#I mentioned way more characters than intended

[taeyongdoyoung]

point of view

summary: you sneak into your ex-boyfriend's ship with the desperate hope to save your Jedi friends. but you discover more than you bargained for... pairing: seonghwa x reader x chan genre: space opera, romance (?), science fiction, fantasy warnings: morally grey characters, mentions of past crimes (unspecified but we're talking Anakin Skywalker level of crimes), betrayal, cheating (?), kissing, crying, just overall Star Wars setting with no clear-cut boundaries between good and evil author's note: the events are loosely based on certain scenes in Revenge of the Sith and the title is inspired by Ariana Grande's pov word count: 2.3k

The lightsaber glows brighter as you near your destination. All along, you knew it was a bad idea to infiltrate Darth Mars's ship all by yourself. But you have no choice. If you do not confront him yourself, you are afraid that your Jedi friends will be in danger.

Considering your history with Darth Mars, a small part of you still believes that you hold some kind of power over him. He is the one who taught you everything you know now about being a Jedi. He is the one who taught you how to fight, how to defend yourself and how to look after the ones you care about.

So, when he turned to the Dark Side, it was not only your heart that was broken, but also your trust. In him and in everything he stood for. He was the chosen one, for Force's sake...You have to admit, you miss him more than anything. You miss the man he used to be. You even miss your past self. The one who was not haunted by the consequences of his betrayal. The one who still had hopes for a better future for the Galaxy.

"Very foolish of you to come alone," Darth Mars, or should you say, Seonghwa, says, appearing from the shadows.

Bravely, you point the lightsaber at him.

"I taught you better than that," he scoffs.

"Have you?" you attempt to taunt him, because you know your fighting skills are nowhere near his supreme excellency. You can only use your mind and your tongue as a weapon.

"Did you come here to kill me?" Seonghwa chuckles lightly. "Go ahead, then. I don't intend to fight you, of all people."

"I have no intention of killing you."

"Pity. I was beginning to grow tired of it all. Even so, it wouldn't be in your style to kill me while I was defenseless. It wouldn't be honourable," Seonghwa spits the last word out as if it's dirty.

"What do you know about honour? You betrayed us, turning to the Dark Side. And for what? More power? What did you do that for? You left us, Hwa!"

"That's not my name," Seonghwa shakes his head in denial, still hiding beneath that mask. You feel so sad. You wish you could make him see...See how much he hurt you. See you.

You let go of your lightsaber, pulling his mask off.

Oh. His face is not like you remember. Filled with scars and burns and so much pain, as if reflecting the way he changed. Not just on the inside but on the outside, as well. No, you refuse to believe that. Some part of him is still your Seonghwa, the one you fell in love with. The one, that despite everything, you still love.

"Who did this to you?" you ask softly.

"Who do you think? My Master..."

"No, Chan would never...He loved you," you argue.

Chan is the Jedi who taught Seonghwa everything. Just like how Seonghwa taught you, the relationship between Master and Padawan is so special and sacred. But you cannot imagine that Chan would do something like that to Seonghwa.

"Fine, I did it to myself," Seonghwa shrugs. "We had a fight over our...differences. Things escalated and...well, let's just say a planet filled with lava is not a good place for exchanging blows."

You shake your head, still in desbelief. How could this go so far? How did you let it?

"Don't beat yourself up," Seonghwa grins darkly. "This would have happened with or without you."

"I never looked at Chan that way, you know? Not while I was with you, anyway."

"But you do now," Seonghwa states. Not really blaming you, just stating a fact.

"I do," you admit. "But I never stopped thinking about you."

"Not even after everything I did?" Seonghwa murmurs and is that...regret in his voice? You are unsure if he's still capable of that. Or any feeling for that matter.

"Not even then," you sigh.

"Why did you come here, Y/N?" Seonghwa needs to know.

"I came to beg you not to kill my Jedi friends. Leave Chan and the others alone. I would do anything you want. Just let them be."

"Would you stay with me?" Seonghwa tilts his head and in that moment, it's like you're back to when it all started. Deep down, he's still just a boy, desperate to be loved.

"I said anything, didn't I?" you insist. If this means never seeing your Jedi friends again, so be it. At least, they would be safe...Or that's how you delude yourself.

"Very well, then. I won't touch them provided that you don't go back on your word," Seonghwa promises.

You cannot believe it worked. You cannot believe he still cares about you enough to accept this. You never found out why he turned to the Dark Side. Seonghwa was never one to be blindly tempted by power. No, there must have been something else.

"If you wanted to be with me so badly, why did you betray us, then?" you can't go another second without knowing.

"What's the use in telling you?" Seonghwa replies sadly, turning away from you. No, no, he's shutting himself off again. Just as he was beginning to open up...

You grab his wrist as if possessed, forcing him to face you again.

"Please, tell me. I want to understand you," you plead with him.

"You died. You died in my arms and accepting the Sith way was the only way to bring you back to life. If there was another solution, I wouldn't have done this, I wouldn't have left."

"W-what?" you are shaking, not capable of accepting the truth. "I was d-dead?! How did I not know that? How did nobody know?"

"Chan knew," Seonghwa grunts angrily and puts on his mask again. "He insisted on hiding the truth from you. He was certain that if you found out, you'd follow me to the Dark Side...And he couldn't let that happen. Said you have too much potential as a Jedi."

No, no, this can't be right. Truths and lies become blurred in your head as you struggle to decide what to think. Who to trust? Seonghwa? Chan? Yourself? You cannot tell what is real and what is false anymore.

"You don't believe me," Seonghwa guesses correctly. "That's alright. You can ask Chan yourself," Seonghwa tilts his chin forward, as if pointing to something, someone behind you.

In that moment, a bunch of Stormtroopers lead Chan into the room.

"What should we do with this intruder, Lord Mars?" the Stormtroopers ask.

"Leave him here with my other prisoner. I shall question them myself," Seonghwa replies, appearing disinterested. Oh, so you're a prisoner now? Even though you voluntarily offered to stay with him provided that your Jedi friends are safe. You feel so foolish all of a sudden.

The Stormtroopers accept Seonghwa's orders rightaway, leaving the the three of you alone.

"I'll give you two a moment," Seonghwa shrugs carelessly, locking you in the same room with Chan.

For a brief second, you wonder if he did the wise thing. But then you remember, getting on his ship was easy. Getting out? Sounds like an impossible ordeal.

"Chan, what are you doing here?" you ask furiously.

"What does it look like?" Chan replies. "I'm here to rescue you."

"Yeah, and how is that working out for you?" you hiss bitterly. "Now, we're both stuck here instead of just me."

"Did you seriously think I'd let you face him alone?"

"I told you I can handle myself!" you argue passionately. "You always do this. You don't trust me, do you?"

"It's not you I don't trust, it's him around you," Chan cries out in pain.

"Well, I'm not sure I can trust you anymore," you confess.

Chan shrieks back, as if stricken by your words.

"Is it true that I died? Is it true that you knew I died and you kept it a secret from me?" you want to know.

"Listen, I don't know what lies Seonghwa told you but he would have turned to the Dark Side with or without you."

"Funny, I never mentioned that's the reason he went all Sith. You just confirmed it yourself."

Chan gulps nervously, realizing his own mistake.

"How could you, Chan?" you shake your head in disappointment. "I thought you'd never lie to me."

"I just wanted to protect you."

"Protect me?" your eyes widen in disbelief. "From what exactly? 'Cause it seems to me that Seonghwa was the one protecting me."

"And it was wrong! He committed all these terrible crimes just to bring you back. He turned on all his Jedi friends. He turned on me!"

"So, you're saying you'd rather I stayed dead? Is that it?"

"Don't twist my words," Chan closes his eyes, pained to have this conversation.

"You have done that yourself," you murmur, feeling tired all of a sudden and go to the door, knocking as loudly as you can. "I can't stay in the same room with the other prisoner!"

Expecting the Stormtroopers to show up and move you somewhere else, you are taken aback when Seonghwa...well, he's currently looking more Darth Mars, opens the door himself.

"And here I thought I was doing you two lovebirds a favour," he jokes.

"Get me out of here," you respond angrily.

"You're in no position to be giving me orders, sweetheart," Seonghwa chuckles gently. You want to kill him. Or kiss him. You don't know anymore. Everything is so confusing. It hurts so much...

"Get me out of here, please?" you try again, knowing it will infuriate Chan. Oh, how he wishes it was him you were begging. To run away with him suddenly sounds even more imprudent than staying with a Sith Lord.

"Much better," Seonghwa acquiesces, takes you by the arm and leads you somewhere else.

"You'll regret this," Chan warns.

"You'll regret me more," you whisper.

To your further shock, Seonghwa takes you to his chambers. You are uncertain whether he trusts you that much or he's simply confident enough that you won't be able to try anything funny. To be completely honest with yourself, even if you did try something, you would never be able to defeat Seonghwa by yourself. Then again, examples of Padawans beating their Masters are not unheard of...But you are definitely not ready for such a confrontation. Not yet, anyhow.

Not only did you learn that Seonghwa turned to the Dark Side in order to save your life, but you also just discovered that Chan kept that a secret from you. And if Chan knew, then there was a huge chance other Jedi also found out the truth. Chan was never good at keeping secrets from the Jedi. But he seems to be great at lying to you. Thus, everything you ever believed in is put into question. What is right or wrong? What is true or false? What is good or bad? These notions seem so ridiculous to you now that you have no clue what you intend to do next. You can only hope that Seonghwa's sacrifice wasn't in vain. You can only hope to live long enough to find answers for yourself.

"He told you the truth, didn't he?" Seonghwa makes yet another correct guess.

"I tricked him into it," you smirk, somewhat proud of yourself.

"That's my girl," Seonghwa nudges your shoulder playfully.

"What do I do now?" you burst into tears, burying your head in his chest. "Everything I believed in is in shambles. I don't even know if I wanna be a Jedi anymore."

"That's alright. You can always join me."

"Join the Dark Side?" you eye him suspiciously.

"Dark, Light...isn't it all the same?" Seonghwa tilts his head to the side. You hate it, but he has a point.

"Do I even have a choice? You said I'm your prisoner..."

"There's always a choice," Seonghwa insists. "And maybe I'm your prisoner. Did you ever think about that?"

You take off his mask again. He looks away, as if embarrassed.

"Don't hide from me," you beg, placing a hand on his scarred cheek, making him look at you.

"I know I'm not as pretty I used to be..."

"Well, then it's a good thing I didn't fall for your pretty. I like your ugly, too. Wish you could see yourself from my point of view," you insist and kiss him, trying to convey all the mixed up feelings you're experiencing.

Maybe he saved you. Maybe he destroyed himself in the process. Maybe he has the power to destroy you, too. You don't care. Right or wrong, this is where you belong now.

"What do you want me to do with Chan?" Seonghwa asks after a while.

"Are you seriously saying you'd do whatever I asked of you?" you are still shocked to learn how much power you have over him...He may have full control of the Force, but right now, you have full control of him.

"Within limits," Seonghwa replies vaguely.

"Let him live," you reply cleverly. Despite everything that went down, you still care about Chan. Just as how you care about Seonghwa. Your feelings might be irrational. But they're yours. "He might be useful to you one day. Who knows? He might learn to see things from where we stand."

"We? And where would that be?"

"Like you said, Dark, Light...What difference does it make?" you smile at him.

"Hm. I knew you'd get it," Seonghwa embraces you, thinking you're joining his so-called Dark Side.

But there is no such thing. You're on your own side now. And after being lied to and betrayed to by those you considered your closest people, you realize the most important thing. In this Galaxy, you can only trust yourself.

And one day, just like how Seonghwa became stronger than his Master Chan, you are certain you will become stronger than Seonghwa. They both underestimate your power.

It will be their final mistake.

The End

[palenutbasement]

(all scenes are depicted as platonic)

So every Inktober I try to do something more challenging, and this year I thought I would make a short comic/fanfic. I think I got the idea for this one a year ago but I was already wrapped up with another Inktober. Eventually I solidified the idea by making my own prompt list some time ago.

This comic is split into three parts with 10 days focusing on each of them, 30 in total, everything is compiled here. I wanted to post them after October in case I wanted to change anything.

This first part takes place in the summit.

The comic is basically all improvised, that means no planning for the composition, plot, or sketching any drawings. The most planning I did was write a few scripts ahead of time within the month to save me some time but most of them would be changed last minute anyways.

As for the plot, I won't go too deep into it because I don't want to talk too much, so you'll just find commentary on the making of the comic and stuff.

This first part is a little gimmick-y compared to the next two, with new elements appearing almost every day. It’s because I relied a lot on the prompts (dog, milk, etc.) to keep things happening, eventually I move further away from them.

What is surprising to me is how much the art changes as the days go by especially within the span of one month. I did refine a few things to keep it more consistent but this is nearly indistinguishable from the original drawings.

I should also mention that my favourite aspect of this project was adding references to the game and subtle details (if you can find it all, awesome!!) This may have been done quickly but I like to have those things and put at least a bit of effort into the dialogue.

Part 2

Eventually I figured that drawing the same setting for 30 days straight would drive me insane, hence why this comic is split like it is. I’m glad I did because it makes the story a little more interesting, seeing the characters have different attitudes in different places and whatnot.

This one takes place in the cave directly after pt 1. Admittedly I do better drawing outdoor settings, it's what I'm used to, but the cave wasn't so bad to figure out.

I remember these two days I was streaming drawing the comic to my friends, so I kinda zoned out while we were talking lol

One of the prompts was about napping, so I made Dwarf sleep. I believe I was tired that day too and it was therapeutic to draw and include that. Also they look cute, I think.

18 & 19 have some of my favourite drawings in the comic. The campfire lighting is what we'd get if I had a bit more energy each day, and I like the perspective in the first panel of 19.

I find this last section interesting, because of all the 30 days, it’s the only one in Dwarf’s POV. I felt like it was fitting to do something like that at the time.

Part 3

Since we were approaching Halloween, I wanted to have a special part for it. It’s related to the other two parts but it takes place some time after. I’m really sorry it’s out of season, if it were up to me I would have had this post out earlier (thank my midterms for the delay)

Out of all the other parts this one is my favourite. Maybe because it’s more recent I’m inclined to think that way but it has some of my fave moments that I've written here.

Other than that I don't have much commentary for this part. More thoughts at the end!

I was caught up everyday atp, but I didn’t have much spare time to prepare for the ending (I wrote it the morning of that day). I think this is a decent conclusion though.

I intend on coming back to this story, maybe next year to make a continuation but we'll see what happens. There are definitely things that I want to come back to someday.

Thank you for making it this far btw. It's been an eventful month for me beyond this (Untitled) comic, but there wasn't a single aspect of this that I didn't enjoy doing. It's a silly project and I care about it.

Also, I'm not going to neglect the 31st of October! That day will get an illustration, where I will pick my favourite panel and redraw it. I want to take my time with this one so it's not out yet, but hopefully I can finish by Christmas.

[literallys-illiteracy]

New Trailer thoughts and notes:

Oh wow im so gay:

Mommy? sorry. Mommy? sorry. Mommy? sorry. Mommy?

I dont even like Rodion, in fact i still dislike her but... Uh. wow?

Theres not too much to note here, im the EGO person not the ID analysis person (at least for now :3), but for the skills.

Skill 1 appears to be 2 coins piercing. Skill 2 appears to be 3 coins, likely Piercing. Skill 3 appears to be 4 coins, almost certainly Piercing as well. Unlike the other 2 La Mancha Land ID's we've received so far, she seems to have a skill 4 rather than an empowered skill 3, being Dulci's Finale attack, which appears to be 4 coins of AOE piercing.

Finally, she appears to mark the return of playable clashable counters, hopefully we get an unbreakable coin counter, but thats just being a bit too hopeful.

also this ID has the most fanservice of any in the entire history of the game, and of COURSE it needs to be on a character that i dislike just so i cant thirst as hard over her.

Fell Bullet Yi Sang:

First i want to note some things about the art within this EGO's art; most notably is the shattered glass effect and presence of the fluchshutz itself in the background, while it does appear in Heathcliff's fell bullet ID, with its back facing heathcliff's, instead it appears in the centremost shard, with its barrel facing Yi Sang's head.

This note is furthered by the awakening line making mention of "The gun barrel on *My* viscera", rather than another's as in the fluchshutze's story.

The second divergence from Heathcliff's art is the lack of the fluchshutze's traits, having not the halfed face covering that heathcliff had, nor the reddened scarf. This is notable for the main reason that, in the awakening animation of heathcliff's, his face was entirely obscured with said mask of the shooter — These differences in appearance could be due to a number of reasons, even as an arbitrary choice, but it is likely due to resonance with the EGO itself, Heathcliff's being much stronger and thus taking on more traits of the abnormality.

The third divergence and one i will return to later, is the lack of a pendant. If you look at the shooter's art, at Heathcliff's fell bullet art as well, there is a clear pendant visible around their neck, the last remnants of their loved past. Keep note of that i suppose.

Now onto the awakening skill, something interesting to note is the fact that it seems to hit an ally as well as multiple enemies, shooting through heathcliff's Heart'(?), (its not a visible enough detail to note for sure, but i am assuming that this is intended), just in the same way that the devil's final bullet peirced the heart of the freischutz. Also, I think that PM still don't really know how guns work, because, just like the Thumb's "Muskets" that is a rifle. Im not particularly into guns but im 90% sure so.

If we're counting friendly fire, then it seems to have an attack weight of 7, with the latter coin (as he fires twice) seeming to only hit 2, the ally and one of the enemies targeted by the first.

The Corrosion is interesting, the sprite making Yi Sang take the form of a mirror, likely the form of the pendant itself (although there are like 4 mirrors in the sprite so take with that what you will). Contrast this with Heathcliff's corrosion sprite, being that of the heart, for that same reason that Heathcliff seems to be the one used as a friendly fire target in the awakening, for the devil wishes for despair, and to eventually claim their heart.

The corrosion appears to have one coin, and about 6-7 attack weight, once again counting Heathcliff, who remains in the very centre of the ironsights, (Or scope rather, as the gun is changed in the corrosion to include one, despite the art of the Fluchshutz' depicting the ironsights.

The screen that flashes before the shot is "IFF system - Level 3: Deactivated". From what i've found, an IFF system is "Identification Friend or Foe" which should be pretty self evident to its relation here.

Ill make a longer/separate post discussing the WHY of Yi Sang getting this EGO, and any other tangents along the way, but from what it seems, this is likely going to be a Pride or Gloom skill (if i were to guess), and have 2 coins on awakening. It seems to be the first awakening since SOUPCLAIR to be indiscriminate.

[doink-boink]

Finally drew my interpretation of Zach's parents!

Have had these fellows in the works for a good while!

Really had to lock in when doing the writing here lol - my handwriting is normally a weird hyper mix between cursive and print. But messier. Hopefully its legible! Enjoy some more yapping about these guys below the cut >:D

Must mention this is within my own AU! My interpretation of Zach specifically is a trans man. So uh! No way in hell Arthur is supportive in that regard. He is a miserable man whose only concern is furthering the family business and his public image.

Really looked to both Moral Orel and Bojack Horseman as inspiration for how these two would be. Did not intend for Arthur to share a name with the character he is inspired by lol - but uhm! He specifically is like Arthur Puppington when Clay was a kid: Distant, cold, though not physically abusive. Emotionally? Oh brother, you bet.

Regarding Kim and Arthur's relationship, that was really dead in the water. Kim is a self published author, or rather, an ASPIRING self published author. She mostly writes crime novellas/dramas, though needed some outsider input regarding the legal side of her stories. So, of course, she decides to reach out to the biggest law firm in the area.

It is initially a short and sweet interaction: "I ask you questions, you give me answers and insight when you can." However, she grows to enjoy Arthur's company, falling for him quickly. VERY rushed marriage ensues! Good god! (Of course not ASAP, within a few months time of dating/correspondence) Not too certain as of right now where Zach comes into the mix, but definitely in that honeymoon stage of a relationship where you don't quite know the person yet to really gauge if things will work out or not.

I mean, things absolutely do NOT work out in the end, but they don't know that yet. Arthur I feel is the type to want a family ASAP. Need that sweet sweet heir to the company. Will accept nothing less than a son. Sucks for him, doesn't end up coming to fruition until much later! AFAB child, disappointment on Arthur's behalf, compassion on Kim's. Like a night and day difference - even after Zach does eventually transition (his mother is deceased by this point) his father refuses to accept it until he dies. By until I mean: "You still are not my son." *flatline*

Kim was there for Zach until the day she died, which would probably be around late middle school to early highschool? In that age range. Old enough to have fond and in depth memories. Which! Arthur is the one who discovers what had happened. Busy writing a novel when wham, sudden cardiac arrest - alone, as she tended to keep to herself. Entire family dynamic changes from then onward, though the abusive aspects of it were ever present. Arthur is generally unsupportive of Zach's endeavors, frustrated that he is going into science and robotics as opposed to law. (Though I do think he'd have been trained or prepped for a career as a lawyer throughout his teens-adolescence)

Zach is the closest to his mother, with most of his fashion sense coming from her. Gotta love the turtleneck sweater! @novazentryx came up with the idea that he inherited his early black sweater from Tazzy Chris from her after it shrunk in the wash, loved that so y'know what! This totally applies here. Not only did he inherit the sweater, but also her V-necklace! (Which, if you have seen Zoey, is where she gets it from! As well as she looks strikingly similar to Kim. On that front I think that was a surprise from Aviva, knowing how close he was to her)

Spitballing with this one, but I think it would be interesting if Zach had assisted in pitching ideas for Kim's stories! What aspects of it I do not know, but maybe names for the characters. Mayhaps that is where he gets ZACH from? Don't ask what his deadname is, haven't thought of that and would prefer not to lol

I think that concludes my rambling! Do not really have anything else that is coming to mind at the moment, so feel free to ask questions or leave suggestions about these two! I will more than likely respond ^^ (To asks or replies) Thank you for humoring me and reading all of this if you're here lol, I really appreciate it!!

[wyngigi]

ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 03

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 3.3k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through ↳ chapter warnings » description of sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol and drugs, mention of sexual activity being filmed (with dubious consent due to intoxication) ↳ a/n┆timeline clarification chapter one is the aftermath of the party that mg, wy, ys & san talk about going to in chapter two, and this chapter (three) is the actual party this story will contain many events that are written out of chronological order im sorry its who i am

03⌇the absolute fucking irony

College parties. Young adults burdened by the struggles of growing up with too much access to liquor and a whole lot of free will. Glass bottles litter the kitchen island, empty cans crushing under people’s shoes no matter where they step.

A certain variety of liquids have been splashed and spilt onto the floors, forming several small puddles. Every room is dimly lit, courtesy of the crappy party lights sending rays of colours out, splaying onto the crowds of people below. Columbia parties, where the music never stops blasting and the room can’t stop spinning.

Tonight is no different. You’re somewhere in there, lodged deep in the collection of sweaty intoxicated people just as fucked up with a cup in hand. Everyone rocks back and forth against each other, bass boosted music drowning out any audible voices. Some others are spread out, chatting, screaming, leaning on any available surface with their almost blacked out friends by their side.

Liquor is sloshing around in the guy’s cup in front of you, splashing onto your arm. Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him wiping your arm before downing the rest of your own cup. The songs playing blast into your ears almost deafeningly as you close your eyes, intoxication making your head spin.

You’ve been here for just over an hour, drinking, dancing, drinking some more. You’re five drinks deep now before opening your eyes to spot your friend. She’s tipsy too, talking to an equally wasted new friend of hers. That’s a lie, no talking is happening there. Definitely more than friends too. You call out her name, locking eyes with her through the crowd, shooting her a thumbs up.

Julie grins, playfully waving you off as she snakes her arms around the boy’s neck opposite to her. You can’t see his face, but you do have faith in her, she’s the picky type.

When the music changes to a slow song, you take a chance to get a breather, and a refill. Tumbling as you make your way to the kitchen you spot a familiar head of tousled brown hair. He’s on his phone, typing with one hand as he runs the other through his hair. He hasn’t spotted you yet, so you head over to the opposite side of the island shuffling through the glass bottles, making just enough noise for him to look up.

Like clockwork, he does and ushers you over with a brief tilt of his head. His teeth are on display as a sly grin plays on his lips. You give him one back, picking up an unopened bottle of Pink Whitney before you make your way over to him.

Setting your empty cup and the bottle down, you lean the side of your body into the counter to stabilise yourself. The marble is cold, pressing into your stomach yet you pay no mind to it. “Having fun?” He teases eyeing how you sway slowly, more than a little out of it. Your eyes are glazed over, and he gives you a once over before mirroring you, hip digging into the counter as he crosses his arms.

Kim Hongjoong, former pretentious rich kid turned even more pretentious angsty tortured artist. Most importantly your favorite dealer, and if it matters to anyone, an excellent fuck.

Several piercings decorate both of his ears, and a small but mighty metal ring is lodged in his lip; it shines despite the low lighting. His eyelashes are long, fanning over his bloodshot eyes. His hair is chopped roughly in the front, purposely grown out in the back. It suits him, his whole brand is that type of messy yet put together all the same. The effortless rockstar vibe if you will.

The speakers are still blaring off in the distance, but the kitchen is somewhat far enough that you only have to raise your voice a little to hear each other. “Definitely a whole lot more now,” you chide. He hums in agreement, hand finding its way to your waist as he leans behind you to grab a bottle off the shelf. The metal rings on his fingers are cold, but you lean into his touch regardless.

The proximity between you two closes in, a combination of woody and musky tones hits you, flooding your senses. It’s a mix of marijuana and, his cologne. It’s welcoming, familiar.

“You don’t look drunk enough to be here,” you poke a finger into his chest, leaning up to look at him. He shakes his head, mullet brushing against the collar of his jacket. Hongjoong’s hand leaves your waist as he moves to face the counter, twisting open the bottle as the seal pops quietly. “Night’s young, pretty,” Hongjoong jests, filling up his cup, “Don’t stress, I’ll catch up soon.” You nod, silently agreeing as you move to take his cup from his hands. He allows it, eyes never leaving yours as you take a sip from the drink. It burns a little at the start then it goes down easy. Fitting.

The liquid leaves a shine on your lips that catches the light. Hongjoong’s eyes flicker down, cursing under his breath quietly at the sight as you look up at him. Your lips always looked so enticing to him, and he can’t help but appreciate the view now. It’s also welcoming, and even more familiar.

Hongjoong maintains eye contact with you, holding up the bottle you brought over in his hands between the both of you. It’s a silent question. You scrunch your nose, accepting his offer while nudging your cup towards his direction on the counter.

You step away from each other as he refills your cup, not too far but just enough so you can continue drinking comfortably. The glass bottle clinks against the countertop when he sets it down, pushing it off to the side. You rest your forearm down to cradle your drink, feeling a warm hand creep its way on top of your empty one. His hand isn’t much bigger than yours, and you smile at the chipped polish on his pinkie. Next time the two of you meet, you’ll be sure to give it a fresh coat.

You turn your head to look back at him and find him doing the same. The music seems to fade as the two of you lock eyes before a small grin cracks out on his face, the hues of red and blue lights blend, purple cascading over his features instead. You huff out a small chuckle, breaking away from his gaze. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, eyes searching the crowd for Julie just as a new face approaches Hongjoong.

The boy glances at you momentarily, lifting his drink up to you before greeting the other opposite you. “Yo man, you got a new buyer out front.” Hongjoong nods, lips pressing into a thin line as he leans off the counter. His friend notes the hand that still hasn’t left yours, eyes gesturing between the two of you. Hongjoong winks in confirmation. When he looks back to you, he’s grabbing your wrist to pull you closer to him. Leaning in, he whispers, “Text me, yeah?”

His breath is hot, fanning on your face while his lips just barely drag over your cheek as he pulls back. It heats your whole body up even once he’s already left.

Yeosang escapes quickly from the blonde who had approached him, now entering the backyard of the house. Mingi and his new roommate haven’t arrived yet, and just as anticipated, Wooyoung’s got his tongue shoved down some girl’s throat against a wall already.

He’s nursing a cup of clear liquid that he thinks could be some form of cheap tequila, but he drinks almost anything (unlike Mingi, rich prick) so the thought is pushed aside. Unfortunately, it’s not just the drink leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Something about tonight isn’t clicking for him, the music isn’t quite right, and no one has piqued his interest to look at more than once. This weekend is being spent similar to the many before, and he would usually hope for it to end the same as well. Let Wooyoung loose to drink to his heart’s content, make sure he’s gotten more than comfortable with someone, then find his own someone for the night. Girls and guys alike have shot him subtle smiles and flirty waves, yet none are what he’s after.

By chance, it could have something to do with seeing his roommate with an arm slung around some girl. For the sake of his sanity and to not be a total buzzkill tonight, he’s pretending that’s not the case. Making another thought get pushed to the back of his mind.

Columbia parties also aren’t his usual go-to. The parties are fun don’t get him wrong, but only later in the night. It’s when the crowds really build, and he lets loose till he can’t feel his face. He’s arrived far too early, thanks to a certain someone. He curses Wooyoung for being too eager during their pregames, Yeosang hopes and prays for his friend’s hangover tomorrow to be an absolute bitch.

He spots a group of familiar people playing spin the bottle, but he doesn’t think he’s drunk enough for that yet. Yeosang feels a buzz in his pocket, taking another gulp before reaching for his phone.

mingi: san n i 2 mins away

pls tell me u n wy aren’t wasted already

yeosang: can’t say he isn’t

im ok tho

mingi: knew it , c u soon Yeosang continues scrolling through his notifications before a much taller figure appears next to him.  He knows exactly who it is by height alone. Yeah, one hundred percent not nearly drunk enough to deal with this right now. Being drunk would also not help though. Yeosang wishes the boy was standing a little further away because he looks like a puppy right now. A really cute, really kissable drunk puppy.

His cheeks are tinged red and the tips of his ears match. Yunho grins, leaning close into the other’s face, pupils darting between his. Yeosang’s breath hitches, “Yunho, you good?” he asks, stepping backwards as quick as he can.

He nods slowly, “Mhm, doing great. What’s got you looking so down though?” Yunho singsongs, absentmindedly shuffling from foot to foot. Yeosang hums in response, “Just not feeling too great tonight.” Yunho tips his head back to finish off his drink, Adam’s apple bobbing. Hell, why does this guy have to be straight? Yeosang’s lost in thought before he hears Yunho retort, “Like what, no one to get your dick wet for you arrived yet?”

“Well, in another universe maybe!” Yeosang thinks to himself, instead he replies by shaking his head, hair covering his eyes slightly. This is not the type of conversation he wants to have with his roommate. He turns away from the boy to scan the crowds of people in front him, only to regret it when he spots the girl who was with Yunho earlier continuing to eye fuck him.

Before he has to make more small talk with him, he spots Mingi and who he assumes is San trailing behind him shuffling through the small groups in the backyard. Mingi’s eyes are wandering through the people, filtering for a familiar face.

Yeosang raises his hand up, giving a short whistle as he calls them over. Mingi was right, his new roommate is far from ugly. If his friend didn’t already have an obvious crush on the boy, Yeosang would not have been objected to having a taste of him, mostly to wash out the sour aftertaste someone’s mere presence has somehow brought him tonight.

“Yeo! ‘Sup, Yunho. This is the new roomie here,” Mingi pulls Yeosang into a side hug, patting him on the back. Yeosang raises his brows, shooting the boy a knowing look before whisper-yelling, “He is cute.” Mingi shushes him immediately as Yeosang turns back to the others. San stood further away finally steps forward towards the group. He waves to both of them, “San,” he tells them with a tightly lipped smile before looking around over each shoulder. The shy type, antsy. Cute.

Yeosang speaks up, “Hey San, did you um-” He holds up his own cup, “maybe want a drink or? Mingi’s been here before so he can take you to the kitchen, if you want.” The boy mentioned nods, “Yeah, c’mon,” going to move back towards the kitchen before San interjects, “I’ll uh, grab a drink in a bit. There’s someone I kind of need to look for first.” Mingi blinks slowly, furrowing his brows as he locks eyes with Yeosang.

San looks between the two, licking his lips as he stammers out a cue to leave.

“If you’re thirsty you can go ahead, I’ll catch up soon,” San’s voice trails off as he hurries off in another direction, leaving the three where they are. Yunho pays little mind, still dozed off with too many drinks in his system. Yeosang mouths, “You good?” towards Mingi just as he has to fling his arm out to catch his roommate who's starting to lose the ability to stand straight.

Mingi sighs, biting the inside of his cheek as he looks off into the crowd. He decides there in that moment, yes, he will in fact, be getting a drink. Yeosang catches the look of defeat in the boy’s eyes but before he can silently plead with his eyes for him to stay, Mingi is turned around already.

Yunho slings his arm around the younger’s shoulders, swaying them both to the slow song playing in the distance. He snickers to himself, shaking his head. Yeosang chews his bottom lip, “What’s so funny?” The boy shrugs, looking pointedly at Mingi disappearing into the crowd, head of black hair still peeking out above the others. “Isn’t San kind of oblivious, Mingi clearly wants to rip his clothes off.” Yeosang deadpans for a moment, the absolute fucking irony.

Seonghwa is more than a just little on edge right now. He’s just about to walk into a party that he knows he should not be at, first because he’s rostered for a shift tomorrow at the crack of dawn. Secondly, his friends are excruciatingly good at encouraging him to drink. Something he’d happily entertain even with the promise of a shitty hangover.

That was typically the case, right up until four hours ago when he knocked back the last few pills from his second script of oxy. Without counting how many to actually take.

And finally, he also kind of freaked out after actually seeing the now empty orange bottle, so he had texted his friends that he would be coming tonight after previously opting out. Not that he’s an addict or anything, but withdrawal can be a bitch, or so he’s heard. Anyways, that’s the background for why he’s standing in front of a fraternity house with some artsy alternative looking drug dealer, handing him a wad of cash.

The two of them talk for a bit, letting Seonghwa know he’ll throw in some free ecstasy just for his pretty face. The guy is pretty hot, so Seonghwa thanks him with a flirty smile as he shoves the plastic bags in his pocket.

If you aren’t too familiar with the wonderous world of opioids, specifically oxycodone, here’s the 101. Number one, only take it exactly as prescribed by a healthcare professional. Number two, never mix it with alcohol (or any other depressants for that matter).

His mind is on absolute overdrive right now, studying for exams, picking up extra shifts, he’s there early in the mornings and working closing ones too. The combination of these things are giving him a measly two to three hours of shut eye at most on the daily.

The party lights are beginning to flash in his eyes so much they’re seizure inducing and he’s ready to start drinking so every thought running in his mind just slows down. So he does. He starts slow, letting his friends fill his half empty cup of soda to the brim with vodka.

Eventually it gets to like, three quarters liquor then he decides to take a break. He’s not that irresponsible. Seonghwa knows he has to control himself. He’s also spitting complete bullshit if you couldn’t tell. Seonghwa had gone straight to shots after his solo cup had been emptied the first time. Alcohol doesn’t hit him too bad, but when the oxy does hit instead, it hits hard.

If he wasn’t so out of it, he’d probably be describing some pretty fucked sensory details right now. The party lights becoming brighter, but not hurting him anymore. The walls waving back and forth, starting to swirl. Or melt, the pills definitely kind of mess with some visual receptors if you can’t tell already.

Seonghwa lets out a small laugh as the music’s beat begins pounding in his chest. His breath staggers as the faces of the people surrounding him begin to blur and his arms and legs start to tingle a little. He’s happy, he feels okay now. Actually, wrong. It’s even better. He’s on top of the fucking world.

Whatever happened to Seonghwa from the moment his dopamine surged to the rest of the night can’t be recalled from memory now unfortunately. Fragments of his time at the party (and a personal, very private after party) however could instead be pieced together thanks to all the new photos and videos captured by his phone. It started off pretty tame, him screaming butchered versions of lyrics to songs, dancing and whatnot.

Then there’s a clip of a bathroom stall, white powdery lines on the metal toilet paper dispenser with some guy’s voice in the background. Then there was more dancing, which developed into PG-rated snippets of some form of grinding with a pretty boy who kind of reminds him of a puppy. Then as you continue to scroll you’ll find a video taken from the back camera, albeit a little shakily, of him walking down a faintly lit street hand-in-hand with who he thinks is the boy seen in the earlier videos.

They’re both extremely wasted, their words slurring as they stumble onto a familiar pathway that leads back to his dorm. (He also confirms both guys from the previous memories are the same person from his clothes and voice). It’s cute, in a way. They’re giggling and knocking into each other accidentally. The time stamps between that video, and the next few are just over ten minutes apart. The rest of the clips are short, but they paint the picture of their next encounters pretty effectively.

And that’s putting it lightly, Seonghwa basically made a fucking sex tape.

It’s lewd and provocative in every way, including anything and everything that a person could think of. Kissing, moaning, heavy breathing, broken gasps, his own high-pitched whining. The echoes of skin slapping against skin is apparent in almost all of them. The ones without it are replaced with the guy’s low, throaty groans. They were filmed by him too, pointing the back camera towards Seonghwa, who's looking up at him through a half-lidded gaze, awed expression as the boy swipes his thumb across his raw bitten lips.

The next morning, he wakes up naked to an empty bed. Once he finished watching over everything captured in his phone, Seonghwa puts them into the hidden album in his gallery. His hangover feels like hell, so he begins scrambling around his room to find his jeans discarded to the floor from last night’s shenanigans. There’s a messy pile of clothes (including what he wore the night before, still turned inside out from what assumes to be impatience) that he has to filter through before he finally does find them.

Digging his hand into every pocket, he manages to first find the fresh bag of oxy and with more searching, the other bag too. As expected from whatever the fuck he did last night, that one is definitely pretty empty.

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[mirroredmemoriez]

Amanda and Cecilia think thonks (THIS IS NOW GENERAL RANDOM SAW THOUGHTS)

“I grifted off his name. Shitting on his legacy was just a bonus I’ll admit that.” - Cecilia on her fathers work/legacy

“It is I who will carry on John’s work after he dies.” - Amanda on John, who basically is her father and his work/legacy.

Don’t know why these lines intrigue me, however I’ve kinda stated before how I find the comparisons between these two interesting. I don’t believe they are perfect mirrors but there are some similarities to look at, alongside their major differences as well. Cecilia uses her fathers name to benefit herself, she takes advantage of it and others to get what she wants. She is aware that what she is doing is wrong and if found out, would tarnish the Pederson name. Whereas if we turn to Amanda, she heavily dedicates herself to continuing John's work and the Jigsaw legacy. However, obviously throughout the Saw franchise, she begins to question his methods and goes against them. One takes advantage, the other is taken advantage of.

“I rob, I steal and I cheat.” - Cecilia

“I’m a murderer. He took my life from me, so I just returned the fucking favour.” - Amanda

They both admit what they're doing isn't correct to a degree. However, neither has or likely will stop what they're doing. Cecilia scams and Amanda rigs her traps to be impossible, in a way her own form of scamming? What I mean by that is, the whole point of the traps is to be a lesson- It's supposed to be escapable, any survivor of it will tell you that... Obviously, there are some places to question the tests/traps even outside of Amanda, but we're not looking at that right now. Anyway! She basically scams people out of a chance of surviving due to her own past experiences. Lynn Denlon in Saw 3 being a perfect example of this really? She died due to the shotgun collar going off yes, but she likely would have anyway due to Amanda shooting her- Which Lynn had already PASSED her test by that point really.

(Honorary Angel Trap mention) I don't think I have to go too in depth about how Cecilia scams people, but she doesn't just take their money. She also in her own way takes their lives- They leave thinking the treatment will help them, spending savings and such when really it's fake. We’ve also got the fact that Cecilia outright murdered Gabriela. This comparison of their characters and the reception to them by the fandom/audience is something I find fun! Yes, people dislike Cecilia for being a scammer, but the main cause of people's hatred that I've seen isn't even what she did to John? At least here on Tumblr, it's the fact that she killed Gabriela.... The reason I find this ''fun'' is because well, Amanda was the one who put Gabriela in that scenario in the first place and yes of course- We have to acknowledge that Gabriela was part of the scamming which is why she was tested alongside her being a drug addict, however at the end of the day I think it's agreed upon that base level, she isn't a terrible person. She did what she did to survive. So I wonder, if Gabriela had just died in her trap, whether there would be uproar about her death? Would people be angry at John and Amanda the same way they are at Cecilia? And to answer my own question, I don't actually think so. I believe this because of the circumstances of death, reactions and the reason why. Cecilia didn't just kill Gabriela whilst she was in her trap, she did it afterwards. She effectively stole her ''second chance'' because of how money hungry she was. Cecilia also showed no remorse for doing such. Then we have Amanda's reaction.

It goes without saying she was likely rooting for Gabriela the entire time, she reminds Amanda of herself for one and she's also distraught because Gabriela did WIN. I see this as a catalyst to Amanda's future behaviour alongside deaths such as when she ''mercy'' killed Adam and then Laura from Saw 2.

I'm also going to drop this link to a previous post I made, which I think fits in to what I'm saying here and possibly adds to other points. (I have a tendency to repeat myself or ramble)

Almost nobody in the Saw franchise is either fully ''good'' or ''bad.'' That's what I like about it, they are people with faults- Some characters have more redeeming qualities/traits, others not so much. The most beloved characters are likely the Jigsaw apprentices (And Adam). At least the MAIN three ones. Which, let's go over their crimes!

Fun fact! These kinds of crimes are the type that would land you in PRISON. It goes without saying that the moral compasses of all 3 of these characters are basically broken or spinning constantly. Yet, as I stated before- Amanda, Mark and Lawrence are some of the fan favourites of the Saw franchise.... And don't get me wrong, I'm an Amanda fan myself for example! However, it's so interesting the reception these guys get compared to other characters in media and generally in the Saw universe. If we go black and white/narrow our views, they are actually the villains at some points. The crimes speak for themselves and generally whilst watching the movies, you're supposed to be rooting for the people to get out of their traps- Not always mind you, but a good percentage of the time. So many people justify their actions due to their backstories, a common thing for villains and or ''bad guys''. It's understandable, because the shit all of them have gone through would definitely leave anybody unhinged... At the end of the day though, that doesn't mean they should be excused. I think I'll end this here because I've gotten so sidetracked? As I always say at the end of something like this, these are all just my thoughts and opinions- Not fact or concrete either, I'm open to discussions with people who disagree with me for example! IF YOU'VE GOTTEN THIS FAR DOWN! THANKS FOR READING, ANYBODY WHO LIKES AND REBLOGS MY RAMBLINGS DO MAKE MY DAY. -MAL OUT

[the-way-astray]

alright everybody can we please stop tagging me/talking about me in the notes of pro keefe/sokeefe posts. i know strieefe has made it so that it's really funny to talk about how much i love him and how much i'm in denial when i say negative things about him under those posts (and that's all in good fun and not the problem), but we have to think about the fact that the ops are just trying to make a positive post and probably don't want a keefe hater in their notes /srs

[rxttenfish]

Asking because I’m extremely curious about this, how did MonProm’s writing get different over time? I remember you saying that the lore and characters feel different, and that it's missing sincere character interactions, too. I know almost nothing about the lore and I’ve only seen a few people mention the characters, so I’d be interested in a rundown of what aspects you think got worse in the series

I wouldn’t mind a very long response since I’m not that active in the fandom, I need to catch up on what happened

sorry for taking so long to answer this! i kinda waffled on it for a long bit, mainly because i started doubting myself again, and whether or not this was me simply overreacting or being tinted by nostalgia or simply being extremely picky and choosy in what i like (the last of which is true, i seldom get into fandoms at all for this reason and stay away from most popular media, but i wasn't sure if it applied here). i've posted about it already, but i'm in the middle of a psychotic episode where i can't feel a lot of pleasure to begin with + most things i do experience ending up solidly in the "very bad" category, so as you can imagine, i really didn't want to mislead and check that i was actually in objective reality.

as it is, this is also when a lot more screenshots started to be posted in the monster prom tag, and that helped me bridge the gap back into returning to the games themselves and feel like i was making a more accurate judgement. if you're one of those people who have been posting screenshots, i sincerely thank you, and i appreciated seeing you in the tag greatly.

for those not in the know — i've been in the monster prom fandom since it first released, prior to even the first additional ending to be added (the "Punch the sun" ending, and i recall the minor fandom drama that happened at that time due to it). my impression of monster prom is very much influenced by this, as what got me into the first game was the fact that the characters genuinely seemed to care for each other and were friends with each other (not merely tolerating each other's presences nor dressing it up, they sincerely thought of each other as friends and were open about that fact), on top of the wide variety of small details and statements that, if taken at face value, could create compounding complexity in the lives of each and every character and had wider implications for their lives.

no, they were not necessarily explored nor even necessarily "real", with so many conflicting events and statements, but i liked this too, because it meant a wider flexibility in what you could imagine, helping to create a more tailored experience for everyone who thought about these characters. this was what i liked about the early fandom too. what was baseline "canon" was so vague and minimal that you could have wildly different interpretations of the same characters' histories and relationships with each other. you would have radically different perspectives on what the world itself looked like, what it was like, that there wasn't really any wrong answers so long as their personalities remained the same. this is where you got the old headcanon of polly and liam being childhood friends who knew each other as humans, or that the world of monster prom was post-apocalypse where humanity itself had gone extinct or only existed in tiny pockets, or my personal headcanon that both monster and human society existed right next to each other and had minimal crossover for petty cultural reasons. this was also prior zoe-as-ro, and there were wildly different interpretations of zoe's personality, with most going for a far more disquieting creepy-cute than the deep nerd we got.

this is why you get stuff like the timeloop theory, where everyone is repeating the same weeks leading up to prom over and over, and are perhaps vaguely aware of it but broadly unconcerned. this is also why it felt like the joke that, the characters were still in high school but were all fully legal adults with most in their 20's, best landed, because it was absurd and strange and didn't quite make sense, but the world itself was inherently absurd and semi-malleable to begin with. realistically, i felt like everyone understood it was making fun of the trope of having adults play teenagers in american sitcoms and wildly casting outside the age range, but for more in-universe explanations it wasn't any different from the way that you would have a large, dramatic ending in which everything changed, but then you'd restart and everyone would be right back at the beginning with nothing different, or even having conflicting events in the same run. it was a dream-logic that fit with the tropes and, thus, diagetically made sense.

to be clear, i don't mind canon having a set, well, canon on which it refers back to itself. i don't mind expanding that or including more things which are set in stone. but there was a perceivable shift in how the games handled this over time, becoming a lot more... bitter, it felt, towards all of these different branching ideas and concepts that, yeah, the people making them knew wouldn't necessarily be "canon" because "canon" already liked to contradict itself so much. most people weren't even sold on any one idea, and there was a much greater sense of enjoying and appreciating all the varying ideas people would come up with even if you personally didn't share them. making the characters be out of character was the real crime, because then it didn't diagetically make sense in the same way, didn't wholly fit.

(again, this is not to say fanon didn't happen and characters weren't smoothed down into a simplified personality that fit these varying fan-interpretations instead of the game itself. certainly damien love/lust was just as bad as it had ever been, and everyone loved to mangle his character into a more stereotypical "bad boy with a heart of hold" all the time. but it certainly felt less set-in-stone about it than it does now, with any deviation from the norm being considered strange and odd and even broadly shunned from the wider fandom.)

all of this is setup for establishing what the writing, lore, and characters felt like in the earlier days. the characters were the strongest part, with their relationships to each other being equally as important. the lore played it fast and loose and was far less interested in setting anything in concrete because that wasn't the important part. the lore wasn't the important part, which was what made it all the more intoxicating to think about, all the more fun to play with.

montrip is easily the biggest offender when it comes to setting everything in all-or-nothing terms and demanding absolutism from the world. broadly i blame the hitchhiker conversations for the worst of it, but i think ultimately the way they handled the entire premise of the game is where this problem stems from. it's not really an exploration in the same sense that you might explore the first game, discovering different perspectives and different people with different relationships to each other. it's an exploration in the sense of a sequel that over-explains the monster, that takes the most boring option out of all those that were possible and floating around and settles on something that was blatant, obvious, typically rejected not because of how novel it is but how trite and par for the course it is in the rest of the genre.

yeah, okay. humans know nothing about monsters and there's a "monster dimension" that exists separately from the human dimension. there's no crossover between the two of them. of course there's a big grand-scale fight between the eldritch powers that zoe used to be a part of, from which not only are slayers the main organization against them, but also the merkingdom has some horse in this race too. it's an urge to make things so universal in explaining them, in revealing connecting threads which unite everything that's ever happened in here, that makes the worldbuilding and lore immediately much more boring than it ever was before.

and it didn't have to be this way! nothing in the first game contradicts any of this too explicitly (see the above, the first game loves to contradict itself), and i would even be happy if this was basically canon but never stated or confirmed to be the big overarching everything going on underneath it all. i believe you should probably know these things about any world that you create and have them in the back of your mind. the difference is that you can know these things and keep them in mind, even focusing on things where its very relevant, and still not reveal them. this is why you have lore bibles, after all. every horror writer knows exactly how their monster works and the full underlying reason for everything that happens, but that doesn't mean the audience will see it or possess this same information too, and leaving it intentionally obscure will make far better stories.

which, this is bad enough, but it wouldn't be the breaking point for me if this was all there was.

but the worst thing of all has to be the slow decay of the very same characters that sold me on this world, this lore, this game in the first place. monster prom is nothing without the characters in it. it's a dating sim, it has nothing but characters to get you to play, and liking these characters are the entire reason anyone would pick up monster prom in the first place.

and the first game pulls this off extremely well. it's all in the tagline: be your worst self. they are, indeed, all terrible people. yes, even that character that you just thought of right now. they all have points in the game where they commit atrocities, where they kill or hurt people, where they do inexcusable things that could not be ignored in a more serious setting.

but that's the point. i think there's something very powerful in creating a character who not only do you love and love their personality and the way they interact with the world, but who also are inapologetically terrible, and to have the humor and the charisma be so good that you don't get bogged down in the "this is awful". likewise, it never feels the urge to really go out of its way to justify what's going on. this is not to say theres no discussion of if someone "deserved it", but usually there's still the sense that the joke is on them, that this is still an extreme reaction specifically for comedy and not necessarily something that can be justified. you can have damien set leonard on fire and have it feel earned, without prompting the needed reaction of what it's actually like to watch someone burn to death.

this is what sets the prank masterz ending apart from the rest of the game, and really establishes it as the first real "bad ending". because nothing that you do or happens in the prank masterz ending is any different from anything else that happens in any other run. you summon evil beings from other dimensions as a throwaway gag on how visiting one location raises your stats. you kill other people and damn them to terrible fates. you watch as body horror happens. the only difference is that, in the prank masterz ending, the laugh track doesn't play.

the rest of the game and the writing echoes this philosophy, this careful interplay of tropes that keeps everything tongue in cheek and yet sincere enough to make sure emotional beats still land when they're needed. the characters feel true to themselves and their own emotions, even when the world is extreme and excessive, when everything else runs on comedy logic.

this is also what i noticed failing first as time went on.

like i said, fanon has always existed and there's always been very specific ideas as to what characters are like in the same way fanon always flattens down characters into the same tropes over and over. scott is stupid and innocent and doesn't know what sex is. damien is violent and hot and too cool for anyone else. miranda is the idiot girl character. repeat over and over and over until you get sick of it.

but it's been an issue as time has crept on that canon has started to approach fanon and began to merge with it. now, scott is so innocent that he can't even curse. polly starts being mean to her friends and saying things that would be very hurtful to hear. the merkingdom isn't really super evil and fucked up, it's just miranda that's like that. they become simpler, easier to digest, streamlined for social media posts and mass-sharing. they become less and less subversions of existing tropes and moreso just another example of them, something else to add to the collection, not their own individual stories.

even further from this, what more complex traits they had are now stated and not shown. polly is stated to be smart and clever in a way that her party girl persona doesn't imply and to be sincerely rather down to earth with the people she cares about, but we seldom ever see this anymore unless its the game specifically trying to make a point about it, in which case it won't let her do anything that implies cleverness and moreso will just outline it in the narration. vera is stated to care for people in a very genuine and heartfelt way, but seldom will get a chance to do so, and every opportunity for her to do so to their faces is missed while she will just outright state it later. it does not feel consistent, it does not feel like any of these are intended reads of their actions. it feels like the devs have something they want to do but no idea on how to actually do so. and forget it if you want these traits to manifest in small ways that show up in unrelated moments and scenes.

the dialogue becomes harder and harder to tell between each speaker, if you are just looking at what's said and not at the pictures attached to it. the characters' distinct voices have been eroded away, so that they speak more and more like each other, relaying the same terms and ideas in the same words. perspective becomes a suggestion, instead of a must.

this is something that started back in monster camp too, as all of the endings in that game felt ultimately the same as every other ending. it's very hard to place or define the full reason why, why there feels like there's no emotional stakes nor investment, why everything feels moreso like selecting different coats of paint and trying to find all the different ending pictures rather than being interested in exploring the characters as characters.

stranger yet, the series that started with the tagline of "be your worst self" has experienced a kind of... softening, for lack of a better word? what i mentioned about being able to handle the balance between terrible people who do terrible things and the light tone of the game starts to change, as abruptly the same characters who were down with violent murder in the first game start to lose their nerve, acting more and more on more typical morality. it's one of those things that feels like it's starting to damage the tone, as abruptly it's not as absurd as it used to be, demands less suspension of disbelief which could buffer and support the rest of the setting on it. there's even a part in one of the endings in montrip which involves current-polly and current-scott looking back on their monprom selves and reacting in horror at how violent and careless their pranks are, in a way that fundamentally felt like it was undercutting and disparaging all the things that felt fun and made monprom what it was.

which is odd, really, because more and more i feel like the characters in these games like each other less and less. the friendships and genuine enjoyment of each others company that brought me to this game in the first place has gone. now they don't mention each other as much, don't care for each other's feelings and reactions as much, aren't as willing to support each other. they are more and more found on their own, relied on their own, seem to seek out contact and interaction with their own friends less and less. it feels like they're all separating out into their own worlds, but also feels like they wouldn't willingly want to interact with each other if they weren't already forced together by some other outside contrivance.

if anything, i'd compare it to every other dating sim out there, where you, the player, are the most important person in these characters' lives, and they only feel ambivalent or antagonistic towards every other character. which, again, is not why i picked up monster prom or why i liked it so much in the first place.

and it's because of this that it feels like the current state of the series has to focus on its increasingly weak worldbuilding and lore, trying to form a more serious foundation without character relationships being so tightly bound together, without the characters themselves being more developed and rich, without an aspect of absurd humor to rely on.

more and more i've noticed monprom has to rely on referencing other series to make itself funny and create humor, which, again, it's always done. it was just easier to ignore back then, if you didn't know what was being referenced, because there was always more going on in the exact same scene to bolster it and give context clues as to the setup and punchline at play. it feels like the current games are much more dependent on you knowing pop culture references in order to have any fun with it, and i'm someone who, again, is very picky in what i like or what i'll seek out. i'm not interested in a stream of references about other things that i would much rather be doing than playing through a game that feels like it hates that i like it at all, when i could, again, just be engaging with the thing that takes itself seriously and knows what it wants.

[jerreeeeeee]

the thing is i very much understand the appeal of lupcretia narratively bc they are foils who betray each other and then forgive each other because the force of their grief and guilt brings them to an understanding and i also understand the appeal of blupcretia bc its a three person relationship who disagree on something major and split apart leaving one party feeling abandoned when the other two agree against her and what does that mean for the fact that the rest of their lives outside a horrible timeloop are supposed to start soon Because of that decision and disagreement like i get it narratively its interesting!! but here’s the thing: i just have an unshakeable belief that lup is straight

[bethanyeliseart]

Watching Andor and rewatching Rogue One for the first time in awhile had rebelcaptain soaring above all my other Star Wars ships in terms of personal rank. In my heart, no other Star Wars ship can compare to Jyn & Cassian. They never even kissed or "were together" but the connection they had was so strong. The way they gravitated toward each other and the way their expressions showed everything they felt about the other is enough for me to make them number one.

[majoringinsarcasm]

Me: I’m not worried about any of team rwby dying bc they are the main characters so whatever happens to them is fine bc I know they won’t die

Volume 9 Chapter 8: would you bet your life on that?

[screampied]

❛ NEVER WANNA LOSE ME. ❜ t. fushiguro

☆ sum. for the hell of it, you let your roommate toji hit just once and he’s never been the same. what starts as a usual lazy smoke sesh turns into him wanting more than just to get high—he wants you.

wc. 6.4k

warnings. fem! reader, college au, toji & reader are in early twenties, vırgin toji, pússy drunk toji, mentions of pre-substance consumption, impact play, fıngering, squırting, praise, he finishes quick, dry humping, ōral (f! receiving), size kink, talking him through it, spıt.

he’s never had a girl like you in his life.

with toji—he doesn’t do women. well he does, but not in that literal sense. he puts up a front whenever around his boys. little do they know he doesn’t know the first thing about a woman. he has little to no game, he’s a fake. a loser. but all of that changes until he meets you. you’re his roommate and the only person he can really stand. to toji, you were someone he could ramble to, someone to get high with and make fun of cheesy romcoms together. . like now.

“you always insist we watch this shit,” he huffs, leaned back against the couch. he’s got his legs raised over the sofa as he bores his stoic eyes into the screen. squinting at the cheesy subtitles on display, he takes another puff. “dunno why y’er so scared of watchin’ alien. now that’s a movie.”

“toji that’s boring,” you murmur, snuggling up close to him. he never really minded, it was always like this. he’s got a broad arm thrown over the back edge of the sofa as you’re leaned up against him. the both of you were blitzed, feeling a wave of euphoria surge through the both of you. the closer you got to him, the more you smelled him. god, that cologne—he practically pours it all over his body and it’s always so strong. toji could feel your head rubbing up against his wrinkled tank top before he glances down at you. “. . . your taste in movies suck.”

as you trail off your words, it’s a deadly awkward pause between the two of you as he just stares deep into your eyes. you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden, why he’s just got that blank expression. but toji cups your chin, using a bare thumb to swipe against the inner crevice of your mouth. “tch. messy girl.”

oh.

you blink thrice once his thumb swiftly moves against the corner of your lip. it’s a subtle moment that’s seems way more intimate than it should of.

the dorm room grows substantially quiet and the only sounds that could be heard were the main characters of the movies talking in the background.

you never leave your locked gaze on toji and he gently rubs a finger near your lip. “you had leftover ice cream on your lip,” he utters, and you see his eyes flicker toward your mouth. so pretty, he thinks to himself. the way they curve and twist as you switch facial expressions. he’s sitting up now, taking in your face and could almost feel you lean into his touch. almost. a lump gets caught in the throat before he clears his throat, glancing away. “i— uh, sorry. that was stupid.”

you look at toji and his body language is different from how it usually was. he’s got a downcast pout, slouching back against the leather made sofa. cute, he’s blushing. you notice the way both temples of his cheeks burn and heat up and you raise a brow, scooting up close toward him. “it wasn’t stupid,” you utter, grabbing the remote and turning it on mute. with his burly arms crossed, he slowly stares back at you with a perplexed look. “toji. do you wanna kiss me?”

“what?” he blurts out a bit louder than he intended. could you read his mind?

he felt himself get hotter and not just his cheeks.

toji looks into your eyes, biting his tongue once he realizes you probably caught him staring at your glossy plump lips. he did want to kiss you. he wanted to kiss you so bad—he just didn’t know how to initiate, he didn’t want to just flat out kiss you or anything. darkened brows of his tweak into a relaxed furrow before he sighs. “y- yeah,” he gruffly murmurs, the steady pulses of his heartbeat growing faster.

“you could have said so,” you tease, leaning up close and wrapping your arms around him. he’s glancing at you, both of you had half-lidded eyes, pupils dilating full of sparkles and lust. toji awkwardly sets his hands aside once you straddle yourself on his lap. the thin fabric of his basketball shorts tickle against the undersides of your thighs before you plop down.

it’s so quiet, you scrape a thumb behind his soft undercut before leaning up close.

toji’s mind was going crazy. he was about to kiss you. he was about to finally kiss you. but there was just one problem.

he didn’t know how.

just as your lips were on the brink of planting themselves onto his, he whispers against you.

“w- wait.”

you pause, glancing at him. “hm?”

“i— um,” he looks away, that same reddened tint painting over his face once more. it’s so cute, out of the few years on campus you’ve grown to know this guy, you don’t think you’ve seen him in such a state. an embarrassed state. jade green eyes flicker everywhere around the room but towards you and he sighs. “i’ve never . . kissed before.”

a smile marinates against your features as you stroke a thumb near the scar that runs down the right side of his lips. “oh,” you hum, and he almost glares at you but remembers you’re literally sitting on his lap. toji holds back a groan, the addicting friction of your body hovering over him makes him start to imagine lewd things. he couldn’t help it, and the taunting stare you gave him only made things worse. “that’s okay, just follow my lead,” and the two of you lock eyes again. toji gives you a subtle nod before feeling you drag his hands toward your hips. “just hold my hips ‘n close your eyes, it’s okay.”

he doesn’t know if it’s because of the fact that he’s stoned out of his mind but you’re just so pretty.

you were feeling the mild after effects too, your eyelids felt heavy the further you leaned into him. toji’s big open palms cling onto your waist as you finally close the distance, pressing your lips onto his.

from first contact, he tastes sweet.

his lashes flutter close as he lets you control, gently moving your tongue against his. it was cute how awkward he was, toji didn’t know what to do. you heard him groan the moment you playfully suck against his tongue. every few seconds, he’d hear the sounds wet smacking coming from each mouth—how a bit of saliva would start to dribble down the side of his lips.

fuck, he tilts his head back, parting his uneven lips a bit further for you.

toji tastes minty, his hands find themselves roaming lower down your body as you teasingly grind more against him. he grunts, feeling you continuously meet against his bricked up friend.

he was hard—you knew that. it was poking at you underneath your shorts. a smile stretches on your lips as you deepen the hot steamy kiss, hearing the faint sounds of teeth clashing. he’s so hot, literally and physically. toji feels like he was sweating bullets when he really wasn’t.

he’s had countless dreams of this, of you.

the two of you would always get high together and chill, binging countless movies until the two of you knocked out. but now, it was different. you were making out with each other. it took you by surprise that he’s never kissed anyone—you sort of thought otherwise, especially with how he acts around other girls. of course, that’s all you really see. but behind closed doors, perhaps your roommate’s more different than you thought.

the passionate kiss accelerates further the moment you feel toji’s big hands creep near your ass. his fingers tug near the protected fabric of your shorts, desperate for them to come off. your repetitive swaying against his lap was damn near torture. he groans, finally pulling away from your lips to watch those glossy strings depart from each mouth.

“fuck,” he grunts hoarsely, his eyes darting back toward your sheeny lips. he’s already had a taste of you and he wanted more.

toji holds you firmly in place before leaning into the crook of your neck, pressing a soft kiss near your collarbone. “i- i want more,” he grouses, the tint in his shorts only growing larger. you felt it, all of it. with the way your hips playfully rubbed against the loose clothing — you were only fueling the fire. toji’s voice got a bit lower with its pitch and it was attractive with how needy was.

like he was desperately craving for this moment to happen.

he really was though.

you could see the look in his eyes - he’s hungry.

call it a little crush or whatever but he’s had his eyes on you for a while. toji was horrible whenever it came to feelings, terrible.

he didn’t think much of it, the two of you were just roommates who’d occasionally get blitzed together every blue moon. unless it was something else.

“it’s okay,” your breath hitch as you feel his soft lips assault near your neck.

he was gentle, coating invisible markings that stick against your skin like glue. your head slowly leans back as he starts to softly suck against your skin, keen edges of teeth tenderly tickling against your exposed flesh.

you were so sweet, it just wasn’t fair.

toji’s hands remain attached to your hips before he makes you lie back. you land backward with a little cute oof, glancing up at him as your back lightly hits against the cushioned furniture. “someone’s getting eager.”

“s- shut up,” he kisses his teeth, taking a good view at your body. so pretty, two words that he’s gonna forever keep repeating to describe you. toji couldn’t believe its taken him this long to get to this point.

truth be told, he was pretty shy. but now that you’re all sprawled and laid back, something ignited in him. he slowly spreads your legs with one hand, using a thumb to tug against the flimsy string of your shorts. you watch him intently, growing quiet — the room only fills up with noises of his soft feral pants. he peeps the little anklet that wraps around your ankle before he starts to pull off your shorts. “m- may i?”

“go ‘head.” you murmur, smiling at how he stops untying your shorts just to hear your permission.

your sweet words telling him to go forward, it’s all he needed to continue. callused fingertips pull down your shorts all the way until he’s met with your laced panties. god, he’s feeling a lump get caught in his throat. the way your panties stick against your thighs, how gorgeous the lace looked decorating against your skin, he couldn’t stop staring. .

toji inches his head down, going between your thighs. his hair - it was unkempt, he outgrew his hair within these past few weeks. it was cute, a few black strands of his reach near his shoulders.

he was really slow,

he’s pacing himself because he wants to savor this moment and your beauty. but to be honest, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. toji brings a awkward kiss toward the center part of your panties, watching you shudder. “mhm,” a low gruff comes out of him before he looks up at you. “was that good?”

“y- yeah, toji,” you swallow thickly, a hand of your own finding its way into his tangled sable tresses. he looks at you, finding your combing fingers digging through his scalp somewhat relaxing. he’s ogling at you like he’s waiting for you to say something else and you giggle. “right, you probably haven’t eaten a girl out either.”

“shut up,” he grimaces, bathing in his own cringe.

it’s almost adorable. it was adorable. he leans into your touch, staring at your slick dribbling pussy. he’s so close, you could almost peep his mouth watering. “just . . tell me what else ‘ta do, please.”

your face softens at his desperation. toji’s bottom lip pokes out a bit and you inhale, ruffling his hair a bit.

“okay, just start slow. ‘s no rush. start near my thighs ‘n give it a few kisses” and right at your words, he begins to give your thighs sweet individual kisses. he’s fast, you almost let off a moan before sitting up. “good, good, like that,” and his eyelashes close, making sure to give everywhere—even the secret secluded crevices of your thighs all types of attention. your skin was lukewarm, and each time it goes against his skin he only wants more. he hears your body fall back, the sofa screeching a wail from the sudden weight. “n- now um, kiss around here.”

toji pauses, watching as you spread yourself open for him with two fingers. with enticed driven eyes, he watches as you play with yourself to show him what to do next. your finger points near a soft pulsing area—your vulva, you wanted him to kiss right there. it’s shiny, drooling down with your own slick and he only imagined what it tasted like.

what you tasted like.

he doesn’t say anything—instead, he lets his mouth do the talking.

toji’s watched more than enough vulgar videos on pussy eating to know which exact methods to do.

but still, this was real life and nothing was exaggerated. your sweet whimpers and moans were very much real. he starts by kissing around and near your vulva - slow sloppy kisses that make your thighs twitch and your toes curl. he then begins to stimulate your clit with his tongue, swirling it around gently and you moan.

“fuuuck. . jus like that toji,” you breathe, digging your teeth into your lip.

he was already a quick learner, despite having no experience with practically anything.

with one trembling finger, you lift up his chin and he leans into your touch once more. “eyes up here baby,”

‘. . baby,’

his dick immediately twitches from that simple pet name. viridescent eyes of pure emerald stare into yours before you push him just a bit closer into your soddened cunt. “flatten out your tongue a bit. ‘s okay to spit on it a little.”

his ears perk up a bit at your words. “spit on it?”

“yeah,” you run a few more fingers in his hair, delving them into his soft scalp. “make it wet.”

“fine,” toji mumbles, and as his tongue’s moving upwards against your slobbering entrance. he gathers a decent wad of saliva before he spits right on your pussy. a slick ‘ptui’ sound slithers from his lips once he does so—you’re already wet but doing so, it gets you even wetter. a bit of cobwebby lustrous strands cling onto his lips as he watches his mess trickle down onto your folds. he groans, watching the cute pulse happen right between your legs.

so sloppy,

he adores the sloshing squelches your pussy makes at the simple gesture. toji’s never tasted anything so sweet before. “ugh, good. like that,” you moan. as you’re praising him, you then start to feel the quiver in your legs quicken. toji stretches his long tongue even further inside of you—pointing his tongue in a certain direction as his head leisurely sways itself side to side. as you’re telling him exactly how to eat you out, he starts to suck. you whine, feeling his pursing lips clamp around your twitching muscle. it’s so good,

his slurps were so nasty and he groans from your noises alone. as he’s eating you out—he can’t help but jerk his hips into the sofa, getting off to your pleasure. panting, you drag his head up by the hair so he could look at you again. “ ‘s okay, toji. y- you can use a finger or two also.”

“ ‘kay,” he grumps, and he feels your eyes boring into him. specially, you were mainly fixating on his hands. his veiny rough looking hands. you found yourself staring at toji’s hands a lot. they were so big, so wide, thick fat fingers. .

maybe you thought about having them wrapped around your neck, shoved down your throat, buried deep inside your-

your short fantasm and lewd thoughts get cut off the second he sinks a single digit inside—his middle finger. you whimper, slumping back against the sofa as his tongue still flicks against your cunt.

“fuuuck,” you chew on your words, your candied whines only grow more elongated as he seeps deeper inside of you. you take his finger in freely, it’s a perfect fit. with a brief ‘pop’ he’s inside and he feels you trying to clamp ‘n squeeze around his finger. toji’s kissing against your cunt again, shaping his crooked lips into ‘o’ before nibbling near your clit. “oh my goddd.” you gasp, feeling the pressure amongst you increase. his tongue was warm—but with the mixture of his finger, you started to feel your thigh haphazardly bounce. he was still lacking in some areas but you didn’t mind teaching him how to improve.

slowly, he brings another finger inside and now your cunt’s trying to squeeze down two of him. your brows curl up in rapture whilst his tongue happily roams all around you. he’s lapping up his saliva, slurping yours, and spitting right back on it all over again.

“so fuckin’ good,” he groans against your damp folds, causing vibrations just from his mouth. hot pants of breath aerate against your skin. you were getting close, your body started to get more and more unsteady. as your back arches, you yank on his hair a bit. “ow,” he looks up at you with a snarl, but he has a sheepish grin. with toji’s thick twin fingers plummeting in and out of you, he bites down near the edge of your pulled to the side panties. “am i doin’ good, princess?”

“y- yeah, ‘m gonna cum,” you whimper in a shaky tone, swiftly dragging his head back and forth.

toji’s plump glossed lips smear all around your cunt and you moan. he’s so messy and his chin being smothered with your slick. it’s running down, and he’s quite literally drowning in pussy.

your pussy.

the points of his ears twitch at your words though once he comes to the sheer realization—you were about to finish. as you’re getting closer, your grip against his hair tightens. “suck harder toji, ‘s okay. use your tongue, baby.”

with open ears and a open mouth, he listens, closing his eyes once more as his swollen lips latch around your entrance. you bite your lip, feeling his scar brush up against your cunt and it tickles.

so soaked, his fingers continue to insert in and out of you and you’re a nothing but a whiny mess.

your moans bounce through the thin walls of the spacey dorm before he kisses your clit. “make a mess on my mouth,” he almost pleads, a slight tremor in his voice. toji’s so into it that he doesn’t he notice he’s still humping the sofa. he’s humping the pillow propped directly underneath him to be exact. sloppy feral thrusts—his boner was almost painful and he needed more. he felt embarrassed, getting off to your pleasure. your sounds only made him grind harder though, and he groans once you’re literally tugging his head back and forth against you. “c’mon, give it pretty.”

his hoarse voice had you drenched even more, you feel the sharp pang of nirvana jolt through every artery and vessel stored inside your legs before it happens. you came, you’re teetering against his face as your hips buck into his mouth. he’s met with a sweet taste in his mouth.

a taste from you.

it lingers on his tongue as he merrily laps it up, drinking you until you’re all clean according to his mouth. your eyes were murky and doe eyed—you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you were keeping in. as your chest deflates, you let off a loud ear shrilling climax and toji snickers. so cute, you were a mess. he was an ever bigger mess since his jaw was rightfully locked and sore, precious slick smoothly cascading down his smooth chin like it was a stream.

“fuck,” you huff out, wisping a few crumped fingers through his hair. your hold on his thin strands lessen as you lean back completely dumbfounded.

“did i do good?” toji utters in a raspy tone, lapping a few remnants of your honeyed juices near your outer folds. he slides his fingers out of you only to lick them clean, right before your very eyes.

panting, you nod. “yeah, y- yeah, you did good,” and you watch as shifts, closing the gap between you both. toji sits up from between your legs, and he starts the kiss this time.

your hooded eyes collapse for a moment, closing before you return the sloppy kiss. you moan, relishing at the obscene taste of yourself that now lives on his tongue. it’s sweet, your tongue curls its way around his before he sneaks a hand down between your thighs. you whimper in his mouth, feeling his broad hand give your cunt a big squeeze. you twitched right in his palm and he groans. your noises only made him want you ten times more.

with loud smacks of lips smacking against each other, you make your way on top of toji again. he’s looking at you—panting just like you were. his arched brows compress together as he grabs your hips in place. “you’re so hot,” he exhales, immediately regretting saying that out loud. he sees the slight bashful expression form on your face before you pull on his grey shorts. “y- y’er gonna ride me?”

“yeah,” you mutter, playing with the hem of his boxers. your thumb glissades against it, so soft. it sticks out above his shorts that were merely halfway on. “can i?”

toji nods. “uh huh,” and the fucking boner he had.

you felt it earlier but you knew he was suffering. each second you spent on his lap, the worse it became. it was up until you successfully removed his shorts and you started to grind your hips against his hardened bulge. “s- shit,” he curses, his head immediately throwing itself back. you’re playing with him—swaying up and down his procreated shaft. toji clenched his jaw, a hand of his squeezing the right cheek of your ass. “fuck, ‘s not fair. y’ said you were gonna ride me.”

“i am riding you, toji,” you hum, still a bit shaken up from your most recent orgasmic release. toji narrows his eyes at you and you toss your arms over his shoulders. “see?”

“tch. y’er bein’ unfair, princess.” he scowls at you.

toji’s got your hips in his hands as he’s lazily sat back. his hair was even more ruffled and messed up from your hands yanking and pulling on it. a few black strands run down his almond shaped eyes, shielding his vision a bit. as you proceed to move and jitter your hips around him, you then feel a sudden damp spot.

toji freezes - you freeze.

right near the poking center part of his boxers, it’s a spot where his boner lies that’s dampening up the piece of clothing rather quickly.

with furrowed brow, you glance down—pausing your jerking movements before eyeing toji. “toji. did you just . . . cum?”

suddenly, he grows mute, fuck.

he did—you figured he was sensitive but you didn’t think it was this much. his lips twitch and he’s trying to suppress a moan, it’s adorable. toji wasn’t so used to such contact, he thought he’d last a maybe one round or two, but he wasn’t even inside yet.

his jaw tightens and you spot his veins pulsing out through his skin. you stare at the now grey wet patch that sticks onto his half on boxers.

“oh, toji,” you softly smile, feeling him abruptly bury his face into your neck. he’s still groaning. you hold him, feeling him shiver a bit at your touch—you weren’t used to seeing this side to him, ever. “it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s practically whimpering into your neck. his gruff voice made you pulse and it only got louder. “it happens,” and you feel the stickiness start to bedaub against your fully exposed clit. with a timid expression, you tug in the hem of his boxers. “do you still wanna-”

“please,” he finally speaks again, his voice cracking.

toji’s eyes meets yours again and he’s just longing to feel you from the inside. despite his pussy drunken state, he was so desperate. your teasing only made him ten times more feral. cringing at his own self, his eye twitches. clearing his throat, he helps you pull down his boxers. “eh, i mean yeah. ride me.”

you block your tongue down your throat to refrain from giggling before his cock finally springs out.

it’s thick with a bunch of girth to support it. you can’t help but openly gawk a bit. you figured he’d be a packer but damn. you could literally equate his shaft to the size of a beer can. multiple veins ran down the sides and his base was even fatter than his actual size entirely—not to mention, it’s so pretty.

toji’s angry mushroom tip was glistening with sweltering fresh cum. he’s made quite the mess from that you could see already. he’s got a pink tip with an even more pink cockhead.

his heavy base, it’s swollen and had a tannish pigment color his entire dick. you lick your lips, preparing to align yourself and he grunts.

“s- slow baby,” he murmurs, gently burying his fingertips into both sides of your hips. you give him a nod, leaning up close to his face. you could hear the crack in his voice again before a husky groan rip out his throat. you’re so close to his face that you can’t help but pepper a few kisses near his crooked uneven lips. “fuck, fuck me.

as you’re lowering yourself down on his cock, you let off a moan - and so does he.

toji’s eyelids grow more heavy as he feels himself disappearing into your welcoming sloppy cunt. as toji’s barreling his fat dick inside, he squeezes your ass, feeling your walls swallow and suck him in entirely.

you were so soaked—so soaked, clamping down on him effortlessly and you were barely even moving. toji groans, finding his teeth tucking their ways into the left part of your neck as he holds you close.

“my god,” he hisses, continuing to bury his weighty cock into your slippery cunt.

you were so loud, especially right between your legs. every few seconds you’d be filling the room with wet squelches, pops and pops of pleasurable whines coming straight from your sweet cunt. it’s a feeling he’s never felt.

this felt a lot better than pathetically stroking himself off with the help of some off brand lotion as a substitute. he cringes at the thought because he was finally feeling the real thing. “fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm, princess. you feel so good inside.”

“yeah?” you pant, and you’re almost all the way in before you grind your hips just a bit forward.

toji’s so thickly built that it takes your body a few seconds to acclimatize. you could feel the bulky tip of his cock extend straight through your spongey walls and it felt so good.

too good.

you could almost drool, that’s how good it felt—

he had staggering jaw-dropping inches that easily stretched you out like your cunt was simply elastic. it had you yearning for more. you lick near his chin where a few dripping droplets of slick run down before you kiss the curvature of his perfectly chiseled jaw. “ ‘m gonna start movin’ okay, toji?”

“okay.” he intakes a single breath, tracing the heart shaped parts of your ass with his fingers.

raspy pants bellow out from his vocal cords in such a rough raw way before he hears the squish.

your ass plops down on his lap and your hips start to create haste. toji grinds his teeth together the minute you start to rut further into him—his head slowly falling back. his eyes were barely open and yet he’s still finding the strength to look at you, look at your pretty face as you’re fucking him stupid.

his mouth slowly opens but no words come out. instead, sweet moans of your name leave his lips and it makes your ears twitch.

toji’s fully in and you feel every inch of him.

you’re bouncing on his dick until your ass was hitting near the hilt, the swollen base of his shaft felt so full and he’s chewing back sharp breaths that try to leave his packed full lungs. his high shortly leaves him with a slight pussy drunken grin and it’s so attractive—

the way his crimson glossed lips appeared all lopsided and droopy, twisting nto a sheepish smile. you spot two visible dimples on both sides of cheeks poking out from his lazy feral half-grin. you even found it hot how every so often he’d flick his tongue near the scar that slopes down the right side of his mouth.

“fuck me,” he repeats, using both hands to make you bounce harder.

skin against skin, both bodies press and squish against each other, and rocking in rhythm and lustful harmony. both of you felt so hot.

scorchingly hot, his heat radiates off of you and you lean into his warm.

it was so hot that you felt like you were gonna melt right on his lap—being turned into nothing but a puddled mess.

you whine, feeling his reddened tip start to thrash against your most sweetest spots.

thwack after abrupt thwack, it was tender at first but now it started to become more sloppy, more sloppy and rude. his mushroom tip swirls around your gripping, coating your insides while leaving blissful french kisses so good that your toes curl up again. “f- fuck, ‘s good, makin’ me feel—”

and his words get interrupted once you stop his sentence for another kiss. “mmph,” he jolts back, speedily returning the sultry embrace.

he could never get enough of your taste, that was for certain. your honed hips continue to buck forward into him as he’s fighting dominance for your tongue—you reel into him continuously as your thighs start to feel a twinge of convulsions.

toji’s balmy breath collides against yours as you slowly pry open your mouth, swapping strings of saliva and lapping up the few remnants of spit that dribble down past the cracks of his lips. “ngh, baby,” he whines between kisses, and his voice softens a bit. it’s not its usual cocky tone. it’s more affectionate,

more tender.

toji can’t keep his hands off of you. as he’s breathlessly speaking between kisses—a whisper of murmurs, he starts to spank your ass. smack after smack, you moan once his palm swats against you, encouraging your hips to go faster.

he quickly gets addicted to the reacting recoil. it was just the way your facial expressions twist from each smack and your little gasps at the brief stings that live near the centers of your rear.

“harder toji,” you whimper, digging your knees more into his thighs. with how fast you were bouncing on his cock, you were already in a trance. a trance you never wanted to get out of.

“tch,” he scoffs, giving your ass another spank. then one turns into two, then three.

he likes the way the fat of your ass collides against his palm. it’s enticing—he stares at you before biting near your chin. it’s more of a playful nibble. dark pools of eyes meet yours and you spot them through your peripherals. you moan at his touch before he feels you push him further back against the sofa. toji looks at you, falling back before you take the wheel. “fuck, gonna make me cum?”

and you don’t give him a reply. he prefers it that way. your hips end up speaking for you and as you rock against him quicker, the sofa cries out a plethora of squeals at the pressures of weight pounding onto it. “yeah you fuckin’ are,” he groans, pulling at the right cheek of your ass.

toji’s still very sensitive from before, but with the way you’re moving and how good your ass throws itself around him, he knew he was about to get ten times more sensitive. he just knew you were gonna milk him, ring him draw. fuck, the thought of being drained by your sweet cunt left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. not only that, but toji felt himself salivating the more he imagined himself finishing because of you.

he lowly grunts, munching down on his lip as the core muscles in his washboard abs tighten and flex underneath his tank top. your cunt constricts around his shaft every single time—ravaging your swollen needy walls became something he never wanted to stop doing.

you were so warm, his cock reached very specific areas that made you whimper out his name over and over on repeat as if it was some sort of exaggerated mantra.

“tojiiiii,” you whine, feelings of lust foiling at your brain. with the constant tingling sensations of his dick stretching through you—you gasp everytime, hearing the lewd shakiness linger underneath your voice. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too.”

“c- cum with me, pretty girl,” he pants, clammy hands of his pawing at your waist.

your body and the way it moved against him in such maddened rhythm had him entirely dumbfounded. his brows arch as he leans back, adam’s apple still bobbing all in his throat. toji’s cock continues to jut his dick way into your drooling pussy before you let off a looooong three second mewl full of concluding elation.

it lasts a long time, the feeling you felt as you’re losing yourself on your roommate’s lap—yet this time, your eyes widen once your thighs clench together before collapsing.

you’re dexterously sucking him in well before your climax comes again—but as you’re trying to focus on your breathing, you feel yourself spraying all over his weighty cock. sappy sweet juices pour down his base as your mouth cutely forms into a circular shape of surprise.

“ffuckk,” you curse, your voice pitching as you pulse all around him. your chaste clit swerves against him as you’re finally coming undone. it’s so much, you left a pool of a mess right on his lap and he was just luxuriating in your sweet filth.

but before toji cums, his bottom lip quivers—beads of perspiration sliding down the sides of his face. “can i- can i finish inside?”

with a numb cock-drunken expression, you give him a nod. “y- yeah, go ahead,” and you look into his eyes, whispering into his ear. “c’mon toji, ‘s okay. give it to me. you can make a mess in me too.���

toji hoarsely groans at your words, holding onto you tight. “fuck, keep talkin’ to me,” he makes you bounce harder on his cock, his muscles clenching at such sensations. “think ‘m gonna cum jus from your words, princess.”

“good boy. f- fuck, toji cum in me,” you teasingly lick near his earlobe.

he grunts at your playfulness—his cock reaching its very limit. he’s so full, his jaw feels heavy before you kiss his cheek. “wan’ you to cum in me. don’t miss, baby. that’s it, h- hold my hips like that, mhm.”

toji holds back a whine as you’re preparing to milk him for all he’s got—he hiccups briefly before it spurts out all at once. it’s much more intense from before. as if on que, toji finished a few seconds later. but once he finishes again, this time it’s not as quick as last time.

he shoots into you raw and it’s literally as if his life changed right before his eyes.

toji’s feeling your hips momentarily swerve and stutter in swift arcs before he’s dumping such a sloppy goopy load into your pussy. slimy stringy ropes trickle into you all at once, shooting right into your empty womb. it’s so much of a load that some of it spills past your saturated folds and down his base.

“s- shit,” he looks down, glancing down at his bushy happy trail through his low hazed peripherals. you’re running a finger down the thin stretchy fabric of his tank top as you ride him, toying at his curly minuscule hairs with your fingertips.

toji came a lot. saying he came a lot was a understatement, he came a ton. such ropes oozed out of you and it was such a pretty sight. for sure—it a lot more than last time, it spills so much that it creates a creamy milky ring around his base. with the both of you now cumming in torrent, you can feel him shaking violently underneath you. the warmth of your walls was something he never knew he needed more.

toji’s mouth grows dry as he reclines back against the sofa. the movie was well over, black credits of dozens of random names blurred on the screen and all.

you both grow quiet. your head presses against his chest— feeling a few strands of chest hair tickle against your cheek. his heart was racing, and it was all because of you.

you didn’t want to move, he didn’t want to move, because then his cum would leak out of you. toji liked the feeling of having you plugged full, your thighs—specially near the crevices and insides were all sticky and wholly coated with his velvety hot spurts of cum.

“f- fuck,” you murmur in an almost whisper, feeling one of his hands slide back toward your ass. toji’s matching your irregular heaving pants before he feels you trying to get up. “toji, let’s—”

“stay,” he cuts you off, and he’s got the most neediest expression. his voice was whiny, he swallows—more breathy pants leaving from him before he buries his face in your chest. verdant droopy eyes give you a long stare before he hugs you, strong broad arms wrapping around you. “i- i want more,” he shivers in your embrace.

you sit up and you thought he was leaning in for a kiss—but instead, he licks your bottom lip. “i don’t wanna jus get high with you anymore, i just want you. i fuckin’ need you, girl,” and you can almost see hearts in his eyes. yeah, he was whipped.

toji cups your face, his voice shaky and he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of your palm.

“please. one more round, baby. i love-” and he cuts himself off, his eyes widening before he backtracks, his pout growing. “i need you.”

[fifty-ten]

hmm i should have refrained from thinking about imaD because now im back to overthinking things like "are single thoughts linear or ever-changing"

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

[credits to the original artist of the photo!! can't seem to find their @ anywhere. title is taken from jane austen's persuasion, as was the first part.]

summary. ❝you are loved. and harry thinks there is no better description that that.❞

pairing/s. poly!mauraders + lily x reader.

word count. 9.5k.

tags. reader is referred to mum, with she/her pronouns[!], canon-typical violence [!], canon-typical deaths mentioned[!], very brief marauders as soldiers of the order[!], creepy old men being creepy[!], child abuse[!], pureblood arranged marriages, a minor character expresses wanting to die[!], Depressed and Traumatized Slytherins, the capital is important[!], themes of misogyny [!], teen boys fuck around and find out there are consequences to their actions, THERE IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF FLUFF, I PROMISE YOU, angst, children lose their baby teeth up until the age of twelve!! google said so!! not proofread we die like dobby the free elf

note. damn, i cried, you cried, we all crode. tbh, the first part was only intended as a oneshot, sdfkhdf, but when i re-read it, i thought that i could have expanded on more details,, so now here we are!! i love it more than the first part ueueue. thank you all so so so much for the kind comments :((( please please enjoy the second part to this installment!! part one

HARRY JAMES POTTER was only a few months old when you died at the hands of Voldemort — or as strangers have told him every time they ravaged his personal space and ogled at his scar. They said it was a quick death, better than what had happened to Alice and Frank Longbottom. But that was all they’ve ever said about your death. Unfortunate; caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, entirely different from the pedestal James and Lily have been put on by the wizarding society. 

At first, Harry had wondered if it was due to your blood relations, being the daughter of a renowned Death-Eater, heiress to the fortune of a pureblood House. Harry can’t even count the amount of conspiracy theories he’s read or heard to his face that it must have been you who betrayed James and Lily, and not Sirius Black. 

Even Hermione’s shared to him a theory that your death was faked to surrender your loyalty completely to Voldemort — of course, Hermione was eleven at the time, head full of books and her favorite theories, and Harry’s already forgiven her. But there’s a part of him that despises the way he’s never known the full truth about his parents, just bits of information dangled in front of him like bait for people [read: the Dursleys] to get him to do what they want, to act like the way they want. Until Remus and Sirius, you were a stranger to him, really.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

IT IS RATHER UNFORTUNATE that Madam Pince has already taken her position as the unbearable librarian at this point in time. The woman gives Harry and you a pointed look as you slam the large book onto one of the tables — to Harry’s surprise, you glare right back at her. You’re awfully flushed, however, blushing cheeks betraying the fire in your eyes; it must have been from when Remus escorted the two of you to the library; he had tried to brush your hand with his pinky, to which you had responded with a startled hiss — Remus only smiled and chuckled at you, and Harry swears he’d like to forget that entire interaction because he saw literal stars in Remus’s eyes.

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

Meeting your parents? Definitely fun, in the strangest of ways. 

But watching them pine and fall for each other? Not so fun. 

Nonetheless, he hesitantly takes the seat across yours and watches you flip through the pages until you land on a chapter with the large, bold letters: THE CURIOUS CASE OF ELOISE MINTUMBLE — Time-Travel and Its Many Dangers. He meets your gaze with a sheepish grin, mustering a look of innocence; except the puppy dog eyes only worked when he was nine — you are not amused. 

You slide the book towards him, scarily resembling Molly Weasley when she’s miffed with the twins. “You are aware, right, that just by existing here you’ve changed the future? Your future? And, that’s not even the worst thing that could happen.” 

Harry sulks. “Yes, mum.” He prefers not to think about it, actually, it makes his head hurt. 

“Don’t call me that in public!” You whisper heatedly, looking over your shoulder to check if anyone had heard him — to your luck, the library was empty, save for a Hufflepuff that was passed out on top of his books. “The less people that know about this, the better. It’s bad enough we told Potter about you. Do you even know what you’re going to do?” 

“Considering I was thrown here against my will, no.” Harry shrugs. “And to be honest, I was just going to obliviate the people who asked too many questions.”

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

“Ow! That hurt!” Harry rubs the sore spot as he grumbles petulantly. “This is technically child abuse, did you know that?” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you at least have a plan to get home?” 

“Of course I do,” Harry retorts with a scoff, “Her name is Hermione Granger.” 

“Hopeless.” You groan exasperatedly. “Absolutely hopeless.” 

Harry only grins in response. For a brief moment, he forgets about the present — his reality where the skies are bleak and home is where he knows the feeling of loss more than the warmth of his own parents’ embrace. He lets himself forget, and pretends he isn’t the Boy Who Lived. Just some random boy who’s pestering his mother — even if she likes to deny the inevitability of being romanced by the Marauders, (except for Wormtail because Harry would eat troll slime before he ever lets that happen.)

“Right then,” You say after your tangent — which Harry tuned out when he hears the words, be responsible. “If I’m going to help you get back home—” 

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach; as selfishly as it sounds, he didn’t want to go home just yet — not to where people just took and took from him. He’s exhausted. Still, he puts up a front of being excited to be returned to his timeline. It’s for the greater good, of course, because his existence — present or past — is always somehow a threat to the wizarding society. 

“—you need to answer this one question for me.” Your voice drops lower as you stare at him intently, lips pressed firmly. 

Harry nods slowly. “As long as it’s within reason, yeah.” 

You inhale sharply. “Do I outlive Dolores Umbridge?” 

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

That’s all the answer you need, apparently. Your mouth hangs open in disbelief, eyes nearly bulging out of your head as you slam your hands down onto the table surface, shrieking.

“That slimy bitch!” 

Needless to say, the two of you are kicked out of the library.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU ARE ELEVEN when your father introduces you to Ferguson, commonly known as Fergus, Bulstrode. He smiles at you with a leer, eyes hungrily dipping to the neckline of your dress. You grit your teeth as you hold out your hand for him to take — you almost shudder at the feel of his lips on your cheek. You eagerly take a step back away from him, hoping your father won’t notice the way you shy from Ferguson’s touch. You’re not dull, you fully understand the implications of this introduction and the way Ferguson is complaining to you about his third wife’s passing — as if you were the solution to his loneliness. Bile rises to your throat, and you shove it down with a forced laugh at your father’s jokes about Mudbloods. From across the room, Allegra Greengrass stares at you in sympathy, and you send her a glare — you do not need anyone’s pity. 

The corset your mother laced on too tight is suffocating you; this whole Yule extravaganza made for elitist purebloods is suffocating you; and yet, you smile and greet every red-lipped witch your mother introduces you to. For hours, you pretend, and you pretend. By the time the guests have left, you wonder if you have any more of yourself to give. 

You manage to convince your mother to let you slip away for the night. Without missing a beat, you rush outside and into the garden labyrinth, lest old Ferguson snatches you up for a dance and let his gaze wander elsewhere. For the first time since the sun had set, your aching feet finally find some relief. You drop onto the edge of the stone fountain as you toss your heels to the side. You begin working your fingers through your hair, ripping the glittery ribbons from your head. It’s not until you’re unclasping your necklace that you realize you are crying. Tears fall from your eyes, and they sink deep into the fabric of your dress. 

You barely hold back your sobs. Your chest heaves as you hiccup; your vision goes blurry as your fingers grow numb. There’s nothing you can do but cry. 

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

But then, the sadness turns into resentment and then turns into indignation. Harshly, you wipe the tears from your eyes as you rip a violent scream from your throat. 

You sink to the ground, perfectly polished nails digging into the soil as you gather patches of grass and tear them from the roots. You throw a handful of mud at the marble statues. You grab another fistful of mud, scream, then bash your head against the garden floor. You let out another cry, whimpering as you curl into yourself; shivering as a gust of wind brushes against your skin. Surprisingly enough, this is the most human you’ve ever felt. This is the most you have ever felt — period. 

When hiccups regress into soft sniffles, you lay on your back, watching the stars float above. As the last of your tears slide down your cheek, you lift a shaky hand to trace the constellation in the sky. It’s not a familiar one to you, but then— 

“That’s Sirius.” 

You sit upright in a snap, wiping away the wetness from your eyes as you muster a mean glare at the newcomer.

Sirius Black.

“Oh, none of that,” He tells you when you move to stand. There’s barely any emotion on his face and it irks you that you can’t figure out what he’s planning. What you don’t expect is for him to sit beside you, thereby ruining his expensively tailored suit. 

“You’ll get creases,” You scold him instinctively, nose scrunched — but your voice is hoarse; too tired to put up any pretences. “Your mother will be cross with you.” 

Sirius scoffs, laying his head on the dirt, making sure to smear his sleeves with grass stains. “Walburga can go fall in a ditch and die for all I care.”

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

Sirius gives you a look. “You don’t believe that.” 

You really don’t, but you don’t have the courage to admit it either. 

After a few moments of silence, Sirius asks, raising a brow, “So who was that?”

“Who was who?” You stare at him with knitted brows, toying with your fingers. You still can’t wrap your head around how weird this is — sitting with Sirius Black in the middle of your mother’s hedge maze, your once bright blue dress now sullied at the ruffles, eyes bloodshot and your hair a frizzy mess. (Sirius thinks you look cute, though; especially with your missing front tooth that peeks out every time you talk to him.) 

“Bald guy, older than Merlin himself.” Sirius makes a face. “Looks like a troll. Smells like one, too.”

A giggle flutters past your lips, and your hands fly to your mouth. You really shouldn’t be bad-mouthing your guests, but Sirius was right — Ferguson really did act like an ugly troll. You sigh, letting your arms fall to your side. “My betrothed.” 

Sirius nods in understanding. “My mother tried to set me up with my own cousin once.” 

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

He sits on his knees to face you, and with a very solemn face, he says, “Bellatrix.”

This time, you laugh freely, throwing your head back as Sirius pouts at your amusement. “O-Oh, that’s golden.” 

“No, it’s not,” says Sirius, lips twitching as he watches you snort like a pig through your giggles. “It’s horrible. A literal nightmare. You should feel awful for me.” He pokes your stomach, and it just makes you laugh harder, eyes disappearing into your smile. “Oi. I said feel awful, not take the piss out of me.” 

“S-Sorry.” You wheeze, batting away his hand pulling at your cheek. “I just can’t imagine Bellatrix in a white wedding dress and saying her vows to you.”

“That’s disgusting.” Sirius gags. “You’re horrible, I hope you know that.” 

When you finally calm down and Sirius tickles your bare feet until you cry in surrender, the two of you lay on the grass as he points out each constellation to you. Later, he fishes a small box of sugar mice from his pocket and offers it to you, opening one for himself. “Here’s to shitty parents and the one day we get to decide our own future.” 

You bump your squeaky candy mice against his. “Cheers, Black.” 

“Will you go to Hogwarts next year?” He asks you once he’s bitten off the tail of his mice. 

You nod. 

Sirius shifts on his side, holding his pinky out to you. “We’ll be friends when school starts?”

Again, you nod, wrapping your pinky around his. “Friends.” 

The next September comes, Sirius finds a compartment and one James Potter in it. You sit with Allegra Greengrass and Endora Lestrange on the way to Hogwarts. You are sorted into Slytherin, and Sirius finds freedom and a home in Gryffindor. You play the role created just for you; you lift your nose at those beneath you, adorn yourself in custom-made silk clothing, and carry yourself with the etiquette of a pure-blooded lady. Perfect grades, perfect hair, perfect clothes, always picture perfect.

You pretend that Allegra doesn’t throw up in the evenings from the fear of getting married to a man twice her age. You pretend that you don’t notice Endora sleep-walking and begging for her mother to save her from her father. You pretend that under your blankets, in the Slytherin dungeon, you are safe. 

You pretend that it doesn’t hurt when Sirius looks at you in disappointment when you shove a Hufflepuff student to the ground for getting a higher score than you in Charms.

They call you an ice-princess behind your back, and you overhear some of the fifth-years calling you foul words as well, and no one steps in to stop them; there’s no defending a Slytherin, after all. But you are keeping your head above treacherous waters, and you suppose that is all that matters.) 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“SO ACCORDING TO THIS, Eloise was stuck in 1402 for five days until she was retrieved to the present, which means we only have four days left to figure out a way for you to get back home.” 

Harry sinks into his chair, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you had found an empty classroom to discuss your plans away from inquisitive ears. “What’s the rush?” It’s unfair, he’d only just met you, and now he’s losing time with you. 

You sigh. “Harry, Eloise Mintumble spent five days in the past and when she came back, her body aged five centuries, and she died in St. Mungos. It’s not just about altering the whole timeline, you could actually die.” 

When you are met only with silence, you close the book, frowning. “Harry? What’s wrong?” 

Harry swallows the lump in his throat, looking out the window to avoid your gaze. “What do you know about the Mirror of Erised?” 

Your head tilts in confusion. “That it shows our heart’s deepest desire.” 

“Yeah,” says Harry, nodding. “I was eleven when I found it.” 

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

It’s almost pathetic how quickly his eyes water. “Did you know, before today, I hadn’t known at all what your voice sounded like?” 

You stay quiet, and Harry sucks in a shaky breath. 

“When I looked into the mirror, I saw my parents—all of you. There I was, in the middle. You were behind me—happy.” Harry swipes a tear from his eye. “I wanted to stay in that room, stare at that mirror forever.”

“It’s—”

“Dangerous, I know.” He laughs bitterly. “Just like finally being able to meet you all here.”

“Harry, you aren’t supposed to be here in the first place,” You say quietly, eyes drooping sadly. 

“I know that!” He exclaims desperately. “But is it so selfish to just want some time? I don’t want an illusion, I want the real thing. A real family. Why can’t I have that? Bloody Malfoy gets everything he wants, and what do I have?” 

“Your friends,” You tell him firmly. “Your friends who must be worried sick that you’re gone and must be going great lengths to bring you back.” 

“I know.” Harry wilts. He’s got Remus at home, too, who probably needs him more than ever after Sirius’s death. “I know. But can’t I just have this one thing?” 

You purse your lips for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. Then, you break the silence with: “Do you want to hear a story?”

“What?” Harry croaks, peering at you through wet lashes. 

Shrugging, you say, “Stories to remember us by. I’ve got six years worth of stories and then some. I know it’s not much, and you’ve probably heard some of these already from the others in the future, but it’s better than nothing, right?” You lean against the back of your chair, glancing at the wall clock before grinning at Harry. “We’ve got time to spare, anyway.” 

Harry manages a smile, setting down his glasses before rubbing his stinging eyes with the handkerchief you offer him. He figures this is what Remus means when you’re the gentlest creature he’s ever known — just not gentle in what the world expects you to be. 

“What do you say, Harry? I give you tidbits of the past, and you tell me if you know anything about the next Triwizard champion, so I can place my bets in advance.”  

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

“Worth a try.” And the smile you give him is nearly blinding. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND what it is about Gryffindors and their hobby of invading others’ personal space. 

A year into dating and James likes to shove his head under your shirt, claiming he loves the sound of your heartbeat — but you know really what he wants to nestle his head in between. The amount of cashmere blouses he’s ruined is absurd! Sirius has a hobby of tracing runes on the plane of your stomach. Lily prefers it when you sit in front of her, just within reach where she can wrap her arms around you and rest her head on your shoulder. Remus tends to lag behind the group when he notices you walking slower due to your leg flaring up. He kisses the side of your head and promises to chase the pain away — sappy poetic that he is. And in the moments where all five of you are together, tucked under a wide alcove, you can best believe there is no escaping what they like to call, a cuddle pile. Limbs are tangled, kisses are shared, and confessions of love are whispered. 

Before them, you hadn’t really known the different ways to love and be loved. 

Onto the pressing matters at hand, you discover that the brazen show of affection extends to their parents as well. Particularly, the Potters. After a year, you finally caved into James’s requests for you to spend the holidays at their manor, since the others have already made a space for themselves there, and James had said it would be an honor for you to feel at home with his parents, too. Honestly, you spoil them too much — one look into his bright, wide eyes and you gave in. James didn’t even care that you brought two luggages for clothes alone; he lifted each bag with delight and with ease. 

(Remus had the audacity to laugh when he caught you and Sirius staring at James’s flexed muscles, mouth wide open. 

“As I have said, Remus Lupin, I do not drool!”

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

But now, you really aren’t so sure of your decision. 

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Jamie!” Euphemia encases you in a bear hug the moment you step inside the manor. You’re engulfed in the scent of cinnamon and burnt sugar. You stiffen as she cradles your face in between her palms, smiling ever so fondly at you, cooing about how precious you look, much like a mother would — and how your mother never did. You wonder if this is what you’ve been missing all along — the thought stabs you right in the heart. “Please excuse the mess, dear, we haven’t had the chance to clean up yet, Monty and I are excited to try the recipe Lily owled to us the other day, you see.” 

“I-It’s okay,” You rasp, struggling to hold back the tears. 

“Oh, what a darling you are!” Euphemia smiles and ushers you further inside. “Come, come. The others are right upstairs. You must be tired from the train ride. It is so lovely to finally meet you. Make yourself at home, dear heart — James Fleamont Potter! Give your mama a kiss this instant! Don’t think introducing your girlfriend will distract me from the fact you didn’t owl me letters for two months straight!” 

James whines as he hides behind you. “Mum, I’m seventeen, stop embarrassing me.” 

Euphemia scoffs, hands snapping to her hips. “You’re going to be my baby boy forever, now come here.” 

With a shy smile, you step away to surrender James to his mother — you don’t understand which part of this is embarrassing; you wish for a mum who’d welcome you home like that, with unconditional love and kind eyes. James squawks and calls you a traitor, just before his mum attacks him with loud, exaggerated kisses to his cheek, leaving lipstick stains all over his face. You hide a laugh behind your palm, ignoring the way your heart pangs at the sight of their unrestrained smiles. Euphemia lets her son go after a few more seconds, cackling at the masterpiece she’s created on a grumbling James, who’s rubbing his skin to erase his mother’s affections. She hugs you once more before setting you off, telling you to meet Fleamont after you’ve unpacked. 

Just as you reach the foot of the stairs, you hear a girlish squeal, then the sound of rapid footfall against each wooden step. Lily greets the two of you by jumping off the last step and wrapping each arm around yours and James’s neck. “Welcome home, Jamie!” She captures his lips with her own before doing the same to you, cupping your cheek lovingly, “So happy you made it, princess! How was the ride here?” 

You were never a fan of traveling by Floo; it made you nauseous after, and left you with a pounding headache for hours. Without hesitation, the others offered to accompany you on the train, but you insisted they Floo ahead to Godric’s Hollow — it took a lot of convincing, but they finally agreed, (they’re not the only ones spoiled; they couldn’t refuse you, too.) With the exception of James, who wanted to be there when you saw his home for the first time. You nearly cried when you saw how well-loved their manor was; rose shrubs dipped in snow, Sirius’s motorcycle parked outside, a mailbox with poorly painted shapes, the fences covered in Christmas lights, and the amount of shoes by the door. From outside, you could hear the laughter and warm conversations. 

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

Lily sees right through you — and frowns sadly. “You alright?” 

Were you? 

You catch sight of the moving photographs of James and you finally reach your breaking point. There’s a swell in your throat that you can’t seem to push down. There’s a photo of James, Lily, Remus and Sirius; James is in his Quidditch jersey, raising the Golden Snitch high up in the air, Remus is twirling Lily, his arms around her waist, and Sirius is holding up a charmed banner that says: Gryffindor Rules! Slytherin Sucks! Except For My Darling Angel Love Of My Life Most Beautiful And Gorgeous Perfect Brilliant Girlfriend! 

There are hints of life all around the manor. Remus’s textbooks and scarf are laid by the coffee table. Lily’s O.W.L. marks are framed on the wall, along with Dumbledore’s letters to James and Lily awarding them the position of Head Girl and Head Boy, as well as McGonagall’s previous letter to Remus that came with his Prefect badge years ago. There’s a spot dedicated to Peter, filled with a photograph of him awkwardly holding his Herbology test, one that he scored a hundred and twelve percent on. It’s a wall dedicated to them, you realize. 

Then, you find it. 

Right there, up above James’s spot, and beside Sirius’s display of beyond perfect Transfiguration exam marks, and a picture of him and Remus kissing each side of your face. 

It’s a space on that wall just for you. 

James follows your gaze and rubs the back of his head, ears tinged with a shade of deep pink. “Mum left a space when I first told her about you. I-It’s yours, you can put anything you want there.” 

“I can’t,” You whisper, lips quivering as your heart cracks into a million pieces. It’s too much. 

James blinks. “Can’t? It’s yours, I promise. Mum won’t mind. You can even hang your dumb Montrose Magpies poster and I won’t tear it down — Marauders’ honor. I can help you if you want. I-I’m not good as decorating as Lily, but I paid attention to your boring explanation of color theory and I know that you hate this shade of—”

“James, I can’t do this.” 

That’s all you say before you run out of the door. 

(And you’re absolutely delusional if you think James won’t follow you out that door and into the brewing snowstorm.) 

You hear James call out to you, but you opt to ignore him and clutch your winter coat tighter around your body, shivering in the blowing wind, trudging through the deep snow through your heeled boots — designer couldn’t help you now even if you tried. You sniff, the salty taste of your tears dripping to your lips, chest tightening with a foreign kind of pain, and the frost nipping at your fingers. You give up after a few minutes, falling to the ground with an anguished cry, hand clutching the front of your chest as you struggle to breathe. 

James reaches you in a matter of minutes, draping his jacket over you, barely flinching as the cold welts his bare skin. Frantically, he wipes the tears from your eyes, a pained expression on his face as he sees you cry helplessly. “Come on, dove, it’s not safe out here. Let’s go back home, yeah? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I’m so sorry, dove, please don’t cry, it’s killing me to s–see you like this.” Tears fall from his eyes, and he begins stuttering from the cold, but you can’t go back to the manor. “What did I do? Please tell me so I can fix it. I love you—I’m sorry.”

You bat his chest. “G–Go home, Jamie. I’ll just take the train back to the castle.” 

“What?” He shakes his head, grabbing onto your hands. “Y–You can’t. Not in this weather. You’ll get sick if you try to walk back to the station.” 

You withdraw from his hold as you back away from James, slipping into the ice-cold mask you know so well. 

James rises in an instant, reaching for you. “No, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to do that. Not now. Not with me. Please, just come home and I-I’ll fix it.” 

“Goodbye, James,” You tell him firmly, clenching your jaw as you look him straight in the eyes. 

He grimaces. “That won’t work on me, princess, and you know it. Don’t push me away—please.” 

“Go home, James!” You yell bitterly, pivoting on your heel as you march through the thick inches of snow, hearing Remus and Lily’s voice grow louder in the distance. “Just go!”

He grits his teeth, nails digging deep into the palms of his hand. “You’re a coward if you walk away from here—from us—right now!” James shouts through chattering teeth and stray tears. “And I hate cowards more than anything!” 

You don’t look back. 

(Later that night, James stares blankly at the fireplace, tossing twigs now and then. He’s all out of tears. Remus crosses his legs as he sits beside James and offers him a steaming mug of hot chocolate. 

“Don’t want one,” He mutters, words coarse from earlier, head turning away from Remus’s gift. “Just want her.” 

Remus sets the beverage on the ground before pulling James’s head down to his chest, gently wiping the tears from his eyes as he wraps the blanket around both of them. He presses a soft kiss to James’s hair. 

“I said I hated her,” James says weakly. “I don’t—I never will. I just hate that she’s out there spending Christmas all alone. She could be here—with us. I hate not knowing that she’s safe, or that she thinks I don’t love her anymore—that’s a bloody lie, Moony. I adore her. If anything, I don’t deserve her.” 

James finds out that he does have more tears left in him. “I miss her. Bring her back, Rem, please.”

“You’ll cry yourself sick, love.” Remus wipes each tear away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Mornings do have a way of bringing miracles to us.” Because after a night of excruciating pain under the moon’s command, he wakes up to sunlight, and there you all are — smiling down at him like he is deserving of love; and maybe Remus can’t fault you for running away.

You’d kiss him gently and tell him how proud you are of him for coming back to you. 

Remus only hopes you come back to them, too.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

“AND THAT, dear Harry, is how I humiliated Lucius Malfoy in fifth-year.” Your eyes gleam wickedly as you rest your arms on the school desk. “If he ever bothers you in your time, just mention my name—oh, I wish I could see the look on his face when he realizes I’m haunting him from my grave. Tell him, okay?” 

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

You cackle menacingly. “Boy, do I ever. Let me tell you about the one time Beckett McLaggen took me out on a date to Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Harry grimaces. “Do I even want to hear about this?” 

“Oh, pish-posh.” You dismiss him with a wave. “You do, this story is hilarious. Now that I look back on it, Sirius was quite cross with him for the rest of the day—how strange. I wonder why.” 

Harry stares at you in disbelief. “You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

AN EAR-PIERCING scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You snatch your wand from under your pillow, heart thudding against your chest in fear — last year, the Prewett twins decided it was funny to break into the girls’ quarters at midnight; you get a month worth of detention for hitting Gideon with the Expulso curse and suspension from class for two weeks, while the twins get away with a slap on the wrist and have the time of their lives spreading rumors of you being a Death-Eater. 

Endora shoots up to her feet as well, staring at you in panic — then the girl screams again, and you realize it’s Allegra. 

You sigh in relief, lowering your wand before saying to Endora, “I-It’s alright. I’ll handle it.” 

“Are you sure?” Endora asks timidly, gnawing at her lip and wincing when Allegra wails once more. 

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

As Endora climbs back into her bed, you slip into Allegra’s side, holding her head to your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair and untangling the knots. Like most of the Greengrass women, she was of ethereal beauty — silky blonde hair, smooth and fair skin, deep blue eyes that enchant wizards and witches alike. But her cheeks have gone sallow from exhaustion, eyes devoid of any emotion, and her skin now sunken into her bones. 

“I don’t want to marry him—I can’t! He’s old enough to be my father!” Allegra sobs violently, desperate for anyone to hear her, but no one really ever hears their cries from the dungeon. “They said they’d wait until I graduated—they promised! I’m supposed to marry him this summer!” 

Your heart breaks for your friend — there’s nothing you can do but hold her until she’s cried every bit of her soul out. 

“I hate them,” Allegra whispers to you; she had been shedding tears for hours, trembling in your arms until morning finally came. 

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

“I wish I was dead,” She replies lifelessly. “He can’t marry a dead bride.” 

“Don’t say that,” You beg as you hug her tight; afraid to lose her to the world that has worn her down. “Please.” 

Allegra sinks into her pillows, and you follow in suit, hesitantly laying your head beside hers. She stares at the ceiling dully. “The world is so, so cruel to us daughters sometimes. And it’ll be cruel to our daughters, and their daughters. When will it end?” 

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

Allegra hums, neither disappointed nor surprised, and turns away to lay on her side. “Pansy,” She mumbles.

“What?”

“If we lived in a better world and I married for love, I’d want to name my daughter Pansy — like the flower.”

(Later that day, you are given detention for beating Evan Rosier to a pulp. He makes a joke about dirty blood, and you snap — you are tired of laughing and pandering to the arrogant men in your life. This is the first time you publicly defy your parents, and it felt good — more than good, it was liberating. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time. Then, you earn a second detention for storming up to the Gryffindor common room and punching Fabian Prewett in the face — because fourth-year boys had no business sneaking into the girls’ dorm in the middle of the night for some stupid prank — and you threaten him by pointing the tip of your wand deep into his neck, demanding they apologize to you, Allegra, and Endora. 

You get what you want, naturally — as princesses do. You decide then that you’re going to create a world where girls like Allegra don’t cry anymore.)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

HARRY TWINGES WHEN he hears the end of your fourth or fifth story of the afternoon — no wonder you had been so angered by his being in your room. “I-I’m sorry—” 

“Yesterday was hardly your fault,” You interrupt him. “There’s no controlling where magic brings you, not in your case. You didn’t know, but now you know. I don’t hold it against them — anymore. Fifteen-year-old boys can be stupid, and at least they’ve learned from their mistakes. You should have seen your mother — erm, Lily — she looked like she was ready to kill them after finding out what they had done. Even Molly was cross with the twins, and you know how loyal Molly is to her family.”

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

“Others call us evil, conniving and cruel, Harry,” You tell him grimly, “But I will protect my own, no matter what I have to do.”

At that moment, Harry thinks he understands why some people come to fear Slytherin. 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

“LOOK, LILY-PAD, the princess is drooling again.” 

You open your eyes to glare at Sirius. “I don’t drool, idiot.” 

Lily chortles as she presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Of course you don’t, princess.”

Currently, you’re lying on a shabby loveseat that is too small to hold the three of you; it’s the only furniture in the new cottage you call home, where Potter Manor was right across the street. (Euphemia was ecstatic to have you all nearby — the lovely woman was sprite for her age, but you notice the way she stops to sit and catch her breath, Sirius and James hovering over her attentively; you’re good at pretending, so you pretend that the Potters will be around forever.) Some rooms are dusty with cobwebs, walls unfinished, with the floors creak under your feet, and there’s no other place you’d rather call home. 

You’re in between Sirius and Lily; your lips swollen from their kisses, cheeks flushed and the column of your throat graced with love marks. It’s the most beautiful set of jewelry you’ve ever worn, not even burmese rubies could compare. Lily’s hand rests under your jumper, Sirius’s thigh wedged between your own. While peace blankets the three of you, James and Remus have yet to come home from their task given by the Order. 

“You need a haircut, my love,” You mumble drowsily, pulling at one of the dark ringlets — it’s gone past his shoulders now. He captures your hand and leaves a delicate kiss on your fingertips. 

Lily buries her nose in your hair. “She’s right, Siri.” 

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

Sirius, love-sick fool that he is, smiles as he tilts your chin with his finger and ensnares you in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Course you are — our girl’s bloody brilliant, isn’t she, Lily-pad?”

“Without a doubt.”

You roll your eyes at their antics, rolling around so that your back is pressed to Sirius’s chest — they’re not fooled, however; Lily sees the way your eyes flicker in amusement and the way your lips threaten to curve up into a smile. She traces the swell of your lips with her thumb, to the dip of your nose, and to the apples of your cheek. Sea-green eyes beam at you.

“I love you,” says Lily, committing every inch of you to her memory as she wears a melancholic smile. “I don’t know who told you that you don’t deserve to be loved, but they were wrong. You are so precious to us, dove, you don’t even know how much. This right here is real — and nothing could ever change that.” 

As it turns out, you did have more smiles to give — only the happy ones; not the fake, courteous smiles that you had given to your mother’s friends in the past. You come to intertwine your hand with Lily’s, the one that had been resting on your cheek, tenderly wiping the tears that pooled within your eyes. Your heart could burst from your chest. They had a habit of wringing every emotion out of you; of making love feel real, not just a myth from a Muggle storybook. And you find, that you didn’t mind this particular habit of theirs. In the comforts of the place you call home, where you irrefutably belong, you are free to seek their arms and fall into their love, and the best part is where you get to love them right back. 

How lucky you are. 

“Let’s get married,” You blurt out, holding your breath, feeling Sirius’s hand on your waist stiffen. 

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

You smile up at Lily. “Let’s get married. All of us. I don’t care where, o–or about the rings, let’s just get married. With the war going on, we deserve s–something good.” 

Lily sobs as she nods excitedly. “Yes. Oh my Gods—we’re getting married!” 

Sirius stares at you in wonder. “Bloody hell, dove, give a guy some warning, would you?”

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes — forever.” Sirius dives in to kiss you senseless. “Couldn’t get rid of us now even if you tried.” 

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

Right then, the rickety door slams open, and you hear the loves of your life calling out for the three of you. Followed by the heavy thud of Dragonhide boots plunking down onto the floor

“We’re home!” James announces in the entryway. 

Lily wastes no time in shooting up from the sofa and welcoming them home with quite a unique greeting:

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“That ring is an heirloom passed down to the children in our family,” You tell Harry, pointing to the band around his finger. “It’s meant to symbolize our loyalty and duty to our House. My mother said I would have earned it only when I became a wife to Ferguson Bulstrode.” You chuckle at Harry’s perturbed grimace. “No, I didn’t marry him — thankfully. After Allegra. . . I—I. . . I couldn’t bear it. If I was going to marry, it would be on my own terms, and it would be for love, nothing less. Then, if my child wanted it, I’d give them this ring. I want to leave behind a legacy that I created. When I was younger, I’d resigned to a fate that was forcefully carved by someone else’s hand.” 

You shake your head. “I want to die being remembered by those who loved me. Otherwise, I was never truly alive.” 

Harry won’t let that happen, he won’t ever let your name be forgotten. He’ll share of your kindness to his friends, of your bravery and loyalty. Hermione will love your fondness of Muggle musicals and how you stood up to Lily’s defense in a world that ostracized her for being different. He’ll remind Remus of your love for him, that he had brought you hope in times of despair. Harry is going to make sure the world knows you had been so full of life with endless love to give. You are going to be remembered in the way Voldemort never will. 

“What do the words mean?” He stares at the writing: Tempus Edax Rerum.

You smile. “Time, devourer of all things.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

“REMUS—THE MUGGLES ARE stuck in the telly again!” 

Remus snickers as he takes the vacant space beside you on the loveseat, now sewn up with care and spattered with knitted quilts and throw pillows — still too small to carry three people but hasn’t given out yet, anyway. He takes Lily’s legs over his lap, swiftly stealing a kiss from your lips. “It’s a film, dove, they’re acting.” 

You purse your lips. “They’re trapped inside, then?” 

Lily snorts into her tub of chocolate fudge ice cream. “Not quite, princess, it’s recorded. Movies are like moving photographs — but they’re an hour long with sounds.” 

“Oh.” You turn your attention back to the screen, back to the film Lily had been watching. You had to admit — the story of Sandy and Danny was an interesting one. “Lily-pad, she’s singing — again.” 

Sirius hushes you from where he was cuddling James on the other couch. “She’s supposed to sing, dove, it’s a musical.” 

“Well, yes,” You begin, and James groans into Sirius’s chest, “But they should just talk instead of singing all the time — Sandy’s got a lovely voice, though. I just don’t understand why Danny’s treating her like that! Truthfully, I don’t like any of Sandy’s new friends, other than Frenchy — she’s harmless. If I was Sandy I’d move on from Danny — but then again, that hair and those muscles, and his leather jacket! I can’t blame her.” 

Sirius glowers at you. “You like his leather jacket?” 

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

Remus chuckles as he tucks you in his side, kissing your temple. “If I were you, dove, I’d be quiet and just watch the film.”

“Oh, no, no.” Sirius barely glances at the television as he pauses the film and stands up to point an accusatory finger at you. “Since when were you into leather jackets? Do you think those are cool? Since when? Jamie, should I get one? Let’s unpack this, right now. And his muscles, really?” 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Play the film, Black, I want to see the end of their love story.” 

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

“—and then we realized that we accidentally locked Hermione in with the troll.” Harry’s arms flail about as he shares some of his adventures with you — it had only been fair. He felt like a young boy again, entering Hogwarts for the first time as he watched you listen to him intently, gasping at tale of the vanishing glass and scolding him when he says he and Ron had decided to go searching for Hermione, and by extension, the troll. 

Your eyes grow wide. “A troll? In Hogwarts? They can’t have, not unless—”

“Someone let it in—I know!” Harry grins. “You’re not going to believe who let the troll in the castle.” 

You snap your fingers, “Malfoy, the older one. I know that lump’s got something to do with this. Can’t have been Snape or Quirrell.”

“Just you wait.” Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “—and so, Professor McGonagall finds us, and can you believe it? She awards us for dumb luck! Then. . .” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

IT HAD COME AS A surprise when you volunteered to join the Order of the Phoenix. You wanted to scoff at their shocked faces — was it so surprising that you wanted to protect your family? They let Severus Snape join their ranks, and you’re fairly certain that you’re a better fighter and survivalist than him — not the better liar, however, he can have that one. The week before, you and the others had an argument that lasted for the whole day. They did not want you in harm’s way, and you would rather die than stay at home, waiting idly for them to return, when you could be out there alongside them. 

(“It’s not some game out there!” Remus runs through his hair in frustration — he had always been so careful to never raise his voice at you, but this one time, he needed you to back down. “Every time you step into a raid, there’s a possibility of you dying, don’t you understand that? And even if you survive — you’ll have blood on your hands, and it does not wash away no matter how many times you try, trust me, we know.” 

“So what?” You throw your hands up in the air, equally aggravated. “I just stay here like some. . . some pet waiting for their owners to come home?” 

“Yes!” Lily angrily replies. “That is the whole point of us joining the Order — so you get to live another day. So we all have a chance at this new world without a war. Let us protect you!”

You grind down on your jaw. “You have got another thing coming, if you think I’m not going to fight tooth and nail for my future.” 

James slams a fist onto the kitchen counter. “There are horrors out there you can’t even imagine. I-It’s worse than we thought. It’s our every nightmare come to life.” 

You raise your chin defiantly. “Then we face it together.”)

Each day, you survive, and each day the five of you return home — scarred and bruised, but safe within the arms of one another. When you collapse and crumble, it is only for the walls of your home to witness. 

Now a month into autumn, you are on your first task without Sirius, James, Lily or even Remus. Instead, you are assigned by Dumbledore to Knockturn Alley along with Peter Pettigrew and Gideon Prewett. How strange time was, years ago you’d never associate with the proud Gryffindors, and now you had to trust them to guard your back. Everyone had to grow up quickly during war, even pranksters. 

The alley was quiet — too quiet for your liking. You had been on alert since the moment you apparated into the area, wand at your ready. The back of your neck prickled with goosebumps as you kept an ear out for any sign of movement. 

Peter shivers and you glance at him — he’s become far too skinny, constantly shrinking into himself out of fear. And while you want to comfort him, you keep your eyes up ahead. Still, there's a nagging feeling that you can’t quite make out. It’s different from all the other times you’ve been asked to search and rescue. 

“Don’t you feel like there’s something wrong?” You ask Gideon, eyes snapping to the flock of crows flying overhead. 

“Dunno, kid,” Gideon says, nudging your shoulder with pressed lips. “Everything about this is freaking me out. The place is too empty.” 

“I get what you mean,” You reply, swallowing your own nervousness. Without waiting for the rest, you speed up your pace. “I’ll scout ahead, who knows what’s been here before us. I don’t want to risk any of our lives, so let’s be careful. Gideon, ward the area while I check for any cursed objects, last time you almost got your arm cut off by a newspaper of all things. And Peter, could you. . . Peter?” 

When you turn to check behind you, it all happens so fast. 

“Avada Kedavra!” 

You scream as Gideon’s deathly pale body falls to the floor. 

“No!” 

You aren’t given a moment to rush to his side — someone digs their wand in the side of your neck, and you stiffen in their hold. It’s not until they hiss in your ear that you recognize the voice. 

“Rosier.” You spit, biting down on your lip when he presses the tip of his wand further into your flesh. 

“Stupid witch,” He taunts, eyes dilating with vengeance. “Where are your lovers now?” 

“Jealous?” You claw at his arms, chest heaving up and down. “We don’t have room for one more, sorry.”

“Shut up!” He pushes you to the ground in blind rage, and that’s all the opening you need. 

“Expulso!” 

Each curse you send his way lands on his cloaked body, sending him staggering backwards. With ease, you deflect each spell he counters with. You’re winning, he is growing tired, and perhaps that is why you let your guard down. 

“Accio wand!” 

The magic fizzles out, and the spell dies on your lips. As you swivel your head to find out who’s stolen your wand, you expect to find another Death Eater — except it’s Peter. Just Peter Pettigrew, quivering in his boots with tears and snot dripping down his face, your wand in his free hand. You furrow your brows — it doesn’t make sense. 

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

The curse finds its home in your body — and it sinks deep into your flesh, grinding your bones until you slump to the ground, wriggling as you draw blood from your lips, refusing to let them hear an ounce of your pain. Blood trickles down your nose as you hear Evan Rosier dancing around you in glee. You know this curse well; the sound of your father condemning you gleefully echo in your head. You crawl over to Gideon — hand desperately reaching for his shirt. 

“Crucio!” Rosier grabs you by the hair and howls with laughter. “Scream for me again—Crucio!” 

It’s as though someone had begun to rip you in half. Your bones shift and crack with every uttered curse. The veins in your eyes have popped and through bloody vision, you see Peter cowering away from you.

“You—fucking—traitor,” You gurgle, throat welling up with blood that’s risen from your stomach. “They’ll—never—forgive you—never.” 

“Crucio! Crucio! Crucio! Come on, witch — SCREAM! Look at her go, Pettigrew, crawling like some pathetic worm.” 

You lay in your owl pool of blood, wearing a body that is marred and lacerated. But you see something in Gideon’s hand. I’m sorry, you want to tell him. I’ll get you home to Molly, you promise, please lend me your magic this once. With every last bit of your strength, just as Rosier directs another curse at you — one you know you won’t survive — you snatch the wand from Gideon’s hand and tear the last of your magic from your throat. 

“Defodio!” 

You wait with a bated breath as silence fills the alley; lucky to have remembered Professor Flitwick’s quick remark as to how the slight difference in pronouncing a charm could alter its effect. Rosier stands on shaky legs, a stream of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. You watch as he looks down to his chest, where a gaping hole now lies instead of where his ribcage and heart should be. As Gideon had done before him, Evan Rosier crashes to the ground. 

That just leaves one more problem. 

Peter scurries to your side the moment Rosier can hurt him no longer. “I-I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I had to. . . T–They killed my mum, they killed M–Mary, and t–they said I would die too if I d–didn’t do this. I’m sorry. Y–Your father was there, too. He said he would take you in, let you l–live if you joined us. W–We can live, t–there’s still a chance for us to survive.” 

Your fingers are bent at unsightly angles, the remnants of the Torture Curse still flowing through your veins, but your face contorts in anger as you let your hand curl around his neck. He sobs louder, and though your grip is weakening — you make sure he looks into your eyes, that he feels your touch.

“I’d rather—die.” You say through gritted teeth, nails drawing blood from his grimy skin. “You’ll die too—you’ll feel my blood on your skin—everywhere you go, Peter.” 

Peter shakes his head, now clumsily pushing his wand down to the center of your chest. “Y–You were the only o–one who d–didn’t laugh at me. N–Not like the others.” 

“When they find out—you’re dead, Pettigrew.” You laugh darkly as more blood exits your body through your lips. “There’s nowhere you can hide—you’re a dead man.” 

“P-Please die,” Peter cries out, each killing spell coming out as a garbled whisper. “Please die,  s–so I can live. I c–can’t fight anymore, I’m tired.” 

Your vision goes a hazy shade of white, Peter’s silhouette fading away to the familiar scenery of your cottage in Godric’s Hollow. 

Oh.

Dying is less painful than you had expected it to be. It’s like coming home after a day’s work. 

You just wanted to rest now. 

The world caves in on you, and you barely hear Peter’s next words. 

“Avada Kedavra.” 

(It’s past midnight when Peter Pettigrew arrives at Grimmauld Place, where it’s been altered to host the members of the Order, Lily sobs in relief and gathers him in her arms. 

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home safe — welcome home — thank the Gods you’re alive,” Lily blabbers through her tears, checking his face for any major injuries. “Merlin, what happened? There’s too much blood on you. It’s on your shirt and your face.” 

“It’s not mine,” says Peter hoarsely. 

Sirius’s gaze darkens, arms crossed over his jacket as he leaned against the wall. “Where is she?” 

Lily nods, standing on her tiptoes to search for any sign of you. “Peter? I–Is she alright? Has something happened to her?” 

Peter stays silent for a moment too long, and he finds himself slammed against the wall behind him, Sirius snarling in his face as he seizes the front of Peter’s soiled shirt. “Where the fuck is she, Pettigrew?” 

Peter begins to weep. “I–It was an ambush. None of us saw it coming. Gideon r–ran. She was taking on two Death-Eaters at once and I–I was too far away.” 

Lily collapses to the ground with a heart-wrenching scream.

Sirius growls as he drives his fist to the wall, inches away from Peter’s face. “Where is her body?” 

“It was a disintegration spell.” With Severus Snape — brought to the Malfoy Manor to be made as an example of what happens to blood-traitors. 

James pushes Sirius out of the way and grabs a hold of Peter, knocking his head against the concrete. “It should have been you��” James snaps at Peter. “If it came down to you or her—you should have saved her!” 

“W-What?” Peter stammers, eyes wide. “She chose to save m–me.” 

James sneers at him. “You should have just died.”)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

ST. JEROME’S GRAVEYARD had exactly one visitor. Remus Lupin sits in between James and Lily’s graves, a bottle of firewhiskey in his hand — four empty at his side. He must be going crazy. There’s no funeral for Sirius as there’s no body to actually bury, Harry is presumed missing after an attack in Diagon Alley, and your name stares back at him mockingly. He tries not to dwell on your passing — there have been too many holes, too many details left unsaid; and he knows just the rat who has all the answers. Unfortunately, Wormtail won’t come out of whatever hole he’s crawled into. Either him, or Severus. 

He sighs, rubbing the temples of his head to ease the growing pains. 

You are the first to be buried of the five. Like Sirius, there had been no recovered body to lay to rest, but they asked for a compromise instead. Your name is engraved under Euphemia’s in her tombstone, and Remus figures it’s the fitting place to leave you be — with your mother, welcoming you home with open arms. He hopes you’re at peace, wherever you are. (Because, honestly, at this point, he might just fucking follow you.) 

Remus takes another swig of his alcohol, laughing bitterly to himself. He glances at James’s headstone and raises his bottle to him. “Not even in death, huh?”

He downs the last of the drink, rising to his tremulous legs. Remus gathers the flower bouquets he had bought earlier this morning; lilies-of-the-valley for Lily, white carnations for Euphemia, forget-me-nots for you, and for James — Remus leaves a moving photograph of him and Sirius; it’s a snapshot taken by Lily during the wedding as James dips his head low to kiss Sirius. Remus thinks it’s a wonderful memory to remember them by. 

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

And that is all the goodbyes Remus has the strength for. 

end note. i think i was crying the whole time i was writing this part, LMAO. i should be able to wrap things up in the next one. important!! there is actually a scene i was hesitant to include, but i ended up writing anyway. it's the whole part where allegra greengrass breaks down, and it was difficult for me to decide because i knew the implications; that i had a strong underlying message in that part, and i don't want it to be misconstrued or anything. pls pls tell me if it comes off as offensive, i definitely don't want to hurt anyone. nevertheless, thank you again so so so much for reading!! if you spot a plot hole, no you didnt!! i hope the time-jumps weren't too confusing! again, thank you so so much for reading!!

[freelancearsonist]

make a move on me

➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k

➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.

If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.

But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.

Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.

Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.

The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”

There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.

Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”

Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.

He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.

But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.

There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.

The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.

Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.

It doesn’t work.

The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.

You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?

It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.

And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.

All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.

It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.

But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?

And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.

Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.

He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.

“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–

“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”

You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–

He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.

He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.

“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.

He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.

But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.

There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.

He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.

You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–

Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.

He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.

You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.

“Joel–”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”

“I want it,” you affirm.

He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.” 

He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.

“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.

“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”

With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.

Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.

“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”

There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”

“Flip over f’me.”

You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.

You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.

It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”

You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this. 

“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”

“Please–”

“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”

And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.

His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.

“You ever taken someone here before?”

“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.

“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.

It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.

“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.

“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’

His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.

He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”

It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.

“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”

“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.

In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.

“What’d you call me?”

“J-Joel.”

His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”

“D… daddy.”

You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.

Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”

The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”

“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”

“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”

But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.

He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.

He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.

“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”

You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.

“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

“Daddy–”

“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”

All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.

Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.

And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.

He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.

“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”

It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.

“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.

You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.

There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”

Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.

He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.

He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”

“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.

He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–

“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.

The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.

He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”

You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.

It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.

“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.

You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”

“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”

His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”

His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.

“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”

“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”

Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.

“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”

“Joel–”

“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”

“Yesyesyesplease–”

His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.

The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.

It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.

And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in. 

“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.

Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.

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[pantherxrogers]

fantasy - kim taehyung x fem!reader

🖤 pairing: taehyung x fem!reader, established relationship, married

🖤 warnings: pure smut (18+ only), no plot, degradation (tae calls reader a slut *affectionately*), dom/sub dynamics, masturbation, explicit language, fingering, use of vibrator

🖤 summary: you love a man in uniform. more specifically, you love the way your husband looks in a uniform. he attempts to come home and surprise you, but he's the one left in shock.

🖤 a/n: this is 100% based on that video of v on patrol. he is too sexy. 😮‍💨 thus, this was born. hope you enjoy! ☺️

disclaimer: i am in no way affiliated with taehyung aka "v of bts". this is purely a work of fiction.

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

your thighs tremble, locking around the vibrator pressed to your center.

you're fighting your orgasm, not ready for the pleasure to end. if you had an ounce of shame, you'd be embarrassed by how quickly a few photos of your husband can make you cum. but, alas, you have none.

shutting your eyes in ecstasy, it's hard to focus when the vibrator is so steady against your clit, massaging the sensitive nub. still, your mind drifts to him. he looked even bigger than the last time you saw him. firm muscles filling out the black uniform, a timid smile on his perfect face.

and ugh, did he have to be so polite? you're caught between cuteness aggression and the need to jump his bones. the latter wins.

he quite literally looked like your ultimate fantasy. it flashes through your mind. taehyung hovering over you, still dressed in that black uniform. you can almost hear his deep voice, whispering pure filth into your ear.

goosebumps break out over your body. the vibrator feels amazing, your vagina clenching around nothing. you feel hot all over and unable to keep teasing yourself. if your husband were here, he'd be able to give you exactly what you want. the thought makes you press harder, wetness coating the silicone toy.

"fuck, tae," you whine out, still imagining his thick cock inside of you.

"i guess we're both suprising each other today." his low timbre makes you scream, heart beating out of your chest.

"ohmygoshwhatthefuck!" you're trembling, yanking the vibrator away to regain your bearings. your husband only lets out a chuckle, making his way over to the bed. and that's when you notice.

that fucking uniform.

he's still fully dressed. the black fabric pulled tight over his newly acquired muscle. you saw him just a few weeks ago on his break, yet he's somehow gotten even bigger. his hair has grown out a little more, too. you're appreciating his tanned skin, loving the way it contrasts the dark uniform.

"tae, what are you doing here?" you breathe out, rising up to meet his lips. the kiss accelerates your heartbeat, arousal stirring deep in your stomach. he brings an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his warm body. he's a little rough nowadays, a desperation he's picked up since being in the military. you feel that way, too, hands roaming all over him.

"i requested more time off," he breathes in between kisses, "needed to see you again." his admission turns you on even further, in love with the way he loves you. his hands are greedy, slipping from your waist to grab handfuls of your ass. you made it easy for him. one of his loose t shirts paired with your thong does little to cover you.

"missed you so much," you whine out, head lulling back, lost in the way he kisses down your neck.

"i can tell." you hear the smirk in his voice, suddenly remembering the predicament he caught you in just a few moments prior.

"about that..." you mutter, suddenly feeling shy again. you're quiet for a few moments, finding it hard to focus on anything aside from the way his hands feel against your skin. they're rough, obviously a side effect of his active duty. the cool metal of his wedding ring sears into your heated skin, the sensation driving you wild.

"i do the same thing, baby. almost every night," he huffs, tucking an arm under under your ass to wrap your legs around his waist. he lowers you onto the mattress, strong frame hovering over you. a moan slips out of you, the sight of your fantasy playing out in front of you is almost too much to bear.

"i get in the shower and imagine you're there with me," he speaks against your skin, starting from the valley of your breasts. "i get so fuckin' hard, and all i have is my hand," he confesses, closing his lips around your hard nipple.

"s-shit baby," you moan, running your fingers through his short hair. he's almost animalistic in the way he sucks your breast, tongue swirling around your areola. he massages the other with his hand, rolling your sensitive nipple between his fingers.

"had to come home and have you in front of me. couldn't take it anymore," he grunts, finally pulling your shirt off. his eyes are dark, unabashedly checking you out.

your nipples are hard, and he watches them rise up and down each time you pant. he studies your body, eyes finally landing on your skimpy thong. an unmistakable groan reaches your ears, more arousal flooding the flimsy fabric.

"tae, c'mon please," you beg, reaching for his arms to do anything. you don't even care what he does. you just need to feel him.

he lowers himself to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot. holding himself up with one arm, he's careful not to put his full weight on you. his soft lips trail up to your ear, pressing a delicate kiss there.

"tell me what you were thinking about, baby," he hums, slowly dragging his hand down your stomach. he toys with your thong, dipping in, still not deep enough to give you much stimulation. the sensation makes you clench around nothing, desperation coursing through your veins.

"t-this, i was thinking about exactly this," you confess. he rewards you immediately, middle finger slipping down to draw slow circles on your hardened nub. his cock throbs at the loud moan you let out, sounding like an absolute wet dream.

"yeah, just needed me to come home and touch your little pussy?" he coos into your ear, before sucking a love bite right below your jaw.

you swear you're going to come any second. all of it is too much, but not enough at the same time. his body is so warm and inviting, and his scent floods your senses. it's a clean scent, laced with a hint of musk that makes your eyes roll back.

"y-yeah, saw a picture of you in that uniform," you squeal, hips bucking into his hand. he's using more pressure, rubbing faster circles into your clit.

"what a slut. you started touching yourself just from a picture?" he's teasing you. the cockiness in his voice is so attractive. he has a smug look on his face, studying the way you shamelessly grind into his hand, chasing your long lost orgasm.

"mhmm, 'm a slut for you, tae," you babble, unable to focus on anything but this earth-shattering pleasure.

"i know you are, baby. that's why i fuckin' love you." you jump at the sudden vibration. he's using one hand to press the vibrator against your clit and using the other to fuck you with his fingers.

"o-oh, i'm gonna cum," you gasp. the squelch of his fingers sliding into your wetness makes you feel filthy. he presses a button, making the vibrations grow stronger. you whine out, more wetness coating his fingers.

"damn, you're wet." his deep voice only adds to your pleasure. his fingers are thick, gliding against your walls with ease. the stretch is perfect, exactly what you've been needing.

"shit, shit, shit!"

"yeah, baby. go ahead and cum on my fingers," he mutters, brushing against that spongy spot inside of you. the moan you let out is pornographic, satisfaction radiating throughout tae's body.

"yeah, let it out. good girl." his praise sends you over the edge, clenching around his fingers like a vice. he works you through your orgasm, slowing pleasuring you through the intensity. you're seeing stars, the orgasm overriding your senses.

you hear tae's soft affirmations in your ears. a steady stream of good girl, so pretty, my perfect girl, only add to the airy feeling. it takes you a minute to come down. he slowly lowers the vibrations, not wanting to overstimulate you.

"you still with me pretty girl?"

"i'm good, baby," you mumble, nestling into your husband's side. he kisses your forehead, pulling you closer to him. he stays with you for a few minutes. your breaths become slow and shallow, fully relaxing into the mattress.

"i need to get changed, sweetheart," he whispers, untangling himself and tucking your body under the covers.

he hovers over you, unable to take his eyes off your peaceful form. your eyes are closed, a content smile on your lips. this is exactly why he needed time off. he's been missing you so much that it hurts.

"tae, get changed so you can hurry back," you whine, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. he thought you were asleep, and he's been staring at you like a creep. but, he's too in love to care.

"okay, baby," he soothes you, pressing a final kiss to your forehead before heading to his wardrobe. he trips over himself a few times, excitement making him jittery. he laughs at himself, feeling like a lovesick fool. but, he wouldn't have it any other way. and neither would you.