#it’s never fun to be placed on a pedestal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunnami · 4 months

Text

❝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 x reader. (james potter x reader, sirius black x reader, lily evans x reader, and remus lupin 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!!

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader #sunny's hp fics

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colourstreakgryffin · 4 months

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Hello Hello!! I saw that you're taking requests? If it isn't too much trouble could I request something for a platonic Alastor x Tailor!Reader? Maybe being besties or gossip buddies? (Since I made an OC design based on ideas)

Oooh! I like this idea and to be honest, it reminds me of something I’ve been thinking about when it comes to Al; I made that one post of KNY’s Iguro Obanai with a Fluttershy! Reader and I have the extreme urge to see Alastor with a Rarity! Reader— but anyway. Let’s try this out

Alastor- Mischievous Rumours

“That’s when Charlie said ‘oh fuck you, Alastor. All you do is stand there, smiling while you watch us struggle and fail’. She’s such a fool for thinking I care for her and her friend’s helpless little struggles. Isn’t that delusional mindset so hilarious, my dear?” Alastor, the Radio Demon, laughs upbeat and eccentric with the radio effect deeply laced through his thick transatlantic accent voice chimes out as the grip on his signature staff-like microphone-cane seems to loosen. Standing completely still and on a nice marble pedestal, the deer Overlord spoke both mockingly and casually to the sweet kind tailor sinner, Leitora. A wonderful talented soul with the needle and thread, when it comes to tailoring coats like his own

“It definitely is, Al” You chime out softly and a bit distracted, hands wondering around the long torn rims of his red pinstriped coat. Only wondering in order to find the out of place tear that Alastor pointed out upon visiting your tailor shop. Some sinner named ‘Sir Pentinous’ had managed to tear off a bit of Alastor’s classic coat and as his most trusted tailor, it’s your job to take care of this little rip and tear within Alastor’s patience

The Radio Demon will not deny… he likes being up on this pedestal and his coat being touched, it makes him feel on top of Hell

“I know, darling. I find it so amusing that she believes I believe in her” This is a common thing Alastor did whenever he came to visit you for a hangout or when he needed you to repair his clothing. He loved to throw shade and shit at the Hotel staff and clients he surrounds himself. He loves to berate Husk for being incompetent, he loves to badly mock Angel Dust for flirting with him, he loves to mock and ridicule Vaggie, and he especially enjoys making fun of Charlie’s ‘delusional’ dream of redeeming sinners. You didn’t mind it, you find Alastor a funny man

“You’ll never believe in redemption, hey?” You also don’t mind snarking and teasing Alastor. He lets it slide with a natural toothy-less smile. His blood red eyes following the way you traverse over to the silver rack of many neatly organised rolled-up fabric bundles to pick out a perfectly shaded and patterned piece of crimson red fabric to begin sewing onto the obvious edge rip on the left side of his coat’s hems

This’ll be over in a few seconds but that doesn’t mean you won’t spend a whole twenty minutes with Alastor, spreading gossip around with him about sinners in your opposite ends. He’ll tell you about Overlords, you’ll tell him about the common Sinners. You like Alastor as a friend for a number of reasons, one of the main reasons being the mere fact you two can chat and gossip around, so fluently and naturally

“Believing in redemption is like believing a heart can beat without blood, darling. It’s just not possible. It’s foolish, mindless, sheltered. All adjectives to explain Charlie as a whole” Alastor is quite brutal with this and you can actually just sense the sourness pouring out of his voice and darker eyes as he speaks once more, his stance still well-mannered and classy but his gripping hand growing firmer, as if bottling up some type of anger deep within his soul. Deciding to not poke the sleeping deer any further, you effectively use your claws to trim off the rest of the string that tied the new fabric chunk onto his coat’s hems and repaired the tear to complete perfection

“Yes, Al. I understand, you are right in that sense”

Like a light switch upon hearing you agree, Alastor is instantly back to smiling more soft and caring with zero fangs visible than the very tense, passive-aggressive wide grin he had just painted on his face. Stepping down, rather gracefully, from the flat round multilayered pedestal, the Radio Demon readjusts his signature bowtie with a flick of his wrist. Sharp long red-tipped black clawed fingers dancing over his snazzy accessorises before facing you once more

He knows that new look of yours very well. A look of kindness and appreciation to see him once more but also urgency and duty. You’re busy and need him to leave but don’t want to say a word to avoid disappointing him

No, he didn’t like that whatsoever and he plans to be just a little bit selfish with one of his most favourites in Hell. He’ll have to take you away from your afterlife-stealing occupation so you can spend a day relaxing with him, drinking some nice warm tea and talking more smack about the people you two despise

Without even hesitating nor really thinking it over, Alastor locks his arm with yours and speaks once more, his kind and actually welcoming gaze and grin never once dropping as he begins to take charge, already deciding what’s going on for you today and he won’t hear you refuse such a idea

So… sorry, you’re gonna have to deal with it

“Darling. Don’t tell me you’re going to kick me out after this? How about you close up shop for today and we go out to a nice café? It’s been a while since it’s just been me and you”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel short story #hazbin hotel radio demon #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin short story #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #platonic alastor #platonic alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor short story #radio demon x reader #radio demon #besties #platonic #vivziepop

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ourflagmeansgayrights · 14 days

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wait fuck ok i’m back to being sad about it now

like the thing is that ed doesn’t really hang out with anyone but stede in season one, not really. and whenever he is talking to other ppl on the crew, stede is right there. the only exception to this is in episode 8 when jack brings the party energy and everyone is getting drunk and rowdy together specifically as part of jack’s efforts to exclude stede.

and as a fandom we always make jokes and theorize about what the relationship between ed and stede must look like from the outside, if they were all placing bets for when they’d finally hook up or if they had zero belief in stede’s ability to pull THEE blackbeard

but now i’m thinking about the crew’s perception of Ed Himself. of the crew’s perceptions of The Legendary Blackbeard and how that must’ve changed over the course of the first season. because when they first meet him they’re all impressed and starstruck bc yeah, duh, this is Pirate Beyoncé we’re talking about. they’re also in varying degrees “worried he’s gonna kill them.”

but they quickly see that the real pirate beyonce isn’t all leather and murder and head made of smoke. blackbeard swaps clothes with their cringefail (derogatory) boss for fun. he dresses up and goes to a fancy party just because he wants to—he’s not even trying to get anything out of it, doesn’t have an angle the way frenchie does, he genuinely just wants to go to a very un-Blackbeardy party and have fun. he tells them scary stories. he shows them some of his trade blackbeard secrets. he hypes them all up after their first fuckery (and i will never get over how cute that is exchange is, “scared the pants off me” and “i thought blackbeard didn’t feel fear” and “and i didn’t, until tonight” and the crew’s genuine excitement and pride). he goes on a treasure hunt with their cringefail (affectionate, now) boss and lets him dig in the ground to get it out of his system. they learn that ed isn’t just a scary pirate, he also can be silly and goof off and enjoy things that aren’t exactly compatible’s with the Blackbeard Brand

and beyond just not adhering 24/7 to the Brand, they learn that ed—that blackbeard—is human. is fallible. they see his first plan to escape the spanish fail, and they get to participate in the backup plan that he and stede come up with. frenchie sees ed get hurt at the fancy party in a way that he completely understands. lucius realizes that ed is just as into his cringefail boss as his cringefail boss is into ed, and over the course of giving ed a shovel talk he maybe learns that The Legendary Blackbeard might actually be nervous about a boy liking him back.

and none of this—NONE of this—makes the crew lose any respect for him. even pete never has a moment where his perception of his idol is shattered, where he’s disappointed that blackbeard isn’t all nine guns and zero mercy all the time. instead, pete expands his idea of what The Ideal Pirate (the ideal MAN) looks like.

i think by the time jack rolls around, ed is no longer on that Pirate Beyoncé pedestal to them. he’s still on a pedestal, a bit, but instead of seeing ed as this untouchable badass legend, they see him as like. the coolest guy on the ship. still a badass, still somebody they all respect and admire, but someone they can hang out with. someone they really want to hang out with. they want to impress ed because they want him to like them, they want to be his friend. and yeah, it’s played as a “your father and i are getting a divorce but we still love you very much” joke, but they really are so sad when ed leaves with jack.

and ed showing up with no beard and no stede, ed hiding in his cabin for. a day? multiple days? ed singing a song about his feelings. ed saying he no longer wants to go by blackbeard.

the crew is confused, but they’re on board. they don’t laugh at him for his (bad) singing, they don’t think less of him now that he’s sans iconic beard. ed, to them, is still The Coolest Guy On The Ship, and they want to be his friend. they’re excited to be his friend.

they want to put on a talent show.

and ed, right after getting stabbed in the back by jack and izzy, and then stede, and then izzy again—ed, who was so affected by the jeers of the rich fuckers at that fancy party, who grew up in a culture that doesn’t allow for friendship, a culture of everyone in various stages of fucking each other over—can’t see that. he’s got fresh heartbreak and fresh betrayal that are compounding on years of trauma and he hears them all chanting his name and he can’t trust this crew. he couldn’t trust his first mate, and he couldn’t trust his old shipmate, and he couldn’t trust stede. he cannot, cannot risk vulnerability with the crew. not again.

(and like, cmon, who is ed even kidding? he’s not made for things like softness and friendship and genuine camaraderie. trying to be anything other than blackbeard is like a wolf trying to fit in a sheep’s clothing, but the clothing is too small and everyone can see right through him and they’re all laughing and laughing and he’s the only one who can’t see what a joke he is. ed’s not an idiot, he knows there’s no way the crew is up their chanting his name and asking for another song because they like him. they just want the great clown pagliacci to come out and make them laugh.

so sure, ed’ll give them a show. they think ed’s funny? well he’s about to be fucking hilarious.)

EDIT: those of y’all seeing this in the ofmd tags are missing the additions where it gets even sadder

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #edward teach #ed teach #edward teach born on a beach #crew of the revenge #s1e04 #s1e05 #s1e06 #s1e07 #s1e08 #s1e10 #txt #meta #mine #og

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snippychicke · 2 months

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Poppy Seeds --Part Two

Inspired by TooManyPsuedonyms work, which in turn was inspired by @semisolidmind fanart/cabin!Au for Playtime Poppy.

Dogday/Player!reader (attempting keeping it gender neutral)

Warnings: will touch on the after effects of trauma, but nothing is super explicit. Maybe some unhealthy coping skills (Dogday holding Reader on a pedestal) But otherwise we're giving everyone a happy ending. (Everything is wonderful and nothing hurts)

@twistedcece wanted tagged, anyone else?

Four: Water

It did end up raining later that afternoon. You had found Ollie a fresh change of clothes and had been showing the four around the farm. Thankfully, the day was warm enough that the cold droplets weren’t going to chill anyone too much, though Ollie squeaked as soon as the first droplet hit him.

It was just a light spring shower, but it was still tricky to convince Ollie to come out from the chicken coop he had taken shelter in. It wasn’t until you decided to join the others that he slowly peeked out, sunken eyes wide.

Kissy was twirling in the middle of the drive, her arms spread wide and her smile bright as ever. Poppy had her own arms outstretched, her face tilted up against the tickling drops and a smile on her eternally-painted lips. Dogday was brightly laughing as he pulled you out from the sheltered area to where several puddles were quickly forming.

Seeing you and Dogday stomping in the water looked far too fun for the boy to ignore, and soon he was brave enough to leave his place of safety (to the relief of the hens not used to the small child in their home). IT took him a moment to get used to the constant patter on his skin, but both you and Dogday were becoming him closer with open hands.

Laughter soon echoed in the air as the three of you would stomp from puddle to puddle. Kissy and Poppy didn’t join in --both not fond of getting muddy-- but enjoyed watching the three of you, two acting like overgrown kids and one finally able to act his age.

Things seemed perfect.

---

Later, Kissy and Poppy had corralled Ollie into the upstairs bathroom for a ‘proper’ bath. Judging from the splashing and outraged squeals from Poppy, the boy was still enjoying the new lease on childhood… or maybe Kissy had decided to join in the impishness. You weren’t sure, and was more focused on Dogday anyways.

Your bedroom had its own bathroom, complete with an old large clawfoot tub that Dogday was able to sit in, though it was a tight fit. So you had taken it upon yourself to grab a basin and a few washcloths to scrub his back that was still coated in sticky things you rather not think about while he handled the rest.

“I wish I could have done better on these stitches,” you offered as you gently cleaned around the sloppy uneven stitches where you had sewn his bottom half back on. The thread you had been able to find was a bright neon green and easy to see against his tan hair, and the ‘hide’ of his top half flapped over a bit of his bottom half since you had no idea how else to stitch the pieces together. Sewing has never been your forte.

You swore magic had to be involved, considering that a simple sewing together and undoing the tourniquet had somehow ‘healed’ the connection and he could feel and control his lower body once more.

“They’re fine,” Dogday reassured, currently scrubbing a stubborn stain on his arm. “The fact you were able to fix me in the first place is a miracle in itself, angel.”

“I know,” you whined, unable to stop glaring at the poor stitchwork. “But it’s green. And all wonky…”

He paused to look down at the stitching, a fond expression on his face (though you couldn’t see it.) “I like it that way. It’s a visual reminder of how much you cared.”

Your heart thumped at his words, and you bit your lip. It had been an act of desperation… but he wasn’t wrong. You had cared-- you had been terrified that you would do something to hurt him. To cause him to die no matter what you did. You wanted to save him-- to be able to save someone.

The memory threatened to overwhelm you, and you dropped your washcloth so you could wrap your arm around his shoulders, uncaring that you were getting your clothes wet by hugging him.

You had been so close to losing him. Close to losing your own life. Failing everyone yet again after you had failed years prior.

“Angel?” Dogday managed to shift, and before you knew it, you were in his arms, cradled against his body as you cried. “What is it?”

“I-I-” you stuttered, clenching your eyes as if you could push those memories out of your mind. Not just of him, but of everything. It was like a crack had formed and everything you had stubbornly ignored came rushing in.

“Oh Angel,” he sighed as if he understood, pulling you closer. “Sweetheart. It's okay.”

“How can you call me that?” You choked out. “I-I left all of you, ten years ago. I saw what they were doing and I ran away.”

“You were little more than a child yourself,” was not the answer you were expecting. As if he remembered just like Mommy Longlegs had. “Probably a bright-eyed intern or something, am I right?”

You weakly nodded your head. You had been so excited when your application had been accepted. Everyone was hushed about the project, but they were looking for brilliant minds to help lead the future. You had been chosen out of hundreds of others. You had signed so many non-disclosure and other legal papers you thought it was weird for a toy factory but dismissed it as corporate paranoia.

You didn't realize why until you stumbled upon that first file. Realized the toys looking after the kids weren't advanced animatronics. You hadn't discovered the whole story, but enough to send you running for the hills.

Literally.

You quit everything, and ran away into the woods hoping they would never find you.

“Besides, you came back. And now we're here. Safe.” His thumb wiped at your tears. “Cuddling in a bathtub.”

The last but made you laugh despite yourself and helped bring you back into the moment. You had to admit, it probably looked odd; giant Dogday squished in the tub with you--a full grown adult--more or less cradled in his arms. Both of you now thoroughly wet.

Your laugh made his smile widen faintly. “There we go. I know we'll all have hard days, but as long as we're here for each other, I think we'll get through it.”

Five: Wait

“I won’t be gone long, I promise,” you had said as you climbed into your truck. Without him. Dogday had all but whined at you, unashamed at the puppy-eye expression he gave you. “Day,” you had sighed, leaning out the window to cup his cheek as he leaned down. “I’m sorry, but the back is going to be full when I come back. And besides, who’s going to look after them?”

He should have pointed out that Kissy and Poppy were well able to deal with anything, the two girls were much more capable than they appeared. However, he had quietly conceded and stood back, allowing you to disappear down the steep drive.

That had been early this morning. Nearly five hours ago.

Dogday had barely moved from his spot, waiting to see the sunlight glint off your truck as it climbed the driveway. Or to hear its engine grumble as it approached. What if something happened to you? His sweet angel? He may have been trapped in the factory all those years, but he still knew the outside world could be just as dangerous. Especially to someone sweet and kind as you.

“You’re really whipped, aren’t you?” Poppy spoke as Kissy approached, carrying the smaller doll on her shoulder. “When I said they’d be our angel to come save us, I didn’t think you would take it this far.”

“They saved me,” he answered, his eyes still focused on this distance. He meant more than just his life, when he was strung up like a piece of meat for the miniatures to come feast upon. When he had been so blinded by rage and the need for revenge…

He could still see your eyes through the thick glass of the gasmask, begging him to stop. Your voice as you asked him to spare Catnap’s life because there had been enough death.

“If that doesn’t deserve loyalty, I don’t know what else would.”

“Loyalty. Right.” Poppy sighed, shaking her head. “You sure you’re not suffering from a bad case of puppy-love?”

Dogday paused, his thoughts screeching to a halt at her words. Kissy Missy giggled behind her yellow hand as he struggled with the idea. Puppy love? Certainly not. What he felt wasn’t all warm, fuzzy, yet superficial.

It was deep and all encompassing to the point it almost overwhelmed him sometimes when he looked at you. Whether covered in blood and dust with a look of grisly determination, or freshly showered and wet hair clinging to your face while you laughed, you were his angel. He’d do anything for you.

“Not puppy love… but I do love them.”

Just as the admission left his voice box, he heard the grumble of an engine, and looked down the road to see your old truck making its way up the zig-zagging path, the bed filled with things as you had predicted. His tail slowly started to wag behind him, belying his excitement and joy.

He loved you so much, and he didn’t care if you never felt the same. As long as you let him stay by your side day after day, he’d be happy.

Even if he had to wait sometimes.

Six: Memories

Ollie may have been naive to things you presumed as common knowledge, but when it came to technology, he was a veritable genius. Considering he had to use the old machines to often run and hide from the others in the factory, it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

The scrawny boy was able to help you hook up the various equipment you had brought home with you amongst the tons of groceries. A scanner, an old VHS reader, and an internet router with enough power to accomplish what you wanted.

You hadn’t left the factory empty handed, after all. Dozens of VHS tapes, hundreds of files and loose papers. You had collected every bit of proof you could. And you were going to finish Rowan's work.

“Are you sure about this?” Ollie asked as you popped the first VHS tape to convert into a digital file. “You’re going to be in big trouble if they find out…”

“I should have done this a long time ago,” you said with determination. “Besides, I promised everyone else. They’ve waited long enough.”

Poppy and the others were silent. This had been part of Poppy’s plan all along, after all. Bring the crimes of Playtime Co to light and assure nothing like this happens again.

Yet your hands shook as you scoured for the email address for every news company and journalist you could find. You remembered what Playtime did to Rowan, and while their factory had been decommissioned a decade ago, it was hardly the only one. They were still one of the largest companies on the scene.

Who’s to say that similar things weren’t happening there? More than one had an orphanage on site, after all.

This would certainly be their downfall, and they were bound to come after you if given half the chance. This little piece of heaven that you had these last few days would be stolen away from you…

Dogday leaned on you from behind, lanky arms wrapped around your shoulders while his chin rested on your head. The heavy weight was comfortable, as was the soft scent of vanilla that you had worked back into his fur after his bath the other day.

“Nothing is going to happen to Angel,” he growled softly. “Or any of us. We’ll protect our new home.”

“Our family,” Poppy added quietly, and got a determined nod from Kissy and a cheer from Ollie. You relaxed into Dogday’s embrace, wrapping your fingers around his arms.

--*--

Dogday and Catnap circled each other, growls and snarls echoing in the small chamber. Red Mist filled the air, yet somehow Dogday was still awake. Aware of what was reality and what was a waking nightmare.

Catnap had not expected to see his old friend again after ripping him in half and sacrificing him to the miniatures. All these years and he thought Dogday was with him--with the Prototype-- and only to learn he sided with her. Poppy. And you. The one Dogday called angel.

Dogday finally made the first move, swinging a broken pipe he had been carrying. Normally Catnap could avoid it, but his feet stumbled over the debris hidden in the thick red mist.

“Stop it!” You screamed, voice muffled by your gasmask as you suddenly appeared out of the mist. Dogday nearly slammed the pipe into you, but stopped a hairbreadth away. Catnap was just as stunned as his counterpart as you stood protectively between the two large beings.

“There’s been enough death,” you continued as Dogday lowered his weapon. “I know he hurt you. I know he’s done a lot wrong, but…”

“He doesn’t deserve your mercy, angel,” Dogday growled softly. “None of us do, but especially not him.”

You shook your heads, arms still stretched wide. “Maybe, but I’m tired of all this death. Everyone’s been wronged here. The horrors that you all went through, even before the Hour of Joy. It has to end, and I want it to end now.”

You protected him. Stood up against the Prototype when He came down and tried to end Catnap’s life and steal his body to integrate with His. Catnap vividly remembered the determined expression on your face as you faced off against his fake-god.

You… were merciful. Kind. Real. While the Prototype had stayed to himself, distant from everyone else, you walked with them. You had taken those four away from the factory, swearing to those left behind that help would soon come.

You would save them.

Catnap had to waitfor little less than a week before seeing your promise come to fruition. Not years, or another decade of pain and suffering. Less than a week and all sorts of people were swarming the factory.

You had made everything public knowledge, so the company or anyone else couldn’t just sweep them under a rug and dispose of them. He watched as humans cared for the little ones, offering the food and water that they had been deprived of for so long. PJ Pug-a-pillar, Huggy Wuggy, and others he didn’t know were still alive were pulled from the hands of death and into life. Freedom.

He could have stepped into the light and joined them. He knew the miniatures would be happy about that…yet watching one of miniature counterparts huddle close with its brethren, all of them with juice boxes and blankets, reminded him harshly of what he had done. He had done so much in the name of that false-god…

He had to find The Savior and do what he could to be redeemed.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #dogday poppy playtime #dogday x reader #dogday/reader #dogday x player #dogday/player #poppy #kissy missy #ollie

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citieskyes · 1 year

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astrology observations

☂️ Scorpio Venus’s die for the forbidden love trope. They may even fantasise about being in a secretive relationship.

☂️ Libra men make really great friends. They’ll hype you up and they’re fun to hang around with. As boyfriends, not so much 😬 they never know what they want.

☂️ Gemini suns are really likeable imo. They have the ability to adapt to everyone’s personalities and as a result people might find them likeable and charming.

☂️ Virgo Venus’s get the ick so easily.

☂️ Leo mars have a praise kink it’s true.

☂️ Neptune in the 7th can idolise their partners and place them on a pedestal. As a result, they can get taken advantage of by others.

☂️ Mercury in 6h 🤝🏽 gossiping about others at work.

☂️ Those with Venus in 12h can attract aggressive lovers. This is because the 12h rules hidden things and secret enemies. So you may have people pretend to hate you but in reality they’re obsessed with you. You may have people confess to you and you’re thinking “what the hell, I would’ve never thought you liked me”. This is due to the deception of the 12h.

☂️ Aries in 7h individuals may attract aggressive and hostile partners. Alternatively, you may prefer partners who are risky and impulsive.

☂️ Moon in the 12h feel lonely and isolated from others. They feel as if no one understands them.

☂️ Fire moons have the worst road rage I’m sorry.

Dm me for $15-20 birth chart readings!! x

#astrology #astrology observations #mercury in 6th #virgo #virgo venus #leo #leo mars #astro observations #libra #scorpio #scorpio venus #venus in 12th house

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circuscountdowns · 4 months

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Crude Timeline/Breakdown of my goofy Cult of the Lamb drawings if you’re interested:

The whole premise for this i guess au? Started during my first run, I already knew the game was about kill god become god, but Did Not know you could Marry the god youd betray??? Or indoctrinate him???. Like I didn't even choose the Marriage Doctrine cuz I'm like boo r u kidding me I'm choosing violent Battle Pit always. Which Lambert wouldn't know any of this in the beginning either but the big deciding factor is:

Lamb is going into it with the mindset of Kill All Gods for what they've done to the sheep (sorry my benefactor, ur included <3) Kratos style lets go, none spared.

That being said, they have a lot of devotion towards Death, I like to think the Sheep folk prayed to The One Below for quick passings knowing they're a huge sacrificial species, and because sheep with their huge herd mentality, the worship flowed heavily which is a threat therefore that plus prophecy equals Slaughter.

So with TOWW, they play along and genuinely mean they're serving death because they worshiped Death as a concept, a divine entity. They believe when they “kill” TOWW they'll still be “together” because Death is unkillable right (and the lamb would never have to be alone again right). Something new will be written thats the both of us as one.

So in between crusading Lamb and TOWW get closer (i am going to take your throne but that doesn't mean we can't have fun banter or that i don't really really enjoy ur compliments and attention ((because I love kittys…))) and that's when the comic about tanking happens.

But oh no! Through their journey Lamb discovers that TOWW is actually a Bishop, chained for a petty family squabble??? Has a name and it’s Narinder????

The revelation kinda breaks something in their head. it upsettingly humanizes the Bishops, trivializes the death of their people, and takes TOWW off the pedestal they'd placed him on. Uh ohhhh how does this change things i mean I'm still gonna kill all the gods but what does it mean to be a god is it just a crown whats going to happen to Narinder is it actually Narinder I like ?? (And i had a comic for this time planned but idk if ill get to it)

Meanwhile Narinders opinion on the Lamb has so far just been Wow im so proud, I chose good yay I'm gonna be free (why do I feel like I could be free from their devotion alone?) (why are they just like me fr?)

When Narinder is defeated and they have the choice, the lamb feels they betray both their people for not keeping their promise to kill all gods, but also their Faith and Narinder, v conflicting.

After indoctrination, Narinder does his typical Isolation, depression, and Lamb mourns what they'd had. In their loneliness, they stop allowing their cultists to die for long. They do all Narinders quests, and when it comes to the resurrection he's like Haha I remember why I liked you. But also he can exploit this. That's the time of the Resurrection comic.

He tries to micromanage from there, if he can't be the god being worshiped rn he's going to control the god. Starts off with whispering insecurities of Your cultists will find a way to leave you, be firmer. Gods should do this, have this, they'll leave if you don't. Lamb knows what he's doing and mostly humors him to keep him around but over time they've just both started to build a proper relationship again. He successfully ironically becomes their right hand.

This goes on for a sec before Mystic Seller knocks on da door like Hello do your joobbbb. And thats a kick enough to get Lamb out of their misery shit to really consider their original plan of killing gods and what exactly they want Death to Mean. (Comes to a conclusion that death is a peace that has to be earned. Through living.)

Bringing Leshy back brings a rift and arguments between Narinder and Lamb. That's when the Narinder Confessional comic happens and he lets out just how hurt he was by Lambs betrayal (cuz that seems to be all anyone ever does to him lol except for his sons)

So as a sort of reconciliation! Lamb brings back Aym and Baal. Yay! That's that comic, where Narinder tries to say it doesn't affect him so Lamb forces them to be together. Aym and Ball stay in the cult for a good while as Lamb works to free Heket, but Narinder is still super giving Lamb the cold shoulder. When Heket is indoctrinated Narinder gets angry again that he has no say on the matter.

Lamb starts sneaking off to sit in the confessional booth at night and it gets Narinders attention. He follows them in and hears them speak about essentially their motivations and beliefs described earlier. I have a half finished comic of this to partner with Narinder’s confessional, with Lamb’s being more down to earth and kinda just explanatory of the whole timeline but who knows if ill finish it tbh

Narinder reassesses his feelings for Lamb after that.

Right after Lamb's confessional would be when the Baal and AYm comic happens, and Narinder asks for his last request of going on a mission, fully committing to living a life.

Cue big ambiguous gap of time where Lamb gets the other siblings, yada yada healing and dealing. Shamura in the pillory comic happens, the bishops are Not happy about it, but Shamura's only locked up for a night.

Probably takes a hundred or two years for the siblings being comfortable enough around each other and theres a lot less venom being spat out. Idk gods grudges be lasting forever sometimes. Eventually They can start having family game nights, cue that comic. Everyones tired of the shit Lamb and Narinders got going on.

Lamb still thinks Narinder doesnt have romantic feelings for them. Best friends til the end me and my god, never mind the tense flirting. Lamb does that with everyone. (cursed with flirty asexual disease) For Narinder its that he shouldnt have to say anything everyone should just know that the Lamb is his. Straight up if Lamb asked him, do you love me hed say yes in every sense, but though he is aware of how he feels and would be honest on approach, an immortal relationship/marriage?? It is a lot to ask of the lamb, that has to be a decision they make. Hes content as is.

but No Way could Lamb ask that without a safety net. So when Lamb realizes Oh its like. romantic jealousy? Interesting lets see how far i can push it, announces they will be choosing a spouse (due to a wager lost they reason, depending on who asks) (the siblings who know of Shamura’s deal, watch in mild amusement at how absolutely wired this gets their brother. No one helps him.) fine for narinder If they get married thats up to them but hes gonna make sure theyre worthy of his vessel first. Marriage is just a title compared to what he and the Lamb have.

Cue comic i have planned that is Such a funny idea to me but im not liking how its turning out so who knows. But they get married yay!

Some years later kudaai has offered to make the lamb their own weapon. They go on a little trip to the spot they were sacrificed, now very overgrown and forgotten, and find their chains to make their weapons.

far future comic

many many many years later Lamb death comic.

that’s it for now. I’ll add more if ideas come but this is context if you’d like. Feel free to ask questions, I’m rotating these fellas in my head

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honeybeefae · 9 months

Text

Coronation Day (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

Eris Week Day Two: High Lord

Summary// The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and while everyone is getting ready you realize your mate is nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere you finally find him in the gardens and you see a side of him that he rarely ever shows.

(I’m sorry that these are so short but I hope you guys are still liking them! This fic was one of my favorites to write and I think it’s just the detail and imagery that really ties it in. I also love writing about vulnerable Eris so it has definitely been fun for me! <3 Thank you guys for reading!)

(I also had pictured what the dress, crown, and shoes looked like so here are the references but of course I want you all to picture what you like! It is you, after all :))

Your Dress / Crown / Shoes / Eris's Outfit (but gold instead of silver) / Garden Gates

(Also I listened to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift while writing!)

@erisweek2023

WARNINGS: None

You look up at the grand clock as the seamstress puts the final touches on your gown, your stomach in knots as you look over yourself in the mirror. It was Eris’s coronation day and everything had to be perfect, including you. The gown was exquisite, the exact dress you would expect from a High Lord’s mate, and your hair and makeup enhanced your entire aura into royalty.

The gown was the color of golden leaves with large sleeves and beaded foliage around the top to pay homage to your court. It swept the floor and had a grand trail, almost like a wedding dress, while the crown that was atop your head matched perfectly to Eris’s.

“There, my lady, you are perfect.” The seamstress beamed in the mirror as she stepped back, taking in the entire outfit as you matched her smile with your own. “I have never seen a more beautiful and deserving woman to be our Lady of Autumn than you.”

“You are too kind, Cressida.” You blush, stepping off the pedestal and testing out your specially made-heels. “All this beauty is truly owed to you. I was but a blank canvas to your brilliant mind.”

“Now it is you who is being too kind, my lady.” She bows while she gathers her things and walks towards the door. “I will see you at the coronation!”

“I’ll be the one on the throne!” You laugh, waving to her before turning to your handmaidens with a nervous sigh. They all gush over your outfit, their voices intermingling into a crescendo before you shush them. “Have you heard from Eris?”

“Well…about that…” Luci begins, her mouth twisting down as she looks to the others who immediately look to the ground.

“What? What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, my lady, it’s just-” Luci tries to explain before Nikolet steps forward, finally caving.

“No one has seen him since this morning!” She confessed, her hands wringing together in front of her. “He was getting ready and when the seamstress came to check on everything he had vanished. They didn’t want to tell you since you were also in the middle of-”

“They didn’t want to tell me that my mate was missing…on his coronation day?!” You raise an eyebrow, trying to control your anger as the girls sheepishly nod. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I will go find him, just finish getting ready.”

“But my lady-” Luci tries to interject but you hold out a hand, silencing her.

“He is my mate. Wherever he has run off to and why he has run off is nobody’s business but our own. Now please, get ready. I will see you all there.” You urge, shooing them, before picking up your skirts and walking out the door.

The castle is bustling with activity while you try to find him. People were running around making sure everything was in its place, that the flowers were set and the food was prepared. You try to look neutral as you pass everyone, barely acknowledging their bows and awes of beauty as you search everywhere. You weaved and waded through the crowds of fellow court members, peeking through the doors of rooms and studies until you stopped at the grand entrance doors.

Where on Earth could he be?

You bite your lip, looking side to side, before you catch a glimpse of sunlight coming in from the window above. As you turn to see its path, noting how it hits the painting of the garden so beautifully, you get an idea.

The pace of your steps picks up as you hold your skirts tightly and all but run through the kitchen, apologizing to the staff as you almost run into the cake. They shout out, wondering where you are off to in such a hurry, but you ignore them as you push through the back doors and glide down the outdoor steps.

Leaves rustle above you as the autumn air greets you like a lover, wrapping around your bare shoulders in a soft caress while your heels click against the cobblestone walkway. The trees grow thicker as you make your way to the very back of the estate, to your and Eris’s small garden of Eden.

Tall stone walls and oak trees guard it from prying eyes, secluding it for everyone except the two of you as you slow your pace and walk through the iron gate. Autumn leaves cover most of the pathway leading to the small bench at the back of the garden where you spot Eris with his head in his hands, the tree above rustling and whispering things you think only he can hear.

“Eris?” You say softly, smiling softly when he raises his head to look at you. He looks beautiful in his dark red suit, golden embellishments lining the wrists and collar, with a white shirt and dark pants to match. His hair was styled neatly, as always, but what stood out to you the most was his pained, troubled eyes. “Oh, Eris.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” He says, watching as you walk over to him and crouch in front of him. Your dress rustles against the ground but you don’t pay any attention, all of your focus is on him. “A true Lady of Autumn.”

“What’s wrong, love?” You ask, grasping his hands in yours. “Cold feet already?”

He gives you a small smile and your heart flips. “You could say that…though it is very hard for me to get cold.” Eris chuckles though his voice falls flat at the end as he looks down, frowning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t lead an entire court?”

“You can do this. If anyone can, you can, Eris.” You squeeze his hands tightly, bending down until you catch his gaze. “I have never had as much confidence in anyone leading as I do with you. This court has been through so much and you are going to bring it back to life.”

“This court has been through so much because of my father,” He scowled, standing abruptly while you sighed and stood with him. He began to pace back and forth as he continued his rant. “My father almost ruined this court and I know what the people think of him…what they probably think of me. I am my father’s son and what if, what if I become him? What if that is my destiny?”

The air stood still as he stopped in his tracks, looking at you with fear and sadness and doubt and vulnerability. You had only seen him like this once before when your mating bond had snapped. He hated to show weakness, especially when it came to his family, and your heart broke at his confession.

“What if I am no better than my father? A monster’s prodigy?”

You walk to him slowly and cup his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck. Eris immediately crumbles at your touch and pulls you as close as he can, burying his face in your neck as your hands run down his back soothingly.

Something wet falls against your shoulder but you don’t draw attention to it nor to the shuddering of his shoulders. You just hold him as tight as you can while you whisper your truth into his ear.

“Eris Vanserra, I want you to listen to me.” You begin gently. “You are more than your father’s legacy. You are the creator of your own story, the holder of the pen, and right now is the first chapter of it. You have more kindness, bravery, and leadership in your pinky finger than your father ever had.”

His shoulder slowly came to a stop as you continued, pulling back so that you could press your forehead against his and look into his eyes. “My love, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Because do you know what I see?” You ask, placing a finger under his chin when he tries to look away. “I see a man who is brilliant. A man who is loyal to his court and saved them from war. A man who may hide behind a mask but cares more than he cares to admit.”

“I see my mate, my handsome soon-to-be High Lord.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “The mere fact that you are afraid tells me, tells everyone, just how worthy you will be for this crown. You will do amazing things for this court, for all of Pyrthian. I have never had more confidence in anything in my life.”

“Y/N…” Eris trails off, lost for words, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

“And if you happen to falter just remember I will be right by your side ready to set you straight.” You grin, giggling when he nods in agreement. “But seriously, you are going to be a wonderful High Lord.”

Eris takes a deep breath and whispers, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have been given you?”

“You could do to remind me more often…” You trail off teasingly. “Perhaps tonight after your coronation?”

He smirked and tried to give you a kiss but you cheekily turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek and smiling when he let out a huff of frustration. You grab his hand and begin to walk out of the garden, turning back to him and saying, “Now, now, High Lord, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Come, let’s start this journey together.”

The two of you walk back into the Forest House, smiling and laughing, while everyone looks on in confusion. You arrive quickly at the doors of the grand hall where you can hear everyone talking, wondering what was taking so long. The advisors look worn out as they get in their places, just glad that Eris has been found, while you turn to look at him adoringly.

“Ready?” You ask.

Rays of sun shone through the windows again, catching him in just the right light to give him an ethereal glow that highlighted his amber eyes and cheekbones. “As long as you are by my side.”

“Always.” You promise, kissing him tenderly before pulling away as the doors open. “Let’s go get your crown.”

As the doors open the applause nearly deafens you, everyone cheering and smiling as the two of you walk into the room and down the aisle. At the end sits two thrones of equal size, both of your crowns sitting on the cushions as you walk hand in hand towards your destiny.

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

Text

With All That I Am

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 7 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series

Warnings: Hospitals, injury recovery, cockwarming, oral (f receiving), angst, hurt/comfort.

SIX MONTHS AGO

There's something about Dominic Saintclair that Billy had never liked.

He could never put his finger on it. Maybe it was the pretentiousness of his actions, the way he looked like he'd never had a hard day in his life, the lackadaisical way he treated things as if they were replaceable.

The way he didn't understand that the most valuable thing he had, was the one thing he was mistreating right now.

"I swear, she doesn't know when to leave me alone." Dominic says loudly in the opulent bar, a place that was more red velvet seats and accented gold ornaments than anything else. It was somewhere Billy brought the clients he could impress easily, ones that didn't understand what the best brand of gin for a negroni was, or that whiskey shouldn't be served with ice. It was simply a place that glittered, gorgeous on the surface with no real substance... or character... not unlike the man in question.

Billy looks down at Dominic's cloned phone. All you had said was that you hoped he was having fun.

"Maybe you're just not fucking her enough." One of his friends joke.

"Oh fuck off. I fuck her more than enough, maybe that's why she's so needy." It gets a round of laughter from his friends, and a disgusted frown from Billy.

At the bar, only a few tables away, Billy's hand tightens on his glass of whiskey, his back is to the group, and he's positioned in a dark enough corner to be unnoticed while still being able to hear the conversation.

"Anyways, enough about that, finish telling me about the red head." Dominic says, and Billy is forced to listen to him talk about other women when he has the best one.

Billy thinks about how stupidly simple it would be to kill your boyfriend, but doing it now would create more problems. You wouldn't know how much of an asshole he really was, for starters, you'd probably convince yourself that you'd been deeply in love with him before his untimely death. People tended to put dead loved ones on a pedestal, forgiving them unless their crimes were truly heinous.

No, you had to see Dominic for his true colours first. Then, and only then, he would wipe your stain of a boyfriend from the earth.

Billy listens to Dominic say some more vile things, fully understanding his hatred for the man now. Dominic was manipulative, showing you one face, and yet secretly thinking something else behind your back. With a frown, he scrolls through your older messages.

You always seemed to be reaching for him, supportive of the things he said. He never voiced his support for you in return.

What a fucking waste of space. To have someone as precious as you, and to take you for granted.

If he had you... he'd worship you. Without a doubt, Billy would kiss every inch of your skin, kneel at your feet if you asked, kiss you at every waking moment.

When another text comes in from you, he smiles.

As predicted, you text a second time after you've seen his read receipts and no response has come in from your idiot boyfriend.

'Are you alright?' You text.

The corner of Billy's mouth lifts, he wishes you were sending texts like this to him.

Dominic responds.

'Yes. I'm fine. Stop bothering me.'

Billy's smile drops.

You don't respond, but you see the message. He knows that you're hurt by it.

Billy's thoughts go violent again.

Anonymously, Billy has bought round after round of shots for the men, until they're wasted, and their lips are loose and he can soak in all the information possible. He plots while he listens, and he learns so much, until he could pick apart any man there in his sleep.

Their numbers dwindle, until it's just two men there, and he waits patiently for Dominic to stand on inebriated feet and head off to the bathroom.

Billy knows that Dominic is barely functional right now, having taken shot after shot, Billy is aware that Dominic will not remember any bit of whatever is happening right now.

With that information, he texts Dominic's companion from the cloned phone.

'Feeling better now, ordered an Uber, you can go ahead without me.'

Billy watches his friend read the text, finish his drink and then leave.

Too easy.

Dominic is so far gone that when he returns to his seat, he barely notices that his friend's things are gone, and Billy acts fast to stop Dominic from realising that anything is amiss.

"Saintclair." Billy greets, whiskey in hand, looking around to make sure that no one is looking, "Drinking all by yourself?"

Dominic looks up at Billy and squints.

"Mister Russo?"

Billy hums the affirmative.

"Got room for company?" The words are bitter in his mouth.

Billy doesn't wait for an answer, pushing the inebriated man deeper into the booth and sliding into the space next to him. He hates this place, literally just designed for showing off, he glances at Dominic, who's lost in his own head, staring at his drink.

Nothing this man was thinking could ever be worth your time.

He raises his hand to the bartender, calling for another round of shots.

Dominic only has time to adjust his body, from his slumped, hazy demeanour, to appear like someone with all their critical thinking skills functional.

Billy spikes the drink with a little bit of melatonin, it's more than enough at Dominic's current level of intoxication.

"Wasn't drinking by myself, but the rest of guys have already left." Dominic slurs, and Billy raises his eyebrows, extending the spiked shot to the already drunk man.

He gives Dominic the opportunity to decline the shot, doesn't force it into his hands, just holds it out expectantly and watches the younger man choose his own self-destruction.

He kind of delights in it, the anarchy he's capable of. Each person has a role to play and it's always nice when they do it as expected.

Dominic throws back the shot with him and internally, Billy begins his internal stopwatch.

"I hope the job's treating you well." Billy hums, uncaring of what the man next to him has to say. He just has to make small talk for fifteen minutes, before the drug kicks in.

Billy asks about some of his coworkers, and then his phone pings, alerting him to a message.

"Clingy." Is all Dominic has to say, looking at his phone when Billy inquires casually.

His eyebrows raise, watching his employee yawn, the drug beginning to take effect.

"If you don't like her that much, then why are you with her?" Billy asks, trying to keep the anger out of his tone.

"Why not?" Is the last thing Dominic says before he slumps over onto the table, asleep.

Billy blinks, an angry sneer growing on his face. What a careless piece of shit. He reaches for Dominic's phone, unlocks it and opens your messages the way he's done a hundred times before.

'At least tell me you're okay.' You'd texted.

"Prick." Billy swears, typing out a message to you on Dominic's phone.

'I'm alright sweetness, just getting ready to go home.' After a moment, he sends another message.

'I'm sorry about that last message, you don't bother me.'

He finds himself smiling when your text bubbles appear almost immediately.

'That's alright! I understand that you probably just wanted some time with your friends.' You say.

You were so quick to forgive, it made Billy's heart sour with the thought that Dominic didn't deserve your forgiveness.

'How was your night?' He asks, smiling fondly when he gets a picture of you wearing a fluffy robe and face mask.

'Very pretty, baby.' He replies, which earns a little '😳' face in response.

How sweet you were, saccharine and sticky, Billy could find himself eating you up quite easily.

'I mean it. I think you're fucking gorgeous.'

It takes a moment to get your response.

'How much have you had to drink exactly?'

Billy grits his teeth, looking over at the unconscious fuck. He barely ever tells you how pretty you are. It's why you think he's drunk now.

'A bit, but that doesn't make it any less true. You are beautiful.'

You don't respond immediately, Billy spends five minutes refreshing Dominic's phone until he gets a very shy 'Thank you,' in response.

He smiles, pockets Dominic's phone.

"Time to get you home, Saintclair." He says to the unconscious man.

He gets someone from the bar to help him get Dominic into the back seat of his car, uncaring of how he's placed, thanking the larger man with a hefty tip before getting into his car.

'You didn't tell me what you did today.' He sends before driving off.

He hears several different message notifications while he drives, and he can't help smiling, because for once, you were finally talking to him, and not as a stranger, but as someone familiar.

It was much harder to get Dominic to his apartment due to the lack of help he'd had from earlier, yet Billy made do with tossing the unconscious man over his shoulder, and then putting him down when they were in the elevator.

Billy really could have left Dominic anywhere, at the bar, or at the front steps to his apartment, or even at the door, with his keys in hand to have him wake up there in the morning horrified that he was so drunk he couldn't even make it inside.

But Billy drops Dominic on his bed instead, after accidentally bumping his head on a few door frames, he decides that he'd keep the drunk asshole safe this time...for you.

After, Billy sits in Dominic's living room, and opens up his phone once more.

'Okay, this doesn't mean anything but I went to a jewellery store today. I was looking at earrings and then I couldn't help looking at the engagement rings.'

Oh? Billy thinks.

'They were all shiny and even though I like shiny, they didn't feel like me you know? I feel like if we ever... uhhhh.... you know.... get married, I'd want something more unique you know?'

'Hello? Are you there? Did I scare you off? This isn't me asking for a wedding, I'm just saying.'

'Dominic?'

Billy sucks in a breath.

'I'm here, sorry, just got home.' he replies, tries to ignore the pain inside of him that worsens with the thought of you getting married to anyone other than him.

'Oh... Hi' you respond.

Billy smiles.

'Hi, do you have any ideas of what you think might be for you?'

He can almost see your excitement.

'Are you sure? If this is weird, you can say so.'

How cute, the way you care.

'I'd really like to see them.' He answers.

You send a link, and indeed, they're beautiful and unique and Billy can't help the thoughts of wearing it, and having you wear the other.

'These are the ones I've always dreamed of.' you add on with the attached pictures.

He bites down on his bottom lip, closes his eyes, and imagines how perfect your hands would look linked together, decorated with matching rings. The thought makes him hard.

'They have to be custom ordered though, really expensive, I'm sure we can find something cheaper.'

Absolutely not.

'They're beautiful. Tell me your ring size so that I can surprise you.'

He makes note of it when you send it.

'I can't wait to marry you.' He says.

'Well now I know you really are drunk.' You respond.

Billy has a quick moment of realisation when he remembers that you think you're talking to Dominic.

His smile drops.

'I am drunk. But you're still the most amazing person on the planet. I think you might be it for me.' And Billy means it. He means every word. He plans to marry this sweet girl that waltzed her way into his life and believed in him after two conversations.

'I love you.' Comes your reply.

Billy smiles.

'I love you too.'

He stays with you until you fall asleep, telling you all the sweet things he's ever wanted to say, dodging personal topics that he doesn't know the answers to. When you're finally asleep, he stands, checks the time, and goes back to Dominic's room, dropping his phone onto the bed beside his sleeping form.

Billy almost considers hitting him, enjoying the thought of giving him a black eye in the morning, but that had the possibility of scaring him into not drinking again, and Billy couldn't have that.

So he leaves, walks out of your boyfriend's apartment, and does not set it on fire like he wants to.

NOW

You stare calmly at the elevator doors. The smell of hospital filling the air around you. In a way, there was an ease to it, a comfort in the sterile cleanliness, a place designed to turn chaos into order.

You sip on your coffee, feeling refreshed after popping back home for a quick shower and supplies for Billy. You didn't want to leave, but you knew you wouldn't be able to stay while the nurses changed his bandages, the wound too fresh to introduce any foreign bacteria. So you'd decided to make yourself useful in the meantime.

Frank was still here somewhere, waiting for you to return so that he could leave. You'd both had tentatively agreed that Billy should not be left alone under any circumstance, surprised that you and his best friend had been on a similar wavelength when it came to caring for him.

Frank's in the waiting room taking a call when you see him. He gives you a little nod, and a gesture of his head that tells you it's okay to go see him.

You do exactly that, making your way to the nurses' station to sign in before heading to his room.

You stop short when at the door, you hear the sound of female laughter.

It's not laughter exactly, it's... giggling.

It's obviously flirtatious, in that pitch that's just too high to be normal.

You hear Billy's voice next, too far away to make out what he's saying but he sounds polite.

Followed by more giggling.

Pure jealousy rears its head.

You had only been gone for an hour and someone had taken the opportunity to begin flirting with your husband?

Something dark blooms inside you, and you take a deep breath, and walk through the doors with your head high.

Two pairs of eyes turn to look at you.

"I'm back." You say calmly, smiling.

Billy smiles at you, his hair askew in every direction as if he hasn't ever heard of a brush. It's adorable, makes him look so much more boyish than usual. Your eyes go to the young nurse, that's currently taking Billy's blood pressure, quietly sizing her up, deciding if she was worth any sort of trouble at all.

"Hey baby, did you get one of those for me?" He asks, referring to the cappuccino in your hands.

You look down at him, close enough to see the tiredness under his eyes although you know this is the most amount of sleep he's ever gotten.

"Sorry, doctor said no." You respond.

Billy lets out a pained groan, and you can't help it, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his temple.

He sighs, reaching up to take your hand in his, you watch his eyes linger on your wedding ring.

"I was just explaining to Becca here how easy it was to ignore the pain for so long."

Becca?

Your eyebrows raise in amused displeasure.

"Yeah," she adds in with a wistful smile, "If he didn't pass out from the pain he probably wouldn't have gotten help in time."

Great, a reminder that you weren't there when he'd almost died. You're pretty sure that the only expression you show her is one of disdain.

'Careful,' you think maliciously in her direction, 'If he likes you enough he'll cage you like a bird.'

"How are his vitals?" You ask blankly, trying to get her out of here as soon as possible, ignoring the way Billy looks up at you in confusion at your clipped tone.

"They're uh, they're good! But-" She begins to say, but stops short and presses the back of her hand to Billy's forehead. You blink, clenching your teeth together. You're pretty sure this wasn't medically professional, and you suck in a slow breath to stop yourself from smacking her hand away from your husband.

"Are you feeling okay Bil- Mister Russo? Your heart rate is a bit high." she continues.

You glance up at her monitor in question, and sure enough the little number on screen next to the pulsing heart symbol was just a little above one hundred.

You knew that his heart shouldn't be going at near a hundred beats per minute if he was mostly stationary in bed.

Billy lets out a nervous laugh. You look down at him in confusion.

"Yean, that's- I'm fine- It's just... well... her." He explains, glancing up at you for a second.

Me? You think incredulously, blinking.

His heart is beating fast because you were near him?

Your anger dissolves as fast as it had appeared, stomach fluttering, you try to fight the smile pulling at your face but you inevitably fail.

He doesn't look up at you, so you grip his jaw, tilting his head up.

Absentmindedly, you're aware of the nurse excusing herself from the room.

You press your lips to his swiftly, delight spreading down your body when he groans against your mouth. You deepen the kiss and he accepts it eagerly.

After a moment, you pause, turning your head to look at the little monitor, His heart rate having gone up to one hundred and twenty.

"Still jealous?" he asks, with a cheeky smile.

You don't answer, leaning in to kiss him softly once more.

"Please." Billy begs.

"No." You whisper, bumping your nose against his, adjusting your body under the sheets so that you're both fully covered.

"Just a little bit." He tries to bargain.

"You move, and I'll stop. You cum, and I'll stop."

He lets out a harsh breath.

"You're being really mean to me." He pouts.

"If you rip a stitch, I won't touch you until they come out."

He groans, frustrated.

Unable to resist, you clench around his cock.

"That's not fair." he gasps desperately.

"Sorry, this isn't entirely easy for me either."

Currently, you were both under his sheets, on your back, both legs draped over his hip, while he lies on his left side facing you. It was a position that had made it very easy for him to slip himself inside of you, allowing you to keep his cock warm.

He swallows, looking at you with warm eyes.

"You feel so good around me. You know that?"

How was he allowed to say things like that while literally stretching you open? God, you could feel the tip of his cock nestled snugly in the very deepest parts of you, every inch of your cunt sighing in relief at finally being so full of him.

You feel yourself get smaller under his gaze, soft, gentle, unnameable in its unfamiliarity.

"If it feels half as good as it does for me, then yeah, I know." you reply easily.

He smiles, it causes butterflies to flutter in gentle circles within you.

"You're beautiful." he murmurs softly.

It's your turn to swallow and look away.

Your eyes are drawn to his bare chest, and the snake tattoo that resides on his shoulder. He could not be real with the way he made you feel, like all the air in the room had simply vanished by his command, held even further out of reach by the thickness of his cock sitting still inside you.

"You really mean that?" You ask, your insecurity gaining a foothold in your head.

He reaches for your left hand, raises it up to his face so that he can lay a swift kiss onto your wedding ring.

"I do."

The door swinging open has your eyes widening from your shared spot under the sheets. Thankfully, you were still mostly clothed, where Billy was fully naked.

"Bill?" comes Frank's voice in question from his spot by the door.

Billy winks at you, before moving the sheet off your top halves to reveal you both to the open air.

"Hey Frank." Billy greets.

Frank takes one look at your positions and lets out a tired sigh.

"You two are fucking, aren't you?" The exasperated sound of his voice drawing a smile from you.

You can't help the laugh that leaves you, giving everything away.

Frank's disappointed expression makes Billy laugh too.

"Alright. I'm walking out this door, I'll be back in five minutes, your pants better be on, Russo."

"Make it ten!" Billy shouts just as Frank gives another disappointed shake of his head, and leaves the room.

Clothed now, in long blue linen pants, Billy kisses your temple, one arm wrapped securely around you as you lie beside him.

"Thanks for being here with me." He says softly, his hands gripping onto any available part of you he could reach, anything to pull you closer to him.

"What? Is Frank not good enough company?" You tease, beginning to laugh when you feel the scratch of his beard as he kisses your throat.

"Frank is usually in the bed beside me." he says into your neck, and you laugh at the imagery.

"Plus," he says in a softer, more serious tone as he pulls away for a moment. You turn to look at him curiously.

"I've never had someone worry about me the way you do."

"Ever?" You ask.

He shakes his head, looks down.

You're not sure what he's thinking, but it looks like guilt, all soft lines and sadness and you ache to make him feel better.

You lean forward, cupping his jaw. His eyes are so open for you that you think you can see his soul in them- a dark web of shadows, that glitters with vulnerability the more you look.

You wanted his vulnerability, you wanted him to open himself up to you, and share everything he was, everything he could be, until you were full of him.

Until you could taste him in your mouth, even when he wasn't around.

"I'm here now, and I'll worry. I'll fight anyone that stops me from getting to you. Including Frank Castle." You promise.

His frown grows into a smile.

"You're sure you don't wanna ride me? I'll stay really still."

You groan.

"No, no vigorous activity for at least four weeks."

"You riding me isn't vigorous."

"Yes, but I'd consider your orgasms vigorous." You reply, contemplating the way the muscles of his abdomen tended to tighten up when he came.

"Wait," Billy says in horror, "I can't come for four weeks?"

"You'll be fine." You huff.

"No I won't be." He protests.

"Just let me take care of you."

He couldn't argue with that.

"You hate me don't you?" Billy asks.

You try not to grin.

You turn to face him, clad in only your plainest underwear as you get ready for work. Somehow, he still saw beauty in you, even when you weren't trying. It was exhilarating.

Unfortunately you couldn't stay with him, a meeting had been scheduled that you didn't want to push back due to the difficulty in actually getting the meeting in the first place.

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?" You ask, turning playfully to show him the back and the front.

"Everything's fucking wrong with it," Billy grumbles from his spot in bed, head tilting back for a second in what looks like a plea to God himself.

"When I get these stitches out, you're gonna be in so much trouble." he says with a little grunt.

You hum, in thought.

"You know, now that I think about it, I don't think I'll wear underwear today." You taunt.

Billy groans loudly.

Something delightful blooms within you.

Wrong.

This was supposed to be wrong.

The more you think that, the more you know that this is the most right feeling in the world.

There was nothing in your old life that could ever possibly compare to him.

Usually, people coerced into marriage were subjected to inhumane treatment, impossible and abusive environments, that sucked the very living soul out of them.

The most soul sucking being done to you was when you'd been forced to deny Billy the pleasure of tasting you last night.

The pleasure of tasting you... because to him... it really was a pleasure.

You swallow, sitting at his desk, tense in his comfortable chair. You'd become someone he'd wanted.

Or maybe you'd always been. When had he decided to marry you anyways?

You blink, shock spearing through you.

What if your feelings weren't real? But simply a defence response to your circumstances.

A tired sigh leaving your lips. A shake of your head.

Would you want him if you weren't trapped by him?

The question eats away at your sanity. You spin it around and around in your head and still you can't find an answer.

You're scared by it. By the notion of losing him.

You're also scared by the idea of staying with him, still not fully understanding what he was capable of.

Which fear was right?

And which one would break your heart?

Billy says your name in question when he hears a door slam shut.

"Just me, Bill." Is Frank's answering voice.

"Where is she?" He murmurs, throat dry, looking up at the ceiling. The pain meds held him in a state of mild confusion, spaced out so that he wasn't in any pain, but unable to truly focus on the things happening around him.

He hears the slow pour of water, peeks an eye open to find Frank beside him. He struggles to sit up, tucking a second and then third pillow behind him for support and gratefully accepting the glass of water from Frank.

"It's only two, her meeting just started so you'll see her a little later."

Billy nods, ignoring Frank's gaze as he sips the water.

"I've never seen you so down bad before."

Billy's laugh bubbles in the glass he's holding.

"What can I say? I'm a romantic." He answers flippantly.

Frank snorts loudly in knowing disbelief. Billy frowns.

"You don't think it's fast? Is she... does she have something on you?"

Anger spears itself through Billy, some at Frank, most at himself.

I'm a monster, he thinks.

He turns away, not wanting Frank to read the expression on his face, wondering if his look of guilt alone will put the pieces together in Frank's head.

"It's not like that." He says easily, thinking to himself what a sick fuck he must be to coerce someone so glorious, so awe-inspiring, into marriage against her will.

He thinks he hates himself for it.

"She told me you got accidentally married. I can't imagine a version of you, however drunk, that would accept marriage."

Frank was getting too close. Billy had to say something to appease him.

"I'd met her before, at... a company party or two. I liked her, but she had a boyfriend."

When Billy doesn't continue, Frank is forced to prompt.

"And?"

Billy stares down at the sheets. The very sheets you'd slept under last night.

"And when I met her in Vegas, they'd just broken up, and I wanted something with her, and I don't remember how, but the next day I woke up married to her and I was so happy."

It's mostly the truth, the best tale he can spin in his state.

"I know it doesn't make sense, Frankie, but when I'm with her... I'm the man I've always wanted to be."

Frank is quiet for too long now, and Billy is forced to turn his head and look up at his best friend curiously.

Both men stare at each other in silence for a moment.

"Alright, okay, I'm sold, bring her around to meet Maria and the kids." Frank says finally.

If anything, this was Frank Castle's ultimate seal of approval. Introducing strangers to his family was not an occasion to be taken lightly.

Billy grins up at Frank.

"I can't believe I had to lose my appendix to get her invited to a Castle family dinner. You're so gullible, Frank." Billy teases.

He's rewarded with a gentle smack to his shoulder.

You run your hands over the fabric of your dress, deep in thought.

Was it too much? You think you might be overdressed.

It was a lovely beige colour, maybe tan, knee length with a vintage design and little puff sleeves. You'd liked how it looked in the store. Now? You honestly felt like it was a little much.

Maybe Billy would be able to help you decide.

You call his name, walking out of your shared closet and toward the living room where you saw him last.

You spin the corner and find him already coming toward you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, dressed casually in a grey shirt and black pants.

You stumble over your words, your brain spinning too fast for you to keep up.

"W- yeah- I was coming to ask your opinion, but I am so clearly overdressed." You turn on your heel to go back into the bedroom.

"Oh no you don't." Billy says, and before you know it, he's grabbed a hold of your wrist, pulling you into his body.

You gasp, eyes widening on his face as he presses you against the wall of the hallway.

Your heart pounds in your chest at his proximity. Your need for him outweighs rational thought until you have to remind yourself that he's still recovering. If he touched you right now though, he'd find you already wet, and eager for him.

While you've been fighting your aching desire, he's taken the time to run the tips of his fingers across the apple of your cheek.

"God. You're so pretty." He whispers, warm eyes spilling euphoria into you.

He couldn't mean that. Could he?

You glance away, only to be forced into looking back at him when he grabs your jaw roughly.

The tension between you feels like an electric charge, that heightens as he gets closer.

It's like he's never touched you before, like the sensation is brand new, and not months old.

"I should change," You whisper, "This dress is too much."

He takes a deep breath, his hand glides from gripping your jaw to curl around your throat. Your breath stutters at the feeling. Something flutters low, an ache to be filled rears its head.

"You're gorgeous. In anything you wear. I'd want you in a ball gown or a potato sack."

Good lord.

When you smile, he brings his fingers up to press against your lips, exploring the shape of your smile, appreciating the softness.

"You mean that?" You ask, a little unsure.

His dark eyes devour you, unfocused as he looks at you, balancing on the precipice of admiring you and imagining just exactly what he wants to do to you.

"Why don't I show you?" He offers.

You reach to grip his elbows when it seems like he's going to kneel.

"No, we- you're still recovering and I don't think it's fair that I get to cum if you can't."

He lets out a low grunt, pressing his body roughly against yours, his palms against the wall on either side of your head, his forehead and nose pressed to yours. The intensity of his gaze makes you turn your head to look away, he's got the demeanour of a man starved, desperate, borderline unhinged.

He doesn't let you move far, fingers curling around the back of your neck to bring you back to face him.

"Little wife," he says so deeply that you're not sure if it's a promise or a threat.

"Lift your dress up for me, or I'll tie you up and lick your cunt anyway."

You gulp. The very thought of being helpless while he-

Fuck, but you didn't even have the time, Frank would be expecting you in an hour.

You let out a breath, feeling more than seeing the smile that forms on his face as you begin gathering the materials of your skirt into your fists.

"Good." he says finally, and you can only feel your body throb with heat in response.

There's the gentlest kiss to your mouth, something of a promise, a pledge that when he's done with you, you won't remember how to walk.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kneels, you know that when he reaches up to tug your underwear down the length of your legs, that he'll see the desperation he causes.

He swears when he sees it, drawing out the syllables as he witnesses the way your arousal clings to the little piece of fabric protecting your modesty.

You swallow, the materials bunched in your hands no doubt wrinkling with the force.

He takes his time, tracing coarse fingers over your calve, behind your knee and up your thigh, pulling gently to guide one of your legs over his shoulder.

He doesn't bother to touch your centre, circle your sweet bud with his thumb like he wants to, he uses his tongue right away.

You take in a sharp breath at the contact. The tip of his tongue meeting your clit affectionately, like old friends reuniting.

A shiver goes down your spine, you crush your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Billy." You whisper softly, tilting your head back as his tongue flattens on you.

He takes it slow, remarkably gentle on your hypersensitive body, having gone relatively long in recent times without an orgasm, you feel like just the right move will pull you apart at the seams.

You let out a little groan, sighing as his pace quickens, his tongue pushing deeper, so that he can get a taste of you directly from the source.

It's primal, soft, ritualistic in the way that his tongue worships you, your eyes rolling back in your head as he draws you close to your peak.

There's an obscene sucking sound, followed closely by a hum of pleasure from between your legs. You feel your body tense, coiled tight on the precipice of bliss, thighs trembling as he keeps his tongue focused on your clit, lapping gently, and then a little harsher, to be gentle again.

His beard scratches your thighs, and even that is an aphrodisiac by itself, reminding you constantly that it's his mouth on you, his tongue on your cunt, his head between your thighs.

A sharp whine of warning, your stomach tightens, your breath stutters.

A groan of approval from him, the soft twist of his fingers on your skin, as if to encourage you, to tell you how good you're being for him, and all you ever want to do now is be good for him.

Being deconstructed by his mouth should be a lot harder, and yet, Billy makes it look like a basic endeavour.

Your toes curl, head knocking the wall, you feel like you're coming apart, atom by atom, the force of your pleasure barely contained within your skin. You feel the walls of your cunt clamp down into a tight vise, as wave after wave of bliss fills every square inch of your body.

You barely make more than a quiet gasp- too inebriated on his tongue to even scream.

He keeps licking you gently, lazily, trembling shudders working through your system until you're forced to tap his shoulder for a reprieve.

Another obscene sound when he pulls away, looking up at you, his mouth and beard shiny with your release.

He puts you back on two feet, but your knees buckle once the full weight of you is on them.

He stands swiftly, arms wrapping around you to pull you to his body keeping you upright, a small grunt leaving him.

You blink, struggling to restart your brain.

You realise his grunt is one of pain, as he tries to hold you up, it's what kickstarts your brain into working.

You grip his biceps, straightening your legs under you and willing them to stay that way.

"Sorry." You whisper, trying to take a deep breath.

"It's alright. If I could, I would have picked you up myself." He whispers back, and you raise your head to look into his eyes.

Something unnameable passes between you, you can't put a finger on it- but it feels like quiet appreciation for each other.

He helps you to the couch, sitting you down before disappearing into the bathroom.

When he re-emerges, it's with a clean face and a damp washcloth.

He encourages you down to the car after cleaning you and redressing you. You try to tell him that you're capable- but he won't have it.

He slides into the back of the car beside you, and almost immediately tucks your body against his, pulling your legs over one of his for comfort.

You sag, still fatigued from such a powerful orgasm.

Jesus, was it always going to be like that? All mind-consuming and explosive?

You smile when he kisses your forehead, tilting your head up to let him kiss you softly on the mouth.

Delightful, consuming, everything about him was just so... tantalising, you wanted to spend hours learning him, take days to map every thought in his head, every idea in his heart.

He was a dangerous enigma, a slippery slope.

And you were falling.

When Frank pulls the door to his house open, he gives you both a very suspicious look.

After a moment, he lets out a long sigh of disappointment.

"You two better not fuck in my house." He threatens.

"How can you even tell?" Billy asks in disbelief, reading into the quiet accusations being made by Frank.

"Isn't it obvious?" Frank asks, opening the door wider to let you in.

"Hi Frank," you say in greeting as you walk past him. He says your name, with a small nod of acknowledgement.

You take a moment to appreciate their house, it's warm and cozy, with lots of baseball trophies lining the mantle over the fireplace. There's a lot of pinks and beiges, a cozy line of couches near the fire.

Before you can do more looking, you hear a woman's voice.

"Is that them?" She asks, spinning into the room.

This must be Maria, you think, as you watch her take Billy into an aggressive hug, giving him a kiss to the cheek before letting him go in a flourish, a look of violation comically painted on his face.

When she turns to you next, you gulp.

She's very pretty, with lovely auburn hair. You notice a large scar curving from the corner of her eye down to the edge of her chin.

You only get a second of awareness before she's taking you into a hold just as violent as the one she'd trapped Billy in.

You can't help but giggle at her blatant showing of affection.

She says your name in greeting.

"I hear you kneed Frank in the balls. Well done."

You splutter for an excuse.

"I'm sorry-"

"-Don't be," she interjects, "I wished I'd seen it myself."

You smile, looking over to Frank, who is mid-roll of his eyes.

"That'll cost you later, big boy. Come! Dinner is almost ready." Maria says quickly, turning away and you let out a little chuckle in response to Frank's apologetic face.

"Billyyyyyyyyy." You hear someone shout, and you watch in horror as a small blur begins racing to your husband.

Your mouth opens, subtly stepping in front of him, ready to catch said blur.

Frank beats you to it, grabbing his son under the arms and picking him up for a second before putting him back down.

"Woah there slugger, take it easy on Uncle Billy, he just had surgery."

You sigh, moving away from Billy so that he can hug his godson in peace. You catch Maria staring at you. You give her a smile of apology before looking away.

"Frank, I want you to meet my wife," Billy says, turning the younger Frank's body in your direction.

You can instantly see the suspicious look on his face.

You tell him your name, extending your hand politely in greeting.

He takes it, shaking your hand politely, it's the best you can hope for, being a stranger in their home.

"You're not a gold digger are you?" Frank Jr. says suddenly.

It's met with lots of scolding from his parents. You can't help laughing at everyone's shocked expressions.

"Where did you even learn that word?" Frank says, exasperated.

"In school." Younger Frank answers honestly.

Billy straightens, gives you an apologetic look.

"She's not with me for my money, junior, I'm with her cause she's sweet." He wraps a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

You can't look at him, leaning in and accepting the comfort.

You meet Lisa next, Frank's older daughter, she's polite, but you can also see the accusation in her eyes.

You figure it's nice, that at least there are people looking out for Billy, though, you almost want to shout his crimes so that you stop being treated so abrasively.

Billy had warned you that the Castles could be protective, that they'd like you once they got to know you.

You'd hoped that were true.

When Maria asks how you and Billy met during dinner, you both pause in horror as the answer comes to mind.

You let out a long sigh.

"We met a couple of years ago, at a Christmas party, my boyfriend at the time was working at Anvil." You say with a smile.

Maria nods eagerly in understanding. You can see how bad it looks.

"Alright," you say, finally having enough. Your fork clatters onto your plate and you watch Billy turn his head to you in alarm.

"Cards on the table. No, I'm not with him for his money- and I'm not pregnant either if any of you are thinking it. I like him. I like his stupid face and his stupid laugh and I feel safe around him and I never really had that before." You pause for a second, taking a sip of water before continuing.

"Sure, how we met wasn't the best, and how we got married was even worse, but I like him."

Billy reaches over, taking your hand in his, you glance up at him, your stomach tying into knots as you meet his eyes.

"He's my best friend." You finish.

You feel his hand squeeze yours.

Billy leans forward, his other hand cupping your cheek and hiding your mouths from view as he kisses you softly.

The entire table erupts into groans, mostly from both Franks and you can't help laughing into his kiss.

It lightens the mood though, and there's less tension in the air by the time dinner is finished.

Everyone helps with cleaning up, and you find yourself drying dishes next to Maria while the rest of the family clear the table.

"He's not someone we'd ever thought could settle down." Maria murmurs.

You look up at her curiously.

She sees your confused expression and tries to explain.

"He's always just been so focused on himself, there were a lot of bad things about his childhood, and more in the military, and we just never thought he could be in a spot where he could live with someone. He tends to push people away after a while. Even us."

You look down, letting out a long sigh, wondering what you would do if he ever tried to push you away.

Accept it, you guess. What could you really do if he decided he didn’t want you anymore? Nothing.

“But don’t worry.” She interjects, you look up at her, eyes settling on her wicked scar for a second before you look down at your dish, “He likes you, he really does, maybe you did have a rough start, but I have faith in both of you.”

Your mouth pulls into a smile, you thank her for her kind words.

You play Jenga with them next, laughing and tickling Billy’s left side affectionately to distract him while he moves.

He grins, his hand remains remarkably steady while you torment him with your fingers. Everyone jeers, encouraging his loss, booing him when he manages to get the block on top of the tower without toppling it.

Your turn is next and you smile happily as you lean forward to make your move. You feel his hand on the small of your back, rubbing affectionately as you pick your piece. He doesn’t try to shake you or cheat like you did while you pull your piece out. The rest of the Castle family boo you in funny ways, and you have this moment of realisation that this is what family feels like.

When you get your wooden brick seated next to Billy’s, he kisses you on the temple, murmuring a ‘Good job, baby.’ into your ear in a low voice that has your body responding eagerly to him.

There’s a look that passes between you, something warm and electric, the silent guarantee that if you were alone right now, you’d be ripping at each other's clothes.

It’s Frank that drops the tower, after Maria whispers something into his ear quietly, and you smile at the way he looks at her in half betrayal and half adoration as everyone cheers for his loss.

You see it, you understand why these people are so important to him, the humanity inside each Castle is a unique thing, that makes the whole family unit just work so easily.

You’re glad to have met them, and you’re also sad when you have to bid them goodbye at the end of the night.

Maria hugs you both, Frank gives you an almost friendly pat on your shoulder. There’s a bittersweetness to it that you’ve barely felt before, a real family that you can be a part of, a promise to reunite soon that sparks hope inside of you.

You leave, hand in hand with Billy, a little bit happier than you were when you first arrived, feeling like you understood your husband just a little bit more.

In the car, he lets out a slow breath, tilting his head back. He’s in pain, you realise.

“My scar is starting to hurt.” he confesses, turning his head to look at you.

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“We’ll get you home and get some medicine into you, okay?” You say softly, leaning into him, till your nose rubs affectionately against his.

He nods, eyes drooping as he feels your hand move to cup the healing area of his abdomen over his shirt gently. He leans into you, resting his head into the crook of your neck, your other hand moving up to play with his hair.

You feel him sigh in bliss.

You tug your heels off so that you have better balance to support him, encouraging him to lean into you a little so that he’s in a little less pain while you get him up to your apartment.

His pain has worsened by the time you sit him in bed and rummage through your cabinet for his medicine.

You get it to him first, making sure he finishes the glass of water you gave him before you begin taking his shoes off.

“You don’t have to-” He tries to sit up, “I can-” He grunts in pain when he curls forward too much.

You push him back gently, giving him a kiss to his forehead.

“Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You stroke his cheek with the backs of your fingers while you wait for him to respond.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

You tug his shoes off, and then undo his pants, giggling slightly when he struggles to lift his hips to help you.

You can’t help touching him, feeling over his thick thighs as they’re exposed to you. You kiss his happy trail when you see it, giggling when he groans.

“Tease.” He pouts.

You kiss his pout too.

Only after you strip him down to his boxers and carefully check his scar, do you tuck him into bed, moving to dress down for the night too.

When you struggle for too long with the zipper, you sit on the edge of the bed beside Billy and ask him for help.

He kisses your exposed back when he gets the zip undone.

When you’re finally in your silky PJs, you slide into bed beside him, noticing that he’s still awake, but blinking slowly.

“Are you still in pain?” You ask, tilting your head to observe him.

“No pain.” He answers, “Groggy.”

You sigh in relief, sliding closer to him, till you’re pressed to his side. Your hand slides into his rough one, and you quietly enjoy the feeling of being next to him until he speaks.

“I’ve never had this.” Billy whispers. You raise your head to look at him, noticing how unfocused his eyes are, staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly, as if to remind himself that he’s still awake.

“The old me would have never confessed to anyone that I was hurting.”

He turns his head, glassy eyes focusing on you.

“But you… The way you fight for me makes me want to trust you more and more each time.” He swallows, “It’s scary.”

He raises a hand, cups your cheek and you can’t help leaning into him, closing your eyes in hopes that it puts him at ease, that he doesn’t feel stared at while he opens himself up to you.

“No one has ever taken care of me before. Not like you have. You look at me- and I- I mean something. You know?”

You open your eyes then, staring at him for a long moment, finding that your throat has closed up from your abundance of emotion.

“You mean a lot.” You whisper, your hand raising to cup his.

His eyes are glassy, almost on the brink of tears.

“I didn’t know.”

You’re in the kitchen making coffee two days after, scarily deep in thought.

In the quiet of the morning you think about everything that’s happened. From Dominic dumping you to the despair you felt when your annulment request had been denied. You think about it all, and you think about your mother, whose call you had ignored yesterday after walking out of her house when you found out Billy was sick.

You didn’t know how to approach her, or what you would say when she asked you the question she’d asked before.

Before you can think yourself into a downward spiral, an arm wraps itself around your waist. His hand is broad, spreading over your tummy and leaving warm tingles behind, his touch so comforting that you can’t help but smile and lean into him a little.

“Good morning, Mrs. Russo.” He grumbles softly, letting you know exactly what he thought of waking up alone in bed.

“What can I help you with, Mister Russo?” You tease, smiling as you both sway together.

There’s a moment of silence, filled only with the sounds of your shared breaths as you enjoy the presence of each other.

“I would like you to come back to bed. It’s a Saturday and you haven’t cuddled me for nearly long enough.”

You grin, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah? And what do I get if I come back to bed with you right now?”

He hums, nose pressing against your ear, one hand on your stomach and the other rising up to cup your jaw securely.

“I can think of many imaginative ways to thank you.” He murmurs, the heat of his breath tickling your ear gently.

It’s something you could never even think to dream of.

A/N: Sorry I've been so inactive... bad things have happened, just popping in to post this cause I don't want it to sit in my drafts for any longer.

#accidentally on purpose #accidentally on purpose married billy #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #frank castle #my writings #billy russo smut

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dekusleftsock · 1 month

Text

I JUST HAD THIS REALIZATION IN THE SHOWER WHY HAVE I NEVER. THOUGHT ABOUT KATSUKI LIKE THIS.

So this is going to kind of go into Izuku’s bullying from Katsuki but it’s mainly if not entirely about why Katsuki has always stood out as a person, regardless of quirk or even leadership.

What got me thinking about this was actually those “American meets K-Drama bullies” on tiktok, which I often feel has a hint of xenophobia, but I digress.

One of the main points as to WHY the American in those examples would “win” is because of the cultural differences between fighting back vs shutting up and taking the beating. The main reason most Americans believed they would win is because culturally, a K drama bully would never think that their victim would retaliate, much less try to beat their ass in the first place.

Japan and China have similar cultural standards, especially to bullying (which is why bullying is so so bad statistically in Japan, with a whopping 57% bullying rate), and this “sit down and take the beating” cultural standard often permits bullies to continue to retaliate within the school. (Fun fact I was actually researching divorce in Japan for this due to some misinformation I’d read a while ago, but apparently Japan doesn’t have joint custody?? Like period?? It comes from the idea that a family is a set unit, and that were a parent to want to leave that unit, they are fundamentally no longer apart of it. No marriage, no custody, no child. You simply don’t see your kid very often, or ever. Sometimes this is even a decision on the father’s part, thinking that it’s “too painful to see the child after separation”, and that parents don’t see the benefit in children having both parties in their lives)

So, thinking of this in mind, I first went to why Izuku wouldn’t necessarily speak out or try to fight back. He wants to, he definitely almost does, but ends up standing silently shaking instead. Yes, fighting back may feel good, but even to people who would sympathize with said struggles may still blame the victim in this situation for “causing trouble”, it’s why Izuku and Katsuki’s relationship is even more interesting; it’s not just Izuku gaining confidence as he goes into high school, but that after he was given a space TO fight back (the first hero training), he actually started his arc on “defying society” and “not pushing things under the rug”. Tearing that rug to shreds doesn’t just mean looking out for those who haven’t been looked for, but also for destroying the standards that fighting back is a fault of yourself.

Tbh we also have this in the west as well, even those Americans who like to make those TikTok’s shaming people in countries they have no contextual idea to understand, much less solve. Because it’s not that fighting back itself would be hard, but that the social backlash would cause you to be even more of a target. It’s a lose-lose situation, so yes, a student will choose the wisdom of their parents and their elders that tells them to pretend it isn’t there.

But, besides that, in America (and I honestly wouldn’t doubt that this is in Europe too) the subtlety of that shame IS STILL THERE. I can even account for this in my middle school, for lightly pushing my bullies who ganged up on me, I was the one blamed and threatened punishment. The idea of a fight at all in high school would cause immediate suspension on both parties records, regardless of why or who started it. My brother in middle school was expelled for threatening kids who were both physically and vocally harassing him, and instead of any sort of help from the school, they REFUSED footage that might have defended him and my brother was then ostracized by my neighborhood/school district and thought to be some kid about to shoot up a school, he wasn’t.

Violence isn’t always the answer, obviously, but this is mainly to point out the hypocrisy of putting the west on this pedestal for fighting injustice.

I wanted to put this in somewhere but didn’t know where so it’s going here, but I find this take even funnier given the fact that North America has a 1% higher bullying rate than Asia which is so fucking funny and ironic

BUT BACK TO THE MAIN POINT ON KATSUKI, IM GETTING THERE I PROMISE🙏🙏

I think there’s this perception online of Katsuki that he is considered so unbelievably cool and normal given the context of his middle and elementary school, but putting it into perspective? Fighting your bullies, especially ones a year older than you, is REALLY WEIRD. Like, he’s an odd ball. It actually makes so much more sense as to why Izuku admires Katsuki in the first place. Katsuki has NEVER simply sat down and took the beating IN HIS LIFE.

And when you really think about it? All of that direct language, how rude he talks in Japanese (as in what pronouns he even uses for people, to the point that even the “softer” or “more intimate” pronouns he uses are… also kind of rude), and yk, suddenly, it’s almost like all the people at the beginning of their first year making fun of him… makes sense. And not just in a “lets humble this guy” way, they have no reasons to think of him in any kind of way really, they’re simply reacting to Katsuki and his odd way of speech and forwardness. He IS weird here, not just an asshole.

But EVEN GIVEN the fact that people know and think Katsuki is weird, he still strides along anyway. In fact, the only person who has ever gotten under his skin has been Izuku, who never even implied that he thought any malice of him in the first place.

Even now Katsuki continues to be himself to such a visceral, outward degree. I saw this post recently that was saying Izuku was actually quite mature for his age, but I’d argue that it’s less maturity, and more that he has just abided by a certain cultural standard of being thankful for the opportunities he’s been given.

It’s almost like Horikoshi has used Katsuki as this… idk, societal commentary? He certainly stays a societal commentary here in the west and our standards, often portraying more nuanced ideas of forgiveness and change and humility, but it’s different now that I think about it.

Katsuki isn’t just a character made to be rude for the sake of being funny, he’s an honest to god, walking, talking, culmination of what Japanese culture stands to change. It’s why Katsuki keeping his “hardened” traits is so so SO important. And it’s even more interesting given that he’s popular, he’s powerful, and he’s still bold while he does so.

Katsuki didn’t try to be popular, he just happened to do so. Explaining why he’s so bizarrely different from everyone else suddenly makes everything about his character make sense to me. Like, ofc Izuku would admire him to an almost worshipping degree, ofc he would stay in his life regardless of his flaws, Katsuki is himself in the most unapologetic way possible and THATS what’s truly admirable about him. His quirk, his determination, they’re both beautiful, but he’s the hero in his life because heroes inherently juxtapose the society around them. And that is exactly what Katsuki is.

And Katsuki, for all his flaws, never changed himself for society. He was always, long before he went to UA, before he even had his quirk, before he’d probably even met Izuku—been a hero.

#this may be super obvious to some people but to me it was always like…#okay I couldn’t explain why but I just knew in my heart that Katsuki was considered as much of a freak as Izuku was #just in a very different way #Katsuki is considered a freak socially. izuku is considered a freak physically. but they both kind of fall into their counterparts freakish #natures. Izuku is awkward. he’s a little annoying. he talks too much. but Katsuki is also a bit flashy. a bit violent. a little loud. yk?#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bnha deku #bakugou katsuki #mha analysis #bakugou #Katsuki #mha bakugou

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shinakazami1 · 10 months

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TSPUD: Symbolism of The Pink Room

@stelar-time asked in Twitter (I refuse to call it X) post about people's headcanons about the Pink Room and I thought I'd share this here, too

CW for some religious mentions

First, I'd like you to look at the dialogues in this part.

The fact that it's the fourth figurine is not a coincidence.

The Pink Room seems to serve as a symbol of nostalgia and of how memories can change with time. They tend to be rough and down the pipe you go, they do tend to lose details or get some added parts in, for your brain to make sense of them. That's why this room doesn't come at the first or last Figley and instead in the middle, as those are more often the parts we tend to forget.

What is interesting, though, is how Narrator questions it. Because a similar situation occurs somewhere else.

At the end of the Demo, Narrator starts to do a callbacks to the journey you had. However, at some point, he starts to mention and show parts you've never seen before. In contrast to the Pink Room though, there is not a single questioning involved. So, what's so special about that room?

You could say it's only a symbol of a nostalgia and fragility of memory. That he is recalling some moments he felt halky about and due to it, puts rose-tinted glasses which show off in a form of this room. Why hadn't he done the same thing in the Demo, though?

Memory overall seems to have a bigger role in TSPUD.

Narrator overall seems to have memory issues - he tends to remember some of the previous resets (skipping parts of the Freedom run after going through it nth time in a row) and completely forgets others.

That's why he has Memory Zone. He uses it as a photo album, not knowing it's as unreliable as his own callbacks.

But then, I did wonder... Why an apple? Why does this room show it and not anything else, any pink fruit?

And then, I looked at the architecture of the place and it reminded me of something.

Big window, a statue of some sort on a pedestal before it, pointed archs, to ribbed vaulting... It seems to match a typical church architecture. And then, it hit me.

The Apple of Eden. Fruit of the forbidden knowledge. Of somebody being there, someone watching, listening. Of him not having fun control over his creation might have been bit when we were jsut skipping around, only seeing part of his struggle in the Skip Button.

You might be then asking, why doesn't it have a bite mark then?

There are two possibilities I've considered:

1) it could shows Narrator's ignorance that he shows quite often. That could be true since he just tries to accept what had changed, trying to just say 'don't focus on it, it's a silly thing, let's move on'. He brings it up though since he already learnt from the Broom Closet that things untold seem to interest the Player more.

2) It's a memory within a memory. The apple before he bit in. It's the knowledge he beholds and shows us in a non direct way.

Just like the Bucket.

Nostalgia is supposed to give a good vibe but - it doesn't always succeed.

But this room can indirectly show Narrator's progress. The fact he knows more, the fact he can tell his memories get altered, the fact that - he changed.

In ways we misremember.

#My ramblings #Tspud #Pink room #The Stanley parable #Ultra deluxe #Figley #Figlurines #Theory #Narrator

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halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

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v. she works hard for the money (so you better treat her right)

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Warnings: alcohol, sexual harassment, groping, blood, violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

You don’t know what to expect from shopping with Valeria.

In truth, the woman makes you nervous, but Kyle doesn’t seem to notice your hesitance. He leads you out to his shiny black car, one that reminds you of the vintage cars your father used to work on, holding the door open for you to slide in.

Kyle keeps your hungover state in mind, giving you control of the radio as he drives to your mystery destination. You find something upbeat, singing along softly as you watch the city pass by through the shade of your sunglasses.

It dawns on you how much of the city you haven’t seen. Most, if not all, of your time has been spent in two places: your motel room and the club. You didn’t mind when you had first arrived in the city; you had no intentions of staying as long as you have, so you had no desire to go sightseeing.

Now, though…

You never meant to stay this long, but the more time you spend at the club, you find yourself wanting to leave less and less. There was never a plan for where you would end up, only to get as far away as possible.

You may not be as far as you had initially planned, but you have to admit you feel safer than you have in years.

“You alright over there?” Kyle breaks you from your thoughts with a gentle nudge to your arm.

“Yeah?”

“You just got kind of quiet, is all.” You see the smirk grow on his face as he gives you a quick glance. “If you’re gonna be sick, I can pull over.”

“Don’t worry. Your upholstery is safe.” You roll your eyes while Kyle snickers as he parks in front of a clothing store reminiscent of the high-end boutiques you used to spend so much time in.

Kyle gets out of the car first, and you finish your coffee in the few seconds it takes for him to walk to your side of the car. He opens the car door for you and walks ahead to get the storefront door for you too. Kyle follows you in as you push your sunglasses up onto your head.

“We’re not open!” someone calls out from the back of the store as you walk in.

“It’s just us, Val!” Kyle yells back. The click of heels echoes through the store before Valeria appears, a broad smile on her face.

“This is a surprise,” Valeria smiles, arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place. She’d been far drunker than you, yet here she stands, looking as flawless as ever. You swallow down the small knot of jealousy, giving her a smile while Kyle wanders to a case of watches.

“Got time for a fitting?” he asks over his shoulder.

“I already have your measurements,” Valeria says, brows knitting together in confusion, “why do you need—”

“It’s not for me,” Kyle laughs, nodding toward you. Valeria turns to you in surprise, eyes roving over your figure as her smile grows into an excited grin.

Like the cat that ate the canary.

She circles you slowly, talking to herself in quiet Spanish, before she slides her perfectly manicured hands around your arm to pull you toward the back of the store.

“Have fun!” Kyle laughs behind you. You turn around to see him heading back out of the store.

“What? Where are you going?”

He spins on his heel, leaning back against the door to open it with a wide smile. With a wink, he waves his phone at you, leaving the store as Valeria leads you to a large dressing room immaculately decorated in black and gold.

“Stand here.” She pulls you up onto the round fitting-pedestal, leaving you in front of the wall of mirrors. She disappears from the room, but you can hear her heels as she walks around the store. You focus on your reflection while she’s gone, fixing your hair and adjusting your jacket sleeves to be a little more presentable. You doubt Valeria cares about your slight dishevelment; you’re sure she understands more than anything.

“Take off your jacket,” Valeria says as she returns, tailor’s tape in hand. You do as she says, folding your jacket before she takes it from you and sets it aside. She takes her measurements, working quickly and quietly. When she does talk, it’s soft and to herself.

You find yourself in an odd sort of peace, following Valeria’s instructions and letting her work without having to worry about small talk.

You reflect on the many other dressing rooms you’ve spent time in. You always found a sense of excitement in getting dressed up, in getting to choose your favorite colors and fabrics and turning them into something that would make you feel like a million bucks. It had been fun, filled with talking and laughter, but now that you think back on it, how many times have you actually enjoyed yourself? Was it really fun, or was it smiles and giggles to save face—a quick response to preserve your safety?

A dull thrum of pain dances across your left shoulder as Valeria slides her tape across the top of your back, the tips of her fingers skimming over the raised skin beneath your shirt. If she notices, she doesn’t comment.

“If you can, I’d prefer something with sleeves,” you say softly. She gives you a quick glance in the mirror, her sharp gaze sending a shock of anxiety through you. “They don’t have to be long or anything. I just…I would prefer—”

She finishes her measurements of your back, fingers purposely lingering over your left shoulder an extra second longer. You’re sure she feels how your body suddenly tenses, but she meets your eyes in your reflection and smiles—a gentler expression than you thought her capable of.

“Sleeves are no problem,” Valeria smiles, winding the measuring around her hand as she steps down from the platform. “Do you have a fabric preference?” You turn to her this time, allowing yourself to relax and feel a little thrill of excitement.

“What kind do you have?”

Kyle returns to the store three hours later with a sleek black box in hand. He expects to find you and Valeria in the back, possibly in one of the fitting rooms or going over fabrics. He expects to have to search for you.

He doesn’t expect to walk into music blaring over the shop speakers as you and Valeria sit on one of the plush sofas. The two of you laugh, surrounded by bags and boxes, as you sip from a tall glass of something pale green and bubbly. Valeria notices him first, smiling at him over her drink.

“Glad to see you two are getting on,” Kyle laughs, holding the box out to you.

“I get along with everyone,” Valeria smirks up at him while you giggle into your glass.

“Of course,” Kyle scoffs. You take the box from him, and he takes a seat on the sofa across from you and Valeria. You don’t waste time opening it, staring wide-eyed at the sleek, black phone inside.

“It already has everyone’s numbers, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away from what will be the first cell phone you’ve owned in years.

“You seem surprised,” Kyle chuckles.

“I…Honestly, I was expecting a flip phone or something.”

Kyle laughs loudly as Valeria sets a hand to her chest, scoffing in disgust.

“My father would’ve killed me,” Kyle laughs.

You roll your eyes, setting the box aside and searching through your jacket for your wallet, “Just tell me how much I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Kyle says in slight surprise, “It’s a gift.”

“She won’t let me pay for the clothes—” You scoff, nodding to a very smug Valeria, “—the least you can do is let me pay for the phone.”

“Aw, my sweet avecita,” Valeria coos, giving you a teasing pout as she leans in closer, “Our little family doesn’t pay for things. Everything’s on the house, or the house burns down.” She leans back, lounging against the sofa with a smirk and a glint in her eyes that tells you she is dead serious. You glance at Kyle, expecting him to laugh it off, but he shrugs and nods at you.

You set your wallet down, tucking it back into your jacket pocket. “Nevermind, then.”

“Just say thank you,” Valeria says, setting her glass on the small side table beside the sofa.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Valeria winks.

“We’ll be taking our leave, then. Gotta get this one set up with Roach and Farah,” Kyle says, pushing himself to his feet and beginning to collect your bags. You finish your drink, gathering the remaining bags before Kyle can get to them. Valeria walks the two of you to the door, holding it open for you.

“I’ll have the rest of the pieces sent to your father,” she tells Kyle, who nods as he loads the backseat with bags.

“And I’ll see you later,” she says, turning to you with a wide smile. “You still owe me a game of pool.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you laugh, giving her a mock salute. She rolls her eyes, batting you on the arm. Kyle takes the rest of your bags, safely tucking them away in the car before opening the passenger door for you.

“Thanks for the help, Val,” Kyle says as you get into the car. Valeria leans against the door, watching Kyle slide into the driver’s seat and start the car. She gives a small wave of her fingers, disappearing back into her store as the car pulls onto the street.

“Alright,” Kyle speaks, looking at you with a small half-smile. “Ready to get to work?”

It takes some shifting, but you adjust your schedule enough to be able to rehearse with Farah and Roach and still keep up with your cleaning job. It helps that the others put in a little more effort to keep things cleaner for you, and you do your best to thank them whenever you get the chance.

Your next two months are spent cleaning in the mornings, rehearsing in the afternoons, and shadowing Farah at night. You’re given your own space backstage for your clothes and a place to do your makeup when the time comes.

Outside of work, you find yourself on your phone trying to catch up on the various group chats Soap and Kyle have added you to. It’s a lot for you, but you relish in the busy schedule; the exhaustion lets you sleep easier on your dingy motel mattress, and the sense of freedom, of having your own life, trumps any kind of stress your new working hours may cause.

Rehearsals are a blast. Roach and Farah make it fun for you, Roach teaching you sign language during your breaks, and Farah teaching you a few songs in Arabic.

Your audience consists of Alex, whose attention is almost always on Farah, and Soap and Kyle, the latter being more than happy to cheer you on while the former goes through your phone to change everyone’s contact names and ringtones.

Occasionally Ghost will shadow Price as he joins the others at the bar, watching with amused interest. Price doesn’t say much; he simply watches, offering polite applause when appropriate and leaving before rehearsals end.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous, but it’s a fight figuring out where your nerves stem from.

You want to do good, want to impress the club, but something stirs in the pit of your stomach when you catch those steely blue eyes focusing on you. Yes, you want to impress them, to make them proud, but there’s a baser, far more selfish desire to show Price specifically just how good you are. You want him to notice you.

Don’t get involved with your boss, you remind yourself.

You push the feeling down, trying to keep your composure as Price stays for more and more rehearsals. You put in a little extra effort, pretending not to notice him noticing you and allowing yourself the confidence boost whenever he flashes you a smile.

It isn’t until the fourth week that he stays through the entire rehearsal, walking up next to you with a gentle hand splayed across your back.

“You’re doing a great job,” he murmurs in your ear as he reaches past you to grab a drink from Alex. He lets his hand linger before pulling away with a look that nearly sends you to your knees. You feel the blush that immediately floods your face and catch the smirk on his as he turns away to talk to Farah.

That bastard.

As embarrassed—and slightly turned on—as you are, you take the compliment and ride the high his praise gives you for the rest of the week.

After two and a half months of rehearsing, you lie back on the bed in your motel room, listening to one of the many playlists you and Farah created together as you try to get a quick nap before you have to return to the club. Your phone chimes from where it sits, charging on your tilted nightstand. As you pick it up, it chimes again, the name GAZ popping up on your screen.

You sit up, swiping open the message. It’s two quick, simple messages: Can you come in early tonight? Farah needs your help with something. You don’t see the harm in it; you’ve helped out her and Roach during shows a few times. You reply with a thumbs up that Kyle responds to with a ‘thank you’ and a smiley face.

You freshen up, hurrying out to your car. You listen to your playlist on the way, humming along and tapping to the beat on your steering wheel. When you pull into the back and lock your car, you do your usual double and triple-check before making your way inside.

“Hey!” Alex calls out when you come into view of the bar. He sets a mug on the bar for you, and when you pick it up, the pleasurable scent of lemon and ginger fills your nose. “Farah’s waiting backstage for you,” he smiles.

“Thanks, Alex,” you hum, wrapping your hands around the warm mug and heading toward the stage. You sip from the mug, humming at the delicious taste. “Tea’s great, by the way!” you call over your shoulder, hearing Alex’s laugh as you walk backstage.

You see Farah first, sitting at her vanity as she talks with Kyle and Roach. You pause, not expecting to see anyone beside Farah, and are even more surprised when Valeria walks up, Soap trailing behind her with arms full of your dresses.

“Looks like a party back here,” you laugh.

“There she is!” Soap cheers, setting the clothes down carefully over one of the chairs before pulling you in for a hug. “’Bout time you got here.”

“I’m not even late,” you scoff, playfully pushing him away.

“You're here just in time,” Farah says, smiling widely. You want to smile back, but notice how everyone else matches her grin as they stare at you, Valeria and Kyle appearing extra smug.

“You’re not about to ask me to do something illegal, are you?” you ask, looking between the small crowd of your co-workers and friends.

“Of course not,” Kyle frowns in mock offense.

“Not yet, anyway,” Valeria adds quietly.

“Wha—”

“I’m not performing tonight,” Farah steps in. Your concern for Valeria’s words melts into concern for Farah as your eyes glance over her, looking for any injuries or reason for worry.

“You’re not? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Canary,” Farah laughs lightly.

“Then why aren’t you…”

“Because you’re performing instead.”

If you didn’t have your hand woven through the handle of your mug, you’re sure it would’ve slipped from your grasp.

“I’m…what?”

“You’re taking my place tonight!” Farah smiles, standing from her chair to start sorting through your dresses.

“And if you do well enough, we’ll put you on stage a few nights a week until Farah leaves,” Kyle explains.

“And…Price is okay with this?” You immediately take a sip of your tea after asking, hoping to excuse the warmth in your cheeks with the heat from the drink.

“It was his idea,” Roach signs, shoulders shaking in soft laughter. “And it won’t be for the whole night, just a small set.”

“Think the old man’s got a soft spot for ya,” Soap chuckles.

Ignore him.

Don’t think about your boss.

Your very handsome, tall, strong—

Stop it.

“Well,” you sigh, “guess tonight’s as good a night as any.” You’re met with a chorus of cheers as Valeria ushers the guys out of the room while Farah begins holding up dresses, trying to find the best one for you.

“Put her in something blue,” Valeria says, not even looking at the two of you.

You can’t help but ask, “Why blue?”

“Hasn’t even finished her first performance, and she’s already questioning my fashion choices,” Valeria tisks.

“Means she’s learning,” Farah laughs, sending you a wink as she holds up a dress that’s all baby blue and silk. “Try this on.”

You set your mug down, take the dress from Farah, and move behind one of the screens to change.

You have to admit, Valeria knows what she’s talking about. The dress is exquisite, soft on your skin, and backless with long sleeves, a plunging neckline, and a high slit. Your shoulder is covered perfectly, the fabric gentle against the raised skin.

You step out from behind the screen, Valeria letting out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Told you,” Valeria smirks over to Farah.

Farah leads you to your vanity, sitting you down away from the mirror. You peer over your shoulder, seeing your makeup laid on the vanity. Farah sorts through different eyeshadow palettes, trying to find something to match the color of your dress.

Something gently grazes your right ear, and you jump, flinching slightly away from Valeria’s hand.

“Easy,” Valeria laughs, but her eyes narrow in brief curiosity. It’s a quick flash, easily covered by a polite, professional smile. “I was going to do your hair.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Right of passage,” Farah laughs from your other side. “It’s your first night, so we get to dress you up.”

“Don’t worry, avecita.” Valeria purrs, taking a piece of your hair between her fingers. “It’ll be fun.”

She's right, of course.

Farah does your makeup while Valeria does your hair, the two passing jokes and comments back and forth as they do.

You’re reminded of the few sleepovers you were allowed as a child with the daughters of your father’s acquaintances. You’d always loved those sleepovers, even if you hadn’t been close with the other girls there. You enjoyed the brief sense of normalcy and the fun of going through your mother’s closet to dress up in her finest clothes, those few memories you’ve held close to your heart in the years since.

It’s far more enjoyable with Farah and Valeria. It’s no sleepover, but you feel far closer to them than any of the girls from previous times. They make their makeover enjoyable—like two sisters helping you get ready for a party.

“Alright,” Valeria says as she and Farah take a step back. “All done.”

Farah gives you a once-over, nudging Valeria’s arm and muttering, “Shoes.” Valeria glances down at your boot-clad feet and nods.

“Can you walk in heels?” Valeria asks.

I’ve spent most of my life in stilettos.

“Yeah, no problem,” you smile. Valeria gives a soft hum of approval, walking away and returning seconds later with a pair of strappy, jewel-toned heels. They give you a minute to change your shoes, stepping back as you stand up.

You turn to the mirror, taking in your appearance. If there was a word you would use to describe yourself, it would be stunning. You can’t help the smile as you take the chance to twirl in the dress, admiring the way it sits on your figure.

You haven’t felt this beautiful since—

You try not to tense, smile dropping slightly as you swallow the sudden anxiety and calm your heart.

Taking a deep breath, you catch the eyes of Valeria and Farah in the mirror, the two of them proudly examining their work. You broaden your smile, shaking any memories from your mind as you turn to face them.

“Perfect,” you grin.

“We can practice back here until the show starts,” Farah says, tapping something on her phone before taking a seat at her own vanity. Valeria adjusts your hair one last time, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before she takes her leave, wishing you luck in a voice far more teasing than encouraging.

Roach appears backstage, jaw dropping as he takes in your appearance. “You look great.”

You blush at the compliment before Roach returns to business mode, and he and Farah take the next half hour walking through the setlist with you. It’s all songs you’ve practiced with her and nothing you haven’t done before, at the club or the one before.

As the first noises of the crowd begin to echo through the club, Roach leaves you and Farah. Farah stands, helping you up with a soft smile.

She gets you set up at the microphone, just behind the thick velvet curtains sitting closed on the stage.

“You’re going to do great,” she says gently, squeezing your hands before taking her leave.

Finally alone, you take a deep breath, shut your eyes tight, and roll your shoulders back.

You hear the voice in the back of your mind, murmuring quietly into your ears as the feel of calloused hands ghost over your back.

My sweet little songbird.

Try not to disappoint, darlin'.

You shiver, hands tightening into fists. Focusing on the noise around you, you take another deep breath, absorbing yourself in your surroundings.

He’s not here.

You’re safe here.

You’ve got this.

It has to be enough for you as the music starts, blaring throughout the club. You count yourself in, belting out the first note as the curtains slide open, and you're met with curious faces and excited cheers.

It feels good to sing again.

It feels good to perform.

You let loose, allow this time to be enjoyed and give it your absolute all.

You focus mainly on the bar where Alex, Farah, and, surprisingly, Nikolai cheer you on, applauding after every song.

Sometimes you spot Soap as he serves the patrons, and he makes a point to whistle and wink whenever you lock eyes.

Kyle spends most of his time bouncing back and forth between the bar and the dancefloor, where he twirls around a familiar woman in a beautiful teal dress.

Halfway through your set, you spot Price talking with Nikolai and Ghost hovering nearby. Nikolai claps him on the back, and the two turn to watch you.

Fuck it.

You up your performance—a slight shimmy here, a little shake of your hips there—doing your best to entertain the crowd and tease the hell out of your boss. It works, the dancers whistling and shouting while Price leans back against the bar, legs spread wide as he reclines and drums his finger along his thigh.

Your ego boosted, you continue the show with that same passion until you reach the final two songs. As you reach your last song, you begin to wind down, a little less oomph in your performance.

As you finish, the crowd goes wild. Roach transitions into one of his playlists. The moment the curtains pull shut, you take several hurried steps away from the mic, taking long, deep breaths. You let the adrenaline slow, a wide grin plastered on your face.

You hear the footsteps first before arms wind around your waist and lift you to spin you in a circle.

Roach sets you down, beaming down at you in excitement. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you,” you sign back. Roach’s smile grows wider as he pulls you into another hug before he lets you go and returns to his post.

You pass through backstage, not bothering to change out of your dress. You make your way toward the bar, occasionally being stopped by a patron who offers compliments to your songs or your dress. It takes a few extra minutes, but you make it to the bar, waving off compliments with a bashful smile and polite goodbyes.

“Nightingale!” Soap yells the moment you reach the bar. He lifts you into a bear hug, setting his hands on your shoulders when he sets you down. His eyes rake over your form appreciatively, smirking at you when he reaches your eyes again. “Parents shoulda’ named you Great Tit.”

“You’re showing more chest than I am!” you laugh, playfully slapping him on the chest where he has far too many buttons undone to be appropriate in a normal setting.

“Wasn’t complainin’, Dove,” Soap winks as Alex fills his tray. Soap lifts it, bumping your hip with his as he heads back into the crowd.

“You’re a natural,” Alex laughs, setting two glasses before you. One’s a tall flute of what you assume is champagne, the other a short glass of whiskey.

“What’s this?”

“The tall one’s for you. A celebratory glass for getting through your first show.”

You pluck the glass from the bar top, taking an appreciative sip.

“Who’s the other for?” you ask, leaning forward onto the bar top. A warm palm sets itself on the bare skin of your back, sliding slowly down until it settles on your lower back.

“That one’s for me,” the deep, accented baritone of Price’s voice murmurs into your ear. He leans forward to grab his drink, purposely pressing his body against yours. He settles against the bar next to you, leaning against the bar top with his hip while his hand stays pressed against your back.

“Quite the performance,” he smirks, thumb lightly running back and forth across your skin.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” you smirk back, sipping from your champagne, tongue darting out to swipe the remainder from your lips. He leans forward ever-so-slightly, eyes dipping down to follow your tongue.

“Well, I must say—”

“You were fantastic!” Price pulls away from you as Kyle comes up behind him, beelining straight for you. Kyle pulls you into a small hug, kissing your cheeks lightly. “I knew we made a good decision hiring you.” Kyle sends a pointed look to Price, who raises a hand in mock surrender.

“You were right,” Price chuckles, smoldering gaze boring into you. “She’s perfect.”

Kyle pauses, looking between you and Price before turning fully toward you with a devious grin.

“Fancy a dance?” Kyle asks, nodding back to the dancefloor.

You give Price one last look, setting your glass down and reaching over to grab his, fingers purposely grazing his. You down what’s left of his drink, ignoring the burn as you set the glass down and turn to Kyle with a toothy grin.

“I’d love to dance.” Kyle takes your hand with a laugh, pulling you to the dancefloor.

You get a few dances in with Kyle before Purple Dress, now Teal Dress, reclaims his attention. You don’t mind, as another man is eagerly ready to take his place, twirling you in a circle before pulling you in close.

The next few songs pass in a blur, spinning and dancing with this mystery man. You don’t get his name, but he’s easy on the eyes and dressed from head to toe in designer.

Five songs later, you feel your feet begin to hurt, politely excusing yourself from your dance partner. You don’t head to the bar, instead moving off to the side to lean against the wall near the doors to Price’s office.

Bending slightly, you lift one of your feet, balancing against the wall with one hand and using the other to loosen the straps of your heel.

“Need help with that?”

A body presses up against your back, hands settling on hips, fingertips dipping slightly beneath the open back of your dress. You stand up straight, trying to step away so you can turn to whoever’s behind you, but the stranger’s hands tighten, pulling you back harshly against them.

“I can handle myself,” you speak firmly, setting your hand over theirs and digging your nails into their skin. They hiss, letting go, and you immediately take three steps back.

You whip around, facing the man you’d been dancing with as he massages his hands with a scoff.

“Thought we had something going,” he says, stepping forward.

“We danced,” you say, keeping your voice flat. “It was fun for a while, but we’re done now.”

“Come on, sweetheart.” His arm shoots out, hand wrapping tightly around your upper arm. You pull back on instinct, but the hand tightens to a painful vice.

“Let go of me,” you hiss, trying to pull away. The man rolls his eyes, yanking you forward to wrap his other arm around your waist.

“Think you’ve had a little too much to drink, sweetheart,” he mutters, the hand around your waist moving dangerously low. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, hands vibrating with anxiety. Panic courses through your veins, and you follow the first instinct that comes to you.

You push against his chest, giving you enough distance to reach up and slap him, digging in your nails to claw at the stubbled skin of his cheek. He releases you with a shout, pressing a hand against the bloodied scratches on his face. His eyes land on you, angered glare filled with malicious intent.

“You stuck-up bit—”

A massive body blocks your view as the man cries out in pain.

“You okay?” You turn to the right, where Ghost stands, holding a cautious hand toward you.

“Ye—um, yeah. I’m fine,” you stammer. Ghost seems unconvinced but nods as someone groans in pain. You both turn as König picks up the man who had grabbed you by his collar, the man’s nose pouring blood.

“Please do not touch the staff,” König says, his usually soft-spoken tone suddenly far more threatening than friendly.

“Fuck, I think you broke my nose,” the man groans.

“Consider yourself lucky that’s all we broke,” Ghost spits before turning to König. “Get him outta here.”

König nods, roughly pulling the man to his feet and dragging him toward the front doors of the club.

“You sure you’re okay?” Ghost asks once König and the man are out of sight.

“A little shaken up, but I’ll be alright. Thanks.” He sets a cautious hand on your shoulder, and you send him a small smile.

“We’ll be closing soon, you oughta get changed.”

You nod once, then again more confidently, as you feel his hand lightly tap your shoulder. He walks beside you to the backstage door, only departing once he’s sure you’re inside.

You move on autopilot, grabbing your clothes and stripping out of your dress. You change back into your jeans and shirt, sighing in relief as you slip off your heels and put your boots back on. You don’t bother with your hair or makeup, deciding to deal with that when you return to your motel.

You step back out, heading straight for the bar keeping your eyes forward.

The club is winding down, the bulk of patrons gone now with the few remainders getting in their last drinks.

“Hey!” Kyle cheers as you approach the bar. He slings an arm around your shoulders, leading you to the small group formed at the end of the bar: Alex, Farah, Valeria, and Teal Dress.

The group cheers as you approach, raising glasses in your direction.

“I told you you’d do great.” Farah hands you a glass with a proud smile. You don’t drink from it, setting it down on the bar with a shy smile.

“I think a couple of us are going out for a few more celebratory drinks before heading home,” Kyle says, sidling up to Teal Dress and setting a hand around her waist. “If you’d like to join us.”

“No, thanks. I think I’m gonna head home.”

“You sure?” Alex asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that gets a small giggle out of you.

“I’m sure,” you nod. “If someone could walk me out to my car, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Easily done,” Valeria says with a casual wave. She turns around, glancing around the club until she spots Alejandro holding the front door open for the last few patrons. She lets out a shrill whistle, Alejandro’s head snapping toward the group.

After the last patron leaves, he closes the door, locking it behind them before going over to you. Valeria meets him halfway, whispering to him. You see him glance at you before he says something back to her. She blinks in mild surprise before her jaw sets, and she huffs.

She turns away from him, heading back to the bar with a clearly forced smile directed at you.

“Alejandro will walk you out.”

You want to ask, but the aura of anger oozes off her in violent waves, and you decide against it.

“Okay,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself and running your hands up and down your arms. You startle when you touch bare skin, realizing you’ve left your jacket backstage.

“I’ve gotta grab something real quick. I’ll meet you out front?”

Alejandro nods, and you hurry backstage. You grab your jacket, pull it on, and fold the sleeves up to your elbow. You take another minute to check your reflection, shaking out the nerves skating beneath your skin.

“You’re okay,” you tell your reflection. You give yourself a sharp nod, turning away and heading back into the club. The group is gone, presumably having left for their celebratory drinks, the house lights dimmed significantly down.

You check your pockets, making sure you have your phone, wallet, and keys as you slowly head toward the door.

“Please!”

You stop, hearing the pitched whine behind you. You turn around, eyes searching the almost darkness for the source of the noise.

You wait a few seconds, ears straining to hear something else.

It takes almost ten solid seconds before you hear it again. A harsh grunt, this time followed by the low murmur of several voices.

The source isn’t a mystery, coming from behind the slightly cracked door of Price’s office. You glance back at the front door, turning back to the office.

Alejandro’s waited this long. He can wait a little longer.

You creep toward the office, the grunting and pleading growing louder the closer you get. You press against the closed door, peering in through the crack. Pushing the door slightly more open gives you a better view of the office.

The lights are low in the office, the only reliable source coming from the lit fireplace. Valeria lounges on one of the sofas, sitting across from Nikolai, while Ghost lurks in the back near the bookcase. All three are focused intently on the center of the room, where a man sits tied to a chair with his face beaten to a bloody pulp.

Head lolled to the side, the man groans, blood dripping from his mouth as he tries to speak.

Standing before him, knuckles bruised, blood splattered from his hands, up his arms where his sleeves have been rolled up, onto his chest where the top buttons have been undone, and across his cheeks is Price. Tiny beads of sweat drip down his face into those cold and uncaring blue eyes.

“Let’s go over the rules of my club one last time, shall we?”

Price sets a hand on the back of the chair, tilting it onto its back legs so the man is forced to look up at him.

“One—” Price holds up a finger, “—No guns, no knives, no weapons.”

The man tries his best to hold Price’s gaze, but his head lolls back, falling over the back of the chair. He’s not as easy on the eyes anymore, but you clearly recognize the man who had grabbed you as he blinks hazily, trying to process the things around him.

You can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips. Covering your mouth to dampen the sound, you freeze in the doorway. No one in the office moves, so you keep your place, doing your best to stay quiet as you watch the scene before you.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Price slaps the man’s cheek before gripping his jaw and pulling the man's face down to look him in the eye. The man groans, tapering off into a pained whine. “You hear me, yeah? You’re still running your mouth, so I know you’re not unconscious yet.”

The man groans again, and Price huffs, dropping the chair and stepping back.

“Don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this one,” Price tells his small audience.

“Well,” Price sighs, “S’pose we’ll just skip to the most important rule since that’s the one you seem to be having trouble with.” Price rolls back his shoulders, flexing his hand before delivering a final, solid punch to the man’s face. Something cracks as the man breaks down into muffled sobs.

Price rolls his eyes, gripping the man's short hair and pulling his face up. Price stares down at him for a quiet moment before he tilts his head and lifts his gaze to stare directly into your eyes as he speaks to the man.

“You don’t touch what’s mine.”

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sarahblueskyyyy · 7 months

Text

Games

MINOR DNI! Dad! Price's best friend AU, Simon x Reader x Kyle, threesome, blowjobs, vaginal sex, squirting, rough, phone call in the middle of sex thingy, dirty talk, PWP, overstimulation, age gaps (I didn't specify, but make it legal, okay?) multiple reader orgasm, etc.

“Oh,” his voice is raspy—and far too relaxed, despite the visual that is being presented in front of him. He cocks his head and he physically have to contain his amusement when he says, “Guess you beat me to it, Garrick.”

Kyle’s laugh is light. His hands are still traversing on your curves, before both of his palms settle down on top of your breast, cupping it firmly from behind. You gasp softly, head rolls back against his shoulder. His fingers are absent-mindedly twirling on your bundles—yet, it is capable of making you squirm.

“Early birds get the worms. Glad you’ve taken notice of the invitation.”

“Hard to miss that one,” Simon remarks and slowly closes the door behind him. His gaze is unswerving, pointed at your and Kyle’s bare figures; both are sitting on the top of the bed. Doing a scrutiny is instinctual for him—and he catches the taut nipples of yours and how you adhere your thighs into each other; as if you’re afraid someone might peek in between them. “The little slut basically undressing us with her eyes in front of her fuckin’ dad.”

“Ha!” you scoff. The genuine delight, coated by a faux mockery, is being delivered graciously. “Oh—I didn’t do that.”

“You didn’t?” Kyle lowers his tone, nose nuzzles at your jaw. His lips are placed on your neck and a small kiss is given. Leisurely at first. “Then what’s with those gestures under the dining table before?”

You still maintain the playful attitude, tilting your head a little for him to nib at your neck. “What gesture?”

Simon rolls his eyes. He crawls onto the bed and the soft mattress slightly sinks due to his body weight. His body, big and carved by muscle, towering you as if he’s able to swallow you whole.

Well—in a way or another, you’re gonna be.

“What gesture, indeed?” he states back. Question is seeped with thick sarcasm. He stretches out his arms, fingers latched onto your knees, and spreads it out; and it elicits a small grunt from you. Arousal is clear and indisputable, as his eyes locked into your wet cunt, already dripping because of the subtle foreplay Kyle has been giving you. “Wouldn’t you want to explain it yourself.”

You bite down your lower lip. Kyle’s teeth are comfortably trapping your earlobe—not too rough it’ll hurt, but definitely not a tender one.

“This gesture?” Simon doesn’t wait for your answer. His fingers travel down, to your inner thigh, before the thumb rests on your engorged clit. You flinch involuntarily, tingle and heat crawling up from the base of your sex to the every end of your nerves. You’re sensitive—and the two pairs of arms increase that sensation tenfold. “Your hands accidentally brushing our cocks under that table?”

Kyle’s laughter is ringing mellifluously—once again. Simon has always been crude and raw with his words.

And perhaps—you’re getting a bit distracted by how that low chuckle beats into your eardrums, sending shivers to the centre of your heat.

“Maybe it’s your cock that accidentally came in contact with my hands?” you grin, both sides of lips tugging upward, and it’d be a lie if you told them that you didn’t find bliss in this whole … antics. Your antics.

“Wonder what’d Price says if he sees his daughter fuck around,” Kyle blurts out. His hands never stop—exploring, claiming, through the fingers that are pressing on you, feeling every slope. “Flirting with his old friends, offering herself on a pedestal—you’re quite the rebel one.”

You smile. “I’m just having fun and being a responsible adult—is all.”

“Being responsible?” Simon presses your clit. His thumb circling the bundle of nerves, reddened. Your breath hitches and even the smallest reaction isn’t escaping his eyes. “Is fucking your dad’s old subordinates—plural, mind you—count as being responsible?”

“Well, since you guys are taking the opportunity to stay—ah, fuck!” You wince when three of his fingers slide into your pussy without even a tad warning. Kyle holds your body down while Simon pushes into you, deep and slow. Squelching noise is heard, in tandem with every pump, and the stretching feeling is maddening. Simon pokes at the spongy walls, imitates a digging movement, and by God—you feel your cunt clenching on him. You’re enveloped with embarrassment when you realize you whimper and moan just by his fingers, but the way he plays with them, and bully your sex relentlessly, you justify your own response towards the stimuli.

“Ah—no,” you yelp out, verbalizing high-pitched words, and arching your back. There is a recognizable build up on your lower stomach, and it burns you, making you unconsciously stiffen your legs muscles. It doesn’t help that now Kyle’s middle finger and ring finger are circling your clit, massaging it with enough gentle force to render you wordless. Your breath heavily and you sense a tight knot down there, threatening to bust at any time; awarded you with a blowing orgasm. “Kyle—”

“Oh, not me, love,” Kyle coos. He can’t help but let out a groan, seeing your whole body trembling, tits fumbling in every littlest shake. With his other hand, he cups your left breast, clutches on it. “Beg to Riley. He might make you cum if you ask him nicely.”

Simon’s lips form a crooked smile. You can see a line of scar trailing diagonally from his left cheek and ending up on his lower lip.

“Ple—ase,” you articulate as best as you can. More in literal than metaphorical sense, your breath is being taken away, and the fingers that have been abusing both your spongy wall and stiff bundle of nerves are being fiercer than ever before. It’s just the starting game and your cunt already flooded by your own slick. You whine, muster the most adorable plead you can give, “Please, Simon—make me cum, pleasepleaseplease ….”

“Oh, I will,” he growls. He feels you are clamping down on his fingers like a vice and he doesn’t miss the flutter of your inner muscle. It’s incredulously warm inside and his head is almost empty except for the thought of replacing his fingers with his fat dick; wrapped by your pussy. “We will make you cum and scream repetitively that your daddy will know his daughter is a whore.”

“You’re deranged, Riley.” Kyle’s words indicate nothing but a pure lust and projection of his own thoughts—because it does sound heavenly; to break you and fuck you dumb, letting Price know his only kid is being passed around like a slut, enjoying the touch of a pair of older men.

“You gotta blame me for everything.” Simon’s orbs dart at your lolled head. Then, to your tightly-shut eyelids and the knitted eyebrows. The muscle on your neck is tensing, emphasizing the v-line from both sides of your jaw to your clavicle. Sweats create beads on your temple and the rosy cheeks, agape mouth—are enough signs for him. “Cum for me. Hey—let it go.”

“Be a good girl and cum for Simon, mkay?” Kyle kisses the side of your head. Fingers are steady and the rhythm of his strumming is not changing while he’s making sure you reach your peak.

“I—fuck ... !”

When you come, as if every single cell is exploding—it arrives strong and like a big wave washes the shore. You quiver and you practically hear your own heartbeat, running around and echoing in your ears. Your limbs are strained and when the euphoria is descending from its peak, your body sag, leaving you with a twinkle on your eyes.

Kyle snickers. The dark-skinned man caresses your forehead, wiping the rivulet of sweat. “Satisfied, yet?”

You put on a smile. A shake of your head is the answer you give him.

“Of course not,” Simon enunciates. He groans as the biting zip of his pants is suffocating him. The outline of his erection is visible and you can see how big he is.

You blink a few times, helplessly attracted to the view in front of you; the bulge that is in the same level as your eyes are.

Simon scoffs. “Don’t drool.”

And you return the simple jest with a blop of your tongue. “I’m sure you’d rather have me drooling.”

“God, this fuckin’ kid.” He unfastens the zip of his trouser, then brushes his own cock, still coated with underwear, before he pulls down the boxer to his knee, and his hardened cock is now unrestrained, curving up alluringly. You observe it from the bulbous, reddened tip, to the prominent nerves that covered it, to the hilt and the trail of his pubic hair—blonde and all.

“Yeah—she’s drooling alright.” Kyle puts his arm on one side of your face. Bringing you into a kiss, with his teeth nibble on your lips, and his tongue slips in furtively.

You hum, the clicking sounds are timid, but it undoubtedly reignites the fire.

“Had enough rest, doll?” Kyle whispers after he backs away from the kiss. “Wanna fuck your throat. Sounds good?”

You giggle. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

Simon is palming the throbbing dick. Pre-cum emerges from the tip, half-transparent. “I’m taking her first, Garrick?”

“Yeah,” Kyle answers the light-haired man. Then, he shifts the inflection of his sentence towards you, “Bend over, on your knees—can you do that for me?”

You nod and obediently do as you’re told. Knees and elbows on the mattress, orbs are looking up at Kyle, filled with anticipation and impatience grows in every second passed.

“Don’t worry. We’ll switch.” Kyle raises his eyes, looking at Simon. “Or we might even do her simultaneously. ‘S that what you want?” He ruffles your hair, thumb grazes on your eyebrow, down to your eyelids, and to the bridge of your nose, before it anchored on your lower lip, encouraging it to fall apart.

Simon from your back is landing a harsh, sharp blow to your arse, and you can’t help but wail and bend your body even more.

“Can’t do anything without an answer,” he says. The hoarse voice is softened to coax you into giving a verbal confirmation that the three of you have actually known, “‘S that what you want? To be filled with both of our cocks?”

“Yes. Fuck—please. Want you both to fill me up,” you open your lips and Kyle uses the chance to dig his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing into the surface of your tongue.

Honesty is a virtue. And for a while now—they have been the objects of your longing. Whether it’s one of affection or an undeniable thirst—to be honest, it feels a little bit overwhelmingly good right now.

Kyle’s dick is pulsating already. He prods the tip of his shaft on your lips and the sound of your heartbeat ricochets once more. Your jaw lax even more, welcoming the hardened flesh, a particular tang invades your taste buds. Kyle pushes his hips, lazily, takes in the feeling of your palate slowly gripping his cock.

He groans, head is thrown back a little, and Kyle’s arms carefully holding your head, slithers his fingers between the strands of your hair.

“Mhh—” The gag reflex is working and tears are building on your glossy eyes.

Simon kneads your ass and he mumbles near your ear, persuading and guiding you, “Good girl. Breath through your nose—there we go. Can you take more of him?”

The consistency of Kyle’s breath is starting to dissipate, and both you and Simon can hear the way that man is trying to focus on the pleasure of his lower body.

You mutter an intangible word. An affirmation that you can, in fact, take more.

“Kyle, push more. Slowly.”

“Fuck—,” he exhales heavily, sinks deeper into your throat. And when he finally settles in you, up to the hilt, he gulps down. God. The sight alone could make him burst out. The way you’re struggling taking him whole, eyes gleaming because of the tears—truth be told, this is not the first time he has such a fantasy. Sure is the first time he executes it.

“Good man.” Simon kisses your nape. His pecks tracing your spine, and he goes down until his lips end up at your tailbone. He taps his cock, nudging your pulsating arse hole. “Spread your thighs a little more.”

You oblige. The expanding access allows him to rub his dick between your flaps, smearing himself with the natural lubrication of yours. His callous thumbs unfold the labia and you can feel even more of your wetness. You leak out a short, needy whine—a manifestation of the coil that breaches your stomach.

Simon glides himself easily into your cunt and his hips slap your arse—and your moaning is high-pitched, composed from your throat, squeezing Kyle’s more strongly than you intended to.

“Fuckin’ hell—Simon,” Kyle sighs.

“What?” Simon would be lying if the dirty squelch when he put it in didn’t rile him up. However, it’s always fun to show a little façade, a nonchalant response, even though—he swears his sanity is crumbling down and his brain is addled because of the flesh that entraps him. The muscle of your sex is perfectly oval; it outlines the shape of the grith of his cock. “Fuck—she’s tight. Grippin’ me so hard down there.”

Kyle lets out a broken, wheezing laugh. “You ready for us to move?”

“Mh-hmnn.” You inhale. Your nose touches the slightly curly pubic hair of his.

And from that on—it’s just a series of pull and thrust. Kyle ruts into you, balls swat on your jaw, and when he pulls back, it’s Simon’s turn to sink your swollen cunt, ramming deep into the entrance of your cervix. Grunts and groans are heard from both men, ripped from their chests, synchronizing with the quenching, lewd sound from your fluids. You try to follow the orchestrated movements of theirs, but it’s futile since both of them practically hold the wheel, drive into you as they wish.

At some point, the movements turn erratic and uncoordinated. Simon is still as deep as he can reach; withdraw as far back as he can before lunges himself into you, pressing every crook of your velvety walls. When he slides out, he’ll lower himself a little, and he snaps back in with an upward roll from his hips and you feel the inevitable climax; magnifies itself in every strike.

Kyle is more vocal than the light-haired man. He abuses your mouth in a tender way—a contradicted adjective, but you couldn’t define it in any other way. His fingers clasp onto your scalp, his cock is entering the deepest part, racing himself to cum in your tight throat.

You wail almost pathetically—pussy is sloppy with Simon’s thick shaft burying into you and his hands keep wandering all across your body; catches your bouncing tits, rolling your nipples with his palms, appreciates you through his spanking on your arse.

“Argh, fuck, love, I need to cum,” Kyle announces. He grits his teeth; whimper escapes him freely. His pelvis meets your cheek with each pound. Cock surely bruises your palate and it’s gonna leave an obvious mark there. “Si?”

Simon nods. He bites down his own groans, voice grows even more gruff. “Yeah. She’s about to as well. Don’t you? Keep throbbing around me—fuck.”

Let me cum, I want to cum, your mind screams. There is a muffled cry from you, a varied train of mm, mnn, nngh—like a mewling of a dog, loud and needy, begging even without any syllable. At the same time, it feels too much—and you keep bucking your hips in a ridiculous attempt to run from the alarming sensation.

“Fuck’s sake,” Simon grips down your hips, stopping you from wriggling. “Pipe down. Your dad is sleeping downstairs. Don’t want to wake him up, do we?”

“Simon—,” Kyle mutters one more warning.

Simon nods. Hands holding on your hips as the intensity of his ruts increases.

“Cum for us. Good girl—gorgeous girl.”

And then—it’s a simple countdown. The tight pressure in your stomach bursts and your head once again spiralling.

Water-like substance is squirted out from your pussy, gushing like it is a small river stream, dripping to Simon’s cock before it trickles onto the bed. Your toe curling because Simon hasn’t stopped knocking on your sweet spot, scratching every part of your cunny.

Doesn’t take long for Kyle to catch up, cum smears your mouth, and he whimpers. The unbearable glee overtakes him—like an ecstasy to a healthy mind, Goddamn—the feeling is addicting.

“Don’t swallow,” Simon’s order is loud and clear.

Simon is the last to reach his orgasm. Your wall squeezing him, firm and quivering—makes his cock twitching to the point it is almost painful. When he lets himself fall to the edge of release, he’s growling a moan. His plethora of a load forming a dense milky liquid on the ring of your pussy, oozing out shamelessly. Like a white paint drizzling on your thigh and his.

“Good girl,” Simon appreciates you. His heart swells in an indescribable way as he reaches for your arms, elevating you tenderly, before he puts you into a sitting position; your back against his chest. He knows when to be rough—and definitely knows when not to. “Doing so good, aren’t you—sweetheart?”

He smiles when he realizes you did comply with his order. So, he brings your lips into a collision with him, and his tongue drives inside, tastes the same tang you do. The remnants of Kyle’s load, and it’s so messy, it’s insanely hot—some of it slips away from the sides of your mouth.

“Fuck,” Kyle’s eyes are a crosshair; secured at the erotic, almost pornographic view that is laid-out in front of him.

Simon pulls away from the gentle clash between two lips. His thumb swipes your lips. “Bet your brain is a mush right now, huh?”

You let out a choked sob, still trying to come down from your high. Simon placed a kiss on your temple. Hands cozily set on your body, grounding you down, sending a warmth from his burning fingertips.

“One more, okay? Kyle needs you.”

And before you could reply, Simon uses her arms to spread wide your thighs, pussy still sticky and puffy; the result of the previous activity. Kyle is positioning himself in front of you and inserting his cock into your pussy; still aching and sore.

You writhe and whine, “‘S too much—”

“Sh, hey—I know,” Simon’s tone is mellowed. In an effort to comfort you, he’s hugging your stomach, snaking his arms around you. “Just a little bit more. Yeah?”

“Mhh—”

Your head lolls back. Pelvis bucks into Kyle instinctively. The dark-skinned man’s thrust, a bit different from Simon—is deep and swift. It’s giving the impression of agility, but not hasty. The grith is not as big as the other man, but—it is longer, and his length rubs a different part of you.

“Kyle!”

“Yes, doll,” he answers back and grunts. The cumulation between Simon’s cum and your own coat his cock nicely. “Your cunt feels so good—ngh, fuck, love. Could do this all day.”

You mewl. Throat feels bone-dry, but you don’t wish for a stop—not at all. He ruts into you, the sound of slapping is more powerful this time. You didn’t realize how fucked up you are—quite literally—until all you hear is your own broken moan, blaring up to the air. Simon does an attempt to quiet you down a little by giving you a sloppy kiss between each thrust.

When the swirling fire creeps up to his lower stomach—Kyle knows he’s reaching his edge. His words are gentle and even though at this point he recognizes the signs of your climax, he still asks, “You close, baby?”

“Yes, yes, fuck—”

DRRRT.

Simon and Kyle are moving their heads faster than a fuckin snapping turtle when they hear the vibration from the other side of the bed.

Kyle slows down his hips and you're clenching; holding him still. His phone is lit up, and judging by the interval of the vibration—someone is calling him. He looks at Simon through the corners of his eyes.

“Why—what? Who’s calling?” you slur out, mind still hazy.

“My guess?” Simon extends his arm to pick up the phone. He scoffs when the name of the caller is written on the screen. “Yeah. It’s Price.” He throws the phone to Kyle and the man catches it with one hand.

“What?” You feel the instant dread washing over you. “Is he—is he know?”

“If he were, might have come here himself.” Kyle put his index finger in front of his lips. A simple request to mute any sound that might have been—obscene. He clears his throat, and when he answers, he tries to sound as calm as he can be, “Yeah, Price?”

He thought to himself—he should at least behave and bear it, at least until he finishes the phone-call. However, there is a hint of dismay in your face. A clear agitation that shows itself because the perfect daughter is afraid that her dad would find out about her acting like a little minx—is stirring something inside him.

Kyle smirks and rolls her hips; makes you flinch and slaps your own mouth. Deterring any kind of sound you might produce.

Simon widens his eyes, but, honestly—he’s not surprised. Kyle is a ball of unpredictable stuff and he’s not exactly the epitome of tame.

“Yeah? Riley’s with me. We can’t sleep, so we’re buying cigarettes right now in the minimarket.”

Simon rolls his eyes. It’s a shame to ruin the game, so—he participates in a way he can. Fingers pinching at your nipples, pulling it up against the gravity, before releasing them and letting it drop. And when it happens, you bite down your wail, the muscle of your sex is contracting—clasping on Kyle’s shaft.

“Yeah—,” Kyle masks his grunt into a cough. “Yeah. We’ll be back. Is there anything you want?”

Fuck’s sake. Couldn’t he just make it quick and cut the call?

“No? Okay.” Kyle grins widely. “Yeah. See you.”

And when that call is finally finished—Kyle wastes no time to fuck into you. He really needs to blow his load. “Simon, God—muffle her, please. ‘M not gonna go slow.”

“You’re fine with that?”

You nod without thinking. Simon clashing his lips with you once more. His fingers run to your puffy clit, giving it a circular pressing. Your gummy walls flutter and you’re sure that the up-coming orgasm will, for the lack of a better word, break you. In a good way. In a heavenly, sinful way, but still—it’ll drag you down. You’re overstimulated, every inch of body is sore, and the swollen tissue of your vagina has been working for far too long. The aftermath is not gonna be pretty and you’ll feel it for days, aching between your legs—but, whatever.

This is bliss. Simon pulls back from the kiss. He’s putting an attentive focus with your bundle of nerves instead.

It doesn’t take long until Kyle’s forceful thrust and Simon’s methodical massage on your clit finally evoke your third orgasm. The last peak makes your eyes get forayed by a short, a millisecond whiteness, and you’re doomed by the repeated ejaculations, makes you spasm all over—and it’s followed by Kyle’s own high.

“So good for me.” Kyle’s hand resting on your shoulder blade. He gives you a kiss all across your neck, to the line of your clavicle. “So good, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.” He hasn’t pulled out. He lets his seeds pool in your pussy.

Simon sighs. He sees you whimper, tears streaming to your cheeks. And despite how harsh he was in the beginning; he brushes his thumb to your face. “You with us?”

“Mmh …,” you mumble incoherently.

Kyle’s laugh is pleasing to the ears. He eases out his cock from you slowly. “Where did your arrogance go, hm-mnn? You said you’re gonna take us both.”

“That was before I knew you guys are fuckin’ massive and rowdy.”

Kyle’s laugh is rumbling. “You fucked around, and you found out. A fair consequence.”

You huff. When you remember that your dad was searching for both men, there is a reluctant diminishing gesture. “You guys should go back downstairs. Sleep in the guest’s room.”

“We will,” Simon says. “After we run the bath and clean you up.”

And—without wanting to sound too happy, you say to them, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Of course, we have to.” Kyle comes down from the bed. “Price is likely going back to sleep. He won’t realize if we come back 30 minutes later.”

You shake your head weakly as Kyle walks into the bathroom.

“You know,” Simon speaks out. He can hear his friend turning on the faucet. The sound of water hitting the tub is reverberating softly. “We can give you our numbers. Next time you decide to act like a slut—give us a call.”

“And you’re telling me I’m the slut.”

“Well.” Simon lifts you up with his arms, holding you to his chest when Kyle calls from the bathroom. “You’re the one who asks two older guys to fuck you. My point stands.”

“Then what does it make you?”

Simon scoffs.

“I’ll think about it and give you the answer next time.”

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