hi honey! can i request a little something with sirius where reader passes out a lot and maybe they’ve had an established relationship for a while and we just see sirius comforting her and it being all calm since they’ve gone through this a few times before?
Thank you for requesting my love!
cw: aftermath of fainting
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 399 words
Your own breathing sounds loud in your ears. That’s all you know for a while, black fuzz crowding your vision and your sense of touch still offline, but once the static of your brain clears somewhat you’re able to make out words.
“—take it easy, gorgeous. I’ve got you, you’re at home. No reason to rush things.”
You blink a few more times, until the fuzz clears. Sirius is beside you with his arm disappearing under your head.
You make some poor attempt at speech, and his mouth kicks up.
“What’d I just say?” he teases you. “Relax. Does anything hurt?”
You try to focus. You don’t think so. You manage to piece together the right sounds to tell him this time.
Sirius nods. His fingers twitch beneath your head in a lazy scratching motion. “Sweet. I wasn’t in the room when you fainted, but it looks like you might’ve fallen back down onto the couch and then the floor, so we should be good.”
You take a few deep breaths. Your body feels like you’ve just woken from a deep, disorienting sleep, and somehow also run a marathon while doing that. “Thanks,” you say.
Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and moves your head into his lap, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Don’t mention it, sunshine. All in a day’s work.” He grins when your lips twitch tiredly. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you some water when you’re ready, okay?”
You hum, letting yourself relax while he’s watching over you. Sirius has helped after you’ve passed out in public and once while crossing the street, so you know he’s more than capable of looking after you here in your home. Slender fingers tunnel into your hair to scratch soothingly at your scalp.
“So,” he says casually, “do you come here often?”
An amused exhale comes out your nose. You must make a funny face, because Sirius’ brows furrow.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide if saying something about falling for you would be too cheesy.”
He laughs, a surprised, barking thing. “Hey, cheese is welcome. I thought you had hit your head for a second there.”
“Sorry…if you say your thing again, I can try to flirt better.”
Sirius laughs again. He bends forward, pressing the imprint of his smile to your cheek. “No, I think we got it in one,” he says. “That was perfect.”
hi honey! can i request a little something with sirius where reader passes out a lot and maybe they’ve had an established relationship for a while and we just see sirius comforting her and it being all calm since they’ve gone through this a few times before?
Thank you for requesting my love!
cw: aftermath of fainting
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 399 words
Your own breathing sounds loud in your ears. That’s all you know for a while, black fuzz crowding your vision and your sense of touch still offline, but once the static of your brain clears somewhat you’re able to make out words.
“—take it easy, gorgeous. I’ve got you, you’re at home. No reason to rush things.”
You blink a few more times, until the fuzz clears. Sirius is beside you with his arm disappearing under your head.
You make some poor attempt at speech, and his mouth kicks up.
“What’d I just say?” he teases you. “Relax. Does anything hurt?”
You try to focus. You don’t think so. You manage to piece together the right sounds to tell him this time.
Sirius nods. His fingers twitch beneath your head in a lazy scratching motion. “Sweet. I wasn’t in the room when you fainted, but it looks like you might’ve fallen back down onto the couch and then the floor, so we should be good.”
You take a few deep breaths. Your body feels like you’ve just woken from a deep, disorienting sleep, and somehow also run a marathon while doing that. “Thanks,” you say.
Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and moves your head into his lap, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Don’t mention it, sunshine. All in a day’s work.” He grins when your lips twitch tiredly. “Just take it easy. We’ll get you some water when you’re ready, okay?”
You hum, letting yourself relax while he’s watching over you. Sirius has helped after you’ve passed out in public and once while crossing the street, so you know he’s more than capable of looking after you here in your home. Slender fingers tunnel into your hair to scratch soothingly at your scalp.
“So,” he says casually, “do you come here often?”
An amused exhale comes out your nose. You must make a funny face, because Sirius’ brows furrow.
“What?”
“I’m trying to decide if saying something about falling for you would be too cheesy.”
He laughs, a surprised, barking thing. “Hey, cheese is welcome. I thought you had hit your head for a second there.”
“Sorry…if you say your thing again, I can try to flirt better.”
Sirius laughs again. He bends forward, pressing the imprint of his smile to your cheek. “No, I think we got it in one,” he says. “That was perfect.”
hi mae ! i’m back to working in the kitchen of a restaurant this summer (i worked there a bit during christmas) and my anxiety is thought the roof and i’m constantly on the verge of a panic attack (i put my head in the fridge to try and calm down it’s so bad) so the last fic meant everything it was such a good read thank you so much 🙏🏽 (i’m not the anon who made the request i just wanted to thank you for it)
Omg trial by fire for anxiety! So sorry angel, you are one of our strongest soldiers, thank you for feeding us!! And glad the carmy fic could help you romanticize it some haha
mae how have i just now realized u write for carmy?? actually, how is this the first time ive read bear fanfiction?
anyway, can you do something soft and sweet with him and a reader who is a little bit softer, quieter, sweeter? i think something about the rough and tumble and the easy and kind getting together trope speaks to me (has nothing to do with personal projection, pinky swear), and i know you would write the best grumpy x sunshine :)
Thank you for requesting angel <3 I hope your the bear fanfic discovery has been fun!
cw: mature themes
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 712 words
You’ve got Carmy sitting in the tub of his own shower. His bare ass is cold, and he’s thinking that the last time he cleaned it was probably when he moved in, though maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s only ever touched by soap and water.
The thing is, he sort of likes it.
He doesn’t particularly want to like it. His ass is cold. Your shampoo is way too nice for his hair. Usually, after sex (or after sex before you), Carmy just went to sleep or got on with whatever else he had to do, but you said you needed a shower like it was implied he’d take one with you, and it’s nicer than he thought it’d be.
“Tilt your head down?” you say, your voice hardly audible over the spray of water.
Carmy complies, and your sudsy fingers work their way down towards his neck.
“It’s gonna get in my eyes,” he mutters. Not even thinking you’ll really hear him, just complaining generally while watching your nice shampoo drip from the hair in front of his face. Mikey used to joke (meanly, Carmy thinks now) that Carmy got that from their mom.
There’s a smile in your voice, the soft kind, when you reply, “Then close them.”
Your fingers trace wide, spiraling circles, like you’re making art on Carmy’s scalp. He’s a little bit in love with you.
Carmy used to think that calm just wasn’t something meant for him. He could fake it, wear it for periods of time, but it didn’t become him. Tension, fear, anger, they felt like the only gravity he had sometimes, like they were all that held him together. If he relaxed for a second, that would be it. He’d fall to pieces, and the pieces would scatter on the wind, and whatever Carmy was wouldn’t be anything anymore.
But then there’s you. The first time Carmy caught himself relaxing with you, he waited to fall apart, and it didn’t happen. The pieces just…loosened, a little. Like Carmy’s gravity found something else to bind it. It’s good in a way he hasn’t figured out how to process yet.
It’s possible he’s a lot in love with you.
You make an amused hum, almost like a laugh, and Carmy realizes he’s tipped his head so far back you’re practically holding him up.
He tips forward again. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you say, chasing him with your fingers. “We should get you a scalp massager. I think you’d like it.”
Carmy makes a noncommittal huffing sound. He will not be doing that. (It wouldn't be the same if it wasn’t you anyway.)
He’s sort of overwhelmed by the need to do something for you. To care for you similarly, maybe wash your body if his hands would be too clumsy in your hair or wrestle you down here with him and go back between your legs. He wants to kiss you behind the soft part of your knee and say C’mere, baby, even though he thinks he’s probably not the kind of guy who can pull off calling someone “baby.” He toys with “sweetheart,” then “honey,” the h a breath on his tongue.
“Hey,” he says, because he’s a chickenshit. Carmy turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. Not meaning to be sordid, but he doesn’t hate the startled-then-shy flicker across your expression when he does it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, playing along but with a question in your tone, while he squeezes at your calf, trying to summon language half worthy of you.
He swallows. “I love you. You know?”
Your cheek apples when you smile. Your cupid’s bow stretches out, and Carmy wishes for a second that he were an artist instead of a cook (which is its own art form, he knows, he can hear Sugar’s voice in his head now, but still) so that he could paint it. You have the sort of smile that deserves that sort of thing.
“I know,” you say, sweet as spun sugar. “I love you too, Carm.”
He tips his head back down so you won’t see the way his mouth tightens on something tender. You push your fingers back into his hair, and he knows you’ll coax it out eventually anyway.
Hi! Tumblr is hiding this request from me, so pasting it here from my doc: I was wondering if you could do a Carmy x reader comfort fic, but Carmy is the one comforting us?👀👀👀👀👀…., I had a bad day. 🥲. Only if you can, ty!
cw: panic attack
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 993 words
You hope your heart isn’t as loud to everyone else here as it is to you. If you die, you’d like to do it quietly. This kitchen deserves something quiet for once.
It’s Richie’s turn to pick the music after closing, and you don’t not like it, this old, nineties’ hip hop, but anything can feel like a lot when it’s played at a hundred decibels. Kitchens are made for echo, hard surfaces ricocheting sound around like mimicries of the shouts that have been going through it all night. Even in brief intervals where there wasn’t much sound, the silence was terse enough to feel like there was.
The beat of your pulse in your teeth is out of sync with the beat of the music.
You see Carmy before you hear him. A blur in your periphery, pressing into your space.
“Hey.” His brows are lowered, which they often are and you don’t take it to mean much, but now you take it as disapproval. “Are you good?”
You take a breath. “Yeah,” you say as it whooshes out.
You shake your head. It’s going to take you twice as long to finish cleaning up your station as it is. Your focus is awful tonight.
It’s a minute of focused scrubbing later that you realize you haven’t actually replied, and Carmy is still standing there looking at you. He knows, you’re suddenly sure. You can’t even keep it together for a whole shift—where does that leave you in this industry?
“We’re taking a break,” Carmy says, not asking this time. His hand closes around your elbow, taking the rag from your hand and turning you. “Come on.”
You look around to see who else has noticed as Carmy moves his hand to your back to guide you to his office. Marcus has his earbuds in. Syd’s locked in the way you wanted to be tonight. Tina glances over and catches you watching, smiles tiredly, and then looks away just as quickly. Your breaths grow jagged from forcing themselves through your swelling throat. Your fingers prickle.
Carmy’s office is dark. He doesn’t turn on any lights, pushing you down into the sole chair and crouching in front of you. His brows are still pulled tight, but Carmy’s eyes look big turned up to yours. You look back at him, wide-eyed, lost for what to do.
“It’s okay,” he says. His voice quieter than the pounding in your ears, which is all wrong. “You’re good. You’re good.”
His hand curls around the back of your neck, warm on warm skin, and your vision narrows on the image of a fish on the inside of his arm as he pulls your head down to your lap.
“Just take a minute. You’re good.”
You gasp in a breath. Hot tears squish past your lashes. You push your forehead into your kneecap until it almost hurts.
Carmy’s still holding the back of your neck. Not forcefully—you could sit back up if you wanted to—but somehow still firm. He smells like food, like a mix of things. Tomato. Garlic. Oregano. Something burnt.
You gasp again, wetly, and Carmy swears under his breath. His tone turns almost admonishing.
“Hey.” His grip moves to the back of your head. “Relax. Just—breathe.”
You think he knows it’s not that easy, but if that’s all Carmy wants from you, you can at least try. You take in two quick inhales, letting them out through your mouth. Your lungs burn.
As soon as it has the air to do it, your chest collapses in on itself with weak sobs.
“I—” You cut yourself off with a desperate breath. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, you’re good.” Carmy sounds somewhat panicky himself. “It’s fine, just breathe. Don’t worry about it.”
You cry until your nose runs and your eyes ache, and eventually it’s not for lack of air anymore. Eventually, you’re just keeping your head in your lap because you’re too embarrassed to pick it up.
Carmy’s hand rests on the back of your head. He’s quiet, his own breathing steady and even as he waits for you to gather yourself back together. You think that his fingers might be in your hair, a thought equal parts comforting and horrifying since you were waiting to wash it until after your weekend shifts were over with. You blow a slow breath into the crease of your thighs.
When you can’t hide from it any longer, you sit up.
“Sorry,” you say, wiping under your eyes while looking around for something to use as a tissue. You wonder if it would be more humiliating to clean your nose on your sleeve or to ask for some. “That wasn’t…I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
It almost makes you smile, it’s such a lame brush-off. But you appreciate it. You appreciate the paper towel Carmy hands you even more.
“You can chill here for as long as you want,” he tells you while you clean yourself up, “but then go home.”
You sniff. “I haven’t finished cleaning my station.”
“I’ll do it. You should get out of here.”
“I can still work.”
“I want you to go home,” he says, for once sounding more gentle than bossy (though a bit of that too). His lips press together. “Please.”
You consider pushing back some more—you don’t want everyone else to think you’re not pulling your weight, that kind of reputation can stick to you in a place like this—but despite the humming energy that got you through your shift, you feel now like you could pass out at your station.
“Okay,” you murmur. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying you’re sorry.”
“Okay. Um, thanks.”
Carmy’s hand comes back up to your neck, giving it a brief, slightly awkward hold. Your heart squeezes in a much nicer way.
hi mae!! its been quite a while since I last spoke with uu, but anyways school is starting soon for me! and i’ve been avoiding my mom and grandmas.. cause they’re quite homophobic. (im bisexual who hasn’t come out yet..) lowkey will re-read your fics! it’s good!!
- 🦭
Hey angel, I’m sorry about your family it sucks to be surrounded by people you don’t think would support you even if they don’t know what it is about you they wouldn’t support yet. I hope you enjoy rereading some fics before school starts!
hey babe!! i’ve been re reading all ur fics and i keep thinking about how lovely your one with remus and the reader who goes nonverbal is! i was wondering if you’d be down to write something like that again? maybe the first time r goes nonverbal with remus and him being worried but really caring once he realises what’s happening? or something w poly!marauders? it’s up to you!!!
i hope u are having a fantastic day!
smooches, rosa (mareagirls) 😽
Hi rosa my love! Thank you for requesting, I really hope you're doing alright <333
cw: reader is overstimulated, goes nonverbal
Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words
“Excuse us,” Remus says, pushing your cart between two others with you following closely on his heels. “Excuse me, sorry, can I just—yeah, thanks.”
He knows better than to save his shopping for a Sunday. Unfortunately, the two of you had been too cozy watching movies and eating ice cream last night to think of the consequences, and now his apartment is completely out of food.
“How do you feel about cinnamon raisin bagels?” Remus asks you. He feels like he almost has to shout to be heard in the mayhem of the supermarket.
You shrug and make a noncommittal humming sound.
“Fair enough.” He puts them back, grabbing the regular ones. “I know I can’t finish a pack before they go bad, so I’ll need your help.”
Ordinarily, you might tease him about the unfairness of placing this responsibility on your shoulders, or quip that simply having James over would solve any problems of excess food quickly enough, but right now you don’t seem inclined to. You’ve been oddly reserved since you entered the store, your usual attempts at conversation petering off as if you’re trying to offset the noise of it all with your own quiet.
Remus looks back at his list. “Oh, did you want to make that macaroni salad this week?”
Another shrug and a sort of half nod, as though you do but you’re hesitant to say it.
“We can, dove.” He gives you a small smile. “What do we need for that?”
Your eyes fall from his, going somewhere he can’t reach as your lip dents like you’re chewing on the inside. A child who’s commandeered a cart pushes it into you roughly, causing you to take an unwilling step forward. Remus folds you in between him and your own cart, giving the child’s mother a severe look.
“Hey,” he says to you gently, “you okay?”
Your throat moves with a swallow. You’re looking more and more in distress the more he looks at you, shoulders tight and the faintest of lines in between your brows.
Remus is starting to worry. He clasps the back of your arm kindly, rubbing up and down. “Can you talk to me, dovey?”
Your features pinch suddenly, and you shake your head.
His mind whirs. “Let’s get out of here,” he says in the softest tone he can manage, letting his grip slip down to your hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart, okay?”
This, you seem more than amenable to. You clutch his hand just as tightly as he clutches yours, allowing Remus to lead you through the aisles to the exit. He feels a bit guilty about leaving the full cart where it is, but he’ll deal with that later.
The parking lot isn’t much better than in the store, but the inside of his car feels like a tiny bubble of peace. Remus sits sideways in his seat, assessing you worriedly. You’ve stopped chewing your lip, but the line between your brows has worsened, your eyes closing as you take a deep breath through your nose.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
You nod, exhaling.
“Can I hug you? Would that help at all?”
Your eyes open as you nod again, reaching for him. Remus doesn’t make you do the work, practically crawling over the center console to wrap you up. He pushes his palm in between your shoulder blades, imagining his affection pouring into you through it. You make a tiny sound, nestling your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder.
You stay like that for some time. Remus takes his cues from you, hugging you as long as you grip him tight and swaying back and forth a bit when that seems to help. His worry has crawled all the way up his throat, but it feels better just having you in his arms like this, knowing he’s got you close.
After a while you let out a little sigh and loosen your grip. Remus lets you slip away, trailing his touch down to your forearms.
“Feeling any better?” he asks, fully prepared to do whatever needs to be done if you say no. But you nod, and the tension in his chest eases slightly. “Yeah? Are you able to tell me what’s going on?”
You start to chew your lip again, but Remus tsks, pressing his thumb into your chin so it comes free.
“It’s alright if not, dovey.”
You shy a bit, then open his glove box, taking out one of the small napkins he’s stowed away from past takeaway orders. Next you pop open his center console, digging around until you find a pen.
“You want to write it down?” he asks, realizing. “That pen’s shit, let me find you a better one…here.”
You take the pen from him with a hesitant smile, leaning down over his dash to write. Remus tries not to appear too nosy, looking out the window and watching people move past as you scribble on the napkin. Eventually, you hand it to him.
Your handwriting is not at its best given the surface you’ve had to do it on, but he can make it out. You’ve explained, as succinctly as you can, what happened in the store. That this is something that happens to you from time to time, and that you’ll be okay in a while.
Remus tsks as he finishes, lowering the napkin. “Sweetheart, I wish you’d said you were overwhelmed when we went in there. I would’ve taken us home.” You shrug, looking down at your hands. He takes one in his own, thumbing over the bumps of your knuckles. “How about this. I’m going to tell you an idea, and you let me know if it sounds good to you. Yeah?”
You look up, nodding tentatively.
“I’ll go back in and buy what we’ve gotten already, and then we’ll go back to my place and cuddle until it feels like we never left. Okay?”
This time your nod is downright eager, a sort of relief in your eyes.
Remus smiles, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Alright, lovely. Don’t go anywhere.”
The detail of reader going noncommittal and shrug-y before they can even name what's happening is so real, that stage where you know something's wrong but you don't have the spoons to figure out what yet, let alone explain it. And Remus just gently rolling with it, offering options, not pushing?? The "we can, dove" killed me actually.
The napkin!!! Writing it down because speaking is just Too Much right now is such a specific, real thing and I loved that you included it. And him immediately being like "that pen's shit, let me find you a better one" instead of making it weird or making a Thing of it, just meeting them exactly where they are.
Also the little moment of him folding reader between himself and the cart after the kid bumps into them. Protective without being patronising. Gold star Remus behaviour 🥺
Aw thank you lovely!! I’m so so glad this resonated, I haven’t gone fully nonverbal myself since I was much younger and I’m not sure it was in the same way, so I was worried about getting this wrong and it’s really reassuring that you found things to like in it. Protective without being patronizing is very Remus it’s true!!
Hiya Mae! Just checking in! How have you been? Working on anything lately? I feel bad, I try to make myself a writing routine, but I never stick to it.
Hi lovely! I’m good thanks, yeah working on lots of stuff, mostly boulevard and camp counselor James the last few days, I’d also really like to get started on this new Eddie au but I haven’t been feeling properly inspired. It’s so hard to have a routine when you have other things! The only time I was really able to have a solid routine was during covid, but these days I just cram writing time in wherever I can. I don’t think you should feel bad about it!
Mae i fear i may request this for all marauders separately, together, and in every AU, existing and new
But for now, James?
Thanks for requesting!
cw: modern au, hangover, blackout from drinking
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
bouncer!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words
A cruel, abrasive beam of sunlight slices past your lashes, and you roll over for the dozenth time to hide from it in the pillowcase. You’ll have to find your phone at some point to check the time, you know. You work at three.
There’s a bit more rolling and ruing before you manage that. You feel around the bed for it, your skin achy and too tight, eventually finding your phone on the nightstand.
This is your first clue that something is amiss, because you don’t have a nightstand.
You open your eyes. No, a nightstand was not drunkenly lugged into your bedroom during the night; this room isn’t yours at all. It’s messy, with clothes spilling out of a hamper and a mismatched coverlet and sheets on the bed. It is, you admit to yourself with growing unease, distinctly boy.
You check the time. You’ve slept until nearly noon.
You take a hasty stock of yourself. Your mouth tastes bitter, you’re in clothes that aren’t yours—soft shorts and a hoodie with a comic book character you vaguely recognize printed on the front—and you feel somewhat less hungover than you’d expect, given you can’t remember much of the night before.
Whoever has kidnapped or seduced you left paracetamol and a bottle of water on the nightstand. You take two of the former.
At least, you tell yourself, there is no one currently in the bed with you. You can hear a shower running somewhere else in the flat, and through your sticky, lethargic thoughts, come to the conclusion that this may be your chance if you’d like to sneak out without ever learning whose hoodie you’re wearing.
Nausea pinches in your throat as you drag yourself upright, ensuring the drawstring of your borrowed shorts is pulled tight before padding across the room. You twist the door handle slowly, wary of making any sound to alert your host. You peer out just as cautiously.
It’s a nice place. The whole of the flat isn’t much neater than the bedroom, but it’s nice nonetheless. All the furnishings look like they were bought new, with a few years’ use at most, and big windows let in nearly more sunlight than your head can tolerate. On the kitchen counter, there’s a scraped-clean pan that indicates breakfast recently eaten next to a pile of mail, a wallet, and keys.
Keys. You’ll need to find yours if you want to get back into your own flat when you leave here.
You begin searching as unobtrusively as you can. You find your shoes by the door—those are going to be hell to put back on—and for some reason your chapstick is nested in one of them, but no keys.
In the bathroom, the water shuts off.
Your search grows more panicked. Not on the kitchen counter. Not dropped somewhere on the floor between the front door and the bedroom. Not on the sofa, or the coffee table, or on the nightstand next to where you woke up.
The squeak of a door opening finds you on your hands and knees looking under the stranger’s bed.
You sit up to look, and immediately wish you hadn’t. The man coming out of the bathroom on the other side of the bed, cloaked in mist like the star of an eighties’ music video, is quite literally stunning. You’re stunned, by an expansive, muscled chest and dark hair already curling at the ends despite being weighted with dampness and foggy glasses that somehow humanize the whole image. He holds a white towel around his waist with one hand, and it’s. Just. It’s absolutely far too much for the state you’re in.
Behind the foggy glasses, puppy-brown eyes blink in surprise. “Can I help you find something?”
“I was—” Your voice scratches as you discover your throat is sorely raw. You clear it and try again. “Sorry, I was looking for my keys.”
He blinks again. “Didn’t you read the note?” he asks.
“Note?”
“Ah.” A corner of his mouth lifts in a boyish sort of grin. “That would be confusing. Let’s see.”
He crosses to your side of the room (Far too close, really. Not that you’re not happy to have him here, just, it’s a bit overwhelming, honestly) and looks around for a moment before bending over. His hand keeps the towel affixed, but it slips just slightly lower on his back, and you focus very hard on not thinking either about that or about how his bicep brushes the back of your leg as he reaches between the bed and the nightstand. He pulls out a piece of paper you must have brushed off the nightstand while you were feeling about for your phone.
“I thought it would help to keep from scaring you,” he says, almost sheepishly, which is entirely too endearing, “but I guess it’s sort of null if you can’t find it when you wake up. Anyway, here you go.”
He passes the paper to you. You look up at him, realizing that you’re still on your knees. You move to sit on the bed to put some distance between you, but that only puts you about level with his abdomen. Not much better.
He leaves you alone to read the note, taking some clothes from an open drawer and shutting the door to the bathroom again.
It says, first and foremost, in boxy handwriting: DON’T FREAK OUT
Your mouth tugs. That may not have been as comforting to read upon first waking up as this stranger seems to think.
The note goes on to tell you where you are (the flat of the bouncer from the club you were at last night) and how you got here (he tried to call you a cab, but you’d been upset about the expense, and then the cabbie wouldn’t let you in after you got sick all over yourself), and lays out a few options for how you might proceed (sleep as long as you like, sneak out quietly, or stay for breakfast).
At the bottom, the writing grows cramped: P.S. Your clothes are in the wash (you put on my things before you passed out) and your keys are in the hoodie pocket.
There’s a smiley face at the end.
You pat the pocket of the hoodie you have on and hear a distinctive jingle. You exhale.
Your host (your savior, really) comes out of the bathroom again, this time in an outfit similar to yours, though the shorts fit him better. It’s easier on your head, though he’s no less handsome for being less nude.
“It’s…James, right?” you ask, drawing on a foggy memory.
He smiles. “That’s right.”
You nod. This man does look vaguely familiar, though the bouncer you remember was a lot blurrier and wore more black. He was kind to you, though. You have some recollection of a big hand closed gently around your arm to keep you upright, and warm brown eyes looking into your own. Kind enough to let you sleep in his bed after you made a mess of yourself at the club, apparently, which is far kinder than you likely deserved.
“Thanks for letting me stay here,” you say, shamefaced.
“Don’t mention it.” James waves you off. “You said your place was really far, so I figured this was as good an option as any. I’m just glad you didn’t wake up and call the police on me.”
Your face warms. You don’t know where you are now, but your flat wasn’t all that terribly far from the club you went to last night. You can see how your inebriated self might have exaggerated things once your feet began smarting, though.
“So, are you taking the breakfast option?” James asks.
You feel your eyebrows jump. “You were serious about that?”
He grins and heads for the kitchen. “I’m very serious about breakfast, always. If eggs and bacon aren’t your thing, there’s a good cafe down the street. We could go there, or I could go and bring us pastries back.”
You follow him out of the bedroom, your eyes catching again on the empty pan by the hob. “Did you already eat?”
“I’ve never turned down a second breakfast,” James replies easily.
You hesitate, overwhelmed all over again. Your clothes are in this man’s washer. You slept in his bed, and, from the looks of things, you now realize he likely slept on the sofa. He’s given you paracetamol, and loungewear, and now he’s offering you breakfast.
“This is too nice of you,” you say, contrite.
James looks at you and shakes his head. “Really, don’t worry about it. You just had a bit too much, it happens to all of us sometimes. You can go if you want, but I’d rather send you home with your clothes, and they ought to be done drying soon.” He nods to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit for a while?”
Tentatively, you lower yourself into the cushions. Fold your legs up close to you. “Eggs and bacon sound great,” you say, hoping your gratitude is conveyed by your tone, “thanks.”
I am so excited for summer nights n was wondering if you had any tv show recs that feel like summertime or are a good binge? I miss having a show to look forward to each night (also st season 3 is primeeeeee summer content)
St season 3 is definitely prime summer content!! I've actually been trying to find something for this myself, so I'm afraid I don't really have any suggestions but I'm open to some! I've just finished an atla rewatch and last summer I did h2o so I feel like it's maybe too soon to watch that again, but I tried white lotus hoping that would get me in the summer/beachy mood but I got worn down by not having anyone to root for lol. I might give looking for alaska a try, which I feel like has some summery vibes (despite taking place during the school year lol they're at a boarding school that if I recall felt like summer camp to me) if you haven't seen it
I found a loveseat on fb marketplace and I was sooooo psyched to trade out my old broken chair for it, and it was small enough in width to fit in my small space and only $50.........picked it up, and it is comically small. I am sitting one foot off the floor. I feel so silly and dumb for not asking about height as well as width oml
purely out of curiosity and absolutely no pressure…do you have any writing you’re excited to share with us? 🙃🙃 have a good day angel
Hi lovely! I am excited about a camp counselor james drabble I recently wrote, but I feel like I never actually know how I feel about my writing until I go back to edit it lol so we'll see. Hope you have a good day too!
Hi maee, I noticed you never wrote anything for Poly!prongsfoot, I was wondering if that's just a coincidence or you wouldn't like writing for them? Not a request just a curiosity
i am so inlove with remus from your whos that girl au omg
Aw thank you! I feel like it's unlocked my ability to see the potential of a remus friends-to-lovers lol like I haven't been able to picture meeting him and not immediately dropping to my knees and losing the ability to speak forever but I think if I were worried about fucking up the vibes where I live I would have some more restraint lol. And I do like a slow burn when the yearning is really emphasized!
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