#honestly thank you for asking he’s the worst

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part five)

genre: slow burn fic, fluff with hints of angst, light drama, no explicit smut

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, light tension, kelce being kelce

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron's intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and y/n's mind? that shit was even more tangled. but she hadn't spent seven years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through her fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: starting the day with the struggle to focus after texting rafe the night before, he unexpectedly asks you to sit with him in the back row of economics class. having forgotten his pizza date with his friends, he invites you to join them to work on your project at kelce’s instead of staying in school. despite your hesitation, you agree. feeling out of place as you sit in his car on the way to kelce’s, rafe makes a seemingly casual attempt to ease your nerves along the way.

word count: 4.5k+

a/n: thank you guys sm for the kind words and support on the last one, this always means sm to me <3 i also had sm fun with this one and felt like it’s time for the first little drama highigi. also next part will include a little rafe pov 😈 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

"Yo, what took you so long? Did you two have a quickie in the car or something?" That was the first thing Kelce Statter said as he opened the front door, glancing between you and Rafe with an amused grin, his pupils just a little too wide.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And here we go.

Like clockwork, heat shot straight to your cheeks, and as usual, whenever you were overwhelmed and didn’t know how to react, that tense, awkward smile appeared on your face.

Not even a minute here, and one dumb comment had already thrown you off balance. This was off to a fantastic start.

Rafe let out an annoyed snort. "Kelce, shut the fuck up."

"Whoa, dude, no need to get your claws out." Kelce raised his hands in mock innocence, tilting his head with a smug smirk. His gaze landed on you—your awkward smile and deep red face more specifically—before flicking back to Rafe. "Aww, you got her all shy and flustered. You must’ve been good."

Okay, that’s it. THIS was officially the most awkward moment of your life, and the worst part? You were too stunned to speak.

Rafe ran a hand down his face, clearly over Kelce’s shit, before shooting him a sharp glare. "Jesus Christ, dude, do me a favor and, just once in your fucking life, pull your head out of your ugly ass."

Wow. What subtlety. You honestly couldn’t tell if Rafe liked or despised him. Probably something in between both.

Before Kelce—still stupidly grinning—could fire back, Rafe stepped into the doorway and shoved him (softly?) aside. "Now move, before I deck you."

"Love you too, bro," Kelce said, throwing a wink in your direction, before disappearing down the hallway.

Well, what an interesting dynamic.

Rafe turned back to you with an exasperated sigh. "I swear I’m gonna kill that idiot one day."

Now would be a good time to SAY SOMETHING.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you smiled awkwardly, blurting out dryly, "He seems… nice."

NICE? Of all the words you could’ve chosen, 'nice' had to be at the very bottom of the list to describe Kelce Statter.

Rafe let out a short, amused breath. "Sure, he’s a sweetheart." He motioned toward the inside of the house with a nod. "C’mon, or we’ll end up with nothing but crust. His appetite’s as big as his mouth."

So you followed him inside like a stupid little duckling.

In the living room, a massive flat tree-stump-and-glass coffee table was already “set”—if you could even call it that. A big, colorful pizza sat on a wooden board in the center, surrounded by a chaotic mess of four plates, a few glasses, cigarette packs, a lighter, car keys, a can of deodorant, an almost empty roll of paper towels, as well as a bag of weed and a used grinder.

In your mind, you titled this condition Kelce Statter core.

A forest-green semicircle couch wrapped around half the table, facing a gigantic flat-screen TV. Family Guy was playing on the screen, the volume low but audible.

Kelce was perched at one end of the couch, hunched forward as he shoved a slice of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Topper sat somewhere in the middle, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw the two of you—or more specifically, Rafe.

With a casual “Yo, bro,” Topper got up and dapped Rafe up. He shot you a neutral smile, his voice carrying a friendly vibe. “We’re all apologizing in advance for Kelce’s shitty jokes.”

Now that was what you’d call nice.

From the background came a muffled, “Hey!”

A genuine smile tugged at your lips but before you could respond, Rafe made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Okay, okay, let’s just eat. The idiot’s already inhaled half the pizza.”

Topper sat back down next to Kelce while you settled on Rafe’s right—at a comfortably safe distance—at the opposite end of the couch. Still, your heart and mind refused to slow down.

But as your stomach filled, a bit of the tension in your body started to ease. Surprisingly, the pizza tasted amazing—like, really really good.

Was Kelce secretly some kind of passionate hobby chef? Probably. Would make sense, considering he was on his healthy gym grind like Rafe had told you.

As the minutes passed, the guys were deep in their own conversation—which you were thankful for because eating, talking, and not embarrassing yourself was an art you had yet to master.

Kelce was raving about some new protein/creatine/whatever powder he swore by, Topper was hyping up an upcoming surf competition he was planning to enter, and Rafe had some big news about a deal his dad had recently landed.

The only thing remotely interesting to you as a surfer was the tournament Topper had mentioned. The rest you tuned out, peacefully eating your pizza, taking an occasional sip of your Coke, and half-watching some weird Brian-and-Stewie subplot on TV.

This actually almost felt like hanging out with friends.

At some point, Topper mentioned your name, and you snapped out of your little bubble, turning away from the screen in surprise.

Shit, what did he say?

You swallowed the bite of pizza in your mouth and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what?”

Kelce jumped in before Topper could repeat himself, seemingly taking your disinterest in the conversation as a win. “Oh shit, you’re into Family Guy?”

Your thumb nervously traced a spot on the edge of your plate. “Yeah, I mean, it's a good show to watch on the side.”

“And South Park, Rick and Morty?”

You felt all three of them staring at you. “They’re good, I guess. I mean, South Park isn’t really my thing but—”

Kelce gasped like you’d just insulted his entire family. “Not your thing?! That’s—”

“Jesus, bro, let her at least finish,” Topper interrupted with a roll of his eyes because well Kelce had just interrupted him.

Rafe nodded in agreement, waving his hand toward the kitchen. “Seriously, go grab more paper towels or some shit.”

Kelce shook his head, clearly unimpressed, but stood up anyway, plate in hand. “Wow, you guys are actual mean girls.”

You smiled because the other two did, but somehow, you still felt a little bad for Kelce. Sure, he was annoying, loud, and way too blunt, but getting shut down by your friends every two minutes had to sting, right?

Wow. Am I seriously feeling sorry for Kelce Statter?

Topper shook his head as Kelce disappeared into the kitchen. “Sometimes I wonder how he manages to pull any girl at all.”

Rafe shrugged, wiping his hands on the last paper towel. “Maybe they’re just hoping his dick’s as big as his mouth.”

That got a laugh out of Topper—one that, in your opinion, was a little too enthusiastic. “Yeah, probably.”

Okayyy. If you were Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1, then Topper was definitely No. 2.

Rafe seemed to notice your lack of reaction, turning to you with a crooked smile, like he couldn’t quite comprehend why you didn’t find this hilarious. “What? Would you go for a guy like that?”

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION WAS THAT? Better yet, how were you supposed to answer?!

On one hand, you’d never in a million years go for Kelce Statter. On the other, it felt wrong to sit in his house and join in on roasting him.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you gave an awkward smile. “No, I mean… I barely know him.”

God, what a stupid answer.

“That wasn’t a real no,” Topper remarked with a smirk, and you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Rafe’s brows twitched just slightly but before he could throw another dumb question your way, you tried to salvage it. “I mean, I just… I wouldn’t want to judge someone based on their looks or, uh, any shallow first impressions.”

Great. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

Rafe and Topper stared at you like you’d just announced that you believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

OH GOD, they probably thought you liked Kelce now. Worse, RAFE probably did.

AHHH, HELP.

“Okay, you better not tell him that,” Topper said, amused. “His giant ego will rub it in your face forever. Or worse, he’ll actually think he has a shot with you.”

...

You weren’t sure what was worse—how aware you were of your burning cheeks, Rafe’s unreadable look that could mean anything from irritation to amusement to indifference, or the fact that Topper had basically just said you were too good for Kelce. Which was probably supposed to be a compliment, but the way he’d said it with that weird teasing undertone … yeah, no thanks.

Rafe leaned forward with a defiant-yet-amused snort, cutting off your view of Topper, and gathered the last three plates. “Shit, that’s enough talk about Kelce,” he said, shoving the stack of plates into Topper’s hands.

For a moment, Topper just stared at him, then he stood up, casting a brief glance at you before looking back at Rafe. “Sure, yeah, guess we’ll head out to the porch then. Have fun with your… art project work session or whatever.”

And with that, he disappeared in the same direction as Kelce.

Now it was just you and Rafe again. But for some reason, alongside your nervousness, there was this inexplicable tension lingering in the air from the conversation earlier.

This whole thing was SO FUCKING WEIRD anyway.

Yesterday morning, Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had been… well, strangers to you. And now? Now you were sitting in Kelce Statter’s living room, having had lunch with the three of them, and now you were spending your FREE TIME—like, not during class, not during lunch, but your actual free time—working on a school project with Rafe.

This whole cozy setup, this couch, the TV running in the background, the whole environment—it all felt so… intimate. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.

And then all those comments, those questions… This was so far out of your comfort zone, and you had no idea how to deal with such a sudden shift.

And, honestly? You were still stuck on why Rafe had even invited you here in the first place. Yeah, sure, to work on a school project. But at his friend’s house? When you could’ve just done it during lunch. It didn’t make any sense.

And the dangerous part? Somewhere deep down, there was this tiny part of you that thought maybe, just maybe, Rafe wasn’t just after a good grade.

The fact that Rafe didn’t shift over, even though the couch was now completely clear (sure, there was still a decent gap between you two, but still...), didn’t go unnoticed. Quite the opposite, he spread out his legs slightly more, adjusting his position.

You had to seriously focus to avoid accidentally looking at... certain areas.

GIRL PLS.

“Don't tell me you're still nervous after having experienced these idiots firsthand” he said, his tone playful but noticeably more detached than usual.

Could I get one moment—just ONE—in which my face isn’t on fire? PLEASE.

You forced a clumsy smile. “I wasn’t nervous... just curious.”

Oh, yeah. He’s totally going to believe that.

Rafe raised an unimpressed brow, his smirk making it clear he didn’t buy it. “Yeah, anxious curious.” He sank deeper into the couch, putting one leg on the edge of the table, and looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes. “So, you have a thing for Kelce, huh? Is that why you acted so weird when I asked you to come along?” His voice was teasing, almost challenging, but there was something distant in it too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?? Like, LITERALLY WHAT?? What kind of question was that?

You honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious. His expression gave absolutely nothing away. Also didn’t he just say to Topper to put the Kelce topic aside?

You shook your head, brows furrowing in irritation (and let’s be real, you probably looked like a sulky tomato while doing so). “What? No! I mean… what? Where is that even coming from?”

Rafe shrugged, his tone maddeningly casual. “He wouldn’t say no, just saying. Kelce would take any gi—”

“But I would!” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “Saying ‘no’, I mean.” You froze for a second, your brows furrowing further as if you’d just misheard yourself. “Wait, what were you gonna say?”

There it was again. That shift in his mood. Barely noticeable but it was there—the way his brows raised just slightly, his eyes focusing on you like he was daring you in some strange way.

“What?” he asked, clearly testing to see if you’d let it slide or push further.

And, of fucking course, you’d push further. Crush or not, no way would you let that audacity slide.

You tilted your head, and honestly, maybe it was the stress of the day catching up to you, but the way he looked so smug, so goddamn full of himself, pissed you off. "You were trying to say that Kelce would go for any girl anyway." You furrowed your brows. "What… how am I supposed to interpret that?"

You couldn’t help but remember the comment he’d made earlier at school—Kelce always brings some random chick to our hangouts.

So, was that how he saw you? Some random, disposable girl for his friend? Was that the point of this? To hook you up with Kelce?

You had no idea why but before this, thinking of hookups in general had been mildly amusing to you. But now that it was somehow in the air, it just pissed you off.

Something flickered in Rafe’s eyes, but he shook his head, his mouth tugging down in mock innocence. “Don’t know.” And then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You didn’t say ‘no’ earlier. You know, all that talk about 'not judging people by surface-level impressions' or whatever.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “What the fuck, I never—... I'm not interested in--” You stopped yourself mid-sentence when you noticed how observant he was eyeing you.

Either he was messing with you—trying to get a reaction out of you by asking these upfront questions—or he was actually being serious.

“This feels like gaslighting", you said dryly, though you couldn’t stop the somehow amused smile from creeping onto your face.

A crooked grin spread across Rafe’s features and the crease between his brows disappeared. “I'm just repeating what you’ve said.”

Seriously, what did he want you to say? “Yes, I like Kelce”??? Did he actually believe your words earlier had hinted at some interest in Kelce? Just the thought of it made your skin crawl.

Your expression shifted back to a frown. Hesitantly you asked, “Is this like... a bro-playing-matchmaker-for-bro thing?”

Did he want you to start something with Kelce? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions—this whole thing with Topper earlier, too. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Kelce secretly had a thing for you and they were both playing his wingmen in a very strange way.

OH. MY. GOD.

That would explain why Rafe had invited you here in the first place. But then again, why were you—just the two of you—about to work on the project?

Even your confusion was confused at this point.

“Shit, no,” Rafe shot back with an amused smirk, crossing his arms. “Like I’d play wingman for Kelce.” He shrugged, his grin lingering. “But you do seem like someone who needs help in this area.”

…

WHAT.

Did he think you were some kind of helpless maiden who needed assistance at courting the other sex? Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, be for real, but that wasn’t the point. Why would he even say something like this? Was he suggesting to be your wingman or some shit?

God, this was such a painfully awkward situation and he seemed to have fun cornering you like this.

Screw it. You were done with whatever this was.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks still flushed deep pink. “I don’t, thanks. And I feel like we shouldn’t waste any more time and get back to the project.”

Something strange flashed across his face—a mix of disappointment and irritation as if he had enjoyed this back and forth—but he just shrugged. “Back at being a nerd.”

Wow. Okay. Seriously, what the actual fuck was going on inside Rafe Cameron’s head?

Trying to suppress a frown, you leaned toward the side of the couch and pulled your iPad from your bag, tucking your legs up into a comfortable position as you opened yesterday’s notes.

The air felt heavy with a strange tension. Not like yesterday, when you’d had your first real conversation with him. Not like earlier either, when he was pissed off at you mentioning his dad in a conversation. No, this was something else entirely—some kind of irritated restlessness on both sides.

Your heart pounded uneasily in your chest, and you hated that you couldn’t just address whatever this was. If it even was anything.

So, you did what you always did when things started feeling like too much—you disconnected from the situation entirely and focused on the task at hand. Skimming over your notes, you cleared your throat and read out your last update. “Okay, so…” -----------------------------------------------

You washed your hands, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

What am I even doing here?

This was so stupid. You should’ve insisted on rescheduling this whole thing—it would’ve been so much easier.

Grabbing the towel from the rack, you dried your hands and took a deep breath. Screw whatever all of this was—why he’d invited you here, why he’d asked all those weird-ass questions. You just needed to focus on the project.

Art was the only subject you were actually kind of good at and there was no way you were going to mess it up just because your brain was spiraling over this surreal, out-of-nowhere situation.

But as you walked back down the hallway toward the living room, you were hit with another curveball.

Is this guy SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

There he was, sitting on the couch, your iPad resting on his lap, your Apple Pencil in his hand as his eyes stared at the screen.

Never mind that he looked CUTE AS HELL doing it—he couldn’t just scroll through your sketches like that. THAT WAS AN UNSPOKEN RULE. What if he found your studies of—NOPE.

“What are you doing?”

Rafe looked up, completely unbothered. Before he could even answer, you were already sitting down next to him, hand reaching for your iPad.

And then you saw it.

He wasn’t flipping through your gallery—he was just writing something in the Notes app.

Your face instantly flushed hot. “Oh,” you mumbled, pulling your hand back quickly—only to accidentally brush against the fabric of his jeans.

AKA HIS THIGH.

It was over. Your life was over. Done. Finished. The end. You were officially dead in every language known to man.

The heat in your face burned hotter as your pulse skyrocketed, embarrassment filling every cell in your body.

And his face? Big blue eyes staring at you half-surprised while his lips slowly turned into a crooked smile.

UGHHHH, OH MY GOD.

A sheepish-awkward smile crept across your lips. “Oh, I—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I… I thought you were scrolling through my gallery.”

Brilliant. Truly a top-tier diversion. AS ALWAYS.

Please, please, please, for the love of everything holy, don’t mention the fact that I just touched your leg. PLEASE.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, more amused than irritated. “Why, what would I find? Nudes?”

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.

“What? No! I don’t—gallery, I meant my art gallery!” you shot back quickly, your voice a pitch higher than usual as the heat rushed back into your face.

And then, as your gaze flicked to the striking details of his annoyingly pretty eyes, it hit you just how close you were to him.

Too fucking close.

Your overly dramatic attempt to snatch the iPad from him had somehow left your whole body turned toward his, with barely four inches separating you.

Every instinct screamed at you to throw yourself onto the other end of the couch, grab your bag, and leave this house as fast as humanly possible. Move forward another state and start a new life.

But you couldn’t move. It was like you were frozen, completely anchored in place. Because choosing to put space between you now? That would just highlight how ridiculously awkward this whole situation had become.

You felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to move.

And Rafe’s eyes? They were the headlights. He stared at you, his expression teetering somewhere between playful curiosity and deliberation, like he was trying to decide whether to swerve or just run you over.

“Jesus Christ, calm down,” he finally said, a cocky laugh slipping past his lips as he clicked the Apple Pencil back into the iPad case. “I didn’t look at your top-secret drawing gallery. Happy?”

And even if he had looked, would he even admit it? Probably not.

Still, a tiny part of you relaxed. Perfect—now only 99% of you were stuck in full fight-or-flight mode.

“Thanks,” you managed to mumble, taking the iPad from him with painstaking care to avoid even accidentally brushing against him again. That would definitely be the end of you.

Finally seizing the opportunity, you scooted a little further away—not as far as before but just enough to calm your heart rate without making it seem like you were actively trying to escape.

The last thing you wanted was to look like a total creep.

Even though the situation had been painfully awkward, somehow, it had managed to break that weird, unspoken tension that had been hanging between you two entirely.

You had just looked up, ready to comment on the one (1) completely useless bullet point he’d added when he beat you to it. "We should go to my place tomorrow evening. Maybe you’ll relax a little for once”, he said with a teasing yet somehow serious undertone.

...

...

WAIT. WHAT? THIS WAS COMING OUT OF NOWHERE LIKE WHAT?!

You must’ve misheard him. No way. This was too crazy, too fucking surreal to be real. Surely he was messing with you. Yeah, that had to be it.

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Your place?" Good. That was good. This way, you could at least make sure he wasn’t being serious.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Yeah, unless you’d rather go back to working at school like a real nerd."

HE WAS SERIOUS.

Okay, hold on. But WHY AT EVENING? Evenings were basically the second most intimate time of day, right after actual nighttime. And his whole family would be home—no, absolutely not. That was insane. Way too much, too soon.

There was no way you’d 'relax' there.

You let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know… your parents—" You hesitated, remembering Rose wasn’t actually his mom. "I mean, your family probably wants their space."

Oh god. You could already feel the shift in his mood—subtle, but definitely there.

But Rafe just shook his head, completely unfazed. "My dad and Rose are at some charity event. Wheezie’s on a school trip this week, and Sarah can do whatever she wants, I don't care."

OH.

That—that changed everything. Shit, no, that changed THE ENTIRE FUCKING SITUATION YOU WERE IN.

An empty house, almost nighttime, and he wanted you to come over just after two days of getting to know each other? Holy shit, every alarm bell in your head was ringing.

Sure, you were inexperienced when it came to dating (NOT that this situation was anything close to being labeled as dating). And yes, you had no clue how to flirt. Plus, the entire concept of the male species lowkey terrified you and you were terrible at picking up hints.

But even you knew what this meant.

You’d heard enough of Cara’s stories, read enough shitty fanfiction, watched enough trashy movies and TV shows, and—unintentionally—overheard enough (deeply uncomfortable) conversations between drunk, horny teenagers at parties to recognize exactly what was happening here:

Rafe Cameron was setting the ground for a hookup.

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kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @vvmaybank @ltristessedureratoujours @mia-iltc

[airandyeah]

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

The screen flickered as the call connected, and before you could even greet anyone properly, your mother’s voice rang out—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.

“Are you eating well?”

You sighed, already regretting answering. Should’ve let it go to voicemail.

“Hi, Mom,” you deadpanned, but she wasn’t having it.

“Don’t ‘Hi, Mom’ me. Have you been eating properly? You looked thin the last time we saw you.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting on the couch. “I eat fine.”

“And exercising?” she pressed, narrowing her eyes through the screen.

You groaned. “Yes.” A lie. You’d barely been moving from your couch unless absolutely necessary.

Your father was in the background, half-listening, half-distracted, while your three brothers lounged around like oversized wolves, occasionally throwing glances at the screen.

Then, the question you knew was coming.

“So,” your mother drawled, eyes gleaming. “Any boys caught your eye?”

Your entire body stiffened. Nope. Absolutely not. Not doing this.

“No,” you said firmly.

Your brothers perked up immediately. “No one?” the eldest asked, skeptical.

“No,” you repeated, more agitated.

Your mother hummed. “Not even a little?”

Flashes of muscle and smirks crossed your mind—Sukuna’s sharp teeth, Toji’s lazy, knowing grin, their irritatingly smug confidence—

NO.

“No,” you bit out again, too fast, too defensive.

Your brothers definitely noticed.

“Ohhh, shit,” one of them muttered, grinning.

“There is someone,” another accused, leaning in.

“No, there isn’t,” you snapped.

But your mother was already smirking, far too pleased. “Well, you are at that age. If someone has caught your eye, you should bring them home. They’ll need to be evaluated.”

Evaluated. Like a damn threat assessment.

You scowled. “I said there’s no one.”

Your father, silent until now, finally sighed. “Leave her alone,” he muttered, barely looking up from whatever he was doing.

But the damage was done. Your mother knew you were hiding something. And worse? So did your brothers.

If they found out about Toji and Sukuna? You were never going to hear the end of it.

The call had finally settled into something normal—or at least as normal as it ever got with your family. Your mother had moved on from interrogating your love life (thank god), now talking about some new fitness routine she wanted you to try.

Your father chimed in occasionally, offering quiet grunts of agreement, while your brothers bickered in the background over some ridiculous bet. It was comfortable.

Buzz.

Until your phone started vibrating.

You ignored it at first, assuming it was some random notification. But then—

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A rapid string of messages lit up the screen, the vibrations rattling against the table.

You glanced at it, frowning.

Toji: Hey. Toji: Did you eat yet? Toji: Answer, brat.

Then—

Sukuna: Oi. You alive? Sukuna: Answer before we show up at your door.

You clenched your jaw, glancing at the laptop screen where your mother was still talking.

Another message.

Sukuna: Maybe we should’ve kept you in town, huh? You get lonely out there?

You glared at your phone.

“What’s with that face?” one of your brothers asked, smirking.

“Nothing,” you muttered, flipping the device over.

Your mother narrowed her eyes. “Who’s texting you?”

Your shoulders tensed. “No one.”

A beat of silence.

Then your eldest brother—the worst of them—grinned. “It’s a guy.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh? So you do have someone.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back.

Buzz.

You were going to kill them.

Your brothers started laughing, already sensing blood in the water.

Your mother smirked. “Well, now I have to know. Who is he?”

“No one.”

Your laptop screen was filled with their amused faces, but all you could focus on was your phone—still lighting up with messages from the two Alphas who refused to leave you alone.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the persistent buzzing of your phone as your family continued their interrogation. Every second felt like a warzone, with your brothers circling like vultures, trying to pull out the most embarrassing details about your nonexistent love life.

You kept your face neutral, answering only when necessary. It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family—it was just that you could already tell what was coming. They never stopped.

You gritted your teeth, trying to tune out the incessant buzzing from your phone as your family continued their usual questioning. Your brothers were relentless, teasing you about every little thing, while your mother turned her attention to your eating habits—as if you were still a teenager.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The vibrations from your phone rattled the table, but you resisted the urge to check it. You didn’t want to deal with it right now.

The call was live, your laptop screen filled with the faces of your family, each one pushing for more details about your nonexistent love life. It had been a long day, and your patience was wearing thin.

Then, through the chatter and your mother’s never-ending advice about how you needed to eat better and exercise more, the faint, familiar crunch of gravel echoed through your window. The sound of doors slamming followed, and your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You froze.

It was the unmistakable sound of the two of them. Toji and Sukuna.

“Who’s at the door?” your mother asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

You didn’t answer right away. No, not now, you thought, panic rising in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to deal with them while you were on a video call with your family.

Another knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your heart pounded. You glanced at the screen—your family was still oblivious, completely unaware of the storm at your door. They didn’t feel the sudden shift in the air, the way you could.

You sighed, defeated, and stood up, walking towards the door as you muttered under your breath. Your family’s voices faded into the background as you made your way toward the door, trying to steady your nerves.

You opened it, and there they were—standing on your doorstep like they owned the place.

Toji grinned, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, looking every bit the smug bastard he was. Sukuna stood beside him, arms crossed, his smirk somehow even more insufferable.

Both of them looked like trouble.

“Hey, brat,” Toji greeted you, his tone a lazy drawl as he looked you up and down.

Sukuna, always the one to push things further, took a step forward, his voice almost too casual. “What’s up?”

Your heart sank as you realized your family was still watching. They hadn’t noticed the shift in your demeanor or your tension, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, trying your best to keep your voice steady, though your frustration was clear.

Toji’s grin only widened. “You weren't responding. Figured we’d swing by.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to your laptop, where your family’s faces were still visible on the screen, their expressions starting to shift from curiosity to suspicion. “It’s not every day we get to meet the family,” he added, eyes glinting with amusement.

You shot him a death glare, desperate to shut this down before it spiraled further. But of course, it was already too late. The damage had been done.

They were here. And your family had seen them.

Your mother, ever the sharp one, raised an eyebrow through the screen. “Well, well, well,” she said, her voice teasing. “Looks like we have some guests, huh?”

Toji’s grin never faltered, and Sukuna simply leaned back against the doorframe, his smirk growing.

You were trapped.

It was only a matter of time before your family started asking questions you didn’t want to answer.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you heard your mother’s voice on the other side of the screen. “Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” she said, far too cheerful, like this was some sort of normal occurrence. You could already feel your brothers’ laughter bubbling up in the background.

Your patience snapped.

You had had enough. You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned on your heel, slamming the door with all your might. The sound echoed, harsh and final.

But of course, Toji wasn’t having it.

You heard the door thud as his hand shot out, catching it before it could close all the way. You barely had time to react before he was pushing it back open, grinning like the devil himself.

“You don’t really think you can just get rid of us that easily, do you?” Toji’s voice was low, playful, but there was no mistaking the challenge in it.

Sukuna leaned in the doorway, his gaze still sharp, still as smug as ever. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready.”

Your mouth went dry. You had just made everything worse.

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at them to leave, to let you have your peace. Instead, you stood there, trying not to let your irritation show too much. The last thing you needed was for them to see your weakness, your frustration.

Without asking, they made their way to the laptop on the table, both of them towering over it, staring down at the screen.

You quickly turned your attention to the video call, half-worried that your family was about to get a show they weren't prepared for. The last thing you wanted was for your mother to ask them questions or for your brothers to make some inappropriate comment.

To your surprise, though, Toji and Sukuna didn’t say anything crude. They didn’t make any obnoxious jokes or flirtatious comments like you expected. They didn’t make a scene.

Instead, both of them leaned in close to the screen, grinning like they’d won some sort of game, but their demeanor was almost… respectful.

“Hello,” Toji said, his voice smooth, with an air of warmth that almost caught you off guard. He was smiling, but it was sincere—nothing at all like his usual teasing tone. His eyes flicked to the screen as he added, “We’re Toji and Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

Sukuna’s smile was a little more restrained, but the glint in his eye didn’t soften. He nodded politely, just enough to be courteous. “Pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and calm.

You blinked. This wasn’t what you expected.

You could almost hear your mother’s voice crack through the screen, her eyes now focused on the two men standing at your table. “Well, hello,” she said, her tone still a bit skeptical, but undeniably curious. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N’s mother.”

The two men straightened up a little at the introduction, both nodding, but neither making a move to get too close to the camera. They were oddly reserved, like they knew the boundaries and were respecting them.

“Thanks for looking out for her,” Toji said casually, but there was an underlying sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard, and you felt your shoulders tense as you looked between them, trying to keep your composure.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to yours for a split second before he turned back to the laptop. “She’s been a pain in our ass, but we’re keeping an eye on her,” he added with a small smirk, though his voice lacked the usual taunting bite. It was more like an inside joke—something that was just between the three of you.

Your mother smiled at them, clearly not picking up on the layers of meaning in Sukuna’s words. “You two must be very close,” she commented, her tone light and friendly. “I’m glad my daughter has people like you around.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You wanted to snap at them, to tell your family to stop, but you were caught between your growing frustration and the bizarrely polite, almost charming version of Toji and Sukuna you hadn’t seen before.

Toji’s grin returned in full force as he gave a quick nod to your mother. “Of course. She’s a stubborn one, but we’re good at dealing with stubborn people,” he said, his voice warm but still carrying that unmistakable edge of teasing.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, Sukuna spoke up again, his voice softer than usual. “We’re just making sure she doesn’t get into trouble. She tends to cause it without even trying.”

You tried not to flinch at his words, but deep down, it stung. It wasn’t exactly wrong.

Your mother chuckled, clearly enjoying the conversation. She had no idea how much this conversation was grating on your nerves. “She sure does like to cause a little trouble, doesn’t she?”

You shot them both a glare, but they didn’t even flinch. They had already won this round.

The strangest thing, though, was that as much as you wanted to push them away, this version of Toji and Sukuna—the one who wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t being crude or overwhelming—felt even worse. This respectful, controlled version of them was a whole new kind of frustrating.

As the conversation continued, you silently cursed yourself. How was it that every time they showed up, you were forced to face something new—something you weren’t ready for?

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” you said abruptly, not even giving them a chance to respond. You quickly clicked the ‘end call’ button on your laptop, cutting off the image of your family before they could protest.

You heard the faint buzz of their protest on the other end, but you couldn’t stand it anymore. You needed to get away from this—them. The awkward silence that followed the call seemed to stretch endlessly in your head.

When the screen finally went black, you exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders sagging in relief. You didn't want to hear your mom's nagging or deal with the endless stream of questions from your brothers. Not with them here.

But as soon as the silence settled, you realized—they hadn’t left yet.

Toji and Sukuna were still standing there, smirking, still like they owned the place. They hadn’t moved an inch since the video call ended.

You didn’t know if you should be more frustrated with your family or them.

“So,” Sukuna drawled, breaking the silence with a lazy stretch, “that was fun. Do you want us to stick around? We could’ve stayed longer.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, but you tried to stay calm, not wanting to lose it in front of them—again. “No. You’ve done enough. I appreciate the help, but—”

“To be fair,” Toji interrupted, his voice teasing, “you didn’t exactly look thrilled to see us show up, did you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m just... I’m tired.”

The last thing you wanted was to get tangled up in another one of their games.

But, damn it, you could feel the pull again—despite everything. Their presence was still so overwhelming. The way they just stood there, watching you, like they were waiting for you to fall in line. Like you were supposed to bend to whatever they wanted.

Sukuna grinned, that sly, knowing smirk creeping up again. “Yeah, I think you are tired. But, you know,” he added, glancing at Toji, “we wouldn’t mind hanging out for a bit. Make sure you're settling in.”

You could see where this was going—again.

“Look, I just need some space.” You said it firmly, stepping toward the door, hand gripping the handle. “Thank you for everything, but I’m fine now. I just need some time alone.”

Toji’s eyes flicked to Sukuna before he shrugged. “Alright, but don’t take too long,” he said, voice heavy with that damn teasing tone. “You’ll need us eventually.”

Sukuna snorted, but said nothing as he followed Toji out of the door.

You closed it behind them, the moment they were out of sight, and leaned against it, breathing in a deep breath. You didn’t know whether you were angry, embarrassed, or just utterly frustrated by the whole situation.

But the feeling that gnawed at you most was the one you couldn’t shake—the one that left your heart pounding in your chest. Even after everything, even after pushing them away, you couldn’t deny the pull they had on you.

And that made you madder than anything else. ~~~ The following days dragged on in a blur of restless waiting. You kept busy around the cabin, trying to distract yourself from the reality that you had to rely on them to fix your car. The constant tension between wanting independence and needing help felt like an endless back-and-forth, and you were starting to lose patience with the entire situation.

But then, finally, the message you’d been waiting for appeared on your phone.

“Car’s fixed. We’ll drop it off tomorrow. I’ll drive it, and Sukuna will bring the truck.”

You stared at the message from Toji, a mix of annoyance and relief bubbling inside you. At least it would be over soon. You’d have your car back, and hopefully, you wouldn’t have to deal with them for a while after that.

The next day, you tried to keep yourself occupied, but every noise outside seemed to send your mind spiraling. The quiet of the woods made the waiting feel even worse, like the world was holding its breath just as you were. You could already feel the pull of them, like gravity, reminding you that you were too close to them for comfort.

By midday, you heard the rumble of engines. You couldn’t help but glance out the window, seeing their truck pulling up to your place—Toji in the driver’s seat of your car, Sukuna at the wheel of the truck.

They stopped in front of the cabin, both of them stepping out with that same smug expression you’d grown to hate and secretly crave. You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck despite yourself.

Toji made his way toward your front door with his usual confident stride, throwing a casual wave as he approached. Sukuna followed behind, taking his time, eyes lingering on you as usual.

“Your car’s good as new,” Toji said with that teasing grin you could never quite figure out. He leaned against your doorframe casually, his eyes raking over you, as if he knew the effect he had on you. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

You folded your arms, standing your ground. “Yeah, thanks.” You could feel the irritation bubbling beneath your cool facade. "I appreciate the help, but I don't need a babysitter."

Sukuna snorted behind you, his deep voice smooth. “Who says we’re babysitting? We’re just making sure you don’t break down on the way back into town, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you said dryly, looking over at them both. “I can handle it. But thanks for fixing it.”

Toji gave a lazy shrug, “Figured we’d make sure it was working properly. No more issues, at least not for a while.”

You hesitated, then stepped outside, locking the door behind you. The air was crisp, and the woods around you felt silent except for their voices. Toji walked to your car and opened the door like it was just another day, while Sukuna lingered by the truck, his eyes never leaving you.

You couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat, but you pushed the feeling aside, telling yourself it was just the tension from being near them too long.

“Let’s go,” Toji said, tapping the roof of your car with a grin. “Sukuna’s getting impatient.”

You glanced at Sukuna, who was leaning on the truck with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. He raised an eyebrow at you as if daring you to make a move.

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath, finally walking over to your car and sliding into the driver's seat.

Toji climbed into the passenger side of your car, Sukuna following you both to the truck with an almost lazy swagger. You started the engine, and as you pulled out of the driveway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still watching, still pushing you in a way that made your heart race.

The drive into town wasn’t long, but with both Toji and Sukuna by your side, the tension felt unbearable, thick enough to cut through the air between you. The thought of breaking away from them, of getting to a place where you could think clearly, was something you ached for—but they weren’t making it easy.

"How does it feel to finally get your car back?" Toji asked, his voice low, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You were starting to get used to us, huh?"

You bit back the urge to retort, but instead focused on the road ahead. The last thing you needed was to play into their teasing games.

Sukuna, ever the troublemaker, shot you a smirk. "You look like you're about to bite someone's head off. What's wrong, princess? Not enjoying the ride?"

You gritted your teeth, pretending their teasing didn’t affect you. But deep down, you knew the truth—you hated how much it did.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @tojislongshlong , @jaxawinchester , @ectomotive , @hishearttohave Perma Tags: @thenightperson

[lilithrosexoxo]

Ch. 5 Nightfall

Supper was uneventful, Elowen continued to uselessly flirt with Jinwoo even in front of her mate. Your siblings mates typically joined you all for supper. You honestly felt sorry for the beta. He was a kind man and Elowen didn’t deserve him. Bazz’s family was still visiting the kingdom which meant they were staying at the castle which unfortunately meant he attempted to flirt with you but after receiving a warning growl from Jinwoo he backed off. The twins fought over another meal while Aldwin cracked jokes all throughout supper to lighten your mood and you were highly appreciative.

After supper you retire to your room until you see your door opening and you knew it could only be one person. Only one person is able to enter your nest without asking permission, your best friend Astrid. You two were practically sisters after your father brought her to the castle from the orphanage. People often overlooked her because her father was a serial killer that was convicted and executed. Unfortunately for her the tabloids caught wind of her and she was deemed the child with bad blood. Your father took pity on her and decided to raise her in the castle as your personal knight.

“Y/N!”, she shouts as she lunges at you and tackles you to the bed with a huge smile on her face, her yellow eyes blazing, “You found them after all these years. I’m so happy, I know you thought the goddess forsaked you but, I always knew you would find your fated mate”, she says, squeezing you tightly.

You return her hug with equal fervor. Astrid was always there for you and always said you would find your fated mate even as the years went by. 

You chuckle, “Yes yes yes you were right but can you believe it? My alpha is THE Sung Jinwoo!”, you squeal.

“You got the best alpha. He’s so capable and such a strong commander. He’s what every alpha dreams of being. Of course the best alpha is the best fit for the best prime omega”, she says, holding her head up high looking at you with pride. You feel your heart swell with praise. 

“Thank you for always believing in me Astrid. I wouldn’t be here without you”, you say as you feel tears well up in your eyes, “Jinwoo is such a kind and determined alpha”, you sigh dreamily.

In the distance you both hear a deep boom and feel the earth quake causing you to gasp. Astrid springs into action and draws out her sword. She puts her communicator in her ear to see what’s going on.

“There’s an attack by demons. Damnit first the elves and now demons. We need to get you and the rest of the royal family into the bunker. Let’s go”, she says as you both run out the room and down the corridor.

“Wait, we need to let Jinwoo know what’s going on! I won’t leave him behind!”, you shout as Astrid tries to drag you away.

“Let’s make this quick”, she says as you run down the hall.

She bangs on the door, “Alpha Sung we’re under attack. We require your help. Our numbers are thin due to the elves previous attacks”, she states and the door bursts open.

Jinwoo is clad in all black with a serious look in his eye.

“Take Y/N to safety, I’ll handle this threat with my remaining soldiers and the castle knights”, he commands as another explosion rocks the earth. 

Astrid takes you by the hand, “Let’s go Y/N”, you both go to turn towards the direction of the bunker. Your heart is racing as you feel the adrenaline kick in. You keep your guard up looking out for any stray demons coming your way until a figure lands in front of you.

Yellow eyes meet yours as you begin to quake in fear when the realization hits you. You’re not just being attacked by demons but by a prince of hell. This was the worst possible time for your father to be gone. Towering in front of you is none other than Beelzebub. You’ve only seen pictures of him before but his aura is menacing.

“Get behind me Y/N”, Astrid says as she assumes a fighting position.

She lunges and her and Beelzebub meet in a clash of swords. Astrid isn’t attacking, just defending; she can’t seem to find an opening to cut off his head and put an end to this battle. 

“Wow, is this the best the castle knights can do?”, he says with a chuckle, “It’s time to kick things up a notch”, he says as he begins to flit through the corridor. Cuts start to appear on Astrid’s body and it becomes clear what’s going on, he’s toying with her. He can end her life at any second but is choosing to draw out the battle. It doesn’t take long before blood is dripping down her body onto the floor but she still stands. She swore to protect you and that’s what she’ll do even if it costs her life.

“Ooooo~ we have a determined one don’t we. Usually prey should recognize the difference between strength of a predator and cower in fear yet you resist? What is the motivator behind your determination? It wouldn’t be that sweet omega behind you would it? Who is it your mate?”, he says with a sinister smile.

Suddenly he disappears in a flash and appears before you. Yellow eyes glare down at you as he reaches forward, hand pointed aiming right at your chest.

Jinwoo could only look on in a panic as he begins to run towards you forcing all of his mana to his feet to move faster; all his soldiers are busy fighting demons and he can’t send any to you in time. Once he recognized the prince of hell he began to make his way towards you but he couldn't keep up with Beezlebub’s speed; he wasn't going to make it in time. He still wasn’t strong enough, he was going to lose you! He was going to lose another person he cared about right in front of his eyes. 

You see a shadow jump in front of you and Beezlebub’s hand goes right through. You watch as a beaded necklace falls to the ground and shatters. Wait, why does that necklace look so familiar? Your vision clears and the person before you comes to light. It’s Astrid. The necklace that fell was the one you made for her when you were children. No, no no this can’t be. You catch her as she falls to the ground. Blood there’s so much blood pouring out of her from the gaping hole in her chest. Even with an alphas advanced healing there’s no way she can recover from this.

“A-Astrid…”, you croak out your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Y/N, my sister, my flame. I love you and I will always watch over you. Thank you for caring and lo-loving someone like me. W-with bad blood”, you hear her say with a smile as she chokes on her own blood reaching up for your face.

You catch her hand and put it on your cheek, blood smearing in the process. Tears stream down your face and onto hers, “Astrid please don’t leave me”, you choke out. This cannot be happening right now. You cling to her as you see life leave her eyes and feel her hand flop. You feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. “No no no no no, Astrid you have to get up, please don’t leave me”, you shout but she’s gone. You can’t believe she’s gone. That you won’t be able to spend any more time together, see her smile, see her yellow eyes and flaming red hair dancing in the wind as she battles.

While Beezlebub is distracted watching the scene unfold before him with a sinister grin Jinwoo swoops in; however, his daggers immediately meet a sword. Beating a prince of hell won’t be easy especially with Igris and Beru gone, “Mages aim your attacks towards Beezlebub and fire!”, he commands Tusk and the other mages.

It’s a direct hit and Jinwoo prepares to go in for the final kill but all he hears is laughter. Beezlebub leaves the center of the attack without a scratch on him. Jinwoo decides that it’s time for a stealth attack and uses his mana to become invisible.

“Oh you’re quite different from the other mutts roaming around aren’t you Alpha Sung?”, Beezlebub says. 

Jinwoo circles him, muscles tensing as he prepares for another attack; the only way he’ll be able to take him out is with a surprise attack. He lunges and goes straight for his throat but unsurprisingly he meets a sword yet again.

“Really a sneak attack? How pathetic truly and here I thought the great Alpha Sung would entertain me”, he says with a smirk as he lowers his guard figuring this will be child’s play. Jinwoo smiles as he activates commander touch and brings his other dagger and slices his ankles bringing the prince to his knees. The look on his face would be priceless if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Tusk! Use the orb and unleash everything you have on him now! Use Wisteria rain”, he shouts. A column of purple rains down upon the prince and Jinwoo smells the sizzling flesh and hears the prince scream in agony. He goes in for the kill while he’s weakened and one more swipe of his dagger sends his head rolling.

“Your arrogance was your downfall”, he says as he speaks to the head that’s slowly crumbling away.

“No matter, my brothers will avenge me. We will lay claim to this dimension”, Beezlebub says as he fades away.

With the prince dead Jinwoo goes to you but stops in his tracks as he gets hit with a sense of deja vu. You’re still clinging to Astrid’s lifeless body as tears stream down your face. A horrible memory is brought to the surface as he thinks of the friend he’s lost. The fight ended with his last shadow soldier wiping out the last demon but the damage has been done.

He sees your family, guests, and the remaining knights come to you after hearing your cries and the scene makes them gasp.

“No not Astrid”, your mother says as she goes to you.

“You’re supposed to be THE Sung Jinwoo and you couldn’t protect Y/N from this pain. You are a horrible alpha, you don’t deserve Y/N”, Bazz screams.

Who does he think he’s talking to? He’s aware that he failed you tonight; he doesn't need him rubbing it in. Jinwoo gives him a murderous glare that makes his blood run cold and Bazz immediately backs down and rushes to your side.

All of a sudden you feel a raging inferno burning you from the inside. You scream as pain begins to overwhelm you. Your body bends unnaturally as fire flares through your veins.

“Please it burns”, you cry out as you shut your eyes to try to block out the pain.

“What’s happening to her?”, your mother shouts as she runs to you and cradles you in her arms.

Jinwoo kneels and feels your forehead, you’re burning up. He sees intricate blue and red symbols start to weave across your skin while your body starts to glow. He knows what’s happening all too well but he’d rather this happen then have you drop and risk losing you forever.

“She’s awakening”, he tells your mother and she’s stunned. An omega awakening? There’s no recollection of something like this happening; it should only be alphas that can awaken and that’s after suffering true heartbreak. At least that’s what she’s always been told but as she sees you writhe in her arms and with an experienced alpha like Alpha Sung confirming it, it must be true.

“Alpha Sung please, what can we do for my daughter?”

“Nothing, we just have to wait and try to make her as comfortable as possible”.

It’s the last thing you hear before the world goes black.

[anxiousapplepie]

Apologies if my previous ask gave you a lot of trouble. But it's probably gonna happen again because I still have more questions inside my brain, and I very much will connect dots somewhere.

So, time to ask about plot. Lapis and her crew have to deal with being diplomats and detectives, probably trying to figure out the whole deal with a lot of things. While I am curious who exactly are the 'enemies' on both sides, (my bet is probably gonna be on the Bugs, considering you mentioned wanting them to skitter off and cause problems elsewhere, but it probably isn't just one species causing problems in this case) I'd rather ask about something else for now just to get an idea of the main political players.

First off, is Queen Rosamund the Rose Queen who was assassinated? Permanent or temporary death? And if it is her, that technically means her son Wilfred would probably get the crown, yes? Unless there's some bullshit that happens...

Secondly, we don't know anything about the Dragon King other than the fact he was dethroned by someone. Who exactly are both of them? What are the latter's goals?

But I also know this is a lot for me to ask. Answer only what you feel comfortable answering if you wanna keep other things secret for now. ☆

absolutely no worries but also thank you for giving me something more specific to answer! I'll want to keep a lot of cards close to my chest, but I can give you some dots to collect and follow! <3 To answer the first question: Yes! Queen Rosamund is the one who is going to be assassinated at the worst time possible. But it's a temporary death! (this is the RK world, after all! And I'm going to make a running joke about politicians hiring assassins to kill off rivals and opponents, so the Queen getting offed isn't exactly surprisingly even if it's VERY weird whoever killed her got past all of her Spider protectors) And yes, if Rosamund is dead for any reason, Wilfred is put in charge and he's the one running the show until his mum revives. But of course I'll be saving the reason why that's going to become an absolute trashcan fire that'll explode when I tell the official RK story >:3c Secondly, uhhhhhh Dragons kinda go through Kings and Queens and Rulers like toast. The average span of a Dragon King is like, 2-3 years before the next one dethrones them or executes them or humiliates them in front of the whole forest. It's hard to keep track who's in charge, apart from whoever is still on the Council. So none of the Roses KNOW who the new Dragon King is. As for the new Dragon King's agenda? It's simple! A tiny bit of revenge, but honestly he's trying to end this bloody war as quickly as possible so everyone can finally move on with their lives. And if he has to kill all the Dragons or all Roses to do it? Fine with him.

I'm saving most of my Dragon secrets for later, but until then I am very excited you've taken an interest in the Dragon side of the war! Hope these crumbs keep you amused for a bit! :3

[cvnt4him]

hinting to tobio you like him is....not as easy as you think.

The kurasuno boys are practicing for a little while, you sit next to yachi and occasionally speak to her about whatever it is that comes to mind, laughing and giggling quietly to not disturb the practice.

You can't help but to admire the setter. He truly was graceful, hes so beautiful in his own way. Those luminescent blue eyes of his, so deep and full of life, full of potential. He's so sweet and stupid.

A small smile forms on your face as you watch closely, the boys bringing their practice to a final stop. You take the end of the day as an excuse to speak to him. It's not as if you guys aren't friends or haven't spoken to each other before, but ever since you've developed this silly crush on him you can't help but wanna be around him.

“ hey, nice practice, hm?”

“ yup.”

He was bland with you as he gave you a small nod as a 'thank you' for the bottle. You bite your lip with a smile as you look up to him, he closed his eyes and drank from his bottle tuning out the rest of the world. He was so pretty up close....

Again, it's not like you havent been near him before but...he's just so gorgeous....like when he's all sweaty and you can..smell him.........

You inhale deeply unintentionally, your thoughts taking over you and telling you to do it. It was so loud you think, you get embarrassed when he opens his eyes and raises one of his brows looking down at you. You groan and turn away mentally face palming and digging a hole in the ground.

You decided this was it. The worst he could say was no right? You decided to grow a pair and ask him out. Maybe like sus out the vibe before you do at least...

“ hey..so uh, tobi, are you like...busy sometime I—”

“ what did you call me?”

Huh-...he stops you mid sentence and stares at you, one brow cocked as he stared down at you. Kageyama isn't a shy person, he doesn't struggle with eye contact or talking to people like the average person would. It's almost as if he was leering over you with how tall he was...

“ uh.. i- y'know, everyone kind of uhm.. has a nickname and.. you....don't?”

He hums, one of his hands finding it's way to his hips and he thinks about it rather hard. You're honestly glad he's putting thought into it, because now you don't have to think about how cringey what you were about to say was.

“ ..hey yeah, you're right. tsukishima gets called tsukki, I think I've heard a few people call that idiot sho as well... why don't I have a nickname.”

He pouts to himself as he genuinely thinks about it more. It's so cute. He's so silly and stupid and himself, so dense to anything other than volleyball. Idiot. A smile brings itself back to your face as you giggle.

“ nicknames are normally a sign someone likes you, y'know?”

You aren't sure if he's listening or the hum he gave you was just to make you feel like he was. But you took it to heart.

“ I guess.”

His voice was rather bland, not giving much energy. Okay, you think to yourself...he's keeping it going, maybe this is the leverage you needed to sus out what you wanna hear.....

“ you're the first person to give me a nickname.”

“ is that right.”

He looks back at you, his normally stern face relaxing a bit. He nods and lets out a small 'mhm'. So fucking cute oh my goodness. You normally have such a hard time looking him in the eyes by the way he doesn't shy away or back down like you would, he holds eye contact perfectly. And goodness they are so effing gorgeous..

You let out a small scoff, one that catches his attention.

“ yeah..”

“ so what, have you never liked someone before?”

Kageyama turns his head to the side in confusion, he wasn't quite sure what you meant. Gosh he is so cute.

“ what do you mean?”

You giggle at his words, shifting your weight onto one of your legs as you cock your head to the side slightly, a smile still present as you don't look away from him.

“ have you never given anyone a nickname, y'know have you never liked anyone?”

He thinks about it once more, tobio can't exactly recall the last time he ever had feelings for someone. He's never given anyone a nickname. He's not even sure if he has had feelings for anyone.

“ hmm...no. I can't say that I have.”

Bingo. He's never been with anyone! Even better, he's never had feelings for someone!! But..its likely he doesn't even like people...not that he's in to animals or anything, but maybe he just doesn't have feelings for people.. maybe you don't stand a chance.

Your smile slightly fades as you think about it. Your eyes flickering away from his and moving towards the ground, your confidence fleeting as you're heavy in thought.

“ what uhm..kind of people would you say you're into, then.”

“ uh, probably someone with the same interests as me y'know. basics, I like volleyball so as long as they like volleyball too I think that's solid.”

You groan lightly and look back at him. It's not that you think volleyball is uninteresting or uncool or anything. You joined the club because you needed an extra curricular, y'know it helps your thing being a manager of them y'know. Getting to stare at hot boys was just a bonus.

“ huh. so I'd have to be into volleyball to go out with you. lame.”

“ yup.”

Kageyama was quick to answer before it even registered in his head.. you hum and pat his shoulder before walking away giving your 'goodnights' to everyone and leaving.

He watches you leave, his face as normal and stern. Kageyama stretches and gathers his stuff before Tanaka runs over with Hinata and noya joking and laughing

“ dude! she was flirting with you!”

Tanaka yells out slapping kageyama on the back, noya laughs and punches him in the arm.

“ wow man, I didn't know you had it like that! the rizz is rizzing.”

“ don't say that.”

Tsukishima says walking beside tadashi as he waves to everyone beside his taller friend.

“ what? y/n wouldn't flirt with me. y/n wouldn't try to ruin our friendship like that.”

“ what makes you think you can't be friends and in a relationship.”

“ that's why it's called 'girlfriend' dude.”

Noya and Tanaka tell kageyama, Hinata snickers and laughs at kageyamas stupidity.

“ I'm not surprised, of course you wouldn't know anything about relationships!”

“ SHUT UP, DUMBASS!”

Poor kageyama was all red and flustered now. He thought about it, you basically said you liked him... And it completely flew over his head..was he really that bad at relationships? He's never been in one. Would you dislike that? Why did you like him? You were friends?

Could you really be his friend and his girlfriend?

[rush-the-stars]

cielo, in regular intervals I think about your horror movie director getou. literally can't get him out of my mind, especially as we're moving into horror movie season.

might I be so bold as to inquire if you have aaaaaany crumbs or thoughts about him at all? I will eat up even the littlest piece of information

thank you anyway, even if there is nothing you can say or add right now. I really appreciate your presence on the dash ❤

anon…….its okay i also think about him way more than i should……

you MAY be so bold…here are some crumbs of ideas i’ve always had but never had the time/energy to fully write:

i see getou as a surrealist horror director and enjoyer. also deeply psychosexual type of films.

i think i’ve said this but in this au the reader is like an up and coming indie actor. kinda green and new but a powerhouse of talent. getou sees your tape for the first time and is instantly obsessed.

in this au actually he gets hard watching it bc he’s a creep. the audition tape is of you frightened and lashing out. tears in your eyes. shaking and wild.

he wants to pair you with gojo whose his favorite more seasoned actor. on top of having a good work relationship, gojo is his close friend. and who better to mentor you on set than gojo?

getou is the type of director that likes to be quite personal and hands on. on takes that don’t require audio, you can hear his steady direction and guiding of you—“that’s it, take it in slowly. slooowly. let it wash over you. good—good—now let the realization bleed through, the horror…(a little hitch in his breath), that’s it. perfect—perfect.”

director getou who gets to decide what he wants for the intimacy scenes with you and gojo. who gets to tell gojo where to put his hands on you—tells you the sounds to make and how to move. when to enjoy it. when to be scared.

director getou who likes to sorta….fuss over your costumes and hair and makeup. touches it up himself so that you’re perfect for him. for his film…

director getou and how he gets to watch you work yourself up in his scenes to get so so so scared. breathing so hard. teary eyed. who just loves to watch it back….watch you squirm and fight and scramble away…..

director getou who even after when you do other films with other directors, believes no one knows how to capture the force of you like he does.

who always asks you back for his next film now. who always has some strange and shocking part for you…..

i’m a little late to answering so i’m sorry!! but i hope you enjoy anon 💗 he is awful…….

[achillean-knight]

Spamton? If you want to ofc :)

I would like you to know, Anon, I have never drawn Spamton so he looks-- very goofy and very off, but also I had so much fun just drawing him BAHA

[mobius-m-mobius]

a mr tesseract thought: the tva has so many infinity stones… just sitting there… they might not notice a handful of paperweights go missing

Anon you've got my full attention 👀👀

Absolutely living for all the renewed Mr. Tesseract theories and origin stores going around because he's just too perfect to continue the current story!?? I'd always pictured a Mobius variant eventually entering the picture, having succumbed to the power of the Tesseract after needing to save Loki in some way but never in a million years imagined before now that *our* Mobius could end up in that exact situation...

Plus tbh I almost feel Loki going about their self-sacrifice in such an isolated way, reliving all those centuries determined to find a solution without involving anyone else, had an obviously noble goal but a means in such a misguided way which has almost ensured Mobius will do something similar.

Mobius isn't okay. He's on a timeline that can never be his (partially to escape the memories of Loki by his side everywhere he looks in the TVA and hopefully so that back in the flow of time Loki can at least see him again as some form of company still), looking at a life I think he greatly admires but wouldn't personally want even given the choice, and seemingly the only one left directionless and without purpose with Loki being gone.

It wouldn't be a stretch to think loneliness would turn to frustration (because he's done nothing but repress *everything* in the past and deserves to finally burst and be angry and figure out how to express his emotions), confusion, and finally desperation at the thought he might be the only one who cares enough to burn things to the ground in an attempt to either find Loki again or bring him home. I've been headcanoning that similar to Loki in the last episode, Mobius will start putting himself more and more at risk searching for a solution and cut everyone at the TVA off while doing so to keep them from worrying about what he's getting involved in and stop him, which of course eventually leads right to the Tesseract as potentially one of the only methods left of traveling to what I assume is the end of time or somewhere similar.

Bonus points if Loki is watching every moment, unable to do a thing as the Mobius he knows slips further and further away while experimenting with the Tesseract until finally he can't see him on the timeline at all anymore, and as he mourns a crackle of blue energy opens nearby. Loki immediately realizes what's happened and calls desperately for Mobius, but when the figure who exits steps closer he's all cold, hard lines and an blank, electric blue stare. Temporary amnesia v4.0 let's go but make it even more angsty this time 😂😅 Eventually the Power of Love™ wins out of course but that's pretty much my dream arc for now!

[magic-coffee]

I just want to feel appreciated 😞

[steviescrystals]

somebody has to be playing a prank on me today like this is not real!

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[sunnami]

the 5 times you did (not) love each other and the 1 time you did.

summary. as the title suggests. this one was a request! i hope you enjoyed my version of this anon.

pairing/s. poly!marauders + lily / reader.

wc. 4.1k

tags. hurt/comfort, angst, peter pettigrew mention, not proofread, like seriously, fluff, happy ending.

cws: brief mention of violence and blood.

note: i am alive?? crazy. i began this fic, whilst sick, around august, nursing the worst headache ever. i wrote the middle of this fic, sick. and i think it's only fitting that i finished this fic. sick... honestly, i did not proofread any of this, i just know i lowkey love it. after the first one-thousand words, i just spiral and become delirious, so i don't even know what happened here. my first request finished! yippee! and thank you all for 2k :< i love you all so much.

i. 

SIRIUS BLACK did not love you—not even close, not even a little bit. Not even at all.

After Peter Pettigrew’s slight against his family, Sirius would never hold warmth or pity for the skittish mouse ever again. He was played for a fool. And, he did not know which betrayal had hurt more. Peter’s—or yours. (Had you known all along of your adoptive brother’s plans? Did you not think for one second that Sirius would, without a sliver of hesitation, put himself in the way of a killing curse to keep you safe? He’d have died before ever letting the fire in your eyes wither to ashes. Clearly, you did not share the same sentiment.) 

He wanted nothing to do with you. Ever. And if the rat-bastard dared to show his face, not even Death would know where to put Peter’s body to rest. Sirius would keep him alive until he begged for death—until the idea of living frightened him more than dying. And for you—beholder of his heart, captor of his soul, and co-possessor of his mind—he could only hope that you stayed far away. You had wrecked him—all of them. 

He wanted—

He did not know what he wanted. 

For when it came to you, Sirius Black was reduced to a man wandering the deserts—mistaking clouds for water, and the sands for grass blades. You had ravaged every fiber of his being; consumed his every thought and word. The most ironic part of all was that if you had been the one standing there—Sirius would have let you Avada him. Dumbledore could scold him in the afterlife—Sirius could care less. He’d have snapped his wand in half and asked someone else to fight you because Sirius had vowed from the moment he met you that he would never harm a hair on your head. He would never be the reason that tears stained your pretty cheeks. 

Well, apparently, trust and promises were not worth a damn thing nowadays. 

No, he did not love you—even as you stood on the steps of Grimmauld, your hair ruined by the downpour of rain. Your lips bruised and bitten from a nervous habit Sirius had yet to break out of you. 

“I didn’t know, Sirius,” you whispered—your voice the only sound falling on his ears amidst all the thunder and lightning. He only saw you. “Y-You have to believe me. If I knew—Gods, I would have told Dumbledore in a heartbeat. Fuck. I thought you knew me better than that.” 

He thought so, too. 

“Did you know?” Sirius began, taking a step forward and into the storm, a demeaning sneer on his lips. “That when Voldemort stood in our home, your portrait was right behind him? That was all I could look at. If I had died—you would have been the last thing I saw.” 

You had not replied. 

Sirius grit his teeth. “Go,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“Go!” he yelled, grateful for the rain as it masked his own tears as you flinched from the sound of his voice. Not the thunderclap, the lightning strike—but it was him who scared you. 

(But you had done so first.) 

When you apparated away, Sirius crumbled to the ground and pounded his fists against the asphalts where you were moments ago, screaming and cursing until he saw blood flowing with the rainwater.

It was laughable, really. The way he did not love you. 

It was not love that drove him to madness, pummeling Gideon Prewett into a bloody pulp for mentioning your name during a meeting with the Order. He had presumed you to be a Death Eater alongside your brother—Sirius instantly saw nothing but red. (He condemned Bellatrix, his own cousin, for becoming a madwoman. Yet, here he was, unraveled by the very thought of you. The very whisper of your name.) 

But whatever it was that had turned him into a fool and a hypocrite all at once, it was not love. 

ii. 

JAMES POTTER had no love for you—make no mistake about that. He loved love, and he did so fiercely and truthfully. But you and Peter had broken his trust—defiled his loyalty from the moment your brother had brought Voldemort to his doorstep. (Did you know that as he begged and screamed for Lily to hide with their son, Harry—he thought of you? For a fleeting moment, he saw your face, marked by fear and tear-rimmed eyes. And James knew straight away that he would spit on Tom Riddle’s bare feet if only to keep his family safe. If only to see you once more. Alive and well. But, you must not have thought the same—if you had conspired with Peter to sell him and Lily out to the Devil reborn.) 

The thought of you breathing was enough to keep James alive. 

But, that was not love. It was a mockery of it. 

No, he did not feel so much as a twinge of emotion for you. Not even as Mad-Eye Moody brought your limp body back to Grimmauld. It was not love that threatened the magic in his being—that simmered in his blood until the painted walls saw an indent of his fist. (“Poor thing,” McGonagall cooed as she pressed her palm over your forehead. Despite some of the members’ growing distrust for you, you still took an Unforgivable in their stead. “We can only wait. . . Four Cruciatus curses. . .”) 

What more did James need to want to rip Peter apart limb by limb? 

It was not love that rooted his feet by your side. Sitting hunched on a chair too small for his height, bags beneath his eyes, and the pale of his lips becoming noticeable to everyone who spoke to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to you lovelessly—hands desperately clutching your own. Sirius stood across the room, arms crossed over his chest, dagger-like eyes waiting for so much as a twitch of your finger. “I’m sorry.”

It was a plea this time.

He only hoped you did not ask him to love you. For James could give you the world, hand-pick the stars, and burrow his body deep beneath the ground if you had asked for it—but he could not love you. 

Everyone had told him not to hope that you would wake up. That your pretty eyes would not flutter open, and you would no longer look at him as you had before. But James was stubborn. He was selfish as he was stubborn. He did not love you—but he needed to hear the sound of your voice. And James would take it any way that he could. The soft cadence of a whisper, or a rough utterance of a single word. Molly Weasley told him to accept reality for what it was. (“You need sleep, dear,” the matriarch fussed. “There’s nothing we can do. Look at the Longbottoms. . . We can do no more for this one as we had done for them.”) 

In the still of the night, he left his reveries on the cold of your skin. “Wake up,” he demanded. 

“Wake up or else you’re the traitor everyone thinks you are,” James hissed. 

But his words held no heat—and his heart held no love for you. 

Make no mistake about that.

Then, when you finally woke up, disoriented and throat parched—a hazy recollection of the weeks before—James made sure that no more than four people could enter the room. He did not care if a hurricane, or if Voldemort himself—James had faced him once already, after all—threatened to break the door down. You were theirs to protect.

 (But not to love.) 

“We need to begin the questioning, James, you know that,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, almost exasperatedly; weary lines written across his face. James would not allow even a toe beyond the doorway. An interrogation meant you had something to do with the attempted murder of James and his family. Whether or not you were innocent, James did not care—he just wanted you safe. 

(And a small part of him already knew that you were not your brother’s keeper. Just as they had absolved Sirius of his family’s sins. It would be unfair to not show you the same grace. But before his mind knew that, James’s heart and soul had known the truth all along.) 

He found Sirius gently tending to your every need, and already James knew that was Padfoot’s way of begging for forgiveness. The ebony-haired man hung onto your every word. He winced when you flinched, and pressed his apologies to your forehead, rasping for a kindness he did not deserve. Not after what he did. How he turned you away and cursed your name. How they betrayed you. 

James did not love you. 

But what else could he call the manacles that bound his hands and forced him to his knees when it came to you? 

Not. Love. 

iii. 

REMUS LUPIN could not bring himself to love you. But, he could not love Sirius, Lily, and James either. He was undeserving of such a privilege. But he was not allowed to love you; Remus could only hope that you saw even a shred of worth in him—to wrest each word from his lips and every breath from his lungs. But, he did not love you. No. 

Because loving you meant he was to tell you of your brother’s crimes. And Remus could not hurt you like that. 

“P-Peter?” you had asked, wearing the eyes of a fretful sibling. Remus lifted his hand to tuck a strand of hair gone astray behind your ear. Bellatrix had done a number on you—just as she had done to Alice and Frank. Remus was fairly certain that Sirius was off on a hunt for his cousin, his mind toyed with by the barbarity of war. What they could not do for the Longbottoms, they’d wring themselves dry to do for you. After the Lestranges’ attack, you suffered damage to your throat and memories. Remus could not bear to see you in such pain. 

He could not give you love, but Remus would offer up to you his every limb, and the weary skin upon his bones. 

“They. . .” Remus grimaced. How could he act as the bearer of bad news? He’d rather dive headfirst into shark-infested waters. Be anywhere else but here. In fact, Remus would rather snatch you away from the funereal walls, and hold you in his arms in the quietude of dawn, than be the one to bring anguish to your eyes. “They’re looking for him at the moment, love.” 

One question lingered in your eyes: Why? 

Luckily, Sirius was always the better one at sharpening a blunt knife. “He was a traitor,” he spat like acid. “A traitor to the Order. A traitor to us. He’s no friend of ours. Not anymore.” 

But Sirius knew—better than anyone else—how difficult it can be to truly hate little brothers, especially once they’ve gone. 

“No. . .” You trembled, almost retching as you sobbed into your palms. 

Remus held you then, the front of his shirt soaked in your tears, eyes firmly shut as you trembled and heaved in his arms. The sound of your guttural screams bounced off the four walls, and Remus had to bury his nose in your hair. You were alive. Safe. Breathing. But you felt cold as ice; an empty husk stripped bare for grief to take over. And Remus could do nothing but hold you. (He just hoped that wherever Peter Pettigrew was, Remus would not be the first one to find him. Otherwise, they would not be able to recover even a fingernail from his remains.)

“Hush, love,” Remus whispered into your ear as you cried yourself sick. Mourning the loss of your brother, reeling from the betrayal of a bond that was supposed to be stronger than blood. Remus would make him pay, he vowed as much to you. No, Remus and the wolf in him did not know how to love. But he knew how to hurt. And, that, he’d gladly do for you. His body was for you to use as a shield, his soul for you to strip bare, and his heart for you to thieve and never return. 

“Don’t cry,” said James, a shadow cast over his frames. “Not for Peter. Never. Fucking bastard will get what’s coming to him.” He laid on the vacant space of the bed, gently untangling your hands that were pressed over your heart. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They all would.

But not because they loved you. 

It was not out of love, Remus had to remind himself in the coming days, when he stayed diligently by your side as you recovered. Daily sessions with the best healer St. Mungo’s could offer—as if James would allow anything else. There were days your eyes would glaze over, your words rough and sluggish, and Remus would try his damndest to make you smile. 

It was the least he could do. 

For failing to protect you. 

But that was not love. 

(It was hope. Wretched, disastrous hope as he fell to his knees, and your name in between his teeth.)

iv. 

LILY EVANS was a fighter in all the ways that mattered. 

And from the very first moment she held Harry in her arms, eyes raking over his wrinkly, bloodied skin; all ten fingers and toes, her soft cries over his loud screaming—Lily knew she would trade her life for his in a heartbeat. Little, lovely eyes that would soon see the world in his own time. Lily adored him. Cherished every tear, snore, and giggle. She knew then, that a mother’s love was entirely different from any emotion she’d ever felt before. 

This was proven the first time Harry had gotten seriously ill. A few weeks after the attempted murder on the Potters, Harry was ceaselessly crying—screaming, even, every night—red-faced as he fussed every breakfast and dinner. Lily found herself at wit’s end. Her protectiveness had gone up a hundred measures; wouldn’t let anyone besides family or Madam Pomfrey see Harry. Yet, even with all the draughts and silly-flavoured syrups, Harry wasn’t getting better. 

“Lily dear, you cannot actually be thinking about this,” worried Molly Weasley as Lily stood in front of your door, holed away in the room where you had been recovering for the last few days. It would be the first time she saw you since the incident. More than anything she was afraid. Frightened that you would look at her differently. Whether or not that fear stemmed from love, Lily was not concerned. “We can call for another Healer from Mungo’s to have a look at Harry. . . Who knows what might. . .” 

Lily held Harry closer to her, lips firmly pressed, attempting to ignore the way his temperature was unnaturally high. “Might what, Mrs. Weasley?” She knew Molly was only talking out of concern, from a mother’s perspective at least. But she knew you better than anyone else. You would never hurt her, or Harry, that much she was certain of. And if you were the traitor everyone else was afraid of accusing you of, a sentence delivered by association to Peter—then let the guillotine fall, Lily would carry your crimes for you. 

She remembered ever-so clearly in her sixth-year, you with dreams glistening in your eyes. (“I’m going to be a Healer, Lils! Minnie said I’d be a great one. . . I want to protect those I love. . . I know I can do it. . . Oh, I can’t wait to tell Peter that I’ve gotten recommendations already to work at Mungo’s after graduation.”) 

And Lily recalled at that moment, she had felt a different kind of emotion that she had never experienced before. It was not love, of course. Tuney said she was too young and too stupid to know what real love was. But, at sixteen, what else could describe the way her heart fluttered and the way her lips threatened to break out into a smile whenever you lit up talking about your future? (It was just a crush, young Lily told herself.)

Only to be crushed and cast aside in the face of the war, where fighters took their place at the forefront of the lines, mothers and children hid; healers stretching themselves thin to be here, there, everywhere; where traitors walked in plain sight. 

“There is no one else I trust more with my life,” replied Lily. 

And that was that. 

Lily skirted around Molly and opened the door to your room, where Sirius, James, and Remus all stood at attention at the sight of her and Harry. She ignored them, and headed straight to your side. 

“Hello, love,” she greeted with all the gentleness she was made of, a smile creeping up to her eyes as Lily watched you turn your head at the sound of her voice. Truth be told, she did not know what her end-goal was in coming here. But being by your side had always made life a little more bearable, like all the illnesses in the world could not bring her down. And so, her magic had instinctively summoned her person to you. She, at least, was relieved to see colour returning to your cheeks, though the red in your eyes had dulled the hues she adored so much. 

“Is that. . .?” you croaked. 

Lily nodded. “Harry, meet—” 

One of the loves of my life, the most loyal and pure witch anyone ever has the privilege of meeting, someone I want to stay in my life forever. 

Lily’s smile wilted. “A friend.” 

Later, she would place Harry in your arms—her little hope embraced by her dream—and Lily would wonder if it was by pure magic that Harry calmed in your presence. 

For if love could hurt and destroy, could it mend and heal the broken as well?

But what a shame, for not one in that room carried an ounce of love for you.

(She would die for Harry, yes—but she would live for you.)

v. 

YOU did not love them, either. 

The very idea, thought—insinuation—was absurd. (Why, they deserved much better than you, after all.) With hands that failed to protect them, were you even allowed to hold them anymore? Did your heart have the right to breathe for them? You had failed as a sister and a friend—how much more would you have failed as their lover? Well, you’d never know. 

Because you did not love them. 

Merely wished them happiness and for the world to extend them kindness. For the sun to look brightly down on them, and for time to heal their scars and wounds. For if they were in pain, the earth would stop spinning. But such a request was not borne from love. 

Surely not. 

Because, then, that would have meant that it was love that teared you apart when Sirius cursed your name, when James turned you away, when Remus could not look you in the eyes, or when Lily—for all your history together—called you a friend. 

The whole of you was made by the parts of them. Each memory welded into the crevices of your soul. From the moment you had all found each other in the same train compartment, same common room—there was a shift in the fates that bound all five of you together. (The ties were red, but the thread was not of love.) You did not believe in Professor Trelawney’s talks of providence and destiny. 

Because if you did, then why was the universe so cruel? 

Falling—not in love—for four people who could very much do without you in their lives. Lacking severely as a sister to the point you had not noticed your brother fading and fading away into the shadows. 

Was love that unkind? That merciless? 

Then, you did not want to love at all. 

Oh, but magic or not, every creature on this earth selfish. 

You were no different. 

You wanted. 

Oh, how you yearned. 

“I LOVE YOU.” 

You barely had enough time to react before Sirius pressed his lips to the side of your head, arm covertly sneaking around your waist. The sound of the train whistling as parents yelled their goodbyes filled the station. You stood in the midst of the crowd, eyes never leaving one window in particular as you waved at Harry, now eleven-years-old and now off to Hogwarts. 

“Quite a random thing to say, husband,” you murmured, leaning into his warmth. “What for?” 

“Just because,” he replied in turn with a fiendish grin. “Well, perhaps for choosing us, for choosing me despite all my fuck-ups. For existing. For being the beautiful, wonderful, kind, precious you. I could keep on going, my darling. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” 

You wrinkled your nose, eyes rolling from fondness. “I love you too, quite unfortunately.” 

He only laughed and pulled you closer to him. “Let’s go home.” 

–

“I love you.” 

In the house built by new memories, warded by stronger protection charms, and filled with warmth and love—James said this to you each morning before he left for the Ministry, promoted after the war as Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Not one foot out of the door until he had showered you in kisses and the symphonies of his heart. James had always been loud, even in his time at Hogwarts. The war had not taken this part of him, and you figured James was too loud to let it be taken from him. He was unapologetically and unabashedly him. 

And you had loved him fiercely for that. 

“I’ll be home early tonight,” he said, a quiet intimacy washing over the both of you. The early birds of the cottage. “Wait for me?”

“Of course,” you answered without an ounce of hesitation, delicately chasing after his lips. “I love you. Be safe.” 

-

“I love you.” 

“Are you saying that to me or are you reading from the book?” you teased from where you laid on Remus’s chest, hours after James left for work, the afternoon bringing you two together in the living room. Lily was in the gardens, and Sirius was in the shed working on his motorbike. It was perfect. You felt the rise and fall of Remus’s chest beneath you, his heartbeat close to your ear. He was perfect. It was a miracle you had not fallen asleep to the tender lull of his voice. 

“Both,” he responded, hand coming up to trace the bare of your skin—a miracle you did not crumble or burn instantly from his touch. 

You hummed. “Then, I love you, too.” Then, you grinned, lifting your head to stare up at him. “You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.” 

And, oh, how photographs could not capture the beauty in Remus’s smile as his eyes regarded you with such fire.

“My heart, my light, my desire,” Remus began, one finger ever-so softly tracing the curve of your cheek. “In vain I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” 

–

“I love you.” 

Said Lily as she lied in your shared bed, red-nosed and her cheeks pale, sluggish. The Christmas holiday was generous enough to gift her with an unfortunate cold that had been going around the wizarding world. “But, please, go,” she commanded weakly, gesturing for you to join Harry who was stood by the door. “It’s a lovely day outside for making snowmen with carrots as noses and snow angels. Not for taking care of poor old me.” 

You rolled your eyes as you sat by her side, swiftly pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And I love you, which is why I would rather much be here, taking care of the prettiest snow angel to ever exist,” you countered, bringing a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Besides, Harry here has something to tell you. He’s made friends at school. One of them is Molly’s little one.” 

“Oh, you did?” Lily cooed, before sniffling weakly. “That’s lovely, darling. Tell me all about them.” 

“That’s not all, Lily mine,” you began mischievously as Harry’s eyes narrowed at you through his glasses. “This friendship apparently formed after fighting a troll.” 

“You what?” Lily croaked, emerald eyes shimmering with concern and near-dread. 

“Did you really, Harry?” James popped his head in the doorway, clapping his son on the shoulder before ushering him inside the room. A spitting image side-by-side as they took the empty space by the foot of the bed. “Good boy. Father approves.” 

“Of course you would,” Lily shot at him weakly, melting when Sirius then entered the room and greeted her with a kiss to her cheek. “And where are you all coming from?”

“Outside,” announced Remus, tugging his tie from his neck. “Sirius and I took a quick trip to Diagon Alley to get some things that’ll make you feel better, Lily love.” 

And as the snow fell outside, lazy winds against the window, your little family gathered in one room, there was one thing you knew for certain.

You loved them. 

And they loved you. 

a/n: i wrote all 4k words while sick. crazy. but anyway, i wanted to believe in love again so here i am. thank you all so much for being patient with me. i promise to do even better in the next fics!

[baepsays]

Winter nights with Satoru, where despite the cold weather you'd sleep in just your underwear and a tank top. the reason entirely being satoru's like your own personal heater. Even assuming he will keep his hands to himself, or use a seperate blanket, or sleep on your respective sides of the bed—that's practically blasphemy. satoru would rather you take a dagger and stab him in his chest infinite times, until his blood and tears become one with betrayal and his love for you.

so you've essentially given up, taking precautions by turning off the heater before going to bed, sleeping in minimal clothing, especially the kind which is easy to peel off. because you better believe despite all the measures you take, you'll be sweating. summers are the worst. the air conditioner has nothing on this buring hot man (in more ways than one).

winters are no exception, which was evident from the sweat patch forming in your underarms. satoru is practically tangled up with your limbs like an octopus who's clutched up your hands and refuses to let go. his right arm smooshed under your right side, and his forearm curls at your ribs and goes all the way to your left side of the waist to grab on. you'd never understand how his limbs work really being a giant and built like jelly while being crazy strong goes against whatever explanation biology could ever come up with. his left hand, buried inbetween in thighs. his is face buried in the crook of your neck, gently snoring away next to your ears. yes this man practically has to sleep like he wants to make a skinsuit of himself and wrap himself around you otherwise, you're gonna get a gojo satoru moping around at work with dark circles under his eyes. this is the only time he gets decent amount of deep sleep.

honestly, at this point making attempts to get away from him is useless, the weighted blanket he insisted on buying (a necessity he called it), making it further impossible for any chance of fleeing.

but there was a way! right around 3 am every night—you noticed this after you get woken up from his heat around 2 am and lay there rendered unable to sleep—he stirs around. you do not frankly know the exact reasoning being this occurrence happening at such particular timing everyday, you simply do not ask questions and only thank whatever is out there helping you out. because lying in your own pool of sweat for an hour is exhausting. so around this time he would move around and switch the side he would be lying on. and you'd think oh great he'll let go then!

wrong. whatever Freud said about human subconscious might just be right, cause when he turns over, it takes him less than 5 secs to realize you're not there—skin to his skin—so he would turn back over, take you with him, tight in his arms again, to turn you over to the other side and continues holding onto you like a Koala bear. first time this happened you got scared he's gonna throw you off the bed or something. but now you've mastered the trick of slipping away at just the right window frame between him stirring around and grabbing you back to turn you over with him.

you'd slip out and head to the bathroom to maybe get a wet towel and wipe away the sweat and wash your face. sit down and catch a breath because, satoru would come looking for you in meantime, with his eyes still closed, a big definate pout adorning his face, and hair sticking everywhere—

"come back to bed sweets"

.

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To check out more of my stuff click this.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

You’re My Baby Too

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none

You'd think that the second pregnancy would be a breeze. You already know everything about how it goes, how to prepare, what to expect, but in your case, your second pregnancy was dreadful.

First trimester, horrible nausea, you spent half your time over the toilet with Lando holding your hair. Your baby boy was so much bigger than Isla it made your back hurt like crazy all the time, and the worst thing of all was that your baby boy didn't wanna come out.

You prayed you wouldn't give birth before Lando finished the season, so when the season ended you were relieved. But then your due date passed, and nothing happened. Then five days passed after your due date, nothing again. 10 days after your due date - the baby just doesn't wanna come out.

You were frustrated, exhausted, and tired of being pregnant. You just wanted to be able to see your feet again and be able to get up off the couch without Lando having to pull your hand.

"It's because you make such a good home for him he doesn't wanna come out, love." Lando tried to calm you down in a nice way, not even realizing that he irritated you with that because he's been saying that for the last 10 days and your nerves have become very thin hearing it.

"I swear, if you say that one more time.." You barked rolling your eyes at him while holding your still very pregnant belly.

"I'm sorry, I'll shut up.."

“Thank you.” You glared at him.

He didn't hold it against you for your brazen response because he understood that it had become too much for you. Lately, he's been walking on eggshells around you because everything has been annoying you, and he didn't want to be the one to contribute to that.

When the twelfth day passed since your due date, you realized that too much time had passed and you even started to worry a little that something was wrong. So Lando decided to take you to the hospital, where you very clearly told the doctor that you weren't leaving the place until you gave birth.

You thought that by some miracle, as soon as you stepped into the hospital, labor would start and you would just pop the baby out and everything would be over in less than two hours just like it was with Isla, but of course that wasn't the case with this baby.

"I think we have no other choice but to induce the labor." The doctor said.

"Okay, how long does it take?" You asked. "Is it like natural labor or?"

"Induced labor can last from a few hours to a few days, it depends. It's most often completed within 12 to 18 hours from the start of the procedure."

"Oh my God" You sighed in despair with tears in your eyes and Lando immediately squeezed your hand to offer you at least some comfort.

"Does it hurt more than a normal birth?" Lando was very concerned about how painful it would be for you. While you were giving birth to Isla, Lando was of course by your side, and even though it was much shorter and easier, he was still terribly shaken to see the pain you went through.

"I don't want to discourage you and scare you right from the start, but many women have said that induced labor is more painful."

And boy oh boy was it painful.

When they gave you the drip to induce contractions, that's when the real agony began. The drip makes contractions stronger and more frequent and you can't even begin to explain what you'd compare that pain to.

You were sweating.

Crying.

Gripping the sides of the bed and Lando's hand, which at one point you thought you were going to break.

You honestly felt like dying. What was supposed to be the most beautiful experience of your life was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Lando was heartbroken seeing you like this. He was putting cold compresses on you, hugging you, kissing you, comforting you, begging you to endure this.

"I'm so sorry baby, I wish I could go through this instead of you. I'm so sorry."

He didn't leave you for a second, except when you caught a 5-minute break from the contractions and managed to close your eyes for at least a moment and calm down. Lando said he had to go to the bathroom.

He lied actually. Instead he went to the hallway outside your room where his parents were patiently waiting. By the look on his face, Cisca and Adam could see that Lando was not well and that he himself was traumatized.

Lando didn't say anything, he just hugged Cisca and buried his face in her neck, soaking her shoulder with tears.

"I'm so fucking scared for her. It wasn't like this the first time." Lando cried quietly.

"Oh honey, y/n's going to be alright, I promise you. I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but soon this will pass and you'll be going home with your baby." Cisca comforted trying to lift his spirits. "Honey, you need to get yourself together, alright? She needs you right now and you need to be there for her."

When labor finally began after 14 long hours, you were running out of strength. You were so exhausted that you weren't sure if you would be able to push the baby out.

"Push y/n, push!" The doctor encouraged.

"I c-can't" You cried breathing rapidly. "Lando, I can't do it.."

"Come on baby, you can, I know you can. Just a little bit more and it's done, I promise. You've got this" He was pushing your hair out of your face, holding your hand, and holding your leg at the same time.

"Come on, push, push! I can see the head!"

Finally, the baby's cry was heard and soon the baby boy was on your chest. As soon as you saw him, all the pain instantly vanished.

He was so perfect. So worth it.

Lando couldn't contain his emotions as he rested his head on your shoulder, carefully observing his baby.

Later that day, when everything had calmed down, Lando was still there by your side. He couldn't be separated from you nor did he want to. His gaze shifted between you and the baby watching you both sleep peacefully.

He was tired too. He didn't really remember the last time he slept, but he knew you had it worse than him anyway, so he didn't even think of complaining.

"Lan?"

"Hey, love" His face lit up when you opened your eyes. When he saw you smile, it brought energy back to him. He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Did you get some rest?"

"I did, why didn't you?" You asked him when you saw the huge dark circles under his eyes and the same clothes from the day before yesterday. "Baby, please go home, I know you're exhausted too."

"The only way I'm getting out of here is with you two."

You didn't want to argue with him because you knew it was pointless. You were just grateful that he was there and that he was yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl. I'm so proud of you." Lando said softly caressing your cheek and looking into your tired eyes. "I love you so much you know that, right?"

"I know, I can feel it. I love you too, so much." You say before kissing him. "Where are our kids?"

"This little guy is sleeping here without a care in the world."

"And Isla? She didn't come with your parents?"

"No, I told them not to bring her because I knew you'd get too emotional if you saw her, and I wanted you to rest as much as possible."

"You should've told them to bring her, I really miss her and I can't wait for her to meet her brother." You said, but you could still see the worry in Lando's eyes. "I'm fine, Lan, I promise."

"We're done with the kids. Our family is complete now."

"Lan.." You chuckled.

"No, I'm serious. I never want to see you go through so much pain again. It's been so hard to watch you like that and not be able to do anything and I'm not putting you through it again. "

"It was worth it tho. Look at him, he's so perfect. I'd do it all over again for our baby"

"I know, I know, but you're my baby too." No matter how many children you have, his protective attitude towards you will never change.

"Oh, love.." You pulled his hand to get up from the chair and come sit on the bed next to you so you can cuddle up next to him.

"I can't wait to take you home, both of you." He said quietly kissing your forehead.

You rested your head on his chest, knowing that wherever you are, as long as he's there, everything is fine.

[joeyfranchise]

cuz you know that’s it’s delicate

joe burrow x fem!reader

summary: what happens when joe’s teammate slips a joke about your size difference and it sends you spiraling? being in love with joe since college has been tough but what happens when he starts figuring it out and trying to unravel you more?

warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, MDNI. heaaaavy size kink, joe being a smartass should be it’s own warning, language, p in v, fingering, oral (f. receiving), roughness. probably more? this one was so much fun, plzzz stick around til the end. 🤭

word count: 3.1k!

note: heyyy everyone! my first joey smut 🤭 i hope y’all love it and again MDNI!! (shoutout to my boo @slimshiesty, hate me later and that stray ball part is rotting in my brain, so i snuck a lil of it in here as an ode to you. ily bbg. 💗) (also another taylor swift title bc i fr couldn’t think of anything else plus i used it a bit.. i swear i’m not trying to steal anyones thing i love all the joey swifties)

tags: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 (plz message me or send an ask to be added!) part 2

sexual frustration has to be one of the worst things in the world. sexual frustration at the hands of your best friend, however, takes the cake.

it started at a party two weeks ago when you were invited out by joe, the star nfl quarterback, certified dweeb, and your very best friend all wrapped into one.

flashback

you were sitting around with joe and some of his teammates, listening in on their conversations and people watching the rest of the time. it was easiest for you to hang out with joe and ja’marr since you knew them from college, but the rest of their teammates and their teammates partners were really cool too, and all so welcoming to you.

everyone was laughing and joking, having a laid back time, picking on each other for random things. that was, until, someone mentioned how funny it was to see you standing next to joe, being that he was well over a foot taller than you.

“what? how’s it funny?” joe asked, glancing between you and his teammate. “because you make her look so tiny! like a little doll. get up and stand next to each other.”

you were reluctant to move from your seat, hating where this was leading. it was already hard enough having feelings for your best friend over the span of a few years, but this was crossing dangerous territory. kink territory.

for you, there was something about how much bigger than you joe was. he towered over you. his body was lean but built with thick muscles. he could quite literally pick you up and sling you around like a rag-doll. (and honestly if he did, you’d thank him.)

you hoped his teammate pointing out your size difference wouldn’t be turned into a big deal, but once joe pulled you out of your chair to stand next to him, it was like the gates of hell opened.

you stood side by side, your head barely even reaching his armpit. everyone around the table laughed, including joe. “damn, i guess i never really focused on how little you are, y/n.” joe laughed, and placed his forearm on top of your head like an armrest.

alarms went off in your head. ABORT MISSION. ABORT MISSION.

you cleared your throat quickly, and came to your senses, shoving joe off before getting back into your seat. “maybe i’m not small, maybe you’re just a freakishly large man.” you remark, trying to keep your voice even.

“nah,” he replied, sitting down next to you again, “you’re sooooo tiny.” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. you flipped him the finger. “fuck you big bird.” you snarked before downing the rest of your drink. god knows you need it. you hoped that your pink cheeks would be chalked up to the alcohol and that nobody else had caught on.

the next instance came a few days later, on a sunday, and it was much worse than the first. so, so much worse.

flashback to sunday

you came to the bengals’ home stadium to watch their game, and since it was early you figured you’d go down to the field to say hi to joe and some of your other friends on the team.

you made it down and waved hi to ja’marr, tee and sam before making your way to joe. he spotted you and smiled, walking in your direction to meet you halfway.

you decided on wearing one of his jerseys and a pair of jeans, something simple and comfortable. as soon as he made it to you, the first thing he did was look you up and down and then pick up the sleeve of the jersey before chuckling.

“damn, this thing is swallowing you!” he comments. you playfully smack at his arm. “shut up, joey.”

“it’s cute, though. you look nice. are you excited for the game?”

you don’t give yourself much time to process that “cute” comment. wtf does that even mean? who cares. ABORT MISSION.

“of course i’m excited! i can’t wait to watch you guys kick some ass today—“

your sentence is cut off abruptly as joe grabs you and lifts you, turning your bodies so his back is now facing the opposite direction on the field. his grip on you is so tight that your chest is pressed into his stomach. you look up at his face, his expression a mix between anger and concern. you can feel your cheeks heat up and your eyes widen in disbelief.

“um, joe, you’re bear hugging the hell out of me right now. wanna put me down and explain what happened?”

he lets you down gently, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “stray ball was coming right at you. i didn’t want it to hit you, it would’ve hurt you pretty bad.”

you reach a hand up and pat his chest, feeling the thick muscles. “thank you!” you respond, once again monitoring your tone. “i’m gonna head up and talk to everyone, ok?” you ask, already moving to leave. “yeah, ok.” joe says, focusing his attention on the ground. you can tell he’s contemplating something, but you don’t want to ask. you want to get out of there as quickly as possible.

the final instance came a few days later when you went to joe’s house just to hang out and have dinner.

flashback to wednesday night

you park your car in joe’s garage and step out, tucking your phone and keys in your pocket before heading up the stairs. before you make it to the door, joe’s already opening it and waiting in the doorway.

“hi bub!” you call, pushing past him and stepping inside, kicking off your shoes by the door. he greets you back sweetly and the two of you go sit on barstools in the kitchen, just catching up on things that have gone on this week. you rant to joe about your job and he listens intently, offering what advice he can.

he rants back to you about things going on with the team, and frustrations he’s having on the field. you try to return the favor and offer him some advice, but you know you aren’t of too much help. joe appreciates it regardless.

soon after your food arrives, you find yourselves in the living room, sitting on the couch side by side as a movie plays. you and joe always loved just being around each other, you had so deep of a connection that oftentimes words didn’t need to be shared at all.

you both enjoyed those moments.

you felt yourself starting to doze off until joe laughed at something in the movie, the sound waking you a bit.

“oh, sorry. you can go to sleep.” he whispers, pulling you into his side and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. you appreciate his warmth and you rub your head on his shoulder as you get comfy. you hear joe chuckle.

“what’s funny?” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “it’s like i’m hyper-aware now of how small you are next to me. it’s so cute.”

you make no outward moves or sounds, but inside you are screaming. yelling. this is the worst one yet.

you don’t know it yet, but joe’s figured it out. he’s seen you get flustered three times now over these comments, and he knows something is going on in your brain when they’re said. he isn’t aware if you have feelings for him like he does for you, but he knows you liked when he picked you up so easily on the field the other day.

it was effortless to him, despite what you might think of yourself.

you sit next to him in silence, eyes still closed, trying to control your breathing. just try to fall asleep again you tell yourself, hoping that joe has no idea. if you only knew.

when you wake in the morning, you’re still snuggled on the couch with him as the soft morning light shines gold around the living room. you shake him awake.

“joey, i gotta get going. i need to go home and get ready for work and you have thursday practice.”

he pulls you in closer for a moment, hugging you bye, and then wishes you a good day at work. you bolt out the door and to your car as fast as you can, heading home to wash the previous day away in the shower.

end of flashbacks

so, this is where you are now.

it’s been almost a week since you’ve talked to joe, avoiding him because you aren’t sure what to say or do. part of you knows he has something figured out, but you don’t know what or how much.

you’re terrified to let him in on your feelings, what’s going on in your head, because you’re delicate and you don’t want to ruin something that has always been there for you.

the other part of you knows you have to tell him, you need to tell him. you love him, you lust after him. the comments that keep being made about your sizes are driving you to the point of insanity that nothing will fix it unless joe manhandles you as rough as you can take it and he fucks it out of you.

you’re pretty sure your vibrator is gonna be on its last leg soon.

alright, i gotta call him. i gotta get this over with.

you grab your phone off the kitchen counter and dial his number, listening to it ring for a few moments.

“hello?” he finally answers, sounding a bit upset.

“hey joey. sorry i haven’t been talking to you this week. i just— i think i need to talk to you about some stuff and.. would you mind coming over later?”

he says nothing for a moment, but you hear him blow out a long breath. “yeah, of course, y/n.” he finally says. “i can be over around 7?”

you check the clock on the stove, it reads 4:34pm.

“7 sounds great! see you then!” you say, hanging up quickly. now you play the waiting game.

all your chores are done, and you take a lovely everything shower to help calm your nerves, and you make sure to drink plenty of water and have a snack as you tell yourself affirmations.

it’s going to be okay, he’s my best friend. he will understand. he will still be my friend regardless, he’s always been there for me. if he rejects me, nothing will change that.

you sit on the couch and scroll your phone as you wait. there’s still just a bit over an hour before joey will arrive, so you waste time scrolling tiktok, cozy on the couch.

soon enough you hear the doorbell, and you jump off the couch to answer it, stepping aside to let joe in.

he sits on your couch, waiting for you to join him and start speaking. “joe, i, um.. i hav-“

he cuts you off. “you have feelings for me? you like it when people compare our sizes because it turns you on?” he smirks, leaning back on the couch, crossing his arms behind his head. he’s manspreading now, his thick thighs on full display. your mouth falls open for a moment.

“yeah. essentially exactly that.” you finally reply.

“so what are we gonna do about that?” he questions, pulling you into his lap. you place your hands on his chest instinctively, and before you know what’s happening he‘s pulling you in for a heated kiss.

his lips are soft against yours and he gently prods at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue past as you open it. he tastes like mint, it’s intoxicating you. one minute his large hands are splayed over your back holding you to him, the next he’s lifting you off the couch by grabbing underneath your armpits and carrying you down the hall, roughly body-slamming you on the bed.

“dude, save the UFC moves for ja’marr!” you groan, sucking in a large breath. joe jumps on the bed, caging you in by placing his knees on either side of your hips and his hands next to your head.

“no, i don’t think so.” he smirks, leaning in closer until your noses are nearly touching. you felt your cheeks heating up at his close proximity, and his eye-contact with you was starting to feel intimidating, even though you had just been sharing such a passionate kiss. you hated that you could feel your wetness soaking through your panties just from him trying to wrestle you.

he blows gently on your face and you shove at him. he laughs you off and leans even closer, pressing the tip of his nose to yours before moving away and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“this would be a lot easier if you’d just admit that you want me to manhandle you. you want me to go rough, right?” he teases. you’ve had enough of his smugness. you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss, tugging at his hair and nipping his bottom lip. he groans into you. he stands from the bed, picking you up again, carrying you across the room before roughly slamming your body against the wall.

you let out a strangled moan, loving the feeling of him using all his strength on you.

“can i take your shorts off?” he asks, looking into your eyes.

“fuck yes, please.” you breathe out, exhilarated.

joe yanks your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift motion, kneeling down in front of you. he’s able to keep your body held up and pressed against the wall. he looks up at you with questioning eyes, making sure this is okay. you give him a soft nod in response.

he leans in and throws one of your legs over his shoulder. he starts by pressing the smallest kiss to your clit, and then licks a slow, languid stripe up your core. you hiss, your body arching off the wall at the new sensation. when you look down, you find him looking up at you, his beautiful blue eyes trained on your face.

your eyes roll back in your head as he continues his ministrations. you feel the hand that isn’t holding you against the wall rubbing circles on your inner thigh before joe slowly slips a finger into you.

you quickly approach your orgasm, your stomach tight with anticipation. joe doesn’t let up, working you there until your body feels like it’s being dunked into warm bath water, the feeling covering you from head to toe. it takes you a minute to regain your sense of self. joe pulls his fingers from your core and removes your leg from his shoulder, standing back up before lifting you so your legs are around his waist.

you waste no time pulling him in for a kiss. “holy shit, joey!” you moan, baffled at what just happened. he smirks into your kiss.

for the second time, you’re thrown onto the bed. you sit up, propped on your elbows as you watch joe stalk closer, his erection very obvious in his shorts. he pulls his shirt over his head and you do the same, unclasping your bra just after so that you’re completely bare for him.

you chalk your forwardness up to being comfortable with him, normally you wouldn’t have the confidence to act this way. neither would joe, actually, but you shrug it off.

you don’t remember seeing him strip his shorts off or climb on top of you, but you know you’re kissing him again. you can’t get over how good his lips feel. one of his hands traces your curves, he runs his fingers along your body until his large hand is cupping your breast.

he moves his kisses to your neck and you gasp, reveling in the feeling of him kissing and touching you softly and sweetly.

you look down at his throbbing cock and suddenly you feel intimidated. joe hears you gasp. he lets out a soft laugh.

“don’t talk a big game and then act scared of it, baby.” he teases, pressing light kisses to your cheeks. you swallow thickly.

joe reaches down and strokes himself, spitting on his hand to slick himself up. he looks at you once again for confirmation, and you nod to him. he helps you get comfortable beneath him, positioning your legs around his waist as he pushes his tip in. you suck in a harsh breath.

it stings, but it isn’t the worst thing. he moves against you slowly, sliding in inch by inch until he bottoms out. he looks down and you, your faces inches apart, and you giggle.

“what is it bub?” he asks, smiling softly. “they weren’t kidding calling you big dick joe.” you laugh out. joe laughs too.

after giving you a few minutes to adjust, he starts moving hips, rocking into yours slowly. you think this is what the peak of euphoria feels like.

he leans back down to kiss you, his hand finding your throat and squeezing ever so slightly. your back is arched, your chest pressed to his as your hands tangle through his hair. his hands move down, finding your hips and holding them down to the bed. you moan at the rough grip.

he starts going harder, his hips pistoning into yours as you continue kissing, both of you moaning out your pleasure.

“joey, i-i’m close.” you warn, your body covered in a sheen of sweat. you felt it again, you were so close to that warmth once again pulsing over your body.

until.

knock knock knock.

what was that? you thought. you tried to focus on joe but everything seemed to be slipping away.

then, there it was again. the knocking. and the shrill of your phone ringing.

you startled awake, sweat covering your body. you looked at your phone screen. 7:10pm. one missed call from joe.

you threw your throw blanket off, trying to gather your thoughts. what the fuck? what is happening?

you thought you’d just had the best fuck of your life, that everything would be okay with you and joe but… it was just a dream? you dozed off and you didn’t even know it.

“y/n, let me in!” you hear joe yell from the opposite side of the door. you’re panicking, your body is hot, your clothes are stuck to you. still, you get up and almost sprint to the door. you open it, taking in his appearance. just like your dream.

black shorts, black shirt. backwards cap.

“can i come in? are you okay?” he asks. you watch as he takes in your appearance. sweaty hair stuck to your neck, your eyes glazed over.

“um, yeah joe. i’m okay. come in.” you step aside, inviting him in, just like your dream. he sits down.

“so, what did you wanna talk about?” he asks. you sit down next to him, blowing out a long breath. this was gonna be a longggg conversation.