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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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Buttermilk

It doesn't take long to settle into the rhythm of your new summer job. Or: the babysitter x single dad au

Part 3 | masterlist

It’s not unusual for someone to mistake you for the baby’s mama.

How could someone not, at least for a moment? When you take the baby to the grocery store, older people gush over him babbling in his stroller, eager to shower him with compliments in baby-talk or tell you how much you resemble the little tyke. After hearing the same comment for the umpteenth time, you tire of correcting people by saying you’re the babysitter only to watch their face fall, somewhat mortified and feeling as though their comment should’ve been directed to the baby’s actual mother. Which isn’t you.

It’s less typical for someone to mistake you for John’s wife, though that does happen from time to time.

You’ve become a fixture around the neighbourhood since John hired you at the beginning of the summer, and over the weeks, the other nannies and the stay-at-home moms have started to gradually warm up to you. Before long, you’re being invited on coffee runs and playdates with some of the other women, always careful to ask for John’s permission before bringing his baby into a stranger’s house.

“Just text me the address and their names,” he requests while you stand awkwardly in front of him, John sitting on the bed to finish buttoning up his shirt and fixing his watch around his wrist. You would’ve been fine standing on the other side of the door while he finished changing, but he insisted on inviting you in.

“I will,” you promise, nodding along with his words.

“And call me if you don’t feel comfortable. I’ll come get the two of you right away if you need me.”

You swallow. Nod again.

The first time you take the baby for a playdate with a couple of the moms from the park, one catches you in the act of texting John the address of the house as he requested. “Hubby wants to know where you are, huh?”

“Oh,” you choke out, face heating up. “He’s not—”

“Not a control freak, I know. They’re all like that.” Her smile is ebullient, rolling her eyes like you’re in on a joke together when you most assuredly are not. “Why don’t you share your location with him? Mine’s the same way. Here—I’ll show you how.”

She takes your phone and tap-taps something and suddenly you see it in the notifications of your conversation with John. If you bite your lip instead of correcting her assumption about the nature of your and John’s relationship, that’s for you and you alone to know. Your rationale is that any explanation will just make things tense; it’s not like you haven’t seen it happen before.

It’s far more concerning when John doesn’t correct those assumptions. Particularly when you’re standing right next to him.

Like at the local water park on a particularly hot weekend, wading in the kiddy pool with the baby nestled tight against your chest in his little swim trunks and floppy hat only for an employee to ask John if his wife would like something to drink.

“Iced coffee, love?” John asks, taking your stupefied silence as a yes. “Nothing for me, mate. Cheers.”

Your head spins like a top on that thought until a good while later. The server hands you a glass of iced coffee with condensation already dripping down the sides and John thanks him for you, taking the baby from you and pulling you to his side. You drink your coffee quietly with your thigh flush with his under the water, gripping the glass harder when his free hand squeezes around your waist, laughing at something another parent said to him.

It’s so over for you. There’s no coming back from this.

The sight of someone of John’s size, a bulky, military man with arms of pure steel dusted with dark hairs, cradling a tiny, chubby baby with a thatch of similar dark hair on his head and big cheeks and roly poly arms unlocks something primal in you. An old, buried need.

In the family changing room, you stand under an ice cold shower until it breaks the fever slowly consuming you. All you can do is hope it takes.

In the evening, you sit out on the porch with John at the back of the house until the crickets swell with song, the moon a half-crescent in the sky. A cool breeze makes your shoulders lift a little, huddling into your body to keep warm.

It’s hard to keep your eyes on the view in front of you and off the man sitting beside you when they want so badly to be running over him. He’s changed out of his work clothes into a soft pair of sweatpants and an old threadbare shirt, the sage green fabric faded after years of being run through the washing machine. It clings to his biceps and the soft pudge of his stomach, a layer of fat over the hard muscle beneath.

A cigarette dangles from his fingers, thick wrist perched on the arm of the adirondack chair. Every so often he lifts it to his lips for a puff, always breathing out in the opposite direction from you. Considerate of your health, at least, if not his own.

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks before ashing his cigarette, and your bottom lip purses when you turn your head to look at him because you thought you were doing a good job suppressing your shivers.

You stare at him, confused. He cocks an eyebrow at your questioning stare and deliberately glances down, waiting until you notice the way your nipples are protruding through your white tank top. You forgot that you’d taken your bra off earlier for a bit of relief and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it back on.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, crossing your arms to hide as much as possible, humiliation flooding through you. “I’m so sorry—that’s so—I-I’m so sorry.”

John makes a rough sound when he rises to his feet, knees cracking as he does. “S’alright, hun. Lemme get you something to put on.”

The screen door creaks when he goes back inside briefly to fetch something only to come back a few seconds later with a big, cotton sweater that reeks of him. It looks well loved, some remnant of his younger years, and even from a distance, you can smell the distinct smoky aroma clinging to the fabric.

When he kneels in front of you, you nearly go cross-eyed at the realisation that even on his knees, he’s as tall as you. The bulk of his waist forces your legs to spread around him.

“C’mon, arms up,” John commands, barely waiting until you’ve raised your arms above your head before helping guide your head and arms into the right holes.

Dragging the sweater down the way he does forces it to rub over your nipples, sending a shock through you. If you had any less self-control, your teeth might actually chatter together.

“There we go,” he says, fluffing out the sweater around your waist before resting his hands on the tops of your thighs, the gesture coming so naturally to him that you doubt he’s even noticed the placement of his hands. “Much better. That’ll warm you up.”

He isn't wrong. You’ve already worked up a sweat.

Late night rain.

It comes down in buckets, a dark slate rapping hard against the window pane. A bolt of lightning flickers across the horizon off in the distance. White striations across an otherwise dark sky. About thirty seconds later, thunder rumbles.

You peek from between the blinds, chewing your lip nervously. You’ve never driven in rain this bad, but with supper done and the dishes washed, there’s no excuse for you to stay any longer. Still, the rain comes down so heavily that despite your timidity, you briefly contemplate asking John if you can stay a little longer. At least until it lets up a bit; until your headlights won’t blind you reflecting off the puddles on the drive home.

Someone else pulls the blinds further apart.

“There’s no way in hell you’re going out in that,” John says from behind you, practically growling his words. Daring you to contradict him.

You glance over your shoulder to find him right there at your back, staring out the window. He’s so close that you can smell the red sauce on his flannel from dinner and make out the flecks of grey in his beard that are almost masked by the darker hairs.

“It’s not…that bad…”

“Sweetheart, don’t piss me off,” he warns.

The blinds shuttle back together with a clatter when you finally let go of them.

“I could—I could take the couch,” you offer.

“Sweetheart,” John sighs, looking down at you meaningfully.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“I’m not gonna take the big, comfy bed and leave you with the couch.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off. “And don’t even try arguing. I won’t hear it.”

There’s not much you can say to dissuade him after that. The furrow of his brow lets you know he’s made up his mind; no ifs, ands, or buts. Besides, there’s a not-so-secret part of you that’s relieved that you don’t have to drive home in this weather. You’re an average driver on a good day. You don’t need your last moments before shuffling off this mortal coil to involve hydroplaning on the highway before ramming into the guardrail.

John gives you a shirt of his to change into for after your shower, which you spend far too long in, scrubbing your body with his shower gel and quivering under the warm water. When you pull it on, you bring the collar up to your nose to smell. The same patent smoky scent, musky like ambergris and leather. Intoxicating. It makes the blood rush through your ear like a conch shell, the ocean swirling behind your eardrum.

You hadn’t asked for underwear, content at first to keep on the same pair, but after your shower, you cringe at the thought of putting your day-old panties back on. Besides, his shirt is long enough to cover anything indecent.

He sits on the edge of the bed when you come out, the concern on his brow melting away at the sight of you.

“Practically a dress on you, isn’t it?” John says, voice a little wondrous. His eyes drag over you, tip to toe.

You fiddle with the ends of it. “…Are you sure you want me to take the bed?”

“Wouldn’t be fair. It’s yours for the night.” His lips quirk up at the corners when you frown. “Don’t worry about me—I’ve slept in worse places before.”

“Like where?” you ask dubiously.

“Tents. Abandoned buildings. Shacks. In the back of a moving van a few times. You wouldn’t believe half the places we used to make camp. Definitely no place for pretty girls like you.”

His condescending tone vaguely annoys you, but it’s hard to dig into your irritation when he thumbs the edge of the shirt you’re wearing and you realise that he’s just a few raised inches away from noticing that you don’t have any panties on. You should’ve just put your old ones back on, but it’s far too late now.

You clear your throat instead. “We could…um…we could share.”

You don’t know what possesses you to offer to share the bed, but the words are already gone, out of your mouth and in the air. John cocks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t want to,” you amend.

“Don’t know about that, sweetheart,” he rasps. “…I snore like a bear.”

“That’s okay. I’m a pretty deep sleeper.”

John scrutinises you a bit longer, looking for any sign of hesitancy. You know he’d squash your offer in a second if he found any wariness in your gaze.

“Alright,” he finally concedes, letting go of your shirt and slapping his thighs. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when you wake up and can’t fall back asleep because of my snoring.”

After his shower, during which you lie on your side facing away from the bathroom door, stomach fraught with nerves as you consider the fact that he’s naked in the ensuite, you hear him come out and rummage around in the dresser for a change of clothes. You lie beside him with your stomach twisted in knots, your hands shoved under the pillow and staring resolutely at the wall.

The appropriateness of sleeping in the same bed beside your boss isn't lost on you, but you're too far into this now.

The bed dips when he settles onto the other side, and the sudden absence of light when he switches the bedside lamp off nearly makes you cheep.

He breathes heavily, you notice, particularly when he finally falls asleep. It’s a deep, rumbling sound—not entirely unlike a bear, though you can’t really confirm that for certain seeing as how you’ve never slept beside a bear before.

Those are the thoughts that would signal the approach of sleep if you weren’t soon to be engulfed by it.

Sometime in the middle of the night, you wake up to a rough hand stroking your back leisurely. There’s a hard chest under you, your cheek propped up on a pillowy pec that rises and falls with his breaths. Sleep bobs around in you like a toulouse decanter. You struggle to keep an eye open, certain that there’s something you need to tend to, but then his hand slides down your back again to curve over your rump and sleep drags you back down.

You wake up again to your breath wafting back into your mouth, your face shoved into the crook of a man’s neck. Humid, hot. You’re lipping at the skin of his neck, little tongue darting out to lap up a bead of sweat, salty on your tongue.

Your cunt pulses against his leg, toes curling when John drags his hand up your thigh and hitches it higher up around his waist.

“Baby?” he groans, his voice still rusty from sleep. The sound is a rough burr up your spine.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “Couldn’ get comfy.”

“You hot?” he asks.

The denial on the tip of your tongue slips back down your throat when he plants his foot on the bed and draws his leg up, pressing the meat of his thigh into your throbbing sex.

“Here, lemme help you—” he groans, reaching down to ruck up your shirt, dragging it up over your breasts and helping manoeuvre your arms out of the holes. It gets tossed off the bed onto the floor.

Now your breasts are flat on his chest, smushed against his ribcage. It registers somewhere in the back of your head as inappropriate, but sleep pushes that thought away, focusing instead on the discomfort of moving around when you just want to settle back down and go back to bed.

It must be the heat making you act this way.

“Shit—sorry, sweetheart,” he apologizes, shifting under you. “M’hot too.”

He plants a hand on your ass and heaves you up his chest, giving him enough room to wiggle out of his boxers. It pushes your breasts right into his face, your nipples mere inches from his mouth. When his tongue pokes out to wet his upper lip, it nicks your pebbled nipple.

A hard length presses against your butt when you’re slid back down, the tip wet when it catches against your skin.

“Jus’ ignore it, sweetie,” John mumbles, petting a hand down your back.

You lie like that for a while, splayed over his body. Want simmering just under your skin. Flustered and exhausted all at once, sleep-drained; not a drop of strength in your muscles.

The heat is just—

Scorching. Dizzying. You feel featherbrained, slipping in and out of sleep, biting off the whimpers that threaten to crawl up your throat when John tucks his hands into the crevice of your thighs to wrench them apart, spreading them around his hips again.

Distantly, you remember that the man under you is at least twenty years your senior. Your employer at that. A man now palming your butt, sinking his fingers into the flesh and rumbling low in his throat.

It’s wrong—flagrantly wrong. You know that you should say something, that you should get up and tell him that you’re going to sleep on the couch instead. But your tongue is too thick for your mouth. And your thoughts are a sticky paste. The pulse between your thighs empties out all the common sense from your head.

His palms are slick on your skin.

Your breathing grows shallow when a hard length suddenly pushes between your thighs as well.

When the mushroomed head nudges at your opening, you flinch, heart thumping ferociously against your chest.

“John—John—” you breathe, panicked. As if to warn him. As if he weren’t planting both feet on the bed and lifting his hips.

As if it wasn’t his hands, warm on your waist, dragging you down onto the shaft spearing into you.

Your blood is molten hot in your veins. Sticky hands and sticky fingers curl into his chest hair. Your head thumps against his pecs, too weak to hold it up, lipping at the damp skin of his chest.

“It hurts—” you bleat, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” John pants. He draws his hips back just to press forward again, deeper this time. Filling you up more than before. “I’m sorry, baby—I can’t, it’s just…too good. Shit.”

Resolve in tatters. Shattered like his willpower, like his determination not to fuck the girl twenty years his junior sleeping beside him in his bed.

His hips pump up into yours, bouncing you in his lap. Each thrust plunging his cock deeper into your pussy. It’d be painful if you weren’t so wet, but you’re dripping, arousal making you leak around his shaft and slickening his way.

Sleep still rattles around in your brain, but not even the fog of sleep can shake the ever intensifying realisation that you’re fucking your boss. No two ways around it—breasts naked against his hirsute chest; pussy wet and stuffed to the hilt with a big dick. Knocked senseless by it.

The veins of his cock drag over the viscid walls of your cunt with every thrust. He must like the involuntary noises you make because he loses his rhythm when you cry out, growling out a string of unintelligible curses. His body feels bigger like this somehow, biceps and forearms bulging where they’re wrapped around your waist, hips forcing your legs to spread wide around him, the ache sinking deep into your muscle, into your bones.

When you look up at him, his eyes are more hooded than usual, the blue of his irises so dark that they’re almost black.

“Such a good girl,” he grunts, big arms like steel bands around your waist, holding you tight to his chest so you have nowhere to run. “Jus’ let…jus’ let daddy come and—oh Christ, fuck, fuck…—jus’ lemme come and we’ll go back to bed, okay, sweetie?”

“I’m gonna…” you pant, trailing off when he gets a little rough, pumping harder up into you. The sound of your pussy squelching around his length makes your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open.

“Yeah, yeah, you—you come too, baby. Jus’ need to take the edge off, both of us.”

You squeal when he reaches a hand down to dig his fingers into your butt cheek and it makes you tense up, walls tightening around his dick. One well-placed swat hard enough to make the flesh of your ass jiggle and you come, clenching up so tight that his next few thrusts are slowed by your spasming walls, forcing him to really cram his cock into your hole.

“Christ, that’s cute,” John growls, his pupils blown out.

It hurts to come that hard; makes your belly cramp up and everything. Whatever gibberish spills from your mouth gets lost in the aftermath.

That’s when the temperature goes from hot to blistering. The muscles of his thighs tense, straining with his impending release. Even his grip around your waist gets tighter, his self-control steamrolled under his approaching climax, oblivious to the way you squeal and squirm when it threads the delicate needle of being too much.

“Sorry, baby,” he apologises, voice treading gravel. “M’gonna mess your pussy up a bit—”

“Wait—wait—” you gasp, trying fruitlessly to lift yourself up, his arms keeping you pinned tight to his chest. “You’re gonna—John, you’re gonna come inside me—”

His hips thrust up hard at your words, one last rough pump that has him digging his heels into the mattress and clenching his jaw, the veins in his neck protruding. You feel it flood inside you, hot spurts of cum right up against your womb. He curses when he comes, eyelids sliding shut, lost in the sensation of emptying himself into you.

A few last, punishing thrusts that make your teeth clack together. More heat spurting into you. A murmured oh fuck before his legs slide back down the bed, spreading out over the mattress.

The blanket is somewhere at the foot of the bed, all scrunched up and nearly dangling off the edge. You only start to shiver when the sweat on your back finally begins to cool.

When he pulls you off his cock, you whimper, a hot flash snaking through you. Oh Christ did he plug you up good. Stringy, viscous cum leaks from your hole, leaving a little puddle on his thigh when you slide off his chest and to the side a bit.

“Oh baby,” he tuts softly, reaching between your legs to feel where you’re wet and a little swollen. “Sorry, sweetheart…wanna get cleaned up?”

“No…” you rasp, so dazed that you can’t even lift your cheek off his chest.

Exhaustion has never ridden you this hard before, but considering the circumstances…—perhaps you’re lucky to be conscious at all, is all you mean. There’s not a chance of you having enough energy to do anything as rigorous as showering though.

“Okay, baby. Little kiss?” John asks in a murmur, lifting your head up by your chin and swooping down for a kiss. Not even giving you enough time to process his words before his mouth is on yours.

His lips glide slick against yours, tongue slipping into your mouth like he needs a good, deep kiss to ground him. A wet twisting of tongues; a thick finger stroking up your neck. He can’t stop touching you. Running a hand up your spine and curving it back down over your ass. Featherlight touches meant to calm you down. His kisses grow sticky, lingering; each one almost the last until he pulls you in for another.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” John says, still speaking low enough to push you back under. He smooths his hand down your back again.

You fall back asleep with a load in your belly and your head in a tizzy. The you of tomorrow is going to have a lot to contend with from the you of tonight.

#i dont know whats wrong with me ok #ceil writing #cod x reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x you #captain john price x reader

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sereia4skz · 26 days ago

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Hii I have a new request for you!!!

Can you please do poly!stray kids x reader where we yell “who wants to suck/lay on my tits?” and then they all come running in all at once and then they argue over who gets to like suck/lay on our tits

drabble | tits for all

pairing: poly!ot8 x f!reader

genre: suggestive

warnings: suggestive, tit sucking talk, chaos

word count: ~800

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that means one of two things: either they’re all asleep or you’re about to be pranked. And since no one’s tried to wrap you in saran wrap or fill the sink with jello, you assume the former.

Which is boring.

You're sprawled across the couch in your softest pajama shorts and a tank top that hangs loose around your chest. not on purpose, but not not on purpose either. You flip your phone upside down on your chest and glance toward the hallway. It’s still.

You stretch your arms over your head lazily and grin to yourself.

Time to stir the pot.

You clear your throat, take a deep breath, and yell: “WHO WANTS TO SUCK OR LAY ON MY TITS?”

For exactly 1.5 seconds, nothing happens… Chaos.

There’s a thud, a shout, the distinct sound of something wooden falling over, and the thunder of eight grown men in various states of urgency, tripping over each other to get to you.

Jisung is the first to slide into the living room sock-feet first, clutching the doorframe. “ME. OBVIOUSLY ME. I CALLED TITS FIRST.”

“NO YOU DIDN’T!” Seungmin shouts from behind him, elbowing his way in. “I was literally thinking about them thirty seconds ago. Telepathic claim.”

Jeongin bursts in from the kitchen, holding a banana like a weapon. “I was mid-snack, and I STILL showed up! Doesn’t that earn bonus points?!”

“Out of the way,” Minho says calmly, stepping over a tangled pile of limbs. “You guys clearly don’t know how to share.”

Hyunjin dives over the back of the couch with a dramatic gasp, landing chest-first across your lap like a fainting Victorian woman. “I have arrived. I will not be moved.”

You blink down at him. “You good?”

“I’m at peace now,” he mumbles, cheek already nuzzling against your chest like he’s imprinting on it.

Felix practically vaults onto the armrest, grinning like a fox. “If I get there second, can I at least kiss them?”

“Back of the line, sunshine,” Chan says, voice low and possessive as he walks in last, arms crossed, gaze locked on your chest with laser focus. “The eldest should get first pick.”

“Did you just pull rank for boob access?” Seungmin huffs.

Chan shrugs. “If it gets me face-to-tit, yeah.”

By now you’re surrounded. Seated on the couch with one arm around Hyunjin’s waist and another hand braced on Felix’s thigh, you watch the rest of your boys start forming an organized chaos pile.

Jisung drops to his knees beside you, big eyes pleading. “Just let me touch them. Or, lay my cheek on one. I won’t even lick. Unless you want me to.”

Minho pushes his head aside like a basketball and settles beside your other hip, arms already snaking around your waist. “They're mine tonight.”

“Not fair!” Jeongin whines, trying to crawl up your legs. “I haven’t gotten boob privileges in weeks! You let Seungmin nap on them twice last week.”

“Nap access is different than suckling rights,” Seungmin argues, deadpan, already halfway curled up on the couch arm and looking like he’s ready to start a spreadsheet.

Chan sighs and kneels behind the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Let’s be democratic. Five minutes each. Order based on who’s made you breakfast this week.”

“No!” Jisung howls. “That’s biased! I suck at cooking!”

“You’re better at sucking other things,” you say innocently, and half the room groans in disbelief.

“NO FAVORITISM,” Jeongin yells.

“You love us all equally,” Hyunjin murmurs into your chest. “But I’m the prettiest, so.”

You laugh so hard your chest jiggles, and suddenly the whole room goes quiet.

Jisung whimpers audibly.

“Okay,” Changbin says slowly, eyes fixed on you, “we can’t all do this at once-”

“Yes we can,” Minho cuts in. “You just lack vision.”

“Group cuddle,” Felix suggests with a dreamy grin. “Tits in the middle. We arrange ourselves like a flower.”

You open your arms with a little shrug. “Plenty of room.”

There’s a beat of chaos as everyone scrambles into place, limbs tangling and thighs overlapping until you’re absolutely swarmed. Hyunjin remains dead center, head tucked under your chin. Chan ends up behind you, arms caged around your ribs. Minho’s got one hand tucked firmly under your shirt like he owns the damn thing. Changbin is hugging so hard one of you is going to pop like a balloon. Felix and Seungmin are on either side of your legs, each claiming a thigh. Jeongin’s curled into your hip like a cat, and Jisung, well.

He stares up at you from your lap, eyes wide, lips pouty.

“Can I just kiss it?” he whispers. “Just a little one? Just a taste?”

You raise an eyebrow, letting him sweat. “Tomorrow,” you say sweetly. “Maybe.”

He whines. And from beneath the tangle of limbs, Minho mutters smugly: “Told you she likes making us beg.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere @bangchanspineapple

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids #han jisung x reader #kim seungmin x reader #bang chan x reader #lee minho x reader #lee felix x reader #lee know x reader #seo changbin x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #chan x reader #seungmin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #jeongin x reader

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myfictionaldreams · 3 months ago

Text

⁀➷ Beneath the Bubbles // Poly!Marauders x F!Reader

Summary: A playful bet between her three boyfriends turns an innocent pool day with friends into a secret game of distraction, control, and quiet desperation—and she has no idea she’s the prize.

Requested by: @fictionalgoddess -- thank you so so much for this request! I absolutely loved writing this, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, dom marauders, sub reader, big dick!Remus (!!), public sex, cockwarming, praise kink, teasing, size kink (!), dirty talk

Words: 3.1k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The bag sitting by your family's fireplace had been packed and ready for days. It had also been packed and repacked multiple times to help pass the time.

“Why so glum, love? Only another ten minutes.”

You tried to fake a smile as you stared down at the two-way mirror in your hand, staring at Sirius's relaxed expression. He was lying in bed, arm behind his head, and hair curling over his forehead. The mirror was a creation of Sirius and James. It was initially used to talk while Sirius was home with his hellish parents; however, now that he was living at the Potter mansion, you were the safekeeper of the mirror.

It had been great over the last couple of days when missing your boyfriends, though Remus’ face was still one that you needed to see, missing the sound of his calming voice.

Now, you were becoming unsettled. You wanted to be in their arms, smell their bodies, and feel the warmth of their skin rubbing against yours.

“Ten minutes is a long time,” you explain with a defeated tone, shoulders hunching over from where you’re waiting on your sofa.

“Aww Darling, I know it is. But it’ll be worth it, and we’ve to make sure Moony gets here first so you both don’t clash in the Floo Network. I don’t want to risk your pretty little head.”

“Hmm.”

You’re being grumpy, but really, you’re excited. Seven days seems like such a short amount of time to be away from your boyfriends in the grand scheme of things, but having been at Hogwarts for months, waking in their arms, constantly being attached to one of them, it was easy to fall into a comfortable routine.

Sleep had been difficult to come by, and the amount of masturbating you’d been doing was probably unhealthy. But once again, you were going to put it down to the fact that you’d been having sex with three men daily, and now, you had an enormous appetite for all things pleasurable.

“PADS HURRY UP! MOONY IS HERE!” came the distant shout of James in the background, where Sirius was.

“Coming!” he shouts with a handsome grin, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he sits up on his bed. “See, I told you it wouldn’t take long, Darling. Safe travels, see you in a couple of minutes. Say hi to your parents for me.”

“Will do! See you soon!” you say with rejuvenated motivation. Rushing from the sofa, you say your goodbyes to your parents and collect the bag you’d been staring at for too long.

You’ve barely had the chance to step out of the green flames in the Potter’s dining room before you are wrapped in a blur of bronze skin, wild hair and frantic voices.

James was the first to tackle-hug you, arms circling your waist as he picks you up and spins in a circle as you cling to his neck. “You’re here! Finally!”

You laughed even as your feet planted back onto the floor again, only to be pulled away by Sirius, who practically buried his face into your neck, fingers digging into the back of your shirt as your hands moved into his hair. “A week without you? Torture, Honey. I almost set fire to the Potters’ kitchen again to feel something.”

“I thought you said seven days wasn’t that long!” you exclaim, looking back into his pouting face.

“Fine, I lied. I missed you every single second. " With a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, he finally releases you to allow the tallest Marauder his reunion.

Remus steps forward, calmer as always compared to James and Sirius, but you could see in his eyes how they softened when he looked you over. His jaw had a subtle clench like he’d been holding something in all week. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped up, taking your face carefully in his big hands, and kissed you slowly, steadily, and so full of longing that your knees nearly gave out.

“Hi,” you whisper as he pulls back, in a daze and breathless.

“Hi, love.”

When I was back with them, everything fell back into place—the laughter, the comfort, the safety. It was just right. However, James’ parents were only away for the weekend, so the four of you took the opportunity of an empty, beautiful home to host a little gathering with your friends.

An hour later, the mansion is buzzing with life. Lily and Marlene have brought drinks, Dorcas, Mary, and Alice are setting up the music on the back patio, and Frank has thrown pool floaties everywhere.

James’ parents' house was always breathtakingly beautiful, no matter how many times you visited. Despite its size, it still felt homely, thanks to Mrs Potter’s effort. The garden was truly the prize, with freshly cut green grass that stretched for acres, surrounded by a thick forest. More towards the house is a sizable pool, with a hot tub to one side that bubbled away, and a patio that stretched the width of the house.

You were lounging in one of James’ quidditch shirts, your bikini underneath, leaning against Sirius on a pool chair while he ran his fingers up and down your arm. Remus sat beside the two of you with a book, one hand always resting on your thigh, which was pulled into his lap.

James, meanwhile, had energy to burn. He was shirtless and loud, tossing a quaffle with Frank, and flexing his arms and abs every time he caught your admiring eye.

“I’ve decided”, James announces loudly, making sure he’s heard over the music, grinning. “I’m the hottest person here.”

“Not even close, “Sirius deadpanned, leaning over to take a sip from your drink. “Look at this face.” He points at his own smug expression.

“Look at her face, “Remus interrupts, not looking up from his book. “Much better view.”

Your face warms immediately as you pull your shirt collar up to hide your face, and the others laugh at your embarrassed response.

Hours later, after sharing the butterbeer, a failed BBQ attempt ends with charred food, and pizzas are ordered instead. Everyone is having a good time, catching up on each other's summers, giggling, laughing, and singing. The sun has since set, and the floating orange lights gently illuminate the back garden, aided by the now roaring fire. It’s a memorable evening with friends.

You didn’t think twice as Remus began to pull on your clasped hand, dragging your body towards the hot tub portion of the pool.

“We’ll only be a minute”, Remus calls over his shoulder to where the others were dancing around the fire. “She’s cold.”

You thought it was an odd excuse considering that Remus had perfectly kept you warm as you rested in his arms, laughing at your friends, but you went along with him, glad to have some quiet time with him.

After removing James’ shirt from your body, Remus helps you into the warm, bubbling water. The water was surprisingly loud, and you struggled to hear your friends even if they were only a couple of meters away. Remus then eases himself in, sitting on the bench in the tub, pulling your body into his lap.

Sighing into the touch, your fingers dig into his forearms, which curl against your waist as his chin rests against your shoulder. It was calm and serene, and you could still catch a hint of his aftershave over the chlorine.

The dainty touch of his lips against your shoulder causes a full-body shimmer, despite not being cold. Remus smiles against your skin, moving further up the slope of your neck as you tilt your face towards him.

Your noses brush together as you tune his arms. You lean in to close the final distance, but he holds himself back. “I want you to keep looking in the direction of our friends. Do you think you can do that?”

Biting your lip, you hum in response, turning back to your friends. You notice Sirius and James moving animatedly now, whilst the others are resting on the seats surrounding the fire.

“I missed you,” Remus speaks into your ear, his voice just above a whisper so that you could hear over the noise of the hot tub machine. “I’ve missed your voice, your smell, those little giggles when you’re embarrassed. It feels like I’ve been lost with you.”

The words had emotions soon rising as you wiggle in his lap, trying to hold onto him tighter, needing to feel his entire body on yours.

With one arm still secured around your waist, the other moved to the inside of your knee, helping each of your legs onto the outside of his thighs. As he stretched out, your legs spread, and your upper body slumped back against his chest, until the waterline reached up to your collarbones.

“And I know you’ve missed us, haven’t you? Sirius told me about your late-night chats, my poor needy girl,” Remus continues, his lips hovering by the shell of your ear. Your body shivers once more for an entirely different reason now as you think back to those nights when Sirius had talked you through touching yourself using the two-way mirror.

“Tell me, Sweetheart, do you want me to look after you? I think you’ve been patient enough these last seven days. Let me help you.”

Swallowing hard, you nod.

“Use your words, Love.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

You’d expected his fingers, maybe some teasing strokes–but what you didn’t expect was the way he shifted beneath you, the slow grind of his hips, the subtle press of his hard cock beneath the water.

“Remus,” you breathe, eyes darting toward your friends. Laughter. Singing. James is yelling about the rules in a game while Sirius attempts to do a cartwheel, dangerously close to the fire.

No one was looking.

And Remus was easing his shorts lower on his hips.

The bubbling water distorted the view, so if anyone did look over, they wouldn’t necessarily see that his swim shorts were just pulled down enough that his cock was freed.

“Got to stay nice and still for me, can you do that?” Remus encouraged as his fingers ghost along the seam of your bikini bottoms.

“Yes, sir.”

The rush of water against your bare pussy was comforting for a moment. Then Remus’s bare cock is sliding between your thighs. Thick. Hot. Heavy.

And so fucking big.

Remus hears your quick breath as his thumb brushes comfortingly against your side. “I know,” he said softly, already moving your hips so that he’s able to press the tip of his cock to your clenching hole. “I know how much it hurts, baby. You always need a minute to take me.”

Because he was he biggest, Sirius may be the wildest. James might be the loudest. But Remus? The man was obscene.

He was the one who went last when you were all intimate together, had to go last, because you’d be too sore for anyone else after. You swore it didn’t even make sense how he fit, how he stretched you so wide, you were surely the evidence of his cock would bulge your tummy.

And now, with your friends just a few feet away, he was sliding inside you.

Slowly. Deeply. Until your walls burn, clenching in a way that makes it feel like your body was trying to push him out of you because it was just too much.

“F-fuck,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms as your eyes flutter close, legs moving to shut on instinct, but his thighs keep them open.

“You can take it,” he encouraged, kissing your cheek sweetly. “You always do. Just sit pretty, Sweetheart. That’s it. Take every inch for me. Keep those eyes open for me, nice and quiet.”

Your eyes widened as you looked back towards your friend, now able to hear Sirius and James shouting at their friends jokingly.

You couldn’t move. Not with the stretch, the perfect and devastating stretch, pinning you open, gaping, holding you still.

Remus didn’t thrust. Didn’t pump his hips, just simply stayed inside of you. Deep and full. And already you were aching.

“You’re stuffed so tight, huh? Squeezing my cock like it’s your lifeline, Love. Bet they’d all know if they looked over what’s inside of you, there’s no hiding that pretty little face when you’ve just been fucked.”

Remus, as passive and laidback as he was with most day-to-day activities, was in charge of sex and relationships. Whether it was with you, Sirius, or James, he was the leader, giving orders, making sure you’re all in the right headspace to keep going, and that aftercare was enough.

It was challenging to stay still and quiet. Even if you weren’t sure that you’d have the energy to move up and down on his big cock, even just not squirming in his hold was difficult to do.

Seemingly reading your mind, Remus speaks firmly, “I’m not going to fuck you, I don’t want to break you, Love. I just want to reward you. I’ve missed being inside of you. So that’s what we’re going to do. With all of our friends just over there, we are going to sit here, me inside you, nice and deep, whilst you get all wet and desperate for me.”

You were already ruined, needy, clenching repeatedly around the thickest cock you’d ever taken.

“Look at you, taking all of me without making noise. I’m so proud of you.”

Those praises had you feeling lighter, as if your body were made of clouds, ready to float away.

“JAMES, YOU CANNOT THROW A BEER AT ME MID-BACKFLIP–”

“OH I ABSOLUTELY CAN SIRIUS��LOOK MARLENE, WATCH THIS!-”

Your boyfriends were being obnoxiously loud, captivating your friends' attention, and you’re so fucking thankful for this.

Warming his cock with your pussy, you eventually run out of energy, slumping further back in his hold. To anyone else, it would look like you’re falling asleep in his arms, but Remus knew it was because you were exhausted from teetering on the edge of orgasm for so long.

You were too full, too hot, too aware of Remus pulsing inside you, his cock thick and unmoving, buried to the hilt. Every breath, little shift, made you clench down violently in a helpless reaction.

He knew you were balancing on that very limit. Your thighs were trembling nonstop, the fierce dig of your nails calming but only because your energy was directed to your cunt, to the muscles that were pulsing and clenching around his dick.

“Please,” you finally whimpered, tilting your head to lean back against his shoulder, face nuzzling into his neck. “Remus, sir, I can’t-”

“You can”, he gently rubs soft circles along your stomach. “You’ve been doing so well. You just need a little push, don’t you?”

You nod desperately, never having been so wound up before in your life.

Then you felt it, his fingers dipping between your thighs, resting heavily against your clit. There was hardly any movement, just a subtle nudge, but it was enough to send you flying.

You choked on a gasp, biting on the inside of your cheek painfully. The orgasm was blinding, hot, your body quaking and clenching down. Your breath stuttered, your orgasm rolling through you like a slow, devastating tide with each squeeze of your internal muscles.

“Good girl, my best girl. There it is. Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your head is spinning by the time you can catch your breath. The ache between your legs now from the emptiness as Remus eases out, having found his quiet release whilst you were holding on for dear life.

The others were still laughing, loud and clueless, as Remus readjusted both of your swimsuits.

Later, when you are wrapped in a fluffy towel, cuddled against the patio sofa with your cheeks still hot to the touch and legs wobbling. James plopped beside you, arm curving around your shoulder until you’re pulled against his chest.

“You good, baby?” he asks casually, giving you a comforting squeeze.

Tilting your face up to stare at his, you answer, “Y-Yeah.”

Irius sat on your other side, his hand resting on your thigh, grinning like he could see into your soul. “You looked like you saw Merlin himself over there.”

Your eyes widened. “I- what?”

“You came, baby”, Sirius said with a low, teasing laugh. “We saw.”

Your face lit up in horror, but before you could bolt, assuming that it meant that all of your friends saw the same thing, James reached out and gently tugged your towel tighter around you.

“Relax,” he cooed. “They didn’t notice. Not the way we did.”

Remus walks up just in time, handing you a bottle of water and a couple of blocks of chocolate.

“You said no one would notice,” you hiss, your voice filled with embarrassment.

Remus squats down, smirking before kissing your head. “They didn’t.”

“But they did,” you say, nodding your head towards James and Sirius on either side of you.

“Oh, Darling,” Sirius purrs, squeezing his arm under your knees and pulling your body into his lap. “How could we not?”

“You were absolutely fucked out,” James teases, moving closer to your back that now faced him. “All dazed, little pout on your lips, still clenching your thighs together like you are trying to hold him in.”

“And let’s be honest, only Remus’ cock could do that to you. Our girl always looks ruined after he’s been inside her.” Sirius kisses your temple as his arms tighten around you.

“You’re not the only one who needs comfort after him,” James adds with a wicked grin.

“Oh my god,” you groan, hiding your face in Sirius’ shoulder.

“Don’t listen to their teasing, Love. You were perfect,” Remus reassured.

You peek at him through your lashes. But James’ cheeky face pops into your eyesight as he leans over your shoulder. “Okay, so small confession time.”

Sirius chuckles as Remus rolls his eyes. “There was a bet. Remus had to make you cum without anyone noticing, so Sirius helped to keep the others distracted.”

Your jaw dropped, “You what?”

“You won,” Sirius said proudly. “You were so good for him, Darling. Took him so deep, didn’t even move. And then when you had to hide your face as you were cumming, just beautiful!”

“I hate you all,” you declare into Sirius’ chest, where you were hiding your face.

“Do you though?” Remus asks as his hand massages your thigh. “You looked very happy sitting on my cock.”

Your face feels impossibly hot, but you don’t move from Sirius’s lap. You just sigh softly as one of them kisses your forehead.

“Love you,” James murmurs as he leans against your shoulder.

“Love you too.” Because even if they were smug little shits, you were happy and content being in their arms.

#poly!marauders #the marauders #marauders x reader #marauders smut #james potter #james potter x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #mine*#harry potter smut #hp smut

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readychilledwine · 4 months ago

Text

Heartbeat

Summary - One bed doesn't work well for 3 illyrians and their mate.

Warnings - Azriel's slutty sweatpants, mentions of wing clipping but nothing graphic, swearing

A/n - Anyone else wonder how any quad would handle a one bed situation?

Written for @polysjmweek day three: Will there be enough room?

SJM Poly+ Week Masterlist

Master Masterlist

“Oh you have got to be shitting me,” Azriel grumbled. “Rhys, you were supposed to ask for 2 beds.”

“I did,” The High Lord pulled off the hood that did nothing to disguise him, prompting a giggle from you and Cassian. The look of annoyance he gave the two of you had you hiding your face in Cassian's chest. “I suppose you two think this is very funny.”

“Very,” Cassian chuckled. “Azriel is acting like the 4 of us haven't been sharing a bed for, what, 200 years?” Cassian's hands guided you into the room, setting your bag down. “Go bathe first.”

216 years, you would never correct Cassian, and they still ensured you showered first in these situations. It wasn't the first time you four found yourselves in a rundown inn seeking shelter after a rough mission. It wouldn't be the last either. Peeling off the sweat and dirt-caked clothing made your skin crawl. You four had been hunting Illyrians that had crossed Rhysand for the last time. Your husband was tired of the clippings and the fighting.

All three of your husbands were, actually.

It had started with you and Cassian. The bond had snapped when he saw you on the Summer Court's pleasure barge, per his banishment from your home. He had introduced you to Azriel a few days later, the fight between them now being the cause of the infamous sand castle collapse that shook the Summer Court. Not wanting to live without them, you left when they did, arriving at the Night Court and causing another fight the second you laid eyes on Rhysand. The four of you worked hard to make the dynamic flow, but once it fell into place, the three of them all admitted their lives and connection made so much more sense.

“Do you need help, sweetheart,” a purr made you pause, hands moving away from the corset you wore for extra protection. Rhysand began to work on the ties. “We are attempting to figure out the bed situation,” his voice was slightly annoyed. “With two males with wings-”

“Baby, I can sleep on the floor,” you offered.

“Over my dead body,” his eyes met yours in the mirror. “If we move the bed to the center of the room, we can have Azriel and Cassian take the outsides-”

“And squish you in the middle with me on the floor,” your voice was meant to be firm, but the relief as he finally finished unlacing your corset made it more of a relaxed sigh. “You can't handle sleeping on floors or the couch. your knees will get stiff, and then you will become grumpy.”

He nipped at your ear playfully, “I do not get grumpy.” He walked with you toward the tub, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind. He kept you practically glued to him, turning the faucet on, “I fear the water won't get warm.”

“It's okay. One cold bath won't kill me,” your fingers traced his forearm tattoos. “We get to go home tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, “Azriel found and took care of the last group while you and Cassian were doing whatever you two were doing.”

You leaned back to narrow your eyes, “Very serious mission things.” A lie, and Rhysand knew, but he wouldn't push it. “We were critical to the success of this operation.” Not a lie.

A dark brown lifted as his smirk began to form. “I will pretend I didn't just see a flash of what you two were doing in the woods today. Bathe while I get the bed figured out.” He left after smacking your ass, laughing as he did.

You sunk into the water, the harsh drag of wood on wood outside the door. The rules of your missions typically involved bathing quickly so you could all wash up, but with the water cold, there was little reason not to soak longer than you normally would. Once you were chilled to the bones, you stepped out and drained the tub, cringing at the sight of the dirty water.

A real bath, preferably with 3 sets of hands helping you, would be a must once you were back in Velaris. You wrapped yourself in the towel, walking out to where Azriel was situating things. “And where did the other two go?”

“They claim food,” he murmured. “Rhysand said the water is cold.” His hand reached for your hair, twisting a lock. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

“Start a fire if you'd like,” the tone of his voice was soft and almost musical, as it always was when he relaxed. His lips were warm on your forehead as he went to bathe, leaving you to try to heat the cold room with the small hearth. You studied the bed once you had it going, changing into your last clean pair of leggings and finding one of Cassian's shirts to wear.

There was no possible way all four of you would fit. Your bed in Velaris was custom-made, allowing all three males to stretch out their wings. That wouldn't be possible here. Rhysand would have to keep his tucked in with his magic, Azriel and Cassian would have to let theirs rest on the floor.

You had a plan. One they'd hate. You grabbed a blanket from the corner of the room and a pillow and laid in front of the fireplace. They'd believe you fell asleep warming your skin back up and hopefully, they'd let you sleep there. Maybe that would allow the three of them some sort of comfort. You shut your eyes, the warmth so enjoyable it lulled your mind into relaxing.

Cassian and Rhysand walked back into the room, Cassian quick to notice your form curled up under a blanket. “We should have just pushed and flew her home,” he told Rhysand. He kneeled down next to you, waving the questionable soup in front of your nose. Your tummy grumbled, forcing you to open your eyes from the sleepy state. “Eat.”

You took the bowl, sitting up to see Azriel coming out and Cassian motioning for Rhysand to go in. Azriel's sleeping pants hung loose on his hips as he grabbed a bowl as well. His waist looked fsr more interesting than the grey and clumpy soup, but you resisted the temptation. “Like bathing in a damned river,” he muttered to Cassian. “What are you doing on the floor,” he glanced at you.

“Sleeping,” your face, as you took a spoonful of soup, made both males pause.

“Can't be picky, sweetheart,” Azriel said softly. “Picky starves.”

“I know.”

Rhysand took the fastest bath you think he'd ever done, shivering as he walked back out in his towel and began to change. He said nothing as he took his first bite of food, nor did Azriel. Cassian had got to take his turn by the time you looked up. Once he was back, his own pants did not rest as low as Azriel's. He glanced at you. “That is my shirt,” his face was bright as he took you in, the material hanging almost drowning you in it. “But yes, you can wear it.”

All eyes were on that single bed. Rhysand appeared to be calculating the space, as if he could ensure his little plan would work. You laid back on the floor, stretching and then curling back to the fireplace. Wordlessly defiance was something you specialized in, but the three of them weren't stupid, and it didn't take them long to begin situating.

Azriel wanted the spot that'd allow him to lay facing the door, always on high alert when your little pack found itself away from home. Cassian took the side that allowed him to face the window, another watchful eye to where any threats may come. Rhysand was forced between them, a silent conversation before Cassian walked over and picked you up.

That's how you found yourself laying on Rhysand. One of his arms held your hips as the other moved to cup the back of your head. One wing rested on the two of you like a weighted blanket, then another. “Go to sleep,” Rhysand whispered to you. “You may not realize this, but you are trapped.” There was no response from you, no argument. The soft sound of your breathing was the only thing coming from you as you laid on what would now Be your favorite bed.

“Next time, we will fly home,” Azriel stated.

Cassian immediately agreed, “This isn't fair to y/n.” They both glanced at Rhysand when he didn't respond, only to find him asleep. “Or maybe it wasn't fair to us,” Cassian added.

“Thinking it definitely wasn't fair to us,” Azriel chuckled. “He worked this to his advantage.”

“He always does,” Cassian said. His voice was getting deeper and slower. “Always does.” It did not take long for the two of them to fall asleep, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of a dying hearth and four hearts beating in sync.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

#elizabeths.updates #send asks #send anons #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #poly!batboys x reader #poly+sjmweek2025

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colouredbyd · 2 months ago

Text

We Heal, At Last

poly!marauders x fem!reader part two of we will be okay

summary: After your attack, you pull away, wounds still aching beneath fragile skin. But love finds you again, gentle and patient, slipping through the cracks you thought would never heal. Happiness blooms slowly, fragile and fierce, proof that even after ruin, there can still be light.

w/c: 8.8k (i got so carried away..)

warnings: Angst, emotional vulnerability, emotional hurt, extremely graphic violence, panic attacks,depression, slut shaming, bullying, hurt/comfort, happy ending. read with caution!

a/n: part 2 is finally here!! this took so long but justice has been served, angst has been delivered, and fluff hopefully has been recieved <3

part one masterlist

It has been four weeks since the incident and three since you broke up with them. Broke up, not drifted apart or slowly unraveled but broke. Snapped like the last brittle thread of something that once felt unbreakable. You wonder sometimes if they have moved on, if the pieces of what you once had are just scattered ashes to them now.

You wonder if it still hurts them, too.

Your ribs still ache where curses struck—hexes hurled with sharp precision, spite spun into spellwork. They hadn't even looked you in the eye when they did it, wands raised with whispered incantations that cut through the air like knives. Retaliation, they called it. Retribution for the Marauders' chaos, for pranks that left them humiliated and furious. You hadn't cast a single one, but it hadn’t mattered. Guilt by association is the cruelest kind.

Now, the wounds are still tender beneath fresh scars, a web of silvery lines stretching over your skin like the universe’s own mark. The kind of scars that never quite fade, that linger like whispers against your skin, reminders of how fragile the body is.

There are nights when you trace them absently, sometimes your fingertips hover over the jagged lines, pressing down just hard enough to feel the edge of them, sharp and unyielding, as if pain is the only proof that you are still here, still breathing. Madam Pomfrey did what she could, but there are some wounds magic cannot touch, and you wear them now like sad jewelry, draped over your skin in silver lines.

The nights are the hardest. When the world is silent and there is nothing left to distract you from the emptiness stretching out beside you, where warmth once was. It’s worse when it rains.

You can almost pretend you hear their footsteps, the soft shuffle of James’s boots, Sirius’s careless swagger, Remus’s quiet tread like he’s afraid to wake the floorboards. But the footsteps never come, and the silence is louder than any scream you could ever muster.

You haven’t seen them since. Not Remus with his soft eyes and ink-stained fingers, the ones that used to brush stray strands of hair from your face with a gentleness that felt like a promise. Not Sirius, whose laughter once felt like rebellion, like breaking the rules could be beautiful if you did it together. Not James, whose grin used to be brighter than dawn breaking through the trees, a kind of light that made everything else fade to shadows.

Sometimes you close your eyes and try to remember the way they looked at you, but the memories are beginning to fray at the edges, like old photographs left too long in the sun.

It is better this way, or so you tell yourself. Distance is its own kind of mercy. It is easier to breathe without the weight of their stares, without the heavy press of their questions and their guilt.

You repeat it to yourself like a prayer, like a mantra that might one day become truth: It is better this way. It is better this way.

Grief lingers in the corners of your room, heavy and uninvited, pooling like rainwater that refuses to drain. It seeps into the walls, stains the air, curls up beneath the floorboards where no amount of scrubbing will dislodge it. The walls whisper with memories, echoes of laughter that do not belong to this version of you.

You sleep too much or not at all. Some nights, sleep is an anchor, dragging you beneath the surface where dreams twist into nightmares that you can’t claw your way out of. Other nights, it is a distant shore, unreachable no matter how long you swim.

You watch the hours bleed into each other, the moon sliding across your windowpane like it’s running from something, too. And some mornings, the sunlight feels like a knife edge, too sharp against your skin. It pierces through the curtains, splits the room in half, light and shadow at war with each other.

Other days, you stay locked inside, curtains drawn, breathing dust and silence. It’s easier not to feel when the world is reduced to shadows and stillness. Easier to pretend the ache is just part of you now, a ghost you’ve learned to carry.

But there are moments—small, sharp moments—when you remember the way things were. Before. How Sirius would drape his arm around your shoulders, careless and warm, like nothing in the world could ever touch you as long as he was there. How Remus would read to you by the fire, voice steady and soft like the promise of something safe, something constant. How James would spin you around in the courtyard, loud and unrestrained, like joy was something infinite and untouchable, a thing that could never be taken.

You let those memories come and go, like ghosts slipping through the cracks. You do not cling to them. You cannot afford to. Holding on would mean believing there is something left to salvage, and that is a hope too dangerous to cradle.

It is easier to pretend they are gone. Easier to pretend that you are, too. To become just another shadow in the corners of your own life, fading into the wallpaper, slipping through the days like you are made of smoke.

If you do not exist, you cannot be hurt. If you do not exist, you cannot miss them.

You drift through the castle like a shadow, slipping past curious eyes and lingering whispers. They watch you, you can feel it—a hundred pairs of eyes trying to piece together the story you refuse to tell.

Dumbledore has called you in three times now, each meeting a quiet battle of wills. His eyes are soft but unyielding, his voice always gentle when he asks, “Are you ready to talk about it?” And every time, you shake your head.

Silence has become your refuge, a place where no one can follow, where the truth remains yours alone. McGonagall tried too, her hand light on your shoulder as she murmured something about safety and understanding, but you only nodded, eyes fixed on the space between your hands.

They don’t understand that the words won’t come, that they are tangled and knotted somewhere deep in your chest. Speaking would be unraveling, and you are not sure you could bear it.

You slip through hallways and dodge conversations with the precision of someone who has made invisibility an art. The Great Hall is a battlefield of glances you avoid, quick steps carrying you through shadows and side doors.

You haven’t eaten there since you left them. The empty spot on the bench where you used to sit remains untouched, a ghost of what once was.

It’s in the middle of this fragile solitude that Lily finds you. She approaches slowly, hands tucked into the sleeves of her robe, eyes wary but kind.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she says, voice soft but unyielding. You don’t meet her gaze. You don’t know how to anymore.

“You know you’d be safe if you told someone,” she presses gently. “They can help. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

Her words are petals landing on stone. You feel them settle but they don’t sink in. You shake your head, a tiny, fragile movement.

She watches you for a long time, something sad and patient in her eyes before she finally sighs, stepping back. “When you’re ready,” she says, voice barely above a whisper, and then she’s gone, leaving only the scent of lilies and the soft echo of footsteps fading into silence.

You trudge back to your room with footsteps too heavy for the fragile silence of the castle corridors. The air is brittle with winter's chill, creeping through cracks and ghosting across your skin. Your hands are tucked deep into your sleeves, hidden away like secrets, fingertips still aching from the cold and the endless prodding of Dumbledore's questions. How many times had they asked? How many times had you sat there, lips sealed, eyes on the floor, heart clenched so tightly it felt like it would shatter if you spoke? His eyes were always kind, too kind, like he already knew the answers but wanted to hear you say it.

Turning the corner, you nearly stumble to a halt. James and Remus are standing at the far end of the hall, their voices low and faces drawn tight with exhaustion. Shadows carve hollows beneath their eyes, and Remus looks paler than you’ve ever seen him.

It must have been the full moon a few days ago, the first one he's gone through without you by his side since the night you both first whispered the words that changed everything. You remember how you used to sit with him after, hands in his hair, soft words spilling like water to fill the spaces where the pain had been. Now, that space is empty.

You wonder if it still hurts him the same way it hurts you, a wound that refuses to close, a memory that festers beneath the surface.

You want to run to them, to press yourself into the warmth of their presence and let it thaw the ice that’s settled into your bones. But you can’t. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself and keep walking, pretending not to notice when James’ gaze flickers to you, holding on just a second too long.

For a moment, you think he might call out, that his voice might crack through the silence and shatter it all to pieces. But the hallway remains still, his eyes dropping back to the floor, and you are left with the whisper of what-could-have-been trailing like smoke in your wake.

You don’t stop until you round the next corner. That’s when you see them.

Rosier and Mulciber, lounging by the tapestry as if they own the space it hangs in. Their eyes track you with lazy contempt, lips curled just enough to make the meaning clear.

Mulciber’s gaze lingers a little too long, flicking over your arms, your throat, the faint line of scars that peek above your collar. His mouth quirks into something that isn’t quite a smile, isn’t quite a threat—but you know exactly what it means. I dare you to speak up. I dare you to tell them.

You look away before you can drown in it, shoulders drawn up tight, steps carrying you forward even though it feels like you’re moving through water.

You don’t stop, you don’t speak, and when you finally reach the door to your room, your hands are shaking too much to turn the handle. The echoes of their laughter follow you down the hall, snaking into your ears and coiling around your thoughts like a vice.

You press your forehead against the door, eyes squeezed shut, breaths coming in ragged bursts as you try to steady the tremor in your fingers.

You step inside, close the door, and let your back slide down its surface until you are sitting on the cold stone floor, legs drawn to your chest.

It takes you far too long to realize you are crying.

You don’t remember falling asleep. Only the rough drag of exhaustion pulling you under the moment you crossed the threshold of your room. The floor was cool against your cheek, and there was a comfort in its solidity, in the way it didn’t move or breathe or demand anything from you. It was just stone and silence, and that was enough.

When you wake, morning light is spilling across the floor in pale strips, catching dust motes in its glow. Your body protests as you sit up, muscles stiff and aching, bruises flaring back to life with each movement.

Outside.

You need air. Fresh air might do you good. The castle feels too heavy today, its walls pressing in, its whispers scraping against your skin. So you leave.

The grounds are cool with morning mist, tendrils of fog curling around the grass like smoke. You pull your cloak tighter around you, ignoring the soft twinge of your ribs as you settle down beneath the shade of a willow tree near the lake. The world is still at this hour, untouched by the footsteps of students or the echo of laughter.

You close your eyes and breathe. In. Out. Pretend for a moment that nothing has changed, that you are whole and untouched and—

“Well, look who’s crawled out of her hole.”

The voice cuts through the silence like a blade, and your eyes snap open. Mulciber, flanked by two Slytherins you don’t recognize, stands a few feet away, hands stuffed casually in his pockets, smile sharp and unkind. And behind them, a crowd is beginning to gather, whispers spreading like wildfire, thick with something sour and unspoken.

“Didn’t think we’d see you out here, all things considered.” His friends chuckle, low and mean. “Thought you’d be hiding under Black’s cloak, like the little whore you are.”

The word slaps you across the face, sharp and sudden, and laughter swells around you. You stand frozen, spine rigid, hands clenched so tightly your nails bite into your palms. Students watch, some with smirks, some with whispers, no one stepping forward. Your heart hammers against your ribs, sharp and insistent, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon, fingers digging crescent moons into your palms.

Mulciber’s eyes flash with something cruel, a glimmer of delight at your silence. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries across the space between you, dripping with venom.

“Bet they’re regretting it now, huh? Messing around with a filthy little slag like you. Thought you were special, did you? Thought you meant something?”

His words spill like oil over water, slick and suffocating. The crowd presses closer, whispers sharpening into accusations. “Desperate.” “Pathetic.” “Begging for it.”

The words pile on, each one another weight around your chest. “Heard she threw herself at all of them,” someone sneers from the back, and the laughter that follows is sharp and jagged, cutting through your skin like glass.

You can feel your cheeks flame, but you don’t move. You don’t speak. Your heart is a drumbeat of pain in your chest, loud and insistent, and you know if you open your mouth, it will all spill out. The hurt, the betrayal, the rage that coils beneath your ribs like a living thing. But you say nothing.

You don’t cry. Not here. Not in front of them. You will not give them that.

But your hands shake. You clench them tighter, nails digging so hard that the sting almost grounds you. Almost. You want to vanish. You want the earth to split and swallow you whole just so you don’t have to hear them anymore.

But you stand there, knees locked, jaw tight, eyes burning with unshed tears that you refuse to let fall.

Mulciber’s smile widens, satisfied. He leans back, hands still in his pockets, eyes glittering with triumph.

“That’s what I thought.” His friends chuckle, cruel and victorious, and they turn away, leaving you standing there with the whispers still hanging in the air like smoke.

The crowd begins to disperse, their interest spent, but the shame lingers, thick and choking, settling into your bones.

You are alone again, the lake still rippling gently at your back, the willow branches swaying in the wind. But the air feels colder now, the silence sharper, and you know deep down that you will never be able to stand beneath this tree again without hearing their laughter echoing through the leaves.

Your legs buckle then, giving way to the weight of it all, and you sink to the ground, fingers clawing at the grass as if trying to anchor yourself to something real, something solid, something that is not this. But there is nothing. Only the wind, only the whispers that still linger, only the sound of your own ragged breathing as you press your forehead to the dirt and try not to break.

They must have heard what happened, whispers of it skittering through the hallways like leaves caught in a storm. Their expressions are painted with worry and a kind of gentle, unspoken rage that simmers just beneath the surface.

Lily’s hands are soft as she tilts your chin up, her gaze searching your eyes for any fracture, any sign that you might break apart right here in her arms. Her touch is steady, grounding, like she is stitching you back together with each brush of her thumb.

Mary is already brushing your hair back, her fingers gentle as if you might shatter from too much pressure.

"Come on," Lily whispers, voice gentle but unyielding. "We’re getting you out of here." Her eyes are wet and blazing, fire and water all at once, and you feel your throat close up at the sight of it. There is fury there, and tenderness too, woven so tightly together you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

You don’t resist when they guide you back to the dormitory. Their hands never leave yours, fingers threaded together with a kind of desperation, as if afraid you might dissolve into dust if they let go. Lily’s grip is firm, Mary’s softer, but neither wavers as they lead you up the winding staircases, past whispers and sideways glances.

Inside, the curtains are drawn and the light is dim, pooling in soft amber shadows along the walls.

There is a steaming cup of tea waiting for you on the nightstand, and Mary helps you sit down like you are something fragile, something precious. Her hands are steady at your shoulders, smoothing back the wrinkles in your cloak, her fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Lily starts sorting through the pile of unfinished assignments stacked haphazardly at the edge of your desk, her jaw set, eyes sharp as flint.

"You’ve been missing a lot," she murmurs, more to herself than to you. Her fingers trace the edges of your parchment, straightening the crumpled corners with something that looks like reverence.

"But that’s alright. We’ll catch you up." Her voice is a lifeline, thin but unbreakable, and you cling to it because there is nothing else to hold onto.

Mary sits down beside you, pulling a thick stack of notes into her lap. "I swear, if I hear one more person whispering about you, I’m going to hex their tongues right out of their mouths," she mutters, and the ferocity in her voice startles you. "You don’t deserve any of this. Not a single bit."

Lily nods, her hands still busy with your scattered assignments. "They don’t know anything. They just want something to talk about. Gossip is easier when it’s cruel."

Mary’s hand finds yours, squeezing tightly. "We’re here," she says fiercely. "And we’re not going anywhere. If they try anything, anything at all—"

Lily cuts in, her voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "They’ll regret it."

You stare at them, the warmth of their hands, the resolve in their voices, and something inside you cracks just a little. "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, voice thin and shaking. "Why are you still here?"

Lily’s eyes soften, and she kneels in front of you, her hands finding yours. "Because you’re our friend," she says simply, voice steady and sure. "And friends don’t abandon each other. Not ever. I don’t care what they say or how cruel they get. None of it is true. You hear me? None of it. You are not what they say you are. You never were."

Mary nods, her hand still warm against yours. "We’re not going anywhere," she echoes.

They spend the afternoon with you, sifting through essays and practice exams, Lily’s handwriting neat and sure as she explains the charms you’ve missed. Her voice is clear and patient, unhurried, like she is building something steady and unshakable with each word she speaks.

Mary reads aloud passages from Defense Against the Dark Arts with a dramatic flourish, her hands sweeping through the air as if she is casting the spells herself. Her voice dips and rises, pulling you along with it, and you find yourself nodding, almost smiling, the weight on your chest lifting just a little.

It is soft and girlish and good, the kind of daydream you might’ve imagined in simpler days. When Mary braids your hair back from your face, she hums under her breath, something sweet and familiar. Her fingers are gentle as they weave through your hair, and Lily watches with a sad sort of smile, her hands stilling over the pile of parchment in front of her.

When the sun dips below the windowpane and shadows crawl across the room, Mary clears her throat. "They’re worried, you know."

You don’t need to ask who. Your hands tense in your lap, but she keeps going, her voice soft and steady. "James looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Remus has been snapping at everyone. Sirius is... well, you know how he gets."

A lump forms in your throat, thick and unyielding. You don’t trust your voice enough to speak, but Mary squeezes your hand instead, grounding you back to the present.

"I know you’re hurting," she whispers, her voice gentle but firm. "I know they are too. Maybe... maybe you should talk to them."

You blink, shaking your head before the thought can even settle. "I can’t," you whisper, voice cracking at the edges. "They..." Your words falter, throat constricting painfully. "They wouldn’t want me like this."

Lily’s head lifts from her pile of parchment, eyes bright with something fragile and true. "What do you mean?" she asks, voice soft but probing.

Your gaze drops to the floor, fingers grazing the edges of your sleeves where scars lay hidden. "Not with all these... marks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. "Not after everything that happened."

Mary’s hand tightens around yours, her eyes soft and resolute. "That’s not true," she says gently, voice firm with conviction.

"They care about you. More than you know. Those scars? They wouldn’t push them away. They’d hold them like they hold you, like something precious that survived. You haven’t seen the way they look at you when you’re not watching. It’s like losing you took the light out of them." She brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, her fingers warm and steady. "You’re not too broken. You’re not too much. You’re just... you. And they miss you more than anything."

Lily scoots closer, the chair creaking beneath her. Her eyes search your face, determination flickering there. "They’re scared," she says, her voice steady and sure. "Scared they’ve hurt you too much. Scared you won’t want to see them. But it doesn’t mean they don’t care."

You shake your head, blinking back the burn in your eyes. "I don’t... I don’t know if I can," you whisper, voice trembling. "It hurts too much."

Lily’s hands find yours, her grip firm and grounding. "Because you love them," she says simply, her voice threaded with iron beneath the softness. "And they love you. And sometimes... sometimes love is messy and awful, and it breaks you into pieces. But that doesn’t mean it’s gone. It just means it’s real."

Her words settle into the hollow spaces inside you, planting roots in the cracks you thought would never heal. You want to believe her. You want to believe that love is enough to cover the scars, the whispers, the shattered thing inside your chest that still bleeds every time you pass them in the corridor.

Lily and Mary don’t leave your side until you’ve washed up and changed into fresh clothes, their hands gentle and sure as they help you braid your hair and button up your sweater.

The mirror reflects a version of you that feels almost like a ghost, eyes sunken and skin pale, but there’s warmth now where their hands linger on your shoulders, where their voices spill over with soft conversation to fill the silence you’ve let fester for weeks.

You wonder if they notice the way your hands tremble when you reach for the buttons of your sweater, how the fabric feels foreign against your fingertips as if it belongs to someone else. But they say nothing, only exchanging a glance above your bowed head, and you pretend not to see it.

When they convince you to come down to the Great Hall for dinner, it feels like you’re being led out of hiding. The stone corridors stretch wide and unforgiving, the walls pressing in like they remember every secret you’ve whispered to them. But Lily’s arm is looped through yours, and Mary’s hand is at your back, anchoring you to the present.

Their voices swell and ripple, filling the silence with talk of homework and spring creeping back into the world, of flowers blooming near the edge of the Black Lake and sunlight pooling in the cracks of the courtyard. You nod along, letting the sound of it drown out the whispers that always seem to follow you, ghosts that cling to your shadow and trail behind your footsteps.

You almost forget the world is still sharp-edged and unkind until Mary’s hand goes stiff on your back and Lily’s grip tightens around your arm.

The shift is subtle but heavy, dragging you back to the present with a jolt that settles like ice in your veins.

It takes a moment for your gaze to follow theirs, to trace the line of their stiffened shoulders and the tension coiling tight between their blades.

They’re farther down the corridor, draped in shadow and arrogance, Mulciber and a few others leaning against the stone walls like they own them.

His gaze finds yours immediately, sharp and gleaming with something that makes your stomach twist. His mouth curves into a smile that doesn’t belong on human faces, something feral and cruel, a stretch of teeth that feels like a promise.

He straightens up slowly, whispering something to the boy beside him, and the boy laughs, the sound cracking through the hall like breaking glass.

You can feel Lily’s arm tighten around yours, her knuckles white where they grip your sleeve. Mary’s hand is a brand against your back, steady and unyielding, but there’s a tremor in her touch that wasn’t there before. You swallow hard, the taste of iron and ash heavy on your tongue, and force yourself to breathe past the knot coiling tight in your chest. It’s just Mulciber.

Mulciber doesn’t move, his gaze unrelenting, a hunter with its prey already caught in its sights. He whispers something again, too soft for you to hear, but you watch the way his mouth curves around the words, deliberate and sharp. It feels like a curse, slipping through the air like smoke, curling around your throat until you can’t quite breathe right.

Lily tugs at your arm, gentle but firm, her eyes not leaving his face. Mary’s hand presses harder at your back, grounding you, reminding you to move, to breathe, to blink.

But your feet are heavy, rooted to the stone beneath them, and for a heartbeat, you are back in that empty corridor, small and shivering beneath Mulciber’s shadow, the memory so sharp it carves itself into the present.

You remember the way his laughter had filled the air like broken glass, how his grip had left bruises that bloomed dark and aching beneath your sleeves. He remembers too, you can see it in the way he watches you now, head tilted just slightly, his eyes flickering with something sharp and cruel.

You remember the curse he spat at you four weeks ago, the flash of green light that clawed through your skin, ripping you apart from the inside out.

His laughter had echoed in the empty corridor as you crumpled to the floor, your body convulsing with pain so raw it stole the breath from your lungs.

When it was over, when the world returned in fractured pieces, your body was a battlefield, marred with scars and bruises that still burn beneath your clothes.

You think of this morning, of the way his voice had sliced through the Great Hall, that filthy word spilling from his mouth like venom.

Whore. A word meant to bruise deeper than magic ever could.

It’s Mary who finally breaks the silence, her voice low and unyielding.

“Come on,” she murmurs, the sound a lifeline you didn’t know you needed. She tugs you forward, and Lily follows, her hand slipping into yours, squeezing once, twice, a rhythm you recognize as comfort, as solidarity.

The world slows, sound draining from the corridor until all that’s left is the sickening thud of your heartbeat, heavy and unrelenting. Mulciber’s eyes flicker back to you, his grin spreading like oil across his face, dark and slick with satisfaction. He’s still laughing, still whispering something venomous to the boy beside him, his shoulders shaking with it.

But before you can flinch, before you can even think of turning back, there’s a blur of black and silver storming through the hall. It’s like watching a storm take shape, shadows converging into something feral and unyielding.

Sirius.

You recognize him instantly—wild hair flying, eyes sharp with fury, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might crack.

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop. He barrels straight into Mulciber with the force of a tidal wave, something primal and unrestrained snapping loose. The sound of Mulciber’s back hitting the stone wall echoes through the corridor, sharp and brutal.

Sirius doesn’t give him a chance to breathe. His fist collides with Mulciber’s jaw with a sickening crunch, and the crack of bone reverberates like thunder. Mulciber staggers, a spray of blood arching across the stone floor, but Sirius is unyielding.

He shoves him harder against the wall, the back of his head cracking against stone with a sound that sends whispers skittering back into shadows. Mulciber splutters, eyes wide with shock, but Sirius is feral, fists driving into his ribs, his stomach, each blow heavier than the last.

A flick of Sirius's wand sends Mulciber flying back, his body crashing against the stone like a ragdoll, limbs twisted and graceless.

There’s a flash of light—red and searing—and Mulciber screams, the sound ripping through the corridor. You watch, heart lodged in your throat, as Sirius stalks forward, his eyes gleaming with something untamed. His wand is steady, unflinching, as he mutters another incantation, and Mulciber’s body convulses, writhing against the floor, the echo of his screams stretching thin and sharp.

You can’t breathe. The world narrows to the slick smear of blood across stone, the shattering crack of bone against brick, the way Mulciber’s screams splinter and echo like the wails of the damned. It’s carnage, raw and unfiltered, each blow landing with a sickening finality that makes your stomach twist.

But it’s Sirius that steals your breath, that roots you to the spot with horror threading up your spine.

There is nothing human in his eyes. They are wild, storm-tossed things, pupils blown wide, irises almost swallowed by shadow. His hair is a dark snarl, tangled and streaked with Mulciber’s blood, damp and clinging to his cheeks, sweat-slick and unyielding.

His lips are pulled back in something that is not quite a smile, not quite a snarl, baring his teeth like a wolf scenting blood.

It’s as if he’s been unchained—something feral and starved let loose, his fists a blur of motion, each strike heavier than the last.

Mulciber tries to scream again, but it’s cut short—Sirius’s hand lashes out, fingers curling around his throat, shoving him back against the wall so hard the stone cracks, dust cascading from the ceiling like ash. You hear whispers—sharp, horrified gasps skittering through the crowd—but no one moves.

Sirius’s knuckles are raw and split, streaked with crimson that drips down his wrist, pooling at his fingertips. His breaths are ragged, chest heaving with exertion, but his grip on Mulciber’s throat only tightens.

Mulciber is gasping, choking, his hands clawing at Sirius’s forearm, nails raking desperate lines into his skin. It doesn’t matter.

Sirius doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. His eyes are fixed—dark and gleaming with something that makes your skin prickle, that makes your legs feel like water.

He doesn’t even look like he’s seeing Mulciber anymore. His gaze is faraway, distant, like he’s waging a war somewhere deep in his mind, and Mulciber is just the sacrifice.

You take a step back, and your heel scuffs against the stone—loud in the unnatural hush. Sirius’s head snaps up, eyes locking onto yours for a heartbeat, and the violence in his stare is enough to send ice through your veins.

You know him—knew him—but this is not the boy who smirked at you across bonfires or slung an arm over your shoulders in crowded hallways. This is something darker, something forged in iron and shadow.

His lip curls, eyes narrowing before he turns back to Mulciber, slamming his head back against the stone with a force that sends a ripple of horror through the gathered crowd. There’s a sickening crack—jagged and wet—and Mulciber’s eyes roll back, his limbs going limp.

For a second, you think it’s over, think Sirius has sated whatever bloodlust had taken root. But then Sirius crouches down, fingers slick with blood as he grabs Mulciber’s face, forcing it up, forcing him to look into his eyes. His voice is low, guttural.

“Look at me. I want you to remember this.” he whispers, the words slipping out like venom, Mulciber tries to turn his head, tries to shift away from that burning gaze, but Sirius’s grip is iron.

And then, with a snarl that rips through the corridor, he slams Mulciber’s skull back into the ground. Once. Twice. A third time. Blood spatters up in an arc, warm and wet, slicking the stone with crimson.

Sirius kneels, boots splashing in the pool of blood spreading slick and dark across the stone.

He grips Mulciber by the hair, yanking his head back with a ferocity that sends a spray of red arcing through the air.

Mulciber’s face is a ruin—swollen and unrecognizable, eyes barely slits beneath the purple bloom of bruises. Blood seeps from his nose, his mouth, trickling over cracked lips and pooling in the hollow of his throat. His breaths come in ragged, shuddering bursts, each one gurgling wetly as if he’s drowning on his own blood.

But Sirius doesn’t care. His fingers tighten in the matted hair, jerking Mulciber upright with a force that sends another snap reverberating through the hall. There’s a fresh gush of red, thicker this time, streaking down Mulciber’s cheek and dripping in fat droplets to the floor.

“Look at him!” Sirius roars, and the sound is a living thing—ripping through the corridor like a knife, sharp and jagged.

His voice is thick with fury, eyes gleaming with something feral, something unhinged. He shakes Mulciber like he’s nothing more than a sack of meat, and blood spatters across the stone, painting crimson streaks that drip and pool like ink.

Sirius yanks harder, forcing Mulciber’s head up, twisting his fingers until the strands of hair snap under his grip. Mulciber groans, a wet, rasping sound that cracks in his throat, but Sirius only digs his fingers in deeper, nails scraping scalp, knuckles white and shaking.

“Look at him!” he snarls, voice vibrating with venom, the words ricocheting off the stone walls, echoing back like a promise. He jerks Mulciber higher, dragging him to his knees, forcing him to face the growing crowd, their eyes wide and wet with horror.

You can smell the blood—thick and coppery, cloying as it seeps into the cracks of the stone, spreading in sticky pools beneath Mulciber’s twitching hands.

“Now,” Sirius growls, voice lowering to a snarl that drips with contempt, “which one of you fuckers wants to call my girlfriend a whore to my face?” His gaze sweeps the crowd, daring, inviting, eyes gleaming with the kind of madness you only read about in horror stories.

Sirius yanks his head back farther, exposing the pale column of his throat slick with sweat and crimson.

No one speaks. No one breathes. The corridor is thick with silence, heavy and oppressive, pressing down like a weighted blanket.

The boy Mulciber had been laughing with is gone, vanished into the crowd, footsteps echoing faintly like a death knell.

Sirius’s smile is a terrible thing—sharp and crooked, dripping with something dark and unyielding.

“Well?” Sirius spits, shaking Mulciber for emphasis, and his head lolls back, eyes rolling like a doll’s, lips parting with a wet gurgle.

His voice is raw, splintered at the edges, but there’s something almost unhinged in the way he looks at them, like he’s only just getting started.

“Come on!” he shouts, voice cracking against the silence. His eyes blaze, dark and endless, pinning each face in the crowd with the weight of his gaze.

“I’m fucking waiting!” His grip on Mulciber tightens, jerking his head to the side, forcing the battered boy to meet the crowd’s gaze.

“You were laughing this morning, you bloody fuckers weren’t you?” Sirius snarls, shaking him again. “You had something to say, didn’t you? Where’s your fucking courage now?”

He shoves him forward, forcing him to his knees, hands still twisted in his hair, and turns him to face the crowd like he’s displaying some kind of broken trophy.

The silence is suffocating now, stretching too long, too taut, threatening to snap. You watch as Sirius’s eyes rake across the faces in the crowd, daring, seething. His chest heaves with each breath, his fingers still twisted in Mulciber’s blood-matted hair, and you realize with a cold jolt that he’s waiting. Waiting for someone to speak. Waiting for someone to move.

And god help them when they do

When James and Remus finally appear, it’s like the room takes a collective breath, sharp and shuddering, the kind of relief that tastes metallic on the tongue. But it’s not over. Not even close. It takes both of them, James with his arms locked around Sirius’s shoulders, muscles straining with the effort, and Remus prying his fingers loose from Mulciber’s hair, slick with blood and tangled like roots, to drag him back.

Sirius thrashes like something feral, feet skidding across the slick stone, leaving smears of crimson in his wake.

His eyes are still locked onto Mulciber, dark and blazing, teeth bared in a snarl that is more animal than human. There is blood on his hands, splattered across his cheek, streaking through his hair, and he doesn’t seem to notice, doesn’t seem to care. His breath is coming in ragged bursts, chest heaving like he has just run for miles, but his strength is unyielding.

It takes everything James has to hold him back, feet braced against the stone, arms hooked beneath Sirius’s shoulders in a grip that is half desperation, half restraint.

“Sirius!” James’s voice is sharp, cracking through the stillness. But Sirius doesn’t even flinch. His eyes are still locked on Mulciber’s crumpled form, lips curling back with each breath like he is tasting blood on his tongue and finding it sweet.

“Let me go,” Sirius spits, voice raw and splintered. He jerks against James’s hold, almost breaking free, fingertips grazing the stone before Remus lunges forward, gripping his wrists and yanking him back.

Sirius’s eyes snap to Remus then, wild and burning, and for a heartbeat, it looks like he might lash out, like he might tear Remus apart too, just for the crime of standing in his way. But Remus doesn’t flinch. His hands are steady, his eyes hard, jaw clenched tight enough that you can see the muscle flicker beneath his skin.

“Sirius, it’s over.” Remus’s voice is low, firm, cutting through the haze of violence with the sharpness of a blade.

“It’s not over,” Sirius hisses, voice dripping with venom. His eyes flicker back to Mulciber, who is slumped against the wall, blood still pooling beneath him, staining the cracks of the stone like dark veins. “He is still breathing.”

James’s grip tightens, arms wrapping tighter around Sirius’s chest. “Enough. You made your point.” But Sirius shakes his head, gaze fixed and unyielding.

His hands are still curled into fists, knuckles split and bleeding, trembling with the need to finish what he started.

Remus steps in front of him, blocking his view of Mulciber, forcing Sirius to look at him instead. His voice drops, steady and unyielding. “We’re done here. You’re done here.”

Sirius’s breathing is ragged, harsh and scraping, but his fists slowly uncurl. His shoulders slump, only slightly, but it is enough for James to loosen his grip, for Remus to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Sirius’s gaze drops to his hands, smeared with blood, the knuckles swollen and raw.

But you are not looking at his hands. You are looking at his face, at the wild gleam still simmering beneath the surface, at the way his eyes still track Mulciber’s crumpled form, as if he is counting every breath, every twitch.

And you, your hands are shaking. Your heart is in your throat. But for the first time in weeks, the ice around your ribs feels like it’s starting to thaw.

You don’t remember how Lily and Mary managed to drag you away from the chaos. It’s all a blur, familiar hands gripping your sleeves, soft voices murmuring something that slips right through you.

You only realize you’re back at the common room when your knees buckle, dropping hard onto the unforgiving stone floor beneath the shadow of the staircase. The impact jolts through your bones, sharp and jarring, but you barely feel it. Numbness settles in its place, spreading through your limbs like ice.

The world shrinks, sounds fading to distant echoes, footsteps and whispers smudging into the background like charcoal smeared across paper.

All that remains is the ragged pull of your breath, harsh and uneven, scraping its way up your throat. Your palms are pressed against the stone, fingertips digging into the rough surface as if anchoring yourself to reality, but it’s not enough.

The walls feel like they are folding inward, creeping closer with each shallow breath you take, pressing tighter and tighter until the air is thin and ragged in your lungs.

You try to focus. You try to count your breaths, but they slip away from you, shattering into fragments before you can hold on.

Your hands tremble against the floor, fingers scraping against the stone until the skin splits, tiny bursts of pain sparking in your fingertips. It hurts, but you latch onto it, welcoming the sting, clinging to it as if it is the only real thing left.

The room tilts, spinning in slow, deliberate circles, and you clutch harder at the stone, nails scraping against it until they crack. The edges of your vision darken, shadows creeping inward, but it’s not darkness that finds you. I

t’s panic, raw and unyielding, clawing up your throat with razor-tipped fingers. It coils there, tight and suffocating, strangling the air from your lungs. Your mouth opens, a sharp gasp slicing through the silence, but no sound follows.

Your heart is hammering, the beat erratic and furious, slamming against your ribs like it is trying to break free. You press your palms harder against the stone, grounding yourself, forcing yourself to feel every crack, every jagged edge. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered, the sharp sting of your hands scraping raw against the floor, the way your nails splinter against the stone. Somewhere distant, you hear Lily’s voice, soft and desperate, but it is muffled, submerged beneath the rush of blood in your ears.

Slow and steady. It takes minutes or hours—you can’t tell which—for the feeling to ebb. When it finally does, you’re left hollow, emptied out and aching, slumped against the wall with your head tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if it holds some secret you are not yet worthy to know.

I highly suggest playing nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cas here

It is the softness of his touch that pulls you back from the edge of nothingness, a quiet warmth folding over your trembling hand like a whispered promise.

You do not remember how the world fell away beneath you, how the weight of all the darkness pressed so heavy that your knees gave out and the air fled from your lungs.

But now, as your eyes flutter open to the dim light, there is only him—Remus—kneeling beside you like a guardian carved from shadow and light.

His face is pale, drawn with the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights and tears no one witnessed. His eyes glisten with a mixture of sorrow and fierce hope, the kind that burns quietly beneath the surface of a heart refusing to break completely.

When he looks at you, it feels as if he is trying to hold every broken piece of you gently in his gaze, as though your fragile spirit might shatter under the weight of a single careless glance.

His hands are steady, unwavering, resting lightly on yours like the roots of a tree gripping soil after a violent storm.

His thumb moves slowly in circles over the back of your hand, a small rhythm, a sacred chant meant to calm the trembling that threatens to consume you. It is a touch that speaks of devotion and fear and the desperate need to keep you tethered to this moment, to this fragile thread of life.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice cracking like a fragile song stretched too thin, yet filled with a tenderness so profound it makes the world still around you. “Look at me, baby. Right here. Do not slip away.”

You find his eyes through the haze, and in their depths, you see the weight of grief carried silently like a cloak woven from memories and regret.

But there is also something else—something like a fierce, burning hope that refuses to be extinguished.

His gaze is a lifeline, a promise that you are not alone, even when the darkness presses in from all sides.

“You are okay,” he murmurs, words soft and certain, wrapping around you like a warm breath against cold skin.

“I swear you are okay. Just breathe with me. In… and out.” The rhythm of his voice, steady and slow, becomes the anchor your heart clings to, a fragile pulse beating through the storm.

With every breath, you feel yourself coming back, piece by aching piece, as if his presence is the only thing keeping the world from fracturing completely

He breathes with you, slow and steady, exaggerating each rise and fall of his chest like he’s teaching you how to exist again.

His breaths are deep and measured, a rhythm you can follow, and you find yourself mirroring him, even when your own lungs stutter and hitch.

In and out. In and out.

The pattern is simple, the kind of simplicity that feels sacred when the world is crumbling.

His hand never leaves yours, warm and firm, an anchor in the storm. His thumb continues its slow circles, the motion steady and unyielding, even when your fingers flex and shake, even when the tremor won’t stop.

His eyes stay locked on your face, searching for something—some flicker of recognition, some sign that you’re still here with him.

There’s desperation there, thinly veiled beneath the tenderness, like he’s holding his breath, waiting for you to come back to him.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, softer this time, like it’s a secret meant only for you. His voice is a thread of warmth curling through the cold, a fragile light in the shadows pressing in. His eyes are so full of something you can’t name—something raw and aching and real.

Your lips part, and his name spills out like it’s been trapped inside you for too long. “Remus…” It’s barely a whisper, almost a sob, almost a prayer.

His breath catches for just a moment, and you watch as something flickers in his gaze, something bright and sharp and painfully tender.

“Yeah,” he breathes, voice breaking just a little, like it costs him something to say it.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your Remmy, yeah? I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” His hands don’t waver, don’t shake, even though his voice does. He says it with a kind of certainty that you want to believe in, a kind of faith you want to wrap yourself in and never let go.

He exhales, the sound fragile and trembling, as if the weight of it alone might shatter him. His touch is warm and familiar, a reminder of constellations traced on moonlit nights and whispered promises that never quite faded.

His voice, when it comes, is barely more than a breath, a sacred murmur cradled between his lips. “Come back to me, love. Come back.”

Your breath catches, fragile and unsteady, the rhythm of your heart stuttering beneath the weight of his words.

Your eyes flutter open, vision blurred and hazy, like waking from a dream you are not ready to leave.

“Where?” you whisper, the word splintering at the edges, raw and unguarded.

For a heartbeat, his gaze holds yours, and you see it—something fragile and aching and impossibly bright. It flickers across his features like sunlight through cracked glass, illuminating the sharp curve of his cheekbone, the shadowed crescent beneath his eyes, the part of his mouth that trembles just slightly when he swallows.

He does not speak at first, but you feel it in the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles, tracing slow, deliberate circles as if mapping the fragile landscape of your bones. His hand slips from yours, and for a heartbeat, the world feels colder.

But then his fingers find your palm, guiding it with infinite care to his chest, right over the steady, unyielding rhythm of his heart.

“Right here,” he breathes, the words soft and weighted, each syllable spilling from his lips like a promise.

His forehead dips, coming to rest against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as if the mere act of touching you is a prayer answered. His breath mingles with yours, slow and steady, a rhythm that feels older than time itself.

You can feel the whisper of it against your lips, soft and aching, a confession spoken in the language of ghosts.

“Home.” he whispers, and the word slips between you, curling around your heart like a tether, binding you to him in a way that is as inevitable as the turning of the stars.

And you know, in that moment, that this is what it means to belong to someone—not in pieces or fractured glances, but entirely, endlessly, with every breath and every heartbeat. To be tethered across distance and time, to find your way back through the darkness, guided only by the sound of his voice and the echo of his heartbeat. To come back to him, always.

He holds you for what feels like forever, the world shrinking down to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid press of his hand over yours, the way his thumb never stops tracing those slow, grounding circles against your skin.

Time bends and blurs, the sharp edges of reality softening until there’s nothing left but the warmth of his touch and the low murmur of his voice, coaxing you back to the surface one breath at a time.

His heartbeat is steady and constant beneath your palm, a metronome against the chaos that still lingers at the edges of your mind.

The world around you is a distant hum, muffled and far away, but then footsteps echo down the stone corridor, cutting through the silence like the whisper of a blade.

You barely register the sound at first, too wrapped up in the quiet safety of Remus’s hands, but the footsteps grow louder, hurried and unsteady, until they come to a halt just beyond the curve of the staircase. There’s a pause, thick and heavy, before two shadows spill into view.

James and Sirius stand there, both breathless and pale, their faces drawn tight with worry and something darker that lingers just beneath the surface.

Sirius’s hair is wild, curling around his face in tangled waves, and there’s a fresh bandage wrapped around his temple, the edge of it tinged with dried blood.

His eyes find yours immediately, dark and sharp, and you watch as something flickers across his expression—something raw and aching, something that softens the hard line of his jaw and makes his hands tremble at his sides.

It isn’t pain that makes him shake; you can tell from the way his shoulders are squared, from the way his gaze doesn’t waver.

No, it’s the distance that does it—the ache of being away from you for too long, of knowing you were hurting and he wasn’t there to stop it. His fists clench once, twice, and then he lets out a breath, the tension bleeding from his knuckles as his eyes search yours, wild and desperate, like he’s counting every breath you take just to be sure you’re still here.

Remus looks back over his shoulder, his hand still cupping yours, and there’s something unspoken that passes between the three of them. It’s a conversation of glances and shadows, of nods and clenched jaws, of something that runs deeper than words.

Sirius follows, but slower, his movements measured, like he’s afraid the air might splinter if he comes too close.

His eyes are locked on you, unblinking and glassy, and there’s something fierce and unyielding in the way he watches you, like he’s memorizing every detail, every breath, every flicker of your lashes.

He hesitates just a moment, and then he’s there, dropping to his knees in front of you, his hands reaching for your face with a kind of desperation that unravels the breath from your lungs.

His hands are rough but gentle, cradling your face like you’re made of glass, like you might shatter if he holds you too tight. His thumbs brush your cheeks, wiping away remnants of tears you didn’t even realize were still there, and his eyes never leave yours, dark and unyielding.

His forehead stays pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours in soft, uneven shudders. His thumbs brush gentle arcs against your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of tears with a tenderness that nearly undoes you.

His eyes flutter open, dark and glassy, and he looks at you like he’s searching for something, like he’s afraid he might miss it if he blinks. His voice, when it comes, is cracked and raw, like it’s been clawed out from somewhere deep.

“Please don’t ever leave me.” It’s a whisper, but it echoes, latching onto the spaces between your ribs and burrowing there. His hands tighten just slightly, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s anchoring himself to you, like you’re the only thing

Your vision blurs, the world smearing at the edges, but you don’t look away. You can’t. A sob claws its way up your throat, silent and shattering, and your hands come up to cover his, pressing them closer, holding him there like you’re afraid he might vanish if you don’t.

“Never, siri,” you breathe, voice shaking but certain, the word spilling from your lips like a promise. “Never again.” You say it again, firmer this time, your gaze locked with his, eyes wet and unflinching. “I swear it. Never.”

His eyes squeeze shut, and you watch the way his shoulders shudder with the force of it, the way his hands tremble against your skin.

His arms wrap around you, strong and unyielding, and you feel the way he presses his face into your shoulder, how his breath hitches against your neck like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, the world blurring into the edges of Sirius’s heartbeat. James is already there, just at the edge of the shadows, waiting with eyes rimmed red and hands wringing together. He watches you with a kind of fragile hope, like he’s afraid the moment will break if he breathes too loudly. When you finally turn, he’s already moving, steps careful and soft as he closes the space between you.

“Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of waiting. His hands are gentle when they find your shoulders, smoothing down your arms like he’s checking you’re real.

“Hey, love.” His thumb sweeps across your cheek, catching a tear you didn’t know had fallen. “Missed you,” he murmurs, eyes glassy. “Missed you so much, baby,”

His hands are shaking when he cradles your face, his gaze drinking you in like he’s memorizing you all over again. “You’re here,” he breathes out, voice splintering with the softness of it. “You’re really here.”

“‘M here,” you whisper back, and he exhales, something breaking and mending all at once.

He pulls you into his chest, arms locking around you, and you feel the way his heartbeat stutters and catches, like it’s finally finding its rhythm again. His chin tucks over your shoulder, his breath shaky and warm against your neck. “Don’t leave again,” he whispers, and it’s not a demand—it’s a plea. “Promise me.”

Your hands curl into the fabric of his sweater, your voice trembling but resolute. “I promise.”

For a long moment, none of you speak. There are only the sounds of breathing—steady, uneven, real—and the feeling of four heartbeats pressed close, thrumming with life and warmth and something that tastes like salvation.

There’s no space for words, no need for them. The silence is enough, heavy and sacred, stitched together by the threads of everything unspoken.

You close your eyes, and you hold on.

And then, in a voice that is barely a whisper but echoes like a promise, Remus says, “We’re okay.”

“You’ve gone quiet,” James says, his voice warm and teasing as you walk beside him down the winding path toward Hogsmeade. His hand brushes against yours, tentative and soft, and you find yourself smiling despite the cold.

“Just thinking,” you reply, glancing up at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he grins, and it’s the kind of smile that feels like sunlight cracking through storm clouds.

It’s been a month and a half since that night.

A month and a half of finding your way back to each other, slowly, carefully. A month and a half of healing and mending, of long talks beneath the covers and quiet touches that spoke of promise and patience.

You told Dumbledore everything, finally spilling the truth that had been lodged in your throat like glass. Mulciber was punished, suspended and stripped of privileges, though not without the snarl of a family name dragging behind him.

Even Sirius had to serve detention for his outburst, though he did so with a grin, never once apologizing for the way he painted his knuckles with Mulciber’s blood.

He even received a ton of letters from his mother, though Remus made sure they got discarded before Sirius read them.

“Do it again if I had to.” he had said with a shrug, and you believed him.

The scars are still there, some fading to pale silver, others stubborn and aching when you move too quickly.

But Remus is there to help, his touch always gentle, his hands warm and steady as he traces the lines of your skin with reverence. He doesn’t flinch anymore when you reach for him, doesn’t pull away when your fingers brush his own scars. If anything, it makes him hold you tighter, closer, like two broken pieces that finally found the right way to fit.

There is laughter again, soft and hesitant at first but growing stronger with each day. You catch Sirius sneaking sweets from the kitchens and blaming it on James, and you find Remus with ink smudges on his hands, poring over his notes beside the common room fire. James tries to drag you into every prank, every adventure, his arm slung around your shoulders with that familiar ease that makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can breathe again.

They are gentle with you, protective but not suffocating.

And when the nightmares come, when you wake up gasping with phantom hands and whispered threats, they are there. Always.

James with his warm hands and soft murmurs, Sirius with his fierce eyes and crushing hugs, and Remus with his steady presence, his hands soothing the ache from your muscles, whispering that you’re safe now, you’re home.

The air wraps around you like a gentle promise, the soft sway of the willow’s branches echoing the steady rhythm of your breath.

Each heartbeat beneath your palm is a reminder — a fragile, beautiful testament — that you have survived. You have stumbled through the darkest storms and emerged here, in this place of quiet light.

You think of the weight you carried — the nights when pain was a fierce, unforgiving companion; the moments when your own reflection was a stranger, marked by scars that run deeper than the skin.

Some of those marks may never fade, etched like whispers of battles fought and wounds endured. But here, with James, Remus, and Sirius holding you close, those scars have become part of a larger story — one of resilience, of love that mends what once felt broken beyond repair.

You trace the curve of the willow’s bark, fingers finding comfort in its roughness, the way it stands tall and unwavering despite every season’s storm. Like the tree, you have bent but not broken, rooted by the quiet strength that comes from being held, from holding others in return.

Sirius’s laughter bubbles up again, light and wild, and you catch the way his eyes search yours. James’s steady presence hums through the air, calm and fierce, a grounding force that keeps you tethered to the here and now. Remus’s touch lingers, soft and sure, a silent vow that this moment, this peace, is yours to keep.

Together, beneath the willow’s tender shade, you find more than survival. You find a home woven from laughter and tears, from scars and healing, from the fierce and fragile threads of love that bind you all. It is not the absence of pain that defines this moment but the courage to keep walking forward — to keep reaching for light even when the night was long.

And in that quiet truth, you know this is only the beginning.

973 notes · View notes

soaps-mohawk · 4 months ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 48: Wild Times

Summary: Things begin changing between you and your pack as someone says goodbye.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,518 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, explicit sexual content, smut, anal sex, oral sex, handjobs, cockwarming, teasing, lots of kissing, language, slight dom/sub dynamics, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, alternate universe, emotions, slight angst

A/N: I wrote this in like two days so forgive me if it sucks

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“How do you feel?”

“Good. I feel really good.” You say honestly.

“Good. You’ve come a long way and I’m very proud of you for the progress you’ve made.” Dr. Keller says. The two of you are sitting out on the back porch. It’s a nice day, the sun out after a few days of rain and clouds.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to tell me something.” You say, staring at her. She almost looks nervous, the professional facade cracking just a little bit. Just enough that you can tell something is going on.

“I do have something I need to tell you.” She says after a moment. “You’ve come a long way, you’ve overcome hurdles and grown so much in the time that I’ve known you. I’m so very proud of you, but...I’m not sure how much more I can do for you now.”

You expected this was coming. With your life turning around as it has recently, with the growth between you and your pack and your healing after the ordeal, you knew there would come a time when Dr. Keller would leave. There’s no point to her staying here with you, now that Shepherd is gone and things have calmed down.

“Things are going to change here soon,” she continues. “And I’m not sure how much more you’re going to need me for. You’re doing so well and your pack has improved so much over these last few weeks. I’m so very proud of all of you and the work you’ve put in. I think you’re ready to graduate from needing an omega specialist.”

You try to fight the tears gathering in your eyes. You don’t want her to go. As much as you understand and you know, you don’t feel like letting her go yet. You’d cling to her forever if you could, but you know that’s all the more reason for her to go now. She’s done more than she should have, more than she needed to and no doubt she’s feeling that need to move on as well. It makes your stomach ache, but at the same time, you understand.

“I don’t feel like I am,” you say honestly. “But at the same time I know it’s not fair to keep you here. You’ve done so much for us, for me, and...and I want you to know that I’m forever grateful for that.”

“I know.” She says, giving you a smile. Despite it there’s a sadness in her eyes. She has to be torn about this too. The two of you have bonded so much in the year that you’ve been seeing her. It hurts breaking that bond, but at the same time, it’s a necessity. “I’ll always be here for you, but I have to move on to other things.”

“Where are you going to go?” You ask, trying not to cry. You’ve never been good at goodbyes. It’s probably the trauma.

“I’ve accepted a position in Exeter at a clinic.” She says.

“Exeter as in close to Ashley?” You give her a knowing look.

That bashful look crosses her face again, and for the first time she breaks eye contact, looking down at her lap.

“I’m happy for you,” you continue. “I really am. Technically if the two of you get together you’ll be extended family.”

She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re not wrong.” She looks back up at you, smiling softly. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“I knew it was coming, in a way.” You say. “It would happen eventually. Things really are changing and now that Shepherd’s gone...there’s nothing holding us here. We’ll have to return to the real world eventually. As much as I’d like to be selfish, I know there’s other omegas out there that deserve to have your help.”

She reaches out, taking your hand and squeezing it softly. “You’ve always been so sweet, so caring. I’m honored I got to serve as your omega specialist. I am so very proud of you and I always will be.” She squeezes your hand harder. “You have my number. You need anything you call me, okay?”

You nod, tears blurring your vision despite your fight to hold them back. “Yeah. I will.”

“Good.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, tears welling in hers as well.

You reach over, pulling her into a hug. It probably breaks some sort of doctor/patient boundary, but after everything the two of you have been through, you’re willing to break past that realm of professionalism.

You breathe in her comforting scent one last time, burying it in your memories. You’ll always remember her and what she did for you, the ways she helped you overcome the lies drilled into your head, how she helped you grow into your own person. She kept you alive, helped you heal from a traumatic event. She kept you sane, helped you realize just how powerful you truly are and that you shouldn’t be afraid of your pack and taking charge.

You’ll be forever grateful for having her in your life.

“Take care of each other.” Dr. Keller says, standing next to the car. “I don’t want to get any calls with bad news.”

“We’ll do our best.” John says, his arm around your waist.

She looks over your pack before nodding. “Some part of me doesn’t want to believe you, but a bigger part of me knows you’re telling the truth.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done.” John says, his grip around you tight. “We are forever in your debt.”

Dr. Keller smiles, it’s a sad smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “I was just doing my job.”

“You did more than that.” Kyle says. “Far more.”

Dr. Keller stands there for a moment before nodding. “I suppose so. I wouldn’t take any of it back, though.” She looks over you once more, her eyes pausing in you for a long moment.

“We’ll take good care of her.” John says, his arm sliding from your waist to wrap around your shoulder. “If not, we give you full rights to come back and take her from us.”

Dr. Keller gives him a pointed look. “I’ll hold you to that.” She opens the car door, letting out a heavy breath. “You have my number. Don’t hesitate to call. Good luck to you and whatever is coming next.”

“Best of luck to you as well.” John nods.

“Say hi to Ashley for me.” Kyle grins.

Dr. Keller rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” She gives you one last smile. “Take care. I’ll be here if you need me.”

You watch as she gets into the car, John’s grip around you tightening just a little. Tears start to blur your eyes as you watch the car disappear down the road until it’s out of sight. Two goodbyes in such a short amount of time has you feeling devastated, but at the same time, you know it’s for the best. It’s not like it’s forever. You’ll likely see both Dr. Keller and your family again in the future.

Yet you can’t deny the ache in your chest at watching them go.

John kisses the top of your head, his hands squeezing your arms. “You alright?” He murmurs against your hair.

You stand there for a moment, staring down the road before you nod. “Yeah. I will be.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” You shrug, marking your place in your book.

“It’s a big change.”

“I knew it was coming.” You shrug again, setting your book on your nightstand.

Kyle sinks down onto your bed, laying himself down against your pillows. “It’s okay to not be okay about this.”

You let out a sigh. “I mean, it’s sad that she left, but at the same time I’m happy she’s getting to go do what she wants now and is getting to help other omegas that need it. They’ll be lucky to have her. Ashley is lucky to have her.”

“They are a good couple.” Kyle says, reaching for your hand.

“Big power couple vibes.” You say, lacing your fingers with his. “I’m glad Ashley is part of the family. Your sister is an absolute angel.”

Kyle snorts. “You should have seen her growing up.”

“Everyone was a terror growing up.” You say, letting him pull you closer.

“Imagine Johnny as a kid.”

You both make a face, imagining the high-strung beta as a pup.

“No thanks.” You say, resting your head against his chest.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asks, wrapping an arm around you.

“Yeah. I will be.” You say. “It’ll take some getting used to, not having a personal therapist in the house.”

“We can get you a new one.” He says, patting your back.

“I think I’ll be okay.” You reach up, cupping his cheek. “You’re so sweet, caring about me like this.”

“Well, Christine has been a big part of your life for the last year.” He shrugs. “Just making sure you’re gonna be okay once she’s gone.”

“I’ll be fine. Just get ready to hear about my problems a lot more than you have been.” You grin.

“Oh good.” He playfully rolls his eyes.

“Rude.” You giggle, squeezing his side to tickle him.

“Hey!” He shouts, wiggling to try and get away from your hands.

Despite his size advantage you pull up a hazy memory of your training with Simon, wrapping a leg around his waist to force him over onto his back. You wind up sitting on top of him, your fingers dragging along his stomach to continue tickling him. He continues to laugh, playfully batting at your hands.

You wrap your fingers around his wrists, pinning them to the bed by his head. You lean over him, staring down at him as you pin him to the bed. He could easily get out of this, use his weight against you to force you up but he doesn’t, instead laying there limp under you.

“I quite like this angle.” He says, his eyes hooded as he stares up at you.

You smirk, leaning closer to him. “I’m sure you do.”

His arms flex under your hands, a reminder that he could easily flip the script and put you in this position. He doesn’t though, almost too happy to be pinned to the bed under you.

You lean down even further, your breath mingling with his. He tilts his head up, trying to kiss you but you hold back, not letting him have the satisfaction. His bottom lip puckers in a pout as you deny him what he wants.

“Been a long time.” He murmurs, pushing against your hands.

“For you maybe.” You say, but you can’t deny the warmth starting to pool in your stomach. It hasn’t been long for you, but it’s been a long while since you’ve been with the other members of your pack. You miss them. You miss all of them.

“Don’t mean to interrupt.”

Your head snaps to the side, looking back towards the door at the new voice. Simon stands there, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. His brows are raised, eyes trailing over you and Kyle.

He stays there for a moment before pushing off the frame, his steps slow as he approaches the bed. Neither you nor Kyle move, frozen there as the alpha stalks towards you. He looks like a hungry animal that’s caught its prey right where he wants it.

His hand is warm as it drags down your back, fingers pausing just above your tailbone. His other hand cups Kyle’s chin, fingers holding his jaw. “Pretty in’t he?” Simon mumbles, brushing his thumb across Kyle’s lips before pressing it between them.

Kyle parts his lips, taking Simon’s thumb into his mouth. You watch as he sucks on the appendage, still pinning him down on the bed. Simon’s hand slips beneath your pants, cupping your ass over your underwear as he leans in closer to you.

“What were you planning?” He murmurs into your ear, lips brushing the delicate skin. “A quickie before lunch? Like a couple of naughty pups?”

“Maybe.” You say, pushing back against his hand.

“Maybe?” He smirks. “Should have locked the door then.”

His teeth sink into your earlobe gently, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine. He pulls his thumb from Kyle’s mouth, trailing it down over his chin and his throat. His other hand sinks lower, fingers pressing between your legs.

“She likes this, you know?” He says to Kyle, feeling the dampness in your underwear. “Pretending to be dominant.” His hand closes around Kyle’s throat, fingers flexing just a little. “Then again, so do you.”

He pulls Kyle up to sit, forcing you to drop back into his lap. He’s hard, pressing between your thighs as you’re pushed up against his chest. Simon’s hand slips around to the back of Kyle’s neck, holding him in place.

“Just a couple of pretty pups playing pretend.” Simon says, glancing between you before leaning in to Kyle.

Your lips part as they kiss, Simon’s tongue sliding into Kyle’s mouth. Kyle moans, the sound vibrating through you. It’s a beautiful sight, watching them kiss. You hadn’t put much thought into them together before, even though you know it has happened in the past. They always seem to gravitate towards their respective mates naturally. The ideas floating around in your head have you gushing into your panties.

You let out a little whine of your own, hips pressing down against Simon’s fingers still resting between your legs. You’re getting wetter and wetter as you watch them kiss, Simon devouring Kyle’s mouth, all tongue and teeth as he teases the beta.

The sight has you clenching your thighs around Kyle’s hips, more slick gushing into your panties and wetting Simon’s fingers.

Simon hums against Kyle’s lips, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before pulling back just slightly. “I think she likes it.”

Kyle groans, pushing his hips up against you. Simon presses his hand down, grinding it against the bulge in Kyle’s pants.

“I think you both like it.” Simon pushes Kyle’s head closer to yours and you get the memo, closing the distance to kiss him.

Simon lets out a breath as he watches the two of you kiss, his fingers stroking you through your panties. His scent is strong in the air, mixing with the scent of arousal wafting off of you and Kyle.

“Look at you.” he murmurs. “The two prettiest members of the pack together. What a sight.”

Kyle’s tongue flicks against your own, mimicking what you know he’s capable of doing to your pussy. You can’t stop the moan that sneaks out, Kyle swallowing the sound as he kisses you.

Simon hums before pulling his hand from your pants, wrapping that arm around your waist before lifting you off of Kyle. You let out a loud whine in protest as you’re pulled apart, struggling against him but he’s stronger than you. Kyle catches himself before he drops backwards as Simon lets him go, lifting you to your feet as he rises to his.

“Time for lunch.” He says, still holding you as you struggle against him.

“No fair!” You whine, going dead weight against him to try and slip out of his hold.

He chuckles, still holding you up easily. “Be a good girl and I’ll let you sit on his face later.”

You pause, thinking it over for a moment before pushing yourself up to stand straight. “Okay.” You slip out of his grasp, heading for the door and out into the living room.

Both John and Johnny look up as you come out of the room, no doubt the scent of your arousal strong in the air. There’s probably a cocktail of scents wafting through the door: yours, Kyle’s, and Simon’s.

Johnny sets down the bag of chips in his hand before bee-lining to you, nearly colliding with your body as he frantically presses his face into your neck.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” He groans, his hands dropping to hold your ass as he keeps you pressed against his chest.

Your body flushes as his tongue laves over your skin, licking up every drop of scent he can from your gland. A quiet sound leaves your lips as he sinks his teeth into your skin, almost like he’s trying to drink the scent of your arousal directly.

It’s almost too much after the stimulation you just received from Simon and Kyle. You could cum in your pants just like this, with Johnny’s hands gripping your ass, his boner poking you in the hip. He’ll probably cum in his pants if he keeps this up.

Johnny lets out a groan as a hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him away from you. You stumble as he tries to pull you, but his hands release your ass before you can fall. John holds him back, leaning over his shoulder as he scruffs the beta.

“None of that.” He chastises Johnny. “We have lunch to eat.”

“Fuck sandwiches,” Johnny groans. “Lay her out on tha table. Let me feast.”

“We spent all this time making a nice lunch and we’re going to eat it.” John says, releasing Johnny. “Now take a seat.” He pushes Johnny towards the table with a slap to his ass.

Johnny grumbles but acquiesces, making his way to his seat at the table.

John steps up to you, staring down at you intensely. Despite his insistence on the moment ending, you glimpsed the small bulge in his pants. You’re tempted to touch it, drag your hand across the denim to tease him, but you’re caught in his gaze. His hand lifts to your face, thumb tracing over your lips. You part them slightly, but he pulls away, crossing his arms as he stares down at you.

“Can you behave?” He asks.

No. You wouldn’t mind being spread out on the table for them to enjoy. But you know that’s not the answer he’s looking for. “Yes.” You nod.

“Good.” He turns you towards the table, sending you to your seat with a pat on the ass.

He turns to Simon and Kyle, both of them moving to their seats wordlessly.

Lunch is filled with a tense silence. You’re glad Dr. Keller has left with the way all five of your scents are thick in the air. It’s heavy with arousal, no doubt all four men sporting hard-ons under the table. The thought of sliding under there to suck them off one by one is tempting, but you’ll get in trouble. Not that punishment wouldn’t be worth it, but you’ll be good today.

At least for now.

Simon makes good on his promise.

Kyle’s lips are wrapped around your clit, suckling on the sensitive bud as you grind down against his face, hands braced on his chest. Simon has him nearly folded in half, tongue wrapped around yours as he snaps his hips against Kyle’s ass.

“Fucking hell.” Simon groans, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip as he thrusts hard into Kyle. Kyle moans against your clit, making your legs squeeze tighter around his head. “Make her cum and I’ll let you.” Simon grunts, his hand wrapped around the base of Kyle’s cock.

Kyle swirls his tongue around your clit before taking it between his lips again, sucking it hard. You’re already close from how long you’ve been here, perched over his face. He’s close too, hard and almost pulsing in Simon’s hand. Simon hasn’t let up once, fucking into him hard and fast. There’s sweat beaded across all of your bodies, sliding down your faces, dripping onto skin.

God it’s been so long.

“C’mon.” Simon grunts, holding himself back as well.

“Fuck,” You whine, legs shaking around Kyle’s head as he sucks hard on your clit, nipping at the sensitive bud with his teeth. You grind down against his mouth, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks on it one last time.

You cum, gushing all over his face with a cry.

Kyle moans against your pussy, licking up every drop of your juices as your nails sink into his chest.

“Good boy.” Simon praises, finally releasing Kyle’s cock. He lifts Kyle’s hips, changing the angle at which he’s thrusting into the beta. “Cum for me.”

Kyle’s body trembles, his hands tightening around your thighs as he gets closer and closer to the edge. You lean over, reaching down to grip his cock in your hand. He groans louder, twitching in your hand as you pump his cock in time with Simon’s thrusts.

It doesn’t take him long to cum, spurting against your hand and his stomach as he moans so beautifully. Simon curses, hands tightening around Kyle’s hips before he cums as well, spilling into Kyle’s ass.

You gather his cum on your fingers, sitting up on Kyle’s chest before bringing your fingers to your lips. You hold eye contact with Simon as you take them into your mouth, cleaning Kyle’s cum off your skin. Simon’s eyes are dark as he watches you, following the path of your tongue as it licks the viscous liquid off your hand.

His hand sinks into your hair, pulling you close to his mouth before kissing you. His tongue pushes into your mouth, licking at the remnants of Kyle’s cum on your tongue. You moan into his mouth, pressing closer to him. He kisses you for a moment before pulling away, pushing you over to the side.

You roll unceremoniously to the side, watching Simon lean over Kyle. His face is still shiny with your juices, Simon’s tongue darting out to lick a stripe from his chin to his lips. Your lips part as you watch Simon clean your slick off of Kyle’s face, Kyle panting into the kisses. Warmth starts to pool in your stomach again as you watch them, lips parting slightly. They make such a pretty couple, Simon’s rough hands and Kyle’s malleable nature.

“Think she’s feeling left out.” Simon murmurs against Kyle’s lips.

Kyle turns his head, Simon kissing down his throat. He reaches out, wrapping an arm around you before pulling you closer. You wind up snuggled against his side, immediately leaning in for a kiss. Kyle kisses you, a hint of your own taste still on his tongue, along with a hint of Simon. It’s an intoxicating cocktail, almost as intoxicating as the scents in the air.

Oh god how you’ve missed this.

Simon watches the two of you for a moment before getting up, Kyle moaning as he slips out of his ass. Kyle’s arms wrap around you, pulling you tight against his chest as he continues to kiss you.

Simon returns with a rag, wiping down Kyle and between your legs before disappearing back into the bathroom for a moment. Kyle rolls to his side, pulling away from your lips as he slips an arm beneath your head. He stares at you, his eyes roving over your face for a moment.

“Hi.” He breathes, a small smile pulling at his lips.

You can’t help but grin back. “Hi. Feeling better now?”

He hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Much better. Missed you so much.”

“Me or my pussy?” You smirk.

Kyle pretends to think for a moment. “Both. Definitely both.”

“I’ll try not to keep you waiting so long next time.” You say, resting your head against his bicep.

“Blue-balled us all.” Simon says, coming around the other side of the bed. He lays down behind you, tossing the sheet over your bodies.

“Sorry,” You hum, getting comfortable between them.

“Working backwards this time.” Kyle says, draping his arm across you to reach Simon. “Poor John has to be last.”

“He’ll be fine.” Simon grunts. “Johnny’s probably got his dick down his throat right now.”

You let out a noise at the mental image that flashes through your head. Johnny on his knees, that needy look in his eyes, face flushed as his mouth spreads wide around John’s cock.

Simon chuckles darkly, his hand resting on your hip at your shift in scent. “Like that, do you?”

“Can’t help it.” You murmur, rubbing your legs together. “He’s just so...fun to play with.”

“He’s our favorite toy.” Simon says.

A thought crosses your mind. Johnny on his knees in front of the three of them, taking turns as he goes down the line.

You lick your lips. “Have you ever…”

“Course.” Simon grunts. “Lots of times.”

“Oh.” You blink, staring at Kyle’s chest as you think it over. Of course they’ve all been together at the same time. Why wouldn’t they? “Would...would you ever...with me?”

Kyle hums. “If you wanted to. It’s a lot all at once though.”

“Think I can’t handle it?” You say, your omega starting to stir, though you’re not sure if it’s the idea of being surrounded by them or the insinuation against your strength and stamina.

Kyle shrugs. “I don’t know. Do you think you could?”

Could you? You’ve never really thought about it that hard before. Sure the fantasy has been there, but the reality? The admin behind making it work…

“Don’t know.” You say, curling in on yourself. “Never been in an orgy before.”

“You’d never had sex before you joined our pack.” Simon reminds you.

“Now look at me.” You say, rolling onto your back, tits out above the blanket. “You’ve properly corrupted me.”

Simon growls low in his chest, his hand sneaking under the blanket to rest right below your breasts. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” you tease. “You destroyed my innocence? Corrupted me into a needy little omega desperate for alpha cock?”

You can feel his cock start to stir again against your hip as his hand slides up, fingers closing around your nipple and tugging.

“Careful,” he warns you. “You’re getting yourself all worked up again.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, fluttering your eyelashes at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

He grunts, laying there for a moment before he slips his hand under your shoulder, turning you over onto your side against Kyle’s chest. “Stay.” He commands before moving behind you, the bed dipping as he rolls.

Kyle watches him over the top of your head, and you hear the snap of a lid. A few seconds pass before Simon rolls back over, shoving the blanket down before two wet fingers prod at your pussy. Kyle lifts your leg up as Simon slips them into you, pumping them a couple times to lube your walls before pulling his hand free. You lay there as he saddles up right against your back, the head of his cock pressing against your hole.

You gasp as he pushes in, the lube aiding as he presses his hips until they’re flush with your ass. He stills there, his cock seated inside your pussy.

“Keep that in there all night and I’ll put your knees up by your ears tomorrow.” He grunts before settling behind you.

“Well how am I supposed to sleep now?” You whine, clenching around his cock.

“Figure it out.” He murmurs, his breath fanning the top of your head.

“Fuckin’ still at it.”

“They’re young.”

“Christ almighty.” Johnny groans, shifting in his seat. “Feel sorry for the poor hen.”

“Why?” John snorts. “Sounds like she’s enjoying herself quite a bit.”

A loud, keening moan sounds through the wall, paired with a rough slam of the headboard.

“Gonnae put a hole in the wall.” Johnny grumbles, sipping his coffee.

“We can fix that easily.” John says, taking a bite of his toast. “Surprised Simon didn’t make several during her heat.”

Johnny huffs. “Thought he did a few times.”

Another long, drawn out moan sounds, an echoing deeper one following.

“There she goes.” John says, the house falling silent.

“Think it’s over?” Johnny asks.

John nods. “Most likely. I doubt they’d push it much further so early.”

“For our sakes I hope yer right.” Johnny grumbles.

A few moments later the door opens, a proud looking Kyle making his way out of the room. The scent of musk, sweat, and sex follows him reaching their noses quickly. Johnny lets out a quiet sound, nearly a whine at the rich scent.

“Screamin’ fuckin’ Jesus.” Johnny groans. “Did ye kill her?”

“She’s fine. Be out as soon as her legs stop shaking.” Kyle smirks.

Johnny spouts out a curse none of them quite understand as Kyle makes his way to the kettle for some tea.

“What’s for breakfast?” Simon asks, appearing through the half open door to your room. He’s bare chested and looking quite proud of himself.

“Oh yeah, ye come out here peacockin’ expecting a Full English laid out?” Johnny snaps.

Simon smirks. “What, pouting because you didn’t get to join in?”

“Woulda been easier if I didnae have tae listen to it!” Johnny fumes.

“You could have stayed upstairs.” Simon smirks, approaching his fired up beta. “I think you’re just upset you got left out.” Simon cards his fingers through Johnny’s hair. It’s getting long, his fingers sinking into it easily. He grips it, tilting Johnny’s head back slightly so they’re looking each other in the eye. “Be a good boy and maybe next time I’ll let you in.”

Johnny nearly turns to goo in his seat, deflating instantly. He can’t be mad, not with Simon’s dominant side coming out. He can only imagine what he did to you in such a state. No wonder you have yet to be seen.

“Every man for himself this morning for breakfast.” John says, breaking the tense energy of the moment. As much as he’d enjoy watching Johnny get bent over the table, Simon has likely exerted himself enough for the time being. The last thing they need is an injury.

Simon smirks before releasing Johnny, the Scot sinking down into his chair as soon as he’s free. Kyle makes his way to the table, sitting down next to John gingerly.

“Not ye too.” Johnny says, staring at Kyle with hooded eyes.

Kyle smirks, saying nothing as he takes a sip of his tea.

Simon starts on some eggs, the smell starting to waft through the house.

The door creaks quietly as it opens, all of their gazes drawn across the room. You appear out of the darkness, hair mussed, bruises on your neck visible thanks to the loose fitting shirt you’ve donned (likely Simon’s), walking with a noticeable limp.

“Morning sweetheart.” John says, taking a sip of his tea as he watches you slowly make your way to the table. “Have a good night?”

“Mhm.” You hum, lowering yourself slowly into a chair. “Great night.”

“Sounded like it.” Johnny mumbles.

“Did you have a good night?” You ask, voice airy.

“We did.” John says, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

“Good.” You smile, leaning your head on your arm.

“What kind of magic did ye work Simon?” Johnny asks, staring at your blissed out face.

“Just gave her what she wanted.” Simon shrugs, plating the eggs. He carries two plates over to the table, setting one in front of you. “Folded her in half and fucked her till she cried.”

Johnny curses, shifting in his seat again as Simon takes his seat next to him.

“It was quite the sight.” Kyle grins.

“I bet.” John says.

“You can fuck me next if you’d like.” You say, spooning some eggs into your mouth.

He smiles. “You’re sweet to offer, but I think you need a break for a bit.”

“Wha’ about me?” Johnny whines.

You turn your gaze to him. “I’d rather watch you get dicked down.”

“Oh shit.” Kyle breathes, looking between you and his fellow beta.

Johnny lets out a moan at your words, his body shuddering.

“Did you just cum in your pants?” Simon asks, looking down at his beta.

“No…” Johnny flushes, looking bashful.

“’S alright. Happens to the best of us.” You say, taking another bite of your eggs nonchalantly, like you didn’t just make a grown man cum untouched in his pants like a teenager.

“Fucking hell what’s gotten into us?” Kyle asks, looking around the table.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve gotten a chance to be so free with each other.” John says. “Between what happened and then for Christine’s sake, we held ourselves back. Now we have the space and the desire to do as we wish.”

“Be nice while it lasts.” You say, mumbling around your eggs.

“What do you mean?” Kyle asks.

You shrug, eyes down on your plate. “Have to go back eventually, right?”

The table falls silent at the sudden drop in energy, all of them sharing looks but none of them brave enough to say anything.

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

“But you have to get the hang of it first.” You say, staring hard at the chess board.

“You’ll get it eventually.” Simon says, moving his piece.

“You just won again, didn’t you?” You groan.

“I did.”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Can we go back to playing checkers?”

“You lost at that too.”

“But at least I know how to play.” You say.

“Still beating you?” John asks appearing in front of the fireplace.

“Yes.” You pout.

“We’ll find a game your good at.” Kyle says. “Then we’ll let you beat us.”

“Hey!” You say, lifting yourself off the floor to sit on the couch. “That’s not fair!”

“Better than you losing all the time.” Kyle says, sitting down across from you.

Johnny takes the seat next to you as Simon lifts himself onto the couch next to Kyle. John stands before you, and you can already tell you’re in a pack meeting just from the look on his face. He’s wearing that mask again, the mask of the Captain, the Head Alpha, the Leader.

“I’ve called you all here for a very important announcement.” He says, holding a folder in his hands. You hadn’t noticed it before.

The four of you sit there quietly, waiting with bated breath for what he’s going to say next.

“Our time here is ending.” John continues. “Now that the winter season has passed, and the threat against us has been eliminated, we have to move on to what comes next. I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few weeks thinking about what’s going to happen next, about what direction our lives are going to go. The easiest option is of course going back to the way things were before, going back to the military, living out our lives as we always planned.”

His gaze drops to you. You’re avoiding looking at him, instead focused hard on the checkers box still on the coffee table. You’re waiting for the shoe to drop, for him to say that is what you’re going back to. You’ll be a military pack, you’ll be a military wife, watching them go and waiting for them to go home. Maybe he’ll be nice and let you live off base, or at least in better housing outside of the barracks. Maybe he’ll bring you back here every so often so you can enjoy the sea.

“But…”

That word piques your interest. ‘But’ means something is following, usually something contradictory. Something opposite of what was just said. Your mother used to say “if you follow a statement with the word ‘but’, you don’t mean what you said at all.” You try not to have hope. You try not to think too hard on that ‘but.’

“That’s not entirely fair to all of us.” He continues, still looking at you. “I made a promise that things would change, and I’ve broken that promise over and over again. So I’ve taken it upon myself to make sure things do change.” He takes a step closer to you.

The folder appears in your line of sight. He’s holding it out to you. Your hand shakes as you lift it, closing your fingers around the thick paper. He relinquishes his hold on it, dropping his hand as soon as you have a grip on it. He takes a step back, all of them watching you as you hold the folder.

The plastic clip catches on your finger but you ignore it as you flip them open, reaching in to grab the stack of papers. It’s a thick stack, the papers shaking just slightly as you free them.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you flip them over so you can read them. Your eyes trail over the top, a mix of letters and numbers that mean something unknown to you. It’s a form of some sort, holding John’s information. More information than you’ve ever seen about your alpha.

Your brow furrows as you stare at it. “I don’t know what this is.”

John shifts on his feet. “Consider it a letter of resignation, of sorts.”

Your eyes snap up to him at those words. You know what that means. Your eyes dart between him and the stack of papers, back and forth in disbelief. Letter of resignation?

“Cap, you’re-” Kyle starts but he can’t finish before you cut him off.

“You’re retiring?” Your voice displays just as much disbelief as you’re feeling.

Please don’t let it be a joke. Please don’t let it be a lie.

John nods. “Yes.” He shifts on his feet again. He’s nervous, something you never thought you’d see. “I always thought I’d spend my entire life in the service, until I was forced to retire or I died in the field. Then things changed. This pack was formed, we were given the gift of an omega.” He turns to you again. “I know how much living this life has drained you. These last few months we’ve spent here have proven that to me. You don’t deserve to be forced to wait on us, live the life you don’t want in favor of us living the life we do. You deserve to have comfort and security in knowing your alpha will always be here for you.”

Tears gather in your eyes as you continue to stare at the paperwork. Letter of resignation. He’s really doing it. He’s really going to retire. It’s not some trick, some lie, some sort of dream. He’s going to put aside what he wants in favor of what you want. For the first time you’re going to get a chance to live out a life outside the military.

You’re getting what you want.

“John…” You breathe, fighting back a sob.

He kneels down in front of you, cupping your face with his hand. “You deserve to live a happy life. I’m going to be the one to give that to you.”

You lean into his touch, pressing your nose into his wrist. Petrichor, rich earth, the forest.

The scent of your alpha, the scent of home.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 #john price x reader #captain price x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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buntanteen · 5 months ago

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svt fic recs list <3 - ot13 individual sections - sfw & nsfw ver.

summary: 13 sfw & 13 nsfw ot13 svt with individual member sections reader insert fics :)

contains: 18+ nsfw (mdni!!) majority is afab reader

✩ svt writing & fic rec masterlist ✩

✩ sfw section ✩

❥ levels of romance - @soonyoungs

❥ seventeeners' random habits <3 - @shuacore

❥ seventeen x groveling - @boofeine

❥ svt when reader journals about them. - @xinganhao

❥ SEVENTEEN AND SOFT LAUNCHING - @odxrilove

❥ them helping their s/o relax after work - @hannieehaee

❥ clingy around s/o - @wheeboo

❥ randomly kissing svt’s hands - @lovingseventeen

❥ seventeen's reaction when you prank them by wiping your lips after they kiss you - @etherealyoungk

❥ svt - when you forgot to kiss them - @wooahaes

❥ i will really live the rest of my life repaying you. - @ylangelegy

❥ how seventeen get cuteness aggression for their s/o - @fairyhaos

❥ clingy with s/o - @babyleostuff

✩ nsfw section ✩

❥ things that get svt vocal in bed - @boofeine

❥ SVT ; ! most likely to be a submissive - @nsfwhao

❥ cock warming with seventeen - @hoshifighting

❥ seventeen reaction at you trying to dom them - @hannieehaee

❥ cumming too fast - @sluttywonwoo

❥ yandere!poly!bandmates!svt x gn!14thmember!you - @yiichan

❥ ass or boobs - @svtswhorehouse

❥ svt bust hands free/in their pants - @hoshifighting

❥ things you do that make svt bust quick - @pochaccoups

❥ kinky things that make seventeen members more aroused during sex - @boofeine

❥ asking to place lipstick marks on 'it' - @cxffecoupx

❥ cumming untouched - @sluttywonwoo

❥ riding seventeen until they cant physically cum anymore (getting milked dry) - @hoshifighting

bun note: no commentary cuz i just wanted to get a fic rec post out since i haven't done one in nearly 2 weeks. i hope y'all enjoy and give the authors some love!! i hope everyone is as excited for howoo as i ammmm <3

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sorryimananti-romantic · 8 months ago

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The Leaders | Masterlist

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from"

ot8!ateez x f!reader

mafia au

genres and warnings: slowburn, angst, fluff, eventual smut (mdni!) poly!ateez, smoking, drinking, gambling, illegal businesses, politics, violence, heavy themes, mild gore, multiple pairings, more specific warnings in the chapters

estimated word count: approx 200k

synopsis: in eden 1970, you join the inner circle of the crescent company by sharing information that could crumble the very foundations of eden itself. amidst the dark world of manipulation, connections, dirty politics and illegal dealings, you navigate with eight seemingly-refined gentlemen who have your back as the war with the elites begins.

timeline | maps | character book | visual board

chapters:

status: ongoing (updates every 2 weeks)

taglist: closed.

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mercurial-chuckles · 2 months ago

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Blissful Summer Bruises

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader x Bucky Barnes | Stucky x F!Reader WC: 2.6k Warnings: Established relationship | Domestic fluff | Cavity-causing Fluff | Language | Hot supersoldiers alert | Protective Supersoldiers| A bunch of cheesy pick-up lines | Allusions to naughty times | Poly relationship | Unbeta'd | This is a buffed post from earlier, originally written for Essie's 300 follower celebration with the prompt: Why's it...sticky? | Lemme know if I'm missing anything. Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Indulge Away!

You picked up some seeds at the Farmers' Market last week, planning to sow them in the garden. This morning, you decided to wake up early and get to work before it got too hot.

But your men had other plans.

You didn't wake up to the alarm. No. It was Steve's relentless rutting into your ass and Bucky's sharp nips at your neck that woke you up.

Well, your morning turned into a very different kind of plowing. Not that you minded AT ALL.

Safe to say, you were famished after falling apart so many times. Bucky, determined to feed both you and Steve something delicious, had decided to prepare a special lunch today.

Never one to deny him the pleasure of any kind, you both agreed to let him take over the kitchen.

Not that Bucky gave you much of a choice, "Stay away, or I'll spank that fine ass," he'd said earlier when you sauntered into the kitchen to prepare something.

Like a good girl, you complied. Though you were itching to test him, you didn't, mostly because you were starving, and your body was already overstimulated from the morning session.

Despite Steve's longstanding reputation as the better cook, after you, of course, Bucky had been devoting himself to learning both cooking and baking. To your surprise, he was definitely starting to outdo you both.

So you let him be and decided to just watch. And boy, was he a sight for hungry eyes. He looked practically edible in those shorts and a faded blue, short-sleeved t-shirt.

That man could seduce you just by chopping vegetables.

Sadly, your hungry worshipping got cut short when Bucky insisted you leave since you couldn't stop staring at him.

Such a buzzkill!

You groaned, hopping off the island and heading out to see where your other man was.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, pretty girl," Bucky called out loudly.

You flipped him off, which only made him chuckle.

The sun was glaring down on your lakefront home. It was hot, but all the luscious trees cast cool, calming shadows. You lived far away from the city, just a few miles away from the compound, which made life much easier for the three of you.

You looked around for Steve and found him on the boat, most likely cleaning. You and Steve had bought the boat as a surprise for Bucky's birthday three months ago. It was the best decision ever. The three of you often took it out on the lake at night to stargaze or just relax during the day.

You walked onto the pier and tried to join Steve, but he denied you outright.

"Sit your fine ass down, relax, and gimme a nice view," he said, kissing your lips and squeezing your ass. You squeaked and obeyed.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

Honestly, you didn't mind being pampered. Who were you kidding? You needed it after all the inhumane hours you'd been putting in over the past few weeks. That was why your men had forced you to take a break from work. Tony had vehemently agreed, reasoning that you were getting more spiteful with all the lack of sleep.

And right now, lounging on your favorite chaise on the porch, a book in your hands, and the peaceful sounds of nature around you, it really did feel like a great idea.

The occasional trilling of the birds, married with the sounds of wind chime put you in a happy trance, and you were quite immersed in the book you were reading.

It was Bucky's grunted huff that broke your reverie.

He placed a bowl of freshly cut fruit with a fork beside you on the small table, a deep frown on his face as he stared at Steve.

"That punk," he mumbled, and you raised your brows in confusion. Bucky turned to you, his expression softening.

He placed his left hand behind you at the top of the chair and hovered over you, pulling your chin up with his warm hand. You felt the familiar heat spread through your entire body as he rubbed his thumb along your jaw and pulled you in for a kiss.

You moaned happily into his mouth. But he broke the kiss too soon, and you whined at the loss of his soft lips.

Placing a kiss on your cheek, Bucky winked at you, "You've had enough for today. You need sustenance," he smirked, tugging at your thighs and suddenly pulling you down. You collapsed haphazardly onto the chair, your book falling to the side.

"BUCKY," you yelled, trying to smack his stomach, but he dodged away quickly.

"I hate you," you mumbled, trying to use the armrests to straighten up in the chair, but Bucky gently picked you up and set you upright.

"No, you don't. Eat up. Food'll be served in an hour," he said, pecking your forehead. You grinned, placated for now.

"Now, I have a mission to get to," he added, pulling something from the windowsill. He glanced at you, lips twitching as he held up the sunscreen.

"Good luck," you snickered, already anticipating what was about to unfold.

Bucky chuckled, walking purposefully toward Steve.

Steve was just coming out of the garage with the mower, looking sinfully gorgeous in his black track pants, which hung a little too low for your sanity. Such a slut! He'd discarded his white shirt on the porch banister near you a while ago, and you'd folded it and set it aside on the swing.

As soon as Steve spotted Bucky from a distance, he visibly withered.

Far more interested in the scene unfolding before you than the story in your hands, you let the book rest on your lap, the cover felt pleasant against your skin.

You watched as Steve rolled his eyes and took a step back.

"Bucky," Steve groaned, glancing toward you for help.

You blew him a kiss and pulled your book up to cover your face, just peeking. Steve scoffed, shaking his head before turning to the menace walking toward him.

"Buck," he tried again.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky said exasperatedly.

"I'm fine. I don't need it."

Bucky shook his head, stepping closer. "You say that every fucking time, and then you suffer and bitch. Just let me do it."

You tried to stifle your laughter as you watched the back and forth. Gosh! They're fucking adorable.

"Don't test me. I WILL tackle you, punk," Bucky warned.

Steve held his arm out, stopping Bucky, "I can do it myself."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, "Yeah, because you did such a great job last time, right?"

Steve Rogers hated sunburns and loathed sunscreen. It was funny, really. For a supersoldier, he sure whined a lot about sunscreen.

Not that his sunburns lasted more than a few hours- thanks to the serum- but boy, did he bitch about it, making you and Bucky coo and soothe him. The last time you went out on the lake, Bucky had gotten so irritated when Steve avoided sunscreen and ended up burned. So now, he'd taken it upon himself.

"Fine, but make it quick," Steve huffed, turning around reluctantly and muttering under his breath. Bucky squirted a generous amount of sunscreen, starting on Steve's shoulders.

"And he faced Thanos," you added gently, wiggling your eyebrows. Bucky sniggered with you.

"This stuff is sticky and smells weird," Steve grumbled, wincing slightly as the cold lotion made contact with his warm skin.

"We bought the unscented one," you told him.

"Oh, but I can still smell it, sweetheart," Steve retorted. Bucky smacked his ass, winking at you.

"Of course, you do," you muttered playfully, fully aware he heard you just fine.

You did forget you lived with super soldiers. In the domesticated bliss, you three fell into such a natural rhythm that their super strength felt entirely normal.

"You want to smell like burnt skin instead?" Bucky teased, his hands moving expertly over Steve's back and front, ensuring every inch was covered.

"Buck, you're using too much," Steve whined, his voice muffled as he hung his head.

"Shut up," Bucky shot back, "Besides, I'm almost done. Quit being such a baby."

You couldn't stop giggling, watching Steve squirm.

Steve sighed dramatically, glancing over his shoulder at you with a pleading expression. "He's using too much, isn't he?"

"No, he isn't. Come on, Stevie. You got this. You can do this all day, can't you?"

Steve rolled his eyes, and after a beat, he added, "You know I could do you all day."

Well, facts!

Though his remark shot straight to your core, you laughed. So did Bucky.

"You have a really dirty mouth, Captain," you exclaimed.

"But you love it," he replied smugly.

You did.

Bucky pulled Steve into his arms, hooked his fingers in the waistband of Steve's joggers, and tugged him closer before planting a smothering kiss on his lips.

"That's for being a good boy," Bucky said, and proceeded to smack Steve's ass again, "And that's for whining."

"BUCKY!" Steve roared after him mirthfully.

"Can't really blame him, Stevie. That's one fine ass!"

Bucky simply laughed and headed inside to check on the food.

It was always so endearing, seeing how much they loved each other. You were so frickin' lucky.

You caught the faint blush dusting Steve's cheeks. Biting your lip, you tried to keep your own laughter in check as you absentmindedly turned a page in your book.

"Cut it out," he guffawed, when he caught your gaze, before getting back to mowing the lawn.

You finished the last of your fruit and decided to get up and tend to the garden because if you stayed in that chair any longer, you were definitely going to fall asleep.

"Oi, Rogers," you called out, setting the shovel aside and grinning wildly at him as you stood and dusted off your hands.

"Are you a garden? 'Coz I'm diggin' you."

Steve shook his head and gave you a mock glare. You'd been catcalling him with the cheesiest pickup lines, and though he was clearly amused, he was doing his best to hide it.

"Okay, wrap it up. Food's almost ready," Bucky yelled from the kitchen window.

Steve gave him a nod, and you threw up a thumbs-up.

"That means shut up and get inside," Steve said, smirking.

"Oh, come on, Steve. You love them, and you love me," you giggled.

"Only one of those is true," Steve mumbled playfully.

"I love you too! Okay, I've got another one: are you a campfire? Because you're hot, and I want s'more!"

"That's it," he said, stepping toward you.

You squealed and took off running toward the porch, only realizing too late how stupid it was to think you could outrun him. Steve was on you the very next second, cornering you at the far end of the porch.

"C'mere," he said smugly, hands on his hips.

Not thinking it through at all, you jumped right off the banister, landing on your ass with a thud a good three feet down.

"What the hell, sweetheart?" Steve's face morphed from amused to horrified as he rushed toward the railing.

You giggled, hardly believing you'd just done that, and took off running again.

"Oh, you little shit! Get back here," Steve laughed, shaking his head as he vaulted off the porch with far more finesse.

You glanced over your shoulder, only to see him right behind you. You picked up your pace, laughing as you went. Steve, meanwhile, was barely jogging, clearly letting you think you stood a chance at outrunning him.

"You've been teasing me all day. Do you need something? All you had to do was ask," he drawled, closing in.

You gathered your wits, barely, and shot back smugly and quite breathlessly, "I don't need anything. Besides, I don't like to beg." You shrugged.

Lies. All lies. You were just baiting him.

"LOOK OUT!" Steve shouted suddenly.

You realized too late you were about to crash straight into a tree.

Steve reached out quickly, placing his large palm on your forehead, and pulled you into him to soften the blow. Still, your right knee slammed into the bark.

"Ouch," you winced, the pain flaring instantly.

"Jesus!" Steve immediately pulled you into his arms, carefully taking the weight off your legs. He carried you back to the porch and sat you down in a chair. Then he knelt before you, lifting your leg onto his thigh to inspect it.

"It's sticky. Why the fuck is it sticky?" you hissed, eyeing the bruise.

"Where did you trip now?" Bucky appeared, mostly disappointed, slightly amused.

"Oh, she fell twice," Steve said, and you flicked his forehead. That didn't really stop him from narrating the whole thing anyway.

Bucky squatted beside Steve, eyeing your knee.

"That looks like tree sap," he said, blowing gently to ease the sting.

"Yeah, I figured," you pouted.

"Should we take her to the hospital? Is that stuff poisonous?" Steve asked, glancing at Bucky.

Your heart warmed. Gosh! How much you loved him. Steve was smart as a whip- linguist, strategist, and blessed with an elephant memory, but when it came to you or Bucky, he worried about things as small as paper cuts.

You rolled your eyes just to tease him, sharing a look with Bucky, who chuckled and leaned over to press a quick kiss to Steve's temple.

"You're adorable," Bucky teased, winking at him.

"Don't patronize me," Steve scoffed.

"I'm not," Bucky answered. He slid one arm under your knees, the other behind your back, and lifted you effortlessly.

"You are," Steve muttered as he followed you both inside.

"He is," you chimed over Bucky's shoulder.

"Shut up," Bucky groaned, biting your nose.

"Hey," you yelped, swatting at him.

Bucky set you on the couch.

"Let's clean that wound," he said. Steve was already back with the first-aid kit.

The oven timer beeped.

"I got this," Steve said, as he settled sideways on the couch before you, pulling your leg over his.

"Buck, just hand me…" Steve didn't even get to finish, and Bucky already handed him the isopropyl alcohol and cotton swabs before walking back into the kitchen.

Steve cleaned it gently with so much tenderness, and it made your insides flutter.

You knew exactly what he was thinking.

Gawd! This man!

"Steve. Stop worrying, will ya? I'm not that hurt," you told him, your voice gentle but firm.

"But you did get hurt, and I didn't catch you in time, doll," he muttered.

"Steve." You sighed.

There was no use arguing with him. Distraction it was then!

"Where's your shirt?" You asked playfully, eyeing his bare, sweat-slicked chest.

"Where are your pants?" he asked, blue eyes gleaming as his large hand rubbed your thigh in slow, soothing strokes. It was sweltering outside, and all you had on was an oversized T-shirt and panties.

"Touché." You chuckled.

"Food's ready," Bucky announced, walking back to the couch happily and leaning his arms on the back.

"Damn. It smells delicious," you said, smiling widely at Bucky.

"I can't smell anything over this stupid sunscreen," Steve mocked. Bucky and you rolled your eyes in tandem.

Steve huffed, applying the ointment now. You hissed loudly, gripping the back of the couch. Bucky pulled your hand into his warm one, placing a kiss inside your palm. You smiled up at him.

"Hey, Buck," you called out.

He leaned in. "Yes, pretty girl?"

"Did you just come out of the oven? Because you're too hot to handle," you said with a straight face.

Steve groaned.

Bucky looked at you, deadpan, and shook his head.

"Whaaat. That was soooo good!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up.

"Where are you getting these lame pickup lines from?" Steve asked, squeezing your calf.

"theknot.com disagrees with you, Captain," you told him smugly.

"Why do you need pickup lines?" Bucky frowned, gently pulling your jaw up toward him.

Such a possessive little shit. Yours, though.

"Calm your horses, old man. I've been doing some research for Darcy. She made an account on a few dating apps."

"Good," Bucky breathed against your lips before placing a kiss.

"Oh. Oh. Steve, this one's for you. Do you have a Band-Aid? I scraped my knee falling for you," you grinned proudly.

Both your men scoffed in sync.

Steve chuckled, pulled out a large Band-Aid, and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes before placing it over your knee.

"You both are tasteless! Ugh!" you faux-scoffed.

"Tasteless? That's not what I heard you moaning this morning," Steve winked at you.

Bucky laughed, smacking Steve's shoulder proudly, and you teetered off the couch, blushing. He quickly steadied you.

"I dare you not to fall for one whole day," Bucky challenged, looking into your eyes intently.

You frowned at him.

"Yeah, not happening in this lifetime, Buck," Steve said, pulling you into his lap and kissing your frown away.

It didn't matter if they groaned at your pickup lines. You were going to test every single one on them anyway, mostly for your own amusement and partly for Darcy.

Blissful was an understatement.

Set in Captain Softly Stern and Sergeant Toughly Tender universe!

Well? 🤭 Did this tickle your fancy?

Psst...I might be a hopeless case myself, but just so you know, I make a pretty good wingwoman. 🙂‍↕️😆 Just an unnecessary piece of info about me for your cache.

Leave your thoughts if you enjoyed reading it. 💞✨

If you'd like to be tagged/removed from my works, please do so here.

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last-words-ofashootingstar · 25 days ago

Text

hard hours 003:

WooSan making you tap out

RATED XXXX. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥Choi San x Jung Wooyoung x fem reader

➯a/n: i think my meditation needs to be adjusted 🥴 this started as a drabble but i just want the teezers to be mean to me so bad...

(>ᴗ•)genre: literal filth like so bad

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: not proof read, poly relationship, hard doms woosan / sub reader, such intense bdsm it almost borders cnc, orgasm control: edging / INTENSE clit overstimulation / asking permission, use of a vibrator, HARD degradation, regular slapping and thigh + pussy slapping, spit, choking, manhandling, dacryphilia, mxm: kissing and jerking, neck and ear kisses and bites, dvp, squirting, talk of anal, use of a safe word / tapping out and then super sweet praise and reassurance, name calling(including but not limited to): stupid, slut, cock sleeve, fucker, bitch, pet names: pretty girl, baby, angel, sweetheart. aftercare <33

₊‧⁺stardust˖⋆ @sunnysidesins @onyxmango @devilzliaison @ateezswonderland @queenofdumbfuckery @emilysecresy @kyomiingi @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @klllerwaifu @seonghwasslytherin @yoonglesbae @wolviejex @estrnrea @lover-ofallthingspretty @willowwyy @jaerisdiction @peelingpaint-heavyheart

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+.MINORS GET LOST.

─..★.─────

In your relationship, things are usually the same from day to day in how you treat each other.

That is not the case in the bedroom.

Your dynamics shift everytime you have sex, and sometimes even during the middle of it. It's always a surprise.

Today, both of your boyfriends happen to be dominant; and their treatment of you from the very moment they walked in the door made you fall head first into sub-space.

When San is dominant, he likes to tease — but not to the degree with which Wooyoung does.

San is soft about it. Slow thrusts and gentle touches.

Wooyoung is a jerk about it. Works you up fast and pulls away just before you can cum — but sometimes he doesn't pull away and he practically slaps you in the face with an orgasm.

Both of them, though, not only do they work in a perfect harmony to make you drip so much arousal that you ruin whoever's sheets you happen to be on — they decide when you cum.

You must ask for permission. And if you don't, you will regret it in the most beautiful and torturous ways.

San told you not to cum again after you failed to ask for permission the first time today.

But Wooyoung persisted in being a menace. He wants you to slip up again and cum, whispering all kinds of filth in your ear as he lays behind you. One hand over your chest, holding your back against his chest as he slides the vibrator up and down on your sensitive clit.

He wants to punish you. He's had a shitty week, they both have. And he wants to be mean. But you have to give them a reason first.

You only get one mistake. You can only slip up once before punishment is deemed 'fair'.

And you try. You try so hard to keep being a good girl. But Wooyoung tilts your head and kisses you, shoves his tongue in your mouth just as he starts moving the toy in slow circles against you. You can't ask for permission if you can't talk at all.

You cum. And it feels like heaven, but you know the hell that will follow when San — who had been grinding deep and slow in your gushing pussy; stops.

He laughs, head dropping to rest on your shoulder as Wooyoung pulls back with a smirk. "Did you just do what I think you did, pretty girl?"

"I'm sorry!" The waterworks are immediate, but they don't care. You're so cute when you try to get out of trouble — but it makes them want to ruin you even more when they're like this.

"Are you stupid?" Wooyoung asks with a wild grin, eyes dark. "Huh?" He grips your chin tightly when you don't answer fast enough; even though he only gives you a split second. "Say something, dumbass. Or did you forget how to speak, and that's why you just came all over Sannies cock without permission... again?"

"I'm sorry, baby-" You yelp as he suddenly moves out from behind you and pushes you flat against the mattress, dropping the vibrator to wrap both his hands around your neck.

San has just as evil a smile as he sits up and watches, grinding into you as he does so and making you squeal. When your eyes slam shut, he reaches up and slaps you. "Keep your fucking eyes open."

"M'sor-"

"Sorry doesn't quite cut it," Wooyoung turns and faces him, his voice laced with mischief, "does it, San?"

"No, I don't think it does," he pouts, mockingly, meeting your teary gaze, "I think if our girl acts like a slut, that's exactly the way we should treat her."

"San, wait, Sannie, San-ahhh!" You scream as he picks up the toy and presses it against your clit; not caring about the fact that it makes tears slip down your cheeks. In fact — he likes it. They both do. "Mercy! Mercy, ple-"

Wooyoung chokes the words right out of your neck, spitting into your open mouth as you grab his wrists. "Shut the fuck up before I shove my dick in your throat. Won't be able to beg then, will you?"

You bite your lip with a broken groan, swallowing his spit without hardly even registering he spat in your mouth in the first place because San is now moving again — and he's not being gentle about it.

He slams his hips so hard into you that it makes your body slide up the mattress. You nearly bump your head against the wall before Wooyoung puts his hand on the top of your head quickly and cushions it. All of your noises are coming out no matter how hard you press your lips together.

Sniffling, moaning, whining, and being fucked so hard it's literally shaking your body.

San groans deeply, pulling out all too quickly and making you hiss. "Running from it, angel? Hm? Get your pretty ass over here." He yanks you to the middle of the bed before you can even think about moving on your own. "You want to cum like a slut, I'm going to fuck you like a slut. Wooyoung, get over here and hold this bitch down."

"Oh, with pleasure~"

You groan as Wooyoung sits on your stomach, facing away from you and taking control of the vibrator once again as San grips both of your thighs and slams into you. You scream out a curse, grabbing the waistband of Wooyoung's boxers tightly as they start bombarding you with pleasure that's all too intense.

"What's wrong, baby?" San's voice drips with mock empathy, "I thought you wanted to cum so bad? We're just giving you what you wanted." he slaps your thigh, rough. "Say thank you."

"Thank you, Sannie! Please! Please, slow down!" You stutter and slur as you writhe uselessly below them.

Wooyoung tuts his tongue, upping the speed of the vibrator and causing you to kick your legs in Sans grasp to no avail. "I'm the one who made you cum, you dumb cock sleeve. Should be thanking me."

They share a smirk as you immediately start thanking the both of them while simultaneously begging for mercy. Because in all of your jumbled and sniffled words, they don't hear your safe word.

They will make you use it before they quit. Pushing stupid sluts like you to their limit is the only way they learn, Wooyoung likes to say as though he isn't a million times brattier when he's subbing. But then, maybe that's how he knows.

"She's so fucking cute like this," San chuckles as you clench and flutter around his pistoning cock, "good job, Young." He leans and catches his lips in a kiss, soft in comparison to the way he beats up your cunt.

And they don't stop when you cum once again, squealing and trying to arch under Wooyoung's weight while your eyes roll back. "Ffffuck!" Is all you can say as you slump, not given a single moment to rest before they're building you up all over again.

"Three times?" Wooyoung giggles against San's lips, "our girlfriend really is a cum junkie~" He yanks at his boxers, impatiently pulling them under his cock. He's just as much as you are, is evident.

"You're s-so meaaan," you say through your heavy breaths, hands sliding around the bed to find something to grab onto. You pull the pillow you grab to your chest and bury your face in it; soaking it with your tears.

"Shut up," they say together, sharing another grin.

San let's go of one of your legs and it drops to the side, useless and trembling. He wraps his hand around Wooyoung's length, spitting on it before he starts jerking him off quickly.

"Fuck, Sannie~" He tilts his head back, pressing the toy against your clit harsher to feel you shiver below him. "You might make me cum before I even have a chance to fuck her..."

He looks down slowly and meets San's gaze, a silent idea spoken between them.

Wooyoung rolls off of you quickly, all but flopping onto his back. He fists his cock roughly; watching as San pulls out of you roughly and starts spanking your ruined cunt.

"San!" The way your body jolts with each quick, precise hit makes their cocks twitch.

He spits right onto your swollen clit, slapping it even harder than before as he moans, "look at that sloppy pussy. So wet... I bet both of us could fuck you right now."

They both laugh as you peek your eyes over the edge of the pillow that you clutch to your chest, wide and blurry with tears.

"Yeah, you heard me," San says lowly, swiping his fingers against your clit so fast that it makes sloshing noises, "this wet little cock sleeve is going to take two at once. Gonna let us slip right in~"

"Give me this," Wooyoung growls as he yanks the pillow away from you, throwing it, "you don't get to hide from us."

San lifts you up before you can even pout and drops you on top of Wooyoung, who immediately fucks right into you; knocking the air from your burning lungs. "Fuuuck, I dunno, San... This bitch is still tight even when you've been fucking her." He puts his legs over yours and spreads them wide, pinning them to the bed. His hands find your breasts, squeezing and pinching and kneading and making you wail.

"We'll just make it fit."

When San lines his tip up with your stretched hole, you shake your head quickly, "please, please, I swear I won't cum again! Be gent- ah, fuck!" And he pounds right into you, stilling balls deep with Wooyoung. You convulse between them, another orgasm breaking over you and making you sob breathlessly.

"Shhh," you hardly hear Wooyoung as he coos into your ear, kissing at it softly, "there you go~" He slides his hand down your torso before landing on your lower stomach and pressing down, making you all moan. "Mmh~ This is how a cock sleeve should be treated, yeah? All stretched out- fuck-" He curses as you clench around them, causing San to grip your waist tightly. "Fuck, fuck," he whines a bit, thrusting into you with a merciless and hurried pace, "fuck her with me, Sannie. I want to feel her cum around us, she gets so tight~"

San complies, immediately; fucking you in tandem with him, moaning and groaning as he buries his face in your neck. Every time he nips at your heated flesh, he earns himself a whimper from you. And Wooyoung biting at your ear lobe gets just the same.

"One more," he whispers into your neck, kissing up slowly, "one more, let us feel it. Be a good girl. Give our Wooyoungie what he wants~" He tilts his head as he observes your tear streaked face before leaning forward and licking a fat strip up your cheek; making you slap at his shoulders.

"God, yes!" He yells, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly as San holds it. "Better cum for me, you fucker," he bites your neck, harder than San ever does. He licks the angry skin before he says again, "you'll cream on our cocks if you know what's good for you, slut. I'll stick it in your ass if you don't give me what I want, you know I will, angel."

"I c-can't!" You whimper, holding Sans shoulders tightly.

Everytime Wooyoung fucks up into you, San fucks you right back down. You can hardly breathe. Just when you're about to use your safe word, catching your breath to do so, Wooyoung slips a hand down your stomach softly and grazes his finger tips over your clit.

"Like hell you can't," you can't hear a word he's saying as he pinches your clit — and even though he does it semi-gently, because he knows how ruined you are, it makes you scream. "You're going to cum like the slut you are or I really am going to fuck your pretty little ass."

He almost hopes you don't; but of course you do. How can you not? Both of them stretching and prodding every inch of your insides, Wooyoung pinching your clit, San kissing and licking up your tears.

Your legs tremble under his, your hips jolting in between them, your jaw dropped in a silent scream that's more of a shattered gasp than anything else as you squirt all over them.

San cums first, and the warmth of it flooding your abused walls makes Wooyoung follow.

San holds himself up on slightly shaky arms, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours. Wooyoung moves to keep going when they both catch you whimpering out quickly, "tap out."

San opens his eyes quickly, meeting your gaze with a smile, "good girl~" And he kisses you gently, pecks your lips repeatedly. "You're so amazing, angel, you can take so much~"

Wooyoung wraps his arms back around your waist, hugging you gently as he slowly moves his legs off of yours. "Take your punishments so well- doesn't she, Sannie?" He hums contentedly as he nuzzles your shoulder from behind.

"So well~" He agrees, very slowly pulling out and shushing you softly as you whine. "Shhh, it's okay, I know... We were so rough with our pretty girl," he sits back, lifting your hips softly to help Wooyoung slide out of you. "But we're done now, promise."

You hardly have the wits about you to stutter out a softly spoken 'thank you'.

Their cum drips out of you slowly and puddles on Wooyoung's pelvis, making you shiver and melt further into his hold.

"You got her, Young?" San asks as he places a kiss to your quivering thigh.

"Mhm," he hums softly, tracing on your ribs softly, "I've got our perfect girl, but don't be too long. You want to cuddle, don't you, baby?"

It takes you a second to realize he's talking to you, and you nod at San quickly, "yeah, hurry, please."

"I'll be quick," he smiles, leaning over and placing another kiss on your lips before he slides off the bed and hurries to the bathroom.

Wooyoung holds you close to his chest, still rubbing his head against your shoulder softly like a pleased house cat. "You're such a good girl for us, you know that? Our perfect girl~"

You moan softly, lifting your shaky arms to rest over his. "You aren't mad?" You know they aren't, but you still want to make extra sure. You feel so light headed and vulnerable; and he eases all of your worries before they can fester.

"Why would we be mad? Of course not, angel. We like it when we make you tap out~"

"Hm," you giggle, whispering, "freaks."

"What's that, baby? You dooo want me to put it in your ass?" He teases you right back, kissing your shoulder as you laugh breathlessly.

San comes back, climbing back between your legs with a soft grin, "feeling good, sweetheart?" He gently cleans up your sore cunt as you nod with a dopey smile.

"Always perfect with you two."

─..003.tap out.─────

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #choi san smut #choi san x reader #jung wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung x reader #woosan x reader #smut fic #ateez fic #woosan smut

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sereia4skz · 1 month ago

Note

Hiiii! Hope ur day is going swell!

I was hoping to request an polyot8skz x cat hybrid reader where she’s very comfortable with skz but gets shy around others and one time SKZ brought ateez over and she took a liking to seonghwa

oneshot | just smells good

pairing: poly!OT8 Stray Kids x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: cat hybrid!!reader, ft!Seonghwa of ATEEZ, possessiveness (cute, not toxic), clingy boys, light teasing

word count: ~1k

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

It’s not that you hate strangers. You just… prefer your boys.

They know how to read your body language, when your ears twitch, when your tail flicks, when you're nervous and need to be held or when you're cranky and need to be left alone. They know your favorite sleeping spots (Changbin’s lap), your favorite snacks (the tuna jerky Chan hides in the top cupboard), and how to soothe you when the world gets too loud (soft humming from Jeongin, whispered jokes from Jisung).

So when Chan casually announces, “ATEEZ are coming over tonight,” while stirring Lino's soup in the kitchen, your tail fluffs up on instinct.

“…Why?” you ask from your curled-up spot on the couch.

“They’re good friends, jagi. We figured it’d be nice to hang out again. You’ll be okay,” he says, gentle but firm, and leans down to kiss your forehead. “They won’t bite.”

“But I might,” you mumble.

Seungmin hears it from the hallway and cackles.

By the time the doorbell rings, you’re neatly tucked under a blanket between Hyunjin and Han. Seungmin had even spritzed your favorite calming scent in the air while pretending it was just to refresh the room. Felix set out a tray of fruit.

You’re ready. Kind of.

Until he walks in.

You’ve seen Seonghwa before, on TV, in photos, in passing during award shows. But up close? He’s ethereal. Elegant. Soft-voiced and tall and very clean-smelling. He has this calming aura like a sunbeam through a window at nap time.

And when his eyes meet yours, wide and curious, he smiles. “You must be Y/N.”

You stiffen. Eight heads turn to you at once like you’re about to be sacrificed.

But instead of shrinking, you stand slowly. Stretch. Blink once.

Then walk directly over to him.

Seonghwa doesn't flinch, even when you pause in front of him and tilt your head. “You’re not shy?” he asks softly.

“I am,” you say. “You’re just….”

He puts out his hand, and you can feel the shift in the room behind you. Eight distinct flavors of disbelief and mild panic.

You lean forward and sniff.

And Seonghwa, patient, respectful, still smiling, lets you. “Do I pass?”

You purr.

Back on the couch, Seungmin whispers, “Is this… a dream?”

“Did she just purr for him?” Han hisses, slack-jawed.

“Wasn’t she under a blanket five minutes ago?” Hyunjin sulks, legs drawn up. “She barely lets me hold her.”

Felix looks wounded. “I brought her strawberries, bro.”

“She growled at me last week for trying to take a burrito from her plate,” Changbin says, deeply offended.

And Chan? Chan watches with a tight jaw, arms folded.

You curl yourself into Seonghwa’s side without a second thought, tail flicking lightly against his arm.

He chuckles. “She’s sweet.”

“Yeah,” Minho mutters. “Our sweet girl.”

The rest of the evening is… fine. Mostly.

ATEEZ are nice. Loud, but polite. Seonghwa stays close to the outer edge of the chaos, which suits you fine, you sit near him, sometimes against him, occasionally letting him brush your ears or offer you bits of fruit, much to your boyfriends' growing horror.

You don’t even realize you're doing it.

To you, Seonghwa feels safe in the same way a sun-warmed window does: gentle heat, no pressure. You’re just comfortable. You’re still in the same room as your boys. Still watching them from across the way, flicking your ears at their laughter and playful swats.

But they notice. Oh, they definitely notice.

When ATEEZ leave and the door finally clicks shut, the shift in energy is instant.

You stretch with a satisfied yawn, tail curling like a question mark, and turn around to find eight faces staring at you.

"...What?" you ask, ears twitching.

“Have fun?” Chan says evenly, too evenly.

Your tail twitches.

Hyunjin flops onto the couch dramatically. “Can’t believe you betrayed me like this.”

“Betrayed?” you blink.

“You sat with him,” Jeongin adds, arms crossed.

“You purred for him,” Seungmin says.

“You let him pet you,” Felix pouts. “You barely even let me do that unless you're sleepy!”

“Were we not good enough?” Han whines, crawling toward you. “Was it the scent? The snacks? I can bathe. I promise.”

You back up a step, suddenly overwhelmed by the chorus of soft jealousy.

“I didn’t mean anything,” you murmur. “I just… liked his energy.”

Minho quirks a brow. “What, tall?”

“He smelled like vanilla and cedar,” you mumble, hugging yourself.

Eight voices groan in unison.

“That’s it. I’m buying new cologne,” Changbin mutters.

Felix clings to your waist. “I can smell like trees. I’ll roll in a forest if I have to.”

Jeongin buries his face in your back. “No more guests. Banned. This is betrayal. I’m telling the council.”

You laugh, flustered, but they’re clearly not joking, at least not entirely.

Chan comes over last. Looks you up and down slowly, hands finding your waist, gaze calm but firm.

“You’re ours, kitten,” he says. “It’s okay to be friendly, but you made us worry. You’ve never acted like that with anyone but us.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you murmur again, cheeks warm. “It was just… he's nice.”

Minho, sitting behind you now, wraps his arms around your waist. “Nice enough to cuddle strangers, huh?”

“He’s not a stranger.”

“Not the defense you think it is.”

You sigh and nuzzle your head against Chan’s chest, tail finally relaxing. “I’m sorry. Didn't want to bother you while you play with your friends”

“We’re not mad,” Seungmin says from the floor, his head in Han’s lap. “Just surprised."

“And pouty,” Han corrects, petting his hair.

Chan kisses your crown. “Just don’t forget who you belong to, okay?”

You grin. “Never.”

Later that night, as you lie tangled between Felix and Hyunjin in bed, you catch a faint whiff of something new.

“…Why do you smell like cedar?”

Felix hums innocently. “No reason.”

Hyunjin snorts. “He dunked himself in my body wash.”

“You liked it earlier,” Felix says smugly, poking your cheek. “Just making sure I keep my spot.”

You smile, tail flicking as you curl deeper between them. "I like how you smell usually too."Honestly? You wouldn’t trade your boys for the world. But it’s kind of nice to see them fight for you sometimes.

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz imagines #han jisung x reader #kim seungmin x reader #stray kids jeongin #jeongin x reader #chan x reader #seo changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #felix x reader #lee felix x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #seungmin x reader #poly stray kids #polyship x reader #poly skz

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myfictionaldreams · 1 month ago

Text

⁀➷ The Forbidden Room // Poly!Marauders x F!Reader

Summary: A forbidden part of Hogwarts calls to the Marauders. What starts as curiosity quickly turns into something deeper, darker. The room gives them what you desire… but it takes just as much in return. A dark, magical descent into pleasure, pain, and love that refuses to break—even when everything else begins to.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, dark(!), dubious consent, magical coercion, forced orgasms, dom/sub, restrained, dvp, big dick! Remus, rough nipple play, belly bulge, rough sex, gaping, subspace, praise kink, oral (f+m receiving), injuries from rough sex, passing out from sex, aftercare

Words: 6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The start of the term feast had always been a loud and brilliant affair, but this year, the air was tense. Tension radiated from the professors. Something about the way Dumbledore had stood a little too straight. How his eyes hadn’t twinkled quite the same. Hogwarts was older than any of them could truly grasp, but tonight, even the stones felt older still, as if the building was holding its breath.

Candles floated overhead, their flames flickering from invisible drafts. The chatter of students buzzed around the Great Hall, but at the Gryffindor table, four students huddled in close, caught in their own gravity.

You were pressed between Remus and Sirius, one of your lers draped over the other as you absently picked at your treacle tart, while James leaned in across the table, whispering in a voice that was far too conspiratorial for a school setting.

“He’s going to say it,” James said in a hushed tone, eyebrows furrowed. His jet black hair curling slightly from the effects of the misty rain that you’d all just walked through. “I bet he says it this year.”

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. He was lounging back with his boots propped on the bench, looking like royalty slumming it in school robes. “Prongs, love, if you say that again, I swear I’m hexing your eyebrows off your pretty little face.”

Remus huffed beside you, ever the calm anchor to their chaotic buoyancy. He wasn’t touching his food either, but that was because he was watching the staff table with an unnerving stillness, his fingers tapping silently on the table beside your hand.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, “Remus.”

He turned, his eyes softening. “Sorry, my love. Just… watching.”

James wiggled his fingers dramatically. “The wolf senses are tingling.”

“He’s always like this before a full moon,” Sirius added, fond despite the teasing.

“It’s not for another week,” Remus muttered absentmindedly, but his hand finally found yours beneath the table, lacing your fingers together as his thumb stroked over a scar on the back of his hand.

Then Dumbledore stood, causing silence to fall across the hall as his kind eyes searched across the sea of students.

“Welcome back, students,” he began, voice echoing without magic. “Before we celebrate the return to our halls, a reminder: as ever, some areas of the castle remain banned. But this year, I must be absolutely clear: the corridor at the far end of the East Wing, beyond the silver Stair, is not strictly forbidden.”

He paused. The room remained silent. Even the boys seemed to be holding their breath. “An uncontrollable magical accident occurred over the holidays. Do not attempt to enter. We cannot guarantee your safety. And I heed this warning to everyone.”

He emphasised his last word, tilting his head to stare over the rim of his spectacles, looking pointedly at the Marauders.

Your heart dropped. Remus stiffened beside you. James sat upright for the first time all night. Sirius, he smiled. “Well,” Sirius whispered as everyone continued with their conversations and eating. “That sounds like an invitation to me.”

—-----------

By the time the four of you stood before the Silver Staircase three nights later, the hallway was thick with dust and the scent of forgotten stone. The Marauder’s Map, clutched in James’ hand, glowed faintly with enchanted ink, its intricate lines twitching like veins.

You were wrapped in your cloak, arms crossed against the chill. “You know this is stupid, right?”

“Oh, darling,” Sirius said, grinning, “You know we never let a little stupidity stop us.”

“She’s right,” Remus said quietly, though he stood a step behind you, hand on your lower back. “We shouldn’t stay long.”

“But it’s the last bit,” James said, the boyish excitement in his eyes making him appear hyper. “The map’s complete except for this wing.”

You looked up at him, at the light dusting of freckles across his cheeks, the smudge of ink near his thumb, and felt your resolve waver.

Remus leans in close, his breath warm on your ear. “We’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

And so you walked.

The corridor was narrower than expected, the ceiling lower, the stone darker. Tapestries hung rotted and ripped, as if time had moved faster here. The silence was different. It had a weight to it, thick like velvet.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius whistled lowly. “I think I like it.”

“That says more about you than the hallway,” you tutted.

James let out a short laugh and then paused. “Wait. Look.”

At the far end of the corridor stood a door. It hadn’t been there a second ago. It wasn’t on the map. No knobs. No markings. Just deep, polished wood and the thrum of magic in the air. Remus stepped in front of you. James moved closer, fingers twitching.

“It feels wrong,” Remus voiced wearily.

“It feels like fun,” Sirius replied, never backing down from caution.

Your palm pressed to the wood before you even realised you’d done it. Being drawn to the door. The door clicked.

It opened.

The room was warm. That was the first thing you noticed. Not just heated, warm in the way skin feels after a fever breaks. The air shimmered faintly, like mist catching candlelight. The chamber was draped in deep crimson and gold, fabric floating lazily from the high, invisible ceiling. A fire crackled somewhere beyond sight. There was no dust. No cobwebs. The room breathed.

“It looks like the Gryffindor Common Room if it got sagged by a bordello,” Sirius said reverently.

A single four-poster bed stood in the centre—giant, scarlet and velvet. The mattress indented as if someone had just risen from it.

“It reacted to her,” James said suddenly, his voice a little too quiet.

You turned. “What?”

“The door. The room. None of it happened until you touched it.”

Remus steps toward the bed. “This is powerful magic.”

“It wanted her,” Sirius mused, no longer joking.”

You felt it then, a hum under your skin, as if the room were listening. Waiting. Your mouth was dry. Then the door slammed shut behind the four of you.

The moment the door slammed shut, silence swallowed the air around you. Spinning instinctively, fingers fumbled with your wand, but there was no handle on the door anymore—just flat, polished wood behind you, warm to the touch and pulsing faintly with magic. No seams. No lock. It had simply vanished into the wall.

A flicker of unease clawed its way up your spine.

“Well,” Sirius broke the silence, his tone light but his eyes flicking with alertness, “That’s ominous.”

James stepped forward and tried pushing the wood with both palms. Nothing happened. So he pulled the map from his pocket, only to find it blank.

“Blood hell,” he breathed.

Remus’s eyes were scanning every corner of the room. Always methodical. Always looking for the source. He took a step closer to the four-poster bed and crouched, running his fingers over the floorboards beneath.

“There’s something here,” he said under his breath. “Something old. This isn’t just a concealed chamber. It’s woven magic. Sentient.”

You stayed near the doorway, pulse loud in your ears. “Why would Dumbledore leave this?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Remus stood again, brushing his palms together. “He didn’t leave it, though, did he, because he did warn us not to come here.”

“We just didn’t listen,” James added, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes softened when he saw your expression. “Hey. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“And if we don’t,” Sirius said, slinging his arm over your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple, “ we live here now. It could be worse. Good lighting. Silky bedding. Plenty of wine-coloured drapes to make me feel dramatic.”

Despite yourself, you snorted.

But the magic in the air didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like it was listening and reacting. The bed was now longer, the sheets had arranged themselves neatly, with four long silk ties now hanging from the bedposts.

Your stomach twisted, and Remus noticed your shift as he stepped towards you, resting a hand gently on your waist, “Do you feel it too?”

You nodded. “Like it knows I’m here.”

Sirius leaned against the bedpost and tilted his head toward you. “Does it feel bad?”

You hesitated. The boys watched you quietly. They always did this– held space for you to speak, even when the room didn’t. You searched for the right word.

“It doesn’t feel bad. Just…intimate. Like someone’s already touched me and I didn’t realise until just now.”

A beat of silence. Then Remus whispered, almost impressed. “It’s reading your magic. Your intent and your need.”

James looked between the three of you. “And if that’s true, what is it finding?”

The question hung there. You didn’t answer. But the room did.

The fire flared, not violently, but in acknowledgement. The bed shifted. The mattress dipped ever so slightly, as if it were inviting weight to settle upon it. One of the silk restraints lifted somewhat off the post, curling gently, lazily, like a finger beckoning.

Remus’ eyes darkened. Sirius stood straighter. James exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.

“It wants to give you something,” Remus wondered. “Or take something from you.”

You swallowed thickly. “But what if it’s both?”

James stepped forward first, not toward the door, not toward the exit that no longer existed, but toward the bed. He brushed his fingertips across the silk.

“I think it’s safe,” he said, glancing back at you. “I think it only does what we ask. What you want.”

Sirius was already toeing off his boots, as if he’d decided the room wasn’t a threat but a gift. “If this is a trap, it’s a blood luxurious one.”

You caught Remus’ eyes. He hadn’t moved; he never rushed. He watched you with careful understanding, his voice quiet and subdued. “We don’t have to. You say the word, and we sit on the floor and wait this out together.”

But you didn’t want to sit on the floor. You wanted to feel them.

The air trembled as your decision took form in your chest. You took one step forward until your knees brushed the edge of the mattress.

“You want us?” James asked again, voice low.

You nodded. “Always.”

Remus moved behind you, hands warm on your waist. Sirius took your hand, kissing the knuckles. James leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder. And the silk restraints, curled tighter around the bedposts.

The room pulsed like a heartbeat, and the magic began to hum.

James brushed his lips along your shoulder and Remus’s hands gripped your waist from behind you. That’s when you felt the first flickers of the room responding to you. Not to your words, or your touch, but something deeper and primal.

Your desire.

The air shimmered again. The velvet curtains above pulsed like lungs, inhaling slowly. Candlelight flickered lower, deeper. A chaise longue you hadn’t noticed before melted into the floor. Everything extraneous faded away, until it was just you, your boys, the bed and the tension widening between all of it.

The silk ties coiled tighter around the bedposts, no longer lazy in their movements. They stretched invitingly, waiting to wrap around your wrists. The bed seemed larger now, too, stretching beneath you, padded, soft, perfectly shaped to your body.

You let out a shaky breath. “It’s reading me.”

Remus’s lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Then tell it what you want.”

And you did without a word. You lie back.

The bed caught you like a lover’s hands, the sheets cool against your spine and then warming instantly. Silk restrains slid gently around your wrists, not tight, not binding, just enough to remind you that you were giving up control. But only to them.

James straddled your legs, dark eyes blown wide with adoration and lust, hands skipping up your thighs to push your skirt higher. “She wants to be touched first,” he murmured. “To be wished.”

The room flared.

Sirius was already at your side, kissing your neck, sucking marks beneath your ear, one hand splayed against your ribs as he whispered, “so pretty like this. All laid out, waiting for us.”

Your shirt unbuttoned itself.

A gasp escapes your lips as the room joins them in the teasing, fabric slipping open with no hands at all, revealing your bra and barestomach. You saw James’ jaw clench. Remus exhausted through his nose. Sirius groaned.

Then their hands were on you.

James kissed down your stomach with urgency. Sirius took your bra-covered breasts in his mouth and hands, his tongue hot and wet, groaning as he sucked your nipple through the material. Remus, still clothed, stood watching for a long moment, eyes glowing gold, like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

He didn’t touch himself. He didn’t speak. He simply watched them devour you. You could feel the heat of his hunger from across the bed.

James slipped down between your thighs, pressing kisses over your knickers, teasing you with maddening gentleness. “This is what you want, love? You want my mouth here first?”

Theroompulsed again, and the remainder of your clothes disappeared.

James let out a strangled laugh. “Right. Got our answer.”

And then he was burying his face between your spread thighs, groaning against you, licking long, slow stripes with practised precision. You cried out, back arching, wrists pulling instinctively at the restaurant's. Sirius hummed approvingly around your breast.

“Oh, she’s wound tight already,” James mumbled between licks. “You’re gonna come so fast for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You barely managed to nod, too distracted by James' lips sucking harshly on your throbbing clit. The room grew hotter. The air sang with magic, like it was anticipating your orgasm too, and when it hit, you shattered.

The walls shuddered with a golden ripple. The lights brightened, then dimmed again. The bed groaned low beneath you.

James kissed your thighs as you twitched. “One down.”

Sirius kissed up your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses to your lips as his fingers pinched your hardened nipple. “Think you’re ready for me now, darling?”

You were dazed, breathless, already nodding.

He slid between your legs, chanting soft words against your skin as he gripped his cock, pushing the tip into your eagerly awaiting hole, stretching you just enough, curling his hips perfectly, pulling pants from your mouth. He didn’t thrust hard. Not yet. The room wouldn't let him. It wanted to savour.

Sirius bent low, forehead against yours, chest pressed to your breasts, whispering, “You feel so good. Every time. So warm. So tight. Like you’re made for us.”

You were already sensitive from your first orgasm, your inner walls tightening with every thrust as Sirius moved without urgency, in and out with slow, methodical movements. His pelvis pushed down against your clit as he moved.

He held eye contact, intense and nodding as your whimpers became more desperate, your cunt clinging to him like a lifeline as everything tightened and tightened until you were peaking into euphoria.

Sirius came with you, a groan and a kiss, his tongue carressing yours as he spilt deep inside of you, whispering your name like a secret.

And then Remus finally moved.

You felt it before you saw him. The weight in the room shifted.

James kissed your knee. Sirius pulled back slowly, reluctantly, brushing sweat-damp hair from his face.

You turned your head. Remus was naked, but your eyes zoned in on his huge cock.

Even after everything, even after knowing him, being with him, you were still at the sight of him. His cock was long, thick, heavy and already leaking. You could barely wrap your fingers around him when you tried.

Sirius and James were already well endowed, filling you to your limit and leaving your pussy pulsing from use. But Remus? You’d be limping after a quick fuck.

He crawled onto the bed, eyes never leaving yours.

“She needs to be ready,” he said, voice hoarse as his eyes continued to search over your body.

James and Sirius helped, moving into action at Remus’s voice.

James kissed you again, fingers dipping between your thighs to spread their release further, prepping you. Sirius rubbed your hips, “breathe, baby. You can take him. You always do.”

Remus lined himself up. His hand shook. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“I want to hurt a little,” you whispered.

The room moaned with you.

When he slid in, slowly, carefully, stretching you wider than you could ever prepare for, you gasped. The sting made your toes curl. Even after James and Sirius, even after the teasing, Remus still made your walls ache to accommodate him.

“Fuck,” he grolwed. “You’re so tight. So good. So fucking perfect.”

He moved with care, but with growing force. Each thrust left you whining. Each drag of his cock made your body feel more open, more raw, more claimed.

The room sang with every sound you made. It matched you.

He was so big. You were already so sensitive, it felt like an endless orgasm was contorting through your cunt as he moved with more vigour than Sirius. By the time he came, his deep inside you, you were whimpering beneath him, stretched wide and panting.

He pulled out slowly, and the movement he did, you felt it, the emptiness. And wet.

Sirius let out a soft sound of awe as Remus gently opened your thighs again. “Fuck. She’s gaping, Moons. You wrecked her.”

Remus brushed a kiss to your knee. “She’s perfect.”

The room dimmed slightly, holding you in that warm, dreamy space after. Magic still pulsed softly in the walls.

And deep in your belly, where Remus had been, you could feel the aftershock of him, the ache, the emptiness, the echo of fullness so deep it had nearly touched your core.

The room knew what you wanted. And it had only just begun.

The room has changed now.

The afterglow from Remus had barely faded. You were still sprawled on the velvet sheets, your limbs heavy, your cunt sore and slick. Yet the air shifted again, like the bed exhales beneath you —a slow, thick breath of darker magic curling around your thighs.

James noticed first. He had been tracing shapes into the bare skin of your leg, soft and seamless, when his fingers slowed.

“It changed,” he whispered.

Sirius, lounging nearby, cock still half-hard, blinked up toward the ceiling. The gold light had dimmed to a deep garnet. Shadows spilt in from places they hadn’t before. The concerns bled into black.

Remus sat at the edge of the bed, and when he looked at you, his expression had changed. Hungrier, darker, as if some leash inside him had slackened.

“She wants more,” he said. But it wasn’t a question.

The bed creaked once more. The sheets beneath your body grew warmer again, slicker, almost damp like arousal made fabric.

You wanted to close your legs. You couldn’t.

The silk ties reformed around your thighs. Not your wrists and not gently either. They slide across your inner thighs and pull. The room opened your legs for them. For you.

James swallowed audibly. “It’s rereading her. Fuck.”

“No,” Remus said lowly, standing now, looking over the bed. “It’s obeying her.”

You whimpered. You weren’t afraid. Not really. You were high on them, on magic, on the flood of something warm and subspace-sweet dripping into your chest like melted sugar.

Remus knelt between your legs. You could already feel the wetness there, your body leaking from earlier—the soreness and the stretch. You were so open, so exposed to them.

He didn’t touch you yet. Not with his hands.

He blew a breath against your slit, and your whole body jerked. “Still so sensitive,” he spoke deeply. “And you want more.”

A mewl slipped past your lips. The shadows on the wall shifted in response.

Sirius stood next. His smirk was gone. His face was stern. But his cock was hard again. And James? He looked dazed. Flushed. Gone somewhere deeper, his pupils blown.

“Tell us to stop,” James said firmly. “Please. If it’s too much, remember your safe words. Red to stop. Yellow to pause. Green to continue.”

You nod in understanding, breathing their names like a blessed dream. They took that as permission.

Sirius straddled your chest, his cock heavy and flushed and pressing against your lips. James took his place beside you, hands tangling into your hair, turning your head as Sirius pushed in.

“Open up, darling,” Sirius cooed, his voice dark silk. “There we go. Merlin, you look perfect with my cock down your throat.”

You gagged, just once, and the bed moaned. The walls pulsed.

Remus was watching it from between your legs. Watching your throat stretch around Sirius whilst your cunt twitched open for him. You were soaked—a mess. And still, you wanted more.

“You want to be used,” he said gently. Not cruel. Just stating a fact.

And then he slid in.

You screamed around Sirius’ cock, a wet choked noise, as Remus’ massive length stretched your sensitive alls again. It hurt and burned. You were still so raw from earlier. But your body welcomed him like it always did – clenching, fluttering, dripping.

He didn’t wait.

He fucked into you with a pace that left you sobbing. Deep, deliberate thrusts that made you feel it in your gut. Your stomach bulged slightly with each push. James saw it first.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, hand splaying across your lower belly, just above your pubic bone. “Look. She’s taking all of him. You can see it.”

Remus growled. Ferally growled. He gripped your thighs, pulling them higher, tighter. The silk at your thighs pulled too, straining to let him in even deeper.

“Can feel her clenching,” he bit out. “She loves this.”

Sirius came down your throat with a low groan. Pulled out slowly, your lips swollen, your eyes glassy. Subspace had dragged you under.

You weren’t speaking anymore; you were just whimpering. Moaning and letting it all happen. James replaced Sirius at your mouth, but not with his cock–with his fingers. Two of them, down your throat.

“Breath for me, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Take it. That’s it. So fucking good for us.”

Your throat spasmed around his fingers. Your cunt spasmed around Remus.

He fucked you harder and faster. Like he needed to break you open.

The room shifted, breathing with you. And then, a mirror appeared on the ceiling.

You could see it. Your body, tied down and used. Remus’s cock splitting you open, visibly bulging your belly. James shoved his fingers between your lips; your eyes rolled back.

And shadows.

Other versions of you. Reflected on the walls.

Naked. Begging. Crying. Taking cock after cock. Smiling through tears.

One shadow whispered, Please don’t stop.

Another: break me.

You came. Harder than before. Your entire body locked, then convulsed. Your legs shook violently. Your vision went white.

Remus didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it. Forced orgasm after forced orgasm, even as you sobbed and begged and arched into James’ chest.

You didn’t remember your safe word. Couldn’t even think what it was. Couldn’t speak it. The room knew. It dulled your fear, thickened your haze, and made your body crave.

James kissed your temple. “Just one more, darling. Let Sirius have a turn. You can do it. One more.”

You moaned in agreement, tears streaking down your cheeks. Remus pulled out, and Sirius slid into your already-gaping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re ruined,” Sirius groaned. “So swollen and so messy. Still begging for more.” He fucked you rough and fast. His hands found your nipples and pinched, tugged, and rolled them until you sobbed.

James joined him. He leaned in and bit your breast, tongue flicking over the peaked flesh. One of them sucked. One bit. Again and again until your nipples were raw and puffy just like your pussy.

Remus hovered near your head, hand stroking over your scalp. “That’s it, love. You’re so good. So fucking good for us.”

You whmpered. Your body jerked. Sirius’s pace faltered. He was close.

“One more,” James said again, eyes locked on Remus. “Let’s give her everything.”

Remus moved behind you.

“No,” you gasped. But it wasn’t a safe word. It didn’t stop. The room knew the difference. James lifted your thighs.

Remus pressed against your perineum, his tip pushing against Sirius’s cock.

And then, you took both of them.

Sirius and Remus, both in your swollen cunt, stretching you impossibly wide.

You screamed. It was too much. It hurt. It split you. But it burned with something deeper, a need you didn’t understand. They moved in tandem. Both of them, in and out, thrusting, grunting and praising.

James kissed you, held your face, and let you sob into his mouth.

You didn’t know where you ended and they began/ and then you came.

Again. Again. You lost track until you passed out. Until your body gave in, and the room purred, sated again.

—-----------------

The room was quiet now. Too quiet.

You lay in the bed, limp and slick with sweat, throat sore, limbs trembling from the aftershocks of something you couldn’t even name. The air was still thick, but the magichaf slowed, coiled inward, resting, like a beast that had finally fed.

Your body felt hollow. Overused. Your cunt throbbed from being stretched too wide, too deep. Every breath scraped against your ribs. But it wasn’t just your body that ached.

Your mind was fogged, bruised at the edges. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. But beneath it, something else. More.

The room still whispered.

Sirius sat on the floor with his back to the wall, arms around your knees, head bowed low. He hadn’t spoken since he’d pulled away, breathless, his release cooling on your chest.

James was pacing. Not like Sirius had. James was unsteady, frantic, running a hand through his hair again and again, muttering under his breath.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “Something’s wrong. We shouldn’t have–we shouldn’t–”

Remus hadn’t moved. He sat at the edge of the bed, hunched over, holding his hands. His body was still naked. His cock was half-hard. His thighs are slick with you. He hadn’t even cleaned himself.

You managed a breath. “Remus,” you rasped. It didn't sound like your voice. He flinched. Your voice was the thing that broke the silence.

Sirius looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. James stopped pacing and looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. Remus turned slowly.

“I hurt you,” he said, voice cracking. “I–Merlin, I knew it, I felt I–but I couldn’t stop. I wanted to.”

You blinked at him. He looked devastated. Haunted.

“No,” you whispered. “I wanted it.”

“You didn’t want that,” Sirius said, finally finding his voice. “Not all of it. Not like that. That wasn’t us.”

James’s hands were shaking. He held up the Marauder’s Map. It was still blank.

“I think it’s affecting us. The room. It’s inside us. It’s changing what we think we want.”

You tried to sit up, but your body screamed in protest. Your belly was tender. Your thighs felt like jelly. You collapsed back with a small gasp. Remus was beside you in a moment. His hands were gentle now, trembling as they hovered over your skin without touching.

“I should have waited, I should have seen it.”

You looked up at him. His green eyes were full of guilt, full og longing. Full of love. “I wanted it,” you repeated softly. “But something’s wrong. I don't know where the wanting ends and the magic begins.”

James knelt beside the bed, his hand came to rest on your ankle. “We need to get out,” he said. “This place, it's not just responding to desire. It’s creating it.”

You glanced toward the mirror. Still there. Still full of your reflections. But they looked different now. No longer cruel. Now they were watching. Some pressed their hands to the glass. Some mouthed words you couldn’t hear. Yu looked away.

Sirius pushed himself off the floor, his limbs stiff and uncoordinated. He crossed to the bed and lay down beside you, carefully, pulling your hand into his. He kissed your knuckles.

“This isn’t us,” he admitted. “We’re us. We tease, we protect, we love, we never hurt.”

You looked between the three of them—your boys. Remus, still shaking, James frantic and Sirius silent.

You closed your eyes, breathing for a moment. “We have to fight it,” you finally say.

The room listened, feeling the ripple through the mattress, and the whispering stopped. But the shadows didn’t leave, and in the corners of the room, the magic held its breath again like it was waiting.

The air shifted again. Not with heat or hunger, but with tension. A stillness that felt final. Like the room knew, you’d made a decision.

James was the first to move. He reached for the Marauder's Map again, though the parchment was useless at present. He held it close.

“I think it’s listening,” he said. “Like it always was. But now we’re speaking back.”

Sirius stood behind him, arms wrapped around himself. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by something quiet, worn.

Remus, now dressed, was not his usual calm, but was trying to cover his shame. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours. But his hand never left your leg, resting there like an anchor.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to sit up again, slowly.

It took effort. Your body still throbbed, but not in pleasure. “We have to try, together.”

James nodded.

“I think it’s a door. Or a prison. But it’s built on what we want, right? So maybe–maybe we have to want out more than we want to stay.”

Sirius gave a dry laugh. “Easier said than done. It gave us everything. Dark, twisted, perfect little fantasies. And we liked them.”

“I hated it,” Remus said, his voice hoarse. “Even when I liked it.”

The room heard that. The candles dimmed further. You stood. Slowly, with Sirius’s help. Your knees wobbled, but you managed to stay upright.

Then you said it: “I don't want to stay.”

Remus rose beside you, “I didn't want to lose myself.”

James clutched the map. “I want to leave.”

Sirius looked around one more time. The bed, the mirror, the reflections and the shadows of yourselves. He leaned down and kissed your temple. “I want you safe.”

The room groaned, the walls shuddered, and the bed unravelled, seams tearing into threads, and velvet turning to smoke. The mirror cracked repeatedly and then shattered, sending shards into the darkness.

The door appeared, plain wood and just like before, Remus reached for it, but it didn’t open.

The magic fought back. The air turned hot again, pressing in. The walls began to pulse, like a heartbeat speeding up. Like rage. The shadows screamed in silence.

The reflections didn’t disappear. They began pounding on the glass walls, dozens of versions of you, of the boys, crying, moaning, clawing to stay.

But you stepped forward. You took their hands—James to your left, Remus to your right, Sirius at your back.

“We don't want you,” you whispered to the room. “We want us.”

Remus took a deep breath and reached again. The door opened.

A single breath of cold air rushed in, real, sharp and clean. Like the castle again. Like freedom. No one spoke. You all ran.

You stumbled down the corridor, James holding you upright, Sirius behind you, wand out, even though he couldn’t explain why Remus ahead, opening every hallway, guiding you back toward the Silver Stair.

And then, you crossed the threshold, back into Hogwarts proper. It was like waking from a fever dream, clothes reappearing on all of your bodies, like you’d not been naked for the many hours stuck in that room.

The corridor was dusty, cold and empty. The door was gone. No mirror, no magic. You all stood there maintaining. Then James dropped the map. Sirius sat down hard on the floor. Remus fell to his knees.

And you… You began to cry. Not sobs. Just hot, quiet tears. Because you were safe, but part of you still felt that hum. That echo. Like the room hadn’t let go entirely. And maybe it never would.

—---------

The hospital wing was quiet. Not silent, the soft clink of potion bottles, the rustle of parchment as Madam Pompfrey shuffled papers, but calm enough that the breath of your boys filled the space like music.

You lie beneath crisp white sheets, your body still tender, wrapped in soft linens and healing salves.

Bruises now ached beneath your skin, covering your thighs, your hips ached, and your cunt was swollen, sore and overused, still pulsing with the memory of everything the room had taken from you.

James had cradled you, whispering soft things against your temple. Sirius had paced behind, snapping at Madam Pomfrey with uncharacteristic tension, until she made him sit. Remus hadn’t spoken, not at first. He’d just held your hand, silent and trembling.

Lies had been told to Madam Pomfrey about falling down some stairs and needing help because there was no way on Earth any of you would admit to her that you’d all been fucking for hours and now you were ruined.

Now, hours later, you were clean, rested, but still hurting. And your boyfriends hadn’t left your side once.

James sat beside your bed, one hand tucked under your blanket to hold your fingers. He was stroking small shapes against your palm, rhythmic and grounding.

“You scared the hell out of us.”

“I scared myself,” you whispered back.

Sirius was lying at the foot of your bed, his head resting lightly near your knees, one arm curled possessively across your legs. He hadn’t let go of you either.

“You’re not allowed to die in haunted sex rooms anymore,” he muttered. “It’s a new rule.”

You gave a weak laugh. Even that hurt. But it was good. It was light. Remus sat nearest your head, a little hunched, as if he were afraid to touch too much, to cause more pain. His hand ran lightly through your hair, over and over.

“I should have stopped it,” he said defeatedly.

“You did,” you replied. “You all did. We came back.”

Remus finally looked down. There were shadows beneath his eyes, guilt still clinging like a fog. But you reached up. Slower now, sore and trembling, and cupped his jaw.

“I wanted you to touch me, Remus. And I still want you.”

His expression cracked, the relief bleeding through. James leaned down and kissed your cheek. “You’re going to be sore for days.”

“She can’t walk,” Sirius added. “Not even a bit. I had to help hold her while she pissed.”

“Sirius,” you groaned, face heating.

He grinned. “Just saying. You’re fucked. Like, literally. Ruined. And it’s kind of hot, ignoring all the nearly dying part.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “She needs rest.”

“I need you,” you whispered.”

That quieted all of them. You shifted slowly, painfully, and James helped you lean forward enough to rest your head on Remus’s shoulder. His arms came around you like they always did, strong and secure.

Sirius pressed a kiss to your knee, fingers trailing gentle patterns over the bruises. James curled against your other side, his lips brushing your collarbone.

They held you. You all stayed there for what felt like hours—whispering, laughing gently, apologising and kissing each other’s hands, shoulders, and cheeks.

James stroked over your ribs, “We’re still us”

Remus pressed a kiss to your temple. “Always.”

Sirius rested his forehead against your leg. “And when you’re better, when you’re ready, we’ll take care of you properly, safely.”

You smiled, eyes falling shut.

“I know. I love you.”

Outside the window, the sun began to rise. And inside the hospital wing, wrapped in love and softness, you healed.

#poly!marauders #the marauders x reader #the marauders smut #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black smut #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter smut #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #hp smut #dark marauders #mine*

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inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

Hello!! I just found ur blog and I really like ur writing ☺️ I would like a imagine/scenario with fem!reader, she is in a relationship with the captain trio (kid, law and Luffy) just some silly things about them arguing about with boat she should stay for the next time (the captains are not with each other, they kinda "share" the reader) I also would like it fluffy please 😊 I'm sorry if that's confusing, English is not my first language

Three Boats, One Heart

law + kid + luffy x fem!reader (poly relantionship)

a/n: okay idk if I did it good but I loved that I didn't have to choose just one lmao

words count: 3.9k

tags: fluff, captain trio x reader, poly-ish, jealousy, silly arguments, established relationship/s

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The wind is soft today. The sea is calm. You’re smiling.

You should have known peace wouldn’t last long.

“I told you she’s staying with me this time!” Kid’s voice booms across the small island harbor, arms crossed and lips curled into a scowl. His red hair shines under the sun, making him look even angrier than usual.

“No,” Law says flatly, not even looking at Kid. His cold eyes are on you “She said she’d stay on my submarine this week. We made plans.”

“Plans?” Luffy cuts in, loudly. He’s already clinging to your arm like a koala “But she promised me meat night on the Sunny! That’s way better than boring submarine plans!”

“I didn’t promise—” you try to speak, but your words are drowned out by the three men yelling over each other again.

“She likes spicy food! My chef makes it best!” Kid growls.

“She said she wanted to read that book I found. That’s on my ship” Law shoots back, tightening his gloves.

“I have hammocks! And sea kings to see! And fun! You’re boring, Law!” Luffy huffs.

You stand there, blinking slowly, while your boyfriends, three of the most dangerous men on the sea, argue like kids in a candy store.

“Why don’t we let her choose?” Law finally says, raising an eyebrow “She has a mouth.”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna say Kid’s ship” Kid smirks.

“Meat night!” Luffy shouts again.

You sigh, putting your hands up.

“Guys. Guys. GUYS!”

They freeze. All three turn to look at you. Luffy’s eyes are wide. Law’s brow twitches. Kid grumbles something but shuts up.

You smile sweetly “How about… I choose after dinner?”

“No!” They shout in unison.

“Of course you’d wait until after meat night” Law mutters to Luffy.

Kid rolls his eyes “Typical.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh “Then I’m flipping a coin.”

Three voices, instantly:

“No fair!”

“Unscientific.”

“Do two out of three!”

You take a deep breath.

This is your life now.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

The sun dips lower in the sky, painting the clouds pink and orange. You sit on a crate at the edge of the harbor, swinging your legs. You should be relaxing.

But instead…

“Y/N.”

You blink. Law’s standing in front of you, quiet and serious. Too quiet. You squint suspiciously.

“What are you hiding?”

“…Nothing.”

He sits beside you. Then, very slowly, he pulls something from his coat.

Your eyes widen “Wait. Is that...?”

“The new novel from the Baterilla Book Fair,” he says calmly “First edition. I used Room to grab it before anyone else could.”

You gasp “Law!”

“I thought you’d appreciate it. Since you ‘haven’t had quiet reading time in weeks’.”

Your heart flutters. He even remembers that?

Before you can thank him, a loud clang rings from behind.

“Killer, give me the tray! Move!”

You turn just in time to see Kid stomping toward you with a whole plate of your favorite spicy dumplings. His metal arm is holding the tray like a fancy waiter. It’s kind of terrifying.

“You like food more than books anyway, right?” he says, shoving the plate into your lap.

“Excuse me?” Law snaps, standing up.

“Chill, Surgeon Freak. You can read your little book while she eats my food” Kid smirks.

You glance between them.

“…Are you two trying to bribe me?”

“No” Law says.

“Yes” Kid says at the same time.

“MEAT NIGHT!!!”

Both men nearly jump as Luffy appears out of nowhere, hanging upside down from a tree branch above you like a happy little menace.

“I saved you the biggest steak!” he grins “And I got Usopp to make you a sea cow milkshake! You have to come now!”

You burst out laughing.

All three of them stare at you.

“Okay,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “this is getting ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous” Luffy mumbles into your hair, now fully clung to your back like a backpack.

“Don’t touch her like that...” Kid growls.

“She’s not yours” Law adds.

“She’s mine right now!” Luffy says proudly, kicking his feet in the air.

You let out a long sigh, smiling at them all.

“Alright. How about this. Since you’re all going the same way, I spend one day on each ship. Three days, three ships. Fair?”

They look at each other. Then at you.

“…Fine” Law says first.

“Tch. I guess that works” Kid mutters.

Luffy hums “Only if I get to keep her the fourth day!”

“What fourth day?”

And just like that, they’re bickering again.

You sit back with your plate of dumplings, the new book in your lap, and Luffy still clinging to you like an overgrown plushie.

Yeah. Life is good.

The moon is up now. The island is quiet except, of course, for your three boyfriends standing in a triangle around you, arms crossed and eyes sharp like you’re about to make the most important decision in the world.

You hold up the coin “Heads is Luffy. Tails is Law. If it lands on the edge, I go with Kid.”

Kid’s eye twitches “What?!”

“Relax,” you smirk “It’s a joke. Two rounds. First flip is Law versus Luffy. The winner faces Kid. Final flip decides who gets me first.”

They all freeze.

“…That’s so dumb it might work” Kid mutters, crossing his arms.

“I accept this tournament” Luffy says seriously, like it’s a sacred honor.

Law just sighs “We’re gambling for time with our girlfriend. Ridiculous.”

“Still playing, though?” you smirk.

“…Obviously.”

You clap your hands once “Alright. First round: Luffy versus Law. Heads for Luffy, Tails for Law. Let the Coin Games begin.”

You flip it high. All three captains tilt their heads to watch it spin.

Clink.

“Tails!” you call “Law wins the first round!”

“HAH,” Law smirks, pushing his hair back “Try again next time, Straw Hat.”

“NNNOOOO!” Luffy drops to his knees like you just told him meat is illegal “I wanted to go first!”

You pat his head gently “So cute. It’s Law vs. Kid now.”

“Easy,” Kid scoffs, stepping forward “He’s going down.”

Law rolls his neck like he’s prepping for a fight “I hate this coin.”

You flip again.

It spins.

Clink.

“Heads,” you say, blinking down at it “Kid wins.”

Kid raises both fists in the air “HELL. YES.”

Law just stares in silence, his soul briefly leaving his body.

“I lost to him?” he whispers.

Luffy’s already back on his feet, grabbing your hand “I love this game! We should do this every week!”

Kid grins down at you “Guess who’s staying on the Metal Queen tonight?”

You sigh, half-laughing, half-panicking.

“Fine. Kid wins this round. But you two get your turns after, okay?”

Law and Luffy both grumble in unison but nod.

You don’t miss the way Law mutters “best two out of three” under his breath.

Or how Luffy is already planning “revenge”.

Aboard the Victoria Punk, the ship smells like oil, metal, and faint spice from the kitchen. It’s loud. Messy. Kind of chaotic. Very Kid.

He walks with you through the deck like he owns the world. Probably because he thinks he does.

“You’re not cold, right?” he asks suddenly, pulling off his heavy coat and tossing it around your shoulders without warning.

“It’s warm” you say with a soft smile, hugging it around yourself.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking away “Yeah. Whatever.”

Later, you sit in his workshop while he tinkers with something strange and sparking. He lets you sit on the counter, tosses you tools when you ask, and only yells a little when you nearly press a self-destruct button.

“I like when you’re here,” he mumbles, not looking at you “Ship feels less… noisy.”

You blink “Kid. Your ship is always noisy.”

“Exactly.”

You chuckle, reaching down to brush a bit of oil off his cheek. He catches your hand and presses a kiss to your palm like it’s no big deal.

You don’t tell him your heart stutters. He doesn’t need the ego boost.

You wake up in Kid’s room. It’s not as scary as people would think. Sure, there’s a pile of gears in one corner and his desk looks like a mad inventor lives there (he kind of does), but the bed is surprisingly soft.

Probably because he shoved every blanket on the ship onto it last night.

You stretch, blinking as the first rays of sunlight sneak through the window. A heavy weight is across your waist.

You look down.

Kid’s metal arm is draped over you like a guard rail. His face is pressed into the pillow beside yours, red hair a mess, mouth slightly open. He’s snoring. Just a little.

You try to move.

The arm tightens.

“…Don’t” he mutters, still half-asleep.

“I need to pee.”

“…Hold it.”

You snort “Wow. Romantic.”

He finally opens one eye “You got somewhere else to be?”

“I mean, eventually? The deal was one day each.”

“Tch.” He flops onto his back, metal arm now resting across your stomach like a very heavy paperweight “Not a good deal. Should’ve fought harder.”

“You won.”

“Yeah. But now I gotta give you up.”

You pause.

“…Did you just say something sweet?”

“No. Shut up.” He throws a pillow at your face.

You toss it back.

He catches it midair, grinning “You really like that coin more than me, huh?”

You smirk “The coin doesn’t snore.”

“Liar. Coin’s boring. I’m way more fun.”

He leans in and kisses you hard, no warning, no softness. It’s all teeth and heat and Kid. He pulls back just enough to murmur “Next time, I’m not letting that stupid surgeon or Straw Hat touch you for a week.”

You raise an eyebrow “Jealous?”

“Damn right I am.”

You wrap your arms around his neck “Then make this day count.”

He grins.

Challenge accepted.

Later on you stand at the edge of the harbor, bag over your shoulder, Law’s submarine already waiting in the water like a quiet shadow. You can see Shachi waving from the deck. Bepo’s holding a handmade welcome banner. It’s adorable.

Behind you, Kid is scowling like he just bit into something sour.

“You don’t have to go, you know” he mutters, arms crossed. His metal arm whirs softly as he flexes it without meaning to.

“I do,” you say, turning to face him “We had a deal.”

“Deals can be broken.”

“Not this one.”

He glares at the submarine like it insulted him personally “Stupid bathtub ship.”

You smirk “Aww. Are you gonna miss me, Captain Angry?”

“…No” he lies.

You step closer, rising up to kiss his cheek “Well, I’ll miss you.”

He shifts awkwardly, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. But when you start walking away, he follows behind you like an annoyed cat.

You reach the dock. Law’s crew starts lowering a little platform to pick you up.

Kid frowns deeper “This is dumb.”

“Don’t start” you sigh.

“I don’t like this.”

“You agreed to this.”

“Under protest.”

You glance back at him, amused “Come on, Kid. Sharing is caring.”

That does it.

“I share nothing with them!” he snaps, voice echoing.

You turn around slowly, tilting your head. Then you smile. Not teasing. Not smug. Just soft.

“You do,” you say quietly “You share me.”

Kid blinks. His jaw clenches.

You can almost see the NO I DON’T forming on his lips, but he doesn’t say it.

He looks at you and his scowl twitches into something closer to pain “That’s different.”

“I know,” you whisper, stepping up to him one last time. You press your forehead to his “But I come back. Every time.”

He exhales through his nose “You better.”

“I will.”

“You better wear the coat I gave you. It smells like me.”

“…That’s why you gave it to me?”

He shrugs, smug again “Marking my territory.”

You shake your head, laughing, and step onto the lift as it takes you down toward the sub.

Kid watches the whole way, eyes sharp, arms folded tight across his chest.

You wave.

He doesn’t wave back but you know he’s still watching, until the sub door closes behind you.

The inside of the Polar Tang is calm, quiet, and weirdly clean. After the wild noise of Kid’s ship, it’s like walking into a library, if libraries smelled like antiseptic and steel.

Bepo meets you at the entrance with the banner still in his paws.

“Welcome aboard, Y/N! Captain said you’re not allowed to do any chores. And also that we have to ‘give you space’ but I don’t know what that means!”

“Thanks, Bepo,” you giggle “He’s just being dramatic.”

“I heard that” comes Law’s voice from down the hallway.

You walk toward it, dragging your bag behind you, and turn the corner to find him already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look bored.

He looks at you for one second too long.

You raise an eyebrow “What?”

“You’re five minutes late.”

“I know, Kid was being… Kid. But I’ll make up for it.” You smirk.

He glances away “Good.”

You roll your eyes and keep walking “So what’s the plan? Books? Tea? Staring at walls in silence?”

“I made a schedule.”

You freeze “You… what?”

He pulls a folded paper from his coat pocket “It includes meals, reading time, coffee breaks, and precisely two hours of optional nap time.”

You stare “You made me a day plan?”

“It’s important to have structure.”

You press your lips together “You’re such a weirdo.”

“You’re the one who dates me. And I’m the most normal one here and out there.”

You both smirk.

Later you’re in his room. Wrapped in one of his giant coats. Reading.

Law’s on the couch across from you. Also reading. Except he’s definitely not reading anymore because he keeps glancing over the top of the book every ten seconds.

Finally, you sigh and close yours “Okay. What is it?”

“…What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.”

“You are definitely staring.”

He shuts his book and leans back “You smell like Kid.”

You blink. Then grin “Oh my god. Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Law…”

He mutters something under his breath and gets up, walking over to you. He plucks the coat off your shoulders, drops it on the floor, and replaces it with his own. It smells like clean linen and ink and something you’ve decided is just “him”.

You blink up at him, amused.

He leans down, cups your chin, and kisses you slow and deliberate.

When he pulls back, he mumbles, “There. Better.”

“Still jealous, though.”

“Shut up.”

You laugh and curl into his coat, dragging him down beside you on the bed.

It’s quiet. Warm. Comfortable.

This is his love language. Quiet touches. Shared books. Little things that say, you matter.

He tucks you close, arm around your waist, whispering almost shyly, “Don’t fall asleep yet. You haven’t had coffee.”

You smile against his chest.

“I don’t need coffee. I have you.”

He groans softly “That was awful.”

“You loved it.”

“…Yeah.”

You wake up warm, tucked under smooth sheets. Everything smells like fresh cotton and old paper.

Law is still asleep behind you, breathing steady against the back of your neck.

He’s the kind of sleeper that holds on without meaning to, one arm around your middle, the other curled loosely near your head like a shield.

You shift a little.

The grip tightens instantly.

“…It’s not time yet” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep.

You smile, still half-asleep yourself “We have around twenty minutes.”

“That’s twenty minutes too soon.”

You laugh softly “You made the schedule, remember?”

He groans and presses his face into your shoulder “Mistake.”

You turn to face him. He’s got bed hair, soft eyes, and that quiet pout he doesn’t know he makes in the morning.

“You could just come with me, you know” you tease.

“No.” He closes his eyes again “He’s too loud. And he’s going to jump on me.”

“True.”

You brush a hand over his bangs, then kiss the spot between his brows “But I’ll miss you.”

His eyes open slowly. Golden brown, focused. Honest.

“…I’ll miss you too.”

You both lie there for a little longer before he finally sighs and sits up, stretching “Come on. I’ll walk you to the dock.”

The Thousand Sunny bobs cheerfully at the edge of the water. Luffy is already waving both arms like a windmill “Y/N! Y/N! I made snacks! Hurry before Usopp eats them!”

You shake your head, laughing.

Law stands beside you, hands in his coat pockets, watching like he’s preparing for surgery. His mouth is a flat line, his shoulders a little too stiff.

“He’s… excited” you offer carefully.

“He’s loud.”

“You said that already.”

“He’s going to drop you.”

“I’ll survive.”

“…Unlikely.”

You nudge him with your elbow “You’re allowed to be annoyed. Just don’t kill him.”

Law exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh “No promises.”

You look up at him and smile softly “You know, Kid yelled the whole time when I left. You’re kind of… the opposite.”

“I don’t yell” he says, insulted.

“No, I know. You… hold it all in.”

He glances at you, eyes unreadable “Is that a bad thing?”

You shake your head “No. It’s a you thing.”

You lean up on your toes and kiss him. Slow. Thoughtful. Long enough to make Luffy groan loudly in the distance.

“STOP KISSING, START WALKING!”

You both ignore him for a second longer.

When you pull away, Law presses something into your hand, a folded note. You blink.

“What’s this?”

“A list.”

You open it and read: “Come back safe. Drink water. Don’t fall off the ship. Don’t forget me.”

You smile so wide it almost hurts.

“Romantic and bossy at the same time” you tease.

He shrugs “I multitask”

You take a few steps away, then pause and turn.

“Hey, Law?”

“…Yeah?”

“I’ll come back. I always do.”

He doesn’t smile. But his voice is soft.

“I know.”

You barely make it onto the Sunny before Luffy tackles you in a flying hug.

“YOU’RE HERE!!!” he shouts, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like you’re a piece of treasure he thought might vanish.

“Luffy! Breathing! Air!” you wheeze, laughing as he spins you in a circle.

The crew just watches fondly, like they’ve seen this a hundred times before.

“You’re late!” Luffy declares, finally setting you down.

“I’m literally on time.”

“But I missed you!”

You open your mouth to reply, but he suddenly cups your cheeks, squishing them “Do you smell like Law?! Ew!”

You grin “He gave me a coat.”

“I’M BURNING IT.”

Later he gives you a tour of the ship again like it’s your first time.

“Here’s your room! Just kidding, you can sleep in my hammock!”

“This is the kitchen—Sanji said I can’t cook anything, but I might have made snacks.”

“This is where Usopp and I tried to make a rocket once! It almost worked!”

He’s chaos on legs, grabbing your hand and dragging you from one spot to the next with endless energy.

But the moment you say, “Luffy, slow down” he stops instantly and looks back at you, worried.

“You okay?”

You blink “Yeah. I just want to be with you. You don’t have to impress me. And I’ve been on this ship thousands of times.”

He tilts his head, smile softening “I know. I just wanna show you stuff. ‘Cause you’re mine.”

You raise an eyebrow “Part mine.”

He frowns, dramatic “Don’t say that!”

You laugh and tug him down to sit on the deck. The stars are starting to show. The ocean sways under the ship like a giant heartbeat.

You lie back.

He flops down next to you, arms behind his head.

“I like this” he says.

“Just lying here?”

“Yeah. With you. It feels like the end of a good meal.”

You turn your head to look at him “That’s your best way of describing love, huh?”

“Yup!” He grins “Warm, full, and happy.”

You nudge him “You’re getting good at this.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

“On who?”

He grins wider “On you.”

Later that night you’re curled in his hammock, swaying gently. Luffy’s tangled up with you, head on your chest, arms around your waist, snoring softly.

For someone who never stops moving, he sleeps like he never wants to let go.

You brush a hand through his hair.

“I’ll come back” you whisper, though he’s already dreaming.

He mumbles something.

You lean down.

“Luffy?”

“…Don’t go too long.”

Your heart twists.

“I won’t” you promise.

You’re still on the Sunny in the morning, sitting on the edge of the deck with your legs swinging over the side, sun warming your face.

Luffy’s beside you, leaning against the railing with a toothy grin, snacking on meat like nothing in the world could ever go wrong.

Then you hear it.

A mechanical thunk and a soft hum of teleportation.

You glance back.

Law steps onto the deck with his hands in his pockets. Kid is right behind him, arms crossed, face unreadable. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

Luffy waves like it’s a reunion party “You’re late!”

“We weren’t invited” Law deadpans.

“Still late.”

You turn to them both, heart already in your throat.

“You guys came to fight over who gets the next turn?” you ask, even though you already know.

Law shrugs, casual on the outside “I assumed the coin toss would happen again.”

“Yeah,” Luffy says “Let’s flip it! Where’s the coin?! I'm going to win this time!”

You hold up your hand.

“No.”

They both pause. Even Luffy blinks at you.

Kid doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His jaw’s tight. That angry glint in his eye is gone, replaced by something more dangerous, quiet.

And that’s what gets you.

Because Kid is never quiet. He’s yelling, cursing, stomping, alive.

And right now he looks like someone who’s afraid if he opens his mouth, he’ll say something he can’t take back.

You step forward, past Law, past Luffy.

“I’m not flipping a coin this time,” you say softly “I’m going with Kid.”

His head jerks a little, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

“I said something dumb last time,” you continue “I thought I was being funny. But you’ve barely looked at me since then. You haven’t said a single thing, and that’s… not like you.”

He stays silent.

You step even closer, just a few feet away now.

“I think I hurt you. And if I did… I’m sorry.”

Finally, his jaw unclenches. His voice comes out rough, like it’s been held back too long.

“You didn’t hurt me” he says, not meeting your eyes.

“Then what?”

He looks at you and shrugs, like it’s not a big deal.

“I just don’t like when the person I’d rip the sea apart for calls herself something I have to share.”

Your heart cracks and stitches at the same time.

Before you can say anything, Luffy steps forward and grins.

“Okay!” he says “Then it’s Kid’s turn!”

Law doesn’t argue either. He just gives you a soft look. A knowing one.

“…a week each?” he says, not to Kid, but to you.

You nod and smile softly “That would be great.”

As you walk back toward the dock with Kid, he finally speaks again.

“…You don’t have to come back with me, you know.”

You look up “I want to.”

He looks away, ears a little red “…Good.”

Behind you, Luffy waves “BYE! DON’T DO TOO MUCH KISSING WITHOUT ME!”

Law just mutters something under his breath about idiots and walks away.

But in that silence, those few moments where nobody argues, nobody fights, you know that they understand. Not just you. Not just their place in your world. But they understand each other.

Even if they’d never say it out loud.

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