#plastic poly sheeting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godihatethiswebsite · 2 months ago

Text

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Five - On Trial

Apologies for the delay as there were a few speed bumps that my foggy brain just did not want to hump over. This chapter gave me some grief, but I'm still happy with how it turned out :)

Trigger Warnings: religious imagery, ptsd, angst, brief mentions of rape/incest/assault/drugging/coercion/miscarriage

Flat deadened eyes bore chasms through your own.

They peeled away the impregnable shroud of shame masking the abhorrent malefactions of those you’ve wronged.

In a split second of time, those eyes foisted judgment upon all your heinous sins with an executioner’s toll. Damning you to an endless oblivion amongst the cacophony of wailing souls eternally condemned to the River Styx.

Behold! The face of your adjudicator!

Blackened barbed wire constricts the fat of his gluttonous form. Exposed sickly ashen skin held together by threaded catgut, bursting at the seams with bone-white mold. Hellfire caged in little glass vials illuminates the agonized expression glued to a visage of perpetual torment, standing against a backdrop of towering decayed limbs, basking in the multitude of jewel toned offerings left by those who worship at the base of this miserable creature’s sacrificial altar.

…Of all the cheerful residents from the Hundred Acre Wood, who on god’s green earth decided that Eeyore of all things would be the poster boy for Christmas?

The melancholically predisposed cartoon character was a mess of tangled Christmas lights, having apparently failed in his endeavor to liven up the wilted excuse of a barren evergreen behind him and somehow succeeding in trapping his own pudgy form in the decorations instead – the ‘D’ in December knocked crooked in his fruitless struggles.

A paltry souvenir magnet from someplace sunny holds the calendar aloft, Winnie the Pooh designs posted on the side of your fridge with thick glossy sheets. A gift from your fathers; a new one included in their holiday care package every year.

You’re sure the overstuffed box currently shoved beneath your kitchen table for lack of anywhere more reasonable to house it has its plastic-wrapped replacement buried amongst the other contents. Previous years involved such colorful settings as early 2000’s internet memes or a compilation of fun facts regarding the world’s different varieties of cheeses. Not for your own enjoyment, of course, but for the chagrined expression your family insisted on basking in come Christmas morn.

Not that you admitted to liking this past year's theme of childhood whimsey…

The curlicue numbers on the wintery grid mark the passage of time – crossed out with dry streaks of red ink. Christmas is naught but five days from now, the emphasized date stamped in the upper righthand corner with a glittery ribbon as if the holiday needed even more call for attention. It means almost nothing to you outside of a familial facetime over a microwaved breakfast of cheap eggo waffles.

You’ll suffer congenially through the good natured poking and prodding. Chloe will send a text; Alex won’t. And the day will pass by in a whisper of silence – the magic of miracles stored back in their damp corporate box for cheapened rehashing the following year.

Holing away in the confines of your solitary habitat came with the added benefit of only exposing yourself to the overhyped celebration on a reasonable once-weekly basis, driving to and fro your therapist's office; painfully ignoring the garish spectacle of such yuletide enrichment as fuzzy wonky reindeer antlers wedged atop sticker splattered minivans, off-key fourth graders caterwauling carols in the backseat, tinsel and fiberglass grating on your teeth.

At least, your antisocialness normally would save you from such headaches.

When the pharmacy didn’t bungle communications with your primary care physician and refill your prescription two weeks early.

The voicemail left on your phone this morning was a little more than a minor annoyance. You’d only just finished chasing the taste of bile with citrusy mouthwash, leaning your leaded weight against the cold marble of the sink, stomach still spasming with painful braxton hicks-like contractions. Shaky hands splashed tepid water on your face, wicking away the evidence of exertion and clearing your chin of digested chicken noodle.

You’d only half paid attention to the robotic voice droning over speakerphone, wiping off your face with a disgruntled glare at your reflection and muffling a groan into the pilled fabric of your hand towel at the automated message. This was not a day to be playing at adulthood. This was a day for warm chunky socks and Disney movie marathons.

And now because some overworked new hire chugging Red Bulls probably keyed in the wrong refill date in an over-caffeinated zeal, you were once again paying for someone else's mistake.

(A running theme for your life.)

You shook off the bitter thought with a weary sigh, hanging the damp towel from the plastic command hook on peeling wallpaper. The buzzing of the keypad rattled the counter as you’d cleared out your phone’s voicemail, scooping up the device and trudging back around the corner to begin what should’ve originally been an easy day.

Now, a few hours of lounging had garnered you enough gumption to voyage out amongst proper society once more, rinsing your chubby dinosaur mug from earlier in the sink as your eyes flick up unwittingly to the calendar nearby.

You know what you’re counting even as you abash yourself for it.

The crumpled bag of mostly full coffee grounds has been sitting in your bin for the past two days, put there in an abstract protest to the blatant disregard of your feelings by a caustic alpha. The taste on your tongue has become as phantom as the scent that once clung to your coat rack, wafted away by a bottle of descenting spray the same way you wish to purge his lingering effervescence from where it's taken root in your spine.

The offending bag collects dust at the top of the pile, placed there in a huff at the start of every morning. When its existence mocks your suffering and the grief of a life you’ll never get to live is at the forefront of every painful heave into grimy porcelain, forced onto your knees like the flaccid servient creature that beast has morphed you into.

Still, there’s no sign of refuse or food waste on the flimsy outside packaging. It never stays put long enough to accumulate filth or bury itself in neglected disuse. At the end of the night, when the wounds of before are wrapped in a somnolent layer of protective padding, it returns to its spot amongst the clutter of your countertop, a pitiful idol to the foolish part he’s allowed to fester against your better judgment.

God, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it – you really have. With what little there is to occupy your mind in this lackluster environment, the labor of staying detached is proving arduous. John’s memory agitating the stripped-bare axis of simple order your world rotates upon.

Distraction eludes you at every attempt to forget. The warmth of your nest is the comfort of his leather embrace, the Zofran on your tongue the calloused paw at your nape grounding you in tempered reality. Soft boar hair bristles are his fingers, the zest in your meal his vigor. His face is in the deep prussian sweater jailed to the back of your closet for the sole crime of coming too close to the cerulean shade that haunts your waking memory.

You thought you already knew what it meant to belong to another. To be branded with someone else’s signet like a bored kid in history class taking chunks out of his desk until it was too desecrated with graffiti to be regarded as anything other than his unofficial property. No one wanted to touch what the school bully had already sullied.

Until John.

It didn’t matter that the seat was already occupied. He just scratched out the nameplate with safety scissors and staked his claim with a wad of gum beneath the chair.

He was dark matter wedging its way to take up space between condensed molecules, bullying the other elements into submission until his chemical makeup twisted you to something there was no coming back from. Sweeping in with the strength of a category five and the persistence of the big bad wolf.

You despise John for the damage he’s incurred to your house made of straw – all of them really – but you detest yourself even more for the gnawing disappointment flooding your gut that he hasn’t shaken the foundations further.

The hiss of pain between your teeth as you adjust the abrasive scarf around your neck serves as a sobering reminder of the real cancer infecting your cells. Even if the claim was buried under layers, it didn’t mean your flesh didn’t still carry the scars from its etching.

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you take to the task of unlocking each of the bolts guarding you from the true terrors of an alpha’s altruistic attention.

Please just let this be quick.

The sneer from the old crone in aisle two has you ducking the latter half of your face in the itchy fabric that hides the one thing you’re currently being judged for.

You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her outside the steps of your apartment enough with her hellspawn of a pomeranian to know she lives in your building. The grey curls of her poodle cut perm do nothing to hide the splotches of alopecia that come with age. Tissue paper skin dappled with sun spots begs for the youth of collagen, gaunt around her cheekbones and only highlighting her witchy exterior, a moth eaten shawl hanging loosely over the quasimodo hump keeping her from standing at a height taller than that of a twelve year old child.

The grouchy bat is clever, though, you’ll give her that. There’s a discerning eye behind those tortoiseshell frames that speak of a bygone prime filled with intrigue and gossip that’s followed her well into her twilight years.

She’s honed her intellect well.

And she knows.

Your skin crawls with maggots under her heated glare, boring subdermal tunnels that reach beyond the capabilities of a simple itch. The writhing anomalies only add to the growing discomfort of waiting in the pharmacy queue for far longer than need be. Ten minutes you’ve been behind the same middle aged man – too diffident to interrupt the conversation going on ahead of you – as what should’ve been a simple snatch and grab of his blood pressure medication turns into three decades of catching up with a bygone acquaintance from primary school.

“–when Janine drank some weird concoction back at Jimmy’s place. Fucking health nut has his own carbonator in his kitchen and she got the bright idea on six shots of cuervo to run a glass of milk through the damn thing. Ended up spewing all over Crystal’s pants.”

To their credit, the pharmacist had at least been working on filling prescriptions as he prattled on with the bald spot beta in front of you, bustling between stocked aisles of jarred substances and counting out little white tablets with every ping from the database. He just didn’t seem to care about the goings on inside the store. “Adam mentioned that when I ran into him at the football match last June. Isn’t that O’Hara’s omega? The one who used to save her gum in a giant ball after she was done chewing it?”

Eww. Seriously?

“Nah, that’s Abigail. Crystal was Billy and Carter’s girl.”

That seemed to catch the other alpha in his tracks, a quizzical brow replacing one of mild interest as he paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Was? What happened to her?”

“Fucking up and left them, that’s what. And right after they supported her through that unfortunate miscarriage too. Came home one day to an empty nest and a note on the table telling them she was done. Poor guys never even saw it coming.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be one of them?”

“Yea,” the beta’s tone turned sour. “Unfaithful bitch.”

The Unfaithful.

That’s what they call you now.

Those who have forsaken their oaths and disgraced the name ‘omega’. The sanctity of packdom desecrated by egocentric bond breakers. Scheming harlots abandoning their worshipful protectors– denying them their designated rights and withholding the gift of eternal peace upon those alphas worthy enough to be chosen.

False omegas. Government apostates to how things are supposed to be run.

Doesn’t matter that those who claim to be victims before the courts are the same conniving bastards stripping us of our bodily autonomy. Nothing is impermissible.

Rape. Incest. Assault. Drugging. Coercion. Words that carry weight become cotton candy deadlifts in the face of a mating bond. It has no undoing – no magic words or medical procedures. There is no running towards the arms of a better pack in hopes of a brighter future; no room for another in the tether of your soul. That anchor has taken root in the rock bed and cannot be claimed outside the mysticism of a scent match.

Crueler parts of the world would hunt you down like the runaway slave they’re too cowardice to admit they perceive you as, a bounty placed upon your head and welts on your back for disobeying, brittle nails clawing at the dirt in a last attempt at freedom, dragged back to your master in an iron wrought collar displaying the shame of your sins.

Suppose you should consider yourself lucky that here, amongst the dredges of refined society, your kind are merely shunned.

Bosom friends all turn their backs, work desks empty into a cardboard box under the guise of ‘performance issues’. The deli at the corner claims they’re closed, red blocky letters drawing blood by the gallons as the patrons inside regard you like you’re nothing more than a sopping wet stray begging for scraps in the rain.

There are no laws that protect from discrimination for people like you. The lease in your fathers’ names and the lie from their lips are the only things sheltering you from homelessness. Others are not so fortunate as to have the word of an alpha keeping them off the street.

The forlorn promise of a better tomorrow is all that greets you now in the wake of devastation. There is no higher contract than the bite marks on your neck.

The scathing look from the disgruntled woman would be warranted by those around you if they were privy to the same suspicions she carried. The signs were all there if they only knew where to look.

“Miss?”

You hardly notice when they end their interaction, the off-putting customer service smile from the alpha behind the counter making the pit of your stomach rumble with unease as you scurry to the front, quietly offering up your personal information as you place your ID on the counter.

If he only knew he had the power to blacklist you in his hands…

You fork over the cash in far shorter time than the previous customer did, spending less than two minutes to his twenty before you duck away from the substantial line that’s formed in the time since your subsequent arrival.

It’s your luck the old hag is three guests behind you, averting your gaze to the task of stashing your meds to try and keep from further interaction. Too bad a half century’s worth of smoking comes out in the rasping slur she spits at you from underneath her breath.

“Fucking glitch.”

You’ve heard the words directed at you once before, only far more cutting and uttered from a far different mouth. That didn’t stop the insult from piercing through to bone, a deep ache in your ribs that slows your gait and gives you pause beside the basket drop-off.

A quick glance around confirms a lack of disdain from your fellow shoppers. You’re surprisingly fortunate that her biting remark hadn’t been made any louder. You frequent this shop often enough to be recognizable to most of the staff – though not on any sort of conversational terms. Being blacklisted here wouldn’t just result in an inconvenient trek farther for medical service, but a mark that would deny usage no matter the location.

Every step out your front door is a chance for your past to catch up to you… in one form or another.

A shock of cold jolts you from your far-away stare, startling a yelp that draws brief attention as you jump back from the unwanted contact, hand retreating away at the abrupt offense. Cradling it to your chest, you’re met with cobalt eyes and sunshine hair, a bright eyed pupper beaming up at you from its spot perched at your feet.

“Sorry about him!” An apologetic voice squawks to the left of you, calling your attention to the hobbling beta woman at the other end of the leash. Her neon green marshmallow puffer greets you before her dark curls and round cheeks, a prosthetic hand keeping grip on her furry friend. “He’s a well behaved boy I promise! Ain’t gonna bite ya or anything.”

“Oh no, he’s fine!” The tremble in your words is more from social awkwardness than anything, having been caught off guard in a place far too crowded for your tastes, rolling your shoulders to halt the impulse to scratch. “Just wasn’t expecting a wet dog nose is all.”

The beta, on the other hand, has no problem running a knitted mitten over the back of her neck. “Yeaaaah, it’s not often he gets away from me like that. You see, he’s my service animal.” She calls attention to the black vest around his body, a litany of bright colored patches and big blocky words adorning the functioning harness that you hadn’t quite discerned upon first glance. “He uh… was just alerting to you.”

It takes you a moment to process the words, blinking down at the panting canine regarding you with eyes more keen than the pea-brained expression would suggest.

Good to know even a dog can sense you’re nine different levels of fucked up.

“You can pet him if you want,” comes the gentle offer upon spying the embarrassment painting your features, taking her faithful companion’s inattention in stride. The quirk of her mouth gives you a green light even if her words already did. “Far be it for me to disagree with the boss here when he puts his mind to something.”

The words of declination rest limp on your tongue, a moment’s hesitation giving way beneath the understanding gaze of an impartial animal whose sole purpose is to provide the comfort of love. Crouching down to its level – uncaring of the salt trekked state of the tile – it's almost instinctual to wrap your arms around the retriever for an act that seems so much more dangerous coming from any other being. The muzzle that finds home in the junction of your shoulder roots you through the floor, going beyond solid concrete foundation and miles of serpentine pipeways, winding through terraceous cracks unyielding to the progress of man to find purchase in the damp soil unseen for thousands of years, unbowing to the anything but the turn of the earth.

Calm is not the word; the pounding pulse in your ears and the headrush of being out in public still ring through the chittering bustle of checkout lanes to keep you on your toes. Yet the ache in your soul feels less like a boulder and more like a handful of a pebbled shore.

Pulling away from the smell of damp fur, slobber greets your face in the form of affection, features pulling taut against the playful onslaught trying its best to intrude between the cracks of your mouth.

“Easy does it, bud.” A soft yank on his harness serves as a gentle reminder, turning from loveable pup to esteemed gentleman panting in perfect submission. “No one wants to taste what you had for lunch earlier today.”

You flash her a grateful smile for the interference, fingers moving next to scritch around the bright red collar mostly hidden by dense hairs, a glinting dog bone with cursive scrawl clacking against the knuckles of your hand. “Rocky, huh?”

“Yea,” she chuckles. “Don’t judge, but he was actually my favorite power ranger as a kid.” Her mittened hand joins yours in the thick pelt of his neck, scratching at some secret spot that gets his tail thumping, the appendage a whirling propeller trying in vain to achieve liftoff. How long they must’ve been in each other’s company for such familiarity. “Figured since this little guy was gonna be my hero too, he deserved a name befitting the courage he inspires.”

Her sincerity sparks something in you as you reach back to your own childhood, the sizzling of pancakes on the griddle against a backdrop of Saturday morning shows. Your smile warms at the memory. “Hey, no judgment here. After all, mine was Tommy.”

The moment breaks with shattered glass somewhere off to the right, the both of you reacting with varying degrees of frazzled nerves. You don’t miss the way her hand strikes out with practiced swiftness towards her hip, something nonexistent bumped away from flexing fingers by a patience nudge. Wide eyes glance down at her stalwart companion, already staring back with all the surety of his namesake, pushing her palm further against the smoothness of his head, urging her to stay with him in the safety of the moment. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt her–doing your best to avert your gaze from the glimpse of carbon fiber–but you watch as they retreat with calming breaths back to the place where they were born.

She shoots you a look you know she rather wouldn’t, an unspoken apology wrapped in embarrassment as familiar to you as it is to her, understanding passing between mirrored irises. There’s a shuffling of feet as you both scurry on your respective ways, you towards the outside air while her path takes her further inward. A quick glance over your shoulder finds him pressed against her side, snout turned upwards with a lolling tongue and dopey smile, eyes on the caregiver staring back at him with fond devotion. To have something that loves you that much…

Your gaze softens along with your words. “Good boy, Rocky…”

Fire ants bite into your cheek as the sharp crack that accompanies them leaves an outline of lava, the slap mark on your face glowing red hot and searing with the weight behind their assault. It dulls as the molten rock cools, a beating heart on the surface kept in time with the now racing pulse in your neck. The shock of it is almost as painful as the protruding iron shelves getting knocked against your spine, blowback jostling the festive display contents some poor stocker worked so hard on as cardboard cubes of kleenex clatter like ornaments to the muck-stained floor.

The outcry from your lips is muffled in comparison to groaning metal shifting under your weight, hand instinctively flying up as a wall to protect from further onslaught. Heat blooms again even under your careful touch, hissing in a gasp as wide eyes filled with glistening saline catch up a moment before your nostrils take in a familiar decadence.

Her omega scent of rich warm brownie, fresh out the oven – but swallowed from the edges by the beginnings of char. Too high a temp getting cooked for too long, potent in its fury as it cracks and concaves. A sickeningly sweet outer shell transmuting under pressure, turning perfect gooey fudge into bubbling tar.

The visage that greets you is tempered by dread; a mixture of refined beauty and smoldering hate.

White fluffy earmuffs contrast against long chocolate waves spilling like molasses over a matching pristine peacoat – as if not even fate itself dared to sully such purity. If the air of refinement somehow doesn’t outclass you than the designer handbag does. No pack could ask for a more exemplary omega.

You’ve seen those cheekbones on the cover of magazines, that glassy skin splashed clean in luxury skincare ads. Perfect porcelain as artistically rendered as fine chinaware. Every model you’ve ever envied taken shape as your worst nightmare. Dark bambi eyes red-ringed with acidic tears, button nose flaring with each heaving rise of her trembling shoulders. Full pouty lips quiver under the enormous weight of emotions that threaten to claw almond manicured nails through your skin like chainsaws.

There is anger, but there is also pain.

And you caused it.

You do not know which response consumes you more: panic, or shame.

“You–” her voice breaks like her heart, delicate wind chimes in a spring downpour. “You s-stay away from them…” Her words come in a struggle, fighting for stability whilst she hangs onto her composure with a thread as thin as spider silk. “They’re not yours… so… so just– just leave us alone!”

Gone is the lighthearted vision spun in innocent etherealness from that day in the store. Sparkling doe eyes now filled with scorn don’t suit the unblemished being not a foot in front of you. There’s an ingrained sweetness in her now pitiful form that so easily calls to an alpha’s protectiveness, a creature that deserves to be cherished, adorned; royalty reincarnated to a modern day princess.

There are only traces of that now standing a few feet in front of the automatic sliding doors, a smashed box of tissues keeping the mechanism from closing and sending a chill over the entire conversation.

You shrink in on yourself, lowering your gaze in a meek show of submission that speaks where your own voice fails. How could you continue to look her in the eye when you are the reason this woman is suffering? When you are the bad guy in every sense of the word?

Filth. Sullied. Poison. Suffocating her with your very presence as if your own tainted pheromones could overcast hers.

You expect more–deserve more–but she turns on her heels, the sensors allowing passage as she hurries back out the way you suspect she only just came.

You’re as stunned as the bystanders around you, blinking at her retreating form into the small parking lot beyond. You can’t help but watch as she races across the asphalt, thoughts of her own task left behind in a trail of her own tears. Badly muffled whispers start in earnest at the display. Chorused words of ‘wicked woman’ following you out onto the pavement. Tongues lashing into open wounds kept bleeding by your own shame.

That pain is nothing in the wake of the familiar figure of a towering form.

He meets her halfway, hulking mass climbing out from the cab of a blackened range rover at the first sign of her obvious distress. From this far away you can only make out the sounds of heaving sobs, watch as dainty hands clutch the dark material of her protector, the furrow of his brow as he searches for answers to her suffering.

Whatever she responds, you find yourself once more snapped in place by the weight of his stare, looking no less worse for wear than the first time he did.

Logic says the phantom tartness on your tongue is a hallucination ingrained from previous exposure, but the inner omega whining helplessly to be understood doesn’t comprehend the self inflicted wounds she scores with brittle claws at the first chance to taste. In many ways, designative instincts retain the innocence of youth: purely reactionary in their naive disregard. They’re doe-eyed five year olds holding up the mangled body of a broken baby bird and proclaiming ‘they can fix it’. To them, they don’t realize the damage that comes with wishing for a bite of lemon zest when they know that cupcake is theirs, deaf to the scolding of a parent who knows better.

After all, what gives you the right to take what hasn’t been offered? For wishing for the comfort of an alpha’s scent that doesn’t belong to you? All it does is make you feel like the shameful thief the people in the shop think you are.

So you keep your distance from the alpha and his mate, once more stuck in a whirlwind of unintentional trouble. He’s too far away to make out the hues of his eyes, but his body language tells you exactly where he stands in all this. Fingers flexed in a possessive grip, the placement of his hand curled around her mid back, the subtle hunch he takes as he tucks her tearstained face beneath his covered chin.

A choice.

Conceal. Protect. Intruder.

You once wondered at the outcome if you hadn’t run that night; if the call that beckoned you ‘wait’ had kept you rooted to the floor. How would this mammoth have reacted - the one who only watched in pure neutrality as your world crumbled apart? Would he have let his friend make the first move forward? Would there have been an altercation? Spoken words and awkward introductions such as with their Scottish brethren? Did they care about your cowardice? Did the alphas give you chase? Lose your scent in the produce aisle and catch their breaths in the crisp night air?

At last you have your answer.

The judgment he passes as he turns his back to you has far more gravitas than the mopey donkey on your fridge. The conjured images of morbidity that entertained you earlier this morning feels like a holiday in comparison to the way your arteries shrivel from necrosis; down another size and a half by Grinch standards.

(Would it ever grow again?)

Closing your eyes against the sight is all you can do to maintain your sanity.

“Lass!”

As if life hasn’t finished causing you torment enough, the rough brogue catching your ears has your eyes peeling back open, the depression gluttoning away at your insides taking note at the promise of further feast, cackling gleefully at the tousled mohawk rounding the the opposite side of the vehicle his companions are approaching. Concern sits heavy on his brow, footsteps sure of their path as the pair sidle up along the drivers side of their SUV, lemon shuffling his omega through the open door he holds and into the relative safety of the back seat. You expect John to join them – to fuss and coo over her the same way he did for you in the cafe. Your masochism soaks up the envy like a yorkshire pudding at Christmas dinner.

But he makes no move to join his mate, blazing a path that leads beyond.

It’s not her he’s calling out for. It’s you.

Something smothers in your chest at the meaty glove that yanks him backwards, the heft of his brawn outmatched by the iron grip stopping him from advancing any further, shoved back against the shiny black of the range rover. The suspension creaks from the sheer force of the impact, giving you a hint as to the momentum which was suddenly reversed and applied to the hull, vehicle tilting a few centimeters off its wheelbase before thudding back down to settle on its chassis.

Charged static fills the air as overwhelmingly as the growl ripped from their chest – from which alpha you aren’t sure. The palpable anger that must be flaring in their scent chokes those unfortunate few nearby into hurrying along, a group of teenagers giving wide berth as the old man a few cars over shoves something fragile into the boot with a telltale crunch, slamming the latch shut before climbing over his center console to the steering wheel from the opposite side. No one wants to get involved in pack business, much less find themselves collateral damage in a showdown between behemoths.

Where lemon’s mouth is obscured, John’s isn’t, giving you unfiltered access to the snarl he spits up at the man a few inches taller than him. He makes his displeasure clear in a volume still too quiet for you to grasp, but his argument is apparent in the gesturing of his arms, the wildness matched by the heart he so clearly wears on his sleeve. His packmate stands in complete opposition to the outward show of aggression by the former, striking in his marble-like appearance, firm against the blunted chisel of whatever’s being discussed. The only sign that he’s participating comes in the form of the other’s interrupted pauses.

Your thoughts turn to the omega inside overhearing all of this. The discontent she must feel down the bond from those she loves most has to be just as painful as the ability to hear the quarreling itself. What must she be going through–huddled alone in the shadows by herself–having to listen to what you assume is an argument over another woman… one that a mate is clearly defending?

What consumes her more? Is it rage? Betrayal? Anguish? Abandonment? Jealousy? Your heart goes out to her at this moment in a way you’re not sure her packmates are knowing or even empathetic to.

You suddenly flinch as if being struck by the accusatory finger pointed in your direction by the up-until-now stoic alpha, nose to nose with a man he’s spent nights pressed even closer against. Whatever point he makes, there’s no rebuttal from the Scot this time – only a strained moment’s silence.

At last John shoves away the arm holding him, straightening his jacket with a look that says this isn’t over as his companion walks away to the driver’s side door. You don’t pay him further mind though as John huffs out his anger like a bull, raking a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze with far more softness. He sees it in your eyes the same way it reflects in his. Two pained apologies spoken without words.

Dark tint keeps you from seeing them as they enter the vehicle and drive off, peeling away with a nod to the discomfort inside but with enough self control to not endanger the ‘precious cargo’ in the back seat.

You knew the other day was too good to be true. It’s clear now the damage you’ve incurred in your foolish desire to forge a connection. The lies John told you to placate his unthinking selfishness. Why the radio silence has been deafening your apartment.

Nothing is alright. Everything is broken. You’ve ruined god knows how many years of passion and devotion by the sole act of your own pathetic existence.

You’ve robbed her of that–robbed them. Another reminder that they cannot give it to you. She has taken your place. They cannot claim another.

It’s your fault. Your fault.

Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault…

You can’t breathe.

Something’s crawling up your throat. You can’t–

As customers pass the threshold of the automatic glass doors, no one pays any mind to the sounds of retching in the dumpster.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

294 notes · View notes

reneesghostinthelivingroom · 8 months ago

Text

NorthShore Nowheres Prt 2 ||

part 1 || part 3

|| Poly!plastics x fem!reader

(i myself an poly)

|| Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, Regina being extra touchy with reader, reader gets into a fight, brief hookup mention

|| Summary: Reader goes to the movies on her date with the plastics, Regina's being extra flirty with reader. Outside, reader gets into a fight with the rival biker gang. Employee breaks up the fight and the girls take reader to Regina's for a patch up.

Requests open!

Started: May 15th

Finished: May 26th

~~~

In no time at all, it was Friday. You had gotten yourself all dolled up- well, to a degree. You didn't really have fancy clothes and you hated makeup. But you put on your nicest leather jacket and ripped jeans, not your usual baggy jeans. Your hair was put up in a half up half down styled ponytail. Taking one last look in the mirror, you nodded your head in approval and made your way to your front door. Hearing the horn of Regina's jeep outside.

When you get outside, you saw the girls waiting for you in Regina's jeep. Regina in the front, passenger seat left open for you, Gretchen and Karen cuddled up together in the back.

Regina flashed you a smirk, her eyes trailing down your outfit and raising an eyebrow." It's an improvement, I guess."

"Hey! Not all of us can have designer clothes." You rolled your eyes and got in the passenger seat, she eyed your jacket and scoffed.

"But you can spend $400 on a leather jacket?" Leave it to Regina George to call you out. You blushed a little, hand covering your cheeks as you looked away.

"Oh fuck off." You retorted, she simply laughed and started up her jeep.

Gretchen leaned forward and smiled at you," I really like your outfit." She whispered to you, you gave her a smile.

"Thanks, baby." You winked, she blushed and leaned back in her seat, Karen snuggled back up to her again. You thought they were just adorable together.

Regina glanced at you before looking back at the road. Her hand rested on your inner thigh, tracing soft circles. You shivered under her touch and looked back at her. Her expression remained neutral, but she knew exactly the kind of effect she had on you.

When you guys got to the theatres, you all walked in together. Gretchen and Karen had their arms linked up while Regina had her arm wrapped around your waist, an almost possessive grip on your hip. You leaned into her touch, headed rested on her shoulder. She was taller than you so it was easy to reach her shoulder without much trouble.

You guys got seats in the back corner of the theatre, looking down at some of the people. Gretchen recognized a few and was whispering rumours she had heard about them to Regina, you raised an eyebrow out of curiosity. It almost made you wonder if she had dirt on you. Probably, given you had a bit of a rough reputation with your biker gang. Karen was just happily eating popcorn next to Gretchen, you reached over and took a handful. Plopping them into your mouth as the movie started.

You could barely focus on the movie. Why? Regina's hands were all over you the whole time. Not that you minded, of course. Her hands trailed along your inner thighs, purposefully messing with you. She kept her eyes on the movie and face neutral. Much like how she had in the jeep. Meanwhile you? Your hands gripped the sides of your sheet, knuckles sheet white and cheeks soft red. You tried hard to keep your breathing steady and eyes on the movie, instead of Regina. Though that was almost impossible. By grace of God you managed to keep it together throughout the whole movie, though you wouldn't be able to describe a word of it if anyone asked.

As you guys left the theatres, Gretchen walked up to you and smiled." Oh my Gosh, that movie was so fetch! Y/N, what was your favourite part?"

Shit.

You racked your brain for any detail. Regina looked at you expectantly, though you could tell she was fighting a smirk at your struggle.

"Uh- the ending?" You decided to go with a safe vague answer. Gretchen looked surprised. Why was she surprised?

"The part where the main character died?"

Fuck.

Regina scoffed to hide her laugh, looking away from you. You glanced at Regina and narrowed your eyes before looking at Gretchen.

"Oh, well- I just- think it's very.. different from how movies usually go. You know? It's a nice change up." You rambled out a lie, Gretchen nodded a little as she listened to you.

"Yeah, that's true! It did make for a nice change." She agreed with you, you sighed quietly in relief. Jesus.

You were about to respond, when you heard some familiar shouting from the parking lot ahead of you. Your head whipped around and eyes widened at the sight of your rival biker gang. Of course they would be here. That's on you for forgetting this was their hangout place.

Instinctively, you grabbed Gretchen's hand. Which caught her off guard a little.

"Let's get out of here. Now." You stated, Regina looked back at you and narrowed her eyes before seeing the biker gang. She put two and two together and smirked.

"They don't seem all that tough." Regina folded her arms and walked over, you panicked.

"Regina-!"

She didn't listen. Why would she?

"Hey! Tough guy!" Regina kept her stance, the leader looked at Regina and raised an eyebrow.

"The hell do you want? If you're looking for a hook up, strip club's that way." He smirked, gesturing vaguely in another direction.

You tensed and walked over, grabbing Regina's arm and trying to pull her away.

"Come on, Regina." You urged, maybe you could get of here before you were noticed.

Wrong.

"Oooh, lookie here fellas." He glanced you up and down, then bent to be eye level with you," its the NorthShore Nobodies." His buddies laughed and fist bumped him, you rolled your eyes and folded your arms across your chest.

"Real clever. Did you spend all week coming up with it?" You replied, which just annoyed him further. Great. Why couldn't you ever learn to keep your mouth shut?

"Somebody thinks she's tough. How about we find out just how tough she really is, eh boys?"

"I bet she could kick your sorry asses any day." Regina piped up, oh she loved this. You wished she would stop trying to start something you weren't sure you could end.

"Sorry asses, huh?" The leader repeats, turning his head to Regina now. "You'll be sorry in a minute." His hand raised, Regina didn't flinch or even tried to move. She held her ground.

You, on the other hand, weren't about to let that happen. You reacted just as his hand came down towards Regina's face and grabbed his wrist, holding it with a firm grip.

"Let's all just calm down for a moment and we'll get out of your hair- or... head. I guess." You corrected with a smirk, looking up at his bald head for a moment before meeting his eyes.

Karen and Gretchen stood a distance behind you, Gretchen tense the whole time while Karen ate her popcorn with wide eyes. She handed some over to Gretchen who side eyed Karen.

He was faster than you this time, his fist met your face and you stumbled back into Regina. Who caught you in a firm hold. You could feel a bruise forming around your left eye, your head spun. But you couldn't back down now. Not in front of your girls. Regina's eyes scanned your face and was about to say something but before she could you lunged forwards towards the leader.

"Woah! Woah! Okay!" Someone from behind you shouted, you stopped mid tussle with this guy and looked to see who had spoken. Judging by the outfit, she was a theatre employee. She walked over and gently separated the both of you, stepping between." Alright, friends. We're going to use our words instead of our fists, okay?"

Was she gentle parenting the two of you? You both looked bewildered, Regina was laughing her ass off behind you.

"Um... I don't like the way you were treating my date?" You said awkwardly and looked at the guy, the employee grinned and nodded in encouragement.

"I don't like what you said about my bald head?" The guy replied, just as confused as you.

"Good job!" Oof, the baby tone. Yeah you were being gentle parented by this damn theatre employee. "Now let's shake hands and say sorry, okay friends?"

You awkwardly shook his hand and both mumbled an embarrassed apology.

"I'm so proud of both of you for using your words!" She grinned and gave each of you a hug, you didn't hug back. You felt too awkward to do so.

"Come on, let's go." You mumbled to Regina and headed to her jeep, Regina was still laughing as she followed you. Gretchen and Karen quickly caught up, Gretchen placing a hand on your shoulder as she frowned at your eye.

"Is your eye okay?" She asked, you shrugged slightly. It hurt moving that side of your face but otherwise you were fine.

"I'm fine." You assured her, she didn't believe you.

Regina got the four of you to her place, as soon as you were there Gretchen took you to the bathroom with the first aid kit and tended to your eye as Karen followed to watch.

You sat on the toilet seat, Gretchen crouched in front of you as she dabbed your eye with an ice pack. You winced a little.

"Maybe I should go to Chris' Halloween party as a pirate. Get myself an eyepatch." You joked, Gretchen smiled a little at your joke while Karen nodded in agreement.

"You could be a sexy pirate!" She grinned, completely agreeing with you even though you were only kidding.

Honestly, maybe you should go as a sexy pirate. It would definitely be a look.

#x reader #fanfic #canon x reader #fem reader #wlw fiction #mean girls x reader #mean girls #regina george #regina george x fem!reader #gretchen x reader #regina x gretchen #karen x gretchen #gretchen wieners #karen x reader #regina x karen #karen shetty

260 notes · View notes

littlewigglers · 9 months ago

Note

Okay I’ve never asked on tumblr but I just found your page and I’m OBSESSED!!! I want to get/make a Vivarium/bioterrarium for millipedes and isopods and I can’t WAIT!! Please please if you have any advice at all, I’d love to hear it! Where to get supplies, the buggies themselves, how to handle them, what do you do if they get sick, how much space to they need for how many there are, etc? Your buggy babies are so cute!!

First off thank you! I love all my little guys as well <3

I ramble kinda a lot so I'll put this under a read more.

For advice I'm still very much a novice when it comes to keeping but I'll tell you what I can!

For tanks I got my glass ones second hand or ones made my the store I buy used to buy my millipedes from, you'd be surprised how cheap you can get a nice big one! For Acrylic THESE are the ones I've had the best luck with not warping BUT they sometimes have kinda blurry parts on the plastic, but still I'd say good for the price if you can't afford glass. I tape up some of the ventilation holes to keep more moisture in.

For soil that ISN'T bought from a specialist stores(Sometimes I can't afford it) I use Peat free compost, paired with leaves and rot wood I buy off ebay stores that sell bug/reptile products, I mix them together with some water and leave them in a tub for 1 week to soften up the leaves. Some people go out and get their own leaves and wood but I'm not really in an area to do that so I can't give advice on that. It's important to keep it moist BUT NOT WET!

Heat mat! You want one to put on the SIDE of the tank and not under it, just one would be enough. I have a timer plug for mine so they're on a few hours a day on and off all day. If you REALLY wanna spoil them then I've seen a few people use reptile headlamps.

For moss and plants I again just buy it off ebay in sheets and give it a cheap over to make sure there are no hitchhikers on it before I put it in the tank. It needs watered and looked after for a while for it to take to the tank. Carpet moss is mostly for looks while sphagnum moss is used to keep moisture in areas and should be water/sprayed often. I have a little fern plant in my tank rn they seem to leave alone. I know a lot of people use fake plants as well for decor!

You should make a point to put a little temp and humidity monitor in your set-ups as well. The special reptile ones can be expensive so I just but the little ones you put in rooms and have had no issues with them.

Don't forget to give them hides! Cork wood/bark or coconut shells are nice and cheap. You can also use man made items just make sure they can handle the moisture and aren't made of anything toxic to your new friends. Also give them little sticks and things to climb up on. Just make sure the lid is secured so they can't escape.

For food I just use kitchen scraps like carrot peel, cucumber, apples and melon, give them a cuttlefish bone and some dried tiny shrimps in small amounts once a week or so, but you can also use fish flacks instead. But remember! Leaf litter and rot wood is meant to be their main diet for most species.

For the millipedes I would recommend Ivory millipedes as a good starter one, they're lovely in colour and are often up top, hardy as well, and usually you can get them captive bred which I've had much higher survival rates with vs wild caught. For each species you'll have to look up their needs yourself though, there isn't a 100% catch all set up for all species. Woodlice/isopods I'd suggest dairy cows as they're lovely and also very easy to get a hold of. I will say species of Armadillidium(roly poly/pill bugs) are my fave and I'm very biased and want 500 of them.

For handling just be gentle! I wear gloves in a lot of my videos but that because I've incredibly sensitive skin and can't stand soil under my nails. The worse they can do to you is them staining your skin(not all species), or give you a little nibble. Make sure if you're handling to wash your hands off BUT be careful what hand soaps you use! Wash hands after as well some can be toxic to bugs from what I've heard.

For tank size hmm that's hard, usually you want soil as deep as their body but that can be hard, 10-15cm is what I aim for my BIG boys and 7-10cm for my others, deeper is better but sometimes you'll also just never see them again! You'll want a tank at least a few times longer than your pets body or at least big enough for them to filly stretch out in if you get really big millipedes like giants and a 120cm tank is just kinda unrealistic haha.

I do not have a lot of advice for if they get sick sadly, it's kinda of hard to tell honestly and usually when you can it's too late. I would just say don't beat yourself up too much if some pass away sometimes bugs just do that especially if you don't know their history.

Where to get them depends on where you're from and what you want. A ton of reptile/specialist stores will have wild caught which isn't great but they will have the largest range of species and usually also sell all the stuff you need to tank care of them. Ebay is where I've gotten most of my captive bred and I just message people if I've questions about their bugs there.

I think that's everything I can think of,

Again I'm a big novice when it comes to bugs, @onenicebugperday and @crevicedwelling likely know way more than me, though idk if they're open to questions but they likely already have a lot of info on their blogs.

#bug babbles #again! I'm a big novice still so please also do your own research online about this #just googling some things can help find some sites #more sites that sell them will info pages about the species you're buying as well

144 notes · View notes

moons-and-mobility-aids · 22 days ago

Text

To Walk In

Pairings: Remus Lupin x disabled!reader (Part of my poly!marauders x disabled!reader universe) Summary: Remus learns something about you that you'd hoped none of the boys would ever learn. And then, he proves it doesn't change anything. Warnings: Catheter usage, smut (separate from the catheter usage, oral - fem receiving, p-in-v sex, sex toy) Series Masterlist

The castle of Hogwarts is silent save for the hushed whispers of portraits dozing in their frames and the distant cooing of owls perched high in the towers. In your private bathroom, however, there's a different kind of quiet—one that hums with the tension of a struggle unspoken.

You stare at the sterile plastic package in your hand, its contents as familiar to you as the wand resting on your bedside table. You've dropped one already tonight, your fingers clumsy with frustration, the catheter slipping from your grip to land uselessly on the tiled floor.

Physical discomfort gnaws at your lower abdomen, a constant presence that’s grown more insistent over the past hour. Your bladder is full, too full, and despite your attempts to ignore it, the pressure has become impossible to dismiss. The ache beneath your skin makes every small movement feel monumental, a battle waged within the confines of your own flesh.

"Come on," you mutter to yourself, trying to steady your trembling hands. "Just... just focus."

The soft creak of your bedroom door reaches you, a sound so faint it could easily be mistaken for the castle settling into its midnight slumber. But you know better. Your heart lurches in your chest as you freeze, one hand still clutching the catheter.

Shuffling footsteps—a hesitant dance across the stone floor—betray the intruder's identity before his scent does. It's Remus, carrying the lingering traces of parchment and old books that cling to him like an extra layer of skin. He'd meant to sneak in unnoticed, hoping to find you already asleep so he could slide beneath the covers without disturbing you, succumbing to the warmth of one of those late-night cuddles he craves but seldom initiates.

Even though you can't see him from where you sit, hunched over in the bathroom, you can feel his presence seeping through the cracked door, filling the room with a silent reassurance. You want to smile at the thought of him waiting there for you, body pressed against the cool sheets, eyes heavy with sleep. But smiling is a luxury you cannot afford right now, not when every ounce of concentration needs to go towards this task at hand.

Your muscles tense as you listen intently, praying that he'll stay put—that he won't venture further than the edge of your bed. The last thing you need is for Remus—or any of the boys—to walk in on this. Not now. Not ever.

This isn't something they're supposed to see. This isn't something anyone should see.

You draw in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The catheter remains unused in your grasp, a tangible symbol of the vulnerability you've fought so hard to keep hidden. They may know about your medical conditions, but this—they don't know about this. And you've worked tirelessly to keep it that way.

Being disabled is one thing; it comes with its own set of challenges and perceptions to navigate. But this—this is different. This is intimate. This is personal. This is the unspoken reality of what it means to live in a body that doesn’t function as it should, a truth that feels too raw to expose, even within the safety of these ancient walls.

"Love?" Remus's voice drifts toward you, a low rumble barely discernible over the static hum of your thoughts. He stands on the other side of this barrier—this seemingly insignificant piece of wood that for now, is all that shields you from his worried gaze.

"Are you... alright in there?" he calls out again, concern lacing each syllable. The floorboards creak under his weight as he moves closer to the door, leaning against it perhaps, or merely bracing himself for whatever may come next.

"I'm fine," you reply, forcing a lightness into your tone that feels foreign and hollow even to your own ears. "Just... give me a few more minutes."

Your words are meant to reassure, to create an illusion of normalcy within these four walls. But despite your best efforts, they emerge strained, laced with an undercurrent of desperation that mirrors the silent war raging inside you.

The silence that follows drapes over you like a heavy cloak, thick and suffocating. You close your eyes as a wave of self-loathing washes over you. Look at what you've become, whispers a cruel voice in the back of your mind. Weak. Helpless. Pathetic.

The door handle jiggles slightly before you hear the soft knock against the wood. "Love?" Remus says again, his tone softer now, threaded with uncertainty. The pause that follows feels as though the world itself holds its breath, waiting for your response.

"Remus, I said I'm fine—" But even as the words leave your lips, you know they hold no weight. Your plea sounds feeble, drowned by the deafening thunderclap of your heartbeat.

"I know, but I..." His sentence trails off into silence, leaving only the unspoken implication hanging in the air—thick and potent, a testament to the bond shared between you.

Without another word, the door creaks open slowly, revealing Remus standing in the dimly lit hallway, his face drawn with worry. He steps inside, his gaze immediately landing on the catheter still clutched tightly in your hand.

"Merlin, love..." His voice catches, eyes widening as he takes in the sight before him—the sterile packaging strewn across the sink counter, the way your fingers tremble around the catheter, your body curled protectively over itself.

He doesn't move at first, just stands there frozen, shock pinning him in place while his mind races to make sense of what he's seeing. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he crosses the room until he's standing at your side, his presence a grounding anchor amidst the tempest of emotions swirling within you.

"You shouldn't have seen this," you whisper, the confession slipping past your lips before you can stop it. Shame burns hot beneath your skin, stinging worse than any wound could. This was meant to be your secret, your hidden struggle, yet here it lies exposed under the harsh fluorescent light.

Your body tenses, every muscle coiling tight with a primal urge to hide—to conceal the evidence of your struggle and retreat back into the safety of shadows where vulnerability cannot reach. But it's too late for that now; the truth is out, laid bare under Remus' watchful gaze.

You don't need to look at him to know what he's thinking—how could you not? The image of you, broken and struggling, must be etched deep within his mind by now. And though you tell yourself it doesn't matter—that his opinion of you holds no power over your worth—a part of you can't help but fear the judgment that might follow.

Will he see you differently now, tainted by this newfound knowledge of your weakness? Will he turn away in disgust, repulsed by the reality of your condition? The thought settles heavy in your chest, a stone dropped into still waters sending ripples across the surface of your hard-won peace.

"Love," he murmurs, the sound barely more than a breath as he tentatively reaches out to touch your arm. His fingers graze your skin lightly, not so much an action of comfort but one of connection—a silent promise that you are not alone.

His gaze meets yours then, those familiar grey eyes holding nothing but genuine worry for you. There's no trace of disgust or pity in them, just a deep-rooted empathy that comes from knowing pain all too well. It’s a look that speaks volumes about who Remus truly is—compassionate, loyal, steadfast—even when confronted with realities that others might shy away from.

"I'm here," he says softly, reaffirming that unspoken vow between you both. As if understanding the gravity of this moment, he doesn't ask why or how, nor does he demand answers. Instead, he merely holds your gaze, offering silent reassurances through the simple act of being there.

Wordlessly, Remus' hand moves from your arm to take the catheter, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. The contact sends a spark of surprise coursing down your spine, but you don’t pull away. Somehow, his presence brings a sense of calm amidst the storm, and despite everything, you find yourself trusting him in this vulnerable state as he begins to help you.

It's a slow process—one filled with cautious movements and hushed whispers—but under Remus' careful guidance, you manage to use the catheter without further incident. All the while, he remains focused, his expression unreadable save for the slight furrow of concentration etched into his brow as he navigates each step with meticulous attention.

There's something almost soothing about the way he handles things, his motions precise yet gentle, his voice low and reassuring. And though the situation itself feels like a nightmare come to life, Remus' unwavering composure anchors you, grounding you back to reality.

When it's finally over, you're left sitting there, feeling drained and exposed. But alongside these emotions is a subtle shift in atmosphere—the air no longer thick with apprehension but laced with a newfound sense of understanding.

As you lean back against the cool tiles, exhaustion seeping into your bones, you expect to be overwhelmed by embarrassment—to want to hide away from Remus and the world outside. But instead, what washes over you is an odd sensation of relief.

“Let's get you back to bed," Remus suggests, his voice a steady beacon guiding you out of the storm. You nod, your movements stiff and mechanical as you transfer to the wheelchair and follow him out of the bathroom.

Your body is stiff and unyielding as you slide into bed, nerves coiled tight beneath your skin. This isn't how it was supposed to be—him seeing you like this, at your most vulnerable, stripped bare of any pretense of strength or independence. But here he is, tucking the blankets around your legs, adjusting the pillows behind your back until you're propped up just right.

The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, filling every corner of the room with its palpable weight. Your heart hammers against your ribs, each beat echoing the question that's been gnawing at your mind since the bathroom door swung open: Will things change now?

But then something shifts—a rustle of fabric, a slight dip in the mattress—and before you can register what's happening, Remus is sliding in beside you. His body curves around yours, a solid presence against your side that both surprises and reassures you all at once.

"Relax," he whispers close to your ear, one arm winding carefully around your waist while the other cradles your head, fingertips brushing lightly against the nape of your neck. It’s an intimate gesture, one that should feel out of place given the circumstances, but instead it feels... right.

You want to pull away, to put distance between you and the man who now knows too much. Yet your body betrays you, leaning into the warmth he provides, craving the comfort found within the circle of his arms. There's a sense of safety there, a haven amidst the chaos, and despite everything, you find yourself succumbing to its allure.

"I'm sorry," you begin to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want you to see me like this—so..."

"Shush," he interrupts gently, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as if to wipe away the apology before it fully forms. "There's nothing to apologise for."

"But I should be able to do this on my own." The words tumble out, raw and jagged around the edges. "I’ve been doing it on my own, it’s just a bad night."

His eyes hold yours, steady and unflinching. "Love," he begins, hesitating slightly as he searches for the right words. "This doesn't change how we feel about you. Not me, not Sirius, not James."

A soft kiss is placed at the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. It’s followed by another that lingers longer, Remus' lips pressing against yours with an assurance that leaves no room for doubt.

"We're here because we care about you," he continues when he pulls back, each word punctuated by a gentle squeeze around your waist. "Because we want to be, not because we have to be."

For a moment, you let yourself believe him—let yourself bask in the warmth of his acceptance. But then reality seeps back in, casting long shadows across the corners of your mind. You can't ignore the truth of your situation.

"Look at me," he commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. And despite the storm raging within, you obey, lifting your gaze to meet his once more. His hand comes up to cradle your face, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your cheekbone. "I love you so much, and so do the others. I don’t care about that.”

His lips find yours again, and he kisses you with a tenderness that belies the strength of his resolve. His mouth moves against yours slowly, deliberately, as if each contact is meant to reassure you of his presence, his willingness to stand by your side.

Remus' hands roam gently over your body, mapping out territories familiar yet uncharted in this context. They move with purpose, not to ignite desire but to stoke the fires of comfort, trust, understanding. Each touch is a soft plea for you to let him in, to allow him to share in your pain even when words fail.

His fingers skim along the curve of your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to trace patterns on your skin—a language only the two of you understand. There's no urgency in his movements, only the steady rhythm of someone who knows how to wait, who understands the value of patience amidst chaos.

"Let me help you," he whispers against your neck, his breath warm and comforting. "You don't have to face this alone."

His kiss deepens, a silent vow etched into the space between your mouths. His body is firm against yours, protective yet yielding to every breath and tremor that courses through you. The tension woven tight around your frame begins to loosen under his touch, unravelling with each brush of his lips against yours.

"Better?" he murmurs, drawing back just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. You nod, words failing as warmth radiates from the point of contact, pushing back the chill of dread. He's close—so close you can feel the heat of him, a beacon cutting through the fog of your troubled thoughts.

His breath skims your neck, fingers tracing a path down your arm, grounding you in the here and now. You yearn to lose yourself in him, in this moment where nothing else matters but the rise and fall of your chests, the shared space between heartbeats.

"I love you," Remus murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Each word is a promise, a vow that wraps around you like a warm blanket. His lips brush against your jaw, then trail down your neck, tracing the line where your pulse beats a steady rhythm.

Each touch sends a jolt through you, as if an electric current is passing between your bodies. It's intense, almost too much to bear, but it's also soothing. A reminder that you're not alone in this, that there are people who choose to remain by your side rather than leave you to face the darkness on your own.

As Remus repeats those three words, something inside you shifts. You want to believe him—to let yourself be swayed by the certainty in his voice, even if it's only for a fleeting moment. But the fear of letting go, of allowing someone else in after everything that's happened, claws at the edges of your resolve.

The intensity of Remus' kisses amplifies, his hands tracing a path from your waist to the curve of your breasts. His fingers knead through the fabric of your shirt, evoking a gasp as they find your nipples, already taut with anticipation. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more of this sweet torture.

His lips trace the line of your collarbone, each kiss leaving a damp imprint that cools against your heated skin. You shiver, not from cold but from the raw desire coursing through your veins at his every touch, his every breath against your skin.

Your heart races as he moves lower, his mouth closing over the peak of your breast, sucking hard even through the barrier of your shirt. A moan escapes your lips, half surprise, half pleasure, as your back arches off the bed.

With a growl, Remus tugs at the hem of your shirt, lifting it to bare your breasts to his hungry gaze. He groans low in his throat, a sound that vibrates against your skin, sending another wave of tingles down your spine. The cool air of the room caresses your exposed flesh, making your nipples tighten further under his stare.

You feel a flush of self-consciousness creep over you, a stark contrast to the heat still smouldering in your belly. Your hands move instinctively to shield yourself, a silent plea for modesty that seems so out of place in this moment of shared desire. You remember the shame of earlier, the humiliation that lingers like a shadow on your soul, and you can't shake off the feeling of unworthiness.

"Look at me," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret only meant for you. His hands come to rest on your own, fingers intertwining and guiding them away from the fabric barrier you've created. "You've never hidden yourself before, don't start now."

His words are an appeal, a plea that tugs at something deep within you. You find yourself surrendering to his gentle insistence, your hands falling away as your chest heaves with anticipation.

The whisper of fabric against skin sends a shiver down your spine as Remus carefully slides your shirt up, exposing your stomach to the cool air of the room. His fingertips trace a path along the bare flesh, warmth radiating in their wake and sparking a fire that threatens to consume you whole.

Your back arches off the mattress, a gasp escaping your lips as his touch grazes over your already-sensitive nipples. The contact is fleeting, yet it's enough to make your heart pound in your chest like a war drum, echoing the rhythm coursing through your veins.

His mouth replaces his fingers, and you can't help the soft moan that rises from deep within as his tongue flicks over your skin with unspoken promises of pleasure. Remus devotes himself to your body, shifting his attention to your other breast, leaving no inch untouched. He nestles into the valley of your cleavage, planting kisses there that spark trails of desire down your spine.

Every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips against your skin is a silent confession, a testament to the hunger that has been slowly awakening between you. The warmth of his breath against your flesh sends shivers down your spine, each one a delicious prelude to the symphony of sensation he's coaxing from your body. You arch into him, lost in the sensations that are building, threatening to consume you whole.

The heat washes over you in waves, each moan drawn from your lips a testament to the skill of his mouth as it teases and tastes. His tongue swirls around your nipple, drawing it into a peak before moving to its twin with equal fervour. His fingers trace a path downward, and your groans grow deeper, more primal, when they brush against the waistband of your knickers.

"Remus," you gasp, a plea and a protest tangled together. "You shouldn't... not after..."

The reality of what he saw feels too raw, too present to ignore. But Remus pauses, breath warm against the skin just below your breast, and you feel the press of his teeth—gentle, reassuring.

"You saw me..." you begin again, voice shaking. "You don't want me like this..."

"Shhh." His voice is soft, a gentle command that stills your protests. He lifts his head, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath. "I always want you."

Your protests die on your lips as Remus's hand descends once more, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just above the waistband. Your body tenses, anticipation mingling with fear. But then his lips are there, pressing a soft kiss to your abdomen, and the tenderness of it unravels you.

"Let me see you," he murmurs against your skin, and you find yourself nodding, surrendering to his quiet command.

With a final glance to ensure your consent, Remus begins to undress you. Your hips lift off the bed as he eases your panties down your legs, leaving you bare before him. The cool air of the room kisses your exposed skin, but it's nothing compared to the heat of his gaze.

"You are... exquisite," he murmurs, a note of wonder threading through his voice. Remus begins to press softly against your clit, each gentle rub sending tremors radiating from your core.

The way he touches you is like poetry, a rhythm all its own that makes every nerve in your body sing. His other hand slides under you, lifting your hips slightly for better access. There's no rush in his movements; instead, he seems content to explore you at his leisure, becoming more familiar with the canvas of your body than even you are yourself.

His thumb continues its slow circles around your clit, and you can't help the moans that escape you. They're soft at first, but as his touch persists, they grow louder, more insistent and your body arches into his touch, craving more. The fire within you builds, stoked by his skilled fingers.

The kiss of Remus’s lips against your clit sends a shockwave through you. His thumb is replaced by the plush pressure of his mouth, a sensation that steals away whatever shards of reality still cling to your consciousness.

"Remus," you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets as if they might anchor you to the world. But there's no grounding force strong enough to keep you from being swept up in the storm that's brewing inside you.

His tongue delves deeper, exploring the folds of your body with a tenderness that belies the primal hunger beneath. Each slow drag of his tongue sends a new wave of pleasure coursing through you, every nerve thrumming with an intensity that threatens to consume you whole.

"Gods, you're incredible," he rumbles, the vibration against your sensitive skin sending a fresh wave of excitement through you. His words are muffled by his own desire to continue unravelling your secrets with his tongue.

His attention becomes more focused now, his tongue swirling around your clit in slow, deliberate motions that make your toes curl and your breath hitch. Every flick, every teasing lap at your sensitive bud, builds towards something monumental, a crescendo growing louder with each passing second.

His hands shift, spreading you open further, granting him better access to your depths. With a reverent sigh, he descends once more, exploring you as though he's been granted the greatest privilege. His tongue delves deep, tasting, savouring, drawing forth a moan from your lips as you feel yourself clench around the invading presence.

Remus' tongue dips lower, swirling around your entrance before pushing inside. You buck against him, the sensation too much and not enough all at once. His hand reaches up to press against your clit, his thumb rubbing in slow circles as his tongue continues its sweet torture.

"Remus," you moan, "more... please."

His tongue responds by delving deeper, licking and sucking while his fingers play with your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. A low groan escapes your lips, your body arching off the bed as pleasure courses through your veins.

He moves his mouth back up, tongue lapping at your clit before sucking it into his mouth. The sudden shift in focus has you gasping, your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he releases your clit with a soft pop, only to dive back down. Your hips grind against his face, seeking more contact, more pleasure. Remus obliges, his mouth and fingers relentless.

"Ah... yes," you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat as he continues his assault.

He pulls away momentarily, leaving you panting and desperate for more. But before you can recover, his fingers replace what his mouth has abandoned. Two digits push into you, stretching you in a way that draws a whimper from your lips. He pumps them slowly at first, then quickens the pace, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that leaves you writhing.

"I love watching you squirm beneath me," he growls, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers up your spine. His eyes are dark with desire, taking in every twitch and moan that escapes you. There's a predatory gleam in them, knowing that you're at his mercy.

With a flick of his wand, the suction toy is summoned from its drawer. It arrives instantly, and he sets it to a low, teasing hum. He places it against your clit, pressing softly as he continues to kiss along your inner thigh. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught between the pressure of the toy and the heat of his lips.

Your hands clutch at the sheets, every nerve ending alight with anticipation. The vibrations grow stronger, more insistent, matching the rhythm of your quickening pulse. You move your hips in time, but Remus is in no hurry. He takes his time, ensuring every touch is calculated to leave you gasping for more.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. His satisfaction is evident in the way he savours each sound you make, how his fingers never falter in their exploration. The toy hums, a continuous pulse that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your legs tremble, knees falling open even wider as Remus pushes his fingers deeper inside you. They curl slightly, the pads brushing against that spot that has your breath hitching in your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your thigh, just barely, and goosebumps erupt across your body.

"Fuck," you gasp, your hand reaching for the mess of brown hair between your legs. Your fingers thread through the soft strands, tugging slightly as a silent plea for more.

He hums against you, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure up your spine. "You like that?"

You can feel the warm buzz of the toy pressed hard against your clit, the intensity causing your breath to come in short, uneven bursts. The combination of his fingers and the toy is too much, and you can't help but cry out, back arching off the bed.

"Yes, Remus... don't stop."

His movements become more confident at your encouragement, fingers moving in a steady rhythm, always hitting that perfect spot inside you. The pressure builds, a knot of pleasure tightening in your belly, and you know you won't be able to hold back much longer.

The toy against your clit pulses more, stronger this time. The intensity of the vibrations escalates abruptly, pushing you closer to the brink with a desperate urgency. Between the relentless pressure of Remus’ fingers inside you and the insistent suction on your clit, you’re coming undone, your body writhing and bucking beneath his firm hold.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful like this," he growls, voice rough with desire. His gaze never leaves yours, drinking in every twitch of pleasure that crosses your face. Each shudder sends another jolt through him, your mewls of need only fuelling the fire within.

Remus shifts, leaning down to capture your lips again, even as he withdraws his fingers from your core. Your mouth opens readily for him, tongues tangling. His taste is intoxicating—a heady blend of lust and something uniquely Remus—that threatens to consume you whole. A soft whimper escapes into the kiss, your hips canting upwards in search of friction.

The suction toy is insatiable, pulsating against you in a rhythm designed to bring you to the brink. Every pulse sends shockwaves through your body, each one stronger than the last, leaving you gasping for breath and bucking against the bed.

"Relax," Remus whispers, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. "Just let it happen."

You try to follow his instructions, but the pressure inside you is building, coiling tightly in your core. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, your body begging for that final push.

Then, without warning, the suction toy is gone, removed with a soft pop that leaves you feeling empty and aching. But before you can protest, Remus's tongue is back, lapping greedily at your folds and replacing the toy's artificial stimulation with something far more intimate.

Remus moans into your pussy, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through your body. You respond with a moan of your own, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. The need to feel him inside you is overwhelming now, every fibre of your being crying out for his touch.

"Remus," you gasp out, your voice a threadbare whisper of desperation. "I need..."

His breath is warm against the inside of your thigh, a stark contrast to the cool air that now caresses your exposed skin as he pulls away. He tugs at the waistband of his own trousers and there's a sense of urgency in the way he discards them. His erection springs free, hard and flushed with desire.

A soft incantation escapes his lips, and his hand glows momentarily with magic, slickening his length. The sight is utterly erotic—his hand moving slowly, purposefully along his shaft. His heavy-lidded gaze never leaves yours, the intimate connection unbroken even in silence.

Then, positioning himself at your entrance, he moves his hips against yours in a slow grind that has you both gasping. There's a hunger in his eyes, a desire that mirrors the ache building within you.

"Look at me," Remus says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. When your eyes meet, he thrusts forward, and you can't help but cry out.

He moves slowly, each thrust measured and careful, as if he savours every second of being joined with you. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, the urgency in his movements betraying his need for control. Your body reacts instinctively, arching into him, meeting each stroke with a counterthrust of your own.

He reaches between your bodies, pressing the suction toy against your swollen clit. The added stimulation, coupled with the sensation of him filling you completely, is almost too much to bear. It's raw and intense, a perfect antidote to the fear and tension that had gripped you earlier.

"Love you... so much," he confesses, voice thick with emotion. His movements become more insistent, his body language speaking volumes of the depth of his affection, even if words fail him.

The pressure from the toy against your clit and the relentless pace of Remus's thrusts push you closer to the precipice of pleasure. Your body responds instinctively, every nerve ending alight with anticipation for the sweet release that is just within reach. A warmth starts to spread from your core, radiating outwards as euphoria begins to take hold.

"I love you too," you breathe back, reaching up to wrap your fingers around the back of his neck. He leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, conveying his feelings with a fervour that leaves you breathless. His hips shift slightly, finding a rhythm that has his cock stroking deeper inside you. The sensation is overwhelming, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins.

He turns the dial up a notch, and the toy buzzes with new intensity against your clit. Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the waves starting to build.

"Don't fight it," Remus grunts into your ear, his rhythm unyielding. Each word is a command, a sweet promise that sends you teetering on the edge of a precipice you fear you might not find tonight.

But then you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. The sensation of his hard cock sliding in and out of your tightness is nearly enough to send you over the edge. He leans in to capture your lips with his, his tongue exploring your mouth as he fucks you faster, harder.

The sensation of his hips against yours, the rhythmic push and pull that sends his length gliding over your inner walls, hitting that sweet spot within you... coupled with the unrelenting pressure of the toy against your clit, it's a maddening pleasure that threatens to consume you.

"Beautiful," Remus murmurs, his voice soft yet thick with desire. He leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his words a balm to your insecurities, wrapping you up in a cocoon of warmth and adoration.

Your back arches off the bed as he thrusts deeper, the angle hitting places untouched before. A whimper escapes your throat, lost in the cavern of his mouth as he continues to move relentlessly within you. Your body tightens around him, the walls of your core squeezing his girth in an intimate grip that has him groaning into your mouth.

His moans mingle with yours, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through your heated bodies. Every sound, every touch, every movement heightens the sensations coursing through your veins, pushing you towards the edge of ecstasy.

His arms tremble, the muscles straining as he fights for control. "I'm so close, love."

"You can, Remus," you whisper, your voice a breathless plea. You're teetering on the edge yourself, the coil of pleasure within you wound so tight it's painful. "Let go for me."

The sensation of him pulsing inside you is overwhelming, his thrusts growing erratic and desperate. The suction toy against your clit is relentless, pushing you towards your own release.

His eyes flutter shut, lost in the waves of pleasure crashing over him. "Ah, fuck... I—" He chokes back a groan, his entire body tensifying. "I'm going to cum."

He stills above you, his cock twitching inside you as he reaches his climax. Warmth floods you, his seed spilling deep within. His head falls forward, buried in the crook of your neck, his breath ragged against your skin.

His body is heavy on yours, a comforting weight that pins you to the bed. His chest rises and falls rapidly against you, damp with sweat, his heart pounding a frenzied rhythm that echoes your own.

"You didn't—" Remus starts, his voice rough with exertion. He props himself up on one elbow, peering down at you with concerned eyes. His hair is tousled, sticking to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed a deep pink. "I can—"

He reaches for the toy that lies discarded by your side, but you stop him with a gentle hand on his arm. Your fingers trace the lines of muscle there, still trembling from the effort of his climax.

"Remus," you breathe, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "It's okay. I didn't need to."

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, there's a strange comfort in this intimacy, in the warmth that radiates from his body and the gentle way his fingers trace patterns on your skin.

"Alright," Remus relents, setting the toy aside. His voice holds a note of resignation, but he doesn't argue further. "If that's what you want."

"It is," you confirm, your voice steady despite the turmoil within you. "And for the record, I don't need an orgasm every time we have sex."

"But you should have one," he insists softly, his thumb brushing a comforting path along your cheekbone. It's a simple gesture, yet it anchors you amidst the storm of emotions threatening to pull you under. "You deserve everything good, love."

The words wash over you, warm like sunbeams breaking through a canopy of clouds. You want to believe them, and you do. Your lips curve into a tentative smile, encouraged by the sincerity in his eyes. He mirrors your expression, his gaze never wavering from yours.

Slowly, as though afraid to break the spell, he leans closer. His breath mingles with yours, a shared secret between two hearts beginning to understand each other. Then his lips meet yours, a gentle kiss that speaks louder than any words could.

When he pulls away, his eyes remain fixed on yours, holding you captive within their depths. They're a window to his soul, reflecting the same warmth that lingers on your lips. And in that moment, you understand what it means to be seen, to be valued, not for what you can do or who you can become, but for who you are.

Remus' weight shifts off of you, replaced by the gentle pressure of his arm drawing you close against his side. His voice is a low rumble in your ear, each word enveloping you like a warm blanket. "I love you."

You turn to face him, your eyes meeting the steady gaze of his. The sincerity reflected there causes your heartbeat to stutter, a sweet ache spreading through your chest. His face is close, so close that you can count the freckles dusting his cheeks, see the faint lines etched by years of laughter and worry.

"I love you too, Remus," you whisper back, your voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the sheets. His touch is a balm to your weary soul, washing away the lingering concerns of the day.

#marauders au #marauders era #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #meant to be: hogwarts era

11 notes · View notes