#i have the plot all thought out and everything

[cressidagrey]

She Wasn’t a Secret

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary:  When Oscar casually mentions his wife during a fan Q&A, Lando Norris combusts on stage, the internet loses its mind, Nicole Piastri wonders why her son can’t tell people basic facts about his life—like the fact he’s been married for five years and Mark Webber is quietly regretting his life choices. 

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

It started with a ping.

Nicole Piastri was elbow-deep in a tray of Lamingtons when her phone buzzed across the counter. Then again. Then again. Then seven more times.

She wiped her hands, checked the screen, and frowned.

17 notifications. 5 mentions. 2 DMs. One group chat blowing up.

And all of them pointed to the same thing: A tagged video. Captioned: “Lando Norris finding out Oscar Piastri has been married for five years. In real-time. On stage. Live. Absolute scenes.”

Nicole clicked the video, already sighing.

It was exactly what she expected—and somehow so much worse.

Oscar, calm and collected, casually admitting he was married. Lando Norris having an actual breakdown beside him. The interviewer making it her life’s mission to extract every crumb of intel. And Oscar? Completely unbothered. Like he was discussing a weather forecast.

Nicole watched Lando choke, scream, stand up, flail, and nearly combust.

And Oscar? “I thought you knew.” Nicole actually laughed out loud. It was either that or cry.

From the kitchen doorway, Edie poked his head in. “Why do I hear cackling?”

Nicole turned the volume up and played the “I thought you knew” line again.

Edie winced. “Oh. That’s going viral, isn’t it.”

Oscar. Her darling, chronically-understated son. Calm as ever. Dry as toast. Casually dropping “Well, I already did one of those things,” in response to a marriage or tattoo question. Watching poor Lando Norris implode on stage like a wet firework.

Nicole paused the video on Lando’s face in real-time breakdown.

Then sighed.

Deeply.

Because this? This wasn’t even surprising.

The real kicker wasn’t that the media didn’t know.

It was that Lando didn’t know.

Nicole had assumed at the very least Lando was in the loop. He and Oscar were joined at the hip during race weeks. Surely a small, minor detail like, say, being legally wed for half a decade would’ve come up between sim sessions.

But no.

Apparently not.

Because her son, in his infinite, baffling wisdom, had once again forgotten to share anything important about his personal life with anyone outside of a 20-meter radius of his home and maybe Mark Webber.

She muttered to herself as she scrolled through replies.

“Didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend… Didn’t tell me they got married… Didn’t tell me they were having a baby until she was three months pregnant and then only on accident…”

Now the whole world was catching up five years late.

She set her tea down. Reached for her reading glasses. Opened Twitter.

And, with the calm authority of a woman who had lived through every one of her son’s emotional plot twists, typed:

@nicolepiastri: I see the internet is discovering my son is married. Welcome to the club. I, too, found out after the fact 5 years ago. 👍

She hit “post.”

The post went instantly viral.

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

Nicole: Oscar. Darling. You forgot to mention you had a WIFE?

Chris: Bold strategy, son. Just casually let the global media find out you’ve been married for five years via a “would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. Stunning PR planning.

Edie: To be fair, he also forgot to mention it to Lando. Who he is teammates with. Who he shares planes with. Who he trains with. Who he considers a “close friend.” So. Not just the media.

Oscar: I didn’t forget. I just didn’t think it was news???

Hattie: YOU’RE A CELEBRITY. EVERYTHING IS NEWS. My friends thought I was lying when I said you were married. They thought I made it up. I had to show them our family group chat as proof.

Edie: You’re lucky Felicity’s cool. If I was married to you and you never told the world, I would’ve changed the locks 💅 AND I would’ve posted a dramatic black-and-white photo with a Taylor Swift lyric as the caption.

Mae: Can I be flower girl for your next wedding? (Only if it’s to Felicity again. Otherwise I’m not coming.)

Oscar: …I’m not having another wedding, Mae. Still married to the same wife. Still in love with her. Still feeding her sourdough obsession.

Nicole: Honestly, this is so you. I shouldn’t even be surprised. You didn’t even tell us you had a girlfriend. 

Chris: Let’s not forget the registry office call:  ��Hey, we got married.”  So romantic. Really moved me to tears.

Nicole: YEAH, let’s not forget that you got MARRIED WITHOUT TELLING YOUR FAMILY!

Oscar: Everyone’s being very dramatic about this.

Hattie: BRO. YOU’VE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE. YEARS. AND LANDO JUST FOUND OUT. LIVE. IN FRONT OF CAMERAS. HE SPIT WATER.

Edie: I’ve watched the video 19 times now. It lives in my brain like a Shakespearean tragedy. The betrayal. The disbelief. The squeaky voice crack. Art.

Mae: He screamed so loud a kid in the front row CRIED.

Nicole: Also… since we’re all here… When are you going to mention the other secret? 😏

Oscar: …What secret?

Nicole: Oscar.

Chris: We mean the tiny human one, son.

Mae: BEE!!!! 🐝💛

Oscar: Bee is not a secret.

Hattie: She’s not a secret, no. But she’s also not in your driver bio, not on your Instagram, and not in any single interview you’ve ever done.

Edie: You talk about tire degradation more than your own child. Let that sink in.

Oscar: She’s our daughter. Not a marketing tool.

Nicole: We love that you’re private, sweetheart. But maybe next time you could… I don’t know… mention that you have a wife and daughter?

Chris: Not asking for a billboard, Oscar. Just a family Christmas card. Or, I don’t know, ONE social post that doesn’t feature suspension settings or protein shakes.

Hattie: Just wait till Lando finds out about Bee. You are going to have to physically restrain him.

Edie: His brain barely survived the “I’m married” part. He’s going to go into full reboot mode.

Nicole: He’s going to walk around muttering “He has a wife AND a child?!” for days.

Mae: We should film it. Make a documentary. “Lando Finds Out: The Sequel.”

Oscar: I would like to go one day without a Norris-induced disaster, please.

Chris:

Can’t wait for the Netflix edit. Drive to Survive, Season 7, Episode 3: The Secret Wife (and Daughter???) of Oscar Piastri

Oscar: …Traitors. All of you.

Nicole: No, darling. Just a family who loves you enough to roast you mercilessly.

Hattie: And maybe gently suggest that your entire online presence looks like a robot who eats chicken breast and drives fast.

Edie: We just want the world to know you’re more than carbon fiber and rehydration tablets. You have chickens. A wife. A kid. And still somehow come across as the most emotionally neutral man on the grid.

Mae: You’re like a secret cinnamon roll. With downforce.

Hattie: Oscar Piastri: Calm. Composed. Married with poultry.

Nicole: We love you, darling. But maybe consider letting people in a little next time?

Oscar: …Noted.

***

Mark Webber’s phone buzzed once. Then again. Then five more times in the span of a minute.

He looked at the screen, saw the names of three journalists he hadn’t spoken to in months, and immediately thought: What did Oscar do.

He hadn’t crashed. There hadn’t been any mid-race scandals. No random DNS. No sudden tire blowouts.

So Mark did the rational thing.

He ignored the calls and opened Twitter.

The first thing he saw was a video clip with the caption: “OSCAR PIASTRI DROPS MARRIAGE BOMBSHELL. LANDO NORRIS DIES LIVE ON STAGE.”

Mark blinked. Pressed play.

Thirty seconds in, he was already groaning.

By the time Oscar casually said, “We got married when I was eighteen,” Mark had his face in his hands.

And by the time Lando screamed “YOU HAVE A WIFE?!” in what could only be described as an operatic shriek, Mark was laughing. Because of course.

Of course Oscar had managed to soft-launch a five-year marriage via fan Q&A and thought that was completely normal.

He hadn’t even texted Mark to give him a heads-up. Typical.

Mark took a long sip of his coffee and shook his head with fond exasperation. Then his phone rang again. Another journalist. This one he had to answer.

“Yeah?” Mark said, not bothering with a hello.

“Did you know Oscar was married?” came the breathless voice on the other end. “Like—legally? For five years? Who is she?”

Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I knew.”

A beat of stunned silence.

“You did?!”

Mark leaned back in his chair. “Her name’s Felicity. She’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a lemon slice that could end wars, and rebuilt an engine while eight months pregnant. What else do you want to know?”

“Wait—rebuilt an engine?!”

Mark grinned. “Yeah.”

“But she’s not on his social media! She’s not even in interviews!”

“She doesn’t want to be,” Mark said simply. “She’s his wife, not his brand.”

The journalist let out a choked laugh. “God. She’s going to be a nightmare to research.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Mark said. 

***

Text Messages – Mark Webber & Oscar Piastri

Mark: Mate. You broke the internet.

Mark: Also. You made Lando scream on stage. Twice.

Mark: I’ve had three different journalists call me asking if I “always knew.”

Oscar: I didn’t think it would be a big deal??

Mark: You are insanely lucky that Felicity is brilliant and terrifying and the entire internet is now in love with her. Otherwise, PR would’ve had you doing apology interviews until Abu Dhabi.

Oscar:  She is brilliant. And terrifying. In the best way.

Also, I didn’t hide her.

Mark:  No, you just forgot to mention her to your employer, your teammate, the media, and most of the paddock. Tiny oversight.

Oscar:  I thought it was obvious.

Mark:  She hasn’t been on your socials once. You don’t even post photos of her shoes in the background like a normal soft-launching F1 driver.

Oscar:  Didn’t realize I needed to soft launch my marriage.

Mark:  I’ve also had three different journalists lose their minds when I told them I’ve met your wife. 

I told them that she’s smarter than all of us combined and makes a mean lemon slice.

You married up.

Oscar: I know.

Mark:  You really are whipped, huh?

Oscar:  Didn’t you know that already?

Mark: Yes, but it’s nice to see it confirmed in front of millions.

Oscar: I’m still not sure how Zak knew though.

Mark: Because I told him. After you signed your contract. He wanted to poach your lawyer. I told him that your “lawyer” was your very smart, very spite driven wife. You should probably tell people things yourself from now on.

Oscar: Noted.

Mark: Anyway. Tell Felicity we owe her a thank-you for soft-launching you into public affection. You’re officially not just “the calm one.” You’re “the poetic husband who tucks love notes into his racing gloves and married his high school sweetheart.”

Oscar: …That’s better than “emotionless robot,” I guess.

Mark: Way better. And hey— Proud of you, kid. Even if you forgot to tell the entire grid you had a wife. 

Oscar: Thanks, Mark. Means a lot.

Mark: …you should probably tell people about Bee one of these days though. 

Oscar: Will do.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/gridinvestigator:   🚨 THREAD: What we (the internet) know about the elusive, brilliant, chaotic Felicity Piastri , aka the Mysterious Mrs. Piastri, aka Oscar Piastri’s wife, aka the woman who accidentally became a legend overnight. 🧵👇

@/gridinvestigator: 1. First of all, yes—Oscar Piastri has been married for FIVE YEARS. No one knew. Not Lando. Not McLaren. Not us. He dropped it during a “Would you rather get married or get a tattoo?” question. He said: “Well, I already did one of those.”

Cue the meltdown.

@/gridinvestigator: 2. We then found out he married his high school sweetheart three weeks after graduation. Her name is Felicity. They met when they were 14. She let him borrow her pen. He never recovered. A literal Wattpad story.

@/gridinvestigator: 3. Oscar described her as “his best friend,” and “10/10, would always marry her again.” Meanwhile, Felicity said, “We were inevitable.” Honestly? Nicholas Sparks is shaking.

@/gridinvestigator: 4. Felicity Piastri didn’t soft-launch herself. She hard-launched via complete internet domination. Her Instagram is a mix of: 🧠 Academic papers 🛠️ Vintage car rebuilds 🍞 Artisan bread 🐔 Chickens in tiny sweaters 🔧 Engine grease 📐 Chaos

@/gridinvestigator: 5. Now. Here’s where things get ✨interesting✨ You know that quote Oscar made about “meeting her in school”? I FOUND THE YEARBOOK. Yep. Their boarding school published the 2019 edition online.

Sidenote: I think they both graduated a year early in 2019 and not 2020?!

@/gridinvestigator: 6. I clearly have too much time, because I went through both the 2020 and the 2019 Year Books until I found a girl named Felicity:  Felicity Leong - Dance, Science Club President, Mandarin Club,  Technology Club and concertmaster aka first violin in the orchestra. 

@/gridinvestigator: 7. Oh and if that aren’t enough extra curriculars activities: Guess who took 17 GCSEs (10 +/- are considered “normal”) and cleared them all with a 9, which is the highest grade you can get? Felicity. She also had the highest A- Level grades of the whole school in the maximum of 5 subjects you are allowed to take one year later. 

@/gridinvestigator: 8. The yearbook also mentions her getting a perfect math score and  winning a physics prize

@/gridinvestigator: 9. She graduated 2 (?!) years later in 2021 with a Master in Mechanical Engineering from Imperial College London. Don’t ask me how in the world she did that. 

@/gridinvestigator:  10. Felicity is basically the anti-WAG. No brand deals. No champagne yacht pics. Just her, an angle grinder, a loaf of bread, and a whiteboard full of math.

And somehow Oscar managed to keep this whole goddess-level woman a secret for five YEARS. 

@/gridinvestigator: 12. TLDR: – Her name is Felicity Leong – She was Oscar’s classmate

 – She’s terrifyingly smart – They eloped at 18 and told no one – She is now the internet’s most beloved mystery wife – Oscar is obsessed with her

 – she restores vintage cars, bakes like a god and solves equations for fun

***

The chickens were louder than usual this morning.

Felicity didn’t blame them. She felt a little off-kilter herself—though not because the global internet had decided to collectively lose its mind over the fact that she was married to a Formula 1 driver.

(Okay. Fine. That was probably part of it.)

She stepped into the coop in gumboots and a hoodie stolen from Oscar, hair still in a haphazard braid Bee had done the night before. She was met with indignant clucks and flapping wings.

“Alright, alright,” she muttered, scattering feed like a benevolent rural god. “You’re dramatic. We get it.”

Rosie, the scraggly rescue hen who thought she was a rooster, pecked at her ankle with all the fury of someone deeply offended by late breakfast.

“Take it up with the PR team,” Felicity muttered.

She dropped Bee off at kindergarten wearing old jeans with a patch on the knee and a t-shirt that said Math is not a spectator sport. One of the other mums stared a little too long at her before whispering something to a friend.

Felicity smiled and waved.

Felicity wasn’t surprised by the chaos. She had told Oscar it would happen eventually. Told him people would find out. That one day, he’d make some offhanded comment and the fandom would explode like Mentos in Coke.

What she hadn’t expected was for it to be over a “Would you rather” question. Or for it to involve Lando Norris nearly choking on his own spit on stage.

She’d watched the clip exactly once. With toast. And coffee.

Then she opened the garage.

Her current project sat like a sleeping beast under the suspended work lights: a 1969 Alfa Romeo Spider, stripped down to its bones. Half-sanded, one door missing, the kind of restoration that most people would call madness.

She called it Monday.

She put on her gloves, tied her hair back, and picked up the angle grinder.

Around noon, she stopped for coffee and opened Instagram. Her notifications were, unsurprisingly, a mess.

There was a fan edit of her baking sourdough while wielding a torque wrench. Someone had made a Twitter thread comparing her to various Marvel characters (Shuri with a sourdough starter was trending). Another post showed a blurry screenshot of her academic transcript with the caption “Oscar Piastri’s wife could do your homework, restore your car, out-bake your grandma and defeat you in hand-to-hand combat”.

She took a sip of coffee and muttered, “Dramatic.”

At 2:30 p.m., she washed the grease off her hands, swapped the engine oil scent for something vaguely lavender, and went to pick up Bee.

Bee ran out clutching a glittery rock and a half-drawn picture of Oscar holding a steering wheel and a loaf of bread. Felicity accepted both like priceless relics.

“Mama, can we bake today?” Bee asked as they walked to the car.

“Only if you promise not to eat half the cookie dough before we’re done.”

Bee grinned. “No promises.”

By 5 p.m., the kitchen smelled like vanilla and warm sugar. Bee was elbow-deep in flour. Senna had wandered inside again. Felicity didn’t bother kicking her out.

She kneaded the dough slowly, rhythmically. Felt the tension leave her shoulders.

Fame was fine. Chaos was familiar.

But this—flour under her nails, Bee humming beside her, a project waiting in the garage and a husband texting her to say he loved her between media obligations—this was the life she chose.

That night, after Bee was asleep—cuddled up with Button the frog and a bedtime story half-finished—Felicity sat on the back porch with a cup of tea and looked up at the sky.

So, the internet knew now. Fine.

She hadn’t done any of it for them.

She had fallen in love with a boy who drove like silence and calm, and kissed like he already knew how the future would feel. They’d built a life in soft corners and early mornings, in engine grease and sourdough, in whispered bedtime promises and braids and “Every lap”.

Let the world look.

This part wasn’t theirs anyway.

It was hers.

***

Transcript: Post-Race Media Pen – Chinese Grand Prix

Journalist: Oscar, first of all—great drive today. P8 in tricky conditions, well done.

Oscar: Thanks. Yeah, it was a bit chaotic out there, but we managed it well. Happy with the result.

Journalist: Okay, we have to ask—your name has been trending non-stop since last weekend. Not because of your race… but because of your wife. The internet’s gone absolutely feral.

Oscar: (blinks slowly)  Right.

Journalist #2: Felicity. Married five years. High school sweetheart. Literally no one knew. You didn’t mention her until a fan Q&A. Everyone’s calling it “the soft launch of the century.” Any comment?

Oscar: (shrugs slightly) She wasn’t a secret.

Journalist: (incredulous) But you never posted about her! Never talked about her! Lando said he didn’t know!

Oscar: I mean… I didn’t realize it was something I had to announce. We’ve been married for five years. It’s not new.

Journalist: So why didn’t you ever bring her up?

Oscar: My wife’s just… mine. She’s been there since before Formula 1, before most of this. We weren’t hiding anything. We just didn’t post about it. That’s all.

Journalist: So no regrets about how it came out?

Oscar:  Not really. People know now. That doesn’t change anything. She’s still my best friend. Still the smartest person I’ve ever met. Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy. 

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/formulafemmes “My wife’s just… mine.” Oscar Piastri said that with his whole chest. Softly. Calmly. Casually. And now I’m lying face down on the kitchen floor.

@/gridgossip the way oscar said “she’s still my best friend” with zero hesitation??? sir. we’re just trying to survive here. you didn’t have to be poetic at a media pen.

@/wifeloversanonymous “we weren’t hiding anything. we just didn’t post about it.” that’s the most mature, emotionally grounded response I’ve ever heard. I am so sorry for calling you a robot for three seasons.

@/felicitynation the way he said “she’s been there since before Formula 1” like she’s his origin story and not just his spouse. I’m not crying, you’re crying.

@/lan_doughnut Lando finding out Oscar has a wife: 😱😱😱 Oscar, two days later, sipping water like it’s no big deal: “she wasn’t a secret.” this man is unshakable.

@/piastrirealupdates “Still the reason I’m able to do what I do and come home happy.” Oscar Piastri you have exactly 2 seconds to stop or I will start writing poetry about you and your wife and your chickens.

@/drive_to_thirst oscar: “she’s mine. not mclaren’s. not the internet’s.” me: 💍🥺🥖🛐🧪🧡📐 (this is now the official felicity piastri emoji combo, don’t @ me)

@/chaoticwagtracker imagine being felicity piastri. you’re just out here baking bread, rebuilding carburetors, feeding chickens, and your husband is on global TV being like “she’s mine. she makes me happy. she’s my best friend.” like WHAT DO YOU DO WITH THAT???

@/softpitstops someone check on every F1 PR manager. because oscar just made 90% of the grid look emotionally underdeveloped in 20 seconds.

@/felicityfanaccount it’s the shrug. it’s the “she wasn’t a secret” shrug. like he genuinely didn’t think we’d care. like he genuinely thought this was normal. the bar is now in another galaxy.

@/oscarupdates “my wife’s just… mine.” Sir?? You can’t just say that and walk off like you didn’t emotionally rupture 2 million people??

@/felicitybrainrot oscar calling felicity “his best friend” and “the reason he comes home happy” after casually revealing she’s smarter than him??? i am lying face down on the floor. do not disturb.

@/gridchaosadmin “we weren’t hiding anything, we just didn’t post about it” is SO MUCH more romantic than any soft-launch story I’ve ever heard. he didn’t even try to curate it. he just lived it.

@/burners4felicity oscar: she’s mine. me: i am normal. i am rational. i am going feral in the parking lot. i am

@/lan_doughnut lando: “he never even mentioned her!” oscar: “she’s still the reason i’m able to do what i do and come home happy.” we are living through a modern shakespearean drama and its name is “The Piastri Marriage Reveal”

@/formula1romance he said “she’s still my best friend” and i felt that in my bloodstream. like. she’s not his aesthetic. she’s not his PR move. she’s his person. i’m crying and baking bread in her honor.

@/piastriwifeupdates “my wife’s just mine” is the kind of phrase that gets etched into a wedding ring or tattooed in tiny script on someone's ribs. you don’t recover from that.

@/felicitypiastrifanclub “we didn’t post about it, that’s all.” you’re telling me these two eloped at 18, never once posted each other, built a life with chickens and vintage cars, and just EXISTED while being soulmates?????@/drivetosurvivepls Netflix watching Oscar Piastri go viral for being emotionally devastating in 8 words or less and frantically rewriting their entire season outline

[ruesol]

DISLOCATION - one shot

(SUKUNA x FEM/AFAB! READER)

PLOT:

Sukuna, your best friend, (begrudgingly) helps you no matter what hurdles you face in life. Even when that hurdle involves getting a sexual fix after your ex cheats on you.

CW & TAGS: bffs to lovers, tattooist sukuna, yearning, (hinted) reader with low self esteem, shitty ex, kissing practice, lots of build up, angry confession, explicit sexual content, oral (f receiving), piv, stiff dirty talking, (honestly this fic is just me trying to get my smut writing practice in)

fanart: @/r5x95r13ros on tumblr & insta

wc: 6.8k

—

It was like resetting a bone after a fracture. Painful, but unavoidable. The idea has finally cornered you, setting a dark shadow over your sanity.

Your tongue is thick and heavy as soon as the words leave your mouth, the hypothetical shards of broken bone poking you from the inside of your body, the sting reminding you of how stupid you sounded.

Sitting before you was your best friend with his mouth hanging open, remnants of his half-chewed lunch falling out.

“You made me push my client an hour forward to tell me that you’re going to engage in casual sex?” Sukuna asked while resuming to chew with his mouth open, barbecue sauce smeared on his chin. Any other person would’ve grimaced at the sight, indirectly tossing him a comment about using a napkin. Still, the relationship between you two has gone on long enough for each of you to eat like it’s your last day alive in front of one another. However, you still sigh and grab a napkin, wiping off the sauce for him.

Sukuna goes cross-eyed when your hand reaches his chin, following its motion even when you retract it to your side.

“I-yeah, kind of, but it’s more like…” You uneasily trail off, staring at your glass of water instead. You imagine a race between the condensation droplets to buy some time to think about how you’re going to tell your friend that you want to have sex with him, so that you can get over your ex.

“Like what? Spit it out,” Sukuna impatiently said as he grabbed a fry off your plate. You couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed at him for it. Not when your little idea had been eating you alive since you’d received a breakup text from your ex.

‘Hey, I’m not in the right headspace to continue our relationship. You’re too good for me, and I don’t deserve you.’

The jerk was a grade A phony, blocking you on everything as soon as he saw that you replied to the text, hoping that you could meet him in person.

When you used a fake social media account to see what he was doing, you discovered that he had moved to another country to be with a woman he’d been dating online for six months.

Meaning that your one-year relationship meant nothing to him.

So, feeling used and abused, you decided to rip the band-aid off for one last session of wallowing via sex.

“I want to have sex with you so I can get over my ex,” you rambled out as fast as possible.

You sit with a bated breath, the sound of the restaurant soon ceasing to static because of the barrage of thoughts fogging your mind.

The burger falls out of Sukuna’s grip, his eyes trained on the plate. A vein in the middle of his forehead highlights itself as his frown deepens, his eyebrow piercing shifting positions.

“And why me?”

About eighty percent of your brain had assumed that he’d either groan out a disgusted ‘no’ or blush and look away while politely rejecting you, but that was not the outcome you expected. It’s like discovering that you’re a millionaire but not knowing how much you’ll need to pay in taxes every year.

“Look, we’ve been friends for a while, and you get me better than anyone else. It’ll be a one-time thing, of course—if you consent, that is.” Sukuna still doesn’t look up from his plate after your answer. “No pressure at all, I can totally understand if you don’t want to—“

But Sukuna interrupts you before you can vomit out any more conversation buffer. “I need a minute or an hour. Maybe a day. Or two. I don’t know. I’m gonna be late for my appointment,” he rambles as he abruptly gets up, swiping his leather jacket off the booth’s seat in a flash and bidding you a quiet farewell before briskly walking out of the diner, door slamming shut loudly. The other customers sharply turn their heads at the sudden ruckus.

Sukuna’s greasy, flat, half-eaten burger had been left behind because of his urge to escape.

A part of you feels bad for throwing your concerns on him if his feelings aren’t important to consider in this matter. But the wounds your ex left on you have been running deep, festering, and aching for a salve. You just need one good fix from someone who cares. Nothing more, nothing less.

Which is why you figured it would’ve been easy for Sukuna to grant it to you, especially given his history of having many friends with benefits in college. But his sudden aversion to the idea was understandable. At least he was taking time to contemplate his answer.

Well, it was either that or he would ghost you for good.

—

The needles punch and poke the skin as the black ink seeps into the first layer, swollen skin puckering as Sukuna’s hand moves along his client’s back. The dragon tattoo that was given to him was an intricate design. Something he needed to practice for days so he could get the details down to a T, in contrast to his memory of the time you two went skinny-dipping.

He repaints the canvas every time the memory visits him like a rising star, distancing itself from him as the years pass, yet ever sparkling.

The moonlight was shining down on the lake, and he was tipsy with you in his grandfather’s old cabin. He still didn’t understand how he never made a move that night, especially after seeing how you’d filled out your hips, and how perfect your breasts were.

It’s a memory he’s not proud about recounting, yet he does so anyway to soothe the perpetual ache he’s had since his brain first rewired itself to see you as the love of his life.

The first instance of him being aware of his feelings was when you were babysitting his nephew with him, and how easily you meshed with his family. Jin still recalls your jokes and, without daily, cackles to himself even when Sukuna does not find your humor to be as amusing.

His feelings for you have him collared and tethered to you, heart easy for yanking, and mind filled with nothing but silent yearning.

Sukuna knows there’s no coming back if he has sex with you.

The question rattles in his brain, leaving him periodically discombobulated during the entire work day, often bumping into corners and nearly writing the first letter of your name while tattooing his client. Like a fish in a bowl, the thought of having sex with you has nowhere to go but to swim into the different spaces of his mind.

The amygdala is already forcing him to imagine what your heady wetness would taste like on his tongue. His ears ached to find out whether you were unabashed with your voice or you’d only whimper when he was balls deep in you.

“You seem distracted,” Choso, one of Sukuna’s only two friends, calls out while lying on his stomach on the tattoo bed.

“How can you tell?” Sukuna mumbled, wiping sweat off his nose with his free hand. He was working up a sweat just thinking about you.

“You’re sighing a lot. What’s up?”

Sukuna didn’t want to tell Choso about his mental anguish. It was embarrassing, like he was a teen all over again, staring at you across the classroom, and sleeping in for the entire weekend after he heard about you going on a date. Though his condition barely changed even after he had entered his twenties. It’s a fact that’ll make him bite his tongue off before he ever acknowledges it to himself.

Even then, he tells Choso about your request, making the obsidian-haired mainly jump in surprise. Luckily, Sukuna held him down with a single palm to prevent ruining the tattoo.

“You’re gonna do it, right? It’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“I don’t know. I’ve been waiting for her to notice my feelings, not the fact that I wanna bone her.”

“Come on, don’t be stupid. It’ll be like getting a fix. Maybe you’ll get over her if you just sleep with her once.”

Sukuna pulls away from Choso momentarily and stares at the mirror across the room. He sees a traitor–a man who conceals the truth for his gain. The buzzing of the needle fades into nothingness when he begins to imagine your face when he finally confesses to you.

Would you be uncomfortable? What would happen to your weekly movie nights if you rejected him? 

And most important of all: what would he say to Yuuji, his six-year-old nephew, when you stop visiting during babysitting nights?

“Start with a chemistry test; kiss her. If it feels weird, don’t sleep with her. If it feels good, then do it. Easy as that,” Choso continues.

‘Easy as that’

Easier said than done. However, the thought of kissing you has never felt odd. He’s imagined the scenario too often–you’re wearing that one sundress he secretly likes, and the sun is setting. You’re both eating ice cream, and you get some on your lip. He tries to wipe it off, but instead of using his thumb, he swipes his tongue across your lip. You’re flushed, lashes fluttering as you try to look away, but Sukuna turns your chin just in time, and kisses you deeply before you can further protest.

“So, what do you think?” Choso asks, pulling Sukuna out of his heavenly daydream. It’s a rude awakening, his eyelids pressing shut in annoyance when he sees Choso’s swollen, naked skin with a halfway done tattoo.

“I’ll try it,” Sukuna says as he returns to working on the tattoo after rolling his stool closer to the bed.

“Good. I’d like updates, please.”

“I will knock down the price of your tattoo by twenty-five bucks if you don’t ask anything more about my situation.”

—

Awkwardness sits heavy in Sukuna’s living room and his throat. He was sure his voice would crack if he initiated any kind of conversation, so he kept his mouth shut, watching what was left of Lilo & Stitch. Yuuji was sleeping in Sukuna’s room. The boy was tired after running around, playing board games with you, and watching the movie's first half.

You were sitting on the floor, collecting all the toys Yuji had brought and putting them in his bag (while Sukuna burned holes into the back of your head). It had been three days of no words spoken between you two, except for when Sukuna called you to let you know that Yuuji missed you.

“Oh, he got a new Sulley plushie,” you mumble as you put a fuzzy blue toy back where it belongs. The television was playing the movie on mute so Yuji wouldn’t wake up, so you were the only one shuffling around.

“Yeah, I lost a bet to the little shit.”

You giggle before turning around, a small smile growing into a larger one.  “What was the bet about?”

Your lips are plush, and when you lick them, your saliva leaves a sheen.

(Strawberry jelly, ripe cherries–maybe that’s what your lips would taste like)

He cannot stop staring at them, and you, like you’re right where you need to be. You fit like a puzzle piece in his apartment. Right at home, in his living room and his heart.

“Huh?” Sukuna’s ears grow red at the slight crack in his voice, and he prays you cannot sense his embarrassment. He was glad his hood covered his ears. He wore it like armor.

“The bet—what was it about?” you speak out again, adjusting your hair back into place, making sukuna dig crescent indents into the skin of his palm, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he imagines touching your hair and adjusting it for you instead.

“Nothing exciting. Just had to beat him in Mario Kart, and unfortunately for me, he’d been practicing.”

Your giggles grow into laughter, and Sukuna follows suit with a slight smirk, looking away towards the window instead. His heart was racing fast enough, and if he saw your laughing face, he was sure it would simply leap out of his chest.

The awkwardness sets in again when silence returns. You break it once more. “I’m really sorry for what I said three days ago,” you sheepishly say as you look up at him from your spot on the floor. You could feel yourself sinking into the ground while replaying the memory of Sukuna bolting out of the restaurant.

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve acted like a grown man and just told you I was caught off guard and needed time to process.”

‘What’s there to decide?’ his heart yelled. It’s simple: have sex with you, get you off his mind, and then he can be on his way, and so can you. Like Choso said before, it’s all about getting a fix. Sukuna reasoned with himself, maybe it’s like smoking weed for the first time–exciting, kind of addicting, but you know won’t do it again.

(That is until you end up saying the same thing the second time.)

“So…have you decided then?” You maidenly wring your hand in your lap, almost like a vestigal virgin, and his cock nearly swells at the thought.

“Ah…” Sukuna rubs his hand across his face. The words were present in his throat, but they refused to come out—a final silent protest. To save one’s friendship also means choosing to lose one’s mind; a frustrating juxtaposition.

“Look, again, there’s no pressure. I totally understand if you’re not comfortable–”

“No! Let’s kiss,” Sukuna would’ve yelled, but Yuji was still sleeping inside, and he’d be damned if the nephew he loved so much interrupted an almost life-changing conversation for him.

“Oh, like, right now? Cause Yuji–” Your face grows warm immediately, and you get the sudden urge to pull your sweater off, but the context of your conversation with Sukuna wouldn’t help the situation.

“Shit, no, I meant that we should kiss to see if, uh…having sex is gonna be…you know, weird.” Choso’s voice rings in his head like a bell. “Kind of like a chemistry test.”

You frown at Sukuna’s words. “Chemistry test?”

“Yeah, like the shit actors do in romance movies.”

Sukuna assumes that you think he’s an idiot when you shake your head and laugh sarcastically as you zip up Yuji’s bag.

That is, until you get off the floor and sit beside him on the couch, your thigh touching his muscular one. “Okay, let’s kiss.”

It was Sukuna’s turn to be surprised. “What? Just like that?” he asked as his brows rose.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” you reason. Though your tone sounds confident, your body language says otherwise as you had folded your arms while sitting upright on the comfortable couch.

“Okay, then, I guess I’m gonna kiss you,” Sukuna says while staring into your eyes, searching for a smidge of hesitation, but he sees nothing. He turns his broad shoulders to you as his hands reach your face, touch so delicate that it feels feather-light.

Looking at him through your lashes, you lean closer, palms flat on the couch, as you stabilize yourself. He notices your elbow trembling and pulls you onto his lap. You gasp in surprise, and Sukuna rolls his eyes to push through his and your flustered states.

“You’ve sat on my lap before. I’m just doing this so it’s convenient.” It’s hard not to sound strangled when the woman of your dreams stares at you with her dewy lips parted.

“Yeah, but that was when we were in a tiny car with a bunch of other people and there was no space for me to sit,” you counter while playing with the strings of Sukuna’s hoodie. You stop when Sukuna’s large hands engulf yours, and he slowly moves them, securing your hold around his neck. He pulls his hood off and looks earnestly into your eyes.

“Let’s just do this, okay?”

You nod, close your eyes, and lean in first, but are taken aback when Sukuna doesn’t mirror your actions. You lean in further, your breath hitting his lips, but he still makes no effort.

It’s petrifying, this moment. Having you on his lap alone felt like something far away from reality. Living as your lover was his ultimate fantasy, and he hoped that he’d be kissing you under those circumstances, but this was the closest he could ever get. It was all his fault, really. He never wore his heart on his sleeve like the rest of your exes, and could never get over his pride to confess to you, so he was in this predicament by his design.

It frustrated you not to see him make any effort to kiss you, so you pulled away. “This is so stupid–”

He wraps his hands around your waist and neck and pulls you to him before you can continue. “I was just mentally preparing.” His lips brush against yours when they move, and you gulp.

“Oh,” is the most you can muster up. His palm is warm against the thin fabric of your tank top. When your breathing is finally steady, you realize he’s lightly squeezing your waist.

Nothing he hasn’t done before, of course.

He starts slowly, testing the waters with a small peck to check if you’re real or want to stop. He nips your bottom lip. “Open your mouth a little, feels like I’m kissing a statue.”

“R-right,” you choke out, parting your mouth, shivering when Sukuna’s lips brush against yours to brace you.

When he finally kisses you, it feels perfect. His lips were meant to be on yours as fate intended them.

Your lips do indeed faintly taste of strawberries. He thinks it’s because of the remnants of your lip balm. Your smell, taste, and skin all feel intoxicating. His five senses have been taken over. The groans that escape your throat egg him on to kiss you deeper, making you arch into him. His fingers snake into your hair, and you gasp when he tugs it.

His hot tongue explores your mouth with no decency, a clash of saliva and teeth.

‘Temporary paradise, temporary paradise, temporary paradise’–it’s all that echoes in Sukuna’s head as his mouth devours yours. Years of pent-up feelings and frustration were being let out.

His mouth begins to stray away, leaving kisses on your chin and cheek instead. You sigh when he kisses the spot just beneath your jaw’s hinge, and you tighten your hold on his shoulders.

“Sukuna, I think–”

“Little more,” he mumbles in a drunken haze against your skin, nipping your neck while also trailing kisses down to your collarbone.

He simply cannot stop himself. Not when the person he’s wanted for years is finally in his grasp. He will clutch onto you like a vice if he needs to. However, judging by how you’re squirming and gasping in his lap, it does not seem like you want to escape.

“Ahem.”

When you hear Jin, you’re quick to harshly push Sukuna off you, nearly falling out of his lap.

“Sorry for interrupting, but I’m here to pick up my son.”

You adjust your rumpled tank top from where Sukuna almost sneaked his hand under it, and you awkwardly cough as you walk over to Sukuna’s room to get the little boy.

“Finally grew a pair, I see,” Jin snarkily remarks as he picks up his son’s backpack off the floor, and Sukuna throws a pillow at him. “Fuck off.”

“I’m happy for you, idiot. It’s about damn time.”

Oh, if he only knew. Jin, the lankier of the set of twins, would challenge Sukuna to a fight if he knew what was going on between you. As frustrating as it was for Sukuna to have unrequited feelings for you, it was even more frustrating for Jin to watch his brother endlessly pine over one woman for years. With his sanity sacrificed, Sukuna’s head was only filled with thoughts of you, going as far as basically integrating you into his little family because his heart knew that you’d fit in just right.

“Yeah, about time.”

You abruptly leave Sukuna’s apartment after Yuuji wakes up, and Jin does not say much when you only send Sukuna an awkward wave before rushing out the door.

–

The following days after the kissing experiment were bleak–at least for Sukuna. The man was glued to his phone whenever you’d update your social media with a picture of you and your girlfriends at brunch or some club. Avoidance being obvious, he decides to take the first step again. It’s either talking to you or awkwardly skirting around each other till you slowly exit each other’s lives.

He shoots you a seemingly harmless text.

Forgot my leather jacket at your place. I’m coming to get it tomorrow at 3.

–

Cameras don’t do justice to Sukuna’s devilishly handsome looks. Being a natural-born charmer with Adonis-like features makes him the center of attention in every room, so he never feels self-conscious. Of course, that also goaded people around him because those features only fueled his narcissism and rude and repulsive personality.

But still, he checks his face in his phone’s front camera before knocking on your door. Lookwise, he was the polar opposite of what your exes looked like, but he still had some confidence in himself that you didn’t completely disregard how conventionally attractive he was. He runs his hands along his chin to rub off any extra crumbs from his lunch earlier, and then he finally knocks on your door.

“In a minute!” He hears muffled shuffling and stumbling before you open the door in a frazzled daze. “Hey,” you say as you let him in. Your apartment looks the same except for the three pairs of shoes, two bags strewn on the floor, and your ransacked coat closet beside your door. “I looked everywhere but couldn’t find your jacket,” you huff out breathlessly.

“Of course you couldn't. I lied about it. I wanna talk.”

“Right now? I’m kind of running late for something,” you say, avoiding eye contact by tidying up your place, hands placing your shoes back on the shoe rack. That’s when Sukuna finally gets a good look at you. You have more makeup on than you usually do, but it’s not like the kind you wear on girls’ night, no, it’s the type one wears to make their features naturally stand out. You’re wearing a baby pink sundress that ends just above your knees, and it flutters around your smooth and freshly-shaved legs as you shuffle quickly around your living room.

His eyes narrow as he scoffs at the realization, the thought hitting him hard between his ribs. “Are you going out on a date?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, you freeze, your head slowly turning to face Sukuna in shame. The increased tension in your shoulders was enough of an answer for him. “Would you be mad if I said yes?”

Sukuna isn’t sure whether what’s currently fueling his anger is jealousy or resentment. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Flashes of the incident that took place a few days ago invade his mind, more vivid than before. You look so devastatingly beautiful that he nearly convinces himself that he should accept whatever escapes your pretty little mouth. You fold your arms, and your cleavage presents itself, making it even more difficult for him to handle the sight in front of him. Oh, if only you got dolled up for him instead.

But it’s now or never. Sukuna either tells you how he feels, or you go ahead and give some random bastard a chance.

“Don’t go,” he blurts out before he can stop himself. Finally saying what’s on his mind feels liberating and mind-numbing at once—anticipation and insecurities at war.

“What? I’m not gonna do that. I have someone waiting on me.” You roll your eyes as you try to walk past him, but he grabs your arms, large hands basically encircling your biceps as he holds you in place in front of him. “Sukuna, let me go.”

“No, I won’t. Not until you listen to me. You can’t just fucking makeout with me and go out with some other guy. You can’t just make me have all these…complicated feelings and skip away like it was nothing.”

Your eyes widen as you try to twist out of his grip, but he pulls you flat against him, his chest against yours, just like a few days ago.

“You think I didn’t notice how something had clearly changed between us? Did the thought of us together feel too real for you? Well, you know what? It felt damn real for me. And the way you kissed me, fuck, it’s like you knew how I felt!” His red eyes bore into your glassy ones. Sukuna’s confession started to feel more like a rude admonition, but he didn’t care. Having his words weigh heavily on your shoulders was cathartic for him. You looked positively guilty, and it fueled something deplorable in him.

“H-how you felt?” you rasp out, still in shock, fear-stricken yet pliant enough to relax in Sukuna’s hold.

“Yeah. How I felt, how I feel. I fucking love you and I always have for the longest time,” he replied without missing a beat. His grip on you has loosened, yet he still keeps you close, the scent of your intoxicating, musky sweet perfume grounding him to earth. The man you were going to meet tonight did not deserve even to catch a waft of it. A part of him wished you’d smell exactly like this when you both would do nothing but watch movies at his house on the weekends. The wish scratches his ribcage like a desperate request, but he contains himself with a shuddered exhale.

“I didn’t kiss you to amuse you or help you escape your dry spell–no! I kissed you because I’m a selfish and arrogant asshole who wants someone who probably doesn’t feel the same way.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins in amounts that rival oxygen, making you feel lightheaded. You tightly clutch onto the bottom of Sukuna’s denim jacket to stabilize yourself. Noticing this, he leans down, his forehead against yours as he whispers one last time.

“Tell me none of it was real or that it meant nothing. Tell me so I can leave and forget this ever happened.” His breath hits your lips like a puff of smoke, menthol suffusing in the back of your mind. 

It’s all becoming too real: his hands on your arms, his mouth near yours, and the hunger in his eyes.

And then the world, as Sukuna knew, ceased to exist, heaven’s light shining on his head, the heat so real that if he ran his hand through his hair, it would be oddly warm. Despite not being religious, the man always had a vision of what heaven could be.

And your lips tasted exactly like the first fruit he imagined having there.

Your lips are sweet, tart strawberries when you crash them into his. He smiles to himself as he relishes the taste, divine blessing coating his tongue as he licks into your mouth. Reward does not come easily to the greedy, but Sukuna would gladly sin for a thousand lifetimes if he could kiss your lips in each one. And to think that some undeserving asshole almost got a taste of what has belonged to him since the day he set his eyes on you.

Sukuna’s body melts onto yours as his hands haphazardly move around your waist and pull you closer to him. The kiss gets deeper as he pulls your chin down with his thumb, lapping up all the gloss you had put on for your little outing, which he was hoping you still did not plan to go to.

“Don’t go,” he gasps against your mouth. “Don’t go on that date, fuck, do you even know what you do to me?”

You try to pull away after he leaves another smacking kiss on your lips, but he continues to stay latched to your bottom lip, nipping it as he squeezes your waist. “I’ve waited years. Don’t take this away from me just yet.”

“Sukuna, you’re crazy if you think I’m gonna go out on that date after what you just said. I’ve always loved you, too.”

Your confession makes Sukuna abruptly pull away. Unlike how rough he was before with the kiss, he gently caresses your face as if touching something priceless.

“Then why’d you date all those stupid guys?” he interrogates with a gravel-rough voice.

You slide your hands up his firm chest to his neck, wrapping them around, before answering. “I thought you never liked me. You were always messing around with a different girl every week. Not to mention, I was nothing like them.”

Sukuna scoffs before pulling you back into him, the bare skin of your legs in contrast with the rough denim of his jeans. He leaves a chaste kiss on your lips, mainly because he still cannot believe what’s in front of him and because it’s a stamp of reassurance. 

(Still, it was more for him than for you.)

It’s the guilt that bites. Of course, he never gave you an in. He kept you at arm’s length to get over you, and of course, that miserably (and fortunately) failed. “I fucked them cause I was trying to get over you. You are everything they weren’t, and I was afraid that if I let myself be selfish like now, I would fuck everything up between us.”

He cannot bring himself to face you, so he looks around your apartment instead. Memorabilia of your friendship are scattered everywhere: Polaroids of the two of you as kids stuck on your refrigerator, a vase he had gifted you on your birthday, and a fuzzy blanket you had always kept for him on your couch. The answer to his age-old question had been staring at him right in the face. Years of yearning reciprocated, but he was too blind to see it because of his insecurity.

He moves his hand to your cheek, almost covering the entire space, before he tips your head back slightly. “But now, I’ve been waiting so long that it’s impossible for me to think about anyone but you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Me too,” you whisper against his mouth before giving him a heated kiss. You push your tongue into his mouth, and he groans at the feeling of your slick muscle against his. Enveloped in gooseflesh, your knees nearly buckle when Sukuna squeezes your plush hips before snaking his hand to your ass. He walks you back to your bedroom, lips still on yours as he haphazardly unzips the back of your dress. It’s easy for him to move with fluidity, like it’s a script that he’s been practicing for ages, synapses firing each time your hold tightens on him when he sips a kiss from you.

Your dress, his pants and t-shirt are on the floor. The two of you are only clad in your underwear as Sukuna lowers his body on top of yours, the delicious heat of his abdomen on yours.

“Been dreaming of this for so long.” You can only whimper in response when Sukuna nips at the column of your throat. He kisses the spot where your necklace rests between your breasts as he slides the strap of your bra down.

He pauses for a moment, looking up only to find the most beautiful sight of all–you with your rubicund cheeks, glossy parted lips, and half-lidded eyes. Your hands stroke up the back of his neck, into his pink hair, where the buzzed hair above his nape is slightly darker than his crown. The groan he lets out when you scratch his head reverberates within your ribs, making you arch your back. Sukuna takes that as a sign to take your nipple in his mouth, and his mind immediately takes him back to the day you two went skinnydipping–when he first laid his eyes on your perfect, pert breasts.

That night has fueled his fantasies for many months following it. The way your nipples glistened under the firelight, how they’d wrinkled because of how you were shivering after the swim. A gross part of him didn’t even want to wash the towel you borrowed after the swim.

He feels like he can taste the freshwater of the lake when he sucks on the sensitive flesh. Only this time, your skin is dewy with sweat, and some body lotion that smells intoxicatingly sweet. He grinds his bulge onto your clothed pussy, and you gasp at the pressure.

“Sukuna, please, I need you now,” you grind up to him, and moan out when he pinches your nipple, making you firmly flex your thigh at the sting.

“Let me take my time, needy girl.”

He kisses down your body, savoring the smoothness of your skin, dragging his nose along the length of your abdomen to the center of your mons. Your panties are soaked, the gusset saturated with your juices.

Sukuna’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when he peels the fabric down, the sight of your pussy, making his heart race sinfully.

“Do you know what my ultimate fantasy was for the longest time?” The man wasn’t even looking at you when he asked that question, eyes hypnotized by the sight before him.

When you don't reply, he bites the flesh of your inner thigh, his canines leaving a deeper imprint than expected. You whimper at the brazen expression of possessiveness, but Sukuna seems unapologetic about being the reason behind your surprised state. “Don’t be quiet with me, pretty girl.”

“What was it?” you whisper.

“Taking you on the forest floor that night. Rubbed my cock raw for months after that day. Thought about eating this pretty pussy out after pulling you out of the water, with your hair wet and clinging to your body.”

It was filthy, disgusting, and gross. You could only grimace at the overstimulation of feeling leaves and twigs poking you from all angles, and the water only making the forest soil stick to your body in crevices that would be a nightmare to clean in just a single shower.

But there was something so heady and hot about the whole situation–how you imagined him eating you out like he was a starved beast who’d just had his first meal after days after hunting, your cunt’s juices being his only sustenance, his tongue deep in your pussy, pushing you to the edge with every lick and suck.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” Your voice comes out broken when he licks up your slit, tongue circling your little clit, nub too swollen and sensitive to be directly touched.

“Don’t fuck with me right now. You wouldn’t be laying with your legs spread open like a slut if you didn’t want my cock that night.”

Sukuna was not wrong. He never was. Especially when it came to you. Your best friend was scarily tuned to your wants and needs, and how your mind worked, almost like he was programmed to be the perfect man for you.

When you didn’t reply, he smirked against your pussy before sucking your clit, leaving little kisses on it after your thighs jolted at the sensitivity. His rough, tattooed hands stroked your thighs to calm you down, but your cries only egged him on to further overstimulate you.

He imagined being on that forest floor, taking from you what he deserved, what belonged to him since the dawn of time, since your atoms came into being and combined. Forever intertwined within nature and cosmic law.

You see stars on your plain white ceiling when you cum, involuntarily grinding into Sukuna’s mouth as he continues to flatten his tongue and drag it up your cunt. “Sukuna, please, I can’t wait anymore,” you breathe out, legs shivering as he pulls away.

“You want my dick?” Sukuna cockily asks, as he pulls his boxers down, his cock standing red and proud. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but the context changed your feelings about it.

You could take it.

 (Well, maybe.)

You nod, babbling about how you were wet enough, but that still wasn’t enough for the egotistical tattoo artist. His pecs glistened with sweat as he leaned over you, his dog tag necklace meeting your pendant as he kissed your neck.

“Tell me how bad you want. Tell me how bad you want your best friend to fuck you,” he whispered against your skin, and your brows furrow at his command. His assertive gaze quickly urges you to spit out what you’d been wanting for years.

“I want your cock to stretch me open, Sukuna. Stretch me good and fuck me till I scream,” you bashfully ramble, looking away, but Sukuna tips your chin back with a finger, staring deep into your eyes. There’s something so beautiful yet sensually arousing about how shy you are, a heady juxtaposition that only rushes more blood to his thickened cock.

“Good, now, tell me you love me, baby girl,” his deep voice rumbles against your warm cheek, and you comply.

“I love you, Sukuna,” you gasp when his hands sneak down, playing with your clit once more.

“Again,” he commands as he kisses your earlobe.

“I love you.”

“Again.” He kisses down your neck, sucking the thin skin by your collarbone.

“I love you, Sukuna Ryomen. I always have and always will.”

He looks up at you this time, and kisses you square on your lips, your heady wetness still fresh on his tongue.

“I love you, too, beautiful.”

It doesn’t take him any effort to split your legs open; you’re needy and pliant, already wet for two of his thick fingers to easily slip inside. You whine when he pumps them in and out a little, just to prep you for his ruddy cock, the tip already dripping beads of precum.

The head of Sukuna’s cock is warm, stretching your pussy good as you slowly take in every inch. Your wet walls cling to his phallus, already spasming when he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning over as his dog tag dangles above your head.

When you nod, he kisses you before slowly rocking his hips against yours. Your eyes follow the hypnotizing pendulous movement of his necklace, and you bite your lips as his hips move at a relentless pace.

“Shit, my gorgeous girl, all you needed was your best friend to fuck you. Look at you–fit so well around my cock.” Sukuna leans back, his pace uninterrupted as he slots his hands under your knees and places your legs on his shoulder. He kisses your ankle in hopes to soothe you, but you only grow more restless, hips moving up to keep up with him.

You know he’s reached his limit when his hips begin to stutter, spurts of his cum painting your walls white, its warmth making you shiver as Sukuna groans. He rubs his hand down to your flank, patting it to check in on you, and you nod as a reply.

Sukuna nearly topples over you when he lies back down. You decide that you can wait a couple of minutes before washing up, relishing being held in his muscled embrace.

Only when you’re finally pulled out of your post-sex haze do you notice a small tattoo on the inner side of his bicep–a word, in Japanese. It looks new and completely unrelated to his usual, harsh, and brutalistic art style. His body was basically a canvas covered in doodles. Whatever spare skin he had was used for practice during his apprenticeship days. Your fingers are drawn to the inked patch of skin, tracing along the unfamiliar letters.

Sukuna opens an eye, still tired, but amused at your curiosity. “Your name,” he roughly mumbles as he pulls you tighter to his chest. His cock aches from how sensitive it is considering that it softened up inside you, though, he’s too comfy holding you to do anything about it. (There’s also something so filthy about plugging you up with his cum.)

“Huh?” you ask, still busy tracing the tattoo.

“That tattoo–it’s your name but in Japanese script.”

There’s not a lot that Sukuna has been passionate about growing up; art was always more of a hobby for him than his passion. He never imagined himself working hard, or going through mentally or physically strenuous labor to make money, but your smile? He’d do anything for it, no matter how arduous his effort to bring it would have to be.

Especially for the deeply lovesick look you had on your face, right now.

[mintedwitcher]

Heyyy! I’ve been reading some of your asks and you always give really well thought out responses so I thought I’d ask a question that I’ve been attacked for asking elsewhere!

I think you’re a fan of Tommy (?) I’m just curious what it is about him you like? Everytime I ask Tommy fans they get really defensive (which I get, as there are a lot of people who hate him and attack his fans) but I genuinely have no opinion on him.

I do have to say I���m definitely more partial to buddie when it comes to shipping (although I honestly am indifferent to whether or not they end up together) but this isn’t really a question related to buddie vs bucktommy.

I genuinely just don’t understand why people are so in love with Tommy’s character by himself when he has like 10 minutes of screen time, are people just fans of the ship? Does the actor have a big following idk about? Is a lot of it people who don’t like buddie, and just like Tommy out of spite?

I’d like to say I come from an indifferent perspective as I’m not actually active in the 9-1-1 fandom (I didn’t know it had a fandom until the network switch lol!) and am more of just a weekly watcher. So I was super surprised when he had such a huge following! To me personally he just felt like a good plot device to do stuff no one in the main cast was able (fly a helicopter and kiss buck lol).

I hope none of this sounds rude I honestly mean no hate to any fans of Tommy or Bucktommy!!!

I've been putting off answering this all day, I'm sorry.

First things first, let me be very clear. The reason Tommy fans get defensive when you ask why we like him is because you're using the same phrases as the people who have sent us death threats, CSA fics, and suicide bait for over a year. We have listened to those people endlessly claim that Tommy is "just a plot device" or that "he only has ten minutes of screen time" or that "people only like him because they hate Eddie". Just as you've done in this ask.

Now, I'm not saying you're one of those people, but you should be able to understand why we get so defensive after spending a year having to defend ourselves from the very worst of fandom.

With that out of the way, let me also add that I do not speak for anyone but myself in the rest of this post. So here's why I like him:

Tommy is funny. He has that dry, snarky sense of humour that appeals to me, as someone with the same type. His sarcasm and dry wit is enjoyable, and it's a good counterbalance to Buck's optimism. He's not a cynic, though. He's realistic, having lived a full life and learned that every action has its consequences.

Tommy is smart. He knows his own expectations and boundaries, and knows when and how to enforce them. He's intuitive. He's thoughtful. He chooses to take care of the people he loves, and gives his all to the task every time. He's resourceful, with a range of knowledge and the skills to back it up. He's not boastful, but confident in himself and his abilities. He's respectful and respected, both professionally and personally.

Tommy is kind. He, like Buck, is a fixer. He's mature enough to know, however, when there's something he can't fix; he sticks around all the same, though. He understands the importance of a support network, because he didn't have one. He wants for others something better than what he had, even though he might be envious or jealous of them having it when he couldn't. He's patient, knowing that discovering oneself is a long process, and one that can't be rushed without sacrificing safety, security, or happiness. He's willing to let himself be hurt in order to prevent others from feeling it.

Tommy is strong. Not just physically, but emotionally. He understands himself on a level that speaks to years of dedicated introspection and work. He's careful, not just with his words but with his actions. He's grounded, with a stable sense of self and an understanding of where he fits in the world. He's flawed, but he's learned from his mistakes and done everything in his power to atone for them. He's guarded, understanding his own weak spots and how to protect them.

Tommy is gentle. His size, stature, age, and blatant masculinity are all carefully considered when he engages with others. He knows when and how to soften his voice, to lower his shoulders, to make himself less intimidating, because he knows there are people who will make a snap decision about him based on how he presents. He knows exactly the image he projects, and he knows when it's safe to change that perception. He's thoughtful, again, of other people's comfort.

Tommy is selfish. He'll break his own heart now to spare himself the pain later. He's scared, because the life he's lived has taught him never to expect good things without the bad. He's a bitch, letting his face speak volumes even when he's completely silent. He's afraid of commitment. He desperately wants commitment. He's jealous. He's petty. He's lonely. He's alone, and doesn't want to be.

Tommy is so many things. He has experienced a hard life, but he hasn't let that life harden him. He puts his heart into everything he does, even though he guards it far more readily than Buck does. He values friendship, loyalty, and trust. He'll go to hell and back again, gladly, if it means protecting someone he cares about. He'll break the rules, the law, if it means someone he cares about can be saved.

He is a complicated, flawed, and deeply intriguing character. He is a study in contradiction. He is proof that anyone can change, if they just want to.

And none of this even touches on why I like him with Buck in particular, but that'll be another post, I think.

You might read all of this and ask yourself, where am I getting all of this? How can a character with only "ten minutes of screen time" provide this much? And to that, I would have to say, you haven't paid attention. He is a plot device, just as all characters are in a work of fiction, but his story is more than just his lines on screen. We met him first in the Begins episodes, where we watched as he evolved in the background. Sure, most people didn't pay attention then, either, but with his reintroduction, that evolution was cemented into canon.

What you need to understand, nonnie, is that a show like this is never going to hold your hand and tell you all of the character notes. They're shown to you, through character interactions and context clues. We know from Chimney Begins that Tommy and Chim became friends. We know from Hen Begins that Hen inspired Tommy. We know from Bobby Begins Again that Tommy made amends with both of them, and were friendly enough that they often went out drinking together after work. We know from Capsized that Tommy is still close enough with them both that Chimney still has Tommy's personal number, and that Hen still trusts him enough not to fight him even though he could blow the lid on her entire stealth attempt. We know from the rest of season seven and early season eight that Tommy desperately wants a family.

Everything that I've mentioned above is extrapolated from canon. Every character interaction, every line, every microexpression, every hint of body language, all of it. I analyse media for fun, and Tommy is by far one of my favourite characters to analyse.

That's why I like him. He's Tommy. It's really that simple.

[garfieldsladybird]

i gotta reblog this and talk more. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this fic since i read it. The way you wrote the characters made me connect to them in a way that I haven’t felt in a minute. And the plot, the action, and everything has stuck with me for a while now, I’ve been nonstop thinking about it. i rambled, this made me reconnect with the characters and I’ve been missing them a lot so I went and talked lol

I can’t get over how in depth the reader is feeling and how much I felt of what she was feeling. The slowly overthinking, noticing what’s causing her to overthink tho like the hand flinching, eyes drifting, the conversations ending suddenly when they see her but yet it seems like they’re still talking with their eyes. Just the feeling like you don’t understand nor know them truly. And then this all happening because they couldn’t trust her with a secret, that hurt. Her yelling and saying get out, and saying “you let me bleed for a secret that was never mind to carry”that sentence was heartbreaking. she was having so many realizations. the depth of the writing of when the reader gets is in pain, like you can really piece it together of what happens. Especially when she’s alone in the hospital ring, the fact she’s gonna have to live with those scars forever, you can tell how traumatic it is.

I wanna touch some little things that I liked.. I really love how you wrote Remus’s character, him being a werewolf and how he sees himself and everything is such a big thing. And him hurting someone he really cares about, man the fact he dropped to his knees and he’s begging James to tell him he didn’t do this, it was so heartbreaking n so passionate to me. i cant explain and put in the thoughts of how much I feel like I have connected to Remus’s character. And I really do like how reader and Remus bond again, how reader is comforting him and that they’re there for each other. I feel like what would come after this with them two, would be them getting closer and having a really deep connection, especially with the bite and everything. I feel like the werewolf would kinda be connected to her, or she would also turn into a werewolf herself and they both would be way closer. Above all, both of them getting up and walking away together, was everything, it was so meaningful, that they were both leaning on each other for help to walk, and they held on together and went and took a bath. it created a beautiful moment. I think they really bonded and connected deeply there.

as for James and Sirius, you can really tell how protective and caring and actually smart James is in my opinion. When he yelled at sirius and was being real with him, hospital ring and when Snape showed up, I feel like he would’ve actually done something like that. He would’ve actually said some stuff like that. Sure he’s arrogant and he loves to make jokes and pranks and everything, but he still knows what’s dangerous and when it’s really bad. Like it seemed then in that moment that he didn’t and wouldn’t want something like really bad to happen to snape, and I personally think like he really wouldn’t. Especially not with Mooney, maybe in that case he wouldn’t want anything to happen to snape because its his friend remus that would be unknowingly causing the harm and he doesn’t want something worse to happen.

With the fact that Sirius told snape to show up, ofc is canon but he did think it was gonna be a joke and it would be funny and that he wouldn’t actually show up, he didn’t expect any of this to happen. He didn’t know she would show up, he had no clue and I bet he feels even more terrible because if he had never told snape anything then maybe none of it would’ve happened. She may have not shown up but I feel like she would’ve either way. But if he hadn’t told Snape, then he and James would’ve been in that room and she wouldn’t have gotten hurt maybe…. I bet he would be spiraling, overthinking, blaming. “you don’t get to just throw people in the line of fire for fun.” james said that, I feel like that would sit with Sirius. That sentence is such a sentence for him. Because that is kind of what he does. He makes everything as a joke. He doesn’t care if someone gets hurt even if it’s just someone’s feelings. Though i do think he does care but only if it’s someone he truly cares about. I feel like you can definitely tell that he feels guilty, and he wouldn’t know how to fix this. He might apologize, like take a minute to do so or it would be hella awkward, but fs would. Though to bond with all three of them again, especially as a partner, it would be hard. it would take a minute. He would feel so out of place I feel like, maybe thinking they’re just kind of maybe only forgiving him or wanting him to be around still because they feel bad or something. but I think he would be trying to prove to them that hes sorry and he loves and cares about them but there would be a point where he sees reader with them too and be like it’s not the same, for him and her and he wouldn’t know what to do.

I do think above all though all of them would forgive each other and connect again and be way closer, but it would take a while. And the angst would be soooo angstyy 😋

A part two would definitely be amazing ofc but there’s just so many ways you can take it. I think this fic is beautiful, meaningful and something ive needed in a long time. It’s also very beautiful as a standalone fic, just wanna say. I really connected with the characters again and ive missed them so much. it’s crazy. i love this fic and i really love your writing!! I hope you continue doing your amazing work, of course always keep taking care of yourself and make sure to eat and drink water!! you’re a blessing 🫶🫶🫶

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

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

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

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

w/c: 10k

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But lately, there’s been something else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the walls go up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to follow them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

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

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

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

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

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

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You woke to pain.

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

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

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

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

He had mauled you.

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

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

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

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

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

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

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

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

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

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

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

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

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

You would carry these forever.

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

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

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

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

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

The silence rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

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

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

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

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

You stopped.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

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

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

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

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

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

You were already bleeding.

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

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

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

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

This didn’t have to happen.

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

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

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

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

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

And you broke.

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

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

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

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

"Remus…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

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

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

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

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

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

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

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

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

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

Remus was screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

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

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

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

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

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

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

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

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

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

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

No one spoke.

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

"You don’t remember," you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

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

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were holding him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

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

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

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

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

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

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

“But I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t let go of him either.

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

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

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

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

He stood by the door, unmoving.

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

He flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

You reached for his hand again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this time, he did.

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

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

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

And still, you listened.

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

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

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

And still, there was so much more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healing would not be a soft road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

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

“For keeps.”

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

[windownextdoor]

RENOVATIONS

sfw + nsfw + plot + simon riley x fem!reader wc: 745 wanting independence, you buy a home. yes, it was a fixer-upper. but, who said your neighbor couldn't help? pt. 1

fallen off trim. messed up brick. peeling paint. rotten boards.

a hand ran over your face as you stood in front of your house.

your house!

excitement trumped all of things wrong with this place. yes, a lot of work was needed. yes, you'd probably spend more renovating the thing than you spent on buying it, but c'mon!

you were a 22 year old woman, fresh out of college, and bought a house. that has to account for something.

you walked up to the small porch, just enough to fit two chairs and a table in between them, feeling the boards under your feet. creaky, one board is molding, the other is somewhat- broken. a small smile fell on your face.

you couldn't wait to get to work.

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

everything you had from your dorm fit into your small, beaten up nissan altima, so unpacking was an insanely easy task. a regular black mattress frame and a mattress, one box of your clothes, your toiletries fit into your backpack, and the rest of the house was bare.

it looked sad.

but, it was all you had. you were supposed to start your new job as a barista on monday, so you had about three days to work on what you could with the house before you had limited time in the day. it was almost five pm, so you made your way out of your house and started making a long list of things you needed to re-do.

looking up and down at your notepad and the view of your house, you started writing.

paint, wood, trim, a drill, paintbrush, grinder-

"didn't know someone moved in next door." a raspy, deep voice ground out.

you whirled around fast as your heart jumped out of your fucking chest. your eyes landed on a towering hulk of a man, his elbows on his porch railing, leaning over ever-so-slightly, a lit cigarette between his pointer and middle finger.

his house was directly next to yours, looked way better, but you could take a couple of steps and be in his yard.

you tried calming yourself, "you scared me." you laughed lightly at the man, smiling somewhat, but nodded, "but, yes, i just moved in. literally today."

he grunted.

you blinked a couple times, before asking, "what's your name?"

"simon." his voice was flat, your smile dropped a little. you exchanged your name, trying to get out of the silence. you looked back to your house.

he didn't seem like he wanted to say anything else, so you started writing more things down.

you definitely needed a lot of power tools-

"ain't 'cha a little young to have a house, love?"

your pulse jumped at the 'love'.

you looked up from your writing pad and rolled your eyes at him as he took a drag of his cigarette, "you're making assumptions about me when you met me, like two minutes ago?" you retorted, a hand on your hip as you looked at him.

he ran a hand through his dowdy blond hair, before stomping out the cigarette, "just observing, y'look too excited for that fixer-upper of a house." a side of his lip a slightly turned upwards, not fully a smirk, but definitely not a smile.

"i'm actually twenty-two, thank you, old man. can a girl not have independence?" you eyes ran over him again as he stood to his full height, jesus christ, the man was collosus.

"old man? thirty-three's old now?" he said, his eyes raking over you in a way you are certainly overanalyzing.

wait- thirty-three? fucking eleven years older? talk about a dilf. it would be fitting if he had a child, but it didn't look like he did. you doubt he'd be out here talking to you if he had a kid of his own.

you pushed that thought away and laughed a little, "considering you are bee-keeping age, i'd consider you old."

an eyebrow turned up lazily, "i'm not even going to ask what that means."

you snorted and shook your head.

he nodded his head toward you, "i'm going back inside, have a good night, neighbor." his voice was scratchy, with a lilt of teasing behind it.

"you too, neighbor." you replied with the same tone. a small, gruff laugh left him before you heard his door close.

you smiled stupidly as you finished writing your necessities down.

tomorrow, you'd start the real work. maybe with the help of someone, who knows?

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

pt. 2 (soon!)

[pboogerswbb]

YOU'VE BEEN MISSED

natasha cloud x oc In which Tash makes you get on your knees after the Liberty win over Fever, still high on the adrenaline from her game-winning plays (request)

Warnings: sexual content (smut w/ minimal plot, oral & strap, rough and some slapping involved...), language, NOT PROOFREAD Wordcount: 2.4K A/C: because the way she played against fever was sexy (it's short but i had to get it out of my system

-

”She tried to flop so bad! But you had her messed up baby the ref was looking right at her-”

”Yeah?” Tash grins, sliding the keycard to get the hotel door open. She’s been all smiles, beaming still from the adrenaline of the amazing game she had.

”- and that steal in the fourth? The pass to Stewie? Fuck babe,” you gush. Tasha is eating all of it up, smiling from ear to ear as she lets you in first.

”Mhm, tell me more mami,” her voice is more hoarse and raspy than normal, worn out by the game. Her hand snakes around your waist as she closes the door behind you, walking you in by your lower back.

”- and that block in the fourth,” you add, turning to your girlfriend, eyes twinkling with pride and admiration. ”You’re just so tough T.”

”You think so?” She asks softly, wrapping her hands around your waist. She runs her fingers up and down, finding your hips and digging her digits into your skin. 

”Yeah baby,” you hum, leaning into a kiss. But she dodges, not grinning anymore. No, now she was serious.

”Then why don’t you take off your clothes and get on your knees.”

The mood shifts quickly, the giddy atmosphere suddenly loaded with tension. You swear there’s a waterfall between your legs, making your underwear damp. Seeing her play the way she did, so fired up and passionate had you going crazy all day. But you were prepared to have to wait, assuming she might be exhausted. She had given it all to the game. Seemingly it was the opposite, the adrenaline still flowing through your girlfriend.

So, under her piercing gaze you do as she says. Painfully slowly, you pull off your t-shirt and throw it over your head onto the floor. Tasha keeps her eyes on you, covering the lower half of her face as she looks you up and down.

Unbuttoning your jeans that fit you just right, you push them down your legs left in a matching red lingerie set. Tash is nearly drooling.

”Goddamn mami,” she groans, unbuckling her own belt in a hurry. Her movements are frantic and desperate, suddenly half undressed in front of you in boxers and a white tank top.

You drop onto your knees, never breaking eye contact. With soft, teasing kisses you run your lips against her muscular thighs. Tash groans, she doesn’t want to play these games. Not right now.

”Thought you were proud of me,” she starts, pulling down her boxers at once. ”Show me.”

With that her hands grab hold of the back of your head and she’s pulling you in. Not that she had to, you were already itching in to taste her.

”Fuckkkkk,” she groans, throwing your head back as you kiss sloppily along her slit, darting your tongue out. She’s soaked, folds covered in her slick already. No wonder, Tash had been wanting you since giving you that touchy, sweaty hug post game.

”Shit mami,” she gasps, mouth falling open, tattooed hand gripping onto your hair. You stare up at her, eyes fluttering shut when she yanks your hair. She’s beautiful, all muscle - prominent abs heaving as she inhales deeply, the outlines of her biceps visible even as her arms rest. ”Making papi feel so good.”

You whimper at the sounds of her grunts, doing everything in your power to make your girlfriend feel good. Allowing your tongue to poke out, you run it against her dripping folds, lapping her up. You’re too gone to be precise or focused, your only goal to get her to cum for you.

”Take that bra off,” she hisses, heavy eyes stuck on the way you look - doe-eyed and needy. Like a complete slut and somehow an angel all at once.

Without hesitation you reach back, unbuckling your bra and throwing it somewhere behind her, your mouth never leaving her pussy. A guttural moan leaves her open mouth, hand reaching down to fondle your bare tits, slapping them both.

You wince, back arching subconsciously as your own need grows in your abdomen. It’s almost embarrassing when you feel your own wetness making your thighs sticky.

”Oh mami,” she moans, lips wrapping around her clit causing her to let out a high pitched moan. ”Such a good girl, so beautiful.”

You whine and whimper at her words, running your long nails against her thighs. Goosebumps rise on the surface of her skin, and you take that as a sign to keep going. You dig them into her, scratching hard enough to leave marks. This drives your girlfriend crazy, forcing her to throw her head back. 

Satisfied, you smile into her pussy. Seeing this, she grins too before biting down on her bottom lip. ”That make you happy? Making papi feel good?”

”Mhm,” you nod, closing your eyes as you swirl your tongue and mouth against her. 

”Tell me baby, let papi know.”

”Wanna- make papi feel good,” you mumble into her dripping cunt, pink tongue circling her sensitive bud. She groans, grabbing the back of your head harder and pulling you closer. She’s chasing it now, her own high. Not caring if you breathe or not. And quite honestly you didn’t care either right now.

”Aw shit,” she moans, eyes squeezed shut as she starts to grind herself against your mouth, fucking your face. It drives you crazy, completely putty in her hands, willing to do anything for her.

”Mmm,” you moan, feeling the painful throbbing inside you. But Tash ignores it, enjoying the way your moans vibrate against her. Her thighs tremble as you scratch up and down, eyes rolling back. 

”You’re gonna make me cum,” she gasps, raspy whimpers leaving her lips.

”Mhmmm,” you hum, moaning against her. You needed to get her off desperately.

”You’re so sexy,” she whimpers, pulling you somehow closer, cutting off all your airflow. But you don’t care, your tongue working endlessly until she’s reaching the edge.

You lap her through it, letting Tash ride out her orgasm until she’s letting go of your hair. With a gasp of air you pull back, face glistening with her.

Tasha bites her lip and pulls you back up by her jaw, kissing you hungrily. It catches you by surprise. But you kiss back, your tongues clashing as she walks you backwards, hands groping everywhere - your waist and breasts and ass.

Suddenly you’re being flipped around pushed against a wall. It’s cold against your skin, cheek pinned to it tight as Tash holds you there by your hair and waist.

”What’re you doing?” You ask, struggling and squirming. The need between your thighs was growing unbearable.

She smacks your ass, and growls. ”Stay here.”

So you do, breathing coming in ragged waves as you wait for what feels like forever. But you remain patient, praying you’ll get your reward eventually.

Then, finally, footsteps creep closer behind you, big hands landing on your hips. You feel like you’re going crazy, desperate for relief. 

”Papi…” you whine, curling your back to show her how badly you needed to be touched.

”Mmm,” she hums hoarsely, slapping your ass again. You gasp. You needed more. ”What mami?”

”Please,” you cry out, cheek flush against the wall still.

”Give papi a lil taste first,” she groans straight into your ear, her hot breath tickling against you. She falls onto her knees behind you as you subconsciously spread your legs for her. Tasha moans. You’re dripping through the lace of your panties.

”Shit,” she mumbles, pulling them down. You hang onto the wall like a lifeline, but the trembling of your legs is making it hard to focus on anything but that - and the cold air hitting your slick core.

”Lemme taste that pussy,” Tash murmurs, licking up the mess on your thighs. Her tongue runs upwards, warm and wet. At last her hands spread you apart by grabbing your ass, and she leans in.

”Ohhhh baby,” you gasp, legs spreading even further and pushing your ass out for her.

Simultaneously chuckling and groaning into your pussy, she begins to lap you up, tongue teasing your entrance.

”Oh yeah mami? You like that?” She murmurs, the sound of her slurping coming from between your legs.

You can’t answer, whimpering as your nails scratch against the wall and legs shake around her head. It seems to satisfy her.

”I think you do,” she mumbles into your folds, nose protruding inside you when she nuzzles closer. It causes a shiver, your cunt squeezing around nothing. Tash doesn’t miss this, pulling back and spreading your pussy open.

”Want your strap,” you whine, voice more pitiful that you’d like.

”You want papi to fill you up babygirl?” She asks, finger circling your entrance.

”Yes.”

”Beg for that shit,” she hisses, standing up and pushing up against you at last. The silicone is heavy and cool against your ass, teasingly missing your pussy.

”Please baby,” you cry out. It’s not enough. Tash slaps your ass, harder than before. Certainly leaving a bruise this time.

”Please papi, need you to fill me up,” you continue, turning your head to look behind you. She looks completely fucked out and blissful, looking down at your body as she slaps the strap against your cunt. The sound fills the room, causing you to throw your head back.

Without warning, Tasha guides the silicone to your entrance and slams her hips into you. A loud gasp forces your mouth to fall open. The woman behind you moans, beginning to pound you with her strap.

The stretch is delicious, the tip poking against your g-spot every single stroke. The squelching is sinful, your wet cunt wrapping tightly around her. It doesn’t take long till your eyes start to water, barely holding yourself upright.

”Aw sh- Tash,” you cry out. Her hand grabs your hair, pushing your red cheek flush against the concrete. 

”Yeah? You like that? You like my strap?” She asks, panting as she uses all that adrenaline to pound into you. She’s in your guts, deeper than anyone ever had been. It’s too good, too rough.

”Love this pussy,” she groans, slapping your ass twice and leaning into your shoulder with wet kisses. You stumble, legs nearly giving out.

Tash chuckles again, kissing her teeth as she leans back to look at the strap slipping in and out of your cunt, covered in your slick. 

”Fuck,” she hisses, pulling out. You immediately protest, the empty feeling bordering on painful as you throb. ”Turn around.”

Too fucked out to listen, she flips you over and pins you against the wall again. The concrete is cold against your clammy back, but you don’t care. Only thing you cared about now was getting to cum.

”Look so sexy, mama,” she grunts hoarsely, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. ”Jump.”

Putting all your trust in her, you wrap your legs around her hips. Like expected, she grabs a hold of your thighs, holding you up with ease.

Tasha reaches behind you, and guides the silicone to your entrance again, pressing you closer and harder against the wall. A sigh of relief forced from your lips, as its length slips into you again. Now nose to nose with her.

She’s hissing, using all her strength to pound into you, tattooed biceps bulging. You’re a moaning mess, mouth wide open listening to the sound of skin slapping together. 

”Papi,” you gasp, letting her fuck you into the wall.

”I’m right here,” she moans, never easing on her movements. ”Such a good girl for papi.”

Her words make you cry out, long nails scratching at her spine. She grunts with every thrust, determined to bring you to the edge. You bite your lower lip to muffle your own moans.

”Open,” Tash commands into your ear, nuzzling her nose into the crook of your neck. As you do so, she lets a warm spit drip onto your tongue from her mouth. It forces your cunt to throb, gushing around her length.

”Tash, baby,” you mewl, entire body tensing as a result of the strap prodding the soft tissue inside you. Your climax was building fast. ”I’m close.”

She moans, eyes fixed on your scrunched up expression. She couldn’t dare to look away, your face only giving her the stamina to go faster. 

”You gonna cum on papi’s strap?” She asks, taking in big gulps of air. You can merely nod, mind too gone to get you to form real words. 

”Tash, papi-” is all you can cry out. Her name like an oath.

”I’m here, look at me babygirl,” she grunts, your cunt gripping the silicone tight. Opening your eyes, you find her eyes already on you, pupils blown out.

”Papi,” you repeat, your voice high-pitched and desperate as that familiar knot builds in your gut. She’s so big, so deep inside you, hitting all the right spots.

”Cum on this strap mami,” she gasps, never letting up her pace. Your wetness is gushing around the silicone, each stroke deep but fast, the desperate look in her eyes being the final straw to get you there.

You grip onto her with your arms and legs, scratching her skin red as you release on the strap slamming into you.

“Fuck mami,” she grins, eyes locked on you as you cum and moan her name. “Fuck you that good huh?”

“Shit,” you gasp. She slows down, still staying inside you while you catch your breath. Finally, Tasha carries you to the hotel bed and places you on it, the strap leaving you. A wince spills from your lips due to the sudden emptiness, body completely worn out. The mattress beside you dips as your girlfriend lies beside you, scooping you quickly into her arms. You feel weak and sore, Tash feels it now too with her adrenaline used up.

“I should play like that more huh?” She asks, fingertips tracing your arm. You hum happily, too tired to open your eyes.

“Yeah,” you agree. “Need to see a ring on you.”

Tasha chuckles, pressing a kiss onto your forehead. “I’ma have you in bed for days after that.”

“Bet,” you agree, mind buzzing with admiration still thinking about your girlfriend and how she left it all on the court that day.

-

taglist: @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary @lilpaigeyherbo @uconnwag @swiftie4evr @yourmom-25s-blog @vamptizm @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends

[sadistic-kitty5601]

I JUST WATCHED THUNDERBOLTS—WHY IS EVERYONE HATING ON JOHN WALKER??! He’s literally so complex and cool, so let’s have passionate, hot sex with him!

Warning!!!—Porn with plot, m!sub John Walker, steamy, buildup—also, sorry for not posting, I haven’t had much passion!😭

You were a merc, a skilled one at that. Your kill count was like no other, being raised in a hardcore camp. It wasn’t like Yelena’s, but quite similar. The brutality, the training—ugh, it was traumatic, to say the least. However, at least it gave some character development? You were strong, independent, understanding, and respected. Your strength was like no other, your speed couldn’t be competed with, and your intelligence couldn’t be outsmarted. Now, you getting to the Thunderbolts was, well, quite a bumpy ride. See, you were in…I guess a little contact with Alexei? You’ve met him on some missions, so he was familiar with you..kinda. So, when he joined the team, he suggested you’d be a great asset—and don’t even get me started on teaching you down and convincing you to be apart of the team..

Anyway, this was how you and THE John Walker met. He was…God, he was just himself—insecure, aggressive, you name it. The team really didn’t like him, though. You never flat out insulted him or made fun of him like Yelena and Ava did…well, okay, maybe you teased him a little—but hey, you kept it real. You weren’t one to take shit, that’s for sure. Any time he’d insult your position, you’d snap back, not with an insult but with a blunt and..honest comment. Yeah, he didn’t like it, but at least he wasn’t being bullied?

In all, y’all’s relationship wasn’t the BEST..you two were often butting heads or bickering over who’s right. You didn’t actually think you cared about each other…right? It’d never come down to that, right?

Welp, Sentry came along and getting thrown around like rag dolls didn’t feel good, neither did The Void randomly coming out.

During the battle, you got hurt..like, really hurt. You had gotten a huge gash on your abdomen—you didn’t even know from what, you were so disoriented from the blood loss. You coughed, holding your stomach as you limped to somewhere you could at least sit at, finding a big concrete slab. You slumped with a grunt. The thoughts flooding your head weren’t good either because you weren’t even concerned for yourself, just..thrown for a loop—“Have I really gotten that weak?”, “What’s happening?”, “Where is everyone?”—Then, your thoughts were interrupted..interrupted by a pair of roughed, panicked hands.

Who was it?

“Stay with me now, Y/N..”

Oh, you know it is. Good ol’ John.

“You’re not exactly—cough..my first choice for rescue..” You rasped out, your eyes trying to adjust as your vision blurred in and out.

“Yeah, well—“ John hurriedly placed his shield on his back, grabbing the field kit on his belt. “—Looks like I’m your only choice,” He pressed some gauze on the wound before wrapping it tightly with bandages. “You’re lucky I got here when I did,” He let out a shaky exhale, applying some firm pressure to the wound.

“You’re only doing this ‘cause I’m an asset..aren’t you?” You grunted in pain, wincing.

That’s when John just looked at you—no, like, REALLY looked at you. There wasn’t that tough mask he always wore, this was raw. His jaw clenched as he stared into your eyes. “No, I’m doing this because I need you to stop bleeding out on me,”

That was real. He wasn’t doing this to get approval, to win some invisible metal—no, he was doing this because he didn’t wanna lose you. You shut up and just..nodded. You got it.

_________________________________________

After everything was settled, things got better. Your wound eventually healed after some treatment and time. And during that time, John was surprisingly a little more careful with you. You’d even see him check up on you, leaning on the doorway. He thought you were asleep, but you weren’t. It was nice. To be honest, it helped you see another side to him, a nicer, more genuine one. You liked it. I mean, I guess you always knew he had a good heart, but this made you really recognize it.

So, you decided to put more effort towards him. You began to sorta change your wording to be a little less harsh—defended him even when things got heated. This, of course, didn’t stop you from still being honest, but now, John appreciated it more. He went to you for advice, returning the favor when you needed some, learning more about each other on a deeper level.

Obviously, y’all’s relationship changed—you got closer, if it wasn’t obvious. The rest of the team, like Alexei, always made little comments on the tension between you two, or jokes on how “close” you both were. It was annoying but you never denied it..neither did he.

_________________________________________

Fast forward to a night later, in the New Avenger tower—

John had PTSD attacks, it was normal. I mean, he’s literally a war soldier and put his whole life and soul into it. On those nights, he couldn’t sleep, so around midnight, he’d begrudgingly get up, walk to the fridge, and eat/drink something. Tonight was one of those nights, sadly.

And as usual, he did his little routine. He dragged himself to the kitchen in his baggy pajama pants and white T-shirt.

John was digging through the fridge, looking at all the bitten and half eaten shit in there, grumbling as he rolled his eyes, tossing a sandwich back in there. Then, he felt a presence. He whipped his head around, already paranoid due to the PTSD. Phew, it was just you. He let out a little sigh, shaking his head while cursing himself under his breath.

“You okay?” You called out, noticing his restless demeanor. “Yeah—..yeah, I’m good,” He cleared his throat, closing the fridge, standing up. “Okay..” You muttered, knowing all too well that he was lying. You walked up next to him. “You don’t gotta lie, y’know..I get it,” You then walked to the light switch, turning on one that dimly lit the kitchen area. John softly grunted, his eyes blinking a few times to adjust to the light. “I know..I just don’t wanna talk about it, alright?” He snapped a little. “Okay, okay,” You put your hands up. “I won’t force you,” You nodded.

John recognized his snappy demeanor, getting more frustrated at himself. “Sorry, Y/N, I just—..” He sighed. “It’s a lot,” You nodded once more in acknowledgement, walking towards him, firmly placing your hands on his shoulders. “John, trust me, I get it. Don’t apologize for something you can’t control, ‘K?” “Okay..” He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, looking off to the side before looking back at you. “Want me to..rub your shoulders or something?” You offered randomly, raising a brow. Comforting wasn’t your specialty, but you tried. John tilted his head slightly, a little smirk propping up on his lips. “You’d do that?”

“Shut up,”

You sat him down on a chair standing behind him. “Just let me work, alright?” You said, your fingers beginning to gently yet firmly rub into his stiff shoulders. John grunted, his eyebrows furrowing up. “No problem with that..” You continued as you felt his shoulders relax a little under your touch. “Right there,” John said, patting a specific spot on his shoulder. “It’s been giving me all sorts of damn trouble,” You nodded, your knuckles digging into the knot. “Damn, Walker…” You muttered. He must’ve been STRESSED lately. He groaned, nodding. “Oh, yeah, that’s good,” He sighed deeply. As you dug into that one knot, your other hand slid up his neck, your thumb placing pressure in certain areas to find more knots.

The scene was quite sensual—intimate even.

That’s when John felt it. Oh, God not now, not here! Did he seriously just get a hard on? It didn’t register right away, until he actually looked down. He immediately cleared his throat awkwardly, his hand rubbing his partially shaved beard for a second. “Alright, that’s enough,” He said. “What? Did I do something?” You immediately raised a brow. “No—well, yeah, just..” He sighed. He felt quite embarrassed and he hoped to God you wouldn’t notice the tent in his pants. Buuut of course you did, you just had to, right? “Oh..ohhhh..” You nodded, trying not to laugh. “Don’t laugh,” He scoffed, taking a quick glance up at you. “Listen, I just..haven’t felt the touch of a woman like that in a long time..” He admitted in embarrassment.

“No, no,” You let a little chuckle slip. “I’m taking this as a compliment,” “What?” He looked up at you, confused. “Nothing—I’m saying it’s okay,” You shook your head. “No, it’s not,” He persisted as he began to get up, but you suddenly pulled him back down, sitting him down yourself. You yourself were a little caught off guard by your own actions. You paused, a tense silence between you two. What were you doing? “John..” You started, not finishing before just going in and kissing him, your hand holding his jaw, not tight but definitely not soft either. He was surprised, his eyes wide for a moment, before fluttering closed, his hand going up to your wrist, holding it as you two shared a kiss.

You then pulled away. You both panted as you looked at each other with confusion but want. “What are you doing?” He asked. “I don’t know,” You both immediately went back into kissing, this time with some tongue. His cock throbbed—seriously, what was going on?? It’s not like it was out of the blue, just unexpected in the moment. His hand cupped your cheek, his fingers getting in some of your hair. Your hand that was on his jaw slithered to the back of his head.

After less than a minute, you two made it to his room. You hurriedly shut the door, locking it, your breaths heavy. You immediately hopped on him, his body slamming against the bed. As you laid there before John, he couldn’t help but admire you—your beautiful figure, your face. He pulled you back into a deep kiss, then pulled you away. “You’re really okay—“ “Yes,” You immediately responded. He smirked a little at that. “Good,” He began to take off your shirt, you taking off his. You sat right on the tent in his pants, which was QUITE visible. He groaned at that—damn, he missed this. You two got right back at it like animals, kissing each other all over, your tongues having minds’ of their own

You made your way down his neck, trailing kisses as your hands slid down his chest. He let out a shaky breath at that, his hands going to your hips, subconsciously grinding against you. He let out quivering pants and soft groans as you two dry humped each other. “You are so beautiful,” His whispered in your ear, running his fingers through your hair as he kissed your jawline. You hummed, kissing him again, then looked into his eyes. “I’m gonna make you feel like you’ve never felt before,” You said. He gulped, then nodded, kissing you again as his tongue tasted yours.

You then scootched back, pulling down his pants, his cock throbbing against his underwear. He gasped a little from surprise, however, before he could say anything, you came back up, kissing him as you took out his aching cock, giving it a good, slow stroke, squeezing firmly. He immediately moaned in your mouth, quite loudly. This was the first time in a long time anyone besides himself actually touched him, his wife most likely hadn’t touched him in a while before the divorce and such. You slowly—so painfully slow—rubbed his poor tip. His breaths and body were quivering like hell. “You—“ He gulped. “Really know how to work a—mmm~” His eyes almost rolled back for a second as his lips formed a thin line, trying to keep in all the noises as you touched him in all the right ways. “Don’t be shy, make some noise, Captain,” You cooed in his ear, causing a breathy and shaky chuckle from him.

Your thumb rubbed against his frenulum, making him moan. His hand grappled onto your ass for support as his hips bucked up into your hand. “Shouldn’t I be doing something for you?” He asked, already out of breath. Truth be told, he felt a little guilty—you had just given him a massage and now you were massaging him AGAIN, just..in a different way… “No, no, I’ll be getting my fill soon,” You grinned as you stroked his rock hard cock, getting all sorts of pants, groans, and moans from him. You then slid off your own pants, him staring at your sexy body once more, his dick twitching at the sight as he sat up on his elbows. You took off your panties, throwing them alongside y’all’s other clothing. “I’m gonna ride the fuck outta you, solider,” You bluntly said as you adjusted yourself on top of him. All he could do was simply nod—“Jesus..” He muttered. Those were some hot, bold words he’d never heard before.

Once you were comfortable, you sat down on his throbbing cock—not all the way, but enough to engulf the tip. You shakily sighed while John moaned, his hand going to your thigh, gripping it while his eyes closed. God, he missed that feeling, so warm and wet—tight. You then sat down all the way with a groan. “Oh my God, you feel so good..” He tried to regain some composure, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth, opening his eyes to look up at you. “You feel good, too…” You leaned down to kiss him, he accepted. You began to steadily move up and down on the dick. His breath hitched as he felt your perfect, wet pussy begin to ride him. “You enjoying yourself?” You teased. “Yes..” John said as his eyes shut once more, relishing in the feeling as he gripped your ass.

You hummed as you slid your hips up and down, feeling his cock rub against your wet walls. John shakily panted as he tried to hold back loud noises. “You think you can handle a faster pace?” You asked impatiently. He quickly nodded. “Yes—yes, please..” You began to bounce on his cock, a light clapping noise being heard. “Mmmmm…” He groaned as he bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing. “You feel fucking amazing, Y/N…” He whispered, his hands roaming all over you, burying his face in your neck. Your hand went into his hair, gripping it slightly as you lightly kissed his ear. “Who knew..” You said as you swallowed down a moan. “Uh-huh—Oh~” He groaned slightly, his hands residing to gripping your hips as you bounced on his cock. “God, you are so hard..” You strained, breathing heavily. “Hard for you..” He whispered back, getting a chuckle out of you. You clenched down on him, earning a louder moan from him. “Fuck—keep squeezing me like that—“ His breath hitched, his hands natural guiding your pace.

“You like that?” You breathily moaned out. “Fuck, yes,” He groaned back. “When you said—groan—you were gonna ride the fuck outta me—ah~..When exactly are you gonna follow through with that?” You raised a brow, smirking. “I forget you’re a super soldier sometimes..” You laid him down, adjusted yourself—then slammed down! You bounced on his cock, rolling your hips as you went as rough as you wanted…which was rough. He yelped, gripping the sheets as he moaned and groaned out. “I—I forget—God!..Forget..how strong you are~…” He manage quiver out as his eye rolled back slightly. The bed with squeaking and creaking quite loud, shaking even—no doubt you could wake up everyone else in the tower with how loud y’all were being. “C’mon—ah—be as loud as you want, Captain!” You urged on, as you repeatedly slammed and clenched down on his poor cock. That got a loud moan out of him, his hands desperately reaching out for you. Yeah, he was a super soldier, but he hadn’t had sex, let alone good sex, in A WHILE.

You two lost the last bit of control you had the closer you got. He was bucking up into you, you were slamming down on him, somewhat trying to control y’all’s volume…but you were still quite loud. The more immersed you got the less you cared. “Fuuuck, I’m close—I’m close, Y/N—stop, stop—“ He groaned out, not being able to stop himself. “Fuck no, we’re continuing this—I can pull out,” You responded, out of breath. “What? A-Are you sure?” He moaned as he felt you clench around him, the knot he felt beginning to get tighter. “Yes—yes, let’s just keep fucking!” You moaned as you got closer. “God—yes!” He panted, his abs flexing as he tensed. The bed creaking and moving a little—it’s a surprise how it hasn’t broken yet—the clapping sounds were loud as hell too now, the sweat dripping off y’all’s bodies creaking suction, and the noises you two were making made it all too intense. “I’m—I’m cumming—FUCK!” You two shouted, you quickly pulling off as the ropes of hot, thick sperm squirted out his cock and the wetness oozed out of your pussy, you two moaning loud, holding each other tightly, eyes rolled back, bodies completely tensed. That had to be one of the most intense orgasms either one of you ever had. After a good couple of minutes, you guys gained some consciousness back, trembling and breathing hard.

“Oh, my God..”

“Oh, my God..”

_________________________________________

The next morning, after everyone was awake and after you two freshened up, everyone sat around.

Bob was eating cereal, you were drinking coffee, as well as Yelena and Ava, while Alexei and John ate an actual breakfast. The silence was unusually loud, until—“Y’know, you could at least be quiet,” Yelena said bluntly, giving you and John a look. John immediately looked away, clearing his throat. “Yeah! You sounded like two ferocious lions! Not like we didn’t see it coming..” Alexei laughed at you two. “At first I thought you were training..and then I heard it..” Bob frowned sighing. “I didn’t know John could even pull a lady like that,” Ava said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Alright, alright—that’s enough!” John said, embarrassed.

That whole day…and possibly every day from now on, they teased you for it. Was it worth it, though? HELL YES.

[soraphic]

CHARCOAL BABY h.potter

synopsis: you've been avoiding harry since the incident, but you just can't say no to him.

genres: smut with plot, friends to lovers

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, degrading

It had been two weeks of successfully keeping any awkward interactions to a minimal and you were unusually glad to be boarding the express, the timely end to an eventful term to say the least.

the eerie sense of impending doom that surrounded the castle walls recently, paired with the added longing stares and snide remarks from Harry, had you praying for christmas to come early the last 14, sleepless, nights.

But now, finally, you were starting to feel hopeful that maybe a break from everything was all you needed and that the two of you would return in the new year refreshed and free of this permeable tension between you.

Stuffing your mitten-clad-hands into the pockets of your thick jacket you continued your walk to the station, nodding carelessly along to whatever Ron was jabbering on about beside you.

He said your name and your nose shot up just enough to poke out from over the top of your knitted scarf: "You've not seen him, have you?"

you furrowed your eyebrows and Hermione huffed beside you, the fluffy bobble sewn to the top of her hat bobbing side to side and her breath smoking in the cold air.

"Ron is worried that Harry won't be here in time to board to train, which is totally ridiculous-" she snapped,turning to the redhead, "-because Harry would never be so stupid!"

"Perhaps he's trying to avoid going back to his uncle Vernon for two weeks." you shrugged.

"By what? Hiding on the school grounds?" Ron chimed in and you brushed him off, turning back to face the way you were walking onto the platform.

"Do you two really think he would be so idiotic as to stay alone on the grounds while you-know-who is out searching for him?" Hermione asked,her voice lowering into a hushed whisper on the last part.

Ron thought for a moment,before shaking his head: "I dunno, he's been doing a lot of weird stuff recently." and you nodded in agreement, gazing out at the hundreds of students boarding the train.

"We shouldn't wait for him." you suggested, nodding toward the quickly filling train,"Come on, I'm sure he'll catch up."

The two hesitated for a moment, sharing a glance, before nodding in agreement and the three of you began making your way toward the doors.

The carriages were chocker, each filled nearly to brim with only a couple able to accommodate two of you, which you suggested Ron and Hermione should take on their own while you searched for an empty carriage for yourself.

This left you scanning the carriages on your own, spotting an empty one right at the end of the corridor you hadn't been able to see before.

Sighing in relief that you wouldn't have to share one with any hyper second years or hormonal fifth years you slid open the door and wheeled your small case inside.

You figured you would put your case up first before going and finding Ron and Hermione to alert them that you'd find an empty carriage.

Bending down, you lifted it as best you could and attempted to shove it into the over head compartment above the seat, although the small case was so packed with belongings that it caused it to bulge out weirdly at the sides, which meant it could only fit about half way into the compartment. Groaning, you tried shifting it different ways to try to get it to fit but it was such an abnormal shape you just couldn't get it to fit right. Growing irritated, you started shoving quite aggressively and making a racket of the wooden trunk hitting against the metal compartment.

There was a hand on your arm and you came to a halt, head snapping to the person beside you but relaxing slightly at Harry beside you. His face was ruddy from the cold and his glasses were slightly fogged from entering the warm air of the carriage, but his hand on your arm felt familiarly warm. Not wanting to indulge in the feeling for too long, you retracted your arm and allowed him to step into where you had been standing, manoeuvring the case with ease and helping it to slot neatly into the compartment above him.

you wanted to scoff at how easy he had made it look, the taut muscle in his upper arm from quidditch training visible through his crewneck. You cursed yourself for the way your eyes helplessly flitted toward the flexing veins painting his strong hands, the strained tendons working to hold your heavy trunk so effortlessly above his head. Most of all you hated how you couldn't stop yourself from gawking, knowing how easily he could hold your entire body weight with hands like that. Knowing that those very same hands had you coming apart on his tongue two weeks beforehand.

He shot you a look over his shoulder, you arms crossed over your chest and eyes threatening to roll at how disgustingly arrogant he looked - you felt your insides boil at the fact that he looked good, and he knew he did.

There was an odd silence for a few moments, as this was the most time the two of you had spent together alone since..

You cleared your throat to try to break the tension, averting your eyes to the toes of your beat up sneakers and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Ron and Hermione were looking for you."

his reply was quick: "You weren't?"

your head shot up to face him, offended at yet another snide comment he was throwing at you over the last two weeks, like he was implying that you didn't care for him the same way you had before. "I figured you're a big boy who knows his way around." you snapped.

He smiled a little at this, reminiscing on the same words he had said to you that night, eyes darting to the side of his head to scan the corridor, before stepping fully inside the carriage and sliding the door closed,indicating he was about to say something private, though you felt he was just closing off your only escape from the conversation he knew you really didn't want to have.

"You've been ignoring me." he said calmly, staring intently at you over the rim of his glasses and watching the way your pretty face screwed up at the accusation.

"In order to ignore you, you'd have to have spoken to me." you said defensively, the arms wrapped across your chest now looking much more like a shield.

He hummed,agreeing with you, mindlessly pulling at the tattered ends of his sweater. He always fidgeted when he talked. "You didn't show up to my quidditch match." his tone was more questioning this time and his face looked softer, like he genuinely wanted to know why.

"I didn't realise you were the only person on the team." the toes of your shoes bumped his and you heard his breath hitch a little, "It's not yours, you know."

He scanned your face, fighting any urge to let his eyes drop down to the open cut of your cosy long sleeve, vowing to himself he wouldn't coerce you into anything like that again.

Though he couldn't help but swoon a little at the cocky smirk painting your lips, just knowing you had enough nerve to challenge him made him weak for you. "You're right," he nodded,taking another step closer and slotting himself between your legs,"though it does feel like your no show was just to avoid me."

"How cocky of you to assume everything I do is about you." you levelled with him, though he was just a little taller, stepping up to the challenge.

You could resist him. You weren't weak. It was just Harry.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and bit back a grin, "So I haven't been on your mind?"

The abrupt question made you falter, blinking dumbly at him a few times. The small carriage suddenly felt stuffy and you huffed in a few large gulps of air, trying to avoid Harry's scrutinising look.

Taking your silence as answer, he stepped impossibly closer, bringing out an exploratory hand to rest against the thin fabric covering your waist, testing the bounds.

The little gasp you let out should've been embarrassing, but the way Harry curled the fabric between his fingers and allowed his calloused thumb to jut out and rub at the exposed skin there was entirely consuming and left no room for anything else to cloud your mind.

His face was nearing yours and you felt your heart rate begin to pick up. Did everything feel this slow last time? You breathing only grew heavier, your chest nearly bumping his with each heave and you hated how receptive your body was to him.

His hand was now splayed across your side, long fingers reaching up to toy with the lacy band of your bralette. His lips were parted in shallow breaths, leaning down to bump his nose against yours, testing the waters once more.

When you didn't move away he took the opportunity to place a gentle kiss against your lips and you were sure you felt a few of your insides explode. When he pulled back to assess your expression you couldn't help the way your hands reached out to tangle themselves in his dark hair, pulling him down to kiss you once more, practically throwing yourself at him.

His once timid hands now gripped your sides with such fervour you felt they could mould you into whichever shape he desired, holding you close while his tongue lapped desperately at your open mouth. You sighed into the kiss and gave any control you had over to him completely, letting him bend you how he wanted while you eagerly accepted his hand pulling gently at the roots of your hair.

You were quick to slide his navy crew neck up his chest, exposing the freckled skin gracing his abdomen and running your manicured nails up his chest. One of the tips swiped his nipple and a low groan escaped him, though he didn't give you the satisfaction of relishing in it as he only deepened the kiss, sliding your shirt far enough to expose the black lace across your chest.

There was a shuffle outside the carriage and you gasped, turning hurriedly to investigate the sound. Harry only trailed his wet kisses down your jaw to your neck, stopping to press one just below your ear while you pushed at his shoulders. "Harry, somebody's gonna see!"

he continued to ignore you, trailing his kisses back up to your lips while you let out muffled yells against his lips. You whacked the palm of your hand particularly hard against his shoulder and he gave a hard tug on your hair, making your back arch and your jaw to drop, dumb noises leaving you while you looked at him in almost disbelief.

"Be quiet and they won't."

His demanding tone made you melt, knees weak and relying on him to keep you stable while you let out a strangled moan at his grip on your hair. He placed a long, passionate kiss against your lips to soothe you before pulling back, loosening his grip and allowing your head to bob back up.

"Turn around." he ordered and you obeyed, turning your back to him.

You breath shook while you anticipated his next action, eyes screwing shut and hands balling into tight fists at your sides. You gasped when his arms wrapped around you, nimble fingers undoing the fly of your jeans effortlessly. He trailed slowly down your body, placing a hot kiss to each new piece of exposed skin he found while your pants eventually fell to your feet.

He made his way to his knees behind you, two hands gripping at your ass while he kissed hungrily at the back of your inner thigh, nudging you with his nose and making you spread your shaky legs.

almost instantly, his tongue darted out to lick at your clothed cunt, soaking the fabric and making your body instinctively jump to escape him— but his strong hands kept you in place.

He didn't move for a few long moments, waiting out your reaction and noting the small tremble of frustration in your weak knees before giving you another experimental lick to stop you shivering, making you fight not to cry out and collapse at once.

"so perfect." he mused, splayed fingers pinching at the fat of your bottom while he continued placing tantalising, judiciously placed kitten licks to your clothed heat.

you were sure you were sinking your teeth into your lip so hard you could draw blood and let out a growl of frustration; "Harry— would you just—" but the way your cheeks burnt with embarrassment prevented you from voicing what you really meant.

"Just what?" he gazed up at you, though you refused to look any closer than the corner of your eye.

"get on with it." you huffed through gritted teeth.

He snorted beneath you and for a moment you believed he would get up and leave you to suffer alone completely, but within seconds his nimble fingers were hooking your underwear to the side while his pointed tongue dived between your folds.

you mewled, crashing into the carriage door in an attempt to keep yourself up right, reaching another hand out in search of Harry's mess of jet black hair to steady yourself behind you. He bucked his head up to meet your palm when your fingers came in contact with the messy strands sticking up at the back of his head, encouraging you to tangle your fingers in them and rest a decent amount of weight on him while he eagerly continued his work.

As if involuntarily, your back arched so far you felt the cool glass of the carriage door connect with the bare skin of your tummy exposed by your bunched shirt and you jolted, the sudden movement giving Harry access to fuck his tongue hungrily into your hole.

it took your whines becoming strained, almost desperate, before he finally came to a halt— leaving you to collapse against the carriage while he ran the back of his forearm over the sheen coating his lips, catching any dribbles down his chin.

you stayed there, chest heaving, for a moment.

"Here," he mumbled, dragging your limp body to rest your knees gently onto the pillowy cushion of the train seat. You grimaced at the various particles that flew out of the ancient material when your knees came in contact.

Completely drunk, you allowed him to manoeuvre you how he pleased; eventually finding yourself with both knees pinned to the seat and your hands above your head, grasping the edge of the overhead compartment he had previously shoved your trunk into.

You suddenly became aware of your surroundings once more when you felt him position himself behind you, bringing your hips slightly closer to him with a gentle hand against your hip, contrary to his previously rough touch the last time the two of you hooked up.

Eyes screwed shut, you braced yourself for impact, but nearly moaned out when you heard him spit behind you, snapping your head over your shoulder to watch a fat glob of saliva drop from his swollen lips to his shaft, especially the way he jerked himself a few times to spread the moisture.

It was the first time you had truly taken in the sight of him like this— he looked godly. The edge of his sweater was pulled up between his teeth, exposing the delicious ripples and dips of muscle he adorned to your hungry eyes, which followed the dark tufts of hair gracing just underneath his bellybutton down to the significantly thicker tresses below his steadily working hand. His green eyes flicked up to meet yours and you felt ashamed at the fact you'd been caught, hurriedly turning back over your shoulder and awkwardly adjusting your position for him.

You thought you heard him bite back a laugh but decided to ignore it, at least to save yourself some dignity, bumping your ass against him to try to urge him on.

Per usual, he moved at his own leisurely pace, running his tip through your folds a few times and leaning over you to mutter filthy nothings in your ear— "So desperate for me,baby." he chuckled darkly, "Want me to put you out of your misery?"

You didn't answer in an attempt to defy him, but he simply tugged your hair back, making your neck snap roughly up to the ceiling and a cat-like whine to leave your throat— "I asked you a question."

"Merlin Harry— yes!"

You could almost hear him smirk behind you and gasped in relief when he let go of your hair, letting your chin drop back to meet your chest.

He clicked his tongue— "Good girl."— before pushing into you, forcing you to stretch around all of him at once as he bottomed out, allowing you no time to adjust before pulling almost fully out of you and snapping his hips back into you once more.

He kept this up, eventually reaching up to grasp one hand onto the overhead compartment beside yours, using it as leverage to drill into you without break. His pace was relentless and you were sure you could hear him struggling to bite back his own noises, the clapping sounds of his hips against yours being just enough to cover any he let slip out.

"—missed you so much.." he babbled, gasping out when your legs lost a little strength and you fell further into the cushion, making your back arch further and causing him to feel you from a tighter angle. "'worst two weeks of my life.."

you tried to ignore him, casting it aside as 'pussy-drunk-nonsense', but Harry, the arrogant loud-mouth he was, continued chanting strings of; curses, desperate whines of your name, praises and more like a mantra.

"You're not gonna ignore me ever again,huh? Can't get enough of it?"

Despite your lack of coherent response, he praised you; "fuck— such a good girl f'me.."

His thrusts were becoming sloppy and you could feel the hot beads of sweat against your slapping skin. You thought you hadn't ever heard him so desperate as when you reached back to graze your nails along his toned abdomen, your own lips parting in an involuntary moan at the pathetic cry he let out.

Curiously, you ran an explorative nail along the skin, this time digging much deeper— enough to leave a definite mark— and your chest bloomed with pride when he choked out; "Please."

Pushing back so that your back became flush with his chest, you leant your heavy head back to rest against his shoulder, matches his thrusts with open legs and continuing to scratch red crescents into his pale skin.

In seconds, his hips were jolting behind you in short spasms, long ropes filling you to the brim while he wrapped a strong arm around your chest to pull you impossibly closer to him— his nose buried in your neck to conceal his moans.

When he finally stilled, the two of you stayed there for a while, neither of you daring to move or even speak— partially out of shock as well as embarrassment.

He refused to lift his head, and you almost would have worried he wasn't alive if it weren't for his hot panting against your neck.

"Harry.." you began,sympathetically, but he simply grunted into your shoulder, his soft dick still twitching inside of you. Though feeling sorry for him, you were aware of the horrific situation he had just put the two of you in and couldn't bear to face it alone, typically relying on him to be a voice of comfort in times of uncertainty— although this definitely exceeded anything Harry knew about 'you-know-who.'

You huffed this time, taking matters into your own hands and shifting so that he involuntarily slipped out of you— biting back a hiss at the sharp pain that shot through you. Once you were facing him, you felt a little sorry for the sore looking marks trailing his side, though he had clearly enjoyed it— perhaps a little too much.

"Harry." you snapped irritatedly, though you both knew you the severity was only to hide your terror, arms defensively crossing over your chest like they had been when he entered the carriage. His head slowly bobbed up to face you, though he still had a petulant looking frown on his face.

"'m sorry."

this has literally been sitting in my drafts for months now and i completely forgot about it

[520-elic]

hello I just came across your blog, so nice seeing new writers on here !! I thought of a little one shot with Toby, some angst with maybe a little nsfw (as much as your comfortable with but it doesn’t have to be the main part of the story) also this is more of a chaotic young adult AU

plot. : reader and Toby are good friends and attend a party, there reader gets sum negative comments about her appearance by another peer (maybe another crp character) and is very troubled by it and Toby takes her to comfort her in a calmer area to avoid the loud music and ppl

'This can't be good..'

Ticci Toby x F!reader

Author notes ; thank you! I'm so excited to be spewing out more fanfics ^_^ i also wrote this in 3rd person I hope that's okay!

Contains; body shaming, body image issues, comfort, body praise, fingering, oral (f receiving)

People shuffling, music blasting, the smell of alcohol was almost suffocating without the help of the back door being opened to the backyard.

All of her senses were being overloaded, the only thing keeping her grounded was Toby being next to her on the rickety old couch. Her eyes watched the other proxies infront of her, smiling and giggling mixed in with some song playing, Mr. Brightside by The Killers.

A sigh escaped her lips, catching Toby's attention. "W-whats with the face? We could g-go outside if you want." He suggested, already quick on his heels to stand up.

"Nah, I'm fine, Toby. Just.. a little overwhelming." She rubbed her temples before getting up with her best friend, feet moving through the crowd of killers. She pushed past the back door, hee shoes hitting the cool grass as the breeze immediately hit her face.

It was somewhat more calmer outside, muffled music being heard from the mansion behind them now.

She and Toby sat down in the grass, not speaking much with just some light conversation. Toby knew it was best to keep quiet so she could gather her bearings.

Suddenly, she felt his calloused hand slip into her, which earned a squeeze. Another sigh escaped from her lips, but it was one of relaxation. Toby's head rested in her lap, a soft hum coming from the back of his throat. Her free hand carded through his soft brown locks, scratching his scalp at times.

Her friendship with Toby was.. a little questionable to say the least. The two of them were practically glued to the hip, one of them being with the other no matter the situation. It was like a pair of magnets that could never be separated. She never questioned if Toby's affection crossed the line of it "just being platonic" since she enjoyed it to much to even care. But it did catch her attention whenever his hands rested on her hips for a little longer, or whenever he'd bury his face into her chest.

A cackling sound was heard from behind the two, earning an annoyed groan. It was Jeff, knowing how he got whenever he was drunk. He was more of a dick, pushing everyone's buttons to the point where Masky sucker punched him last time.

"What the fuck are youuuu guys doing?" He snorted, Jeff's words slurring due to being under the influence.

Toby tensed up, sitting up and standing infront of her. She stood up aswell, looking back and forth from Toby and Jeff.

"Just l-leave us alone." Toby mumbled slightly, avoiding eye contact with him. Jeff ruffled his hair, whiskey breath hitting both of their faces.

"Awww.. poor little Toby and his little girlfriend.." Jeff cackled, stumbling over his own feet for a moment. His eyes ran over their body.

"Tch, what are you wearing? I can practically see your stomach hanging out." She tensed from Jeff's words, her hands instinctively crossing over her body. Toby pushed Jeff's shoulders, not even registering what he did until after he did it.

Jeff huffed, pushing Toby back. "You think you're tough? Huh?!" Jeff snapped, pushing Toby again. The pushing eventually turned into wrestling eachother into the forest floor, then punches.

She watched in shock, everything giving her whiplash. Eventually she and Eyeless Jack had to rip the two apart, Toby's nose bleeding and Jeff's face covered in purple marks forming.

She led Toby back inside, the other proxies eyes wandering over them. She did her best to ignore it as they put Toby inside the bathroom, locking the door behind her. He sat on the edge of the toilet while she rummaged through the bottom of the sink, pulling out a first aid kit. The coldness of the alcohol pad touched Toby's eyebrow, earning no reaction from him since he fortunately cannot feel pain.

After cleaning up the blood running down his nostrils and the busted eyebrow and lip, Toby spoke up. "Are you o-okay?" He asked while looking up at her as if he wasn't the one who got practically slammed to the ground.

She was quiet before responding, the sound of the muffled music filling in the space. "I just don't.. uhm.." she huffed before spitting it out, " I didn't like how Jeff spoke about my body. That prick." She sat next to Toby on the edge of the tub, her knee touching his.

Toby responded, "Don't fuh-fucking listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about." He said sternly, looking into her eyes with his hands on top of hers. "You're one of the most beautiful people I've ever seen before."

Her eyes traced his, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. She suddenly felt butterflies kicking her stomach, her hands becoming clammy- how long have they've been close to eachothers faces?

"Thanks.. I guess." She replied shyly, looking away. Toby chuckled softly, standing up while holding her hands in his still. "Wanna go back to my room? W-we don't gotta talk or do anything, I just wa-want us to get away from everyone and the noise."

She nodded, following a beeline out of the bathroom and into Toby's room. Once inside, Toby closes the door and stands hesitantly behind her. His room was dark, a small lamp being the only source of light being the fact that it was around 2AM at this point. Dirty clothes were scattered across the wooden floor, a half smoke blunt rested on top of an ash tray by his messy bed.

"Ah.. sorry for t-the mess. I didn't expect any guests to be in muh-my room." He laughed out of nervousness, a small bead of sweat going down his back.

She giggled from his shyness now, finding it adorable. "It's fine. My room is probably worser than yours." She teased. She sat on the edge of his bed before laying down fully, her head resting on his flat pillows. Toby followed suit, laying down next to her in the small twin sized bed. His arm was touching hers, her leg was touching his, tension was building up.

For some reason, for the first time while being friends with Toby in 4 years, there was an unbearable amount of tension. She looked over at him just to see that Toby was already staring at her first, looking away out of embarrassment. "Sorry.." He murmured, a small frown in the corners of his lips.

She had no idea what came over her, maybe it was the fact that Toby looked unbelievably good in this soft orange glow or because he just fought someone for her and yet still asked if she was okay, but she held his face. "Can I kiss you?" It slipped out before she could control it, feeling anxious tingles down her spine.

Toby's brown eyes widened, then pressed his lips to hers. It was quick and sweet, pulling back to look at eachother before diving back in. The kisses were more heated, uncoordinated, yet it brought pleasure. Heavy breaths were being heard from the both of them, hands grabbing at eachothers hair and clothes.

Toby's hands slid up and under her back, placing her on her back before straddling her hips. "Can I tuh-touch you? Please.." He asked breathlessly, chest heaving. She nods, his hands immediately taking off her shirt.

His face goes redder, the pale skin turning pink. His hands and eyes roamed over her collarbones then down her chest, going over her bra. Toby lets out a soft groan, the tightness in his pants getting more uncomfortable and harder to hide.

It was getting more humid in the small room, the music still blasting from downstairs with the sounds of people cheering and chattering.

She lets out a soft gasp when Toby's lips traced around her neck, his hot breaths hitting her skin. He couldn't help but sink his teeth down into her flesh, drawing out a moan from her lips and a smirk from him. After leaving unhideable hickeys under her jaw, his lips went down her body like a map and he was the sailor.

Breathless whines and moans filled the room, not really caring about being quiet anymore since everyone else was occupied with the party downstairs. His lips reached her stomach, mumbling soft praises, "You're so perfect.." Toby's hands reached her hips, pawing and groping.

His kisses reached down even further, lips reaching over the crotch of her jeans. She whined, fingers tugging at his hair. Toby laughed slightly against the denim fabric.

"What? Th-that desperate for me? Don't worry pretty, I got you." He sighed, teeth dragging down the zipper to her jeans.

Once the zipper was down, he slowly took off her jeans, appreciating every inch of skin. Toby immediately dug his head between her thighs, kissing and biting. It was messy, sure, but fuck it felt amazing.

She wrapped her thighs around his head, only for him to grab them and pin it to the bed, still licking at her inner thighs like a dog. His muscles flexed under the soft glow of the tiny lamp near his bed, his skinny and lean build having some muscles come to life.

"Mm.. I'm n-never letting you go after this.." Toby whined, shakey fingers tearing off her panties. He froze when he saw the slick built up, moaning from anticipation. "It just k-keeps getting better and better."

One index finger slowly pushed it's way into her heat, gravitating a loud moan from her. He pumped his finger in and out before adding a second one, lewd wet sloppy sounds filling the air along with their shared groans.

At this point she was seeing stars just from his fingers alone, but when he added his lips to her clit? She gasped out, back arching with toes curling. She was seeing galaxies. "W-wait! I can't!-" She cried out, trying not to finish too early. But hell, it was hard since she had never had company downstairs unless it was her own hands.

She felt Toby's free hand claw at her stomach, moaning into her wet core. He made loud slurping sounds, the gash on his cheek having saliva spill out from the side. "You're s-so good.. your body is a fucking ma-masterpiece. Cmon, don't hold back on me now." Toby smirked from between her trembling legs, his chin damp.

"Toby!-" is all she practically sobbed out before finishing, hard. Trembles went down her veins, her head empty, her body feeling light. It took her a second before opening her eyes, looking down at Toby who was already licking up her sweet release.

He looked up at her with a boyish grin "W-was that okay?" He questioned, a glint of genuine hope in his dark eyes. She nodded, rubbing his head.

"Yeah.. just need a second." She breathed out, closing her eyes again while lolling her head back down onto his pillows.

The both of them weren't that aware of how loud they were being until someone banged on Toby's door, Masky's voice being heard. "Will you two quit it?! I'm tryin' to take a piss!"

She and Toby giggled with embarrassed flush on their faces. If it wasn't obvious now, she were for sure certain that this wouldn't be the last time being in Toby's room.

[astrologysaysno]

I think about the fact that Shen Yuan was transmigrated. Mostly because that, despite Shang Qinghua already isekai'd into the world, the pivotal changes were made by Shen Qingqiu.

It makes me wonder. Why did the system need to bring another transmigrator when there was one already? One that, in comparison to Shang Qinghua, who was born there, was brought relatively late into the full timeline.

Personally, I have the theory of the system messing up.

For all that we know of Shang Qinghua in the main series, not once does he seem to deviate in any way shape or form. Now, this could just be that Shen QingQiu wasn't paying attention as well as the fact that I haven't actually read the novel and am learning everything through osmosis, but in a lot of the scenes before they realize who they were, Shang Qinghua seems like he never deviated from the role, especially if you had only the conceptions SQQ had of pre-reveal SQH.

So my Theory is that when SQH transmigrated here, the system didn't properly ensured that there was room FOR change.

In my understanding of the story, the system seems to have the goal of changing and improving the narrative of PIDW. It seemed to prefer the ending SQQ made rather than the original narrative. So my confusion lies in that, combined with what I talked about with Shang Qinghua playing the role to a T, why did SQH never cause anything similar? He had decades on time before Shen Yuan arrived and became SQQ, and yet nothing visible seemed to have occurred. He didn't even seem to be given the option of an OOC unlock from what I could remember.

My hypothesis why is that when SQH was given the system, it was hyper strict in its requirements to ensure that he could be in a position to have any power to change the plot. Become a disciple of Cang Qiong, Become Peak Lord. All of that seemed to be necessary. But with such emphasis for this to occur, the personal decisions and feelings of SQH had to be overrided. This in turn created a problem

The system had become too strict, too exacting, no room or chance to be OOC. It would impose quests and it would be done with more or less accurate results. But in doing so, it had accidentally blocked itself of its most important goal, to change the plotline into something better.

Years of stamping out any rebellion or disobedience in SQH through punishment have molded his personality to not take chances to change anything. And when the system gave the possibility of killing Mobei-jun to SQH, ot was also to see if SQH was still willing to change the plot. When SQH spared MBJ, it was the sign of the system to give up using him as an instrument for change.

The system had essentially trapped itself into a cycle that ensured the person who was supposed to make everything better as a second chance to write the story he initially wanted was stripped of every capability and desire to do so.

This was why Shen Yuan was pulled into PIDW.

To rectify for its own mistake, the system needed to pull someone who wanted to change the story of PIDW, or at least had the knowledge and passion to make things better. SQH had been that pick since he would have known so much of the stories behind each character, but they ruined that chance so they made a last ditch effort by dragging the next best person who could have a probable chance of influencing the plot.

[It's the middle of the night as I type this. Cause like all thoughts, they keep me awake at night.]

[garciaasfluffypen]

time to celebrate (the champagne is for after)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 3.1k warnings: smut with plot. minors dni. i found a prompt i never wrote and now i have decided it is a part of this universe. use of "our girl", "good girl", emily is the chef of the family and i stand by that

you had finally gotten into a groove with your girlfriends. 

most of your stuff had been taken over to their place, leaving you with some old furniture that you had to figure out what to do with. but you had gotten a storage unit for a few months, so you had time. either way, you were spending a majority of time at emily and jj’s place and it was nice. you all found a way for everyone to incorporate themselves into the daily routine. it was easier than you originally thought it would be (especially when it came to getting to work on time) and it was a nice change from previous relationships. they listened to you, they made sure your needs were met. they included you in nights out, and made sure that you had everything you needed at their place. your place. while your name wasn’t exactly on the lease yet and emily refused to let you pay part of the rent, the apartment had felt more and more like not a them home, but a you home too. it was something you had never expected, and it was making you feel warm and bubbly inside. 

you smiled to yourself as you walked up the drive, putting the key into the lock and opening it. you knew you were the last one home, since you offered to help hotch with some of the paperwork from the last case. sometimes, you wondered if hotch was prepping you for a promotion, but you weren't a hundred percent sure. rossi was getting older, and if anything panned out the way you thought it would, an ssa slot would open up and it was either one of your girlfriends or morgan who would take second in command. as much as you loved reid, you knew he wasn’t even close to having the guts to take that from three of the most deserving agents the two of you knew. and besides, he preferred to be the one on the research side of things with you. it was nice time that the two of you spent together where you didn’t have to worry about anyone perceiving you as weird-- spencer loved you like a sister for who you were masked and unmasked. at that thought, you threw your bag down next to emily and jj’s, shoes slipping off and settling right next to the boots that emily adored. 

“welcome home, baby.” jj moved to the doorframe to wrap her arms around you. “hotch didn’t keep you late as i thought he would.”

you shrugged. “we split the paperwork.” 

“he knew you had two hot girlfriends to get home to, huh?” emily teased, looking over her shoulder as she stirred the sauce. 

“mm, debatable. he said something about wanting me to learn how to help with the paperwork to lessen the load for the team, whatever that means.” 

“well…” jj trailed off. “i’m not supposed to say anything until it’s official but…”

“what’s going on?” your eyes widened. “who’s hurt?”

“no no, baby it’s good. it’s fantastic, actually.” jj grabbed your hands. “you know how rossi is planning to retire at the end of july?”

“yeah, garcia wants to plan a whole going away thing for him and keeps asking me what flower arrangement she should get.” 

“well, that means the section chief spot is open.” 

“yes….” you scrunched your eyebrows, not exactly following. “i’m lost.” 

“baby… i’m getting promoted.” 

it took you a second. “holy shit. baby wait that’s… oh my gods!” you wrapped her in a hug. “i’m so proud of you.” 

“hotch and i were talking, and he knows how much you lean into those little acts of service when it comes to offering to help or stay late to finish things. and with that, we figured it would be logical for one of us to be section chief so you could keep doing those little acts not only for us, but for the rest of the team as well instead of hiring an external applicant.”

“actually, the three of us all sat down and talked about it.” emily piped in. “me, jay and hotch. we bought up a few things we wanted to see within the team and how we wanted to keep the dynamic moving forward with the change.” 

“and mostly how HR would see the relationship, but that’s already being taken care of.” jj assured you with a squeeze to your hand. “but, we got everything sorted out. as rossi starts fading out over the next few weeks, i’ll slowly be doing more of that stuff.” 

“i- sorry, wait, i have a question.” you paused, looking at emily. “aren’t you technically the senior agent between the two of you? why wouldn’t you be section chief?”

“politics.” it was a simple answer. “while i understand hotch wanting me to take the position, i absolutely hate the politics of it. while i’m not opposed to taking a higher position eventually, it’s something that i’m just not interested in right now.” 

“what does this mean for us?” you couldn’t help but let the question slip. “you’ll be pulling more hours, our routines will be off.”

“we’ll make new routines.” jj looked at you. “i know how important your routines are. we’ll get into the groove of me taking on more responsibilities and make our own new routine when we figure out how everything works together, okay?” 

you nodded. “okay.” 

“i know it’s scary, and it’s different, but we’re doing it in phases so it’s not all done at one time. i promise you, it’s not going to be as fast as your brain is making you think it is.” jj placed a kiss to your lips. “and besides, it means i get to be more bossy at work.” 

you smiled. “section chief jennifer marie jareau. i do like the sound of that.” 

“mm, yeah?”

“it’s hot,” you started, wrapping your arms around her waist. “it’s sexy. it’s totally you.” 

“you think so?”

“we know so.” emily piped in, coming to stand on the other side of jj. “i wouldn’t have told hotch to give you that position if i didn’t know how hot you were when you ooze power.”

you felt jj’s knees buckle slightly, internally chuckling to yourself. she had always been one to melt at emily’s words, no matter what was said. 

“i second that.” you started placing kisses on jj’s collar bone. “you are so fucking hot, jen.” 

“oh god, we’re doing this now?” 

“we’re celebrating, yes.” emily confirmed. “the champagne can be for after.” 

“orgasms first.” you nodded against jj’s chest. “so many orgasms. please.” 

that was all you needed to say to convince your girlfriends to close the distance between them and you, jj pulling you close as humanly possible before kissing you. you knew eventually you wanted to talk about them letting you take the lead, but right now you didn’t mind the fact that jj and emily were horny and needed to have sex right here, right now in the kitchen. one of your hands ran through jj’s hair while the other went to go find emily’s arm, rubbing it up and down as you let jj guide you through the kiss. slowly, your work clothes appeared in a pile on the floor as jj silently urged your hands to start going lower and lower. your hands met emily’s underneath the fabric of her shirt, both of you exploring the almost porcelain skin underneath. emily’s hands guided yours to jj’s breasts, starting to play around with them while emily slowly lifted the shirt over her head. without hesitating, you kissed down to jj’s chest, pushing one of her breasts out of her bra. 

you vaguely heard shuffling in the background but focused on the task at hand. you switched to the other breast, knowing that one needed the same amount of attention as the other one was getting. you lifted jj up so she was sitting on the counter, shoving the coffee maker and other coffee things as far over as you could. you used your foot to push one of the kitchen chairs out of the way, wedging yourself in between jj’s legs. you shifted her slightly over to make sure she didn’t hit her head on the cabinet knobs before you went back to paying attention to her body.

“lovey, can i suggest we do something for jay?”

“what are you thinking?” 

emily smirked. “remember, you can veto anything. but i tell you what to do, how to get jj off? and you follow my directions?” she stepped closer to you. “a play by play on how to get jj to turn into putty in your hands?” 

you couldn’t lie, your entire body shivered and clenched around nothing at the idea of being able to be the one to do that. 

“mm, you like that?” you nodded. “words.”

“green.”

emily turned to jj. “jayje?”

“so green. baby please. baby please i need you.” 

you looked up at emily through hooded eyes, waiting for her to tell you what to do. 

“spread her legs. mm, good girl. just like that. use two fingers, rub slow circles.” 

your fingers dusted up the inside of jj’s thighs, a light pressure moving her legs to the side as you moved to meet her center. you couldn’t help but moan as your lips met hers in a kiss, the smell of her arousal filling your senses as you moved your fingers. you followed emily’s instructions, going slow and steady as you let jj fall forward on you. you felt her fingers curl into your back, her lips moving to place kisses on the crook of your neck and shoulder. your free hand went back up to play with her breasts, waiting for emily to give you more instruction. 

“how does she feel?” 

“so wet.” you looked over to emily. “so needy.” 

emily came over. “is that so?” her hand dipped down to meet yours. “oh yes, should we give her more, lovey?” 

“oh fuck please baby--”

“i wasn't talking to you, jennifer.” emily gave jj a stern look. “you stay quiet unless i tell you to speak.” 

jj nodded. “yes ma’am.” 

“what do you say lovey, does she need more?” 

“i think she does.” 

“go ahead and put two fingers in her. but don’t let her cum yet.” 

your eyes widened slightly as you looked over to emily. “i-i don’t know her tells very well.”

“i’ll tell you when to stop.” 

you nodded, turning back to face jj as you slowly slipped two fingers inside of her, placing small kisses at her collarbone as you did so. your fingers stilled for a second before starting to move in and out, curling just the right way to hit that one special spot that emily told you about. a moan escaped jj’s lips as you fucked her, fingers clawing at your back more than before. it was clear she was searching for that release, for the pleasure she got from you. you shifted your fingers as you scooted her forward, the new angle doing something fantastic to her. the moans that escaped her lips were godly, and you couldn’t help but moan yourself as you nipped at her shoulder, trying to find your own release. 

“stop.” 

your fingers stilled inside jj, both you and the blonde breathing heavily. jj let out a whimper, staring over at emily with those big blue eyes of hers. it was rare that you saw her in this position, and it was absolutely breathtaking. you were so used to jj taking control over you in the bedroom that it was a very welcome change. you placed a few kisses to jj’s cheek, knowing emily was figuring out in her head what the next course of action was. 

“start eating her out.” 

without hesitation, you knelt down to her center and placed a kiss right where she needed it the most. you knew there was no use in teasing her more than she had already been teased today. you licked, sucked and kissed everywhere she wanted you to, her hand going to fist in your hair as you ate her out. now this? this you knew how to do. you knew how when her hands started to get tighter and pull at you that she was getting close. it was one of the first things you noticed the first time you ate her out. you focused on getting her there, the taste of her arousal becoming the only thing you could recognize as you got lost in between her legs. you felt emily come up next to you, and you couldn’t help but lift one of your hands up in between her legs as she kissed jj. you smirked as emily started moaning, your fingers collecting her own arousal as you continued to eat out jj. as jj’s hands started to pull at your hair, you pulled away suddenly, resulting in jj trying to push your head back where she wanted it the most. 

“ah ah, baby. not until i say you can.” emily ran a hand through jj’s hair. “do you think jay deserves to cum yet?” 

“i’ve been so good em i need to cum i nee--” jj got cut off by emily grabbing her chin abruptly. 

“you don’t need anything until i tell you.” emily turned back to you. “answer the question.”

“not yet, em.” you licked your lips. “can i taste her more?” 

“use your fingers and your mouth.” 

“yes ma’am.”

you weren't sure what it was about this situation that was making you so turned on, but you knew you liked it. you listened to emily’s orders, pushing your fingers back inside as you started placing more kisses on jj’s arousal. her whimpering and moaning became more prominent the faster you went, your fingers and tongue moving in tandem to bring the blonde to her high. you barely registered emily paying attention to her breasts, only focusing on making jj feel good. 

“fuck em i-- please baby please i need to-” 

“lovey, stop.” 

the sound that came out of jj couldn’t be described as her feet swung back and forth, much like a toddler when they don’t get what they want. emily pulled you up from your kneeling position, bringing you in for a kiss as she put her own fingers in between jj’s legs. jj’s back arched as emily continued where you had left off, her hand guiding yours back to her breasts. 

“suck on them. play with her nipples too. if she starts squirming or touching you i want you to stop.” 

you did exactly as emily said, one of your hands playing with a nipple while the other was in your mouth. you knew jj wanted to touch you so bad, you could feel her hands twitching at her sides and practically see the restraint she was using in her arms as emily went back down. you switched to her other breast, your other hand going to her nipple as you sucked the other one in your mouth. your free hand went from using the counter for leverage to clutching onto her hip, giving you another place to ground yourself in the sensations happening around you. you could feel jj’s body start to tense up and suddenly everything stopped again, emily silently tapping you on the small of your back to get you to stop. 

wordlessly, the two of you moved around each other as you maneuvered yourself into a different position, you finding yourself back between jj’s legs as emily placed herself to the left. she pushed you back down and you knew that she was going to let you finish jj off, which meant you could go at her with fervor. you linked your hand with jj’s, your other hand pushing her one leg over as far as it would move so you could get more of her taste. emily found herself with jj’s other hand in between her legs, the two of them kissing again as jj fingered emily. you knew it wasn’t going to be much longer before jj finished, but you didn’t think emily noticed at the moment. mere seconds later the little whimpers that came out of jj when she was about to cum graced your ears and you started to go as fast as your body would let you move. jj’s orgasm crashed over her in one big tidal wave, her body caving forward as you moved your hand from hers to catch her shoulder. she pulled you back up to her, kissing you intensely as your hand moved across her bare skin. 

“jay, do our girl a favor and eat them out.” 

“yes ma’am.” 

jj scooted off the counter and switched your positions with ease, taking her time with making her way down your body. you had to physically restrain yourself from shoving her down to your center, letting the blonde take her time getting down there. you let out a moan as soon as her lips touched you, feeling emily’s hands pull your legs apart. you pulled the brunette closer to you again as you put one of your hands back in between her legs and the other going up to play with your breasts. you were absolutely obsessed with the sounds that were coming from emily, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer as jj ate you out. you felt the sensation bubbling in your lower region, whines and moans becoming more and more prominent as both you and emily reached your climaxes at the same time. 

the three of you sat there for a second, all breathing heavily and coming down from your respective highs. you pulled jj up from her crouching position and into your arms, wrapping them protectively around her. you angled her head so you could give her a kiss, letting your foreheads rest against each other for a moment before emily joined in, kissing the blonde in the same way you did.

“congradulations baby, i’m so proud of you.” you pushed some hair behind her ear. “you deserve it.”  

“i’ve been telling you for years how well this position looked on you. and i was right. you’re glowing.” 

jj let out a chuckle. “mm, that might be a post orgasm glow, but i’ll accept the compliment.” 

a few more moments passed before emily moved to the fridge to get everyone water and to start doing their aftercare routine. as she turned around, she gasped, setting the bottles down on the counter.

“em?” 

emily went over to the pot, spooning out a little bit of the pasta. “the pasta.” 

your head lulled against the cabinet. “we have more pasta, it’s not the end of the world.”

“and besides, em.” jj smirked, wiping at her lips. “i already ate.”

[respectfulrebel]

I don’t have the vocabulary to articulate properly just how fucking riveted I was while reading this, so please accept these as visual representation:

"There are things that I can do to you that are worse than death," he reminded the man.

Scary Noah is hot 👀 what is wrong with me

As soon as his large form appeared in the doorway, you lunged at him. Your foot roughly pistoned into his chest to force him back and then you jumped down, kneeing right between his legs. Dante groaned in both pain and anger as he doubled over to grab his shriveled balls. This was it. Your chance to run.

The way I held my breath during that scene 😩

Noah would come after you, right? He would continue to protect you. He would pull you close and tell you everything would be okay, that he would never leave your side again.

...right?

YEEEEESSSS HE WOULD AND HE IS 😭

Dante murmured after tucking his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent. You grimaced as you tried to turn your head as far to the opposite direction as you possibly could.

Disgusting 😭 get your filthy hands off my girl 😡

The longer you were captured, the more you began to lose hope. Perhaps Noah wasn't coming for you after all. Maybe he figured you being taken was a blessing because it was one less headache for him to have to deal with.

Baby nooooooo 😭 he’s coming, he loves you 😭

"Nick?" You squeaked out when you finally were able to make sense of the familiar face in the doorway.

NICK?????????

"I'm going to be straight forward because I don't have time to linger." Nick sighed, as if he was upset his little game had been disturbed. "I know where she is and who's keeping her. I'll tell you everything if you help me with one simple task."

Plot twist of the fucking century. Nick saving the day was not something I saw coming 😳

"No, not her father. He has his hand in this, sure, but he's not the one calling the shots."

I FUCKING KNEW IT 😭😭😭😭😭

His top goal was to get you out safely, though. After that, he would go on the much needed rampage to prevent this from ever happening again. No longer would you have to run and hide behind a fake identity. You could live the life of freedom you rightfully deserved. Noah was going to make sure of it, even if he had to die trying.

🥺🥺🥺 No dying, please 🥺🥺🥺

Noah wanted to argue with him but he knew Jolly was serious about keeping their main operation going.

What is the main operation????? 😭😭😭 I can’t wait to find out 😭😭😭😭😭

Nicholas had skirted around telling Noah what he was even doing on the yacht to begin with. He would only smirk and change the subject, but something was telling Noah that Red had something to do with this. You couldn't have one egotistical asshole with an agenda without another there to impede.

Ahhhh all of those unanswered questions are burning a hole in my braaaainnn 😭

Killing didn't used to come naturally to him; his first time taking a life still haunted him periodically. But when he was trying to protect someone he cared about, he would take on the task without a second thought.

There is definitely something wrong with me cause I’m like 🥰🥰🥰 he protects 🥰🥰🥰👉🏻👈🏻

His heart was pounding within his chest, his eyes frantically searching for the door Nicholas had described.

Yeah, dude, same, my heart is also pounding in my chest 😭

He immediately grabbed it with one hand, the other retrieving his gun before he simultaneously layered the two on Hawk's face. Pillow first, his fist pressing down into it, then he fired the gun straight into the fluff to muffle the sound.

😳😳😳😳 why is this hot

The moment your wrists were free, you threw your arms around Noah and practically jumped into his body. His own arms circled around you, holding you as close as possible. Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you fought back your tears the best you could. You were just so damn happy to see him. It was impossible to even put it into words.

Sobbing 😭😭😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Noah was cut off by a body filling the doorway, a gun pointed in your direction. You jumped and immediately backed into Noah who grabbed your waist, your breath catching in your throat. Even Noah was tense against you, until you both settled upon realizing it was Jackson standing there.

JESUS, that fucking scared me 😩

"You think I know which way east is?"

That made me giggle cause same 🤭

You kept a brisk pace, Noah still trailing close behind. Just as you were about to glance back at him, a shot rang through the silence, followed by a sudden groan of pain.

WHAAAAT? Noooooooooo 😭😭😭😭😭😭

You glanced down to see your own shirt stained from where Noah's injured side was pressed against you. Your eyes widen with fear, a sob threatening to break free. No, no, no. You couldn't lose him. You refused to. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Noah didn't deserve this. None of the people helping you did.

Stooooopp nooooo 😭😭😭 he’s gonna be okay, he’s gonna be fine, he has plot armour, right??????

「 ON DISPLAY 」 noah sebastian ⨯ f!reader

▷ chapter six

noah is your neighbor and your new favorite view thanks to his lack of curtains. you're pretty sure he prefers it this way. but the man you've created in your imagination is nothing like reality and you soon find yourself falling prey to a past lifestyle you had been desperately on the run from. trigger warnings : language, smut, violence, mention/flashbacks of abuse, alcohol and drug use, sexual harassment/assault (nongraphic). word count : 9k

masterlist

a/n : sorry for the super mega delay :') extra sorry for the barely there proof reading/revisions of the last half :')))

NOAH POV

“I'm only going to ask this one more time,” he breathed out with irritation, a hammer filthy with blood dangling at his side. “Where. The. Fuck. IS SHE?!” 

The man tied to the chair flinched and cried out in fear, his words gurgled and incoherent from the pool of blood constantly filling within his mouth. Noah had made sure of that happening when he pried a couple of his teeth free, yet he still received no answers despite his more grizzly methods. This guy was good, but Noah would break him eventually. They always broke. 

Unless he broke first. 

When no answer was given, he swung the hammer down-no hesitation-until it smashed the bones of the man's right hand with an astounding amount of ease. It was the third wack he had taken, his attempts to make sure the guy never even held a pencil again quite thorough. All of this gore could stop if only he gave him the answers he so desperately needed. A truth he had told the guy multiple times, though his kindness was only met with a hardened stare and silence - other than the howls of pain. 

The scent of blood - metallic and copper-like - filled the air, and Noah wasn't one of those sickos who enjoyed the smell of death. It was all part of the job, though. A small price to pay to keep things running smoothly. 

Muddled senses aside, his mind was on one thing and one thing only right then: you had been taken. How had this happened when he had been so cautious? Guards, cameras (something you were not knowledgeable of), a persistent fucking need to hear your voice every half hour or so. Where had he messed up? Maybe he had been too lacking with the guards when it came to allowing them to watch you from their cars. He should've demanded they remain by your side always no matter what sort of threats you gritted out to them. 

Something had flown under the radar. Or rather someone. And now you were gone. Noah could feel his chest tightening as he turned away from the ragged man to begin pacing before him again. His head was pounding and his heart rate had yet to cease from beating wildly within his chest. This felt like the few times he had done those powdery white lines and regretted it each time. Noah knew he was too high strung for it but had that stopped him? No. Just as knowing better about you hadn't stopped him from making a dire mistake either. 

Noah groaned as his phone vibrated within his pocket. He snatched the device and immediately brought it to his ear after connecting the call. 

“What?” He hissed, his anger and annoyance radiating in waves. 

“No hits from the tracker on her phone. The last location was her apartment, as we already knew.” 

It had been pointless to even ask for your phone to be tracked because these guys weren't amateurs. They were going to cover their bases when kidnapping someone like you. 

“Fuck!” Noah loudly erupted, the hammer he held dropping to the floor, forgotten. 

“I'm trying to check all the security cameras in the area but the roads were fucking packed. I keep losing them.” The guy explained, his voice wavering. He was obviously scared of Noah’s outburst, even from over the phone. 

“What kind of car?”

“Black SUV. Looks like an Expedition, maybe an Escalade. These city cameras are fucking shit so it’s hard to tell.” 

Noah nodded to himself as he stored that information away. “I need you to find any and all information you can on her dad. All his properties. Businesses, houses, fucking bicycles. All of it. If his name is on it, then I need it sent to me.”

Without waiting for a response, Noah ended the call and tossed his phone aside. He then took in a deep breath before turning back to the man bound to the chair. He was who had tried to stop Jackson from going into the apartment building once all hell broke loose. Jackson was good but often underestimated because he was young and looked even younger, so the man had made a mistake by thinking Jackson wouldn't be able to take him down. A big mistake judging by the bullet holes in his shoulder and thigh that were dripping blood onto the floor still. 

“Tell me something useful and all of this can end.” 

The man chuckled before spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor to join the ever growing puddle. “By way of death, yeah?” 

“Depends on what sort of information you give me.” Noah shrugged, the gun he had tucked into the back of his pants now held firm in his hand. “Tell me a location and maybe you'll walk free.” His gaze then fell to the wound on his leg and he grimaced, head tilting to the side. “Well…maybe not walk.”

“There's no point when you're already too late. She's probably back in his hands as we speak and if she doesn't agree to what he wants, she's dead.” he slurred.

“What does he want?” Noah’s brows furrowed, though he was pleased to be getting something out of the guy. 

“What do you mean?” The guy groaned as he shifted in the seat, his mangled hand attempting to move as well but the ropes were too tight and continued to bite into his flesh. “He wants her! That's all he's ever been after!” 

Noah stared at the guy for a long moment, remaining silent as he did, jaw tense. He was thinking, trying to formulate a plan to get you back once he had even an inkling of a location. As much as he wanted to just go in guns blazing, he knew that would be the stupidest idea. 

“Tell me where he's keeping her,” he again demanded. “I'm beginning to grow bored.” 

That meant he would kill the guy shortly if he didn't prove himself to be useful. Maybe he would extend his life a little longer, though it wouldn't be much of an existence when tied to a chair and bleeding out. 

“You're going to kill me either way,” the guy again spit blood out, red drops dribbling down his chin. “So I think I'd rather know you're struggling to find her once I die than help you.” 

Noah growled as he quickly rushed the last few steps to the guy. He had the gun pressed to the side of his head, the safety off but not yet cocked. “There are things that I can do to you that are worse than death,” he reminded the man. 

When the guy didn't say anything, Noah angled the gun down and fired into his uninjured thigh without a second thought. The man cried out in pain, his body tensing and writhing against his restraints in a vain attempt to free himself. It was useless. They both knew he would bleed out in minutes now. 

“Where is her father keeping her?!” Noah grabbed the man by the back of his hair and jerked his head back at a sharp angle. The gun was pressed under his chin, promising a hasty execution. 

The guy laughed between his sharp gasps of pain. “They said you guys were in the dark over here but I didn't think it was true. Not with the reputation Karlsson and King has,” He took in a sharp breath before continuing. “You're really a let down when compared to how they talk of you.” 

Something inside Noah snapped. He forcefully pushed the man back after shoving into his chest so he hit the ground with a thud, and then before another word could be said, he fired a single shot into the guy’s head. 

READER POV

The air was damp and stale as you took in a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Anything to halt the nausea creeping up. That, plus the slight rocking that was contributing to your sickness, instantly told you that you were on a boat. You had always been the type to get sea sickness since you were a child, so much that it had angered your father during vacations. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed since you woke up the first time. That was when your panic had been in full force. You had yelled and screamed, tried to pry the handcuff off your wrist so many times that lacerations now bleed around the tender skin of your hand. All of your attempts had gone unnoticed, or whoever was lingering around didn't care enough to come check on you. 

Slowly your eyes fluttered open again as the sickness worked its way higher in your esophagus. Fuck, you were going to throw up. But then you'd be stuck with the stench of it and that would only make this whole situation a million times worse. Nope. You had to swallow it down. 

You groaned as you turned on the twin sized bed, the handcuffs connected to the headboard keeping your arm at an odd angle for so long that your shoulders were sore. It just went along with the rest of your body that was also in pain thanks to the brawl with Hawk. At least you could no longer taste blood but the sharp pain every time you moved your mouth told you that your lip was split. Wonderful. 

“Good mornin’, sleeping beauty.” 

Another groan escaped you, but this one of pure annoyance. You would know that voice anywhere. Hell, you were well acquainted with the majority of Vane and your father’s men. You could probably pick their elbows out of a lineup. 

“Dante,” you heavily sighed. “Can't say I'm happy to see you.” 

“As feisty as ever. That's no way to speak to me, though, princess. We go way back.” 

You shot a glare at Dante, your face otherwise expressionless. He was completely deranged if he thought you were even minimally happy to see him. 

“Can we just get this over with? Tell me what you want, why I'm here, yada yada.” 

Dante took a couple of steps further into the room until he was standing at your bedside. You resisted the urge to shrink away from his looming presence because you didn't want to show any weaknesses. No vulnerabilities. Nothing he could feast on. 

His eyes trailed your body and your stomach instantly churned again. Gross. Why were the men employed around you always such creeps? 

“I don't know. I think I enjoy seeing you like this more.” He reached out to brush your tangled hair back and your skin burned beneath his touch. It was nothing like when Noah touched you. There were no butterflies or lingering excitement. All you felt was disgust. 

Dante smirked before his fingers gripped your hair and your head was forced back. You winced as the pain splintered through your scalp, your jaw clenching so hard you thought you would shatter your teeth. 

“Boss isn't here yet so he would have no idea we played a bit,” he lowered his voice. “Doesn't that sound nice, princess?” 

“Fuck off!” You kicked out a leg but your foot only brushed his thigh before he stepped out of the line of impact. “Touch me and I'll fucking kill you.” 

Dante laughed from deep within his gut. He pushed your head away when he released your hair, his laughter fading to amused silence. “I was going to offer you some breakfast but I think I'll let you starve down here a bit longer.” 

Stomping away, he slammed the door behind himself, leaving you alone with your nausea. 

When the door opened again you knew at least three hours had passed because of the minutes you had counted. Your bladder was ready to burst and your mouth was so dry that drinking the ocean water sounded pleasant right then. 

“Are you going to be nicer this time?” Dante grinned down at you but he was already leaning over to unlock your wrist from the cuff without your response. 

“Bathroom break. I don't want to have to clean up your piss if you go on yourself.” 

You rubbed your raw wrists as you sat up, completely ignoring his statement. Dante then grabbed your arm and forced you off the small bed, a shove to your back placing you in front of him. 

“Walk.” 

“Okay, asshole. Find some goddamn patience.” 

Dante chuckled. “I really hope he knocks that smart mouth of yours right off.” 

The journey to the bathroom didn't take too long, but your lack of sea legs had definitely extended it by thirty seconds. You occasionally stumbled into a wall when the boat rocked one way, then went straight for the opposite wall when it righted itself. You really fucking hated boats, even nice ones like this. 

“You have three minutes.” Dante pushed you into the bathroom and promptly pulled the door closed before you could protest. Lucky for him you really needed to pee. 

After finishing your business, you hesitantly approached the bathroom counter. You didn't want to see your reflection. You knew you looked horrible. You didn't need a mirror verifying that for you. So, you kept your eyes down as you washed your hands and continued to try to concoct a plan. 

Could you use anything in the bathroom to defend yourself? No, it didn't look like it. You doubted a toilet paper roll would cause any damage. Your eyes frantically flitted around the bathroom in search of something, anything that could help you. You refused to believe that you were helpless to these men. Never again would you let that happen. 

“One minute!” Dante yelled, a bang on the door accompanying his countdown. 

Maybe all you needed was the element of surprise. 

You quickly stepped back into the small room that housed the toilet and climbed up onto it. You crouched, preparing yourself to attack when the moment arrived. You knew you only had seconds now before your time was up and Dante would storm in to drag you out. 

And that's exactly what happened. 

“Come on!” Dante again yelled, but when you didn't emerge, he didn't hesitate to invade the space. Since the area was small, he would find you. You weren't trying to hide necessarily, you just wanted to best him, even if only a little bit. 

As soon as his large form appeared in the doorway, you lunged at him. Your foot roughly pistoned into his chest to force him back and then you jumped down, kneeing right between his legs. Dante groaned in both pain and anger as he doubled over to grab his shriveled balls. This was it. Your chance to run. 

You bolted for the door, ignoring Dante’s demands for you to get back to him. Like hell were you going to do anything that he said. 

As fast you could you ran down the hallway, up the stairs, and onto the main level of the…yacht? Right, you knew you had recognized this boat. It was the exact one you had spent your childhood on with your family, back when you were too young to be sold to Vane and you were none the wiser to the horrible things your father was in control of. 

It had been quite some time since you were on the yacht last, but you still remembered bits of it. For example, you knew this door you were heading for would take you through the galley, then out into the dining room. As you pulled the door open, you were hit with a sweltering heat from the ovens and stoves being on in preparation for a meal. 

“Jesus,” you murmured to yourself. Just as you were about to exit the galley from the opposite door, you paused. Sitting there, as if waiting for you, was a long chef's knife. 

“Don't mind if I do.” Grinning to yourself, you snagged the sharp knife and then exited the galley. Your breathing was uneven and heavy as you tip toed through the formal dining room, your gaze shifting all around in case someone decided to jump out at you. But oddly enough, the yacht was mostly empty. You hadn't even seen a singular employee, which was unusual. 

There was then an intense shove on your back that sent you stumbling forward into the living area and down to your knees. The knife that had been in your hand was knocked away, a boot coming down to apply pressure to your wrist. You were too shocked to even realize what had happened until you looked up to see Hawk standing there, sporting a few injuries of his own. 

“Glad to see our last encounter had some lingering marks,” you laughed. Deep wounds were still present on his face from where you had shoved the bits of glass into. It may have hurt your hand like a bitch, but you knew it caused him more pain than yourself. 

“I'm really going to enjoy making you bleed,” Hawk threatened as his boot twisted down onto your wrist, forcing a cry of pain from you. 

“Hawk! No!” Dante came stumbling in a few seconds later, still nursing his bruised balls. “You heard what boss said. He doesn't want any more marks on her.” 

With Hawk temporarily distracted by Dante, you were able to reach over his leg with your free hand and snag the chef’s knife. You didn't even think as you sunk the blade into his calf, immediately causing him to stagger back and yell. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the previously pristine white carpet you were lying atop. 

“You fucking bitch!” Hawk erupted while applying pressure to the deep wound. “I'm going to fucking kill you!” 

Dante was suddenly yanking you up and wrestling the knife from your grasp. You grunted and fisted your free hand, aiming it right for his jaw. The hit landed, but not as hard as you would've preferred. It barely even fazed him. Dante bent your wrist to the side and you gasped from the pain shooting up your arm, the knife falling to the floor once more. He huffed in annoyance before pushing you back onto the couch, somewhere you couldn't cause anymore damage. 

“Quit your fucking hollering,” he spat at Hawk while pushing his sweat dampened hair out of his face. 

“Let her stab you in the leg and let's see how much you yell!” 

Dante ignored Hawk, his sights instead set on you. “Hawk wasn't lying when he said you were quite the fighter now.” He deviously smirked. “I like this grown up version of you, princess.” 

“Yeah? Well, I still hate you.” 

The insult only caused Dante’s smirk to grow. He was just as sick as the rest of them. 

“Come on.” Dante reached forward and grabbed a handful of your hair to yank you up from the couch, now dragging you back down to the underbelly of the yacht where you had been before. 

“Let go of me!” You yelled while trying to retrieve your hair from his fist but his grip was relentless. “I can't wait until Noah finds me and kicks your ass. And he will find me, you know. Just you fucking wait. You're going to be so sorry.”

The words continued to spill from you, though you weren't even sure how true they were. It's what you wanted to believe. Noah would come after you, right? He would continue to protect you. He would pull you close and tell you everything would be okay, that he would never leave your side again. 

…right? 

Dante laughed before dropping you down onto the twin bed. You tried to kick him away, but he easily overpowered you. Both of his hands held your wrists down, his face mere inches from your own. There was a fire in his eyes and you weren't ready to find out what that would lead to. 

“You think your precious King is going to come for you? I thought you were smarter than that, princess.” He smirked, his breath warm and unsettling as it crossed your skin. “You don't really know who he is, do you? The sort of things he gets into?” 

As his grip loosened on your wrists, you thought you were going to be released, but all it did was give his hands the ability to trail down your arms in a way that made your stomach turn. 

“I hope he does come,” Dante murmured after tucking his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent. You grimaced as you tried to turn your head as far to the opposite direction as you possibly could. “Then I'd get to see your face when you realize that he's also one of the bad guys.” 

Click. The cuff had been secured around your wrist again, keeping you from leaving the bed. 

With that, Dante forcefully shoved himself away from you and stomped out of the room, slamming the door on his way. 

X X X 

You weren't sure how much time had passed this time. Even counting down the minutes had lost its appeal since that's all you had to do. No other form of entertainment was provided to you. Meals had been brought to you twice, both of them left mostly untouched at the end of the bed. And when Dante came for your bathroom breaks, or sent one of his little lackeys, they were now going into the bathroom with you. At least they turned their backs, unlike Dante who held intense eye contact with you throughout the duration.  

The longer you were captured, the more you began to lose hope. Perhaps Noah wasn't coming for you after all. Maybe he figured you being taken was a blessing because it was one less headache for him to have to deal with. You sucked in a sharp breath as the thought burrowed its way into your mind, immediately causing you to feel the effects both emotionally and physically. 

Your stomach turned, your hands shaking. Tears burned behind your eyelids but you didn't want to let them fall. Unfortunately, you were only but so strong. A couple managed to slip down your cheeks, though you quickly wiped them away before they could saturate the flat pillow. 

What the hell was the hold up, anyway? How much longer would you be kept beneath the boat, just waiting to find out what the fuck was going on? 

The sound of murmuring voices outside the door caused your eyes to spring open. There had only been one person coming in and out at a time, never two. You strained to hear what was being said, but you couldn't make anything out. The voices grew louder and more urgent until fading off as they walked away, or so you assumed. 

You were just about to close your eyes again when you heard the door unlock and open slowly. You squinted through the dim light in an attempt to see who it was because the movements didn't sound anything like Hawk or Dante. They were much more heavy handed and footed compared to this new visitor. 

“Nick?” You squeaked out when you finally were able to make sense of the familiar face in the doorway. 

Nicholas stood there unmoving and expressionless, though his bright eyes were locked on you. Sitting up, you tried to pull your wrist from the cuff again, your panic once more settling in. Was he here to help you? Or had he been working for your dad all along? 

“Nick!” You whisper-yelled, your tone pleading. “Please let me out. Please.” Your voice cracked and the insufferable tears began pooling again, your vision becoming blurry from the amount of them. 

He still had yet to say a word. He merely stared at you, blinked rapidly a few times as if he was trying to make sense of what he was seeing, and then slowly backed out of the doorway. 

“Nick! Don't leave me here! Please!” Your begging was useless, though. He had quietly closed the door, leaving you alone again, but now with just your sobs to keep you company. 

NOAH POV

Too much time had passed. You could've been taken anywhere at this point, but that didn't mean he was going to give up. 

There were men all around the city checking up on leads, scoping out your father’s properties, and reporting back on anything that was even slightly interesting. He refused to let this end in tragedy. 

Noah’s jaw tightened as he watched the footage of you being taken again and again. You were limp as you were tossed into the backseat of the large SUV without a second thought, like you were nothing more than a tedious basket of laundry. He recognized the man in the grainy footage because he was one of the three who had come to Jolly’s office that day in search of you. He wasn't the one who spoke, but instead the large one to the left that Noah had easily pinpointed as the muscle of the group. 

This was his fault. He should've done more to keep you safe. He should've kept you closer, but he had been scared. Allowing you in would've meant dropping his walls and barriers, subsequently revealing the true means behind Nocturnal. That would've only put you into even more danger. 

Shaking his head, Noah promptly exited the screen that held the footage. His elbows then propped up on the desk, his hands scrubbing over his face in both exhaustion and annoyance. He had barely slept a couple of hours since you were taken and it was really starting to catch up to him. Jolly had demanded he sleep but it was no use. As soon as his eyes would close, he’d be haunted by images of your face. Of how scared you must've been. Of how alone you probably were now. And that's only if you were still alive. 

No. He wouldn't allow himself to think like that. 

The irritating sound of his phone ringing brought him back down to reality. He heavily sighed, but ultimately snatched his phone up and brought it to his ear to answer. 

“What?” 

“Her dad owns a few yachts,” the guy opened the conversation with. 

“And?”

“And a couple have been docked at the marina for about a week now.” 

Noah sat up a little straighter, his brows knitting together as he thought. That was definitely interesting since you were from the other side of the country. Why would your father’s yachts be here? 

A banging at the door caused Noah's eyes to flick upwards, but he made no move to answer it yet. Only Jolly knew the code to get inside, so he already knew it wasn't him demanding his presence. 

“Send me what you have on the yachts and the marina.” 

Ending the call, he crossed his office to the door that was again being pounded on. Noah slid his phone into his pocket, the same hand clutching the top of his gun that was tucked into the back of his pants, just as he swung the door open. Standing beyond the threshold was not a face he was expecting to see. 

“Ruffilo,” he breathed out with disdain. 

Nick smirked, his own expression full of amusement. “That was a shitty greeting.” 

“Well, I'm in a shitty mood.” 

“Girl troubles?” 

Noah's eyes narrowed in on him, both of them falling silent as they stared the other down. He knew something. But what sort of information could he possibly have? 

“What do you want? How did you even get up here?” 

Nicholas shrugged, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other twisting around the Zippo lighter in his palm. He never went anywhere without that damned thing. “The door was open so I just walked in.” 

“You walked in?” 

“As one does when a door is unlocked, yes.” 

Noah heaved a breath of pure annoyance before turning away from the door, silently telling Nicholas that he could come in. 

“What do you want?” He repeated, his voice more stern this time. He was in no mood to play games, especially not with Nicholas. He always had an affinity for mind games and that was the last thing he needed right then. 

“I think I could have some intel you'd find…appealing.” Nicholas grinned as he closed the door and then wasted no time in making himself comfortable on the couch. He leaned back into the cushions, one arm extended over the top. 

“But, I want something in return for it.” 

“Of course you do. What makes you think I want anything you have?” 

Noah was bluffing. He probably would've given Nick anything right then if what he knew pertained to you. Although, he couldn't let on how desperate he was. 

The smile Nicholas wore only extended until it took up the majority of his face. There was always something so sinister about this particular expression and it made Noah’s skin crawl. Fucking psycho, that's what Nick was. 

“I'm going to be straight forward because I don't have time to linger.” Nick sighed, as if he was upset his little game had been disturbed. “I know where she is and who's keeping her. I'll tell you everything if you help me with one simple task.” 

Noah raised his brows, awaiting whatever it was Nicholas could possibly want. He wasn't in the mood for these dramatic pauses of his. 

“Help me kill Red.” 

Well, that wasn't something he had seen coming. 

“You want to kill your own grandfather?” 

Nicholas shrugged in a nonchalant manner, his lighter opening and closing a couple of times. “He's in my way. And you know how much of an asshole he is.” 

Oh, Noah definitely knew. He also knew that Red had been his top target for years now, ever since his parents had died. He could've killed him many times but none of those moments had been right. They easily would've landed him in prison or dead as well, and he didn't want either of those things to be the outcome. 

Taking in a deep breath, Noah nodded. “Fine.” 

Appearing visibly taken back, Nicholas opened his mouth to speak but then promptly closed it to further contemplate. He spoke only after a few long seconds had passed. 

“That's it? You'll help me?” 

“Yes.”

“You're not even going to ask me why or question me more to see if my intentions are true?” 

“No, because I don't care. All I want is the information you promised me.” 

Noah eyed his former best friend, waiting rather impatiently for him to come forth with whatever he knew. When Nick didn't yet speak, Noah again let his aggravation be known. 

“You're telling me what you know before I help you with Red,” he exclaimed. “I'm already wasting time that I don't have.” 

Nicholas appeared as if he wanted to argue but he bit back his retort. Good. This meant he knew what was good for him. 

“Park Cove Marina,” Nicholas sighed, eyes rolling. “The yacht she's on is called The Genevieve. Poetic, huh?”

If he had been in a better mood, Noah probably would have chuckled at that. Did this mean your choice of alter ego at Nocturnal was done with a purpose? He made a mental note to question you on it later once you were safe and in his arms. 

“There's about five men on board, all with instructions to keep her locked away in a room beneath the boat. They've been told not to harm her, but…”

“But?” Noah could feel the heat within himself rising. He was going to kill anyone who laid a finger on you. If you had suffered even a mere paper cut, someone would pay. 

“But we both know how headstrong she can be. All injuries are superficial, though.” 

You weren't dead. That's the main thing Noah chose to take from Nick’s reveal. But just because you were currently unharmed, didn't mean it would stay that way. He had to move fast, with or without backup. 

“Weapons?”

Nicholas shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “Your usual handguns and knives. Nothing automatic from what I saw.” 

“What's their objective?” 

“Why the fuck are you talking like a military asshole?” Nick looked his childhood friend up and down with a grimace before he finally continued. “They're waiting for their boss to get there. I don't know what's taking him so long but I'd say you have…maybe until tonight to get her out.” 

“Her father is here?” Noah previously assumed the man had sent his little worker bees to get the job done.

A smirk ticked up Nick’s lips and he adjusted his position on the couch, one hand tugging at his suit jacket to try to make himself seem more casual. All of his motions were robotic; learned from studying people to make himself appear more normal. Noah saw right through it. He always had. 

“No, not her father. He has his hand in this, sure, but he's not the one calling the shots.” 

X X X 

It hadn't taken Noah long to put everything together. With a little more prying of information out of Nicholas, the big picture was slowly coming along. He had placed a new target on your father’s head, one he would get to eventually, but there were a couple more in front of him that needed tending to since he wasn't an immediate threat. 

His top goal was to get you out safely, though. After that, he would go on the much needed rampage to prevent this from ever happening again. No longer would you have to run and hide behind a fake identity. You could live the life of freedom you rightfully deserved. Noah was going to make sure of it, even if he had to die trying. 

And he truly meant that. 

Hidden beneath the cover of the deepening night, Noah peered up at the yacht from across the marina. He knew this wouldn't be difficult once on the boat, if what Nick said was true about there only being five or so men, but not being seen ahead of time was the true test. He didn't want to give these assholes any time to call in backup. 

“Are we set?” Jackson questioned as he exited the car to stand by Noah’s side. It was just the two of them. Jolly had opted not to join, claiming he needed to tend to things at Nocturnal. Noah wanted to argue with him but he knew Jolly was serious about keeping their main operation going. Jolly wouldn't let anyone get in the way of it, not even his closest friend and partner. 

“Just waiting for the ‘okay’ from Nick.” 

Nicholas had skirted around telling Noah what he was even doing on the yacht to begin with. He would only smirk and change the subject, but something was telling Noah that Red had something to do with this. You couldn't have one egotistical asshole with an agenda without another there to impede. 

Against better judgement, Noah had stopped questioning him on it. For now. He would get the answers he was searching for, even if it meant having to use force to get them. Nick was tough to crack, though. Psychopaths didn't react to threats or pain the same way a normal, law abiding citizen would. But until it came to that, Noah was going to have to trust Nicholas. After all, your life depended on it. 

Just as the realization dawned on him, his phone vibrated in his hand. A message came through from Nicholas, exclaiming to him that the coast was clear. Nick was to be their lookout until they made it onto the yacht. After that, he would have to continue to play the part so as to not draw suspicions onto himself. 

Didn't bother Noah one bit as long as Nicholas stayed out of his way. 

“Let's go,” he murmured to Jackson, nodding his head in the direction of The Genevieve. 

The pair stuck to the shadows, the sound of the boats rocking atop the water helping to shield the sound of their footsteps the closer they drew to their destination. It was a quiet night other than that, with only the faint sound of music drifting down the long dock. In the distance Noah could see lights from another yacht, one that was more than likely hosting some sort of party, or whatever it was rich pricks did to show off their wealth. This party was also of no concern to him. Maybe it would assist in their cover in the long run. 

With his hand clutching his gun, Noah’s sights remained set on your father’s yacht. His anticipation was rising the closer he got to the boat because that meant he was closer to retrieving you, so he had to take deep breaths to keep his heart rate at a normal level. He needed to leave his adrenaline for when the inevitable fight would begin. 

Circling around to the back of the yacht, he remained on the edge of the dock with Jackson right behind him. They would separate once on the boat. He lifted a hand to signal to Jackson to halt so he could listen for any sounds of people around. When he figured it was clear, Noah carefully stepped onto the rear of the yacht, and headed for the narrow staircase to take him to the main level. 

Dim lights were on, but that was the least of Noah's concerns. He was more focused on the pool of blood on the white carpet in the living room area. His jaw tensed but he quickly averted his gaze back up to what was in front of him. He couldn't dwell on the possibility of that being your blood. He needed to focus on the mission and worry about your potential injuries later. 

“Take the right stairs and go up,” he commanded of Jackson. “I’m going to go down and find her.” 

Jackson gave a swift nod and then disappeared to the right side of the yacht, his position crouched, gun extended out in front of him at the ready. Only when he could no longer see him did Noah continue his way to the left, down the long hallway-like cut that would bring him to the stairs to head down. Just as Nicholas had explained. 

He had just turned towards the top of the staircase when a voice sounded through. It was a faint murmur, but it was getting louder as if they were climbing the stairs. Noah pivoted to the side and pressed himself flat against the wall. As soon as the man was in view, Noah jutted his elbow out, the collision impacting the man’s nose and sending a rush of blood out immediately. He didn't give the man time to figure out what was happening, though. Noah had tucked his gun away and had the man in a headlock before he could even call out for help. He tightly squeezed around the man's neck, cutting off all air flow. The man slapped against his forearm, but every hit became less impactful until he fell still in his arms. 

Killing didn't used to come naturally to him; his first time taking a life still haunted him periodically. But when he was trying to protect someone he cared about, he would take on the task without a second thought. 

After slowly lowering the man to the floor to prevent any sounds from calling attention to himself, Noah continued his trek down to the underbelly of the yacht. This would need to be faster than planned because he didn't want to risk anyone stumbling across the dead body above. His heart was pounding within his chest, his eyes frantically searching for the door Nicholas had described. He said it wouldn't be locked because you were handcuffed to the bed and there was no threat of you escaping. Idiots. They should always lock the door from the outside when holding someone captive. Thankfully their stupidity would benefit him. 

READER POV 

If this told you anything, it was that you'd never last in prison. Solitary confinement? What a joke. You'd be ripping your hair out before the door was even locked. You didn't mind being alone when it was in a comfortable space such as your apartment or even Noah’s, but you were the exact opposite of comfortable right then. You were terrified. Annoyed. Confused. In pain. You had tried prying your hands free from the cuffs again after seeing Nicholas and obviously that hadn't worked out in your favor since you were still trapped. 

Dried blood now stained your wrists, the wounds you had created throbbing and stinging with every move you made. So, you tried to lay as still as you could. Your senses were already beginning to dull from all the other pain you felt within your body. Your shoulders, hips, face. Your fucking dignity. How weak did you have to be to not even be able to take a couple of days of being trapped? 

Sleep came and went, or maybe you were passing out from lack of water and food, but you were trying your best to stay alert. The last time you let it overtake you, you had woken up to one of Dante’s henchmen stroking your face and ogling your chest like a starved man. That was just great. Now you couldn't even go to sleep to pass the time because there was no telling what these Neanderthal-like creatures would do to you. 

“He's not coming,” you whispered to yourself. Your eyes squeezed shut and you angled your head to bury it into the single pillow you had been given. There was a tingle in your throat as you tried to hold back your tears, your jaw clenched tight enough to cause an ache in the muscle. “No one's coming.” 

Fuck. You needed to snap out of it. This wasn't you. You weren't the type to wallow in your pain and give up. You were better than that. Stronger. You may have been broken in the past by these men, but you sure as shit weren't going to let it happen again. 

Taking in a deep breath, you winced as you sat up the best you could, your arms slowly shifting to a downwards angle to help ease your tight shoulders into the position. Okay, problem number one: you needed to get the handcuffs off. But how? The bed frame wasn't the newest but it wasn't like this was some rundown boat. It was still in good condition, no weak spots, so you wouldn't be able to break it without enough leverage. And that wasn't something you were going to get in this position. 

Honestly, you had even contemplated somehow breaking your hands so you could squeeze them through the wrist openings, but that plan was quickly shot to hell. Not only would you need your hands to further escape, but you also didn't have the means to break your hands like this. Or the guts. 

Unfortunately, your brainstorming could only go so far because it was interrupted by the door abruptly swinging open. It crashed against the wall, the sudden sound causing you to jump and turn, eyes wide. Two bodies tangled together, grunting, throwing punches and desperately trying to pull free a weapon. It took you a moment to comprehend what was happening, but once you did, there was a flutter in your chest and a grin spread across your lips. 

Noah. 

He had actually come for you. He was fighting Hawk, though. This couldn't be good. Not when he had a good eighty pounds on Noah, if not more. You yanked at your restraints in another vain attempt at freeing yourself. There was no way you were going to let Hawk take Noah down right in front of you. Fuck that. 

Noah slammed Hawk to the floor as the thought crossed your mind, his fist connecting with his nose hard enough to send blood flowing from it. The bone made a deafening crunch sound that was vulgar enough to even make you wince. Hawk’s eyes drooped as he struggled with Noah, trying his best to land hits of his own but Noah somehow managed to block every single one. He was fast and smart, easily anticipating every move Hawk was about to make. 

Wild eyes glanced your way before dropping to the pillow bunched at your side. “Toss me that,” he breathlessly requested, nodding to the pillow. 

You shook your hands to show that you weren't able to really do that, but you then groaned and shifted around uncomfortably until you could kick the pillow just enough to send it falling to the floor within Noah’s reach. He immediately grabbed it with one hand, the other retrieving his gun before he simultaneously layered the two on Hawk’s face. Pillow first, his fist pressing down into it, then he fired the gun straight into the fluff to muffle the sound. It was still loud enough to make you yelp with shock because everything was happening so fast and you hadn't really registered what the hell was going on. 

But…at least Hawk had grown completely still. 

Your eyes were still wide, breathing heavy as you stared at the pool of blood growing beneath where Hawk remained. 

“You just…he’s…” you stammered over your words, heavily swallowing. Fuck, you were actually going to be sick this time. 

“Yeah,” Noah shrugged after pulling himself to his feet and rushing over to you. He didn't say anything else before he grabbed your jaw and pulled your face to his, your lips connecting in a forceful kiss. You ignored the sharp pain from your busted lip because just having Noah there made everything feel so much better. What pain? All you felt was warmth. 

The kiss didn't last long, but it was just enough to give you the taste of him you had been craving. Noah pulled back to gaze down at you, his eyes softening when he took in the bruises and cuts on your face. The look was fleeting, quickly covered with a blazing anger. 

“We need to get out of here,” he murmured. Noah released your face and glanced at the cuffs securing your wrists. He cursed under his breath in ever growing annoyance. 

“Do you know where the keys are?” 

“Um…” you tried to rack your brain and then slowly dropped your eyes to where Hawk’s body rested. “Try his pockets.” 

Noah didn't hesitate to step back over to Hawk’s lifeless body, immediately digging through his pockets. He was moving quickly as he emptied both front pockets with no luck. Then, he shoved Hawk over on his side like it was no big deal, just a dead body, so he could search his back pockets. 

“Got ‘em,” he breathed in relief. 

The moment your wrists were free, you threw your arms around Noah and practically jumped into his body. His own arms circled around you, holding you as close as possible. Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you fought back your tears the best you could. You were just so damn happy to see him. It was impossible to even put it into words. 

How he had become so important to you in such a short time, you would never know. 

Noah's hands tightly clasped your lower back, then secured at your hips before running up your back, like he just had to touch you wherever he could. You could feel his fingers trembling and while you weren't entirely sure why, something told you it was the anger he was experiencing. Not because of you, but for you. 

“I'm okay,” you repeated into his neck again and again, reassuring him as much as you could of the statement. “It'll take more than a few cuts and bruises to keep me down.” 

“I'm so fucking sorry,” Noah breathed into your hair just before planting a kiss to the top of your head. 

You shook your head, refusing to let his apologies settle. “Let's just get out of here, okay? We need to go before my dad shows up.” 

There was a depth to Noah's eyes as he blinked at you then gave a shake of his own head. You could tell there was something he wanted to say, but for whatever reason he was holding back. You weren't sure if it was something you needed to question right then, not when survival should've been your top priority. 

“We can talk about it later but you should know now that it's not your da–”

Noah was cut off by a body filling the doorway, a gun pointed in your direction. You jumped and immediately backed into Noah who grabbed your waist, your breath catching in your throat. Even Noah was tense against you, until you both settled upon realizing it was Jackson standing there. He released a sigh of relief, though you were very aware of the blood that coated his black jacket and stained his jeans. Shit. 

“How many?” Noah asked as he began to take inventory of his ammo. He casually passed a knife your way without a word, your fingers shaking as they secured around the hilt. 

“Two,” Jackson responded between his labored breathing. 

Noah gave a single nod. “Same. That means there's hopefully only one more wandering around.” 

Their voices sounded miles away because you were staring down at the knife, silently wondering to yourself if you'd be able to kill someone if it came down to it. Just because you had previously stabbed Hawk in the leg didn't mean you had the guts to bury the blade somewhere more lethal. 

“We should work on getting off the yacht instead of searching for him,” Noah continued, to which Jackson gave a nod of agreement. “Let him live to send that asshole our warning.” 

Hands were then smoothing over your shoulders, fingers digging into the sore muscles hard enough that you nearly moaned from the sensation. Noah’s body crowded your own, his hands slowly working their way up your neck until he was cradling your jaw again. His touch was soft, much softer than it had ever been. 

“Are you okay?” 

You took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, shrugging simultaneously. “Ask me that once we're somewhere safe.” That wasn't necessarily an easy question to answer. Physically? Yes, you were fine, just sore. Mentally? Eh…

Noah mimicked your deep breath with one of his own, the worry evident in his eyes. You were thankful that he opted not to press the topic for now. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, the scent of him encompassing you. 

“You're to stay between me and Jackson, okay? Move quickly but quietly. Once we're off the yacht, I want you to bolt east. You'll see my car. Don't look back, just run. Can you do that for me?” 

“You think I know which way east is?” 

Noah tried to fight his smile but it peeked through enough to cause a smile of your own to form. He shook his head as he ran a hand over your hair, lightly brushing the messy strands back behind your ear. 

“You never fail to amaze me,” he teased, and you both softly chuckled. 

Jackson bounced impatiently in the doorway. “We gotta go.” 

With a final look Noah guided you forward with a gentle press to your lower back. Jackson took the lead, his stance something from an action movie. You were impressed but you also felt very under prepared. Maybe even a little useless. What the fuck were you supposed to do if something happened? Get all stabby? You tried to ignore the 'brought a knife to a gunfight’ line that was hindering your thoughts. You kept telling yourself that you'd be fine. Jackson was obviously heavily trained and Noah wouldn't let anything happen to you. Unfortunately, you were more concerned about something happening to them. 

“Breathe,” Noah whispered from behind you, leading you to realize that you had been holding your breath as the three of you took to the stairs. “Can't have you passing out.” 

Jackson paused at the top of the steps, a hand held back to signal for you to stop as well. He looked back and forth before motioning for you to continue, so you did. One foot in front of the other. The knife held close at your side, ready to defend yourself. 

Thankfully you made it through the yacht without incident, though there was something eerie about the silence. It didn't feel right. You felt as if you were being watched, and not just by Noah behind you. Was it really this easy? You refused to believe it because things were never this easy for you. Not when it came to your father. 

A shock rippled through you as you jumped from the yacht and onto the dock. Noah had told you to run but you couldn't seem to get your legs to obey. It felt wrong to leave them behind. That's not how you wanted to be remembered–as someone who ran. You kept a brisk pace, Noah still trailing close behind. Just as you were about to glance back at him, a shot rang through the silence, followed by a sudden groan of pain. 

No! 

Noah bumped into you, nearly sending both of you toppling to the damp dock. Your first instinct was to immediately turn and reach for him, and what you saw was a pained expression written all over his features. He was grabbing at his side with one hand as the other aimed his gun upwards, a few rounds firing out towards the yacht. You were too focused on helping him stand, along with the help of Jackson, to even think about looking up to see who remained. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” Jackson took most of Noah’s weight that he couldn’t support himself, but what was given to you was far more than what your overly exhausted and dehydrated body could properly manage. You winced from the heaviness draped over your shoulders, though you refused to give up. If it had been you, Noah would've slung you over his shoulder and carried you to safety without a thought. You could at least manage to be his crutch. 

“How far is the car?!” You whisper-yelled at Jackson. More shots sounded around you but none must've hit, thank fucking god. 

“It's not far. You're going to get into the back and stop the bleeding. I'll get us out of here. Okay?” 

The bleeding. 

You glanced down to see your own shirt stained from where Noah’s injured side was pressed against you. Your eyes widen with fear, a sob threatening to break free. No, no, no. You couldn't lose him. You refused to. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Noah didn't deserve this. None of the people helping you did. 

“He’s going to be okay,” Jackson continued when he caught sight of your face and the tears welling in your eyes. 

“I've had worse,” Noah then groaned between a sharp gasp, his brows knitting together. 

Once the three of you had finally made it to the car, Jackson helped you haul Noah into the back, where you also took up space. Then, he was off, flooring it through the marina to get you all to safety. 

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do!” You loudly announced as Noah began helping you lift his shirt. There in his right side was a bullet hole weeping blood, the crimson staining your hands from your attempts to press against it to halt the bleeding. 

“Just find something to help stop the bleeding,” Jackson exclaimed in a tone that was far too calm for this situation. Fuck, he was good under pressure. Not something you could say about yourself. 

Doing a quick glance around, you didn't see anything of use. Noah's car was insanely clean, unlike how yours used to be filled with clothes and forgotten water bottles. Your eyes fell to your shirt and it was suddenly ripped off your body, the fabric pressed firm to Noah’s injury. 

“I need you to tell me if there's an exit wound.”

“What?” You had no idea what Jackson had just said. The sound of your own blood was rushing through your ears, fingers sticky with blood still trembling while pushing the fabric of your shirt firm into Noah’s wound. He was pale, his eyelashes fluttering across the top of his cheeks when he didn't even have enough strength to keep his eyes open anymore. 

“An exit wound!” Jackson repeated louder, needing to be heard over your near hyperventilating-level panting. “Did the bullet come out?” 

Your eyes frantically searched Noah’s body and you shrugged, the question being too much with everything else overworking your brain. “I don't know! Fuck! I don't think so.” 

Jackson didn't say anything else, but you did believe you felt the car lurch forward slightly to indicate him pressing harder onto the accelerator. 

“Where are we going?” You questioned through your sniffles and tears that you hadn't even realized had started falling. 

Jackson took in a deep breath before he responded. “Nocturnal.” 

“He needs a hospital!” 

Why the fuck would you guys need to go to the club? You knew going to the hospital with a gunshot wound wasn't the most ideal, but you were willing to risk everything to make sure Noah made it through this. Police interrogation be damned. 

“Everything he can get at a hospital, he can also get at Nocturnal. Trust me.”

Well, it wasn't like you had much of a choice.

▷ tag list

@bloody-spades

@simpforromance

@koffemilk

@traffordonna

@oobleoob

@mentallyillbartender

@respectfulrebel

@lilsugacubeot7

@missduffsblog

@lacy1986

@aprosiacperson

@mayaslifeinabox

@dravenskye

@blvckmvgicwoman

@badomensls

@trvshdxddy

@concreteangel92

@moostress19

@happyclifford

@lolidontknowanymore

@shaydayhere

@flowery-mess

@wheels1193

@thelavenderdaisy

@palesworrdsman

@bruce9818

@bridemassacre

@lonelydragonlady

@jaded-and-hollow-souls

@geminigirlfromfinland

@cheyyyyr

@guacinyourarea

@latenightmusiclover

@acatatonicpeace

[arilevenatz]

Whispers of Atravelle | 𝟒

Chapter word count: 6.1k

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanna be tagged? Comment under the series Masterlist!!

Hongjoong’s office was grand, but honestly, you barely had time to appreciate it before your attention snapped back to the eight princes staring at you.

Yeosang had walked in beside you, and the moment you stepped through the doors, Hongjoong greeted you. It was polite. But something about it felt… fake nice. Like he was humoring you.

That was never a good sign.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Hongjoong said, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped together. “You have to go to the arena again.”

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, hell no.

But obviously, you couldn’t just say that. So, in the most professional, composed voice you could manage, you said, “I don’t want to.”

Hongjoong didn’t even blink. “That wasn’t a request.”

You crossed your arms. “I still don’t want to.”

The others exchanged looks. Some of them seemed amused, others just exasperated. Yunho straight-up sighed like he knew this was going to be a back-and-forth argument.

Mingi, of all people, decided to chime in. “It won’t be as bad this time.”

“As bad?” You repeated. “So you admit it was bad?”

“That’s not—”

“Guys,” you cut him off. “I don’t want to go. Let’s just accept that and move on.”

“We insist,” Seonghwa said smoothly.

“Well, I insist harder.”

They all looked at each other again, like a bunch of annoying telepathic siblings.

You sighed heavily, shifting tactics. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

Wooyoung leaned against the desk, grinning. “You won’t.”

“Oh, really? You can guarantee that?”

He shrugged. “Not really. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

You glared.

“YN,” Hongjoong said, this time more serious. “You need to go.”

And that was when you finally cracked.

“I’m scared,” you blurted out.

The room went quiet.

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it was the truth.

You were scared.

What happened last time wasn’t normal. You weren’t normal. And the fact that they weren’t telling you everything only made it worse.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Then, surprisingly, it was Jongho who spoke.

“That’s fair,” he said simply.

You looked at him. “…It is?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But you still have to go.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “Fine! But just know this that I hate all of you.”

“You’ll survive,” Hongjoong said, completely unfazed. Then he stood up, signaling that the conversation was over. “You're dismissed.”

You stood there, blinking. That’s it? They were just dismissing you? Sending you off like a lost puppy while they stayed back and plotted whatever the hell they were plotting?

Hongjoong glanced at the door, a clear sign that you were supposed to leave.

You didn’t move.

“What if I get lost?” you asked, crossing your arms.

Jongho exhaled and gave you a deadpan look. “Go straight, take the second hallway to the left, walk until you see the big-ass painting of the first king, turn right, then the second door on your left.”

You blinked again. “...You really memorized all that?”

“Memorize it, or you will get lost,” he said flatly.

You sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

With no other choice, you turned around and left, feeling absolutely defeated.

The moment the doors shut behind you, Yunho stepped forward. “I’ll go this time.”

San, who had been leaning against the desk, straightened up. “It’s too early for you.”

Yunho didn’t budge. “She’s already scared. She won’t be able to handle it if it’s too much again.”

Wooyoung snorted. “And you’re supposed to be the comforting presence?”

“I'm the best out of all of you” Yunho countered.

“That’s a stretch,” Yeosang muttered.

Yunho ignored him and looked at Hongjoong, who had been listening the entire time without saying a word. “Let me do it.”

Hongjoong tilted his head, considering. Then, after a moment, he nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “You go.”

You didn't know what you expected. But it was certainly not this.

The arena was huge, bigger than you remembered, but that wasn’t what had you frozen in place. No, it was the small tent at the far end of the arena, standing alone in the vast emptiness.

At first, it seemed out of place, almost ridiculous in its simplicity. What, was someone camping out here? But before you could even think further, a deafening crack of yellow lightning struck the tent.

The ground shook.

A powerful gust of wind nearly knocked you off your feet, sending dust and debris flying everywhere. White smoke billowed out, thick and suffocating, blinding you for a moment. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, panic clawing at your chest.

And then—through the smoke—you saw it.

A monster.

The arena, which once seemed so large, now felt tiny in comparison to the thing that towered before you. It loomed over everything, its massive, skinless body radiating intense heat. Steam poured from its body, distorting the air around it. Its exposed muscles pulsed with every slight movement, and you could hear the unsettling hiss of its breath escaping through its gigantic maw.

Its eyes—hollow, lifeless, yet aware—locked onto you.

Your legs nearly gave out.

This wasn’t just some giant. This wasn’t the same as last time.

This was something far worse.

You didn’t know what to do.

Your brain screamed at you to move, but your body refused to function for a solid second. And then—adrenaline kicked in.

You bolted.

You ran so fast that if Usain Bolt himself had been beside you, you’d have given him a run for his money. Your heart pounded violently against your ribs, your breath came out in ragged gasps, and yet—you could still feel it.

The Titan was reaching for you.

Its enormous, steaming hand descended like a shadow of death, aiming straight for you. The air itself burned—the sheer heat radiating from its skin making your lungs feel like they were on fire.

And then—you tripped.

Your legs gave out, the heat sucking the strength from them, and you collapsed onto the dirt. Your body screamed at you to get up, but it was too late.

The Titan’s massive fingers loomed just inches above you.

And that’s when it happened.

The same thing as last time.

Just as the Titan’s hand was about to crush you—it stopped. Frozen mid-motion, as if something unseen had chained it in place.

Then, its entire form shuddered.

A deep, rumbling groan left its throat, almost as if it was fighting something within itself. Its hollow eyes flickered—like it was confused.

And then, just like before, its body gave out.

With a deafening crash, the Colossal Titan collapsed to its knees, the ground trembling beneath its weight. Steam hissed violently from its body, filling the air with thick white clouds.

You barely registered any of it.

Because at that moment, lying on the dirt, panting and trembling, you realized something terrifying.

This wasn’t a coincidence.

It wasn’t luck.

Whatever was happening to these monsters—it was you.

Suddenly, that same zipping sound filled the air—the sharp whirring of wires cutting through the wind.

Before you could even blink, those people in the flying contraptions were back. They moved with terrifying speed, their sharp blades glinting under the burning light. They were aiming for the nape of the Titan—just like before.

But just as one of them was about to strike—

Darkness.

A thick, black blindfold suddenly covered your eyes.

You panicked.

The heat was suffocating, your body was already weak, and now, you were blind. You struggled, gasping, trying to yank the fabric off, but before you could—

A voice.

"Relax, Priestess. It’s me."

You froze.

Who the fuck—

"Who the hell are you?!" you snapped, still struggling.

A low chuckle. "San."

You still couldn’t see a damn thing, but you felt him—his presence, strong and steady, right beside you.

Before you could even think of a response, you were lifted.

His arm tightened around you, holding you firmly against his chest, and then—you were moving.

The wind rushed past you, the heat fading slightly as he carried you away. You had no idea where you were going, no idea why he had blindfolded you, but one thing was certain—

You had no control over whatever the hell was happening.

You squirmed a little in his hold, trying to adjust yourself, but he only tightened his grip.

"Where are you taking me?" you demanded.

"You ask too many questions," San replied smoothly, the amusement in his voice barely hidden.

"Bro, I think it's a valid question since I just got blindfolded and kidnapped—"

"Kidnapped?" He let out a short laugh. "That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?"

"No?" you shot back. "I literally have no idea where I’m going, I can’t see shit, and you’re carrying me like a damn sack of rice."

He ignored your complaints, his movements as effortless as if you weighed nothing. You could feel the way his body tensed slightly with each swing, the shifting of his muscles as he maneuvered through the air. It was unsettling how easily he moved—how calm he was despite the chaos you had just gone through.

The warmth of the colossal Titan was finally gone, replaced by the cool breeze that came with moving away from the heat source. You still had no idea where you were, but you could hear the sounds of shouting in the distance—probably the others dealing with whatever just happened.

"San, seriously—where the hell are we going?"

"You’ll see," he replied cryptically. "Or, actually, you won’t. At least, not yet."

"That’s real reassuring."

Another chuckle. "You’ll live."

"Not comforting.”

You felt the way his pace slowed, the wind no longer rushing past as fast as before. And then, after a few more moments, he landed. The grip around you loosened as he set you down, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

"Don’t take it off yet," he warned before you could even think about yanking the blindfold off.

You scowled. "Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"And that means what to me—"

Before you could finish your sentence, you felt his fingers brush against the knot at the back of your head, untying it himself.

And then—

The fabric slipped away, and you blinked rapidly as the light hit your eyes again.

You barely had time to adjust before you realized where you were.

It was a completely different part of the castle—a small, secluded courtyard. The stone walls surrounding it were covered in ivy, the only light source coming from the torches lining the edges. In the center was a stone bench, and beyond that, a pool of water, reflecting the dim glow of the flames.

It was… peaceful.

Your eyes flickered to San, who was watching you closely, arms crossed over his chest.

"What is this place?" you asked, voice quieter now.

"A place to calm down," he said simply. "You looked like you needed it."

…Okay.

You hadn’t been expecting that.

The peace didn’t last.

You had barely gotten comfortable, letting yourself breathe properly for the first time since the whole titan almost crushing you incident, when San casually checked his watch and said, "Yep. Time’s up, princess. We gotta go back.”

You blinked. "What?"

"Break time’s over," he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Let’s go."

"Wait—hold up, hold up," you stopped him, standing up. "You timed this?"

San just grinned. "Of course I did."

"Bro, why?"

"Because Hongjoong would’ve killed me if I let you slack off for too long."

You groaned. "Of course."

With no other choice, you followed him back inside, weaving through the hallways until you reached the meeting room. And the second you stepped inside—

"There she is!"

Hongjoong looked absolutely thrilled. His whole face lit up as soon as he saw you, a grin stretching across his features. "Our little priestess, once again proving her worth."

"I keep saying I’m not—"

"Another success!" he continued, completely ignoring you. "Two titans, both tamed, and you still think it’s a coincidence?"

The others looked less enthusiastic but were still watching you closely. Yunho looked amused, Yeosang deep in thought, and Wooyoung? He was just leaning back with an unreadable smirk.

"I—" You sighed. "Look, I still have no idea what the hell happened out there."

"That makes two of us," Mingi muttered.

"Three," Jongho added.

"Regardless," Hongjoong said, "it’s happening. You’re doing it. That’s all that matters."

You didn’t know what to say to that. Because honestly? You weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

You just stared at him.

Hongjoong was beaming. Like, full-on radiating joy, eyes crinkling at the corners, leaning forward with an energy that was almost… suspicious.

"My little priestess!" he grinned, clapping his hands together. "Do you need anything?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

"Anything at all!" he said, too eagerly. "Say the word, and it’s yours. Are you comfortable? Do you need food? Water? Jewelry? Clothes? Hell, I’ll buy you a house if you want!"

You squinted at him. "Why do you sound like a merchant trying to sell me something?"

"Because I’m happy," he said. "And when I’m happy, I like to spoil people."

"I—” What the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

The other princes were watching the whole exchange with varying expressions. Yeosang looked like he was analyzing the hell out of the situation, Yunho had his arms crossed in amusement, and Wooyoung? He just looked way too entertained.

"Bro, you good?" you finally asked. "Why are you acting like I just cured an incurable disease?"

"Because you might as well have!" Hongjoong practically shimmered with excitement. "Do you realize how insane this is? You tamed a Titan. Again. That’s two now. Two!"

"Yeah, and I still have no clue how," you muttered.

"That’s fine, that’s fine," he waved it off like it was a minor inconvenience. "We have plenty of time to figure that out."

Your stomach dropped. "Why does it sound like you’re not letting me leave?"

Hongjoong’s grin turned menacingly sweet. "Because I’m not."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, his smile still lingering as he watched you leave the room.

“Now, priestess,” he had said, voice laced with something unreadable, “tomorrow is going to be a huge day. So go and get your beauty sleep.”

You had given him a long, suspicious look before reluctantly heading out. And as the heavy doors shut behind you, the room fell into a thick silence.

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning his elbows onto the desk, fingers interlocked as that same satisfied smile remained on his face.

“…Alright,” Seonghwa spoke first, arms crossed. “What’s on your mind?”

“Yeah,” Mingi added. “You’ve been smiling like that for a while now. It’s weird.”

Yeosang, ever observant, didn’t say anything, but his sharp eyes were locked onto Hongjoong, clearly picking apart whatever thoughts he was having.

Hongjoong tapped his fingers against the wooden surface, tilting his head.

“Maybe…” he started slowly, “…just maybe…” He let the words settle, enjoying the anticipation in the air before continuing, “Because she’s the priest’s daughter… a saint, as well.”

The room went silent.

Then, Wooyoung snorted. “Hyung what?”

But the others didn’t look as dismissive.

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes, processing the words carefully. Yeosang sat up straighter, clearly intrigued. Yunho exchanged a glance with Jongho, while San simply leaned back, deep in thought.

“Think about it,” Hongjoong pressed, leaning forward. “She’s not just calming them. She’s taming them. Do you know how impossible that should be?”

“She doesn’t even know how she’s doing it,” Jongho pointed out.

“Exactly.” Hongjoong’s fingers drummed against the desk. “And yet, it’s happening. First, the Jaw Titan. Now, the Colossal. Two completely different ones, and she stopped both of them. Not just made them hesitate—stopped them.”

Yeosang finally spoke, voice careful. “…So, what are you suggesting?”

Hongjoong grinned.

“I’m suggesting that maybe… she was born to do this.”

Hongjoong stood up from his chair, the weight of their plans finally shifting into motion. His fingers tapped idly against the desk as he continued.

“And do you realize what that means?”

Mingi exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It means we can actually use them now,” he said, half in disbelief. “Properly. Without resistance.”

Hongjoong nodded. “Exactly. We’ve spent years trying to harness the full extent of our Titan abilities, but this—” He gestured vaguely toward the door you had exited from. “—this changes everything. Now, we don’t have to fight for control. Now, we have someone who can command them.”

“Which means…” Seonghwa trailed off, before finishing the thought. “We can finally do what we’ve been planning all along.”

The air in the room grew heavier. They all knew what he meant. What they had to do.

But even before that.

A long-overdue task. A mission they had set out to accomplish years ago, yet had never been able to.

Hongjoong’s eyes darkened slightly as he placed his hands flat against the desk, his voice slow, deliberate.

“Tomorrow, we end this unfinished business.”

And for the first time in a long time, every single one of them agreed.

The castle was eerily quiet at this hour. You weren’t sure how, but you had been dragged along into whatever the hell this was—some mission that none of them bothered explaining to you properly. All you knew was that you weren’t supposed to be awake, much less sneaking around the royal halls with the eight princes of Atravelle.

You should’ve turned back the moment you realized something was wrong.

But San’s hand was firm around your wrist, leading you deeper into the dimly lit corridors, and you knew better than to try and pull away.

"Stay quiet, priestess," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Something about the way they were moving, the way they barely made a sound despite their numbers, sent a cold chill down your spine.

They had done this before.

They knew exactly where they were going.

And that scared you more than anything.

You ended up in front of a large set of doors. The royal chamber.

The king’s chamber.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Wait—" you tried to speak, but a hand clamped over your mouth before you could say anything else.

Mingi, towering over you, leaned in close. His lips curled into something unreadable as he whispered against your ear, "You're not here to talk, priestess."

You froze. The warning in his tone was clear.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his movements calculated, deliberate. He pushed open the door, the grand room illuminated only by the faint glow of lanterns.

And there he was.

The king.

Asleep. Unaware.

So painfully vulnerable.

Hongjoong didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulled out a dagger, the silver glinting ominously in the low light.

You should’ve looked away.

You should’ve done something.

But before you could even move, a cold blade pressed against your throat.

Your breath hitched.

Yeosang.

He stood behind you, his grip steady, unyielding. His expression blank.

"You move, you make a sound, and this goes deeper," he said softly, almost gently.

Your entire body locked up.

You had been scared before. But never like this.

Never this kind of fear.

They weren’t playing around.

This was who they truly were.

Not the charming, sometimes ridiculous men you had dinner with. Not the group of princes who bickered like brothers.

No.

These were men who had killed before.

Men who had planned this for years.

And you—stupid, naive you—had somehow believed they were anything but monsters.

Hongjoong’s dagger pressed against the king’s throat, and without a single ounce of hesitation—

He slit it.

The king jolted awake for a second, eyes wide, mouth opening in a silent scream—

And then he went still.

Blood seeped into the silk sheets, dark and pooling, the smell already thick in the air.

Your stomach churned.

You wanted to throw up.

Yeosang’s blade finally pulled away from your throat, but you could still feel it there. Still feel the cold bite against your skin.

Wooyoung whistled lowly. “Finally.”

Seonghwa exhaled, rubbing his temple. "That took way too long."

Jongho sheathed his own weapon. "It’s done now."

Done.

Like it was just some chore.

Hongjoong turned to you, that same damn smile on his face. “See, priestess? You’re part of history now.”

You didn't respond. Couldn't.

Because in that moment, you realized something terrifying.

You were in too deep.

And there was no way out.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The only sound was the slow drip of blood pooling onto the floor.

You couldn’t look away from the body—the lifeless husk of the man who once ruled this kingdom.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to run. But your body refused to move, still frozen in the same spot where Yeosang had held the blade to your throat.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Jongho clapped his hands together. “Alright. Let’s clean this up.”

Clean. This. Up.

Like it was some mess in the kitchen, not a corpse soaking into the expensive sheets.

Your stomach twisted.

San let out a low chuckle beside you. "You’re looking a little pale, priestess."

You finally managed to tear your eyes away from the scene and look at him. He was watching you with amusement, arms crossed over his chest like he was enjoying this.

Enjoying your horror.

“I—” You swallowed thickly. You needed to get out. Away from this room. Away from them.

Hongjoong stepped forward, still holding the bloody dagger. His expression unreadable.

“Where are you going?”

You blinked. You hadn’t even moved yet. But the fact that he knew—that he could see it in your eyes—made your blood run cold.

“I…” You tried to think. Tried to force words out of your mouth. But your brain was scrambled, panic clouding your thoughts.

Wooyoung was suddenly at your side, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you were buddies.

“Relax, priestess. You’re acting like this is the first time you've seen someone die.”

It was.

And they all knew it.

Seonghwa sighed, wiping the blood off his hands with a silk cloth from the bedside table. "We don’t have time for this."

Yunho, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke up. “We should go before someone notices.”

Yeosang gave one last glance at the dead king before turning on his heel. "Leave the body. They'll figure it out soon enough."

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

They were just going to leave it here? No effort to cover their tracks? No panic?

This was planned so thoroughly that they knew they didn’t have to.

Your breathing was shallow. Everything felt like a nightmare. Like your brain couldn’t process what was happening fast enough.

And then—

“Priestess.”

You flinched.

Mingi.

He stood in front of you now, a slow grin stretching across his face as he tilted his head.

"You’re not thinking of running, are you?"

You didn't answer.

His grin widened.

"That’d be a shame."

San hummed beside him, tapping a finger against his chin. "Yeah, we'd have to do something about that."

You took a shaky step back. "I—"

"You’re one of us now, Y/N." Hongjoong's voice cut through the room, sharp and final.

You whipped your head to him, your heart slamming against your ribs. "I never agreed to this!"

He just smiled.

"That’s the thing, little priestess," he said, voice sickeningly sweet.

"You don’t have a choice."

They didn’t let you go back alone.

Of course they didn’t.

Mingi and Wooyoung flanked you on either side as you walked through the darkened halls, their presence heavy and suffocating. You weren’t sure if they were making sure you didn’t get lost—

Or making sure you didn’t run.

Your hands were clammy. Your legs felt unsteady. But you forced yourself to keep walking, to act as normal as possible.

Because one wrong move, one sign of defiance—

And you didn’t know what they would do to you.

You glanced at Wooyoung from the corner of your eye. He looked relaxed, almost bored, hands tucked behind his head like this was just another regular night.

You didn’t know what was worse—their complete lack of remorse, or the fact that you were now part of this.

Whether you wanted to be or not.

"You’re being awfully quiet," Mingi said suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

You stiffened. "I don’t have anything to say."

Wooyoung snickered. "That’s a first."

You ignored him, focusing on the path ahead. Your room was just a few more turns away. If you could just get there, shut the door, and be alone for even a second—

"Don’t think too much, priestess," Mingi mused, his voice low. "You might not like where your thoughts take you."

Too late for that.

You finally reached your door. Your hand was shaky as you grasped the handle.

Wooyoung leaned against the frame, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Sweet dreams, priestess.”

His voice was almost mocking.

Mingi chuckled as they both turned away, disappearing down the hall.

You stepped inside your room and closed the door.

Then you leaned against it, sliding to the floor, hands gripping your head.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

But then you remembered.

You stood up and tried to open the door.

Locked.

Your stomach dropped.

You tried again, twisting the handle harder this time. Then you pressed your weight against the wood, shoving with all your strength.

Nothing.

Your breath hitched.

They locked you in.

Of course they did.

You swallowed, stepping back from the door like it had burned you. A slow, creeping dread slithered up your spine, wrapping around your throat and squeezing.

This wasn’t just about keeping you safe. This was about keeping you in.

You turned, scanning the room like a trapped animal searching for an escape. The windows? No—too high. The walls? No hidden passageways.

You were stuck.

Your legs gave out before you even realized you were moving. You sank to the floor, back pressed against the cold wood of the door, hands shaking in your lap.

They were watching you.

Not physically—you were alone in this room—but they were watching.

This was their way of saying, we own you now.

This was their way of saying, don’t even think about running.

And the worst part?

They were right.

You had nowhere to go. No one to run to. No way to fight back.

You brought your knees to your chest, resting your forehead against them. Your heart was still racing, the image of the dead king flashing behind your eyelids.

His body. The blood. The way they had smiled afterward.

You thought back to their laughter at dinner, the way they teased each other, how they bickered like normal people.

Like they weren’t monsters.

But now you knew the truth.

They weren’t normal.

They were dangerous.

And you were locked in here with them.

You didn’t know how long you sat there.

Minutes? Hours?

It didn’t matter.

The door unlocking did.

The sound of the heavy latch clicking open sent a jolt through your body. You scrambled to your feet just as the door swung inward, revealing a very pleased looking Wooyoung.

“Aw, you look so cute when you’re scared.” His voice was light, teasing. Like he wasn’t standing in the aftermath of a murder.

You took a step back.

Big mistake.

Because stepping back only made him step forward.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” He grinned, eyes twinkling as if he wasn’t part of a conspiracy to overthrow the kingdom. “We have a lot to talk about, priestess.”

Before you could move, he reached forward, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. His grip was firm, but not painful—like he could hurt you, but was choosing not to.

Yet.

He led you down the dimly lit hallway, through winding corridors that seemed longer than before. Your mind was a blur, your stomach twisted into knots.

They had killed the king.

The king.

Not just any noble. Not an enemy soldier. Not a criminal.

The ruler of Atravelle.

And they had locked you up while they did it.

Your heart pounded as Wooyoung pushed open the doors to what you now recognized as their meeting room.

They were all there.

All eight of them, seated like kings at a round table, exuding the air of men who had just changed the course of history.

Hongjoong was the first to speak.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t a request.

You hesitated. Mingi raised a brow. “Didn’t San tell you earlier? You look best when you listen.”

Your jaw clenched, but your body moved on its own, sinking into the empty chair.

You hated that they had this effect on you.

Hongjoong leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, fingers laced together. He looked satisfied.

Like he had just won a game he had been playing for years.

“You must have a lot of questions,” he mused, tilting his head. “Go on then, ask.”

You swallowed. Your voice felt weak when you spoke.

“You killed the king.”

A pause.

Then, Yunho smiled. “Well, yes. We did.”

Like it was that simple.

Like it was obvious.

Your stomach twisted. “Why?”

Hongjoong’s gaze sharpened. “Because he was a coward,” he said, voice cool, controlled. “Because he sat on that throne, making decisions that starved our people while feeding the nobility. Because he was unfit to rule.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Yeosang, ever composed, leaned back in his chair. “You think we did this for fun?” His voice was smooth, almost amused. “Do you think we killed him just because we felt like it?”

You didn’t know what to say.

San smirked. “Do you really think we’re the villains here, priestess?”

You flinched at the nickname.

Wooyoung sighed dramatically. “Don’t look so shocked, sweetheart. This was bound to happen.”

Jongho, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but firm. “We didn’t just kill the king,” he said. “We took back what was ours.”

Your breath caught.

Ours?

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a smirk. “That’s right,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something almost feral.

“We are the rulers of Atravelle now.”

You could feel the blood drain from your face.

The rulers of Atravelle.

They had planned this all along.

Your hands curled into fists in your lap, but your voice betrayed your composure. “You—You killed him just to take the throne?”

Hongjoong didn’t even flinch. Instead, he exhaled like he was disappointed in you.

"Do you think we wanted to?" His tone was calm, almost gentle. "You think we enjoyed doing that?"

You didn’t respond.

Seonghwa tilted his head, his sharp eyes never leaving yours. “Priestess, let me ask you something.” His voice was smooth, coaxing. “Did you like the old king?”

Your lips parted, but you hesitated.

Did you like him? No.

You didn't know, but you heard that the king had been a distant figure, ruling from behind marble walls, untouched by the struggles of the people. None have ever seen him lift a hand to help anyone outside his court.

And they knew that.

Mingi, who had been silent, finally leaned forward, his deep voice rumbling. “He was a coward. A weakling who did nothing for Atravelle. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

Your throat felt dry.

San’s gaze flickered with amusement. “We didn’t kill an innocent man, priestess. We killed a parasite.”

Yeosang tapped a finger on the table. “You don’t think so? Tell us, what has he done for the people?”

You didn’t have an answer.

Wooyoung smirked, seeing the hesitation in your expression. “See? You know we’re right.”

You hated how easily they were making you doubt yourself.

“Still,” you muttered, voice smaller than before. “That doesn’t mean you should’ve killed him.”

Jongho’s voice was steady, unwavering. “Would you have rather we let him live? Let him keep stealing from the people? Let him keep using others for his gain?”

You clenched your jaw, but before you could speak, Yunho leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “What if I told you that under his rule, your father wouldn’t have been safe either?”

Your body stiffened.

Your “father”

Do you tell them?

Hongjoong’s lips twitched as he saw the panic flicker in your eyes. “Ah,” he murmured. “Now you’re listening.”

You swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa crossed his arms. “The king didn’t trust the influence of the priesthood. He saw them as a threat to his power. Do you really think your father was untouchable?”

Your stomach twisted.

Was that true?

Has he or anyone ever mentioned anything about the king?

You tried to think back, but now, every memory of your being with the priest’s family that seemed laced with warnings.

Stay quiet. Don’t involve yourself in the court. Be careful.

San chuckled under his breath. “See? You already know we’re telling the truth.”

You hated them.

You hated how they were getting to you.

“You need us, priestess,” Wooyoung continued, voice softer now. “You need us more than you think.”

Hongjoong leaned back, his smirk returning. “And now, you have two choices.”

The air in the room grew heavier.

“You can fight us on this. Keep resisting, keep denying the truth…” His eyes gleamed with something dark. “And then, well… I can’t guarantee your safety.”

Your breath hitched.

“Or,” Yeosang spoke this time, his voice perfectly composed. “You can accept the way things are now. Accept that we are the rightful rulers of Atravelle.”

San rested his chin on his hand. “And in return, you get to live comfortably. Protected. Cared for.”

Mingi tilted his head, watching you carefully. “It’s not a bad deal.”

Yunho gave a small, lazy smile. “All you have to do is stay by our side, priestess.”

Jongho’s stare was unwavering. “So. What will it be?”

The room was suffocating.

Their eyes bore into you, waiting, expecting.

You realized then—this had never been a conversation.

It had been a test.

And you had only two answers.

Comply.

Or suffer.

Your hands felt ice-cold in your lap.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, but your mind was even louder.

How did it come to this?

You weren’t even from here. You had been thrown into this world out of nowhere, expected to just exist in a place where colossal monsters existed, where people could shift into them, where eight princes had just murdered a king in cold blood and were now staring at you, waiting for an answer.

You were just a normal girl. Back home, the worst thing you had to deal with was exams, not… not this.

This wasn’t supposed to be your problem.

But now, it was.

And you had no choice.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay steady. “What if I refuse?”

Hongjoong’s lips twitched. “Then that would be very unfortunate for you.”

It was Seonghwa who stood up first. He moved slowly, deliberately, and you realized with creeping dread that he was walking toward you.

Your body tensed. “W-What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer.

He simply reached out—fast.

A sharp shhk echoed through the air as cold metal pressed against your jaw.

Your breath caught.

A knife.

He had drawn a knife and now held it under your chin, lifting your face to meet his. His gaze was unreadable, but his grip was steady.

You froze.

“Seonghwa,” Yeosang murmured. It wasn’t a warning. It was curiosity.

The others were watching.

None of them looked shocked.

“You’re shaking,” Seonghwa murmured. His voice wasn’t mocking. It was simply an observation.

Your entire body felt wired with fear, heart hammering against your ribs.

You wanted to look away, but the blade made it impossible.

"Do you understand now, priestess?" Seonghwa asked, voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have a choice."

The weight of his words settled deep into your bones.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He was right.

You didn’t have a choice.

Not in this world.

Not here.

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, amused. “Seonghwa, don’t break her. We still need her.”

Seonghwa held your gaze for a moment longer. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulled the knife away.

You gasped softly as the pressure vanished.

It was like you could breathe again.

Your hands gripped your lap so tightly that your nails dug into your skin. You willed yourself to stop trembling, but your body wasn’t listening.

Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

San smirked. “Oh, she’s starting to understand now.”

You did.

You understood perfectly.

These men—these princes—were not your friends.

They were not your allies.

They were something far worse.

And now, you were trapped with them.

Taglist: @jujusreader @nkryuki @footballjournal @zzenkha @yuuuuuuusthings @lunaryoongie @freyaphoria @milymacha @dekyepunn @pinkpearlstar @mochi13 @clmstorm @scheepmans @hecateslittlewitchling @s4nniebe4r @gae-ping-boosay @haowonbins @asweetblueberry2 @sassy-snassy @amazaynaastha @lilyalone @lunaryoongie @dekyepunn

Dividers from: @/cafekitsune

[scoobydoodean]

sorry if you already answered this before but is your issue with dean’s ending the fact that he died or just the way that he died?

I mean... both? And even more than that?

The way that he died is ridiculous. He died in a freak accident on a rusty nail, taken out by vampire #3. The manner of his death is sorely lacking in dignity and respect that a character like Dean deserves after 15 years of fighting. It's like killing Tony Stark at the end of Avengers by having him slip on a banana peel during a fight and crack his head open. Jensen actually had to fight to have Dean die on his feet instead of laying on the ground. They tried to deny him even that. Dean says outright that he doesn't want to die. He doesn't die sacrificially, or for any reason other than a small, unfortunate accident, and I think that's genuinely sick, and I think there's absolutely nothing to appreciate about it in any way, and every single person who pretends it was somehow profound or touching? I still want to punch them in the face, and it's been four years. It was ridiculous and meaningless and stupid and I genuinely could not stand to watch Supernatural for two years straight after seeing it.

Aside from how he died, there's the fact that Dean didn't want to die, and that he was finally (allegedly) free from the author of the story and that freedom was instantly taken from him. When you write an insufferable meta season where you reveal that an evil god has been authoring the characters lives all along, then have him defeat the author... you end that story by placing the rest of that character's journey back into his hands and refusing to write the rest of it. You don't kill him young and bloody and use his brother's mourning as a backdrop to show the rest of his days have been written out for him by you into eternity, locking him into your vision of his future as the author of his life. The fact that the series ended that way points to the notion that the Winchesters didn't actually beat Chuck in the end—that he was still writing their lives—that he killed Dean and punished Sam. Nothing about that makes me clap my hands in giddy enjoyment at a dark and twisted ending. It's like... pretty much the number one illustration of all the things I despise most about Andrew Dabb's particular brand of sloppy, hair-brained meta drivel plots grounded in nothing but his own boredom, mean-spiritedness, and ego.

Add that they killed a character who suffered from depression and suicidal thoughts for most of the series that way, while he cried and said he didn't want to die and begged his brother not to leave him to die alone. Add that Dean's death sucks the meaning out of Cas's sacrifice, because Dean didn't even make it six months, and his presence at the final battle with Chuck wasn't even important since he was just there to be beaten bloody along with Sam as a distraction. Add that they suck the found family (a very Dean specific theme) out of the finale. Add that Dean's death in this context means that Sam is a failure—that he failed at the number one thing he wanted most. Add that it causes Sam so much grief that he never recovers, and can't stomach doing the job he grew to love doing most—being a hunter and a man of letters. That after setting Sam up to become a leader, they have him abandon everything and mourn in a bad wig for the next 50 years or whatever.

Dean's death isn't just ruinous in of itself. It poisons everyone else's ending.

And that's all I really care to say about it. It's not a topic I enjoy thinking about or writing about actually. I'm not interested in arguing or hearing from anyone who pretends it was good or profound or meaningful. It genuinely ruined the entire series for me. I only came back here because The Winchesters undid some of the things it tried to do. If not for that, this blog and all the meta on it would not exist today.

[emeritusemeritus]

I swear I feel like I’m bugging you with all these Fred ask 😂

But I’ve got another one. I love the idea of Hogwarts having a Halloween party but all the costumes are picked out by random draw of a hat.

Fred ends up matching costumes (couple costume type thing) with Slytherin reader.

Hi Anon! You could never ever bug me and I can only apologise how long this has taken me due to my hiatus. I hope you enjoy, it was such a good request and I absolutely loved writing this! 🖤 🎃

Warnings: swearing, so many puns it may be painful. All the Halloween puns. Reader has a crush on someone else. Enemies to friends to lovers? The name Tobias was naturally inspired by my love of toblerone fudge. Some sexual jokes and themes but no smut. Some additional OG characters for the plot. Actual plot today. Completely off season but I’m always feeling spooky. George Weasley banter. Slytherin!Reader. So many tropes. Not spell checked, there will be mistakes.

Word count: 5.3k

Song for writing: Ice Dance by Danny Elfman (from the Edward Scissorhands soundtrack) I imagined them dancing to this and everything seemed to fall into place.

Summary: Slytherin!Reader gets paired with Fred Weasley for the Hogwarts’ Halloween ‘Boo’ Ball costume contest, the last person on earth she wanted as a partner. Can these Enemies become lovers?

Major bonus points for anyone that knows where the title came from 🪦

Happy Haunts Materialise [Fred Weasley]

Fred Weasley.

Fred bloody Weasley.

Of all the people to match costumes with it had to be the most annoying boy in all of the school. You shudder at the very memory of discovering it was him that you had matched with.

"Silence!" Dumbledore's voice erupted from the teacher's table, echoing around the hall, abruptly ending the symphony of excited chatter. He held out his hand extended to Professor McGonagall who was approaching the front as Dumbledore takes his seat back at the table.

"This year's Halloween celebrations will be a slightly different affair to those some of you will have previously experienced. In honour of this being our centennial or 100th year celebration, we are throwing a costumed dance of which we are affectionately naming the Halloween Boo Ball."

Chatter and cheers erupt all around as the entire hall listens intently to the professor's speech. We pauses only for a moment before continuing.

"In an attempt to unify our school and encourage student collaboration, we have implemented a mandatory collaboration between students of all houses, categorised by year, where you will all have the opportunity to partner up depending on your chosen theme. The sorting hat has graciously agreed to allow each student to come up and blindly select a paper at random, on which will be noted their specific theme. Once your theme has been designated, you are to tap the paper once with your wands and the name of your chosen partner will appear. There will be no opportunity to trade your partner once the selection has been made."

A grumble fills the room that immediately falls to silence as Dumbledore begins to stand with a fierce look on his face conveying his annoyance at the chatter.

"The categories of which you are to adhere to are as follows," she says, reading from her notes from under her glasses. "Magical creatures, Figures from wizarding history, Classic Halloween themes, Magical Artifacts, and lastly, Quidditch through time."

A rather narrow selection you thought.

"Each pair will receive instructions in the following days, containing the rules and expectations that will be clearly outlined. It is important to remember that you are all representatives of this school and anyone acting not in accordance with the rules will be escorted back to their common rooms.

You sneak a gaze at Tobias up the table, hoping that you'd be partnered with him. It was a long shot based on what McGonagall said, but you could dream.

You'd been crushing on Tobias Fiennes for months now, ever since he'd helped you with your potions homework back in May. He'd been surprisingly sweet and patient with you, easy to talk to and non-judgemental, all the characteristics that were hard to find in most Slytherins. The conversation had been flirty, intimate at times but though he'd remained pleasant ever since, there had been little interaction as you'd hoped for and your attempts of being noticed by him had gone largely overlooked. This could be your chance for him to finally notice you and reciprocate the feelings you'd inadvertently developed.

"Now," McGonagoll continues, pulling your attention back to her. "If you would all like to approach the sorting hat in your year groups, in a dignified manner, you may begin your selections. First years, you may go first."

Fred bloody Weasley.

Your heart sunk upon reading the name that appeared on your parchment after tapping it once with your wand as instructed, the small segment of paper slowly revealing his name in beautiful calligraphy.

You'd locked eyes either him upon looking up after your discovery, seeing that he was already gazing at you from across the hall, a stupidly wide grin on his face which was ominous in itself. You averted your gaze and sighed loudly, unfazed whether he was watching or not and turned to search through the crowd for Tobias.

Your heart sunk even further when you spotted him smiling down at Loretta Cornhill, a pretty ravenclaw girl who he'd clearly been partnered with. Lucky bitch.

How was it fair that she got Tobias whilst you were stuck with the school's resident trouble maker, or at least one half of that title? Halloween would most certainly not be your favourite holiday that year, or any following if it reminded you of this debacle.

Though the Weasley twins were infamous at Hogwarts and often loud enough to be heard the other side of the castle, pinning them down was harder than domesticating a wild chupacabra. It was nearly impossible to schedule in a time that worked for both of you to discuss what you were going to do, as much as you didn't want to sit down with him at all. Between Quidditch, practices, homework, extracurriculars and his detentions, it was hard to find the time to get together.

"All costumes should avoid offensive, violent or objectionable content. Any attempt of mockery regarding imitation of teachers or students alike will not be tolerated.

All costumes should not promote discrimination nor hatred relating to race, religion or any other identity markers.

All costumes should be of an appropriate length and coverage with no sexually suggestive content.

Your creativity is encouraged and prize will be awarded to the couple showing the most creativity, cohesive planning and initiative.

Anyone acting not in accordance to these rules will be escorted out of the celebrations and disciplinary actions will be taken."

You'd read the page aloud, reacquainting yourself with the parameters of the brief. You'd managed to secure the divination classroom for an hour after classes had finished and you wouldn't waste a minute, hoping to be done and out of here as soon as possible. It was your second meeting with Fred, the first one being an unmitigated disaster. Fred, as before, seemed to have other plans and determined to drag out your sessions. He was fidgeting with everything in sight, seemingly not paying attention and doing everything in his power other than focusing on the task at hand. It should have been a simple task: go over the instructions, refer to the brief and choose something relating to your category. You'd take charge if you had to, you knew his family wasn't the most well off and you didn't care about fairness in that sense. But just as the time before, the only thing he'd bought to the table were silly jokes and unhelpful comments.

"I'm not going as a ghost this year, but you can still get under my sheets," he grinned, taking a seat beside you, a little close for comfort. You ignored his words, trying to think of options, though you were running a blank. Nothing seemed good enough for what you wanted, and the ones you did think about didn't exactly translate to a matching costume with Fred.

"If we can't decide on a costume tonight, I can just go as your boyfriend?"

"Can you please just work with me for once? No jokes, no fucking around. I need to look nice this time and I don't want any more stupid suggestions of owls and magical creatures when our assignment is Magical Artifacts!" The frustration was clear upon your face and in your voice. You were sick of Fred's silly jokes and him deflecting actual work. 

"Why is this so important to you?" He says, suddenly much more level headed than before. You're suddenly acutely aware of how close he's sat to you, your shoulders practically touching.

"I'm trying to get Tobias' attention. It's my last shot, but he'll never look at me," you say honestly, no longer caring about keeping your little secret. The very thought bothered you more than you'd care to admit and you couldn't even look at Fred for how pathetic you seemed.

"Then he's an idiot."

You look at Fred after hearing his quietly spoken words and he's looking directly back at you, a sincerity in his eyes that you'd hardly even seen before. You give him a thankful half-smile, your frown disappearing before your eyes drift away from his, butterflies suddenly fluttering in your stomach.

Much to your surprise, your meetings with Fred after that were actually enjoyable, so much so that you looked forward to them more than anything. After your little heart to heart, Fred had actually sat and worked out a plan with you on what you were going to do. What was supposed to be a quick task actually turned into a night of sneaking back to your common rooms after hours because you'd stayed there talking all night.

It was strange to admit but you'd seen Fred in a different light, his softness and sweetness coming through. A natural flit and a wit as sharp as a whip, he made you laugh constantly. Your blooming friendship didn't end the minute you walked out of the divination classroom, much to your surprise, but instead seemed to traverse all the usual inter-house issues. A glance and a smile across the great hall, notes thrown (usually at your head), jokes told in passing and the occasional arm thrown across your shoulder when he'd walk you to your next class. You found yourself seeking him out every time you stepped into the great hall or between classes, hoping to catch a glimpse of his vibrant hair amongst the crowds, or usually above them thanks to his height.

During your fourth meeting, a few weeks before the ball to finalise a few things, did you make the earth shattering realisation that you may have taken too much of a liking to Fred. It came after an off handed comment from him about dressing you in green, Slytherin colours to impress Tobias. You'd frowned, wandering who the hell he was talking about. It was then that you'd realised that it wasn't Tobias you were hoping to impress but instead the fire haired boy that had been grinning at you. You played it off well, pretending not to hear him the first time and then chuckled along with him when he's repeated his words. You barely slept that night, your brain overthinking everything.

Did Fred like you back? It was hard to tell. He was a natural jokester and flirt, his wicked grin and sparkling eyes hardly reserved just for you but he was affectionate and touchy, much more so than you'd noticed him be with others. Though your eyes sought him in the great hall multiple times a day, there was always a high chance that he was already looking your way. Did that mean he was trying to catch glimpses of you too?

"You know, I think we're actually going to win that prize," Fred says during your last meeting, the dress fitting if you will. You'd worked tirelessly on your costume, thoughts of it even intercepting your dreams now, much like something else in the room.

"Well of course we will, clearly the best pair," you say from behind a makeshift curtain as you hoist the rather large dress up over your body.

"How's George getting on with Averill Perregrine?"

"Bloody awful apparently, they've barely decided on anything yet," Fred says with a laugh, recounting his twin's struggles with a Hufflepuff girl in your year.

"But there's only a week to go!" You say with wide eyes, poking your head through the curtain, which Fred laughs at.

"I know, told him he'll be going as an enchanted black bin bag if they don't get a move on. Anyway, you ready?" He asks, gesturing with his head towards your dress.

"Uhh yeah, I may need a little help."

"Too many cauldron cakes?"

He swerved when you threw the nearest book at his head, laughing and commenting on your surprisingly good aim as you stepped out of the curtain.

You waited anxiously for him to say anything but he didn't, his eyes fixed upon your dress. You turned around, offering your bare back to him in the hopes that he would fix up your corset for you. After a few moments of blankness, he seemed to bounce back and with warm and shaky fingers that crept along the curve of your back, he eventually fastened your dress.

"What do you think?" You'd asked him nervously, suddenly acutely aware of the fact you were both alone in the empty classroom.

"I don't think I'm thinking right now," he'd said in a dazed fashion and when you called him out to stop joking, he'd fallen surprisingly silent with no regular comeback.

"So how's things going with the Weasley boy?" Zoe asked as you walked to your first class.

"Good, everything is pretty much sorted now," you say with a smile, thankful that there was very little left to do to finish your costumes.

"Oh tell the truth! It's been hell hasn't it? I don't know how you can work with him, he'd drive me insane! She laughed with a shake of her head but you didn't reciprocate. Only weeks ago you'd have agreed and laughed along but now you felt purely defensive of her words. Much to your constant surprise, Fred had been an amazing partner. He didn't always focus and jokes sprouted from him more often than a clock ticked but he was kind and surprisingly efficient in his work.

"Ladies," you heard a male voice say from beside you as you walked through the courtyard. You turned to see Tobias jogging to catch up with you.

"Ready for the Halloween bash tomorrow night?"

Zoe melts a little at his proximity, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and giggling girlishly. You however, felt no flutters or nervousness for the first time around him, noticing how little he affected you in general. Instead you noticed how spotty his face was, had it always been like this? He had little straggles of hair erupting from his chin and a single black hair protruding from the top of his nose. Fred didn't have that, his face was perfectly smooth except for the freckles dotted around his cheeks and over his nose, though not perfectly symmetrical as you'd found he had more freckles in his left side. You cringed as Zoe tried to get her words out around him, talking excitedly about the ball as her words jumbled and overlapped. You zoned out for just a moment, long enough for your eyes to wander across the courtyard until you spotted what you'd hoped to see. Fred. He was already looking in your direction but his piercing eyes weren't fixed on you but rather looking directly past you. He was frowning, brows pulled together and his eyes were squinting at whoever he was looking at, clearly displeased. You turned away, focusing your attention back onto Tobias and Zoe, only to tell them to excuse you.

You walked over to Fred and George who were sat at one of the benches, their briefcase open like a market stall for passers by to peruse.

"You're gonna have to do better than that, buskers usually sing or something for their money," you say cheekily, gesturing to the open briefcase in front of them. George mockingly glared at you before smiling whilst Fred beamed up at you, apparently having dropped his mood. You squealed as two strong arms suddenly pulled you down, landing on Fred's lap.

"No spaces left sorry," he shrugs, clearly not sorry.

"Could have just moved the briefcase," you mumble, fighting off the blush that was threatening to spill over your cheeks at being sat in Fred's lap.

"Sacrilege!"

"Blasphemy!" George added.

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you peered into the briefcase to see what they had left, seeing an array of coins in the little pouch and very few products left except for a few skiving snack box bits.

"You've hardly got anything left! Everything's sold already? That's amazing!" You beam, so happy that their inventions were selling so well.

"Well you see, if a pretty little Slytherin didn't occupy most of my evenings, not to mention my dreams, I'd have time to restock."

"Shove off Weasley," you bit back, nudging him in the gut with your elbow, even though your smile showed your lack of actual annoyance.

"Won't your boyfriend be jealous you're sat on another bloke's lap?" George asks you, raising his eyebrow, a nod of his head in the direction you came. Tobias.

"Shove off other Weasley," you snark, trying to hide your true (recently discovered) feelings on the matter. "Not like I had a choice, this big brute came and swiped me out of thin air."

"Knocked you off your feet more like," Fred corrects with a smug look.

"I'm gonna be late for class," you say with a roll of your eyes whilst trying to stand, only to be firmly locked into place by Fred's arms.

"Ah, you'll have to pay a token to pass I'm afraid."

"Oh yeah and what would that be?"

He comically puckers his lips for a kiss and you scoff whilst George laughs. You nudge him again, harder this time and he sputters whilst you climb off him, reaching into your pocket to pull out a galleon before chucking it into their briefcase.

"Next time I expect a song."

The Great Hall looked absolutely mesmerising for the Halloween Boo Ball. The whole room had an eerie atmosphere illuminated only by candlelight and hundreds of glowing Jack O'Lanterns that levitated just below the ceiling. The magical ceiling had been enchanted to look like a dark forest, an endless abyss with ominous blue hues and eerie branches that swayed and furled and bats flying intermittently throughout the scene. The long tables had been moved aside now placed against the walls and replaced by a dance floor, the house tables covered in black tablecloths and decorated with more candles and large cauldrons overflowing with treats. From toffee apples to cauldron cakes and giant lollipops there were sweet treats everywhere. In the centre of the raised platform usually reserved for the teachers table sat a giant glass pumpkin filled to the brim with orange coloured punch that bubbled with effervescence, a giant ladle enchanted to stir and pour as students approached with empty goblets.

The large room smelled of fragrant pumpkin spice mixed with a sweet marshmallow-like scent. It was addictive, the perfect scent of Halloween memories that evoked warmth and coziness with a spooky undertone.

There was music pouring out but it was indecipherable where it was coming from exactly. Instrumental and somewhat eerily beautiful with a choral line behind it, as magical and ethereal as the room looked.

"Hey boo-tiful."

You twirled around towards the voice that had interrupted your wonder-filled gaze. Fred.

"It's scary how good you look tonight," he smirks, eyes sparkling both naturally and from the twinkling of the candle light around you. His red hair was glowing like a fire; bathed in the warm light, looking even more vibrant than usual.

"How long have you been working on that one?" You snark, smiling up at him. He simply winks, his eyes roaming your figure shamelessly just as you do the same to him.

"You look incredible," he says somewhat breathlessly, his cheeks heating up just a little.

"You too weasley," you smile, "you look practically eerie-sistable."

His laugh seems to echo through the hall, your own smile beaming at him as he laughs at your awful joke. You smile at each other, simply enjoying the moment. He really does look incredible, the intricate robes fitting like a glove and complimenting his hair so wonderfully. You're amazed that you actually pulled it off, your hard work clearly paying off.

You spot George in the distance with Averill, looking as miserable as sin in his black robes with a giant bat affixed to his hair. You nudge Fred, gesturing for him to look as well and he laughs both at his brother's obvious misery and awful costume.

"We've smoked the lot of them, first place for us baby."

Baby. That was new.

"Don't look now, your boyfriend's just arrived," he teases. You can't help but follow his line of sight, watching Tobias and Loretta arriving together arm in arm. They look great together, clearly very happy and in matching costumes that you can tell are crafted to look like two Phoenixes entwined. It's like the final nail in the coffin for wavering your feelings, seeing how happy they looked together. The surprising thing was that you felt nothing, no sadness and no jealously, you were genuinely happy for them.

"Eh, let her have him," you said with a shrug, turning back to Fred. His eyebrows shoot up, disappearing past his hairline in surprise, his eyes suddenly sparkling with an emotion you could hardly place.

"Thought you were mad on him?" He asks, his eyes fixed on yours. You shrug again, adjusting your dress slightly at the sudden intensity of his gaze.

"Guess I moved on," you say absently, the weight of your words not going unnoticed. "Plus, kind of a hard to fancy a boy dressed as a giant bird."

Fred snorts and throws his arm around your shoulder, more brazen than ever.

"Well luckily for you, I'll be your date for the night. Which reminds me... Trick or treat."

"What?" You ask with a frown.

"Save the candy, the sweetest treat would be a kiss," he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. You groan at another terrible line, shoving your face into his tone covered chest but find yourself chuckling regardless.

You can feel the movement of his chest as he laughs, briefly holding you tighter to him. 

"Well I don't know what the trick is but you look a treat," he grins goofily again once you re-emerge from his robes.

"Are you done Weasley?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Never," he grins. "Come on gourd-geous." He takes you by the hand towards the giant pumpkin punch bowl and reaches for two empty goblets from the table, waiting for the ladle to fill the glasses before handing one to you. It's sweet pumpkin juice, tasty and perfect.

You look around at the scene before you, seeing the array of costumes and bodies you had begun to dance as the music picked up. You could see Zoe in the middle of the dance floor with her date and a few of your other friends who seemed to display the full spectrum of enjoyment with some looking utterly miserable whilst others looked like they were having a night they would never forget. You had to admit that the inter-house bonding had been an interesting test, to see so many people mixing that would never have thought to talk to each other beyond sharing class notes. You spotted Tobias and Loretta huddled together in the far corner, both sipping from the same goblet and clearly flirting, though it didn't bother you in the slightest. You caught sight of George once again, stumbling around on the dance floor looking like he'd been forced to be there, trying desperately to hold on to the flapping bat on his head that kept obstructing his view and causing him to stumble.

"Well you know," Fred says from beside you, making you jump slightly at the sudden noise. "That skeleton over there wanted to ask for your hand to dance, but he didn't have the guts, so I'm asking instead," he beams as he holds out his hand for you to take. You laugh at the awful joke, throwing your head back at how funny you'd found it and placed your hand in his expectantly.

You didn't know how long you were both on the dance floor, twirling and spinning through the songs and bouncing around like idiots when something really upbeat came on. You'd danced with your friends and giggled throughout it all. You'd even stolen George for a dance, laughing so hard that you'd had to bend at the waist thanks to the god awful bat on his head that seemed intent on suffocating or at least blinding him by the end of the night. Fred had stolen you back in style, wanting to keep you close at all times, swooping in and lighting you high up in the air as he spun around, making you squeal in delight.

A slow song followed and your eyes closed when Fred's hand wrapped around your waist, the sheer size of his large hands covering most of your waist to your hip. It was incredibly intimate, a sudden shift in atmosphere as most of the pairs decided against slow dancing together.

"You really do look incredible, no jokes this time," he says as you move in perfect synchronisation, your arms around his neck as his circle your waist, swaying gently to the music. You look up at him and give him a little shy smile, suddenly feeling the weight of your feelings and unspoken words. You'd been cowardly with Tobias, never having told him your feelings and you were thankful for that now. But you wouldn't repeat that with Fred.

"Fred," you begin to say, trying to gather up the courage to tell him how you feel but he cuts you off.

"I know, I'm just a Weasley and you're well- you, but I'd never be able to live with myself if I let you slip away at the end of the night without telling you how I feel. And since bird boy is out of the picture, perhaps there's hope for me."

It's strange seeing Fred shy, his full bottom lip being pulled in by his teeth, a pink blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Bird boy is most definitely out of the picture," you say, laughing again at the way you'd seen him dancing earlier, as if the giant feathers weren't enough of a turn off. "And I may have a confession."

"Go on," he says sounding somewhat nervous. You can hardly keep the smile off your face as you look at him, knowing what you were about to say.

"I finished the costumes two weeks ago, the last two fittings were just so I could spent more time with you."

His face is a picture and you wish more than anything that you could capture his expression in that moment.

"You little trickster!" He says whilst laughing, grabbing hold of your waist and pulling you even tighter to him, pausing the dancing completely. You giggle, attempting surrender but it's pointless.

"I knew your dress didn't look any different! And believe me, I'd memorised every inch of it."

"Idiot," you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow where you could reach. You bite your lip, unsure of how to go on, knowing that it was now or never.

"It's you Fred, I realised ages ago that my feeling for Tobias had gone and I knew it was because I'd fallen for you."

There's a brief silence that falls between you both as you simply stare at each other, your words repeating over and over in your mind. Though it lasts only a few seconds, it seems to drag on for ages, your anxiety increasing as you hope your words land as intended. Fred seems to snap out of his daze and his eyes begin wandering over your face before landing on your lips. It's like time stands still as he begins to lean down, your heart pounding as you raise your head, trying to meet in the middle.

His lips press gently against yours and you're certain that fireworks are erupting somewhere but everything else is drowned out. His lips are softer than you'd even imagined and you're weak to resist as you kiss him back with a growing intensity. He tastes like pumpkin juice and Fred, a delicious mix you hoped you'd be able to savour. His touch on your waist seems to tingle through the fabric of your dress and you're suddenly hyper aware of your hands on his shoulders. It's short but perfect as you both pull away slightly breathless, knowing that the teachers would be on to you if you lingered any longer.

The smile he flashes you as his eyes open will be forged into your memory forever, the adoration and the sweetness so plain to see. You'd bared your soul to him and he'd given you a soft place to land.

"Want to grab a drink?"

"Need to cool off Weasley?" You raise your eyebrow, goading him with a smirk. Now it was your turn to tease him. He clears his throat and sends you a warning glare before taking your hand in his and leading you over to the unoccupied corner, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he goes to fetch some drinks. You take a moment to compose yourself, feeling on top of the world in that moment. Had you really just been kissed by Fred Weasley? Your body hummed with the thought, your lips still tingling from his kiss. He returned with the drinks after only a few moments but instead of handing yours directly to you, he held it above your head out of reach.

"Ah, going to need a token again I'm afraid," he teases, calling back to your moment yesterday.

"Sorry I'm all out of galleons, gave my last one to two tramps yesterday." You can hardly get your words out from laughing so much, seeing that he was struggling not to laugh along with you, feigning outrage at your words.

"How about this?" You say, shifting closer to him and placing your hands on his chest as your body slides against his. Feeling emboldened, you lean in and capture his lips, kissing him feverishly as he scrambles to kiss back whilst still holding the two glasses above his head. You can tell he's annoyed at not being able to reach out and touch you but he's gotten himself in this predicament.

"Is that some candy in your pocket or are you happy to see me?" You turn your head to the side and smile seductively up at him, watching the way his eyes widen and his lips part at your words.

"Now who's playing games," he smirks, handing you your drink as he recovers, raising the goblet to his lips.

"I forgot my broom, can I ride you instead?"

He spits out his punch, thankfully spraying it in another direction from where you stand. He's coughing and spluttering but all you can do is laugh harder. You can hardly breathe for laughing so hard, enjoying out-joking the unsuspecting prankster.

"Oh you're trouble," he says, placing down his wasted goblet behind you as he leans over and whispers in your ear so only you could hear.

"I don't know... Will you let me Slyther-in?"

"Now I know you've been working on that one!" You say with an accusatory finger pointing at his chest. He laughs and nods, reaching out for you again.

As the night draws on, you realise that this might be the best night of your life. Who would have thought that the secret to all of this would have been Fred bloody Weasley.

Dumbledore takes to the podium to announce the Hogwarts ghosts yearly show in honour of St Nicholas' deathday celebration and you share a look with Fred which he mirrors.

"Do you want to slip away?" He asks, reaching to okay with the sash on your dress.

"Anything to avoid nearly headless nick's monologues."

"Or the bloody baron's rendition of 'ode to Helena."

"Lead the way weasley," you say without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to be alone with Fred.

"Wait! We'll miss the contest!" you say suddenly as he leads you out the main doors.

"Don't care, already got my prize."

[paigegonerogue]

This was a fucking fantastic season of television.

I loved every second, every choice. It was absolutely phenomenal and I am truly thrilled to have been able to experience it.

The final episode pulled everything together so well. It just put everything into perspective perfectly and truly made me more excited than I thought I could possibly be for season 3. This season and two of the best episodes of the 21st century, and a fantastic serialized plot that all converged (hehe) in just an absolutely stellar season finale. I was worried that it would only feel like half a season, but it truly felt complete. I loved how Ellie had a full arc. I loved how every bit of violence was calculated and weighty. I loved how dynamic it was, I loved the atmosphere, I loved the visuals.

The dialogue continued to be my favorite on television. The performances continues to be all-time-greats. It was so intentional and well thought out and I was hooked and enthralled every second. It was an incredible season, and I cannot wait to see what’s next…