#they are THE definition of getting on like a house on fire- the amount of livelihood and property damage those two caused-

[andsotheuniverseended]

watching Heathcliff and Catherine's whole toxic codependent mess is so deeply funny with Edgar, Catherine's actual husband, standing right next to them being entirely normal about loving his wife

[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!!

[motherlvr]

3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

SPOILERS FOR ATSV

read part 2 here!

3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.

Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)

A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out

1.

Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.

"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.

Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.

"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.

After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.

It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.

After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"

Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.

You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.

2.

Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.

Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.

While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.

"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."

Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"

Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.

You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.

You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.

3.

If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.

"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.

"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.

"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.

You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.

The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.

You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.

Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.

+1

Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.

As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.

Oh, great. It's the Prowler.

This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.

As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.

I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.

"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.

You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.

The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.

"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.

He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.

His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."

Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.

"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.

Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.

“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.

"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.

"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.

When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.

Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.

"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.

Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.

He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.

Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.

---------

part 2!

[arieslost]

cinnamon whiskey | ln4

lando norris x fem!writer!reader

summary: you meet a famous race car driver in one of the last places you’d expect— the adirondacks.

word count: 4,578

warnings: drinking, minor injuries (small description of bruising)

masterlist — join my tag list here!

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Your editor was going to kill you.

Every day brought you closer to the deadline for your manuscript, and every day you could hardly help yourself out in getting to your self-imposed goal of 1,000 words. It wasn’t a difficult feat; you’d done it before, and you didn’t have anything else to be doing. You had absolutely zero distractions: it was just you, your notebook, and your computer. There was only one problem.

The words just weren’t coming to you, and you’d already gotten a two week extension on the deadline. It felt like all your writing abilities had been rescinded.

“I’m screwed.” You professed to your best friend, falling into a pathetic heap on her couch. You needed a serious pick-me-up after struggling to write a measly paragraph, and she had readily offered a girls night.

“I think you’re being a little dramatic. Scoot over.” She replied, shoving your legs out of the way so she could sit. “Maybe you just need to get out of your house.”

“And go where? I can’t just pack up and take a vacation right now.” You grumbled into the couch cushion.

“Why don’t you go upstate?” She suggested after a moment of silence.

“Upstate?” You repeated.

“Yeah, go to the Adirondacks. My dad owns a house up there, remember? We had a blast the last time we were there.”

You and your best friend had gone up to the Adirondacks when you graduated college, and you always prefaced the retelling of it with, “It was one of the best weeks of my life.” You almost felt silly for not thinking of doing something like that in the first place.

“It might be a good idea… Do you think your dad would be okay with me staying there?”

Your best friend laughed. “Yes, you idiot. He’s let me stay there by myself, he’ll definitely let you.”

A mere 24 hours went by, and you were settled in a cozy cabin in the Adirondacks with the desperate hope of having the rest of your manuscript ready by the end of your stay. Otherwise, you might as well just fire yourself and save your editor some time.

It wasn’t the only cabin in the area– it was more like a very small community made up of six houses built exactly the same. The area was usually used by people with a decent amount of cash lining their pockets, so you were extra grateful to your best friend’s father. He had taken one look at the dejection on your face when your best friend had mentioned her grand idea, and simply handed you the keys with the promise that your stay would be free of charge.

You did feel a little out of place, though– you could have sworn one of your neighbors was in a movie you’d just watched, and another one was just so ridiculously attractive there was no way he wasn’t famous for something. You’d seen him out on his front porch when you arrived, and had to force yourself not to stare or salivate over his bare torso.

The change of scenery around you helped tremendously. At first. You always felt refreshed when you went somewhere new, particularly if it was somewhere you felt more connected to nature. You had gotten into the habit of taking walks to calm yourself when you got frustrated, and having new sights was definitely an exciting prospect for when you inevitably slammed your computer shut and stormed out the door like you just did a few moments ago.

You’ll be the first to admit it: the story just isn’t coming together. Your main character has a goal, a purpose, but she is entirely lacking any kind of driving force to get where she needs to go.

She has no motivation.

You can appreciate irony, but there’s nothing funny about it right now.

The dirt and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk down the first trail that you see. It branches off from the main path that runs between all of the houses: yours, the attractive guy’s, and one other, and then the suspected movie star’s and the other two on the other side. Right now, you just want to see nothing but the path before you, the trees in your peripheral vision, the gentle summer breeze in your hair, and maybe a chipmunk or a squirrel here and there.

But, of course, you can’t even have that. You’re alone with your thoughts for all of two seconds before you hear a crash off to your left that sends a few birds flying. You would have ignored it if not for the groan that immediately followed.

“Um… hello?” You call out, doubling back to try and see just what the hell had happened.

If you were in a horror movie, this would most certainly be your death scene.

“Ah…” It’s definitely a man, and he definitely sounds like he’s in pain.

“Are you okay?” You step off the path, getting closer to where the noise had come from.

That’s where you find him— your insanely attractive neighbor, practically in the fetal position, entirely focused on the camera in his hand. His jaw is clenched, whether in pain or concern for the camera, you don’t know. You just know he has a sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and curly hair.

Ugh, you could cry because he’s so good looking.

He looks up at you, eyes meeting yours, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.

“What the hell just happened to you?”

“I, um… I fell out of that tree.” He confesses, pointing to a branch, not too high up, but now dangling in half.

“And you were in the tree because…” You trail off, gesturing for him to explain further.

“Right, well, I was taking pictures and had an idea for a good one from a higher vantage point, so I climbed the tree. Thought I had a good balance, but—” He winces as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I didn’t.”

“No kidding. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” You marvel, hands held out in front of you just in case he falls over when he starts standing up.

“I’m not too sure about that.” He huffs out a pained laugh.

“You wouldn’t have been able to stand up so easily if you had, and your wrist and shoulder look fine.” You point out. “I have no doubt that you bruised your side up pretty badly though.”

“Yeah? How would you know?” He leans against the tree he just fell out of, his miraculously unbroken camera hanging from the strap around his neck.

“I’m a writer. I’m like a black hole of useless information.”

“I don’t think it’s useless anymore.” He takes a step forward and his face immediately contorts into a grimace. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Well, you’ve already asked so much of me, but if you really have to, then sure.” You tease, and he laughs again.

“I’m probably going to need some help getting back to the house,” he begins, and then continues after taking in the surprised look on your face. “But you don’t have to. I can just crawl or something. Maybe I’ll get lucky and make it back before nightfall.”

Not just attractive, but funny too? You might as well make the most out of these two weeks and use whatever you can to help you finish that dreaded manuscript. Besides, the only other person you’ve ever met who can hold a torch to your sense of humor is your best friend. This has to be a sign of some sort.

“Alright, but at least tell me your name first.”

His name is Lando, you’ve known him for an hour, and you think you’re in love with him.

Sure, you’re frustrated that he completely ruined the solitude that you craved, but the ice maker in his house is broken and he desperately needs some for the bruise that you know is darkening by the second underneath his t-shirt. So he’s sprawled out on your couch, and you’re in the kitchen collecting ice cubes to wrap up in a hand towel.

“Alright, lift your shirt up,” you instruct, walking into the living room and taking a seat beside him.

“I usually take a girl out before I let her see me half naked.”

“But it’s okay if everyone else sees you out on your porch half naked?”

“You were looking?” He tilts his head down a little and raises his eyebrows. “Liked what you saw, did you?”

You blush. “Just shut up and lift your shirt.”

He hums a little to himself as he pulls his shirt up, revealing the beginnings of a bruise on his tan skin that is already swollen and definitely going to get worse over the next couple of days. It looks like it continues below the waistband of his boxers, but you’re not about to tell him to pull his pants down.

“That’s ugly.”

“I’ve had worse.” He shrugs, biting his lip when you gently rest the makeshift ice pack against his side.

“You have a habit of falling out of trees?”

“I have a habit of being in potentially life-threatening situations. It’s kinda part of my job.” He says it like he’s waiting for you to figure something out, waiting for something to click.

You take a moment to just look at him again. His fluffy curls, his infuriatingly handsome face, his thick neck, his toned stomach. And then something you’ve heard your best friend say a million times echoes in your head.

I bet every F1 driver’s contract has a clause that says they have to be hot in order to get in. I mean, you have Daniel Ricciardo, Charles Leclerc, and don’t even get me started on–

“Oh my God. Lando Norris?” You exclaim, almost jumping up from shock but stopping yourself so you don’t jostle him. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I thought you knew!”

You glare at him. “Cocky much?”

“Well, what did you think when I told you my name?” He asks defensively.

“I don’t know, I thought your parents really liked Star Wars or something.”

He scoffs at this and smacks your hand away, holding the ice himself. “That’s real creative.”

“I’m sorry! My best friend is really into Formula One, but the most I’ve seen is bits and pieces of a race. I’ve never seen you, y’know, not in your car.” You feel like your eyes are practically bugging out of your head. “Wow, this is insane.” You knew he was too good looking to not be famous.

“Want me to sign something for you?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I will punch you right in your bruise.”

He stays for a couple more hours, readily enduring your endless stream of questions that follow your revelation of him being a Formula One driver, only getting a reprieve when the ice melts and you have to go get more.

He compensates for recounting his entire journey to Formula One by asking you his own questions the moment he’s done. You tell him more about how you became a writer– how you got your bachelor’s degree, got out into the world, and realized you had no clue what you wanted to do with your life, so you took a retail job. It paid a dollar above minimum wage, but it was worth it when something you heard a customer say once inspired you to craft a narrative that your editor liked enough to pick it up. She’d taken a gamble on you; you were her fourth client and the book wasn’t finished yet.

“So that’s why I’m out here,” you pause to catch your breath. “I need to have the manuscript done two weeks from yesterday, and I wasn’t getting anything done at home.”

“Needed a change of scenery.” Lando nods, like he can read your mind.

“Exactly.” You say quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self conscious under his intense gaze but refusing to look away.

The energy in the room shifts as the two of you look at each other, and you break the sudden eye contact when you take note of the fact that it’s dark out.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” he breaks the silence, pulling his shirt back down and letting out a quiet groan as he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow? There’s no way someone will be able to get up here to fix my ice machine by the morning.”

You blink at him a couple times, still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that you just spent hours talking with Lando Norris, all because he fell out of a tree. You didn’t even offer to make him dinner or anything, and he’s making plans to do this all over again.

You still haven’t spoken, so he waves his hand in front of your face. “Oh! Yeah, of course. Be careful, okay?”

He gives you an obnoxious salute. “I’ll try to survive the 50 steps it takes to get to my place from here.”

You go running for your laptop and start writing as soon as he’s gone.

He’s at your door in the morning, and spends the whole day with you. Then the next, and the next, and the next thing you know, you only have four days left in your best friend’s dad’s house and it feels like you and Lando have known each other your entire lives. He isn’t able to do much in terms of physical activity, and when he trips over a root after insisting he’s fine you make the executive decision to go back to your house.

“Make some room, would you?” You sigh, looking for a place to sit thanks to the fact that he’s taking up the entire couch.

He simply lifts his head up.

“You’re joking, right?”

“I’m in pain. Don’t you want me to be comfortable?” He pouts at you.

“You’re insufferable, and a liar.” All the same, you sit down, and he rests his head in your lap.

He ignores you, eyes closed with a satisfied little smile on his face.

For his antics, you decide to disturb his newfound peace by putting the ice pack directly on his face and laugh when he bats it away.

“That’s just mean,” he whines, pressing his lips together when you put the ice on his bruise.

It’s mostly yellow and green now, like a weird rendition of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Lando had made a game out of poking it two nights ago that ended just as quickly when he poked himself too hard and blamed you for it when you had been in the middle of telling him not to. After that, he hadn’t touched it, and now it looks a lot better. The ice probably isn’t needed anymore, but you’d prefer to err on the side of caution.

“You’ll live,” you say now, patting the top of his head to distract him from the discomfort.

“The last time I had a bruise this bad was when I crashed in Vegas last year.” He says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Took a while to go away.”

“I think I remember hearing about that. You crashed pretty early, no?”

“Yup. Barely got to race.” The sentences come out very clipped, like he’s still upset about it.

“It was a bad crash, huh?”

“Pretty bad.” You don’t have anything to say in response to that, so you start brushing your fingers through his curls. He relaxes instantaneously.

He almost falls asleep with his head in your lap, and that’s when you can’t take it anymore and have to kick him out. He’s almost to the last step when he stops and turns back, making direct eye contact with you.

“Y’know, it’s too bad you weren’t there when I crashed.” He gives you a soft smile. “You’re pretty good at taking care of me.”

Well, shit.

There’s a bottle of cinnamon whiskey sitting in one of the kitchen cabinets that you’ve been waiting for an excuse to open. You should drink it now when you’re thinking about him, but you decide to wait until you see him again.

You open your laptop and write until you fall asleep.

By the time you let him in the next morning, you’re stumped again. You only slept for a few hours and expected to get right back into your groove the moment you woke up, but when you read over what you wrote last night, your brain just refused to comprehend it. It feels like you’re back to square one, but you can’t be too upset about it when Lando makes his way through the door. He doesn’t mention anything about ice like he usually does, which makes you equally happy and disappointed. Happy that he’s feeling good enough to forego the ice, disappointed because that means that there’s really no reason for him to come over anymore.

But if there’s one thing you can expect from him, it’s his spontaneity.

“We should go out tonight.”

“And where exactly would we be going?” You ask, watching him kick back on the couch like he’s the one that lives here.

“I dunno, just outside, I guess. You like stargazing?”

“I love it.” You reply enthusiastically. “I bet the stars are gorgeous out here. I’ve been cooped up every night, I haven’t had the chance to see them.”

“It’s settled then. Cancel your plans, you’re all mine tonight.”

“I didn’t— never mind.” You silently will away the flush creeping up your neck. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How’d those pictures come out? The ones you were trying to take when you fell?” You lean over the back of the couch in order to actually see him as you’re talking to him.

“That was two questions.” He laughs when you smack his shoulder. “I got a couple action shots as I was falling. They’re terrible, but I’m thinking about keeping them for the memories. Fun story for the kids, don’t you think?”

“Sure.” The kids?! You’re definitely breaking out the whiskey tonight. It’s the first (and only) thing you grab when he goes back to his place to get a blanket.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You ask the moment the two of you step onto the trail, and he puts a hand over his heart.

“Your concern for me is adorable.”

“I’m only asking because you almost ate shit last time.” You burst out laughing at the immediate change in his expression.

He ends up leading the way for a mile or two before you reach a clearing that you would’ve discovered had he not fallen out of the tree.

“This is beautiful,” you muse, taking in your surroundings as Lando lays the blanket on the ground.

The sun is just about set, a light breeze passing through; a few different wildflowers are waving throughout the clearing. You look around and can’t see any sign of civilization. While that should make you nervous, since you’re with a guy you’ve only known for less than two weeks, it instead makes you relax. You forget entirely about your computer waiting for you back at the house and busy yourself with getting the top off the whiskey bottle.

“Found it the second day I was here. I’ll have to show you the pictures I got once I upload them all.” Lando says, furrowing his eyebrows as you struggle with your task. “Need some help there?”

“Be my guest,” you hand it over and have to force yourself to remain calm when he pops the top off like it was nothing.

“Ladies first,” he hands it back.

With pleasure, you think to yourself. Maybe getting drunk will help you stop acting like a schoolgirl. You take a generous drink, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing out slowly. “That is strong.”

“Hand it over.” He lets out a low whistle as soon as he swallows and returns it to you. “Wow.”

“I actually had a dream like this once,” you say, wincing at the burn of the whiskey as it slides down your throat. “I was just laying there, staring at the stars, with no worries. It was so peaceful.”

Lando takes the bottle from your outstretched hand. “I don’t dream.”

“What?!” The high pitch of your voice slices through the night. “Are you serious?”

“Yup.” He takes a long sip from the bottle before placing it down in the space between you. “Never have.”

“That’s- that’s crazy.” You shake your head.

“I’d think it’s nicer that way, no?” he counters. “I probably sleep better than you.”

“I mean, I guess. But then you don’t have any crazy dreams to share.”

“You always remember your dreams?”

Now, you blush. You’re not sure why you’re embarrassed. “I, um… I keep a journal.”

Lando’s eyes widen. “No way.”

“I have dreams written down all the way back to 2015.” You confess, reaching for the bottle again.

He starts laughing, like he thinks you’re joking.

“I’m serious!” You exclaim, shoving his shoulder. “In my defense, I’ve actually come up with some ideas from my dreams. Fat lot of good they’re doing for me right now, but…”

Lando hums, eyes skimming over your now crestfallen expression. He passes the bottle back.

“Thanks,” you mumble, tilting the bottle up to your lips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some type of inspiration while we’re out here.”

“I only have two days left, Lan.”

He gestures for you to pass the bottle back, and you do. You watch as he takes a sip, looking from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck, to his Adam’s apple that bobs as he swallows. You’re really going to miss this view. He lets out a quiet hiss. “Damn, that’s strong whiskey.”

“I told you.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, and then he speaks again. “My ice machine got fixed.”

“That’s—”

“Last week.” He cuts you off, doing that stupid thing he does where he stares directly into your eyes.

Your heart is in your throat, and your voice is small when you reply. “Okay…”

“And I was supposed to leave three days ago.”

Now your jaw drops. “Why… Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re still here.” He answers evenly, the alcohol clearly working in his favor. “I initially came here for the same reason as you– needed a change of scenery. It’s summer break right now, and my friend Logan told me it was super nice up here. It is, but then I had my little mishap and… it’s been a lot better since you showed up. So I decided to stay a little longer.”

He’s close to you now, so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath, so you say the only thing you can think to say. “I can’t believe you fell out of a tree.”

“I can’t believe you took care of me this whole time.” He brushes your hair out of your face, and his fingers linger on your cheek.

Your internal giddiness rises when you realize he’s actually about to kiss you. Your stomach is doing Olympic level gymnastics and you don’t trust yourself to speak, so you let the whiskey do it for you: you kiss him first.

You can’t remember the last time you kissed anyone, but the moment he pulls you on top of him you know that you won’t ever forget kissing him.

“Lan…” you break away from him to catch your breath, smoothing his curls back from his forehead. You can just see the glint in his eyes as he stares up at you, and it’s borderline painful knowing that you only get to enjoy this view for two more days.

You don’t remember what you were going to say to him. It’s way too soon for “I love you,” and not the right time to say “I already miss you.” You still want to say both.

Like he can hear your inner turmoil, he silences it by touching his forehead to yours. “Kiss me again, please,” he whispers.

You don’t waste a second in giving him what he wants, wanting nothing more in this moment than to feel his lips against yours again. You’re careful to avoid his side as he lays back on the blanket, keeping a firm grip on your hips so you don’t go anywhere. You try to convey everything you want to say into the kiss: I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I know I’m going to miss you. Please don’t let me go.

He holds you closer and gently slips his tongue into your mouth, and you melt into him, knowing the whole while that Lando Norris has effectively ruined all other men for you.

Six Months Later.

Your phone is ringing in the other room as you’re in the middle of recounting the kiss to your best friend for the millionth time.

“Sorry, I’ll be right back,” you apologize. “It might be important.”

Thinking it’s your editor, because who else would call you at this late hour, you don’t look at the caller ID before you answer. “Hi, listen, I wanted to talk to you about—”

“The love interest falls out of a tree, huh?”

Your mouth falls open. “Lando?”

“That would be me. Or should I change my name to Darren?”

You roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I thought you were never going to call me.”

You’d finished your manuscript the day before you went home. He’d been sleeping right next to you as you wrote the final words, and you should’ve brought it up that morning. Instead, you left your number on his porch the day you left, too deep in overthinking mode to actually face him and properly say goodbye. You truly didn’t expect him to call you after that act of such cowardice, especially after the two of you spent almost the entirety of your last days together at various levels of undress.

“I really wanted to,” he admits. “At least ten different times. I think Oscar might have assaulted me if I chickened out this time.”

“Yeah, because you won’t shut the hell up about her!” A voice in the background exclaims, and you hear something go flying.

“Get out!” Lando snaps, and you can hear Oscar’s laughter fading.

“Sweet of you to subject him to hearing all about me.”

“Come to the race at Silverstone.” He says before you can even finish your sentence. “I’ll pay for the flight, the hotel, everything. Just come.”

You feel like the floor just fell out from under your feet. “Lan—”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” It’s said in a nearly unintelligible whisper, but his tone changes so suddenly you have to sit down.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either.” You confess. “That’s… kind of why I wrote you into my book.”

“Please, come to Silverstone,” he repeats, practically begging. “Come be with me.”

And when he finds you in the crowd after taking the win at his home race, and he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips to yours for everyone to see, you’re immediately taken back to those two weeks you spent in the Adirondacks, where you finally found the inspiration you’d been missing your entire life.

note: this one goes out to my fellow writers who desperately wish their inspiration would fall out of a tree— writer’s block will never defeat us.

this got a little long, so if you’re reading this, thank you thank you thank you.

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are always appreciated <33

beautiful dividers by @/saradika !

tags (i’m sorry if i couldn’t tag you!): @venusacrossthestars @anathedivine @xfuckoffx @architect-2015 @violetiss3lfish @havaneselover08 @paigeworlds @whatever7justchillin @xoredmoonlightxo @dovieloovie @totowolffstablexoxo @maddie-bell @lalisgs11 @rrrraaaalllluuuu @formulasportworld @madisonbidaddy @anedpev @estherapz-blog @jess-wither @loveyatopluto @athena-artemis-dorian-gray @lou-larcher5 @clearlyabi @fizzpopsnap101 @fluerlaurent @mcmuppet @positiveaspirations @notturlover @crazymofo-96 @chanthereader @apollo-axolotl

[inezthefish]

My Outsiders Headcanons

Warnings: None, maybe some cursing, mention of Dally being a manwhore

Ponyboy Curtis

- He 100% has a gluten allergy or is lactose intolerant

-Trips up the stairs

-He puts ranch on everything

Sodapop Curtis

-Rip Soda you would have loved Takis 😞

-He can’t add anything past 7+4 without using his hands.

-He hates spiders and screams like a little girl if he sees one.

Darry Curtis

-Makes one of those huge, itemized shopping lists.

-Will put soap in your mouth if you say a bad word

-Type of guy to be on a date with a girl and be having a nice conversation and then it’ll just be like

Girl- “So what’s your family like?”

Darry- “Well, my parents died so now I have to raise two teens on my own, and one of them ran away when his best friend killed someone last year.”

Johnny Cade

-When Soda grows out of some clothes, Darry very discreetly washes it and gives it to Johnny.

-Hates socks that go past your ankles, like he will tweak if they are past his ankles

-Loves plants, when he grows up and gets his own house he’s gonna be one of those people with hundreds of succulents and plants in their home.

Dallas Winston

-Let’s be honest, Dallas Winston probably has a couple unknown kids because bro ejaculates and evacuates.

-Cat person. 100% had tried to bring a cat into Bucks and Buck was like “Nah dude”

-He has this one pair of boots he stole from a store that he gave to Johnny when Johnny’s tennis shoes stopped fitting him

Two-Bit Mathews

-Let’s his little sister (i headcanon her to be 5 or 6) paint his nails, the gang makes fun of him for it

-Actually fire at math but just doesn’t try

-Hates only the green apples, loves all the other ones

Steve Randle

-Has said “You can’t handle the randle” unironically.

-The amount of cavities this man has from chocolate cake and not brushing his teeth

-He definitely loves white girl music, this man can sing the whole 1989 (Taylor’s Version) set list and will do so.

[p0rnd3aler]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE NSFW THINK PIECE/DRABBLE

I’m depraved

Rafayel is the neediest. He’s got a lot of insecurities/abandonment issues from his first love and he def has an anxious attachment style. He’s also absolutely the type of person to be codependent (Hello?? “Join me let’s drown in the ocean together”????? Like, come on). He’s constantly trying to do every little thing with you, almost like he can’t breathe unless it’s air that’s already been filtered through your lungs.

However, all big baby behavior™️ considered, he definitely knows how to woo you. I feel like since he’s Lemurian and also an artist, he only knows how to love a person in the most deeply devoted and romantic way. He’s also very careful with his heart and who he gives it to, once he decides it’s truly and solely yours that’s it. There’s no one else. But you also have to honor that with proper care, he’s very sensitive.

Anyway, I feel like he fucks in a way that’s slow, very sensual. The kind of love making where he takes over all of your senses, all you can feel is his touch, all you can smell is his sweat and cologne, all you can taste is him on your tongue, and all you can see and hear are his face and the sweet words of devotion he whimpers in your ear.

He’s also very easy to rile up.

Zayne is boring to me. Like I get the appeal he’s very hot and he’s also very stable (in a romantic sense) and healthy but I just can’t fantasize about that. Like yeah he’s a busy ass surgeon who will always make time for you no matter what and he’s super devoted and always caring for you in little ways, but also mf will make you take a water break during sex if you’re too wet bc he doesn’t want you to get dehydrated. Im done.

Honestly I think I’m biased against him bc the way he talks to MC just reminds me of this horrid man I met at a bus stop once who immediately started trying to tell me what to do/give me life advice. I get Zayne is qualified and the guy at the bus stop was not but idc if y’all want me to put effort into writing for him ur gonna have to submit it into the requests baby, moving on.

SYLUS. I feel like everybody thinks he’s just some big ol’ nasty freak but they’re WRONG. THEYRE WRONG ABOUT HIM.

Don’t get me wrong he’s definitely fucking tweaking when you first meet him, like just going apeshit off the bat with no context for us. But also? Once you get to know him? Bitch I’ll kill for that man you do not know. This mf drops everything for you.

Important arms deal he’s been trying to set up for a year or going to the arcade with you to get plushies out of a claw machine? Deal = cancelled

The fearless leader of the N109 zone who blows up anyone who perturbs him slightly. MF contributes 50% of the carbon in the atmosphere alone with the amount of shit he literally actually blows up with bombs. But you? You may break into his house and handcuff him to his bed in his sleep while trying to steal a brooch off of him. he doesn’t give a fuck. he’s in love with you. Set his house on fire! He won’t care! He’ll just buy a new one!

As rough as he is around the edges he’s completely smitten. “You should know I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.” Like girl don’t fucking play with me. Is he mentally ill? Absolutely. But he is so devoted, so careful with you. “I’m never annoyed when we do things together.” It’s literally like he’s learning how to be a human being for once and he doesn’t care about losing the coldness or sharpness he once had because you’re more than enough to replace any absence the loss of those thing may bring. He knows he’s getting soft and doesn’t care. He doesn’t try to stop it. To kill for you is nothing to him. Not even a second thought. He kills all the time. But he would never harm again if the violence ever came in between you two.

And I think that dedication, that devotion totally translates itself into how he makes love to you. He’s definitely a filthy talker, I think he says some NASTY shit during sex, just because he likes seeing you squirm and feel how your skin gets hot from his words. But I don’t think he likes hurting you. He wouldn’t do anything to harm you. He’ll spank you yeah, and he’ll tap or squish your cheeks to get your attention. But he only wants to bring you pure, carnal pleasure when it comes to sex. If you even think “that feels good” he’s like a dog with a bone. You get no rest when he’s there you only get mind-numbing pleasure. He’s a tease, he’ll poke lighthearted fun at how loud you’re being, ask you who you think can hear you two while you’re being nasty. But he knows you. He knows what you love, what gets you off, and he cares to learn all of this because of how much he loves you God I’m SICK

Xavier is filthy. That man laps up your pussy like a thirsty dog. The freakiest nastiest mf out of all of them. He won’t show any sexual prowess or interest for months I think. I’m not sure he’s even aware of his powers. Your relationship will literally be based around his chaotic sleeping “schedule” (that shit is not a schedule) and relaxing between missions together. All things considered, you guys spend almost every waking (and sleeping) hour together. Work, dates, naps, eating, it’s almost always together.

It’s not until he hears you getting hit on all night that his composure finally starts to crack.

Three months of the sweetest, purest boyfriend you could ever ask for. Your sweet silly boy, who starts silently pouting all night. It’s not until you two finally find a hotel to stay at for the night, that he finally starts loosening up.

“I’m not a young fool, you know. I don’t take what’s in front of me for granted” he quotes the guys hitting on you earlier, which he heard through your ear piece. Then he recites every time another guy hit on you while you two were on your mission. He’s a jealous jealous jealous boy. He HATES other guys vying for your attention. It just makes him want to whisk you away and bounce you on his dick so loud that every other guy can hear it. When he feels jealousy, he feels the need to mark, claim, devour you so no one else can try and steal you. He gets himself worked up. Stewing and agonizing over the thought and the memory of another guy trying to get to you so much that he can’t even think of sleeping. He gets completely taken over by the urge to have your every reaction solely based on him and what he gives you. I think he fights off these feelings for a long time, up until the protocore mission in the misty invasion memory. He just barely keeps it together until you’re rubbing all over him, pulling him closer to whisper his name in his ear, he just can’t take it. He needs to hear you say it louder. He needs everyone to hear you say his name.

He fucks you so sloppy, the kind of man who does not care what means he has to use as long as the end is what he wants. He wants you covered in marks of his making, he wants you to smell like him, he wants you to have trouble walking the next day, and he wants that asshole who tried hitting on you at work to ask you “what’s wrong? You look like you’re having trouble walking”

And as soon as the guy asks that you look over to Xavier, who has the most pleased little shit eating grin on his face.

The craziest part is that after he gets it all out of his system he’s back to being the little innocent sweet boy. But you know his secret, and he likes that you know it.

[visionsofcarnality]

can we get headcanons for gilf!Joel maybe? his slicked back hair in tlou ep3 stirred something in me 🥵🥵🥵

i like the way you think…

Silver Fox ! Joel Miller Headcanons NSFW!!

Traditional old man in every sense of the word, he doesn’t make cheesy comments when you grab a door handle but he does give you a scolding little glare that totally doesn’t light a fire in your panties.

Self conscious about his somewhat saggy skin around his chest, middle, and extremities even after you’ve assured him until you’re blue in the face. You do help him though. Watching how attracted you are to his body even aged as it is definitely strokes his ego.

Has an online refillable prescription for Viagra that gets delivered to his apartment, and when he takes it he becomes an absolute fiend.

Usually without the Viagra he still is able to throughly satisfy you with ages of foreplay and a nice thorough fucking, leaving you both satisfied after one climactic round.

But when he takes Viagra-

You better clear your schedule and invest in a massage gun for your legs afterwards because you are going to be SORE.

I’m talking several positions, screaming until your throat hurts, your pussy feeling raw and used, daylong marathon sex.

Joel doesn’t seem to soften even a fraction until your body is wailing in protest and you can’t feel your thighs anymore.

You don’t think he could possibly have any more left in him until he’s once again emptying his heavy, full balls into your cunt; adding to the previous loads from the past six rounds he’s already shot into your body.

When he’s not fucking you stupid with the assistance of his little blue pills, he’s treating you like the princess you’d expect he would.

Don’t even think about carrying your own groceries, what are you, crazy?

Speaking of groceries…

If you aren’t living together yet best believe he’s on your doorstep every Sunday at 11AM with a truck full of groceries, dropping them off after church let’s out and he’s free to go to the store.

He makes you sit and continue sipping your coffee/tea while he puts them away, simultaneously checking the sell-by dates of everything in your fridge and pantry like a man obsessed.

Like a true old fashioned southern boy, he won’t tell you he’s in love with you. But he will point out the amount of things expired in your house.

“Come on, now. You’re gonna get sick, this is ridiculous-“ As if he hasn’t brought you your favorite brand of cereal and all your preferred snacks. Even all those “Shitty, organic, cardboard crap” things you love.

Never had a good plate of grits? He’s making them meticulously for you the morning after a hookup. “Eat, you need it. That stuff’ll keep you goin’ all day.”

Is all too supportive of your flimsy little sundresses. The gauzy fabric floating around your legs like a visualization of your perfume, nearly beckoning him closer. Even when you’re looking like a good little church girl in your soft, flowy dresses… all he can think about is how easy it would be to bend you over and have his way with you.

Which he does the second he brings you home from his cousin’s cookout in the suburbs.

Did I mention that he got a vasectomy after his divorce? Still, seeing you with his now adult daughter makes him daydream about getting you pregnant.

Which he finds insane… He doesn’t want any more kids, he physically can’t have any more kids… But the only thing he can think about right now is burying his cum in your pussy and keeping you pampered in his house with your belly full of his babies.

That vasectomy won’t stop him from trying his damndest, though. Especially after Sarah (who he had young) has her first baby and he watches you hold the six month old infant for the first time.

This man is a GENTLEMAN in the most old fashioned sense of the word.

Like, I cannot stress that enough.

If you’re an independent person, prepare to be thoroughly pampered.

His old fashioned chivalrous ways may be frustrating sometimes but it really does come from a place of just wanting to show his love.

Like when he insists on driving you everywhere whenever you go places together, or when he always finds a way to move you to the side of his body furthest away from the sidewalk when you walk, or when he automatically picks up your purse when you meet so that he can carry it for you.

But you forget all about those minor annoyances when he bends you over your kitchen table and pounds you into next week, muttering nonsense about how you’re too young for him or how you’re such a dirty girl for wanting him and his old man cock.

You moan his name when he grips both your hips in a tight but loving hold, all too willing to forgive him for his incessant door opening when you’re all dumbed down on his cock, the cock which is now way too hard and blood filled because he definitely popped one of your favorite blue pills a while ago.

But much like the gentleman he is, after he fucks you into a blissed-out stupor, he carries you to the bed and wipes your spent pussy clean, cuddling you into the mattress and running his hands through your hair while you both come down from your highs.

When he does get insecure about the age difference between you, all you can do is kiss his leathery, stubbled cheek and wrap your arms around him… Convincing him with your actions instead of words that his age is only a factor in your attraction to him… And that you love him for what makes him him.

this post got way too long but NONNIE I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE!!

[bloatedandalone04]

Like My Boyfriend

➪the one where you and jj sneak away from your friends during a party.

Warnings: porn with very little plot, smut, unprotected sex, semi-public smut, dirty talk, breeding kink, strength kink, praise kink, probably too much swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

“Where the hell did Y/n go?” Is a question you knew Kie was probably asking right about now as JJ fucked you up against the bathroom wall in her house. 

John B was most likely asking the same question, but directing his to JJ. 

Really, they should know by now that you and JJ cannot be trusted to not jump each other’s bones every second you get ever since you got the acceptance letter to Harvard. You would be moving within the next few months after graduation, and JJ would be staying here while he figured out what exactly he wanted to do for his own future. 

That didn’t mean you would break up when you moved away, you were definitely doing long distance, but that just meant JJ would be deprived of your sweet, soft body until he was able to go visit. 

So, he was getting all the time in now that he can while he still had you with him physically. 

The subtle bang of your body against the wall was more than likely not heard by your friends, but even if it was, there was no stopping the two of you, and your friends usually let you get away with this kinda thing. “I’m gonna miss you so much,” he muttered, his fingers definitely leaving bruises from how tightly he was gripping your thighs. “Gonna miss this sweet pussy so much.”

You moan loudly, willing dipping your head back when his hand reaches up to tangle in your hair, pulling on it until your neck is fully exposed to him. JJ has a filthy fucking mouth, and his words never failed to rile you up to no end. It was why you often found yourself in situations like this, with your friends usually close by. “Gonna miss…miss you, too,” you barely managed to say as you clung onto his shoulders. 

JJ smirked, hiking you higher against the wall, your strapless top inching further and further down your chest. His strength made you feel a bit light headed, and if you weren’t already off the ground, you were sure you would’ve fallen to it by now. “Yeah? Gonna miss how good I make you feel?”

“Yes,” you gasp, pulling at his blond hair as his lips attach to your neck. “Oh, fuck…fuck.”

He grunted against your neck, sucking and pulling at your soft skin with his teeth. “There you go, baby,” he groaned, looking down at where you and he connected. Each thrust of his hips got you wetter and wetter, your slick covering him and producing a sound that is usually only heard in pornos.  But, then again, it was impossible to not instantly become soaked whenever JJ got you in the mood. “Taking me so well.”

You moan at his praise, the light thud of your body hitting the wall only making you feel hotter. “You feel so good,” you whimpered, gripping his hair as you leaned your head back against the wall. 

“So do you, baby,” he muttered, pressing his hips closer to yours so he could reach even deeper inside you. “So fucking tight, my God.” 

You blush, your entire body on fire as your legs start to shake. They would probably be numb soon, but you didn’t care. JJ was making you feel so good, you couldn’t even bring yourself to care about the fact that it was entirely possible your friends could hear you over the loud music that played through the speaker on the porch. 

The amount of times you and your boyfriend had snuck away from your friends to fuck was countless, so you were sure they were used to it at this point. And honestly, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else than with him because the summer comes around quickly, and soon enough you would be leaving. 

You have to make it count, right?

JJ’s finger dug deeper into your skin as he sped up his pace, fucking you roughly against the wall of Kie’s bathroom. It was dirty, the sounds you both were emitting, and it was exhilarating. You definitely had a thing for fucking in somewhat public places, and JJ was more than happy to feed into it. 

His lip latches onto your jaw, and he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin as he gives deep, sharp and rough thrusts of his hips. “My pretty fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, sucking a mark onto the skin below your ears. It was the spot that drove you insane, and JJ knew this. You trembled in his arms, holding onto his hair with a death grip as he continued to work you to the edge with both his body and words, “My smart, sexy girl. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.”

You whimper, your brows furrowing as you dipped your head back. JJ was definitely your number one supporter, even ahead of your parents. They supported you, yes, but they were annoyed that you would be leaving for college instead of staying in the area. JJ was fucking estatic when you told him, and he threw you over his shoulder and carried you to your bedroom, where he loved on you for the rest of the night. 

In other words, he was pretty much perfect. “JJ,” you whined, gripping the sides of his face and tilting his face upwards so you could look him in the eyes. “I love you…love you so much.”

He grinned up at you, pressing a deep, messy kiss to your lips as he reached down to rub uneven circles on your clit. You were now only being supported by one of his hands, and he didn’t even seem fazed, and that once again had you feeling dizzy. “I love you, baby,” he said back, pressing hard against your bundle of nerves. “More than anything.”

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt your high approaching. “JJ…oh, God, baby,” you moaned, kissing him again and forcing your tongue past his lips. Your muffled moans were barely heard over the sounds of his hips meeting yours and your arousal covering his abs, and the whole thing was nearly too hot to handle. 

How you ever landed yourself such a hot and perfect boyfriend, you’d never know. “Yeah, you close, baby?” He teased, knowing your body and signs better than you did. “You wanna come for me?”

You nod desperately, looking at him with hooded eyes. “Please,” you repeated the word pathetically, struggling to keep your gaze on his as you felt your walls clamp tightly around him. It allowed you to feel every inch, every vein and ridge of him, and it only pushed you closer and closer. “Oh, fuck.”

JJ grunted, poking his tongue out and running it along the edge of your jaw. “Come for me, baby,” he lightly demanded, moving his fingers faster against your clit, nearly matching it in time with his thrusts. “Come all over my cock.”

His words, the filthy things they were, went right through you, and seconds later you were coming hard around him, just like he asked of you. You squeeze your eyes shut and part your lips as you moan freely, his deep grunts as he reaches his own edge prolonging your high. “Fuck,” you gasped, holding onto him with everything you had left in you as he slowed down to a stop, keeping himself buried deep in your painted walls as he kissed all along your nearly exposed chest. 

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to make it as neat as you could with your shaky hands. He hummed, leaning up to press a firm kiss to your lips, “Gotta keep you full so you know who you belong to up there in the Ivy League,” he commented, pressing his forehead against yours as he tried to control his breathing. 

“As if it wasn’t obvious enough,” you teased, biting your lip when he slowly pulled out of you. He pushed your panties back so it covered you up again, and then he kept a firm grip on your hips as he lowered your feet to the floor. You blush deeply as you hold onto his shoulders, the aftermath of being held in his arms for so long taking over your body.

You could barely stand up, your legs shaking beyond your control, and when you looked up, you weren’t at all surprised to see the smirk on JJ’s face. “You’re not wrong there,” he muttered, helping you slide your shorts back up before straightening himself out. “Ready to go back out there and act like we didn’t just ditch them to do this?”

Laughing, you take his hand and move to lean most of your weight onto him since you couldn’t walk straight at the moment. “Yeah…I love you,”

JJ’s smirk turned into a soft grin as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “I love you, too,” then he was leading you out of the bathroom with his arm around your waist and a content expression on his face.

[esoteriamaya]

Astrology Observations Pt.4

Long time no see everyone :) i have a few astro observations i wanna share so lets get to it

Lilith/Mars individuals carry an unspoken confidence that ignites a fire in the eyes of other people and can make others fall in love with them. Their self expression comes in through the form of bravery and letting the world see their raw truth unfiltered, not giving a damn about what others think. This makes for strong attraction and they have a hard time getting people off of them, and i mean this in two ways: one way being that others have 'feelings' for them 'down there' *wink wink* causing them to show a deep sexual attraction to them whether they are uncomfortable with it or not. their unconscious thoughts will be shown to the lilith mars person with seemingly lil to no effort. they wont know why they just know it feels good (or embarasing/harboring a lot of guilt) however these lilith babes are about exploring parts of ourselves that we mask and no judgement zones are a necessity when in their spaces. the other way is others will be triggered by them due to the octrasized lililith/mars person embracing their freedom and living their truth no matter what. all in all, both fall under secret (or not so secret) admiration.

Lilith/Pluto are the powerhouses of being who they are and when they want to be it. Literally octrasize by people all their lives and wen through lots of trauma. the way they express their power is through their traumas and taking back what was stolen. People have a hard time looking to them as real people because of their auras they possess. their sexuality/sensual energy is unmatched and is hard to tame. at some point they know when to let go and let this energy in them grow. if it makes people go crazy then so be it. naturally hypnotizing i cannot tell you how bad this cause you could definitely give away something to them and all they did was look you in the eye with a smile. Their natural aroma scares others but also perplexes them. its like damn are you a witch? maybe, maybe not. its just so much deeper than that. a personal message for them is being aware of yourself and the world around you is gift. People that dont know themselves will look up to you in the long run, you are the underdogs of your generations and you're healing a lot of wounds that most people will never face because they do not like what they see in the dark. You like your freedom and do not care what others think, you make your own rules because thats what we're meant to do. Be humans who create our own paths for ourselves and move to the beat of our own drum. Dont take what people say too close to the heart, youre mirroring back the shadows they hate in themselves.

Venus/Mercury has a gift of gab. Highly inspirational and their words connect you to the divine. The heart space opens up when they express their truth through the power of words, the use of their hands and the beauty of their minds. A rare placement since its only in conjunction and sextile. Not too many people have this one. Venus/Mercury babes channel from a source that connects them to the power of love, and when you speak you touch people and we fall in love with you all over again. If you have a voice please sing, speak, share with us your gift of light. Thats what you're called to do. If you are a writer share your stories with the world, your creative mind takes us back to the inner child. Enjoy it while its here!

Mars in Saggitarius. Go. GETTERS!!! When they want something they will not stop to get it. Their fire burns to achieve something bigger than themselves and with the right amount of optimism they will make it if they put the work in. One of the signs that mars works wonders in, because they can achieve their dreams quickly because of the excessive amount of fire in this house. Saggitarius only grows, never limits itself. The more they work hard the more good fortune comes their way. Others can get nervous around their because of their boastful confidence. Its too big.. its too wide. its too strong.. it wont fit or whatever beyonce said LMAOO thats yall. Very big egos and for a good reason. Yall get what you want when you want it. Nothing can stop them from getting what they need and mars sag babes wanting more in life is whats going to keep them moving.

Pisces Ascendant babes are the muses, the stars, the messengers, the oracle, the originators. These dreamers are capable of seeing the beyond even when the world doesnt see it yet. The world could doubt them but if they believe in themselves more they will prove to the world that all dreams are possible. Their reality is formed through subconscious thinking, so they must pay attention to what goes on in the inside of their minds because thats what controls their day to day reality the most. Shapeshifters who naturally move with the beat of the universe, their new look can be formed not just from an idea but because something new is changing in the world, and they are normally the first to get this information first. This is why some of them are trendsetters in fashion. Everything happens in spirit before it is physical, however for them the spirit and the psychical will always meet. And with their transformations it can sometimes be a message from the divine. Before anyone says its not that deep, i wanna tell you that anything with pisces is going to be that deep LMAO no other way to spin that. Their connected to the cosmos and their pineal glands connects them to other worlds we just havent tapped into yet. Its a gift. So a lot of times when they change, something in the environment changed too. All in all, pisces asc are good at picking up on other peoples energy. they can absorb others vibrations and anything around them and this can be a problem for them. Pisces asc will consistently have to connect to nature and cleanse more often than most because they can feel that sense of foggy-ness around them due to picking up on energy that is not their own. They will have to strengthen their discernment skills, level up with shields for the body and wearing certain garments/jewelery for protection because their auric fields naturally take in more than what they can handle.

5th House Plutonians are strong powerhouses in the form of creation. Their dark power is spilled out into the world of arts, giving them the nutrients they need in healing traumas or any dark thoughts thats been held in themselves for so long. Outlets that form a stage for these individuals makes for incredible perfomances that nobody will ever forget due to the way they make others feel. In this life time, they will learn to accept this power with grace because even if the way they feel performing for others makes them feel uncomfortable, someone is being triggered to feel those raw emotions that we hide in us. If they cant find an outlet for their creative expression, they will start to 'go crazy' and be more into psychotic behaviors that will make them lose touch of reality. This raw power that they have must be fed to others as we need to feel the deepness of our own bodies so that we can grow into the beings we are meant to be. Pluto in the 5th house can create an influencer who is just being themselves and the world around them is either inspired by or deeply maddens them. The gift of being yourself is their strongest attribute to society, and can be one of the ways for them to have power and establish some sort of wealth. If they never use this gift to soar into any artistic expression, the world would be missing a fine piece to the puzzle: Raw Truth. I hope this helps!

i hope yall enjoy!

[neptuneschldd]

Short Astrology Observations. 🤎

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(2 things. Thank you for 400 followers🤎 I appreciate all the support and love AND I haven't posted in a long time, im really trying to get back into posting astrology. Doing this post for enjoyment and as just a bit of a warmup to get myself back into posting again but for now, I hope you enjoy🤎)

🍂 • Having your Sun in Aries/Leo in the 12H can create an internal conflict on the native on how they are perceived by the community. The sun shines naturally in these signs but in the 12H, it can be dimmed, creating a conflicting image on the individual.

🍂• Leo Suns are easiest to notice, they not only have a bright personality but they exude a certain gracefulness and elegance. I notice they have a golden glow to them.

🍂 • Having an Air moon (Gemini, Libra, or Aquarius) at a Scorpio degree (8°, 20°) definitely creates a stoic and mysterious personality, unless other aspects/influence say otherwise. In addition, these people hide their emotions often, they remind me of the "🫥😶" emojis. These individuals also have a great amount of self taught self-control.

🍂 • Having Part of Fortune in 3H/9H or at degrees 3°, 15°, 27° make the individual a born influencer. these people gain the most from using their voice and sharing unconventional ideas.

🍂 • Uranus-Midheaven aspects create individuals who are innovative. Not just in their ideas but how they go about certain situations, they tend to do things the way they see fit for themselves rather than go with what other says they should do. These people are the type to have different pathways in life than most around them, they may pick a job that non-traditional or delve into the science field.

🍂 • Individuals may aspire to or already act more like the sign in their 3rd house. They may possess the traits of the sign in the house, it's how they communicate and how people close to them may view them as.

🍂 • Having Personal Sagittarius placements makes someone naturally charming, something about Sagittarius placements makes the individual witty and exciting to be around, they have a way of joking and talking that makes people around them hooked on them.

🍂 • Individuals with Personal 8H/Scorpio placements tend to easily attract people who hate them at first and will try to upset them, but literally a week later they'll be all up in their face. Bonus points if the individual has placements in angular houses (1H, 4H, 7H, 10H), or in fire signs.

🍂 • Regulus aspecting Sun/MC or Ascendant is a fame aspect. Especially if the aspect is applying. These people may have fame related to their occupation or their image/looks. Effortless fame.

🍂 • Having A mix or Scorpio/Pisces and 12H/8H placements make you a transformation magnet, it's likely these individuals are always changing, when they leave for a long time and return they never come back the same people.

🍂 • Sun/Saturn-Pluto aspects may indicate struggles with a father figure. Moon-Pluto aspects may indicate struggles with a mother figure. These struggles may consist of distance or just a transformative/impactful effect on the individual.

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That is all for now, have a lovely day.

- J.

[chrolloluvr]

💸 Ways Toxic!Mammon takes over your life as your controlling, doting boyfriend (pt.1?) 💸

Note: Female!Reader, AFAB (Whoever came up w/ voxtok shout out to you!!!), this also takes place before Fizz quit. Also not proofread!

Warnings: semi nsfw, cussing, manipulation, slut shaming, killing, dominance, toxic relationship goals!

Social media. As we all are aware, he has a huge influence online. He has millions and even billion of fans, which he can exploit and persuade very easily. He controls your accounts, people you follow, the things you post (if he even lets you post at all), etc. He controls all of your comments, and filters them. One time, your best friend had left a comment that said, "Damn girl, looking fine ASF", And he was fuming. He forbid you from ever seeing that 'friend' ever again.

You most likely have to make a secret account that you post on. And its very popular. It may consist of you talking about Mammons icks, dancing videos with him (you convinced him, because you told them they were privated.), which all most likely get millions of views. But lets hope Mammon does not find it, or else he will not be happy with you.

How you two as a couple are perceived. He cares alot about his public image. So he will pay out media outlets and news stations to percieve you, himself and your relationship in a good light. So lets say Mammon is getting "cancelled", (he never in a million years actually would, too many people look up to him and adore him.) for bringing supposed groupies backstage after an event he is hosting. Even if he actually did, he would pay the media huuuge amounts of money to get himself out of trouble. Same goes for you. Your poor choices reflect onto him as well, since you two are a very public couple.

Like I have said before in previous posts, you two are definitely the most watched, reported and popular couple in Hell. Sinners and native demons admire the dynamic between you two. So lets say you lash out at a fan for getting their camera too close to you? And then that fan posts footage on Voxtok or Sinstagram, you may get some backlash.

Lets be honest, Mammon probably wont jump to defend you unless it involves him in some way. If it does not involve him, he will block some people by logging into your account, (because he knows all of your passwords), but nothing more.

The clothes you wear. He buys you your clothes, so in his mind, he has every right to choose what goes on your body. If he sees you wearing something revealing, he will tell you 'you look like a slut babe. Where are you going, the fuckin' strip club?' He says shit like that even if your showing an inch of stomach. He for the most part wants you to wear things he chooses. He prefers if you two are matching all the time, but if you are just going out to get groceries, he likes when you wear oversized sweatshirts/hoodies, with leggings. I know its an oddly specific combo, but he thinks it doesn't show off any of your supple skin, and you look so appealing. Especially if its a brand Mammon owns. Mans will go feral. I feel like every time you leave the house with or without him, he will be sitting on the couch, saying 'C'mon, you know the drill cutie. show daddy what your gonna wear, yeah?'

He loves it when he sees you in a natural, underdressed state alone at home. His by far most treasured thing he likes to see on you, is you either in your bra and matching panties, or you in an oversized t shirt and panties with no bra. He especially likes those really dainty, "girly" colors and patterns. He likes seeing you dress feminine.

Calling him daddy. Yes you heard me. He has a huge power influx, and having you call him that fuels the fire in his ego. If its the morning, and you yawn and stretch out a tired, 'good mornin' daddy', he is hard. And this isn't even a fully sexual thing for him, since he isnt all that sexual extremely often. He just loves being called daddy. But if it were somebody else calling him that, they would get the death stare and an upset Mammon. But with you, he likes dominating you. So call him daddy. It will get him in a good mood, and If you want something from him? A daddy or two wont hurt.

Who you talk to. Once you two are together, he with subtly cut people out of your life that he thinks are a threat to your relationship. He will try to cut off any of your male friends or if you had any, your ex's. This sneaky man will probably send photos of you giving him head that he took without your permission. And he will never tell you he did that. Anyways, once he gets rid of all of these people, he will convince you that 'ohhh, princess, c'mon dont get your panties in a twist. Maybe they are just on vacation, you dont gotta act like a little whiny bitch-'. And by vacation, he means threatened, or killed.

He does not want you being influenced by anybody but himself. And especially not by any men. One of his many influx of issues is his jealousy/possession, (which I will get into on another post.) SO really the only other person besides himself that you can talk to are people he has met, and are proven to him to not uphold any power against him.

Meaning he will never let you meet Asmodeus. He is a horrible influence in his mind, and he does not was Ozzie to make you aware of his manipulation tactics. He may let you meet Beelz or Lucifer, but never Ozzie. He is the embodiment of lust, which is like toxic waste for your mind.

You bank account. If you need him to send funds, he will as long as you give him a little kiss on the cheek. But if you have been a bad girl, you might need to work for his money. If he is feeling particularly nice today, he will text you, sending a photo of the transfered funds he sent you, reading 25k+ sent. He loathes in the 'oh no you didn't have to Mamm' he gets from you, or the 'I feel bad, send it back!' Because in reality, he does not like to spend his money on anything useless. And to him, you aren't useless. So sharing some of his "hard earned" cash truly shows how he trusts and believes you wont go out on a limb for him.

And plus, now that your with him, he has taken all of your funds. He wont tell you that, even thought it didn't matter, considering how little you had compared to his trillion dollar net worth. So if you ever do stupidly decide to leave him, you wont be able to.

Puts a tracker on you, or has his goons follow you. This is another thing you are blissfully unaware of. He has an unreleased app on his phone, where he can see wherever you are at all times. While you were sleeping in your shared bedroom, he would put a tracker chip deep into you ear. So that he doesn't have to worry about his most prized possession running away when he isn't around. Or if he cant physically see you and he wants to? He has some loan sharks or his bodyguards follow you silently. I think awhile back, Mammon developed "Mammons Super Secret Spy Glasses", a product made for naive kids, and was released to the masses. But that transformed into an opportunity to exploit his goons into using them to spy on you. Do they want to creepily follow you? No. But can they refuse. Absolutely not. Nobody can refuse Mammon.

If somebody does take you somewhere, he will have his goons kill them, but come to the location and make it look like he killed them for your sake.

Controls where you can and cant go. He 100% does this. He wouldn't even let you in the vicinity of any kind of smoke shop, strip club, etc. He wants you to stay innocent, and naive for him. Meaning he will never let you in the lust ring, which alludes to the fact that him and Ozzie... aren't on the best terms per say. But will let you in any other ring under severe supervision. He cant have you doing any stupid shit to mess with his public image.

He wont even let you roam around in his own ring, because he is well aware of how dangerous it has become. He doesn't want his pretty little thing being kidnapped by some dirty, greasy men on the streets. But if you really want to go somewhere, he will let you go near there, but he will cover your eyes with his top two hands, and guide your waist with his bottom pair of hands somewhere he deems safe.

I also think he would follow you to the bathroom, and he would definitely offer to (does anyways) wipe for you.

How you act. Once you two are together, you will learn things the Mammon way. He will teach you how to become his esteemed future wife, and soon you might even have his kids (when he feels like babytrapping you, but that might be a later work.) He will teach you his version of manners, such as how to sit properly on his lap, teaching you how to french kiss (Which he assumes is your first time kissing somebody), How to sit still properly on his large cock, How to rock your hips just right-

He just wants you to be prepared for him. If he comes home at night, he expects the usual kiss on the cheek, asking him how his day was, and then the finale, which consists of your naked body and your legs being spread wider than his shit eating grin. He just wants to be ready to blow your back out, not having to worry about wasting time.

In the morning, he wants his breakfast served by none other than his obedient little princess. Then, he wants you to personally brush and floss his teeth. Then, he wants you to pick his outfit. (you will never truly get a say, he just wants to know from your perspective what makes him sexier.) And finally, the finishing act, holding your hair tightly into a makeshift ponytail, while he bobs your head up and down his cock.

Sexually frustrating you. After a while, you will miss his sexual touches. You will begin to crave them, as you will find yourself wanting him more and more. He is just so good at eating your pussy, and making you feel like your on cloud 9.

So don't be suprised if you find yourself humping his leg, as he bounces his thigh up and down to try and overstimulate you.

Makes you come to his shows. He will drag you to them. He does not care how tired you are, you will be there and sit pretty. He will let you in for free, but if you want a piece of merchandise, or some popcorn, he will make you pay. (even though its his money). When you first start dating, that is the case. But now that you two are officially an item? You sit up on the terrace with him in his webs. He has two of his left side arms wrapped around you, while he forces you to hand feed him.

And sometimes people catcall you from up above. One time, a couple dudes got drunk of Beelzejuice, and started berading you. By asking you to flash a peek of your tits, and show a little pussy. You were highly offended, but Mammon was not happy.

Those guys ended up in the E.R., but they would have died if it weren't for your expertise in calming Mammons temper. After that little incident, Mammon had later that day taken your ass on a one way ticket to pound town. So you can thank those guys, I guess...

Anyways, what if you need to use the bathroom during a show? He pauses the entire thing, because he wants you to watch how good of a planner and mastermind he is at pageants. Will literally wait outside of the bathroom door for you, and checks his watch if your taking "too long".

But anyways, he will also try to get you and Fizzarolli to be friends, since both of you are basically brainwashed by him.

The things you buy. He will not ever let you buy any cheap shit. Its a bad look on his behalf. So every time you two go out, you have to ask him if you can get something. If he deems it as "not doing anything for your look", he will make you put it back. And this goes for everything. Online orders, Voxtok shop (tiktok shop), etc. It always has to be approved by him.

Also, he will never let you buy any sex toys. He thinks his fingers, tongue and dick are more than plenty. If you ask him for any sex toys, he will call you an ungrateful little whore. So its best if you don't ask, unless you want Mammons over the top mumbling and grumbling.

Emotionally manipulating you. He will do this all the time. If he ever does something wrong, he will never admit to it. He will either never glaze over it, or will turn it on you somehow. It will start with his angry grunting, huffing, and puffing. If you ever ask him if he is ok, he will literally whip his head towards you and give you the most deadly glare you will ever see. His Aussie accent will come out very abruptly when he's mad.

Throw the worlds biggest temper tantrums. Sometimes you think hes a baby in an adult mans body. Some of his have gone on for days on end. He will pull every trick in the book. Whining and fake crying are things he has tried to use on you.

If he is really ruffled up, he will start yelling at you for no reason whatsoever. He just yells a bunch of belligerent bullshit, and does not give any reason why. Truly, the best thing to do to calm him down is spread your legs nice and wide, and let him lap at your cunt for hours. If he is 'borderline dangerous' mad, he will refuse to talk to you for a couple days. Even if you try, he wont budge. Deep down, he cares for you. And he knows that if he gives in, he might hurt you.

If he wants something from you, he will flash his infamous puppy dog eyes. (Bottom photo below), But if he is annoyed with you, he will make the deadly glare (Top photo below)

So, just try your best to keep him calm and happy. Even if that is through means you don think are necessary 💚

[cursingtoji]

Omgggg pls tell us more about cult leader suguru and blind reader 😩😩😩😩

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED OKAY HERE IT GOES

cult leader!suguru met blind!reader when he visited a remote village that an intel told him had many curses

indeed it had, from how toxic and filled with hate that place was, it was no surprise to him the amount of spirits born from it

he decided it would be easier to set the village on fire, let his curses devour the villagers and gather the remaining curses for himself

the plan was already in action when he spotted a little house over the hill that had a light on, he didn’t want to leave any witnesses behind so he went there by himself

right as he passed by window he saw you, for a second he thought you were praying, eyes closed looking down

as he saw the entrance of your house he realized something was wrong. there were many offensive words sprayed on your walls, broken vases and eggs by the door too.

he entered the house quietly, noticing the white cane and the braille books by the table

“just take what you want and leave” you said, moving your head in the direction you heard the steps.

“you can’t see” he took a step closer noticing your breath getting more intense, in your hand there was a knife, a kitchen knife.

geto understood that was probably not the first time something like that happened, you had a few bruises on your arms and hands. on your forehead cut that wasn’t treated properly. how truly despicable was that village?

he approached you, holding your hand as soon as you raised the knife and screamed at him, he could so easily turn that around and stab you in the neck. no curse would need to be used for this one defective human.

so why was he gently taking the knife out of your hand and putting it back on the counter?

“please—“ your lip quivered, the smell of intense burning was reaching your house now, he watched as your nose scrunched with the scent.

“were you born like that?” his thumb ghosted your eyelashes, “open your eyes” he watched your eye moving beneath your eyelids before your lashes rose and he saw only white. there was definitely cursed energy there

“i was attacked by an animal, when i was kid” you said through a shaking voice. geto smirked, the cursed energy traces lead him to believe it was no animal, but a cursed spirit.

could you be considered a monkey if you had cursed energy even if you weren’t born with it?

he took your hand, noticing how jumpy you got when touched, he placed your hand in his face, wanting you to feel at least a bit more comfortable with him

he bit his lower lip, “come with me, okay? i’ll watch over you”

your cold palm touched his cheek, thumb running over his high cheekbone, he closed his left eye so you could trace it while watching your expression with his right one, seeing how you became a little bit more relaxed exploring his face. suguru wondered how many times you touched a face before.

“geto-sama” you retrieved your hand when a second voice surprised you. geto turned around annoyed, “all cursed spirits were captured, even the small ones. we can leave now”

“i’ll be there in a minute” he replied, dismissing the messenger.

“geto-sama” you repeat the name in a whisper, your hand closed near your chest

“call me suguru” he took your hand once again, waiting for you to wrap it around his. he guided you out, taking your cane on his way to abandon the house, to let it burn with all the awful memories you had in that village.

[ellieslittlewh0re]

HELP PALESTINE • donation links. • educate yourself. • how to help. •

౨ৎ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

𝑨.𝑨𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟣 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟤 - 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝟥

⟢ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝖱𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖮𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖶𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝖠. 𝖠𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⟢ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖠𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗈, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉 (𝖺𝖻𝖻𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝟥𝟢'𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝟣𝟫-𝟤𝟤 𝗂𝗌𝗁) 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍

𝐚/𝐧 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝟥 :)

It will be a month tomorrow since you started working for Ms. Anderson, and honestly, you got comfortable.

You easily fell into the routine of everything- making breakfast, getting her son ready for the day, and if you had to leave the house for something- whether it be grocery shopping, errands, or special requests made by Ms. Anderson herself, you'd drop him off at daycare.

Hell... you started to like it. I mean who wouldn't? Playing house in a mansion, never having to use your own money to buy anything, and of course, there's her.

Sure, she was gone for about 80% of the time, some nights you wouldn't see her at all, but when she did come home at a decent time, things were tense.

You tried engaging in conversations with her, asking her about her hobbies, her job, and just about anything to get to know her better, but she always found a way to cut it short.

And because of this, you thought you weren't reaching her expectations for how she wants things done, and you kinda woke up everyday expecting it to be your last day of employment, but that never came.

Abby, of course, wouldn't dream of firing you. You knew all the right things to say to her son when he was having a meltdown, and had a way about you that made her feel at peace even after a long day at the office.

Plus, you looked good around the house.

She liked seeing you play with her son on the floor, fully engaging yourself in his fantasy world, but she also loved seeing you reach for something on the top shelf in the kitchen, standing on your tippy toes, and your skirt riding up just enough to give her a taste, and she'd always use that image to occupy her mind later in bed- or even, at work.

As much as she liked you for the job, it also drove her fucking crazy that out of all people, it was you.

She felt like a loser for it, how you'd occupy her every thought, and how wrong she felt for it.

You worked for her, and you were young, barely old enough to even begin to figure out what you want out of life, and that can't be her.

Can it?

-

The house was quiet again, but not for its usual reasons. Carter's father had picked up this morning since the weekends were Dad's turn with him, and Ms. Anderson was in her gym.

You were in the kitchen, washing and cutting

a variety of fruits you had picked up the day prior at the farmers market.

The knife was heavy in your hand, slicing through the fibers like butter, and you couldn't help but peek your head towards the back door.

The double-wide French doors, on top of the generous amounts of windows, gave you the perfect view into the backyard, but more importantly, the perfect view of the guest house-sized detached gym.

And it was almost like Abby knew you were thinking about her because she walked out, rag hanging over her shoulder, and a cut-sleeve muscle tank showcasing the efforts of her strenuous workout. You sliced, being too trusting with your hands since your eyes were definitely not paying attention to the blade.

The knife came down hard on the cutting board, slicing through the tip of your finger.

Shit.

You ran to the sink and turned it on, holding your finger underneath the stream.

The droplets of blood contrasted against the stark granite, and you started to panic.

What a mess, you thought.

Abby opened the back door, wiping away the sweat on her upper lip with the rag, but she must've noticed your panic because she's furrowing her brows at you, "What's wrong?" She asked sternly, but with so much concern, already walking over to you.

"Oh, it's nothing." You shrugged it off, and even laughed a little, motioning your non injured hand at the bowl of fruit, trying to distract her from the mess in the sink, but she didn't care about the fucking fruit when she saw how much blood you were losing.

She immediately switched into parent mode, and held your wrist up, wrapping the lengths of her fingers entirely around it.

"Here, hold this, and squeeze." She placed crumbled up paper towels around your hand, and finger. Honestly, the amount of them seemed excessive, but Abby could never be too careful with you.

She guided you down the hall, past the office and your room, and all the way down to the other end of the house, which is where the primary bedroom was. At least, you thought that's where it was. It was the only room you weren't allowed in.

Confirmed- It was her bedroom.

It was spacious- carved, detailed wooden furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows that would beautifully light up the space, but were instead hidden behind fully closed curtains. And not to mention the built-in bookshelves on opposing walls, stacked with both new and old literature.

"Sit." She placed her hand on the top of your shoulder, and you obey her, too busy soaking in the new atmosphere, and gawking at the disgustingly large and comfortable bed you were sitting on.

Sure, the rest of the house is just as nice, but this was her room.

Abby retreated into what you could assume was the master bath, rummaging around in the cupboard before returning and kneeling at your feet that dangled over the edge.

"This is going to sting."

She damped a cotton ball with the clear liquid, unfolding the paper towels from the wound, and started to dab at the skin, seemingly taking her time based on her feathery light touches.

You winced at first, but slowly let yourself lean into her care.

It felt like progress to you, and Abby felt like shit. You got hurt under her roof, under her care.

That's the last thing she wanted.

Underneath all the blood, it was actually a very minor cut, just some cream and a bandage would suffice, which was a relief because Abby was already planning a trip to the ER in her head.

You held the bandaged finger, and looked up as she stood, "Thank you. I'm sorry for making a mess-"

"Don't apologize." She paused you mid- sentence. She didn't care about the mess, and it honestly upset her that you'd even apologize in the first place.

Can't you see how much she cares about you?

She sat down beside you, letting out a deep breath that she had been holding while fixing your cut.

Being that close... your knees, and the tops of your thighs... all so accessible under the flap of your skirt.

She felt like she could pass out honestly.

You felt awkward, and so did Abby, both for similar reasons.

You, on one hand, felt like being in her bedroom was forbidden. You slept so many nights picturing what it would be like. You wondered if it was messy because she never let you clean it, and what color her sheets were, what kind of things were on her nightstand, speaking of-

You looked over to the small bedside table, a lamp (not as important), an opened book facing down seemingly to mark where she left off, and a pair of simple, black framed glasses.

What you do know- 1. She likes to read, 2. She wears glasses while reading, and 3. You really want to kiss her.

And the reason for Abby's unease was because you were in her room, sitting on her bed. The same bed that she'd touch herself on while thinking about you.

And even though she was disgusted by herself for it, it oddly turned her on more.

Maybe it was just a buildup of stress and the fact she hadn't slept with anyone since the divorce. Not because she didn't want to, she just didn't have the time to go out and meet anyone new.

She's kinda old-fashioned that way. She didn't want a one-night stand with just anyone, but if it meant she could taste you just once, she'd change her ways.

The tension was obvious at this point- so obvious that neither of you could ignore it anymore.

But still, Abby tried. She refused to make the first move out of respect, and you figured as much since you were way younger than her, but who gives a fuck about respect when she's looking at you like this?

Pupils blown wide, half-hooded behind sultry eyelids, and clearly, even though she was looking at you, her head was somewhere else.

She was thinking about how your lips would feel on hers, how soft your skin was in the places she hadn't seen yet, and what little noises you'd make when her tongue was between your thighs.

She was fucked.

You leaned in, not intentionally, but your body was going on an instinct- an instinct to be touched, to be held, and you wanted her to be the one to do it.

"Abby..." You breathed, and you felt a warmth pool into your lower stomach. Just saying her name versus the usual "ma'am" or "Ms. Anderson" had you lose all sense of what this really was- a job.

Your lips were hovering over hers at this point, and you leaned in more to compensate for the fact Abby was leaning away, fighting with herself against what she knows is the right thing to do, and what she really wants to do.

"We can't do this", Abby stuttered, but still made no effort to create a distance, if anything, she was loosing the moral battle with herself.

You moved your hand from her knee and up her thigh, sliding your fingers inward, "Why not?" It wasn't a genuine question. You didn't care for a list of reasons why this shouldn't- or couldn't happen, and your sticky, sweet voice made that clear to her.

You nudged your lips against hers, tempting her, but not fully giving in like how she was hoping.

Abby's fists tightened by her sides, and your hand placement radiated a pulse between her legs.

Your back arched as you half-lifted yourself off the bed, leaning in the rest of the way to close the space, and kissed her.

It was a simple peck, the kind you pull away from to see how the other person would react, but as you're pulling away, her lips were back on yours.

It was deeper this time, more than a peck but still felt conservative. But when Abby's hands come up to your face, holding the sides before slipping her tongue inside, something switched.

She stood, still kissing you as she climbed on top, pushing you back on the bed, and now fully on top of you.

Her chest bumped against yours, and both of you exchanged muffled moans between kisses before she pulled away altogether and got off the bed.

And, of course, Abby felt bad about this. She didn't want you to take it the wrong way, but if she kept going, she felt like the god she claimed she didn't believe in would smite her with a bolt through her fucking ceiling.

You were confused to say the least, still lying on the bed, and propped up on your elbows looking at her, awaiting an explanation.

Her foot tapped on the floor, her hands on her hips, and looking down, "I- um-" She cleaned her throat, her face hot from embarrassment, and other reasons.

She didn't know what to say, I mean, what could she say other than the fact that she really, really wants to, but can't?

She finally looks up, and seeing you there, all laid out, your skirt ruffled high on your thighs, she wishes she never stopped in the first place.

She fought with herself, drowning out all the thoughts of what could have been, and smiled, "Thanks for the fruit."

⟢ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @aouiaa @macaroni676 @sheluvslilith @sapphicsuperstar444 @lmaoo-spiderman @williamsangel

reminder!! I don’t tag ageless bogs

[thatsherastro]

Random Astro Notes Part 4:

Fire Sign Edition

If you are sensitive this post/page may not be for you. These are are general observations. Aspects & houses matter. Xoxo

Next up , Earth Signs

Yes sagittarius are lucky but no one gets to see the amount of adversity they face in order to obtain that luck.

Leo risings typically have broad shoulders , a muscular build or can be on the fuller side.

Sagittarius venus in a mans chart can be such a romantic and giving placement UNLESS it squares a virgo moon , now you have a freeloading , judgmental cheapskate that is looking for a woman to take care of them.

Leo moon women could notice that their moms make them feel like trophies. Bragging about them and then in private placing these people back on the shelf to collect dust.

Leo moon men can be EXTREME mamas boys

Aries NN will be placed into situations in this life where they have to defend & stand up for themselves.

Chiron in leo may have daddy issues as well as self esteem issues. There is also karma tied to children

Sagittarius women an be a little thicker at the bottom.

Sometimes You can spot an aries placement by the size of their forehead

Sagittarius is the comedian of the zodiac

Leo NN - please learn to shine & be OK with it. The house placement of your NN will show you in what area you need to learn this.

ALL of the fire signs make the best cheerleaders. They will cheer for you to accomplish your goals

Sagittarius can be hypocrites and at times may use their religion or philosophical beliefs as a cop out. Their motto is “ Do as I say, not as I do”

Aries are SUPER competitive, this is definitely the person you want on your team during a kickball game.

Sagittarius Venus can be attracted to people outside of their race.

Aries moon may come from a very violent home environment.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏾 I will be opening my bookings soon.

[specsthesecond]

Witch Troubles #3

It's a fairly common practice among witches to form pacts with demons.

It's not necessary but it's an age old practice meant to strengthen ones connection to magic. The witch gains a stronger connection to magic and in exchange the demon gains easier access to the mortal realm.

You've debated this decision for awhile and you finally think you're ready to forge your own pact. Worst case scenario is the demon refuses your offer, which would be embarrassing but not the end of the world.

You shut the door of your room, close the black out curtains and light a few candles. Squinting at the diagram of the summoning circle in your grimoir you try to replicate it perfectly on the old wooden floorboards in white chalk. When it's done you dust off your hands and place the candles in the right places around the circle along with a good amount of enchanted salt around the circumference for your protection. You stand up and take a breath before reciting the ancient words in your book while channeling all your energy into the circle.

The flames burn higher, so hot you have to shrink back a little. It takes all your effort and concentration to keep the chant going without misspeaking or burning the house down. A giant fire now billows in the centre of the circle, something large rises from the middle. You finish the spell and the flames gradually flicker away to reveal exactly the entity you were trying to summon. The little candles around the circle are the only source of light now, barely illuminating your guest. Smoke smoulders off its skin as it rises to full height and stares right at you with it's flaming eyes.

The demon, male it seems, stands in the middle of the summoning circle as tall as your book shelf and just about as wide. True to the drawings and diagrams in your texts he stands on two thick furry goat-like legs. The soft looking tuft at the end of his long thin tail swishes against the old floorboards as they creak under his weight. The rest of his body is charcoal black but otherwise fairly human save for the large goat-like skull that is his head. Beautiful horns, much too majestic for a demon, sprout from the white bone and curl into a thick loop on either side of his skull.

In short; he's the definition of tall, dark and handsome.

Two flaming pits behind the eye holes in the skull serve as eyes, they burn red and hot like the flames of hell as he glares down at you. You assume it's a glare, it's hard to tell.

You clap your grimoir shut, unable to look away from the demon yet. He seems the same, quietly observing you.

"Good evening, I'm sure you know why I've summoned you."

You say as calmly as possible. The demon looks you up and down and hums lowly, sceptical.

He grunts and crosses his arms over his chest. You have to use all your self control not to look down at the incredibly distracting package he's carrying between his legs as it bobs with the movement. Obviously you were prepared for him to be naked, demons don't wear clothes but actually having to practice that self-control is another thing entirely.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when the demon speaks, low and gravely like you expected.

"Witches used to dance for us around fires, bathe in the blood of sacrifices, throw orgies. This is all I get for my pact proposal?"

That's not what you expected. You were expecting some doubt sure but he sounds... offended? He's complaining?

"I don't need to do any of that to show you my worth. You can already sense my magic capabilities, I can show you- ."

He growls again. When he speaks his jaw bone doesn't move, the voice sounds like it reverberates around the skull on its way out.

"Its about devotion, witch. You show me your devotion and I'll give mine in return. No one cares for presentation anymore."

Who needs presentation? Sure, devotion is important in a pact but he's being ridiculous. You look around the room for a moment before saying flatly,

"My apologies but I will not be sacrificing anything or throwing any orgies and I cannot dance."

The demon scoffs and adjusts his crossed arms, thick biceps flexing as he does.

"All witches dance. Your ancestors where very good at it."

You scoff, telling him about your magic capabilities definitely isn't going to work. Why'd you have to get a difficult demon? Why couldn't you get a normal power-hungry one?

"Are you truly that compelled by naked dancing women?"

You attempt to needle him in hopes of avoiding what you know is inevitable. He doesn't respond, just stands there expectantly.

Some demons may agree to pacts based only on the power of the witch but others don't care for power and value the devotion of the act much more. You were very much hoping for the former but you're going to have to deal with what you got.

After a few moments of staring at eachother you finally crack and bend down to make quick work of your shoes and socks. You dropped your skirt around your ankles, take a deep breath and slide your panties down your legs. You see the demon shift his weight in your peripheral but you don't look at him as you unbutton your blouse and unclip your bra. You leave your black pointy hat on your head, assuming that's part of the appeal.

You only look back at him when you're completely naked, standing Infront of him and crossing your arms over your tits, mirroring his own stance.

He seems amused at that, You can see the little flames in his skull move up and down in a way that indicates he's soaking in your nude body.

"Unfortunately, dancing naked around a fire was not passed down to me like the magic was."

"A pity."

You scowl and the demon huffs smoke through the holes in his skull, chuckling.

"You're a witch, magic exists in your very veins. Use it. Caress your body. Sway your hips. Feel the power in your body and worship it as you would a god."

He says it like it's incredibly obvious and you actually feel inclined to listen to him. You close your eyes and try to "feel the power" whatever that means. You uncross your arms and place them on your thighs, slowly moving them up your waist and back down again.

Your skin feels especially sensitive being completely bare in front of such a powerful being, who is also naked. Just the light touch of your hand makes your skin prickle as you move your fingers slowly across yourself.

You start to arch and sway, hands moving up your thighs, across your stomach, along your neck. You free yourself, offering your body to this demon. The demon growls lowly and says in a deeper tone than before,

"The point of the pact is the connection. You summoned me, This is your pact to forge so show me your devotion."

His fiery eyes follow your every move, every sway of your hips and bounce of your tits.

You carefully run your hands from your waist up to your tits, briefly feeling the soft fat before moving up your shoulders. You stretch your arms high, now putting your tits on full display for your demon guest, the attention and cool air makes your nipples harden.

You turn around, your back facing the demon and he huffs irritably at being denied the sight of your perfect tits. His grievances are smothered when you bend down and run your hands up the back of your legs all the way to your ass, gripping the fat just enough to make it jiggle for him.

You can feel the room getting hotter, you can see his cock getting harder and you can feel the wetness In-between your legs as you dance.

You give one last tantalising hip sway before slowly dropping to your knees in front of him, on the edge of the salt circle. You look up at him while sliding your hands up your thighs, from here you have a perfect view of his half hard cock, looking so thick and heavy the sight has you nearly panting like a dog.

You rest your hands behind you, now presenting your entire body to him, tits perked and pussy drooling, devilishly tempting.

"Does that satisfy."

You say gazing up at him sultry gaze flicking down to his cock, you swear you saw it twitch.

"You know exactly what would satisfy me."

His voice is deeper than before, more gutteral and it makes you squirm. You might have been embarrassed about being so open about his effect on you if it wasn't for his obvious arousal for you. You're honestly just glad this is going well so far.

You lean forward, shuffle closer to the salt barrier and stick your tongue out, mouth open and waiting, silently begging for him.

The demon's hand goes to hold his cock immediately and he steps towards the barrier holding his cock out, but before he can place the tip on your hot tongue, you pull back slightly with a sick grin on your face.

The demon tries to grab your face but you retreat further, past the salt circle and therefore out of reach. You look up at his collosal frame with a smug smirk as he growls in irritation and the candle flames flicker violently.

"Don't forget, this is a mutual pact, demon. You don't call the shots... I want to be on top."

"What makes you thin-“

"I'm on top or you can go back home."

He grumbles something unintelligible, shaking his head in disbelief. One hand goes back to his cock idly stroking the thick member as he nods his head, accepting the terms.

You stand and steel yourself before wiping away a portion of the salt line with your foot, breaking the circle. You reach out for his hand and he accepts it with the hand not stroking his dick, stepping out of the circle and into your bedroom. His hands are immediately on your skin, thick fingers running along your waist and down to your hip. His skin is so warm, like the blood running through his veins is boiling hot giving the surface skin a pleasant warmth.

He stares down at you in suspense waiting for your go ahead.

You bring your hands up his chest and around his broad shoulders, and pull him down to your height only to push him down your body until his skull face is right Infront of your pussy. You let him get a good sniff of your smell before pushing him down to the ground with your foot, standing above him looking very tryumphant.

He doesn't have much time to marvel at your figure above him because before he knows it you're sitting on his dick, pussy pressing right against his cock, he bucks on instinct, the wet warmth of your pussy against the heat of his cock makes him let out a gutteral moan.

You slowly rock your hips back and forth the length of his cock, an impressive length but one you could manage. Neither of you can stand the foreplay any longer, his hands grip your waist at the same time you finally slide his cock into your waiting cunt.

You both groan at the feeling as you pop the mushroom head into your cunt and you slide your pussy down to the hilt, feeling every vein of his hot cock against your walls. You're so slick and needy the fat cock slides in with surprisingly little resistance. That makes him chuckle, which you cut off with a deliberate thrust of your hips.

Your screams are muffled and gargled but the sound of your wet pussy slapping and squelching around his cock as you cum echos throughout the room. He growls and snarls into your mouth when he gets close, tilting his head back in absolute bliss.

You plant your feet on either side of his waist, moving all the way up back to the tip and then plunging back down again taking him as deep as he'll go. You bounce and hump on this demons fat cock, tits bouncing in tandem, pretty face in the throws of pleasure. It's a sight to see and he loves every minute of it, clutching your hips but letting you control the pace.

The fur covering his legs is soft and warm against your ass as you ride your new pact mate. Your hands rest on his strong chest as you lose yourself even more in the intense pleasure. Panting and groaning, as you approach your high, your thrusts get more frantic as if you're trying to get him even deeper into your cunt. Your eyes are locked onto the way his pretty cock disappears Into to your cunt, the fur at the hilt becoming wet with your slick.

"Ah~ cum inside, cum inside, cum inside me!"

Your frantic pleas are heard when he wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, his other hand firmly on your ass pushing into you as deep as possible. You finally cum around the throbbing cock clenching your walls deliciously, pressed into his chest. He cums seconds after you, shooting abnormally hot cum deep inside you. Your body stills as you cum down, his strong arms move you body against him in shallow thrusts as he bucks up into you, riding out his high.

You limply lie on his massive chest catching your breath as you come down, ignoring the drool you left on his pec. You realise he's eerily quiet and look up only to find he's staring at your face in a manner you think is expecant? Only then do you actually realise that his dick hasn't gone down at all. You can't help but laugh, pussy involuntarily clenching making the demon clutch your hips tighter.

"Is this all for me or is it just a demon thing?"

He huffs out camp fire smelling smoke from his skull and leans up into a seated position. The change in position makes his cock adjust and you moan softly at the feeling while grasping his large biceps.

"You've got jokes."

He looks down at you, you try to read his expression but it's really hard when his hands are massaging your hips so nicely and his cock is touching new spots inside you making your head all fuzzy. He smoothly lifts your thighs and flips you both over so that you're laying on your back and he's hovering above you.

It's such a glorious sight. This massive sexy otherworldly creature staring down at you with such lust. You can't stop yourself from pulling him in closer by the back of his neck and mumbling,

"Do demons kiss?"

The demon huffs again and opens his jaw showing his razor sharp teeth, from the darkness behind the skull comes three appendages, long and wet. Those are his tongues, and you moan a little when you realise that. He leans closer and the prehensile tongues worm their way to your mouth where you greet them, mouth ready and open. All three appendages slip into your mouth to explore and rub against your tongue, it's so messy and gross it makes you clench around his cock.

He grunts and thrusts into you, thrusting his tongues deeper into your mouth making you gag. You stick your head in his open maw, pulling him in closer by his thick horns. You take the tongues with vigor and suck on them like you would a cock. He seems to like this quite a bit as he grabs both your legs and pulls your knees up to your ears, bending you in half and presenting your dripping pussy to him. He starts thrusting his cock much deeper in your pussy than before while thrusting his tongues down your throat simultaneously.

The pleasure is so intense as he gradually speeds up, working up to a brutal pace. He fucks you into the floor, so deep, so good. It's so animalistic it makes you go feral. He tongue fucks your throat with fever, his dangerous maw wide open. Knowing that he could tear your flesh easily if he just closed his jaws around your head turns you on an unthinkable amount as you take his tongues deeper down your already full throat.

You want him deeper in your throat even as you choke and gag. You want him deeper in your pussy even as he pounds you raw and hard, reaching so deep he kisses your cervix. Your brain is mush and your thighs burn, you scratch and claw his back for some kind of grounding as you quickly reach your peak again.

He wraps his arms under your thighs and around your back to lift you up and squeeze you against his hot body. He pounds you even harder now with gravity on his side, forcing you down on his cock as he thrusts up in time.

Suddenly your body gets hot, he gets hot. His hold is like a hot vice and you struggle against it on instinct but he just holds you tighter. You almost scream when you feel a red hot flash in every artery and vein in your body. The heat is gone just as quickly as it came and you sigh in relief before looking up at him in shock when you suddenly realise what he just did.

His tongues leaves your mouth suddenly as he cums hard, groaning loudly as he fucks his seed deeper into your already soaked cunt. With your mouth free you groan like an snimal, tongue out, tears streaking down your face, spit running down your neck. You soak up the feeling of being folded in half and filled to the fucking brim by this demonic beast.

Your moans mix in the hot air between you. His cum is so thick and hot inside you, filling you up once again. You're so full you can't contain it all as it pours out of you and onto the floor. He gives a few slow, deep thrusts, milking his cock with your tight pussy as you lay limply in his hold.

You sit on the floor for a few minutes holding each other close and catching your breath. He nuzzles his head into your sweaty neck and moves your body into a more relaxed position so that he's hugging around your waist and your legs rest around his torso. You feel each other for a moment, his cock still plugging up your messy cunt. Hes quiet, like he's thinking about something. You're not sure you can even speak but if you could you don't really know what you would say.

He leans back to look at your face, you realise you probably look an absolute mess, tear streaked face with spit all over your mouth and chin. He looks into your eyes like he's looking for something specific and you look back into his two small flames. He slightly nods and then holds you close to his chest once more, enveloping you with his body.

He accepted the pact proposal.

You let out a breathless laugh and lean up to place wet kisses all over his skull head.

He growls low and irritable like a cat.

"That's not necessary."

He grumbles like he's annoyed but doesn't move away from you as you give a few more kisses along his jaw. His tail swishes idly behind him.

"Well neither was fucking me. Twice."

You tease him while reaching for your discarded hat and plopping it back on your head. You shakily stand up on wobbly legs, he holds his hands out to your hips to stabilise you. Cum drips out of your cunt and his gaze is drawn to where it oozes down your thighs.

"Not that I'm complaining."

You balance yourself with your hands on his shoulders and clear your throat, trying to seem a little put together as he stares up at you. You very casually lift your leg to rest it on his shoulder, presenting your puffy, dripping cunt to him.

"Are you the fuck and leave type or do you stay for the cleanup? "

The demon chuckles and opens his maw again, wet tongues slipping out and reaching for you, licking up your cum covered thighs and up to the source of the mess.

You're both going to make very good use of this pact.

[whoistartaglia]

can genshin men cook?

after a long day of work, what do you come home to: the aroma of dinner cooking in the oven or the smoke detector blaring and a kitchen on fire…?

diluc is so house husband that you would ideally come home to a warm meal set on the dining room table, except for the occasions when he overcooks the food. it’s not his fault, really. blame the pyro god who gave diluc his vision, that may or may not flare up when he’s trying to slowly roast some chicken and vegetables over an open flame. one second everything is fine, the next the chicken is blackened and some of the vegetables have been reduced to ash.

if childe is cooking you a family recipe or a traditional snezhayan dish, then you know you’re coming home to a delicious smelling kitchen and fresh flowers set on the table. childe considers it an act of appreciation and love, cooking his home favorites for you. he puts care in his cooking, and has practice from from feeding his younger siblings growing up. the dishes always turn out amazing and you’ll get him blushing from head to toe if you ask him to show you how to make it.

kaeya is more of a takeout kind of guy. that’s not to say he won’t cook for you if you ask—there are at least a handful of dishes and recipes he knows how to make, and pretty damn well, too. but if he’s also coming home from a long day at work, he’ll probably order something from a local tavern or restaurant, and bring it home. kaeya always remembers to order your favorite, and the takeout food is always set out on the table when you get home. and of course, he always takes care to order your favorite meal, which he knows like the back of his own hand.

xiao won’t burn down the kitchen, but he might get close. he doesn’t have a whole lot of mortal food he enjoys, and so doesn’t have much experience in cooking human food. xiao does try his best for you, though, because he wants you to come home to a nice dinner and relaxing evening. so if xiao happens to start a kitchen fire or set off the smoke alarms, he makes sure to handle it before you get home. you won’t even smell the remnants of the fire in the air, thanks to xiao’s anemo powers.

itto is also very house husband, but when it comes to other things, like building or renovating or practicing fighting moves in the backyard. while he can cook, it’s always a gamble whether you’re coming home to a kitchen half-burnt or an actual living fire. he swears he has it under control. he reassures you everything is fine, and to his credit, he does manage to put out the fire(s) and get something edible on the table. itto will also be very proud of his work, and you agree with his “raw, sheer talent” even as your fork is covered in ash and the burnt remains of some poor grocery store food.

ayato has personal chefs and the meals you come home to are always perfect. how could they not be, when crafted by the finest cooks in inazuma? if you actually request ayato himself to cook for you, he’ll do so happily. he’s a very meticulous, methodical cook—chopping vegetables precisely, using measuring cups and spoons for amounts people usually eyeball, and waiting until the stove or oven is at the perfect temperature before use. his meals turn out amazing—more than the private chefs, because this one is homecooked from the heart.

zhongli definitely has extensive knowledge of cooking and old recipes from liyue, and makes warm, delicious homecooked meals for you… but you still come home to a messy, smoking kitchen once in a while. you’re kind of relieved at that, since it shows that, for all his godly powers and extensive wisdom, zhongli still has his moments. so you laugh as you extinguish the fire even as zhongli is apologizing profusely. though if you suggest to go to your favorite restaurant, zhongli will refuse—he’s gonna start again from scratch, because a meal is what you requested of him, and a meal is what he will deliever.

wriothesley will set the kitchen on fire and say it’s on purpose—and most of the time, it is. his cool calculations melt away when he’s in the kitchen, as once pristine counters become rather messy, and the organized pantry and fridge, disorganized. wriothesley claims it’s because this is how he works best on the kitchen, and you suppose that’s true given his cooking style, which is picking out ingredients, throwing them together, and hoping for something tasty. it’s unfair, really, how good he is at cooking without trying. the kitchen is an embodiment of a hot mess.