#it is literally only one brush i like on there and it is so wonderful

[marriiemeii]

little hands

genre: fluff, playful banter, butterflies (digest them), drabble, unviersity au, one mention of mingyu, skewed perceptions of height, reader is 5'4 but you can make them any height tbh, reader hate bugs

“so are you actually afraid of bugs?” wonwoo asked from across the table.

“i don’t like bugs that are big or creepy looking. there’s a difference,” you told him.

the two of you were eating in your guys’ university cafeteria, waiting for time to pass before you head over to your next class. you both weren’t necessarily friends but you had a lot of classes together and you had mutual friends. because of this, the two of you started getting to know each other since you saw each other everyday.

“but those are the best kind,” he says. you look at him with your nose scrunched in disgust.

“oh, are you the type that likes bugs?” you ask him, wondering if he was offended by your blatant dislike for insects.

“i mean, i don’t like them but they’re cool, i guess,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“well big bugs are gross, there was literally a spider as big as my hand and i couldn’t even look at it after the first time,” you shiver from your memory. he smiles at you finding your dislike for bugs amusing.

“you probably have little hands anyways,” he dismisses your experience. you look at him in shock.

“excuse me? i like to think i have average sized hands,” you argued, looking slightly offended at your attacker.

“yeah, for a girl,” he chuckles. your eyes narrow at him.

“your hands shouldn’t even be much bigger than mine,” you retort. “aren’t you only a little taller than me?”

he looks at you as if you had grown another head. “how tall are you?”

“5’4, what about you?” you ask him confused.

“6 feet.”

“you’re lyingg,” you accused him. he looks at you in shock.

“i swear,” he promises. you stare at him as you look from his eyes to the top of his head.

“you look like you’d be 5’8 or something,” you say. “proof or i won’t believe you.”

“i am not that short and what proof?” he asks.

“bring a tape measure.”

“who brings a tape measure to school?” he complains, offended that you thought he was that short.

“5’8 isn’t even short. isn’t that the average male height?” you argue. he sighed with disgruntled look on his face. “also, you would bring a tape measure if you wanted to prove your TRUE height. i need proof or else you’ll forever be 5’8 in my mind.”

“i actually hate that.”

“sounds like a personal problem?” you shrugged off his troubles.

“you’re a punk.”

he continues to stare at you with a blank look on his face. you look away from the unconscious staring match. you look back over to him when you hear him get up.

“what do you think 6 feet looks like?” he asks, standing at his full height. even as you looked at him now he didn’t really seem that tall, especially compared to your mutual friend, mingyu.

you get up from your seat on your side of the table and hold your hand up about 8ish inches above your head.

”i feel like if you were 6 feet i would need to tilt my head to look at you.” you tell him. he continues to stare at you. “and look i’m not tilting my head, am i?”

he stays quiet, before walking over to your side of the table. as he got closer you noticed the top of his head actually was reaching where you had put your hand. he stopped right before your hand, which was held just a little bit in front of you. your hand almost brushing against his fluffy hair that was tousled from the wind and him brushing his hand through his hair so much.

there were three things you realized at this point.

1. he actually could be 6 feet and your perception of 6 feet was, more likely than not, skewed.

2. he was really close to you.

3. he was REALLY close to your face.

out of the whole time you knew him for this semester, this was the closest you two have ever been. it definitely made you feel butterflies in your stomach from the proximity. it doesn’t help that your playful banter has been happening more.

“seems like i am 6 feet based off what you think 6 feet looks like,” he smiles at you. you snap out of the trance you were in and pout at him.

“fine, i guess you are 6 feet, probably,” you accepted your defeat. you were happy that he didn’t take notice of you zoning out. “that probably means i do have little hands then.”

“that’s fine, you have nice little hands,” he states nonchalantly.

[pacificwaternymph]

I. ADORED. S2 of Arcane.

Final thoughts on the season below the cut

Season two was incredibly emotionally fulfilling. The climax was amazing. I loved the constant butterfly effect throughout the entire show, starting with Jayce as a child in the snow and Vi and Powder pulling off a heist leading up to all of this. All of it felt like a natural progression, so many threads of fate being woven together into one.

But there is a part of me that almost wishes they hadn't raised the stakes quite so high.

I know it's literally the namesake of the show and therefore this was probably always the plan, but there's a part of me that wishes they had left the Arcane out of it and just focused on the class war that got kind of... brushed over in Act 2?

It feels like they had to brush aside the themes of classism and oppression for the sake of making room for this bigger climax. And I think a big part of the reason I feel like this is because season 1 chose to focus so much on that part rather than the Arcane plot. So maybe I would have felt this way no matter what they did. But in their defense, they didn't forget about it entirely.

The shot with Sevika joining the council and several councilors giving her disgusted or mistrustful looks is a wonderful way to show that while they may have temporarily joined forces to defeat a bigger threat, the tensions between Piltover and Zaun are not automatically resolved. And I do like how Sevika is still the only councilor from Zaun. Everyone else is still topside. It's a good way to show that while a little progress has been made, it's only the beginning, and Sevika will likely have to fight tooth and nail for any reform.

Jinx's death... well I suppose I should have seen it coming. It was a good conclusion to her arc. But I still wish it hadn't happened. I am of the personal opinion that it didn't need to happen, and now I'm just left wondering how the hell Warwick/Vander was still alive when every other construct or whatever the hell they were had already died.

Vi... my darling. Even at the very end, couldn't catch a break. She really did lose everything. I'm glad she has Cait. I'm glad we got the sesbian lex scene. I just wish she could have ended the show genuinely happy, after having suffered so much throughout her entire life. I know for Arcane it's kind of a long shot for anyone to end up truly happy, but... I still really wanted it for her.

And on a lighter note: just when I thought I couldn't be any more attracted to Mel, the character designers decided to take that as a personal challenge.

I LOVE that they gave Mel more attention this season. The whole witch plotline and Mel having magic came kind of totally out of left field, but I still really enjoyed it. It gave Mel an actual role in this season which was less focused on internal politics, which I am glad for. It meant that she wasn't pushed to the side when the final climax came up. And I liked how her being a black rose put her in direct opposition to Ambessa, as opposed to the subtlety both of them had been employing up until that point. I liked the juxtaposition between the two of them, and I liked how she became the leader of Noxus following everything. Returning home after a long exile.

The completion of Viktor and Jayce's arc together was so fulfilling. I wasn't even sad about their deaths, I was glad that they were together, and that they could finish what they started together, just as both of them had always wanted.

I know everyone ships them but honestly I don't. I don't think their bond needs to be romantic. It transcends the need for those kind of labels. What's important isn't the exact nature of the relationship, it's the depth of it. It's the fact that their destinies, their souls have always been and always will be intertwined. And honestly the fact that they weren't explicitly romantic is almost better to me, because it defies the idea that relationships that deep always have to be romantic.

Ekko, as always, was perfect. My only complaint about him at all this season is that we didn't get more of him. I so adore him, I loved his episode in arc 3, it felt so perfect for him. To see what could have been, having just briefly everything he could ever want, and then knowing he had to leave it behind in order to keep moving forward.

And gosh, what a way of tying his time travel abilities into the story. It does make me kind of question what was going on with his fight with Jinx in season 1, if it wasn't actually time travel, though? Maybe we were just seeing another timeline, and he wasn't? Idk.

I'm so glad that at the end of the day, it was him that managed to save everyone. It wasn't perfect. He didn't bring anyone back to life. He didn't reset any timelines (which I am immensely grateful for, I would not have wanted everything that happened to be erased, it would have been such lazy writing), but he turned back time just enough to let Jayce snap out of his trance and free Viktor from the emotionless shell he'd surrounded himself with. He gave them one last moment together. And that's all they needed.

I don't know how I'm ever going to be the same after this. I am so glad for Arcane's existence.

[s1m0nth3swag]

Could you write “How would Viktor does when reader has depression”.

Of course! Thanks for the ask pookie :)

These r a little short because I am still ill (and my head is literally killing me as I type this) but Viktor is more important than getting well!! (Also bawling my eyes out after act 3, even though I'd still love Viktor nonetheless, machine or not, he's getting it)

WARNINGS/ CONTENT INFO: Mentions of Depression (obviously), GN!Reader, sweet Fluff, Viktor has no clue what he's doing in all honesty, he tries (and succeeds) to be sweet

2 Stories - One more casual/not yet dating and the other is established relationship

You've been off lately, Viktor had noticed. Isolating yourself bit by bit, looking more tired and overall acting just weird. You've had your phases before, but this one was too long. It wasn't like you at all. You've barely even spoken to him or Jayce, when usually you'd yap both their ears off about whatever topic you had learned about the previous night. Now, the lab was silent. Jayce was away on some Council party, and god knows Viktor would never start a conversation on his own while working. Though, he couldn't focus tonight. He mindlessly tinkered with small parts that laid around his desk, his thoughts clouded with the question of what was bothering you. Whatever it was, it bothered him as well. He'd never say, but he missed the cheery and chipper way you'd usually be.

"Are you... alright?" He questions after a while, clearing his throat slightly. This was already too awkward for him, but he did care. Totally just because the atmosphere of the lab would suffer if you weren't your usual self. He noticed the way you shifted uncomfortably as he glanced over to where you were sitting, like you were pondering how to answer. He wondered why you'd need so long to think of an answer, as if you couldn't tell him the truth. "I'm fine. Just a little tired, I just haven't been sleeping well." You answer, a soft, akward chuckle slipping from your lips. Viktor doesn't like that answer. You're different from how you are when you're just tired - not that he actually paid attention to that, but you weren't on your fifth cup of coffee yet. Actually, you hadn't had coffee at all today, another unusual happening. He sighs softly, and you immediatly know that he's gotten into questioning mode - he was a scientist after all. He really couldn't help it. "You can talk to me, you know? We don't have to be lab partners and nothing else, we can be friends." He speaks, his voice softer than before. "What's bothering you, hm?" Viktor adds, turning his chair around to look at you properly. It's your turn to sigh, letting your head hang slightly. "I've just been... feeling off. Like, actually tired but in a mental way? I don't know how to explain." You mutter, awkwardly averting your gaze from him. "We should take a day off, then. Do whatever you want instead of working." Viktor answers casually. "I don't want to miss important stuff in the lab Viktor, I can't take a day off." You throw back at him. He huffs, a slight chuckle filling the room. "Not you. Us. Maybe all three, if Jayce is willing." He clarifies, already noting it down in his notebook to make sure that day off actually happens.

Viktor noticed the moment he woke up next to you. You'd fallen into another slump. He could tell just by the way you didn't just not want to get up - it was a physical challenge for you. He's seen you like this before, though usually it didn't last too long, at least not that he's noticed, maybe only a day or two at most. But by now, it's been almost a week, and you haven't spoken to him about it. You've been more abrasive, have started caring less about your personal hygiene, and while Viktor doesn't mind, he always hated when you didn't take proper care of yourself. He wanted you to feel good, not fall into a depressive hole. He offered to take a shower or bath with you, to make a game out of brushing your teeth, but you had shut everything down. It wasn't because you didn't think the ideas were sweet, but more because you didn't think you even deserved that much effort. Viktor had to helplessly watch you get worse, and he couldn't even do anything to properly help. It was absolute hell to him.

He'd had enough, wanted to be mad at you, even, but he couldn't blame you for it. He could, however, force you to stay cuddled up in bed with him. You liked staying in bed anyway, and cuddling with him was always one of your favourites. So, here you two were, snuggled into the covers of Viktors way too confortable bed. "You know that I love you, right?" Viktor mumbled, his accent more heavy with sleep. He didn't say it enough, at least that's what he thought. "I do know..." you answered, just as sleepily. "I know you can't control this.. but let me help you, please? I know it's hard, trust me I do, but I hate having to watch from the sidelines as you get worse..." He sighs, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "Let me just be there for you, yeah, my dear?" Viktor adds, pulling away slightly to look at you. "Alright.. I'll... I'll try, I promise." You answer, scooting back towards him so you could press your face into the crook of his neck, basking in his warmth for a little longer.

[brown-bear-64]

As many gripes as I have with the handling of these two in act 3 (which I've talked about plenty enough by now), one thing I just noticed is this:

"Why yes" you may say, "We all noticed Caitlyn hesitating and worrying about Vi's wound in this scene. So what?" Well you see, that's also where Caitlyn hit Vi with her gun.

Yes it's a bit more centre-ish, but it's the same general area. That's where Caitlyn formed a damn-near irreperable blow to their relationship.

The people working on this show have already established time and time again that what they show is intentional and can carry double meaning. To me this scene speaks to a quiet conversation that Caitlyn and Vi are having, since it has been established that they communicate most through physical touch.

Caitlyn hesitates, not only cause of the wound but because of the invisible one she infliced. She hesitates and keeps her touch gentle, apologetic.

Vi, in one swell swoop makes it clear that it doesn't matter, and that she's moved past it. It's no hinderance to what they are doing now and what they can still be, in her eyes. Which is very in character for Vi in act 3, because this girl does not have any self worth and will jump at the chance of getting any affection, no matter who it's from. Starving dog.

Which, while I find a beautiful thing as a concept, since it shows how well they communicate with their primary love language, it's also... fuck man it's reading into the little details, ones that might not actually be intended as what I'm making them out to be here.

And even if this was intentional, it does not make up for the fact that they didn't have a discussion about what happened in act 1. The hurt that Caitlyn specifically caused Vi. It's brushed over in the most literal way possible, either completely ignored or as stated above, shown in a subtle and unfullfilling way. There is no apology, it gets swept under the rug. Dysfunctional relationship honestly, which would be fine if it didn't feel like a good end-game ship that has reached its happy ending.

Maybe we'll get more content of these two, maybe we'll get stories where they finally unpack everything unstable their relationship is currently built on.

TL;DR: This scene is beautiful through the lense of deeper meaning, or it would be if these two got more focus and actual good development in their relationship instead of just a sex scene that's meant to resolve all that.

This would have worked, it would have been wonderful, if it wasn't the only acknowledgement of what happened between them.

[rhiannonsknife]

you are quite literally an angel sent down from heaven. i think i died and ascended all the way up to the pearly gates after reading your response

i know you mentioned this a little bit in your coworker!rhiannon drabble and i don't mean to be beating a dead horse but theres just something about teasing rhiannon while she's at work, especially if you're working with her, only a few feet away but impossibly out of reach

you keep sending her explicit messages, detailing every dirty thought that passes through your mind, and you relish in the way that her cheeks heat up the second she reads them. you also send her countless photos every time you go to the bathroom (or even sending a photo at your desk with your skirt lifted just enough for her to see your absolutely soaked panties) and you know from the way her eyes widen and her finger presses down on the image that she's saving every single one of them

coming over to her desk because she wants you to "help her with an email" after toying with her all day and she's whispering in your ear, telling (begging) you to stop being such a tease. of course, you "accidentally" brush a hand against her clothed cunt in response, enjoying the way she whines under her breath and glares at you with her bottom lip between her teeth

it eventually gets to be too much and she's beckoning you to come with her to the bathroom for a "feminine emergency", but in reality, you're getting down on your knees and pressing kisses to her dripping pussy

she's so close to cumming all over your face when you hear someone knock on the bathroom door and ask if you're alright in there. rhiannon looks down at you, wondering if you're going to stop, but you just give her a look and keep lapping at her cunt. she's desperately trying to croak out an answer in a way that doesn't give away that your tongue is inside of her, and all she manages is an "i'm fine!" before she's cumming all over your face, almost drawing blood with how hard she bites on her lip to stay quiet

and oh, she's not letting you off scott-free for all your teasing. she will be pulling out the strap the second she gets home and bringing you to more orgasms than you can keep count

-🪐

🪐 anon please don’t ever stop spoiling us with your genius thoughts. nsfw content. mdni.

i feel like office sex with rhiannon in general would be…something. in the beginning (before becoming a serial killer) she would not be as down to try, too worried about getting caught. but once she gains enough confidence?? suddenly, rhiannon is the one who regularly shoves you into the bathroom stall or starts feeling you up from behind when it’s just the two of you in the staff room…

but, anyway, once said confidence is established you make it your mission to tease her as much as anyhow possible!! you know you are rhiannon’s number one soft spot and you know exactly how to make good use of it…

right now, you’re on your knees before her, her skirt pushed up her thighs, her panties already stuffed in the pocket of your jeans (which is where you’ll be keeping them for the rest of the day).

it had started harmlessly enough. after waking up with her earlier this morning and making a point of entering the office separately to avoid any unnecessary and annoying commentary from one of your colleagues, you haven’t stopped thinking about her once. how could you when, the night prior, you’d spent hours in bed together? when you can still taste rhiannon on your tongue from how she’d been riding your face shamelessly?

so, obviously, you had to make your horniness her problem.

if you could, you’d literally send every single one of your useless coworkers out and ask rhiannon to eat you out right then and there, on top of your desk. but, since that was not an option, you had settled for the next best thing: texting her. every other minute, rhiannon’s phone went off. at first, she expected something work-related and her eyes went wide when she saw your message, telling her about how you couldn’t stop thinking about her in explicit detail.

and you didn’t leave it at that: you kept sending her messages, even used your bathroom breaks to send her pictures, too, pulling up your shirt or shoving your hand down your pants. you can see from your spot that rhiannon, despite her warning glares, looks at every single one of them and even saves them to her camera roll. once, you even called her desk phone from the bathroom, only to moan into the received or hold it to your own pussy, letting her hear how wet you are for her.

when she finally got up from her desk to beg tell you to stop torturing her already, you pushed it too far. or, at least, you’d pushed rhiannon over an edge that she must’ve been toying for a while at that point: as she pretended to point out errors in an email you’d written, she leaned over your shoulder from behind.

“i swear to god, baby, you need to-“ your hand pressing against her crotch shut her up. “quit” she gasped, her hips immediately rolling against the press of your fingers. rhiannon’s lashes fluttered and she sighed softly.

“bathroom” she had instructed once she finally gathered herself. “now”

and, who are you to deny her that?

and that’s, precisely, how you’d gotten yourself into your current position: kneeling before her, panties taken off and out of your way, mouth where it’s supposed to be: on rhiannon’s cunt. she’s dripping down your chin, at this point. your teasing must’ve really done it for her.

rhiannon is leaning back against the sink to balance her weight, one leg thrown over your shoulder, a hand buried in your hair. her head is tilted back a bit and she’s panting already, even though you haven’t done much yet. only mouthed at her pussy, licked broad strokes through her wetness, and pressed the tip of your tongue against her clit in a way that had her knees buckling. it’s been your teasing that got rhiannon to this point: wet and wanting. that’s all it takes for your girlfriend to be dripping down your chin.

you watch her when you start eating her out more purposefully; pushing your tongue deeper, applying more pressure in all the right places, watching the way rhiannon falls apart above you. she has to rest more of her weight back to avoid her knees giving out beneath herself right then and there and her breath comes in short pants.

“shit” she hisses, one hand running through her disheveled hair as the other pulls you closer. rhiannon shouldn’t want this. it shouldn’t turn her on to be eaten out in a place where all of your coworkers could hear if she’s not careful. you’ve locked the door, obviously, but that doesn’t mean the people outside wouldn’t be able to overhear her moans through the thin walls.

it’s a risk. a risk worth taking, because rhiannon tastes heavenly and looks her most beautiful as she’s shaking and visibly struggling with trying to be quiet. she’s rocking her hips, too, for an extra feel of your tongue lapping up her arousal. at home, in your bed, this would probably be a point where she’d be too frustrated with you. where she would toss you around and ride your face in order to get off. but that’s not happening here. (she will make up by laying you down, later, and fuck you with her strap until you’re a babbling mess, apologizing for teasing her like this in the first place…)

all rhiannon can do is lean back and take what you’re giving her as she tries to be quiet. her hand slams over her mouth once you bring your fingers up as well and push two of them into her while sucking on her clit harshly. she barely contains the whine, only trying to poorly cover it with an exaggerated clear of her throat just in case anyone is near the door.

you hope that there’s not: even as rhiannon tries to be quiet, her pussy certainly isn’t: you can hear how wet she is, as you pump your fingers in and out of her while your tongue flicks against her clit.

like this, it doesn’t take long until she’s close to cumming. you don’t have a lot of time so fortunately you know what it takes and what you have to do to make rhiannon cum quickly: you know where to put your mouth, where to bend your fingers, where to apply just the right amount of pressure. it’s not long until she starts getting tense and tighter around your fingers, walls fluttering.

it’s perfect, the way her body goes rigid in the pre-orgasmic bliss. you’re ready for her to stumble over the edge, already watching her eagerly. and then someone’s knocking on the door. you both flinch, instantly glaring at the other.

“rhiannon?” someone’s voice echoes. “are you alright in there sweet pea?”

rhiannon is still staring at you, panting: eyes wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. and then, she nods and you put your mouth back where you both want it. her eyes press shut tightly and she bites her palm as she musters up enough strength to speak without sounding like she’s currently getting fucked.

“uh-“ she rasps, eyes rolling back. “yeah, i’m alright. i’m alright. don’t worry lana!”

that’s all it takes. that, and another harsh suck on her clit. lana is still in front of the door; you can still hear her muffled voice, offering her help. but it’s white noise to the way rhiannon looks as she cums. her back arches and she puts her hand back over her mouth as she rides out the waves of her orgasm on your tongue. you’re lucky; she somehow manages to cum in silence. otherwise, you’re both sure, lana would’ve definitely heard…

you know by the way she later grabs you by the arm and guides you back to her car that you’re in for something when you get back home.

[qwakque]

been thinking abt book 4 again,,,

[gojonanami]

will literally send you small bottles of my eyelashes to make wishes on if you write some of these men being subs

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐒 - ft. nanami, geto, gojo, & choso

warnings: nsfw, 18+, tying up, blindfolds, handjobs (m! receiving), riding, oral (m! receiving), edging (m! receiving), overstimulation

a/n: *adds small bottles of eyelashes beside bottles of tears* i have a collection now :)

NANAMI

“sorry gojo, nanami’s a little tied up at the moment,” you have his phone pressed between your cheek and shoulder, as you run your fingers down his chest, watching his muscles twitch under your touch, “yeah I’ll tell him to call you back, bye,”

kento can only look up at you helplessly, his arms tied above his head by his own black dotted tie, his button up undone and hanging off his body, his cheeks deliciously flushed for you.

“should’ve have let gojo heard you earlier, begging for me,” you lean down, ghosting your lips across his jaw, “but you would’ve liked that wouldn’t you, kento?”

“no…I wouldn’t—“ and you tsk him, the click of his belt sending a shiver through his body, as he grits his teeth, “please, can you—“

“that sounded like a demand, nanamin,” you undo the button of his slacks and tug them down, your eyes fixed on the tent in his boxers, “and I don’t think you’re in any state to make those, are you?” And your question is punctuating by a finger tracing over his erection.

a hiss leaves his lips, as his blue gaze pierces you, “please, touch me,”

and you smile, as you pull his boxers away, your lips kissing his weeping slit, your fingers grasping the base of his hard cock, “of course, kento.”

GETO

“no wonder gojo likes to wear these,” your lips brush over his left ear, tongue tracing the outer part before drawing a circle around his gauge earring, making suguru swallow thickly, “heightens all your other senses,”

“don’t think that’s why he wears one, sweetheart,” his words leave his lips slowly, doing his best to keep his voice steady — how cute.

you’d fix that in a moment.

“well that’s why I have one on you,” your fingers trace over his bare stomach, lips kissing down his body, before your tongue drags over his abs, “look at you - special grade geto suguru — at my mercy. spread out all for me,” and his cock twitches, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “don’t act like you don’t love it, sugu, your body betrays you,”

And your thumb and forefinger toy with his nipples, pinching it, drawing a short gasp from his lips, “stop—“

“you don’t want me to stop, do you?” you lean away, and it’s a point of pride for him — he didn’t want to beg, he couldn’t. but god, fuck, he was so hard, “we all have base desires, suguru — even sorcerers,” you climb into his lap, straddling him, the only thing separating his cock from your needy cunt being his already far too soaked boxers.

“fuck—“ he’s trying to touch you, but you catch his wrists, “princess—“

“tell me what you want,”

even with the blindfold, you knew he’s glaring, “you know what I want,”

“use your words,” and you grind down on him, making him groan.

“please, fuck me,” your lips curl, as you tug down his boxers and sink onto his leaking cock.

“good boy.”

GOJO

“you don’t usually have a problem talking, so talk,” you press kisses to his jaw, “oh but you got your mouth full don’t you?” your fingers run over the panties you have stuffed in his mouth. Drool left the corners of his pretty pink lips, his eyes blown out with pleasure from the numerous times you had brought him so close to climax.

only to pull away.

“look at you, spread out for me in your expensive little chair — imagine what the higher ups would think of you — the strongest sorcerer all fucked out by my touch? so fucking close to bursting from a single touch,” your pointer finger ran over his twitching cock, “do you wanna cum, Toru?”

and you ease the panties from his mouth, “fuuuck, please, baby,"

"please what, toru? i've already given you so much, you're so greedy," you press your lips to his, swallowing his protests and his whines, as he tries and fails to find any friction against you, but you're woefully out of reach, "look at you, your cock is so pretty like this — all flushed, just like your cheeks," your fingers trace over his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose, "and all f'me? i'm so lucky,"

"please," he's panting, head tilted back.

"please, what?" you lean close, as your fingers reach for his dick, but stop short.

"let me cum, please, I need to—with your hands, your mouth, I don't—" and he's gasping as you climb into his lap, your dripping folds above his cock.

"the only place you're cumming, Toru, is in my cunt."

CHOSO

how many times has choso come already? four, five, seven?

you'd lost track. and so had choso from the looks of him. he's laid back, panting, as your lips and tongue clean up the cum he'd spilled on himself. god, he tastes utterly too good for his own good.

"made such a mess again, choso," you chide gently, as he whines, his thighs shaking from your treatment, his purple eyes clouded over with lust as they flutter open, "such a good boy for me though,"

he's whining, "please, love, i can't—" he's shaking his head, sweat dripping down his body, as he's already so hard again, red and leaking pre-cum, already jerking when you've barely moved to brush against his cock again, "it's too much,"

"do you have one more for me, sweet boy?" you whisper quietly, waiting for the safe word that never leaves his lips, as his teeth find his bottom lip, a sharp inhale as he nods. and you're trying so hard not to swallow him whole -- pressing your thighs together to hold yourself back, before your mouth sinks onto him again.

he's jerking forward, his violet eyes watching you part your pretty lips for him, letting his cock enter your mouth, and it's all too much, too soon. "can i please, I want to--" his hands reach for your head and you look up and nod, bobbing your head more steadily, as his fingers find purchase in your hair, as whines and gasps leave his lips.

"feels so good, baby," tears in his eyes, he's begging, "please, please, i'm so close, i can't--" and you suck on his cock as your tongue swirls around the length, and he's cumming hard and fast down your throat, as he pants, out of breath, as you pull yourself from his length, a string of saliva and cum dripping down your mouth.

he watches with glazed over eyes and his chest heaving, as you kiss your way up his spent body, "such a pretty boy f'me. all for me."

a/n: i was gonna write full length fics but i figured with how long my wip list is, i better be a little more judicious with my time lol - i hope you all enjoyed <3

[katszumi]

“have you seen the abs on that man?” hagakure sat across of you. “sexy on a stick, i swear!” she giggles. she was going on and on about the guy that starred in the superman movie you girls put on last night. henry cavill was his name.

mina agrees with her statement with a nod. “he’s the hottest white man i’ve ever seen before.”

“sure, he was hot, but are we forgetting the misogynist comments he’s made? sexy is one thing, but being controversial is a whole ‘nother thing.” uraraka inserted her input.

“oh, please. i’d cook and clean for him anyday he asks.” mina retorted. both uraraka and yaoyorozu shake their head in shame.

“speaking of controversial.” uraraka murmurs under her breath, you peer over your shoulder, wondering the intent of her statement.

you notice bakugou making his way over to your desk, his eyes planted on you and you only. you shift uncomfortably. why the hell would he be coming to you? did you do something?

once he makes his way to your desk, you look up at him with a half smile.

“hey, bakugou. what’s up?”

his eyes analyze the other girls before looking back down on you.

“my pencil?”

you flutter your lashes at him. “pencil..?” you repeated in a trance of confusion.

he groans. “the fuckin’ pencil i gave you last week. i need it back.”

now it all clicks. you nod, laughing nervously because of your stupidity. you reach in your backpack and grab the black mechanical pencil that you forgot to lend back to bakugou.

your arm extends to the male in front of you, waiting for him to snatch it back.

“sorry.”

he gently grasped onto the pencil, his hand brushing against your fingers for a small moment.

“it’s whatever. just rather not be the one to find you after i lent you something.” he shoved the pencil in his pants pockets, leaving his hands in there. “that’s one of the last pencils i have.”

you shoot your eyebrows up in defense, quickly lowering them after. your eyes falling down to your desk for comfort.

“well, hope you take care of that one.” it was a half-joke. a lame one, might you add. you were just unsure on what to say. especially since it seemed like bakugou was lingering around your desk. as if he didn’t want to return to his seat just yet.

“so, what’d you score on your test?”

“ah…it wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t horrible.”

“well?” was he really desperate to know that bad? you knew bakugou was smart, so he probably only wanted to know so it could boost his ego.

you rubbed your arm out of shame. “a seventy-nine.” you stared at his face to recognize any humility or laughter, but there was none.

he shrugged. “should’ve asked for my help if you needed it.”

right. you almost forgot that bakugou offered to help you study and go over notes with him for the next test. it was such an out-of-bakugou thing to do that you nearly didn’t take him serious.

you nodded slowly, processing his information.

“i was planning on making it up, so maybe for that.”

“fine.” his short one-worded response was dull. but what else did you really expect? “next time, don’t steal my pencil.” was his last comment before leaving your presence.

you sat in your thoughts, reeling the conversation back in your mind. what the hell just happened? it was the most simple yet confusing conversation you’ve ever had. was bakugou joking with you or was he seriously irritated with the pencil situation?

regardless, you made a mental note that bakugou was very protective over his mechanical pencils.

once bakugou returned to his seat, he unzipped his backpack, secretly opening his pencil box. within the box were a collection of pencils. there were so many pencils that he could give one to all of class 1a and 1b and still have few left.

aside sat denki who was clearly peeking inside of bakugou’s bag.

“damn, bakubro. you saving up pencils for a potential pencil outage or something?” it’s denki. of course, he never used his inside voice.

“i will literally blow you out this fuckin’ window and across the lot.” bakugou turns his head immediately, a faint pink blush spreading across the apples of his cheek.

bakugou just didn’t want you to know that the pencil was obviously an excuse to talk to you.

pt 2 of the study sesh

[augustinewrites]

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

shoko stitches him up neatly, cleaning and covering it up with a layer of bandages. she offers him a hand to help him sit up, but he bypasses it to plant his palm against the cot, pushing himself up with a groan.

she rolls her eyes, peeling her gloves off and pulling her mask down, tossing them both into the trash. “clean and dress it at least twice a day. no sudden movements of strenuous activity for at least a week. if you ruin my work, i’ll put you on bedrest.”

she digs through her cabinets as he awkwardly pulls his shirt back on. his mind drifts to you as he does so. he’d lost his phone in the fight, so he hadn’t been able to tell you about cancelling.

he wonders if the pout on your lips is painted your lips that shade of red you’d been wearing when he’d first met you. wonders if you’re waiting wearing the dress he’d gifted you last week.

he’d really wanted to see you in that dress.

nanami sighs heavily as he does up the buttons, prompting shoko to glance over her shoulder at him.

“what’s wrong with you?” she asks, setting a small bottle of painkillers on the tray table next to him.

“i’m missing an important dinner,” he grumbles, wondering if just a bundle sunflowers or peonies from the small stall outside is enough. he should order you a proper bouquet from a shop. perhaps he can also book you a massage or—

a knock at the door interrupts his spiralling.

“oh!” shoko suddenly gasps. she reaches up, brushing a few stray hairs from his forehead and fixing it as best she can.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely confused in this moment.

“you’ll see,” she simply grins, sending him a wink. then, “come in!”

the door to the infirmary opens to reveal…you.

“kento,” you breathe, the quiet click of your heels echoing through the empty room as you quickly walk towards him.

he’s shocked, but lets you carefully wrap your arms around him, cradling his head against your chest.

but before he knows it he’s holding onto you too, breathing in the deep, sweet scent of your perfume and focusing on the steady beat of your heart.

“what are you doing here?” he asks once you finally release him, taking your hands in his.

“shoko called me,” you tell him. “apparently…apparently i’m your emergency contact.”

his face is suddenly hot with embarrassment. he’d honestly forgotten about that. he hadn’t even realized he’d done it when yaga had asked him to update his information with the school. your name had been the first and only name to pop into his mind.

“sorry,” he apologizes quickly, dropping your hands. he jumped the gun, didn’t he? you’ve only been dating for six months… “i should have asked you first but—”

but no one knows me better than you.

a soft sigh slips from your lips as you sit next to him, with a gaze so reverent that it strips him to the bone. “i love you, kento. i will be your emergency contact as long as you want me to be.”

he whispers the words back to you, suddenly shy.

sometimes nanami lets himself slip a little too far into his own head, overthinking and a little insecure. but you’re always there, ready to coax him back into the light.

“you look beautiful,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. he’s seen you in a lot of dresses, each one making him weak in the knees. but this dress…this one makes it a little hard for him to breathe.

“well, you still owe me a date,” you tell him, helping him up off the cot. “we could go to the ramen place across from my apartment.”

he wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you reach up to intertwine your fingers with his. “i’d go anywhere with you.”

[milktiicup]

Hear me out about potentially getting pregnant because of Mr. Crawling! I wonder how he’d act.. is it even possible for him to do so? Would he realise the state of his partner?

(Feel free to ignore omg so sorry for ANOTHER ask..)

-🦁 anon!!

one, two, three!

“You, me, little human…”

warnings.pregnancy!!!! duh!!!! reader is still ungendered tho but obv is carrying a baby

It’s not possible to get pregnant by a ghost, right? Right?

You take a seat at the side of the bathtub, and drop the test to the floor. You hold your head in your hands, fingers digging into your scalp. You let out a growl of a sigh, dragging a hand down your face. Not only do you have so many questions of how it was even biologically possible, what the hell is the kid gonna come out like? Human? Monster? Some half half amalgamation?

How the fuck are you gonna explain this to Mr. Crawling?!

There’s a knock at the bathroom door. Speak of the devil...

“Long time room. Worry you. You okay?” he says.

“I’m okay!” slips out of your mouth without thinking, and you curse under your breath. Just what the hell are you doing, and what the fuck are you going to do?

You can’t blame yourself for having the hots for Mr. Crawling - he’s completely obsessed with you! And he’s… really cute. He even sleeps in your bed, for the love of God. You two were totally gonna bone anyway! Like seriously, how are you even meant to explain the concept of a condom to him when the language he speaks has like one hundred words? Matter of fact, how are you meant to explain pregnancy?

“You not okay,” he insists from outside the door.

The panic swirls in your chest, the silence on the other side of the door is heavy. You can almost picture him out there, frowning, his hair slightly dishevelled, his head tilted as he waits for a response. You squeeze your eyes shut and groan. This situation was impossible.

If it was literally anything else, anything else but a baby, you’d just pretend it didn’t exist.

You unlock the bathroom door and open it wide for him to crawl inside. You slump on the floor, back against the tub and pick the test back up again.

“You sad,” Mr. Crawling mumbles, slotting himself beside you. He reaches a long arm around your shoulder, pulling you tight to his chest. It’s comforting, you think, even if his heart doesn’t beat. His cool touch is grounding.

You sigh and clutch his kimono. “Problem,” you utter, closing your eyes. “Big problem.”

“Problem? You hurt?” he asks, his voice softer now, searching.

You shake your head, fiddling with the test in your lap. “Not hurt. Just… confused. Scared.”

His fingers brush against your face, tilting it gently toward him. Despite his eyeless visage, you can feel the weight of his focus on you, as if he’s trying to see through your words to the heart of the matter. “Me help. You talk.”

Clutching the test, you find the courage to attempt to explain, “So, uhm… remember when we were close? Like… really, really close?” You tug at his kimono. “Uhm... close with no clothes?”

“Close… no clothes,” he replies, slowly. His lips curl into a small smile. “Me like close.”

Despite the situation, you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. Of course, he likes it. “Well, uhm… Uhm…” God, this was really hard. “You, me- one, two. You, me- make three.” You hold up the test. “Make little human.”

There’s a prolonged silence in the air. You gulp. He’s uncharacteristically still.

“Three?”

“Three… You, me, little human. Little us.”

He tilts his head, his fingers brushing your hand as if to better understand the strange object you’re pretended him with. “Tiny us?”

You nod, clutching the test tighter. “Yeah. Like… part me, part you. Together. In here.” You gesture toward your stomach, cheeks burning.

His focus shifts to your abdomen, and he hovers his hand over your stomach. “In you,” he murmurs, the words heavy with wonder. “Little human.”

“I’m scared,” fumbles out of your mouth before you can think. “Really scared, Crawling.”

Mr. Crawling freezes, his long fingers hovering above your stomach as if he’s afraid to touch. Then his hand settles gently, his cool palm pressing against you, gentle, careful. His other arm wraps around you tighter.

“No scared,” he says firmly, his voice more resolute than you’ve ever heard it. “Me here. Always. Me help you. Help little human.”

Okay,” you whisper, clutching at his kimono. The tears don’t go further than the tip of your eyelashes. Mr. Crawling is quick to wipe them away. “Okay. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“Together,” he repeats. He looks at your stomach, a flicker of curiosity and pride in his expression. “Tiny us… strong. Like you.”

You let out a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Maybe like you, too. But let’s hope it doesn’t have your hair. It’s gonna be hell to brush.”

He doesn’t quite understand the joke, but the faint smile on his lips stays, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all be okay.

[i90o3]

haii ><,, could you write something for literally any homicipher character.. im starving for homicipher x reader content 😭😭😭

First kiss.

context: post blissful ending. You kiss, mwah.

Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov. Fluff.

First time writing an anything in 2 years, bear with me I might be rusty. Didn’t really know what to write for this one so it’s a little short. Also I had to rewrite this so I hope there’s no mistakes,,

lowkey forgot * don’t italic words on this app..

For some reason, having this..entity here with you after escaping from the ‘other world’ ..isn’t bad. No one else can see him—which is honestly a bonus—and you have to concentrate really hard to see him… but it’s better than nothing. Honestly, he’s such a puppy..In a kind of disturbing way? The way he just follows you around, chirps and giggles, does his best to protect you. It’s adorable, really.

The first time this strange, attraction, hit you was when he pulled you down and crawled on top of you, sufficiently hiding you from Mr. Scarletella. And it only grew throughout your time in the ‘other world.’ Progressing as he kept protecting you, helping you.

You heard Mr. Crawling chirp, pulling you out of your daze. You glanced up at him, smiling, and he smiled back. (even if it was a little creepy..) Your hand hesitantly reached out, trailing your fingers up his arm, and then to his face. You tentatively brush your knuckles against his cheek, brushing his hair aside slightly. He looks at you, (does he even have eyes??), a little caught off guard by the action. As if he hasn’t been touched so tenderly before.

You start to wonder what his lips would feel like against yours as you stare at him intently. He stares back at you, oblivious to your thoughts. You wonder if there’s a word for ‘kiss’ in his language. But the language barrier between you two never really stopped you before. You point to your lips, and then you point to his lips, trying to get your intentions across. He smiles, but tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, as if saying: “what? I need a demonstration.”

*who knew entities could be such teases?*

But..then again, who are you to deny such an adorable face like him? You gently reach out, cupping his face in both your hands, rubbing his grayish pale cheekbones, guiding him closer to you. Your breaths mingle, lips barely inches apart, just brushing against each other before your eyes flutter close and you finally press your lips to his. The kiss was a little clumsy and fleeting, seeing as he didn’t know what he was doing, but sweet nonetheless.

When you finally pull away, he tried to eagerly chase your lips, his signature giggle falling past his lips. Seems like you’ve spoiled him, because now he doesn’t want to stop kissing you.

11:08 pm. 11/02/2024. @i90o3

[pathologicalreid]

gemini | S.R.

two emotionally wrought people collide at a wedding, and a sexual escapade ensues.

part two

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: softdom!spencer, use of the term "good girl" (i couldn't help myself), unprotected sex, reader on bc, alcohol, spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, lowkey idiots in love, fucking against a wall?, fingering, heavy petting, r has an oral fixation, r is wearing a dress and makeup, explicit consent (hot), public sex, i think that's all word count: 3.42k a/n: this is a little self-indulgent and i don't care! based on literally just the first line of the song gemini by del water gap. probably not ever gonna get a part two. i've never done angsty smut (smangst?) before, so this was fun.

so, here's the setting, we met fucked up at a wedding

Swirling the drink you held in your hand, you watched your friends as they chatted. The pink liquid in the cup, concocted by Penelope Garcia, was far too sweet for your taste, but you needed the liquid courage to make it through the wedding.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for Krystall and Dave. It was that weddings oftentimes left a bitter taste in your mouth – one so bitter that not even Penelope’s drink could offset it.

In your periphery, you saw a blur of purple in the corner, looking up to see Spencer. His hand still bandaged from his most recent brush with death, he used his free one to grip a glass of water. Raising your eyebrows, you gave him your best attempt at a smile before you greeted him, “You look good, Dr. Reid.”

He was fully donned in his favorite color, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t notice that your dress matched the purple hue of his suit. “Thanks,” he said shortly, not quite meeting your eyes.

Noting the way he was looking past you, you demurely leaned your head down, glancing over your shoulder so that you could see what he was looking at, only to see JJ. She looked gorgeous in her red dress, laughing at something her husband said before her eyes caught something.

She was staring back at Spencer, and not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what happened in that pawn shop. Bringing your eyes back up to Reid, you watched the confused look in his eyes bloom as he peeled his eyes away from JJ.

Sick of it, you spoke up, “Alright, I had dibs on being the mopey one tonight. What’s wrong?” You had wanted to brush it off as long-lasting nerves from the hostage situation, but he was acting strange.

You knew you weren’t his best friend, that was a title that JJ had been the reigning champion of since the beginning of time. Yet, you still noticed the rigidity in Spencer’s shoulders as he displayed a clear discomfort with his surroundings. You tried to think of something to say to him. How could you ask him if he wanted to get out of here without it sounding like a sexual proposition?

“JJ told me she loved me,” he said, his voice so low you weren’t even sure you had heard him correctly.

Your head snapped up, “Oh.” Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head curiously, letting loose hair tumble to the side. “Do you love her?” Likely not the right conversation for the wedding of everyone’s favorite right-person-wrong-time couple, but you were desperate for a rope to pull yourself out of your wallowing.

He took a sip of his water before setting the empty glass on the bar counter, “I did.” The admission hit you like a ton of bricks, until her continued, “but now…”

Filling in the blanks, you shrugged, “She’s married. They have kids.” Spencer was always doing the right thing, so pushing his feelings aside for the sake of JJ’s family made the most sense.

Furrowing his brows, he pondered this for a moment before speaking, “It’s not just that. I have feelings for someone else.”

“Oh,” you repeated, and somehow the thought of him being in love with an unfamiliar figure hurt more than him being in love with your mutual friend.

The both of you let the conversation lag, watching as Penelope came back up to the bar and poured more drinks. After she accused you of being boring for not wanting another drink, everyone returned to the tables. “Have you dated anyone since him?”

You choked on your newly acquired water, cupping your hand underneath your jaw in an attempt to stop water from getting on your dress. “Uh, no. I’ve kind of sworn off dating ever since,” you replied, shaking your hand out and letting water droplets fall to the floor.

Sighing, you slouched in your seat, remembering that all you’d ever be was a jaded bride. Left by your fiancé on the day of your wedding, doomed to never love again. Until you met Spencer Reid.

“For everyone?” Spencer asked, and you cursed his natural curiosity.

His question caught you off guard. Despite yourself, you shook your head, “I have like… one person who, if they asked me, I’d say yes.” Your skin started to feel warm, and you weren’t sure if it was your proximity to him or Penelope’s drink coming back with a vengeance.

Spencer stepped a little closer to you, leaning casually on the counter as if he wasn’t affecting your ability to focus. “Who’s your person?” The question was innocent enough that it made your heart ache.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s into someone else,” you told him, reaching behind your neck to pull your hair up, haphazardly twisting it. You didn’t have a hair tie, so you let the locks fall once you felt some semblance of relief.

This statement seemingly bothered Spencer because he looked into his glass, “Did he tell you that?”

Nodding, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Yeah,” maybe not in so many words, Spencer was rarely crass enough to say he was into someone, but you understood well enough.

The conversation lagged between the two of you once again, your own private thoughts were only interrupted when the music changed. It was a slow song, one for the couples of the night to dance to.

You took a chance, “Do you want to go explore the building with me? It’s getting stuffy in here,” you said, taking one final swig of your water before jumping up from your stool.

He looked back at JJ, who was there with Will, and then forward to the girl who was asking to take him away, “Yes.”

David Rossi had spared no expense for his second wedding to his third wife, and the manor that you found yourself meandering within felt never-ending. Something about following Spencer as he led the way and told you facts about the history of the building felt so normal, and you wondered if it would hurt when the night was over. Maybe this would just end as another memory to loathe about weddings.

Trailing him into another room, you stumbled into his back. Quickly, Spencer spun back and caught you before you could fall to the ground.

Steadying yourself, your heart thrummed at the way he was touching you, tightly holding your waist so that you wouldn’t trip. Once you were no longer wobbling, Spencer reached up and gingerly lifted the fallen spaghetti strap of your dress back over your shoulder. Before you had fully thought out your actions, you leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him.

It was hesitant and gentle, but once you registered that you were kissing him you soon realized that he was kissing you back. What started out as a small peck on the lips quickly morphed into full, open-mouthed kisses.

You thought Spencer might eat you alive, and for a moment, you thought you might let him.

Without separating your lips, he herded you over to the wall, pinning your hips to the wall as you felt heat grow between your legs.

Pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, your faces just inches apart. “Is this okay?” He asked you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he was holding himself back from kissing you again.

There was fear. A fear that if you moved forward tonight, nothing would ever be the same, but you took a chance  and nodded quickly, “Yes.”

Your answer acted as a release as Spencer dropped his head back down and the two of you reattached your lips. Despite your attempts to ignore it, you felt his hardened length pressing into you through several layers of clothes.

Twisting your head away, you gasped as Spencer took the opportunity to place his lips on your neck, gently suckling on the tender skin as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you sure about this?” You breathed, running your hands underneath his suit jacket, wanting nothing more than to push it off of him.

“Yes,” he answered, giving you the same consent that you had already given him, and it was enough for you to reach for his belt buckle. No matter how badly you wanted to see him entirely bare in front of you, this just wasn’t the place for it.

Gently, you slid your hand down his front, savoring the way his breath hitched against your neck as your fingertips precariously lifted the waistband of his boxers. He gently nipped at your earlobe as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.

You let your head fall backward, allowing him better access to your neck as you moved your hand. Moving your hand up so that you could swipe your thumb over the tip.

You dragged your other hand down, pulling his boxers down so that you could get a good look at what you were working with, and biting your lip at the sight of it. Slowly, you started to pump his impressive length, noting how his breathing patterns changed with your movements.

Dragging a knuckle up the underside of him, he dropped his head to your shoulder as you collected his pre-cum on your index finger on your way up, bringing your hand up to your mouth and licking the droplet off, peering up at him.

“You’re so good at that, baby,” he told you, sighing as he reached up and placed his hand on the side of your neck, skimming his thumb over your jawline as his free hand started to make its way up your dress, pausing when he only met bare skin. “No underwear?” He questioned, furrowing his brow at you as you bit your lip, trying to refrain from pressing into his hand.

Whimpering almost indiscriminately, you shook your head, “Couldn’t, panty lines would show under the dress.”

Spencer hummed in recognition, moving his hand up to cup your sex so that you could feel your own wetness on his hand. A pathetic whine escaped your throat as your walls clenched with need, still stopping yourself from grinding on his hand. “What do you need?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, “Come on, you can tell me.”

“You, please,” you answered, your voice dangerously bordering on pleading. “Your hands, anything,” you squeaked out, breathing heavily as you awaited his next move.

Gently, he slipped a finger inside your wet hole, causing you to release a satisfied sigh. “You’re so wet,” he whispered in your ear as you tilted your head back and pressed your lips to his.

As his hand picked up in pace, so did your breathing. With each movement of his hand, you struggled to keep your volume at a respectable level, small whimpers continued escaping you even as you bit down on the inside of your lip. “Spence,” you whined, moaning aloud as he slipped a second finger into you, “Oh, god.”

The silence of the room around you only exacerbated the wet sounds that were emanating from your sex, and if it didn’t feel so good, you might’ve been embarrassed. In fact, as you felt a familiar coil winding in your abdomen, you found that you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure.

Crying out, you nodded as Spencer continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck,” you said, caring less about your volume levels. Even less so when he responded by pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, the pressure proving to be enough to send you over the edge.

“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered in your ear, “Let it go for me, baby.” His words continued as you felt your walls spasming around his fingers, his ministrations had slowed, but he worked you through your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up to your mouth.

Accepting the invitation, you leaned forward and sucked the sweet juices off of his hand, slipping your tongue between his two fingers as you looked up at him. You half expected him to be watching you with lust-blown eyes, but he was watching you just as attentively as he had when you started this escapade.

He retrieved his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying pop and reached down to ruche the fabric of your dress up around your waist. “Wait,” he said suddenly, gripping the silky cloth, “I don’t have a condom.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I don’t mind.” Still breathing heavy from your previous orgasm, you shook your head again, “I mean. I’m on birth control – and I’m good at it. I mean I keep up with it.” Now babbling, you hoped he’d say something. “I’m clean. I trust you.”

Nodding in understanding, he placed a hand on the side of your neck and looked at you intently. “I’m not going to do anything until you catch your breath,” he told you, taking up an authoritative tone.

Blinking rapidly, you evened out your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your torso, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, taking another deep breath as you looked up at him.

Spencer shook his head, “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck as you finally pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to grip the backs of your thighs.

“It’s okay if you can’t lift me,” you rambled quickly, getting his attention as you aired your concern.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pressing his hips into yours and lifting your feet off of the ground. The leverage that he had, along with the support of the wall behind him, allowed him to get both of your feet off of the ground. You would’ve spent more time being impressed by this feat if you weren’t so distracted by his painfully hard cock that had now slipped between your folds.

Leaning down, you desperately kissed his lips, wanting him to give you those open-mouthed kisses that you had started out with. Instead, you cried out when, without warning, his full length slipped into you.

Placing gentle kisses on your collarbone, Spencer murmured, “Are you okay?” He whispered, seeming like he was using all of his self-control to just stay still.

You nodded, feeling his cock throbbing so deep in you that you were almost afraid you’d come from just that pressure alone. “Been a while,” you murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.

He hummed in understanding, “I’ve got you, take your time.”

His words filled your stomach with butterflies, and it wasn’t just because he was fully sheathed in you. “Spence,” you whimpered, “Move.”

On your cue, Spencer gave a tentative thrust, permitting your resulting moan to mix with his grunt. “Fuck, baby,” he said, continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, filling the room with the crude squelching of your actions. “I’m not going to last long,” he informed you.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you moaned helplessly when Spencer dropped one of your legs to the ground, hooking his arm underneath your other knee, providing a new, deeper angle. You swore as the sensations started to feel overwhelming.

The new angle gave him more control over his movements, enabling him to use his free hand to pull at your breast through the fabric of your dress. As you tugged gently at his hair, you tilted your head back, “Spence, I- shit,” you cursed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of your second orgasm approaching.

If it weren’t for his words of encouragement, you would’ve been embarrassed by coming too quickly, and if anything, the words only spurred you closer to the finish line. “Come for me,” he said, thrusting harder into you as he tried to reach the same point. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he said, continuing his thrusts until his hips stuttered.

“Coming,” you whimpered, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder as you felt your walls tightening around his hard length. Crying out as he continued to pound into you, you buried your face into his neck and nipped at the skin to muffle your sounds.

Now he was solely working toward his own orgasm, having given you two of your own. “You’re such a good girl,” he panted.

Suckling gently at the skin on his neck – not hard enough to leave a mark, you littered kisses on his sensitive skin. “Come in me, baby,” you murmured, trying to spur him on.

Your success was apparent as his movements faltered and his cock started throbbing, feeling the pulses of his cum as it filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling while Spencer slowed to a halt, waiting for a beat before he pulled out of you entirely.

Shuddering at the emptiness you now felt, you leaned against the wall once both of your feet were on the ground. As your legs trembled, you watched as Spencer crouched to fish something out of his jacket, leaving you with your mixture of fluids running down your legs.

As he grabbed the handkerchief from his breast pocket, you gasped slightly as you realized his intentions. “Spence, you’ll ruin it,” you insisted.

“Would you rather go back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs?” He asked, knelt in front of you with his brows raised in mock innocence.

Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “Jesus.”

He chuckled, using the handkerchief to wipe up the mess the two of you had made on your legs before carelessly tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Noting the way your legs were still shaking, he lifted your chin ever so slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding, you offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’m great,” you told him, wiping underneath your eyes where you were sure there was a mess of mascara.

Taking your hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Spencer led to toward the French doors that led to the balcony, taking you out into the fresh air.

As you leaned up against the railing, Spencer shook out his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, doing his best to keep you comfortable. “Hey,” you whispered, “I really am fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” In all of the hormones, you had forgotten about his injury.

Spencer nodded, looking over the property that Rossi had rented. “I’m good, Y/N. I feel good.” You wished he’d call you baby again, but maybe that was too much to ask for. His eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked him, recognizing the look from years of working together.

He hummed, reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off of your forehead. “That guy? The one who told you he’s into someone else? I can confidently say he’s an idiot.”

Flushing, you smiled to yourself at the fact that Spencer was calling himself an idiot, especially when he was anything but. Shrugging, you waved him off anyway, “Nobody’s perfect, Spence.”

“No, I suppose not, but even so…” he told you, allowing his voice to trail off like he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to say to you. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, then maybe you need to turn your attention elsewhere.”

Sighing, you leaned your chin in your hand, “Thanks, but I don’t know. Maybe there is better out there, and I’m just not worth it.” No, after tonight, you’d likely never get over him. It might’ve started as a workplace crush, but you felt in your heart that it was now something deeper.

Spencer shook his head, “Now, that’s where we disagree.”

“Spencer, I can’t-“ Your voice is cut off when you hear someone calling your name from inside the building, smoothing out the front of your dress one more time, you step back into the room, coming face to face with JJ.

She smiles in recognition of you, but the grin immediately fades from her face when Spencer walks out behind you, “Hey, we’ve been looking for you guys,” she said flatly. “They’re about to cut the cake.”

Nodding, you took another quick look at Spencer before following the blonde out of the room, leaving your secret in the room behind you.

part two

[cherubunie]

run ~ sunghoon x reader

ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 성훈 ] ☆ sunghoon can't help but watch his favorite little toy go absolutely crazy, you unbeknowingly give him exactly what he wants; not only your blood , but your pussy as well.

word count ; 2.6k

sunghoon x reader | heavy cnc , slight manhandling , smacking , dacryphilia , mask-kink , fingering , stalking , chasing / prey + hunter , blood consumption, slight knife play, degrading, slight praise, sadism / masochism, you live in the woods , you're also kinda dumb... sorry . not proof read. since its spooky season and I felt like sharing my thoughts.... enjoy you fucking freaks.

sunghoon kept quiet as he stalked through your house , making sure not to step on the places where your floorboard squeaked. you were fast asleep under the covers , breathing steady and your eyes fluttering as they moved behind you lids. sunghoon liked watching you sleep , it almost made him feel as if he were sane.

he'd been stalking observing you for a while , his interest peaking when he saw you working your little day job in the book store down the road.. you were oh so kind to him; helping him find everything he needed, walking around the store with him in order to find a book he had been wanting, you were just so sweet.

he caught on to the hidden compliments you threw at him whenever he would come into your book store, making him smile and blush like crazy. you would even try flirting with him a little. you started looking forward to the times sunghoon came in, the way he would talk to you made you feel like you were special, and you were honestly thinking about asking him out on a date.

he liked watching you walk to and from your job, playing with your dog when you came home, he liked how you would light a candle and read in your room before bed right after doing your skin care routine and oh how he loved watching your dainty little fingers fuck your pussy. your nails freshly manicured in your favorite color.

ever since his little, fascination with you, a side of him was unlocked that he never new about. a side of him that he hides from everyone. you know what one says though; the more you keep things bottled up, the bigger the explosion was going to be.

now here he was, watching you fast asleep in bed, as your parted lips let out breathy sighs. he wonders what you're dreaming about.

maybe you dream about him the same way he used to about you. oh he doesn't sleep anymore unless he quite literally passes out. you've consumed so much of his person that its like the two of you are one now !

his hand brushes over your soft cheek delicately, coming down to the skin of your lips as he presses his thumb down onto your bottom one, feeling your breath fan his digit. he shudders, taking in every single one of your features

that was until you started to stir awake. sunghoon curses for being in your room for too long, knowing that you normally get up at 3:30 in the morning to go pee and get a glass of water. he shuffles out of your room quickly before your eyes fling open.

you heard something.

you could have sworn it. you sit up, your eyes adjusting to the dark room before they land on your bedroom door.

it was closed.

you always close your door before you head to bed. here it was, wide fucking open. fear runs through your veins, your hand shaking as you go to lift yourself up off the bed. you slip out of bed, wary of your surroundings as you make your way around the house. sunghoon can see your figure in the dark as he hides himself behind your couch, crouching down so you couldnt see him. you walk into the kitchen, flicking on a light and turning around to observe your area.

sunghoon has a clear view of you, watching as you shakingly look around for any sign of break ins or anything. you turn around and stare at your front door.

its open.

wide fucking open.

the darkness from outside seeping into your home. you just stare at the front door, your hands folded into your chest while your eyes are as big as the sun, staring straight out of the door and into the darkness.

sunghoon chuckles at how cute you are.

maybe you shouldn't have left it unlocked

sunghoon shifts slightly, but just enough for your head to snap to his. you scream as soon as you see the masked man in the corner. you dart behind you counter within a fraction of a second and run to grab a knife. sunghoon is quick on his feet, meeting you in the kitchen and trapping you in the room. you scurry around your silverware drawer, not finding any of your sharp knives.

"what the fuck!" you scream in fear. you never touch your sharper knives unless you have to. sunghoon chuckles behind you, and you swear you can just fucking die on the spot. you spin around, the tall man stands inbetween you and the rest of the house. your eyes dart around looking for something- anything to use to defend yourself that you can reach for quicker than he can.

nothing, not a single fucking thing in sight. you suddenly get an idea; the only way out was to run turn around and run out the back door, having a small chance of survival if you were to run into the woods behind your house.

"dont be stupid.." he warns, your biggest knife sliding out from his belt loop, his fingers coming to play with the pointy end of it, twisting it in his fingers. you hesitate, your body shaking as your mind screams at you to run.

your eyes drink in his figure. the shape of his arms defined by the black shirt he's wearing and a black pair of jeans that match. under different circumstances, you would be unbelievably turned on due to the ghost face mask covering this mans face. you breathe in through your nose, holding it as your body spins around, acting before you can think.

you work fast to unlock the door, swinging it open and slamming it shut behind you within a second.

"I said dont be fucking stupid" he leaps over the counter, beginning to run after you, his long legs and toned figure gaining distance on you quickly. the light from your house disappears as you make it to the tree line, your feet beginning to scrape against the ground of the woods. your breathing is heavy as you move as you run for your life. sunghoon watching you disappear into the shadows, following in after you. he listens to your feet hitting the ground, twigs and leaves crunching under the pressure of your body weight.

you turn around to see if you had gained any distance, but scream as you see him hot on your tail. your body feels like its going to give out underneath you at any given second and your feet begin to bleed against the rough ground. tears stream down your face as they blur your vision.

you're terrified.

you grab onto a small tree and make a sharp turn, hissing as the bark cuts into your hand. sunghoon follows you, watching your every move like a hawk as he does so.

"you can't run from me, y/n" you hear him tease you. you spot another tree to make a sharp turn at, but before you can reach out to grab it, you trip on a huge tree root that's growing above the ground. you stumble, your body hitting the ground in a tumble, leaves get in your hair and you feel your nose start to bleed. before you can process what happened, you feel a hand on your throat. your eyes shoot open as the masked man now stands in front of your aching body.

his fingers press against your artery, threatening to cut off your oxygen.

"no no please, please dont hurt me" you say as he places the tip of the knife on your thigh, trailing it up your skin and under your night gown. your breath shudders under the cold metal, your arms feeling weak after you just landed on them, your full body weight crushing them in an instant.

"aww, begging already sweetheart?" he coos at you, his knife finding your clothed clit and you can't help yourself when a whimper exits your throat. your head hurts as he throws the knife to the side, his fingers coming to rub against your clothed heat instead. your hands fly up to grab his arm, attempting to push him away.

sunghoon's grip on your throat disappears, a harsh sting on your cheek making you gasp as he slaps you across the face before grabbing both your wrists in his hold and pushing them into the dirt above your head.

"stop fucking squirming and take it" his fingers pull your panties to the side as he enters two of his digits into your wet cunt, and you feel embarrassment rise to your cheeks at the squelch your wetness makes.

"you're so wet, you like it when I use your body? what a fucking whore" you squirm under his fingers, your hips grinding into his hand and your legs kick out as he pumps your pussy, his fingers curling in and out of you.

"please" tears cloud your vision again and all you want to do is disappear.

"that's right, squirm for me a little more" a sob racks out of your throat, your wetness increasing as his fingers work inside you. your walls clamp down on his digits. you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood and you can taste the iron on your tongue.

you squeal out when you feel the coil in your tummy, your back arching off the ground and your legs begin to shake. sunghoon chuckles to himself, your pussy sucks in his fingers almost as if they're begging for his cock.

he knew today was the day he was gonna use your body. the way you purposely left the door unlocked and your curtains open, the way you looked outside longly before you had gone to bed, your bedroom window being cracked as your fingers fucked your pussy pathetically. he does it better, and you knew as much.

he sees your change in demeanor, your walls flutter around his fingers and your arms buckle in his hold. he tongues his cheek before he rips his digits out of you, your orgasm being stripped away from your body and you dart your head up, a scared whine leaving your lips as you hear the buckle of his belt come undone. you begin to thrust your heels into the ground, an attempt to get away from the man once more.

he looks back up at you, shaking his head with a 'tsk' before his hand comes away from his belt to slap your puffy cunt, a squeal erupting from your mouth. he takes his belt off completely, working to undo his button and zipper. when you hear his pants shuffle, that's when you know you're all done for, but that doesn't stop you from putting up a fight.

you kick his leg, earning you a loud "fuck" from the man and your wrists slip from his grip, but before you can claw your way out from underneath him completely, he grabs you ankles and drags you against the hard ground, your body under his as you notice his hard cock sprung against his abdomen, pearly beads of precum leaking out of his pink tip.

you whine as his free hand comes to wrap around your throat once more, squeezing down and you almost lose all ability to breathe. your head feels fuzzy, but you still fight anyways. your hands grab at the mask and rip it off, your eyes widening when you see who it is.

"s-sunghoon ?" you choke out in surprise. he chuckles at your reaction, his fanged teeth on display. his fist pumps his cock as he leans over your trembling figure, his face coming down to yours as he licks the blood off your cheek, a scratch littering your face from your earlier fall.

you whine under him as he pushes his tip against your sopping hole, your pussy wet enough he was able to slide in with ease. your back arched as you curled into him, your hands coming up to grip his hair in your fingers and yanking, attempting to pull him off. he hisses under your grip and his hand lets go of your throat, earning you yet another slap across the face. just as his palm met contact with your cheek, he began to thrust his dick inside you roughly, his thrusts demanding and concentrated. you scream at the pain of the stretch, his cock splitting you open in a sting.

your hands fall from his hair, moving towards his hips to push him away

"s-stop f..f p lease ! h-hoon no !" you squeal as his tip presses up against your cervix. his thrusts dont falter at your desperate attempt to get him away from you, your pussy clenching down on his length as your moans fill the cool, autumn air. the trees hum in tune with your beautiful melody, sunghoon groaning.

"shut up and take it and I might let you live" his threat hangs in the air over your head and you whine, your hands letting go of his body, coming up to grab his biceps, one holding your legs apart and the other is digging its palm into the ground, holding him up above your frame as he fucks himself into you.

your jaw slacks open, the prettiest of whines and whimpers dance off your tongue in pleasure. sunghoon drags his lower lip inbetween his teeth, your cunt sucking him in as he graces your sweet spot with every thrust.

"please f-fuck oh my god" you beg- not having a clue in the world what for. your body is tingly and your head is light. your head turns to the side and tears roll down your cheeks, your mouth kisses sunghoons hand that holds himself up, and he can't help but laugh at your cuteness.

"god you're so fucking adorable when you cry, pretty" you hum at his words. his hips rock against yours, your hole fluttering around him like a butterfly's wing. the coil in your stomach tightens and you feel your orgasm approaching, and sunghoon can tell because you get that look in your eye as your body begins to convulse. he curses under his breath as he sits up.

he grabs your legs and forces them over his shoulders, his body pressing down on the back of your thighs as he brings your knees to the sides of your head, folding you in half. your eyes widen at the deeper angle, your hands moving towards his back as your nails dig into him.

"you still want me to stop, precious?" he looks into your eyes and you can't help the pathetic way you shake your head slowly, a hushed whine fills sunghoons ears as a protest. his thrusts pick up pace again, fucking you into the dirt beneath you.

"that's what I fucking thought" your legs feel like jelly as sunghoon presses them up against you, your orgasm from before begins to wash over you.

sunghoon snakes a hand down in between your sweaty bodies, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit and you finally feel yourself begin to spill over. with your legs wrapping around his head, you cream all over his dick with a scream, his cock hitting all the right angles.

he doesn't care. his pace doesn't let up as he fucks you through your orgasm, overstimulation beginning to make your body convulse in his hold, your pulse picking up the pace even more.

"n-no , 's too much pl-please !" your hiccuped sobs of desperation egg sunghoon on further, your clit pulsating against his fingers.

"we're not done until I say we are, understand?" you nod your head, taking his dick pathetically, your eyes begging and your mouth telling him to continue with your sounds.

"you're gonna take my cock like the pathetic little girl you are" he spits at you, venom in his tone.

you might be just as sick as he is, purposely leaving your doors unlocked knowing who was going to be barging in this late into the night.

[tinyluvs]

imagine dating spencer and you come to visit or something and make him so distracted that he literally can’t info dump on something and the rest of the team is just shocked

yes yes, a hundred times yes 🤭 thank you so much!

catching a glimpse of yourself in the elevator mirror was the last thing you needed right now. you were covered in paint, your dungarees showing up every coloured streak and hand print against the light denim. you're sure there's paint in your hair but you don't have time to dwell on it, you're late

you'd got stressed, painting your boyfriends apartment on your own, lost track of time and then didn't have the time to change before running out of the apartment, just about managing to remember to grab yours and spencer's lunch on the way

"i'm so sorry i'm late," you sigh and frown as you rush through the bullpen to the collection of desks you're oh so familiar with, "please excuse the state of me,"

spencer turns at the sound of your voice, "hi sweetheart," he hums, looking up at you just as you dip to kiss him quickly before pushing the bag of food onto his lap

"hey," you smile softly at your boyfriend before turning to his colleagues, "hey guys, how are we all?" you ask, getting a mixed bunch of replies back

"how's painting?" derek laughs, looking at your appearance and the state of your clothes

you slide onto spencer's desk, pulling your legs up to sit cross legged, "standing six feet up a ladder trying to hold a tray of paint and a brush is hard, i've nearly fallen off twice," you huff,

spencer hands you the sandwich he knows is yours and then seemingly looks at you properly for the first time since you've been there, "hey," he says, almost breathlessly

"hello?" you question, head tilting slightly, "you've already said hi," you say, looking at emily and jj who just snicker and shrug their shoulders but spencer doesn't reply, "oh before i forget!"

your boyfriend watches you carefully as you produce a piece of paper from the tiny pocket on the front of your dungarees, flapping it around to unfold it, your other hand busy clutching your food

"the living room is next, i need to know how much paint to buy," you explain, handing the paper to him, "the cans are one litre or five litres, i can't figure it out"

truth be told you hadn't bothered to try and work it out, knowing spencer would be able to reel off the answer like it's nothing, naturally, he knew the exact measurements of every wall in his house

the boy stares up at you blankly, big brown eyes soft and sparkly. your cheeks heat up under his gaze, your eyebrows raising slightly, "spence?" you nudge him with your knee

he jumps ever so slightly, his head shaking a bit, "hmm?" he asks before only just registering you've handed him something, his eyes scan over it, "oh!" he blushes, turning his chair to face his desk

"what colour are you doing the living room?" jj asks while she stabs at her salad like it's offending her. you'd consulted the girls with all of the decorating developments.

"a light brown i think, we have so much to hang on the walls," you pause to swallow, "so something neutral," you finish with a slight nod

a door opening to your side grabs your attention, aaron coming out of his office with his lunch. he comes down into the bullpen, sitting on the edge of emily's desk, "the paint fighting back?" he asks you, slight smile creeping over his face

you roll your eyes at him, playfully, while the other laugh at your expense, "very funny but i don't see any of you offering to help"

penelope scoffs, "actually, i did" and she was right, however her idea of getting wine drunk and decorating had been quickly shut down by spencer, the only input he's actually offered up in the whole process

giggling, you turn back to your boyfriend who's been far too quiet, "boy wonder?" you say gently, pushing your fingers through his hair, "got an answer for me?"

usually he would have an answer within seconds, his minutes of silence making you frown, he turns to you with the same frown painted across his face, "i don't know," he says

people around you gasp, loudly too, "what do you mean, you don't know?" emily almost chokes on her lunch, sitting forward to gawp at the boy

"i do not know how much paint we need" he confirms

derek scrambles, pulling his phone out of his pocket, "say it again, i need record of this moment" he pleads while garcia smacks him

"well there's a first," david says, wandering over after hearing spencer say i don't know for possibly the first time, ever

your boy stares at the paper in his hand and then up at you, confused, "i have to go and work it out, excuse me" he says, rushed, as he stands and takes off towards circle table room

after a moment of shocked silence you turn to the team who are all staring directly at you, "i'll go check on him, i wonder what's wrong?" you say to no one in particular as you hop off of the desk

"i think i know," jj sing songs and the others hum in agreement as you hop up the stairs and along the walkway into the room.

when you get into the room spencer is stood in front of the biggest whiteboard you've possibly ever seen, marker in hand though the board is still empty of his handwriting

"spence? angel?" you say quietly, staring at his back as he starts to write the measurements of the walls in his living room, "everything alright?"

he hums, not turning to look at you as he continues to work through the problem, "yeah, fine, just can't think properly when you're around," he admits, "not when you look like that," he turns slightly to look at you

"oh, do you want me to leave?" you're sad, its obvious in your voice. nervously you start fiddling with the sleeves of your sweatshirt

your boyfriend gasps, "no, no, honey that's not what i meant!" he says, holding his arm out. you slide into the space, head resting on his shoulder, "you're so beautiful and i love you so much, so so much, my brain just switches off when you’re around"

"really?" you giggle, looking up at him. he hums and nods his head, a light blush rushes up his neck before taking over his cheeks, "i love you too,"

he's taller than you, forcing you onto your tip toes to kiss him, not caring when someone, emily, whoops from the bullpen. gentle hands squeeze at your waist, while you hold his face with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder

"three litres," spencer mumbles against your mouth, you pull away with a sight hum, forgetting what you'd asked of him, "you need three but it's cheaper to just buy five and have left over, now come back" he huffs, his arm wrapping tighter around you to pull you back in for another kiss

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily!! send prompts to my ask box!

❥ spencer reid masterlist !!

[sunnami]

❝time will tell.❞

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

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

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

word count. 9.5k.

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

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

Jumping back in time and potentially causing chaos? Fun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reach over to smack his head, scowling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The wince escapes Harry before he can even stop it. 

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

“That slimy bitch!” 

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1970; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

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

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

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

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

You’ve used up all your smiles for tonight. 

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

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

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

“That’s Sirius.” 

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

Sirius Black.

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

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

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

You gasp. “That’s horrible!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grimace. “Which cousin?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Harry. . .” 

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

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

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

“It’s—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry snickers. “Not a chance, mum.” 

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1977; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, dove, whatever you say.”)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was fine,” You say in a daze.

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

Were you? 

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

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

Then, you find it. 

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

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

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

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

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

“James, I can’t do this.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t look back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.)

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

Harry nods excitedly. “Definitely.”

“Got anymore stories?” He asks. 

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

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

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

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

“I most certainly am not, Harry Potter.” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1974; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

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

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

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

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

“Certain,” You respond, yawning. 

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

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

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

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

“I know,” You say defeatedly. 

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

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

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

“I don’t know,” You say honestly. 

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

“What?”

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

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

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

Oh, Harry knows.

And Hermione knows it all too well. 

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m always right.” You pout. 

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

“Without a doubt.”

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

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

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

How lucky you are. 

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

“What?” Lily gasps breathlessly. 

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

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

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

You grin. “Is that a yes?” 

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

“I don’t think I’d want to, anyway.” 

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

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

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

“We’re all getting married!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1978; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His hair?” James exclaims in horror. 

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

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

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

“I’m telling Euphemia on you!” 

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1976; CURRENTLY, IN THE PAST.) 

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1979; ORIGINAL TIMELINE.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Avada Kedavra!” 

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

“No!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Expulso!” 

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

“Accio wand!” 

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

“Peter?” You call out. 

“Crucio!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Defodio!” 

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

That just leaves one more problem. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

You just wanted to rest now. 

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

“Avada Kedavra.” 

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

You’ll feel my blood on your skin.

You’re a dead man. 

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

(1996; CURRENTLY, IN THE PRESENT.) 

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

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

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

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

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

“Take care of them for me, Jamie.”

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

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

[knoxic]

Cycle of Greed

Azriel x Reader | p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6

summary: Azriel suspects Elain is his mate, reader is ignored, Rhysand and Cass are protective of reader

wc: 2,3k

warnings: Azriel... self hatred, insecurities

a/n: reader's nickname is Ace but there's no physical descriptions

It started subtly, coming home and not noticing her boyfriend's absence, too tired to notice, waking up to a cold and empty bed, brushing past it thinking Az must have been busy, even though he never mentioned anything. The first time you noticed he wasn't, it hit you like a slap to the face.

A family dinner was scheduled tonight, even though you had dinner with your family all the time, tonight was the only night of the month no one was allowed to miss. Rhysand made sure all of you would be free.

You had woken up early today, before the sun had risen, Azriel not being in bed with you didn't seem weird at all, Az often left the bed before the sun was up, he had trouble sleeping and once he woke it was hard to go back to sleep. After spending some time reading in bed you decided to make breakfast, after washing up you went downstairs, expecting to see containers of food left in the sink but there was none, so either Azriel hadn't eaten when he got home or he didn't come home at all. But again, she brushed it off, he probably had a good reason for it.

After eating breakfast, you went to change into your training clothes, just because it was an off day didn't mean you should skip training. Normally, you used a punching bag to literally beat your stress away but today you weren't even stressed, there wasn't even someone to keep you entertained, so training ended up being just boring.

Again, you came back to an empty home, no signs of your boyfriend. After a few minutes of staring at the walls you decided that perhaps a few hours in Velaris would be exciting, maybe you would visit Feyre's gallery. Walking through the streets is definitely a nice thing, the people passing by know who you are and what you do but still gave you friendly smiles. Watching the children play freely and unbothered made you wonder if, someday, your own children would be doing the same, little Illyrians terrorizing the streets of Velaris.

"Hey! Wasn't expecting you here today." Feyre's voice snapped you out of your daydream.

"Well, I'd rather spend hours looking at your paintings than the blank walls at home." You laughed.

"If that's the case then come with me, I just finished a new one." She slipped her arm through yours and pulled you further into the gallery. Fortunately for your boredom, Feyre had kept you busy the whole day, showing you her new artworks and even making you paint with her.

Hours later you were finally coming home, your feet screamed at you to sit down but you refused to winnow, not wanting to miss out on any new place that might have opened. You were so tired that your mind wasn't anywhere near Azriel, fully focused on resting as soon as you reached home. You only realized you had fallen asleep when the front door banged closed, your boyfriend's scent filling your nose.

"Az?" You sat up rubbing your tense neck, the couch, as comfortable as it was, was not meant for sleeping.

"Yeah, didn't know you were here." He seemed confused and... angry?

"Are you okay?" You slowly made your way towards him but he stepped back, turning towards the stairs.

"Fine, I'll go wash up for dinner, don't follow me." And with that he ran up. You took his anger as the result of his work, figuring that something had probably stressed him out.

Your eyes that were still foggy from sleep had finally cleared, allowing you to notice how dark the living room was, it was already night and you had probably slept for a couple hours. When you went up to bathe, you heard a loud bang from your bedroom. Azriel often isolated himself as to not take his anger out on anyone close to him, so you continued walking towards the guest bedroom, washing up in the adjoined bathroom. Only when you were finished did you make your way to your bedroom, the door was fully closed so you opened it carefully, the bathroom door was left open so Azriel was probably downstairs. You dressed up unhurried, taking the time to choose your clothes, fixing your hair and choosing shoes. When you went down, Azriel was nowhere to be seen, you called out to him but received no response, perhaps Rhys had called him?

'Rhys, is Azriel with you?' You asked, praying he would hear you.

'Yes, he said he thought you wouldn't come." Rhys answered, his voice oddly quiet, without its usual confidence. 'Are you two okay?'

'I– Yes? Well, I think so? Did he say anything?' Not once had it crossed your mind that your relationship was the cause of Azriel's stress, were you stressing him? If so, why didn't he say anything?

'Never mind. Are you coming?' Suddenly you weren't sure if you should, maybe Az had gone alone because he didn't want you there. 'Please come...'

Rhys pleaded, scaring you even more. Rhysand never pleaded.

'I don't know,' you were still standing in the middle of the living room, you could just winnow, but would your boyfriend want that? 'Maybe I should stay home tonight–'

'No. It's family dinner, fuck Azriel's dramatic ass, I don't know what's wrong with him but it's not your fault. You're coming, even if I have to go pick you up myself.'

𓂃

"My office, now." Rhysand's growl seemed to vibrate through his bones.

"Rhys–"

"No! Azriel." He walked out of the room, leaving Azriel to stare at his back, Elain kept gazing at him wide eyed. 'Come with me or I'll come to your girl, your choice.' His mind talons not bothering to make a gentle appearance.

Azriel left without looking back, still feeling Elain's gentle gaze following him. His heartbeat ringed in his ear, time seemed to pass by slowly as he walked the corridors to Rhys' office, darkness consuming the corners of every wall. The doors were left open showing his brother's back facing him, as soon as he entered they banged closed, before he said anything, Cassian winnowed beside him.

"What's wrong?" Cassian looked at them both, his hurried voice echoing through the silent room.

"Azriel was kissing Elain." Rhys turned to look at them both, giving Cassian a nod towards Az, his arms crossed against his chest while he leaned against the desk.

"I didn't–"

"You were going to!" Rhysand spat, making Azriel shut his mouth, he couldn't deny it.

"Wait–" Cassian stepped forward, watching as Az lowered his head, gasping when he realized it was true, "No fucking way! Did Ace break up with you?" Azriel's only response was a deep sigh.

"No, she didn't." Rhys answered for him.

"Brother..." Cassian's hand met Az' shoulder, "Why?" He was pissed but needed to know why Azriel was acting like that.

"I think–"

"Huh, you're not even sure." Rhys scoffed, shaking his head.

"I think Elain is my mate."

"What? Az, that's really serious..." Cass spoke softly, almost unsure. "Are you sure?"

"I– No, but it just makes sense!"

"How, Azriel?" Rhysand yelled, stepping closer to him. "How does it make sense? You've known Ace for centuries, been dating her for 80 years, you live with her! I swear I thought you were going to propose to her soon!" His hand met Azriel's sholder, shaking him. Rhys sighed, dropping his head and shoving Az away before turning back to sit on his chair.

"Az," Cassian started, "Does Ace know?"

"No, I don't know how to tell her." Az muttered the last part.

"You'll have to find a way. I don't know why you think Elain is your mate and not her but she deserves to know. Having a mate doesn't necessarily mean you two should be romantically involved, nor should you be anything at all, but it is clear that you're attracted to Elain and that's just... unacceptable."

"Why?" Azriel said exasperated, "Three brothers for three sisters, it just makes sense!" He yelled,banging his hands on Rhysand's desk.

"Are you insane?" Rhys yelled back, standing up from his chair. "You are in a relationship, Azriel! It doesn't matter if it makes sense, be responsible, she's not just a fling you had, you can't push her aside just because your cock gets hard around a pretty female. Ace is your girlfriend, has been for almost a century, the possibility of another female being your mate should not interfere in your relationship with her, it didn't have to. Elain could end up being just a great friend, or even better, Ace could be your mate..."

"If she was my mate, don't you think it would've snapped by now?" Azriel's question didn't really sound like a question.

"Is that all you heard from everything Rhys said?" Cassian looked incredulous.

"Azriel..." Rhysand's patient was slipping away. "I do not know what to say to make you understand–"

"There's nothing to understand, Elain is my mate and I want to be with her."

"Then fucking break up with Ace first!" Darkness crawling their way around them.

"What the fuck, brother?" Cassian yelled, for the first time that morning. "Didn't you learn anything from Mor leading you on all those centuries? You want to be with Elain? Fine, but break up with your girlfriend first. Just know that there's a lot in line here..." Silence enveloped the three of them, tension sitting heavy on their shoulders.

"Leave, go talk to Ace and fix this shit," Rhysand rubbed his temples, "Don't do to her what has been done to you."

𓂃

Azriel spent a few hours flying above Velaris, trying to forget about what had happened, he didn't know what he did wrong or why Rhysand was so upset. He decided to come back and talk with Elain first, then he'd talk with you, but Rhysand's talons scratched his mind walls as soon as he saw her, telling him to stay away from her until he broke up with you. When he got home he was so upset that you were the only thing keeping him from his possible mate, that when he saw you, he would definitely take his anger out on you. You were so relaxed and he was completely the opposite of that, your eyes puffy from sleep while his were bloodshot from the lack of it.

He couldn't stop the sudden hatred that consumed him at hearing your voice, he wasn't sure if it was directed at you or him, he spend the whole day resenting you while you were here worried about him. He couldn't stand the sound of your comforting voice, not while comparing it to Elain's, your eyes searching for his with so much love and he wondered when was the last time he really stared into them.

So he ignored you, he wasn't sure what he had answered you, his whole body aching with stress that he just wanted some form of release. Release that never came, he thought that by the time he finished bathing he'd feel better, but he didn't. Nothing seemed to work, the warm water did nothing to help soothe his muscles, and no matter how much he scratched, he still felt dirty.

Stepping out of the bathroom only angered him further, your scent still lingered even after hours of leaving the bed. Azriel didn't know what he'd do if you talked to him again, didn't know what he'd tell you, if he lied you would know, and if he didn't... you would be hurt.

𓂃

As soon as your eyes focused on the house, you wanted to winnow back home, but Rhys didn't give you a chance to do so. The front door being yanked open made you tear your eyes from the window, where you could see silhouette with wings, the smile your High Lord greeted you with was comforting. He was loyal to his brothers, if you had done something to upset Azriel, he wouldn't be smiling at you like that.

"You came!" He waved his hand, calling you inside.

"Someone threatened me." He laughed at your attempted joke, no humor filling your voice. As you walked closer to him, he pulled you into a hug, it didn't really seem like it was for you, his chin rested on your shoulder like you weren't almost half his size, it was comforting nonetheless. An exaggerated gasp pulled you away from each other's embrace.

"That's like the worse form of betrayal!" Cassian cried out, his hand that was resting on his chest reached out to push Rhysand away. "We could've had a family hug but you were selfish." His strong arms engulfing you into an embrace, lifting you off the ground, he let out a dramatic groan as if it had taken him so much effort to do so.

"Stop it, you're going to squeeze her." Rhys laughed, tapping his brothers shoulder.

"Jealous." Cassian whispered in your ear, making you giggle.

By the time Cassian set you back down, you had forgotten you were worried, if that was Rhysand's intention when he came to greet you at the door, it had worked. You were pulled inside by the hand, Cass gushing about all the things there were for dinner, his groovy voice muffling out a female giggle. The table was set only a few minutes after Cassian had sat her down, his conversation topics never ending. The first time she saw Azriel, he was coming out of the kitchen, right after Elain.

"She needed help with the dessert." Nesta muttered, her voice filled with something she couldn't exactly place. She couldn't dwell on it further, Azriel was looking at her now, his feet glued to the ground. It was clear he really wasn't expecting her to come.