Yuuy

The fluorescent lights above the counter hummed like dying insects, casting a sickly yellow glow over the cramped aisles of the little gas station convenience store. This place hadn’t been updated since the late nineties, faded chip bags hanging in crooked rows, a rattling cooler that sounded like it was on its last legs, and a single dusty security camera mounted high in the corner that hadn’t recorded anything in years. You’d been stuck working here for almost eight months now, wearing the same faded navy polo with the cheap embroidered “Stop & Gas” logo peeling off the left breast. The pay was shit, the customers were worse, and management blamed you every single time inventory came up short.

You sat on the wobbly stool behind the register, one elbow propped on the scratched laminate counter, popping your gum loudly as you flipped through the local newspaper. The headline on page three still made your stomach twist even though the story was three years old now:

“Unsolved Blaze Destroys Local Bar - Three Years Later”

You skimmed the article with tired eyes. Some rundown dive bar on the edge of town had gone up in flames one night, spreading unnaturally fast. One body had been recovered from the wreckage, burned beyond recognition. The night-shift bartender was still listed as missing. Police had called it suspicious from the start, accelerant traces everywhere, but leads had dried up fast. No arrests. Just another cold case in a town that already had too many.

You snorted softly, snapping your gum again. “Figures.”

You folded the newspaper in half and tossed it onto the counter, leaning back until the stool creaked in protest.

Stealing was practically a local sport around here. Kids on bikes snatching energy drinks, truckers palming beef jerky, teenagers daring each other to stuff pockets full of candy. Every week the inventory logs came back short, and every week your manager chewed you out like it was your fault for not having eyes in the back of your head. “You gotta be more vigilant,” he’d say, like you weren’t already exhausted from twelve-hour shifts in this fluorescent coffin. You hated it. Hated the constant low-level paranoia, the way every customer felt like a potential thief, the way you always ended up taking the blame when the numbers didn’t add up.

Your shift had barely started and you were already counting down the hours. The clock above the door read 8:42 p.m. Outside, the lot was mostly empty except for one beat-up Chevy truck idling crookedly at the far pump, engine rumbling low. You watched the two men for a long moment through the glass.

One of them leaned against the truck with his arms crossed, a cigarette glowing between his lips. Dark hair, broad shoulders, a permanent scowl etched into his face as he stared out toward the treeline like he expected something to crawl out of the woods. The other one stood at the pump, lighter hair catching the harsh sodium lights, his expression cold and detached as he watched the numbers tick up on the gas display. There was something off about both of them - too still, too watchful. The kind of men who made the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You chewed your gum slower, eyes narrowing.

The bell above the door suddenly jingled, sharp and far too cheerful for the quiet night.

Your head snapped up.

He stepped inside like he owned the damn place.

Tall. Hood pulled low over messy brown hair that stuck out in uneven, self-cut chunks. A black bandana covered everything below his nose, pulled tight so only his dark, restless eyes showed. Scuffed black Converse, dark hoodie, shoulders already twitching with small, involuntary jerks. He moved with a strange, uneven gait - long strides broken by sharp hitches, like electricity was trapped under his skin and kept firing at random.

The second he crossed the threshold, his gaze locked onto you.

For one long, electric second your eyes met across the empty store. Something cold and dangerous crackled in the air between you - raw awareness mixed with the heavy knowledge that you were completely alone in here. Then he looked away first, almost guiltily, and shoved both hands deep into his jacket pockets.

You watched him drift toward the candy aisle, your gum forgotten mid-chew.

His right shoulder rolled hard toward his ear. A quick, violent snap of his head to the left. A soft, bitten-off grunt slipped out from under the bandana. Tourette’s, maybe. Whatever it was, the restless energy rolling off him made the air feel thicker.

He stopped in front of the Snickers bars.

Long, scarred fingers hovered. Another sharp tic jerked his neck sideways with an audible crack. He plucked two bars from the rack casually, and in one smooth motion slipped them into the deep pocket of his pants.

You saw it clear as day.

Your stomach tightened. Not again. Not fucking tonight.

He turned like nothing had happened and started heading for the door, shoulders hitching with every other step.

You stood up fast, the stool scraping loudly against the tile.

“Hey,” you called, voice cutting sharp through the fluorescent buzz. “Aren’t you gonna pay for those?”

He froze mid-step, one hand already pushing the door open. The bell gave a half-hearted jingle.

Slowly, he turned.

Dark eyes met yours from under the shadow of the hood. Confusion flickered there for a split second, then something sharper - amusement, maybe. Or challenge. His head twitched hard to the side, shoulder rolling up toward his ear as he shrugged, casual as hell.

“What?” The word came out muffled and choppy under the bandana, laced with a noticeable stammer. “I-I didn’t tuh-take anything.”

You crossed your arms, leaning one hip against the counter, the “Stop & Gas” logo stretching across your chest.

“I literally just watched you put two Snickers in your pocket. Pay for them or put them back.”

He stared at you for a long beat. Then his eyes dragged slowly down your body, over the faded polo that clung a little too tight after too many washes, down to the way your jeans sat on your hips. He wasn’t subtle about it.

A low, muffled sound, half laugh, half tic, slipped out from under the bandana. He patted the side of his pants where the rectangular bulges were clearly visible.

“You c-can check my pockets if y-you want,” he offered, voice low, almost playful.

The nerve of him made heat crawl up your neck.

“Dude, I can literally see them. You’re really gonna play dumb with the candy still in your pocket?” you shot back.

He tilted his head, another sharp tic jerking his shoulder. The corners of his eyes crinkled like he was smiling under the fabric.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You scoffed. “Take them out. Right now. Or I’m calling the cops.”

His eyes darkened. The playful edge vanished.

“Try a-and see w-what happens, bitch.”

The word hit like a slap. His gaze dropped again, slower this time, lingering on your thighs before sliding back up. He gave a short, choked laugh that sounded more like a tic than anything human, then turned and shoved through the door. The bell jingled mockingly as cold night air rushed in.

You stood there stunned for half a second before anger surged hot through your veins.

“Fucking asshole!”

You quickly stepped out from behind the counter, following him. You yanked the door open and stepped out into the biting cold, the fluorescent light spilling out behind you.

He was already halfway across the lot, long strides eating up the gravel. The Chevy truck’s headlights flared on suddenly. The dark-haired passenger flicked his cigarette away and narrowed his eyes at you through the rolled down windshield. The lighter-haired driver sat stone-faced behind the wheel.

The hooded guy, your thief, jogged the last few steps, yanked open the back door, and slid inside. The door slammed.

You shouted after him anyway, voice cracking across the empty lot.

“Hey! Get back here, you piece of shit! You don’t just walk out with my fucking candy!”

From inside the truck you heard that same choked laugh again. The passenger muttered something sharp–“Fucking idiot” and “Told you to behave”–before the driver shifted into gear. The truck rolled forward, gravel crunching.

The back window rolled down.

Your thief leaned out just enough for you to see the glint of his eyes under the hood. He lifted one scarred hand in a lazy wave, fingers twitching once.

Then he flipped you off, eyes crinkling with clear amusement under the bandana.

The truck sped up, taillights flaring red as it disappeared down the dark road toward the treeline.

You stood there in the cold, breath fogging, heart hammering with rage.

“Fucking idiot,” you hissed, flipping the empty road off with both hands before storming back inside.

You locked the door early that night.

Two Snickers. Two lousy bucks.

And you were already dreading the next shift.

The day after the thief stole those two Snickers, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

No matter how hard you tried to shove the memory down, it kept crawling back up. The sharp, involuntary hitch of his shoulders. The way his head snapped sideways with that soft, audible crack. The choppy stammer that made his words fight their way out from under the black bandana. And the absolute fucking nerve of him - walking into your store like he owned it, slipping candy into his pocket right in front of you, then flipping you off from the back of that truck like it was all some kind of game.

It was infuriating.

You hated how easily he’d gotten under your skin. Hated the way your stomach had twisted when he’d looked you up and down like he was already imagining peeling the “Stop & Gas” polo off your body. Hated that every time you closed your eyes, you saw those dark, restless eyes locking onto yours across the empty store.

But deep down, buried under layers of annoyance and the righteous anger you kept feeding yourself, you were curious.

What the hell was he hiding under that bandana? Was he ugly? Or was it just an intimidation tactic - some edgelord trick to make himself look more dangerous than he really was? And who were those other two men in the truck? The dark-haired one with the cigarette and the permanent scowl, and the lighter-haired driver with the cold, dead-eyed stare. Where had they gone after they peeled out into the woods? Were they locals? Drifters? Something worse?

The questions gnawed at you all shift, turning every slow hour into a loop of unwanted thoughts.

It was a strangely calm day at the store. Only a handful of customers had trickled in, mostly truckers grabbing coffee and lottery tickets, a couple of locals buying cigarettes. No one caused any trouble. No one tried to walk out with half the candy aisle. By the time evening rolled around and the sun started dipping behind the thick treeline, the store was dead quiet except for the constant low rattle of the cooler and the buzzing fluorescents overhead.

You needed something to do before you drove yourself crazy replaying that lazy middle finger in your head for the hundredth time.

Grabbing the mop and bucket from the back room, you filled it with soapy water and got to work on the scuffed tile floors. The rhythmic sloshing and the faint squeak of the mop head were almost meditative. You pulled your hair up into a messy ponytail to keep it out of your face, the strands still slightly damp from the morning’s shower. The faded navy polo clung to your back as you worked, the “Stop & Gas” logo stretching across your chest with every push of the mop.

You were halfway down the center aisle, hips swaying slightly with the motion, when the bell above the door suddenly jingled, sharp and bright in the quiet store.

You didn’t turn around right away, figuring it was just another trucker or local grabbing cigarettes on their way through. You gave the mop one last lazy push across the tile, the soapy water sloshing softly in the bucket.

Then you turned.

Your heart almost stopped.

It was him.

He stood just inside the doorway, the bell still swaying gently above his head. Same oversized dark hoodie, hood pushed back just enough to let messy brown hair spill out in chaotic, self-cut chunks. Same scuffed black pants. Same black bandana pulled tight across the lower half of his face, hiding everything but those dark, restless eyes. His shoulders were already twitching with that familiar restless energy - small, involuntary hitches that made his whole frame seem like it was wired wrong.

The second your eyes met, his gaze dropped. He scanned you openly, shamelessly, starting at your sneakers, dragging slowly up your legs, lingering on the way your jeans hugged your hips and the curve of your ass, then higher to where the faded “Stop & Gas” polo stretched across your chest. His eyes flicked back to your face, then down your body again like he couldn’t decide which part he wanted to look at more. There was something almost playful in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, like a smile was hiding under that damn bandana.

You wanted to slap him.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming back here,” you snapped, grip tightening on the mop handle until your knuckles went white.

He didn’t move. Just stood there, head tilting slightly to one side as a sharp tic jerked his shoulder upward. Another quick snap of his neck to the left, accompanied by a soft, bitten-off grunt that slipped out from under the fabric. His eyes stayed locked on you the whole time.

You shoved the mop into the bucket with more force than necessary, the water splashing loudly, and stalked behind the counter to put the solid laminate between you and him. You crossed your arms tight over your chest, glaring.

He stayed rooted near the door for another long second, then took a slow step forward.

“Hi,” he muttered, voice muffled under the bandana, that familiar stammer cutting through the single word.

You scoffed, loud and dry. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got? Are you back to steal some more, or did you just come here to stare at my ass again?”

Instead of answering, he started walking toward the counter.

His steps were uneven, shoulders hitching every few steps, head giving another sharp sideways twitch as he moved. He drifted closer with that same restless, predatory energy that made the air in the store feel thinner. His dark eyes never left yours, even as another tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear.

You held your ground behind the counter, arms still crossed, heart hammering harder than you wanted to admit. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like they were laughing at you. And still he kept coming, until he was standing right on the other side of the register - close enough that you could smell the cold night air clinging to his hoodie mixed with faint pine and cigarette smoke.

He fidgeted a little, scarred fingers twitching against the edge of the counter as another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

You stared in confusion as he placed the two Snickers bars on the scratched counter in front of you. They were completely crushed and melted from being in his pocket for hours - wrappers crumpled and torn, chocolate smeared across the plastic like they’d been sitting in a hot car all day. It was ridiculous. The bars looked pathetic, like sad little casualties of whatever chaotic life this guy led.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Seriously?”

This had never happened before. Thieves didn’t just come back to return their stolen shit. Especially not after flipping you off and peeling out like it was all a joke. What the fuck?

He just nodded once, eyes crinkling at the corners again like he was smiling under the bandana. “Y-yeah,” he said, the stammer making the single word drag.

You stared at him, waiting for something to happen - anything. For him to laugh and snatch them back, or for his buddies to burst in and rob the place, or for the whole thing to turn into some kind of setup. But nope. He just stood there, shoulders hitching with those small, involuntary jerks, dark eyes watching you like he was waiting to see what you’d do next.

So you pushed. “Why on earth are you doing this?”

He thought about it for a moment, head tilting slightly as another tic made his right shoulder roll hard toward his ear. A soft, bitten-off grunt slipped out. Then he shrugged.

“You l-looked very upset last night,” he muttered. After a little pause, he added, quieter, “And it d-didn’t feel good s-stealing from a pretty girl.”

You were completely caught off guard.

The words hit like a sucker punch - simple, blunt, and way too honest for a guy who’d just called you a bitch the night before. Heat rushed up your neck, and for a second you didn’t know whether to laugh, snap at him, or throw the melted candy right back in his face. Pretty girl? From the mouth of the same asshole who’d eyed you like meat and walked out with your inventory?

Your mouth opened, then closed again. Everything felt off-balance now.

As he just stood there, shoulders still twitching with those small, restless hitches, dark eyes never quite leaving yours, you couldn’t take the weird tension anymore. The melted Snickers sat between you like some ridiculous peace offering, and the way he was looking at you made the air feel too thick, too charged.

You crossed your arms tighter. “Well yeah, of course I was upset. We’ve got a huge problem with people stealing shit in this store. Management’s always riding my ass about inventory coming up short, like it’s my fault assholes can’t keep their hands to themselves.” You sighed, then continued. “Why did you even steal the candy in the first place?”

He shrugged, one sharp roll of his shoulder turning into another quick tic that snapped his head sideways with a soft crack. His gaze dragged slowly down your body again, over the faded polo, the curve of your hips, then back up to your face, before he answered.

“Got a s-sweet t-tooth,” he said simply, the stammer making it sound almost boyish despite the rough edge to his voice.

You huffed, a short, frustrated sound that did nothing to ease the heat crawling up your neck. The pressure of it all - the intense way he stared, the constant little jerks of his body, the subtle implication hanging in every glance - was getting too much. You didn’t know if you wanted to kick him out or keep him talking just to see what he’d say next.

So you simply pushed the two crushed bars back across the counter toward him.

“Dude, just keep ’em. It’s fine.”

He looked down at the ruined candy, then back up at you. Something flickered in his eyes - disappointment, maybe. The corners crinkled less, like the hidden smile had slipped.

Then he casually said, voice low and muffled under the bandana, “I’m c-craving something s-sweeter than that.”

You stared at him, blinking. “…Like what?”

A sharp tic jerked his right shoulder hard toward his ear, followed by a quick snap of his neck to the left. He let out a soft, bitten-off grunt before the words came out, rough and direct:

“Like y-you.”

Your face went red immediately, heat flooding your cheeks even though you tried your hardest not to react. You felt it burn all the way to your ears, your pulse kicking up so fast it was embarrassing. Pretty girl. Craving you. The nerve of this fucking guy - coming back here after stealing, after flipping you off, now dropping lines like that while his body twitched like it had a mind of its own.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, completely thrown.

He didn’t laugh or take it back. Just stood there watching you with those dark, restless eyes, waiting. Another small hitch rolled through his shoulders as he tilted his head slightly, like he was genuinely curious how you’d respond.

The store felt smaller than ever, the scuffed tile and faded aisles closing in while your heart hammered against your ribs.

Finally, you managed a shaky scoff, trying to play it cool even as your face betrayed you.

“You’re… actually insane.”

But your voice came out softer than you wanted, almost breathless, and the red in your cheeks wasn’t fading anytime soon.

He nodded at that, the movement sharp and uneven thanks to another quick tic that made his shoulder jerk upward.

“Yep,” he said simply, like he was just confirming the weather. No smirk, no defense, no trying to play it off. Just yep. Like being called insane was normal.

Jesus fucking Christ. What was this guy’s deal?

You swallowed thickly, the heat still burning across your face. Your fingers awkwardly adjusted your messy ponytail, tucking a stray strand behind your ear just to have something to do with your hands. You glanced around the empty store before your eyes flicked back to him.

“I don’t even know what’s under there,” you said, motioning vaguely toward the black bandana still covering the lower half of his face. “Like… what you look like.”

He blinked. Once. Slowly. Like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him at all.

Then, after a beat, he asked, voice low and choppy through the fabric, “You w-wanna see?”

Your heart stuttered. You rubbed your arm, suddenly self-conscious under the sickly yellow fluorescent glow.

“Um… yeah. Sure.”

He hesitated for a moment. His restless eyes flicked down to the counter, then back to you. Another sharp tic jerked his head to the side with a soft crack, and his scarred fingers twitched against the edge of the bandana. For the first time since he’d walked in, he looked almost uncertain, like he was weighing whether this was a mistake.

Then he made up his mind.

With a quick, decisive tug, he pulled the black bandana down and let it hang loosely around his neck.

Holy shit.

The scar was huge. It stretched diagonally across his left cheek, brutal and badly healed, thick and raised like someone had dragged a jagged blade across his face and never bothered to stitch it properly. The skin around it pulled at the corner of his mouth, giving his lips a slight, permanent twist on that side. It looked painful even now, years later.

But aside from that… he was pretty.

He looked much younger than you expected. Messy brown hair fell into his dark eyes in uneven, self-cut chunks. His lips were full and slightly swollen, the bottom one especially plush despite the scar tugging at it. His jaw was sharp, almost delicate in its angles, and his skin was surprisingly soft-looking, pale with a faint scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you hadn’t noticed before. The contrast between the violent scar and the rest of his face was jarring - beautiful in a broken, almost haunting way.

You held your breath without realizing it, the air caught tight in your chest.

His eyes, those same restless, dark eyes, were locked on yours now, waiting. You could see the tension in them, the braced expectation. He was waiting for the rejection. For the flinch. For the disgust to flash across your face like it probably had a hundred times before. He seemed completely ready for you to tell him to get the fuck out.

Your pulse hammered loud in your ears.

You didn’t look away.

And then it happened.

You don’t know what on earth possessed you to do this - maybe the way he looked at you with those scarred, pretty features and those braced, waiting eyes, maybe the electric tension that had been crackling between you since the moment he walked back in, or maybe you’d just lost your goddamn mind after eight months of fluorescent-lit boredom - but the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I can give you something sweet to eat.”

The tics started immediately.

His head snapped hard to the left with an audible crack, shoulder jerking violently toward his ear. Another sharp twitch rolled through his frame, then another, faster, like his whole body was short-circuiting. He looked shocked, like you’d just shot him point-blank. His dark eyes went wide, the restless energy in them freezing for a split second.

“W-wait… wh-what?” he stammered aggressively, the words tumbling out choppy and broken under the fresh wave of tics. His scarred mouth twisted with the movement, the thick line on his cheek pulling tight. “You– you s-said–?”

No going back now.

Your hands shook slightly as you motioned with your chin toward the small space behind the counter. “Come here.”

He just kept staring, frozen, another violent hitch jerking his shoulders. So you did it.

Your fingers went to the button of your jeans. The faint metallic click of the button popping open sounded impossibly loud under the buzzing fluorescents. You dragged the zipper down. The waistband of your plain white panties peeked out, simple cotton, nothing special, but the sight of them made a low, choked sound rip out of his throat.

And then he was moving.

He came around the counter fast, uneven steps eating up the short distance, shoulders hitching with every step. He stopped right in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off his body and smell the faint pine and cigarette smoke still clinging to his hoodie. You turned slightly so you were facing him fully, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you felt dizzy.

This was pure insanity.

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and pushed them down your hips, letting them slide to your ankles. You stepped out of them, kicking the faded denim aside. The cool air of the store hit your bare legs, raising goosebumps.

He was breathing heavily now, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts. His eyes raked over your panties, then flicked up to your face, then back down to the thin white fabric like he couldn’t decide where to look. Another tic made his head jerk sideways.

You touched the waistband of your panties with trembling fingers. Then, slowly, achingly slowly, you pulled them down too, letting them drop to the floor.

He gasped audibly, a raw, broken sound that cut through the constant hum of the lights.

And then he just… fell to his knees.

Right there on the scuffed tile behind the counter, like gravity had suddenly given up on him. His hands landed on your thighs for balance, scarred fingers gripping tight as another wave of tics rolled through him, shoulder snapping up, neck cracking to the side. But his eyes never left your now-bare pussy.

He was face to face with it, only inches away, dark gaze hungry and stunned all at once. The sight of him on his knees like that - messy brown hair wild, brutal scar pulling at his swollen lips - sent a hot, familiar rush pooling low in your belly. Heat throbbed between your legs, your clit already aching under the intensity of his stare.

His breath ghosted warm against your skin, shaky and uneven.

“F-fuck…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely more than a rasp. Another violent tic jerked his head, but he fought to keep his face close, eyes fluttering like he was trying not to lose it right there. “You’re… so fucking p-pretty.”

His fingers flexed on your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below where your hips met your legs. He leaned in a fraction closer, lips parted, the scar making the corner of his mouth twitch as another soft, involuntary grunt slipped out.

He was waiting again - waiting for you to stop him, to push him away, to come to your senses.

But you didn’t.

All you could feel was the wet heat building between your thighs and the desperate, trembling need in the man kneeling in front of you. Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs. This was your thief - the same twitchy asshole who’d flipped you off and sped off into the night - now on his knees like this. It didn’t feel real.

You swallowed thickly, voice coming out quieter and a little shaky, a mix of nerves and want. “Eat it.”

He didn’t hesitate anymore.

His scarred hands slid up the backs of your thighs and grabbed your ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he yanked you forward. The sudden pull made you stumble a half-step closer, your bare pussy right against his face. He buried his nose in you and just breathed you in - deep, greedy inhales like he was trying to memorize the scent. A low, broken moan tore out of his throat, vibrating straight against your folds.

“F-fuuuck…” he groaned, the word muffled and ragged. His shoulders hitched violently, but he didn’t pull away. He just pressed closer, nuzzling, inhaling again, another desperate moan spilling out as if the smell alone was enough to wreck him.

The whole thing was insane. The store was open - door unlocked, lights blazing, anyone could pull up to the pumps and walk in at any second. A trucker, a local, anyone. The thrill of it shot straight through you, hot and addictive, making your clit throb harder.

He spread your legs apart a little wider with his grip on your ass, thumbs spreading your cheeks just enough to open you up for him. Then his tongue was on you.

At first it was testing - slow, broad licks from your entrance up to your clit, like he was tasting something precious and trying not to devour it too fast. The wet heat of his mouth made your knees buckle. You slapped one hand against the wall behind you for support, the other flying down to grip his messy brown hair.

The second you pulled at his hair, something in him snapped.

His tongue turned eager, almost frantic. He licked you like he was starving - long, sloppy strokes that covered every inch of your pussy, then focused on your clit with tight, circling flicks. He was loud. Obscenely loud. Wet slurping sounds mixed with deep, guttural moans and broken groans that vibrated through your core. Every time his tongue dipped inside you, he groaned like he’d just tasted heaven.

Your whole body shook. Your legs felt wobbly, sweat already breaking out across your skin under the faded polo. You held on for dear life, fingers tightening in his hair as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.

“Taste good?” you managed to gasp out, voice shaky.

He groaned into your pussy, the sound raw and filthy, tongue never stopping. The vibration made your hips jerk.

“Yeah?” you pushed, breath hitching. “Better than candy?”

He made a noise that was half laugh, half desperate groan, choked and wrecked, then nodded frantically, his scarred cheek brushing your inner thigh. “Yes,” he moaned right against your clit, the word hot and wet and direct. “So m-much better–fuck, you taste so fucking g-good–”

The confession sent another rush of heat through you.

He threw your left leg over his shoulder without warning, opening you up even more. The new angle let him bury his face deeper, tongue working you harder - licking, sucking, flicking your swollen clit with relentless hunger. His scar pulled at his mouth with every movement, but he didn’t seem to care. He was lost in it.

You glanced down and saw his right hand palming himself desperately through his dark pants, rubbing the obvious bulge with quick, needy strokes.

The sight made something possessive flare in your chest.

You yanked his hair harder. “Did I tell you you could touch yourself, you fuckin’ thief?”

He whined - actually whined - into your pussy, the sound high and needy and so fucking hot it almost pushed you over the edge right there. His big, dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, wet and pleading, mouth shiny and dripping with your slick. The brutal scar twisted with his expression, swollen lips parted around another desperate sound.

“P-please,” he begged, voice muffled and broken against your folds. “Please– I’ll be a g-good boy for you, I swear–please let me–”

The sight of him on his knees, face buried between your legs, eyes begging while his tongue kept working you, nearly made you cum on the spot.

You nodded, breath ragged. “Go on then.”

He only stopped for a second, long enough to frantically shove his pants and boxers down just enough to free his cock. It was big. Thick and long, bigger than anything you’d ever had, the head already flushed dark and leaking. Veins stood out along the shaft as he wrapped his hand around it and started stroking himself fast and rough.

Then he was back on you, mouth even more eager now, sucking your clit between his lips while two fingers slid inside you, curling just right.

At one point his teeth grazed the inside of your thigh - biting down hard enough to make you gasp. You yanked his hair roughly in response, and the pain made him groan loudly into your pussy, his hand jerking his cock even faster, slick sounds filling the small space behind the counter.

He ate you like a man possessed - slurping, moaning, tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm while he stroked himself frantically. His hips bucked into his own fist, desperate and uncoordinated because of the constant tics rolling through his body.

It didn’t take long.

His moans grew louder, more broken. His shoulders jerked violently. Then he came, hard, moaning deep into your pussy as thick ropes of cum spilled over his hand and splattered onto the scuffed tile floor. There was so much of it, pulsing out in heavy spurts while his tongue never stopped moving on you.

And still he kept going.

He ate you like nothing else mattered in the world, licking up every drop of your arousal mixed with his own ragged breathing, sucking on your clit with renewed hunger. His free hand gripped your ass tighter, holding you steady as your legs threatened to give out completely.

The orgasm hit you like a freight train.

You came harder than you ever had in your life - shaking violently, a loud, broken moan tearing from your throat as your head fell back against the wall. Your hips jerked against his face, thighs clamping around his head. You almost fell, vision whiting out, but he held you up with surprising strength, arms locked around your thighs like iron. His tongue kept working you through it, licking and sucking and drinking down every drop you gave him.

Some of it squirted, hot and sudden, splashing against his chin, his scarred cheek, and dripping onto the floor and his hoodie. He just moaned louder, slurping greedily, swallowing what he could and letting the rest coat him like he wanted to wear it.

Your body kept trembling long after the peak, little aftershocks making your legs twitch. He stayed on his knees, face still buried between your thighs, placing soft licks along your soaked folds as if he couldn’t bear to stop tasting you.

Your heart was hammering, sweat cooling on your skin. He looked up at you with dark, dazed eyes - mouth wet, chin dripping, scar glistening with your cum - and whispered, voice completely wrecked:

“Th-that was… so good.”

Then he licked his lips slowly, like he was savoring every last trace of you. His tongue dragged over the swollen bottom lip and along the edge of the thick scar, eyes half-lidded and dazed. After a beat, almost shyly, he added, “You’re… my d-dream girl.”

You could barely breathe. Your chest heaved, lungs burning as you tried to pull air back into your body. A shaky, breathy laugh escaped you - half disbelief, half pure adrenaline.

You carefully eased your weight back onto your own two feet, legs still trembling. One hand stayed braced against the wall for a second longer before you trusted yourself to stand. You reached under the counter, grabbed a handful of tissues, and wiped yourself quickly, cleaning up the mess between your thighs as best you could. He stayed on his knees the whole time, watching you with dark, hungry eyes that hadn’t lost any of their intensity.

You pulled your panties and jeans back up, buttoning and zipping with fingers that still felt clumsy. The fabric felt too warm against your sensitive skin. He observed every movement, quiet except for the occasional small hitch of his shoulders and the soft, involuntary grunt that slipped out when his head twitched sideways.

Finally, he pushed himself up off the tile, wiped his slick chin and mouth with the back of his hoodie sleeve, and tugged his pants and boxers back into place. The aftermath hit like a sudden drop in temperature - awkward, heavy, reality slamming back into the fluorescent-lit store. You were both just standing there behind the counter, breathing hard, the air thick with the scent of sex.

You tried to pull yourself together, smoothing down your messy ponytail and straightening your polo. Then your eyes met his again, and a small, helpless giggle bubbled out of you.

He smiled, actually smiled, this soft, dazed curve of his scarred lips that made the corner of his mouth twist a little more. It was boyish and almost sweet despite everything.

He wiped his chin one more time with his sleeve, then shoved both hands into his pockets and rocked a little on his heels, glancing over at the two crushed Snickers still sitting on the counter.

You sighed, a small laugh shaking your shoulders, and walked over to the candy aisle. You grabbed two fresh Snickers bars, brought them back, and held them out to him.

“Here,” you said, voice still a little hoarse. “They’re on me.”

His eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the winning lottery ticket. He beamed, wide and genuine, scar pulling tight, and took the bars, immediately stuffing them into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he muttered, that familiar stammer cutting through. “I, uh… I g-got my sweet fix already, but I’ll s-save these for later.”

You shook your head, still laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned again, rocking once more on his heels. “Gotta go,” he said after a moment, jerking his head toward the door. Another quick tic made his shoulder roll hard. “But… I’ll be b-back.”

You nodded, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was still racing. “Cool.”

He hesitated, dark eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing it. Then he stepped in quickly, cupped the side of your neck with one scarred hand, and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips. It was brief, warm, and a little clumsy, his scar brushing your skin, but it left you tingling all over again.

He pulled back, looking down almost shyly, then turned toward the door.

“B-bye,” he muttered as he shoved the door open. The bell jingled cheerfully.

“Bye,” you called back, watching him step out into the night.

The door swung shut behind him. You stood there for a long moment, heart still hammering, a dazed smile tugging at your lips as the faint scent of pine and cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

The soft glow of your bedside lamp cast a warm, cozy light across your bedroom, chasing away the shadows and making the rumpled sheets feel extra inviting. You were sprawled across your unmade bed in nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties, legs tangled comfortably in the blankets, a half-eaten bowl of cereal balanced precariously on your stomach. Some mindless sitcom droned on from your laptop, but you weren’t really watching it. Your mind kept drifting back to three nights ago - behind the counter at Stop & Gas, the way his scarred mouth had felt between your thighs, the desperate, broken sounds he made while he devoured you like you were the only sweet thing he’d ever needed.

You still didn’t know his name. That fact made the whole thing feel even more ridiculous, like some fever dream you’d conjured up during one too many night shifts. But the memory had you grinning like an idiot into your pillow, stomach fluttering every time you replayed the way he’d looked up at you with those dark, dazed eyes, chin glistening, whispering “You’re my dream girl” like he actually meant it.

For the first time in your life, you were actually excited to go back to work tomorrow. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. But the giddy little rush in your chest wouldn’t quit.

Your phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, jolting you out of your daydream. You glanced at the screen - Andy. Your coworker, the early-thirties burnout who always smelled faintly of weed and dealt on the side to anyone who asked. He usually only called when he wanted you to cover a shift. With a sigh, you paused the show and answered.

“Yeah?”

Andy’s voice came through shaky and raw, like he was still catching his breath and fighting the urge to puke. “Holy shit… you gotta hear this. I just watched someone get murdered right outside the store. I’m still shaking, man.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You sat up fast, the cereal bowl nearly spilling. “What? Andy, slow down–what happened?”

“I was working the night shift. Everything was dead quiet, like usual. Then James Miller comes in–that skinny fuck with the neck tattoos who’s been stealing from us forever. The one who got arrested last year. He does his usual bullshit: grabs a couple beers and some jerky, stuffs them in his jacket like I'm fucking stupid, and heads straight for the door. I yelled at him to pay up, but he just flipped me off and walked out laughing.”

Andy swallowed hard, voice dropping. “It was pitch black outside. You know how the lot lights barely reach the edge of the building. I followed him out anyway, pissed off, ready to get his plate or at least scream at him one more time. The second he stepped past the pumps, some guy came out of nowhere from the shadows near the treeline. Dark clothes, hood up, just–moving way too fast. He had hatchets–two of them, I think. It was too dark to see his face at all. He just… went at James like an animal.”

Andy’s breathing hitched. “James tried to run but the guy was on him instantly. Swinging those hatchets–chopping, hacking. Blood sprayed everywhere. James was screaming, then gurgling, then nothing. It was over in like a minute. I freaked out and ran back inside, locked the door. I watched the whole thing through the glass while I called the cops. The psycho just… finished and vanished. Ran off into the woods behind the pumps like he was never there.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “Jesus Christ…”

“The cops are here now. Whole place is taped off. James' body is still lying out there, completely mutilated. I told them it was James Miller, the repeat thief we’ve dealt with a dozen times. And listen to this–they found a note thrown on the ground right next to him. It said ‘I will not steal again :)’ with a stupid little smiley face. Fucking weird. Anyway, they’re asking me a million questions now. Feels unreal, man. It was… it was brutal.”

Your stomach twisted. James Miller. Just another local loser who’d pushed his luck one too many times.

Still, the note hit you like a slap.

“I will not steal again :)”

The words echoed in your head. A twisted little callback to the melted Snickers, to the playful way your thief had shrugged and said he didn’t take anything, to the lazy middle finger from the back of the truck.

It felt… personal. Like a message directed straight at you.

A chill crawled slowly up your spine.

No. That was insane. You were overthinking it. Had to be. Some sick coincidence. James probably had plenty of enemies - people he’d stolen from, people he’d pissed off. The woods were full of weird shit and weirder people. Andy hadn’t seen the attacker clearly. It could’ve been anyone.

“That’s… really fucked up, Andy. Are you okay? Do you need me to come down there?”

“Nah, they’re keeping me here answering questions. Manager’s gonna call you about the schedule. Store’s closed at least tomorrow, maybe longer. Just… be careful dude, alright? Whoever did this is still out there.”

“Yeah. Stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You hung up and sat there in the sudden quiet, heart hammering.

The laptop screen glowed mockingly. You stared at the wall, the giddy high you’d been riding for three days curdling into something cold and uneasy.

James Miller was dead. Brutally. With a note that felt like it was mocking the exact game you’d played with your thief.

“I will not steal again.”

It felt like a message. Directed at you.

You shook your head hard, trying to push the thought away. You were probably just paranoid from too many night shifts and one reckless, adrenaline-fueled night behind the counter. It was a coincidence. It had to be.

Still, the woods outside your window looked darker than usual.

And for the first time since that night, the thought of seeing your twitchy thief again didn’t fill you with pure fluttering excitement.

It made your stomach twist with something sharper. Colder.

What had you been thinking? How did you manage to allow yourself to believe that this was anything but a phase for them - they saw you as a challenge, they beat the challenge, and now they were through with you. 

You thought that the sweet looks, the kisses, the affection, the effort all meant more than it obviously did.

At least to them.

To you, it meant the world.

To them, it was a chore.

You were a chore.

Foolish girl. 

You had been on your way to the library to meet up with the boys and Lily to study for the upcoming Herbology test. It was the first real group ‘date’ after the sketchiness that usually followed Remus about once a month that no one else seemed inclined to comment on, so neither did you.

Except…except, this time, some lingering tension seemed to follow the bout of sketchiness. 

And still, no one seemed particularly inclined to comment on it.

And you couldn’t help but feel like you were out of the loop somehow, but you chalked that up to being a newer addition to the dynamic, and not living with them in Gryffindor tower.

That is until you happened to be walking out of their view behind the stacks of books that their table was situated by when you overheard their conversation. 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem. This is getting out of hand.” You heard Lily say solemnly, earning her a pained groan from Remus’ lips, causing you to pause behind the stacks so as to not interrupt their conversation.

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer?” Remus bargained. “I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“It’s worse, Moons.” Sirius corrected. 

“Y/N’s so sensitive though.” James added. “I mean, how would that conversation even go? How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” Lily stated matter-of-factly. 

Remus let out a long-suffering sigh. “And how do you suggest I go about this?”

“Listen.” Sirius asserted. “I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something. I cannot keep living like this; it’s exhausting.”

Lily made a tsking sound and placed a consoling hand on Sirius’ shoulder as Remus let out another sigh.

“I know, I know; I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

Lily, Sirius, and James all made a hum of acknowledgement.

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.” Lily said.

You felt your stomach migrate to your throat as you turned on your heels and fled the library.

Is that what all the tension was about? Is that what this library study date was? Just a ruse to sit you down so they could break up with you?

Of course it was, idiot. You scolded yourself.  They were foolish to entertain the likes of you for any amount of time. 

So now you were here - ‘here’ being rushing to the dungeons to lock yourself in the Hufflepuff dormitories for the next foreseeable future - and you aren’t sure how you had convinced yourself that this was going to end any other way. 

“Do you think I should do it tonight?” Remus asked Lily as she finally sat down. 

“I think it would be best if we did, sweetheart. I just can’t help feeling like we’re keeping her at arms length by keeping it a secret, you know?”

“I agree.” Sirius said quickly. “It feels like she’s more of a guest than actually part of the relationship whilst we’re keeping something so big from her.” 

“I just don’t want her to hate me.” Remus admitted in a whisper.

“Remmy.” James cooed from the other side of Sirius. “Our sweet little Puffle seems completely incapable of hatred. But you know we’ve got your back 110% if she’s not accepting of you, right?”

The other two nodded in agreement but Remus only grimaced. “It just feels like I’d be ruining the relationship for all of you if the only person she has a problem with is me.” 

“Impossible.” Sirius replied emphatically. “Anyone who has a problem with you has a problem with us, Moons.”

“Even if we weren’t dating, Rem, if someone didn’t respect my friend - or anyone, for that matter - because of their lycanthropy, I wouldn’t want them around anyways.” Lily agreed.

“I don’t think we’ll have a problem, though.” Sirius continued. “Like Prongs said, she’s our sweet girl; I’m sure she’ll handle this fine.”

“Where is she, anyway?” James said, flipping his wrist to check his watch. “She was supposed to meet us like twenty minutes ago.” 

The other three shared a look of bemusement. 

“Do you have the map?” Sirius asked.

James quickly pulled the map from his book bag to scan the parchment for your name. “It says she’s in the Hufflepuff common room?”

“Maybe she forgot?” Lily mused.

“I spoke to her at dinner; she said she was going to change out of her uniform and then meet us here.” Remus replied, feeling his heart rise to his throat with nerves. 

What if she knew? What if she already found out? What if she hated him? 

“Rem, it’s alright.” Lily placated, clearly seeing his concern etched onto his face. “Maybe she wasn’t feeling well, or got caught up with something else.”

“She’s never bailed on us before…” James admitted, looking just as worried as Remus was. “Maybe we should check on her?”

“Why don’t we give her tonight; I think after all the shite we put her through this week, she’s allotted one missed date.” Sirius decided, opting to keep his tone light as he teased Remus for his ‘pre-moon angstiness’ as his partners call it.   

“We’ll catch up with her tomorrow.” Lily decided; and Remus and James shared a look of concern as they relented to study for the upcoming Herbology test without you. 

You weren’t really mad at the Gryffindor’s for their decision to end things with you; at least not at first.

People were allowed to change their minds, and you supposed that was the purpose of dating, right? To see if the person you’re interested in is someone you want to keep around indefinitely?

So, people were allowed to change their mind, and that was okay.

You also couldn’t particularly blame them; you were shy, quiet, timid, awkward in most social settings and certainly not as adventurous as them, it was only a matter of time before they grew bored of you. 

So you hadn’t been mad at them, not at first. 

But you were growing increasingly annoyed at their attempts to force themselves within your space. 

You had opted to sit at the Hufflepuff table for breakfast the next morning; there was no sense sitting at the Gryffindor table with them anymore.

But then you couldn’t handle the feeling of your heart splintering every time you heard Sirius’ bark of laughter or Lily’s giggle at something Remus said or that James did. So you quickly scarfed down your toast and grabbed a muffin to shove in your bag before fleeing from the Great Hall.

What you didn’t notice was James noticing you only as you were leaving, looking incredibly worried.

You nearly shrieked when you exited your Astronomy class that you had with the Ravenclaws and slammed into Sirius’ frame.

“There you are, dolly! We missed you this morning!” He proclaimed as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You quickly collected yourself; heart racing from the scare and then quickly migrating to your throat out of embarrassment and hurt at this familiarity you had with him only to be about to lose it.

“Sorry, I had been running late.” You said quickly as you headed for the stairs; the long-haired boy quickly keeping up with your steps. 

“Were you feeling alright?” He asked you.

“How do you mean?”

Sirius tilted his head slightly as he considered you. “Well, you didn’t show up to the library last night, and then you were running late this morning; that’s not like you.”

A hot frustrated emotion burned in your chest that you weren’t completely accustomed to feeling. 

Wasn’t he the one to say he couldn’t live like this anymore?

It wasn’t fair of you to be frustrated though, which frustrated you even more; he didn’t know that you had shown up to the library last night, nor that you had gotten to the Great Hall on time.

They hadn’t even noticed you this morning. 

And that’s why they were ending things; you were forgettable, ignorable, unnoticeable. 

“I’m fine, Sirius. Thank you.” You said simply, and quickly headed for the girl’s loo in order to shake him off. 

Remus had approached you in Care of Magical Creatures as well, which somehow hurt more.

Perhaps it was because you knew he was going to be the one to tell you that things were over; though you had thought he’d be better than to break up with you in the middle of class. 

“Hey, dove.” He said as he gently nudged your arm with his elbow; watching as you groomed the puffskein on your table. 

“Hey, Remus.” You said quietly, not removing your eyes from the Beast you were working with.

“I missed you last night.” He admitted quietly. 

Did you? You thought petulantly. 

“Sorry.” You murmured instead. 

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He said as he leaned his elbows on your workbench; if it had been any other student, you’re certain Professor O’Brien would have scolded him for not handling the beasts with adequate caution, but Remus seemed to be allowed certain privileges and the puffskein “Kujo” didn’t seem to mind him much. “I just missed you is all.” 

And he was smiling that sweet, soft smile at you and he seemed like he actually meant it which only further contributed to your ire. 

What happened to ripping the bandaid off? Why keep up this affectionate act if it was only going to end?

Remus looked like he was going to say something when the Professor announced the end of class. 

“I’ll catch up with you later.” You offered quickly before you all but threw Kujo back into his pen and took off towards the castle.

The final straw had to be Herbology, though.

You shared Herbology with the Gryffindors, and because you were a new addition - your the four Gryffindor’s all shared a potting bench whilst you worked alongside another Hufflepuff.

Today, however, it appeared that James had other plans.

Before Sadie-Jane could take her seat beside you, James had plopped himself - rather carefully for the notoriously boisterous quidditch chaser, mind you - on the stool beside you.

“Hey, angel.”

Again, with the pet names. 

It felt torturous at this point; part of you wanted to rip the bandaid off yourself.

But you looked over at the sweet, warm, inviting face of James Potter and any resolve to tell him to shove it completely dissipated. He was all messy curls, round frames, and warm eyes.

And you might have been [must have been] mistaken, but you felt you could see anxiety and worry painted in his features.

You supposed breaking up with someone could do that to a person, though.

“Hi Jamie.” You whispered back as you opted to ready your supplies for today’s lesson.

“I was wondering if you were going to come to the game tonight?” He blurted then, looking slightly embarrassed at his outburst. 

Right…the game. The game against Slytherin. The game that would have you sitting between Remus and Lily as they cheered for James and Sirius. That game. 

“I...uhm, well…”

Rip the bandaid off. 

But it was James. 

And you were in class.

And you could see Lily and Remus trying - and failing - to not look like they were watching you and James whilst Sirius had no such qualms and was actively staring at the two of you. 

“Yeah, I’ll…I’ll see.” You offered James, mustering up what you hoped was a convincing enough smile.

You could tell by the divot that appeared in James’ brows that you were not convincing in the slightest.

Thankfully Professor Sprout appeared then, instructing everyone to take their seats for class to begin, and Sadie-Jane came to claim her seat from the Gryffindor. 

You didn’t go to the game that night.

Gryffindor lost. 

And though you didn’t know at the time, James cried, but it wasn’t about losing to Slytherin. 

“So, why are you hiding in the dorms?” Caroline asked as she rolled away from her open magazine on her bed, clearly preferring potential drama you could offer her than whatever was in this week's Witch Weekly. 

“I’m not hiding.” You muttered back, not looking up from your cross-stitch you were working on instead of, you know, dealing with your problems. 

“Right.” Caroline agreed, not sounding like she agreed with you at all. “That’s why you’ve started and quit several hobbies over the weekend and have been going to the kitchen’s to grab food instead of eating in the Great Hall like a normal person.”

You looked over at your half finished gem ‘paint-by-numbers’, the scarf you’d crocheted that looked more like the skin of a messed up snake that had a terrible time shedding, and the guitar you had borrowed from Fenwick and nearly broke in a fit of rage when you couldn’t get it to sound the way you wanted it too.

“I just…can’t face them right now.” You admitted dejectedly.

“I don’t blame you. Helga, have you seen the lot of them? If I’d known they were accepting more I would have made my shot.” She mused as she laid back on her bed.

Grief and jealousy intertwined within you as you thought about them dating anyone else but you.

But you supposed that was their prerogative; they were allowed to change their minds. 

“Yeah well, you may still have a chance.” You muttered, capturing Caroline’s attention.

“What?” She asked quickly, but you didn’t have a chance to answer before there was a knock on the door. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” She asked with a salacious wink, causing you to glare at her.

“If it’s them, I’m not here; please.” You practically begged your roommate as she rolled her eyes and moved to the door to your dorm room. 

“Oh, hello Evans.” Caroline greeted, causing you to scrunch your eyes closed from your place currently hidden from view of the door. 

“Hi! Erm, is Y/N around?” Lily asked, sounding uncharacteristically awkward.

“Uh…no, she’s not in right now. I can let her know you stopped by, though?” Caroline offered.

You heard Lily thank her before Caroline closed the door again. 

“You sure you don’t want them? ‘Cause those Gryffindor’s are fine.” She sighed as she returned to her bed.

She let out a squawk when your pillow made contact with her head. 

Lily stepped out through the barrel to find Sirius and Remus exactly where she had left them (albeit far more tense) as James came running from down the hall where he had been pacing nervously. 

“Well?” James asked.

Lily pursed her lips. “Her roommate said she wasn’t there.”

Remus looked down at the map to the place where your name was etched beside your roommate’s in the seventh year Hufflepuff girls’ dormitory. 

Either the map was faulty [fat chance], or you were avoiding them.

It was official. 

For whatever reason, they were losing you. 

You had somehow managed to avoid the Gryffindor’s all Monday; taking a moment to thank every deity that you only had Divination with the Gryffindor house, and none of your Gryffindor’s had opted to take it.

You wondered if you could call them your Gryffindor’s anymore…

You had run over to the kitchens - all but a hop skip and a jump from your common room - to grab dinner and were stepping back out through the portrait of the pears when you came face to face with Sirius.

“So nice to see you, Y/N; I’d almost forgotten what your face looked like.” He said; his tone taking on a harsh tone you weren’t accustomed to hearing directed at you causing you to wince.

“Pads…” Remus warned from behind him, though he was looking at you just as warily as Sirius was.

As was James and Lily.

Shit. 

“I’m glad to see you’re still eating…” Remus commented dejectedly as he nodded towards your smorgasbord of a plate that Winky had helped prepare for you that now looked horribly unappetising. 

“I…yes. Erm, what are you guys doing here?” You tried.

It had, apparently, been the wrong thing to say.

Sirius let out a derisive scoff. “Cut the bullshit, Y/N. What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Sirius.” Lily warned.

“Would you guys stop?” He barked back at them before returning his burning gaze back to you. “I’m tired of this; of running around the school looking for you, of being disappointed every time you bail on us, of having to hold James whilst he cries because you’ve let him down, of being lied to. So I’m going to ask again - what the hell has gotten into you?”

“Nothing has gotten into me…” You tried to argue, though it sounded feeble even to your own ears. 

James had cried? You made James cry…

The disappointment in Remus’ eyes, the concern in Lily’s, the anger in Sirius’, the sadness in James’... it was too much, too much, too much. 

“You’re going to stand there and lie to my sodding face?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Sirius, stop it.” James ordered; his voice far more severe than you have ever heard from him. “Angel, please. Just…just tell us what’s wrong. Tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Any sadness that had settled in your chest bubbled into anger at his word choice.

“Fix this?” You repeated back to him. “Why? Why bother fixing anything if you’re all just going to leave me!?” 

The four Gryffindor’s stood staring at you with different levels of bemusement; Lily and Sirius at your words, Remus and James at you having raised your voice for the first time…well…ever. 

“What do you mean ‘leave you’?” Lily asked cautiously, causing you to scoff. 

“I heard you guys - in the library.”

“In the library? But…you never showed?” James asked.

“Yes, I did - and I heard you guys talking about me, so I decided to stay out of your way thinking that maybe I’d make it easier on you all. But then you’ve spent the past week absolutely torturing me; showing up at my classes, trying to sit beside me, showing up to my dorm room like you weren’t just biding your time.”

“Y/N, what exactly did you hear us say in the library?” Remus queried.

“That you couldn’t do this anymore! That someone ‘had to tell me’ because it was ‘getting out of hand’. That you couldn’t possibly live like this anymore and hopefully I’d just understand. And I do! I do understand; but what I don’t understand is what the point of chasing me around the bloody castle is if you-”

“Whoa, whoa. Okay, alright just breathe, darling, I’m sorry.” Lily attempted to placate, holding her hands up as she approached like you were some kind of feral cat.

You sort of acted like one when you swatted her hands away from you.

“No! No, it’s not fair! I’m sorry if I’m too much, or if I’m not enough; I get it, okay? I do; sometimes it doesn’t work out and that’s fair but if that’s how you feel then just leave me alone!” You shouted back, feeling the tears trailing down your neck at this point. 

“Y/N, please, listen okay? Just relax and we can talk this out.” Lily tried again as James let out a pained breath that sounded awfully close to a sob. 

“Remus, please.” He begged, turning his pooling hazel eyes to his scarred boyfriend who was looking at you in abject horror. “Please.”

“Y/N, you’ve misunderstood, dove. I-I’m sorry, It’s my fault, but what you heard…that wasn’t us talking about breaking up with you. I… It was about me.”

You wiped angrily at your face and set your now cold plate on the ground - you weren’t hungry anymore anyways. “It’s not you, it’s me?” You sneered half-heartedly.

“No, no…Merlin, Y/N I- I’m a werewolf. Okay? I have lycanthropy, I was bitten when I was four; that’s where I go once a month and why I get…weird. We were talking about the fact that I needed to tell you because it was hurting us to keep it from you. Dovey, I’m so sorry you’ve been so upset. Please, please take a breath for me.” 

You held your hands over your eyes as you tried to control your breathing.

Sketchiness…tension…disappearances… 

“You’re going to have to say something to her, Rem; this is getting out of hand”

“Can’t we just ignore this? Just for a little longer? I mean, it can’t be that bad?”

“Y/N’s so sensitive though… How do you tell her something like that?”

“It has to come from Remus.” 

“I don’t bloody care how we tell her, but we have to say something; I cannot keep living like this, it’s exhausting.”

“I’m sorry you guys. I thought we could ignore it but…I don’t think we can anymore.”

“I think we ought to just rip the bandaid off and hope she understands.”

“I’m a werewolf. I have lycanthropy…that’s where I go once a month.” 

“Please…baby, please say something. I-I’m so sorry.” You heard Sirius plead quietly; his shaky voice in stark contrast from the way he’d been barking at you just moments before. 

You pulled your wet hands away from your eyes to see all four of them looking at you with nothing but worry and heartache on their faces; though none looked quite as vulnerable as Remus did. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispered.

You sucked in a shuddering breath as more tears fell. “So…you don’t hate me?”

Remus let out a disbelieving laugh when you heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob from James.

“No! No, no dove, that- I’m rather quite in love with you, you know?” He pressed, daring to step closer to you. “Do you hate me?” He asked then, tone turning vulnerable once more.

“No.” You whined emphatically. 

“Oh my poor girl.” Sirius whined sympathetically. 

“Can I hug you? Please?” James all but begged, stepping in front of you with his arms open already; poised for you to say…

“Yes.”

You’re not sure he even waited for the affirmation to leave your lips before he had you encased in his arms.

You shoved your face into his chest and fisted his shirt in your hands; pulling him as close as you possibly could to your person. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been standing there - directly in front of the kitchens and awfully close to your own common room - sniffling into James’ shirt as he sniffled into your hair, but you heard a sniffle come from beside you.

You turned to see Sirius’ grey eyes shiny and red as he looked at you imploringly. 

“I’m so sorry I yelled at you, sweetness. I’m such an arse I just…I-”

“It’s okay.” You whispered.

“No it’s not.” Sirius argued immediately. “I…I get like that sometimes; just horribly defensive and then I go on the offensive first. I didn’t even give you a chance to talk to us before I was attacking you; I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Siri.” You offered again, holding a hand out to him which he took readily. 

“I can’t believe you’ve spent this whole week believing we wanted nothing to do with you.” Lily whined from your other side. “I’m so sorry we left you feeling like that, darling girl.”

Though you were quite content in your muscled hideaway, you pulled away from James’ chest to wipe at your face again, feeling awfully self-conscious of how blotchy your face must look from your tears.

“I shouldn’t have assumed.” You admitted shamefully; voice scratchy from both the shouting and the crying.

“The way you described it, I can understand how our conversation sounded to you, babygirl.” Sirius contended. 

“So…you’re really not leaving me?” You asked again.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, dove.” Remus replied.

“Why would I be leaving you?”

Lily shared a knowing look with Sirius and James who in turn moved their gazes to Remus with expressions reading “see?”. 

“Not everyone would be accepting of a werewolf.”

You felt your eyebrows furrow as you looked at the others as if saying “are you hearing this right now?” 

“But…I love you? I…I don’t even know what else to say…I just… love you so, that’s fine.”

“I just love you so that’s fine.” Sirius repeated as he looked at Remus arrogantly. “I knew I should have placed a bet on how she’d respond; I’d have made five galleons!”

“We were not going to bet on how our girlfriend would respond to Remus’ furry little problem, Sirius.” Lily chided as she playfully swatted at his shoulder. 

“Besides,” James added, pulling you closer into his side again. “You would have lost because I don’t think any of us would have bet that she’d misinterpret our disastrous conversation as us trying to leave her and then spend the week believing we were waiting for the perfect time to break up with her only for us all to shout and cry when we realised what happened.”

“No, that's true.” Sirius agreed readily, looking back at you with sympathy. “I really am sorry, baby.”

“Me too.” Lily continued.

“Me most of all.” Remus added.

“I knew we should have gone looking for her that night.” James mused aloud mostly to himself. “Could have saved us all a lot of heartache.” 

“Yeah, yeah Prongs. You’re right again; I’m sure we’ll never live it down.” Sirius said with a playful eye roll. 

“How can we make it up to you?” Lily asked as she placed her hand at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and traced shapes along the column of your neck with her thumb.

You shook your head shyly and looked at your feet. “It’s not necessary guys.”

“Nonsense.” Sirius scoffed.

“Let’s start with some dinner, yeah? And maybe a cwtch in the boys’ dorm upstairs?” Remus offered to the group, though he seemed to be waiting for you to answer.

You nodded at him and he opened his arms in invitation which you accepted readily.

“I’m sorry, dovey.” He whispered into your hair.

“I’m sorry too, Rem.”

“Let’s never fight again.” James decided enthusiastically as Lily and Sirius stepped through the pear portrait into the kitchens.

“Sounds good to me, bubs.” Remus agreed as he bent down to press a kiss to James’ lips whilst keeping you secured to his side.

You were sure that after this week, these four wouldn’t be letting you out of their reach.

After this week, you weren’t sure you minded that at all.