#i was so frazzled and all over the place

[necrotic-nephilim]

What do you think of alfred/bruce?

!!! good question, i love them so dearly.

shipping Bruce can get difficult when you want to put him in the position of submission. it's not impossible and there are characters you can make him submit (Clark and Diana are the obvious choices) but they're not characters who would any significant power over him, so for the fun of like, fucked up power play, unless you're doing something like an Injustice or Justice Lords AU, it's hard. so if you want to ship Bruce with someone who holds an implicit power over hi him and has the rare ability to tell him what to do, the answer is Alfred. which is just so fun.

because i personally really enjoy putting Bruce in a submissive role. it's a subversion of what you expect out of him, and subverts a lot of his key character traits. he's someone who *requires* control as a part of his personal regiment, part of his mission. he doesn't like to give it up, and he won't give it up to just anyone. when he does give it up, it's always conditional. the few times he gives someone like Dick control, he always takes it right back. Alfred is one of, if not the only person who has full control over Bruce. he can tell Bruce what to do, and Bruce will listen. it's still not perfect and Bruce will go against him, but largely, he can and will exert that control when he feels it's necessary. so that's so fun to play with romantically. especially with the aspect of him not only raising Bruce, but knowing Bruce practically his whole life. Alfred has just always Been There. he's a constant pillar.

and i had an interesting conversation with a mutual about how Alfred's life pretty much revolves around Bruce. Alfred will toss aside his own blood family (Julia) to prioritize Bruce. how Alfred behaves around the rest of the Batfam is defined by their relationship to Bruce and his love for them is often just an extension of his love for Bruce. it's complete devotion from Alfred, and if you make it romantic, it immediately borders on obsession. there's no. "healthy" version of this ship and that's the fun of it. especially if it's a Year One type era, where it's just the two of them. but it's also fun to introduce the rest of the Batfam and see their reactions to it. how long they take to notice, what they feel about it, etc.

these two are so intertwined in a very similar Batman/Robin way, in that most superhero spoofs have a butler for a reason- you just can't separate Bruce from Alfred unless you're willing to kill one of them off. we treat Alfred like this kindly old man who's just there to make tea and witty remarks, but in reality this man is a war vet who served in MI-5. he's rough around the edges in a way that if he and Bruce had met under any other circumstances, they likely wouldn't get along. Alfred has killed people in combat, he has no reason to believe in a no-kill rule and would see the flaws in it. but it's *Bruce*, a man he's been devoted to since the Waynes died. someone Alfred watched grow up.

if i were to personally write them together, i'd have them get together after Bruce leaves and trains for years. because who Bruce is when he leaves Gotham and who he is when he returns are two very different people. and Alfred still lives him wholly, but this isn't a traumatized boy anymore, this is a man who's systematically turned himself into a weapon. and so when Alfred agrees to help, it comes with a natural relationship that's complicated and has built-in fucked up power dynamics. Alfred is the one person who can get away with telling Bruce what to do, killing for Bruce, and taking care of him when he's emotionally vulnerable. there's a deep level of trust in all of that so i really love it and wish we had more of it. you can take it to the extreme dead dove end of things, or play with it in a more domestic sense and both. both are good.

[acourtofquestions]

Dont be angry, Finnula said. Be smart.

[hotelbitches]

even though eve knew that heaven would have been worse than being sent to hell, living among humans after releasing sin into the world was nothing less than difficult. witnessing fighting, murder, hatred, and more was always a knife to her heart, but it was better than living in adam's shadow as his little wife in heaven.

she searched for the good in humans, and has for the last ten thousand years. she's made thousands of friends, sometimes knowing someone their entire life until death took them. eve relies heavily on the friends she makes to keep her sane, living in a constant cycle of love and grief as she cherishes the people she knows until she inevitably loses them.

animals are also a huge comfort for her. having been from the garden when animals were already some of her best friends, every species recognizes her as one of their own. it makes travel much easier, and many of the wild places of the world (that she intends to keep wild) a sanctuary when she tires of humanity.

[fingertipsmp3]

First volunteering shift tomorrow 😵‍💫

[phagodyke]

opening my drafts to see the vent post i made earlier but saved bc I had more to say but had to go do smth else and umm. probably for thr best I didn't post in the end but also I stand by that I was right to be pissed off����‍♂️everyone shut up

[ervotica]

rafe with a pogue!reader that just says the most out of pocket, ridiculous shit all the time. he’s perpetually exasperated. you’re jj in female form— really, rafe doesn’t know how he ended up liking you in the first place.

this is him when he looks at u btw

you’re so unserious it actually pains him. he bends over to pick his vape up off of the sidewalk and you air-hump him from behind, with sound effects and everything; you've never seen him move faster, and you squeal when he takes your face in his hands, his brow set deep on his forehead, lips pursed. it pushes your cap halfway off of your head, mussing your already frazzled hair.

"hey, idiot. look at me," he barks, expression hardening as you giggle. you smirk, tongue in cheek.

"what?"

"what the fuck is wrong with you? like actually. you're so fucking weird," he seethes through gritted teeth, unaware of the group of pogues that watch, barely concealing their laughter; you shrug innocently, putting on your best doe eyes for your grumpy boyfriend.

"what are you talking about? i didn't do anything!"

"oh, you didn't do anything?" he parrots; it's something out of a cartoon, truly– his reddened face, pinched features. if you look closely enough, you're sure you'd see steam curling out of his ears.

"nope." you pop the p and he pushes closer to you, crowding your personal space.

"you're a little fucking freak, you know that? you need psychological help."

"yeah, that's fucking rich," you snort, patting his cheek in condescension. you bite his finger when he reaches for your face again. "quit it!" you garble around the digit.

"i can't." he throws his hands up, exasperated as he strides away. "i can't with you."

you grin, scampering after him as he paces. you're bursting at the seams with childlike amusement, skipping happily until you lace your fingers through rafe's. he grumbles something rather unsavoury but still tucks you beneath his arm, scowling as you needle your way into his side.

"gonna be the death of me, kid."

[headkiss]

fall right into me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when something happens to your apartment and you need a place to stay, steve, your best friend, is quick to provide it for you. your prolonged proximity forces you both to realize some things.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: childhood bffs to lovers, absolute idiots in love, mentions of a negative relationship with parents, probably inaccurate descriptions of some things but it’s (say it with me) for the plot!!!

a/n: i know it’s been a LONG time since i’ve posted a long fic so thank u guys for ur patience <3 i had so much fun getting back to it and writing these two, and i hope it’s at least a little bit worth the wait!!! ily :,)

𝜗𝜚

Your shoes are still wet as you dial the first number that comes to mind: Steve’s.

He picks up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi,” you can imagine him on the other side of the phone, leaning casually against the wall, an easy smile on his face, “what’s going on?”

You’re not quite sure where to start.

Coming home from work earlier, you’d been excited to shower and change and lay around for the rest of the evening, your book hanging open in your lap and some mindless TV filling the silence.

The day seemed to have other plans for you, though, because as you walked down the stairs to your apartment—one in the basement of a sweet, older couple’s house who just never used the space and converted it—the carpet had made an ugly squelch as soon as you stepped on it.

You looked down at your shoe against the carpet, at the way its color was darker than usual from whatever water had gotten into it. Looking up, you found a complete mess. A piece of the ceiling hanging open right above your bed, water still dripping in steady drops from the gap, your bedding ruined among many other things.

You don’t know how long you stood there, hand over your mouth, eyes flickering over the damage like you were hoping it would vanish, like it was only something you imagined.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The couple who owns the house came down when they heard you shout for them, unsure of what else to do. They’d both gasped when they came down, and began apologizing for something that really wasn’t their fault before one ran up to call whoever it was they needed to call to fix this and the other comforted you with a gentle “we’ll take care of it, sweetie.”

You nodded, eyes still roaming your space that was now uninhabitable.

It’s an old house, something was bound to happen at some point, you only wished it wasn’t so inconvenient for you. A small leak, you could have handled, but the ceiling practically caving in?

Yeah, it was a complete fucking mess.

Hours later, with the damage assessed and set to take a few weeks to fix up, you’re on the phone with the one person you’d known would pick up.

You fill Steve in on what happened, and his first response is a sigh of, “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” you agree. “And now I’m gonna have to live with my parents for a while and I don’t know how I’m gonna go back into that house, Steve.”

If you’re being honest, the couple you live with now was kinder to you than your parents were. You suppose that’s one of the many things that you and Steve have bonded over.

“Just come live with me, instead,” he offers without hesitation.

Steve says it like it’s obvious, a no-brainer, and you guess it should be, since you’ve slept over at the Harrington’s house countless times before. Only, this is different because you’d be staying for a while, because you’d be needing his help, which makes you feel all awkward and guilty.

He’s been your absolute best friend for as long as you can remember, and you’re one hundred percent sure you’d offer the same thing if the roles were reversed, but that doesn’t make it any easier for you to accept, not when you’re already frazzled from the events of the day.

“No, Steve, I’m sorry I’m just being dramatic,” you say, twisting the phone’s cord around your finger. “I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a month, or so, and I don’t wanna be in your way or-”

��When have you ever cared about being in my way, angel?” The pet name he’s called you ever since your ninth grade Halloween party slips out naturally, the way it always does. “Besides, this house is too fucking big for me as it is, and you know my parents won’t be around to care, either.”

“I can’t ask you to let me move in, Steve.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering. It’ll be like that one week when we were twelve and you stayed over for spring break, only longer. It’s perfect!”

There’s a small smile ghosting across your face as you recall the memory he’s talking about. A blanket fort in their spacious living room, sleeping bags and pillows piled inside it along with two flashlights.

You can picture the way he looks on the other end of the phone, his hair a bit messy from running his hands through it during the day, one strand rogue against his forehead, his shoulder leaned carelessly against the wall the way it usually is when he stands. Like he can’t be bothered to hold himself up, like there’s constantly a weight on him.

“Are you sure about this, Steve? It’s really okay if you’re not. I swear I’ll be fine.”

“As if I’m letting you spend multiple weeks back in your parent’s house. You’re staying with me, alright?” His voice is insistent, yet kind, letting you know that he’s being honest, that he means it. “We’ll order pizzas and watch shitty romcoms, ‘kay?”

“You can call romcoms shitty all you want, but we both know you get teary at every single one.”

“Don't change the subject, angel. Also, fuck off,” he says, though you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, you’re living with me, yeah?”

You don’t think you could say no to him even if you wanted to.

“Yeah, alright, Steve. Thank you so much.”

“None of that. I know you’d do the same.”

There’s something beautiful about the kind of trust and ease that comes with a friendship as long as yours. One where you’ve watched each other grow up, awkward phases and all, and stuck together the entire way. There’s no questioning whether or not you’d be there for each other if you were in need.

It’s known, felt. Like a fact.

“Now,” he continues, “I’ll pick you up, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”

“Okay.”

“You need me to bring boxes for your stuff?”

“I’m not sure how much is worth keeping. It’s pretty ugly in there.”

Your voice goes small at the end, because the gravity of it all is really sinking in. You’ll have to replace a lot of stuff. Stuff you don’t have money for right now.

But, you haven’t let yourself cry just yet, so you swallow it down.

“I’ll bring some anyway, then. We’ll figure it out, angel, don’t worry.”

“Thanks again, Steve. See you soon.”

“Ten minutes,” he assures you, then the line clicks.

-

True to his word, Steve arrives in under ten minutes, which isn’t surprising considering the size of Hawkins, but feels reassuring all the same.

You’re sitting on the curb in front of the house when Steve’s BMW pulls over on the other side of the road, and you stand just as he climbs out and shuts his door, rounding the car and jogging over to you.

His keys jingle as he tucks them into the pocket of his faded jeans, his opposite hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder, “You okay?”

The warmth of his palm seeps through your work shirt that you’ve yet to change out of, and you let your eyes fall shut just for a second before looking at his face, “Guess so,” you nod. “Maybe ask me again after all of this?”

Steve’s arm winds itself over your shoulders, tugging you into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of your head, simple as an instinct. “I’ve got you. We’ll get through this, angel.”

We’ll, he says. A team.

You reach up and squeeze his hand and nod, guiding him to the side-entrance leading to your basement apartment.

“I hope you didn’t wear your good shoes for this,” you say.

Steve looks down at his feet and shrugs, “Shoes can be replaced.”

He lets you lead the way down the stairs, his footsteps close behind yours. You wince when you look at the damage again, even though you’d seen it minutes ago. You can't bring yourself to look at Steve, to see the reaction on his face, because you think it’ll just make it all more real.

He mouths the word ‘fuck’ while you aren’t looking, then claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s figure out what we can save, yeah? Where do you want me?”

You’re grateful for his gentle guidance at what to do. “Maybe the bathroom? Everything in there should be fine, so it just needs to be packed.”

“‘Kay. I’ll just go grab some boxes from my car,” Steve says. He squeezes your hand once before heading up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You decide to tackle the worst spot first. Though the place is more like a studio, the side that houses your bed and your closet is the most affected, so you head over there and try to tune out the squish of the carpet beneath your feet.

You’re opening the sliding doors to your closet when Steve comes back, dropping a stack of boxes by your feet and running his hand down your arm softly before heading over to the bathroom to pack for you.

Even his presence seems to be making things a little bit easier for you, and each time he finds a small way to touch you or speak to you, to remind you that he’s there, you’re glad for it.

Half of your closet is a gross, wet mess, but some things are salvageable, which you take as a win. Things might be damp, but at least it’s only water, you suppose. A cycle in the dryer and most things will be wearable again.

Your dresses that are hung get the worst of it, soaked and smelly, and you decide that it’d be easier to get a couple new ones than to try and save what’s there.

Steve checks in every now and then, poking his head out of the bathroom’s doorway to look at you and make sure you’re doing alright, giving you a thumbs up when you look over to him.

You’re not sure how you’d be managing this if you were alone, and you’re thankful that you don’t have to.

The next time he checks on you, you’re by your nightstand.

Sitting atop of it is a framed picture of you and Steve from summer camp when you were around ten years old, maybe younger. Only now, the picture’s stained with water and the frame you’d decorated all those years ago at camp is a splotchy mess.

Where yours and Steve’s handwriting used to be, is now a blur from the water seeping into the wooden frame, the marker’s colors muddy. You frown, picking it up and running your thumb over the edge.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re tearing up, frustrated and sad and tired. Memories like this one are the most special to you, the ones that have kept you going for so long, and just like that, the picture that’s sat on your nightstand since being taken is gone, and it fucking sucks.

“Hey, angel?” Steve calls.

When all you do is sniffle and mumble an “mhm?” in response, he sets the box he’d been packing on the bathroom counter and walks over to you.

He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your upper-arms and peering over your shoulder at the ruined picture.

“It was my favorite one,” you say, voice breaking a little. You wipe your tear away as it trails down your cheek, your own fingertips too harsh against your skin.

Although it’s soaked and splotchy now, Steve knows which picture it is. The one where you’ve both got your neon summer camp t-shirts on, the one where his cheeks and nose are completely sunburnt and you’re both grinning up at the camera from your seats on the ground.

Steve’s clutching a stick in his hand for some reason, and you’ve got your fist tangled in the sleeve of his shirt.

It feels like no time and forever has passed since then.

Steve grabs the picture and pries it gently from your hands, setting it back onto the table and turning you around in his grip to face him.

“We can fix it,” he tells you, his brown eyes all soft as his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs swiping your tears away.

“But the frame-”

“We’ll fix it, angel. I’ll find a way, okay? We can pack it in one of the boxes and figure it out.”

“Steve-”

“Look at me,” he urges you when your gaze flickers to the ground. You listen. “This fucking sucks, I know it does, but you’re strong and I’m here, and we can handle this.”

His voice is quiet, but sure. You search his face for any trace of a lie and find none. He really believes what he’s saying, and he really believes in you.

“Thank you for being here.” You take a deep breath and drop your forehead against the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry for crying. I know it’s kinda stupid. Most of this is replaceable, it’s just-”

“It’s not stupid,” he says, letting his chin rest atop your head. “You’re allowed to cry. Hell, I’d probably be kicking and screaming on the floor like I'm back in the terrible twos.”

You laugh wetly into his shirt.

“Now,” he says, pulling back and putting his hands on his hips, “the quicker we pack, the quicker we go home. I’ll even let you wear a pair of my good fuzzy socks.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Deal.”

-

Steve wouldn’t let you do much of the work after that.

Instead, he simply held up items for you to assess from where you’d been leaning against the wall and packed it into a box if it was a ‘yes,’ or tossing it aside dramatically just to try and get you to laugh if it was a ‘no.’

Once things were sorted through and packed, you loaded everything into Steve’s car—which wasn’t a whole bunch, considering how much you had to leave behind.

You’d refused to let Steve carry the boxes all on his own, though he tried, but he still managed to open the doors for you whenever you made it to his car, even when his own hands were full, too.

By the time you were finished, you were drained. It felt like you’d lived multiple days in the one. An eight hour shift opening at the store, then coming home to a wrecked apartment. All you wanted to do was shower and lay down and not get back up.

Steve knows you well enough to be able to tell when it’s time to fill the silence and when it isn’t, and on the drive back to his place, while your head was leaned against his window, he knew to stay quiet and give you a bit of space.

He turned the radio on, but not too loud, letting the songs hum through the speakers. At every stop sign, he reached over and gave your thigh a light squeeze. Reassuring, kind, somehow exactly what you needed at the moment. Nothing more, nothing less.

You were no stranger to the Harrington’s house, having been there countless times since you were little, but it feels more intimidating now, knowing you’ll be staying. You feel silly for being worried, but you are. Asking for help makes you feel like a burden.

Steve, however, doesn’t let you entertain that thought for long, parking in his driveway and jogging around to open the passenger door for you. “Honey, we’re home!”

“Dork,” you say, though you accept his hand and let him tug you up out of the car.

Grabbing the first couple of boxes, Steve leads you inside and upstairs, right to the guest room across the hall from his own bedroom. The closest one to him.

The house has at least two guest rooms, though you suppose with how little Steve's parents are around, you could consider there to be three. Three spare rooms and Steve puts you up in the nearest one possible. It makes your heart squish in your chest, how caring he is. He doesn’t even have to try, really, the goodness in him shows even when he tries to keep it hidden.

It only takes a few trips down to his car and back before all of your boxes are stacked against the wall. You decide you’ll deal with them later.

Steve runs over to his room and grabs a set of pajamas that you’d left there, and hands them to you. “I figured you’d wanna wash up.”

“You calling me smelly, Harrington?”

“Shut up, I think you smell nice. Usually.”

“Hey!”

“I’m teasing, angel.” He ruffles your hair. You swat his hand away. “You know where the bathroom is, and there should be soap and stuff in the shower already. Just yell if you need something, okay?”

You do know where the bathroom is. You have your own toothbrush in a cup by the sink, a set of travel-sized skin care products in the cupboard behind the mirror for whenever you end up staying over.

It’s funny, you’ve always felt more at home here than at your own parents house, and though he hasn’t said it to you, Steve much prefers this house when you’re in it. There’s a warmth that comes with your presence that makes him ache when it’s not around.

You nod, “Thank you again for letting me stay, Steve. I won’t be in the way, promise.”

“I want you in the way. You know you’re always welcome. This is no different.” He shrugs, “Plus, it’ll be nice having you around. Place always feels so empty when it’s just me.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay forever, then,” you say, tone light and joking.

Steve, completely serious, says, “I’d let you.”

There’s a zip that goes through you when he says it, quick as lightning, something you’ve never felt—or noticed, rather—around him. It throws you off just a little.

“Anyways,” Steve cuts your thoughts short, “I’ll let you get settled. Pizza will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

He leaves the room before you can thank him again, his footsteps retreating and heading downstairs.

You’ve been to his house a million times, so you don’t really feel the need to ‘get settled’ but you desperately need a shower so that’s where you go.

You stay in for longer than you need to, letting the too-hot water run down your neck and back.

When you finally do step out of the bathroom, now clad in your pajamas, and head downstairs, Steve’s sitting on the couch in the living room, the romcoms he owns sitting out in front of the TV for you to choose from, your favorite blanket resting on your side of the couch, and pizza boxes on the coffee table just as promised.

It’s the best thing in the world, you think, to have a friend like Steve.

-

You’ve been staying at Steve’s for a couple of days already, and time seems to fly by a little quicker when you’re there, especially when you’re around him.

He’s taken it upon himself to have coffee ready in the pot for you every morning, one of your favorite mugs already next to it on the counter. You’ve cooked breakfasts together (pancakes one day, where you’d done most of the work, or something simple as toast when you both have to get to work), ordered dinners, and Steve comes home from his shifts with a new movie to watch almost every day.

It’s been so nice. Almost perfect, actually.

This morning, the first day where your shifts happen to be at the exact same time, he’d even insisted on driving you to work. It was an easy yes, considering it wasn’t out of his way at all.

After a short stint of working together at the grocery store in ninth grade, and your subsequent firing from the job after a month of constantly distracting each other on the clock, Tim, the grocery manager, took it upon himself to warn Hawkins not to hire the both of you together.

Eventually, you’d taken the closest you could get which resulted in you working at the arcade and Steve next door at Family Video.

You share a parking lot. Steve already drives you to work most days. You like to put up a bit of a fight just to annoy him.

Though you haven’t worked together in years, and he isn’t far away by any means, you miss having Steve around on days like this. Where the arcade is quiet save for the sounds of the games in the background, where you’re simply babysitting the desk and cleaning things multiple times to try and make the hours pass by.

If Steve were with you, he’d make stupid jokes that you don’t wanna laugh at but do, or coerce you into playing the games while on the clock with the change you find whenever you’re cleaning.

He’d probably trash talk you, and bump your hip with his while playing pinball, and be a sore loser, and for some reason you want him around so bad.

You chalk it up to getting used to spending hours and hours with him, every single day, these past couple of days. Staying with him has made you miss him more, you think.

That’s it.

Meanwhile, over at Family Video, Steve isn’t feeling too different from you.

He’s spent the morning stocking shelves, memories popping into his head whenever he’d come across a movie you loved or watched together, while Robin’s been manning the desk.

Then, when his cart was empty and put back into the back room, he sat on the chair behind the front desk, spinning around until Robin stopped him with her foot and asked what he was thinking so hard about.

Steve caught her up on what had happened with your apartment (you’d told him he could tell her, because she’s your friend too and would find out sooner or later) and how you’d ended up staying with him in his house.

She raised her eyebrows and hummed in a way that was automatically suspicious, because Robin isn’t very good at hiding things.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Nothing.” When Steve only gives her a pointed look, Robin continues, “Well… are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Now, Robin is one of Steve’s closest friends, and him one of hers, and she supports him in pretty much everything that he does even when she teases him relentlessly along the way, but she cares about both of you and doesn’t want to see anyone hurt.

She can read Steve better than he can read himself, probably, because to Robin, it’s clear that he feels more than friendly towards you. And he doesn’t even know it.

When they became closer, it was clear to Robin, even before meeting you, just from the way Steve spoke of you, that there was a spot reserved for you in his life that couldn’t be filled by anyone else.

He would say it’s that of ‘best friend’ but Robin would call it something even bigger than that. Still, even though she thinks he’s an absolute dingus, she’s trying to let Steve figure it out for himself.

Clearly, it’s taking fucking forever.

He looks confused at her question, “Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

Robin sighs and resists the urge to drop her forehead against the desk and decides on, “You know what they say: become friends with your roommates, don’t become roommates with your friends.”

“Whoever they are, they’re dumb as shit,” Steve says. “She’s been over, slept over, hundreds of times. It’s not any different, just longer.”

“I guess so,” she settles on. “The rules of the world never really seem to apply to you two.”

“That’s because the rules of the world are also dumb as shit.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ve ever tried following them.”

“‘Cause I’m a rule breaker, Robs.”

Steve wiggles his eyebrows. Robin shoves the rolling chair he’s sitting on with her foot, sending it into the other side of the desk with a thud.

“Don’t think that smoking weed in your backyard is enough to call yourself a rule breaker, dingus.”

-

That night, your routine was pretty much the same.

Steve was already waiting for you in his car when you left the arcade, a smile spreading onto his face when he saw you making your way across the parking lot to him, your skirt swishing a little with the breeze.

Rather than go straight home, you made a stop at your apartment to talk things over with the couple who owned the home. They’d met with a builder and plumber about getting everything fixed and wanted to walk you through it all.

Steve came with you and held your hand, and both of them cooed at him and pinched his cheeks and called him a cutie before getting to the important stuff.

After going over what had to be done (rip out the carpet, replace it, fix the pipes and make sure no others were at risk, replace the ceiling, and more you couldn’t even remember already), they’d assured you that they would be taking care of it all. Covering the entire cost.

You probably would’ve argued if not for how little money was in your bank account, and how stubborn you knew these people to be. Instead, you’d squeezed them both and thanked them while your eyes grew misty with tears.

Steve’s hand stayed in yours and squeezed when you sniffled.

He knew, because he knew pretty much everything about you, that these people were kinder to you than even your own parents. That, if this had happened at their house, they would’ve found a way to blame you for it.

You feel lucky to have found that kind of parental love elsewhere, sad that you didn’t know exactly what it felt like beforehand.

After giving the couple Steve’s phone number to call in case they needed you and giving them both another hug, you and Steve headed back home.

Home, you call it. Like it’s yours.

Sometimes it feels like it is.

Later, after you and Steve have both showered and had dinner and gotten comfy in your sweats, you’re back in the living room, Steve shows you the movie he’s brought back this time.

“Gremlins?” You ask, smiling and shaking your head.

“Hell yeah, angel. It’s a classic.”

Steve sets everything up, joining you on the couch after pressing ‘play’ on the movie and adjusting the volume with your guidance.

“So, how was work?” Steve asks during the opening credits. The two of you have a hard time being next to each other and not talking. It’s why you get dirty looks whenever you go to the movies.

“Weekdays are so boring, Steve,” you say, letting your head fall against the back of the couch. “You’re so lucky you have Robin to entertain you during the day. I think I dusted like, ten times at least.”

“Robin is a pain in my ass.” He says. He doesn’t really mean it, because even when she is, he’s glad to have her around. A different kind of gladness than he feels with you. “She kept pushing me every time I sat in the rolling chair. There’s probably a dent in the desk.”

“That’s because you were probably hogging the chair, Steve.”

“What the fuck!” Steve’s smiling when he says it, lacking any sort of anger. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Your smile mirrors his, the way it always does. It’s contagious, you think, the way his eyes crinkle at the corner.

Shrugging, you say, “I don’t know, I’d wanna push you around on that chair too, I think.”

“You’d spin me too much. I’d get sick all over you and then nobody’s happy.”

“Don’t talk about barf while I’m eating, Harrington.”

You throw a piece of popcorn at him. It bounces off his cheek and lands on his lap, and he doesn’t even flinch. Steve just picks it up and pops it into his mouth.

When the bowl’s empty, you lean forward and set it on the coffee table before sinking back into the couch, Steve's shoulder brushing yours. You let the warmth seep through your clothes and shut your eyes.

It’s a little more than halfway through the movie when Steve realizes you’re asleep. You’d been quiet, sure, but Steve only thought that meant you were paying attention to the movie.

That was, until your head slipped and rested against his shoulder.

He looked down at you, at the hair falling across your forehead (he smoothed it away gently, so it wouldn’t be in your eyes or your mouth), your eyebrows relaxed and free of any worry, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

He thinks of how tired you must be, after everything. Your apartment and dealing with the aftermath both emotionally and physically, working long shifts most days to keep your bank account full.

Steve, though he doesn’t let himself look too deep into it, also thinks of how beautiful you are. Now and always.

Not wanting you to get a kink in your neck from the position, Steve decides to rouse you from sleep as gently as possible. He slips a hand under your head to keep it steady and maneuvers himself to kneel in front of you.

“Hey, angel,” he almost whispers, thumb dragging across your cheek. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Your nose scrunches and you grumble, but after some coaxing, you blink your eyes open and squint at Steve. You blame your half-asleep mind on the way you nuzzle into his palm. “Hmm?”

“You fell asleep.”

“Oh, sorry,” you mumble.

Steve laughs softly. “Don’t be sorry, I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

The warmth of his hand leaves your cheek as he stands and holds his hands out for you to grab. He pulls you up off the couch and starts leading you towards the stairs.

You knuckle at your eyes on the way, a tiny smile gracing your face at how sweet Steve’s being. As if you haven’t fallen asleep on his couch plenty of times before.

Still sleepy, you stumble a little on the stairs, but Steve catches you easily with an arm around your waist and a small “Careful.”

He leaves his arm there the rest of the way to what’s become your bedroom, guiding you over to the bed and lifting the covers for you.

Tomorrow, you’ll regret not brushing your teeth or washing your face before climbing in bed. But today, you don’t feel like risking not being able to sleep again if you wake yourself up further.

You’re practically asleep again by the time you’re settled with your head on the pillow as Steve tugs the blankets over you.

You’re just awake enough to feel the light press of his lips on your forehead and a soft “Goodnight, angel” against your skin before he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

-

On a random Thursday that you and Steve both have off, he convinces you to let him take you to the mall.

“We should go shopping,” he says when you walk into the kitchen. It’s a little later in the morning, having slept in since it’s a day off, the sun slipping through the window in warm beams.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Like, groceries?”

“No, like shopping shopping. You know, the mall?”

You lean against the kitchen island, the countertop cool on your back where it touches the sliver of skin between your tank top and sleep shorts. Steve has his shoulder against the fridge, his arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his t-shirt tight against his muscles. Not that you’re looking.

You squint at him, trying to find his motive on his face. “You literally buy whatever the mannequins are wearing to avoid shopping.”

“That’s what they’re there for!” The sass in his voice has you biting back a smile. “You need new clothes,” he continues, “and I need to get out of this house.”

“We can do something else, Steve,” you say. “I thought you hated shopping.”

“Well, I don’t hate you.” There’s a pause, Steve’s eyes lowering to that sliver of skin above your shorts. He flicks them back to your face quickly, hoping you didn’t notice, because even he’s not sure what compelled his eyes to wander. “Plus, Eddie called me a hermit the other day and I really can’t stand for that, can I?”

“Ohhh,” you ignore the way your skin suddenly feels warm beneath his gaze, “so you need to make a public appearance to prove Eddie wrong?”

“Exactly. We’ll replace some of the things you lost and restore my reputation. Two birds, one stone, right angel?”

So that’s how you’d ended up at the mall. After Starcourt burnt down, the closest place was a couple towns over, and Steve (as always) offered to drive.

He lets you pick the music the entire way, sings along when you hold your water bottle by his mouth like a microphone, even attempts to harmonize with you which just ends in laughter because neither of you sounded that great.

You’re a couple of stores in, and Steve’s been complaint-free so far—which makes sense, since this was his idea, but you’ve caught him side-eyeing some things, so you know he’s got some remarks in his head he just hasn’t said out loud—and follows you around as you browse. You try not to take too long, because you can’t imagine that this is any fun for him.

“How about that one?” Steve asks, pointing at one of the dresses hanging along the store’s wall.

He’d seen your apartment, though that was a bit ago, and he remembered what you’d lost the most of, along with the type of stuff you like. He pays attention like that, in small, quiet ways that you think mean the most.

He knows you. He cares enough to know you.

“Yeah, that’s really pretty, actually,” you admit.

At your approval, Steve grabs one in your size (which he also just happens to know) and adds it to the couple of things he’d already been holding for you. Every time you picked something up, he was quick to snatch it from you, telling you it was ‘too hard to browse with your hands full.’

After making your way through the rest of the store, you decided to head back to try things on, holding out a hand for the stuff Steve’s holding. “You can wait out here, I’ll be quick.”

“Hold on,” he says, holding the hangers out of your reach. “Why do you think I’m here, angel? I wanna help you pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Give me a fashion show, yeah?”

“Oh my God,” you mumble, letting him follow you to the fitting rooms.

They’re hidden behind the back wall of the store, a hallway painted bright blue with pink changeroom doors on one side, and white benches along the other.

“Hi there,” an employee with auburn hair greets you both, her smile wide and kind, though you know it’s a practiced one. Customer service smile. “How many you got there, darling?”

“Oh, um,” you turn back towards Steve, who’s counting the hangers in his hand. “Five.”

“Perfect!” The girl takes the key hanging around her neck and unlocks one of the rooms for you. She takes the clothes from Steve and hangs them up inside for you, then turns to the two of you and says, “Your man can have a seat right here. We call them the ‘boyfriend benches.’”

“He’s not my-”

“Thanks,” Steve says, cutting off your correction because for some reason he didn’t want you to correct her.

Did he… like the idea of being your boyfriend?

Fuck. No. He just didn’t want you to have to explain the whole situation in your rambly way. That’s all.

The redhead smiles again, “Holler if you need anything,” she says before walking off.

You stand there for a second, something like confusion on your face. Did it look like you were boyfriend and girlfriend?

“Come on,” Steve says, snapping the both of you out of whatever that was. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I can't believe you’re making me do this,” you say, walking into the fitting room and shutting the door.

You try on a couple of sweaters first, and Steve feels the fabric both times, making sure that it’s not scratchy on your skin. Then, there’s just some basic t-shirts that aren’t all that exciting, but Steve says they look nice anyway.

Finally, you get to the dress he picked out.

It really was pretty. A midi-length with a ruffled hem and straps that tie into little bows on your shoulders. You don’t always feel good in your clothes. Sometimes you wish you could crawl out of your skin when you look into the mirror, but right now, you don’t hate what you see.

You actually like it.

“Well?” Steve calls softly from the bench.

In response, you open the door and step out so he can see you.

Steve’s seen you in plenty of dresses—hell, you went to prom together—but for some reason this one makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker. Maybe it’s simply the fact that it looks great on you, or the way you’re smiling shyly as he looks you over.

Or, maybe it’s because he’s the one who picked it.

He stands up, spinning his finger in the air in a gesture for you to twirl. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. The hallway of fitting rooms isn’t very big, so with both of you in it, you’re standing toe to toe, the gold flecks in the middle of Steve’s eyes and the faint freckles that dot his nose are visible from where you stand.

As if he can’t help it, Steve lifts a finger and dips it beneath the strap on your shoulder. Not moving it or undoing it, just gliding along your skin where it sits.

“You look beautiful,” he says. His voice goes all quiet and soft when he says it, and his eyes widen a tiny bit, like he hadn’t meant it to slip out that way. It sounded… more than friendly. He clears his throat and steps back as much as he can in the small space, his finger leaving your skin. “I have great taste. Clearly.”

You blink at him, then shake yourself out of it as much as you can. “Yeah. Don’t let it get to your head.” You lift the tag where it hangs by your armpit and look at the price. You gasp and swat Steve’s arm. “Steve! Why would you let me walk into a place so expensive?”

You probably should’ve looked at the tag beforehand, but here you are. Steve, shrugging exaggeratedly, says, “I didn’t know!”

“Okay, I’m gonna change before she comes back. We can make a run for it.”

“We’re not stealing.”

“I know, but they look at you all judgemental when you try stuff on and don’t buy something. Trust me.”

You turn and go back into the fitting room to put on your own clothes, taking a look at the dress in the mirror one last time before shaking your head at yourself.

Steve, however, takes the opportunity to leave you and head back out into the store. He finds the dress easily and grabs another one in your size from the rack and heads to the cashier.

He’s just finishing up, bag in hand, when you walk out and meet him at the front of the store.

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag for you to take.

“Steve…” You grab it and look inside. Your chest aches when you see the dress, your heart suddenly too full and your stomach fluttering stupidly. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine with something from the Gap.”

“I know that,” he says, a hand lifting to scratch at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick of his, and the thought of him being nervous right now makes you melt even more. “I wanted to get it for you. You looked too pretty in it not to have it.”

Your eyes catch his, and again, something passes between you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. A fizzle, a spark.

You rock back on your feet, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. They’re so fucking soft it makes you wonder how lucky you have to be to have him in your life. Being your best friend, driving you to work even when he doesn’t have a shift, offering you a place to stay, buying you a dress.

He’s the sweetest boy you’ve ever known.

“Well,” you twist the straps of the bag around your fingers just to keep them busy. “Thank you, Steve. This is really nice.”

His knuckle traces down your arm just once, featherlight. “You’re welcome, angel.”

You don’t buy anything else after that, instead stopping at the food court for fries, stealing from each other’s baskets, smiling and slapping hands away.

It’s the best day you’ve had in a while.

-

You don’t think anything you do will convey just how grateful you are that Steve has been so kind to you. Always, but especially now. Letting you stay with him and refusing to let you pay rent. (“I don’t even pay rent, and I live here all the time.”)

But, this morning, you’ve decided you’re gonna try.

Steve’s favorite meal of the day happens to be breakfast, which is funny, considering he usually eats something as simple as cereal. He’d told you once that it was because, as a kid, breakfast was the most peaceful of meals, his parents too busy getting ready for work or wherever they were going that he’d have the kitchen table to himself.

Lunch was usually spent at school, and Steve was never a fan of school to begin with. Then there was dinner, which his parents (when they were home) still wanted to have all together. They’d ask him questions and make backhanded comments about every single answer he gave. He never won at dinner.

So, breakfast was, and has remained, his favorite.

You made sure to get up early enough to give yourself time to get everything ready before he wakes up. Steve’s usually the one making the coffee in the morning, and you figured the least you could do was give him a break.

Yesterday, while Steve had been at work, you went over to the Wheeler’s and asked Nancy if you could borrow their waffle maker. She’d directed the question to her mother, who went and grabbed it for you and handed it over with a smile. You promised to take good care of it and have it back in a couple of days.

By the time Steve walks into the kitchen, you’ve already made the batter and set out the toppings—berries, maple syrup, whipped cream—like a buffet. However, he just so happens to come in as you’re swearing at the waffle maker.

“Stupid fucking thing,” you mutter, trying to open it.

Steve smiles to himself before saying, “Morning, angel.”

You jump at his voice, not having heard him walk in. When you turn around, your heart beats for a different reason.

Steve’s still only in his pajama pants, plaid and soft, hanging low on his hips. And he’s shirtless, his chest smattered with hair and his skin a little tanned from the sun. He’s got beauty marks all over, like a constellation you could chart, and his abs are just visible beneath the soft of his stomach. A trail of hair leading to the waistband of his pants and disappearing beneath them.

You’ve seen Steve shirtless plenty of times. Swimming and sleeping over in the summer, in high school when you used to go to his practices, but it hits you harder for some reason this time.

The way his hair is still a mess from sleep, his eyes a bit heavy. The way it feels to be greeting him in the kitchen, cooking breakfast. Intimate. Domestic.

You clear your throat and turn back around to pry the waffle maker open, revealing a slightly burnt but otherwise good-looking waffle. “I’m making breakfast. Coffee’s already in the pot, too.”

He walks over, his chest close to your back as he grabs a mug from the cabinet above you before heading over to pour himself a cup. He looks at the spread you’ve prepared, “Waffles, huh? What did I do to deserve all this?”

“Just wanted to do something nice for you,” you say as Steve walks over to lean against the counter next to you, his hip barely touching yours. “To thank you, in a way. For letting me stay and the dress and-”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me?” He says, though his voice is soft and still a bit rough from sleep. “I like having you around.”

“So you don’t want the waffles then?”

“Oh, I want the waffles. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for me. It’s not some debt you’ll owe me, angel.”

“Want you to know I appreciate you is all,” you say, pouring a new scoop of batter into the waffle maker.

Steve, unsure of what exactly possesses him to do so, dips in and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, his lips a whisper away from your skin when he says, “I appreciate you, too.”

Then he pulls away and moves to set the table. Like it was natural.

And it was, in a way. How you moved around each other in the kitchen. You leaning out of the way when he needed to reach something you were blocking, him putting a hand on your lower back when he walked behind you so you knew he was there.

Your cheek still tingles from where he’d kissed it when you bring the plate of waffles to the table, your skin somehow even warmer under his gaze, like he’s still remembering exactly how it felt, too.

You sit in the chair beside Steve, not noticing the way he tugs it a bit closer to him with his foot before you sit down. Soon enough, both of you are digging in. Steve’s got more whipped cream on his plate than waffle (you tell him as much) and you’ve got your berries on the side the way you always do.

Neither of you work until later in the day, and it’s nice knowing that you can take your time. Steve tells you about the advice he gave Dustin about how to be ‘cooler’ in school (he’d told him that being cool is completely overrated, he knew from experience, and that being himself is the most important). You’d told him he was going soft with age.

You talk about anything at all. How Keith somehow manages both of your places of work, how he also somehow does both terribly. The way he says ‘if you have time to lean, you have time to clean’ while literally having Cheeto dust on his fingers. Laughing at each other’s impressions of him.

What the new highscores were at the arcade, what people were renting from Family Video.

You wonder what it’ll be like when you have to leave. When you’re living alone again.

Logically, you know you’ll still see Steve frequently, because he’s your favorite person and you can’t remember the last time you went longer than a few days without hanging out. Still, it’ll be different than right now, waking up in the same space and sharing breakfast and brushing your teeth side by side in the mirror.

You’ll miss it, you think.

Trying not to dwell on something that’s still a few weeks away, you take another bite of your waffle. Steve catches your chin and wipes off a bit of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth, then pulling away and sucking it off his thumb.

He goes back to his own plate without a thought. Like touching you just now was an instinct.

Then, he teases you, “These are a little crispy, angel. Maybe you should stick to letting me make breakfast in this household.”

You kick his leg under the table. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you,’ Harrington.”

He kicks you back, much gentler than you’d been. “Thank you.”

“That’s what I thought.”

When you look at him, there’s an easy, boyish smile on his face.

A similar one stretches across your own lips.

-

Steve has had the thought pop up into his head a couple of times, that maybe he should’ve just asked you to live with him before you ever bought that apartment. Because having you around feels the most right things have ever felt in his house.

And though the circumstances of your moving in with him (temporarily, he has to remind himself), were far from ideal, he can’t lie and say that he isn’t glad that you’ve ended up sharing his space.

The room across the hall will always be yours, even when you move back to your place.

He knows that you feel indebted to him for all of it, but if anyone owes the other something, he feels like it’s him. For everything you’ve ever done for him. Sticking around even when he was an asshole in highschool, defending him to his parents whenever you’d cross paths, simply being the kind of friend he needed.

Even when you’re not around, he can picture your face, the way your smile spreads slowly until you’re fucking beaming. Worse, the way you cried into his chest that day at your apartment.

He remembers the crack in your voice when you spoke about that picture frame from summer camp. Though he hasn’t seen you cry since, or even bring it up, he’s decided he wants to fix it. He’d told you he would.

Dustin wound up roped into his plan: find a similar frame, decorate it the exact same way, and scour the photo albums in Steve’s room for his copy of that same picture.

When he was younger, the photo albums pissed him off, because they were purely for show. Pictures of his family that were all fake smiles. Now, he’s glad for them, because at least he has some good memories to look back on. To know it wasn’t always all bad.

Steve probably should’ve thought that one through, because when they looked through his albums, he was on the receiving end of relentless teasing from Dustin. (“Dude, you have an insane boogie in this picture.” “I was four!”)

He hopes it’ll be worth it.

Dustin was the one who found the picture they’d been looking for, and he cheered and waved it in Steve’s face as if they’d been racing.

Now, after driving Dustin back home, decorating the frame the way the two of you did as kids, trying to make his handwriting look like it did back then (which wasn’t too difficult, ‘cause Steve’s writing still isn’t that neat), he’s waiting for you to come downstairs before giving it to you.

He’d picked you up after your shift at the arcade not too long ago, but he knows you like to shower and change as soon as you get home from work, so he’d taken the opportunity to wrap the frame and have it ready for you.

Steve can hear you singing in the shower, and he knows you’re done when it goes quiet. A few minutes later you’re walking down the stairs in a baggy t-shirt and silky sleep shorts.

His eyes, for some reason, linger on your legs for a second.

He stands up, frame in his hand, when you walk over. “I have something for you.”

“Steve! Stop buying me things. Seriously.”

“This thing was free, so you can’t even be mad,” he says, smiling almost sheepishly.

Your eyes search his face, flickering between his own and dipping down to his lips and his nose and back to his eyes. He looks… nervous.

Steve’s never nervous around you.

“Okay,” you say, shuffling on your feet. “What is it?”

“Here,” he hands you the poorly-wrapped frame. “Open it.”

You scrunch your brows at him once, because you have no idea what it could be. It isn’t your birthday, or any sort of holiday at all. With zero guesses, you look down at the light yellow wrapping paper in your hands and slowly tear it open.

What you find makes your eyes grow misty, tears pooling at your lash line but not quite falling.

It’s your favorite picture, the one of you and Steve in those stupid neon shirts with messy hair and dirt on your hands. Only now, it’s not water damaged, and the frame is new, but decorated just like the old one. You run your thumbs over the glass lightly, smiling down at little you and little Steve.

When you look back up at him, he’s already looking at you, his brown eyes all warm, his smile kind but also worried, waiting for your reaction.

Seeing his face springs you into motion, jumping forward and wrapping your arms around his neck tightly with the frame still in your hand. “Thank you,” you say into his skin.

Steve’s arms move to hold you around your waist without a thought. A reflex. They squeeze you close to him, his nose pressed into your damp hair, smelling your shampoo.

“It’s not perfect,” he says. “But I know how much you love that picture, and I wanted to fix it.”

“Steve. Shut up. It is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he says, his thumbs running back and forth against your back.

You hug for what could’ve been minutes, but neither of you moves to pull away first. You’re not sure if it’s still considered friendly to stand in each other's arms, breathing each other in, for so long, but you don’t care at the moment.

This is probably the nicest thing anyone’s done for you in a long, long time.

When you finally do pull away, you don’t go far. Your arms stay slung over his shoulders, Steve’s hands framing your hips. His thumbs still dragging those sweet patterns against you.

“I’m keeping it forever,” you tell him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Certain. You’ll always be my best friend, Steve.”

“You’ll always be mine too, angel.”

Then, your eyes both move to each other’s lips, yours flick back up in a second, startled at their wandering.

Steve, however, is a bit transfixed. He looks at the slope of your cupid’s bow, the way your lips are shiny from your lip balm. He thinks it quickly, like a gust of wind that can’t be stopped: I really wanna kiss her right now.

Fuck. He wants to kiss his best friend.

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat and pulling back, letting his hands fall from your waist as yours slide off his shoulders. He misses the feel of your touch immediately, but he’s too freaked out and confused to do anything about it.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” he asks, cutting off his own thoughts. “I brought back a horror and a comedy. Take your pick.”

“Mmm,” he picks up two tapes from the coffee table and holds them up for you to choose from. “Horror. Unless you’re too scared?”

“You’ll just have to hold my hand, then, won’t you?”

“I guess I will.”

You look back at the picture while Steve puts the movie into the player. You smile at it every time you see it, because you can still see parts of Steve in him now that were in him then.

His eyes, always kind, the way he smiles when he laughs, and about a half hour into the movie, the way he holds your hand and squeezes it when he’s scared.

-

You’re having one of those nights. The kind where sleep seems to be fighting you.

You worked a closing shift at the arcade, which usually lasts until late considering how long you’re open plus all of the cleaning you have to do afterwards. Today was no different, and despite how much later you finish than him at Family Video, Steve waited and drove you home. He hung out in the arcade with you until close, actually.

You’d think that after such a long day, the second your head hit the pillow you’d be out and breathing steadily. Today, that is not the case. You fell asleep for maybe an hour before a nightmare woke you up. You can’t quite remember what happened, only that you’d been yelling for Steve and he wasn’t there.

Groaning quietly, you rub your eyes and toss the blankets away. You stand up and head down to the kitchen in the dark, hand trailing along the walls to make sure you don’t bump into anything.

Just as you’re pouring yourself a glass of water, you hear the shuffle of sleepy footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Holy shit,” he says, walking over to grab a glass, one hand on his bare chest. “I thought you were a ghost or something just now.”

You shift out of the way to let him get some water just like you did, taking the second that he’s distracted to look at him. His hair a mess, wearing nothing but his boxers. You take a big sip from your glass.

“I feel like I should be offended right now,” you say, “if you think I look like a ghost.”

“Shut up,” he says, dragging out the second word. His voice being rough from sleep makes his words sound much warmer than they are. “My eyes aren’t awake yet. Nothing to do with you, angel.”

You shake your head, though there’s a soft smile on your face the way there always seems to be when you try to be annoyed with Steve. You tilt your head at him, asking, “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Been tossing and turning. Just can’t get comfortable, then I got pissed ‘cause I couldn’t get comfortable and only made it worse.”

“You would get pissed at that. Probably slapped your pillow like it was at fault.”

He folds his lips inwards and blinks at you. Because he did smack his pillow and call it a dipshit. “Why do you know everything? Spying on me?”

“Hate to say it, but you’re getting predictable, Harrington.” You shrug, then move to put your now empty glass in the dishwasher. “I know you too well.”

He looks at you, your hair falling across your shoulders, your pajama shorts riding up a little as you bend down. The moonlight slipping through the window seems to hit you perfectly. Like a halo.

Fitting, he thinks. You’re his angel, after all.

“Yeah, you do,” he agrees. Then, “What about you? Why’re you up?”

“Nightmare. Been forever since I had one.”

“You okay?” he asks, trailing a knuckle over your shoulder, pushing your hair behind it.

“Yeah,” you say, skin tingling where he’d touched you. “I can't even remember most of it, but now my brain won’t let me sleep.”

Steve wishes he could’ve protected you from whatever haunted you in your sleep. It’s silly, he knows, to think he might be able to ward away anything that hurts you, but he wants to, nonetheless.

He thinks about how comfortable he is whenever you cuddle during movie night. Your head on his shoulder or his chest, his hand on your back or waist.

So, he blurts, “Why don’t you sleep over?”

You furrow your brows at him, “Um, I’ve been sleeping over. A couple of weeks now, actually.”

“No, I mean, like in my room with me,” he says, suddenly shy at the idea. He’s grateful for the darkness, because he can feel his cheeks warming up. “A proper sleepover.”

You’ve done it before. Shared a bed a bunch of times, but for some reason your heart jumps when he says it. Your stomach swirls as you say, maybe a little too quickly, “Okay.”

Steve’s eyes widen like he’s surprised, just for a split second, before a soft smile takes over his face. He holds out a hand for you to take, “C’mon.”

Soon enough, Steve’s lifting his navy bedspread for you, letting you slip into bed next to him. He stays further away at first, letting you settle and lay on your side the way he knows you always do.

You blame sleepiness—or, maybe, the lack thereof—for the way you reach behind you for his arm and tug him closer, draping it over your own waist.

He obliges, of course, his arm securing itself across your stomach, palm spread out and warm against your sleep shirt. His chest is only a breath away from your back, though he keeps his lower half a little more distanced.

His thumb runs circles over your shirt, once, twice, three times before stilling, his forehead pressing to the back of your neck.

“Goodnight, angel,” he says into your hair.

Your hand splays itself on top of his. “Night, Steve.”

And suddenly your eyes grow heavier, and sleep doesn’t feel like much of a battle anymore.

-

You wake up the most rested you’ve felt in a while. There’s warmth surrounding you, but not the uncomfortable kind. The kind that feels safe.

Somehow, you and Steve are even closer than you’d been when you fell asleep. His arm is still around your waist, his other outstretched and tucked beneath your head like a pillow. His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel it expand with every breath he takes.

Most differently of all, however, is the way his hips are snug against the curve of your butt. And you can feel him hard against you.

Your skin feels even warmer than before when you notice.

Steve hasn’t woken up yet, you don’t think, because the faintest snores are getting puffed out against your shoulder where his face is tucked. His hand on your stomach has worked its way beneath your shirt, though, and his fingertips press against your skin, like he’s fighting to keep you close.

As if you’d go anywhere even in your sleep.

His knee is tucked between your legs, and you’re quickly realizing that it’d be pretty impossible to get out of bed without him noticing. You’re completely tangled together, a knot of limbs somehow fitting together just right. Like two puzzle pieces.

In his sleep, Steve’s mouth presses against the back of your shoulder, and only when you involuntarily shiver at the contact, does he stir.

It takes Steve a bit to really wake up, mumbling words that don’t make sense, scrunching his eyes shut even further before blinking them open. He’s met with the sight of you right in front of him. Body curved perfectly against his.

“Steve? You awake?” you ask, checking.

“Mhm,” he hums.

Then, something that has his cheeks flushing pink, he registers the feeling of his boner pressed against your ass. He shuffles them back enough so there’s space between you. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Because he can’t control the way his body reacts while he’s asleep.

“I didn’t think-” he cuts himself off, because he’s not quite sure how to say I didn’t think about the whole morning wood factor or that I’d fucking plaster myself to you when I suggested a sleepover without sounding stupid. Instead, he just repeats, “I’m sorry.”

You twist yourself around to face him, sheets crumpling and twisting as you move. When you settle back onto the pillow and look at his face, at the redness on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, you squeeze his hand that’s now laying between you.

“It’s okay, really,” you say. “It’s, like, anatomy. You’re human, Steve.”

“I don’t want you to think I invited you to sleep in here for some pervy reason,” he says, scrunching his nose when he says it.

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell him. You squeeze his hand again. “We’ve shared a bed like, a hundred times by now. If anything I’m surprised this hasn’t happened already.”

“Oh my God,” he groans, shutting his eyes and pushing his face into the pillow.

“Steve,” you drag out his name, fighting a giggle at the way he’s acting. He’s got a reputation, after all, and how shy and embarrassed he seems to be doesn’t reflect the things you heard about him in high school. He’s changed a lot since then. “It’s seriously fine. We can pretend it never happened. Promise.”

Steve pulls his face from the pillow, eyes catching yours as his fingers squeeze yours back in appreciation. He lets his eyes wander a bit, at the messy bits of your hair around your face from sleeping, the marks in your cheek from the pillowcase, the way your sleep shirt has fallen off your shoulder.

He feels lucky to get to see you this way, right after you’ve woken up. Vulnerable, unguarded, beautiful.

It’s during this small stretch of silence that you realize how close your faces are now. You’re sharing a pillow, his nose not even an inch from yours. Shift forward the slightest bit, and they’d be touching. Your eyes trail down to his mouth, to the visible patch of chest hair and the freckles that dot his skin. He’s already looking right at you when your eyes flick back upwards.

You know Steve, could tell what he’s feeling just from the look on his face, but this is one you’ve never seen before. At least, not directed at you.

Steve moves first, his eyes a little darker than usual, shifting forward slightly, then looking at you. Daring you to make the next move.

“What if we didn’t forget about it?” he says. Quiet and scratchy.

You don’t have time to think before you move forward a bit, too. Your noses brush. “What would that mean?”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. Rather, he moves forward the final bit and brushes his lips against yours in a question mark of a kiss, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Instead, the hand of yours that isn’t still holding his comes up to the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to do it again. His free hand tightens at your waist as he dips in a second time.

It isn’t as tentative now that you’ve urged him on. His lips meet yours more sure, more firm, but still soft against you. Neither of you cares one bit about morning breath, or about what this might change. As if the morning’s haze slows time, minds still a little sleepy.

You’re simply acting on instinct. And this feels too right to stop.

Soon enough it grows more heated, Steve shifting to hover over you, his elbows pushing into the mattress to hold himself up, his tongue sneaking out to lick against the seam of your lips for permission.

Just as you open up for him, the blaring sound of Steve's alarm cuts you off, pulling back with a gasp. He simply leans up on one arm and slams the snooze button—and you laugh, you laugh, at how hard he hits it—before diving back into you.

You feel hot all over, where one of Steve’s hands has moved to cup your jaw, his thumb running delicately against your face as his mouth moves against yours, practically devouring you. Where the blankets are still over your lower halves, trapping in heat. When he pulls back, looks into your eyes, fucking smiles all dopey and pretty, and then kisses you again.

It’s so good, you’re almost angry at yourself for not kissing him sooner.

You kiss until his alarm goes off again and Steve's forced to pry himself away from you, groaning about being on his ‘last tardy warning’ from Keith.

Still, he takes the time to kiss your forehead on his way out, Family Video vest slung over his shoulder, calling a sweet, “bye, angel,” on his way out. His hair’s still a mess from your fingers, and he doesn’t even seem to mind.

You stay in his bed longer than you probably should, blinking up at the ceiling, fingers pressed against your lips like you’re searching for physical proof that everything was real.

What the fuck just happened?

-

It’s been a couple of weeks, and Steve can’t stop thinking about that kiss. He doesn’t know it, but you can’t stop thinking about it either.

Neither of you have brought it up, and things have faded back to normal as if it had never happened. But you and Steve are both thinking the same things without knowing it. How good and natural and easy it felt, how, every now and then, you think about doing it again.

You talk and joke and watch movies and eat meals together the same way you always have, and it’d be so easy to stay that way, to never kiss again. But then, what if you could stay that way and kiss? Wouldn’t that be something close to perfect?

You lay awake thinking about it every few nights. Because, when you really reflect on your life and how intertwined it is with Steve’s, you realize that you’ve sort of always acted like a couple, minus the kissing and sex aspect. You go on what could easily be classified as dates—the movies, lunch or dinner—you cuddle on the couch almost nightly, and you’ve never shied away from physical touch with one another. Held hands, a palm on your back.

You haven’t brought it up with Steve because you haven’t even come to terms with it yourself. Feelings are so fucking confusing and messy and you’d like to have a better idea of what’s going on in your own head before asking him about his.

Meanwhile, Steve has allowed himself to come to terms with it. He’s in love with you.

He’s pretty sure he has been for a while. Months, maybe even years.

It hadn’t come easily, though. It was nights spent similarly to yours, running through interactions you’ve had and the way he felt that one time in senior year when you went on a date with some guy from your math class. Even then, a part of him felt wrong about it, that pit in his gut.

Then there were his shifts with Robin at Family Video where he’d practically spilled everything just to get her opinion. She looked up and sighed “thank you” before saying that it was nice of him to finally catch on.

Had he really been that obvious? All this time? And had he really been that oblivious to his own feelings?

Steve can’t answer those questions. He can’t say when his love for you changed from platonic to romantic, he just knows that it has and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back from it.

You’re his best friend in the entire world, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and he can’t picture himself loving anyone but you so wholly.

He’s fucking terrified of losing you, but he’s also terrified of never telling you how he feels and testing that what if.

So, like a desperate idiot, he knocks on the door to Eddie’s trailer.

Eddie opens it after a minute and what sounded like him stubbing his toe, “oh, hey Harrington. More weed?”

“No, shut up. I need your help.”

“You,” Eddie points at Steve, then at himself, “need my help for something? Are you ill?”

“Okay,” Steve, dramatic and bitchy as usual, sighs and mutters something about this being a stupid idea and turns to leave.

“Come on,” Eddie laughs, “I’m just joking. What’s up?”

Soon enough, Steve’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, Eddie pacing in front of the coffee table like this is a very serious matter, and telling him pretty much everything. Your kiss, the train of thought it sparked.

“Basically I’m in love with her and I have no clue what to do,” Steve finishes, sinking back into the couch cushions. It squeaks as he shifts.

Eddie pauses, tugging at his bottom lip between his fingers, then looks at Steve and says, “You know I’ve never dated anyone in my life, right?”

Steve groans into his hands, “Why do all of my friends have to be losers with no dating lives.”

Eddie ignores that, because he can tell how affected Steve actually is by all of this. How much he cares. He walks over and sits down on the opposite end of the couch. “Have you ever thought of, I don’t know, telling her how you feel?”

Steve rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward and letting his head hang for a moment before picking it up. “Of course I have, but I’m fuckin’ scared.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, she could reject me and not feel the same way and everything would be awkward because I ruined it and I’d lose my best friend in the entire world.”

“What if she does feel the same?” Eddie asks.

He’s both yours and Steve’s friend, he’s been around the both of you together. He’s seen the way you look at each other. Eddie might not be an expert, but it’s always looked a lot like love to him. He’s pretty sure the chances of you feeling the same are quite high.

“What do you mean?”

“What if she does feel the same and you never figure it out because you’re too afraid?” Eddie says. “Man, don’t you think that risk is worth taking?”

Steve thinks about it, and as much as he hates to admit it, Eddie’s right. He’d hate to always wonder, to lose out on the chance to really be with you when he knows it could be so good.

You are worth the risk to him.

“When the fuck did you become so wise, Munson?”

“Dunno,” Eddie shrugs. “Wanna smoke?”

Steve laughs, “Yes I do.”

-

With Steve gone at work and you off for the day, there’s been too much room for your thoughts to creep in. Too much silence.

You’ve already been thinking about things so much. Thinking about him so much, that in his absence, your mind seemed to work overtime to fill in the gaps.

You thought about the day he picked you up from your apartment, how quick he was to drop whatever he’d been doing and come over and help you and take you home with him. The day he took you shopping and bought you a dress because he thought you looked pretty in it, the way his fingers fiddled with the strap on your shoulder when you tried it on for him.

The day he gifted you a remade version of your favorite picture from summer camp because he knew how much it meant to you, the way you held on to each other afterwards.

How you’d been waiting for him to get home that night he went to Eddie’s, just to make sure he was okay. How when he came in, he smiled at the sight of you curled on the couch, and he kissed your cheek when he walked by like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Your brain knew he was high, you could smell the weed mingling with his cologne on his clothes when he leaned in close, but your heart didn’t care about that. It thumped in your chest the second he leaned in closer, even worse when his lips touched your cheek.

The realization hits you now like a shock, a quick zip of electricity running through your system. You fucking love him.

Sure, you’ve loved Steve practically your whole life, but this was different. You love him, love him. Like, you want to kiss him when he comes home from work and in the morning. You want him to introduce you as his girlfriend and to be able to call him your boyfriend.

You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner, because looking back on things now, knowing how you feel, you can see it written throughout your entire friendship. Holding hands and kissing foreheads and hands pushing hair away from faces.

For a second, you’re purely happy, because you get to be in love with your best friend and it feels as warm and sweet as sunlight. Then, the fear creeps in, and you’re scared. Scared of losing him, of making things weird, of change and doing the wrong thing.

So scared that you start to panic and pack up some of your things in your bag like you’re running away.

Truthfully, you’re not sure what else to do. You’ve never been in love before, you’ve never known it this way—so kind and unconditional. And your parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example for you. They’d fight, and someone would leave with the slam of a door, and then they’d be back and the cycle would continue.

You’re scared and confused and your instincts are telling you to run away even though the only place you really wanna be is with Steve. In his arms.

You’re stuffing clothes into your bag just to keep your hands busy, breathing hard and fast, when you hear the front door open and close. Steve’s quick to find you, his eyes scanning your room and then looking at you. “What are you doing?”

You feel like you might cry just looking at him. His brown eyes worried but warm as always, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s nervous.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be home until later,” you say, hoping he can’t hear the shake in your voice.

“It was dead, so Keith let me off early. I-” Steve furrows his brows, “are you leaving?”

You nod. “I’ve been in your way long enough.”

“I told you, you’re never in my way.” Steve knows you, and he loves you, and he can tell that there’s something going on. That you’re panicked and trying to get away from whatever it is. He cares too much to let that happen. “I want you to stay.”

You want to stay, too. You just don’t know what comes next, and that unknown, the lack of control, of familiarity, it makes your hands shake.

Your mind doesn’t work the same when you’re afraid.

“Give me one good reason why I should stay, Steve. I’ve been taking up your space for weeks and-”

“Because I love you.” Steve cuts you off. He hadn’t planned on telling you this way, he wanted it to be romantic and perfect but he can’t wait any longer. Especially not when you’re trying to run away. “I’m in love with you. And I want you here.”

You immediately stop in your tracks, blinking up at him like you’re not sure you’d heard him correctly. “You- what?”

“I love you. Romantically. And I think I have for a really long time.”

“You’re not high again, are you?” You ask, your eyes a little misty.

Steve walks over to you and grabs both of your hands in his, making sure you’re looking at him, at the sincerity written all over his face, when he says, “Completely sober. I fucking love you and I want you to keep living with me, because this house doesn’t really feel like home unless you’re in it.”

“What about when my apartment is ready?”

He squeezes your hands. “Stay then, too. Stay forever.”

You look up at him, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes so honest, a tentative smile on his mouth. The only boy you’ve ever loved.

You feel silly for trying to escape this when this is how it’s turning out. Steve had been brave just now, telling you he loves you and he wants you to stay, so you decide to be brave, too.

It’s easier than you thought it would be to say: “I love you, too, Steve. I feel the same. I only just realized it and freaked out. I’m so scared of losing you, is all.”

“You won’t. Not ever.”

You tip your chin up to kiss him after he says it, because you can. You pour your feelings into it, and Steve returns your kiss as if it’s one he’s known for years. It’s slow, and deep, and sweet, and so full of love you’re practically overflowing with it.

The two of you only pull away when you need a breather. Steve doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours.

“So what happens now?” You ask.

“Well, we’ve been acting like a couple for a while, I think, so we stay the same. Mostly. Except now I get to call you my girlfriend-”

“Um, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to ask me first.”

He lets go of one of your hands and pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckle running lovingly across your cheek. “My angel girl, will you be my girlfriend?”

Your grin is wide and lovesick and cheesy and you don’t care one bit. “Yeah, yes I will. Boyfriend.”

“And, being your boyfriend means I get to do this.”

He kisses you once more. And you don’t ever want to not be kissing him again.

𝜗𝜚

thank you guys so much for reading!!! it would mean a whole bunch if you would consider leaving a comment or a reblog and letting me know what you think!! it helps more than you know <3

[downhillrepose]

an old love

overview : father charlie mayhew reunites with an old lover he was head over heels for before he began his journey into priesthood.

pairing : father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

word count : 1152 (and it’s still ASS)

a/n : this is my first fic so please excuse.. everything… while i try to figure it all out! xx

it was an early sunday evening when father mayhew was interrupted while planning his next sermon. the doors to the church pushed open, the loud hinges and heaviness of the door stirring him from his concentration.

father mayhew looked up from his altar to the entrance of the church, not necessarily surprised to have someone else join him in the holy place, but startled nonetheless by the sudden intrusion.

a frazzled young woman stumbled in, her wide eyes looking around to the tall pristine ceilings and stained glass windows before settling on father mayhew’s tall figure on the stage.

though a sin, father charlie swore his heart stopped beating when his eyes finally settled on the woman in his church. could it really be? no… no, it’s not possible.

“charlie?”

charlie���s eyes widened beyond belief, definitely sure this time that his heart stopped beating. “Y/N..? is that.. you?” his voice was breathless, rough with disbelief.

“oh, charlie,” you beamed, quick steps scurrying over to the altar, stopping short before the steps. “i’m so glad to see you..” your eyes raked over his attire, “oh! i’m sorry, father charlie.”

frozen, charlie just stared at you before he somehow got the courage to say something. “Y/N.. what are you doing here? it’s been..” he trailed off, not wanting to say how long it had been since he’d seen the woman he fell in love with.

“forever?” you finished for him,

“yea, forever,” he gulped, slowly moving from behind the altar to descend the steps. his eyes never left your frame.

your gaze followed him as he made his way toward you. the closer he got, the faster his heart beat. is it about to come up his throat?

“i’m sorry to barge in on you like this it’s just that i got word that you were here and had to see for myself,” you softly smiled. how are you smiling right now? how are you not in complete and utter pain like he is?

charlie just blinked, finally in front of you now.

“right, i have to explain myself, god, oh! GOSH,” you corrected yourself, hand over your mouth. “i’m so sorry, i’m an idiot.”

this finally made charlie’s face lighten up, you hadn’t changed at all. “it’s okay, Y/N, really,” he felt his lips tug upward. you were still the cutest thing in the entire world.

you just blushed, embarrassed. “i.. i just finished my degree abroad, you know...? anyway, when i got back home my dad said that you were a priest now and i… well, i had to see you. couldn’t believe it.”

charlie raised a brow, “how come?”

you clasped your hands in front of you, “nothing, really, i just always envisioned you to be out of this old little town.. traveling.. doing whatever your heart desired. like you said you would…” your gaze flicked to the floor, your shoes suddenly very interesting.

charlie hummed, “no, i couldn’t leave this place.. trust me, i tried.” charlie’s gaze suddenly turned to a dim one. a dark, glum cloud seemed to hover over his head.

you raised your head at that, eyes locking with charlie’s once more. you opened your mouth for a moment before abruptly closing it. you contemplated for a moment before forcing a smile on your face.

“well i’m just happy to see you, charlie” your eyes flickered over his face, almost as if you were trying to imprint the image of him in your mind so you would always have it.

charlie didn’t say anything at that. he opened his mouth just to close it, too. he shook his head slightly, hand coming to comb through his hair.

“are you sure?” he clenched his jaw.

your eyes widened at that, flinching at his brazenness. “of course i am, charlie..” your hand moved to his arm before hesitating, tucking your hands behind your back in tight fists.

charlie saw this, his jaw clenching even tighter, he was sure his teeth would fall out. “i’m sorry it’s just hard to believe when i’ve been here the whole time.”

“charlie..”

“no, Y/N, what are you doing here? really?” his tone became defensive, building a wall around his heart right in front of the woman who helped him tear it down all those years ago.

you didn’t say anything, eyes wide looking up at him.

“i never left, Y/N.. i never left…” his voice was barely above a whisper, eyes hardened in faux credence.

your lower lip quivered, looking away.

“i’m sorry.”

“for what? for abandoning us? or for never coming back?” charlie bit out. according to his beliefs, charlie should forgive, but something inside him still ached from when you left, it wasn’t that easy.

“everything, charlie.. everything.” your eyes were glistening with tears when you looked back into his. charlie’s heart sped up at the sight, hand itching to take your face in his palms.

as the first sob of yours was let out, charlie couldn’t stop himself, pulling you into his arms and into his warm chest.

“shh, shh, baby.. don’t cry.” his hand caressed the back of your head and neck, head coming to rest atop of yours.

your heart clenched in your chest. “i’m so sorry, charlie.” the words were slightly muffled against his chest, but he knew what you said.

palms coming to cup your cheeks, he wiped your tears with his thumbs, eyes locked on your red and watery ones. “shh, it’s okay..”

you shook your head, “no, it’s not.”

charlie’s eyes softened even more, if that was possible, “sweetheart… come here.” he brought you back into his arms for another embrace.

“missed you so much, charlie, i just.. i couldn’t face you after what happened. please. you knew i missed you, didn’t you?” you raised your face from his chest, neck craning up to look into his eyes.

“well, i do now…” his ring covered hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “just wish you came back sooner.”

your eyebrows crinkled up again, “i know, i’m sorry i just thought you hated me and i couldn’t bring myself to face you.”

charlie brought his forehead to yours, “oh, sweetheart, i could never hate you..” his palm caressed your cheek. you leaned into his touch, releasing a heavy breath.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, the silence of the church engulfing you, making it seem as though you were the only people in the world.

charlie broke the silence first, eyes soft looking down at you, “what do you say we get something to eat? that diner is still open, and you can tell me everything..”

you softly smiled, sniffling, “i’d like that a lot.”

with your arm locked in charlie’s as he led you out the church doors, he realized something:

a million years could go by without seeing or hearing from you, but his connection and devotion to you will never falter. ever.

so… that’s it! im so sorry the ending is so rushed and just. bad? im sure grammar and the present and past tense verbiage was annoying asf pls forgive me :,,) im new to writing (writing my own stories i mean) and am open to criticism! constructive pls..

[ask-mortarion-the-death-lord]

@tzeentchs-secretary-tea-time

I had a whole thing written up explaining some basics about facisim, but then i realized that it was kinda veering away from the actual point so i'll trust people to either know or research those things themselves.

the important things to know is that a] facisim adapts to the country and time it proliferates in, hence why facisim will look different in different countries or if it develops at different times. b] facisim is heavily dependent on the idealization of the imaginary past, the scapegoating of the other, and the formation of strict hierarchy and "return" to traditional values. c] the cult of personality is ESSENTIAL to getting facisim to function/off the ground. this is not only because of facisims strict hierarchies, but because the figure of the cults worship acts as the "voice of the nation". that is because in facisim, the nation is anthropomorphized as a living figure, and only the leader can communicate with and command the power of that living nation hence why they deserve to rule.

so this leads us to the emperor. now, for were going to put aside what the emperor was secretly trying to do because the emperor lies. like a lot. whether or not he was genuine in his desire to evolve humanity into a psychic super species, he still lied like the dickens about it and consistently conceals his motivations and ideals. especially on the imperiums political stage.

instead, what was the emperor doing? what was the imperiums active policies, stated ideals and what most people signing up for when they became an imperial dog?

a] restoration of an idealized and even mythologized past of human greatness and supremacy, before everything went to shit and the emperor had to come and "restore order". b] the creation of/reinforcement of a political and economic upper class of nobility supported by a strict inflexible hierarchy of inferior servants, including those deemed genetically inferior such as mutants. d] that ties us into a strict enforcement of human centric genetic and ideological purity, driven both by an ideological belief in the supremacy of a strictly identified human form, and the belief that those deemed mutants [such as psykers] are alongside xenos responsible for all of humanities woes and problems. e] the creation of a cult of personality firmly centred upon the elevation of the emperor as a figure of supreme authority, wisdom, and unique insight into the functioning of the world and importantly to the "nation state" of the imperium.

so, well the 30k imperium might not be a direct 1 to 1 comparison, due to a lot of the anachronistic elements of medieval feudalism and the like thrown in, the important hallmarks are all there and readily identifiable. Then, the emperor kinda dies but also not technically cause mumbo jumbo soul stuff. the important aspect of this death though is two things

the emperor can no longer directly communicate and engage with the imperiums body political, despite being technically alive

the imperium as an extension of the emperors will remains intact, if badly mauled, on a political and cultural level

so you have a situation where the political and cultural body of the imperium remains intact, a society that is from the top down organized as an extension of the emperors will, the leading figure of its cult of personality remains intact, but that that figure which commands the entire structure and fanaticism of the nations body is incapable of leading that nation body, but also cannot be replaced within the political body.

a god figure who remains technically alive and on high, but who also in a political sense is nothing but a figurehead, through which supreme political authority and power must be wielded through. because the entire political system still ties back to the emperor, it still was designed to go through him as that last figure of authority, and society wise the entire fabric of the imperium was forcibly welded together around the image of him and his wisdom.

and what is a theocracy? theocracy is a form of autocracy in which one or more godly beings are recognized as the supreme ruling authority, who provide divine guidance to human intermediaries who handle the actual affairs of government.

the emperor rules the imperium in the 41st millenium, providing "divine guidance" to human intermediaries who handle the actual affairs of government.

the imperium transitioned from a fascist dictatorship in which the emperor directly commanded the will of the nation state of the imperium

into a theocratic state in which the emperor is still the ruling figure in a technical sense, but handles none of the actual affairs of government which are instead handled by human intermediaries who do so "in his name" and are "guided by his will".

i might expand on this more later, but hypothetically one can constrain that the reason why its somewhat difficult to pin down what kind of authoritarian government the imperium is, is because the imperium is a post fascist theocracy. or, in essence a fascist dictatorship during the great crusade era, that transitioned into a theocratic state after the heresy when its primary figure of cult worship [the emperor] was no longer in [direct] control.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, bullying

fem reader

His hand held both of yours in a cross above your head. It's not even all that tight, only three and two fingers are curled around each wrist – but still, it’s impossible for you to pull them free no matter how hard you wish you could.

He enjoyed the sight of you trying. Looming above you with blue eyes, nocturnal in the dark.

With one of your thighs hooked over his hip, the other is pinned beneath his knee – keeping them both spread and open to accept what he planned on doing in between them.

He’d pushed the black pleats of your school skirt up over your tummy but left your underwear on. Grinning at the cute bunny-rabbit print on them while fingering the pink-lace trim slowly. 

You were such a geek – it was impossible for him not to laugh while pointing the blunt tip against the outline of your puffy pussylips – sliding the buzzing lipstick-shaped vibe through the cute dip, watching your writhe at the feeling.

“Think I can make you cum through your panties? Huh?” He snickered, his voice in a lilting whisper. “I think I can~”

Blue eyes vivid, keenly staring down at your pouty little face twist with embarrassment and frustration – a little too proud to say anything. But then he angled the edge flatter against that special place he knew your clit to hide and finally coaxed a real reaction.

Brows cinching – hips wiggling. But he made sure you couldn’t escape it, kneading his knee into the soft plush of your inner thigh until you cried out. “Toru-”

“Oh?” He immediately bends down – white bangs falling forward in wisps, ghosting your face softly with his breath tickling your lips. “Callin' my name already?” He teases. “I’ll give you a kiss if you ask nicely.”

Your face soured then, eyes slimming with brows furrowed – but you took the opportunity and spat – hitting him right in the smug twinkle of his right blue eye. 

He recoiled and dropped the wand pressing on your bud, and you sighed in relief, finally able to stop tensing beneath the pressure.

But it's a short-lived victory as the hand instead flew up to grab your cheeks.

He didn’t even bother wiping his face, grinning through it – something mad in the blitz of his eyes as he leaned all the way down until resting his forehead on yours – with lips ghosting yours, brushing them for every heated word. Speaking oddly calmly – contained, holding back something that made a chill run down your spine. “Okay then… since you’re begging for it~”

You whine when he mushes his mouth onto yours. Feeling his teeth gnaw your lip into sucking on it, releasing with a groan only to push his tongue inside you. Laughing while listening to you whine around his it – holding you in place when you tried twisting your head away, digging his fingers into the plush of your cheeks – keeping you receiving.

He relieved your thigh from being trapped under his knee, hooking it above his hip like with the other – then rocked forward, pushing his clothed bulge against your heated cunt, teasing it with the zipper – grinning when it elicited a moan from you, feeling your plush chest rise against his where you arched off the bed.

“See? Can’t fool me, buttercup~” He slurs while keeping his lips on yours.

“F-fuck off, Satoru-” You whimper back, trying to angle your hips in any way that takes you away from the bump seeking comfort against you – but the friction makes your lip warble.

“Mh- makes me so fuckin’ hard when you talk like that-” He groans in return, only humping against you harder – slipping his hand down from your face to your neck. He's rougher now, tighter with his grip, both there and around your wrists – making you wince.

“Toru- please, that hurts-”

“You’re the one makin’ this difficult, sweets-" He simpers, swiping his tongue up your cheek – his voice frazzled. "I wouldn’t haf’ta play so rough with you, but with the way you’ve been actin’ lately- tch-” He clicked his tongue as though admonishing you. “Flirting with dipshits left and right when you know you belong to me.”

His fists tensed even more, and you made a squeak – a small plea choked to death on your lips, parted and desperate for air.

“High time I taught you a real lesson.”

[mingtinys]

in a thousand lifetimes

pairing : choi seungcheol x gn!reader

hurt / comfort , angst , mafia leader!scoups au

warnings : language , descriptions of blood , mafia themes

word count : 3.5 k

requested ? no

a/n : there's just something about the domestic side of mafia au's that i just love so dearly . secretly soft and fragile mafia leader crying in the arms of their loved one >>>>>>> ruthless and cold mafia leaders .

The day you stood by Seungcheol at the altar, you promised a myriad of unconditional vows, as did he. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health— until death do you part. To love him without doubt and cherish the heart he had so willingly placed in your care. You swore to cradle it with gentle hands; to keep it safe from shattering until the very last beat.

You were prepared for that. Excited, even.

But as Seungcheol limps through the entrance of the home you've built together, you feel your confidence in that pact falter for the first time. Perhaps you'd missed something in your vows. The part that told you what to do when the love of your life comes home stained in red. From his white button-up to his polished shoes— even his sweet, sweet face— tarnished.

You don't want him to hear the way your voice trembles. But God, that stench. That pungent scent of iron coats your throat and you can't help the way it constricts to keep the subsequent wave of nausea at bay.

"Cheol?"

His head snaps up at you like he's just now realized where he is. Glazed-over eyes connect with the wood floors you'd spent an hour mopping, then to his shaking hands painted in crimson, before that stale gaze finally lifts and meets your own.

"Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head.

"Seungcheol..." You take cautious steps his way, like how one would approach a wild deer. "Who's blood is this?"

Tears are in his eyes, but his face remains rigid. Like his brain is stuck in survival mode, but his emotions are leaking out.

"Chan's."

The boy's name hits your ears like venom. Sweet, gentle, kind, Lee Chan. The youngest intern under Seungcheol's leadership, you'd met him once at a company dinner. You don't think you've ever met someone with such a heart of gold. And it's a little hard to imagine you could be staring at all that's left of him. "Oh my God, is he okay? What happened?"

Seungcheol's face twists at your questions, some memory pulling at his brows and forcing his eyes shut. They open with fresh tears and the first ounce of clarity cracks through his otherwise dazed state.

"He's in the hospital—" You see the words catch in his throat. His fist repeatedly pounds against his thigh and his mouth hangs open until the words finally come. "It's my fault. He's just a kid, this is all my fault— he shouldn't have been there. They shouldn't have been able to get to him. It was too dangerous, he wasn't ready."

Nothing of his fragmented words makes any sort of sense. You've never seen him like this, so frazzled, so pitiful, so... broken. The sight of it twists your heart, contorting in your chest to such an unnatural degree there's a physical ache.

So, despite the nausea burning your esophagus and the screams of protest deep within your bones, your arms open and gravity pulls Seungcheol into them with labored steps. His knees buckle instantly at the contact and it takes every ounce of strength in your arms to catch him. Letting yourself sink with him to soften the fall; even if that means your knees land with a painful thud, already able to feel purple bruises blossoming from the impact.

Because you love him.

Because you vowed not only for better but for worse as well. And vows are only as good as the turmoils they prove to withstand.

Calloused hands grip the sides of your shirt. You try to ignore the stains they leave, pushing your focus onto the man before you on the brink of hysterics. His forehead falls to your chest, and that's when the most wretched sobs you've ever had the displeasure of hearing begin. Loud and sharp, like the blade of a sword, as they slice through the eerily still night.

A chill creeps in from where your knees connect with the hardwood and crawls up the length of your spine. It nests in your mind and metastasizes, igniting alarms in that little part of your brain that warns: you should be scared. Though it doesn't grant you the knowledge of what.

"Baby, what happened?" You ask and recite a silent prayer the answer to that is not him.

He sobs out an unpromising, "I can't."

"Seungcheol, there is too much blood for that shit. You need to tell me what the hell is going on." Your eyes are starting to burn with the flood breaching your lashes, unsure how much longer you can force an ease into your tone.

You need him to just spit it out. Before your heart explodes.

You steady his head between your palms and swipe at the blood spatter decorating his jawline. It just smears, mixing with his tears and tinting more of his cheek in a dull brownish-red. Seungcheol looks at you with eyes that scream please don't hate me and you don't know but... you know. Enough that when the confession finally pours from his lips, the shock doesn't totally shatter your ribs on impact. Instead, the words slowly seep into your skin and enter your bloodstream like a bitter poison.

Suddenly, minuscule details make much more sense, revealing the full picture like a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. The nights he doesn't return until the sun breaches the horizon. The general air of mystery around his job and the "family business" he took over years ago. How insistent he had been with you learning some type of self-defense. All the way down to the dried blood that lingered under his fingernails.

You should be levels more upset than you are at his confession. Any normal person would be. He lied to you, for years. Hid a secret so large it could easily blow a crater in the earth should the measly stilts it balanced on collapse. Yet, the anger you feel doesn't boil over into a blind rage. It stirs with concern and simmers until it has been diluted into nothing but the type of anger that can only be fueled by love. It comes with the terrifying revelation that the person you love most in this world, could've been stolen from you at any moment and you would've been none the wiser as to how. It makes you want to hold him a little extra in the mornings, a little harder, closer.

Then, somewhere, in that tangled web of emotions fighting to reach the surface, there's an unexpected relief. Because one thing has been glaringly obvious since the day you met Choi Seungcheol. The reason he appears as such a pillar of strength relies solely on the fact that he shoulders the weight of the world alone. Rarely does he let his struggles reach his cheery expression. You can't help but think, now that you know, there's one less burden he has to carry by himself.

"Please don't leave me," Seungcheol rasps out. You'd nearly forgotten where you were for a moment. Forgot his face was still between your hands, that blood still smeared his cheek, and tears were still slipping from his lashes. But at this moment, as those weary earth-brown eyes search your face for an answer, you realize just how malleable your morals are when it comes to him.

"I love you." You confess, like it's the first time the phrase has ever left your lips. "Cheol, I love you more than anything in this world." So much it frightens you what you're willing to forgive.

But then again it doesn't. Because he's never been Choi Seungcheol, the city's most feared mob boss. To you, he's always just been Cheol. The man that nearly burned your kitchen down two anniversaries ago trying to make you breakfast in bed. Who pouts and whines when you haven't given him enough attention after work. Who's touch has only ever been as gentle as a Summer's breeze. And maybe you're naive, but you'd like to believe the Seungcheol that peppers your face with kisses every morning and begs for five extra minutes in bed is a truer reflection of his heart than his job.

With one final deep breath to steel your nerves and silence the brigade of questions swirling in your head, you press a long kiss to his temple— one of the only areas not tainted with red. The tension in his muscles visibly melts away at the contact and beyond anything he just looks... tired. You want nothing more than to let him rest in the safety of your arms, but he's still covered in Chan's blood.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" You coax him from the floor, never once letting your voice slip above a gentle whisper. He tries to protest, insisting he needs to be at the hospital with the others to check on Chan, but puts up absolutely no fight when you tell him that can wait until tomorrow as you guide him towards the bathroom.

You gather towels and fresh clothes and lay them out on the vanity. "Take your time, okay? I won't go far, promise." With one last reassurance, you leave Seungcheol in privacy to shower and clean the blood from his skin.

Alone now, the adrenaline in your veins dissolves, and the full gravity of everything finally crashes around you. The metallic scent lingering in the air, the drying blood on the hardwood, the feeling of impending doom that comes with a truth so heavy. It's too much, at least to bear in such a tiny apartment. You all but sprint out the front door, accidentally letting it shut with a hefty slam.

The warm Summer night air hits your skin and wraps around you like a security blanket. You inhale deeply, once, twice, thrice, and on the fourth breath, it feels like the oxygen finally reaches the base of your lungs.

You sit, for a length of time you remain ignorant to, at the bottom of the stairwell. Lost deep in thought until the buzzing of your phone reverberates from your back pocket. You look at it but— no caller I.D.

Answering it anyway, a sense of comfort fills you at the familiar voice.

"Jeonghan." You greet.

"I'm sorry to call so late," He says, voice languid. "I just wanted to know if Seungcheol got home safe yet."

"He did."

There's a long pause of silence. Just the steady beeps of a heart monitor on the other side of the line. Then, "Is Chan okay?"

"Yeah, he's sleeping right now. Doctors gave him some of the good shit to knock him out for the night." There's a hesitance to the way he speaks and you think perhaps he's weighing in his mind what excuse Seungcheol might have told you as to why Chan is even in the hospital to begin with.

"Jeonghan, can I ask you something?"

"I can't promise I'll have an answer, but sure." He's always been so calculated in the way he speaks, which makes sense to you now.

You chew at the inside of your cheek. "Seungcheol, he... He keeps himself safe, right?"

"You know." He sighs, matter of fact.

"I do."

"He's careful, smart, keeps his hands clean-ish. We all look after each other, he's about as safe as he can be." The man on the other end of the line yawns, and you wonder how long he's been up wondering if Seungcheol made it home before he finally called. That in and of itself should comfort you and prove Seungcheol has people who care about him when you're not around, but it doesn't. You don't think anything ever could at this point. Perhaps it was better not knowing the truth.

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

Jeonghan snorts. "I didn't think it would."

Another stretch of silence spans over the line for an uncomfortably long time. So long, you begin to think maybe the call disconnected. But that steady beeping is still there, quiet, but there.

Then Jeonghan speaks, his sudden words sending ice pricking through your veins. "You're an accomplice now, you know?" His voice carries no emotion. It's as if he's reading the words straight from an instruction manual. "Unless, of course, you turn him in."

Oh.

You hadn't thought of that.

"Would you?"

His question lingers in the air like smoke, suffocating your airways so much it feels like you might choke before you can even answer.

Never has the idea of betraying Seungcheol's trust ever been a thought in your head, much less an option. But he's right. Your newfound knowledge makes you just as much a criminal in the eyes of the law as if you had committed the act yourself. It's either fess up while you still can or guard his secret with, quite literally, your life.

Perhaps you were a bit hasty. It was easy to hold Seungcheol in your arms and whisper comforting words between his sobs. However, when it comes to your own fate, you're forced to reckon with the dread that washes over you like a bucket of ice, alone.

Still, you're embarrassed that not even a shred of doubt weighs your decision. Just an immeasurable amount of guilt.

"No."

"You don't sound so sure."

"It's a lot to process." You defend, trying not to let your voice waver too much under Jeonghan's scrutiny.

"I know it is," He relents, and suddenly, his voice shifts back to the soothing, angelic tone you've always been used to. "I'm sorry, I haven't even asked how you're feeling."

The conversation lulls in what you assume is Jeonghan leaving space for you to share if so you wish. You don't— knowing that if you were to loosen even a single thread tethering your mind in the realm of sanity, it would all unravel. You've only just begun to construct the brittle wall that separates your Seungcheol from the one covered in blood. If it were to take a blow so early and come crumbling down, you fear you may not have the strength needed to start over.

Your current position is precarious and emotions are already tricky— pouring them out to Seungcheol's best friend even more so.

"I'm fine. I should probably get back to Cheol." You say instead.

Jeonghan hums. "He's had a rough night." Steady beeps still pulse like a metronome in the background, mixing with a subtle chatter. "Let him know everyone is okay and if you two need anything, just call."

"I'll tell him."

"That means you too."

A voice calls Jeonghan's name and the line goes dead before you can say anything more. Not that you had much else left to say— or anything that would be news to Jeonghan at least. It felt like he knew more about your spinning mind in one phone call than you'd pieced together since Seungcheol stumbled through the door.

Seungcheol.

Seungcheol, who's been alone in your tiny apartment for who knows how long at this point. With nothing but his thoughts and a water heater that runs out far too quickly to comfort him. Your heart aches at the idea of him crumpled up in the basin of the porcelain tub alone.

Seungcheol, whom you find sitting at the kitchen island with his head in his hands— hunched over a steaming mug of tea— upon your return. His hair hangs down in damp strings, dripping onto his pair of comfort sweatpants, the ones he tends to gravitate towards when he's had a long day.

The door clicks shut behind you and his head snaps up with lightning quick reflexes. A wild look flashes in his eyes, but it melts away almost as quick as it came. His shoulders slump with relief and for what seems like an eternity, he just let's his gaze linger.

"I didn't think you were coming back." He rasps. His fingers curl around the mug, siphoning off some of its warmth to combat the slight chill in the air.

His hands are clean now— free of any trace of dark red— then again, they never really were. Probably never will be.

"To be honest, I wasn't completely sure I was." You're still some distance away from where he sits, a fact you're made painfully aware of by the way his eyes flit between you and the door. As if he expects you to flee at any moment.

"I would understand, you know?" His voice is as soft and genuine as it was the day he said I do. "I wouldn't be mad. My job, this life, it was never supposed to be your burden. You can walk out and I wouldn't—" His voice catches and he takes a swig of his tea, cringing at the temperature as it goes down. "—I wouldn't stop you."

You know he wouldn't. Because Choi Seungcheol is a good man. There would not be a ring on your finger if he wasn't. It's why you're so comfortable closing the distance that separates you two.

It's why you're so comfortable excusing all of his wrongs.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You should." He croaks. Tears gather at his waterline and on instinct, you wipe the first to fall away. But more continue to silently slip down his cheeks. Unable to catch them fast enough, you step between his legs and guide his forehead to your shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

Seungcheol lets out a shaky breath as your fingers trail down the nape of his neck to just between his shoulders, then back up again. You hold him. Just as you've held his heart for years. Delicate. Like handling glass.

"I love you," He whispers. "I'm sorry I lied, I— all I ever wanted was to keep you safe."

"I know."

He tilts his head back, staring up at you with damp cheeks and bloodshot eyes. "I don't deserve you."

You tuck a piece of hair that's fallen into his eye behind his ear. "I could find you in a thousand lifetimes and there wouldn't be a single one where that'd be true."

"I'd still spend every one of those thousand lifetimes making it up to you." His hands grip your hips, holding you steady, as if he's still scared you'll run away.

"You." You hold the underside of his chin so he can't divert his gaze for your next words. Your tone is a firm, bordering on authoritative. "Make it up to me by coming home."

Seungcheol nods, but it's not a good enough answer for you.

"Don't ever make me plan your funeral, Choi Seungcheol. Do you understand? You cannot do that to me."

"I won't."

"Promise me. Because I swear if I ever have to hear from Jeonghan that you're not coming home I swear I'll—"

Seungcheol takes your hand from his chin and pulls it flat against his chest. The quick but rhythmic beats of his heart calms your barrage of threats instantaneously.

"I promise."

The words leave his lips slowly. Each syllable is enunciated loud and clear, so the sincerity with which he says them can reach your ears without doubt. His words linger in the air and all you can focus on is his pulse. How terrified you are that one day it'll stop before your own. That there could come a night where your head rests against empty sheets instead of his chest. No longer lulled to sleep by its steady beating.

That thought rattles you more than any crime Seungcheol could commit.

It takes Seungcheol's thumb grazing over your cheekbone to realize you're crying. But then it becomes unstoppable. More worries spilling out in the form of tears. It's the not knowing that may be the end of you.

"I want you in this lifetime, Cheol. I don't want to wait until the next to live a full life with you. So I need you to keep that promise."

Seungcheol rises from his seat and brings you into his chest. Allowing you to hide away from the horrors of it all in his strong embrace. "There's nothing I wouldn't do to make it home to you." He reassures. And the sheer determination in his voice makes you believe him.

"And no more secrets, okay?" You mumble against the soft fabric of his shirt. "I want you to tell me everything."

"It's better if I don't." He whispers with a deep exhale. And you want to be more upset with his answer than you are. But he keeps rocking you side to side and pressing long kisses to your temple.

"All you need to know is that none of it comes before you." The sincerity in his voice is as prominent as it was reciting his vows. "Everything I've built. All the money and power in the world— I'd burn it all to the ground for you."

[fxstpace]

nice boys don’t kiss like that

summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.

pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader genres: fluff, developing relationship!au, rivals to lovers!au, pining, kind of suggestive? idk word count: 3.3k

↳ warnings: profanity, making out ↳ a/n: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. reposted from my old account.

It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.

He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.

Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.

You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath. 

“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”

Then you slam the door shut on his face.

Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.

Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.

Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.

Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea. 

Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.

His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.

But.

One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.

So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.

12th June I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.

Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.

14th June Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.

The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.

22nd June KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.

Mingyu smiles widely. 

23rd June Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.

His smile falters.

The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.

And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.

He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?

Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.

It’s a diary, he reasons. 

It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?

Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.

Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.

Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.

You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.

Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over. 

Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”

You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”

Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted. 

“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”

“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.

You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”

“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”

You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”

Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”

“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”

You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“Mingyu.”

“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”

“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.

Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”

Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”

You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.

Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.

This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and

Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”

Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.

He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze. 

“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.

Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek. 

“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”

Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”

Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”

Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.

“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.

Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug.  Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw. 

Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”

“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”

“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.

“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.

You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”

“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.

“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.

“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.

The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.

But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.

“Mingyu,” you say, breathless. 

“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.

“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”

“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”

His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”

“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”

“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”

Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”

“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“That’s ironic, I hope.”

He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”

When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.

Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.

He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”

Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”

“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”

When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”

“What?” 

“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.

“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”

“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders. 

“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”

You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.

He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”

You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.

There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.

He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”

You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.

 Another sound of mortification.

“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”

“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”

To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping. 

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”

He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.

Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”

His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.

When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.

“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”

[nervosubject]

good grade in therapy!

[talesof-old]

lay me down | r.l., s.b., j.p., & l.e.

pairing(s): poly!marauders + lily x fem!reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, sexual and nonsexual intimacy, mentions of war, near death experiences, mentions of child abuse, mentions of scars, talk of death, using potions for pain management, fingering (f receiving), piv, talk of pregnancy, Lily’s pregnant ???, the human need to fuck after a traumatic event, this started as one thing and then took a really weird turn — ends abruptly bc i needed to finish this :/

word count: 8.3k

masterlist

war leaves none untouched

Your hands shook as you smoothed a dittany balm over James’ newest magic induced injury.

Tonight has been a close call. Too close.

Lily was still arguing with the others in the living room, voice pinched and pitchy, eyes lined with livid tears. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face as if to will away the adrenaline. Things were getting worse.

“Hey,” James caught your other hand, his thumb tracing gentle patterns into your skin. You observed the action with glazed eyes. All you could see was the Death Eater, wand spouting an all too familiar green spark before you were tackling James away from its trail. There’d been so many of them.

So many trying to kill you these past few months it was going to eat you alive. They’d keep coming, and you’d keep fighting, even if it ended with you six feet under.

“We’re alright, sweets. Alive and whole.” You glanced up at his face. Earnest, and worried, with a crinkle between his brows that nearly had you reaching out to smooth it.

“You almost died.”

The words were a broken whisper as they left your lips. His eyes softened further, reaching to pull you into a solid embrace as Lily continued to rant on about recklessness and careless stupidity. Tears burned at your eyes so you squeezed them shut, burying your face in James’ neck.

“I know we made some terrible decisions, but we’re gonna live to see another day, yeah? Promise.” You huffed, responding with a shaky giggle.

“I don’t know, Remus and Sirius might not with the lashing Lily’s giving ‘em.”

He chuckled and squeezed you against him, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You breathed in deeply with the hope of settling your frazzled nerves. James’ scent washed over you, a combination of his favorite cologne and sweat, lulling you into a place of safety you never wanted to leave.

“There you are.”

Lily’s frigid voice drew you away from James. He turned towards her, watching her with a sheepish apology written all over his face. Remus and Sirius ducked into the bedroom behind her, both wincing at her tone. You moved, leaving James and crossing over to the other two, taking stock of any potential injuries. Lily had done a little, though you knew she could’ve done more. Holding your tongue, you grabbed your first aid supplies, motioning for the boys to sit so you could heal their scrapes and cuts.

Sirius’ were minor, a scrape along his left arm and a cut on his right hand, plus a few bruises here and there. You kissed his forehead when you finished, moving on to your tallest partner.

Remus at least had the decency to wince when you started working on his worst injury, though part of that might’ve been his increased sensitivity with the approaching full moon. You gnawed on your inner cheek. His upper left thigh held a deep cut still oozing blood, the skin red and angry around the wound. You slipped into the bathroom, ignoring Lily and James as you passed by them, wetting a fresh rag and returning to clean the offensive gash.

You were used to this. Lily and you were the healers of the bunch, normally passing around the first aid kit like it was your calling, healing and cleaning as you went. Your mouth pressed into a tight line as you worked, a silent, wandless spell already closing up the majority of the injury. A dollop of dittany balm across the now much shallower cut worked like a charm, and soon all that remained was a pinkish scar.

Remus watched you as you went, cleaning any wound and healing it just as fast, goosebumps covering his skin. It took you a few moments to realize that the room had gone silent, and that all of them were looking at you expectantly.

You blinked, mouth twisting into a frown. Remus reached for your hand, a gentle grasp on your wrist as he guided you to the bed next to him.

“Are you alright?” The words were soft as they left him, warm, honey colored eyes seeming to stare into your soul. You drew in a sharp, shaky breath.

“I’m fine. Promise.” There was a weak smile plastered onto your lips that you were sure looked fake, but you couldn’t muster any energy to make it look real. Exhaustion gripped your very bones, and all you wanted to do was take a quick shower and go to sleep.

“You don’t have to pretend-“ Lily was the next to speak, though James was already shaking his head, eyes never leaving you. If there was one person in the room who could pick up on when to press an issue, it was him.

“Come here, sweets.” You finished packing the first aid kit, leaving it on the bed as James tugged you towards the bathroom, the shower already started. The mirror began to fog up, steam rising to the ceiling as you undressed. James followed suit.

You stepped into the shower; time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. Water rushed over your sore limbs, working better than any spell to ease the tension between your shoulders. You sighed as James entered the shower behind you, warm hands coming up to caress your ribcage.

“‘M tired, James. Tired of having to fight all the time.” He smoothed his hands over your shoulders, simply letting you vent as he lathered up soap and a wash rag before handing it to you. You went silent again, cleaning the dirt and sweat off of your body. A panic had settled into your chest when the war started, and it seemed as though with each passing month, it coiled tighter and tighter around your heart.

“I know.” Those simple words were enough to break the dam you’d been keeping strong. A sob bubbled up from your throat and before you knew it you’d thrown your arms around James and shook in his grasp. He held you close, rocking you through every sob and hiccup as though he could somehow soothe away the fear.

“You’ve been so strong, sweets, let us take care of you.” You sniffed, thankful you were in the shower and not out in the bedroom, where everyone would’ve seen you crying. There was not a part of you that hadn’t held steady since everything went to shit. You’d been the one to comfort, the one to help, the voice of level reason. You haven’t stumbled once.

But the thought of losing James, or any of them?

You would never recover.

He pulled away from you, pressing a watery kiss to your forehead before washing himself. You stepped out from the water to let him rinse off, though your fingers twitched with the need to comfort yourself by touching him. A lopsided grin made its way to his face, though it was obvious to you that he couldn’t see a damn thing. Some part of you warmed at the fact that James couldn’t really see you with his glasses off. Your shower cap and snotty face was not exactly an image you wanted out there.

“I’m gonna go check on the others, okay? Gotta get some food together.” He pulled you towards the warm water again, his fingers running over the skin of your arms.

“Take your time. It’s okay to need support.” He pulled the curtain to the side just enough to pop out onto the bathroom mat and dry himself off. You could already imagine his messy black hair and comfy clothing. An ache settled in you that had you turning off the shower and reaching for a clean towel.

It didn’t take very long for you to get dressed, the lotion you used a birthday gift from Lily that you had taken to rationing for special occasions.

You felt like using it.

It reminded you of a certain redhead, of her signature floral and ink perfumes. You breathed in deeply, willing that ache away. It did you no good.

Instead, you let your mind wonder to other things, like the upcoming full moon. Just four days away, not even a week into December, but you knew Remus was having a hard time this month. He’d been jumpy, sensitive to touch, spent. You hoped that the potion you’d been working on would help, but all it seemed to do was dull the pain. That counted for something.

You didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, choosing to pull it into a loose ponytail at the base of your neck to deal with tomorrow. James had been kind enough to grab some of your clothes; loose pajamas were slipped over your body and socks pulled into your feet and then you were leaving the safety of being alone. The door swung open soundlessly.

Sirius bounded past you, whatever he’d decided to say muffled as he shut the door and turned on the shower.

You sighed. Briefly, you wondered if this is how Remus felt every full moon: every bit a stranger in his own body, aching from head to toe with skin that felt much too tight. You shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself and making your way into the kitchen.

Lily was a whirlwind, putting together a meal of omelettes. James dutifully obeyed each of her commands, but you saw the way they both faltered. They were just as weary as the rest of you. Guilt bubbled in your chest as you turned away, choosing to approach Remus instead. You gently pressed yourself into his side where he was practically laying on the kitchen island. He glanced down at you, eyes bleary but far too seeing for you to handle. You buried your face into his arm. The pressure of your face against his bicep was enough to distract you from the tears that threatened to fall once again.

He cooed, shifting your body until your face was pressed against his chest and a soothing hand ran up and down your back.

The clatter of a plate near you had you startling. James rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, though he made a gesture to the plate.

“Eat up. You need food ‘fore you go to bed.”

You huffed, but reached for the fork he offered you anyway. None of you had eaten since early this morning, and even then it was nothing but granola bars and juice. Merlin, one of you needed to go grocery shopping.

Remus watched you eat like a hawk, making sure you ate every bite. Warmth spread across your face. You’d gotten better about remembering to eat, but they hadn’t forgotten about the mission that nearly ended with you in a casket because you went dizzy.

Lily set a glass of juice down in front of you and paused, hesitancy written across her features. You deflated. “Lily-“

Then she was crushing you, arms wrapped tight around your shoulders as she pulled you from Remus’ side into her, body trembling. Today could’ve ended much differently. If you hadn’t been fast enough, it would’ve been James or you that died. You melted into her touch, her soft body melding into yours until you weren’t sure where you ended and she began.

“I’m sorry.” Almost unrecognizable in tone, and filled with unshed tears, you said the phrase that all five of you hardly ever uttered. There wasn’t much else you could say. You wouldn’t promise to never do it again. If it meant saving them, you’d do it a million times over.

“I love you.” The words made you tighten your grip, burying your face in her neck. She still needed a shower, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. It was Lily: she had been there for you the moment you stepped onto the train to Hogwarts, and she’d be there for you until she drew her last breath.

“I love you too.”

She pulled herself from you, a hand coming up to caress your face. Her eyes searched yours for a moment, and when she seemed content with what she found, she went back to her cooking. Your heart ached at the distance, like a mournful puppy, and you slunk back to Remus’ side. He had no problems tucking you into his arms.

“Mine ready yet?” Sirius bounded in like a burst of energy, loud and eyes sharp. Remus scoffed and nuzzled his nose into your hair.

“Dunno, are you finally done with the bathroom?” Sirius smacked a hand against his chest in mock indignation, eyes opened wide with a teasing look of shock. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you suggesting I spend too long in the shower?” Remus shrugged, lips quirked up in a lazy smirk. Another plate was placed on the island and your now empty one was whisked away, James using magic to keep up with Lily’s demands. Comfortable silence settled, interrupted only by the clatter of pans and silverware.

You sipped on your juice while the others ate, and before long, James was waving a wand to clean and put away the dishes. He pulled you away from Remus, ignoring both of your half-hearted protests. His arms wrapped around your shoulders like a comforting blanket, slowly guiding you back towards one of the bedrooms.

You sighed against him.

With the shut of the door and a, “Sweets, let me take care of you,” James lead you to the bed and tugged on your oversized shirt. You shook your head. His grin turned teasing, his eyes sparkling in the artificial light coming from one of the few lamps still on.

“How dirty minded of you, I didn’t even mean it that way.” You shook your head and laughed, pulling off your trousers to just sleep in your shirt and pants. It didn’t take much for you to settle into bed, eyes closed and breath steady.

“Let me hold you?” Featherlight fingers traced over your bare thigh, but nothing could hide the uncertainty in James’ voice. You peaked over at him, his eyes on you even though his glasses sat on the edge of the bedside table. Something akin to grief tugged at your heart. It took a lot to truly shake up James—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked like this.

“James.”

That one word, just his name, was enough for everything to come spilling out. A tidal wave of emotion on an already broken shore. Tears pricked at your eyes again and you inwardly cringed, wondering if perhaps your period was nearly here because there was no other reason for you be crying like this.

“You almost died.” James’ words were spoken with enough intensity that it startled you. Sure, James was often passionate about a great many things, but the fire in his eyes burned differently this time. You knew why.

In just six months, you’d almost been killed on three separate occasions, and that was just you. The others had run ins of their own that nearly went south.

Pain twisted James’ pretty lips, his dark brown eyes as focused on you as they could be.

“You could’ve been killed! And it would’ve been my fault. I chose to follow after them, I put us in danger even after you begged me not-“

You cut him off with a kiss far harsher than you meant it to be. He startled at that, but was quick to use his arm to pull you against him, ruffling the sheets you were laid out on. He remained tense despite it, so you continued, kissing down his prickly chin and neck. He’d complain later when he had to shave.

“It wasn’t just your fault, James. I love you, and I don’t blame you for what happened. Were you the one pointing that wand?” You might’ve murmured the words against the skin of his collarbone, but you pulled away to look at his face once you finished speaking. A faint blush warmed his cheeks and neck, a pretty flush on his brown complexion.

You raised a brow. “Well?”

A shaky breath left his lips and he shook his head, fingers coming to play with the hem of your sleep shirt.

“I love you, James Potter. And I always want you around, ‘kay? You can hold me whenever you like.” He nodded, face even redder than before. You nearly giggled, choosing to instead bury your face in his neck and breathing in deeply. “Goodnight, Prongs.”

You woke up to complete darkness.

Well, not complete darkness, if the moonlight shining in through the curtains had anything to say about it. A sigh left you. At least you’d gotten a couple of hours of rest before your body decided being awake was preferable.

Faint snoring could be heard from the other side of the bed, quiet enough to let you know it was Lily. For a split second, you wondered if she’d let you finally run some tests tomorrow. She’d been complaining about sore breasts and nausea she attributed to a late period and stress, but you weren’t of the same belief. It’s not that you wanted her to be pregnant, you were all still so young, but it was bound to happen eventually.

Better her than you.

You cursed softly at the thought before slowly sitting up, careful not to wake up James or Lily as you eased off the mattress and padded across the hardwood floors. The door hinges were silent as you opened it, and then the door was clicking shut behind you, leaving you alone. You breathed in and out deeply.

Water was first on your list of things to acquire, and you settled into the couch with the glass in your hand and a blanket around you. Your books on different kinds of healing littered the living space (much to James and Lily’s dismay), but you almost always knew exactly where each was. You rolled your shoulders.

The minutes ticked by, your books illuminated by your wand as you studied. It wasn’t unusual to find you hunched over a book, eyes scanning every inch of the page to ensure you remembered the information spread out in front of you. The chapter you were currently reading was about the mental effects of certain spells, and it was engrossing enough that you missed the creak of a door opening down the hall.

“You’re up late.” You jumped, your own hand slapping over your mouth to muffle your yelp. Your heart ached in your chest as adrenaline rushed through your veins. Remus chuckled quietly and settled onto the couch next to you. He stretched, wincing as his bones popped before falling limp on the cushions. You bite at your lip before placing your book on the coffee table, choosing to instead shift closer to him. He let you, honey colored eyes framed by dark circles watching your every move.

“Why’re you up, hm?” You gently laid your head on his shoulder, your entire body pressed to his. He let out a tired sigh, letting his head fall to rest on yours. Every inch of him was rigid, like one wrong move and his bones would snap. You reached over to trace circles along his bare legs, his boxer briefs riding up just enough for you to stroke the edge of a particularly brutal scar on his upper thigh. His muscles flexed underneath your hand.

“James didn’t fucking give me time t’see if you were alright.” There was no animosity coloring his tone, just bitter resignation that had you humming, fingers still tracing over his scars. You understood James’ need to confess his guilt, but you didn’t even utter a word to Sirius before you fell asleep. You ran your tongue across the back of your teeth.

“Are you alright? And Sirius?” Remus nuzzled into your head, the action similar enough to a dog you would’ve normally laughed.

“Jus’ tired.” You nodded, hand coming to a standstill on his leg. Remus shifted, not bothering to hide the pained gasp that built in his throat. You pulled away from him, ignoring his whine, and were already crossing the room when he rasped, “What are you doing?”

You opened the potions cabinet, pulling out the last vial from your tester batch. A hopefully potent pain relief you’d been formulating for months. It glittered in your wand’s light, a beautiful shimmering pale blue. You’d originally tried to make a potion to help Remus’ transformations, but when that hadn’t worked, you’d turned to managing symptoms instead. This was basically meant to be a cure all, and a dropper full allowed you to go without pain for a full 24 hours with no side effects.

“My next batch will be ready to decant tomorrow, so I’m making you take this tonight.” Remus nodded, though you weren’t even sure he’d attempt to argue. It didn’t take away the unsteadiness brought about by the full moon, or the discomfort, but the pain was the worst part so you’d do what you could. You handed over the vial, settling down next to him once again. He pretended not to grimace as he popped the lid off of the glass bottle. The smell of bitter greens wafted towards you but you managed to keep a straight face.

Remus brought the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, nearly gagging at the less than agreeable taste. You patted his shoulder. He discarded the bottle and pulled you back against him, arms wrapped around your upper body. One of his hands rested directly above your heart, thumping beneath his palm like a steady drum. His muscles relaxed as the potion began to work its magic.

“Can’t believe you f’cking did that, ya know? Think I nearly had a damn heart attack when I saw that bloody spell almost hit ya.” His thumb ran over the hem of your shirt, edging over your collarbone. You took his moment of silence as a chance to study him. Messy curly hair that had grown just a tad bit longer than he liked, softer waves turning into tighter ringlets the longer he let it get. A newer scar on his cheekbone to add to the few that spanned across his face. It was only when you met his gaze that you knew he was studying you just the same.

“‘M glad you’re alive, dove.” Affection bled into his words, a far more frequent occurrence as of late. You smiled softly.

“Me too.”

The moon slowly moved across the sky, but the two of you stayed sitting on the couch, wrapped up in the comfort of simply being next to each other. By the time you glanced at the clock, it read a simple 3:48am.

You groaned, choosing to instead move your body to straddle Remus, burying your face in his neck. He breathed a laugh, a large hand coming up to rest on your lower back as you got comfortable. You shimmied closer, ignoring his groan because you knew it had nothing to do with the moon. The potion had been working for nearly two hours now.

“We should go to bed.” He nodded sagely at your statement, though his fingers dug into your skin, pushing you down until your clothed cunt made contact with his half hard erection. Involuntarily, your hips rolled. He hissed. You smiled against his skin, arms wrapped around his torso as you pressed as close to him as possible. He let you, the sensitivity brought on by the moon turning him into something that craved intimacy and softness more than anything. Due to your and Lily’s curves, it wasn’t uncommon for Remus to hold either one of you close, basking in the comfort that you offered.

The week leading up the full moon normally saw an uptick to Remus’ sex drive, but two days before, he’d crash, needing nonsexual physical support instead. Any of you would jump through fire to make sure he got what he needed.

“Want you t’let me fuck you.” His soft voice hit your ears, breathy and hoarse with want. You rolled your hips again, cheek pressed to his collarbone.

“You sure?” He hummed, fingers coming to grip your hips. Nights like this made for lazy sex, nothing frantic or quick like what you’d often found yourself doing at school. You drew away from his chest, face to face. His eyes were half lidded, focused on your movements as though he already knew what you’d say.

You lifted a hand and carded your fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered shut as you did so, and you wasted no time in moving in to press your lips to his. His fingers tightened against your skin, the fabric of your sleep shirt bunched in his palms. You smiled against his mouth. Remus sighed against you, melting into your touch as you trailed your fingers from the back of his head down his chest, all the way down until your fingers came to the hem of his t-shirt.

“Take this off f’me?” He was quick to oblige. You couldn’t help the girlish giggle that left your lips at his hasty attempt to remove his shirt. You’d had feelings for Remus the longest out of any of your partners, an innocent schoolgirl crush turned deep infatuation. Now, he called himself one of your husbands, and it sent your heart fluttering. He tossed his shirt onto the floor, not caring where it landed. Your eyes honed in on the small chub of his belly from his slouched position, the scars that lined his torso. He nearly jumped out of his skin when your fingers grazed over his happy trail, a soft groan falling from his mouth.

It took you just a few moments to discard your own shirt, your breasts exposed to the chilly air since you’d forgone wearing a bra to sleep. None of your partners ever made you feel anything less than beautiful, and right now was no exception. Remus’ pupils had blown wide, nearly drowning out their beautiful amber colour, dark with desire as he took in your heavy tits. You’d often complain to Lily about back pain from your larger breasts, and while Remus would never want you hurting, he loved the mounds on your chest more than anything. One of his hands came up to your breast, thumb flicking over your right nipple. Your breath hitched and you pressed further into him.

None of you had had the chance to actually be intimate in the past three weeks. Between missions, brewing potions, and healing people, there was simply no time. Exhaustion had sunk its claws deep into each of you, and none had a chance to escape it.

“Always so pretty f’me, dove, always s’perfect.” Remus’ other hand, the one not preoccupied with your breasts, splayed across your lower back, almost as low as your arse. You arched into him, trapping his hand between each of your chests, though you weren’t sure he minded. He let you grind against him, the two of you in nothing but your undergarments. You ran your hands over his back, his shoulders, his arms, anywhere you could reach, simply wanting to feel him.

Heat pooled in between your thighs, pulsing in time with your heart. Remus looked similarly affected.

“Come ‘ere.” He lifted you off of his lap, ignoring your pout, and began to pull down your panties. They were old, a ratty pair you’d normally wear on your period, but you didn’t care. They’d end up on the floor anyway. You moved your legs to pull them off and deposited them by the foot of the couch, Remus doing the same. His dick slapped against his abdomen, the same brown shade of his skin, though the tip was flushed a deep reddish shade that had your mouth watering.

Remus’ fingers gripped your chin before you could move towards it. Something sparked in his eyes.

“‘M gonna ‘ave to prep you first, dove.” You let your head fall to the side as if disappointed, but Remus was skilled with both his wicked tongue and long fingers. You squirmed and clenched your thighs, desperate for some kind of friction that you were currently deprived of.

He smirked, drawing you to him, lips soft against yours. He cupped your neck and jaw, thumb running atop your cheekbone. You were quick to run your tongue along the seam of his mouth. He parted his lips ever slightly, teasing you as if he believed you’d force them apart. Instead, you drew back your tongue and simply deepened the kiss, forgoing any need to breathe. Remus was all you wanted to know, all you wanted to think about.

He moved, lips trailing from the edge of yours down your jaw, coming to suck on the sweet spot at the junction of your collarbone and neck. Your head fell, baring more of your throat to him. He sucked and nipped as he pleased, and it was only when you were trembling beside him did he gently guide your thighs apart. You shivered in anticipation. Rough fingertips caressed the tender skin of your inner thighs, wandering higher and higher until they were right where you wanted them. You nearly keened as Remus ran his fingers over your lower lips, spreading them apart to thumb at your clit.

“Quiet.”

He chuckled at your near silent whine and buck of your hips, urging him to do something other than tease you. He traced along your slit before dipping just the tip of his middle finger into you, testing your wetness. You hummed, rocking onto it, taking him deeper. He tutted softly, palm grinding against your clit, the roughness enough to send little jolts of pleasure through your body.

It didn’t take long for you to take the entirety of his finger, body jerking as he added his ring finger. He curled his fingers, a quiet, broken moan leaving your lips. He chuckled against your skin. Remus let you ride his fingers, scissoring and curling them expertly until his fingertips grazed some spongy spot inside of you. A strangled gasp echoed through the dark room.

Something tightened in your abdomen, your walls fluttering around Remus’ fingers. He grinned, thumb swiping over your clit in a much more targeted manner. Your hips rolled uncontrollably. Remus kept up with the circling of your bundle of nerves, every inch of your body taut as the coil went tight. He smirked as you gripped his hair and pulled him over to you, a clash of lips and tongue as your orgasm washed over you. Your legs tightened around his arm as you ride out the waves of your orgasm, thighs slick with cum by the time it’s over.

Remus withdrew his fingers with a squelch, immediately sticking them in his mouth and licking them clean. You whined, pussy clenching on nothing as he rearranged himself, turning to sit with his back pressed against the armrest of the couch, the cushions to his left. Your grin was hazy with lust and sleep, but you straddled him all the same.

He gave his dick a few pumps, precum spread along the shaft to help ease any pain. Your eyes hungrily took in the way his fingers looked wrapped around his pretty cock. His hands shook as he aligned himself with your opening.

You whined with sensitivity as he gently guided you into his dick, the head prodding at your entrance. You slowly sink down, pausing every few moments to accommodate the girth of him. Remus’ dick was longer than the others, and fairly large all things considered. It took you ages to get used to the feeling. Your pussy stretched, stuffed full as you rocked your hips to ease any uncomfortable sensation.

Remus hissed as you did so, shallowly thrusting to help you along. Soon enough, you’d taken him completely, bodies flush to each other. You clenched hard around him, relishing in the throaty moan that fell from his lips. His hands palmed at your arse, urging you to still as he gathered himself. You tilted your head forward, forehead pressed against his, noses touching. He tightened his grip on you, arms coming to twine around your waist. The closeness had your heart aching.

A few moments passed before you gave an experimental roll of your hips, Remus responding with a sharp thrust. The two of you found a rhythm, grinding and thrusting against one another in an almost lazy manner, relishing in each other’s touch. Heat spread through your entire body, turning your limbs soft and your mind fuzzy. You pressed another kiss to his lips.

Remus adjusted his arms, letting one of his hands come down to your pussy and swiping across your clit. You shivered against him. Pleasure snaked up your spine as he circled your sensitive clit, his body responding in kind. With every thrust, his balls tightened and throbbed, urging him to spill inside of you. You clenched around him again.

“Fuck, fuck-“

Broken groans and gasps muffled only by locked lips filled the space, along with Remus’ murmurs. You let your head fall to his shoulder, the vibrations of his voice lulling you closer to your orgasm.

“S’good f’me, s’pretty, so tight.” He was babbling, his last word punctuated by a sharp thrust, hitting a spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. You moaned, thighs trembling as something deep inside you knotted and tightened. His thrusts turned sloppy and frantic. You rolled your hips in time with his movements, every swipe across your clit sending you hurtling towards an edge.

Remus’ dick throbbed inside of you, and then you were in free fall, gasping and moaning as your pussy clenched like a vice around him. He grunted, following you in climax. He coated your inner walls, still rocking against you as you both came back down to earth.

You shook, falling limp in his lap. He chuckled wearily, both of you hissing as he slid out, pliable in his arms as he nuzzled into your breasts.

“Moony?”

In your chase of pleasure, the two of you didn’t hear the opening and closing of a bedroom door, nor the padding of bare feet on hardwood floors. You nearly jumped out of Remus’ lap in surprise, your head whipping around to face Sirius. He stood in the entrance to the hallway with messy hair and an amused expression. You settled into Remus’ arms again.

“And what do you two think you’re doing?” You huffed, reaching out a hand and making grabby motions towards your husband. He smiled widely, quiet as he crossed the room and settled beside you. His gray eyes swept over your naked bodies, at the wetness that coated each of your thighs and the glow of your faces.

“Could’ve asked me to join.” The words came out petulant, and if it wasn’t 4am you’d be laughing loudly. You hummed.

“You could join us now?” Sleep lined his face, though it was rapidly leaving as the seconds ticked by and you both remained unclothed next to him. Sirius sighed dramatically before shifting his body to curl up next to the two of you. Remus remained quiet, his thumb tracing circles on your left hip.

“Dunno if ‘m up for it…” You buried your fingers in Remus’ brown hair, peppering kissing along his cheeks and forehead. He scrunched his nose at the affection, though his eyes bled a warmth you knew meant he enjoyed it. Sirius halfheartedly pouted next to you. You tugged on the hair at the nape of Remus’ neck, lips trailing down from his jaw to his bobbing Adam’s apple, ignoring the way Sirius squirmed beside you. Remus panted as you continued your ministrations, skin decorated in a mosaic of rapidly reddening skin.

“Nope, enough. My turn.” Sirius all but dragged you away from his lap, tugging you into him like a child would his favorite toy. You rolled your eyes. He nuzzled into your hair, which by now had turned into a haphazard mess from sleeping and sex.

“I’m glad you’re alive, darling.” You nodded against him, sleep pulling at you more harshly than before. You yawned, choosing instead to burrow into his chest and close your eyes. Sirius ran a hand up and down your back—a soothing tactic he’d learned from Remus.

“Tomorrow?” He murmured against your temple. You snuggled closer to him and hummed, blindly reaching out to grab ahold of Remus’ hand. Warm fingers intertwined with yours and you sighed contently, finally letting your body sleep again.

At some point during the early hours of the morning, one of the boys had wrapped you up in a blanket and moved you to lay down. Sirius curled his long body around yours, one arm draped around your waist to hold you in place. Soft voices rose from the kitchen, leaving you groaning as it pulled you from dreamless oblivion.

“Morning, love.” Gentle fingers grazed over your hair, tucking it behind your ear. You preened at Lily’s soft touch. She giggled quietly. James whispered something to Remus, to which the taller man elbowed him in the ribs. He yelped, huffing laughter filling the room. Sirius groaned, tightening his grip on you and forcing you back into the warm cocoon he’d created for you. Lily clicked her tongue.

“Here.”

She offered one of the longer pillows on the floor and the two of you maneuvered it to replace your body. You grimaced at the state of your body. Neither you nor Remus cleaned up afterwards, leaving your thighs a now crusty mess.

Lily laughed, tossing you your shirt as she sauntered into the kitchen. You padded towards them, all too aware of your bare lower half. Remus smirked at your shyness and ran a finger along the bare skin of your arm, shivers following in its wake.

“So what time do you want to leave?” You glanced at the clock. 11:28am.

By now, the sun had well risen, which meant you’d probably see at least one or two other people at the potions ‘lab’. It truly wasn’t even a lab, originally starting out as a storage room at Headquarters.

“Uh,” you scrunched up your nose. “Give me thirty minutes?”

You didn’t leave until an hour later, Sirius still asleep on the couch and the other two pouring over defensive spells to practice. Lily clasped your hand as the two of you apparated away.

The ground disappeared from under you and suddenly reappeared, shiny hardwood floors replaced with dingy old ones. Lily stumbled a little beside you. You eyed her, her pale face twisted from nausea and tinged a faint green.

“Lily, I actually wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes were wide as she turned to you, though you were already moving across the room and offering her a rubbish bin. She took it, a grateful and sheepish expression on her face, as though she wasn’t sure if she would end up puking or not. Candles lined the space, adding additional light to the small window. You breathed a sigh of relief. The two of you were safe here, and potions were something you understood better than any other.

The walls were lined with used and unused bottles, ingredients in large glass jars, and bubbling cauldrons. Vapor from the potions spilled out along the floor, seeming to wrap around the legs of the tables before dissipating. You hummed as you looked from the potion of pain relief you’d been brewing.

The sound of gagging drew your eyes to Lily, and just a few moments later, she was vomiting into the container. Her eyes watered as she chucked up her breakfast, grimacing at the acidic feeling in her throat. You offered a look of sympathy and a little bag you'd packed just in case something like this happened.

“It’s so gross.”

You can’t help but snort at her dejected words, intentionally ignore her pointed glare.

“Take this.” After pressing a vial into her palm (a stomach soother that had been used by pregnant witches for ages), you begin to gather up all the supplies you’ll need to perform a pregnancy test. You wanted to get this done privately, without the boys hounding you or anyone else noticing.

Lily frowned as you closed and locked the door, motioning for her to take a seat at the large table you’d set up everything on.

“So I have a feeling,” you’d have to broach the topic carefully. A child, in times like these? You were losing a magical war because the Order of the Phoenix refused to fight dirty—not that you would ever say that aloud. But to bring a baby into the world with no certainty that you’d be alive to see them grow? Lily had once mentioned to you that she did want kids. That she’d wanted to be a mother.

You didn’t necessarily share the same sentiment, though you knew the risks of unprotected sex just the same as anyone else. Luck has been on your side up until now.

“I think you’re pregnant.” Time stopped.

Lily’s lips parted and she seemed to be frozen, though the frantic look in her eyes was enough to tell you she hadn’t. You reached across the wooden surface of the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing her fingers. She squeezed back, green eyes glazed.

Her cheeks flushed and you moved around the table to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

“Are you sure? It could just be stress-“

You raised a brow, motioning to the items before you. There was a chance it was simply a scare. It couldn’t hurt to test it, though the implications threatened to make your heart explode.

“What if…” Her voice was thick with something you couldn’t place.

“It doesn’t matter. It could be a scare, but even if it isn’t, we’ve got time to figure it out.”

Her messy braid bobbed as she nodded, though her face remained dazed. You sighed, running a finger along the shape of her arm. Goosebumps followed your finger but Lily ignored it. With most situations, she’d shake off how she felt and put on a brave face, but a baby was throwing her off more than she must’ve been prepared for.

“Let’s just see, yeah?”

Lily grimaced in discomfort as the two of you apparated back home, trembling with nervous energy. Her free hand and fingers were constantly flexing beside her, eyes still as glazed as they were several hours ago. The only difference now was the way her hand would occasionally drift to her belly, then drop back down as though she was afraid it somehow wasn’t real. You squeezed the hand you were holding, tugging her into you and wrapping your other arm around her shoulders.

“Lils, I’m gonna need you to calm down, yeah? Everything is gonna be fine.” She huffed, but all you could do was grin. Anything was better than the state of shock she’d seemingly gone into. Maybe if you hadn’t been so caught up in the woman before you, you’d have noticed the morose atmosphere of the place you called home.

She squeezed you tighter.

“You promise?” A breath of laughter escaped you before you responded with, “Of course.”

You broke apart, light finally entering her eyes again. A gentle, happy smile crossed her lips. There was movement in another room, but you paid it no mind as you crossed the living room floor, the potion bottles in your bag clinking together. Following a positive pregnancy test, you’d spent much of your time decanting multiple potions while Lily began to brew new ones. She didn’t seem to mind whenever you checked over her work to make sure she did it right.

“James?”

You heard muffled voices down the hall, but it was the lack of response that had you pausing and drawing your wand. Lily did the same.

The two of you pressed forward through the house, apprehension coiling in your gut. Had someone found you all? Were the boys alright? Were they hurt?

You rounded the hallway, entering the only lit bedroom with a resigned face. If they were hurt, or god forbid, dead, what were you going to do? The thought was pushed away as soon as it entered your mind. No, they weren’t dead.

It was the sob that alerted you to something wrong, something that perhaps didn’t involve Death Eaters torturing your husbands. The door swung open to reveal a blotchy faced Sirius, still devastatingly beautiful with his watery grey eyes. James knelt beside him, rubbing a comforting hand on his thigh as Remus half-held him.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

James opened his mouth as if to speak, but was cut off by both Sirius’ glare and voice.

“I’m fine.”

You sighed, pocketing your wand and shooing the boys away. Lily fidgeted, unstable in the emotional whiplash of the last twenty-four hours, and you grabbed James’ arm.

“Lily wants to make a cake. Help her?” He nodded, sending one last distraught look towards his husband before exiting the room with Remus and Lily in tow. You turned back to the raven haired man.

“I thought we promised not to lie to each other anymore.”

He ran a hand over his face, wiping away the tears that streaked down his cheeks. Something lit up in his eyes. A fire you knew well, too well, perhaps. You raised a brow at the anger that rose up within him.

“You weren’t here. Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up after last night and see that you were gone?” Your eyes softened and you moved to sit next to him. He flinched away from you. “I thought I’d made up the whole thing, thought maybe you’d actually died and I had fooled myself into thinking you were real.”

“‘M right here, Siri. I’m alive, and breathing.” He shook his head, shaggy curls frantically moving as he did so. Each of you deserved better than this, you thought. None of it was fair.

“You almost weren’t.” You nodded. Nothing you could say would change the fact that you jumped into harm’s way to protect James. You’d do it again in a heartbeat, though you knew for a fact they would hate to hear that. Sirius picked at the skin by his nails, prying at already inflamed and tender skin.

“Love,” you wrapped a hand over Sirius’ trembling fingers. His expression continued to flash between anger and distress, tears lining his eyes. He kept his gaze on your joined hands. Pots and pans were clinking in the kitchen, punctuated occasionally by Remus’ soft laughter. You glanced out the open door.

“You can be as angry as you want with me, but you’re not allowed to push me away.”

He leaned his head back, swallowing hard. Silence stretched. You let it, focusing on the steady drum on your heartbeat and breath. Sirius fell into your breathing pattern.

With a low, hoarse whisper, Sirius turned to you. “I can’t lose any of you.”

You sighed, opening your arms and drawing him close. He pressed his face into your neck, cold nose pressing against your warm skin. You hummed and threaded your fingers through his hair.

“I promise to do what I can to keep myself alive.”

As you attempted to move, he gripped onto your coat, fingers tight on the dark wool blend. It proved a struggle to get up with him latched onto you, but you managed. The two of you shuffled down the hall towards the kitchen. Remus had pushed James away in favor of helping Lily mix up the ingredients, bumping hips every few minutes and exchanging soft smiles. James pouted off to the side, likely exiled due to his overeager attitude towards anything kitchen related.

Nearly all the prep work had been done already, and you shared a knowing look with Lily. Leftovers from the day before would be eaten tonight, finished off with a cake you’d decorate to let the boys know they’d be fathers. Lily seemed infatuated with the idea, and after convincing you she insisted on using blue frosting in the middle. You sighed against Sirius, leaning into his body. The great thing about magic was you were able to see what the sex of the baby was far earlier. Lily’s gasp and subsequent teary eyes had you agreeing to just about anything.

You discarded your coat along with your bag of potion vials, gently tossing it over the side of James’ favorite armchair, shuffling next to the man. Sirius remained by you, clinging to your form. James wrapped an arm over your shoulders, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You buried your face into his chest. The three of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other, as Remus and Lily finished stirring the box cake mixture and poured it into the pan. Remus dropped it gently back into the counter, hoping to remove any bubbles. The oven’s soft beep let you know that it was ready. Your heart turned gooey warm and soft at the sight of Remus putting the cake into the oven and turning to wrap his arms around Lily.

“Heat up the food, would you?” Lily directed the request towards your trio, settling into Remus’ warmth. Sirius huffed beside you. He complied with little complaints, exhausted from the day he’d had. You melted further into James’ side.

Dinner was a quiet affair.

The lot of you spent most of your time actually enjoying the food you’d previously rushed through eating, comfortable silence broken only by the quiet noise coming from the radio. At some point, Remus got up to take the cake out of the oven, setting it on a hot pad to cool.

You glanced at Lily as James asked, “How were the potions?”

She paused, taking a sip of water as her green eyes flickered between the both of you. You sighed.

“It was fine. I got my next batch of pain killers bottled.” James nodded along. Sirius narrowed his eyes at Lily before looking at you expectantly. You shrugged, choosing to get up to check on the cake. You patted Remus’ shoulder as you went. “Anyone fancy a cuppa?”

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 2

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Part 1

You shut your laptop with a frustrated sigh and crossed out the last address you had written down on your pad of paper. The last two days you had been searching for a place to rent, only to be turned down due to your bad credit or limited income. You didn’t have the privilege of asking your family for help, most of them had shunned you once you got into your relationship and the few that did still speak with you were in no position to lend you money.

Your phone rang again for the 3rd time in 30 minutes, a blocked number popping up on the screen. You had ignored it the last 2 times for the fear that it was your boyfriend, but he should still be in jail with no chance of making phone calls, right?

Deciding it wouldn’t really hurt to answer it, you slid the call open and instantly regretted it once the familiar devious voice spoke to you.

“Hello bird,” he greeted with fake sincerity, using the pet name he made for you as a jab at your eating habits. The fear shot through you just as hard as the other night, rendering you speechless.

“I’m out baby. I’ll be home soon and we can sit down and talk about everything. Hopefully you were able to get the house cleaned, it was a mess the last time I was there.”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything more before you ended the call. Anxiety and fear began creeping into your body, making you scramble to grab a luggage bag from the closet before shoving some clothes, toiletries, and your laptop in it. Running into the living room, you peeked out of the curtains, hoping to see Aaron’s car in the driveway. No such luck.

So grabbing your keys, you left the house, not even bothering to lock it and threw your luggage into the backseat of your car. You tore out of the driveway and down the street like a bat out hell, unsure exactly how far away your boyfriend was. As reckless as driving 50 in a residential was, you took your chances of being pulled over and put as much distance between you and that house before dialing Aaron’s number at a red light.

“Hotchner,” he answered professionally from the other line.

“Aaron. He got out. I don’t know how, maybe his mom paid his bail. He called me and said he was on his way to me.” Your words were fast and frantic. You would've continued rambling had Aaron not stopped you.

"Y/N. Just take a deep breath for me, alright?"

The light turned green and you did as he instructed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, it doing very little to calm your frazzled nerves but appreciated it regardless.

"Now do you have anywhere you can go, maybe a friends house or family member? Somewhere you'd be safe?"

"No," you spoke. "I don't have any friends and most of my family disowned me when I got into this stupid relationship. The rest of them live on the West Coast."

There was a pause of silence as you felt him thinking over the phone. Most likely figuring out the easiest way to get rid of you and your problems.

"Alright. I have some down time before my meeting in an hour. Why don't you come by and we can figure out a plan. I'll send you the address, just take the elevator to the 4th floor."

A second later you felt the buzz of your phone from the incoming text message. "Ok. Thank you so much Aaron. And I'm so sorry for taking up your time." Tears threatened to fall but you held them back.

"Don't be sorry, Y/N. I want to help you. Don't worry, we'll get this all sorted out. Just text me when you arrive."

"I will," you replied before you both said goodbye and hung up. You put the address in your navigation and drove mindlessly through traffic, so many thoughts going through your head it made you want to scream.

The address wasn't too far from your own homes, arriving there in less than an hour and heading into the very drab looking building before taking the elevator, texting Aaron that you had arrived on the way up.

You had just made it to the front desk before seeing Aaron headed in your direction, giving the receptionist a small smile. "She's with me Lonnette, thank you."

You waited as Lonnette printed your visitor badge and handed it over with a friendly smile before following Aaron through the floor, passing by glass offices and cubicles. You were quiet, not really in the mood for small talk which you felt he sensed and didn't bother saying anything as he lead you up some stairs to an office that you presumed was his by the gold name plaque on his desk.

"Have a seat, please," he offered politely, closing the door and walking over to his side of the desk. "Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?"

You shook your head. "No thank you. I appreciate the offer though."

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, moving some files to the side. "So I'm genuinely surprised to hear that he's out of jail. You said you think his mother bailed him out?"

"Yeah. I don't think she knows anything about what happened but whenever he asks her for money, she just sends it to him. I think she feels guilty for never being in his life so giving him money when he needs it helps her feel better about it." You rung your hands together, anxious about the whole situation as well as being there, talking with a man that was pretty much a complete stranger, bugging him for help.

"And he called you afterwards, telling you that he was on his way? Did he seem upset?" His tone was curious as if trying to get every piece of puzzle to fit perfectly in order to build an accurate idea of who your boyfriend was. It made sense considering his profession.

"I don't know. He's really good at hiding his anger until he snaps. He was talking like nothing had happened and we were just going to go back to normal." Your head whipped towards the open window blinds where someone was just walking by, Aaron noticing your jumpy behavior immediately.

"You're safe here. No one knows anything about what happened except you and I," he reassured you, making you relax just a little. "I don't think he'll be out of jail for long though, at least until he sees the judge for arraignment. I will personally see to that."

His words brought you a bit of placidity and hope as you still wondered why he would go through such lengths to help you out.

"I do have a small flat not far from here that I use occasionally for late nights at the office when I don't want to drive all the way home. You can stay there for now, until you find a place of your own if you'd like. Completely up to you, I don't want you to feel pressured."

Your eyes looked up from the floor to meet his, surprised by his offer.

"I- uh. I couldn't impose on you like that-

"You wouldn't be. I barely use it anymore, I prefer to be at my home with my son whenever I can."

Son? He has a son. Of course he does. He probably also has a wife or at least a girlfriend since you didn't see a ring on his finger. The thought of him with a son didn't bother you, in fact it only gave you more of a reason to trust him.

"If you're sure you don't mind," you said, trying not to sound too excited, relieved that you wouldn't have to go back to your boyfriends house. "Please let me pay some sort of rent or something though. It's the least I can do."

He shook his head no, his expression soft and nonchalant. "Don't worry about it. You're gonna need the money for your new place. Just promise me that you won't contact him or go back to that house unless you have some sort of escort, preferably by law enforcement."

You could be my escort.

You nodded in agreement, ignoring your thoughts.

“Alright then. I can send you the address and give you the keys now. I'm not sure if the fridge is stocked but feel free to add or throw anything away. There is a washer and dryer there so you can wash the sheets and anything else you need." He pulled his keys from his desk drawer and removed a ring with a single key on it, holding it out for you.

You took it gratefully and stood with him as he buttoned his suit back up and checked his watch.

"Could I at least make you dinner or something?" you blurted, not sure where such confidence came from. "I mean, I just want to do something for you in return for your incredible generosity." You couldn't stop the blush from burning your cheeks, your words successfully embarrassing yourself.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, showing off just the slightest sight of dimples. "I'll be with my son tonight but maybe we could grab a coffee sometime tomorrow."

You smiled back, more than satisfied with his offer and followed him out of his office, feeling a few stares from people but avoided eye contact. Aaron walked you back to the receptionist and even had her add you as a contact so visiting would be an easier feat.

"Thank you again Aaron," you spoke, the anxiety you had been feeling for the last few hours, finally beginning to dissipate. He answered with a friendly nod and you entered the elevators. Once the doors closed and you were completely alone, you took in a deep breath. Maybe everything was going to be ok like he said.

[purplesuitcowboy]

cw: dubious consent, fauxcest, double penetration, free use

"I don't have any cash on me," her stepfather, Thomas, told the frazzled young man at the cash register.

"But, I have this,” he said. He jostled the young women who stood beside him for emphasis. Quinn offered up weak protest from behind the ball gang in her mouth. She hated when he did shit like this. Ever since he’d figured out that she’s dabbled in selling nudes online, how he was able to tell if was her when she hadn’t even shown her face was beyond her, he’d been strong arming her into all sorts of shit under the threat of disclosing her little business endeavor to her mother.

Her mother had always been a bit of a prude and if she found out, Quinn would be kicked out of the house for sure and her sizable inheritance would be reduced to 0. She was sure that she could find a place to stay if she got kicked out but losing out on her inheritance was simply not an option. She gone along with his demands which had started as head in the parking lot of his job and had quickly ballooned out of proportion from there.

As it turned out, Thomas was a bit of a kinky bastard but he couldn’t live out his fantasies with her mother so he used her instead. Quinn was almost positive that Thomas preferred it that way. Even before their little agreement, he’d always told her that she had a body built of sex and that she’d make a man very happy one day. This had been very, very weird then but she had ignored it. He made her mother so happy that Quinn had just written off his comments as personality quirks. They hadn’t been. They were the truest expressions of his wishes and desires.

In a sick way, she was perfect for him. She was just as much as a freak as she was, got just as turned on by their slinking around as he did. She just had the good sense to be ashamed and embarrassed by it. Quinn tried not to think about the fact that she was helping her step-father cheat on her mother. Surely, finding out that this had been happening behind her back was worse then Quinn selling her nudes online. Either way, she was a coward because she said nothing and continued fucking her mother’s husband.

Quinn was trapped between her step-father’s bulk and the edge of the counter. Already, she could feel the beginnings of his hard on against her ass. Thomas held her tightly, securing her arms behind her back. He pushed her towards the counter, forcing her to lean awkwardly over it. The precarious position highlighted her generous bust which was barely being contained by her the low neckline of her short dress. Her hardened nipples could be easily seen through the thin material. She briefly made eye contact with the cashier but quickly averted her gaze, deeply embarrassed by the situation. Despite her embarrassment and shame, she feel heat begin too bloom between her legs as she felt the cashiers eyes on her tits. She didn’t have to see his face to know that he liked what he saw. In her minds eye, she could already imagine these men sharing her body, fucking her holes and filling her with their cum. She shifted, rubbing her thighs together.

"Oh, I'm not sure I can..I don't, uh,..."

"Come on," he paused, squinting at the young man's name tag. "Gordon? Damn, what did your parents give you an old man name like that for? Anyway, you're gonna pass up a fuck with a pretty young thing like my stepdaughter here. You like girls don't you, son?"

The young man nodded, rendered completely speechless by the situation. He saw a lot of weird shit during his shifts at the convenience store -especially during the late shift- but this was really taking the cake. He thought that the pair were odd when they walked in but he hadn’t thought much of it until they’d gotten to the counter.

"Well then give 'em a feel,” the old man jeered. “You're gonna make her feel bad if you don't. You're gonna make her think somethings wrong with her tits. You don't want that do you."

Thomas pulled down the top of Quinn’s dress, freeing her tits from their confines. Roughly, he grabbed one of her breasts, massaging it with his hand. Quinn whimpered in response. With Thomas’s grip on her loosened, she freed one of her arms and used it to prop herself up on the counter. Hesitantly, the cashier reached forward to gently fondle one of Quinn’s tits.

“Come on, kid!” Thomas exclaimed. “Grab it like you mean it. None of that pussy shit now.”

The cashier nodded and with renewed vigor, grabbed Quinn’s breasts, kneading them with his hands. Her eyes fluttered shut and she seemed to push her tits out as if offering herself up to him. The edge of the counter dug into her hip but she barely noticed. Gordon could feel his dick harden against his thigh as he fondled her. Her skin was soft beneath his finger tips, and her nipples were red and rosy like the cherry on top of an ice cream sunday. Looking at them, at her, made his mouth water. Emboldened, he leaned forward and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking it and rolling it with his tongue. Quinn moaned, drool gathering on the ball gag and dripping down her chin to her chest. Thomas watched as the cashier lavished Quinn’s tits with attention. He slipped a hand between her thighs, fingers gently rubbing against her slick folds. He loved have easy access to her pussy so she rarely wore panties around him. Another whine escaped Quinn’s lips as she tried to rock her cunt against his fingers.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you baby. Your little pussy is so wet,” he told her, voice almost loving.

He plunged two fingers into her cunt, slowly pumping them in and out. His hand was quickly covered in her juices as he continued to fuck her with his fingers, first one and then two and three. Gordon paused his ministrations and cocked his head to the side, watching enrapt as the older man fingered Quinn’s cunt. His fingers were shiny with her juices as he pumped them in and out of her hole. With every attempt to pull out, Gordon could see the walls of her cunt tightly clenched around his fingers, seemingly unwilling to let them leave the hot, wet channel. If Gordon had any blood left in his body, it had all rushed to his cock. It throbbed painfully in his shorts begging for attention. He’d been hard for a while but it was becoming almost unbearable. He let go of Quinn’s tits and pushed her out of the way so he could hop the counter to join them on the other side. Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Thomas stopped finger fucking Quinn’s pussy to watch the cashier volt over the counter to join them. He took a step back and, tugging at her hip with a wet hand, pulled her back to give the young man room to stand.

Eagerly, Quinn leaned towards the cashier. She braced herself on him, holding onto his hip with one hand. With her other hand, she pulled down the zip of his shorts and pulled out his harden cock. Her eyes widened as she admired its size and thickness. The cashier reached for the ball gag, pulling it out of her mouth. Her eyes locked onto his, she took his thumb into her mouth, running her hot tongue along the tip and sucking on it lightly.

“Fuck” the cashier said, breathless.

Dutifully, Quinn took his cock into her mouth. The cashier groaned, as his cock was enveloped by the wet, heat of Quinn’s mouth. She took him deep until the head of his cock tapped the back of her throat. Her eyes watered but she didn’t gag, instead, she breathed heavily out of her nose trying to steady her breathing.

“Atta girl,” Thomas told her. “Show him how well I’ve trained you. Fuck her throat, son. Don’t worry. She can take it.”

She seemed to gurgle something in the affirmative. He placed his hands on the top of her head and steadily began to fuck her throat. Thomas was right. Quinn forced herself to relax and use her. After a couple of thrust, she pulled her head away, gasping for breath, before she took his cock back in her mouth. As she serviced the cashiers cock, Thomas helped himself to her pussy. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. Giving himself a few strokes, he lined himself up with her cunt. He rubbed his shaft against the lips of her pussy, coating himself in her juices, before he slowly began to push his thick cock into her waiting hole. It didn’t seem to matter how much he fucked her, her cunt felt as tight as it had the first time that he’d had her. He groaned as pushed inch after inch into her cunt until he was seated to the hilt. The two men quickly found a good rhythm using her body, one pulling out while the other pushed in and vise versa.

Adjusting her hold on Gordon, Quinn steadied herself on one hand so she could slip the other between her legs to rub at her tender clit. It didn’t take long before she was writhing and cumming on Thomas’s cock. As she came, her cunt tightened around his shaft and Thomas quickly found himself emptying his load into her cunt. Gordon came soon after. He tried to pull out of Quinn’s mouth to cum on her chest but she held him tight forcing him to cum into her mouth. He pulled out of her lips and she opened her mouth, showing him his load on her tongue before she swallowed.

“You’re not done are you?” she asked, looking up at the cashier with big doe eyes.

The cashier looked down at her, a look of awe on his face. Surely, she was a succubus or some other worldly being. He’d never met a woman with the sexual appetite this one seemed to. He worried that she would suck his soul out of his cock and that he would happily let her do it. Sharing her with her stepfather was a bit strange, but he’d cum so hard it hardly seemed to matter at that point as long as he got to fuck her again. Thomas laughed behind her and slapped her ass, earning him a squeak of surprised from Quinn.

“Horny slut.”

“Please?” she said to the cashier, ignoring her stepfather. “I want to have your cock in my pussy.”

“He can fuck your pussy but I want to fuck your ass while he does it.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay,” Gordon responded, eyes never leaving Quinn.

Thomas pulled out of Quinn’s cunt and unceremoniously picked her up off of her feet. The head of his cock teased her asshole. She reached down and helped to push his cock into her hole, toes curling as his cock filled her ass. Thomas held her with her back again his chest and his hands on her ass. Her legs were open showing off her cunt, still leaking Thomas’s cum, to Gordon’s gaze. Thinking with his lower head, Gordon stepped between her legs and pushed his cock into her waiting hole. Between her juices and Thomas’s left over cum, Gordon’s cock slid in easily.

“Oh my god,” Quinn said with a groan, closing her eyes and learning her head back on Thomas’s shoulder.

“So… fucking…tight,” Thomas said, reeling from the sensation of her ass clenched around him with the additional tightness added from Gordon’s cock in her cunt.

Thomas and Gordon scrambled to adjust their shared grip on her body. Thomas adjusted his grip on her ass and Gordon grabbed hold of her thighs. Working together, they worked to bounce Quinn on their cocks while also attempting to thrust into her holes. It was an awkward process but it felt so good that it didn’t even matter. Quinn had never felt so full in her life. She felt as if any moment she might just combust. It was painful and uncomfortable but so pleasurable.

She opened her eyes and lifting her head off of Thomas’s shoulder, leaned forward to capture Gordon’s mouth in a kiss. He swiped at her bottom lip with his tongue and she opened up her mouth, allowing him to intertwine his tongue with her’s. He was so wrapped up in kissing her that he stopped thrusting which made it much easier for Thomas to hammer his cock into her ass. With a free hand, Quinn reached down to rub her sensitive clit. She moaned against Gordon’s lips as she came. Her body went ridged in his arms as she rode out her orgasm. Greedy, she continued to furiously rub her clit, pushing herself to another orgasm.

“Fuck,” Thomas exclaimed as he felt her clench around him. “Fuck!”

Her asshole was so snug around him that he could hardly move but it was fine, the rhythmic clenching of her hole as she orgasmed guided him to his release. He stood there for a moment, reeling from the sensation. Finally, he braced himself and slowly pulled out of her ass. His cum leaked out of her hole in the absence of his cock but he used his thick fingers to fuck it back in.

Frank no longer right behind her. Gordon lowered her to her feet and turned her, bending her over the counter so he could finish himself off. Frank’s softening cock seemed to wake back up at the sight and he stroked it idly while he watched Gordon roughly pound her from behind until he came deep in her cunt. Gordon took a step back and the two men admired the sight of Quinn’s sloppy, cum covered holes.

“So, I’m good to take the cigarettes, right?”