lovedbybella

[lovedbybella]

infatuation (pt. 2)

miguel o’hara x female!reader

warnings: profanity and a whole lot of nsfw content

summary: being miguel’s assistant, you always thought the two of you had a good thing going. and everything was great… until it wasn’t.

word count: 3.1k

authors note: apologies for how long this took, it’s been super busy. i also wasn’t sure what direction i wanted the story to go 😭 enjoy <3

part one here

NSFW MDNI

Following Miguel’s visit, your planned movie night with Peter quickly turned into a rant session. You explained the entire situation to him, all your frustrations and feelings spilling out. He was on your side, of course, and demanded that you get both the justice and explanations that you deserved.

The following morning, despite your racing thoughts, you knew you had to speak with him. The challenge, however, was that Miguel appeared to be actively avoiding you.

Your first attempt at speaking to him was unexpected. You showed up to his office early in the morning using your employee card to enter, but surprisingly, Lyla had restricted your access, claiming Miguel wasn’t there. An obvious lie, Miguel lived and would probably die in that office.

Your second attempt was even worse, you had seen him walking towards his office. You left whatever you were doing abruptly, following after him to finally talk, but he noticed you, and locked you out, making Lyla explain some bullshit excuse about why you couldn’t enter.

You had had enough though, and went back in the evening. You simply overrode the system using Miguel’s access codes he had given to you years ago when you were first hired. He obviously hadn’t bothered to change it, especially because part of him hoped you would come back.

You enter the office abruptly, catching both Miguel and Lyla by surprise. Lyla excuses herself as you ignore his questions about how you got in. You make your way up to his platform, feeling a plethora of emotions, anger & confusion included.

“Are you insane?” you start, walking directly up to him. You cross your arms, clear anger on your face.

He stays silent, waiting for you to continue. He knows how badly he’s fucked up, and how much he’s going to have to work to earn your forgiveness, but right now, he’s just glad you tolerate him enough to come to his office and yell at him.

“You think you can show up to my apartment, spew some stories, mess with my head, and just expect all to be forgiven?” You ask both angry and confused.

His eyes scan you, before he turns, giving you his full attention, “Of course not” he replies.

“Explain yourself then,” You say firmly.

“You were right. About everything, you were right, we did have a really good thing, and I fucked it up”

“That you did.”

“Your birthday. I don’t even know where to begin, of course I didn’t forget. And I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am, because that’s all I am, I’m sorry”

You stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

“You are wonderful, you’re a wonderful assistant and an even better person. I know I don’t show it but you make this place a lot better, and I’m sorry that I’ve been treating you horribly these past few months. I let my fear of letting people get the best of me, and you didn’t deserve that at all.” He states, his voice more sincere and apologetic than you’ve ever heard before.

You nod, not one of forgiveness, but understanding. Of course, you were still upset and probably would be for a while, but the countless apologies were beginning to work.

“You do realize that I’m not going to forgive you just based on that, right?” You ask.

“Of course I do,” he says quickly, “I’ll make it up to you, in so many ways, I promise”

You nod again, before making your way over to a seat next to him. His eyes watch you as you sigh quietly, a little afraid to bring the rest of what he said up.

“Miguel” you begin, his features distort, showing the surprise from the use of his name. He sits on his desk, face turned towards you, quiet and waiting.

“Did you... mean what you said yesterday?” you continue, “With the dress… and the whole I can’t get you out of my mind thing?” you ask tentatively. “You weren’t just saying that to get me to come back right?” There's a hint of insecurity in your voice. You were sure you could probably recite the entirety of what he admitted yesterday, considering the words had been ringing nonstop in your mind for the last day. The minute you realized the affection you held for your boss crossed the realm of professionalism, you were so quick to suppress your feelings, certain there was no chance he could ever feel that way about you. To hear the exact opposite of that was a shocker, nonetheless, and you’d yet to wrap your mind around it completely.

“I meant every word,” Miguel says looking directly at you, eyes and words more serious than you can even describe.

The confirmation shakes you a bit. You immediately look away from him, too flustered to maintain eye contact. Your mind races through all the possible ways you can tell him you feel the same way before you decide that actions speak louder than words. You finally look back at him, standing up, Miguel watching your every action. You make your way in front of his sitting figure, the two of you finally eye to eye. You’re hesitant, the air in the room heavy as the two of you converse without speaking. Miguel seems to read your mind, and he interlaces your fingers with his. The action gives you the confidence you need, and you finally lean in, interlocking your lips with his.

He reciprocates almost immediately, his loose hand coming up and burying itself in your hair. There was an undeniable tenderness in the way Miguel’s lips moved, another apology, a silent one. The presence of both a softness that spoke of regret and an intensity that demonstrated just how wide the depth of his affection for you was. You pull away, your breath uneven and the kiss almost too overwhelming for you. You don’t step away, the two of you still impossibly close. Miguel makes no move to kiss you again, but he can’t deny the fact that the simple action has his head spinning. He wasn’t kidding when he told you how desperate he was for you, you truly never leave his mind.

You decide right then and there that you’d have time to continue to be mad at him later. Right now, all you wanted was his touch, everywhere. You’d been longing for it for months, and to have him at your expense was not an opportunity you were willing to waste.

“You’re going to make it up to me?” You ask softly, your eyes diverting from his to the rest of his body.

“Absolutely” he responds, his eyes boring into you with an intensity you’ll never get used to. You’re first to make a move, your touch deliberate, seeking out the warmth of his body and the rhythmic beating of his heart beneath your palm.

“I want a raise” you start. You had shown up to his office in your regular clothing. A tank top to be exact, you casually let one of the straps slip off your shoulder, a subtle gesture conveying a silent invitation for more.

The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel, who watches silently before making himself look back at you. Every movement from you, no matter how small, sends a surge of longing through him. His obsession for you borders on madness, every gesture simply a tormenting reminder of his insatiable desire. He doesn’t hesitate before he replies.

“Done.”

“And I want you to move my desk back to where it was before” you continue, slipping off the other strap.

Miguel can do nothing but nod, completely mesmerized by your movements. His voice was dampened by his pure desire for you. You take advantage of his dazed state, mind muddy at your understanding of just how much he wants you. You kiss him again, this time far more intensely. He deepens it, his teeth grazing your lips causing you to quietly groan. His hands grab you, pulling you closer to him by the waist. He takes the opportunity to flip you over, laying you down, your back flat against his desk, peering up at him through your lust-filled eyes.

In a split second, he’s at you again. Placing soft but eager kisses down your neck, he captures your lips again, unable to get enough of you. This is all he’s dreamed of, all you’ve dreamed of. It’s almost impossible to believe it’s finally happening. This was the last scenario possible when he thought of what would happen when the two of you finally had a real conversation, so to say he was pleasantly surprised when you began initiating was an understatement. He knew this would do nothing toward getting him off the hook, but he wanted to show you just how sorry he was, and he was grateful, very grateful.

“Fuck” you hiss as his kisses get lower and lower. Your top is completely off now, Miguel’s hand practically ripping your bra off next. The cold air nips at your skin, but you’re far too turned on to care. Miguel’s hands move lower, spreading your legs apart at the knee. You’re dripping, both in anticipation and for him. His hands toy with the band of your shorts before he looks up, a silent plea for permission.

“Let me show you how sorry I am” he begs, voice husky and laced with desire. You can only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He wastes no time, gesturing for you to lift your hips before he easily pulls down your shorts, underwear coming off with them. You’re completely bare against his desk. Your boss’s desk. The realization is bizarre enough on its own. The sight of Miguel on his knees, for you has you going insane. He looks heavenly, eyes lustful and hair rattled, it was a a picture you wanted engraved in your brain forever.

His hands grip your thighs tightly and he wastes no time as he licks a stripe up your slit. To him, the taste of you is absolutely divine, his red eyes glaring as he loses himself in you. Your sounds quickly fill the room, thighs clenching around his head as you lose yourself in pleasure.

“And lastly,” you start, voice breathy as you continue your demands from before, “From now on, you’re bringing me coffee every day.” Miguel chuckles lowly, head still in between your thighs. The vibration of the action sends tingles up your spine, only pushing you closer to the edge. His nose brushes against your clit as he continues to eat at you mercilessly, giving you that much-needed friction.

He continues, sloppy wet noises filling the room. You grab onto his hair tightly, causing him to groan. You’re too lost in yourself to notice, legs closing in firmly around his head as you attempt to handle what he’s giving you. He takes his hands, roughly splitting your legs apart once again. He lifts his head, eyes glossy and face wet with your slick he looks at you, it takes everything in you to stay silent at the image in front of you.

“Stop closing your legs preciosa, ‘m not done” he mumbles before diving back in. You moan, both at the sight and his voice. You’re not sure how much more you can take before you completely unfold. He nips at your clit, puffy and wet. His thick tongue is ruthless at your holes, and you honestly don’t think you’ve ever felt better than you do at this moment. You’re in a whole other world, the only thoughts you can even comprehend are how amazing you feel and how grateful you are for the man whose experienced tongue is responsible for it all.

“Miguel” you start, unable to pause long enough to get your words out, “I’m so close” you call out, your words hardly comprehensible in between the whimpers that spill out of you. He doesn’t indicate that he heard you, only picking up his pace, tongue lapping at you at a rate you didn’t even think was possible. With one final swirl, you’re unraveling around him, eyes closing in pure bliss. Quiet moans spill out of you as you start to come down from your high.

Miguel peels away from you, eyes watchful of your heaving chest and the hair stuck to your forehead with the glistening sweat that’s formed. The sight makes his cock twitch, and in a mere second, he decides he’s not done with you. He gives you no time to recover before he’s sliding one of his fingers inside of you. The motion catches you off guard, everything a thousand times more intense considering how sensitive you still are. Your previous orgasm does nothing to prepare you for just how thick his fingers are. You don’t even want to think about what it’d be like to have all of him inside you. His pace is unforgiving, sliding in and out of you like there’s no tomorrow. His eyes are latched onto you, watching and listening to every twitch, movement, and sound your body makes.

His other hand comes up, rubbing your clit. You’re slightly overstimulated, but the initial discomfort washes away as waves of pleasure begin to overtake your body again. Miguel can’t help but groan at the sight of you, he truly was willing to do whatever it took to get you to trust him again.

“So fucking perfect” he groans his praises, his pace still relentless. You whimper quietly in response, your mind a puddle of nothing as his fingers fuck you dumb. Almost embarrassingly so, it’s not long before you're approaching your end again, the nature of the situation a little too much for you to handle. Miguel places a soft kiss on your inner thigh. The action is so intimate, and you can’t take it. Before you know it, you’re coming undone once again, your pussy clenching around his fingers tightly.

“Fuck..fuck” you cry out quietly, body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Miguel pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you empty. He leaves momentarily, and you take the opportunity to try and sit up, shakily of course. He’s back with a towel in an instant, cleaning you up as you wince slightly at the action, still way too sore to be touched.

There’s a tension in the room, not an uncomfortable one, but one where you’ve both realized your relationship has crossed a line you’ll never get back.

“That’s hell of a way to make it up to me” you joke, trying to get rid of the silence that has fallen over the room. Miguel gives you a small smile, handing you your clothes back so you can start to get dressed.

“I hope you know that wasn’t my apology to you, I have a long way to go,” he says seriously, eyes boring into you.

You nod, pulling your shirt over your head in understanding. “I know” you reply quietly.

Miguel comes to stand in front of you. He looks down at you once again, hand coming up to caress your face lovingly.

“I really am sorry, I don’t even know where to begin, I’ll be apologizing for the rest of my life if I have to” you hear the genuine sincerity and apologeticness in his voice. It brings you a sort of relief, to know the Miguel you knew before all of this was still there.

“And I’m completely in love with you if you couldn’t already tell,” he says humorously, bringing a little more light to the conversation. You laugh softly before bringing your hand up to the one he has on your face, interlacing your fingers.

“I love you too if you couldn’t already tell,” you say honestly, a hint of teasing in your voice. Miguel laughs again, eyes yearning for you as he comes to understand just how lucky he truly is. He had a long way to go, but he was willing to do whatever it took if it resulted in your happiness and forgiveness.

-

The following day, you woke up with your heart feeling a little lighter. Peter had suggested the two of you get breakfast, insisting he meet you at your door so the two of you could walk together. The action was a little out of the ordinary if you were being honest, but you didn’t think too much of it.

Your head is down as you walk into the meal space, getting distracted by a noise your multidimensional watch keeps making. When you finally look up, you’re met with the faces of the entirety of the Spider Society. A huge “Happy Birthday” banner with your name is hanging from the ceiling, and there are tables and tables of food and sweets all over.

Your face breaks out in a smile. Yes, your birthday was 2 weeks ago, but the gesture was nice nonetheless. You look at Peter, who’s smiling back at you.

“So? What do you think?” he yells over the loud cheering the space now holds.

You laugh, unable to stop smiling, “This is great, what is this?” you yell back.

“Miguel organized it, I helped, of course. He said something about ‘winning you back’, you should probably go find him” he explains, leading you farther into the space.

The amount of “happy birthdays” you hear is insane. You look around the room, spotting multiple violations of Miguel’s safety rules that on any other given day, would’ve driven him insane. You smile, reveling in just how much he cares about you.

You spot Miguel across the room, and you walk, making your way up to him.

“Hey,” you say softly, “You planned this?” the huge smile is still evident on your face. He looks at you, admiring just how beautiful you are, before returning your smile.

“With a little help,” he replies, humor in his voice. His heart warm at how delighted you look.

“This is insane Miguel” You look around the room once more, before looking back at him, “Thank you,” you say.

He gives you another tender smile before grinning, “Just wait till you see what I have planned for your half-birthday”

The confession takes you by pleasant surprise, “My half-birthday?” you laugh, “Miguel, no one celebrates those”

“Guess we’ll be the first” he teases

You smile once again, “Thank you,” you say sincerely.

“Am I forgiven yet?” he jokes, looking down at you.

You smile, peering up at him, “You’re getting there, I still need my daily coffees”

He laughs, “Good enough” he replies, and the two of you turn away, looking back at the crowd.

You’re first to break the silence, and you turn back to him.

“Miguel?” you ask. He looks at you, a small smile still plastered on his face, always happy to hear your voice.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need my job back.”

-

tags: @happishark @prettysbliss @thel0velykey190 @saltykidcreation @chabelis @coffee-winter-and-silence @thesecretwriter @bitterprecious @leahnicole1219 @kyler11718

(just tagged everybody who commented)

#miguel x reader #scared i wrote him out of character but wtv #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #peter b parker

[lovedbybella]

you guys are the sweetest!! part 2 of infatuation is coming soon, i promise.

[lovedbybella]

infatuation (pt. 1)

miguel o’hara x female!reader

warnings: profanity, angst, just mean miguel

summary: being miguel’s assistant, you always thought the two of you had a good thing going. and everything was great… until it wasn’t.

word count: 4.2k

authors note: this is like my first ever fic i’ve written and intended to publish so please be nice! buttt feedback is much appreciated :) ily pls enjoy

PART 2 HERE

—

You had known from the start your boss wasn’t a particularly nice one. He conducted the interview himself, and you were sure he hated you based on the look of displeasure he had planted on his face the entire time. When Lyla, his holographic AI Assistant called you the following day, announcing you were hired, you were pleasantly surprised.

The first few days of work were… interesting. You were still getting used to his mundane personality, and he was getting used to your over-the-top sunshine one. You were just a happy person, was that a crime?

After moving into the Spider-HQ, where you were given an extremely nice apartment to live in while you worked for Mr. O’hara, you took it upon yourself to figure out what his deal was. During meal times, you were fortunate enough to come across Peter B Parker. He introduced himself to you as one of your boss’s friends and briefly explained the whole situation of his daughter.

Following that day, you understood why he acted the way he did and didn’t necessarily take anything he said to you to heart. You’d make lame jokes, ramble about yourself for hours and attempt to make him spill something about himself to you. It was the system the two of you had developed, and it worked, with you keeping his office from being the saddest place on earth, and him keeping the entirety of the multiverse from falling apart.

After nearly 3 years of working for him, you had grown to be fond of him. Sure, he was an asshole 99% of the time, but there were moments when it was just the two of you working late nights and he would randomly make a joke, ask you a question about yourself, or even admit something about his past. Just things that showed you there was in fact a human with a heart underneath the rough exterior he kept up. You hated to admit it, considering you were his assistant and he was your boss, but you were beginning to develop feelings for him.

The problem though, was that lately, that version of him had completely disappeared. He was more irritable, demanding, and got upset at you over the smallest of things. You couldn’t take it, you could handle his bad moods before, but this was a whole other level. You contemplated questioning him about whatever was going on with him, but you didn’t feel like being on the receiving end of his moodiness.

Today, you were determined though.

“Good Morning, Mr. O’Hara” you chirped happily, walking into the office 15 minutes early, a stack of papers in hand like you always did. He grunts a quiet ‘Morning’ in return, not even looking in your direction. “I’ve finished all the reports and organized missions and meetings for the next two weeks, Is there anything specific you want me to do?” you ask, trying to be helpful.

“No” He replies, pointing to his desk for you to drop the papers off. You do, making your way to his desk, before opening your mouth again. “How was your weekend?” you attempt.

This time, he simply gives you a dissatisfied look, indicating that you needed to shut up. You sigh quietly, “Lovely, I assume.” You turn, your heels echoing loudly as you make your way to your desk. A month ago, your boss had relocated your space from a few feet away from him, to all the way across the room. You admitted that the action hurt a bit since you dared to assume he was beginning to tolerate you. It was like he wanted to be as far away from you as possible, and it worked, considering your interactions were cut nearly by half.

You settled yourself at your desk, prepared to spend the rest of the day busying yourself with meaningless tasks. You guess today was going to be like the rest of them.

—

A few days later, he had gotten worse. Your “Good mornings’ were ignored, and he acted like your presence alone bothered him. If you weren’t his assistant and therefore required to see him every day, you’d be avoiding him like the plague. You really couldn’t figure out if you had done something wrong, he acted normal with everybody else, the problem seemed to be, well… you.

You were getting a coffee on your way to the office, and being the considerate person you were, decided to get one for your boss too. You knew he probably didn’t get any sleep last night, and coffee usually elicited a small ‘thank you’ from him, which, at this moment, couldn’t hurt to hear. You were hoping the gesture would help him ease up on you a little, but realistically, you knew it wouldn’t.

You walked into the office, coffees in hand. “Good Morning, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, announcing your presence. You could swear you heard him groan at the sight of you. Off to a great start, you tell yourself. Ignoring his antics, you make your way to his desk. “I was getting coffee and thought I’d grab you a cup, here you go.” You say, avoiding eye contact.

As you move to place his cup down, you briefly glance up, only to be met with his piercing gaze on you. It catches you off guard, and you stumble, causing a little bit of coffee to overflow as you set the cup on his desk. “Oops' ' You laugh softly, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, “I’ll get something to cle-” you start before you’re interrupted by his rough voice.

“Are you serious” he cuts you off, “I wouldn’t have hired you if I knew you were going to be this horrible at your job. I never asked you to get me a cup of coffee, and you did it anyway, and now you can’t even hand it to me without spilling it like a competent person?” he practically growls.

Your eyes widen a bit as you try to mask the hurt on your face. You move to stand up straight again, keeping your composure. “I’m sorry” you start, “I was just tryi-” but you’re interrupted by Lyla before you can finish.

“An anomaly’s been spotted on Earth 216, nothing major, but they need backup” she announces, her holographic eyes shifting to you. “Hey Pumpkin, how are you?” she asks, you give her a tight-lipped smile in return.

“Thank you, Lyla,” Miguel answers, before shutting her off. He grunts before moving to leave, not even sparing you a second glance. You quickly clean up the mess you made, attempting to hold back tears. His words hurt more than you’d like to admit, considering you thought you always went above and beyond for him.

You weren’t particularly mad, just upset, and wiping the few tears that escaped despite your battles, you decide if Miguel simply wanted you to do your job, that’s all you’d do.

–

A few days pass, and there’s absolutely no mention of the incident. You stop saying Good Morning to him, asking about his weekend, or even making bad jokes to try and keep a light-hearted atmosphere. In fact, you don’t speak to him unless he speaks to you first.

You honestly hadn’t even looked at him, overwhelmed with the insecurity that he’s hated you from the start. You sigh quietly, staring at your computer with nothing to do. The fact that tomorrow was your birthday was the only thing getting you through the day. Your friends had organized a fun day by a lake house, filled with drinking, partying, and fun. It was the way you spent your birthday as a child, and celebrating it like that again would bring back pleasant memories. You had asked for the day off months in advance, and you were more than excited that you were finally getting a much-needed break from your boss.

You doubt he knew, nor cared. For the past 2 birthdays of his, you always made it a point to wish him a happy birthday, buying him a cupcake and a small gift (that he probably threw away). He hated it, but you wanted him to know there was at least somebody who remembered and cared enough to get him a present.

The clock hits 7 and you silently cheer, your indication you’re free to go. You began packing your things, feeling Miguel’s gaze on you for the first time all day. It had been quiet and without your attempts to fill the silence, the office was, well, dead. You tread your way to the door, your heels filling the silence before you’re interrupted by Miguel calling your name. You turn, a little terrified.

“Yes, Mr. O’Hara?”

“You’re leaving?” he asks

“It’s 7 PM” you answer, a little confused.

“You usually stay till 8.”

You pause, thinking of the best way to answer, “Well, my work day ends at 7” you state. It was true, sometimes you’d even stay till ten to help him with whatever tasks, tests, or missions he had on his own personal agenda. But lately, you had determined it wasn’t worth it with the way he was treating you.

He hummed, before turning away from you, “I need you to come in tomorrow.”

Was he serious? You keep your voice level, trying to stay professional despite the anger brewing within you. “I can’t, I requested the day off,” you say flatly.

“Well, there’s a lot of work that needs to be done” he starts, “and if you want to keep your job, you’ll come in”

Unbelievable. Now he was threatening to fire you? You were the epitome of the perfect employee, you did everything he asked and more! And after the little coffee incident, you didn’t say or do anything that could be deemed “unnecessary” just like he asked. You couldn’t fathom it, he couldn’t even let you have this day to yourself.

“Sir-” you start, but he cuts you off.

“There’ll be no argument, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice booming with authority. You’re speechless. You turn around, walking out of the office. You wait till you’re a reasonable distance away before you let the tears start to fall. Right now, you didn’t hate anyone more than you hated him. And to think that a few weeks ago you were beginning to harbor feelings for him. You felt so stupid.

–

The next morning, you walk in 5 minutes late. A singular coffee in hand. You hated being late, but you were held back 20 minutes calling back all your relatives and friends who were wishing you a good day. Your heart ached, knowing you’d much rather spend the day with people that adored you instead of him. You head straight to your desk, not even glancing in his direction. You feel the burn of his eyes on your back.

“You’re late” he announces, as you begin to take your laptop and the rest of your work materials out. You looked nicer today, with prettier earrings, a cute dress, and a touch more makeup. Your friends had opted for dinner after work instead after hearing about your last-minute need to cancel. The difference in your appearance didn’t go unnoticed by Miguel.

“I had an emergency” you state, not even bothering to glance up from your computer. In all honesty, you had nothing to do. You had completed all your work for today, yesterday, since you thought you were going to be out.

“Hm,” he responds, glancing at your desk. “Were they out of coffee?” he asks, referencing the fact that you hadn’t gotten any for him.

“No” you answer, finally looking up at him, “Would you like me to get some for you?”

“I’m okay” he answers, his eyes lingering on you like he was attempting to figure you out.

You roll your eyes when he finally turns around, before moving to speak again. “I have nothing on my schedule for today, was there anything specific you needed me to come in to do today?’” you ask, a touch of annoyance behind your voice.

“I need you to organize that,” he says, pointing to rows and rows and rows of disorganized stacks of paper that was not there yesterday. “Alphabetically, of course.”

You want to cry at the sight. You had no idea where any of those papers came from, considering that nearly everything you guys did was electronic. It was like he was doing it on purpose, seeing what your limits were before you finally broke.

You sigh to yourself, accepting the fact that your birthday is officially ruined. You clear your throat before speaking, “This will probably take me all day” you start, “Is there anything else for today?” you ask, sadness evident in your voice. If Miguel hears it, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Just that for now” he turns around, continuing to work on whatever new device he was developing now. You take the opportunity to pull out your phone, notifying your friends that you wouldn’t be seeing them today.

-

You finish up around 10 PM, with more papercuts than you can count. The day was, of course, horrible, with Miguel overanalyzing every move you made. You couldn’t believe you had actually spent your birthday performing such a mundane task, 3 years ago, before you knew Miguel, you never would have stood for this.

You were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. He definitely didn’t know it was your birthday so this was all just a huge coincidence… right? You grab your things ready to leave. You feel Miguel’s eyes on you. You had somehow made it through the day without complaining, not uttering a single word unless you were asking him a question about the assignment.

“Good Night Mr. O’Hara,” you say tiredly as you walk out the door. And maybe you’re just sleep deprived and sad, but you swear you hear a quiet ‘Night’ back.

-

The following morning, you walk in right on time. You look up at Miguel’s usual spot, only to find him staring directly at you. You avert your eyes awkwardly, not saying anything. You were probably going to be angry at him for the next month.

“Good Morning,” he says, body turned towards you.

“Morning,” you say softly, too hurt to be petty and ignore him. You settle into your desk, unloading your materials without even thinking. It had become a habit at this point. You yawn quietly, the events of yesterday had led to a sleepless night. “What’s on the agenda?”

Miguel looks at you, before motioning for you to come next to him. You stand up, walking over to him. He points to his right at the stacks of paper you had tirelessly organized yesterday.

“I need you to organize that,” he says, eyes gauging your reaction.

You keep your face neutral, “I organized those yesterday” you say, “Quite well”

“Again. Organize them again. I’ve decided I want it to be organized by categories instead” he says casually, like his request wasn’t absolutely insane.

No.

He was kidding, right? You stare blankly at him for a few seconds, trying to determine whether or not he was joking. Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, a silent demand to get moving. You can’t help it, but you start to laugh.

“Is something funny?” he asks

“No” you state at first, trying to calm yourself down. Your laughter, however, quickly turns into anger. “Actually, yes. It’s hilarious that you think I’m going to sit here and re-organize what took me 14 hours yesterday to complete.

“You will actually, because I aske-” Miguel starts but you cut him off.

“No, I won’t. I’m not doing it” You throw your hands up, exasperated and pissed off.

“Excuse me?” he answers.

“This is ridiculous. I’ve been wanting to ask for months what exactly crawled up your ass, but out of respect for you, I didn’t. But I can’t take it anymore, you don’t get to treat people- you don’t get to treat me this way! I know you’ve been through shit but that is not an excuse Mr. O’Hara!” you pause, debating whether or not you should stop. The line, however, has already been crossed, so you continue.

“I have been the best assistant in the world for the past 3 years. Dealing with all your insane assignments, your mood, working over my hours every single day and what do I get in return? Total and complete disrespect! I try to be nice, and I try to be understanding, but my patience has worn thin and I will not stand for this. Getting you a coffee and accidentally spilling is not a reason for you to be an asshole! You made yesterday horrible for me, and that is a day I will never get back!” you cry out, all frustrations from the past few months spilling out.

“I don’t know what happened to you, but we used to work. We used to get along, and I’m not exactly sure what I did, but you didn’t use to hate me and treat me like total garbage.” You yell, angry.

Miguel stares at you, an unreadable expression marks his features. He’s not exactly speechless, but he is surprised. He watches silently as you march back over to your desk, packing up your stuff before heading towards the door.

When you’re almost out, you turn around, looking directly at him, “And for the record, I am not horrible at my job and I am capable of handing someone a cup of coffee competently. Find yourself a new assistant, I quit.” and with that, you storm out of the office.

-

Two weeks later and you had settled into a new routine. Living in the Spider-HQ wasn’t anything like regular Earth. People didn’t need to work to live, working just kept things in order and kept a sense of normalcy around the Society.

Your days were different. You finally had time to catch up with other Spider friends that you rarely got to see due to how busy you usually were. You could tend to your garden, catch up on books, and explore the HQ in the daytime. It was nice, it was peaceful.

Despite all that though, something was missing. You weren’t exactly happy about leaving. Yes, it was a major relief to not have to deal with Miguel every day, but it had become your new normal. You had loved your job, prior to everything of course, and you hated to admit it but, you missed it. You missed him, him and all his faults, his attitude, the part of him you rarely got to see.

It was around 7 at night. You were cleaning up your apartment, preparing for a long-awaited movie marathon with Peter. You place the pizza boxes and popcorn on your living room table, all ready mentally preparing yourself for the stomach ache you’d inevitably get.

You hear a knock on your door just as you finish putting away your cleaning supplies. It was a little earlier than you told Peter to come by, but you knew he liked to be punctual.

“It’s open!” You yell, turning on your TV to pull up the movie. The knock is on your door again, this time more persistent. You groan as you get up, hadn’t you and Peter gotten over the formalities of having to invite each other in?

You open the door, your mouth moving faster than your eyes before you could register what was in front of you, “Peter, you know you don’t have to-” you stop, mid-sentence, suddenly rendered speechless. The man in front of you was much too tall and much too tan to be Peter. Your mouth feels dry and you’re unsure of how to respond- or how to proceed.

“Mr. O’Hara.” is what you settle on.

You were embarrassed. Yes, everything you said was completely valid- and true! But, he was still your boss and after you had calmed down, you determined your little outburst was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. So yeah, you weren’t exactly ready to face him, especially considering the fact that you did not think Miguel was the type of person to show up at a doorstep, let alone yours.

He stares at you, his dark eyes moving all over you, like he was trying to assess you. You wait patiently, he had obviously shown up here for a reason, and you definitely weren’t going to say anything that would deter that.

“The other day” he starts, “You were dressed so nicely.” Out of all things you predicted he was going to say, that was not on the list. In all the years you worked together, Miguel had never given you a compliment. Sure, you caught his eyes lingering a little longer than needed sometimes, but he was a man, it didn’t mean anything.

You stay quiet, unsure of how to respond.

“Why were you dressed so nicely?” He moves, his body shifting so one of his arm’s leaning on the top of your doorframe, the rest of him looking down at you.

“That’s none of your business, Mr. O’Hara,” you say firmly.

“I think I ought-” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“Mr. O’Hara, I think it’s best if you-”

“Miguel, My name is Miguel. Not Mr. O’Hara” he says, desperate. You stay silent.

“Did you have a date?” he asks, his voice hoarse, like a certain answer would pain him to hear.

Your mind runs a mile a minute, his question completely throwing you off guard, and now you’re angry, “Is that why you decided to give me that stupid assignment? Because you thought I had a date?”

“You didn’t answer me”

“I don’t have to answer you, Miguel,” you start, saying his name venomously, “Not anymore, I quit, remember?”

He looks at you, eyes hurt and pleading.

“If you must know, it was my birthday. A day that you ruined when you forced me to come in and had me work till 10 PM.” you begin, calmly, not in the mood to be angry again when you were about to meet a friend. “And I know birthdays may not mean anything to you, but they mean a lot to me, and if you’re not here to apologize for the way you treated me, then leave.”

“I was glad you quit, you were driving me insane,” he says, his voice husky and low.

“Did you really come here to insult me further? Glad to see you were so happy to be rid of me” You move to shut the door but he stops you, easily.

“That’s not what I meant” he looks down at his feet, his face hopeless, like what he’s trying to say is impossible. He looks back up, looking directly into your eyes before speaking,

“I cannot get you out of my mind” he admits, “Every waking moment of the day, my mind is filled with you, it drives me crazy. And I can’t do anything about it, because you’re- we’re my assistant”

You’re stunned, unable to speak.

Miguel's eyes are dark as he looks at you. His brain short-circuits as he tries- tries to make you understand exactly how you make him feel. “I knew it was your birthday, and I had planned something, but the moment I saw you in that fucking dress, all sense went out the window. I couldn’t stand the idea that you were probably going to celebrate with some man, some man that probably doesn’t give two shits about you, some man that wasn’t me.”

You attempt to interrupt him, completely overwhelmed by his confession. You had absolutely no idea that was the way he felt about you. You could feel the intensity of his words as he practically pleaded them to you.

“Miguel, I- What?” you start, but he interrupts you, groaning.

“Don’t you fucking get it? I need you, desperately, and I can’t have you and I’m going fucking mad at that revelation. So of course, my only solution was to make you hate me, it’s what I do best, and when it worked, I realized I’d rather hate the world for only letting me have a part of you than not have any part of you at all.” his voice sounds so raw like it hurts to admit.

You look at him, his eyes earnest and waiting. Waiting for some type of signal from you that you understand what he’s saying, and that he’s not alone. But you’re stupid, and you can’t form the right words to explain you feel the exact same way, so you’re speechless, trying to make yourself say something, anything.

“Miguel-” you start, but you’re interrupted.

‘Hey! Did you guys make up? Heard you guys had a nasty work breakup” Peter interrupts, laughing as he looks between the two of you.

Miguel stares at you, exasperated. He gives you one last look before he turns and leaves, running his fingers through his hair as he rounds the corner, leaving your line of sight.

You stare in his direction, closing your mouth before your eyes shift to Peter. He stands there, awkwardly turning to you, clearly gauging that whatever conversation the two of you just had was not a normal one.

“Did I interrupt something?”

-

part 2 coming if people want one? i’ve never posted anything spicy but i’ll do it for the people <3

-

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #marvel #i need him in a way that is concerning to feminism #peter b parker #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x assistant!reader #miguel o’hara x reader

[lovedbybella]

Ok so I just read your “Bad Idea” smut and it was amazing! Can you do one where the roles are reversed? Like y/n has the sex pollen infect her?

combining with request #2: Hey 🧍����‍♀️ this is my first time ever requesting smut so- I feel super awkward 😅, I was wondering if you could write Pietro maximoff eating (fem?) reader out on a couch (or gn reader, anything you want :)

a week’s isolation - p.m.

pairing: pietro maximoff x fem! reader

summary: the strange plant thor brought to earth from asgard is housed in the lab on the upmost floor of the compound, it’s pollen safely contained; your room, however, is right below it. too bad they forgot to seal the vents.

word count: 3,878

tw: smut smut smut. oral (f receiving). apologizing in advance. both parties are 18+ and consenting adults!!!!

a/n: takes place in between the age of ultron/civil war era. pietro and wanda are adults but still young! i haven’t written smut in such a long time so forgive me for the long time it took to get this posted. i get embarrassed when writing shit like this so it takes me twice as long since after every word i have to close my computer and take a lap around my room. hope u enjoy :)

“DOES EVERYONE UNDERSTAND?” FINISHED BANNER as he stood before the team, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Pietro had been half-listening for the first portion of the man’s speech, but at the sound of the words “highly dangerous” and “do not go near it”, his interest had been inevitably piqued.

Pietro fiddled with the string bracelet on his wrist, eyes drifting across the long, meeting table. You were sat next to the head of the table, hair daintily curved along the edges of your face, hands folded on the edge of the table, lips pressed together in thought. He blinked before he could get too lost in you; it had happened before and he didn’t feel like getting caught staring again.

A chorus of yes’s and head nods washed over the team, followed by a short moment of awkward silence as they individually considered the strangeness of the situation that was now in their midst. Pietro sent a tired glance to Wanda, who rolled her eyes and mouthed Pay attention!

“I need you all to seriously recognize the dangers this plant might cause,” Banner went on after the group gave their half-assed acknowledgements of their understanding. “Thor brought this here on accident, and it is only he and other Asgardians that are immune to it. We’re only trying to find a proper, safe way of disposing it, maybe even using a way to harness it’s pollen without... well, killing ourselves.”

“Why can’t Thor just bring it back up to Asgard?” Barton asked, scratching his chin. Shifting in his chair, he said, “I feel like that should be discussed.”

“The issue with that, Barton, is that it’s pollen has already begun to cling onto other things. Our plants, here on Earth, need some kind of vector to move their pollen from place to place, like insects or wind. On Asgard, or at least with this plant, it’s very different,” Banner explained. “The pollen acts almost like a virus, one that clings onto surfaces and grows. We don’t know how to kill this virus, so it’s harder to manage than normal pollen.”

Pietro watched you raise your hand; always so quiet, so polite, you were. It was endearing, he thought, watching you always behave so accordingly. The only time he ever saw you lose yourself was in the heat of a fight, when fists would fly and guns were drawn. It was a treat to see you in such a state, a rarity.

“Y/N? You have a question?”

“The pollen isn’t spreading into the compound, is it?” you asked carefully, something in your voice telling Pietro you were nervous. “Should I be worried?”

“No, we’ve done our very best to contain it,” Banner reassured you; Pietro watched your shoulders deflate. “As long as you all stay away from the lab, you’ll be just fine. And anyone who enters the lab will need to wear facial coverings. I’d even go as far as to say we should invest in more hazmat suits.”

“It’s not that extreme, is it?” Steve Rogers asked in disbelief. “I mean, hazmat suits? C’mon, Banner, what’s the big fuss?”

“The big fuss?” Banner gave a dry scoff. “The big fuss, Cap, is that if you’re exposed to the pollen, it’ll make your mind go into such a sex-driven frenzy that you’ll lose touch with goddamn reality! Do you want that? Because I seriously doubt you want that!”

A wave of silence washed over the room. Steve pressed his lips in a thin line, his nose dusted pink, and said nothing in response, only slowly shaking his head.

“We get it,” Natasha Romanoff spoke up after everyone spent a moment of clearing their throats and adjusting their chairs. “Stay away from big, scary plant.”

Bruce opened his mouth to keep going, but Tony Stark placed a hand on his shoulder.

“They get it,” Stark said. “We’ll change the password to the lab, anyways. J.A.R.V.I.S. will make sure no one goes in.”

All the members fizzled off, going their separate ways. Banner, Stark, and Thor ventured up towards the lab, the latter the only one not donned in a white hazmat suit. Wanda scooted her chair closer to yours, nudging your shoulder.

“Interesting, huh?” she commented. “Wonder what they do with them in Asgard.”

“S’probably like a drug,” Pietro chimed in, dragging his chair towards the two girls’ and sitting backwards on it, legs spread, hands dangling on the back of the chair. You crossed your legs, one folded gingerly over the other, the glossy black toe of your Mary Janes brushing his knee. “No doubt they get a shit ton of that pollen stuff and sell it.”

“I thought Asgardians were immune to it?” you said. Pietro paused.

“Well, maybe if they take a lot of it, it’s like that weird stuff you Americans have. Viagra. Helps it stay up, you know,” Pietro joked, to which Wanda whacked him on the shoulder. “What? Just a hypothesis.”

“Don’t be so crude,” Wanda chastised him. You giggled, the apples of your cheeks rose dusted. Pietro’s lips curled up at your reaction; you glanced over at him, matching his smile, before glancing back down at your lap. “Let’s just stay away from the lab for next few weeks or so. Play it safe.”

“I wanna see it,” Pietro ran a hand through the icy blonde tips of his hair. Your eyes widened a bit. “I’m curious now, y’know? I mean, what’s a sex plant supposed to even look like?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Pietro,” you told him carefully, the sound of his name rolling so easily off your tongue that he almost felt goosebumps trail up his forearms. He smirked, cocking his head to the side.

“But satisfaction brought it back,” he finished the quote for you, raising an eyebrow. Your lips twitched, shaking your head a bit and looking away from him. Wanda rolled her eyes, patting you twice on the knee before standing up, strawberry-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“I’m going to find Vis,” she announced, the leather of her red jacket swishing against her waist. “I’m tired of this plant talk.”

“Your loss,” Pietro called after her as she walked off. She turned around and stuck her tongue out childishly before lifting a single hand; with a swirl of red light, the door slammed shut behind her. Glancing back at you, Pietro grinned. “You can’t tell me you’re not just the tiniest bit curious.”

“Of course I’m curious,” you told him, leaning forward a bit in excitement as you shifted around; the scoop neck of your black tee sat low on your chest as you moved, and he fought to keep his sights on your eyes. “But, it’s not worth the risk. Not in my opinion, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Pietro shrugged. “Maybe I’ll grab ahold of one of those hazmat suits and head in there myself. Just to take a look.”

You sent him a look and sighed, “Just don’t be stupid.”

Pietro gave a toothy grin. “Oh, Y/N. When have I ever been stupid?”

---

THE NEXT MORNING, PIETRO WAS bewildered to see you absent from the kitchen. Typically, you’d wake up way before he did, and he’d find you sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea or coffee and a book, silently reading. Vision sometimes would join you, or on certain days when Peter Parker would come round, Pietro would find you chatting away with him at the table. This specific morning, however, you were not there. Vision was sitting on his own, a copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden in front of him; a cold cup of coffee was sat in front of the empty chair.

“Buna dimineata,” Vision greeted in Sokovian, not looking up from his book. Pietro rubbed the sleep from his pale eyes and glanced at Y/N’s empty chair. “I presume you are curious as to where Y/N is.”

“Where is she?” Pietro asked, retying the white strings of his plaid blue and silver pajama pants. Vision glanced up at the cold cup of coffee, staring at it until it lifted into the air and carried itself towards the sink, dumping itself out and sitting on the chrome interior of the sink.

“I poured that for her, but she had yet to arrive,” Vision explained. Pietro furrowed his brows, crossing his arms over his chest where the white tank top he wore to sleep was wrinkled up. “I sought for Captain Rogers and he revealed to me that she’s been quarantined to her room.”

“Quarantined?” Pietro repeated, the word sounding uncomfortable on his tongue. He cursed under his breath before tentatively asking, “What for?”

Vision closed Walden and set it down on the table, letting out a simple breath and shifting his eyes to meet Pietro’s.

“It seems that the laboratory and Y/N’s room share an air vent,” he said. Pietro said nothing, not following. Vision stood up, tucking the chair back under the table and holding Walden with one hand. “They sealed off that mysterious plant, however they seem to have forgotten the air vent underneath the desk it’s planted on. That air vent just so happened to empty into Y/N’s room.”

“The pollen,” Pietro pinched the bridge of his nose. “O, la naiba...”

“So it’s just wise, according to Banner, that she is confined to her room,” Vision gave Pietro look, bowing his head forward as though he knew something he wasn’t supposed to. “Which means you must leave her alone until she has recovered.”

Pietro let out a sigh before moving his eyes away from version, clenching his jaw and thinking; maybe there was a way he could get into your room without getting infected by the pollen himself, even if it was just to talk with you. The idea of you being all cooped up there by yourself made his heart clench, but he also couldn’t help but let his mind wander to the effects the pollen was having on you. 

“Pietro,” Vision said, and Pietro met his eyes. “Do not try and see her. We don’t know how much pollen is still in that room.”

Pietro rolled his eyes and left the room, not letting Vision interrupt his brainstorming. Banner had been extreme in his warnings about the effects, but how sexually-frustrated could the damn thing make a person? Besides, you were tough. He was sure it wasn’t too bad.

And it wasn’t. But after a week, he started getting anxious. Your room was entirely off limits, the only people going in out being Banner, to asses the situation, and Steve Rogers, to talk to you. You had always been close with Rogers, however, Pietro wished Banner could lend him one of those masks so he could see you. 

One evening, Pietro couldn’t sleep. The more he laid in bed, pale eyes staring blankly at the white ceiling, the more he thought about you, cooped up in your room and probably in an unimaginable amount of pain. It had been a week and change already, and this isolation was sure to be driving you mad. He swung his legs around so he was now sitting on the edge of his bed, and he paused. 

Maybe this is a bad idea, he thought to himself as his legs carried him towards his door, Like, a really bad idea. He hand was still clasping over the doorknob and twisting, despite that little voice in the back of his head asking if this idea of his could potentially end badly.... or, he could end up helping you out. He couldn’t imagine being isolated for so long.

By the time he reached the outside of your bedroom, he paused, his knuckles hovering over the wood, hesitating to knock. He could hear you from outside, moaning and groaning in pain. His heart ached and he knocked.

The moaning stopped and Pietro gulped. “Hey, dragă...”

“Pietro?” you asked from inside. “You shouldn’t...” you paused, and he heard the sound of your bedsheets rustling. “You shouldn’t be near here...”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see you.”

“Banner says it might be contagious,” you replied sadly. He could hear you frown. “I don’t want you to catch it.”

“It’s been over a week,” Pietro rolled his eyes. “I doubt it’s still airborne. Most viruses don’t last in the air for that long.”

“I guess,” you fell silent. More rustling. Pietro sighed and put his hand over the door knob. Taking a deep breath, he twisting and opened it.

You were a sight to see, that’s for sure. Half your body was covered by the white comforter, and the parts of you that weren’t were clad in a small tank top and small pajama shorts. The ceiling fan was on top speed, and there were two other fans propped up in the room, each pointing towards the bed. 

Your face was a bright red, same with your chest, and your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face. But your eyes, that had previously been half-lidded, widened considerably when you saw Pietro open the door before you threw the entire blanket over yourself.

“You can’t be in here!” you shrilled. “You’ll catch it!”

You felt a hand grasp onto the blanket, slowly pulling it down and off of you. Pietro, his hair tousled by his hand and his lips curved into a gentle smile, let out a small laugh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m, like, superhuman. I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go get some water.”

You hesitated, letting him slide the blanket off you. You clenched your jaw, cheeks flushing scarlet as your eyes raked him up and down; he was clad in a thin white tank top that was maybe a size too small, and white-and-blue pajama pants that hung low on his waist. Taking a deep breath, you swung your legs over the bed and got to your feet.

You walked behind him, scared to get too close. Pietro could see your hesitation to the leave the room, as well as your hesitation to touch anything. 

“C’mon, dragă,” Pietro laughed at you. “It’s okay. I feel fine. You’re not going to get me sick.”

“We don’t know that,” you took another heavy breath, keeping your eyes off of him. The flushing of your face made it hard to breathe and the twisting in your lower abdomen was making your head whirl. The muscles of his back flexing every five seconds as he reached up in the cabinets for a cup was not helping. You gulped. “I need to sit down...”

“All right,” Pietro glanced back at you, holding the two cups of ice water. “You okay?”

“None of the medicines work,” you mumbled, hesitantly taking the from him. He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, staring at you. You felt your neck get hotter and glancing down at your lap. “I just gets worse.”

“What does?” Pietro asked curiously. “What’s the issue? Nauseous? Headache?”

“Erm,” you took a shaky breath and squeezed your legs together. “Hard to explain. The plant, the one from Asgard that did this... it’s... it’s kind of odd...”

Pietro raised a brow. You had a death grip on both your cup and the couch cushion. Face beet red, you took a sip from your trembling hand, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

“How so?” Pietro asked.

“I don’t really know,” you mumbled. “Banner said it’s got these, like... coitus pheromones? I don’t really know what that word means, but he refuses to elaborate.”

It was Pietro’s turn to feel his cheeks grow hot. The word was the same in Sokovian, and he knew it was a fancy term for sex, but he was shocked that you didn’t know. You were supposed to be the smart one.

“Y/N... you don’t remember what it means?” he asked carefully. You shook your head.

“Do you?” you asked, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a few minutes. Pietro bit the inside of his cheek. No wonder you were gripping the couch like a lifeline. This whole time, he had assumed you were moaning and groaning because of pain. His chest felt hot. “What’s it mean?”

“It means sex, Y/N,” he told you slowly. “If Banner says it’s got “coitus pheromones”, that means it’s like... it really is like alien viagra. Like I had joked about before…”

He saw your eyes grow wide, your chest beginning to rise and fall with greater speed. You averted your eyes away from him in almost an instant, pressing your lips together in a thin line and shrinking back as though to pretend he were not there.

“Great,” you mumbled. Pietro shrugged.

“S’not like you didn’t know what it did,” he said honestly. “You’ve been feeling like this for more than a week, you’ve had to have some idea. Probably driving you up a wall, huh?”

You gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah.”

Pietro stared at you, watching the rise and fall of your chest. “I could help you. If you wanted me to.”

You gave him a very odd look, brows furrowing just a bit. The air felt warmer, as though someone had turned off the A/C. “What?”

“You heard me,” Pietro muttered, and now it was his turn to shrink back, his back hunching. “Only if you want...”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you mumbled. Pietro pursed his lips. 

“You’re not,” Pietro said simply. “I’m asking you if you want me to help you.”

“I...” you bit the inside of your cheek, and he watched you take a deep, steady breath. “Of course I want you to.”

“Well...” Pietro trailed off, staring at you, awaiting your word. His knees were practically touching yours, the head radiating off of him making you grip the couch tighter.

“Well, what?” you asked. His hand left where it had previously rested on his lap and latched onto your knee, sliding upwards at a snail’s pace.

“Can I?” he asked softly. “Help you?”

You glanced down at where his hand rested on your thigh. Back up at his eyes. Jesus christ.

“Yes.”

You could’ve sworn you saw his lips twitch upwards, a half-smirk half-smile fighting to curl onto his face. You didn’t bother dwelling on it, though, considering you were too focused on the fact that his other hand was on your other thigh, his hands sliding up and down your leg leisurely before coming back down onto your knees.

He pushed your knees apart, his calloused fingers digging into your bare skin, pale blue eyes never leaving yours. You took another shaky breath, swallowing anxiously. He lowered himself off of the coffee table he had been sitting on, kneeling in between your knees. His fingers crawled up to the fabric of your pajama shorts, tugging on the hem.

“Y’know these gotta go, right?” he asked rhetorically. 

“Mmhm,” you gulped and did nothing for a second, but as he continued to tug on them, you took the top elastic and pulled it down until it reached his hands. He did the rest of the work, discarding them beside where he knelt.

Your underwear was a light blue, which just so happened to be Pietro’s favorite color (this was a coincidence, you swear). He hummed in approval and spread your knees apart wider. His eyes darted down, spotting the darkened patch of fabric right over her sex. He gave a smirk and snapped his eyes back up to yours again.

Saying nothing, he brought his hand closer to you, running his index finger up and down the darkened fabric. You shuddered. He was barely putting pressure on you, but it seemed the pollen was making even the slightest touch feel a million times more intense than it was.

“These also have to go. As much as I like ‘em,” he said, tugging on the azure fabric of your panties. You felt yourself smile a bit. 

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, but grabbed the hem and pulled down down. Pietro grabbed them off of your ankles, and lifted them up in front of his eyes.

“Can I keep these?” he asked. You kicked him with your foot.

“Creep,” you said. He chuckled and put them on top fo your discarded pajama shorts. “Can you please just...”

“Just do what?”

You huffed and mumbled something unintelligible. He pressed his thumb to your clit rather harshly, moving in small, quick circles.

“What was that?” He asked as you gasped, hands grappling at the edge of the sofa. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” you breathed, your stomach fluttering. Pietro hummed.

“Well, I don’t have time to give you everything, but I can give you a... what do you call it? A taste?"

And then, before she could say anything more, he dove forward and pressed a kiss to your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. He skillfully traced his tongue up and down the length of your slit before returning to your clit, where he wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucked. You slithered a hand down to tangle in his hair, grasping at the white-blonde locks.

“Christ, Piet,” you breathed. You felt him smile before he lifted his mouth up for a second, licking his lips. Locking eyes with you, he brought himself back down to trace circles around your entrance with his tongue. Without a second to waste, he brought his hand up and plunged his index finger inside, pulling it out to only shove it back in over and over again.

Your head fell back onto the cushion of the couch, back arching, one hand grappling at the back of its foundations while the other grasped onto Pietro’s hair. Pietro’s eyes flickered back and forth between your half-lidded eyes and the finger that was moving in and out of you, and with a rush of adrenaline, he shoved his middle finger inside, too.

Curling his fingers, he brought his mouth to your clit. “Close, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” was all you could find words for, the combination between his fingers and his mouth making your vision go blurry and your mind go blank. “Uh-huh.”

“C’mon, dragă,” he coaxed, his words slightly muffled by his lips being pressed to your clit. “Give it to me.”

Back arching, the coil inside of your lower abdomen finally began to unravel at high speed, body spasming over his long fingers as pretty moans slipped from between your lips. Pietro was grinning as he sucked at your cunt, feeling your velvet walls tighten around his fingers as you orgasmed.

When the noises from you ceased, and your breathing began to slow, he pulled his fingers out and sat upright. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and just as they locked, he put his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean. You shivered.

“Feel better?” he asked casually. You paused.

“Yeah,” you said in shock. “I actually do.”

“Told you,” he smirked. You smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” he replied, getting off his knees and sitting beside you, handing you your underwear and shorts. “Would’ve done it even without the pollen, y’know.”

“Yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll have to take you up on that, then.”

--

translation:

“Buna dimineata.” - Good morning

“O, la naiba.” - Oh, damn it.

“Dragă.” - Darling, Sweetheart, Love

taglist:

@childishnewt @mcximffs @minbeatriz16 @slvtforfictionalcharacters @kaqua @thorrealgf @pagesbetweensheets @xlucyintheskywithdiamondsx @eichenhouseproperty @niallhoransupremacy @criesinlies @fairydxll @cassiestars777

a/n: this is painfully unedited im sorry. 

[lovedbybella]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

wc: 6k

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

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

[lovedbybella]

— Mahmoud Darwish, Poetic Regulations

[lovedbybella]

No Longer Yours

James Potter x Female!Reader

IB: In The Cold November Rain by @sweetsweetjellybean (Make sure to check it out, it’s incredible and one of the best I’ve ever read !)

A/N: First, I wanna say thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean for letting me be inspired by her story even though I am stupid, lol, but seriously (not kissing ass), check her series out; it is fantastic. Thank you to everyone for the kind comments, reblogs, and likes. I'm overwhelmed with love, and I'm so thankful that people actually want to read more of what I write but anyways, enjoy!

Summary: James had disregarded you for multiple years, but when you have an epiphany in your final year, how does it feel to taste his own medicine?

Warning: It may contain swearing and soon-to-be smut.

Part 1 | Part 2

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you all the way?" Your mother asked, squeezing your hand.

"I'll be fine," You caressed her hand, "I'm still your baby, though."

She laughed lightly, "Make sure to write always," She held your face with her hands, "Have fun; it's your last year."

You touched her hand on your cheek, "I will."

You hugged her one last time, taking in her scent. Every time you said bye to her, it was as sad as the first, without you crying and begging to stay.

"Okay," She smiled, taking her hands off your face, "Are you still sure you don't wanna wait for James here? I mean, you've done it all these years."

Little did she know, you had been ignoring James's letters, all 128 of them. He had been persistent, asking you what was wrong and begging for a reply to know you were safe.

You even received a letter from his mother, Euphemia Potter, asking how you were and everything was in Paris. You would never have it in your heart to ignore Ms. Potter, so you replied dutifully and happily.

And then you got a letter from him saying,

Dear Y/n,

Are you really going to reply to my mother and not me?

Sincerely,

Your BEST FRIEND, James Potter.

You didn't reply, scoffing at the bolded best friend. The last letter you received was last week, him telling you he couldn't wait to see you and wanted to talk as soon as he got to you.

Bullshit.

"Yeah," You gulped, "I'm just gonna meet him inside."

"Well, I'm sure he misses you," She started fixing your coat, "I mean, you have been in Paris all of this time, and I just think it would be good for you to-"

You cut her off, pecking her cheek, "Love you!" You yelled, going towards the train.

She shook her head, "Be safe!"

You smiled at her, going through the wall to the train. The feeling still felt the same, nostalgic. This was the last time boarding the train, and it felt sad.

You remembered the first time you ever boarded it. James was practically high on excitement on his first day at Hogwarts. You were scared out of your bloody mind, not wanting to leave your mum and dad.

When you had finally stopped crying and holding onto your mother's leg, James was the one to hold your hand and tell you that he would take care of you.

Maybe that was the first time you had realized James was more than a friend to you, or perhaps you were a naive child.

But either way, he was the one that you needed protecting from. You realized he hadn't been your friend since the fourth year.

But this year wasn't about James; it was about you having the best last year of Hogwarts that you could have ever had.

You boarded the train, moving through the compartments to where Marlene, Mary, Dorcas, and Lily usually were.

Compartment 222.

It was pretty lucky; it is where you guys first met.

You opened the compartment, "Did you guys miss me?"

They excitedly cheered, "Now tell me, Y/n, how many French boys did you end up shagging in France?" Marlene asked.

"I would say about thirty, oui oui." You joked in a French accent as they all started laughing.

You sat down next to Dorcas, giving her a side hug. You saw Lily and Mary whisper something to each other, to which Mary said, "Just say it!"

You could see Dorcas in the corner of your eye, shaking her head no aggressively. Apparently, Marlene was the only one not in the plan, continuing to look at her newsletter.

Your eyebrow raised, "Am I missing something?"

"It's really nothing," Lily nervously said.

"Okay, so what is it?" You laughed.

"Well," Lily fiddled with her fingers, "You know how you specifically requested that none of us tell James that you were replying to our letters and not purposely ignoring him."

You said, "Uhuh." Already knowing where this going.

"Well, I accidentally let it slip out over the letter you had spoken to Marlene and me." She admitted.

Your mouth agape, "Lily."

"I know, I know," She groaned, "It was a total accident."

"How do you accidentally slip something out over letter?" Marlene snorted, earning a glare from Lily, but she still looked at her newsletter.

"What did he say after?" You asked, kneading your forehead.

"Why is she ignoring me?" Lily answered, "I just said it was none of my business, nor was I involved."

The group stayed in silence, waiting for you to reply.

You sighed, thinking about how much James would bother you more now that he knew you ignored him.

"Are you mad at me?" Lily asked quietly.

"No, of course not," You smiled, looking at her, "I just don't want to talk to him and explain everything,"

"Who says you have to?" Mary asked.

You looked at her confused, "I just can't ignore him." You said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"And why not?" Marlene asked, now looking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but nothing came out. You thought about it harder, and why wouldn't you be able to ignore James? Maybe it was hard because you have never done it before.

"So I just don't reply when he tries to talk to me?" You asked.

"Well, I don't support this, but," Lily started, "You could always just walk away when he says something to you."

"Wouldn't that be mean?" You asked.

"What did I tell you in person and in the letter?" Dorcas asked as you looked at her.

"Give him hell."

"So do it." She said.

They were right; you couldn't keep explaining to James what he did wrong; you just had to be done with him. You missed your friendship, but it took a turn years ago; you never said anything.

And you had to start not caring about him.

"So, how was your guy's summer?" You changed the subject, grinning as Marlene went on about how she perfected her Quidditch skills and would finally be the best chaser at Hogwarts.

Then Lily talked about her poetry that she started over the summer and how her sister had ripped a few of them, but she fixed them with a single swish of her wand and appreciated magic more.

Mary talked about how many soap operas she had seen and how she might even go into it after she graduates from Hogwarts.

Lastly, Dorcas talked about how this year was her year to be a seeker and how she got a whole book collection from her sister in New Zealand.

You began talking about how you tasted so many new foods and learned a bit of French, showing off your knowledge of the profound language.

You were interrupted by someone opening the compartment doors, "Hello," Remus greeted as you stood up to hug him immediately.

He caught you as you almost made him fall over by the movement, "Remmy, how much I have missed you," You said, kissing him on the cheek.

"And Y/n, how was France?" He asked, smiling.

"Quite a bore; every man was all over me; I was getting exhausted," You exhaled, sitting back in your seat.

"Well, if you ever want to get with a real man, I'm here, Y/n," Sirius said, nudging next to you as you looked disgusted.

"Did you have to bring him?" Dorcas asked Remus, rolling her eyes.

"He insisted," Remus shrugged.

"There needs to be some form of restraining order against him by all of us," Mary sighed.

"I thought his STDs were enough of a restraining order for us to keep away from him," Marlene teased.

Sirius interrupted before another insult could be made, "Ladies, this Sirius Black hate train is honestly starting to hurt," He pretended to be hurt.

"Aww, poor baby," You said in a baby voice, pinching his cheek as he swooshed your hand away.

"Now, Y/n, why are you ignoring poor Prongs?" Sirius asked as you wanted to throw him out of the train through the window.

"I thought he told you to dance around the question," Remus snorted.

Sirius disregarded, "What did my poor, stupid boy do this time?"

"I'm afraid it's none of your business, Black." You simply said.

"It is my business when my friend is sulking and bringing down my mood," He explained, "So why are you upset with him?" He asked.

Marlene abruptly laughed, "I'm sorry, but he really thought you would be the one Y/n would say something to,"

Sirius fake-laughed, "Oh McKinnon, I'll be laughing like that when you fall off of your arse on the field,"

Marlene mocked his facial expression as he did the same thing to her.

"May I please just arrive in peace without one word of James Potter? I'm begging." You reasoned.

"Well, at least I can tell him I tried and that Moony was no help." He glared at Remus.

"I told you I wasn't going to talk to her for him; it was all up to you," Remus said as Sirius went outside, and Remus waved everyone goodbye before closing the doors.

You could already tell it was going to be a long year.

After finally sorting the first year, everyone was allowed to dine. One thing you always missed about Hogwarts was the fantastic food; it was always incredible.

You were sitting in between Remus and Dorcas when Remus abruptly got up.

"Where are you going?" You asked, mid-laugh from a joke Marlene had made about Dumbledore and McGonagall in their secret chamber.

"Don't kill me," Remus stated before leaving. You looked confused, and James took the spot in front of you. You rolled your eyes, turning back to your meal.

"Please talk to me, Y/n," James pleaded.

You continued to stay silent, not even giving him a look as you looked at Marlene. She shook her head, and you continued to eat.

"I just wanna know what I did," James begged.

When you still didn't respond, he grabbed ahold of your wrist in an attempt for you to look at him.

"Don't fucking touch me." You spat before getting up and leaving the dining hall, telling your friends you were just gonna meet them in the dorm.

You tried rushing to the common room, but James was behind you.

"Y/n!" He yelled, speed-walking after you.

You continued to ignore him, going to the common room until you were stuck with the singing lady at the door who would not give it a rest.

"You have to talk to me," James demanded while the lady continued to screech.

"I don't have to do a thing you say," You scoffed, "In fact, I would prefer if you screwed off and stopped talking to me."

You went to one of the corridors, trying to escape him, but he followed you.

"Can't you just explain to me what I could've done for you to treat me like this?" He said roughly.

You turned to him, "There is not a single, simple explanation of what you could've done; there is a book of things," You snapped, "And treat you like this? Ever since I fucking stepped foot into your life, you have continued to treat me like shit." You stepped closer, "I stuck with you despite Lily, despite what other people said, and despite what you have shown me."

He continued to stay silent, "And now that I finally stick up for myself, I've done you horribly? Bullshit." You spat, "You have continued to show me exactly why I will never ever love you again, and yeah, for a matter of fact, I did love you, but you don't deserve me and never will."

Your words shocked him, not being able to mutter a word.

"Now you have nothing to say?" You manically laughed, "The smooth-talking and fantastic golden boy that shocked the century has nothing to say? What a pathetic-"

He kissed you suddenly precipitously, his tongue entering your mouth, entangling with yours.

For a second, you were drunk on his mouth, engaging with his kiss with as much passion as he gave you. His hand pulls on your hair lightly, making you moan.

His lips went from your mouth to your neck, sucking hard, red marks into your skin, knowing it would bruise.

Then you remembered everything. You remembered James's bitter words, his voice mocking you, and the boys laughing in the locker room.

You pushed his hard chest off you, breathing hard from the whole interaction. He looked at you, breathing as hard as you; realizing what he had done, he tried to touch your hand, but you pushed him again.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, "You're such an asshole," You cried, going to the Gryffindor common room.

You rushed up the stairs, immediately going into your bed. You couldn't believe what had just happened.

A part of you wanted to be grateful, grateful that you pushed him off, and realized that he only wanted to be with you when he felt convenient.

Another part of you wanted to continue kissing him, laughing with him, hugging him. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you had never figured it would be painful.

What if you had loved James for so long that you didn't know anything but to love him?

It was stupid and pathetic.

You were tired of being stupid and pathetic, you just wanted to move on from James Potter and get away from him, and if that wasn't possible, you had to make him regret being friends with you in the first place.

So you did.

You got up fresh and early in the morning when all of your roommates were sleeping, taking a shower immediately.

You looked in the mirror, your mascara smudged and dark red and purple hickies wearing your skin. You placed a shit-load of powder and concealer to cover up the parts you could.

You tried several spells to cover it up as best as possible, changing into your uniform.

You slipped into the most showing tights you could and wore your skirt from the fifth year that you so obviously outgrew, showing almost your ass cheeks.

You would be thankful not to get a write-up from McGonagall.

You unbuttoned two buttons off the top of your shirt, showing a tiny bit of your bra. It wasn't the most rebellious or seductive, but it could work.

The first challenge of that day was Potions; all of your friends were there, including all of the Marauders. But, thanks to Merlin was also Jacob Carrow's class, the Slytherin Captain that James hated with a burning passion.

They both could not be in the same room without spitting a hateful insult at the other. James once had a dream that you and Jacob had gone out, and he refused to talk to you for an entire day until you convinced him you would never do that.

You never considered yourself a liar.

The only problem was that Jacob was a dickhead, but so was James. You were surprised they didn't get along, maybe in another life.

You went inside Potions with your friend group, and you spotted Jacob Carrow in the back with an empty seat next to him as you told your friends you were gonna sit in the back.

You were thankful none of his friends were around him; it would be ten times more unbearable.

You sat next to him with a wide grin painted on your face, trying not to show your pain.

"Sitting next to me, Y/n?" He smirked, "I thought you were Potter's little puppy."

You tried to ignore your annoyance, "Pets tend to lean away from their owner at points; I guess that's my case." You shrugged.

"I am no Potter; I don't like having little girls follow me and do my shit for me." You could tell he was insulting you, but you stood tall.

"Good thing girls don't like to be in your presence." You snickered.

He smiled, "Love a kitty with claws," He leaned into his chair, "What do you want?"

"Do I have to want something?" You asked, popping your chest out to show your tits as he looked down at your face.

"You finally trying to make your boy toy jealous?" He asked.

You dropped the facade, "Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Control the temper, baby; I just wanna know what's in it for me." His body faced you.

"Isn't James being angry enough?" You asked.

"Nah, I can piss off Potter by just existing." He replied.

"What do you want?" You asked, half-annoyed.

"Meadows on a date with me."

You laughed, "Dorcas would never go on a date with you."

"Then no deal." He said with a fake smile.

"Ugh, fine, I'll talk to her if you just make James's life hell for a few minutes." You said.

"Okay, deal." He smiled, "Do you want me to touch you or,"

"Sure, but don't overdo it." You warned.

"I love when you flatter yourself." He said as James walked in, laughing with the Marauders.

Jacob immediately placed a hand on your thigh, slightly higher than preferred, but you continued smiling.

You started fake-laughing at Jacob's joke, which immediately caught James's attention. You looked behind you, and James's head looked like it would explode.

You looked back at Carrow, touching his shoulder and admiring how much muscle he had.

"What else do you want me to do?" He said through his teeth.

"I'll scoot closer to you, and you can put your hand on my waist." You suggested as he nodded.

You faced the front as Jacob touched your waist, tickling you with his fingers as you laughed.

"Mind keeping it down?" James scowled, "Not everyone wants to fucking hear that shit."

"How about you piss off, Potter?" Jacob mocked as he gripped your waist tighter, which pissed off James even more.

Before James could say another word, Slughorn started the class.

Throughout the class, Jacob would squeeze your thigh or tickle you, almost rising to touch your tits. Whenever he did those actions, you would giggle, earning daggers from James.

Once Slughorn instructed everyone to look inside their microscopes at the different ingredients used in Veritaserum, you took the opportunity to sit on Jacob's lap, looking in the microscope as he bounced you with his knee, causing you to laugh.

This really pissed James off, him storming up to you both. He grabbed your arm, practically flying you off of Jacob.

"Mr. Potter!" Slughorn yelled as the class watched the entire thing.

"Don't you dare fucking touch her," James said brusquely.

Jacob scoffed, "What will you do about it, Potter?" He stood, going closer to James.

You rolled your eyes due to the amount of testosterone in this conversation.

James got closer as you grabbed his hand, pushing him back, "Stop it." You said to him as he looked at you.

He grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the classroom to an abandoned bathroom.

"James, let go of me!" You yelled as he pushed you inside the bathroom.

He was fuming, and you could tell which scared you. You hadn't seen him this angry since he lost a Quidditch match against the very man's lap you were on.

"You dragged me in here, so is there something you have to say?" You looked at him angrily, hands on your hips.

"Us not being friends anymore doesn't allow you to be a slut," He ridiculed.

You slapped him, "Don't you fucking dare call me a slut; I can do whatever the fuck I want,"

He wiped his mouth with a smile, "You think he gives a shit about you? He would fuck you and then dump you." He said as he moved closer, and you backed up.

"You don't know a thing," You replied nervously.

"He wouldn't even clean you up after," He continued, "He would let you rot there like a slut," Another step closer, which you took backward. You didn't understand if he purposely tried to intimidate or lecture you.

He didn't stop.

"He would tell all of his friends after," Another step, "He wouldn't dare spare you a minute after," Another step, "You would mean nothing," You were backed into the wall now, "But it's okay because you can do whatever the fuck you want."

"James." You kept eye contact with him, his eyes beaming into yours.

His mouth lowered to your ear, "But I think you want me to give a shit; you wanna see me mad." His hand snaked to your waist, "I guess you win." His body left yours, storming out of the bathroom.

Did you really win?

A/N: Y/n: 2, James 0??? There is also an alternate chapter to this because I couldn't stop writing two plots LOL.

taglist: @feast0nmeee @queerqueenlynn @diasnohibng @somebodys-enola @kiwichixta @queerpanickingrn @strnqer @virgogaia @ddddawson @lxriearxella @losa12308 @soosheee @lokifriggason1 @kenqki @volturissideslut @lmfaograyc @melllinaa @iluvfetuszarry @lovelywebber @violetbossler @moonys0chocolate @ourloveisforthelovely @stormymind14 @abq654 @cr1stinx @4-everm-0-re @icantwaittoliveandlearn @aceofheartzzz @ashkuuuu @i-dont-know-me-either @slayingqueenchal @hero-ically @mikeikax @extrainsanity @roryctrlshift @helloitsmeeeeeee @@dittos-blog-dylanobrien @drstargirl @17luvr @eviesmith1810 @fluffycookies22 @valencia-rou @watersquirtpewpewboomm @kentucky-criedfricken @lokisbitch13 @evangelinejxy @youroutdoorbf @ok-boke @madison-rebel @sunshineangel-reads @feast0nmeee @rey26

[lovedbybella]

a girl does start to feel optimistic in a patch of sun

[lovedbybella]

cinnamon girl

fwb!james potter x female!reader

summary: there are things i want to say to you but i'll just let you live.

word count: 2.2k

warning: mentions of smut and angst.

FIRST CHAPTER: VIOLET

Being friends with benefits with James Potter wasn't the easiest nor the most boring. You didn't even fully understand how you got into this predicament.

All you remember is James's obvious charm and his humor which had always enchanted you and he was always quick with his tongue.

The only problem was you were falling in love with him.

You had warned him this would happen but he had always thought you were talking about him which he assured you, he wouldn't.

You both were an outlet for all of your bullshit and problems, what made it worse was that you were friends with all of the Marauders, hanging out with them every day.

All of these thoughts passed as you were laying in his bed at this very second. You were stopped when you heard him groan, "Mmm, good morning." He smirked, kissing your neck delicately.

You gave him a polite smile, sitting up while you fiddled with your fingers, "James, I think we need to ta-" You attempted.

"Too early for talking," He moaned into his pillow, "Did you wanna get breakfast?" He asked, rising up.

You rolled your eyes, "Sure."

He gasped, "Did you just roll your eyes at me?" He looked at you with daring eyes.

"Don't." You giggled as he lunged forward, tickling you as you pleaded, trying to grasp air.

"Come on, say it!" He yelled, tickling you.

"Uncle! Uncle!" You screamed as he stood on his knees, flexing.

You kicked his stomach slightly as he toppled over you, "Dirty play." He groaned.

"Curse Remus for teaching you that saying." You whined.

"You are only mad because I can take you down." He boasted as you scoffed, remembering his body on top of you.

You tried pushing his body off of you, "Jesus lay off the bread Potter."

He pinned your arms to the sheets, looking at you as you grew flustered, "You know you like me a little chubby." He winked, kissing your lips harshly.

You could feel his entire being, the smell of home and butterbeer. He felt like warmth on a rainy day or running through a field of flowers.

He lifted his head, breaking the kiss, "Guess what?" He asked.

You smiled, "What?"

"Lily actually talked to me yesterday," Your smile fell, "I mean she actually talked to me! Not even an insult but she asked how Quidditch was going, and she initiated it!" He excitingly said, still on top of you.

"Good for you James." You tried your best to sound happy.

He grinned brighter, "And we might even go on a date, I mean Dorcas said Lily was actually considering it." A pang in your heart, "Isn't that amazing?" He laughed in pure happiness.

"Yes, it is James, congratulations." You simply said.

He said nothing more but instead kissed you in response.

He pulled back, "I'm just gonna go take a quick shower then we can meet the boys downstairs." He stood, "You know I do miss them but I do not miss sharing a room with them and I'm sure you don't either." He winked, grabbed his towel, and left for the washroom.

James being a prefect had its perks like a new room and being able to not wake up to a bunch of ruckuses by the rest of the Marauders.

But it didn't help with your heart, hanging out with him more often and having sex more often.

You knew James wasn't using you, you knew that he thought you wanted it too which you did but, you wanted all of James.

You wanted the label, you pleaded for it.

But you knew it would only compliment things and James was a boy, he wouldn't know what to do if you told him how you truly felt about him.

You just wished you had never agreed to this in the first place. Remus had advised you not to and you knew he was right but the way James treated you, it felt nice.

He never neglected to tell you how beautiful you were or how grateful he was to have you, even telling you that he 'loved' you.

You knew he loved you but not in the way that you loved him.

He always showered you with kisses and affection. On Valentines Day, he even got you an entire bouquet of chocolate roses. And on Christmas, he got you a perfume that smelled of everything you loved.

Lavender, peaches, violet, him.

You wished life could be easier.

You knew that in another universe, you and James probably had three kids, all of them running around like crazy while James chased them around and you baked chocolate muffins and smiled brightly about your life.

You could only wish it would happen in this one.

You chose to stop pondering on things that aren't real and get ready for classes.

During the walk to the dining hall, James could not stop talking about Lily and how he was excited that she was finally noticed him in a good way.

"Are we still on for tonight?" He asked, "I was thinking we could sneak into the kitchens, just us."

"Yeah sure." You said.

"It's a date." He joked, wrapping his arm around you. You did an awkward laugh before sitting down in the middle of James and Remus with Peter and Sirius across from you all.

"About time," Sirius exasperated, "I know you guys like fucking but it's taking a toll on me."

You rolled your eyes, throwing a piece of bread at him, "Don't be mad because you don't get laid." You said, grabbing an apple.

"Y/n, I think you forgot who you are talking to." He scoffed.

You shook your head, putting some eggs on your plate as James started telling Sirius and Peter about Lily. Remus looked at you in tiredness.

"There is no way you haven't told him how you felt yet." He whispered.

You shushed him despite the fact of James being next to you, "There is nothing to tell." You whispered.

"Mhm." He hummed.

A bell signaled everyone to get to their classes as you started going, "Y/n, let me walk you!" James yelled.

"James, we have the same class as the rest of the boys." You giggled.

"I was trying to be romantic." He pouted as you hit him softly with your shoulder.

Romantic? That made absolutely no sense but that was his beautiful humor.

You felt a hand on your waist as you looked at James, his expression didn't falter, still laughing at a joke he had made.

You liked that he could comforately do that without caring if people thought you guys were a couple or not but you knew it meant nothing to him, just a friendly thing.

"So Y/n," Sirius wrapped his arm around you as James moved his own hand off, looking a bit pissed off, "Are you going to sit with me today?" He asked, giving you a not-so subtle wink.

You played along, "What do I get out of it Black?" You smirked, looking up at him.

"Well.." He paused, "I can make you come in five minutes with this finger," He held up his ring finger, "Under the desk." He winked.

Remus and James grimaced as you laughed, "In your dreams Black." You left his arms, hitting him lightly in the stomach.

He pouted, "How come she will fuck James and not me? I am way better in bed."

"No, you aren't mate." James scoffed, "She's in love with my tongue." He said, sticking his tongue out at Sirius.

Sirius gave him a mocking face as you all entered the classroom. You noticed that Lily was sitting at an empty desk, looking at James already.

You sat down at an empty desk, hoping that James would sit with you. You looked at him as well, he was looking at you then back at Lily.

He walked forward to you as a wave of relief passed over you, "I'll see you tonight, okay?" He said to you as disbelief took your expression entirely.

He didn't wait for an answer, sitting down next to Lily.

You couldn't believe that he had done that to you, you never thought James would be so cruel.

You sat there in silence, just staring straight across from you.

Peter sat down next to you, taking your hand in his as a way of understanding.

You squeezed his hand, thanking him as you looked over to see James and Lily laughing about something.

Your heart was breaking at the sight of it all.

The class seemed as if it took an eternity to end. Usually, you had James there to make jokes and make the class worth the misery of Slughorn's long lectures but instead, he was making jokes and making the class worth the misery for Lily.

You saw Lily and James exchanging their last words, smiling at each other as Lily left, blushing ferociously.

James came beaming, rushing to tell you all about his encounter with Lily and how well it had gone.

It was actually giving you a headache.

You cut him off finally, "I'm gonna go lay down actually."

"Are you all right?" James asked.

"Yeah, just tired." You replied convincingly.

"Oh okay, I'm gonna go hang out with Lily at Hogsmeade for a bit after lunch but I'll be back before tonight." He mentioned before talking to the rest of the Marauders, not waiting for your response.

You turned away and made it toward your dorm.

You couldn't help but be pissed at James for even treating you like this. Usually, it was annoying but it wasn't intolerable or something that made you sick.

It was as if James couldn't care for your well-being today.

You weren't used to this James, the James that fully neglected you for Lily Evans.

He might've been not that attentive but only before Quidditch matches, never because of Lily.

You knew he cared about your feelings but today, it felt like you completely dismissed them.

You did actually have a headache though.

Taking a nap would most likely fix it faster than a bunch of classes and boring lectures.

----

You awoke after hours, the buzzing in your head finally being non-existent.

All of your dorm mates were in bed so dinner had already passed, it was time for you to meet up with James.

You had put on your prettiest set of pink pajamas, spraying the best perfume you had that smelled of violet and citrus.

Sneaking in the kitchens would be your only problem sadly due to the excessive guarding of the corridors.

Usually, you would use the invisibility cloak but James had it and there was no possible way of going to his dorm and getting it from him.

You risked being caught, sneaking to the kitchens, using your wand as a small flashlight.

Thankfully, you didn't get caught and you made it to the kitchens. No elves were in sight as you grabbed tubs of ice cream, and whipped cream with chocolate syrup and cherries.

You sat down on a stool, not wanting to start eating without James.

You had waited an hour and thirty minutes so far, but no sight of James yet. You were worried that he was so tired that he forgot.

The ice cream started melting and you had to use a freezing spell to stop it.

You started nodding off, about to sleep before you heard two voices laughing.

You looked over to see James and Lily laughing, his jacket around her shoulders as you were internally fuming.

They both stopped laughing at the sight of you.

"Oh Y/n," He looked at you in shock, "I totally forgot about tonight." He looked entirely guilty.

You didn't respond, but instead, you got off of the stool and grabbed your wand.

You went towards the doorway where they were, "Excuse me." You excused yourself as Lily moved and James didn't.

"Y/n." He said, looking at your eyes that were glossy.

"I said excuse me, James." Your voice broke.

He moved beside you as you stormed off toward your dorm.

You heard footsteps charging after you as you looked behind you, "Stop." You sobbed as James stopped in his tracks, "I'm not going to talk about this, go back to your date." You demanded.

"You are important to me." He said.

"More important than her?" You asked, tears falling down your cheeks.

He didn't know what to say, "Yeah, that's what I thought."

You turned away, "I always put you first." You said before looking back again.

"I understand if we can't be more than whatever the fuck we are but at least have enough respect for me to not make me wait for you." You argued.

"I never meant to hurt you," James said, guilty.

"But you continue to do it and it's shameless," You sobbed, "You know no matter what, I will always be there for you, I will always be at your beck and call and you know it's because I love you." You said.

He stood speechless, "But you used me as a placeholder for her until she gave in." You cried.

"I never used you, I thought it was mutual-" He tried explaining.

"I tried to tell you this morning how I felt and you ignored me, you didn't even let me try to tell you." You stated, "But you never care to listen to me, you only use me for sex." You spat.

"Y/n, I-" He started but you both heard footsteps.

"You are out of time, James." You said, turning your heel and running off to your dorm.

[lovedbybella]

james always bringing you bouquet of flowers but keeping one so when they start to wilt, he goes and gets you new ones

you kept every bouquet of flowers james gave you in a vase sitting on your coffee table so you could look at them everyday.

not known to you, james always kept one, leaving it at his own apartment, watching it and once it starts to go limp, he goes out and buys another.

"they're beautiful jamie." you gushed, the roses resting under your nose as you inhaled in the scent, "the others are starting to wilt a little, it was like you knew."

james just held back a smirk, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"it's like i'm psychic."

[lovedbybella]

the lack of pietro maximoff fics on this app is criminal

#pietro maximoff

[lovedbybella]

first ever post (:

just thinking about how james would act knowing you're bad at receiving gifts...

-

you dreaded your birthday, not because of the attention, but the gifts.

it was something about having to open them in front of the gifter and react in an appropriate manner that made you freak out, you always preferred to open them alone and give your gratitudes later.

of course when you told james this, he didn’t quite understand.

“what do you mean lovey? you hate getting gifts?” he questioned

“no no not getting gifts, just opening them in front of people” you replied flustered, “i get all red and don’t know how to act, it’s not a pretty sight”

james being james, made it his mission to get you as red as possible.

he found every excuse to get you a gift, you finished your finals? gift! you were being extra lovely to him that week? gift! groundhog day? gift!

and everytime he’d watch in amusement as you struggled to form your thanks.

“thank you jamie you really didn’t have to get me anything” you would say shyly

“ ’course i did, it’s july 4th!” he’d grin

“we’re not american jamie” you'd huff, holding back a smile

#james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter #james potter fluff

[lovedbybella]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ MARAUDERS ERA MASTERLIST!

james potter!

annoying (8.5k words)

02:14 (1.2k words)

forgive me, please? (1.1k words)

maroon (2.1k words)

false god* (1.6k words)

sirius black!

wish you were sober (2.9k words)

paper rings (1.3k words)

it's nice to have a friend (3k words)

daylight (3.6k words)

cold* (3.1k words)

illicit affairs (2k words)

remus lupin!

clandestine meetings (1.3k words)

you are in love (3.3k words)

18+ content is marked with *

[lovedbybella]

shy

being mr. azoff's assistant was y/n's dream job, it was just a bummer that his most beloved client seemed to hate her.

wordcount: 13.5k+

—————

"Did you want anything, Harry? (Y/N)'s about to make a coffee run." 

Although she'd never admit it, (Y/N) held her breath as she fiddled her fingers behind her back, awaiting any response. She already had a good idea of what he would say when he bothered to give an answer, but she still had a tiny hope he'd prove her wrong. 

"No, 'm alright." 

He didn't even raise his head from where it was buried in his phone. Mr. Azoff gave (Y/N) that same polite smile he always did whenever Mr. Styles rejected her services, like he wasn't sure why Mr. Styles wasn't more accepting but it wasn't his place to ask or change the habit. Mr. Azoff treated her right and that was what she tried to focus on, not that the fact his best friend and someone she could consider to be a creative idol, couldn't seem to even give her a moment of his time. 

"Okay, I'll be back in a minute, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) chirped pleasantly, well versed in how to brush off being brushed off. 

(Y/N) was grateful for the fact her boss's preferred shop was only a few blocks away from his office, giving her the chance to clear her head with fresh (or as fresh as it could be here in L.A.) air instead of stuffing herself into her car. 

Mr. Styles was always like this. Why it still bothered her when he brushed her off or ignored any of her offers of help, she wasn't sure, but it did. That world famous kindness that circulated within the industry as well as what was flung around Twitter had been what she was expecting when she finally made it through the vetting process to be hired as Jeff Azoff's assistant, knowing full well who one of his biggest clients was. She had been realistic, knowing that Harry Styles wasn't going to be her best friend, fawning over her at all times, or suddenly fall in love—this wasn't like those stories she remembers reading when she was young—but she had figured he would give her more than a passing glance the first time she met him. 

Since that first day where he offered a single sentence introduction, she'd been waiting in vain for anything more to happen. More often than not, his conversation would stop when she entered the room or go quiet enough to let her know she wasn't to be included. He gave her plain smiles, not even the hint of a dimple, when he bothered to acknowledge her presence, usually when he would skirt around her to leave the room she'd just entered. She never got a chance to experience firsthand the humor everyone praised, the kindness he all but trademarked as a middle name, or the gentle vulnerability he gave to those who needed it. He could barely even meet her eyes, his gaze moving to his phone or where he plucked at his sleeves or painted nails. 

To be fair, she was still fairly new at the job, only about six months in to her position, so there was a good chance he still needed some warming up after being so used to Mr. Azoff's last assistant that had been employed for years before relocating and leaving the position. Mr. Styles was also known to be shy, something a few others had disclosed to her when they noticed she didn't have much to add whenever he was brought up. Maybe he needed a little more time, and that was something she was more than willing to give, along with the space it seemed he needed.

At least until his European tour started. Then, he would have to at least get used to her presence, seeing as they were to be sanctioned to matching flights, hotels, and backstage areas for the better part of the next three months. She wouldn't be able to give him much space then. Hopefully he wouldn't hate her more after those ninety days together. 

As much as the walk to the cafe and the extra Matcha latte she treated herself with, cleared her head and had her back on her feet after being blown back by the nonchalance paid to her entire existence by someone she felt singled out by, the effect could only last for so long when she entered the office. 

Before pushing the door open, she could hear the voices inside happily chattering away. Mr. Styles' cackling laugh that she was sure had his eyes creasing closed with his head thrown back was the most prevalent noise, something she usually only caught the tail end. As she expected, the second she gave a gentle rapping of her knuckles against the door just before pushing it open, all sound stopped, even Mr. Azoff's chattering trailing off once he realized Mr. Styles was done interacting for the moment. 

"Here you go," she chirped, passing along the coffee to her boss with an unbothered smile that was much stronger than she felt, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" 

"No, no," he shook his head, "Not until this afternoon. Go and enjoy your lunch, (Y/N)." 

She gave a quiet nod of her head, chancing a single look in Mr. Styles' direction. He had his gaze fixed on his hands. A flush clung to his skin, surely a lingering effect of the laughter she had interrupted. 

"Okay, let me know if that changes," she offered with a short smile before turning on her heel.

Just as she left the room, closing the door behind her, she heard Mr. Azoff heave a muffled sigh on the other side. 

"Harry..." 

"Jeff, please. She jus'—" 

(Y/N) left before she could hear much more. She didn't need to know what Mr. Styles thought about her. 

—————

Despite the buzz filling the terminal, (Y/N) almost couldn't believe the way not a single person had noted Mr. Styles' presence. Not even a single muttering or whisper of his name could be heard in the busy place. 

He sat in peace, a grey hoodie with the strings tied covered his torso, hood up over a pink beanie that concealed his curls. He sat with his legs spread wide, taking up space with his black sweats folded over his legs. Scrolling through his phone, he was in his own world with his chin propped up in his hand, cheek smushed against his ring-bare fingers. He only looked up when boarding was called. 

(Y/N) followed quietly behind the trio of Mr. Styles, her boss, and Mr. Lambert, the tour's stylist. She could hear the tittering and quiet conversation in front of her while other members of production and the team trailed behind her. Without Mr. Azoff's wife joining them just yet for this tour, she didn't have many close friends within this group for the time being. 

It was all a blur, finding her seat on the plane and placing her carryon above. She was the first in her row, huddling close to the window seat. She knew Mr. Azoff was going to join her as soon as he finished doing whatever it was he and the Harry's were doing, so at least she wasn't going to be completely alone. 

Biding her time until take off while the rest of the plane filled up, (Y/N) distracted herself with answering emails on Mr. Azoff's behalf. She verified hotel arrangements, replied to all the correspondence that went along with Mrs. Azoff joining them later in the week, and anything else that needed her attention before takeoff. 

Huddled into her corner of the row, the early call time for the flight began to catch up with her. The emails in front of her couldn't hold her attention against the tiny pillow she had managed to sneak into the backpack she shoved under her seat, the plush sandwiched between her cheek and the sidewall of the plane. The sound of shuffling feet as the rest of the flight filled up was like white noise to her cloud-puffed brain. 

(Y/N) couldn't help herself before she was fluttering her eyes closed. Surely, Mr. Azoff would wake her before takeoff if she really passed out. 

She wasn't sure how long she sat, resting her eyes with her limbs floating in the in-between realm before much of the shuffling ceased and the heft of someone settling in beside her sounded in the empty space. She didn't bother blinking her eyes open, even when she heard chattering beside her. Mr. Azoff was one of the voices, followed by someone who sounded a little too close to her for his comfort. 

"Jeffery..." Mr. Styles sighed. 

"Stop acting like a child, H," her boss scolded, voice stern though he was quiet, "She's asleep, I'm not going to make you talk to her." 

(Y/N) was grateful for the way she had her cheeks mushed between her shoulder and her fluffed pillow. Maybe if she covered them, her seat mates wouldn't be able to feel the embarrassed heat gathering under her skin. 

Mr. Styles was sitting right next to her, she realized when she heard the heavy intake of a breath leave his lungs. She wasn't sure how she'd do it, but it looked like she was going to have to pretend to be asleep all the way to the hotel. Maybe, she could convince everyone she was a very well-organized and direction-following sleepwalker if she was careful. 

That thought didn't last long, (Y/N) having to break her facade at the sound of Mr. Azoff's voice calling to her.

"(Y/N)," he started, speaking around Mr. Styles. He repeated her name a couple of more times, prompting her to mime opening her eyes as if she'd been dead asleep only moments prior before he continued, "We're about to take off." 

"Oh," she smiled, the curve tight, "Thank you." 

If not for the fact she was sure she would die if they knew she had overheard the way Mr. Styles couldn't stand to even sit next to her, she would have hesitated more before she crossed her gaze to the man beside her. His eyes were already on her when she looked at him, expression tight as he seemingly forced a smile in her direction. His back was stiff against the seat, hands twisted in his lap with flaking nail polish. His gaze didn't linger on her for very long before he looked away, just in time for the safety spiel from the steward team.  

Following suit, she followed through the motions of checking her seatbelt, absently locating the exits, and curling into her seat by the time they were cleared for takeoff. She didn't like this part, but it was enough to huddle herself against the back of her seat and brace herself with her hands clenched into the armrest to her right side. 

She sat with her eyes closed, nails digging into the leather of the armrest as she felt the motion beneath her feet, the runway disappearing underneath them until the turbulence of takeoff shook the body of the plane. (Y/N) breathed her way through it, hunkering down into the slouchy fit of her hoodie. 

It wasn't until the turbulence evened out, steady windfall starting in the dark of the early morning, that she felt eyes on her. Without really thinking, she blinked her eyes open only to find Mr. Styles looking to her with something softer painted over his features. 

He didn't immediately flit away when her eyes met his, allowing himself to touch over her features with the warmth of his gaze. His tanned skin still held a buttery warmth even under the draining overhead lights of the cabin, stubble covering the bottom half of his face she'd never seen him grow out until recently. His eye contact was famous around the world, unrelenting though welcoming as it gave her a chance to see the flecks and streaks through the moss of his irises. (Y/N) floundered under his attention, unsure of what to do with something she doesn't think she's ever had before. 

"Um—Did—Or, do you want m-my pillow?" she asked, blindly reaching for the little plush fit between her body and the sidewall. 

At the sound of her voice, Mr. Styles seemed to realize what exactly he was doing and who he was glazing over with his eyes. He shook his head then, curls peeking out from underneath his beanie. 

"No, thank you," he mumbled, reaching into his hoodie pocket to pull out a pair of headphones. 

That was all his attention that she was granted until his headphones were plugged into his ears and she was alone again in her row. 

—————

"And finally, on drums, Sarah Jones!" 

(Y/N) was blown away as the area erupted into cheers she was sure could rival the screams that sounded when Mr. Styles first appeared on stage. She watched on from the mouth of the backstage area, her boss at her side with a drink in hand, as Mr. Styles reveled in the screaming and yelling, a bright dimpled smile on his face. If not for the fact she was technically there in a professional sense and this was only the second show she'd had the privilege of watching, she would have joined in and screamed and cheered for the band that was being introduced. (After getting a chance to meet every moving part of his touring band as well as watching them perform, she very much so understood the enthusiasm offered to these characters).

It was when Mr. Styles joined in on the fanfare, pumping his fist and making a noise that sounded like he was barking along with the crowd that she couldn't hold back her laughter. The layered fringe hanging from his jacket glittered in the light, matching the sheen of sweat that covered his shirtless body. He threw his head back with a bright laugh she almost wished he had the microphone held to his mouth for, just so she could hear what his joy sounded like. 

Even just this moment alone was something she was sure she was always going to remember, no matter how many times she was going to witness this over and over. Never had she been to a concert that held the same energy as these arenas—and eventually stadiums—she'd visited. She couldn't blame a single person in this room for everything they did to get to this place, every moment of planning, saving, celebrating, and crying. She understood. 

Mr. Styles was meant to perform. Even with his brief breaks he spent on movie sets, it was clear why he came back to this space with these people that followed him like honeybees and gave so much love and kindness to him. 

She watched as he finished his introductions of the band, launching into another song that had the whole arena moving and dancing. Even without the help of the spotlight and the cameras following his every move, she was sure she wouldn't be able to keep her eyes from him; he commanded the space, with every intention of taking that attention and thriving under it. 

Despite the relationship—or lack there of—off stage, (Y/N) couldn't wait to see this almost every night for however many months she had the privilege of standing stage side.

—————

"Call me if you need anything!" 

Mr. Azoff shook off (Y/N)'s offer as she started off in the direction of the green room being used as the catering space for the day. A busy morning had ensued, leaving (Y/N) running around trying to find any trace of an adequate wifi connection in the middle of the venue just so she could answer emails and show up to video meetings she was attending on Mr. Azoff's behalf. It wouldn't have been so bad if not for the time differences given the fact she was on a completely different continent than any business she was working with. The stress of it all had her beat before the morning had even touched into the double digits for the day, still with another handful of hours worth of work to get through. 

Finally—finally—she had typed away at every email, fielded every phone call, and spaced out the following day's agenda given the lack of a performance crowding Mr. Azoff's schedule. Now, she could sit down and eat before shuttling back to the hotel for a nap—as long as she wasn't needed for anything else, of course.

The catering space wasn't as busy as she sure it had been an hour prior, only a few others lingering about. One of the few happened to be Mr. Styles. 

A clip was holding his curls back, a plain t-shirt with a pair of basketball shorts covering his legs revealed he had just finished with a workout before he would shower off and get to his soundcheck. He had his phone in hand as he forked food into his mouth, that intense look on his face that she always seemed to catch on him. His brows were knitted heavily in the middle, shrouding the bright green of his eyes in the shadow of his brow with his jaw tight as he chewed down whatever he had picked over from the table. 

(Y/N) flitted her eyes to the rest of the crew littering the space before she was caught by Mr. Styles who seemed to always somehow know when someone had spotted him, even with nothing more than a phone camera. The little whiteboard catering hung above the food table was filled out with the day's menu. The prettily curved words brought a bright smile to (Y/N)'s face when she spotted the forth item down the list. 

The catering team's arancini was easily one of (Y/N)'s favorite things she's ever eaten, on this tour or otherwise. She didn't care that it wasn't more than some risotto rice left over from the night before's dinner, repurposed as to minimize waste and turned into a crunchy, cheesy ball with the perfect acidic marinara served alongside it. If she could, she would live off those little pieces by themselves. Hopefully, there were at least a few left for her to devour, even if they were a little cold at this point. 

Readying her plate with a small serving of Caesar salad and the lemon baked salmon (Mr. Styles' favorite and top request from what she'd heard), (Y/N) worked down the line until she reached the covered basin that held the arancini she easily dreamt of at least five times since the first bite. Lifting the lid, the fresh scent of bright tomatoes and fragrant oregano filled her senses, the bite of the smell hitting her harder with her empty stomach. 

Nothing hit quite as hard on her expectant tummy than the fact she realized only a second too late that there wasn't a single rice ball left in the warmer. A thin layer of remaining sauce was laid along the bottom, but nothing was dropped beside the mushed tomatoes. 

Maybe she was being a little dramatic, but (Y/N) felt her shoulders drop at the sight of the empty container. To be fair, she was almost two hours late to serving time, so she couldn't be that surprised that there wasn't any left to spare. Surely, she wasn't the only one obsessed with the parmesan coating on the outside of the sticky rice. She couldn't blame anyone for jumping on the opportunity to take as many as they could while they were there. 

(Y/N) replaced the lid, taking her half filled plate to one of the small tables set up in the room. The day began to catch up with her as she sat down. Her morning had been hectic enough to suck the energy out of her bones, now combined with the disappointment of how high she put herself at the mention of her favorite food before finding it all gone. She slumped into her chair, taking out her phone and finally looking at something that wasn't work-related for the first time that day. 

Every bite she scooped into her mouth was monotonous as she slipped a pair of earbuds in before screening the missed messages she'd had to ignore for the morning. Music was filtering through her headphones, the perfect distraction to her brain that felt entirely too empty now that she wasn't running at top speed like she had been the second she'd woke up. If not for the texture of each bite she took, she wouldn't know exactly what she was eating with the way she couldn't use even muster the minuscule amount of energy it would take to glance at her fork.  

With her eyes glued to her phone as a video now played out on screen, (Y/N) didn't have enough room in her head to keep track of the rest of the room. As much as she prides herself on being a good assistant, especially being so new to this position, she doesn't think she would notice if Mr. Azoff walked in and screamed out her name while banging pots and pans. 

That was exactly the reason she didn't notice Mr. Styles approaching her table either. 

It wasn't until she noticed a plate being slid onto the table beside her, a hand complete with a tattooed cross and green glittery nails keeping a hold of the lip until she managed to pull an earbud out. Looking up, Mr. Styles still had that tight look on his face, his free hand fidgeting at his side like he was itching to get out of there. 

"Yes?" she chirped, assuming he was finally taking her up on her offers to help him as well when she assisted Mr. Azoff. 

Watching as Mr. Styles dropped his gaze from hers, (Y/N) had to keep from tipping her head at him. That wasn't like him at all, unable to keep eye contact. From what she knew, that was something he insisted on. She hoped he was okay. 

"Um—'M full, but I thought I'd ask if y'wanted any before I threw these away," he said, his voice floating under his breath. 

It was then that (Y/N) finally noted what was on his plate, finding a duo of the arancini balls she had been mourning only moments earlier. The same fragrant, acidic sauce laid underneath it along with shreds of parmesan cheese sprinkled atop, the same way she would have plated it. She had to keep herself from drooling at the sight. 

"A-Are you sure?" 

A beat passed, the green of Mr. Styles' gaze finally meeting hers again. "I thought these were your favorite." 

(Y/N) had to stop herself from letting a pinch touch at her brows. "I mean, yeah, they are, b—" 

"Then, 'm sure." 

The deep vibrato of his voice was more soothing than any note of music she played could ever hope to be, the same voice she'd had the privilege of listening to every night while on the road on the loudspeakers. Despite the giving nature of his tone, underlying softness floating alongside, she knew there wasn't much room to argue. Besides, (Y/N) didn't think she had the strength to say no to his offer with that plate in front of her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Styles," she smiled, reaching for the plate as he retracted his grip. 

A chaste smile curved his lips, the tip of his nose seemingly blushing red before he gave her a quiet nod of his head. He didn't say anything else before he walked away, leaving her to constitute her two plates of food into one with that warmth in her stomach that could have energized her enough to work another hectic morning. Her only complaint was that she wished he would have sat down with her. She'd even give up his offer of the arancini if that meant he'd sit down beside her and finish his meal. 

She didn't see him again until he was leaving the greenroom with a granola bar in hand, one bite already taken out. She had thought he said he was full. 

It was with that thought that, shortly after, (Y/N) realized she had never told Mr. Styles what her favorite food was. 

—————

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear (Y/N), happy birthday to you!" 

(Y/N)'s skin felt warm with all eyes on her, a sheet cake in front of her with frosting flowers and twinkling candles stuck through. She didn't know what to do with everyone's eyes on her, twisting in her spot with a shy smile on her lips as the song came to a close. Fluttering her eyes to a close, she blew out the candles while everyone cheered. A wish absently flittered through her head, hoping for happiness to come to everyone in this room with her as they deserved so much after surprising her with a birthday celebration in the middle of an international tour. 

"Thank you all, so much," (Y/N) muttered once the room grew quiet, her fingers knotted into a sheepish pile as she swept her gaze across the gathered crowd, "I didn't even realize anyone knew it was my birthday, this really means a lot. Thank you." 

All of her new friends, crew and production members for the tour that she had grown close with over the last few weeks, all gave her mixed mutterings of more birthday wishes, that of course they remembered, and they were all more than happy to be a part of this with her. After the show tonight, they all promised to take her out to one of the clubs in town to help her celebrate before they would be off for the next city the following day. Cutting the cake came next, the grouping of crew began to break off as conversations rose in volume in the green room, leaving (Y/N) to soak in the atmosphere as the creamy icing spread over her tongue at first bite. 

She truthfully had no idea anyone had been aware of her birthday, let alone have the time to put something like this together. Sure, it wasn't a huge celebration, but the fact a cake had been secured, complete with personalized frosting spelling out her name while on the road, was enough to have her heart hurting from how full it was. Even Mr. Styles had made it, huddling himself in one of the small corners with his arms folded across his chest as he sang along to the birthday song. She was pretty sure he had even been a few minutes late to a fitting for the next slew of tour outfits just so he could be apart of something like this for her. 

"Happy birthday, (Y/N)," Mr. Azoff said, coming up behind her with his wife only a few paces behind, both with a plate of cake in hands. 

(Y/N)'s features softened immediately as she took him in. "Thank you so much, Mr. Azoff," she started, still disregarding every invitation for her to call him by his first name, "You didn't need to put anything like this together at all. Really, thank you so much." 

He would be the only one that might recall her birthday, she figured, coming from her hire paperwork. Besides, they spent enough time together she may have accidentally let it slip out while talking. Mr. Azoff would definitely be the kind of boss that would do something like this for her. 

Instead of the humble way he swept away her gratitude she had been expecting, her boss let out a bubbling peal of laughter. Mrs. Azoff matched (Y/N)'s confused expression, knitted brows and all as they looked at him. 

"I didn't put this together," he clarified, shaking his head before spearing another bite of cake, "I've been so busy I can't even remember what year it is, let alone the day." 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, face dropping. "Do you know who it was then? I just want to thank them properly." 

A shared look happened between the Azoffs, the missus' blonde brows raising in her husband's direction as if she was wondering the same thing. Mr. Azoff gave her a pointed look, flicking his gaze to (Y/N) for only a moment before he raised a brow. Realization seemed to spring across Mrs. Azoff's face, the kind (Y/N) was hoping she could share in. 

"Tell her," Mrs. Azoff mumbled, quiet enough (Y/N) knew she wasn't necessarily meant to hear the command. She watched as Mr. Azoff floundered, his lips pressing into a thin line with wide eyes as if he were pleading with her without words. "Jeffery, I think it would be nice for her to know. He's not going to mind." 

Her reasoning seemed to loosen him up some, only enough to have his gaze returning to (Y/N)'s with a small pivot. "Sorry," he told her, excusing the last few moments with a chaste smile on his lips, "Um—It was Harry. He was the one who remembered and put this all together." 

(Y/N) had to keep her jaw from dropping at the new information. Her fork was limp in her hand. "Really?" 

"Mhm," Mrs. Azoff chirped, "He was the one who came to us, telling us he had everything all planned out, we just needed to be here to surprise you. He did a good job, didn't he?" 

The picture of Mr. Styles standing so nonchalant in the corner of the room, singing quietly to the birthday song while she stood in front of the warm glow of the sparkling candles took on a new tint. This had been all of his idea, even the light pink and warm green frosting spelling out her name with petite flowers on the sheet cake had been his idea. The cake itself was even her favorite flavor, something she was doubting was a coincidence. 

"Really?" she asked, the question feeling dumb on her tongue but she couldn't help but ask. 

"It's all he's been talking about his last couple of days off. He wanted to make sure everyone knew and would be able to come celebrate with you." 

Mrs. Azoff's warm smile along with her boss's quiet curl to his lips was all the confirmation (Y/N) needed to know they were being completely serious. They were acting as if they were sharing a secret with her despite the room full of people that were in on it before she was. 

"Th-That's really nice of him," she settled on, unsure if there were any real words that could convey just how much the idea of Mr. Styles planning this little surprise made her heart ache. "I'm going to have to tell him thank you when he has a minute." 

"I think he'd really like that," Mr. Azoff told her, voice quiet as if he were sharing a tiny secret. 

With the way Mrs. Azoff looked at hm after he spoke, (Y/N) wondered if there really was another secret she wasn't privy to.

—————

Screaming cheers filled the SUV the second the door flung open, Mr. Styles piling inside with a towel hung over his shoulder and a bright smile gracing his features. His energy was vibrating off of him in waves, intoxicating the small space of the car as they pulled out of the venue as the curtains closed behind them. (Y/N) never really got to see him this closely after a show, tonight being an occasion that Mr. Azoff and she were to head back to the hotel with him right away in prep for the late night meetings needed before any of them were to be dismissed to bed (Mr. Styles' next album was coming up closer and closer, and labels needed answers if he wanted the vinyl pressings to be done in time). 

Tonight, (Y/N) was packed into the backseat of the SUV with Mr. Styles, feeling that bright energy he harnessed on stage settling in like another person sitting between them. He used the towel offered to him by security to wipe off his glistening face, sweat soaking the fabric though he didn't stop smiling. 

"Jeff, Jeff," Mr. Styles started, pulling on the neckline of his blueberry embellished top, drawing the fabric away from his skin, "Did you see that back there?" 

She watched as her boss let out a small laugh, turning around where he sat in the front passenger seat to face his client. "See what, H?" 

The smile that broke out on Mr. Styles' face somehow grew bigger. His breathing was still coming in pants, something (Y/N) wasn't sure was coming from his excitement or the lingering exertion from his stage time. "That girl, she was dressed like a clam and her head was the pearl! I think she had a sign too, but I couldn't see it because every time I looked, she was dancing and I couldn't stop laughing." 

"Oh, that's why you could barely finish singing Sushi?" Mr. Azoff pressed, matching Mr. Styles excitement with his own bubbling smile. A small glance was flicked in (Y/N)'s direction, as if she were telling her to get a load of this guy. 

"It was so funny, Jeffery," Mr. Styles insisted, the purple leather of his pants squeaking against the seats with the way he couldn't manage to sit still, "It was like there was a bobblehead out there, but with these little legs." Just when Mr. Azoff went to answer, Mr. Styles completely changed with his jaw dropping before he turned to (Y/N) with another layer of excitement brewing in the car. "Wait, (Y/N)! Did you see that girl dressed like a fairy? She was standing with the angel and the sushi roll!" 

(Y/N) tried to school her features, keep the surprise off her face at the fact Mr. Styles was acknowledging her—and with a smile too! Attempting to focus on the question at hand, she racked her brain for whoever it was that he was referencing. "Maybe. Were they standing in pit?" she asked, settling into the leather of her seat with Mr. Azoff watching on with a less than neutral expression giving away his own shock. 

"Yes, yes," Mr. Styles chattered off, "Towards the exit catwalk! She had on big sparkly wings, and everything!" 

"Oh, yeah," (Y/N) perked up, giving him a matching grin, "That was the same costume—" 

"—you wore for Halloween!" Mr. Styles cut her off to finish her own sentence, bouncing in his seat in time with the rhythm of the pavement underneath the wheels of the car. "That's why I noticed her! Y'had the same wings, and the dress, and everything, right?" 

This time (Y/N) wasn't as smooth to recover at his words. She had been the only one to dress as such for the holiday, and she hadn't thought Mr. Styles had seen her at all in his own rush to be dressed in his own costume and prepping the extra song he was to cover for the occasion. It could have only been twice where she thought he might have seen her, especially as more than a blur that had to run past while doing whatever errands Mr. Azoff needed. 

"Y-Yeah," she bubbled off, pretending she didn't stutter in hopes that no one else would notice, "that was my Halloween costume. I didn't realize you noticed." 

The curls that flopped over Mr. Styles' forehead added to the boyish sparkle in his eyes as he looked at her, dimples denting his cheeks. "Your's was m'favorite costume." 

It was only a second later that Mr. Styles was distracted once more in his adrenaline-fueled post-concert excitement, drawing Mr. Azoff into another bubbling conversation about a moment that happened on stage. (Y/N) was left to settle into her spot, seatbelt tight around her chest as her heart struggled to beat out of its cage. 

If he wasn't careful, (Y/N) was going to start thinking he didn't hate her. 

—————

(Y/N) sidestepped out of the doorway, allowing Mr. Styles to brush past her in his rush to exit the room she'd just entered. He didn't bother to even make eye contact with her or shoot her an awkward smile she'd become accustomed to. All she caught of him was his strained expression as she bounced into the room, feeling much more awake this morning after the bubbling excitement she felt while riding back to the hotel with Mr. Styles being so happy to talk with her. 

That excitement drained as soon as she saw the way he all but flinched at her presence now that the after show adrenaline had worn off. Mr. Azoff seemed just as surprised at the blatant switch as he watched Mr. Styles run off. 

"Uh—Good morning, Mr. Azoff," (Y/N) attempted to chirp out.

She could see the way he floundered for words, his eyes flicking between her and Mr. Styles' retreating figure she was forcing herself to keep from glancing at. "(Y/N), I—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she waved him off, doing her best to convince herself with her own excuse, "He's probably still tired from last night, it's okay." 

The look on Mr. Azoff's face told her he knew something she didn't. (Y/N) figured it was a secret she didn't want to know. 

—————

This had to be the first time (Y/N) had ever seen Mr. Azoff so stressed, especially after setting out on this tour with his favorite client. His hair was a mess with the usual day's worth of stubble on his face now growing into almost a full beard with the way the last few days have come stumbling around him. Near constantly did he have a phone pressed to his ear, preferring to take all of these phone calls as opposed to allowing (Y/N) to take care of them like he had so far in this route. 

"We don't know if he's going to be able to make it on this Friday," she heard Mr. Azoff sigh into the receiver, dragging a heavy hand through his hair. Mrs. Azoff looked just as glum as she listened into the conversation from the small couch that was set up in the living space of their hotel room. "I know—we're trying. He's barely been able to get out of bed since he got off stage last night, we haven't started on the road at all." 

(Y/N) felt concern spike in her chest at the mention of Mr. Styles' state. She knew he wasn't doing so well after last night, especially with how hard he had to start straining himself towards the end of the show just to hit notes she knew would otherwise be easy for him. What she hadn't known was the fact he didn't have the strength to even get out of bed. She'd hate for him to have caught the same flu that one of the crew members had suffered through just a couple of weeks earlier. 

"We don't want to cancel or reschedule anything, yet, no," Mr. Azoff rushed out, sinking into the couch cushion beside his equally as exhausted wife, "We have a few days still, so we'll see if he feels any better by Thursday. If not, I'll call you with options." 

It was only moments later that Mr. Azoff hung up the call, looking just as exhausted as he started the call. Seeing as how it was Tuesday, and Mr. Styles had only a few days left to be feeling better in time to even travel for his next show, she could understand his stress. 

Before (Y/N) could even offer her services, Mr. Azoff said her name with a lingering exhaustion. "Could you call one of those liquid IV offices, please? And get his doctor on a call; if he needs antibiotics, I want them picked up by the end of the day." 

Very few times did Mr. Azoff feel like a boss, always talking to her in gentler tones with requests rather than demands. Not that he was flexing any superiority and unforgiving directions even now, but she knew this was something he needed done thirty minutes ago, but was still willing to accept it being done now. 

That was all she needed to hear before she had her phone pressed to her ear. Even if Mr. Styles didn't care for her as much as she may have thought a week ago, she wanted him better just as much as Mr. Azoff did, and not just because of the touring schedule. 

—————

How (Y/N) happened to be the only one within the central crew to have been vaccinated for the flu this season, she didn't know, but she didn't mind the added responsibility tied with the booster. Armed with a takeaway container of hot soup, a liter bottle of water, and another round of medication for Mr. Styles, Mr. Azoff sent her off to his hotel room. 

Mr. Styles had all but been quarantined since he started exhibiting those early flu symptoms, a medical team having been the ones tending to him the previous couple of days as he apparently worsened into running a fever and getting sick to his stomach. It was into the late hours of the evening that Mr. Azoff finally shooed them off (at his client's request, supposedly. Mr. Styles felt bad to have so many people fussing over him, he had said), and thanked them for everything they did for his client. They were left with the tools and a regiment on the best and fastest way to get Mr. Styles healthy again. She remembered watching Mr. Azoff read over the extensive list left in his care, a humorless laugh leaving his lips and he muttered something about the miracle of this week being one of the longer breaks he had scheduled between shows. 

As the crew couldn't afford anyone else getting as sick as Mr. Styles was, (Y/N) was chosen to be the first one to tend to him given the fact she would be the least likely to catch whatever virus he had—and even if she did, they could afford to have her on bed rest for a few days. Mr. Azoff had passed along the printed schedule of his medication times and what foods and fluids would be best to get his system back on track in the remaining forty-eight hours left until a decision would have to be made on whether or not the next show was in jeopardy, and she was on her way. 

An apology was ready on her tongue for the second she breached the sanctuary of his hotel room, knowing that she was most likely one of the last people he wanted to see at a time like this. That was the hardest part, she figured. She wasn't afraid of falling ill or seeing him sick, it was knowing just how unwelcome she was going to be in his space, especially since he wouldn't be able to flitter away from her like she knew he was used to. But, that fear was going to have to be shoved into a box in the back of her mind. Mr. Styles wasn't feeling well and needed someone to help him, and that was what she was going to focus on. 

After a quiet rap of her knuckles against his hotel room door went expectedly unanswered, (Y/N) pulled for the keycard Mr. Azoff had slipped into the bag of essentials he'd passed off to her. As soon as the handle clicked with a green light blinking, she twisted the knob carefully. A quiet creak whined from the hinges as she entered the dark room. 

Mr. Styles' messy bed was empty, the only light coming from the dimly set bedside lamp revealing the creases and folds in the bedding she was sure housekeeping hadn't had a chance to come by and change since he'd been holed up in the space. His luggage was left neatly beside the closet, only a pair of brightly colored socks laid atop the case letting her know it had been touched in the last few days. If not for the fact she knew there was no where else for him to have gone without someone on his team being notified, (Y/N) would have assumed his hotel room to be deserted by the way the air felt stale as she stepped in. 

"Mr. Styles? It's (Y/N). I know you probably don't wan—" 

Before she could finish her apology for stepping into his space, a gagging noise from the bathroom gave away his position. That was when she noticed the sliver of light leaking from underneath the closed door. 

Rolling her lips between her teeth with concern knitting her brows together, (Y/N) abandoned her doctor assembled and boss ordered care package on the bedside table. It was with shaking hands that she gently knocked on the bathroom door. 

A groan answered a beat later. "Jeff, I promise 'm going to be alright in a couple of days," Mr. Styles grumbled out, voice deep and sour, "Don't cancel anything, please." 

Releasing the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip, (Y/N) sucked in a deep breath. "Actually, it's (Y/N)." 

"W-What are y'doing here?" was his stuttered response, raw voice leveling out in volume. 

Not quite as biting as she may have expected in a moment like this, but (Y/N) had figured he would ask something of this type. "I'm the only one that's had my flu shot, so Mr. Azoff wanted me to come check on you. Is it alright if I come in?" 

"Please, don't." That was the clipped response she had been anticipating, but (Y/N) thought his tone dipped into something more embarrassed than angry. 

"Mr. Styles, I have water and food, and the medication you'r—" 

Before she could get much further with her explanation, she was cut off by the sound of a guttural noise on the other side of the door. Mr. Styles gagged alone in the bathroom, his panting breaths being cut off only to be replaced with the sound of him getting sick. 

As much as (Y/N) wanted to respect his privacy and foster a kinder relationship between the pair of them, there was no way she was going to be able to sit idly by knowing that she could help him when he so clearly needed some support. That was all it took for her to barge into the bathroom, rushing over the tiles to where Mr. Styles was hunched over the toilet. 

Focusing herself on him and not what was currently leaving his system, (Y/N) stroked her hand down his back while the other worked on drawing his hair out of his face. A stray clip was fit against the top of his head, a sloppy attempt she was sure he had executed with shaking hands. 

"(Y/N), no," he stuttered over her name until she felt a shudder rack his spine, his head being sent back to the toilet bowl as another round of sickness left his body. 

She didn't say anything back, knowing not only would it fall on deaf ears, but this wasn't the time to start pleading with him to let her stay. That wasn't up for debate as far as she was concerned; whether he liked it or not, she wasn't going to leave him to be sick all by himself in a hotel room in a country he didn't call home. Nothing sounded more dreadful than that. 

Instead, she only shushed him and lead a soothing hand down his spine with her other hand fixing his hair from his face. The strands had lost their curl after a few days without wash, matching the stale texture of his clothes that she was sure he hadn't changed out of in just as long. Having heard about how heavily he prioritized his self-care, especially when touring, she knew he really must feel terrible if he couldn't bring himself to do any of those basic things. 

Nonetheless, she stayed a constant, steady presence beside him on the bathroom floor. She tucked baby curls behind his ears, the strands too short to reach clip on the top of his head, and she shushed him with a gentle hand on his back as he emptied his system before being reduced down to dry heaves and gags resulting in nothing more than stolen breath and teary eyes. 

"It's okay, Mr. Styles, just breathe," she reminded him as he reached to flush the toilet, his breathing coming in rapid pants through his raw throat. 

"Don't call me that," he panted, sitting back on his heels though he still didn't care to turn to face her, "I don't like it when y'call me that." 

"Okay, okay," she soothed, the same word having fallen from her lips at least a hundred times at this point, "What do you want me to call you? What do you like better?"

"Jus' H, please. Want y'to talk to me like y'know me." 

Her heart just about broke at how pathetic he sounded in that moment, his request just short of a whine given his burned throat. "Okay, I can do that," she agreed with a gentle pat to his back. "I'm going to be right back, alright? I brought you some water for you to sip on." 

Before (Y/N) could even get to her feet, Mr. S—Harry—H twisted in his spot and raced to wrap his fingers around her wrists. He kept her from going any further with his manacle-like grip, bloodshot eyes glossy in the low light of the bathroom. "Wait, please. I-I don't want to be alone if I get sick again." 

As much as she knew it was against her better judgment to leave the liter of water out in the bedroom, there was no way she could argue against him when he looked at her like that. And, for the first time ever, he was pleading with her to stay with him, not fighting for a way out of her presence. How could she say no to that?

"Okay, I'll stay a few minutes longer, but I need to have you drinking something soon," she reasoned, settling back down onto the tile floor. She crossed her legs underneath her, opting for something more comfortable than the cuffs of her knees digging into the hard floor as she was prepared to sit there for as long as Harry needed her (or until she could convince him of the importance of water right now). 

Harry all but deflated with relief at her words, slumping into her arms in a way that had (Y/N) doubting he knew he was doing. Another sign of just how bad he was feeling then—he'd never seek comfort in her like this otherwise. Nonetheless, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him without question, cushioning her back against the wall of the bathroom behind her while Harry's clumsy limbs found purchase around her. He shuffled up beside her with legs folded underneath him, his bottom on his heels. He was close enough to the toilet incase of an emergency, but his knees still knocked into hers with his arms around her waist, face tucking into the curve of her throat. 

"Thank you," he murmured into her neck once he burrowed himself against her skin, his forehead clammy. 

"Of course," she told him, her arms around his middle with her palms spanning the planes of his back. "Has it been like this all day?" 

"Mhm," he practically whined, his nose scrunching against her skin, "I hate it. I hate being sick. I jus' want to be better already." 

(Y/N) held him tighter the second she felt wetness slide over her skin, moreso than the sheen of sweat that covered his forehead. He was crying. That gloss that had lacquered his gaze had overflown, now leaking over her skin and pooling in the line of her collarbones. "I know, H, I know," she crooned to him, forcing herself to stay composed despite how much her heart ached for him then, "I brought stuff for you that's supposed to help you feel better. Do you want to try taking some medicine or drinking some water?" 

"I don't think I can keep it down," he told her, voice watery as he spoke, "'M sorry." 

"No, don't be sorry, okay?" she gently scolded him, shaking her head as she brought her hand up to card through the length of the curls on the back of his head. 

"I jus' want to be better, (Y/N)," he repeated earnestly, a sniffle following right after to match the wiggle of his nose she felt against her skin. She wanted to be endeared at the small touch but that was quickly outweighed by the concern she felt the second another wave of tears washed over her skin, Harry's breathing shifting until she feared he would start sobbing. 

"And you will be," she promised, hugging him tighter with her fingers lacing through his hair, "You need to give yourself a little more time, okay? Sleep a little more, and once you're up to it, we'll have you eating and drinking again and you'll be feeling so much better. I promise." 

"But—"

Harry tensed in her arms before could finish his thought. A scramble of limbs ensued then, leaving (Y/N) feeling the absence of his warmth while he hunched over the toilet and threw up the nonexistent contents of his stomach. (Y/N) was behind him in a rush, rubbing his back and cooing to him as he began to dry heave, only bile leaving his system now. 

It was (Y/N) this time that flushed the toilet down for him after a few minutes of nothing else triggering his gag reflex, proceeding to gather him back into her arms once he was settled enough to unlock his joints and allow his muscles to go malleable again. 

"It's alright, H—" 

"See?" he cut her off, voice particularly raw after his latest showing, "'M not getting better, (Y/N). I jus' want to be better and-and play a show and I do-don't want to let anyone down." 

"You're not letting anyone down," she cemented, relaxing into the stiff sidewall of the tub as he tucked himself into her warmth one more time with his face in her neck.

"I've heard Jeff talking about cancelling or rescheduling shows," he mumbled, a sniffle following after, "I don't want to do that. S-So many people travel jus' to see me, and 's be-been so long an—" 

Harry was cut off by his own crying, the stress of the situation along with the just how awful he felt in that moment catching up to him now that someone was there to listen. His grip on her tightened with his arms around her waist and his face buried in her neck, his chest stuttering with his uneven breaths and squeezes of his sobbing lungs. 

All she could do then was hold him against her, as if her hug could keep him from shaking so hard with his heady breaths. Her neck was slick with his tears, the tip of his nose wiggling with every sniffle he sucked in in hopes of regulating his breathing.

"Its okay, H, really," she cooed to him, drawing one of her hands up to the back of his head with her fingertips twirling through the curls, "You need to stop crying, okay? You're only making yourself more sick by crying, you know. Just breathe, alright? It's going to be okay, I promise." 

Though it took him a moment, she could feel the way he tried to heed her advice. He fought off the stutter of his sobs, his breathing coming out in shaky pulls with the exhales being long and drawn out over her skin. Her palms soothed down his spine, the length of her nails dragging over his shirt in what she hoped was calming runs. 

"Feel a little better now?" she asked once he curated a rhythm of deep breaths and sinking exhales. Though she could feel just the smallest remnants of his tears having seeped against her neck, she didn't feel that dampness growing as opposed to the way it was only a few moments earlier. 

"Y-yeah," he mumbled, nodding his head against her neck, "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, okay?" she told him, parroting her earlier words, "There's nothing to be sorry for. No one likes being sick, and I know you're under a lot of pressure since we're also on the road. It's okay." 

A nasally little thank you sounded against her neck along with the brush of his lips being felt against her throat. A small smile touched at the corners of her lips as she felt him relax into her, exhaustion weighing him down now that he wasn't clinging to the edge of the toilet. (Y/N) tentatively laid her cheek on the top of his head, lending him more of her warmth in hopes of holding off another wave of his fever. 

Just when she figured he'd fallen asleep, his breathing even with puffs of air fanning over her skin, he pulled his face from her neck. Harry's cheeks were flushed as he looked to her, ruddy and glistening with a sheen of sweat. His eyes were puffy and red, the scleras bloodshot from his crying session. Even his lips were swollen, the same hue as his red-tipped nose. 

"Can I have some water?" he asked her pathetically, voice nasally given his clogged sinuses, "And a blanket. 'M really cold." 

(Y/N) nodded her head right away, feeling her eyes rounding out as she took him in with pity in her gaze. "I'll be right back, okay?" she told him, brushing stray curls behind his ears. 

Harry gave her another sad look, mimicking the nod of her head. "Thank you," he told her before tucking his swollen bottom lip between his teeth. 

She made quick work of collecting the liter of water she'd put off to the side along with the knitted blanket that was bundled over the hotel bed. She knew that was something he'd brought from home, an item she'd seem him cart around to every venue and every hotel room to help him feel more at home despite the miles between. Hopefully it would be just what he needed in that moment. 

Stepping into the bathroom, Harry was just where she had left him. He was bundled beside the bathtub, his legs now bent in front of him to make himself into a small ball with his arms around his shins. His glossy eyes seemed to widen at the sight of his blanket, completely glancing over the water in her opposing hand in favor of reaching for his token from home. 

"Thank you so much," he repeated, grabby hands taking the knitted blanket as soon as she offered it to him.

Despite his aching limbs, the blanket was wrapped around Harry's shoulders in quick succession, the fabric being pulled up to his face with a finger wrapped in the material from underneath absently rubbing against his cheek. He soothed himself enough to have his eyes flutter to a close as (Y/N) settled in beside him, taking her spot against the bathtub wall with her legs criss-crossed underneath her bottom. 

"Still want some water?" she asked in a crooned tone, hoping to keep from disturbing him too much from the sweetened state he was falling into.

"Yes, please," he murmured, eyes still closed. 

Twisting off the cap of his water, (Y/N) offered it to him with a nudge against his shoulder. Harry begrudgingly untangled his hand from the knit of his blanket, taking the bottle with his eyes opened to only a slit. 

"Only take sips, H," she told him as he raised the bottle to his lips, "Any more and it might make you sick again." 

"But 'm so thirsty," he whined, brows pinching together in the middle. 

"I know, but if you drink too fast it'll make you sick again," she reasoned with him, scooting in closer to him with her arm pressing against his own, "Just sip it for now and if you can keep it all down tonight, you can drink all the water you want." 

Heaving a sigh, he gave a nod of his head as he heeded her advice and took small sips from his bottle. (Y/N) kept an eye on him as he drank, watching for any turn of the tide that would garner her helping him back to the toilet bowl. By the time he finally seemed satiated, handing her the bottle in search of the cap to be fixed back on top, he sunk down and lent his cheek against her shoulder. His eyes were shuttered closed once more, his hand working its way back under the knit of his blanket to press the material against his cheek again. 

"Tired?" (Y/N) murmured, maneuvering to wrap her arm around his shoulders and cuddle him close. 

"Yeah," he said, voice cracking some under the pressure of his raw throat. 

"Here," she said, shuffling in her spot to move just far enough away from him to get a whine filtering through his throat. Uncrossing her legs, she unfurled them in front of her with her ankles folding over one another, "Lay down, H, its okay. You can put your head in my lap." 

He seemed calmed at the prospect of her only moving so he could more comfortably. With his legs curled against his tummy into a ball, Harry laid his head in her lap, her plush thighs acting as his pillow. "Thank you," he sighed, nasally voice quietly bouncing off the tiles. 

"When you wake up we'll take some medicine, okay?" she told him, placing her hands in his hair as she unclipped the sprout she'd made with the strands to card through his curls. 

All she earned in response was a quiet okay, leaving him to fall asleep only moments later. 

Sinking against the sidewall of the bathtub, (Y/N) let her own eyes close. Cuddling with Mr. Styles was definitely not how she saw this morning going. She was going to have to text Mr. Azoff to let him know not to expect her for the rest of the day. 

—————

"(Y/N)?" 

Humming to acknowledge the call of her name, (Y/N) continued to clean up the little medication station she made up on his bedside table now that each of the pills were in his system. She was going to have to call up for another large water bottle for him now that there was less than a fourth of the liter left. And, probably another serving of hot soup since that had been forgotten hours earlier, going cold. 

"'M sorry," Harry said behind her, the warmth of his glossy gaze being pinned on her back. 

"You don't need to be sorry, remember?" she said to him, constituting all of his orange and white bottles back into the small pack the medical team had prepared as she gave him a small glance over her shoulder. "No one is upset with you; it's not your fault you're sick, we all know that." 

"No," he croaked, shaking his head against the fluffed pillow, "That's not what 'm talking about." 

"Oh?" she asked, settling into the nest of bedding she'd made her own since they carted him back to bed after his nap. He hadn't been sick for hours at this point, the main concern shifting to fend off the fever that was sapping his energy and drawing a fog over his brain. 

As soon as he saw her close once more, Harry made a move to lay his head in her lap again. It was instinctive at this point to have her hands carding through his hair, pulling the strands from his flushed skin. This time though, Harry looked up at her with his slightly hooded gaze, a touch unfocused despite the fact he'd been awake for the better part of the last hour. 

"'M sorry 'm so mean to you," he breathed, a sheen collecting over his eyes as he took her in, "You're taking care of me, and I don't deserve it." 

(Y/N) felt like a deer in headlights with his tired gaze on her. This was definitely not how she ever saw this conversation going—if this conversation ever happened, anyway. She floundered for words as she shook her head, distracting him with a particularly drawn out run of her fingers through his curls. 

"Don't say that, okay? What you don't deserve, is staying alone in a hotel room while you're sick," she murmured, "But, you don't need to worry about that right now, okay? You don't need to apologize for anything." 

To be fair, she never really considered his behavior mean. He avoided her, sure, but he was never blatantly rude to her. 

"No, no," he shook his head in her lap, "'M so mean to you 's not fair. I-I barely even talk to you, and you're still taking care of me. 'M sorry, (Y/N)." 

"Harry, really, I don't think you're mean, ok—" 

"I jus' don't know how to talk to you, (Y/N)," he continued as if he hadn't heard a single word she said, "'S so hard to talk to you, and-and m'brain hurts when I try to think about it." 

Canting her head as she gazed down at him, she dropped one of her hands from his hair only to skate over the planes of his face. She traced over the height of his cheekbone, and brushed the length of his lashes before she grazed the bridge of his nose. "It's okay, Harry," she soothed him, watching as his eyes fell closed, "It's okay to be shy. I know Mr. Azoff's last assistant was really close to you, it's fine if we're not there yet. We'll get there someday, right?"

"No," he whined, drawing out the syllable as he peeked his eyes open, "'S not like that—not like with Mallory, (Y/N). I like y'so much that m'brain doesn't work around you. It wasn't like that at all with Mallory—I didn't have a crush on her." 

(Y/N) was thankful for the cover of his illness to keep him from fully noticing her reaction to his confession. While it was sweet the way he described his feelings—a crush, he'd said—that had to have been at the very bottom of the list of reasons she would have thought up as to why he behaved the way he did around her. What was she supposed to say to something like that? How was she supposed to take it given the fact that this could be nothing more than one of his delirious ramblings given the state of his fever? 

"I can't believe 'm telling you like this," he muttered, eyes fluttered closed in a tight pinch as he turned in her lap. He faced the soft of her tummy, his arms wrapping around her middle as he nosed at the fabric of her top. "I smell like vomit and I haven't washed m'hair for four days, 'm sorry." 

A quiet sigh left her lips as she carded her fingers through his hair, the unwashed curls slipping between her fingers. "It's okay, Harry. Don't worry about any of that right now, okay? We can talk about that later, but you need to focus on getting better right?" 

"Right," he peeped, voice slowing and dredging deeper into sleep, "And you'll stay with me?"

Her answer was automatic, "Of course. I'll be here to take care of you, I promise." 

It was only moments later he was asleep again, face tucked against her tummy while (Y/N) was wide awake. 

—————

(YN) woke with a stiff neck to the sound of the shower running, still wrapped up in Harry's bedding though now she had his knitted blanket draped over her form. The side of the bed she had slipped him into once she was too tired to stay awake was now cold, only the impression of his body on the sheets giving away his presence. 

Blinking her dry eyes, she tried to get her bearings after the long night she'd had tending to her boss's favorite client, along with every rambling confession he woke up in the middle of the night to share. 

He apparently thought her hair was very pretty, wanted to share clothes with her, and thought she had a cute laugh. Though, those were only the confessions she could decipher in his sleepy, nasally voice. 

She was still clothed in the outfit she'd donned the morning before, her phone waiting with a handful of texts from Mr. Azoff asking about Mr. Styles' state and if there was anything the pair of them needed now that (Y/N) had taken on the role of nursing him back to health for the time being. She pushed those messages off to the side at the moment, instead trying to untwirl her brain now that she had a moment alone without Mr. Styles' health at the front of her mind. 

He liked her, he'd said—he had a crush on her even. That was why he didn't have it in himself to hold a conversation with her, too shy to speak to her without making an ass of himself. The thought made her heart flutter, a fact she couldn't deny especially after she realized the smile on her face when she recalled his exact words. 

Despite the fact his kindness didn't always extend to her in the obvious ways, thinking back, she realized the signs were there. He remembered her birthday and put together an impromptu party that he couldn't even properly attend. He remembered her Halloween costume even though he was running around all day, preparing for one of the biggest shows of the year. He paid attention to her; he listened for her favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite books. While he was too shy to talk to her about those things directly, he still went out of his way to find them out and keep them to himself. 

It was easier for her since she knew she got this job to send her own feelings packing, out of her head and her heart before she could find herself in trouble with an infatuation with her boss's favorite client and best friend. That fact grew even more important as soon as Harry started behaving the way he did around her, but now that she had that glimmering confession, the tender explanation, it was hard to keep those feelings from marching right back in. All those months that she had to school herself into knocking away the melancholy at the fact that one of her inspirations didn't seem to like her now were turned in a new light, trying to see those same moments from Harry's point of view. 

How many times had she thought she felt his eyes on her, only to turn and find him looking the other direction? Had she really been only a second too late to catch his gaze? Every time she had chattered away with a member of the crew or Mr. Azoff himself, with Harry scrolling through his phone distractedly had he really been listening in and collecting information he was too scared to ask for? Or even the times he had dropped his gaze when she met his, the blushing hue to his skin now could be out of sheepish affection and not the need to get away from her as soon as possible. 

She hadn't been invisible to him, or even a negative presence in his day-to-day, she was piecing together. He thought of her the same way she thought of him. What a heart-stopping thought. 

"Morning." 

(Y/N) jumped in her spot, the bedsheets rustling around her denim-clad legs at the sound of Harry's rumbling voice. Dropping back into the moment, she saw him standing just outside the bathroom door, luggage at his feet as he packed away the clothing he would need sent off to be washed before they were on their way to the next destination. A quiet smile was on his lips, a shy shifting to his gaze that kept him from meeting hers. His socked feet dug into the plush carpet on the floor, legs folded over in a pair of heavy black sweats along with a crewneck from his brand that hadn't been released to the public just yet. His hair was damp and dark, finally washed after the few days she was sure it had been bothering him.

"Morning," she chirped back, finding her voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he mused, running a hand through his damp hair, "Finally getting to actually sleep last night helped a lot, I think. I took the medicine y'left on the table, and took a shower and I'm really feeling a lot better."

"Good, that makes me happy. Now, you can sleep all day and actually eat something instead of laying on the bathroom floor." (Y/N) felt proud of herself when she caught sight of the dimples denting his cheeks as he huffed out a quiet laugh.

A beat of silence passed between them as Harry finally dropped the guise of rifling through his bag to face her. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweats, he toed at the ground as he looked at her through the fan of his lashes. 

"Um, thanks for taking care of me and everything yesterday, (Y/N)," he drawled, a pinch touching between his brows, "I really, really appreciate it. 'M sure it wasn't easy. My mum says I always get whiny when 'm sick, so..." 

"You weren't that bad," she told him with a gentle smile, crossing her legs underneath herself from where she sat on the bed, "I used to babysit when I was in college, and you are definitely not as bad as some of the kids I used to help."

"Great," he laughed with a playful roll of his eyes, "'m not as bad as a child. I'll have to tell my mum, that'll show her." 

After the short peals of laughter died down, silence filled in for their voices. Was she supposed to say something? Did he want her to say something? Or was what was said last night meant to stay right there—in the evening hours, in the brain fog that came along with his fever?

"Listen," he said, swallowing hard as he finally met her gaze head on, "'M really sorry about yesterday. I know I said a lot of things, and 'm really sorry if I made y'uncomfortable or anything. I-I don't know why I said any of that, honestly." 

Fighting the urge to drop her own gaze as she'd seen him do so many times before, (Y/N) kept herself focused on him, following the small droplets of water that clung to his forehead from his damp curls. "You didn't make me uncomfortable," she said, "But—um—di-did you mean it? What you said? About being shy and everything because of... me?"

Another harsh swallow had his throat bobbing, the green of his eyes disappearing for just a moment as he blinked towards the ceiling before returning. "I mean, yeah. I did mean it. I never wanted to tell y'like that, though, that's for sure. I know y'were being nice, but I definitely did smell like vomit and you're a saint for sitting there and letting me talk like a crazy person all night. I don't even know how you found time to sleep with me constantly bothering you."

"You weren't bothering me," she said, a smile cracking her features now that she realized there was no catch to his confession. There was no reason to quash the happiness filling her chest. "I thought it was really sweet what you were saying to me. It was nice to hear all of that stuff, especially since I was pretty sure you didn't like me just two days ago."

He clenched his eyes shut at her finishing words. "I really am sorry about that, I hope you know," he said with a heady sigh, "I wish I had a better explanation, but really, you jus' make me nervous." 

"It's okay," she waved off, shuffling towards the edge of the bed closest to him without much thought, "You make me nervous, too—I get it." 

"I do?" he asked, a boyish smile touching at his features while his eyes seemingly sparkled in the low light. 

"I mean, yeah," she revealed, a duh tone to her words, "Why do you think it's always so hard for me to talk to you?" 

Harry took slow steps towards the edge of the bed, his socked feet dragging through the plush carpet. "But you're always so—," he trailed off, flicking his hands out in front of him with a flourish, "Everywhere, I guess. Talking to everyone and laughing. I don't think I've ever seen y'nervous." 

"Well, I don't like everyone else the way I like you, so I don't get nervous like that. It's harder to talk to you when all I want is to say the right thing." 

Before she even realized it, Harry was stood right in front of where she was sat on the edge of the bed. He towered over her with warmth radiating from his chest, the heat much more pleasant than the fever he was running the night before, especially when he looked at her so sweetly with his big eyes. It was in slow movements that he brought his hands out and settled them on her wrists, only to trail down to lace his fingers between hers. When she didn't pull away or make any sound of protest, she felt him squeeze her hands. 

"I like hearing y'talk. Y'have a pretty voice," he murmured, his voice just a touch deeper than normal given the last week of his life. 

"I like your voice too," she beamed up at him, "Why do you think I'm always out there during the shows?" 

"Because, Jeff makes you?" he teased, shyly dropping her gaze to where their hands were bundled between them. 

(Y/N) shook her head, adjusting her position on the bed to sit with her bottom on her heels and her legs folded underneath her. "I like listening to you sing and talk to everyone. You're amazing on stage. It's my favorite part of being on the road with everyone—getting to see you every night like that." 

He keened under her praise, canting his head as he squeezed her hands. Dimples dented his cheeks as he looked to her. "Thank you," he murmured, the blunt ends of his front teeth sinking into his bottom lip once he got his gratitude out. 

Looking at him like this, feeling the strength of his hands and the heat of his skin all the while he looked at her so tenderly had (Y/N)'s heart racing. How was this real?" 

"Harry?" 

"Hm?" 

Dropping her eyes to his lips, the raspberry color just a bit drained from his illness though he wasn't any less appealing. She spoke without thought as her stayed stuck on his mouth, "Can I kiss you?" 

She watched as a smile grew on his lips at her words. "I—uh—'M sick, remember?" he protested less than half-heartedly. 

"I got my flu shot, remember?" 

That was all the convincing it took to have Harry dropping her hands from his, only to then cradle the soft of her cheeks in his hands. His lips slotted against hers in a tender press, allowing her to taste the clean mint of his toothpaste and whatever scented chapstick he'd swiped over his pout. She didn't even have time to think about the fact she was still wearing her clothes from the day before with unbrushed hair and unwashed skin, not with the way he was holding her and pressing into her mouth for more. It was as unhurried of a kiss as it was wanting, making up for the lost time that had been wasted over the past few months. 

The contact remained innocent, only sweet presses of their lips growing more and more delicate until Harry pulled away just to press a smattering of kisses against her pout. His actions drew a laugh from her chest, her hands reaching for his shirt as he kissed her smiling mouth. 

"We don't have to leave for the venue until tonight, right?" he asked, slightly breathless though he matched her smile tenfold. (Y/N) nodded her head still in his delicate grip, the pad of his thumb sweeping under her eye. "We should probably leave for a little and let housekeeping clean up a little, but 'm still really tired," his gaze flickered over hers, his smile growing that much more at whatever he found in there, "Could we go back to your room? We don't have to do anything"—that had his cheeks blushing—", but I don't want to sleep alone again after this."

That was all (Y/N) needed before she was dragging him down the hall to her hotel room, following right after him into her unused, plush bed. It was instinct at this point the way he cuddled up to her, face in her neck with his nose pressed to her pulse. All she felt was a press of his lips to the curve of her throat before he was asleep again, leaving (Y/N) the time to send Mr. Azoff a message. 

Harry was fine, she told him, but he'd probably need another day of rest and looking after. A job she was more than willing to continue to take on. She'd tell him the full story later, she decided, especially after he saw the room service charges for double meals to her room.

—————

I got a request for something like this a super long time ago so thank you to whoever requested for being so patient! thank you so much for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if anyone has any ideas or requests of your own pls pls send them in !

[lovedbybella]

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬

📌 jen's favs 📎 drabbles 🔒angst 🌷fluff

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

the five times james potter wanted to kiss you + the one time he did @moonlitmeeks

(3.7k) five times james was desperate to kiss you, and the one time he gave in to temptation 🌷📌

imitation @randomoutsiders

(2.3k) james panics in dada after his boggart turns into your dead body. 📌🔒

why did she say yes? @astonishment

(4k) you and james have always had a flirty friendship. but it’s just that, a friendship. so why is he so upset that you’re going on a date with someone else? 🌷

chaser at heart @messers-moony

(3.8k) without realizing it james potter has always been a chaser regardless of his quidditch position 🌷

your hand, forever @luveline

(6k) you ask james to pretend to be your boyfriend. he always says yes. 🌷📌

everything with you @luveline

(9k) four times james almost kisses you and one time he does. 🌷📌

3, that's the magic number @wrathspoet

(4.4k) 2 times james has tried to kiss you, but the moment never seems right. but 3 is the magic number, right? 🌷

summer revelations @pregnant-piggy 🌷 (4.1k)

gymrat!james potter headcannons @sgrantsgf 🌷📎

per aspera ad astra @marauderslupins

(15k) being with your soulmate was an experience like no other. in the wizarding world everyone aspires to find their soulmate and live out their lives, but no one ever considers what it’s like to lose one 🔒🌷(no happy ending)

invading my senses @wrathspoet

(2.5k) truths and apologies come spilling when you’re forced to share a room with james 🔒🌷

a classic cliche @akraziia

(2.5k) you encounter james potter, the arrogant ass who’s been a pain in your side for years, at a football game. but he seems to be becoming less of a pain--especially with that stupidly handsome smirk of his. 🌷

“no, please. don’t say that. you love her, not me.” @hello-everyfandom

(3.5k) you’re in love with your childhood friend and it is painful to watch him pine over lily evans 📌🔒🌷

(3.2k) part ii: "james, you're a right knob head sometimes. she loves you." (2.8k) part iii: "i'll say it every second of the day if need be, i love you."

wake up, fall down @curseofaphrodite

(680) james doesn’t get drunk often but when he does, chaos follow. 🌷📎

james gives you his quidditch sweater when it's cold @prongsbook 🌷📎

what's happening to me? @harrytpotter

(5.9k) james potter was starting to feel more and more overprotective towards his friend y/n and considerably annoyed at the blatant flirting she and one of his best friends were displaying publicly and at the thought she might be falling for sirius. what was happening to him? 📌🔒🌷

we deserve this life @starstruckwillows

(1k) little moments of you and james raising harry all the way through his 7th year 🔒🌷📎

how you get the guy @wrathspoet

(4.1k) its been years of pining between you and james, so the girls help you come up with a plan on how to get the guy. 🌷📌

girl, don't do it @roonilwazlibimagines

(5.8k) "based on those tik toks where they list a bunch of things you shouldn't do with a boy because you'll catch feelings" 🌷📌

james taking care of drunk reader @luveline 📎🌷📌

part i: the beginning part ii: scraped knees part iii: coming to your rescue part iv: james gets drunk

shattered @willowbleedsonpaper

(7.6k) “a james potter story where they have to fake date for a few weeks and the reader develops feelings and thinks james feels the same but doesn’t?” 🔒

(8k) pt ii: you try to deal with the rejection and james comes to a realization. 🔒🌷

annoying @starstruckmoony

(8.4k) james potter has a crush on you (slytherin!reader), but you don't feel the same way. or do you? 🌷📌

you belong with me @forourmoons

(7k) james potter, your best friend, gets a girlfriend. you hate him for it because you’re in love with him, but it’s because you love him that you pretend it isn’t eating you alive. but it doesn’t take james long to realise that everything he’s ever wanted was right there the whole time. 📌🔒🌷

returning the favor @acciotwinz

(4.4k) james is a knight in shining armor for anyone in need of help. especially students who call in the middle of the night. 🌷

‘til forever falls apart @1-800-olympians

(5k) when sirius said siblings are off limits, james never thought he would break that rule, but everything seemed to change when the sister sirius swore to hate was not as cruel as her brother described. 🔒

diner darlings @jamesdeerest

(0.7k) a series of late nights at the diner, with a cute waiter to take the edge off of studying. 🌷📎

giving you his quidditch sweater @prongsbook 🌷📎

requited love @lemon-boy-stan

(4.7k) jealous of sirius asking out yn to the ball, james asks lily, but not everything is as it seems. 🔒🌷

you cuddle with sirius in dog form instead of james @ddejavvu 🌷📎

james' daughter tries to set up her dad and doctor!reader @ddejavvu 🌷📎

[lovedbybella]

ok so i don’t know if you want to write this but james is in a relationship with a shy reader and one day sees james and lily talking so she gets insecure thinking james is just settling for her. but like with a happy ending?

hi thanks so much for ur request! i love some shy reader hurt comfort heavy on the comfort this one got kinda long by accident i just love him so much

You don't know why you do it. You're coming back from the cereal aisle with a forgotten box of cornflakes and you see James' back turned to you. He's talking to somebody, a girl, and it takes you a moment to realise that it's not just any girl, it's Lily Evans. You shrug back behind a display of baked goods, peering through boxes of donuts at their easy conversation. 

James is laughing very, very loudly, and Lily looks just as happy. They seem to have a rapport, a bouncing joke between them both. It doesn't last too long; an old woman shoos you out of the way and you reluctantly emerge, finding your boyfriend by himself. 

"You got them?" he asks, though he can see them in your hands. 

You nod and give him a weak smile. It's hardly any different to your usual, tentative expressions, and he doesn't take any notice. 

"Awesome, thanks baby. Is that everything on the list?" 

"Yeah," you say. He grins. You walk beside him, can't help yourself from looking into his warm face and wondering if he's really as happy as he seems. 

Later, with the groceries put away and your dinner in the oven, you sit thigh to thigh with James in a comfortable silence and realise this is how it usually is. Evenings are often quiet with him, your fault, because he could chat shit for England. You start to worry, because why is that? Why does he let himself waste all his evenings with you? When he could be laughing up a storm with someone else? 

He huffs under his breath at a joke on the TV, leaning back into the cushions with a handful of crisps aloft over his open mouth. He must feel your gaze because the crisps never get to his mouth. He smiles his confusion and offers his hand. 

"Want some?" he asks. 

You shake your head. He polishes off his handful and wipes his fingers in his pajama bottoms. An awful habit. You wrinkle your nose. 

He laughs aloud. "What's the face for?" 

"You wiped your hands in your trousers." You don't say, like a child, but he hears it. 

James smarts. "Where would you have me wipe them? The sofa?" 

"A tissue would be okay." 

He laughs again. You feel a stab of insecurity - you're not being sarcastic, or funny, or any of those things. You're earnest and quiet and maybe you're no fun at all. He must see the darkening of your expression as his eyebrows crease in a show of worry. 

"Does it really disgust you that bad? Sorry, shortcake. Old habits die hard. I'll get a tissue." 

You clear your throat. "No, I- I don't care, Jamie." 

"Jamie?" he repeats. That's where you slip up. You only call him Jamie when you're overwhelmed. "Something troubling you, my angel?" 

"Nothing." 

"You're a terrible liar." 

You pick at your shirt hem. He waits patiently, then uneasily. You wince as he shifts, worrying that you've made him mad by dodging the question. You haven't – he's moving to put the bowl of crisps on the coffee table so that he can wrap his big arm over your shoulders. 

"You can tell me anything," he says. 

You nod. "I know." 

He waits some more, knowing how badly you struggle to impose anything on him. "James," you say, refusing to make the mistake of calling him by his nickname, lest his heart give out with panic, "do you ever get mad with me?" 

"Not really. I wasn't best pleased when you shrunk all my boxers in the wash, but that was an accident."

You try to make yourself laugh at his attempt to lighten the mood, eyes flitting to his face. He's frowning something awful. 

"No. I don't get mad at you. For what?" he asks. 

"For being so quiet." 

"I like that you're quiet." He doesn't miss a beat. You shake your head at him, disbelieving. "I'm serious. I like you exactly how you are." 

"You don't get bored?" With me. With our life. 

"You're not boring." 

You can't agree with that. You feel like you must get pretty tedious, stuttering and stammering and bumbling. You can barely talk to his friends, struggle to look his parents in the face. You're a sad excuse for a girlfriend, and- 

"I can feel you thinking mean things about yourself. Stop it," James says, squeezing your shoulders towards him. "Please. What's making you think about all this?" 

"Nothin'," you mumble. 

A stretch of silence. James turns the TV down before confiding in you quietly, "You know who I saw at the shops today?" 

"Who?" you ask. 

"Lily Evans. And she's just like she used to be, poor girl can't stand me. But she did ask about you." 

"What did she ask?" 

"If you're keeping me in line." 

"What did you say?" 

He hums to himself. "I said I've never been this happy in my life." 

"Jamie…" 

His fingertips are a whisper on your cheek, encouraging you to look at him. "I can't ever be bored. I'm too busy. Half the time I'm out of my mind wondering how I got so lucky, and the other half of the time I'm trying to think of ways to earn it." 

He leans forward until your foreheads touch. "Sorry if I don't tell you enough, shortcake, but I'm mad for you. Completely. Just obsessed." 

You're so happy and embarrassed you worry you'll burst into nervous tears. "I wasn't trying to pull so many compliments out of you." 

He laughs, his breath hot on your lips. "I know that." 

"Sorry." 

"For what? Asking me a question? I'll tell you anything you wanna know. I'm so fucking happy with you, I don't care if you need me to tell you that. I'm happy to tell you that." 

Any worries that he's settled for you are quickly waning. Still, insecurity lingers. "James, you're so lovely," he smiles at the compliment, "you're amazing. And I really worry that you're gonna realise that I'm not enough. I'm not outgoing, I can't-" 

James steamrolls you, pulling back like you've zapped him. "Not enough?" 

"I'm not funny." 

"Sweetheart, you're funny." 

"I'm not interesting." 

He looks genuinely at a loss for words, something akin to heartache on his face. You want to take back your criticisms as quickly as you said them, hating that you've warped his pretty face into such a forlorn expression. You don't manage it, holding your breath as James' lean arms work under yours, dragging you easily into his chest. You flop into his hold, head digging unto his shoulder, eager to be hugged. 

He wraps your hands around his neck and holds them there. 

His voice is smooth and clear. "I know you think that your being shy is a flaw. That it's something you should get rid of, and that it makes you uglier." Frustration peaks through the syllables. "I know you think that, but it's not true. You're funny. You don't have to be a sarcastic, smug prick like me to be funny. And you're interesting. You're fascinating. You think there's nothing to see because you're not constantly shouting it out from the rooftops, but all your little details that make you you, I love them. I don't care if I have to look closer to see them." 

He takes a breath, you take your own, heart beating between your ears as love for him swells in your chest like a water heavy flower. "'I love to look at you. If you hadn't noticed." 

You sniffle and force your face into his hard shoulder, your hands uncharacteristically cruel where you cling to him. 

"Understand me?" he asks gently, voice low like he knows he's unravelled you. 

"Yeah," you whisper, smiling wide into his shirt, eyes shut tightly. "I love you." 

"I love you," he says. James turns love into adore, into cherish. He rubs your back roughly, pressing scratchy kisses to wherever he can reach. "Ask me if you're boring again. I have more to say." 

You don't think your heart could take it. 

[lovedbybella]

Hello! Do you have any in general NSFW headcanons for Pietro Maximoff??

¡ marvel masterlist !

okay, hear me out

sloppy kisser

but it's purposeful, of course

spit, too much tongue, all of it

the messier the kiss is lets you know how needy he is

like I said in my last post, he LIVES for oral

mostly giving, but he does love it when you go down on him as well

especially when he gets to fuck your throat and you get all slobbery and glassy eyed <3

he definitely praises you endlessly about how well you take him and how good he feels

when he finally fucks you he's almost in a trance, his head drops, and he lets out either a high moan or a low groan, no in between

he likes to grip your thighs to keep you in place as he pistons in and out of you

likes fucking you standing up the best

standing allows him to hold onto you and really take control

he lifts you up and down into his cock while you slump against him

or he presses you up against a wall and holds you up by your thighs or you wrap them around his waist

likes to suckle on and mark your tits

especially when he's feeling subby

when he is he likes it when you ride him and you purposefully sink down onto his cock slowly, driving him crazy

he likes to cum on your thighs or your tummy <3