and sending delicious chills through you.

Oh I’m going to cum screaming.

“That’s the plan, yoi.” He says, taking his eyes off yours and leaning down, mouth wide as his hands spread your labia apart and give him better access.

“Fuck.” You husk the word as his lips and tongue sink into you. Your hands are against his head, torn between wanting to push him deeper and wanting to pull him off. The pleasure of his lips against yours, the twist and push of his devious tongue, the skill and motivation of his own desires left you to do little more than hold on for dear life.

Swears dribbled past your lips, broken and half-spoken between gasps and whimpers as your thoughts melted into less coherent concepts.

There, there, oh fuck!

Marco had no qualms about using your thoughts against you and assailed you with a mix of his own skill, and you’re involuntary instruction.

The first time you came against his tongue the pleasure had coiled your muscles too much for you to cry out. Your breath was frozen in your lungs as taut muscles curled your entire body for a few long seconds.

You were finally able to breathe out, a shivering whimpering sound before you breathed in deep body trembling from the pleasure as he continued to eat you out. He gave your insides a break, suckling on your clit and flicking his tongue against the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Wait, wait, please, Marco I’m gonna - gonna - HNNNGGGGH-.” Your body tenses again and you manage to pull in a breath between shivering teeth before finally crying out in pleasure.

He’s ruthless, continuing to focus on your clit as he pushes a finger in your trembling cunt.

“FUCK!” All you can think is that you’ve never cum so hard before, and never so many times in quick succession. It’s building again, and you can’t stop it, and you don’t want to stop it. He’s going to make you black out before he’s even inside you but it feels so good.

He pushes in deep enough to find the reaction he’s looking for, curling his finger inside you. Your hands slam onto the desk as your hips buck. You’re trying to move away from the pleasure, half of you wanting it, half of you worried you’ll lose control.

“Please, please, please,” you whimper the words, unsure if you’re begging for him to stop or continue. He pulls his finger out when you’re close, but you don’t have time to calm down as his tongue coils inside you again, beating against the same sweet spot his finger had found. One hand’s splayed out on your stomach, holding you as still as he can. The thumb of his other hand is teasing your clit.

“Marco! MARCO!” His eyes shift up, catching your gaze for a split second before you cum against his tongue again. You fill the room with a euphoric sound before collapsing against the desk. Heavy panting breaths move your chest up and down, but you don’t have the energy to try and raise your head to look at him right now.

He slowly pulls his tongue out, reveling in the sweet little mewls that escape you due to the over stimulation. He hadn’t meant to bring you to orgasm three times in a row. You were delicious, and sensitive, and the cheat of being able to hear your thoughts made it impossible to deny your desires.

You might just be his favorite meal.

Sweat slicked your body, cooling you in the comfortable room. Marco wipes his lips with the back of his hand before he moves over you, placing soft kisses against your stomach, making a lazy trail up your torso as you catch your breath. He’s careful not to kiss you anywhere too sensitive, and he uses his normal tongue when he licks your lips, before kissing them softly.

“You sound,” he begins, kissing against the line of your jaw as you turn your head for him. “Even better,” the lick against your neck makes you gasp quietly, moaning as he nips at the shell of your ear. “Than I imagined.”

His hand is hot against your leg, and he lifts it slowly, putting your ankle on his shoulder. He kisses your ankle before pressing against you. You can feel his cock, thick and twitching, hot and heavy along your thigh.

“How are you holding up, pretty bird?”

Tired.

“I’m good.”

“Tired?”

You nod. “Yeah, but not exhausted.”

“I’ll be gentle, yoi.” He promises, kissing you before he brings your other leg up to his shoulder.

“F-fuck me rough later?” You question, looking away from him in embarrassment. You wanted to say your thought instead of just thinking it.

“Look at me, yoi.” He commands and you manage it even if the heat in your face is making you a little dizzy. “Whenever,” He begins and you can feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. “And however you want.”

Marco presses in slowly, holding your gaze with his, drinking in every detail of the expression on your face as he pushes slowly into you. You’re so wet from everything else there’s no real pain, just a soft sweet ache as you stretch ever so gently to accommodate him.

He’s filling you up far deeper than anyone or anything had ever done so before, and you can feel tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. It’s not just how good it feels, it’s because it’s him. A shift of his hips is enough and you can feel him flush against you.

“All in,” he sighs, rolling his hips and shifting inside you. “You,” he gasps softly as you twitch against him. “Are perfect, pretty bird.”

That’s too much. “Don’t s-say that,” you whimper the words, covering your face with your hands.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He questions rhetorically, pulling back slowly until it’s just his tip inside you, before pushing back in just as slow. You nod from behind your hands and Marco reaches out, pulling them away from your face.

“Let me see you, yoi.” He requests, pulling out and pushing back in the same slow and deliberate pace as before. “Let me hear you, pretty bird.”

“Marco, please,” you sigh, his long slow exacting movements are already driving you insane.

“The sun hasn’t set yet,” he muses, devious grin on his lips as he continues. As he leans back against you again he continues to press, leaning down over you until he’s stretched your legs back, bringing your knees nearly to your chest. “But I bet I can do this until the sun comes up, yoi.”

“Suh-someone will come in,” you moan as he pushes in again, grinding against your clit a little in the new position.

Marco grins, eyes bright with his flames. “Half the ship heard you screaming my name earlier.” He says, as your mind stutters.

“No one would dare to bother us right now.” The long slow motion is beginning to pick up pace, slowing only when his hips press against you. He takes a second to tease your clit before continuing.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” you gasp, caught between the slow build of pleasure and the mortifying realization that the ship heard you screaming your commander’s name in such a lust-filled way.

“Just think about me, yoi.” Marco asserts, catching your gaze with his as he thrusts into you heavier than before. “Feels good.”

You nod. “It feels,” your hands are on his arms as he pushes in deep, nails digging into his skin. “Amazing!”

“Don’t worry about anything else, pretty bird.” He huffs, picking the up the pace and sending ripples into your body with the deep thrusts. “Everyone can know you’re mine, yoi.”

He pushes in fast, pushing the air from your lungs and grinding heavy against your clit as he leans down and kisses you. Your legs ache a little from the stretch, but he lets up before it hurts.

“I’m yours too, yoi.” He assures you, adjusting a little until you’re crying out every time he bullies the sweet spot inside you. “You scream my name,” he huffs, desperately trying to hold out a little longer. “Because I’m yours.”

“Yeah,” you gasp, nodding as the pleasure is already coiling around you. “Mine, hnnngh, yuh-you’re mine.” Your breath is coming out hot and needy, fingers desperate to hold onto him as the pleasure builds. “Please, fuck, Marco, it feels so good. I can’t, I can’t.” It’s too much I’m going to scream again.

“Don’t hold back,” his voice is more growl than anything else. “Sing for me. Just me.”

Marco slams you into your orgasm, using every trick he knows, and guided by your jumbled and desperate thoughts. His lips capture yours, devouring the melodic cry, and swallowing the euphoric sound with his lungs. This particular song was only for him.

Someday, one day, he’d let you sing with all your might. Maybe in a cabin, set just a little ways away from the rest of a small village, where no one else but the morning birds would dare to listen.

[stevesbestgirl]

Phases of the Moon - Part 1

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

2796 words

Warnings: poor imitations of British speaking habits, not much else in part one, maybe a few curses but I’m not sure

A/N: This was my attempt to write a slow-burn. It’s long, self-indulgent, and obscenely fluffy. Reader is specified as American, but mostly so I can avoid pretending I know anything about living in the UK. Steven and Marc are aware of each other and trying to find balance in their relationship in this fic, but keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point. 

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

“Go talk to her.”

“Well I can’t, can I?” Steven sent a furtive glance at you, toying absently with your phone while you examined the glyphs inside a display.

“Why can’t you?”

“She’s got earphones in.”

Marc scoffed in the glass of one of the display cases, “Always an excuse.”

“I can’t just interrupt her, that’d be rude!”

“Not if she’s interested.”

Steven’s reply was cut short as a pair of boys came rushing around the corner, laughing and shoving each other- Steven wouldn’t have placed them at older than twelve. He watched helplessly as one firm push sent the smaller of the two reeling into your backside. Completely oblivious to their noise, you went sprawling, headphones disconnecting as your phone hit the ground and was sent skittering across the polished floor, coming to rest at Steven’s feet.

Inhibitions gone, Steven scooped your phone up and rushed over, offering a hand to help you up, “Are you okay?” You nodded, feeling a little embarrassed. “You lot,” he called out, locating the pair sidling off behind a diorama, “C’mere.” 

They looked like they were considering bolting, but the smaller of them located Steven’s badge and took a reluctant step forward. By the time they stood in front of you, they were looking rather cowed, like puppies who’d been caught gnawing a slipper. 

“Shape up, you hear? You could’ve really hurt someone.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Now listen, down that corridor there, there’s a bunch of old weapons; spears, cudgels, daggers, the like. How about you go give it a look?” You watched him speak to the two boys; his enthusiasm seemed very genuine, not the fake kind adults often used with children.

The taller boy hesitated before leaving, “What’s a cudgel?”

Steven smiled a little, “Why don’t you go on and find out?” Then the two rushed in the direction he’d indicated and he called after them, “Slowly, hm?”

Once they were out of sight, you finally spoke, “Are you sure that was a good idea? Sending them in there with a bunch of weapons?” You couldn’t help but smile as he unconsciously smoothed his dark, nearly sleep-tousled curls back from his face.

His intent had been to chuckle, but it came out as more of an empty puff of air, “They’re all under glass- should be alright.” He added, “Maybe I’ll pop in to check on them, just in case.” Nervous now, he looked down at his hands, still holding your phone, “Oh, there you are.” Your expression fell and only then did he notice the spiderweb of cracks in the bottom corner where it had hit the floor, “Oh no.”

You shook your head, accepting the phone and dropping it to your side, like putting it out of sight would make him forget, “It’s alright. Just a screen protector. I’ll get a new one eventually.”

“Sorry about that, love,” he insisted, his earnest gaze finally meeting yours just in time for your face to go warm. You’d thought you’d been ready to hear the term of endearment used so casually when you came to England, but apparently not.

“It’s alright,” you rushed to speak. “Definitely not your fault. Thanks for helping me-” you glanced at his name tag, “-Steven.”

“No problem- it is my job after all,” he cracked a halfhearted smile.

“You were great with those kids too.”

Rosy warmth tinged his cheeks and his gaze shifted away, “Thanks.” A small pause, “Your accent- you’re American?”

You nodded, “Needed a change of scenery, so I’m staying with some family for a while. Just got in yesterday, actually.”

His gaze eagerly lifted to yours again, but flicked away over your shoulder and he went slightly pale. Glancing back, you saw a stocky woman with dirty blonde hair gesturing impatiently at him.

Returning his gaze to you, he looked a bit panicked, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. I- ah-” He tripped over his words and almost tripped almost his feet as well, veering around you and backing away toward the woman beckoning him over. 

You raised your hand in an uncertain farewell as he stammered his way backwards, gesturing faintly over his shoulder with his thumb in a faint attempt at an explanation. Once he was within range, the woman seemed to be lighting into him a bit, though his gaze hadn’t yet left you. It wasn’t until she snapped her fingers that he looked at her. 

Not wanting to spy, you turned away, checking your phone for the time. When Steven glanced your way again, he only caught your retreating form disappearing out the entrance. For once, Donna’s criticisms didn’t affect him since he was already kicking himself for not asking you out. Or getting your phone number. Or even your name. He’d blown it. 

*

The following day, you had a bit more time to explore the museum, so you returned. And you noted with dismay, when the cabbie called you “love”, you didn’t so much as blink, let alone blush. Maybe it had been a one-off thing. Now you would be immune. 

Walking in and spotting the woman from before at the front desk, you plucked up a bit of courage and approached. Her name tag read “Donna” and she prompted with visible disinterest, as though she were reading off a script, “Welcome. Is there something I can direct you to?”

Deciding to push forward, you said, “Actually, I was just in here yesterday. I ran into a bit of trouble with a couple of young boys and one of your tour guides helped me. I wanted to let you know that Steven was very polite and just lovely with those kids-”

“Stevie? He isn’t a tour guide,” Donna interrupted, wrinkling her nose. “In his dreams, maybe.”

“But he does work here?”

“Yeah, he’s the gift shoppist.” She was still being very flippant; it was clear that she’d barely had interest in this conversation to begin with and now that it was about Steven, it had dwindled to none. 

“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile and nodded before heading off in the direction of the gift shop.

The counter was empty when you first walked into the room, sending a tiny shoot of disappointment into your chest. You wanted to thank him, since it didn’t appear that you could score him any points with his boss.

You wondered for a moment if you should come back later, but then a shaggy, brown mop of hair sprung up from behind the counter, triumphantly brandishing what appeared to be a large, amber-colored marble with a bone inside it, “Got ya, you little bugger.”

His gaze fell on you and he tucked the marble behind his back, like it was something to hide, “You- you came back.”

You reached into your bag, pulling out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday, “I was only passing through yesterday.” You unfolded the brochure and showed him the notes you’d taken on the map, detailing where you wanted to go first and which exhibits had caught your eye, “I like to plan a little bit.”

He followed the line you traced with your finger intently, raising his gaze to your face when you pulled away, “That’s a good way to go about it. The tour is pretty good too.” Steven’s heart skipped as your lips pulled into a slight frown; had he said something wrong? 

“Speaking of the tour, I tried to put in a good word for you with your boss- as thanks, for yesterday- she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”

“Oh, yes. Donna and I have got a bit of a rocky history.” He added quickly, “Not a history, mind you. More like a boss/employee history. I’ve got a bit of a bad track record with my punctuality, actually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, I think you’d make a lovely tour guide, for what it’s worth.”  

There was another one of those long pauses; you were about to offer a meek “Thanks again,” and cut your losses when he spoke up, “If you like, I’m on a break in ten minutes. I could show you around.”

You’d insisted to yourself that this wasn’t why you came back here, but you found yourself nodding, a faint smile on your lips, “I’d like that.”

Steven seemed even more surprised than you were, nodding quickly, “Great- that’s- great.” He nodded again, “I can meet you in the ‘King’s Tomb’ exhibit.” He pointed, “Right over there-” He checked his watch, “-in nine minutes.”

Your smile widened, “See you in nine minutes then.” You moved off in the direction he’d indicated, the temptation to look back gnawing at you. 

“Wait!” he called after you. You turned back, “I haven’t got your name.”

“You haven’t needed it, have you?” 

Now you were teasing and you knew it. But you could feel his eyes on you as you disappeared around the corner and you smiled to yourself. So much for doing your own thing. The whole reason for coming to London was to get away from men- although you supposed it was more one man than men in general. But something about Steven just caught your eye.

So you waited out the impossibly long eight minutes remaining until Steven walked in, looking in a bit of a rush. You watched him scan the exhibit, almost like he’d expected you to have left by now.

You raised a hand, “Steven.” He positively lit up at the sight of you, relief visible in the heavy exhale he released- like he'd been holding his breath. 

You met him in the center of the room, clasping your hands behind your back in anticipation. Steven still had the remnants of a grin on his face, though he mirrored your posture, a bit of enthusiasm escaping as he bounced on the balls of his feet, just once, “What do you want to see?”

“You’re my tour guide, you tell me,” you teased. 

Almost instantly, his face flushed, “Well, I wasn’t sure if there were specific displays you wanted to look at or certain subjects you were interested in, you know? Since I've only got fifteen minutes on my break.” 

“Well, I’m interested in everything, but since we only have fifteen minutes; how about you show me the way you’d start your tour if you were a guide?” His cheeks darkened further and you had to bite the inside of your cheek not to smile again. But he surprised you, recovering quickly and placing his hand on your arm. He steered you over to one of the displays and you glanced at him, “The Ennead?”

The Ennead,” he corrected your pronunciation. “The Egyptian Gods.” He wheeled around so his back was to the exhibit, his gaze meeting yours with ease. “Everything about Egypt comes back to the gods one way or another, so to understand Egypt, you have to understand them.”

He walked you through the exhibit, one god or goddess at a time, his hands moving animatedly as he talked. And he was good at it, in a different way than you’d expect. He had such a wealth of knowledge- you felt comfortable asking questions because you expected him to have the answers. And he answered many of your questions before you could even ask them; his explanations were pretty comprehensive. 

It was all strangely charming, actually. His enthusiasm was so genuine, it was as though he invited you inside it with him. It was a nice place to be- like sharing a secret. It was also putting you in dangerous territory; a magnetic field that would be hard to pull yourself from.

Once you were about halfway through the eleven, you tentatively raised your hand. Steven faltered slightly, giving you the chance to speak up, “Two things- I just want to check the time, I’d hate for you to be-”

“Late-” he checked his watch faster than you could pull out your phone.

You grabbed his hand, pulling him back toward the gift shop, “Well, come on then, I don’t want you getting into trouble!”

Steven’s long strides quickly outpaced you; you had to hurry to keep up, a laugh at the ridiculousness of it slipping out. Steven glanced back- nearly shouldering a display case. Right before impact, his back straightened a bit, like he sensed it coming, and he just twisted out of the way. It was so smooth you wouldn’t have noticed the deft movement if you hadn’t been anticipating the collision.

By the time you skidded to a halt in front of the gift shop counter, you were full-on giggling; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed so hard over almost nothing. “Sorry about that,” Steven offered meekly.

You took a breath and collected yourself a bit, though you still felt the warmth of the laughter in your cheeks, “Don’t be- it was fun.”

“What was the other thing?” he asked, shuffling back behind the counter.

“Hm?”

“You said there were two things, the time and what else?”

“Oh! Well that exhibit was called the ‘King’s Tomb,’ right? Why are the gods in that one?”

He leaned on the counter, some of his timid demeanor vanishing, “Well, the pharaohs were considered to be gods by their people. So they put them in a room together. And since the mummies are what brings in the crowds, they get the-” he clicked his tongue, framing a little marquee with his fingers, “-title spot.”

“I suppose you know quite a lot about those too?”

He gave a chagrined smile, “Did I go on a bit much then?”

You shook your head, “Not at all- I wasn’t teasing. I wish we’d had time to do the whole exhibit.”

“I’d wager with me giving it, that tour would take all week,” he joked, feeling like he’d done too much talking during your time together.

You shrugged, “I’m on vacation.” Smiling, you added, “Or holiday, you’d probably call it.”

He smiled weakly at the joke, seeming to be working out what you’d meant. He scanned your face, as though nervous he was misreading you, but you just smiled at him. “I’m scheduled again on Thursday, I could- if you like, I mean- I could show you some more. Of the exhibit. Obviously. If you want.” 

You were here for freedom. You’d come all the way to another country so you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, no strings attached. But, you reasoned, this wasn’t dating. This was an exclusive tour, on Steven’s break. It wasn’t like he was taking you out to dinner.

You were bargaining; whittling away your rules to nothing because they no longer suited your purposes. You knew that. And you also knew that you only did so because Steven was, very clearly, a large string. A large string with lovely, brown, puppy eyes and enough passion for Egypt to make a pharaoh blush. But you nodded anyway, “I’d love to come back. Same time?”

He seemed stunned by your acceptance, but he nodded rapidly to overcompensate for the moment of hesitation, “Yeah. My break is at three.”

You smirked, “How many minutes from now?”

He stared at you for a moment- you almost wondered if he was trying to do the math, but then he flushed and gave a weak chuckle, “Right, I’ll work on that one.”

You pulled out the brochure you’d picked up yesterday and a pen from your bag, “Since I won’t be needing this anymore-” You scribbled down your name and number and slid the brochure across the table, “Text me when you figure it out.” No strings, you reminded yourself.

He gave another hurried nod, “Okay, I will, I-” 

You got a sense of deja vu as Steven glanced over your shoulder and paled in nearly the exact same way he had yesterday. “Is it Donna?” You quickly scanned the counter, grabbing a stuffed hippopotamus, “Because I’d like to purchase this.” You deliberately moved it across the counter where Donna would be able to see and pulled out your wallet.

Now Steven looked back to you, “You don’t have to do that. Most of this stuff if junk-”

“I want to. This one is kind of cute.” You held out the money, “And you’ll tell me all about it next time?”

He nodded, a small smile returning to his face, “Yeah, I will.” He handed back your change and the plush, speaking up so Donna could hear, “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”

You smiled, “Same to you.”

You left the other way so Donna wouldn’t see your face, hoping she wasn’t descending on Steven for being late from his break. You held the little hippo plushie to your chest and thought ahead to Thursday.