#implied past self harm only

[edupunkn00b]

Roomies, Ch. 5: Stitches on Old Scars

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WC: 4153 - Rated: T - CW: mental health, angst/comfort, see tags - Written for @intrualityweek 2024: Scars

Things start to change when Re returns from Thanksgiving Break.

“Hung like a pelt like some prey you had worn… Remember m—”

For the sixth time that morning, Re’s alarm cut off, snoozed. But Re barely budged, and stayed put where he was, huddled under the cocoon of blankets he’d built for himself on his bed.

Patton had been up since before dawn, bubbling excitement at Re’s return from Thanksgiving break pulling him from the comfort of his bed. He’d already showered and dressed, even changed his outfit twice after checking the day’s weather forecast. Each stir or sigh from Re’s side of the room stole his attention and he’d watch, intently, waiting to see if Re was about to wake or was just moving in his sleep as he did sometimes.

Thanksgiving break alone in the dorms had been long. And even lonelier than Patton had expected. It took every scrap of patience he had not to make a little extra noise and ‘accidentally’ wake Re before his alarm just so he could talk to him.

”Bring it in, Pattonting,” Ro had cheered, arms open wide, when Patton had gone to see the three of them off the Tuesday night before break. Logan was already buckled into the passenger seat, adjusting the air vents and tapping at his phone as he planned their rest stops on the way back to Re and Ro’s house.

Relishing the hug, Patton hid his face against Ro’s shoulder. He supposed Re and Ro’s parents’ place was all three of their homes now. “Enjoy the peace while the gremlin is with me,” Ro said, not quite as quietly as he could have. Patton peeked over Ro’s shoulder just as Re looked away, jaw clenched tight.

”I’m gonna miss you all but I know you’ll be back soon,” he said, still watching Re even as he hugged Ro tighter. He might’ve imagined it, but he thought Re’s face softened just a bit.

”We have a guest room,” Ro said, pulling back to meet his eyes. After much discussion over breakfasts, the brothers had approached their parents about dropping the façcade that Ro and Logan needed separate bedrooms. This trip home would be the first where Logan had officially moved out of the guest room and into Ro’s.

Patton pressed a smile onto his face. “Thanksgiving’s for family,” he said before clearing his throat, hoping it disguised the wobble in his voice.

Re moved a little closer, brow furrowed. “Thanksgiving’s for whoever the fuck we say it is.”

Patton shook his head, dropping his voice. “It’s Logan’s first holiday without… you know.” He stepped back and whispered past his tightening throat, “You all need to focus on him. I’d be a distraction.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Re had frowned. “You’re not a distraction, Pattycake. Besides, it’s kinda fucked up your parents picked this of all weeks to go on a cruise.”

”I told you,” Patton stared at the ground, the lie thick and sour on his tongue. “It was a contest. They couldn’t pick the date.”

Logan lowered the window and called to them, “If we wish to avoid the typical traffic on I-5, we should endeavor to leave now.”

”You are right, mi amour,” Roman purred, giving Patton’s shoulder one more squeeze before hurrying to the driver’s side.

That had left him and Re alone together outside the car. Re had stood next to him, hands jammed in his pockets. “We’ll be back Sunday night,” he murmured. “Probably late. But…” He’d grinned, a little dimmer than usual, but it had been a long day. Really, he'd been looking tired all week and Patton hoped he’d get the chance to sleep a little on the car ride back home.

Despite his exhaustion, Re had smiled and bumped their shoulders together with a little hum. “Breakfast together Monday?”

”You got it, Roomie,” Patton had smiled back. “Looking forward to it.”

After closing the drawer on the tee-shirts he’d folded and refolded twice already while he’d waited for Re to wake, Patton crept closer to his bed. “Re?” he spoke quietly, hoping he caught him before he drifted back to sleep while his alarm snoozed. “It’s after eight.” Toes scrunched against the fluffy throw rug Re had brought from home, Patton bit his lip. “Are you not feeling so good?”

Turned out he was awake. Re let out a heavy sigh from beneath the covers and poked his head out just far enough to reveal his eyes and a swath of wild green hair. His auburn roots were showing. Maybe they could go get more of dye downtown over the weekend.

Re shook his head but looked away before their eyes could meet. “I’m…” Face half-hidden beneath the comforter and weighted blanket, his voice came out quiet and muffled. 

Patton crouched down to better hear him.

“I’m just… just really tired,” he finished at last.

“You fell asleep as soon as you got in last night.” Patton frowned and, all on its own accord, his hand jerked closer to the tuft of hair poking out from the blankets. “Are you sure you're not coming down with something?” Forcing his hand back, he knelt and pressed both hands together in his lap.

Re shifted under the blankets. A shrug, maybe.

“Hang on,” Patton murmured and pushed up to his feet and rushed to the bathroom. After fumbling around a bit under the sink, he finally found what he was looking for, the thermometer that came with their little first aid kit. It probably wasn't super accurate, but it should at least show if he had a fever.

“Here, Re,” he said when he returned to his spot next to Re’s bed. “Lemme check your temperature, okay?”

“You don't hafta…” Re shook his head but watched him closely. 

“Please?” Patton gave him a half-smile. “That way we know what we’re dealing with.”

Re didn’t answer out loud. Instead he nodded and leaned his head a little closer. Patton’s smile grew and he touched the device to his forehead. After a second, it beeped twice and the screen glowed green. He pulled it away, knocking a mess of curls over Re’s eyes. Before he could stop himself, he tucked the hair back, the locks soft and damp against his fingers.

His hand lingered when Re closed his eyes with a low hum and seemed to lean into the touch. Then he looked back at Patton with big, red-rimmed eyes. “No fever,” he murmured, not asking.

“No fever,” Patton confirmed, shaking his head. Re nodded and burrowed deeper under the covers, leaving Patton’s hand hovering in the empty air. He knelt beside Re’s bed for a long moment before patting the blanket. “Do you wanna get a little more rest? I’ll bring you something from the dining hall.” 

Re poked his head out from the blankets again. “You really don’t hafta do that.”

“Will you be mad at me if I do?”

He shook his head, eyes soft. “Of course not, Pat.”

Patton grinned. “Then I’ll be back in half an hour with some goodies for you. A little nutrition will help you get your strength back.”

Re looked at him for a long while, expression flat and drained. Eventually he nodded and gave a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Roomie,” he grinned and smoothed out the blanket. His eyes caught on Re’s meds on the side of his desk and the half-drunk water bottle next to them. “Do you…” he started, reaching for the bottles. 

“Yeah… need to,” Re said, voice low as he sat up a little and accepted them, dumping out a few pills into his hand and swallowing them down with a sip of water. He started to twist the water cap back on but stopped when Patton raised his eyebrows.

Patton smiled again when Re took three good gulps. “Hydrate or die straight,” he chuckled.

“Can’t have that,” Re muttered and settled back into bed when Patton took the bottles from him and set them back on the table.

“I’ll be back,” he promised and, with a little wave, slipped out of the room and rushed down to the dining hall.

~

“Morning, Pat!” Ro gave him a half-hug from behind, curling over his chair to reach him. 

“Oh, good morning!” Patton hugged back as best he could, twisting his head to grin up at Ro and then at Logan. They were late, no doubt also recovering from the trip that had so drained Re. “It’s good to see you!”

Watching them settle into their usual seats across the table, it was easy to forget who was missing that morning.

For a minute at least.

“Re’s taking his time getting coffee, I see,” Ro muttered, scowling at the empty seat next to Patton.

Logan’s gaze lingered on Patton’s half-empty coffee cup before meeting his eyes. Patton shrugged. “Yeah, Re’s sleeping in today.”

“Oh? Is he ill?” Logan frowned and sat back as though Patton was carrying the same germs that had brought down Re.

“I don’t—“ Patton shook his head then tried again. “He doesn’t have a fever, but…”

Ro set down his fork and gave him his full attention. It was not nearly as reassuring as Patton might’ve imagined it would be.

“He said he was feeling… bad. Tired. Like sick, but…” Patton struggled to find words beyond ‘bad feeling’ to describe the way his stomach had twisted when he’d looked into Re’s eyes that morning. “Maybe like… mentally bad, y’know? I know he takes medication but…” Patton’s voice fell away, ashamed that after four months of living together he didn’t even know what Re took. Or why.

“Yeah,” Ro frowned into his coffee. “He… he gets into funks like that sometimes. It’s best to give him some space or he’ll just take your head off.” He pushed back his hair, revealing a tiny white line just above his ear. “I still have a scar from where he threw a book at me when I tried to get him up for school in eighth grade.” 

He kissed Logan’s temple before getting up and sliding into Re’s usual spot at Patton’s side. Ro squeezed his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “He’ll snap out of it after a few days and be right back to his usual Dr. Frankfurter impressions in no time.”

“Really?” Patton gnawed at the corner of his lip. Re hadn’t seemed like he wanted to be left alone all day. The tiny smile Re had given him when he promised to come back had been fragile and shaky but… real. “I… I think I’m still gonna bring him something, y’know?” He shrugged, wrapping a napkin around the second breakfast burrito he’d snagged. Finally cool enough to handle, it was stuffed with eggs and cheese and mushrooms, plus an extra scoop of those bell peppers Re liked so much. Protein, vitamins. That’s what he needed. “He’ll feel better with something in his belly. Well,” he shrugged. “At least he won’t feel worse.”

“That is admirable of you,” Logan murmured before taking a bite of his own eggs. He chewed then adjusted his eyeglasses. “However, if Roman’s experience with his brother holds true and you need to metaphorically ‘steer clear’ of your room for a while”—He paused and caught Ro’s eye, continuing only after he nodded—”You are more than welcome to figuratively ‘crash’ in our room.” 

For the first time all day, Patton almost laughed. “Thanks, you two. I appreciate it. I’m… I’m gonna play it by ear.” The thought of Re back in their room, alone and huddled under the covers wiped away his smile. “Who knows… maybe he’s changed a bit? He…” The memory of Re giving Philip a gentle pat after he’d returned him filled his mind. “He’s not really the way he was back in high school.” Had he ever been? Patton shook the thought away and finished his coffee.

“If you say so,” Ro muttered before looking up at the wall clock behind Logan. “Ah, shit! I’m late for rehearsal.”

Logan checked his watch, nodding when Roman kissed his cheek and dashed from the table. “Indeed. I regret I must leave as well.” He nodded down at Patton as he stood and gathered his and Roman’s empty trays. “The offer stands, Patton. You are welcome if you need alternative lodging for a few days.”

“Thanks, Logan,” he nodded, tucking the still-warm breakfast burrito in his jacket pocket along with some fruit. The yogurt and extra coffee he could carry out without catching too much attention for taking food from the dining hall. And after a little extra rest, Re could fill up at lunch later in the day. "See you later."

~

By the end of the week, Re wasn’t any better. If anything, Patton thought he was getting worse.

Patton had just returned from dinner, a foil-wrapped packet of chickpea samosas hidden under his jacket on one side and a bottle of juice on the other. His pockets were filled with three applesauce cups, two bananas, and a short stack of macadamia cookies wrapped in a napkin. Re barely moved when he entered their room. “Re?” he whispered. “You awake?”

The room had gotten musty over the week, the scent of musk and sweat heavy in the air. Patton glanced at Re’s towel through the open bathroom door, still neatly folded and hanging from the rod.

Patton was pretty sure Re hadn’t touched it since before he’d left for break.

Tiptoeing in, he crept around Re’s bed and set down the food on his desk. Re had eaten only a bite or two of the sandwich he’d brought him for lunch, and the salad sat untouched next to it, the collection shelf-stable condiments still sealed in their packets. Half the juice was gone, so there was that, but Re had eaten even less of lunch than he had of breakfast that morning.

Patton gathered up the sandwich and the half-empty juice to put in the fridge. Neither would do him any good sitting out like that. It was only when he turned from their minifridge he realized Re was awake, watching him over the top fold of his blanket. “Oh, Re, you’re up,” he smiled and took his spot on the floor next to Re’s bed.

“‘M sorry I didn’t finish… you went to all that trouble and…” His voice was thin and tight, like it took nearly all the effort he had just to speak. “‘M sorry,” he said again and looked away.

”It’s okay, Re,” Patton murmured. “Maybe…” He scooted closer, peering at his friend. “Maybe you just need to work up a little appetite?” he said, voice rising at the end in a question. He offered a hand and broadened his grin. “Wanna go for a little walk around the quad? You can bring the samosas and munch while we—” He stopped when Re shook his head and retreated deeper under the covers.

”I’m a mess, Pat, I… Maybe tomorrow?”

Patton couldn’t tell if he really meant it or if he would beg off a walk tomorrow morning, too. Tomorrow was Saturday, at least, with the dining hall open later for breakfast and Patton wouldn’t have any classes to rush off to after trying to make sure he ate something. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, before holding up his hand. “Pinkie promise?” he asked, only half-joking. “And you have to try to eat something tonight while it’s still warm." He swallowed hard, pushing away Ro's scar and the voice in his head telling him what Re needed was space. "Okay?”

Re nodded solemnly, pulling one hand out from under the covers and hooking their pinkies together. “Promise.”

~

The sky was pitch black and only a sliver of the moon shone through the spindly bare trees out the window when Remus peeled open his eyes. They were so dry he swore he could hear them drag and pop with each blink. Everything ached, his head, his throat, his fucking skin. His limbs were heavy and slow, and it took several tries just to get his arm untangled from the blankets to check his watch.

He’d let the battery die. His phone had died, too, last night just before Pat came home.

Pat’s phone was probably where he usually set it on his own desk, propped up in that cute little night mode, dim clock announcing the time so they’d both be able to see it when they sat up in bed. Remus could see the glow but sitting up? Yeah, sitting wasn’t gonna happen.

He let his eyes click shut again, lids scraping. Probably dehydrated. Pat’d convinced him to have most of his juice last night but a cup and a half of fluid was a far cry from what he usually had and his body was screaming in protest.

He just couldn’t manage to drag his sorry ass outta bed to do something about it.

In the morning. In the morning, he’d get up. He’d get up and do more than dry swallow his pills. He’d take a shower and scrub the crud off his skin. He'd  go for a walk and email all his professors and find a way to pay Pat back for all he’d done and… 

Remus sighed. He’d get up tomorrow. He had to. He’d promised Pat he would.

Pat’s little smile and the soft warmth of his pinkie curled around his flitted through his mind as he drifted back to sleep.

Evergreens whizzed by out the window, miles and miles and miles of an unbroken fuzzy line of deep green and brown spreading out in both directions. Remus sat behind the driver’s seat in Ro’s car, forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window. Next to him was the empty passenger seat behind Logan, and out that window he spied the edge of the road, a narrow gully and a flimsy guardrail the only things separating the road from the cliff overlooking the distant sea. Grey water striped in thin peaks of white stretched out as far as he could see. 

The car ride was hypnotic, and after a while RoLo’s flirty banter faded away with the rhythm of the road, the passing trees, and the tires buzzing over the highway.

A rumble from the grooved sleeper lines jerked him to full alertness and he looked up.

Ro and Logan were gone, front seats vacant. But the car drove on, accelerating as it veered off the road and toward the edge. Remus yanked at his seatbelt, stabbing at the release button, but the catch wouldn’t budge. The door handle was frozen in place and as the car began to tip, a scream ripped up from his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the—

“Re?” Pat’s quiet voice tore him from his dream. The hand on his shoulder was gentle, a welcome coolness under the heavy duvet. Forehead scrunched with worry, Pat leaned over his bed, only half-dressed, jeans pulled on but unbelted. The squares on his unbuttoned plaid shirt reminded Re of the forest in his dream. “I’m sorry… It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”

Re sucked in a shaky breath. Freeing hands twisted in the sheets, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Both were drenched with sweat. As if he couldn't get any grosser. “Yeah, “ he managed, tasting the rotten copper of own tongue. Whoever said you couldn't smell your own halitosis had never felt like this. He tugged the blankets up over his mouth in the stupid, stupid hope Pat somehow wouldn't notice how bad his breath smelled. “Yeah, I—I was.”

Pat scooted closer and gave him that same sweet smile he’d shared when he’d first offered to bring him breakfast. “Would it help to talk about it?”

Remus shook his head. He didn't even know where to start and the dream was slipping through his fingers with each exhale. “I’m okay.”

Lies.

He closed his eyes, the sadness in Pat’s big blue eyes more than he could bear. “I’m okay,” he repeated. “You should go to breakfast. I… I think I’m gonna get a little more rest.” Maybe Pat would ignore the tremor in his voice. He could ignore it and go have breakfast with RoLo and they could keep him company and they could make him laugh and help him forget his filthy, disgusting loser of a roommate who couldn't even manage to get to the dining hall in days, let alone actually attend one of the classes his parents were paying thousands of dollars a semester for and—

“No.”

Remus’ eyes snapped open. Pat stared back at him, eyes wide with fear, but his rosy lips were pressed together in a sharp, determined line. “What?”

“N—no,” Pat repeated, shaking his head as he held up his little finger. “Ro said you just needed space but you pinky swore you would go for a walk this morning and I'm going to hold you to that promise.” 

“Wha—what?” Remus said again, nearly not caring how dumb he sounded.

“You can hate me later, but I’m not leaving this room without you.” He stood and took one step back before looking down at his open shirt and blushing. “Well, and once I, uh, finish getting dressed.” 

Unsure if he was actually awake or only dreaming, Remus stared as Pat buttoned up and tucked in his shirt. He tightened his belt before squaring his shoulders and holding out his hand for him to take. The rest of Pat’s words slowly sank in, thorny vines spreading over his heart and spiraling up his chest and into his throat. “I could never hate you, Pat,” he muttered. Remus’ arm snaked up to push away the blanket and take his hand. The covers were heavy and he paused, shaking his head. “I just…” 

Soft hands closed over his and pushed the blankets down. A wave of foul, musky air rose up, his own filth threatening to choke them both. To his credit, Pat quickly smoothed away his grimace and his half-smile returned. “Well, good, because the first step for you is a shower.”

With more strength than Remus knew he had, Pat gently pulled him up to his feet. The heat of his touch pressed in fresh awareness as he looked around the room. 

Except for his eyesore of a bed, their room was spotless. Even the windows shone, cleaner than they’d been when they’d first moved in. The laundry bag of clean clothes he’d brought from home sat neatly in the corner of his closet, no longer half-dumped on the floor next to his bed. A small collection of sealed juice bottles and a bowl of fruit sat on top of their minifridge, along with a stack of packaged crackers and cookies. Re's phone, no longer under the bed where he'd dropped when the battery died, now sat charging on his desk.

When had Pat done all this?

His movements must have slowed because Pat’s hands firmed at his back, nudging him closer to the bathroom. “The hot water will feel good,” he promised. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be right out here.”

”Wait—” Remus turned and reached for Pat’s arm before he could pull away completely. “Will you—” The bed called to him, safe and dark and warm. Soft, nothing sharp in sight. His eyes flicked toward the bathroom. Toilet cleaner, Pat’s razor, scissors. Matches. “Will you… Could you stay in there while I… Just to…” His voice failed and he hung his head, eyes on the floor. Fuck, even his toenails looked gross, untrimmed and curling in. He longed to shed his skin and hair and nails and just start all over again, to tear off the old and emerge wet and new and raw. 

Pat was quiet and Remus risked a glance at his face. Was he shocked? Scared? Disgusted? But Pat wasn’t looking at him, eyes fixed instead where he’d grabbed his arm. 

Remus’ nails were bitten to the quick, cuticles jagged and ripped, with nasty scabs where he’d torn too far into flesh and bled. His hand shook, but Pat’s arm was steady in his grip. He should let go, fuck, he knew he should let go but he just couldn’t force his hand to release him. Pat’s flannel was soft but thin, and the warmth of his arm bled through the material and into Re’s palm. 

Pat’s hand covered his and he closed his eyes, waiting for him to pry his fingers away and leave. Instead, Pat stroked Remus’ hand and slid his grip down, holding his hand between both of his own. “Okay,” he murmured, pink lips curled in a gentle smile. “I’ll stay in there with you. Whatever you need.”

Remus searched his eyes. Did he really just say yes?

He nodded and walked with him to the bathroom. “I’ll get your water started while you get undressed.”

[chizue-witchery]

⚜️. *. ⋆ Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

⚜️. *. ⋆ Rating: Mature

⚜️. *. ⋆ Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

⚜️. *. ⋆ Pairing/s: Dazai Osamu & Oda Sakunosuke

⚜️. *. ⋆ Character/s: Dazai Osamu, Oda Sakunosuke (mentioned), Mori Ougai (mentioned)

⚜️. *. ⋆ Summary: It had been weeks since Odasaku's death, yet Dazai couldn't sleep. His mind is plagued by Odasaku's final moments.

⚜️. *. ⋆ Word Count: 1,497

⚜️. *. ⋆ Tags/Warnings: Post-Dark Era, Past Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Impllied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Sleep Deprivation, Vomiting, Blood, Guilt, Emotional Hurt, Hut No Comfort, Whump, Angst

⚜️. *. ⋆ Prompts/Squares Filled: Sleep Deprivation, Broken Window, Bruises || @whumptober 2024 day 8 & 9

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

AO3

A/N: omg, i'm so sorry for the repost. i don't know why the original post got deleted, i must've accidentally deleted it and didn't realize.

Dazai can't sleep.

His mind is plagued by Odasaku's final moments.

He hadn't been able to sleep since he left the Port Mafia. It had been a week since then.

He hid in another city, staying in a rundown apartment until he knew what he wanted to do.

Here, he lies on his uncomfortable bed, staring at the leaking ceiling. A water droplet drips as it falls to the carpet with a soft thud.

Every blink he does feels heavier than the last one.

He wants to succumb to exhaustion and sleep and never wake up.

He wants to sleep and wake up to Odasaku leaving him a message.

He wants to go back in time to save Odasaku.

He wants to fulfill Odasaku's last wish.

He wants to die.

He wants, he wants, he wants—

He yawns, loudly and mouth wide open as he closes his eyes for a brief second.

He opens them once he finishes yawning, and he is so tired.

The week has blurred together; he doesn't remember what he did in the past week. It's hazy when he tries to remember.

Has he eaten anything in the past week?

He looks to the side and sees half-eaten cup noodles on the coffee table, some spilled with soup and noodles scattered on the table and floor. More plastic bags contain cup noodles and chips, and another plastic bag contains bottles of alcoholic drinks. Empty cans of beer are all over the floor.

Hm.

He ate something.

Although he never recalled leaving the apartment to buy them.

Speaking of the apartment, it is a mess. He sees piles of dirty clothes on top of each other, the clothes he wore on the day he held Odasaku in his arms. They're still stained with blood and they smells heavy and sickening.

It sickens his stomach, and he lurches as he moves to the edge of the bed to puke out the contents from his stomach. He heaves heavily, coughing away the remaining vomit stuck at the back of his throat. He wipes away the vomit on his lips with the thin blankets he uses to cover his body from the cold.

He stares at his vomit; noodles mixed with alcohol, along with other contents he doesn't recognize. It's disgusting. The liquid is spreading everywhere. It smells acidic. It stinks the entire room.

He wants to puke again.

He doesn't.

But the smell of acidic vomit mixed with beer and noodles, as well as the scent of the blood, makes him nauseous. His head starts to painfully throb, causing his swaying, a feeling he hadn't realized he was experiencing until now.

He shuts his eyes and opens them immediately, feeling the regret of closing them since his eyes hurt when he does. And yet, opening his eyes felt more painful.

He slowly, achingly, moves to the other side of the bed, as far as he can get away from the stench of vomit. His movement is sluggish, slower than normal. It takes everything in him to get his body to move in such a short distance.

He breathes heavily in exhaustion as though he ran a marathon, his body aching from moving them after not moving them for who knows how long. They cramp and he feels his muscles tense, and it's uncomfortable.

He stretches his legs, feeling his bone crack before curling his body. He stays in a fetal-like position until he loses count of how long he stayed in the same position. But he knows it's long enough for his body to ache.

He moves his head to look at the broken window, with blood splattered on the wall next to it. Under the window, the broken glass pieces are scattered on the floor. He would have guessed something happened the week before for the window to be broken, but then he noticed the blood on the wall was still recent—the blood not fully drying out. He tries to think of what happened, but the events of it are blank.

He doesn't remember it.

Perhaps he broke it while he was wasted.

How odd. He wonders why he broke it.

He thought of Odasaku's soft smile directed towards him, the way his eyes shone with so much hope for him and—

Oh.

Right.

That's why.

Thinking of Odasaku sends him to despair and grief. Because he knows Odasaku knew that he was going to die while taking down The Mimic organization.

Mori knew it. Odasaku knew it. He knew it.

It was why he tried to stop Odasaku in the first place, an attempt by allow himself to be vulnerable — and yet, it did not work.

Odasaku still went with it and died.

And it was all his fault.

If he had tried harder, maybe Odasaku would have agreed to not go on his suicide mission.

If he had been faster, maybe Odasaku would still be alive.

If, if, if—

Any what-ifs wouldn't have worked.

He already thought of all the what-ifs hours after Odasaku passed away in his arms.

He sighs, feeling his eyes droop, but he keeps them open. He refuses to allow himself to succumb to the slumber.

He sits up slowly; the fatigue weighing him down. He brushes away the hair on his face and they feel sticky and oily.

When has he last taken a shower?

He doesn't remember.

Maybe he should take a shower to wash away the grime on his body.

He doesn't move to leave the bed.

He didn't move at all after he sat up, other than a few yet slow blinks.

He thinks of lying back down on the bed, but he fears he might pass out once he does.

Slow and steady, he moves his legs to the edge of the bed, his body shivering when his feet touch the cold floor. He looks down as he wiggles his little toes, trying to feel something other than numbness. With a hard push, he gets himself off the bed and stands up.

He wobbles when his vision darkens and he immediately grabs the headboard of the bed so he doesn't fall. He waits for his vision to clear and for the dizzy spell to subside before he moves.

He walks to the bathroom, avoiding any trash or mess on the way. He closes the door behind him and he looks at the mirror.

He looks skinny, perhaps even malnourished. His dark hair is sticking out everywhere. Some of them are even tangled together. His face looks pale, his eye bags visible enough to look like they're bruises he got from a fight. His cheeks are sunken and his eyes are droopy and dull. His mouth is dry and his lips cracked because of thirst.

All in all, he looks worse compared to when he was at the Port Mafia.

That is not how he is supposed to look like.

He is supposed to change, just like Odasaku told him.

And yet, he looks worse.

He is recognizable, yet also not.

He knows it is him in the mirror, but it doesn't look like him.

It's a stranger who stares at him in the mirror.

He touches the mirror, and his reflection does the same thing. He pinches his cheek, and his reflection does the same. He takes a step back and his reflection does the same.

It's him.

But it's not him.

It's him without the bandages wrapped around his right eye. Odasaku removed them. He hasn't wrapped bandages around his eye ever since.

It's strange.

He's not used to it.

But it's new.

It's a new look.

It's… different.

A strange kind of difference.

He doesn't know what to call this emotion squeezing in his chest.

He doesn't know if it is a good thing or not to feel this way.

Not wanting to feel this emotion further, he turns away from the mirror and leaves the bathroom.

He sits down on the couch and grabs chips for him to eat. He bites the chips slowly, not wanting to upset his stomach further if he eats too quickly. He would've eaten cup noodles instead, but it takes too much effort and time. He doesn't want to do it.

He grabs a can of beer in the plastic bag and opens it before chugging it down. A sharp exhale escapes his lips once he finishes drinking the entire can. The headache is still there, but the burning sensation in his throat drowns it out.

He drinks another and another until he is lying down on the couch. The throbbing sensation in his head worsens while the darkness in the corner of his vision intensifies.

He slowly turns his head to the window and notices the sun slowly rising; another day has passed since Odasaku died.

He misses his friend dearly.

He wants him back.

But he can't get him back anymore.

Dazai squeezes his eyes shut, finally allowing his thoughts to shut down.

A/N: ... dazai is too easy to write angst/whump. i struggle trying not to use him for all whumptober days.

[mosspapi]

Lasted all of four (4) days into my "stay clean for the whole month" plan. Which I am unfortunately proud of. Oh well. There's always tomorrow I suppose

[collaredkittyboy]

Well it's come up multiple times today so I'll make a post about it.

I think the popularization of the word "twink" has ultimately been really bad for people in general.

I know it's hard to track the positive and negative effects of language but I don't think it's hard to see how creating a word for a group of people wherein the most consistent qualifying trait is "being skinny" is healthy for people's self image. Obviously people have lots of ideas about what it means to be a twink- gay, lacking body hair, feminine, beautiful, young, white- but the most consistent descriptor I've seen is "skinny." Hell, it's even a body type on Grindr; the size below "average."

So it kind of functions as a code word in the gay community: anyone can say that they're only interested in twinks and they don't have to look shallow by saying they only like skinny guys. It's such an accepted attitude that no one really bats an eye when they hear it.

I'm not even going to get into how it's become part of the larger issue of people turning "top" and "bottom" into gender roles 2.0, but that is closely related, because people with any internalized homophobia can look at a skinny, feminine man and turn off their fag alarms by viewing him as a woman or not a "real" man, and it makes twinks more acceptable to society at large.

No, ignoring all of that, one of the biggest issues is that gay men are taught by society that they are only attractive while they are skinny. Just having the label "twink" reminds a boy that people are looking at his body and judging it. There were countless times when I was growing up that people would tell me, "You're such a twink," or argue about whether or not I qualified as a twink because I had body hair. People around you, unpromted, judge your body and give you a label based on it, and that label has a large influence on whether or not you're seen as objectively attractive. I know many other gay people who say they wish they were a twink so they could be more attractive to guys.

So think, you have all these kids growing up being told whether or not they qualify as a twink, and then we have the gay community as a whole where it's completely acceptable to say you're only attracted to twinks. I think its because of all of this pressure to be a twink (in other words, to have a below average weight) that many of the gay people that I interact with struggle with a negative body image or eating disorders.

I mean, people talk about "twink death" like it's an actual event that makes a gay man much less attractive, and no one thinks that, maybe, it's harmful to tell a guy that the very day he stops being young and thin and pretty, he will stop being attractive and celebrated?

I'm not qualified to speak on fatphobia in physical queer spaces because I don't have the ability to frequent them where I live, but I can't imagine that these aren't issues at social gatherings as well. I also can't speak on my own experiences with weight discrimination because so far in my life I have had a naturally thin body, but I have experienced a lot of outside pressure to be thin that have caused me to pick up unhealthy eating habits to reduce my weight in fear that I could become fat later on. Thankfully that is something that I've mostly been able to work past. I'm not an expert, but idk, I just wanted to rant on my silly tumblr blog.

Obviously it's impossible for a word to be inherently bad. I'm not trying to imply that saying "twink" is a magic word with evil powers. Obviously the real issues at play here are fatphobia and harmful beauty standards and body shaming. But in my opinion, the popular use of the word twink has made it much easier and acceptable to express fatphobia, etc, in the gay community by turning "skinny person" into a "type of guy that you should try to be so you can be attractive."

[yuyinesque]

WOMANEATER | “𝗒-𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗁-𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗒…”

⚘ précis. ≡ you're a therapist in a psyche ward, and your new patient isn't one you're particularly experienced with.

⚘ disclaimers. ≡ yandere!incel & psyche ward!therapist y/n, afab!reader (no fem-aligned prns used), physical violence, compulsive masturbation, hypersexuality, misogyny & women-blaming, usage of “bitch”, mentions of post-traumatic stress disorder (ptsd); obsessive behavior; delusion (secondary erotomania); age regressing; & urine, manipulation (guilt-tripping & gaslighting), mentions of suicide & self harm, implied rape fantasies & perversion.

⚘ category. ≡ nsft headcanons.

⚘ wc. ≡ 781.

𖦥 m.list. oc.list

🧷 yandere!incel who is a scrub-wearing individual who wears stoic expressions like they’re permanent masks, though at times the said mask tends to falter vastly when he’s around any woman; even fem-presenting figures drives him an inch deeper towards insanity. he’s picked numerous fights with women and only women, even when they’ve done nothing but walked past him. the fights were always prompted by truculence and defense, as for he would disclose evident signs that he was terrified of said woman, completely convinced that they were after him in some sort of ill manner, so he strikes before they even get the chance to blink. because of this, he’s been isolated away from female figures, and only male characters were capable of catering to him, as he was indifferent towards them. well, every male but you, a female.

🧷 yandere!incel who is quite the handful for inexperienced, psyche ward!therapist darling, as for they haven’t dealt with a patient with such a high caliber of disorders; their worst case so far was a suicidal woman who was diagnosed with type one bipolar. one session with the individual was enough to question your overall abilities. i mean, he despised you. at least that’s what you believed.

🧷 yandere!incel who is tired of you cheating on him with other patients! this is why he’s so angry towards you specifically, but he won’t say. however, he’s also completely infatuated with you; have i also mentioned completely horrified with you? you’ve noticed each time you would change your tone slightly, he would convert into a fretful mouse, apologizing incessantly as tears glossed his dark, beady eyes, also slipping up by referring to you as “mother” in a small, infantile voice. you concluded it was because you reminded him of such, and she was primarily the reason why he feared and hated women so much. motherly abuse.

🧷 yandere!incel who would have his calmer days since he was genuinely interested in his spouse. he’s never had a woman so madly in love with him, so it not only fed his ego, but causes his dick to swell with cum each time you evinced signs that confirmed you were oso desperate for his attention. with the way you sit up when you walk in, reassure him that everything will be fine, or even going out of your way to smile in such a lecherous manner. it angered him, especially when he begins groping his hardened crotch in front of you and complaining about you and your whorish antics. you would ignore him in response or threaten to cut the meeting short, which prompts a loud, slur-screaming, victim-blaming outburst in response.

🧷 “you’re such a bitch, you hear me?! a bitch! and a bitch li-like you shouldn’t even be alive! luring me, t-teasing me—all women are just a bunch of fffffucking sluts!!”

🧷 yandere!incel who also showed signs of hypersexuality and exhibitionism. he was a chronic masturbator, pleasuring himself to the most horrific things with your face in mind. just the thought of keeping you in your place by forcing you to perform taboo acts on the receptionist desk as everyone watched rotted his mind.

🧷 yandere!incel who would try to convince you that he doesn’t hate you only to voice his hatred towards you the next week. then he’d not only do that, but then claim that he’s never done such with tears in his eyes, finding your scoldings utterly unnecessary and so mean. there was even a time where you lost your patience and raised your voice at him, immediately causing him to not only an apologetic rant, but to begin pissing himself in the chair he was trembling and sobbing on, the strong scent of ammonia filling the room during the process.

🧷 yandere!incel who needed your touch or he’ll perform said disgraceful acts. there was a day where he pleaded for just a hug from you if he was good the whole week. once you confirmed it, he did just that. no fights, no arguments, nothing. he even apologized for freezing up and screaming at the poor, feminine soul that walked near him. you knew it was against the rules to be this affectionate towards patients, but you couldn’t break a promise. and so, you did—hugged him. awkwardly, even. he was rather short, so his face was buried within your chest, and the boner pressed against your thigh only made you feel nauseous, but not as nauseous as his next, ominous set of words.

🧷 “y-you better hope these h-hands hold mercy on your.. body once i luh-latch them onto you…”

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft

[quack-quack-snacks]

Watch Me.

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Sweet Home Masterlist

My Cha Hyun-su Masterlist

Pairing(s): Cha Hyun-su x Fem!Reader Summary: Your high school life was as normal as anyone else's... until Kim Do-hun arrived. He took you away from your best friend, Cha Hyun-su, until an apocalypse happened and he came to get you back. Warnings: Bullying (toward Hyun-su), mentally abusive behavior, implied physical abuse (One written slap directed towards reader), blackmailing, unhealthy relationship, abusive relationship, sadism and dacryphilia but not in a sexual way, Kim Do-hun being the queen of gaslight gatekeep girlboss, lots of crying, reader feeling helpless, monster!Hyun-su, talk of past suicidal ideation and self-harm, male masturbation, sexual fantasy, and fingering. Word Count: 14,310 Extra Notes: I FINALLY FINISHED IT! YES! The smut part I'm not the most proud of BUT I FINISHED IT ARE YOU PROUD OF ME?! Okay... enjoy :)

“I guess you don’t know why I’m doing this to you,” 

Kim Do-hun sighed out with a condescending tilt of his head. His hand readjusted his grip on the wooden stick he used to beat Hyun-su only minutes ago. “I promise, I have a good reason.” 

“You scum,” Hyun-su cursed under his breath as he glared at him. He was lying on the floor, blood flowing from the cut on his cheek and bruises scattering themselves across his body. His, once white, shirt was now splattered in red and muddied from the dust and dirt collected on the floor. 

“You look pretty angry. I guess you weren’t beaten enough.”

“Do-hun, stop, please!” You pleaded from your place on the side. Tears you were unable to hide streamed down your cheeks as two of your ‘friends’ held you back from rushing forward and stopping him from continuing with the beating toward the boy who held your heart. 

You could faintly hear Hyun-su whispering for you to stay out of it, but you focused your attention on the boy standing above him. He lazily tilted his head over to look at you and his lips quirked up into a smirk. “Yeah? And what’ll you give me if I do?” 

“Anything. What do you want? You already have money and popularity and loyalty from all the fucking asshats that surround you, what more do you want?” You seethed out. 

Your breath caught in your throat when he approached you. He raised a hand and you flinched when his knuckles skimmed over your cheek. “I want you,” he said simply with a grin. 

“What?” You whispered, praying he wasn’t asking what you thought he was asking.

“I want you to be my girlfriend,” he took a step forward and you stumbled back, feeling betrayed but not surprised when your ‘friends’ instantly let go of your arms when they saw what he was doing. “I want to have you by my side every day while I walk down the halls of the school. I want to introduce you to my dad and arrange for us to get married. I want you to be mine.”

Your back was pressed against the window of the classroom as he cornered you, your eyes wide with surprise and fear. You didn’t want to marry this asshole, you didn’t want to be within 30 feet of him. 

But you desperately wanted him to stop hurting the boy you loved. 

“Hell no. She’s not getting with a guy like you,” Hyun-su protested, trying to get up from his position on the floor but failing. He whimpered your name through a pained gasp and started talking directly to you. “I won’t let you do this. Stay out of this, okay?” 

The two of you held eye contact for a bit, arguing nonverbally about what you would do before you sighed sadly and looked away. 

“No, Do-hun. I won’t be your girlfriend,” you spoke quietly, not looking him in the eyes. He sighed airily before turning back to where his victim resided on the ground. 

He clicked his tongue, almost teasingly. Shooting you one last glance, he asked, “Are you sure?” You didn’t respond or even look at him. “Okay, your call,” he sighed before turning to face a classmate of yours who was sitting at a desk. “Hey, four eyes.”

Park Ju-yeong looked away from Do-hun’s direction, hoping he wasn’t talking to him but luck wasn’t on his side. 

“You,” Do-hun tried again and the boy turned to look at him warily. “Yeah… It’s your turn now.”

Ju-yeong watched as he placed the wooden stick on his desk with a soft clacking sound. “But he looks…” he stuttered out, glancing at Hyun-su and seeing the state he was in. 

“So?” Do-hun taunted. “Were you close with him or what?” The boy looked down, silently confirming the statement. The bully scoffed. “All these guys used to be friends with him too.”

Everyone looked away, either in shame or embarrassment from being called out on it. You quietly seethed as you watched the scene play out in front of you. 

“Don’t do it if you don’t want to,” he offered him. “I’m not forcing you. Oh, by the way,” he started as he walked to stand behind his chair, leaning down so he was speaking right next to his ear. “Who were your friends again?”

You scoffed. 

‘Not forcing you’ my ass. 

Even though you expected it, your heart still started racing when you saw Ju-yeong close his fingers around the stick and stand up, moving to stand in front of Hyun-su. 

“No,” you whispered and gradually got louder with your protests. “No, no. No! Stop!” You rushed forward to stand in the way but two pairs of hands wrapped around your arms to pull you back. You were practically completely immobilized and forced to watch everything in front of you.

Do-hun scoffed out a laugh as he glanced at you before turning back to Ju-yeong. With his hands placed in his pockets, he nodded back to him. “Keep going.”

You could see how Ju-yeong hesitantly looked over at you and your pleading face before facing forward again and raising the stick over his head. You let out a sob when he whispered a small apology and brought the stick down upon your best friend. No matter how many times you pleaded and begged for him to stop, Do-hun would always tell him to keep going. It wasn’t until you fell to your knees sobbing that you finally said the words he really wanted to hear, but your best friend dreaded. 

“I’ll do it,” you sobbed out, barely coherent through your staggering breaths. 

Do-hun raised a hand, signaling Ju-yeong to stop what he was doing. Hyun-su wheezed, trying to say something, to protest what he knew you were planning, but unable to because of the pain coursing through his ribs. 

“What was that, Doll?” Do-hun asked as he took a few steps toward you and crouched down in front of your form. You had curled in on yourself with a hand clutching the fabric of your chest. The boys holding you back from interfering let you go when Do-hun reached forward to grab your chin. The gentleness with which he did so contrasted his actions toward Hyun-su so much it scared you. “Why don’t you repeat that?”

You stared at him as you tried to get your words out without any sobs or cries interrupting you. “I-” you let out a shaky breath. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your girlfriend. Just st-stop hurting him. Please.”

His smirk grew as he listened to your begs and how you seemed so helpless in front of him. So desperate for your friend to be released from this agonizing torture. 

“So pretty when she cries, isn’t she Cha Hyun-su?” He jeered while you closed your eyes and tried not to flinch away from his hand caressing your cheek. He wiped away the tears that continued to fall and cooed at your soft whimpers. 

“N-no… sto-” Hyun-su tried but it abruptly was interrupted by him falling into a coughing fit. 

“Aw, you don’t think she’s pretty when she cries? That’s just not nice. Maybe you need another beating to appreciate her.”

Your eyes widened as you heard him say that and he stood up to face Hyun-su again. “No!” You screamed, scrambling to stand up and grab onto his sleeve hopelessly. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him, please.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side and you froze. You couldn’t move; couldn’t breathe; couldn’t think. All you could do was stand stiffly in his embrace as he pretended to think. 

“Alright. I’ll make you a deal,” he started and you held your breath.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Why would it be? He was a bully after all.

“I won’t hurt him anymore, as long as you follow everything I say.”

Your exhale was shaky when you released it, your heart thumping rapidly against your chest and your mind screaming at you that this was a bad idea. Ignoring the way your body - and Hyun-su - protested, you nodded. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do whatever you say. Just don’t hurt him.”

He smiled at you, his eyes gleaming with a familiar look that brought you back to all the first interactions you had with him. 

You were running down the halls of the school, cursing yourself for not waking up to your alarm. You would definitely be marked as tardy, if not absent. 

Disheveled and panting from exertion, you held your Math and History textbook in your hand with your backpack hanging on one shoulder. You were trying to force the books into your bag but with the way you were walking and not thinking clearly, it was hopeless. 

Your tie wasn’t even correctly done. 

Turning the corner, you looked up just in time for your face to slam into someone’s chest. The both of you got knocked down to the ground with your books falling from your hands. Letting out a gasp, you immediately scrambled to bow your head and apologize. 

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking and I’m late for class and I- I’m so sorry,” you rambled. Looking up, you saw a boy you’d never seen at the school before. Your eyes lit up in realization before you practically crumpled in on yourself. “Oh, and you’re the new kid too, this is such a terrible first impression!” You whined and put your head in your hands. 

When he let out a small laugh, you looked up. He was sitting more upright now while looking at you. His head tilted and his eyes filled with a look that you couldn’t quite place. “It’s alright, Doll.”

You frowned at the nickname but brushed it off. “Are you hurt?” You asked frantically while simultaneously shoving your books into your bag and helping him gather his own things. You stood up, holding his backpack in one hand while yours remained on the ground. With your other hand, you reached down and offered it to him. He looked at your hand for a while before taking it in his. 

“No, I’m not hurt.” 

“Well, I am so sorry but I am still late for class, so I’ll see you around, newbie. Let me know if you need help with a tour of the school or anything like that!” You waved him off after handing him his backpack and picking up your own. 

You were unaware of how he watched you walk away until you were out of sight. 

A few hours later, it was lunchtime and you were outside with a few of your friends playing soccer. It was your favorite thing about lunchtime except for the times when you would eat with your best friend, Hyun-su. During the times when the two of you weren’t eating together, he would often watch you on the sidelines as you played soccer or occasionally be with another friend.

Today seemed to be one of the latter days as you played soccer. You couldn’t see him anywhere on the sidelines, but you did see his backpack. It wasn’t too uncommon for him not to be there so you just decided to let it be and continue focusing on the game. 

You had the ball but you had nowhere that could be a good shot and one member of the opposing team was persistent on messing up any dribbling you tried to do. Your only choice was to pass it, and you did. You passed it to Seo-joon. The boy had only started playing with your group about a week ago but he was a pretty good kicker. 

The only thing he needed to work on was his aim. 

The ball went flying out of the playing field and crashed into the vending machine where two familiar boys were. 

“Seo-joon!” You exclaimed just as you heard a voice call out.

“Be careful, watch out!” Hyun-su yelled to Seo-joon as he ran to retrieve the ball. 

“Oh, sorry! Are you okay?” He asked but didn’t wait for a response as he passed the ball and the game continued. You rolled your eyes and jogged over to the two boys. You realized the other boy, who had fallen backward from the shock of the ball flying toward him, was the new kid, Kim Do-hun. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you two alright?” You asked, placing your hands on your knees while you panted from the run over. “Seo-joon might have a really powerful kick but he can’t aim all too well,” you joked. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Hyun-su confirmed before turning to where Do-hun was sitting on the floor after falling back in shock. “Are you okay?” He reached out his hand, offering him a way of getting up but it ended up not getting taken. 

Not paying Hyun-su any mind as he stood, Do-hun turned to you. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

You nervously glanced over at Hyun-su before looking back at the boy and shooting him your most charming - yet still slightly awkward - smile. “Perfect. Well, I’m going to go back and continue playing, but I’ll try to keep you guys from getting any more balls being shot in your direction!” You reassured playfully before turning and placing a hand on Hyun-su’s arm. “I’ll see you after school, yeah?”

He shot you a grin and nodded enthusiastically. You returned it before turning around and running back to the game. Hyun-su missed the way Do-hun glared at the place where your hand touched his arm, instead watching as you were passed the ball and started dribbling toward the goal. 

You could see it now. The look he gave you.

It was obsession. 

He was obsessed with you; with getting you on his side, and if he had to use force or the use of others’ pain to get that then he would. No hesitation. 

“Doll,” you heard and returned from your daze when fingers snapped in your face. 

“Hm?” You looked away from where you had zoned out looking at your best friend and up to see the brown, haunting eyes of Do-hun in front of you. He let out a laugh.

“Hm?” He mocked and you bit your tongue to stop from making any remarks. “I’m taking you home,” he told you. There was no room for argument in his voice and you noticed everyone who had been in the room except for Hyun-su, Do-hun, and yourself were all gone. Hyun-su had moved from lying on the floor to leaning against the cubbies on the wall behind him. He wheezed every time he tried to open his mouth and all you could do was watch helplessly as you came to terms with what exactly you were agreeing to.

But still, even with the feeling of Do-hun’s hand around your waist and his fingers on your jaw that guided you to look back into his eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. 

“I’m taking you home,” he repeated more sternly. You could tell he was getting annoyed but you couldn’t help yourself from asking your next question. 

“Can I keep him as my friend?” You hated that you had to ask for that simple action. You were practically giving up any control you had over your social life and that was heartbreaking.

But as long as it kept Hyun-su safe…

Do-hun scoffed and his hand tightened uncomfortably around your waist. Your blood ran cold as you felt his fingers digging into your side, knowing how much power he had at the tips of those appendages and how hopeless you were against them. 

You weren’t even talking about it in a physical aspect. No, you were talking about the power in society he held. It wasn’t a secret how he was the son of a very successful and important businessman, especially with how much he boasted about it. He could ruin anyone’s life at the drop of a hat and they wouldn’t know what hit them. 

You were mostly worried about Hyun-su and his family. You were well aware of his dad’s boss being Do-hun’s father and how he used that to threaten him on a daily basis. It scared you how out of your depth you were in this battle you waged against him. 

And like striking down the leader of your army, he dug the blade through your heart with the next words. 

“You’re not allowed to even look at him ever again.”

You let out a scream as you thrashed around. The smell of cigarettes burned your nose as it filled the air around you. Your hands fought to pull against the grip holding you by your hair and forcing you to face your worst nightmare. 

You cringed at the hot breath that blew against your ear as he spoke. “This is your fault. I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just followed what you were told and stayed away from him,” Do-hun condescendingly told you. He made it sound like he was sorry and remorseful at having to do this but you knew he was loving every minute. 

“Just stop! Stop it! Please!” You sobbed, your hands going weak as they limply held the wrist of his hand holding your hair. The pained groans and gasps coming from Hyun-su on the ground in front of you echoed in your head relentlessly.

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

“Please let him go. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you pleaded helplessly but he just clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I’m sorry too,” he lied. “But the only way you’ll learn is if you see that there are consequences to your actions,” he explained before forcing you to walk forward and fall to your knees in front of Hyun-su. You let out a small whine as the grip he had on your scalp tightened and he leaned in again. “These are the consequences. So take a good, long look and remember it every time you think about going back on your word.”

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

It’s your fault.

More tears fell as you did as told and took a long look over your wounded friend. There was blood splattered across his white-uniformed shirt as well as the grey undershirt he wore. Blood collected around his mouth from where he had spat it out along with the cut on his bruised lips. On his left cheek was the laceration from last time that had reopened and was sending streaks of blood down his face. His nose had a small gash along the bridge and both eyes, one still bruised from the last time he was beaten up in the classroom and the other luckily unharmed, were opened wide as he stared back at you. 

Hyun-su reached out a bloodied hand to your cheek to instinctively wipe away the tears that had fallen there but you were harshly pulled away just before his fingers could skim your skin. 

His eyes shot back up to Do-hun as he looked bored by the interaction. “Let her go,” he demanded in a quiet voice. 

“I will, if you jump off,” Do-hun bargained and the look Hyun-su sent over to the edge of the roof sent you into a panic. 

“No! No Hyun-su, don’t you dare!”

“Oh, shut up, Doll,” Do-hun rolled his eyes before he forced you to look at him again. “Do you want him to get another beating? Huh?” He questioned, mockingly. “I thought I told you not to talk to him, yeah?” At your silence, he degradingly tapped his knuckles against your temple. “Is there a brain in there that can answer or are you just an empty shell?”

“No. No, I don’t want him to get another beating,” you rushed out, trying not to make any remarks about the belittling way he spoke to you. 

Hyun-su seemed much braver than you. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

Do-hun scoffed and pushed you backward so you crashed into the chest of another boy in the group. His arms wrapped around your chest and stopped you from moving while Do-hun crouched down in front of Hyun-su and lightly flicked his forehead. “I’ll talk to her however I want. Don’t forget, she’s my girlfriend now,” he laughed under his breath. “And do you know how it feels to figure out my girlfriend has been cheating on me? Texting you, talking about how you left your clothes at her house? It breaks my heart,” he said with a sarcastically sad tone.  

Hyun-su sent you a glance and you begged him with your eyes not to say anything. Whether he denied or confirmed the situation, it would only make things worse for the both of you. He just looked down and away from you, avoiding Do-hun’s irritatingly patronizing gaze as well. 

“But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your clothes back soon enough, though I can’t guarantee what their quality will be like,” he joked and all the other boys on the roof laughed along with him. With that, he stood up and walked back over to you. The boy holding you let you go but his arms were immediately replaced with Do-hun’s as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you tightly to his side. Tugging you toward the entrance of the roof, his posse of sheep following close behind, he sent a dismissive wave over his shoulder to Hyun-su. “Better hope your bestie doesn’t misbehave anytime soon, or else this will happen again. Although, maybe you’re into that.”

You didn’t dare turn around to shoot him a glance goodbye, but you could feel his eyes on the back of your head until the door closed behind you and you were left alone with Do-hun and his friends once again. 

7:30. 30 minutes before school started. 

You walked down the stairs, heading for the back exit of the school where the outdoor staircases were - yours and Hyun-su’s designated spot to meet up in the mornings. It was a very dark day. Deep gray clouds crowded out any blue in the sky and revealed only little bits of the sun’s rays through the diminished light that shone through them. 

Although it hadn’t started raining just yet, you brought a raincoat and change of clothes just in case you got caught in it when it inevitably did. 

Opening the door to the back of the school, you immediately saw Hyun-su sitting on the steps with a white square gift box in his lap, a light blue ribbon wrapping around it beautifully. His foot was tapping along to a beat from the music playing on his phone, the headphones stuffed into his ears and playing loud enough that you could hear it as you approached. It was a habit you always tried to make him break, concerned for his hearing, but he never did. 

When he saw you walking toward him, his eyes lit up and a smile grew on his face. He stood up to greet you before you both sat down again and started talking. 

“This is for you,” he told you, placing the white box on your lap excitedly. 

“Hyun-su,” you complained lightly. “I didn’t get you anything!”

He brushed you off with a smile. “There’s no need. Just open it.”

You did and when you saw the contents inside, you laughed. “What is this?” You asked, picking up the patchwork teddy bear. It wasn’t the most well-done stuffed animal but it reminded you of something specific that you couldn’t put your finger on. 

His smile turned a bit bashful and maybe nervous as he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s your baby blanket,” he told you and you gasped. “I had your sister help me with it. I know that it meant a lot to you and how it wasn’t in the greatest condition, so I came up with the idea,” he explained in a rush, worried over how quiet you were as you stared at the stuffed bear. “So… Do you like it?” 

You couldn’t contain the smile anymore as you turned to face him. As calmly as you could, you placed the stuffed animal back into the white box and set it to the side before throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace. “Do I like it? How could I not like it? I love it!” You pulled back to hold him by his shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you, Hyun-su.”

He smiled at you before bringing you in for another hug. The two of you stayed like that for a minute until you felt a cold wet plop on your head. Pulling away and looking up, you received another raindrop on your forehead. 

“Shit! It’s raining!” You quickly turned and put the white lid back on the box before reaching to grab your bag. You were quickly stopped when Hyun-su grabbed your arm and pulled you back. Looking back at him, you let out a nervous laugh at the mischievous look in his eyes. “Hyun-su… no.”

“Hyun-su, yes,” he joked before grabbing both your hands and tugging you farther away from your bag. He laughed as you yelped from the light sprinkle turning into a full-on downpour and your clothes immediately getting soaked to the bone. You gaped at him while he spun you around.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said, trying to keep your tone serious but eventually failing as you burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re so lucky I brought a change of clothes today!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get those wet too,” he promised with a cheeky smile.

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Wow, Hyun-su, I didn’t know you were so dirty-minded. And in public no less!”

“Wha-?” It took a second for him to understand what you were saying but when he did he pushed your face away from him with his hand. “Oh my god, if there’s anyone here who’s dirty-minded, it’s you.”

You laughed and it seemed like you couldn’t stop until the bell rang with how much the two of you were joking with each other. In the end, at least your bear was safe and dry.

The same couldn’t be said about the two of you.

You held the white box in your hands as you walked down the hall. The lid was slightly brown with water damage and was fraying in some areas but you couldn’t help the fuzzy feeling you felt when you looked at it. 

Do-hun walked beside you. As a little ‘reward’ for being on ‘good behavior’ as well as a graduation gift of sorts, he was allowing you to give Hyun-su his stuff back, as long as he stayed with you the entire time. 

The two of you walked toward the back of the school to Hyun-su and your spot. It had been so long since the two of you met here and you couldn’t help the emotion building behind your eyes and stinging your nose. Do-hun droned on and on about something but you weren’t listening to a word he said as you focused on not bursting into tears. Instead, you focused on keeping the letter pressed to the bottom of the box. You kept it a secret from Do-hun and you just prayed, for both yours and Hyun-su’s sake, he wouldn’t see it. 

Opening the door, you weren’t surprised to see Hyun-su sitting on the steps. The way his form seemed so much sadder and lifeless than he had all those months ago when the two of you danced in the rain had your heart clenching painfully. 

His head lifted as he heard your footsteps approaching and you nearly sobbed at the bandages covering his face. He scrambled to his feet, eyes mostly set on you but flicking over to Do-hun every once in a while. 

You couldn’t handle speaking, so all you did was hold out the tattered white box to him. You saw his eyes light up in recognition of it but he didn’t say anything. His hands reached out and grazed yours as he grabbed it. The way his eyes locked onto you when he did made you know he felt the paper. It wasn’t anything too special, just a simple note asking him to keep in touch with your new phone number and the home address you knew Do-hun and you would be moving to once you graduated. It meant a lot for you to have him in your life, though, and you wanted him to know that. 

“Wow, Doll. After all this time, you don’t even want to say your final goodbye to your ex-bestie?” Do-hun taunted, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you away from the boy in front of you and into his chest instead. “Seems like you don’t care about him anymore.”

You cleared your throat and looked down, your arms retracting from where they’d stretched in front of you to give the box. “Let’s just go,” you told him quietly. Luckily, he obliged and turned to walk away with you glancing one more time at the boy you loved. 

You stood outside of the church, debating back and forth with yourself on whether you should go inside or not. 

It hadn’t been long since you saw Hyun-su, only having graduated a few months ago, but it had been a long time since you had interacted with him. You were still with Do-hun. His father arranged for the two of you to get married and your parents did nothing to help. They were persuaded with money and the promise of a good life all in exchange for the freedom of yours. The engagement ring weighed heavily with betrayal and manipulation at the bottom of your black dress’s pocket. 

Today had been the first day in weeks that you hadn’t been within five feet of Do-hun, and it was all for the same reason - the same person - you gave yourself to him in the first place. 

Cha Hyun-su. 

Even after everything, after every attempt to destroy your feelings Do-hun tried, you still loved the boy with all of your heart. 

And now he probably needed you more than ever. 

Your hand rested on the doorknob as you hyped yourself up to open it when you suddenly heard yelling. It was muffled and you couldn’t understand it but it slowly got closer and closer until Hyun-su came rushing through the door, a few men on either side of him dragging him out. You could hear the shouts now and they were all coming from him. Each was about how his parents abandoned him, leaving him to live alone in the world. 

The shouts came to a stop when his eyes locked on you, your black knee-length dress and black flats showing you dressed for the occasion while he stood disheveled in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was disheveled and most likely tangled, grown out from the lack of attention he’d been giving himself since the bullying started.  

You tried to help him behind the backs of everyone else. You mainly left little snacks or water bottles on his desk before class when you knew he hadn’t eaten, but occasionally you provided first aid kits for him on the occasion you ‘misbehaved’ and he paid the price for it. You never knew if he took them but you continued to do it, every day, without fail. 

You watched as Hyun-su shook off the arms of the people holding him and they walked back inside. You had to hold yourself back and bite your tongue at the insults they called him on their way. It was only after the door clicked and it was quiet outside the church that you spoke. 

“Hi.”

You said it so softly you weren’t sure he heard it, but then he replied. “H-hi. What… what are you doing here?” He looked away from you as he asked it, shoving a hand in his pocket while the other came up to scratch the back of his neck. You almost smiled at the nervous habit he seemed to have kept. 

“I’m here for you,” you explained, taking a hesitant step toward him and inwardly celebrating when he didn’t move away. You took more steps forward until you were right in front of him, only a foot of distance between the two of you. You closed the distance as you wrapped your arms around his middle and pulled him into you. It was gentle at first since you were hesitant whether or not he would push you away, but your hold tightened when he returned the embrace. He buried his face into your neck as you rubbed his back comfortingly and you could feel the tears falling onto your skin. He sobbed into your shoulder all while you just held him. It was the first time in months you had held each other like this and it was a relief for you to feel him like this one more time. “I’m so sorry, Hyun-su,” you whispered to him, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes too but desperately trying to blink them back for his sake. He needed you to be the strong one right now, you couldn’t cry. 

“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault,” he emphasized with a hoarse voice, bringing you closer. You let the first tear fall. It was such a relief to hear him say that when all you’d heard from everyone, specifically Do-hun, was how it was your fault. How you were the one who ruined Hyun-su’s life. 

But you still blamed yourself.

“But I could have done something! I didn’t do anything and you paid the price for it all! I should have done mo-” 

Hyun-su pulled away from you and in an instant pressed his lips against yours. The words left your mind as you immediately melted into it. He tasted like the salt from his tears but you didn’t care. All that mattered at that moment was that he was there. He was kissing you and he was there. You didn’t think you deserved it but he was there. 

He pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against yours and breathing heavily. “Never blame yourself for what happened,” he demanded. His lips skimmed yours with each word and you felt yourself longing for the feel of them again. “You will never be at fault for what happened.”

Instead of saying anything back, you just pulled him back in for another quick kiss. The two of you might have been abandoned by your families but at the very least, you had each other. 

Or, you did until you felt arms wrap around you from behind and yank you away from him. Your eyes grew wide as you recognized the familiar expensive cologne of your betrothed. You stiffened under his arms as they tightened painfully around you and Do-hun smiled at Hyun-su. 

“Long time no see, Cha Hyun-su. Why are you kissing my fiance?” He asked, his grin still as condescending as it was in high school. Hyun-su looked shocked by the news, looking at you with anger boiling inside him but it fizzled out instantly as he saw you standing petrified in fear. “I don’t care. It’s not like you’ll ever see her again,” Do-hun cut him off right as he opened his mouth, walking backward and dragging you along with him. “Well, maybe you will, we might even send you a wedding invite!” He yelled as he forced you into the passenger seat of his sleek black, definitely more expensive than any vehicle Hyun-su had ever sat in, car. 

Another wave of fresh tears fell down his face while he helplessly watched you stare hopelessly out the window as the car started driving down the road and out of his life. 

August 13th. That was the day the world officially ended. 

It started off as a normal day for you. You stayed in bed for the first few hours of the morning, only getting up when your stomach felt like it would eat itself. Then, you sat on the chair on the back porch of your house, watching the butterflies fly around your gorgeous flowers and petting the stray cat that would always find its way into your yard. You’d come to name it Dong-ee, meaning sunrise. Do-hun always scolded you when he saw you with the animal, talking about what diseases it could have, but you’d stopped responding to his words months ago. 

He tried threatening you every day but it never worked. 

After your sister died and he found out about - and stopped - the letters you sent to Hyun-su, you had nothing left to lose. 

In the massive house you lived in, with servants cleaning everywhere and greeting you each time you passed by and your ‘husband’ never far, you’d never felt more alone. 

It started with a single nosebleed. One of the servants started bleeding profusely out of their nose and onto the crystal blue couch she’d been vacuuming. You told her it was fine, rushing her off before your husband found out and immediately spraying some stain remover onto it. You know he would have scolded her at best - which was never a fun experience with the way he would degrade someone until they felt like dirt beneath the heel of his perfectly shined black shoe, or fired her at worst - which was a big way to get someone out of a job for life. He often blacklisted the employees he fired. 

The nosebleeds seemed to increase, not only in the one girl but in the other servants as well. It wasn’t until one of them turned into a tall monster with sharp claws and extended canines, trying to kill Do-hun when they saw him, that you knew the world would never be the same. 

It took time, but Do-hun and his guards - which in reality were actually just his guards following his every word while Do-hun sat in the background, just like in high school - were able to force the monster out of the house. After that, Do-hun decided what he thought was best and decided to do the worst thing you could have imagined. 

He forced everyone out. Everyone who worked there and resided in the large house, they were forced out of the house and left to die in the streets roaming with monsters. You screamed and struggled as you watched them all be shoved out the doors which were barricaded soon after with thick wooden planks.

What he did next though, was what made you seriously fear the man called your husband and fear for your life. 

He brought out a gun you didn’t know he even owned and shot silver bullets into the foreheads of all his most trusted guards. The same guards who just sent the servants to their death sentence as they forced them out of the house. 

The air filled with the foul stench of blood and you nearly threw up. You backed away as he approached, getting closer and closer to you with the gun still in his hand. His finger may not have been on the trigger but it was terrifying nonetheless. 

Eventually, you were backed against a wall with nowhere to escape. Do-hun cornered you against it, playfully and gently tapping the muzzle of the gun against your forehead. 

“I’ve been waiting to do that for a while,” he confessed, smiling down at you. “Now you can be the perfect housewife you were supposed to be. It’s all worked out.”

You shuddered, flinching away as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. The one thing you were thankful for was the fact that Do-hun accepted consent when it came to anything sexual. You knew he would never do anything to hurt you like that, but he wasn’t above physically hurting you if you didn’t do as he said. 

“Now, why don’t you clean up that mess over there,” he pointed to the dead bodies near the front door and you followed his finger slowly. “And I’ll watch from the couch. If you do good, I’ll consider making you some dinner.”

The world was ending. 

And you were stuck with your psychotic murderer of a forced-marriage-provided husband. 

You were fucked. 

It had been a few weeks since the apocalypse started. You often heard the sounds of roaming creatures as they passed by and shuddered at the thought. Despite everything, you were at least glad to be able to stay in a relatively safe place when everything went to hell. 

Do-hun didn’t make life easy for you, though. You could feel him hovering over you every second. Now that he didn’t have work and there was nobody around to stop him, he didn’t hesitate to be by your side the entire time and give you no privacy. 

During everything, you couldn’t stop thinking about Hyun-su. You wondered if he was alright; if he was a monster or not; if he could possibly be one of those special infectees; if you would ever see him again. 

You found your answer sooner than you expected. 

You had no idea how much time had passed since everything started. At first, you tried counting the days, but you lost track after 80. 

Now, after what you assumed must have been more than half a year within this hellhole, you sat on the couch nearest to the window. Though you couldn’t see through it anymore with the way Do-hun had boarded it up, using the curtains and whatever furniture he could find, you could imagine the way the birds and butterflies fluttered around your rose bushes and sunflowers as they often did when you would watch them through the glass. On days like those, you would often be having a glass of your favorite tea along with a new book of your favorite genre.

You’d since had to resort to a sliver of water from your designated drinking water supply and a book you’d already read several times over. 

Do-hun had gotten especially protective and obsessive over you since the start of this hell. He never let you out of his sight, even more so now than before when he could entrust you into the hands of his guards. He would scream at you for hours at a time when you would ignore him. He would force-feed you your rations on the days you felt you couldn’t do anything but sit in despair. It was a strange, aggressive, display of his ‘affection’ for you. 

You stopped ignoring him as often, part of the reason being he would scream at you for hours at a time when you did, just to get a reaction, but also because you just felt so isolated and alone. He was the only source of any interaction you had, human or otherwise; and while all of that was entirely his fault, you couldn’t really hope for a different situation when you knew it would never happen. Sometimes, when things got bad with him, you envied the servants who were forced out.

On other days, when things were even worse, you envied the guards you had to clean up afterwards. 

You closed your book with a sigh when you read the same sentence over again for the twentieth time. Do-hun looked up from his own book with an annoyed glare before rolling his eyes and focusing on the pages again. Sighing, you stood up and gently placed your book in your spot before walking away. 

“Where the hell are you going?” Do-hun demanded and stood up abruptly. His book limply fell to the floor and he stormed closer to you. On instinct, you took a step back before steeling your nerves and looking him dead in the eye. 

“Away from you.”

He huffed angrily and grabbed ahold of your wrist and started walking back towards the couch. “No, you’re not. You’ll stay right here where I can see you.”

You roughly yanked your arm away from his grip and pulled away. “No. I won’t.”

Do-hun slowly turned around to look at you, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. This was the first time in a long time you’d truly fought against and denied a direct order from him. “What did you say?” He took a step toward you and your breath caught in your throat. 

“I… I-I said,” you stuttered, cursing yourself for the lack of control over your shaking hands. 

He widened his eyes, imitating your fearful expression. “Y-y-y-you s-said?” He mocked over exaggeratedly and you opened your mouth again to reply when a large shadow blocked the limited light coming through the fabric covering the windows. It got closer and closer, larger shadows casting over the floor behind Do-hun as it did. Your arm raised to point at the approaching creature when suddenly a sharp pain exploded across your cheek. Your head snapped to the side painfully and you brought a palm up to cover the reddening area where Do-hun’s hand had slapped you. Although the pain shocked you, you weren’t surprised by his actions. Nor were you surprised by the sadistic smile that covered his lips. “Got no words, Doll? You were so confident just a second ago, where’d that attitude go?” 

Despite his taunting words, your attention was solely focused on the silhouette of a large wing rising into the air behind the curtains of the window. Just as you saw it come swinging down, you ducked down and covered your head with your arms. 

Do-hun didn’t see the image of the creature behind him, so the action of you ducking down and the loud sound of shattering glass both confused him and gave him a fright. The fabric of the curtains was able to prevent most of the glass from getting through, but you were unfortunate enough to have a piece nick your right knee right below your dress’ hem. It started bleeding immediately and it streamed down your leg to stain your sock-clad feet. The blood was enough to smear across the floor when your foot moved. 

Unfortunately for you, Do-hun remained unharmed from his standing position. 

You crawled away from the wall and hid behind the white-marble kitchen island, unaware of the red trail you left behind from your bleeding limb, as Do-hun turned around slowly, taking the gun he kept in his belt at all times into his hands and pointing it at the figure still hidden by the furniture stacked high. The couch, with two dining room chairs stacked on top, screeched against the hardwood floor as a large wing made of only muscle and bone sent it flying across the room. You covered your mouth to hold in your yelps as the chairs loudly tumbled to the floor. Your eyes clenched tightly together and you tried to stop the sobs from wracking your body. Instead of focusing on the fight, you covered your ears tightly, making sure no sound could get through, and rocked yourself back and forth, trying to calm your erratically racing heart. 

Outside of your covered ears and hearing range, Do-hun started speaking to the intruder. “Oh,” Do-hun laughed his usual taunting and narcissistic laugh, a sound that was unfitting considering the situation. “It’s you. You didn’t get enough in high school?”

Hyun-su smirked as the dust cleared and he clearly saw the face of his high school bully. He let his eyes travel around, looking for the one person he was truly there for but not finding her. His face almost fell until he saw a strange trail of fresh blood leading behind the large kitchen island. There wasn’t any blood on Do-hun, so he knew it couldn’t have been from him. 

“You know, I really thought you might have changed after high school. Maybe you’d mature and see the error of your ways,” Hyun-su started, putting his arms into his pockets. He had transformed both arms back into their human forms for the interaction he was going to have with the bully, really wanting to see the fear on his face when he saw how powerful he really had become. “I guess I was wrong. You’re still scum.”

Do-hun scoffed and released the safety on the gun he still had pointed at the boy. “And I thought you would have killed yourself by now. I guess we’re both disappointed,” he smirked, tilting his head tauntingly. “But I got something you didn’t,” he leaned forward as if telling a secret but kept the distance between them. His lips formed a sadistic smile that made Hyun-su sick. “I got the girl.”

The boy who held your heart felt his own heart drop to his stomach, but he refused to let it show on his face. “Oh really? Well, I don’t see her,” he pointed out, giving another glance around the room and still not seeing you anywhere. The blood stain still held his interest but he would save that until afterwards. 

“Well, you won’t need to see her. I’ll make sure she sees you though, when I put a bullet through your chest and make her clean up the mess afterward.”

The anger rapidly rose in Hyun-su’s soul like a forest fire. He clenched his fists, hating himself for not being able to come sooner. With adopting and raising Ah-yi along with trying desperately to find where you lived - which was much harder than he expected in a technology-free world - he took much longer than he wanted to. 

‘Surrender.’ Hyun-su heard in his head. He looked behind Do-hun and saw the monsterized version of him standing next to him in the large mirror on the wall. The eyes of his double remained the deep black color he’d come to accept as a part of himself. ‘Let me help you. I only do what you want, remember?’ The other version of himself reminded him. 

“Any last words, Cha Hyun-su?” Do-hun asked him, now looking bored with the conversation and placing his finger on the trigger of the gun. 

‘Surrender. I’ll find her. We’ll find her.’ The monster insisted, speaking over and over in his head. Hyun-su’s thoughts were running all over the place, unsure of what he wanted to do. 

He could turn over his control to the other side of him, but that side was unpredictable. Even though he knew he would never hurt you, no matter what version was in control, he was still worried. 

On the other hand, if he stayed in control, he would have to fight through the pain and beat Do-hun on his own. It wouldn’t be that difficult but he just knew from how his finger fiddled with the trigger, that this apocalyptic version of Do-hun was a trigger-happy person. 

He wasn’t sure he could handle that kind of pain. 

He let out a deep breath, releasing his hands from his pockets and closing his eyes. 

‘Okay. Go ahead, just keep her safe.’ Hyun-su told his other half, slowly feeling himself lose control and fading away. 

“You know I will.”

When his eyes reopened, they weren’t the magically gorgeous deep chocolate brown that he had grown up with. Instead, they were a beautiful and vibrant sky blue. Do-hun’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t show any other signs of a change of emotion. 

“I think I should be asking you that question,” the now monsterized version of Hyun-su asked Do-hun, referring to his previous question after a moment of silence. He could tell the eerily excited grin that lit up his face unnerved the boy in front of him and it sent a sick sense of satisfaction down his spine. 

“And I think you're forgetting who has the upper hand in this situation,” he reminded him before his finger pulled the trigger. 

You heard the loud sound of a gunshot go off even through the protection of your hands over your ears. The small whimper of fear you made might not have been heard by any human, but with Hyun-su’s unnaturally advanced sense, he heard it loud and clear. 

The bullet did indeed pierce through Hyun-su’s chest, but he just sighed in disappointment at the attempt on his life. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He asked cockily despite the blood oozing from the hole in his torso. Do-hun’s facade finally cracked and Hyun-su could finally see the fear lingering in them. He let out a small noise of excitement and his grin widened even more. He slowly, teasingly, took a step toward the bully who quickly, fearfully, pulled the trigger again. This time, the bullet missed Hyun-su completely and he tutted. Do-hun went to pull the trigger again, but in a flash, Hyun-su appeared in front of him and twisted the gun out of his grip, putting his arm into a wrist lock and pushing lightly. Do-hun let out a loud noise of pain at the feeling of his wrist nearly breaking under the pressure. With his other hand, Hyun-su wrapped his fingers around his neck and grabbed it tightly while pulling him close. The boy let out a loud yelp at the feeling of his wrist still being held hostage and now the feeling of no oxygen getting into his lungs. 

“I’m not going to ask if you have any idea what you’ve put me through, what you’ve put her through, because I know you know very well,” Hyun-su started. His tone was scarily calm as his finger tightened and loosened teasingly around Do-hun’s neck. One moment the boy could breathe in a drink of air, and then next he would be suffocating until the process repeated again. “But, if you tell me where she is, maybe I’ll consider letting you go,” he bargained. 

Do-hun nodded emphatically before using his free hand, which had been scratching at the wrist Hyun-su used to choke him, to point behind the kitchen island where you were currently holding your breath to stop yourself from hyperventilating. Hyun-su turned his head to look over at where he was pointing and was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t lied to him about your whereabouts. With a grin, he faced him again and released his neck. “Good boy,” he mocked, praising him like a dog before his grip around his locked wrist tightened and he twisted it sharply. The bone of his forearm popped out of place and Do-hun let out a scream, looking at Hyun-su with something like betrayal in his eyes. “I only said I would consider it, not that it was a promise,” he taunted him. Do-hun breathed heavily until Hyun-su once again wrapped his hand around his neck and blocked off any airflow. This time, his grip was relentless; he refused to let up until the face of his former bully and abuser turned blue and his body went limp. Just for good measure, he snapped the boy’s neck and made sure he was dead for sure. 

Hyun-su’s monster let out a deep breath, feeling content with the revenge that had been boiling in his bones for years, only now getting let out in the way he best saw fit. The original Hyun-su would never admit it but he had pictured hurting Do-hun the same way his monster just did on occasion, wishing he could do that so he could get revenge for himself and for you.

You. 

Now, Hyun-su’s monster knew he should probably give control back to the original Hyun-su now that the threat was dealt with and he just needed to find you now, but he was the result of Hyun-su’s desires, and his desires were very selfish when it came to you.

He wanted you all to himself. Ever since the kiss the two of you shared after his parents and sister’s funeral, he hadn’t been able to get over the guilt and wished for you to return to him. When the letters stopped, it was even worse for him. He could still remember the last letter you wrote to him. He often read and reread it over and over again. It got to the point where he had the entire thing memorized. 

Dear Hyun-su,

It’s not your fault. It never will be. You didn’t do anything wrong. I refuse to let you ever think that even for a second, so if those thoughts ever intrude in your mind, think back on my words and let them remind you. 

It isn’t what I want, but I won’t be able to keep in touch any longer. I haven’t been as secretive as I’ve intended, not that being secretive is at all possible around Do-hun. I don’t have much time so I won’t be able to make this nearly as long as I want. I’m not even sure if it will make it to you, but God do I hope it does.

Please, never let the world change you. 

That was the time he really considered killing himself. The only thing that held him back was the thought of you and how he knew in his soul he would find his way back to you. 

However, since he wasn’t able to see you and you weren’t there anymore to stop him, even if you didn’t know it, his self-harm got worse. He was able to get clean a few months before the apocalypse, but the scars on his skin felt constantly fresh with the loss of your presence.

Yes, he was selfish. And his monster side was even worse. His monster hadn’t personally met you yet, so he decided right then and there that he wouldn’t return the control, not just yet. He wanted to meet you himself, to see you in the flesh through his own unnaturally blue eyes. 

Hyun-su snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the, unfortunately familiar, sound of your muffled crying. He walked over to the kitchen island, his feet not making a sound on the wooden floor - a trick he learned at the start of the apocalypse. When he reached the corner and the top of your head was revealed behind the white marble, he let out a sigh of relief. It felt like the weight of the world tumbled off his shoulders and he was free again. He saw you and the sun seemed to shine after a thunderstorm. 

He tiptoed around to be in front of you and kneeled so he was at your level. His heart, infected or not, broke at the sight of your knees pulled to your chest and your hands covering your ears. To not hear was also to not see, and to not see was for it to not exist, he supposed. Your eyes were clenched shut and your cheeks were stained with tears that continuously ran down them. Instinctively, he reached a calloused and bruised but gentle hand forward and wiped the tears off your left cheek. What he should have expected, but it still seemed to surprise him, was the way you screamed and launched yourself to the side to avoid his touch. Another instinctive action he did was grab onto your arm and pull you back to him. You reacted negatively to this as well. It seemed you weren't able to recognize the familiar face in front of you in your panic, but he was determined to make you realize it was him. 

You screamed and cried, swatting and kicking at the unfamiliar yet familiar and comforting touch of, what you presumed to be, a monster holding onto you. It was only when you heard the familiar voice speaking the syllables of your name that you froze. Your hands rested on the figure’s chest as you breathed heavily and slowly raised your gaze to their face. 

It was him. 

The boy you’d longed to see for months. 

“Hyun-su?”

He smirked. It was so weird to see it because it looked so confident. Cocky, even. This was not the Hyun-su you knew less than a year ago. This wasn’t the Hyun-su Do-hun had broken him down into.

But it reminded you of the Hyun-su you knew before everything happened. The Hyun-su who would mess your hair up and then run away with a mischievous grin as you chased after him. The Hyun-su who dragged you into the rain so you could dance with him despite the water soaking through both of your clothes. 

It was comforting. 

What surprised you the most, however, was the blue color that took over the brown eyes you longed to see. 

“Your eyes are blue,” you softly told him as if he didn’t already know. Your hands came up to lightly rest on his cheeks, so lightly that it barely felt like the touch was there at all.

The loose grip he had on your arms tightened slightly to keep you close - just in case you got scared and tried to move away from him again - when your eyes widened in realization. “You figured it out quicker than I expected you to. Smart cookie. And only because my eyes were blue?” He questioned, teasingly. 

Your eyes were still wide as you answered, but he was pleasantly surprised to see no fear in them. “Hyun-su wouldn’t act this cocky.”

He kissed the back of his teeth, shaking his head with a smile. “That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. I’m still Hyun-su. We are one and the same.”

“Are you one of those ‘special infectees’?” You asked, bringing your soft touch away from his cheeks to make air quotes with your fingers. He frowned, not liking how the places your fingers had touched felt cold without you but nodded nonetheless.

Your head tilted to the side and your left hand went back up to his cheek so you could cup it, almost unconsciously, as you stared at him in perplexment. He leaned his face into your touch just like how Hyun-su always did. You didn’t do it often in the past, especially after you got with Do-hun, but he would always lean into the warmth of your touch whenever you did. 

Do-hun!

Your eyes widened again and you turned to the side to try and see where he was. Your head didn’t turn far before Hyun-su cupped both of your cheeks and directed your attention to him again. “Don’t look over there, okay? Just look at me.”

You nodded, your eyes flickering back and forth between each of his eyes while you regulated your breathing. You knew he was protecting you from what was sure to be a gruesome sight. 

‘A sight that he created.’

The thought fluttered through your mind but it didn’t affect you in the way you expected it to. You expected to feel at least a sliver of guilt or maybe even fear of the boy in front of you for what he did, but instead you felt none of that.

You just felt relief. You were finally free of the person who put you through hell for almost a year. 

The hand not cupping Hyun-su’s cheek found its way to rest on his left shoulder. You didn’t keep it resting there for long when you felt a sticky, warm liquid stain into the creases of your hand. You pulled it away and your eyes quickly widened in fear. 

It was blood. 

You ripped your hand away from his cheek, an action that caused him to pout, and tore the collar of his shirt down past his shoulder. You gasped heavily when you saw the bullet wound right below his collarbone. Because of the black color of his shirt, you didn’t notice it before nor did you see the blood on the palms of his hands, the hands that had been holding your arms gently since you saw him. 

“You’ve been- you’re- oh my god-” You panicked, pressing your hands against the wound that was still bleeding so you could stop the blood flow. “I need to- I have a first aid kit. We need- you need-” You couldn’t get your words out, heavy breaths interrupting each one and not allowing you to think properly. 

Suddenly, a pair of warm, surprisingly still-soft lips met yours. You were still breathing heavily so you couldn’t really do anything except try to hold your breath as he kissed you. It was a feeling you didn’t know how much you craved to experience again until the moment it happened. Once he pulled away, you slowly let out the breath you held and just stared into his blue eyes. 

“Calm down. I’ll be fine, okay? Just show me where the first aid kit is. I’ll even let you patch me up if it’ll make you feel better. Is that what you want to do?” He asked, his face still only inches apart from yours. You could feel his breath hit your lips with every word and it just made you crave his taste again. 

You replied without looking away from his eyes. “It’s in the bathroom.”

He nodded, his lips tilting upward slightly into a small smirk. His eyes slowly flickered back and forth between yours, his head tilted slightly to the side as he spoke. “And what do you want to do? You wanna come with me and help clean me up or do you want to stay here until I’m done?” His voice was slightly teasing with a hint of a mocking undertone. It surprised you but you didn’t particularly dislike it. 

You gripped onto his collar tightly, scared he’d leave you. “Please don’t leave me alone,” you whimpered softly. The smirk on his lips grew a bit bigger at your words before he suddenly leaned forward and wrapped one arm around your back, the other going under the backs of your knees. He lifted you so effortlessly you were astounded at how little effort he seemed to use in order to complete the action. 

He made his way down to the bathroom, you in his arms as you gave him directions, and set you down on the large white marble countertop that the sink resided on. You watched as he kneeled down to open the cabinets below and rummaged through them messily until he found the first aid kit. 

He was only doing it for your sake, knowing that - especially in his monster state - he healed quickly and didn’t feel much pain. 

He took off his ripped muddied and blood-stained shirt while you grabbed the materials you needed while nursing his wounds. It wasn’t until you looked back up at him that you noticed his apparent lack of a shirt and your eyes caught onto his defined muscles. It was obvious the apocalypse had at the very least done wonders for his physique, that’s for sure. 

The man was even more attractive than you’d thought he was in high school. 

And you’d thought he was so hot in high school. 

It took you a moment to snap out of your stupor, but you did and purposefully ignored the arrogant smirk on his face while you honed your attention in on his wounds. He noticed the way your face warmed at his silent teasing but he decided not to comment on it and risk breaking the intimacy of the moment, especially when you started to clean his wounds and he felt your hands touch his skin. 

He slowly skimmed his hands up from where they had been resting on your knees until they reached your hips. He purposely avoided causing any fabric from your dress to rise since he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You appreciated it greatly, but couldn’t help the want that grew inside you for him to take it further. 

The cleaning of his wounds, specifically the bullet wound - which took extra long because you had to make sure the bullet wasn’t still inside, which it thankfully wasn’t - took a while but you got them done. It seemed they looked much worse with all the dried blood and mud stuck to them than they actually were. The bullet wound had practically fully closed, and the same could be said about the majority of his other wounds. You were grateful he was an infectee, otherwise he wouldn’t have survived. 

He also wouldn't have ever been able to get to you in the first place, which was another bonus. 

Once the areas surrounding the wounds were cleaned, and he adamantly insisted he didn’t need the bandages you were so willing to cover him with, you grabbed a towel from the towel rack on the wall and wet it in the sink. Hyun-su looked at you curiously when you did and you just looked at him shyly. 

“It’s a filtration system using rainwater. I set it up before the whole apocalypse started, not that Do-hun appreciated me doing that,” you explained with a hint of pain in your voice, recalling the painful memories of when you put your self-taught engineering skills to use. 

“So you got to create it after all. I remember the first time you mentioned wanting to do something like that. I always knew you could,” he praised with a devilishly handsome smirk on his lips. The sight of it erased all the painful memories you felt - something Hyun-su had always been able to do. A hot feeling settled in the bottom of your stomach and it caused a damp spot to form on your panties. Hyun-su could smell the intoxicating scent of your arousal, and his hands tightened around your hips to hold himself back. 

“Thank you,” you whispered with a slight blush before focusing on wringing the cloth out and bringing it to the dried blood and dirt on his chest, gently wiping it away. Each time your fingers lightly grazed against him, he could feel his resolve slipping just a little more. 

It was only after the first swipe of the cloth that you realized just wiping it might not be enough for him to get clean. 

“I think… it might be better if you just take a shower,” you told him hesitantly. You wanted him to get clean and feel more comfortable but that would also mean you would have to leave the bathroom. 

He stared at you for a minute, trying to figure out what was troubling you but not quite being able to. Instead, he answered with a simple, “Okay.”

You gave him a small sad, scared smile - one that broke his heart a million times over - before you gently pushed him back so you could hop down and off of the counter. He watched you carefully as you crouched and grabbed a fresh towel for him from under the sink. When you handed it to him and fearfully turned to the door, he finally realized what was wrong. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you leaving is a good idea,” he warned, wanting to relieve you of asking to stay and instead just giving you the option openly. 

You sighed in relief and took your hand off the handle of the door. Turning back around to face him again, you looked into his eyes so seriously but with a hint of concealed desperation. “Are you sure? I can leave so you can have some privacy.”

He would be lying if he said the way you cared about his feelings and how considerate you were in general didn’t turn him on, because God knows it did. 

“I’m sure. You can wait for me on the counter. I won’t be long,” he promised and you nodded, hopping back up on the counter. 

While the regular Hyun-su would’ve avoided thinking about it at all costs, his monster had no qualms about imagining impaling you on his cock on that countertop; about making it hard to tell whether the steam fogging the mirror was from the shower or from your hot bodies colliding together with each thrust of Hyun-su’s hips; about making you cry out his name in pleasure while your dead husband’s corpse listened in from the next room over. He almost regretted killing Do-hun off so soon, especially without proving to him that he never had the girl in the first place. 

He started unbuckling his pants and your eyes widened before you hastily covered them with your cheeks heating up to dangerous levels. He chuckled quietly which caused you to blush harder. “You could’ve warned me,” you chastised. 

“But where’s the fun in that?” He teased, dropping his pants and boxers to the ground with a slight clatter and stepping out of them both. You whined and his already half-hard dick twitched. The sound of your whining and the sight of you in front of his naked body caused him to nearly blow his load right then and there. 

He smirked at you - not that you could see it - before stepping into the frosted glass shower and turning it on. He was honestly a bit surprised that you had soap in the shower but decided not to question it too much. 

Just as he’d finished washing his hair and torso, he heard the soft and imperceptible to anyone without his supernatural hearing sound of you gasping and your breathing picking up. It was when he looked over that he saw you completely turned away from the shower door and clutching your chest. 

It didn’t take a genius to figure out you’d snuck a peek at him through the window and evidently liked what you saw. 

He cursed under his breath, the sound concealed to you by the sound of the shower’s running water. He could smell your arousal despite being doused in water and it was making him go crazy. 

He leaned his back against the shower wall with a heavy breath and brought a hand down to his hardened cock, looking at your silhouette through the frosted glass and listening to your flustered breaths. He groaned under his breath as his hand stroked up and down on his cock. He imagined it was you in there with him, your hand instead of his. He could imagine the way your hand would barely be able to wrap around it if it even could at all. He held his breath to keep any sound from coming out as he squeezed and stroked his cock, the water covering his labored breaths. 

It wasn’t enough to cover the banging sound that happened when he slammed his head back against the wall as his fingers ran over the slit of his penis.

Your head perked up but you still refused to turn around. 

“Hyun-su? Are you okay?” You asked cautiously in a soft tone and god, he was a goner.

His dick twitched in his hand as he came all over the shower wall, coating it white with his seed. He breathed heavily as he came and almost completely forgot about the question you asked until you spoke up, this time more worriedly. 

“Hyun-su?” He could hear your breathing and how it picked up speed in fear for his safety. It made his heart swell just as much as it made his dick harden again. 

“I’m just fine. I’m not hurt,” he replied calmly as he grabbed the soap and cleaned off the lower half of his body like he hadn’t just masturbated to his best friend with only a transparent shower wall to separate them. 

You let out a sigh of relief and nodded to yourself. “Okay. Good. I got worried when you didn’t reply.”

The shower suddenly turned off and you felt a presence appear behind you only a second later. You turned your head quickly to look in the mirror but you closed your eyes just as fast when you saw your, very naked, best friend standing behind you. Your cheeks lit on fire and you let out a surprised little sound that went straight to Hyun-su’s cock. 

“I left the towel on the rack,” you explained, thinking he’d maybe just missed it. Instead, he leaned forward so his breath hit your neck and brushed your hair behind your shoulder.

“I know,” he said simply as he leaned forward and started pressing kisses along the expanse of your neck. Unconsciously, you leaned your neck to the side to give him more access and he smirked against your skin. Water droplets fell from his hair and skin onto yours and they slid down slowly. Hyun-su watched with hungry eyes as one slid down right between your cleavage and down to your stomach. He brought a hand up to your shoulder where he carefully traced the same path the droplet made, stopping once he reached the top hem of your dress. “May I?” He asked patiently. It made you feel sure he wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to stop right there and then. It honestly made you feel like you were floating. 

Instead of answering, you turned your head to face him and brought your right hand up to pull his face into yours, your mouths crashing in an intimate and passionate kiss. Meanwhile, with your other hand, you brought it up to grab his hand which was still resting right above your cleavage, not going any further until you gave your consent. You gently wrapped your fingers around his wrist and moved his hand around your body so it was at your back. Separating from his lips for just a moment, you whispered against his lips, “Help me unzip?”

You could feel the smirk against your lips as he reconnected them and sensually, with a painfully slow pace, unzipped your dress, the straps falling off your shoulders and pooling around your hips. Hyun-su pulled away for a moment to marvel at your bare breasts. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispered and leaned in so he was mouthing at your chest. At this point, you had turned so you were facing him directly while still sitting on the sink countertop. Your hands gripped his hair as he gently tugged on your nipples with his teeth, his hand playing with the breast he wasn’t paying attention to. Your head leaned back as you let out soft moans of his name that made him work harder and rougher to make them louder. He couldn't help looking up at your face and marveling at how drop-dead gorgeous you looked with your eyes closed and mouth hung open in pleasure. 

You tugged at his hair harder as you felt the hand not playing with your breast brush against your inner thigh, slowly going further up with each second until it was completely covered under the fabric of your dress. You let out an embarrassingly loud whine as you felt his fingers brush over your clit and through your folds over your panties, feeling the wetness inside. You bit your lip to silence your sounds when Hyun-su kissed his way up to your neck and bit down harshly, leaving a mark and causing you to let out a moan of mixed pain and pleasure. He left a wet kiss over the bite mark before leaning up so he was whispering in your ear. 

“I’ll only say it once. If you try to cover up the sounds you make again, I assure you I’ll force them out of you.”

A wave of arousal ran through you and it was obvious Hyun-su noticed by the way he let out a soft laugh in your ear before leaning back down to your neck and giving you as many love bites as he could. Meanwhile, he snapped the fabric covering your heat in half, allowing his fingers to continue running through your folds and to rub at your clit. Though you were curious to see what he would do if you continued to hold back your moans, you didn’t want to risk it and so you let them fall freely, your head falling back against the cool glass of the mirror. 

After a while, he decided it was time to stop teasing you and slowly inserted a finger into your cunt. Both of you groaned in unison as he did. “You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned out while you let out soft whines as he caressed your clit with his thumb, trying to make you ease up enough for him to add another finger. He slowly thrusted his finger in and out, hitting multiple spots inside you with each thrust that had you seeing stars. 

“Hyun-su,” you whimpered out, gripping his hair harder as you forced his head up so he was looking at you. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked with a slightly teasing lilt. 

You brought his face closer to yours until your lips were touching as you spoke. “More.”

He smirked at you slowly gaining more confidence and taking what you wanted as you joined your lips together in another kiss. He obliged, slowly working another finger in until his middle and ring finger were both snuggly set inside your pussy, thrusting in and curling on their way out without fail. The moans you let out sounded heavenly to Hyun-su and his monster’s ears and he wished he could hear them every day. 

Scratch that, he would make sure he heard them every day from here on out. 

You came on his fingers with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, the sound of your moans traveling and not only sounding directly next to his ear but vibrating through his whole body. 

He slowly took his fingers out of you and shushed you as you let out a small whimper from the loss. Bringing his hand up to his lips, he stuck the two fingers in his mouth and moaned at the taste, his eyes closing as a result. 

“Come out so you can fuck her, I’ve had my fun,” Hyun-su’s monster told him, his control over the boy’s body fading away as the original Hyun-su regained consciousness. The first thing he noticed when he came to was the sweetest taste he’d ever tried in his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw something he’d been imagining for years, but something he never thought would actually happen. 

He saw you, halfway naked with your chest bare and rising as you took in deep breaths. He nearly choked in surprise but was able to calm himself down as you opened your eyes to look at him. Your own eyes widened at the sight of his once blazing blue eyes turned back to the magnificent brown you adored. 

“Hyun-su?” You whispered, bringing a hand down from where they still were gripping his hair and caressing his cheek. 

“Yeah,” he replied softly, “It’s me.”

You smiled at him and he felt his cock - which he just realized was as hard as a rock and standing tall in all his named glory - twitch. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, “I’m sorr-” he tried to apologize and move away when you used the hand still gripping his hair to pull him back into you and connect your lips. It seemed you pulled too hard because he crashed into you, his cock slapping against your still-sensitive core and his bare chest colliding with yours. 

You moaned into his mouth while he gasped in shock from the feeling. His hands instinctively fell to your waist where he gripped you roughly, much rougher than he was trying to but you didn’t mind the bruises his rough treatment would most likely leave. His hands slowly traveled down to your hips, pushing the fabric of your dress down even further. He gently pulled the dress up and over your head, making you just as bare as him. Then, he roughly grabbed your ass and hoisted you up so you were supported in his arms with your legs crossed around his hips. You gasped loudly which gave him the perfect opening to take control of the kiss, entering his tongue into your mouth and dominating it instantly. While he did that, he took careful steps out of the bathroom and down the hallway towards the only bedroom in the large house. Once he got in there, he gently set you down on the bed and crawled on top of you, never breaking the kiss. He broke the kiss only to lean his forehead against yours and give the both of you a second to breathe. 

“I love you,” you spoke through heavy gasping breaths. Hyun-su, whose eyes had been closed, opened them instantly to look at you in shock. You looked determined but a little insecure as you said it again. “I love you, Cha Hyun-su. I have since the first time you brought me out to dance in the rain and then when you cared for me all of the next week when I got sick. I can’t stop and I haven’t stopped despite not seeing you for all this time. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”

He stared at you in complete and utter shock. “Really?” He asked, disbelief coloring his tone. You nodded timidly before he cut off any other insecurities with a passionate kiss. “I love you, sweetheart. I have since the moment I met you. I knew you were the one for me and there would never be another who could compare. I want to be by your side until the end of time,” he confessed and you smiled a blinding grin. He smiled back as he interlocked both your hands together, subtly pinning you against the bed as his look turned from loving and adoring to loving and adoring and lustful once more. “Can I prove it?”

You smiled at him even brighter. “I would love it if you did.”

[randomshyperson]

Heal - Scarlet!Wanda x Vampire!Reader - Kinktober #08

Summary: By freeing an imprisoned immortal from the Darkhold Castle, the Scarlet Witch did not expect to gain a friend who would help her heal the woman she tried to bury in the temple's wreckage. In return, Wanda might help you face the demons from your past that were locked away with you.

Warnings: (+18), service!top reader, praising, intimate smut, blood-feeding, vampire and witchcraft lore, and a lot of plot, implied depression and self-harming tendencies, really soft smut with explicit consent, mutual pining, friends to lovers | Words: 9.671k

A/N-> My only vampire reference is TVD, so expect many similarities to the show’s lore. And I repeat again that there is a sinful lack of stories that deal with the status of wizarding royalty of which Wanda is part. Please, she literally has the title of Queen of Chaos, her family has inherited the magic of chaos for generations, we need to talk about this. I hope you guys like this one, this story ended up having more depth than I expected and it was quite fun to write it.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

After destroying a thousand-year-old castle and not getting out of the impact zone, Wanda definitely didn't expect comfort. In addition to the pain of recent events, from realizing that she had finally become a villain, and was closer to the people who had destroyed her life than to the friends she once lost, she also had to see the clear fear in the alternative versions of the children she missed. So she put an end to it all, more tired than anything, and waited for the pain to go away. The blackout from the impact put an end to it, of course, and just like years before when she turned to dust after losing the only person she still had left, she breathed a sigh of relief into the darkness.

But Wanda woke up. And to her complete surprise, comfort came in the softest sheets she had ever felt, perhaps even more comforting than the expensive cloth Tony Stark had once bought for the rooms in Avengers Tower. The bed she was lying on could easily have been mistaken for royalty, and Wanda barely had time to become alert before a slightly unfamiliar face entered her field of vision.

"You." She gasped in surprise, her voice a little hoarse. Now conscious, she was aware of the pain around her body, but she could also feel her magic doing the hard work and taking the sensation away. You smiled gently and, without leaving your sitting position on her bed, waited for her to adjust to the mattress. Wanda frowned. "But why?"

You sighed, shrugging slightly. Now sitting up, Wanda realized that your lap wasn't empty. A breakfast tray was waiting for her as if you were aware that she would wake up soon and had brought the food just in time. The item was leisurely placed next to her, but Wanda continued to look at you, waiting for an explanation as to why someone who had disappeared almost the second after the first meet, reappeared to save her from the wreckage of her mistakes.

"I know you're confused, but please eat. You've slept for days, miss." It's your comment, but the witch shakes her head.

"Don't worry about it. It's... nowhere near the longest I've gone without food." The quiet confession about the period of darkhold abuse makes you sigh sadly, and Wanda feels a curiosity rise in her chest. You don't know her, so why do you care? 

Your hands move to the toast you've prepared for her, and Wanda bites the inside of her cheek as she finally notices the tray with your movements. Your breakfast choices are just right - delicious foods stare back at her. And you busy yourself with adding some jam to the toast that makes Wanda's mouth water.

"Forgive me for taking so long to find you, I was a bit overwhelmed upon returning after so long." You then declare, handing back the now-filled toast to one of the smaller plates. You push the item towards her as an invitation, but Wanda glares at you.

"Why did you bother coming back?"

Your eyes are kind in her direction. "I owe you my freedom."

Wanda chuckles short and incredulously. "Don't be ridiculous, I didn't even know what I was doing." She retorts immediately. "I saved you by accident, you don't owe me anything."

But you gesture to the food, and Wanda sighs in defeat, finally giving in. At the first bite, she feels the delicious jam on her tongue and sighs in satisfaction. It's amazing, she lets you know. You smile.

"It doesn't matter if our meeting was accidental, Wanda Maximoff." You state. "Your magic broke me out of my prison. If the idea of a debt doesn't please you, we can act as if upon rescuing you, I made us even."

Wanda hums with her mouth full, slightly distracted by the food. You look away, waiting for a moment, and she finishes chewing before speaking again.

"I didn't want to be rescued."

"I know."

She looks at you again, but you continue to stare straight ahead into the room. "Do you?"

You smile briefly. "Nobody who wants to live knocks down a castle on their head, miss."

The chuckle that escapes her is short, but it's the first sincere one in a long time. It's so dark, to joke about something so serious, yet she feels completely at ease doing it with you.

Wanda finishes another piece of toast before speaking again. "Do you remember the sorcerer who was with me before, when I freed you?" You meet her gaze, nodding in agreement. Wanda looks at you curiously. "He nearly shit his pants when he saw you running away from the temple. He tried to lecture me about it, and I dragged him out of there for it. But the point is... what did you do? He only told me your name. What was so terrible that your escape scared him so much?"

You sigh, getting up. Wanda imagines that she has offended you by asking and that you will leave without telling her the whole truth, and considers spying on your mind to find that out, but you just walk to the nearest drawers on the other side of the bedroom. When you return with an object in hand, Wanda wipes away the toast crumbs before accepting the item you hand her.

The old photograph makes her eyes widen. "Holy shit." She sighs impressed, getting a short laugh out of you.  Your picture wasn't a surprise, but the date from over three hundred years ago faded by the bottom. Wanda flipped the item to see the back, but your name there didn’t really explain how you were standing in front of her, as if no time had passed.

"Humans call us Vampires, but I've always liked the sound of Immortal better. Of course, the term vampire beats being called a demon or a bloodsucker." Wanda doesn't laugh at the joke, as she raises wide eyes in surprise at you. She continues to hold up the photograph, and you swallow. "I promise I won't try to harm you." Finally, she chuckles softly. You sigh in reassurance, even though the witch has just mocked your strength.

"I can't believe vampires exist." 

"Said the witch who traveled through the multiverse a few days ago." Wanda smiles, handing the photograph back to you. 

"Fair point." She murmurs. Restless, you wonder what you can do to improve her mood. She seems so sad.

Perhaps your stories could distract her. 

"I was imprisoned in Darkhold Castle a few centuries ago." You tell her, attracting her curiosity again. Your hands go into your pockets so that you can regain some ground over the full attention of such beautiful and mesmerizing irises. "There are other mystical authorities, apart from Kamar-Taj and its mages. In particular, a council of vampires. I disagreed with some traditions and was sentenced to imprisonment, but my capture was not quiet. Let's just say I earned that tomb you rescued me from, Miss." Wanda nodded in understanding, offering a small smile that ensured she wasn't judging you. It would be comical to do so, after everything that had led up to this moment. Adding to the count of her own crimes, she apparently unleashed an immortal mass murderer.

Wanda looks around, sighing softly. "I presume this place is yours."

You nod but look away from her. "Many of my properties were lost with my imprisonment. Taken back by the Council, or even stolen by other creatures. I'll deal with these usurpers later." The comment made Wanda bite the corner of her mouth. She'd never seen a vampire fight, and you seemed so sure of your own strength over anyone who stood up to you. It was attractive somehow. She pushed the thought away faster than it came. "Of course, you're welcome to stay as long as you need, even if I'm not around."

The statement makes Wanda chuckle in surprise, her cheeks slightly warm. "What? I can’t accept that. I will certainly not abuse hospitality-"

"Don't be ridiculous." You repeat her previous words with an easy smile, and the casual comment sounds different from your formal attitude so far that It's so charming that Wanda has to look away awkwardly, surprised by her own perceptions. "It's a pleasure to have you as a guest. And honestly, it's nice to have someone around after so long." The sincere confession makes her smile. Wanda understood loneliness well. You sigh. "There's enough room in this house. You can stay as long as you need."

Wanda nods. "How exactly did you get me here? And where is here exactly?"

"Northern Europe, but I'm not sure if the country's name remained the same as it was three centuries ago. And I didn't want to carry you so far from the castle, and I figured you didn't intend to return to Nepal and their Kamar Taj’s mages as well."

Wanda grimaces. "What do you mean with ‘carry me’?"

You chuckle slightly. "You were unconscious, Miss Maximoff. And buried under rubble when I found you. We don't have the same magical abilities,  so I can’t use the power of the mind to move objects or people. I picked you up, and brought you with me."

She needs to see this, and the invasion in your mind caught you off guard. Flashes of memories turn clear in your head, your figure pushing rocks out of the way until you find Wanda unconscious. You actually picked her up in your arms and started moving. At some point, you found a car, but good kilometers on the ice at high speed were walked.

Wanda leaves your mind with a sigh, and for the first time, you look upset.

"Please ask next time."

She's still coming to terms with the fact that you ran through the snow with her in your arms to apologize. "You walked half a continent for me?"

You shrug. "I ran, to be fair. Don't worry about that, it wasn't any trouble. My kind has enough strength and speed for a journey like that."

But the ease didn't detract from the significance of the attitude. Wanda could hardly remember the last time anyone had done anything for her - not even Vision, who was her partner, seemed to share any guilt when signing accords that wanted her in jail; And now a stranger was rescuing her at the end of the world just to bring her to safety, without expecting anything in return.

Her silence makes you clear your throat. "I'll give you some privacy. There's more food if you want it, and this is a suite, so the toilet is through that door. I've also taken the liberty of ordering clothes in your size while you’ve been asleep, they're all in the closet. The whole property can be explored, please feel free to do so. There’s a library and art rooms. And please, if you decide to leave, say farewell first."

Wanda smiles tenderly at your request, and you turn away. She finally realizes that you look very tidy, and calls out to you before you can leave the room.

"Are you going out?"

"Just for a few hours." You answer, frowning at the way her expression falls. "Is something wrong?"

Wanda sighs. "I just… don’t wanna be alone."

Despite the sympathy in your eyes, you hesitate. A hand on the doorframe. "Forgive me, miss, I promise I won't be long and that we can spend the rest of the day together." 

Wanda waves your concern away, starting to stand up. "Relax, I'll be fine, I wouldn't want to get in the way of your appointments. I'll explore the house while you're gone."

But despite her casual attitude, you call out to her with a certain seriousness that makes Wanda look at you again. There's something in your expression that makes it clear that you didn't buy Wanda's act at all, and that you can clearly see that she was being serious about her loneliness. Your eyes had a guilty aspect because you couldn't stay. 

You sigh, looking away as you explain: "I must feed myself, Miss Maximoff. Please don't think I'm avoiding your company."

She is slightly surprised by the confession and doesn't know exactly what to say about it. She decides to just nod, without the courage to question you further on the subject even though she's dying to know exactly in which way you're going to feed yourself.

And when you leave her alone, and she wanders around the huge rooms of that mansion, she can't help wondering where you are, if it's like in vampire stories, and you're in some alley cornering an unwary human, or if hunting animals is enough. She becomes so absorbed in her own doubts that when you return, she hasn't even finished seeing the whole place.

"Having fun?" Your question startles her slightly. She smiles, turning her attention away from the art paintings in the room and meeting your gaze again.

"You move silently."

"A talent we share."

Wanda chuckles and waits for you to approach her completely. Side by side, she is the first to speak.

"Everything here is very beautiful." She says softly. "And I may not be centuries old, but I'm no fool. It sounds too good to be true. Be honest, Y/N. What do you hope to get from me?"

You frown, taking one hand out of your pocket to gesture a little. "You have a suspicious nature, Miss Maximoff."

She snorts softly." Y/N..."

But you smile, and Wanda gasps softly because your hand moves to her face, a gentle touch to move a strand of hair out of the way of her eyes. "Not everyone wants to take something from you, Miss. Some people just want to give." Wanda ignores the intensity of your gaze, the quickening of her heartbeat, and raises her hand to grab your wrist and interrupt your intention to stroke her cheek straight away. Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion in your direction, although your smile never falters. "I could just force you to talk."

"There's no need for that, we can talk over dinner."

She hesitates, aware of the heat on her cheeks. You seem to have a personal victory and Wanda lets go of your hand immediately. 

"Wipe that smile off your face, it's not... that kind of dinner. We don't even know each other." She mutters embarrassedly. You return to your previous position, relaxed with your hands in the pockets of your dress pants and Wanda crosses her arms annoyed at the way her stupid brain keeps finding you more attractive every time she looks at you. 

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, miss." You retort humorously. "It's a strictly professional dinner."

She rolls her eyes, turning away to hide her smile from you.

"Just introduce me to the rest of the house."

"It's funny, all witches are always bossy." You comment, letting her gently pat your shoulder even though you could easily escape the gesture if you wanted to.

-&-

"I didn't know vampires cooked."

You chuckle, without taking your eyes off the knife cutting the vegetables. "Have you met many vampires?"

Wanda bites back a smile, rolling her eyes softly. "No, you're the first." She says, watching from the counter stool as you masterfully prepare dinner. "But I thought you guys didn't need to eat."

"We don't, not food at least." You retort gently, even though the implication makes Wanda's eyes sparkle with curiosity. You, despite being busy preparing the meal, notice the slight excitement and give a soft laugh. "If wished, my body can imitate all the biological functions it had before I died. This includes food." To illustrate, you take one of the cut pieces of carrot into your mouth, chewing and swallowing as you finish chopping the vegetables. Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, gathering the courage to ask you what she wishes to know.

When you pour the cut vegetables into a pot, she clears her throat. "Would it be insensitive if I asked how it happened?"

"Very." You smile back. Wanda sighs slightly, feeling like a little child trying to be liked. 

Please, please, notice me and talk to me.

The fire is lit, you wash off the excess vegetable stock and wipe your hands on a tea towel. You speak again.

"It's 2024, which means that in the winter it will be 320 years since my transformation." You begin a little nostalgically, your hands resting on the counter behind you. "Twenty was the age at which I died."

Wanda frowns. "You were so young."

"Yes, I was." You agree with a sad smile. "I used to work here, right in this mansion." Wanda adjusts herself, curiosity taking over completely. "I was raised by this family all my life, and when I fell ill, they decided there was no longer any place for me here."

The witch swallows dryly but doesn't interrupt your story. You look down, bringing your hands in front of your stomach to turn the larger ring you're wearing between your fingers.

"Sick servants would be sent away, so as not to spread the disease to the rest of the house. I died on the road."

Wanda frowns slightly. "Who bit you?"

"Bit me?" You retort in confusion. 

She chuckles awkwardly. "Yes, that's how it works, isn't it? Vampires bite humans and turn them."

It's your turn to laugh, a little impressed. "What? No, by the gods! Imagine how many of us there would be out there if every time a vampire fed, he turned someone? No, no, it's a bit more complicated." You comment casually. "You see, there's an immortality spell, created by the same author of the book that was with you when we met. Original vampires are made by ancient magic, and these can have bloodlines. Weaker vampires are transformed by their blood. And others can be created, even weaker by their descendants. The trick is to die with magical blood in your system so that your soul will be trapped by the magic and will not leave your body. It is then reanimated a few hours after we die. To complete the transformation, we must feed."

She absorbs your words for a moment. Until she finally asks: "Who transformed you?"

You lick your lips, shifting your eyes to the pot as if to confirm the cooking time, before turning away from the counter. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

She follows you around the mansion, way past the kitchen to another level. The entrance hall extends into a long corridor with many old paintings. Finally silver doors at the end.

"This is the main suite of the mansion." You clarify, fiddling with a bunch of keys kept in your pocket until now. Apparently, the only locked room was that one. "It's been adapted, moved from the upper floor to here on the lower level since, at the end of her life, the owner couldn't take the stairs."

Once unlocked, you push the doors open with both hands, exposing the immense royal suite inside. Wanda thinks it looks a lot like fantasy books and is busy admiring the decorations when she comes across a painting on the wall that knocks the air out of her lungs.

"What...?" She approached with uncertain steps until she was touching the painting with her fingers, groping for the drawing of a face that could easily be mistaken for her own. "How is that possible?" She demanded to know, turning to you.

You were still standing in the doorway, your hands in your pockets. "This is your ancestor."

"And why the hell does she have my face?"

"Heritage?" You retort good-humoredly, but Wanda snorts incredulously, advancing towards you angrily. You quickly raise your hands in surrender, a nervous laugh escaping as you see the fury in her eyes. “I’m joking, dear lord! I didn't mean to upset you. Let me tell you the whole story!."

"It better be a very good one." She retorts, watching you intently as if expecting a kidnap attempt.

You sigh, nodding before turning your face to the photo. "Her name was Elizabeth. She's gone if that's not obvious. This painting was done over four centuries years ago when your family was still known as the Maksymovs. They lived well, your ancestors, as you can see from the amount of gold in this manor. But sorcery and witchcraft were never very well-liked anywhere, and just like the rest of us, your family was hunted down." You say, stepping aside to open the curtains and light up the room. Still, on your back, you continued to talk. "I was just a little girl when Lady Maksymov took me in, Elizabeth’s mother. I cleaned and cooked, and I was lucky enough to be allowed inside the mansion. To share the room with the family. All due respect to their memories, but my Lady was not a decent person. She was cruel and harsh and preferred to die on the mountain of money than give a little to the children she watched depart for this place. I stayed here because I had no other choice in life, and when the neighbors began to question what she was doing in the basement, she was taken away just like her children.  And unlike her mother or any of her siblings, Elizabeth was not a very talented witch. Her magic was dormant. That poor woman, always so sad under the cruelties shouted at her by her relatives. She could never master chaos but it got better when she gave in to the darkhold's allure. Unfortunately for the servants, her gentle personality was gone once her magic control was improved. I remember her dark fingers chastising me every time I failed to fold the sheets correctly."

Wanda swallowed at the anger hidden. Your posture was enough for her to believe your words.

“Why did she turn you?”

You smile sadly. "I was just a means to an end." You reply. "Elizabeth was what they called a Siphoner. Although descended from a powerful witch lineage, she couldn't generate her own magic. She could only steal it from elsewhere, either from a magic book or from a vampire." 

Wanda sighs as she understands, and you chuckle in upset. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You weren't even close to existing back then."

She moves closer. "Still, on behalf of my family, I'm sorry." The witch says as gently as she can. "I can hardly imagine how painful that probably was."

You shrug, trying to be casual. "That was a long time ago, Miss Maximoff." You mumble before sighing. "And it didn't work out the way she wanted either. Elizabeth didn't intend to use me as her magical reservoir for so long. She wanted me to transform her. Make her a heretic, a vampire-witch hybrid so that she could steal magic from her own nature. And like a good servant, I did just that."

Wanda could feel the force of your painful memories with her telekinesis, flashes of vivid images in your mind begging to be relieved. A personal torture. 

"Let me guess, that was the rule you broke that put you in that tomb."

You lower your head, looking very upset all of a sudden. "No, Miss Maximoff. I was loyal until I wasn't anymore." Wanda frowns in confusion, but you sigh and stare at your own reflection in the window. "The abuse of the Darkhold destroyed Lady Elizabeth. Not even the spell of immortality could heal her, remove the rot from her soul. We traveled the world, searching for potions and creatures and anything we could find to help her, but I knew that the slaughter she was doing in the name of her own health had to be stopped. When our last trip ended, I told her I wouldn't help her anymore."

Wanda can see clearly now; the wrathful recollections of a witchy lady with an almost demonic appearance. The hold of the Darkhold on Elizabeth's soul. How you're only trying to defend yourself when you strike back.

You sniffle, turning your face away, and Wanda blocks your memories from her mind immediately.

"No greater dishonor than ingratitude." You mutter. "I shouldn't have turned my back on Elizabeth. She died alone in this empty mansion, taken by her illness. I returned to a rotten land wracked by dark magic. I restored every stone and raised the mansion to its original state. I lived as a vampire for a decade before I was captured. Elizabeth, in her last vengeful act, left a letter denouncing all her family's crimes to the magical authorities of the time. A lineage who survived the witch-hunts, chased by their own kind like animals. I wore the same coat of arms and slept in the family mansion, so they didn't care that my surname wasn't the same. But I wasn't a witch to die, and the darkhold refused to show the executors exactly how to kill me. The solution was a prison."

You're surprised that Wanda reaches for your hand, but you don't pull away. She also gives you a small smile.

"Three hundred years is too long to punish someone who had no choice." She says, the gesture of her thumb caressing your palm making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Definitely too long without touching someone was messing with your head. Little did you know, Wanda was going through something quite similar. Starved for physical touch. "Is that why you're being so generous? Do you think you owe this family a debt?" You swallow, nodding, and Wanda sighs. " Sweetheart..."

"Please let me serve you." Your tone is almost desperate, Wanda shakes her head. "Please-"

"This isn't the 1700s, Y/N. I won't be your lady." She assures you, her grip tighter. "You're a person, not a property."

"I'd be dead if it weren't for Elizabeth-"

"She was cruel and selfish, and she used you to your last breath. And beyond!" Wanda interrupts, not losing her composure when you huff impatiently and pull your hand away. "You can grumble all you want. I'm not going to honor the memory of some slave owner, family or not. You're free to go."

"But I don't want to leave, Wanda." You snap, almost pleading. "This is my home. Serving your family has always been... my purpose. Turning my back on it made me lose everything. And then you saved me, and for a second, I thought I could see Elizabeth again. I ran to this place, and I realized how much time had actually gone by." You sniffle, your hands going to Wanda's shoulders. "Please. Caring is the only thing I know how to do right."

Wanda sighs, her hands finding your wrists. "This isn't caring, Y/N, this is servitude. I would never ask this of you." Your expression falls as if you're being rejected. Wanda stops your hands from moving away. "But I could use a friend."

Your face lights up, and Wanda smiles too because she thinks you look so beautiful now. "Oh, that... is really very sweet. I'd be honored."

The witch chuckles. "You're adorable. Come, our lunch should be ready soon." She doesn't mention that you two walk into the kitchen hand in hand, and you don't mind, so you don't say anything either.

-&-

"I can't believe you don't know what McDonald's is."

"And I can't believe you've never been to the Opera, but here we are."

Wanda chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief at your response. You're sitting on the living room floor, or rather on cushions on the carpet because you refused to sit so informally and she was still working on getting you to relax into the casual way of living life in that century. 

Weeks into a roommate routine, your activities consisted of having meals together and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. You'd spent 300 years imprisoned, and Wanda had a multitude of things to introduce you to, while you'd been raised by the ancient witch family of the ancestors of a woman who knew little about her origins. You had as much to tell as she did.

Most days when you two would leave the Mansion, you would experience things that you had never experienced before. Restaurants, food trucks, and even the invention of cars or electricity. The Mansion needed to be restored too, but Wanda was happy to know that it hadn't been abandoned.

It was magically hidden, and she had distant cousins from very old marriages in her distant line. It was one of the best pieces of news she'd ever received - to know that she wasn't the only Maximoff left.

The Manor had been cared for over the centuries by escape witches, some of whom, like Elizabeth, had their powers dormant and lived normal lives under that roof. Until the place was finally inherited by her great-aunt, Tatiana, who was living in New Orleans, and Wanda would visit once the work on the mansion was finished.

She had no idea where you got the money for a whole restoration team, and you laughed when she asked, offering as an answer only the information that vampires can persuade people.

That's how you ended up on the living room floor, finishing gathering old belongings that needed to be protected from the paint restoration and set-up of that chamber.

"It's nice that some things have been preserved so well." She comments, stealing a quick glance at your figure distracted by sorting letters. You look good in this century's clothes that Wanda helped you pick out. The barely buttoned plaid shirt makes Wanda hold her breath every time she catches herself letting her gaze fall to your collarbone. 

"Rich families often treasure stuff." You retort with an easy smile. You stack a few letters before opening the next box of items and gasp slightly when you find something very valuable inside. "Look, I think you'll want to keep this."

The small item is placed in her palm: A gold button with an "M" engraved on it. The family crest. Wanda doesn't know why, but it makes her eyes water, and she gives you a tearful smile as she thanks you.

But despite this balanced relationship and pleasant routine, there was still the elephant in the room.

Every evening, you went out to feed yourself. For almost two months, Wanda didn't ask any questions. Even though she was dying to know exactly how, or even who.

But she didn't want to be invasive or even sound like someone obsessed with your fangs.

She would wait for some casual moment to bring up the subject. Perhaps at the next dinner party, with a joke, and then she would ask if you could show her how it was done.

Luckily for her, another witch was even more interested in the story.

Tatiana was an expert enchantress. She lived in an apartment in the heart of New Orleans and had a very busy pub, and to no surprise, frequented mainly by mystical beings. It was Wanda's first time in a place of that kind.

She was so excited to meet another member of her family that she almost forgot her last worries. It was her aunt, in between many colorful drinks after an afternoon of introduction, who brought up the subject again.

"So tell me, sweetie, all this work to restore the Maximoff household. It must be exhausting even for a vampire." Tatiana began with a smile. Her curly hair fell in waves down her back, and for the third time that night, Wanda noticed that green eyes were probably the only physical feature that most of the Maximoff women shared. Her aunt has a dangerous smirk on her lips as she looks in your direction, and Wanda swallows dryly as she realizes that it's the flirtatious kind. "We allow feeding in these parts."

You're taken aback. You chuckle awkwardly, aware of the two witches' attention in your direction. The crowded bar seems to get even smaller.

"I'm fine, Tatiana, don't worry." Wanda thinks you're lying. You can never maintain eye contact when you do, and she also often finds it charming how a vampire can be so bad at telling lies. "I had some blood before I got here-"

"By Morgana, that was several hours ago!" Tatiana cuts in, gesturing excitedly to the waiters. She was very happy to meet Wanda too and had been drinking since early morning in celebration. "You know, I used to date a vampire back in the last century. He had a restricted diet of animals and always looked pale and hungry. Are you one of those vegetarian vampires too?"

The question is rhetorical, she doesn't even hear your confused mutter "I don't think vegetarianism works like that". She's busy with the waitress, whose irises redden as soon as Tatiana speaks to her. The girl is younger than everyone else there and is clearly bewitched.

"There you go, dear, you can have a taste." Offers the woman, to which you choke in surprise.

"What? H-here? But..."

"Now, don't you act like a good Samaritan, Miss L/N." Tatiana retorts in a provocative tone, resting her chin on one hand. "I know what you got up to before you were imprisoned. Feeding off a waitress is nothing."

You're immediately crestfallen, your face flushing with shame. Wanda looks at her aunt with irritation.

"Don't talk to her like that." The younger witch says sternly. "'She's already received enough of a punishment.

Tatiana chuckles wickedly, tilting her head gently. A very familiar gesture indeed. "Let's get a few things clear, Wanda. The only reason I didn't rip that usurper vampire's head off the moment she set foot in my town was because she brought my niece back to me. The fighting separated our families, I never knew I had nephews. Do you think you would have joined that group of dressed-up Americans if I'd known you were a genuine Maximoff? No, dear, I would have raised you. Restored our coven, taught you magic, as it should have been. As it would have been if this ungrateful little blood-sucker had fulfilled the role she was given. Every spell has a price, and she didn't pay for this one she so boldly displayed for a decade of fortune-raising."

"I regret it very deeply, miss-"

"No, you don't apologize for any of this." Wanda interrupts you with a gentle squeeze on your wrist under the table. With a serious expression, she faces her aunt. "Let's actually get things straight, Auntie. You don't talk to her like that. Ever. You're not going to use something that happened three centuries ago against someone who has spent all this time imprisoned in a tomb, paying for crimes she didn't commit alone. It seems that witches, especially from this family, have a habit of evading accountability. I know that well." Tatiana gives a little smile, clearly aware of Westview, or what came after. Wanda doesn't hesitate. "She's my friend. And she's been through enough. All she's done since she came back is look after me, and I'm not going to accept this kind of treatment from anyone, not even my blood. And considering history, especially my blood."

Without contradicting, Tatiana nods in understanding, busying herself with lighting one of the cigarettes on the corner of the table. The colorful smoke wafted upwards as she finished a long drag.

"As you please, Scarlet Witch." The elder woman finally replies, and you swallow dryly, stealing a glance at Wanda to see if she might lose her temper at the slight challenge in her aunt's tone.

Damn, you'd forgotten how the Maximoffs had a rather dangerously weak ego to offend, especially if challenged.

But luckily for you, Wanda forced a smile, and the tension at the table eased. Tatiana dismissed the waiter with a nod and went back to talking about business in the city as if nothing had happened.

For the rest of the evening, Wanda drew patterns on the palm of your hand under the table.

-&-

Around midnight, when the desserts were finished but the bar seemed livelier than ever, you felt really hungry.

The witches were engaged in animated conversation about the times in Sokovia, how Tatiana missed the opportunity to find out about the Maximoffs after the surname grew more common around the country for a few years before disappearing again, and you used the opportunity to escape for a few moments.

A quick snack, just to satisfy your hunger. After all, you always kept yourself full around Wanda; you'd never forgive yourself if you lost control around her.

You make your way through the crowded bar, taking one last look at the back table before making your way to the exit. You're almost at the door when someone purposely bumps into you.

"Hey, better watch where you're going." Warned the corpulent fellow; he was at least ten centimeters taller and had a strong distinctive smell that caused you an instant anxiety. 

Wolf scent.

"Sorry, I didn't see you." You mumble, ready to bypass him, but he steps in your way again. 

"We don't like strangers around here." He informs you with a small smile, showing off his canine fangs. "You're lucky we have our orders, miss."

You sigh slightly. "Who are you again?"

"The name's Victor Creed, but everyone calls me Sabertooth. You know, because of these little beauties here." He points to his fangs with conviction. "They grow much bigger during the transformation. I once ripped the head of one of your kind with them." The story is clearly told to intimidate you, but your unimpressed expression makes the man clear his throat. "Don't go wandering around, Tatiana can't protect you on the outside."

You force a smile. "I can take care of myself, wolf, don't worry." You move around him to finally leave, but even with his back turned, Sabertooth laughs.

"Alright then, go for a walk while I introduce myself to your little witch. Do you know if the Scarlet Witch is looking for better watchdogs? If she's as stuck-up as the rest of the family, maybe I'll write to Kamar Taj about where she's been hiding."

The thing is, maybe you've spent too much time with the Maximoffs all your life. And your temper is just as bad as theirs.

Victor has barely finished his teasing, and you've already grabbed him by the arm, mashing him into the ground like a lump of flour. The commotion immediately attracts the attention of everyone around, but until the crowd fully identifies what's going on, Victor has already used his wolf-like speed to get to his feet and advance on you.

He's so confident about his own strength that it takes him a whole moment to realize that your fist has already gone through his chest.

"Give me one good reason not to spread your guts on this floor, Mr. Creed." You say with an unwavering expression, your hand clenched around his barely beating heart.

Victor chokes on his own blood, his muscular hands try to push your shoulders back, but you don't move an inch. He grunts in pain.

"I-I take it back." He gasps, but you squeeze a little harder.

"That's not a reason."

The man breaks down in a sob. "P-please. I'm begging you. I wasn't thinking-"

It would be so easy, just to kill him. Rip the heart out of that arrogant wolf and let him drop. You never forgot the feeling, the predatory hunger for blood and violence burning in your veins. Nor Elizabeth's disappointed look every time you ended up covered in blood and it didn't do any good.

Letting go of the heart, and pulling your hand out, you saw Victor's wound heal immediately. A full moon must have been just around the corner for a wolf to heal so quickly.

His release drew your attention to the rest of the pub. All those people, watching the scene with mixed expressions of horror and disbelief on their faces. Some clearly recognized you, others seemed surprised to witness a werewolf of that size being beaten so easily.

Vitor's blood stained the blouse Wanda gifted you, and you swallowed down the urge to vomit.

While you were trying to recover from the interaction, a duo cut through the crowd, and Tatiana's short giggle made you wince.

"Keep her in line, Wanda. We don't make a mess this close to humans in this neighborhood." The witch warns but Wanda is staring at you in complete mesmerization. You shake your wrist gently, letting the excess blood drip onto the floor before you start to move.

The adrenaline of the confrontation has starved you.

-&-

You barely enter the first alley before Wanda catches up with you.

"Where are you going?"

But you don't answer the question, you just keep walking and retort: "Go back inside, I won't be long."

For a moment, you think she'll obey, but how foolish of you. Wanda was probably the most stubborn Maximoff you've ever met.

She almost gives you a heart attack when she appears in your path, making you jump backward.

"What the hell...?"

"You're shutting me out." She declares, frustrated. You swallow dry, shaking your head.

"No, I'm just going for a walk to clear my head. See you at the apartment-"

"Taking a walk is what you're calling it now? I'm not an idiot, I know you're going to feed." Wanda interrupted annoyed, getting in your way and stopping you from fleeing. "Why do you keep trying to hide this part of yourself? I don't care that you're a vampire."

"Wanda, please, just move."

"No."

"Wanda."

She crosses her arms. "I wanna watch." 

You choke, chuckling nervously. "Excuse me?" 

But she doesn't lose her cool, nodding. "I want to watch you feed on someone."

Wanda imagined some reactions to the suggestion: anger, indignation, mockery. She didn't think you'd turn so clumsy, with rosy cheeks and unable to look her in the eye.

"You're a very odd individual." You mumble shyly, and she has to giggle confusedly, losing her serious pose to adjust the collar of your blouse. 

"Pleaseee." She stretches out the word, liking the way a smile breaks across your lips or especially the way you stare at her mouth when she talks like that. "I'll behave. I'll just stay put and watch. I've never seen it happen before. Please, honey? Just once."

You sigh in defeat, and Wanda taps her hands before jumping on your neck, and hugging you excitedly. It's a very difficult struggle to keep your fangs away with her so close.

It doesn't even last half a minute, but it feels like an eternity because you want to feed and everything always moves slower if the vampire focuses on hunger. 

"It's not going to be anything special, I don't want to cause a scene in your aunt's neighborhood." You let her know, thinking you need to talk a bit to push the dizziness away.

Wanda smiles excitedly. "Anything will be great, darling. Come on, I'll be right behind you."

It's easy to find prey in a place like New Orleans. You end up deciding on a restaurant waiter, isolated in one of the alleys. He's a young adult, distracted by chores, and you almost give up because of the smell of garbage so close by. But it's a very good isolated opportunity to waste like this.

Your fangs are already out when there's a noise behind you.

Wanda has bumped into something, loud enough to attract the boy's attention, who is startled by the two figures in the alley. One glimpse of your vampiric appearance and he's stumbling frightened away before starting to run.

You sigh incredulously, and Wanda appears in your field of vision.

"Sorry, it was..." She falls silent, surprised that you haven't gathered your usual looks and absorbing every detail of your face now. From the fangs to the completely darkened eye sclera. When she speaks, her voice is much huskier. "An accident."

"It's okay, it actually tastes better when they're scared." You shrug. "The adrenaline and fear accelerates the heart which pumps fresh blood throughout the body. That's why so many vampires prefer to hunt at night. People are more afraid of the dark than they think."

Wanda chuckles, looking at you in a way that makes you forget about the boy's footsteps becoming too distant to distinguish from the other sounds of the city.

"You're kind of a vampire nerd." 

"I don't know what that word means." You give a confused laugh and Wanda moves closer.

"It means I think you're really cute." She retorts, making you gulp dryly. Her hands find your shoulders, and Wanda gets close enough for you to count her freckles. "And I'm dying to know how these little ones feel, darling. Do they hurt?”

She's too close for you to focus, but you make an effort. "Hm, just a little, when they come out. They usually only bother me when I'm really hungry."

Wanda's fists cross together behind your head, and she's definitely too close for you to think about anything other than her.

"And how hungry are you now?"

"Very, Miss Maximoff." You confess hoarsely. Wanda smiles mischievously, tilting her neck in your direction.

"Well, I think you should have a little taste."

"God, Wanda." Your eyes close on instinct, your face falling forward so that you sink into the gap in her collarbone. Wanda shudders, as affected as you are. Her hands-free themselves so that she can stroke your arm, as a reassurance that everything is all right, and also caress your hair because apparently everything so far hasn't been maddening enough for her.

Every cell of your spirit begs you to sink your fangs into the warm skin in front of you, to drink every drop until Wanda faints against you, but you fight nature itself with her help. Her soft sighs in your ear, assuring you that she trusts you.

"It'll only be a little bit, I promise." You assure her, licking the spot gently and drawing a deep sigh from the other girl. It's the sound you focus on before you take the first bite.

Wanda tenses at the slightest hint of pain, but another sensation takes over elsewhere. Her cheeks burn with the betrayal of her own body, and she finds herself unable to care about the mild pain while she's throbbing between her legs.

Her nails dig into your biceps, and she starts to squirm under you, surrendering to the sensation of your bodies so close together. You hum in satisfaction at the soothing of your hunger, and Wanda drops her hand to your waist.

"Enough, baby." She whispers the request, her nails scratching the hair on the back of your neck. "I'm starting to get dizzy."

You hold on a little tighter, and Wanda softens against your body. Her heart is pounding, and she is aware of her pathetic underwear situation. Your body heaved forward, and Wanda didn't have the strength to resist any pull. She feels her back hit the wall of the alley, and whimpers at the feel of your leg pressed between hers.

She doesn't think she has ever been so at someone's mercy as she is now. She just wants to tell you to help her relieve the pressure between her legs, but every time she tries to call you, what leaves her lips are needy moans.

And you kept feeding and the surroundings began to darken. Wanda only realized that she'd been grinding herself on your thigh all this time because her climax approached at high speed, and falling off the edge brought a momentary recovery of consciousness.

"Oh, God, detka!" She meows, spilling herself on your thigh. Her body spasms softly, and you tense up, stopping your feeding immediately. Wanda falls limp in your arms, trying to fuck herself stupidly even after the orgasm she's just achieved. Your arms are the only support keeping her upright. "Do that again."

You shake your head, pushing her sweaty hair out of her face. "No, I took more than I should have." You retort softly, and Wanda has to blink a few times to realize that your appearance has returned to normal. "What a terrible idea that was, Wanda. So dangerous… I was starving."

She gives you a dreamy little smile. "How do I taste?"

"The best I've ever had." You assure her before adjusting her to hold her in your arms just in time for Wanda to lose consciousness.

She dreams of the same feeling of being carried but in a place much colder than New Orleans.

-&-

She wakes up just in time to see you putting her to bed, all the way to the borrowed room in her aunt's empty apartment.

Wanda grabs your wrist before you can pull away after putting the covers over her.

"Hey." Your voice and gaze are so sweet that she almost forgets everything that has happened so far. But Wanda actually remembers very well, and the lingering sensation of your body against hers makes her shiver. 

"Hey... sorry for blacking out on you." She murmurs, her free hand coming up to your face. You bite your lip, still hovering over her body and uncertain what you should do next. Should you pull away? Lean in and kiss Wanda like you've been dreaming of doing for weeks? She seems to be able to see all the hesitation in your eyes, and offers a reassuring smile, her hand caressing your cheek. "What's wrong?"

Wanda is definitely teasing you, but you don't mind, smiling too as you steady your hands next to her body on the mattress, face to face, the two of you waiting for the other to make a move first until the tension is almost unbearable. But you also remember what brought you there, and let out a small sigh.

"You shouldn't have baited me like that, Wanda. It's dangerous, I could have... lost control."

Her expression becomes almost mischievous, a smile threatening to break out on her lips. "I've survived much worse, darling."

You sigh in frustration. "Wanda..."

"It's the truth." She chuckles even though you move away to sit down properly. Wanda also mimics the gesture, looking for your hand on the bed so that you stop grimacing and look at her. "Hey, come on, don't be upset."

"I'm not."

"Then why the pout?" She leans in, kissing your cheek and you snort away, unable to stay angry with this adorably charming witch. "You have to trust me, sweetheart." She whispers, kissing your jaw. You sigh, squeezing her hand gently.

"I trust you with my life, Wanda." You let her know in the same tone, intertwining your fingers in her lap. Wanda smiles against your skin, chaste kisses trailing from your jaw to your collarbone. "I'm just scared... that one day, I'll lose control and hurt you. I'd never forgive myself."

She pulls away a little to look you in the eye. "I meant it what I said before." Starts the witch. "I've been through much worse. You weren't there to see... what I did to reach that little girl. You don't have to worry about hurting me, because it doesn't matter, I'll always heal." With your hesitation, she pulls further away to push the collar of her shirt aside and let you see the place where you fed on her a few minutes ago. "Look, it's gone. You have to trust me, darling. I know that the idea of anyone being stronger than an original is hard for you to accept, but believe me, I'll be fine. I'll always be fine, even if you are starving and out of your mind."

You grimace, adjusting yourself so that you can hold her by the waist and place her on your lap. "Just because you're going to heal doesn't mean I can hurt you. You deserve kindness, Wanda. I can give you my best." Your mouth meets hers, it's not a hungry kiss but it's a hot one and it takes Wanda out of her orbit. It's been a while since the last time, and well, it's never really been like this. She struggles a little to find her rhythm, for a short moment just panting against your experienced tongue, until she finally responds in an equally passionate way that makes you sigh and press your body to hers. 

Wanda likes the sound. Wanda likes you.

"Can I take off your shirt?" Your request comes between one kiss and another, she hardly answers because her mind is clouded with arousal, and if she could be honest, she would have been out of her clothes a long time ago. 

"Yes, please." She gasps back, anxious hands tracing your back. Wanda is restless under your touch, shy about your gaze once the clothes come off. But you do everything with an unbearable slowness that leaves her squeezing her thighs together in search of relief. 

She had sex before - For the first time in a war-torn adolescence, an experience that was forgettable and almost regretted. And then with a machine man who could pretend but never had the biological need to do so. 

This moment right now was like no other, being with someone who worshipped her body, who was as breathless as she was, who reacted to her touch and was practically at her mercy when she touched the right spot.

And Wanda finds that she loves it. Having you touch her and touch you back, and feeling your fangs scratch her skin every time she thrusts her hips into yours.

Pinned against the bed, naked as you are, your legs entwined together like your bodies. Sighs of pleasure mingle with the dance of your hips, and Wanda digs her nails into your back as your fangs press into her collarbone. 

You drink less than last time, but her legs still tingle. Or maybe it's the orgasm hitting her hard.

This is different from the first - the whole bed vibrates with the wave of magic that escapes the witch with her back arched. You hold Wanda, even though you're also shaking with the force of your own climax. She initiates the next kiss this time, moaning into your tongue as she spins your bodies around with ease. Your hands entwine together at the top of your head, but Wanda lets go, lowering herself and getting a confused sigh from you.

"What are you up to, little witch?"

Then it occurs to her with your expression that you are four centuries old and have spent much of this time as a prisoner and that perhaps you haven't been so confident because Wanda is your first lover.

She looks back up, sitting on your hips, breathing out of rhythm but now with a new excitement shining in her eyes.

"Babe, be honest... have you ever been with a woman before?"

Your face gains a deep color, and you turn your gaze away. Wanda falls hard, even if it doesn't occur to her yet.

She giggles softly and you're even more embarrassed, but she doesn't let you move away, her firm legs holding you in place.

"Don't make fun of me." You mutter, and Wanda snorts softly.

"Never." She assures you, even though she already has a new dozen antics memorized. Her mouth kisses your jaw and goes down like her body. The color in your cheeks is for another reason soon. "I love being your first. I want to make you feel good."

You hesitate to hold her when she's stimulating you, worried about losing control of your own strength. The sheets are destroyed when Wanda flicks her tongue over your breasts, smiling with delight at the sight of you squirming.

She goes lower and you gasp for air. "What... are you doing?" You ask mortified. It's not the 1700s anymore, you have to remember. Female pleasure is, well, taken into account. Wanda bites the inside of your thighs, watching the muscles twitch for a moment.

"You'll love it, I promise." It's the only thing she says before diving in, her hot mouth pulling all the air from your lungs. It's the most wonderful thing you've ever felt. Wanda's tongue works on your most intimate part, teasing your entrance before she starts to eat you out hungrily. You grip the headboard, your eyes closed tightly. Wanda holds your legs open, and the knot in your stomach starts to become impossible to contain. 

The witch seems to like it too. She moans for your taste on her tongue, and the new vibration pushes you over the edge. Wanda holds your spasming body without difficulty, you think she uses magic for that. And still calming down, it takes you a whole moment to stop seeing stars.

Wanda licks up every drop of your pleasure, moaning softly before meeting your gaze again. You can't hold it, and end up covering your reddened face with your arm while ignoring the smug giggle of the witch who begins to climb your body again.

"Don't be shy... you look so pretty when you moan my name." She praises you provocatively, and you can't help but smile, feeling completely relaxed. Wanda waits for you to look at her again, her arms resting on your shoulder so that she can look at you closely. "Hi."

Your hand finds her cheek. " Hi, yourself." She leans into your touch, her smile filling your chest with warm happiness. Wanda sighs.

"Can we stay like this? Just for a moment." She asks quietly, and something in her gaze tells her that the question isn't just for today. Wanda wants to know if you can be with her.

You would. Forever if she wished. "Of course, little witch. For as long as you want."

[zenokei]

— the sun has set ; michael kaiser.

starring :: michael kaiser x reader

wc :: 800

tags :: hurt/comfort, reverse comfort, nightmares, implied self harm and abuse, kaisers backstory (brief)

synopsis :: michael kaiser often times has nightmares about his past, and you’re the only one who seems to not mind his outbursts.

when michael kaiser has days where the weight of his life seems to overcome his resolve, there will be no doubt that on that night, scenes of his past come and haunt him. agonizing nightmares keeping him pinned onto nothing but illusion as he chokes on awaiting tears in his sleep. it’s unbearable, really: constant tossing and turning without his consciousness, harsh clutching of his blanket, and the straining furrow of his eyebrows—and it hasn’t changed ever since.

well, perhaps it’s been bearable from the moment you’ve been by his side when he sleeps.

“mihya,” you call softly, “come on, wake up.” 

drenched in sweat, kaiser gasps as his eyes open to darkness. he reaches out for what’s closest to him, and to his advantage, it’s you. “you’re with me.” you mumble, fingers combing through his hair—not stopping until you feel his body’s tension loosen up, even for a little bit. “i’m with you.” from his head that’s buried on your abdomen, he looks up; breath still undeniably trembling with frustration and anxiety.

“you- what time is it?” it’s too quiet around you both, the busy streets outside sounding empty–only the sound of light rain echoing is out. “it doesn’t matter, rest up again. i’m right here.” when kaiser realizes he’s overslept from the initial nap he took many, many hours ago, he feels around for his phone.

12:39am. 

“liebling, sorry- you should be the one asleep. i’ve had plenty already.” suddenly, kaiser rushes off the bed, slightly stumbling as he does so. the abrupt loss of his presence creates a frown on your face. knowing his usual ways when facing a nightmare of such level, kaiser isolates himself. 

“mihya,” you call out, voice still kind as ever, yet he doesn’t look back.

“mihya,” you call once more, and you’re standing up from the bed, going after him.

“michael!” now, he looks at you: eyes in disbelief when you tug on his arm with force. “let me go. i’m going for a walk.” he pulls back, but you don’t let him. “not tonight, stay inside.” although you knew what to be expecting, the sheer anger and pain in his voice has you wincing. “it’s too fucking suffocating here right now- damn it, don’t touch me!” as kaiser hears his own words when you reluctantly let go of his arm, his body slumps down to the floor.

his back is against the doorframe, legs tucked onto his chest like a pitiful child as his head is hung low. looking down at him, your breath shudders for a moment. you assume–rather you’re fairly certain that kaiser’s nightmare still lingers in his eyes. him mistaking you for someone that would hurt him is most likely. 

so you take his pace, sitting down in front of him on the cold ground even if he doesn’t dare look at you. “out of all people, why you?” kaiser tiredly whispers, arms muffling his voice. “me?” you whisper back, copying the way he’s sitting, although it only differs as your eyes are locked on him. “why did i think you were him? you’re not him.” kaiser’s voice is small, hands tentatively tapping on his skin as he trembles. “mn. i’m not. it was just a nightmare, mihya.” once more, his breath is uneven, and it’s bothering you more.

“it’s not about that! why am i always thinking about that bastard, even though there’s no reason? even in my fucking sleep, i see him! what the fuck is up with that?” you only hum, feeling sorrow come undone from kaiser’s body. “am i not free? despite everything i’ve done to leave that shitty place?” when you see kaiser’s hand itch to grasp at his neck, you quickly intervene. concern washes over you when you notice just how glossy kaiser’s cheeks are, its faint shine is reflecting under the dim light. 

“mihya, you’re with me. are you not? that should answer everything.”

you gently lean your body towards his, and kaiser’s head rests itself on the warmth of your neck. “but-” his frustrated sobs are getting covered up by you. “no. nothing more, nothing less, mihya. i’m with you, and you’re with me.” his arms heavily grip on your shirt, fingers trembling as he tightly embraces you. “it was only a bad day,” you whisper in his hair, lovingly hushing him to only listen to your lone voice. “mihya, it’s okay.” kaiser’s body is still shivering under your hold, tears dampening your collarbone as it seems to not give in anytime soon. but that’s fine.

“we can stay here like this, or maybe go back to sleep if you’d like that instead.” the palms of your hand gently pry his face from your shoulder, and it continues to caress it as kaiser sniffles. “what do you think?” the burden in kaiser’s mind dissipates to your palm, its weight getting heavier as he pushes his head onto it. 

“stay,” and you will. with a tender thumb that wipes away his tears, it consoles him, making kaiser feel the most humane as he’s ever felt.

“okay.” you smile at him, before pulling him back into an embrace that kaiser will never take for granted.   

© zenokei | do not repost, copy, or use my works.

[platonicyanderereverie]

ok reader who is obbsesed with cooking or chef reader ending up not sleeping for like a day or two what Are the harbingers reaction?

Thank you for your requesst‼️

Platonic yandere harbingers with chef reader not sleeping

[Warnings!:implied drugging,mind control,usual behaviour.lmk if I missed anything]

Chances are you were most likely staying up because you were too invested in perfecting one of your dishes, let's see how the harbingers take to this...

Capitano

Capitano's frown would deepen when he saw you clattering around in the kitchen, whether late into the night or early in the morning. Either way, he saw your stubbornness as foolish. You’re merely human! You need your rest to function properly.

And yet here you are, forcing yourself to stay awake to cook, no less. He would only give a gruff scolding as he picks you up under his arm and walks out of the kitchen. You won’t be running around any more until you get the rest your weak, mortal body needs.

Dottore

Dottore would observe you from the corner of his eye. He has no need for sleep, his body having been modified to avoid such meager necessities, but for you, a mere mortal, it’s essential.

He’s interested to know how long you can keep up your little sleep strike. No stranger to losing oneself in a project, he mostly sits back and observes, mentally noting each sign of your exhaustion...your movements growing sluggish, your head lolling as you sit in front of the oven.

Once he’s satisfied with his research, he would rather firmly advise you to get some rest. And if you still don’t listen… well, the next sip of water you take might be a little "special."

Columbina

Columbina would be a bit pouty. On top of not letting your mortal body rest, you’re wasting your time away in the kitchen! She trails behind you, constantly chirping about the importance of sleep, her displeased presence making it difficult to focus.

If you ignore her insistent reminders, she’ll resort to a more direct approach. Don’t be afraid when her hands cradle your face, and her soothing singing seeps into your mind, wrapping you in a cool, feathery embrace. You’ll soon begin to feel drowsy, your weary mind finally succumbing to the need you’ve been resisting. Simply let your eyes slip shut. It's for the best...

Arlecchino

Arlecchino would hear from the other children of The Hearth if you were up past curfew or causing a ruckus in the kitchen well into the morning.

The Knave does not tolerate any form of self neglect. And so, you’d find yourself whisked away from your precious ingredients into her office.

Your stubbornness is causing trouble for others and, most importantly, for your own body. She will strongly advise you to rest. You’d do well to take that advice.

Pulcinella

Pulcinella would be highly disappointed. After all, you’re still growing, and you need all the rest you can get.

If you insist on fumbling around late into the night, he won’t take it well. Your stubbornness doesn’t endear you to him when it actively harms your health. You should listen to him and rest—unless, of course, you’d like your kitchen supplies taken away.

Scaramouche

Scaramouche would be mildly annoyed, more than anything. Here you are, foolishly going against your mortal body. How predictable.

Honestly, your little obsession can’t possibly be worth this much hassle. That said, though he’d never openly show it, your pushing yourself bothers him behind his sharp remarks. If he’s particularly irritated, expect constant nagging, scoffs, and eye rolls as you move around in the kitchen.

And if none of that works, he’ll simply drag you out of the kitchen and lock the door. How foolish you are, leading yourself to an early grave.

Sandrone

Sandrone doesn’t need sleep and actively looks down upon it. She might ignore the fact that your clattering around lasts well into the night.

However, when you’re blinking heavily or dozing off while she’s talking to you, it becomes an issue. She’ll remind you that, as much as she would like, you are not one of her puppets; your body needs rest.

If you stubbornly refuse to listen, the appliances in the kitchen will no longer be available. Should you still insist on defying her, you’ll find yourself herded back to your room by a few modified ruin machines.

La Signora

Signora is an avid advocate for beauty sleep. Seeing you slaving away in the kitchen on one of your obsessive pursuits would certainly nag at her.

She’d scoff, glancing your way, telling you that you look absolutely horrid and should get some shut-eye unless you wish to look like a walking corpse.

I suggest you listen to her unless you want to upset her. An upset Fair Lady is not something anyone wants to deal with.

Pantalone

Pantalone would notice immediately, as he keeps a very specific and tight schedule for you. The moment you deviate from it, he’d already be displeased.

He would be rather impatient when the chefs nervously inform him that you’ve been in the kitchen well into the morning. And honestly, you have everything at your disposal, yet you still manage to neglect yourself?

Pantalone is exasperated but firm as he closes off your precious kitchen, commanding the chefs not to let you back in. The maids would frantically usher you up to your room.

If you want your “toys” back, you’ll have to earn them...starting with getting some rest.

Childe

Childe would be quick to check on you, urging you to take care of yourself. He’d cheerfully point out the late hour, hinting not so subtly that you should head to bed.

When that fails, he’d try to coax you out of the kitchen with promises of rewards, even offering to read you a story if you’re restless.

But his patience wears thin when the whole house has gone quiet, yet you continue to rustle around in the kitchen. He’d finally grab the spatula from your hands and start to drag you out, insisting he’ll stay and read you a book one of his siblings liked until you fall asleep.

[deadsetobsessions]

What’s in a cape, but the hopes and dreams of the one who bears it?

What’s in a cape, but shelter and warmth for those that receive its protection?

What’s in a hero suit, but a person that’s determined to die in it?

——

Long before Danny Phantom died in his hazmat suit, Bruce Wayne donned his cowl to dive between Gotham and the bullets with faces engraved on them. His cape began to signify fear, for those that harmed Gotham knowingly. But for the rest, it became a sign of protection, of promised vengeance against the crime committed.

And for a select few, the cape was a shelter during cold and rainy patrols. For Tim Drake, the third Robin, it was a warmth he’d never experience past those moments.

When Danny Fenton became Danny Phantom, he’d had wanted to have a cape like the crusader.

Danny wasn’t sure if he wanted to shelter or be sheltered.

But eventually, as things escalated and Danny found himself with less time for normal, personal things, that wish shuddered to an ember. After all, Danny had learned that he doesn’t get the luxury of protection. Not anymore. Which meant he had to be the one doing the protecting. A thousand miles away, as Danny came to terms with it on a clear Amity night, Robin was huddled beneath Batman’s cape to shelter from the pelting rain that came often with Gotham’s gloom.

When Danny got pulled along, invisible and attached to Robin’s side as the vigilante got thrown into a prison, he witnessed Robin talk to his evil older Batman self.

He’s visible again before he knew it, startling the two versions of Robins. Ice slammed into the Robin that became Batman as memories rung through Danny’s head. Where Robin was, stood himself. Where the Evil Robin Batman laid on the floor, covered in glowing ice, was Dan.

Danny died, and became a hero. He just had the unfortunate luck to live to see himself become the villain.

He would never allow Robin to go through it alone, not when Danny had his family and friends to fall back on. Robin, in this cage, ripped away from his team and in the midst of an argument with Batman, was painfully so.

“I’m Phantom.” Danny introduced himself. “Looked like you were in a bit of a spot. I’m sorry for butting in, if you wanted to take care of him yourself.”

“Robin.” Robin was wary. That’s okay. “How are you here?”

“That one’s on you, actually.” Danny glanced around. “Let’s get out of here before edgy future you wakes up. The ice won’t melt, and it’ll be hard to break, but I honestly don’t want to stick around for him to wake up.”

“Can you move him?” Robin eyed their cell contemplatively.

“Sure.”

——

“That seemed personal, earlier.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Had the displeasure of meeting an alternate evil version of myself that lost everyone I loved. Kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“…right.”

“No worries, you’re good. My friends and family promised to stay away from explosive sauce.”

“That’s good. So… where do you live?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy?” Danny somersaulted in space next to Robin’s jerryrigged space ship. “Anyways, we’re friends now, so I’ll make sure you don’t live to see yourself become a villain.”

“See, that sounded like a threat.”

“It’s not! I don’t kill! And besides, if you were dead, you’d probably be a ghost, and you’d kick my ass for killing you!”

“Are you implying you’re dead?”

“Not an implication. I’m dead. Kind of. Half. I’m still breathing even if I kind of don’t need to. So, where are your friends?”

Danny will be damned before he let his new friends die in their suits, even if they make the job incredibly hard for him. After all, there’s only room for one dead hero on the team, and that’s him.

[osamucide]

crush

good men die too, so i’d rather be with you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

wc: 3.5k

cw: gn!afab!reader, bathing/washing, alcohol, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, implied/referenced self harm, implied/referenced substance abuse, post-dark era, intimacy, explicit sexual content, spitting, soft (ooc?) dazai

reid: this has been sitting a bit and i finally got around to fixing it up :,) sorry again for my absence i am unwell but surviving and i hope to keep sharing with you guys what i can. thank you for all your patience

. . .

He’s never admitted how much he delights in crawling back to your apartment after he’s been gone for too long — long enough to make you worry a little. It’s cruel of him, really, to keep you waiting around so much. But you’re going to be here waiting anyway! So, he figures, why not? It’s a few miles off Port Mafia turf, and you always have hot food and plenty of sake. Not to mention that your hands were the first to ever hold him so gently — to hold him like a lover — and that’s plenty to keep him coming, even if he sometimes takes weeks at a time to find his way back.

It’s always worth it to have Osamu half undressed in your bathroom. A decent meal and the humidity fogging up the tile walls usually melts his resolve just enough so you can work his crumpled white tee off without him sending you any sort of eyes; tonight though, the human spirit is unbreakable. You brush the small of his back as you lift his shirt and it has him hitching his hips toward yours.

He’s truly a sight.

His brown mop is greasy. Accumulated sweat is beginning to force the dramatic lengths of bandages to curl away from his skin. He looks little more than empty and tired, but there’s a shadow of contentedness in his sharp features — you’ve just fed him seafood boil and a couple of Tokyo Mules (heavy on the American vodka), after all.

You reach down and dip your fingers in the filling basin; scalding, how he likes it.

“Drawers off, please.” You poke his chest with a damp finger pad and disappear into the hallway in pursuit of linens.

Dazai sits naked (save for bandages) and curled in on himself on the edge of the bathtub when you return. You stack a change of clean clothes on the sink, and his ankles knock together as he waits for your attention to fall back on him. Your towels sling over the door before you turn to him with your hands tucked together. He looks uncharacteristically meek, not unlike a fawn before it first walks -– the way he only ever does before what happens next.

He holds his arms out, wrists up, and smiles like the sunshine.

You smile back uneasily, appearing much less enthused than he; you know that sunshine smile well enough to know it only ever comes out as a shield. You know no matter how many times you unwrap his dressings, he's always going to hate it.

So, you start with the butterfly clip secured at the crook of his elbow, and you talk.

"I have a slice of tiramisu in the fridge for after."

"From that place I like?" His eyes get wide.

"From that place you like," you sigh, grinning.

"You must've had a feeling I was dropping by."

You usually encourage him to reuse the strips of fabric when possible, sometimes going so far as to let him hide from the city while you take them to the laundromat with your own clothes, but these ones are far past help —barely white, significantly bloody in spots and dirtied in others, so you just ball them up and toss them in the trash. You're stocked anyway, and you reassure him of this by retrieving a few fresh rolls from under the sink.

"Maybe I did."

You finish one arm and move to the other. Osamu lets his marred, bare skin dangle in the air. The sunshine is gone. He’s zoned out. You know he’s protecting himself.

You push his hand down to rest in his lap and your mind selfishly drifts to later, where you hope he'll sleep without his bandages, too — he had traipsed into your apartment lined up to his fingers, and all you had wished for was that you could’ve felt his palms, his knuckles, his nails when he hugged you back. You take as much of him in as you can in these kinds of moments; it’s just the kind of person you are. Damaged or not, his skin is your favorite place to be. You’ve told him this, but it seems to come across much clearer when you look into his sad brown eyes like they’re the only ones in the world while your fingers trace the tracks across his thighs like they’re no one’s in particular.

“So pretty,” you mumble.

It’s so well received this time around that Osamu sinks into the water with barely a shred of apprehension. Granted, he’s still a bit glazed over.

He really snaps to once his shoulders are beneath the water and you’re lathering shampoo — the coconutty one — between your hands.

He speaks your name with an earnest that’s almost mocking. “What are you doing?” But he knows what you’re doing, or what you’re not doing, rather, and he’s not going to let you get away with it.

“What?” Your hands are sudsy and he has the audacity to be yanking at your shirt now. You bat him away as well as you can, flinging some bubbles at him in the process. “What?”

His bottom lip pokes out as his wet hands find purchase around your wrists. Dazai has manipulated a lot of people with nothing but the look in his eye, but it’s never this one; this specific look is reserved for you, and he figures it’s hardly manipulation if he knows you’d enjoy it too. “Get in with me,” he whines, drawing out his ‘e.’

You grumble something about your soapy hands, something about not wasting a perfectly fine handful of your good shampoo, but it just allows him to insist even more on helping you out of your clothes. You sigh, but really, it’s these silly idiosyncrasies about him that make you cry when he’s gone. So, you indulge him. You commence an awkward and wiggly dance in which his fingers stretch your sleeves over your hands with care. You kick your pants off and shimmy out of your undergarments, feigning annoyance as you give into his whims so easily.

The bath is still nearly boiling. You make peace with it by hissing hot, hot, hot, hot, hot (he chuckles at you) until either of your knees are nestled underwater on either side of him. You rub your shampoo hands together and — now that Osamu’s gotten his way for one of many times tonight, for the millionth time ever, never for the last time — he graciously lets you wash his hair.

You inhale all the little hums and sighs he gives you. He tastes like every emotion you’ve ever felt. Heaven is a bathtub in a crummy apartment.

“You smell much better. Let’s rinse.” You go to push yourself up after you’re finished with him, but Osamu grips you unceremoniously and by both of your ass cheeks, so you look sternly into his face.

“Wait, wait, wait, just—” he pleads.

You flick water at his eyes. “We’re wading in your filth, thank you. Get up.”

“Just a second, damn it.” He clutches you closer, hands clasped behind your back, and you settle with shattered resistance against his chest. He mumbles something about who you think you are, telling me what to do.

Not that you try all that hard with him anymore; you both know well he’ll get what he wants, and right now he’s intent on holding you in the cooling water, so you loop your arms around his neck, unable to help the kiss you press to the side of his jaw or the stifled roll of your hips against his.

He’s silent for a moment as he traces the expanse of your back. You hope his eyes are closed. You know they’re probably not.

“Thank you.”

It’s something Osamu says quite a bit. He doesn’t get terribly sentimental often, but it’s usually after you’ve rid him of those wrappings that he comes close. Although, he never says exactly what for. For bathing him. For feeding him. For loving him. You understand well enough.

He’s still a little shit. He squeezes your ass and bites the shell of your ear.

“That’s it,” you yelp. “We’re rinsing.”

His laugh is whole as you pull the drain and start the shower, dodging your (mostly) dry hair.

The promise of dessert lets you get him into a pair of shorts at the very least. Once again you return to him — you wait on him like he’s a prince, and he looks like one on your bed with the blankets pooled around him as he towel dries his hair.

It’s so unfair, you think, how angelic he gets to be no matter what he’s doing. It’s something so mundane; his scars are on display, he’s tipsy and damp and has your plush cat-printed blanket acting somewhat like a cape, yet he steals your breath as you enter your bedroom. To top it all off, he pretends not to notice your presence right away.

You fold your legs beneath yourself, unfinished bottle of sake in one hand, delicate plate of tiramisu in the other, and Osamu finally acknowledges you with owlish eyes, raised brows, and a grin that reprograms the pattern of your heartbeat. He tosses the towel aside, eager, and reaches out.

“This—” his mouth is full, “this shit is…God. Heavenly.”

“Share.”

“Should’ve brought two forks.” He makes a show of lifting the plate out of your reach. You grasp at it lazily, uselessly, and he laughs, taunting you. You’re tired so you hoard the sake in response, which he’s fine with only until the tiramisu is gone — you only got two bites in — and he goes for that as well.

“Greedy!” you accuse, but you can’t help your laugh. You’re warm — the few swigs from the bottle are doing their job, and you let Osamu know this by giving in; you steady his head with one hand, and with your other you press the bottle to his lips and tilt it up. He drinks like it’s cider, and comes up for air with a soft curse.

The way he licks it off his lips wants to draw a gasp out of you, but you’re trained like a skilled gunman when he gives you targets like these — you’ve built up trigger discipline, and there are some things, you suppose, that you don’t let him have so easily after all.

Nonetheless, it’s like Osamu reads this mechanism working in your mind and takes it as a challenge. The bottle is transferred from your hands to his somewhere in the searing kiss he gives you; you fully register a hunger buzzing between you both that has nothing to do with tiramisu as you reach out for him, fumble toward him until you’re in his lap — you almost overwhelm his lithe frame with your tenacity, but he catches you, bottle tapping your back as you engulf each other.

Osamu is sneaky, he is; he never executes even the smallest action without meticulous thought. The way you end up under him might’ve been planned out from the bath, or maybe even before he was on your doorstep — either way, you give way to his weight; the bottle’s in one hand, somehow your wrists are in the other, and his waist connects with yours.

If nothing else predicts what you say next, it’s his restless hand clutching your hip, pulling at your shirt, clawing up your side.

“Missed you,” you slip into his mouth. You’ve already said this over dinner, but it’s different, heavier, when you’re breathing him in. Osamu lifts away from you for a kiss from the bottle. In brief control again, you wring your hands.

He’s statuesque above you. You wish you could snapshot the seconds in which he tilts the bottle back, where his drying hair falls in those loose waves around his angled jaw and his eyelids flicker. You reach out to trace him. His severe collarbone to his lean shoulder, down the thin valley between his bicep and tricep. You ghost around the fingers suspended in midair and bridge the gap to end on his pretty waist.

The bottle disappears onto your nightstand. Your eyes are wide as he grips your chin. He holds his breath, plants an elbow by your head, thumbs your bottom lip — all a means to waterfall the sake into your open, waiting mouth.

Liquor drips off him, into you; how are you supposed to keep from the way your legs demand his hips toward yours? The way you grind into him from below? You’re a live wire and he’s fraying the hell out of everywhere you end and begin.

You swallow what he gives you before he pulls back. You’re breathless, and he’s laughing. He’s laughing. This is what he does — he gets you under him and he laughs, so beautifully that you can hardly be mad, and sultrily enough that you flush pink.

“You should see your face!” he exclaims. Osamu is truthfully at his most joyous when he’s catching you off guard. “Little too filthy for ‘ya?”

“Please,” you scoff, willing him toward you again as you recover, more from the sting in the back of your throat than anything, pressing all your love into each of his mangled wrists with your palms and fingers. “As if that’s the filthiest thing we’ve done.”

“Jog my memory,” he suggests as he puts his smile back to yours, and so you work him out of the shorts you just got him in less than ten minutes ago.

As for yourself, well — you’re only naked from the waist down before you’re working your own slick up and down on him, biting your lip with anticipation, all but pulling him into you. You don’t even care if it hurts, and you almost say it, but you don’t — everything you’re doing is saying it for you — you just want him in you right now, right now, and he touches you between the gasps you draw from him; he watches the way he slides into you like you’re meant for him, like he’s meant for you, and you dig your heels into him as you whisper his name.

“Baby,” he whispers back. Those sad brown eyes flicker, shut, open, find you. “Oh.”

He rocks into you softly, such a contrast from the urgency with which he was kissing you mere moments before. Osamu’s a natural at giving you whiplash, sometimes in ways you didn’t know him to be capable of. He’s concentrated; you watch him, the slightest bit confused as his lips purse shut. You want to hear him, he knows, but it’s all welling up within him, he can feel it on his lash line, so he tucks his face into your neck and hopes you won’t say anything. You don’t, not for bit. You just circle your arms around his neck and groan at the way he grips you, feels you all over; you clench around him and pretend you don’t feel the tears beading along your shoulder.

“Too filthy for you?” you finally tease, but gently; you cup his face in your hands, push his hair from his forehead, and kiss the wetness away. He half-laughs, half-sobs. He obviously wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, ‘samu. Honey.”

“Don’t know what the fuck’s going on.” It’s his way of apologizing. He sniffles and follows it with an explanation. “You feel so good.”

You know they’re not tears of pleasure, but you let him write it off as he fucks into you. “You- uhn- you feel so good,” you echo.

It’s not unusual for him to be vocal — he moans, he gasps, he gives you delicious noises to make up for the words he can’t ever find, but tonight is so different; you don’t know what it is, but he talks. He’s talking, and it’s not the lewd musings you expect from Osamu Dazai, much less while he curls his hands into your hair and begins to pound into you. Yes, it’s much different tonight.

“Missed you too,” he finally gives you. “Missed you. So fucking much- fuck- I’m- oh, fuck…”

“Stop leaving,” you say breathlessly. “Stop leaving me. Just move in.”

“Shit, I might.” His hair is your lifeline. You knot your fingers in it like you hope you become part of it. “Might just have to come home to this every day. Y’take such good care of me. Don’t know wh- hah- what I did to deserve this pussy.”

“Please, please, Osamu.” You’re begging for more than one thing. “Fucking stay.”

So he keeps his pace, staying in one way or another — at least he can say he’s done that much. Whether or not you’ll wake up next to him tomorrow morning doesn’t matter right now; right now he’s fucking you, right now he’s yours, right now he’s ripping himself open a little further to let you see his rotten soul and you’re giving him everything he could never ask for, everything he doesn’t think he deserves — it’ll be enough, you’re sure, even though it’ll hurt when he disappears again; at least you’ll know you opened up in return, reflected his rottenness in the way that you know how. You’ve made a place for him in your home. You’ve made a place for him in your heart. He knows you want him to take it. Take it.

“So pretty, my baby, takin’ it so good.” He looks at you with those wet eyes between pressing bruising kisses to your lips, chin, neck. “Y’feel like fucking heaven. God, fuck. Don’t know if I- don’t know if I deserve it. So fucking good. So good. So good.”

“You d- you don’t have to do anything to deserve it- just fucking stay, please,” you plead with him. You’ll plead with him until he understands. “Oh- Osamu- ah!”

Your hands flail for a resting place — his head is restless with his kisses, his calloused hands and ridged arms are moving too fast for you to keep up with, the expanse of his back isn’t nearly close enough amid his wild pace, so you claw into the peaks of his shoulders and give all your sound and breath back to him while he rains praise upon you. He’s almost frantic in his task, like he needs you to know.

“Need you to know how much I love comin’ back here.” Osamu grabs one of your hands and guides you to your clit. “Touch yourself, please- please- want you cummin’ on me, baby, give it to me. Please.”

He pleads with you until you do.

You’re well aware that everything you can give him might not be enough to convince him. Convince him he’s not rotten. Convince him he does deserve it. Convince him he’s worthy of love. You know the best thing you can do for him right now is rub yourself quick and hard in time with his heavy thrusts. You keep giving him what he needs — you give him all your moans, grunts, curses, and he reflects them right back — you match each other, sobbing, twitching, biting, heaving until the wave rolls over you and you’re collecting him, throbbing around him and telling him it’s all for him, he’s so perfect, don’t stop, it feels so good while he spills into you, fills you up in that familiar way you don’t think you want to live without for weeks at a time anymore. Osamu’s tense as he drags both of your climaxes out for as long as he can; you’re crooning out his name and Osamu’s panting out yours and he’s so beautiful as he cums, he’s so beautiful while he cries, he’s so beautiful when he’s raw and selfish and fucked out of his brain, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful, he’s so beautiful.

“So afraid to hurt you, baby,” he mumbles into your cheek minutes later, half-asleep and tipsy and still pulsing inside you. “You don’t deserve my shit. Get caught up in my shit.”

You don’t care about his shit, is what you tell him in return. You want him. You want to show him all the wonderful things he does in fact deserve.

Like the picturesque breakfast you cook him after you do wake up next to him in the morning. Like the tender way you rewrap his dressings as the afternoon sun gleams in white columns through your window. Like the first day he spends completely sober and well-fed in a long time.

“I don’t know if I deserve it.” All this, he means. You, and how wonderful you are. He says it again and again.

“I don’t care if you don’t deserve it.” You secure the butterfly clip in the crook of his elbow and meet his eyes. Far off. Waning sunshine. “Wanna give it to you anyway.”

For a moment the sunshine returns, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, you see it reach his eyes. They don’t look so sad. Big, brown, maybe hopeful. Maybe sweet with preemptive regret. You hug Osamu in the still air of your apartment.

“Stay,” you whisper.

He hugs you back, limply, like he’s scared to break you. He trembles out, “I will.”

[captain-tch]

Anchor (Logan Howlett x GN!PlatonicReader)

Logan finds you when the memories of the past threaten to swallow you whole Warning: mentions of self harm, implied suicidal thoughts below the cut

There was so much blood. Tents where you once huddled with your friends, laughing, talking, bonding were in ribbons, the poles keeping them upright having been ripped from the ground. One of the poles was skewered inside a body, the face hidden by the red spray masking their features. Fire pits where you once warmed your hands and toasted marshmallows had been destroyed, the thick smell of ash consuming all of your senses. A charred hand reached towards another, mere inches from touching each other. The makeshift laundry lines had been broken, leaving clothes strewn across the ground, muddied footprints and blood stains marrying the materials. And then there were the bodies.

So many bodies. 

You knelt in the middle of it all, unable to move a single muscle. Your friends, your family, all dead. You were the lone survivor. 

It didn’t feel fair - what made you different from the others? What made you worthy of being alive, whilst your knees sank into their pools of blood and their skin grew cold around you? 

You didn’t even move, or speak, as you heard footfalls behind you. You didn’t look up as people descended upon the crime scene, where you most likely looked like the perpetrator. You just prayed that those who caused this harm had returned to finish the job. However, the horror was only beginning. 

“Hey, we missed one!” 

You stared at your reflection with venom in your eyes. Your gaze honed onto the jagged scar running from the corner of your mouth all the way down to your collarbone. Similar wounds ghosted down your body, but this was the one you could never hide from. The feelings rushed you like a wave - rough hands shoving your shoulders into the ground, their hands leaving bruises, a menacing grin leering down at you, the coolness of the blade as it was first caressed against your skin. The fiery hot pain that lit up your entire being when the knife was plunged into your skin. The feeling of hot liquid rushing out the wound, the overwhelming taste of iron hijacking your senses. 

A bubble of anger and hatred began to boil in your veins. The memories kept flooding you, until you couldn’t remember where you were or what was happening or when you were. All you knew was the pain and the terror and the hate.  

A scream ripped out of you. You grabbed the nearest thing your fingers landed on, a small metal bin, and hurled it with all of your might to the mirror. The crash was like music to your ears, the shards flying around you in slow motion. You didn’t feel them slice at your skin. You didn’t feel the blood well or the liquid slip down your skin. You felt absolutely nothing at all.  

It wasn’t enough. You could still see their faces, frozen in death. You could still smell the fire and ash and burning flesh and you couldn’t stop feeling like you were standing back at your campsite all over again and - 

Your fist flew at the shattered fragments. A delicious fire consumed your knuckles. The images fizzled slightly, then overpowered you. You became starved for that feeling of relief, craving the sweet moment of ecstasy where all your brain could focus on was the agony rippling through your hand. 

Again and again you sent your fist flying into the glass, the hits becoming less coordinated as blood coated every surface you could see.

Bodies burned to a crisp. 

Hit. 

A singular shoe discarded in the mud. 

Hit. 

A knife glinting in the light, glowing brighter as it got closer to your face. 

Hit. 

You were so absorbed in seeking relief you didn’t hear how the thud of your fist matched the one coming from behind, until yours was the only thuds once again. You didn’t hear the tirade of swear words leaving their lips, or your name being repeated over and over again. You weren’t in this reality anymore, too deep into your nightmare of memories to escape. 

A pair of muscular arms wrapped around your chest, dragging you from the mirror. A sob wracked through you - now the images were hitting you ten fold, and no matter how much you struggled in your captor's grasp you couldn’t escape. In the jagged remains of the reflection on the wall, you saw Logan behind you, concern painted over his face. 

“Ssh.” A voice soothed in your ear. You thrashed against them even harder - you didn’t deserve comfort, you deserved to be with your family. 

“Let me do it.” You begged, unsure what exactly you were asking for, only knowing you wanted the leaden guilt and torment to be erased from your being. “I just want it to stop.”

“This is not how it’s done.” Logan held you tighter, gently leading you away from the bathroom. You tried to fight back; god, you were so tired. You were tired of fighting back the memories, or pretending to be okay. You were exhausted. 

You crumpled in his arms, leaning heavily into him. His body didn’t falter, only grasped you tighter. You turned to bury your face in their shoulder, trying and failing to stop the images of terror and agony from flashing across your retinas. 

“What can you see?” His gruff voice asked. 

You froze, the words sinking in. Your brows furrowed, struggling to comprehend what he was asking. “What?” 

“Name five things you can see.” 

Your breathing quickened. “Broken tents -” 

“No,” Logan grabbed your shoulders, firmly pulling you away from his neck. He held you at arms length, staring deep into your eyes. “Here, now. What can you see?” 

“Um,” you sniffled, gently pulling your attention from him to the rest of the room. “Glass. A toilet. Shower. Tap. You.” 

“What can you touch?” 

You sought your senses, reaching out to all of your nerves. “Your flannel, the floor, my clothes, my blood.” 

“What can you hear?” 

Forcing your eyes to close, you tried to turn off your other senses, focusing on your hearing. The distant dripping of the tap snatched your attention. Logan’s steady breathing. Faintly, you could hear shouts and playful screams of children from the hall. 

“What can you smell?” 

The answer flew out of your mouth without even needing to think - it was the smell of safety, the first thing you smelt after you escaped from death's clutches. It was what you smelt as you were carried away from the cemetery that was once your home. “Cigar smoke.” 

“What can you taste?” 

Your lips turned slightly at the corners. “Scott’s shitty bolognese.”

Logan kept you at arm's length, taking you in. Your breathing was laboured, but it was evening out. Your eyes appeared more focused and he felt you could actually seem him now.  

“You good now?” 

You contemplated it. The guilt still lay heavy on your shoulders, and the memories were always playing in your brain, except now it was muted enough that you felt like you could cope. Your heart rate had resumed its usual pace and you didn’t have the urge to smash glass.

“That’s a stretch,” you sniffled, wiping at your nose. “But I’m better. Thank you.” 

“Let’s get you to the infirmary.” 

“No!” Your hand shot out, snatching at his shirt, smearing blood on it. “Please, no.” 

His brow quipped. 

“I don’t want them to see me like this.” 

Logan sighed, assessing your injuries and thinking for a beat. “Fine, but you can’t complain about my bedside manner.”

He wanted to go get a first aid kit; he didn’t want to leave you alone. He used his best judgement, hoping the cuts he could see were as minor as they appeared, grabbing a rag and running it over a faucet, being careful to avoid the glass. He came back to your bed, where you sat on the edge staring after him. He knelt in front of you, opening his palm flat to you. You moved your hand into his, wincing at the sight. Your knuckles looked like they’d been massacred, red coating so much of your skin you couldn’t even see the cuts. Without warning, he dragged the fabric across your wounded skin, a flame of pain following in its wake. You tensed up, squeezing your jaw tight to keep the hiss quiet. 

“You know, this isn’t the best way to deal with your feelings.” Logan’s eyes darted up to connect with yours. 

You scoffed. The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on you - many times you had walked into the gym to see him destroying the boxing bag, blood being flung in every direction. “Coming from the expert, clearly.” 

“I can heal.” 

“That’s so not the point.” 

He grunted, dismissing your argument. He carried on his work, his grip on you tight but gentle as the blood disappeared wipe by wipe, revealing the skin beneath. Your skin was littered with cuts; thankfully they seemed minor, them having already stopped oozing blood. 

“Look, kid, you ever speak to anyone about what happened?” 

“Did you?” Logan huffed, frowning at you. You ignored his reaction, watching as he finished cleaning one hand and started on the other. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Logan stared pointedly at you. “I’ve lived over a century and survived a war - you can’t fool me.” 

“Honestly, I’m fine.” 

“The mirror says otherwise.” 

A bubble of anger exploded in your gut. Your words were flung like knives, their edge sharp. “Why does everyone have to keep asking me about how I feel? Is it really that important to have feelings? Why can’t I just bury it deep down til it disappears?” 

“I wish that was how it worked. Stuff like this doesn’t go away overnight. You shove it down, it gets ugly, infected. It’ll turn you into a different person.” 

“Is that what happened to you?” 

A few beats passed, then some more. You worried you had crossed a boundary - this man saved you, and was saving you again, and here you were opening up his wounds whilst he helped clean yours. 

He surprised you by breaking the silence, his voice so low you had to strain to listen. “...Something like that.” 

“No offence, but why should I take advice from someone who clearly doesn’t take it themselves?” 

“Take it or leave it, that’s your call. It changes nothing for me.” He shrugged, wiping away the last bit of the blood. He evaluated his work, carefully turning your hand left and right, assessing for any further wounds he couldn’t see.  

“Either way, it’s going to destroy me, isn’t it?” 

He paused, eyes flitting to yours. He surprised you yet again, sending you a small smile. “Great thing about destruction - it leaves room for something new.”

“Hm.” You pondered it for a minute. “That was very wise of you, you’re starting to show your age.” 

Logan brushed off your attempt at humour, his face turning serious. “Let’s just get one thing clear - this,” he gestured to the bathroom, where the glass still lay shattered on the floor. “Is not going to be a habit.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because I only have a few shirts and you’ve already stained two of them.” 

You looked at his white top, cringing. It had smears of red, marrying the immaculate white. “Sorry.” 

Logan waved it off. He threw the rag to the floor, bringing himself up to his full height. He towered over you, yet you felt no fear at his size. You felt at ease, enjoying how his shadow fell over you. 

“What do you suggest instead?” 

“Find me. We can spend some time working on your god awful fighting form.” 

“It’s not that bad!” 

“Whatever you say.” He smirked. A warmth blossomed in your chest. 

Maybe you wouldn’t feel like this forever. Maybe the memories would overwhelm you less and less with time, but they would never disappear. They would always haunt you, lingering in the back of your consciousness. But the man in front of you, your friend, would help keep you grounded. He would be your anchor. And he’d never admit it, but you’d do the same for him too.  

marvel masterlist

[sundrop-writes]

King For A Day

Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader

Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger

You want a martyr? I’ll be one.

Summary:

You have always had a special relationship with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and the one and only Harry Potter.

When you set out to help them find and destroy Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes, it seems that your intimate knowledge of them is the one thing keeping them together - until the unique dynamic shifts, thanks to one of those pesky pieces of dark magic.

Angry voices carry, and it turns out - moans of pleasure do too.

Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader (Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger). FWB to Poly Lovers. Smut (with a slight bit of Angst). Set during Deathly Hallows.

Word Count: 22,400

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic is about the formation of a polyamarous relationship, and before that, the reader has individual friends with benefits relationships with each of the Golden Trio without them knowing about each other; there is dom/sub dynamics in this fic, but no explicit BDSM play - Hermione is a switch (bratty sub and controlling but soft dom), Ron is a rough, mean dom, Harry is a whiny, needy sub, and the reader is a switch - she is submissive with Ron and Hermione, but dominant towards Harry. While the reader is the one who connects all the characters here, there is definitely threads of Harry x Ron and Hermione x Ron and also Hermione x Harry going on here. (So there is wlw action and mlm action in this fic.)

Emotional angst - general emotional angst due to the circumstances (the Golden Trio + reader being pressured to save the world, the war going on, emotional and physical isolation during the Horcrux Hunt); mentions of food insecurity as was canon during the Horcrux Hunt; mentions of becoming thin from lack of food being available; mentions of hunting and killing for food; mentions of emotional disturbances due to the presence of the Horcrux Locket - everyone is affected, including the reader; the reader experiences severe depression and intrusive thoughts about self-harm while wearing The Locket (this is something that is a very small part of the story, about a paragraph); the reader is mentioned to be in Gryffindor but because this is a Horcrux Hunting fic that fact is easy to ignore and you can imagine the reader to be in whatever house you want; mentions of Ron and the reader being childhood friends/growing up together before Hogwarts (it is mentioned that they had their first kiss together when they were young); mentions of past Harry/Cho (as a very fleeting fling, as it was in the canon).

For the actual smut: unprotected sex all around? but hey they're wizards so we could just say that Hermione did some anti-pregnancy spells when they were done (but there's definitely no condoms involved); the reader masturbates/touches herself (very brief); the reader gets caught masturbating by Harry but they both pretend that he didn't see anything (or maybe he didn't); mentions of Harry, Ron, and Hermione masturbating (mentioned in passing); Ron being possessive over the reader, partially due to the Locket's emotional influence; slightly dubious consent - it's very clear in the narration that the reader enjoys everything that is happening, but Ron does not explicitly ask for consent, and while Harry watches on, he worries for her well being due to the roughness of the acts; Ron is very rough with the reader because the Locket amps up his anger and he takes out on her (through rough sex, not through overly harsh painplay or sexual torture); hair pulling (Ron pulls the reader's hair); rough kissing; biting/marking (Ron bites the reader so hard that he draws blood); Ron slaps the reader across the face (only once) but it adds sexual arousal for her; some manhandling (nothing that implies Ron is superhumanly strong or implies that the reader is dainty thin).

Vaginal fingering (Ron does this to the reader); undertones of humiliation kink (Ron teases Harry for not knowing 'how to fuck' and because he can supposedly fuck the reader better); literally one spank (from Ron to the reader); size kink (Ron Weasley has a big cock and everyone is admiring it); unprotected penis in vagina sex (between Ron and the reader) - very rough sex; Harry watches while Ron fucks the reader; Ron calls the reader 'cockwarmer' and 'good girl'; Hermione walks in on Ron fucking the reader (while Harry watches) and questions the consent of the situation (only for a moment) before she decides to join in; Hermione gropes the reader and fingers her; there is unprotected penis in vagina sex between Ron and Hermione and also between Harry and the reader; unintentional edging due to being passed from partner to partner (toward the reader); Ron is generally degrading/condescending toward all the other characters (he's kind of an asshole but it's hot and he is sweet afterwards); creampie kink (no breeding kink); overstimulation; multiple orgasms; mentions of anal sex (does not happen during the fic); Hermione eats the reader out, Harry sucks Ron off (mentions of 'choking' on a cock but there is no severe breathplay), cumplay.

Sex flashbacks - the reader cockwarms Harry (in a flashback); the reader riding Harry while being dominant with him; the reader uses Harry's Gryffindor tie like a leash; the reader 'teaching' Harry how to increase his stamina (really, it's just code for edging him/torturing him); the reader calls Harry 'darling'; in a separate flashback - Hermione and the reader have sex in the bathroom at the Burrow; so - semi-public sex; the reader eats Hermione's pussy; the reader fingers Hermione; Hermione presses on the reader's neck but does not choke her; Hermione calls the reader 'good girl'. I think that is FINALLY it.

A/N: The title of this fic comes from a song of the same title by Pierce The Veil. I think it's a song that so perfectly encapsulates the storyline around the Locket - how Ron makes himself into a martyr, how it feels like they are living with ghosts in the walls when they wear it. Anyway - I am so excited about this fic.

When the idea was presented to me: Ron being pissed off because of the Locket's influence, and feeling particularly jealous of Harry, it just felt so genius. Ron has always been one of my favourite HP characters, if not my singular favourite. When I first start reading and watching the series, I fell in love with Ron so quickly. I deeply related to him - his insecurities, his fears (how he doesn't try to act brave when he's scared), his stubbornness, his feelings of inadequacy.

This fic perfectly encapsulates my love for Ron, and with something I couldn't resist the urge to do (the whole 'childhood friends' thing) - my deep urge to be Ron Weasley's special girl has bubbled to the surface harder than ever before. But with maturity comes the urge to also want to be Harry Potter's special girl and Hermione Granger's special girl all at the same time and have them share me like a KitKat bar. So everyone please thank Orgy Anon for giving me this idea, and please enjoy the fic!!

Also, I didn't think I was ever gonna write more rough, demanding (kind of asshole) Ron smut after Caffeine Cold - but it's something that weirdly works for his character. It's something I actually really love writing with him, turns out lmao.

...

When you woke up that morning, there was a persistent, annoying ache between your legs. Even the bitter November chill that had seeped into the tent couldn’t dampen it. 

It was a strange and tedious thing. You were months into a perilous, life-threatening mission that would ultimately change the fate of the world, and yet, all you could seem to think about was the fact that you hadn’t been able to orgasm in weeks. You could blame it on the mental strain that the journey was causing on you and your companions - between the lack of food and the presence of a certain dark object weighing on you all, irritability among your small group was skyrocketing. And you were desperate for a distraction. 

But you had always been someone who was more inclined toward the physical - someone whose sexual needs stuck out as more important to you. It’s why you had three different partners regularly ‘servicing’ you for quite some time now. But you hadn’t been with any of them since the start of your travels, and it felt like far too long. It felt like forever. 

You reached down and palmed your cunt through your cotton sleep pants, hissing quietly through your nose at even the slightest bit of relief. You listened to Ron’s heavy snores and Hermione’s quiet breaths, knowing that Harry was out of the tent on his watch. If you could be quick about it, you could cum. You clamped the other hand over your mouth, ready to silence your own moans as you moved your own touch past your waistband. You let out a sharp whine into your own palm as your fingers found your clit through your cotton underwear. 

It had been so long. 

And just by that fact alone, your pussy was aching, wet, and needy. You began to rub circles on yourself through your underwear, feeling your cunt clenching around nothing, so damn needy to be filled up, and- 

“Y/N?” Harry’s voice whispered your name frantically through the dark. 

The sound instantly startled you, causing your lungs to seize up and your heart to race all at once. You stopped moving your hand upon instinct, feeling terribly caught. 

It was lucky that he hadn’t lit his wand, clearly not wanting to wake up Ron or Hermione, or you most definitely would have been caught outright, even though your hand was under the blanket - your actions still would have been blatant to the eye. 

“Are you alright? I thought - I thought I heard a noise.” Harry whispered when you didn’t respond. 

You quickly cleared your throat, taking your hand away from your mouth and slowly moving your other hand out of your pants as you found the glinting lenses of Harry’s glasses looking at you in the dark. 

“I’m fine.” You croaked quietly. “I - I was just stretching. This cot is terrible on my back, you know.” 

You hoped that you could pass off any sexual sounds that had escaped you as sounds of pain, soreness from poor sleeping conditions. 

Harry nodded. 

“Right.” He said quietly. “Well - it’s your watch.” He announced as he sat down on his own cot and began taking off his boots. 

You didn’t say anything further, but simply got up. 

You changed out of your pyjama pants and into a thicker pair of cargo pants, wanting to shield yourself against the cold. As you undressed, you were completely uncaring to shield yourself from Harry’s eyes in the dark. He was likely too tired to keep his eyes open, and it was dark enough that he wouldn’t see too much of you anyway. And if he did look, you didn’t care too much anyway. 

He watched you completely unabashed, squinting hard through the darkness, utterly focused on the shape of your ass moving around as you looked for thicker socks and gathered a notebook to write in to pass the time. 

He only wished that he could see more than the silhouette of your ass covered by white cotton panties as you moved in the shadows, pulling your pants up, and then left the tent. He went to sleep with his cock hard, thinking about pressing himself up against those cotton knickers, dirtying the fabric with his cum - thinking about hearing you whine like that again. 

…

You didn’t think that tracking down and destroying all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes was going to be easy by any means. 

But you didn’t think that it was going to be this tedious and boring. You knew that there were a great many wizards out there who yearned for your head on a platter. People who would have captured you in a moment and tortured you until your dying breath just for a chance to hear you give up information on Harry Potter’s whereabouts. But it was difficult to feel the urgency of the life threatening situation you were in when you were living in such seclusion. 

It was difficult to feel anything other than the crushing weight of loneliness and depression, living like this. 

For nearly three months now, you, Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been living in a tent, picking up and travelling from place to place with the effort to be as isolated as possible so that no one would be able to find you. But this meant that no one you loved could know where you were either. 

No owls, no contact with anyone else in the outside world - you went from day to day, not knowing if they were safe or not, waiting to hear their names on the obituaries, or the missing persons listings on the radio. 

All of you had been living off scraps of food because you couldn’t even go to the shops for fear of being seen. You had been living off the canned food Hermione had squirrelled away before the trip, and you had been reduced to stealing - nicking eggs from chicken coops in hopes that the owners wouldn’t notice. Luckily, some things from your childhood had come back around, and you had been able to snare some rabbits for food, as much as Hermione cried and tried to pretend she didn’t hate killing something so cute and innocent in order to eat it. 

So far, the only real progress the four of you had made in terms of truly defeating Voldemort? You had gotten a hold of the real Locket of Slytherin. But you had no clue how to destroy it. 

This left you stuck with the incredibly dark piece of magic. The four of you took turns wearing the Locket - even though it hadn’t taken Hermione long to observe that the object had some kind of dangerous emotional aura due to the dark magic that tainted it. But you were unable to simply leave it laying around somewhere in case it got misplaced, which would have been intensely foolish. 

You had to keep it close in the more likely case that the group had to run off in a hurry if you were confronted. It was too precious of an object to lose - perfect leverage to bargain with if one of you did happen to get captured, and ultimately critical to your overall mission. 

Unfortunately, the isolation and general bickering between you and your companions left you aching for a distraction. Although you were surviving day to day and trying to balance the fate of Muggle and Wizard kind in your hands, food and safety and progressing the mission were your greatest concerns. 

But there was a certain loneliness that crept in. 

Living in the tent like this - physically, it was the closest you had ever been with your three best friends for such a period of time. Although the three of you had lived in the Gryffindor Tower during your six years at Hogwarts, and you had shared a dormitory with Hermione, it had never been like this before. 

The three of you had never shared such close quarters day in and day out for so long without some kind of break for other things - meal times, classes, Quidditch practice, time spent with other friends. It was a large tent, but it was an intensely cramped space for four people to be packed into, especially with the Locket and the depressing atmosphere and the emotional pressure of the mission causing tempers to flare up. 

It was a Herculean test of your friendship, that was for certain. 

Each of you were coping in your own ways. 

Harry was pouting. 

It was something that he did best, in your experience. He was a chronic pouter, as you had discovered over the years of knowing him. Whenever a bad mood overtook him (which was, unfortunately too often due to the unfortunate circumstances that haunted his life), he could mull around and pout for days, sit in sullen silences without talking to anybody with a grand stubbornness. 

He would do it until the loneliness truly broke him, or until someone broke the barrier of stubbornness and talked to him first. (The ladder was more likely to happen when you were around. You hated to see him pouting and you usually always approached him first.) 

Usually his pouting came with locking himself in a room, a purposeful isolation from others when he needed them most. Like when he had locked himself in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place for nearly the entirety of winter break when he believed that Voldemort was corrupting his mind with the evil dreams.

This time around, he had taken to sitting in corners by himself, as far away as he could get from the three of you in the cramped space. He ate his small meals alone without talking to anyone, speaking as few words as possible and only grunting out small responses when asked questions like ‘are you going to sleep now?’ or ‘are you going to take watch next?’. 

He had also taken to pulling out the Marauders’ Map often. He studied it with astute eyes as though it was going to tell him something important. But you guessed that he was simply watching over your friends at Hogwarts like some godly protective force. Even though he couldn’t intervene if anything bad happened to them, he felt like the weight of the world was already on his shoulders, so he guessed that he should be watching over people like a god in the sky too. 

Hermione, of course, was reading. 

Whenever there was trouble, Hermione Granger had her hands on a book. 

She found comfort in knowledge, comfort in pouring over books looking for the answers to her problems. Naturally, this was no different. 

When she had packed for the journey, she had brought along every possible book she could find about dark magic and the subject of immortality. Any reading material she could possibly get her hands on that might mention Horcruxes, how to find them, and more importantly - how to destroy them. 

And thus far, even though all her reading had come up empty, she still took a pile of books in her arms every night and read through them, often sacrificing sleep in the name of staying up to continue her search for answers. Some of those books she had read over two or three times before that she was rereading again now, developing a kind of madness over searching them cover to cover, looking for something. 

It was clear to you that she felt an intense pressure - most of it, she was putting on herself. She thought that her brilliant mind, her stubborn ability to continue on despite nothing turning up would be the thing that finally solved the issue. She thought that it had to be her. She had helped Harry so many times before, so of course - it had to be her. 

You were someone who coped by comforting others. 

This is where the loneliness became even worse, because the more you tried to fuss over Harry, Ron, and Hermione, the more they pushed you away. The more you chased them down in small ways - putting blankets over them, trying to provide small comforting touches, trying to have small conversations just to satiate your own loneliness, even yearning for a short cuddle, the more they shrugged you off and the more each small rejection stung right to your core. 

Even though you were yearning for some affection, you knew consciously that they weren’t there to simply fulfil your needs. You knew that they weren’t actually ‘yours’ in that sense, not in a way that would demand them giving you attention just on the basis of your loneliness. As much as you had dreamed of it being that way, it simply wasn’t true. 

But you found yourself aching more and more after each rejection, knowing how incredibly stubborn the three of them were. Maybe they were yearning for the affection too, but they were too stubborn to show it on the surface. But maybe, they truly didn’t need it. They were hardened stones, and you were a delicate flower. Even though it hurt you, it was why the four of you had always worked so well. 

You had always softened their edges. Every single major argument that had gone on between them, any bickering between Ron and Harry, or Harry and Hermione, or Ron and Hermione, or god forbid, a blow-up between all three of them - it was something you had been able to reign in and calm down. You had always gotten them to calm down and ignore their worst impulses, and simply talk it out. At the end of the day, you always got them to apologise to each other. 

And of course - there was the sex. 

As far as you knew, no single person in the group knew that you were ‘involved’ with the others in that special, intimate way. They all thought that they were the only one. They all thought that you only had platonic, completely friendly relationships with the others. Even though you made no effort to hide it. You would still flirt with them, compliment them, cuddle them out in the open, hold hands. 

But it was something that had never been discussed, and at certain points, they had emphasised hiding the sexual aspects of your relationship and jumped apart from kissing you or groping you when one of your other dear friends came into the room. So you never pushed to open that can of worms and start a big argument over it because things were good. There was a balance to it, a silent status quo. 

It’s not like you set out to be some scamming harlet. Most definitely not. 

Each of your individual relationships with them mattered to you so much. You loved them in such special and unique ways. But they were all so stubborn, and they acted like kissing and sex was some grand secret that needed to be locked away from the world and could never be discussed with anyone else. So as long as you kept those secrets, they never knew about each other. It turned into threads of private time, special bonds that you built with each individual person. 

And now, living so closely with all of them, it left you feeling so intensely stuck. 

You had three of the greatest people so close to you, and if you asked one of them to fuck you in the name of sexual relief, then the other two would be offended. It would be incredibly difficult to sneak off for a secret romp like you used to, because you were supposed to stay close and keep an eye on each other for safety. 

So this left you with your own hand. You knew that when you touched yourself, you weren’t quiet, and you weren’t quick. You had tried a few times so far during the trip, and it had only left you more wanting when you had failed to cum for fear of being caught. It left you needier than ever when you had been interrupted by someone else’s presence - someone waking up or walking into the tent, and stopped because you didn’t want them to catch you. 

There had even been times when you had woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of Harry or Ron wanking, grunting roughly in the darkness, and it burned up your insides so badly that you practically wanted to beg them for cock. But you didn’t want to embarrass them by outing their ‘secret’ relationship with you to the other two, so all you could do was lay there and let the flames of your arousal burn you up. 

You had no clue how Hermione had gone so long without touching herself. You guessed that she was either doing so off in the woods during her ‘reading time’, when she thought that she wouldn’t be disturbed, or she was too afraid of possibly being caught in order to even try. She was a lustful person, you knew that from experience. But oftentimes, her rule oriented mind won-out and kept her from doing truly mannerless things (like letting you touch her under a desk during class, much to your disappointment). 

The more time you spent in such close proximity to them, the more you craved their touches. You knew that you were going to break soon. And you were going to do something truly mannerless. 

In the meantime - you sat in the cold, early morning darkness, keeping an eye out for danger that likely wouldn’t come because it didn’t know where to find you. And as you kept watch, you tried your best not to think about the hot ache between your legs. 

… 

You had managed to spend most of the day distracted from your… cravings. 

You spent the morning on watch, watching the sun kiss the sky orange and break beams of light through the trees. It was nice to go from ice cold, your fingers numb in the darkness to feeling the warmth wake up around you. It made you feel alive. 

When you were supposed to switch off with Ron, you continued to sit with him for a while. You smiled at his sleepy state - his hair messy and his eyes barely open as he forced himself to be up and about. When he yawned wide, he truly reassembled a lion with a wild red mane. 

You actually managed to hook him into a pleasant conversation about some of your childhood memories. He pointed out that one of the trees nearby looked primed for a treehouse. You smiled and reminded him of the treehouse that the Burrow used to have before Fred and George blew it up. This easily spiralled into a long conversation about nights that the two of you had spent camping in that treehouse looking at the stars, and a time where the two of you had technically had your first kiss when you were ten years old. 

This left Ron with a smile on his face, which made you happy. You left with a kiss on the cheek while Hermione hollered your name through the tent flap, needing your for something else. She wanted your help to translate something from one of the books - something written in a different language that she didn’t know that you just happened to be very well versed in. After you spent some time helping her with this, she gave you a small smile and a nod and then rushed off to look up something in another book, seemingly pursuing a lead - which pleased you. 

And then it was time to help Harry prepare the evening meal. It wasn’t much; just some canned soup and a few pieces of bread. But Harry came out of his pouting long enough to make a joke about how you were a ‘five-star chef’ and when you giggled brightly at this, he gave you a genuine smile back. 

It was officially upgraded from a good day to a fantastic one when you actually managed to gather everyone at the table for dinner. Harry wasn’t off pouting in the corner, Hermione wasn’t sitting in her bed or off outside propped against a tree with a book in hand. Though she did read through the entire meal, you still considered it a win. And although Ron only ate half his food before not-so-subtly scooping the rest into your bowl with a grunt of ‘not hungry’ (the biggest lie you had ever heard in your life) - you were glad that no arguments had broken out at the table. 

Ron giving you his food was something that had been happening more and more lately. 

See, Ron’s method of coping was more complex than Harry’s or Hermione’s, or even yours. And it was something that could only be quantified if you watched him very carefully. It was likely only something you could name because you had known him for so long, and you had seen him do this so often throughout the years. 

Ron was someone who suffered. 

It was strange to put a name to, but that’s what it was. In all the years you had known him, whenever Ron found himself in emotionally troubling times, he put himself through purposeful suffering - a kind of martyrdom - in order to cope. 

Back when you were kids, a few months before his eleventh birthday, he had been so worried that his Hogwarts letter wasn’t going to arrive. He convinced himself that he simply wasn’t good enough - that somehow, even though his parents and all of his brothers before him had gotten their letters, he just wasn’t going to get one. 

He worked himself into such a frenzy about it that he spent hours doing the most difficult, painstaking house chores that he could think of, simply to prove to himself that he was useful. And to perform some suffering because that was how he coped with the anxiety and the emotional pain. After his letter came, when the worry left him, he didn’t bother with any more chores. He didn’t make his bed for weeks, no matter how much his Mum nagged him to do so. 

After Harry’s name was pulled out of the Goblet of Fire and Harry was named the Fourth Champion - that was one of the worst states you had ever seen Ron in. (And Harry, but in a different way.) 

Hermione thought that Ron went cold on Harry because he was angry with Harry. But you saw it for what it truly was - Ron was trying to end the friendship because he thought that he didn’t deserve Harry as a friend. The Tournament was presented as a chance for eternal glory, riches, praise. And Ron was being reminded yet again how entirely unremarkable he was. So he wanted to sink lower. He wanted to be as unremarkable as the Malfoys and everyone else told him he was. He didn’t even want to be associated with Harry - the wondrous fourth champion, if it meant getting a modicum of praise for it. 

But as usual with Ron, his own insecurities presented as annoyance, and anger toward other people. He pretended to be mad at Harry for not giving him the ‘secret’ of putting his name in the cup. 

Ron went for weeks without talking to Harry. Not as a punishment to Harry, but as a punishment to himself. In reality, he was dying inside, not being able to talk to his best friend. He wanted to berate Harry with questions about the process of the Triwizard Tournament, he wanted to become excited with his best friend about the whole thing. 

He told you at one point that he would have even preferred to hash out the whole argument, loudly, and simply have it over with. But he froze out Harry with bitter silence, simply because he felt that he deserved the pain of being separated from his best friend. 

After a few nights of contemplation, Ron had realised he was wrong to blame Harry for it. It was a short-sighted response out of anger. Really, what kind of numpty, especially Harry, who hated the attention, would willingly put their name into a death tournament? 

But still - he went on for weeks without talking to Harry, instead of simply apologising, because he felt that he deserved the punishment of being away from his best friend. He felt that he should be punished for being lowly and unremarkable, and for not simply believing Harry in the first place. 

Ron partook in suffering and self penance as a distraction from dealing with all of the true, deeper pain that he felt inside. 

And this time, his self imposed punishment came in the form of Slytherin’s Locket. 

The Locket affected all of you negatively. That much was clear within the first few days of the object being in your midst. 

When you put it on, you could best describe it as - heartbreak. A deep, awful ache in your chest that simply made you sad more than anything else. It made you want to burst out crying at any moment, it made you feel as though any happy thing had gone from the world, and any goodness you once knew would never be possible again. You would almost compare it to the feeling of a Dementor’s presence, though it didn’t come with the bitter chill in the air or the horrible memories flashing through your mind. 

Often, this came with a terrible headache - pressure building under your skull, almost as if your brain was bubbling into soup between your ears. At times, it made it difficult for you to focus on anything other than the heartache, in an almost dizzying way. 

Sometimes, when you wore it for too long, it… made you want to hurt yourself. It made your skin feel too tight and made your mind screech with the most horrible thoughts. Thoughts you almost couldn’t ignore. Ideas like - tearing all of your skin off, revealing the bloody viscera underneath. Telling you that would be the only possible way to make that horrible feeling go away. That part was something you had never told the others, and probably never would. 

Hermione guessed that your more ‘sensitive’ nature was what made the Locket trigger sadness in you, rather than irritability or anger. It gave Hermione a more quiet, reserved anger - a contemplative rage that you had only seen in her before she had trapped Rita Skeeter inside that jar. 

And for Harry and Ron - it made them snap. It put them on edge, made them entirely irritable. But with Harry, likely because of his tolerance toward things like the Imperius Curse - it took much longer of wearing the Locket for those feelings to truly affect him. 

Ron seemed to be the most vulnerable to its effects, unfortunately. 

You wouldn’t say that he was weaker, not by far. You would say that he had a tender heart, and a very unfortunate tendency to ignore his heart’s greatest needs. Ron was someone who was always harder on himself, he criticised every inch of himself far more than others did. Every ounce of pain that he felt - he didn’t let himself truly feel it. He turned it bitter, he released it as annoyance, or rage, or resentment. 

The Locket clearly felt that in him, and took advantage of it. The Locket knew that Ron had never truly dealt with his pain, so much negative emotion stored up inside of him, and the Locket was feasting on Ron like a buffet of negativity. It certainly didn’t help that Ron kept volunteering to wear it for longer and longer periods of time - wallowing in his martyrdom, desperate to keep you from taking your turn because he couldn’t stand to see you crying again. 

(He had said to you before that if you weren’t crying on his cock, then there was never a good reason for you to. And he would punch any prat in the face who caused those tears but him.) 

As you helped Ron clean up the dishes from the evening meal, Harry took the Marauders’ Map and went back to the camping chair that he had planted in his usual pouting corner. Though tonight the energy coming off him didn’t seem nearly as foul as he muttered ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good’ and began pouring over every inch of the map as he usually did. 

Hermione gathered some books off her cot with a huff and began to walk toward the mouth of the tent, clearly going out to take her watch. She had told you before that even as it got cold, she enjoyed the isolation of sitting outside the tent alone - she enjoyed the peace and quiet. 

You weren’t sure why you bothered, but you stepped toward her, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder to stop her for a moment. 

“Do you want some help with those books?” You asked. “Maybe a second pair of eyes looking that stuff over could be useful.” 

“No. I’d like to be alone, thank you.” Hermione replied. 

Even though it was a relatively polite sentence, she delivered it in the most curt, edging on snide manner possible. Clearly she was eager to have her alone time as the tent flaps bellowed behind her in a comically speedy way as she left the tent. 

You felt a pang of hurt at her words, but you certainly understood where she was coming from. 

You turned back to help Ron finish up the dishes, thinking nothing more of it. 

But it was his next words that inadvertently set off a hurricane. 

“That’s so Hermione isn’t it?” Ron scoffed. “So damn stubborn that she would turn down such a perfectly polite invitation for help. Needs to do every bloody thing by herself.” 

“It’s fine, Ron.” You sighed quietly, taking the last bowl from him to dry it off with a dish towel. “I under-” 

You were about to take up your usual job - mediating any potential conflicts or sore spots between the group. But your words were cut off when Harry’s annoyed voice came from behind you. 

“Yes, Ron, because you’ve been so bloody helpful lately.” Harry griped, his tone entirely sarcastic. “It’s not surprising that Hermione is used to working on her own. You don’t have to sit around and criticise her while she does it.” 

Ron whipped around then, fixing Harry tightly in a dangerous glare while he pretended to be more interested in the Map. He kept looking at the thick enchanted parchment in his lap while Ron bitterly spat out a reply. 

“Oh yes, because you’ve been wracking your fuckin’ brain, actively working on solutions, now have you?” Ron argued back, his voice rough and rude as you had ever heard him. Obviously, he was bitter over the insinuation that he wasn’t helping. “Sitting around staring at that bloody map all day, what’s that gonna do?” 

Ron’s words, his harsh tone even stung you. 

You rushed to step between him and Harry, even though Harry was still sitting in his brooding chair, attempting to seem unphased. He was putting up a wall of calm, not giving Ron the response that he so desperately wanted. Ron wanted Harry to be just as frustrated and aggravated as he was. Rather than sitting back calmly and spitting well-calculated sass. 

But you hoped that it wouldn’t get to that point. If they were both angry, you wouldn’t be able to interfere. You wouldn’t be able to get their attention off of anything but pissing each other off more until it fizzled out on its own - or until Hermione stepped in. Which would be the worst possible result. 

You needed to direct Ron’s attention away from the argument so that it wouldn’t blow up into a massive fight. 

“Ron, let’s go for a walk?” You posed, gently putting your hand on his cheek, trying to get him to look at you. “Come on, let’s go get some fresh air.” 

He was still glaring at Harry with a harsh bite in his jaw. You could feel the rage grinding his teeth together under your touch. It was something that made you nauseous. 

Ron didn’t reply to your request before Harry spoke up again. 

“I spend so much time looking at the map because I’m making sure that the people we love are okay.” Harry explained, his voice dull. “Not that-” 

“They’re at Hogwarts, and we’re here.” Ron cut him off sharply, completely ignoring you and your attempts to get him away from the conversation, which was very quickly going off the rails. “Even if they’re in trouble, dying, what are you gonna do about it?” 

Harry inhaled sharply at this, but mustered no reply. 

You glanced over your shoulder at him, not taking your comforting touch off of Ron. You saw the depth of sadness swimming in his eyes at this. You knew this was something that cut him deep. 

He looked at the Map every single day because he could rest slightly better knowing that the people he loved - Ginny, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean - were safe. He liked to watch them walk the halls, attend their classes, go about a routine. But if they did come into some kind of danger, he had no clue how he would stop it. He couldn’t stop it. That idea was something he had considered, time and time again. And it hurt him greatly. He couldn’t do anything until he had secured and destroyed all the Horcruxes - something you were nowhere near close to doing. 

You thought perhaps this would be the end of the argument. That Harry would go back to brooding quietly and Ron would take you up on that offer to go for a walk. But your hope fizzled away when Ron opened his mouth again. 

“I suppose The Great Harry Potter doesn’t need to work at things, now does he? Because every fuckin’ thing just falls into his lap, huh?” Ron sneered, sounding as though the words ‘Harry Potter’ tasted awful in his mouth. 

You knew that this wasn’t just about the Horcruxes, not by far. Ron was talking about so many things in life. Things that haunted him that he had never allowed himself to let go. 

The House Cup during their first year, Harry’s position on the Quidditch team, his Invisibility Cloak, the Triwizard Tournament - even the affections of girls and the admiration that came with his name. All things that Ron had long been jealous of that had literally fallen into Harry’s lap with no difficulty whatsoever. 

“Ron, please, let’s just go take a breather.” You begged. 

You hooked your fingers into the front of his thick woollen jumper, tempted to try pulling him out of the tent and away from Harry completely before things got worse. 

And then, things got worse. 

Harry burst like a game of Exploding Snap. He jumped up out of his chair suddenly with a shout, causing you to jolt while Ron kept glaring at him, unflinching. 

“Fuck off, Ron!” He screamed. “I would love it if my name could get us out of this mess! But right now, it seems more people in the world want me dead-!” 

Ron reached around you, pointing an accusing finger at Harry as he cut off the other man’s words with a shout of his own. 

“I wish I would have known that when I signed on to be your best friend years ago-!” 

“Best friend?” Harry repeated, halfway between a gasp and a sarcastic sneer. “Some friend you are. What have you done for me in the past few years aside from scream at me and gripe and complain?” 

“Stop it!” You shouted this time, whipping your head toward Harry, done with trying to haul Ron away. “Both of you, stop! You both love each other and this is nonsense!” 

It was the truth. But they were entirely blind to the truth right now.

Naturally, they both ignored you. 

“And what have you done for me, aside from nearly getting me killed?” Ron snapped back. 

“Ron, stop!” You squealed at him, trying once again to stop the fight. 

You had never seen any of their bickering or arguing come even close to the level of friendship ending. But under the circumstances, you feared that if it didn’t stop soon - this might be it. 

You dug your fingers into his jumper again, this time actually trying to haul him toward the mouth of the tent by force. He didn’t seem at all bothered by this - he simply continued engaging in a very fierce glaring contest with Harry. 

When his jumper stretched down slightly, you saw a glinting around his neck, and then you realised: 

He had been wearing the Locket for nearly two days now. 

You thought that Hermione was supposed to be taking her turn, that it was outside the tent with her and her books. But surely enough, when you reached inside his jumper, your hand came back with that green locket. As you looked at it, you found that the sight of it almost mocked you. 

“Ron, take it off.” You demanded sharply. “Come on, you don’t mean any of this, it’s just-” 

“Who says I don’t mean it?” Ron snapped, reaching up and batting your hands away from him. Surprisingly, he then tucked the Locket back inside his jumper, rather than taking it off. 

He was still actively punishing himself. And it was likely that Harry’s comment about him not being helpful was only playing into the toxic circus already going on in his mind that made him feel the need to wear it for longer. The Locket must have been loving the dark cloud of emotions that Ron was feeling right now. 

Harry took a step toward you and put a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you away from Ron. 

“Come on, Y/N, it’s no use talking to him. He’s being a complete idiot right now, he’s not going to listen.” 

Typically yes, that would be the case if Hermione or Harry tried to talk to him. When Ron was angry, their personalities did not mesh well. He would put up nothing but a wall of silence or brute stubbornness toward them. 

But when you talked to him, it was different. When he was greeted by your warm empathy, your gentle understanding, it was different. In the worst cases where you truly needed to break through to him, you ended up with your mouth on his cock to break that stubbornness. But either way, you would get him to listen to you, and eventually he would calm down and talk it out. 

Ron’s glare was like a sharp poison dagger, piercing the place where Harry’s hand met your shoulder. 

It seemed that those words from Harry’s mouth, so casually calling him an idiot, along with Harry’s touch on you - even though it was the most casual, platonic touch he could have performed. All of it brought Ron’s anger to a boiling rage, and under the influence of the Locket - he snapped. 

“Don’t touch her!” Ron growled. He reached around you and shoved Harry squarely in the chest in order to get him away from you. 

You would be lying if you said that the words and especially his tone carrying them didn’t send a distinct zap through your cunt, instantly awakening the lust you had been trying to push down all day. 

Harry let out a sharp gasp as Ron’s hand hit his chest, and stumbled backwards a few steps - partially because of how hard Ron had pushed him, and partially numb from shock. His fights with Ron had never turned physical before. He found himself flushed with fear, and not one due to intimidation of his best friend’s physical stature. He was afraid to potentially lose the friendship. He was afraid that he had taken things a step too far. 

You looked between the two of them, tingling with shock yourself, completely unsure what to say or do. You were tempted to shout for Hermione, but then Ron began speaking again and shocked you and Harry even further. 

“This may come as a surprise to you, Harry, but you don’t own everything in the goddamn world.” Ron said, spitting Harry’s name through his lips like it was a vile poison. 

Was he seriously insinuating that Harry put a hand on your shoulder because he thought that he owned you? 

Was Ron getting possessive over you? 

“Excuse me?” Harry squeaked out, clearly having as much difficulty processing the words as you were. 

If anything, Harry was jealous of your relationship with Ron. 

The two of you had been so close before even coming to Hogwarts. When Harry had seen the two of you idly chatting and laughing so hard that you could barely breathe when he had approached your train carriage during that first ride to Hogwarts, he had been purely intimidated. On that day, Harry had felt like he had no one in the world, like he was so damn alone, and Ron already had you as a best friend. 

Harry had always been jealous of the closeness that you had with Ron. The inside jokes from your childhood, the stories of the things you got up to as kids that he only heard about secondhand. Harry had always wished so hard, yearned deep in his heart that he could have grown up in the magical world so that he would have known Ron sooner and could have been his best friend for as long as you had. Every single time Harry arrived at the Burrow, you were already there, laughing it up with Ron, making him feel like he was the biggest third wheel to your already amazing friendship. 

To this day, Harry was still surprised that Ron gave him the title of best friend and not you. 

“Ron-?” You questioned numbly, and he cut you off. 

“You heard me.” Ron growled, his voice dark. 

It was something that made your stomach jump, a mixture of shock and lust flooding you. It made you numb and limp and turned you into a perfect ragdoll, your body entirely receptive to Ron’s next chaotic, unpredictable movements.

“She doesn’t belong to you.” Ron ground out, his throat scraping against the words in a gravelly way that made your pussy so wet. 

“I never said-” Harry gaped quietly in protest, but he cut himself off with a quiet gasp when he witnessed what his best mate did next.  

Ron threaded a hand into the back of your hair, a grip so strong and commanding, a touch that immediately said ‘I own you’. 

You released a small gasp in response, arching into his touch as shockwaves of pleasure pittered through you from this point - from feeling his large, strong hand gripping you there. He didn’t waste a moment before he ripped on your hair, forcing your head backwards so he could have a good angle to shove his mouth onto yours. 

Dizzy with the combination of pain and pleasure, your mouth so easily fell open to him. You had nothing but ripe, burning moans for him as his rough, unshaven face scratched against yours and his demanding tongue shoved past your lips. He was almost forcing you to choke on his presence as your needy lust came back with a vengeance, thumping hard between your thighs. 

Harry found himself confused. 

He was still so bitterly angry, that annoyance from the argument still sizzling through his veins. But he found his cock quickly swelling to hardness at the sight of Ron taking you so savagely, treating you to roughly, doing things to you that Harry had definitely never done. 

Harry was always soft with you. He didn’t know anything but softness when it came to his intimate time with you. Witnessing this was so absolutely hot, and Harry couldn’t deny that. He should have been more upset by this revelation - by the familiarity, by the natural way you just let Ron kiss you. 

Harry should have been jealous. He should have stormed away to brood at the fact that you had clearly been fucking Ron behind his back for as long as you had been fucking him. But he couldn’t find himself angry about that. He only found it to be a turn-on. 

Part of his brain screamed that he should have known all along. A girl as perfect as you wouldn’t have just one boyfriend, definitely not. (Was he your boyfriend? The two of you had never discussed that part…) 

The first time you had ever kissed him, Harry just felt exceedingly lucky. And he had felt similarly confused, wondering why the hell you had snogged him so suddenly, without seeming to show any interest in him beforehand. 

That night in the Gryffindor Common Room, after everyone else had gone to bed, he had asked you if he should be concerned about his kissing technique because Cho had been crying while kissing him and afterwards, and Ron had made that joke about how Harry must be horrible at snogging, then. 

And without even answering, you pulled him forward by the length of his Gryffindor tie and snogged him furiously. (At the time, he had been embarrassed by how easily he had moaned into your mouth - something he had definitely not done with Cho - but you had assured him later that you found it cute.) 

And then you explained to him that his kissing technique was more than fine, and that Cho was still hung up on Cedric, and he should stop ‘playing with her fragile emotions’. He had been too pleased to have you that he hadn’t cared at all about turning Cho down for Valentine’s Day. 

So naturally, he hadn’t questioned the nature of his relationship with you since. 

In this moment, he was still bitterly mad at Ron. But he watched to watch. He found you beautiful and irresistible, even if he should have hated seeing you with Ron. He just found it hot. And he was confused as to why that was - but he certainly wasn’t going to move unless you or Ron yelled at him to bugger off. 

The whole time that Harry contemplated this, Ron thoroughly explored your mouth with his tongue. This left you whimpering and writhing to get closer to him, despite the tight grip he had on your hair. You were needy for more, arching into him, needing to be closer to his warm, Quidditch-hardened body. Your hands tightly gripped his biceps through his thick jumper, wishing you could feel more of him, more of his delicious bare skin that you had experienced under your hands before but missed so dearly. 

“Ron-!” You squeaked out in protest as he pulled back from the kiss. 

The movement resonated a wet smack through the tent and left Harry’s mouth flooded with his own saliva as he saw the thread of spit that tangled between your two mouths. He would deny that it was out of pure want. 

He stared in awe as he saw how swollen and used your lips already were after just a few moments of Ron’s rough kissing. 

Typically, that was an imagery that Harry could only get from you after hours of kissing, slow and sweet. Or something he would see on the rare occasions when you had sucked his cock for hours, pinned him down and teased him until he was begging for more. Naturally, that thought made his cock give a needy pulse inside his trousers - but he refused to touch himself. 

He didn’t know when he had gotten so damn hard, but he knew that he was standing at full attention, and he hoped that Ron wouldn’t look over to see the very obvious bulge at the front of his pants. 

Something that truly mystified Harry was the look on your face. 

You had such a doll-like expression; your eyes glassy, your jaw slack, your lips parted. Your gaze was locked on Ron, tracing his every movement as though you had been hypnotised. If Harry didn’t know any better, he might say that you were under the Imperius Curse. In all the times that Harry had taken you to bed before, he had never seen that look on your face. 

Whenever you gleefully climbed on top of him (or the spare few times when you let him climb on top of you) you were always so present. Often, Harry was surprised by how composed you could be when he was the one begging and falling apart. Whenever he looked up at you, there was an almost wild look of mischief behind your eyes as you decided with pure, intricate calculation what you were going to do to him. 

And Harry could do nothing more than sit back and enjoy the ride. He supposed it was the one area of his life where he didn’t have to panic about the decision making. The one time where he didn’t have to fret about being responsible. 

“Ron,” You moaned out weakly, gently begging him for more. 

Harry then realised - Ron did that for you. And you must have liked it a whole lot. 

Because you made absolutely no protests as he mouthed along your cheek roughly, the short, coarse hair of his short beard clearly scratching your skin along the way. You only let out more beautiful moans as he began sucking savagely on your neck. 

“Ron, ah-!” 

Harry only became worried when he saw Ron quite clearly dig his teeth into your skin right at the neck of your shirt, biting down hard enough to draw blood. He continued to yank on your hair, holding your body in a tight arch to keep you from squirming away. You didn’t yell out any protests at this, but the sound you made was a sharp holler - perhaps it could have been from pleasure or pain. 

You had never made sounds like that with Harry, so he couldn’t exactly tell. 

Either way, it had Harry reaching to his back pocket for his wand. But he didn’t yet draw it out and point it at Ron. He was too damn curious to let this continue and see where things went. Especially if you didn’t want it to stop. 

“Y/N?” Harry questioned, his voice ripe with concern. 

He needed to check on you. If you even so much as uttered the words ‘no’ or ‘stop’, then he would put Ron on his ass without hesitation. 

You let out another moan, and his cock throbbed with need, trapped inside of his pants. He hoped that he could forget about it for now. 

You let out a small whimper as Ron tongued over the bite harshly, seemingly enjoying the taste of the blood, before he picked a new spot and bit down again. You made another wounded noise and Harry gripped his wand tighter before you finally responded to him. 

“I’m fine, Harry.” You breathed out, sparing him a quick sideways glance - barely able to turn your head with Ron’s strong grip holding you still by your hair. 

“Don’t you dare say his fucking name!” Ron growled out, clearly insulted that you were talking to Harry when all of your attention was supposed to be on him. “Not until I’m done with you.” 

In a fraction of a moment, these sharp words were paired with the sound of skin stinging against skin. 

Harry let out another gasp as he watched Ron’s large hand come down across your cheek. It was hard enough to make a distinct sound, and throttle your head to the side. But it definitely wasn’t hard enough to shake you out of the lustful haze you were in. If anything, the stiffness of his palm colliding with your cheek seemed to add to it. 

More shock pulsed through Harry when he heard you let out another moan, definitely a pleasurable one. He pulled out his wand and held it at his hip, not yet prepared to threaten Ron. Because if he wasn’t mistaken, you were enjoying this. 

“Ron,” You gasped quietly. 

You found yourself shocked by the way the slap had caused your pussy to throb between your legs. 

“That’s right.” He grunted back before he leaned back in, taking your mouth in that entirely commanding way once again. 

You could do nothing but moan pathetically and hope that soon he touched you where you needed it most. 

Sure, Ron had been somewhat rough with you before. 

He was always more of an animal in bed - Ron always fucked dumb and wild, climbed on top of you and let loose like a mindless animal until he was done. And you always liked it that way. 

You went to him when you wanted to be sore and full, when you wanted to lay back and forget about your day. You thought it was sweet of Harry to check on you. He had always been so different when it came to sex. 

You went to Harry when you wanted to be taken care of with intense softness and slowness. Sex with Harry was always more like making love - a devoted worship of you or you worshipping him. You liked to have his sweetness completely under your control, to know that he would do anything you said at a moment’s notice. 

And of course, Hermione was completely different. You went to her when you wanted to fight for dominance and sometimes lose, or win and have the pleasure of having her at your mercy. She was a very rule oriented person, so she was the type to have you stand in the corner with a book balanced on your head while she finished writing an essay and then give you a reward for not dropping it. But she was also someone who liked to be mind-broken and forget about all the rules sometimes. You liked that it was so unpredictable and surprisingly non-routine with her. 

While you knew each of them well, intimately - you were somewhat surprised. 

Ron had never been this mean before. 

Mostly, you were surprised by how quickly you were coming to like the meanness in him, especially when it was presented as a sexual aggression toward you. You knew that it was something you would crave long after this was over. (You hated that you could imagine yourself purposely pissing him off just to get this result.) 

After a few moments, Ron pulled away from the kiss again, leaving you panting, entirely breathless. He leaned his forehead against yours in a move that Harry would almost consider tender - quite a contrast to his other actions, staring daggers of dangerous passion into your eyes as your chest heaved. 

“I’m fine.” You muttered quietly, wanting to assure Harry that you were okay with everything that Ron was doing. More than okay - but you weren’t quite ready to admit that just yet. “It’s fine.” 

Your words were clearly intended for Harry, who you could see out of the corner of your eye was clearly prepared to take Ron down if need be. It was a nice safety net to have, but with your cheek stinging as much as your needy cunt - it was an unnecessary one. 

You kept your eyes locked on Ron as he teased a thumb across your bottom lip. You were tempted to tease him, tempted to call out Harry’s name again just to see what would happen. But you were worried that he would get you all worked up and then not let you cum, and that would be the most pitiful punishment of all to you on this day. 

“Fine?” Ron chuckled darkly. “I’ll show you fine.” 

He wretched your neck back harshly again, taking advantage of the hold he had on your hair. You couldn’t contain the moan you let out as he shoved his tongue past your lips once more, his free hand coming up to grope your breast through your shirt so harshly that it ached. 

He reached for your pants and tugged on them so hard that the button went flying, making a small ‘tink’ on the floor as it disappeared somewhere on the other side of the tent. You distantly hoped that Hermione could sew, or that she knew some spell for mending buttons, but that was a fleeting thought in your mind at the moment. 

Ron shoved his hand past the waistband of your pants without a second thought, without even a breath of asking permission. It was that boldness, the way he simply took you like you belonged to him - it was that feeling of being owned by him that made you clench around nothing, further soaking your cotton panties as he shoved his fingers into them. 

Ron pulled back from the kiss, letting out a breathy chuckle against your cheek as he felt that heady wetness. He had to pry the sticky fabric off your cunt to make his way to the source, and it only made him more sure of himself. He made bold, cocky movements when he posed two of his fingers rigid, sweeping up the length of your needy pussy. He gathered the wetness thick on his fingertips before he found your clit with practised skill and rubbed it in mean strokes. 

“Ron!” 

Your knees bent and your fingers dug into the fabric of his jumper, desperate to hold on to something. Your thighs clamped down around his hand, and when you let out a whining moan, Harry’s cock pulsed sharply when he realised he could hear the sound of your wetness audibly, even though it was slightly muffled, still trapped inside of your pants - he could hear each mean, wet stroke as Ron touched you. 

“Ron, please!” 

You were already begging to cum. 

But he had no determination to finish you off right now. He didn’t want to make you cum yet - otherwise, the show would have been over too soon. He only did this for a moment before he pulled his fingers back out of your pants, now absolutely soaked and glistening with your wetness. Then he shocked you and Harry yet again when he purposefully held the hand up for Harry to see. 

“More than fine.” He scoffed, referring to your earlier words. “Look at how fucking wet she is for me.” 

An incredibly tempting thought came over Harry. To cross the room and put his lips around those fingers, to taste your essence (something he was already intimately familiar with) while enjoying the thickness of Ron’s digits on his tongue. But there was still that part of Harry that was pissed off, and somehow, that part won out. 

“You’re mad.” He barked out, pocketing his wand again and crossing his arms tightly over his chest, setting his jaw and giving his best enraged expression. “You’re disgusting.” 

Ron let out another bitter chuckle. “You’re still watchin’, mate.” 

Seeing as it was not a demand to fuck off and stop watching, Harry continued to keep his eyes locked on the scene. All while trying his best to keep putting up that front of anger while arousal overtook him. 

Ron used the hand in your hair and a hand on your hip to throw you toward the table, finally releasing the grip on your hair to manhandle you until you were positioned how he liked. He bent you over the table with your palms supporting you on the surface, your ass sticking out, with your knees grazing against the attached bench in what must have been in an uncomfortable way. It put you and Ron sideways to Harry as Ron got behind you, showing off your profiles to him. If Harry wasn’t mistaken, Ron was purposefully showing off, making sure that Harry had a good view of whatever he was going to do to you next. 

You moaned again as Ron tucked his grip into your pants and underwear and ripped them down all at once, shoving the fabric down to your knees. You let out a pitiful, beautiful whimper as he put a hand on your jaw, forcing your head back painfully so that you could look up at him as he towered over you. He wanted you to know how much power he held over you. 

It made your cunt throb even harder, and you were sure that Harry could see the wetness glistening on your thighs. 

Ron’s body was warm against your back, the muscly hot furnace that he always was. Without warning, he shoved those two still wet fingers inside your cunt, and began fucking you open without mercy. This caused you to moan harshly and arch into the touch, aching for more. 

“It’s funny, innit?” Ron posed, a dark laughter dancing in his voice. “Someone had to show The Great Harry Potter how to fuck. One thing that didn’t just come to him with natural grace.” 

Over the sounds of your moans and Ron’s fingers moving slickly inside your cunt, Harry felt a wave of humiliation rise up in him. He would absolutely deny that Ron speaking so harshly to him like that, combined with his best friend for once looking down upon his name - actually made his cock throb harder. A big part of Harry internally scoffed. Did Ron honestly think that Harry was some blushing, clueless virgin? 

“I know how.” Harry replied, the words entirely daft to his own ears once they came to the open air. He sounded like a petulant child pretending that he hadn’t eaten a cookie before dinner. Absolutely no truth or proof behind his own words. 

Ron let out another dark laugh at this, and Harry’s stomach clenched with a strange combination of humiliation and lust. 

If Harry was being completely honest with himself, there was a time in his life when he had been taught how to fuck. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him without a bunch of nervous fumbling. But Ron certainly wasn’t his instructor. 

You had been the one to teach him how. 

…

Harry let out a needy whine, deep frustration radiating through him as your hips slowed down on top of him yet again. He wanted to cry as you sat down on top of him completely, trapping his cock in stillness, leaving him leaking and needy inside of you as your leaking pussy sheathed completely around him. It was the most beautiful torture - every inch of him sheathed in your hot wetness, but dear god, he needed you to move. 

“Hush, now, darling - there’s no need to whine.” You scolded him, your voice oddly sweet and soothing for words that brought such a disappointing lull over him. 

“But-” Harry breathed out a protest, and you yanked sharply on his Gryffindor tie. This caused the words to die off in his throat as his neck was jerked with a short snip of pain. 

He was still mostly clothed - still wearing his cardigan, unbuttoned and slumping down his arms, and his white shirt with a few stray buttons undone. With his trousers undone and pulled down to his thighs along with his underwear, letting his cock out. Usually, when you fucked him, no matter how undressed he got, you kept his tie around his neck. You had found that it was a very convenient leash - a very easy way to shut him up and make him obedient at a moment’s notice. 

It was something he was now unconsciously trained toward, which he both loved and hated. Ron and Hermione had no clue why Harry went so slack and became a puppet following your every whim if you even so much as grazed a suggestive touch near his tie during classes - it was something that made his brain go fuzzy and made his cock harden at an alarming speed. 

This afternoon, you had decided that the chosen form of torture - well, intensely wet, pleasurable ‘torture’ - would be riding him. You had shed your clothing and you were now sitting astride his lap naked, alternating between fucking him hard and fast for a few moments before you slowed down and then slopped completely until he begged for you to continued. 

It was a move that simply dared someone to come into the Gryffindor boys dorm during the class that the two of you had skipped and catch the two of you while you humped up and down on Harry’s cock. But he couldn’t even bring himself to care about the possibility of getting caught, as you easily made him forget about everything other than the feeling of your warm, tight, wet cunt clenching down on his cock. 

“I told you, Harry, we need to train up your stamina.” You whispered, speeding your hips up once again, daring him to hurl off the edge of oblivion into a mind-bending orgasm. “It’s like Quidditch - if you don’t practise, then you’ll never get better.” 

Harry only sputtered out a moan and clutched onto your hips tightly, pressing his face into your breasts as his over-edged balls ached and he internally begged for mercy. 

So what? He didn’t often last long with you. You were a goddess, and your pussy was perfect, who could blame him? What he lacked in stamina, he usually made up for in enthusiasm and the intense willingness to eat his own cum out of you afterwards, which you more than enjoyed. 

“Y/N, please-!” Harry grunted out desperately. 

…

“Ron, please!”

Harry’s mind was abruptly sucked back to the present by the sound of your voice, begging in that needy, airy tone much like he had been begging you for release all that time ago. He found it remarkable how someone as composed as you could be taken apart so easily by Ron. Perhaps he might just end up asking Ron for some tips after this - even if it would inflate the git’s ego a bit too much. 

“If you’re so great, then how come she’s not begging for your cock, hmm?” 

Ron teased, seeming to take great joy in focusing his attention on mocking Harry while his fingers fucked your pussy raw. He ignored your whines and pleas and the way you rocked your hips back into him, clearly so desperate for his cock as he had pointed out. 

“Watch and learn, Harry.” 

Harry wanted to make some sassy comment about how he didn’t need to learn this from Ron, but he was far too intrigued, his eyes glazed over with lust as he watched. 

“Ron-!” You let out his name in a gasp as he pulled those fingers out of you abruptly. 

He then slapped your ass, streaking those wet fingers across your behind in a way that made the hit sound even sharper, and you choked on your own breath and arched back into the touch. You looked fucking magnificent. Harry would absolutely catalogue this in his mind forever - though he hoped that this wouldn’t be the last time he got to watch Ron fuck you. 

Ron then used the hand that wasn’t slick with your arousal to pop open the button on his own trousers. Harry hoped that Ron wouldn’t make a comment about how intently his eyes became glued to his best friend’s cock as it fought to be freed from his pants - no underwear keeping it from fighting against the zipper as Ron easily shucked down the pants over his hips. 

Harry had snuck glances at Ron before. It was difficult not to grow curious about what your best mate’s cock looked like when sharing a room with him for six, going on seven years. Especially when the latter of those years had been filled with Ron growing into a tall, broad man that easily overtook Harry in stature. And Harry had spent an increasing amount of time thinking about Ron’s cock when he woke up to the sound of Ron wanking with deep, ragged grunts. 

He had caught sight of Ron coming out of the shower before. After Quidditch practices, and when racing to use the bathroom at the Burrow before anybody else could take up the already cramped shower schedule. And while Harry had admired Ron’s muscles, he had never dared to look down before. He would never be so blatant. He had never wanted to be called out for his curiosity. He never wanted that curiosity to turn into desire. 

But now, his eyes focused boldly on Ron’s cock, seeing as it was the only naked part of him available to stare at. 

Even though Ron’s red hair was one of the most distinguishable traits about him, Harry was surprised by just how bright and fiery his pubes were - like a hellish flame from which his cock sprung out. And boy, was it an impressive one. 

It was eight inches long, maybe a bit more, and it was thick. The only way to describe Ron’s cock was fat. It was quite pale, just like the rest of Ron, with a slight pink flush around the head that was swallowed up by his foreskin. But still, Harry found himself fixated on just how massive Ron’s cock was. 

Harry found himself wondering what the thick shaft would look like wrapped up in your hand, or the dainty, delicate touch of Hermione’s, and his throat became particularly dry when he imagined this. 

Strangely enough, even though Harry’s cock was a good two inches shorter and it was skinnier (much like his general stature when compared to Ron’s) - the first thing that Harry felt when looking at Ron’s cock wasn’t jealousy or inadequacy, but rather - awe. A horny type of marvel, like he was looking at a brilliant sex monument that he had just discovered. 

A small pang of worry flashed through his insides at the idea that Ron was likely going to take you so roughly with his obnoxiously large cock. He knew that Ron wasn’t going to be gentle all of a sudden. Harry worried that a cock of such size might hurt you. But again, he knew that he could step in if you asked him to. 

Ron grabbed his cock with the hand that he had previously been fucking you with, spreading your wetness over his shaft with a few good pumps. He poised a touch on your hip and then, with a hand on the base of his cock, began running the now exposed, throbbing tip along your weeping slit. 

Harry thought that he might push in after a moment, especially when you let out a whimper and arched your back toward him, daring him to sink in. 

“Ron, please. Please, baby. Come on.” You begged, your voice half caught in your throat as you were overtaken by need. 

Harry’s cock was freely leaking into his underwear now, and he almost shouted for Ron to begin fucking you out of his own dizzy desperation. 

But then, still teasing his cock along your swollen pussy lips, Ron put his other hand under your jaw. He squeezed your cheeks tightly between his thumb and forefinger - and he turned your head toward Harry. You had previously been facing the wall of the tent with half-closed, dopey eyes. 

Harry found himself deeply surprised by this. Of course, the whole point of this (supposedly) was to direct your attention away from Harry. Ron had even banned you from speaking his name. So why did he want you to look at Harry now? 

When your glassy, lustful eyes met Harry’s, his stomach jumped. He swallowed harshly around nothing and he knew that you saw the bobbing of this throat. You let out a whimper, squirming in Ron’s hold, still trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock. This caused Ron to let out a displeased growl and move the hand that he had on the base of his cock to your lower back, shoving you toward the table so that the edge of it cut into your hips. 

While keeping a tight hold on your face, making sure that you never looked away from Harry, Ron leaned in and grumbled something lowly in your ear. Even though you were panting harshly and Harry’s own heartbeat thumped in his ears, he could still hear the words so distinctly from across the room: 

“Go on. Tell him how badly you want my cock.” 

“I want it.” You whimpered. 

This wasn’t good enough for Ron. 

He yanked on your hair again, keeping your face locked on Harry. But at the same time, he made sure you stayed focused on the task at hand with his cock kissing at your entrance, the fat head of it just barely teasing in - but not nearly giving you enough to be satisfied. 

“Tell him who.” Ron barked out. “Tell him who you need.” 

“I need you, Ron!” You whined. “I need Ron’s cock.” 

These finally seemed to be the words that set him off. 

He slammed into you without further ceremony, digging his fingers into your hip and keeping the other hand in your hair for leverage. He began fucking you like a wild animal, his hips a blur of flesh that lit up your insides with pleasure. It was what you needed, and you instantly thanked him with a chorus of deep moans echoing from your throat. 

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” Ron ground out these words, driving each syllable home with a hard thrust of his hips. 

His movements filled the whole tent with nothing but sounds of his hips colliding against your ass, your wet pussy eagerly swallowing up his thick cock. Paired with his rough, animalistic grunting as he claimed you, complemented by the sounds of your withering moans - your lungs already wilted and tired, your body begging for release. You loved being used by him, and you knew that if he kept up the pace, you could cum just from the feeling of his big cock filling you up. 

It was this symphony of sounds - the very obvious signs of fucking - that drew Hermione’s attention back toward the tent. 

She had been roused by the yelling, originally. She didn’t want to intervene in the bickering like she was simply the ‘mother’ of the group, imposing rules and order on everyone. That role did become annoying after a while. So when it died down naturally, she had been thankful, and simply went back to her book. 

But it was the sounds of fucking that truly caught her attention. Completely against her own will, it started a fire between her legs and drew her up. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was your girlish lilting voice calling out Ron’s name. She knew that Harry wasn’t asleep and she hadn’t seen him leaving. So were the three of you-? 

“Fuck, take it! Take it like the little fuckin’ cockwarmer you are!” 

That deep growling voice couldn’t possibly be Ron - could it? 

With her pussy beginning to ache annoyingly between her thighs, Hermione pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside. The sight she found before her quickly made her gasp. 

Ron was fucking you. 

He had you bent over the table. There was something in the back of Hermione’s mind that screamed ‘that is where we eat, this is not sanitary’ - but she ignored that part of her mind in favour of the headliner. 

Which was the beastly way that Ron was taking you, harsh grunts pouring from his lips as his very large cock pounded into your pussy with seemingly no care. This made your poor pussy more swollen by the second, and seemingly - more coated in natural wetness as you creamed all over him, taking nothing but pleasure in his rough movements. 

You were moaning breathlessly, hanging onto the edge of the table for dear life, your face shaped into a perfect O as hot breaths poured from your lips. With your back arched out, showing your ass to Ron in a perfectly pornographic picture that was right out of one of the magazines that Hermione had accidentally seen under Ron’s bed. 

Your whole body rocked with his thrusts, the table creaking under the pure force of him - something that made Hermione realise just how strong he was for the first time ever. It was a thought that made her slightly dizzy and made her throat dry. The expression on his face was like nothing Hermione had ever seen before - tight-browed determination, not a lick of uncertainty anywhere among his features. Clearly, this was something he was confident in. And that confident power suited him so well. 

And Harry was watching. 

He was standing a few feet from the table, his arms crossed over his chest and a very obvious bulge in his pants. A stiff expression on his face as he stared at the scene more intently than she had ever seen him with anything other than Quidditch. 

The lick of heat that Hermione was feeling quickly boiled into a hellfire. Although she knew that her cheeks were pink, and suddenly her jacket felt overwhelming to have on, she didn’t ask to join in. But rather stupidly: 

“Ronald, stop this! Now!” 

Hermione hated that her first instinct was to scold Ron like a child, to order him around like this. 

But the dominant energy pouring off him in waves was certainly not something she was used to, and she had the utmost urge to stamp it out. Though you seemed to be enjoying yourself and Harry seemed perfectly intent to watch, Hermione’s gut told her that there was something wrong with the scene. On the surface, it was Ron’s apparent roughness with you, making Hermione worry that he was handling someone as delicate as you the wrong way. 

But deep down, she knew it was her own spiteful dominance washing up - a possessiveness she felt over you. Something that made her want to challenge Ron for you and have the pleasure of being put in her place. Or, have the pleasure of winning and taking you in front of him. 

Perhaps, what her gut truly wanted to tell her was wrong with the scene was that she wasn’t a central participant in it. 

Ron let out a sharp growl of frustration when Hermione’s shrill voice hit his ears. If there was any boner killer in the world, it was Hermione’s whiny, authoritative voice calling him by his full name. 

He pulled his cock out of you before you could blink. Harry made a choked sound at the sight of Ron’s now angry red cock parting from your swollen cunt with a sticky string of wetness, much like when you had parted from that breathless kiss at the beginning of all this. 

“Ron!” You whined sharply, wondering what the hell he was doing. Your orgasm had been a tight knot in your belly, but now it was fading off so quickly that it hurt. 

Hermione would deny that she stared. She would deny that she could a good eyeful of your pussy as it gaped around nothing, clearly aching for Ron’s cock, spilling more clear wetness out onto your own thighs with each aching, empty clench. Drool gathered in her mouth at the sight of your body so desperate. 

And a sight she had never seen before - Ron’s hard, bobbing dick, bright red and absolutely coated in your wetness. She almost mourned not being able to stare at it for longer as he tucked it back into his trousers and zipped them back up with a clearly frustrated haste. She would deny that the sheer size of his cock amazed her and made her own cunt clench with a filthy, hungry ache. 

“No-!” You squeaked out a protest, looking over your shoulder at Ron and sighing in defeat when you saw that he had tucked his cock away. 

Then you turned your gaze toward Hermione, looking at her with pure disappointment floating in your eyes. 

“Hermione!” You whined out, a clear plea for her to let the whole thing continue.  

She almost couldn’t stand the kicked puppy look from you, especially not when she was so used to giving in to you, giving in to all your little whims. Especially when your pussy was wet and your eyes were glassy with lust - she couldn’t resist you like this. 

You didn’t rush to pull up your own pants, unlike Ron. You didn’t see the point, seeing as, even if they didn’t all know it yet, everyone in the room had seen this part of you quite a few times before. 

“You just have to ruin everything, don’t you, Hermione?” Ron barked, clearly making his way toward the entrance of the tent to leave. 

It was likely that he wanted to sulk off between the trees for a wank since Hermione was becoming all ‘protective’ over you. He was far more afraid of anything she would do to him than whatever vague threats Harry had made earlier. 

“What if you were hurting her?” Hermione said meekly. “Did you even ask her if you could do that?” 

It was rare - so very rare that she admitted she was wrong. The minute she had told Ron to stop, she regretted not simply cheering the scene on. But she wasn’t going to go back on it now. She needed to be in control. She needed the whole thing to be her idea now. 

During the entire exchange, Harry remained eerily silent. Ron was glaring at Hermione with the fierce vengeance of the Locket still pulsing through him, and Hermione was giving him the stiff jaw that she usually did before they burst into an epic argument. If Harry was lucky, another argument would lead to more fucking, and he wasn’t going to speak up and ruin that. 

You whimpered again weakly as you straightened your back. You reached for the waistband of your pants and pulled them up slightly to give yourself some mobility in your footing, rather than having them hooked around your legs. But you didn’t pull them up to completely cover your pussy yet. You were still very needy, desperate for an orgasm. If someone else didn’t fuck you soon, you would either have to push Harry to the floor and take him or lay back on the table and start masturbating out in the open without care. 

“She liked it.” Ron growled, entirely confident in this statement. 

Hermione barely contained a whimper of her own as Ron’s hot breath fanned over her face. The condescending glare he gave her only emphasised their height difference, somehow making her insides hotter. 

“But it’s just so easy to blame the big, bad Ron Weasley for everything, isn’t it?” Ron huffed out. 

He turned his back then, and you knew he was about to storm out of the tent, so you finally scrounged up your voice and managed some words. 

“Take it off.” You choked out. “The Locket. Take it off.” 

Whatever happened next, you didn’t want it to be caused by anger. 

You wanted it to be caused by desire - by need. 

You knew that you weren’t the only person in the tent who needed this. You could see the way Hermione was unconsciously clenching her thighs together, and Harry’s cock was testing his zipper mightily. And even though Ron had started touching you out of a possessiveness, it wasn’t the first time that anger had sparked this kind of wild fucking from him - it was just an intensely exaggerated reaction under the Locket’s influence. 

But you knew that it would likely put everyone more at ease if he took it off. 

“You’ve been wearing it this whole time-?” Hermione gasped, reaching for the neck of Ron’s jumper as you had earlier. Surprisingly, he let her. 

“I still liked it.” You announced, wanting to assure Hermione that even if Ron’s need to brutally fuck you was prompted by the influence of the Locket, you had intensely enjoyed it. 

“I absolutely enjoyed it. In fact, I think Ron is the only one around here with any sense.” You said. 

It was then that you felt the draft from the tent flap blowing cooling air on your wet cunt - something that finally prompted you to pull your pants up the rest of the way. 

Harry almost begged you not to, not wanting sex to be off the table, not yet. Ron had to contain a laugh when you reached to fasten your pants with a button that was sitting on the floor in the corner. 

“Beg your pardon?” Hermione gaped, entirely shocked by your words, partially confused as to what you meant. 

Ron grinned wickedly at this revelation - he knew exactly what you meant. 

So, he made no moves to fight her when Hermione took the Locket off him and stashed it in her pocket, rather than putting it on. (She wanted to be clear headed for what she hoped would happen next.) 

“If we don’t stop fighting and start fucking, then we’re going to drive each other insane with all the damn bickering.” You explained.

Hermione looked between Ron and Harry, who were both very still and refused to look at her, much like they did when they thought that they were in trouble. It was quite clear that they were waiting for her to take the lead, to make the important decision as she usually did. 

And then she looked at you. She found herself quite taken with your sex-messed hair, your kiss-swollen lips and the pure need that glazed over your eyes, a few wet tears kissing against your lashes. 

“Hermione, please.” You begged, that pure need swallowing up your chest, making her name sound so beautiful coming off your lips. 

She was distinctly reminded of the last time she had heard those words coming off your lips, begging her for something in a distinctly similar way. 

…

“Hermione, please.” You murmured sharply against her lips, already untying the front of her cotton pyjama shorts. “I’ll be quick, I swear.” 

You had her pinned against the sink in the bathroom at the Burrow, licking the taste of spearmint toothpaste off her teeth. It was just after the two of you had completed a nightly routine, preparing for bed. 

You thought that routine should include an orgasm or two to help with better sleep, but Hermione feared getting caught. Even though the two of you seemed to be the last ones awake, everyone else already finished with their night and in bed. The house was quiet with sleep, even with the number of family members and guests gathered there, staying over in anticipation of the wedding. 

“Y/N-” Hermione choked out your name, reaching a hand up and putting a thumb on your pulse point, pressing down sharply as a warning. 

This was something that caused you to whimper against her mouth and pause the movement of your hand against her wet panties. It was a technique she had developed with you, a soft spot of yours that easily got you to behave or focus when she needed you to. 

“Hermione.” You replied, your voice full of breath, a quivering need balancing on your tongue. It was like a Veela’s call that delicately invited her to give you exactly what you needed. 

Hermione let out a sharp sigh. You held your breath as she gently rubbed her thumb over that spot on your neck, knowing that you would either be denied, or she would soon give in. There was no amount of begging you could do if she had already made up her mind. 

“Quickly.” She told you, her voice sharp and authoritative. 

It was like she was reminding you when an essay was due or telling you to pull down your skirt because your knickers were visible. But instead, she was pressing the fact that you had to make her cum quickly so that the two of you wouldn’t get caught. 

“Quickly.” You repeated the word with a nod. 

You then descended to your knees as you helped her half sit up on the sink, taking her shorts and underwear down to her ankles. 

“Good girl.” She praised in a strained whisper. 

She had to forcefully muffle her own moans with a hand tightly over her mouth as your lips latched onto her clit. 

Most of the time, Hermione didn’t know if she was a potent authority in your life, or if she let you run her like the brilliant scam artist that you were. But either way, she loved you enough to let you have the things you wanted. Most of the time. 

…

That had been just a few short nights before the ensuing blur of preparing for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and the chaos that had everyone tumbling out of there with urgency. That was the last time that Hermione had cum before setting out on this entire tedious ‘adventure’. So of course, her lustful need was worse than ever, if only from starvation of touch over time. 

“Please.” You breathed out the word again, your voice desperate as ever. “Please, I need this. I think we all need this.” 

This drew her attention back to the present, back to the authority she had over you - well, you and the boys right now. 

Now that she thought of those boys - 

“You’re speaking for Harry now too?” Hermione chuckled, turning to look at the one person who had been silent through all of this. 

He raised his brows, looking rather caught. His mouth gaped like a fish as he desperately searched for the words to say ‘I was hoping that I would be included in the dirty filthy fucking without having to ask’. 

Harry didn’t get a chance to come up with a reply before you trampled over him with your own words. 

“Oh please, he’s been hard since Ron first kissed me. Also, for the record, you don’t have to ask Harry for sex, you just tell him it’s happening and he nods and takes off his pants.” You announced, looking at Harry in an intensely knowing way.

Hermione let out a breathy chuckle at this, giving Harry a very interesting sideways glance - studying him like she would study a particularly interesting book. Harry’s stomach bubbled with excitement and lust because you had given him a similar look so many times before. It made him imagine being trapped between you and Hermione while you both came up with increasingly naughty ways to torture him, and he found the fantasy to be equal parts scary and thrilling. 

Ron’s brows knitted together with intense thought and he looked between you and Harry. 

Harry caught Ron’s eye, and he began to turn cherry red when he realised he had been outed as very needy, and very easy. He thought perhaps Ron was judging him - he had no clue that now his best friend was looking upon him with a newly formed sexual appetite. 

“Well, then. Y/N, I suppose you’re right.” 

Hermione huffed out these words before marching across the room toward you with determination. She placed the few books that she had tucked into her arm on the table behind you before she tangled her fingers into your hair in an entirely possessive and well-known manner. Then she forced your lips towards her, kissing you fiercely, but much gentler than Ron had. 

The realisation truly hit all three of them then, that you had been having sex with the other two the entire time. But through some ingrained embarrassment and some intense need not to throw off the balance of the friendships with pining and jealousy, they had always begged you to keep it secret. The worst part of realising it now was - they all knew that they could have been sharing you and each other the whole damn time. 

Naturally, Ron was the one who had to say it out loud. 

“So, you’ve been havin’ me, and him, and her?” He said, pointing to himself, and Harry, and then to the back of Hermione’s head as she feasted greedily on your mouth, driving home the point. “The whole time?” 

Hermione pulled away from the kiss, leaning away from your body slightly, letting both the boys pointedly stare you down for a moment before you answered the question. 

“Yes.” You answered honestly, that lustful breathiness coming back into your voice. “I wasn’t really under the impression that I was supposed to be monogamous.” 

“Mono - what?” Harry finally spoke, the first one to prod at these words with a confusion that he and Ron were both feeling. 

“Monogamous.” Hermione repeated, stripping off her jacket and tossing it to lay on one of the benches beside the table. 

She then reached for your pants, noticing the absent button but ignoring it for now as she ripped the material down over your hips again. She took you with a carelessness that said she already knew she owned you and she could do whatever she pleased with you as she once again exposed your needy, hot pussy to the open air. 

You let out a throaty moan as Hermione continued explaining the term to the boys. 

“Monogamy describes a type of relationship where two partners are exclusive to each other, romantically and sexually, and any romantic or sexual contact with other partners outside of that is considered cheating.” 

Hermione explained this in the textbook fashion that she usually spoke about things. As usual, her flawless intellect and perfect composure only turned you on more. She snaked one hand under your shirt while the other reached between your thighs and began gently teasing her fingers along your wetness. You let out a moan when she gripped onto your breast and her fingers grazed your clit - she was pleased to find you braless. 

“I believe what Y/N has been engaging in with all of us would be considered polyamory. A person in multiple romantic or sexual relationships at once.” Hermione added on. 

“What if we were all - you know - together?” Harry posed, clearly feeling curious about the idea. 

“That would still be considered polyamory.” Hermione said. 

Hermione wanted to mention the concept of a closed off poly relationship - the idea that the four of you would just be the four of you, with no one else involved. How it should be. That’s what always seemed right. It was right in front of her the whole time, and she felt foolish for not being able to see the reality of things sooner. 

“I don’t want anyone but the three of you.” You moaned quietly. 

Hermione let out a small grin when you voiced this for her. 

“You sure that you haven’t been fuckin’ any other tossers on the side?” Ron piped up. “You are a little desperate, love.” 

Your pussy quaked at his degrading words combined with the sweet nickname, and you choked on a harsh sound because of it. 

“Shut up.” You whined. “It’s just us. It’s always just been us.” 

Harry liked the way you said that. Us. 

You humped your hips into Hermione’s touches as she worked her fingers inside of you - there was a slight gape around her delicate touch, plenty of room where Ron had furiously fucked you open. 

“Did Ron cum inside of you?” Hermione asked, shifting the conversation dramatically and unexpectedly. She pulled back her fingers to inspect for that telltale streak of white. 

Harry choked on his own spit at the filthiness of her words, entirely surprised by it, and though Ron was shocked by her dirty words, he rushed to answer. 

“Didn’t give me the bloody chance to.” He grumbled in complaint. 

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at this. 

She pulled back from you completely then, causing you to whine out in protest as you were once again teased and left hanging. She ignored your neediness as she turned back toward the boys. 

“Hermione-!” You called out, collapsing against the table as your face curled into defeat. She ignored you for now. 

Hermione walked over to Harry and grabbed the front of his jumper with one hand and then fed him the fingers that she just had inside of you, clearly eager to test out that needy compliance of his that you had mentioned earlier. Harry didn’t question her and fell so easily to her touches, something that caused her to bite back a smile as she gave out her next instructions.

“Well, Ronald, if you behave yourself, then maybe you’ll get to cum inside me tonight.” Hermione told him, using that bossy tone to say his name in a way he had previously hated so much. 

The bossiness combined with the pure filth spilling from her lips was now something that made his cock throb and protest against the confines of his pants. 

Harry continued greedily sucking on her fingers, letting out quiet moans around them as he bobbed his head, forcing Hermione to speak louder to be heard over his humming and the sounds of his wet sucking. 

“Now that I’ve seen your cock, I want to try it out.” She said, looking at Ron, seemingly paying no mind to Harry as he devoured her fingers. “So you’ll fuck me while Harry fucks Y/N, alright?” 

You cunt tingled at her words - she said it like she was doling out a homework schedule, posing it like a question while leaving no room for her authority to be dethroned. 

It seemed that rule-oriented Hermione was entirely good at making them, and in this situation, nobody was going to protest.

…

A short while later, the four of you were in the middle of the floor - none of the cots were near big enough to fit all of you at once. And sure, Hermione was talented in Transfiguration and could have fixed that, but her patience was worn thin and it was easiest just to toss the blankets on the floor in a pile and close the tent flap so that nobody’s bits got cold. 

Hermione had everyone strip down. 

The boys were much more efficient in following her orders when getting their clothes off than they ever were in following her study schedules. You were no different, of course, being used to falling under her strict, but merciful reign. 

You took a moment to admire each of your companions, especially when Ron let out a comment about Hermione ‘catching up’ and she began to peel off her clothing too. 

Ron was strong and muscular, pure bulk with a perfect bit of chub on him. (Sadly, less chub than he had a few months ago thanks to the lacklustre food situation). His love for food and Quidditch had paid off, resulting in a body that was broad, like a wonderfully warm, soft brick wall. He had filled out his once gangly height so that he looked much more like a professional athlete now than a clumsy toothpick. 

You found his muscular shoulders to be so thick and admirable, a sign of his humble power, especially now that he had the scar from being splinched still healing pinkly over his skin as a reminder of his strength. His soft stomach and thick thighs were utterly perfect in your eyes, a perfect frame for that magnificent, large cock. 

Harry was opposite to Ron in almost every way, and still so utterly perfect. 

He was thin, as you had always known him to be, and he was shorter than Ron by a good two or three inches. (You had always liked that about him because it meant he was easier for you to manhandle.) 

Where Ron’s skin was smooth and freckled and he was naturally pretty hairless over most of his body, Harry was well - hairy. The dark chest hair was something that easily attracted you, a contrast off his pale skin, making a trail down his chest to the nest of dark pubic hair from which his cock sprang out. His cock was smaller than Ron’s but never failed to impress, especially when you had him beneath you and had that cock at your mercy. 

Naturally, after he stripped down, Harry kept his glasses on, wanting to be able to see everything that was going on. His eyes kept bouncing between Ron and Hermione so fervently, taking in all the new flesh as it was revealed to him. You definitely couldn’t blame him for doing so. 

Hermione was a goddess. No other words could describe her. 

Her skin was soft and pale, dotted with beauty marks in some places. You noticed that she too was starting to become a bit too thin, and you vowed that you would put a bit more on her plate during the next meal. Nonetheless, you had always found everything about her to be so perfect. From her pert breasts with soft pink nipples to the small patch of hair between her thighs that was surprisingly a bit lighter in colour than the hair on her head. 

The scene that had unfolded was nothing short of erotic - something stolen right out of your most epic fantasies when you thought of the three people that you loved the most. 

Hermione had been barking orders at everyone and her bossy nature couldn’t even be dampened down when Ron sheathed his cock inside of her for the first time. She simply took the thickness in stride, fucking back into him while she was on her hands and knees. 

The blatant confidence of her voice wavered only slightly with her pleasurable moans, but it seemed that the sex was turning into a battle between the two of them. Ron’s stubborn urge to fuck her harder, to make her break until she was nothing but a brainless mess (for once in her life). Versus Hermione’s own stubbornness, her urge to continue ordering everyone around even while an orgasmic coil wound tight in her stomach and became increasingly more distracting. 

You were on your hands and knees in front of her, mirroring the position so that you could kiss her, and she could touch you freely. She petted sweetly along your face, fisted your hair, or groped your breasts as she pleased while balancing herself with the other hand, and you lavished in the attention. 

Once again, Harry was a grand contrast from Ron as he fucked into your needy pussy from behind. He was entirely different from the beastly version of Ron that was brutalising Hermione’s cunt without care, creating slick slapping sounds throughout the room. 

Harry - as usual - was like a puppet that needed to be pulled on a string. His cock was more than enough to fill you perfectly, but he wasn’t someone who could be rough or fuck you brutally. You were quickly learning that he couldn’t even pound into your cunt harshly to satisfy that deep ache when he was prompted, it seemed. 

“Harry, harder, please!” You moaned, fucking your hips back into him as you fisted the blanket beneath you. You were desperate to recreate the feeling Ron had performed on you - raw, unfiltered possession, pure need taken out on your pussy. 

But Harry being needy was an entirely different form. 

Where Ron was rough and possessive, taking out his need on you by setting out to prove that he owned every inch of your body - Harry was soft. He needed to be the one owned. 

Harry bit down on his lip hard to muffle his whines, fucking you in bouts of fast, rabbit-like strokes before slowing down as the need to cum tightened in his balls. Not wanting to disappoint you, he would then grind deeply into your pussy, trying to will away his own orgasm. 

It wasn’t working very well. 

Especially not when he looked down and saw your wetness leaking out around his cock. Not when he remembered how good you had looked with Ron stretching you open, causing an impulsive need for him to fuck into you quickly again. But his strokes never built up into that harshness you were craving before he let out a deep, throaty whine and slowed down again, fearing cumming too quickly and being scolded for it. (Or being disappointed in himself, honestly.) 

You wished more than anything that you had a Gryffindor tie to put around his neck to direct him how you wanted to, or a literal leash to tug on. 

Harry was a good pet, but he needed to be treated like one. 

Without a leash to hang around his neck, you hung your head between your shoulders and let out a moan of disappointment as his slowing movements caused your orgasm to edge off once again. He was inadvertently torturing you, making your cunt ache more angrily than ever as you throbbed around his cock in red hot waves. You supposed that it was payback for all the times you had made him wait so long to cum. 

“Harry,” You warbled out in a whine, his name harshly scraping against the back of your throat. 

He couldn’t see your face in this position, couldn’t see your expression of pure anguish - so he thought it was a sound of encouragement. He thought that he was doing very well. But of course, Hermione quickly knew what it was, even with Ron fucking her so hard that he was practically driving her hips out of placement. 

“Harry, you - you have to go harder!” Hermione barked at him, still managing to give orders, even in her current position. “She’s never going to cum like that!” 

Ron let out a throaty chuckle at this, highly amused. 

“Mate, do you need me to show you how again?” He asked. 

He slowed his brutal fucking of Hermione only for a moment, long enough to catch his breath and let Harry get in a reply. 

Harry let out a wounded sound at this, entirely similar to a kicked puppy. As much as the idea of Ron pushing him out of the way to take your pussy roughly and ‘show him how’ was intensely hot, Harry wanted to prove himself. 

“No, I don’t need to be shown, I’m perfectly capable of making a girl cum, thank you very much.” Harry replied, his sass partially throttled by the dryness of his throat, your cunt clenching around his cock making him breathless. 

“Ron, don’t you dare stop!” Hermione ordered sharply, trying to fuck herself harder back on his cock. 

Ron reached down and grabbed Hermione by the jaw, much the same as he had done to you earlier, and tilted her head up. His lips met the flushed skin of her cheek as he leaned down, draping his hot, sweaty body across her back. 

It was something that she likely would have called grotesque before - the act of Ron’s sweaty skin against her - but she let out a needy whimper. And she didn’t squirm against him as he held a tight grip on her face. Harry nearly came at how tightly your pussy hugged his cock then, both of you intently watching what happened next. 

“I’ll bloody well do what I like.” Ron said, his voice still taking on that dark, menacing quality even though he was no longer wearing the Locket. “And if you behave, I just might let you cum tonight.” 

He mirrored her earlier words back to her, clearly mocking her. Before Hermione could come up with any clever reply, she was cut off with a gasp out of her own lips as Ron released his grip on her face and began fucking into her harshly again. This knocked her forward so hard that she had to restabilize her arms against the floor to keep herself from falling flat on her face. 

“Harry, turn me over.” You told him, thinking he would have more success if you were on your back. 

Harry mumbled out a ‘yes’ and then pulled out of you. This caused you to whimper with disappointment before he put gentle hands on your hips and helped you get comfortable on your back. 

Without asking, he put a pillow under your head - it was that kind of sweetness that had always drawn you to him. 

In this new position, you were almost between Hermione’s spread arms, your face surrounded by a wild curtain of her hair as she hung her head low between her shoulders. She was panting heavily with the effort as Ron continued to fuck her roughly and now had a two fingers on her clit - determined to finish her just to show that he could. 

While Harry situated himself between your naturally parted thighs, Hermione leaned down and seized your lips. Her kiss vibrated hot moans into your mouth while Harry pushed back into you, and Ron fucked her so hard that he jostled her head, making her unsteady in the kiss. 

“Oh, fuck!” Harry sighed, entirely delighted in the feeling of your wetness around him. 

When you reached down and began rubbing your own clit with determination, he then began fucking you at a quick pace, no longer worried that he would cum before you. Even if he did, he would see you through it and make sure to take care of you, he mentally vowed. 

He was soft, but quick, his hips pattering against yours in speedy movements that actually treated your pussy rather gently. He chased his orgasm inside of you while creating a warm tingle through you that met up nicely with the hot stinging your own fingers made on your clit. 

Eventually, your kiss with Hermione turned into the barest contact of lips on lips as her mouth parted with hot moans, the pleasure absolutely mounting inside of her. Ron’s grunts echoed in the background as the sharp, almost vicious smacking of his hips against her ass continued. 

“Fuck, Ron!” Hermione cried out, all hot breath against your cheek. “I’m cumming! Fuck! Don’t stop!” 

“Take it!” Ron growled. “Take my fuckin’ load, pretty little bitch!” 

On any other day, in any other situation aside from giving her an orgasm with his cock buried deep inside of her, Ron Weasley calling Hermione Granger a ‘pretty little bitch’ would have landed him some pretty severe injuries. But in this instance, it made her moan so hard that her voice cracked, and it was most definitely one of the things that triggered her orgasm. 

“Ron-!” She choked out. 

The sweet sounds she made combined with the absolutely feral noises coming out of Ron lit your whole body on fire. You knew that this sweet symphony was what caused Harry to fuck into you like a mad rabbit for a few seconds before you felt pure heat spilling into you. Upon instinct, you reached around him with your free hand and dug your nails into his arsecheek, forcing him to fuck you through his orgasm even while he gasped and choked on his breath from the overstimulation. 

“Y/N-” 

You let yourself get some lasting pleasure out of extra moments of his hard cock filling you up, and with your own touch on your clit, you rolled into a gentle, but deeply satisfying orgasm. 

“Please-” Harry choked out, and you finally released him, letting him pull back. 

You moaned at the sight of his cock coming out of you - the tip bright red and still weeping bits of cum, almost crying out in protest of the overstimulation, much like the tears that dotted the edges of his eyes. You had made him cry much more severely before when you had more time to tease him, and it was something that you had highly enjoyed. 

He collapsed on top of you and began kissing along your shoulder, being the sweet boy that he was, and he groped one of your breasts. When you tilted your head to look toward Ron and Hermione, she let out a few last pittering moans and he let out a deep grunt before pulling out of her. 

She collapsed entirely then, and it was only her last bit of mindfulness, directing herself as she fell that kept her from falling right on top of you. 

Ron still had a warm hand on her hip, and as you looked down the length of her body, if you weren’t mistaken - he was still raging hard, even after he had cum. (It wasn’t the first time it had happened. Sometimes Ron worked himself into such a frenzy that he needed to cum two or even three times in a night before his cock fully went down. It lovingly surprised you every single time.) 

“Good?” Ron posed, his voice gentle for the first time in hours. He patted Hermione on the hip, clearly directing the question at her. 

Of course, he was still tender-hearted below the surface. He would never fuck someone’s brains out like that without ensuring that they were okay. 

“I’m good.” Hermione replied, choking on her own breath. 

She spared him a glance over her shoulder, and he gave her the most utterly timid grin - it was such a roaring contrast to his earlier bold words and his rough touches, but it was somehow a fantastic assurance toward Hermione that he was, of course, still the same Ron. She could still boss him around in every other aspect of life, but if she needed a break from all that bossing, he could do this for her. 

Satisfied with this, she leaned in to kiss you again. 

You sighed with delight into her mouth and snaked your tongue past her lips, more than enjoying the attention you were being ravished with. Your pussy still nagged for attention between your legs and you hoped that Hermione wasn’t too tired to play with you. 

“You know Harry, you don’t have to keep starin’ at it.” Ron joked. “It’s not gonna bite you, mate.”

There was a slight slick sound, and when you pulled away from Hermione’s mouth and opened your eyes, you realised that it was Ron pumping his hand on his still very hard cock, wanking with the combination of Hermione’s wetness and his own cum that he had gathered there. 

It took your orgasm-hazed brain a second to realise that he was talking about his dick. When you glanced over your other shoulder, you realised completely that Harry’s focus was no longer on peppering kisses over your neck and shoulder, but very much on staring at Ron’s cock. 

With Harry’s body still flush against yours as he laid on top of you, you felt the deep sigh that he let out. You could see the contemplation in his eyes, the slight fear to express his desires that you had seen in him before. You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, encouraging him. 

“What is it, darling?” You asked gently. 

“I keep staring at it because, well…” He sighed again before continuing. “I want to… what is it that Hermione said? ‘Try it out’.” 

Harry highly resisted the urge to hide his head in your neck with embarrassment after this admission. He looked from you, to Hermione, then to Ron for some kind of approval - or simply looked not to be mocked. 

“Oh, you should.” Hermione said, giving a moan of contentment as she stretched out her back like a cat. 

She had finally regained some energy after being so thoroughly fucked, and she turned from where she had collapsed on her stomach to lay on her side, showing off her gorgeous body to all eyes in the room. 

“It’s magnificent.” She added on with an almost dreamy sigh. 

Hermione smiled - a sweet, coy smile, and you let out a giggle as Ron caught her eye, his brows raised in shock. It was one of the few things she had complimented him on without hesitation. This whole thing had certainly turned the group’s dynamics upside-down. 

When Harry looked to Ron, he found concern knitted in those freckled features. 

“Harry, typically, I think when blokes do it, there’s a bit more… um… preparation… involved, innit?” Ron posed, hesitation taking up every inch of his voice for the first time that night. 

Clearly, he thought that Harry meant he wanted to take Ron in his ass - and he was concerned about Harry’s inexperience versus Ron’s sheer size. 

Harry flushed red, perhaps from embarrassment at having this pointed out to him, or from the lust of considering what it would be like to have that beautifully large cock splitting him open. (You did feel Harry’s cock give a pathetic twitch against your thigh). This time he did lean into your shoulder to hide as much as he could. 

“Yes Ron, please tell me more about how much preparation it would take for me to handle your very giant cock.” Harry drawled sarcastically, trying to make a joke out of it. 

Hermione let out a chuckle at this. When you caught Ron’s eye, you could see a distinct heat swimming there. Obviously he enjoyed Harry talking about him this way, even if it was with his typical sass. 

“You should suck him off.” You said, running your fingers through Harry’s dark locks again, trying to be gently encouraging. “Unless you’re afraid that he’ll break your jaw,” You made a joke of your own, and Harry let out a sarcastic scoff against your skin. 

Harry didn’t need anymore convincing when Ron got a hand in his hair, practically hauling him off of you. He let out a lilting moan of his own as Ron handled him into place, much like he had done to you earlier. 

Hermione then crawled over to on weak bambi legs and laid herself on top of you, pressing her body against yours - chest to chest, lips against yours with the usual sharp determination and an almost lazy exploration of her tongue through your teeth. She hooked her thigh over your hip so that she could press her sloppy, used cunt against yours. 

This inadvertently made one of the hottest sensations you had ever experienced when she began grinding her pussy against yours and Ron’s cum began spilling out of her to meet Harry’s cum in a sloppy mess between your thighs. 

It was truly a perfect union of all the people you loved the most. 

While you sucked on Hermione’s tongue, you heard a sloppy gagging sound beside your head that more than caught your attention. You couldn’t help but to pull away from the kiss with the curiosity to look. Hermione began kissing down your neck and lavishing your breasts with attention while you craned your neck to look at Ron and Harry. 

Ron had Harry on his back, and had mounted his chest. From the kind of sideways angle you had, Ron had a commanding, tight hand in Harry’s thick, black locks and held him still while he rocked his cock into Harry’s mouth. His eyes were screwed tight, clearly trying to concentrate on pleasing Ron, gagging with each movement as he struggled to accommodate such an intense size. 

“Relax, Harry.” You said, reaching out to gently pet your fingertips up his arm. You let out a moan when Hermione sucked harshly on your nipple - clearly she was seeking joy in getting a reaction out of you. “It’ll be easier of you just relax and let him fuck your throat.” 

That was something you knew from experience, on both sides. Ron’s cock was massive to accommodate, but it was easier just to sit back and take the ride. And Harry was intense, thoughtful, a worrier. He wanted to please and know that he was doing well. But he did better when you fucked every last thought out of his head. 

“Yeah, come on.” Ron grunted quietly, trying to force more of his cock down Harry’s throat. “You’ve got a sweet fuckin’ mouth when you’re not usin’ it to talk back.” 

Harry moaned at this praise and you saw him visibly relax, and you gave him a few more sweet pets as you added on: 

“Good boy. Come on, be good for him.” 

Which seemed to truly encourage him, and he let Ron start up a good rhythm. He was much gentler than he had been with you or Hermione, taking mercy on Harry for being so new at this. It was an easy back and forth that gathered drool on his chin and soon at him moaning around Ron’s cock as he enjoyed the fullness on his tongue. 

You let out a moan of your own when you felt Hermione’s fingers prodding at your well-used pussy and felt her soft lips lingering around the top of your mound. 

“Looks like Harry left me a little present here, hmm?” Hermione sighed, sounding overjoyed at the fact that Harry had cum inside of you. 

You knew that Hermione was filthy - pin you down and shove her hand up your skirt while in one of the carriages on the train filthy; sneak you into the Prefects bathroom in the middle of the night filthy; crawl into your bed in the Gryffindor girls dorm and clamp her hand over your mouth to keep you quiet filthy - but this was reaching all new levels. Even for all the things you knew of her, all the dirty secrets that the two of you shared. 

“Oh, fuck!” 

It just caused you to moan, especially when those fingers breached you sharply, taking you like she owned you once again. Her tongue prodded at your entrance eagerly as her touch caused Harry’s mess to spill out of you. She just lapped it up, filthy and eager. 

Her tongue worked on you so perfectly. 

You couldn’t help but to put a hand down and grip that wild hair, arching your hips to hump against her face as she fucked her fingers into you gently and tongued along your clit. She was treating your pussy lovingly, each touch commanding pleasure out of you, but not possessive or rough. 

It was the same way she handled tests, with a deeply ingrained knowledge making each answer meaningful. It was that beautiful thing about her that made her quiet and reserved in her performance, not having to command the room with arrogance or noise. Her tongue danced along your cunt with confidence and grace in a way that had your toes curling in minutes. Her fingers curled inside of you while she smiled against you, knowing how she already had you teetering on the edge. 

“Such a good girl for me.” She sighed. 

“‘Mione,” You moaned back at her, the loving nickname dancing on your lips as a warning that you were already close. 

“Oh, come on Harry, you can gimme one more.” 

You heard Ron’s voice grunting roughly above you, and when you craned your neck again and spared the boys a glance, you were incredibly turned on by the sight. 

Ron had Harry pinned under him, and now, rather than having his cock shoved down Harry’s throat, they were pressed hips to hips and chests to chests as you and Hermione had been before. Harry was breathless and gaping for air underneath Ron - from what you could see, Ron had both of their cocks in his large fist, sliding them together in a mess of cum, trying to milk another orgasm out of the spent, whining, overstimulated Harry against his own, still somehow hard cock. 

“Ron, fuck, please-!” 

Harry could do nothing but cry and buck up against the touches, desperately trying to suck air in through his parted lips, his cock weeping for more. It was a sight that sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through you, and had you squeezing around Hermione’s fingers, hurling over the edge toward your orgasm as she gently sucked on your clit. 

“Oh, fuck, ‘Mione!” 

Hermione sighed with satisfaction and licked you through it, making your thighs quiver with your own overstimulation as she shoved her tongue deep inside of you. Seemingly, she was determined to lick you clean, to lick the essence of your existence right out of you. 

When she was done with this, she then began to kiss her way back up your body and shoved her tongue in your mouth again. You moaned with delight at tasting yourself on her tongue, and the lingering salty traces of Harry there too, and you held her face between your hands as you indulged in the kisses. 

You were only distracted from her sweet lips when you heard Ron’s voice again, even more ragged as he had another orgasm. 

“Fuck, Potter, take it-!” 

Him calling Harry by his surname in such a degrading tone made your stomach curl with a unique arousal, and it certainly got Hermione’s attention too. She planted her hands beside your shoulders and looked up to survey the scene while you cricked your neck awkwardly. 

Ron was kneeling on either side of Harry’s chest once again. His stomach was covered in his own mess and he was panting in an entirely filthy manner with his mouth open while Ron sat above him, fisting his own cock with the clear determination to make himself cum. 

His release splattered across Harry’s face in wide, white streaks, painting Harry’s tongue, his open lips, his cheeks, and dirtying his glasses in the most filthy manner that you had ever seen him - Ron let out a deep satisfied grunt as he came, and his cock finally softened in his fist. 

(Perhaps it was because the part of his ego that had started the entire argument, the thing that felt jealous of Harry in the first place was finally satisfied.) 

“Ron!” Hermione called his name in her ‘scolding’ voice once again - perhaps she thought cumming over Harry’s face was just a step too far, just a bit too degrading. 

She reached off to the side for her wand, and for once in his life, Ron didn’t flinch. It was like an unspoken air in the room that she didn’t intend to curse him with it as a consequence, but rather - she simply intended to clean up Harry’s face with magic. 

“Just let me enjoy it.” Ron said, reaching out with his clean hand and stopping Hermione with a gentle grip on her wrist. “Just for a minute.” 

Harry - who seemed to be so fucked out now that he was barely present - let out a hum of agreement, and licked some of Ron’s cum off his lips. 

This gave you a brilliant idea. 

You gently rolled Hermione off of you and then you crawled over to Harry. With all of them watching you intently, you licked a path across his cheek, gathering quite a bit of Ron’s spend on your tongue before you shoved your tongue into Harry’s mouth - engaging in an entirely filthy kiss where you exchanged the taste of Ron between the two of you. 

It was something that reverberated a hot moan through Harry, had Ron groaning, and even caused a small sigh of delight from Hermione. 

“All of you are degenerates.” Hermione sighed, shaking her head, pretending to be displeased by the whole thing. 

“Yeah, and you’re our leader.” Ron reminded her with a laugh. 

…

When you woke up the next morning, the entire tent had a different energy. 

Before you even opened your eyes, you heard giggling. 

When you managed to peel open your sleep-stuck eyes, you saw Harry and Hermione standing at the small kitchenette, preparing what you guessed was breakfast. Harry was speaking quietly, and you couldn’t hear him, but it surprised you entirely when he made a grab for Hermione’s ass, groped her so boldly through her loose sweatpants. And rather than slapping him or scolding him - she let out another bright, air giggle, and simply smacked him with a tea towel in the most playful manner possible before he let out a laugh too. 

The events of the day before had not been some loneliness induced hallucination on your part. All of it had happened. And it had shifted everyone’s mood for the better. 

You moved to get out of bed and this drew both of their attention toward you. Harry proceeded to stir whatever Hermione had in the pot on the stove to distract himself while she watched you carefully. 

After you had successfully gotten your boots on, when you looked up, you realised that she was wearing one of Ron’s jumpers. Clearly one from a few years ago, something that would have been too small for him now that fit her well, comforting and worn-in with the large R in the middle that signified it had been made by Molly some Christmases ago. 

It was something she could do now without fearing setting off jealousy in any of you, and that fact made you smile. 

“Where’s Ron?” You asked, feeling a single piece missing from the quaint scene. 

“He volunteered to take watch.” Hermione noted, motioning toward the tent’s entrance. “Even though I’ve told him the wards are fine and he really should rest, you know he hasn’t been getting enough sleep lately-” 

“I’ll get him to go to sleep after breakfast.” You told her. “You know him, he just wants to keep a watchful eye. He’s protective.” 

You crossed the room, and in a move that felt so utterly natural, you gently kissed Harry on the mouth and then kissed Hermione - so out in the open, no shame, no hiding. You felt like a wonderful weight had been lifted off of you as they both smiled at you. Smiled - no jealous glaring, no arguing. 

You couldn’t have felt better as you grabbed your jacket off the back of a chair and put it on as you went outside. 

Ron was sitting a few feet away from the opening of the tent in one of the camping chairs. He stared out into the open as the sun crested over a nearby hill, just kissing everything with a bright, blinding streak of light. There had been a frost overnight that coated everything in bitter white and put an awful chill in the air. So you zipped up your jacket as you went over to him, and he gave you a small smile when he saw you. 

When you stood in front of him, he reached out to you naturally, and you easily gave in to his movements as he pulled you into his lap. There was a worry in the back of your mind about how well an old camping chair might hold the both of you at once, but you figured it would be a good laugh if you broke it. So you simply planted your ass in his lap and strung your legs over the arm of the chair. He wrapped his arms protectively around you and nuzzled his head against your arm. 

You frowned when one of the first things you spotted was that glint of silver poking out of the neck of his jacket. 

“Ron, you’re wearing it again.” You sighed, reaching out and picking up the Locket between your fingers, thumbing along the serpent with distaste. 

“I’m fine,” He replied, taking it from you and tucking it back inside of his coat. 

“Ron-” You were going to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Really, it’s not as bad as it was.” He said, his voice sounding genuine and light, sounding like the Ron that you usually knew. His voice wasn’t grinding, angry, or annoyed like he usually did when he wore it. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, your curiosity most definitely peaked. 

“After yesterday, it’s like…” He struggled to find the right words to explain it, and you were patient with him. “Everything is out in the open now. Genuinely, I used to feel like shit, because… I was jealous. Proper jealous. And not just jealous of Harry… I honestly thought that there was a point in my life where I would just… end up alone.” 

Him saying those words broke your heart, and you swallowed harshly around the lump in your throat, holding back tears while he continued. 

“I thought that you would leave me, and Hermione would stop finding excuses to be around me. I thought Harry would realise I’m a shit friend and stop wanting to be around me. And I think the Locket knew that I just spent so much time being afraid - and… it turned that fear into jealousy.” He explained. 

It was similar to what you had believed, but somehow, worse. 

“Whenever I would see you touch Harry’s arm, or if I would see you and Hermione whispering, talking to each other about stuff you read in the fucking books… or even if I just saw Hermione look at Harry, I thought it was just one more reason I was gonna be alone. I thought it was all of you plotting against me to leave me faster. Bloody bonkers, I know.” 

“Ron.” You said his name gently, your throat clutched by those tears - you put a hand on his cheek and titled his face toward yours, gently laying your forehead against his before you said your next words. “We love you so much. We all do. And after everything we’ve been through together, we’re all just stuck with each other. So you’re definitely not getting rid of us.” 

“I know that now.” Ron chuckled. “I think that’s why it’s easier to wear the damn thing. Because now I just feel… lighter. I don’t feel like you guys are having secrets behind my back. None of us have any secrets anymore.” 

You nodded at this. 

“I like it better this way.” You sighed happily. “Truthfully, I could never see myself just going and… pairing off with someone. I just want it to be like this, always. You, Harry, and Hermione are the only people I’ve ever wanted.” 

“We’re going to need a massive bed, then.” Harry’s voice piped up behind you, his body just barely peeking out of the tent flap, his comment making both you and Ron chuckle.

“S’pose you could afford to buy us one,” Ron commented, causing Harry to roll his eyes and give a very sassy pout. 

“You coming for breakfast or what? Or is your gigantic cock weighing you down and you can’t get up?” Harry replied, his tongue entirely quick. 

You got up off Ron’s lap to let him up, and on his way into the tent, he picked up a handful of frost-covered leaves and shoved them down the back of Harry’s jumper. He let out a yelp at this, causing Hermione to call out ‘boys!’ in that entirely motherly way that she did. 

It was so entirely different, but so entirely the same. Truthfully - you would never want it to be any other way.

...

If you want to see more Poly!Golden Trio fics, I would like to see this fic reach 10 Comments and 15 Reblogs!

(This can include anonymous asks, because I always leave the anon option turned on for people who need it, and I don't care if the 15 reblogs all come from the same person, as long as it shows enthusiasm for the fic.)

If I were to write more Poly!Golden Trio, I don't know if it would be a direct follow up to this or set in the same 'universe' at this fic, but I love the pairing of Poly!Golden Trio x Reader, so I would love to write more about them if you guys want to see it.

I would also love to hear your input/feedback, and if you want to see more, what kind of fanfic ideas would you want to see with this pairing? What kind of kinks or situations would you like to see played out with this pairing? I often take inspiration from requests and random ideas that people send me - just like I did when writing this fic!

[doctorbunny]

The Jackalope Guide [spoilers for both novels]

I skimmed through the first manga, second novel, side S/W and my memories so hopefully I've not forgotten anything important [text version under cut]

Jackalopes of MILGRAM:

Novel 1

Female/described as having a "woman's voice"

Uses atashi/アタシ pronoun (pretty bog standard feminine pronoun)

Goes by "Jacka"

Requests Es call her a jackalope and not a rabbit [note: there is a Jp equivalent of the phrase "flying pig" 亀毛兎角 kimoutokaku "turtles with fur, rabbits with horns" referring to something impossible, this phrase may be linked to jackalopes]

Newer at her job (compared to other Jackalopes in the series)

Works from a branch office of MILGRAM HQ (reports back to her boss remotely via big TV)

Sadist who enjoys human bloodshed (at one point even giving a stressed out Nervous a box cutter to self harm with, just like the kind she used to use, so Sumi could see who )

Likes organising MILGRAMs with "aesthetic" (IE all of Sumi's prisoners being involved in her death)

In order to prevent information being spoiled too early uses powers to stop the prisoners breathing until they stop trying to talk

Accidentally allows Twoside to give away information too early, spoiling her own MILGRAM

Her and her MILGRAM considered failures (punishable by purging)

Her 'vessel' is chained up by another jackalope (probably youtube jackalope) at the end of the novel then purged but the person was able to escape (because she was in the Branch Office)

Current location/situation unknown (but said to be alive)

Novel 2

Male/described as having a "young man's voice"

Uses jibun/自分 pronoun (slightly unusual as a main pronoun feels kind of soldier-like)

Also goes by "Jacka"

Has run many successful MILGRAMs in the past (allowed to take risks like Torch being the Es of Novel 2)

Works at MILGRAM HQ

Takes smoke breaks after trials

Talks to boss during smoke breaks

Boss is probably Youtube Jackalope

Hates bloodshed and doesn't care about the aesthetics or drama of a MILGRAM

When Tatsumi tried to kill Torch, Jacka retaliates by using his powers to take control of Tatsumi's body and make him strangle himself

He stops when Tatsumi passes out/Torch says he doesn't want Tatsumi to die, but if not for Torch, Jacka would've killed him

Hates his job/boss

Relieved to hear that Jacka1 escaped purging

Despite working at milgram for many years, did not know there was a branch office

At the end of the novel he defects from MILGRAM, forming a collaboration with Torch and showing/taking him through the secret exit

Asks Torch how he'd feel if someone he loved was judged guilty by MILGRAM (possibly implied to be something that happened to him?)

Youtube

Male/"Speaks arrogantly"

Uses Ore-sama/オレ様 (comically self important)

Internal monologue in Side W/S uses watashi/私 (significantly less arrogant)

Only goes by Jackalope

Insulted if you call him a rabbit

Appears at the end of the first novel to punish Jacka/judge Sumi

Appears during second novel's post-trial smoke breaks (human form in milgram HQ)

Was the one to approve Torch being a guard even though he didn't think it was a good idea

Hates smoking and asks Jacka2 to not do it

Highly values the aesthetic/elegance of a MILGRAM

Wants a "pure" milgram with the fewest possible distractions in the judgement of sin

Used the same kind of memory erasure on Es that Jacka1 used on everyone

Believes Es needs to trust him for MILGRAM to work

Probably responsible for Es' barrier (the 'hypnosis' lines up with other jackalope's mind/body controlling)

Views end of 2nd novel as the worst event in milgram history

Cooks the food for the prisoners (sheds lots of fur)

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii can u please write an emily x reader fic where emily sees readers sh scars for the first time? and kisses them or smt? if not don’t worry :))

Of course! :) Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy!

Tracing You

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: past self-harm, mental illness, trauma, implied sexual assault/abuse (nothing graphic though!), mentions of afab body parts, discussions of sex Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You and Emily have been dating for over a month, and you've still haven't let her get to second base. You're scared she'll see your self-harm scars and run for the hills. But, eventually, you'll have to expose them.

You knew it was coming. You always knew, and you always hated it, hated to cut everything short.

Emily was kissing you hard, passionately, as you both lounged on her couch, and you kissed her back. The movie you’d started earlier was long-forgotten. You loved kissing Emily. You could kiss her forever. You loved the way she pushed her body into yours until she was nearly on top of you, as if she physically couldn’t stand to be apart from you–even one centimeter apart. You loved the way she snuck her tongue into your mouth, somehow gentle and rough at the same time. You loved how her fingers felt against your flushed skin–cool and electric. The way she smiled into you. She gave you butterflies.

But you also knew that any minute now, she’d pull up on your shirt, as if asking for permission. You knew that her hands would sneak a little higher up on your torso, and she’d watch you to make sure you were okay. And you knew that, just like you always did, you’d gently push her hands back down, gently tug your shirt back into place, and continue kissing her like nothing had happened.

But that was the problem–nothing had happened. Nothing would happen because you couldn’t bear to let Emily see what was under your shirt. It wasn’t that you were modest, that you had a hard time with sex. What you had a hard time with were the scars that dotted your breasts like a galaxy, scars that even the best of sports bras couldn’t hide entirely. You wanted Emily and, god knows, she wanted you. But you just knew that she’d see them–see those red streaks painted across you like an oil painting of flames–and one of two things would happen.

She might see them and feel sorry for you. And you’d seen that kind of sorry before. It was the kind of sorry that swallowed relationships whole, that changed the way someone thought about you, looked at you, loved you. And you hated that. You were six years into recovery, no relapses, and you were proud of that. You wanted the people who loved you, who saw you at your most vulnerable, to know the you that you used to be, but to love the you that was now. And so often it seemed that people got stuck on the you who dragged safety pins across your skin. You weren’t her anymore. You’d worked hard not to be.

Even worse, Emily might see the scars and find you disgusting. She’d see that there had been something wrong with you, with your brain. She’d know that at some level, there was still something wrong with you. After all, your trauma, your mental illness–they hadn’t gone away. You had spent a whole lot of years in therapy and on medication to deal with them, but they were still a part of you, a part of your story. They were a part that was hard to look at. Even for you. You found those parts of yourself ugly, believed they deserved to be hidden–much like your scars. How much uglier would they be to Emily? Emily, who wasn’t in your mind, who didn’t know what had come before or during or after, and could only see what was left–the evidence that you were not okay.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Emily’s fingers slipped under your shirt, tentatively dancing up your torso. You let out a shaky sigh and grabbed her hands in yours, deepening the kiss, hoping it was enough to distract her. But it wasn’t. Not this time.

She pulled back and watched you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What?” you prompted, flushing and trying to act like nothing was wrong.

She bit at one of her nails as she watched you, and you pulled her hand away to hold it between both of yours.

“Are you…” She hesitated, like she didn’t quite know how to ask. “Do you want to… break up?” She looked sad, scared. And, for your part, you were sure you looked absolutely shocked.

“What!? No! No, Em, of course not!” You ran gentle fingers over her face, trying desperately to communicate that you absolutely didn’t want to break up and would, in fact, like to never, ever break up.

“You just…” She sighed, picking at her fingernails again. “I love making out with you, but you never want to go any further. And I get it if you’re not ready, that’s completely fine. It’s just… it’s been a while, and I want to make sure you’re not here because… you know, because you feel like you have to be.”

You stared at your hands. You felt like your guilt might swallow you whole. Here you’d thought you were playing it cool, but realistically, what would have been the end game? Never having sex with Emily? Never letting her see your body? You’d been in relational limbo for over a month now, and it had been stupid, so stupid, to assume there wouldn’t be any consequences. She thought you didn’t like her! She thought you weren’t as into her as she was into you! And it was exactly the opposite–you were so into her that it scared you, so into her that it was scarier than it had ever been to show your scars. The thought of losing her–already, even so early on–was terrifying.

“Emily,” you started, rubbing your thumb over her hand. “I’m here because I want to be. I really like you.”

She blinked, thinking harder. “Am I… am I doing something? You know, that makes you… not want to–”

“Oh god,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands. “No, Em. No. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. I do want to.”

You sighed and looked at her. Her head bent, hands worried. Your self-consciousness was making Emily self-conscious. And you really couldn’t bear that she’d think less of herself because of you.

“Take off my shirt,” you said, bluntly.

“What?”

“Take it off. It’s okay.”

Emily fiddled with a stray piece of upholstery on the couch. “I don’t know, Y/N, this doesn’t seem like the right mood for—”

“Emily,” you pleaded, squeezing one of her hands. You knew if you didn’t do it now, you might never. “Please.”

Emily watched you with concern, but did as you asked, slowly lifting your shirt up and over your head.

You looked up to the ceiling, exhaling shakily, willing yourself not to cry. She would see them. She was seeing it. She saw them. You didn’t know if you could ever look her in the eyes again. You didn’t even know if you could look at yourself.

You felt Emily’s hand press gently into yours, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Then you felt one of her fingers, cold for the shock of it more than the actual temperature, at the top of your breasts, the part that peeked out from the bra, littered with angry, red lines that had only somewhat faded over the years.

You felt her trace one of the scars, the whole, long trajectory of it, with her finger, and then when she reached the end, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at its zenith. Your breath caught in your throat as she continued following the scars, kissing you again and again and again until–though you’d worked so hard not to–you had stray tears leaking down the side of your face.

Emily grasped your face in her hands, so gently, so gingerly, and lowered your head, using her thumbs to brush the tears from under your eyes. You still couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Y/N, look at me,” she said softly, caressing your face. You finally forced yourself to look into her eyes, and what you saw there surprised you. It wasn’t pity and it wasn’t disgust. It was something new. Admiration and respect. And–maybe, just maybe–love?

“You’re beautiful,” she told you, staring at you pointedly, holding your face so that you couldn’t look away. “You’re beautiful, and that’s all we’re gonna say about it unless you want to talk more.”

“I feel like you should–” you said, your voice breaking a bit as you sniffled. “You should know why and– and when, and–”

“I am happy to listen to anything you want to tell me,” she assured you. “But I don��t want you to feel like you have to. It’s your story, and you can tell me what you want, when you want. Believe me, though,” she said, smiling mischievously. “I don’t need any more information tonight if you’re not ready.”

“Really?” you asked.

Showing the scars had been hard enough. You didn’t really want to talk about your hellish high school and college years, the man who had touched you there and made you want to rip all your skin off, the years of therapy, the relapses, the depression, the medication. You’d tell her. You’d tell her all of it, you knew. But right now, you wanted to reap the rewards of being brave. The rewards being Emily.

Emily nodded and winked at you, then leaned in to brush her lips against your ear. “Y/N,” she whispered. “The only information I needed was that you had boobs under there.”

You blushed and grinned at her, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for another heated kiss.

When you pulled away, Emily was nearly panting. You smirked. “I showed you mine. It's your turn.”

[ryttu3k]

So I got up to the Mystra scene in my Gale Origin run and I have A Lot of thoughts, most of them boiled down to "FIGHT ME, MYSTRA", but also a theory on Mystra orchestrating the whole thing with the Orb. Few too many caps to post all of them, so I've typed them up. My comments in parentheses.

Narrator: "Just as Elminster promised, you stand before no ordinary idol. Beneath the silent stone surges a relentless current of purest Weave. A summoning channel, the kind commanded by Mystra herself. How many times have you dreamed of this moment? An audience with the goddess who loved you. Who abandoned you. All you have to do is reach for it…"

(Shift of expression here - from fear to determination.)

Halsin: "Speak your mind, Gale. Let go of that weight you have been carrying for Mystra."

(I loved Halsin speaking up here! Unsure if it's a romance-only line but it felt very sweet and appropriate.)

Reach out. Go to Mystra.

(Expression of dread. He looks like he's being sent to the gallows.)

Mystra: "Gale of Waterdeep. You look well."

Gale: "You break up with me, cut me off from the Weave, leave me to die, and that's all you have to say? You look well?"

(First response to seeing Mystra after a full year of pain and suffering. He looks anguished seeing her again, and how... dismissive her response is.)

Mystra: "I did not come here to suffer a mortal's admonitions. Certainly not yours. I've been watching your journey here. Your triumphs. Your temptations. Your doubts. You discovered what lies at the Heart of the Absolute - the Crown of Karsus - and you disobeyed my instruction. Why?"

(1. The 'certainly not yours' feels especially callous. 2. The way she phrases this implies that she knew what it was already. She wasn't sending Gale to kill himself to destroy a new god, she was sending Gale to kill himself to destroy an elder brain wearing a Crown that has previously threatened her personally.)

Gale: "Because my life isn't yours to throw away. You had no right to ask that of me."

Mystra: "You were my lover, my Chosen, yet still you know so little of me. I hoped hindsight would help you see what you could not perceive before. Do you understand why I severed our connection?"

(The hell is hindsight supposed to do? This one one of the biggest things that gets to me with the whole Orb thing - how was he supposed to know?)

Gale: "I let you down. I was a fool, and fools don't deserve the love of a goddess."

(Expression - he looks so hurt here. He absolutely blames himself.)

Mystra: "The past cannot be undone with self-pity, nor can a future be forged. Only with the truth will you see the way ahead. The fragment of magic you tried to return to me was not of my creation. It was the Karsite Weave. It is a corrupted, half-born magic wrought in the brief moment Karsus ascended to godhood. It hungers for power just as he did, and it can never be sated. You unleashed something that would consume all magic in existence, and yet you thought only of preserving yourself."

(So she blames him for unleashing the Orb. Again, how was he supposed to know? Probably the only ones who know about Karsite Weave were Karsus himself, Mystra, and probably Ao. How was a thirty-four-year-old mortal human dude supposed to know of a completely new and unknown form of magic that existed for the approximately six and a half seconds Karsus was a god for? Elminster points out at one point that Mystra is omniscient. Gale is not. How was he supposed to know? Second, 'you thought only of preserving yourself'. She left him to die! And the minor issue of if he did die, he'd take out Waterdeep in the process!)

Gale: "I never intended to do harm. Only to prove myself worthy of you."

Mystra: "You were already worthy. What you lacked was patience, and it cost you dearly. When the Karsite Weave entered your body, your gifts were the first things it consumed. The only reason the 'orb' sleeps is because I have allowed it to feed on the true Weave - a temporary measure, but one that will not be enough to save us. With each day that passes, the elder brain threatens to become a new kind of god, its worshippers a scourge of soulless illithids. If you will not use the orb to end this abomination, then you must find a way to separate Crown and host. When you've done this, you must surrender the Crown to me. Perform this service, and I will see you cured. You will be forgiven."

(1. 'Your gifts were the first things it consumed'. Sorcerer Gale, natch. 2. So that more or less implies that she could have stablised the Orb at any time. Even if she couldn't - for whatever the reason - warn him about it ahead of time, she could have still prevented the year he spent in pain, the year he spent weakened, desperate, isolated, and depressed, the year he spent thinking that one wrong move would not only kill him but destroy all of Waterdeep with him! She didn't just risk him out of spite, she risked a two-million strong population!)

Gale: "You're the mother of all magic, the Weave incarnate. Can't you just destroy the Crown yourself?"

(His expression is downcast for most of the conversation. Here, he finally looks up. Beseeching. Not just, "Why couldn't you do this?", but also, "Why couldn't you prevent this?")

Mystra: "It is not my place to destroy another god's creation, however temporarily he joined the pantheon. It must be you, Gale. You are the one who carries Karsus' power within you. You are the only one who can."

(But of course, it's entirely her place for her Chosen to do it for her. Will get back to this point in a moment.)

Gale: "Very well. The next time we meet, I'll be bringing you the Crown."

Mystra: "Thank you. May the Weave's light guide your purpose, and its wisdom guide your hand. The future of magic rests on your shoulders, Gale of Waterdeep. I promise you - it is a burden you are strong enough to bear."

(Yeah, the Weave's guided him great so far. No pressure!)

So, there's a couple of questions here.

First, what did Gale believe he was doing?

He believed he was restoring a fragment of Mystra's lost Weave to her. He knows that Karsus' Folly was the crux of it, but all he knows - all he possibly can know, at this point - is that magic was restored except for one fragment. He wanted to be seen to be worthy of Mystra, and so believed that restoring that fragment to her would be both a symbol of love and devotion, and also something that'd be of tangible help to her.

Indeed, he thought he was carrying out her mission. "The goal of Mystra's faithful is simple: that magic be preserved and promulgated throughout the Realms." Was it perhaps a sliiight sign of hubris that he wanted to do it to prove himself worthy of her love and admiration? A little, yeah, but what else did she expect? He had been groomed since childhood to be the greatest wizard he possibly could. He was thirty-four, he was Mystra's Chosen and lover, he knows mortals can be elevated to higher powers. This very incarnation of Mystra only became so in 1358, after being one of Mystra's followers!

Ambitious, yes. But he never wanted to supplant her. He wanted to be seen as worthy and perhaps achieve apotheosis, which is exactly what she did herself.

Second, though, and more importantly, is what did Mystra see Gale doing?

She is, per Elminster, omniscient. She can sense any magic being used. She knows when Gale just reads the Annals of Karsus. She had to have known that what her Chosen was about to unleash was Karsite Weave, and...

She opted to do nothing, let Gale nearly be killed by the orb, let him suffer for a year, then tell him to fix it by killing himself, only when the Crown itself came back into play.

Think of it from Mystra's perspective. The year is 1491 DR. She's spent a good chunk of her actual godhood dead and has only relatively recently been restored, although she has, at this point, indeed been fully restored to all her powers. One of her Chosen is a young human wizard named Gale, who she's also taken as her lover. Gale is ambitious - of course he is, he's an insanely talented Chosen wizard - and actively wants to please her.

The Crown of Karsus is sealed away in Mephistopheles' vaults. The Orb of Karsus is sealed away in a book. (Who knows where the Sceptre is.) She knows it's a threat, but one that's currently under control.

She sees her Chosen approach the book the Orb is sealed in. She must realise that her Chosen has no idea what's in it, because she's well aware he's never read the Annals of Karsus, and he certainly wasn't there at the time. What's the more logical response here?

Tell your Chosen that what's sealed in the book is an extremely dangerous form of anti-magic that is an immediate threat to you, to him, and to everyone around him, and that if he isn't willing to just leave it alone, he should instead destroy it for you, or

Let your Chosen unleash it without warning him, nearly killing him and posing a very real threat to two million people until it's stabilised, which you can do at any time but don't?

She must have been thrilled when the Crown was stolen, right around the same time. Suddenly, she has a way to rid herself of the blight of Karsus - use one artefact to destroy the other! Never mind that one of those artefacts is currently lodged in the chest of her Chosen and doing so would kill him and a great many others, she's got rid of a greater threat.

The Crown was stolen and Gale was hit by the Orb around the same time, a year before the game. Which came first? What if the Crown was stolen first, what if Mystra grew worried about it because look at what happened last time, and, knowing that one of the only things strong enough to destroy the Crown would be another of Karsus' artefacts, she deliberately guided Gale to it? What if she intentionally abandoned him in order to prime him to want to do anything he could to gain her forgiveness, which she could conveniently grant if only he used the Orb to destroy the Crown?

Either way, it was cruel. If it was just sheer neglect that saw her fail to warn him, it was also stupid. She's omniscient. She could have warned Gale any time. She could have stablised the Orb at any time. Why leave him to suffer? Was it petty sadism, or did she always intend to use him as a tool to destroy the Crown, and never mind the consequences?

She's already willing to sacrifice half the Sword Coast to an illithid invasion if it means getting rid of the Crown. What's one more life?

Hashtag fight me Mystra, hashtag Gale deserves better.