#should I label this eye strain

[juniper-clan]

Not me bustin my ass on a juniperclan amv

HEHEHEHEHEHEH NO WAY

[occamstfs]

Triple Shot Theft

Trying to nab himself a sweet treat, Liam finds himself growing into the behemoth whose order he stole.

Shorter story! Petty thief to meathead bodybuilder, hope you enjoy this slightly more succinct story! -Occam

The coffee was in his sights. Liam just needs to wait for a moment when the mobile order counter was unattended andddd- There. He’s already out the door and headed down the street with enough caffeine to get him through his morning. I mean he’s not proud of his little act of delinquency, but it’s not like anyone’s suffering right? The coffee shop has unlimited resources, they'll make whatever poor schmuck whose drink he just nabbed a new one. 

Speaking of, now that he’s home free it’s well time for the first sip. Liam briefly checks the name on the cup, Elijah. “Well Eli, cheers to you. Bottoms up-�� Raising the steaming togo cup to his lips Liam prepares for the ritual first burning sip. Not checking the label as he wants to be surprised by whatever hides underneath the lid. As soon as the drink touches his tongue it is revealed to be quite the unpleasant one as he rears back from the scalding drink and grimaces.

Totally unrelated from the boiling heat, the taste was the single most bitter thing he’s ever experienced before in his life. Sticking his burned tongue out before whispering a complaint he checks the label, “Jesus Christ dude!? What the fuck did your order?” Taking no time to analyze his criticism of a man who is by all intents his victim, his eyes grow wide as he sees the drink is a Black Dead Eye, that is drip coffee with three shots. 

He feels his heart flutter as he thinks about the amount of caffeine he now holds in his hand and plans how he is going to ration it out so he doesn’t completely overload himself. His mind briefly tries to picture the type of man to order this, though before a clear thought could be produced he shrugs and takes another sip. Could’ve at least had some syrup in there guy. Still taking a strained sip, an idea unfamiliar fills his mind, ‘psh as if I’m gonna drink some empty calories to start my day.’ 

Eliam’s eye twitches as he scrunches his face, presumably from the bitterness and grunts, “ugh, I hate-” Feeling a frog in his throat he clears it a few times in short succession. “Man, this drink sucks.” His brow immediately furrows as he hears his voice almost sounds deeper to his ears? Eliam eyes the drink for half a second before shrugging and assuming he must be coming down with a cold. Something within his subconscious questions how that will affect his time at work? No, not work, something else. Something close though, his arm rises in a right angle and he tilts his head as the thin limb tries to flex, immediately confused as to why he just did that, after a pause he reconsiders. Why does his bicep look so puny?

Uncomfortable with his bicep barely manipulating the sleeve of his shirt he considers, “Maybe I should start hitting up the gym?” Eliam scratches at his chest and frowns as he feels truly no muscle definition hiding under his T-shirt. His head buzzes with foreign emotion and instinct as the general apathy he has for his body and appearance is rapidly being replaced with disdain nearing disgust. He grunts and keels over as static, burning pins and needles, begins to overwhelm his senses. In the process he nearly spills his coffee which hits him with far more anxiety than losing a drink you didn't even pay for should.

His mouth is cold and dry as he stares at his nearly lost midnight dark drink and, even greater than the bizarre numbness and strange sensations contorting his body, he feels an urge, a need, to drink. Lips puckering as they strain to get closer to the cup as he brings it to his mouth, his legs give out and he falls back against a shop window. Passersby sneer at him as doggedly sits on the sidewalk and raises the cup completely upside down and lets it pour into his wanting mouth. His throat struggles to keep up as something besides himself, something with a will stronger than his own, forces him to down the burning drink in one go.

Mission accomplished, he gasps for air and wipes the few drops of coffee that landed outside of his mouth off his face before sucking them off his stained finger. When a businessman looks down at him with an eyebrow raised Eliamh feels a burning in his chest at the challenge. His jaw clenches and every muscle burns with the desire to show the pen pusher what’s up, dude doesn’t even know what the grind is! Eliamh’s eye twitches and he clenches at his gut as for the first time in his life it seems to be straining his intentionally baggy shirt.

The pettiest thief struggles to stand, using the wall for support as his legs suddenly struggle to carry his body. All the while making embarrassing grunts. He begins burping loudly as his stomach tries to get him to reject the drink in the only way it can. He feels more bloated with every labored breath and heavy movement, his midriff now exposes his thin treasure trail as his arms begin to fill the sleeves of his wrinkled button up. In between burps and groans he just gets out in his now decidedly duller voice, “Whuh- what was in that cup-” 

Usually happy to hide, Eliamh feels a rising need to challenge every man in sight, realizing something is beginning to overwrite his usual instincts, his rational ideas. As his pants begin to strain, thighs and ass bulging larger, Eliamh realizes that no matter his new desire to post up he needs to wait out whatever, uh, food poisoning this is. Stumbling into the storefront he’s thus far used as a stabilizer he groans out to the clerk, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back a loud burp, “Burmgh- I, ugh. Need yer restroom, dude.” Mouth curling into a frown at the clearly unwell man the cashier just points to the room at the back and Eliamh quickly stumbles through the door and locks it behind him.

Panting, Eliamh falls to the floor. Sweating through his clothes he leaves a trail on the door as he slides against it. Unconcerned with the filth of being on a bathroom floor his mind screams as his body begins to expand in every direction. Fabric tears as his bloated gut redistributes itself across his whole form. His arms that only recently bulged with any weight at all suddenly rip entirely through his shirt. Veiny biceps tear through, bursting larger than his thighs before his forearms race to match. His hands grow rough with callouses as he tears at his clothes as they begin to suffocate him.

Elijam’s shoulders pecs are initially inhibited by the clothes barely hanging in there. As soon as they give way and his torso is freed to the air do they begin their transformation outright. Drool pouring from his mouth as his mind flitters between the horror of becoming something anathema to himself while at the same time rapidly recognizing the arms as the powerful weapons he has honed for years now. Initially absent, the muscle on his chest pointedly makes up for the years spent abandoned. Pumping larger as his lungs expands and his chest widens to match shoulders that thicken to be shoulderpads, his pecs begin to become unseemly. Weighty enough that his current legs could never support them, his pecs surge to a size where the idea that he could ever be anything but a diligent bodybuilder is foolish.

His rougher hands trail down his sweaty, impossibly large chest and find that there are now swaths of his body where his bulging biceps and dense pecs collide that he simply can no longer touch. Moving down to feel abs as they push themselves out of his lower torso like cobblestones, his grunts and burps turn to deep moans as he bathes in the pleasure of becoming Elijah. Finally reaching low enough to free his package as it begins to fill his constricting pants, Elijah palms his balls as they begin to fill his body with hormones that make his boorish mindset make far more sense. 

Outside in the store the clerk contemplates calling the authorities as the deep moans echoing from the bathroom begin to scare off customers. Back in the restroom the bodybuilders thighs expand to truly the size of tree trunks as they lengthen along the cold tile. Immediately do they tear his pants as it becomes clear that he’ll never take a step without his massive legs rubbing against each other. It’s a wonder his package has any room at all to be as large as it is given the real estate taken up by his massive lower body. In no time at all the sweaty behemoth finds himself filling the small room with his musk which only heightens his heady delight.

His eyes cross as the few shreds of Liam that remained ingrained in his psyche through it all begin to give up the ghost. His balls pulse as the paltry aspects drain from his mind and every inch of him fully shifts to that of Elijah. Memories of countless hours spent underneath the bench press bar, tracking protein consumption, comparing his form with other massive titans. At the very same moment do loads begin to fly. Shooting high enough to grace the ceiling, his spunk stains the wall behind him like splatters on a canvas. His impossible changes took less than a minute but in his ecstasy he feels each and every one of Elijah’s memories soar to fill his mind.

Stumbling to his thick soled feet Elijah scratches his head as he tries to think how he’ll leave this store with nothing to cover his titanic form. The cogs of his mind turn slow enough that it seems like he can barely produce a thought at all. He grabs toilet paper to start to clean the mess made, but only ends up smearing it against the walls. Suddenly he laughs a dull guffaw as he remembers he lives nearby, just needs to run through the store and he’s home free. He’s sure the customers won’t mind seeing him in the buff, he thinks as he smirks at his peaking bicep. 

His cock stirs again as he wonders when he got this pump in. Knowing he doesn’t have time for another session right now he covers his impressive package with his torn clothes and sprints through the lobby, the clerk doesn’t have time to finish his name before he’s exited the storefront and begun to sprint homewards. Pushing through any man who doesn’t quite move out of the way in time, Elijah hits himself in the head as he realizes he needs to apologize to his bro for stealing his coffee this morning. Just as soon does the thought fade with another slow witted guffaw. He’s sure Elijah won’t mind, he’d probably do the same even. After all, they’ve got a lot in common.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Work it Out

✩ gym trainer!toji x fem!reader

accidents happen, right?

✩ tags: aphrodisiacs, mating press, multiple creampies, overstimulation, sensitivity, raw sex, rough sex, submissive toji, dominate reader, squirting, etc…

note: a little short, but it’s a good one !

it was an accident, right? you swore you checked the label. right?

then how come….no you surely hadn’t….

oh, you’re fucked. so very fucked.

you were at your trainer’s private gym, taking a break after your most intense workout—when your trainer, toji, asked you to run into his office to get his vitamins. "black bottle with a white label, should say Vitamin-A on it.” he told you, but when you got to his office, there were two bottles that met the criteria.

‘that helps a lot, toji.’ you said to yourself, trying to figure out which one he needed—but you weren’t given enough time to decide as he yelled for you to hurry up. so, you grabbed one of the bottles, grabbed two of the pink colored pills and raced back into the gym; giving him the pills.

little did you know, those were the wrong pills.

“let’s try benching 150 this time, I’ll spot you” Toji spoke and you immediately laid down onto the leather bench, while he stood over you; counting as you lifted the heavy weights.

but, as you kept your eyes on him, you could tell something was wrong—way wrong. you could see the perspiration glistening on his tan skin and how it looked like he was strained—not to mention the fat bulge shadowing your eyes.

you finished your set and immediately sat up afterwards. maybe you were hallucinating…was it always that big?

“let’s….—mhm—work on your squats” he grunted, holding back a moan that had crawled up his throat. you gave him a look before looking away, getting ready to start on your squats. he handed you two dumbbells and you got started, counting the sets as you moved.

toji watched you as your toned body moved up and down, his eyes slowly falling onto your ass; watching it jiggle as you bounced back up. he groaned again, and fixed himself underneath his dark grey calvin klein sweats—thoughts running rampant about how your ass would look bouncing on something st—what the fuck was going on with him? what did he take? he had to focus and get rid of that hard boner, he tried so hard to hide.

“your form is all wrong,” he grunted and stood behind you, holding your sides and spreading your feet apart—trying so hard to not cum in his spot.

“like this fushiguro?” you asked coyly, your cheeks brushing up against his cock—causing an unexpected orgasm to course through his body, making him cream his black underwear on the spot.

his deep blue eyes widened and he backed up from you, realizing what was happening now. “y/n, what did you give me?” you could hear whimper leave his mouth and you immediately put down the dumbbells, standing close to him—his musky scent overpowering your nose.

“hm? the vitamins you asked me to give you—what’s the matter?” you touched his bicep and he let out a low moan, making your eyes widen and something down below awaken inside you.

“did you ready the whole botttle—shit—you gave me an aphrodisiac!” now this time, your eyes were the one to widen. you back up and took a good look at the buff male—seeing how hard he was trying to maintain control of himself, but that control was weakening by the second.

“how was i supposed to know! your labeling fucking sucks and everything looks the same in your office!” you poked at his chest, your body unbelievably close to his, and the feeling of your body radiating heat against his—had him melting. he couldn’t fight it anymore, he had to cum; in you, on you and all over you.

he lowered his eyes down to your chest, his cock twitching in his pants; watching it bounce with each movement you made. you followed his trail and you couldn’t help but smirk as an idea popped up into your pretty little head.

“no use for you trying to wait this out, let me do what i can to make this alllll better,” you dragged out, grabbing his hand and leading him over to one of the benches. you raised up the side he laid on and kneeled down, becoming eye level with his raging boner. your mouth watered at the sight of his cock pressing against his cotton pants, eager to be released from its confinements.

there was many times where you fantasized about fucking your trainer—many times. he was hot and was just your type, everything about him oozed sex and you just wanted to see what it was all about.

toji said nothing, lidded eyes watching you push down his sweat pants, and peeling his stained briefs along with it—causing him to hiss, the coolness from the hair combining with his cream coated cock—sent chills on his lower half. but you payed no attention to that, your focus was on some thing else—his fat cock they sprang to life in front of you; nearly hitting you in the face.

“so big…!” you moaned softly, thighs pressing together as you watched it jump slightly; mouth salivating at the sight. you wasted no time and tore off your shirt, and slipped him right underneath your sports bra—and right between your soft plushy mounds.

he let out a low growl, cock twitching and spurting out another milky white load right across your breasts. the affects of the aphrodisiacs had left him sensitive and vulnerable—the perfect recipe to make your cunt gush.

with a swipe of your finger, you took a nice slather of his cum and slipped it right into your mouth—moaning at the bitter, yet sweet taste.

“good boyyy. gna give me two more all over my pretty tits?” he nodded, biting his lip and watching you squeeze his cock between your tits; the softness from them, driving him insane. your gripped them, bringing them up and down onto his cock—his flush pink tip disappearing and reappearing each time.

the mix of your cum and sweat added a nice lubricant against your soft breasts, making it feel like nirvana for him, and the older male couldn’t help but cum once more—a thicker load splurting out on your soft body. you hummed and continued to work your boobs around him, this time you wrapped your mouth around his wet tip—giving him the best blow job he’s ever had. everything about this was mind blowing and thanks to the aphrodisiac; he was cumming another load onto you—a loud primal growl leaving his lips, his seed flowing down your throat; swallowing it completely.

you pulled away with a loud pop noise, a trail of spit with a mix of his cum followed your plump lips—face showing nothing but sheer arousal when you did. you pulled your cum coated tits away from his still hard cock, unzipping the sports bra in back; before letting it fall to the ground. he watched as you peeled your biker shorts off, the fabric clinging to your plush—muscled skin—before making a home on the gym’s wooden floors.

the small strip of fabric, you called panties, was coated with your essence—sticking to your slick coated lips as you slowly peeled it off and tossed it in your small clothing pile. you climbed onto the bench with him and hovered over his throbbing cock, a line of spit dropping out of your mouth and onto his shaft, which you rubbed on it—adding more wetness to it.

“im on birth control, so you can cum inside me as many times as you’d like~” grabbing his veiny shaft and guiding it to your entrance, spreading your lips apart and pushing him deep inside. you let out a breathy moan to hide the pain that followed, as he filled you up to the brim with nothing but his fat dick.

toji groaned and his hands immediately went to your hips, his own bucking upwards to hit the deepest part of you—tummy starting to bulge from his cock. “fuck…” you let out, holding onto his arms before remembering that you were in control here—you were going to make him cum repeatedly until he couldn’t no more.

quickly getting used to his girth, you got up on your tip toes and began to ride him; his grip on your hips falling and his pretty purple eyes rolled back into his head. “gonna cum for me already? so sensitive baby….”

you rolled your hips, his dick rubbing against your spot—making a strew of moans fly from your lips. a lewd squelching noise began to echo throughout the gym, along with the faint clinking of the bench the two of you were currently fucking on. his dick twitched inside of you and you rocked your hips faster, bringing another orgasm to crash down onto him.

“y/n…..!~” he groaned out making your clit throb, his voice an absolute turn on for you.

you continued to ride him, milking every last grip from him—not sparing him some time to recover before his next one came. the fat, squishiness of your ass felt amazing each time it hit his potent balls, driving the both of you insane. he could feel your walls spasming and he pushed your torso down onto his, jackhammering your cunt anew.

curse after curse you let out, babbling incoherent words while you creamed all over his dick—orgasm hitting you hard, while he continued to pound you. and after your body shook repeatedly, he sat and up and flipped the two of you over—your back now pressed against the warm leather.

“wait! toji, I just—FUCK!”

your legs were spread apart, while his cock was pushed so deep inside of you—his ball hit your sloppy cunt each time he pumped. he couldn’t take it anymore, you wanted to drain his cock? he was going to fuck you absolutely stupid.

“running from it? tch, what was all that shit you pulled earlier?” he pulled your hips back as you tried to wiggle away, grunting; his face serious while his scarred lips fixed into a smirk.

“too m-much….fuck—take some out,~” he ignored your request, his face between your pretty tiddies as he continued to train your pussy. he was going to train and mold your cunt just like he’s been doing with your body the last couple of weeks, so she could fit around him and him only.

“gna fuhcum’ sooo much for yyyou” toji couldn’t help but chuckle at how you sounded, so drunk off his cock.

“go ahead. cum for me like a good girl and I’ll make your tummy full of my cum, that’s what you want?” you nodded, grabbing your feet so he could reach deeper inside of your cunt. you needed all of him.

with a few more hard pumps, you were seeing white—back arching off the bench, cunt gushing clear streams of your essence—splashing against his balls and his stomach. and now he was at his limit, no longer wanting to fight against the euphoric feeling the pills gave him—he gave you once last load; pumping your pretty pussy with thick white ropes.

his huge body shook, before he pulled out of you; some of his cum landing onto your stomach; warning the sweaty, pudgy skin.

big, rough hands gave your leaking pussy a smack—before they wrapped around you and picked you up; leading you to the gym’s showers—so he could clean you up and the two of you could go a few more rounds after that.

[rileyslibrary]

Lift and learn.

Synopsis: You discover Ghost’s unique skill; estimating the weight of items just by lifting them. You decide to challenge his ability by giving him little tests and he (for once in his life) loves to show off.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,381 (approx. 5-6 minutes reading time.)

Notes:

Mindless, platonic fluff with minimal plot.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The storage room is vast and poorly lit, with rows of metal shelves stretching into the distance. The air conditioning blows cool air throughout the facility, with only the gentle hum of the units and refrigerators breaking the silence. You and Ghost stand at the entrance, surveying the endless supply of crates and boxes ahead of you.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” you remark, kicking a nearby stack of boxes.

Ghost nods. “Come on,” he says as he walks between the shelves, “the faster we start, the faster we’ll be done with it.”

You follow him, walking down the first row of shelves, scanning the labels on the boxes and crates to see what they contain.

He checks the list you made with the food you’ll need for the mission, and he points toward the direction of the canned goods.

“Go look for the soup,” he advises, “and don’t lift the crate yourself.”

You turn to face him. “Why not, sir?”

“That thing weighs about 20 kgs,” he says, “you won’t be able to lift it alone.”

“Is that so?” you raise your brows. Ghost lets out a long sigh.

“I don’t doubt your abilities, soldier—I just know the box is too heavy to be lifted from up high,” he says. “I don’t want you to get hurt, and you don’t want to clean tomato soup off the floors now, do you?”

You roll your eyes and walk over to the box in question. You turn to glance at Ghost out of the corner of your eye—he’s ticking things off the list. You decide to give it a shot. You take a deep breath and grasp the box by its handles, attempting to pull it off the shelf. Your arms strain as you put all your weight into it, but the crate doesn’t budge. You try again, but it’s in vain.

Just as you’re about to give up, Ghost appears at your side.

“Told ya; it’s a heavy box,” he says, amused.

You step back, allowing him to take your place. He grips the box and lifts it off the shelf.

“That’s over 20 kgs.” He comments as he curls the box. “Around 24 kgs, I’d say.”

You stare at the box as it moves up and down, then at him. He approaches the large food scale and places the box on it. As he predicted, the box weights precisely the amount he estimated.

“Do you do this a lot?” you ask.

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I normally curl barbells.”

“Estimating the weight of something just by lifting it?” you clarify, “I saw you do it before when we were packing stuff from the armoury.”

“Ah,” he says, flicking his wrist, “it’s nothing.”

He surely doesn’t act like “it’s nothing.” He’s trying to portray himself as humble. But he looks far too cocky about it. He puffs out his chest and places his hands on his waist. His head tilts a little higher, and he squints his eyes, resulting in narrow creases at their corners. There’s also a slight stiffness in his upper body muscles. Is he flexing? Yes. Yes, he’s desperate to show off his skill once more. And, of course, you don’t waste the opportunity.

You gesture to a massive stalk of bananas. “How much does that weigh?” You ask.

He walks towards the bananas, his hands still on his hips. “Ah,” he says as he lifts the stalk, “this should weigh around 1.3 kgs.” He states and places the bananas on the scale. He waits for the scale to flash and then turns to face you when it indicates just a little over the amount he predicted.

“Wow, Lieutenant!” You yell and clap your hands together. “Do it again!”

He takes a sharp breath from his nose and gestures with his hands. “Give me something more difficult this time.” he says with pride.

You look around the storage room and spot a pile of sandbags in the corner.

“Okay, how much does one of those weigh?” you ask.

He redirects his gaze to the sandbags. He shrugs. “30 kgs.” He says.

“That doesn’t count, Lt.,” you frown, “you didn’t even lift them.”

“I don’t have to lift them, Y/N; we fill sandbags to exactly 30 kgs each.” He explains and turns to look at you with a you-should-have-knew-that expression.

You decide to step up your game.

“Okay, Lt., what about me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

He raises his index finger at you. “I’m not lifting you.” He states.

“Why not?” You ask, and he goes on to explain how it put him in trouble on a deployment about a decade ago. “Bananas, don’t get offended when you estimate them to be a few grams heavier.” He explains. You promise him you won’t be insulted, and he brings his right hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks to stop you.

“O’ay,” you mutter through your pinched lips, and he lets you go. “See this cardboard box over there?” You ask, and he turns to look in the direction of a big, beige-coloured box on the ground. It’s taped shut and sealed with no hint or label of what it might contain.

“Can you estimate its weight without looking what’s inside the box?” you ask.

He gives a short chuckle and mutters something like “if I can, she asks” under his breath before walking to the box. He tilts his head, trying to estimate its weight by looking at it. He stretches his arms and cracks his knuckles, readying himself for what he’s about to do. He gathers his cargo pants from his thighs, and lowers himself to the ground in a deadlift position, grabbing the box by the handles. He takes a deep breath and pulls the box up with all his might.

But the box turns out to be lighter than you both anticipated, making Ghost lose his balance. He stumbles backwards, his arms flapping as he tries to regain control of his body. In his panic, he forgets to let go of the box which seems to defy gravity, and it flies through the air, driven by the momentum of his fall.

“Lt.!” you yell as you hurry to him, kneeling on the floor, “are you okay, sir?”

He stares at the floor, then at you, then back at the ground. You grab his arm to pull him up, but his ego is too bruised to allow you to do that to him. He gets up on his own and dusts his trousers.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologise, “I had no idea.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest—he looks defensive. “Neither of us knew, soldier,” he says, trying to reassure you, and walks towards the box.

“Huh,” he says as he lifts its flaps. “I fell backwards by a rocket explosion before,” he recalls, “but never by a cardboard box filled with sanitary pads.”

You giggle, and he shakes his head. He picks one of the packages and shows it to you. “Will you need a couple of these during our mission?” He asks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, lowering your eyes to the ground.

He picks up two packs and puts one of them under his arm. “No shame in that, soldier,” he comforts you and shakes the other pack, “these babies almost broke my hip about a minute ago.”

You smile in response—at least he can make a joke out of this uncomfortable situation.

“You’re impressive, Lt.,” you comment, “a walking and breathing human scale.”

“Eh,” he shrugs as he crosses the final items off the list, “it helps with missions and loading up the trucks.”

“Now,” you continue, looking at the boxes you’ve collected for the mission, “how about we fill up the truck before one of us gets hurt in this warzone of a storage unit?”

He lets out a laugh. “Yes, let’s get outta here,” he agrees, “I don’t want to get jumped by a bunch of Kleenex.”

———————————————————————

[austinbutlerslovers]

Obsession

Label Mature 18+

🎃Kinktober One Shot

Summary Betrothed to Feyd-Rautha, the dark and terrifyingly handsome Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, you should be filled with fear, instead you are obsessed with him.

Harkonnen wedding traditions are brutal and cruel, a series of tests meant to prove your undying obedience yet you find yourself giving everything on your wedding night to ensure you are his one true Baroness.

🧡Depraved Smut🧡 foreplay•Dune style stimulation devices•temporary restraints •ovulation stimulator •breeding kink•multiple interchanged sex positions•multiple orgasms

🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proof Reader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consult @burnthheparaphilia 🩸slight mention of blood, Feyds from a chalice for the wedding

Yes 🤤 the unnatural obsession with Feyd is so real

Obsession

Your heart raced as the shuttle descended through the thick, polluted clouds of Geidi Prime, the dark, industrial planet that would soon be your new home. The vast, mechanical landscape stretched below, black and gray, a dystopian sprawl where nothing grew naturally. It was stark, oppressive, and utterly foreign to you—just like the man you were about to marry.

Feyd Rautha Harkonnen. The name alone made your pulse quicken. He was dark, enigmatic, and dangerous, whispered about in terror. The nephew of Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, Feyd was next in line to become the Baron himself, a title that would grant him dominion over the cruel, shadowed world of Geidi Prime and all who lived under his rule.

You had heard of him long before you ever saw him in person. The stories reached your ears like venom, laced with fear and awe. Even on your distant homeworld, far from the brutal politics of Giedi Prime, Feyd’s reputation preceded him.

He was a figure of dark fascination—a Harkonnen prince known for his ruthlessness in the gladiatorial arena and his cunning in the shadows of the political court. But it wasn’t until the day you saw him with your own eyes that the name took on a new, enticing meaning.

The Harkonnens had come to broker a deal with your ruling family—a subtle tightening of their grip over your people. Your father, proud and stern, had never been one to show emotion, but even he couldn’t mask the strain this decision was putting on him.

The meeting was held in the grand hall of your father’s palace. You were present but only as an observer, careful not to draw attention to yourself.

The Baron sat smugly in his chair, Feyd standing just behind him, a dark figure of quiet menace. Every so often, your eyes would dart to Feyd, stealing glances at the way he held himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

His sharp features, the cold intensity in his eyes, but that alone had been enough to stir something dangerous within you.

This was the final and longest of several negotiations, and you could see the tension simmering beneath the surface, the unsaid truths weighing heavily on your father.

He was prepared to give you away as part of this dark, political bargain. The deal had been struck weeks ago, an agreement to cement an alliance with the Harkonnens in exchange for protection and resources…at the cost of your hand in marriage.

Your father’s voice wavered as the meeting wore on. “She is my daughter,” he said, his tone strained. “I want assurances—more than just words.”

The Baron’s smile was a twisted thing, devoid of warmth. “You’ll get what was promised,” he replied, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken threats. “The bargain is set. There’s no going back now.”

That’s when your father’s voice began to escalate torn between the weight of his obligations no longer able to contain his frustration.

“We made the bargain between our planets, yes,” he said, his voice rising, sharp with anger. “But my daughter is a princess—my daughter—and I will not stand by and watch her be treated like some pawn in your twisted games! I want assurances—real assurances—that she will be unharmed!”

The Baron’s smile deepened with a steely coldness as he clasped his hands together. “This is no place for sentiment,” he interrupted. “You’ve already sold her future. You would do well to remember that.”

That is when the discussion escalated, voices from your father and his advisors rising with every point of contention, their frustration growing louder in the face of the now cackling Baron, and then something shifted. The air grew charged, dangerous, and you could feel it coming before anyone else did.

One of your father’s personal guards—a man known for his loyalty, yet prone to impulsiveness—had stepped too close to Feyd, perhaps provoked by the tension in the room. His words had been a sharp insult against the Harkonnens.

You watched, heart pounding, as Feyd moved faster than anyone expected.

With a fluidity that defied his size, Feyd was upon the guard before anyone could blink.

The guard didn’t even have time to react Feyd’s movements were a blur—brutal, efficient, and terrifyingly precise.

In a heartbeat, he slammed the guards head against the table, his knife pressed to the man’s throat, his eyes alight with a cold controlled fury.

There was no hesitation, no moment of indecision. Feyd had claimed dominance in an instant, the guard left shocked he was now under the threat of death.

Feyds control over the situation was absolute. The room held its breath, waiting for him to make the kill, and for a moment—you thought he would.

The room was silent, the only sound the faint rasps of the guard’s breathing under Feyd’s blade.

But Feyd didn’t kill him. Instead, he leaned in close, his voice low and dangerous as he whispered something in the guard’s ear. Whatever it was, you couldn’t hear it, but the look of sheer terror on the guard’s face told you enough.

Feyd withdrew the blade slowly, deliberately, as though savoring the moment. Then, just as quickly as he had attacked, he stepped back, his face returning to a mask of cold indifference.

You had felt your pulse quicken, excitement rushing through you. There was something about him—his precision, his control, the way he could command a room with nothing more than a glance and a blade.

You had heard tales of his brutality, but seeing it in person was different. It was intoxicating. Where others might have felt fear, you felt something else—something far more dangerous.

It was in that moment, as Feyd stepped away from the trembling guard, his gaze sweeping across the room, that his eyes met yours for the first time. The connection was brief, just a flicker, but it was enough. His lips curved ever so slightly, as he stared at you as if he had already claimed you.

There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only the cold certainty that he saw you as his inevitable prize. And yet, the intensity of his focus made it impossible for you to think of anything else. It was almost maddening the way he could make you feel like he already owned you, without ever laying a hand on you and it was the beginning of something darkly inevitable.

He had seen you watching him, and you had seen him for what he truly was—a force of control, of power, of dominance. You had always heard the Harkonnens were dangerous, but it wasn’t until you saw Feyd that day you realized how deeply you craved that danger. And from that moment on, your obsession with him began to grow.

You hadn’t been given a choice in the matter; the day of the marriage ceremony had already been arranged on Giedi Prime.

It was assumed you would be an unwilling captive, terrified of this unhinged manipulative Harkonnen. Everyone warned you to be prepared for the worst, to expect coldness, cruelty—maybe even pain.

But they didn’t know you.

As the shuttle landed, your anticipation only grew, a thrill sparking deep inside you. You were completely obsessed with him now, this future Baron whose reputation was so dark, so cruel. You craved what others feared. And tomorrow, on your wedding night, you would finally be his.

The wedding was a cold, efficient ceremony. The Harkonnen traditions were harsh, foreign to you, but strangely exhilarating.

The current Baron watched carefully, his calculating gaze never leaving you as the guards led you forward to Feyd-Rautha.

The Baron had anticipated seeing you recoil at the sight of his nephew—his cruel sneer already forming as you placed your hand in Feyd’s.

But the excitement that rushed through you as you laid eyes on the tall, imposing Feyd-Rautha was hidden behind a mask of composer. You kept your expression calm, but inside, the thrill of standing next to him, of touching him, surged through you.

You couldn’t wait to be his, your obsession for him building from the moment you laid eyes on him. He was powerful and irresistible, your desire for him deepening with every glance you stole in his direction.

He had barely spoken a word to before the ceremony but his presence sent waves of anticipation through you. He was strong, and intelligent, his angular features making him impossibly attractive in a sinister way.

His blue eyes gleamed with something dark, something dangerous, and you knew instantly you wanted him, all of him, no matter how twisted or cruel he might be.

The procession began at dawn, the sky a sickly red as the first light filtered through the grimy atmosphere of the planet. The ceremonial gown they had chosen for you was unlike any wedding attire you had ever imagined, an artifact of Harkonnen cruelty.

It was not designed for beauty or grace, but to impose dominance, to encase you in the rigid structure of their traditions.

You were sewn into the gown, the black fabric clinging so tightly to your body that it was suffocating in its embrace, your chest the only thing free from the bodice.

The garment was designed to restrain you—to remind you of the life you were about to enter, one ruled by dominance and power.

Feyd, standing at the altar, wore a regal garment—black with crimson accents, the Harkonnen emblem across his chest.

His presence was commanding, his expression cold and unreadable, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, his claim laid into to you long before the ritual even began.

The ceremony itself was a test, not just of loyalty, but of strength, a series of grueling customs meant to solidify the union between you and the Harkonnen House.

The first was a Blood Oath, an ancient Harkonnen tradition that required both partners to spill their blood as a symbol of their commitment, not just to each other, but to the house itself.

A ceremonial blade was presented to Feyd, its edge gleaming dangerously in the low light of the grand hall.

Feyds blood was the first to be offered,a symbol of his dominance and control, and you felt your breath quicken as you watched.

Feyd sliced a shallow cut across his palm, the dark blood pooling in his hand. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no sign of pain—just the cold, calculated determination you had come to expect from him.

You had known this moment was coming, had steeled yourself for it, and yet when he reached for your hand, the weight of the ritual suddenly became far more real.

Feyd’s grip on your hand was firm, his fingers wrapping around yours pulling your hand over the chalice. The cold steel of the blade brushed against your skin, and Feyds eyes searched yours for any hint of fear or hesitation, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away.

The blade hovered just above your palm, the sharp edge gleaming as Feyd pressed it gently against your skin. You could feel the pressure, the promise of pain, and then, with one swift motion, the blade sliced through the delicate skin of your hand.

The sting was immediate, sharp and precise, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to narrow down to that single point of contact.

You gasped softly, the sound barely audible in the silence of the hall, as warm blood began to trickle from the cut. It slid down your fingers in slow, deliberate streams, mingling with Feyd’s blood as it dripped into the chalice below. The crimson liquid swirled together, yours bright red, his dark and thick, a tangible symbol of the bond you had just forged.

Your heart raced, the steady thrum of it loud in your ears as you locked eyes with Feyd again.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of what had just transpired settled heavily over you, as though the air itself had thickened.

You were no longer two individuals. You were bound by blood, by ritual, by something far deeper than any wedding ceremony could signify.

Feyd held your gaze a moment longer, the intensity between you almost suffocating, before he finally let go of your hand. The cut still throbbed, the blood still trickled down your skin, but the pain was secondary now— your fate had just been sealed.

The chalice, filled with the mingling blood, was lifted by the Baron as your hands were mended, a cold twisted grin of satisfaction playing at the corners of his lips as he inspected the contents. He swirled the blood together, indistinguishable now, just as your fates had become.

“You are one now,” the Baron rasped, his voice carrying a note of finality. “Bound in blood, as it should be.”

He offered the chalice to Feyd, who drank from it readily, his throat moving as he swallowed. You watched intently, your heartbeat quickening, knowing you were next.

Feyd offered the chalice to you held in both hands. His eyes bore into yours, filled with expectation and a dark intensity, silently urging you to drink. There was something in his gaze—commanding, almost daring—as if he needed to see you do it, to watch you take part in this ritual that bound you to him.

Determined to honor his custom, you took the chalice from his hands into your own and did not look at what you drank, only swiftly bringing the edge to your lips.

Just a swallow—and immediately, you knew Feyd’s blood was different, like ink spreading along your tongue, the metallic taste thick and lingering, refusing to dissipate just like this moment, you would never soon forget.

But it wasn’t enough to simply give your blood.

The next custom was known as the Trial of Chains, an ordeal designed to test your endurance and your willingness to submit to the will of House Harkonnen.

You were led to the center of the hall, where an iron structure loomed—a symbolic relic of Harkonnen dominance. Heavy, dark chains were draped over your arms and shoulders. You were forced to stand, unmoving, while the Baron himself recited a list of oaths you would take.

The weight of the chains grew unbearable with each passing moment, your muscles straining under the pressure, but you knew that showing weakness was not an option.

Every Harkonnen wedding had this trial, a display to prove the new spouse’s fortitude. Failure meant dishonor, and in some cases, death.

As the trial continued, Feyd watched you closely, his eyes scanning your every movement, gauging whether you would falter.

But you did not. Despite the heaviness of the chains, despite the cold sweat that began to form on your brow, you stood still, the weight nothing compared to the determination to please him.

By the time the Baron finished the oaths, you felt as though the chains had become a part of you—symbols of the power and control you had willingly accepted.

The last and most chilling custom was The Binding of the Will, a psychological test unique to the Harkonnen lineage.

A dark room was prepared beneath the Grand Hall, filled with a hypnotic scent that that made your lungs feel heavy with every breath.

A veil was placed upon your head, its fabric heavy and oppressive. It was made from a black intricate fabric that seemed to shimmer faintly in the low light. It was woven with delicate, sinister patterns—symbols of submission, of ancient power.

The weight of the veil was almost suffocating, obscuring your vision slightly, casting everything around you in a dim, distorted haze.

You could feel its texture against your skin, cold and unyielding, a physical reminder of the role you were about to play.

You were made to kneel on a white cold stone altar, your knees resting on the unyielding surface as you felt the weight of the veil draped over your head.

Feyd took his place in front of you and you were left alone together in the dimly lit room.

In the heavy silence, you could hear your own shallow breathing, loud and uneven beneath the heavy veil.

Each breath felt more labored, the weight of the ritual and the veil combining to stir a slight panic in your chest.

For a brief moment, it felt overwhelming—the room, the ritual, the weight of the fabric that seemed to trap you in place. But then, through the haze of the veil, you caught sight of Feyd’s eyes.

He was watching you, his gaze almost reverent for what you had endured, and that look alone—anchored you to him.

His hand reached for yours, lightly tracing his finger along your outstretched palm.

It was something you somehow knew was against tradition, against his customs, and yet you couldn’t help but smile at him, utterly enamored.

He met your eyes, and there was a flicker of satisfaction in them, a possessive gleam that held you in place. Then, just as quickly, his hand slipped away, clasped behind his back.

The doors to the room slowly opened as an ancient Harkonnen master entered draped in a cloak of shadows.

In his hands he held a metal prism. His movements were slow and paced, his form almost blending into the darkness that surrounded him.

He approached Feyd offering him the prism without a word which Feyd accepted with reverence bringing it to his forehead before lowering it to his chest.

It was an old relic ancient even, passed down through generations of Harkonnens, The dark, polished surface gleamed under the low light.

Feyd then brought the prism toward you and under your veil. His hand was steady as he pressed a hidden mechanism. With a soft click, the panels unfolded and a cloud of smoke plumed from it.

You tried not to inhale it, but the smoke found its way into your lungs thick and sweet with every shallow breath.

Slowly a warmth began to seep into your veins, spreading inch by inch through your body, a creeping sensation, as though something dark was settling inside you, rooting itself deep within.

You softly gasped as everything around you blurred, the room seeming to shift and warp before your eyes, becoming both infinite and claustrophobic all at once.

Your limbs grew heavy, but your mind floated away, detached from the physical weight of your body.

The air was no longer suffocating but welcoming, each breath drawing you deeper into a dreamlike haze.

Feyd watched you closely until your head lulled your eyes fluttering, then he closed the lid removing the prism.

The master began speaking a series of words in a language you didn’t recognize, words that held a strange, almost hypnotic power.

The words, when spoken, worked deep into your mind, attempting to root out your fears, your weaknesses, and plant a binding suggestion that you would never defy the will of your husband, nor the Harkonnen family.

This binding wasn’t meant to break your spirit completely, but rather to tether it—making sure that, while you might fight or resist, you would always come back, always remain under his control.

The master’s voice was a low, droning chant, and with every word, you felt an eerie surge of calm settle over you, as though the very air was wrapping around your mind, coaxing it to bend.

By the end of the ritual, you felt a strange sense of liberation and captivity.

You had passed every test, met every challenge. You had shown them that you were worthy to stand beside Feyd Rautha, but in doing so, you had also surrendered a part of yourself to the darkness that was the Harkonnen legacy.

As the ceremony concluded, Feyd stepped toward you, the cold, calculating look in his eyes replaced with something deeper, more genuine. He took your hands in his, and though the touch was possessive, you felt a connection, a burning energy between you.

The Baron watched from the shadows as Feyd removed the veil, his lips curling into a twisted smile. You had passed the tests and now you belonged to Feyd-Rautha, bound by blood, chains, and will.

As you walked together from the hall, the dark traditions of the Harkonnen now coursing through your veins, you realized you had entered their world, and you would never leave it.

The moment the heavy doors of the ceremonial mating chambers closed behind you, the air between you shifted, the atmosphere thickening with unspoken tension.

Feyd’s eyes bore into you, calculating what he do with you now that you were alone.

His dark gaze made your pulse quicken, and you could feel the anticipation thrumming through your veins.

“You enjoyed the ceremony, didn’t you?” Feyd’s voice asks with a low rasp, as he took a slow step toward you, his strong frame towering over yours.

“You are the first bride to complete it,” he reveals, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

You meet his gaze without flinching, though a strange haze clouds your thoughts, a light sweat dampening your skin.

Whatever they had given you during the ceremony still lingers in your body, making everything feel distant and sharp all at once.

Your heart races with your limbs feeling heavy and light at the same time but a dangerous, daring look flickers in your eyes.

“Maybe I am not like most brides.” You respond the words slipping from your lips.

A wicked smile tugs at the corner of Feyds lips with intrigue. “No, I suppose you’re not,” he says, his eyes dark with something unspoken as he watches you, his gaze lingering on the subtle glisten of your skin.

He moves closer, his hand suddenly gripping your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

His touch is firm, possessive, his fingers cold against your skin, but it only makes you crave more.

“Do you know what’s expected of you tonight?” he asks, his voice low and dark, watching the way your eyes flutter slightly under the heavy weight of opium coursing through your veins from the ritual.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

Something flickers in Feyd’s eyes—interest, surprise—and a slight grin forms at the corner of his lips.

“On your knees,” he says, his voice low and commanding. His tone leaves no room for hesitation, and your legs move of their own accord, sinking into the cold black stone floor beneath you.

Feyd takes his time, circling you , assessing you. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, as the anticipation increases within you, your skin prickling with both fear and excitement.

“You think you understand what tonight is,” he muses, stopping behind you. His fingers sliding into your hair, pulling gently at first, then sharply enough to yank your head back making you cry out.

“Pleasure and pain” he says softly releasing your hair. “Because only through one can you fully experience the other.”

Your heart races as he leaves your side, pressing a button that makes a sleek ledge rise from the floor. When it reaches the desired height, a lid slides back, revealing several items on its surface.

You can’t see what he’s selecting, but the soft clink of metal makes your breath catch in your throat, sending a wave of anticipation coursing through you.

He returns, standing before you once more, and in his hands, he holds two items—one, a smooth handled device with a phallic tip that that glints menacingly in the dim light, and the other, a small, polished stone that pulses with a faint, white inner glow.

His lips curl into a smirk as he crouches down to meet your eye level.

“Do you know what these are?” he asks the question rhetorical as you look at each object.

“No” you breathe looking up to him.

“These will show me everything I need to know about you—how much you can take before you break.” He grins.

He manipulates the handled phallic device turning it on with a quiet hum that makes your nerves tingle. Without warning, he lifts your gown pressing the phallic tip between your legs against your clit, its vibrations intense and immediate.

Your body jerks at the sensation, your muscles tightening against the onslaught of stimulation. Feyd’s eyes darken as he watches you struggle to maintain control, your hips rocking as you begin to give in.

“You will stay still,” he commands, his voice laced with authority. “No matter how much you want to move, you will stay right here until I say otherwise.”

You stifle yourself as the device steadily hums against you, its pulsing rhythm sending waves of pleasure through your body teasing the edges of your desire, leaving you aching for more.

Feyd watches every twitch of your body, every slight movement of your hips as you try, unsuccessfully, to remain still, enduring the pleasure. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, savoring your frustration as your arousal drips from the device onto the floor.

You want to scream in pleasure, and just when you think you can’t handle any more, Feyd reaches for the glowing stone. The warmth radiating from it as he places it against your chest where it remains in place without his touch.

A sudden, electric current emits from the stone, shooting through your chest, igniting every nerve ending in your body. It is unlike anything you have ever felt before —and the dual stimulation of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm your senses.

The vibrations from the device meld with the energy from the stone, sending jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through your body. Your muscles tense and weaken under the unrelenting stimulation, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as each wave of sensation builds, layer upon layer, until you’re trembling in desperation.

“Not yet,” Feyd whispers as his hands finally began to roam over your body. His fingers grazing your constricting gown with approval, amplifying the sensation of the two forces at work within you. He is testing you, pushing you to the edge, but will not allow you to fall.

His hand grasps your chin tilting your face upwards to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, and tonight, you’ll learn what that means.” He says looking at you with a grin, his black smile so seductive you involuntarily moan for him.

He twists the handled device between your legs, forcing the phallus inside of you. The onslaught of pleasure is relentless, its rhythm changing every time you think you might get used to the intensity.

The stone on your chest begins sending sharper pulses of pain through you, alternating with the vibrations, each shock more intense than the last.

You try to stay still, try to obey, but your body starts betraying you. Your hips move involuntarily with the device, and a low tsk from Feyd tells you he has noticed and is displeased.

His hand is suddenly in your hair, yanking your head back, his other hand pressing the stone harder against your chest, making the sensation intolerable as you wince in pain.

“If you come you will be punished ” he rasps darkly, his voice sharp in the silence of the room.

“But if you last I will please you greatly.” He says releasing the stones intensity. “But until then, you will endure” he commands.

His words send a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, the challenge in his tone igniting something deep within. His test pushing you, daring you to prove yourself to him.

His hand begins to stroke your chin as you look up to him tears brimming your eyes faint cries rolling from your lips as you endure.

He revels in your torment, the way your body does not react to what he knows is agonizing you in the most pleasurable way.

The sensations start to become too much, your entire body feels as if it’s on fire, each pulse from the stone, each vibration from the device driving you closer and closer to the edge of madness as a startling sound rips from your throat.

And then, as if knowing you are breaking, Feyd yanks the stone from your chest, now intensely glowing red as you fall to the floor gasping and trembling.

The metallic device still pulses inside of you, amplifying only the pleasure which now floods your body and the intensity is unlike anything you’ve ever felt—so extreme it feels like it’s tearing through you.

Unable to hold back any longer, you feel your body finally give in. Every muscle tightens as your thighs tremble uncontrollably and a shudder runs through as you gasp against the floor.

Feyd watches you closely, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction as you come, your body quivering until you finally go limp, completely spent.

He waits for a moment, savoring the sight of you laid before him, your chest rising and falling as you pant, utterly drained.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he reaches for the handle of the device, gripping it firmly.

His movements are controlled and methodical, as he pulls it out of you, the sound of it leaving your body echoes in the stillness of the room, the slick, drenched surface glistening under the low light.

You lie there, weak and breathless, every nerve in your body still on fire from the intensity of what you’ve just experienced.

Feyd slowly grabs a blade from the table, his eyes never leaving yours as he kneels over you, the cold steel gleaming menacingly in his grasp.

The sight of the blade sends a shiver of anticipation through you as Feyd brings it closer to your body, his smile dark and dangerous. His hand traces the lines of the dress, sewn tightly against you, a symbol of the Harkonnen dominance.

“This dress was made to bind you,” he rasps, the blade gleaming in his hand. “When I cut you free, you are mine entirely.” He reveals as he lowers the blade.

His movements are deliberate, calculated, and when the sharp edge of the blade touches the fabric of your gown, you can feel your heart beat quicken.

With a slow, precise motion, he drags the blade through the fabric, the sound of tearing cloth echoing in the stillness of the room.

The gown gives way easily under the sharp edge, the fabric splitting open in precise lines that expose your skin inch by inch. He carves through the material with deliberate precision, freeing you from its confines.

As the last of the gown falls away, you inhale deeply, no longer constricted by the fabric that bound you, the cool air of the room inviting against your bare skin.

Every inch of you is exposed to Feyd, the sensation sharp and invigorating, heightening the awareness of your vulnerability beneath him.

Feyd smirks as he looks down at you, his blade in hand, fully aware of the power he holds over you.

His eyes linger on your nakedness, and you can see the way his desire intensifies, the subtle shift in his expression betraying how aroused he is.

His gaze travels over you with an almost possessive satisfaction, taking in every inch of you knowing you are his to command.

“I will breed you now,” he says, his fingers brushing your skin, just lightly enough to drive you mad. “And you will come for me many times before dawn.”

He stands over you, his dominance absolute, his eyes never leaving yours as he places the blade upon the table.

He removes his ceremonial garments, pulling and unclasping each piece from his body until he’s fully revealed. Beneath the dim light, the chiseled lines of his physique are striking—each muscle sharply defined, his body sculpted with raw strength and power.

His broad shoulders and chest taper down to a trim waist, the smooth, hairless perfection of his skin highlighting the contours of his abs and the hard lines of his arms.

His pale skin gleams under the dim light, his presence is overwhelming, his body a masterpiece of raw strength and dominance.

Your gaze travels down his body, exploring every inch with growing anticipation. When your eyes settle on the impressive size of his cock, you are filled with awe. The pink tip stands proudly from the thick, veined length of his shaft, and you can’t help but feel a surge of reverence, even honor, knowing that he intends to claim you.

Feyd is a force—ruthless, calculating, powerful and the knowledge that you now belong to him fills you with anticipation and desire.

He takes your arms, pulling you from the floor with a firm grip, and presses you down onto the cold, smooth surface of the mating altar.

The slick texture beneath your back sends a shiver through you, amplifying your sense of submission and vulnerability.

Without a word, he grasps your ankle, guiding it into a stirrup, securing it firmly before doing the same with the other.

Your legs are spread apart, knees bent, leaving you completely vulnerable to him. The air feels heavy as Feyd stands before you, his gaze dark and possessive, ready to take what is his.

His hand trails down your body, possessive and slow. “Tonight, you’ll know exactly what it means to belong to me,” he muses, his voice laced with dark promise.

Without breaking his gaze from yours, he presses a button, opening a small compartment on the panel at the foot of the alter pulling out a sleek syringe.

It faintly glows as he dispenses a translucent gel onto his fingers, the substance shimmering slightly in the dim light.

Feyds eyes are dark and calculating, as he slowly reaches between your legs, his fingers moving with deliberate precision.

His touch is cold at first, the gel slick as it coats his fingers, and with a slow, measured motion, he begins to slick it along your folds, his fingers tracing with meticulous care.

Feyd smirks as he softly spreads the gel between your legs, his eyes dark and calculating. “A special preparation, designed to ensure the legacy.” He says pressing his fingers against your entrance.

Then without hesitation he pushes his fingers inside of you, the gel cool and slick heightening every sensation.

“The Harkonnen lineage demands results,” he says, his tone filled with authority, “and I will make sure you fulfill that role.”

He slowly glides them deeper into you, the gel’s slickness easing their penetration. He watches you closely, his expression unreadable as his fingers move with a precision that makes you fully aware this is only the beginning of what he has planned.

His fingers reach a depth that makes you instinctively tighten around him, then he pushes slightly further, finding that perfect place as sudden a gentle ache begins pulsing on both sides of your core.

He pulls his fingers back possessively, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Another night, I will waste you entirely this way,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “But tonight is ensuring you belong to me, body, mind, and future.” He reveals his gaze deep with determination at the thought of owning every part of you.

The wedding night has only just begun, and already, you are his—completely and utterly his to control.

He runs his hands affectionately down your trapped legs, the touch unexpectedly soft, savoring the moment. His fingers trail along your skin, leaving a path of warmth in their wake, before he grips your legs firmly, holding them in place.

“You will fulfill your role as Baroness” he says with a slow, deliberate motion as he settles between your legs his weight pressing down on you.

“Your body will serve me in ways that will bind you to me forever.” he says almost to himself as his fingertips slowly trail along your cheek.

His gaze is deep, penetrating, as if he’s looking into your very soul, claiming you before a single word is spoken.

You reach up, grabbing hold of Feyd’s neck pulling him down, your lips pressing against his in a heated desperate kiss.

The boldness of your action surprises him, a low sound of approval escaping his throat as your body presses against his, your breaths mingling together.

You kiss him harder, your fingers digging into his neck, your desperation undeniable. “Now,” you whisper between breaths, “I want—I want all of you, now Feyd”

Feyd pulls back slightly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

“You will have all of me, and more than you know how to handle.” he rasps, his voice certain.

Then, without another word, he positions himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand as he strokes it, squeezing to the tip until pre-cum beads at the slit.

The intensity in his gaze never leaves yours as he takes his time pressing his large cock into you. He’s agonizingly slow, making sure you feel every ridge, every vein as your body stretches around him.

You moan in pleasure your grasp tightening onto his neck “Yes,” you breathe out, your voice trembling as he pushes deeper, “yes, yes,” the words slipping from your lips as he begins to thrust into you, the fullness of his cock overwhelming in its size exactly what you craved.

His grin only deepens as he takes you, savoring the moment, “I thought you’d resist…—fight against your new role…—but here you are, begging for it.” He says on every push of his hips.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to contain the rush of sensation. “Yes, I want it.”

His smirk deepens, black teeth gleaming as he sets a relentless pace into you.

Your vision blurs, the room spinning as your mind struggles to process the sheer intensity of what’s happening.

The wedding night is unlike anything you had imagined, and yet, it was everything you craved.

Feyd was unhinged, just as they had warned you: possessive, controlling, his thrusts rough and intoxicating, every part of your body fulfilled, pushing you to your limits.

Your moans of his name are so loud he thinks he is breaking you, pushing you too far, but he didn’t know you.

Every time he pushes harder, you revel it, moaning his name, craving more. The harder he breeds you, the more you respond, your body meeting his every thrust, your breathless gasps filling the room.

Feyd’s eyes widen as he realizes what is happening—that you are in pleasure, as unhinged as he is, that you crave the same intensity he does. A grin spreads across his face, wild and dangerous and he leans in, pressing his lips to your ear.

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” you gasp, your nails digging into his back, pulling him closer. “I want more Feyd.”

Something shifts in him hearing those words, his expression darkening with pleasure. He grips your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looms above you, his breath hot and heavy.

“You’re more resilient than I thought,” he reveals with a grin his voice filled with both awe and approval.

“I will give you what you desire” he says his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction, as if this unexpected strength only fuels his desire to push you further.

He watches you with a heated, intense gaze, his eyes dark with hunger as his hips snap forward, driving his deepest inside you.

The world narrows to just that moment—the raw, intensifying pleasure that feels too much, too good.

Each thrust after sends shockwaves through your body, and you can feel yourself unraveling, the sensation in your veins too powerful to contain.

Your breaths catch as your mouth opens in desperate moan, your eyes locking with Feyd, the way he takes you wracking your body in ways you never thought possible.

The sensation is dizzying, overwhelming, pushing you right to the edge of sanity. You can barely think, your mind clouded, altered, willing to surrender everything just to have more of him, more of this.

He continues to thrust his hardest, the force of his cock sending a tidal wave of ecstasy that crashes through, leaving you trembling, breathless.

Your body can no longer keep up with the intensity, and every nerve is on fire as you fall, completely undone, spiraling into bliss as everything inside you clenches tight, then releases in a flood of sensation that leaves you gasping.

Feyd feels you clenching on him as he stares into your eyes watching a strangled moan escape your lips, your body shaking as you come.

As your walls tighten around him, his control wavers, his face softening with a raw, unguarded intensity. His hands grip you tighter, fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to keep from completely falling apart. A low, primal sound emits from his throat, rough and strained, as he fights to maintain control.

You look up into his eyes, meeting that fierce, possessive gaze, and in that instant, something shifts. The warmth of his come spreads deep inside you, filling you with a sense of completeness that takes your breath away. You gasp, the moment overwhelming, binding you to him in a way words could never convey.

His hold tightens further, a silent claim, sealing the connection between you, leaving no doubt that you are his—now and always.

Before the aftershocks have even faded, you already crave him again, desperate for more, for him to fill you and take you over and over again until there’s nothing left but pleasure.

“-Please…” you beg him feeling the heat in your body remain.

Feyd chuckles, low and dark, his voice heavy with satisfaction as his lips brush against your ear, “I’ve completely wrecked you… and you still want more.” His hand cups your face, forcing your eyes to meet his, the smirk on his lips wicked.

“You’d do anything, for me wouldn’t you?” He asks pulling his cock back, just enough to make you feel the loss. “And I’m just getting started.”

The night continues, a blur of pleasure and pain, of control and surrender. Feyd pushes you further than you thought possible your obsession with him deepening with every new position.

He releases you from your restraints flipping onto your front and taking you again, his hands pinning your arms to the mat. The tension between his grip and the rhythm of his thrusts building until you come, trembling beneath him.

He pulls you back on your hands and knees his hand firmly at the back of your neck pressing your face into the mat. His hips driving into you from behind, each thrust harder than the last, until he finally comes satisfied with his release deep within you.

He brings you on all fours his fingers teasing your clit to work you faster as you push back against him until you come together.

He pulls you into his lap, hands cupping your breasts his mouth drawing new waves of pleasure from your core as he leans in to suck on each one. You ride him hard, feeling the heat between you growing until you shatter in his arms.

And as the night goes on, position after position you realize he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him.

He has found someone who can match his intimacy, someone who craves the same things he does, and it thrills him to no end.

By the time dawn breaks over the cold, industrial landscape of Geidi Prime, you lay together, your bodies spent, his arm draped possessively over you. His eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he looks down at you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin.

“You surprised me,” he says, his voice softer now more affectionate. “I didn’t think you could handle me. But you did… and more.”

You smile, feeling a sense of victory, of pride. “I told you… I am not like most brides.”

Feyd chuckles, his lips brushing against your temple. “You will make a fine Baroness for me.” He says, with a deep sense of satisfaction.

“I will have you as my Baron many times,” you whisper, the words sending a thrill through you. You had craved him, all of him—his strength, his control, his darkness. And now, you had it.

Feyd smiles down at you, his fingers brushing along your hair. “Good.” He says his voice a dark satisfied rasp. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

🎃 END 🎃

🔗 Master List

🏷️ Always Tag Me List @burnthheparaphilia @purejasmine @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @lindszeppelin @abswifey @ausssbutlershortstories @magicovento @umika @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @psycheetamore @aust-een @faegoddessog @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @hardcoredisneynerd @thegabbyh @eternal-love @steph-speaks @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @elvismylove04 @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @meetmeatyourworst @ughdontbeboring @avidreader73 @12joeywheelerfangirl @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @feralgodmothers @finley-08 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @majestyjade @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @ifuckindontknow @kaelatargaryen @darknightmareobject

⚔️ Feyd Rautha Tag List

@rougegenshin @maloribarnes1999 @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @skinny-baby-4eva @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @moonsoulk @sophroniaclark @emeraldsgirl @cooliosthings @mcmisbehaving @dunevitaniu

[jelloooverse]

in my yhk stupid era

[ID: An Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint comic. Kim Dokja says curiously, "I wonder how Lee Seolhwa and Yoo Joonghyuk are doing..." and Shin Yoosung perks up and exclaims, "Ah!" She pulls out her phone to show a picture of Seolhwa smiling and holding hands with a blank figure labeled Y/N and exclaims, "Ahjusshi! I heard that Seolhwa unnie is dating someone! they went on vacation. "I don’t know about Joonghyuk ahjusshi though...)"

Dokja, a shadow stretching from him, says, "Oh. I see." Behind him is a collage of imagined Dokjas looking despairing over a broken heart containing a smiling Joonghyuk and Seolhwa, overlaid with the all-caps text "OTP is dead?"

Shin Yoosung cheerily waves, "Bye ahjussi!" and Dokja pensively contemplates, "..but if Yoo Joonghyuk isn't with Lee Seolhwa then..." He imagines Joonghyuk surrounded by sparkles and with his chest bared and thinks, "Maybe his personality could use some work.. But with his looks he'd be dating someone by now, right..?"

He then looks with surprise over a corner to encounter a sparkle-surrounded scene of Joonghyuk and Han Sooyoung with their heads leaned together. Joonghyuk looks down at Sooyoung soulfully while she laughs with a hand on his chest. Dokja hides behind the wall and wonders with shock, "With... HAN SOOYOUNG?!" Behind him, the real Joonghyuk and Sooyoung are arguing, looking annoyed and aggravated.

Dokja, sweating, goes, "No, that's... hard to imagine working out.." and envisions Sooyoung crossing her arms and exclaiming "Yoo Joonghyuk! You're an annoying prick!" plus Joonghyuk glaring "Han Sooyoung. You are intolerable." to equal cartoony versions of them being "lovey dovey" and sharing a censored kiss. A cartoony, flustered Dokja waves the thought away.

Then he looks back and thinks, "Well, if they're happy then.. I'll be a little lenient on our company's no dating policy..." He later walks in behind them to catch Sooyoung saying, "Blah blah that's fucking dumb. Right, Kim Dokja?" Dokja, looking disinterested, replies, "ugh, leave me out of your lover's quarrel."

Sooyoung turns to him with incredulous disbelief and raises a middle finger. "Shut the hell up??" Dokja grins, laughs, and returns her middle finger while Joonghyuk emits a question mark.

Then Dokja looks at his phone before beginning to grin increasingly obnoxiously as he says, "Should I leave you two alone this time, haha. Am I your guys' third wheel again? It's okay, I don't wanna get between you two! (Get a room alreadyy.)"

Sooyoung and Joonghyuk look at each other silently, Sooyoung looking bewildered and exasperated and Joonghyuk with his eyes coolly raised. Sooyoung runs a hand through her hair and says, "..Kim Dokja, did you develop a new strain of idiot?" Joonghyuk, looking put-upon, says, "A common case for him." Dokja looks offended before they both move around him, and Dokja goes "What-" as Sooyoung takes hold of his coat.

Sooyoung kisses Dokja on the cheek, leaving him blank with shock. Joonghyuk takes Dokja's chin to kiss his other cheek. Dokja is left standing small and comically stunned against a white backdrop.

The last panel simply shows icons of their heads. Sooyoung asks, "Hey, can we just order chicken for dinner this time?" and Joonghyuk frowns, "No. I already prepared for tonights dinner." Sooyoung shouts an incoherent "UGHGGH" of frustration. Dokja still looks shellshocked. End ID]

[gatheringbones]

[“I told my mother I thought I might be trans in a lengthy and overly apologetic email, which she didn’t quite know how to respond to. From her perspective, my transition had popped up out of nowhere, with no prior warning signs. She was convinced I had been brainwashed into transitioning, and agreed to meet my counsellor for a joint meeting with me, primarily to meet the person she felt had brainwashed her child into transitioning.

My mother describes her first meeting with me presenting as Laura as very difficult for her, due in no small part to her inability to see me as anything but her very traditionally masculine son in a dress. For a while she knew but did not talk to my father, which she found very difficult. She told me years later that she went through a period of mourning, feeling like her child had died, and that she was left with a stranger she did not know. It put a lot of strain on her, and on our relationship as parent and child.

Why the assumption I was brainwashed? Because of autism infantilisation.

Before we talk more about my journey coming out as transgender, we have to rewind a little bit to something else that went on at around the same point in my life: my diagnosis of Asperger’s. By the time my mother attended that appointment and met me as Laura for the first time, I had already been diagnosed with Asperger’s, which was part of the reason she was so worried about me. She was not aware of any statistical link between autism and gender dysphoria, and in her eyes I was a vulnerable young person with an autism spectrum condition who was being manipulated into transition because I was easily swayed, or lacking in ability to assess my feelings on the matter properly for myself. This is depressingly common: an adult’s assumption that having an autism spectrum condition means you’re incapable of proper self-understanding, or that you’re susceptible to being manipulated into believing things about yourself that you did not previously. You’re not trusted as being of sound mind to make choices about your own life, out of fear you’ve been manipulated.

Speaking to my mother years later, now she has somewhat settled down and got used to me going by Laura and female pronouns, she told me that her biggest fear, and the primary reason she agreed to attend that first joint session together, was that, as a youth with Asperger’s, my therapist was influencing me into believing that I was trans. She feared it was some kind of brainwashing that my gullible mind could not resist the allure of, rather than believing my own account of what I was experiencing.

I also faced this same issue with doctors when trying to access medical support through the NHS. I would have general practitioners, mental health doctors and gender specialists alike raise an eyebrow when I acknowledged my Asperger’s diagnosis, and then proceed to take plenty of extra time asking me lengthy questions about how my autism symptoms manifested, to ensure I was of sound enough mind to make permanent choices about my body. Apart from the obvious infantilisation of people with conditions like Asperger’s on display there, I always just explained it as being like the decision to get a tattoo. I am an adult, over the age of 18, who has been deemed sober and mentally sound, and as such I have every right to permanently inject colours into my skin that may never go away. Why should I not be trusted to take slow-acting meds that are somewhat easier to reverse? Still, the fact I had to fight to be believed that I was mentally sound enough to make that choice says a lot about misunderstandings about autism spectrum conditions, but highlights that to assert that transition is unique in the permanent nature of its change to the body is completely inaccurate.”]

laura kate dale, from uncomfortable labels: my life as a gay autistic trans woman

[sorrowfulrosebud]

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙: 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔥 ℌ𝔬𝔟𝔦𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔶𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡

𝕲𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔪𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔶

༺ 𝕱𝖑𝖚𝖋𝖋 ༻

❦ Hobie is 10000% the boyfriend who kisses the insides of your wrist. Imagine smushing his cheeks together to tease him and he turns the tables by pressing gentle kisses to each pulse point

❦ Loves to send you selfies of the villains he beats up with goofy captions and him posing

❦ Introduces you to his friends at the pub, proudly showing you off

❦ Then proceeds to drunkenly ramble to said friends, arm tight around your shoulder with a protective hand over your drink

❦ Is an incredible cook when he wants to make something special for you, but otherwise makes low effort meals

❦ He loves to tickle your sides when he’s behind you. He comes over to you from behind under the guise of wanting a cuddle, but a devilish grin appears as he presses his long fingers into your sides, making you ugly chortle and shove him away

❦ Hobie would 10000% do the spiderman kiss with you

❦ Protective as FUCK but doesn't show it outwardly. Like, you’ll be walking down the street and some guy would cat call you, but Hobie doesn’t say anything. His grip on your shoulder gets tighter, and it’s not till he comes back past midnight with a bloodied lip do you feel pride flush your chest

❦ He lets you sit on his lap in bed as you do his eyeliner for his upcoming show. Gentle fingers rub against your hip as he looks at you with hooded eyes, letting you smudge his eyeliner. He looks at you with a charming grin, “thanks babe,” he’d say as he kisses you deeply

❦ Hobie lets you pick his nail polish colour and watches you delicately apply it to his nails. He thinks it's adorable when your tongue sticks out in concentration or when you nibble on your lip

❦ He invites the rest of the spidey squad to come to his dimension to play cards and other games, having you sat in his lap the entire time. If you’re playing poker or something, he nudges you in an attempt to silently communicate what he should pick. He gives you the occasional discreet kiss as Gwen cackles at Pav winning go fish over Miles

❦ Soft, classical music is NOT his style at all, so don't expect him to start playing Ed Sheeran on a regular guitar. If you struggle to fall asleep, he sets you on his tummy and makes patterns on your back based on the way his fingers would position themselves on his guitar

❦ He loves causing chaos with you, be it spray painting a Winston Churchill poster or statue of another bigot, or blasting his guitar near MPs houses, he loves it when you’re there, smiling happily with him

❦ DEFINITELY THE BF TO SMACK YOUR ASS. I SAID WHAT I SAID

❦ Doesn't have a set nickname for you, usually a play on your name or “luv”

❦ The type of bf who gets really invested in his S/O’s drama. Like you could be sat sipping tea, rambling about how this bitch tried to make you feel like shit and he’s just sat proudly like “oh yah? Then what’d you do babe?” With the dopiest ass look on his face

❦ Really stinking cute when drunk. Full on ambling into his flat, making you take care of him. Loves when you clean his piercings and rub off his eyeliner

❦ “Mf, thanks babe. Eyeliner makin’ it difficult to go to sleep,” he mumbles as you prop him upright on the bed. You roll your eyes fondly as you clean him up and start cleaning his piercings

❦ Thinks it's funny as fuck to make you smell his crust jacket. Punks are known to have jackets and not wash them to make them look as grunge as possible and Hobie is no different (bc fuck consistency)

༺𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖘𝖙༻

ఌ Is really stand-offish at the start of your relationship. His dislike for labels put a strain on your relationship; he would kiss you and make you feel loved, and then rip your heart out by saying you’re just friends to his pub mates

ఌ Struggles to fully take things seriously. You could be arguing over something and Hobie would just smirk, making the anger boil over. He doesn’t do it to emasculate or intimidate you, he just thinks it’s cute when you’re so passionate. This has definitely caused some worse arguments and either of you storming out

ఌ Definitely struggles with time and dates. If you arrange a date and he’s Spider-Punkin’ that day, be prepared to walk home and cry after waiting so long that the owners of the restaurant have to gently nudge you away

ఌ It can be seen as angsty or horny, but if you’re trying to start a fight or fussing over him when he’s tired, he’s not above shooting his web at your mouth to shut you up

ఌ Is low-key petrified every time he can’t get hold of you if you’re apart. He doesn’t want your death to become another canon event for him, so days where his anxiety manifest into something way deeper, he keeps you either at arms length or doesn’t let you out of his sight

ఌ Can actually be really mean in arguments if pushed far enough. Man is all for communication, but days where his mental health is struggling are usually days where his temper is short. He does his best to communicate to you that he’s not doing great but is physically fine and just needs some time, but if you keep pushing then he knows where to hit deep. (This is so so incredibly rare though)

ఌ Unintentionally gives you the silent treatment after an argument. If you had a really bad fight and he is still trying to cool off, he is in no mood to talk to anyone. I may be projecting, but I imagine Hobie is the type of person to need to be completely left alone to cool off and gets really upset again if someone tries to ask. He always wants to answer your text but sometimes forgets

ఌ Doesn’t let on but sometimes he has really bad nightmares from his role as protector of London. Sometimes it’s you getting hurt and sometimes it’s him. Either way, he wakes up in cold sweats and immediately feels for you before sighing in relief.

“Hi sweetheart, are you alright? You kept making noises in your sleep,” you murmur to him. Hobie’s eyes fluttered slightly before sinking back under the duvet with a sigh.

“Ughhhh, yeah. ‘M fine babe, jus’ a stupid bad dream,” he mutters, throwing his arm around your waist and nuzzling into your chest. Your arm wrapped around his lean tummy and rubbed soft circles to the skin.

“D’you wanna talk about it hun? I’m here for you,” you whisper softly into his ear. Hobie thought for a minute before shaking his head.

“No thanks. Not now. Jus’ lemme hold ya,” he grunts sleepily. Your fingers found a steady rhythm against his back as you heard him sigh deeply into your neck.

“I love you so much Hobes. I’m always gonna be right here, waiting for you,” you promise him. Slender fingers intertwined with yours, the slight tremble being the only movement in your dark shared bedroom. Tender but firm kisses were placed along your neck in silent thanks as the two of you slip back into dreamless slumber.

༺𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖙༻

༒ Is SUPER easy to turn on. The softest of praises is enough to turn his cock rock hard, but is also a major horn dog for being degraded 🤭🤭

༒ Gets SUPER horny when he catches you wearing his jewellery and jackets. He WILL fuck you right then and there

༒ He’s more of a grunter than a moaner, unless he’s quite deep in subspace. He’s definitely not above whimpering

༒ Hobie loves to send you videos of him wanking off, angled so you can see every lustful touch and hear every choked gasp

༒ A very versatile man. Doesn’t mind whether he’s domming or subbing, or even if there’s no dynamic

༒ Some of Hobie’s biggest kinks: edging, slight overstim, light impact play, light sensory deprivation and wax play

༒ If you’re female or someone without a peeny weeny, he would definitely take some good old cock up the ass <3 the male G spot is up there for a reason!

༒ He can often get lost in pleasure if he’s penetrating you, making his thighs shake as sweat drops and he’s biting into your shoulder like a man starved

༒ Definitely skilled with his fingers 😝😝 loves to finger you until you’re shaking and crying from overstim

༒ Is such a huge brat you wouldn’t believe 🤭🤭 he doesn’t deliberately say things to rile you up, but rather small displays. Rubbing his hands up your sides, murmuring soft teasings into your ears, lingering kisses right before a mission so you end up beating a villain with fire burning in your crotch

I absolutely adore this man, send asks and thots 🤭

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Eren Headcannon ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ If you and Eren were secret highschool sweethearts, I could honestly imagine Eren making out with you whenever, wherever and however he got the chance.

eren x f!reader highschool au

You were wearing your signature navy blue jersey jacket with Shiganshina High Schools crest embedded into the fabric of your sleeve, paired with your white button up that strained against your tits along with a white tennis skirt that rested just slightly above your knees. You sported this look proudly, sticking to your label of the high schools pride and joy-- the best student these primitive and graffitied walls had ever witnessed.

The good girl who wore long skirts paired with those long ruffled socks that came up to her knees and the signature part that tied her look together, setting her innocence in stone-- the shiny Mary Janes settled on her feet and the bow that tied the front strands of her hair to the back of her head.

You looked exactly how a respected conglomerate's only daughter should look like: An innocent, naive doll.

But Eren Jaeger, the embodiment of someone you should've stayed away from, knew you were anything but innocent. He was the only one in these brisk hallways who knew the kinds of filthy sounds you made, where to touch you to make you feel good, what kind of faces you make when you're pleased, how much you beg for release, the kind of magic your mouth can do.

He wanted to let all the guys who gave you obscene looks when you passed by them, know that you're his. He wanted to walk down the hallways holding you close to him, show you off to the world and let those other fucking runts know that you only belonged to him. That your eyes were only on his.

But he couldn't. Because of the predicament of you being a heir to a successful family and keeping a clean, non-flithy image.

Nothing about you was non-filthy when you were alone with him.

You walked down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest with that signature smile that almost seemed etched onto your face.

God, he loved that smile.

Your attention drifted to your phone stored into the confines of the pockets in your skirt and a knowing smile played on your lips as you went to grab it.

1 new message from E 🖤 meet me in the science room You bit down onto your lip to hide your grin and instantly rerouted to meet your boyfriend. Well, secret boyfriend.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The groan of the ancient classroom door echoed as you slammed it shut. Before you could take a breath, a whirlwind of movement pinned you against the rough wood. The handle dug into your spine, a dull ache blossoming instantly.

"Eren," you gasped, your voice muffled against something warm and hard. "Handle."

A flicker of recognition crossed his face before his hands, quick and strong, found your thighs. With a powerful lift, he swept you off your feet. Legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, you found yourself sitting on the cool surface of the nearest table.

"Hey beautiful." He said in between kisses, "let's finish what we started last night."

[lunarmoves]

"where is the crayon box?"

you glance up from your book, eyebrow raising as you look at sun standing on the opposite side of the security desk. at first glance, he seems to be watching you in an almost reserved way. but you can see the way his fingers wring together. the smallest errant twitch at the corner of his smile.

your lips press together momentarily. then, you gesture over to the cubbies tucked in the farthest corner of the daycare. "i put it over there."

he doesn't turn to look at where you pointed. he just continues to stare at you with unreadable, white eyes. "yes, i know that. but where?"

you blink at him. it's almost minute, but you can hear this terseness to his voice—a string straining to hold together two collapsing pillars. "uh," you start, then peer over at the cubbies, "like... which specific cubby?"

"yes, friend. which specific cubby?" sun is patient, but only to an extent, and it shows in the way his expression bubbles like there is something just underneath its surface.

you squint over at the storage in question, your eyes roaming over the various nooks to locate the bright orange box. "third one in the first row."

abruptly—he leans over the desk, his palms bracing against the smooth surface. his eyes crinkle into crescents, but it is not a kind look. it makes something in the pit of your stomach clench together into a tight, tight ball. uncomfortable.

"friend, friend," sun says cheerfully even as he holds a metaphorical grip on your twisting insides, "you have been here for seventy-four days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes. surely, by now you know the crayon box goes in the second cubby, third row?"

you, in fact, did not know that. you frown up at him and his shadowed face. white pupils stare down at you atop a backdrop of grey. "how was i supposed to know that?" you ask incredulously. "the cubbies aren't even label—"

"i would have thought by now," he cuts across you, leaning as much as he can into your space, "that you would have picked up on the manner of organization i am privy to."

forget incredulous. this is downright absurd. you have to hold back a shiver involuntarily scuttling down your spine as you regard sun and his stock-stillness hovering over you. not a limb nor ray out of place.

"sun," you say eventually, "it's just a box of crayons. does it matter where they're—"

"yes! yes it does, friend," sun says somewhat shrilly, his rays rapidly spinning about his face for the shortest of seconds before he seems to reign himself in. literally. he backs away from the desk and makes a motion like he is taking a deep breath. his eyes close. but when they reopen, they are still dark like storm clouds on a horizon.

"in the daycare," he begins calmly like the gentle ebbing of a tide, "there is order. things must be kept a certain way or everything else will just fall into disarray afterwards. items have their specific places for their specific roles. if there is no order, there is no control. you understand, yes?"

you do, but... you continue to regard him with a frown, your brows creasing together.

there is the smallest of inklings, deep inside your gut, that this is not just about a simple box of crayons.

it makes you release a sigh, your expression softening as you stand up from your chair to look at him properly.

"sun," you say as gently as you can. "is everything... alright?"

it's his turn to look at you incredulously, rays erratically jerking back and forth along his head, before he seems to realize himself. he blinks at you, white smile stretching farther along his face plate.

"of course everything is alright," he replies quickly, hands wringing and wringing and wringing. "everything is just peachy! i am managing things quite well, thank you."

you are not convinced. you can hear the way his internal fans have kicked on. your expression twists with concern. "maybe you should take a break—"

"break?" he lets out a short laugh. "don't be absurd, i—" he catches himself, making a sound like he's clearing his throat. he continues to twitch and fidget. "robots do not need breaks. but what i do need"—his voice swiftly turns cool on the turn of a dime—"is for you to do your job properly. think you can handle that, friend?"

you stare at him. you take him in—really take him in. the rigidity to his shoulders. the firmness with which he clenches his hands into fists. the coiled stance of his body. like he is one step away from snapping out of place.

you exhale and settle on simply giving him a small nod. "right, i'll get to it, then." might as well help him reorganize things if he was being so insistent on it.

"good." the tension melts away from him, but not completely. he grins at you, tilting his head slightly as you round the desk to head over to the cubbies.

but before you can walk past him, his hand darts out to grip at your wrist. tight.

"do not make the same mistake again," he whispers down at you, smiling at you like he wasn't holding your wrist firmly enough to make your bones creak. you swallow thickly and his eyes upturn. "there will be repercussions to face, and i fear you will not like them."

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Musician Age Gap AU Pt 15

Kara sleeps hard and deep next to Lena that night, when they finally run out of energy and tension and need. She wakes hours later flat on her back, a starfish-shaped pillow for Lena to wrap herself around.

Realizing the younger woman is indeed tucked against her side, Kara curls her arm around Lena's shoulders, earning a moan of malcontent. "Five more minutes..."

Kara is more than willing to give Lena more than that, but a knock at the door pre-empts that idea. Lena groans, this time loud enough to be petulant.

"No can do," Jess calls from the other side of the door. "You don't pay me enough to tell your mother no!"

It must be a long standing joke between them, because Lena snorts, even as she reluctantly rolls onto her back.

"I have coffee!" Jess adds to lessen the blow.

Lena perks up a little, but still takes her time stretching against the sheets. "Fine," she calls. "Tell her we'll be in the kitchen in five. She can join us."

"Thank you!"

Kara listens to the exchange with her eyes closed, mentally preparing herself to peel away from Lena. Lena seems equally disinclined. Finally, Kara cracks a smile. "You should pay Jess more, if it'll get us more than five extra minutes."

"There is no amount of money on Earth that could convince Jess to cross my mother." Lena sighs. "Honestly I don't blame her. If she wasn't *my* mother I'd be running too."

Kara wisely keeps any thoughts she has on the matter of Lillian to herself. The woman has yet to look on her with any other than complete and utter disdain, and Kara is more than happy to let that be as far as it goes. She suspects that if she and Lillian were ever truly at odds, well.... she doubts recent-girlfriend would win in a contest against mother-manager.

Eventually, they manage to crawl out of bed and throw on some pajamas for decency before making their way to the kitchen. Lena's cooking an omelette for herself when Lillian joins them, with Kara hunched over a bowl of cereal.

"Charming," Lillian comments, to Kara's consternation. It's just cereal. But Lillian has already turned to Lena, so Kara settles for sticking her tongue out while the woman's back is turned.

"You have a meeting with Morgan Edge this morning at 10:30am," Lillian announces.

Lena stiffens at the stove. Kara catches the stillness immediately, but keeps quiet.

"You mean *we* have a meeting--"

"No, I have a meeting with Maxwell Lord. If I'd meant we, I would have said we."

Lena turns to her mother. "We agreed--"

"You are an adult, Lena, and capable of conducting a meeting without me," Lillian chides. "The label simply wants to check in on the tour and your recent... escapades. Meanwhile I be sorting the details of releasing your newest single."

Lena's cheeks splotch with color, though she does her best to hide her distress. "But--"

"Morgan's schedule is already strained Lena. If you cancel this meeting, you risk losing the faith of the label, as would rescheduling my meeting with Lord. You're fully capable of handling this on your own."

"But--"

Lena's protest dies in her throat under Lillian's withering glare. She swallows thickly, ducking her head. Satisfied, Lillian nods. "It's settled then. You have a photo shoot at 2pm, and we're due at the hangar at 7."

Lena nods, but her gaze is distant. Her features are neutral, but Kara knows its a mask. Even so, if Lillian sees as much as well, it doesn't bother her.

"And try to dress presentably, dear. If you intend to convince him you have... this," Lillian waves vaguely in Kara's direction, "under control, you'll need to look the part."

Lena nods, prompting her mother to nod approvingly. "Good. Don't be late."

With that, she turns and leaves them alone in the kitchen. Kara watches Lena, who doesn't move, not even when the smell of just-burning egg begins to fill the room.

"Lena?"

Blinking back to awareness, Lena hurriedly turns off the stove. Her fingers fumble on the knob, and Kara sees that they're trembling.

"Lena?"

"I'm not that hungry after all," Lena says distantly. Before Kara can press further, she continues. "Do you mind staying here today? Well, not *here*, just--"

Just not with her.

Kara nods quietly. "Yeah. I've got some work I can do."

It's not a lie, but it's definitely an acquiescence. Lena clearly doesn't want company for the impending meeting, and Kara has no reason to insist she go with her save concern.

"Thank you," Lena returns, distracted. "I should go get ready."

She makes a swift exit. Kara retreats to her own suite soon after, her own appetite quashed by the sudden change in mood. By the time she re-emerges, Lena is nowhere in sight, and there's no answer to Kara's knock on her door.

Doing her best to ignore the ball of worry churning in her belly, Kara sets up shop at the kitchen island. She's all but taken a leave of absence, but Eve sends her enough to keep busy for the morning. Lena texts that she's on the way to her photo shoot, confirming she won't be returning to the hotel. Jess would pack her things and arrange their delivery to the airport.

Sure enough, Jess arrives barely half an hour later, cheerful and busy as ever. She offers to take care of Kara's things as well, but shrugs amiably when Kara declines. As she works, Kara takes her laptop and retreats to her bedroom.

After a quick check of the time difference, Kara facetimes the only person who could give her comfort.

"Hey," Alex greets cheerfully from the screen. "How's Paris?"

"Fine," Kara allows, but lacking enthusiasm.

Alex frowns. "What's wrong?"

Kara hesitates. She knows Alex will keep her confidence, but sharing what she saw this morning feels... intimate. Perhaps too intimate for the fact Lena has only met Alex via phone call a week ago.

"I've got a bad feeling," she allows carefully. "And I don't know what to do about it."

"About Lena?"

"More like... for Lena? Lena's been-- amazing. But this morning... I don't know."

Alex considers Kara's words, taking a moment to determine her path of approach. "Sounds personal," she allows. "But it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with you, or your relationship?"

Kara nods. "It's not about us."

"Then I think... I think you should consider whether it's something you should get invovled with."

Resistance flares in Kara. "But I care about her--"

"I know," Alex confirms quickly. "And I'm sure she does too. So if she hasn't shared with you about what's making her uncomfortable, maybe she just doesn't want to."

On the screen, Alex sits on her bed. The room is still around her. Kelly's probably already at work.

"You care a lot, Kara. You always have. And I know Lena is even more special."

Kara can't deny it. She's loved before, but not like this. Her commitment to Lena has been swift and complete-- but from Alex's tone now, it's something she should be wary of.

"Hey," her sister says softly. "Why don't you come home for a visit? Esme would love to see you."

Resistance twists Kara's stomach into a knot. But this time, Kara stops to examine it. She came to support Lena, but... she's also made Lena her world, even if just for a few weeks. Does her resistance to leaving mean she thinks the distance would lessen the feelings she has for Lena?

Or does she trust that they'll remain, even with an ocean between?

After a moment, Kara makes her decision.

"Yeah. I can catch a flight tonight."

At the very least, at the end of this visit she'll know whether her feelings are more than a proximity-fueled addiction. And when she comes back... she'll have her head on straight, and hopefully feel more grounded than she does right now.

On the screen, Alex smiles broadly. "We'll make sure to have the guest room ready for you. Esme is going to be so stoked. Prepare yourself for the inquisition."

Kara grins.

"I look forward to it."

[sludgevomit]

My back was pulled against the leather recliner almost magnetically. Strained muscles seeking comfort after operating on misbehaving pieces of Meat that now laid unconscious in the basement. Hours passed before the lessons became ingrained in their minds. Putting Sir at unease; disappointed by unwarranted disobedience.

Rare thoughts of domesticity littered my mind as I examined the Pet that earned Sir’s trust and small percentage of respect. Their body on the tranquil bed across from the recliner that was tucked into the corner. Book locked between fingertips; focus drifting away from the small font. Their attention flowing towards the looming creature that was myself. Waiting for the echoes of my commands to release into the air. “Why don’t you be useful and do me a favor, Little Thing.” My hand moves to scratch my chin before using it to direct the being around the room. “Grab me a cigar from the humidor. The torch and cutter as well. Come sit on Papa Bear’s lap when you are ready.”

The Pet shot up in an instant. Always working fast in order to please me. Using the praise to motivate their will to live. Finding the humidor with ease, yet freezing up when it came to the selection of different colors, labels, and sizes for each tobacco wrapped stick. “Now, it doesn’t matter which one you pick. Sir only buys his favorites. Schnell.” Eyelids shutting as my stern words fizzle out. Anticipating with evaporating patience as the pads of my fingers drum against the soft, tanned skin of the armrest. Dried blood flaking off with each tap on the material.

Opening my field of vision when the Pet made themselves a home on my lap. Curves of their ass flush against my crotch. Eyes wide, proclaiming innocence and desire when the firm grip of my hands ran over brutalized thigh and leg flesh that draped over the side of the comfortable chair.

“Papa Bear is going to teach you how he enjoys his smoke. The exact way he cuts the cap, and how he toasts the foot. Listen carefully to his instructions. He is in no disposition to model this act for you. You should already have an idea from watching this ritual be done many times before as you were kneeled down by my side.”

[written-in-flowers]

Losing Humanity: OT8 X Male!Reader Pt. 3

Pairing: Vampire!Hyunjin x Male!Reader (end game) | Side pairings: OT8 x Male!reader, Vampire!Felix x Lycan!Chan, Vampire!Minho x Lycan!Han

Genre: Angst, smut, horror | Au: Resident Evil: Village, vampires, werewolves/lycans, hybrids.

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Following a dreadful experiment, YN has to wrestle with his new body and abilities. With the help of the four lords and their sons, he might be able to find the family and purpose he'd been looking for.

Overall Tags: strangers to lovers, exes to lovers, secret romances, feuding families, omegaverse, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, graphic depictions of violence, blood and violence, mad science experiments, eventual smut, male reader fic, graphic depictions of human to monster transformations, horror, suspense. anal sex, anal fingering, loss of virginity, virgin!reader, threesome -/m/m/m, group sex, rimming, blowjobs, rough blowjobs, water sex, outdoor sex, harem but one end game, happy ending, tentacle sex, hallucinations, psychological horror

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of Stray Kids in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

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****

The day turned into night. The cold might have pierced your skin once, but it did nothing to you now. You stayed huddled underneath a tree, arms around your knees and you wept for hours. You only moved when you started hearing soft footsteps coming from the distance. A part of you considered letting the predator just take you. Why should you fight them? It wasn’t as if you had a home anymore. The warm memories of your parents turned as icy and hard as the snow underneath you. You questioned their love for you over and over underneath the still moon. If they’d loved you, they never would’ve sold you off. If they’d loved you, they’d sacrifice themselves rather than you. But, whatever stalked you eventually disappeared and left you in the lonely woods. 

You crossed through dense bushes before the smell of cooking meat caught your attention. The savory scent made your stomach growl, and you moved towards it. In between the shrubbery, you saw flickers of light and the crackling of a fire. Every sense suddenly amplified. You heard soft, cheerful humming. You smelled the saucy rabbit stew in a large pot above a smoking fire; wisps of human sweat and blood mingled with the fragrance and you drooled. Hunger brought you to the edge of the clearing, where you saw a horse and cart tethered to a tree. Propped up in the back was an immensely large man. The jacket and vest he wore strained against his belly, and you hardly saw a neck. You recognized the man immediately. The Duke, as people called him, was a regular visitor of the village. 

“Ah, Master YN,” the man beamed happily when he saw you. He kept his fire close to him, sprinkling herbs into the pot. You wondered briefly how he’d grab it. “What brings you out here ton-Oh my,” his smile faltered when he saw your half-torn, blood-stained clothes and hands, “My dear boy, what happened to you?”

“A few things,” you replied, eyeing the steaming pot. You licked your lips seeing the brown gravy hanging off the wood spoon above it. 

“Must have been quite heavy things,” he said. “I have a coat you may wear. It’ll keep you warm in this biting cold.”

“No, thank you, sir. I don’t feel very cold.” 

When you stepped into the light, The Duke gasped softly. He glanced at the rest of you, then said, “It appears Master Felix succeeded in his endeavor after all. Have they already let you loose upon the Huntsman?”

“Huntsman? No. I left.”

“What for?”

“My family.”

“The same family who sold you to me?” He sounded confused by this. 

“Yes.” 

He saw your crestfallen face, and said, “Well, if you will not have my coat, then take some of my wine. It is a fine vintage from House Dimitrescu. You might enjoy it much more than this stew.”

He pulled out a decorative bottle from the holder hanging from the door. Grabbing a wine glass, he poured and handed it to you. You gulped when the sweet scent of blood hit your nose. Timidly, you moved closer. The fire bathed you in warmth as you took up the glass. The mixture of scents in the air made you nearly dizzy. You took a sniff of the glass, grabbing hints of bold grapes and virgin blood-

Virgin blood? 

“What is this?”

“Your new family’s speciality,” he answered. “Sanguis Virginis. Maiden’s Blood. It’s very…full-bodied.” 

You did not want to think about the meaning. Instead, you took one sip and let out a soft groan. It tasted better than any stew or cooked rabbit. You gulped down the rest of the drink, feeling life slipping back into you. 

“Have a seat, young master,” The Duke insisted, “Warm yourself with wine and fire.” When you sat on a stool near him, he said, “So, what possessed you to leave your new family and seek out the old?”

You contemplated this for a moment, then said, “I wanted to go home. I woke up in this unfamiliar place alone and only thought of going back to my family.. I’d hoped they’d want me back. I thought maybe they did not know what would happen to me. I…I know it sounds ridiculous now.”

“There is nothing wrong with having hope,” he assured you, stirring the stew before leaning to taste some. Nodding, he grabbed a bowl from nearby and began ladeling the stew, “If it eases you, they did not know exactly what might happen to you. I will admit I do withhold some facts when making these kinds of deals. I simply told them you’d be put to good use in Castle Dimitrescu, and they put the pieces together themselves.” 

“They still traded me,” you grumbled before taking another drink of wine. 

“Out of necessity,” he said, scooping up stew and hungrily eating it. “Your father told me your mother was incredibly ill with consumption. He claimed she was on death’s door.” 

“She was. She appears fine now.” 

“With the right amount of treatment and medication, it seems so,” he confirmed. “Aside from illness, starvation and poverty in general can make the strongest man desperate.”

“Are you telling me this was okay because they were desperate?”

“Not at all. I find the act despicable, but that is the only explanation I can give you,” he said. 

“You don’t find it despicable enough to not broker the deals though,” you remarked.

“I am a businessman first and foremost, Master YN,” he said. He ate more stew, gravy dripping down his chin before he mopped it up with a handkerchief. “Master Felix came to me with a deal: if I supply him with villagers, he’d pay me handsomely for them. I did not inquire about his intentions, since I have a similar deal with his mother, but it became clear when the first experiment failed.” 

“What happened?”

“The subject turned into a hideous, ferocious beast,” he said, “And terrorized the village. The Huntsman managed to overpower the creature and kill it, but had no idea where it’d come from. I knew.” He washed down the stew with a beer bottle. He belched through his napkin, then continued, “I did not advertise the deal due to the morbid nature, but it soon caught on in the nearby village and beyond. I simply made the deal happen. I am only a middle man.”

“A middle man that sold people to monsters.”

“It’s not one of the nicest parts of business, but it was nothing personal, I assure you.” He then said, “It may sound insensitive, Master YN, but you should be grateful you came out like this and not like the monsters or corpses that preceded you. I am no expert in scientific experiments by any means, though I will say you seem to have been a clear success.”

“How grateful I am,” you rolled your eyes. You finished off your second glass, and went for a third. “I’m a monster now.”

“We are all monsters, just different breeds. Some might say your parents are monsters for giving up their only child to save themselves,” he said. “A few dare to say Mother Miranda is a monster herself, even when she protects these lands.”

“She doesn’t do that well of a job if we’re all starving and living in shacks.” 

He ate another spoonful of stew, then said, “But she keeps the monsters at bay. They obey her every word and whim, and fear her above all others. Well, perhaps aside from Master Chan, but that is the power of an alpha lycan, I suppose.”

“Master Chan?” 

“Master Chan Heisenberg,” he answered. “The eldest son of Karl Heiseberg, followed by his brothers Changbin and Jisung, called ‘Han’.” He paused over his bowl, “Did you not know?”

“I know there are other lords, but I didn’t bother with them.”

“Hmpf, you should bother with them now before they bother you,” he warned. He hesitated, “The Heisenberg pack lives in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the land. Heisenberg created them from three boys he’d found in the village. Your new mother believes he stole her idea, but I think the man simply felt lonely working in his factory. The boys help him, from what I understand, yet there are whispers Master Chan has been doing some solo projects.” 

“Any warnings I should heed?”

“Approach with caution,” he said. “The Heisenbergs do not have the restraint and refinement of House Dimitrescu.” He chewed a hearty piece of rabbit, washed it down with beer, “Then, deep in the valley lives the doll maker, Donna Beneviento with her son, Master Jeongin. The pair keep to themselves in the dank, old estate by the waterfall, but those who go there have never come back.”

“Jeongin?”

“Rumor was he was the son of the family’s gardener. He’d been very ill several years ago, and Lady Beneviento took pity on him. The treatment…well, let us say it left the boy speechless.” He gulped the rest of his beer, “In the reservoir up north is Salvatore Moreau, a being of twisted flesh and his son, Seungmin, who is his pride and joy. The beauty and the beast rule over those dangerous waters.” He then said, “I am sure you will meet the others in time. Mother Miranda will hear of Master Felix’s experiment soon enough and will likely want to see the result for herself.”

Meeting the real Mother Miranda struck a fear in you that the wine couldn’t drown out. The ruler of the land, she’d been around for as long as you could remember. A goddess of black magic, she’d given the people health, prosperity and safety. You often questioned exactly what your people paid in return for these benefits, but your questions were met with scoldings. Seeing yourself and the tales of this new “family”, you’d gotten your answer. You finished off the bottle of wine when The Duke asked you another question. 

“What shall you do now?”

You paused, thinking it over as you ran your thumb over the intricate floral metal on the bottle. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I don’t wish to go back to the castle, but I cannot go home either.”

“You can drift as the Huntsman does,” he suggested. He then looked up into the trees, “Or perhaps your companions might have some ideas.”

“Companions?”

You glanced up to see dozens of glowing eyes looking down from the dark trees above. Suddenly, you became aware of the shifting in the branches. Their appearance didn’t surprise you. Perhaps in the back of your mind you knew they’d followed you to the clearing. Them and whatever creatures you assumed lurked in the darkness. Standing from your seat, you examined the bats more closely. Full bodies covered in fur, they were a bit larger than the bats you turned into during flight. Those were the size of mice, whereas these were average size.  

“They have been listening for quite some time,” The Duke said. “It appears they are waiting for you.”

Their eyes followed only you. A ripple of unrest went through them, and you felt it in your chest. “Yes,” you said softly, looking at one particular bat nearest you, “Yes, it feels that way.” 

“If I were you, I would visit my creator,” he said, finishing off his stew and getting seconds. “Master Felix is a man of science. He may be able to explain things to you, if you accept your newfound state.” 

“I don’t want to see that bastard,” you grunted, and your distaste showed in the bats above. Walking closer, you sensed a connection growing between yourself and these animals. Both creatures of the night, hungry for blood and the dark places of the world, you sensed yourself merging with them in your heart. “He made me this way. Even if my family sold me, he turned me into this monster.”

“That word once again,” he scoffed. “‘Monster’ is such a broad term.”

“It is the only one that explains what I am,” you said, reaching up to the bat, who did not flinch when you touched its head. 

“You will not know what you truly are until you speak with the one who made you.”

It squeaked a few more times, and you knew it used its echolocation to find you. 

“I’m right here,” you said gently once underneath it. “Don’t worry, little friend. I’m here.” 

It flew towards you, and when you held out your arm it clung itself to your chest as a baby would a mother.  You stroked its head while you walked, finding a sense of purpose with your new friend.

“Clearly, a close connection with nightly creatures is one of them,” Duke continued. “That owl has been staring too.”

You turned to a separate tree where a brown and white barn owl sat watching, as Duke said. “It may be that Master Felix required a person who blends in with darkness and can speak to other nocturnal beasts. The best place to start is at the castle.”

“Don't want to lose your contract with them, eh?” you asked, noting his insistence you return to the castle. 

“That and that her newest son's prolonged absence may inspire Lady Dimitrescu to send her minions into the village. They may not be lycans, but they are just as deadly.”

“Minions?” 

“The Moroacia and Samca, the failed experiments of Master Felix or his mother's victims. They are bloodthirsty, mindless creatures that will invade in droves, killing anyone within reach.” He shuddered, “Terrifying things. I suggest to save the innocent souls down below, you return to your new home.” 

“It isn’t my home.”

“I’m afraid it is,” he said. “Where else will you go?” 

You looked down at the bat in his arms. It likely lives in a cave with its colony. A cave could be a good form of shelter, and with the bats overhead, you wouldn’t be alone. The group then shuddered and shook as if sensing your need for flight. It took one to fly off before the rest of them began following them. 

“Wherever they’re going,” you said, nodding up to the bats. “Thank you for the wine, Duke, but I think I should get going. The night is still young, and I have to get moving.”

“I pray you find shelter tonight,” he replied with a nod, eating more stew. “I’d caution against the beasts of the night, but I imagine it is you the beasts should fear.” 

You weren’t so sure about that. Even when you fought off that lycan, which still surprised you, you didn’t know the extent of your abilities. You almost did not want to know. The more you knew, the more beastly you felt. Walking from the clearing, you held onto the bat against your chest. You stared up between the trees, seeing the rest of the colony not too far ahead. You couldn’t properly follow them from the ground, so you released your walking companion and bent your knees. In a spring upwards, you twirled into a flight form. You soared over the canopy of trees, the nighttime breeze blowing through as you flew. You stayed behind the group as they led you back to a familiar place. 

Castle Dimitrescu. 

Apprehensive, you slowed down as you saw the tall turrets and towers. Duke’s advice came back to you. Going back will give you answers, but going back also cemented the truth: you’d become something far worse than any human alive. You still went towards the castle, your friends making a turn and aiming at the lower areas. Through a tight hole in one wall, you escaped the freezing cold for the dark, damp heat underneath. Even in complete darkness, you saw everything. The unlit torches, the empty barrels, the cell doors and the torture devices around the dark dungeon came to you crystal clear. 

The flock finally stopped in the middle of the labyrinth, starting to hang upside down from the stone ceiling. Yes, being underneath a place of blood and death did not sound ideal, but where else could you go? Finding an abandoned cell with a wooden bench, you discovered a strange kind of peace amongst the bats. They did not show scorn or distaste for you. They wouldn’t trade you for food. In fact, you’d never felt more at peace with any living being. Laying on the long bench, exhaustion finally came over you. As the comforting presence lulled you to sleep, you wondered if your parents regretted their decision and perhaps want you back. 

No, they wouldn’t. 

****

Hunger. Unimaginable hunger. It hollowed out your stomach and left your throat dry. The only thing keeping you shuffling through was the smell. Blood. Sickly sweet and fresh came in a gust of wind through the castle dungeons. Days had passed since you tasted the blood in Duke’s wine, and your hunger had returned in full force. It became your every waking thought as you stumbled through the catacombs. The scent grew thicker the closer it came, almost enough that inhaling it brought it to your tongue. 

“Hun…Hungry…” the word escaped your lips in a hoarse voice. 

You came upon the body in one of the northern parts of the dungeon. Several bodies hung from the ceiling, their limbs slashed to drain the blood from them into large vats. You’d managed to feed off the leftovers the Lady and her sons discarded. Yet, they didn’t yield much blood so the rats became a second option. After drinking the blood of the dead and animals, fresh vats seemed like an oasis. Seeing the dark red liquid sitting alone in a large bucket, you could not resist. You cupped your hands in the thick substance, and took greedy gulps. A low groan escaped you after that first drink, the warmth breaking through the cold stiffness in your body, and you drank more of it. You should feel disgusted, but your hunger won out. 

“I knew you were down here.” 

You smelled him before you even looked up. You didn’t know which one, but the faint scent of pomegranates came from somewhere nearby. His voice bounced off the walls, and you whipped around. Hyunjin appeared out of his blowfly colony, walking over to you with a smug grin. 

“I told Mother I heard something scurrying around the dungeons,” he said. “It’s you that’s been feeding off our scraps.” He looked up into the rafters to see your colony, “And you’re the reason the bats are still around.” He looked over your disheveled appearance. Your matted hair, blood stained wearing ragged clothing, you were not a pretty sight. In wanting to escape the truth, you only brought it to life more. “You poor thing,” he frowned, cautiously approaching you, “You went home, didn’t you?”

His voice was a tender caress this time, meant to soothe instead of seduce. You couldn’t answer. His footsteps came closer, and you flinched when you felt a hand touch your shoulder.

“We tried to warn you,” he said, “But I suppose it was best you saw it for yourself. You must be in so much pain.”

He lifted your face to meet his, and you saw the beauty before you. Unlike when you first arrived, he showed no eagerness to hurt you. 

“I don’t remember anything about my life before Mother,” he told you, “But I sometimes imagine I ended up here the same way as you. I’m sorry your family did this to you.” He wiped your face with an embroidered handkerchief, “You’re better off with us than with them. Mother would make sure you were well fed and cared for. Even if she’s upset with Felix for creating you, you are one of us now and that makes her your mother too.”

“She’s not my mother,” you said through gritted teeth.

“She is now,” he said, wiping blood from your mouth and cheeks. “What mother would sacrifice her child to save herself? A real mother would have given up her life rather than let her child suffer. Mother isn’t like that. She’d kill anyone who tried to harm you.” He then said, “Felix, Minho and I would not let anything happen to you either. You’re our brother now, and we stick together.”

“You are not my family,” you said through a hoarse throat. “They are my family,” you nodded to the bats above. 

“Can they feed you properly? Give you a warm bath and fresh blood to drink? This place, as lovely as it is for storage, is not fit for a son of Lady Dimitrescu.”  

“I’m not her son.”

“Come with me,” he said, standing and offering his hand. “Please? At least to let Mother and Felix know you are alright. They have been sick with worry over you. They think The Huntsman got you. Can you at least do that?” He batted his lashes and pouted his full lips. “There’s more food in it for you, if you do. Then you can come back down here and be with your ‘family’ if you want to.”

You considered the pros and cons of returning to the surface. Yet, staring into Hyunjin’s eyes, you didn’t see any deceit. He gently caressed your cheek as he examined your face. You looked over his full pouty lips, still stained by his blood consumption. The mole just underneath his eye made him seem more human somehow. You touched his cheek to feel his warmth on your cold fingers. His skin, supple and smooth, remained unblemished by time or age. 

“Is my beauty enough to entice you?” he smirked, watching you examine him. 

You didn’t answer. Your thumb went down his cheek to his bottom lip, grazing just underneath it on his chin. Hyunjin leaned closer to you, and you smelled the blood on his breath. 

“Going upstairs offers much, much more than what this dungeon can,” he said, voice low between you. “I promise my bed is warmer and softer.”

“The Duke said your mother would kill the villagers if I didn’t come back,” you told him. “Is that true?”

“Partly,” he replied, tucking hair behind your ear. “My brothers and I managed to convince her otherwise, but her restraint only lasts so long. Those villagers…they might rather burn you than embrace you, yet that doesn’t justify such a grizzly end. Come upstairs with me,” he gently nuzzled your nose, “And let her see that there’s no need for rash actions.” 

Even if they’d rather kill you than accept you, thinking about your neighbors and friends suffering such cruel fates was enough. “Alright, I’ll go.” 

“Good,” he said, letting your thumb slide between his lips for a brief moment. He gave it a soft suckle before letting go. “A nice castle and servants aren’t the only benefits to being in our family, I promise you.” 

You followed Hyunjin through the dungeons, the both of you taking your separate forms to fly through the castle. While he moved into millions of tiny pieces, yours took up a bit more space. Your body still shivered remembering Hyunjin’s soft lips around your thumb. He was by far the most beautiful being you’d ever seen, perhaps more so than his brothers. The trickle of his pomegranate essence made you hungry for something aside from blood. The sort of hunger you felt when you kissed Elijah behind his family’s barn or when Stephan stole a kiss outside the church. You never went the entire way those times, but you still remember the tightness forming in your stomach and how your body yearned for their touch. 

There might be one benefit to being a monster. 

He led you through the opulent, elegant halls of the castle into a lounge area in front of a fireplace. In the room, you saw Felix reading against his mother’s side on a couch, while Minho sat nearby idly playing a harp. The three of them turned as Hyunjin and you came back into the room. Felix stood up before his mother did, putting the book down and coming over to you. 

“YN, where have you been?” he asked, scanning over your face. “I’ve been looking for you for days. Where did you go? What happened to you?” You snarled when he tried touching you. He didn’t appear very surprised, stepping a foot away. “Where have you been?”

“He’s been in the dungeons,” Hyunjin said. “I told you something was down there.” 

“It’s you that’s been taking the leftovers?” Felix asked you, but you did not answer. 

“But, sweet boy,” Lady Dimitrescu stood up from her seat, “You could’ve had your fill here. I wouldn’t have denied you fresh prey,” she came over to you in long strides. Unlike Felix, she did not cower away when you snapped your teeth at her. “Here,” she poured wine from a decorative bottle into a spare wine glass. You recognized it as the same bottle The Duke offered. “Drink this. You must be starving after feeding off scraps.” 

You tentatively sipped from the glass, then downed the drink in several gulps. You licked up what spilled from the sides of your mouth, then started licking the inside of the glass. You never tasted anything so delicious before. It reminded you of those hollow days back home when food was so scarce. Nothing ever made your belly feel full. When your father managed to find food in the woods, you remembered devouring it as if it might be your last meal. 

“Proper table manners seem to go out the window when you’re starving,” Minho commented, plucking at one of the strings. 

“Do not be so harsh so soon, Minho,” Lady Dimitrescu said to him. “Your new brother has been through a serious change. It must’ve been difficult managing it alone,” she bent down to you, cupping your cheek. She felt warm, and smelled of roses. “I will admit I am intrigued. Felix’s experiments normally turn into lycans or die in the first few minutes, but you held out. The fact you can remember your previous life is also remarkable.”

You wished you’d woken without memory. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much. 

“But then again, memory can be a burden,” she said, sensing your sadness. “Here,” she brought you over to the sofa where she poured you more wine. “Drink your fill. Rats and corpses aren’t fit for any son of mine.” 

You drank your second glass as quickly, not bothered by the sick feeling growing from drinking so fast. About to wipe your mouth with your sleeve, Lady Dimitrescu offered you her handkerchief instead. You cleaned your face with it, smelling more roses as you wiped off the excess. She appeared nothing like what you’d been told your whole life. The other villagers spoke of her ruthlessness; that anyone who made the trek up her castle never returned. You’d learned that was true, yet it did not scare you. She did not look at you with malice in her eyes, but instead tenderness. She repeatedly filled your cup when it emptied. She cleaned your mouth and the dirt from your face. It did not seem to bother her as you thought it might. 

“Alright, you’ve seen I’m safe,” you said, finally full, “May I go back now?”

“You wish to go back to that damp place?” she asked in surprise. “It’s filthy down there, and those bats-”

“-Are my family,” you told her. “They don’t cast out their own kind. They don’t point guns at them and tell them to leave. They saw me as I was and didn’t call me a monster or a beast.” Anger elevated your voice, pain coming up through your throat like bile. 

“Well, they’re bats, so I imagine they can’t talk to begin with,” said Minho, only to be smacked lightly by Felix. 

“I know how childish it sounds,” you snapped at him, “But I’d rather be in the dark with them than in the light with people who’ve used me.” You glared at Felix, “I remember everything you did to me. I remember you cutting me open like a dead fish and sticking that thing inside me. I can still feel it wriggling,” you closed your eyes to the sickening feeling in your stomach. “You’re the reason I don’t have a family anymore,” you said. 

“No, your family is the reason you don’t have a family. I simply took advantage of their situation,” he said simply. 

“Felix…”

“If what the Duke says is correct,” he said, ignoring his mother, “It hardly took any convincing at all. All he said was there’d be money and food in it for them, and they jumped at the chance. What kind of parents do that to their child? Surely, this is a question you’ve asked yourself multiple times since then, no?” 

You didn’t know how to answer. He seized a chance at your hesitancy, “You may continue thinking you are some sort of ferocious monster, but you cannot deny it. I’ve made you far better and greater than any being outside these walls. You’re fast. You’re strong. You’re deadly. Those pathetic weaklings in the villages will be terrified when they see you coming. The lycans themselves will run in terror at the sight of you,” he stepped closer. “I have given you a gift, YN. Do not waste it wallowing in self-pity in our dungeons with the bats and rats and corpses.” 

“I do not want to scare anyone,” you said. “I did not ask for your ‘gift’. It’s made me a monster.”

“You’re only a monster if you continue to act like one,” he replied sharply. “Please, YN,” he came over to where you sat, sincerity in his eyes, “Do not go. Not yet. We need you and you need us. Mother,” he glanced at the Lady, “Tell him. Tell him he doesn’t have to go anywhere. He’s safer here than anywhere else. You will be the mother he could only dream of.” 

Lady Alcina did not answer at first. She examined her eldest son quickly, seeing the desperation he masked so well. Stroking your hair, she looked down at you. 

“You went to the village,” she said when she saw your sad eyes. 

“I did.”

“And?”

The stinging sensation in your nose returned. You tried sniffling and wriggling it out, but it brought with it more tears. You’d spent weeks in the dungeons reliving the moment over and over again. Your father had pointed his gun at you. He actually threatened to shoot you. You saw their cold faces once more, swimming to the forefront of your mind to haunt you. To them, you’d become a deranged animal that needed to be put down rather than embraced. Seeing your dirty hands and clothes, you might actually be that animal. You smoothed back hair from your face as you fought off tears. You wanted to go home, but where was home now? 

“Oh, sweet boy,” she cooed. She then lifted you from the sofa like a mother would with a baby, cuddling you to her chest and stroking your hair. “It is for the best in the end,” she said, holding you close. “Those village fools fear what they do not understand. They allow their ignorance to cloud their judgment. They would never have accepted you, but that won’t happen here.”

“You’re our brother now,” Hyunjin said, sitting on the arm rest. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I certainly won’t,” said Felix. “I went through too much trouble creating you. I won’t let you be destroyed so easily.”

“It’s my job to protect the members of this family,” Minho told you, “And that includes you.” 

“You don’t need your bat friends when you have us,” Hyunjin came closer to meet your eyes. “We will take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” 

You looked into his eyes once more, and fresh tears came. 

“I think a nice bath and a good long sleep is in order, hm?” Lady Alcina asked you, and you didn't refuse. 

She brought you further into the castle with Hyunjin behind her. In a room of marble stone, the Lady gently removed the rags you wore while Hyunjin prepared the bath. You did not see the point in shyness, so you let her peel the sticky, smelly layers piece by piece. Neither of them spoke as she lowered you into the warm tub. Lady Alcina did not leave your side the entire time, taking it upon herself to bathe you. It’d been too long since you felt such gentleness. 

“If you still wish to go back down there when you wake,” she said, carrying you into a bedroom after washing and drying you, “You can go.” 

“Really?”

“If it makes you more comfortable here, then I will not protest. Unlike that simpering wench of a mother, I wish for you to be happy.” 

She laid you down on a soft bed like a newborn, pushing hair from your face and caressing your cheek. The exhaustion finally started coming over you in the comfort of this new bed. It certainly beats the old cot back at home and your dungeon bench. Your eyes started falling shut as you savored her fingers gently scratching behind your ear and scalp. It had been something your old mother might have done once, but not anymore. 

Alcina Dimitrescu didn’t care about your pointed ears or claws. 

****

“Magnificent…Absolutely magnificent. You say he tore the beast apart?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin answered in a whisper. “He lifted him in the air while still in his bat swarm form, and tore his head off. It was incredible. I’ve never heard of anyone defeating a lycan before; it usually takes several gunshots for them to go down. Even Heisenberg’s boys have trouble with the particularly feral ones from time to time. We certainly can’t do what he did.” 

Felix told him to follow you, but he would have done it on his own anyways. He didn’t want to lose another brother. He’d flown some distance behind you to avoid detection, then tailed you into the village. He’d sensed the lycan just as easily as you, ready to fight it off, before he saw you take it on by yourself. Hyunjin couldn’t believe his eyes. Lycans, he knew, were nearly indestructible, yet you tore them apart with little effort. Whatever Felix injected into you made you stronger than anyone else. Maybe even stronger than those Heisenbergs. 

“What else did you notice?”

“Well, his parents are cruel, that’s for sure. You should’ve seen it, Felix,” Hyunjin frowned. “He begged them to let him come home, and they turned him away. I heard the whole thing. He would’ve stayed there longer if the villagers hadn’t come back from church.” He pushed hair from your face, his fingers feather-light on your skin. “How could a parent do that to their child? It’s always astounded me. These people sacrifice their children to keep on living. That mother should’ve let her sickness consume her rather than give up her son to an unimaginable fate.” 

“Yes, yes, yes, that’s all very sad,” Felix said dismissively, “What else did you notice about him?”

That you’re a tortured soul who seeks a proper home and family. Hyunjin examined your face. He took in the shape of your eyes and nose; the curve of your lips and your soft cheeks. It was a face only Gods could create. He could spend forever painting you and find each picture more beautiful than the last. He’d been shocked when he found you in the dungeon, dirty and living off scraps. You should be sitting in the conservatory amongst the blooming flowers, or in the music room playing the piano with your lovely fingers. 

“Hyunjin!”

“He’s not that much different from us,” he finally answered, wishing Felix would leave the Frankenstein act for another time. “He picked up on Chan and Changbin before I did.”

“Chan and Changbin were there?”

“Yes, and Jisung too,” he said. He hadn’t told you about the three wolves that had stalked you in the forest. He’d spotted them whilst trying to catch sight of you again from above. “I believe they caught him by chance and didn’t know what or who he was.”

“Wonderful,” Felix scoffed. “Now those damned mongrels know about him. They’ve likely already gone to their scoundrel father and told him. Mother Miranda will know sooner than I would’ve liked.” He took a deep breath. “I have to tell Mother. She’s already upset with me for doing the experiments without Miranda’s permission. Hearing about this will make things worse.” 

“She has every right to be angry at you.” Minho appeared in the doorway, stern and stoic as always. He walked into the bedroom, hands behind his back, and stood beside Felix. “She thinks you’re trying to replace Jimin-”

“-That isn’t what I’m doing-” 

“-I know it isn’t, but she doesn’t,” he cut him off. “Felix, you need to go and explain yourself. If Mother Miranda confronts her about it, she'll need to know what to say. If we're lucky, Miranda will see this as an effort against the Huntsman-”

“-It is an effort against the Huntsman-” Felix argued hotly. 

“-And not punish all of us for your reckless actions.”

“You do recall assisting me, right?” Felix said, fully turning to him. “You held him down; you injected him. You’re equally guilty.” 

“That was because I believed in your vision, and I still do,” he said. “The Huntsman is a greater threat to our family than Mother Miranda realizes, and I’d do anything I could to stop them. But, we cannot kill them if we’re all dead.”

“Miranda wouldn’t kill us or Mother,” Felix argued. “We’ll get a slap on the wrist and be warned to never do it again.”

“Felix, what you’ve done is far more serious and you know that. You stole Cadou parasites from Moreau, who was given those by Miranda herself,” he said. “When she learns you’ve been basically stealing her property, she might not be so lenient. I told you the consequences of these experiments when you started them, and you ignored me every single time. This one is the last one,” he nodded to your sleeping form. “If he dies, that’s the end of it. No more mad-science experiments, got it?” 

Hyunjin watched Felix stare at him defiantly. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”

“No. I will not stop trying until the Huntsman is dead.”

“There are other ways.”

“Name them.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps if all of us put our pride aside, we can work with the other lords to destroy him. The other houses cannot handle them on their own, but if we do it together-”

“-I can’t believe you’re suggesting that,” Felix huffed. “Us working with those weaklings. It’s prosperous.”

“They are far from weak, and you know that. Tsk all you want, Felix, you know it’s true. You’ve seen what those Heisenbergs can do in and out of their wolf forms. Lord help that Huntsman if they end up near the reservoir when Seungmin is around, and have you forgotten what Jeongin can do with flowers and dolls? If we combine all those skills, we have a fighting chance. Hyunjin,” he turned to him, “Back me up on this. We cannot keep having let down after let down; failure after failure like this.”

Hyunjin did not know how to answer. He thought about his mother’s teary eyes when she stared at Jimin’s crystalized corpse in the music room. She wept for weeks. She still does though she hides it from them. Hyunjin hated thinking Felix tried replacing Jimin so soon after his death. Jimin was their brother, their blood. When he explained his intentions, Hyunjin stood behind him out of hope. Staring down at you, he wondered if you really could kill the Huntsman. He thought about you ending the same way as Jimin, and it made him sad. However, the alternative is to work with the other families. Hyunjin did not care for any of them either way, but his family did so he joined them in their distaste. Yet, he could not deny their strengths.

“It’d be great if we could have both,” he said.

“Yes, but sometimes we cannot have both,” Felix said.

“Maybe this time we can? YN might not be able to do it alone. He’d need help, and if we all join forces-”

“-I said ‘no’!” Felix said through gritted teeth with a foot stomp. “I don’t want anything to do with those damned dogs!”

He turned into his swarm and blew through the doors. Neither Minho or Hyunjin brought up the reason Felix may dislike the idea of an alliance.

Chan Heisenberg. 

****

A/N: So, has YN found a new home or will he drift off again? Sorry this update took so long. Just been having trouble finding inspiration lately. Hope this makes up for that <3

[slytherinspired]

Yet - A Remus Lupin Imagine (smut)

Following the same story and universe as Tell Me About series! Here I am... 10 years later?

Remus stood before the counter, his hands trembling with a desperation he struggled to suppress. His clothes, worn and faded, hung loosely on his frame. His voice, when it came, was loud yet strained, as if it had been dragged from a place of deep frustration. The clerk in front of him sat behind a towering mahogany desk, her fingers moving in swift, precise gestures, as though casting spells without a wand. Her face was pale and angular, softened only by the shadow of dim candlelight that flickered along the Ministry’s endless corridors. The clerk was dressed in the neat, sober attire of Ministry officials, a crisp grey uniform with silver buttons that reflected the cold, bureaucratic glow of the room. Her brown hair was pinned back tightly, not a strand out of place, except for a thin streak of white that curled at her temple. 

“You don’t understand!” he shouted. The words felt twisted, as if they fought to balance on the edge between civility and rage. The witch behind the counter flinched but remained still, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk. She had no more to offer him than the faint apology etched into her expression. “I need to work.” 

He needed the money. That need pulsed in the room like a living thing, thickening the air between them. But all she could offer was silence, her eyes downcast, her hands empty. Papers floated softly to her from unseen corners, filing themselves with barely a flick of her wrist. Behind her desk, a charmed quill wrote furiously on a long parchment, recording the day’s tasks with an efficiency that bordered on eerie. 

“Like I told you –” she said, “Mr Collins needs help with his books, but I don’t have anything else right now for you.” 

Remus shook his head. “Mr Collins won’t work with me. You know it.” 

There it was—unspoken but palpable. The reason why each request was met with hesitance, each job prospect slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He didn’t need to say it aloud anymore; the label had been burned into his very being. Werewolf. In the wizarding world, it was more than a condition—it was a curse. Few wanted to hire a werewolf. The fear lingered in every interaction, no matter how mundane. The Ministry had their own discreet policies on “dangerous creatures”.  

“I am sorry, Mr Lupin.” Her voice was smooth and low, tinged with the practiced indifference of someone who had seen many come and go from the Ministry’s endless halls. Her brown eyes showed nothing but disinterest. “Just come back next week.” 

“I’m here every week,” he sighed, “asking you for work, and each time it is the same. Why don’t you send me an owl if there’s something in the meantime? It would spare me from having to come here and bother you.” 

The witch raised her eyebrows and smiled mockingly. “Oh? And to what address should I send it?” 

She knew too well he didn’t have an address. He lived in his damn car – had been living in it for months now. The Ministry’s endless red tape, combined with the stigma of his condition, had shut every door before him. Each job interview, each opportunity, crumbled the moment his lycanthropy was mentioned or even hinted at. It was as if the wizarding world had no place for him outside the fringes of society. 

He turned away without bothering to say goodbye. There was nothing for him there. 

Finding work in the Muggle world had proven just as impossible. At first, it seemed like an escape—no one in the Muggle realm knew about werewolves, and the Ministry couldn’t interfere as easily. But even there, he couldn’t outrun his condition. Each month, as the full moon approached, he would feel the familiar dread tightening in his chest. He couldn’t just call in sick for three days without raising suspicion, and disappearing every month had quickly made him unreliable. Employers grew wary, questioning the strange absences. He had been let go from more jobs than he cared to remember, dismissed for being "untrustworthy" or "inconsistent." 

Remus had been careful with the modest inheritance his parents had left him, stretching every Galleon to make it last. For a time, it allowed him to rent a small flat near Diagon Alley, a place where he could be somewhat connected to the magical world. But even that fragile stability crumbled after two years, when Mrs. Daisy, his elderly neighbour, had complained to the landlord, claiming she didn’t feel safe living next door to a werewolf. No one had said it outright, but the eviction notice came soon after. 

Afterward, he managed to find a tiny studio in London, outside the magical community, but the rent required sterling pounds, not Galleons, and even without his affliction, finding work in the Muggle world have proved nearly impossible without the proper credentials. He had no Muggle schooling, no tangible proof of any experience, and no one was willing to take a risk on a man with an incomplete story. For a brief spell, he worked at a small café, washing dishes in the back, but his frequent absences around the full moon quickly made him expendable. “It’s just not working out,” his manager had said, barely meeting his eyes as he handed over the final pay check. 

After that, it had been a string of odd jobs—cleaning homes, scrubbing cars, whatever he could find that didn’t require questions or paperwork. But even those jobs dried up after a few months, the repeated absences stacking up like a curse he couldn’t escape. It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how much he tried to hide his condition; sooner or later, the same pattern emerged. He’d disappear for a few days, recover in secret, and by the time he returned, the whispers had already started. They always ended the same way: with him packing his few belongings and moving on to the next temporary refuge, the shadows of his secret following him wherever he went. 

But then, happier days came. And he embraced them as much as he could.  

Mr. Collins had been one of the rare few to take a chance on Remus, inviting him into his home with little fuss or prying questions. The old wizard had an impressive collection of books and papers in desperate need of organization, and Remus had relished the work. The house itself felt like a sanctuary—a sprawling estate tucked away from the bustling wizarding world, with its heart being the grand library that stretched wall to wall with ancient tomes and fragile manuscripts. For six peaceful months, Remus had lived there, surrounded by books, his evenings filled with the quiet companionship of Mr. Collins. They would often sit by the fire, sipping tea or scotch depending on the mood, talking about the wizard’s past adventures and far-flung travels. Remus had almost allowed himself to believe that he had found a place where his affliction didn’t matter. 

Everything changed overnight. 

The trouble had started with a routine trip to the Ministry to pick up his Wolfsbane Potion. With the full moon only days away, Remus needed it to maintain control during his transformation. But that day, there had been none. The Ministry’s supplies had run dry, and in a rising panic, Remus went to every apothecary in Diagon Alley, pleading for them to brew it for him. The answer was always the same—there was no Wolfsbane to be had, not until a delayed shipment of rare herbs arrived. Desperation clawed at him as the full moon loomed closer. 

When the night finally came, Remus did the only thing he could—he locked himself in the cellar beneath the guest house on Mr. Collins’ estate, far away from the main house and anyone who could be harmed. He chained himself tightly, trying to prepare for the agonizing transformation. But without the Wolfsbane, Remus knew that the wolf was savage, uncontrollable. As the change tore through his body, so too did the creature’s instincts, stronger than any chain he had prepared. The bonds snapped, and the beast roamed the grounds, its hunger and rage unleashed. The wolf howled to the moon, its cries cutting through the still night air as it hunted the estate, searching for prey. 

Mr. Collins’ housekeeper had been outside that night, restless and unable to sleep. She had been wandering through the gardens when the wolf appeared, a massive shadow with glowing eyes. In a split second, it lunged. Only the quick intervention of Mr. Collins, who had been awakened by the howling, had saved her. He subdued the wolf before it could do any real damage, but the incident left its mark. 

The next morning, Remus awoke in human form, bruised, aching, and filled with dread. He didn’t need to hear Mr. Collins' words to know what was coming. When he entered the kitchen, his pay was already waiting for him on the counter, along with a leather trunk packed with his few belongings. On top of the trunk rested a book from Mr. Collins' private collection—Remus's favourite, one he had admired during his long nights in the library. The wizard had even engraved the trunk with Remus’s initials, a final gesture of parting kindness. 

Beside it, a note in Mr. Collins’ elegant script read simply: Thank you for your service. 

It was over. Whatever peace he had found there was gone, lost in a single night. 

When Remus came back to London, the weight of his situation bore down on him like a suffocating fog. He needed a place to live, but the few Galleons he had saved were barely enough to cover the cost of a small studio, let alone food and the Wolfsbane Potion that he relied on every month. He ran the calculations over and over in his head—if he paid for rent, he’d only have enough to survive for a couple of months before everything dried up. 

That was when he met a young wizard at the Leaky Cauldron, selling an old, battered car for next to nothing. The decision had been easy. The car was cheaper than rent, and living in it meant he could stretch his money long enough to eat and scrape by while searching for work. So, Remus took it, and for two months now, the car had become his home—an old, rusting shelter parked in the backstreets of Muggle London. But work never came. Not for someone like him. 

Each Friday became a routine of survival. Remus would head to the Leaky Cauldron, where the kindly innkeeper allowed him to sit down with a free bowl of soup and a cup of tea. Sometimes, if the inn wasn’t fully booked, he was even allowed to use one of the rooms to take a hot shower, a luxury he was rarely afforded. Those brief moments of warmth and comfort were fleeting, but he clung to them like a lifeline. 

After his shower, he’d walk back to the Ministry, heading straight to the Wizarding Work Bureau, where hope flickered and died week after week. Every Friday, he found himself standing before the same brown-haired clerk. And every Friday, her reply was the same: nothing new, no work available. The expression on her face was always tired, indifferent. Remus couldn’t blame her—his situation was just another file in a growing stack. Another life falling through the cracks. 

He’d leave the bureau and step into the great hall of the Ministry, watching witches and wizards bustling about their business, oblivious to the fact that his world was crumbling. He wondered sometimes if he could even blame them. After all, his affliction was real, dangerous, and he understood their fear. But understanding didn’t make it easier to live with. He had grown thinner, his clothes hung loosely on his frame, and his face had become gaunt, his eyes shadowed by dark circles that deepened with each restless night spent in the backseat of his car. At just 28, streaks of grey had already woven through his hair, and he looked older than his years—like the ghost of the man he had once been. 

He was about to leave the Ministry, ready to disappear into the crowded streets once more, when something stopped him. A glimpse of black hair. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it—his tired mind playing tricks on him—but then he saw her again.  

Eliana. 

It all came rushing back to him in an instant, as if the past had never let him go. Eliana had arrived at Hogwarts during their sixth year, transferring from an old, distinguished town in Italy. Her beauty had been striking—impossible to ignore—and it wasn’t long before she caught the attention of everyone. Sirius, however, had despised her from the moment he noticed the colour of her tie. Ellie and her younger sister had been sorted into Slytherin. But Remus had seen the look in his friend's eyes, the disdain that masked something deeper.  

It wasn’t just the house she’d been placed in; it was the undeniable pull she had over him. She was one of the most captivating girls Remus had ever laid eyes on, and though Sirius never admitted it, Remus knew he felt the same. They had fought constantly—Sirius and Eliana—bickering in the halls, trading insults in class, to the point where even the professors made a point of keeping them apart. 

But everything shifted that summer. Sirius had run away from his family, severing ties with the House of Black once and for all. When they returned to Hogwarts for their final year, something about him had changed. Remus noticed how Sirius’s silver eyes lingered on Ellie now, no longer filled with resentment, but something softer. By Christmas, they were holding hands, sitting together at meals, whispering in quiet corners. They were inseparable, and it wasn’t long before everyone was talking about how perfect they were for each other—two rebels who had found solace in each other’s arms. 

Everyone agreed they were made for each other—everyone except Eliana’s family. Her parents couldn’t accept that their eldest daughter, heir to an old and revered lineage, was in love with the disowned son of one of the most infamous wizarding families. The Blacks may have been prestigious, but Sirius’s rebellion had tarnished their name in the eyes of the pure-blood elite. Yet, despite the tension, Eliana stood by him. She had promised that one day, she would confront her family, make them understand. But that day never came. 

Everything fell apart. Darkness had crept into Sirius’s world, and when Remus told Eliana what he had done, to Peter and James – and Lily, the crimes he’d committed, she refused to believe it. She couldn’t. They fought—terribly, violently—words flung at each other like curses. A month later, she disappeared. Without a word, she left, and no one knew where she had gone. Remus had tried to reach her, sending letters to her parents, even tracking down her younger sister, begging for answers. But there had been no replies, just silence. A year later, he found out her family had sold their house in London. Ellie had vanished from his life, as though she had never existed at all. 

She left the Ministry, and Remus followed, keeping his distance, too afraid to call out, too afraid to shatter the fragile image of her that had lingered in his mind for years. What if she wasn’t the same? What if the Eliana he remembered—the one who had disappeared so suddenly—was gone, replaced by someone colder, more distant? Her hurried steps echoed in the quiet streets until she reached the door of the Leaky Cauldron. Remus watched from the shadows as she slipped inside. He hesitated for a moment, then followed. 

She made her way to the bar, her movements quick and deliberate. He stayed back, watching, listening, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard her voice, unmistakable even after all these years. 

“Fire whiskey, please.” 

That voice—it sent a shiver through him. It was hers, no doubt about it. He could have recognized it anywhere. 

He stood at a distance, watching as she downed the glass in one swift gulp, her fingers gripping the empty glass as if trying to hold on to something far more elusive. 

“One more,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it—something raw and unguarded. 

The bartender frowned but obliged, pouring another glass. She tossed it back just as quickly. 

“In fact,” Eliana said, placing a piece of gold on the counter, “just give me the whole bottle.” 

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Careful with that,” he warned. “It’s strong.” 

She scoffed. “Strong is exactly what I need right now.” 

She grabbed the bottle and turned—only to find herself face-to-face with Remus. Their eyes locked. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, suspended in the charged space between them. The bottle slipped from her grasp, but before it could hit the floor, Remus caught it with a quick flick of his hand. 

“Careful with that,” he echoed the bartender's words, offering her a small, shy smile as he handed the bottle back to her. 

Eliana stood there, stunned, her expression unreadable. She blinked, seemingly unsure of what to say, then turned back to the bar, grabbing an empty glass. After a long pause, she took a deep breath and finally spoke. 

“Shall we... sit?” she asked quietly. 

Remus frowned, feeling a twinge of disappointment. He hadn’t expected her to rush into his arms, not after everything, but he hadn’t expected her to be so... indifferent. They found a quiet, dimly lit corner, away from the crowd, and sat down. The air between them felt thick, like an unspoken question hanging there, unanswered. 

“I didn’t know you were in London,” Remus said, breaking the silence. His voice was softer than he intended, as if he feared that if he didn’t speak, she might vanish again. 

“You weren’t supposed to know,” she replied, pouring the fire whiskey into two glasses and sliding one toward him. 

He took it, feeling the warmth of the liquid as he sipped, the heat spreading through his chest. “How long have you been here?” he asked. 

“I arrived yesterday,” she said, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

Remus frowned. “Do you come to London often?” 

Her eyes stayed fixed on her drink. “First time in five years,” she muttered. “I wasn’t supposed to ever come back.” 

That, he had guessed.  

“So, why are you here?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of the years between them. 

She took another sip, her gaze distant. “It’s Clara’s birthday. I came to visit her.” 

“Clara’s in London?” Remus was genuinely surprised. Eliana’s younger sister had left the city around the same time she did. 

“She’s been here for two years now,” Eliana replied, finally looking up at him. “She studied healing in America, but she got an opportunity to be a resident at St. Mungo’s.” 

Remus felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t known. He’d never seen Clara in all this time, never even heard whispers of her name. 

“Usually, she comes back to Italy for her birthday, but this year she’s on call, so I thought I’d surprise her,” Eliana continued, her voice quieter now, as if the weight of everything was pressing down on her. 

“And you?” Remus asked, his voice low. “You’re in Italy now?” 

She nodded, but there was no warmth in the gesture. He had thought she had returned to her family after leaving London, but he didn’t know where nor did he have the means to search for her. Over time, he had accepted that she was gone, that she didn’t want to be found. 

“I looked for you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first year. I wrote to your parents. They sold the house, and I couldn’t find where you had gone. I wanted to write, but—” 

Eliana reached out, her hand resting on his. The touch was sudden, unexpected, and he nearly flinched from the warmth of it. He hadn’t felt her touch in years. 

She used to be so kind to him. They’d study together when Sirius was too tired to care. They’d spend whole nights in the library, preparing for the next test. Often, they’d compare their answers and have burst of laughs. And when she had guessed his condition, she never pulled back, on the contrary, she used to help him and the boys prepare for the full moon. She took care of him after, bringing him hot chocolate the following mornings after a transformation.  

“I left for a reason, Remus,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of something final, something unspoken. “I didn’t want to be found.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. 

She looked away, her fingers slipping from his hand as quickly as they had touched it. Remus could see the hurt in her eyes, the grief she had carried for so long. She had been mourning—Sirius, their future, everything she had lost—but was it enough to leave without a word? Was the pain of losing Sirius worth abandoning everything else? 

She didn’t answer the question burning on his lips, but she took his hand, her touch soft, hesitant. “I never meant to hurt you,” she whispered. 

He knew she had been angry—angry with him for not believing in Sirius’s innocence, for standing against her when she had tried so hard to defend the man she loved. Their last conversation had been bitter, sharp words exchanged like hexes. She had called him a horrible friend, accused him of betraying Sirius’s memory, of believing that his best friend could be capable of murder and treachery. And he, in his grief, had thrown her words back at her, refusing to believe that she could still defend the man who had killed Peter, who had betrayed James and Lily’s trust. Who had made his own godson an orphan.  

Remus shook his head, squeezing her hand gently. “I didn’t mean to either.” 

She laughed softly, but it was a sad, hollow sound. She pulled her hand away, running her fingers nervously through her dark hair. “I didn’t plan on seeing you again,” she admitted. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.” 

“You must have known I wasn’t far...” he replied quietly, studying her face, trying to read the thoughts behind her guarded expression. 

She shrugged, her lips curving into a faint, almost wistful smile. “To be honest, Remus, I thought you’d have left London by now. You never liked it here.” 

She was right, of course. He had always craved the quiet solitude of the countryside, the peace it offered compared to the chaos of city life. But circumstances had tied him to this place. “I don’t really have a choice at the moment.” 

Eliana’s gaze flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t push. She could see the weariness in his face, the gauntness in his frame, and he didn’t want to burden her with the details of his life. Not after all this time. 

“So,” he said, changing the subject as he poured them another round of fire whiskey, “what are you doing now, back home?” 

She hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. “I’m a barrister,” she said finally, her voice soft but steady. 

Of course she was, Remus thought. She had always had a fierce sense of justice, always fighting for the underdog. It seemed fitting. She studied him with a small, knowing smile. “It suits me, don’t you think?” 

She had not been able to fight for Sirius.  

Remus smiled back, but there was something faint about it, as if he couldn’t quite summon the warmth he used to feel. “And are you happy?” he asked, his eyes falling to her left hand, where he had noticed the glint of a ring earlier. 

Eliana glanced down at the ring, as if surprised to see it there herself. “Yes,” she answered softly. “I am.” 

“He’s a lucky man,” Remus said, his tone genuine, though there was a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. 

Her expression faltered for just a moment, her gaze clouding over with something unreadable. 

They talked for what felt like hours, dancing around the past, avoiding the name that hung between them like a shadow. They didn’t dare speak of Sirius, both too afraid that the mention of him would reignite the pain and bitterness that had driven them apart all those years ago. Eliana tried, more than once, to ask about Remus—how he was really doing—but it was clear she already knew. She could see the struggle etched into his skin. 

At one point, she offered to order dinner, but Remus refused, his pride too strong to accept her charity, especially from her. He could feel her pity, and he hated it. The night wore on, and eventually, Ellie glanced out the window, watching as the sky darkened and snow began to fall, dusting the streets in a soft, silent white. 

“I should go,” she said, standing up reluctantly.  

Remus rose with her. “Let me walk you outside,” he offered. 

She shook her head. “There’s no need.” 

But Remus reached for her hand, and she let him take it. His eyes locked onto hers, his voice low and serious. “If this is the last time I see you, Ellie, at least let me walk with you. I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye last time.” 

She hesitated, then nodded. 

Outside, the air was crisp, the snowflakes catching the glow of the Christmas lights strung along the street. The festive scene felt oddly out of place, the cheerful lights at odds with the heaviness between them. Eliana walked beside him in silence for a while, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. 

“Are you living far from here?” she asked, glancing sideways at him. “I’m just around the corner. Maybe we could walk together?” 

“I’m fine,” Remus said, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

She stopped, then, looking up at him with concern. Before he could protest, she stepped into his arms, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. He rested his chin on the top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of her perfume, a familiar comfort from a time long past. 

“I can’t shake the feeling that you’re not,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her green eyes shimmered with tears, and for a moment, Remus felt something in him break. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he said lightly, scoffing to cover the ache in his chest. He pointed to the old red car parked just a few feet away. “I’ve got all I need.” 

Eliana pulled away from him, frowning as she walked up to the car, her brow furrowed. “Is this... yours?” 

“Not bad, eh?” Remus said with a laugh, trying to brush it off. 

But it was absurd. She came from a world of wealth and privilege, and here he was, trying to play off the fact that he was living out of a beat-up car. 

“Well, it’s got style, I’ll give you that,” she said with a soft smile, but then her expression shifted. She peered through the windows of the car, her face growing serious. 

“Remus,” she asked, her voice quiet, “are you... living in your car?” 

He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “It’s just temporary,” he said, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them. 

Eliana stepped closer, her hand finding his once again. Her face was filled with concern, the same look she used to give him at Hogwarts, whenever she worried for his well-being. 

All those years, always worrying about him. 

And here she was, still doing it. 

She wore the same worried look when Sirius would show too much affection towards her in front of him. She always glanced at Remus, a quick look to make sure he was alright. And every time, he ignored it—ignored that pitiful gaze he despised so much. 

“Let me show you something,” she said, her voice soft but firm. 

She took his hand, and together they walked through the blurry, illuminated streets. The night felt strange, the lights of the city glowing brighter than usual, casting everything in an almost dreamlike haze. They stopped in front of an old Victorian building, its weathered brickwork speaking of better days. Without a word, Eliana opened the front door, and Remus stepped in, his heart heavy but his feet following her without hesitation. 

The entrance led through a narrow, dimly lit hallway with a winding staircase, where the sounds of distant conversations echoed faintly from above. Inside, the flat was modest but charming. Tall sash windows framed the streets below, and the living room, with its classic crown mouldings, felt warm despite the unused fireplace. Wooden floorboards creaked beneath her feet. 

“Clara’s rented this place when she came back to London,” Eliana said as she flicked on the lights with a casual wave of her hand. “But she moved in with her partner six months ago, so now she just uses it as storage. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s comfortable.” 

“It’s nice,” Remus murmured, still standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

Ellie frowned and gestured for him to come in properly. “Please, make yourself at home.” 

Remus cleared his throat and stepped further inside, still cautious, as if he were afraid he might knock something over or leave a mark where he didn’t belong. Eliana removed her black cloak, revealing an all-black outfit underneath. The simplicity made her seem almost otherworldly in the soft light. 

“There’s a small living room here, the kitchen’s just over there,” she said, pointing to a tiny space to her right. “An office through that door, and a decent-sized bedroom next to it. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.” 

As she spoke, Remus couldn’t help but wonder why she was describing all this to him. This was the kind of flat he couldn’t even dream of renting. He wasn’t sure why she had brought him here—until he felt something cold press into his hand. Looking down, he saw a key. 

“What—” 

“Clara’s moving to France in a couple of months,” Eliana explained, cutting him off before he could protest. “There’s still two years left on the lease, and it’s a nightmare finding someone reliable to sublet. The owner’s a witch who only rents to people like us. It would be a waste to leave it empty when I know you could use it.” 

Remus shook his head, immediately trying to hand the key back to her. “I can’t accept this. It’s a kind offer, but—” 

“But what?” she interrupted; her tone sharp but not unkind. “It’s almost winter, Remus. You can’t live in your car. I won’t allow it.” 

He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping before he could stop it. “You haven’t cared where I’ve lived for the last five years. Why now?” 

The words sounded harsher than he had intended, but he couldn’t take them back. 

Eliana didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem angry, just... resigned. “I understand why you’d feel that way,” she said softly. “I know I’ve hurt you, but believe me, Remus, I didn’t want to leave you behind like that. It wasn’t just my choice.” 

“Then why did you?” His voice was low, but the question cut through the space between them like a knife. 

She sighed, running a hand through her long hair. “I was angry. Angry that you could believe such awful things about him.” She didn’t dare speak his name. “I needed you to fight with me, to at least give him a chance, to hear his side of the story. And when you didn’t... I felt like I was losing everything. You didn’t just turn your back on him—you left me alone too.” 

Remus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to stave off the familiar sting of guilt. It was the same argument they’d had all those years ago, and yet here it was again, haunting them both. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the friend you needed. I’m sorry I abandoned you.” He held out the key again, offering it back. “But I can’t accept this, Ellie. I don’t need your pity.” 

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Pity?” she echoed. “Is that really what you think this is?” 

What else could it be? 

“You’ve always tried to protect me,” Remus said quietly, his voice strained. “Even back at Hogwarts. I know you knew... how I felt.” 

He hesitated, but there was no need to finish. She knew. She had always known how he felt—how much he wished she didn’t love Sirius the way she did. And how much he wished Sirius didn’t love her back just as fiercely. They were soulmates, and it had always crushed him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

“This isn’t pity, Remus,” she said, sitting down on the couch, her fingers pressing into her temples as though she could push away the weight of the conversation. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “It’s care. It’s love. I can’t stand the idea of you being homeless, living in your car. I had no idea things were this bad.” 

Remus sighed, his exhaustion overwhelming him. He sat down too, sinking into the cushions beside her, his body heavy with the burden of everything left unsaid. 

“Has it been this way since I left?” she asked, her gaze fixed on him. 

He shook his head, not wanting her to carry the full weight of his struggles. But he didn’t have the strength to lie, either. The truth was somewhere in between, and as they sat in the quiet flat, the years of pain and silence between them felt heavier than ever. 

“It was fine for a while,” he began, hesitating. “But being what I am… you know. People fear me. They’re right to.” 

Eliana edged closer, her expression softening as she reached for his hand. “No one should fear you.” 

Remus gave a hollow laugh. “I’m a monster, Ellie. Quite literally.” 

Her hand moved to his chin, gently turning his face toward hers. “Look at me,” she said firmly. “You are not a monster. You’re the kindest, most thoughtful person I’ve ever known.” 

“Kindness doesn’t matter much when I turn into a wild animal every full moon,” he muttered, eyes drifting to the window. “Even with wolfsbane, I’m just a shadow of myself, too drained to do anything but exist.” 

His gaze traced the night sky, as if searching for answers in the stars. “It’s coming again… two days from now. I’m already worn out. Everything hurts.” 

Eliana’s voice broke as she whispered, “I’m so sorry.” A tear slipped down her cheek. 

“It is what it is,” Remus replied, standing slowly and moving toward the door. 

“Stay,” she called after him, her voice trembling. 

He paused, eyes closing against the weight of her plea. 

“Please, Remus,” she said again, stepping closer. “Let this be your home, just for a while. Let me give you a chance to rest, to not worry about where you’ll sleep tomorrow.” 

His heart clenched painfully. He turned to her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “There’s only one thing I want, Ellie,” he whispered. “Don’t leave. I can’t be alone anymore. I need a friend.” 

He broke down, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. Eliana was at his side in an instant, pulling him into a tight embrace. 

“I can’t stay, Remus,” she said softly. 

He looked down, his heart sinking further. He knew she had a life elsewhere, with someone waiting for her. Someone she loved. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice hollow. 

Ellie gave a nervous laugh. “I didn’t want to see you again,” she admitted, her gaze locking with his. “I was terrified of this moment…” 

“Am I that frightening?” he tried to joke, though his heart wasn’t in it. 

She traced the scar on his face with a gentle touch. “Not at all,” she whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss on his cheek. “You’re everything but.” 

Her hand lingered on his skin, their faces now inches apart. Remus felt the pull, the uncontrollable urge rising within him, the wildness that came with the moon. But he fought it, grounding himself in the moment. 

When she kissed his other cheek, the rawness of it nearly undid him. Her breath warmed his neck, and before he could stop himself, he leaned into her, eyes closed against the flood of desire. 

“Ellie…” he murmured, his control slipping. 

“This is the last time we’ll see each other,” she whispered against his skin. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Her hands found his bare skin, fingers tracing the edge of his shirt, moving lower. His mind spun. He felt as though he were betraying the memory of his lost brother, but the weight of her closeness, the tenderness he had craved for so long, was too much to resist. If pity was all she had to offer, then maybe… maybe it was enough. 

The memory of one past night haunted him—one of those memories that never faded, no matter how much time passed. It was their last year at Hogwarts. The entire school had descended on Hogsmeade for one last wild celebration, all the houses mingling, no divisions, no rivalries—just freedom and exhilaration. Remus had felt it too, for a while, but exhaustion caught up with him before the night was over. He decided to return to the dorms early, slipping away unnoticed, or so he thought. 

He hadn’t realized that Sirius and Ellie weren’t with the rest of the group when he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower. He had planned to take a long bath and go to bed, hoping to escape the noise and chaos that usually drained him. 

But when he opened the dormitory door, something stopped him cold. 

There, pinned against the wall, was Eliana. Sirius was with her, moving against her, his breath heavy. Her hands had been tangled in his hair, her back arching into him as if seeking more. Remus had frozen. Sirius’s trousers were bunched around his ankles, his shirt barely covering his body, and Ellie—her clothes had been dishevelled, exposing enough for Remus to know what was happening. 

He had been wanting to turn around, to give them their privacy, but something held him in place. Ellie’s eyes met his. For a heartbeat, he was sure she saw him. Her lips parted, and for that brief moment, he swore there was something more than surprise in her gaze. Was it… desire? For him? 

No, he had imagined it. 

Shaken, he had flown back to the common room, trying to focus on a book, anything to erase the scene from his mind. Half an hour later, Sirius and Ellie had reappeared, laughing as though nothing had happened. Sirius joked about Remus turning in early, while Ellie said nothing, avoiding his gaze completely. He had never brought it up. He convinced himself it was a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. Surely, she hadn’t seen him at all. 

And now, with a broken heart and trembling hands, he gave in.  

She was kissing him, and as he pressed his body against hers, he couldn’t help but recall that night—couldn’t help but recreate the image of her against the wall, except this time, it was him pinning her there. His breath came ragged in her ear, and he fought to keep control. He had imagined this for so long—what she might taste like, how her body would feel wrapped around him. 

Ellie unbuckled his belt, her hands steady, as his trousers fell to the floor. When she pulled off her shirt, revealing herself to him, he couldn’t breathe. She was perfect. More perfect than he had ever dared to imagine. 

For so long, he had envied Sirius, envied him for knowing her in ways Remus never would. But now, with her in front of him, he felt a shame deeper than anything he had known. 

But the desire, the wildness in him, wouldn’t be silenced. He bent to kiss her skin—her lips, her neck, her collarbone—his breath hot and uncontrolled. He wasn’t a man anymore. He was something primal, something desperate. Ellie tilted her head back, and he slid his mouth lower, removing the last barrier of clothing between them. 

When his lips found the warmth between her legs, her quiet moan broke the silence, sending a shiver down his spine. She grabbed his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue moved between her folds, tasting her. She moaned again, her fingers gripping him tighter, and for a moment, he forgot everything. Forgot who he was, forgot who she was. All that mattered was the taste of her, the feel of her skin under his tongue. 

He could stay like this forever, he thought. But the ache between his own legs, the pressure building inside him, refused to be ignored. He stood, lifting her in his arms, carrying her to the couch. Ellie’s legs parted without hesitation, inviting him in. He saw that same look in her eyes—the one he had seen all those years ago. Perhaps, he hadn’t been imagining it after all. 

His breath hitched as he nudged at her entrance, and when he pushed into her, they both let out a gasp—surprise and pleasure all at once. He moved slowly at first, trying to remind himself to be gentle, to be soft. But he couldn’t hold back. Not with her. He wanted to feel her completely, to lose himself in her warmth. 

Her moans grew louder as he quickened his pace, the sound of his body moving against hers driving him to the edge. She arched beneath him, her breasts rising and falling with each thrust, and he was lost—growling low in his throat, forgetting everything but this moment, this need. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her, harder now, his humanity slipping away. And then, he felt her tighten around him, her body trembling with the release he had been chasing.  

With her eyes closed, he wondered for a moment if she was thinking of somebody else, of him or the man that awaited her back home. 

But Ellie whispered his name in a breathless gasp, and it was all he needed. He followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a moan, his body shaking from the force of it. 

For a moment, the world stood still. 

As the last waves of pleasure faded, Remus pulled away, his mind reeling. What had he done? His heart pounded in his chest, guilt flooding him as he ran a trembling hand over his face. He wasn’t meant for this—not with her. Not with Ellie. Not with the woman who had once belonged with his best friend. 

Eliana leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her voice soft and broken. “I would have loved you so much, Remus… if I hadn’t loved him.” 

“I know,” he whispered, his chest tight. 

Her words hit him harder than he expected, words he had longed to hear but never allowed himself to hope for. He had known, from the moment they met, that she would always belong to Sirius and Sirius to her. But to hear her say it—it tore him apart. 

“In another life, maybe,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

He let out a bitter chuckle. “Maybe.” 

“I wanted this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I hope you did too.” 

He looked at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She was beautiful, even in her sadness. But it wasn’t him she loved. It never would be. 

“I wish it had been you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.  

“But it’s him,” he replied.  

“It’s always going to be him,” she whispered with a trembling voice. 

He nodded, understanding in the pit of his stomach. “I get it.” 

Ellie touched his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You deserve to be loved, Remus, if only you could see yourself the way I see you.” 

Remus closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. It was selfish to want more from her, to ask her to stay. He knew that now. He’d never have her fully, but this—this was something. Wasn’t it better than nothing? 

“One day, you’ll meet someone,” she said softly. “Someone who will love you completely, without fear or hesitation. Please, don’t push them away when you do.” 

He let out a hollow laugh, the same words James had told him countless times. It had never felt true, and it didn’t now. No one would accept him, not as he was. But he nodded, if only to make her stop crying. 

Ellie kissed him once more, her lips lingering for a moment longer than before. “I don’t think our paths will cross again,” she whispered, tears spilling down her face. “It’s better this way.” 

Remus shook his head, his heart aching. His eyes pleaded with her. “This is goodbye, then,” he said, his voice breaking. 

She nodded. “This is goodbye.” 

Defeated, Remus rested his head against the cushion, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The weight of exhaustion settled over him like a thick blanket. He felt her arms around him, warm and familiar, offering a fleeting comfort. Ellie’s embrace tightened gently, and she pressed a soft kiss against his cheek, lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath on his skin. 

For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and he let himself sink into that small, stolen tenderness—something he knew would soon slip away. 

“I’m sorry you lost the love of your life,” he said, the words catching in his throat. 

Remus quietly surrendered to the sleep that had been tugging at him for too long, its embrace pulling him deeper into a long-overdue rest. As the weight of consciousness slipped away, he felt himself sinking, drifting into the quiet abyss where exhaustion finally gave way to peace. 

When Remus woke the next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the window, casting a golden glow across the room. The duvet from the bedroom had been gently draped over him, a small gesture of care left in the silence. The apartment was still, empty. 

Ellie was gone. 

Rising slowly, he walked to the kitchen, where a folded note lay beside an envelope. His chest tightened as he opened it, reading the words in her familiar handwriting: 

“You’re sorry I’ve lost the love of my life, Remus. But I’m sorry you haven’t met yours.” 

He hesitated before opening the envelope. Inside, the key to the flat rested, cold and waiting. Etched into its surface was a single word: "Yet." 

[corroded-hellfire]

OMG Wait for thé As You Wish baby Eliza idea fics I was thinking about something like this: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTRTyDcC5/

All of the Munson family is on the floor lined up and cooing at baby Eliza to crawl/walk towards one of them to see who she favors more.

Eliza Munson is now an obsession of mine. I love her almost as much as Eddie does. @munson-blurbs and I had so much fun (as we always do together) writing this and having the little Munson family get weird and have fun 🩷

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Come on, Eliza,” Luke says with a sigh. He pulls out the chair next to her highchair and plops down in it. “Why won’t she just eat it?”

“Would you want to eat strained peas?” Ryan asks, brandishing the label on the baby food jar at his little brother. “It probably tastes worse than normal peas.”

Luke hops up and dips his pinky into the jar. He sticks it in his mouth and immediately pulls it right back out. His face scrunches up in repulsion and he makes a gagging sound. “Yep. Definitely worse.”

“Don’t make that face in front of her!” Ryan chides. “She’ll never want to eat it!”

But the little giggles from the highchair have both boys turning to look at their sister. Her big eyes are focused on Luke as he makes his face of disgust. 

“You think that’s funny, huh?” Luke says, leaning in towards the nine-month-old. “You like when I make silly faces?” He puckers his lips together like a fish, which has Eliza giggling even harder. “You love me so much, don’t you?” Luke swore he’d never cave in and use the baby-talk voice that everyone else uses with his sister, but that didn’t last very long. Now he uses it almost every time he talks to her. 

“All right, Eliza,” Ryan says, bringing a small spoonful of the unappetizing green baby food up towards her lips. “You gonna have some food now? Have some yummy lunch?”

“Don’t lie to her,” Luke says, making Ryan roll his eyes. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Ryan tells the baby. “Gonna open up? Yeah, there you go.” Eliza holds her tiny mouth open long enough for Ryan to feed her the peas. Eliza makes a face at the unpleasant taste on her tongue and smacks her lips together a few times, but she doesn’t spit it out. 

“Yes!” Ryan cheers. “I did it! I got her to eat her vegetables.”

“Well, yeah,” Luke says with a scoff. “Because I made her laugh.”

“She laughs at anything. The other day, I unzipped my coat and she laughed so hard that she farted,” Ryan retorts, bringing another small spoonful of peas to his sister’s lips. 

Luke pouts, sticking his tongue out at Ryan. “You’re just jealous because I’m obviously her favorite.”

“Ha! In your dreams.”

“Wanna bet?”

That’s how you and Eddie find your three children sprawled out on the family room floor. Luke and Ryan are on one side, and Eliza’s on the other. 

“C’mon! Come over here!” Ryan calls out, motioning the baby towards him. “You can do it, Eliza!”

“Do I even wanna know what you two are up to?” Eddie asks, smirking at the boys. 

“Trying to see which one of us is her favorite,” Luke casually replies, as though this is a normal occurrence. 

“Ah, well, at least you’re not training her for some sort of horse racing thing with babies,” Eddie laughs, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Anyway, don’t worry about who her favorite is.”

“She loves us equally,” you remind them with a patient smile. 

But Eddie rolls his eyes playfully. “Uh, no. I was gonna say that they don’t need to worry about it because I’m clearly the favorite.”

“Ha!” you bark out. “Remember whose body housed her for nine months and produced food for her. I literally gave her life. Therefore, I should be the favorite.”

“You should be,” Eddie says, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes, “however, you’ve neglected to account for the fact that she’s a total daddy’s girl.”

Ryan’s next to speak up. “Well, I’m the one who named her. If you left it up to Luke, we’d be calling her Squidward.”

“Only if she was a boy!” Luke protests. “Besides, I make her laugh the most. She knows I’m funny, so I’m her favorite.”

Eddie turns to you. “I think there’s only one way to settle this,” he says with a shrug. 

“I think so,” you agree. Turning towards the boys, you motion for them to scoot down so that you can get down on the floor next to them. Eddie scoops up Eliza from where she’d wandered over towards the toy box in the corner of the room. He straightens the tiny black Metallica shirt she’s wearing and sits her down in the middle of the room. 

“Here we go,” he says, pressing a kiss to her head before coming over to get on the ground next to you. “Okay, on the count of three, everyone start calling for her. Ready? One, two, three.”

“Come on, baby!” you call, making grabby hands for your daughter.

“Eliza! C’mere to Daddy, baby girl!”

“Hey, hey, Eliza!” Luke coos. “Over here!”

“You know you love your big brother Ryan! Come here!”

Eliza stays seated in her spot, her eyes roaming over her four family members, wondering what in the hell they are doing. She’s seen some weird things in her nine months, but never this. 

“Luke, stop making funny faces. You’re distracting her!” Ryan says.

“I’m trying to get her to come over here!” he responds. 

The baby finally pushes herself into a crawling position and starts to move. The four older family members practically hold their breath as they wait to see in what direction she’s headed. Eliza veers to the right, headed towards Eddie. Her father lets out an evil, triumphant laugh and grins as she gets closer. 

“That’s right, baby. Show them Daddy is your favorite.” But then her movements pause, and Eliza begins to head towards her mother.

“Yes!” you say, encouragingly. “That’s my sweet girl!” You shoot a smirk over your shoulder at Eddie. “You were saying?” 

Eliza starts crawling towards you, but Ryan starts drumming his hands against the carpet and that catches her attention. Her course once again changes, and she heads towards her brothers.

“No!” you say. “Don’t betray me! My only daughter!”

“Uh, mine too, ya know,” Eddie says from the other side of you. “Eliza, remember who always sings you to sleep.” He launches into the chorus of “Enter Sandman,” headbanging while the little girl giggles. 

Your heart sinks as Eliza starts towards him, but she immediately stops crawling when she hears the knock at the door and sits back on her diaper-padded bottom. 

“That must be Wayne,” Eddie says. He’d invited him over for dinner, and the older man never turns down an opportunity to see his grandkids. “Come in!” he calls out, not moving from his spot on the floor. 

The doorknob twists as Wayne enters, heavy-footed in steel-toed boots. His gaze is drawn immediately to the five of you on the floor. 

“What on God’s green Earth did I walk into?”

Luke’s the only one not remotely embarrassed. “Trying to see who Eliza loves the most,” he casually explains. 

Before Wayne can formulate a response, the baby does an about-face and crawls directly to him. She sits at his feet, making grabby hands and whining so he’ll pick her up. 

“Huh,” Wayne says with a grin. “Wouldja look at that.  Seems like Miss Eliza chose me!”

The rest of you groan and grumble, erupting into a chorus of not fairs. 

“Does this mean that Grampa Wayne is her favorite?” Luke asks, unable to hide his envy. 

Wayne laughs, tickling his granddaughter’s feet. “C’mon, you didn’t need a competition to know that!”

Eliza claps her hands together clumsily in agreement. 

“The princess has spoken,” Eddie begrudgingly agrees. A glint of mischief flickers across his deep brown eyes as he looks at his uncle. “Unfortunately, the prize is changing her diaper. And, uh, she’s really been into prunes lately, so…” he claps a hand on Wayne’s back. “Congrats!”

[viaoverthemoon]

Pink Pills 1/2

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Summary: You convince your boyfriend Leon to supervise you while you take a "Pink Pill".

Tw: Mention of drugs, (consensual) consumption of sex drug, swearing, mild smut, reader is a little too bold, reader should learn to read

18+ NSFW!! MDNI!! Read at your own risk!

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"Baby, it has a whole warning label..."

"Well duh, Lee. All pills have warning labels. They're drugs. I just asked you to watch me so I don't like... die or some shit."

Somehow, you'd managed to convince your boyfriend to watch you as you take a trending new sex drug called, "Pink Pills". Apparently, they're the shit and your friend had dared you to try one.

And mama ain't raise no scary bitch.

Before Leon could say another word, you ripped open the packaging and swallowed one whole. And it wasn't the small kinda pill either. It was big and long, a little hard to swallow.

Leon gave you an unamused look, one you responded to with an overconfident smirk, before taking the packaging into his hands.

You'd picked up your water bottle off the kitchen counter and gulped some water down, trying to help the pill down when Leon suddenly gripped your arm.

Startled, you glanced his way, only to see the mildly concerned expression on his face as he read the warning labels. You looked at him, patiently waiting for him to tell you what was wrong.

"Sweetheart. The instructions say to cut the pill in half before taking..."

There's a pregnant pause after he trails off. You look at him with a blank expression and he watches you with wide eyes.

-

And now you both sit on your couch, waiting for any of the side effects to show. It's been 20 minutes since you took the full pill, and so far, nothing had happened yet.

Leon stays on his phone, searching to see if the pill had any dangerous effects while also watching you.

And you lay relaxed on the couch, a sense of calm washed over you. It felt as if your body was completely relaxed, your eyes droopy and your bones like jelly.

5 minutes later☆

Okay, scratch that.

You feel like you can't breathe.

You suddenly begin to feel like you can't get enough air. Leon notices your panting and is immediately at your side.

"Sweetheart? Are you doing okay?"

You can hardly process his question because as soon as he asked, a rush of arousal ran between your thighs. A gasp breaks from your lips and Leon watches as you grip onto the couch.

"Holy SHIT..." You're overwhelmed by an intense and heavy pressure in your pussy. You feel your face get hot and your entire body feels sweaty and sticky.

What the hell is happening right now?!

You want to voice the question, or at least tell Leon what you're feeling. But the whine that leaves your lips overtakes any verbal communication.

Leon can do nothing but helplessly watch as you tremble and shake next to him. He doesn't know what you need and even though he should be more concerned for your wellbeing right now...

He can't stop looking at you.

He watches your back arch away from the couch. He watches as you bring a hand up to your mouth to hopefully muffle the sounds you're making. He watches as the arousal dripping from you begins to spread into the couch, leaving a dark stain. He watches as the shirt your wearing rises higher and higher, exposing your glistening wet bare thighs.

"Lee..." He looks at you at the mention of his name, unaware of the boner straining his pants, and sees the unshed tears in your eyes and the pout on your lips. You reach over and cling onto his shirt as you desperately grind into the couch.

"Help me... please?"

It would seem you've finally reached your breaking point.

☆

Pink Pills 2/2