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whereforarthur · 8 months ago

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Said She Wanted Five Guys She Ain’t Talking About Burgers

Pairing: Reader x George, Arthur Hill, Chris, Isaac and ArthurTv

Summary: Y/n shares her sexual intentions with five YouTubers. She invites them to join her fantasy, setting no limits on their actions. The group eagerly agrees, indulging in a passionate sexual encounter as they explore Y/n's desires one by one.

Category: SMUT

Word Count: 6.7k

A/n: ArthurTv and Arthur Hill will be labeled as such to avoid confusion

*****

“In ‘friends with benefits,’ the boundaries are blurred, and the possibilities are endless.”

"Alright, guys," Arthur Hill grinned, his eyes sparkling as he wriggled to adjust the bow tie around his neck. "She asked for a surprise, so let's not disappoint her.".

The cool London evening was abuzz with the sound of laughter from a distance and passing cars humming their way along the road, in total contrast to the quietly expectant mood of the apartment in dim light. Five British YouTubers had gathered together for what they thought was an innocent prank on one of their fans. Little did they know, the girl they'd invited had something entirely different in mind.

This had been the moment Y/N had been waiting for, and she, being the young lady who loved drama, had planned this meeting very carefully. She took a deep breath as the door creaked, at that sudden surge of excitement rushing in her body. She'd chosen Arthur, Isaac, ArthurTV, Chris, and George for their online personas specifically; each one part of a puzzle she knew would fit into her twisted game.

The five men filed in; the laughter died down as they took in the scene before them. Y/N was sprawled out on the bed, her needy curves barely contained in a see-through lingerie set. She'd gone all out, setting up candles and a sultry playlist of tunes to set the mood; it definitely set the ambiance for the events to take place tonight. The air was heady with the scent of jasmine and vanilla, much like a perfume.

Isaac's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he drank in the scene. "Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath, his cheeks flushing red. ArthurTV, ever the charmer, strode forward with a smirk. "Well, well, well—what do we have here? Our lovely Y/N, all dolled up to kill. Occasion?"

On cue, Y/n's eyes scanned the men gathered before her, locking eyes with each for a second or two before she spoke in that low, sultry voice, "Gentlemen, I've been a very, very naughty girl, and I need all five of you to help me make it right."

The tension in the room was palpable as the men exchanged glances; a mix of shock and excitement was written across the faces of the men. Normally much more contained, Chris stepped backward and widened his eyes. "I think we might have misconstrued the invite," he stammered.

But Y/N's gaze stuck to them, her expression no doubt filled with hungry longing. "Oh, I think you've understood perfectly," she purred, beckoning them closer with a crook of her finger. "You see, I've had the most delicious fantasy about all of you, and I've decided it's high time I make it real."

The four looked at one another, not knowing exactly what the next course of action should be. George took the lead, his curiosity running deep. "Alright, lass, what's the plan?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

Y/N slid off the bed, the sway of her hips hypnotic as she made her way toward them. She reached out and put a hand on George's chest, tracing her fingers over the lines of his muscles. "The plan," she breathed, "is simple. You each get to do whatever you want with me. No holds barred."

The room hushed, except for the soft crackling of the candles. Arthur Hill, in his group of friends, the seasoned veteran when it came to wild nights out, stepped forward. "Alright, love," he started in a deep, gruff voice, "but let's make sure we're on the same page here."

Y/N nodded, the predatory glint in her eye. "Agreed," she purred lowly as her hand slid down to George's belt. "But remember, this is all for fun, and we all get what we want." She leaned in closer, her hot breath against his ear. "But you'll have to work for it."

Isaaс, who was standing by the door, swаllоwed hard, trying to wrap his head around all the implications of all this. He had never gotten himself into such a situation, but his desires forbade him to bаck away. He stepped forward very slоwly while his eyes brutally raked Y/N's bоdy. "Cоunt me in," he said, the thick desire hoarse in his voice.

The other three men looked at each other wordless, their eyes a dead give-away of disbelief, excitement, and perhaps a tinge of fear. They knew it could get out of hand, but the temptation was far too great to resist. These men had all watched her videos and heard her flirty comments, and she now stood before them, offering herself up like a prize to be shared.

Chris broke the silence first. "Alright, if we're all in, then let's get this party started," he said, attempting to sound cool, but in reality, his heart was racing wildly. The tension in that room increased, with them all stepping closer to her, their eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Y/N eyed them each in turn, a smirk dancing on her lips. "Strip," she commanded, firmness laced in her voice. There was an infinitesimal hesitation before the men began to strip off their clothes, fumbling with buttons and zippers. The room started to heat up as clothing hit the floor, and their eager arousal became evident.

Chris was the oldest in the circle and went ahead first. He stared into Y/N's eyes, clasped her around the waist, yanking her into a desperate kiss, drawing out the air from her. His hands roamed over her body, cupping and squeezing her breasts and ass as she melted into him. The rest watched, their desires building as they took in the view of their friend claiming her first.

ArthurTV was quick of wit, silver of tongue-next. He leaned in with a smirk, hands sliding up her thighs. "I got a surprise for you," he murmured, his fingers finding the wetness collected between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her, and she moaned into Chris's mouth. Isaac and George, the remaining two, sat down and watched as excitement took them; their cocks stiffened in anticipation.

Y/N pushed Chris away, panting, before turning to ArthurTV. "That all you got?" she teased, beckoning him on. He gave a dark chuckle and leaned in to kiss her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. "Oh, I got lots more," he assured her, guiding her towards the bed.

The others didn't waste any more time; each was out to have his piece of her. Isaac was by no means shy anymore, stepped up, and claimed her mouth. His tongue danced with hers in a passionate duel as George and Arthur Hill looked at her, starving, hands mapping every curve, every dip, with possessive strokes.

Chris stepped back, eyes dark with the desire to have watched his friends touch her. He knew sooner or later he would have to regain control, but for now, he enjoyed the show, his cock pulsing with every gasp and moan escaping Y/N's lips.

Isaac leaned forward, and his hands moved to her breasts, gently kneading them before pinching her nipples. She arched her back, pushing into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed in the upsurge of pleasure that filled the room with the symphony of heavy breathing and whispered words of lust.

Arthur Hill forward, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for her hips to spin her around, pressing against the edge of the bed. He exhaled, "Your turn," as he pried her legs apart. The tongue traced a path from her ankle down into her inner thigh, skin goosebumping from the heat of his breath.

Y/N's legs quaked, her body shuddering, as Arthur's lips reached her sex, his tongue doing a delicious dance around her clitoral area. A moan escaped her lips, her body already betraying her as it reacted to the onslaught of sensations. ArthurTV looked on with a smug smile on his face, stroking his cock while he waited for his turn. "Looks like she's enjoying herself," he said with a quip—he got a glare for it from Arthur Hill.

Chris couldn't wait any longer and moved in behind Arthur Hill, his cock pressed up against her backside. He leaned in close, his hot breath against her ear. "Ready for more?" he breathed as she nodded, her breathing shallow gasps. He reached around, one hand playing with her clitoral area while Arthur Hill's tongue continued its relentless assault. It was almost too much to handle, and an orgasm began building low in her belly.

George and Isaac watched, their cocks bobbing gently in the candlelight as they took in the erotic scene unfolding in front of them. He stepped up, his hand reaching out to cup one of her breasts, his thumb brushing against the hardened nipple. "I want a taste," he murmured, and she leaned back, granting him access. His mouth closed over her breast, sucking and teasing as she writhed under the combined efforts of the two men.

Isaac's face was red, his eyes covered with a hood of desire as he kneeled beside Arthur Hill. He watched intently as Arthur's tongue delved into her wetness, her legs trembling with every stroke that danced across. "Please," she whimpered, and with a wicked grin, Isaac leaned in, his mouth joining Arthur's in a duel of tongues and lips.

The feeling of having two mouths on her was almost too much for Y/N to bear. She bucked her hips, her moans rising louder as they worked in tandem, bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she grasped at fistfuls of the bedsheets, trying desperately to anchor herself against reality. The room spun with pleasure; the heat of their bodies wrapped her up in a cocoon of lust.

ArthurTV, not content to just stand and watch any longer, stepped forward, his cock at full attention. Standing over her, he stroked it slowly, his eyes watching the contraction of her face. "Open up, love," he said, and she took him immediately in her mouth, her tongue swirling around his shaft as the taste of him was intoxicating; she wanted more.

Chris and Arthur Hill didn't miss a single beat, their hands and mouths working in harmony to drive her closer to the edge. Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pressure began to build, her body tightening around Arthur's tongue as he continued to lick her. She felt the heat of George's breath as he leaned into the side of her neck, his teeth nibbling gently at her earlobe.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched their own desires come to a boiling point at the sight of their friend sans restraint in their passion. They exchanged a look, both keen to take their turn. Y/N felt a hand at her waist, gently lifting her onto the bed. She looked up to see George smiling down at her, his eyes filled with lust. "My turn," he whispered, and she parted her thighs in all eagerness and invited him inside.

He positioned himself between her thighs, his cock throbbing in anticipation. He leaned in to kiss her, his tongue plunging deep as he plunged into her with a single, powerful stroke. She moaned into his mouth, her body already primed and ready for more. He began to move, hips pumping in a steady rhythm that had her death-gripping the sheets.

Chris dove in to take Arthur Hill's place, his cock immediately being sucked into her mouth as she greedily sucked him, never taking her eyes off George fucking her. The room was a cacophony of passion: moans and groans, skin slapping skin. The air was heavy with the smell of sex and sweat; the flickering candlelight cast an intimate, warm glow over it all.

Isaac watched, his hand going to stroke his own cock as he took in the sight of his friend claiming her. Desire was bright in George's eyes, raw need etched into every line of his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before he had to take his place, but for now, he enjoyed watching the woman he had fantasized about being taken by his best mates.

Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as George thrust harder. Her body was a symphony of pleasure, each touch and kiss sending shockwaves through her. She could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, pressure coiling in her core. "Fuck me harder," she begged, her voice hoarse with need.

George obeyed, becoming more and more erratic as his climax neared. Arthur Hill and Isaac watched as they stroked their own cocks, their stroking in time with George's thrusts as the room spun into a blur of flesh and desire, their attention only for the woman writhing on the bed in front of them.

Chris pulled from her mouth, panting, and took his place next to ArthurTV. They watched together as George brought Y/N to the edge, her back arched and her nails digging into the mattress. With a final, guttural groan, George emptied himself inside her, shuddering with the force of his release. He collapsed beside her, pure satisfaction etched on his face.

Y/N panted and blushed, gazing up at the remaining two. "Who's next?" she purred, full of seduction. ArthurTV stepped forward, cock in hand. Wasting no time, he filled her, his movements fast and sure as he claimed her mouth once more. She moaned around his shaft, her tongue swirling around him as he started to fuck her with the same fervor as the rest.

Isaac kneeled beside her, his cock rigid, the youngest and most anxious. Without reservation or hesitation, she took him all in, her hand clasping his base as she took him deep into her throat. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he groaned loudly, purely in pleasure. "So good," he muttered, his hand burying in her hair, guiding her motions.

The room became a tornado of lust and desire, each man taking their turn to claim her, their movements becoming frenzied with every successive moment. The bed creaked in protest—the headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust. Y/N moaned even louder, her body a canvas of pleasure painted by the hands and cocks of the men she lured into her web.

Isaac's eyes didn't leave hers as he face-fucked her, his hand clenching in her hair at every gagging noise she made. She could feel the veins in his cock twitching, his orgasm imminent. The feel of his impending release spiraled her own climax closer, her body tensing in anticipation. ArthurTV's hips snapped against her own, his cock plunging deep to hit that spot that made her toes curl.

Her eyes watered, fighting for breath around Isaac's cock, but she didn't pull away; instead, she took him deeper, and her throat muscles worked around him. The feeling of being used, being taken by all five of them, was more intoxicating than any drink she'd ever had—it felt as if she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life.

Chris stroked his cock as he watched, his own desire reaching a peak added to by the sight of their pleasure. He climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside her, and slid into her from behind. The feel of being filled so completely was almost too much to bear as she gasped. The men had become a well-oiled machine, synchronized in their movements as they brought her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

Her gaze never wavered from ArthurTV's as the tension between them became palpable, the rising heat of Chris's orgasm evident to her. ArthurTV stroked faster, his breathing shallow, until with a final grunt, he was spurting into her, his cum mingling with George's and coating her insides.

Isaac's eyes rolled back as he came, his semen spurting onto her face and chest. Greedily, she lapped at the taste of him. Arthur Hill, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, took this for his cue, sliding in as the others pulled out. He moved with a rhythm all his own, and she was aware of the bedbouncing her body beneath his powerful thrusts.

She lay with her legs wide, her body open to them like a feast, and they took full advantage. ArthurTV leaned in, kissing her neck and whispering dirty things in her ear as his hands roamed her body and Arthur Hill pounded into her. A moan escaped her throat, which was muffled by Arthur's cock, as her hips arced toward each thrust.

"You like that, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill growled in his low voice gruffly. "You like being filled by all of us?" Y/N could only nod, the look in her eyes crazed with lust. "Say it," he demanded, his grip on her hips tightening. "Say you're our little slut."

She complied, her voice a breathy whisper. "I'm your slut," she moaned, the words sending a shiver down her spine. The dirty talk only seemed to heighten her arousal, wetting her further and making her more eager for their attention. ArthurTV leaned in, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You're such a good girl, taking all of us," he murmured, his voice sweet in contrast to Arthur Hill's harshness.

"Fuck me, fill me," she begged, her voice little more than a whisper above the slapping of their hips. The men became more aggressive with each word, their own dirty remarks egging her on further. "You're so tight," Arthur Hill grunted, his strokes becoming more erratic. "So fucking tight."

"Yeah, take it all," ArthurTV whispered, his fingers digging into her hips. "You're made for this, aren't you? Made to be used by us." The raw words sent another wave of heat through her, pussycats clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as another orgasm threatened to break free. Tension pulled tight inside her body, higher and tighter with each thrust.

"Tell us how much you love it," Chris said, eyes dark with lust, as he watched Arthur Hill fuck her. "Tell us how much you love having all five of us inside you." Y/N whimpered, words choking from her in a moan. "I love it," she gasped, her voice raw with passion. "I love being your slutty."

Grunts and curses from the men rose in volume, their movements wilder still at the words. Arthur Hill's thrusts became more powerful yet, his cock slamming into her with enough force to make her eyes water. "That's it," he groaned, strained. "Tell us how much you want us to fill you up."

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, hair a wild mess around her face as she moaned and begged for more. "I want it," she panted. "I want all of your cum inside me." The filthy talk spurred Arthur Hill on, his hips working harder and faster, driving her closer to the edge. She could feel the tension rise, her body clenching around him.

"That's right," ArthurTV muttered hotly in her ear. "You're going to take it all, aren't you?" He reached down to play with her clitoral area, his thumb circling the sensitive nub while Arthur Hill's cock pummeled her pussycat. The combination was exquisite, taking her spiraling toward the abyss of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck," she moaned, the words barely intelligible. "I want it, I need it." She arched her back, her body begging for more. The men took her words as a challenge, their movements becoming savage as each of them worked to be the one to tip her over the edge.

"You're ours," Arthur Hill grunted, his teeth clamping with effort. "Our little fuck toy." Y/N's eyes rolled into the back of her head, the degradations adding to her excitement. "Yes," she whimpered, the word tumbling from her lips in a needy plea. "I'm yours; do whatever you want with me."

The words seemed to unleash something feral in the men. Their movements became more primal, and they talked dirty to her, voices hazing into a symphony of lust and dominance. "You're going to scream for us," ArthurTV muttered, his thumb rubbing harder against her clitter. "Scream our names as we make you come."

Y/N's eyes snapped open and locked with Arthur Hill's searing gaze. "You're going to come for us," he said, the timbre low, a command. "You're going to come so hard, you won't be able to walk straight tomorrow." The heat rose higher and higher, her pussycat clenching around his cock with each word.

"You're so fucking hot," ArthurTV breathed, his thumb still working her clitter in circles. "The way you're taking all of us, like the little slut you are." The insult only seemed to turn her on more, and her body responded to their every demand. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. "Make me come." It hung in the air, a desperate plea for release. The men laughed, enjoying the power they held over her. "Not yet," Arthur Hill said, his voice low. "First, you're going to make me come."

He grabbed her hips, slamming her onto her back as his cock never left her body. Hunched over, he nipped at her neck, fucking harder. Y/N's legs wrapped around his waist, her nails digging into his back as she tried to get closer, feel him deeper. The pleasure was so strong it was almost painful—a delicious agony she never wanted to end.

"You like it rough, don't you, Slut?" Arthur Hill's voice was a snarl in her ear as his teeth nipped at her lobe. "You like it when we treat you like the whore you are." She moaned, the words only serving to fuel her desire. "Yes," she breathed, her voice a mix of pleasure and submission. "I love it."

"That's right," ArthurTV added, his hand still buried in her hair. "You're a dirty little slut, and we're going to use you until you can't take anymore." Y/N's eyes rolled back as the pleasure built inside her with each thrust. "Use me," she begged, her hips rising to meet Arthur Hill's. "I'm here for you."

Chris, unable to wait a moment longer, slid back into her mouth, his cock slick with her saliva. She sucked him in hungrily, her eyes never leaving Arthur Hill's as he fucked her hard, his intensity bordering on violence. The other two men watched, their strokes growing quicker as they watched their friend claim her.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill praised her, his voice strained with effort. "Such a good little slut, taking all of us." Y/N moaned around Chris's cock, the dirty talk sending her closer to the edge. She could feel Arthur Hill's cock swelling inside her, his orgasm approaching like a freight train.

ArthurTV whispered into her ear, "You're going to take it all," his hand playing with her clitter, "every drop of our cum." His words sent a shiver down her spine; the anticipation of their collective release was almost too much to handle. She nodded, looking at them pleadingly for them to give her what she needed.

"Yes," she breathed, her voice husky with longing. "I want it all." Arthur Hill clutched her hips harder as his thrusts grew wilder, closer to orgasm. "You're going to make me cum so hard," he growled, boring his eyes into hers.

"That's it," ArthurTV encouraged, his voice a seductive purr. "Tell us how much you love being our little slutty." Y/N's body was a maelstrom of sensation, her pussycle clenching around Arthur Hill's cock as she felt the beginnings of her own orgasm. "I love it," she moaned, her voice raw. "I love being your slutty."

The words sounded like the last straw that broke Arthur Hill's patience. Roaring, he emptied into her, his cock pulsating with the force of his release. Y/N's eyes would widen as she felt the warmth of his cum fill her up, the sensation making her tip over the edge. Her body began spasm after spasm; her orgasm ripped through her like lightening, convulsing her entire body.

Chris watched her, his own climax imminent. He pulled out of her mouth and painted her face with his seed, his hot cum mixing with the sweat that already coated her skin. She moaned, the feeling of his hot semen on her face sending her into another wave of pleasure. The other two men watched, their own climaxes close behind.

Arthur Hill withdrew, puffing heavily, and rolled off the bed onto his back, his chest heaving rapidly up and down. George was into his place in one smooth action without missing a beat, his cock slipping into her still-shuddering pussy. Much softer than the others, his thrusts were smooth and sweet, as if savoring the moment. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his eyes for hers alone. "So perfect."

The feeling that hit Y/n was a weird mix of satisfaction, awe, and a hint of fear. These men took her to heights she had never known were out there, but it was still not enough. Her body had been a playground to them, and she couldn't help but let them do whatever they wanted with it.

George began to stroke, his actions slow and deliberative. He leaned further forward now, pressing his lips against hers in a deep, passionate kiss as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. She felt the warmth of Arthur Hill's cum leaking from her, mingling with her own juices. It was a deliciously wicked sensation, a reminder of the depraved act they'd all just enjoyed.

Isaac and ArthurTV watched with hungry eyes, the cocks still rock-hard as they waited their turn. They stroked themselves all the time, their eyes never leaving this erotic dance playing in front of them. The room was a symphony of passion—the wet slap of skin and the ragged breathing of participants were the only sounds.

Every time he thrust, Y/N would feel George's cock reach that spot, and shivers of pleasure would run down her spine. Her legs wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer and deeper. She could feel another orgasm building, her pussycat clenching down on him like a fist. "Don't stop," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. "Don't ever stop."

Isaac and ArthurTV watched, their own arousal boiling over. Neither could stand to wait anymore. "Let me have a taste," Isaac whispered, his voice thick with want. George chuckled, pulled out, and flipped her over onto her stomach. "Be my guest," he said, slapping her ass as she moaned into the pillow.

Isaac positioned himself behind her and at the sight of his cock so slick with pre-cum. He slid into her tight, used pussy with ease, the wetness of the previous men's cum easing his way. Y/N's moans grew louder as he began to move, his hips slapping against her ass. "So good," he groaned, his hand tightening in her hair. "You're so fucking tight."

Her body was a live wire, jolts of pleasure running through her with every touch. The room spun, narrowing the world down to the sensations in her body from the cocks inside her and the hands touching her. "Harder," she begged, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I need it harder."

ArthurTV took her mouth again, his cock sliding in and out of her lips as she moaned around him. She could feel the tension in his body; his orgasm was just out of reach. "You're going to make me cum," he whispered, his voice strained. "You're going to make me fill your mouth with my cum."

The words brought a new wave of arousal to her as her pussycat clamped onto Isaac's cock. She sucked harder at him, her tongue working his shaft while he continued to fuck her mouth. The taste of the other men's cum remained prevalent, reminding her of the degradative journey on which she had set out.

Chris and Arthur Hill watched, their cocks already growing once again hard. They had never seen a thing so erotic, so primal. The thought of their friends taking her, using her body for their own pleasure, was just too much for them. They leaned forward, touching her, their hands wandering over her body as they whispered filthy words into her ears.

"You're doing so well," Arthur Hill whispered, his soft tone a stark contrast to the coarseness of the others. "You're taking us all so beautifully." His hand moved to her clitoral area, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh as he watched Isaac fuck her from behind.

The combination was too much for Y/N to handle. Her body is a maelstrom of sensation, pleasure so high that it's almost painful. She felt ArthurTV's cock swell in her mouth; his orgasm was near. "Swallow it," he said, his voice thick with lust. She nodded, wanting to please him, and took him deep into her throat as he came.

Isaac's movements became frantic as his cock slid in and out of her with wet, sloppy sounds. She could feel his orgasm building, his cock pulsing with every stroke. "I'm going to cum," he grunted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm going to fill you up."

Y/N's body tensed, and her pussycat clamped down on him, the beginnings of her third orgasm already washing over her. She screwed her eyes shut, her body shaking with the force of it. "Do it," she begged, the words a desperate plea. "Cum inside me."

With a roar, Isaac emptied himself into her, his cum joining the rest inside her. She felt his warmth fill her, and the sensation sent her spiraling into another orgasm. Her body spasmed, her pussycat contracting around his cock, as she screamed into the pillow.

Limbs were tangled, sighs were sated, and the room was thick with sex. Y/N was lying on the bed, her body shaking with aftershocks of pleasure. The men pulled out—their cocks covered in her juices—and fell around her, their breathing heavy with exertion.

There was only the sound of their hearts beating as one, the quiet whispers of their breathing filtering through the air. The candles danced around them, their shadows veering across them through flushed and sweat-slickened bodies. They had taken her, used her, claimed her as their own, and she had loved every second of it.

The men lay sprawled around her, their eyes glazed over with satisfaction. Their chests rose and fell with deep, contented sighs, their cocks now at rest, having spent their seed inside her welcoming warmth. It was in the aftermath of a primal dance wherein desire had knitted them together—a palpable thread forged in the fire of passion.

Her mind was a mess, her body humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. She couldn't believe she just did this—that she let herself be used by all five of them. But she didn't feel used; she felt powerful and desired. Each thrust, each groan of pleasure, was a declaration of her sexual prowess, and she reveled in it.

Arthur Hill's gentle strokes on her clitoral had been like a sweet caress, a tender reminder of his dominance amidst the frenzy. His words in her ear were soothing and challenging, pushing her closer to the edge with every syllable. The way he looked at her when he came, as if she was all that mattered in this world, had been heady.

His hands on her breasts had branded her, marking her as theirs. She felt the heat of his gaze even when he wasn't touching her, his eyes devouring every inch of her. The way he'd whispered dirty words in her ear had made her feel like the most desired woman alive. It was like a paint of his cum on her face, leaving a part of himself with her, claiming her in the most primal possible way.

George's gentle touch had belied the others; his kisses on her neck and breasts were as light as butterfly wings. His patience was a sweet reprieve, his tenderness a gentle reminder that beneath the chaos, there was a person with feelings and desires. Whispers of praise had been balm to her soul, soothing the beast that had been loosed within her.

The dominance of ArthurTV had been oddly alluring; the way he took her mouth, his cock claiming her like a conquering force, thrilled her. She'd never felt so powerless, so completely consumed by another's pleasure, and she found that she enjoyed it. His smirk as he watched her cum for him, his own release imminent, had been the final push she needed to let go, to fully embrace the slut they had all turned her into. Isaac's raw need had been undeniable. His eyes were wild with lust, his touch almost desperate as he claimed her from behind. His gruffness, the whispered dirty words in her ear, had made her feel so much like a prized possession. The painful sting of his brutal treatment of her hair, mixed with the extreme pleasure of feeling his cock fill her up, had brought out something in her she never knew existed. She likes it—the way he uses her, the way he makes her feel like some dirty little secret.

Lying amidst a circle of men, faces upwards, panting and spent, she could not help but feel triumphant. She did what she wanted to do and had taken all five of them. She did not waste a single moment, enjoying every bit of it. Her body was sticky from sweat and cum, telling of the carnality of their session. The bed beneath her was a tangled mess of rumpled sheets and discarded clothes, a battleground of pleasure.

The soft candlelight bathed the room in its gentle glow, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of sex, a heady perfume that seemed to cling to her skin. She felt odd, nearly at peace, her body sated but her mind racing with the memories of what had just transpired. What now, she wondered? Would they all just lie in this bed, basking in the afterglow of their depraved act? Or would they find themselves once again thrown into the battle, eager for more of what so willingly she had given to them?

Chris was the first to move, his hand tracing a lazy pattern across her back as he leaned in to press a soft, gentle kiss against her neck. "That was," he started, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find his words. "Amazing," Y/N supplied, her voice still husky from screams torn from her throat. He chuckled, low and warm. "Yeah," he agreed. "It really was."

The tension in the room began to break as the others stirred, their sated bodies moving lazily against the tangled sheets. Arthur Hill propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over her form. "You're something else," he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice. She couldn't help but preen under his praise; her cheeks hued with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "Thank you," she whispered, trying to find some further words and coming up empty.

Chris leaned down, his hand staying on the small of her back, and pressed a kiss against her cheek. "You're incredible," he said, gravitas in his tone. "We'll have to do this again." At just the threat of it, a thrill ran through her, excitement already building for another encounter with these men. "Definitely," she agreed, the smirk dancing around her lips.

The others stirred, starting to wake sated. Arthur Hill leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue slid against hers, tasting the last remnants of passion they'd shared. "I never get enough of you," he muttered, his voice heavy with lust. "Me neither," she whispered.

They shifted, their bodies resettling around her. It was clear that the night was really nowhere near over, as desire still gleamed brightly in their eyes. "What now?" Y/N asked, her voice imbibed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Now," Arthur Hill said, a roguish smile playing on his lips, "we make this a regular thing."

The idea of becoming their friends with benefits was exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of the five men she had just met, having unlimited access to her body, sent a thrill down her spine. But she couldn't run from the pull—the raw, primeval need they had awakened in her.

"We'll take good care of you," George assured her, his voice a husky purr of seduction. "You can always be our little slut to come to whenever you need it." And strangely enough, the thought of being the girl they ran to whenever they needed their sexual fix was reassuring in some odd way. It wasn't love, no, but it was something. It was passion and desire, raw and unfiltered.

ArthurTV chuckled, his hand stroking her thigh. "And we'll make sure you're always satisfied," he said, eyes gleaming mischievous. "You never have to beg for it again." The promise sent a thrill through her—the idea of having them at beck and call all the time was incredibly arousing.

Isaac leaned in, his already starting to harden again. "But for now," he said, his voice a gruff whisper, "I think we need to clean up." He slid off the bed, his cock glistening with mixed juices. "And then," he winked, "maybe round two?"

The others laughed; the spark of mischief danced in their eyes. Y/N couldn't help but feel the thrill of it, her body already begging for more. They helped her off the bed, the stickiness of the cum between her legs making her wobble just a little. Arthur Hill caught her, his arms strong and steady around her waist. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmured, leading her to the bathroom.

The warm water from the shower washed away the remnants of their encounter, embracing them with steam as they stood under the spray. The men took turns soaping her body, their gentle touches standing in stark contrast to the ferocity of their actions earlier. They were attentive to make sure she was clean and pampered; it touched her in a way she did not expect. It was as if they were reassuring her that, in spite of them taking her so thoroughly, she was very special.

They emerged from the shower, bodies shining and renewed. The bed was made afresh, with new candles in place and a bottle of champagne chilling on the bedside. "To us," ArthurTV toasted, his eyes locking with hers as he clinked his glass to hers. The bubbly liquid slid down her throat, the sweetness just right against the saltiness of their sweat and cum still in her mouth.

They lay entangled with each other in the clean sheets, their laughter filling the room thick with the odor of sex, sweet with this new bond. They talked and laughed, sharing stories and getting to know one another outside of the bedroom. It was a moment of companionship that she hadn't anticipated—a moment of happiness that she knew she would treasure.

What remained of the night had been a blur of hot kisses and soft touches, the odd bout of sex interrupting their talking. But what really stayed in her mind was the tenderness: the manner in which they had regarded her, the manner in which they had made her feel. This was a night she knew she'd never forget, one that changed her in ways she was only just beginning to fathom.

When morning finally broke, the men held her close, their arms wrapped warmly around her in protection and longing. Whispering sweet nothings into her ears, warm breath sent heat to her skin. There was a promise of times yet to come—a heady mix of excitement and anticipation left hanging in the air. Y/N closed her eyes, feeling more content than she had in a long time. For now, she had finally found a place she fit, molded in the arms of those five men who so thoroughly claimed her.

That night, they had spent reliving their story of how they met, but the story that was going to be truly theirs was only just now beginning, and as morning light spread over London, casting its golden rays over tangled limbs, Y/N knew she knew exactly where to find home. She was theirs, and happy to be so. The five of them had found that special something that superseded physicality: love. As they drifted to sleep, their hearts beating in unison, she knew she had found her place in life—the most unlikely of places.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx @amz824 @kneelforloki

#british youtubers #imagines #george clarkey #arthur hill #smut #italianbach #chris md #fivesome

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polarmoon · 10 months ago

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sim requests 🌙

this was fun! probably gonna do more if anyone's interested :) will probably make a note of it somewhere on my blog if requests are open or not in the future~

★ cc + dl under the cut

★ ruben ritchie for @headcavedin cc – none!

★ nicole "nic" cunningham for @thecutestgf cc – facekit, face overlay (included), lips, hair (tsr warning), freckles + body moles, eyebrows

★ arthur hayata for @cozylattesims (private dl) cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, eyebags, blush, hair, glasses, everyday top

★ kiran nischal for @treefish cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, blush, beard (emilio), hair, glasses, everyday top

★ macey holmes for anon cc – facekit, face overlay (included), blush, eyebags, eyelashes (maxis match v3), hair

★ daniel ortega for @peachiyuu cc – facekit, skintone, freckles, hair, eyebrows

they have all outfits set (plus some extras), bare bones likes/dislikes/turn on/offs, and some of them have sexuality and gender custom settings. feel free to change whatever you like except for nic's sexuality + gender settings, and kiran's top surgery scars!

note: all sims are pictured with my defaults, and a no ea eyelashes mod. they all use packs, though i tried to keep things as limited as possible (when specified not to use certain packs in the requests i didn't!). if anything gets replaced feel free to re-dress them! terms of use: don't reupload or claim as your own, otherwise do whatever u want!

📁 origin id: detectmagic make sure the “include custom content” box is ticked!

📁 tray files dl [sfs]

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 sims #ts4 sim download #simblr #dls #hope u guys enjoy! i had fun w these #my sims #ts4 cas

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joelsprettyprincess · 5 months ago

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Sharing is Caring

Pairing: Joel Miller + Arthur Morgan + Simon 'Ghost' Riley + John Price x f!reader Wordcount: 2k Tags: Extremely explicit smut, kind of dubcon (consent is assumed), oral, anal, piv (protected, for once), free-use, slight daddy kink, five(?)some, it's not poly they're just running a train on her. A/N: Okay. Um. Not sure what happened, I meant to write a little BLURB about this and it turned into a whole thing. Anyway..I tried to do it in a different style; it's kind of fragmented, instead of a proper story. Also this is very nasty. Like, REALLY nasty. I fear this is even more self-indulgent than my Dutch x reader fic, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway!! And MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!! FOCUS ON YOUR ALGEBRA HOMEWORK 😒

joel preps you a couple hours beforehand. takes you over the knee, and fingers you till you're blubbering and begging him to stopkeep going. he slowly stretches out both your holes with plenty of lube. once he's got you properly ready, he slides a cute bejeweled buttplug between your asscheeks to make it...easier, later on. the hot pink heart winks up at him.

he has you greet his friends with him at the door. you've never seen them before, but they know you. you and your pretty body, your soft lips, your ass that hides the curve of your cunt. oh, yes, they know you, courtesy of the souvenir photos joel takes when you're cockdrunk and passed out.

they file in, one by one, big hulking figures. arthur, the freelance artist, who's already eyeing your curves, barely hidden by the tiny skirt joel put you in. you try fruitlessly to pull it down as he passes by. next is simon, or ghost, as he tells you to call him. an ex-military man who's even bigger than joel, with eyes like a wolf. "you look good enough to eat," he tells you.

"later," joel promises.

last is john, who you actually have met before. occasionally, when joel is in the mood to share, he invites him over for some fun– the fun being you. you'd had his cock stuffed down your throat at least half a dozen times. "hello again, love," he greets you, patting your head. you smile bashfully, already starting to get wet (thanks to the aphrodisiac joel had slipped into your food earlier). he was always kind to you, even more than joel sometimes.

the men all sit on the L-shaped couch– there's a big game today, or something. joel sits you between him and john, while arthur and ghost sit on the other side. "get us a beer, honey," joel says. when you get up to fetch them, john slaps your ass as you walk by. the men chuckle when you squeak.

you collect 4 beers and carry them in your arms back to the living room. after distributing them, the men focus on the hockey game, but john won't leave you alone. he lets his large hand rest on your thigh, then creeps it closer to your fluttering cunt. you push it away, but it's only a few seconds before he's invading your space again. you whine quietly, and joel notices. "leave her alone," he chides. "all in good time."

joel leaves to use the bathroom, leaving you alone with 2 strangers and john. arthur immediately slides over. "joel's told us a lot about you," he says, giving you a smile that reveals a hint of his canines. "oh," you say wondrously. you wonder what he's said. you wonder how arthur's chest looks under his slightly too-tight shirt.

"you like living here with 'im?" he asks. "y'know, if he's treating you wrong you could stay with me." he chuckles. you shake your head. "i like it here," you tell him. "he does everything for me." now ghost is closing in, unashamedly staring at your breasts. "real cute outfit you got on," he comments. you feel self-conscious in your tiny black tank top and short pink skirt. "daddy picked it out for me," you explain, referring to joel.

just then, joel comes back, and scolds the men, who've surrounded you as if you're their prey. "get off her– I told you all in good time, didn't I?"

"we've barely got to see her, what with you and john squishing her," arthur complains. ghost nods in agreement. "come sit by us, sweetheart, let us have a look at you." you look at joel for permission, and he nods, sighing. you switch places, now sitting between arthur and ghost.

after a while the men start to talk, about sports, about their friends...about women. joel tells them all about how obedient you are, how it took no time at all to mold you into his perfect stupid fuckdollgirlfriend. your face grows hot and you smile at the floor, embarrassed. it's not helping that arthur's been kneading your breast for the last 10 minutes and your panties are becoming soaked.

by this time all the men except joel have downed 2 or 3 beers, and they're getting handsier. ghost has been tracing circles on your thigh, 'accidentally' letting his fingers go up your skirt and graze the edge of your panties.

the men all silently exchange glances, unseen by you, and abruptly stand up. arthur pulls you along to the dining room, where the table has been cleared off. only a thin blanket remains on it...wait, what? you squeal in surprise as arthur easily lifts you and places you face down, ass up on the table.

the men surround you with hungry looks on their faces. "now, gentlemen, let me remind you of the rules," joel speaks. "don't hog a hole, everyone will have a turn. clean yourself off if you're going ass to mouth. use a condom, she's not on the pill. and simon, I know how you are with anal. be gentle. in fact, all of you, don't hurt her too badly."

"i want her ass first," arthur announces, already pulling down his pants. he flips up your skirt, and inhales sharply when he sees the heart-shaped outline of your buttplug against your light blue panties. he makes short work of your panties, tugging at them so urgently that they rip and fall onto the blanket in tatters.

the rest of the men quickly pull off their pants as well, eager to claim a hole. it's a bit daunting, staring at three muscular men who are hellbent on taking their stress out on your poor holes. joel allows his guests to pick first– ghost rests his thick cock against your lips. your tongue instinctively darts out to get a taste, before you can stop yourself.

"i haven't had the pleasure of her cunt in weeks," john sighs. he elbows arthur out of the way, and the two of them tap and stroke their tips against your two tight holes. arthur slowly pulls out your buttplug, and you whine loudly at the stretch. your hole is left gaping, the perfect opportunity for him to slide in. you grip the table and moan into the blanket, keeping your legs opened as wide as possible to accommodate him.

john puts on a condom and easily slides into your pussy, sticky and sopping with your own arousal. tears prick at your fluttering eyes as the two men stuff you full of cock. you stick your tongue out, overcome with need.

ghost pushes your mouth onto his cock, and you start sucking like the tip is made of candy. joel stands to the side, grabs your hand, and uses it to pump his throbbing shaft.

"she's so fuckin' tight," arthur grunts out, barely even halfway in your ass. he's right, you're gripping his cock like you need it to survive. he places both hands on your asscheeks, stroking and slapping them as he slowly moves in and out. john's just beside him, thrusting into your tight sticky cunt– the sounds are driving him crazy. your slightly pained groans, the creamy schwelp schwelp of your pussy– oh, he missed this.

ghost is the first to cum. driven crazy by your tongue slurping every inch of his cock and the feel of your plush lips practically sealing it in your mouth, he holds you by the hair and jerks off till thick globs and ropes of cum land on your face. he puts his tip against your tongue and finishes his release there, leaving a big puddle which you promptly swallow.

soon after, arthur cums, spreading your cheeks and keeping them still while he dumps a hot, thick load in your ass. it leaks out even while he's still inside you, dripping down to your pussy. "fuck, honey..." he mutters, pulling out. he observes your winking hole, already getting hard again.

ghost takes his place. he barely stops to clean up arthur's mess; just wipes off the excess with a paper towel and pushes his once-again stiff cock in your ass. you cry out, still sensitive from the stretch of arthur before. arthur's cum oozes out of you with every thrust.

john is still jackhammering your pretty pussy, and he's close. he presses himself balls deep inside you, and you can feel his cock twitching as he cums inside the condom. it could be the aphrodisiac, but the thought of him possibly knocking you up makes you twice as wet. he pulls out and fingers your spasming cunt, encouraging you to cum. you whine and moan loudly as arthur, who's just finished cleaning off his cock, slides his shaft between your puffy lips. your eyes roll, and you cum hard, squirting on john's hand and on the blanket. you thrash your legs a bit as john refuses to let up, and keeps fingering your extremely sensitive pussy.

joel finally reaches his peak as well, shooting a thick rope onto your hand, then getting closer and glazing your already cum-covered face with even more. some of it gets in your hair, which he knows you hate. his cum oozes down your face, and you can feel it sliding down to your right eye. he and john switch places, with john making you cradle his balls, while joel whistles when he sees the mess that your pussy is. he's the only one that can go bareback, the only one that's able to cum inside you. and he intends on doing exactly that.

joel wastes no time and pushes into your still-recovering pussy, watching your slightly swollen lips automatically grip him. you're still sticky with arousal, and it coats his cock. "you love being passed around by daddy's friends?" he mutters, smacking your ass. "you want 'em all to have a turn in this sweet pussy?" you can't answer, as arthur's got his cock in your mouth. but you whine, and if the sound of your creamy pussy is any indicator, you love this.

the men all take turns in your various holes, dumping load after load in your ass, in your mouth, and on your face. only joel cums straight in your pussy, but the others make up for it by covering your body with their hot loads. you cum more times than you can count, and by the end, the air smells of lust and sweat.

after they've all been fully satisfied, then men step back and survey their handiwork. your face is completely covered with multiple loads that are dripping off your face. your right eye is closed; you're unable to open it because of the cum that joel deposited on your eyelid. your lips are pink and puffy, and your tongue hangs out, tired after coaxing so many loads out of the men.

your asscheeks are also glazed with cum, and even your back has some white ropes. your ass is gaping, with cum oozing out of it. several used condoms have been thrown haphazardly on your body, mostly on your back.

and finally, your poor pussy. though it had the least amount of cum, it had taken the most abuse; all of the men had bullied your cunt into multiple orgasms, and now there's a puddle of arousal underneath you. joel's cum leaks from between your pussy lips onto the blanket.

your head lays on the table– you don't have the strength to even look up anymore.

"fuckin' beautiful," john says quietly, and the men agree. they all clean themselves off and get redressed, then joel coaxes you off the table. you stumble, then right yourself. more cum oozes out of your ass onto the floor. "'s okay, c'mon," he says, holding you by your left hand– maybe the only place on your whole body that hasn't been glazed.

the men watch you leave. your ass jiggles a bit, and arthur sighs. "we've got to come back, and soon."

#joel miller #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #arthur morgan #john price #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #cod mw2 #john price x reader #arthur morgan x reader

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

Note

manifesting a snape spawn part three

🕯️🕯️🕯️

🕯️ 🕯️

🕯️

Your manifestation has worked! And I know I said in part 2 that it would only be three parts. I lied. I need at least another part for telling Harry. ❤︎

Thank you for all the love the Snape Spawn series has gotten so far ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Hope yall enjoy ❤︎

Snape Spawn iii

Sirius Black x Snape!reader

part one, part two, part four

5.2k words

cw: age gap!, Y/N, angst, fluff, duel injuries (burns, unconscious reader)

It got quiet around Grimmauld Place after the spring term started up. Fred and George took you up on your offer for advice via letters; you had gone with them to look at places in Diagon Alley and you thought it went well. You were excited for them. Once Arthur was doing better, he and Molly went back to the Burrow.

It was back to being mainly Remus and Sirius at Grimmauld Place. And you. Sirius told you that Remus put two and two together on Boxing Day. You weren’t sure how you felt about his reaction, despite it being exactly what you expected. Sirius was definitely much more relaxed about it than you were.

Sirius sat down with you in his room with you tucked under his arm, nestled up against his chest.

“Do you want to stop telling people for a little bit? Just leave it at Remus?” he asked, gently running his fingers up and down your arm.

“No, no. We said we’d start telling people,” you said with a soft sigh. “It’s just Professor Lupin.”

You could feel Sirius’ chest rumble as he chuckled.

“Professor Lupin. Pretty sure he’s asked you to stop calling him that.”

“He has.” You sighed more heavily. “It’s the same thing as before. He’s your closest friend and my former professor. His opinion matters.”

He hummed and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry about him. I love the man, but I also love you. He’ll come around.”

“I love you too,” you murmured into his chest.

Sirius pressed a kiss to the top of your head. One thing he really liked about Remus knowing was that you could sit like this in his room with the door open. There was less sneaking around. Although there was still sneaking when you wanted to spend time in your flat.

“Oi, people are coming over,” Remus’ voice came through the open door.

His body passed by the doorframe seconds later, not looking in. He moved quickly. Sirius groaned quietly as he lifted his arm away from you. You knew that there was an Order meeting. You just wished that you had more time under Sirius’ arm right now. He was warm and you were comfortable.

“Come on, he’s right,” Sirius said, moving off of his bed and offering you his hand.

“What if I said I’m comfy?”

“My bed will still be here after the meeting,” he said before leaning in to briefly kiss you and whisper, “Unless you want to skip the meeting and let everyone know that we’re together in one go.”

You practically jumped off his bed. “Right! Dad’s coming to this one and while I haven’t figured out how to tell him, that is not it.”

Sirius smirked and led you out of his room.

“Just an idea, love.”

You closed the door to Sirius’ room before following him down to the kitchen. Remus barely spared you two a glance.

“Tea?” he asked as he reached to grab a mug for himself.

“I’d love some,” you said, sitting down at the table next to Sirius.

Remus nodded and pulled down a second mug. You’d been over enough that Remus knew which tea you liked and how you took it. He placed the mug in front of you and sat on the other side of Sirius. You figured that was because he still felt weird seeing you and Sirius sit close together.

Slowly, members of the Order arrived at the house and filed into the kitchen. Tonks took her usual spot on your other side. You barely made eye contact with your father when he came into the room. You could feel his eyes watching you even after the meeting started, and it turned out to be more than his eyes. Once again he was trying to get into your brain. You took a deep breath and steadied yourself, emptying your brain. You focused on keeping Severus out of your thoughts and memories.

You nearly broke when Sirius looked at you. It was only a subtle side glance, but it told you that he noticed you tensed for no apparent reason. You took another breath and glared at your father, meeting his gaze. There was no emotion in his intense stare. You decided to up the game.

Then you weren’t sitting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, listening to Mad-Eye Moody talk about missions you weren’t involved in and the vague information gathered from them. No, you were looking at a younger version of your father. You recognized where you were. You, and younger Severus, were standing outside of the house where you spent a decent amount of time growing up: the house of the couple that watched you while Severus taught at Hogwarts. Severus stood just beyond the front lawn. He bounced on the balls of his feets, watching the house. You glanced between him and the house. Surely, you were inside with the people you called Auntie and Uncle.

You watched as Severus shook his head and turned away. He walked away. You pressed your lips together and felt something break inside of your chest. Your father had been debating coming to see you and he just didn’t. He walked away from you.

Just as suddenly as you appeared in front of the house in Hogsmeade, you were back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, between Tonks and Sirius. However, both you and your father had abruptly stood up with loud scraping noises as your chairs slid backwards.

“Y/N, Severus? Everything alright?” Shacklebolt asked.

The eyes of the room shifted between the two of you. You and Severus were having a new stare down and he looked furious at you.

“Am I, ahem, needed at this meeting? Or can I be excused?” you asked, breaking eye contact and looking toward Shacklebolt and Moody.

“You are needed,” Moody said. “You’re being assigned another mission.”

You sent another glare toward your father before sitting down and crossing your arms across your chest. Under the table, Sirius nudged your foot with his. You knew he was asking if you were okay, and you hated that you couldn’t reassure him right now, not with Moody’s eye in the room. Moody described the missions you were to be going on; you were to pair with Bill Weasley and Tonks. You’d be trying to get information out of people whose stances were unknown. You three were young enough to not have participated in the first war and you were lesser known among known Death Eaters.

Once the meeting was over, you disapparated. You felt horrible for leaving Sirius without saying bye, but you needed to get out of there. That memory you visited filled you with rage and hurt. Even if just to say hi, why hadn’t he gone inside? It could’ve been a short visit, but it would’ve been a visit. He rarely did that. If he had gone all that way, why did he turn around? Were you just not good enough for him? No, you knew you never were.

You paced around your flat until you felt like your legs were turning into jelly. But even with as exhausted as you were, sleep didn’t come easy and when it did, it wasn’t restful.

You started canvassing Diagon Alley with Bill. Whenever he had a break from Gringotts, he’d let you know so you could close up shop and help. Sometimes it was just watching as he talked to various people, or vice versa. You occasionally ventured down Knockturn Alley and a few of the other adjourning streets. The most that happened was you pointing out a man who you believed to be Mr. Nott; you told Bill that he had a son at Hogwarts that looked very similar. Bill turned you in a different direction so you didn’t run into him.

“Not someone to be taken on with just the two of us,” Bill whispered.

You frowned, but went along easily. Once again, you felt your dueling skills were being underestimated, but you knew it wasn’t a good idea to be starting duels in a shopping district, even if it was Knockturn Alley.

Your expedition with Tonks was more exciting. She had heard whispers about an underground animal auction happening and after running it by Moody, you were told to go. She’d be in disguise but you were good to go as is. You weren’t an employee of the ministry.

It wasn’t too difficult to find the auction grounds. You walked a bit through a dense forest, following seemingly meaningless ribbons tied to branches until you came across a clearing. There was a cloaking shield at the edge of it, but you and Tonks walked right in. It was bustling with people and cages; animal cries immediately filled the air. You and Tonks scanned the crowd. Nothing stood out to you. Tonk told you to find a seat and she’d catch up to you in a little bit. You watched her casually stroll up to a porky man with a clipboard in hand and a quill behind his ear. You gave the crowd another scan, unsure of where to go.

“Merlin’s bloody beard, is that Snape?” a family male voice called.

You turned and laughed. “Flint, what are the odds?”

Marcus walked toward you and pulled you into an uncomfortable hug. You hadn’t seen Marcus since school, and even then, you weren’t exceptionally close. That didn’t stop him from smiling at you and unabashedly checking you out.

“Haven’t seen you at one of these before. Looking for something?” he asked.

You shrugged. “You know how things are…” You glanced at the ground, smiled and picked something up. “If sellers are going to let perfectly good potion ingredients fall on the group, why shouldn’t I collect them?”

“Still doing potions then?”

“Got a shop in Diagon Alley. What about you?”

“Metal charmer by trade, little league quidditch official by hobby.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Some things never change, eh?”

“You here with anyone?”

“Yeah. Friend from a neighboring shop,” you said, pointing at Tonks.

However, instead of looking at Tonks, Marcus looked at your hand, grabbing it in awe. You were wearing the new gloves that Sirius got you; if you were to get into a duel, it would be on one of these missions you went on with Bill and Tonks.

He let out a low whistle. “No way you’re affording these by yourself.”

You snatched your hand back and gave Marcus a rather insulted look.

“Not that it matters, but they were a gift.”

“Someone must really like you.”

“Yeah. They do.”

You looked back at Tonks, seeing if you could make an excuse to leave Marcus. She was already making her way toward you. She had a sour look on her face.

“We’re leaving,” she said as soon as she reached you.

“Why? Bidding hasn’t started?” Marcus asked, looking between the two of you.

“We weren’t the only ones who heard about this,” Tonks said firmly, keeping her eyes on you.

You nodded, knowing what she meant. Death Eaters were coming and she somehow got that information out of the man with the clipboard.

“Course you're not,” Marcus said as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You tensed as his fingers curled around it. “That’s how auctions work. There needs to be more than one bidder.”

“Flint, it sounds like I’m leaving. It was good seeing you,” you said politely, but he held onto you with expected force.

“Stay. Come on. We should catch up.”

“Snape, we need to go.” There was more urgency in Tonks’ voice and you really didn’t like it.

“Marcus,” you warned.

You tried to take a step away from him, but it was too late. Figures in dark cloaks and masks started shoving their way through the crowd. They weren’t there to bid, but they were definitely leaving with the magical creatures. Marcus let go of your shoulder with shock on his face. He immediately ran toward where you assumed his friends were. You and Tonks exchanged a quick look before you both drew your wands and sent spells flying at the dark cloaks.

Those attending the auction to bid quickly disappeared into the forest. That made hitting your targets easier, but that also meant that the Death Eaters were getting a clearer view of who was hitting them. You saw a few Death Eaters stumble, fall over and cry out as spell after spell hit your targets. You haven’t had a good duel like this since school. It was exhilarating.

Then a red-orange burst hit you in the back and you fell forward. You couldn’t breathe. Your face hit the dirt and you couldn’t bring your arms up to break your fall nor push yourself up. From the heat you felt, you assumed it was some kind of altered fire curse. You could feel your body spasm. It hurt. It hurt so bad. You tried to scream out, but when you opened your mouth, there was no sound. Then it hit you that there was no sound. No light – you couldn’t see. And you couldn’t feel anything.

Was that it? Should you have tried to pull out of Marcus’ grip harder when Tonks told you that you needed to leave? Was this how you went out? Without a goodbye to Sirius?

---

“Remus!” Tonks shrieked as she apparated into Grimmauld Place with your more-or-less limp body. It spasmed periodically.

She thought you were doing exceptionally well being how out-numbered you were and that you didn’t have auror training. She hadn’t seen the spell that hit you, but she heard you fall. And when you stayed on the ground, she knew you had to get out of there.

Remus, Fleur and Bill came running out of the kitchen, and Sirius descended the stairs as fast as he could. Sirius had to grip the handrail to prevent himself from falling down the rest of the stairs when he saw your body. His breath hitched when he saw that you were wearing the glove.

Those were supposed to help.

“Bill, we’ll need Severus,” Remus said firmly to the ginger. “Let’s get her upstairs.”

Bill rushed to the nearest fireplace to contact Severus and then Dumbledore to explain why Severus needed to leave Hogwarts immediately. Remus and Fleur helped Tonks bring you upstairs. Tonks was sobbing as she recounted what happened. Remus assured her that she did the right thing.

“She’s alive?” Sirius croaked, standing in the door of one of the guest rooms, watching them lay you on the bed.

“I-I have no clue what spell hit her. She has a pulse,” Tonks managed to say weakly.

“It’s something. We’ll be able to do more once Snape gets here,” Remus said. “Watch her, will you?”

Sirius nodded, moving a chair in the room to be right next to the bed. Fleur took Tonks’ arm and helped her out of the room. It was very jarring for all of them to see Tonks like this; she was a bold and bright personality, an excellent auror and trained to keep her cool. Remus lingered in the guest room with Sirius for a minute. He watched his best friend’s sullen face. Remus turned away when he saw a tear run down the side of his face. He didn’t need to see Sirius like this. He didn’t want to see Sirius like this. Even if it was so bizarre for Remus to acknowledge, Sirius was happier when you were around. He acted more like a human rather than a shell of one.

And now you were laying in the closest thing to a hospital bed, unconscious and barely alive. But that was the important part: you were alive.

“He’s coming,” Bill told Remus when he came down the stairs. “Fleur’s getting Tonks a cup of tea, but she’ll need a calming draught. Albus… he didn’t want Snape to leave Hogwarts. Something about Umbridge.”

Remus closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s a nightmare, but it’s his goddamn daughter for Merlin’s sake. We need him here. She needs him here.”

“I told Albus that Snape already left. He left before I even told him everything.” Bill glanced at the door. “I expect he’ll be here any minute.”

The two men went to sit with Tonks and Fleur in the kitchen while they waited. Sirius, in order to convince himself that you were just sleeping, brushed your hair off of your face and took your gloves off. He held your hand and gently rubbed his thumbs over your knuckles. You’d be okay. You’d be okay. You’d be okay. You’d be okay. You’d be-

The front door opened. Remus stood up from the table in the kitchen. He had been sitting in a spot where he could see the front door. Severus and Remus didn’t exchange any words. They made eye contact and Remus pointed up. Severus didn’t nod. He showed no emotion as he silently turned and made his way to you.

Severus stood in the doorway when he found you. He wasn’t sure what was more shocking, disturbing even: you, laying motionless and eerily pale, or how Sirius was sitting with you, hunched over and rubbing your hand. After what felt like a few minutes, he entered the room.

“Make yourself useful and set up the potion station, Black,” he said coldly.

Not looking up from you, Sirius said, “It’s in the sitting room. There was never a point to put it away.”

Severus stepped toward the bed and glared at Sirius. “Get out. I need to examine her so I know what she needs.”

Sirius didn’t move. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave you alone with him. Yes, Severus was your father, but… No, Sirius didn’t want to leave you alone but it wasn’t because of Severus. It was all him. Sirius didn’t want to leave you alone. Period. Full stop. He looked at your face, somehow both peaceful and pained at the same time. Sirius knew he had to leave.

He stood up slowly and walked out of the room, not looking at Severus once. He debated going to his room. He could wait in there with the door open and listen for when Severus left your side so he could return. But then the front door opened again. Sirius let the sound direct him downstairs – he’d sit in the kitchen and hear what everyone else thought about the situation. He was met with Arthur and Molly in the entryway.

“Dumbledore called,” Arthur said, seeing Sirius.

“Is she upstairs?” Molly asked, looking up the stairs, and Sirius nodded.

Sirius and Arthur continued to the kitchen.

“Molly said something about a mother’s touch. Something no one in the house has,” Arthur said.

Sirius tried to chuckle, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He needed you to wake up and then he could smile and laugh again. Until then, he didn’t have that option. Remus watched Sirius reach for a whiskey glass.

“Padfoot, I’ll take a tea if you’re putting the kettle back on.”

Sirius stilled midmotion. He knew that Remus knew he wasn’t going for the kettle. At least, he wasn’t. Now that Remus said something, Sirius knew he had to. He nodded silently, put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs.

“Anyone else?”

“Might as well. Bill too,” Arthur said.

Two more mugs. They would all drink tea. While waiting for the kettle to be ready, Sirius moved cups to the table along with sugar and cream so everyone could make their cups as they liked. He needed to keep moving, keep himself distracted or he’d really want to reach for the whiskey again.

Molly stepped into the room where Severus was looking over you. He was tracing his wand along your limbs.

“What can I do to help?” she asked. Her voice was steady but kind. The way she asked the question said that it wasn’t really a question; she was going to help and things would be a lot better if he just told her what she could do.

Severus stood up straight, tucking his wand away. He wasn’t finished with his examination; he couldn’t tell for certain what spell was used on you. He rummaged through his brewing kit. He pulled out a small jar containing a rather basic soothing salve. He held it out for Molly.

“Apply this to all her burns. I need to start brewing.”

He hesitated in the doorway, giving you one last glance before heading to the sitting where Sirius said the potion station was. He silently got to work. As soon as he was out of the room, Molly did the same, taking the lip of the jar. The moment the salve touched your skin, it started to glow and seep into the burns. Molly was vaguely familiar with this salve. She had similar ones at the Burrow, ones specified for scrapes and cuts. She needed to adjust how you were laying so she could apply the salve to your back. She gently rolled you over and pulled your shirt up. The burns were horrible.

“I see where you got hit…” she muttered to herself.

She kept applying the salve until every burn was properly coated. Then she sat down in the chair. There was nothing more she could do until Severus came back.

Sirius kept glancing toward where they kept the whiskey. His cup had been sitting empty for a while now. Everyone else in the kitchen was more relaxed than him, engaging in conversation and offering to refill his cup. He shook his head each time. You were upstairs and only Remus truly knew how much it was killing him.

Everyone looked up when Molly entered the kitchen. She didn’t have to say anything to the room’s attention and her soft smile was a comfort to all of them before she even spoke.

“She’s awake. Severus is reassessing her.”

Tonks jumped up and left the kitchen immediately. They could hear her footsteps all the way until she reached your room. Remus gave Sirius a warning look; he didn’t need Sirius barging into the room while Tonks was talking to you and possibly with Severus still in there too.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, not caring that Severus was looking over your arm.

You gave her a weak smile. “Like a dragon roasted me.”

“That seems about right,” Tonks said with a weak chuckle.

She sat down in the chair and let Severus continue to look you over.

“You know, Y/N, you’re kind of wasted in your apothecary,” she said.

“Am I?”

“Wicked duelist. If only there had been less of them… more of us… something.” Tonks choked up briefly. “You wouldn’t be like… this.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said with a slight laugh slipping through your lips, which had you suddenly gripping your side as pain radiated from that spot.

“Sit still,” your father snapped.

You rolled your eyes and Tonks smiled at you slyly. You were still yourself. That’s what mattered. But you listened to Severus; you tried your best to sit still.

“So what happened?” you asked.

“I was talking to that guy, Watson, getting a feel for the auction. Sketchy. Unregulated. Undocumented. I could see you talking to some guy.”

“Marcus Flint. I went to school with him.”

Severus humphed. You didn’t know what he thought of Marcus and you didn’t really care. You didn’t like Marcus all that much so why would it matter?

“Then I heard someone say the Carrows were arriving soon. And Rowle, Yaxley, Macnair were all thrown around. It was too many. We couldn’t take them on.”

You nodded.

“But that boy wouldn’t let go of you until it was too late and we couldn’t just leave. I think we created enough of a diversion that some people were able to escape, but then you got hit. I didn’t see by what or who. Not with their bloody masks. I… I couldn’t let you just lie there. I got us out of there, and well, now we’re here.”

Severus walked out of the room without saying anything. You had no idea if it was because of his ties to Death Eaters or if he had to go brew something else for you. You winced as you tried to sit up.

“No, stay laying down,” Tonks said firmly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I’ll be fine-” you started to say, wanting to say more but she cut you off again.

“Yes. You will be fine. If you stay lying down and let us take care of you.”

You groaned as you adjusted the blanket around yourself.

“Thank you. For getting me here.”

Tonks nodded and reached out to squeeze your hand. She sat there for a few more minutes with you before getting up. Shortly after she left, Remus and Sirius came in. Sirius immediately took his spot in the chair and Remus leaned against the wall just off to the side.

“You’re alive,” Sirius said softly.

“Yeah, I am,” you breathed.

The two of you just stared at each other for a little bit. Sirius had such a soft expression; you had that effect on him. You were glad that you were alive and you were glad that Sirius was here for you. If you weren’t bedridden, you’d be hugging him.

“Y/N, do you need anything?” Remus asked.

Like everyone else, he was glad you were going to be okay. He felt that he didn’t need to be in the room with you and Sirius if you were trying to have a moment. You were adults. You didn’t need him acting as a chaperone.

“I’m alright, Remus. Thank you,” you said with a weak smile.

He nodded and left the room, heading back to the kitchen. Sirius moved some of your hair out of your face again, letting his fingers gently trace down your cheek before coming to rest on top of your hand.

“I haven’t been scared like that in years,” Sirius said.

“There weren’t supposed to be Death Eaters there.”

“I know.”

“Some idiot I went to school stopped us from leaving.”

“You might’ve saved some lives.”

“Felt good to be in the action… Until…”

Sirius chuckled softly, rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hand.

“That tends to be how it goes, Icarus.”

“There weren’t supposed to be Death Eaters there,” you repeated. “If they hadn’t appeared, we would’ve been-”

“You would’ve been okay. And you saw Tonks already. She’s okay.” Sirius leaned forward so he could press a kiss to your hand without moving you too much. “And you will be okay. Just don’t expect to be going back to your flat until you are.”

“Remus going to make me sleep in here?”

“There’s a possibility.”

You sighed. “But it’s not as comfortable as yours.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn my parents got better beds for guests than me and Regulus.”

“The mattress is fine, I suppose,” you said, wiggling your body slightly. “But it’s missing you.”

Sirius leaned forward again and kissed your forehead before whispering, “We’ll see who’s all staying here tonight, hmm? Maybe Padfoot can keep you company.”

You grinned. That would suffice.

However your happiness was short-lived as someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Severus.

“Black, don’t make me tell you to leave this room again.”

Once again, Sirius was slow to move at your father’s request. And once again, he didn’t want to leave you. You’re awake. He didn’t want to leave your side until you’re feeling better. He looked at you and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll be okay?” he whispered and you nodded.

At that, he stood up and left the room. Severus closed the door to the room and then handed you a tall glass of a thick purple liquid that smelled like bubotuber pus.

“Drink.”

“Obviously,” you said dryly. You tipped the cup up and the liquid slid down the glass like sludge. It tasted like bubotuber pus. You gagged, setting the empty cup on the bedside table.

“You need to rest. I’ll make more. You’ll need to drink it every evening for a week.”

You didn’t say anything. Severus left you alone in the room, closing the door behind him again. This time, Sirius had gone to his room rather than the kitchen. He fully intended on sitting with you again once Severus left the room so when he heard the door open and close, he left his room. He wasn’t expecting Severus to be waiting for him.

“Black. Stay away from my daughter. She doesn’t need to be corrupted by scum like you,” Severus hissed. The words burned as they left his mouth. They were words he never imagined having to say to a former classmate.

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, Snivvy,” Sirius said.

“Once she is healed, she goes back to her flat and you’ll keep your goddamn distance.”

“And what if she comes back here?” Sirius crossed his arms over his chest. He knew full well that you wouldn’t stay away from him if your father asked.

“It’ll be for meetings and meetings alone.”

Sirius smirked. “She comes ‘round here more often than we have meetings.”

“Whatever friendship you think you have with her, it’s over.”

“Dearest Snivellus, it’s not a friendship. It’s a relationship.” He took a step closer to Severus. “A courtship.” Another step. “A partnership.” Another step. “And I love her, so no, I won’t be staying away from her.”

Severus spat in Sirius’ face. “If you lay a hand on her, I will personally tell the dementors where you are.”

Sirius wiped the spit from his face, preparing a retort, but Severus had already turned and disappeared into the sitting room with a slammed door. He pressed his lips together. While that could’ve gone much worse, it probably would’ve been a hell of a lot better if it had been you telling Severus about the relationship. Two out of three people you were worried about knowing of the relationship, Sirius had told and both hadn’t gone great.

Sirius rubbed at his face again, trying to dry it off a bit more. Then he went back to your room and closed the door behind him.

“I heard,” you said, scooting over on the bed just enough so that Sirius could sit next to you. “I’ll try to talk him down… eventually.”

“Dumbledore won’t let him turn me into the dementors. Especially as long as I stay here, glorious, glorious headquarters.”

Still laying down, you wrapped your arms around Sirius’ waist and rested your cheek on his thigh. He absentmindedly started playing with your hair.

“And that leaves Harry…”

“My godson will want me to be happy. You make me happy.”

“I’m the daughter of his least favorite professor.”

“And the lovely girlfriend of his godfather. Whatever he thinks, just like Remus, won’t change how I feel about you. And on the bright side, I think Remus is coming around. Told you it takes time.”

You hummed. Your eyelids fluttered shut and it didn’t take long until you were asleep. Sirius waved his hand to dim the lights to help you rest. He hoped no one would come in and bother you, especially Severus given his threat and Sirius immediately ignoring it. No one did come in and you got your wish of Sirius staying the night with you.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007, @c0ldstvff, @corawithfanfiction

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #request #snape!reader

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dippindaz · 2 months ago

Text

Saints, Sinners, and Sleepwalkers | Kit Walker x Reader

Series Masterlist Here

8.3k words

Expect Disturbing Themes

Chapter 1: Curiosity is the First Cut

📄 Briarcliff Records (October, 1961 – Last Updated March, 1962)

Patient Name: [REDACTED] Alias: “Lady Reverie” Date of Admission: October 13th, 1961 Age: Estimated mid-to-late 20s

Recent Addendum – March 2nd, 1962

Staff Observations: Patient demonstrates increased periods of lucidity during waking hours. Fugue states have decreased in frequency, though still present. Shows consistent protective behavior toward fellow patient “Pepper.” Frequently observed intervening when Pepper is distressed or targeted by others. Speech still fragmented. Instances of poetic or metaphorical language remain, but content appears more focused. Nighttime episodes remain.

Religious Staff Note: Unnatural contortions and trance-like movements continue to be interpreted as signs of possible spiritual unrest. The Chaplain’s previous request for private prayer sessions has been approved by administration and is currently awaiting formal scheduling. Staff advised to document any further episodes of religious speech or behavior. – Schedule with Father Howard by end of month?

Attending Staff: Dr. Arthur Arden Dr. Thredson: Pending evaluation

The air in Sister Jude’s office always smelled faintly of smoke and floor polish. Clinical, but not quite clean. Dr. Oliver Thredson folded his hands neatly in his lap as she spoke, nodding with a tight-lipped expression that suggested agreement, though his mind was already two thoughts ahead.

“She’s not violent,” Jude was saying, thumbing through a thin, dog-eared file. “Not like some of the others. But she’s off. Unsettling.”

“Off?” Thredson echoed politely, already glancing toward the open folder.

“Former sideshow performer. Calls herself Lady Reverie—or did, once. Now she mostly doesn’t talk. Spends most of her time sleepwalking through the halls or twisting herself into a knot under her cot.”

Jude slid the folder toward him.

“She speaks in verse sometimes,” Jude added dryly, lighting a cigarette. “When she speaks at all.”

Thredson scanned the top sheet. Hysteria. Catatonia. Fugue states. A tangle of diagnoses from facilities that probably hadn’t known what to do with her, so they’d passed her along like a cursed relic.

“And yet,” he murmured, mostly to himself, “she still moves.”

He tapped a finger against a line about her nightly contortions. A kind of sleep-dancing. Bodies remembered what the mind forgot. He’d read about cases like this in med school. But none had the strange poetry that trailed behind this one like a ghost.

“She doesn’t cause trouble,” Jude said again, but with that pinched tone she used for anything that bothered her even if it didn’t break the rules. “But she’s magnetic. You’ll see. Other patients are drawn to her like sheep to a wolf with lipstick. That’s the problem.”

Thredson smiled faintly. “Or perhaps… like sheep to a shepherd.”

Jude’s eyes narrowed, cigarette paused just before her lips. “You planning to take a particular interest in her?”

“I plan to observe,” he said smoothly. “That’s all. She’s an intriguing case. And since she’s begun interacting more frequently with the Pinhead girl—”

“Pepper,” Jude corrected, grimacing.

“—Yes. Pepper. Since then, her file notes fewer fugue episodes. That shift alone is worth understanding.”

Jude took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaled toward the window.

“Do what you want,” she muttered. “But don’t come crying to me when she starts climbing the walls and speaking in tongues. Arden says she’s half demon already.”

“Then perhaps it’s time someone asked which half.”

He stood and collected the folder, careful not to show how eager he really was. His fingers itched to open it again. To dissect each phrase. The mind was a map, and she was already presenting the most intriguing detour Briarcliff had offered yet.

Down the hall, the metal doors to Occupational Therapy clicked open.

He would only observe. Quietly. Briefly. Harmlessly.

For now.

They’d put you and Pepper at the same table again. Not out of kindness—just rotation. A shuffle of patients to avoid patterns, they said. But for once, it worked in your favor.

She greeted you with a squeal and a flurry of excited hand-flapping, nearly knocking over the tray of beads the orderly dumped between you. You caught the tray before it spilled, and she beamed like you’d just pulled a rabbit from a hat.

“Twiiirly,” she whispered in sing-song, dragging out the word like it was a secret spell.

You said nothing. Just smiled—small, careful—and nudged a pink bead her way. She gasped, delighted.

It was quiet enough, at first. Just the clink of beads and buttons. The soft rustle of fabric and the faint wheeze of the radiators pushing against another cold morning.

You let yourself watch her. Counted the rhythm of her fingers sorting colors. Matched your breathing to her little hums. She made it easier to be here. She made you easier to be here.

Then something shifted. The sound of shoes—too crisp. Too new. Someone watching.

You didn’t look up right away, but the hairs on your arms prickled. Staff changed often. You didn’t recognize this one.

A clipboard scratched against a sleeve. A murmur between two men. The rustle of papers. You felt it—not like threat, exactly. But like someone testing the weight of a door they might one day unlock.

You moved closer to Pepper. Just a fraction. Her knee bumped yours, and she looked at you with wide, steady trust.

You turned back to the beads. Threaded one. Then another.

Still here. Still with her.

The clink of beads slowed. Across the room, a nurse glanced at her clipboard, then began calling names—one by one, slowly peeling people away like petals off a dying flower.

“Time’s up,” she said flatly. “Sort yourselves out.”

Pepper frowned at her half-finished bracelet, lip wobbling just enough to tug something deep in your chest. You reached over and touched the back of her hand.

“Hey,” you murmured, soft but certain. “We’ll finish it later. I promise.”

Her eyes lifted to yours. You watched her search your face, looking for cracks. You gave her your best smile—even if it didn’t feel like it belonged to you. It worked. She nodded, the way children do when they decide to believe in something.

“No forgetting!”

“I won’t,” you said. “I’m still here, remember?”

She giggled like it was a joke. To her, maybe it was. But around her, you were more awake than you’d ever been since the show disbanded.

You hate it. But you care for her more.

You stood from your chair, offering Pepper one last smile, just as an orderly entered the room. He called your name. You followed without a word, leaving the faint scent of glue and yarn behind. The halls stretched longer than usual, walls tilting ever so slightly inward. Fluorescent lights flickered like they were trying to blink something away.

You didn’t ask where you were going. You never did.

The hydrotherapy room was colder today.

Not by degrees—by feeling. Like the air itself didn’t want you there.

The tub loomed where it always did: claw-footed, rust-kissed, bolted to cracked tiles like an altar made for silence. The water was already waiting—cloudy, off-color. You didn’t want to know what was in it.

The orderly didn’t speak. Just walked you to the tub and began unfastening your gown. The buttons came undone one by one, each tiny pop echoing off the tile like distant thunder. You stared at the grout between floor tiles and tried to stay inside your body.

It didn’t work.

When you stepped out of the gown, you didn’t feel the chill. Your skin did, but you were watching from somewhere behind your own eyes.

Lowered into the tub, your limbs folded like paper. Your back met the basin and the cold climbed in. Restraints clicked shut at your wrists and ankles.

You didn’t fight. You never did.

The water lapped gently at your collarbones. You stared at the ceiling.

Dirt.

Your fingers were in the dirt, kneeling under a sky you couldn’t see. Someone was behind you. Close, but not touching.

"You're always doing that,” a voice said. Soft, amused. Jimmy.

You didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to. You could feel the warmth of him at your back. His presence curled around your shoulders like an old coat.

“Does it mean something?” he asked, crouching beside you.

You shrugged.

“I like it,” he added after a moment. “The circles. Looks like you're making little worlds.”

You traced another loop, slower this time. His hand rested lightly against your spine—warm, grounding. You hadn’t realized how cold you were.

“Maybe I am,” you murmured. You liked the idea of that. Building something. Even if you couldn’t stay in it.

Then the water shifted. Real again. Heavy.

Jimmy was gone.

You were trembling. Bound. Alone.

Your fingers wouldn’t stop twitching.

The restraints came off slower than they went on. The water lapped around your ribs as the orderly muttered something you didn’t hear. You stepped out of the tub, dripping, the floor cold against your feet. He handed you a threadbare towel that didn’t quite reach your knees.

You dried off on instinct. One hand. Then the other. The order in it made your body feel real again.

Your gown was returned to you, slightly damp at the collar. They never waited for you to be fully dry. By the time you were dressed, the chill had settled in your bones.

No words were exchanged. Just a nod. A hand on your back.

The hallway stretched out like something hollowed. You walked it anyway. You always did. Flickering lights. White tile. Turn left, then right.

They didn’t send you back to your room.

“Common room,” the orderly said, jerking his chin toward the double doors.

You didn’t respond. Just walked through them.

The common room was already half-filled. Two patients were locked in a quiet argument by the window. A woman in a fraying nightgown tore pages from a magazine, stacking them neatly on the floor. The same old music playing on repeat.

You looked for Pepper. But you knew she wasn’t here.

You made your way to your usual chair—near the old bookshelf where the encyclopedias were out of order. You sat.

Folded your hands in your lap. Breathed in. Out.

Still damp. Still here.

The low drone of voices filled the room like fog. You let it settle over you. Let it blur the edges just a little—but not too far. Not now. Not yet.

You stared at the rip in your sleeve and counted the stitches until they stopped meaning numbers.

Then switched to counting the flickers of the light above you. Two. Pause. One. Long pause. Then three. You weren’t sure if it had always done that or if you just noticed today.

Then—

Bang.

The hallway door slammed open, loud and fast like it was kicked. You flinched.

A voice—male, raw with panic—echoed in the corridor. “Get your hands off me! I didn’t do anything!”

Footsteps. Two, maybe three sets. Struggling. A thud against the wall. Metal clattered. Someone swore.

You didn’t move. Not really. Just turned your head slightly, like it was someone else’s.

“Another one,” a nurse murmured at the desk.

“Not just anyone,” someone else answered, voice low and tight. “He’s one of them. From the Bloody Face case.”

“No kidding. Thought he’d get the chair.”

“Should’ve. But not yet.”

Their voices drifted off into the rhythm of the day.

The footsteps faded. So did the struggle. A moment later, the common room returned to its usual static rhythm. Cups stacked. Pieces moved. The TV buzzed on.

But something in your chest had changed. Like a key had turned inside you.

Not enough to unlock anything.

But just enough to click.

You looked toward the hallway, where the noise had come from. Nothing there now. Just the closed door.

You didn’t know why it stuck with you.

But it did.

The voices had stopped. The hallway was quiet again. But your thoughts moved differently now—like something had shifted them off their usual tracks. You couldn't name the feeling, exactly. Not fear. Not curiosity. Just… a pressure. A presence. Like someone had walked across your grave and kept going.

Your eyes conveyed your sudden restlessness more than any other part of you. They flitted around the room, as if trying to figure out why your heart was beating a little harder.

Eventually, the bell rang.

Not a real bell—just the old, wheezing chime they used when it was time to shuffle patients from one part of the ward to the next. You’d learned its pitch months ago. Lunch.

Everyone stood in slow ripples. Chairs scraped. Slippers scuffed tile. The usual drift toward the door began.

You stood last.

Not out of rebellion. Just habit.

It gave you time to brush a hand over the carved eye on your chair’s armrest, a ritual you hadn’t bothered to question in weeks. Or maybe months. You weren’t sure.

The hallway was brighter now, though it still hummed too loud. You filed in with the others, trailing just behind a woman who whispered prayers under her breath. You didn’t listen to the words—just the cadence.

Orderlies and nurses led and followed you all to the lunchroom.

Lunch meant noise. Trays. Smells. A hundred kinds of presence pressing down on you at once.

You didn’t mind the blandness of the food anymore. You didn’t taste it, anyway.

Lunch was already halfway served. You sat where you always did—second row from the wall, three seats down from the cart with the chipped plastic utensils.

You didn’t look up when the nurse came by. You didn’t have to. Your tray was always placed in front of you, always the same way—lukewarm, grayish food and a paper cup of water that tasted like rust.

But today—

A pause.

A tray dropped beside yours.

“You’re sitting here,” came the nurse’s voice, brisk, not unkind. Then the tap of her shoes retreating. You felt it before you saw it. The change. A new weight beside you, unfamiliar and too alive.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Someone new.

You didn’t remember most here, but you were sure you’d recognize him.

Messy hair, a scrape darkening on his cheekbone, hands clenched too tight around the edges of his tray like he might bolt or throw it. His eyes met yours.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did you.

Something cracked—just a hairline fracture in the surface of your stillness. Not recognition. Not quite. But a pull.

He opened his mouth, maybe to say something, maybe not.

Nothing came out.

You blinked.

He sat down.

The room carried on around you. Chatter, trays scraping, the clink of plastic forks.

But at your little corner of the table, time hung different.

Something had arrived.

The two of you ate in silence.

You peeled your bread roll slowly, piece by piece, pressing crumbs into your palm without noticing. The man barely touched his food. His spoon clinked once against the bowl of something that used to be soup, then stilled.

He kept glancing your way—quick, uncertain flicks of the eyes, like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just another one of this place’s ghosts.

You didn’t meet his gaze. But you didn’t turn away, either.

A long moment passed.

Then, softly—like he was testing the weight of his own voice—he said, “Is it always so… quiet in here?”

His words surprised you. Not what he said, but that he said anything at all. Like no one had told him you weren’t… you. Maybe he didn’t care. That would change.

You looked up again.

His eyes were tired. But kind.

He waited.

You blinked.

It had been a long time since anyone asked you a question like they expected you to answer. Like you were still someone who did that sort of thing. Did you know how?

Your lips parted. Then closed again. You looked at your tray—at the pale mush congealing at the edges, at your own trembling fingers.

“…Usually,” you said, voice small and grainy, like a sound unused to daylight.

He nodded, like you’d said something important. Like you’d given more than just a word.

He nodded a little, like her answer confirmed something for him.

Then, after a moment spent fiddling with his spoon, he said, “I’m Kit.” Not loud. Not proud. Just simple. Honest. Like maybe he wasn’t sure it would matter.

Your eyes flicked to him again, slower this time.

“…Hi.”

That was all. Just that one syllable. But you met his gaze when you said it.

And it was enough.

He smiled, just barely.

You looked away first.

Not out of shyness—but something closer to habit. The quiet had become armor. And this new voice, this boy with soft eyes and scuffed knuckles, had cracked it just by looking at you like you were still there.

You risked a glance across the room.

Pepper sat hunched over her tray, but her eyes were on you. Not on the food. Not on the noise behind her. On you.

She smiled. Big and goofy and proud—like she’d known this would happen. Like maybe she’d waited for it.

Kit followed your gaze.

“She your friend?” he asked gently.

You gave the tiniest nod.

He smiled. “You always this quiet?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

The truth sat somewhere between the past and whatever you were now. You’d always been quiet, yes. But not like this. Not the kind of quiet that made your voice strange in your own throat. Not the kind that made people forget you were there.

“…I wasn’t,” you said finally.

And that was true enough for now.

Kit didn’t press. Just nodded, like he understood something unsaid.

The rest of lunch passed in soft sounds—metal against trays, the occasional mutter or clatter. You picked at your food, not out of hunger but habit. He did the same, though he seemed more focused on you than the plate in front of him.

You didn’t speak again.

But you didn’t leave the table either.

For now, that felt like something.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t heavy. If anything, it felt… okay..

You took another bite of whatever passed for lunch. Warm, beige, unmemorable. He did the same. The clatter and clink of trays filled the space around you, but in your corner, the world felt muffled.

Then—

A hand closed around your upper arm. Not hard, not cruel—but firm. Familiar.

An orderly. Already turning you away from the table before he spoke.

“Time to go.”

No name. No explanation. No need.

You didn’t resist. You never did.

The spoon slipped from your hand with a quiet clink against plastic as you rose, letting yourself be steered out of the cafeteria.

You didn’t look back.

But you could feel them.

Pepper’s worry. Kit’s confusion.

Their eyes followed you out the lunchroom.

The hallway to Arden’s lab always felt colder than the others. Colder than hydrotherapy, even. Not the biting cold of water—but dry, bone-humming cold, like the air didn’t want to be breathed.

The orderly said nothing as he guided you through the narrow corridor. You knew the path by heart: left at the supply closet, past the small window covered in wire mesh, take a right, down two more doors and—

There.

The one with no label. Just a thin slit of light beneath it.

The orderly knocked once, didn’t wait for an answer, and opened the door.

Inside, it smelled of iron and rubbing alcohol. Too clean, in a way that made your stomach twist. Nothing ever smelled like that unless something wrong had happened—and been wiped away.

Dr. Arden stood at the far end of the room, already in his coat, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He didn’t look up right away. He never did.

“Leave her,” he said.

The orderly let go of your arm. The door clicked shut behind you.

You stood there. Still.

Arden glanced at you finally. His eyes were pale, washed out, like something left too long in the sun. He wrote something on a clipboard without speaking, then motioned toward the exam chair in the center of the room.

You walked.

The exam chair was hard. Cold. Designed more for compliance than comfort. The light above you buzzed faintly, flickering at the edges. Arden circled behind you, and for a moment, the only sound was the rustle of paper and the metallic squeak of his instruments.

He began his routine.

Blood pressure. Pupil dilation. Reflexes. Cold metal pressing against your skin.

His hands were always precise. Too careful. He touched you like you were a machine—one he didn’t trust, but was obsessed with keeping in working order. You learned not to flinch.

“You’ve been more alert lately,” he said, voice neutral. “More present.”

He tapped the edge of your knee. Your leg twitched.

“And yet, the dissociative episodes continue.”

He didn’t ask. He never asked. Just wrote.

Something clinked into a tray behind you.

“How fortunate,” he murmured. “To study such phenomena in real time.”

He adjusted the angle of your head.

“And your flexibility—still intact, I assume?”

You said nothing.

He smiled—just barely. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ll show me, of course.”

He said it like fact.

Like order.

The silence stretched thin and sharp between you, vibrating like wire.

You didn’t blink. Still here.

But shrinking, inside yourself.

Like a knot pulled tighter, tighter, tighter.

Arden turned away again, scribbling. Something about the way he moved made you feel smaller. Dissected.

He hadn’t touched you improperly. Not today. Not yet. But he looked at you like he was waiting for permission. Or for the rules to change.

They always changed here.

Eventually.

Arden set his clipboard aside. “Stand.”

You obey.

With clinical slowness, he stepped behind you once more. You heard the snap of gloves. The slide of a drawer.

Then the rustle of fabric.

Your gown.

His fingers were at the back, unfastening the buttons one by one. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just methodical.

“You’ll be cooperative,” he said quietly. Not a threat. Not a request. Just… truth, as he saw it.

The gown slipped from your shoulders. Cold air touched your spine like ice. You had never been more grateful for the cotton underwear given to you by the asylum.

“You’ve done this before,” he added. “Hundreds of times, if I had to guess.”

He guided your arm upward, not roughly, but firmly—stretching it behind your head, elbow bent at a sharp angle.

“Hold.”

You did.

His hand adjusted your wrist with the kind of care one might use for taxidermy. Fingers precisely positioned. Palm facing the ceiling. He circled you, pausing to examine the lines your body made.

Click.

A camera. Somewhere behind you. No flash. Just the heavy mechanical sound of the shutter.

He didn’t tell you he was going to take a picture.

He didn’t tell you anything.

“You’ve trained your body to obey,” he said absently, scribbling something down. “Even when your mind… detaches.”

He tilted your chin next. Pulled the opposite arm forward. Bent it across your stomach in a shape you recognized from your old acts. One of the more graceful ones.

You held the position. Not for him. For survival.

Click.

You stared at the ceiling. Counted the cracks. The stains in the paint. Pretended your body was only light and muscle. A shadow someone else was wearing.

“Backbend,” he said simply.

You hesitated—only a fraction.

A mistake.

His fingers wrapped your bicep. Not cruel, but possessive. Steady.

“You’re not here to perform,” he said, his voice dipping. “You’re here to be studied. And I expect consistency.”

Your breath caught as you shifted. Let yourself fold backward. Spine curved. Chest stretched open.

Vulnerable.

Click.

You stared upside-down at the far wall, heart climbing your throat.

Arden moved closer.

You felt the shape of his gaze—how it narrowed, intensified. How it settled at your sternum like a weight.

“Fascinating,” he muttered. “Even now… the body remembers.”

A touch—flat, clinical, palm to your ribs. He counted your breaths. Said nothing as you trembled.

Still here. Still here. Still here.

But the knot inside you pulled tighter.

And his hand didn’t move.

Arden’s hand trailed lower.

Not hurried. Not hesitant.

From your ribs, down the line of your waist, across your hip. Gloved fingers pressing into the muscle—not groping, but measuring. As if your body were an anatomical model he’d memorized long ago and was now checking for inconsistencies.

He stopped at your thigh.

“Too tense,” he muttered.

His hand adjusted your leg—lifted and rotated it outward, forcing your pelvis to tilt with the movement. Then the other. Folding you inward now, one knee drawn up, one stretched behind, your spine curving into a twist.

A contortionist’s pose.

One you hadn’t used in years.

Click.

The sound made you flinch.

He didn’t notice. Or he didn’t care.

“Muscle memory is remarkable,” he said, more to himself than to you. “It outlasts the mind. Outlasts trauma. Even obedience can be learned in the tissue.”

He stepped back again, examining you like a specimen pinned beneath glass. Something in his expression flickered—not quite desire. Not admiration. Something colder. Sharper.

Something hungry.

“You’ve always made yourself small,” he murmured. “Even now. Tucked into yourself like a prayer.”

He crouched beside you, adjusting the angle of your wrist again. His face too close. His breath smelled like old metal and antiseptic.

“Tell me,” he said softly, as he reached to place your chin just so. “Do you even remember why you do this?”

Click.

The silence after the shutter was deafening.

The final click echoed through the room.

And then—nothing.

Just the hum of the overhead light. The shallow rasp of your own breathing. The drag of Arden’s shoes against the linoleum as he moved back to his tray.

Without the shutter snapping you back, the world started to tilt.

Colors dulled. The cold beneath you seeped deeper into your skin, heavy and anchorless. The sharp edge of awareness—the one you fought to keep—wavered like a candle about to gutter out.

Arden’s voice slipped around you, muffled at the edges.

“Fascinating,” he said, almost tenderly. "The body's betrayal of the mind. The mind's betrayal of itself."

His words were shapes you barely recognized.

Your body stayed folded where he had put it, obedient even in absence.

You felt his hand reposition your arm again—soft, impersonal. Heard the scratch of pen against paper. Distant. Harmless.

You weren't here anymore, not fully.

Not in this room. Not in this body.

Somewhere safer. Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere he couldn’t reach.

At least for now.

You drifted.

No time. No place. No you.

When the world stitched itself back together, you were standing.

The rough brush of hands tugged at your gown—rebuttoning, fixing. An orderly’s hands, not Arden’s. The metal tray and instruments blurred into the edges of your vision.

“Move along.” The orderly muttered.

Your legs obeyed before you understood the command. Out the door, into the hall, the cold trailing you like smoke.

Somewhere above, thunder grumbled low across the ceiling. The storm had rolled in.

No outdoor time today.

The halls veered left instead of right, leading you back toward the common room.

The common room smelled like bleach and wet wool.

The orderly shoved you inside without ceremony. You stumbled a step, caught yourself, and blinked against the low gray light.

First thing—you looked for Pepper. You always did.

But the corner where she usually sat was empty. No hunched figure, no wild hands playing with whatever they grabbed first. Just a scuffed floor and a humming radiator.

You drifted toward the old bookshelf instead.

You didn’t remember sitting. One moment you were moving, the next, the cracked vinyl chair creaked under you. Your fingers brushed the armrests out of habit, tracing the worn edge where the material had split open years ago.

The music looped, faint and staticky, from the record player shoved against the far wall. The same song that always played. You didn’t remember what it was about, if you ever even knew. It blended into the background long ago.

You stared at the dust haloed around your shoes.

The door creaked again.

Someone new. A shuffle of boots and cuffs and a sharp, questioning voice. A familiar one. Kit.

You didn’t look up—not yet—but you felt him move across the room, a different rhythm than the others. Less slouched. Less beaten.

He headed straight for the record player.

You recognized the mistake before he even touched it.

You shifted, your body moving on reflex, a flicker of urgency stirring in your gut.

You started to rise—

But someone else was faster.

A woman—sharp, pale, her brown hair messy like she hadn't stopped moving for days—cut across the room and caught his wrist just before he could reach the needle.

Her voice was low, fierce, too fast for you to catch the words.

Kit jerked back, confused, but didn’t fight her.

You sank back down before you even realized you’d stood at all.

The record spun on. Outside, the thunder was getting just a touch louder.

You tried not to look. You really did. Your gaze was supposed to stay fixed, empty, the way you’d trained it to. The way you needed it to. But your eyes slid sideways anyway. Drawn to the scene across the room like a moth to a slow-burning flame.

The girl—you knew her, but you couldn’t remember her name—was speaking low and fast. You couldn’t hear all of it over the hum of the record, but you caught the shape of her urgency. Warnings, probably. Maybe an apology tucked inside it.

Kit leaned in, frowning, his hands half-lifted like he didn’t quite know whether to argue or surrender.

There was something strange about him. Not the way most of them were strange, cracked and hollow from the inside out. Something… newer. Rough-edged. Not worn down yet.

You dropped your gaze back to your lap. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t your business. Nothing here was.

But still—

Still—you found yourself glancing back, quick and secret, just once more.

Kit was nodding now, slowly, like he understood whatever Grace had said. His shoulders, still tense, dropped a little. He shifted awkwardly, scanning the room like he was trying to find somewhere he wouldn't be swallowed whole.

And just for a moment… his eyes caught yours.

You froze.

It was only a second. Maybe less. You looked away first, your heart ticking louder in your ribs than it should have.

It didn’t mean anything. He was new. He was looking at everything.

You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, grounding yourself in the sharp, worn texture of the chair’s fabric. Waiting for the minutes to bleed into each other again.

The storm moved closer. You could feel it. Like a slow, gathering pressure in the walls. A low rumble shivered through the floor under your feet. The old building groaned with it, every window rattling faintly in its frame.

You held your breath without meaning to. Somewhere deep inside, some old instinct warned: Brace yourself.

The next crash came without warning— A crack of thunder so loud it rattled the cheap light fixtures overhead, peeling a scream from one of the patients across the room. She shot up from her chair, wailing, hands flailing wildly at nothing.

The music crackled on in the background, cheerful and tinny and wrong. A nurse shouted something. Two orderlies crossed the room in five long strides, closing in on the woman.

You flinched when the chair she kicked over clattered hard against the floor.

Kit looked up too—half-standing from his seat like he wasn’t sure whether to help or stay out of the way. The woman touched his arm and said something under her breath, firm and quick, and he sank back down reluctantly.

The woman’s screams pitched higher. Another crash of thunder. You squeezed your hands into fists in your lap to keep them from trembling.

The orderlies grabbed her roughly, dragging her struggling toward the door. One of her shoes came off in the scuffle, spinning across the floor before slapping to a stop near the old piano.

The common room felt bigger and emptier when they were gone. Everyone pretending not to notice. Everyone shrinking inward.

You stayed still. Small. Ears pricked to the sound of the girl speaking in low tones to Kit. You didn't mean to listen. But your mind clung to noise, lately, like it was a rope keeping you tethered to the world. You weren’t sure why. You weren’t sure you wanted to know why.

“Don’t bother,” She was saying, her voice crisp and dry. “You’ll get used to it. Or you’ll stop caring. One or the other.”

Kit murmured something you couldn’t catch. You heard the scrape of his chair shifting against the floor. When you dared a glance, quick and careful, you caught him looking back at you.

Not at her. At you.

The look wasn’t sharp or mocking, the way new arrivals sometimes were. It was curious. Quiet. Like he was trying to understand something he didn’t have words for yet.

Your breath hitched, barely. A tiny jolt under your ribs. You dropped your gaze fast, hands knotting tighter in your lap.

She didn’t seem to notice. She just kept talking, something about the storm, about the routine here, about surviving.

You stared hard at the floorboards. But a part of you—the part that hadn't been completely crushed down yet—still felt Kit’s gaze. Still flickering and uncertain, like a flame struggling in a storm.

The storm outside rumbled again, rattling the old windows in their frames. You barely noticed the sound now, too focused on not focusing, trying to blend into the worn fabric of the chair. Kit and the woman’s voices blurred into the low drone of the common room’s usual noise.

Then—A sudden scuffle of footsteps near the door.

You turned your head automatically.

Pepper.

She was being herded into the room by an orderly, but the moment they let her go, she lit up like a lamp. Without hesitation, she beelined across the common room, weaving past shuffling bodies and sagging couches.

Straight to you.

No words. No questions. She simply plopped herself down at your side, so close her shoulder brushed yours. Like she’d been there the whole time. Like nothing bad could ever touch you while she sat guard.

You blinked, feeling the faintest, strangest flutter in your chest. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

Pepper smiled wide, a little crooked from the missing teeth she still hadn't stopped being proud of. She tucked herself even closer, humming something low under her breath—a half-forgotten tune from another life.

Across the room, you caught Kit looking again. Not staring. Not rude. Just... noticing.

You glanced away first.

Pepper leaned her head against your arm, humming for a moment longer before she spoke—soft and sing-song, like sharing a secret with a doll. “You talked at lunch,” she said, her voice tilting up like a question even though it wasn’t one. “Talked to the new boy.”

You stiffened slightly, but Pepper only giggled quietly, like it was funny.

“Not scared,” she added, patting your hand once with her small, worn fingers. “Good.”

Her smile stretched wide again, proud in that way only Pepper could be—proud of you for doing something as simple as answering a few questions.

You always believed Pepper was more perceptive than she let on, knew more than she let toner believe. This was definitely sinking a nail in that coffin.

The thought tightened something low in your chest.

It had felt like nothing at the time. A few words, a breath of conversation. But to Pepper, it was a lighthouse flickering on in the dark. A sign you were still in there somewhere, even if you barely recognized yourself most days.

You didn't know if that made you feel lighter or heavier.

Pepper curled closer, content just to be near you. Her trust was something you hadn’t earned lately, not really—but she gave it to you anyway, same as she always had. Unconditional.

You kept your gaze forward, trying to ignore the prickle behind your eyes. Trying to ignore the way Kit’s voice still echoed faintly across the room, low and warm, even if it wasn’t meant for you anymore.

The afternoon stretched on, heavy and slow. The record player hiccupped in its endless loop of warped music, thunder grumbling low against the walls.

You stayed still. So did Pepper, her head nodding drowsily against your shoulder, her small fingers absently twisting the edge of your sleeve.

Across the room, Kit had stopped talking with that woman. The newness of his arrival clung to him—awkward, restless. But he stayed where he was, tossing glances now and then like he was still figuring out the rules. He was.

Maybe you were, too.

A crash of thunder rattled the windows again. Somewhere near the stairwell, a patient shrieked—a high, broken sound—and the orderlies moved fast, their heavy steps pounding toward the noise.

You didn’t flinch. Neither did Pepper.

It wasn’t your business. It never was.

The hands of the old clock ticked forward, scraping toward the next hour.

Soon enough, a pair of orderlies appeared at the threshold. One of them jerked his chin at you—impatient, bored. You recognized the signal. Pepper stirred beside you but didn’t fight when you untangled from her. She just watched, wide-eyed, hugging herself as you stood.

The orderlies didn’t bother with words. They didn’t have to. You were expected to follow, and you did.

One last glance at the common room: Pepper’s small figure tucked against the window, Kit’s curious gaze lingering from across the room. You lowered your eyes and turned away.

The hallway beyond felt heavier somehow. Observation. Thirty minutes of being watched through glass you couldn’t see behind, locked alone with yourself and the hum of your own blood in your ears. They said it was for your safety.

They always said that.

The door clanged shut behind you. Heavy and final.

The observation room was empty except for a metal chair bolted to the floor. No windows. Only a dull grate whispering stale air into the corners. Somewhere beyond the mirrored glass, you knew they were watching.

You sat where you always sat: cross-legged on the ground, hands folded in your lap.

Good.

Obedient.

Easy to leave alone.

The storm still grumbled through the bones of the building, low and constant. But in here, it might as well have been a whole other world. You let your mind drift. It was easy. Too easy. Like a scab you’d been trained not to pick, but your fingers knew the motion by heart. The walls blurred. The hum of Briarcliff’s old veins faded.

Something else crept in.

Wooden floorboards. The smell of sweat and greasepaint. A canvas tent breathing heavy in the night air.

In a shadowed corner backstage at the freak show. You were small again, curled against a crate, heart hammering against your ribs.

Voices echoed, angry and slurred:

"—goddamn useless, you hear me—"

A thud.

A sharp grunt.

The crack of knuckles on bone.

You tried to press yourself smaller, invisible, but you saw it anyway— Dell towering over Jimmy, his fists wild, red blooming across Jimmy’s cheek.

You didn’t remember why. You only knew it happened. It always happened.

Your hands clenched against your skirt. Your breath snagged in your throat. You wanted to move. To help. But you were too scared. Too useless.

Like always.

The memory buckled, tearing itself in half—and you slammed back into yourself.

Observation room. Briarcliff. Now.

You gasped without sound, chest heaving once, twice. Your gown clung damp to your back. You stared at your hands, trembling and raw, and you knew with a cold, alien certainty:

You hadn’t remembered that before. But it wasn’t new. It wasn’t a lie.

It was real. And it had always been waiting.

The door creaked open without ceremony.

An orderly’s shadow filled the frame. You rose without being told, feet silent against the floor. Your body moved on muscle memory alone—out into the hall, down past the peeling walls, toward the dining area where the faint smell of boiled potatoes and burnt meat clung to the air.

Dinner. Another piece of the clockwork routine.

The room buzzed with low, unfocused noise—cutlery scraping metal trays, murmured arguments too slurred to matter. You slipped into your usual seat at the end of the row, back to the wall. A habit, not a comfort.

A tray clattered beside yours. The same as lunch.

You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The air shifted. Lighter. Less... heavy.

Still, you glanced. Still, there he was.

Kit.

He looked better than he had earlier—less rattled, but still frayed at the edges. His hair was damp, like he’d been shoved through a rushed cleanup. His tray held the same sad helping of food as yours: gray meatloaf, a few limp peas, mashed potatoes that looked more like paste.

For a minute, neither of you spoke. The clatter and hum of the cafeteria filled the space between.

You pushed your peas into a corner of the tray with the edge of your fork, not really tasting the food.

Kit tapped his fork once against his tray. Not loud. Just enough to get your attention without pulling it. "Hey," he said, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed.

You glanced at him, wary. Not because it was him. Because you were used to silence meaning safety. Talking got you noticed. Getting noticed got you hurt.

But Kit didn’t seem dangerous. He looked tired. Frayed around the edges in a way you recognized too well.

"Grace said you been here a while," he said, quieter now. His accent softened the words, rounded them out like river stones. "Long enough to know how this place runs."

You blinked. Your fork paused halfway to your mouth. They talked about… you?

He gave a little shrug, almost sheepish. "Figure I oughta stick close to someone who’s survived it."

Something stirred in your chest. Not quite warmth. Not quite trust. Something more like... the first flutter of movement after being frozen too long.

You forced yourself to look back down at your tray. "I don’t talk much," you said—barely a whisper, barely more than truth.

Kit huffed out a soft laugh through his nose, like he wasn’t offended. Like he understood. "That’s alright," he said. "I talk enough for the both of us."

The words slid into you like a needle. Small. Sharp. Unstoppable.

For a heartbeat, you weren't sitting in the Briarcliff cafeteria. You were somewhere else—somewhere warmer, dimmer. A canvas tent lit by bare bulbs. The smell of sawdust and smoke.

And him.

Jimmy, flashing that lopsided grin you’d always pretended not to love, teasing you the same way. "‘S'okay, doll. I talk enough for the both of us." His voice, roughened by laughter and cigarettes and hope.

It hit so fast you barely had time to register it. A blink. A flicker. Gone.

You sucked in a slow breath through your nose, grounding yourself back into the present—the sour stink of mashed potatoes, the buzz of the fluorescents, the low rumble of thunder outside.

Your hands had clenched tight around your fork without you realizing. Kit didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t push. He just sat there beside you, easy and quiet.

Like he wasn’t in any rush to figure you out.

Another crack of thunder rattled the windows high above. Neither of you flinched. You were already used to worse.

He scooped up some mashed potatoes, made a face, and put the fork back down. "Jesus," he muttered, "what is this?"

A twitch almost—almost—tugged at your mouth. Not quite a smile. Something broken and half-remembered.

Kit caught it. You knew he did, because he smiled a little in return. Not the smile you were used to seeing from people here. Not the kind that meant danger. Just... tired and human.

For a few minutes, you ate in silence. Side by side. A strange kind of peace, fragile as spun glass.

The clock above the door ticked louder with every second. Each beat chipped away at the fragile bubble you sat inside, reminding you that nothing here stayed soft for long.

Around you, the cafeteria thinned. Trays scraped over metal counters, chairs scraped back. The heavy shuffle of bodies herded toward the next part of the night—the part where everything got quieter, darker, harder. Orderlies clearing out patients group by group.

Lights out.

An orderly’s bark echoed down the hall, sharp enough to make a few heads jerk up.

You rose when Kit did, a second behind him, moving like a shadow. His tray clattered onto the return cart. Yours followed. No words. Just motion.

You could feel Kit glance back once as you trailed behind the line of patients, could feel the quiet question of it—like maybe he wasn’t ready to let the thin thread of something between you snap just yet.

You kept your eyes on the floor.

The halls narrowed the deeper you went, swallowing the noise until there was only the thunder rumbling overhead and the scuff of slippered feet against cracked tile.

Your room was the same as always. A bed, grey sheets, and a window barred and curtained against the storm. The stale air clung to your skin, heavy with old fear.

The orderly gave a grunted order you barely heard. You moved on instinct, letting them shove some pills into your mouth before climbing into your bed, turning your face toward the wall. Fabric rustled around you as the others settled. A final flicker of light as the overheads snapped off.

Darkness.

You fall into your routine with ease. Reciting your names as you tap. Three quick taps. Break.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Elsa.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ma Petite.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Paul.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Ethel.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Eve.

Tap Tap Tap. Desiree.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Pepper.

Tap. Tap. Tap. A pause. A breath held too long.

"Jimmy—"

Your fingers froze mid-tap. The word hung there, raw and unfinished, like an open wound.

The air shifted. The thin mattress beneath you seemed to heave once, then settle wrong, off-balance. The walls bled out at the edges, gray smearing into black. Your hand, still poised in the air, forgot gravity.

Something inside you slipped.

And you were falling.

The floor was rough under your knees. The air smelled like whiskey and sweat and old anger. You were crouched in front of him.

Jimmy.

His lip was split, the blood already drying rusty at the corner of his mouth. A bruise was blooming across his cheekbone, ugly and deep purple. One of his hands cradled his ribs, careful like they were broken.

You held a damp cloth in shaking fingers, dabbing gently at his face. Your other hand kept fluttering, unsure whether to touch his hair, his arm, something steadier. He was breathing hard—half from pain, half from rage he couldn't spit out yet.

"You gotta just..." Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "You gotta just let things go sometimes, Jimmy."

The cloth slipped from your hand. He caught your wrist—gently—and gave it a squeeze.

His eyes were glassy, wet at the edges, furious and hurting and helpless all at once. "When he's yellin' at you," he rasped, "I'm never lettin' it go."

Your breath caught. Something twisted sharp and sweet behind your ribs.

He meant it. He always meant it.

The world around you blurred again, the walls bleeding back to grey, the ground tilting—and you felt yourself slipping, the memory clinging like cobwebs to your skin.

The mattress pressed cold against your palms. You blinked hard. Once. Twice. The constant Briarcliff white noise The sour smell of bleach. The rattling pipes. The heavy dark of night pressing against the barred windows.

You were lying on your side. Hands curled close to your chest. Breathing shallow, like you’d been running.

Your cheeks were damp. You touched your face with clumsy fingers—salt and heat. Tears. You hadn’t even felt them fall.

The memory still clung to you, half-faded but sharp enough to bleed.

Jimmy. The fight. Dell’s fists. The shouting you couldn’t hear.

And you—there but not there.

You remembered now. You'd drifted. In the middle of it all, you had slipped away. Your body had stayed, frozen and helpless, while your mind fled somewhere safer. That’s why you hadn’t remembered. Not because it wasn’t important. Because it had been too much.

You shut your eyes tight, trying to hold the pieces together.

Outside your door, a nurse’s heels clicked against the tile. The night rolled on, indifferent.

You curled tighter into yourself, whispering old names against the noise.

Trying to stay here. Trying to stay you.