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#sympathetic dark sides
michelangelo-error · 9 months
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Patton Sanders Sides' Head-canons
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Patton loves whenever the other sides play with his hair! When Virgil is ever feeling a little antsy he would let him make small messy braids🥰
Add on to the first- After he would leave the braids in, wanting to cherish the master piece a bit longer
When patton puts an object down he tends to give it a gentle pat
One of Patton's love languages is touch, one day the other sides started noticing the small touches he does. Poke on a cheek, shoulder nudges, and fixing a wild hair strand
Whenever, Roman or Remus needed to practice their makeup skills they knew they could rely on Patton to be such a good sport. Even if it ended with some horrific creations especially from Remus😭 (But anything for those Kiddos)
During Janus' more stressed filled nights, Patton would drag him to the living (Luring him in with his favorite wine, making Hot chocolate for himself) then throwing on a Disney film.
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frickerdoodledoo · 1 year
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Soooo... guess who got really nostolgic while having a cold and binge-watched all of Sanders Sides again after almost a year?
For the last few days I have been sucked down a rabbit-hole of Fandercontent, and let me just say... while this fandom is so creative, there are just a few things I wish people utilized more in fics, you know?
(Disclaimer, I live on angst and the Dark Sides are my three favourite characters, so most of these are about both of those subjects. Also not a huge fan of non-mindscape au's, so these are all about canon-adjacent fanfiction. My only AU is Sympathetic Dark Sides where they all coexist. Yes, even Remus.)
First and foremost, and this is what inspired this post until I found more things after, why do I see so few fics that include Virgil's Dark Side Voice™? It happens whenever he get's too stressed in canon, and from how he reacts whenever it happens, it seems to be a bit of an insecurity for him. Why aren't angst authors jumping on that?
Guys. We... we all saw the end-card of Flirt or Flight, right? How come so few do anything regarding Virgil's colour-changing eyeshadow? It's adorable, it's gorgeous, talk about it, please!
When Janus takes off the gloves in order to show himself to be truthful about his name... why??? He did that for a reason. If it was just about the typical "Cross my heart" pose, there was nothing stopping him from leaving on the gloves unless their was a reason to take them off! Theorize, go nuts! (I personally believe that his scales fluctuate in their coverage of his skin, and his hands being completely human shows that he's being honest. He wears gloves to make his lies less obvious.)
And on the subject of Janus' lies, has anybody else realized that for the embodiment of Thomas' Deceitfulness... he's actually kind of a terrible liar? While disguised as other sides, he always drops some pretty obvious hints that he's not the real Patton or Logan. And whenever he does his whole "speaking in lies" thing, he has this tone about him that makes it clear to... almost everyone, (Cough cough except Roman apparently), that he's lying, or atleast just being sarcastic?
In the Five Year Anniversary special, Virgil, Remus, and Janus refer to themselves as the Cousin, Uncle, and Aunt respectively. And I know that there actually is a fair amount of content about the Dark Sides being a seperate but related family, but I just feel like not many people talk about the low-key confirmation of that as a reality, ya know?
More.👏 Protective.👏 Dark Sides.👏 They've known eachother for so long, no matter how close the whole family is, Virgil, Remus and Janus would naturally know eachother better than any of the others.
If we are to assume that Janus even just unstably co-exists with the Light Sides, (like pre-redemption Virgil), post-Redux, but Remus doesn't... Well, that's the third person that Remus actually has a connection to that just... left him. First Roman, then Virgil, now Janus. (I personally believe that the Orange side will just be an Unsympathetic Dick, so he doesn't count, but that's just me.)
I am a "Former Paranoia Virgil" Truther, as are many others in the fandom. However, something I wish I saw more of is others not catching themselves when calling Virgil paranoid. Even better, the Dark Sides not realising how much thinking of that part of his past affects him, thinking nothing of it and then feeling really guilty.
And that's all the canon-supported stuff, but just... one last thing. Consider the following:
The Orange Side is a relatively new "Relevant" or "Consious" Side, his existance only needed when suddenly there were only two Dark Sides and still three Light Sides
Janus is Patton's foil because he represents an "immoral" side to Thomas, and Remus is Roman's foil as a flip-side to one, single concept. Virgil used to be Logan's foil before his redemption, because senseless overthinking and paranoia defies logic.
This need for a foil doesn't apply to Virgil, because he is no longer a Dark Side, but he isn't really a Light Side either. A Grey Side, if you will.
Virgil encompasses both the good and bad aspects of Anxiety, and is even capable of representing more of an excitement or sense of anticipation, hence the purple eyeshadow seen in Fight or Flirt. He is his own foil in the same way that Roman and Remus are eachother's. They're the good and bad of creativity, Virgil is the good and bad of anxiety.
I am most likely not the first person to come up with this, but this is just my specific take.
Anyway, I am probably going to go write atleast half of these prompts myself, so if any of these concepts interest you... maybe stick around?
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quietrainfan · 2 years
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Artificial Heart!Patton being solo is all well and good. Just a creepy little guy with a fake heart of unknown origins. We love Patton being the only villain in this Unsympathetic Patton house.
Buuuut....Logan being the one who made him the artificial heart when they were younger has a lot of potential. I think it's no secret that Logan is the family's little scientist. So when he first met Patton, he wasn't....comfortable to say the least. He had to have something to control whatever this thing was. And if creating something for him happened to help Patton with whatever chaotic plans he has, then so be it.
So long as he's easier to handle. Logan enjoys experimenting anyway so the invention of the artificial heart was challenging and very, very rewarding. Cold Scientist Logan who couldn't care less about Patton's existence and literally creating something that'll make him less of nuisance- even slightly- just cause with a Chaotic Evil Jolly Patton who has fake emotions that pops into Logan's lab to give him "affection" and ask for favors occasionally. It's glorious.
So imagine the aftermath of Patton obtaining the Orange Side's nectar and rushing into Logan's lab.
"Logan!~ I have a brilliant new idea!", He tackles him from behind mid-experiment, nearly knocking a very delicate chemical out of his hand, "But I need to borrow your big meaty brain real quick to pull it off!"
Logan is not pleased by his presence but remains apathetic nonetheless. He simply asks what he needs so he can go back to work.
Patton giggles mischievously, "Oh, you'll love it! Trust me!"
He pulls out the container holding the Orange Side's nectar.
"See this?~ It's a little something I picked up in that...forbidden palace.", He cooed with a grimace, "This sweet tasting stuff is apparently our little guy's repressed vices. Turns out it's real dangerous to consume or use if you don't do it correctly, hmm? ....Got a clue what I'm hinting at?~"
"....You tasted it?"
Patton pouted, "Don't make that scary face. My curiosity has good intentions."
"Yeah, sure it does. Get to the point."
"Kay, kay! Mr. Impatience!~", Patton slung his arm around Logan's shoulder, "I was wondering...is it possible for you to replicate that cute little trinket you gifted me all those years ago? I think having some I can implant in the others might give me a bit more of an edge....and ofcourse, you a bit more entertainment.~"
"So, let me get this straight...you want to fill replicas of your heart- which I'm not even certain I can create- with that liquid you stole from the Dark Sides so you can use it to control discourse between the others? And you want me to somehow insert these replicas in them without them knowing?"
Patton nodded, "Uh-huh.~"
....................
"Alright.", Logan took the container out of Patton's hand, "It sounds challenging. Absurdly so."
"Yay! You're the best, Lo!"
"Those 'hearts' you requested may have to be smaller than average.", Logan pondered, disregarding his praise, already starting the blueprints, "Considering your....imaginative requirements for this to work, I don't think implanting these will be a small order. I'll have to adjust some things. While also starting from scratch. .....So thanks for that."
"Oh, stop pretending you don't love this!", Patton pranced out of his lab, "I'll leave you to it!"
Yeah....so many scenarios can come of this. The possibilities are endless.
@pattonapologist
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thunderwhenhepurrs · 4 months
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(cw: past bigotry/racism in a fictional context)
I’m mildly obsessed with House of Ashes and Jalim like, years too late, but a fun painful tidbit playing around in my head:
[Jason confronting Nick later about not being willing to save Salim.]
Jason: [furious] Sure, I expected Eric and Rachel to be fuckheads about it, but you? Where did that whole “these are just people” thing go? You were the first one chill with the guy!
Nick: [quietly] I didn’t think he could be saved. I thought you were gonna get yourself killed.
Jason: So you went straight to he’s not one of us? After he saved both our asses? That ain’t like you, Nick!
Nick: … I said it because it was the argument that would have worked on the Jason of two days ago.
Jason: [jaw shuts with a snap]
Nick: “These people are feral” Jason would have agreed. He’d have turned around and walked away. Nicest possible thing he would have done would have been to take aim and shoot Salim before the monsters could get him. And that’s a maybe.
Jason: [pulls his cap low, deeply ashamed, because he knows Nick is right]
Nick: For what it’s worth… [squeezes Jason’s shoulder] I’m glad I was wrong on both counts.
Jason: [roughly] I’m such a piece of shit, Nicky.
Nick: Maybe you were, man. But that was two days ago. Now? It’s a new day.
Jason: [deep breath] Yeah. Yeah. [squints up at the sun] It’s a new day.
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hyperfixated-homo · 1 year
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its thinking about reverse!sides hours
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Victor: You say I’m moving too fast.
Nines: You are.
Victor: I’m trying to change the world.
Nines: I respect that.
Victor:
Nines: Like, you’ve even got Abrams all fired up.
Victor:
Nines: Yeah, and now that I think about it, Abrams, you’re moving mighty slow these days...
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trashcandroid · 1 year
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ok i finished breaking bad
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beeapocalypse · 2 years
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the end of chapter 2 WAS very cool and interesting. yelped when the ancestor said he received A Letter (THE LETTER?). i am going to be writhing every single day until the new chapter gets added and the story progressed
#i was a little eh :/ on his characterization initially but it does kind of feel like this is some Other aspect of the man. hes dead now--#--but the heart of darkness DID use him as a weird avatar thing so even beyond the strange of him maybe communicating after death who the--#--hell knows what that means. like a different asepct of the same man spoke to the heir who was dealing with atrocities which were--#--DIRECTLY the ancestors fault as opposed to the prodigy who has a canonical past with the man and is dealing w--#--what is essentially a natural disaster mass extinction event type thing. hes a more sympathetic figure#<-- is scholar the right title instead for the '''player character''' (VERY loose usage of that term) of dd2? idk#the scholar is slowly growing on me as well. weird cowardly academic who accidentally scoops up perhaps the most--#--qualified mercenaries to deal w the end of the world and would maybe get pummeled into a pulp if he mentioned the ancestor in a--#--casual light#like hes telling them abt the iron crown or whatever and says smth like 'oh my mentor [ancestor last name] and i' and immediately--#--every single mercenary side eyes each other HARD like um. did you hear what he just said. especially funny if the runaway is there too--#--and has no idea what is going on and why all of the other guys have twelve layers of history w each other#<-- i DO want to write smth playing w that concept. like maybe when the stagecoach travels thru the sluice or they encounter the--#--antiquarian or whatever just smth with the idea of her being an outsider and seeing+hearing all these things she has no context for#i really do want to like her but she does not have the stellar characterization and dialogue writing of the first game to prop--#--up the so far weak stuff of the second so it is SO hard to find anything of interest 😔
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eiightysixbaby · 6 months
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horror movies & chill
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word count: 2.6k
pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader
summary: eddie tries to scare you and gets more than he bargained for.
cw: SMUT - 18+ MINORS DNI. this is literally porn with a smidge of plot, sorry not sorry. mask kink, choking, degradation kink on the low (eddie calls reader slut/whore), fingering, unprotected piv, creampie
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The TV screen lights up the dark living room, flashes of different colors streaking across the space. You sit on the couch, blanket draped over your lap as your knee bounces absentmindedly. Your boyfriend had wandered off to get something, and now you sit alone in suspense as the girl on screen figures out there’s a killer in her house. The movie goes eerily quiet, the lone heroine peering around her silent home. You know what’s coming next. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that when it gets too quiet, a jump scare is right around the corner.
And yet.
You scream in unison with the girl on television, two hands gripping your shoulders from behind just as the fictional killer grabs his target. You spring up off of the couch, the blanket falling to the floor in a heap. You spin around, frantic, your body gone cold for a moment. Wicked laughter erupts in front of you as you get your bearings, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
“God dammit, Eddie!” you shout, hand over your heart as you attempt to steady your breathing. “You absolute asshole!”
Eddie’s doubled over behind the couch, a cheap Halloween store Ghostface mask covering his head. He’s still laughing, trying to get words out and failing.
“Baby…” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even though he’s trying to be serious. What a dick. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d get you that good,” he says, walking towards you.
“You’re such a jerk sometimes,” you reply, but nevertheless you let him grab your arms, rubbing soothing patterns on the skin.
“I know. I am, baby, you’re right. That was mean,” he agrees, nodding his head beneath the black and white mask. You know he'd be giving you puppy-dog eyes if you could see him.
You can’t help but laugh, the initial panic leaving your body. You must’ve looked petrified, and you’re a little mad he scared you so badly.
“You’ll have to make it up to me,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest.
Eddie’s head cocks to one side, sympathetic, playing it up for you. “Of course, sweetheart. And how do I do that?” he asks, stepping slightly closer to you.
He wants a genuine answer, but you find your breath hitching in your throat. Maybe it’s the way his fingers rub circles into your lower back. Maybe it’s the heat radiating from his body onto yours. Maybe it’s the sound of his labored breathing beneath that sweaty mask that's getting to you. You press your thighs together, suddenly feeling too hot for such a cold October day.
And Eddie can see, through the mesh eye cutouts, the way you bite your lip just slightly. He can see the way your lips part but no words come out, the way you tilt your hips closer to his. And he definitely feels the way your fingers hook into the belt-loops on his jeans, drawing him in.
“Oh my god. Are you into this right now?” he asks, voice dripping with his smug attitude. He’s grinning like the damn Cheshire Cat, if only you could see it.
You don’t answer right away, shifting on your feet. You look down, not sure if you have the gumption to tell your boyfriend the god damn Ghostface mask is turning you on right now. You were scared shitless mere minutes ago. But the way your heart pounds now is completely different to the way it had before.
“Shut up….” you mumble, your face growing incredibly warm.
“You are so fucking into this right now,” he says, laughing as he gets the last word out.
“Okay, if you’re gonna make fun-” you start, drawing your body away. Eddie doesn’t let you finish.
“Waitwaitwait,” he interrupts, pulling you back to him. “I just didn’t expect it, is all,” he reassures, his voice sounding muffled beneath the rubbery material.
You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, eagerly anticipating his next move. You can't quite bring yourself to act first.
He brings your body flush against his, two fingers gliding up one of your arms, sending chills down your spine. He leans his face close to your ear, his breathing audible. “I won’t judge if you like the mask, baby,” he purrs, his voice deeper now.
His other hand wraps around your waist, palm pressing into your lower back, pushing your crotch against his. You gasp, goosebumps perking up along your arms. Screams erupt from the movie, the final girl running free from her potential killer. It’s comedic, really, how you’re stood here ready to jump the killer’s bones.
Eddie’s hips roll, just slightly, but enough for you to feel the tent in his pants. You let out a shaky breath, your body seeking him out, wanting him to give you more of that friction.
“What is it, babe?” he taunts. “You want me?”
“Eddie…” is all you get out, a breathy little thing, your hands pressed to his chest.
And then he’s pressing you against the wall, hiking one of your legs around his waist, his crotch pressing against your needy core. One big hand comes to wrap around your throat, cold rings soothing the flames that lap at your skin. He squeezes, making you delightfully hazy, pinning you hard against the wall with his body.
“This what you want, baby? Want me to fucking ruin you?” he asks, voice akin to a growl, squeezing your throat yet again.
“P-please,” you mewl, desperate for more. You know you’re soaking through your panties, practically aching for him.
Something about not being able to see him drives you crazy. Relying on just his voice, trying to gauge his tone. You’re writhing beneath him, grinding yourself against him. He’s so hard it has to be painful, you can feel it even through the layer of denim covering his bottom half.
“Oh, she’s so desperate, huh? Pussy needs me, baby? God damn…” he rasps, and you throb for him.
His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh where he holds it, giving it a sharp squeeze. His other hand removes itself from your neck, tugging down the zipper on his jeans. You undo the button for him, just as eager to get his pants down as he is. His cock stands at attention beneath the fabric of his boxers, begging to be touched. He ignores it for the meantime, though, releasing his hold on your leg and letting you drop it. He makes quick work of sliding your leggings and panties down, fingers collecting the honey that drips from you.
Groaning, he brings his fingers to your mouth, prompting you to suck them. You oblige, mouth opening and enveloping his digits. Your tongue swipes over them, tasting yourself and coating them with saliva. And then they’re pulled from your lips, teasing your clit before slipping into your cunt. Your leg wraps around his waist once more, allowing for a better angle. He scissors those two fingers inside of you, his breathing heavy, sounding almost amplified from beneath the mask. Your hips buck forward, forcing his fingers deeper. One hand grips your side, pinning you back against the wall.
“Don’t be fuckin’ greedy, slut,” Eddie barks, words sending sparks right through you.
His fingers curl in a ‘come here’ motion, your body feeling boneless as you try to keep yourself upright. He laughs, a devious thing, clearly satisfied with how pliant you are for him. You can tell how wet you are from the slick sounds coming from every glide of his fingers, your body so desperately craving more of him. He adds a third finger, prying you open even farther with complete ease, grunting as he feels the way you tense around him.
“Eddie,” you gasp, “f-feels so good.”
“I know it does, baby, I know,” he coos, smirking to himself at the way your body writhes beyond your control. “Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy, hm?”
“Yeah, oh god,” you cry, head tipping back as you moan to the ceiling, his fingers pressing so deep inside of you.
He moans despite himself, your cunt completely drenching his fingers. His cock twitches in his boxers, leaks and pleads for you. You’re a little blurry through the eyes of Ghostface, but he can still make out the way your face contorts in pleasure. He loves making you feel like this, loves having you in the palm of his hand.
“My filthy girl, so fuckin’ wet for me all because I put this mask on, is that it? Really gets you going, huh baby?”
He wanted you to like the mask, if he’s honest, and the fact that it’s working on you is driving him up a fucking wall. He needs to be inside of you, needs to fuck you hard and pump you full of his cum before he loses it.
Three fingers slide out of you, squelching slightly as you suddenly clench around nothing. He yanks his boxers down, merely a hindrance to him, his thick cock springing free. You whimper at the sight of it, chewing on your lip as you watch him wrap his hand around the shaft. He pumps himself a few times, lets his pre-cum drip over his fingers, and it makes you ache. You feel like your body is on fire, you need him so bad, white-hot flames licking up your thighs.
A few more pumps and then he’s releasing himself, hoisting you up so both of your legs tangle around him. He grips the meat of your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh the best he can. He lines his cock up just right, your cunt glistening with your arousal. And you want to kiss him so bad, you want to feel your tongue against his and you want him to bite you, to suck bruises into your neck. The fact that you can’t almost makes you crazier, spurring you on more. You can only imagine what his face looks like as he sheathes himself inside of you, can only imagine those perfect parted lips as he sighs blissfully.
His cock pushes through your slick folds until you can feel his balls pressed against you, his thick length fully seated inside of you. It’s such an enticing stretch to fit him, your whole body vibrating with desire. He rocks himself in and out, in and out, letting you get used to his size. Your cunt has already soaked him in your cream, you can see it pooling where his body meets yours.
“Fuuuuuuck baby,” Eddie groans, panting beneath the warmth of the mask. “Such a needy whore for me, god damn. So fucking wet.”
You whine, canting your hips upwards ever so slightly, the tip of Eddie’s cock pressing so deep inside.
“She’s fuckin’ soaking me, angel. This pussy loves me, doesn’t she?” he says, thrusting into you harder now. He sets a quicker pace, holding your weight against the wall with complete ease.
“Eddie, Eddie,” you moan, waves of euphoria rippling through every inch of your body. He’s so deep and so big and so good.
Your nails dig into the skin of his back, clawing at him through his t-shirt as he fucks you like it’s his last opportunity. You can hear grunts and strained whines falling from his lips, breath coming out in spurts from exertion.
“Babe, fuck, can I take this thing off? Need my mouth on you baby,” he pants, hips snapping against yours and making you cry out.
“Yes, yes - fuck Eddie!” you moan, nearly screaming his name.
The mask is whipped off in one swift motion, Eddie’s unruly curls sticking out. His eyes are wild, pupils blown with sheer need, those perfect lips of his so pink and plump. His mouth is on you in an instant, kissing your lips, your jaw, his teeth biting at your neck. He sucks on the delicate skin, unforgiving as you hiss at the sensation. His warm tongue laves over the irritated area, soothing you and sending a shiver down your spine. You roll your hips, needing more from him, needing him in impossible ways.
“Fucking Christ, you’re so desperate for me,” he gets out through heavy breaths, his cock impaling you over and over. His cocky demeanor doesn’t waver, hands squeezing your ass, smirking when you whine at him.
Filthy noises fill the living room, wet smacks as your dripping pussy sucks Eddie back in for more more more. He glances down to where your bodies join, his dick shiny with your juices. Eyelashes flutter as he looks back up at you, pulling your face to his to kiss you harder. His greedy tongue roams your mouth, his lips demanding in the way they move with yours.
Eddie can tell you’re getting close by the way your eyes roll back into your skull, the way your pussy keeps squeezing him so tight. Your brows knit together as you focus on how good he feels, eyes pinching shut.
“Nuh-uh. Look at me, sweet girl,” Eddie instructs, fucking you faster. “Look at me when I’m making you feel so good.”
Your eyes open, big and glassy as they plead with him. You’re so ready to snap, your body overwhelmed with pleasure as Eddie abuses your cunt. Your fingers tangle in his hair - something you’d missed while he’d had the mask on - and tug, drawing a throaty groan from him. His balls are slapping against the skin of your ass with each rough thrust, fingers digging so hard into flesh you’re sure you’ll be sore tomorrow.
Those big brown eyes of his are incredibly dark, his lips parted as he watches you slowly unravel right before his eyes. You feel yourself about to tip over the edge, about to let go, and he can see it on your face.
“Gonna cum for me, dirty girl? Little slut’s gonna cum all over my fucking cock?” he taunts you, every single word sending bolts of electricity right to your core.
“Gonna cum so fucking hard, Eddie, oh my god,” you say breathlessly, eyes fluttering to a close as you reach your peak.
You’re delirious as you cum, your walls squeezing Eddie so fucking tight. Strings of curse words are falling from his lips as he chases his own release, drawing it closer and closer as you completely soak him. Movements get sloppy, not aided by the slippery mess you’ve created, and Eddie’s breaths grow staggered.
His cock pounds into you one, two, three more times before his hips stutter, hot ropes of cum filling you. You can just barely feel the way he twitches inside of you, every last drop of his release pouring out. Both of you settle finally, catching your breath as you come down from your highs. Eddie sets you down, your feet hitting the ground once more. Your legs feel like rubber, like you might crumple to the floor if it weren’t for the fact that he’s holding your waist and pulling you in to him.
You look down at the floor, the crumpled mask staring up at you, mouth gaping in a perpetual scream. You’re dizzy with realization of what's just happened.
“You’re fucking unreal,” he says finally, tilting your chin up so your eyes will meet his. “Where did that come from?”
“I don’t know…” you admit, cheeks growing hot. “Something about that damn mask,” you smirk at him, getting a waggle of his eyebrows in response.
“I can go to the store right now and get more… who do you want next? Michael Myers? Jason?” Eddie jokes, smiling when you scoff at him.
“Just make sure to keep the Ghostface one around, okay?” your shy request has him grinning, his tongue running over his teeth.
“Oh, you’ll be seeing more of him for sure.”
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ziracona · 1 year
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The Darkness really is the best song in the show.
#not musically. like as far as sheer Song goes it’s probably It Was A Shit Show or something but for like. emotion and rarity? I’ve never#ever seen someone confront that really ugly side to mental illness and it’s done so well. like yeah. it can become your identity to be ill#and you can fear losing it and it becomes a parasitic relationship that’s killing you and that’s not good and it’s hard to talk about —#almost impossible. because like. you /know/ how bad ‘what if without this I’m not interesting anymore and people have no reason to worry so#they have no reason to care about me’ is as a statement like that’s fucked up to think and feel. but it’s also not malicious or really you#it’s a part of being sick and people who haven’t been don’t understand it which makes it scary to try to confront and best because it makes#you sound so horrible—it makes you sound horrible to /yourself/ and that makes it hard even for you to confront it alone because you have to#admit it to kill it. I got so sick when I was dying of an ED and my brain got so fucked I began to believe with intense primal terror that#it had become so much of my identity nobody would care about me without it. which makes no sense but to a dying addicted head it did. and#I’ve never seen someone confront and discuss that ugliness so openly or so sympathetically at the same time. the line ‘for so many years ive#used the Darkness to feel. But now there are things in my life that are actually real. I’ve got to make a choice darling don’t ask me why.#But will I have the strength? to tell the darkness…goodbye…’ I cry.#it applies to a lot under that. to trauma associated with social neurodivergence where you learn to fear feeling happy as a kid because you#get loud or too much or things you don’t understand enough to not do them so the only way to be safe from repercussions is to not /be/ happy#in the first place. it applies to having clinical depression you’ve survived alone since childhood and your way of making it through life is#so intrinsically tied to coping with depression you have no idea what you’d be without it. it’s learned self-hatred of a cluster B needing#to hate themself to keep back the world flooding them when they feel at risk by doing it first#and it’s not pretty and it’s not easy but it is so fucking important people admit this is such a fucking common thing with serious mental#illness. how are we to get through self hatred and hopelessness and despair if we can’t even see the things we think are too bad to face are#as common a symptom as cutting? and just as curable and forgivable and not representative of who we are#god I love that song#crazy ex-girlfriend
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animentality · 3 months
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I see a lot of BG3 fans saying that they need to add a married with children ending for all the companions or add a Zevlor/ Dammon/Roland whoever romance option, but with all due respect... you're all wrong.
You don't need a fucking domestic life scene with all the companions, you don't need those random npcs to fuck you (that's what mods are for).
What they need to fucking do is finish the upper city.
Give Karlach actual fucking quests and the option to fix her heart.
Give Wyll fucking quests in the upper city and more romance scenes because his number of fucking unique scenes is ridiculously lower than Gale or Astarion's and gee I wonder why.
Please for the love of God, fill cazador's palace because that space is way too fucking big for how little is in it. It's actually kind of embarrassing how empty the palace is.
Fill the temple of Bhaal which has the same fucking problem.
Also while we're fucking at it?
When you're doing all that shit, why don't you attempt to give Orin and Gortash any of the same weight and respect you gave Ketheric???
The entirety of act 2 set him up as a major villain and made him intimidating and then sympathetic and then back to intimidating, and then back to tragic.
He had a whole descent into villainy story arc, with entire quests dedicated to understanding what happened to him.
He's a rich character because of it.
Gortash and Orin??? I mean come the fuck on.
Gortash either dies or dies, and Orin is literally your SIBLING if you're the dark urge, but all you can really do is kill her after she says the same shit to you that she says to a Tav.
You can't talk to her or learn more about her or your past, aside from talking to her dead mom.
She and Gortash come across as mini bosses. They almost feel like optional fucking side quests with how not involved they are.
Also remove lady jannath's house entirely from the game, thanks.
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astroboots · 10 months
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Stitches and Claws
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Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.
Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.
Word Count: 3.3k
Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist
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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"
"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.
Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.
Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.
Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.
You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.
"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."
You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.
God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.
"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"
"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."
"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."
"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."
"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".
"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."
Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.
Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?
With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.
A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"
"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.
From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.
Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.
You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.
"Stop, stop!" he demands.
His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.
"Miguel, stop, I need to--"
"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.
"Let me do it myself."
Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.
He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.
You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.
You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.
Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.
"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"
He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.
"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.
"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"
No answer.
Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.
"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"
For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.
His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.
Oh. oh.
Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.
"See the problem?" he says.
You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.
You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.
Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.
"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."
It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.
Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.
When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.
Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.
The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.
All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.
Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.
Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.
To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.
It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.
"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.
You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.
Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.
It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.
Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.
"Are you touching yourself?"
Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.
You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.
"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.
"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"
He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.
He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.
"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."
Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.
"Won't that hurt you?"
His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"
This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.
"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.
He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.
But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.
The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.
You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.
"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.
Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.
As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.
You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.
"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.
He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.
But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.
You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.
It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.
Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.
Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.
You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.
Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.
In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.
You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.
"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."
The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.
Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.
You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.
Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.
It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.
"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.
"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."
He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.
Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--
Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.
It's chaos.
He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.
Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.
Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.
All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.
When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.
The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.
He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.
Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.
Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.
"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."
He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.
"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.
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Dedication & Credits:
For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.
Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.
I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!
5K notes · View notes
hier--soir · 9 months
Text
sleepy
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader summary: joel is out like a light, but you can only think of one thing that will help you fall asleep. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] established relationship, f!masturbation, masturbating next to sleeping partner, unprotected piv, cockwarming, mild dirty talk, soft joel. word count: 2.7k a/n: this one is for the folks with sleep problems lmao. hope you guys enjoy—any feedback is appreciated!
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Your bedroom was pitch-black, the curtains drawn to protect against any slivers of light shining in and disturbing either of you in the morning. Rain pattered softly against the roof, comforting you as you lay awake in the darkness.
Joel was dead asleep beside you.
His bare chest rose and fell with rhythmic deep breaths, soft lips parted to allow quiet snores to escape. After an hour or so your eyes had adjusted to the dark, and you were able to make out the fuzzy outline of his face and body, the way his forehead had smoothed out in his sleep, and how his hair pressed against his forehead from being shoved into the pillow.
It was something you’d never understood—the way most men could simply close their eyes and drift into sleep within minutes. Every man you’d ever dated, slept with, or even slept in the same room as; they were all the same. A few minutes of silence before their breathing evened out into soft snores, body relaxing into the mattress as they disappeared into dreamland. It wasn’t fair.
You’d struggled with sleep since you were a teenager. No matter how busy your days were, or how much physical labour you undertook, your mind whirred at night, endlessly awake until you’d exhausted all avenues of thought, and you’d wake the next morning with no recollection of ever falling asleep.
And when you’d first met Joel, you’d discovered it was much the same for him. Fierce nightmares plagued him at night, terrified him out of falling asleep until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, only to fitfully rouse him at multiple points throughout the evening. But as your relationship grew over the years, the pair of you settled. You got comfortable, and suddenly all it took was wrapping your arms around one another and you could both pass out with a snap of your fingers.
But on days like this—ones where you’d wiled the hours away reading and doing laundry and eating your meals alone and being terribly fucking bored—you felt old habits rear their ugly head, as you laid down for bed and found yourself wide awake. And yet you couldn’t be mad at him, didn’t even contemplate frustration or jealousy, because his day had been vastly different to yours.
When you’d woken up that morning to find his side of the bed empty, the cold sheets signalled that he’d risen far earlier than you. A note left on the kitchen counter told you that he’d been called out to fill a patrol spot for someone who was under the weather, and that he wouldn’t be home until late. It wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary for him to do favours like that for people, and so you’d gone about your day as usual, performing mundane tasks and chores, milling about with no real goals set for yourself.
And when he did get home, well after sunset, he looked worse for wear. Sodden clothes stuck to his skin as he kicked off waterlogged boots, mumbling under his breath about needing to trade for some thicker socks. It had been raining for hours. What started with soft spitting in the early afternoon had quickly turned into a thunderstorm, and Joel and Tommy had been caught in the thick of it all evening. Fat droplets of cold water oozed out of his hair and rolled down his face, slipping under the collar of his shirt to send shivers down his spine.
He looked positively miserable as he shed the soaked layers by the door, impervious to the sympathetic look you were offering from the couch. Only when he was down to his underwear and t-shirt did he spare a glance in your direction, gaze softening.
“Long day?” you asked softly.
“Long day,” he confirmed, not making a move to come any closer, lest he get any of the rainwater on you.
“Tell me about it,” you prompted, padding across the room to him.
“I’d rather hear about yours,” he retorted earnestly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.
And so you led him up the stairs and into the bathroom, detailing how you’d managed to get their washing done before the rain properly set in. And as he stepped under the warm spray of the shower, you told him about Ellie stopping by for a movie in the afternoon.
He hummed to signal that he was listening, but you could see how the day hung heavy on his shoulders. His head slumped forward under the stream, thick steam filling the air as he lazily rubbed a bar of soap along his skin with one hand and brushed his teeth with the other.
“Sounds like a nice day,” Joel smiled as he shut off the water, stepping out into a towel you had ready for him. You nodded, feeling somewhat guilty that he’d listened all about it, knowing his had been the complete opposite.
But he didn’t seem bothered, herding you towards the bedroom where he pulled you underneath the covers, pressing a few soft kisses to your cheeks before he relaxed back into his pillow. Cue: a few brief minutes of silence, breaths growing heavier, and then snoring. And god he deserved it. You watched him for a while, smiling softly at the sight of the man you loved so dearly, your life partner through thick and thin, getting the rest he so needed.
It was lovely… for the first thirty minutes. And then an hour passed. And then it got closer to two hours, and you could hear the leaky shower faucet dripping from down the hall, and the trees rustling against the side of the house, and you were so fucking awake.
The thought flashed through your mind, as it always did when you couldn’t sleep.
Maybe if you just….
Having an orgasm was the only thing you could think of that might tire you out enough to have you falling asleep in seconds. The way the muscles in your arm would get sore, and your entire body would go from tense to lax within minutes. It was enough to have warmth flood your bones and dopamine zap through your brain – and would definitely put you to sleep in a heartbeat. You felt guilty, though, as you contemplated it. Masturbating in front of Joel was common, and was something he often encouraged during sex, dragging your hand between your thighs and encouraging you to touch yourself while he got undressed. But doing it while he was asleep beside you was territory you’d never dipped your toe into before.
Is this perverse? Am I being creepy? What if he wakes up and is horrified?
Well, you told yourself. You just have to make sure that he doesn’t wake up.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the blankets too much, you slid your palm across your stomach until your fingers cupped your sex over your underwear. You stroked your fingers across the material, teasing yourself a little, trying to inspire some kind of horniness. And after a few minutes of gentle touching you could feel a warmth brewing in your stomach, a desire.
Carefully, you tugged your underwear down your legs before swiping your tongue across your middle and ring finger, lubricating them before you pressed them between your folds. You swiped at your entrance, collecting the small amount of slick that had formed there and spreading it across your core. A soft puff of air left your mouth as your fingertips connected with your clit for the first time, thighs tensing as you circled over it with fierce precision. This wasn’t about fun and games or prolonging the experience – this was about finishing as fast and as quietly as possible, and then going the fuck to sleep.
You took care not to move your arm too quickly, tensing your bicep to keep it still while your fingers circled and stroked and flicked against your clit, trying to find the perfect rhythm. A slow tightening began to build in your lower stomach as you discovered the right spot, the right speed, and you quickly pushed a finger inside yourself, collecting more of your slick before returning to your now aching bundle of nerves, the added lubrication making it easier to move.
A harsh exhale to your right made you pause for a moment, limbs stiffening as you waited to see if Joel had woken up. But a moment later his breathing steadied, and you relaxed, fingers continuing their quick movements.
Your forearm burned, muscles tensing with the struggle of keeping still but also providing enough friction to bring you to the edge. And as you felt your high approaching, you struggled to keep your breathing quiet, as heavy, laboured exhales forced themselves past your chapped lips. With your blood rushing in your ears and your middle finger drawing figure eights against your sensitive clit, you could feel it. You were so close, so fucking close, just five more secon—
“What are you doin’?”
The words were accompanied by a warm hand landing on top of your own, long fingers hovering over yours to see if he was correct; if you were touching yourself. A short gasp of surprise left you and your fingers froze, orgasm slinking away, disappearing from reach. Fuck.
“Shit, sorry,” you mumbled breathlessly, a little embarrassed to have been caught. “I can’t sleep and it’s been hours, and m’just trying to make myself sleepy, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.” Joel’s voice was rough and gravelly from sleep, and you bit back a whimper at the sound of it, fingers twitching against your pulsing centre. He moved on the bed, shifting closer so you could feel the warmth of his chest against your side. “Should’ve woken me up baby, would’ve helped tire you out.”
As he spoke, his hand tightened over yours, pushing your fingers to continue moving. Shyly, you began to circle your clit again, attempting to make out his expression through the darkness. For a moment, you swore you could see him grinning.
“You had a bad day,” you whispered raggedly. “Need the rest, I—fuck—didn’t mean to w-wake you.”
While you chattered away, a thick finger dipped into your folds, stroking against the pool of wetness that rested at your entrance. Your fingers sped up, the warmth of his body helping you chase the high you’d come so agonisingly close to. He exhaled heavily, forehead dropping against your shoulder.
“Christ,” he sounded pained. “You’re fucking—soaked. Were you thinkin’ ‘bout me?”
“Wasn’t thinking about anything,” you murmured honestly. “Just—ungh—just wanted to come, knew it’d help me fall asleep.”
“Poor baby,” he tutted, nosing at the side of your neck. “Need somethin’ to come on, hmm? Is that it?”
“Yes,” you mewled, hips shifting desperately upward into your hand now that you weren’t afraid of your movements waking him up. He dragged his hand away from you, using it to remove his underwear and then you could feel him against your hip, solid and hot and throbbing. He must have been listening for a moment, hearing you work yourself up. Your mouth went dry, stomach tensing at the feeling of him.
“Yes what, honey?”
“Need something to come on,” you repeated his words, grateful that he couldn’t see the sheer desperation on your face in the darkness.
A strong hand gripped your hip, gently pushing your body until you were laying on your left side and facing the wall. And then he was there, hot chest pressing against your back, lips dragging along the shell of your ear as he manoeuvred your legs into the best position for him to drag the aching tip of his cock through your drenched folds.
He exhaled heavily at the feeling, taking a moment to lube himself up with your slick before notching his head at your entrance. Your fingers were still against your clit, eyes closed as you waited for him to press in.
One arm slithered underneath your head, wrapping around your shoulders to hold you firmly against his chest and allow you to rest the side of your head on his bicep. His other hand held you still, fingertips pushing into your flesh as he flexed his hips, dragging his cock halfway into you. You gasped, pushing your ass back into him, mumbling some nonsense under your breath like ineedyou and pleasejoel and fuck.
He tried to control his breathing, but hot heavy puffs of air tickled the back of your neck as his pelvis came flush to the soft round of your ass, and then he was bottoming out, the full length of him slipping easily inside of you. A low moan dragged its way up your throat and you clutched deliriously at the arm around your torso, griding yourself back against him. But he didn’t budge an inch.
“Go on, baby,” Joel rasped against your ear. “Make yourself come.”
A soft cry of frustration left you, but your hand dropped between your thighs within a second. Your walls fluttered around him, squeezing his length as you began to rub your clit in soft, slow motions at first. He murmured quiet encouragements in your ear with that deep, coarse drawl that drove you crazy, his thumb rubbing against your waist as you rutted against him. He was heavy inside you, bringing a delicious burn to your cunt that you always loved, a beautiful medley of pleasure and pain that had you careening towards the orgasm that had dangled so painfully out of reach for however long.
Joel’s teeth nipped at the sensitive skin below your ear, no doubt leaving a mark as he licked and sucked over the sore spot he’d caused. You gasped at the sensation, tilting your chin up to give him better access to your neck. He squeezed your hip appreciatively, leaning closer to sponge messy kisses along your racing pulse point. Your fingers moved fast against yourself now, circling and rubbing messily, and unintentional moans were spilling from your lips as you felt the coil in your stomach start to draw tighter and tighter.
“Joel,” you choked, hips bucking relentlessly as you searched for more friction, but he still didn’t give you anything.
“C’mon,” he urged. “I know it feels so good, honey, keep goin’. You’re so close, I can—shit—I can feel it, c’mon now give it t’me.”
It didn’t take much more than that for you to start twitching, body convulsing against him as your orgasm tore through you. Your arm burned as you continued to rub your clit, fucking yourself through it as your walls clamped down around him.
He groaned softly in your ear, grip on your waist tightening just a fraction as he pressed forward, giving you a hint of a thrust to prolong your high. You cried out, mouth hanging open in elation as waves of pleasure rolled through you. It was euphoric, and exactly what you needed. Your hand stilled after a minute, and then you were simply rocking against him, riding out the aftershocks.
After a while, the ringing in your ears died down and pinpricks of feeling returned to your fingers as you released the death grip you had on his arm around you.
You slumped against him, the only tension remaining in your body being in your neck as you tried to keep your head up. Your eyelids had grown heavy, and you could feel your body relaxing into the post-orgasm haze that you’d been seeking so desperately.
“Good girl,” he murmured, lathing soft kisses against the edge of your jaw. “Feelin’ tired now?”
You hummed sleepily in response, walls fluttering around him. He let out a low groan but didn’t move.
“Sleep, darlin’,” he said quietly, arms tightening to keep your back flush to his chest.
You could feel how hard he still was, cock pulsing inside you every few moments. But his body was heavy, arms like lead draped over you, and his head had already dropped down to rest against the pillow again. He was exhausted.
“Can we stay like this?” you asked drowsily, shifting your hips to show what you meant.
Joel squeezed your hip in confirmation, and you murmured gratefully. His warmth shrouded your body, filling you up and enveloping you, keeping you safe as your muscles slackened entirely, chin dropping to your chest.
A soft, stilted thank you was the last thing you could muster before sleep clouded your brain and pulled you under. Finally.
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drabblesandimagines · 22 days
Text
Crash
Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship
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The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.
She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.
You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”
“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.
“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?
You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.
“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”
You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.
“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”
“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.
“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.
“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”
“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”
“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.
The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”
“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”
“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.
“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”
The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.
“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”
He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”
“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”
He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.
“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”
“Love you too.”
“See you soon.”
He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.
“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“
“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”
“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.
“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”
There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”
“I will. Thank you.”
 --
Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.
There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.
He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.
“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“
Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”
The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.
As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.
He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.
“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”
“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”
“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”
“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.
“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”
“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”
“Okay, yeah.”
He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”
“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”
“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”
The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”
Leon swallows, taking all the information in.
“How lucky do you think she was?”
“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”
Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-
“Sir?”
The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.
“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”
“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”
--
Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.
You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.
Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.
He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.
The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.
“Can we sit?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.
He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.
In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.
He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.
“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.
“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Is the car a complete write-off?”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”
“Love you too.”  
The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.
--
Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi
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fxrmuladaydreams · 4 months
Text
i’m sorry i love you (ln4 + op81)
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poly!landoscar x reader
summary: after being placed last in qualifying, oscar and his girlfriend comfort lando, but what happens when it’s revealed lando feels more deeply about the two of you than a friend should?
notes: !!CONTAINS SMUT MINORS DNI!! omg guys it’s my first ever poly!landoscar full length story
warnings: panic attack, threesome, p in v, oral (male receiving), sub!lando, dom!oscar, sub!reader
Lando practically throws his helmet into the arms of someone from his pit crew. He storms off, uncaring of any cameras that may be around to broadcast his tantrum.
He’d just finished qualifying, finished on pole position. He was going to start at the top of the grid, when the news had spread. The FIA had done checks on some of the cars, and his was against the rules. It was stupid, something that wasn’t in his control at all, yet he still had to find out in a public setting, just after he felt on top of the world.
Oscar’s car wasn’t pulled for the check, so he was still able to drive in his qualifying position tomorrow. He felt his frustration grow worse and worse the more he thought about it. This was just another chance for Oscar to show him up, to show everyone just how much better he was than Lando in his rookie year.
And yet, Lando couldn’t be mad at Oscar. He wanted nothing more than to hate the Aussie just a little, to feel some type of anger for him, but he couldn’t. Oscar was a good guy, he was nice, he was funny, he was great to be around when he finally opened up.
He was fine with this sudden fondness growing inside him for his teammate, he felt the same way about Carlos when they were teammates. Then he met you.
You were the adoring girlfriend to Oscar Piastri. Perfectly sweet, and equally beautiful. You had been nothing but nice to Lando. And there was his problem.
You and Oscar were perfect for each other. You brought him out of his shell, gave him more confidence. And he made sure to always keep a smile of your face. That was why he refused to do anything about the feelings that slowly grew in his chest for the both of you.
Lando knew that tomorrow would be hell for him. That he’d have to see Oscar do well, likely earning another podium finish, then see him scoop you up in his arms and show the whole world how much he loved you. All while Lando would have to attempt to climb back to the top of the grid just to get in the points.
He avoided anyone he could on the way back to the hotel, steering clear of reporters and McLaren workers. He drove his car back to the hotel, and strode through the lobby to the elevator with his hood pulled up over his head and dark sunglasses over his eyes.
He was able to shower, to try to scrape the shame from the day off himself before the knocking started. He figured he could just ignore it. Whoever was on the other side of the door would just assume no one was there and they’d leave. But whoever was on the other side of the door was persistent.
“Lando! We know you’re here!” The Australian accent called through the door.
Lando sighed, pulling himself up off his bed then dragged himself to the door to swing it open.
There you stood with Oscar next to you. Oscar was still in his McLaren team kit, and you were still in the same McLaren shirt you’d worn to the paddock. Neither of you had made it to your hotel room yet, too concerned with Lando’s disappearance.
“I’m not really in the mood guys-” He starts, but stops when you walk past him, entering his room.
“That was fucked. Telling you in front of all those cameras like that? What the hell?” You sit down on the bed.
Oscar gives Lando a sympathetic smile then follows you inside.
Lando was surprised by your colorful language and the anger you seemed to have for the FIA. He shrugs sitting down next to you.
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Mate, if they had checked my car I’m sure we’d be in the same position.” Oscar says as he sits down at the desk across from the two of you.
“But they didn’t check your car. They checked mine. So now I’m P20, while you get to start on pole.” Lando snaps. He can feel you shrink at his sudden outburst. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”
His head falls to his hands as he takes a few deep breaths trying to regain his composure. He can feel your hand softly stroking up and down his back.
“You two don’t need to stay. You can go celebrate Oscar’s pole.” He says once he lifts his head back up.
His eyes are red, almost bloodshot, welling up with tears he’s refusing to let fall.
You wrap an arm through his and lace your hand with his. “We’re not leaving you alone right now Lan. We care too much about you.”
Lando groans. He stands up pulling himself away from you and takes a few steps away. He wants to put some distance between the three of you. He wants to make sure that he doesn’t let himself fall for the both of you even more than he already has.
“You can’t say shit like that.” His words are quiet.
“But it’s true.” You say standing up.
“Lando-” Oscar starts, standing up.
“Stop! Stop! You both need to stop!” Lando holds his hands out in front of him, backing away from the two of you. “I can’t-I can’t do this.” He whimpers leaning against the wall. He can feel the tear falling down his cheeks now. He quickly tries to wipe them away from his eyes.
He can feel his breathing start to pick up as his heart starts pounding in his chest. Everything is too much, too overwhelming. The qualifying results along with your insistence on comforting him has made him feel like he’s choking on nothing.
Oscar immediately clocks the panic coursing through his teammate. He slowly reaches out and pulls Lando back down to the bed. You stand up, giving him space as Oscar grabs a bottle of water from Lando’s fridge, uncapping it and handing it to him.
Lando slowly sips on the water, taking a few minutes to calm down. He closes the cap and places the bottle on the table next to the bed. When he finally looks back up at you and Oscar his eyes are filled with shame.
“I’m sorry…” He murmurs.
You sit down next to him again and wrap an arm over his shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for Lan.” You tell him softly. “It’s okay.”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”
“Mate, it’s fine, it’s okay.” Oscar says as he sits down on the other side of Lando.
Your arm slips from Lando’s shoulders as Oscar’s wraps around him, pulling his head to lean against his shoulder.
Lando finds comfort being sandwiched between the two of you. With Oscar’s arm around him and your hand now softly playing with his fingers he feels like he can finally breathe again.
“I’m sorry you guys have to help me with this, that I need you here with me…” Lando says, his voice slightly muffled in Oscar’s shoulder.
“What do you mean?” Oscar asks, looking down at him.
You hear Lando take a deep breath, lifting his head from Oscar’s shoulder, then looking back and forth between the two of you. He sits up and moves away from Oscar, pulling his hand away from yours as well.
“I’m sorry I feel the way I feel… I’m sorry I’m in love with you.” His last sentence comes out in a breath. He stands up from the bed again, trying to put some space between you. “Both of you. I’m really sorry. And I don’t want things to get awkward now, because you’re my teammate,” he gestures to Oscar “and you’re my teammate’s girlfriend,” then he gestures to you “so it’s impossible to avoid either of you after this.”
You sit on the bed silently, watching as Lando paces back and forth now, rambling about how nothing has to change, and he’ll be able to move on with time.
“We don’t want you to move on.” Oscar cuts him off.
Lando stops mid sentence. “What?” The sleeves on his hoodie fall past his hands as his fingers fidget. “What do you mean?”
“Lando,” you stand up, slowly walking towards him “we both have feelings for you too.”
“You do?”
Oscar nods. “It was weird at first, both of us admitting that we liked you to each other, but we felt like it was something we could work through. We didn’t want you to find out and get freaked about it.”
“Oh.” Lando still doesn’t look convinced as he shifts his weight on his feet.
You take a few slow steps until you’re standing in front of him, tilting his chin up so his eyes meet yours. “Can I kiss you Lando?”
He nods his head and breathes out an answer. “Yeah.”
You raise a hand to cup his face, tracing your thumb over his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed.
He’s almost surprised to feel your lips against his, like this was all some dream he’d made up in his head. You feel just the way he imagined, soft touches and slow intimate movements.
The hands that hold his waist do surprise him. He can tell they’re Oscar’s, the size alone makes it obvious, but he can feel them holding onto him firmly.
Oscar stands behind Lando, trailing kisses up and down the side of his neck.
Lando feels his heart pick up again, but this time for an entirely different reason. What once filled him with anxiety now sends a thrill through him. He’s excited to be with you, both of you.
He’s getting far too hot pressed between the two of you, pulling his lips away from yours to take a much needed breath.
“Should we move over to the bed? To get a little more comfortable?” Oscar asks as he softly sinks his teeth into Lando’s neck.
You pull Lando to the bed by his arm, and push him so he’s sitting down on the edge of it. Oscar sits down on his knees behind Lando, running a hand through his curls. You crawl onto Lando’s lap, straddling him as you tug at the bottom of his hoodie.
“Can I take this off?” You ask.
He’s quick to nod his head in response. You tug the hoodie up over his head and throw it to the side. His bare torso is revealed, the tanned skin on display. You reach out and run your hands down his chest, over the lines of his abs. He sighs, and leans his head back against Oscar’s shoulder.
“He’s so pretty Osc.” You say as you admire the boy under you.
“He is.” Oscar nods.
Lando blushes under your gaze, turning his head to look at Oscar. Oscar looks down at him with a smug smile on his face. He knew the affect he had on the British driver fairly early into their partnership, but finally getting to act on these pent up feelings was something new and exciting.
Oscar leans down to press a teasing kiss to corner of Lando’s mouth, smirking as Lando practically chases his lips as he pulls away.
“I think Y/n wants your attention.” Oscar nods to you.
When Lando turns back to look at you he can see that you’ve removed your McLaren shirt and bra and start to softly tug at the waistband of his sweatpants.
His hands reach out to hold your hips, pulling you closer to him as his lips attach themselves to your collarbone. His teeth leave little indents in your skin, red patches appear alongside other older marks left behind by Oscar.
You roll your hips against Lando’s as your head falls back from the pleasure. Lando whines against your chest, lifting his hips slightly to meet yours.
Oscar palms himself through his jeans as he watches you and Lando. It’s clear the two of you are starting to lose control, and he’s more than happy to take the reins.
“Is Lando making you feel good?” He asks you.
“Yes, so good.” You whimper.
“Then maybe you should make him feel good too.” He says.
You slide off of Lando’s lap, pulling his sweatpants down to his ankles. You tug your pants and underwear down and toss them to a corner of the room.
You knew that Lando was attractive, anyone with eyes would be able to see that, but you didn’t think that his cock could be just as pretty.
It’s not as long as Oscar’s, but it’s thicker, the girth alone makes a wave of arousal travel down your core. You wrap your hand around it, and softly stroke it up and down.
Lando lets out a soft groan, letting his eyes flutter closed. You climb back onto Lando’s lap, continuing to stroke him slowly as Oscar tilts Lando’s head back to him. He leans down and kisses the Brit, smirking into the kiss as Lando moans against his lips. Oscar’s hair hangs down as he kisses Lando, slightly blocking their eyes, brushing against Lando’s face.
You grind yourself against Lando’s thighs, desperate for more attention as you watch the two boys kiss.
“Can I ride you Lan?” You ask as your hand slows down against him.
Oscar pulls himself away from Lando and nods in your direction.
“Do you want her to ride you?”
“Please.” Lando whimpers.
His whines quickly turn into moans as you slowly sink yourself down on him.
He feels different than Oscar, his thick cock stretches you wider than Oscar’s has as you struggle to take all of him.
Lando struggles to hold himself back from thrusting up into you, wanting nothing more than to buried completely inside you. You’re warm and soft, and wrapped so tightly around him that he swears this is what heaven feels like.
You’re finally able to sit completely on Lando after a few minutes of rocking back and forth on him. You take a second to catch your breath before slowly grinding down further on him.
Lando can’t pull his eyes away from you until he hears the metal from Oscar’s belt clink around.
He turns to see Oscar watching him with a smirk. “She feels good, doesn’t she?”
Lando can only nod his head, his eyes squeeze shut when you start to slowly lift your hips up then sink back down onto him.
Oscar pulls his pants down, then tugs his boxers down as well. He wraps his hand around his cock, slowly pumping it. His other hand tangles itself in Lando’s hair and gives it a sharp tug backwards.
Lando huffs out a breath as he stares up at Oscar, his eyes now a bit glassy from the pleasure he feels from you. His eyes drop down to Oscar’s cock, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“Want a taste?” Oscar asks.
Lando leans towards him and licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, letting his tongue brush against the head and collect his precum.
Oscar sucks in a sharp breath as Lando’s tongue licks around the head. His grip in Lando’s curls gets tighter as he pushes his head closer to his cock.
Lando takes the tip into his mouth, softly sucking and swirling his tongue around it. Oscar can feel vibrations come from the occasional moan from Lando as you start to ride him faster.
The room is filled with a mix of sounds coming from the three of you. Your slick as you ride Lando, bouncing up and down on his cock, Lando gagging as he tries to take more of Oscar down his throat. And none of you are being particularly quiet. Your moans mixed with Lando’s muffled moans, and Oscar’s deep groans bounce off the walls. God help whoever had the room next door to Lando’s.
Oscar is the first to cum. How can he not when Lando looks up at him with big doe eyes as he hollows his cheeks around his cock. Lando can feel Oscar’s release shoot down his throat, the warm salty cum coming out in spurts as Oscar has his head thrown back, thrusting himself into Lando’s mouth.
You can’t help but clench around Lando at the sight. You’ve given Oscar head before, but you don’t know if it’s ever actually felt as good as what Lando had done.
Oscar’s chest heaves slightly as he pulls himself from Lando’s mouth. A string of saliva connects Lando’s lips to Oscar’s cock. Oscar gives him a lazy smile.
“Why don’t you help Y/n cum just like you helped me? Play with her.” He instructs Lando.
Lando doesn’t hesitate to move his hands to your body, playing with your tits, pinching your nipples. One of his hands finds it’s way down to where you two connect, and softly rubs at the little bundle of nerves.
You yelp and lift yourself higher on his cock before dropping down again. Your thighs feel like they’re on fire, the muscles getting sore from the constant movement. Lando presses his fingers against your clit again, now much more sure of himself than before.
Tears begin to form in your eyes as you struggle to keep your pace. Lando begins to thrust up into you to help keep the rhythm you’ve set. His arms flex as they hold himself up on the bed. Yours wrap around his neck as you bury your face in his shoulder.
“I’m gonna cum Lando.” You whimper as he presses harder against your clit.
He feels you clench around him one last time before you cum. You moan out both his and Oscar’s name as you cum, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your release triggers Lando’s as he shoots his cum deep inside of you. He hold you down onto his cock as he continues to thrust up into you, pushing his cum as far as he can in you.
You slowly peel yourself off of Lando, whining at the empty feeling between your legs. You glance over at the two boys now laying down on the bed. Both are covered in a light sheen of sweat. Oscar has now pulled his shirt off as he lays back, softly stroking Lando’s hair.
You lay down on Lando’s other side, resting your head on his chest.
“That was… wow.” He says, his voice a little gruff. “Is it like that every time?”
“We don’t have threesomes Lan.” You softly giggle. “We only sleep with people we love.” You press a soft kiss to his flushed chest.
“So you better get used to it, because now you’re stuck with us.” Oscar tells him as he buries his face in Lando’s neck.
You and Oscar let sleep wash over you, wrapped up around the British driver, who just smiles to himself pulling the two of you closer to him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I loved you sooner.” He whispers into the darkness.
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moonstruckme · 5 months
Note
poly!marauders x reader where reader and james go out drinking and reader ends up out drinking james completely and reader and james go home to be looked after by sirius and remus <3
Thanks for requesting!
cw: drunkenness, mention of vomit
poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
“Fucking hell,” Sirius says as soon as he opens the door.
You turn to James, giggles breaking up your words. “F-fookin’ ‘ell,” you mimic, and James promptly falls to the ground. 
“Moony,” Sirius calls over James’ laughter, not bothering to hide his own smile. “You may want to come see this.” 
By the time Remus appears at the door, you’ve joined James on the ground, felled by your own joke, and the sight of your two sober boyfriends looking down on you both only worsens your giggle fit. Tears leak from both of your eyes. James clutches at your sleeve, wheezing. 
Remus says something to Sirius, and then the dark-haired boy is grabbing you under your arms, hauling you across the threshold of your apartment. It takes both of them to get James inside, and by the time they do, you’ve calmed and are watching with a dazed amusement from where you’re propped up against the back of the couch. 
They sit James next to you, and Sirius squats in front of you both. “You two have a fun night?” he asks. 
You bob your head, but the motion makes you feel odd, so you stop. “Really fun. You guys should’a come.” 
“Great time,” James agrees. 
Remus hums, and you can’t decide if he looks exasperated or amused. You decide to simply hope for the latter. “But if we’d had as much fun as you, there’d be no one to take care of you, would there?” James seems to consider this, lips pulling down into a frown. “How’d you end up like this?” Remus asks you. 
You’re eager to tell. James opens his mouth, but you press your palm to it before he can speak. “I drank more than him,” you tell Sirius and Remus proudly. “He said he could drink more than me, but he couldn’t.” 
“No,” James insists, taking your hand by the wrist and peeling it from his face. “That’s not true, you had five and I had six. That’s math. I won!”
You make a pfft sound, giving him a condescending look. “Yeah, but you threw up and I didn’t. So I won.” 
James opens his mouth to argue, but Remus speaks before he can. “I don’t think either of you are going to feel like you won in the morning,” he determines, turning and walking away. 
“Oi, where are you going?” Sirius looks helplessly after him. “Don’t leave me alone with them!”
“I’m getting them water,” Remus calls back. 
“He’s such a worrier,” you lament to James. 
“Total worrier,” he seconds. 
“Can’t have any fun.” 
James shakes his head. “Never.” 
“You two are even worse like this,” Sirius decides, and you swing your attention to him. The streetlight coming in through the window gleams against his dark hair, which you know from experience is fluffy and soft as puppy ears. He looks ridiculously pretty, as he always does, lips pulled up on one side in an amused almost-smile. You want to kiss it, you think sorrowfully. Then you remember that he’s your boyfriend, and you can. 
“Kiss?” you ask him, and Sirius’ almost-smile transitions smoothly into a real one. 
“Sure thing, angel.” He leans forward, cupping your face in one hand as he pecks you chastely on the lips. You whine at his temperance, bringing your fingers into that silken hair to pull him closer for more. Sirius obliges you, kissing you a few more times before drawing back, his thumb stroking at your jaw consolingly. 
“You taste like vodka,” he says fondly. 
“James tastes worse.” 
Something changes in Sirius’ expression. “You kissed him?”
You pout. “Of course. I love him.” 
Sirius’ laugh is startled and a little wary. “I know, baby, but I mean after he got sick.” 
You nod. Sirius’ mouth becomes a shriveled, puckered thing. 
“Right.” Remus pats him sympathetically on the back, passing you a cup of water. You look over to see James already has one, half drained. “So everyone will be brushing their teeth before bed, if there was ever any question.” 
“Gross,” Sirius mutters miserably. Remus rubs between his shoulder blades. 
“Did you get sick on yourself at all, love?” he asks James, scrutinizing the curls nearest his face. 
James shakes his head, and Remus looks to you for confirmation.
“He got—” You hiccup. Remus’ mouth quirks up just a tiny bit. “He got it all in the bin. I saw.” 
“Good,” he says, petting James’ hair as you both drink. “Let’s go to bed, then, yeah?”
You don’t want that. You’re a bit tired, but you’re not ready for the night to be over so soon. “I want to watch a film,” you say. 
Remus sighs, looking at you in that way he does when patience seems more an obligation than a virtue. “Sweetheart, we—”
“Wait,” James cuts him off. “Wait wait wait.”
He holds up a hand to cease all conversation. You all look at him. He opens his mouth as if to say something, and belches loudly. Sirius recoils, face all screwed up.
“If we go to bed,” James goes on, nonplussed, “can we cuddle?” 
Remus appears to consider this. You perk up. It’s an intriguing prospect. “We can,” he decides, and you and James both grin, “but you have to finish your water and brush your teeth first. Okay?”
You both agree readily, and James hauls himself up using the back of the couch before offering you a hand. 
“I’ve got her, Prongs,” Sirius tells him, wrapping an arm around your waist and standing with you up against him. You blink at the return to your full height. Everything up there seems a bit spinnier than you’d left it. 
Sirius grunts when you lean on him more heavily. “Doing alright, doll?”
“Mm, bit dizzy,” you admit. Sirius adjusts his grip around your waist so he can take more of your weight. 
“Yeah?” he asks you, sounding worried.
“Yeah,” you say, then see an opportunity. You grin. “Must be swooning. Right? Because you’re so handsome.” 
His laughter shakes you both, and he brings you into the bathroom, helping you up onto the counter, where you sit with the cool glass of the mirror at your back. “You’re a dork.” 
“It’s why you love me.” You smize at Sirius as he passes you your toothbrush, holding it somewhat steady while he applies the toothpaste. 
“Do I?” He raises his eyebrows at you. “You kissed me with vomit mouth.” 
You pout, and Remus chuckles, keeping a cautious hand on James’ back as he leans over to kiss the top of your head. “We love you.” 
You look at James. He grins at you through a mouthful of toothpaste. “How lucky are we,” he says.
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