Tumgik
#poly angst
Text
Good Enough (9-1-1) Part Nine
Tumblr media
Imagine: Imagine leaving LA after feeling like an outsider in your relationship with Bobby and Athena as they seem to pull away and distance themselves from you. Only to find that it is almost impossible to actually walk away.
Warnings: Angst with happy ending, AU, Bisexual Athena, BDSM
Pairings: Bobby Nash x Reader x Athena Grant
Word count: 2,434 words
Universe: 9-1-1
Reader gender: Female
Tagged: @graniairish @madhatter-crazyasahatter-blog @4everflowercore @blueskyredrosegrey @agathaharknessfan96 @ljej95 @yoshinorecommends @horsedragonllama @forever2ne1 @clayzayden @multifandomlesbianic @thepotatoislost @purpl3-menac3
Previous/ Next
Part: 9/10
DENIAL
REGRET
ANGER
DEPRESSION
ACCEPTANCE
The five stages of grief could be seen as a series of rooms that all would pass through one day. Yet here the three of you were, stuck in different rooms with the doors thrown open. Staring through the passage, trying to make sense of this new world that emerged and encompassed you in a blink of an eye. 
You stood in acceptance, a warm and homely space with its eggshell white walls decorated to the nines like a log cabin from your youth. With a crackling log fire in the furthest corner from the entrance. It was as if this room was a perpetual state of your favourite memory of Christmas morning. One that brimmed with joy and childish delight, where anything was possible. A point to step off from into a new beginning.
Athena stood firmly a few rooms back, in the dark red shades of burgundy, scarlet and sangria with veins of oranges and purples dancing through. Sharp edges filled the space, reflecting the pain that lay at the heart of it. The walls pulsated like a heart skipping a beat before cracking creating a unique jigsaw. This room was Athena, her anguish and fury. This was every argument at 3 am, every screaming match over the small detail. That sudden rush of betrayal that came when discovering that you had been wronged, that desire to have the answers to the questions regardless of the pain that would inevitably follow. 
Bobby, he was starting on the outside looking inwards. Trying to make sense of what was playing out between his two lovers. He held none of the cards, and had no real answers to thousand or more whirling and desperate questions piling up. More appeared with every new facial expression or slight change in non verbal cues that were missed by most. He himself would readily admit that they would slip right past his gaze if he wasn’t completely laser focused but here was, gaze fixed flicking from one to the other. He noticed, he saw but at the same time, Bobby knew that he was missing vital information. There was more to the situation than a simple hit and run. He had been left out of the bigger picture and that Athena had discovered.
As the penny began to drop, he edged closer into Denial. That bland void of a room where the dusky grey walls gleaned. The furnished by a small moth eaten patchwork chair. The once thick foam had seen better days and the worn down barely brown carpet badly needing replacing. It felt foreign, disconcerting almost as if you had entered the wrong room but yet this was where you were meant to be? A room that easily generates follow on questions and what if statement at the drop of hat. That can of worms had been opened, stomped on to the point of obliteration. Nothing remained. For now there was no way for Pandora to now close that box and stuff back in all the horrors that had been unleashed.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This was a moment that he had never fully considered. Medical emergencies were given in his and Athena’s line of work but not hers. No, this had barely crossed his mind. He worried for sure, that was a daily occurrence. In those times when he was home alone, the darkness would encroach into his apartment. A heaviness would settle in like a fine mist blowing in from the sea and that inner doubtful voice would return.
Bobby could not deny that such abhorrent negative thoughts had passed through his mind at his lowest. Hitting rock bottom staring down at that bottle of liquor tempting him to drink away all his woes and simply forget. Forget that they were going to leave him, it was inevitable. Just over the horizon, there was someone better, someone young and not so broken as he. Yet here he was facing it down. His face paled, all whilst hiding by his mask but god was he scared for what came next.
Athena’s rage burnt hot, fast and was all-consuming. It was comparable to flash fire, that sudden chemical reaction that created an intense flame. It was there one moment then gone once it had rushed through the source of combustion. Right now, you were that primary source at the heart of the chemical mixture. 
The spark that had ignited her ire, whipping it until it had exploded. Once it  had drawn you in, like a moth to a flame but now you had to stand strong as you walked into the bowels of hell. The intense heat biting at your flesh, daring you to keep your distance. This was not the time to keep yourself at arms lengths, for that time had long since passed. This was a moment to remain as cool as ice, you were riddled with a multiple of negative emotions, each fighting to burst through. Guilt by far, was one of the strongest, second to acceptance which led the charge.
This was your internal struggle, one that could wait until you were by your lonesome self, grieving this loss in a darkened room miles away from this place. Full well knowing that you had haphazardly chosen the cowardly way, thinking it was the best option at the time. In the back of your mind you had never considered that all your running would lead you straight here directly into the heart of the furnace, into the very depths of your own personal hell. 
As you stood there, growing ever more anxious as each passing second ticked by. It echoed loudly in your ears, a constant reminder of the passage of time grinding to any of an almost standstill. Each second felt like an hour, an hour felt as if a lifetime had passed you by. Yet here you were standing still almost as if you were made of marble, frozen in time.
Even though this was the true heart of the storm, as the fast, razor sharp winds whirled around you cutting off any thoughts of escape. There was no way back, only forward. This would be far from an easy conversation. One that most feared as relationships formed, flourishing before obstacles presented themselves.
There were many moments that peppered each lifetime that were difficult to face. They had to be faced one way or another. You had chosen to take the easy path as you stood at the fork in the road but ultimately it had looped around, rejoining the harder path. A road unwalked, unpaved and full of tough choices. Ones that you wished and pleaded like a desperate coward stood in front of their executor crying out for mercy, but falling upon deaf ears.
Oh where to begin? As an impossible stream of starts to an inconceivable number of sentences and statements whizzed through your mind. It was a dizzying reality to beyond but this was yours and yours alone. Your anxiety creeps higher and higher with each silent moment. Soon one of you would have to break through, for it was palpable enough that it might be cut with a knife. 
“Ideally, this isn’t the best place for the three of us to talk but this can’t wait” Bobby steely and more serious than you had ever seen him before. The point of no return had truly been crossed. For now, you were standing face to face with Captain Nash and Sergeant Grant not your lovers. The mere experience was both terrifying but yet pleasing. As a redness began to blossom upon your cheeks, equal parts embarrassment to lust. God, you should not be turned on by but it was so damn difficult not to be.
With your lower lip rotating in your mouth, tentatively biting down each time that the soft flesh made contact with your teeth. You needed to remain calm, level and completely neutral if you were going to smoothly navigate through the murky waters that you were sinking deeper into.
You need to think before speaking, treat this like an interrogation. The world melted away as you imagined yourself seated on a cold steel chair, with arms resting upon the smooth metal top of a table bolted down to the floor. You were in her wheelhouse now. As the stern and unwavering eyes of Sergeant Grant met your own, nervously flitting from one spot to another. You catch sight of Fire Captain Nash just beyond, with his back firmly pressed against the wall silently observing the room. 
“You hold all the cards, it’s time to show your hand” The Sergeant firmly spoke, edging closer as she leant forward no more than an inch. It was hardly enough to be noticeable but yet your mind briefly wandered, removing you from your own perfectly constructed fantasy for a fraction of second longer than you desired. 
“Then ask your burning questions Sergeant Grant'' You shot back as you fell right back in, unpausing the overly dramatic scene as you leant back into the chair, feeling its sharp edges start to dig in. It was truly the most uncomfortable seat that you had the displeasure of being forced to use. Silence followed, with only the steady beat of your own heart to keep you company as you waited for the next question to arrive. 
“I’m waiting” You teased, prodded the quietly fuming Officer to see if she would take the bait and bite back. She remained silent, as the cogs within her mind churned, creating and then breaking now the questions that formed. As she worked through until she found the perfect opening line of enquiry. You would wait but he wouldn’t be the silent partner for a second more than necessary. It was hard to miss the rage circling within, fighting to break free and scorch the ground beneath his feet. 
In the way, he clenched his fists so tightly that the tips of his fingers blanched or how the facial muscles tightened as he barely held back his tongue lashing out with the strength of his conviction fought back, lashing out with the intensity of the tempest that lay within. God, he was ready to break. Captain Nash was dancing on the edge of a blade. One wrong move in either direction then all hell would break loose. 
The very thoughts of being on the receiving end of that explosion shook your world three inches to the left. It wasn’t something you had considered until this very moment. You were reaping what you had sown. With your focus fixed upon him, you had failed to notice her watching you watching him. 
It was only for a fraction of a second, the briefest of moments before you pulled your gaze away from his. Just add another string to your bow, staring at one of your interrogators. This was far more awkward that you would have considered it to be but then again, you never thought that a situation like this would occur. Yet here you were. 
“I didn’t wake up one particularly grim morning and say to myself let’s cut my losses and get out of this town as I lay there alone in my bed. You spoke with a waiving confidence that you feared would soon break but you needed this. To get what weighed heavily upon your heart off your chest. You continued on.
“Daring to hope that my phone would surge into life. For I knew what I was getting into when this all began but this went well beyond that” You paused to gather your thoughts before speaking once more. Athena however beat you to the punch, finding her voice. Her frustration is more prevalent than ever before. It was in the way she sat, back firmly pressed against the back of the chair. 
"Yet, there is no clear example of you reaching out, trying to raise the issue with either parties"  She said through gritted teeth, biting back. Her words awash with razor sharp accusations. For she had one firm goal in the forefront of her mind. That was to cut down to the core of it, get the accused to confess and admit the wrongdoings that lined with the story the evidence told. To see that bleeding heart and reach the truth that was desperately required for peace of mind, to move forward from here. Throughout, her face remained neutral, a blank slate that revealed nothing of storm brewing rapidly within.
The trap had been set, the bait firmly in place. All Sergeant Grant needed to do was to be patient and wait. The temptation to react, to bite back would be too much to completely resist. How long would it take? A few minutes or maybe as long as an hour? She simply could not say or predict when the cracks would start to form as your resolve chipped away. She was waiting with bated breath for your mask to finally drop then she would have what she was after but would it be truly worth it?
For that was the one question that she could not predict what. It twisted like a knife to the gut would as she lingered upon it longer than she necessarily needed to. She pushed aside but would not go away so easily, haunting her like a dark cloud on a sunny day. Ready to spoil the mood at a moment's notice. Was she really ready for the next words to fall from your lips? 
Athena held steadfast to the belief that she was but a sliver of doubt remained within, tainted this burst of certainty. Captain Nash noticed this momentary blip, this slight hesitation that fell over the surefast and confident Sergeant as her body language altered just enough to reveal her broken heart. It was only for a split second, there one moment but gone in the next but he noticed.
The Fire Captain abided by his promise, keeping silent in the background as Sergeant Grant conducted the integration. However there would come a time when he would enter the fray and say his piece. This was not the right moment, not quite yet but soon. His frustration weighed heavily upon his chest, his confusion at what he had missed. Professional pulled at core pushing back the overwhelming emotional centre of his being that bleed through the seams of stitches that held him together. Would this be the moment when his broken heart shattered upon the cement floor beneath his feet? He hoped that it wasn’t. Once had been more than enough.
144 notes · View notes
formari · 1 year
Text
poly angst is the BEST angst. best type of written relationship angst out there. i stand by my opinion.
13 notes · View notes
sunnami · 2 months
Text
❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞
Tumblr media
summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.
pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)
tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.
note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.
Tumblr media
“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 
You blink. 
“Get the fuck out of my room!” 
Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 
At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 
“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 
“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 
“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 
You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 
“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 
You slam his head against the wall.
Definitely the wrong thing to say. 
Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 
“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  
Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 
“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 
“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 
Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 
(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 
“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 
“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 
Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 
You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 
You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 
Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 
Tumblr media
ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)
“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 
Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  
“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 
(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 
You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 
Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 
Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 
“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 
“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 
Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 
“I know.” Harry grins. 
“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 
“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 
You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 
(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  
The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 
You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 
“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 
“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 
You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”
James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 
“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 
“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”
(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 
Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 
James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 
Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 
“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 
“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 
“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 
“Oi!” 
Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 
James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 
“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 
“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 
(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 
“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 
“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 
Harry wants to barf, actually.
After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.
“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.
“Away from you, Potter!” 
And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”
Harry chortles.
“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 
He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 
“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”
It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 
“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 
“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 
James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”
Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 
Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 
Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 
“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 
Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 
Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 
“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 
“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 
“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 
“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 
Harry’s eye twitches. 
Tumblr media
IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 
Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 
Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”
You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 
The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 
Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 
James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 
“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.
Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 
“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 
“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 
“In your dreams!” You shrill. 
You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 
Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 
“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 
“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 
Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 
“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 
Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 
Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 
“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 
You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 
Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 
“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 
To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 
“One date, then.” 
You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 
Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 
“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 
“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 
“And I want to—” 
“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 
You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 
“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  
“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 
“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 
“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 
“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 
“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 
“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.
(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 
“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 
“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 
“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 
“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 
“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 
(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 
“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 
“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”
Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 
He falls in love.) 
Tumblr media
FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.
“Oi.” 
The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 
“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 
Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 
You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 
Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 
Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.
She stiffens.
Oh.
part two
3K notes · View notes
sunmoonjune · 6 months
Text
raspberry leaves
Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: poly!geto suguru x fem!reader x gojo satoru [jjk au]
warnings: jjk au! geto doesn't defect and everything is happy :)) cursing, periods, severe cramps, painkillers and mentions of taking more than you're supposed to (three instead of two), lots of talk of pain, mentions of vomiting, passing out, panic, mentions of death, mentions of burning yourself, probably ooc megumi but he's a kid here (probably gojo too but I can't not write him soft), family au!, megumi tsumiki and the twins are here!, probably taking liberties on how gojo's technique works but oops, this is for the girlies with severe period symptoms :'), major hurt/comfort
word count: 12.5k
a/n: drops this and yells "scatter!" and disappears back into seclusion. I did not proofread this :)
Tumblr media
Gojo Satoru has never woken up so terrified in his life. 
It’s a horrifying thing; to wake up lurching from your sheets as the love of your life cries out in panic just a few hours past midnight. For a moment, Satoru thinks he’s dying – or that he should be – because as he rips his sheets away from his legs, racing to his feet with his pulse already roaring in his eardrums, he turns to find Geto Suguru crumbling to his knees. The dark-haired man is the one who shouted, his hands fumbling to grasp another figure, their body limp and hanging useless in Suguru’s arms.
It’s your frame, clutched tight in Suguru’s big hands, that steals the breath from Satoru’s lungs. Ripping any semblance of oxygen right from his chest, the Six Eyes user is left stumbling on his feet to reach his spouses as they crumble to the floor – you limp in Suguru’s grip as you fall unconscious. 
Suguru shouts, a desperate cry of your name as he finally sinks to the bathroom floor, urgently scrambling to cradle your weight against him and support your figure. When he’s settled on the ground, a hand carefully cradling your face, Suguru looks up at Satoru, panic in his features and his heart in his throat. For a tense second, neither man speaks, too terrified to properly ascertain the situation. Then, Satoru chokes out a desperate question as he stumbles into the doorframe, clutching the wood until he swears it could splinter beneath his hands. 
“What happened?” 
Tumblr media
But let’s rewind a moment, shall we? 
It starts two hours after midnight – well, it starts long before that, but it’s that moment you finally decide to pull yourself from the sheets and stumble into the bathroom. That moment, the one of shortened breaths and a weak whimper, is the one to incite the inferno that will wake Gojo Satoru in an hour or so. 
You’ve been awake for hours. Sleep was a stubborn thing; an obstinate, pig-headed bastard that wouldn’t allow you the mercy of relief even hours after you’ve been awake clutching your stomach and trying desperately not to cry. 
It’s agony. Beginning in your left side and rippling through the entirety of your stomach and down your legs, the cramping sensation seizes you with another tight fist and squeezes. It’s agony, and it’s been keeping you awake for hours. 
Your period is merciless. 
You’ve always had terrible cramps. That was a notion you had grown used to when you were young. Painkillers could only do so much, and you hated to have to take as many as you did just to function near normally. The first day of shark week was always terrible, but this? This was pure agony, and you were nearing your breaking point. 
It festered for hours in your stomach, sending cramps through your form in catastrophic waves and pushing against your belly until you thought you were truly going to die. The urge to use the restroom is horrible, but each time you drag yourself to the ensuite bathroom, you sit there as another wave of agony nearly pulls you to your knees. You’re sweaty and tired, figure quivering as another rippling cramp seizes your legs, and you’ve never wanted anything more than the sweet relief of slumber. 
Nothing seems to help. 
A hot water bottle is pressed against your stomach, the liquid inside near boiling as you clutch it against your bare skin – a bad idea, you know, but the sensation of the burn is nowhere near as terrible as the cramps. You’ve downed three painkillers a few hours ago, probably another bad idea, but you’re desperate now. 
You don’t want to wake Suguru or Satoru. It’s a Sunday night, and you know they both have work early tomorrow morning. They have to get the kids to school too. The four of your children always pile into one of your husband’s nice cars just a few hours past dawn. The kids get dropped off at primary school on their way to work, since it’s just around the corner from Jujutsu High. 
You can’t tear their few precious hours of sleep away from them. 
Not for this. 
There’s nothing they can do – nothing you can do but sit and try to ride out the waves of crippling agony until they finally stop. 
You’ve done this before. These cramps aren’t new. You can deal with them on your own. 
Can’t you?
But as you repress a broken sob, pulling yourself away from the silk of your sheets and into the bathroom once more, you’re not quite sure. 
When you reach the ensuite bathroom, another cramp surges through you and the tears you’ve been desperately withholding finally burst forth. Pressing your weight into the wall as the door slides shut, you click the lock and finally allow yourself to crumple. Your head pushes into your knees as you sob, trying to keep your cries quiet and muffled against your hand as the other clutches the hot water bottle against the throb of your stomach. 
You’re tired. You’re tired and you’re in so much pain that your fingers tremble and your legs shake. It’s awful, and you just want to sleep. 
But your uterus must hate you, because your stomach lurches and you scramble to lean over the toilet as you dry heave. You’ve never vomited on your period, but it sure does feel like you will. 
Your skin itches. From the sweat or the general grime, you don’t know, but you hate it. Your chest shakes with another sob and your fists squeeze tight as you whine out a horrible sound of agony. It’s too much and you wish it would just stop. Leaning back against the wall, you sigh out a choked sound as you curl into yourself. 
“Stop,” you whine brokenly, too defeated to even understand who you’re pleading to. “Please stop.” 
Geto Suguru wakes up a few moments later. 
He doesn’t know what pulls him from slumber at first. His brow furrows as consciousness returns, a deep breath leaving his nose as he sighs and takes in the feeling of body weight pressed into his chest. It’s a muscular figure, long and tall, so it must be Satoru. He’s pressed into Suguru’s stomach, body curled small in a near comical way as he attempts to tuck himself beneath Suguru’s chin. The long-haired man nearly huffs a chuckle as he pries open his tired eyes to see his partner. 
Suguru runs a loving hand over the mess of pale white strands that fall into Satoru’s eyes, his lips quirking upwards softly as he smiles. Satoru nuzzles closer in his sleep, letting out a happy sigh as Suguru runs his nails through the other’s undercut. Then Suguru shifts, turning over his shoulder slowly to find you as his hand reaches out to pull you closer.
But you’re not there. 
Suguru startles. Jolting silently as his heart skips a frightened beat, the sorcerer’s eyes rip open as they dilate. His hand finds an empty bed, the sheets cold and the imprint of your figure long lost. Suguru carefully untangles himself from his lover’s long limbs, his long, dark hair falling into his eyes as he sits upright. 
“Baby?” his deep, tired voice rumbles in question. Where are you? He nearly asks, heart pounding in his chest. Are the kids okay? 
Suguru knew it was weird you had chosen to sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. You’re usually more than happy to bury yourself in between them, cuddling close and nuzzling into their chests as you try to pull yourself even tighter into their embrace. 
But last night, you gently pushed Suguru into your place, offering him a wave of your hand and a lame excuse as to why you wanted to sleep on the outside. Something about not wanting to sleep yet, he remembers. 
He waits a moment, hoping you’ve just gotten up to use the restroom and you’ll return to them soon. The sound of Satoru’s quiet breaths echo through the space, and has to fill the long seconds by tracing his fingers over his lover’s back. Tracing gentle lines over the defined muscles, Suguru sighs softly and tries to calm his racing pulse. 
A minute passes. Then another. And one more – until Suguru isn’t sure how long he’s been waiting. 
Then Suguru cannot resist the swell of panic that ripples through his stomach. 
His heart lurches in his chest as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, too panicked to offer Satoru more than a hushed sound and a stroke over his back when he tiredly mumbles in protest. 
“‘M just gettin’ up for a sec,’” he mumbles quietly, swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees the light in the bathroom on. “I’ll be back, love.” 
Satoru grumbles something else, but is soothed when Suguru presses a gentle kiss to his brow. 
“M’kay,” Satoru sighs, easily falling back asleep as he snuggles into the warmth Suguru left behind on the bed. If he wasn’t so worried, Suguru would smile, his heart clenching tight in his chest as he watches Satoru curl into his spot with a soft sound. 
When Suguru stands, adjusting his sweats as he quietly makes his way to the bathroom, he pulls his hair from his eyes. Brushing the strands over his bare shoulder, he sighs as he fiddles for a hair tie in his pocket. He doesn't find one, so he simply pushes the dark strands back from his brow, letting them fall behind him and settle against his bare back. 
You’ve always liked it when his hair is loose anyway. 
Suguru knocks on the bathroom door first. It’s quiet, but you should be able to hear it. When you don’t respond, Suguru frowns and tries again. Knocking gently once more, he swallows as another wave of panic curls in his stomach. 
“Sweetheart?” he tries quietly, voice still rumbling deeply from the slumber he was pulled from. “You’ve been in there a while, honey. Are you alright?” 
Still, you don’t respond. 
You want to. Of course you want to. It’s Suguru, and you don’t want to worry him. 
But the waves of agonizing cramps have stolen your voice. All you can do is sit still and breathe. You feel utterly useless. There’s nothing you can do but control the slow pace of your breaths in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the crippling sensation radiating from your stomach. 
You want to respond – tell him you’re alright, tell him something, but the agony seals your lips shut. It’s horrible and another wave of tears spill from your tired eyes. You hate it. You wish you would stop crying; it’s not helping and it only makes you feel weak. 
“Baby? I’m gettin’ worried.” 
All you can manage is a sad, weak sound in response. It leaves your lips in more a sob than a hum, and you muffle the tears that shiver through you after. 
“Honey!” Suguru murmurs worriedly, trying to twist the handle of the door, only to curse when he discovers it’s locked. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” 
He shifts on his feet, lifting a hand to pull on the strands on his hair to soothe some of his panic. The sound you manage in response is another broken hum, and it only worsens the thundering pulse of Suguru’s heart. His gut twists as he tries the knob again, as if a few seconds will have changed the status of the lock. 
You whine and Suguru swears his heart cracks. His head presses against the door as his eyes squeeze shut, fist still closed around the handle. 
“Can you open the door f’me, sweetheart?” he murmurs desperately. “‘M really worried about you.” 
Your eyes close, the watery burn rendering them useless as you sniffle. You huff around another breath of pain, pushing your head further into your knees. Trembling softly as your skin flushes, you battle against the waves of agony and the flash of heat that makes you feel sickly. Another wave of nausea ripples in your gut, and you remember how awful you must look. 
Your hair is plastered against your head and your neck and you must look a mess. Wearing a pair of oversized sweats and one of Suguru’s shirts, you feel utterly gross. More than anything you want to open the door and let Suguru take you in his arms. Cuddling into his firm chest and feeling his big arms wrap around you would probably feel nice, but you’re all too aware of how sickly you must look. 
You don’t want him to see you like this: sweaty, messy and sick as you curl in on yourself as you weep through another terrible cramp. You just want to sleep – you want it to stop, everything needs to stop. 
Suguru hums out another question, but you don’t really hear it. It’s not until you hear the lilt of panic in his voice and his voice fiddling with the handle of the door do you manage to find your voice. 
“Sugu…” 
He startles. Head darting up to the door in front of him, Suguru breathes a sigh of relief and chokes out your name. 
“Open the door, darling,” he whispers softly. “Please…” 
You shake your head even though you know he can’t see it. Frowning as you sniffle, you lick your lips to taste salt and the disgusting hint of snot. You’re a mess, and you don’t want him to see you. 
“No, Sugu,” you manage to mutter, head knocking back to rest against the wall as you continue to focus on breathing through your mouth. You visibly shiver through another cramp, this time seizing and whining as it echoes through your legs. 
Suguru bites down on his lip, feeling another sliver of his heart crack at the broken sound of your voice. It pains him, your defeated sigh. He desperately wants to comfort you, to bring you into his chest and kiss your tears away. His hands ache to touch your skin, to feel the warmth he knows by heart. Closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against the wood of the door, Suguru sighs and swallows as he speaks again. 
“Why not?” he murmurs worriedly, voice clipping words from fatigue pulling at his figure. “I need t’know you’re alright, my love.” 
“Don’t wan’ you t’see me.”
Suguru’s head tilts and the lump in his throat swells. Heart clenching sadly, one of his hands lifts to rest on the door, as if he can reach you on the other side if he tries hard enough. He knows he can get through this door if he really wanted. It would be too easy for him to splinter the frame with his strength alone, and he has more than one curse at his disposal that could pick a lock smoothly. 
It’s the sound of your voice that holds him back. 
You’re so… tired. You’re broken whisper echoes through the wooden door with a sad coo, and it makes Suguru’s chest ache. 
“My sweet girl…” Suguru whispers, fingers trailing across the wood like they’re desperate to stroke across your cheek. “Why don’t you want me to see you?” 
You frustratedly sigh, cursing the tears that continue to track down your cheeks. No matter what you do, they keep dripping over your skin in tiny rivulets, staining your face with tracks of dried salt. You wipe them away but they’re quickly replaced by another stream. 
You just want to sleep. 
“I don’t feel good, Sugu,” you sigh tiredly, voice quivering around tears. It’s pathetic – how watery you sound. You wish you were stronger. “I look bad and I don’t want wan’ t’keep you an’ Toru awake.” 
You don’t feel good? He nearly questions. Why didn’t you wake me? 
But all he does is sigh softly, fists clenching against the door. For a moment he contemplates waking Satoru, knowing you probably won’t be able to resist them both. Though, when he turns over his shoulder, Suguru sees the bags beneath his lover’s eyes and the tired slump of his form in their sheets. 
Satoru needs his sleep. It’s difficult enough for him to find slumber when the Six Eyes strains him dry. 
Suguru lets him rest. 
He murmurs your name again, his eyes closing as he continues to rest against the door. 
“I’m in love with you, you know?” Suguru sighs sweetly, his lips lifting slightly to reveal a fond smile. “You could never ‘look bad’ to me, my darling.” 
Shifting on his feet and looking up at the ceiling, his shoulders sag as he worries. What if you don’t open the door? He’s considering settling on the floor with his back against the door when he whispers again. 
“And you don’t need t’worry about keepin’ me awake, alright? I want you t’come to me when you’re not feeling good.” 
He pauses once, dropping his hand from the knob as he breathes. 
“I worry about you, honey,” he finishes. “I just need to know you’re okay.” 
You sniffle, feeling the cramp finally seep away to nothing. They’re not over, you can feel another wave rising from beneath the last, but at least they offer you a single moment to reach up and twist the lock. 
It’s too much for you to handle alone. 
You want to bury yourself in Suguru’s strong arms and weep as the pain shivers through you. If there’s nothing you can do to soothe the agony, then at least you won’t be alone. 
“Okay.”
Suguru hears the lock click. 
Gasping softly, he pulls himself upright and reaches down to grip the handle of the door with a skip of his heart. He was pondering waiting outside the door in the fading light of the moon when you whispered the tired word. His chest aches when he twists the knob, pulling the door open to reveal your figure.
You’re curled on the floor, calves crossed and legs pulled into your chest as you bury your head into your knees. Your arms wrap around yourself, one hand clutching the hot water bottle pressed tightly to your stomach. 
Suguru frowns, his heart thumping sadly as you weep out another broken sound. His entire body aches in a way he cannot describe, physically pained at the choked sounds of agony leaving your lips. He’s already on his knees at your side when you lift your head, looking up at him through your tears and your lip quivering in a way he knows you cannot control. 
He’s never seen you look so hurt. 
“Oh, sweetheart…” he coos quietly, putting the pieces together as you shiver through another wave of crippling cramps, hand squeezing tight around your leg – your period. “You’re not alright.” 
“No,” you weep, shaking your head with watery eyes leaking salty droplets down your cheeks, and you suck in a shaking breath as your fists clench. Your brow furrows as your eyelids squeeze shut, unable to mask the pain as it ripples through you. Suguru’s face softens into an expression of pain, frowning sadly. You have a high pain tolerance for your period cramps – he knows that. You’ve had painful periods your whole life, and he and Satoru have seen you conceal the agony in your features for years. 
This is a knife to his heart. 
You can’t conceal the sweat on your brow, nor the tremble of your fingers and the painful gasp of breath you suck in when the pain returns tenfold. 
“It hurts, Sugu…” 
“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispers sadly, desperately wishing there’s something he can do to stall the agony. “C’mere, honey.”
Suguru’s mouth twists into an expression of pain, and he carefully wraps an arm around your shoulders. Pulling you away from the wall, the dark-haired man maneuvers you into his chest as he sits onto the floor. You twist into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his frame as you weep softly into his bare chest, caring little for the tears that stain his skin. Suguru could care less. He’s far too worried about the expression plastered onto your features and the shiver that trembles through you. 
“How long have you been up?” he whispers as he cradles you in his lap, hand stroking over your hair and strong arm wrapping around you. 
You shake your head and Suguru’s frown deepens – if it’s even possible. 
“Haven’t slept yet.” 
Suguru’s hair falls into his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss between your brows. He stays there, breathing through his noses as he continues to lay tiny kisses to your forehead. His eyes screw shut, hand stroking over your cheek as you bury yourself deeper into his embrace. 
Your skin is warm, flushed with heat and your hair sticks to your forehead in a way Suguru knows must make you feel sickly. He carefully strokes the strands away and kisses the skin beneath with a soft sigh. 
“Have you been awake all night?” he finally whispers, voice deep and quietly sad. “With cramps like this?”
You nod into his chest, wincing again and closing your eyes as you sob through another agonizing cramp. Your legs shake as you tuck them into yourself together, trying desperately to push the hot water bottle deeper into your skin. 
“Oh, baby…” he sighs, leaning back to rest against the wall and pull you back into him. He strokes another hand across your face, thumbing the space between your brows when he sees the way they’re scrunched. “Why didn’t you wake me?” 
You sigh and breathe a few times to steady yourself, slowly loosening your fists when Suguru pries your fingers open to intertwine his own around yours. He pulls your hands into his chest, tucking them by his heart so you can feel the pulse of his heart. He hopes you don’t notice how quick it’s beating. He’s still worried. Suguru cannot help the way his heart lurches when you wince. As if each throb of agony is his own, Suguru buries his face closer to your own, clutching onto your hand and not faltering when you tighten your grip to counter the waves of pain echoing through you. 
“You’ve got work in the morning,” you pant quietly, voice still watery and weak. “And you an’ Toru gotta’ take the kids.” 
“Honey…” he sighs sweetly. “You’re in pain… I want you t’wake me if you’re in pain, sweetheart. No amount of sleep could soothe me if you’re hurt and alone.” 
You manage a hum in response, face still screwed shut and Suguru frowns when you muffle another sob as a cramp seizes you once more. 
“Okay, baby… Okay,” he whispers, rocking you into him a little in an attempt to distract you. Now is not the time for a lecture, he supposes.“You’re alright, darling. You’re gonna be alright.” 
He hates the sound of your tears. 
When you shudder through another agonizing sound, Suguru’s face crumples. He’s never felt so useless. You’re in agony, and he can do nothing to fix it. 
“You took your painkillers?” 
You nod again, weeping into his chest and squeezing his hand tight. 
“Three,” you mumble tiredly, focusing on the feeling of Suguru’s warm, bare chest pressed against your skin. It’s grounding and you don’t want to move. “They aren’t working.”
“How long ago?” 
He doesn't want to pester you with questions, but he’s desperately pulling at strings, hoping one will grant him the solution to your pain. 
“Midnight,” you manage. You wince again, and Suguru peppers kisses along your hairline, gently hushing you. You curl tighter into yourself, desperately huffing as the pain continues to swell higher. It feels like it will break at any moment, but it just… doesn’t. The agony continues to rise, as if there is no limit to its torment. The cramping sensation just comes back again and again, until you’re sure that there’s something wrong. How can a period be so painful? 
“It hurts so bad, Sugu,” you cry, reaching the end of your tether. You’re desperate for the ache to stop, but it feels like there’s no  point of end in sight. “I just want it to stop…” 
Suguru feels his stomach twist, heart crying out in a pattern of your name. He pulls you tighter, a wave of his own tears swelling behind his eyes. Your cries chip at his heart, pieces of his soul falling apart in your agony. He wishes he could do something – use some kind of technique to null the pain, to soothe you, anything. 
“I know, honey,” he soothes, cradling you closer and rubbing his finger over your cheek as he murmurs into your hairline. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything more. I’m sorry I can’t take this from you.” 
You shake your head, clutching him tight as you attempt to focus on your breaths again. Hand wrapped tightly around his own, you try to use his touch as a grounding sensation. Eventually, the lulling motion of his finger over your cheek and his lips at your hairline soothe some of the tension beneath your skin. You relax into his touch despite the continuous waves of cramps still panging through your stomach. 
“Just stay,” you weep, lifting your other hand from your stomach to clutch behind Suguru’s head. You hold onto his neck, burying your fingers in his soft hair and desperately inhale his familiar scent. Suguru is familiar – he’s safe. “Please…”
You don’t have to worry about anything as long as Suguru and Satoru are around. 
“Always, sweetheart,” he whispers against you, dropping the hand at your cheek to press your hot water bottle into your stomach for you. “Always. You don’t have t’ask.” 
 His large hand keeps your bottle in place, spreading across your stomach and rubbing soothing circles into your waist with his thumb. His hand is big enough to settle on your stomach and the fabric of your hot water bottle. 
Suguru hates this. He hates seeing you in pain. He hates that all he can do is sit and press delicate kisses to your hairline as you writhe in agony. It physically pains him to be unable to help – to have to watch as one of the loves of his life suffers. 
Suguru buries his nose into your hair and kisses you once more, whispering sweet words of encouragement and humming in an attempt to distract you. He loves you so much, and he hopes you know that. 
“You’re doing so well, my darling.”  
Eventually, the wave passes, and you limply release your intense grip on his fingers and relax into his hold. It’s a slow process. Finally succumbing to some brief glimpse of exhaustion, you slip loosely into Suguru’s hold and trust him to catch you. There will be another cramp soon, but at least this one is over. You breathe out a sigh and look up at Suguru with tears on your lashes. 
Strands of his dark hair fall into his eyes, and Suguru has never looked more beautiful to you. Sitting on the bathroom floor with you three hours past midnight, no shirt and a loose pair of sweats on his hips (ones he’s not sure are his own), and Suguru has never looked so endearing. The way he looks down at you, bangs dangling in front of his dark eyes and full lips leaning down to kiss your face gently; he’s princely. 
Your heart finally slows to an acceptable pace as Suguru leans down, and you close your eyes as he lays a soft kiss to one of your eyelids. His full lips peck sweetly against one, then he leans away to kiss the other. Your eyes well with tears again, but this time you think they’re for a different reason. 
“Hi,” he whispers sweetly, lips lifting to show you that tiny smile of his that makes your heart do funny things. You’re too tired to offer much more than a sigh and a quirk of your lips, but Suguru is grateful for the expression all the same. 
“Hi, Sugu.” 
“Are you feeling any better?” 
You shake your head, sighing quietly as you shift.
“Not really.”
Suguru frowns again, and you’re tempted to lift your thumbs to pull his lips upwards again. Suguru looks so much prettier when he smiles. 
“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispers. “Do you wanna get off the floor, at least? The bed’s much more comfortable and Toru’s gonna start worrying soon.”
You figure now is the best time to try moving, so you nod. There’s probably only a few minutes between these waves of terrible cramps, so you’ll take the moment you have to get back into bed. 
“M’kay,” you sigh tiredly. Suguru's expression softens for a reason you don’t understand, but the sorcerer fondly smiles as he thinks of the same sound Satoru had made just minutes before. 
“Alright, love. Let’s get you up, alright?”
You nod again, allowing Suguru to unwind his limbs from yours. He softly chuckles when you whine as his fingers unlace from your own, but readjusts his grip to carefully pull you to stand. He holds his other hand out, tenderly helping you stand. 
“Careful…” he whispers. “Go slow, baby.” 
Your head spins as you stand and you lift a hand to press against your temple. The rolling tide of nausea in your stomach had quelled for the time being, but the tremble of your legs is still too apparent. You step forward shakily, reaching out to grasp Suguru’s outstretched hand with a grateful smile. He returns the look with soft eyes and nods sweetly as he allows you to step out of the bathroom first. 
When he’s certain you can stand on your own, Suguru turns over his shoulder to turn off the bathroom light and shut the door. 
But he only gets so far. 
Suddenly, you inhale sharply. Freezing in place, your body curls inwards on itself as a blinding swell of cramps overtakes your form. This one is sharp and crippling, radiating down your legs until even your calves feel weak. Your body is suddenly too hot, and the air is far too cold. Shivers trickle down your spine and you feel that all too familiar bolt of stifling panic strike through your chest. It runs through the entirety of your figure, sizzling beneath your skin and striking each nerve it passes. You feel that terrible curl of your stomach and the waves of oncoming panic filter through you.
You sway on your feet. 
Something’s wrong. And it’s making you panic. 
You open your mouth, lip quivering as you attempt to croak out a plea of Suguru’s name, but nothing comes. Some tired, broken whine leaves your lips instead – a desperate cry for help, for Suguru.
When Suguru turns around, head whipping over his shoulder sharply, he expects to see you headed towards his side of the bed. Instead, he’s met with your body swaying slightly as you pant and shiver. Suguru thinks his heart stops. 
Then your body stills, and you crumple. 
“Baby!” 
Suguru throws himself forward, just managing to grab your figure as it goes limp. He sways, shifting your weight into his arms and panicking as you continue to sink into the floor. Your body is dead weight in his hands, still shivering but cold and unmoving. 
He’s going to be sick. 
His stomach curls as bile spills onto the back of his tongue, and Suguru can hear his heart pound in his ears. The lump is back in his throat, swelling until he can barely suck in a desperate breath to calm his panicked heart. Fuck, he’s never been so scared. 
“Baby, oh fuck!” he cries, voice no longer quiet and delicate. Suguru openly shouts, desperately trying to carefully maneuver you to the floor, but his mind is screaming thousands of things at him at once. All he can hear is the roaring in his eardrums. His eyes scan over your limp figure and Suguru swears his heart cracks. He can feel it; deep within his chest, a splinter finally cleaves open. 
“Oh my god, okay,” Suguru chokes out, carefully cradling you as he sinks to his knees. “You’re alright, okay? I’ve got you, honey.”
He doesn’t know what to do. His heart is pounding and his soul is openly weeping. There are tears welling in his eyes and dragging down the pristine skin of his cheeks. 
Suguru doesn't know what to do. 
“Okay,” he whispers frightfully. “Okay…”
You’re laying on your back, facing the ceiling, and the way your blank expression stares back at him makes him nauseous. 
“Sweetheart?” he calls carefully, brushing a hand over your cheek to push hair away from your face. “Baby, c’mon…” 
You don’t respond. There’s not even a twitch in your brow or a flick of your fingers. You’re unconscious. Suguru’s heart accelerates again, pounding until he thinks it might burst from his bony rib cage. He turns over his shoulder with a broken cry, calling for the one person he so urgently needs. 
“Satoru!” 
His voice is panicked, shouted with a guttural cry and he thinks it might echo through the house, but Suguru vaguely hopes he doesn't wake the kids. 
“Satoru, wake up!”
But Satoru is already awake. 
Lurching forward in the bed, the Six Eyes user is already throwing the sheets away from his legs as he scans the room. His technique is activated, and Suguru can feel the familiar curtain of Infinity wrap around his body. 
“Suguru?” Satoru calls as he stands, his body tense and prepared to fight. “What happened? Are you alright?” 
Suguru doesn’t have the chance to respond, because Satoru steps forward and his crystalline eyes find his lover’s hunched figure crouched in the doorway of the bathroom, bent over the body of their wife. You’re limp on the floor, hair sprawled out beneath you as Suguru cradles your head and glances up at his partner with desperate, fearful eyes. 
Satoru thinks he’s dying. 
It’s the only possible explanation for the lack of oxygen in his lungs and the stuttered pulse of his heart. His legs wane at his knees, nearly propelling him into the floor, but Satoru manages to keep himself upright as he throws his hands forward to brace himself on the bathroom doorway. 
“What…?” Satoru whispers breathily, voice uncharacteristically quiet – uncharacteristically weak. “What happened?” 
His Six Eyes are activated, flickering over every crevice of your form. They’re urgent, desperate to find the source of your pain. When they find nothing, Satoru swallows back a sound of desperation. 
“She passed out,” Suguru whispers plainly, panic evident in the quiver of his voice. “She started her period early, Toru. She’s in so much pain…”
Satoru feels his knees wane again. His heart can’t take much more of this. She’s in pain? His soul cries. 
“She’s been laying on the bathroom floor crying,” his lover mumbles, stroking a hand over your cheekbone as a tear drips into his mouth. “I shouldn’t have asked her t’get up – she was weak and I didn’t think –”
“Suguru.” 
The dark-haired sorcerer stops. Lifting his head to stare up at Satoru, Suguru frowns. 
“This isn’t your fault, Suguru,” Satoru whispers, trying desperately to keep himself calm. His heart is in his throat and his pulse roars, but he cannot allow himself to weaken. Suguru needs him – you need him. 
“She’s not waking up…”
Satoru sucks in a breath, his hands curling into the doorframe and gripping the wood until he thinks it will splinter beneath his grip. And it might. Satoru has to be mindful of the strength he uses. 
‘She’s not waking up.’ The phrase echoes through his head until it’s the only thing he can process. You’re not waking up. His wife isn’t waking up. 
“Is she…” Satoru doesn't even know if he can say what he wants to know – what he needs to know. The words make him ill. “Is she breathing?” 
Suguru chokes out a desperate sound. He hadn’t even considered…
And he doesn't want to. 
His hand seizes one of yours, wrapping tightly around your fingers as he pulls it into his chest as he did before. He pleads for you to wake up and feel his heart pulse against your fingers again, just as you had minutes ago. He delicately thumbs over your pulse point, hand sliding down your neck where he cradles your cheek. 
Suguru openly weeps when the thumping beat of your heart races beneath his fingers in greeting. 
“Yeah…” he sobs out weakly, pushing his forehead into your chest. “Yeah, she’s breathing.” 
Satoru sags in relief.
“Okay,” he covers his mouth with one of his palms, trying to suppress the broken sound that nearly leaves him. “Okay, that’s good.” 
Before either man can ascertain what to do, there's rustling at the doorway. It’s a quiet sound, just a soft coo and the creak of the door as it slides open. Satoru’s head whips around, his fingers twitching to activate his technique when he falters. 
Because seven year old Fushiguro Megumi stands in the doorway: his son. 
Megumi’s clutching a plush dog, one that looks remarkably familiar to his Divine Dogs. The soft, dark fur is cradled in his hands as he hugs the stuffed animal to his chest. The plush nearly conceals him entirely, and his dark, spiky hair pokes out over the red mark on the dog’s forehead. It’s a matching toy – the dark one was a gift from Suguru while the white counterpart came from Satoru. They were presents (custom-made plushies) ordered by his fathers when Megumi successfully summoned his Divine Dogs for the first time. 
Satoru still whines when Megumi prefers the dark stuffed animal to the white one. But Satoru doesn't know that Megumi snuggles the alabaster-coated dog when he’s gone on long missions. The boy barely goes anywhere without it until his father comes home. 
“What’s goin’ on?” Megumi tiredly mumbles, one of his hands lifting to rub at his eyes as he yawns. His too big shirt, one of Satoru’s shirts from their youth, hangs over his frame and covers his knees. You were the one to tuck your son into bed last night, and Satoru doesn’t have the moment to fondly think of his boy asking to wear one of his dad’s shirts to bed. 
Satoru sucks in a quiet breath, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Suguru. His husband is still on the bathroom floor, bent over your unconscious figure, but he looks up at Satoru with a silent nod. He’s alright. You’re alright. 
Satoru sighs and turns back to Megumi, suddenly glad the ensuite bathroom is hidden from the doorway to their bedroom. He doesn't want Megumi to see his mother unconscious, or his fathers’ panic. He doesn’t want Megumi to see him scared. Satoru is his father – he needs to show his son that everything is going to be alright. 
Swallowing down his tempered fear, Satoru tries to conceal the quiver of his voice when he responds to his son. 
“It’s –” Satoru stops. He can’t say ‘it’s nothing.’ Because it’s not nothing; and he won’t lie to his son. “It’s alright, Megumi.”
That’s what he decides to say instead. Satoru breathes through his nose deeply as he tries not to turn back over his shoulder to check on you again. 
“Mama’s just having some cramps, she’ll be okay.” 
Megumi nods. He knows what Satoru means, because Geto Suguru would be damned before he raised a son that thinks menstruation was ‘gross.’ Megumi doesn’t know everything – he’s still a kid, afterall. He does know, however, that his mother is plagued with terrible pain once a month, and that it’s completely natural to talk about it. 
Megumi toddles on his feet, the fatigue of the early morning hour making him uncharacteristically soft. He’s usually quite stoic for a kid, exhibiting the same, blank sort of look impassively. But no matter how quiet, you and the boys are well-adept at deciphering your kid’s feelings by now. 
With sleep tugging at his eyes, Megumi paws at his tired lids and yawns sweetly. Shifting his balance again, the boy looks up at Satoru with a tiny, sweet frown.
“Mama’s hurting?” he pouts, bottom lip sticking out slightly. His fists tighten around his stuffed dog, eyes shifting around Satoru to try to get a glimpse of you. Fortunately, Suguru has already readjusted you in his arms and you’re both hidden in the ensuite bathroom. 
“Yeah…” Satoru coughs to conceal the tremor of his voice. “Yeah, Mama’s hurting a little. But she’s strong, remember? She’ll be alright, her cramps will go away soon.” 
He doesn’t know if his words are an attempt to convince Megumi or himself. 
 From behind Satoru, Suguru strokes another thumb over your cheekbone. He inhales a shaking breath as he feels the frightful warmth of your skin. 
“C’mon…” he whispers in the tiny space that separates you. “Wake up, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes again.” 
Swallowing thickly, Suguru’s throat bobs as a tear begins to leak down his cheek. 
“Please.” 
He’s lost. Suguru doesn’t know what to do other than count the seconds since you’ve gone still in his arms. Each one feels longer than the last, but Suguru continues to count them. He doesn’t know why he does it. Perhaps some part of him thinks there is a certain point at which he’ll need to call for help. Is there a distinct period of time that has to pass before you need medical attention? 
Suguru curses himself for not paying enough attention to Shoko’s basic first-aid lessons. 
Satoru’s head flicks over his shoulder, crystalline-blue eyes finding your face as his heart clenches again. He’s conflicted. More than anything, he wants to drop to his knees at your side, just as Suguru has. He wants to clutch your remaining hand and feel the pulse of your heart as a reminder that you’re still there – still breathing. His heart hurts; torn between lingering at your side and comforting his son.
But then Satoru remembers the way you look at your kids. He recalls the fond crease of your eyes when you beam down at them, smiles shining and hands drawing them into you for an embrace. You love your kids more than anything, even though you’ve only had them for a few years now. Even though they’re not your biological kids, even though they’re not babies, and despite not even wanting children before them; they’re your pride and joy. 
Satoru finds the strength within him to smile fondly. He knows you would be pushing him in Megumi’s direction if you had any semblance of consciousness right now. 
Satoru tries not to frown at the reminder of your state. 
Turning on his feet, Satoru steps away from the door, even as his heart cries out for him to return to your side. The remainder of his heart calls for his son – his boy, who is beginning to worry about his mother. It’s evident in the way Megumi shifts on his feet, fiddling with the soft fur of his stuffed pup. 
When Satoru drops to his knees in front of Megumi, he spreads his arms wide in an invitation. He doesn’t expect Megumi to accept; he rarely does. Satoru is affectionate, it’s a sentiment clear as day, and Megumi usually prefers to avoid physical touch. He’s shy that way. 
So Satoru is fondly surprised when Megumi toddles tiredly on his feet as he leans into his father’s embrace. Wrapping his arms tight around his son, Satoru stands from the floor with his heart beginning to return to a normal pace. Having Megumi in his arms is a comfort that soothes some of his rampaging nerves. The knowledge that the rest of his family is safe is a notion that eases some of the tension in his shoulders. Satoru knows he won’t find sleep for the rest of the night if he doesn’t peek into the girl’s room later to ensure they’re sleeping peacefully. 
“It’s alright, Gumi,” Satoru whispers softly, stroking a hand through the spiky strands of the boy’s hair. Megumi rests his head on Satoru’s shoulder with a sigh. “Why did you wake up so early, bud?” 
Megumi wraps an arm around Satoru’s neck, the other still cradling his pup between them. He closes his eyes and sighs sleepily once more as he mumbles in response. 
“Heard Dad yell,” he tiredly whispers. He fiddles with a strand of Satoru’s white hair before he sheepishly continues. “I was scared…”
Satoru tries his hardest not to tease the boy. He knows it’s in his nature to make light of situations with humor, but Satoru also understands that this, perhaps, is not the time. Despite wanting to make Megumi feel better by laughing off the problem, Satoru also remembers the horrible strike of panic that had bolted through him when he heard Suguru yell. 
Waking up to Suguru crying out for you as you collapsed was horrifying, and Satoru can only imagine how frightening it was for Megumi. 
“Oh Gumi, I’m sorry,” Satoru whispers, rocking on his feet in an attempt to comfort the boy. Even though Megumi isn’t a baby, Satoru cannot help the instinctive sway of his feet as he runs a hand through his hair. “Dad didn’t mean to shout, pup. He was just worried about Mom.” 
Megumi nods softly, snuggling closer to Satoru’s chest in a way that makes the father’s heart ache. 
“Can I… Can I help?” Megumi quietly questions, words spoken only for his father to hear. “Mom always makes me feel better when I’m sick.” 
Megumi mumbles something else; something that sounds like ‘don’t wan’ mom t’feel bad,’ but it’s muffled into Satoru’s neck and he barely catches it. 
Satoru smiles despite the panic still roaring in his chest. The way Megumi calls you ‘mom’ and Suguru ‘dad’ has always made him a little emotional. It took more than a year for Megumi to truly grow comfortable in your makeshift family, but eventually the boy’s cautious exterior melted away into what he really was: a kid looking for a home – a family. He was abandoned for God’s sake, Satoru knows the kid was guarded when he found him. And he had every right to be. 
But in just a few short years, Megumi has begun to call Tsumiki and the twins his sisters and on rare occasions, he’ll call Satoru his father. However, he knows those nights will always end in Satoru smothering him with affections and playful teases so he refrains from doing it often. Satoru does not take offense; he knows Megumi is shy. 
“Yeah, she takes good care of us, huh?” Satoru murmurs fondly as he rubs a hand over his son’s back. 
Before Satoru can reassure Megumi further, he’s interrupted when Suguru lets out a relieved sound over his shoulder. It’s a strange sort of combination of a sob and a gasp, but Satoru hears it all the same. 
“Sweetheart…?” Satoru hears Suguru call, voice brighter but still wavering through the short syllables. 
There’s a muffled sound of shuffling, then a groan and a cough before Suguru is concealing his tears in your neck. 
Satoru exhales with relief, shoulders sagging as his eyes slide shut. He rubs a hand over Megumi’s back in the hopes the boy doesn’t see the fear slowly seeping from his father. 
Inside the bathroom, Suguru clutches your hand tight to his chest, squeezing it thankfully and burying his face in your neck as he bends over you. Blinking slowly, you huff a choked breath and shakily reach upwards to lay your palm over Suguru’s head. Tangling your fingers in the mess of loose, dark hair you sigh deeply through your mouth. It’s a relief to feel Suguru bent over you; his weight presses into your chest and grounds you as you come back to consciousness. Though you’re still dizzy and a bit panicked, the feeling is beginning to leech from your limbs like poison from a wound. 
Waking up was startling, and there’s a lingering sense of fear buzzing beneath your skin. It frightens you, and you clutch tightly onto Suguru with a tremble. The pain still twists in your stomach, but it’s nothing compared to how you felt before you passed out. 
“Suguru…” 
His name comes out in a sort of pleading cry, not unlike a frightened child, but you cannot help the way you long for his comfort. Tears leak from your eyes, another wave of salt that you find you cannot control. 
Suguru responds to your call with a sweet coo, pressing a wet kiss to the skin of your throat and rumbling deep within his chest to reassure you that he’s still there. Brushing your hair from your eyes, Suguru leans away to peck your temple and stare down at you with relief painted across his features. 
“You’re alright, honey. ‘S okay,” he whispers warmly, soothing the tension in your brow and brushing your tears away. When your eyes crack open, staring up at him with waning fear and confusion, Suguru huffs a laugh and smiles widely. “Hey, pretty girl.” 
 Your lips quiver upwards into a sort of sad smile, but Suguru is happy to see it despite the exhaustion in your features. Squeezing his hand, you look up at the dark-haired sorcerer as his hair falls into his eyes. 
“Wha’ happened?” 
Suguru looks over his shoulder, mouthing something you can’t hear, but you know he must be talking to Satoru. The muffled sound of his voice barely reaches your ears as you wade through the stream of your consciousness. You fight to keep Suguru in focus, and fortunately manage to cling to the waking world as sounds finally return to your senses. Something that sounds like “she’s alright, Toru,” rings through the bathroom, and then there’s the sound of Satoru replying but you can’t hear it. Your heart calls out for your other husband, and you squeeze Suguru’s hand in question. 
“You passed out, darling,” Suguru looks back down at you with a sad smile. He hushes you when you wiggle, trying to sit upright. “Careful, love, careful. You scared the shit out of me, you know?” 
Shooting him a sorry glance, you allow Suguru to gently lift you to a seated position every so slowly. He leans you against him, his thick thighs on either side of your hips as he lets you rest against his chest. You nod slowly as he delicately pulls your hair from your face and wraps his arms around you. 
“Sorry.”
Suguru shakes his head with a hum. 
“Don’t apologize, baby,” he whispers. “I’m just glad you’re awake. Are you feeling alright? How’s the pain?”
You slouch into his chest, wrapping your arms around your waist and nodding as your eyes slide shut. 
“‘S not so bad. Where’s Toru?”
Suguru’s heart clenches sweetly, feeling warmed by your desire for Satoru. He adores the two of you with his entire being, and watching both of you always strikes a fond chord within his chest.
“He’s taking care of Gumi,” Suguru murmurs, looking down at you with a lovesick expression you cannot see. When you sit up straighter, Suguru accommodates your position with a scooch of his hips and his arm falling into your lap. 
“Gumi’s awake?”
“Yeah,” your husband responds quietly. “I think he heard me shout when you fell. He came in a few minutes ago, and Satoru’s comforting him.”
Suguru sounds a little guilty when he mentions his outburst. He’s not embarrassed by any means; it was a cry shouted in overwhelming fear, so he feels no bashfulness for the tone of his voice. He does, however, feel guilty that he managed to wake his son in the process. 
“He’s worried about you, I think.”
We all are, he almost finishes. 
You sag into Suguru’s chest, weight sinking into the warmth of his bare skin as you slide your hand over the arm that is wrapped around you. Just as you begin to speak, Satoru peeks his head through the doorway. His body is twisted, obscuring Megumi’s view inside the bathroom. When he finds your gaze, Satoru visibly softens. 
“Hey, sweet girl,” Satoru rumbles, a fond smile spreading across his features. “You feeling alright?”
You nod tiredly, resting your head against Suguru’s clavicle.
“That’s good. We were really worried, honey.” 
Your sigh through your nose, trying to give him an apologetic look, but the fatigue is beginning to pull your eyelids downwards. Satoru’s gaze softens even further, if at all possible, and he continues. 
“Can Megumi come in? He’s worried about you,” Satoru reiterates his partner’s words, clearly holding the boy against his chest as he speaks. 
You’re about to nod, more than happy to cuddle with your son, when Suguru interrupts. Stroking a hand over your hip, the long-haired sorcerer hums. 
“Let us come out, love,” he responds, already beginning to shift you in his lap. “We can talk about this in bed. I think everyone’s a little tired right now.” 
You nod in agreement, feeling the ache of your muscles cry out for rest. Your arm trembles weakly when you lift your hand, and you frown at the lack of strength in your limbs. Suguru hushes you sweetly as he shifts you to sit upright as he stands. 
“You’re exhausted, baby. It’s normal.” 
Satoru murmurs his agreement on the other side of the doorway, already beginning to step away to set Megumi in the middle of your massive bed. He ensures the boy is comfortable as he stands upright, stretching his shoulders and turning to watch as Suguru hoists you up onto his hips slowly. Satoru figured he wasn’t going to let you walk after what happened the first time you tried. 
Suguru’s hand is carefully cradling your head and the other wraps beneath your hips, keeping you stable and pressed against his big frame. The sorcerer is incredibly strong from the years of exorcizing curses and teaching students, so carrying you to the bed, despite your muffled protests, is an easy venture. 
Setting you on the bed gently, you shift quickly to face Megumi as you lay back against the sheets. You nestle quickly into Suguru’s previous place in bed, already reaching out for your son as he nuzzles forward to latch onto your front. 
“Hey, hun,” you whisper kindly, brushing dark strands from Megumi’s eyes. “What’s going on, Gumi?”
The boy looks up at you, still clutching his Divine Dog plush, and frowns. Your head tilts in confusion, and you watch as Megumi makes himself comfortable in your arms, cuddling close to your stomach and closing his eyes. You don’t protest, heart warming sweetly as the boy snuggles close. He doesn’t usually cuddle like this, so you’ll take every opportunity to hug him as you can. 
“Dad said you’re feeling bad,” he mumbles into the stuffed dog now pressed between you. “‘M gonna make you feel better. Like you do when I’m sick.” 
You smile. Heart full, your eyes slide shut as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to the tired boy’s forehead. He mumbles something else, but he’s fading fast. Soon he’s lost to slumber, and he snoozes peacefully in your embrace. 
“Thank you, Megumi,” you whisper as you press another soft kiss to your son’s forehead. Looking up at Satoru with tears brimming in your eyes, you find the white-haired sorcerer is already looking at you. There’s fondness spilling from his smile and a sweet gentleness in his expression, and he looks utterly lovesick. 
“Hey,” Satoru murmurs. 
“Hi.” 
The Six Eyes user steps away for a moment, nodding at Suguru who whispers that he’s going to step out to get you water and your medicine. Satoru knows he’s also going to check in on the girls, so he gives Suguru a smile and a peck on the cheek as he slides around the bed to your back. 
When Satoru climbs into the silken sheets, he immediately presses his bare chest into your back and wraps his strong arms around you and his son. Pressing his soft lips to the nape of your neck, he pulls you and Megumi into his chest as he relaxes. You feel the familiar tingle of Infinity wrap around you and smile tiredly. Satoru is always protecting you and your family. The technique easily wraps around you and Megumi in addition to Satoru, and you know the sorcerer will easily adapt it to cover Suguru soon too. 
That’s just Satoru; he’s always looking out for his family. 
When you sigh deeply and snuggle back into your husband, Satoru presses another gentle kiss to your neck and you feel him shake. 
“Toru?”
The man shivers again, and when you shift, turning slightly to see his face, your face crumples as you find tears leaking from Satoru’s eyes. He looks utterly relieved, but his mouth still twitches in a sad sort of way and his sky-blue eyes shimmer with salty tears. For all his silly teasing and childlike humor, Satoru rarely looks so… scared. He’s always so strong – the strongest. But there are truly rare circumstances in which Gojo Satoru is confronted with true fear. 
Circumstances in which he remembers how vulnerable his family can be. 
“Oh, Satoru…”
Satoru buries his face in your neck again, concealing his tears as he calms down. 
“I was so worried, baby. Oh my God,” he mutters into your skin. “I woke up and you were on the floor and Sugu was crying…” 
You pull his hands tighter around you, careful not to wake Megumi. Stroking gentle circles into the muscle of his forearms, you coo a soft sound to soothe him. 
“‘M alright now. Just a little bit of pain, it’s mostly gone.”
Satoru nods, clinging to your back as he finally grounds himself through the gentle touch of your fingers on his skin. He pulls you closer, seeming as though he’s trying to fuse his body to yours with how tight he binds himself to you. It’s the soft contact of your skin against his that soothes the beat of his heart and loosens the tension of his muscles. The tingly feeling that lingers on his skin where you press into him leaves trails of prickled nerves in their wake, as if physical contact between your bare skin incites a biological reaction beneath his flesh. 
With you in his arms, tightly wrapped in his embrace where he can feel the pulse of your heart against his chest, Satoru finds serenity. 
You’re here. And you’re safe. 
Satoru chews on his lip as he sighs. 
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking his chin into your neck and dropping a hand to rub his palm over the side of your stomach. It’s uncanny, you think, that he already knows exactly where it hurts without you mentioning it. Satoru pays far more attention than people give him credit for. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything more to take it away.” 
You shake your head, fatigued eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of Satoru’s big hands and the gentle circles he massages into you. 
Satoru continues in a voice uncharacteristically weak for the Strongest. 
“You were… alone and in pain,” he mumbles, guilt seeping into his tone as he frowns. “And I didn’t even know – we didn’t.” 
Satoru carefully pulls your hair away from your neck to press a kiss to your bare shoulder and then one more against the skin of your throat. He inhales a wave of your familiar scent and flutters his eyes closed as he sinks into your back. 
“I don’t want you to suffer alone, my love.” 
You stroke a contemplative finger over his arm, humming quietly as you shift Megumi in your arms. 
“Okay, Toru,” you whisper as you find the mirth in your exhausted figure to tease him. “You want me to wake you up at the ass crack of dawn when I’ve got cramps?” 
Satoru muffles a small chuckle into your neck and you enjoy the feeling of his chest shaking with the feeling. 
“Yeah, baby. Even then. Especially then.” 
You huff a breath of laughter through your nose, only stopping when you swiftly inhale as another cramp seizes your abdomen. It’s strong, but nothing like the ones you were having earlier. You can manage these. Satoru leans up on his elbow when you stiffen, lifting his other hand to check the hot water bottle Suguru had returned to your stomach. 
When Satoru pulls the bottle away, his brow furrows and he hisses when he finds faint hints of inflamed skin where you’ve pressed it too tight to your belly. It’s too hot and too close, he realizes. It’s burning you. 
Satoru nearly sits upright quickly, his frame leaning over yours as he gasps faintly. 
“Honey…” He’s on the verge of scolding you, but he sees the way you wince through another cramp and decides against it. Satoru looks back down at the hot water bottle and the way you clutch it tightly to combat the waves of throbbing in your belly. 
“This is burning you,” he states it obviously. 
“Hmm,” you respond in agreement. “Feels nice.” 
Satory looks down at you with pain in his features, face twisted into a frown and his crystalline eyes a shade duller. 
“Baby, it’s hurting you – How can…?” 
Satoru trails off. He thinks about how terribly you must have been aching to continue pressing something that was burning you into your skin. How agonizing were your cramps that the pain of the burn was comforting? 
Satoru lays back down, a frown on his lips as he wraps his arm back around you and lays his palm over the hot water bottle. If you’re going to keep it pressed into your skin, then he can make sure it doesn’t get too warm by leaving his hand against it.
“My god, baby… I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He can’t even comprehend how agonizing this must be for you. Satoru kisses your nape again. He apologizes again, and you almost miss the silly Satoru who would typically be teasing you right now. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything.” 
You yawn, finally feeling exhaustion begin to drag you beneath the slow, rocking waves of slumber. Pushing yourself deeper into your husband’s embrace and squeezing your son tight once more, you sigh out a few more words before you finally sink into sleep’s warm hands. 
“You are doing something,” you murmur, pulling his hand up to your mouth to kiss it tiredly. “You’re here, Satoru. I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” 
When Suguru climbs back into bed on Megumi’s other side, he kisses the fond smile on Satoru’s lips and teases his partner about the stars in his eyes. The crystalline-eyed sorcerer refutes Suguru’s quip by reaching out to gently slap his bicep, but it’s all in mirthful adoration. Suguru leans over to press a tender kiss to your sleeping brow and then one to his son’s, before he settles behind Megumi and sighs contentedly. 
“She’s sleeping?” Suguru whispers, voice barely carried through the quiet night. He stares down at your face, the peaceful expression on your lips far more comforting than the limp, placid look of unconsciousness he remembers. Satoru watches his husband watch you, adoration swelling in his heart like an ebbing tide. Unbound by all but the moon, Satoru swears his heart only grows fonder each time he truly takes in his partners. 
“She’s sleeping,” he confirms sleepily, still staring up at Suguru with warmth in his chest. 
“Good.” 
Suguru’s response is sighed out thankfully, his shoulders deflating with the tension easing away from his muscle. He wraps his arms around Megumi and pulls himself closer to the boy, smiling when he easily cuddles into his father. Not often does Suguru have the opportunity to snuggle his son, so he eagerly grins as Megumi’s sleeping form curls near. 
“She’s early,” Satoru mentions plainly from across Suguru. “She wasn’t supposed to start until next week.”
The dark-haired sorcerer nods, recalling the date he marked in his phone. He and Satoru both kept track; it was easier that way. At this point, though, Suguru is certain he doesn't need his calendar to know these things. Your anniversary is ingrained in his memory, as is every one of your important dates. The three of you have spent more than a decade together, this kind of instinct was certain to develop at some point or another. 
“Yeah,” Suguru sighs. He twists slowly to glance tiredly at the clock on his bedside. “She took some painkillers at midnight, can you write that down? If she wakes again she can take some more.” 
Satoru nods, a hand already reaching for his phone on the nightstand behind him. It was second-nature to jot down the time you took medication. You always tried to keep track yourself, but sometimes noting the time slipped your mind, and you were left trying to recall the last time you took them. Satoru easily adds the time to his notes, and marks the date in his calendar to adjust your future schedule later. He checks that there’s still a bottle of your preferred painkiller in his nightstand drawer and a granola bar to eat when you take them. 
When he sets the phone down, he looks back over at Suguru, who sleepily stares down at your sleeping face. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but Satoru can see where Suguru has slid his around yours, pressing two of his fingers into the pulse point of your wrist. 
He’s counting your heartbeats – making sure you’re still breathing. Because Suguru remembers the way you crumpled all too clearly. 
Sighing a shaking breath as he familiarizes himself with the gentle thump of your lifeline, Satoru slides a hand around you and his son, and he lays it across his lover with a sad smile. Suguru looks up with tired eyes, the dark bags beneath his lashes barely visible in the night hour. They match the ones beneath your eyes and probably Satoru’s too. 
“Hey,” Satoru mumbles. “She’s alright, Sugu.” 
Suguru nods, finally sinking into the mattress and pressing a final kiss to Megumi’s hair as he makes himself comfortable. Satoru does the same, delicately squeezing the hand still wrapped around yours and cradled sweetly at your chest. 
“We’re alright,” Suguru confirms, eyes finally sinking closed as he falls back asleep with part of his family in his embrace. “We’re alright.” 
Tumblr media
In the morning, you awake to two Divine Dogs guarding the foot of your bed. The white one sits with its side pressed against the dark one, and both face the bedroom door. You awake alone in bed, but you can hear distant voices quietly chatting in the hall. The little pups’ ears are perked upwards, diligently listening to the conversation outside. 
When you sit up, the white one flips his head over his shoulder, happily sticking his tongue out in a joyful expression. He pants and his tail thumps against the floor as you beckon him closer. 
“Good morning, pup,” you laugh as it wiggles excitedly when you scratch behind his ears. The dark-coated one quickly follows soon after, eagerly joining his brother for scratches. “What are you two doin’ here?” 
The pups tilt their heads with that silly, tongue-out expression, as if communicating their eagerness. You stifle your laughter and carefully stand from the sheets, making your way into the kitchen with the dogs on your heels. 
When you enter the living space, you find Suguru on the couch with the twins on either side of his lap. They’re eagerly leaning over one of Suguru’s books, excitedly murmuring amongst themselves as their father reads aloud. It’s one of his novels, and you chuckle knowing that the girls were probably the ones to pick it out for him to read. 
Tsumiki is at the table, leaning over some kind of puzzle, and her brother is at her side. She looks up as you come in, offering you a gentle smile and a nod before she goes back to her puzzle. Megumi sits on his knees in the chair, spiky hair unkempt as always and a look of concentration on his face. 
Before you can speak, Satoru is pressed against your back, greeting you with a gentle hum.
“G’morning, sweetheart,” he coos, pecking your cheek and sliding a croissant into your hands and holding a glass of water in his other. “Eat up. You can take some medicine when you’re done.” 
He always makes sure you eat before you take your medicine. Your heart thumps happily beneath your ribs, and you smile in return, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and thanking him. 
“Thanks, love.” 
Satoru hums and slides his free hand over your waist to squeeze your hip. He opens his mouth to say something, but the twins interrupt him. They gasp, standing from Suguru’s lap and eagerly racing over to greet you. 
Suguru chuckles, but still gently chides them as they race into the kitchen. 
“Careful!” 
Nanako and Mimiko crash into your hips with eager sounds, each grabbing you around the waist and crying out.
“Mama!” They cry worriedly, scrambling to hug you as they bury their faces in your legs. They start pushing you towards the couch with little hands, earnestly murmuring things you cannot make out. You look up at Satoru with a confused furrow of your brow, and your husband only chuckles and holds his hands up in a gesture of ‘i’ve got nothing to do with this.’ 
When you reach the couch, the girls scramble to make you sit beside Suguru, who is all too eager to wrap an arm around your shoulders to accommodate your arrival. 
“Good morning,” he hums as he pecks your temple. 
Nanako is already sliding a blanket into your lap as Mimiko climbs onto the couch, depositing herself at your side and snuggling into you. 
“Good morning,” you respond, watching with a fond smile as the girls make themselves comfortable in your lap. “What’s all this?” 
Suguru chuckles, reaching out to gently ruffle Nanako’s hair as she smiles. The girl looks up at her father with a beaming grin and snuggles closer to you when you wrap an arm around her to keep her stable. Your husband leans closer with a smile, murmuring quietly for only you to hear. 
“Megumi told them you were sick last night,” he fondly whispers. “I think it worried them.” 
Your head tilts in an expression of tenderness, and you give Suguru a knowing look before you lean down to kiss both your girls on the forehead. 
“Good morning, girls,” you rumble happily. “I’m alright, sweethearts. Megumi and your dads took very good care of me.”
Mimiko wiggles closer, snuggling into you and her sister with big, worried eyes. 
“Really?” her tiny voice murmurs. “Megumi-nii said you were hurting.” 
You can almost hear the pout in her voice without looking down at her. Giggling happily, you stroke a hand over her head and squeeze her close. 
“He even brought out his puppies!” Nanako quickly adds, squirming as he attempts to find the two Divine Dogs. “He said we couldn’t come in to see you because you needed to rest.” 
The two Shikigami have already returned to their owner, sitting on either side of Megumi’s chair with wagging tails and their tongues still sticking out. The boy is absentmindedly petting one while he focuses on the puzzle, shyly avoiding your gaze as if embarrassed. 
Your heart clenches sweetly again, and you turn to look at Satoru with a knowing smile. The sorcerer returns the look as he steps into the kitchen for your painkillers, ruffling Megumi’s hair as he goes. The boy lets out a muffled sound of discontent, but he doesn’t fix his messy strands. 
“Did he? That’s very sweet of him.” 
You and Suguru do not mention the faint pinkness of Megumi’s round cheeks. 
When you lean into Suguru’s side, the croissant in your hand warm like your lover’s body heat, you sigh happily. The cramps are a faint memory now, even though you know they’ll return soon. For now, you can savor the warmth of your family. 
“You’re taking the day off then, I suppose,” you look up at Suguru with an arched brow. Suguru smiles, leaning his head into yours to rest there. 
“Yeah,” he sighs, cuddling close to you and the twins. “We all are.” 
You suppose you can deal with the consequences of their unscheduled departure from work and school later… You’re far too warm and content now. When Satoru returns, sliding a glass of water into your empty hand and two painkillers into your other, he patiently waits as you take the pills. Then he sets the glass on the side table beside the mug of raspberry leaf tea he brewed for your cramps,  and then he eagerly dives into the limited space left on the couch. 
Scrambling into the twins’ space, Nanako and Mimiko giggle happily as Satoru presses kisses over their faces and squirms onto the couch. He plops Mimiko into his lap so he can sit at your side, laughing when the girls squeal happily. As you settle, you see Megumi look up from the table, shyly glancing away from his sister. Tsumiki gives him a knowing look as she climbs from her chair and eagerly walks over to Suguru. 
Suguru is too happy to allow her the tiny portion of space on his other side, and Tsumiki slides onto the couch, her side pressed tight to Suguru’s. She offers you a good morning and laughs when the twins attempt to squirm away from Satoru’s tickling fingers. 
Eventually Megumi stands from his place at the table, looking over at the couch as he debates something internally. A moment later, he stands in front of Suguru, shyly shifting on his feet as he looks at the only empty space on the couch. 
Megumi doesn’t need to say anything, because Suguru is already lifting the boy into his lap with a smile. Saving his son the embarrassment of shyly asking for the affection he usually avoids, Suguru chuckles as he deposits the last member of his family into his lap. 
“We could all use a day off,” he murmurs into your temple as he kisses you sweetly. 
You sigh happily, soaking in the warmth of the morning sun and the laughter of your family. 
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” 
The moment is only interrupted when Megumi’s Divine Dogs, only pups at this age, launch themselves onto the couch, eager to join the snuggles. The seven of you dissolve into laughter as you try to maneuver the excited puppies, and you can’t ask for anything else. 
“Megumi!” You laugh, trying to brush white dog hair from your face. “Control your summons!” 
The boy only laughs happily as the dark-coated puppy wiggles into his lap. 
No, he doesn’t think he will. 
Tumblr media
bonus:
gojo, looking down at reader and geto: you're so cute and pretty
reader, sleepily: I could beat the shit out of you
geto, nodding along: she could
gojo, lovingly: I know
a/n: no I am not back to writing just yet :')) I wrote this in a pain induced haze while having some terrible cramps so if you have terrible periods like me, this one is for you! this is purely based on my experience with cramps, and everyone is different, but I just wanted to write something for me :") I've never passed out but I've felt like it and I know it's super scary so I hope this can provide some comfort for you if you need it <3
ALSO this was written as comfort for jjk 236 :'))) bc everyone in this fic deserved better and I refuse to acknowledge canon
Tumblr media
7K notes · View notes
sleyu · 8 months
Note
thinking about how mean!bf sirius would have a hugeee corruption kink, he just wants to ruin your mind yk
idk maybe its just me
i think mean or not, it is definite that sirius black has a corruption kink and it unquestionably couples with his possessive nature.
just imagine mean bf ! sirius meeting you for the first time. you’re a timid, but undoubtedly kind individual who is meek next to him—fully aware of sirius’ notoriety in his personality and habits. he becomes so awestruck, he has nothing to respond to your unassuming questions aside from the occasional nod or gentle murmur.
he displays a calm, relatively friendly aura until the pair of you begin to become acquainted with each other and ultimately, begin dating. it is only then, that the mean teasing and snickers begin, and his heart bursts with joy at the sound of your bashful whines and protests every time he playfully slaps your ass or tugs your skirt, laughing and pulling you close to him, muttering how his actions are all in good fun and that he’d never let anything actually hurt you.
‘so bloody sensitive. y’know i’d rather die than let someone lay a hand on you, dummy.’
and of course, sirius isn’t stupid. he’s been having lewd, perverted thoughts about you since the day he met you. in fact, it was only the same night that sirius cast a silencing charm around his bed to hide the sinful sounds of him grunting as he fisted his cock, thoughts about bending you over the classroom desk polluting his already depraved mind.
since you’ve started dating, he reckons it’s time to manifest these fantasies into life, especially after noticing how your meek gaze has begun to linger on his broad chest and widen at the sight of his bulging crotch. his inner self beams with joy and crude anticipation every time he feels you pawing at his thighs, looking up at him in despair as if you’re unsure of what you really want or why the throbbing ache in between your thighs is only getting worse.
i think mean bf ! sirius would definitely become dizzy at the sight of you on your knees, hands gripping his muscular thighs, begging him to let you suck his cock or to fill your cunt up. usually he was the one doing the begging, but here you were, pliant, obedient, and desperate for his every touch. he genuinely has to sit down and stare at you while also controlling the immoral urge of forcing his cock down your throat, watching how your eyes widen and become teary as your throat contracts and chokes around his pulsating cock.
he genuinely cannot control himself once he sees you fully submit to him, begging him to give you the exact things you were too shy about even insinuating merely a month ago. it makes him feel so accomplished knowing that he was the one that made your brain all cloudy and fuzzy—that he was the one who got your cunt hooked on the feeling of his relentless, unforgiving cock.
‘sirius—my fingers—they’re not good enough—need your cock in me—jus’ want you to ruin ‘n abuse me—please da—’ as soon as you become close to uttering the last word, he’s already lifted up your skirt and forced his cock inside your aching pussy anyways, groaning into your mouth and fucking you ten times harder than he would have any other day.
‘slut—you’ve become a little slut—oh, fuck—‘n who’s are you, huh?’
it becomes the first time that sirius loses all sense of reason and caution as it has become evident to him that he’s irreversibly corrupted you into becoming just as disgusting and perverted as him.
‘nah, not sirius’, honey, you're daddy’s, yeah?’
‘gross fuckin’ bitch loves that, huh, puppy? you like it when daddy forces himself inside you like that, hm?’
‘hogwarts newest slut, yeah? but only mine, isn’t that right? only i get to ruin—fuck—this whorish cunt—mmm,’
sirius is so mean, he doesn’t even tell you when he’s about to cum :( he makes you cum and afterward, you’re a fucked out mess because he just doesn’t stop. your eyebrows begin to furrow and you can only manage to mumble a quiet ‘sirius?’ before he groans into your neck, breath all hot and heavy, and pumps you full of his hot, sticky cum. all you can do is whine and writhe beneath him as he pushes your knees to your chest and uses your cunt to drain his massive cock.
all the while, he’s reveling in the realization that he has just cummed inside you and that if spells and birth control were forgotten, it would be no surprise if you fell pregnant with the copious amounts of cum pumped inside your spent hole.
‘my dirty girl likes when daddy breeds her, doesn’t she? oh, don’t shake your head, pup, i know you like it—can feel you clench—god—around me right now.’
sirius gets so turned on when you confess that you can’t make yourself cum without him ever since the two of you started having sex. the image of you crying out in frustration at the feeling of your own neediness and the dull throbbing in between your sore thighs—incapable of doing anything without his guidance—makes his cock harden far quicker than it should have.
‘poor thing. my dumb girl can’t do anything without me, can she? your small fingers just aren’t as daddy, hm?’ paired with a faux, mocking frown because sirius black is an asshole that is very visibly ecstatic that you’ll always have to come to him to find a release.
and nothing fuels his ego more than having you beg him to stuff you full of his cum before class begins. he loses his mind seeing the effects of ruining your perfect, angelic interior. his once smart, goody-two-shoes, good-girl has become a conniving slut, her own cunt betraying any logic or rational thinking within her mind :( seeing his shy, perfect-attendance girlfriend begging him to skip class with her to fuck in a dingy broom closet is all it takes for him to bust right then and there.
7K notes · View notes
verstappen-cult · 21 days
Note
I don’t know why I went full angst on this but maybe one of them totally blanks on your birthday plans so you’re just sitting at a fancy restaurant with the other one wondering where he is
I can see this where Max forgot and you and Charles finally decide to order food and when you get home he was steaming and didn’t realize what was going on
You look to the front door just to see another random person walking in. Across the table, Charles tries to hold his anger inside, he tries very hard not to show how affected he also is.
“Maybe something came up.” Your boyfriend tries to smile and reassure you that everything is fine, that Max has a good excuse for not showing up.
He better have a god excuse or Charles is gonna make him sleep on the couch for the next month.
“Should we order? I’m pretty sure Max will want for us to celebrate. It’s your birthday, princess.”
You nod, not trusting your voice to speak.
It’s not the ideal celebration. Not when one of your boyfriends is not there with you and doesn’t pick up the phone. But Charles does a pretty good job of making you forget about it.
At least until dessert cames and they sing happy birthday to you.
*
“We have plenty of leftovers,” You go to the kitchen as Charles closes the front door. “You want a cup of tea, Char?”
“Don’t be a cunt! I was winning!”
You and Charles look at each other.
“Wha–”
But Charles is already sprinting up the stairs.
You follow him, heart rate through the roof, into Max’s streaming room.
And there he is. Max. Wearing sweatpants and streaming. You look at the screen that says how long he’s been there: four hours. Then, you see his phone on the floor, right next to a couple of Red Bulls.
“What the fuck, Max?!” Charles exclaims, making his boyfriend jump scared.
“Jesus Christ,” He touches his chest, just where his heart is. “Everyone’s laughing, by the way.” Max points to his headphones and then the screen where his friends, in fact, are laughing.
But you couldn’t care less about it.
“Max.” You say softly, grabbing Charles’ hand and caressing his wrist to try and calm him.
“What the actual fuck, mate.”
Charles never calls him mate.
“What?” He looks at Charles, then at you. “You look pretty good. Where did you go?” Max asks, already turning around to keep playing.
But Charles is having none of it. He walks to one side of the room, where everything is connected, and shuts everything off.
“Charles!”
Max is off his chair in a matter of seconds, looking absolutely pissed.
“Oh, you don’t get to be angry.” Charles takes two long strides, but you stand between them before he does something he will regret later. “We waited three hours! It was her birthday, you giant, fucking idiot.”
Charles throws his arms in the air before getting out of the room, leaving a speechless Max behind.
“What?”
You breathe deeply, avoiding eye contact. “You don’t even remember my birthday?”
“Of course I remember your birthday, Schatje.” He picks up his phone, seeing all the missed calls and texts. When he looks up, his eyes are filled with tears.
You can’t see properly anymore. “I think is better if you sleep in the guest room tonight, Max.”
You leave before he has time to say anything, running down the hallway and into your room. It’s only then that you let the tears flow freely down your face.
2K notes · View notes
ellecdc · 27 days
Note
Hi gorggg can i request an angst wolfstar fic where reader is kind of insecure of her placement within their relationship? like they’re both so close already and she’s a new addition so she kinda just feels out of place.
thank you for your amazing writing!! doing the world a favor❤️❤️❤️
Hey babes! Thanks SO much for the request 'cause truly, this is my shit. Now, I have to admit that I'm obsessed with these fics that have the same vibe by moonstruckme (poly!marauders) and super-clearlysaltybouquet (poly!wolfstar), so really, they're the blueprints/inspiration for this piece
also...I'm a whore for hurt/comfort. But you asked for ANGST...so I've given you only angst and no comfort. If you want comfort, you'll have to ask for a part two 💖 hope you love it!!! UPDATE: part two is here.
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader
CW: insecurities in relationship, feeling out of place, angst, hurt no comfort
It felt silly, really, to feel as sad as you did. You were currently sitting with two boys who you’ve been basically in love with for so long - two boys who have proclaimed to feel the same way about you - and on the outside you were sure this looked like a really lovely moment.
It just didn’t feel very lovely. 
You didn’t think your discontentedness stemmed from anything the boys had done in particular, but even seeing the way they instinctively leaned closer to one another when anyone else approached the three of you left you feeling like an outsider looking in.
Maybe you were overthinking things. Maybe this was just your insecurities showing.
Or maybe…maybe…the three of you had made a mistake.
Maybe you weren’t cut out for polyamory; it certainly wasn’t for the weak, and it certainly wasn’t easy being the newest addition to the relationship. 
You felt lost in most conversations, missing key information that inside jokes, years of friendship, and living together in the same tower - the same dorm room – led to. It felt as though they were fluent in a language you were only starting to pick up, and you didn’t want them to have to slow down for your sake. You didn’t want one of them to have to play the role of translator just for your benefit. 
But then, why were you here?
You weren’t calm, relaxed, and witty like Remus. And you weren’t funny, exciting, and energetic like Sirius. They seemed to already balance each other out perfectly; maybe that’s why it felt so easy to fall into the role of a background character in your own relationship.
There was a brief ‘honeymoon’ period to your relationship; a time of public proclamations, handholding and PDA, dates, and spending every moment the three of you could together.
It was exciting.
And then it was less exciting – not to you, never to you - but it seemed to be that way for them.
Suddenly, it was dates and then them returning to their dorm – back home – without you. It was silent conversations with nothing but a look between the two of them that didn’t include you in the slightest. It was professors announcing partner projects, and them pairing together immediately which was fine, you told yourself, because you always partnered with Shelby anyway and that’s the way it had always been before.
Before. 
This is the way it had always been before. 
So, what were you doing here, exactly? What were you doing sitting on a blanket near the Black Lake with a book in your hand, while Sirius’ hand gripped around your ankle gently as Remus played with Sirius’ hair from where his head was laying in his lap, whilst Sirius and Remus talked about pranks, something funny that James said, and setting Peter up with some Hufflepuff girl? 
You could tell you were being insecure… that you were overthinking this. You could tell you were being unreasonable because every so often, Sirius’ hand wouldn’t just be resting around your ankle, but he would squeeze it gently or rub his thumb across your Achilles tendon as if to convince himself that you were still here; still real. And every so often, Remus would move his gaze from where it laid on his own book or away from Sirius whom he was speaking with to look at you… check on you… confirm you were still there; still okay. 
They cared. They had to, right? Cared that you were here? They wouldn’t have asked you otherwise, surely. They wouldn’t be making the effort to keep a hand on you, or their eyes on you. Surely, they would never have decided to open their relationship to include you in it.
But there it was…the truth.
It was their relationship. And they’d opened it up for you.
It should be the second part of that sentence that spoke to you the most, but in your mind and insecurities, the second seemed like the whole truth. 
This was their relationship.
You shouldn’t be here.
“You still with us, dove?” Remus asked gently, distracting you from your musings. You suddenly realized that your book you were holding had fallen limply into your lap and you were staring unseeingly at the Black Lake. The boys had apparently paused their conversation to look at you, and Sirius’ thumb continued its tender caressing of the soft of your joint.
“Yeah.” You said, but it came out scratchy. You cleared your throat and tried again. “Yeah, sorry, I must have zoned out for a second.”
Sirius wiggled your ankle. “Daydreaming again, huh? About us I bet.” He teased with a wink. 
You wiggled your ankle back at him as he leaned his head up from Remus’ lap, lips puckered in an ask (a demand) for a kiss.
This may be fleeting, so who were you to deny him?
You leaned forward on one hand, the other still holding your book, and pressed a kiss to the black-haired boy’s lips. He smiled into it and let you go all too willingly as you leaned back and tried to focus on your book. 
The air around you began to feel heavy before the sound of distant thunder permeated your hearing.
“Damn, I guess Scottish weather isn’t very reliable, hm?” Remus said as he began packing up his things.
“It’s too bad.” Sirius murmured as he began to stand. “I was having a nice time out here with you two.”
You smiled back at him as he extended a hand to help you up.
“We’re still on for a study date tomorrow after dinner, right?” He asked you when you were at your full height.
“Yeah, sure. If you guys will have me.” You responded shyly, hating that you even hinted at any of your insecurities.
Sirius scoffed in response, but it was Remus who answered. “’Course we do, dove. We’re looking forward to it.”
You felt like you should be a little embarrassed at the way your heart fluttered hopefully at the sentiment, but you focused instead on Sirius’ smile and Remus’ soft eyes as the three of you made your way back to the castle. 
Tumblr media
You hadn’t seen the boys at all today. You unfortunately slept through your alarm, making you miss breakfast completely; generally, you’d sit with Sirius, Remus, and their friends at the Gryffindor table. The two of them were no shows for lunch, so you opted to sit with Shelby instead. And it was Friday, and on Friday’s you didn’t share any classes with them, meaning by the time you made it to dinner, you’d not seen or heard from them at all.
“Hey James.” You commented as you headed towards James, Lily, and Regulus sitting at the Slytherin table. “Have you seen Rem or Sirius at all today?” Of course, you knew that he had, he lived with them.
James seemed to grimace slightly, but the expression was fleeting before he was smiling at you again. 
He knew something you didn’t.
“The last I heard they were talking about your study date tonight.” He offered. You could tell he was putting on an extra show of enthusiasm for your benefit. You tried to be grateful for it, but it left a sour taste in your mouth, nonetheless.
“Okay, thank you.” You said as you turned to head to find a seat with Shelby. 
“Oh, Y/N.” Lily called after you. “You’re welcome to sit with us, if you’d like?”
You grinned gratefully at Lily as she smiled kindly at you, even though your heart clenched on account of the clearly pitying offer. Was it as obvious to everyone else as it was to you that you were so out of place with Remus and Sirius? Could they all see it too?
“That’s alright. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” You called as you walked away.
The boys weren’t avoiding you, were they? Surely, they would have said something to you if there was a problem.
Although, perhaps they wouldn’t, seeing as you had clearly been spiraling for some time now and have yet to discuss it with them.
Would they even meet you in the library later? Certainly, they would have said if something came up…if you needed to reschedule.
No. 
You were obviously being silly. You hadn’t seen them all day, but they hadn’t seen you either – it was just a coincidence. You were fine.
Except you weren’t fine. Because it was about seven minutes after the time you had agreed to meet them before the boys joined you in the library. Remus offered you a hasty “sorry we’re late, dove” and a squeeze of your shoulder before taking a place at the table across from you, and Sirius pecked a quick kiss into your hair and sat beside you without saying a word.
It was painfully awkward. You’d asked them how their days were – Remus answered for the both of them before he asked you how yours was in turn.
After two more (failed) attempts on your part to make conversation, the rest of the study session was spent in silence. And not a comfortable silence.
It was the kind of silence that had you checking your surroundings every so often. The kind of silence that made you feel as if bugs were crawling over your skin.
Every time you looked across at Remus, he seemed to be shooting concerned glances over at Sirius. Every time you looked in your periphery at Sirius, you could see he was zoned out, eyes rimmed and red like he’d been crying or angrily rubbing at them. 
If something was wrong, they would have told you – right?
If they were regretting being with you, they wouldn’t have shown - right? 
If they were going to break up with you, they wouldn’t do it in the library of all places.
Right?
Your musings were interrupted when Sirius let out a sharp breath and closed his book unceremoniously. 
“Sorry guys, I’m not feeling the best. I think I’m going to pack it up.”
Remus immediately perked up, looking like he was ready to pack up too. “Okay, do you want company?”
Do you want me to come with you?
“No, that’s alright. Don’t let me impede your studying. I’ll catch up with you later, ‘kay?”
I’ll talk to you more in our dorm room when we’re alone, Remus.
“Sorry, sweets. I’ll make it up to you.” He said as he hugged you from behind and kissed your neck. 
“Okay, I hope you feel better.” You offered as you awkwardly pat his arms. He gave you a half-hearted smile before quickly exiting the library.
Once his figure disappeared from your vision, you turned back to see Remus still looking towards the way Sirius just left; he was still poised as if he was ready to pack up and go after him.
You suddenly felt guilty…because if you weren’t here, he would be going… He’d be going after his boyfriend and comforting him through…whatever he’s going through.
So now, here you were keeping Remus from where he really wanted to be, and Sirius from having the support that he needs…that he deserves.
My gods, you’ve made such a terrible mistake. How did the three of you not notice?
“Sorry about that, love.” Remus mentioned quietly, offering you a half smile. “He…he got a letter from his family today. He doesn’t really talk about it with people.”
He talked about it with you, though.
“It usually takes him a day or two to sort it out before he comes back to us.”
You mean back to you, James, and Peter…
“I’ll talk to him.”
When you leave me…to go to him.
You hated even feeling petulant about it. One of the things you loved about these boys was how much they loved each other. The trust, the affection, the care…you had just hoped that somehow, you’d get to enjoy those things too.
You offered him the best smile you could muster as you turned back towards your book. You could no longer make the words out as your vision blurred, tears threatening to spill out over the arithmancy calculations spread below you. 
You couldn’t keep doing this. Not to Remus, not to Sirius…and certainly not to yourself. You deserved better, all three of you did. 
You were being selfish, inserting yourself into their relationship like this; demanding things from them that they didn’t owe you.
“You know what,” you offered quietly, clearing your throat as your voice came out scratchy, grating along the lump lodged in your throat. “I think I’ve gotten enough studying done for tonight.”
You stood and started piling your things together. 
“Oh…are, are you sure?” Remus asked like he was willing to argue, but he too was standing and starting to pack his bag – eager to get to his dorm and check on Sirius. 
“Yeah, I did some work on it at dinner as well.”
Remus grimaced slightly at that.
“I’m sorry dove, really. The three of us clearly haven’t had a great day. I’ll talk to Sirius, and I promise we’ll all be back in sync in no time.”
You looked into his eyes and saw sincerity.
Back in sync.
Were we ever in sync to begin with?
“Can I walk you to your dorm?” He asked as he made to move around the table, but he paused at you quickly shaking your head.
“No, no I’m alright. I can find my way.” You tried to joke, but it fell flat.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. No, don’t worry about it just – uhm – just make sure he’s okay for me, yeah?” You asked as you walked backwards to the door. Remus must’ve picked up something in your tone, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked you up and down.
“I really am sorry, Y/N. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
You quickly wiped away a stray tear that found its way out of your water line and gave him the biggest smile you could muster.
This was better, you thought, let everyone out of their misery.
“’Course. I’ll, uhm, I’ll see you around, Lupin.”
And you left. 
1K notes · View notes
writtenbymoonflower · 2 months
Note
how about
and hear me out
room mate! marauders who are obsessed with their shy roomate
oh trust me, hunny, i am hearing you. hope this is okay! shy gn!reader x poly!marauders
cw: nothing really, just fluff, reader is very flustered
1.1k words
Your eyes were blurry as you shuffled into the sunny kitchen. You weren’t used to waking up to the curtains open and breakfast on the stove. You’d lived with people before of course, but none as lively as this bunch. You weren’t complaining, though, you were quickly warming to them, even though you had probably spoken a total of 50 words to your new housemates in the three weeks you had lived with them. Most of these words likely consisting of sorry, excuse me, thank you. 
They had been talking though. Ever since the day you met they had been treating you like their best friend. Not even that. They were all best friends. (Though you considered that wasn’t all, on more than one occasion you had caught Sirius with his head in James’ lap, or Remus’ legs swung over one of the other boys. You had also observed a fair number of kisses between the three boys). But rather, they treated you like something precious, like a porcelain doll they were begging to get a hold of.
That thought made you immediately think of the nickname Sirius (or ‘Pads’ as the boys occasionally called him) had stuck you with. 
“Hey, dollface! You sleep well?” The coal-haired boy looked like he was itching to beckon you under his arm, but resisted. You were thankful, not knowing if you could survive that.
“It was good.” You hummed, barely legible to James over the sound of his bacon sizzling. You padded over to the breakfast table, sitting one chair away from Sirius and his huge bowl of cereal. No sooner had you sat down when a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of you by a spindly hand. 
“Here you go, dovey.” Remus sat in the chair between you and Sirius. 
“Oi, Moons. You’re blocking my view.” You turned in your chair to look behind you at the ‘view’ he was referring to, brows scrunching in confusion when all you saw was the archway. You heard a light chuckle from Remus and a snicker from Sirius as you whipped back around. The possible meaning dawned on you, making you his your heated face in your mug.
“Don’t torture the poor thing.” James scolded, giving a (what you were sure he believed was comforting) squeeze to your shoulder before he sat on your other side.
“I never tortured anyone.” Remus corrected from behind his morning paper, slowly eating a cup of berry-yogurt. “Collective punishment is a war crime, Prongs” 
“Leavin’ me to the wolves huh, Moons?” Sirius sassed, sipping on his coffee that was mostly just cream and sugar. 
“Oh trust me, I’m sure we all know how much you’d love to be left to the wolf.” James smirked, clearly in on a joke that you had no idea about. He abandoned his teasing to turn to you, fixing a horribly kind look that made your tummy turn to mush. “There is some bacon and eggs on the stove for breakfast, but I’m sure Sirius would let you into his cereal.” 
“There’s also yogurt.” Remus looked pointedly to his near-empty cup. 
“Oh no, I’m okay. I could never take your food. I’m not hungry anyway.” You muttered into your mug. 
“You’ve gotta eat somethin’ babydoll. Can’t have you skipping meals.” Sirius had a playful, if not protective tilt to his tone. 
“I’ll find somethin’ don’t worry.” You scrubbed your bleary eyes with irritated cadence, still on the brink of sleep despite the warm caffeine swirling in your system. Thick fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull your offending hand away. 
“Gentle, sweetheart.” James scolded lightly. “Gonna hurt yourself like that.” He squeezed your hand before letting it go but it felt oddly like your face and your lungs were being squeezed as well. If this was the boys normal, you weren’t sure if you were going to survive. 
You mumbled a sorry looking at the mahogany table like it held the meaning of life, or the extra hour of sleep you desperately craved. 
“What’ve we told you? You say sorry too much, sweet thing. It’s like, your favorite word or something.” Sirius laughed, slurping down his cereal milk and licking his chops. You bit back another apology and rubbed your eyes again, though much more gentle this time. James cooed in sympathy. 
“You still sleepy?” He rubbed your back again, which made you both more heated and more drowsy. 
“Yeah.” You hummed, shamefaced as you played with the hem of your oversized t-shirt. You were thankful that you were still too shy to not wear long pants around them, because they would definitely be able to tell how tensed your legs were. Remus set his paper down.
“Do you have work today, love?” 
“No, ‘s my day off.” James grinned at that, but Sirius spoke up. 
“Happy coincidence! It’s ours too.” He grinned. “How about we all watch something? We can put something on in the lounge room and you can catch a bit of sleep on the settee?” He suggested. You shrunk at the thought of sleeping in front of them, but weren’t opposed to the idea.
“We’ll make sure to wake you up so you don’t sleep the day away.” James added, still rubbing your back. You were easily convinced. 
“Okay, that does sound nice.” Barely above a whisper. 
“We can all have a big lunch when you get up, too. Maybe we could go out?” Remus suggested as he led you gently to the living room. You tried to make your way to the armchair, but you were tugged to the couch. 
“That won’t be comfy, dollface. Here you go.” Sirius sat on the settee close to one arm, Remus by the other. Sirius pulled you between them while James sat on the floor and you whined in protest. 
“No, I’ll move. You sit here, James.”
Remus swore that was the loudest he had ever heard you speak. 
“No, I’m good right here. Thanks though, sweetness.” James reassured. He was sat in the middle, though rather close to Remus so the mousy boy could reach out with one hand and scratch James’ scalp, roving his long fingers through the thick curls. You were so distracted that you were startled when Sirius tugged on you again, maneuvering your head onto a pillow that laid on his lap. You tensed before relaxing into his warmth. You tucked your legs into yourself as Remus covered you with a blanket before going back to loving on James. 
“There you go, baby. That feel nice?” Sirius said, unfamiliarly soft as he stroked your hair, hand a welcome warmth on your scalp. 
Baby. Baby. Baby.
It would surprise you if you woke up from this nap. Your heart had nearly stopped on the spot.
1K notes · View notes
bunny584 · 11 days
Text
A Girl with No Name
A/N: This one shot POURED out of me. All because of this incredible art by @chu-cho Thank you for creating this masterpiece. Hope I can do your art justice. 
Ok, let me set the scene. Euphoria, SKINS, and Degrassi procreated in the basement of Kappa Alpha. Keg to the right. A designer tray of substances to the left. The boys in the middle. And you…you crack the whi— what? Who said that? 
CW: Frat AU, implied substance use, mature 18+, MDNI
Tumblr media
‘Ain’t a pill that I didn’t take’
Lyrics that feel too familiar tread water between Suguru’s ears. They glide along his skin. Which feels like silk, by the way. 
Silk.
Who ever made that is a Nobel laureate.  
‘Cause Imma sleep when I R.I.P.’ 
Euphoria. 
Who chose the lights?
They’re vivid. Swarming. Like the walls are a tile dance floor. Yeah. Light picker deserves a Nobel too.
“You are so fucked right now.” His best friend’s sharp ass voice dices his lucid thoughts to smithereens. 
“Shut up, Satoru.” He’s not wrong. 
“We took the same shit.” Suguru perches on the solo cup ridden kitchen island. Sitting is good. 
“Plus, I’m bigger than you.” 
“If you wanna compare dicks just say so.” Satoru sneers, he’s cockier when inebriated. 
In any other instance when Suguru is of sound mind, Satoru would’ve caught a jab to the chest. But two reasons why that can’t happen. 
One, he’s currently tripping balls. 
Two, you just walked in. 
Like you own the house. 
Maneuvering your body around the active pong table. Slipping past the chatty women gawking in their direction. Gearing for attack. Shifty and nervous, but the vodka cranberry is courage elixir. 
The boys have about 45 seconds to engage with said women or divert. 
But you are currently leaning over the counter reaching for a shot glass well out of your zip code. A little red dress on. All curves, no brakes. With an ass that could make anyone believe in God. 
Sorry, girls. Tonight, they are going to divert. 
Suguru catches Satoru’s heady gaze. No words needed. They share instincts. The boys have been in stride since the day they met. 
They saunter over to the counter you’re mounting. An easy reach for them both. 
“Didn’t realize your name was on the lease, princess.” 
Satoru plucks the double shot glass down from Mount Everest. Handing it over between two fingers. 
Still propped up on the counter with one knee, you peer down at them both. Letting the white noise of utter disinhibition drape the space between you. 
Suguru planned on softening Satoru’s blow, but then you smile. 
Cavalier and gorgeous.
Like it’s a golden ticket into spaces you don’t belong in. 
The answer to questions people don’t realize need asking. 
The cure for everything. 
And right now? It is. The cure.
Suguru stands stupefied as you brace yourself on his shoulders. Thank God his hands still know what to do. They snake around your tapered waist and pull you to solid ground. 
Speak, dumbass.
“You didn’t? It’s in the fine print.” Your voice beats him to it. And is fucking dessert. 
Bad for you. Horrible for you. But good in the way self-indulgence is.
You take your shot glass (really, anything in the house is yours if you want it). And steer away to the refrigerator.
Your absence jumpstarts Suguru’s out-of-commission brain. 
“Excuse him, he was raised by monkeys. Can I help you find something?” 
Suguru and Satoru reposition themselves behind you while you rummage. Bent over at the waist. Head nearly submerged in the pull out freezer. 
Are you doing this on purpose? 
Are you trying to be a cocktease? 
Satoru isn’t even attempting to stop eye-fucking you. 
Suguru pulls his tongue ring in and out of his teeth. Anything to stop ruminating on the melody of sounds that’ll fill the room when his hips slam into your ass repeatedly. 
“There it is,” you stand back to your full height. Triumphant. Jack Daniels in hand. 
Your eyes are pools of quicksand. Why else would Suguru’s mouth feel more stuck than his feet? 
“You’re a whiskey, kind of girl?” Satoru smirks, amused at your vice choice. 
Again, the boys follow your movements like two expertly trained German Shepards. Flanking you when you settle at the corner of the island. Meticulously over-pouring your first double shot. 
“I’m a good time kind of girl.” The way your slender neck tilts back is immoral. Throating the dark liquid like water.
…what else can that throat handle? 
“Okay, good time girl wh—“ 
“Listen.” You snip Satoru’s snide remark at its base. Leaving both of them silent. Watching. Waiting. 
“Brad,” you pointedly look at Suguru.
“And Chad,” eyes dagger into Satoru.
“Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m not interested in talking.” 
The back of your hand swipes against your full lips. And Suguru can’t seem to pull his eyes off of them.
Satoru, after a moment of stunned silence, lets out his laugh. The one that means you’ve won his undivided attention for the night. 
“Close, but no cigar baby. Try again.” Satoru leans onto his forearms. Tilting his intoxicated gaze up at you. 
“Right idea, though.” Suguru chimes in. Tongue finally deciding to work. 
“Ahh, I hear you loud and clear.” You retort, golden-ticket smile back on your face. 
Your nose wrinkles in feigned concentration and Suguru nearly passes out.
Are you really this hot? Or is he just that blasted? 
 “Preppy,” your hand cups Satoru’s face. And his Adam’s Apple bobs deeply. 
Good, Satoru is feeling this as hard as he is. 
“And Edgy.” Suguru gawks at the way your lips hang open after your snarky guess at his name leaves your mouth.
Satoru’s wolfish chuckle is what re-tethers Suguru to this dimension. How the fuck is he keeping up with you right now? 
“No, no. I got it.” You pipe up. 
Placing one hand over each of theirs. Suguru greedily intertwines his long fingers between your petite ones. 
“Thunder.” You squeeze Suguru’s hand and his soul nearly leaks out of his dick. 
“And Lightening.” 
Cotton candy dusts Satoru’s nose to his ears when you look up at him. Suguru can see the vulgar scenarios on cinematic repeat in his best friend’s mind.
And it’s tame compared to the ways Suguru wants to disrespect you. 
“We can work with that.” Suguru flashes a smile of his own. Purposefully keeping his tongue ring out of your view. 
“And what can we call you?” Satoru probes. Zeroed in because no one else in the room exists. 
Your hands return back to your side, and Suguru misses your warmth immediately. 
“No name.” 
Flippant. Lighthearted like what you said was normal. 
“What was that?” Satoru spurts out. Saliva bubbling in his half open mouth. 
You glide away from the kitchen. Into the den with bodies colliding. Walls thrumming. Lights strobing.
Delicate hands cup around your mouth. Turning back to face your new guard dogs. 
“Not here to talk, boys!” 
The three of you are interwined at the center of the crowded room in seconds. 
But time is warped.
Because Suguru is traversing Death Zone altitude on the mountain. And Satoru is swimming at Abyssal Zone depth in the ocean. 
You are the 8th cardinal sin. 
You writhe and undulate your curves in and out of their grasp. Gripping onto Satoru’s neck, strumming his undercut when he’s facing you. Winding your hips against Suguru’s crotch when he’s behind you. 
Suguru’s cock has never been this hard, he’s half worried it could snap in half. Hissing against your neck. Groaning behind your ear. So goddamn grateful for the music drowning out his desperation. 
But his skin is on fire. He can feel every vessel pulsate.
You are not a want. 
You are a need. 
“Need you.” Suguru gruffs in your ear. Flickering up to Satoru, who is mirroring his hooded gaze. 
Suguru watches your pretty hand trail down Satoru’s chest. Satoru rolls his bottom lip under his teeth. Apt nickname you chose for him, because there are lightening bolts in his eyes. 
“Take me upstairs,” you whisper back, tilting up to capture Suguru in your web. 
And he is so captured. So entangled. 
The boys lead you to Suguru’s bedroom in the frat house. Even though the walk felt like miles, exactly no time passes when you three close the door behind you.
Suguru’s lips magnet to yours. Insatiable in the way he sucks and pulls on your lips. Tongue tasting every corner of your sweet mouth. 
Satoru drops his head to the crook of your neck. Sucking bruises. Tracing his large grasp up and underneath your dress. No time or room for manners with how his cock is tenting against its weak restraints.
“So eager, boys.” You giggle in between their hungry kisses. 
And you’re right. 
It’s embarrassing, their display right now. 
But neither one of them have the capacity to stop. 
And hold it together. 
And lead. Like they both are used to. 
“Sorry,” Satoru grunts into the feminine slope of your neck. You let out an airy laugh when he starts to dry hump you. Tickling both of their incapable brains. 
You know Satoru is so far gone. 
And Suguru is trying to hold on to some semblance of dignity but his cock simply won’t let him. Not the way it’s drenching his sweats with need. 
“Take these off.” Melodic instructions fill Satoru and Suguru’s ears the minute you pull away from Suguru’s kiss. Your index finger hooked on both hems. 
As if your voice is a Pavlovian trigger, the boys step out of their pants and boxers. 
Rock hard. Desperate. Leaking. 
Your personal drones. 
Suguru can’t swallow the whimper that collides with Satoru’s whine when your hands drop to stroke both of them at the same time. Flickering your eyes between your two toys. Proud of the way their cocks are twitching and pumping beads of precum into your hands.
“God, pretty girl.”
“Fuck, princess.”
Satoru and Suguru are dizzy with heat. 
Just in time for you to drop to your knees. Dragging your closed, lipsticked lips along Suguru’s up curve.
“Please,” Suguru whispers.
You’re evil. 
And you ignore him. Dragging your soft, warm hand up the length of his shaft. Interjecting butterfly kisses in between. Working Satoru’s length in your other hand. Drawing punched out moans from the boys. Chests heaving. Clipped breaths. Pitiful. 
“On your knees, Lightning.” You beckon Satoru, while teasing his counterpart. 
Satoru doesn’t hesitate for a second. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Propped on his knees, he stares into the side of your face. Awaiting further instruction. 
“Kiss me,” you demand, circling your lips around Suguru’s sensitive tip for the first time. Evoking a loud hiss. 
Satoru’s eyes widen. Your words startle the breath out of him. 
The lights are dim but Suguru doesn’t miss the blossoming cherry red flush. Spreading along his toned shoulders.
Your wet lips dragging along his swollen cockhead pulls Suguru’s eyes away from his celestial best friend. 
“Mmmgh f..fuck baby,” Suguru chokes out at your slow, mean ministrations. 
“Don’t be shy, Lightening.” Your tongue tickles his lead pipe with every spoken word around his girth. 
Suguru’s eyes fall to your hand. Now working its way up Satoru’s length. His core involuntarily curls into your sudden touch. Gossamer thin whine tumbling out of his lips. Suguru catches the way Satoru digs his fingernails into his milky skin. 
And his cock twitches against your lips at the sight. 
“Kiss me,” You beckon Satoru again, dragging your tongue up Suguru’s length. 
“I—I…“ Satoru stammers. Hips stuttering against your fist. Static fills Suguru’s head. 
He’s never seen him this docile. This pliant. It’s a mind fuck. 
No, no. 
The way Satoru pulls his eyes up to meet his gaze in that moment is a mind fuck. 
Is he hallucinating?
It’s like Suguru is seeing Satoru for the first time. 
Instead of being side by side, he’s across the street. Catching a glimpse of a God. Walking amongst men. 
Satoru’s expression has earned permanence in his brain. Snowy halo of hair. Long, palatial lashes fanning the Aegean Sea in his eyes. A mosaic of lust, desire, a little shame. 
Seeking permission.
Seeking approval. 
He is otherworldly. 
Vulnerable and soft. On his knees. Needy. It makes Suguru want to ram his cock past those pouty, swollen lips. 
But..but that’s wrong. Right? 
They’re best friends. Fucking soulmates. They don’t..they don’t do that. 
But the way he’s pouting.
God. 
Glassy eyed and helplessly turned on. Rutting his hips into your hand. 
Fuck. 
“Fuck,” Suguru mutters. A surge of his arousal landing on your tongue. Eliciting a breathy giggle in response. 
Followed by an out of body experience for the next few minutes. 
Suguru’s hand wires into Satoru’s cloud soft locks. Gentle grasp between the slender webspaces. 
“So pretty.” He rasps through the nails in his throat. 
Satoru’s pupils blow out at the praise. All but purring into his touch. Suguru barely applies any force and Satoru crashes his lips onto yours with Suguru’s thick head in between. 
Filthy. 
Nasty dirty vulgar sounds fill the room. Suguru’s constant stream of precum dripping onto your tongue, Satoru’s tongue. Raining down on your puffy, full tits.
You two exploring each other’s lips. 
Satoru’s angry length, squelching against your hand. 
It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 
“Such a good boy.” 
Your dulcet voice is a tornado decimating Suguru’s brain. He has to blink a few times to realize that the praise wasn’t meant for him. 
It was directed at Satoru. 
Who is desperately — eagerly — throating Suguru’s dick. Nose flaring. Diamond tears rolling down his blushing cheeks. Unintelligible garbles dribbling out the corners of his mouth. 
“Sa—Satoru, mmgh, god shit, shit.” Suguru’s hips take a cruel pace down his Person’s throat. 
“Mmm, Satoru.” You murmur into his ear. Tasting your new discovery. 
“Look how much Thunder likes fucking that mouth of yours.” 
Satoru’s tears splash against Suguru’s sex. But he opens his throat anyway. Swallowing his rod. Filthy bulge in the column of his throat. 
“Ahh, god..baby..” Suguru huffs when your devilish little hands tug at a palm full of his hair. 
When did you get next to him?
Doesn’t matter. 
Yet another natural disaster destroys Suguru’s brain when you push your tongue back into his mouth. While he violates Satoru’s mouth. 
The wire in Suguru’s stomach coils. Lava surges through every vessel in his body. Groin welling with a deep, carnal pressure. Everything feels too fucking good.
“Fuck, oh god fuck. I’m I—g—“
“Cum for me, baby.” 
You kiss your hushed command into Suguru’s mouth. His hips come to a screeching halt. Both hands down in Satoru’s hair, grazing along his undercut. 
Suguru tilts his chin to the ceiling. Thick loose mane tickling his mid back. Vision completely dark. He has no idea if he’s still in Satoru’s mouth. Or where his cum is landing. All he knows is death by pleasure right now.
You press your moist lips into Suguru’s neck.  
“You’re so beautiful like this.” Sweet words reverberate against Suguru’s skin. 
His head slowly comes back to earth. And just as his eyes pull back open — a shudder and blinding light assaults his vision. Up close. 
“Woah, what the hell?” 
Suguru is met with a Polaroid camera. Printing evidence of his nirvana. His brows crawl together defensively.
“What do you—“
“Relax, thunder.” You coo with that smile that’s decadent, beautiful poison. 
You step over a dazed Satoru. Still on his knees. Lazily stroking up his neglected hard cock. 
Suguru’s eyes track you to his bed. You place the developing film on the nightstand. 
“These are for your eyes only.” 
“I don’t mind.” Satoru huffs. Rising to his feet. Deep within your trance. You could’ve asked him to cut off an arm and he’d offer you both. 
Satoru would follow you into Hell if you demanded it. 
Suguru would too. 
“Boys, come.” You curl your finger at them. And pairs of feet move. 
“Thunder, why don’t you put that tongue ring to good use. While I take care of pretty little Satoru.” 
His name on your lips snaps something buried in his soul. Satoru steps to the head of the bed. Leaning against the wall. Cock heavy with his seed. A string of arousal hanging low from his tip. 
You make a dramatic show to catch Satoru’s leaking string of cum before it wastes on Suguru’s sheets. 
“You’re fucking filthy, princess.” Satoru hisses. He can’t remember the last time he’s blinked the whole night. 
You smile around his bulbous tip, then pull him into your warm heat in one go. 
And fuck, Satoru can feel you sucking through to his throat. 
His whimpers sound so pathetic in his ears. But he is so lust-drunk he couldn’t care less. 
One look down and he sees his best friend whining underneath your precious cunt. As you circle your hips around Suguru’s metal-clad tongue. Taking your pleasure directly from his mouth. 
Suguru’s half hard sex pulsates against his perfectly toned abs. Satoru has to look away. His orgasm threatening to come too soon. 
“Mmmnggh, so good with your tongue, Thunder.” You gurgle around Satoru’s length. 
Arousal flavored saliva driveling down your chin. The sensation drives Satoru to piston his hips until his tip abuses the limit of your dainty throat. 
You shouldn’t have any space to breathe, much less talk. 
“Pl-please. Suguru. Name’s Suguru.” 
“Say his name baby.” Satoru’s order is low. Raptorial. Hips bucking wildly into your mouth. Heat crashing into his groin. 
He’s so close. He’s—
“S-Suguru.”
And Satoru dives off your cliff edge. Hearing his Person’s name tumble out of your mouth and around his cock snapped his self-control in half. 
Ropes off thick, warm heat spill out the side of your mouth. Staining your bunched up dress, the sheets and everything in between. 
“S-so close,” you huff, humping Suguru’s tongue more aggressively. 
A familiar camera shudder and solar bright light fans your outstretched neck. Capturing your cum-stained ascension. 
You flash Satoru a knowing smirk. Another beam of light aimed in his face before he tosses your camera off to the side. 
Satoru crashes his lips into yours. Eager to taste himself off your mouth. 
Your bodies move in perfect tandem. Satoru kisses your peak from your lips while Suguru coaxes your wet orgasm onto his tongue. Your high drenches Suguru and the sheets around him. 
The three of you piece yourselves together. Completely plaited within each other’s warm, moist limbs. Basking in the serotonin showers misting you three in post-coital bliss. 
No one remembers, but you wish each other sweet dreams before the fog settles. And the night re-claims you to sleep. 
                                     ——
Sunlight is downright offensive. 
Suguru forces his heavy lids open.
7: 43 AM
Fucking, hell. 
A freight train is currently doing laps in Suguru’s mind. He flickers around the room. Haphazard clothes. Strewn socks. Satoru in Suguru’s 06 hockey jersey. Long limbs nearly dangling off the other side of his bed. 
Suguru glances down, somehow dressed only in Satoru’s black sweats
There’s a tiny sliver of space between their sodden bodies. Where you must’ve slept. 
Right.
You. 
Heaven’s fallen angel. 
You used to be God’s favorite. No way you still are.
Not with how fucking sinful you looked in that red dress. 
Snapping polaroids.
Taking their souls for play. 
Then having the audacity to leave them on the nightstand when you were through.
Suguru met The Devil last night. 
And she was…exquisite. 
“Fuck, my head.” Satoru groans, rolling over to face his dark-haired soulmate.
Suguru watches his eyes flutter open. And something within him catches. 
How has he not noticed how beautiful this boy is before?
“Here,” A glass of ice water, still sweating from condensation is waiting on Suguru’s nightstand. He takes a long sip before passing the lifeblood to Satoru. 
Satoru briefly meets Suguru’s gaze. Before averting, pretty mulberry blush flooding his face. 
“Was last night…real?” Satoru asks after an extended sip. 
Suguru meets his question with silence. Preoccupied with picture proof. 
Three polaroids neatly arranged on the nightstand. 
The first one is of Suguru. Hair moused, framing his intoxicated gaze. Remnants of his orgasm oozing from the still shot. Lips puffy and abused. Cheeks flushed. Suguru can barely recognize the man in the photo. 
His eyes dance to the cursive label at the bottom:
Thunder 
Alias: “Suguru”
A wry chuckle escapes his lips. He passes his photo to Satoru. 
The next polaroid is of his Person. Post orgasm haze heavy in his eyes. He managed to get his 10,000-kilowatt smile perfectly in the selfie. Also flushed. Also completely debauched. The blue in his eyes reflected nearly translucent. 
He’s a fucking masterpiece, that boy. 
Suguru knows what to expect at the bottom of Satoru’s polaroid:
Lightening
Alias: “Satoru”
“Shit man, these are amazing.” Satoru murmurs, intently studying Suguru’s polaroid. Absentmindedly accepting his.
“They are.” Suguru agrees, unknowingly holding his breath while pulling your polaroid into view. 
And of course.
It’s blurry. 
The only thing in focus is your graceful, arched neck, specks of Satoru’s finish glistening on your skin. Merlot red dress, pulled far below your breasts. Only thing pictured is the apex of your cleavage. Leaving Suguru’s mind to spiral into lucid memory of the rest of your silhouette. 
“Who…was that?” Satoru muses. Eyes now on the ceiling. Undoubtedly having the exact same swarm of flashbacks flood his mind. 
Suguru rolls your Polaroid between his index and long finger. The bottom of the photo reading:
No Name
A lazy smile tugs on the corner of his lips.
You are something else. 
Supernatural, almost.
“She’s a girl with no name.” 
869 notes · View notes
moonstruckme · 4 months
Note
hello, hello! can i ask for an au of emt!marauders? she had a minor accident maybe in her work or college and they got called in without knowing that it was her? (shes their gf) 💘
How could I refuse??
cw: minor head injury, the teeniest tiniest hint of a praise kink
emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words
You’re sitting on the curb holding a bag of ice to your head when the ambulance cuts its sirens, coming to a stop. The door opens and boots hit the pavement in front of you. 
“Dollface?”
You blink up into the sun. “Sirius?”
He crouches by your knees, worry making itself at home in the crease between his brows. “Hey, baby, what’s going on?”
“I didn’t think it’d be you,” you say dumbly. 
“Are you hurt?” James comes bounding around the other side of the ambulance, Remus not far behind him. You can’t say you’re not happy to see them, but you sort of wish your reunion could have waited until your date tomorrow night, when you would almost surely not have been in your work uniform and covered in pasta sauce. “Are we here for you?” 
“Technically,” you reply, somewhat bitterly. James squats beside Sirius, mouth pulling to one side. “I fainted a little bit, and my boss said he had to call an ambulance. Just so I can’t sue the restaurant, I guess. I’m totally fine.” 
“They called us and then made you sit on the curb?” Sirius asks angrily while James says, “How does one faint only a little bit?”
“They didn’t want you guys scaring the customers.” You choose to answer only Sirius’ question, shrugging. His eyes flare, and he looks towards the restaurant like he’s thinking about going inside to have some words with your manager, but Remus passes a conciliatory hand over his shoulder as he sits beside you on the curb. 
“What’s this for, love?” he asks you, covering your hand where it holds the bag of ice.
You must look as sheepish as you feel, because his eyes narrow slightly. “I guess I hit my head a bit when I fell.” 
“So,” he says dryly, “not totally fine, then.” 
“I mean, I don’t think I hit it very hard,” you try, but Remus is already removing your makeshift ice pack, tilting your head so he can see the forming bump on the side. 
“Why don’t you tell us everything that happened,” James suggests, giving your knee a teasing squeeze as Sirius moves beside Remus to jockey for a view of your head, “just so we have all the facts.” 
“I was carrying a tray to my table,” you explain, wincing as Remus passes a thumb over your wound with a murmured apology, “and I started to feel weird, like wobbly and out of it. I thought it might pass, but—” Sirius sends you a horrified look and your voice quiets, chastened. “I know I probably should have sat down or something, but I was working, you know? Anyway, then I guess I fell and smacked my head on the floor. When I woke up, the food was everywhere,” you recall with a sigh. Your coworkers are going to be less than pleased with you for leaving them that mess to clean up. 
“Is that what this is?” James asks, mouth tilting upward as he looks at the mess of your uniform. 
You nod solemnly. “Alfredo sauce.” 
“Did you land on any glass or anything?” Sirius asks you. He and Remus have evidently finished with their inspection of your head, though Remus’ hand still cups the back of your neck protectively.
“No, all the plates that ended up breaking went the other way.” 
“You thinking concussion?” James asks him. 
“No,” you say, at the same time as Sirius says, “Maybe.” 
Sirius fixes you with an odd look, half remonstrance and half endearment. “Sorry, doll, but you’re not exactly an expert. You very stubbornly did your job when you should have looked after yourself” —he squints his eyes at you playfully, giving your shoulder a mean squeeze— “now let us do ours for a bit, yeah?” 
You purse your lips in malcontent, but James is already clicking on his pen light, shining it in your eyes. “Look straight ahead for me, angel?” 
“S’not a big deal,” you mutter one last time in quiet mutiny, doing as he says. All three boys ignore you. 
James clicks the light off. “Alright, do you know the date?” 
“No.” 
“How about the year?” he asks patiently. You tell him, and he goes on to ask you the month and the day of the week. 
“Good.” He rewards you with a smile when you answer correctly. “Okay, do you feel nauseous or dizzy at all, darling?” 
When he looks at you like that? A little, but that’s probably unrelated. “No,” you tell him. 
“Headache?” Remus asks you. 
“I mean, only here.” You lay your palm over the bump to indicate it, but wince when it hurts worse than you expected. Sirius coos, taking your hand in his to prevent you doing yourself further harm. “Not on, like, the inside.” 
“Okay, that’s what I meant,” Remus reassures you. “What about why you fainted, love? Do you have any idea what happened?” 
You bite the inside of your lip, thinking. “Not really.” Your head had just hurt a bit, then you’d felt woozy, and then you’d fallen and it had hurt a lot worse. 
“Did you have lunch before you came to work?” James prompts. 
You nod. 
“What did you have?” 
You tell him. He seems tentatively satisfied. 
“And for breakfast? What about for dinner last night?” 
You think back, telling him what you can remember, and he nods, looking somewhat bemused. 
“Did you have a drink with any of that?” Remus asks.
You think harder. Had you? The realization must show on your face, because Sirius tuts. 
“There it is,” he says knowingly. “When was the last time you had water, doll?” 
“I…I don’t remember. I had coffee yesterday—”
They all groan. James starts laughing soon after, patting you on the thigh at your timid expression. 
“It’s okay, sweetheart, just drink plenty of water and then go home to rest, alright? You might feel shaky for a bit, so don’t get in your car to drive until you’re feeling better. Rem, do we have some water bottles in the van?” 
“Yeah.” Remus stands, palm landing affectionately on your head as he passes behind you to climb into the back of the ambulance. 
“Don’t worry,” you tell James, exhaustion seeping into your voice, “I won’t be driving for a while yet. My shift doesn’t end until six.” 
Contrary to your intentions, some of the relief saps from James’ countenance. “You’re still planning on working?” 
Uh, duh. Does he think your rent is going to pay itself? “I mean,” you say, trying to appear somewhat patient, “yeah.” 
“Well, go ahead and get that out of your head right now,” Sirius nearly laughs. “There’s no way that’s happening today, sweetness.” 
“What’s not happening?” Remus asks, uncapping a water bottle before passing it to you. 
“She thinks she’s going back to work,” Sirius says wryly. 
Remus looks at you, appalled. You only shrug, sipping at your water.
“You can’t work after a fainting spell like that. Especially not as dehydrated as you are—your body needs rest.” He shakes his head at you. “You can either get it at home or come with us to the hospital.” 
You roll your eyes, re-capping the half-drained water bottle. “That’s so dramatic.” 
“No, I’m the dramatic,” Sirius corrects you. “Remus is the reasonable one, which is how you know he’s right. Those are your options, dollface.”
You huff. “Fine, then can one of you go tell my manager that? I don’t want to be blamed for skipping the rest of my shift.” 
“You’re not skipping anything,” Sirius says, standing. “I’ll go, I’ve got some things to say to him anyway.” He cracks his knuckles, and you look to James in alarm. 
He leaps up, catching up to Sirius in a few long strides and nudging him back towards you. “I’ve got it, Pads. Why don’t you make sure she finishes that water bottle?” 
“Fine.” Sirius stomps his way back to you. “But make him answer for sending her outside to sit on the curb.”
“Please don’t!” you call after James.
Sirius’ gaze narrows, flicking between you and the water bottle beside you expectantly. “Drink.” 
“Fine, sheesh.” You pick it up and twist off the cap. Remus chuckles, picking up your half-melted bag of ice to hold it against your head for you. “Isn’t it, like, your job to be nice to people when they’re injured?” 
“I thought you weren’t injured?” Remus hums. You shoot him a look that’s meant to be intimidating, but his lips twitch upwards. “Relax, love, we’re just worried about you.”
Well, it’s hard to be mad at that. “Thanks,” you say quietly. 
Sirius resumes his crouch in front of you, taking one of your knees in each hand and squeezing lightly. “We get off in a few hours,” he says. “Would it be okay if we came by for dinner? We can bring takeout or something.” 
You lower the water bottle, looking at him with interest. Your day has suddenly taken a positive turn. “Yeah, that sounds great.” 
“Good.” He smiles, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek. “Now be a good girl and finish your water.” 
You flush instantly, and Remus’ head swivels as if to make sure no one is nearby to have heard him. “Sirius,” you hiss, “I’m at work!”
His grin sharpens. “Not anymore, you’re not.” 
1K notes · View notes
norrisleclercf1 · 1 month
Note
This might be real late but I was rewatching the Vegas gp. So if you are up for it, could you do a poly lestapen and reader where Charles gets annoyed about the first lap incident
A/N: It's been so long since I've watched that race, so excuse me if anything is wrong with this, also I've missed my babies lestappen
"Charles, just talk to me," You roll your eyes, knowing that Charles for the past 3 hours has refused to talk to Max since they finished their press conferences. Max had apologized to Charles for pushing him off the track, and you and everyone else thought Charles was perfectly okay, clearly that wasn't true.
The moment the cameras were off them, Charles wasn't saying a word and would only speak to you. The three of you were back from partying and now, Charles was trying to shower while Max was with you in the bathroom whining. "Charlie....please," Max whispers, hating this. You wanted to get involved but, when it came to their racing, you stayed out of it.
Charles gets out, wrapping a towel around his waist and kisses your cheek going to his suitcase to grab some underwear to sleep in. Max stands up quickly and storms into the bedroom and you follow knowing this wasn't to end well.
"If you're so angry with me, why date me? You knew this would happen, especially with us, you said you were fine, why did you lie? To hurt me, because if that was your goal, you've succeeded Charles. You've hurt me more than anyone else I know," Max turns and stalks into the bathroom, slamming the door making it and the wall rattle.
Charles just blinks and sighs, his shoulders deflating and turns facing you. "You've done wrong Charles, he didn't mean to do that. Has he ever apologized to you before? On live TV? Charles, he felt horrible, all he talked about was how bad he felt with what he did. You accepted his apology and made him think everything was okay only for you to ignore him the last 3 hours, that's just cruel." Charles doesn't say anything as you turn and climb into bed, turning your back to him.
"I made the mistake of reviewing the tape with the team, and they were all furious, and I guess....a small part was still angry and, I was being childish." You sit up quick and glare at him. "Don't say it to me, jackass, say it to the one you've actually hurt," You voice holds no heat which has Charles nod his head and move to the bathroom but stops when the door is ripped open by Max.
"I love you," Charles blurts, Max stuttering to a stop and staring at Charles like he grew a second head. "I know that Charl, but you still hurt my feelings," Max whispers and moves around Charles but, Charles grabs his waist and turns him around. "I'm a dick, and deserve to sleep on the couch. But, I'll never use what happens on the track affect the love I have for you and Y/n." Max sighs and moves hugging Charles, melting into his boyfriends hold.
"I love you too, please don't ever ignore me again," Max pleads, squeezing Charles close who sighs leading them to the bed. You make room for them as they lay with you between them. "You two ever argue again about racing, kicking you out of the bed," "Deal," they both agree.
873 notes · View notes
ilariyalavorowrites · 2 years
Text
Good Enough (9-1-1) Part Seven
Tumblr media
Imagine: Imagine leaving LA after feeling like an outsider in your relationship with Bobby and Athena as they seem to pull away and distance themselves from you. Only to find that it is almost impossible to actually walk away.
Warnings: Angst with happy ending, AU, Bisexual Athena, BDSM
Pairings: Bobby Nash x Reader x Athena Grant
Word count: 1,334 words
Universe: 9-1-1
Reader gender: Female
Tagged: @graniairish @madhatter-crazyasahatter-blog @4everflowercore @blueskyredrosegrey @agathaharknessfan96 @ljej95 @yoshinorecommends @horsedragonllama @forever2ne1
Previous/ Next
Part: 7/10
Athena was used to having to remain level-headed and be patient. For it had always been a natural part of her professional life, bleeding seamlessly with her role as mother and wife . That didn’t mean that she had to like it. 
“Sergeant Grant?” A voice called, it was enough to catch her attention. Athena turned to face the owner of the voice. A familiar sight was standing there, it was another of colleagues. The same individual that she had reached out to not even a couple of hours before. She waited with bated breath for news, any fragment of information good or bad would be enough for her to use. She knew which she would prefer but it was out of her hands which way the pendulum swung. This was a hard lesson to endure, one that she had to see through time after time. 
Maybe this time would be in her favour but as she watched the young man’s face go through the motions, her stomach dropped as if she swallowed a lead weight. This was not good news. “The program is still running but thus far, we have no recent hits, but you never know what we might get in a few more hours” he said, trying to sound hopeful to keep her spirits up.
“Thanks Hart, keep me posted” She responded with a slight smile upon her lips. It wasn’t his fault that nothing had come of the lead. It simply could be that the information hadn’t been uploaded to the database yet. That it was still sitting on the desk of a less than stellar Officer who took their sweet time. It was just mildly frustrating; Athena was no closer to answering that burning question that taunted her endlessly. She knew the basics of the why and the machinations of the how but that just left the where. Where were you heading? 
If she could answer that, then maybe she could shake the remaining answers out of you before dragging you back kicking and screaming if it came to that. Most of all, she just wanted to hold you in her arms even if it was for the very last time. How could she even consider moving on if she hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
No, this was not the time for tears. This was not the moment to get overly emotional, that time would come but for now Athena needed to fall back upon the mask that she long since perfected. Decades of practice were now being put to use as she left the room, nodding to the officer on her way out. On to the next lead she went. This was not the time to standstill, Sergeant Grant was not one to remain idle for long especially when she had a case to crack.
This was just another bump in the long road ahead. She was beyond determined, she was going to see this through to the end. Whatever that might lead her and what she found when she got through. She could never truly prepare herself for she might discover as the possibilities were endless but Athena needed to discover what lay over the horizon, as her journeys end with you.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Theodore Rivera
The name displayed proudly beneath a smiling photo; this had been enough to capture Michael’s attention when scrolling through the never-ending cycle of dud profiles on this particular dating app. There had been an almost immediate connection as texts and messages flowed back and forth, day and night. It didn’t take long for them to come to the conclusion that there was only way forward from here, to set a date and time and see if this wonderful feeling continued in person.
However it felt as if he had a type, Theo was a nurse. A man working on the front lines, helping those on the worst days of their lives. He had healing hands, Michael couldn’t help but wonder what else those hands could do but this was only the first official date. He would have to wait to find out the answer to that burning question. 
The hospital that his date worked at was a little out of town, a short drive but he was curious enough to find out if this was a new beginning to get behind the wheel and go from A to be. Here he was, to see what was at the end of this rainbow. Was this just another shot in the dark or was it priceless treasure waiting to be discovered. He’d soon know, one way or another, of this he was mostly certain of.
Baby steps back out in the shark tank that was the modern way of dating. Online, indirectly meeting anonymous people hiding behind screens of all sizes. It was beyond terrifying but oddly exciting as he drove in feet first. It was simply one foot in front of another as he made his way out of the elevator and towards where his date had planned to meet him after another tediously almost nightmarishly dull shift.
A handful of messages bounced back and forward between the pair of them, detailing how Theo would be rotated through the various wards, along with the rest of the nursing staff. There was always another ward that needed a helping hand, understaffed from sickness and annual leave to name a few reasons. 
An undercurrent of bone dry humour had been peppered throughout which never failed to cause his face to be illuminated as he laughed, enjoying the fast paced tit for tat when he needed them the most, in those few moments when he was completely alone staring at the four walls of his apartment. For a split second, it didn't feel like home but he had someone anchoring him, stopping him from falling over the ledge into despair.
A grateful smile passed over his lips as he turned the corner, finding what he had been looking for. The nurse’s base with the name of the ward proudly framing it alongside the board listing all the poor souls residing within. His brow narrowed at the sight of a rather familiar one. Athena hadn’t said a lick about her friend being in the hospital, thinking on it for a hot second, neither had Bobby.
Turning his gaze away from the white board, with his phone still held in his right hand and practised flick of fingers Michael opened his contacts, lingering over one than darting to another. Bobby was the better choice. As he knew Athena far too well, the firefighter’s calm demeanour was what this situation needed but mostly, he needed to hear that his friend was in the hospital.  
Time passed him by as Michael found himself firing text after text, responding to Bobby’s various questions. Never knowing that he was the spark birthing a most vicious flame into being.
“Michael? Are you ready to go?” He heard his name and the question that followed, drawing him back out of the digital rabbit hole that he had fallen down. “Definitely, let’s get out of here” He smiled through the words that fell from his lips. Never seeing past the moment, blinkered by the buzzing butterflies that twitched with glee in the bowels of his stomach. For if he had then he would worry. For Michael knew not of this potential scandalous of secrets tucked safely away, beneath the twisted up bed sheets that had so often ensnared the three of you. 
For the spark once lit would rush forth, bursting into life as a fire danced uncontrollable into existence. One of wild proportions, destructive as pushed forward on its path. This was its very nature, one that could not be simply ignored. For too long at least as it climbed higher and higher and at the eye of the storm stood you, Athena and Bobby. You were now on a heads collision course. One that could not be avoided or escaped from.
185 notes · View notes
pretty-blkgirl · 3 days
Text
Texting Skz “Happy Anniversary” (Hyung Line)
//gn!reader x Skz//
Synopsis: You try and wish your boyfriend a happy anniversary for Skz Day
Genre: crack, fluff
Warnings: none
A/N: HAPPY SKZ DAYYYYYYYYY. Wanted to put a little something out for the kids’ 6th year 🫶🏾
~Maknae Line~
~~~~|~~~~
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
445 notes · View notes
sunnami · 2 months
Text
❝time will tell.❞
Tumblr media
[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
Tumblr media
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. 
Tumblr media
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!!
2K notes · View notes
talesof-old · 15 days
Text
handle it | a.s., h.l.r., g.c.
Tumblr media
pairing(s): poly!batboys x fem!eader
warning(s): 18+, smut, couples arguing, teasing, piv sex, handjobs (f receiving), oral (m receiving), reader has a vagina and is referred to by her/she, reader is called pretty girl, men being annoying and protective/possessive, if you squint there’s wing play, i did not proofread or edit because for some reason this put me in a slump, i think that’s all
word count: 1.7k
a/n: sorry this took me so long i was strugglinggg so it does end kind of abruptly
masterlist
poly!batboys + smut, angst + happy ending
Tumblr media
“For the last time, you will not tell me I can’t go.”
Azriel barked a hoarse, humorless laugh, his eyes cold as he looked down at you. Gone were the days of training at Windhaven, children playing war as the world fell apart. No, now Rhys was High Lord, and you were a long way from the mountains you once called home.
“I’m in charge of this mission. What I say goes. And you are not going.”
Throwing your arms up in exasperation, you catch a glimpse of Cassian’s amused expression and Rhysand’s impassive face. They knew better than to get between the two of you. Azriel’s barely contained rage that settled just beneath his skin could burn hot at any given moment, and you were a formidable opponent that even your battle seasoned superiors knew better than to rile.
“You’re staying here.”
You whirled around, face nearly coming into contact with Azriel’s hard chest. Your wings flared.
“Rhys has the final say. I’m going.”
Violet eyes flickered between the two of you, one side of his lips quirking up in a smirk as Rhys shrugged. Anger flared in your chest. There was no reason for him not to side with you. You’d proven yourself over and over again, earned your place just as much as they had. It wasn’t fair.
“Rhys, I swear on the Mother-“ Rhys shook his head, silencing Azriel as he moved. Cassian followed after him, both quick to leave you two alone.
“Figure this out between you. We’re not getting involved.”
Azriel’s jaw clenched as the door shut behind them; the silence that followed was deafening. His shadows darted out and away from him, only to return to curl around his body like they couldn’t decide whether to comfort you or their master. It would’ve been comical, really, if Azriel’s sharp eyes weren’t burning holes into your forehead. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” Azriel didn’t say a word as you walked out the room.
Dinner was not a pleasant affair. Mor picked up on the tension between the shadowsinger and you with a simple glance, and it seemed to only agitate you further. Territorial fae bastards, the lot of them.
“We still set for that shopping trip on Saturday?” Mor’s honey voice filled your ears and you allowed yourself to smile. At the end of the table, Azriel sat stiff as a board, barely touching the food on his plate.
“Of course, I still need something for Dawn’s ball.”
She nodded, sipping her wine as she contemplated. You raised a brow. There was something mischievous in her eyes as she spoke next.
“I hear Caius was asking after you.” Shadows exploded across the room, darting out to weave through your hair and urge you towards their source. You narrowed your eyes at Mor who simply threw her head back and laughed. Amren scoffed over her glass.
“Az.” At Rhys’ firm tone, the shadows were reeled back in, and light filled the room once more.
“We’re leaving. I’ll keep you both updated.” A warm hand clasped yours and then all of a sudden you were in Rhys’ bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed. You turned to the partner in question.
What the fuck?
Rhys chuckled in your mind.
I thought you two would’ve sorted this out.
You rolled your eyes at that, turning to flop onto the bed, wings draped over your body. Rhys rested a hand on your lower back, shivers crawling up your spine as he massaged your tailbone.
He’s a possessive prick.
Rhys laughed out loud this time, trailing his hand over your backside. You preen under his touch, twisting to stretch out like a cat and smiling over at him softly. A grunt sounded from behind you. Rhys glanced over, sending an image to you.
Cassian and Azriel (the former having already removed half of his clothes), lip locked and tugging hard at each other’s bodies. Heat pooled in between your thighs and you raised a brow at your companion. He smirked. In a blink, he was hovering over your body, chest pressed against your left side. You tilted your head upwards, pressing your lips against his. He moved slowly, pressing you down as he swiped a tongue over your lips. Rhys’ palm moved to cup your arse, rubbing your clothed cunt against the bulge in his pants. You sighed as you melted into his touch.
A broken moan drew you away from your High Lord.
You turned your head, pupils blown wide with lust as Cassian manhandled Azriel, tugging at his short hair and biting the exposed skin of his neck. Rhys laid back, hauling you up to rest on top of him. He helped you straddle him.
Someone hit the wall behind you, choking on a groan. You grinned as Rhys pulled you into him, licking a stripe up your throat.
“You’re both fully capable of resolving your issues, hm? Isn’t that what you said the last time?” You let out a long suffering sigh and gripped Rhysand’s hair.
“Don’t be a dick.”
He trailed light fingers up your sides, the sensation dulled by the fabrics covering your skin. Teasing touches turned rough as you rolled your hips. You smiled sweetly.
Behind you, the bed dipped as your two lovers joined you.
Cassian’s rough hands gripped your hips, careful of the wings you now arched high. Azriel settled against the pillows next to Rhysand, watching you with half-lidded, dark eyes. You maintained eye contact with the shadowsinger, grabbing Cassian’s hand and slipping it into your loose fitted pants. He cupped your mound, urging you to grind against his palm. You did so, head falling back as the roughness of his skin dragged against your lips and clit. He let you use him, your chest heaving as you rode yourself to climax. Your legs shook, upheld only by Rhys’ hands.
Rhysand took to leaning forward and nipping at the skin of your sensitive neck. He grinned as you keened, cunt clenching onto nothing as you tumbled over the edge. You fell against Cassian as your blood rushed through your ears. He chuckled, ignoring the way you jolted when your wings made contact with his frame.
Your body trembled following your orgasm, blissfully warm but not entirely relaxed. Azriel grunted as Rhys cupped his bulge. Your eyes flashed to his, annoyance still eating at your gut.
“Come on, pretty girl. Don’t be like that.” Cassian mouthed at the juncture of your neck and shoulders, sucking hard. You moaned softly, writhing against him as he massaged your breasts.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” Rhysand’s low voice sounded from beside Azriel. He huffed, abdomen muscles tense as the High Lord slipped a hand into his trousers. He pumped his cock, running a gentle hand over his slit and laughing when he hissed.
“You managed to piss her off pretty bad. Wonder what you’ll have to do to make it up.” Heat rushed to Azriel’s face. You watched with rapt attention, eyelashes fluttering as Cassian stripped you of your top to expose your breasts. You shivered at the sudden chill.
“Will she let you touch her?”
Azriel clenched his hands into fists, all but tucking them underneath his thighs. You giggled. Looks like he wanted to be tested tonight.
“Rhys.” You purred.
He whipped his head towards you at the sound of your voice, his name dripping with lust. You wriggled your ass against Cassian’s dick and tugged on Rhysand’s shirt.
He was on you in an instant, mouth hot against yours as Cassian pulled down your trousers and underwear. He was quick to line himself up your cunt and slowly sink in, leaning forward to press kisses to your upper back as you moaned. Rhys swallowed the sounds all too willingly.
As Cassian bottomed out, Rhys tugged down his own pants, situating himself right by your mouth. You lowered yourself onto your elbows, a soft whine leaving you as the angle changed how deep Cassian was within you. Rhysand grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth to his cock. He grunted when your lips wrapped around the reddening skin.
Cassian pulled half-way out of you, giving an experimental thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut. He was slow with it, setting a lazy pace to keep you from climaxing too soon. You shivered as one of his hands grazed the inner part of your wings. Molten heat burned between your hips.
With a practiced tongue and a few well timed sucks, Rhys was pulsing in your mouth, balls drawn tight. His head was thrown back, moans tumbling from his lips in a way that would’ve had you grinning. Cassian kept his sensual pace.
You hollowed out your cheeks, gagging as Rhysand’s cock hit the back of your throat. He choked on a moan, halfway through cooing at the tears on your cheeks when his orgasm tore through him. He shook; beside him, Azriel trembled with need.
You swallowed his cum greedily, humming. Rhys jerked. You pulled off of him with a pop, grinning like a madman.
“Wicked thing.”
You shrugged, arching your back to meet Cassian’s thrusts. One of his large hands splayed across the bottom of your curved spine, the other coming around your waist to toy with your clit. You spasmed against him.
A low chuckle sounded through the room.
“Be careful tonight, we’ve all got a mission tomorrow.” Even in the midst of your pleasure, your head jerked towards Azriel. He wore an expression half resigned, half lustful. You reached for him with one hand, balancing on your right, fingers trembling. A moment ticked by. He moved, graceful as a panther, and tugged you to him. Cassian groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him. He pulled out of you, letting you splay across the shadowsinger’s front.
“You’re really giving in?”
Azriel’s sigh was answer enough, but he responded with a simple, “Yes.”
You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his chin. The ache between your thighs was desperate for attention, however, so you moved to straddle his hips.
Much to the displeasure of your two other lovers, the words “You’re mine for the rest of the night,” were what left your mouth. Azriel leaned back.
“Show me you can handle it.”
+++
640 notes · View notes
sleyu · 8 months
Note
thinking about meanbf!sirius <3 visits you at work only to fuck you in the staff bathroom <3 speaks to you in french while you fuck because he knows you won’t understand what he’s saying and it makes you teary eyed <3 i love him so much PLEABS!!!
stop stop do you know how delusional this is making me . . . this is all i’m gonna think about when i’m at work.(;_;)♡
i can picture him visiting you at work, maybe to pick you up after your shift ends, and him narrowing his eyes at one of your male coworkers that's being a little too close for comfort. when sirius comes up to you to take you home and your coworker protectively stands in front of you, he just stands there, feeling shocked for a brief moment, sneering before softening his eyes at the sight of you stepping towards him and hugging him tightly.
maybe it was the presence of your coworker entirely, or maybe it was the coworker asking you if sirius was simply your friend that made him want to steal you away every time you went on a break to fuck you stupid.
suddenly, sirius didn’t just visit your workplace to drop you off or pick you up. he began forcing you to text him the time you went break so that he could drag you to the staff bathroom for a nice, “quick,” 30-minute fuck. he practically has the bathroom code memorized with how many times he’s fucked you in it.
he would sit there for a while, clicking his ring-clad fingers against the table, bouncing his knees—doing anything to relieve him of his impatience. sirius would silently reel at the apprehension written all over your face and the flush on your cheeks as your coworkers or customers would speak with you. upon your break beginning, you could barely manage to kiss your boyfriend on the lips before he yanked you away to the employee bathroom.
‘why does he have to touch you so much, hm?’ he’d mutter bitterly, hastily lifting your skirt and pushing your panties to the side, simpering at the slick on his fingers as he dragged his fingers up your slit, slowly circling his middle finger over your gushing hole. ‘just touching you for no good reason.’
you would furrow your eyebrows at the agonizing feeling and hum in agreement with the man behind you. the hard porcelain of the sink was pressing painfully against your hips and your heart was beating rapidly, your mind only praying that people at work hadn’t caught on to the employee bathroom being occupied for thirty whole minutes nearly every day.
‘don’t know, siri,’ you’d mumble while sighing breathlessly, feeling flush at the sight of sirius staring at you intensely from the washroom mirror, studying your facial expressions while smiling in amusement at your bashfulness.
sirius would smile broadly at the sight of you sinking your teeth into the back of your hand, a useless and insufficient attempt in muffling your cries as he hammered into you from behind, watching you take the extra step to turn on the sink faucet to conceal the loud, echoing sounds of skin slapping as he thrust into you. he would exhibit a shit-eating grin, lazily staring at your eyes welled up with tears of humiliation at the lewd, moist sounds of you creaming around his cock with each rut.
sirius’s pace is unforgiving and relentless, and all the while, he would tug on your hair to jerk your head back so he could bite and suck on your neck, leaving bruised, mean marks along the side of your throat that he makes certain will show.
‘sluts like you love getting fucked in places like this, huh? just imagine what they’d think—your little friends,’ sirius breathed shakily, feeling his mind go numb at the feeling of your drenched cunt pulsating around his thick, throbbing cock.
‘does that git know what a fuckin’ slut you are for me? does he know that this cunt gets filled up every second of every day?’
‘‘s like you can’t get enough—fuck—i’m sure he can’t fuck you like this—oh—satisfy all your needs like me, yeah?’
sirius is the epitome of mean and truly does not give a fuck about what anything else thinks. he would purposely pull your hand away from your mouth, letting your moans spill uncontrollably from your mouth, echoing inside the enclosed space of the washroom.
he wants that “fucker”—according to sirius—to hear the way you lose your mind with his cock inside you. sirius would only laugh softly at the sight of your head dropping helplessly, tears spilling down your cheeks, lips parted with pants escaping them at the feeling of his cock brushing against the sweet spots inside your cunt.
‘need more. i don’t think i have enough time, sirius,’ you’d mewl. ‘please go harder.’
sirius would not care if this was cutting into your work time but he’s more than happy to fuck you harder and faster. he’s not stopping until he’s pleased and you're fucked out—eyes rolling back, and throat worn out from your loud moans. he could care less if your break was finished or if someone was banging on the door, begging to use the washroom—he’s finished when he’s finished.
‘cunts taking me so well, i’m definitely not stopping. ‘n i’m sure my girl doesn’t want me to either—not when you’re so close, yeah?’
and speaking of him talking to you in french . . . he knows you get off to his dirty talk, so him speaking in a language you can’t understand—hearing how you whine at the feeling of being unaware of his thoughts and his words only make the knot in his stomach tighter.
secretly, sirius is mumbling cheesy shit like, ‘i love you,’ or ‘you’re so pretty,’ to save himself from the embarrassment of saying soft things so contradicting to his fronting personality.
also, this is sirius. we all know that he’s working to the fucking bone to make sure he cums inside you and that his seed is buried deep inside your tight little cunt. without a doubt, he’s saving a little bit of his cum for your panties, cumming all over them, dampening the cotton fabric so that when you put them back on after getting dressed, your cunt would be stained and sticky from his seed, leaving you uncomfortable all day at the feeling of your wet, soiled underwear.
i think, if we are truly wanting to appreciate and hate the essence of mean bf ! sirius, i fear that he’s gonna pull out of you the very last second, when your one thrust away from cumming, watching and reeling as you sob at the lost contact, unconsciously wiggling your bum to entice him to take you again and help you find your release. he needs to make sure your cunt aches and longs for him, yearning the feeling of his long cock thrusting inside relentlessly.
‘no—fuck—please, sirius!’ you’d sob, shoving your head against his chest and hitting him weakly with your fist. ‘feel so empty, siri—please. it hurts so bad.’
sirius almost succumbed at the sight of your trembling pout and your longing, teary eyes. unfortunately, he persevered against temptation and pressed a gentle, tender kiss on your temple before pulling away and helping you get dressed again. he would coo and wipe away your tears, laughing to himself at the sight of your glare and your thighs rubbing against each other in an attempt to find relief and ease your aching, empty cunt.
‘when i pick you up, puppy,’ he’d pull you into a deep kiss, firmly gripping the back of your neck. ‘i’ll fuck you and make you cum as much as you want. good girls wait, yeah?’
2K notes · View notes