#i know you hate threads from answers now = w =

[colouredbyd]

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

Secrets Have Teeth: part one

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

part two final part 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

[ghostgirl101]

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

══════════════⊹⊱≼ fin ≽⊰⊹══════════════

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

[hearts4hughes]

That ex!rafe fic about reader calling him was so sad🥹🥹☹️ can we get a blurb where the reader calls him to hook up again because she misses him. Even though she leaves as always in the end, she’s soft during the hook up when he’s trying to be rough with her to not get too attached, like he’s so rough and pounding into her and then she’s giving him soft little kisses and caressing him.

warnings: emotionally complicated sex, rough sex w soft moments, unprotected sex, possessive!rafe, crying during sex, 18+

he doesn’t pick up the first time or the second. but the third time, when your name lights up his screen again at 12:47am., he answers like he’s been standing by the phone all night.

“where are you?” he murmurs into the phone. his voice is lazy. he runs a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. you don’t say it, but he already knows. he trudges towards the window, pulling the curtains back to see the porch light illuminating your silhouette. he sighs and stomps down the stairs like he’s on a borrowed time.

you don’t kiss when you come in. you don’t say anything when he shoves the door closed behind you and cages you against it, breathing hard through his nose like he might be angry. he isn’t, not really. just something worse.

your back hits the wood. he fists a hand in your hair like it’s a leash, tilts your head back and stares at your mouth like it’s both a promise and a curse. “you gonna leave right after again?” he asks, voice hoarse. “or you sticking around long enough to pretend you still care?”

you say nothing and he doesn’t wait. he tears off your clothes like a man starved. he fucks you like he wants to forget. like if he splits you open just right, he’ll finally stop dreaming about you. you’re still in the dress you wore to whatever thing you left early to come here, and he pulls your panties down to your knees and bends you over the back of the couch like he doesn’t even want to see your face.

he doesn’t kiss you and doesn’t talk. just grits his teeth and pounds into you like you’re a stranger he’s trying to ruin. and you let him. until, you glance over your shoulder. water builds at your waterline. you begin blinking through tears, desperately reaching back to thread your fingers through his.

“hey,” you whisper, like you’re waking him up. like none of this has to be so mean. even if your motives are. “rafe…”

he freezes because your voice is soft and your touch is softer. when you twist toward him, legs trembling from the pace he set, you look so fucking pretty like this—lips parted, mascara smudged, trying to kiss him when he doesn’t deserve it.

he doesn’t get it. he doesn’t understand you. “why’re you being like that?” he mutters, grabbing your hips harder. “don’t-don’t do that.”

but you’re already kissing his jaw, reaching up to cradle the back of his neck, eyes fluttering shut like you’re just happy to be close. “i missed you,” you murmur. his rhythm falters. he swears. the noise is low and guttural. he nearly pulls out like he’s punishing himself now.

“fuck, don’t say that,” he snaps. “you don’t mean it.”

“i do.” you pull him closer. lips brushing his cheek, his temple, the edge of his mouth like it’s something tender and holy and not wrecked. “just…for right now.”

he kisses you then. it’s sloppy, angry, hungery. he knows it’s borrowed time and he’s furious at how much he still wants you. your legs wrap around his waist as he picks you up, fucks into you deeper, harder, chasing the high and hating it. but you’re still soft with him. still tracing your fingertips over his shoulders. still kissing the corner of his mouth between broken gasps.

finally, he breaks. he doesn’t finish inside you until you’re both crying. the room is filled with quiet and breathless gasps. you’re against each other like it means something again.

you leave an hour later, like always. but this time, his shirt’s still clutched in your hand. when the door shuts, he doesn’t move. he just stares at the dent your body left in the couch and tries not to call you back.

again.

again.

again.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove

[mafiadad5]

Teach me to not love || L. HC (part 2)

𐙚 fuckboy!haechan x fem!reader (ft. best friend jaemin)

𐙚 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 + bonus epilogue

𐙚 synopsis- Jaemin's out for revenge after Haechan slept with the girl he liked. You're just supposed to be a distraction, something pretty to keep Haechan's mind off of what Jaemin was doing. He's cute, addictive— you should stay away... you really should, but when he touches you like that how are you supposed to remember what's right?

𐙚 genre- college au, smut/ porn with plot (MDNI 18+), angst, slight fluff.

𐙚 warnings- drug use, alcohol use, pool sex, fingering, handjob, car sex, protected and unprotected sex (don’t do), oral (male receiving), degrading, praising, markings, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, sex under the influence, mentions of death.

𐙚 W/c- 17k

Now playing: Do I Wanna Know?- Arctic Monkeys

a/n- thank you all so much for the love on the last part, i appreciate it <3. Here’s part 2, I hope you enjoy it ! Let me know what you think, and if you want to be tagged in the final part! Luv y’all.

tags- @dnylwoo @haeclips @millis-diary @bbhbungee @sooohey @captainchrisstan @chocojiji @imnotrosiee @meatballsub420

══════════════════════════

Tuesday — 12:03 PM

The apartment was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that made you hyper aware of every small sound. You sat cross legged on the couch in one of Jaemin's old hoodies, something he'd left months ago and you never returned, not even after Sunday's fallout. It still smelled faintly like his cologne, and you hated that it made your chest ache.

Two days— no texts, no calls, nothing from him, not a single word. And you weren't about to reach out first. Not when he'd called you a slut to your face.

Still, that didn't mean it didn't hurt— it stung deeply. A thousand small wounds under your skin that kept reopening every time you thought about the way he looked at you before slamming your door. Like he didn't recognize you.

You picked at your cuticles and tried not to think about it anymore, tried to redirect your focus, but then your mind went somewhere else you didn't expect.

Haechan.

His name echoed in your head in a way that was more frustrating than comforting. You didn't know why it lingered— why he lingered. You weren't supposed to care about him, you were supposed to have a one night thing and be done with it. That's what people did, right? Hook up and move on? 

But you couldn't forget how warm his hands felt, how easy it was to laugh with him, how his voice went all soft and low when he said your name. And yeah, maybe you liked the way he kissed you too much, the way he touched you like he actually wanted you, not just your body. And that sucked because clearly he didn't care.

You chewed your lip, staring at your phone sitting face up on the armrest beside you. He hadn't texted, hadn't followed up, nothing. You weren't dumb, you knew what that meant.

You exhaled slowly and then against your better judgment you tapped his name and hit "call."

It rang... and rang... and rang.

No answer.

You let the silence settle after the last ring before locking your phone and tossing it face down onto the couch beside you. That was it then, whatever little thread you thought existed between you and Haechan had snapped the second he walked out without a second thought. He gotten what he wanted, you were just another girl in the pile.

You leaned back and stared at the ceiling, blinking against the heat behind your eyes.

"Stupid." You mumbled to yourself. "So fucking stupid."

8:04 PM

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, screen lighting up once, twice, before your heart jolted.

Incoming Call: Haechan

You sat up slowly, phone already in your hand, staring at it like it might vanish. Then you pressed accept before your nerves could get the better of you.

"Hello?"

"Hey." He said, casual as ever. "You alive?"

You frowned, heart pounding. "You're calling me now?"

"What do you mean now? What, was I supposed to set an alarm?" He teased, voice light, and infuriatingly charming.

"You missed my call earlier."

"Did I?" He said, not even trying to sound apologetic. "My bad."

You scoffed a little, but before you could call him out, he continued.

"You wearing anything decent?"

Your mouth parted, caught off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Decent." He repeated. "Like, sexy. I wanna go downtown tonight."

You blinked. "That's the definition of decent?"

"For me, yeah." He said, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "C'mon, you in?"

There was a pause, then quietly: "Yeah."

He didn't miss a second. "Cool. I'll come at ten."

The knock at your door made your heart jump. You checked yourself one last time in the mirror, smoothing your skirt down over your thighs and adjusting the neckline of your top. You looked good, better than you had all week.

You opened the door, and Haechan was standing there, looking way too good for someone who called last minute. Black pants, dark shirt with the top buttons undone, a silver chain around his neck. He gave you a quick once over, eyebrows lifting with clear approval.

"There she is." He said, pulling a cart from his pocket, setting down a brown paper bag with two canned drinks inside. "Pregame?"

You hesitated for only a second before nodding. The drinks were stronger than they looked, and so was the cart. By the time you were calling a car, the tension in your shoulders had dissolved into laughter and warm energy.

The city was alive— neon lights, music spilling out of bars, and people moving in along the sidewalks. You and Haechan moved together, going into bar after bar, sampling drinks, snacks, cheap cocktails for no reason at all.

At one bar, you tried to pay for your fries and drinks, but he didn't let you.

 "You know I can pay for my own stuff, right?"

He barely looked at you, handing over his card. "Congratulations, i'm happy for you."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help laughing. Everywhere you went, it felt like your own little bubble, Haechan's hand on your lower back, his voice in your ear, the two of you stumbling out of one bar, arm in arm, drunk and giggling.

You ended up in the shadowy corner booth of the last bar, pressed against each other, tasting the cocktails on each other's mouths. His hand was on your thigh, your fingers curled in his shirt, you didn't care who saw.

"Let's go." He murmured against your mouth.

The door slammed shut behind you, but neither of you noticed. You stumbled together through the hallway, laughing into each other's mouths, kissing with the kind of urgency that made you dizzy. Hands fumbled with buttons, tugged at belts, pulling fabric free until your shirts and pants hit the floor in a trail behind you.

He pressed you back onto the bed, his mouth warm on your neck, then your collarbones, then lower. You could feel his smile against your skin, each drag of his tongue making your breath catch.

"You've been driving me crazy all night." He murmured between licks, his voice low. "The way you looked at me across the table like you already knew I'd end up here."

You laughed, fingers curling in his hair. "Maybe I did."

His hands gripped your hips, his mouth exploring the line of your stomach. "You kept crossing your legs like that," He went on, lips brushing just above your waistband, "like you didn't want me to notice, but I noticed."

You gasped softly as he nipped at your skin, his fingers slipping beneath your underwear. "Do you have a condom?" You asked.

He paused for just a second. "I don't." He murmured, mouth still grazing your skin. "Doesn't matter though. I want you so bad, I don't care."

You froze slightly, hand on his shoulder."It does for me." You said softly. "If there's no condom, there's no sex."

He pulled back a little, brows raised. Then he nodded once and sat up, not annoyed, just neutral. "Okay."

You watched as he grabbed his shirt from the floor, sliding it over his head.

"You're leaving?" You asked quietly, still half naked.

He didn't look at you as he reached for his phone. "Yeah, gonna get going."

"You sure you don't wanna stay?" You tried again, a hint of something soft in your voice.

"I'm good." He said simply.

Your stomach twisted a little as he made his way to the door. You thought it was over again— done and dusted, just another night, but then he paused at the doorway, turning back to glance at you.

"You coming to the party Thursday?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "Am I invited?"

He smiled, that same crooked grin. "Always." Then he turned around, tugged the door open, and called over his shoulder: "See you Thursday, Y/n."

The door clicked shut behind him.

══════════════════════════

The music's already echoing down the block when you pull up, muffled bass thudding through the humid night air. You hesitate for a second on the sidewalk, adjusting your shirt. No one's waiting for you, no one knew you were coming except him, and you hate that it feels like you're chasing someone again.

Still, you push forward.

You step inside and it hits you instantly— everyone is half naked.

Swim trunks, bikinis, sun hats and cheap sunglasses. You blinked, trying to process what you'd just walked into. 

And then you saw him. Standing near the kitchen with a beer in one hand and his head tilted back in a laugh, his tan skin glowing beneath the party lights. His swim trunks clung low to his hips.

Of course he spotted you... of course he grinned.

He was walking toward you in seconds, weaving through the crowd. You didn't even try to pretend you weren't watching him. You were and so was every other girl in the room.

He stopped in front of you, raking his eyes over your outfit with a smirk.

"Damn." He said. "Didn't get the memo?"

You crossed your arms. "Maybe because the person who invited me didn't mention it was a beach themed party."

He raised an eyebrow. "You blocked me."

You blinked. "What? No I didn't, text me right now."

He pulled his phone out casually, his thumb tapping a message, and seconds later your phone buzzed.

Haechan [11:37 PM]: 

"I lied. Let's drink."

You looked up at him, trying not to smile. "You're actually insufferable."

He handed you a red cup anyway. "And yet, you're still here."

You took the drink. "Barely."

He held up a gummy between two fingers. "Edibles?"

You hesitated, then shrugged and opened your palm. "Might as well."

You popped it in your mouth and washed it down with the drink, already feeling yourself loosen. The lights felt a little warmer, the music easier to sink into.

And then without warning he grabbed your hand and pulled. "Come on." He said.

You didn't ask where, you just followed. He led you through the kitchen, past half naked bodies, through the back door and into the yard. The pool shimmered in the dark, glowing from the lights beneath the water. No one else was out here, just you and him.

Then he let go of your hand, took a running start, and leapt into the pool.

The splash was loud, water flying everywhere, and when he surfaced he was grinning like a kid— hair slicked back, skin wet and glistening under the moonlight.

"Get in." He said, laughing.

You stared at him. "I'm literally in clothes."

He shrugged. "So? You've got a place to crash and you can wear my clothes."

You tilted your head, amused. "Do I really?"

His hand shot out of the water, splashing you right in the stomach.

"Oops." He said, with a smile. "And now you're wet."

You blinked at the spot on your shirt, then looked back at him, biting back a smile. "You're an idiot."

"Still waiting."

With a quiet breath, you kicked off your shoes and stripped slowly, just to annoy him, down to your bra and underwear. You walked to the edge of the pool and dove in.

The water was cool and soft against your skin. You came up with a laugh, flipping your hair back, and he was already swimming toward you.

For a while, it was just fun. You laughed, splashed, floated near each other in that slow haze where nothing really mattered.

Eventually, you drifted to the side of the pool and leaned back against the tile, catching your breath.

Then you saw him coming, that look on his face— those eyes.

He glided through the water until he was right in front of you, hands sliding underwater to your waist. You let him pull you closer, your arms slipping up around his neck without even thinking.

He looked at your mouth. His voice came low, barely audible over the hum of the distant music. "Your lips look soft right now." 

You laughed. "There's people inside, we might get caught."

He leaned in, mouth ghosting over your jaw. "They know to leave me alone."

That's when his eyes flicked past your shoulder toward the patio door. He paused before smirking.

You turned, confused and then saw him.

Jaemin.

He stood behind the sliding glass door, face unreadable, just staring. You can't tell what he's thinking— his arms crossed, his jaw tense, but his eyes were locked on you like he was burning holes through the glass.

Haechan smirked, head tilting slightly. "An audience already? You were right."

You freeze, caught between the temperature of the water and the sudden chill in your spine, but Haechan's fingers curled under your chin, gently turning your face back to him.

"Focus." He said softly.

Before you could blink he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours softly, but quickly it deepened. His hands slid down your body, his lips leaving yours only to trail lower, pressing open mouthed kisses along your jaw, then your neck. He lingered there, teeth grazing your skin as his breath tickled the sensitive spot beneath your ear. At the same time, his hand slid into your underwear with ease, fingers slipping through the heat and wetness he found there. 

He teased you, slow circles that made your hips subtly roll toward him, aching for more. Then he paused, lifting his face from your neck, eyes locking onto yours. Still watching you, he pushed a finger inside. You let out a soft moan, your head falling back slightly as he began to move slowly, steady pumps that had you clinging to his shoulders.

He added a second finger, this time a louder gasp escaped your lips. His pace quickened, fingers curling just right, stroking that sensitive spot that made your vision blur. Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body tightening around him as his touch brought you closer and closer to the edge.

You don't know what took over you, but your hand slides from the back of his neck, trailing down his torso, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly at first, trying to match the rhythm of his fingers still moving inside you. His jaw tightened, a low groan leaving his throat as you touch him, your bodies locked.

His breathing grows heavier against your neck, the muscles in his arm flexing as his fingers continue their rhythm inside you faster. Your hips grind into his hand instinctively, desperate for more. Every stroke sends heat spiraling through your core, your grip on him tightening.

"Fuck." He muttered against your skin, voice low. His lips brushed your collarbone, then your shoulder before he sunk his teeth gently into your skin. His free hand curled around your waist, pulling you tighter against him as his cock twitched in your palm. You can feel how close he is, how much restraint he's barely clinging to.

"Shit, keep going, just like that." He said, voice thick with lust. 

You stroke him a little faster, your thumb brushing over the tip. His fingers grew more urgent inside you, thrusts rougher, curling with every motion until you're clenching around him, moans escaping your lips.

"Fuck, you're gonna make me cum." He muttered, voice rough now, his forehead resting against yours. "So fucking tight around my fingers."

The filthy sweetness of his words, the intensity in his eyes, the pressure building inside you pushed you even closer.

You could barely breathe now, every nerve in your body burning. The tension in your stomach tightened with each thrust of his fingers, each rough stroke of your hand around him.

"Fuck, baby." He panted against your lips, voice wrecked. "You gonna cum for me?"

You nod, unable to form words, only gasps and whimpers as his fingers drive into you fast. He curls them just right again, and your body falls apart, pleasure crashing over you like a wave. Your hips jerk as you tighten around him, your walls pulsing.

Your hand doesn't stop moving on him, if anything, you grip him tighter through the aftershocks of your orgasm, stroking him faster.

"Shit, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good— gonna cum baby."

You meet his eyes, dazed but focused, lips parted as you keep stroking. "Then do it." you whisper. 

With a low, broken whimper, he presses his forehead to your shoulder, his whole body tensing. "Fuck—" His hips jerk as he spills into your hand, his cock twitching in your grip. You keep stroking him through it slowly as he breathes heavy against you.

For a moment, there's only the sound of your breathing, trying to return to normal. He finally lifts his head, eyes still dark, but softer now, a smile forming on his lips.

He leaned his forehead against yours with a breathless laugh, eyes half lidded.

"C'mon." He murmured. "You're not sleeping in wet underwear."

He grabbed your hand, tugging you out of the pool, water dripping from both of you onto the patio. He doesn't bother drying off before leading you through the back door and up the stairs.

His room is quiet, darker than the rest of the house. The walls were still humming with bass, but it's distant.

He lets go of your hand once you were inside and headed straight to his dresser, pulling out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts.

"Shower's down the hall, second door on the right. There should be towels and wash cloths in there, but if not, yell."

You nodded slowly, taking the clothes from his hand.

Then he paused by the door, rubbing the back of his neck. "I gotta go back down."

You nod again, this time a little quieter. "Ok."

He lingered for a second, like he wanted to say something else, but then he just gave you a faint smile and slipped out.

The shower's quick, you pulled on his clothes afterward. You found your way back to his room, flipping the light off and sliding under the covers. The sheets are cool against your bare legs, and the noise of the party downstairs feels far enough away to pretend you're not still in his house.

But you can't sleep.

You lie there for what feels like an hour, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. Your thoughts spin, circling Jaemin's expression, Haechan's kiss, the way his fingers held your waist like he didn't want to let go. Everything feels like a dream, a really vivid reckless one.

The door creaks open and you sit up a little too fast. "Hey."

He steps inside quietly, running a hand through his hair as he closes the door behind him.

"You're awake?" He asked.

You nod. "Couldn't sleep."

He kicked off his shoes before sitting at the edge of the bed, glancing at you with a little grin. "Too many thoughts?"

You laugh softly. "Something like that."

There's a moment of silence between you, not awkward, just normal. He shifts onto the bed properly, lying beside you on top of the covers, hands behind his head as he stares at the ceiling too.

You glance over at him. "So... that was a scene earlier."

He laughed under his breath. "What, the pool?"

"No, you kissing me in front of that guy like that."

"Oh." He said, before turning his head to look at you, completely unbothered. "Yeah, that."

"You planned that?"

"Nope." He said casually. "But I saw him watching, figured it was the perfect time."

You squinted. "Why?"

He shrugged. "He doesn't know how to leave well enough alone."

You don't ask more, you don't have the energy to unravel anything, not tonight.

He turned towards you slightly. "You should get some rest."

You nod, eyes heavier now. "What about you?"

"I'm gonna shower, then maybe I'll crash."

He slipped out of the room again, and this time, you let your eyes close.

You woke up to sunlight creeping in through the blinds and the feeling of warmth beside you.

You blinked slowly, vision adjusting— and there he is.

Haechan was on his side, breathing steady, hair tousled from sleep, one arm slung casually over the pillow between you, lips parted slightly.

You sat up in a panic. "Shit. Shit— what time is it?" You fumbled for your phone, eyes wide... you missed class.

Haechan groaned beside you, blinking awake. "What's wrong?"

"I missed class. I never miss class— fuck."

He propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. "Chill." He muttered. "It's one class, you're fine."

You groaned, falling back against the pillows. "Still, I was supposed to go."

He yawned, then stretches and finally asks: "You hungry?"

You paused, then a small smile broke across your lips. "...Actually, yes."

He reached for the nightstand, grabbing his wallet, flipping it open and pulled out a folded bill.

"Here." He said, holding it out to you.

You blinked at it. "What?"

"Take it, go get food." He sighed, smirking. "There's some good spots on the way back to your place from what I remember."

You finally smiled, taking the cash, folding it slowly between your fingers.

"Thanks." You said quietly.

He moved to the dresser, grabbing your clothes from last night and hands them to you, turning his back to give you privacy as you get dressed.

"What do you have planned today?" You asked, pulling your shirt over your head.

He shrugged, still turned away. "Not much. My brother's coming to visit, so we're just chilling."

"Oh." You say, tying your shoes. "That's nice."

He turned back around once you're ready, watching you with unreadable eyes.

You nod toward the door. "I'll head out then."

He just gave a small nod. "Ok."

And you leave quietly.

══════════════════════════

It was that time again— Thursday, the day you waited for all week. The day that had somewhere along the way become routine, a strange kind of comfort.

You showed up like always, stepping through the door and immediately spotting him across the room. Haechan met you with that familiar smile, only tonight it looked a little worn, like it was more out of habit than genuine ease.

"You ok?" You asked, your hand instinctively rubbing his shoulder. Your fingers pressed lightly against him, like you could ease the tension you already sensed.

"Yeah yeah, I'm just— can I talk to you for a second?" His voice dropped low, like he didn't want to be overheard.

You nodded, brows tugging together slightly. "Yeah, of course."

He led you upstairs, the floorboards creaking beneath your steps while the music from the party thumped under your feet. Once you were in his room, he shut the door behind you with a quiet click and let out a deep sigh. He didn't speak right away, just ran his fingers through his hair, shaking his head like he was trying to scatter his thoughts.

"Is everything okay?" You asked again, your voice a little softer this time.

"Just needed a fucking breather." His words were blunt, but not angry. He turned toward the door, checking that it was locked. When he looked back at you the smile was there again, this time stretched wider than before, too wide.

"If you came with me, they won't bother."

You tilted your head slightly, a playful smirk curling on your lips. "Who are you running from?"

"One of my best friend's brother." He started, pacing a little as he talked. "He's in town for a few days and of course he's gonna be at my parties, he's family, but something about him dude. He practically talked me sober, and that's hard to do— how did he even manage that? I just needed a break."

You giggled, crossing your legs on the edge of his bed. "You distressed over a party? Never thought I'd see the day."

He gave you a look, but it lacked any real irritation. "Would you kick out your best friend's sibling?"

You hesitated, shrugging unsurely.

"Exactly."

"No problem kicking out girls though." You muttered under your breath, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

His head turned toward you, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? You're right. Probably about to do it right now, actually."

"Do it then." You challenged, eyes narrowing.

He paused, his gaze hardening just slightly, a quiet tension rising between you. "Get the fuck out my room."

You blinked, caught a little off guard. "You serious?"

"What do you think?" He asked, eyes still locked on yours, tone unreadable.

Your chest tightened slightly as you stood, hesitating for a beat as you reached for the doorknob. You twisted it slowly, almost dragging out the motion like you were hoping he'd stop you. He didn't, not even a word.

You stepped into the hallway, the party noise rushing in like a wave, voices and music swirling around you.

"Y/n." You heard behind you.

You turned quickly. He was standing there again, keys in hand. "You hungry?"

You blinked, a bit surprised. "No... not really."

"I don't care." He shut the door behind him with one hand, shaking his keys in the other. "You're coming with me."

"Oh— okay." You followed him down the stairs, weaving through bodies.

"Wait at the door, I'll be right back." He said.

You nodded and did as you were told, leaning against the doorframe. Your phone buzzed and you looked down at it, just a meaningless notification, but when you looked up again, your eyes landed on Jaemin. He was walking toward the porch, and your stomach dropped slightly.

Your eyes met. There was a flicker of recognition, of something. His mouth opened slightly like he wanted to say something, but before he could, 

Haechan was there sliding in beside you and grabbing your hand. His fingers laced into yours.

"Alright, let's go." His voice was loud enough for Jaemin to hear, and you watched as Jaemin's gaze dropped to your joined hands, then back to your face. He didn't say anything, just walked past with a blank expression.

You looked down at your hand in his. "This is new."

"Relax." Haechan said, lips tugging into a smirk as he let go of your hand once you made it to the car.

You climbed into the passenger seat, adjusting your bag on your lap as he started the car. The engine roared louder than expected, and the ride was... bumpy, literally.

"You're kind of a bad driver, you know?" You teased, pulling out your lip gloss from your pocket.

"It's the road, not me." He shot back, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel.

"Sounds like something a bad driver would say." You started applying your gloss, only for the car to hit a bump, your hand jerking, smearing the gloss down your chin.

"Shit, Haechan." You turned toward him groaning as he just laughed.

"Do you have napkins in here or something?" You asked, flipping open the glove compartment. Inside, a few napkins... and a box of condoms still sealed.

You paused, taking a deep breath. "Really?" You said, holding the box up.

"Eyes on the road, sweetheart." He said, completely unfazed.

"I'm not the one driving!"

"Ok, you call me a bad driver, but then want me to take my eyes off the road? What kind of sense does that make?"

"Haechan—" You glanced between him and the road. "We're at a red light."

He bit his lip, clearly holding back a laugh as his eyes flicked over to you.

"Yeah, what now?" You said, narrowing your eyes.

"I was in the store and I thought about you, so I decided to pick them up."

You scoffed, dropping the box back into the compartment and slamming it shut. "Wow, how refreshing. You thought about me and instead of, hmm, flowers or something, you bought contraceptives. Is that why you invited me out— you just wanted to fuck?"

"I could do that at home." He said plainly, pulling into the parking lot.

You went quiet, stunned at the bluntness of it. "Whatever."

He pulled into the space and stopped the car, hands still on the wheel.

"Listen." He said, turning slightly. "I actually wanted to go out with you. If you're just gonna bitch and moan about what you think I want, then we can just get into the backseat right now and get it over with. If not, then let's eat— I am starving, impatient, and too fucking sober."

You swallowed. "Ok." You said, quieter this time.

"Ok." He repeated, flipping off the ignition.

You followed him inside, a low lit bar with creaky booths and laminated menus. You slid into a booth together, menus in hand. 

"What do you want?" He asked.

"I'm not really hungry." You said with a shrug.

He didn't blink. "What do you want?"

You sighed. "Okay, um... I'll just take whatever you're having."

"I'm getting a burger and fries, it's pretty big— are you sure?"

"I'm taking some from your plate, so I'm sure." You smiled innocently.

"Uh uh. Just get your own."

"Feels better knowing it's yours though. It'll taste better."

"Whatever." He muttered, already flagging the waitress. "Do you actually want my food? I'll get a large basket of fries."

"That would be nice." You said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

The order was placed, and for a while, you just sat there in the buzz of low music and clinking glasses.

"So." You broke the silence. "You like flowers?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he was trying to figure out where you were going with it.

"You, um— you had a lot in your backyard. And in your room, some plants too."

"You're observant." He said, sipping his drink.

"It doesn't take much effort to just pay attention to someone."

He nodded once, like he didn't disagree. "Yeah, I like flowers. It's been a hobby. Peaceful, nerdy, I guess."

"It's kinda cute." You said in a smile.

He chuckled. "Yeah? What's your favorite flower?"

"I don't know... you should teach me."

"About flowers?" He asked, amused. "That sounds like a setup. Who really doesn't know their favorite flower?"

"Setup to what?"

He didn't answer, just shook his head again.

"I guess I just like all flowers." You continued. "I like the ones in my favorite color, the color matters more to me."

"And what's that?"

"Red, pink too."

"So roses— why didn't you just say that?"

"That's like... the most basic answer. I had to be different."

He shook his head, a smile on his face."You are... surely something else."

"What's your favorite?" You questioned.

"Sunflower." He answered simply.

"Why? Those die fast."

"They only die because people don't take care of them. From what I'm hearing, you're one of those people."

"Hey, don't get mad at me. I asked you to teach me, remember? You said I was setting you up, don't throw a tantrum." 

His head tilted, eyes squinting. "Yeah, how'd you know they die fast if you don't know about flowers?" 

"I just guessed." You shrugged defensively.

Your food arrived shortly after. He pushed the fries toward you. "Help yourself."

You frowned. "Where's the sauce?"

He blinked. "What sauce?"

"You don't eat sauce with fries?" You questioned.

"No, they're good alone." He said, lips in a thin line. 

You raised your eyebrows. "They're basically raw fried potatoes." 

"They're fried, that's flavor enough." He said in a shrug.

"You're out of your mind."

"You're out of your mind." He repeated.

You waved down the waitress for sauce, shaking your head in disbelief.

The meal continued and between bites and sarcasm, you found yourself studying him— how his expressions changed, how casually he sat.

"I still can't believe you eat fries raw."

"Everything's better raw." He said, licking salt off his thumb.

You blinked. "Yeah, of course you say that you freak."

He grinned. "I didn't even— I'm just being honest."

Your head tilted with curiosity. "Why are you so into that anyway?" 

"I just am. I don't know. I like the feel, the look— it's hot.” He hesitated for a moment. "What about you— what are you into?"

"I don't know." You said honestly. "I've only had sex with you."

"You don't have any fantasies in that pretty head? I didn't put any in there?"

"Nope. You probably took some off my list, honestly."

"Me? I took some off your list?" He leaned in slightly.

"You're not as good as you think, you know." You said.

"I'm not?" He challenged. 

"Nope." 

"No?" He turned towards the waitress. "Excuse me, can I get the check please?"

"Uh uh." You said, shaking your head.

"Okay." He smirked, tossing his card on the table.

"Okay." You taunted, mirroring his smug tone.

He slid his card back into his wallet, then turned to you. "Let's go."

You stepped out into the warm night air, the echo of your footsteps quiet against the pavement. He followed behind you closely, but not rushing. You stopped at the passenger side of the car, fingers brushing the handle, waiting for that familiar 'click', but it didn't come.

Instead, he brushed past you with that maddening calmness, heading for the backseat. He threw you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"You started it." He said lowly, before pulling the back door open and slipping inside.

You laughed under your breath, glancing around the nearly empty parking lot, then at the car's tinted windows. With one last glance over your shoulder, you opened the door and climbed in after him, shutting it behind you.

He was already waiting, leaned back against the seat, legs spread just enough to make a point, eyes heavy on you as you crawled into his lap. His hands went to your hips instinctively, but he didn't pull you in yet.

He leaned closer, lips parting, but you pulled back just slightly, a teasing smirk on your face.

"Oh, you're teasing?" He asked, a laugh caught in his throat, eyes flickering to your lips and back.

"Maybe." You answered in a light giggle, fingers sliding up his chest, soft and slow, settling at the side of his neck. You rubbed your thumb along his jaw, letting your lips hover over his without quite touching.

He let out a low, amused breath. "I promise." He said, voice dipping. "I will get the last laugh."

His hands slid down your back, gripping your ass as you finally leaned in, closing the distance between your mouths. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling together. You broke away first, breathless, trailing your mouth down his neck. It started soft, but quickly grew rougher. You sucked harder, kissed deeper, and when you found that spot— the one that made his whole body flinch, you didn't let up.

His breathing grew heavier, his voice catching in his throat as a gasp slipped out. You kept going, grinding slowly in his lap while your mouth worked that sensitive patch of skin, drawing out more moans from deep in his chest. His hips bucked beneath you, hands gripping your waist harder.

"G— get a condom." He gasped out, voice filled with need.

You lifted your head, lips swollen, red marks already blooming along his neck. You nodded wordlessly, turning to reach for the glove compartment. You opened the box, grabbing one before turning back around, but before you could get settled, he moved fast.

In one quick motion, he spun you around, pushing you forward. You let out a startled breath, your confusion turning into a sharp gasp as he tugged down your jeans and underwear in one firm motion, then landed a stinging slap to your ass.

"Wha—?" You started, but he was already pulling you back adjusting your hips, lining himself up behind you. You felt his cock, pressing at your entrance.

"Don't move." He murmured, tearing open the condom behind you. Then his hands gripped your hips tightly as he slid in slowly, filling you inch by inch. A moan escaped your lips at the stretch, the pressure, the feeling of him completely inside you. He groaned right behind you, forehead pressing into your shoulder for a moment.

Your hands found his thighs, trying to stabilize yourself, breath shaky. Then you felt his hand slide up your torso, settling at the base of your neck. Slowly, he wrapped it around your throat.

"Move." He whispered in your ear. "Ride me, show me how bad you want it."

You began to move slowly at first, rolling your hips against him. The stretch still had your legs shaking slightly, but the ache felt good, addictive. His grip on your throat tightened just a little, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. 

You pushed yourself up a little, grinding down on him, adjusting your angle. The reaction was instant, his free hand digging into your hip guiding your rhythm, not letting you escape the pace he wanted.

"Fuck." He muttered, eyes locked on where your bodies met. "Look at you— taking all of me like that, feels so fucking good."

You moved faster now, riding him with more purpose, each bounce pulling moans from both of you. His grip on your throat slipped up, fingers tangling into your hair, tugging your head back just enough to expose your neck to him again.

"Think you can tease me, huh?" He growled, lips brushing your ear. "Look at you now—moaning like a slut in the backseat. You love this shit, don't you?"

"Yes." You gasped barely able to speak, each thrust now hitting that perfect spot inside you. Your fingers dug into his thighs, desperate to stay grounded, your body already close to unraveling.

He pulled you flush against his chest, one hand gripping your jaw now as he pounded up into you. "Say it again."

"Yes— fuck, yes I love it." You choked out, your voice cracking on the edge of your orgasm.

Your body tensed, heat exploding in your stomach. Your thighs quivered around him as pleasure overtook you.

"Oh my god." You gasped, voice cracking. 

You clenched around him, your body shaking violently as the orgasm rolled through you in powerful waves. You could barely breathe, your nails digging into his thighs, holding on for dear life as you rode out every last pulse.

He groaned loudly, his control completely slipping at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly.

"Shit, I'm gonna—" His hips snapped up, body tensing as he came hard inside the condom, curses spilling against your shoulder. You felt the pulsing throb of him inside you, your bodies jerking together in a final desperate grind.

The sound of your gasping breaths filled the space, sweat slicking your bodies, your thighs trembling as you stayed draped over him.

You both took a moment to collect yourselves before slipping back into the front seat, clothes adjusted, hair smoothed. Your breath hadn't fully settled yet, and your thighs still ached faintly.

He leaned back in the driver's seat, exhaling slowly as he ran a hand through his hair then he glanced over at you.

"Did you drive to my house?" He asked, his voice low and casual.

You shook your head. "No, called a car."

He nodded once, turning the key in the ignition.

"Why?" You asked.

"So I can take you home." He replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh." You hesitated. "I'm not going back to your place?"

He turned his head toward you, brows raising slightly. "Do you want to?"

Your lips parted, caught off guard by the way he asked. God you did, not even just for the sex or the comfort of his bed, you just wanted more time with him. Wanted to be near him even in the quiet moments when nothing was happening.

"Um... it's up to you." You said softly, eyes dropping to your lap.

"Uhh..." He paused, his gaze drifting toward the windshield like he needed help finding the right words. "Just go home. You'll probably just be alone if we go back to my place, so... kinda pointless."

"Oh." You nodded, swallowing down the small lump forming in your throat. "Okay."

You tried to smile, tried to keep your expression neutral, but the edges of it faltered before you could stop them, and you looked out the window to hide it.

He turned back to look at you, studying your face for a long second. Then his hand reached out, warm as it cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed lightly along your skin before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, like he was trying to make up for what he couldn't say.

"Let's get you home baby." He murmured against your lips.

"Okay." You offered a small smile, this time a little more real.

The rest of the ride passed mostly in silence, the kind that wasn't quite comfortable, but not heavy either. You leaned against the window, watching the city blur by in streaks color and lights.

Finally, he pulled up in front of your apartment building, shifting the car into park. "Here we are." He said, glancing over at you.

"Thanks." You said quietly, fingers already curling around the door handle.

You opened the door, the night air rushing in to meet you, cooler than you remembered. You stepped out, shutting it gently behind you. He waited a minute longer before driving off, and you stood there for a second longer than you needed to, watching the taillights disappear down the street.

You didn't really want to go inside, but you did anyway.

══════════════════════════

Life's been... okay.

Not terrible, not amazing either. Just somewhere in that weird middle space that never really feels like enough.

You haven't spoken to Jaemin at all— not since that night, and he hasn't spoken to you either. At first, it felt like a breath of fresh air, not having someone hovering, asking for things, pushing for more, but lately the silence has crept in. You missed him, missed the way he always showed up, even when you didn't ask. How he brought you your favorite food every time you were sick, how he took your side even when you didn't deserve it. He was constant in a way that no one else had been.

You guess that's over now, at least until he decides to grow up and apologize.

You were lying on your bed, eyes on the ceiling, mind wandering as it usually did. The morning sun streamed through your blinds, warm on your skin. Your phone buzzed beside you, you just turned your head lazily.

Haechan... of course.

This was the part of your life that made it "okay." Not boring, at least. It was always the same cycle with him: He'd ignore your calls during the day, always calling back at night asking to hang out, or to just hear your voice because "he missed it." You rarely saw him during the week except Thursdays, when you showed up to whatever party he was hosting.

But you liked him, you liked him more than you wanted to. You didn't know why you were so pulled in, why this routine made your life feel fuller. Maybe it was the way he always felt like a distraction you wanted to get lost in.

You answered the call, putting it on speaker as your phone rested on your stomach.

"Hello." You said.

"Hey, precious. How are you?" His voice had that familiar smoothness, like he was stretched out somewhere with the sun on his skin.

"I'm good. How are you, Haechan?" You replied, voice soft.

"I'm okay."

"You didn't answer my call yesterday." You said.

"Yeah, I was busy. I'm free now though, and I really wanna go watch the sunset at the beach tonight... and get high."

"Then go do that, baby." You said dryly.

"I wanna do it with you. I rented out a beach house for the night."

"I wasn't invited, so have fun." You joked.

"You were invited."

"I didn't hear a 'Y/n, I would love for you to come to the beach with me, please.' Now did I?"

He laughed. "Wow, you want to hear it that bad, huh?"

"Yep."

"Alright, well I guess I'll see you when I get back then."

"Woww." You said dramatically. "I can really tell how much I mean to you. Whatever, what's today?" You swiped your screen. "Friday, 10:34 AM. I have class in like two hours anyway."

"You can miss it."

"I can't keep missing class, Haechan." You said, sighing.

"You're smart, grades are still good from what you told me. So why does it matter?"

"You always do this. I can't keep skipping out just because of you."

"Oh, so now it's my fault?" He said, voice playful.

"Yeah, it is." 

"Well then, I take full accountability. And I'm about to take full accountability for doing it again. Please, I want you there with me."

You sighed, staring at your ceiling for a moment. "Okay, fine."

"Yeah?" He asked, you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Only because I want to watch the sunset on the beach."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in thirty. Wear something comfy, we've got a bit of a drive."

You hung up smiling, already rolling off your bed to pack your overnight bag.

The drive was long, but the windows were down, and the music was loud. His hand found your thigh more than once, lazily rubbing circles there when he wasn't steering or rolling the blunt he promised to light later.

By the time you got to the beach house, the sun was out, bright in the blue sky. The place was beautiful, right on the water with a private stretch of sand.

You put on a swimsuit and he changed into his own. Swim trunks hung low on his hips, a silver chain glinting against his sun-warmed chest. It was impossible not to stare.

Soon, you were both down at the beach, waves kissing your ankles as you ran through the shallow water. He chased you, dramatic and loud, lifting you off your feet and tossing you into the water as you screamed. You splashed him back, water dripping down your face as you laughed like a child.

You played for what felt like hours— kicking through the water, jumping into the waves, lying side by side on the wet sand. 

As the sun dipped lower, melting into the ocean in shades of purple and orange, he was deeper in the water, you just at the shore sitting on the sand as waves hit your legs.

"Come here." He called.

You nodded, floating towards him.  "Yeah?" You questioned. 

He pulled you close, wrapping your legs around his waist and gripping the back of your thighs. "Just wanted you near me." He said, smiling.

You smiled, wrapping your hands around his neck. "The sun is setting."

"I know."

"You wanted to smoke." You said, your hand reaching to cup his cheek. 

"I know." He said again, chuckling before pulling you into a kiss. 

He pulled you out of the water and led you to the towel he'd laid out earlier. You sat down, and he lit the blunt with one hand, passing it to you.

"I like it here." You murmured.

"Me too." He replied, his voice softer now. "It's nice when it's just us."

You didn't say anything, just stared out at the horizon letting yourself think. This felt real. Like maybe, just maybe, whatever you two were building was starting to mean something. You didn't say it of course, but the thought lingered in your mind as the sun finally setting.

"You know." You said through the silence, as you both sat at the towel. The cool ocean breeze chilling your skin, waves sounding in the background as the moon reflected off the water. "I'm terrified of the ocean at night."

"Why is that?" He questioned. 

"It's just, it's like a void. You can't see anything, what's beneath." You replied. 

"You're scared of the dark?" He asked.

"I never said that." You giggled, hitting his arm playfully. "I'm just, things that seem, terrifyingly repetitive. Something so big that you don't know what's ahead of you." 

He nodded.

"What about you— what are you scared of?" You questioned.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"That can't be true. Everyone's afraid of something."

Everything was quiet for a long moment. He looked up at the moon, eyes reflecting.

"Commitment." He said finally, his voice low. 

You paused for a second before turning to him. "Why?" 

"Just to put your heart into something, your love, your soul, just to be disappointed and let down. It's terrifying don't you think?" He said, the contact never breaking from the moon.

"It is." You agreed. "But if you spend all your time thinking about how it might go wrong... you'll ruin it before it even begins. That's not protecting yourself, that's self sabotage."

He paused for a second, eyes flicking down. "I don't think I can do it."

"Then what are you doing now?" You asked.

He paused, before he turned to you. He just stared into your eyes, saying nothing— but his eyes spoke a million words. You weren't sure what those words meant, but it was something. Then he looked away again, back toward the sea. You turned back too, looking at the stars as quietness settled again. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your fingers sliding into his as your hands met.

The drive back was full of laughter, music, the two of you playfully arguing about which snacks were superior and what song should play next. It felt good... normal. For a second you let yourself imagine doing this more often. Just... being with him.

But eventually, the ride ended. He pulled up to your apartment, putting the car in park. 

You turned to him. "I had a really good time." You said honestly. "Thank you."

He gave a slight nod, lips pressing together. "Yeah."

There was a long pause, the engine still humming. "Just... call me or something." He added.

You hesitated. "You never answer when I do."

He paused, then licked his lips. "Just... take your chances."

You gave a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Okay."

And then you got out, closing the door behind you.

═══════════════���══════════

Your days had blurred together, a messy tangle of deadlines and group meetings. It was the busiest you'd ever been, and you hadn't even realized it was Thursday until your phone rang, yanking you out of a half dazed focus as your fingers hovered over your keyboard.

Haechan's name lit up the screen.

Your heart jumped before your brain could catch up. You had taken your chances just like he told you to. Called him on Friday...nothing. Sunday... ignored. Tuesday...same. After that you gave up, told yourself he didn't owe you anything. Still, he hovered in your mind constantly, a weight on your chest even when you were trying to write about something completely unrelated.

You swallowed, pressing the phone to your ear. "Hello?"

"Hey." His voice casual and unbothered. "Where are you?"

"Home." You said a little too flatly.

"Why are you not here?"

You blinked. "Why would I be?"

"To see me." He replied, like that should've been obvious.

"You haven't even been answering my calls." You said, trying not to sound hurt, failing. 

"I was busy, what do you want me to do? Didn't know it fucking mattered that much."

You flinched slightly at the way his tone sharpened. "You told me to call and then you just left me hanging." You said quieter.

There was a moment of silence. "Can you just come?"

"No, I'm busy." You replied, firmer this time. "I'm working on a book report right now."

"That can wait."

"No, it can't. If you want to see me that bad, you come here."

"Can't. My friends are already on my ass about ditching my own parties."

You sighed, the irritation in your chest threatening to spill over. "Well, I don't know what you want me to do."

"Come." He repeated, more insistent this time.

"I really need to get this project finished, it's worth fifty percent of my grade, and I'm already slipping in the class."

"When's the due date?"

"In like... a month, but still—"

"Oh my god, Y/n." He let out a laugh, half amused, half exasperated. "You literally have time, just come over."

You bit your lip, hating how easily you crumbled. "Okay... but I'm not getting dressed."

"Fine with me." He said, like he was smiling. "See you in a minute."

You hung up the phone and just stared at the screen. You didn't know why your mind worked this way, why you kept doing this to yourself— shifting your priorities, pushing aside your own needs, just because he called. But you were already grabbing your bag.

The music was loud through the door when you arrived, per usual. Eyes scanning the crowd instinctively until they landed on him standing near the kitchen, drink in hand.

"You made it." He said, lighting up when he saw you.

"Yep." You smiled, letting him pull you into a brief hug.

"Fuck, can you take a shot with me?" He asked, eyes a little glassy. Definitely not his first drink.

"Yeah, sure."

You downed it in one gulp, the burn settling into your chest. The two of you talked like usual, until three guys came over, breaking the moment.

"Yo, what's up." Haechan greeted, dapping them up. "This is Y/n, yeah— you guys know."

You gave them a polite wave and a smile and they did the same, none of them offering names though.

"Dude, have you seen Jaemin?" One of them asked.

Your stomach dropped at the name.

"Nah, he just always fucking disappears." Another chimed in.

"He's here?" Haechan asked, sounding surprised.

"I'm not even sure anymore." The first guy muttered, looking around. "I'm just gonna go look for him and smoke."

"Without me? Shit, I'll come too." Another said, and the two of them disappeared, leaving one guy behind.

Haechan turned away to fix himself another drink.

"So, Y/n, right?" The guy said, leaning in a little closer.

"Yep." You nodded, keeping your voice polite.

"You're seriously really pretty." He said, smiling.

Before you could respond, Haechan turned around, giving him a warning face.

"Thank you." You said softly, trying to defuse it.

"You should spend your time with me tonight instead." The guy laughed.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Haechan snapped, fully turning now.

"It was just a joke Haechan, chill." The guy said, raising his hands.

"Some shit isn't funny, Mark." He muttered, before turning back around.

You touched his shoulder gently. "Baby, relax..."

He turned his head slowly to look at you, his expression unreadable. "Baby? Yeah, right." The words came out low and sharp.

Ouch.

He downed the rest of his drink and walked away without another word, disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there, caught in the awkward silence with Mark, your skin burning.

"I should probably..." You mumbled, gesturing toward the dance floor.

He nodded, and you slipped away. You looked everywhere— through the crowd, up the stairs, even outside in the backyard, nothing. 

Finally, your feet brought you back inside, through the hallway, the same one where everything first started with him, and there he was leaning against the wall, head tilted back like he was trying to calm the storm in his head.

"Um... hello?" You said, stepping closer.

He looked over at you slowly. "Hello."

"What, you're embarrassed of me now? What the hell was that out there?"

He pushed himself off the wall, inching toward you. "No. No, I'm not." His voice was quieter now. "Listen, Y/n— baby, I'm just... he's so fucking annoying. Talking to you like that, like you're some kind of slut. You wouldn't do that, right?"

You blinked, taken aback. "Do what?"

"Fuck my friends." He said, his voice filled with distress.

You stared at him. "No, I would never do that."

"I know you wouldn't." He said quickly. "But he keeps bugging me, and I—" He trailed off, jaw clenching.

Before you could say more he reached out, pulling you into him by the waist.

"You need to calm down." You said, your voice soft, eyes searching his.

He didn't respond— at least not with words. Instead, he kissed you, hard and sudden, like kissing you was the only way to shut his thoughts up. Like it was the only thing that made any sense in his fucked up head.

The kiss grew rougher, needier— his hands tangled in your hair, your lips moving in sync. Then without warning he broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at you.

His eyes lingered on your face, dark and intense, you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears.

"Can you do something for me?" He asked, his voice low and almost too calm, like he already knew the answer.

You swallowed, your breath shallow. "What is it?"

He didn't answer, instead he gently took your wrists and guided you down, lowering you to your knees in front of him. Your heart thudded in your chest as you looked up at him, your hands resting lightly on his thighs.

"But..." You hesitated, eyes darting nervously. "What if someone sees?"

"No one will." He said firmly, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your eyes flicked back to his, uncertainty flickering in your expression.

"It's—" You began, your voice quiet, almost unsure. "It's also my first time... doing this."

He looked down at you for a long moment. 

"Don't you think we're a little past that?" He said. "You've already had me inside you, you want this."

You stayed quiet, your teeth catching your bottom lip as the weight of his words settled over you. There was truth in them, too much truth. You couldn't deny the heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looked at you now.

Slowly you reached up and began to unbutton his pants. He didn't move, didn't say a word, just watched you. Eyes dark, lips parted, waiting.

"You don't have to be perfect." He murmured, his voice suddenly softer. 

You looked up at him again, nervous.

He let out a slow breath, his hand resting lightly at the back of your head, thumb grazing your cheek. "Go on."

You stared at him for a moment longer, lips parted, heart pounding.You leaned in slowly, hesitating for a moment, then pressed a tentative kiss to the tip.

"That's it." He whispered. "Just go slow."

You licked your lips, tasting him, then did it again— longer this time, feeling every twitch, every subtle response in his body. His muscles tensed under your touch. You could tell he was holding back, letting you set the pace.

You opened your mouth and took him in, just the head at first. His reaction was immediate, his hips jerking ever so slightly.

"Fuck... yeah, just like that." He muttered, eyes locked on you. "You're doing so good."

You pulled back, lips wrapping around him tighter, watching his reaction as you went lower again, taking a little more. Your jaw ached slightly, but it was drowned out. You were getting lost in the rhythm, his quiet moans, the way his hand cradled your head now, guiding you but never forcing.

His voice dropped. "Look at you... so pretty."

You started to move with more confidence now, hollowing your cheeks slightly, using your hand to stroke what you couldn't take. You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, losing yourself, but he gently tugged your hair.

"Eyes on me." He said.

You looked up, mouth still wrapped around him, and the look on his face nearly made you melt, like he was barely holding himself together.

You took him deeper, relaxing your jaw, tongue pressing along the underside of his shaft. His hips jerked slightly, and this time he didn't hold back. His hand fisted in your hair and you could feel the shift in him, the restraint slipping, the patience wearing thin.

He looked down at you, eyes dark, lips parted breathing hard. "So eager now, huh? Acted all shy a minute ago, now you're drooling on my cock."

Your hand worked what your mouth couldn't reach, pace growing rougher.

"Look at you— on your knees. You love this, you love being used."

You whimpered, and he groaned low in his chest, tightening his grip in your hair. "That's it. Take it, fucking take it."

He began thrusting into your mouth with more force now. Your eyes watered, throat flexing around him as he pushed deeper, only to pull back and do it again.

"You feel so fucking good." He groaned. "You gonna let me finish in that pretty little mouth?"

You nodded the best you could, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as spit slicked your chin. He was getting close—you could feel it in the desperate sounds spilling from his lips.

"Keep going— don't stop." He muttered, thrusts erratic now.

Then his grip locked in your hair, his whole body tensed, and with a whimper, he came. You felt the heat of it hit the back of your throat, his hand holding you down just a moment longer as he rode it out, panting hard.

When he finally released you, you pulled back slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

He looked completely wrecked— head thrown back, chest rising and falling fast, shirt pulled up halfway up his torso. 

"You good?" He asked, eyes heavy lidded, 

 voice hoarse as he looked down at you breathless.

"Yeah, yeah." You said, catching your breath and clearing your throat, trying to steady yourself.

"C'mon, let's go upstairs." He mumbled, pulling his pants back up.

You followed him up, still in your oversized tee and shorts. You honestly thought he'd pull you right back into something the second the door shut behind you, but instead he headed straight for his desk, settling into his chair like nothing happened, opening his laptop.

You blinked, taking in the room, on his dresser sat a vase full of vivid red roses.

"These are pretty." You said, walking over to get a closer look, fingertips brushing the soft petals.

He turned just slightly, glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah, they were for you." He said casually, shrugging as he turned back to the screen. "But I thought you were gonna ditch me tonight, so I just put them up."

Your brows raised slightly, caught off guard. "Were they really?" You asked, warmth creeping up your cheeks despite yourself.

"Yeah." He said, a soft chuckle leaving him. "I don't like roses."

Before you could say anything else, he stood from his chair and walked over, motioning to the desk. "Here you go. Sorry if downstairs is a distraction, but I mean it's something, right?"

"What do you mean?" You asked, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"You can work on your project." He said, motioning lazily to the setup. "It's online, I assumed, so just use my stuff to get what you need done."

"Wait, actually?" You asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, no trouble at all. Do what you need to do. I'll just text you the user and password just in case and yeah, I'll be downstairs."

You watched him move to the door. "So you don't want me to just leave?"

"No." He replied. "Just work here. I might need you later."

"Oh, I see." You muttered with a small smirk.

"Well, I'll be downstairs if you need me." He said, then disappeared into the hallway.

You settled at the desk with a sigh, opening tabs, pulling up sources, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you got to work. Two hours passed before you even looked up again, then the door creaked open.

"Hey." Came a slurred voice behind you.

You turned around, catching Haechan stumbling slightly into the room. His shirt was wrinkled, hair messy, and his hand was wrapped around a red Solo cup.

"Hi." You said, standing instinctively, walking over to him, noticing how he swayed as he walked.

"I brought this for you." He said, holding out the cup proudly.

"Thanks." You replied with a cautious smile, taking it from him. You gave it a sniff and got immediately hit with the sharp burn of straight liquor. "Nothing more I love than a few shots of liquor to help me work."

He let out a loose giggle, clearly noting the sarcasm in your tone. "It stimulates the mind." He slurred.

"How much have you had, Haechan?" You asked, leading him carefully toward the bed.

"I dunno." He answered, grinning up at you with heavy eyes as he sank into the mattress.

"Ok, time to close your eyes and rest for a little." You said gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"No, no, I'm good. I just came to check on you." He insisted, trying to sit up again. "I'm going to go drink."

He stood too fast, stumbling before falling right back into bed with a thud.

"Yeah, okay." You said with a small laugh, returning to the chair and the warm glow of the computer screen.

"Y/n." He called out suddenly from where he laid.

"Yes, Haechan." You replied, still typing.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." You said, smiling slightly to yourself, already expecting something ridiculous.

"You don't, like— really like me? Like, actually like me, right?"

You paused, your fingers hovered over the keys.

Your chest tightened, air catching slightly in your throat. Of course you did, you liked him more than you wanted to admit, more than you could justify. And yet he made it so difficult— treating you like an afterthought one second and the only thing that mattered the next.

"Why?" You asked instead, turning slowly in your chair with a small, tired smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

He sighed. "I dunno. They're all just like... making fun of me. Like, all my friends and stuff."

You frowned, turning back to the computer. "Is that so."

"Yeah, and—" He started, then just laughed quietly. "Can we kiss?"

You turned around again, rising to your feet and walking toward him. You leaned down, placing a soft peck on his lips.

You turned to leave again, but he reached out. "Wait. Can you lay with me, please?"

You paused, heart caught somewhere between affection and fatigue. "Ok, but promise you'll close your eyes and not speak if I do."

"I promise." He mumbled.

You shook your head with a smile, slipping under the covers. He wasted no time pulling you in, chest to chest, his arms wrapping snugly around your waist, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

You ran your fingers slowly through his hair, holding him.

"You know—" He began.

"Haechan, shh." You whispered, eyes still closed.

"Sorry." He mumbled, and after that everything became silent.

His breathing slowed, and he finally drifted off, but you couldn't, not even with your eyes closed.

Your mind was a storm of questions, of feelings, of why he said things like that if he didn't mean them, why he pushed and pulled, how he looked at you like you mattered and then dropped you like you didn't.

You laid there for what felt like hours, the hum of the party now distant, muffled by the door. Then you heard footsteps, voices— a knock.

"Haechan, it's us. We're coming in to make sure you're not dead... stop us at any time if you don't want us to come in."

You were about to speak, about to let them know he was ok, but he was finally asleep and for once he looked peaceful. So you stayed quiet, eyes closed, pretending.

The door opened, laughter spilling in before it abruptly quieted.

"They fucking?" One of them asked, then a pause. "Wait, no. They're asleep."

"Haechan is in here cuddled up, what the fuck." Another voice muttered.

Then there was a second of silence and another voice broke through.

"Dude... he's so in love."

"Something like that." Another chimed in with a giggle.

And though your eyes stayed shut, your chest clenched tightly.

They left soon after, their laughter retreating down the hall, swallowed again by the hum of music and distant shouting from downstairs, but that one sentence didn't leave with them.

"Dude... he's so in love."

You laid still, your body locked in place, his arm still draped over your waist like it belonged there. Like it always belonged there, like he wasn't drunk and asking if you liked him just an hour ago, like he wasn't someone who made you question every other word he said, then undid you completely with a single glance.

Love.

They said it so casually, so easily. Like they knew something you didn't or maybe, something you were too scared to believe.

Your hand still rested in his hair, your fingers curled gently around the strands, and you debated pulling away, getting up, putting distance between your body, but you didn't. Because some part of you wanted to hold onto it, to him, even if it hurt.

Because that's what he always did to you, wasn't it?

He gave you just enough to keep you there. Just enough softness to believe he cared, but never quite enough to settle into.

You tried to tell yourself the alcohol was talking. That none of this was real, that tomorrow he'd wake up and probably tease you for cuddling him or pretend he didn't remember half the things he said.

Maybe he loved you in a way he couldn't say sober, maybe he only knew how to want you in pieces, maybe this was what love looked like to someone like him and maybe it was enough for someone like you.

You let your eyes close, pressing your cheek into the pillow. Not to sleep— your mind wouldn't let you, but just to stay still. To pretend for a second that it didn't matter, that you didn't care so much, but you did.

God, you did.

And somewhere inside you, the truth was slowly blooming like those roses on his dresser.

The room was still dark when your eyes opened. That hazy blue hour just before dawn crept faintly through the window.

Your body ached slightly from how you'd slept— curled against him, one of his arms slung heavy around your waist. You could feel his breath, slow and warm against your shoulder.

It almost made you forget everything... almost.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake him. Just enough to stretch your legs or maybe find a less tangled position, but he moved almost immediately. His eyes fluttered open in a daze, and then widened slightly when he realized how close you still were.

He pulled back fast.

"Shit." He muttered, untangling his limbs from yours, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, still foggy, but clearly panicked.

"Sorry." You said quietly, sitting up too, pulling the blanket around you a little. "I didn't mean to wake you, I was just trying to stretch. Are you ok? You were really messed up last night."

His eyes flicked to you, but didn't linger. "I want to be alone." He said flatly.

You blinked. "It's really early." You said, voice soft. "I can just go sit at the desk or—"

"I don't care." He snapped, sharper now. "Just go."

It hit harder than you expected, the shift, the chill, the coldness where warmth had been hours ago.

You nodded slowly, swallowing whatever emotion was threatening to rise and stood. "Okay."

You barely made it to the door before his voice called out again."Get the fucking flowers." 

You paused, turning slowly. "What?"

"I don't want them here." He said without looking at you.

Your eyes flicked to the dresser, the roses still blooming in the soft light.

"What about the vase?"

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a scoff, but close. "Take it." He said, his voice emotionless. "Just— take it. Get out."

You stared at him for a moment longer, trying to understand what just happened, trying not to let it show on your face, but you just nodded.

You walked back across the room, lifted the vase and left without another word.

The hallway was cold.

You hadn't realized how warm his room had been until you stepped out, vase clutched to your chest. The roses swayed slightly as you walked.

You moved down the stairs where empty cups and crumpled napkins were scattered, your fingers curled tighter around the glass. You didn't know why you took it— why you didn't just leave them there, why you obeyed so easily, like some part of you was still waiting for him to call you back again, but the silence behind you stayed silent.

You stepped outside, the early morning air hit your skin, you took a deep breath, walking to your car, placing the flowers beside you.

He held you like he wanted you, kissed you like he needed you, talked to you like he trusted you, asked you if you liked him, pulled you close and made you believe maybe just for a second it was real.

And then he told you to get out.

You swallowed hard, jaw clenching to keep the sting from reaching your eyes. You hated this part of yourself. The part that showed up every time he called, the part that wanted to believe his words even after his actions said something else, the part that still thought the flowers might mean something— even now, when he couldn't stand the sight of them.

You looked over at them, beautiful and unwanted— just like you.

You blinked away the blur in your vision, taking another slow breath. Then you started your car and drove away. Because what else could you do?

══════════════════════════

He was the only thing flowing through your mind.

You tried not to think about him, tried to focus on your projects for the next week, tried to drown your thoughts in deadlines, but during those quiet blind spots— when your hands paused on the keyboard, when your gaze drifted away from the screen, it was only him.

It didn't matter how hard you tried, he always found a way in.

Your thoughts had gotten the best of you... again. You texted— just a simple 'are you okay?' even after he hurt you, even after everything, but he never answered.

After that, you didn't call, you didn't try. You hadn't even gone to the party and he never called to ask why. It was pretty much over to you and maybe that should've been enough.

You replayed the scene in your head, skimming over every detail you could remember— how he shifted away from you, how his voice went cold, how he didn't even look at you. You tried to fathom what happened, replaying every word, every moment. Was it something you said? Something you did?

You wanted to just leave it. For him, yes, but more for you. For your own dignity, whatever was left of it. You felt embarrassed every time you thought about talking to him again. Embarrassed every time your mind wandered to his touch, his mouth, his company.

It was pathetic... you were pathetic, truly.

You were sitting in your bed, mind floating everywhere except the subject in front of you, while your fingers moved absently across the keyboard, then your phone rang.

You sighed, expecting it to be one of your roommates, maybe a spam caller, but it was him— Haechan, of course it was.

Of course he was calling after kicking you out. After ignoring your message when you were just checking in. Of course it was so easy for him to reach out after all this time. Or... maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just as hard for him as it was for you. But you weren't the one scared to look like a loser. Either way, it was stupid.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

Your heart said, or maybe your mind. You weren't sure anymore, but you didn't listen.

To yourself, obviously. Not the call.

That— you picked up a little too fast. Like nothing even mattered anymore except him and maybe it was the case, and you hated that. You hated it so bad, but you couldn't change it, no matter how hard you tried, it was like a curse.

"Hello." You said quietly.

"Come over." His voice was hoarse.

You didn't fight it, you didn't ask why he hadn't reached out, didn't beg for an explanation or an apology.

"Like... right now?" You asked, voice catching slightly.

"Yes." That was it.

You looked at the date and time glowing on your computer screen: Saturday, 7:38 PM.

Your eyes flicked up to the file you were working on. Book report, due in three weeks. You had maybe 30 out of 75 pages done and barely the energy to finish another sentence.

You bit your lip in hesitation, then took a deep breath.

"Okay." You said quietly. "I'll be there in a few minutes."

He said nothing back, just hung up.

You got up immediately, grabbing your keys. The drive was quiet, your mind raced, heart even faster. When you got there, you knocked on the door and waited.

After a few seconds, it opened.

There he was, hair messy, eyes dark and unreadable.

"Hey." You said, offering a small smile, but he didn't say anything. He just stepped aside, letting you in, the door shutting behind you with a soft click.

Weird.

He walked to the kitchen without a word, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a drink, not even offering you one. You just stood there awkwardly, while he leaned against the island— probably the cleanest you'd ever seen it, his palms flat on the surface.

"You know..." He started, clearing his throat, still not looking at you. "Someone sent me a photo."

Your brows furrowed, confused. "What was it?"

"You." He finally looked at you then, and the look in his eyes made your stomach twist, like he was holding back something.

"A photo of me?" You asked with a nervous laugh. "Okay... what was it?"

He chuckled, but it was flat, empty. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, scrolled, and placed it on the counter without a word.

You moved slowly toward it, his gaze heavy on you as your eyes landed on the screen.

You froze. Your heart dropped straight to your stomach.

"Where— where did you get this?" You stammered, voice shaky.

"I'm assuming this was last year? At your old uni, right?" He said, tone thick with something you couldn't name— disgust, betrayal... maybe both?

"I— how did you get this?" You said again, voice trembling, lip starting to quiver.

"I didn't know you were a hardcore partier like that." He said, smile curling bitterly. "No wonder you can handle liquor like it's water."

He looked back down at the photo. "Did you lie about taking drugs too? Or was it actually your first time smoking weed? Cause... looks like you did other shit."

You stared at him, eyes starting to water.

You never forgot about your past, even though you tried. You thought you got away from it, left it behind, but now it was back. Slapped into your hands by someone who had already hurt you. Who was now throwing it all in your face like you deserved it.

"Who's this?" His voice cut through your spiral.

You didn't even have to look, you already knew who he was pointing at— the guy in the photo. The one with his arm around your waist, the one you were kissing.

"Someone I used to talk to." You said quietly, the most coherent thing you could get out.

"Oh, really?" He said, his voice filled with sarcasm.

"Why do you even care so much?" You blurted out, your voice cracking now, barely holding it together. "You don't even want me."

He paused, looking straight at you. "That's my fucking brother."

Everything in you went still, cold. Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

"Yeah." He said, tilting his head, expression dark. "Nothing to say now, huh? What the fuck is actually wrong with you? Do you even know what you did to him?"

"It was a mistake." You said, voice breaking. "I didn't mean to hurt him, I swear. I didn't do anything on purpose."

"You didn't mean to?" He repeated, louder now. "You didn't do anything on purpose? You took everything from him. Got him addicted to pills, addicted to you, and then what— just left? Like he meant nothing? He had to go to rehab, he almost died and it was just a mistake?"

"I'm— I'm sorry." You whispered, the words trembling out of you.

"Right." He scoffed. "Like that's gonna fix anything. He really liked you, you know. You were all he knew, all he loved and you just left him for dead."

Your throat was dry. You couldn't defend yourself, not really. You'd done things you weren't proud of.. hurt people and now it was all crashing back.

"So what now?" He said. "You thought you could play me too? What, did my sister do something to you, so now it's 'get back at the family one by one'?"

"No. No, I swear." You said quickly, stepping forward. "That's not what this is. I'm not playing with you."

He laughed bitterly. "Then what is this? You're a fucking hypocrite. You preach to me about commitment and what was it— self sabotage? But you can't even follow your own bullshit."

"I can now, I'm not that person anymore. I was just in a dark place, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't care who I took down with me because I didn't even care about myself."

You stepped closer, eyes shining, voice shaking. "I'm not lying to you. You've seen it, you've seen how much I care. How much I need you."

"Yeah?" He questioned,voice low.

You were standing in front of him now, your hand reaching up to his cheek, gently touching him like you were scared he'd disappear.

He didn't pull away.

You whispered. "Please."

His breathing changed, slower. Like he was holding something in his chest he didn't know what to do with. His eyes searched yours, the space between the both of you had shrunk. And the way his jaw tensed, the way his hands gripped the edge of the counter like they needed to hold onto something— like they needed to hold onto you.

You could feel it, like the only thing left to do was move closer, or burn from standing still.

Something snapped.

He grabbed you suddenly, dragging you into him by the waist, his mouth crashing onto yours like punishment. It was messy, angry. His hands were already tugging your clothes down, fingers digging in like he wanted to rip right through the fabric. Your underwear was shoved down before you could catch your breath, and his pants were already halfway undone.

You gasped as he turned you around, chest slammed against the counter, your hands barely catching yourself. Before you could fully process it, he kicked your legs open wider with his knee as one hand shot up and wrapped tightly around your throat, fingers digging in just enough to pull your head back against his chest, your spine arching slightly under the pressure.

"If you want a condom, go to my car and get one." He whispered, voice low and rough.

You froze for a second, breath shuddering as his hand tightened slightly. Then, swallowing hard, you shook your head slowly.

"I'm fine." You murmured, voice barely audible.

"Pathetic."

Without warning, he pulled your hips back, lining himself up with your entrance, before pushing in all the way. A loud, sharp cry came from your lips as the sudden stretch overwhelmed you.

He didn't slow down or wait— just started thrusting hard and fast, pounding into you relentlessly, ignoring every sound you made.

He slammed into you harder, his hand tightening around your throat, fingers pressing cruelly against your skin, cutting off your air just enough to make your heart race.

"Look at you." He panted, voice dark. "Pathetic little slut, can't even handle something simple like this."

You gasped, the pressure in your throat making it hard to speak, but the pounding pushed deeper inside, and slowly your body started to adjust to him.

His thrusts grew harder, like he was losing himself in the moment, hips snapping into yours faster and heavier. His grip loosened for a brief second, fingers brushing your skin almost tenderly before tightening again.

You moaned louder, the pain fading as your body started to catch up with him, heat pooling deep inside.

His pace turned harder hips slamming into you with no rhythm now, just need. The hand around your throat suddenly released, only to tangle in your hair and yank your head back hard.

You cried out, not just from the pull but from everything— your body shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks without you even realizing.

He noticed,  laughing slightly. "Pathetic. Can't even take it, crying like a little bitch."

His grip in your hair tightened as he drove into you even harder. "But you like it, don't you?" He snarled, voice louder now, strained with how close he was. "This is what you wanted."

"Yes." You gasped, breath hitching around a sob, your body arching into his with every rough thrust.

His breaths grew loud and uneven, voice breaking into low groans and occasional whimpers, like he was falling apart right behind you.

He let go of your hair suddenly, and your upper body collapsed forward, your chest pressing flat against the counter. Both of his hands clamped down hard on your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you deeper.

His fingers dug into your skin as his body started to tense, his thrusts becoming sloppy, the sound of his low whimpers mixing with your own moans.

"You're— fuck, so tight..." He choked out, voice cracking as he buried himself in you again and again.

His pace turned erratic, hips jerking forward like he couldn't stop himself, like his body had taken over.

His grip on your hips bruised, pulling you back into every thrust like he was trying to bury himself as deep as possible. His whole body trembled, his moans turning into whimpers.

You just moaned out softly beneath him as he lost it— hips jerking erratically now, hands clutching you like you'd disappear if he let go.

"Shit." He gasped, voice wrecked. "You feel so— fuck."

His whole body tightened, shuddering as he came hard inside you with a strained whimper. 

He stayed still for a second, shaking, breath caught in his throat, still pulsing inside you.

You were right there— right on the edge, body tense and desperate, but then he pulled out suddenly and stepped back.

He laughed, low and cruel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Aw, were you about to cum?" He said, mocking, breath still heavy. He pulled up his pants, voice cold again. "Too bad." He said before walking up the stairs with heavy steps, no backward glance.

You sat still for a moment, breath shallow, skin still warm from his touch, heart trying to piece together what this meant—if it meant anything at all.

Your eyes wandered, trying to find a single object in the room that would ground you. You stared at everything blankly, waiting. Maybe for him to come back and say something soft, something honest... anything at all.

Eventually, he did come back, but it wasn't what you expected.

His steps were quieter this time. No eye contact, no sigh, no hesitation, just a folded fifty dollar bill that he slipped into your hand like it was a transaction. Like this was something to close out, something to be done with.

"For the plan B." He muttered, eyes flicking to the side, avoiding your expression. "And for you to not say anything else. To just... just go."

You held the cash loosely in your fingers silent. The room blurred for a second, vision not quite focusing, but your body still moved on autopilot. You nodded quietly, not bothering to fix your hair or wipe your face.

You didn't cry, not yet. You didn't ask questions, you didn't fight, you didn't even look back.

You just left, the door clicking shut behind you.

The streets were quieter than usual for a Saturday night or maybe you just weren't really listening. Maybe the noise had dimmed around you, your mind doing that thing where it zooms out, pulls away from everything like it doesn't belong to you.

You drove to your favorite spot. That shitty little corner diner that stayed open late and never judged you for showing up in sweatpants or smeared mascara. You walked in and ordered the usual without thinking.

"Chicken tenders, fries, extra honey mustard." You said, voice small, like you were 12 again and just needed something familiar.

The cashier didn't smile, just nodded and took the crumpled bill from your hand— the same one he gave you.

You sat by the window with your tray, staring out at the parking lot as yellow lights buzzed.

You dipped a fry into the honey mustard, then stared at it before finally taking a bite. You weren't really hungry, not truly, but chewing helped. It gave your mind something else to do besides replaying what happened. What he said, the look on his face when he gave you the money.

You didn't even need the money for a morning after pill. You been on birth control for your periods for months now.

You thought about how it all started. How much you tried to bury the past, how much effort you made to grow, to become someone better. You weren't perfect— god, you knew that, but you were trying. You  been trying, you wanted him to see that, you wanted him to see you.

But maybe he never really did.

You sat there for a while, eating slowly, the food growing cold on the tray in front of you.

══════════════════════════

You were sitting at home a few days later, just working, thinking, trying hard not to think.

$60 for a Plan B and for you "not to say anything else and just go" what the fuck. 

Your phone buzzed, not a call, just a text.

Haechan [10:39 PM]:

"U home?"

Literally— what the fuck. 

You were confused, stuck, you just wanted clarity, something solid, something that would tell you where his mind was, where his heart was. You were too scared to ask, too scared you'd scare him away if you pressed too hard. But this? This was getting ridiculous.

You [10:42 PM]:

"Why?"

You texted back. Okay, yeah. Maybe not the hardest stance you could've taken, but this was your definition of standing on business. Who were you kidding? You couldn't even ignore the text for more than five minutes.

Luckily, he didn't answer. Maybe that was your answer— the real one. Maybe silence told you where you stood with him more than anything else. But then again, his actions said something different. The way he held you, the way he looked at you sometimes. You couldn't help but feel like he did care, like maybe he loved you even just a little.

Or was that just you projecting? Was this your idea of love? Was this what you were settling for— and if it was, did that mean this was what you were worth? Because honestly, it didn't feel like it. But then... sometimes it did.

Right before your thoughts spiraled any further, three shallow knocks hit your door. Your expression twisted slightly, confusion brushing over your face. You stood up from your bed, slowly making your way to the front door, opening it. Of course... there he was.

You just sighed.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

He didn't answer right away, just looked over your shoulder into the room. "Your roommate's home?"

"No, one's gone for the weekend, and the other's out with her boyfriend. Why?"

"Can I come inside?"

"Why? Don't you hate me?"

He just chuckled soft and dryly, then silence. He didn't answer, and neither did you, you just stepped aside and let him in. He moved past you, settling on the couch as you shut the door gently, walking over slowly.

"Tell me everything." He said, turning to look at you. "From your side."

You didn't have to ask what he meant, you already knew.

"Well.." You started, taking a deep breath. "I was doing fine before. I had friends here, I was making straight A's— it was never really hard for me. Then my mom died, and that took a big toll on me."

"Where's your dad?" He asked.

"Hell if I know." You looked up at him. He just nodded in response, saying nothing.

"So, yeah, I was alone. I had people— my best friend since childhood actually, but I still felt so lonely. So I decided to take a break from here and just leave. I went to school in a different state."

You paused, gathering the words that still sat heavy in your chest. "It started off fine, I mean as fine as it was gonna get, but then my best friend started getting distant. He always cared for me, but he started doing his own thing— making new friends and everything. It hurt because I needed him... I loved him."

"You loved him?" Haechan asked, brows slightly furrowed.

"Yeah, a lot. I, um... he came to visit me early on when I moved, and I told him how I felt, but he rejected me— told me he just wanted to mess around with people and not be locked down. And yeah, that hurt... like a lot. I guess I thought he felt the same... he acted like it. And when he started ignoring me after that? That's what really messed me up."

You looked down at your hands as you kept going, your voice quiet, but steady. "So I ended up making new friends. Not great ones. I started partying, trying to fill this empty void in my life. Got addicted to the lifestyle. One party, someone offered me weed, and that was a big no for me because — duh." You let out a small, self deprecating laugh.

"But then they introduced me to pills. That felt different, not the same thing as weed in my head, so I did it. I drank, I did drugs, barely went to class, but when I did..."

You paused, tilting your head back, staring at the ceiling. "It just seemed like he was always waiting for me, like he was the only one who didn't judge."

"My brother." Haechan said quietly.

You nodded. "He was obsessed with me. Like I was the most precious thing in the world— no offense to him." You looked up, waving your hands a bit.

"I was just... confused, confused why. He didn't even know me, but he kept trying, and I was at my lowest.. at a point where I felt like no one else wanted me, not even my best friend— so I gave in. We texted. I wasn't always great at responding,  I was always out doing shit, complete opposite of him. He was smart, focused, kind and I was basically nothing. But even then, he still wanted me, so much that he started doing what I was doing and I didn't think anything of it. Just another guy to me. No offense... again."

Haechan chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Just finish."

"He started partying, harder than I did even. Started drinking like me, taking the pills I took and honestly, it was fun. He made me feel like I wasn't the only one who was falling apart. Like we were nothing together." You shook your head slowly. 

"It's so messed up, but I didn't know better. Stuff happened between us. Not sex!" You blurted out. "I'm... well, was saving myself. And yeah, I liked him a bit. He felt like commitment, like the only one I could count on to stay."

You exhaled, the weight of your own memories thick in your throat.

"Then my best friend just... came back. Completely out of nowhere, acting like I was the world to him. Telling me to stop doing drugs. I don't know what changed, maybe he was scared I wouldn't come back for summer. Which, I really wasn't going to. But he asked me to visit at least, just at the beginning of the summer and I agreed."

You kept going, not pausing now, just unraveling it all.

"So I went back home, stayed with him. Then he tried to do some rehabilitation bullshit on me or whatever. Told me he'd help me change, and would 'fix' me. I was hysterical. I felt betrayed. He left me, I got like this, and now he wanted to act like I was a project. Like I was just some druggie or party whore who needed saving, which I guess I was." You laughed softly, sadly.

"I told him I had someone who cared about me— someone who loved me, but he said it wasn't love. That I needed to focus on myself, not a boyfriend, and I believed him. I cried in his arms and I stayed. I got sober, started fresh over for the summer. Then... he begged me to just stay permanently, said he wanted to keep an eye on me, make sure I was okay."

You looked at Haechan then, eyes softer now. "So I did. I told my best friend I needed to explain to your brother what was going on, that I wanted to stay in contact. But he told me to leave the past behind, that he'd just get over it. So I left, no reason, no goodbye, just silence. I had no idea what happened to him after. That he got addicted, that he went to rehab, I just assumed he'd move on too. I tried to reach out again at the beginning of this year, but I was blocked, rightfully so."

You looked at each other, silence. 

"Is that why you're still with me?" He asked, voice quiet. "You get treated like shit, but you know I care enough. You feel guilt... so you allow it, right?" 

His voice cracked slightly. "Is it guilt?"

You looked away, eyes trailing up toward the ceiling. You bit your lip hard before turning your gaze back to him.

"I really do love you." You said, voice almost a whisper, eyes glossy. "Is that all you wanted to hear?"

He nodded, once. "Yeah." He said softly.

Silence again, but not empty.  The moonlight shined through the blinds, his eyes glinting the reflection as you two stared at each other.

Then slowly, he leaned in. His hand reached up, gentle against your cheek, thumb brushing the side of your face like he was afraid you would flinch.

It wasn't rushed, it wasn't desperate, it was soft— slower than either of you expected. You kissed him back, just as slow, just as quiet, your hand curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

When he pulled away, he stayed there for a moment. His forehead nearly touching yours, his breath warm, eyes glassy.

He cleared his throat, scooting back slightly. "I should probably get going." He said, voice low.

"Yeah." You nodded.

"Okay, I'm about to leave." He said, not moving an inch.

"Got it." You smiled a little, lips still tingling.

"Right now." He said again, like he needed to convince himself.

You leaned in, giving him one last kiss, just a soft peck, but it lingered.

"Go." You whispered against his lips.

He finally stood, walking to the door, you following behind him.

"If you get the chance, would you tell him to unblock me?" You asked, voice low but sincere as he reached for the doorknob. "I really want the chance to apologize... check on him personally."

He paused, his hand still on the door, then he turned just slightly, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

He gave a small nod. "Yeah." Then after a moment, quieter: "Just... call me or something."

You let out a tired chuckle, shaking your head gently, a half smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"Yeah." You whispered, more to yourself than to him.

And then you closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet room.

══════════════════════════

[yumyumcherryy]

p.s: OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT. rin w an oral fixation BUT BUT BUT AAAAND with a TONGUE PIERCING DO U FEEL ME?? SIUNSUIHSU MEN W TONGUE PIERCINGS YESSUHEUJE

you hated it. 

you hated rin's stupid fucking tongue piercing.

and he's been tonguing at it for the past hour, reading that damn novel, completely unaware of the demons you were fighting, trying not to jump his bones then and there. but that wasn't even the thing that pissed you off the most. it was in the way that he didn't even know how good he looked while just...well, existing.

god, if he knew about the thoughts you were having right now. "Done staring at me yet?" his voice cut through your train of thought, making you freeze in place and look away. "i wasn't..staring" you lie."idiot." he slaps his book shut before walking towards you.

You barely had time to breathe before Rin's mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn't sweet.

It wasn't careful.

It was hungry.

Hot lips, parted and desperate, dragged yours open—his tongue sliding past before you could even think, the cold metal of his piercing grazing your tongue. He kissed like he fought—calculated, intense, possessive.

Like he had years of denial bottled up in his chest and this was the moment it all cracked loose. His hand was under your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it, while his other gripped your hip, keeping you flush against the wall and him.

And he was so close.

Hard muscle pressing into your softness, hoodie pushed up just enough to show skin-on-skin heat. His thumb dragged back to your lips mid-kiss, pressing in again like he needed to feel your mouth do what he told it to.

"Open," he murmured against your lips.

You did.

Immediately.

That thumb slid in again, alongside his tongue as he kissed you deep—messy, needy, obsessed. "ngh..s'icky.." you let out a half-assed complaint, voice slurred by his thumb pressing down on your tongue. He groaned when you sucked on it again, this time intentionally, and you felt his hips shift forward, a silent reaction.

"Fuck—" he breathed, breaking the kiss just to stare at your lips. His thumb pulled out with a glistening trail and he dragged it down your chin again, watching it shine. "You're made for this. I swear."

"Made for what?" you whispered, dazed.

He didn't answer with words.

He dropped to his knees.

Your gasp echoed through the room.

"Rin—what are you—?"

"I need to taste more," he growled.

"You think it's just your mouth I've been thinking about?"

"Nah. I think about all of it."His hands gripped your thighs, nails digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. His mouth kissed up your inner thigh, slow and teasing—open, hot lips and the flick of a tongue that was absolutely not being shy.

"Every time you walk in front of me," he said, voice muffled against your skin, "I think about how you'd sound above me. How sweet you'd taste. How you'd look grinding down on my tongue."

You moaned—loud.

shameless.

shit.

"Yeah. Just like that," he said, lips against your skin. "I want that sound again. I wan' every sound you make."

His fingers dug under your waistband and you felt your whole body buzz—like he owned your pulse now. Like you'd give him anything.

But just before he took it further, he froze. You looked down, flushed and trembling.

"Rin...?"

He looked up at you from between your legs. Hair falling into his eyes. Lips parted. Breathing uneven.

And his voice cracked

"I want you so bad it makes me sick," he said softly.

That confession—quiet, broken, a little ashamed, hit harder than any kiss.

"I've wanted you like this for so long I forgot how to want anything else." You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair.

"You have me," you said. "Take me."

Rin didn't need to be told twice.

His mouth dove in, lips hot and wet against your skin as you mewled out.

This wasn't just a silly fixation anymore.

This was obsessed.

Starved.

Worshipping you like you were sacred and sinful all at once.

Tongue everywhere.

Fingers digging in.

Every breath he took was you.You weren't just something he wanted. You were something he needed.

Obsessively.

Shamelessly.

And for once?

He wasn't hiding it anymore.

"shit darlin'..you taste heavenly.." he says, words muffled by your pussy as he continues to lap at it like a starved man. every stroke of his tongue against your clit and the cold metal of his tongue piercing making you arch your back onto the wall. 

"shut up.." you manage to whine out, hands gripping onto his scalp like a vice and unconsciously grinding onto his mouth. "mnn..!— your piercing, oh my goodness..-" 

you squeal, whimpers turning into high pitched moans as the man on his knees just continues to devour your cunt. 

his tongue that was flicking at the hardened bud moves down to your hole, practically tongue fucking you. "jus' stay still f'me yeah?" he smirks against your wetness, his ministrations almost going frantic, gripping your hips so you can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you. "uh huh..'kay.." you keep a hand over your mouth, watching him.

watching him trying to ruin you.

and he's succeeding at it too.

"wait rin—i'm gonna cum- no wai-" you didn't get a time to protest as your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, squirting all over his face. "yuckie..rin i told ya..haa" you scold, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath. "you taste so good, dear.." he licks the slick that was coating his face clean. 

The bed barely creaked as he hovered over you, shirt halfway off, hoodie long forgotten somewhere across the floor. Your skin was still burning from the way he devoured you just minutes ago-but Rin?

Rin looked like he'd barely scratched the itch.

His hair was messy, strands clinging to his forehead from sweat, and his lips-god, those lips-still glossy from you.

He stared down at you like he'd been holding back for years.

And then-he leaned in, kissed your neck again.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

But slow. Wet. Deep.

His tongue dragged from your collarbone to your jaw, a low sound rumbling from his chest like a man starving for another taste. And then—he did something worse.

He moaned.

Not loudly. Not theatrical. Just... low. Controlled. A sound from the back of his throat that made your thighs tense."Why do you taste good everywhere," he muttered against your skin, hand slipping under your shirt.

"Why can't I fucking stop?"

You barely managed a breath. "Then don't."

He froze.

Eyes locked with yours—dark, teal, possessive. His thumb pressed to your lip again, pushing inside your mouth like he needed the feeling.

"I think about this all the time," he murmured. "Your lips. My fingers. Your tongue around my-"

You sucked on his thumb hard.

Rin choked out a sound he didn't mean to make. His hips jolted forward slightly. His teeth sank into his bottom lip like punishment."Don't do that," he warned, voice low.

You did it again.

Harder.

Dirtier.

Rin's eyes fluttered, jaw clenched. Then—he pulled his thumb out and tapped it against your lip.

"Open your mouth again," he whispered.

You did. Barely a second later, his tongue was back inside, licking into you like a man starved. His kisses weren't neat anymore. He wanted you messy. He wanted your lip gloss smeared, your voice breaking, your mouth ruined by nothing but him.

He pulled back for just a second, hand cupping your face.

"I'm not in love with you," he said suddenly.

You blinked. "What?"

"I'm not," he repeated, a little breathless, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip like it was a ritual. "But if you told me to get on my knees again, i swear to god i wouldn't even think twice."You stared."If you told me to put my tongue anywhere," he whispered, "I'd do it."

His voice was wrecked now.

Honest.

Raw.

"So don't ask me if I'm in love," he said. "Just let me use my mouth to show you how fucked I am over you."

And then he was back down again. mouth everywhere—open, panting kisses against your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. 

Tongue teasing. 

Licking. 

Worshipping.

You arched under him, gasping his name. "Fuck, that's it," he groaned, breath hot against your skin. "Say it again. Say it with my mouth on you."

You did. Again. Louder.

And that's how the oh so unreadable Rin, smiled against your skin. drowning into the drug-like euphoria you were giving him.

idk im not very proud of this 😭

@twijaxx

[fiamat12]

Re: They *Really* Lost the Plot!

... but did they mean to?

There have been lots of questions swirling around today - everything from do Nic & Luke really hate us to don't you think there *has* to be more going on than legal obligations? Then @frantastical posed a question that gets right to the root of it as only an OG can:

I'll answer the 1st two questions, then get to Fran's argument. 1- No, Lukola loves their fans and if you think they'd purposely try to alienate or manipulate them while simultaneously trashing their own images, I don't what to tell you. 2- No. As protracted as the legal obligations have become, the alternative was worse. Now, onto Fran's theory...

Shippers are struggling w/ the contradictions that we're trying to reconcile. A smattering of comments taken from the threads today:

• "I am really torn as to whether this is an obligation. I think this post is an image nightmare, so would they actually agree to it?"

• "It seems coordinated w/ Lauren and the Dad follows. It also then continues the Roumeloti business promotion checklist; promote Dads restaurant ✅, DJ business ✅ and now Antonia’s employer ✅ (who is probably family or friend of family)"

• "I’ve been vacillating between obligations and A going rogue to humiliate Luke and Nic all day. I can’t imagine today was about obligations and yet it’s the Lauren TT and his dad following A’s dad of it all. Was today part of the obligation fulfillment or did what was storied by Nic last night piss her off?"

• "They don’t even need Savage anymore if his team are involved in this... A man who has been widely criticised for his hot boy summer antics posing with these dancers 🥴😳🤦🏼‍♀️. Then we get a caption that must be mocking him because that man is not Bond material... even those who like him will say that."

(Fans did want L as Bond for a hot sec.: https://www.mylondon.news/news/celebs/bridgerton-james-bond-luke-newton-25619695)

Sunny, @jmuz09's AI Robot helped work through it ⬇️⬇️⬇️

1) A LEGAL LOOPHOLE

Fran's assertion fits more into it NOT being an obligation. I asked Sunny about this but added a legal loophole; he laid it out to where it could makes sense w/ what's been happening w/ A all along...

2) THE CHICKEN AND THE EGG

Here's another Sunny response which makes what happened BOTH, and could also be plausible.

I asked: What came first the chicken or the egg? Meaning did N give us those stories as a preemptive measure knowing that L's pic w/ the Cyprus dancers was about to surface? OR did A have her camp post it as a reaction to N's Lukola coded posts?

Lastly, ignore ignore ignore adjacent nonsense! Lukola has been trying to keep a plot on track that keeps getting derailed. We know the truth, and nothing you've seen should change that - except it can cause further (understandable) frustration.

As others have said - we got N w/ a stroller!!! That's far more interesting! 👀

And so are you. YOU are important to this ship but more importantly to your friends, family, colleagues, pets, and greater community. So take care of yourself and don't let this whiplash cause you unnecessary stress. Protect your peace and enjoy your weekend! ✌️🕊☮️

[laurenairay]

so tell me to leave - W. Nylander

Summary: once is an accident, twice is coincidence, and three times is a pattern. You really needed to stop falling into bed with your ex-boyfriend William.

Happy (early) birthday @cellythefloshie – here is my entry for your birthday bingo celebrations! I managed to hit bingo too, with: one night stand, pining, quickie, ex’s to lovers, autumn birthday. I had a lot of fun writing this one, so I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: implied smut (off screen), poor communication, William being a flirt, William being an idiot.

Title from July, by Noah Cyrus

~

“This was a mistake.”

“Good morning to you too, käraste.”

You huffed, moving his arm away from your waist so you could get out of his bed. It took all of your strength not to roll your eyes as you saw blatantly check out your bare body.

“I’m serious, William. This can’t happen again,” you said firmly, shimmying back into your dress from last night, eyes desperately searching for your panties.

Three times would be a pattern, after all.

“Ouch, full name before coffee,” he groaned, “Just come back to bed, it’s so early.”

“Not going to happen,” you shot back, giving up on the lost panties in lieu of getting out of his apartment as quickly as possible.

You had other underwear at home – the sacrifice of one black lacy pair wasn’t the end of the world. Even if they were his your favourite. The longer you stayed here, the likelier you were to crack. You knew it. William knew it. It was a downside of having dated him for three years – he knew you far too well. Three months as exes was hardly going to change that all that quickly.

“I missed you this summer,” he murmured, propping his head up with a hand, bicep unfairly bulging.

“You looked like you were having plenty of fun in the UK, I doubt you missed me,” you snorted, picking your phone up from the floor.

The moment those words left your lips, you knew it was a mistake with how his face lit up in delight.

“And there I thought you’d deleted me from your social media,” he grinned.

Ass.

“I have,” you said dryly, “But I still follow your brother.”

His grin dimmed slightly, but he just shook his head.” You always did like Alex more than me.”

You just rolled your eyes. It wasn’t difficult to like his brother more than him right now – Alex wasn’t the one who’d left you in pieces.

“I have things to do, people to see. Or is it things to see, people to do? I always get that mixed up,” you said simply, eyes wide and innocent.

William just snorted. “You’re breaking my heart over here.”

“You broke mine first.”

He inhaled sharply, his composure visibly cracking, before a smooth grin slid over his lips. “I’ll see you soon, käraste.”

You hated how the words made your heart flutter.

~

From: DO NOT ANSWER I believe these are yours? [image]

Your jaw dropped at the message your received three days after the night you’d sworn to forget. The lost black lace panties. He’d had them all this time?

To: DO NOT ANSWER You thief. Why did you keep those?

Your eyes darted over to your coworkers, exiting out of the message thread with William while you waited for a response. The last thing you wanted was for them to see your waylaid underwear on your screen.

From: DO NOT ANSWER I didn’t keep them on purpose. Don’t you remember I shoved them in the back pocket of my jeans when I dropped to my knees by the front door? I definitely remember.

Your cheeks flushed with heat. Of course you remembered his hungry gaze looking up at you and the way he muscled his shoulders in between your thighs. How could you possibly forget that?

To: DO NOT ANSWER You are the worst. I want those back.

His quick response left you breathless.

From: DO NOT ANSWER You want them? Come and get them.

~

“You know, when I said come and get them, I didn’t necessarily mean straight after you finished work. That’s got to be a record for how fast I’ve gotten you from my front door to screaming my name,” William mused.

He just had to ruin the moment.

You lifted your head from the pillow, glaring down at him and squirming as he dug his chin into your belly button, your bare thighs framing his face like the artwork it was.

“And have you keep them like a weird trophy? No thank you,” you shot back, ignoring the jibe about the lightning-fast speed of your rendezvous.

He just cackled, smacking a kiss to your bare hip before rolling out of your hold. You shivered at the lack of body warmth, trying to keep your cool as he crawled up beside you to thump himself down on the pillow next to yours.

“I know you miss me, käraste.”

Something about the way he looked into your eyes, skin all flushed from your recent activities and a small smile on his lips – well, it left you feeling vulnerable.

“William,” was all you could murmur.

“I miss you,” he said firmly, “I miss you so much and I’m pretty sure my whole family is sick of me talking about you.”

He talked about you to his family still?

He missed you?

“You’re the one who broke up with me, remember?” you said shakily, pulling the sheets up to cover your chest.

“And I regret it every day. I was an idiot,” he said softly.

“You can’t just say these things! It isn’t fair!” you groaned, sitting upright.

William sat up next to you, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I know okay, I know. But I’m holding onto hope that you still miss me too! This is the third time we’ve fallen into bed together since we broke up. The first, when you came to pick up your belongings before I left for summer – once is an accident. But the second time three days ago? Twice is coincidence. Three times now…well, it’s a pattern. Three times when I didn’t deserve it, you still graced my bed with your presence. So I’m sorry if I’m not making things fair right now, but this is hard on me too.”

He was pining. William Nylander was pining.

Tears stung at your eyes and you turned your head away from him, but he placed a hand on your thigh over the bedsheet, staying silent. As much as your hated to a admit it, he had a point. Three times was a pattern. But was it a pattern you needed to break, after the way he treated you?

“You tossed me aside like old trash, William. You broke up with me out of nowhere, when all I’ve ever done is love you, and support you, and care for you. All because I dared to smile when Steph and Mitch joked that I’d be the one walking down the aisle next. A joke. A simple joke, because we’d been together for three years and they could see how much I loved you. But that wasn’t enough for you, or it scared you, or whatever the hell it did to make you break my heart and run away,” you said angrily, tears making your voice watery.

William’s hand tightened on your thigh briefly before it slid away, and you finally looked back at him to see tears in his own eyes.

“You’re right. I panicked. I messed up the best relationship I’ve ever had because before you I’d never thought about marriage, not seriously. And then they brought it up and it was all I could think about and I spiralled and I panicked. I’m sorry, käraste. I’ll never be able to make up for how sorry I am.”

Your lips parted in surprise at the raw emotion in his words, speechless for once. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, and he took a shaky breath before smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, and I’m sorry for breaking your heart, and I’m sorry that my insecurities and panic took control. I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness, let alone even having you here right now, but I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I mean it. I love you. I love you and I miss you,” he murmured.

He loved you.

He loved you and he missed you.

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks at the honesty in his words, every ounce of him genuine and soul-destroying. A whimper tore from your throat at the very thought of him still loving you, and it was all you could do to clutch at his shoulders as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in the gentlest of kisses, barely able to catch your breath as he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are,” you managed to choke out.

William smiled sadly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before leaning backwards to look into your eyes properly.

“Is there any chance that you can forgive me, and give me a second chance? Even the slightest sliver of hope?” he asked, chewing his bottom lip.

“I don’t know if I could cope with that kind of heartbreak again,” you said hesitantly.

He let out a shaky breath but nodded. “I understand.”

If ever there was a time to trust your gut, now was it.

“It would take a lot for me to trust you again.”

His lips parted, a stunned expression seeping across his face.

“And we shouldn’t sleep together until I feel like you won’t break my heart again.”

“You mean…”

He trailed off, eyes wide as he ran his hand over his hair.

You winced. “If that’s a deal breaker then-”

“No no no you’ve given me hope, don’t stop now,” William grinned, making you huff out a laugh, “It’s your birthday next week right? Do you have any plans yet?”

“I don’t have any plans yet, no. Why?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

Where was he going with this?

“Let me take you out for dinner. There’s this great Thai place that’s just opened up. They use seasonal produce and I’ve heard their fall menu is incredible. There’s no-one I’d rather go with, other than you. So let me take you out for your birthday, please?”

“You want to take me out for my birthday?” you asked, surprised.

“I want to take you out on a date. It just so happens that I can spoil you for your birthday at the same time. I want to treat you just like you deserve, käraste, just as I should’ve always treated you. And you deserve the world.”

How could you say no to that?

“You only get one second chance,” you warned him, unable to stop the smile that spread over your lips.

“That’s all I need. I’m going to make this up to you, I promise,” he grinned.

[letorip]

i heard your name [iii]

“your lips were divine and you said that you’d be mine, i was yours for a time, now everything is alright”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after finally opening yourself up to hope, everything comes crashing down in a fiery mess.

warnings: being used, references to sex, really really really bad emotional stuff and lots of conflicting emotions, GASLIGHTING*** so yikes

word count: 4.5k

A/N: i’ve altered the timeline a bit so that there’s more of a gap when miller and cairo kiss and when she cries about miller hating her story.

===+++===

===+++===

Even with your fingers sliding out of Cairo, placing her hot slick on your tongue like the sweetness it was and watching her shake, eyes rolled back to the ivory bed frame, you found yourself preoccupied with other thoughts.

From behind her, on the green of the walls as if there were an HD projector there, you caught a glimpse of the scene from a few days before, splashing with rain and the view you had from behind the bush, the greens bursting from the grey sky. Mr. Miller and Cairo. Cairo and Mr. Miller. Why was he driving to her house? What did he need late at night from his teenage student? Even in the rain, you definitely saw him, right?

“—Helllloooo?” came the voice from underneath you, jolting you from the waking nightmare. You looked down to where she was splayed out on the sheets.

Mascara blotted her cheeks from where the sweat had run, and Cairo shuddered, attempting to right herself. She sat up on her elbows, dark pupils blown out and staring at you in wonder. "Are you even on the planet anymore?" She asked, raising her eyebrows at you.

You managed a weak smile, guarding the real memory that was on your mind like clockwork again. Cairo's hands crept up to your unbuttoned shirt, grabbing each side and tugging you down on top of her, her hands threading themselves into the soft hair at your neck. She held you there, for a moment, resting her nose against the side of your face and nuzzling into you.

It was sweet and it was earnest, and had you not seen what you did, your heart would have done catapults in your chest and squeezed her right back. Instead, you wondered if your disgusting writing teacher had been here too. To what extent was Cairo breaking school policy? To what extent did she care? It was suddenly decidedly less sweet to be in her sheets.

"I should go," you muttered into the bed.

"Hm," hummed Cairo, but she didn't let you go, instead tightening her grip and holding you against her. "That was good," she whispered after a moment, right into your ear. You didn't reply, breathing in slowly and finding yourself consumed by the scent of her perfume. It smelled less like flowers.

Your hand went to the mattress, pushing yourself up and off of Cairo, rolling over. Outside the sky was fading to a languid purple colour, and you stared at it, frowning. From behind you, you could hear a rustling in the sheets.

"Is something wrong?" She asked. Her voice was a sickly sweet wave, stirring the pool of conflict in your gut. You swallowed, shaking your head. "Yeah, right. You're being quiet again," she said, scoffing.

"How are you so sure?" You asked. Your eyes flicked towards her and then back to the garden outside. Cairo was sitting up now, crisscrossed against one of the bedposts.

"Sure of what?"

"Sure you know me, or what I'm 'being.'" You looked back at her. "You talk to me sometimes like you do."

"Well...don't I know you?" She challenged, playing with intertwining her fingers. “What don’t I know?” You squinted a bit to see her dark eyes, in the dim lighting of Cairo's lamps and candles. She absolutely refused to use the bright ceiling fan light, and the shadows hid the shine of her dark brown eyes from where you could study them.

You shrugged, unwilling to answer. "I'm not sure either of us know each other, at this point."

She blinked at you, and then a smile crept out like she thought you were kidding. "Oh, are you mocking me now? Are we back to that pretentiousness thing you ramble about? The Mr. Miller and poetry speech?"

You stared at her, unable to reply. See, there was a certain part of you that hoped she was being taken advantage of— a very cruel part of you. And then there was the exceedingly real possibility that came from knowing Cairo Sweet. The that you couldn't help but give you pause.

The thought that she knew and was doing it on purpose. The thought that she was the one seducing him, and not the other way around. The thought that she was far from brainwashed, and was instead choosing the more insidious route. It was wrong, but it also wronged you, and the thought made you sick to your stomach.

Was that selfish? To want something so terrible for someone just to spare your own feelings? To want that for Cairo? Such thoughts had run through your mind several times for the past several hours, and each time you felt like a worse and worse person. Sometimes when you were with her you felt that way.

"You're being quiet again," She said. "Seriously, I'm going to start thinking you're sick if you don't tell me what's going on," she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

When you didn't reply to that either, she crawled towards you, laying her head on your chest and wrapping her arm around your torso. "I want you to tell me everything. We're close enough for that, right?” Above you in the ceiling, at the edge of the popcorn thread veins that weaved through the plaster like a map was some dark embossing that rich people had. You stared at it for a while.

"...I saw you and Mr. Miller," you said finally. The grief that came with it was unstoppable. It was quiet, but not quiet enough.

Cairo jolted up, yanking her head away from you and scooting a whole foot away as if a snake had bitten her. Eyes wide and wild, jaw slack, tears already starting to form. You watched her go.

"What did you say?" She asked, but not because she hadn't heard you. You repeated yourself anyways.

"I saw you two a few days ago. Together."

She nodded, but her cheeks were a flushed, angry and agitated red. "He dropped off my phone. I left it at sch—"

"—No, Cairo. I saw you guys kiss." She furrowed her eyebrows, looking...confused? This was when it was impossible to read her. Maybe she'd cry and tell you it was all in your head and you’d know your mom’s condition was genetic, or she'd punched him afterwards and she was going to the school board to raise hell and you could proudly stand behind her in support.

Instead, she simply said. "No?"

You stopped. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"We hugged," She replied, shrugging. "That was it. I don’t know what you thought—"

"—Cairo, I saw you."

"(Y/n), that’s illegal and disgusting. We hugged because of stuff with my parents I talked to him about."

"You guys were in the rain. Kissing."

She reached out a hand, putting it on your knee and staring right at you. “I promise. I don't know what you think you saw, but it was rainy and it was getting dark. All we did was hug.”

"I— I saw you. I saw you two," you shook your head, the disgust at the image starting to work its way into your voice. But when you looked up, Cairo was glaring, looking concerned for you and a bit angry at the same time. Maybe you were crazy, after all.

"We hugged. God, how could you even think I would do that??? Is this what you meant by ‘the knowing each other’ bullshit??”

“I saw him here after hours, Cairo. I really don't want to believe it, but I don’t know how to really trust you…”

“Well whose fault is that!? You’re the one who insisted on being a celibate fucking monk for weeks because you didn’t want any semblance of a string attached. So sorry, maybe you don’t know my childhood pet, but I would hope you’d know me well enough to not think I was sleeping with my teacher!”

You scowled right back at her feeling your previous sheepishness roll over into a boiling resentment within you. “You have a bad habit of jumping into the pants of people who you deem good at writing, y’know.”

Cairo’s eyes widened in surprise, and she scoffed at you like she couldn’t believe it. You couldn't believe it either. "Is that what this is? Do you feel inadequate?” She questioned. "You think I'm just going to run off and onto the next person when I'm done using them?"

“No!” you insisted, cheeks flushing. Cairo threw up her hands.

“I can’t believe I have to sit here and convince you to not be jealous of our fifty something writing teacher of all people. Are you seriously that insecure?”

“I’m not insecure!”

“And I’m not some manipulative mastermind!"

"Then why are you lying?"

"God, are you on something?" She snapped, rolling her eyes. She wandered on over to her underwear, pulling them up her legs in frustration. "Normal people don't just accuse someone of a literal crime, (Y/n)," she spat, but the edges of her eyes had begun to water again.

"I saw you!" But your tone was weaker.

"Bullshit! You didn't see anything!" Cairo yelled, crying now. Gentle tears had begun to wash down her cheeks, taking some of the already splotchy mascara with it. She still looked beautiful, crying like that. "You're trying to blow up whatever good this was with your stupid insecurity! Why can't you just let things be good for once?! I was finally starting to have things be good for once!”

You stopped, feeling her words connect with your chest and sink directly into your heart. That hurt more than you wanted to admit. Once more you were wondering if it had really all been in your head. Was this all self-destructive?

You had sworn at seven to never do some of the stuff your mom always did, but the longer you looked at Cairo's tear-streaked face and sad, brown eyes, you began to wonder if the cycle was repeating itself and it was out of your control.

"I-I need to go," you shook your head. Get away.

"Are you seriously leaving again??" She asked, sounding incredulous. You didn't even look at her, grabbing your jacket and your phone, right when it buzzed in your hand. You looked down, seeing there were over twelve missed texts from your mom.

You threw it in your pocket. Now the warning light in your head was really going off. "I really need to go."

"We're not even done here! What is going on with you, and why are you accusing me of bullshit!?”

"Later."

"No, no way."

"Yes. Goodbye Cairo," you ended, throwing it over your shoulder before you fled her bedroom and down the stairs. When you reached the foyer, you heard her yell from the landing, watching you go.

"For a writer you communicate like such a child!" And then she slammed her door.

===+++===

It was remarkable, just how dull the white walls of your room looked now. In the past several weeks of having lived there, you had barely noticed just how blank they were. All of your walls were like that, ever since you had started moving around. People didn't usually bother to paint the walls of newer modern houses after their construction.

The very reason you had this new outlook was hard to ignore, and every single time you replayed the memory of seeing her and your writing teacher together on the porch of her house, the image became less and less cemented in your mind.

There had been a few branches, and the rain was very thick, and her porch was kind of far away, and maybe it was the wrong angle. Maybe you had seen it wrong, and it was all innocent, and Cairo was just getting support from her teacher that she idolised. Maybe she was right: maybe you had just ruined everything.

Of course, then there was the possibility that it was for the best. The overwhelming reality that you would probably be whisked away again in a month, and it was the realisation that you had stopped thinking about it that made you realise you had lived and loved like you’d be staying with her forever. More specifically, you had been a fool again.

You stood up from the ersatz desk, fashioned with a few cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other, and headed down the stairs at the end of the hall. It had begun to get darker outside fast, and the sky was fading from a faint purple to the lighter black of the blanket of night.

On the couch, your mom had splayed herself out, legs thrown haphazardly over the armrest and hands dangling from the seat cushions. Against the far wall was your television, with the big old crack right down the middle from when your mom had accidentally thrown it the week you had first arrived in town.

She didn’t say anything when you walked right past her, and you knew better than to talk to her when she was in one of her moods. It wouldn’t make it any better, it would make her cry. If you just waited a few weeks she would get up from the couch and want to go outside again. You walked right past her instead, going into the old kitchen and rooting around to find something to eat.

“Hey, kiddo,” she called quietly, and you had to stick your head out the doorway to make sure she had even really made the noise.

“Yeah mom?” You asked, a bit hopeful. Talking again was a good sign.

“I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “Why are you sorry?” There was suddenly the very real possibility that she would announce right there and then you were leaving again, and you were still kind of mad at Cairo and at yourself, but you didn’t want to leave. It didn’t feel over. But then again it never did. “Are we going?”

“For all this bullshit I put you through.” She sat herself up on the cushion and you could see in the dim light of the TV she had been crying, eyes raw and red. “You deserve the world, and not someone who’s just…this.”

“Hey,” you said softly, coming up behind her. “That’s my mom you’re talking about.” She gave you a weak smile.

“Nah. Moms are supposed to be there,” she said, looking up at you. “You deserve to not be alone,” she said. You didn’t know what to say back.

It wasn’t a new line of thought for her. The mournful look she gave you and the saddened apologies for your lifestyle happened usually once a month, and whatever connection you thought you two had would be immediately forgotten by an immediate period of high energy, and your mom trying every hobby in existence.

When she got in her moods like this, you could do nothing but watch her rake herself over hot coals like she was the worst person in the world and not your mother, who you were proud of, and who you knew was trying.

But that thing she said, about being alone. It sunk deep into your chest. There was Cairo’s face, eyes streaked with tears that you had caused over something you hadn’t even been sure of.

Maybe you didn’t want to be alone more than you wanted to confront what was so clearly in front of you. The red flag had been given and you had the hard choice of wether you wanted to step right over it or not. You didn't know what to say to your mom, so you said nothing at all, grabbing your dinner and trotting back up the stairs to stare at the wall a little bit longer.

===+++===

"Okay," Winnie clapped her hands together, slamming them down on the end of your table and glaring right at you. "Tell me what the hell is going on."

"What do you mean?" You asked. She put her hands on her hips and looked quite cross.

"Nuh uh, none of that. You and Cairo. Now." You cringed.

It had been about three days since you and Cairo...fell out? It was strange to describe. Class was class and was just as boring and forgettable as it had been before you had heard Cairo's name and knew she existed. She seemed unaware you were even around, any sort of relationship you two had was just washed down the imaginary drain.

Winnie had been miffed beyond belief. One day her two friends were inseparable and then the next, they couldn't be further apart. You weren't especially surprised she had come demanding answers, but that meant Cairo probably wasn't talking to her about it.

"We just have different views," you shrugged. It wasn't technically a lie. Since you had less time to wonder about Cairo, it had become all the more clear how you were irrevocably fascinated and in love with her, and it only made your own fuck up a bit more painful when she walked past you but refused to meet your eyes.

"I'm calling bullshit, kid," said Winnie. She had her eyes narrowed at you, like she was trying to read your face.

"Kid?" you tried to joke. "I'm older than you." Winnie was having none of it, glaring dismissively.

"Then why are you both acting like children?"

You frowned. Would Winnie tell Cairo? Would Cairo even care? Part of you thought she might have been totally done with you. If it was really just a hookup, there was the underlying possibility she hadn't even really cared that you were no longer fucking. Maybe she had moved onto better things.

"Winnie, take your seat," Mr. Miller called, from across the classroom. Winnie spun back around, giving him her best smile before turning to you.

"Later," she insisted. From the front of the room Cairo was watching you both, her eyes focused and sharp.

===+++===

Being back at Cairo's house was definitely strange. The clouds had come back to sit over her roof, hiding it from the sun and the entirety of your walk, it had started to drizzle, soaking your hair and splattering onto your clothes.

You weren't entirely sure why it had to be that day, but Winnie had been less than helpful, and instead just looked at you like you were a kicked puppy, refusing to say more when you told her what was going on between you two.

"That makes sense," she had said, with a weird sheen of guilt. The whole conversation had felt weird, as if there was some unknown truth being held from you, that only managed to make you feel worse. Did she mean it made sense Cairo needed help with her parents? That was what you thought at least. It made the most sense, what with her needing comforting from Mr. Miller.

The whole ordeal had only managed to make you feel worse about confronting her about it and not leaving it up to Cairo to set her own boundaries. You decided right then and there that it meant you needed to apologize.

You weren't even sure she was home, now that you thought about it. The house looked a bit dark from down the green, but it was a rainstorm, so maybe that was normal for Tennessee.

You wandered right up to her door, dripping onto her porch with the expensive real wood and feeling a little bit bad about it. The lights were all out except for the one at the top of the stairs where you knew her room was. She was definitely there.

Your finger went to ring the bell when you stopped, noticing the crack in the door from the frame. It was propped open with a sandal from the nearby shoerack that sat in the mudroom and you frowned, feeling your mind jumping towards the worst possibilities. She seemed to leave the door unlocked all the time, but having it cracked it open was new.

There weren't any instructions for what to do in this kind of situation, and even if there had been, you had failed to ever come across a similar situation anyhow. You did the best thing you could think of, pushing the door open and calling out Cairo's name over the threshold.

No response. Fantastic. You shut your eyes and sighed deeply, before stepping inside. It was normal for the most part, but then your eyes saw the smashed plant pot right there on the table in the foyer, and you started to get worried again.

You raced up the stairs as fast as you could, stopping on the landing and bending over to catch your breath. That had been a terrible idea.

When you were finally no longer about to have a heart attack, you called out to her again.

"Cairo?" You said, loudly towards her shut door. From under the small gap between the door and the floor, the soft lighting from her bedside table lamp bled out into the hall. You lifted your hand, knocking.

"Who is it?" Came her voice, with a slight tremble to it. You frowned, pushing your ear against the door to hear.

"It's, uh— it's me. (Y/n)," you muttered.

"Go the hell away," she replied.

"Right, yeah, I was just gonna—"

"—Leave!" she cut you off. "Get the fuck out of my house. Why are you even here??"

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling awfully awkward. "I came to apologise about a few days ago...the door was just kind of open and I thought...well, I don't know what I thought."

"You know I leave it open," she said back, but with the same weird shake to her voice. You blinked. If you hadn't known any better, it sounded like she'd been...

"Cairo, have you been crying?" You asked, worry filling your voice and your mind, too. "Did something happen?"

"Why do you even care?" She asked. Her voice had even more of a quiver to it now. "You think I'm some weirdo." You winced, figuring you probably deserved that.

"Can I come in?" you titled your head to lay against the door.

"No," said Cairo, but it was closer this time, like she had wandered closer to it.

"Um, okay," you nodded, sinking to the floor outside instead. Even if she didn't especially want you back in her life whatsoever, you figured she could have probably used someone to just listen. Sometimes that's what your mom wanted when she was upset and locked herself away. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"Why?" She mumbled, her voice a bit muffled. You shrugged.

"I want to make sure you're okay."

She didn't say anything for a moment, and you could feel her thinking it over. "I was...disregarded."

You frowned. "Is this about your parents?" When she didn't reply you continued. "It's just, I know you have a rocky relationship with them, so..."

"It's not a rocky relationship," said Cairo. She seemed to have stiffened at the subject, and you figured you had gotten it in one. "Leave it alone." You winced again. A period of silence fell over you both, and your eyes went around the landing, looking at the stacks of books, debating something within yourself.

You remembered her crying that one night, and you remembered pushing her away, and you remembered how painful that had been and how hypocritical it was now that you were bugging her to share. So you swallowed hard and did something you had never done before.

"Cairo," you said softly. "My mom is bipolar."

"What?" She asked. It was clear she was on the other side of the door now, like you were, probably sitting on the ground. Maybe not having her in front of you made it easier to talk.

"Yeah. It's part of why we move around so much. It's just been me and her for the longest time. She doesn't like the medication and stuff...says it makes her fuzzy and my dad was an asshole about it and she thinks one day he's gonna steal me for himself, so we just kinda go from place to place when she feels like it."

"Oh," she said.

"Some days she's invincible and wild, like a hero or something. And then other days she doesn't move off the couch, and sometimes I have to leave food out for her to make sure she eats. I don't know if it's going to be an up or a down day." The confession sat in the air between you for a moment, just out in the open, and it felt like a weight had been lifted right off your chest. The information now lived and died with Cairo Sweet.

"I don't even know where my parents are," Cairo said after a minute. "Somewhere probably in Europe, getting drunk and living life. I can't be mad at them, I'm afraid. I can't call them shitty parents when they're not around to be shitty."

You shook your head. "It doesn't matter how crappy of a parent they are. It still fucks you up when they're not around."

"Maybe," Cairo said softly. "At least they're having fun." It sounded bittersweet, and you wanted to reach through the door to place an arm around her or to stroke her cheek.

"So why were you crying?" you asked.

You heard a thud against the wood, and she must have leaned her head back. "I got a message...they're staying in Europe for a couple months. So they won't be at graduation." It was a clever lie, one that saddened you and filled your heart wit pity.

"Oh," you hummed. Neither would your mom, anyhow. You had glazed over it too, but probably neither would you. You had no idea what you would say if your mom decided to pack you up and move you again before the end of the year. Maybe this time you'd cling and stay. "Cairo?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I accused you of that with Mr. Miller."

She went silent but finally said, "I still don't know how the hell it could've looked like we were kissing."

"Yeah, I don't know.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, (Y/n).”

"I believe you."

"I know."

You two just sat there for a moment, separated by the door but together.

"I'm scared by all this."

"I know," she said.

"You keep saying that."

"I know," Cairo laughed. "You can open the door now, you know."

"Can I?"

"Mhm."

You clambered to your feet, reaching out to the railing to steady yourself. You opened the door and there she was. Against your better judgement and by the sheer sparkle of her warm honey eyes, you forgot every little comment from Winnie or question that was suspiciously dismissed.

And for what it was worth, Cairo looked at you— really looked at you, for the first time since you had met, and decided maybe she liked clinging to your chest.

===+++===

before anyone feels the need to say this, it'll probably be continued in a super messy fourth part that i'm already starting to work on. it may take a while to come out though. anyways thank you all so much for 300 followers and over 2.5k likes on my work. it means so much.

[amourane]

cry for me

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

genre: smut, pwp, enemies but their fwbs??

w/c: 0.8k

summary: you hated theodore nott but why now are you on your knees for him?

warnings: explicit sexual content, degradation, name calling, dacryphilia

a/n: i love theo sm and i'm currently writing an e2l fic with him so this is just me testing the waters! <3

If you were given the chance to either eat worms for the rest of your life or stay in a room with Theodore Nott, you’d choose to eat worms. There was a tiny part of you that knows that you shouldn’t be mean, afterall you’re known for being the sweetest person at Hogwarts, always willing to lend a helping hand to those who needed it.

Theo was just...cold. You didn’t think you’d ever seen the guy crack a smile, only smirks and devilish grins that can never mean something good. He was always lurking in the corners sometimes you wouldn’t even notice he’s there until he says something.

Hate was a strong word and you didn’t like to use it often. But you had grown up with Theo and it was always a constant apocalypse between the two of you. He had once given you a wilted flower on your birthday stating that it was to remind you that everything dies one day, including you. How could one person be so...morbid? It was safe to say that you really really disliked him.

So why were you here, on your knees, a moaning whimpering mess? Well maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought you did.

"Look at sweet little Y/n.” He cooed, grabbing your chin to look up at him, your eyes half shut as you pleaded for more. They were watering and your lips were flushed and glistening. “Who would’ve thought you were such a cock hungry slut. Suck."

At his command, you opened your mouth, tongue licking his tip. Your hands came up to palm his huge cock, whimpering at the girth between your fingers. Everything about Theo screamed seductive and, though you hate to admit it, you did find him irresistible. As he whispered more dirty words you found your panties soaking and he stuffed your face full of him and only him.

Your nose brushed his pelvis as you took him deeper, swallowing as you did. His cock filled your wet cavern, sliding into your mouth repeatedly. Your tongue swiped over the tip again, moaning around his length. The lewd sounds that filled your ears made your body purr in delight as your eyes fluttered shut. Theo threw his head back, his dark hair like a halo around him.

"Fuck-" He cursed, threading his fingers into your hair, pounding his cock into your mouth and you gagged, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose. "Such a fucking slut f’me, you like being my cum dump don't you? Like being used like the filthy whore you are whenever you're needed. Don’t worry I’ll make sure that nasty mouth is full of my cum angel."

The vulgar words he spat out always made your mind spin in a hazy world of lust. Tears leaked out of your eyes as you bobbed your head up and down, taking him as deep as you can. When he delivered a harsh thrust into your mouth, you found your body trembling from the force, your legs felt like jelly.

Your fingers slowly trailed towards your thighs, trying to discreetly open them but the Slytherin caught you. 

“Aww.” He mocked a wicked smirk spread across his face. “Does the cock whore want to touch herself? Are you that desperate of a slut, wait I already know the answer, of course you fucking are.” 

You felt his hands dig into the roots of your hair, tugging roughly and you felt the pain sing through your body. You felt your tears roll down your face, big fat drops as you cried from both pain and pleasure.

“Now you’re gonna be a good fucking girl f’me and keep your hands off what’s mine.”

His mean glare told you enough and without protest, you removed your fingers, placing both your hands on his thighs as you continued to suck, not wanting another punishment. 

The filthy words that spilled out of his mouth never stopped and you felt yourself growing wetter as he called you more names. As the pulsing of your pussy grew you couldn’t help but grow impatient at the stickiness between your thighs. His cock throbbed in your mouth and you knew he’s close. You suck him harder, continuing your little ministrations that you knew made Theo go crazy.

“Shit Y/n.” 

He moaned, feeling the tightness of your throat. A string of curses left his pink lips when he came and it filled your mouth, warmness spreading over your tastebuds and you swallow. His breath hitched when you gave him one last suck before opening your mouth. 

“Who knew the way to shut you up was to fill your slutty mouth with cum.”

When you release your cock, you rub your thighs together, nibbling your bottom lip. “C-Can I get fucked now?” Your voice is raspy and it came out croaky, something Theo adored. He smirked, bringing your face closer to his.

“You sure can, principessa.”

[melanchol1cs]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, iv.

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 4.1k summary: god hates what he can’t have. masterlist | taglist | wips

previous chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. themes of religion, manipulation, religious rationalization, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), leon being mean for like a split second, kissing, virginity loss, fingering, praise, unprotected sex. this is pretty self indulgent, sorry.

a/n: okay so this might be the last chapter of lambs to the slaughter… i really don’t know how i want to end it so yeah, and i’d rather just wrap this up now that i still like writing about it than force myself to continue with no interest whatsoever. but i do have alot of wips and a few ideas for new series that i look forward to sharing w you guys soon :) thanks so much for the support on ltts, love all of you sm, and hope you all have a great christmas <3

he doesn’t know how it happened or how you ended up here, on the couch, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands tangled all up in your hair.

its’s the middle of the week and you went over to his place, like you usually did when your parents were out for work, and now you’re here, your breath hot against his neck and your body pressed close so to his. and it’s all he can focus on. you. you’re all he wants.

the two of you had kissed before, the first time being roughly two weeks ago when you came to him crying, your eyes were red and puffy, and fresh tears were streaking down your cheeks.

the next thing he knew, he had already smothered you with his mouth. it was hard. rough. messy.

when he pulled away, you almost immediately started to complain to him that it was wrong, that the two of you would go to hell for kissing before marriage, and he had to shut you up with another deep kiss before having to talk you through the fact that it wasn’t a bad thing and that the two of you were not gonna go to hell for it, seeing the tears start to swell up in your eyes again.

the coffee mug now sat forgotten on the coffee table, the drink now cold and untouched.

the way your hair feels, tangled between his fingers, as he threads them through the strands.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. your lips are swollen, your hair is mussed, and your clothes are rumpled.

"hey," he reaches up, gently brushing his fingers through the strands of your hair. his other hand slides down your lower back, pulling you flush against him. you're quiet, your eyes fixed on his throat as he speaks. your breathing's harsh, and your body's tense.

“what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft. you don't answer. can't answer. the words are lodged in your throat, threatening to choke you. all you can do is shake your head.

he kisses you again, his mouth slanting over yours. he shifts you slightly on his lap, so that you're settled on one of his thighs, one leg on either side of it. this new position allows for even closer contact. your body molds against his, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. his hands slide up your waist, his fingers gliding over your back, leaving trails of warmth in their wake.

“leon,” you shiver at the contact, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

his hands tighten on your back, fingers digging in just enough to ground you. “hmm?" he asks, his voice soft, but with a hint of something else. his hands move, one cupping the back of your head, the other on your hip, rocking you softly against his thigh.

one of his hands moves to your knee, gently pushing it forward. the action forces you to spread your legs slightly. the other hand's still on your hip, holding you in place. the hand at your knee begins to drift upward and under your dress, fingers dancing on the skin of your inner thigh. you tremble at the touch, your body reacting before your mind has a chance to process what's happening.

"feel good?" he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. the question is rhetorical, and he doesn't wait for an answer.

fingers slip further beneath the dress, fingers splaying across your lower back and creeping up towards your bra clasp.

you try to complain, to object, but all that comes out is a stuttering mess. words jumble in your head, and your mouth refuses to form the right sounds. it's almost as if you've lost the ability to speak, overcome by your body's reaction to his touch.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

his fingers reach the clasp of your bra, and he gently unsnaps it. your body betrays you, arching into his touch despite your protests. his fingers find the underside of your breasts, and you jolt at the sensation.

“leon,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “leon, please… don't want to do anything wrong,"

"baby, there's nothing wrong with this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "do you trust me?” fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, and you tense, ready to push him away.

"please don't..." you shake your head, unable to find the right words to say. "what if... what if god doesn't understand?"

he pauses at your words, considering them for a long moment. "god gave us free will," he says finally, his voice soft but resolute. "and i think he'd be pretty damn disappointed if we didn't use it." his fingers continue probing into your clothed cunt, tracing the lace trim of your panties, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit through the fabric. you tremble at the contact, your hips shifting slightly of their own accord.

you arch into the touch, your back bowing, and your breath catches in your throat.

"doll," he whispers, the word is almost lost in the kiss he presses to the sensitive skin just behind your ear. "look at me."

you can't, can't bring yourself to do so. your eyes are screwed shut, and your face is flushed.

"c’mon, baby, open your eyes." he prompts again, his tone gentle. and when you refuse to comply, he stops moving his fingers altogether, leaving his thumb pressed to your clit through the lace of your panties.

the pressure is just enough to make you squirm, a constant stimulation that leaves you teetering on the edge.

he gently takes your chin in his hand and tilts your face up towards his. slowly, almost hesitantly, you crack your lids open, peeking through the slits.

"please," you whine, your voice high-pitched and desperate. failing to hide the need and desperation stirring within you. you can't form words, can't string together a coherent thought with his skilled fingers wreaking havoc on your senses. instead, you let out a feeble whimper, your head thrashing from side to side as pleasure mounts within you.

“there you go,” he coos, as if praising a small child for completing a task.

"see?" you search his face, seeking some sign of deception, but find only sincerity and unwavering devotion. "nothing bad is happening. it just feels good, that's all." your lashes flutter, struggling to obey. and yet, you yield. your body melting into his touch, and your head tilting back to rest against his shoulder. leon's hand slides up to cradle your face, his thumb caressing your cheek as he whispers reassurance against your hair.

"breathe for me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple.

"it's alright," he soothes. "i've got you." your head starts to spin, and your heart pounds in your ears. your skin feels too tight, like it can barely contain the heat rising to the surface. his fingers finally find the edge of your panties, and with a swift motion, his thumb rubs against your clit, and you jolt, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“leon,” you whine out, his name torn from your throat. his fingers continue their assault, rubbing and pressing against your cunt.

he chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrates against your body. “yeah? you like that?”

you nod, unable to speak.

his tongue plunders your mouth, taking what he wants. you submit to the kiss, your body pliant against him.

you're sprawled across his lap, your legs draped over each other, your skirt riding up your thighs. his hands are everywhere at once, palming your breasts, teasing your nipples, rubbing your clit. you're panting, your breath coming in harsh gasps.

your skin's flushed, your cheeks burning, and your heartbeat's pounding in your ears. "fuck," he mutters, his eyes locked on yours.

two of his fingers swiftly push inside of you, and you cry out, your body bowing off his lap, nails digging into his thigh. he holds you steady, his other hand gripping your hip.

"relax, princess," he coos. "so tense."

you squeeze your eyes shut, your body trembling. his fingers move, sliding against the slick walls of your pussy.

you tremble and shake, your body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. his fingers move, curling and straightening, rubbing against that one spot inside of you that makes you see stars. "lemme hear you, baby," he prompts. "make some noise for me."

you whimper, a broken, keening sound escaping your lips. he chuckles low in his throat, the vibrations of the sound seeming to reach down and press against your clit. "that's it, such a good little doll f’me. feels good, doesn’t it?"

he's right, it feels amazing. you've never felt anything like it before. his thumb is relentless against your clit, your hands fisting in his shirt. you're lost in a sea of sensation, his fingers and thumb working your cunt like it's the most important thing in the world.

“there you go, baby," he murmurs. "just a lil' more." you're not sure what he's asking for, not really. but you feel it in your bones, in the way your entire body is tightening up like a coil spring.

"lemme hear you," he prompts, his voice low and gravelly.

and then you do. you scream, the sound ripping from your throat as your body convulses and spasms. your vision goes white, and for a moment, you're weightless, floating in a sea of bliss. when you come back to yourself, you're slumped against him, your body limp and boneless. he's still rubbing your clit with his thumb, his fingers still curled inside of you, milking out every last wave of pleasure.

"so pretty when you cum," he breathes, his lips brushing against your temple. "so beautiful.”

you can't form a coherent response, not that you'd know what to say. your brain's gone mushy, and all you can do is sag against him. his fingers slowly withdraw, and you whimper, feeling the empty ache of your spent cunt.

“i wanna try somethin' else," he starts to maneuver you. "c'mon, baby, let’s get this off you," he says, pulling your dress up and off.

you don't protest, letting him strip you naked.

he helps you scoot further up the couch, until you're more reclined, your back pressed against the cushions. he settles between your spread thighs, his body looming over yours.

he positions himself at your entrance, the thick crown of his cock notched against your slit. he pushes forward, and you feel him start to penetrate, your body resisting his invasion.

"aah—“ you whimper, forehead creasing.

"n-no, don’t.." you try to protest, but it comes out as a moan. he chuckles softly, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body.

"’m not doing anything wrong," he reminds you. "think you're forgetting that you’re the one who came to me."

his hands grip your knees, holding them back as he sinks more of himself inside of you. you whine, the sting of the stretch causing you to gasp. but it's a good stretch, like after waking up from a long nap. he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance.

"shh, 'm sorry, baby," he grimaces, his pace slowing. "gotta break you in real quick, ‘ts only gonna hurt a bit.”

you try to push against his chest, but he's too strong. he keeps pushing forward, forcing his way into your resisting body. the intrusion is painful, making you instinctively flinch and and jerk away.

"jesus, just fuckin— fucking relax, okay? you're only makin' it worse for yourself,"

he leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss as he bottom's out, buried to the hilt inside of you. "mmpff—“ you mewl against his lips.

your cunt clenches around him, trying to coax him deeper. he groans into the kiss, the vibration of the sound sending tingles through your body.

he starts to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deep grind. you're still sore, still stretching to accommodate his size, but with each passing moment, the pain fades, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

"feels good, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "i know, dolly. i know,”

he nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he sets a slow, easy pace. his hands slide up your legs, your thighs, your hips. one hand comes back up to hold your knees, pushing them down to spread you open.

"gonna take my time with you, princess," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "work you open, nice and slow,”

he's huge, and it hurts, but there's something else, something that makes the pain worthwhile. pleasure, building at the base of your spine.

he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance. you take a shallow breath, and then another, your body starting to unclench. he starts to pull back, sliding out of you, and you whine in protest. but he's just switching it up, angling himself and pushing back inside. and this time, it doesn't hurt so much. in fact, it feels downright good.

"you gotta breathe, baby," he pants, forehead pressed against yours. "just f'get about it. breathe."

he kisses you again, the movements slow and languid, like he's savoring something delicious.

you're not sure how long he works you open. it could've been minutes or hours. time seems to blur together into nothingness. at some point, he tilts his hips, and you feel him nudging against a spot inside of you that makes your whole body jerk. he does it again, and again, until you're writhing beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"yeah, baby, that's it," he groans, forehead pressed against yours. "show me how bad you want it." you try to speak, to tell him that you don't know what he's talking about, that this is all wrong. but the words won't come.

all that comes out is a keening moan, a sound that's equal parts pain and pleasure. he's still easing you open, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. but it's no longer painful, not in the way it was before.

it's... pleasant. yeah, that's the only way to describe it. pleasant and good and right.

"fuckin’ hell, look at you, baby. takin' it so good, you were made for this, doll. made to take my cock," he starts to speak, his words a stream of praise and nonsense, but you barely register what he's saying. the words are distant, a blur of noise as your focus narrows down to the sensations raging through your body.

his hips are moving in a blur now, slamming into you with a rhythmic intensity that's pushing you towards some unknown precipice. he's saying things, praising you, telling you how good you look, how perfect your cunt is wrapped around his cock.

the words are lost on you, drowned out by the escalating tide of pleasure.

“i knew you'd fit me so good," he pants, his hips snapping harder now, driving deeper. "every inch of you made just for me. so perfect ‘nd pretty. and this perfect fuckin’ cunt... fuck, baby... tightest pussy i’ve ever had…" his words are a blur, a stream-of-consciousness praise that washes over you in waves. you can't process them, not really. all that matters is the feeling of him inside of you, stretching you wide, hitting that spot that makes sparks fly behind your eyes.

your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching off the couch as he pistons in and out of you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. your inner muscles are fluttering, clenching around him like a vice, urging him on.

"s'not fuckin' fair," he grunts, his pace faltering for a moment as he fights for control. he's chasing something, you can tell. his movements become jerky, erratic, like he's on the verge of losing control.

"feels too fucking good." he regains his composure, redoubling his efforts until the room is filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and your high-pitched moans.

the pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your gut until you're sure you'll snap. he's hitting that spot inside of you again and again, and you're teetering on the brink — it's all too much, and yet, somehow, not enough.

"please," you whimper, not even sure what you're begging for.

"yeah, baby?" he prompts, his hips stilling deep inside of you. "whatcha need?" you can't form the words, not really. your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. all that manages to slip out is:

"more."

his hips flex, and he slams into you again, the force of his thrust sending you sprawling back against the cushions. you gasp, your eyes widening as he bottoms out once more, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

"so greedy," his hips start to move again, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he senses your desperation. "atta girl.”

each thrust jars you to your core, and you can only cling to him, your nails raking down his back as you're fucked into oblivion.

his fingers weave through your hair, holding your head still as his lips trail over your face. he kisses your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, your cheekbones. each press of his mouth against your skin is gentle, soothing, a contrast to the roughness of his lovemaking.

"easy, baby," he coos, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your ear that seems to seep into your very bones.

his fingers tighten in your hair, holding you as he peppers you face with a series of gentle, soothing kisses. he's a paradox — the way he's caressing you, holding you, so gently, delicately. but the way he’s been fucking you is anything but.

you feel the change in him, a subtle shift in his movements, his breaths. he's close, you realize, and so are you. there’s that coil in your stomach, something that’s warm and fluttering, building towards something you can't quite reach yet.

“leon, leon— feel weird, again..” you stumble on your words.

"weird's good, doll. means you're gettin' there,” he assures. “just... f'get about it. breathe,”

at the same time, he picks up his pace, his hips slapping against yours with a rhythmic intensity that threatens to shake the couch apart.

"gonna cum soon," he warns, his words a guttural groan, his thrusts even more erratic. "when i do, i want you to let go for me, 'kay? just... just fall apart," he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath washing over your skin.

"gonna fill you up," he grunts, his voice strained. "make a mess of your perfect little cunt.”

and your body responds, as if driven by an outside force. your muscles lock, your back arching impossibly high. your cunt spasms around him, milking his cock for all it's worth as it finally rips through you. a blinding, white-hot rush.

his cock throbs inside you, his hips stuttering against yours as he finally reaches the same peak.

hot strings of cum paint the inside of your walls as he empties himself deep inside you. he stays buried inside of you for long moments after, and you’re not sure exactly how long. but when you finally come down from the high, you find yourself draped across his chest, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back, your sides, soothing you as the aftershocks slowly dissipate.

you're a puddle of warmth and satisfaction, your body splayed beneath his, his softening cock still buried deep inside of you.

you're still limp and pliant in his arms, your breath coming in soft pants against his chest.

he shifts slightly, easing his himself out of you with a soft squelch. you flinch at the sensation, and he notices, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you into his arms. he strokes your hair, your back, your sides, his touch gentle and soothing.

"stay a little longer, alright? just... a little bit more," he asks, his tone sweet and pleading. you blink slowly, trying to clear the haze from your mind. it's hard to think clearly when he's speaking to you like this, his words dripping with affection and adoration.

he's saying things, nice things, telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are for him, how much he needs you. it's all a blur, a warm, fuzzy haze that surrounds you, envelops you. it makes you feel cherished, special, like you're the only person in the world.

and you feel like you'd do anything to please him, to make him happy.

your mind flits to the clock on the mantle, its numbers seeming to mock you. you should go home, you know that. your parents will be back soon, and you can't afford to be late again.

“leon… i can’t,”

“c’mon, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "just a few more minutes,” you swallow hard, your pulse fluttering in your throat. it makes you weak in the knees, it takes everything in you not to give in to his request.

“but—“

his arms tighten around you, holding you impossibly close as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "please, doll," he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone that seeps into your very bones. "i need you. just a little more time, 'kay?" his words are a gentle persuasion, a tender plea that tugs at your heartstrings.

he's been so gentle with you, so caring. "i'll make it up to you," he promises, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "i'll take you out, wherever you want to go. just... stay with me a little longer, okay?”

the room feels smaller somehow, as though the world itself has shrunk to the space between his heartbeat and yours. your lips part, the beginnings of another protest forming, but the weight of his gaze stops you short. there’s something in his eyes —dark, pleading, a flicker of vulnerability that you can’t quite name.

“okay,” you whisper at last, the word barely audible, a ghost of sound that slips past your lips before you can think better of it.

his face softens instantly, relief washing over his features like a summer tide. “yeah?” he breathes, his smile curling slow and dangerous, like he knows he’s won.

you nod faintly, unsure of what exactly you’ve just agreed to, or why it feels both terrifying and impossible to resist. your thoughts churn, hazy and fragmented, but his fingers are already lacing through yours, grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet hum that sends shivers down your spine. “i knew you’d understand.”

you close your eyes, letting yourself sink further into his embrace. it’s too easy, the way his words coax you into letting go of the worries clawing at the edges of your mind. for now, it feels safe — his arms, his voice, the way he holds you as if you’re something precious, something he can’t bear to let slip away.

he pulls you closer, your head resting on his shoulder, your legs tucked up against him. you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong. "rest, baby," he soothes. "you had a long day.”

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae @clitorphosis

[dendrofiles]

hi :3 can i req m!whitney fucking m!kylar cuz he's getting annoyed of kylar stalking and trying to steal his PC away (whitney and pc are in a... relationship if you can call it that)🙏🙏🙏🙏 non/dubcon whichever i don't mind

breaking point

YAYAYAYAY I ADORE THIS IDEA!!!! this is the second fic in a row where i’m just… bullying the fuck out of kylar lol. but this one is WORSE!!! i love evil yaoi. hope you enjoy oomf :3 also sorry this took me so long i decided to rewrite the whole thing oops

m!whitney x m!kylar (gn!reader discussed). NONCON!!! anal, hate sex, rough sex, spit (briefly), slapping, belly bulge, dacryphilia. 1741 words.

Whitney’s trainers squeaked against the linoleum floors as he stormed down the hallway. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms so harshly that they drew blood. He gritted his teeth. His vision blurred. The rage inside him was white-hot, simmering just beneath his skin, threatening to boil over. The other students scattered, instinctively moving out of his way as soon as they saw him. Whitney’s wrath was known throughout the school, and nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of his fists.

His head throbbed. He could barely think straight, his thoughts overlapping into an indecipherable, furious cacophony. He was just lucid enough to surge forward, his attention fixed on a short, dark-haired freak standing by his locker. Whitney heard a dark, animalistic sound leave his lips. He saw red. In the blink of an eye, he was standing behind Kylar. Whitney grabbed his hair and slammed his face into the grate of the locker.

Kylar let out a pained yelp. “G-get off me!” he demanded, struggling against Whitney’s grip.

Whitney leaned in over his shoulder, his hot breath dancing over the skin of Kylar’s ear. “Fuckin’ pervert,” he snarled. He flattened his palm against the metal on the other side of Kylar’s head, caging him in.

Kylar grunted, still trying to wriggle free. “W-what do you want?” he muttered.

Whitney slammed Kylar’s face into the locker again, eliciting another cry from the shorter boy. “What do I want, hm?” he mocked. “Here’s an idea. How about you stay the fuck away from my bitch?”

“Your… what?” Kylar managed, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t play dumb,” Whitney snapped. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re stalking my bitch. You stole their underwear and built that freaky little shrine to them.”

Kylar continued to squirm. Whitney shoved his thigh between his legs, pinning him in place.

“And now, they’re telling me that you snuck into their room last night,” Whitney growled. “Fuckin’ disgusting. Makes me sick to think about you putting your hands on them.”

It was true. A little earlier, you had come to Whitney, barely holding back tears. You had told him what had happened to you last night. Whitney felt the fury bubble up inside him. He asked you who had done this to you, already knowing the answer. Whitney left then, set on finding that creep. You were still too in shock to stop him.

Now, the culprit had stopped squirming. Kylar was strangely still for a moment. Then, he spoke.

“They’re not yours.”

Whitney’s grip on Kylar’s hair faltered. His face fell in shock for a moment before his rage returned with double the force.

“The fuck did you say?” Whitney hissed.

“I-I said…” Kylar breathed, his voice quivering. “They’re not yours.”

Whitney’s thigh dug harder into the space between Kylar’s legs. “Of course they’re mine,” he insisted. “They’re my slut.”

“No,” Kyler retorted. “They… they should be mine. It would be better for them. I-I’m the only one who can take care of them. They’ll see.”

The last frayed thread of sanity inside Whitney snapped. His mind went blank. He grabbed Kylar by the collar of his shirt, hearing the smaller boy choke slightly as the fabric pressed into his windpipe. Whitney dragged Kylar through the first door he saw. He flung the door shut, the sound resounding with a loud bang throughout the empty classroom. He threw Kylar down on the teacher’s desk, sending a few leftover papers flying. Kylar whimpered.

Whitney stared down at Kylar, his red-rimmed eyes filled with something terrifying and monstrous. “You…” he began, his voice low and hoarse. “You… fucking…”

Barely a second had passed before Whitney was lunging at Kylar, crawling on top of him on the desk. Whitney pressed his thigh back in its place between Kylar’s. His strong, nimble hand wrapped around Kylar’s wrists, easily pinning his arms above his head.

“You… are disgusting,” Whitney whispered. His voice rumbled against Kylar’s lips. “You… you’ll get what you deserve.”

Whitney pried Kylar’s lips apart. Kylar tried to turn his head away, but Whitney’s fingers dug into his jaw, holding him in place.

“Filth for filth,” Whitney muttered. He spat into Kylar’s mouth, then forced Kylar’s jaw shut. “Swallow.”

Kylar writhed, his legs kicking frantically, futilely. Whitney slapped him across the face. Kylar let out a small gasp, and his body stilled.

“Do what I fucking tell you,” Whitney grunted.

Kylar’s face was red, wrenched to the side from the impact of the slap. He slowly turned his head to face Whitney. A small trail of Whitney’s spit ran from the corner of his mouth. Whitney felt his cock twitch at the sight. It wasn’t that attracted to Kylar or anything. Obviously not. But someone who he despised was writhing beneath him. Someone who had wronged him was completely at his mercy. Who could blame him for getting horny from that?

Kylar peered up at Whitney and swallowed. Whitney’s eyes lingered on the gentle motion of Kylar’s throat bobbing. His free hand wrapped around Kylar’s neck. He didn’t try to choke him. It was the gesture that counted.

Whitney was about to speak when he felt something pressing against his leg. He glanced down and saw a tent in Kylar’s pants—not a huge tent, obviously, but still—poking into the flesh of his thigh.

Kylar let out a noise that sounded like a squeak. “I… I’m not…”

A sharp laugh from Whitney shut him up. “So, this is what gets you off, huh?” he mused. “You’re one of those sick fucks who needs to be abused to get his dick hard.”

“No!” Kylar cried. “I-I don’t like this!”

Whitney ignored him. His hand wandered down and tugged at the hem of Kylar’s trousers until they relented, slipping down his thighs. Whitney noticed immediately that Kylar wasn’t wearing underwear. He snorted.

“I-I forgot,” Kylar managed.

“Of course you did,” Whitney murmured.

He eyed Kylar’s cock. It wasn’t as small as he would have thought, but it wasn’t huge, either. It was perfectly average. In any case, Whitney pitied the poor fuck that would have this inside them one day, because it probably wasn’t all that clean.

He ran his thumb over the tip. Kylar’s whole body shuddered violently in response.

“Never been touched there before, have you?” Whitney tutted. “Damn shame. Well, I’m not going to touch you there either.”

He pushed himself up to kneeling and quickly undid his belt buckle. He pulled his pants and underwear down just enough to reveal his thick, erect cock. He liked it this way—Kylar fully exposed, terrified and quaking, and himself, almost fully clothed, with only his cock on display. Everything about Whitney screamed power. Just the way he liked it.

Whitney released Kylar’s hands. Kylar immediately tried to grab Whitney’s shoulders and push him away, but another slap across the face stopped him.

“You’re not getting out of this,” Whitney muttered. His hands, now free, gripped the undersides of Kylar’s thighs and lifted them up, practically folding the boy in half. He ignored the wail of pain from Kylar at the stretch.

Whitney lined up his cock with Kylar’s hole. It was only then that Kylar seemed to realize what was happening.

“D-don’t!” he shouted. “Stop! I-I’m not-”

Whitney tore at the fabric of Kylar’s shirt, ripping off a scrap just large enough to stuff into Kylar’s mouth. “Shut up and this will be a hell of a lot easier,” he hissed. “Who knows? You might even cum from it.”

Then, without any preparation or prelude, Whitney shoved his cock as far inside Kylar as it would go. Kylar’s screams of pain were muffled by the makeshift gag. Whitney gasped for air, hovering over Kylar as he adjusted to the feeling of being inside him.

“F-fuck,” Whitney whispered, his eyes wide with awe. “Fuck, I can’t believe this is your first time. I would’ve thought that someone would’ve discovered this tight hole sooner.”

With that, Whitney started moving, giving Kylar no chance for reprieve as he thrusted with a breakneck pace. Kylar’s screams were quickly reduced to pained whimpers. Tears spilled over the edges of his eyes, which only spurred Whitney on.

“Fuck, keep crying, that’s so good,” Whitney panted, his hips moving with an almost inhuman intensity. “You deserve this. You deserve every bit of this.”

Kylar’s cock leaked pitifully, red and untouched. A bulge formed on his stomach, his flesh protruding outwards from the sheer girth of Whitney’s cock thrusting into him. His torn shirt was the only thing left defending his dignity. His arms were technically free, but they weren’t of much use to him, pinned under his own thighs and the crushing force of Whitney’s strength.

Whitney laid a hand on Kylar’s stomach. “Look at that,” he said, his voice filled with awe. He fished around in his back pocket until he found his phone, then quickly snapped a photo of Kylar. When Kylar glared at him, Whitney laughed. “You think I’m sharing that photo? Fuck no. That’s all for me.”

All it took was a few more pointed thrusts into Kylar’s prostate before he was cumming hard, his back arching off the desk even as he fought against it. A series of strangled moans filtered through the fabric of the gag.

“See, you do like this,” Whitney breathed. “Told you so. Nasty little fucker.”

His movements grew more erratic as he neared his climax. “Gonna cum inside you,” he huffed. “I bet it’ll stay in you for weeks, since you never shower.”

Tears streamed down Kylar’s face, his body having long since gone limp. Whitney fucked him like a ragdoll, like a fleshlight, like he wasn’t human at all. A loud groan left Whitney’s lips as he came, his hot seed filling Kylar’s ass. He withdrew his cock, but the bulge in Kylar’s abdomen stayed. There was no sound in the room besides two sets of breaths—one blissful and satisfied, the other hoarse and labored.

Whitney stood up. He tucked his cock back into his boxers and re-buckled his belt. He snapped another photo of Kylar, wanting to preserve the image of his cum leaking out of the smaller boy’s ass, then slapped him one more time for good measure.

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” Whitney threatened. He strode towards the door, slamming it shut as he shouted one last command over his shoulder:

“And stay away from my slut!”

[sectumsempraaa]

Being coworkers w/ the Slytherin boys (headcanons)

feat. Draco, Mattheo, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo

this one’s for the working folks bc you KNOW these guys would make work so much more fun!! :)

Draco:

- extremely punctual

- judges you for how you write emails

- picks you up in his car before your shift every day

- has a kettle plugged in AT his desk for maximum tea drinking

- will often leave you a cup on your desk too without you asking for it

- writes 95% of paperwork by hand

- kisses ass to your boss but vents to you later about how much he hates them

- overdresses even on casual fridays

- takes his lunch break with you every day and has your meals delivered (doesnt even ask what you want, he’s just good at this)

- gets turned on when you sit on his desk and look down at him

Mattheo:

- consistently 5-10 minutes late but everyone’s just kinda used to it

- takes mass transportation bc he keeps failing his drivers test

- stops to get you both coffee before work (thats why he’s late!!)

- will respond to emails you’re too scared to answer

- similarly will pick up the phone when you don’t want to

- office pranks galore with this guy

- calls you from his desk (it’s next to yours) to ask you to meet him somewhere so y’all can makeout

- also calls you when he sees someone he KNOWS you hate trying to talk to you at your desk to get you out of it

- post-shift treat several times a week

- most likely to pleasure you from under your desk 🤭

Theo:

- gets distracted easily and falls behind on work

- is so quiet no one really even knows he’s there

- bribes the office manager into making you his secret santa

- has a private email thread between the two of you that goes on and on all day with complete nonsense and memes

- visits your cubicle and sits there for like an hour at a time

- holds your hand under the table during meetings

- “ugh can we go home now” “theo we haven’t even clocked in yet”

- hacks the system to change the schedule around so you always have the same shifts

- cooks your lunches at home and brings them to work for you

- 100% takes naps under his desk when you’re out sick and he’s alone/bored

Blaise:

- gets along with everyone

- often leads meetings and presentations bc everyone trusts him

- winks at you from across the office several times a day

- has everything in his desk from stain remover to first aid kit to microwaveable ramen

- checks each paycheck (and yours) to make sure y’all get paid RIGHT

- hugs you from behind your chair like 1000 times a day (ft. neck kisses)

- flies paper cranes into your cubicle with cheesey pick up lines

- knows how to get your fav snacks from the vending machine without paying

- will randomly do some of your tasks bc he’s so ahead on his

- LOVES a business trip and gets you two ALL the travel upgrades

Lorenzo:

- does not give a fuck about getting anything done

- but somehow is pretty much always caught up/in good standing

- does the bare minimum but makes up for it by being extremely charming

- faxes you (yes, faxes) memes when he is extra bored

- steals people’s things off their desk if he doesn’t like them

- never abides by the dress code

- lies to your boss to get you out of meetings and leave work early

- convinces you to call out with him so you can spend the day together

- has a keycard that opens every door in the building, don’t ask how he got it

- switches nametags/IDs with you and thinks its the funniest thing in the world

- headphones in 24/7

ALL of them love to say “if you ever leave i have to quit too. i can’t work here without you” and they MEAN it!!

[crystlizabeth]

TwinDad!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley with his girls!

The twins are OC’s!

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

- dad!Simon who was left with his twin girls while his wife was at work.

- dad!Simon who had to tell Zhuri her mama will hurt him if he took down her hair because she wanted to wear it a different way.

“Zhuri you cant take your hair down love.”

She gave him a hard glare a glare that seemed a little familiar coming from her face, she was his after all. “Why not” she huffed her arms crossing looking up at her father with a dirty glare her hip popping out in a sassy manner.

He Tsked at his daughter his hand coming to his hip “Because your mother will hurt me.” He answered simply.

She uncrossed her arms dramatically her little foot stomping as she threw her head up, “but I d’ wanna wear pigtails daddy!” She huffed.

“Zhuri ila, drop the sass.” He spoke trying to sound stern but couldn’t help at the helpless kid.

-dad!Simon who honestly had no trouble with his other daughter with her hair but with her shoes…

-dad!Simon who had to comfort little Sa’diya as she cried because she couldn’t tie her shoes laces now but could do it when her mommy was home.

“Sy sweetheart let me help you..” Simon said crouching down next to the little girl who wiped her teary eyes.

She shook her head, “Nuh uh I can do it! Mama show me yesterday.” She snuffled her little lip quivering.

Simon who hated seeing her this so he talked her through tying her lace Sa’diya telling him she knew what she’s doing every time he point a to her shoe.

-dad!simon who deals with his hellion Zhuri as she tries to start a WWE match with him as he helps her twin sister. But it end with the girls getting at eachother.

“Stop it Zhuri!”

“Your not the boss of me ‘Diya!” Zhuri shouted hanging on her father trying to pull him back.

“Did you brush your teeth I can smell your breath from here smelly.” Sa’diya said glaring at her sister.

Zhuri responding by blowing a raspberry at her.

-dad!Simon who thought okay maybe breakfast will be easier wrong. leaving them to eat as he collected their school bags the twins began to argue again.

-dad!Simon watch Zhuri show her sister her chewed food and Diya threading to throw her scrambled eggs at her and ruin her hot pink hello kitty shirt.

“You wont.” Zhuri said.

“Bet I will.” Sa’diya replied.

“You wouldn’t.” Zhuri dragged on.

Simon watched as the oldest twin grab some of her eggs in her hand getting ready to throw it as her sister “Sa’Diya Jovonnie. Put. The. Eggs. Down.” Simon spoke sternly from the kitchen counter, knowing if he let this go on he would be cleaning up egg and have a crying child because her favorite shirt had egg on it.

He watch as she dropped the egg back on her plate glaring at Zhuri who sat across from her with a cheeky grin on her face. “Listen ya little shit keep at that with ya sister imma let her have it at ya.” Simon spoke out knowing Zhuri was taunting her sister.

“What! I’m not doin anything daddy!” Zhuri protested turning around in her chair a grin still plastered on her face her little dimples popping out.

He hummed in response.

-dad!Simon who finally got them him his truck in their booster seats. The girls for once this morning not arguing but talking about a little art project they had.

-dad!Simon who had to walk his girls to their class because no is never an option with them. Carrying both pink and purple backpack on his shoulders his hands being held by the two girls at the walk him to the front of the school.

-dad!simon who watches Zhuri look up at him telling him to stop before they get all the way up knowing how he is with his face.

“Daddy if you want your mask you can put it on.” She whispered smiling at her father.

“It will be alright darlin’ it doesn’t bother me like that love im with you two alright.” He smiled lightly at the girl pulling her into a small hug in his crouched down position.

Simon giving her a kiss on the side of her face causing a fit of giggles.

-dad!simon who knew this was not ‘Diyas favorite place once he got to her classroom he little hand griping on to her father’s jacket.

-dad!simon who watched her eyes fill with tears because she did want to be here.

“Do I have to go in..” she mumbled.

Simons hand who tilted her head up looking down at her with a reassuring expression “it’s alright love, I promise. I’ll be here to pick you up this afternoon as well,”

She nodded lightly “will mommy be with you?” She asked. Sy was a mamas girl for sure not that she didn’t want Simon around but Zhuri was the same way with him. He leaned down kissing her forehead “that’s from yer’ mama she loves you lots and we’ll see her tomorrow morning okay luv?” He spoke softly.

A small sniffle and she nodded “you got this Sy, your strong, confident girl, you can do it right.” He said still looking down at her little brown eyes her lashes wet from tears.

“I can do this, I’m strong and confident.” She said. Simon chuckled.

“Atta girl.” He kissed her head once more watching her as she walked into her classroom.

-dad!simon who now had to deal with his hellion and her teacher who liked him. But Zhuri always shut her down.

“Why are you talking like that to my daddy?” Zhuri crossed her arm’s sassily looking at her teacher who had started lightly flirting with Simon.

“My daddy doesn’t like other girls besides my momma, and me obviously.” She grinned.

Her teacher got quiet but let Zhuri know that she should say goodbye to her daddy, Zhuri who gladly tackled her father hugging his torso Simon who laughed picking her up “you’ll get points from your mama with that one.” He chuckled kissed Zhuris cheeks setting her back down.

“Bye Daddy!”

“Bye ya hellion don’t cause trouble.” He said.

“Cant promise anything!” She grinned.

-dad!Simon who always come back to the thought that he would never have children or family but now he stood here with his girls. Learning to do their hair. What foods they like and dislike. Going through a phase where he would call them each others names to the point they started playing tricks on him on who’s who. Now he sat at gymnastic meets, softball games and whatever those girls wanted to do may it be soccer, basketball ball, swim. Simon was right there, he would sit with them playing tea party and doctor. He would let the girls color in his sleeve when he needed them quite.

-dad!Simon who when her first held them his whole world lit up. And he knew that he would do anything for them. He would kill for them.

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

[starcrossedxwriter]

Wicked Fantasies Part 11.1 (MBJ x OC)

A/N: Ummm so welcome backkk! This is 11.1 because there's a second part to this chapter (I know... my self control keeps getting worse lolol) But I hope you enjoy!

TW: grief

“I’m never fucking drinking again,” Raven moaned to herself as she stumbled out of the comforts of bed. She felt like hell, if hell had a truck run over its head a few dozen times. 

Raven generally considered herself an early riser but nothing could pull her out of bed that morning after what was, objectively, the dumbest night of her life. Part of her wished she had had one or two more drinks so she could have officially transitioned into the ‘blackout drunk’ phase. So that she would, at least, be spared the embarrassing memories. But no, every horrible moment of the night from dancing wildly at the bar to Michael saving her was etched into the crevices of her brain with shocking clarity. 

Now, it was after noon and Raven still found herself wanting to be curled under her blanket asleep so she could escape her embarrassment. 

A knock at the door pulled her out of her wallowing self pity. She did not make an attempt to move, expecting Tiffany to answer. However, when the voice of their landlord rang out and her knocking persisted, she quickly slid on her robe to open the door. She decided Mrs. Winters would have to get over the fact that she looked like death reincarnated. 

“Rough night, dear?” 

Raven grimaced for a moment, she did indeed look as terrible as she felt. 

“Something like that,” Raven offered a tight smile, her body slumping against the door. “W-what can I do for you, Mrs. Winters?” 

“Oh I’m just letting everyone know that we had a pipe burst on the floor above. We’ll have folks in and out and you might hear some noise and stuff. But if you see any leaking into your unit, give me a ring?” 

“Of course. Will do. Thanks, have a good one,” Raven tried her best to politely shoo the woman away. However, she lingered. 

“Oh I meant to tell you, that boyfriend of yours is just such a good egg. So kind and polite. Admittedly I haven’t met many famous people,” she laughed. “But you just don’t expect them to have such good manners, you know?” 

Raven stopped. “My boyfriend?? Sorry… When was he here?” 

“He stopped by this morning. Gave me a check for your rent for the rest of your lease. Oh and asked where your mailbox was, said he wanted to drop something in it.” 

Raven was worried her jaw might come completely unhinged as the woman spoke. 

He did what?? 

“Are you alright, dear??” 

“Y-Yea, yea. Just… a bit of a surprise. Thank you.” 

And with that, Raven immediately closed the door, not listening to the elderly woman’s reply. 

“This nigga… I hate him,” she muttered to herself as she slumped against her door. 

Every cell in her body knew that was not true. But she also knew that everything she had told him last night was still accurate. She was too tired to forgive him and not just him… anyone ever again. The world has used up all of her second chances and she did not have it in her heart to be disappointed by him again. The narrative in her brain was so set in stone, she did not think anything he could say or do would make her believe anything else. She could not even make herself go retrieve the note that was apparently waiting for her in her mailbox. 

“Such a coward,” she grumbled as she flopped back into bed. 

She stared at her phone for several minutes, her text thread with Michael open. She wondered what she could even say? Thank you?

She knew any conversations demanding she pay him back or he rescind the money would be moot. Even if she had the mental fortitude to argue with him right now, she would still lose. But she could not just accept it without trying to push back. 

She typed and erased and typed and erased before lamely landing on: 

Raven: You can’t pay my entire rent. I can’t accept that. 

Raven: I don’t want that.

Michael: Yea you can. Told you… gonna show up every day tryin’ to fix us. You just gotta let me.

Raven: Money isn’t gonna fix this, Michael. 

Michael: I know. But it can fix the tangible things I fucked up for you

Michael: So let me fix that for you. 

Raven paused, as a warm sensation filled her, a warmth she had not felt in over a month now. The warmth of being cared for. She had never had someone take care of her without wanting something in return, except Michael. Even when their relationship was built on transactions, he still took care of her without needing or asking for something from her. The book deal, her rent were just the tangible examples of how he had stepped up to right the wrongs he could and she could not deny that those actions meant something, softened something inside her. 

He was doing exactly what he promised he would do the night before. He was fixing what could be, he was showing with his actions that she meant something to him. And yet, that blockade that stopped that belief from taking root was still there, still prohibiting her from believing these actions were anything more than a skilled manipulation. 

He would draw her back in, he would not change, and when he got ready, he would hurt her again. That’s what everyone in her life did. 

Raven: It doesn’t change anything

Michael: I know… didn’t expect it to.

She tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her pillow, screaming into it as her frustration got the better of her. The complex web of conflicting feelings with Michael B. Jordan trapped at its center only continued to grow. She wanted him to let her go, to stop caring and trying and going out of his way for her because that fit into the narrative nailed to the cross of her brain, it would confirm her beliefs and fears. 

But instead he continued to do the things that made her fall in love with him the first time, things that only reignited the dimmed but still existent flame that was her love for him. And she knew she would never get over him if she kept letting that happen, kept letting him in. 

So she did not even respond. Instead, she just closed the thread and tossed her phone to the side. 

“Let him go, Rae,” she demanded to herself. “You don’t deserve him and he doesn’t love you.” She repeated that a few times before it felt real again, before all that had started to soften was once again as solid as a block of ice. 

***

“You look like shit,” Alex moaned as she watched Michael’s makeup artist, Shanta, struggle to make him look less like a living zombie ahead of his Oprah interview. 

They were tucked away in a suite in Oprah's sprawling LA estate. It was difficult to make Michael feel poor but Oprah was certainly one of the few people in the world who could do so. 

“Thanks, appreciate that.” 

“You know I don’t believe in lying to you. Make sure you get those bags under his eyes,” she instructed. “Alright, this is it. Final stretch. Movie’s out and every review is stellar so far. Do this interview, it’ll air this week, Oscars on Sunday and then you can sleep. Though I bet it’s not the schedule keeping you up? Talked to her since the premiere?” 

Michael forced his body not to sag at the mention of Raven as to not disturb the hard work of the woman trying to make him look alive after days of no sleep.  

“She texted me about the rent thing the next morning. But it’s been radio silence ever since.” 

It had only been a few days since the fiasco after the premiere but Michael’s concern for Raven had not diminished one bit. He  could not let her go as she requested but he tried his hardest to respect her desire for space. His heart was stuck in the quicksand that was Raven and he had no desire to pull himself out. He wanted to be right there. He knew eventually he would have to accept defeat, accept that she had moved on. But he could not do it while she still questioned her own deservedness. She could hate him for the rest of his life, it would be her right. But his soul could not allow her to live thinking so lowly of herself. So if he had to pay 30 years of rent or call in favors to make her life easier and make her see that she deserved care and someone to sacrifice for her, he would do it. It was high time someone in her life put her above themselves. 

“Well, at least she talked to you. That’s something. You’re doing what she asked. Sis has lived a life, she needs time and space. Keep doing what you're doing. Except for the no sleep. For the love of God, by the Oscars, please get a good night’s rest. That’s your night.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Alex…” 

She scoffed. “You’ve won the big four, Mike. It’s not just because I believe you deserve it… Statistically, Best Actor is yours. The Oscars is your night. Have a little faith in yourself.” 

“I hear you. I just don’t wann-” 

“Excuse me?” A young man poked his head in the door. “Apologies for interrupting. I’m a PA. Just wanted to let you know that we’re almost ready? I can take you out to the garden when you’re ready.” 

“Be right out. Thank you,” Alex called. 

Shanta did her last quick finishing touches before Alex gave him her customary once over. 

“Shanta, my girl, you’re a miracle worker per usual.” 

They both offered Shanta their thanks, Michael rolling his shoulders before heading out the door to walk out to the gardens. 

He had met and interviewed with Oprah once before so he was not particularly nervous. But despite having done millions of interviews, there was always a kernel of nerves right beforehand that he could just never shake. 

He was dressed in slacks and a light black sweater, thankful for a cooler day as he walked out into her expansive gardens where the Oprah Winfrey waited for him. The cameras were already rolling, capturing footage that may or may not make into the hour-long special. 

“The man of the hour!” she called, her arms stretched wide to wrap Michael in a hug. “Actually I think man of the year is more appropriate. Welcome. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have you here.” 

“Thank you, thank you. It’s so good to be here.”

“Have a seat,” she gestured at the very comfy chair across from hers. “And we can jump right in.” 

***

Raven’s head was propped against her fist as she stared at her computer. A sentence. That was the grand total of her hard work for that Wednesday afternoon. But it was something, she supposed. Weeks of hard work had amounted to maybe two or three pages of her book. She had been offering Angelina vague answers on her progress, ducking and dodging her to avoid admitting that there was no way in hell she could have a draft by March 15 like they talked about. 

“Rae? You busy?” 

She turned in her chair toward the door to find Tiffany’s head poking in. 

“Nope… I’ll never be busy again at this rate,” she grumbled. “What’s up?” 

“I just turned on the interview… if you want to watch?” 

Raven scratched her head, unsure if she could even watch him? See him happy and thriving without her? Despite everything happening between them though, she could not pretend there was not a part of her that still wanted to celebrate this moment in his career. Interviewing with Oprah the week he was poised to win his first Oscar? How could she ever forgive herself if she did not watch this? Even if it hurts? 

“I’ll… be there in a sec. Thanks, Tiff.” 

Raven let out a deep sigh before she grabbed the blanket off her bed and dragged herself to the living room. The interview had already started and he looked gorgeous. Tired, she could tell, in the way he constantly had to readjust his posture, in the bags under his eyes that the makeup artist could not quite fully cover. But even at his worst, he looked captivatingly good. 

Raven found herself studying him so intently that she did not even comprehend the words he and Oprah were sharing. She just watched him and his mannerisms, she focused on the glimmer in his eyes that sparked every so often. She missed looking into his eyes, missed how expressive they were.  

This moment only amplified how much she missed him, missed hearing the deep baritone in his voice and the spark in his eyes when he spoke about his passions. She missed his bright and uninhibited laughter, how his hands were always on her in some way. She just missed him. But she had pushed him away, had told him to let her go. And even if he had not fully let go of her yet, she felt too scared to open that door again, even if her soul ached for her to. Particularly when he continued to try to show up for her in small ways. 

And despite how angry she still wanted to be at him, she had never had anyone show up for her quite like this… try for her like he did. And everyday, her brain took up far more mental space than it should have, debating whether she should follow her foolish heart and forgive him or listen to her logical brain and cast him aside. Days passed and she still did not know the answer. 

“So I’ll admit,” Raven’s ears finally started to pick up the conversation between Oprah and Michael, “I watched Waves more times than appropriate. But Gayle and I saw it at Sundance and we both thought it was just the most heartbreaking and poignant look at loss and grief that we had ever seen. While still being engaging and funny and so relatable. The journey your character goes through is just… I mean I think grief is one of the few universal experiences that we all will have at some point. And you really brought that to life through this character and his struggles with addiction. And the fact that you filmed this while engaged in completely different projects with complex characters like Killmonger in Black Panther and Adonis in Creed 3… I’m curious what you pulled from to give that performance?” 

Michael shifted in his seat as he chuckled, Raven had missed how passionate he got about this project, even though he had been talking about it and doing press for it since they first started dating. She knew he had not truly expected the role to blow up in the ways it did but she could tell he was grateful for it, nonetheless. 

“Well first, thank you. Yea aside from Oscar Grant, Andre was the hardest character I’ve ever played and he stretched me as an actor in ways, you know, I didn’t really expect? And I learned so much from him in his sort of journey through grief. You know, when I read the first script, the line ‘grief is the final stage in love’s evolution,’ really stuck out to me. When you lose someone, grief, this enduring pain you feel, is that love shifting and changing because it has nowhere to go, there’s no outlet for it anymore. And so, Andre really reframed my own thoughts on grief and loss and how I process that and allowed me to pull from personal experiences with loss to pour into that character.” 

“Yea I will say, that line was one of my favorites. I sat with that long after the credits rolled.” 

“Yea same. I remember sitting a-and thinking about that one for a while after reading it. And I loved that even in the more comedic moments of this movie, we still had those lines that made you wanna stop and really sit with what the characters were going through.”  

“Definitely, I was dissecting this movie for weeks after. It’s just amazing. So I do want to shift gears to talk about this moment you're experiencing because of this movie. This really is the biggest moment of your career. You’re nominated for your first Oscar and a favorite to win, so far in 2023, you’ve won a SAG Award, Golden Globe, and BAFTA. And you, as of two days ago, just had your directorial debut in Creed 3. First question, how are you still awake?” Both of them shared a laugh. “But serious question, how has this moment felt? How does it feel to be having this moment at this stage of your career?” 

“Oh wow, when you list it like that, I don’t know how I’m awake either,” he chuckled. “But seriously, you know… it’s been a ride. I know you’ve felt this too but you know, you don’t often take a moment to just pause and soak it in. You finish one interview or award show and your mind automatically just jumps to the next one. And I think what I’ve been trying to force myself to do in the later weeks of this insane time is just to slow down and enjoy it. Not rush through it and really enjoy the fruits of… really years of hard work and sacrifice. But that also means sitting with… you know, the challenges of this time too, which isn’t as rewarding,” he admitted with a sad smile. “But I’m growing and learning alot so it’s worth it.” 

Oprah nodded. “You know I always appreciate when people don’t let the 24 hour news cycle and gossip sort of steal their thunder and moment from them. And I applaud you for sort of moving through the more gossipy side of the last few months with grace and maturity. But you haven’t really talked much publicly about those stories and the effect they have had on you. And you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want but I am curious on how you navigated that and really came out on the other side, from what I can see, stronger for it?”

Michael bowed his head and chuckled. “Um… you know a good friend of mine told me that she thought this was the most vulnerable and most genuine I had ever been publicly on this press tour and I think it’s because I’ve had to navigate some really personal stuff during this great but hectic public moment? And that’s new territory for me.” 

“And I think that friend is right. I don’t think we have seen or learned this much about you ever.” 

“Yea and I wish I could take some credit for it but… it was all one person: Raven Turner. And the way we met, now as the world knows, was extremely unconventional and I can admit that our relationship started as a complete lie. A lie I thought would help me be seen as this serious, mature man my team was worried I wasn’t. And I wasn’t,” he admitted. “I was cold and guarded and not at all the best version of myself. And while I regret how we started and trying to fool the world into thinking I’m something I’m not, there isn’t a bone in my body that regrets falling in love with her.” 

He leaned forward a bit as he spoke. “Because all those walls and barriers we build around ourselves to survive in this world of Hollywood? To endure the criticisms and insanity we deal with? She's the first woman to see me. Not the actor and the money and the fame but just me. And in that, she saved me… without trying or intending to. She just loved me and loving her, choosing her is the single greatest decision I ever made. And I hate how this moment has fallen on her, how my terrible decisions led to these pretty disgusting misogynistic attacks on her. And I think my biggest regret is putting someone as pure as her in the line of fire like that and not doing enough to protect her. And you know, I have to live with that, which is tough.” 

“You know I’ve interviewed thousands of people in my career and while I believe you have to change for yourself and on your own, I also have found that the ones who love us, really love us, are often the most powerful catalysts for change in our lives. I’ve certainly seen and experienced that in my own life and it’s important to spotlight those who were that catalyst.” 

“Oh 100%. Especially when, I think this version of me was always there? I was just too hurt to trust anyone with it, so no one saw it. I buried me under this facade I thought was better? But I fell in love with a woman who taught me that you can’t be guarded, you can’t shut down just because you’re hurt. Life is about getting up every day, being authentically you, and reaching out and loving and risking your heart every time. And sometimes you’ll get swatted away and sometimes you’ll get an embrace. But you just deny yourself love when you don’t show up at all. So I’ve been trying to live by that more lately. Because she showed me what real strength and courage looks like. And I want to have that, I want to lead with that.” 

“Wow… you know people are going to watch this and I think, applaud that vulnerability. It’s refreshing to me because I don’t think our world incentivizes or encourages people to admit when they aren’t being their best selves. So I think for you to do that, at a moment when you’re at the top of your game, is commendable.” 

“She deserves to know the positive effect she’s had on my life. To be celebrated for how she supported me. And you know it’s not just me? When we first started dating, I remember her one stipulation was that we couldn’t go out on Wednesday evenings because she hosted a book club for kids at the library she worked at. And that was the most important thing to her, being there for them. The day of our first date, she spent an hour delivering books and SAT prep books to those same kids she worked just because. There’s just a selflessness to her that is truly admirable. And I think while people are attacking her and calling her these vile names because she made a certain choice during a hard time, they should know who she really is. A woman that would drop everything to help you even when you don’t really deserve it. A woman who I’ve seen give others all she had because they needed it more even when she did not have a backup plan for herself. I could honestly talk about her for the rest of this interview because she deserves celebration far more than I ever could. Genuinely good people don’t always get the shine they deserve, they don’t always get the love and care they deserve because we can often take them for granted. But no one deserves to be celebrated more than her, to be celebrated loudly more than she does.” 

“I love that… she seems like quite the woman.” 

“She is… and I hope she knows that.” 

“So tell me about…” 

The words faded away as his words tumbled through Raven’s head. They clashed jarringly against every belief she had internalized about herself, like metal against metal. But she found herself wanting to believe him. Believe the words a section of the world just heard. She wanted to believe that what he saw in her, even over the course of six months, was who she truly was. Not this broken, damaged scapegoat life had fashioned her into. 

There has to be more than this, right? 

Tiffany nudged her with a box of tissues in her hand. Raven had not even realized she was crying but she accepted them gratefully. 

“Don’t know how I still have tears over this man left,” she whispered as she wiped her eyes. 

“I don’t think those tears are because of him, sis.” 

Raven sniffled and grabbed another tissue. “You m-might be onto something. I can’t watch anymore. Night, Tiffany.” 

However, before she reached her bedroom, she heard Tiffany call her name. 

“I know what he did… sucks. And hurts. But that’s a man who loves you, Rae. More than anything. After that? The only person in the world who still won’t believe it is you.”

She turned around to face her, the back of her hand wiping away a few more stray tears. “You know he said the same thing?” 

“Well, I generally don’t think actors are that smart,” Tiffany admitted with a laugh. “But he’s right about that. You deserve to believe good things about yourself, we all do.”

“Nothing good has ever lasted… I always ruin it somehow. I tried to believe I deserved him and life proved that I didn’t,” she answered, her voice small. “D-Don’t have it in me to try again.” 

“Raven… I know we aren’t best friends or anything. But how many times have I watched you forgiven your dad and sister? Let them back in, try to make things right with them? Try to build the family you want?” 

“Too many…” 

“Right… So why does Michael only get one shot when you found the strength to give them 100? When he’s the one actually showing up for you? He’s the one who actually is trying to earn another chance?”  

“It’s not that simple and you know it.” 

“I know that the only person denying you happiness right now… is you. You push away the good people and things in your life because you feel like you don’t deserve it but no one would be here if you didn’t. Michael, the kids in your book club… me. I don’t keep signing leases with you because you’re a terrible person who ruins everything, no one has a gun to our heads, Rae. We’re here because you do deserve it.” 

“Tiff…” 

“Nope, shut up. This pity party is getting old and tired. It doesn’t matter what I think of you… or what Michael thinks or anyone out there.” She gestured toward the window. “All that matters is the narrative you’ve created and until you decide to believe something else, all you’re going to do is push people away and fuck up and self sabotage because it’s all you think you deserve. You gotta wake up and do some fucking work, girl. Cause until you figure out how to erase this narrative from your brain, you’ll never be happy. And you’ll never fall in love with anyone except for someone who treats you like crap. You’ll never build your own family. You’ll never finish your book or have another fulfilling career. You’ll just be stuck in this broken version of yourself alone… forever. And I’ve seen a few different versions of you over the last two years but this is by far the most pitiful.”

Raven had never heard Tiffany be so blunt. The words were biting but she could not deny that some of them rang true in her ears. And that was always the hardest information to hear. 

“Damn… tell me how you really feel.” 

“The soft gentle love wasn’t resonating clearly so had to go with a different tactic…. Just think about it. And once you fix all this shit and move to a mansion in the hills, don’t forget about me.” She winked at her, causing Raven’s jaw to drop slightly. 

“How do you even know that’s gonna happen?” 

She shrugged and grabbed the remote to press play, Raven not even noticing that she paused it.

“Just got a good feeling about the two of you. Now go so I can lust after him in peace while he's still single. Kidding! Kinda..."

Raven let out a small laugh as she shook her head. "I know you're not kidding. Night, Tiff.” 

She slid into her bed, her only refuge of late, and stared at the ceiling. She was surprised she was not tired of looking at it by now. Michael and Tiffany’s words wrestled with her own thoughts for hours

What was her problem, really? It was not that what Michael did was unforgivable because it wasn’t. Some distant part of her, too quiet to break through the noise of her anger, always wondered if there was more to the story, believed that he had to have had some reason. But she was too angry to allow him to explain. It just became vicious ammunition that no one could ever love her or care about her… that she was the problem. 

Well, that’s true… no one’s ever loved you. And everyone who does leaves. 

She supposed her mother must have loved her, but she would never know. She would never feel it. And her grandmother’s love was so distant, so long ago, that it no longer felt tangible, was no longer a tether to anchor her self worth to something positive.

Instead, the only thing that tethered her sense of self worth to anything was her family’s disdain. Disdain that made her question what Michael could’ve seen in her, how he could ever love someone like her? That disdain which made it far easier to believe that what he did was proof that he did not love her than that he possibly did do it to protect her in some weird way. No other thought could live long enough in her brain to take hold. 

And she did not know if doing what Tiffany suggested would fix that. There was not enough time in the world for her muster the courage to interrogate and confront the source of these feelings. She had hoped she would never have to see her family again. Some days, never felt like too soon.

But she knew she could not avoid it. They were the root cause, the narrative in her head was fueled and sustained by them. And screaming at them across the Thanksgiving table and never speaking to them again was not the closure she needed. She thought she had dropped the weight that was her family when she cut them off. But she was still dragging all the luggage they gave her around and it was time to give it back. 

She knew her family did not want to see her either, knew it would be difficult to get them to even speak to her after everything. But she knew she had to try… because she knew there had to be more to life than this. That she had not been born to only suffer through life instead of live it. So she needed to confront her demons for herself, even if her relationship with them did not change one bit.  

She grabbed her computer and her wallet. It was time to go home.

***

Raven’s eyes remained trained on her dad’s house across the street as she sat in her rental car. She was almost shocked that none of her family’s nosy neighbors had not called the police yet as she sat there for nearly an hour, summoning the courage to actually go inside. 

She had felt so sure this was what she needed when she bought her plane ticket. And that confidence did not waver when she stepped onto the plane or during the long journey from LAX to Charlotte, NC. However, once she was in her rental car, she found herself waffling, aimlessly driving around for hours. Her brain seemed unable to direct her to the place she knew she needed to go. Home. 

She just could not make herself do it… not yet anyway. So she did not. Instead, she finally went to her hotel to try to get some rest and her night’s rest turned into the entire Friday holed up in her hotel. She had not booked a return ticket, prayerful and hopeful that there would be a reason to stick around for a few days. But that also meant she did not have the incentive of time to make her move faster. 

But she could not even make herself do this. Because she did not know how to be brave like this. Her life had been nothing but running from pain and confrontation. This was so contrary to that. She did not know how to do any of this. She tossed and turned all night, unable to get any sleep particularly when there was only one person who she wanted to talk to, wanted to seek courage and strength from. Because when she felt scared, when she did not feel strong, he was the only person she wanted to reach for. But she was not sure he would even answer. She had pushed him away, told him she needed space. 

But she had not felt like she could do this alone. So last night, she called him. 

“Rae! Everything ok?” he asked immediately, his question met with silence. 

Raven did not know what to say and regret filled her like ice water in her veins. But she knew it was too late to hang up, she had to see it through. She paid for that moment of weakness when she hit the call button as her throat closed at the sound of her voice. She found it impossible to speak, even if she knew what words to say.  

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, Rae. Got all night for you.” 

And she knew he was not just talking about waiting for her to speak. 

“Why?” she whispered, the simple word coming out in a strangled sound as she tried to push past the tightness in her throat. 

“Why what?” 

“Why even answer after everything I said to you? W-why do you keep trying?” 

“Because I love you,” he answered simply. “And you’re worth it. I’ll keep reaching out, baby girl. Even when you swat me away.” 

“You might be the only person who thinks that,” she whispered back as a tear fell. 

“I don’t think that’s true. But even if it was, knowing one person is in your corner is all you need sometimes.”

She laughed lightly. “That press tour got you only speaking in motivational boxing terms or something?” 

His deep laughter filled her ears and filled her soul with such joy that she had forgotten. She had forgotten what these moments felt like, the two of them on the phone or curled up together in bed, just talking. She missed it… she missed him. But she could not say it, could not bring herself to pull her body out of the water to make that long trek back up the cliff to where he waited for her. Everything in her brain screamed at her that she couldn’t do it, that she did not have it in her. And she hated herself for it. Hated how she clung to the ice barriers around her heart, even though they were utterly fractured and ready to fall. She just was not ready yet. 

She let out a shuddering breath as she hastily wiped away her falling tears. “I… don’t know why I called. I s-shouldn’t have called.”

“Call me anytime, Rae. I’ll always answer. I’ll always show up for you. I hope you know that… at least.” 

“Y-Yea… I think I do… or at least, it’s getting harder to deny it,” she revealed. “Your interview with Oprah… it was really good,” she offered lamely. 

“You watched??” she could hear the surprise in his voice. 

“Yea… I almost didn’t,” she admitted. “But I caught most of it. Did you mean it? Everything you said?” 

“Every single word.” There was no arguing with the definitive tone in his voice. “I get that you don’t trust me anymore. I lied and kept secrets. But one thing I never lied about is how much I love you.”  

Her eyes clenched shut for a moment. That was one thing he had always been consistent about, her ears had just been perpetually shut to it. 

“I… um… I gotta go. Early day tomorrow,” she lied as she sniffled. “I’m sorry for bothering you. Bye, Michael.” 

She was not sure what she had expected to get from that call and, at first, it felt as if she only got a firm kick in the heart for it. But for the first time since she landed, Raven had enough strength to finally drive to her family’s house. She had rolled her eyes at his boxing motivational quotes but hearing someone say they were in her corner, that had given her courage. To just feel like someone was behind her, even if she was alone, that meant something to her. 

She took a deep breath and got out of her car, forcing her legs to carry her to the front door. 

Her rounds of knocks went unanswered, Raven getting slightly frustrated but determined not to leave the porch. If she turned around and walked away, she’d never come back. 

After an extremely brief internal debate, she decided to simply let herself in, deciding that since she contributed to the mortgage, she had a right to come in as she pleased. And her father still, foolishly, kept a spare key underneath the welcome mat.

Though she had not been to her family’s home in two years or so, it still looked the same. Her father’s favorite work boots were thrown haphazardly at the door, several pairs of her sister’s shoes lined up next to them. She was an utter mess but she was, at least, somewhat neat. And it still felt… cold. And it had nothing to do with the cold winter east coast weather. The house had always felt like that, void of warmth and love that made a home a home. 

“Kiara?” she called out. “Dad?” However, she was met with utter silence. 

Part of her supposed she was thankful they were not home and that they had not just ignored her or something. She stood in the living room, staring around the room at the pictures that lined the walls and shelves. So many of her mom, her dad, and Kiara but there were none of her. That was not a surprise, it had always been that way. But that did not make it sting any less. All they had ever wanted was to erase her from their lives and if a stranger walked into this house, it would be as if she never existed.

She started up the stairs, her eyes refusing to linger long on any of the photos there. They were all lies anyway, a picture perfect family that did not exist because she had been born. She decided to ascend to the attic once she made it upstairs. Because that was where all her grandmother’s and some of her own things now lived. She had never really gone through her grandmother’s things after she passed, no one aside from her dad to pack them up. But she knew there was so much of their lives, so many memories she had forgotten of the one person who loved her, forgotten in those boxes that she now desperately needed to remember. 

She ignored how narrow the opening to the attic was, realizing that it had been easier to maneuver up here when she was a young teenager. Everything was still neatly packed away as if her grandmother would be back one day to pick it up. 

She started to open each box, pulling out and examining her grandmother’s things, so many beautiful things forgotten in this attic no one went into. For the first time in nearly two decades, she felt close to the only maternal figure she had ever had, felt like her grandmother’s hand was on her shoulder as she reminisced on their short but well-lived time together. 

She found the old costume jewelry her grandmother used to let her play with, laughing to herself as she thought back to dressing up in front of her vanity mirror pretending to be a model or whatever silly idea the pair had thought up. She almost cried as she found a very crumpled piece of paper with the last story she gave her grandmother to read before she died, a random short story that she had written for class. She had not realized, as she found a folder, just how many of her stories her grandmother had kept. 

A gold glint caught her attention, Raven reaching into a giant box to find a shoe box. Raven had seen that box 100 times but her grandmother had never let her touch it, claiming that it held priceless family heirlooms that she did not want Raven or Kiara to mess up. Raven rolled her eyes that something her grandmother had valued so much had been discarded and forgotten haphazardly at the bottom of this box. 

Finally giving into her childhood curiosity, she opened it. It was still filled with things, part of her thankful that Kiara had never found it. The jewelry and pieces in it were gorgeous and indeed priceless. She took her time as she examined each one, wondering if they had belonged to her mother or her grandmother or some other relative she never met. However, it was what existed underneath the jewelry that caught her eye: piles of tied up envelopes, one with her name on it and one with Kiara’s. 

The handwriting was not her grandmother’s, which made Raven even more curious. 

She pulled out the stack with her name on it and undid the thin ribbon that tied them together. There were ten letters there in total, each one with a different note scribbled on the envelope. 

To Raven on your 18th birthday 

To Raven on high school graduation 

To Raven after your first love 

To Raven after your first heartbreak

To Raven on college graduation 

To Raven on your wedding day 

She only had to flip through a few of them to realize who they were from. Her mom. 

“You’re killing me,” she muttered to the sky, unsure if she was speaking to God, her grandmother, her mother or all three. 

Her hands trembled slightly as she ripped open the one on top, addressed to her on her 18th birthday. These were some of the only words her mother would get to say to her, she did not care how long ago she should have read it. She would savor each one. 

To my sweet darling girl, 

If you are reading this, it means that I am not physically there with you on your birthday. It means that I’ve missed 18 birthdays and too many milestones to write a letter for and for that, I am sorry. You might be wondering why there is not a letter for all those milestones and birthdays that have taken place but this felt like the best place to start and the appropriate age for reading the musings of a dying woman. If there’s even such a thing.

We learned your gender today. Another sweet girl. If the doctor somehow got it wrong, these letters will be incredibly awkward. But I know they are right. Because you, my darling girl, are the manifestation of my wildest dreams. I dreamed of you almost a year ago, this beautiful girl with half my face but all of my spirit and personality. And every night since then, I prayed, begged God to make that dream a reality… no matter the cost. And he did. 

I know my body is not strong enough to be your mother, to be around to be the mother someone as brilliant as you will deserve. But I hope you know that deciding to have you and keep you, regardless of the risks, is the single greatest decision I ever made. You were not an accident or a misfortune given to me. You are my dreams. And if my last moments on this earth are spent looking at you, it will have been worth it. 

I waited until 18 to start these letters because I worried a child could never understand the choice I made. And you may still not. And if you resent me for leaving you before you could know me, I understand that too. But I hope that through these letters, you will get to know me. And you will feel some semblance of the immense love I have for you. 

I don’t have much advice because you’ve likely heard it all at this point. But the two most important things I can tell you, that I wish someone had told 18 year old me, is to know that failure is part of the journey. Your grandmother used to always tell me to keep reaching out your hand even if it doesn’t work. I didn’t really understand it soon enough but I hope you do. Life is about risks and if you don’t reach out your hand out of fear, you’ll protect yourself from pain but you will also miss out on the gifts God is trying to hand you. As a daughter, I hated to admit it, but mama was right about that… and so many other things. 

And finally, more importantly than anything else I could offer you in these letters, please remember every day that you are so, so loved. 

Know that regardless of what happened to me, I loved you with every fiber of my being until my last breath. Know that you were a gift from God. And every day you venture out into this world, know that you are worthy of so much because you were so loved from the moment you were dreamed up. Do not let anyone or whatever will happen to you in what I pray is a long, rich, happy life diminish that light, diminish your worth. I know how special you are and I don’t even know your name yet. And while I hope that your father and grandmother will affirm you daily, you don’t need other people to tell you that you are special. You have to know it for yourself. That’s the most important advice I can give you. Know who you are and your worth and take up as much space in this world as you want. And as long as you never forget how special you are… how deserving you are, you’ll move through this world shining bright. And the world will be forced to know it too and move to give you what you deserve. It’s not much and a bit cliche perhaps but I’ve been torn down enough to know that sometimes we all need the reminder. But those are stories for another letter. 

By the time I write my next letter, I promise I will have picked out a name for you. I read a book the other day where the main character was named Raven… I had not thought of it before but I like it. 

Happy Birthday. 

Love, 

Mom

The river of tears streaming down Raven’s face splashed against the slanted handwriting on the page, Raven quickly whisking them away so the words would remain legible. Raven did not even know how long she sat there staring at the words on the page, her heart bursting with the knowledge that her mother’s hand had touched this very paper, that she had poured her heart and soul into every word etched into it. 

It was like proof she had been real and not this entity Raven had conjured up in her head. Raven could not stop herself from ripping open all the ones that she should have gotten along the way. The one for her first love and the separate one on heartbreak were four pages each, and Raven did not pay attention to the clock as she absorbed each and every word. 

Everything she had learned about her mother had been through her grandmother and she had always wondered if her grandmother told her things just to make her feel better. But she realized that her grandmother had been telling the truth, she and her mother were so much alike. She found herself nodding and laughing along to her mother’s stories and wisdom embedded in all those pages. She was a prolific storyteller too and an amazing writer, another trait Raven realized she must have inherited from her.

For the first time in 30 years, Raven did not feel weighed down by this unbearable guilt. She felt lighter than she had ever been in her entire life. Perhaps this was what God wanted her to find here, not a confrontation with her family, but these words. This tangible proof that her mother had chosen her, wanted her… loved her and that she had not ruined anything at all. 

Her mother would not have wanted her to carry such guilt around for so long because there was nothing to be guilty about. 

The letters were scattered across the attic floor when she heard the faint sound of their garage opening. She quickly folded up all of her letters and stuffed them back into the box, tucking it under her arm as she climbed out of the attic. She did not make much noise as she closed up the attic, just as she heard her father and sister close the garage door and enter the kitchen. 

Their voices drifted up to her ears as she started to climb down the stairs, deciding that she might as well get the pure unpleasantness of this moment over with. 

“Wait… you hear that? Is someone in the house??” she heard her sister ask, knowing that they both could hear her footsteps against the old floorboards. 

“Don’t get your gun,” she called out as she started down the stairs. “It’s just me.” 

She was greeted with less-than-welcoming expressions from her family, such disdain that it made her want to scurry away. But she did not. She had done enough of that in her life.

“Adding breaking and entering to your criminal activity, now?” 

Raven scoffed as she placed the box on the kitchen counter that stood between her and her family. 

“Don’t think you can break into a house you helped pay for?” she answered coolly. “And I’m not the one with a mug shot here if I remember correctly.” 

“No you’re just the one who sold her cheap ass for a quick buck.” 

Raven shook her head, opening and closing her mouth for a few moments as she tried to find the words. 

“Yea I did… And I’m not proud of it,” Raven admitted. “But I won’t let you or anyone shame me for doing what I needed to do to survive. What helped the two of you survive too.” Raven scratched her head, realizing that trying to get closure from her family was unnecessary. Her mother’s words had given her all the closure she had ever needed. That’s what she had come home for. 

“You know, I got a plane ready to rip you both a new one for 30 years of abuse and torture. To try to force you to admit that I’m not the villain you made me to be. But… I don’t need that anymore. Because the cross of guilt and shame you two forced onto my back for all these years isn’t one I should have to carry. But I did because I thought it was the only way to keep you two around. And even without you two in my life, I still drag that cross around because I thought I deserved it. But I realized today, way too late, that I don’t need a damn thing from either of you to put it down.” 

“So you came here to what? To chastise us and steal?” her father asked, gesturing toward the box on the counter. 

“You can’t steal things that belong to you. These are letters mom wrote to me,” she lifted the open letters out before sliding the unopened pile to her sister. “And to you.” 

“Your mother wrote these?” he asked, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the stack. 

“Yeah, she did. You’ll enjoy yours… she was a really good storyteller,” she glanced at Kiara. “These letters just told me something I should’ve realized long before Thanksgiving. That cross? That guilt? It isn’t mine. And I am done wasting my life trying to rectify the mistake of being born. Because it wasn’t a mistake. She chose me… prayed for a second daughter knowing the cost and she decided it was worth it. And hearing her say that? That’s all I need to know that I deserve so much more than this… so much more than you.” She took a deep breath. “Being a grieving husband isn’t an excuse to be a terrible father and I’ll just be grateful I found some way to survive you and this. And jealousy doesn’t give you the right to be a shitty sister.” 

“What the fuck do I have to be jealous of??” 

“I always wondered that. But reading those letters… I finally got it. Because even as a failed author and prostitute, I’m everything she was. Grandma used to always say I had her personality… her talent. I always thought she was lying to make me feel better. But you knew she wasn’t and you could never stand it. Couldn’t stand that I was more like her than you.” For the first time, her sister was speechless. A good look on her in Raven’s opinion. “Mom wanted so much better for me than this and I’m gonna go and find it. Because I’ve wasted too much energy trying to earn the love of people who don’t deserve it. So if you want to go to your graves hating me, making me the scapegoat for every problem in your miserable lives, have at it. But know that I don’t hate you even after all this. I won’t be weighed down anymore by any feelings toward either of you ever again. You aren’t worth it.”

Raven pulled herself to full height and rolled her shoulder back as she scooped up the box and folder she had taken from her grandmother’s stuff. 

“Now I’m gonna go and have that long… rich and happy life mom wanted for me. And I hope you two do the same.” 

She did not look behind her as she walked away, a soft smile on her face as she walked out of her family’s house for the last time.

She let out a long laugh as she sat in her car, so much of the weight she had been carrying around gone. It did not feel sad like when she cut off her family at Thanksgiving. She finally felt as if she had cut the anchor away and she could float away, she could move forward and heal all the broken pieces of herself that they had gleefully chipped away at. 

When she got back to her hotel room, she just kept rereading her mom’s words. She would memorize each letter at this point. A part of her desperately wanted to open the other ones but she had not reached those milestones just yet so she left them where they were. For some reason, she worried her mother would disapprove of her breaking into them early. 

One line of five letters she read and reread stuck to her bones above all else. And of course, as if her mother had known, it was embedded in the letter for her first love. Love… the thing that had cracked her wide open and brought her to this moment in the first place.

You’d be surprised to know that this was the hardest of the letters to write. Because everyone has some prolific idea of what love is and feels like. And I realized I don’t… because I don’t think I’ve ever experienced the love I pray you are as you read this. That’s not to say I don’t love your father, I do. But I want something different than convenience for you. I hope that the love you feel is safe, allows you to feel the full spectrum of what it means to be human - strong and vulnerable, insecure and confident, boisterous and timid. I hope it feels like stepping out of the cold air and into a warm embrace. I hope it is loud and unapologetic because you deserve nothing less. And I hope it makes you feel so enraptured that everything else in the world goes quiet. And lastly, I hope, more than anything, that it feels like home. That when you’re in this person’s embrace, you feel as if your soul finally landed right where it is supposed to be. 

Her eyes scanned that passage over and over again, realizing that she had found the exact love her mother described. She had come back here thinking she was coming home. But this wasn’t home at all. Home was where he was. And he was back in LA, about to prepare for the biggest night of his life in 24 hours. And regardless of whatever trust needed to be rebuilt and conversations needed to be had, she could not allow herself to miss it. She could not allow herself to not show up for him.

Raven scrambled to find her phone as it was hidden beneath sheets of paper. She scrolled through, praying she had not deleted a long forgotten group thread that housed one number she had once thought she would never need but now was the most important phone number in the world. 

She almost shouted praises to God when she found it, clicking the call button on the unsaved number. She paced up and down beside her bed as every agonizing ring dragged on. 

“Didn’t think I’d see your name pop up on my phone ever again.” 

Raven let out a sigh of relief as her voice filled her ears. “I know… me either. But I need a favor.” 

“Does it involve a certain award show tomorrow night?” 

“Yes. Is it too late?” 

“Yea it is.” she knew Alex could hear the tiny sigh of sadness she let out. “For anyone but me. I’ve earned enough favors around here to create a miracle or two.”

“Really?? Cause I need like more than one or two miracles… a dress, hair, makeup… hell a flight from Charlotte to make it back in time. Without him knowing?”

“Consider all of it done. Hope you don’t mind getting up at the ass crack of dawn though.” Alex asked, Raven hearing the smile in her tone. 

“For him… I’ll get up anytime.” 

“Good. Then I'll take care of everything... I'll have to tell his mom but she'll love this. And probably be happy as hell that she doesn't have to go anymore. I'll text you details in an hour."

"An hour?? That's all you need??"

"You're new here so I'm gonna choose to not be offended by that."  

"Noted." She was about to hang up when she stopped herself. “Hey… Alex? Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Just make sure your ass is on that plane and in LAX tomorrow when Allen picks you up, got it?” 

Raven chuckled. “Yea I got it. See you tomorrow.”

Tag List: @readinghere2023 @blackerthings @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @physicxal @purplehairgawdess @miyuhpapayuh @rueruesclues @geemamii @certifiedlesbianbaddie @pipsqueak-98 @nyifly22 @destinio1 @twocentaur @gopaperless @musicisme333 @roguekiki @majesticbrownjawn @taurusqueen83 @mysteryuz @miamormilan @itsknor-thedeep @naj-ay444 @mads-grace4 @nayaesworld @kholdkill @msniaimani @nccu-rnc @apenasumlug4r @dezzy154

***

A/N: So now will y'all stop yelling at me LOLOL our good sis is going back to her man! We love to see it! How surprised do we think Michael's going to be? Part 11.2 will be the Oscars! Drop a comment and let me know what you thought! And as always, thanks for reading!

[belit0]

Red strings in Highschool au, where strange things had been happening and red strings had started to appear on people. Their strings is connected to reader

I love your works🫶🫶🫶

Not Indra literally leaving this world, biggest drama king around.

Indra

The red string burned where it touched him.

He stared at it without blinking, following the taut red line through the dim hallway until it vanished beneath the classroom door, right to her desk. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. The bell rang. Students filed past him, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies under their breath, but he didn’t register it.

He only saw that string.

Fate. Soulmate. Destiny. All words that didn’t belong in his world. That thread was a chain, a threat, a lie. He yanked it tight between his fingers until it cut into his skin. When it didn’t snap, he dragged a rusted box cutter from his bag, pressed it to the cord—

And sliced.

It didn’t break. It hissed. Sank deeper. Like a vein threading straight into his bones.

He blinked once.

Then again.

Then he walked straight to the bathroom, locked the door, and dug into his wrist like it was the string’s fault that he’d stopped breathing right.

Like it was her fault for being on the other end.

Because whatever it was supposed to mean—it didn’t.

It couldn’t.

He didn’t belong to anyone.

And preferred to die before fate decided for him.

Madara

-It’s a joke,- he spat, eyes wild, string between his clenched teeth like he wanted to chew it off his body. -I don’t care who she is. Take this shit off me.-

Izuna didn’t answer. Nobody did. Because no one knew where the strings came from. They just appeared overnight, tight as shackles, glowing faintly in the dark. Madara’s was the deepest red—vein-colored, almost violent in hue—and it pulled. Constantly. Every movement tugged him toward her.

He smashed mirrors. Tore at it with scissors. Lit it on fire.

It burned and grew back.

Every time he caught a glimpse of her at the other end, laughing with her friends, looking soft and normal, his jaw clenched until his teeth ached. She wasn’t supposed to have any part of him. He never wanted anyone that close.

So the next time he saw her, he cornered her.

Didn’t touch her.

Just stood too close. Let the air freeze.

-You think this means something? That you’re meant for me or some shit?- His voice dropped. -You don’t want to be tied to me, girl. I’ll ruin you. I won’t stop until you wish you never existed.-

And yet he didn’t cut it.

He couldn’t.

Izuna

The first time he noticed it, he laughed.

A loud, stupid bark of sound like it was all some big joke.

-This bitch? You’re telling me this girl is my soulmate?

He walked up to her in the hallway, yanked the string between them like it was a leash, and smirked when she flinched.

-You know this doesn’t mean I give a fuck about you, right? This ain’t love. I don’t believe in that fairy tale shit. And I don’t want you thinking this means anything just ‘cause the universe had a mental breakdown.

But he didn’t cut it.

He wanted to. He tried. Sharp things. Fire. Even had Shisui hold him down once while he burned it with a cigarette. But it healed every time. Grew back through his skin, right where it belonged.

He started spiraling after that.

Drinking more. Sleeping less. Picking fights. Hooking up with girls just to try and snap the cord somehow, like if he dirtied himself enough, the red thread would loosen. It didn’t. It stayed, wrapped tight around his pinky, bleeding into him.

He hated it.

Obito

Obito smiled when he saw it.

Of course it was her.

Of course.

He didn’t question it. Didn’t scream. Didn’t try to cut it. He just touched it—soft, slow, reverent—and followed it to her with the kind of obsessive ease that made his classmates uneasy.

-I always knew it was you,- he said like a confession. -No one else makes me feel like this. I’ve loved you before this stupid string, you know that, right? This just proves it. It’s fate. You can’t leave now.-

She told him it was a mistake.

Told him he was suffocating her. That just because the string existed didn’t mean they had to be together.

But Obito just smiled again.

-Hey… hey, don’t say that. You’re just overwhelmed. It’s okay. It’s us. It’s always been us.

He never stopped watching her after that.

Never stopped using the string as an excuse to show up, to grab her hand when she pulled away, to remind her over and over that they were meant to be.

She stopped going to parties.

Stopped staying late after school.

Stopped smiling in pictures.

And every time her mom said, “God, Obito is such a sweetheart, you’re lucky to have him,” she wanted to scream. But the string never let her breathe long enough to try.

Shisui

He grinned like a bastard when it first showed up.

Pulled it up between two fingers and stared down the red glow with an unreadable look.

-Soulmate, huh? Didn’t think fate had that twisted of a sense of humor.

He liked games. Liked the idea of having something no one else could touch. A string tied straight to a girl like (Y/N), wide-eyed and innocent, who didn’t know what kind of poison she’d just been bound to.

He made it fun at first.

Tugged it across rooms. Smirked when she turned, startled, like she could feel him thinking about her. He taunted. Whispered things in passing. Told her she looked pretty when she was mad. Watched her closely when she said she didn’t believe in soulmates.

-Then why haven’t you cut it?

Her silence always made him grin wider.

But over time, the string started pulling back.

Started tightening.

Started hurting.

He tried to cut it during one of his episodes, when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and his mouth tasted like copper and all he could think about was get it off, get it off, get it off—

But it fought back.

And when he woke up in the nurse’s office with the string still attached and blood drying beneath his sleeve, he didn’t smile anymore.

He just stared across the courtyard at her and whispered—

-You better not break me, angel. ‘Cause I swear to God, I’ll take you down with me

[lilmissasap]

agape- nicholas britell

summary: miles is takin down ur braids 

published: july 27, 2023

warnings: Grammarly hates me, the patriarchy, a dash of toxic masculinity, miles being a product of that grrah grah boom type masculinity, aave (no im not translating shit for you yall got access to urban dictionary and its not really a warning), i edited it myself so lmk if there are any mistakes

sueñito- little dream, bonito- handsome/ pretty boy, no me importa- i don't care/ it's not important to me

w/c: 1.5 k

reader's black coded cus im black so deal w it <3

i think this something every black boy be needin deep down

“Stop movin, ma” 

“It’s knotty,” 

“You had these in for how long?” 

Silence. 

“There's your answer right there, mama,”  

“Sorry,” 

“Nun to be sorry for, just hold still,” 

Currently sitting on the bathroom floor criss-cross apple sauce, Miles was sitting on the toilet, your head between his knees, while he was taking down the frizzy lemonade braids that barely hugged your scalp anymore. 

“Miles?” 

He hums in response, rat tail comb in one hand, a tub of coconut oil in the other, threading the tail of the comb through the extensions down your back  

“You’re the prettiest boy in all of Brooklyn,” 

“Shut up” 

“Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” 

“Nuh-uh,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? The little freckles all over your cheeks? Cutest things I’ve ever seen, especially how they’re all slightly different shades, like lil polka dots all over your face, gives me a map a’ where to kiss. The little tiny dimple on the left side of your face? Adorable, 10/10, no notes. Also very kissable." He's still now, staring at the back of your head, using bundles strewn over his shoulder, mouth agape. “Them thick and long ass eyelashes? I could stare at ‘em all day, they look like teeny tiny butterfly wings when you rest your eyes.” 

“Shut up,” he whispers, still unmoving, the little dab of coconut oil on his fingers slowly dribbling down his wrist 

“Your mind pretty as hell, too, I like listening to what you have to hear when you let me,” you mumble, pressing tiny kisses into his cargo pant–clad kneecap. 

“Stop doin that shit, ma” 

“What?” 

“Talkin all crazy like that,” 

“I’m not talkin crazy, miles I’m being honest,” 

“You makin me out to be some weak ass lil boy,” 

“Miles.” you turn around abruptly, staring at him dead in the eye. “I’m jus being honest wit you. What's going on?” 

“It’s nothin, ma, turn around”  

“Sueñito. Lemme know what's up,” 

“It’s nothin,” 

You huff, turning around to face the bottom of the sink again. Silence bellows throughout the bathroom, Miles rubbing oil on your braids to detangle them to later drag the comb in once again and throw the discarded hair extension over his shoulder. The only sound between the two of you is the Marvin Gaye spinning on the record player, rooms away, dull basslines thrumming through the apartment. 

“Ion like this,” 

“What?” 

“Whatever jus happened, we talk about what's bothering us,” 

“Ain't nothin botherin me, ma,” 

“Then why you start buggin' the second I get to complimenting you?” 

“Cus ian wit all that girly shit,” 

“Fuck you mean girly shit, I’m jus tryna love up on you Miles,” your nostrils flare as you stare ahead of you.  

“Baby, I’m all for that but–” 

“Miles, did someone tell you boys can't get that?” 

A silence. 

“Baby.” 

“What?” 

“Jus cus you a boy dont mean you don't deserve love,” 

“Aint nobody say allat–” 

“Shut up Ian done,” you say, swiftly turning around and snagging the oil and comb from his hand “jus cus you a boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel shit miles. Ion know what it was like wit your last girl, but Ian her. Okay? You allowed to be a person wimme, you know that right?” 

“Ma–” 

“Shut up I still ain't done yet. Miles I’m real, I’m right here. real like you, I promise you I’m not goin nowhere right now,” 

“You done?” 

“Yeah,”  

“C’mere,” he motions to his lap, taking the comb and oil out of your hands and setting them on the tiled floor, laying out the discarded bundles.  

“ ‘s oil all up on my hands” 

“No me importa ma, come up on here,”  

Obeying and wiping the excess coconut oil off your hand, you do. Straddling his lap, and looking into his eyes, examining the twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Talk to me, mama,” 

“I want you to know that you deserve love and that you’re allowed to feel some typa way. I want you to talk to me, Miles. I care about you so much and I wanna make sure you’re good. I love hearing you talk, but Ion like havin to beg you to talk to me. I love jus bein in your presence, but I hate feelin like that Miles. I don’t know who told you whatever's going through your head right now but they dead wrong. I wanna know how you be feelin, I wanna know.” 

“Why you even talk like this to me?” 

“Cus I’m your girl, n I like to kiss up on you and love all up on you,” 

At this, he averts his eyes, trying to escape your gaze, his breath audibly speeding up. 

“Mm mm, don't do that Miles. Please breathe,” 

You plead, subconsciously pressing your middle three fingers under his jaw trying to measure his heart rate. Almost as a reflex to hide from you, he shrugs your hand away from under his jaw and pulls his hoodie over his mouth.

“Nah nah, don't hide from me neither,”  

“Ain’t nobody hidin from you,” 

“Jus cus you a boy don’t mean you don't deserve them random ass cuddles, or someone to tie up your durag or wash your hair. It don’t mean you shouldn't get flowers or hugs or them lil hickies behind your ear. Don't mean you not allowed to be sad or mad or wanna cry. Now Ion know who told you or made you feel that way but they dead wrong Miles. You allowed to feel with me,” 

“Ian some lil boy runnin around though, that shit ain't for me,” 

“If you wasn't supposed to feel and acknowledge your feelings, why would you be able to feel them? They there for a reason,” 

Still straddled on his lap, he looks up at you with the tiny leverage you have on him. His eyes are big and doe-like, almost as if he’s scared to make this next step, say this next sentence.” 

“Ion know why,” he mumbles, voice soft and scared. suddenly he’s kissin up on you, gripping anything he can get his hands on, like he’s making up for lost time, lost feelings. It's urgent and a little rough, though his lips are soft and velvety, a twinge of menthol chapstick on them.  

“Yo yo yo, slow down. Ian goin nowhere” you whisper into his mouth, nails gently raking across his neck “ ‘m right here Miles, see?” you ask, guiding his hands to feel on the left side of your chest, right above your heart. “ ‘s my heart under there, I'm right here okay? I’m real, Miles I swear,” 

“You’re real?” he whispers, breath shaky and uneven fisting the thin fabric of your camisole under the evergreen zip-up, in an attempt to feel more of your heart. 

“You allowed to feel your feelings the same way you feel my heart,” 

He still looks astonished, scared, and frozen. suddenly it wasn’t him you were talking to anymore. it was the scared little Brooklyn boy who had all these feelings stored away inside him, unsure of what to do or who to show them to.  

“ ‘m sitting right here miles. I’m your girl, okay? This is real, and you are real,” 

“I’m real?” tears begin to swim in his eyes. 

“You’re real miles. and those feelings in that big heart of yours? Those are real too. And if you let me, I wanna hear all of 'em.”  

His body stills once more against you, a small tear gliding down his cheek. 

“I love you,” 

And then he’s sobbing. 

“Sshh, hey it's okay” you whisper, holding him close to your chest. “I love you so much I can’t hardly breathe when I'm around you. It’s okay and you're okay, Miles. I’m real and this is real and you. You are real.” you mumble into his braids, holding him with the protectiveness of a mother with a small child. 

He just sat there, his head buried in your chest as he cried quietly, letting everything out. You just sat and let him cry and vent through his tears. All the things he had bottled up, discouraged to show to anyone. Sooner or later the tears slow to a stop, his face puffy and hot. 

Gently tugging the ends of his braids, he looks up at you. 

“You feel better sueñito?” you ask, dragging the cuff of your sweater to dry his face and pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks in its wake. He did nothing but nod lazily, seemingly lighter, and nuzzling his face into your chest. 

“Lemme finish wiping up your face n then you can be all up on me, bonito, okay? 

He just nodded, dropping his head back to rest against the bathroom wall, the half-taken-out braids on your scalp no longer th task at hand. Reaching behind him you grab a baby wipe and swipe the tears and snot off his face, leaving his skin with a glossy finish. Holding his chin up, you look dead in his eyes. 

“You so beautiful Miles.” 

And this time, he nods. 

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3