#it's a talent of theirs <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[liinos]

the way cube completely fumbled pentagon even though shine was MASSIVE... but i guess that's their m.o. cube doesn't know how to manage a group that isn't g*dle to save their lives 😒

[fluerchive]

dare i say thamepo the series was sucessful in making me a lykyou

[royalarmyofoz]

wanna do a lyrics gifset to the story but i think i heard someone else about to start one

[ritzcrackee]

aughhhhh i keep thinking about the dorian electra concert last night,,,,

[colouredbyd]

hey, can i request a poly!marauders fic where remus ends up hurting reader so bad durig a full moon, like lots of angst and obviously u can pick a fit ending. i love ur writing, ur so talented!!

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: A prank gone wrong shatters the quiet trust between four lovers, leaving behind wounds deeper than any scar. In the aftermath, two broken souls face the wreckage with guilt clinging to skin and silence weighing heavier than blame. When forgiveness finally flickers to life, it does not erase the pain but dares to ask if something softer can still survive.

warnings: graphic injury, blood, post-transformation trauma, emotional breakdown, panic attacks, guilt, bathing scenes (non-sexual), intense regret, betrayal, depiction of self-loathing, partial nudity (non-sexual), heavy angst, complex grief, subtle references to recovery and healing. basically The Prank but with some comfort

w/c: 10k

a/n: this was abit challenging to write but i loved the idea <3

masterlist

Secrets are heavy things. They press against the ribs, nestle deep in the cavity of the heart, whispering their weight into your bones. 

You’ve carried theirs for months now, cradled in the hollow of your chest like something fragile, something dangerous. It lingers in the spaces they leave behind, the silence that drips from their mouths when they think you’re not listening. 

It’s the way Remus flinches when you touch his hand sometimes, the way his eyes flicker with something haunted, something raw.

It’s James, all restless energy and tight-lipped smiles, his gaze skittering away from yours at the end of every month like he’s afraid of what you might see there.

It’s Sirius, with mud caked on his boots and leaves tangled in his hair, laughter too bright, edges too sharp.

You know them. You know them like you know the lines of your own palms, the shape of your own breath. You know the way James’s voice softens when he’s apologetic, how Sirius’s grin goes crooked when he’s lying, how Remus’s shoulders tense when he’s afraid.

But this is different. This is not a harmless prank or a secret rendezvous. 

This is something that twists in the pit of your stomach, something that grows between them like tangled roots, thick and unyielding.

You feel it most in the silences. Those quiet moments where the world narrows to the space between heartbeats, and the air feels heavy with something unspoken.

You see it in the way they look at each other sometimes, as if speaking without words, as if deciding what not to say.

You wonder if it’s you. If you are the fracture in their perfect, unspoken language. If you are the secret they cannot share. It claws at you, fangs of insecurity sinking deep. 

Because you see it—the way their eyes meet across rooms, quick glances like unspoken conversations, the way they slip away without a word, leaving you in the warmth of the common room fire, staring into the flames as if they might hold the answers.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be patient, but patience is a fraying thread, and you feel it unraveling more and more each day.

You hate it—the way your mind spirals into questions you don’t want to ask. Are they tired of you? Are you a burden? Something to be set aside while they run off to do God-knows-what in the dead of night?

You imagine them whispering secrets you aren’t privy to, huddled together under the weight of something important, something sacred, and your chest aches with the hollowness of being left behind.

Sirius still kisses you like you are his favorite sin, hands tangled in your hair, mouth all heat and promise. James still pulls you onto his lap with that bright grin of his, fingers tracing circles on your hips as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. Remus still holds you like you’re fragile, cradles you against him with a gentleness that feels like both love and apology. 

But it’s not enough to quiet the questions. Not enough to drown out the whisper of doubt that lingers in the back of your mind.

You start to second-guess everything. The way Sirius’s gaze sometimes flickers away when you ask him where he’s been. The way James laughs off your questions with a joke or a grin, always deflecting, always distracting. The way Remus looks at you with eyes full of ghosts, haunted and hollow, like he’s holding back an ocean of secrets.

It gnaws at you, eats away at your resolve until you can’t tell if you’re being paranoid or perceptive.

Sometimes, you catch them whispering in low voices, huddled together in the corners of the library or just outside the common room door.

They fall silent the moment you approach, smiles too bright, voices too loud, shifting to jokes and easy laughter as if nothing at all is wrong.

But you see it—the way Sirius’s hand will linger on Remus’s shoulder, the way James’s fingers brush against Sirius’s arm, a silent promise, a wordless reassurance.

You feel like you’re chasing shadows, hands grasping for something that slips through your fingers every time you get close. You want to ask them. You want to demand answers, to force them to share whatever it is they’re keeping from you. 

But you don’t. Because some part of you is afraid of the answer, afraid of what it might mean if you tear down the walls they’ve built and find yourself standing alone on the other side.

So you wait. You wait and you watch, heart heavy with the weight of secrets that are not yours to keep, wondering if there will come a day when they finally decide to let you in—or if the door will remain locked, the key hidden away in whispered conversations and midnight disappearances.

Because secrets are heavy things. And you are tired of carrying theirs.

The day unfurls like fraying ribbon, slipping through your fingers faster than you can hold on. There’s a heaviness to it, a weight pressing against your shoulders as you move through the halls, weaving between groups of students who laugh too loud and talk too fast.

Marlene walks beside you, her voice a gentle hum, but the words blur together, softened by the roar of your thoughts.

You think of them—of Sirius’s sharp grin and James’s steady hands, of Remus’s soft-spoken words and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. You think of the way they’ve always been yours, and you theirs, a tangled mess of limbs and laughter and quiet whispers beneath the covers. You think of the way it feels like coming home, like belonging.

But lately, there’s been something else.

A flicker of something that passes between them, a look, a whisper, moments that pull tight like thread, snapping back before you can catch hold of it.

It’s the late-night disappearances, the hushed conversations that end the moment you step into the room. It’s the way Sirius’s eyes dart away from yours sometimes, how James’s smile falters, how Remus’s hands shake when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You try to brush it off, try to bury it beneath logic and trust and the weight of their love. But it festers in the quiet moments, slipping in through the cracks when you’re alone, curling around your thoughts and whispering things you don’t want to hear. It’s loneliness, sharp and unyielding, and it grips tight, leaving bruises where you can’t see them.

Marlene’s hand finds your arm, squeezing gently. “You alright?” she asks, voice softening at the edges.

You blink, dragging yourself back to the present, to the corridor stretching out before you and the sunlight slanting through the windows. “Yeah,” you lie, the word sticking to your tongue like tar. “Just tired.”

She hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. You’re grateful for it. The silence stretches out between you, comfortable and warm, and you let it hold you for a moment, let it cradle you in something soft and unspoken.

But the weight is still there, pressing at the back of your mind, a whisper of something fragile and breaking.

By the time you reach the dormitory, the ache has settled low in your bones, a steady thrum that makes you want to curl into yourself and hide from the world.

Marlene offers you a soft smile and a quick hug before she disappears down the hall, and you watch her go, feeling the space she leaves behind like a phantom limb.

You push open the door, and the warmth of the room spills out to greet you, soft and familiar. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and the soft murmur of conversation drifts through the air. For a moment, you just stand there, watching them.

Sirius is sprawled across the couch, his head in James’s lap, eyes half-lidded as James’s fingers card gently through his hair.

There’s something unguarded in the way he leans into the touch, the tension bleeding out of his frame with each gentle stroke.

James is murmuring something soft, too low for you to hear, and his other hand is resting on Sirius’s shoulder, grounding him.

Remus is curled up in the armchair, a book spread open across his lap, fingers idly tapping against the spine in rhythm with whatever thought is playing behind his eyes.

He looks peaceful, brow unfurrowed, mouth softened at the edges. It’s a rare thing—to see him unburdened, unbothered—and you don’t want to break it.

You linger in the doorway, watching them, and for a moment, it’s enough just to exist there, on the edge of something beautiful.

But then Sirius glances up, his gaze catching on yours, and his eyes brighten.

“There she is,” he drawls, a lazy smile stretching across his lips, though you can see the way his hand trembles where it rests against James’s knee. “Wondered when you’d come back to us.”

You force a smile, stepping into the room, the wooden door groaning behind you. The space is warm with the soft glow of lamplight, and you take in the tangle of limbs, the way Sirius leans so comfortably against James, the way Remus’s long fingers are still pressed into the spine of his book. It looks like belonging, like home.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re standing on the edge of it, fingers curled around the windowsill, peering in.

You clear your throat, and three heads turn towards you, Remus’s eyes softening the instant they land on your face.

He’s the first to rise, marking his page with a quick slip of parchment before crossing the room in a few long strides. His hands are warm when they cup your face, eyes searching yours with a tenderness that nearly unravels you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. His gaze is steady, achingly gentle, and it makes something splinter in your chest.

You lean into his touch, your hands wrapping around his wrists. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, voice catching at the edges. “Wanted to be with you. All of you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or something darker—but it’s gone before you can name it. He nods, presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“We’re right here, my love,” he says softly. “Always.”

You hear movement behind him, and Sirius appears at his side, James right behind him, both of them looking at you with expressions that tighten the knot in your chest.

“Come here,” Sirius says, and you’re pulled into the warmth of their arms, the scent of cedar and smoke and something distinctly theirs flooding your senses. It’s grounding, familiar.

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

When Remus pulls away, his hand is gentle at your back. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft as spring rain. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

His eyes are warm, and the softness there unravels you completely. You nod, and let him lead you towards the bathroom, his touch a tether in the quiet.

The bathroom is softly lit, shadows dancing along the tiled walls as Remus moves about, turning the tap and letting steam fill the space.

He turns back to you, his hands finding yours, guiding you gently to the edge of the tub. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice like something sacred.

Steam curls at the edges of the mirror, blurring the reflection into softened shapes and tender echoes. The bathroom is awash with warmth, the flicker of candlelight catching on water droplets that gather and run down the tiles like tiny rivers.

The tub is filled nearly to the brim, wisps of lavender and cedar curling through the air, softening the edges of everything sharp and jagged.

You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself as Remus’s hands work at the buttons of your shirt, fingers deft and gentle.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble, just unfastens each button with practiced ease, his gaze steady and patient.

When the last one comes undone, he slides the fabric from your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of cotton.

James is already rolling up his sleeves, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something unyielding in his gaze, an anchor that keeps you grounded even when the world feels like it’s fraying at the edges.

Sirius is beside him, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed, a grin softening into something tender as he watches you, eyes bright with a fondness that makes your heart twist.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice soft but unsteady.

Sirius’s grin widen just a bit, a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds.

“Can you blame me?” he drawls, pushing off the counter to step closer. His hands find your shoulders, warm and grounding.

“We’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world standing right here. You expect us not to look?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you look down, eyes catching on the curve of your bare feet against the tile.

Remus’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, gentle and grounding. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and achingly tender. “Look at me.”

You do, slowly, and his gaze is steady, unyielding. “You know we love you, right?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve heard before, one you’ve answered a thousand times.

But tonight, the weight of it settles heavy in your chest, and you swallow hard, your throat bobbing with the effort. “I know,” you whisper, though it wavers at the edges.

Sirius’s fingers brush your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you do,” he says softly, and his voice is raw, stripped down to something real. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, thick and heavy with unspoken things. James steps forward, his hands settling at your waist.

“Whatever that pretty mind of yours is telling you, it isn’t true, darlin', you know that, right?” he whispers, the words slipping through the quiet like a prayer.

His thumb strokes gentle circles into your hip, grounding and real.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and James’s smile softens at the edges. His hands guide you to the edge of the tub, and Remus’s hands are still at your shoulders, steady and sure.

“In you go, darling,” he murmurs, and you let them guide you down into the water, warmth curling around your skin and washing away the chill.

The water laps softly at your shoulders, steam curling around your face. Remus kneels beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lean back,” he says gently, and you do, letting your head rest against the lip of the tub as he scoops water into his hands, drizzling it over your shoulders.

James is at your other side, his hands gentle as he brushes back your hair, fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Sirius perches on the edge of the tub, one hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the water. His thumb strokes lazy circles there, his grin soft and unguarded.

They work in tandem, hands moving with practiced ease, soft murmurs passing between them as they pour water over your skin, rub gentle circles into your shoulders, your arms.

It’s reverent, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world just to be here with you.

“You’re safe here,” Remus whispers as his hands brush over your collarbones, his eyes steady and sure. “With us. Always.”

But your breath catches, fingers curling against the edge of the tub. Safe. Always.

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning you want so desperately to believe. “For keeps?” you whisper, and the question is so small, so fragile that it barely breaks the surface of the silence.

Sirius’s hand stills on your knee, and he leans in, eyes dark and unflinching.

“For keeps,” he answers, and the promise hums between you all, ancient and unbreakable.

His thumb resumes its gentle circles, grounding you back into this warmth, this moment.

A grin breaks across his face, wild and free, and James lets out a breath of laughter, his hand squeezing yours beneath the water. “See?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod, the knot in your chest unraveling just a bit, the warmth of their hands grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

For a while, it’s just that—the gentle lap of water, the steady rhythm of their hands, the murmur of their voices threading through the quiet. They wash away the ache, the doubt, until there’s nothing left but warmth and the soft thrum of belonging.

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

You close your eyes and lean into the warmth, the steady rhythm of their hands soothing the ache in your chest.

But then, James’s hand splashes against the water, breaking the stillness. His eyes flicker with something bright and mischievous.

“Would you look at that?” he grins, flicking a bit of water towards Sirius, who jerks back, sputtering.

“Oh, you absolute menace,” Sirius huffs, eyes narrowing with playful fury.

Before you can blink, he’s scooped a handful of water and splashes it back, catching both you and James in the crossfire.

You squeal, hands coming up to shield your face, but the damage is done—water drips from your lashes, and James is laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained, the sound filling the bathroom with unrestrained joy.

Remus, who had been standing up to grab towels, turns back to see water arcing through the air, James slinging droplets at Sirius, who’s now fully on his knees beside the tub, splashing back with reckless abandon.

His eyes widen, a hand on his hip. “You lot are absolute children, you know that?”

“Only sometimes,” Sirius counters with a grin, flinging another handful in Remus’s direction. “We’ve got to keep it interesting, haven’t we?”

A flicker of laughter escapes you, and Remus’s stern expression softens, though he rolls his eyes. “I’m gone two minutes, and you’ve already started a war.”

James shrugs, unbothered, droplets dripping from his hair. “What can we say? We’re efficient.”

Remus sighs, grabbing a towel and shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re all impossible.”

“And you love it,” Sirius quips, leaning back with a splash. Remus just shakes his head, moving to your side with the towel, his eyes softening as he meets yours.

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, voice warm and steady. “Let’s get you out before these two flood the whole place.”

The night slipped away in a haze of warmth and whispered jokes, Sirius launching playful jabs at James, who retaliated with splashes that left the room echoing with laughter.

By the time Remus pulled you from the water and wrapped you in soft towels, your heart felt lighter, the fog of your earlier doubts dissipating under their hands.

The four of you ended up tangled in blankets, Sirius still chuckling softly at some joke James had made, Remus’s arm curled around your waist, his breath steady and warm against the back of your neck.

You drifted off like that, wrapped in them, feeling—if only for a moment—that maybe everything really was as perfect as it seemed.

But morning brings clarity. You wake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the space beside you empty but still warm. The muffled sounds of conversation drift from the common room, low and hurried, punctuated with soft laughter.

You follow the noise, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and catch sight of them huddled together—Remus’s face drawn and pale, Sirius leaning in, his hands gesturing wildly, James with a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

They don’t notice you at first, too caught up in their whispered words and secretive glances. You hover in the doorway, something heavy and unyielding curling in your stomach.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them like this—locked in some private world that you are not a part of. But this time, it’s different. This time, you can’t shake the feeling that whatever it is, it’s breaking them apart.

When James catches your eye, his expression shifts—softens—but there’s something guarded there, too, something that makes your breath catch.

Remus straightens, running a hand through his hair, and Sirius plasters on a grin, too bright to be real.

“Morning, love,” Remus greets you, his voice softer, wearier. “Did you sleep well?”

And just like that, the walls go up again.

Whatever it was, whatever they were discussing, it’s hidden behind their smiles, and you feel it like a bruise.

You smile back, but it feels hollow. “Yeah… I did.”

But doubt settled in your bones, curling thick and unyielding around your heart. Something was wrong. And for the first time, you were sure of it.

You dressed quietly, Marlene’s chatter a distant hum as she twisted her hair into a knot and rambled about Quidditch practice. Your hands worked methodically, tying laces, fastening buttons, but your mind was elsewhere.

Something was off. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the gnawing unease that hadn’t left since the whispers and the lingering glances.

You tried to shake it off as you made your way to breakfast, but it lingered, curling around your ribs and pressing tight.

Classes dragged. Potions felt endless, Slughorn’s voice fading into the background as you stared blankly at your bubbling cauldron. Transfiguration was much the same—McGonagall’s sharp eyes missing the way your quill stopped moving halfway through her lecture.

Even Charms, which you usually enjoyed, was nothing more than a blur of flicking wands and murmured incantations.

By midday, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard, the chill biting at your cheeks as you made your way toward the edge of the castle grounds.

That was where you usually found them, tucked away from prying eyes, sprawled out beneath the trees or leaning against the stone walls, thick scarves looped around their necks and laughter dancing in the air.

But when you approached, there was no laughter. Just low voices, hushed and clipped. You stopped short, slipping behind a stone column, heart hammering in your chest.

You knew it was wrong, but curiosity rooted you to the spot.

“…tonight, then?” Sirius’s voice was the first you recognized, low and edged with something you couldn’t place.

“Has to be,” James replied. “Full moon, and if he’s right, Snape’s already sniffing around. Bloody idiot’s got a death wish.”

Remus didn’t speak, but you could hear him—his sigh, heavy and weary, like he’d aged ten years since you’d seen him at breakfast.

You peeked around the edge, just enough to catch sight of him leaning against the stone, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed and distant.

He looked exhausted. Worse than yesterday. Worse than last week.

“Full moon?” you whispered to yourself, brows knitting together.

Why would that matter? And why would Snape be sniffing around? You racked your brain, but nothing came up. Nothing that made sense.

Then, footsteps—too light to be James or Remus, too quick to be Sirius.

You shrank back, just in time to see Severus Snape stride up to them, black robes billowing out behind him. You clamped a hand over your mouth, confusion sparking like wildfire in your chest.

Snape? With them? They hated Snape. Always had. There was the incident with the Potions classroom first year, the hex Sirius threw at him in third, the prank James had pulled just last term.

And yet, here he was, standing just a few feet away, chin lifted defiantly as he glared at Sirius.

“You’d better not be lying, Black,” Snape sneered, voice dripping with disdain.

Sirius just smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would I lie to you, Snivellus?”

“Just be there. Midnight. Near the shack.”

Snape’s eyes glittered with something sharp and dangerous. “I will.”

You barely heard the rest, heart thundering in your chest.

The shack? Midnight? What the hell was going on? Your mind whirred with questions, none of them landing long enough for you to grab hold. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

You were going to follow them.

Whatever this was—whatever they were hiding—you would find out. You had to.

Night came slow and heavy, the castle settling into stillness as you pulled on your cloak, heart thrumming with anticipation and something else. Fear, maybe. Or desperation.

You slipped through the corridors on silent feet, weaving between shadows until you found yourself near the Entrance Hall, waiting. Watching.

They moved in silence, slipping through the doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.

Then James and Sirius, their footsteps softer than usual, expressions set and grim.

Whatever Sirius had told Snape, James and Remus clearly didn’t know about it—the tension rippled off them, sharp and electric.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before following, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to stay hidden.

You ducked behind a tree, watching as James pulled something from his pocket—a small, rounded object that glowed faintly in the moonlight.

He pressed it against a knot in the tree, and the branches stilled, frozen mid-sway.

You sucked in a breath as they disappeared beneath the roots, vanishing into shadow.

Remus had looked like he was seconds from collapsing, his steps unsteady, shoulders taut with strain. James and Remus didn’t seem to know about whatever Sirius had told Snape—it was clear on their faces, etched in their tension and the way Remus’s hands shook slightly as he vanished into the darkness.

Whatever lay beyond that entrance, you were going to find out. Even if it broke you.

The night stretched out heavy and silent, moonlight bleeding silver across the grounds. It felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that seeped into bones and lingered there, whispering unease with every breath.

You shivered as you waited, huddled in the shadows just beyond the Entrance Hall, heart pounding in your ears. It was a reckless idea—mad, really—to follow them out here.

But you couldn’t ignore the coil of dread tightening in your stomach, the way it had wound itself around your ribs ever since you’d heard them talking near the courtyard.

They moved in silence, slipping through the great doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

His footsteps were slow, hesitant, and you could almost hear the strain in his breathing from where you hid.

Something was wrong—you’d known it for weeks—but tonight, it clung to him like a shadow.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before you moved, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to keep your distance.

You waited, breath held tight in your lungs. That’s when you saw him—Snape, creeping through the shadows, eyes alight with that familiar, hateful gleam.

He moved with purpose, hands shaking with adrenaline as he approached the now-frozen branches of the Willow. He stopped just shy of the entrance, glancing around before taking a tentative step forward.

Before he could slip inside, James appeared, blocking his path, wand raised and voice sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Snape sneered, lifting his chin. “Black told me. Said there was something interesting inside. Something you three have been hiding.”

James’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re not going anywhere near there.”

“What, afraid of what I’ll find?” Snape taunted, his voice a venomous whisper.

James stepped closer, the tension snapping taut between them. “I’m warning you, Snivellus. Turn around. Now.”

Snape glared, fists clenching at his sides. “Why? So you can keep covering for your precious friends? Or maybe it’s because you’re afraid of what your little club is really up to.”

James didn’t flinch, his wand steady and gaze unyielding. “Last chance.”

But Snape didn’t back down. He only smirked, the kind of grin that made your skin crawl. “I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

He took another step forward, but James moved quicker, wand tip sparking with light. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand flew from his hand, clattering against the frozen earth. For a heartbeat, everything went still—no wind, no whispers, just the heavy thud of your heartbeat crashing in your ears.

“That’s enough,” came a voice from behind them.

Sirius stepped into view, arms crossed over his chest, expression caught between amusement and something sharper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

James didn’t lower his wand. “What the hell were you thinking, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just a bit of fun. Snivellus is always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Thought I’d give him something to find.”

James’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your mind? Remus is in there! What if he got in? What if he saw?”

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand. “James, please. He wasn’t actually going to get inside. It’s just a bit of a scare.”

“A scare?” James’s voice rose, disbelief cracking it. “You think this is a fucking joke? He could have died, Sirius. Remus could have killed him—and it would have been your fault!”

Sirius’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “Well, he didn’t. You stopped him.”

James took a step forward, wand still in his hand, knuckles white around it. “You’re not listening. You don’t get to just...just throw people into the line of fire for fun. That’s not a prank, Sirius!”

Sirius’s eyes flashed with something dark, but he swallowed it back. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” James shot back, voice trembling with fury. “Remus doesn’t even know. You did this behind his back! I swear, if he finds out—”

But before he could finish, a sound broke the argument—a low, guttural growl that rumbled from the depths of the shack, primal and raw.

You froze, heart leaping into your throat. It was followed by another, more desperate sound.

“Remus,” you whispered under your breath, fear coiling tight and sharp in your stomach.

You slipped through the tangled roots, heart lurching as you reached the back of the shack.

Its wooden slats were splintered and rotting in places, gaps wide enough for you to catch flashes of movement inside. Shadows flickered across the walls—elongated and monstrous, twisting with the flicker of lamplight.

There was a small hole, nearly hidden behind a stack of fallen branches, just large enough for you to fit through if you were careful.

You hesitated, breath clouding in the frigid air, before steeling yourself and crawling through. Your hands scraped against rough wood, splinters catching on your palms, but you ignored the sting.

The shack groaned under your weight as you landed inside, breath catching in your throat. It was dark, the air thick with the scent of dust and something metallic that made your head swim

Your breath puffed white in the cold air, heart pounding, every instinct in your body suddenly screaming at you to stop—to leave, to turn around, to run. Something was wrong.

Inside, the shack was musty and dark. Dust hung thick in the air, floating in the moonlight that poured in through the cracks in the boarded windows. Broken chairs lay in jagged pieces, shadows clinging to every surface. It was too quiet.

You rose slowly to your feet, brushing dirt from your knees.

Your eyes scanned the room—empty. No sign of Remus. No sign of anyone. Only the stale scent of old wood and something sharper, metallic, and wrong.

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Sirius?” James’s voice, loud, shaking.

Snape’s voice cut through: “You’re all bloody mad—”

“You brought him here? To this place?!” James roared. “You think this is a game?! You told him how to find Moony?!”

A scuffle. Scraping feet on frozen earth. Something breaking.

Then Sirius, laughing—a harsh, ugly sound. “It was a prank, James! A joke! He wasn’t supposed to actually come!”

“A joke? A bloody joke?! He could have died, Sirius! Or worse—Remus—”

The argument grew louder, more violent, their voices crashing against each other like waves. You blinked, unsettled, heart pounding harder now—not just from what they were saying, but from something else. Something inside.

You turned, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Why had James been so desperate to keep Snape away? What was so dangerous, so hidden inside this shack?

You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of how thick the air had become. Your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you didn’t know why.

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

The wolf stood there, bathed in shadow and moonlight. Towering. Muscled. Massive. Its amber eyes gleamed like twin suns, fixed solely on you. Its breath came heavy, the sound guttural and animal and wrong.

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

You screamed as its weight slammed into you, hurling you backward. You crashed to the floor, your head cracking against the boards with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across your vision, stars blooming behind your eyes.

You barely had time to breathe before it was on you.

Claws tore through your coat, then your skin. Blood spattered the walls. You screamed again, voice raw and terrified. The wolf’s snarl was deafening, fangs snapping inches from your face. You scrambled, twisted, tried to crawl away, but it was no use. Another rake of claws—your shoulder. Your side.

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

From the front of the shack, you heard the door shake violently.

“Moony!” James’s voice, frantic. “Moony! No!!”

“She’s in there!” Sirius screamed. “She’s in with him!”

You kicked, thrashed, felt blood soaking into the wood beneath you.

The shack shook from the weight of them slamming into the door.

“Open it! Open it!” James was screaming.

You tried to call out—but your throat barely worked, raw with terror and smoke and blood.

“Remus, Stop!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking.

“It’s her—it’s her!” James bellowed. “Moony, no, no, no, no, gosh!”

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

And you lay there, barely breathing, praying they would break the door down in time.

You stumbled back, heart slamming against your ribs, and the beast—Remus—stalked forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with each step. His eyes—those eyes you’d known for so long, gentle and warm—were wild now, feral with hunger and rage.

He lunged, the force of it sending a gust of wind spiraling through the room. 

“Remus!” you cried, voice cracking with desperation, but there was nothing human in his gaze—just the moon’s curse and the monster it carved from him.

He turned, shoulders heaving with each breath, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that primal hunger.

He snarled again, saliva dripping from his fangs, and you scrambled backward, mind racing for an escape.

Your back hit the far wall with a thud, dust and debris scattering from the impact. Remus prowled closer, head low, eyes locked onto yours like prey.

You were shaking, adrenaline burning through your veins as you searched frantically for a way out—any way out. But there was nothing. Just you and him, trapped in the confines of this cursed shack.

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

Agony burst across your stomach as claws tore through you like paper. Your scream shattered the silence.

Blood spilled hot and fast, soaking your clothes, splattering across the floor. Another slash—your thigh, deep and unrelenting. Your vision fractured with pain, body writhing beneath him as you tried to crawl away, but he pinned you easily.

Claws dug into your ribs. Fangs grazed your shoulder. You could hear your own heartbeat, deafening, drowning everything else out. The air stank of blood and sweat and the sharp edge of death. You sobbed, barely able to breathe, choking on the taste of iron and fear.

Then—the shack door burst open with a splintering crack.

Sirius came first, Padfoot in full form, fur bristling, eyes blazing.

He threw himself at the wolf with a savage growl, tackling Moony off you with all his strength.

The force of the impact sent them both crashing into the far wall. You were left gasping, blinking through blood and splinters and shock.

James followed—Prongs—before shifting back mid-step, falling to his knees at your side.

“Hey. Hey, no, no, no,” he breathed, voice shaking, hands hovering over your wounds like he didn’t know where to touch, where to start. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you weren’t. You could feel yourself slipping, the cold creeping in.

You turned your head just enough to see the trail of blood stretching behind you, the smear of crimson across the wood. Your hand twitched, fingers stained red.

The last thing you saw was Sirius, still fighting tooth and claw to hold Remus back, and James’s face—ashen, eyes wide with something between guilt and horror.

You were here because they kept secrets. And secrets are heavy things to carry.

-

You woke to pain.

It throbbed in waves, hot and pulsing and sharp, blooming in your abdomen and thigh. Every breath was a struggle, every inch of movement a riot of agony beneath your skin.

The air was cold, sterile, heavy with antiseptic. The ceiling above you was white stone, too clean, too quiet. The scent of blood clung to your skin. You blinked, your vision swimming, your mouth dry and thick with the taste of iron and betrayal.

And then—realization. It hit like another wound. Remus. The wolf. Lycanthropy. That’s what they had been hiding. That’s what James had refused to tell you, what Sirius had laughed off, what Remus had always tucked behind those sad eyes and hollow smiles.

You remembered it now—his eyes, glowing in the dark; the snarl that tore from his throat; the claws, the fangs, the way the pain swallowed you whole.

He had mauled you.

The door creaked open with a quiet groan, and James was there in an instant.

He nearly stumbled into the room, hair wild, eyes wild, like he hadn’t slept. His chest was heaving as he rushed to your side, voice already breaking.

"You’re awake—thank Merlin—" He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching for your hand but hesitating at the last second when he saw the bandages wrapped around it. "You—you're okay. You're safe now. We got you out. We—"

But before he could finish, Sirius was in the doorway, shoulders tense, face pale and drawn.

One step in—and James turned on him like a storm breaking.

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

"No!" James shoved him, not holding back. "She’s bleeding, Sirius! There was so much blood—I couldn’t—I didn’t know if she was breathing—"

Sirius’s voice cracked. "Jamie, please—she’s my girlfriend too—"

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

"Don’t fucking 'Jamie' me right now, Sirius! Remus is out there asking where she is, completely clueless about what happened—what the fuck are you gonna tell him? Huh? You gonna say you brought Snape In as a prank, and instead our girlfriend snuck into the shack and got ripped apart?"

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

Sirius flinched like the words had struck him in the face. His eyes were glassy now, guilt etched so deeply into the hollows of his cheeks it looked like it might never leave.

His lips parted as if to defend himself but there was nothing firm behind the breath he drew in. Nothing solid enough to hold against James’s rage.

“I didn’t know she followed—” he tried, voice trailing off into silence like it couldn’t bear the weight of the truth.

“But you knew what that shack was,” James snapped, louder now, voice raw and fraying. “You knew what Moony was. You knew what would happen.”

They were so close now they could’ve been mirrors of fury and betrayal. Chest to chest, heart to heart, breathing like it hurt.

The kind of closeness that had once meant brotherhood, now sparking with something jagged and breaking.

“You think saying she’s my girlfriend too makes it better?” James’s hands were shaking and his mouth twisted like he was choking on grief. “You endangered all of us—Snape, her, Moony—because you wanted to mess around like it was a fucking joke.”

Sirius tried to speak again, but his voice came out cracked and too soft to stand on. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to,” James said, and this time it wasn’t a shout. It was something worse.

His voice dropped into that space where hurt lived, where betrayal was a living thing in the room.

“That’s the problem. You never think past the spark of it. It’s always a fire to you, isn’t it? A dare, a thrill. And now she—”

You were sitting up now, breath catching like it didn’t know how to move through your chest anymore.

Their voices filled the room like smoke, thick and impossible to swallow, and still they didn’t see you. Still they didn’t stop.

The anger curled in you like a second pulse, slow and volcanic, fed by the sound of your name twisted in their mouths like an afterthought.

You looked down at your body, at the map of pain they’d drawn across your skin, at the bandages tight around your arms and side and thigh.

You reached for one with trembling fingers and peeled it back slowly, too slowly, like your body was a secret you weren’t supposed to see.

The wound beneath was deep and still red-raw, an angry thing that refused to scab. You stared at it, not blinking. As if staring long enough would make it make sense.

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

What stared back at you were jagged, red scars, the kind that didn’t heal clean. Bite marks turned purple at the edges, cruel crescents sinking into your skin like the moon had tried to eat you alive.

Deep gashes crossed your side in a brutal lattice, torn flesh barely held together by uneven stitching and the trembling hands of someone too late. A shudder rolled through you, slow and relentless, like something crawling beneath your skin.

You would carry these forever.

Your hand rose to your neck, fingers ghosting over the place where you remembered teeth grazing bone, where the pain had cracked you open from the inside.

You didn’t need a mirror to see it. It was carved into memory. A sob caught in your throat, not loud, but sharp enough to hurt.

"Get out," you said, your voice low and cracked like dry earth before the storm.

They didn’t hear you. They were still yelling, still wrapped in their own pain, their own shame, drowning in the echo of their guilt while you sat there bleeding.

"I said get out!" your voice shattered through the room like glass, and the noise stopped instantly.

The silence rang.

They turned to you slowly, like they’d just remembered you were there, like it hadn’t occurred to them that the thing they were fighting about had ears and a spine and a soul.

James took a hesitant step forward, his eyes soft with apology, but you met him with something he hadn’t seen in you before. Not fear. Not even heartbreak. Just fury, quiet and precise, the kind of anger born from betrayal that simmers instead of explodes.

"You kept this from me," you said, each word dragged from somewhere deep, somewhere scorched.

"All of you. You let me walk in there blind. You let me bleed for a secret that was never mine to carry."

James opened his mouth but no words followed. Nothing could. His guilt hollowed him, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Sirius looked wrecked, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you, but your eyes stopped him cold.

You didn’t want to see his sorrow. You didn’t want to be comforted by the hands that led you to the edge and watched you fall.

"I almost died because of your secrets," you whispered, and though your voice trembled, it rang with steel. "Because none of you trusted me enough to tell the truth. You called it love, and then you let me be devoured by it."

They were silent. Boys made of noise, finally quiet. And somehow that silence was louder than their shouting ever was.

You looked at the door, then back to them, the air around you sharp as broken promises.

"Out," you said again, quieter now, but it cut deeper for it.

Neither of them argued. They didn’t beg or explain or try to fix what had already bled too long. They just turned, slowly, and walked away.

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

But because it sounded exactly like the moment you realized you were alone.

It echoed louder than the shouting, louder than the pain, louder than the memories still clawing at the edges of your mind. The silence didn’t offer peace—it rang like a scream swallowed too late, like the lingering howl of something wild and ruined.

You sat there in it, trembling, your hands shaking in your lap, the gauze dark with the slow seep of blood.

You stared down at them, fingers twitching like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe none of this belonged to you, not the pain, not the scarred skin, not even the breath you were struggling to draw in.

Each inhale scraped your throat like broken glass, each exhale trembled beneath the weight of everything they never told you.

The tears came suddenly—choking, ungraceful things, messy and aching. They clawed up from somewhere you hadn’t known existed, from the place where trust once lived.

They spilled past your defenses, soaked your cheeks, made your chest rise and fall in ugly, shuddering sobs.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth to trap the sound, to make yourself small, but the grief pushed through your fingers anyway, raw and human and desperate.

You didn’t want to be here. Not in this bed, not in this room, not in the body that remembered every second too well.

You didn’t want to be near that shack, or that truth, or those boys whose love had been too conditional, too secret, too much like a trap. Not when it all still clung to your skin like smoke, like something scorched into you that wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed. Pain flared like fire beneath your skin, sharp and blinding, but you gritted your teeth and bit down on the sound.

You forced yourself upright, spine shaking, the world tilting like it didn’t know where to place you anymore. You reached for the nightstand, knuckles white around the edge, and steadied yourself against the weight of gravity and grief alike.

Madam Pomfrey would return soon. She would ask questions—about the bite marks on your shoulder, the blood staining your sheets, the torn muscle stitched back into place like fabric.

Dumbledore would be informed. Whispers would curl through the corridors. Rumors would spread, sprouting like weeds in spring. You could already hear them.

You didn’t want to lie. You weren’t sure you even could. But the truth? The truth was worse.

The truth was a monster’s name whispered behind closed doors.

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

The truth was pain that had no neat answer, no punishment that could make it make sense.

You took a step. Then another. Every motion dragged behind the last like you were underwater, like your body was remembering how to exist and failing.

It hurt in places you hadn��t thought could ache—bone-deep, nerve-deep, the kind of hurt that didn’t just throb but screamed.

You passed the mirror near the infirmary door and caught sight of yourself.

You stopped.

Your reflection stared back like something unrecognizable. There was dried blood in your hair, matted at the roots like rust. Bruises bloomed along your collarbone and down your arms like ink spilled under the skin.

The bandage over your ribs had darkened, blood soaking through in slow, patient circles. Your lips were cracked. Your eyes—God, your eyes.

You looked like a ghost still wandering the world, too stubborn or too broken to realize it had died.

You turned away before you could recognize yourself, before your reflection could speak back all the truths you weren’t ready to hear.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

The hall was dim and quiet, cloaked in the kind of stillness that only came long after midnight had folded over the world. The torches burned low, their flames flickering soft shadows across stone, and even the portraits lining the walls seemed to sleep, their painted eyes closed or turned away.

Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness—slow, uneven things that barely registered, like the castle itself was trying not to notice you. Each step jarred your side, sharp pain flashing behind your eyes, blooming like lightning beneath your skin.

One hand clutched your ribs, your breath catching each time your heel met stone.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. Maybe you should’ve screamed louder when it happened. Maybe you shouldn’t have followed the sound at all.

You could trace every mistake in your mind, each one lit like a torch in the dark, but none of it mattered now. Not really. Not when the damage was already done. Not when the blood had already soaked the floor, your skin, your memory.

You were already bleeding.

You made it to the end of the corridor before the tears found you again, rising from the pit of your stomach like a storm breaking loose. You crumpled without grace, back to the wall, forehead pressed hard to the cool stone as if it might hold you together.

You didn’t bother to stifle the sob that slipped from your mouth, cracked and breathless. Let the castle hear it. Let the ghosts carry it through the walls, let them whisper your name into every corner of this place. Let every brick and beam know exactly what had happened. Let the truth echo where their silence had lived.

You were in this mess because people you loved had looked you in the eye and decided you didn’t deserve the truth.

And through the sobs, through the broken air and the trembling of your limbs, that thought was the one that stayed.

This didn’t have to happen.

You could’ve stayed safe. You could’ve stayed whole. But they let you walk in blind. They let you bleed for something that was never yours to carry.

Pain flared again, a cruel spike up your side, white-hot and dragging like a knife pulled slow—but it was nothing compared to what twisted beneath your ribs.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, to the bandages under your robes, and for a moment you hoped the sharpness would ground you, keep you tethered.

Instead, it felt like drowning, like trying to breathe through water, through memory, through the echo of a scream that wouldn’t stop playing behind your eyes.

You thought of the Shack. Of the way the air smelled inside, coppery and wrong. You thought of the creak of old wood under your feet. Of the sound his bones made when they broke—sharp, wet, unforgettable. Of the stillness just before the scream shattered the world.

And you broke.

The sob that tore from your throat wasn’t soft. It was jagged, ugly, ripped straight from the center of you. Another followed, then another, and then you were falling—knees folding, back sliding down the stone, until you were curled on the cold floor, cheek pressed to it, chest heaving with each desperate breath.

Your body shook with the force of it, and still the sound came, raw and real and unrelenting.

It was too much. Too much to carry. Too much to name. Too much to bury beneath bandages and silence.

You didn’t even realize you were whispering his name until it left your lips.

"Remus…"

Just a breath. A ghost of a sound. But it shattered something in you. Cracked the dam wide open.

Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he had done.

And somehow—God, somehow—that made it worse.

That you had been ripped apart by someone who would never remember. That the hands that once traced poems into your skin had unknowingly rewritten you in blood.

That the boy who looked at you like you were the first star he’d ever seen was the same one who had carved your name into the floorboards with claw and fang.

You curled in tighter, arms wrapped around your ribs, trying—failing—to hold yourself together. But everything inside you was unraveling. Your breath hitched, broken. Your fingers trembled like your bones were afraid. You could still feel it—all of it.

The weight of him, wild and terrible. The heat of breath on your neck. The moment skin gave way.

You remembered his smile. The one he saved just for you. You remembered how his voice softened when he said your name, like he couldn’t believe it belonged to him for even a second.

You remembered how he once said, “You shouldn’t love me.” And now you knew why.

Because teeth remember hunger. Because wolves don’t ask permission. Because even the gentlest boy can disappear beneath the moonlight.

But oh, God, you hated that he didn't know. That he would wake up in the morning with his soul intact while you were left stitching yours together in the dark.

You pressed your hand to the wound at your side, felt the throb of it echo through your whole body. You wanted to forget. You wanted to go back. You wanted him to be anything but the thing that had hurt you.

You didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

The boy and the beast. The hands that once brushed your cheek like a promise, and the claws that had torn through your skin like paper. The mouth that had whispered your name like it meant something—and the one that had bitten down to the bone. It was all the same now.

One shape, one shadow, stitched into the fabric of your memory with blood and betrayal. You couldn’t separate him from it. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

You pressed your forehead to the cold stone wall, the chill biting into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire still burning inside you. Your tears came hot and fast, streaking your cheeks, scalding your lips.

You tried to swallow them back, to bury the noise, but your body wouldn’t obey. You wanted to scream. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to tear yourself apart just to match the way he’d already broken you open.

But all you could do was sit there. And feel it.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved him. You hated that the boy who had once kissed your temple like it was sacred was the same one who’d left you bleeding in the dirt.

Maybe if they'd told me, you thought bitterly, each word laced with salt and fury, I wouldn’t have followed that sound.

Maybe if they’d trusted me with the truth, I would’ve run the other way.

Maybe if I’d known what he was, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to forgive something that nearly killed me.

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

The pain grounded you for a moment. Not enough. You remembered James shouting. Sirius pleading. Both of them drowning in their own guilt and still too proud to hand you a life raft. They hadn’t told you because they were afraid. Not for you—but for him.

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

You forced yourself to stand, legs trembling, hands white-knuckled against the stone. You thought your knees might give out, but you didn’t care.

You had to see him. You had to know. If he still had your voice in his bones. If anything in him recognized the destruction he’d left behind.

You limped through the hallway like a shadow. The castle around you was too quiet, too still, as if it knew something had gone terribly wrong and was trying not to breathe.

Your side ached with every step. The bandages beneath your robes were warm and wet, and you didn’t want to know if it was fresh blood or just the old wounds leaking again. It didn’t matter. You felt hollow. Not empty—stripped.

You walked past the portraits, but none stirred. Even the ghosts seemed to shrink from you. Maybe they recognized you now. Not as a student. But as someone touched by death.

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

Your heart twisted violently, nausea rising. You quickened your pace despite the pain, your breath hitching with every step. The ache in your chest sharpened as you turned a corner and—

Remus was screaming.

James had both arms locked tight around him, teeth grit as he struggled to keep Remus from hurling himself down the corridor.

Every inch of Remus's body fought against him, wild and unhinged, as if the rage had torn through muscle and bone and made something feral of him all over again.

"You brought Snape?!" he shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "Are you fucking serious, Sirius?! You brought him—there—knowing what I am?!"

Sirius didn’t move. He stood like a statue, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I didn’t think he’d actually go in," he said flatly. "I thought he’d get scared. Turn back."

"You thought—?" Remus’s breath hitched, then came out in something like a growl. "You don’t get to think, Sirius. You don’t get to gamble with that."

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

"And where the fuck is she?! Why is no one telling me where Y/N is?!"

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

"Don’t what?" Remus twisted around to face him. "Don’t ask why no one will look me in the fucking eye?! Don’t ask where the girl I—" His voice caught, strangled in his throat. "Where is she?"

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

You stood at the far end of the hall, pressed against the stone wall like it might hold you up if your legs gave out. Your shirt was torn at the shoulder. The bandages had come loose. Blood had soaked through. A thin line of bruising curled along your cheekbone. The mark on your collarbone—his mark—was dark and angry and violet.

Remus's gaze dropped to your arms, your limp, slow steps. Then back to James.

"I did that," he whispered. The words seemed to strike him in the throat. "Didn’t I?"

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

Remus folded to his knees like his body had finally realized the weight of the truth. His hands hit the ground. He stared down at the stone like it might split open beneath him.

"Tell me I didn’t," he murmured. "Tell me I didn’t do that. Please, James. Tell me I didn’t do this."

No one spoke.

"Tell me I didn’t hurt her," he begged, louder now. "Tell me I didn’t—"

"You don’t remember," you said.

Your voice didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.

Three heads snapped toward you. But you only looked at him.

Remus's breath caught. He looked like he’d been stabbed.

"I—I don’t remember what happens," he stammered. "I never do. I wake up, and I’m—covered in blood, and I never know if it’s mine or someone else’s and—"

He clawed at his own sleeves, nails digging through fabric, through skin, desperate to feel pain that might match what was screaming inside his chest.

James tried to steady him, arms still locked tight around his shoulders, but Remus tore away with a howl that didn’t sound human.

“I tore her apart,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “I—I felt it—I smelled blood—I wanted it—Merlin, I wanted it—” He curled forward like the words had gutted him, fingers clutching at his head.

“I should be locked up. I should be dead.”

“No,” James said firmly, stepping forward, but Remus flinched and scrambled back like he’d touched fire.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—I’m not—I’m not safe—” He looked at you again, and this time, he really saw you.

Your limp. Your wince. Your bruises and the slow, shaking breath you took just to stay standing. His entire body stilled. Then: he crawled backwards, hands raised, like distance might erase the horror.

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

“I hurt you—I knew I would—I told them to keep me away—I told them—fuck—”

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

“Remus,” you said again, louder this time, voice cracked but sure.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, voice barely more than a strangled whisper. “Don’t come near me. Please—I’ll hurt you again. I will.”

You took a step forward anyway, ignoring the scream of pain in your leg and the sharp crack of your ribs.

Every breath was a jagged knife, but something inside you refused to stay still.

“I said don’t!” he roared suddenly, flinching hard enough to slam his back against the cold stone wall. His hands flew up to cover his face, as if he couldn’t bear to see the damage—your pain, his pain, everything shattered between you.

“Please. I’ll ruin you. I ruin everything. Don’t—please—”

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Each step was a struggle, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Five staggering steps. Then you dropped to your knees in front of him, breathless and broken, the room tilting around you.

And then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him.

Every muscle tensed, every breath caught in his chest. For a long, endless moment, he didn’t move at all.

You were warm. Solid. Real. Against the ruins of his skin, against the guilt that was tearing him apart from the inside—you were alive.

And you were holding him.

He tried to pull away, voice frantic and raw. “No—no, don’t—I don’t deserve this—I hurt you—”

“I know,” you whispered softly, your voice a fragile thread in the silence, sinking into his hair, his chest, every ragged breath he took. “I know.”

He started to cry again—violently, uncontrollably. The kind of sobs that wrench a person apart from the inside out. His body shook like he was trying to shake free from some invisible weight dragging him under. His breaths came in ragged, broken gasps, each one tearing at his chest with fresh agony.

You could feel the rawness in him, the shattered pieces trembling just beneath the surface. And still, you held on tighter, as if your arms could somehow keep him from falling all the way apart.

“You’re not a monster,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, a lifeline thrown across the storm.

You said it again, over and over, even when his head shook so hard it seemed like it might come off his shoulders.

Even when he whispered, so broken it barely sounded like words, yes I am.

Even when his fingers clawed at the floor, desperate and frantic, as if tearing at the ground could tear him out of his own skin.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a monster. You’re not.”

Your words became a chant, a prayer. You said them so many times you thought your throat might break.

But still, you kept saying them. Because if you didn’t, who else would? If you didn’t believe it for him, then how could he ever believe it for himself?

Then, slowly, painfully, he collapsed into you. It was as if he’d been falling forever, and for the first time he found something to catch him—a place to land, even if it was fragile and trembling beneath the weight of his grief. His body sagged against yours, heavy and defeated.

You cradled his head in your shaking hands, fingers threading through his hair as though anchoring him to the world. You held him through the sobs, through the storm, through the unbearable silence between each tear.

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

Your voice cracked, raw with all the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling down your cheeks. Your throat burned like fire from saying it so many times. Your bandages pressed painfully against his skin, a sharp reminder that your body, too, was broken. But still, you said it—because someone had to say it.

Because sometimes forgiveness is the hardest thing to give and the most necessary thing to hear.

“I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Remus broke completely. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as if you were the only solid thing left in the world.

His face buried deep in your shoulder, muffling the desperate whispers of I’m sorry that spilled from his lips like a litany, like a prayer, like a curse he couldn’t undo. The weight of those words hung heavy between you, suffocating and real.

Maybe some wounds could never fully heal. Maybe some mistakes could never be undone. But you held him anyway, steady and sure, even when your own body trembled with pain.

Because sometimes, love is the only thing strong enough to hold two broken people together when everything else falls apart.

He didn’t look up. His head hung low, shoulders trembling with a quiet, desperate shudder. His breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and uneven, like the air itself was betraying him.

Your fingers found his face, trembling as you gently cupped his cheeks, warm beneath your cold touch.

For a moment, he froze—still as if your presence was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Look at me,” you whispered, voice soft but firm.

You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling, heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it. “Remus. Please. Look at me.”

Slowly—agonizingly slow—his eyes lifted, meeting yours.

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

It wasn’t guilt. Not even horror. It was grief. Endless, bone-deep, all-consuming grief.

Like he had already buried you somewhere inside his mind and didn’t know how to find his way back to the living world. Like a weight pressed so hard on his chest he couldn’t breathe without breaking.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing a tear away as it slipped silently down his face.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady.

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

“It’s not,” he croaked, voice raw and broken.

“But I’m here.”

You let the silence stretch between you, letting your touch be the anchor in the storm of his pain. Letting the quiet speak the words you both couldn’t say aloud.

Then, with a gentle nudge, you reached up and helped him to his feet. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t question. Just followed as you led him down the corridor, your fingers laced with his, your steps slow and uneven.

He swayed as he stood, unsteady, eyes still glassy with unshed tears. He didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of him either.

Your fingers laced through his, and you took a small step forward. He followed. Another step. Another.

You guided him through the corridor like that, hand in hand, limping slightly with each movement but refusing to stop. His steps were heavy, dragging, as if every footfall carried the weight of what he’d done. But he followed you.

When you reached the bathroom, you nudged the door open with your shoulder and led him inside.

The light was dim. Everything smelled like old tile and lavender soap. The only sound was the drip of a tap and the hush of your breaths. You turned the knobs with aching fingers, letting warm water spill into the tub, steam curling into the air like a kind of gentleness neither of you had known in days.

He stood by the door, unmoving.

You stepped toward him again, slower this time, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He flinched.

“I can go,” you said, voice low, careful.

He looked at you—just looked—and then, finally, shook his head

You peeled the tattered shirt off his frame, revealing bruises and scratches and old scars that mapped out years of hurt across his skin. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away. You undid the buttons of his trousers, helped him step out of them, folding them into a soft pile on the counter.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you with wide, haunted eyes, as if each tender movement was something he couldn’t understand.

Like he didn’t know what to do with this softness.

You reached for his hand again.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s warm.”

He let you guide him into the tub. The water rose around him, lapping gently at his arms and shoulders. He shivered—not from cold, but from everything.

You knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out. Then, slowly, you brought it to his skin.

You washed him the way you’d cradle something delicate.

You ran the cloth down his arm. Across his shoulder. Behind his ear. Over his chest, where his heart beat wild and trembling under your hand.

You bathed him in silence, each movement slow and deliberate, as if you could wash away the weight of everything between you. Your hands trembled slightly as you carefully wiped the dried blood from his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles where the skin was torn and raw.

You cleaned the sweat that clung to his brow, cool and sticky beneath your touch. Then you pressed your palm gently over his heart, feeling the faint, uneven thud beneath your palm—a stubborn, fragile reminder that it was still beating, still alive.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there, water swirling around him, eyes distant and unfocused, lost somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t reach—yet.

But you promised yourself, silently, fiercely, that you would reach him. No matter how long it took. No matter how many walls he built around himself.

He was still there when you finally broke the silence. Your voice was soft, almost fragile, like a whisper carrying through the fog.

“I wish someone had told me,” you said quietly, not daring to meet his gaze. “I wish you had told me.”

Remus tensed beneath the water, muscles knotting, and you felt it through your fingertips. You wrung the cloth between your fingers, heart pounding with every second of silence that stretched between you.

“I don’t care how painful it would’ve been,” you added, voice steadier now, more certain. “I deserved to know.”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words themselves carved into him. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

Your tone sharpened, the raw hurt breaking through your calm. “You didn’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to protect me by lying. Not when it nearly killed me.”

The weight of those words fell heavy into the space between you. For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the cloth.

Then his eyes lifted slowly, meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever—fragile, vulnerable, full of everything he’d been too scared to say.

“I didn’t think you'd ever look at me the same,” he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “If you knew.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat, sharp and sudden, breaking the tension.

“You think I don’t see you now? You think I’m not looking at you, right now, with every part of me?”

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something almost like hope.

“I see you, Remus. All of you. I see the way you flinch from love like it’s a blade. I see the grief carved into your silence. I see the boy who would rather bury himself than risk hurting someone else.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands—wounded, trembling, wrapped in ragged bandages—and the pain in your voice was honest, unfiltered. “But I also see the boy who never trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that… that hurts more than any scar.”

He looked broken, hollowed out in a way that left your chest aching, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t close his eyes. Instead, his voice came, raw and low.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of your words settling between you like a fragile promise. “Yes. You should’ve.”

The steam from the warm water curled around your faces, softening the harsh edges of everything unsaid, blurring the sharp lines of pain into something almost gentle.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing in the shared silence. Then he leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours, a quiet gesture that spoke of tentative hope and fragile trust.

“I want to try,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”

Your own voice trembled as it broke free. “Start by telling me everything.”

He nodded again, slower this time, like anchoring himself to the present. And with that, something shifted—an opening, a fragile thread weaving back between you.

And this time, he did.

It came slowly at first, like drawing words from the marrow of his bones—halting, rough, like he’d forgotten how to shape language without flinching.

He told you what he could remember from that night—shards of memory coated in blood and fear, barely coherent. He told you what it felt like to lose himself, to slip out of time, to wake up in a skin that didn’t feel like his own.

The nightmares that curled around his ribcage. The silence that tasted like penance. The months—years—spent learning how to live without letting anyone close enough to see the damage. How he'd convinced himself that silence was kindness, that distance was protection, that truth was a luxury people like him couldn’t afford.

And still, you listened.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t turn away. You let his voice break against you like waves on a cliffside, let him collapse into pauses and shake through the parts he couldn’t finish. You held the silence between his sentences like it was something sacred. Even when it hurt.

Even when it cracked open something raw and old inside your chest. Because somewhere inside you, you knew—this wasn’t just a story he was telling. It was a confession. A quiet unraveling.

Not everything was said. Not everything could be. There were still silences he couldn’t break open and wounds you weren’t sure how to touch. But it was a beginning. A single stone placed in what might one day be a bridge.

And still, there was so much more.

The things Sirius had done—reckless, cruel, even if born of desperation—hung in the air like smoke that would not clear. You had not spoken to him since it all unraveled. You were not sure what you would say.

You didn’t know if Remus would ever find it in himself to forgive Sirius, or to trust him again. Some things fracture differently. Some betrayals do not bleed clean.

And James, with his steady eyes and soft-spoken guilt, had kept his own silences. Even he, who had always tried to protect you, had made choices that left you cut open.

All three of them had lied in different ways. Lied in the name of protection. Lied out of fear. Lied out of love. And those lies still lingered in the spaces behind your teeth. You hadn’t even begun to decide what to do with that.

You knew, deep down, that some scars would not close. That no amount of tenderness could undo certain kinds of damage. That some trust, once fractured, might never return in the shape it once held.

You had changed. They had, too. And now you would have to figure out if those new shapes could still fit beside one another without splintering again.

You would have to grieve what you’d lost—who you’d been before all this. You would have to learn how to trust again, not just them, but yourself. Your instincts. Your worth. You’d have to forgive the parts of you that stayed too quiet, too long. You would carry this with you, no matter how far you ran—these bruised memories, these broken truths—but you didn’t have to carry them alone anymore.

Healing would not be a soft road.

There would be nights you’d wake trembling. Days the anger would rise without warning. There would be guilt, and fear, and moments when you weren’t sure if you could keep choosing to stay.

But there would also be mornings, slow and gold. There would be laughter again, strange at first, then easier. There would be cups of tea gone cold on the windowsill. A hand held out when you least expected it. A voice calling you back when you wandered too far.

But you also knew this. You were no longer alone in it.

You helped Remus out of the tub when the water turned cold. He was quiet, pliant, letting you wrap the towel around his shaking shoulders. His head tilted toward yours as you led him through the dim apartment, your steps slow but steady, his breath catching in the hush between rooms.

You found him a fresh shirt, helped him into bed without asking, and tucked the blanket over his trembling limbs. He lay still as stone, but his fingers found yours. And held.

You sat beside him, watching the moonlight shift across the floorboards, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

When Remus finally turned to face you, his expression was soft with exhaustion, but something in his eyes had steadied.

He took your hand again, thumb grazing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of you.

“Do you think,” he asked, his voice just above a whisper, “there’s a chance for us? After everything?”

The question lingered between you. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just honest.

You took a breath and met his gaze. “Yes,” you said. “I do.”

His hand tightened gently in yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting that answer settle inside his chest.

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

You blinked, heart rising painfully. You didn’t hesitate.

“For keeps.”

a/n: this is so over the place, i am so sorry anon </3

[bbystark]

♡ soap's little plan ♡

abo!141 x omega!reader

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: despite having a pack of his own, soap finds himself wanting more. he's grown tired of being the only Omega with 2 unruly Alphas. good thing you showed up, now he can flush those pesky little suppressants and make you theirs.

⚠︎ suggestive themes, soap being a little obsessed, invasions of privacy

a/n: series??? idk where this came from but enjoy

Soap wasn’t an unhappy man. He was talented, knew just how dangerous he was in the field, how many brushes with death he’d skillfully skirted with a big “fuck you” and a bloody smile. He had the respect of his peers and fear of the new recruits. Most importantly, he had a pack he loved. Never went to bed wanting or alone. His inner Omega should be satisfied, all things considering, and yet, he still yearns. 

He feels guilty sometimes. When he’s laid out on one of his mate’s beds, sweaty and thrumming with release. He rolls over, pressing wet kisses to damp skin and trying to focus on fingers that ghost over his head. Tries to push out the gnawing subconscious thought of more. He wants to scoff at himself. 3 mates and somehow he still couldn’t help but be greedy. 

It’s like Price says in the field (and in the bedroom, funnily enough): “You're a goddamn restless dog ain’t ‘ya? Restless and a dog, indeed. 

His words run through Soap’s mind as he stares at you. His dirty little one-sided secret. He’s watched you for months. Smelled you immediately when his eyes first landed on you, an unforgettable mix of vanilla licorice, fruit, and a tang of something earthy, like grass or rain. So unbelievably feminine and soft, he was intoxicated. Couldn’t help but watch as you walked down the hall. You had glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly; he remembered the chill that ran through him when you locked eyes. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

He had immediately sweet talked the Beta receptionist into handing over your file. He had tucked it under his arm and taken it to his room, locking the door and glancing around like he was a teen with a raunchy magazine. Read it front to back. You were smart, specialized in cybersecurity before you joined the military. Now you drifted from team to team, going where you were needed. Helping run covert hops here, a little hacking there. He felt a grin take over his face when he saw that in your last assignment, you acted as a demolition expert. An impressive resume, he faintly wondered why you hadn’t been pinned down by a team yet. Clearly, you were an asset. 

He got to your current contract papers, seeing you were brought on to be a floater. You’d help with missions in the unit how they saw fit. He could only pray that he’d be working with you eventually. He closes the file, thumbing the small file photo of you. You were beautiful no doubt, not smiling but still holding a hint of softness. 

He pauses when he realizes he didn’t see a presentation in your file. He flips through the pages again, skimming through your medical report. The boxes next to ‘Omega’, ‘Alpha’, and ‘Beta’ are all unmarked. It clicks then, your sweet smell and the lack of presentation in your files. You were an Omega. 

Soap wasn’t really supposed to be where he was as an Omega. While there were no rules against it, there were hardly any Omegas here for a reason. It was hard, both physically and mentally. Soap had taken twice the recommended amount of suppressants and nearly went broke buying scent blockers. Put his body through hell and back to prove he was worthy. It was only when he became Lieutenant and had the protection of a pack that he felt comfortable enough to stop hiding his presentation . By then, no one could really say anything about it. 

His heart raced. You were an Omega. He had no proof other than being one himself, but he was almost sure of it. It did nothing to curb his growing curiosity. 

He should have pushed you out of his mind, but he’s Soap. He’s insistent and can be downright stubborn when it comes down to it. It was just his nature. He formulated a whole plan, get close to you, slowly ease you into meeting his pack, then make you theirs. Plain and simple. 

It was not plain and simple. 

First of all, the guilt started eating at him. He had everything he’d ever hoped for, a family, a successful career, and here he was. The worst part is that Soap couldn’t help it, he loved his mates, their masculine presence and smell that filled a room. But he secretly can’t help but wish there was another Omega around, someone who could help him ground his Alphas. Gaz did a great job, but he was a beta, and Soap often received the brunt end of Ghost and Prices’ more baser instincts. Not just an Omega, but a woman. Someone with that femininity and power that balances and soothes an entire pack into submission. 

Second of all, you didn’t want to give him the time of day. 

The first time he approaches you is in the dining hall, your face stoic and focused as you grab an apple and place it on your tray. He takes a few breaths, your muted and yet somehow still overwhelming scent filling his senses. 

“New around here bonnie?” He finally gets the courage up to speak.  “Names Johnny, but people call me Soap.” He reaches a hand out. 

You take it hesitantly, and he revels in the softness. He tries not to get distracted by the way his hand almost completely covers your own. 

“Y/n.” you respond curtly, releasing his hand and grabbing your tray.  “Transferred a week ago.” You don’t wait for his response, making your way over to one of the many tables littered with people chatting. Soap hastily grabs a banana and his tray, taking long strides to catch up with you. 

“So uh, how you likin’ it so far?” He flinches at his own stutter. God, he’s out of practice. 

You give him a pointed look. 

“S’fine.” You sit, hastily picking up your spoon and taking a bite of oatmeal. It doesn’t deter Soap. 

He spends the next 30 minutes talking your ear off, receiving the occasional nod or “mhm” from you. You give up very little about yourself, answering shortly and precisely. It drives him mad. 

You cut off his rant on the latest recruits, standing abruptly. “It was nice talking with you Lieutenant MacTavish, but I have to get going.” 

He watches as you leave, stunned and frankly a little turned on at how easily you brushed him off. Soap was a sucker for a chase. 

He faintly realizes that you knew his rank and last name, and has a feeling that you’re a careful and intelligent woman. It only fuels his growing suspicion of your presentation. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Soap keeps trying after that, despite the gnawing feeling of guilt and greediness. The less you give him, the more enraptured he becomes. With every eye roll and silent stretch you give him, he falls deeper and deeper into the need to make you his. 

It only takes a couple months for it all to come to a head. Soap finds you in a hallway late at night, most people tucked away in their quarters. Your scent is slightly off, soured and citrusy. He loves it. 

“Where are you stormin’ off to?” 

You don’t answer, which is not unusual, but the way you push past him without so much of a glance, is. “Aye, c’mon love, what’s got you so worked up?” 

You turn on your heel, almost crashing into Soap. You didn’t hate him, sometimes you even welcomed the company, even though his jokes were shit. Not that you’d let him know you even remotely liked his presence. You stare him down for a second, teeth gritted. 

You had just overheard some particularly nasty and sexist comments about you, not the first time- hell not even the fiftieth time. But it never stung less, that people refused to see your experience and rank simply because you had the misfortune of being born a woman. You regret the words almost as soon as you say them. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, MacTavish. I’m not interested in your company, and I sure as shit didn’t ask for it. Go bother your pack, and leave me alone.” You spit the word at him, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s a reflection of your own loneliness deep down. You can’t stand the shock on his face, so you turn around and sulk to the kitchen to find a sweet treat to placate you. 

Soap watches as you leave, and he’s hurt. How can you not see how perfect you’d be for the pack? Granted, he’s the only one that knows, he still has no idea how to broach the topic with his pack. Would they hate him? Call him selfish, wonder why they weren’t enough for him? His fists clench at his sides as your scent completely fades. 

Then it clicks. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He smiles to himself, no longer upset at your blatant rejection. He almost skips back to his room. 

He has it all figured out. 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

The next morning he flirts with some nurses, brings them donuts from the place off base. While they’re all distracted and giggling amongst each other, he quietly slips into the record room and grabs your files. His heart beats out of his chest at the little checkmark next to “Omega”. 

He knew it. He flips through the files quickly, finding a detailed page tracking your heat cycles. You haven’t had a heat in years, seeing a note that says you denied a doctor's request to go into heat at least once every 3 years. He knew that pain, he couldn’t imagine you putting yourself through that. You shouldn't be putting yourself through that. He’ll make sure that you don’t have to anymore. 

He flips a few more pages, going back to when you did have your heats. He finds an entry that notes that you had unusually long and painful heats, along with a prescription of sedatives. The next line states that you usually have them every 3 months, February, May, August and sometimes December. He hears his heartbeat in his ears when he realizes his luck of it being the beginning of December. It was meant to be. 

He closes the file quietly, closing his eyes in relief. You’d be his, and his pack’s, soon. 

That night, while you’re showering in the gym, Soap is breaking into your room. It doesn’t take much effort, he’s in within minutes, stepping into your sacred space. There’s a half assed nest in the corner of your room, your instincts must be strong if you’re still nesting while taking suppressants. He wants to go over and fluff it for you, add his scent covered shirt to the pitiful pile. He shakes his head. He needs to focus on why he’s here. 

He rifles through your cabinets, desperately searching. He knows you like long showers, but he’s still on edge. If he gets caught, it’s all over. He tries to be quick without disturbing the placement of your items, but he begins to panic when he can’t find those familiar little pills. He rushes to your bed, looking underneath. He’s about to lose hope when he moves from underneath your bed, cursing when he knocks his head on the frame. 

He almost doesn’t hear it. The soft thud of something falling. He looks back under the bed, eyes falling on a tiny box meant for jewelry. He grabs it, slowly opening it and removing the piece of foam on top. 

Bingo. 

He stares at the tiny pills, the familiar pale blue a contrast against the black of the box. He spills a few in his hand. There were enough for months. You were like he was, handing your health over in exchange for surviving here. His fist closes over pills as he makes his way out of your room. He locks your door behind him, trying not to run to his room. When he makes it there, he’s buzzing with excitement. He goes to his bathroom, opening the toilet lid and fishing the box from his pocket. He doesn’t hesitate in throwing them all into the bowl, and watching as the water swirls when he flushes. The water settles, and your pills are gone. 

Omega’s are the most sensitive of the three presentations. Senses more in tune than even the best Alpha. It was in their very biology to be strong in ways Alpha’s were not, to hold a pack together. Your biology would work quickly, work through the artificial hormones you’d been poisoning yourself with in haste. It happened to him, after so long of suppressing his Omega, it came back with a vengeance. You would be no different. 

And with Price’s rut- and Ghost’s, coming up soon, they won’t stand a chance against the strong smell of an Omega in heat. He’ll make sure that they find you, that they take care of you. 

It was all part of his plan, after all.

[k-aemi]

Hai I’m not the person that requested it but, can k humbly request more sae and Rin content with their sister :3 💕

itoshi sae & itoshi rin ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ progression.

smut, dub/non, anal, in/stepcest, manipulation, view it however you want.

part 1

ever since your "training" your nii chans have put you through, you just dont see that progression in your football skills. youre starting to think maybe youre just not made for it, but you loved football you dont wanna quit :(

theyve been training your agility, defense and stamina, you think it has maybe gotten a bit better? well thats what your nii chans tell you, they said youve made so much progress from the training and you should be come the best striker in no time.

but applying the training was never helpful. you still cant run for long, you can never aim properly, nor dribble. why cant you just be like sae or rin! theyre so talented and youre here still struggling even when you started the same time as them.

you vent to your nii chans, doubting their ability to train you and maybe it wasnt worth wasting their energy with you. it wasnt them, it was maybe just you. youre incapable to improve and perform moves that would slightly increase your playstyle.

"i dont know sae-nii...its not working! this training sucks! i-i dont see improvement!" you frown, whining to your brothers about the training. honestly theyre the experts, you shouldnt be blaming their training, but if they cant see improvement, why cant they just change their ways of teaching?

sae can only scoff, while looking down at your figure. honestly why cant you see that youre just not made for football? he hated to hear your whining everyday. but if you did, he and rin wouldnt really have any excuse to fuck you silly everyday. they just love their imouto sooo much.

rin comes in from behind, grabbing hold of your hair to lay on your shoulder, exposing your neck. giving it light kisses to it, trailing down to your back. "you just need some time to develop skills." he eases the thin strap of your shirt to your arm, exposing your boobs.

sae closes in the gap between you and him, firmly grasping your sides before sliding down to squeeze your ass while rin grasped your mounds leaving you to inhale a sharp breath.

"then we have to change our ways dont we? dont worry 'mouto. ill make sure you can really put that training to use."

youre met with sae slurping up your wet cunt while rin rubs his cock between your boobs. your nose is met his with balls as he continues to drag his hips, squishing the soft mound to get more friction.

your hands grip on saes hair, tugging on the strands which does make him annoyed. slapping your hand away to leave him to just eat your pussy out. it makes your body twitch. the way rin niis balls lay on your mouth and sae nii sucking on your clit...your nii chans always makes you do these types of training...way different than theirs.

your focus shattered without warning, feeling something prodding at your tight hole. sae latched off your cunt, his thumb circling around the rim of your ass. you want to close your legs, but sae nii always has a tight grip on your thighs which forces you to keep open.

your protests would only become muffled thanks to rin nii. so its basically pointless to speak. but you can feel his thumb slowly entering in and it makes you squirm. your legs kick in the air to push him away. his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing ever so slightly before taking hold of your ankles, confining them together with his hand, making you unable to resist his advances now.

he sticks his thumb in and it feels like youre going to explode. its so tight in there, and he knows it. the way your ass blinks and sucks his thumb only makes him intrigued. he wondered how youd react if he pushed further.

you sigh in relief when he takes his thumb out, soon to be met with two fingers entering in, curling up your tight walls. you moan into rin niis balls and he lets out gasps, the vibrations made the pleasure better as he continued his thrusts between your boobs.

sae nii moves his fingers in and out, its difficult to move since your walls clench on him hard, but he needs to prep you for the next level of training. "stop squirming or else you wont be able to take the next training." he spoke with his stern tone. you can only comply, knowing sae nii, hell get annoyed and spank you until your ass becomes red, it always leaves you crying.

"hey, youre gonna put it in there?" rins face looks conflicted, no way in hell he wanted sae to take your first in your tight ass. sae can only scoff, not liking the way rin interrupted him. "shell be fine." dropping a glob of spit on your ass, making you wince from the sudden contact with his wet saliva.

rin sighed in annoyance, knowing he couldnt stop him either way. he latches off your boobs and you feel relieved you can breathe properly again...only for rin to smear his precum on your plump lips. he caresses your cheek, looking down at your already teary eyed face. he had at least some empathy towards you unlike sae nii, but he loved using your body for his and your pleasure of course.

"g'na hurt a bit. just breathe through here okay?" you frown, but you know you have to endure it, sae nii said it will work this time! you have to obliged. meanwhile sae coats himself in your slick, getting every inch of it as a lubricant so it can be a bit easier for him to insert inside your ass.

rin slides his cock in your warm mouth, till his cock shaped your throat<3

he loved how his big cock did that. taking hold of your neck before he starts his ferocious thrusting, making you slobber all over his cock. saes glad rin had already inserted himself in, because he knew youd cry loud when he inserts his cock in.

carefully pushing his tip in at first wasnt so easy. it was painfully tight for both parties. your hands finds itself to rin niis thighs, clawing at it from just the pain of sae niis tip. your body tensed as he tried to force more of himself on you. your legs kick aimlessly and sae can only let out ragged breaths. your ass was so fuckin' tight.

"fuck, its tight." he gasped out, taking hold of your waist, he can hear your pathetic whines and youre probably crying right now. which you are, it hurts so much. hes stretching you out like crazy. sae struggled just entering in, his breathing becomes heavy.

rin soothes your throat with his thumbs, cooing you and telling you its okay. no its not okay! your throat burns and it hurts more than when he inserted it in your pussy!

when sae niis balls would touch your ass, hed pull back and then pushing back in. letting out breaths between every thrusts. god if your ass felt this good he doesnt wanna fuck your pussy anymore, hell just stick to your sweet tight hole<3

the way your gummy walls would clench on him felt sooo good, its like it has a mind of its own, its basically begging him to not pull out, the way it sucks him in was mouthwatering. he cant help but eye the way your hole was gaping because of his big cock. the way it expands has him out of this world, he could look at this forever.

your cries are muffled with rin nii stuffing you full of his cock. its nearly impossible to breathe in this situation youre stuck in. the training always made you sore after every session, they never give you a break. :(

sae does graudally fasten his pace, but not too much, he doesnt want to break you just yet. so its rare for him to go at such a normal pace. hes so close to cumming already, itd be embarrassing to cum right now, but youre so tight it makes it impossible for him not to.

rin niis cock pistoled inside your mouth with such rigger thrusting. his balls slapping your face was so lewd you cant even think straight. everything was a blur as you get fucked dumb by your nii chans cocks. your brain gets mushy and youre not even sure if everything is real right now.

"shit...should be fine if i come inside." he grunts out before fastening his thrusting, your legs kick up from the sudden change of pace and your fat tears fall to the ground. it hurts so much but sae nii is always so harsh on you.

it hurts so much you dont even register rin nii coming inside your mouth, forcing you to swallow him whole. you gag and choke as its forcing its way in. pulling out as he regains his breath. grabbing hold of his cock to smear any cum that leaked from the corner of your mouth back in. you hated the taste...its so bitter and sour!

"s-sae nii...hurts..." your pathetic whines were barely of a whisper, you cant speak properly because of the burn. sae ignores your protests only continuing his rough pace on you, too into the moment.

you sniffle. you need to grab hold of something...anything. "r-rin nii...hold my hand please...sae hurting me.." youd hiccup in between. rin of course would hold your hand, cooing and shushing you to try and distract you from the pain. "s'okay 'mouto. rin nii is here." hed caress your cheek while you tightly squeeze his hand.

"'m gonna cwum...rin nii..." you cried out, saes near his end too, he cant wait to finally feel what its like to cum inside of his baby sister. "k-kiss me nii chan.." youre so cute rin thinks, with a face like yours with those baby doll eyes, how could he refuse? leaning in, he kisses you tenderly, distracting you just a bit from the pain.

"take it all." were saes final words before he thrusts in one last time, releasing his cum inside your walls. and god was the feeling incredible. he grinds on you to ride out his orgasm and its so much better than pulling out, even after using your ass, youre still so tight. he thinks the hole was made just for him.

your finger nails dig deep into rins hand and he hisses, while sae nii helps ride out your orgasm. rin latches off your lips and he admires your fucked out face, your eyes are rolled back and your mouth is slightly left agape. the way your body twitches is so cute too.

sae recovers his breathing, eyeing your overly exhausted figure. flushing his chest on your boobs to whisper to you.

"have you learned anything or do we need to do it again hm?" but thats just an excuse to fuck your ass again.

hihi it took the whole day to finish because i kept getting distracted im so sorry!! i hope it is not too rushed! (╥﹏╥) but hope u guys enjoy this one, last step sib post i swear and i will write a different trope! too many sib requests www, i will tag those who wanted to be tag (≧◡≦) ♡ and for those anons who wanted more here ya go! @rinrinniebaby @riinniies

[melshifting]

THE PERFECT MOTHER ― Ultimate 'Mom' DR Scripting Pack ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

― ❝ I’ve never seen someone so naturally meant to be a parent ❞

(Anon request! hope u enjoy :3)

↳ 01 ⋆˚✿ Your touch is a cure-all. Whether it’s a scraped knee or a bad day, a simple hand on the back/forehead kiss melts away any discomfort.

↳ 02 ⋆˚✿ You never run out of patience, even for 'silly' things. Spilled juice? Whatever. Endless questions? No problem. A meltdown over something random? Take your time, we’ll figure it out.

↳ 03 ⋆˚✿ You’re immune to getting your hair pulled, earrings yanked, and eyes poked. A toddler could grab a fistful of your hair and yank with full force, and you wouldn’t even flinch.

↳ 04 ⋆˚✿ Your intuition is almost supernatural. You just know when your child is about to get sick or when they’re lying—even before they realize it themselves.

↳ 05 ⋆˚✿ You never forget the small details—you remember everything, from their first words to their small habits or things they love.

↳ 06 ⋆˚✿ Your voice is just so soothing, even other kids fall asleep when you hum—one lullaby verse in, and they’re out like a light.

↳ 07 ⋆˚✿ Everything in balance: you're warm but firm, fun but responsible—your kids respect you without fearing you and trust you without taking advantage.

↳ 08 ⋆˚✿ Cliché advise? never. You don’t hit your kids with generic speeches—you know exactly how to word things so they actually hear you, and in a way it will actually stick with them (positively ofc).

↳ 09 ⋆˚✿ You instantly detect lies without making a big deal out of it—you know the truth but handle it in a way that doesn’t embarrass anyone.

↳ 10 ⋆˚✿ Every child dreads medicine, except yours—either by crushing it up and mixing it or using a distraction, you make medicine actually taste nice.

↳ 11 ⋆˚✿ You give the best hugs, the kind that makes bad days disappear—even when they grow up, they’ll swear nothing feels warmer than being wrapped in your arms.

↳ 12 ⋆˚✿ In your world, yelling, threatening, or bribing aren't a thing—when you say “that’s enough,” it is. Even in the wildest moments, your kids know you mean business.

↳ 13 ⋆˚✿ Cooking while helping with homework while mentally making a grocery list? Effortless.—you’re a multitasking savant, a human embodiment of efficiency, yet you still make it look easy.

↳ 14 ⋆˚✿ No books? No problem. You weave worlds with your words, creating characters and adventures so vivid that your child begs for a sequel.

↳ 15 ⋆˚✿ You have the ability to remember every friend’s name, every teacher’s name, deadlines, etc—without even trying. It’s like your brain is a live database for their world.

↳ 16 ⋆˚✿ You can do the perfect hairstyle in a time record, effortlessly—no lumps, loose strands, or hairs falling out of place.

↳ 17 ⋆˚✿ You can remove stains like a magician. Juice, mud, marker, chocolate—you have a talent for stain removal, making clothes look brand new every time.

↳ 18 ⋆˚✿ Your presence alone can calm down any nervous child. No matter the situation, your kid just needs to hold your hand, and suddenly, everything feels okay.

↳ 19 ⋆˚✿ Before the fever, the sniffles—you just know. It’s like your body syncs with theirs, giving you a head start on medicine.

↳ 20 ⋆˚✿ You always give them just the right amount of responsibility. You push them to be independent but never overwhelm them.

↳ 21 ⋆˚✿ You never let them feel like they’re ‘too much.’ Whether they’re hyper, emotional, quiet, or talkative—you make them feel like who they are is never an inconvenience.

↳ 22 ⋆˚✿ You don’t mold them into a version of you—you give them the freedom to grow, explore, and discover who they are, knowing that no matter where life takes them, they will always have you as home.

[janicekao]

You Will Dance

Pairing: Remmick x Black oc Summary: Lorelei Boone watches the door of the Juke Joint as Cornbread takes a bathroom break. She is approached by the lead banjo player of a white folk band who was denied entry at the door and instead of letting him in, his charm is enough to convince her to come out. Warnings:#Sinners #Fanfic #Supernatural #Vampires #Irish #GaelicTongue #1932 #JimCrowEra #FatedLove #Corruption #InnocenceCorruption #Fluff #PublicS3x #RoughS3x #Cr3amPie #CumW3aring #OutsideS3x #Smut #18+ #IDK #Lol 9104 words Wattpad link Enjoy my babies<3 -----------------------------------

Beautiful black bodies sway and sweat through the Juke Joint's grand opening this Saturday evening. The Smoke-Stack twins really did their big one by purchasing the old sawmill and making it a place to spread black joy.

The blues music reverberates off of all four of the steel walled building. Little Sammie's voice is powerful, a kind of soul ascending blues singing that's never been heard before, the type of talent that has people all over Mississippi pouring inside to hear it— even an interested white band who came by with their banjos begging to perform alongside Sammie on the stage.

But Smoke and Stack cut that idea down quickly. This building is theirs, and if they say that no white faces are allowed tonight, then that's final.

Both young and old are here tonight, most are sharecroppers but all are hard workers. They deserve the freedom of tonight— free to smile, laugh, celebrate, and take up space in something that's theirs, something finally black owned.

The men's pocket-change from a week's worth of little pay bounce and clink around in their tattered pockets. The women ready to spend said change, look sweet enough to cause cavities, wearing their Sunday best and a dash of their mama's prized perfume— probably the same dress they'll be wearing to the church house come morning.

Although their pocket change and morals will be long gone come sunrise, and the crushing weight of reality will make them regret all that they've spent— the same words will be shared across everyone's lips and amongst the entire town of Clarksdale, Mississippi tomorrow, "a time was had last night."

If you're not careful while walking through the Juke Joint, you're bound to get bumped by swaying hips or your toe stomped on by dancing feet. Lorelei Boone walks through the crowded building trying to avoid the injuries that could come from the careless fun around her. She carries her mason jar of moonshine through the Juke, hoping to get some fresh air now that the body heat in the building has made it insanely stuffy and humid. Nearing the front door, Lorelei's free hand is suddenly grabbed at the wrist. She grips her glass tighter, prepared to bash it across whoever has grabbed her, especially if it's a man getting fresh with her. But it's not— instead, it's who she came with tonight, her best friend Nadia Ruth, one of the flirty frivolous women in the Juke who hasn't stopped dancing since they arrived before sundown. "Come on Lye!" Nadia calls for her friend, body being sandwiched and gladly felt upon by two men. "Get in here girl and shake sum serious!"

Lorelei laughs, knowing that her friend is up to no good tonight, but come church service by dawn, she'll be a good little saint with her Bible open and sitting in the first pew. "You doing enough shakin' for the both of us honey, better be careful tho! The mens you with got gold bands on their fingers!"

Nadia drops Lorelei's hand, ready to direct her anger onto the men gyrating against her. "Wait! Unt-uh! Y'all married and got wives!?"

Chuckling as she hears the fading sound of her friend now on a warpath to cuss her dancing partners out, Lorelei finally makes it to the front door and takes a deep breath of the cool night's air. She notices Cornbread pacing and parading at the entry, looking like he's doing the 'peepee' dance that Lorelei has seen her baby cousins do whenever they need to let loose.

"Slim!" Cornbread makes eye contact with the nearest man around him. "Would ya watch the door for me!? Goddamn moonshine went right through me, gotta piss like a racehorse at the Kentucky derby."

Delta Slim makes his way over... However, he sways and can hardly stand from the gallons of beer and corn liquor he has drank tonight. "Eghh." He groans, "yeah ol Slim got it, I got the damn door."

Lorelei rolls her eyes, "just go Cornbread, I don't know why you even asked Slim! You know he ain't been sober since he was thirteen years old."

"Hey girl, I ain't been thirteen in fifty years." The insult flies past his head.

She chuckles, "my point exactly."

Slim continues to slur and sway, "you shoulda asked the gal to do it any damn way, all she done tonight is walk around the Juke like a lost puppy. Ain't done shit else, like she betta than the blues or something."

Lorelei quickly cuts sharp eyes at him. Who knew he had been watching? She crosses her arms over her chest becoming slightly insecure, wondering how many other people has realized that the extroverted activities of the night isn't something her introverted being is used to.

"Aye Slim! Stop picking on babygirl!" Cornbread nudges the old drunk fool. "Maybe not a hoofer or a singer, but you know you're good company Lye, right?"

She smiles, "don't worry Cornbread, anything Delta Slim got to say to me, go in one ear and right out the other!" Lorelei shoos Slim away and takes Cornbread's seat at the door. The old man immediately heads back to the bar for another refill and Cornbread groans, worried that leaving a woman at the door isn't the brightest idea.

"Go Cornbread!" Lorelei assures, "I'm fine! Now go drain that lizard before you get them bladder-stones."

He hisses at the thought, "Ooohwee! You right about that one, I'll be right back! Just don't let no one in!"

"Yeah, yeah." She takes a swig out of her mason jar, getting comfortable in her position. "I got it."

As Cornbread makes a sprint into the darkness of the woods, Lorelei feels a slight breeze come across her. This is exactly why she came to the door in the first place, dying to feel a bit of cool air on her hot flesh. She takes the wooden chair by the two front legs, scooting it further into the Mississippi night across the threshold of the building. "That's much better." She whispers to herself as she lets the gentle breeze caress her.

About a hundred feet away, the folk band that got rejected tonight sit on an old log beneath the street light with their banjos. They play their music lightly. They haven't gone very far, still hoping for an invite inside— 'walking home slowly' as they called it, waiting in hopes that the twins will change their minds and let them inside.

The band consists of Joan and Bert— a husband and wife, and their lead singer Remmick. Sure they could've chosen a white owned establishment to enter tonight, but Lil Sammie's voice caught Remmick's attention, and being the music lover that he is, Remmick won't be leaving here without Sammie's songs... or his soul.

Quietly performing one of their many folk songs together, Remmick's focus is suddenly stolen. For the first time ever, the music enthusiast forgets his lyric and misses a note on the banjo.

Time stands still as his gaze centers in on a girl shaped almost too provocative for eyes to see. At the door of the Juke she wears a tattered milkmaid dress about a size too small, either to intensify the spillage of her buxom breasts, cinch in her tiny waist, and show off the shapely outline of her hips. Or, maybe it fits her small because she simply outgrew it. So very well taken care of and fed southern pound cake to the point of filling out the dress with her near-thirty year old body of a woman fully grown. The kind of stacked that can make even an immortal man lose all of his God given sense.

Only music has ever affected his focus, never a woman. Remmick tilts his head to the side as he continues to swoon from a distance, 'don't tell me after all these centuries the universe has finally directed me to a mate.' His usual shared thoughts with his band have been concealed to only his own.

"I'm guessing y'all can handle Cornbread?" Remmick  directs his attention towards the woods.

"Sure can, should we wait for you?" Joan and Bert set their instruments against the log.

He grins, "nah that's okay. I think I'll get acquainted with the new door-woman, see if I can work our way inside."

With a plan in place, the group breaks into two directions. Joan and Bert hold hands, skipping off into the woods as they giggle on a honeymoon high from their new lease on life ever since Remmick turned them into vampires like himself. Poor Cornbread has no idea what is coming his way as he tries to find some simple relief pissing against a tree in the woods. But, Lorelei has no idea what's coming her way as well now that the lead singing banjo player is seen approaching her at the front door of the Juke Joint.

With a slow confident glide in his step, Remmick whistles the tune of 'Steamboat Willy' up to the door. He stops only a foot away from her, taking a longing gaze as he soaks up her image from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. He could take her right now. The chair she sits in is pulled just an inch out of the building, unintentionally driving him mad with the restraint he has to keep from tasting her blood in this very instant. She's mouthwatering, living her life dangerously on the edge of life and death and she hasn't the slightest idea.

Remmick chuckles lightly to himself, his baritone sly laugh vibrating through his throat. A girl who tickles him with so much amusement, it's comforting to his eyes. He's determined to wait to kill her... He's sure that when he finally gets inside tonight he will get to her last. It will give him more time to watch fear heighten her heart rate and beat out of her ample chest— what a delicious sight it will be to watch her stunned with fright and lifting her breasts with each quickened breath she'll take. "How are you doing tonight darling?"

"Oh no not you again, you're the guy who came with the folk singers." The sweat on Lorelei's skin makes her dark mahogany flesh shimmer that much more beneath the moonlight. She speaks playfully to the young man, hardly fearing him being that she's sure he weighs less than her left thigh.

She recites the tune she overheard them singing earlier, word for word.

"I picked poor Robin clean, I picked his head, picked his feet, I would have picked his body, but it wasn't fit to eat."

"Well look at you! You sure sound good singing my song!" His eyes cut to the shown cleavage of her breasts. "Look good too." He refocuses, "but yeah, that's me. Remmick, and your name?"

"Lye." The tawny minx doesn't hesitate to take his hand, receiving a gentle kiss to the back of her knuckles. "Well— Lorelei Boone, but everybody calls me Lye."

"Lye." He repeats her name like a hymn in a hushed tune, as if he were to begin singing again any second now. "Tell me Lye, do you tell a lie?"

"Never." Being questioned about her character makes her frown in suspicion.

"I like that." He nods, continuing to inch closer. "So you'll tell me why your friends wouldn't let us in tonight. Was it really just our skin color, or they didn't like our song, maybe it was something else?"

Lorelei shrugs, "I really shouldn't get into it with you about it. I'm just waiting for Cornbread to come back to man the door."

With his power of being able to hear even hundreds of miles away, Remmick knows something that Lorelei doesn't as he listens in on Bert and Joan tear ol Cornbread to pieces just a few feet past the wood line. "Right... Right, Cornbread..." He grins, quickly changing the subject knowing soon Ms. Boone will know all about what has happened to her good friend Cornbread. "Well— did you like my song, Lorelei Boone?

"I love music." She smiles an image glorious enough to make Remmick mistake the sound of beating in a heart that hasn't pumped blood through his body in centuries. She continues, "all kinds of music, so yes I did like your song, very much so."

"If you love music so much, why aren't you up there cutting a rug too?" His question catches her off guard. Lorelei turns around and watches the party behind her continue. The joy on her loved one's faces brings a smile to hers too, maybe not the most favored in all of Clarksdale, but this big ol country girl wouldn't ever change her home or the people in it for nothing in this world. "Me? Dance?" She chuckles in sarcasm. "With my terrible two left feet? Oh no, that's not me. But I do enjoy being here to watch." She shrugs, "I guess you've picked up on me being a lil bit of an outcast, huh?"

"You don't have to be." The words almost burst through him. "Lorelei, what if I told you that I know a place where you'd never feel like an outcast ever again? You'd be part of something so much bigger than this— than you and me alone. You can bring all your friends too."

Hearing lies of a fantasy life from the mouth of a white man in 1932 makes her laugh, he may as well tell her that she'd find a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow too. "I'd probably say that I want some of what you've been smoking, Mista Remmick."

"Oh but it's true, Lye." His voice trembles in an overly excited moan. "You sweet thing you, I tell ya what. You seem much nicer than the folks that I met before, so why don't you let me inside and we can continue talking about it. You can spend all of my money on however many drinks you want."

She swirls the last sips of moonshine in her mason jar. "This one'll do just fine."

"You've been drinking that same glass of moonshine for a while now."

"Sip slow and you'll never need a refill." She refuses, insisting on her one drink tonight.

"You're a smart girl." His mind games continue. "A lady should always keep her eyes open and head on a swivel. Some say staying out late at night ain't good for nothing but finding the devil."

She mocks in flirtatious laughter. Her ample hips spill over the sides of a pathetic excuse for a chair and her now crossed legs peak through a long thigh-slit made into the side of her dress. "Is that right? And what? I suppose you're the devil then?"

If only she knew. Her naiveness heats Remmick to his core. "I can be anything you want me to be baby." His blue-eyed gaze lowers quickly to the sight of the big legged girl, finding himself dragging a finger along her thigh and palming her calf enough to rub her leg to the buckle of her short heel.

The interaction is chilling. Lorelei clears her throat, trying her best to hide her arousal. "Where are your friends at? They know that you're over here with your eyes on a colored girl? Don't you think they'd have something to say?"

He reminisces on Bert and Joan's past connections with the KKK. Remembering the white hooded robes that they had stored in their home when they were still human, knowing that the only reason that they've changed is the promise of worldwide love and fellowship that he instilled into their heads— the only reason they aren't shit stained racists anymore. "Maybe they would've had something to say once upon a time, Lorelei. But they know better now, they know that we're all family."

Lorelei sucks her teeth in pure disbelief. She listens to the charming man before her, sure that everything out of his mouth is candy-coated lies.

Remmick kneels before her, placing his prized banjo in the dirt as his focus continues on only her tonight. "Go ahead and uncross them legs for me darlin."

...

She blinks repetitively, unsure if she heard his command correctly. "Excuse me?"

He taps her thigh. "Now."

Lorelei scoffs in disbelief. A rambling mix of emotions stuns her, feeling slighted and disrespected yet also heated by his lack of patience and unshaken stare with an even temper.

...

Although hesitant, Lorelei's crossed legs come undone, her lifted heel strikes the ground beside the other, locking her knees together as closely as her feet are.

Remmick taps the white leather of her shoe, commanding without words for her to widen her stance.

She gulps. The sound of dirt and pebbles crunch beneath her heels as she slides her feet apart, as does her knees. Her heart begins to beat out of her chest, quickened by the fear and rush of their interaction. She listens to him so well... already on a path of corrupting the young woman, Remmick's eyes haven't left the sight of her white cotton panties since her thighs opened for him. Starting at her knee, his open palm and spread fingers ease against her inner thigh until his fingertips probe at her womanhood shielded by fabric— a fabric that's doing quite the shitty job at hiding her warm drenched arousal. He chuckles, "well shit Lye, you make an old man wish for younger days."

His caress has her eyelashes fluttering shut, nails digging into the wood of the chair as she licks her full lips. "Old man?" She gulps, "you couldn't be but a few years older than me?"

A wicked twelve-hundred year old grin that doesn't appear a day over thirty-five stretches across his face. Darkness growls from the depths of his soul, "yeah— something like that."

His probing presses forward, snatching Lorelei's breath as his broad thumb traces the slit of her cunt. His touch and no care of their public display plays a wicked game on her body. Losing herself to this moment of lewd petting, Lorelei drops her cup of moonshine to the ground, shattering it to free her fingers and part her panties to the side— needing to feel his fingers unguarded by fabric.

Remmick's digits seep into what feels like the contents of filling from a fresh out of the oven pie. His trousers become increasingly tight in the groin, feeling his manhood jump with jealousy of his fingers. Her first moan eases off her tongue like Remmick's new favorite song, skilled in the way he touches her, Lorelei looks around for on lookers, knowing that more moans are soon to escape her.

"God." Embarrassment heats her cheeks into a glorious blush, yet having the time of her life, she still manages to chuckle. "Haven't even kissed me yet and your hand's already on my cooze."

"Plenty of kissing to come." His baritoned reassurance chills her up the spine, "tell me Lye, do you want my kisses right here where my hand is? I bet you do, I can kiss you there all night."

A deep plow flexes the muscles in his forearm, his fingers fuck her knuckle deep and strums at Lorelei's gspot.

"You're being fresh!" She gasps, catching Remmick at his wrist. "Not here."

"Then come out." He pleads, "just to the side of the building."

She sighs. "I can't! Didn't I tell ya I'm working right now? And— there's just something off about you."

...

Her words catch his attention. "Oh yeah? And what's that?" He has felt the aura of a witch nearby all night long, someone who practices black magic. But he didn't expect it to be her. Could it be her?

"That lil southern accent of yours." She confesses. "I know it's an act, I know it because I'm Mississippi born and raised. So where are you really from?"

He exhales. Relief fills him as he finds Lorelei not to be a witch after all. "Ireland, my love." He licks her slick heat from his fingers as if it were warm syrup.

He stands from his kneel, stepping forward and teasing her an inch from her face as his lips glisten with her own juices— egging her closer as she leans forward, needy for his kiss.

"Ireland." She repeats. "So whatchu doing all the way here in Mississippi then?"

"Looking for you of course." Remmick lifts her chin, playfully nudging it.

She rolls her eyes, although noticeably flattered.

However, perhaps he isn't lying at all. Remmick has been longing for a mate for longer than he can remember. As his taste for her heightens each second, he'll be able to tell if she's the one by the simple taste of her blood. If it's as good as any other meal, she isn't his destiny, but if it is as pungently sweet and intoxicating as a never before known wine... Lorelei Boone's reason for being an outcast, is because she was meant to be beside Remmick all along.

He presents his hand to take her into the night, now betrayed by his horrible southern impression, he is free to use his Gaelic tongue as sweet pet-names roll off his lips. "Come out A stór (my treasure), I'll make you feel good, sing you something Celtic— have you back at the door in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

With memories of this night sure to be spoken about for years to come, Lorelei would hate to only remember it by spending the night not dancing and sitting alone by the door... But a memory of a forbidden one night stand in the years of her youth is a memory she could keep forever.

His undeniable charm is too hard for her to turn down. "Promise?" She asks.

His hand is placed over his chest. "Cross my heart."

Lorelei accepts his hand, letting the fireflies around them light the way to the dark side of the building hidden by the Magnolia trees.

"If you'll listen, I'll sing you a sweet little song, Of a flower who's lips are perfect a red,Dearest to me, yes, than all of her mates, Tho each holds aloft its proud head."

His promised singing begins. His voice like a prayer in Lorelei's ear as his tongue traces its shell and his lips press kisses against her neck.

"Twas given to me by a lass that I know, Since we've met, faith, I've known no repose,She is dearer by far than the world's brightest star, And I call her my wild Irish Rose."

Undressing her comes quickly, however nothing is rushed. Remmick sings softly as his fingers unbutton the top of her dress with skill, spilling her breasts into their natural droop as he takes an areola onto the suckling bed of his tongue. Lorelei's moans adds to the melody, turning the ancient folk song into a duet of passion.

"The sweetest flow'r that grows, You may search ev'rywhere, But none can compare With my sweet wild Irish Rose."

His hands roam her body as if he had claimed it for himself long ago, naturally knowing each inch of flesh that makes her yip and squeak. The skirt of her dress is lifted above her hips, leaving her bottom half especially bare as Remmick tears her cotton painties from her body in a swift skin-reddening yank.

"They may sing of their roses which, by other names, Would smell just as sweetly, they say,But I know that my Rose would never consent to have that sweet name taken away."

His singing begins to wither as unworldly greed causes him to tremble and ache to take her. Lorelei receives the kiss she had been wanting, accepting the collision of his lips against hers as the taste of sweet corn liquor on her tongue makes him moan. Remmick lowers his suspenders and releases himself  from his buttoned trousers as his hardened length lubes itself through the moist lips of her cunt. He presses Lorelei's back against the building's wall, leaving dimpling indents in her plush thigh as he lifts a leg in the palm of his hand. With a leg now wrapped around his waist, and trapped under his affections, the deeper access to her core has made his hips roll with a sharp need.

"Her glances are shy when e'er I pass by the bower, where my true love grows;And my one wish has been that some day I may win The heart of my wild Irish Rose."

Her pussy cries for him, soaking his shaft and pubic hair with each split through her slit. "So beautiful Remmick, please, tell me its meaning?" Her voice is a hushed whisper against his lips.

"Marriage, eternal love— Winning the heart of the woman that I pine for."

"Eternal love?" Her curiosity almost sounds as if it were excitement, as if she had been waiting for the one who could make such promises to her... She gulps, convincing herself to continue ignoring the promises of a white man. "It's just a song, it shouldn't be taken seriously."

"Is that what you think?" He questions.

...

He eases inside, sheathing his cock in her flesh and burying it to her hilt—Remmick nearly goes mindless. "Is that something that shouldn't be taken seriously?"

Her mouth lolls open. Lorelei looks down in shock as if she had been stabbed. His slow bucking begins and she watches the hard cock disappear deeply through her core, parting her flesh like the sharpest of daggers. She finally exhales, "sh-shit that's so deep."

He knows it. Each time he pulls out and plunges back in, there isn't a corner of her cunt that he isn't hitting— pussy tight like a vice as he molds her into what will be his favorite fuck for the rest of eternity. "You're taking it so well."

She nods. The sting of the rough fuck soon eases as her nails release from digging into his shoulder blades and drags across the firmness of his backside as she draws him in deeper instead.

The aid of her touch eats at his soul, they synchronize in a filthy moan as the sex intensifies.

"Fuuckk, that's good." Feeling more alive than ever, Remmick's eyes flutter to the back of his skull.

His pounding strengthens, shamelessly fucking her against the Juke Joint and making the metal sheets of tin that make up the building squeak in loud vulgar cries.

Lorelei bites her lip, trying to contain her vocal praises as she attempts to speak. "Mmuh—Remmick! Y-You'll knock this entire shit hole down with these blows. Slow down!"

"Let it fall, A ghrá (my love)." His jaw tenses, teeth gritted as his voice comes out a tight pant. "Let this building crumble under the force of our love."

Slowly coming undone, Lorelei moans and chuckles in disbelief. The light buzz of moonshine heightens their sex as she accepts his rutting like a bitch in heat. His brusque way of handling her has Lorelei sure that with his steady pummeling and continued profession of love, Remmick must be just as buzzed on moonshine as well. But she'd be wrong. No, Remmick isn't drunk at all. Lorelei sees his romantic blabbering being something to sweeten their one night stand, but truthfully, his every breath across her skin— every thrust against her body is a silent claim, tightening her further in his eternal embrace.

A sudden tightening-ache in her stomach around the same area of his cock's tummy bulge has her vision spotting. Trails of fire heats her skin and she's sure to crash over soon. The crook of Remmick's neck is where she hides as the feeling of coming undone creeps up on her. A shoulder to bite if she needs to and a strong neck to hide her tears depending on the way the orgasm claims her. But he refuses it. "Where are you Lye? Don't hide that pretty face from me."

He lifts her head, clearing the strands of wild sweated out hair from off of her skin. "Mm—There she is." His voice is baritoned honey.

"Remmick, you're— you're drooling."

Also close to his climax, his human masquerade begins to fall as he slowly becomes his true vampiric image. "Is it my fault that you turn me into an animal?" "Sweet pussy like this, I think I owe you the world Lye." His free hand is caught between them as he finds her clit. She gasps, a sharp inhale in as his thumb adds pressure onto her button. "You're close Acushla (darling)."

Her eyebrows furrow, face contorting into an expression of reaching ecstasy. "You are too, we will have to stop here."

"No, why?" He gives an immediate refusal.

"Because! The last thing I need is having to explain to my family come winter why I'm having a baby with far too much cream in their coffee."

Hardy laughter spills from his chest at the thought.

Amused with the idea of having a biracial baby born in the Deep South during Jim Crow. Her looks and charm, his deep Irish roots, their child would be glorious. So very big on family and fellowship, Remmick would give anything to see it— to have children of his own although sadly he's a few thousand years late. "You have nothing to worry about love." He assures. "just keep letting me hear you. Call my name."

His pressured circling against her clit quickens, as does the hammering through her fucked-numb cunt. "Oh shit."

"No Mo léirín (my darling), my name isn't that." He taunts.

Lorelei absolutely soaks his hand, pruning his fingertips, "R-Remmick."

He nods. "Yes my dear, once more."

...

She can't.

Lorelei is nearly blinded by the heat of pleasure. "Say it." He pulls away from her special spot, fingers now grown into their usual monstrous talons as they wrap tightly around her neck.

With eyes half-lidded and nearly closed, the choking doesn't startle her in the least bit. Luckily Lorelei is also unfocused on the fanged teeth and red demonic gleam that has now taken over his appearance.

"Ss-ah! Remmick!" Obediently finishing on the last call of his name, Lorelei's white-burst of hot heat, lays her weakly against his chest.

"Very good, so good baby." He praises.Her after-sex sounds and breathing has become his new religion.

Remmick notices her relieved smile, wanting to kiss her lips and on her pearly white teeth. He does, he kisses Lorelei so deeply that one of his fangs poke through her lip.

"Ow! What the hell?" She sobers up quickly from her drunken after-sex haze, now seeing his fangs and the rest of his appearance for herself.

She immediately pales, inhaling so deeply that her lungs fill with air like balloons. She exhales a guttural scream, a sound so loud that it mimics a siren.

His world spins. The drop of her precious blood on his fang like a bump of cocaine. Her fear locks her entire body, tightening her cunt into a grip that chokes his cock for all that he has. Remmick covers her mouth as his finishing strokes eats at his stamina. "Shh shh don't scream, you'll strain your throat." His eyes lock on her prominent jugular vein. "Such a pretty throat it is."

Ropes of cum shoot from his sensitive tip, aching him with simultaneous relief as his red eyes flutter shut and his jaw laxes open. Remmick fills her cunt with his spend. His cock jolts with each cumshot until he begins to fall flaccid, taking his pleasured member out of her as evidence of their pleasure trickles right behind . Her worry of pregnancy is long gone, realizing that if she were to be impregnated by a man— he'd have to actually be human.

Bert and Joan appear from the woods, their outfits aren't the same as before... now they are covered in blood. "Remmick! There he is!" Bert chuckles, "looks like someone found you first though, who's this sweetheart?"

"Blood... from where?" Lorelei's mouth is uncovered, pale, and trembling with blood dripping from her injured lip. With all that's going on, her only thoughts are of her friend that left for a bathroom break far too long ago. "Where's Cornbread?"

"Cornbread?" Bert laughs, "well little lady— he surely tasted as good as his name sounds." His wife shuts him up with a nudge to his arm, beginning to speak for him instead. "Can't you see him darling? He's coming from his piss break, remember?"

Lorelei, turns her head to the woods. She can't see him very well, but she recognizes his overalls and large height... But what she also notices is the same ungodly gleam coming from his eyes, the same gleam as the three standing in front of her.

She can feel it, that isn't her friend. No, that's not Cornbread anymore.

"Don't you worry Lye, can't you see that everything's fine—" Remmick's lies fall on deaf ears as once he took his hands off of her, Lorelei left, long gone and kicking up dust as she enters back through the front door of the building. He immediately chases her, right on his lover's heels, yet she still manages to get inside just in time.

Bert, Joan, and Remmick are blocked by the threshold from never being invited inside. "Let me in." He demands, angered breath rising in his chest. "Is that the way to treat someone who's promised you the world?"

Lorelei does a half-ass job as she buttons her dress back up. "Keep it." She bites. "If it's from you, I don't want it!"

The loud bang of the slammed metal door leaves the vampires astounded.

Bert can't understand how his creator could let a girl throw him so off of his game. "Remmick, how did she survive more than a second of being out of that Juke Joint?"

"Cuz." Remmick stands very still, full of quiet rage as his face remains only inches from the door that was just slammed on it.

"Cuz what?" Bert scoffs.

"Cuz I felt like fucking the shit out of her." Finally he turns to meet the judgmental eyes of the couple that he turned first.

"You should've just asked the misses and I!" They hold each other by the waist. "Sex is just as good now that you've made us free. You should've just turned the girl! she would have been invited back inside, just like how Cornbread let Mary in."

"Jog my memory, how long have you been living this way?" Remmick asks with a ferocious tilt to his head.

"Well— a day." Bert hesitates.

"'Now tell me..." He grins."And how long have I been this way?"

Joan gulps. "Centuries."

"Ah!" Remmick claps his hands together in sarcasm. "So since I made you, saved you from a mortal life of being a racist sack of KKK shit, wouldn't you think that I might know what I'm doing?"

...

They don't answer him. "DON'T PISS ME OFF!"

"Yes! We're sorry!" The couple submits. "Y-You know best Remmick."

He adjust his suspenders and corrects the zipper of his trousers. "Thank you, I hate to come out of character like that... all I want is to spread a little love." Remmick grins, but as the leading vampire, Bert and Joan fear him, knowing to never cross him again.

"Don't you worry, I nipped her lip." He continues.

"But— is that enough?" They ask.

Remmick sighs with a sarcastic shrug, dusting the dirt off of his clothes that him and Lorelei kicked up while making love. "A bite, is a bite."

———

"SHUT IT DOWN!!!" Blues music comes to an immediate halt as everyone at the Juke Joint lays eyes on the quietest girl in town who is suddenly, far from quiet. "Everyone needs to stay inside!! LISTEN TO ME!! The Devil is out there!!"

Gasps, whispers, and even some snickering can be heard as the crowd gathers around her. "I MEAN IT!" Lorelei swears. The mess she causes has the men of the club on high alert, ready to check on the drama that caused the party to come to a stop.

"The fuck is going on out here?" Smoke, one half of the twins and owners of this club notices Lorelei's cut lip, half-buttoned dress, and evidence of pleasure still dripping down her knees... he sighs, stepping forward and gripping Lorelei's chin as he sniffs her breath and smells the moonshine she's been drinking all night.

"What's going on Smoke?" His longtime lover Annie, a hoodoo healer from the outskirts of town becomes worried.

"It's nothing. Just Lye and that boyfriend Roy Jenkins of hers, been drinking, fucking, fighting... must've gotten out of hand out there is all." Smoke immediately comes up with his own assumptions.

"Roy?" Lorelei squints, nearly boiling over with panted breaths. "Roy Jenkins? Are you fucking stupid Smoke? You and Stack haven't been back here in seven years, I haven't dated that nigga since I was eighteen years old!"

"Watch your mouth Lye. Might not of been Roy but something got up in you girl." Smoke makes light of her disheveled after-sex shimmer of sweat and messy hair. "Listen, Sammie keep playing some goddamn blues! And someone take Lye out the back door. Get her some air, she's probably just had too much corn liquor, she'll be alright."

"Don't dismiss me!" Lorelei's frantic panic continues regardless of the many eyes on her. The crowd gasps as she even lays hands on Smoke and whips him around, back into her direction.

Instantly she remembers what has happened to Cornbread... what seems to be the same thing that happens to anyone who goes outside, anywhere near those banjo players.

"Wait..." She becomes again panic-stricken. "Where's Stack!? Smoke, you gotta understand. Damnit listen to me! Where's your brother!? Anybody who has walked out of that goddamn door since them white folk showed up does not need to be let back inside!? Smoke, your brother, he's not safe! His girl Mary went out there too!"

Smoke scans the room for his brother, becoming slightly suspicious of why he isn't on the dance floor anymore. "They were just here... dancing together, has anyone seen Stack and Mary?"

"I seen em." Sammie speaks up, "they went in the back room. He should be aight, he back there gettin himself some nookie."

Smoke instantly calms down, feeling again at ease. "Yeahhhh, that sounds like Stack alright."

"No..." Lorelei starts again. "NO SMOKE! You need to go find your brother! She— Mary— She shouldn't have been let back in! Listen, she isn't herself anymore and Cornbread ain't either!!"

Although she's right, no one seems to listen...

Suddenly Delta Slim opens the front door to Cornbread who seems to be completely fine, making Lorelei look even more crazy...

"What's going on?" Cornbread asks, shaking his leg as if he had just got done pissing.

"Cornbread?" Slim asks. "You sure took long enough... Lye says you're not yourself no more, you aight?"

"Not myself?" Cornbread lies through laughter. "Don't I look just as handsome as I left? Get out the way ol man, let me in here. I had to take a shit too since you must know... Now uhh— invite me inside."

...

Annie's spiritual connection to black magic and hoodoo makes her skeptical, feeling something in her intuition. "Wait a minute now, why he gotta invite you back inside Cornbread?"

"Because it's polite!" He scoffs. "Now one of you country ass niggas let me in already!"

"Annie, please." Lorelei begins to beg as she grabs hold of the hoodoo witch's wrist. "You understand me, just listen... anyone who's walked out that door, you cannot let them back in."

"Lye... I hear you." Her tone is soft and comforting. "But if that were the case... you were out there too."

...

Lorelei gulps... "But— But I'm fine?" She lacks confidence in her own words. It's as if Lorelei can't even convince herself that she's fine after everything that she just finished doing with Remmick.

"This shit is ridiculous." Smoke becomes impatient. "Sammie get your ass back on the guitar and Slim get on the keys. I want to hear some blues damn it! Nothings going on." He shouts for Lorelei's friend, "Nadia! Come get your girl, take her outside for air she's scaring all the people."

Lorelei notices people leaving... it's the exact opposite of what she wanted them to do, knowing that they are walking into a danger trap. No one is listening to her, and she knows that anyone who leaves won't even make it to their damn car.

"NADIA NOW!!" Smoke yells for Lorelei's friend once more, and being that him and his twin are feared by the entire town, Nadia immediately listens. "Come on Lye, let's just get some fresh air, you're alright girl."

"No wait!" Lorelei pulls from her. "Fine! If you're making me go back out there, don't make Nadia go. Hell, Smoke! Don't let anyone outside, please, them white folk are dangerous."

Annie tries once more to calm her lover. "I don't know Smoke, maybe we should listen to her—"

"Don't entertain this shit!" Smoke interrupts her. "Look at Cornbread at the door, he's fine, and everyone else is good." He turns towards Lorelei, "come on Lye, what white folk you know that ain't dangerous?"

"No... not like that Smoke, NOT LIKE THAT!" Her pleas go ignored.

"Nadia take her out." He shoos the girls away and the party starts back up exactly where it was left off. As her friend pulls Lorelei by the arm, she makes sure to grab the gun beneath the bar before being pushed out of the back door... if she must face the devil again, she'll be doing it this time with a weapon.

———

Outside behind the Juke is even worst... it's far too eerie and too quiet.

"Lye, let me take you home." Nadia sighs, worried that her best friend has had some sort of a mental breakdown from a batch of bad moonshine.

Lorelei hushes her. "Nadia don't move, they ain't like us ya hear?"

...

"A ghrá, my goodness have I missed you." Remmick's voice sends a chill up Lorelei's spine as he sneaks up on them without even a sound. They would've heard the rocks beneath his feet if he had walked up on them... but no, he's different, Lorelei has even convinced herself that he must've flown here from the front of the Juke. He continues. "And would you look at that, you've bought a friend this time."

Their strange familiarity clicks into Nadia's head. "Lye..." Her cheeks fill with air as she tries to contain her laughter. "Don't tell me you've been out here shacking up with the banjo player!?" A drunken Nadia bursts into laughter.

Remmick steps closer and Lorelei fears for her friend's life. "Wait! Please." She begs for the life of her friend. "J-Just, please, let her go back inside, I'll stay."

...

He takes it into consideration, knowing that once he gets inside he'll kill the friend and every other soul in there, so why not wait if his dearest love has asked him to? "Well since you've asked so kindly Lorelei... Sure, I only want you anyway."

"Go back inside, Nadia."

The fear bestowed across Lorelei's face slowly hushes Nadia’s laughter. "Wait, no..." She begins to worry, "Lye, I'm not leaving you with this crazy ass cracka—"

Lorelei can't waste another second of testing Remmick's kindness. She grabs hold of the doorknob on the back door and shoves Nadia inside "JUST GO!"

Nadia hits the dust of the building's floor, staring in utter shock as she watches the door get slammed on her. But the slam wasn't Lorelei's doing... Her very last look inside was a last shared glance with her best friend before Remmick slammed the back door so hard that it jammed shut into the doorframe, assuring that it won't open again and that his Lorelei can never run from him again...

Now sure that her death is near, Lorelei keeps the images of her last human memories dear to her heart.

"Since we're doing each other favors, now it's your turn." Remmick plays at his wicked game. "We're all going to walk to the front together, and you're going to invite me and my family inside."

His 'family' has grown.

Gleaming eyes on familiar black bodies stare at her from all angles of the dark woods that surround them. More victims... The people who ran out of the Juke Joint when Lorelei came inside and startled them all.

She begins to cry, guilt eating away at her spirit. "You're covered in blood now... just like your friends, you won't fool me again."

"Fool you, A ghrá? Never, you see, I needed to eat. I'm a very hungry man... And well— since I wasn't invited inside for a hot piece of catfish fresh out the grease, I had to take matters into my own hands." He smiles widely and Lorelei's eyes widen at the sight of his mouth full of fangs in all of its glory.

"Get back." She raises the gun stolen from the bar an inch from his chest

"Mmm." He groans... "You gonna shoot me baby?" Remmick chuckles, abusing the same charm that won her over in the first place. "After all the fun we've had?"

"I know what you are now!" She cocks the gun, laying a trembling finger against the trigger.

"Do you?" He taunts further. "Then what am I, other than a man who has memorized your every moan, the scent of your skin, and the clench of your cunt as you cum?"

His vulgar display of mind games makes her shudder, reminiscing on all that she gave to this man against the steel wall of this building. "Remmick, I'm warning you." She trembles.

"Lorelei." He calls her bluff. "Just put the gun d—" As Remmick steps forward again, he is lit up with bullets before he could even finish his sentence.

...

His body lays at her feet in the red Mississippi dirt. The sight of a dead body almost makes her ill, never in her life did she ever expect to kill someone, but seeing him lifeless and no longer a threat puts her at an immediate ease...

Until she realizes the devil doesn't die that easily. Remmick eats the bullets like they are candied rocks and peals himself from off of the ground. Onto his feet, he shakes the injury of multiple bullet wounds off as if they were nothing but a chill that fell over him momentarily.

Horror takes over her numbed body. If fear didn't know Lorelei Boone yet, they surely have been well acquainted by now...

"Don't worry." He groans, "I forgive you for that darlin." Remmick presses forward, snatching the gun from her hand and taking hold of her wrist without a plan to ever let her go.

Trapped in his hold, Lorelei wrestles him with all of her might and soon loses her energy as she quickly loses to his strength. Remmick drops both of their bodies to the ground as he cradles her close to him. His arms are a falsehood of warmth and comfort, making her feel safe although knowing her demise is only around the corner.

Familiar faces begin to crowd around her. Sandra Lovings, her grade school teacher. Bernie Johnston, her very first kiss. Jackie Berry, the town's barber. Marlene Douglas, her second cousin on Lorelei's daddy's side... All these faces and more, over twenty people circling them— people that feel like home to Lorelei. But now they are different, now they are like him being that their eyes gleam like demonic headlights of a car coming towards her.

His crowd hums a song around them. Unfamiliar to its sound, something tells Lorelei that it's another Celtic hymn... unsure of how the loved ones she's known all her life know the aged Irish words, she knows that somehow they are all connected through Remmick, now linked at the brain.

"But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying,If I am dead, as dead I well may be,You'll come and find the place where I am lying,And kneel and say an Ave there for me.And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me,And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be,For you will bend and tell me that you love me,And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me."

"Shhh shhh, Acushla." Remmick hushes her. "Save your tears and your fight. This is the second time you've been in my arms tonight, if I didn't hurt you then, why would I hurt you now?" His taloned fingertips comb through her tightly coiled waist length hair. "Close your eyes A ghrá, the pain of this world will be your past as you start anew with me."

"No, please." She refuses it, however her resistance has run low. Now physically tired of this night and mentally drained— hurting from the simple fact that none of her loved ones inside believed a word that she had said. She is almost ready to be taken to the place that Remmick has promised, a life by his side where being an outcast doesn't exist.

He can feel it. Remmick identifies her care for the mortal life beginning to slip from her. "You will feel pain Mo shíorghrá (my eternal love), but the everlasting pleasure of our life together will soothe your aching heart." He sweeps the hair from out of the way of her throat, lowering his head until his lips meet her jugular. Remmick plants a passionate kiss onto her tender skin and lets the sound of her crisp tears excite him enough to disengage his jaw and bite down on her throat as he begins to drink her blood. His fangs seep three inches into her flesh, piercing through her skin like plastic as he drinks her empty.

He shudders, groaning into his meal being that Lorelei's blood is as sweet as he expected. He knows it to be true now. He's found his mate and he knew all along it would be her.

Lorelei's weeping ends, as does the pain, and the beating of her heart as she lays dead in Remmick's arms.

...

"Any minute now." He conjures her reawakening, knowing that the transition should be almost instant after death. Her eyes soon begin to open and Remmick is gladly the first to welcome her. "Sweet Lye, welcome to your forever." He coddles her through her confusion with the gentle poetry of his warm voice. "Now, show me your beautiful fangs A chroí."

...

Obedient as ever, Lorelei parts her lips, putting her teeth on a full display. But oddly enough, there aren't any fangs at all... Teeth just as human as they've ever been and so are her large brown doe eyes.

"What's wrong with her? Why isn't she like us?" Joan and Bert are just as concerned.

At a loss for answers, Remmick knew something was wrong the moment she had no reaction from the slight nip to her bottom lip, but this, this is something he could have never expected.

No fangs, no gleam in her eyes, and as he presses his ear to her bosom— still he hears the beating of a strong human heart. Never has he seen something like this in his impossibly long life, not even having heard of it in any ancient Celtic folk tales.

Lorelei indeed died, but has come back exactly the same.

Remmick immediately sinks his teeth into her wrist, hissing at the taste of battery acid. The same reaction he'd get from the taste of another vampire's blood. Oh yes, she is one of them, but maybe his lover was just far too stubborn to let her past life go so soon.

What's done is done. Yet the feeling of fear overwhelms him, a feeling he hasn't felt in many, many years. Does she feel it? His mind is full of worry. Can she feel the freedom that he has bestowed upon her? A life of no fear and only courage? A life anew where she won't feel ostracized or too shy to dance?

Lorelei stands for the first time after her death. Remmick stands behind her, guiding her like a baby deer who's just learning to walk. She walks the length of the building with her family of vampires right behind her, soon getting the hang of her heightened senses as she reaches the front of the Juke Joint. Grieving no more, Lorelei's first sounds to be heard is the tune of her sweet giggle. Joy surrounds her in a diamond-like aura, making her appear as royalty amongst all the other vampires. Each of them can feel Remmick's love for her— now seeing her as their Queen too.

Lorelei hears the blues music strumming from out of the Juke Joint louder and more intimate than she's ever heard. Her feet pick up into a rythmic pace, and she finally begins to dance... A grace of African soul and a hint of Remmick's familiar Irish jig warms his heart... she's all his, made from his rib like Adam and Eve. Tonight, he has created the most perfect monster but most importantly, he's made Lorelei Boone joyful enough to dance.

Lorelei stares at the front door that she had worked this evening as Cornbread went for a bathroom break. The door is now shut again. Funny enough, the twins and the rest of their friends must've came to their senses and shut it on ol Cornbread after all. She sees him in the crowd of people behind her, she smiles and gives him a gentle nod. "Guess they believed me after all, huh Cornbread?" She asks sarcastically, finding humor in all of it now. "But don't you worry, you'll get your invite, you all will."

Lorelei grabs hold of the handle of the front door and opens it with ease... She does the unexpected, walking inside the place without any trouble or blockage at the threshold. She enters like a human— a human whose blood is of the vampire.

The bloodsuckers surrounding the Juke gasp in disbelief of Lorelei's entrance without any issue, but all Remmick can do is smile. Her nature is no longer unknown, he is familiar with exactly what she is. Lorelei is a hybrid, a vampire who is just as human if not more. He realizes the mind-blowing power behind his hybrid lover's gift, the power that she has now given him and all of their kind. Any place, any time, with her walking in and welcoming him inside, there isn't a place on Earth he will ever be unwelcomed. Soon the entire world would be a part of him. Every soul and all of their songs— they'd be his, one big family.

"Remmick, do you lie?" He's instantly caught off guard by the same question he once asked Lorelei only moments after meeting her.

He gulps, finding his tongue tied as he tries to respond. "No." He answers his Queen. "Mo ghás (my treasure), I'd never lie to you."

She smiles sweetly, toes teasing at the line of the door's threshold. "Will you still give me the world?"

Her voice makes him weak, heated in desire, passion, and all of his love. "Yes, and then some."

Lorelei's outstretched fingers asks for his hand, and he doesn't hesitate a second to take it. "Come inside, the night is young." She calls for her people, the ones that her loyalty now lies with.

Like a weight lifted from their shoulders, they feel the invitation working. Each foot stepping inside one by one as the Smoke-Stack twins' Juke Joint, quickly becomes a human buffet for the undead.

[writtenbyeli]

OSCAR PIASTRI

life as an f1 wife (smau) / june 25, 2025

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warnings: fluff

pairing: oscar piastri x wife!reader

face claim: helene ramfjord (for picture purposes)

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yn_piastri races with papaya boy 🧡 oscar.piastri

(a/n: yes i know it’s nicole :), it’s supposed to be a picture the reader took of them)

oscar.piastri Love you more than anything ❤️

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fan1 you guys are so cute 💔

fan2 where can i find a relationship like theirs

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oscar.piastri Not here bro 👊

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yn_piastri happy 3 year marriageversary baby. i’ve loved nothing more than being by your side through it all 🌷💐 oscar.piastri

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fan1 I CANNOT 💔😔😭🙏 so darn cute

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yn_piastri very very soon

fan1 need that, want that, got to have that 😜

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yn_piastri date night 🖤 oscar.piastri

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oscar.piastri Sunshine girl ☀️💖

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@writtenbyeli 2025

written by eli <3

[womanofwords]

Darling Demon (Part 3)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

You stared at the demon in front of you, wanting nothing more than to scream. Or wet your pants. Or both simultaneously. "I'm what?" you croaked.

"Due to the contract signed by your mother fifteen years ago today forfeiting your soul in exchange for acting talent, you are now the husband of Azrir, victor of the battle for your hand in marriage," the demon holding you said. "Azrir is the demon that killed 100 others for a chance to marry you and claim you as their own. They have accompanied me to the human world to take who and what is rightfully theirs."

Your father and siblings arrived at that precise moment, waving various kinds of weapons around. "We don't have demonic artifacts! Leave our home!" Dick yelled.

"You're not going to find anything here!" Barbara yelled.

Azrir laughed, hoisting you over their shoulder as if you weighed nothing. "I already have what I want, you fools! Y/N was promised to be a demon's spouse fifteen years ago by his mother. I fought to have him be my little prize, and I look forward to the consummation of our union." They turned to the demon who'd handed you over. "I'll take over from here."

Dick gagged as the other demon made an exit. "Consummation? He's sixteen! That's illegal!"

"I'm eighteen, Dick."

Everyone paused to stare at you. "What?" Dick wheezed. Bruce just looked at you in horror.

"I'm eighteen. My mother sold my soul and betrothed me to a demon so she could have acting talent when I was three. That was fifteen years ago. I. Am. Eighteen."

The words hung in the air like the limp party decorations you never got. You were an adult, without their knowledge or permission. Azrir howled with laughter at your family's expressions of growing horror.

"You have no idea of the age of your own loved one!" they howled. "Since I know their true age and you don't, I hardly see what should stop me from wooing my little prize."

"You're sick. Unhand him right now," Damian ordered, unsheathing his katana. His katana gleamed menacingly at you. You retreated into bawling and terrified promises.

"I'm sorry!" you bawled. "I'll leave you alone, Damian!"

"Y/N, stop your screaming. I'm not after you this time," Damian scoffed.

"This time?" Azrir's form, already nearly ten feet tall, swelled and rippled with more muscle and height until their horns scraped the ceiling. "THIS TIME?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!"

"It was only skin deep!" Damian tried to argue, but Azrir roared and swiped at him with a free hand. It missed, but barely.

"Azrir, no!" you said.

Azrir paused, turning away from Damian to look at you. "What?"

"Please do not hurt Damian. He's our father's favourite. He'll be upset if he dies."

Azrir left Damian on the floor, your brother's eyes filled with fear for the first time. "Understood, little prize. But if he ever tries to hurt you, then ask for Azrir, and I shall eat him. As my spouse, you are protected by me."

Protected? Azrir would protect you? "Really?" you whispered.

"No!" Bruce ran to put himself between you and Azrir. "Y/N, he's lying to you! Azrir will not protect you, we will!"

Old scars from Damian's katana itched when you heard your father say that. Their itching seemed to testify against him, calling your father a liar with every prickle. Azrir howled with laughter at your father's claim. "You couldn't protect a flea, much less such a valuable prize such as Y/N. I plan on taking care of your son in ways you never did and never can."

"He doesn't know what consummating a marriage is!" Barbara countered. "He's got no idea what you'll do to him!"

"That is true. I have never heard the word consummating before now," you admitted.

Azrir made themselves smaller. They were back to their original massive frame. "Consummating a marriage is when the couple have their first act of sex," Azrir said. "We have been watching you, Y/N. You are virginal and pure. It's part of the reason why so many fought to have you for their own."

You squeaked and covered yourself up, even though you were wearing clothes. "How do you know that?"

"We have our ways," Azrir said. They looked you up and down and licked their lips hungrily. "Do not fret, my war bounty. I shall be as gentle as you want. Just think about that as I leave you with something to remember me by."

You felt the cold metal around your wrists grow lighter, words etching themselves onto them. SPOILS OF WAR on the shackle on your left wrist. LITTLE PRIZE on your right wrist. Azrir tilted your head up to look at you.

"I look forward to your agreement to consummation, little prize," they said. "I will wait for you." Another portal opened, and Azrir left you alone with your family, a whole bunch of 'jewellery' with pet names on them, and your horrified family.

You looked around at the mess left behind. "Um . . . this might be a little off-topic, but . . . could I eat some real breakfast?" you asked.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia.

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[raevpng]

in between (pt. 3)

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

masterlist

part one

part two

a/n: i can’t believe ive actually finished this 😭 i’ve gotten an overwhelming amount of support for this fic and especially for this final part, and although it’s long overdue, im thankful for anyone who’s waited, and is willing to read this 🥹 i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

—

it was dark by the time the laughter in their room (well technically azzi’s room) died down. their hands remained tangled as the ending credits of some sappy rom-com rolled, the light casting soft shadows across the walls, illuminating the cozy chaos of pillows and blankets they’d built around themselves. everything outside the room had blurred away hours ago, all that remained was this space, and the quiet warmth of this special unnamed thing they’d built inside it.

azzi’s breathing had slowed, deep and steady. her sugar rush from the candy bowl her and the blonde had consumed hours ago died down heavy. her head was tucked comfortably against paige’s shoulder, fitting like a puzzle piece that brought a special warmth to her chest. her breathing should’ve been an easy sign that she was asleep, maybe to everyone else. but paige knew better. and well, the way azzi’s fingers still played with hers slowly, subtly, gently tracing just the edge of her pinky, said otherwise.

paige always thought azzi looked absolutely unreal. even before all this had happened, before she could put a name on the softness she felt in her chest when they locked eyes, or the awe that she couldn’t help but feel every time they had the pleasure of sharing the court together. but right now? god, she thought she could learn every language through and through yet, nothing will never be enough to articulate just how much she felt.

she could barely believe the last 24 hours had really happened — that azzi really reciprocated the feelings she’s been trying to push down for god knows how long. that paige had official permission from azzi’s parents to properly pursue the other girl. that they’d kissed.

as she leaned in, her nose brushing softly against the curls at azzi’s temple, something fizzy bubbled up in her chest. a giddy, breathless kind of awe.

she couldn't help but admire the girl nestled in her arms. she looked straight out of the blonde’s dreams, unreal and unwilling to fade. her lashes rested delicately against her cheeks, her pouted lips slightly parted, still tinted with the lip balm azzi had been stealing from paige since their shared airplane ride home, and something softer, something sweeter. her hand, warm and slightly rough from the years of hard work she’d poured into basketball, still curled in paige’s, intertwined with hers like it belonged there. like it had always belonged there.

paige let herself look this time, properly look. like she’d done in secret when azzi looked away, or when she was across the room watching azzi’s pure talent and passion and that jump shot paige had always been a little envious of. her eyes moved slowly, committing every feature to memory in the kind of quiet that felt sacred. the curve of azzi’s cheekbone, the slope of her nose, the spot just below her ear where her pulse fluttered, where paige wanted to press her lips just to feel it.

paige couldn't help but physically bite her lip at just how right they looked like this. in the privacy of the enclosed space they made theirs, a beginning to the new chapter they’ve made. together.

“i can practically hear your thoughts.”

azzi’s voice was low, rough with sleep, but there was a smile in it.

paige blinked, caught. “was it that loud?”

“mhm,” azzi murmured, shifting slightly so she could look up at her. “they’re screaming.”

“sorry,” paige said, completely not sorry. her voice dropped, soft and sincere. “i just… i can’t help but look at you.”

azzi’s breath caught, her heart stuttering so loudly that she swears she could hear it echo. she ducked her head attempting to hide the heat blooming across her cheeks, but it was pointless. her blush, the pretty pink that paige loves so deeply was already spreading to the tips of her ears.

“i don’t think i can get used to this.” azzi admitted, the warmth of her face causing her to duck her head shyly.

paige tilted her head. “used to what?”

“you looking at me like that.”

and with azzi looking at her with the brown eyes paige fell into and could just never get out, paige thought she couldn’t be blamed for the dopey, lovesick smile that took over her face — so full of adoration it was dizzying. “guess you’ll have to try.”

she reached out, brushing a thumb along azzi’s jaw, feather-light. the moment hung between them, fragile and charged while their breaths caught softly. unlike last night when their world had shifted, when everything between them had spilled into the open, there were no fumbled words, no sweaty palms, no unsure glances.

paige leaned in and kissed her.

soft. slow. sweeter this time. more sure. it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t hesitant — just full of everything they hadn’t been able to say, everything that lived between them in glances and silence and late-night facetimes. azzi sighed against her lips, and paige shivered at the sensation, the reminder that azzi was hers to feel like this. that she was hers to comfort after every bad game, hers to praise every win.

that after all this time, she was finally hers.

when they finally pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together. their breaths mingled in the tiny space between them, grins stretched that azzi felt like her cheeks stung with the best pain. like they couldn’t believe they got this lucky.

“azzi?” paige’s voice was barely above a whisper. her thumb was still moving in slow, nervous circles across the back of azzi’s hand.

“hm?”

“can i…” she hesitated, swallowed, glanced down. “i have… fuck. hold on.”

azzi blinked, her brows knitting as paige untangled their limbs and started rummaging wildly under the blankets.

“paige… what are you doing?”

“fuck, i had this planned out,” paige grumbled as she dug through the piles of blankets that concealed her phone somewhere. “damn i can’t believed i fumbled like … the most important moment of my life.”

“paige,” azzi began fighting back a confused giggle, “i still don’t know what’s happening.”

a muffled “aha!” came from somewhere beneath the comforter before paige popped up triumphantly, phone in one hand, her other quickly finding azzi’s. the blonde hesitates, already knowing she’s gonna get made fun of before admitting, “i may or may not have written out a script to ask you out,” she mumbled.

there was a beat of stunned silence.

then azzi burst into laughter — the kind that made her crinkle her whole face, eyes squeezing shut, tears escaping at the corners.

paige looked utterly betrayed.

she let the other laugh her heart out as she prayed with all her might that somehow, magically, the ground would swallow her up right now.

“you wrote it down?” azzi giggled, burying her face into paige’s hoodie. “where, the notes app?” she deadpanned.

paige stared at her.

and the look on her face was telling enough.

“you’re joking.”

“are you seriously bullying me right now?” paige pouted, yanking her hand away and turning her back dramatically. “i’m trying to be romantic and you’re out here roasting me.”

“no, no i’m not bullying you!” azzi said through laughter, crawling forward to tug her back by the hoodie. “come back, big baby.” she couldn’t help the soft fond laugh that escaped her lips as she dragged paige back to their bed.

“rude,” paige mumbled into the blanket.

“no,” azzi said, voice gentler now, wrapping her arms around her from behind. “it’s perfect.”

paige let herself be pulled back into the bed, still sulking to maybe just maybe get azzi to love on her a bit more.

“come on, i’m listening.” she sat down, smiling as the blonde shook her head trying to stay sulky at the other but failing terribly.

paige glanced over, cheeks pink, and handed over her whole heart like it was nothing.

“okay,” she said, straightening up with mock seriousness. “but you can’t laugh. this is a very serious conversation about my very serious feelings… in our very serious relationship.”

“got it.” azzi nodded like she was in a board meeting, ignoring the butterflies erupting at the word ‘relationship’.

paige opened her notes app, cleared her throat dramatically, and began: “azzi, ever since we became friends, i knew you were special…”

but then she paused. looked up.

paige trailed off as she looked into those damn brown eyes that she could just never resist. those lips that captivated her and that face that paige was so hopelessly gone for, and she couldn’t help the swoop in her stomach at just how beautiful the girl in front of her truly was.

fuck it.

she locked her phone and dropped it on her lap, hands reaching out the hold azzi’s who’s face was painted with surprise.

paige laughed, eyes already glassy. “okay, listen. i know we said a lot last night. and honestly, we really did cover… everything.”

azzi giggled softly. “we kinda did.”

paige smiled softly at the sound, “i wanted to tell you it isn’t enough for me, and i don’t think it ever will be.”

she shifted closer, tucking a stray curl behind azzi’s ear. her voice dropped to a whisper. “i don’t think i ever really knew what it meant to feel pulled to someone… until you.”

azzi’s breath hitched, and paige saw the way her lashes fluttered, the way her eyes started to shine.

“i don’t wanna know what life is like without you. not now that i’ve had this version of us. this close, this soft… this real.”

her hands rose, gently cupping azzi’s cheeks. she leaned in just slightly, close enough to feel azzi’s breath on her lips.

“i don’t know if i can explain it right, but it’s like… every version of my life that makes sense has you in it. not just beside me on the court or cheering me on, though, that’s part of it, but like… this. you and me. tangled up in blankets, kissing like we have all the time in the world. soft. close. yours.”

azzi blinked, and the tears fell freely now. “paige…”

“i don’t wanna miss out on a life where you’re mine. i want this, i want us. and i wanna ask you if you would you do the honours of going on a date with me?” her hands were trembling slightly.

and of course, azzi noticed.

she always did.

azzi lifted one hand, kissed the inside of paige’s wrist, and rested their foreheads together.

“i’d love to,” she whispered, voice thick with tears, smile sweet enough to ruin paige completely.

paige let out a shaky breath, like her heart had just exhaled for the first time in forever.

“okay,” she whispered, smiling so wide it hurt. “okay.”

—

azzi paced her room, anxiety buzzing under her skin as a mountain of clothes loomed threateningly on her bed. her closet doors were flung wide open, shirts and dresses tossed in every direction, as if one of them might magically solve her growing wardrobe crisis.

it was ridiculous—she knew it was ridiculous—but paige had insisted.

even though she was staying with the fudd family for the next few months while she finished her quarantine, paige had insisted on making their first official date feel special. real, she’d said, with that soft smile and even softer voice that made azzi’s brain short-circuit.

“az!” paige had whined earlier that morning while they were brushing their teeth side by side, foam clinging to their grins. “this is our first real date! i gotta impress you with my game!”

azzi had tried to resist. she really had. she’d even rolled her eyes and said, “you already live with me, how are you even gonna pull this off?”

but then paige had pulled that pout—the pout, the one she only ever used when she really wanted something to go her way—and suddenly azzi was sighing, defeated and lowkey charmed out of her mind, agreeing to let her girlfriend leave the house just so she could come back and pick her up like it was a scene in a movie.

now, with the minutes ticking down and her not yet girlfriend but not just bestfriend probably already on her way back from god knows where, azzi was frantically trying to pull herself together.

“it’s not even that serious,” she muttered, staring into the mirror. “she’s literally staying here. she’s seen me in a charcoal face mask and one sock.” she snickered to herself.

after what felt like a full closet tornado, she finally settled on high-waisted denim shorts and a simple black tank top—the same one paige had complimented her on weeks ago with a not-so-subtle once-over and a shy, “you look so good in that.” her curls were half-pulled up, a few pieces left out to frame her face just the way paige liked, and she quickly added a swipe of mascara and some lip gloss before slipping on her shoes.

she was about to rush out when the doorbell rang.

immediately, she bolted, feet barely touching the floor as she scrambled toward the front door, heart thudding with anticipation. she reached for the handle, only to be cut off by a sharp throat-clear behind her.

“dad, what are you—”

tim stood there, arms crossed in dramatic seriousness, blocking her way. before she could protest again, he opened the door himself.

paige stood outside in jeans, a white tank top with a pink striped button up shirt open, and her signature sneakers, holding a single rose with the goofiest, most bashful smile azzi had ever seen.

she looked… nervous. and painfully cute.

“come in,” tim said flatly, and paige blinked, clearly thrown off by his sudden stern tone.

azzi, standing frozen behind him, gave her an apologetic shrug. this was not part of the plan.

“so,” tim began, turning to face paige fully, voice dropping into full dramatic dad mode, “you’re taking my daughter out tonight.”

“uh—yes, sir,” paige said, standing a little straighter, rose gripped like a lifeline.

“no drinking,” tim continued. “no funny business. no later than ten. i expect her back safe and sound. Understood?”

azzi’s soul physically left her body.

“dad, be so serious right now. you were just playing 2k with her-”

“this is different!” tim interrupted, eyes never leaving paige. “she’s taking my baby girl on a date. it’s sacred. it’s protocol.”

paige let out a stifled laugh, biting her lip hard to keep a straight face. “yes, sir,” she said with a salute, trying and failing not to crack.

that was enough to break tim’s fake sternness. he shook his head with a huff and waved them off, muttering something about “young love” as he disappeared back into the living room.

paige stepped in closer, finally letting herself appreciate the girl in front of her. her azzi.

god she could get used to that.

“you look…wow. az, you’re beautiful.” she sighed, sheer honesty bringing out the blush only paige seemed capable of getting painting azzi’s dimpled cheeks.

“says you.” azzi whispered weakly as paige walked closer, leaning down slowly to press a soft kiss to the younger’s cheek.

“sooo…” paige trailed off with a cheeky grin when they pulled apart, matching blushes, “what was that about?”

azzi groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “i believe you just got the dad talk.”

paige grinned and handed her the rose. “worth it.”

“you’re so cheesy.” azzi’s blush contrasted with her words as she reached out to take the flower, heart blooming at just how charming paige was being.

they stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, both a little breathless with nerves and giddy energy.

“you ready?” paige asked softly, holding out her hand.

azzi slipped her fingers into hers without hesitation. “so ready.”

–

“this better not be some sick prank,” azzi mumbled, glancing at paige as they turned down a quiet side street, their hands brushing between them. she didn’t know what exactly it was – the gold of the sun setting above them, or maybe the way her fingers kept reaching for hers before pulling away swiftly like she was just aching for their fingers to find their rightful place intertwined with each other – but something was causing the thudding of her heart to be all too much.

and it’s sickening really, that she couldn’t find it in her to mind.

paige grinned, the same lopsided, trouble-making smile she wore every time she was up to something. “ouch, have a little faith in me, baby.”

it’s sick, the way that name rolled so sweetly and so easily off her tongue.

“mhm.” she hummed trying to feign casualness. like paige didn’t just throw off the cool front she’s been trying to exude since they left her house, “where are we going anyway?”

“i told you,” paige walked beside her bumping the other ever so slightly, “i found a hidden treasure!”

“in my own home town?”

“yep!” paige grinned proudly, “see, anyone can take you to dairy queen. only i can take you to a pirate-themed ice cream shop with no marketing budget and a grandma who scoops the cones.”

“what the fuck?” azzi barked out a loud laugh, “you’re lying.”

“i would never lie about ice cream.” paige replied solemnly, just as they reached the hand-painted sign—shiver me sundae, complete with a popsicle in a pirate hat.

“oh my god.”

paige was right, it was truly a hidden gem. it was practically invisible, tucked between a laundromat and a rusted bike repair shop, and azzi had passed this street hundreds of times without noticing. and now she was standing here, wondering how the hell paige found this — and more importantly, why it was suddenly the most endearing thing anyone had ever done for her.

“told you,” paige said all too smugly, holding the door open with a little bow. “ladies first.”

azzi stepped in with a little thank you, pausing to take in the sight in front of her. the space was barely bigger than an average living room, the walls painted a vintage mint green with three small, wooden, rickety tables on one side while the other was glowing with mismatched fairy lights. it was empty except for a woman in her sixties, grey hair pulled in a neat bun humming along to an old radio behind the counter. her eyes brightened at the sight of customers, the comforting smile only an elder could give painting her face.

“hello!” paige chimed charmingly, earning a bright greeting from the lady, “double scoop,” paige said like a regular. “mango sorbet please!”

then, turning to azzi, softening a little, “what about you, baby?”

baby.

it really was unfair how a simple word could make her brain short circuit multiple times, but here she was again, melting at the name and how soft paige said it.

azzi pretended not to hear it, focusing instead on willing the blush off her cheeks. “uh… vanilla. with rainbow sprinkles, please.”

paige smiled so hard it looked like it hurt. “of course you want sprinkles.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” azzi narrowed her eyes, fighting back a smile.

“nothing,” paige teased, handing her the cone. “just that it’s so you.”

their fingers brushed in the handoff, and it was such a fleeting touch, but it left azzi breathless anyway. paige’s eyes flicked up to hers, just for a second, and it was like they both forgot how to exist in their own skin.

“such an adorable couple.” the lady said, effectively shutting up the small banter with the girls blushing wildly.

they thanked the lady, who they learned was named dorothy with a sheepish smile and a promise to come back.

they ended up outside on a weathered little bench under half-lit string lights, knees touching while there cones slowly drip down the grass. paige smirked mischiviously, leaning close to steal a bite from azzi’s cone who huffed offendedly. paige only giggled, holding her own cone up as an offering. “you want mango?”

azzi leaned in to take a bite, only barely missing paige’s lips. paige’s eyes widened, the blue of her eyes under the low light making it irresistible and god, really impossible for azzi not to lean in and steal a sweet kiss.

so she did, leaning in to capture the blonde’s lips in a quick peck.

“okay, you win,” azzi murmured when she pulled back, leaving a flustered paige smiling dizzily, her voice quiet and full of affection. “this place is weirdly perfect.”

“told you,” paige said again, quieter this time, stretching her hand to properly link their fingers once more.

as the sun dipped low, they walked together through the overgrown garden azzi had brought paige to the first time she visited.

this time, paige led the way.

everything smelled like honeysuckle and wet leaves, and multiple flowers were missing their usual colour from being out of season. but somehow, it’s never looked prettier.

“you remembered this,” azzi said softly.

“how could i forget?” paige replied. “you brought me here when i didn’t know all i needed all this time was right beside me.”

azzi looked over, heart caught in her throat, torn between wanting to kiss her silly again and crying. “you really don’t play fair, do you?”

“i really don’t,” paige whispered. “especially when i like someone this much.”

and what can azzi do but fall deeper?

they walked in slow circles around the flower beds until the garden gave way to a little park behind it, where a crooked old basketball hoop still stood in the corner. azzi couldn’t help a laugh of disbelief and possibly fondness escape.

paige grinned and broke away, dribbling the faded ball sitting beneath the bench. “one-on-one. you and me right now”

“really now?”

“first to ten,” she said, tossing the ball to azzi. “winner gets whatever they want.”

azzi’s eyes brightened as she shuffled closer, catching the ball with ease as she felt the familiar fire of competitiveness, “game on, bueckers.”

what followed could barely be called a real game.

the game started normal, azzi making an easy three, paige making tough layups look easy. but somewhere around point six, it unraveled into a flirty chaos. laughing, bumping shoulders, teasing defense, both of them missing more shots than they made. azzi scored with a quick fake and a step-back jumper, paige responded with a ridiculous spin move that somehow worked.

“8-6,” paige said after she made her shot, bouncing the ball slowly. “i make a shot and it’s over.”

azzi crouches down in position, smirking as she got her lock down defence ready. “bring it.”

but paige didn’t move.

she stood there, holding the ball, eyes locked on azzi like the game had already ended.

looking at her like she had already won.

“you know what?” she said, voice low. “i don’t need the point. i already know what i want.”

azzi blinked, “huh?”

paige gulped, voice suddenly wobbly as she feels her heart speed up, “these past few days, i know we’ve already said a lot and well, kissed a lot.” she teased lightly earning a light laugh from azzi, “but i don’t wanna just leave it hanging there. i want you to really know.”

she dropped the ball gently and stepped closer.

“i want you,” she continued, each word a little braver. “in every way. i want ice cream dates and basketball hangouts and stupid inside jokes and everything in between. i want the you after a loss and the you after a win. i want you by my side in university playing ball and you by my side for whatever comes after.”

her fingers reached out, brushing gently along azzi’s jaw, so soft it melted what was left of azzi’s poor heart.

“i’m already yours,” paige admitted, “but i’d really love to be your girlfriend, officially. if you’ll have me, of course.”

azzi stood frozen in place, eyes widening as the blonde’s words sunk in. she could feel herself lose whatever train of thought she had, not because she didn’t know what to say, but because god, she hadn’t been expecting to fall this hard. she blinked through the sting in her eyes, stepping forward until their foreheads touched, breaths mingling in the space between them.

“of course. yes, are you kidding?” she whispered, voice thick with emotions and something that felt scarily like love, “of course i want that. i want you.”

paige let out a breathless, crooked laugh as azzi wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close, their bodies fitting like muscle memory.

“you’re crying,” paige teased, brushing her thumb gently under azzi’s eye.

“shut up,” azzi whispered, sniffling a little. “you made me.”

paige leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then her cheek. “i’ll make it up to you.”

“how?”

she leaned down slowly, breath getting caught at just how gentle and loving azzi looked up at her. her brown eyes were wide-eyed and flushed, lips parted slightly like she already knew what was coming but still couldn’t believe it. like no amount of kissing could ever get her used to the closeness and softness of each moment.

then their lips met.

soft and ever so gentle at first, like they were both holding their breath and testing the waters, but then paige tilted her head and pressed in more fully and oh, azzi thought she couldn’t hold back any longer.

azzi tasted like vanilla and something so achingly familiar it made paige’s knees weak. and god, the way azzi’s hand gripped the back of her neck like she was scared she’d disappear, like she was something out of her greatest dreams, made her heart genuinely skip a beat.

paige deepened the kiss gently, coaxing rather than taking, like she had all the time in the world to learn the shape of azzi’s mouth and the way her breath hitched just slightly when she brought her free hand to cup her cheek. her other hand slid up to rest just beneath azzi’s jaw, her thumb brushing featherlight against her cheekbone, steadying both of them.

azzi responded in kind, pressing closer, their bodies molding together in that perfect way that felt like a secret being whispered. it was soft, yes, but it was also charged with every unspoken feeling they’d been too scared to name out loud: longing, hope, and something that felt dangerously close to love.

the kiss lingered, unhurried, like they were writing it into memory.

and when they finally broke apart, noses brushing, foreheads resting against each other’s, their lips still tingled with the ghost of their kiss. they were breathing a little too hard, faces a little too warm, but neither of them moved away.

behind them, the basketball rolled lazily across the cracked pavement, forgotten. above them, the last light of day faded into indigo. and between them, a quiet certainty settled.

they didn’t need to say it aloud.

they were finally here, together.

at last.

—

[neo-exploded]

tinkerbell aus make me joyful

*i forgot to add this but Varian's sleeves r lilypads :3

*also nuru is a light fairy and yong is an animal fairy but he isnt here bc i havent thought this thru yet fully

AND LISTEN

BEFORE ANY OF U COME UP TO ME WITH THE "hey neo why didnt u make them tinker fairies theyre like tinker fairies" LET ME EXPLAIN

i made them boys different fairies from tinkers because thats LAZY. its like the most OBVIOUS CONCLUSION for a smart character to be a tinker fairy in these kinds of aus and as much as i love jt, ITS BORINGGG

for one, i also rlly wanted to go off personalities given to the talents if that makes sense. like. in the movies, fast flying fairies are described to be rather rude and what not. and like. is that NOT Hugo to u? also if Hugo is theoretically still a "thief" in this au, it would be helpful for a thief to have some sort of fast moving ability

the "basing the fairy off personality" thing i just ranted on doesnt exactly match for Varian tho, and tbh i just matched the talent with his shirt color, but this brings me to another reason

i wanted to give these guys other hobbies than the ones theyre forced with that comes with their talents. kind of similar to how tinkerbell acts in the first movie, not wanting to be a tinker and allat. however, how this is different from tink imo, is how they dont hate or dislike their pre-given talents, they just want to do more with other talents of theirs. thats why Hugo and Varian, in this au ig, still like doing alchemy and science and all that but it comes from the fact they just really like the stuff ans not from the fact they just HAVE to be tinkers like let other fairies have hobbies pls

in conclusion,

these mfs gay as hell ok

[k1mbe3rly]

can you make a gotak (whc2) nsfw alphabet pls 🫰

Gotak NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After sex he does get super super tired so the most he tries to do is check up on you than cuddles you to sleep, but don’t worry when he wakes up he’ll clean you up

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part about you is your boobies, he likes to stuff his face in then and just use them as stress balls, he also like watching them while you bounce on him

His favorite body part about himself is his fist, he feels like his fist is the strongest in his body, since he fights he likes how talented he is when his fist is in someone’s face

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cover you in his cum, but he does get frustrated about pulling out maybe he’ll do a little groan and complain about it but still pulls out when you want him too

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He doesn’t really have any secrets, he’s pretty open

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Yess and no.. he knows what he’s doing at firstbut at the same time he kinda doesn’t

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

DOGGYSTYE

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s goofy, he likes to make jokes when he’s fucking you, like dirty jokes

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he grooms just not often but doesn’t let get too out of hand

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He tries to be very very romantic, like for valentines or special occasions he makes a funny attempt at being romantic

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he jacks off every now and then but not tooo often

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

hair pulling and definitely slapping

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the bed

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

dirty talking and revealing clothes

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything to hurt you

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s loves getting head, he would gladly drop everything just for head, but he does gives every now and then

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s rough and fast..

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

he’s definitely into quickies, he would gladly take you right there and then

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he likes to take risk, he enjoys the feeling of almost getting caught or getting caught

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can last awhile if he goes slow but if he’s slow and rough at most 3-4 rounds

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

no toys

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he definitely teases you all the time

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

loud groaning and hard breathing

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he purposely does things to get you loud during sex in public so someone can catch yall

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7 inches

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not high but not low, but he’s down for sex anytime

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he gets sooo tired so he makes sure you fall asleep with him, he sleeps fast

[cirqosmos]

yandere simulator; xo (only if you say yes). yjw

interactive roleplaying game: where instead of a yandere winning over your heart, you win theirs. by getting them to say 'yes', only then you will unlock the key to their heart where psychotic love resides.

currently playing. . . xo (only if you say yes)

warning: yandere, slight profanity, some grammar errors (i'm doing my best to study it >_<)

runtime: 3k.

director's cut, — jungwon boo u never fail to prove me that you're legit my muse in writing </3 this is just a fun fun interactive yandere game i randomly thought of, whatever you choose (majority of the votes) decides what happens to you with yandere jungwon :3

character visual: jw

"i'm sorry, but no. you're just not my type—"

you slammed yourself your face on your pillow, burying it so tight it sent you to heaven itself. however you'd rather die this way than pressing the 'continue' button to read the yandere's next words for his darling—which is you.

but you're not even his darling yet, much less being his close friend. maybe just a friend from school?

yeah, definitely.

well, as a twenty-nine years old office lady with her average monotonous schedule with the same routine over and over again for the past eight years, nearing her thirties yet never being able to find a qualified partner that fits her overly high standards—you're left with a game titled 'xo (only if you say yes) you've found somehow on the devil's hours; a game that was immensely difficult to pass, where you would do your best to win over a yandere's heart.

the game's description was too daring, almost too challenging, you are afraid to admit.

"wanna have your sweet affectionate yandere fawning all over you? no worries! however, as the old sayings goes; without efforts, you may never achieve anything—nothing is free in this world. therefore, why don't you sweat a little, get upset a little, cry a little, break a little—like your beloved yandere would once they fall for you? do your very best to get them to say yes to your love confession just once, and all of them—they will give to you.

blood, sweat, and tears; all of them shall be yours as long as you can make them say yes."

© 2024. all rights reserved xo, (only if you say yes)

and now you found yourself on the final level spending atleast, or disappointingly a huge sum of bucks on the game with currency of gems just to speed up the process, with your eyes bearing a newfound dark eyebags as an extra package of consequences.

you swore by your life and on god himself that you're only playing this for fun out of pure boredom and insomnia, however as you thumb through the game's introduction of yandere as it's dominant themes paired with a comprehensive summary of them; you questioned yourself with sheer shock as to why you've never find an ounce of existence about yanderes for the past eighteen years of your life despite being chronically online.

since yanderes are the exact definition of your overly high standards for men, ever since. no wonder you've never found a men like this before, turns out they only exists in fiction—you scoffed at yourself, filled with disbelief as you roll your eyes.

but! who cares if they don't exist in real life? they're now on the tips of your finger, waiting earnestly and eagerly for your love. a giggle so obnoxious escapes your lips, you feel like you are once a schoolgirl again, but without the experiences of one, actually.

but again who cares!

the game flashes a new pop-up, telling you the next step—choose your yandere character to play with. it shows you a list of seven yanderes illustrated on their respective cards, clad in coquettish-sort-of highschool uniforms; pink ties, beige vest over a dark blue shirt and pants paired with their set of flirty gestures as your thumb glided through each character—reading their descriptions; interests & dislikes, hobbies & talents, a little trivia about them, and of course—their strengths and weaknesses.

surprisingly, they had a range of informations so complete it felt like they were real humans. the developers did quite a spectacular job on it, don't they? and even the fact of how their weaknesses remains the same although with differences in how they would act on it or how far they would go; obsession, possession, and damn psychotic—willing to kill for you.

how romantic. . . in a psychotic way, of course. you hummed unconsciously, letting out a sigh after at the disappointing fact of how you still find it strangely attractive in your late twenties.

are you really that of a single pringle? pfft!

as you giddily spend your time trying to choose one of all characters. they're just all too good, looking too good for your heart to take. but one particular character catches your eye, intrigues you even with those pair of eyes—goosebumps ran down your spine as you could feel him gazing back at you.

like at you, literally.

or was it just the game's tactic to make the players like you fall deeper? hm, probably! it definitely was, unless a random ghost must've possessed your phone but that can't be right?

right?! you yelled the same word out loud, snapping your head around your room—looking for any potential jumpscares, but to your relief—thank god. now you can play your little new obsession in peace!

snapping your head back at your phone, eyes lit up in immense stars as you've made up your mind, heart thumping loudly as you scanned his unique features—tapping the "play with me?" soft pink button below the name 'yang jungwon' aka the mischievous leader kitty of the group.

in yandere academy, this group is called enhypen—and they have a bunch of fangirls, and it's not even a 'bunch', the size of their fandom is almost half of the female population in the academy and even outside of its territories—there is this ridiculously long line of female students from other academies. a feat that cannot be totally underestimated, and it's not even surprising as they are packed with dazzling visuals, and a set of numerous talents of their own.

they catch hearts everywhere, left and right, back and forth with their grand entrance to the school. each of them has their own separate fandoms too, and yang jungwon's taekwondo club practices are always filled with hearty eyes paired nerve-wracking screams that his coach spends half an hour yeeting them out.

"huh?" you let that out a tad bit too loud, almost exaggerated even. the game surely didn't turn out the way you thought, as you had the initial assumption that the yandere you chose already fell for you, and that you just had to spend those lovey-dovey levels roleplaying with them with a one or a few more predetermined routes to choose from.

the rules was pretty simple; try to get his heart—make him fall for you in the set duration of thirty days. in other words, there are ninety-nine percent possibility that he might reject your confession out of pure lack of interest. get that three row of bars; friendship, love, and yandereness as high as you can because if you were unable to do so then there will be no second chances of playing the yandere of your choice without paying an excessive sum of bucks, so you just had to do it once and make sure to do it right.

quite a challenging mission, huh? no it really is challenging but you were determined as your nostrils flared out a puff of air, straightening your posture as

the adorable motion logo of the game plays out, loading in a bunch of texts meant to help you along the way;

'yandere has each of their own unique love languages, pay attention!'

'little misfortunes are often a blessing in disguise, sometimes redirecting you away from what we call a 'disaster.'

'completing side tasks will increase your yandere's love bar by two percent!'

it soon pops up a bunch of pinky hearts and sparkling stars after all those introductions and guides before switching to a scene of him, jungwon—standing before you, and as expected, you were instructed to approach him.

the location in his taekwondo club, all while sandwiched in between his die-hard fangirls with those screams that you had to turn down your volume to zero. talk about in starting a cool first impression—well never mind, two choices popped up on your screen.

choice one: wait for him after his taekwondo practices (20% of working out)

choice two: act like a damsel in distress (5% of working out)

"uh," your thumb hovered over the two choices, is this a trap? act like a damsel in distress—what in the actual fuck? who would even do that in 2024?! you begrudgingly tapped on the first choice, and the scene switches to a pop up message:

try again, jungwon left a couple minutes earlier for a dinner with jay!

[ retry? ] [ exit? ]

your eyebrow twitches, what the fuck? just like that . . .? there's even barely a progress and you just have to fucking retry?

and jokes on you as your jaw dropped on the floor with the new set of choices presented before you, four choices—actually.

"what is this?!" you yelled so loud you immediately covered your mouth, peeking outside the window.

day three.

the love bar ain't going the fuck up, it's still there glaring at your face with it's zero percent. well that's fine, atleast the friendship bar goes up a tad bit—by five percent. a progress is still a progress!

but the game is just so greedy! you can't skip a day? sure then! but you only had three gems a day, one is to play the major mission, second to power up your aesthetics, skills, and status. third, to complete your side tasks such as running errands for your home or completing school assignments!

that even takes a whole day to refill back up, and it's not even enough with these thirty days you got and with this slow ass rate of getting jungwon to fall for you! you threw your phone on the bed, huffing like a madman—contemplating whether to spend a few bucks on it or just drop the game altogether. surely, you can't be that too attached with a yandere character, right?

right?!

jokes on you, your fingers find itself on the payment method against your will. ultimately cashing out a few bucks from your bank account with a single tear trailing down from your eye, all of this would be complete waste of money and effort if you fail to reign over his heart.

you let out an almost animalistic growl—filled with downright spite, actually. is this game even for real?! the choices they gave you are almost like deliberately setting you up for failure, definitely is! you were almost sure that is—to the point of contacting the developers themselves but you held yourself in sheer strength of self-control at last-minute, at the last digit of contacting them.

"it's okay, pampering myself isn't a sin." you pat yourself on the back, comforting yourself with a huge pout reaching the floor. it's okay! with a newfound determination, you're sure you'll make it!

day ten.

hopeless! utterly hopeless even the god of romance and cupid's themselves would laugh at you. you would, too. due to the fact that you went as far as googling on how to 'win over a man's heart" or "list of dialogues and actions that makes a man gain interest in you".

one of them even says food, that it is the way to a man's heart. but how the heck are you even going to feed a fictional game character? it would be easier if there was a food dialogue!

right, when is your character—or the game itself deciding to send a heart shaped box of chocolates? that would atleast give you a few percent to his love bar!

throwing yourself at your bed like a ragdoll, groaning and kicking your feet in the air. why do you even bother? for what? your search history is so hopelessly embarrassing, and even more embarrassing was when your co-worker had their eyes ogling at it. your mistake for letting your phone screen lit up for everyone to see, thank god she was the only one. patting you on the back that it was okay, and that she too had her fair share of struggles on fictional men.

truly a fellow comrade, you almost shed a tear.

day seventeen.

is this damn game trying to get on your nerves?

deciding to show a new bunch of rules that they didn't bother to show at the first day—set of rules you mustn't do while proceeding with the act of winning a yandere's heart, that is—you were not to skip a single day of playing—in other words, not spending a time with your yandere as in the game's words itself; they will be lonely and might end up throwing tantrums—loathing you for doing so, ignoring you for a short period or even longer depending on how long you were gone, thus risking the amount of effort you've spent so far down the drain.

and you actually skipped not one but two days because of your hectic work piling up after a fellow coworker's taking a sick leave for a week. . . and that was also after finally getting his love bar up to two percent and friendship bar reaching whopping sixteen percent.

yeah, it's sadly a 'whopping' one for you.

and now it's back at zero, with his friendship bar down to crashing down to nine digit and just as exactly the rules stated; every choice, dialogues, and routes you picked ended up him ignoring you with that furrowed eyebrows and slight pout on his lips, or responding to you in a flat out cold tone.

he's not even in love with you, so what are you even throwing a tantrum for?! you screamed that question at the animated game character on your phone's screen.

day twenty-four.

nah, this won't do. it definitely won't so why are you still trying? you bit your lower lip as you look for cheats, hacks, and tutorials online, praying to atleast find some miracle that could miraculously rocket you to ninety percent of love bar atleast!

since all you have left is six days.

you've spent an embarrassing amount of hours and days on this shit, even more dedicated and focused than you do back in your days as a student. you were so sure by this point that you could actually become a relationship therapist with all these accumulated knowledge!

day thirty.

eyebrows and lips twitching, it is.

level thirty, it is—ending on quite a horrible note, or actually, a total doomsday glaring back at you with all your nonexistent experience combined into a recipe with the title "never been in a relationship before".

a helpless laughter escapes your throat, of course—how can you catch a yandere's heart? much less make him your lover? you've never even caught a human's interest over the past twenty years of your life!

how cruel, how utterly cruel! god truly has it's ways of playing jokes. tears, laughter, giggles, sweat, money and effort—all gone down the drain.

all because of that one sentence ending it all, each word literally jumping out from his animated lips in a bold ass pink letters,

"i'm sorry but i can't accept it. i only see you as a friend, (name). i hope you could understand. . i'm sorry, but no—you're just not my type."

huh?! seriously?! a compelling urge, or a really tremendous one so colossal you can break your table into two parts—all that set of routes you've chosen so far with a careful decision and thoughts just for him to say this? just for the love bar to be at total ten percent?

jungwon, how could you? only ten percent? there's no hint of romantic affections found in his eyes or gestures, his friendship bar only by forty percent (a low score of only being his 'school' friend), heck you didn't even trigger his yandereness. like look at him! his yandere bar is at zero looming percent!

a trace of the pink love bar and red yandere bar nowhere to be seen, this is a pure scam! a love scam in the form of a game! meant to target single old ladies like you, fucking hell!

out of pure rage and disappointment, you slammed your phone on the bed—burying your face on your pillows as you let out a long drawn out, muffled scream. downright mad at yourself for even being so triggered by this whole shit, and at the fact of you acting like teenage girl imbued with hormonal changes,

"can't even get a fictional men to fall for me, i'm totally screwed for life!—"

you're so going to uninstall that shitty game, there's no point in playing anyways when you can't have the same character of your choice.

a notification 'tings' up, interrupting your bursts of tantrums—you look over at your phone with the game still up, a big pink heart-shaped bubble pops up on the screen—slowly draining into a pathetic colour of white, ultimately shredding it apart into a broken heart, mocking at your misery.

however the next message pulls outs a gasp from your throat, appearing in its usual glossy pink heart but a little redder at the bottom.

💌 2:09AM

hey there, our precious darling!

we totally get how you feel, there's no need to fret anymore! here we present to you an exclusive package where you will be given a final chance to retry for jungwon! this is a one in a lifetime chance for you—our dear player!

tempting almost, yet you're definitely not falling for that anymore.

and it's all free, let yourself fall deeper and deeper into this world of obsession. you can't really give up that quickly, right?

yanderes never knows when to give up, anyways ♡

free? there's nothing free in this world, even the game itself stated the same words. you've wasted your time, money, and effort on this dumb game and now it's giving a package that is exclusive only for you?

what dirty trick is this game trying to pull off once again?

© pieroulette on tumblr , 2024.

[justmeinadaze]

Hi lovely!! I want to start off by saying how TALENTED YOU ARE, genuinely you are my favourite writer on this platform for Eddie and Steve LOL

I was hoping we could get some more of pornstar! steddie as it is my literal favourite ( Maybe something where the reader is innocent and hasn't had much or any sex and asks them to teach her stuff or something? ) I don't know, if you feel up to writing it you can add anything you want!!

Again, absolutely adore you and your writing, and I hope you are having a wonderful day!!

xo Cherry 💫

A/N: I changed this a bit. I hope that's ok. I didn't want it to be too close or similar to Corroded Corpses "Boys On Film" (Check it out! Its amazing!)

Thank you for your compliments <3. I love you!

Warnings: Pornstar Steddie/ Plus Size Fem Y/N, established relationship, best friends to lovers, SMUT (dirty talk, 'teaching', facesitting, 69, pretty lady on top). FLUFF. Mentions of reader never having been on top because of her size (brief), she does have some reservations but they squash that.

Word Count: 2786

Steddie Asks/ Donate to Me

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on a minute, little lady.”, Eddie practically shouts as you roll your eyes and Steve laughs through his teeth. “You’re telling me that you’ve never ridden a guy before?”

“Ok, this was a mistake. Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything and keep watching your dirty movie alright?”, you sigh completely flushed with embarrassment.

The three of you had been best friends for so many years and you were never once shy around each other. You had seen them naked and vice versa, openly told the other about any sexual experiences you had or were currently having, and they even opened up to you about signing up to be in a porn film, bringing it over a few months later to show you the finish product. 

But when it came to other aspects of your relationships, you kept things to yourself especially after they beat up one of your ex’s for calling you a “fat slut” when you two got into a fight. 

“No, no. Please, go on. I’d love to hear more because I don’t understand why any man wouldn’t want to watch you bouncing around on top of them.” Again, you tried to shy away but Steve grabbed your hands and moved them away from your face. “Come on, honey. I’m serious. No teasing.”

“I mean…look at her…”, you smile hoping your tone sounds playful as you gesture towards the screen. “I mean…”

“Yeah. That’s a person…Wait…are you an alien?!”

“Stop it, Ed. Yeah, Y/N. We see her…I don’t see a difference though.”

“Really, Steven? You don’t see ANY difference?”, you sass as you get to your feet and place yourself by the tv screen. “NOTHING at all?”

“Are you trying to tell me the reason you’ve never been on top is because you’re curvy?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it, Eddie, but let’s be blunt here. I’m a fat girl. I’m too heavy and add in the fact that no one wants to see my…everything…jiggle.”

“Speak for yourself.”, he mumbles under his breath. 

“Did someone tell you this or is this you?”, Steve asks a bit more forcefully than he meant to. “Because we’ll fucking kill anyone that fucking lied to you like that. If it’s you then we can just spank it out of you.”

Both men smile when you giggle.

“Do you know how? To ride a dick, I mean.”

Your eyes narrow Eddie’s way as he nonchalantly places the beer bottle in his hand on the table beside his bed. 

“I mean…there’s not much to it…I imagine. Why? Wanna teach me, porn star?”

“We can if you want us to.”

Your gaze shifts between theirs waiting for the punch line followed by their infectious laughs that make you feel warm inside and out. But it never comes as they continue to stare at you with their wide, expressive eyes waiting on you to decide. 

“Why?”

“It’s not like we’re making love or anything. We’re just…teaching…It will be like how we were on set except there’s no camera.”

“We know we’re not your type anyway.”, Steve jests as he reaches out to lightly hit your knee. 

“Who says?” That grabs their attention as their heads fully snap in your direction. “I mean, we’ve never really talked about it but I always thought I wasn’t your type. Personally, I think you’re both sweet, funny, attractive…I guess.”

They laugh gently at your joke as you smile their way. 

“Ok!”, Eddie claps his hands loudly together as he bounces off the mattress. “Harrington, you lay on the floor here and Y/N, go ahead and take off everything from the waist down.”

Your eyes widen in amusement as you watch Steve slide off the bed with zero hesitation as he does what his friend suggestions and removes his shirt before tossing it to the side. 

“Are you…are you sure? I don’t…”

“Hey.”, the metalhead coos in a much softer voice as he takes you hand and guides you onto your feet. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Just say the word. We’ll still love you.”

“You promise? I don’t…I can’t lose you two.”

With a tender smile, Eddie cups your face in his hands and brings his lips to your own for a tender kiss. 

“We’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. Cross my heart.”

“And hope to die.”, Steve adds as his fingers comfortingly caress your thigh.

“Well, let’s not go that far.”, you tease, trying to keep the mood light as you remove your shorts and panties. “Now what, Mr. Munson.”

“Oooo I like that.”, he jokes as he guides you to your knees, watching as the other man falls flat on his back and runs his fingers through his hair to push it way from his face. “Ok, now, whenever you’re ready, I want you to place both knees on either side of his head and—”

“You want me to sit on his face?” Eddie’s grin grows as he nods. “I’ve…I’ve never done that either—”

“I figured.”

Smirking, you lightly punch his chest causing both boys to chuckle before suddenly feeling soft kisses trailing up your thigh as Steve sits up on one of his elbows. 

“It’s ok, honey, trust me. I can handle it and if something’s not right I’ll tap your leg three times.”

His beautiful amber eyes watch you carefully as you exhale, allowing you all the time you need before you gradually crane your neck to kiss his lips. 

“Good girl. Come on.”, the former jock praises as you allow them to maneuver you till your lower half was hovering just above him with your hands balancing on his chest and his cling to your thighs. 

“Can, um, can I have a bit more vulnerability?” Eddie’s eyebrows furrow in confusion at your question till you gesture with your head at what you want, laughing as he leans over to unbutton Steve’s jeans to pull them down his ankles. 

“Ay! Be careful down there. I’m not a rag doll.”

You smile as he scolds the metalhead but you can’t help it when a shaky breath leaves you as his admittedly large cock tries to push through the hole in his boxers. 

“Is she turning you on, bud?”

“Fuck off, Munson. It’s just… Y/N, your pussy smells good.” Lifting his head, he presses his nose between your folds and your eyes roll back as his wide tongue follows. 

“God, you look so fucking sexy, sweetheart. N-Now, go ahead and roll your hips a-against his tongue. You can use his chest for balance if you need to.”

Doing as he instructed, you rolled your hips forward, whimpering when he grazed your clit down to your entrance, just barely dipping in before pulling back. You tried again with a bit more confidence causing Steve to groan underneath you as his mouth closed around your little bud.

“D-Did…did I hurt you?”

When he shook his head, he let go of your bundle of nerves with an obscene slurping pop that had your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“No, baby. Fuck, you taste like heaven. You can push down harder if you need to. I’m ok.”

Baby

They’d never called you that before. Hearing it now drove you crazy as your nails dug into his chest and grinded your body against him. 

“Atta girl. You like that? You like hearing him compliment you like that?”, Eddie murmured as he pressed his nose into your cheek and left feathery light kisses along your skin. 

One of Steve’s palms released you and you both watched as he dug into his boxers to free his cock, collecting the copious amount of precum leaking from the tip to use as he stroked himself looking for a much-needed release. 

“O-Ok, fuck, now, I want you to bounce on his tongue, babe. Use your knees to lift yourself up a-and come back down till you feel him deep in that tight little pussy.”

You tried to do what he commanded but there was some self-conscious part of your brain that was terrified of hurting the boy beneath you. Eddie noticed your trepidation, hastily gripping your jaw and turning your eyes to meet his. 

“Don’t. Don’t think about your size or what those other fuckers told you. He said he’d tell you if he needed to stop. Do you not trust him?”

“N-No, I do. I do.”

“Then why are you hesitating?”

“I’m sorry.”, you pant as you push yourself up straighter and utilize your knees to do what he instructed. As your body came back down, Steve’s thick, large tongue filled you so completely that you felt like you wanted to cry from pleasure. “Fuck, Steve. N-No one’s ever…been this deep…”

“You haven’t had me yet, sweetheart. Now, make yourself cum.”

After licking his fingers, Eddie reached between you and matched your rhythm as he messaged your clit. You were suddenly overwhelmed with euphoria as the coil snapped and Steve arms quickly wrapped around your middle, holding you in place as you rode out your high. 

“Good…good girl. Let him lick you clean, pretty girl.”

Your body twitched as you fell against him, his tongue still devouring you but now at a much slower pace. Your heavy eyes glanced towards his length that was now firey red and you couldn’t stop yourself when you carefully circled your fingers around him. 

“Ah, fuck.”, he whined at the sensitivity, seemingly on the edge of a release. Raising your head, you spit over his tip causing his head to hit the floor with a little thunk as he absorbed the feeling of your palm stroking his length. “Fuck, her hand feels good. Her pussy t-tastes amazing, Ed. It’s everything we…”

You couldn’t hear what he mumbled to Eddie as your lips fully enveloped him and all you good manage to absorb was the throbbing of his length on your own tongue. Steve’s fingers tangled in your hair as his hips thrust upwards and you allowed him to use your throat as he chased his high. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck…fuck! M’gonna cum.”

His seed spurted its warmth as he grunted in pleasure above you. After swallowing everything he had to give, you kissed his tip and he lazily man-handled you around till your face was level with his so he could passionately kiss your lips. 

“Are you ready for your second lesson, Y/N?”

At the sound of his strained tone, your gaze shifted towards Eddie who had his cock in his hand that now look just as red and angry as Steve’s had.

“Yes, Mr. Munson. I’m ready.”

Smirking at your answer, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and climbed back on to his mattress with you on top of him straddling his waist. As he reached for the pack of condoms on his bed side table, your hand extended out to stop him. 

“I’m, um, I’m on the pill. I mean if you want to.”

Blinking, you noticed his confident demeanor faulter slightly. 

“Are you sure? With everything we do…on set and…”

“Are you safe?”

“Yeah, yeah, princess, I’m clean. I…we just understand that…you may have a viewpoint of us…”

Placing your palms under his ears, you softly kiss his lips as your thumbs caress his cheeks. 

“Did someone tell you this or is this you?”, you echo their words from earlier. “Because I’ll kick anyone’s ass who—”

“Yeah, yeah, ya dork.”, he jests as he playfully smacks your behind. “Ok, I’ve, um, I’ve never done it raw so…if your pussy is as good as Steve says it is…I may ruin this particular lesson by busting too soon.”

Giggling at his now nervous demeanor, you lift off your shirt and toss it towards the other boy who catches it midair before throwing it on the floor near your pants so he can climb in beside you both. 

“I like this bra. It’s cute.”, Steve compliments as his fingers trace the black lace while Eddie’s own hands rub up and down your sides.

“Whenever you’re ready, baby, just slide down onto my dick. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

Nodding, Eddie holds his shaft as your entrance hovers just above him. Just the warmth alone that’s radiating from your cunt has his cock twitching before you slowly begin to descend onto him. 

“Shit.”

“What? Did I do s-something? Am I—”

His ringed hand clasps over your mouth as his other keeps you in place. 

“No. You’re not too heavy. Stop thinking about all that bullshit. Fuck, I really am going to fucking cum before she even moves.”

Steve grins at the man’s words as he winks at you reassuringly. Knowing that he’s alright, you continue to lower your body, taking him in inch by inch till you feel him fully sheathed inside you. 

“Eddie.”

“How does it feel, baby?”

“So…deep. Feels different…better…”

“Go—Go ahead and roll your hips.” You do as he says, repeating your movements you had done with the other boy causing an electricity to shoot through you as his cock grazes something inside you that you weren’t even sure was there. 

“Oh my god.”

“There’s the spot.”, he whispered. “Take over, Y/N. Balance on my chest and hit that spot, baby girl. Fuck, your pussy is squeezing me so tight.”

While you ride his length, you don’t notice the way your tummy jiggles or that from his angle you may not look flattering. All you can focus on is him and how he feels inside you. With every press of that button, you whimper and mewl his name causing you to clench tighter to him as he groans at the sound of you moaning. When you’re finally able to open your eyes to look at him, you notice his chocolate ones are zeroed in on where you two connected as his hands absently guide your movements on your waist. 

Occasionally, his gaze shifts to your breasts as he licks his lips at the sight and desperate to please him, you reach behind you to undo the clasp, throwing it to the ground. Leaning up towards your chest, Eddie wraps his mouth around one of your nipples and your fingers thread through his hair as you grind your hips against his. 

“So fucking beautiful. Cum for me, baby.”

Pushing at his chest, you chase your high and he bites his bottom lip at the sight as you finally truly take over. Your body shudders as your rhythm stutters and your pussy quivers as you come undone. It’s more than Eddie can handle and his grip becomes almost bruising as he guides your sloppy movements till you feel him empty deep inside you. 

“F-Fuck…oh, careful, pretty girl.”, he coos as you wince when you try to lift your body off his. “Can, um, is it ok if I hold you like this?”

Smiling, you nod as lay your head under his chin and he circles his arms around you so he can play with your hair. 

“In a minute we can take a shower and get you clean.”, he whispered as they both listened to you steadily breathe.

“Am I your type?” Confusion paints both their features and you push up on your knees so you could see them both. “You said you weren’t my type but I said that you were. Am I yours?”

Their gaze shifts to each other before Steve chuckles under his breath. 

“You didn’t hear what I said, did you? I said that your pussy was everything we ever talked about it being. That’s not all we talk about though. You’re kind and strong—”

“Sarcastic as fuck.”, Eddie cuts in making you laugh. 

“You’re so gorgeous, honey. When we were shooting our scenes we, uh, we pretended she was you.”

Both men sit up with the metalhead holding your body to keep you against him. 

“If you want this to be a onetime thing we understand but if not…”

“We’d like to take you on a date.”

“Maybe give you some more lessons.”

“Hey now. I’m sure I can teach you both a thing or two.”, you giggle as they beam up at you with nothing but care. “Ok, as long as you can promise me that no matter what I won’t lose you. You’ve been my best friends for so long and I love you so much.”

Placing his hand on the back of your neck, Eddie guides your lips to his. 

“What did I say, babe? We’ll always be here, no matter what. Cross my heart.”, he grins as he does the gesture over his chest and Steve follows, finishing it by grabbing your cheeks in both his massive palms to kiss you.