#I feel like these two have the most in common w each other

[permanentmess]

bob reynolds headcanons (including romantic x reader !)

GIF NOT MINE

a/n: i have completely let this hyperfixation consume me to the point where i quite literally think of bob or the thunderbolts most of the day. it's debilitating, but that means you will get some very passionate fics from me (literally have been in the middle of writing one thats why this took so long)

this is written with a female reader in mind, although could be easily read as otherwise :)

also let me address a common worry: absolutely NONE of this is meant to infantilize or baby this character in any way. anything i wrote was with a lot of consideration and i was using my logical thought processes to develop these. i recognize that this is a major issue already and i am not attempting to contribute to it

warnings: mentions of sex/sex life and activities so MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, mental illness (obviously), food/lack of eating, SPOILERS FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* FILM INCLUDING POST CREDIT SCENE

like i said in the thunderbolts one, its practically canon/accepted fanon that bob loves to read

i also feel like he might just...forget to eat (this basically comes from the bag of food and full shake he had in the post credit scene too lmao)

is trying to learn to cook but can really only cook like mac and cheese or scrambled eggs

but since he has a lot more free time, i can imagine after a bit he'd get pretty good at it (can you imagine ben grimm teaching him how to cook oml)

relationship wise, i think he's not exactly inexperienced, but he doesn't really remember anything

it says in his file his drug addiction and juvenile record started in middle school

so any romantic relationship or anything in that realm is just like...not familiar to him at all. or he just simply doesn't remember, like i said

i feel like he really likes physical touch but due to his past + the void, he's just a bit scared to touch anyone at first

but once he trusts himself and others more its easier (like towards the end of the movie/with yelena)

i think he likes the comfort of the baggy clothes that cover most of him, and thats why he wears them even though he "runs hot" (totally not projecting here) ((also its like teenagers w their hoodies -- weighted blanket style))

something tells me he likes arcades, specifically claw machines. idk why

also stuffed animals. yelena and ava definitely bought him one of those weighted ones

he seems like he would want to sleep with a nightlight at least, if not one of those aurora borealis light thingys (i have one 10/10 very calming)

i know everyone writes him as stuttering a lot, but i think he really only does it when he's anxious (i think im an expert, ive seen this movie 5 times don't come for me 🤚🏼)

like he can get really confident, especially on his better days

other than reading, i feel like he'd get into drawing or photography. something creative that can distract him but provide an outlet

(also this is actually canon but) he does the chores and dishes because he wants to feel like he's contributing to the team since he can't control his powers :(

this is maybe me projecting a little, but i feel like he ends up finding a lot of solace in nature. he went to malaysia to try and figure stuff out, so i have no doubts that he likes to get out of the city

more x reader based [romantic, some could be platonic]:

he loves his hair being played with. like you want him to pass out easy? let him stick his head in your lap, run your hands through it, massage his scalp. he'll be OUT in like 5 minutes

washing his hair? oh my god he is literally in heaven

your relationship is very slow but honestly both of you are okay with that

you two are also that couple that doesn't argue. you may disagree or want to talk to each other about stuff, but you never raise your voices [think: holt and kevin in B99 "arguing"]

he kinda does seem like the jealous type to me, but not in the toxic way. he'll just squeeze your hand extra tight or do that behind hug where he puts his head on yours or your shoulder and you immediately know

(its very hot when he gets possessive)

other than physical touch, i think he's an acts of service man. anything he can do to share his love, he wants to. and he likes little things you do for him

when i think of being with bob i just think of that quiet relationship where you're really in sync, soft mornings with the sun streaming in through the window, cute candid photos on each others phones

but i could also see one with like a slightly more talkative/expressive reader who really brings out bob's confidence. i don't doubt that he loves to yap too (some/most days at least)

he will try to cook for you but it might not turn out well (he's banned from the kitchen one week for burning water. he got distracted cause you were so pretty)

on a bit more of the sexual side, i feel like he has a praise kink. like he likes being told how he's doing, if he's treating you well, etc.

i feel like your guys' sex life starts really slow. just kissing, then moving up, until one day something in you both just kinda snaps and you can't keep your hands off each other

and maybe when its like very passionate or maybe he's a bit jealous that day, sentry comes out a little 🤭

despite being a god, sentry will straight worship you, idc, its canon

not that bob wouldn't

but sentry does on another level

at the end of the day, bob wants what you want, and you want what he wants, so it all works out well

bob is the type to have a note on his notes app of just your favorite things (all your typical orders, favorite books/movies/music, etc.). like its not that he doesn't remember (he has it memorized) but you know just in case Void takes a lot more of his memory

he'll bring a jacket with just in case you forget, he'll open doors for you, pull out your chair, he just gives off pure sweetheart and gentleman energy (not in the infantilization way)

just imagine a really peaceful relationship all around with such a genuine, sweet guy (i need him so bad)

as with the thunderbolts one, let me know about your own! kinda short but i hope they are enjoyable

[semiis]

their cuddle positions w/haikyuu

pairing: various x reader

genre: headcanons ; fluff

warning(s): none

a/n: this is an old post i uploaded on my hq blog from 2020. this was one of my favorites so I thought it was be nice to post it again. back then, i went with the ones i wrote for so i'm keeping it just the way it is. i’m really sorry if your favorite isn’t there. i hope you guys like them !!

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

atsumu, ushijima, daichi ⥼ the sweetheart cradle. i personally think this would be his go to cuddling position. his arm wrapped around you, holding you close while he lays on his back, your head buried deep into his chest while you inhale the scent of his cologne. most definitely pats or strokes your head as a sign of comfort or whispers nothing but comforting words to you. 

suna, kageyama, tsukishima ⥼ the leg hug. i don’t know why, but this is definitely you guy’s go to. the two of you would be chilling on either one’s bed, sleeping, on the phone, playing games etc. while one of your legs are entangled together. it’s much more relaxing to him and you both get the physical contact you were craving from each other. 

oikawa, sugawara, kita, asahi ⥼ the honeymoon hug. oikawa loves the physical affection between you two and whenever he’s feeling touch starved this is his go to. the both of you are entwined together, holding the other tight, arms wrapped around each other - almost as if refusing to let go. his chin (or yours) is delicately propped up on top of yours. he can feel your breath against the crook of his neck and he adores it. sometimes find him or yourself peppering soft kisses on the other. 

bokuto, lev, yamaguchi ⥼ the spoon. he loves cuddling, especially when it’s with you. he mostly loves cuddling after a long day a practice when he’s beat and worn out.  he lives for having his arms securely around your torso while your back is pressed up against his chest. you would sometimes find his hands caressing your sides or arms and he’d be eager to leave the most tender kisses against the back of your neck. 

hinata, osamu, noya, tanaka ⥼ the butt pillow. you or him laying on your stomach while the other has their head propped up on your butt. also an easy way to tease his s/o. he loves it. the “best pillow in the room” and the only one you guys want to lay your head against. it’s common if he strokes/caresses your leg, might even draw an invisible heart on it. 

tendou, kuroo, iwaizumi, semi ⥼ the cradle. he enjoys when you're laying on top of him, legs on either side of his body, cradling him while his arms hold you firm against his chest. you listen to the sound of his heartbeat and almost find yourself falling asleep to the soothing, rhythmic sound. 

kenma, sakusa, akaashi ⥼ the lap pillow. he’s fond of laying his head in your lap and often finds himself doing it every time he comes over to your place and vice versa. play with his hair, stroke his cheek with your finger, boop his nose, bend over to place kisses on his face - all of them would make him melt. loves peering up at your face from that angle and admires just how attractive you are. 

© semiis 2024 ; do not translate, repost, modify, or copy my work.

[rae-writes]

Firstly, big fan of your poly mc x obey me brothers stuff. Secondly, I'm a bit curious about the dynamics between the brothers and mc (cough three-ways cough). Obviously Beel and Belphie wouldn't mind working together, but do you have any headcanons regarding the other brothers sharing?

threesome parings lets gooo! // nsfw, poly!mc (duh) // dateables and sides next maybe?? ;)

Obvious parings

Beel + Belphie; this one is the most obvious, but it works so well (Belphie likes to say they're the best tag-team). It can leave you reeling because you don't always know what's going on when they communicate with just their eyes. The favorite positions in this team are probably: you sitting on one's face while sucking the other off; riding one while the other fucks you from behind; spooning with one in front of you and one behind you

"Such a fuck-ing slut for us, huh? Our pretty little slut."

"o-oh..yeah, move your hips like that again, please..g'na c-cum-!"

"Please go faster, Mc..uh-huh, like that..a-ah! Yesyesyes, cumming! 'm cumming, oh fuck!"

"Your mouth is always so good...here, do Belphie next. Wanna prep you with my tongue."

"Mmm...slow down over there, Beel. We said we'd go slow...'s still early..'m tired." "Sorry, Belphie, but they feel so good..just listen to them. They need us." "..fine...we're going back to sleep after, though."

Lucifer + Satan; yes. These two. Their synchronized energy is almost on par with the twins (even if it's like a subtle competition the whole time) and they do everything so smoothly and seductively it makes you hot and bothered at a rate that should be illegal. The favorite positions for this team are probably: bent over something, one pounding you from the back while you suck off the other; being held up while they fuck you standing, one in front and one behind

"Come on, you can suck my cock better than that. Don't tell me he's made you dumb already?"

"No, no, no, moan my name. Yeah, that's it baby, let me hear you. Louder."

"I'm cumming- don't fucking move. I don't care if he's close, I'm filling you up first."

"You look so pretty, Mc...so. fucking. gorgeous. Doing so good for us, always do so good."

"Hold it. Yes, you can, and you will." "Don't be so mean to them, Lucifer. I think they've well earned the right to cum, don't you? I wanna feel it. Let them cum." "No. If you keep mouthing off, I'll take them away and you can finish yourself off. They hold it until I say so."

Mammon + Asmo; PARTY DUO! They're so wild and filthy and it's so fun to have both at the same time. Tag teaming you is one of the times they can bounce their energies off each other without arguments. The favorite positions of this team (though they're down to try any positions) are probably: riding one while the other fucks you from behind; train style- fucking one [w/strap or dick] while the other fucks you; both squeezing themselves between your legs to give you oral

"Harder! Yeah, yeah, yeah- like that! Come on, Mammon, fuck them faster, I need them to give me more!"

"Ahh, fuck...you're so fuckin' good t'me, baby. Look so good, you're so damn perfect- look at me, look at me, baby...fuuuckkk.."

"Come on, hon! Spread those legs a biiit wider...don't be shy~ show us your pretty self..gotta give us room to work our magic!♡"

"Rock them hips over me, baby, yeahh..make me feel so fucking good. Takin both of us so well."

"Ooh, turn them around this way!" "No way! They faced you the last time, I wanna look at them this time." "That's so not fair- oh! Aw, just listen to that little whine...you need us that badly, Mc?" "Course they do, you kept us waitin so damn long. Don't worry, baby, we gotcha."

Not-so-common pairings

Asmo + Belphie; little odd pairing here, but Asmo cancels out Belphie's sloth (and even gets him riled up in a way only Azzy can) so once you experience it, it's like the shock of temperature play. The favorite positions of this team are probably: riding Belphie while Azzy fucks you from behind; sitting on Bel's face while sucking Asmo off; getting fucked by one, head hanging off the side of the bed, while the other fucks your throat

"I knew I made the right idea picking this set out for you! You look absolutely gorgeous, Mc! Put on a little show for us?"

"Mmmnn...move faster..yeah, come on..ugh- please? Please, for me...y-yeah! Like that.."

"The way you move your tongue like that has me spinning, darling! A-ah..ah, ah-! I'm gonna cum!"

"No, no, no, look at me. At me, Mc, not at Asmo. I wanna see your face when you cum on my cock- take that pretty mouth of yours off his dick and scream my name."

"Come on, Belphie! You gotta get motivated! Just look at them, laying there so pretty for us!" "I can make them feel good without acting like you, you know." "Not unless you want me to steal them away~ Ooh, there's that competitive look in your eye!"

Lucifer + Levi; not necessarily an ‘odd’ pair, but definitely one we don’t see often. With the elder commanding the room and the younger so willing to follow along, it makes for a smooth combination (and an easy dynamic to settle into). The favorite positions for this team are probably: sucking off one while the other fucks you from behind; bending Levi over and fucking him while Luci bends you over the other and fucks you from behind; sitting on Levi’s face while sucking Lucifer off

"Ah, ah, ah. If I can hear you forming words, it means you're not sucking his cock properly. Doesn't Levi deserve some pleasure, too, hm? Go on, choke on it."

""Nghh! You f-fuck me s'good! Hnn...h-huh? Y-yes...yes, y'r fucking me dumb already- 'm your good boy t-though, please keep going!"

"So willing and obedient...you don't know what you really even do to me, do you?"

"Mmph...love the way you taste..ride my tongue faster."

"You can fuck them harder can't you? If their mouth isn't being forced onto my cock, it means you're slacking again." "S-s-sorry...they just- ah!- f-feel so good...my legs are..are already shaking." "Already? Well, if you aren't going to do it properly, let's just switch positions."

Mammon + Beel; again, not ‘odd’, but more so an overlooked- giving based- combo. They’re pretty much all about you, so it can be a bit overwhelming sometimes (but in the best way). The favorite positions for this team are probably: sitting on one’s face and giving head to the other; laying on your sides, each fucking you from the front and back; riding one while the other feels you up and plays with you

"Aw, why're ya cryin', baby? Yeah? Feels good? Sweet little thing...how bout we make ya feel even better?"

"No, no- don't run away, Mc..not done yet..you can take us both at the same time, know you can."

"Y'look s'good ridin' him like that. Can't wait for my turn, fuck, do you feel what you do to me? C'mon, baby, feel it...s'all for you."

"Make him cum again..I don't wanna stop tasting you yet."

"Beel! C'mon! I wanna taste 'em too! Stop hogging!" "But their taste.." "I know- but look at 'em. They're dying to taste you, too. So give me a turn, yeah? Let 'em get their fill." "Okay...just for you, Mc.."

Levi + Belphie; this one…is interesting. It’s easy to run things because of their natures, but this is the unofficial ‘drastic switch’ team— you never really know what you’re getting with them. The favorite positions for them are probably: giving both a handjob while they pleasure you; riding one and making out with the other; getting fucked from behind and fucking the other

"D-don't stop- hnn..! O-oh, u-uh-huh, make me cum again, don't care if 'm sensitive, wanna cum again for you!"

"Noo! Come back...mmph..mm...don't stop kissing me. Don't care- I'll move your hips for you, don't worry about Levi, just focus on me."

"You look so. fucking. good. bent over for me. Shh, don't listen to Belphie's bitching, he's getting fucked every time I slam my cock into you, so focus on me."

"Pull my hair. Yeah, like that- mm! Let me fuck you harder..please? He won't care, he can take it, I need to fuck you harder, Mc, please!"

"Quit hogging them! It's not fair!" "Is that all you ever say? It's not my fault you don't ask them to give you what you need. I do. So I'm going first." "H-hmph! Mc, Belphie's being mea- oh..oh your hand feels good..yeah stroke me like t-that.."

Other good mentions

Lucifer + Mammon; these two can communicate with just their eyes as well as the twins can, okay, they absolutely have your head spinning— and usually, the eldest is in charge of the whole thing but sometimes his favoritism shows and he lets Mammon take over. The favorite positions in this team are probably: each fucking you standing, from front and back; sucking one off while the other guides the pace; rough makeout session to see who gets to be in charge (and sometimes it’s you)

"It's been awhile, hasn't it, Mc? I can tell by the way you're already drooling for us...all dumb and pretty. All ours."

"Doin' such a good job, baby...uh-huh, bob your head a liiittle faster, like..this. Use your tongue too...hear the way he's moanin' for ya?"

"Don't make fun of me...is it so wrong that I want to feel your touch, too? I love the rake of your nails across my skin..indulge me, won't you?"

"I don't even care if 'm not in charge this time- just don't stop kissing me..haven't felt your lips on mine all day, please, fuck, don't ever stop kissing me."

"Well? What are you going to do now that you're in control this time, Mammon?" "Heh..overstimulate him, Mc. 'n don't stop until he's shooting blanks." "...what? Mc, don't you d-ah! Gr..damnit...fuck, it feels good.."

Mammon + Levi; they might act like it’s a big competition sometimes, but all they really care about is making you feel good, and when their energies are in sync, it’s crazy. The favorite positions of this team are probably: riding one while the other fucks you from behind; getting fucked while fucking the other, spreading your legs wide open so they can both give you oral

"Don't be such a fuckin' sore loser, Levi. Just put your mouth on 'em and shut up..we don't getta talk till their legs are shakin."

"C-can't handle when you s-stare at me like that..m-makes me feel all hot a-and bothered..especially w-when he keeps fucking you e-even closer."

"Can take it- promise I can take it! Don't stop fucking me, need it s'bad!"

"Hah! Look at him! He's practcially in tears from just one orgasm..h-huh? W-w-what are you doing- no, d-don't! You're..going too fast..a-ahhh..c-cumming! N-no..'m not crying..'m not!"

"What'd you say?!" "You heard me! You're not that dumb, are you?" "You little- Mc? Oh, no, we're sorry baby...no, no, we didn't mean to forget you, we'll make it up. Here..put that tail of yours to good use, Levi." "Yeah..okay..we're sorry, Mc. That feel good?"

Satan + Asmo; this pairing can be so softly sweet and so passionately intense, it should come with a whiplash warning (but are you really complaining?). The favorite positions for this pair are probably: laying down while one fucks you from each side, getting fucked while making out with the other, mutual masturbation and getting edged while edging them

"Ah, ah, ah...not yet, love, don't cum yet. It'll feel better if we wait, yeah? Hold it for me...just a little longer."

"You look so sexy, all disheveled like this! Gets me all hot and bothered every time! Hehe! ♡"

"Arch your back for me- just like that. Makes it go even deeper, doesn't it? Just. like. this. Ohh, fuck, make that sound for me again- 'm gonna cum."

"Stroke me faster, baby, please! Uh-huh, uh-huh...mm! Cumming! Yes, yes, yes!"

"Calm down, Asmo. Mc's had a tiring day..let's take it slow and make them feel better, hm?" "Ooh, you're absolutely right! We'll take care of you, hon, you won't even have to lift a finger!" "Relax, love...we've got you."

[colouredbyd]

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

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: A prank gone wrong shatters the quiet trust between four lovers, leaving behind wounds deeper than any scar. In the aftermath, two broken souls face the wreckage with guilt clinging to skin and silence weighing heavier than blame. When forgiveness finally flickers to life, it does not erase the pain but dares to ask if something softer can still survive.

warnings: graphic injury, blood, post-transformation trauma, emotional breakdown, panic attacks, guilt, bathing scenes (non-sexual), intense regret, betrayal, depiction of self-loathing, partial nudity (non-sexual), heavy angst, complex grief, subtle references to recovery and healing. basically The Prank but with some comfort

w/c: 10k

a/n: this was abit challenging to write but i loved the idea <3

masterlist

Secrets are heavy things. They press against the ribs, nestle deep in the cavity of the heart, whispering their weight into your bones. 

You’ve carried theirs for months now, cradled in the hollow of your chest like something fragile, something dangerous. It lingers in the spaces they leave behind, the silence that drips from their mouths when they think you’re not listening. 

It’s the way Remus flinches when you touch his hand sometimes, the way his eyes flicker with something haunted, something raw.

It’s James, all restless energy and tight-lipped smiles, his gaze skittering away from yours at the end of every month like he’s afraid of what you might see there.

It’s Sirius, with mud caked on his boots and leaves tangled in his hair, laughter too bright, edges too sharp.

You know them. You know them like you know the lines of your own palms, the shape of your own breath. You know the way James’s voice softens when he’s apologetic, how Sirius’s grin goes crooked when he’s lying, how Remus’s shoulders tense when he’s afraid.

But this is different. This is not a harmless prank or a secret rendezvous. 

This is something that twists in the pit of your stomach, something that grows between them like tangled roots, thick and unyielding.

You feel it most in the silences. Those quiet moments where the world narrows to the space between heartbeats, and the air feels heavy with something unspoken.

You see it in the way they look at each other sometimes, as if speaking without words, as if deciding what not to say.

You wonder if it’s you. If you are the fracture in their perfect, unspoken language. If you are the secret they cannot share. It claws at you, fangs of insecurity sinking deep. 

Because you see it—the way their eyes meet across rooms, quick glances like unspoken conversations, the way they slip away without a word, leaving you in the warmth of the common room fire, staring into the flames as if they might hold the answers.

You’ve tried to ignore it, tried to be patient, but patience is a fraying thread, and you feel it unraveling more and more each day.

You hate it—the way your mind spirals into questions you don’t want to ask. Are they tired of you? Are you a burden? Something to be set aside while they run off to do God-knows-what in the dead of night?

You imagine them whispering secrets you aren’t privy to, huddled together under the weight of something important, something sacred, and your chest aches with the hollowness of being left behind.

Sirius still kisses you like you are his favorite sin, hands tangled in your hair, mouth all heat and promise. James still pulls you onto his lap with that bright grin of his, fingers tracing circles on your hips as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of you. Remus still holds you like you’re fragile, cradles you against him with a gentleness that feels like both love and apology. 

But it’s not enough to quiet the questions. Not enough to drown out the whisper of doubt that lingers in the back of your mind.

You start to second-guess everything. The way Sirius’s gaze sometimes flickers away when you ask him where he’s been. The way James laughs off your questions with a joke or a grin, always deflecting, always distracting. The way Remus looks at you with eyes full of ghosts, haunted and hollow, like he’s holding back an ocean of secrets.

It gnaws at you, eats away at your resolve until you can’t tell if you’re being paranoid or perceptive.

Sometimes, you catch them whispering in low voices, huddled together in the corners of the library or just outside the common room door.

They fall silent the moment you approach, smiles too bright, voices too loud, shifting to jokes and easy laughter as if nothing at all is wrong.

But you see it—the way Sirius’s hand will linger on Remus’s shoulder, the way James’s fingers brush against Sirius’s arm, a silent promise, a wordless reassurance.

You feel like you’re chasing shadows, hands grasping for something that slips through your fingers every time you get close. You want to ask them. You want to demand answers, to force them to share whatever it is they’re keeping from you. 

But you don’t. Because some part of you is afraid of the answer, afraid of what it might mean if you tear down the walls they’ve built and find yourself standing alone on the other side.

So you wait. You wait and you watch, heart heavy with the weight of secrets that are not yours to keep, wondering if there will come a day when they finally decide to let you in—or if the door will remain locked, the key hidden away in whispered conversations and midnight disappearances.

Because secrets are heavy things. And you are tired of carrying theirs.

The day unfurls like fraying ribbon, slipping through your fingers faster than you can hold on. There’s a heaviness to it, a weight pressing against your shoulders as you move through the halls, weaving between groups of students who laugh too loud and talk too fast.

Marlene walks beside you, her voice a gentle hum, but the words blur together, softened by the roar of your thoughts.

You think of them—of Sirius’s sharp grin and James’s steady hands, of Remus’s soft-spoken words and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. You think of the way they’ve always been yours, and you theirs, a tangled mess of limbs and laughter and quiet whispers beneath the covers. You think of the way it feels like coming home, like belonging.

But lately, there’s been something else.

A flicker of something that passes between them, a look, a whisper, moments that pull tight like thread, snapping back before you can catch hold of it.

It’s the late-night disappearances, the hushed conversations that end the moment you step into the room. It’s the way Sirius’s eyes dart away from yours sometimes, how James’s smile falters, how Remus’s hands shake when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You try to brush it off, try to bury it beneath logic and trust and the weight of their love. But it festers in the quiet moments, slipping in through the cracks when you’re alone, curling around your thoughts and whispering things you don’t want to hear. It’s loneliness, sharp and unyielding, and it grips tight, leaving bruises where you can’t see them.

Marlene’s hand finds your arm, squeezing gently. “You alright?” she asks, voice softening at the edges.

You blink, dragging yourself back to the present, to the corridor stretching out before you and the sunlight slanting through the windows. “Yeah,” you lie, the word sticking to your tongue like tar. “Just tired.”

She hums, unconvinced, but doesn’t push. You’re grateful for it. The silence stretches out between you, comfortable and warm, and you let it hold you for a moment, let it cradle you in something soft and unspoken.

But the weight is still there, pressing at the back of your mind, a whisper of something fragile and breaking.

By the time you reach the dormitory, the ache has settled low in your bones, a steady thrum that makes you want to curl into yourself and hide from the world.

Marlene offers you a soft smile and a quick hug before she disappears down the hall, and you watch her go, feeling the space she leaves behind like a phantom limb.

You push open the door, and the warmth of the room spills out to greet you, soft and familiar. The fire crackles low in the hearth, and the soft murmur of conversation drifts through the air. For a moment, you just stand there, watching them.

Sirius is sprawled across the couch, his head in James’s lap, eyes half-lidded as James’s fingers card gently through his hair.

There’s something unguarded in the way he leans into the touch, the tension bleeding out of his frame with each gentle stroke.

James is murmuring something soft, too low for you to hear, and his other hand is resting on Sirius’s shoulder, grounding him.

Remus is curled up in the armchair, a book spread open across his lap, fingers idly tapping against the spine in rhythm with whatever thought is playing behind his eyes.

He looks peaceful, brow unfurrowed, mouth softened at the edges. It’s a rare thing—to see him unburdened, unbothered—and you don’t want to break it.

You linger in the doorway, watching them, and for a moment, it’s enough just to exist there, on the edge of something beautiful.

But then Sirius glances up, his gaze catching on yours, and his eyes brighten.

“There she is,” he drawls, a lazy smile stretching across his lips, though you can see the way his hand trembles where it rests against James’s knee. “Wondered when you’d come back to us.”

You force a smile, stepping into the room, the wooden door groaning behind you. The space is warm with the soft glow of lamplight, and you take in the tangle of limbs, the way Sirius leans so comfortably against James, the way Remus’s long fingers are still pressed into the spine of his book. It looks like belonging, like home.

And yet, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re standing on the edge of it, fingers curled around the windowsill, peering in.

You clear your throat, and three heads turn towards you, Remus’s eyes softening the instant they land on your face.

He’s the first to rise, marking his page with a quick slip of parchment before crossing the room in a few long strides. His hands are warm when they cup your face, eyes searching yours with a tenderness that nearly unravels you.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheekbone. His gaze is steady, achingly gentle, and it makes something splinter in your chest.

You lean into his touch, your hands wrapping around his wrists. “Just a bad day,” you whisper, voice catching at the edges. “Wanted to be with you. All of you.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or something darker—but it’s gone before you can name it. He nods, presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“We’re right here, my love,” he says softly. “Always.”

You hear movement behind him, and Sirius appears at his side, James right behind him, both of them looking at you with expressions that tighten the knot in your chest.

“Come here,” Sirius says, and you’re pulled into the warmth of their arms, the scent of cedar and smoke and something distinctly theirs flooding your senses. It’s grounding, familiar.

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

When Remus pulls away, his hand is gentle at your back. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft as spring rain. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

His eyes are warm, and the softness there unravels you completely. You nod, and let him lead you towards the bathroom, his touch a tether in the quiet.

The bathroom is softly lit, shadows dancing along the tiled walls as Remus moves about, turning the tap and letting steam fill the space.

He turns back to you, his hands finding yours, guiding you gently to the edge of the tub. “Let me take care of you,” he whispers, voice like something sacred.

Steam curls at the edges of the mirror, blurring the reflection into softened shapes and tender echoes. The bathroom is awash with warmth, the flicker of candlelight catching on water droplets that gather and run down the tiles like tiny rivers.

The tub is filled nearly to the brim, wisps of lavender and cedar curling through the air, softening the edges of everything sharp and jagged.

You stand there, arms wrapped around yourself as Remus’s hands work at the buttons of your shirt, fingers deft and gentle.

He doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble, just unfastens each button with practiced ease, his gaze steady and patient.

When the last one comes undone, he slides the fabric from your shoulders, and it pools at your feet in a whisper of cotton.

James is already rolling up his sleeves, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something unyielding in his gaze, an anchor that keeps you grounded even when the world feels like it’s fraying at the edges.

Sirius is beside him, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed, a grin softening into something tender as he watches you, eyes bright with a fondness that makes your heart twist.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, voice soft but unsteady.

Sirius’s grin widen just a bit, a sliver of moonlight breaking through the clouds.

“Can you blame me?” he drawls, pushing off the counter to step closer. His hands find your shoulders, warm and grounding.

“We’ve got the most beautiful girl in the world standing right here. You expect us not to look?”

Heat flushes your cheeks, and you look down, eyes catching on the curve of your bare feet against the tile.

Remus’s hands come to rest on your shoulders, gentle and grounding. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and achingly tender. “Look at me.”

You do, slowly, and his gaze is steady, unyielding. “You know we love you, right?”

It’s a simple question, one you’ve heard before, one you’ve answered a thousand times.

But tonight, the weight of it settles heavy in your chest, and you swallow hard, your throat bobbing with the effort. “I know,” you whisper, though it wavers at the edges.

Sirius’s fingers brush your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you do,” he says softly, and his voice is raw, stripped down to something real. “Not really.”

There’s a pause, thick and heavy with unspoken things. James steps forward, his hands settling at your waist.

“Whatever that pretty mind of yours is telling you, it isn’t true, darlin', you know that, right?” he whispers, the words slipping through the quiet like a prayer.

His thumb strokes gentle circles into your hip, grounding and real.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and James’s smile softens at the edges. His hands guide you to the edge of the tub, and Remus’s hands are still at your shoulders, steady and sure.

“In you go, darling,” he murmurs, and you let them guide you down into the water, warmth curling around your skin and washing away the chill.

The water laps softly at your shoulders, steam curling around your face. Remus kneels beside the tub, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Lean back,” he says gently, and you do, letting your head rest against the lip of the tub as he scoops water into his hands, drizzling it over your shoulders.

James is at your other side, his hands gentle as he brushes back your hair, fingers carding through the strands with a tenderness that makes your breath catch.

Sirius perches on the edge of the tub, one hand resting lightly on your knee beneath the water. His thumb strokes lazy circles there, his grin soft and unguarded.

They work in tandem, hands moving with practiced ease, soft murmurs passing between them as they pour water over your skin, rub gentle circles into your shoulders, your arms.

It’s reverent, unhurried, like they have all the time in the world just to be here with you.

“You’re safe here,” Remus whispers as his hands brush over your collarbones, his eyes steady and sure. “With us. Always.”

But your breath catches, fingers curling against the edge of the tub. Safe. Always.

The words hang heavy in the air, thick with meaning you want so desperately to believe. “For keeps?” you whisper, and the question is so small, so fragile that it barely breaks the surface of the silence.

Sirius’s hand stills on your knee, and he leans in, eyes dark and unflinching.

“For keeps,” he answers, and the promise hums between you all, ancient and unbreakable.

His thumb resumes its gentle circles, grounding you back into this warmth, this moment.

A grin breaks across his face, wild and free, and James lets out a breath of laughter, his hand squeezing yours beneath the water. “See?” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “We’re not going anywhere.”

You nod, the knot in your chest unraveling just a bit, the warmth of their hands grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

For a while, it’s just that—the gentle lap of water, the steady rhythm of their hands, the murmur of their voices threading through the quiet. They wash away the ache, the doubt, until there’s nothing left but warmth and the soft thrum of belonging.

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

You close your eyes and lean into the warmth, the steady rhythm of their hands soothing the ache in your chest.

But then, James’s hand splashes against the water, breaking the stillness. His eyes flicker with something bright and mischievous.

“Would you look at that?” he grins, flicking a bit of water towards Sirius, who jerks back, sputtering.

“Oh, you absolute menace,” Sirius huffs, eyes narrowing with playful fury.

Before you can blink, he’s scooped a handful of water and splashes it back, catching both you and James in the crossfire.

You squeal, hands coming up to shield your face, but the damage is done—water drips from your lashes, and James is laughing, full-bodied and unrestrained, the sound filling the bathroom with unrestrained joy.

Remus, who had been standing up to grab towels, turns back to see water arcing through the air, James slinging droplets at Sirius, who’s now fully on his knees beside the tub, splashing back with reckless abandon.

His eyes widen, a hand on his hip. “You lot are absolute children, you know that?”

“Only sometimes,” Sirius counters with a grin, flinging another handful in Remus’s direction. “We’ve got to keep it interesting, haven’t we?”

A flicker of laughter escapes you, and Remus’s stern expression softens, though he rolls his eyes. “I’m gone two minutes, and you’ve already started a war.”

James shrugs, unbothered, droplets dripping from his hair. “What can we say? We’re efficient.”

Remus sighs, grabbing a towel and shaking his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re all impossible.”

“And you love it,” Sirius quips, leaning back with a splash. Remus just shakes his head, moving to your side with the towel, his eyes softening as he meets yours.

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, voice warm and steady. “Let’s get you out before these two flood the whole place.”

The night slipped away in a haze of warmth and whispered jokes, Sirius launching playful jabs at James, who retaliated with splashes that left the room echoing with laughter.

By the time Remus pulled you from the water and wrapped you in soft towels, your heart felt lighter, the fog of your earlier doubts dissipating under their hands.

The four of you ended up tangled in blankets, Sirius still chuckling softly at some joke James had made, Remus’s arm curled around your waist, his breath steady and warm against the back of your neck.

You drifted off like that, wrapped in them, feeling—if only for a moment—that maybe everything really was as perfect as it seemed.

But morning brings clarity. You wake to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the space beside you empty but still warm. The muffled sounds of conversation drift from the common room, low and hurried, punctuated with soft laughter.

You follow the noise, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and catch sight of them huddled together—Remus’s face drawn and pale, Sirius leaning in, his hands gesturing wildly, James with a hand on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

They don’t notice you at first, too caught up in their whispered words and secretive glances. You hover in the doorway, something heavy and unyielding curling in your stomach.

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them like this—locked in some private world that you are not a part of. But this time, it’s different. This time, you can’t shake the feeling that whatever it is, it’s breaking them apart.

When James catches your eye, his expression shifts—softens—but there’s something guarded there, too, something that makes your breath catch.

Remus straightens, running a hand through his hair, and Sirius plasters on a grin, too bright to be real.

“Morning, love,” Remus greets you, his voice softer, wearier. “Did you sleep well?”

And just like that, the walls go up again.

Whatever it was, whatever they were discussing, it’s hidden behind their smiles, and you feel it like a bruise.

You smile back, but it feels hollow. “Yeah… I did.”

But doubt settled in your bones, curling thick and unyielding around your heart. Something was wrong. And for the first time, you were sure of it.

You dressed quietly, Marlene’s chatter a distant hum as she twisted her hair into a knot and rambled about Quidditch practice. Your hands worked methodically, tying laces, fastening buttons, but your mind was elsewhere.

Something was off. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the gnawing unease that hadn’t left since the whispers and the lingering glances.

You tried to shake it off as you made your way to breakfast, but it lingered, curling around your ribs and pressing tight.

Classes dragged. Potions felt endless, Slughorn’s voice fading into the background as you stared blankly at your bubbling cauldron. Transfiguration was much the same—McGonagall’s sharp eyes missing the way your quill stopped moving halfway through her lecture.

Even Charms, which you usually enjoyed, was nothing more than a blur of flicking wands and murmured incantations.

By midday, you found yourself wandering through the courtyard, the chill biting at your cheeks as you made your way toward the edge of the castle grounds.

That was where you usually found them, tucked away from prying eyes, sprawled out beneath the trees or leaning against the stone walls, thick scarves looped around their necks and laughter dancing in the air.

But when you approached, there was no laughter. Just low voices, hushed and clipped. You stopped short, slipping behind a stone column, heart hammering in your chest.

You knew it was wrong, but curiosity rooted you to the spot.

“…tonight, then?” Sirius’s voice was the first you recognized, low and edged with something you couldn’t place.

“Has to be,” James replied. “Full moon, and if he’s right, Snape’s already sniffing around. Bloody idiot’s got a death wish.”

Remus didn’t speak, but you could hear him—his sigh, heavy and weary, like he’d aged ten years since you’d seen him at breakfast.

You peeked around the edge, just enough to catch sight of him leaning against the stone, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed and distant.

He looked exhausted. Worse than yesterday. Worse than last week.

“Full moon?” you whispered to yourself, brows knitting together.

Why would that matter? And why would Snape be sniffing around? You racked your brain, but nothing came up. Nothing that made sense.

Then, footsteps—too light to be James or Remus, too quick to be Sirius.

You shrank back, just in time to see Severus Snape stride up to them, black robes billowing out behind him. You clamped a hand over your mouth, confusion sparking like wildfire in your chest.

Snape? With them? They hated Snape. Always had. There was the incident with the Potions classroom first year, the hex Sirius threw at him in third, the prank James had pulled just last term.

And yet, here he was, standing just a few feet away, chin lifted defiantly as he glared at Sirius.

“You’d better not be lying, Black,” Snape sneered, voice dripping with disdain.

Sirius just smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would I lie to you, Snivellus?”

“Just be there. Midnight. Near the shack.”

Snape’s eyes glittered with something sharp and dangerous. “I will.”

You barely heard the rest, heart thundering in your chest.

The shack? Midnight? What the hell was going on? Your mind whirred with questions, none of them landing long enough for you to grab hold. But there was one thing you knew for certain.

You were going to follow them.

Whatever this was—whatever they were hiding—you would find out. You had to.

Night came slow and heavy, the castle settling into stillness as you pulled on your cloak, heart thrumming with anticipation and something else. Fear, maybe. Or desperation.

You slipped through the corridors on silent feet, weaving between shadows until you found yourself near the Entrance Hall, waiting. Watching.

They moved in silence, slipping through the doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched, eyes downcast.

Then James and Sirius, their footsteps softer than usual, expressions set and grim.

Whatever Sirius had told Snape, James and Remus clearly didn’t know about it—the tension rippled off them, sharp and electric.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before following, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to stay hidden.

You ducked behind a tree, watching as James pulled something from his pocket—a small, rounded object that glowed faintly in the moonlight.

He pressed it against a knot in the tree, and the branches stilled, frozen mid-sway.

You sucked in a breath as they disappeared beneath the roots, vanishing into shadow.

Remus had looked like he was seconds from collapsing, his steps unsteady, shoulders taut with strain. James and Remus didn’t seem to know about whatever Sirius had told Snape—it was clear on their faces, etched in their tension and the way Remus’s hands shook slightly as he vanished into the darkness.

Whatever lay beyond that entrance, you were going to find out. Even if it broke you.

The night stretched out heavy and silent, moonlight bleeding silver across the grounds. It felt colder than usual, the kind of chill that seeped into bones and lingered there, whispering unease with every breath.

You shivered as you waited, huddled in the shadows just beyond the Entrance Hall, heart pounding in your ears. It was a reckless idea—mad, really—to follow them out here.

But you couldn’t ignore the coil of dread tightening in your stomach, the way it had wound itself around your ribs ever since you’d heard them talking near the courtyard.

They moved in silence, slipping through the great doors one by one. First Remus, his shoulders hunched and eyes downcast, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back.

His footsteps were slow, hesitant, and you could almost hear the strain in his breathing from where you hid.

Something was wrong—you’d known it for weeks—but tonight, it clung to him like a shadow.

You waited until they were halfway across the grounds before you moved, your breath clouding the air as you hurried to catch up, careful to keep your distance.

You waited, breath held tight in your lungs. That’s when you saw him—Snape, creeping through the shadows, eyes alight with that familiar, hateful gleam.

He moved with purpose, hands shaking with adrenaline as he approached the now-frozen branches of the Willow. He stopped just shy of the entrance, glancing around before taking a tentative step forward.

Before he could slip inside, James appeared, blocking his path, wand raised and voice sharp. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Snape sneered, lifting his chin. “Black told me. Said there was something interesting inside. Something you three have been hiding.”

James’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re not going anywhere near there.”

“What, afraid of what I’ll find?” Snape taunted, his voice a venomous whisper.

James stepped closer, the tension snapping taut between them. “I’m warning you, Snivellus. Turn around. Now.”

Snape glared, fists clenching at his sides. “Why? So you can keep covering for your precious friends? Or maybe it’s because you’re afraid of what your little club is really up to.”

James didn’t flinch, his wand steady and gaze unyielding. “Last chance.”

But Snape didn’t back down. He only smirked, the kind of grin that made your skin crawl. “I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself.”

He took another step forward, but James moved quicker, wand tip sparking with light. “Expelliarmus!”

Snape’s wand flew from his hand, clattering against the frozen earth. For a heartbeat, everything went still—no wind, no whispers, just the heavy thud of your heartbeat crashing in your ears.

“That’s enough,” came a voice from behind them.

Sirius stepped into view, arms crossed over his chest, expression caught between amusement and something sharper. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

James didn’t lower his wand. “What the hell were you thinking, Sirius?”

Sirius shrugged, the ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Just a bit of fun. Snivellus is always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Thought I’d give him something to find.”

James’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. “Are you out of your mind? Remus is in there! What if he got in? What if he saw?”

Sirius scoffed, waving a hand. “James, please. He wasn’t actually going to get inside. It’s just a bit of a scare.”

“A scare?” James’s voice rose, disbelief cracking it. “You think this is a fucking joke? He could have died, Sirius. Remus could have killed him—and it would have been your fault!”

Sirius’s smile faltered, but he didn’t back down. “Well, he didn’t. You stopped him.”

James took a step forward, wand still in his hand, knuckles white around it. “You’re not listening. You don’t get to just...just throw people into the line of fire for fun. That’s not a prank, Sirius!”

Sirius’s eyes flashed with something dark, but he swallowed it back. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” James shot back, voice trembling with fury. “Remus doesn’t even know. You did this behind his back! I swear, if he finds out—”

But before he could finish, a sound broke the argument—a low, guttural growl that rumbled from the depths of the shack, primal and raw.

You froze, heart leaping into your throat. It was followed by another, more desperate sound.

“Remus,” you whispered under your breath, fear coiling tight and sharp in your stomach.

You slipped through the tangled roots, heart lurching as you reached the back of the shack.

Its wooden slats were splintered and rotting in places, gaps wide enough for you to catch flashes of movement inside. Shadows flickered across the walls—elongated and monstrous, twisting with the flicker of lamplight.

There was a small hole, nearly hidden behind a stack of fallen branches, just large enough for you to fit through if you were careful.

You hesitated, breath clouding in the frigid air, before steeling yourself and crawling through. Your hands scraped against rough wood, splinters catching on your palms, but you ignored the sting.

The shack groaned under your weight as you landed inside, breath catching in your throat. It was dark, the air thick with the scent of dust and something metallic that made your head swim

Your breath puffed white in the cold air, heart pounding, every instinct in your body suddenly screaming at you to stop—to leave, to turn around, to run. Something was wrong.

Inside, the shack was musty and dark. Dust hung thick in the air, floating in the moonlight that poured in through the cracks in the boarded windows. Broken chairs lay in jagged pieces, shadows clinging to every surface. It was too quiet.

You rose slowly to your feet, brushing dirt from your knees.

Your eyes scanned the room—empty. No sign of Remus. No sign of anyone. Only the stale scent of old wood and something sharper, metallic, and wrong.

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, Sirius?” James’s voice, loud, shaking.

Snape’s voice cut through: “You’re all bloody mad—”

“You brought him here? To this place?!” James roared. “You think this is a game?! You told him how to find Moony?!”

A scuffle. Scraping feet on frozen earth. Something breaking.

Then Sirius, laughing—a harsh, ugly sound. “It was a prank, James! A joke! He wasn’t supposed to actually come!”

“A joke? A bloody joke?! He could have died, Sirius! Or worse—Remus—”

The argument grew louder, more violent, their voices crashing against each other like waves. You blinked, unsettled, heart pounding harder now—not just from what they were saying, but from something else. Something inside.

You turned, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.

Why had James been so desperate to keep Snape away? What was so dangerous, so hidden inside this shack?

You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of how thick the air had become. Your fingers twitched toward your wand, but you didn’t know why.

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

The wolf stood there, bathed in shadow and moonlight. Towering. Muscled. Massive. Its amber eyes gleamed like twin suns, fixed solely on you. Its breath came heavy, the sound guttural and animal and wrong.

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

You screamed as its weight slammed into you, hurling you backward. You crashed to the floor, your head cracking against the boards with a sickening thud. Pain exploded across your vision, stars blooming behind your eyes.

You barely had time to breathe before it was on you.

Claws tore through your coat, then your skin. Blood spattered the walls. You screamed again, voice raw and terrified. The wolf’s snarl was deafening, fangs snapping inches from your face. You scrambled, twisted, tried to crawl away, but it was no use. Another rake of claws—your shoulder. Your side.

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

From the front of the shack, you heard the door shake violently.

“Moony!” James’s voice, frantic. “Moony! No!!”

“She’s in there!” Sirius screamed. “She’s in with him!”

You kicked, thrashed, felt blood soaking into the wood beneath you.

The shack shook from the weight of them slamming into the door.

“Open it! Open it!” James was screaming.

You tried to call out—but your throat barely worked, raw with terror and smoke and blood.

“Remus, Stop!” Sirius shouted, voice cracking.

“It’s her—it’s her!” James bellowed. “Moony, no, no, no, no, gosh!”

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

And you lay there, barely breathing, praying they would break the door down in time.

You stumbled back, heart slamming against your ribs, and the beast—Remus—stalked forward, claws scraping against the wooden floor with each step. His eyes—those eyes you’d known for so long, gentle and warm—were wild now, feral with hunger and rage.

He lunged, the force of it sending a gust of wind spiraling through the room. 

“Remus!” you cried, voice cracking with desperation, but there was nothing human in his gaze—just the moon’s curse and the monster it carved from him.

He turned, shoulders heaving with each breath, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that primal hunger.

He snarled again, saliva dripping from his fangs, and you scrambled backward, mind racing for an escape.

Your back hit the far wall with a thud, dust and debris scattering from the impact. Remus prowled closer, head low, eyes locked onto yours like prey.

You were shaking, adrenaline burning through your veins as you searched frantically for a way out—any way out. But there was nothing. Just you and him, trapped in the confines of this cursed shack.

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

Agony burst across your stomach as claws tore through you like paper. Your scream shattered the silence.

Blood spilled hot and fast, soaking your clothes, splattering across the floor. Another slash—your thigh, deep and unrelenting. Your vision fractured with pain, body writhing beneath him as you tried to crawl away, but he pinned you easily.

Claws dug into your ribs. Fangs grazed your shoulder. You could hear your own heartbeat, deafening, drowning everything else out. The air stank of blood and sweat and the sharp edge of death. You sobbed, barely able to breathe, choking on the taste of iron and fear.

Then—the shack door burst open with a splintering crack.

Sirius came first, Padfoot in full form, fur bristling, eyes blazing.

He threw himself at the wolf with a savage growl, tackling Moony off you with all his strength.

The force of the impact sent them both crashing into the far wall. You were left gasping, blinking through blood and splinters and shock.

James followed—Prongs—before shifting back mid-step, falling to his knees at your side.

“Hey. Hey, no, no, no,” he breathed, voice shaking, hands hovering over your wounds like he didn’t know where to touch, where to start. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you weren’t. You could feel yourself slipping, the cold creeping in.

You turned your head just enough to see the trail of blood stretching behind you, the smear of crimson across the wood. Your hand twitched, fingers stained red.

The last thing you saw was Sirius, still fighting tooth and claw to hold Remus back, and James’s face—ashen, eyes wide with something between guilt and horror.

You were here because they kept secrets. And secrets are heavy things to carry.

-

You woke to pain.

It throbbed in waves, hot and pulsing and sharp, blooming in your abdomen and thigh. Every breath was a struggle, every inch of movement a riot of agony beneath your skin.

The air was cold, sterile, heavy with antiseptic. The ceiling above you was white stone, too clean, too quiet. The scent of blood clung to your skin. You blinked, your vision swimming, your mouth dry and thick with the taste of iron and betrayal.

And then—realization. It hit like another wound. Remus. The wolf. Lycanthropy. That’s what they had been hiding. That’s what James had refused to tell you, what Sirius had laughed off, what Remus had always tucked behind those sad eyes and hollow smiles.

You remembered it now—his eyes, glowing in the dark; the snarl that tore from his throat; the claws, the fangs, the way the pain swallowed you whole.

He had mauled you.

The door creaked open with a quiet groan, and James was there in an instant.

He nearly stumbled into the room, hair wild, eyes wild, like he hadn’t slept. His chest was heaving as he rushed to your side, voice already breaking.

"You’re awake—thank Merlin—" He dropped to his knees beside the bed, reaching for your hand but hesitating at the last second when he saw the bandages wrapped around it. "You—you're okay. You're safe now. We got you out. We—"

But before he could finish, Sirius was in the doorway, shoulders tense, face pale and drawn.

One step in—and James turned on him like a storm breaking.

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

"No!" James shoved him, not holding back. "She’s bleeding, Sirius! There was so much blood—I couldn’t—I didn’t know if she was breathing—"

Sirius’s voice cracked. "Jamie, please—she’s my girlfriend too—"

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

"Don’t fucking 'Jamie' me right now, Sirius! Remus is out there asking where she is, completely clueless about what happened—what the fuck are you gonna tell him? Huh? You gonna say you brought Snape In as a prank, and instead our girlfriend snuck into the shack and got ripped apart?"

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

Sirius flinched like the words had struck him in the face. His eyes were glassy now, guilt etched so deeply into the hollows of his cheeks it looked like it might never leave.

His lips parted as if to defend himself but there was nothing firm behind the breath he drew in. Nothing solid enough to hold against James’s rage.

“I didn’t know she followed—” he tried, voice trailing off into silence like it couldn’t bear the weight of the truth.

“But you knew what that shack was,” James snapped, louder now, voice raw and fraying. “You knew what Moony was. You knew what would happen.”

They were so close now they could’ve been mirrors of fury and betrayal. Chest to chest, heart to heart, breathing like it hurt.

The kind of closeness that had once meant brotherhood, now sparking with something jagged and breaking.

“You think saying she’s my girlfriend too makes it better?” James’s hands were shaking and his mouth twisted like he was choking on grief. “You endangered all of us—Snape, her, Moony—because you wanted to mess around like it was a fucking joke.”

Sirius tried to speak again, but his voice came out cracked and too soft to stand on. “I didn’t mean—”

“You never mean to,” James said, and this time it wasn’t a shout. It was something worse.

His voice dropped into that space where hurt lived, where betrayal was a living thing in the room.

“That’s the problem. You never think past the spark of it. It’s always a fire to you, isn’t it? A dare, a thrill. And now she—”

You were sitting up now, breath catching like it didn’t know how to move through your chest anymore.

Their voices filled the room like smoke, thick and impossible to swallow, and still they didn’t see you. Still they didn’t stop.

The anger curled in you like a second pulse, slow and volcanic, fed by the sound of your name twisted in their mouths like an afterthought.

You looked down at your body, at the map of pain they’d drawn across your skin, at the bandages tight around your arms and side and thigh.

You reached for one with trembling fingers and peeled it back slowly, too slowly, like your body was a secret you weren’t supposed to see.

The wound beneath was deep and still red-raw, an angry thing that refused to scab. You stared at it, not blinking. As if staring long enough would make it make sense.

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

What stared back at you were jagged, red scars, the kind that didn’t heal clean. Bite marks turned purple at the edges, cruel crescents sinking into your skin like the moon had tried to eat you alive.

Deep gashes crossed your side in a brutal lattice, torn flesh barely held together by uneven stitching and the trembling hands of someone too late. A shudder rolled through you, slow and relentless, like something crawling beneath your skin.

You would carry these forever.

Your hand rose to your neck, fingers ghosting over the place where you remembered teeth grazing bone, where the pain had cracked you open from the inside.

You didn’t need a mirror to see it. It was carved into memory. A sob caught in your throat, not loud, but sharp enough to hurt.

"Get out," you said, your voice low and cracked like dry earth before the storm.

They didn’t hear you. They were still yelling, still wrapped in their own pain, their own shame, drowning in the echo of their guilt while you sat there bleeding.

"I said get out!" your voice shattered through the room like glass, and the noise stopped instantly.

The silence rang.

They turned to you slowly, like they’d just remembered you were there, like it hadn’t occurred to them that the thing they were fighting about had ears and a spine and a soul.

James took a hesitant step forward, his eyes soft with apology, but you met him with something he hadn’t seen in you before. Not fear. Not even heartbreak. Just fury, quiet and precise, the kind of anger born from betrayal that simmers instead of explodes.

"You kept this from me," you said, each word dragged from somewhere deep, somewhere scorched.

"All of you. You let me walk in there blind. You let me bleed for a secret that was never mine to carry."

James opened his mouth but no words followed. Nothing could. His guilt hollowed him, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

Sirius looked wrecked, his hands twitching like he wanted to reach for you, but your eyes stopped him cold.

You didn’t want to see his sorrow. You didn’t want to be comforted by the hands that led you to the edge and watched you fall.

"I almost died because of your secrets," you whispered, and though your voice trembled, it rang with steel. "Because none of you trusted me enough to tell the truth. You called it love, and then you let me be devoured by it."

They were silent. Boys made of noise, finally quiet. And somehow that silence was louder than their shouting ever was.

You looked at the door, then back to them, the air around you sharp as broken promises.

"Out," you said again, quieter now, but it cut deeper for it.

Neither of them argued. They didn’t beg or explain or try to fix what had already bled too long. They just turned, slowly, and walked away.

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

But because it sounded exactly like the moment you realized you were alone.

It echoed louder than the shouting, louder than the pain, louder than the memories still clawing at the edges of your mind. The silence didn’t offer peace—it rang like a scream swallowed too late, like the lingering howl of something wild and ruined.

You sat there in it, trembling, your hands shaking in your lap, the gauze dark with the slow seep of blood.

You stared down at them, fingers twitching like they didn’t belong to you, like maybe none of this belonged to you, not the pain, not the scarred skin, not even the breath you were struggling to draw in.

Each inhale scraped your throat like broken glass, each exhale trembled beneath the weight of everything they never told you.

The tears came suddenly—choking, ungraceful things, messy and aching. They clawed up from somewhere you hadn’t known existed, from the place where trust once lived.

They spilled past your defenses, soaked your cheeks, made your chest rise and fall in ugly, shuddering sobs.

You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth to trap the sound, to make yourself small, but the grief pushed through your fingers anyway, raw and human and desperate.

You didn’t want to be here. Not in this bed, not in this room, not in the body that remembered every second too well.

You didn’t want to be near that shack, or that truth, or those boys whose love had been too conditional, too secret, too much like a trap. Not when it all still clung to your skin like smoke, like something scorched into you that wouldn’t come off, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed. Pain flared like fire beneath your skin, sharp and blinding, but you gritted your teeth and bit down on the sound.

You forced yourself upright, spine shaking, the world tilting like it didn’t know where to place you anymore. You reached for the nightstand, knuckles white around the edge, and steadied yourself against the weight of gravity and grief alike.

Madam Pomfrey would return soon. She would ask questions—about the bite marks on your shoulder, the blood staining your sheets, the torn muscle stitched back into place like fabric.

Dumbledore would be informed. Whispers would curl through the corridors. Rumors would spread, sprouting like weeds in spring. You could already hear them.

You didn’t want to lie. You weren’t sure you even could. But the truth? The truth was worse.

The truth was a monster’s name whispered behind closed doors.

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

The truth was pain that had no neat answer, no punishment that could make it make sense.

You took a step. Then another. Every motion dragged behind the last like you were underwater, like your body was remembering how to exist and failing.

It hurt in places you hadn’t thought could ache—bone-deep, nerve-deep, the kind of hurt that didn’t just throb but screamed.

You passed the mirror near the infirmary door and caught sight of yourself.

You stopped.

Your reflection stared back like something unrecognizable. There was dried blood in your hair, matted at the roots like rust. Bruises bloomed along your collarbone and down your arms like ink spilled under the skin.

The bandage over your ribs had darkened, blood soaking through in slow, patient circles. Your lips were cracked. Your eyes—God, your eyes.

You looked like a ghost still wandering the world, too stubborn or too broken to realize it had died.

You turned away before you could recognize yourself, before your reflection could speak back all the truths you weren’t ready to hear.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

The hall was dim and quiet, cloaked in the kind of stillness that only came long after midnight had folded over the world. The torches burned low, their flames flickering soft shadows across stone, and even the portraits lining the walls seemed to sleep, their painted eyes closed or turned away.

Your footsteps echoed in the emptiness—slow, uneven things that barely registered, like the castle itself was trying not to notice you. Each step jarred your side, sharp pain flashing behind your eyes, blooming like lightning beneath your skin.

One hand clutched your ribs, your breath catching each time your heel met stone.

Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. Maybe you should’ve screamed louder when it happened. Maybe you shouldn’t have followed the sound at all.

You could trace every mistake in your mind, each one lit like a torch in the dark, but none of it mattered now. Not really. Not when the damage was already done. Not when the blood had already soaked the floor, your skin, your memory.

You were already bleeding.

You made it to the end of the corridor before the tears found you again, rising from the pit of your stomach like a storm breaking loose. You crumpled without grace, back to the wall, forehead pressed hard to the cool stone as if it might hold you together.

You didn’t bother to stifle the sob that slipped from your mouth, cracked and breathless. Let the castle hear it. Let the ghosts carry it through the walls, let them whisper your name into every corner of this place. Let every brick and beam know exactly what had happened. Let the truth echo where their silence had lived.

You were in this mess because people you loved had looked you in the eye and decided you didn’t deserve the truth.

And through the sobs, through the broken air and the trembling of your limbs, that thought was the one that stayed.

This didn’t have to happen.

You could’ve stayed safe. You could’ve stayed whole. But they let you walk in blind. They let you bleed for something that was never yours to carry.

Pain flared again, a cruel spike up your side, white-hot and dragging like a knife pulled slow—but it was nothing compared to what twisted beneath your ribs.

You pressed your palm to your stomach, to the bandages under your robes, and for a moment you hoped the sharpness would ground you, keep you tethered.

Instead, it felt like drowning, like trying to breathe through water, through memory, through the echo of a scream that wouldn’t stop playing behind your eyes.

You thought of the Shack. Of the way the air smelled inside, coppery and wrong. You thought of the creak of old wood under your feet. Of the sound his bones made when they broke—sharp, wet, unforgettable. Of the stillness just before the scream shattered the world.

And you broke.

The sob that tore from your throat wasn’t soft. It was jagged, ugly, ripped straight from the center of you. Another followed, then another, and then you were falling—knees folding, back sliding down the stone, until you were curled on the cold floor, cheek pressed to it, chest heaving with each desperate breath.

Your body shook with the force of it, and still the sound came, raw and real and unrelenting.

It was too much. Too much to carry. Too much to name. Too much to bury beneath bandages and silence.

You didn’t even realize you were whispering his name until it left your lips.

"Remus…"

Just a breath. A ghost of a sound. But it shattered something in you. Cracked the dam wide open.

Because he didn’t know. He didn’t know what he had done.

And somehow—God, somehow—that made it worse.

That you had been ripped apart by someone who would never remember. That the hands that once traced poems into your skin had unknowingly rewritten you in blood.

That the boy who looked at you like you were the first star he’d ever seen was the same one who had carved your name into the floorboards with claw and fang.

You curled in tighter, arms wrapped around your ribs, trying—failing—to hold yourself together. But everything inside you was unraveling. Your breath hitched, broken. Your fingers trembled like your bones were afraid. You could still feel it—all of it.

The weight of him, wild and terrible. The heat of breath on your neck. The moment skin gave way.

You remembered his smile. The one he saved just for you. You remembered how his voice softened when he said your name, like he couldn’t believe it belonged to him for even a second.

You remembered how he once said, “You shouldn’t love me.” And now you knew why.

Because teeth remember hunger. Because wolves don’t ask permission. Because even the gentlest boy can disappear beneath the moonlight.

But oh, God, you hated that he didn't know. That he would wake up in the morning with his soul intact while you were left stitching yours together in the dark.

You pressed your hand to the wound at your side, felt the throb of it echo through your whole body. You wanted to forget. You wanted to go back. You wanted him to be anything but the thing that had hurt you.

You didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

The boy and the beast. The hands that once brushed your cheek like a promise, and the claws that had torn through your skin like paper. The mouth that had whispered your name like it meant something—and the one that had bitten down to the bone. It was all the same now.

One shape, one shadow, stitched into the fabric of your memory with blood and betrayal. You couldn’t separate him from it. You weren’t sure you wanted to.

You pressed your forehead to the cold stone wall, the chill biting into your skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire still burning inside you. Your tears came hot and fast, streaking your cheeks, scalding your lips.

You tried to swallow them back, to bury the noise, but your body wouldn’t obey. You wanted to scream. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to tear yourself apart just to match the way he’d already broken you open.

But all you could do was sit there. And feel it.

You hated him. You loved him. You hated that you loved him. You hated that the boy who had once kissed your temple like it was sacred was the same one who’d left you bleeding in the dirt.

Maybe if they'd told me, you thought bitterly, each word laced with salt and fury, I wouldn’t have followed that sound.

Maybe if they’d trusted me with the truth, I would’ve run the other way.

Maybe if I’d known what he was, I wouldn’t be standing here trying to forgive something that nearly killed me.

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

The pain grounded you for a moment. Not enough. You remembered James shouting. Sirius pleading. Both of them drowning in their own guilt and still too proud to hand you a life raft. They hadn’t told you because they were afraid. Not for you—but for him.

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

You forced yourself to stand, legs trembling, hands white-knuckled against the stone. You thought your knees might give out, but you didn’t care.

You had to see him. You had to know. If he still had your voice in his bones. If anything in him recognized the destruction he’d left behind.

You limped through the hallway like a shadow. The castle around you was too quiet, too still, as if it knew something had gone terribly wrong and was trying not to breathe.

Your side ached with every step. The bandages beneath your robes were warm and wet, and you didn’t want to know if it was fresh blood or just the old wounds leaking again. It didn’t matter. You felt hollow. Not empty—stripped.

You walked past the portraits, but none stirred. Even the ghosts seemed to shrink from you. Maybe they recognized you now. Not as a student. But as someone touched by death.

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

Your heart twisted violently, nausea rising. You quickened your pace despite the pain, your breath hitching with every step. The ache in your chest sharpened as you turned a corner and—

Remus was screaming.

James had both arms locked tight around him, teeth grit as he struggled to keep Remus from hurling himself down the corridor.

Every inch of Remus's body fought against him, wild and unhinged, as if the rage had torn through muscle and bone and made something feral of him all over again.

"You brought Snape?!" he shouted, voice cracking with disbelief. "Are you fucking serious, Sirius?! You brought him—there—knowing what I am?!"

Sirius didn’t move. He stood like a statue, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, jaw clenched, eyes hard.

"I didn’t think he’d actually go in," he said flatly. "I thought he’d get scared. Turn back."

"You thought—?" Remus’s breath hitched, then came out in something like a growl. "You don’t get to think, Sirius. You don’t get to gamble with that."

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

"And where the fuck is she?! Why is no one telling me where Y/N is?!"

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

"Don’t what?" Remus twisted around to face him. "Don’t ask why no one will look me in the fucking eye?! Don’t ask where the girl I—" His voice caught, strangled in his throat. "Where is she?"

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

You stood at the far end of the hall, pressed against the stone wall like it might hold you up if your legs gave out. Your shirt was torn at the shoulder. The bandages had come loose. Blood had soaked through. A thin line of bruising curled along your cheekbone. The mark on your collarbone—his mark—was dark and angry and violet.

Remus's gaze dropped to your arms, your limp, slow steps. Then back to James.

"I did that," he whispered. The words seemed to strike him in the throat. "Didn’t I?"

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

Remus folded to his knees like his body had finally realized the weight of the truth. His hands hit the ground. He stared down at the stone like it might split open beneath him.

"Tell me I didn’t," he murmured. "Tell me I didn’t do that. Please, James. Tell me I didn’t do this."

No one spoke.

"Tell me I didn’t hurt her," he begged, louder now. "Tell me I didn’t—"

"You don’t remember," you said.

Your voice didn’t echo. It didn’t need to.

Three heads snapped toward you. But you only looked at him.

Remus's breath caught. He looked like he’d been stabbed.

"I—I don’t remember what happens," he stammered. "I never do. I wake up, and I’m—covered in blood, and I never know if it’s mine or someone else’s and—"

He clawed at his own sleeves, nails digging through fabric, through skin, desperate to feel pain that might match what was screaming inside his chest.

James tried to steady him, arms still locked tight around his shoulders, but Remus tore away with a howl that didn’t sound human.

“I tore her apart,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “I—I felt it—I smelled blood—I wanted it—Merlin, I wanted it—” He curled forward like the words had gutted him, fingers clutching at his head.

“I should be locked up. I should be dead.”

“No,” James said firmly, stepping forward, but Remus flinched and scrambled back like he’d touched fire.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—I’m not—I’m not safe—” He looked at you again, and this time, he really saw you.

Your limp. Your wince. Your bruises and the slow, shaking breath you took just to stay standing. His entire body stilled. Then: he crawled backwards, hands raised, like distance might erase the horror.

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

“I hurt you—I knew I would—I told them to keep me away—I told them—fuck—”

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

“Remus,” you said again, louder this time, voice cracked but sure.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, voice barely more than a strangled whisper. “Don’t come near me. Please—I’ll hurt you again. I will.”

You took a step forward anyway, ignoring the scream of pain in your leg and the sharp crack of your ribs.

Every breath was a jagged knife, but something inside you refused to stay still.

“I said don’t!” he roared suddenly, flinching hard enough to slam his back against the cold stone wall. His hands flew up to cover his face, as if he couldn’t bear to see the damage—your pain, his pain, everything shattered between you.

“Please. I’ll ruin you. I ruin everything. Don’t—please—”

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop.

Each step was a struggle, your body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Five staggering steps. Then you dropped to your knees in front of him, breathless and broken, the room tilting around you.

And then, without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him.

Every muscle tensed, every breath caught in his chest. For a long, endless moment, he didn’t move at all.

You were warm. Solid. Real. Against the ruins of his skin, against the guilt that was tearing him apart from the inside—you were alive.

And you were holding him.

He tried to pull away, voice frantic and raw. “No—no, don’t—I don’t deserve this—I hurt you—”

“I know,” you whispered softly, your voice a fragile thread in the silence, sinking into his hair, his chest, every ragged breath he took. “I know.”

He started to cry again—violently, uncontrollably. The kind of sobs that wrench a person apart from the inside out. His body shook like he was trying to shake free from some invisible weight dragging him under. His breaths came in ragged, broken gasps, each one tearing at his chest with fresh agony.

You could feel the rawness in him, the shattered pieces trembling just beneath the surface. And still, you held on tighter, as if your arms could somehow keep him from falling all the way apart.

“You’re not a monster,” you whispered, your voice low and steady, a lifeline thrown across the storm.

You said it again, over and over, even when his head shook so hard it seemed like it might come off his shoulders.

Even when he whispered, so broken it barely sounded like words, yes I am.

Even when his fingers clawed at the floor, desperate and frantic, as if tearing at the ground could tear him out of his own skin.

“You’re not a monster. You’re not a monster. You’re not.”

Your words became a chant, a prayer. You said them so many times you thought your throat might break.

But still, you kept saying them. Because if you didn’t, who else would? If you didn’t believe it for him, then how could he ever believe it for himself?

Then, slowly, painfully, he collapsed into you. It was as if he’d been falling forever, and for the first time he found something to catch him—a place to land, even if it was fragile and trembling beneath the weight of his grief. His body sagged against yours, heavy and defeated.

You cradled his head in your shaking hands, fingers threading through his hair as though anchoring him to the world. You held him through the sobs, through the storm, through the unbearable silence between each tear.

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

Your voice cracked, raw with all the tears you hadn’t even realized were falling down your cheeks. Your throat burned like fire from saying it so many times. Your bandages pressed painfully against his skin, a sharp reminder that your body, too, was broken. But still, you said it—because someone had to say it.

Because sometimes forgiveness is the hardest thing to give and the most necessary thing to hear.

“I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you.”

Remus broke completely. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as if you were the only solid thing left in the world.

His face buried deep in your shoulder, muffling the desperate whispers of I’m sorry that spilled from his lips like a litany, like a prayer, like a curse he couldn’t undo. The weight of those words hung heavy between you, suffocating and real.

Maybe some wounds could never fully heal. Maybe some mistakes could never be undone. But you held him anyway, steady and sure, even when your own body trembled with pain.

Because sometimes, love is the only thing strong enough to hold two broken people together when everything else falls apart.

He didn’t look up. His head hung low, shoulders trembling with a quiet, desperate shudder. His breaths came in ragged gasps, shallow and uneven, like the air itself was betraying him.

Your fingers found his face, trembling as you gently cupped his cheeks, warm beneath your cold touch.

For a moment, he froze—still as if your presence was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Look at me,” you whispered, voice soft but firm.

You pressed your forehead to his, breath mingling, heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it. “Remus. Please. Look at me.”

Slowly—agonizingly slow—his eyes lifted, meeting yours.

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

It wasn’t guilt. Not even horror. It was grief. Endless, bone-deep, all-consuming grief.

Like he had already buried you somewhere inside his mind and didn’t know how to find his way back to the living world. Like a weight pressed so hard on his chest he couldn’t breathe without breaking.

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing a tear away as it slipped silently down his face.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady.

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

“It’s not,” he croaked, voice raw and broken.

“But I’m here.”

You let the silence stretch between you, letting your touch be the anchor in the storm of his pain. Letting the quiet speak the words you both couldn’t say aloud.

Then, with a gentle nudge, you reached up and helped him to his feet. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t question. Just followed as you led him down the corridor, your fingers laced with his, your steps slow and uneven.

He swayed as he stood, unsteady, eyes still glassy with unshed tears. He didn’t let go of your hand.

You didn’t let go of him either.

Your fingers laced through his, and you took a small step forward. He followed. Another step. Another.

You guided him through the corridor like that, hand in hand, limping slightly with each movement but refusing to stop. His steps were heavy, dragging, as if every footfall carried the weight of what he’d done. But he followed you.

When you reached the bathroom, you nudged the door open with your shoulder and led him inside.

The light was dim. Everything smelled like old tile and lavender soap. The only sound was the drip of a tap and the hush of your breaths. You turned the knobs with aching fingers, letting warm water spill into the tub, steam curling into the air like a kind of gentleness neither of you had known in days.

He stood by the door, unmoving.

You stepped toward him again, slower this time, and reached for the hem of his shirt.

He flinched.

“I can go,” you said, voice low, careful.

He looked at you—just looked—and then, finally, shook his head

You peeled the tattered shirt off his frame, revealing bruises and scratches and old scars that mapped out years of hurt across his skin. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t look away. You undid the buttons of his trousers, helped him step out of them, folding them into a soft pile on the counter.

He didn’t speak. He only watched you with wide, haunted eyes, as if each tender movement was something he couldn’t understand.

Like he didn’t know what to do with this softness.

You reached for his hand again.

“Come on,” you said quietly. “It’s warm.”

He let you guide him into the tub. The water rose around him, lapping gently at his arms and shoulders. He shivered—not from cold, but from everything.

You knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water, wringing it out. Then, slowly, you brought it to his skin.

You washed him the way you’d cradle something delicate.

You ran the cloth down his arm. Across his shoulder. Behind his ear. Over his chest, where his heart beat wild and trembling under your hand.

You bathed him in silence, each movement slow and deliberate, as if you could wash away the weight of everything between you. Your hands trembled slightly as you carefully wiped the dried blood from his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles where the skin was torn and raw.

You cleaned the sweat that clung to his brow, cool and sticky beneath your touch. Then you pressed your palm gently over his heart, feeling the faint, uneven thud beneath your palm—a stubborn, fragile reminder that it was still beating, still alive.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there, water swirling around him, eyes distant and unfocused, lost somewhere far away, in a place you couldn’t reach—yet.

But you promised yourself, silently, fiercely, that you would reach him. No matter how long it took. No matter how many walls he built around himself.

He was still there when you finally broke the silence. Your voice was soft, almost fragile, like a whisper carrying through the fog.

“I wish someone had told me,” you said quietly, not daring to meet his gaze. “I wish you had told me.”

Remus tensed beneath the water, muscles knotting, and you felt it through your fingertips. You wrung the cloth between your fingers, heart pounding with every second of silence that stretched between you.

“I don’t care how painful it would’ve been,” you added, voice steadier now, more certain. “I deserved to know.”

He exhaled slowly, as if the words themselves carved into him. “I didn’t want you to see me that way.”

Your tone sharpened, the raw hurt breaking through your calm. “You didn’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to protect me by lying. Not when it nearly killed me.”

The weight of those words fell heavy into the space between you. For a moment, the only sound was the faint drip of water from the cloth.

Then his eyes lifted slowly, meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever—fragile, vulnerable, full of everything he’d been too scared to say.

“I didn’t think you'd ever look at me the same,” he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his fear. “If you knew.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat, sharp and sudden, breaking the tension.

“You think I don’t see you now? You think I’m not looking at you, right now, with every part of me?”

He swallowed hard, eyes flickering with something almost like hope.

“I see you, Remus. All of you. I see the way you flinch from love like it’s a blade. I see the grief carved into your silence. I see the boy who would rather bury himself than risk hurting someone else.”

Your gaze dropped to your hands—wounded, trembling, wrapped in ragged bandages—and the pain in your voice was honest, unfiltered. “But I also see the boy who never trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that… that hurts more than any scar.”

He looked broken, hollowed out in a way that left your chest aching, but he didn’t turn away. Didn’t close his eyes. Instead, his voice came, raw and low.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of your words settling between you like a fragile promise. “Yes. You should’ve.”

The steam from the warm water curled around your faces, softening the harsh edges of everything unsaid, blurring the sharp lines of pain into something almost gentle.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing in the shared silence. Then he leaned forward, his forehead resting lightly against yours, a quiet gesture that spoke of tentative hope and fragile trust.

“I want to try,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “If you’ll let me.”

Your own voice trembled as it broke free. “Start by telling me everything.”

He nodded again, slower this time, like anchoring himself to the present. And with that, something shifted—an opening, a fragile thread weaving back between you.

And this time, he did.

It came slowly at first, like drawing words from the marrow of his bones—halting, rough, like he’d forgotten how to shape language without flinching.

He told you what he could remember from that night—shards of memory coated in blood and fear, barely coherent. He told you what it felt like to lose himself, to slip out of time, to wake up in a skin that didn’t feel like his own.

The nightmares that curled around his ribcage. The silence that tasted like penance. The months—years—spent learning how to live without letting anyone close enough to see the damage. How he'd convinced himself that silence was kindness, that distance was protection, that truth was a luxury people like him couldn’t afford.

And still, you listened.

You didn’t interrupt. You didn’t turn away. You let his voice break against you like waves on a cliffside, let him collapse into pauses and shake through the parts he couldn’t finish. You held the silence between his sentences like it was something sacred. Even when it hurt.

Even when it cracked open something raw and old inside your chest. Because somewhere inside you, you knew—this wasn’t just a story he was telling. It was a confession. A quiet unraveling.

Not everything was said. Not everything could be. There were still silences he couldn’t break open and wounds you weren’t sure how to touch. But it was a beginning. A single stone placed in what might one day be a bridge.

And still, there was so much more.

The things Sirius had done—reckless, cruel, even if born of desperation—hung in the air like smoke that would not clear. You had not spoken to him since it all unraveled. You were not sure what you would say.

You didn’t know if Remus would ever find it in himself to forgive Sirius, or to trust him again. Some things fracture differently. Some betrayals do not bleed clean.

And James, with his steady eyes and soft-spoken guilt, had kept his own silences. Even he, who had always tried to protect you, had made choices that left you cut open.

All three of them had lied in different ways. Lied in the name of protection. Lied out of fear. Lied out of love. And those lies still lingered in the spaces behind your teeth. You hadn’t even begun to decide what to do with that.

You knew, deep down, that some scars would not close. That no amount of tenderness could undo certain kinds of damage. That some trust, once fractured, might never return in the shape it once held.

You had changed. They had, too. And now you would have to figure out if those new shapes could still fit beside one another without splintering again.

You would have to grieve what you’d lost—who you’d been before all this. You would have to learn how to trust again, not just them, but yourself. Your instincts. Your worth. You’d have to forgive the parts of you that stayed too quiet, too long. You would carry this with you, no matter how far you ran—these bruised memories, these broken truths—but you didn’t have to carry them alone anymore.

Healing would not be a soft road.

There would be nights you’d wake trembling. Days the anger would rise without warning. There would be guilt, and fear, and moments when you weren’t sure if you could keep choosing to stay.

But there would also be mornings, slow and gold. There would be laughter again, strange at first, then easier. There would be cups of tea gone cold on the windowsill. A hand held out when you least expected it. A voice calling you back when you wandered too far.

But you also knew this. You were no longer alone in it.

You helped Remus out of the tub when the water turned cold. He was quiet, pliant, letting you wrap the towel around his shaking shoulders. His head tilted toward yours as you led him through the dim apartment, your steps slow but steady, his breath catching in the hush between rooms.

You found him a fresh shirt, helped him into bed without asking, and tucked the blanket over his trembling limbs. He lay still as stone, but his fingers found yours. And held.

You sat beside him, watching the moonlight shift across the floorboards, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

When Remus finally turned to face you, his expression was soft with exhaustion, but something in his eyes had steadied.

He took your hand again, thumb grazing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the rhythm of you.

“Do you think,” he asked, his voice just above a whisper, “there’s a chance for us? After everything?”

The question lingered between you. Not desperate. Not demanding. Just honest.

You took a breath and met his gaze. “Yes,” you said. “I do.”

His hand tightened gently in yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting that answer settle inside his chest.

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

You blinked, heart rising painfully. You didn’t hesitate.

“For keeps.”

a/n: this is so over the place, i am so sorry anon </3

[theliteraryarchitect]

5 Reasons NOT to Use Multiple Point of View (and What to Do Instead)

I've been meaning to make this post for a long time. As a developmental editor, I see a LOT of manuscripts that use multiple point of view (where each scene or chapter is from the perspective of a different character), when they really should be using a classic single character POV. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that writers see multiple POV as a solution to problems that really shouldn't be solved that way. Basically, they're using it for the wrong reasons. And when that happens, instead of making the story more awesome, multiple POV can actually weaken it.

Here are five of the most common reasons writers choose multiple POV (and why those reasons might be a problem). Don’t worry—I’ll also share what to do instead.

1. You Don’t Know What Your Story Is About

Sometimes, when writers aren’t 100% clear on their story’s main conflict, theme, or plot, they reach for multiple POV. It feels like a fix—after all, why focus on one perspective when you can try out a little of this and a little of that?

Here’s the thing: multiple POV actually requires you to be more clear about your story, not less. Readers will naturally look for a thread that ties all the perspectives together, and if that thread isn’t there, the story will feel scattered or aimless.

What to Do Instead: Take a step back. If you’re feeling unsure about what your story is really about, try some journaling or outlining. Ask yourself:

What’s the main conflict?

Who’s the central character?

Why am I telling this story?

Often, writers discover they actually have one protagonist, and a limited third or first-person perspective would work better. If you still feel like multiple POV is the right call, go for it! Just be sure to periodically revisit your outline to make sure the story hasn’t “gotten away” from you. (Multiple POV has a sneaky way of doing that.)

2. You Haven’t Developed Your Characters

Multiple POV doesn’t work unless each character is fully developed. Every POV character needs their own voice, journey, and reason for being in the story. If they can’t stand on their own, readers will notice.

What to Do Instead: Before assigning a POV, ask yourself:

Is this character compelling enough to hold the reader’s attention?

Do they add something essential to the story that no one else can?

If the answer is no, it might be better to stick with a single POV. Sometimes less is more.

3. You Can’t Decide on a POV Character

This one is common, especially in early drafts. You’re still figuring out your story, and it’s hard to choose whose perspective should take center stage.

What to Do Instead: Experiment! Write key scenes from different characters’ perspectives. Often, the strongest voice will make itself known as you go. And remember: just because you write a draft with multiple POV doesn’t mean you can’t narrow it down later.

4. You Need to Share Information Your POV Character Doesn’t Have

Ah, the classic "But how do I show this thing the protagonist doesn’t know?" dilemma. This is probably the most common reason I see writers reach for multiple POV. It’s tempting to throw in a chapter or two from another character’s perspective just to share that extra bit of information.

The problem? Those chapters often feel disconnected from the rest of the story. Every POV character needs to carry their weight, and dropping in a random narrator just for convenience can leave readers feeling unsatisfied.

What to Do Instead: There are other ways to get information across. Here are a few ideas:

Educated Guesses: Let your main character speculate. (“Iris kept tapping her pencil on the desk. Was she nervous about the meeting earlier?”)

Show, Don’t Tell: Use actions, dialogue, or other clues to reveal what another character might be thinking.

Bring in a New Element: Introduce a third character, a conflict, or even an object that reveals something important.

Overhearing or Spying: Yes, it’s a little cliché, but when used sparingly, it can work in a pinch.

5. You’re Looking for an Easy Way Out

Let’s be honest: multiple POV can feel like a catch-all solution to tough storytelling problems. Need to fix pacing? Add another POV! Can’t figure out how to make the ending work? Add another POV!

But here’s the truth: multiple POV is actually harder than other POVs. You’re not just developing one character—you’re developing several, and you have to tie all their perspectives into a cohesive whole.

What to Do Instead: Focus on nailing the story with a single POV first. Once you’re confident the core of the story is solid, you can decide if adding other perspectives will truly enhance it.

In Summary

Multiple POV is a powerful tool, but it’s not a shortcut. It requires careful planning and strong execution. If you’re considering it, ask yourself:

Does every POV character bring something unique to the story?

Am I clear on the main conflict and theme?

Could this story be told just as well (or better) with a single POV?

Sometimes, the simplest route is the best one.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[cptnhngjng]

pretty sounds (part 1)

 “such a good girl. such a good, good girl for me. making all those pretty sounds.”

you help hongjoong out with his new song

-hongjoong x f!reader -1.4k words -smut, mdni, 18+ only c/w: studio sex, overstimulation, oral sex (f recieving), unprotected sex

multiple parts (eventual multiple members x f!reader)

part two three four

it’s a common occurrence to visit joong while he’s working in the studio. i mean he practically lives there at this point. most of the time you just kinda hung out there while he worked. you both liked just being in each other’s presence—hongjoong working on his music and you doing whatever it is you do. 

this one particular evening it was very hot and humid outside, so you wore a skirt to help keep cool. when you showed up at the studio, hongjoong didn’t think too much of it when he saw you in the skirt. he was a little stressed because he was in a serious song writing block and was struggling to finish up a song. just nothing sounded good and it was really pissing him off. 

you made yourself comfortable on the couch in his studio while hongjoong went back to working on his song. you were focused on your phone, mindlessly playing a game, but you kept hearing hongjoong groaning and sighing in frustration. you stood up and walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned over, kissing his jaw. 

“what’s wrong, joongie?” you ask. 

hongjoong looked up at you and sighed. “i can’t seem to figure this song out, I don’t like anything I come up with.” he turned his chair around so he could face you. 

“i wish i could help you somehow,” you said quietly as you ran your fingers through his short hair. 

at this point hongjoong finally noticed the skirt you are wearing and how delectable your thighs look. his hands grasp your waist as he stands up to kiss you. his hands slowly trail down, brushing against your ass before he grips your thighs tightly.  he kisses your lips again before moving to your jaw and neck. he whispers against your skin, “i have an idea on how you could help.”

“mmm, what is it?” you ask as you lean your head back, allowing hongjoong more access to your neck. 

he nips at your neck before he pulls away and looks you in the eyes, his stare intense. “let me record your noises while i make you feel good, please”. 

you let in a sharp breath before quickly kissing hongjoong. “if it’ll help, then yes,” you whisper against his lips. 

you knew hongjoong always like the sounds you created while you two got intimate. he would always remind you of how pretty you sounded. the first few times you guys fucked, hongjoong was very quiet, and you got self conscious about the noises you made, so you tried your hardest to be quiet as well. you were convinced that he didn’t like your noises.

hongjoong did not like that you were being quiet. he loved the way you sounded—the small gasps and lewd moans you let out. which is why he tried to be quiet. he wanted to hear you and how he good he made you feel. so when you weren’t making the noises he so desperately needed to hear, he thought something was wrong. once you both explained to each other the reasons why you both were quiet, things changed. you no longer were self conscious of your noises and hongjoong made sure he always reminded you how much he loved to hear you. 

hongjoong deepened the kiss and pushed you towards his chair. he made you sit down—he broke the kiss and and checked to make sure he was recording audio. he got to his knees and rubbed his hands against your soft thighs. he looked up at you with a smirk. thank god you wore that skirt today, he thought. he grabbed your thighs and hooked your legs over the arms of his chair, allowing a perfect view of your panty covered pussy. he pressed some kisses to your left thigh while his fingers slowly danced up your right thigh, towards your core. 

“already so wet for me,” he chuckles as he slipped a finger past your panties, feeling your slick. 

hongjoong started to pull your panties off, you lifting your ass slightly to help him. once your core was free and exposed, hongjoong went back to kissing your thighs, slowly trailing up, getting closer to your cunt. “so pretty, can’t wait to make you feel so good,” he mutters before licking a thick stripe up your slit. 

you gripped the short strands of his hair as you felt him attach his lips to your clit and suck. hongjoong’s fingers quickly found their way to your entrance and he started pumping them in and out. you moaned lightly as you attempted to grind against hongjoong’s face. he giggled at your attempt and the vibrations went straight to your core. 

hongjoong removed his fingers and you whined out at the emptiness. he licked his fingers clean before diving back in, tasting your juices. his tongue plunged deep into your hole while his sharp nose pressed against your clit. again, you attempted to grind against his face, but his grip on your thighs was strong. 

you continued to let out gasps and moans as he continued to fuck you with his tongue. your nails scratched against his scalp when you felt his fingers prodding at your entrance again. his tongue circled your clit as his fingers reached for your sensitive spot. you could feel your release coming quickly. 

you let out the loudest and filthiest sounding moan, causing hongjoong to hum satisfyingly against your pussy. your toes curled as you felt your climax hit. your grip on joong’s hair became stronger as you rolled your hips against his pretty face. you could feel hongjoong smirking against you, continuing to pump his fingers as you come down from your high. 

hongjoong would not let up. he continued to abuse your cunt with his mouth and fingers, causing you to become overstimulated. the pleasure and pain was becoming too much. you were whining and begging at hongjoong to stop. but he kept going, feeling you squirm under his touch. 

“hongjoong—ah, please” you moaned out as your thighs clenched around hongjoong’s head. tears were starting to form. you were so sensitive. once again you could feel another climax hitting. 

“you can do this pretty girl,” hongjoong said as he curled his fingers up against your g spot. the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the moans from your mouth were so loud and lewd. you just know hongjoong’s face was covered in your wetness. 

hongjoong finally pulled away as you started to come down from your second climax. you were right, hongjoong was covered in your slick. he looked at you with a proud smirk, before tasting his fingers that were covered in your juices. 

not even thinking, you grab hongjoong by his shirt and slam your lips against his—tasting yourself on his mouth. he groaned into the kiss, feeling himself getting harder and harder. his jeans were tight and his cock begging to be freed. 

continuing to make out, hongjoong undoes his jeans and pulls them and his underwear down just far enough to free his dick. you are quick to grab him and start to pump his cock, spreading the thick precum around his tip. hongjoong groans again as he lifts you up by your thighs and switches places with you, so now he is sitting on his chair. you are over top of him, lining your entrance up to his cock. you slowly sink down, feeling the stretch. hongjoong throws his head back as he feels your wet warmth envelop him. you lean against him and start sucking the skin against his throat. he thrusts up against you, causing you to moan against his neck. 

you were still so sensitive from hongjoong abusing your cunt with his mouth and fingers, so you were already close to coming for the third time. you start to grind against hongjoong while his fingers make way to your clit. he rubs slow circles and your walls start to clench tightly around him. more whines and moans leave your mouth as you reach your high. hongjoong’s fingers continue to abuse your clit while you ride him. 

“joong,” you gasp out, “i’m—i’m cumming!” you tremble against hongjoong as you cum on his dick. 

hongjoong lets out a low moan as he kisses you hard. “such a good girl. such a good, good girl for me. making all those pretty sounds.” he thrusts up into you a few more times before he finally cums in you. 

[purinfelix]

Hi! Never done this before but lets try: What about Gavi, who has spent most of his childhood sharing a room in la masia and now struggles to fall asleep without someone there vs a gf who was an only child and doesn't know how to sleep with someone in the room?

it's so sweet, knowing that you love me ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 - pablo gavi

pairing: gavi x reader w/c: 516

a/n: anon this was such a cute idea omf ... i hope i did it justice !! <333

"What?"

"I should get going soon," you repeated slowly, growing more confused by the similarly confused look on your boyfriend's face.

"Why would you go? It's so late, why don't you just stay the night?" he questioned, as if it was common sense despite you having never stayed over at his place before.

"Don't you only have one bedroom?"

"And?"

"So where would I sleep?"

"My bed?"

The two of you paused and the growing silence between you spoke volumes about your confusion, each of you trying your best to understand where the other one was coming from. Looking into Gavi's eyes, covered slightly by his furrowed eyebrows, part of his request started making sense to you. You remembered that he had grown up in the dorms of La Masia and so the style of sleeping you were used to, being solitary, must've seemed ridiculous - whereas you could say the same for his.

Still, you found yourself agreeing to his request for you to stay the night - partially because he raised a good point about how late it was and you couldn't find the energy to trek back home, but mostly because you were touched by how easily the idea of opening up his home to you came to him. You watched as he retrieved a spare pillow for you, squishing it next to his on the bed which, the more you looked at it, the less confident you became with his idea.

Laying down next to him, you tried your best to straighten your body out so as to avoid touching him at all, a task your limited space made more difficult. Despite having been together for months now, there was still a shyness and an intimacy to the situation that stopped you from being as touchy as you normally would - holding hands in the street was one thing, but here, in his bed, was a completely different situation.

That was, of course, until you felt your boyfriend's warm hands wrap around your waist and pull you towards him. Letting out a soft gasp at his actions, you felt your cheeks burn up.

"Mmf, sorry," he mumbled against the nape of your neck where he had buried his face, "I've just been wanting to sleep with you like this for so long."

"But you see me all the time, what difference does this make?"

"I've always found it easier to fall asleep with someone near, and I don't really want to be near anyone more than you."

The matter-of-fact tone your boyfriend spoke with, despite already being half-asleep, finally made it all click for you. You felt yourself break into a shy smile, feeling slightly stupid for how stiff you had been earlier. Soon, the rhythm of your boyfriend's soft breaths slowed - signalling that he had fallen asleep surprisingly early. You still smiled to yourself, his arms wrapped around you seemingly tighter than when he was awake. Personally, sleeping in the same bed as someone else had never been your ideal situation - but this was a compromise you were more than happy to have made.

[lionhanie]

leehan as your boyfriend! ♡

established relationship, PURE fluff, leehan x reader, leehan is IN LOVE with you, also not proofread LOL!!!!!!!

word count: ~800 i think lol

warnings: none

a/n: i can't lie this whole thing was sooo self indulgent i just love him so bad #GUILTY!

literally does everything in his power to make you smile and feel good... #1 boyfriend in the world i fear!

he must have the ability to read the minds of the people he loves bc he just knows what you need all the time

...or rather than this, all of his opinions and preferences become whatever you like! (without complaint ofc, because he’s okay with anything as long as you’re satisfied)

this makes me think he’s rlly big on quality time because he seems like the type of bf to be content with just. whatever! as long as you’re there ^_^

quite literally only has eyes for you

he doesn’t really *intend* to do this, but it is so difficult for him to focus on anyone else if he has *you* there with him

everyone will always complain when they hangout with just you two bc they will always end up feeling like a third wheel :skull: 

even if you try to tease him for literally adoring you 24/7 he wouldn’t even be flustered or embarrassed. he would just nod and smile in agreeance U_U

he’ll always go out of his way to compliment you too, telling you how cute you look or how good you are at doing something. he gets a little shy every time you compliment him, but he always recovers by turning the praise back to you

even though he isn’t the best texter, i imagine he would put in extra effort to keep you updated throughout the day-- especially if it's hard to spend a lot of time together in person

you're just going about your day at school/work and you hear a notification on your phone... it's leehan sending you like 10 different angles of the new friends he got for his fish tank

or it's one of his selfies that are either 1) blurry, 2) crop out like 80% of his face, 3) at an unnatural selfie angle, or 4) all of the above. regardless, he's still your handsome boyfriend & looks amazing in every pic he sends

unironically i think he would be a DRY texter LMFAO but the way he communicates is kind of endearing. rather than sending messages, he def has a concerningly large album of reaction pics he uses for every possible situation (including ones he made himself using pics of you & the members)

dates with him are SO fun.

again, he doesn't really care too much about what you two do as long as he gets to spend time together... he's just down to try Anything and Everything so you guys never really run out of things to do together

being so eager to try new activities, i can 100% see him suggesting the most obscure data ideas & being so genuinely excited to do it no matter how odd it may seem given the context

cause Boy wdym you think fishing in a river at 12am is a fun idea for a date... it’s not necessarily like you were going to say no .... but also… this isn’t a common date activity, right?

i think he loves staying in with you the most….. sleepover!!! :3

especially after you both had tiring days; spending a night in with each other never fails to recharge you both!

ordering any food you want (he isn’t planning on eating much, so he’d rather get something you’re craving) ((after a couple bites he sits back and watches you eat w/ the biggest grin on his face))

but i think the absolute BEST part of the night is when the two of you are side by side at the bathroom counter doing a Twelve Step Skincare Routine that leehan made himself

and you’re giggling the whole time bc he takes his skincare SERIOUSLY. (that one mf who don’t play about his skincare bye)

i think he’d be super attentive, but silently though

you’d never know he’s constantly keeping track of your reactions to certain things, your different routines, your food preferences, the types of clothes you like

Ok in theory it /sounds/ creepy but he just puts in the effort to observe the way you like to do things so he can help you whenever you need it

IMAGINE you’re running late & you can’t find your phone /again/ and you’re lowkey freaking out because you Need To Leave Now but leehan just steadies you and hands you your phone

and ur kind of in awe ??? i've been looking for this for ten minutes now... How Do you have this …?

he just shrugs and explains “you always leave it underneath the blanket when you make the bed so i figured it might be there again" and motions for you to hurry before you’re late

or maybe you’re feeling under the weather & you ask him to make you a hot drink to help soothe your throat and he comes back with a mug of tea made EXACTLY how you make it for yourself

you're pleasantly surprised upon taking your first sip because …you don’t recall ever telling him how you like your tea? 

then he's sitting there with stars in his eyes and saying “i made it properly, right? :3” (clearly very proud of himself bc he remembered how you like it)

doesn't seem like the type to be too extra when it comes to PDA. if anything, he prefers small and/or secret interactions in public (it feels more intimate if only you guys know what's happening)

head pats. that’s it. he thinks the way you literally melt whenever he pats your head is the most endearing thing ever, so he'll save it /specifically/ when you're out w/ a group of people because he loves seeing you so flustered afterwards

keeping a hand on the small of your back or resting his arm on the back of your chair when you're sitting next to each other

holding your hand in his under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze as the two of you continue to talk with the others at the table

at the end of the day... he just loves you so dearly & couldn't be happier knowing that he can call you his, and you can call him yours :,)

© lionhanie 2024 ; all rights reserved!

[justakiro]

WHO THE HELL IS DAVE?

୨୧ — ꒰TWISTED WONDERLAND X READER

୨୧ — ꒰in which the boys who have fell head over heals for you, but you mention another name when having a romantic moment with them. Leading to many misunderstandings

Ft. Ace, malleus, idia

A/N: I most likely was on steroids the whole time I wrote this. Anyways reblogs and likes are appreciated.

THE TWO OF YOU - had just finished classes and planned to bond with each other, for you and him did not have any other plans. Unbeknownst to you, he had already planned this out. He planned to get closer to you using the time and utilize it as an opportunity to ask you out.

Ace

You and ace were chilling inside your dorm, chatting casually and exchanging light jokes with each other. He fidgeted with his hands, patiently waiting just for the right moment to take the hit and ask you out right on the spot.

"You have something in your mind?" you questioned him, the look on his face gave away everything. It was now or never!

"Yeah actually-.. Do..you mind if we could hang out after school? Maybe play some arcade" Ace took a glance at you while he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, seeing how you nod your head, he suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline through his veins

"I'd love to Dave"

Well damn.

-Word's couldn't express how his excitement went from 0-100

He thought you were just playing with him till he heard you apologize, saying Dave was a friend you used to hang out with alot.

He brushed it off of course, acting cool and smug at the outside. But in the inside he was basically dying

He didn't want to accept it, but he was beginning to think this Dave person was someone very close to you. So close it made him shudder for it was so unbearable.

You two still went out together after of course.. But the look on his face made it seem like the light had sucked out every single soul in him.

Asked cater to find this Dave person even though there was probably a million of them.

It wasn't long though before his jealousy turned into determination.

Oh so what, this Dave was close to you? Pfft, that was all in the past. HE was gonna be the closest to you now, not him.

Idia

You and idia always hang out with each other after classes but today was different! Since idia himself invited you to his dorm to play games, give each other tips and tricks on the games you both shared a common interest in.

But little did you know this was the final step into finally asking you out! (staying in his dorm more)

See idia wasn't an oblivious person when he started to develop feelings for you.. He was just thinking about how you deserved someone better. But to be honest if he DID see you with someone else he'd immediately feel jealous.

So it was now or never!! He mentally prepared himself for 3 weeks for this moment! Also Ortho was hiding somewhere with a earmic to help Idia steal your heart!

Both of you were just in his room playing games like usual, Your eyes were fixated on the screen though, the only sounds being the keyboard tapping and how focused you are in defeating this boss once and for all.

And when Idia caught a glimpse of the word's 'You Died' pop up, he knew it was go time. Ortho rooted for him... And probably was the only one rooting.

With a final deep breath he tapped your shoulder with his finger that was shaking immensely "I-Uhm, (Name)... Since you're still you know getting wrecked by this boss... W-Wana h-hang out more in my dorm?...." Idia just continued to shrink more and more as he continued to talk, don't blame him though this was his very first time asking anybody out.

With a joyful smile you nodded your head at him "Mm! Sure Dave" you immediately covered your mouth accidentally saying the name of your friend back at earth.

You swear you saw Idias soul start descending to hell with his face flushing in embarrassment while you tried to comfort and apologize to him that it was a mistake.

-Idia you sad sad man...

His mannerisms show how he wanted to dig himself a hole and never return on the surface ever again

3 weeks of mentally preparing himself and he got called another person...

When you left his dorm thinking he needed some time, Idia immediately wailed on the floor using his hoodie to cover himself further

Ortho emerged and comforted him, already trying to track down who this Dave person was.

A tiger is strong but not as strong as Idias mood swings. At first he was depressed over the fact that his crush called him someone else but then got frustrated.

Does this mean Dave frequently plays games with you? Bring him to the ring and Idia will show them how much of a pro gamer he is

He programs a virtual person of Dave inside a game and just spam kills them over and over again to make his frustration subside.

Happy ending though since both of you still played games and you finally defeated the boss.

Malleus

Malleus had always been a gentleman to you the moment his eyes spotted you at the ramshakle, he often showed a softer and sweeter side towards you and nothing like what people imagine him as a cold and mercy less dragon.

He didn't try hiding his feelings either;holding hands, playing with your hair, gifting you things he thought would suit you, all of that kinds of things.

So expect that one day he would abruptly climb your window and ask you if you'd like to be his partner.

Now listen, imagine at 2 in the morning you wake up to the presence of green eyes staring at your soul politely saying to be his partner.

So you took the most reasonable answers, you were either high or still dreaming.

"O-Okay Dave" you accidentally spurted out the name of your closet friend back in your childhood.

Malleus was full on ready to get on one knee until you suddenly said 'Okay Dave?'

Who is this person named Dave? A friend? A significant other? Friends with benefits? Whatever it is Malleus felt something awful inside his stomach

Went to Lilia to ask him for dating advice and told him to 'climb up a window and propose your love to them right away' !

Is this Dave person trying to steal you from him? He doesn't like sharing you know.

You swore a bright flash of thunder strook and hitted a tree nearby making you almost jump outta bed.

You calmed the pissed dragon off though saying it was a mistake, coming up with an excuse that Dave was a made up.

This made Malleus slightly calm down and not strike everything down on his way.

You saved a life of a unfortunate Dave...

But Malleus still got on one knee and proposed to you, but you said you still weren't in the age of marriage yet making Malleus understand your reasoning, he'll just wait patiently for the right moment again.

[narfin-frood]

Hi! I'm a big fan of your art, and I just wanted to know, did you study the WOY art style? I'm asking because the way you draw each character, Hater especially, is so expressive! Do you have any tips with expressions? Thank you!

thank you so much!! and to kinda answer your question: while what i do is, technically, studying, that's not what it feels like. i genuinely just enjoy looking at character sheets. a lot of the time they'll include little notes about things you wouldn't think about unless you're told to, like wander's eyes typically angling towards each other at the bottom or sylvia's eyes obscuring the full width of her neck.

(i have any one of these open in my reference panel almost always! not only are these full of tips & tricks for your everyday sketching, they're full of rules for each character, which are meant to be broken in interesting and fun ways.)

[im gonna pack a bunch of other, tangentially related tips and tricks and thoughts into the readmore, including my personal breakdown of hater's expressions specifically, so feel free to give it a click. long post ahead]

a lot of stuff can be picked up by just watching the cartoon as many times as you want. i have watched every episode (minus big fucking baby episode, which i hate) like 6 times over, sometimes more (looking at you the rager), and that has definitely solidified my wander over yonder visual library.

also, wander over yonder's art style already fits in with the way i draw, because i LOVEE long curvy lines and super crisp & clear silhouettes!!

as for why/how i get hater so expressive.... that mainly has to do with the fact that i think he's So Cute. He's So Cute and i wanna Squash Him. and his character design reflects that!!!

his hood is his eyebrow and his eyes may or may not be rolling around in their sockets, and his nose is a little upside down heart. but all of the lord hater emotion is stored in the chin. lord hater has a bunch of specific and VERY malleable options for mouth shapes, depending on what makes the expression and lipsync look clearest.

you can keep it super simple, with a clear divide between his top and bottom jaw, and do several round bumps for teeth, which they do a lot when tweening, like this:

this kind of seems to be his default state, depending heavily on the episode and when it was made and who was drawing him the most, of course.

you can also keep his jaw and skull distinct, but keep his teeth straight and flush with each other, which helps for sharper expressions, esp. anger or frustration, but can also work for a good "squee". he also sometimes pouts so hard his chin eats his mouth, which is, again, cute.

if you're having trouble keeping an expression clear while also maintaining the distinction between his jaw and the rest of his skull, it's pretty common also to forego most of the overt skeleton bits, save for a few hatch marks to indicate teeth (sometimes squiggles or bumps, when he's yelling about it). in my head i affectionately refer to this style of hater expression as the "peanut sans"

none of these convey the intensity of emotion you're looking for? fear not, you can also always just go Full Skeleting. and give his teeth a full outline. this is great for Pain and Strain and Nefariousness.

and then there are a million expressions in between and possibilities within these parameters beyond your wildest belief. nothing should hold you back from a really fucked-up lord hater expression. not proportion. not structure. ESPECIALLY not symmetry. please. make his chin bigger. make his head bigger. make one eye bigger. make him look in two different directions. scrunch his nose up. whatever it takes. by all means. i implore you to have fun

(honorable mention. his W face. the face when he says the consonant W. sometimes OO. i'm. obsessed. with it . he looks. kity)

anyway. lord hater tangent aside. i could also share my own process for expressions, but it really just hinges on what looks appealing/what i like the most/what communicates the emotion i want to communicate the clearest, and it varies between characters and people.

it helps to, again, build your visual library, and look at lots and lots of funny faces, both in real life and in cartoons you like. make funny faces in the mirror and try to focus on what parts of your face change shape or interact with other parts of your face when you do something like smile really wide or drop your jaw. your skin is taut, and there's a bunch of muscle and fat attached to your bones, so when one big bone moves, a bunch of muscles and fat under the surface will shift around too, and understanding that relationship is really helpful in the long run, both for drawing real people and for drawing cartoons.

and the easiest way to retain information like that is to have fun while you study. stop thinking of it as studying and start thinking of it as gathering information on this thing you like a lot and want to do more of, like when you scroll through someone's account to look at all their art, and just. do more of that. do more exploring and observing. since animation is my special interest, this part is pretty easy for me, but it does still take practice to get into that mindset, especially when you convince yourself you have to be super strict and rigid to make it in the art world. focus on drawing and observing what makes YOU happy first, and everything else will follow.

and don't worry about taking notes. don't worry about remembering everything you look at. just look at things you like, and think about them for longer than you usually would. think about the shapes and colors. what makes that drawing so darn appealing to you, besides subject matter and the vague concept of an "artstyle"? you'll be surprised just how abstract what appeals to you can be. for me, with expressions especially, it comes down to random shit like "i like when the edge of a character's mouth creates a tangent with the outline of their head" instead of "pretty eyes" or other, vaguer elements. and that shit i like becomes a part of my artstyle, but only when it fits in and looks appealing, because you can't do stuff like this in every single drawing & retain a full range of expression

ANYway. i hope this made some sense/helped at least a little. i like lord hater a lot. and i also like to draw

[magical-reid]

Ricochet

Pairing: Bucky x Fem! Reader

Slow Burn/ Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Bucky and the reader's relationship starts off rocky, marked by tension, mistrust, and bickering, especially due to their shared past with Hydra. However, over time, their interactions soften as they begin to understand each other better, with moments of respect, mutual concern, and subtle attraction emerging amid their fiery exchanges.

Reader’s POV

The elevator ride to the top of Avengers Tower was too quiet, too long, and too nerve-wracking. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—I was supposed to be excited, grateful even. Joining the Avengers was a big deal. The deal.

But all I could think about was the man waiting on the other side of the shiny metal doors.

Bucky Barnes.

The Winter Soldier, they used to call him. The Ghost. The most terrifying assassin in history. Now, they called him an Avenger. A hero. A man trying to rebuild his life, just like me.

Except, he hated me.

The elevator dinged, interrupting my downward spiral. I adjusted the strap of my duffel bag, straightened my back, and stepped into the common area.

It was bustling. Clint Barton was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee. Wanda Maximoff was cross-legged on the couch, nose deep in a book. Sam Wilson was half-shouting something about a sparring session.

And then, there he was.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, piercing blue eyes narrowed in a look that could melt steel. Bucky Barnes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky’s POV

I saw her before she even got off the elevator.

The new recruit—great. Another kid with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove. Fury had said she was talented, promising even. But Fury said a lot of things, and I wasn’t buying it.

Especially since she was Hydra-trained.

I crossed my arms tighter, keeping my mouth shut as the others greeted her. My stomach churned as I watched her, trying to read her body language. She stood tall, confident, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Good. She should be nervous.

“You’re the new girl, huh?” Sam said, clapping her on the shoulder like they were old friends.

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing my way for half a second before looking back at Sam. “I guess I am.”

Her voice was steady, but I caught the slight clench of her jaw. She knew who I was, knew what I thought about her being here.

“Welcome to the Tower,” Sam said, oblivious. “What’s your specialty?”

“Close combat,” she said. “And infiltration.”

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear. Her head snapped toward me, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said, pushing off the wall. “You’ve got ‘infiltration’ written all over you.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

It took every ounce of restraint not to throw my duffel bag at his head. He was testing me, pushing my buttons, and it was working.

“Okay,” Sam said, stepping between us with a strained smile. “Let’s just… ease into this. No need to kill each other yet.”

Yet.

The tension lingered, thick as smoke, as Bucky gave me one last icy look before brushing past me and disappearing down the hall.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky’s POV

The new girl—Y/N. Fury had mentioned her name in passing—was trouble. I didn’t need Steve’s optimism or Sam’s over-the-top friendliness clouding my judgment. People didn’t just walk away from Hydra clean.

I knew that better than anyone.

She was going to slip up. Eventually, she’d prove me right.

The problem was, part of me almost didn’t want her to.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two Weeks Later

Reader’s POV

I’d managed to avoid Bucky for the first couple of weeks, which was harder than it should have been considering we lived under the same roof. But there was no avoiding him in the field.

Our first mission as a team had gone sideways fast. Hydra—not that it was surprising—had set up a trap, and now half the team was scattered in the woods outside the compound while Bucky and I were stuck together.

“Stay close,” Bucky barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos.

“I know how to stay alive,” I snapped back, dodging behind a tree as bullets tore through the air.

“Yeah, but for how long?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I slid my knife from its sheath, took a deep breath, and bolted toward the nearest Hydra soldier. The element of surprise worked in my favor. I took him down quickly and efficiently, just like I’d been trained.

But the second soldier saw me coming.

“Damn it,” I muttered, raising my blade, but before I could strike, a blur of black and silver tackled the guy to the ground.

Bucky.

He stood over the unconscious soldier, shaking his head. “You’re reckless.”

“I’m fine,” I bit out, wiping blood from my cheek.

“For now.”

“Why do you even care?”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him as more soldiers approached.

“Stay behind me,” he growled.

I wanted to argue, but something in his tone made me listen.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky’s POV

She was going to get herself killed.

I didn’t trust her—not even a little—but I didn’t want her blood on my hands. She was brash, stubborn, and reckless, but she wasn’t incompetent. That’s what made it worse.

Because if she wasn’t Hydra anymore, if she really had turned her back on them, she didn’t deserve to die like this.

“Bucky, behind you!”

Her voice snapped me back to reality just in time to block the incoming blow. The Hydra soldier hit hard, but I hit harder. I turned and delivered a swift kick to his chest, sending him flying into a tree.

When I turned back to Y/N, she was watching me, something unreadable in her eyes.

“You okay?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

She nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Good,” I muttered. “Let’s keep moving.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later

Reader’s POV

By the time we made it back to the jet, I was running on adrenaline and pure spite. Bucky hadn’t let up the entire mission, barking orders and criticizing every move I made.

But he’d also saved my life. Twice.

“You’re lucky I was there,” he said as the jet doors closed behind us.

I rounded on him, eyes blazing. “You’re lucky I didn’t stab you.”

Clint, sitting in the pilot’s seat, let out a low whistle. “This is gonna be fun.”

Bucky ignored him, his focus entirely on me. “You want to survive out there? Start listening to people who know what they’re doing.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped.

“Do you?” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to get yourself killed.”

“Better than hiding behind everyone else.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might actually yell. Instead, he turned and stormed toward the back of the jet.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Bucky’s POV

She was infuriating.

She didn’t know when to quit, when to listen, when to shut up. But damn it, she had fire.

I hated that I noticed it. Hated the way my heart skipped when she called me out, the way my mind replayed her voice when I was alone.

I hated the way she looked at me, like she was daring me to prove her wrong.

But most of all, I hated the thought of something happening to her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Weeks Turn to Months

The missions kept coming, and so did the tension. Every time we worked together, sparks flew—anger, frustration, heat. But somewhere along the line, the edges softened.

It started small: a hesitant “good job” after a successful mission, a shared smirk when Tony made a particularly bad joke.

And then, one night, everything changed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Reader’s POV

The training room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of fists hitting the punching bag. I’d come down to clear my head, but I wasn’t alone.

Bucky was there, shirtless and focused, his metal arm gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

I froze in the doorway, my heart doing something stupid in my chest.

“Gonna stand there all night?” he asked without looking up.

I scowled, stepping into the room. “Didn’t know you owned the place.”

He smirked, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. “You here to train or to sulk?”

“Both,” I admitted, grabbing a pair of gloves.

We worked in silence for a while, the air thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t until I landed a particularly satisfying hit on the bag that he finally spoke

Part 2

[la2yn0va]

General Yandere Feixiao Headcanons.

CW: Yandere general warnings.

Notes: I can’t sleep for shit so have this. Also I don’t know what y’all’s personality is so imma just use mine.

———

Feixiao had never considered falling in love. Ever since she escaped the borisin, her whole life she molded herself into being a weapon.

Training herself to be the piercing arrow of the hunt. Having a lover would be a distraction. But, when she became the general of yaoqing, she did start getting curious at the prospect.

She wouldn’t go out of her way to find a lover, but she was interested in the whole love life. Guess it was inevitably that she’d grow curious of such a life.

Witnessing the closeness of two beings and the smiles that was immediately carved into their faces when they saw/were near each other was… beautiful. Could she actually experience such a moment with another?

Time passes and the whole thing becomes a small itch in the back of her mind. Not giving it much, if any thought at all.

But then, she met a cloud knight in training. Walking to the barracks to greet the newly appointed soldiers, she noticed one was missing. So, once she finished a speech she made on the spot, she went looking for this missing knight, and found him on the training field.

She watched, impressed by your skill. Clearly, you had some latent potential and talent for martial arts. The way you skillfully displayed your skills against an innocent training dummy was almost… mesmerizing to her.

She could do those moves without giving it any actual thought, but for some reason. Seeing you preform the moves were… beautiful to her eyes.

Time passes, and she’d always be watching you train. It’s all you ever did, you refused to do the common things like patrolling or helping civilians, only ever training or going onto the battlefield.

Her heart starts beating in a beautiful rhythmic song everytime you even appear in her head. What was wrong with her?! This was no way appropriate!

But slowly and eventually, that itch for you would grow and grow into an unsustainable obsession. She sees you beside her at all times, she sees you in her bed with the most adorable sleeping face she’d ever seen, even in the shower with her.

Luckily, she had already made efforts to befriend you. So that was the first step finished already, now she just needs to have you all to herself, convince you to stop your military service and live with her! Should be easy, you’re not exactly a social person.

So imagine her surprise when she finds you chatting with another girl. The smile on your face, the repressed laughter that escaped your mouth, the released demeanor… all that was meant for HER and HER ONLY…was being gifted to a random girl!

Her feelings bubbled up, her eye twitching and her body shaking as her breathing increased in speed. Her eyes holding disdain, disgust, and anger. Anger that you’d betray her like this…!! No, no that wasn’t the origin of her anger. It was that woman, who dared to pry down your walls and force you to smile and laugh with her!!

She walks over to you, announcing her presence and requesting your presence for a.. ‘mission’. Much to her joy, you agree instantly. She picked you up and immediately ran off, before the woman could manipulate your decision or loyalty in anyway.

M/n: G-General—! What’s the meaning of this?!

Feixiao: Call me Feixiao.

M/n: Uh…O-okay? Feixiao…what’s my mission?

Feixiao: Simple~ Your mission is to go on a date with me~

M/n:….W-What…?

Feixiao smirked, finding your confused and blushing face just adorable. Caressing now red face, she repeated her command

The whole date went smoothly, in Feixiao’s opinion and your inexperienced opinion. Feixiao just loved your adorable little questions. ‘Why do you find me attractive?’ ‘Is this appropriate?’ ‘Shouldn’t you date someone more acceptable? Like another general?’ Such cute dumb little questions.

Since the first date, feixiao immediately made it official, and well… you accepted. Cause what the fuck are you gonna do saying no to FEIXIAO?

-Alright now let’s do the alphabet-

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

She shows her love by spoiling you rotten, forcing you to sit on her lap ANYTIME your in her office for any reason/any amount of time.

It gets intense whenever people try to make a move on you, that’s when she loudly, pridefully, and possessives announce that your hers.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

She’s willing to kill, but only if someone kisses you or you tell her to kill said person. But, if her borisin nature gets the better of her, she’ll just kill anyone who so much as LOOKS at you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

God no. She could never mock you. Unless you consider her daily routine of reminding you that your HERS, and always having her hands on you.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Nope. She doesn’t wish for you to feel like a slave… Except that you can’t compliment another women. Dont you fuckin dare scare her like that!

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Very vulnerable, her heart when she’s with you is an open book. She doesn’t want secrets between you and her, so she keeps things blunt with you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Annoyed, Saddened, and Angered. How could you hurt her like this? After everything she did for you…! No, no it’s someone else fooling you! She’ll deal with this person.

You’ll be punished for being naughty and daring to be kind enough to entertain the idea that SHES bad for you. Or WANTING to escape her.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

50/50. One half hates and is angered that you try to escape. The other half LOVES this thrill. The hunt, the possible danger of your escape! It’s utterly thrilling, and you’re just adorable for even thinking you could escape her.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

One day, feixiao comes home with feral eyes. Her breath ragged and quick. She pushed you down against the ground and treats you like a prey, like a borisin.

She cuts you, loving your delicious screams and the blood the makes your skin glow. Harshly squeezing your body and neck, loving your delicate skin.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes. She gets jealous, extremely jealous. She lashes out and copes. She lashes out at a punching bag, imagining the bitch who made her feel like this.

She copes by having you in her arms and kissing you, while FORCING you to kiss her back and hold her while having you cuddled up in her chest or nuzzled up in her neck.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Love sick and down bad. She’s desperate for your attention, and praises. Anytime you two are alone, she keeps you onto her lap and places thousands if not millions of kisses and licks on your face, neck, and collarbone.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

If she wants to marry you, she’ll go all out. You deserve nothing short of the entire xianzhou after all! She makes sure everything is perfect, making jiaoqiu cook up the best food you’ll EVER eat in your life.

Having moze and the entire cloud knights kill any abomination or enemy that would dare make a move on this day.

Keeping you on her lap, she feeds you carefully, making sure there isn’t a chance you choke on anything, then, when your full and have a happy cute smile on your face, would she present you with marriage documents. She already slipped the ring on your finger.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Nah.. I think? She’s just more open around you… and clingy… possessive… obsessive…lovesick……. Okay maybe slightly different.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Never, she’d never punish you. You’re just confused, and she’ll be here to clear you pretty little mind of all and any strings.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Uhhhhh… freedom of speech? You can NOT compliment ANY girls, unless you want a jealous feixiao. (Or just want to get fucked)

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Extremely patience. Unless her moon rage is in effect, which lowers her patience down to a string. A single word or movement of disobedience and she’ll PUNISH you.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you die, it’ll shatter her, she will never recover. She’ll keep your dead body with her, and keep you clean.

If you leave, you end up back in her house, chained and locked up, and her yandereness will increase 10 folds.

If you escape, you’ll be hunted by a feixiao who’s being controlled by her moon rage, viewing you as prey to be beaten down and forced a certain lesson, dragging you back home, and getting more and more obsessive.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No. Unless you say you feel more like a slave than a lover, then it’ll stab her heart, and make her second guess herself.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity, and Childhood. Being deprived of love with the borisin and only being given SOME love from General Yueyu while being feared by others made her like this.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

It damages her very soul. To see your pretty face fucked up by tears, your jaw aching from screaming, or isolating yourself away from her gets to her.

If you’re hurting in anyway, she’s hurting. No matter how small or insignificant, if you’re sad, she’s depressed. If you’re annoyed, she’s enraged.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

No…? She wouldn’t result to murder IMMEDIATELY i guess….?

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Call yourself a slave, she’ll never recover from making you feel that way. If you’re truly unhappy or want to escape, abuse that word, it causes immense mental and psychological damage and stress for her.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not internally or normally. (I’m sure yall saw this coming) Moon Rage feixiao WOULD hurt you.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Any length. Money, murder, acts of service. She’ll worship you as her only string of happiness.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Probably a full year. She physical cannot wait longer to have you for herself, she can’t STAND your kindness being given to others!

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No. Not even MR!Feixiao (moon rage) she loves you just how you are. And she intends to protect you, even when she becomes the arrow of the hunt, she’ll find a way for YOU to come with her.

[yunwangja]

sooo... haikyuu boys as long distance bfs headcanons what r u thinkinggg. (tbh anyone js PLS include hinata im so down badddd) IDEK IF U TAKE REQUESTS IM SORRY i js had dis thought

ur wish is my command !!! okay here are my own hq headcanons. note that this is what i just imagine in my head, idk if i’ll be out of character at some point. also, this is like a city-away type of long distance okay? lol!

i hope you guys like it !!!

i’ll start with 3 characters (which are all from karasuno) but i will make other parts! if u guys want to request a character just comment them down or send an ask <3

i excluded kuroo and kageyama because you can read my completed smaus to know #marketing

hq: long distance bf headcanons

hinata, tsukishima, sugawara

hinata shoyo

u guys bonded over a common interest online and would meet up w e/o occasionally

was completely unaware of what was going on before you got together

when you confessed on chat he had a big question mark on his head. “wait” “what?” “that was flirting?”

he’d always think of u as a best friend but after thinking about it when u confessed, he realized what he felt for you. “let’s date then! that’s what we should do, right?”

such a cutie bf! a golden retriever bf.

he’d ask bf tips from ryu, his “successful senpai” and ofc i think u know how that would go

on your first monthsary he surprised you and shipped a box of goodies and some couple items (a shirt, a bracelet, and a cap) with as per ryu’s advice of course.

since u guys are long distance you occasionally meet up for dates at least once every month. and it’s ALWAYS something productive.

there’s just always an activity. he always makes it a point to make the most our of the quality time you have together!

if both of you are too lazy to think he’ll just teach you volleyball lol

was so nervous to start being physically affectionate with you. esp since u guys don’t meet up a lot. he was SHAKING when he first held your hand. AND HE WAS SO FLUSHED WHEN YOU GUYS WALKED HAND IN HAND IN PANIC IM CRYING JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

once you got comfortable being affectionate he was such a soft boy and a yearner!!!! he started to really enjoy getting pats from you and getting complimented.

after a match, whether it was practice or official, he would flood you with messages on how it went and would always wait for when you’re available to call!

calls you “babi”. like literally, ba-bi. he thinks it’s cute.

love language is sending you tiktoks, making you do couple tiktoks with him, and scrolling on tiktok while you guys are cuddling on the couch.

loves to discuss “what if” scenarios with you. literally things like “what if we met rihanna while eating at subway” (yeah like thats possible)

not that he overthinks but he’s just always asks you why you like him. more like, curiosity. because sometimes he be just analyzing volleyball matches and you think he’s hot. he wonders why you think that way.

he just constantly wonders what you found in him to like him romantically. maybe because before getting feelings for you, he was just very focused on his own goals.

R U GETTING ME??? like i think it wouldve been hard for him to think of himself as romantically attractive esp at the beginning

he’s very thankful that u think that way though !!! he always gives u the credit when it comes to being where the two of u are now

nonetheless though, as the two of you spend more time and be completely part of each other’s lives, he is happy to have you and loves you really well

tsukishima kei

u guys met at a concert one day and connected online. he asked for ur ig because u looked cute (he didnt say that of course)

i think that if he’s in a rs and ur his gf, there’s a side that only you could see.

there are ways he would act with you in private that he wouldnt dare do when anybody else is around. just like being very intimate or sincere (lol)

but he will still let everybody know you’re his gf. when u meet up he’d put his waist around you all the time and give guys around you a glare

he rarely posts pics of you two together. it’s mostly just YOU.

he has pics of the two of you of course but he never shows it to anyone except you, he thinks its a “for our eyes only” type of thing.

i don’t think he’d be a jealous bf though. he just likes to intimidate them, and just setting his place lol

when he confessed he FLOODED u with messages like “okay don’t over react.” “i like you.” “i don’t expect anything, just do what you want.” “don’t make a big deal of this, okay?” “yams told me it was but it’s not.” “so just don’t, okay?”

just imagine how he was when you said you felt the same LMAO he almost dropped his phone!

he used to hate video calls but learned to love them because of you because he’d rather see your face than just chat you

he’s competitive. especially with roasts. he loves to roast you then you try to fight back but he never backs down. both of you never take it seriously though, it’s a love language

loves to send you playlists or songs that he likes during the time

dates are very much chill, mostly just going to a cafe or such. he says travelling is already tiring so he doesnt want to do something that requires lots of energy

(he is very motivated when he commutes for a date with you though)

you guys like to go to concerts too, but he insists always getting a reserved seat (and not standing) because it’s such a hassle.

he doesnt tell you but a dream date of his for the both of you is a roadtrip. he wants to drive you somewhere a bit far, but he’ll bring it up soon when he can actually do that already lol

he also has a personality of just randomly going to your city if he misses you too much

he’ll just call you and ask you to check outside ur window and he’s there holding up some snacks.

“hurry up its getting cold”

this happens mostly during night though

the train station always closes on him so he just stays over til the morning (it was his grand plan all along)

a very good listener. whenever you go to him and share a problem, first thing he asks is, “do you want me to cheer you up or give you advice?”

i think it’s like a thing he does because if you really need more empathy (bc he can be bad at showing it sometimes?) he’ll really focus his energy on doing that, but if you want him to help, he’ll do that instead.

it’s his way of trying to understand and take care of u better!

sugawara koushi

(read faultline, it’s my ongoing smau thank you)

now with suga i’d like to think there was intention RIGHT from the start.

u guys met through a common friend! suga saw you in one of your pictures with them and got curious.

ur friend told u and ur like okay gimme his ig ;) you did NOT care that he was from another city and you’d probably be long distance.

after weeks of talking he wanted to confess properly in person, so he asked you out and officially got together!

N-E-WAY he is just a gentleman a big green flag <3

he cant see you every single day BUT he promised that every friday, he would go to your city and pick you up after univ/work. like ALWAYS. he made it a point to see you every week and he has never failed.

HE CALLS YOU DARLING!

he loves pinching your cheeks and ruffling your hair

he gets along really well with your friends, too

when he gets to tag along at hang outs he is such a good talker but he secretly flirts with you and you always tell him to shut up

my point is he has a duality. and its crazy

my man believes in enthusiastic consent. at the start of ur relationship he would always ask you, “is it okay for me to do this?” when doing something new with you

u know during ur first kiss he asked u that and u were like, “please, don’t ask me again the next time.”

one thing he doesnt ask permission with though is doing video calls. it’s just a given to him that every night he’ll call you. you’ll most probably pick up

ofc if u dont its no biggy lol what i mean is just it’s an automatic thing for him to do once he’s done with his day

he loves watching movies! you’d party stream a movie online then discuss them and really analyze everything lol

he loves going on museum dates or the like when you both have the time. he loves going to explore new things and getting to know more about… stuff… with you! (LOL I KINDA LOST IT THERE)

kinda a worrier! but he just always needs reassurance that ur fine

laughs at you when ur mad because he thinks you’re cute! when it’s not anything serious and you frown, he always finds it adorable

ready to RIOT when someone hurts you ! he becomes a different person when it comes to that

if someone did you wrong he is cold and unforgiving. u r lowkey scared urself but you’re also not coz he’s ur man and YES GO SUGA! (ok im sorry my inner voices)

a planner. when you got in a comfortable, secure place in ur rs he started discussing his future and how you fit into it

he always asks what you think, and its never an unpleasant or pressuring conversation

part of that is when u get married he wants to invest in a house at the countryside so you guys can grow old together there <3 so cute

[newkatzkafe2023]

HOW 'BOUT A WUKONG X READER WHO IS BASICALLY HARU FROM BEASTARS, SHE'S A CUTE PRETTY BUNNY WHO STRUGGLES WITH BULLYING/INFERIORITY ISSUES DUE TO THE FACT THAT SHE'S A MISUNDERSTOOD STRONG GIRL( EITHER SHE'S SEEN AS A WHORE BY WOMEN OR AS A TOY TO PROTECT BY MEN WICH IS SOMETHING SHE HATES)

I never watched beastars, but I like her character especially when she stuck to muzuchi 😈

(Lmk Wukong) You guys have something very special between the two of you. Wukong loves and respects your honesty and truth to yourself more than anyone, especially when he himself has to deal with judgment. You never hesitate to stand up for him as much as you stand up for yourself, and he never says anything about your past sexual nature. All of that is your business, but what he loves the most is your bravery and kindness. Their were times when you protected Mk and stood up to the celestials about the harbinger of chaos bullsh*t, and that was something Wukong could never get over. Overall, Wukong loves you and hopes you never stop being true to yourself.

(MKR Wukong) Oh my gosh, you guys would be perfect together, Wukong loves how you can clearly defend yourself. Though he would only step in when your in physical danger, which shocked you. Wukong doesn't Patronize you or treat you like a toy, you are his wife and queen and he respects your strength and bravery. You didn't know how to feel for once but you appreciate it especially when your short-tempers tend to go hand in hand.

(NR Wukong) He loves how true you are to yourself very similar to himself, you both don't care for others opinions. Wukong love how unapologetic you are and kind to everyone, you carefree nature that help Li and Su open up right away to you. You enjoy all your conversations and outings you do together, even getting Wukong to join you. You are honest to a fault and you even stood up for Li whenever Ao Bing would try to bully Him. You wouldn't hesitate to support and help them, and Wukong loved you for it.

(HIB Wukong) You both have somethings in common, you both don't take sh*t for anyone. Though you also keep each other at w distance when you both started dating but for different reasons. He had absolutely no opinion on your promiscuity because that's both the past and your business, and with that you saw a that Wukong was a good match for you. You love Luier and Silly girl too as your child like traits join together in joy.

(Netflix Wukong) When you both met Wukong was immediately tookin back by how kind and carefree you were to him. You also don't hesitate to stand up for him and Lin as people would judge or bully them, your kindness never ending. Though you would be tell the truth to Wukong about how you feel about, his recklessness or impulsive Decision making. However not in a tone of judgment but in a way that shows how worried you are about him. Wukong ever since he met Lin, that he would have someone else care about him like that.

(BMW Wukong) Now this is kinda tricky to explain, Wukong respects your honesty and bravery but he still feels that you need to be protected. Not because of your size or status but because he has alot of enemies that will hurt you physically. Wukong loves your emotional strength and bravery, joining him. He also laughs whenever you talk back to the big bad Celestials, but anyway you both will always have each other's backs.

(Destined one) You guys are a dream team together, the brain and brawn duo. The Destined one you felt like you can easily open up to as he seems to have a slow reaction time. Though the Destined one does get worried about you, as your bravery against enemies bigger than you two combined as your protection over your husband overrides your fear. I also feel the Destined one shares your bluntness and resilience as you both won't see the point of lying to yourselves, and it can be humorous, by the way. You're still taller than Bajie as though.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🐇

[tec-a0l]

personality analysis, pt.1

i got a request to do a personality analysis for dylan & eric on my previous blog but i wasn’t able to complete it before i got term’d, so here they are now (separated into two parts because i have a lot of thoughts)!

i want to state beforehand that these are based on accounts from their friends/families and primary source documents (journals, official reports, etc), and are purely speculative as i never met them personally. with that out of the way, i now present my analyses of dylan & eric!

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part 1, dylan:

dylan was described as shy and pretty socially awkward, but also very intense with his emotions and hot-headed at times. he was a smart kid, but didn’t really apply himself academically. he was also a very particular and detail-oriented person according to both family and friends, and seemed to be very hard on himself when he wasn’t able to live up to his high expectations.

devon adams described him as “a shy and sympathetic person. he was so sweet and kind and loving…he was also disillusioned and hurt and angry at the world…he had no outlet to vent his emotions; he bottled them up.”

devon claimed that she, dylan, and occasionally zach heckler would cry to each other on the phone about their feelings, including suicidality. despite his closeness to devon, he wrote in a journal entry that he “wouldn’t mind killing [her],” due to him feeling like she’d stolen his closest friend away when she and zach started dating.

“Ever since [Devon] (who I wouldnt mind killing) has loved him..”

“When [Zach] & I first were friends, well I finally found someone who was like me: who appreciated me”

“& now that he's “moved on” I feel so lonely, w/o a friend” — dylan’s journal, 7/23/97

i should note that this journal entry was written in july of 1997, and he appeared to have changed his mind—or at least softened his view on her—between then and the time of his death. i do think, however, that this could be a good example of a few key traits dylan seemed to have:

- fluctuating beliefs

- catastrophizing

- difference between inner & outer self

the most notable of those traits would be the distinct “inner self” that he expressed in his journals (and in the basement tapes briefly, depending on who you ask), and “outer self” that he presented to the people around him. from the pieces of information we have, dylan seemed to mostly come across as gentle and maybe a bit contemplative publicly, while suffering with his sorrow and rage privately (either in his writings or with his closest friends).

granted, someone’s personality/behavior changing a bit depending on who they’re around is extremely common (i’d be surprised if somebody didn’t do that), but in dylan’s case, the difference was so stark that it even shocked some of his friends and family.

with that being said, dylan was also a teenager, so his personality and presentation being so varied is not abnormal per-se, however the lengths that it seemed to have gone to were particularly extreme.

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there’s a lot more about dylan that could be looked into—such as his feelings of “godlike” superiority, his switches in aggression and passivity, his family dynamic with his brother, and so on—but i’ll leave it here, since this post is already very long 😅

eric’s analysis/part 2 is here.

[baronessvonglitter]

Law of Attraction ~ Chapter 7

Rom Com AU divorce lawyer!Dave York x fem!Reader (featuring private investigator!Tim Rockford)

Word count: 6,209

Summary: A friendship reaches a new level, Dave gets the truth about Carol, and a misunderstanding brings two people closer than they've ever been..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit for smut. Fluff. One adorable dog. Mentions of food/eating, alcohol/drinking. Fingering. Oral (f&m receiving). Infidelity (but a certain someone was unfaithful first so.. Uno reverse?) More marital strife (sorry). Porn-shaming. A lovers' misunderstanding. Angst. Unprotected piv. (please lmk if I've missed anything)

Author’s note: This is where they finally hook up. Wave. Of. Relief. Also, the whole Tim scene was really just me thinking about that old show Cheaters. It really scarred me for future relationships lol.

Series Masterlist

Common sense tells you to stay away from Dave while the investigation is going on. He's vulnerable now, and as your attraction grows stronger with each passing day, you know it'll soon be impossible to hold back from the natural predilection for being close with him.

In short, you're not so sure you can keep your hands to yourself when you're around him.

On a sunny weekend you meet at a pet adoption agency and, true to your word, you choose a dog together, a beagle named Maple, and the first time you bring her home, Dave stays for almost the rest of the day, helping set up what she needs and playing with her. There's a light in his eyes as he spends time with your new pet, a gleam that you haven't seen before, and it touches your heart.

He's invited to come over anytime he wants just to spend time with her, and he happily takes you up on the offer, indulging in more late night dinners and movies. Maple's a good chaperone, much too cute to ignore, and she keeps you from lingering on the sinful thoughts you're having about each other. For the time being, anyway.

You become a great means of support to Dave, a lifeline, and in that commisseration of your wrecked marriages, you find not just solace but a profound closeness. You spend every lunch hour together, at your cafe or at his office, sharing meals and talking about your day. No subject is too mundane or too trivial to insitgate conversation about a million other things, discussions that Javier would easily get bored of, and that Carol would dismiss as silly.

In a white floral print dress that's intentionally too short and too tight to fully button up, you visit Dave on your lunch break, bringing homemade soup and sandwiches, knowing he has a busy day ahead with meetings and court dates, and wanting him to have some comfort food in the midst of it all.

Despite his feelings for you, he likes to remain above reproach. Your visits are never secret, and when you're in his office his blinds are open. Nothing inappropriate passes between you anyway. Your looks and your words are the most intimate things that you share, at least since the heated kiss not so long ago. (Even if anyone gives a second thought to your visits, most of Dave's coworkers and their spouses hate Carol and would keep mum just to spite her.)

Still, you look like the sweetest sin, and under his desk Dave has to shift to accommodate his growing hard-on, eyes feasting on the playful lift of your brow, the curve of your smiling lips, the graceful column of your neck and the bountiful billow of your breasts, practically on display. He knows it's just for him. Spending so much time, you don't have room for any other guy.

"Are you listening?" you giggle, your bubbling laughter doing not-so-innocent things to Dave's dick.

"Yeah. Of course I'm listening. And yes, we're still on for tonight. Carol's already said she's doing a girls' night with some of the women from the hospital."

"I can't wait," you smile. "It's so good to spend time with you and the girls. I wish.."

"Wish what?" he whispers, his hand reaching out for yours.

"It's selfish, but I wish it could always be this way. When I think about my life before you, it's a blank. I don't know how I managed to stay sane, but when I'm with you I feel.. alive. I don't want to know what it's like to not have you in my life."

Dave pulls your hand across the table, bringing it to his lips to plant a soft sweet kiss on the back. "Baby, you don't know how much that means to me. It's like I'm drowning, and then I talk to you and suddenly I have air again. You're the only thing worth staying above water for."

"I think we're saving each other from drowning," you tell him.

Dave walks you out, insisting as usual to escort you back across the street, and this time when you step into the elevator, there's a charge in the air, a new tension both of you know has always been inevitable.

The close, cramped space of the elevator, you in that dress, curves begging to be caressed, your sweet floral perfume beckoning him closer. There are no words exchanged as you share a look, communicating everything in that prolonged glance. He's thankful no one else is on, and his heart leaps right before he presses the STOP button.

You press him to the wall in a kiss full of longing, aching for his taste, for the feel of his tongue against yours. Your panties are sopping wet within seconds as his hands find their way under your dress, his large hands smoothing over your skin as your own fingers find their way under his jacket, hungering to feel his muscles and the heat of his skin under your palms. You settle for the cotton of his light blue button-up.

"We should stop," you tell him, pushing your panties to the side as his fingers slide between your warm thighs.

"Yeah, we should." He teases your folds, relishing in the sighs and tremors that go through you at his delicate touch.

"You're married," you remind him, a gasp leaving you as he pumps not one but two thick fingers inside your drenched pussy. Dave's head drops down, trying to contain himself, willing himself not to come in his pants then and there. Never felt anything so fucking wet in my life..

"A married man whose wife is fucking someone else," he says,a lawyer even when he's hot and hard for you. "I want you to come for me, baby. I need to know what you sound like, what you look like, what you taste like when you come." He pumps slow and steady, fingers scissoring to feel all of you, and imagine how well you'd take him if he could fuck you right now. "You're so fucking wet, I know you need to come, baby."

You grasp his wrist, feeling the strength behind his skillful touch as you greedily take every plunge of his fingers, crying his name in a shudder as his thumb swipes your clit.

"Keep your eyes on me, baby," he utters, giving your bottom lip a soft bite. "I want to see your eyes when you come."

Unable to speak, you nod, your high-pitched gasps and moans letting him know you're close. He crooks his fingers, too caught up in the surreality of the moment to even think about teasing you or edging you the way he fantasizes about. "That's it, isn't it?" he smiles as he takes a moment to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, his fingers finding that spot deep inside that is your undoing. You're squirming under his touch now, desperate.

"It's all you, baby, come for me," he whispers, holding your chin up so your eyes meet his. And as if they're magic words, you come apart under his touch, clamping down on his fingers, earning a deep, satisfied grunt from him. Just when you think one wave is over, another starts, his fingers continuing their blessed work inside your cunt.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs as you finally push him away, overstimulated, eyes glassy in fucked out bliss, some loose strands of hair caught in your lip gloss. He removes his fingers gently, your glaze sticky on them. With his eyes on you he licks off your essence, closing his eyes briefly at the taste of you, just as he'd imagined.

After, he makes sure you're okay, cleans you up with his handkerchief from his jacket, wishing he could wear the heavenly scent of your pussy on him all day, but he'll switch it out for a new one later.

"I'm not ready to go yet," you murmur, stopping him from pressing the elevator button.

Before he realizes what's happening, you're on your knees in front of him, fingers deftly working at undoing his belt buckle. He doesn't make a move to stop you. No man in his right mind, married or not, would deny you anything. "Here, baby," he says, handing you his jacket to give you cushion for your knees. He runs his fingers through your hair, heart pounding madly in his chest as you look up at him with those irresistible eyes, releasing his cock from its confines.

Thank you Jesus, I knew it, I fucking knew it! You glory in the big fucking dick that you always knew Dave was packing down there. Your mouth pools with saliva as you give him a couple teasing strokes, marveling at the swollen shaft, curved, ringed with smaller veins and one large one running along the top. He tips his head back against the wall, breathing heavily as you give little kitten licks across the head, scooping up his trickling precum.

Carol can have this every day and she chooses not to. What the hell is wrong with her? A victorious little smirk curls the corners of your mouth as you drag your tongue along the underside, your free hand gently palming his balls, feeling their heft in your hand. Just thinking about how much he's going to unload makes your cunt clench in anticipation.

"Stop.. teasing.." he begs, looking as if he's close already. "Not fair.."

"Good point," you tell him, unable to keep back a smile. You move the shoulders of your dress down, pushing it over your breasts and bringing your bra down as well, baring your breasts to him. Practically drooling at the sight, Dave fondles one in his large palm, his thumb rubbing avariciously over your nipple, bringing it to a tight little bud.

At last you take him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you slurp the first couple of inches, adding pressure by stiffening your tongue. One hand rests on his base against his neatly trimmed pubes, the other on his thigh, hard muscle and soft hair under your palm.

Taking him in as far as your throat allows, you alternate between using your mouth and your hand, spitting on his shaft to add lubrication, watching him innocently from below as Dave loses control little by little. His hands tangle in your hair, thumbs caressing your cheeks as you gag on him, pulling away and leaving a stringy mess of saliva between your lips and his cock.

Poor Dave hasn't been blown in ages.. I'm so lucky to be the one to give him this.. You use your fist and mouth in tandem, bobbing your head as your fist works the base, keeping your eyes on him as he tries desperately to hold back.

Giving his balls a little massage, you hear him groan and feel him shiver. Keeping your mouth suctioned to his cock, he cries out in relief as he pulses and shoots his load down your throat.

By the time you reach the ground floor you both look like nothing ever happened, not even a hair out of place nor a button fastened wrong. As you part ways in front of the bakery/bookstore you exchange a small, secret smile, with the promise of more stolen moments to come.

Dave almost regrets having to go home, but Molly and Alice are the only bright spots there, and he brings them a couple of brand new Squishmallows, loving the light in their eyes as they greet him home. They don't know that you're coming over later, just in case they accidentally spill the beans to their mom. So far they think of you as a babysitter who's also their dad's friend.

After dinner, Carol's quiet, like a ghost hating the place she haunts she goes about cleaning up the table, putting things in the dishwasher, putting an extra load of laundry in the wash, rejecting Dave's offers of help. This is something he'll be yelled at about later. It's nothing new.

He's counting down the minutes until she leaves and you can come over. He texts you some ideas of movies to watch with the kids, maybe more Disney classics, or even the older greats like E.T, The Princess Bride, Matilda, or Jumanji.

But when Carol sees him smiling at his phone, a light blush on his face because he's recalling the passionate encounter between you two in the elevator, her face sours.

"I think you need to get help. You have a porn addiction," she frowns at him.

He's too happy to argue back. "Yeah, sure, maybe."

She makes a sound of disgust. "I don't know what a man your age still watches that stuff for."

Again he makes no answer, choosing instead to cold-shoulder her anger, hoping she'll just complain her anger away while he texts you, in between reading work emails. Waiting for a quiet moment in her muttering, he asks, "So, how was work?"

"It was long.. and hard," she says, putting laundry away in the dresser.

Dave's knuckles grow white with holding back from telling her everything he knows she's done. Playing pretend has never been so damn difficult. He swallows the bile that dares to rise in his throat when he thinks how she's played him. "I bet. Sounds rough."

A little sigh from her, and when he glances up he swears he sees a little pink on her cheeks in her reflection in the vanity mirror. "It was pretty rough," she says lightly.

His eyes narrow and he can practically feel the blood pulsing through his body. How can she be so callous, so uncaring about the risks she's taking? Does she know how she's just stringing him along?

"I can imagine," he replies, voice tight.

Carol must sense his sarcasm, because she turns in her seat to glare at him. "You don't know what it's like for me. The long hours, the responsibility, the lives I hold in the palm of my hand."

He nearly snorts in laughter. "No, you're right, Carol. I don't know what any of that is like. All I do is go to the office and joke around with the guys, fuck the paralegals, and come home to a cold bed, spend my money on webcam girls, then go to sleep, only to start it all over in the morning. With you as the occasional guest star," he rants.

"You're outrageous," she mutters, slicking on some lip balm. "I don't have time for this. I'm going out."

To see Joel Dave finishes her sentence, hands fisted at his side as he tries to control his breathing. Only his wife can make him so hotheaded, so willing to damn everything to hell over a snide comment.

"You don't have time for what?" he repeats. "To talk to me?"

"What's there to talk about? We stopped talking and fucking a long time ago." She's in the closet putting on a silk blouse and looking for shoes to go with it.

"You always use work as an excuse. You do it deliberately to avoid being here at all!"

"I had a life before I met you! Excuse me for trying to find a little fulfillment apart from you and the girls. You don't define me!"

That comment stings. Dave hasn't realized until now how big a part of his life Carol's been, and how much of his youth he spent building a life she would love. Now here she is dumping all over it.

"I never wanted to define you. I just wanted to make you happy," he says quietly.

His sincerity does nothing for her. "Do you want a fucking parade?"

"You know what? A parade would be great because at least I'd be getting some attention. I-"

He's cut off as Carol grabs him and kisses him. Taken off guard, Dave freezes, his body unable to react to her lips on his. Finally he puts his hands on her shoulders and gently pushes her away, breaking the contact and stepping back. "What are you doing?"

"Don't you want to?" she asks, looking almost hurt. She comes close again and presses the flat of her palm against his crotch then takes it away as if she's burned herself. "You're not even hard."

The blood rushes back to his cock as he recalls the way your lips wrapped around him, tongue laving him as your beautiful eyes gazed up so innocently. Of course he's not hard when you drained every drop of him earlier.

"Of course I'm not," he says, turning away so she can't see the longing in his eyes, the obvious bulge when he does start to get hard again thinking about you in that elevator. "Do you expect me to be in the mood when we're arguing?"

"You used to tear my clothes off after every argument. Or have you forgotten?"

He remembers well the passion of their youth. Carol had always been feisty and tempestuous and that excited him before. Their arguments, no matter the subject, typically led to a passionate embrace. And now.. perhaps time has reshaped them.

"Will you at least lay down with me?" Carol's request comes as a surprise, given how demure she sounds. He looks at her, resting on her side of the bed, and he almost feels guilty for his earlier transgression with you. But he knows Carol has done worse, and likely has been for a long time.

But he's been with her this long out of habit, or maybe it's because she knows how to play him, and only recently stopped the game, tossing her cards aside and abandoning the rules when that stupid plumber came around.

What Dave can't resist is a little peace around the house, an interim white flag. And that particular white flag is in the form of laying next to his wife, watching her fall asleep as her eyes flutter shut.

You return to Dave's house, still under the impression that you're going to hang out, maybe make some dinner with the kids while Carol's gone. There are two cars in the driveway this time, and as you make your way to the door you wonder how to introduce yourself if Carol's actually here.

The girls let you in, hugging your legs as you come inside. Heart brimming over, you ruffle their hair, placing soft kisses on the tops of their heads.

"Mommy and Daddy are asleep," they tell you, bringing you to the half-open door of the master bedroom.

You're unprepared for the stab of jealousy as you see husband and wife resting peacefully, holding hands in their slumber.

Has he forgiven her? Has she somehow wormed her way back into his heart? Maybe he's loved her all this time and is willing to overlook her discretions, just as you secretly forgave Javier's for so many years. Maybe neither of you have any backbone when it comes to letting people walk all over you. Maybe it's a secret kink.

You can only control your own choices, and as soon as you sit alone in your car, you let the silence engulf you before you pull up the application for the culinary program in Paris, quickly entering your info before applying, sealing your fate.

Dave wakes before Carol, rubbing his eyes and stretching. It's nearly ten p.m. and he checks his phone, jolting up when he realizes he never texted you not to come over. The fight with Carol and the tenuous white flag raised between them had come so suddenly that he'd not given thought to the night in he promised you.

He gets out of bed, careful not to wake his wife. As soon as he leaves the room the girls are on him, telling him you came by but had already left. Dave quickly shuts the door as quietly as he can, to stop Carol from hearing them. He takes them out of the hallway and questions them.

"She told us not to wake you up," Molly says.

"Did she say anything else?" Dave's heart is in his throat.

"She told us to be good and that you and Mommy love us," Alice answers. "Can she come over every day?"

"She was crying," Molly added.

That's a twist of the knife already in his heart. He imagines how it must have been for you, walking in and seeing him with his wife, probably assuming the worst.

"Did she say where she was going?" he asks.

"No," they answer, already bored with the questions. "Can we go spend the night at Michelle's?"

"No, honey, it's very late," he says, heart skipping a beat when his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Tim.

With an ache in his gut, throat constricted, he answered, somehow able to speak. "This is David," he answers, quickly moving out onto the patio to take the call.

"Mr. York, this is Rockford. Do you have time to come in tomorrow so I can discuss my findings." The PI is pretty blunt, just what Dave needs to get out of the cloud of confusion he's in.

"Tomorrow? Can't you just tell me now?" The thought of having to wait another twelve hours is excruciating.

"That's not the way I like to do things, Mr. York. But if this is an ASAP kind of thing you can drop by my office." He gives the address which Dave quickly makes a mental note of.

Of course Carol makes a face when he tells her he has to go into work. A necessary lie, but he takes note of how much she seems to dislike having to stay home. He wonders if she misses Joel, if she even loves him. That's a thought he tries not to entertain for too long or it'll drive him crazy.

The PI's office is in a small room overhead a Korean grocery shop downtown. As Dave traverses the the entrance via the back alley and up a couple flights of stairs, he gets the notion that he's in a 1930s film noir, complete with dingy hallway with wooden paneling, and a door advertising Tim's services as a PI, the signage somewhat faded on the frosted glass. Dave expects the surly former cop to show up in a trenchcoat and a Trilby, but the man appears in the doorway, a loosened tie and white shirt, gray slacks. Tim looks ready to call it a day.

He offers Dave a drink, to which Dave firstly declines, then decides better of it. If he's offering alcohol, it's probably bad news. He thanks Tim for the proffered bourbon and fortifies himself with a sip as they get situated at Tim's desk.

"As you well know, you've paid me to keep tabs on your wife, one Carol Marie York, forty-four years of age, and have surveiled her comings and goings these past few weeks. This is what I've found."

He pulls out a manila folder from an accordion file index and presents it to Dave. "About eighty percent of the time she's not actually at work, as she gives you reason to believe. The other twenty percent she's definitely at the hospital, keeping herself shut away in her office. No visitors during those times."

There's a sinking feeling in Dave's stomach and he feels all the blood rush from head. He doesn't touch the folder, as if it'll burn him. "And the 'eighty percent' as you say? What's she actually doing? Seeing this.. Joel idiot?"

"I've identified her companion as one Joel Richard Miller, fifty years of age, a plumber with a company that services Mercy Memorial, the hospital where Carol works."

Dave leans back in his chair, his grip on his glass of bourbon growing tighter. "That must be how they met.."

"They are not seen together at the hospital," Tim continues. "Their typical MO is to meet at the Starlight Motel, less than an hour from here." He takes the folder and leafs through the info. There are photos of Carol and Joel meeting up in separate cars, going into the same room, smiling, kissing, holding each other while they think they're not being watched.

"I have photos and audio, if you want further evidence."

"Audio??"

Tim shrugs. "Just between us, I have a friend on the force who lends me better equipment for high profile cases such as yours. It's not always easy to get pictures through the windows."

"What.. what's on the audio?" Dave asks, almost timidly. He knows the ascertainment of such evidence by such means is toggling some very blurry lines of legality, but for once in his life he's not going to play by the rules. Forty five years of being good has earned him some legroom to forgo his typically heroic beliefs.

Another sigh from Tim. "You can listen for yourself, or I can tell you: they're definitely fucking."

"Oh, god." Dave puts his glass down on the desk and holds his head in his hands. Tim, used to such reactions, goes around his desk and gives his client a strong pat on the back.

"I'm never happy to pass on news like this," he comforts Dave. "But you have a right to know. You're not the first man whose wife stepped out on him. What you do with this information is completely up to you." He passes the brokenhearted man a box of tissues, letting him have his moment.

"Tell me more about this Joel guy." Dave's voice is strained.

"He's single, lives alone on the east side of town. Worked in the home services industry for almost thirty years. He's big. Strong. I'd say ex-football player."

Of course. Joel was the opposite of Dave, in almost every way. Maybe that's the kind of man Carol needs. Or maybe she's just slumming. Now faced with more questions than answers, Dave slams back the rest of his bourbon, all his senses buzzing.

"I don't usually do this," he says, coming back around his desk to face his client head on. "But you seem like a good guy. If you want, we can catch them in the act."

"How?"

Tim relays the evidence, the patterns of their meeting nights and times, the place already established. Dave doesn't know how he'd not been able to see the signs right in front of him. The late nights all matched up at the same hours, on the same nights, with rare exceptions.

"If all goes according to plan, they'll meet up tomorrow night at the motel. You can be there to catch them in the act, and I'll be there to make sure nothing happens that shouldn't."

It doesn't take a lawyer's imagination to think of every possible result from him catching Carol and Joel red-handed. It would be satisfying, despite the evidence Tim has gathered. He needs to confront them in person, demand answers. Maybe Joel doesn't even know Carol's married. Worse, maybe he knows and just doesn't care.

"Let's do it," Dave agrees.

After leaving Dave's, you drove straight to work, throwing yourself into doing some work after hours, handling the invoices and filling out supply orders ahead of schedule. Anything to keep you from thinking about what you saw. Soon you found your office too confining, and started moving packages to the front, refilling display cases and restocking shelves, making room for new books. Anything to keep you distracted.

A knock at the glass door snaps you from your spell and you see Dave, peering in, waving to you. With a knot in your gut you go and open the door.

"Hey," you say quietly once he's inside.

"Hey," he says back, stuffing his hands in his pocket, unsure what to do with them.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you.. to talk. I went by your place but your sister said you were here."

"She wanted to get away from my parents for a bit, and keep Maple company."

"Good.. that's good." Dave nods.

"You could have called. You didn't need to come over."

"I wanted to see you." A ghost of a smile passes his lips, warming you a little.

"I saw you with Carol," you mutter. "In your bed.. it looked like you'd forgiven her."

A shard of guilt pierces him. "I know.. the girls told me. I am so sorry, baby." He makes a move to reach out for you but pauses. "Please.. look at me."

You reluctantly bring your eyes to his, brimming over with tears. He takes your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. "I promise you, it wasn't what it looked like." He could kick himself for saying such a cliche thing. You've probably heard it over and over from Javier.

"Do you still love her?"

The question hits him like a kick in the stomach, and his immediate instinct is to say no, that he doesn't love Carol at all, and he wouldn't be going through all this if he did. But that's far too black and white, too easy of an explanation. And he doesn't want to lie to you.

"It's complicated," he mumbles.

You don't say anything for a long while, leaving him tense and worried.

"She's the mother of my children, and the first woman I was ever serious about. We fought last night," he continued, "and then I guess we just had no more fight left in us." He sighs. "I just came back from Rockford's office. She's having an affair with that plumber."

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "I'll send some condolence cookies to your office." You turn to go, torn between wanting to comfort him and needing to turn him away.

It's too tempting right now to start an argument, all your pent up passion needing to be externalized. "My own divorce wasn't nearly as messy as this situation is. I don't love my ex-husband. There's nothing complicated about it."

"Will you listen to me?" he goes after you, grabbing your hand and turning you to face him. "Yes, it's complicated with Carol. It always has been. The only uncomplicated part about my life is you!"

Now the tears fall freely. "Dave, I can't risk my heart getting involved any further. I have to protect it." You wipe your face with the heel of your hand, makeup smudged but you could care less. "You deserve more than being a cuckold. I would never do to you what she did. If I had you in my bed every night I'd have no need of satisfaction elsewhere."

That thought sets him ablaze, the memory of you on your knees in that cramped elevator, your tight wet mouth wrapped around him.. he could have that every night if he could leave Carol so easily.

"I know you wouldn't.. because you actually care about me."

"No, Dave. I fucking love you." Realizing what you just said is a jolt to your system, but you continue. "Please don't choose the woman who betrayed you over the woman who's madly in love with you."

He takes a breath and cups your cheek, gazing into your eyes as he speaks. There's a vulnerability in his voice. "Do you really mean that?"

Your feelings are laid bare, your heart open to him and there's nothing more frightening or more exhilarating. "Dave, I shouldn't have said-"

He shakes his head, silencing you with a firm but gentle touch. "Please, just let me say this. The fact is, I'd choose you. If if came down to it and I had to choose, there would be no contest. I'd choose you. Every damn time."

Your lips meet his in a crashing kiss, alighting both of you with need. Hands on your hips he presses you to the nearest flat surface, a large wooden bookshelf. Dave's kisses travel down your jaw, your neck, and he rips open the top buttons of your dress to get to the swell of your pretty breasts, pressing messy kisses and love bites on your supple skin.

"I need you," you moan, "right now." Your desire is growing out of control.

"God.. I need you too," he says breathlessly. He unbuttons his jeans, quickly pulling down what he needs to, while you hurriedly remove your panties. He grabs your thigh, hooks your leg around him as he presses the tip of him to your dewy folds, teasing you until you're squirming with need.

"This okay?" His breath is hot against your ear. "I don't have a condom. I can pull out.."

You shake your head. Even if you weren't on birth control you'd want to feel him in every way, want that glorious pump of his seed filling you. "It's okay, I'm good, I want it."

He eagerly lines himself up. "You're dripping already.. fuck, I don't think I can hold back.." He slides into you, slowly, savoring this moment he knows he'll look back on for years to come. "I love you," he moans, unable to help the last snap of his hips that delivers his full length into you. He's surrounded by you, warm and tight and oh so wet. "I wanted to be inside you when I said that," he confesses, thrusting home again, filling you deeply.

"Dave," you moan, looping your arms around his neck as he thrusts at a languid pace, shivering from keeping himself at bay. He's a stretch to fit, but he keeps his thumb on your clit, working in small circles as he fills you.

"Please, fuck me," you beg, nails digging into the nape of his neck as you break from a sloppy, delicious kiss. "We waited too long for this.. fuck me now and make love to me later."

He shakes his head, the pleasure already creeping up into his balls. "Gonna come if I don't stop now." He picks you up and carries you to the nearest sofa, both of you giggling as he tries to walk with his pants down around his ankles.

He places you on the sofa, legs spread apart for him as he settles himself beneath you, raising the hem of your dress over your hips. Hooking your legs under his arms he brings you to the edge of the cushion and places small, teasing kisses along the insides of your thighs, groaning as you run your fingers through his hair.

Dave looks at you like you're a miracle, breath warm on your soft skin, tongue dipping out to taste you. He'd had a taste earlier when he licked your cream off his fingers, but there's nothing like drinking from the source. "I love you," he rasps, saying it after planting each kiss upon your thigh, until he reaches his destination, blowing soft cool air on your clit.

"Dave," you groan again, hips eager for him to press forward.

"Payback," he reminds you how you teased him in the elevator almost twelve hours before.

"Mmm.. punish me as you see fit.."

He takes his time once he's there, languidly licking a stripe up your center, delighting in your sweet little moan as his tongue swipes over your clit. His tongue delves into your folds as if to memorize your shape and your taste. You sigh when he pays attention to one side, and your entire body tenses when he laps along the other. When he fucks you with his tongue the handsome curve of his nose rubs against your clit until you're a shivering mess beneath him, your essence all over his face.

Waiting until you're just on the edge, he pulls back, using his fingers just as before, knowing what it will take to get you to come all over his hand. He pulls the most beautiful moans from you, such symphonic sighs as you scream his name. And the cherry on top is when he purses his lips around your taut little clit and sucks as his fingers curl inside you, making you moan louder than he's ever heard anyone as you coat his face with your juices.

He's inside you again, your warmth clasping around him as if he belongs there, in your perfect pussy, buried deeply as he pistons his hips against yours, the culmination of every fantasy he's ever stored up about you now becoming real as you buck your hips up beneath him, demanding all of him, taking every inch because you're made just for him.

True to his word, he fucks you, makes you his in every way. There's nothing so perfect as the feeling of you coming on his cock, squeezing him and urging on his own climax. Once again ensuring that you want him to, he comes hard, painting your sweet cunt with his spend until it's spilling out of you while he's still inside. There's no doubt when you're screaming his name and it's ringing throughout the empty bookstore, you belong to each other and always have.

"Are you okay?" he asks sometime later when you've both caught your breath, holding onto each other for dear life.

"I'm wonderful," you answer, body still thrumming with pleasure, a lightness in your heart that nothing else has ever produced.

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

taglist: @penascigarette @joelalorian @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

@darkheartgatita @speaktothehandpeasants @rav3n-pascal22

@vickie5446 @mrs-pedro-pascal @zascal @sunnytuliptime

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(sorry it's a little later than I promised!)