#resting in the back; waiting to take over again

[kenntoria]

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ just reader flashing nanami during an argument yk the usual

tags ⋆·˚ ༘ * established relationship, domestic argument, flashing, crack, nanami is so tired, reader is so unserious

“i just don’t understand why you couldn’t have waited—”

“you’re overreacting.”

“i’m not over—” nanami cuts himself off, jaw tight, eyes narrowed like he’s physically holding the rest of the words back with his molars. “you left the stove on. again.”

“and it didn’t burn anything this time!” you gesture, exasperated. “nothing even smoked! you act like i set the apartment on fire!”

he looks at you. tired. lips pressed into a flat line like he’s debating walking out the door and straight into traffic.

“that is not the defense you think it is.”

“well excuse me for trying to multitask while making us dinner—”

“no,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you were trying to build ikea shelves and cook pasta at the same time. that is not multitasking. that is split negligence.”

“okay first of all, hot take—”

“no more hot takes. and no more hot stoves.” he’s rubbing his temples now. “you’re going to give me an aneurysm.”

you cross your arms. narrow your eyes. and then, in one swift motion, you lift your oversized shirt and flash him.

nanami goes still like someone hit pause on his soul.

he stares.

silent.

you can hear the tick of the hallway clock.

and then, hoarse, flat, barely audible:

“…why.”

“because you were spiraling and i thought this might help,” you say brightly.

he closes his eyes. breathes in. out. presses his fingers against his eyelids like he’s praying for strength.

“this isn’t—”

a pause. a sigh.

“you’re—i’m trying to have a serious conversation with you.”

“and i’m trying to cheer you up!” you beam.

his eyes drag upward slowly, gaze landing somewhere near the ceiling like he’s trying to manifest divine intervention. “i can’t believe i am saying this— boobs are not a conflict resolution strategy.”

“they’re working, though.”

“…unfortunately,” he mutters.

and they are. because now his arms are crossed but not tense, his jaw’s unclenched, and there’s the smallest tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. he’s annoyed, but it’s fraying at the edges.

you grin.

“you love me.”

“i do. god help me.”

he finally looks at you.

“…put them away. we’re not done talking about the stove.”

you lift the shirt higher.

“put them away.”

[yasministration]

be my baby - harry potter

concussions and interruptions au summary: another night at the potter household reveals that you love one of harry's least favourite songs, and his dad's all time favourite. wc: 1k+ cw: kissing, so much fluff, highly recommend pressing on the link in bold when you get to that point!

The night surrounding you is calm, despite the bustling energy in the Potters’s backyard. There’s an old tune playing in the background that Harry’s dad and his friends sing to, freely being dorks, his mother sat on the patio sofa with her own friends around her. It’s nice getting to know Harry’s extended family, you think. You had no idea he and Neville grew up so close to each other, but the shy boy’s parents fit so well in the Potters’s little bubble.

Neville is busy tonight, Alice had told Harry with a glint in her eyes. A date, but I’m sure you already knew.

Harry had shrugged his shoulders, trying to act nonchalant for Neville’s sake, but you had nodded excitedly, having heard all about it from Luna herself. “They’re gonna get married, Mrs. Longbottom, I already know.” And somehow the Longbottoms immediately loved you.

When you and Harry disappeared from their sight, Harry tugging you away from the adults, they had both raised their eyebrows at Lily and James, commenting their own approval of their son’s girlfriend. Now, Frank is busy James, Sirius and Marlene, singing along to the music while throwing a quaffle around as they zoom around on their brooms in the backyard. Lily, Alice, Remus and Mary enjoy a conversation filled with laughs, eyes trained on their partners in the air.

However, Lily occasionally glances down to ensure you and Harry are okay. You’ve hidden away from them, sitting near the lake. Harry’s back is leaning against the thick trunk of a tree, one leg folded up whilst the other rests on the grassy floor. You sit between his legs, back to his chest, and Harry plays with your hair, the laughter around you being the only sound between you.

Harry’s free hand rests against his leg, fingers intertwined with yours. He sighs happily, wondering only for a moment what’s going through your head. But then suddenly, as the music changes and the familiar melody of his dad’s favourite jazz song comes up, you jerk away from him, your head snapping back towards the house.

Harry grimaces “Sorry. My dad’s music-” “I love this song!” Harry blinks rapidly, not expecting the wide grin that overtakes your features, your loud exclamation taking him aback. You scramble upwards, hauling him up with you by the hand still tangled with his. Neither of you notice the way James Potter lands on the ground, abandoning his broom to tug his wife into his arms, dramatically singing the lyrics out loud to her, as though he was falling in love all over again.

So won’t you please? Be my, be my baby?

You giggle as Harry’s arms loop around your waist, a boyish smile on his face. You cup his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his once before pulling away, stroking his cheeks as you sing along to the words. “I’ll make you happy baby, just wait and see!”

Harry swallowed thickly, eyes dipping to your lips. He always used to groan when the song came up, looking away from his parents as his dad twirled Lily into his arms, singing lovingly at her. But as you serenaded him, Harry decided he loved this song. Maybe it wasn’t so bad when the lyrics were aimed at him.

“For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you-” You were cut off by the press of Harry’s lips against yours, the kiss broken by your joyful giggles. Harry grins, forehead resting against yours as the song continues blaring in the background. He is acutely aware of his dad’s voice in the background, and he doesn’t doubt that James is holding Lily in his arms. But Harry cannot physically care less when you are pushing him back against the trunk, your hands laid flat on his chest as you capture his lips with yours again.

His fingers curl around the curve of your hips, tugging your body closer to his. Harry is sure you can feel his racing heartbeat beneath the palm of your hand as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

From across the backyard, Lily Potter’s back is pulled towards her husband’s chest, and the pair sways slowly with wide smiles on their faces. “I’m glad someone else appreciates my taste in music.” James whispers against his wife’s temple. Lily laughs, mumbling “Did you see what she did?”

“What, you mean only make our son actually enjoy the song he has complained about for eighteen years? Yes, I saw, honey.”

“She’s the one, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, love, I think she is.”

You break the kiss, Harry’s lips parting from yours with a loud squelch, and you can see the redness tinting his cheeks in the soft moonlight. You shriek as Harry’s fingers run up your sides with a gentle squeeze to tickle you, laughing softly as you squirm in his hold. Your boyfriend chuckles, pulling you into his body. You sigh happily, resting your head on his chest as you loosely hold him, hands on his back to hug him back.

“So, would you be my baby? Forever?” Harry finally asks in a whisper, voice suddenly shy. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you feel your lips tug up into a smile. You are so inexplicably happy. “Yeah. I’ll be your baby forever. Only if you’ll be mine too.” Harry’s chest bubbles with a joyful laugh and he digs his face in the crook of your neck, hiding his flushed cheeks from you.

A gust of wind has a shiver running down your spine, and Harry pulls away from the hug to wordlessly tug his jumper off. You don’t have time to deny his jumper before he’s forcing it over your head and guiding your arms into the sleeves. So instead, you just smile, letting him steer you into the position you were previously in, back against his chest as you curl up on the floor.

Your voice cuts into the comfortable silence once more, smiling to yourself as you asked “Does that mean we’re gonna get married then?”

“Uh, yeah. Thought we already confirmed that.”

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy, @liviessun, @rory-cakes, @heebiemcjeebies, @fl0weryannie, @muffinemmaa, @anne061989, @regsg18, @graciereads, @adharaoaklyn, @hawaii2320, @c0ldstvff, @bigbodycity, @starmaniii, @urmom101, @simpfortoomanymen, @ennaholic, @dream-alittlebiggerdarling, @dearlizzies, @eunicefrogsandfoes, @dreamamubarak, @quinquinquincy, @vxyselectric, @liliemb04, @crowleythesexydemon, @lovelyygirl8, @matcha-kitty13, @dlljdhsh, @yegrnn, @marauder-era6779, @xadenswhore, @5sospenguinqueen, @esposadomd, @paytonluvxx, @wrenisrad, @lovelyteenagebeard, @mxvoid26, @bxuzi, @dlljdhsh, @aouoo, @isnt-itstrange @fandomhoe101

[spyrothesquish-0006]

My grandfather had alzheimers and parkinsons. Two very horrible diseases that ate away at the strongest man I have ever known. All my life, he was there for me. He was at the hospital when I was born, in the NICU every day when I had to stay for a month. He always came when I called, and no matter how big I got, and no matter how many other grandkids were born over the years, I was still always "the baby".

I graduated high school and immediately moved in with my grandparents so that I could help take care of my pap. His mobility was getting worse, and his mind was going faster, so my grandmother needed all the help she could get. He needed all the help he could get.

I will always remember the day he passed. He got home from the hospital, and his breathing was shallow. I was at work. My manager at the time (who is now my spouse, and currently snoring next to me as I type this) sent me home when I got the texts from my grandmother that things weren't looking good. I made an 8 minute drive home from work in 4 minutes, praying to every single god I do and do not believe in that he would wait to go until I got home. I needed him to know that I would be okay.

I didn't know this until a few months after his death, but he had a moment of lucidity as I was driving home. He told my grandmother, "You know I love yinz."

"Yes, we know Bob. We love you too."

"And you know I love my baby."

"Your baby is on their way home right now to see you."

He smiled at that. I made it home, and I still remember seeing him in his bed. He looked over and saw me, and smiled again. He put his head back and rested his eyes after that, and I left the room to give him a moment of peace. My grandmother handed me a piece of paper from the hospital. It was the lines of his heartbeat from the monitor. I sat on my bed and held that paper, tracing the lines over and over, hoping that maybe that day would not be the end, but also hoping it would be, just so he wouldn't be suffering anymore. No more pain. No more hallucinations and nightmares.

He took his last breath 10 minutes later. I was the last thing he smiled about. I'm still learning how to function in a world without him, and I'm not sure I'll ever fully understand how it all works without him, but I feel a lot better with his heartbeat on my chest.

I can't wait to catch fire flies with him again.

RIP Pap.

tell me something soft

[caffine-exe]

『 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 』 | part 3

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You die. Or at least, you think you do. One minute you're bleeding out alone in an alley, and the next, you're waking up in a warm bed with two men who appearantly are your husbands. You're now stuck in a world where Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto, the most insufferably overbearing men you've ever met, won't leave you alone. Now they have to win your heart all over again. Either that, or you'll find a way to convince them to get a divorce.

w/c: 4.6k | posted on ao3

part i | part ii | part iii | more coming soon | m.list

a/n from @sugurumyshayla on the m.list

The car pulls into a small parking lot attached to a building with whitewashed walls and automatic sliding doors. Suguru cuts the engine off, leaving a hush that feels both expectant and suffocating. You hesitate a beat too long before Satoru opens his door and shoots a quick glance back at you.

You open your own door and step out. Suguru is already rounding the car to join your side. Satoru leads the way, hands casually tucked into his pockets, walking backwards as he talks to Suguru. “Maybe Shoko’ll prescribe you something for being uptight.” He teases, mouth quirked in a cocky grin.

Suguru’s eyes flicker to you briefly, then back to Satoru, his voice dry. “Maybe she’ll prescribe you something to shut your mouth.”

Satoru laughs, bright and easy, sliding closer to Suguru’s side to bump their shoulders together and linger there. “That’s cute, you love my mouth.”

Suguru hums low in his throat, clearly amused despite himself, and gently nudges Satoru away. “Debatable.”

The doors slide open to let you into a reception area that feels both clinical and more homey than it lets on from the outside. You’re greeted by warm lighting, cozy waiting chairs, potted plants, and a few framed certificates on the wall. The soft scent of freshly brewed coffee hangs comfortably in the air.

Behind the small counter, a woman dressed in jeans and a dark t-shirt under a white coat, sits at a messy desk, her chin resting lazily in her palm. A cigarette hangs unlit from her lips as she scrolls boredly through her phone. Her hair’s light brown and straight, cut in a stylish bob.

“Put that away, Shoko, you’re gonna get yourself fired.” Satoru drawls dramatically, waving a hand through the air to disperse non-existent smoke.

“I’m not on shift yet.” She glances up, unimpressed, slipping the cigarette behind her ear. “And it’s unlit, you asshole.”

Suguru steps past Satoru, flashing Shoko a lazy smile. “He’s just looking for attention, as usual.”

Her lips twitch as she gives Suguru a dry stare. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

She leans slightly to glance past the two men, and the moment her eyes land on you, her bored expression softens visibly. “Hey, you. Rough morning, huh?”

The familiarity in her voice jars you, but you try not to let it show. “Something like that.” You answer vaguely.

Shoko raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between you and the men before she cocks an eyebrow slightly at Satoru and Suguru. “What’d you two idiots do now?”

“Hey,” Satoru protests immediately, throwing his hands up in surrender. “We didn’t do anything. She’s just been…” He trails off, eyes flicking towards you carefully, unsure on what to say exactly.

Suguru smoothly steps in. “She’s not feeling well.” He explains simply, voice steady, gaze direct. His eyes meet Shoko’s, serious beneath the casual tone. “We thought you could check her out.”

She stands, stretching slightly, and gestures lazily towards the examination table tucked against the wall. “Hop up, I’ll take a look.” Then she glances sharply at Satoru, jabbing a finger toward him. “And don’t touch my stuff this time. I still haven’t found my good pen.”

Satoru smirks, eyes brightening mischievously. “Suguru stole that one, not me.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, exhaling through his nose. “You know he’s lying, right?”

Shoko sighs dramatically, ignoring both men, and steps closer to you, voice softer. “C’mon. Let’s figure out what’s going on with you.”

You hesitate for a second, but something in her eyes, beneath the dry sarcasm, makes it easier to follow her instructions. You settle onto the examination table, gripping the edge a little too tightly, nerves still buzzing beneath your skin.

She watches your tense posture closely before turning toward the men, jerking her thumb toward the door. “Give us some space, will you?”

Suguru shrugs lightly, unbothered. “We’ll wait outside. Call if you need anything.”

Satoru steps toward you briefly, eyes softened with genuine worry despite the teasing demeanour. “Don’t worry. Shoko almost knows what she’s doing.”

Shoko narrows her eyes. “Out.”

Suguru gently grabs Satoru’s wrist, tugging him toward the door with practiced ease, murmuring something low and reassuring you can’t quite catch. They exit quietly, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving you alone with the doctor.

She moves around you with easily, rolling up her sleeves as she pulls a small cart of supplies closer. She checks your vitals quickly, her touch efficient, her movements practiced. Nothing about her says she’s worried yet.

She slips a small thermometer into your mouth, before scribbling some notes onto a clipboard.

“You feel dizzy at all?” She asks, her voice gentle.

You shake your head slightly, the thermometer shifting against your tongue. She hums lightly, pulling it out after the small beep and glancing at the reading.

“Temperature’s normal.” She sets it down and reaches for your wrist, gently pressing two fingers against your pulse point. “Heartbeat’s racing a bit though. You nervous about something?”

You hesitate, biting down on the inside of your cheek. Her eyes narrow just a little, catching the hesitation immediately.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Shoko asks, lowering her voice and stepping slightly closer. Her voice carries a note of concern now that she’s picked up that something’s wrong. “You’re acting weird.”

You exhale shakily, heart hammering harder. This is stupid, you think. You know exactly how this will sound, and you know how she’s going to react. But something about the genuine worry in her eyes and the softness in her voice, breaks past the barrier you’ve carefully constructed around yourself.

“I…” Your voice catches, dropping into something small and thin. You clear your throat and try again. “I know how this is gonna sound. But something… something happened to me last night.”

Shoko pauses, tilting her head slightly, giving you space. “Okay,” she says slowly, “what kind of something?”

You swallow hard. Your palms feel clammy, your voice tight as the words tumble out before you can stop them. “I was walking home from work and it was late so I took this shortcut in an alley, but there was a stupid cat and it started chasing me. I was running away then I tripped over something– a bottle, I think– and I hit my head. And then I felt…” Your voice cracks slightly, breath hitching as you force yourself to finish. “I felt myself… dying.”

The silence that follows your words is deafening.

Shoko’s expression freezes. Her eyes widen just slightly, shock flashing briefly across her face before she quickly masks it with careful composure. But it’s too late, you’ve already seen it.

“You… felt yourself dying?” She repeats, voice quiet, like she can’t quite grasp what you’re saying.

A wave of nausea churns your stomach. You nod slowly, looking away. “Yeah. But then I woke up here. In that house with those two men, Satoru and Suguru.” You hesitate, feeling ridiculous, your heart sinking because you know you sound crazy. “I… I don’t know how any of this is happening. I don’t even know how I got here.”

She’s quiet again, visibly processing your words. After a long, tense silence, Shoko gently places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing softly.

“Okay,” she breathes, her voice carefully even despite the obvious alarm behind her eyes. “Just… let me make sure I’m understanding correctly. You remember clearly what happened in the alley, falling, getting hurt. And then nothing else until waking up this morning?”

You nod again, throat tight. “Yes.”

She takes another slow breath. “Alright… and you don’t remember anything else? Like, anything from before you woke up today? Not even yesterday afternoon, or dinner, or coming home, or anything?”

You hesitate. Because you do remember.

You remember scarfing down greasy takeout on your couch for lunch before heading to work. You remember calling your long-distance friend two nights ago, venting about how exhausted you were and laughing when she threatened to stage an intervention if you didn’t take a day off soon. You remember walking home from the corner store last Tuesday with a bag of snacks swinging from your hand, earbuds in, hoodie pulled tight against the wind.

You remember. Not just yesterday, but weeks ago. Months. All of it. Every mundane, messy, ordinary piece of your life. Your heart sinks deeper, dread pooling heavily in your gut.

You blink hard, forcing the thoughts away, forcing your face to stay neutral. Because there’s no way to explain any of that without sounding completely insane.

“No.” The lie scrapes its way out of your throat. “Nothing. I don’t know those men. Or you.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

Silence falls heavy between you.

Shoko’s face visibly pales. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the slow shift from disbelief to deep, genuine worry as her mind pieces things together.

“You don’t remember me?” She asks, her voice strained, clearly hoping she misheard.

The look on your face answers her question instantly. Shoko stares at you for a few long, silent seconds, in a way that twists something deep in your chest. Finally, she nods slowly, pulling herself together just enough to offer you a gentle, reassuring squeeze on your shoulder.

“Okay.” She says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. Just stay here. I need to talk to them.”

She moves away, casting a glance back at you with lingering worry as she reaches for the door. You don’t say anything else, there’s nothing left to say. The door clicks shut softly behind her.

You fiddle on the examination table, the muffled sound of voices outside barely audible through the walls. Outside, Shoko barely gets halfway through her explanation before a voice behind the door spikes in volume, each word overlapping in urgency.

“What the hell do you mean she doesn’t remember us?!”

You stiffen, pulse hammering harder against your ears as the door swings open suddenly, slamming softly against the wall.

Satoru bursts in, eyes wild, features drawn tight with distress. Suguru follows quickly behind, his expression grim, more composed but no less shaken. Shoko trails after them, a flicker of irritation passing across her face.

“I told you to wait outside.” She snaps, but there’s no real bite to it, just resignation and understanding. She closes the door gently, giving you a brief apologetic glance.

Satoru barely seems to register Shoko’s voice. He’s already stepping toward you, hands half-raised as if he wants to grab your shoulders but thinks better of it at the last second, fingers twitching helplessly in the space between you.

“Babe, what do you mean you don’t remember us?” His voice rises, thin and tight. “That’s bullshit, baby, you have to remember–”

“Satoru.” Suguru interrupts sharply, low voice calm yet firm enough to cut through the rising panic. He steps closer, reaching out to briefly touch Satoru’s elbow, grounding him. “Let her breathe.”

Satoru ignores him, though he visibly flinched at Suguru’s tone. His gaze locks onto yours, blue eyes raw and desperate. “You– you’re just kidding, right? This isn’t funny.”

You draw back instinctively, heart racing, anxiety creeping into your throat. Their reactions are suffocating, their panic pressing in from every side. You feel trapped.

“I–” You falter, unable to form a full sentence, suddenly overwhelmed. How can you possibly explain something you don’t even fully understand yourself?

Shoko steps forward, arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. “Guys, she needs space right now.” She warns. “Crowding her isn’t helping.”

Satoru turns sharply, frustration bleeding into his voice. “How can she just–” He stops, shoulders sagging, voice catching. “How could she just forget us?”

The accusation hits the air like a physical blow, sharp and painful. You flinch, guilt tightening around your chest even though none of this is your fault. But they’re looking at you like it is.

“Satoru…” Suguru says again, softer now, clearly sensing the tension radiating off of you. He places a steadying hand on Satoru’s waist, squeezing gently. “Calm down–”

Satoru turns his head slightly toward Suguru, jaw clenching. “Calm down?” He repeats incredulously, voice strained. “She’s our wife, Suguru. How am I supposed to calm down?”

Your chest tightens uncomfortably at the heavy burden placed on you without your consent. Suguru’s amethyst eyes find you, and there’s something shattered in them. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of hurt rippling across his features, it hits you harder than you expect.

He’s more composed than Satoru, but the pain is there, deeply rooted, and it’s worse somehow because he’s trying so hard to keep it buried.

Shoko lets out a slow breath, stepping slightly between you and them, trying to create some semblance of distance. “I know this is fucked up. But I think she might have amnesia.” She explains gently, her eyes steady but emphatic. “It would explain–”

“Amnesia?” Satoru interrupts, disbelieving. “She didn’t even hit her head! She was perfectly fine last night, wasn’t she?”

Suguru nods slowly. “She didn’t fall or anything. How can it just happen overnight?”

Shoko exhales, obviously trying hard to remain patient. “It can happen without an obvious trigger. Stress, trauma, there are plenty of explanations.”

Satoru drags a hand roughly through his hair. “But this– this isn’t right.”

You silently voice your agreement.

Shoko sighs, her expression shifting carefully into a calm, professional mask you imagine she wears often. Turning toward her desk, she grabs a sleek tablet and switches it on, scrolling briefly before glancing back at the three of you.

“Look, I get it.” She says finally. “This is hard for all of you. But if we’re going off symptoms; sudden, unexplained loss of autobiographical memory, no head trauma, no substance involvement, then dissociative amnesia fits.”

“Dissociative…?” Suguru echoes, eyebrows drawing together.

Shoko nods. “It’s usually triggered by severe emotional or psychological stress. It’s rare, but it happens.” She pauses, her gaze shifting to you, before going back to Satoru and Suguru. “Her brain might’ve just… shut down certain memories as a way of protecting itself.”

Satoru drags his hand roughly down his face, shaking his head. “Protect itself from what? That doesn’t even make sense. She was fine, Shoko.”

Shoko meets his eyes. “Sometimes it’s delayed. People can seem perfectly fine right until they’re not.”

You sit frozen, listening as they discuss you as if you’re not even here, each word a reminder of how little control you have in this world.

Suguru takes a slow breath, clearly struggling to process it all. His voice softens as he asks, “So, what’s next? How do we help her?”

“There’s no magic fix.” Shoko exhales slowly, leaning back slightly against the desk, tablet forgotten in her hand for a moment. “First, we have to officially diagnose it. I’ll refer her to a neurologist and a psychologist to rule out any physical or neurological causes. They’ll run some tests, just to be sure.”

She taps the tablet lightly before continuing. “The best approach is to avoid overwhelming her. Stick to familiar surroundings and routines. Try gentle memory cues, photos, objects, conversations. Therapy is usually recommended.”

“And how long?” Satoru speaks up, his voice tight. The desperation is quieter now, compressed into something small and wounded. “How long does it take for her to remember?”

Suguru reaches instinctively for his hand, threading their fingers together in quiet reassurance.

Shoko’s gaze turns hesitant. “It’s impossible to say. Some people regain memories within days or weeks.” She pauses, hesitating. “Others take months, even years. And sometimes memories just don’t fully return.”

The silence that follows her words is thick, oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead.

Suguru breathes out quietly, his hand gently squeezing Satoru’s. “We’ll figure it out.” He murmurs, voice soothing. He glances toward you, eyes steady and soft despite the turmoil within. “It’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure who he’s reassuring more, you or Satoru.

Shoko clears her throat gently, setting the tablet aside and looking at you. “I’ll set up the appointments tomorrow. For now, just... go home. Give yourselves time to process everything.”

You nod slowly, feeling distant, detached, like you’re watching your own life unravel from afar.

Satoru’s eyes find yours again, still raw, pleading, but slightly more controlled. “You okay with going home?” He asks almost hesitantly, like he’s afraid your answer might break him, as if giving you the illusion of choice might somehow help.

You give a small nod, sliding slowly off the examination table. Your legs feel unsteady, but you force yourself upright anyway, drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

Suguru exhales softly. “Okay.” He murmurs. “Let’s go.”

Shoko watches the three of you, brows creasing in a quiet worry she tries to conceal behind professionalism. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She says. “Keep an eye on her. If anything changes or worsens, you let me know immediately.”

Satoru and Suguru nod, thanking her before leading you towards the door.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

They tried to turn it into a little game.

After returning from Shoko’s clinic earlier that morning, you’d spent most of the day drifting numbly from room to room, trying to adjust to a life that still felt foreign. Eventually, as the evening crept in, Satoru suggested turning your confusion into something lighter, less overwhelming.

“A Q&A session.” He’d proposed cheerfully, flashing a smile brighter than it had any right to be. “We’ll tell you anything you want to know. And we can ask you some easy stuff, too.”

You’d reluctantly agreed, mostly because you didn’t have the energy to argue, and also because you needed answers. Now, several rounds in, you’re perched stiffly on the plush living room sofa. On the opposite side, Satoru lounges with an exaggerated casualness that feels slightly forced, one hand absently toying with Suguru’s fingers. Beside him, Suguru sits straighter, more composed, but you still catch the restless bounce in his leg.

Suguru had placed a bowl of strawberries in front of you on the coffee table earlier, fresh, perfectly rinsed, still a little cool from the fridge, murmuring softly about how they were your favourite. Or at least, they used to be, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Their questions come softly, gently probing, like they’re attempting to slowly rebuild a bridge back to you. Favourite colour, movies you like, places you might want to visit. You keep your answers vague, distant, careful not to give away too much of yourself.

“Favorite food?” Suguru asks, voice gentle but noticeably strained beneath the casual surface.

You shrug lightly. “I don’t really have one.”

Satoru makes a small, dramatic sound of disbelief, though the playful tone barely masks his underlying anxiety. “Impossible. Everyone has a favourite.”

You force a faint smile, more for their sake than yours. “I guess I like sweets?”

His expression lights up slightly, relief flickering briefly in his eyes. You shift uncomfortably, redirecting quickly. “Do I… have a job? Part-time or anything?”

Satoru shakes his head. “Not really. You didn’t need one. We’re, uh… kind of good on the money front.” He gestures vaguely to the luxurious room like it explains everything.

Suguru adds, “But you do babysit. Just here and there when Toji needs help.”

You blink, curiosity getting the better of you. “Toji?”

“He’s a friend.” Suguru answers, rising from his seat and disappearing briefly into another room. When he returns, he’s holding a phone. He swipes through a few screens, then turns it to face you.

On the screen is a toddler with dark, messy hair and a serious expression far beyond his age, bundled in a navy sweater. Suguru swipes through the photos. There’s one of him nestled against your chest, your arms wrapped around him protectively, one at the park, at the grocery store, one where he’s using your leg as a pillow while watching a movie.

“That’s Megumi.” Satoru offers softly. “Cute little guy, huh? He’s always so grumpy but you’re his favourite.”

You look away from the screen quickly, discomfort tightening your chest at these snippets of connections you never made. The two men share a glance, before Suguru pockets his phone.

Eventually, the conversation drifts back and forth, their careful attempts at playful flirting growing softer as your questions remain serious and distant. Finally, you work up the nerve to ask the question burning at the back of your mind.

“How long… have we been married?”

Your words land as the air in the room shifts as they both still to look at you.

Suguru’s the one who answers after a brief pause, voice quiet and careful. “Almost a year. But we’ve all been together since high school.”

High school sweethearts. Something about that detail unsettles you deeply, digging into memories of your own past, painful, complicated relationships, betrayals, heartbreaks that left you determined never to rely on anyone again.

Satoru leans forward slightly, eyes brightening faintly, though there’s an edge to his tone. “We’ve been through everything together. Prom, graduation…” He laughs nervously.

Your silence lingers a beat too long, tension thickening in the air. Suguru softly clears his throat, clearly sensing your discomfort, but he tries again. “We have a lot of photos. Do you want to see some from the wedding?”

“No.” Your reaction is too sharp, too immediate. You catch yourself quickly, softening your voice with effort. “I mean, maybe later. I’m pretty tired.”

They both pause, blinking in surprise, the fragile cheerfulness from earlier fading away. Satoru recovers first, forcing a careful, strained smile. “Uh, yeah, sure. We can go to bed early.”

Your pulse spikes. “Actually, could I… maybe sleep somewhere else tonight?”

The room falls painfully silent. Satoru visibly flinches, eyes widening with a raw, unguarded hurt he barely manages to mask. Suguru’s jaw tightens slightly, but he quickly smooths his expression.

“Sure.” Suguru says. “There’s a guest room down the hall.”

You nod slowly, avoiding their eyes as you rise from the couch. Neither of them moves immediately, clearly struggling with your quiet rejection. But eventually Suguru leads the way, shoulders slightly slumped, and Satoru trails behind, silent.

When you reach the guest room, Suguru opens the door quietly, stepping back to give you space. “If you need anything, we’re just across the hall.”

You nod again, the weight of their disappointment pressing down uncomfortably. “Thanks.” You whisper.

As you gently close the door behind yourself, you hear their footsteps, soft and muffled, lingering anxiously in the hallway before eventually fading away.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Sleep doesn’t come

You’ve been tossing around for what feels like hours, turning again and again beneath sheets that never feel right. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, but too wired to rest. Your mind loops through endless questions, faces, and impossible realities until your chest feels tight enough to burst.

You roll onto your back, staring blankly at the unfamiliar ceiling. With a quiet sigh, you push yourself upright, running both hands through your hair. There’s no point trying to force yourself to sleep when your mind won’t shut off.

You slip out from beneath the covers, shivering as your feet touch the cool wooden floor. The house beyond the guest room is silent now, every hallway wrapped in the hush of night.

Satoru and Suguru must be asleep, tucked away in the bed that you’d woken up in earlier that morning, tangled together, probably holding each other as they try not to dwell on how distant you’ve become.

The thought stings, but you push it down.

Quietly, you move through the dark hallway. Your hand lightly brushes along the wall for balance as you make your way toward the wide, arched door at the end of the corridor, the one that leads to the upstairs balcony.

You hesitate briefly before pushing it open.

The air outside is crisp and cool, rushing across your skin and pulling goosebumps to the surface. The wide balcony stretches out before you, overlooking a garden cloaked in deep shadows. Soft moonlight washes everything in shades of silver and blue It’s beautiful, unnervingly serene. Like a painting.

You step out barefoot, arms curling around yourself as the door drifts shut behind you. The night presses in around your shoulders. Your breath hitches, and comes in in a shudder. And then, without warning, the tears break free.

The sob hits before you even realize it’s coming. You sink down onto one of the seats set up at the edge of the balcony, burying your face in your hands as everything you’ve held in all day crashes through you like a wave.

You cry. Really cry. Ugly, full-body sobs, gasping and bitter, spilling out like they’ve been waiting for a crack in your armour. You’re angry and tired and scared. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know who you’re supposed to be. The people in this house look at you like you’re everything, but you’re nothing like her. You’re not their wife. You’re not anyone.

A soft noise makes you jerk upright, eyes wide and tear-blurred, heart hammering.

The cat is perched on the balcony rails, green eyes glowing faintly in the shadows, its greyish fur almost silver in the moonlight. It tilts its head slightly, observing you with calm curiosity.

“Oh, great.” You glare, swiping your sleeves roughly at your wet cheeks. “It’s you.”

He blinks at you.

You hiccup out a weak breath, eyes still wet. “This is all your fault, you know.” You whisper harshly. “If you hadn’t chased me down that stupid alley, none of this would’ve happened. I’d be home.”

The cat just sits there, staring at you silently.

You sniff, voice shaky and tight with emotion. “Don’t look at me like that. You don’t even care, do you? You’re just some dumb, stupid animal that ruined my whole life.”

Your scoff out a bitter laugh, but your lower lip trembles as fresh tears well up. You bury your face back into your hands, shoulders shaking again.

A few seconds pass and then you feel a gentle pressure against your lower leg. You tense, glancing down through blurry eyes. The cat’s now at your feet, gently pawing at your shin. You let out a small huff, determined to ignore him, but he doesn’t move away.

Instead, he pounces, paws clinging onto the fabric at your knee, before hauling itself up onto your lap. You freeze, too stunned to do anything as he stretches, circles once, then settles down with a small huff, tail curling around its body.

Despite yourself, you reach out a hand and run your fingers through its fur. The cat leans into your touch, purring softly. Your breath comes a little easier, slowly calming to match the gentle vibrations beneath your palm.

“You’re not even sorry.” You murmur, though your voice is softer now, exhaustion replacing the earlier anger.

The cat simply closes his eyes, continuing to purr softly, totally unconcerned with the world around him.

You stay like that for a long while, curled on the seat with the cat nestled in your lap, the night wrapping around you like a blanket. Eventually, when the cold starts to settle into your bare feet and your eyelids grow heavy, you lift the cat into your arms and stand, returning quietly inside.

You wander slowly to the living room, the pale glow of the moon illuminating just enough to guide your steps. The couch is welcoming, soft cushions and a throw blanket draped over the back. You sink down onto it gratefully. The cat joins without hesitation, pressing himself against your cheek as you pull the blanket around you both.

Your let your eyelids drift to a close, and for the first time all day, your feel at ease. You fall asleep like that, pressed against a living, purring thing that doesn’t expect anything from you at all.

Tomorrow can come later.

notes: hey so lmk yall think, i really appreciate feedback OH ALSO i saw a few people comment on how satoru n suguru will react when they find out mc is in their wife's body. GUYS HOW THE HELL ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO CONVINCE SOMEONE THAT? "so yeah im not me im just in this body that is me in this universe but its not the same me from my old universe but im still me just not YOUR version of me 😊" STOP I CANT- we're gonna stick to amnesia for now 😭 do we gotta add that tag now??

lmk if you wanna hop on the bandwagon: @ascybous @hantas-left-elbow @neteyamneteyam @faerie-soirxx @jay4luvsya @slowlyshycomputer @floquis @creamsicl3 @serendididy @m00nyt0astforever @a-trashbag @perqbeth @pellucid-constellations @lazcylies @orange-juice-is-ass @porcosjaw @entr4p3 @sassycupcakecomputer @animechick555 @saoirses-things @violetpurplez @kaidostwin @flwerie @nikomenom @estiebestiesworld @not-aya @ajay0123 @ryukumi @yamato-my-beloved @sherrieblossoms @urthem00n @fortunatelyfurrygiver

[maskedbyghost]

this is part 2 to toxic ex!Simon Riley x f!Reader, smut, mdni

You hadn’t planned to cry, and honestly, you weren’t even sure why your chest felt tight in the first place. It was just supposed to be a walk, nothing more, just some fresh air and sunshine and maybe a break from your own thoughts.

You thought moving your body might help. Maybe if you just walked far enough, breathed deep enough, looked up at the clouds instead of staring at your bedroom ceiling, something would click into place and you’d feel like yourself again. Like a person again.

But the universe clearly had other plans.

Because every corner you turned, there was another couple.

They weren’t even being obnoxious about it. It wasn’t the affection that made you roll your eyes or want to vomit. It was worse. It was the soft stuff, the connection you could feel without even hearing a word of it.

A guy was walking with his girlfriend, and his hand was resting right at the small of her back. Another couple sat under a tree with a checkered blanket spread out beneath them. She was half in his lap, trying to balance her drink, laughing at something he had said, and he was holding her as if she were made of glass and sunlight, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other brushing her hair with his hands, slowly.

An older couple walked by, holding hands, their fingers intertwined so casually that it made your throat ache. She was talking, he was nodding, and they stopped every few steps to point at the flowers planted along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world.

And you just… froze.

It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t even sadness, just this deep yearning that settled heavy in your chest and refused to budge, this desperate ache for something that didn’t hurt, something soft, something simple, something that didn’t feel like you were holding your breath all the time, afraid of saying the wrong thing or asking for too much.

You wanted to be held. Not grabbed, nor thrown onto a bed because someone couldn’t control themselves. You wanted to be chosen in the quiet moments, when there was no sex or tension or drama to sweeten the deal. You wanted someone to look at you and think, There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.

You sat down on the nearest bench, dropped your phone into your lap, and just stared at the grass. You didn’t want to cry in public, not really, but the sting was there, just behind your eyes, and you blinked fast, hoping it’d go away.

Your phone buzzed.

You didn’t even want to check. You already knew, somehow, like a sixth sense, or maybe just muscle memory.

“Come over. I’ll order Thai. You can stay.”

As if it was some kind of prize. Like the offer of food and his bed was supposed to feel anything other than a pity invitation. Like that sentence wasn’t the exact same breadcrumb he’d been throwing your way for months, just enough to keep you following, never enough to satisfy.

He wasn’t saying I miss you. He wasn’t saying I’m sorry I hurt you or I didn’t know what I had until you were gone. He was saying Come over. Like this was still a game he was winning.

And maybe a week ago, hell, maybe even yesterday, you would’ve paused. You would’ve stared at the message with that same dull throb in your chest and thought maybe this time will be different. Maybe he means it. Maybe he’s trying.

But right now?

Right now, you felt done.

Done with making excuses for him. Done with confusing attention for affection. Done with dragging your heart behind you like dead weight every time he pulled you back in with nothing more than a half-assed promise and a takeout order.

Your fingers hovered for a second, just long enough to acknowledge the part of you that still wanted to believe he’d ever be capable of giving you what you needed.

And then you typed:

“No. We’re done, Simon. For real this time. Don’t text me again.”

Your thumb hit send before your brain could stop you, before your heart could scream, before the echo of what if could take root and grow into something dangerous again.

And then, without waiting for the three dots to pop up, without giving yourself a chance to hesitate or soften or let him back in even a little you blocked the number.

And that was it.

Your hand was trembling, your eyes burned, but the tears didn’t fall. And your heartbeat was steady in your chest, like it was relieved.

You looked up at the sky. Watched the clouds move slowly across the blue. They didn’t know what it meant to panic over someone who didn’t care.

You weren’t happy, not yet. But for the first time in too long, you didn’t feel chained to him anymore.

And that, in itself, felt like something.

...

You hadn’t seen him in over two weeks.

No texts, no calls, no sudden knocks at your door. No glimpses of him near your job, no DMs from new burner accounts, nor mutual friends trying to convince you he was “going through it.”

And honestly? You were starting to think he’d finally gotten the message. That maybe he’d realized what it meant when you said we’re done. That he’d felt the silence for what it was: a full stop, not a pause.

But then he showed up. Of course he did.

You were walking home from the grocery store, just a quick trip for bread and milk and some random snacks you didn’t need but bought anyway because the act of filling your cupboards made you feel happier. You’d just turned the corner onto your street, earbuds in, music low, mind somewhere else entirely, when you looked up and froze.

He was leaning against your building. And he had the nerve to be casual about it too, his arms crossed, head down like this wasn’t completely insane. He looked up when you stopped walking, and his mouth did that slow curl into a grin that used to make your stomach flip but now just made your jaw tighten.

You pulled your earbuds out and said nothing.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was normal or completely not out of bounds. “You’ve been hard to reach.”

“Simon,” you started, your voice flat, your pulse already kicking up. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “You blocked my number and my backup email. You weren’t really leaving me a lot of options.”

You blinked, stunned at how casually he said it. “So you decided to stalk me instead?”

“That’s a dramatic word,” he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward you like you weren’t already backing away slightly, trying to hold onto your grip. “I just wanted to talk. You made that impossible.”

“I made it impossible because we broke up,” you snapped, dropping your grocery bag onto the steps with more force than necessary. “I told you not to text me. Not to call. I said we were done—done, Simon—what don’t you get?”

He smiled again, that infuriating smirk, like you’d just said something cute instead of trying to set a boundary.

“Yeah,” he said, cocking his head. “We broke up, sure. But that doesn’t mean you get to erase me.”

You stared at him, jaw slack. “Are you actually hearing yourself?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Simon said, stepping closer now, his voice calmer, which, honestly, made you want to scream. “You think a couple texts and a blocklist are gonna make me forget what we were? You really think that’s enough?”

“I don’t want you to forget,” you snapped. “I want you to leave me alone. I want you to understand that this—whatever this was—is over. I’m not doing this anymore. I don’t belong to you.”

Something in his expression shifted then, just a flicker. A twitch of his jaw, a tightening of the eyes. You’d seen that look before, right before the walls went up. Right before the mask slipped into place.

“You keep saying we’re over,” Simon said slowly, “but you don’t get it.”

He stepped in so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the scent of his skin, that cologne he always wore too much of, the one that used to make you ache but now just made your stomach turn.

“You and me?” he whispered. “We’re never really over.”

Your breath hitched, and for a second—for one stupid, fleeting second—you felt that pull again. That old, broken, magnetic force that lived in the space between his mouth and yours, in the memory of what it felt like to be wanted by him.

But you were so fucking tired of confusing that with love. So you stepped back.

You looked him dead in the eye, and you said:

“What do you want from me, Simon? Seriously. Do you want me to scream? Do you want me to cry? Do you want me to fall apart in front of you just so you can feel something? Because whatever this is—it’s not love, it’s not real. It’s you, trying to control me. And I’m done letting you.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just stood there. And you picked up your bag again, turned on your heel, and walked away. You didn’t look back, didn’t have to.

Because this time? You were the one leaving him behind.

...

It had been weeks.

Weeks of silence, weeks of healing, and pretending you were ready to move on, even when your heart still felt like a battlefield he’d walked away from without ever looking back.

So when your coworker asked you out—the nice one, the one who remembered your coffee order and always held the elevator—you said yes.

You didn’t feel fireworks, nor did you get butterflies. But you also didn’t feel dread, or the bone-deep exhaustion that came from chasing someone who only ever looked back when you were halfway out the door.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe soft was what you needed now. Safe and simple.

He took you to a cozy little restaurant tucked off the main street, the kind with candlelight and mismatched chairs and a menu written entirely in cursive. He held the door open for you, pulled your chair out when you sat, complimented your dress without looking at your chest. And you smiled, even if it felt a little forced. You laughed, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

You tried...

Halfway through the meal, you excused yourself to the bathroom. The ladies’ room was down a narrow hallway in the back, quiet and dim, music muffled through the walls. You were halfway there when you felt it.

That shift in the air.

That awareness that only ever came from one person. And you didn’t even get the chance to turn around before he was there.

He stepped out from the shadows of the hallway like a fucking ghost, like he’d been waiting, like he knew you’d be here and timed it down to the minute. And before you could speak, before you could even breathe, he had you pressed up against the wall, one arm caging you in, the other sliding slowly along your waist.

His mouth was at your ear in an instant, voice low, thick, dirty.

“Really, sweetheart?” he murmured, breath warm against your skin. “This the best you can do?”

Your heart slammed in your chest. Your hands went to his chest, pushing lightly, but you didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He leaned in closer, body not quite touching yours but so fucking close, you could feel the heat radiating off him like fire.

“You think he’s gonna fuck you better than I do?” he whispered, and it wasn’t even a question—it was filth wrapped in confidence. “You think he even knows what to do with you? Bet he doesn’t even know how you sound when you beg. Doesn’t know how your thighs shake when I’ve got my mouth on you—”

“Stop it,” you hissed, voice shaking, but your knees were already weak and your throat felt tight.

Simon smirked, eyes dark and gleaming. “Can’t stop thinking about it, can you? His hands won't feel right, will they? Bet you’d picture mine every time he touches you.”

Your hands pushed harder now, but he didn’t flinch.

“And what about when he’s inside you?” Simon rasped, mouth brushing your jaw, teeth grazing skin just enough to make you gasp. “You gonna close your eyes and pretend it’s me?”

“At least he’ll fucking stay,” you snapped, louder now, anger burning through the haze. “At least he won’t leave the second he gets what he wants. At least I won’t wake up to an empty bed.”

That got him. His jaw clenched instantly.

But he didn’t move. He just stared at you, breathing hard, hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to touch you or punch a hole in the wall beside your head.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Get the fuck out of my way.”

Simon didn’t move right away. He just stood there, watching you like you’d gutted him, like your words had cut deeper than you’d meant them to—but you didn’t regret it.

Not this time.

You stepped around him, ignoring the way your legs trembled beneath you, head high, heart pounding like it was trying to tear its way out of your chest.

You didn’t look back.

You walked straight back to the table, sat down, and smiled at your date like your ex hadn’t just whispered filth into your ear in a hallway like a man possessed.

“Everything okay?” your date asked gently.

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “The bathroom line was just long.”

...

The walk back to your apartment felt like an out-of-body experience.

Your date had walked you home, smiling the entire way, hands tucked into his pockets, making soft jokes that you tried to laugh at, even though your stomach had been turning since the second you stepped out of the restaurant. He was kind. He listened, he held the door open, and he even complimented your dress without leering. And when you reached your door, he leaned in and kissed you, soft and gentle, just like the kind of kiss you should want from someone like him.

And you felt nothing. Not even a flicker, not even a spark.

You kissed him back out of politeness, maybe even a little guilt, and when you stepped away and thanked him for dinner, he smiled like he’d had a good time. And you hated that you hadn’t. Hated that he was everything you said you wanted—safe, respectful, sweet—and all you could think about the whole fucking night was Simon’s mouth, Simon’s hands, Simon whispering filth and promises and pain in your ear like he was made to ruin you.

By the time you reached your door, your hands were shaking. Not from fear, but from rage.

From this endless, exhausting loop of trying to do the right thing and still craving the wrong one.

You fumbled with your keys, cursing under your breath, eyes burning. You wanted to scream. Wanted to punch a wall. Wanted to shove Simon’s face into the fact that he’d broken you so thoroughly that now, even when someone was good to you, it felt wrong.

The door opened. And there he was.

Simon.

Sitting on your couch but he didn’t look cocky this time. Didn’t smirk or lean back with that smug glint in his eye. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, head in his hands like he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You dropped your purse.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” your voice cracked, sharp and loud in the quiet room.

He stood, slowly, but you were already walking toward him, hands clenched, eyes blazing.

“How dare you?” you hissed. “How fucking dare you be here again. After everything.”

“Just listen—”

“No!” you snapped. “No, you don’t get to talk. You don’t get to sit there and act like you’re confused about why I don’t want you in my life. You ruined me, Simon.”

He flinched, and good. You wanted it to hurt.

“You took everything I gave you, every part of me, and you made it ugly.” Your voice shook now, rage mixing with grief. “You used me when you wanted company. Tossed me when you were bored. And I kept coming back, like a fucking idiot, thinking maybe this time you’d mean it when you kissed me.”

He was quiet.

“I went on a date tonight,” you spat. “With someone who treated me like I mattered. Someone who held doors and remembered things I said and kissed me like he gave a damn, and do you know what I thought the whole time?”

Simon swallowed, barely whispering, “What?”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes now.

“I thought about you,” you said, voice cracking. “I thought about your fucking mouth, about your hands. I thought about how I’d rather have your soft kiss than his perfect one. And I hate myself for it.”

Simon took a step forward. “I never meant to—”

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice trembling now. “Don’t stand there and act like this just happened. You did this. You made me believe you’d never care, and now I’m so fucking broken I can’t even feel anything from someone who actually tries. I still picture you when I think about love, Simon. That’s the worst part.”

He was right in front of you now, his breathing shallow, his eyes wide as he just watched you split yourself open in front of him.

“I imagine you,” you whispered. “But better, softer, and kinder. I imagine you as the version I needed, the one I deserved, and it kills me, because I don’t even know if that version of you exists.”

Silence.

He reached out then, so slowly it made your breath catch, and placed one hand gently on your cheek, the lightest touch he’d ever given you.

“I can be him,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I swear to God, I’ll try. I’ll be him.”

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Because he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

And then another, on your temple. One on your cheek, your jaw, your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between them. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You were crying now, full-on sobbing, body shaking like it had been holding this in for far too long. And he didn’t grab you, didn’t pull you into him like he used to. He just stood there, kissing every tear that fell like he was trying to wipe them from existence.

“I didn’t know how to love you right,” he murmured, voice breaking. “But I will. If you let me. If you give me a chance, I’ll change. I’ll do the work. Just… don’t shut the door on me yet.”

You didn’t answer.

Because even after everything, even through all the rage and resentment and raw wounds, his kisses still felt like home.

And that was the scariest part of all.

He kissed your tears like they burned him, as if each one that slid down your cheeks was proof of what he’d broken, and he was trying, pathetically, hopelessly, to piece it all back together with nothing but his mouth and the weight of his regret.

You didn’t say anything when he pressed his forehead to yours. Didn’t pull away when he wrapped both arms around you like he thought you might disappear if he didn’t hold you tight enough.

You just stood there and let yourself breathe him in, his warmth, his scent.

“Let me show you,” Simon whispered, voice raw. “Please, just once. Let me make it right.”

You didn’t nod, you didn’t speak, but you let him take your hand.

He led you to the bed and didn’t tear your clothes off like he usually did. He didn’t grab or push or bite. He just kissed you, like you were something fragile, something he didn’t think he deserved to touch but was begging to try.

His hands trembled when he slid your top up over your arms. He took his time with every button, every hem, because rushing would ruin it. When your bra fell away, he kissed the center of your chest—not your breasts, not your neck—your chest, right over your heart, and rested there for a second like he was trying to feel it beat.

“You don’t have to forgive me now,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I’m gonna earn it. All of it. Whatever it takes.”

You didn’t stop the tears. You didn’t hide from them. They slid quietly down your cheeks as he lowered himself between your legs and pressed his mouth to your stomach, your hips, your thighs—anywhere but the place you were already aching for him.

“I’m gonna learn how to love you right,” he murmured against your skin. “I’m gonna give you every soft thing I never thought you’d want. You won’t have to beg for affection anymore. You won’t have to guess if I’ll stay.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then the other, then finally pressed his mouth to where you needed him. It felt as if he was praying with his tongue. Like this was how he was going to worship you now.

You gasped, hands fisting the sheets, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

He looked up from between your thighs, his face a mess of want and pain.

“You don’t have to cry,” he said softly, crawling back up your body. “I mean… I know why you are. But I hate that I’m the reason for it. I swear, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

You cupped his face, fingers trembling, and he leaned into your touch like it was the only thing holding him together.

He lined himself up, slow and careful, and when he pushed inside, he went still. Completely still. Just breathing against your mouth, his hands cradling your face like he couldn’t believe he was allowed this close again.

“You feel like home,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Fuck, you always did.”

He moved slowly, painfully slow. Like every thrust was an apology. Like he was rewriting the way he touched you, undoing every rushed, selfish fuck with something tender and earned.

Your tears didn’t stop. And neither did he.

He kissed your eyelids, your cheeks, and your jaw. Whispered everything he’d never said when it would’ve mattered most.

“I’m gonna do better.”

“I’ll take care of you. I swear I will.”

“No more games. No more pushing you away.”

You whimpered beneath him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders, clinging to him like you didn’t know how to let go anymore.

He rested his forehead against yours and kept moving, slow and deep, every thrust sending something hot and unbearable through your chest.

“You deserve flowers,” he breathed. “And check-ins. And hand-holding and fucking morning texts and someone who doesn’t make you cry every goddamn day.”

His voice cracked again. You felt it.

“And I want to be him,” Simon said, nearly choking on it. “I need to be him.”

Your body trembled beneath him. You were already so close, not just because of his cock, but because of the way he was inside you.

You came with a broken sob, your nails digging into his back, your legs shaking.

He came a moment later, groaning into your neck, and holding you tightly.

He didn’t pull out and didn’t move.

Just wrapped his arms around you, face pressed to your shoulder, and kissed you again and again and again, believing that if he just stayed close enough, the damage might finally start to heal.

...

Morning came quietly.

You woke to the pale gray light bleeding through your bedroom curtains, the kind of early morning glow that made everything feel hazy. For a few seconds, it was peaceful. Warm.

And then you remembered.

The weight behind you wasn’t just a dream.

Simon.

Still here, and breathing steadily against your back, one arm draped around your waist.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t that last night had been bad. It hadn’t. If anything, it had been too good. Too soft. Too vulnerable. It was the kind of night you used to pray for back when you thought he’d never give it to you.

And now?

Now it just felt like weakness.

You untangled yourself from his arm slowly, carefully, trying not to wake him as you sat up and slipped your legs over the side of the bed. But he stirred anyway, and you felt his hand twitch behind you, reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

You stood up and didn’t turn around when you said it.

“Simon… you need to go.”

Silence.

Then the quiet sound of bedsheets rustling behind you.

“...You serious?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and uncertain in a way you weren’t used to hearing from him.

You nodded, still facing the window. “Yeah. I am.”

He sat up, and you could hear it, the shift in weight, the creak of the mattress, the pause before the sigh.

“Last night—” he started, but you cut him off.

“Was a moment,” you said, finally turning around to look at him. “That’s all. A moment of weakness. It doesn’t mean everything’s okay.”

He blinked at you, eyes bloodshot, hair messy, mouth parted.

“I meant everything I said,” he told you quietly. “Every word.”

“I know,” you said. “But meaning it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

He was quiet again, looking down at his hands, he didn’t know what to do with them now that they weren’t holding you.

“Okay,” he said eventually, dragging a hand through his hair and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’ll go.”

You watched as he stood, pulled on his jeans, his hoodie, his boots. He didn’t rush, nor beg. He just moved with weighted sadness, like leaving was physically hard to do.

But at the door, he paused and turned around. “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me.”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“I’m gonna prove it to you. That I meant what I said. That I’m changing. You’re gonna look at me one day, and you’re not gonna feel stupid for loving me anymore.”

You didn’t reply.

You just looked at him, arms crossed, your heart pounding.

And then he opened the door and stepped into the hall, casting one last glance back over his shoulder.

“I’ll win you back,” Simon said, voice like a quiet promise. “Even if it kills me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you didn’t breathe until you were alone again.

-----------------------------------------

@nightunite I'm not done with this bitch yet.

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[redeemingvillains]

with one glance - mattheo riddle

summary: a picture's worth a thousand words, and just one manages to say everything you've desperately tried to keep hidden from mattheo.

word count: 4k

a/n: fluff, fluffy, fluffiest, fluff fluff. i'm giggling over it! 🌻

“I did it! I passed!” Pansy shouted as she burst through the common room door.

Mattheo’s eyes tracked her as she marched over to the couches and plopped the folder in her hand on the table in front of him with a flourish.

“And not just passed, top marks!” she said smugly.

He rolled his eyes at her as she spun on her heels and pranced towards the girls dormitory.

“I’m going to tell YN! Drinks on me tonight!” she shouted, her voice echoing as it faded down the stone hallway.

He focused his attention back on the book in his lap, but then his eye caught the folder on the table, and the corners of the pictures that stuck out from it, and his leg began to bounce as his fingers fiddled with the corner of the page he was on.

He glanced back to make sure Pansy was gone.

And then he reached for the folder.

❀ Two weeks earlier ❀

Rain pattered against the windowpanes in the library as you sighed and turned the page of your history of magic textbook, taking a large sip of your coffee. Across from you Pansy’s head lulled in her propped-up hand before she finally surrendered, laying her head on her equally large muggle studies tome.

“If I don’t find something to do my end of term project on I’m going to fail and I am not retaking this class; I don’t even know why we have to study muggles, I mean really…” she said, her voice muffled by the pages.

Theo and Mattheo laughed quietly on either side of you and you smiled at her as she picked her head back up and began flipping through the pages again.

A few moments passed and you refocused your attention, the sound around you dulled to murmurs, the quiet turning of pages, the pattering rain, and the scratch of Mattheo’s quill.

“Ok wait, that’s adorable” Pansy laughed, something between mocking and sincerity in her expression as your eyes flickered up, sure that at this rate you wouldn’t get any studying done.

“What?” you appeased her.

“This chapter’s all about weddings and such and, look, they have this cute little concept of taking pictures for their betrothal– engagement, whatever they call it.”

She turned her book and your eyes skated over a myriad of pictures of couples who were clearly hopelessly in love, ogling over each other, here at the beach, there in a field of flowers.

“That’s sweet” you acknowledged, smiling.

Theo leaned over and let out an unsatisfied grunt.

Mattheo’s attention didn’t waiver from his homework but Lorenzo leaned over him, craning to see.

“What’s the point?” he asked. “Sitting there staring at each other when you’ll take a thousand pictures at the wedding anyway? Their pictures don’t even move.”

You looked up in time to see Pansy roll her eyes before she glanced back down at the page, fingers tracing it and you could see a familiar glint in her eye.

“That’s what I’ll do, I’ll do a little engagement photoshoot. I love photography anyway, it makes sense.”

You nodded assuredly, thinking of the prints that littered the walls of your dorm, of each other, of your friends; your mind wandered to your favorite, intentionally plastered amidst the rest so as not to stand out, of the dark haired boy beside you, your best friend, his curls ruffled as he smiled wide and then stuck his tongue out, a loop you spent more time than you cared to admit staring at.

You smiled thinking about it and willed yourself not to look at him as your cheeks flushed, betraying you.

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Hmm?” you hummed.

“You’ll help? You’ll do it with me?”

“I’m neither engaged nor a muggle, Pansy.”

“No but you’d be sooo perfect, please? And we’ll get someone to do it with you, obviously—"

“—Stare into her eyes in a field of flowers? Steal a sneaky kiss?” Lorenzo said, his hand shooting in the air. “My weekend’s free.”

You laughed and Mattheo’s attention was dragged from his parchment as he sat back and stared at Lorenzo.

“What?” Lorenzo said defensively at his dark gaze. “Surely you’re not going to do it?”

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed.

“Your whole aura doesn’t really give ‘prancing through the flowers’, mate.”

“And yours does?” Theo clarified.

Lorenzo sat back and gestured at himself in defense like the response was obvious.

“I was made for the camera.”

The two of them continued to bicker in whispers back and forth as you watched them and tried to contain your laughter.

“I’ll do it” Mattheo said, just loud enough to be heard over them.

Your head turned quickly to him in surprise.

Lorenzo wasn’t wrong. Mattheo was more than a little stoic, a bit of a closed book, but it was one of your favorite things about him, because you knew when he laughed, when he smiled, when he let his guard down around you, it really meant something.

Pansy glanced to you and him and back again, her smile growing wider.

“Perfect!” she said enthusiastically.

“Don’t come crying to me when you have a roll full of scowls” Lorenzo muttered.

That Saturday you woke to an idyllic late spring morning. The storms had cleared to welcome a perfect blue sky and even though you were tingling with nerves you couldn’t deny your excitement. You dressed in a simple white sundress, let your hair fall naturally and added just a touch of makeup; Pansy had wanted to lean into the whole outdoorsy theme, so you opted to keep things simple.

You wandered outside and just past greenhouse you could see two figures at edge of a large field of wildflowers near the forest and ran to catch up with them.

“Hi! Sorry! I’m here!” you said, a bit flustered.

“No worries!” Pansy said, and she continued talking, but you’d caught Mattheo’s eye as he turned to face you and his face broke into a smile that you knew all too well to be genuine happiness as his eyes traced you.

You smiled back as you looked up at him, appreciating the way his white top clung to his arms, the way the sun was glinting off his chestnut hair, averting your gaze quickly when you felt a familiar heat creeping in your cheeks. When did you think having a fake romantic photoshoot with the friend you were unfailingly in love was a good idea?

“…So yeah just go on then” Pansy said as she gestured to the field and then began fiddling with her muggle camera.

You both looked back at her, your bewilderment clear.

“Gonna need a bit more than that, Pans” Mattheo clarified, his voice scratchy in an early-morning way that had your toes curling in the long grass.

She glanced up and sighed, placing a hand on her hip.

“Just take her hand and walk” she instructed, shooing you off.

He looked back at you, eyebrows raised, and reached out his palm. You placed yours in his warm grasp and fell into step with him as he began to walk into the field.

But you didn’t make it three steps.

“You’re meant to be getting married, can you please intertwine your fingers, Riddle, and get a little closer” Pansy yelled.

His hand shifted without pause as he wrapped his fingers in yours, squeezing tightly as he gently pulled you into his side.

“So bossy” he muttered and you laughed, the moment breaking the intense nerves you’d had that you sensed he could feel as he squeezed your hand again.

“Alright, stop there, turn and face each other” Pansy instructed from a distance.

Your feet slowed hesitantly and you could hear the snap snap snap of her camera as you turned to face him and felt like your whole body was your heartbeat, like you could feel your nerves in the tips of your fingers as you looked up at him. He reached for your other hand, holding them both. You glanced down at the gesture before looking up at him and he winked, causing you to smile, to laugh again.

“Hey” he said quietly as your eyes met his. “I know there are loads of guys out there, but try to act a little happy you’re marrying me. For Pansy’s sake” he joked and your eyes grew wide at that.

“I’m not – I’m happy!” you said, unable to articulate why you were so nervous, realizing it was coming across as something else entirely.

“Why don’t we do a couple sitting then?” Pansy said.

“So artsy” you replied, turning to her.

She pointed adamantly.

“Ok! Ok!” you said, dropping down, your dress fanning you as Mattheo sat beside you.

“Closer.”

You sighed and scooched closer, terrified to meet his eyes again.

“Just go ahead and talk to each other or something.”

Mattheo seemed completely at ease and didn’t seem to have any problem staring at you and you felt like he could see through your soul.

Finally, you met his eye, gathering yourself.

“Why’d you agree to do this?” you asked quietly as the camera clicked, releasing the question that has been on your mind since he’d volunteered.

Because I wouldn’t dare let anyone else do this with you, he thought.

He shrugged.

“No plans.”

You pushed his chest playfully and he grasped your hand.

“Perfect! So cute!” Pansy said.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t an act.

Mattheo leaned in and you stopped breathing altogether, certain he was going to kiss you, but then he reached for a wildflower, plucking it before looking back at you and thoughtfully tucking it behind your ear.

“Swoon!” you heard Pansy mutter, her camera clicking away.

“Smooth, Riddle” you said, your voice wobbly as his hand lingered against your cheek.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you it wasn’t an act.

“Alright, don’t kill me—” Pansy said, her voice dragging you away from the look in his eyes, and the feeling of his fingers against your cheek.

“—But is there a way you could like—" she motioned her hands like she wanted you to get closer. Short of crawling into his lap, closer wasn’t an option. You looked up at her, an eyebrow arched.

“Pans?”

“Maybe just make it look like, you know, like you’re going to kiss her, but if I stand here,” she said, moving away from the sun and kneeling down, “we can just make it look that way.”

Both of you paused, looking at her.

“Pleeaasee? I’ll be forever grateful.”

You turned to see him already looking at you.

“We don’t have to, if you’re not comfortable—”

“—It’s fine” you said, probably far too quickly. His lip twitched in a grin.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

It seemed an odd question, but you nodded, of course you did.

In a moment he reached for your hips and pulled you on top of him, the weight of you nearly toppling him over as your arms wound around his neck and his wound around you, holding you steady to him.

Pansy’s camera went wild like it was trying to keep in time with your pulse as you settled on his lap. You could feel his warm breath, his lips inches, centimeters from yours. He moved and pressed his forehead to yours and Pansy had some incredibly happy comment about it, but the world and all of your senses were reduced to just you and him, to how tightly he was holding you, to the smell of his cologne, mixed with wildflowers, like evergreen and summer, to the smell of the winterfresh gum that he favored and the look in his eyes, an unfailing sincerity there that had been there all morning, that was reducing you to a puddle. And then he smiled, the same smile in the polaroid that hung next to your bed, the same one you fell asleep looking at and woke up to every morning…

“Now she’s happy” he whispered, and you realized you were wearing a huge smile of your own.

A heartbeat, two.

Your hands moved to hold his face, to steady yourself, and you knew you couldn’t stay here a second longer without kissing him. But you also knew that kissing him would betray three years of friendship, and feelings that, if not voiced by now, clearly were not reciprocated.

His hand ran up your back and you felt him pull you against him and all you could think was how well he was selling it.

“Matty” you whispered, a plea, a beg, unsure whether you were begging him to keep going or to stop, though you were sure you’d never wanted anything more than this.

“M’gonna kiss you” he said finally.

He said hastily, leaving no time for a reply and then he was pulling you into him fully, his lips drawing yours to his and you couldn’t help the way your body relaxed and sank into him, the way your fingers threaded into his hair, the way you let out a tiny noise you’d never made before as his lips moved over yours like you’d done it all your life, unable to understand how this was the least nervous you’d been all day, because it felt right.

You kissed him back with the passion of three years of thinking about it, not leaving a single thing on the table, because there’d never be another moment to parade it like this again as you wound your tongue into his mouth, flicked his and his grip on your waist felt bruising in reply before he pulled away, fast.

“Fucking fuck” he hissed, holding you at a distance from him as he tried to catch his breath.

“S-sorry!” you replied, trying to catch your breath, to clear your clouded mind, hazy with him as you touched your fingers to your lips, already swollen from his kiss.

“No, do not, don’t apologize—"

Pansy cleared her throat.

And you both turned to see her not even bothering to point the camera, her face gobsmacked.

“Think I got what I need, then.”

“Right!” you said, shifting as Mattheo reluctantly helped you off his lap and you both stood and walked to meet her.

He casually intertwined his fingers in yours, and you held his hand tightly without realizing it. You didn’t let go until you entered the castle.

By the time you were back to the common room, the façade of the morning fell, and with it came a wave of uncertainty, of regret.

Mattheo slid onto the couch with your friends and you made your way, head down, to your room as Pansy followed quickly after you.

She was unusually quiet as she set her camera down and sank into her chair, watching you as you moved about the room, fussing, folding laundry, tying your hair up only to let it down again.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

Your movements faltered and you sighed.

“M’fine” you said quietly.

“That was …”

“Yeah. Well... I hope you do really well on your project.”

She knew you were being genuine, she knew you meant it, and that made her feel even worse than she already did, because even though you'd never voiced it, she knew exactly how much Mattheo meant to you.

“It looked real, YN. I mean the way he was looking at you all morning” she tried, reaching for her camera.

You shook your head.

“I don’t – it’s not like that” you said, shaking your head as she offered the camera to you. “Please. He was doing us a favor, plain as.”

You moved to bathroom and closed the door, and Pansy stared at the camera, flipping through the pictures for a long time.

Mattheo lay in bed that night and all he could think was how fucking stupid he’d been.

The second you’d come back to the common room you’d been off, and the rest of the day you’d kept him at an arms’ length. He’d pushed way too far when he kissed you, and clearly it’d made you uncomfortable.

… But the way you looked at him… The feeling of the warmth of your body against him, your fingers in his hair, the way you’d whispered his name…. he’d thought…

It didn’t matter.

Clearly he’d read the signs all wrong. And even that perfect fucking kiss wasn’t worth it because now you wouldn’t even look at him. He shoved his head in his pillow and groaned.

❀ Present ❀

Mattheo had been reading and re-reading the same sentence when Pansy burst into the common room, going on about her project.

He hadn’t forgotten about it, couldn’t forget the way you’d looked surrounded by that field of flowers in your white dress. It shouldn’t have done to him what it did but for the life of him he couldn’t stop thinking about it, the way you’d looked at him, the way the wind rustled your hair, the soft cotton of your dress, the feeling of your fingers in his, your weight in his lap, your fingers in his hair, your tongue... it plagued him. But he had forgotten completely about Pansy, about the project, about the pictures.

So when she left he reached for the folder with eager hands and six polaroids fell out alongside a scrap of parchment.

He flipped the pictures over and his heart stilled to a muffled beat.

The photos didn’t move, but in a way it made them more ethereal, like you were frozen in time, like had a piece of you, a moment that would never be the same again.

Him, with his fingers in your hair, tucking a flower there, how you’d teased him that it was for show, when it so clearly wasn’t.

Your tangled hands.

You in the summer sun glowing like a fucking angel. He refused to put that one back, holding it close to his chest instead.

Two others caught his eye. One of him, alone, clearly listening to something you were saying off camera, he stared at it and realized he looked like a lovesick puppy, like just how down bad he was might well have been written across his forehead. Am I that obvious? he thought.

But the last one.

It was one he didn’t even remember taking, both of you hand in hand, his back was to the camera but your expression was clear, you were glowing, you were looking at him like he hung the damn moon and stars, your eyes sparkled, and he loved it. He loved you he thought.

He looked back and forth between your expression and his and he replayed how you’d looked that day in his mind.

Why’d you agree to do this? you’d asked, like you didn’t already know.

Smooth, Riddle you’d said, begging him to tell you it wasn’t an act, though he couldn't find the words to.

And it was like he was solving a puzzle he’d been working on for three years; all the times you’d shied away from his gaze, the times you’d turned down dates with other guys or laid your head on his shoulder, it was always exactly what he’d thought it was, exactly what he wanted it to be.

He reached for the piece of parchment then, eyes scanning it quickly as he smiled, grabbing it alongside the polaroids before following quickly in Pansy’s footsteps.

Your door was open and he could hear your voices echoing as he moved to stand in the doorframe. You were seated cross-legged on your bed, textbooks open in front of you as Pansy chatted to you, walking around the room.

You looked up at him, surprise evident on your face; you’d been keeping your distance and until now he’d been respecting it.

“Oh” you said simply.

Pansy turned to see him, glancing at the messy bundle of pictures in his hands, and the expression on his face as he stared wide eyed at her best friend.

“Ha, yup, I’ll give you two a minute” she said as she brushed by him.

“Pans!” you whispered after her as you scrambled to your feet.

“Can I talk to you, please?” he asked.

“…Sure” you said hesitantly, not meeting his gaze as you leaned against your bed, eyes darting to your feet, unsure if you could ever look in his eyes again and see anything but his expression after you’d kissed, something you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life chasing.

He rubbed the back of his head and looked down at the pictures in his hands.

“Remember when you asked me why I offered to do Pansy’s project with you?”

Your eyes flitted up as his chosen topic of conversation.

“Yeah” you said quietly.

“Well – it’s… I thought – when she said – I mean for the longest time I…” he muttered. “Fucking hell. Here” he said, moving to your bed and dumping the polaroids there.

You glanced up at him before focusing your attention on the pictures.

You pulled one then another towards you, turning them so you could see them, analyzing them quietly, your fingers tracing over the frames, and stopping to rest on the one of you looking at him, the same one that had told him everything he needed to know, the answer to every question he’d asked himself for years clear on your face.

Your cheeks heated. Gods I look smitten, you thought and you felt your whole body blush.

In response he pulled the one of him next to it, the one where he was looking off camera at you, totally and completely enthralled and you bit your lip to keep from crying because you still weren’t sure what he was trying to say. We’re really good actors? Something more? And then he pulled the piece of parchment out of his pocket and spread it next to them. It was a note from Pansy’s professor.

Excellent, Pansy. Your talent with the camera is exceptional and you captured the essence of this milestone moment clearly. These two? They remind me of Mihri Hatun, ‘At one glance I loved you with a thousand hearts’. Beautiful!

You read the words and you felt a tingle throughout your body as the small hairs on your arm stood at attention and you looked up at him again.

“At first, I offered to do it because I didn’t like the idea of Enzo drooling all over you. But, selfishly? I wanted to know what it’d feel like, to pretend, for a while, that I could be something more than a friend to you, that you could look at me that way. But…” he looked back at the picture of you, “you kinda are looking at me that way. And Merlin, if you could put ‘down bad loverboy on a poster that picture of me would be it.’

You laughed despite the sincerity of the moment.

“And that kiss, I didn’t mean– didn’t intend for it to be like that… but you kinda kissed me like you didn’t mind…”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I didn’t think—” You tried to form a coherent thought but couldn’t as your eyes drifted back down to the picture of him looking at you, feeling the way it permeated you, warmed you.

He reached for your other hand, tangling your fingers in his. And he tugged, emboldened now by what he knew as he reached a hand to cup your face and then dipped his head, pausing for a second, maybe just to be 100% sure that this was what you wanted as his lips ghosted yours.

You tiptoed yourself to him, pressing your lips to his. His arms encircled you eagerly and lifted you up to him as you wound your legs around his waist and you smiled and laughed against his lips.

“I’ve been looking at you like that for the last three years, YN. M’glad you finally noticed.”

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres

[kawaiigirly21]

Our Little Soda Pop: Chapter 4

You want to do what?” Natasha grumbled while she sat up from her couch. Sleep still clinging to her body and papers laid out around her. “We want to do an impromptu concert to advertise ourselves.” Jinu replied with a matter of fact tone. “Ugh fine… give me like… 10 minutes…” Before she could get up from the couch, she was pushed back by Mystery who then draped a blanket over her. “Rest. You've been working hard for two weeks now.” He mumbled while Romance and Baby helped organize her paperwork.

“We'll take it from here today, boss lady. You focused on getting some well deserved sleep.” Abby smiled as he followed the others out the door. “We'll be back soon.” Mystery whispered in her ear before placing a sweet kiss on her lips and leaving behind Abby. Falling back to sleep, Natasha snuggled into the blanket over her body. “You're trying to get some of that sweet candy huh Mystery?” Abby smirked as he slapped his friend's back. The man only nodded slightly in response.

“Dude, her mouth is like the closest thing to heaven I'll ever know. Maybe she'll go down on you too.” Abby smirked. “Her hands are just as good. The way she worked my cock was something I never thought I'd feel.” Romance added. Mystery listened to his friend's words but he had his own idea for what he wanted his reward to be. After running into the hunters and their mini concert, Mystery used some of his cash to stop by a store to buy something for Natasha.

A small gift to show his appreciation for dealing with him and his friends on a daily basis. “Oooh what'd ya get?” Baby tried looking into the bag only to be shoved away by Mystery. “It's not for you.” He mumbled as the group walked back to the penthouse. “Can you guys like… not bother her tonight? She really needs to rest.” He then added as the 5 of them climbed into the elevator. “Sounds like someone is planning a romantic night with just the two of you.” Jinu teased as he tried to peek into the bag Mystery was carrying.

Once the doors of the elevator opened to the penthouse floor, Mystery made a beeline to Natasha's room and headed straight for the bathroom. “Hey. I saw everything. You guys are going viral.” Natasha replied as she yawned from her place on the floor. Papers once again sprawled out around her. The sound of her pen scribbling on a paper was lots enough for the boys to groan. “You're not supposed to be doing that. You're supposed to be resting.” Jinu sighed.

Suddenly, Mystery emerged from Natasha's room and scooped her up from the floor into his arms and walked back to the room. Locking the door behind him. “Um, I can walk Mystery but thank you for that. Why'd you lock the guys out?” Natasha asked as Mystery sat her down and led her to her bathroom where she was greeted by a hot bath and a glass of wine waiting for her. A few rose petals were scattered across the floor and the scent of a lighted candle filled her senses.

“Oh Mystery… you did this for me?” The man nodded shyly before reaching for her. “May I undress you?” After Natasha nodded, she nearly made a noise of surprise with how quick the introverted demon idol moved to pull off her clothes. His hands lingered on her bra and panties though. He tried taking deep breaths to steady himself. “You're doing such a good job staying in control of your instincts Mystery. Such a good boy.” The man swallowed heavily after a while and continued undressing the woman before him.

He then helped her into the bath and listened to her let out a sigh of comfort. “I really needed this…Thank you hun.” After her bath, Mystery helped Natasha to her bed where he had laid out clothing for her as she dried herself off. Looking back at the man who stood in the corner of the room fighting his demon form from coming out, Natasha smiled and dropped her towel. Leaving her naked in front of the man. “Mystery? Come here honey.” Natasha called sweetly. In an instant, Mystery appeared in front of her and leaned down as she placed a hand on his cheek.

“Let it out darling. I want to see it while you fuck me.” Taking in a deep breath, the man before her released his true form and nearly ripped his clothes from his body before taking Natasha in his arms and laying her onto the bed gently. That would be the last gentle thing he would do that night however because as soon as he was able to sink into Natasha’s warm wet walls, he let out a deep growl and thrusted as fast and deep as he could. “Oh fuck! Mystery! Shit!! Mm! Fuck! Fuck! Don't stop!”

Elsewhere in the penthouse, The rest of the boys could feel the shaking of the apartment and hear the delicious sounds of Natasha's moans. “Tch no fair! How come he gets to fuck her first!?” Abby groaned. “To be fair, I kinda saw this coming. He's the most attached to her and he's not as…chaotic as the rest of us are. I have a feeling though, I'm gonna be next.” Baby replied before downing an entire bottle of hot sauce. “You gotta stop drinking that crap. It's gotta be doing something to your stomach.” Jinu added.

“Mystery! Mystery! Fuck!! It's so deep!! Keep going!” Natasha continued to moan as Mystery pounded into her while holding her in a nasty mating press. The only noises that came from his mouth were the occasional grunt followed by demonic growls. This was the first time Natasha really began to feel her control slip. The boys could somehow sense it as well. As Mystery was pistoning his cock into her, Natasha had attempted to stop him. To slow him down.

But he was too far gone and so much stronger than her. “Stop moving and take it whore. You've held control over us long enough. It's time we claim what's rightfully ours. So stay still~” Whining loudly, Natasha tried desperately to push Mystery back but her efforts were fruitless and soon, overcome by pleasure, she reached her very first orgasm in a long time.

“Good mate. Cum on my cock like you were meant to~” Mystery growled before he himself lost himself in pleasure and spilled his seed deep inside the woman under him. Suddenly, the door to the room opened to reveal the others. As they entered the room, Abby smirked at Natasha who was still trying to catch her breath.

“Safe to say it's our time to take charge?” Jinu asked to which Mystery nodded, slightly annoyed with how they managed to get in even though he locked the door. “I can't wait for my turn. Imma beat that pussy up.” Baby smirked.

@lovelynyah

@danielle143

@prettygirlkiki

Chapter 5

[ninisdollie]

lazy morning sex with boyfriend ni-ki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x ni-ki, established relationship, lazy morning sex, very cozy and kind of fluffy, unprotected sex, a bit of dirty talk, creampie, reader riding riki, short drabble i wrote this in like 10 minutes so it’s not perfect.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki is sooo lazy in the mornings.

The fan spinning in wide, slow arcs above the bed, doing little more than stirring the thick, humid air. The curtains shifting lazily with the breeze, thin sunlight leaking through in soft golden ribbons. The whole room hot, summer clinging to the sheets, to your skin, to every shallow breath.

You draped over him, straddling his hips, chest pressed to his, so close your heartbeat feels like it’s echoing into his skin. The backs of your thighs stuck to his, sweat beading along the curve of your spine. You still half-asleep, eyelids heavy, lips parted against the side of his throat where you rest, breath brushing warm over his flushed skin.

Ni-ki hasn’t really woken up. His arms are still folded behind his head, long body stretched out on the mattress, completely bare beneath you. His hair is a mess, black strands damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead. His jaw is slack, mouth a little open, and his chest is rising in slow, rhythmic waves like he’s still dreaming.

But he’s inside you. Thick and hot and pulsing with every slow, lazy grind of your hips.

He lets out a low sigh that flutters against your temple. “You’re such a tease in the mornings,” he murmurs, his voice rough and syrup-slow. “You don’t even wait for me to wake up properly.” You smile against the curve of his jaw, not bothering to open your eyes either. “You were already hard,” you murmur, hips tilting just enough to make him twitch inside you. “Didn’t think you’d mind.” “I don’t,” he breathes, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You feel too good to complain.”

He still hasn’t moved, still has his arms folded behind his head like he’s just letting you use him, warm, heavy, thick inside you. The slow grind of your hips is barely enough to be called fucking, but it’s perfect. Just the weight of him, the lazy stretch, the slow press of his cock dragging through your soaked cunt, is more than enough.

Your bodies stick together everywhere, your thighs to his, your chest to his, your fingers brushing sweat off his ribs. Every movement makes that slick, messy sound where your bodies meet, where his come from last night still clings to your skin. And when you clench around him, just a little, he lets out a choked whimper.

“Mmph… feels so good,” he whispered, barely audible. “Don’t stop. Don’t even wanna move.”“You’re not even helping,” you breath, a soft laugh leaving your lips, sweat dripping down your back. “I am helping,” he mumbles, not even opening his eyes. “I’m being your personal toy.”

You roll your eyes, but your body trembles at the way he twitches inside you. You’re dripping around him, soaking him, your slick making every drag extra slow and messy. “Fuck,” he says, eyes fluttering open for just a second. “You’re gonna make me come just like this. Not even moving. Just melting around me.” “You love it,” you whisper against his neck, licking at the salt there. “You love being lazy and messy and letting me do everything.” His breath shakes when you sink down again, taking him all the way in. “I do,” he groans, voice wrecked and trembling. “You’re so wet… feels so fucking good.”

You press your forehead to his, breath mingling, hips grinding in slow, shallow circles. He’s so warm inside you, so deep, and every shift makes your walls flutter around him. The pressure is thick, building slowly, pleasure curling low in your stomach like smoke.

“Mhm…” he hums, letting his head fall back into the pillows, the veins of his neck popping “Just like that. Ride me, baby…. take your time” You leanforward, lips brushing his ear, slick bodies pressed together. Your pace is slow but steady, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had both of you floating. Sticky thighs, messy kisses, breath shared between mouths too tired to speak.

Ni-ki’s hands slip up your back, pulling you down until you are flush against him, your chest pressed to his. His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, the sound so soft, so breathy, it made him swear under his breath. “Please don’t stop,” he whispers, a hint of a whine in his voice now. “Just like that. Want you to ride me slow, ‘til I come. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You let out a shaky breath and keep going, hips stuttering every time he pulses inside you, every vein feeling like it was made for you. It’s all so much, his heat, his voice, the way your clit brushes against him every time you move. And then he’s gasping, the noise punched out of his throat like he can’t take it.

“Gonna come—fuck, I’m—baby, please—”

You kiss him just as he spills inside you, his cock twitching hard, his whole body jerking beneath you. He moans into your mouth, a soft, broken sound that makes your whole body clench in response. His release is hot and wet, dripping out around him, making the mess between you even worse. But you don’t stop. You keep moving, slow and steady, chasing your own high now, using him as he trembles, as his hands tighten around your waist like he’s holding on for dear life. “God—come for me, princess” he begs, breathless, voice cracking. “Want you to make a mess all over me.”

You do, with a soft, strangled cry, your body going tight, your walls pulsing around him as the heat finally crashes through you. You feel it everywhere, your chest, your thighs, your throat. It’s not loud or fast, it’s drawn out and slow and deep, like your whole body’s unraveling in waves.

And when it fades, you collapse onto his chest, still full of him, skin slick with sweat, his come leaking between your thighs.

His cock is still soft inside you, and you’re both so wet, the mess between your legs warm and sticky where your thighs meet his hips. The sheets are a wreck, kicked halfway off the bed, your skin sticking to his in places. Ni-ki’s still catching his breath, arms wrapped lazily around your back now, stroking a single hand up your spine. His voice is soft, syrupy when he finally speaks. “Such a menace,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Jumping on me before I’m even fully awake.”

You smile against his skin, nuzzling into his chest.

“You looked too good. Couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, breath huffing out in a lazy, fond little laugh. “Didn’t even ask if I was ready. Just sat on my dick and started grinding like it was your personal seat.” You hum innocently. “You weren’t complaining.” “I’m still not complaining.” His palm slides down to rest on your ass, squeezing lazily. “Just saying. You’re lucky I like being used like a human vibrator.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, still heavy-lidded and warm, and give him a smug little smirk. “You love it.” He rolls his eyes playfully, tilting his head back on the pillow. “I do. And i love you.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ wildflower . . . c.s

in which . . . you see your ex boyfriend chris and his new girlfriend, your ex best friend at a party and confront them.

warnings . . . mentions of alcohol and being drunk, unresolved angst, slight panic attack, chris is kinda mean at first.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #5

the music is too loud. the lights are too bright. and he’s standing too close. you weren’t even supposed to come tonight. but your friends begged, said it would be fun, said you needed to get out. said he probably won’t even be there.

liars. he’s across the room when you first notice him, red solo cup in one hand, other lazily resting on her waist. her. your old friend. the one who swore up and down she’d never touch him, who cried with you the night everything fell apart, who told you he didn’t deserve you. she’s wearing a necklace similar to the one he bought you last summer.

you swallow down the ache, grab whatever drink is closest, and pretend to laugh at a joke you don’t hear. your heart is already racing. not from love. from rage. he sees you before you see him walking over. his jaw clenched like it always is when he’s about to start something. the same walk. the same eyes. but not the same boy. “what’re you glaring at me for? like what you see?” he says flatly, voice slurred just a little. you blink. “fuck you.”

“yeah?” he scoffs, tilting his head. “you came here just to start something?”

“no,” you snap. “i came here to forget you exist.” he laughs then, bitter and small. “looks like that’s going great for you.” you hate him. god, you hate how familiar he still feels. how fast he can reach inside you and pull every buried thing to the surface. you bite the inside of your cheek, fists clenched. “does she know?” he frowns. “know what?”

“that you cried when i left?” you whisper, stepping closer. “that you begged me to stay? that you said you didn’t even love her?”

“shut up,” he says, quieter now.

“you told me it was always me,” you breathe. “and now you’re playing house with her like none of it meant anything.” his lips part like he wants to deny it. like he wants to tell the truth. but she’s there. behind him. watching. you turn to her. “you told me i deserved better. now you’re fucking him. so which one of us is the liar?” her mouth opens, but no words come out. she just shakes her head, glances at him, then walks away. she doesn’t even look back. she knew she crossed the line.

you feel it all at once. the betrayal. the heartbreak. the way your throat tightens until breathing feels like a chore. your vision blurs and you’re not sure if it’s the alcohol or the tears or the weight of every word you wish you hadn’t said. you try to walk away too, but your legs aren’t listening. “hey—” chris’s voice cuts through the static. “wait. wait, what’s going on?”

you stumble, lean against the wall, pressing your palms into your eyes. “i can’t—fuck—i can’t do this.” he reaches for you, hands hovering. “stop it, stop. calm down.” you don’t answer. can’t. you’re shaking and everything is too much and he’s too close and not close enough.

he doesn’t ask again. he just moves. arms around you. steady and warm and infuriatingly safe. he holds you like he used to, like you’re something breakable. like he’s afraid you already are. “c’mon,” he murmurs, voice low near your ear. “i’m taking you home.”

you try to protest, but it’s useless. he’s already guiding you through the crowd, shielding you from the stares, leaving his girlfriend behind. the cold air outside hits like a slap, but it’s easier to breathe out here. you sit in the passenger seat of his car, knees to your chest, while he drives in silence.

“you okay?” he asks after a while.

you turn your head, eyes red, voice hollow. “do i look okay?”

he nods like he deserves that. “i’m sorry.” you stare out the window. “for what?” he hesitates. “everything.” you laugh, but it’s not happy. it’s empty. “too late for that.” the car pulls up in front of your place. you unbuckle, about to get out, but he grabs your wrist gently.

“i miss you,” he whispers. “even now.” you hate him for saying that. you hate him for meaning it. because you still feel it too. even after everything. even after he ruined you. but you don’t say anything. you just get out and shut the door behind you, letting the silence swallow the things you’re too tired to scream. and he stays there, in the car. watching.

waiting.

too late.

too much.

too far gone.

like a wildflower trying to bloom in the wrong season.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: DID I CROSSSSSS THE LINEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE???????????

[nhmkhnh]

Pleaseee write for sevika or caitlyn x virgin reader who finishes stupidly fast and gets all embarrassed about it!!!

this ask was lost in my inbox, sorry for the late reply baby. by the way, the idea is so hot, so i decided to write both haha. (each char for each drabble)

dom!sevika x sub!fem!reader || dom!caitlyn x sub!fem!reader tags: nsfw content ;; virgin reader ;; soft dom!char ;; fingering (r.receiving)

sevika

“relax, sweetheart. i got you.”

her voice is rough velvet as she presses a kiss to your throat, pinning you gently to the bed with her thigh slotted between yours, metal hand gripping the back of your neck. she’s barely even started—just mouthing at your pulse, whispering filth into your ear—and already your hips won’t stop twitching, grinding without rhythm.

you’re so wet it’s embarrassing.

“i’ve barely touched you,” she murmurs, dragging the edge of her teeth up your jaw. “this your first time lettin’ someone take care of you like this?”

you nod.

she chuckles, deep and low. “thought so.”

when her hand dips between your thighs, fingers barely ghosting over your underwear, your whole body jerks. her eyes spark. you grip her bicep like a lifeline.

“s-sorry—” you gasp, already trembling.

“what for?”

you don't get to answer. because that’s when her fingers finally press in just right, rubbing lazy little circles over your clothed clit—

and you’re gone.

your breath shatters. you gasp and cry out, hips bucking forward as your orgasm hits you stupidly fast—barely thirty seconds in, underwear still on. you can’t stop shaking. and when your eyes flutter open, sevika’s watching you like you just handed her a gift.

your face burns. “i—i didn’t mean to—!”

she huffs a laugh and brushes a hand down your chest, so gentle it stings. “shit, baby, that was adorable.”

you hide your face. “don’t make fun of me—”

“i’m not.” her voice drops, low and possessive. “you came just from my voice and a little friction. you know what that does to me?”

she leans in, presses her teeth to your throat.

“round two’s gonna be fun.”

caitlyn kiramman

“darling, you’re shaking.”

caitlyn’s lips ghost over your neck, breath warm and steady, while your body feels like it’s about to explode. you’re spread out on soft silk sheets in her bed, completely bare beneath her. and all she’s done—all she’s done—is kiss you down to your chest, trail her fingers along your thighs, whisper sweet, devastating things about how long she’s wanted this.

“you’ve never been touched here before, have you?” she asks softly, fingertips resting over your mound.

you shake your head.

“that’s alright,” she purrs. “i’ll be gentle. let me make you feel good.”

she leans down. one kiss just below your navel. her hand moves lower, brushing over your slick folds. and when her thumb finds your clit—just the lightest, most teasing pressure—

you whimper. your legs spasm.

“cait—!”

the orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning. your stomach clenches, body trembling, heat exploding outward from that one spot she barely touched. you let out a sob of surprise, and when your senses return, you’re flushed all the way down to your chest.

“i—i’m sorry,” you whisper, voice wrecked. “that was so fast. i didn’t mean to—”

but she’s smiling. soft, stunned.

“oh, sweetheart.” she cradles your face. “don’t you dare apologize.”

you bury your face in her shoulder. she pulls you close, dotting kisses along your cheek, your temple, your lips.

“that was the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” she murmurs, voice husky now. “so eager for me, you couldn’t even wait.”

she kisses your lips again, this time deeper.

“let me show you what happens when we don’t rush.”

and this time, you whimper for a different reason.

[colouredbyd]

Bird-napped!

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: a peaceful afternoon takes a chaotic turn when the marauders mistake an eagle’s prey for flicker, sending them into full-blown panic.

warnings: starts of with the marauders pov then shifts to r’s. crack, fluff, eagle scare, suggestive comments, playful tackles, shifting, animal-related confusion, no actual danger. written at 2 am and not proofread :D

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: this was a little messy, but i still wanted to share it <3

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the canopy, casting dappled light on the ground.

James and Remus had agreed to meet in an old copse of trees, just a short walk from the Black Lake — far enough from the crowded castle corridors to steal a moment of peace

They spotted Padfoot already there, stretched out like a lazy shadow beneath a great oak, his tail flicking now and then in a restless dance, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

James crouched beside Sirius, his hand moving gently to ruffle the dark fur along his neck, drawing a low, contented rumble from Padfoot.

Remus, ever cautious, glanced around before he muttered, “Careful, Sirius. Someone might catch you shifting.” Sirius just smirked lazily, indifferent, curling his head on James’s lap and immediately launching into his usual chatter.

“Where do you think Dovey’s got to this time?” James asked, fingers still running through Sirius’s untamed hair.

“Probably tangled up in some ridiculous flower crown thing with that Slytherin Pandora.”

Remus smiled, eyes softening as he looked up from his book. “I swear, she’s lways got her nose in the strangest things. I don’t know how she puts up with Pandora dragging her into those wild plans.”

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with amusement even as he rested more heavily against James’s leg.

“Wild thing, through and through,” Sirius murmured, arms tucked behind his head as he lounged lazily in the grass.

James didn’t even look up as he tossed a twig into the air. “Speaking of wild — remind me why we agreed to play Slytherin with half the team down? I swear, if I get hit by one more poorly-aimed Bludger—”

“You’d deserve it,” Remus said mildly, flipping a page in his book. “Maybe if you actually followed the practice schedule.”

James scoffed. “I follow it religiously.”

“You show up late, eat half a pie on the pitch, and leave early.”

“And yet, I’m still the best on the team.”

Sirius shifted his weight with the grace of a sleepy cat, adjusting his head on James’s lap mid-sentence.

“Oi—Sirius—don't—” James’s words cut off into a strangled sound that landed somewhere between a yelp and a dying goose.

He jerked backwards, hands flailing. “Merlin's saggy balls, you absolute wanker!”

Remus looked up from his book, blinking. “What—?”

Sirius, perfectly unbothered, blinked up at James with mischievous eyes, head still resting in place. “What?” he asked innocently, lips twitching.

“That your... weak spot, Prongs?”

James shoved at his shoulder. “You pressed your thick skull right onto my dick, you arse. I think I just saw heaven for all the wrong reasons.”

Remus snorted, unbothered.

“I’m gonna have to hex you,” James grumbled, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Remind me why we’re dating him again?”

“Because I’m devastatingly handsome and keep your bed warm,” Sirius offered, rolling onto his back like a smug cat.

“Plus, I’m excellent at giving you the best dic—wait.”

His voice stopped. His head tilted back, eyes narrowing at the sky above.

“Wait, what the hell is that?”

James followed his gaze, frowning. “Looks like… an eagle?”

James blinked. “Wait. That’s… it’s orange.”

Sirius’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “It’s fluffy.”

Remus’s book fell to the ground with a dull thud. “That’s Flicker!”

Silence slammed between them for one breathless second.

And then all hell broke loose.

“Oh my god, it’s Flicker!” James leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Sirius over.

All three exploded into motion, limbs flying as they tore off the ground.

“What the fuck do we do?” Sirius was already pacing in frantic circles, hands tangled in his hair, breath shallow with panic.

“Do we fly? Do we—oh Merlin, if she gets dropped—”

“She’s gonna die,” James cried, arms flailing as his voice pitched higher, ragged with fear.

“She’s gonna die, I swear I’m gonna throw myself into the lake—”

Remus shoved both of them. “Shift. We shift and we run. We follow the bird and get her.”

That snapped them out of it.

Sirius nodded so fast his hair nearly whipped him in the eye.

Without another word, he dropped to the ground and transformed, a large black dog materializing where the boy had stood. James followed, antlers bursting outward as he landed as Prongs, hooves already kicking up earth.

Remus, still in human form, pointed with one shaking hand toward the direction the eagle was drifting, slowly curving into the trees.

“Go! Go that way—north ridge—she’s still moving!”

Prongs snorted and took off at a gallop, Padfoot close on his heels, weaving through the underbrush like a shadow given legs.

Remus grabbed his wand and sprinted behind them, heart pounding in his chest, a single thought looping in his head:

Meanwhile, not so very far away—though in that moment, it might as well have been a world apart—you were crouched in a patch of sunlight dappled through the forest canopy, fingers dusty with soil and glittering with flecks of quartz.

Pandora was kneeling beside you, delicately unearthing a piece of rose-colored crystal from the mossy earth and cradling it as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“This one’s called rhodonite,” she murmured with reverence, turning it so the pink surface caught the light.

“It’s for healing old wounds. Emotional ones. You’re supposed to keep it near your heart.”

You smiled, tucking a newly-plucked daisy into the growing crown in your lap.

The basket between you was overflowing with flowers—wild hyacinths, dahlias, foxglove—and a pouch of odd little gemstones Pandora had eagerly insisted you help her gather.

“I think you need this one,” she added, handing you a small smoky quartz. “For grounding. You’re always too far up in the clouds, even if you don’t know it.”

You took it with a soft chuckle. “I think you just like giving me rocks.”

She shrugged dreamily, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Well, the rocks like you back.”

And just as you were about to laugh again, it happened.

A low rustling through the trees. Then a sharp thud. And another.

You both froze.

Pandora tilted her head. “Do you hear—?”

The barking came next, loud and frantic, too close for comfort. Your body tensed instantly.

Your breath caught.

“Padfoot?” you whispered, rising to your feet, eyes scanning the edges of the grove.

Another bark. Then heavy hoofbeats—closer, louder, thundering through the underbrush like a storm rolling in too fast to run from.

“Something’s wrong,” you said, voice barely above a breath as the air shifted.

You could see them now, just through a break in the trees: three silhouettes tearing through the underbrush like men possessed, chasing something overhead with a kind of reckless desperation that only one group of idiots you loved would display so dramatically.

You blinked up at the sky.

And there it was — a massive eagle soaring across the canopy, wings slicing the air like knives, talons gripping what looked suspiciously like a very round, very red squirrel.

You slowed only slightly as the realization settled in, breath hitching as you caught sight of the chaos unfolding in the distance. With a sharp inhale, you turned to Pandora, who blinked at you in confusion, clutching a half-finished flower crown.

“I’ll explain later, I swear,” you said hurriedly, thrusting the basket of flowers and crystals into her arms. “Hold onto this for me”

Her brows furrowed. “What—”

“Sorry!” you called over your shoulder, already bolting into a sprint.

“These bloody idiots,” you muttered as the wind caught in your hair, trees flying past you while you ran headfirst into whatever ridiculous mess they’d gotten themselves into now.

By the time you reached the clearing where the boys had half-collided with one another, Remus was the first to see you.

He froze like he’d been struck by lightning, eyes wide, chest heaving. “Wait— Stop! Stop!”

James, mid-gallop, skidded to a halt, antlers jerking. Padfoot, barking wildly, nearly faceplanted in the ferns before spinning and looking over his shoulder.

They turned.

And there you were, flushed and panting and very much not airborne in the talons of a ravenous bird of prey.

“Y/n?” Remus breathed, already half-running toward you.

You blinked as he reached you in three long strides, hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real, like if he let go you’d vanish into mist.

His eyes scanned every inch of you — for feathers, for bruises, for any sign that you’d been halfway to becoming bird food.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice thick. “Oh, thank Merlin. You’re okay.”

You huffed a laugh, confused and breathless. “Remmy, I went to pick flowers, not to get abducted by wildlife.”

Before he could respond, Padfoot and Prongs came barreling toward you.

In a whirl of limbs and fur, they shifted — fur rippling into skin, hooves becoming boots, antlers shrinking back into James’s curls as Sirius practically tackled you.

“Do you have any idea,” Sirius gasped, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently, “how bloody traumatizing it is to think your tiny girlfriend just got airlifted by a murder pigeon?”

“It looked just like you!” James added, chest heaving.

“All poofy and red and — and we couldn’t see properly from down there and—”

“You thought a bird kidnapped me?” you asked, blinking.

“It wasn’t just a bird,” Sirius said gravely, eyes wide. “It was an eagle. Like a huge eagle. We thought you were doing your little Flicker thing and got snatched.”

You blinked, then laughter bubbled up from deep inside, breaking free in a breathless, genuine laugh, the kind that made your whole body shake and left your cheeks aching, the kind you only ever had with them.

“You thought I got bird-napped?”

James looked mildly betrayed. “Don’t mock us. You’re the size of a housecat, love. I saw the thing — it was flying off with something that looked exactly like you.”

“I was with Pandora!” you laughed, trying to catch your breath.

“We were making flower crowns. And collecting crystals. Like normal girls.”

“Nothing about you is normal,” Sirius muttered, still holding onto your arms like you might vanish again. “I thought I was gonna have to wrestle an eagle.”

“I would’ve wrestled an eagle,” James added helpfully, one hand pressed dramatically over his heart. “For you. I was ready to duel with talons.”

Remus was quieter, still looking you over, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. “You scared us.”

Your smile softened. “You lot scared me more. I thought something had happened. Then I see the three of you charging through the woods like a pack of wild dogs—”

“One wild dog,” Sirius cut in, smirking.

The forest around you settled again. The eagle was long gone, probably off to find a real squirrel, and the boys slowly stopped vibrating with adrenaline.

You shook your head, still grinning. “You three are ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Sirius said, flinging an arm around your shoulders, “you love us.”

You leaned into him anyway, cheeks warm. “Unfortunately.”

Remus exhaled, finally letting himself smile. James reached out and tucked a stray leaf out of your hair.

The air felt lighter now, sun filtering down in golden dappled patches through the leaves, your basket of half-finished flower crowns still somewhere in the moss behind you.

“Well,” James said, looking between the three of you, “anyone else feel like we need a nap after all that emotional trauma?”

By the time you all made it back to the tree, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, stretching long shadows across the mossy ground, golden light spilling like honey through the branches.

The walk was slow and easy, filled with soft laughter that bubbled up between you like warm sunshine. Remus still hadn’t let go of your hand, and neither of you minded the world fading away around you.

"You had me so worried," he said again as you reached the clearing, and this time he sounded more exasperated than panicked, like the weight of the fear was finally settling.

His fingers curled more firmly around yours. "Do you have any idea how fast I aged in those fifteen minutes? I might have a gray hair now. D’you want to check?"

You grinned at him, nudging his ribs. "You would look very distinguished with a few grays, actually. Very professor-chic."

"Don't encourage him," James chimed in, dropping to the ground dramatically and patting the grass beside him like he was summoning a beloved pet. "You give Moony ideas and next thing you know he’s doing lecture voices."

Remus rolled his eyes, looking entirely unbothered, and turned back to you. "Still. You scared me, dovey. Don’t run off into the woods without telling someone, or at least leave a note.”

"I was gone for thirty minutes ," you said through a giggle, but kissed his cheek anyway. "Sorry, Moony."

"That’s too long," Sirius muttered as he threw himself down beside James with a groan, already halfway into transforming.

With a flash of fur, Padfoot was trotting in circles around you, tail wagging, tongue lolling out like he hadn't just been sprinting through the forest like a man possessed.

You reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he gave a pleased little huff before flopping dramatically across your lap.

"God, you’re heavy," you said, and Padfoot thumped his tail lazily against your leg.

"Oh my God," you laughed, and then with a quiet whoosh of energy, you shifted into Flicker.

Your fur brushed over Padfoot’s chest and he let out an excited bark, rolling onto his side so your tails could swish together in lazy arcs.

James leaned back against the tree with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Look at them,” he said to Remus, “absolute menaces, both of them.”

Remus, still standing, shook his head and pulled a book out of the bag he’d brought with him. “You say that like you aren’t the biggest menace in this group.”

“I am very charming, actually,” James said, inching closer as Remus settled beside him, “and incredibly reasonable.”

“You screamed because Sirius accidentally headbutted your—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—your most prized possession.”

Flicker snorted audibly and Padfoot whined in agreement.

James pouted. “I’ll have you know it was a traumatic experience.”

Padfoot and Flicker had by now rolled closer to them, bumping up against James’s boots and Remus’s knee.

Padfoot flopped dramatically across James’s lap, tail smacking the book. Flicker curled around Remus’s foot, a little puff of auburn fur resting gently against his ankle.

Remus looked down and smiled softly, reaching down to brush a knuckle against Flicker’s ears. “You’re lucky we love you,” he murmured, low and warm.

[sunsetmade]

Symptoms: You

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky ends up getting sick leaving his girlfriend to take care of him— even when he’s grumpy.

There was a specific kind of stubbornness that only came with a hundred-year-old super soldier who refused to admit he was sick.

Bucky had been sniffling since he got home—quiet at first, trying to hide it—but she noticed. His shoulders were drawn up, tense with the kind of discomfort he wasn’t ready to admit to, and his eyes, usually so clear and alert, were glassy. A flush high on his cheekbones gave him away more than anything else. That, and the subtle wobble in his steps as he moved through the apartment.

From the kitchen doorway, she watched as he tugged a blanket haphazardly over his shoulders, trying to look functional. Steady. But the illusion cracked with every dragging step and shallow breath.

“I’m fine,” he said, again. That made four times now.

“You don’t look fine,” she said gently, arms folded as she leaned against the doorframe.

He didn’t look at her. “I always look like this.”

“No, Bucky. Usually you look tired. Now you look sick and tired.”

He shot her a look over his shoulder, a glare that should’ve been sharp but barely registered as a pout. It dissolved entirely when he stopped halfway across the room, bracing himself against the arm of the couch like just walking had winded him.

She walked over, pressing a cool glass of water into his hand without waiting for him to ask. “You need to sit down.”

“I’m not—”

“Bucky.”

Just his name, softly spoken, but with a firmness that made his shoulders sag in defeat. He took the water with a quiet grunt, eyes avoiding hers as he sank into the cushions. She followed him down, crouching beside the couch and reaching up to brush the damp strands of hair off his forehead.

Her touch made him close his eyes briefly. His skin was hot beneath her fingers, flushed and clammy. Not just tired. Burning up.

“Let me take your temperature.”

“I don’t need—”

“If you argue again,” she warned, lifting a brow, “I’m going to take your arm off and use it to hold the thermometer still.”

That finally earned a faint spark of amusement, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re bossy when I’m dying,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“You’re not dying. You’re congested.”

Beep.

She showed him the display: 101.3°F.

He didn’t even flinch. “I’ve had worse,” he mumbled, half-asleep already.

“That’s not the point.” She huffed out a chuckle.

She stood up without waiting for a reply, disappearing down the hall. Bucky slouched further into the cushions, blanket pulled tighter around him, muttering something about “being babied” like it was a crime. But he didn’t move. Didn’t protest when she returned a few minutes later with a bowl of soup, a cold washcloth, and the thermometer still in hand like a silent warning.

She set the tray down and knelt beside him again, dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out with care. He watched her through heavy lids, blue eyes hazy and rimmed red from fever. She didn’t say anything about the way his hands were trembling. Or how his flesh hand stayed curled tight against his abdomen, like every breath hurt just a little.

She just pressed the washcloth gently to his forehead, soft and cool.

He exhaled slowly, leaning into her touch and sliding his metal arm around her waist.

“You don’t have to take care of me doll,” he said after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to,” she replied simply, tucking the blanket higher over his chest. Her fingers brushed his collarbone before pulling away, gentle as the rest of her.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her face, and for a long moment, he just looked at her. Really looked. Fever still dulled the usual sharp edges in his eyes, but something quiet and unguarded rested there now. Something soft.

“‘S not exactly how I pictured our night,” he rasped.

“I know,” she murmured, smoothing his hair back again, letting her fingers linger this time. “Me neither.”

He exhaled through his nose, the sound tired, but content in a way that made her chest ache. Leaning back slowly, he let his head fall against the couch cushion while she adjusted the blanket higher up his chest, tucking it gently under his chin. He didn’t flinch when her hand brushed his jaw in the process. If anything, he leaned into the touch—barely, but enough to make her pause.

The room had gone still, wrapped in warmth and the soft hum of the heater. The spoon resting in the bowl beside her made a faint clink when she stirred the soup absently, her hand still resting on his blanket-covered chest. His eyes were closed again. Not asleep, just… resting. Giving in.

Then, her voice came through the quiet.

“Do you want to lie down, Buck?”

“No,” he whispered. “‘M good right here.”

But not even a minute passed before he shifted, sluggish and deliberate. He nudged his head gently until it found her thigh, testing the weight of it like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. She didn’t move. Only adjusted slightly to support him better, her hand already finding his hair again.

He let out a low breath, one that seemed to deflate the last of his resistance, and nestled his cheek against her leg. The fever had him flushed and sluggish, but this—her—he trusted enough to let go.

“You okay?” she whispered, thumb tracing a line just above his temple.

He hummed softly. It wasn’t a yes, not fully, but it was close enough.

She didn’t speak again. Just carded her fingers through his thick hair, slow and rhythmic, her nails barely grazing his scalp. Comfort. Anchor. Something solid for him to sink into.

He didn’t say much after that. Didn’t need to.

His hand found her knee, warm and heavy, fingers curling gently around the curve of it like he just needed to feel her there. His thumb moved once, brushing her skin—just once—and then stayed. Quiet thanks.

She kept brushing her fingers through his hair, and when she whispered that he should try to sleep, he didn’t answer. But his breathing slowed. Grew deep. Steady.

And then—still.

He’d fallen asleep in her lap.

His vibranium arm hung limp off the side of the couch, the metal catching the last bit of fading daylight, fingers twitching faintly as if even in sleep, part of him still lingered half-aware. But the rest of him—the real, human parts—had melted into her like she was something safe. Something known. His cheek was warm against her leg. The weight of him there was heavy but not burdensome. Never that.

She kept her hand in his hair a smile resting on her face. Gentle. Reassuring.

Time passed like that. Minutes stretching, soft and undisturbed.

By the time he stirred again, the room had dimmed. Evening had settled, casting shadows along the walls. He blinked slowly, groggy, his brow pulling together as he tried to make sense of the hour.

“How long was I out?” he rasped, voice thick with sleep.

She looked down at him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Couple hours.”

His brow creased. He shifted slightly, then stilled again. “You should’ve moved,” he murmured. “Bet your legs are numb.”

“They are,” she admitted softly.

He lifted his head an inch, enough to glance up at her through squinted eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, looking down at the curls spilling over his forehead. Her fingers brushed them back gently, tucking them behind his ear. “You looked peaceful.”

He didn’t respond right away. His hand still rested on her leg, the weight of it grounding both of them. Then, just above a whisper—

“You’re too good to me, doll.”

Her gaze lifted to his, surprised by the quiet tenderness there. “You’d do the same,” she said.

And he would. She knew that.

His eyes softened. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I would.”

She brushed her hand over his face again, her knuckles grazing his cheek. His skin was still warm, fever lingering, but his breathing had steadied.

“I still might take your arm if you try to get up tomorrow,” she said, half a tease, half a threat.

He gave a rasp of a laugh, low and rough in his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

She smiled. “Don’t test me.”

A grin ghosted across his lips, tired but real, and he let his head fall back onto her leg with a sigh. This time, he shifted just enough to bury his face there, nose pressed into the curve of her thigh, like he needed the closeness. Her warmth. Her smell. Something real to cling to in the haze of fever and exhaustion. He pressed light kisses to her bare thighs making her giggle.

“Stay a little longer,” he murmured, breath tickling her skin.

She didn’t answer.

She just curled her hand in his hair again, her other brushing lightly along his shoulder, and stayed right there—holding him through the quiet, until sleep took him again.

⸻

Bucky woke slowly, the early morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft, golden haze over the room. They were now in his bedroom. His body felt lighter, the tight ache in his chest from the day before finally loosened. The fever had broken sometime in the night, leaving him just tired—and comfortably warm.

Warm, because she was still there.

He yawned, stretching his arms out with a low groan before letting them settle again—one draped possessively around her middle, hand splayed against the soft fabric of her shirt, keeping her close. She was tucked beneath the blankets with him, curled into his side, her head resting against his shoulder, their legs tangled somewhere under the sheets. His chin found its place atop her hair as easily as breathing.

His fingers flexed slightly against her stomach, pulling her in even closer, like his body couldn’t stand even an inch of space between them.

A soft, sleepy smile tugged at his lips as he felt her begin to stir beside him.

She mumbled something incoherent and shifted, rolling toward him until they were chest to chest, her cheek now pressed over his heart. Bucky moved without thinking, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his thumb ghosting along the curve of her cheek.

“Good morning, doll,” he rasped, voice still heavy with sleep.

She grumbled in reply, nuzzling closer with a sniffle, her breath warm against his chest. Then, without even lifting her head—

“You got me sick.”

He chuckled, the sound rough but amused, and tilted his head to look down at her. “Guess we’re even now.”

“No,” she mumbled, her voice thick. “You were a pain when you were sick.”

“And you love me anyway,” he muttered smugly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She grumbled again in a way that sounded suspiciously like agreement, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist, burying herself in his warmth.

Bucky shifted just enough to look at her fully, eyes soft, hand tracing slow, absentminded circles against her back. “You stayed with me all night,” he said quietly.

“You drooled on me.”

He grinned. “Still nice of you.”

“Shut up,” she whispered, the smallest smile on her lips now, even through the sniffles. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Need anything?” he asked gently, voice low, rough with affection. “Water? Blanket? Revenge?”

She shook her head against him. “Just this.”

Bucky stilled at that—then held her tighter.

“Okay,” he murmured, lips brushing her hair. “Just this.”

And he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Not even when her breathing slowed again, soft and steady against his chest.

He stayed right there, wrapped around her like a blanket, like he’d never let her go.

[vxnillabxn]

Can I request headcanons for all 5 lads men reacting to his female s/o accidentally walk on him topless while changing clothes and immediately covered her eyes while apologising profusely please?

𐙚˙⋆.˚ mainfive! x fem!reader ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ a tiny bit suggestive, fluff! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sfw! ꒰੭

𐙚˙⋆.˚ do not translate/copy/repost! ꒰੭

﹙♡﹚main five! reacting to fem!reader walking in while they're shirtless. (note: this could also count as gn!reader, as no fem pronouns nor descriptions were used!)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ caleb! ꒰੭

he was changing in your shared bedroom, taking off his hoodie before his t-shirt lifted up too.

you happened to barge in casually, as you always did. you were holding an applesauce jar, struggling enough to seek his assistance.

“hey leb, would you—”

you looked up.

you froze.

there he stood, folding his t-shirt while glancing at you, giving you the attention you needed, casually, like it was no big deal. his whole chest was on display, —not for you, initially— along with his strong arms, his abdomen, and…

nope!

in a panic, you threw the jar towards the bed and turned around, eyes covered, face heated up. you blurted out thousands of apologies like a broken machine, over and over again.

“sorry! oh crap, truly, i am so sorry! i didn't—”

all you heard in response was a soft chuckle.

then, footsteps getting closer.

and closer.

until a pair of bare arms wrapped around you from behind.

“what are you hidin’ from, pips?”

he whispered close to your ear, pressing a kiss to the top of your head right after.

“there's nothin’ you haven't seen before. do you like my body that much to get like this, hm?”

he gently pried your hands away from your face and spun you around.

there was a smirk on his lips. he was enjoying this way too much for your liking.

and you knew he wouldn't let this go. not today, not tomorrow, never.

because for the rest of the day, even when handing you something or washing the dishes after dinner, he'd laugh and say:

“easy. don't want you gettin’ flustered just ‘cause i rolled my sleeves up, baby.”

smug dummy.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ rafayel! ꒰੭

you two came back home after one of his art exhibitions. you went to the bathroom to undress and freshen up a bit before bed, while rafayel stayed in your shared bedroom.

you found paint stains on your arm; probably because he decided it was a good idea to add some last-minute touch-ups to his paintings… while also clinging to your arm the entire night.

you walked toward the bedroom, a playful smile on your lips.

“hey raf! if i sold my arm with your paint on it, how much do you think—”

your face heated up instantly, and you slapped your hands over your eyes.

you didn't even register exactly what you saw, but you just knew he was changing.

“why would you sell your arm, my pearl?”

he asked, not noticing your panic at first, since his back was still to you. but when he turned around, and saw your flustered state…

he smirked.

very, very amused.

without a word, he stepped toward you and swiftly lifted you up.

you squealed, clinging to his shoulders for balance, which, of course, meant uncovering your eyes.

“raf—! wait, i'm sorry! i didn't mean to walk in—”

“why are you covering your eyes, cutie? i'm a sight for sore eyes. a masterpiece, if you will.”

he spun you around dramatically before sitting you on the bed, stepping between your legs with that signature glint in his gaze.

“rafayel…”

your eyes were still wide, and his were darker now, tinged with red. dangerous glint. mischief level: critical.

bad sign. abort mission!

“consider this a dynamic exhibition, just for you,” he whispered, taking your hands in his.

then, slowly, he guided your trembling hands to his bare torso.

“feel free to… touch the art, cutie.”

crap.

he was going to kill you one day. but you were not wasting this opportunity.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ sylus! ꒰੭

it was late. almost 2 a.m.

you'd just woken up after the warm figure beside you left the bed. you stirred and rubbed your eyes, hearing footsteps outside the room. of course, you knew sylus was up; he always started his day pretty late.

you decided to follow. sleepy, groggy, still a bit tired.

your bare feet padded against the cold floor as you trailed after him. your hair was messy, your eyes mostly closed, but you already knew the path by heart, so you navigated it easily, even half-asleep.

he entered the bathroom, and a few seconds later, you followed on instinct.

by now, he knew you were behind him, but he found it endearing.

he started to undress, and it didn't register in your half-functioning brain until his shirt dropped at your feet. you looked down. then up.

you squealed.

“gosh! wait, i'm sorry!”

you were 100% awake now, eyes wide as you turned around to flee the bathroom.

his naked torso was now engraved in your brain. his slightly tanned skin, his defined muscles, his strong, inviting arms… it physically hurt to walk away, but you had to!

…or not.

he grabbed your wrist gently, of course.

you still covered your face with your free hand.

when he spun you around and took both wrists in his hands, he didn't say anything.

he just looked at you, one eyebrow arched, that familiar amused smirk playing on his lips.

he didn't need to talk.

you looked up at him, gulping softly, and recited the words he's told you before under similar circumstances:

“i shouldn't panic, because we're together… and this is a normal thing to happen.”

he hummed in approval, then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“good. now, won't you join me, kitten?”

and join him, you did. because honestly… who were you to refuse showering with your boyfriend?

𐙚˙⋆.˚ xavier! ꒰੭

you were preparing cookies for a charity event.

“save the kittens!” or something along those lines. you read “kittens” and were in.

xavier, of course, wanted to participate too, just because he saw how enthusiastic you were, and because he would get to have kittens curled on his lap once you two went to the event hosted by the shelter.

he was helping… in his own way. having xavier near the kitchen is a fire hazard, so you had him crack the eggs, whisk the batter and, from time to time, use the cookie cutter.

however, he somehow managed to still cause a ruckus, as he preheated the oven a bit too much. when he opened it, a black cloud of smoke covered him.

he had to go change, naturally.

after a while, you decided to check up on him. poor xav, he just wanted to help!

as you step into the shared bedroom, you gasp and cover your face immediately.

he wasn't just shirtless. he was cleaning his pale, rosy skin with a wet cloth. under that comfy sweater laid an absolute sight to behold.

if it wasn't for the frown and the slight pout on his lips, you'd think he did this on purpose.

he looks up upon your clumsy entrance, and he tilts his head.

“is it that bad?”

he softly asks.

you look up automatically, shaking your head. you don't want him to get the wrong idea.

“no, xav! i just— i am sorry, i just forgot to knock first…”

he stares at you, before laughing gently.

“is that it? can't handle seeing your boyfriend naked, starlight? we've done worse thin—”

“xav!”

you soon exit the bedroom again in a rush.

“hurry, the event will start soon!”

and he chuckles.

though, the next time he enters the kitchen to help you pack everything, he's shirtless again.

he steps behind you, hugging you close —as he usually does when he's sleepy—, but this time, you know he has a different purpose.

and he absolutely adores seeing your rapid, nervous movements as his naked, warm chest presses against you.

"cute," he thinks.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ zayne! ꒰੭

you visited him while he was working. your excuse? you brought lunch and homemade chocolate muffins!

you happily walk through the clean, white halls, greeting the nurses that already know you're here for your boyfriend, dr. zayne.

you step into his office, and he isn't there.

uh? weird.

you decide to check the connected room, where he usually rests, and…

you gasp. the lunch you brought falls to the floor, but thankfully, it was protected inside your leathery bag.

he looks up, raising one eyebrow.

your boyfriend. shirtless. no glasses on.

his white coat is carefully draped over a chair, and he has a black button-up shirt waiting to be put on.

his body is divine. it feels like a sin to be a witness of his god-chiseled features, especially when neither of you is really used to... such displays.

you quickly turn around to give him some privacy.

“uhm, well, i… i should've knocked. i'm truly sorry, zayne, if i knew you were changing, i swear i wouldn't have—”

but he sighs, softly turning you around by holding your shoulders. he looks down at you, and he seems unfazed.

but the tips of his ears are bright red.

“no need to apologize. i am merely changing clothes.”

he softly says.

“you… may look.”

and your face feels ten times hotter.

funnily enough, you obey.

and look you do.

you intently watch as he buttons up his black shirt, as he puts his coat on, as he slips his glasses back on.

“i was actually going out for lunch.”

he says, now stepping closer to you.

you remember your bag and quickly pick it up.

“no need! i brought you lunch and dessert too!”

and his lips curl up slightly. he pats your head gently, before leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.

“good. after barging in, i expect you to hand-feed me.”

oh, and he means it.

you happily oblige though, following him back to his office to set everything up and have lunch with your hot boyfriend.

[orelicia]

could i request the seven brothers with a gn!lover who falls asleep the second they cuddle ? like it can start as some simple cuddles, and then their lover is just going to pass out in their arms without a single care in the world. and is hugging them very quickly so they can’t really move. (if the seven brothers is too much pick whoever you prefer)

Cuddles for you, only you!!

Xeijun's Letters: Thank you so much for the love you all gave on the first two posts!! Hope you all enjoy this one too!! Can you tell I really love Lucifer?

Warnings: Reader might be fem coded, so I'm sorry for that. I mean to make it as gender ambiguous I can!! Putting on makeup (Asmo), mentions of cocaine.

Genre: Fluff || Scenarios.

Lucifer

You sat on Lucifer's lap, while swinging your legs and humming to yourself. Being free from your assignments meant the free token to bother your darling boyfriend while he does paperwork as always.

Humming to yourself, your fingers fiddled gently with his hair on his nape while your cheek rested against his shoulder. Lucifer hummed, smiling, the weight of you on his legs felt nice, warm and the humming gently rumbled in his chest as well as he worked. It's been awhile since you've two just been together silently, with all his brothers shenanigans.

As he read the papers, feeling you move, he sighed but smiled, "Is something bothering you now??" he asked as you hummed silently, "Mm..Not really, but you're paying more attention to your paperwork than me." he said silently, pressing your lips to his jaw.

"You better be all mine after this is all done" you hummed as he nodded, "Yes-yes..I get it." he assured you, gently pressing your face back against his shoulder.

He went back to his work, humming to the silent classical music you had played from an MP3, more so for white noise to his paperwork. He wrote down the allocated money for the council and any and all clubs, checked up on Diavolo's reign, the subjects, the demons and witches and sorcerers. Everyone and everything demanded his utmost attention, why is it so?

Why can't people do things without him having to yell at them to check over things for them!?

As he wrote, his hand moved you and pressed you closer to him as you hummed and let out a gentle yawn. After finally being done, he leaned back sighing in relief and slight exhaustion.

"Up now, dear." he mumbled, waiting for you to listen so you two could snuggle on bed, instead of his chair. Yet when you did nothing, he gently lifted your head to find you asleep, warm and quiet.

Your cheek squished gently against his warm hand, a soft and relaxed look which is rather rare and soft snores as he almost grinned.

You were just perfect for him despite being a human..how ironic..

He gently let your had fall back against his shoulder as he gently put his hands under your knees and your back and tried to stand up but could barely budge, oh this again..

He looked down at you, to see your legs hooked under the arm and beside his side to keep him in place as if to hold him against you as tight as h could, likely to melt your skin together so he won't leave...

Well, all the more time to let him admire you!

Mammon

You grinned, counting the grimms and notes Mammon somehow won with you as his 'lucky charm' apparently. The only reason you bothered to join him was because he was sweet talking you far too much to let you ignore him.

Finally Mammon smirked, taking a last shot, shoving the glass on the table and walking after you as you skipped ahead, glad with the money he got. He walked faster, pulled you back by your waist,

"Oi, human! Quit stealin' my money"

He scoffed, but not really mad or anything, really just allowing you to do anything and obviously speaking fondly.

You shrugged, and continued walking ahead to the parking lot and waited for him to unlock the expensive car, and as he did, he got in first. You stretched your shoulders before Mammon pulls his seat back and lets you climb into his lap.

"Better get home before Lucifer hangs us up." he huffed, pulling out the driveway, as you grin.

You usually wouldn't do it, but partaking in the adrenaline rush Mammon does in the private chambers he's booked regularly for the past 1000 years, it's a place of Russian roulette, guns, drugs, alcohol and indulgence in you and his greed.

So you silently got in, leaning your head on his shoulder as he pressed a soft kiss to your head, "You okay?" he asked softly as you nodded as he began driving. You hummed softly, one hand on his other shoulder, thumb subconsciously stroking circles.

Mammon silently turns the sound of the radio up form the tiny panel on the steering wheel, playing some music as one foot subconsciously, very subtly tapped to the rhythm as he drove. One hand on your back, gently stroking.

It wasn't far too long that the House of Lamentation was in sight, as he parked, waited for you to bounce up and open the door and rush in like you always did..

Hm...weird, his head perked up when you didn't so he announced, "We're here, human." he said softly, but you didn't budge did he look down.

Breath soft, glitter everywhere on your body, cocaine somewhere in your hair after he got a bit too playful with 'snow', smell of cigarette and alcohol clung to you..But eyes softly shut in tiredness.

Your feet aching but you ignored for the pursuit of squishing your cheek against his bare chest which showed through his shirt, your shoes hooked on the little panel on the lower part of his door, making it absolutely non refusal to get out lest someone from outside opened the door..

He knew he wouldn't budge, so he just pulled out his phone to send a text to the family chat...

Ah, stupid humans..They fall asleep and do everything so easily, like making him fall in love all over again..

Leviathan

Levi watched with a soft snicker as you groaned, staring at the 'You lose' stamped in bright red as if branding you as an idiot at games. He patted your back softly,

"Lmao..how many times have you lost again??"

He asked with a grin, taking another photo of the screen, gently using the edit tool on his phone to edit the photo to circle a 'losses: 18 || wins: 0'. It was right under the 'You lost' banner and it showed your losses.

You sighed, "I don't get it..How do you pass this damn level!?" you turned to him as he sighed, covered in his blanket to minimise his embarrassment for wearing a Ruri-chan theme night pajamas.

He scoffed with a smirk, his eyes focused on the screen where you went wrong as he spoke, "Lmaooo, loser..AH-sorry, sorry, please don't hate me!!" he said, suddenly realising it was you..

He couldn't say that, what if you hated him for your entire life?? For an eternity and you BROKE UP WITH HIM?! He couldn't ever forgive himself...

But you brushed it off, shoving the controller back to him, as he smiled,

"Let me." he hummed, adding your save as you grumpily crawled onto his lap, instead choosing to pull out your DDD. It wasn't a very much video game marathon, the pair of you just usually did these nights where you both were on your separate devices, doing whatever but still together.

Levi hummed, one hand on the back of your upper thighs, but not quite on your ass as he squeezed gently with his large hands as you snuggled your face into his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss as he played the game.

He pressed the button, forcing the character to jump up while throwing explosions at the main boss, his fingers tapped even more, trying to defeat the many minions the character's way.

A few more hits, he waited as he tried to finish the quest under the time given, he gently pushed your hand over his shoulders as you groaned softly, but didn't protest..Weird.

Finally, Levi grinned as he won, softly whooping under his breath,

"Yessss!! Henry, did ya see??!" he asked brightly, as he waited for an affirming hum and when he didn't receive it..he felt awkward and insecure.

Of-course why would you be paying attention more to him than your DDD? Levi could almost cry but he didn't as he felt soft breaths on his ear as he gently tried to pull you apart to se your face which was hidden in his shoulders, but you didn't even budge.

"Henry..? Uhhh.." Levi softly called your name, as you didn't answer, only snuggling close as he gently pushed back your hair from the side of your face, to get a glimpse of your eyes closed and him unable to move as he sighed.

Squealing excitedly, he sighed out, "Eeeekkk!! They wanna sleep against you so tight you can't move!!! It's exactly like what happens in MycrushisasleepdemonsoIbecometheirpillowandnowican'tbudge!, yes! YESSS!!" he said, before clamping a hand to his mouth, realising he got too loud before he patted your back softly.

Trying to lull you back to deeper sleep, he sighed out with a smile. Oh the stupid otaku has a love so deep!~

Satan

Satan sighed, rubbing the back of his nape as he stretched his shoulders as you both groaned, entering after finally finishing one of the most tiring days at RAD that you could remember in the past month.

You dropped your bags, as Satan quickly attempted to change, throwing you one of his comfy shirts to stay in as you got in his bed, turning on the air conditioner to a slightly higher setting.

Finally done, he got into bed with you, "Who puts three hexes and curses lesson in a row on the same DAMN DAY?!" he asked, removing his blazer and then unbuttoning his shirt and folding it, loosening his tie.

You huffed, tiredly pulling on some pair of shorts of yours which likely laid around with how often you were over, and pulling one of Satan's white night shirts as he sighed, wiping his face with some wet wipes to remove the sweat and all..

Annoyance and wrath was already pooling in his eyes and your sigil of his, his pact, glowed green as you scoffed.

"An idiot does." you scoffed, pulling a book or something to see if you could pass the time until lunch came around. You'd want to start a new one, but you and Satan had been busy reading this book he'd recently got.

You pulled it from his nightstand, cursing since you both forgot to somehow bookmark it as you flipped the pages trying to see where you were.

Satan looked over your shoulder, humming in affirmation to see if you'd read the part of not.

Finally getting to where you both read, Satan laid-sat back as you leaned against him, Satan's thighs pulled up so he could rest the book there as you snuggled into his chest, inhaling his scent of old books, mint, green apples and dark chocolate..

"You know, I'm surprised nothing happened in class today, no?" he said as you hummed in slight agreement.

THREE curses and hexes classes back-to-back, you're surprised no one got sent to the infirmary by one of the seven brother because one of the demons annoyed them a bit too much..

But silently, his eyes trained over the words. The character's discovery to her magical heritage with the help of a demon, she arrives at the new place and is trying to find herself and fit somewhere..

His finger fiddled with the end, the book smelled of cats, dark chocolate and tiramisu from the last time you were eating it while reading the book..He waits for any type of sign that you're done reading after he himself is done. But nothing, so he gives it a few more minutes.

He hums softly, his cheek against the top of her head, he smells your shampoo, presses a kiss and waits. He re-reads the same two pages a few times until he is sure it shouldn't be taking you this long to read.

"MC..?" he looks down, one of his arm was around your waist and the other on the side of the book to hold it straight.

Since he saw your head lolling back and forth as he removed his hand form the book to gently push your hair back and pull your head onto his shoulder.

Snores soft and tiredness obvious, he knew it was tiring today and this was obviously bound to happen. He smiles, gently kissing your forehead as he actually put a book mark in, one you bought him with Claude Monet's painting on it.

He gently put the book aside, having expected you to sleep with how tired you were from RAD, just not this early. He softly laid down, pulling you as he hummed softly,

"Sleep tight, dear." he smiled. Oh Devil, you fit perfectly in his arms!!

Asmodeus

"Ooo, mauve and pink together, Pleaseee!!" Asmodeus almost squealed as he straddled your waist as you laid on his bed. Letting him do your makeup as you sighed.

"Sure, do what you want" you said with a soft smile as Asmo smiled, his glossy lips gently kissing your lips before she sat up, straddling your waist as he applied foundation, he seemed so adamant on this position, not that you minded.

"Hm, you know we should do skin care more often, cutie! Your skin is just glowing!" he said softly, using the clean wet sponge to spread your foundation after primer and all the base. You closed your eyes a bit since the foundation felt itchy and you didn't want it in your eyes, but Asmo gently pushed back your hair and continued.

He spread the foundation, softly humming and whistling 'ghost town' by Veorra which you introduced to him as he gently nodded his head side to side to the beat subconsciously, as he gently patted your skin to see if the foundation got streaky, it didn't.

He gently hummed, putting on concealer, contour and powder softly, humming to himself as he admired you. You usually wouldn't, but you trusted him enough to let him do make up on you, mostly as a test trial.

"Oh my! Your cheeks are so cute!!" Asmo cooed, almost ready to pepper kisses on them, but he paused since his gloss might ruin your foundation and the base he laid down, "Hm.. Pink and mauve, but colour were you thinking??"

He hummed, holding up the make-up palette as you slightly lifted your head at an awkward angle while trying not to give yourself cramps in your collarbones, neck or jaw or anywhere as he hummed softly.

You chose two to three colours, which you knew would go nice together, as he giggled and gently began prepping your eyes before he started to do your eye makeup, complex and pretty.

He softly made cat eye crease, gently colouring your eyes like his personal colour book with makeup as his art supplies as he hummed, his thighs gently squeezing your waist in support as you closed your eyes. Another shade on the inner corner, another colour in the inner-upper side.

A few very delicately crafted eyeliner to pull it together, with rhinestones, pearls or makeup decorations and all.

After eyeshadow, he leaned back and admired his handiwork for a little bit, your eyes closed politely and sweetly like an obedient kid's.

His hand refused to shake as he gently laid down the inky black eye liner with colourful liner too, making sure to fill in gaps but also not leak the eyeliner in your eyes since he knew, as a human, that wouldn't be pleasant.

"Oh, I'm just pretty in everything I do, don't I?" Asmo smiled, cupping his cheek as you hummed softly, your eyes still close, "Hmm-...hmm..Keep your eyes closed, this liner takes a sec or something!" he worked to curl your lashes, mascara and lash pearls so you had dotted eyelashes. Oh you were such ADORABLE!!

And finally, he dug through his bag to pull out multiple lip products, lining with two different colours, lipcolour was a mixture of five different; mauve, a deep shade of magenta, dark wine red, dusty red and a soft purple-pink..

It looked so good, dare he say, heavenly on you!

He applied lipgloss and setting spray and he was finally done, his finger very gently touched your eyelid, on the eyeliner, "Hm..It's dry, cutie. You can get up!!" he squealed, waiting for you to open your eyes and smile.

A second or two passed, as he got concern, "Honey..? Oh shit" he grumbled, looking through his bag, which he kept separated to make sure he didn't use anything that would be harmful or poisonous or anything!

Finding and hurriedly reading anything and everything, he checked your breath to see you breathing normally which made him pause. His finger softly tickled your side, "Cutie..?...oh." he paused.

You were asleep, your legs tight around him so he couldn't get off you..DAMMIT! Don't scare him like that, his skin might get wrinkles..But thank the Devil you're okay! He sighed, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead, before pulling out his phone.

His devilgram followers are going to love your makeup!!

Beelzebub

Finishing, you brushed your hands and wiped them, "You sure you want to wait for me, MC?" Beel asked softly, still in the middle of seven two times, so technically 14, different dishes.

You shrugged, humming since you didn't feel up to doing ANY activity and Asmo, who took you both shopping, let you both stay in to eat. He could handle a few hundred bags himself, he is the fifth born after all and thank Diavolo for that.

You leaned against him, legs across his lap and his bicep as your pillow in the booth you two were sitting as he sat silently. You weren't gonna lie you didn't understand why Asmo was so insistent on dressing up to just go to the mall, but now you understood. It looked like one of the most lavish buildings you've seen.

People decked out in their most fashionable clothes, dressing up casual would just look like a hobo entered in, no offence to anyone.

Just seeing it made you tired as you subtly removed your shoes on the floor, under the table and sat criss-cross, the place was so fricking clean, you wouldn't lie.

Leaning against, Beel hummed in delight chewing on his fifth burger, taking a sip of his second cup of dev-coke to wash it (it had cocaine in it!!), as he dipped his burger into the plate of corn-cheese, eating fries and nachos in between as he swallowed food over and over.

He was glad Lucifer agreed to fund them, his single modelling photos went for billions, who knew trillions of dead humans, sinners and hell-born demons, witches and others since the beginning of time would pay that much for the avatar of pride to model?

He didn't care about that right now, he was busy more busy gulping down his seventh burger, be quiet humanity and demonity!

He chewed silently, licking the sauce of his fingers, pulling a tissue and wiping before he sipped his sprite and coke and his milkshake, then went back to nachos and fifth box of fries.

He hummed in delight, when he finally finished, he patted your thighs, wiping his hands and digging in your purse quietly to pull out a wet wipe to wash his hand, as he sighed with a small smile. He felt so good...for the next two hour or so.

He smiled, "done, MC!" he said brightly, looking down to find you asleep, trying to keep him in place as he tilted his head, "Hm? Oh..you must have been tired." he whispered.

But nonetheless, he picked you up like a little doll, one hand on your butt (for privacy), the other holding you tight as he walked out, thanking the waiter, ducking a bit to not crush his forehead on the doorframe.

He walked a bit, finally meet Asmo in a shoe shop, grumbling with a box over some baby pink heels in annoyance, but it melted when he saw you over Beel's shoulder.

"Ah, they fell asleep!! I got the cutest thing for them, no worries. We'll let them try on at home!!" Asmo said, gently squeezing your cheek on Beel.

The fifth born pulled the sixth born, and you sleeping on his shoulder for more shopping

Belphegor

"And that is Heracles and that one is Jason, I think I met Jason once. Since Lucifer and Diavolo are technically a sort of Hades..I don't know. I think i'm a fury..." he whispered sleepily, barely comprehending what he said.

But you felt compelled to believe him as he sat up somewhat to try and stay awake while he tried to explain the stars to you, his eyes squinting to see where each star was while you admired him.

"God, Jason reminds me of Grey Sister's taxi company...it's mostly just them duplicating themselves to serve demons and entities..They drive so bad, it makes Beel sick." he whispered as you shrugged,

"Who..?", "Grey sisters. Once they made Mammon so mad, he took their eye and tooth and threatened to turn it to gold so they can never see.." he whispered, far too out of it as you laughed softly.

Boys never had a simple story such as visiting a lake, always something crazy with mythology mixed in, again he spoke as if he was an oracle,

"Yumraj likes to see Diavolo every few weeks.", "....The Hindu god of death?" you whispered softly as Belphie snored after almost falling asleep, again, when you snapped your finger to him.

Belphie groaned, actually sitting up and letting go of his pillow to try and stay awake which he sometimes found it slightly difficult to do (as difficult as can be for him, the epitome of sloth) without Diasy.

He looked up at the stars, chewing on a strawberry as he sat on the gingham patterned mat, he could now see the stars more as he hummed softly,

"That star there is Mars. Mars is, obviously, named after the Roman god of War, the Roman counterpart of Ares, the greek god of war." he said softly, letting him rant about random Greek shit. You didn't know he knew so much, but you shrugged. Eyes drooping with love.

He spoke on topic to try and stay awake, despite the difficulty he faced and you appreciated it.

You both were sitting on the backyard of House of Lamentation, on gingham patterned picnic blanket with snacks which you somehow concealed the smell of from Beel using a spell while star-gazing.

Well, you laid and he sat.

Belphie spoke on different stories, his own stories he made up about the constellations and the real stories,

"That is 'Orion'. Orion proclaimed himself to be such a great hunter and that he was the son of Zeus" he said, his fingers moving to motion a pattern of the constellations,

"This made Hera made, it always does but no judgement to her, and she sent a scorpion to kill him. That scorpion later became the constellation of 'Scorpius'..." he whispered softly, his hand gently patting your hair.

"Zeus took pity on him and turned him into a constellations in the stars." Belphie hummed, softly. "Zeus was, no offence, a weirdo." he whispered, as you hummed in agreement, your arm around his waist as he smiled.

After moments of talking, he stood up, "I need to go to the bathroom.." he whispered, but unable to with your tight grip, as he waited for you to let him go..

He looked down, seeing your eyes closing and you on the peak to sleep as he grinned, uncovering the grapes and sighing, he hurriedly teleported to go and came back.

Seeing you sleep, your arm reaching around the blanket to look for him, the sight making him smile. He silently laid down beside you, deciding his own sloth-ness needs to be fulfilled,

"Enough stars for one day..."

© orelicia. I do not give permission to modify, translate, copy or repost ANY of my works. Reblogs are very much beloved!

[bullet-prooflove]

Blood For Blood: Charlie Reid x Reader

Tagging:@kmc1989 @littleesilvia @wrestlequeen @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @beebeechaos

Brief mentions of torture and some gore.

Summary: Charlie's wrath leads to his worst nightmare...

Companion piece to:

Charlie - Charlie meets someone unexpected one night at his pool hall.

The Whole Damn Night - You aren't anything like Charlie expected.

Risk Management - Charlie realises the two of you have been keeping secrets from one another.

Deals With The Devil - Charlie's fall from grace starts with an act of love.

The Ghost That Lingers In The Nighttime - Charlie's becoming accustomed to the late night visits.

Who The Fuck Is Charlie? - You wake up calling for Charlie but noone knows who the fuck Charlie is.

The second time that Charlie kills for you he doesn’t even get his hands dirty. He makes one phone call to Jesus Otero and the guy that started all of this Rik Morrow is attacked in the prison showers.

Beaten, sodomised, tongue cut out.

It’s a fitting punishment for the man who goaded his brother into putting a hit out on you.

“I don’t want him dead.” He tells Otero over his burner as he sits his office right after the ‘Who The Fuck Is Charlie?’ meeting. “I want him to suffer, I want him to experience a lifetime of pain every single day and on the anniversary of her shooting I want you to take something so he remembers why this is happening. I don’t care what, an eye, a finger, a kidney, it’s dealer’s choice.”

The thing that Charlie’s learned over the years?

You don’t have to stop a man’s heart to murder him, you can systematically destroy his sanity and achieve the same result. He hopes that everytime Morrow gets dry fucked into his pillow that he rues the fucking day he met you.

It’s past midnight when he finally makes it back to the hospital. He’s spent the hours since the meeting studying the Intelligence reports on Chris Morrow, trying to whittle down where the son of a bitch has gone to ground. Nothing’s come to fruition yet but sometimes it’s a waiting game. The problem is Charlie hates the waiting, he wants this whole thing over and done with so that you can come home and recovery safely.

He strips out of his CPD jacket in the parking lot of the hospital, folding it into the trunk of his car. He keeps the gun on his hip, along with the badge because he’s written up far too many dumbasses who have left their gun in the glove compartment only to have their car stolen, their weapon out there killing civilians.

He’s thinking about the new book he has tucked under his arm when he steps into the elevator. He’s decided to try a different tactic tonight, read you one of those god awful dinosaur romance novels you keep sending to his office as a joke. If anything will wake you again it’ll be ‘Ballin’ with the Billionaire Brontosaurus’. The edges of his mouth tip up as he remembers your hysterical laugh when you saw the business suit the damn thing was wearing on the cover.

“They classed it up with a little Armani this time.” He’d remarked as he flicked through the pages on the couch, your head resting on his chest. “But it’s still fucking nasty, he’s like what a million feet tall which means his dick…”

You’d fallen apart again then, your body vibrating against his as you buried your face into the hollow of his throat to stifle your laugher. Charlie had gathered you up in his arms, book forgotten as he kissed away the salt rolling down your cheeks.

He’s still smiling when he steps off the elevator, heading towards your room. His boots squeak on the tiles underfoot as he walks the empty hallway. Nowhere else does this happen, just this fucking floor in this fucking hospital.

He’s almost to the door when he hears the pops.

Three of them in quick succession. Each low boom ripples through the air, causing the book under his arm to slip from his grasp as he reaches for the SIG on his hip. He knows the sound of a suppressor when he hears one, especially when it’s on a semi-automatic.

His hand comes to rest on the door handle, his heart thudding against his ribcage as he twists it slowly. He nudges the open slowly with his boot, peering through the slender gap as it widens.

There’s blood on the wall, speckles of grey brain matter cling to it in clumps, each one leaving a sticky trail as they race towards the floor. He clenches his jaw, drawing in a shaky breath to force down the bile climbing in his throat as his stomach revolts. The stench of copper and cordite fills his nostrils, the acrid taste settling on his tongue.

He shoulders the door open the rest of the way to find himself staring down the barrel of a Glock 21. His finger flexes on the trigger as his shoe catches on the body, missing the back of it’s head, splayed out across the tiles. Sandy blond mingles with the blood and the bone fragments, matted within the gore. He doesn’t need to see the face to know that it’s Chris Morrow. He can tell from that fucking swastika etched into the side of his neck.

He never thought that asshole would be stupid enough to come here but he did, he came to finish the job and Charlie, he let it happen.

His gaze flickers back up to you, your hands trembling as you lower the gun so it’s pointing at the tiles. There’s blood blossoming in two places across your white hospital gown, the stain growing quickly as Charlie jams his gun back in his holster.

You follow his stare, swallowing hard as you fixate at crimson liquid that leaks down your torso.

“I must have reopened my wounds when I broke his wrist, trying to get the gun.” You say as you set Glock down carefully on the sheets. You press your palm to the wound above your left breast, trying to stifle the blood as it flows through your fingers.

You must have ripped out your IV as well because there’s burgundy droplets scattered throughout the white linen, the tubing hanging loose from the saline bag.

“Em.” He says gently as he stands in the midst of his own nightmare, trying to not to disrupt anymore of the crime scene. “I’m gonna have to call this in.”

“Call the doctor too.” You advise as you start to waver, the colour draining from your face as you pull your hand away, studying the red smeared across your fingertips. “I’m sorry Charlie but I think I’m about to pass out.”

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[neilsbeloved]

company of four

summary: your world stops the moment clark tells you he’s finally introducing you to his friends, not because you want to stay hidden as his mysterious girlfriend, but because of your distasteful past encounters with his friends. (based on this request!)

pairing: clark kent x fem!popular!reader!

tags: fluff / mentions of past bullying / clark being whipped / hidden relationships / first meetings / uses y/n (like twice)

Clark, who was lying down on his bed with arm stretched behind his head, has been watching you try on a gazillion combinations of tops, pants, and earrings for the past hour.

When he had told you that his friends had been wanting to see this mysterious girlfriend he's been hinting on for weeks, you were quite hesitant to say the least.

Actually—you were very hesitant.

Not only were you one of the most popular students in Smallville High, but you didn't exactly have the cleanest track record when it comes to your relationship with people. Clark and his friends—Chloe and Pete—included.

Now, you're still on your fifth pair of earrings. Your ears all red and itchy already.

"You're meeting my friends, not some editor at a fashion magazine." Clark throws a football up in the air, catching it just in time with you turning around.

"Clark," you say sternly, shooting him a look. "Circle one or triangle?"

He straightens up, muttering a quiet apology before answering: "Circle. Chloe likes circles."

You nod, removing the dangling triangle earring on your left ear before replacing it with the circle one. You grab your hair brush from Clark's cabinet, running it through your hair as you walked to the other side of the room in a rush.

"For the bag—which one do you think Pete'd dig?"

"Are you their girlfriend or mine?" Clark jokes, hoping to see even a small smile on your face. He quiets down when you glare at him once more. "Sorry, the brown one."

You throw Clark the burgundy one, moving your regular items from your everyday bag to the brown one he chose.

Clark stands up from the bed, groaning softly as he stretches his back.

"Look, babe, they've been waiting to meet you for over a month now. I'm more than sure they'll be happy to meet you whether or not you're wearing Chloe's favorite color or you know Pete's favorite comic book." He rests his head on your shoulder, hugging you from the back as he rocks you side to side.

You sigh, glancing at him over your shoulder. His nose bumping with yours. "Clark, that's before they find out that your girlfriend's one of the people that were bullying them for years."

"Oh please, you never really wanted to be involved with those people. You were just…" Clark purses his lips, trying to think of the best word. "…misguided, okay? You're not anymore, so you could stop worrying about that and just relax, y'know?"

"I had Chloe be removed as the Torch editor for a whole school year," you start, "Pete got injured in his shin because my friends found it funny to trip him while playing basketball," you add again, Clark cringing at the memory.

You exhale defeatedly, pulling away from Clark to sit on the edge of the bed. Massaging your own temples to try and relieve some of the stress.

Clark keeps a determined look. Taking a seat beside you before he places an arm around your shoulder. The warmth of his body immediately making you melt into him.

"I know you've done things you aren't proud of, things you don't even want to remember… but you can't just avoid those you've wronged forever," Clark pulls you close, nuzzling his face in your hair. "Sooner or later you're gonna have to actually speak to those people and say sorry."

"And if they don't accept my apology, what then? Clark, I'm not gonna let you choose between me and your friends." You snap at him.

Clark looks at you with a surprised look, not expecting you to lose your temper. When you notice what just happened, your features soften, mumbling a continuous apology as you looked at your hands on your lap.

He shushes you, taking your hands in his as he intertwines both of your fingers together. "Who said I had to?"

"If there's one thing I know about my friends, it's that they're not the kind of people you think they are." Clark looks into your eyes with a tenderness you've grown to love about him. "They know how to forgive, and they know how to understand people."

A small smile comes onto your lips as he kisses your forehead, tightening his hold on your hands. "Now stop worrying about my friends and focus on getting ready. I don't think I can last thirty more minutes helping you choose the color lipstick you should wear."

His face shines when he hears a laugh come out of you, willingly letting you go as you stand up to resume getting ready in the corner—close by the window, so you had some natural light whenever you put on make-up—Clark had cleared out just for you.

You smirk at him, teasing and lighthearted, holding out the bullet lipstick you keep in your bag. "Don't worry, Clark, I don't have blue lipstick for you to choose anyway."

The jitters gnaw at you the faster you and Clark arrive at the Talon.

Clark kept his hand in yours, squeezing it every now and then as a sort of comfort. When you see the Talon's signage appear into view, you tense up indefinitely.

"We're here," he announces, parking on the curb faster than you expected. "Ready to meet them?"

You shake your head as an answer but Clark only laughs at you. He exits the car, running over to your side to help you get down from the truck. One of the chivalrous things Clark does that you've gotten used to.

The two of you stand outside the Talon's doors, a considerable amount of distance between the two of you.

Clark calls your name, stopping you right before you can come inside the cafe. "Are we coming in as a couple or as chemistry partners—babe, come closer," Clark pulls you to his side with a scoff.

"Clark." You glare at him, biting back the complaint that tries to surface. "Don't get pushy."

He ignores your warning, shamelessly slipping his hand into yours as he pushes open the doors, immediately getting overwhelmed by the dozens of people inside of the Talon.

Your eyes quickly latch onto two of Clark's friends sitting around a circle table, Chloe and Pete having their own respective beverage as they conversed—or argued—with each other comfortably.

Each step you took felt like a step towards suffocating yourself. Feeling the air inside the Talon barely enough for everyone inside of it.

You clench your jaw, trying your best to keep calm despite the percussions pounding inside of you. Clark kept a smile on his face, unaware of the internal dilemma you're having.

When you finally reach their table, Clark yells out their name. Both Chloe and Pete turning to your direction with a smile, only for it to drop the moment their eyes drop to your interlaced hands.

You gulp. Unable to speak.

Clark opens up with a normal hey, giving them both a side hug before gesturing towards you. The way your name slips off of his mouth making you cringe.

"This is…" Your name rolls off of his tongue in a way that makes you cringe uncharacteristically. "And she's my girlfriend."  Clark turns to you with a smile, wide enough to show everyone his sharp canines.

An uneasy silence settles over the four of you—this time, even Clark isn't safe from it.

This is the worst experience ever you think to yourself as you start brainstorming the quickest way to just fall on the floor unconscious.

By the time you've thought about five ways, you hear someone speak.

"Is this some silly prank? I'm sure I vividly remember you and your group of highschool hotshots doing everything you can to make all of our lives a living hell?" Chloe, being the ever-so upfront member of the trio, says in one breath.

Your jaw drops. Out of all of the things his friends can bring up to you, that one was something you didn't expect.

You try your best to speak up—to apologize for it, but Chloe beats you to it. Again.

"I'm just kidding," she laughs loudly, her eyes crinkling into crescent moons as all of you let out the breath you were all unknowingly holding. "It's nice to finally meet you, Y/N."

You quickly take her hand and shake it, a surprised huff leaving your lips as Pete shakes your hand as well.

Clark looks at the three of you with a proud smile, pulling out a chair for the both of you once the introductions ended.

Before the conversation between the four of you even started, you apologized first. Showing them the raw and genuine side that you had to yourself; apologizing for everything that you and your friends had done to them since grade school.

Clark squeezed your hand from underneath the table, gazing at you affectionately as you began engaging his friends in an all out conversation about something niche.

The moment a Talon staff placed two extra glasses of mocha cappuccinos, another member of Clark’s circle is introduced. This time, someone you’re partially close with already.

“You’re with Clark?” Lana’s voice raises, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Clark cuts in, “Lana, this is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

The brunette looks to Chloe and Pete, both of them looking at you consolingly. You didn’t expect another round of awkward silence to happen but it does, and maybe you should’ve expected this one the moment Clark told you he’s taking you to the Talon.

After some time of you waiting for Lana to speak, she finally does. “It’s good to see Clark finally happy.”

“Oh,” you turn to Clark, slightly growing confused at the entire situation. “I, uhm—“

“She makes me very happy, Lana,” Clark says with a tone of finality, placing an arm on your shoulder. “Hopefully, I make her happy too.”

Lana smiles, nodding as she excuses herself. A loud huff coming from Chloe when she finally notices your earrings—though you know it was only to get rid of the thorny situation.

A compliment left her lips as she stared at it with fascination, the genuineness in her voice making you smile. Pete follows up with a compliment too, this time about your bag—you're practically glowing with happiness.

Clark throws you a look, catching your eye as that smug little smile on his face tells you that he's soaking up every compliment you got thanks to his brilliant choices.

As it turns out, meeting his friends wasn't as scary as you thought it'd be. Or maybe that's only because they aren't what you're used to.

Nevertheless, it made you feel very much at home; sipping coffee at the Talon, your boyfriend's hand in yours, enjoying everyone's company.

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