#and understanding and finally a fierce need to protect

[azzifudd10]

Silent Strings

Chapter 13: Brutal

TW: detailed mentions of abuse

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator.

Paige sat on the couch across from Azzi, her forearms resting on her knees, her fingers laced together so tightly her knuckles ached.

Azzi avoided her eyes, her body curled up at the far end of the couch like she wanted to disappear into the cushions.

“Azzi,” Paige began, her voice soft but steady. “I saw it.”

Azzi’s head jerked up, her lips parting in confusion. “What?”

Paige took a breath. “That picture. On his desk. Of you. In the stairwell. Hurt. Scared. And it—” Her voice faltered for a second before she pushed on. “It broke me. And it scared the hell out of me. Because if I didn’t know about it, then what else don’t I know? What else is he holding over you?”

Azzi swallowed hard, her shoulders curling inward, her gaze dropping to her hands.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t let me,” Paige whispered. “Please. I need you to tell me the truth. The whole truth. No matter how bad it is.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

And then, finally, Azzi nodded faintly, tears already spilling down her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll tell you.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she began.

“It started during my first year of residency at NYU,” she said, her fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve. “He… wasn’t my boss at the time, but he was a rising star. Charming. Brilliant. Everyone wanted to be on his service. And at first… he was kind. Attentive. He’d leave coffee on my locker. Stay late with me on difficult cases. He made me feel like… I was special. Like he saw me.”

She let out a bitter laugh that died in her throat. “And then we started dating. At least, that’s what I thought it was. But it wasn’t just that. He… started isolating me. Subtle at first. Told me my parents didn’t understand me. That the other residents were jealous of me. That the attendings were out to sabotage me.”

Her hands shook as she spoke, her eyes glassy but fixed on some distant point in the past. “And then… there was that night. The stairwell. I’d just come off a 26-hour shift. He was waiting for me in the dark. Said he’d heard I was planning to switch services, to work under a different surgeon. He…”

Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard.

“He grabbed me. Pushed me against the wall. Called me ungrateful. A traitor. Told me if I left him, I’d never finish my residency. That he’d tell everyone I’d been sleeping my way up. That he’d ruin me.”

Her breath hitched, and she finally looked at Paige, her eyes shining with tears. “And then he… he hit me. And when I fell, he kicked me. Over and over. Said if I screamed, if I told anyone, no one would believe me. That they’d just think I couldn’t handle the pressure.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists. “Oh my god,” she whispered, her eyes wet now too.

Azzi wiped at her cheeks, shaking her head. “I tried to report it. I tried. But he got to them first. He made it seem like I was unstable. Like I’d hurt myself. They made me sign an agreement to keep quiet — in exchange for letting me finish my residency. They… they said it was ‘better for everyone’ that way.”

Her voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “And I agreed. Because I thought… maybe it was my fault.”

Paige reached over and grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. “It was never your fault,” she said fiercely, her own tears falling freely now. “Not for a single damn second.”

Azzi squeezed her eyes shut, more tears sliding down her cheeks. “I thought I could bury it. That if I ran far enough, worked hard enough, it wouldn’t matter anymore. But… he knows. He still has everything. The photos. The notes from my therapy sessions. That night in the stairwell. Even the mistakes I made later.”

Paige’s brow furrowed. “Mistakes?”

Azzi nodded, shame written all over her face. “I… got addicted to stimulants for a while. To keep up with the hours. I forged my attending’s signature on a discharge once when I made a mistake on a chart. Stupid, desperate things I did to survive. Things he found out about. Things he’s probably waiting to use against me.”

Her voice cracked completely then. “He has everything, Paige. And if he ever shows the world who I really am… I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.”

Paige slid across the couch and wrapped her arms around her, holding her so tight Azzi could barely breathe. “You listen to me,” Paige murmured fiercely against her hair. “You are not what he says you are. You’re not weak. You’re not broken. And you’re sure as hell not alone anymore. He doesn’t get to own you. Not now. Not ever.”

Azzi clung to her, her tears soaking Paige’s hoodie, her body shaking with quiet sobs.

The silence that followed her confession was thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of Azzi’s breath as she curled into Paige’s chest, her tears finally subsiding.

But her mind wouldn’t stop.

Even when Paige smoothed her hair and whispered promises she wasn’t sure could be kept.

Even when her hands stopped shaking and her chest stopped heaving.

The thoughts were still there, sharp and relentless: He’s never going to stop.

He hadn’t stopped when she fled New York. Hadn’t stopped when she cut him off, changed her number, moved halfway across the country. Hadn’t stopped even now, when she was hiding in someone else’s apartment, clinging to someone else’s strength.

He was never going to stop.

And if she didn’t figure out how to end this — really end this — he’d just keep coming.

And she’d keep running.

She pulled away from Paige slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. Her own eyes were red but clear now, her jaw set with something new — something steely.

“I need to stop him,” she whispered.

Paige cupped her cheek, confused but gentle. “We will. We’ll fight him. Legally. I’ve got Naomi already working—”

“No,” Azzi interrupted softly, shaking her head. “Not just legally. That won’t be enough. You saw what he’s capable of. He has… people. He has money. He has power. If he wants to drag this out, he will. And he’ll win. Because he doesn’t care who he ruins along the way.”

Paige swallowed hard, her stomach twisting. “What are you saying?”

Azzi bit her lip, her hands fisting in her lap. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But… I can’t keep hiding. If I want to end this, I have to figure out where it hurts him. I have to figure out what he’s scared of.”

She sat back, staring at the floor, her mind already churning. “There’s always something. People like him don’t operate without leverage. They don’t expose themselves unless they’re sure you’re too weak to fight back. But… what if I’m not?”

Paige watched her quietly, her chest tight with both pride and fear. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger,” she said gently.

Azzi gave her a faint, sad smile. “I already am.”

Across town, Ryan sat in his car in the parking lot of the team’s practice facility, his eyes fixed on the entrance.

He swirled the whiskey in his paper cup, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

Something was wrong.

His PI had stopped sending updates two days ago, claiming Azzi hadn’t shown up to collect her mail or even appeared in the area.

But Ryan knew her.

And something told him… she hadn’t run yet.

She was close.

He just hadn’t been looking in the right places.

That afternoon, he had parked himself at the facility under the pretense of work, hoping to catch some sign of her.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it — a flash of dark curls through the tinted window of a car pulling into the side lot.

Not at the main entrance.

The back.

His breath caught as he straightened, his eyes narrowing.

You’re here, he thought, a faint smirk curling his lips. You’ve been here all along.

Later that night, Azzi sat at the kitchen table with a notebook in front of her, scribbling names, connections, memories — everything she could remember about his career, his family, his allies.

Paige sat across from her, quietly watching her work.

“You’re really going to do this,” Paige murmured after a while.

Azzi didn’t look up. “I have to.”

Her hand didn’t stop moving as she added one more name to the list, circled it, and underlined it twice.

Across town, Ryan leaned back in his car seat, his phone in his hand, dialing a number he hadn’t touched in years.

When the line picked up, his voice was calm but sharp.

“I need you to do me a favor,” he said. “She’s here. I want eyes on her — and I want them close.”

His fingers drummed against the wheel as he smiled faintly to himself.

You can’t hide from me forever, Azzi.

Azzi had barely slept in two nights.

She sat cross-legged on Paige’s living room floor, her laptop open in front of her, notebooks and folders scattered all around. Every so often she’d glance up at the window, checking the curtains, then back down at the screen.

She wasn’t just waiting anymore. She was working.

The names she’d written the night before were now color-coded and cross-referenced. His family’s businesses. His law firm contacts. Even the shell company they used to funnel money into that women’s soccer team his parents owned.

And then she saw it — tucked into an SEC filing, a name she recognized from her NYU days: Dr. Lara Patel.

Azzi’s heart stopped.

Lara had been a fellow resident during her first year — ambitious, brilliant, and then… gone. Disappeared suddenly, supposedly taking a fellowship abroad.

But here was her name, listed in connection with one of his family’s charities.

Azzi grabbed her phone, hesitating only a second before calling the number she still had saved.

It rang three times. And then: “Hello?”

“Lara?” Azzi’s voice cracked. “It’s… it’s Azzi.”

Silence.

Then a sharp inhale. “Oh my god. Azzi. You—are you okay?”

“No,” Azzi admitted. “But… I think we both know why I’m calling.”

Another long pause. Then, softly: “Meet me tomorrow. I can help.”

Across town, Ryan sat in his car, his PI standing at the window.

“She’s somewhere close,” the PI said, flipping through a small stack of surveillance photos. “She doesn’t pick up her mail, but someone comes for it every week. 

Ryan smirked faintly. “Paige,” he murmured. “Of course.”

The PI raised an eyebrow. “What now?”

Ryan leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Now? We stay close. Very close. I want you following her — not Azzi. She’ll lead us there.”

That evening, Paige returned to the apartment to find Azzi still surrounded by papers and her laptop glowing in the dim light.

“Az,” she said gently, dropping her bag on the counter. “You need to eat something. You’ve been at this all day.”

Azzi shook her head, eyes still on the screen. “I found someone. Someone he hurt before me. Her name’s Lara Patel. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

Paige crouched beside her, resting a hand on her knee. “You don’t have to do this alone,” she said softly. “I’ll come with you.”

Azzi gave her a faint smile, leaning into her touch. “I know. But this is my fight too.”

The next morning, Azzi sat in the corner of a small café, her hood pulled low over her face. She nearly jumped when a familiar voice said quietly: “Still hiding, huh?”

Lara slipped into the seat across from her, older now, sharper, but still with the same sad eyes Azzi remembered.

“I should’ve warned you,” Lara said bluntly, setting down her coffee. “I should’ve told you what he was when I left. But I thought… if I disappeared, he’d leave me alone.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hands curling around her cup. “Did he?”

Lara shook her head. “Not for a long time. But I found something. Something that scared even him. That’s how I got free.”

Azzi leaned forward, her heart hammering. “What was it?”

Lara slid a USB drive across the table. “It’s all on there. Tax records. Off-the-books payments. Proof of what his family’s really funding. And who they’re paying to keep quiet.”

Azzi stared at the little drive, a flicker of hope — and terror — lighting in her chest. “Why help me now?” she asked.

Lara’s lips curved into a bitter smile. “Because you’re the first one who didn’t just disappear.”

Meanwhile, outside the café, Ryan’s PI sat in a black sedan, snapping photos through the window. He dialed Ryan’s number.

“She’s here,” he said simply. “She’s closer than we thought.”

Ryan’s laugh was low and cold. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Coming back to me all on her own.”

That night, Azzi slipped back into Paige’s apartment, clutching the USB drive like it was her lifeline. She collapsed onto the couch and whispered: “I think I finally found a way to end this.”

Paige sank beside her, pulling her close. “Whatever it takes,” she murmured fiercely. “We’ll burn him down.”

Azzi closed her eyes, clutching the drive tighter, her breath shaky but steadier now. For the first time in years… she didn’t feel completely powerless.

Across town, Ryan leaned against his office window, staring out at the city lights, a cruel smile on his lips.

“She’s close,” he whispered to himself. “And this time… she won’t get away.”

It was after midnight when Paige and Azzi sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the USB drive resting on the coffee table between them like a live grenade.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Azzi’s hands hovered over it, then dropped. Her throat was dry.

“You sure you’re ready?” Paige asked softly, searching her face.

Azzi nodded. “No. But… we have to know.”

Paige reached over, covering Azzi’s hand with hers for a second, then stood and crossed to her laptop. She slid the USB into the port.

The screen flickered, and a folder popped up. It was titled simply:

“HOLLOW.”

Azzi swallowed hard and clicked it open.

Inside were dozens of subfolders. Some with dates. Some with names she recognized — her own included. Some marked only with words like PAYOFFS and COVERS and DISAPPEARED.

She froze at the last one. DISAPPEARED.

Paige knelt beside her, her jaw tightening as Azzi scrolled.

She opened the PAYOFFS folder first.

PDF after PDF — scanned checks, wire transfers, and NDAs — all payments made to women. Some with notes attached: “Residency transfer.” “Fellowship denial.” “Termination.” “Relocation.”

Some women she recognized — Lara, another former resident, even a nurse from her NYU hospital she vaguely remembered.

One file labeled AZZI F. made her stomach drop. Inside were photos of her own signed NDA 

Paige swore under her breath. “This is blackmail. Organized. Systematic.”

Azzi opened the next folder — COVERS.

There were emails. Emails between hospital administrators, lawyers, and Ryan’s family foundation. Doctors writing “concerns” about female residents’ behavior. Fake reports filed to smear their reputations before pushing them out. Photos of them drunk at parties, clearly staged. Private therapy notes — some of hers.

Azzi’s stomach turned as she clicked through, her pulse pounding. He hadn’t just hurt her. He’d destroyed others. And his family had bankrolled all of it.

Finally, she opened DISAPPEARED.

Her hands shook as the folder opened to reveal a list of names — women she didn’t recognize — each with a photo and the word: MISSING.

Police reports. Old ID photos. Dates of last sightings. Case files stamped with: CLOSED: INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE.

At the bottom of the list, a file labeled: AZZI F. – DRAFT

She clicked it. It was a fake missing persons report — already written, with her picture at the top, dated just a week ago.

Filed by Ryan.

Paige sat back on her heels, her hands balling into fists. “Oh my god,” she muttered. “This was never just about you leaving him. He’s been planning this.”

Azzi stared at the screen, her chest tight, her breath coming faster.

“He wanted me… gone,” she whispered. “And when I wouldn’t disappear… he decided to make it happen.”

She covered her face with her hands, but Paige gently pulled them away, her voice fierce: “This isn’t the end. This is leverage. This is evidence. This is how we take him down.”

Azzi shook her head weakly. “He has more. He always has more.”

“Maybe,” Paige said, her jaw set. “But now? So do we.”

Paige stood and pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling Naomi,” she said, already scrolling to her lawyer’s number. “She’ll know what to do with this.”

Azzi just nodded numbly, staring at the names on the screen — all the women who hadn’t gotten away. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad, scrolling back up to Lara’s name, then her own.

Finally she whispered: “I won’t let him do this to me. Or to anyone else.”

Paige squeezed her shoulder, her eyes blazing. “Damn right you won’t. Not while I’m here.”

Across town, Ryan sat at his desk, swirling whiskey in his glass, a faint smile on his lips. His phone buzzed.

A text from his PI:

She’s meeting with someone. A woman. Patel.

Ryan’s smile faded just slightly as he stared at the message.

“She’s getting bold,” he murmured. “Fine. Let’s see how far she thinks she can go.”

He opened a drawer, pulling out a small black phone and dialing a number he hadn’t used in years.

[wri0thesley]

obsessed with the oc i made that is just my self-insert but cooler and braver and more talented [puts them through the horrors]

[rosemaryhoney27]

Ghosts, Heroes, and Too Little, Too Late

It had taken every ounce of courage Danny had, standing in the town square, ectoplasmic energy flickering around his hands and the wind tugging at his white hair. His human-blue eyes stared out at the crowd of Amity Park citizens, waiting for the fear, the rejection, the anger.

But none came.

Instead, Mr. Lancer had stepped forward, teary-eyed, and clapped a hand on Danny’s shoulder. Mrs. Tetslaff brought out a homemade casserole "for the hero." Even Dash had muttered something like "Guess you're not that much of a loser."

They embraced him. Their Phantom. Their kid. Their protector.

The news had gone national in under twenty-four hours.

Fourteen years old. Half-ghost. Protector of Amity Park. Had kept the town safe for two years from ghost invasions with no backup, no mentor, no safety net. Just his friends, his sister, and the town that eventually came to understand.

And with that understanding came anger.

Because for two years, Amity Park had reached out. Calls, letters, reports. Pleas to the Justice League. Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman—someone. But nothing. The reports were dismissed as hoaxes. Phantom was "probably another shapeshifting villain." Amity Park was written off as exaggerating, maybe even hallucinating. The town was left alone with a half-dead teenager standing between them and whatever the Infinite Realms threw their way.

And now, two years after Danny had made peace with the Ghost Zone and secured a treaty with the Realms, they came.

A gleaming ship descended outside city limits, adorned with the Justice League insignia. Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and Flash stood at the front. Behind them were sleek representatives, press, and cameras.

Danny stood there, sixteen now, hovering a few inches above the cracked pavement of the park's old basketball court—his favorite haunt for aerial maneuver practice. He looked older, stronger, but his expression was unreadable. Not angry. Not happy.

Just… tired.

The League stepped forward, Superman’s cape billowing.

“Danny Fenton,” he began, his voice the same calm, commanding tone that had graced a thousand crises. “We’d like to formally invite you to join the Justice League. Your skills are remarkable, and we believe you'd make an excellent addition—”

The crowd behind Danny didn’t cheer.

They booed.

Old Mr. Schuster, who ran the bakery, shouted, “Oh now you care?!”

Mrs. Dugan from the library yelled, “Where were you when the Plasmius guy turned Main Street into a battlefield?!”

Someone threw a moldy muffin. Superman dodged it.

Flash winced. “Wow. Not the welcome we were expecting.”

Jazz stepped forward, arms crossed, expression fierce. “He was fourteen. He nearly died multiple times protecting this town. He bled for it. You called him a hoax.”

“We didn’t have confirmed data,” Batman said flatly. “There were too many false alarms in that region, and we—”

“You ignored us,” Danny said, finally speaking. His voice was quiet but carried across the park. “You ignored me. I begged for help once. Right after I got my powers. I didn’t know what I was. I was scared. Your hotline sent me to voicemail.”

Batman’s jaw tightened. Wonder Woman looked… ashamed.

“You didn’t want me when I was just a kid begging for answers,” Danny continued. “You want me now that I’ve already done the work? After I nearly died saving this dimension? After I signed a ghost peace treaty that your people tried to torpedo without understanding what the Realms even are?”

There was a low hum of agreement from the crowd. A few shouted, “Tell 'em, Danny!”

Danny stared at them. “I didn’t do this for a badge. I didn’t do it to be recruited. I did it because no one else would.”

There was a beat of silence. Superman stepped forward again, trying to soften the moment. “You’re right. We were wrong to ignore you, and we’re sorry. But if you join us, you can get real training. Resources. Help.”

Danny looked up, locking eyes with Superman. “I don’t need a League that shows up after the fight.”

And then he turned his back on them, his town behind him, arms crossed or lifted in support. The League stood there, unsure of what to say.

Danny floated up, cape rippling, energy crackling faintly at his fingers.

“I’m Phantom. Guardian of Amity Park. Protector of the Realms. You want me on the team? Then you start by fixing what you broke. With us. Not over us.”

The League left not long after.

The invitation was not declined—but it certainly wasn’t accepted either.

And Amity Park?

They slept easier that night, knowing they didn’t need the Justice League.

They had something better.

They had Danny.

[unboundprompts]

Hii!! I came across your blog and immediately followed since I thought I might needed some help with my fanfics, and if there's one thing I'm bad at is describing fight scenes with like guns or magic, I've been struggling to write it and did some practices and didn't like how they came out, I'm hoping if you can do some fighting prompts, I hope this isn't too much!!

How to Write Fight Scenes

-> check out @howtofightwrite , they are an excellent resource for writing realistic fight scenes.

Set the Stakes Early

Why are they fighting? Establish the stakes of the fight clearly before it begins. If the reader understands what’s at risk, they’ll feel more invested. Stakes could be personal (revenge, survival), emotional (protecting a loved one), or strategic (achieving a mission).

Use the Environment

Incorporate the setting to add depth and realism. Are they fighting in a cramped alley, an open field, or a crowded city street? Describe how the environment affects movement, line of sight, or weapon use.

Vary Sentence Length for Pacing

Short sentences create tension and speed, while longer sentences allow for brief moments of reflection or description.

Incorporate Sensory Details

Highlight the senses beyond sight to ground the reader in the fight. Describe the smell of sweat, the metallic taste of blood, the weight of a sword, or the deafening roar of a gun.

Example: “Her ears rang as the blast reverberated around the alley. Smoke filled her nose, thick and choking, but she ignored it, tightening her grip on her weapon.”

Focus on Key Moments, Not Every Movement

Avoid blow-by-blow descriptions. Instead, highlight critical moves, reactions, and turning points to keep the scene flowing and avoid overwhelming the reader.

Show Physical Strain and Fatigue

Fights take a toll, especially over time. Show characters struggling to keep up, panting, sweating, or even stumbling as exhaustion sets in.

Example: “Her arms ached, each swing feeling heavier than the last. Her breathing came fast, ragged, but she couldn’t stop now.”

Capture Emotions and Mindset

Mix action with glimpses of your characters’ thoughts and emotions. This adds depth and reminds readers why the fight matters.

Describe Injuries Believably

Injuries impact the pace and intensity of a fight. Showing injuries realistically adds tension and makes victories feel hard-won.

Example: “She hissed as pain flared in her side where his blade had grazed her. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to stand, one hand pressed to the wound.”

Build Up to a Climax

As the fight progresses, increase the stakes and bring tension to a peak. This could be a devastating blow, a risky last-minute decision, or a surprising twist.

Example: “He was backed against the wall, nowhere left to run. She raised her hand, a final spell crackling in her palm, the light casting a fierce glow in her eyes.”

Conclude with a Realistic Aftermath

Show the immediate aftermath of the fight: physical exhaustion, injuries, and the character’s emotional response. If they won, are they triumphant, relieved, or traumatized? If they lost, what happens next?

Fight Scene Prompts (with Magic)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

As they crept down the dim hallway, the flash of gunfire exploded from behind, forcing them to dive to the ground, bullets ricocheting off the walls around them. She barely had time to pull her weapon, pressing her back to the wall as footsteps drew closer. With a steadying breath, she waited for the right moment, then spun, firing off two rounds that hit their marks with surgical precision. The hall fell silent, the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.

Electricity crackled around his hands as he stalked toward his opponent, energy building in his fingertips. She mirrored his stance, blue flames licking up her wrists as her gaze narrowed. He made the first move, sending a bolt of lightning in her direction, but she countered with a quick flick of her wrist, sending the flames forward like a living shield. Sparks flew as their magic collided, the force of it rattling the metal beams around them.

He ducked behind the dumpster as gunfire erupted, bullets pinging off the conjured barrier that surrounded him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the strain as his shield flickered with each impact. His opponent advanced, shouting taunts over the noise, but he focused, raising one hand to push the barrier outwards, turning it from defense to offense. With a growl, he flung the shield forward like a battering ram, the force slamming his opponent back against the alley wall.

They ascended into the night sky, wind whipping around them as spells flew between them like streaks of fire. He could barely keep up, dodging her relentless attacks as the city lights twinkled below. Finally, he unleashed a burst of energy from his hands, the force spiraling outward in a shockwave. She managed to deflect it just in time, retaliating with a beam of light that sliced through the night like a comet, forcing him into a desperate mid-air roll to avoid it.

[washeduphazbin]

Hi, I would like to ask for a smut from Adam x fem Reader, his dear wife is going to pay him a visit at his work and in the end they almost get paid for lute

New Eve (Adam x Fem! Wife! Reader)

-SMUT AHEAD MINORS DNI-

Other warnings: Adam Being Adam

I hope I wrote this ask and understood it correctly! Adam is my guilty pleasure. I love men who are dumb as rocks and who are going to be absolutely leashed by even stronger women.

REQUESTS OPEN

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

There's a saying that all good things come in threes, Lilith, Eve, and you. Adam's final wife, who physically couldn't be swayed by Lucifer because Adam had met you in Heaven. When you passed through the pearly gates, you were greeted by none other than the first human himself. You were in awe for about two seconds until you quickly gathered the first man was a complete and utter dickhead. He seemed to falter when you walked past him to greet an angel named Lute, Adam's second in command. She tensed a little as you introduced yourself, ignoring Adam's protests that dubbed you a Queen Mega Bitch.

All this to say, it took about three months before Lute caught Adam sticking his tongue down your throat with you latched onto him like a koala. You made a distressed sound at being caught while listening to Adam laugh above you. You distinctly heard him call your mouth as good as a vagina while pressing a kiss to your hairline. "Adam!" You hissed, pulling on the horns of his mask as he let out a defiant sound, "Inappropriate."

"Ugh yeah, that's kind of my thing, sugar tits."

"You need to not make it your thing, or this thing doesn't happen." You drew your line in the metaphorical sand before marching out of the room, faintly hearing Lute argue about Adam's behavior behind you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Two years later, you were Adam's new 'Eve' in heaven with two golden rings to prove the love that formed between the two of you...somehow. Did the both of you fight constantly? Yes. Did you want to wring his neck every time he opened the gaping hole he called a mouth? Also Yes. But did you love him...unfortunately. Even though he had a laundry list of bad habits, a vulgar mouth, and gross hobbies, he had his moments. He was protective, fiercely so, and despite his fuck boy personality, he only had his sights set on you. Lute often asked you what you saw in Adam, and you'd reluctantly sigh and give a tired grin, "He makes me laugh. Plus, with proper motivation, he's putty in my hand." Lute made a sound of understanding, nodding her head,

"Ah, yes. Use your feminine wiles to control those weaker than you, even if they may be physically stronger. We must use what we are given as women. Well, you must. I'm very strong without using that to my advantage."

"Yes, exactly," You snickered as Lute stopped outside Adam's office. "Which is exactly why Sera put me in charge of convincing Adam to meet with The Morningstar's daughter." You groaned, rubbing the bridge of your nose, "I'll see you back here later, then?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lute bowed, "I wish you luck...you'll need it. He's in one of his moods." before taking off into the sky and down the hall. You reached up with a stretch of your arms, fluffing up your wings to look extra pretty before knocking on Adam's door,

"Adam." You hummed, knocking on the grand marble door once before opening it. You leaned against the entranceway, wings brushing against the floor, as his head shot up.

"Sugartits!"

"Not my name!" You dodged Adam's hug with a flurry of your wings; he grinned, shoving the door closed with his hip. "Adam," you said in warning as he used his angelic magic to fly towards you and trap you within his arms.

"and what would you prefer I call you? My Bitch? Wifey?" He mused, peppering sloppy kisses against your cheek and down your neck. "We could go with Queen or Goddess, preferably." You shot back, dragging Adam down to sit in his chair; you hummed gently, removing his mask from his face. He leaned back, kicking his legs up on the desk as you slid down into his chest, straddling his hips. You hummed, running your fingers through his brown hair, and he melted into your touch, "My name works, too."

"I guess we can settle on Queen. Does that make me your King?" Adam preened as you scratched under his chin,

"Without a doubt...but we must talk about the Young Morningstar."

"Who?" He made a faux confused face which you raised an eyebrow back at in response, "Ugh, Lucifer's cunt daughter. What about her?"

"She's been begging for a meeting. I suggest you meet with her." Your lips began to trail down his neck, nipping at his skin as his body flushed.

"But that's so much work, sugar." He groaned, running his clawed hands through your hair, "Can't I just say fuck off back to hell we're gonna exterminate all of you regardless."

"Sera wants you to at least meet with her one time; she's giving you a lot of trust to handle this on your own."

"And if I do what you ask, what'll you give me?" He mused, eyes sparkling. You huffed, hitting him with the back of your wing, and he laughed, "Come on, you gotta sweeten the deal for me, mama."

"You're such a bastard." You huffed, moving to pull your hair out of your face. He moved his legs to the ground, and you could slide between his knees. "Robe off unless you want dirty," you commanded as Adam fumbled out of it quickly.

"I love you~" He leaned back with a sly grin, hand reaching up to move your head closer to his lip. Your fingers spread across his thighs, and you huffed softly, looking up at him.

"I love you more. If I do this for you, you promise to meet with young Lady Morningstar?"

"You can't just fuck me because you love me?"

"Bite me." You sneered, but there wasn't any malice in your voice as he stood up, picking you up off the ground and pressing your back against his desk.

"Oh, it would be my pleasure. I can't say your robes will survive, though I might need to get you some new ones." Adam popped the buttons on your robe, allowing your body to be laid bare for his eyes. He watched your breathing hitch as his long claw trailed down your neck to your chest. "Fuck I love these puppies, you know that?" Adam grinned, grabbing fistfuls of your breasts, squeezing and kneading to his heart's content. Your husband was like an oversized golden retriever. When he sees something he likes, he obsesses over it like a man deranged. His favorite playthings of yours were your tits and ass. "Any meetings?"

"None. I'm yours for the rest of the day. You can mark me how you'd like; I'm yours, my husband. Well, until you meet with the Princess."

"Fuckkkkk yeah, baby, come 'ere." Adam dove between your breasts, and he felt you suck in air through your teeth. He began to bite and suck on the supple flesh of your chest; you keened, arching into his mouth, hands tangling in his brown hair. You could tell from the way his teeth would graze against your nipples and your flesh he was doing everything in his power to leave marks on the skin.

"Adam...ngh." You panted, feeling his hand move down from your breast to slide down your stomach and between your legs. "Shit," You squeaked, feeling him tease your clit with his thumb and forefinger with a dopey grin on his face.

"There's my favorite girl," He flicked your nub skillfully; for being a massive asshole, this prick sure knew where to find your clit. One finger slid between your folds, and you tossed your head against the cold marble desk. "Damn, only one finger has you acting up? I must not be treating you good enough," He purred as another finger entered you, stretching you out to be big enough for, 'the first ever man god created.' Adam watched with delight as your wings spread out and trembled, glowing with a soft golden glow. "That's it, you're being such a good girl for me. Are you ready?"

"Yes." You panted, "Adam, please."

"God, you beg so nicely, you little slut," His hand reached up to grip your throat, causing you to let out a desperate whine, hips bucking into his fingers. "Beg Harder," He demanded, moving your hand to palm him through his trousers, stiff and aching. "Look at how hard you make me. How desperate. I need you to worship your god."

"Yes, sir." You purred, "You're my God, Adam. I need you, I'd worship for your love, your touch, your dick." You dragged your hand up your chest, playing with the swell of your own breast, "Don't you want to make me happy, baby?"

"More than anything." Adam's eyes lit up in elation, "Stay with me. Don't go to Lucifer. You're mine." He snarled, hands around your throat, "Say it."

"I'm with you. Only you. Forever Adam." His entire body seemed to relax when you said that, pressing gentle kisses to your cheek and lips. "I love you, you annoying Dickweed."

"Love you more, Sugartits." He grinned cheekily before lowering himself to you with a hiss-like laugh. "Tight as ever, and that's why I love you,"

"If you keep talking nonsense while you're literally inside me, I'll cut off your dick,"

"Sounds kinky."

"Adam."

"Fine, Fine, you're so vanilla." He mused, albeit his tone was much softer, fonder than his earlier teasing. His hands grabbed under your knees and pressed you close with a snap of his hips. You both let out a moan, yours higher pitched and needier, bucking your hips, searching for more friction than he was currently providing. You always savored the way he was able to fill you up, he wasn't the longest but god was he thick filling you in all the right ways. Every time his hips snapped into you, you could feel just how deep he kissed your cervix. "Yeah, you like that?" He panted, "Like how deep I'm getting? From the way you're dripping, you're practically soaking through my table. Your vag is like a vice, babe, so tight for this big cock."

"Hm. Your words always know how to turn me o-ng-ff." You moaned out this end at a particularly sharp thrust of his hips. "Fuck you," You panted as he grinned down at you,

"Good news, wifey, that's exactly what we're doing-"

"Sir!" You let out a scream as Lute slammed the door of his office open, you climbed against Adam's body like an embarrassed Nun. He groaned, still inside you but having the decency to cover you with his wings.

"What do you need, Lute? I'm a little busy getting it on with my sexy ass wife." Adam complained, motioning to the top of your head, to which you made an embarrassed sound of mortification. "Can this be rescheduled or-"

"The Princess of Hell is here, Sir. She just showed up-"

"Are you for real telling me that the bitch Princess of Hell is seriously cucking me right now?!"

"...Yes."

"(Y/n) If I killed her for interrupting us, would you be pissed?"

"Beyond Adam."

"Fuck."

[narxcisse]

— How they express their love.

– With: Shadow Milk, Burning Spice, Pure Vanilla, Dark Cacao, Clotted Cream, Espresso, Madeleine, Dark Choco, Black Sapphire, Red Velvet and Smoked Cheese.

– CW: none, I guess- + This is a gift for a friend who loves mischaracterization- This may not be 100% accurate because of that.

– Legendaries ver. here!

— A/N: Remember, requests are open! You can read my pinned post for more information. (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

— English isn't my native language.

— Shadow Milk

Love, to him, is a game—dangerous, dizzying, but always sincere behind the mask.

He’ll pull you into illusions, only to break them with a whisper of, “But this… this moment is real.”

He expresses affection in riddles, teasing smirks, and elaborate performances meant only for your eyes.

But in the quiet, when the lights fade, he rests his head in your lap like a tired actor offstage.

— Burning Spice

He doesn’t say “I love you.” He fights for you, bleeds for you, burns for you.

His love is fierce, raw—every touch is searing, every look charged with fire.

You’ll find it in the way he always places himself between you and danger, even if he jokes, “Don’t get soft on me.”

He teaches you how to wield strength, and admires when you stand tall next to him.

When he wraps his arms around you in the dead of night, heat humming beneath his dough, that’s when you hear it—“You’re the only calm I don’t want to destroy.”

— Pure Vanilla

His love is gentle and unwavering, like sunlight through stained glass.

He tends to your wounds, physical or not, with hands that tremble when you’re hurting.

He doesn’t need grand gestures; a quiet cup of tea with you, a moment of silence holding hands, is enough.

Still, he writes you letters when he misses you... Even if you’re just in the next room.

He looks at you like you’re something sacred. “In a world full of darkness, you are the reason I still choose to believe in light.”

— Dark Cacao

He’s not vocal with affection—but his love is a mountain: unmoving, unshakeable, ever-present.

He shows it in how he ensures your safety first in battle, how his presence silently lingers near you during hardship.

When he places his hand on your shoulder, it says more than a dozen confessions.

Sometimes, when the fire dies low and his armor is set aside, he’ll let you rest your head against his chest, his arms wrapped around you.

“You are my strength… not a weakness. Never a weakness.”

— Clotted Cream

Love, for him, is elegance—a strategic offer of heart amidst diplomacy and perfection.

He shows it in quiet moments, in the way his gloved fingers trace yours absentmindedly.

He ensures you are heard, defended, and respected in rooms full of power.

But in private, he lets the smile fall—soft, vulnerable, real.

“You are my sanctuary. When I speak to you, I don’t need to calculate my words.”

— Espresso

He shows love in acts of service—staying up all night to make your favorite brew just right.

You catch him putting your books back in order or scribbling your name into the margins of his notes.

He’ll scoff at romance, but his voice lowers when he calls your name, and his eyes soften when you enter the room.

He always makes space beside him for you, even in the most cramped of libraries.

“You are the one variable in life I will never seek to solve—only understand.”

— Madeleine

He loves like a knight from the old tales—dramatically, sincerely, and entirely.

Every chance he gets, he sings your praises, literally and figuratively.

He brings you flowers, recites sonnets (even if badly), and beams whenever you laugh.

When his guard lowers, he clings to you like the world finally makes sense.

“With you beside me, my light shines brighter. And I would guard yours with my life.”

— Dark Choco

He loves like someone who’s terrified to lose again.

He’ll hesitate, falter, but still offer you his hand, his broken heart.

He expresses it in protection, in the way his eyes always scan the room when you’re near.

When he trusts you enough to let you hold him, it means everything.

“I am… flawed. Tainted. But if I can protect you, maybe there’s still something good in me.”

— Black Sapphire

He flirts with the world, but reserves truth for you.

Behind the smooth-talking and half-smiles, he lets you see the silence—where real feeling lives.

He always has some gossip to tell you in the middle of the night before going to sleep, his voice a low murmur while he draws you closer to him, not wanting to be away from you.

He always knows how you feel before you speak, and shows up when you need him most.

“You’re the only script I never want to rewrite.”

— Red Velvet

Love to him is responsibility and loyalty—it’s consistency.

He’s softest when he’s with the Cake Hounds and you. You’re part of his family.

He remembers your likes, your habits, and makes adjustments in his plans to include you without a word.

He’s not showy, but every time he glances at you, there’s tenderness.

“I don’t say much… but you’re someone I fight for. Every day.”

— Smoked Cheese

He shows love like it’s a secret code—only noticeable if you know how to read it.

He’ll scoff, tease, and roll his eyes, but his body is always angled toward you, always attentive.

His gestures are subtle: pulling you behind him when danger arises, leaving food just the way you like it, keeping his eye on you when you think he isn’t.

When he lets you see his worry, his vulnerability, it means more than any grand confession ever could.

And if you ever get hurt? He loses it.

“You think I’m harsh? You should see how I act when I don’t care. …You’re lucky I do.”

[nekonaps0]

I will always be next to you...

✦characters: House warden

✦ gn!reader

✦TW: abandonment issues, hurt comfort

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, he doesn’t understand.

You flinch when he raises his voice. You panic when he’s late. You apologize for things that aren’t your fault, begging him not to “get tired of you.”

Riddle is silent for a long time when it finally clicks.

“…So that’s why you’ve been walking on eggshells,” he murmurs, the realization hitting like a brick.

He takes your hands, carefully like you’re the most fragile thing in his hands.

“I don’t intend to leave you, ever. You don’t need to prove your worth to me. You're… already enough my rose.”

He may not always say the right thing, but after that day, he works hard to keep his schedule in check. He will leaving notes, waiting patiently, and showing up when he says he will.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona’s reaction is frustration. Not at you, but at the world that made you feel disposable.

“So that’s what this is about,” he mutters when you pull away from him after a small disagreement, your voice trembling as you say, “I just don’t want to be left again.”

He scoffs under his breath. “Tch… You think I’d just toss you aside like that?” He pulls you into a loose, lazy hug, but his grip is firm. Protective.

“I’m not perfect, I far from that, but I’m not a heartless asshole. If you think I’d just go and leave you…” He exhales deeply. “Guess I’ve gotta do a better job showing you otherwise. Because there is no place I rather be than by your side”

He’s not always good with words, but he’ll fight tooth and nail to be your anchor. Even if he grumbles about it, he stays. He would always choose you and stay.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul’s mask cracks the second he realizes.

You’re not clingy. You’re scared.

He remembers all too well what it’s like to be left behind, mocked, ignored, unloved. His voice wavers a bit when he says, “Have you… always felt this way?”

You nod. Quietly.

He takes a trembling breath and gently brushes your hair back.

“Then… we’ll make a new kind of contract. One where I promise I won’t go anywhere. No loopholes. No conditions. Just me… staying. For you. Always there for you.”

He makes sure to check in more after that emotionally, not just with gifts or gestures. He holds your hand longer. Answers every text, even when he’s busy. You’ll never question whether he cares again.

Kalim Al-Asim

“Oh…”

Kalim’s expression drops the moment he hears it. There’s no confusion. No delay. Just pure, immediate empathy.

“You’ve been scared I’ll leave? That I’ll stop loving you?”

You nod, tears welling, and he just pulls you in. No hesitation.

“I would never, ever do that!” he says fiercely, his voice trembling. “You’re stuck with me! I mean it! Even if you pushed me away, I’d still come back! I’m not going anywhere!”

Kalim becomes even more affectionate checking in on you, hugging you constantly, sending little messages saying things like “Just thinking about you!”

He treats your heart so gently so caring because it’s the precious thing to him. And he promises over and over, that you’re not alone.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is quiet when you finally tell him. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t argue. He simply listens, his gaze sharp but not cold.

“…So all this time, you were terrified I’d just… disappear,” he says slowly. “Like you weren’t worth staying for.”

He exhales. It’s not exasperation. It’s heartbreak.

He cups your face with both hands and presses your forehead to his.

“You are not a passing thing in my life,” he whispers. “You are not disposable. I chose you because you shine in ways most people never will. And I will not walk away. You saw the ugliest side of me and you stayed. No matter what I will always there with you no matter what”

He becomes more verbal about his feelings, more transparent because he knows how much the silence hurts you.

And when he says, “I love you,” it’s clear he means forever.

Idia Shroud

Idia panics. Literally.

You confess your abandonment issues during a vulnerable moment, and Idia just freezes.

“H-huh?! Like… wait, like really? You think that I could?— wait, I mean—!”

He stops when he sees the pain in your eyes, and his shoulders fall. “…Crap. I made it worse, didn’t I?”

But then, in a small, shaky voice, he says:

“I know what it’s like… to feel like you’ll always be alone. I didn’t think anyone would ever stay for me either.”

And slowly, awkwardly, he reaches out. His fingers brush yours.

“I might not be good at this boyfriend stuff… but I’m not leaving. Ever. Not unless you tell me to. And even if you do I don’t think I could”

After that he even makes a digital avatar of you in one of his games, just so you’ll “exist in a place where I can always find you.”

Malleus Draconia

He understands immediately.

When you whisper your fears to him, expecting him to laugh or dismiss them, Malleus just tilts his head.

“You fear being abandoned… and yet you still opened your heart to me.”

There’s something ancient and soft in his voice, like he’s cradling your very soul.

“I know that kind of loneliness. Mine lasted centuries.”

His fingers are cood, but gentle when he takes your hand. “I do not love you lightly. If I have given you my heart, then it is yours completely, and I won’t allow you to return it… it’s all yours. I will not disappear. Even time itself would not keep me from you.”

His hand moves to your face gently, thumbs brushing your cheeks “I would find you in every universe, every lifetime and I will always choose you, over and over again”

After that, Malleus makes a quiet habit of always appearing when you need him, sometimes even before you realize you do. He stays. He always stays.

..............................................................................................................................

[theskywithin]

Birth Chart Breakdown - Mars Through The Houses

We speak of Mars as drive, desire, action, but beneath every spark is a story. A reason we move the way we do. A part of ourselves we’re trying to protect, prove, or reclaim.

First House

Your strength is seen, but rarely softened. You lead. You assert. You enter every room like it owes you space. But even warriors long to rest. You’ve learned to carry your identity like a shield, but who are you when you’re not proving you belong? Even fire needs a place to burn safely, without burning through everything.

Second House

You chase security like it owes you proof. As if having more will finally make you enough. You work hard. You hold tight. You protect what’s yours. But self-worth isn’t earned, it’s remembered. Let your value rise from within, not from what you build to be seen as valuable.

Third House

You speak like it’s survival. Sharp, fast, relentless. Your mind is wired for action, always reaching for understanding, but sometimes, silence speaks louder. Not every truth needs defending. Not every thought needs to be said to be known.

Fourth House

You protect your inner world like a soldier on sacred ground. There’s a storm in your ribcage that only you know how to navigate. You want peace, but sometimes peace feels unsafe. Not every memory needs to be rewritten. Some things can simply be witnessed, without turning them into wars.

Fifth House

You love loudly. Create fiercely. Every emotion becomes a firework, quick, bright, unforgettable. You chase the thrill because it reminds you you’re alive. But your joy doesn’t have to be earned through fire. Let passion be a home, not a chase. Stay long enough for it to bloom.

Sixth House

You work like your worth depends on it. You keep moving, fixing, improving, hoping the inner chaos might finally go quiet. You measure love in usefulness. But rest is also a form of service. You’re allowed to slow down. You’re allowed to just be.

Seventh House

You don’t just want love, you enter battle for it. Your passion in partnership is unmatched, but sometimes you fight because connection feels vulnerable. Not every relationship needs saving. Not every bond is proof of your power. Let yourself be met, not just pursued.

Eighth House

Intensity lives in your bones. You crave the kind of connection that consumes and remakes. Power, trust, surrender, they’re never simple for you. But transformation doesn’t always require destruction. You can release without disappearing. You can love without losing the parts you’ve fought so hard to reclaim.

Ninth House

You move like there’s something to outrun. You chase freedom with holy fire, as if motion itself can offer meaning. But freedom without reflection can leave you ungrounded. Let your beliefs evolve as you do. The horizon will always be there, but truth lives in how you carry it with you.

Tenth House

You climb. You conquer. You build. You measure yourself by impact, by progress, by proof. But legacy without soul is just performance. You are more than your public self. Let your ambition serve your inner world too. True success is showing up in both.

Eleventh House

You fight for the future. For the group. For the cause. You dream big, act fast, and pull others toward the vision, but even visionaries get lonely. When you’re always leading, it’s easy to forget to belong. Your power multiplies when you trust others to walk beside you.

Twelfth House

Your fire moves inward. A quiet battle. A sacred undoing. You’re not always sure why you act, or where the emotion is coming from, only that it demands release. Your anger speaks in symbols. Your passion hides in dreams. But what grows in the dark is not weak, it’s ancient, holy, and learning to rise in its own way.

[ghostedgwen]

Hiii I adore ur James fic but we need more Moony! what if reader is Remus' childhood friend and they have been attached at the hip until he met the Marauders and once they've graduated she becomes a Potioneer and basically invents the Wolfsbane Potion and when he finds out it was invented by her they meet again and she admits she invented it for him could end up vaguely platonic but you can also make it full on Remus x reader up to you!! thanks!!xx!!!!

never too late | r.lupin

note : Hello anon, thank you for this lovely request!! Been thinking about this request a lot and finally got around to writing it while I was looking after my sick wife. Yall seem to enjoy my really long fics so here's 6k words for Remus <3

warnings : childhood friends drifting apart, some angst with comfort, mentions of Remus' werewolf struggles, Remus as a cane user, very very slow burn sorry

Remus was a childhood friend you slowly drifted apart with, he had the Marauders and you had Potion books. Years later, you did the impossible of inventing Wolfsbane Potion, he thought it was the best time to reach out.

You never thought Hogwarts would feel so far away from home.

The boat rocks gently under your legs as lanterns sway above the water, casting warm reflections across the lake. Around you, the other first years whisper excitedly, pointing at the silhouette of the castle glowing in the distance. But your eyes aren’t on the castle. They’re on the boy sitting across from you - Remus Lupin, your best friend since you were barely old enough to hold a wand.

He doesn’t speak. He rarely does when he's nervous. His fingers twist the sleeves of his robes, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than usual. Most people wouldn’t notice. But you do. You've always noticed things about Remus.

You grew up together in Whispermere, a quiet magical village tucked between a haunted wood and an old apothecary. The kind of place where magic hummed through the stones and gossip moved faster than broomsticks. There were never many children, so the two of you became a pair soinseparable, like a matched set of spellbooks.

When you were eight, you figured it out. The absences, the injuries, the nights when his house went silent and the air felt heavy with something unspoken. And one day, he finally admitted it.

“I’m a monster,” he whispered, curled on the floor of your room after the worst full moon you’d ever seen him return from.

You remember the rage that sparked in you. Not at him - never at him, but rather, at the world.

“You’re not a monster,” you said, voice steady even though your hands were shaking. “You’re just Remus. That’s enough.”

He didn’t believe it, not then. Maybe he still doesn’t, but you meant it.

You always have.

Now, as the boats drift toward the stone docks and the castle towers above you like a dream, your fingers brush against his. You squeeze gently, a silent reminder: I’m still here.

Inside, the Great Hall takes your breath away with its floating candles, enchanted ceiling, golden plates that shine even without food on them yet. It’s everything you imagined and more. Everything you have read paled in comparison.

Then names are called.

One by one, first years step forward, trembling under the Sorting Hat’s scrutiny.

And then -  “_______, _____”

You turn to Remus and try to smile, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Wish me luck,” you whisper.

He nods. “You don’t need it.”

You sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat drops onto your head, and immediately a voice purrs in your ear.

“Well, aren’t you an interesting one… Clever, sharp, fiercely loyal. Curious about everything. You’d do well in Hufflepuff. Maybe even Gryffindor... but no, you don’t just want to be brave. You need answers. You want to understand the why behind everything. And that, dear one, means only one thing…”

A pause. You feel the Hat probing something deeper.

“You’re thinking about someone else… the Lupin boy. Hmm. Very protective, I see.”

“He’s my best friend,” you think fiercely. “I want to stay close to him.”

The Hat chuckles, deep and amused. “A noble thought. But you’ll both need to grow. Apart, if you must. Don’t fear it. You’ll find your way.”

Then, aloud, it shouts: “RAVENCLAW!”

You slide off the stool, applause ringing in your ears. The Ravenclaw table welcomes you with warm smiles and curious glances. But your eyes scan the room, following Remus as he soon takes his turn.

The Hat takes longer this time. You bite your lip.

Then - “GRYFFINDOR!”

He looks toward you, unsure. You give him a thumbs-up and a grin that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’d promised to stick together, but Hogwarts, it seems, had its own plans.

Weeks pass. You find your place among the Ravenclaws, high in their airy tower. You answer riddles to get into your common room and lose yourself in books, ancient spells, and strange magical theories. It suits you, in its way.

But you miss him.

You make time where you can - which is between classes, after curfew, beside the Black Lake under starlight. He’s always tired after the full moon, always quiet. You notice the fresh scars even when he tries to hide them under long sleeves.

You’re always the first to notice, you doubt there’s a detail you’d miss when it came to him. 

Then he makes new friends. James Potter. Sirius Black. Peter Pettigrew. Loud boys with loud laughs and even louder personalities. They’re always getting into trouble, always pulling Remus into it. And he lets them.

You don’t blame him. Not really. But sometimes, when you see him laughing with Sirius or whispering to James during class, something tightens in your chest.

They don’t know, not like you do, and they could never.

One evening, you meet him by the lake. You sit in silence, watching the ripples in the water. The moon is almost full.

“They don’t know, do they?” you ask, finally.

He flinches. “No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“No,” he says quickly. Then softer, “I don’t want them to look at me and be afraid they’re sleeping with a monster.”

You nod, lips pressed together. “You’re not a monster, Rem, you don’t have to pretend either when you’re with me.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m not pretending. I’m just… trying.”

“You’re still you, Remus,” you say. “And I still see you. Even when no one else does.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then, “Sometimes I think you see too much.”

“Someone has to.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment everything else fades - the Houses, the castle, the distance. He’s still the boy from Whispermere, hiding from the world in your attic, clutching your hand after the worst nights of his life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Always.”

And in that moment, you know: it doesn’t matter what the Hat said, or where you sleep, or what friends you make. You’re still his anchor, and he’s still yours.

Even if the world tries to pull you apart, even if the moon rises and falls and tries to make him something else - you’ll always be there, reminding him of who he is.

Not a monster. Just Remus, and that’s more than enough.

You knew things would never be the same the moment you got sorted into different houses, but you hadn’t expected it to happen right in second year. The first-year, he was stuck to you somehow his budding friendship with his dorm mates.

Only, this year, it’s different. It happens slowly, the way most changes do. A missed lunch here, a half-written letter there. The space between you and Remus doesn’t appear all at once. It drips in like rain under a cracked window, which is quiet, subtle, and easy to ignore at first.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You’re in different houses. You have different classes, different friends. He has James, Sirius, and Peter now - boys who’ve somehow wrapped themselves around his days like ivy on stone. You’re happy he’s laughing more. You want him to have people.

Still, there are times it stings.

You see them in the courtyard, shoulders pressed together as they whisper about some prank or plan or whatever mischief they’re always knee-deep in. Remus laughs at something James says, head thrown back, the sound real and full and bright.

It should make you happy. It does, but only to some extent. You supposed it was childish, because you are a child, but sometimes, you wish he’d laugh like that with you again.

You still have your moments. After all, some things don’t change.

Full moons still come. And Remus still suffers.

He tells them he’s visiting his “sick mother” or going home for the weekends, but on weekdays he’ll just be sick and staying in the hospital wing. The Marauders, to their credit, don’t press. Not yet.

But you know the truth, you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out. Before Remus shines a light on that he so badly wishes wasn’t true.

You sneak out on those nights, Invisibility Cloak or not. Madam Pomfrey has stopped scolding you when she finds you curled in the chair beside his bed in the hospital wing. You’ve been doing this for years now, long before Hogwarts.

Sometimes you stay awake all night, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the faint shimmer of silver scars healing across his arms. Sometimes you just hold his hand and wait for the shaking to stop.

You bring chocolate, potions from your own stash, and books he pretends to be too tired to read but always opens the second you leave.

There is no miracle potion yet. Nothing to make it easier. But there was you, so you stay.

Because love - whatever kind of love this is - means showing up. Especially when it’s hard.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he tells you one morning, voice hoarse and broken around the edges.

You hand him a warm compress and raise an eyebrow. “You say that every time.”

“And you ignore it every time.”

“Because it’s a stupid thing to say.”

He lets out a dry laugh that turns into a cough. “I mean it. You’ve got other friends. Classes. You don’t need to spend your nights watching me bleed all over the bed.”

You sit beside him, brushing his hair back gently. “No, I don’t need to. I want to. That’s different.”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s gotten good at that lately. He used to always meet your eyes, no shame in that now that you have seen everything he had to offer. Hogwarts seemed to have changed a lot between you and him.

After a while, you ask, “Why don’t you tell them?”

He stiffens. “Tell who?”

“You know who. Potter, Black and Pettigrew. Your little chaos club.”

“They’re not - ” He stops, then sighs. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Because if they find out, they’ll look at me differently. Or worse, they’ll stop looking at me at all.”

“You don’t know that.”

He meets your eyes then. “You don’t know what it’s like. To be this. To be something people fear.”

“No,” you say gently. “But I know what it’s like to watch someone I care about tear themselves apart for being something they can’t control.”

That shuts him up. He hates how you know exactly which words to use, what to say, how to say it. He hates how he can’t resist the warmth you offer, even at the tender age of 13, Remus knew that craving you and your comfort was not good.

He couldn’t depend on you so much. You’ve been enduring full moons with him since you both were 8, it would be too unfair to demand you keep doing it forever. Hogwarts is a new era, a new start. 

You squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to tell them now. But you can’t keep carrying this alone forever.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Then, softly: “I’m not carrying it alone.”

You smile at that. It’s the first real smile you’ve had in days, and right then and there - wall has barely built.

Still, the distance continues.

You write him notes in class and find them folded carefully in his bag later, but he rarely writes back. You sit by him at meals when you can, but more often he’s wedged between Sirius’ smirks and James’ flying stories.

He doesn’t mean to leave you behind. That’s what makes it harder.

Because he’s not cruel. Just… busy. Distracted, even. Caught in the glow of something new and good and easy, and you? You’re the constant. The one who patches him up in secret, who carries the burden he’s still too scared to share with anyone else.

You wonder sometimes what would happen if you stopped showing up, but you already know the answer. You never would, you could never do that to him.

One night, weeks after a particularly brutal full moon, you find him on the Astronomy Tower, arms crossed against the wind, eyes trained on the stars like they might have answers.

You step up beside him.

“They asked again,” he says without turning.

“About the absences?”

He nods.

“What did you say?”

“That I get migraines. Bad ones. I said I needed quiet.”

You lean against the wall beside him. “You think they bought it?”

He shrugs. “James looked like he wanted to argue. Sirius just nodded.”

“They’re not stupid, Remus. They’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

You glance at him. “What then?”

He doesn’t answer.

You rest your chin on your arms. “They’re your friends. They care about you. Maybe they’d surprise you.”

He gives you a look, half amused, half broken. “You always believe the best in people.”

“No,” you say. “Just in you.”

He turns away, blinking hard. He tries not to think too much about it and you try to act like it never held much weight than intended.

You know he’s scared. You also know that trust doesn’t come easy when your entire life has been a series of closed doors and hidden scars. So you keep showing up.

In the quiet moments. In the hospital wing. In the spaces between his laughter with the Marauders and the silences that follow the moon. You stay.

Because even if he doesn’t say it, even if he forgets sometimes, you know he needs you.

The Marauders became legends long before you realized you’d been left behind.

It started innocently with little tricks, charmed ink, floating teacups in the Great Hall. But by fourth year, it was chaos on demand. James and Sirius led the charge, Peter cheered from the sidelines, and Remus followed behind with that half-smile he wore when he was trying not to be complicit.

He was never the loudest. But he was always there and you had no doubt that a majority of the pranks were his ideas with that brilliant imagination of his.

And you? You were somewhere else entirely.

You’d fallen in love with Potions during your third year. You were completely taken by it, it was constant - it was measured and specific, you will only go wrong if you do it wrong, you liked the assurance in that. The discipline of it, the balance. The quiet language of simmering and stillness. The way ingredients interacted like people. Some enhanced each other. Some repelled. Some needed careful handling or they’d break.

You understood that. You didn't mind the solitude. Not at first.

You still saw him, of course. Shared looks across the Great Hall. A nod in passing between classes. He still sought you out during full moons - less often now, but enough to remind you that something tethered you together, even if the rope frayed more each year.

Then came fifth year.

It was a brutal moon. You knew it before the term started. You’d read the cycle and seen how close the eclipse would fall. Too long in wolf form. Too little recovery time.

You were already waiting when Madam Pomfrey carried him in, bleeding and half-conscious, his leg at a wrong angle and the smell of blood in his clothes. He was fevered for days. You didn’t leave.

But when he finally woke, cane leaning beside his bed and the weight of reality setting into his body like cold iron, something inside him snapped.

You remember it too clearly.

“Remus,” you said, gently wrapping the bandage around his hip. “You’re going to need to rest for a while. Let your body catch up.”

He looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t get to say that.”

Your hands froze. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” he snapped, voice raw. “I don’t need you watching over me like some sad nursemaid waiting for the broken boy to fall apart. I don’t need your pity.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut bone.

You stood slowly, heart loud in your ears. “It’s not pity, Remus. It never was.”

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t then, he was too drunk on his pain to really consider you and your words, as well as his own.

You left without another word.

He apologized two days later. He limped to where you sat in the library, cane in hand, eyes rimmed with sleepless regret.

“I didn’t mean it,” he said, quietly. “I was angry, and scared. Not at you… never at you.”

You nodded, nudging the empty seat beside you, which he took.

“I know,” you said.

And you did. You forgave him. Of course you did, it was hard not to when it was Remus. But the wound between you stayed, despite you forgiving him. It might have been the first real crack in the relationship that never fully went away.

You passed each other in the corridors and shared tired smiles. Sometimes, you sat beside each other in the hospital wing in silence, both knowing you’d never quite find your way back to where you’d been.

Seventh year came faster than you expected. Your N.E.W.T.s consumed you - Potions, Transfiguration, Transfiguration. You poured yourself into your studies like they were the only things still within your control.

Remus, meanwhile, was surrounded by noise. Always someone beside him, always laughing, always planning something with parchment and ink-stained hands. He was loved, admired even. And you were happy for him.

Throughout the years he grew to be a Remus that was nowhere near the one you knew. He got tattoos, piercings too and you would even see him smoke in the Gryffindor common room parties you’d be dragged into attending.

You never really spoke there, just exchanged greetings and then off you were to mingle with your usual circle while he stuck close to his Gryffindor lot.

Outside of common room parties, you spoke now and then. Swapped books, and would even shared tea on a rainy afternoon near the end of spring term. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the attic in Whispermere. It wasn’t late-night confessions or moonlit truths. It was… polite.

But sometimes, he’d look at you like he was remembering something. Something he thought he lost, and you’d smile gently, pretending not to feel it.

Graduation came not so long after.

You stood in a sea of students in dress robes and polished shoes. The sky was too blue. Your throat too tight. All you could think was: This is the end of something we forgot to finish.

After the ceremony, he found you standing alone by the edge of the courtyard, clutching your acceptance letter from the Potions Guild. It was everything you worked so hard for, yet you didn’t feel as accomplished.

“So,” he said, softly. “St. Mungo’s or lab work?”

You looked up at him. The sun caught his hair. He still leaned on the cane sometimes, out of habit more than need now.

“Both,” you said. “They offered me a hybrid apprenticeship. Field work and brewing. It’s… everything I wanted.”

He smiled, and it was real. “You deserve that. You always did.”

“What about you?” you asked. “Still planning to be underpaid and overworked for the Ministry?”

“Sadly,” he said, smirking. “I think that’s the werewolf-friendly career track.”

You both laughed, and it almost felt normal again.

Then came the pause. The one that wrapped around everything you hadn’t said for years. Seven years ago, he was yours - in all the ways that mattered, and yet he couldn’t be farther from that now.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice quieter. “I never told you that enough.”

You blinked hard. “You didn’t have to. I always knew.”

Another silence. This one longer. More final. You allowed yourself to sit through it no matter how much it stings.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For pulling away. For ruining what we had.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” you whispered. “We just… grew differently. That’s not anyone’s fault.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Still. I never forgot what you were to me.”

You stepped forward, brushing his sleeve gently. “I’ll always be here, Remus. Maybe not beside you, but… you’ll never be alone. Not really.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say a thousand things. Instead, he just said, “Thank you.”

And then he hugged you, arms around your shoulders, his chin in your hair. For a moment, you were kids again, hiding from storms, trading secrets, pretending the world couldn’t touch you.

Then you let go.

And you both walked into the rest of your lives.

Apart.

Not exactly best friends like you once were. But never strangers.

You hadn’t set out to cure werewolves. That was a lost cause.

In truth, you hadn’t even set out to be a name anyone outside a medical conference would know. All you ever wanted was to understand. To fix what broke, to ease what hurt.

Maybe it started with Remus - those early days at Hogwarts, when he’d stumble into the hospital wing torn apart by the moon. Maybe it was the way he tried to hide the pain, or the way he smiled like it cost him something. You’d sat beside his bed too many nights to count, watching him sleep with clenched fists and a furrowed brow.

You’d never forgotten the way he looked at you after his worst full moon - fifth year, cane by the bed, his voice sharp with shame.

"I don’t want your pity."

That stayed with you. Not as a wound, but a weight. A suffocating reminder.

So no, you hadn’t started out trying to change the world. You were just trying to make it a little easier for someone like him to live in it.

And somewhere along the way, you did.

St. Mungo’s had offered you an apprenticeship the summer after graduation. A split program which consisted of two days a week in the field and three in the Potions wing. You’d taken it eagerly, diving into your studies with the same quiet focus you’d had at Hogwarts.

But the moment you had freedom to choose your own research, you knew what your first project would be.

Lycanthropy.

The transformations. The injuries. The trauma.

The stigma.

There were no quick fixes, no clean solutions. The thing resisted almost everything. Existing treatments were garbage, if they were even treatments, almost none existed due to the image painted of werewolves in the wizarding society.

The werewolf's body changed, but the tragedy was in the mind. The slipping of identity. The violent erasure of the person inside.

So you studied. And you failed. And you studied more. And you kept failing.

You burned through ingredients, scorched cauldrons, collapsed more than one test dummy with unstable fumes. You didn’t care, you pushed on.

There were whispers around the lab. That you were obsessed. That you should focus on safer, more respectable branches of medicine. That lycanthropy was a curse and werewolves are scary creatures that kill without reason.

They said it wasn’t worth pursuing and their scrutiny almost drowned you.

But you remembered Remus. And that was reason enough too keep going, to keep fighting for a world that he won’t be pushing people away in fear that they’d see all the ugly and run away.

It took three years to get your first successful result.

By then you were twenty-one, exhausted, and running on tea and stubbornness. But the batch worked - just barely. It stabilized the subject’s mental state for nine full minutes during the transformation. Nine minutes of lucidity, control. Enough to test again.

You built from there.

Nine became fourteen. Fourteen became thirty. Eventually, you crossed the hour mark - and then something clicked.

It was monkshood. That had always been obvious. But it wasn’t the only key. It was how it mixed with valerian, how the infusion had to be added at exactly 74 degrees Celsius, how the brew had to be stirred counterclockwise before sunrise.

A thousand tiny details. None of them obvious. But together?

Together, they became the thing.

You cried when the final test subject looked up after the full moon and said, “I remember everything. I didn’t lose myself.”

It was a werewolf volunteer, a girl a bit older than you are named Lyka. She had short blonde hair that was curled in coils and her eyes were a piercing grey in colour, she was reserved and strong. She volunteered for the tests right away.

You think she also held out hope to see the future you had envisioned, so she endured the tests however dangerous they may be and you both pushed through and jumped over numerous hurdles.

She’s become somewhat of a friend to you all these years. You even trusted her with stories of Remus, of the boy who was behind everything you’ve been building towards.

And when the press finally got hold of the announcement, you didn’t hide. You didn’t let the hospital PR team bury your name in a headline. You stood in front of the flashbulbs and the questions and said clearly, proudly:

“My name is ______, and I created the Wolfsbane Potion.”

You didn’t stutter, nor did you blink once.

You just thought: Remus. I hope you see this.

He did.

Remus Lupin had not cried since he was seventeen.

Not when he’d graduated. Not when he’d buried his parents at the ripe age of 19. Not even when he’d broken up with someone who said she “couldn’t live with the risk.”

But he nearly cried in the Potter living room the moment he saw your face on the front page of The Daily Prophet.

It had been a peaceful morning. James and Lily’s home which happens to be Potter Manor was warm, lively with the sound of baby Harry’s hiccupy giggles and Sirius humming off-key in the kitchen. Remus had dropped by with a stack of paperwork and a worn copy of Beedle the Bard - a gift for Harry, who immediately drooled on it with affection.

They were laughing over tea when Peter stumbled in, windblown and pink-cheeked.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late,” Peter said, shrugging off his cloak. “Weather’s foul. Couldn’t apparate in these weathers.”

He dropped a bundle of newspapers on the table, along with a bag of jam tarts. Remus reached for a tart without thinking, flipping the top newspaper toward him.

Peter, halfway through unwrapping a sweetroll, said casually, “Isn’t that your mate from school?”

Remus glanced down.

His hand stopped.

There you were - front and centre, smiling widely and proudly. Not some blurry byline photo or a profile sketch. A real picture, wand in one hand, flask of potion in the other, hair pulled back. Behind you was a cauldron bubbling away.

It was all too staged if he were being honest.

BREAKTHROUGH IN LYCANTHROPY TREATMENT: WOLFSBANE POTION CREATED BY FORMER HOGWARTS STUDENT

Remus’s heart kicked like it remembered how.

The article’s subhead read: ‘I wanted to create something that could preserve identity. Lycanthropy shouldn’t be a life sentence.’

He read your name, printed boldly beneath the headline. It was written in full. You had claimed it all.

Lily noticed first. “Remus?”

He didn’t look up.James tilted the paper so he could see. “Bloody hell. That’s _____, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. His voice was quiet.

Peter blinked. “Wait, you know her?” He barely remembers you from school.

“I grew up with her,” Remus replied. “We were friends. Best friends. For a long time.”

Sirius leaned against the table. “And now she’s apparently a genius.”

“She always was,” Remus murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He stepped outside soon after, briefly, to get some fresh air.

It had been four years. Four years since Hogwarts. Four years since you’d spoken beyond the occasional stiff letter or exchanged holiday greetings. You had gone and done the impossible.

You’d given people like him hope. You’d changed lives, and you’d done it without ever asking for praise or apology or permission. You had stood there, face lit by flashbulbs, and told the world that werewolves mattered.

That he mattered.

Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure whether to feel stunned or guilty. He hadn’t written in over a year. Hadn’t asked how you were. Hadn’t known the thing you were building in the dark would end up this… bright.

And still - he felt seen.

Even from across the silence.

He reread your quote at the bottom of the page, just above your signature:

“I don’t think we should be afraid to try  . Not when people are still suffering. Not when we can do better.”

You hadn’t named him. But Remus felt your words like they were spoken straight to him. Because he knew better, he knew you were speaking right to him.

Back inside, Sirius gave him a long look. “You alright, mate?”

Remus nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

He folded the paper carefully, tucking it beneath his arm. For a long time, he’d lived with the quiet grief of being forgotten. A side effect of his condition. Of fading away into the margins of other people’s stories.

But here you were, reshaping the narrative entirely.

You hadn’t just remembered him. You had remembered all of them - the ones who lived in the shadows, who never thought they’d be more than cautionary tales or footnotes in Ministry reports.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d done it for him. He stared down at your picture again, his smile quiet and unshakable.

“Godric’s beard,” James muttered behind him, reading the headline over his shoulder. “She really made a Wolfsbane Potion.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “That’s going to change everything.”

Remus didn’t speak, but in his chest, something shifted. A pressure he’d carried for years lightened. And somewhere deep down, he knew this wasn’t the end of the story. You were out there. Living, thriving, blazing a trail.

And for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting to reach out, outside of obligation and nostalgia. Because something real had reignited between you.

It didn’t take long for Remus to find you.

The moment he saw your name on the front page of the Prophet, he knew it wouldn’t be enough just to read the article ten times, to keep the paper folded on his night stand like some relic. He needed to see you.

For the ache in his chest that hadn’t gone away since fifth year. The one he thought he could outgrow, bury beneath the pages of law books and Ministry memos. But there it was, alive and sharp and hopeful again.

So he asked around.

He was discreet, as always. But not shy.

You were easy to trace once he learned about your position at St. Mungo’s. The Potioneering Department kept strict visiting hours, but Remus had never been one to blindly follow signs that read Authorized Personnel Only. He lingered until your shift ended, until he saw you push through the ward doors with your satchel slung across your shoulder, hair messily pinned back, a smudge of something silvery at your temple.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

You stopped when you saw him.

The quiet stretched as you stared in disbelief. He took one step closer.

"Hi," he said.

Your breath hitched. "Remus."

He offered a careful smile, the kind that trembled at the edges. "I hope it’s alright. I didn’t want to owl. I thought maybe... maybe you wouldn’t answer."

You swallowed. You looked older, of course. Grown into yourself. But your eyes were still the same. He could see the traces of that little girl still as he watched your grown self scan him, he bet he must look different as well.

"I might not have," you admitted softly. "I’m glad you didn’t give me the choice."

That made him laugh. Not a loud one, but real. He looked down. "You really did it. You actually - "

"Yes."

"I don’t even know what to say."

You smiled faintly. "Then don’t. Let me."

He blinked as you stepped closer.

"I invented it for you," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "So you’d stop suffering the way you used to. That’s all it ever was. All I ever wanted."

Remus looked at you like you’d peeled the years back with a single sentence.

He didn’t hug you, despite desperately wanting to. He didn’t wanna offend you or cross boundaries.

He just said, very quietly, "Thank you."

And that was enough.

He started taking the Wolfsbane Potion a week later, full seven days leading up to the full moon.

You brewed it yourself, of course. There were still regulatory delays, red tape the Ministry insisted on. But you had your licence. You had your clearance. More importantly, you had him.

You gave it to him with a note attached: Sip slowly, or it’ll make your throat burn. Seven days, don’t miss it.

Remus made sure to drank every single day of the week leading up to the full moon. It was still painful. The bones still bent. The skin still pulled and tore and reshaped.

But he remained. He was still there.

He could remember the walls. The sounds. The feel of the floor. He didn’t thrash, didn’t bite himself raw, didn’t wake up choking on blood and dirt.

And when morning came, he cried.

You were there.

Sitting in the armchair beside the bed in his tiny flat, watching him with quiet concern and a cup of now-cold tea in your hand.

"You stayed," he rasped.

"Of course, I stayed."

He swallowed, throat dry. "You didn’t have to."

You raised an eyebrow. "Remus Lupin, I have stayed with you in worse states than this. Don’t be daft."

He huffed a weak laugh. Then he looked at you. His tired brown eyes meeting yours. You hadn’t slept. Your eyes were shadowed, your robe wrinkled. But you looked proud, and somewhat tender. And maybe a little scared.

"I always missed you," he said.

You stilled.

He continued, voice low. "Even when I didn’t say it. Even when we stopped writing. I never stopped thinking about you."

You opened your mouth, then closed it.

He sat up slowly, wincing. "I loved you, you know. Even back then."

"Remus - "

"I didn’t say anything because I was scared. Because I thought... if I ever hurt you, if I ever lost control, and it was you in the way - "

"I’ve known since we were eight."

He blinked.

You smiled sadly. "Of course I knew. I knew you loved me. I knew you were afraid. But if anyone was ever going to understand, Remus, it was always going to be me."

He looked down. His hands shook. "I just didn’t want to be the monster in your story."

You moved to sit beside him on the bed.

"You’ll never have to worry again," you whispered. "Because I found a way."

He looked at you, eyes glassy. "Thank you."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I do. I don’t deserve it."

You snorted. "Remus Lupin, you deserve the bloody stars and the moon and the sun. But I can’t give you that. So instead... I give you the potion."

He stared at you, long and quiet. Then he reached out, cupped your face in one trembling hand, and kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. It was cracked with tiredness and ache and too many lost years.

But it was real, so real that it undid all the distance that grew between you two all these years. You thought you had lost him 7 years ago, but he was still yours.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "Thank you for giving me something I can never pay back."

You hummed. "Buying me a drink would do."

He laughed against your skin. "I’ll buy you all the drinks in the world."

end. masterlist

[mssalo]

masterlist - mssalo

Welcome!

I write a mix of content, including dark themes and smut, so please make sure to always check the warnings before reading each fic. Some stories may explore darker topics, and those will be clearly marked with appropriate content warnings.

18+ ONLY.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

dirty work - smut, hotgirl!reader x desperateold!joel

here

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

ma'am - smut, sub!joel

here

Joel Miller’s spent a lifetime in control, but under your confident lead, he’s discovered just how good it feels to let go. As your right-hand man in Jackson, he’s desperate to please, finding himself worshiping you in ways he’s never dared before—and loving every filthy second of it.

after hours - smut, sub!joel (part two of ma’am)

here

Joel Miller has been yours for a month now, and while things between you are steady, Jackson’s demands have kept you too busy for his liking. Missing you fiercely, Joel decides to pick you up after a late night, only for his mood to sour when Paul monopolizes your time. What starts as a simple check-in turns into something much more when Joel finally gets you alone or well... the other way around.

· · ─

fixation - smut

here

You have an oral fixation, and Joel is more than happy to keep your mouth busy.

· · ─

taste - smut

here

You've slowly chipped away at Joel's gruff exterior, turning his frowns into smiles. One night, your playful teasing leads to something more, and when Joel finally gives in, the intense passion between you two becomes impossible to control.

· · ─

hummingbird - smut, dark

here: I  II

In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by an obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination turns into something much darker as his protective instincts morph into possessive desires, blurring the line between safeguarding and owning her.

· · ─

safety - smut, dark

here: I  II III IV V

Joel’s life is built around control and keeping danger at bay. But when a sweet young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. His obsession with keeping her safe quickly spirals into something darker.

· · ─

worship - smut, bestfriendswife!reader

here part two

Ignored and humiliated by your husband, you find yourself in Joel's arms-his best friend who's been silently craving you for far too long. One heated night pushes you both over the edge, and Joel isn't holding back. He's ready to give you what your husband never could: everything.

· · ─

access - smut, husband!joel

here

You and your husband, Joel, share a deep understanding - your body is his, to fuck and taste whenever he desires, without question or hesitation.

· · ─

debt - smut, darkish!joel

here

Joel saved you, and now you depend on him for survival. But after one mistake too many, he demands you repay him-with your body.

You owe him, and he's done keeping you safe for free.

· · ─

dirty old man - series, smut

caretaker!reader x oldman!joel (a lot of new smut will come with this duo)

dirty old man - the beginning

dirty old man - the doctor’s office

dirty old man - on your knees

dirty old man - sleeping

dirty old man - field trip

dirty old man - cane (request)

You were assigned as Joel Miller’s caretaker, but he’s a perverted old man who just can’t keep his hands off you. And the truth is, you don’t mind one bit—in fact, you want more.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

[kxsagi]

Helllloo

Can you write about the reader being too hesitant to get in a relationship with the blue lock boys because her previous partner was abusive.you can choose who else to write about but please include the itoshi brothers

“𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞”

a/n: i know i wrote in my request rules that i don’t write for abuse, but just to clarify, it’s for requests about the character abusing reader. i saw elle (@neeeooon) post something similar and i agree with her, we both don’t want to portray characters that way! i also DO NOT promote abuse of any kind, whether that is physical, verbal, emotional, etc. 

oh how kaiser’s was so hard to write

and i love men i trust OMG

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael

itoshi rin

rin struggles a bit at first because he's naturally blunt and closed off. 

but he can tell there's something heavy behind your hesitance, and instead of pushing you, he retreats slightly, not out of disinterest, but to give you control. 

his protectiveness shows in small things: walking on the outside of the sidewalk, scanning the room when you look uncomfortable, quietly stepping in when someone gets too close. 

when you finally tell him what happened, his fists clench under the table. 

"i should’ve known. i’m sorry i didn’t." 

he isn’t the best with emotional words, but he changes – starts using softer tones, asks if he can touch you, waits for you to be ready. 

"you don’t have to trust me right away. but i’ll wait. however long it takes." 

itoshi sae

sae’s the kind who reads between the lines, he knows something’s up from the start. 

he doesn’t say anything until you’re ready, just gives you space and acts extra gentle. 

lets you set the pace, always. 

when you finally open up, he’s quiet for a moment, then says, “i’m glad you told me.” 

he doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t poke at wounds, he just holds your hand (if you let him) and tells you, “that’s not love. and you’ll never experience anything like that again. not with me.” 

makes a point of reminding you every day, in his own way, that you’re safe now. 

protective in a quiet, but fierce way. if anyone so much as raises their voice at you in public, he’s already stepping in. 

isagi yoichi

isagi’s patient, so patient, you’d think he was waiting for forever to start. 

he notices how you flinch sometimes when voices get loud or how you freeze when someone’s hand moves too fast near you. 

he never asks right away, he just quietly adjusts. 

speaks softer, keeps his distance, always asks "is this okay?" before he does anything, even just brushing your hand. 

when you finally open up about your past, he listens with tears in his eyes and no interruptions. 

“you don’t ever have to rush with me. i’m not going anywhere.” 

he means it. he shows you love in the calmest ways: leaving your favorite snacks, sending you good morning messages, giving you all the space you need. 

nagi seishiro

nagi may seem indifferent, but he's incredibly observant when it comes to you. 

he doesn't pressure or pry, he just... sticks around. 

when he realizes something’s wrong, he starts showing affection in ways that feel like no-pressure love. 

lets you hog the blankets, watches your comfort shows even when he doesn’t understand them, plays games next to you just to keep you company. 

when you tell him about your past, his expression doesn't change much, but he does start reading up on how to support someone who's been through abuse. 

"you don't have to be scared of me. i won't hurt you. ever." 

nagi doesn't just say it. he proves it, through every slow, careful move, through every time he lets you take the lead. 

kaiser michael

when you hesitate, he notices. immediately. not because you say anything, but because he’s lived in survival mode, too. 

he doesn’t get offended when you flinch away from touch or pull back when he gets too close. he just blinks, steps back, and pretends it doesn’t sting. 

at first, he masks his concern with sarcasm, throwing out lines like ��did i scare you that bad, liebling?” with a wry grin. 

but your silence? the way your eyes dart away, unsure and vulnerable? it reminds him too much of his past. 

the joking fades. 

"you don't have to tell me anything," he says one night, voice uncharacteristically quiet, "but i know what it's like to be hurt by someone who should’ve protected you.” 

when you finally open up, he doesn't ask for details. he doesn't push. he just listens, eyes unreadable. 

"so that’s why... you’re always so careful," he mutters, then meets your gaze, softer than he’s ever looked before. "i get it. i do." 

he makes changes instantly – stops making sudden movements, starts warning you before touching you, even changes the way he jokes so it never sounds mocking. 

being loved by kaiser becomes this strange, healing thing. 

he’ll jokingly ask for consent like “may i have the great honor of kissing your hand, milady?” 

but if you say no? he doesn’t pout or guilt you. he just smiles and says “maybe next time.” 

the first time you apologize for needing space, he looks almost hurt. 

"don’t say sorry for protecting yourself. you think i don’t understand? i spent years doing the same thing.” 

the truth is, kaiser’s scared too. not of you, but of hurting you accidentally. 

he’s been on both sides of pain. so he walks on eggshells for a while, but you notice how sincere it is. 

"we’re both messed up," he jokes one night, resting his forehead against yours, "but maybe... we can be okay together." 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[aventurineswife]

How about Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Sunday and Blade who find out their partner has sleep apnea? They have a heart attack for a hot minute when you stop breathing and then your breathing again and now they can’t sleep lol

The Fear of Losing You

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Blade x Reader, Angst, Comfort, Fluff, Health Scare, Relationship Dynamics, Sleep Apnea, Protective Partner, Emotional Turmoil, Recovery.

Warnings: Contains mentions of sleep apnea, Mild panic/anxiety, Partner health concerns, and Emotional reactions to a health scare.

A/N: I would've had a heart attack too in this case, tbh 😭🙏

It was a peaceful night, the kind Aventurine rarely allowed himself to enjoy. He lounged next to you, his eyes occasionally flicking to your relaxed figure as you slept. A subtle, comfortable silence hung between the two of you—until it wasn’t.

The absence of your breath hit him like a stone to the chest. His heart froze. For a split second, time seemed to slow as he watched, terrified that he would lose you. His sharp mind immediately began calculating the worst-case scenarios, his fingers twitching to shake you awake. But nothing—no sound, no movement.

His hands hovered over you before finally shaking you gently, his voice quivering for the first time in what seemed forever. "Hey, hey... breathe, breathe!"

When you gasped awake, he exhaled in a rush, his breath shaky. His heart thudded violently in his chest as relief washed over him. You were alive. You were fine.

But he couldn’t shake the dread that had lodged itself deep in his ribs. Despite the calm look on his face, his mind couldn’t stop racing. He stared at you for the remainder of the night, watching you sleep in that peaceful, unaware state. As dawn began to break, he found himself unable to sleep—not because he feared losing you, but because he couldn't unsee the terror that had coursed through him when you stopped breathing.

He would never admit it, but the incident made him rethink everything, even the reckless games he played. The only certainty now? His inability to rest until he knew you were safe again.

It was late when Ratio sat by your side, having just returned from a long meeting with the Intelligentsia Guild. His hair brushed against his face as he settled in, gazing at you with a slight frown as you slept. For someone so intellectual and confident, he didn’t understand the complexity of your fragile sleep. Perhaps, it was a flaw in his vast intellect—he had never expected something so mundane as sleep to become a battleground.

Then, in the dead of night, a horrible silence gripped the room. Ratio froze, his sharp eyes narrowing as he observed the stillness, his pulse quickening. His breath caught in his throat when you stopped breathing. His mind immediately began to calculate the problem. Could he revive you manually? Was there something he missed in his extensive research on physiology?

In a panic, he rushed to your side, shaking you firmly. "I—I don’t understand this. You—"

A gasp escaped your lips as you jerked awake, eyes wide with confusion. Relief flooded him instantly, but he couldn’t help the flurry of thoughts that began to invade his mind. He was too intelligent for this. He had to solve this. Immediately. No amount of books or academic achievement had prepared him for this.

You, still groggy, noticed the frantic look in his eyes. "What’s wrong?"

His lips parted to explain, but nothing coherent came out. He had no words. Just the tight grip on your hand, the fierce need to ensure your breathing never stopped again. The remainder of the night was spent beside you, his mind whirring with logical explanations, though no solution seemed quite right. As dawn came, he found himself unable to sleep. How could he, when his brilliant mind was no longer sure of something as simple as human breathing?

The quiet hum of the night was soothing, and Sunday had allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation as he rested next to you. The celestial aura that surrounded him flickered softly in the moonlight, but as he watched you sleep, a feeling of unease began to coil in his chest. His wings twitched gently as the stillness of the room settled in.

Then it happened. The unnerving silence.

For a moment, it felt as if the entire universe had held its breath. His eyes shot open, golden irises wide as he searched your form for any sign of life. His own breath caught in his throat when he realized you had stopped breathing entirely. His wings fluttered in an anxious rhythm, and a rush of panic rose up his spine.

"Please," he whispered, voice shaky, as he gently reached out to shake you awake. "Breathe, please breathe."

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze dazed and confused, but the overwhelming sense of relief that washed over Sunday was palpable. His wings, trembling slightly, folded tighter around his body as he took a deep breath of his own.

"I… I didn’t realize," he muttered softly, his voice holding an unusual weight of vulnerability. The weight of the fear he’d just felt. For the first time in a long time, he felt deeply human.

Sunday couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind was too restless, haunted by the thought that he might have lost you, even though he had no true explanation for why you’d stopped breathing. The thought of being powerless over something so fragile made his celestial demeanor falter, leaving him restless and wide-eyed as the night passed by.

Blade’s eyes were narrowed as he lay on the bed next to you, watching over you with a detached sense of vigilance. Though his existence had long been consumed by revenge and a cold desire for his own demise, there was something about you that remained a quiet sanctuary, something he didn’t fully understand but couldn’t ignore.

But as the night deepened, a sudden, terrifying silence cut through the air like a blade. His eyes flashed open in an instant, his entire body frozen in place. His heart slammed against his ribcage as he watched you, utterly still. Too still.

His mind raced. No… He could feel it. You’re not breathing.

Without thinking, he was by your side, shaking you violently, desperate for any sign of life. His hand trembled, the broken sword beside him forgotten in his panic.

Then, you gasped, eyes flying open as you caught your breath. The world shifted back into place, but for a moment, Blade’s soul felt like it had been ripped open. The terror in his chest was inexplicable, something he couldn’t fight or shove away.

"Don’t ever do that again," he growled, his voice rough, but the sheer desperation in his tone betrayed him.

You looked at him, confused but still dazed from sleep. He was already pulling back, his eyes dark with something unspoken—something almost resembling fear. Blade, the immortal, the weapon, the destroyer—was afraid. And for the rest of the night, he lay awake, staring at you with unsettling intensity, unable to unsee the brief glimpse of what losing you would truly feel like.

As the night dragged on, Blade couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes, too haunted by the prospect of loss. And so, he remained wide awake, the quiet terror of that moment embedded in his bones.

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Between Fear and Trust

Summary - Grappling with the potential harm to her unborn child and the overwhelming anxiety of her protective husband, their love and trust are tested in a fragile dance of reassurance and emotional turmoil.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Pregnancy anxiety, injury

Word count - 2032

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Jacaerys Velaryon was a protective man, often to the point where his vigilance bordered on excessive. His concern, though rooted in love, sometimes felt stifling.

"I don't think you should be doing that," Jace said, his voice gentle but firm. I sighed softly, setting down the needlepoint in my hands before turning to face him.

"And what harm could possibly come from needlework?" I asked.

As he approached, I gestured to the fabric spread out on the table, the intricate design slowly coming to life.

"Look, it's Vermax," I said, pointing at the olive green and pale orange dragon that was beginning to take shape on the black tunic. 

The dragon's fierce eyes and outstretched wings were just starting to emerge from the fabric. I felt a swell of pride as I watched his eyes follow the delicate work.

Jace's expression softened into a tender smile as he looked at the half-finished dragon, and then back at me. The sight of my enthusiastic face, so absorbed in the craft, caused a wave of affection to surge through him. His gaze lingered on me, a mixture of admiration and concern.

"You're straining yourself," he said softly, his tone a blend of warmth and insistence. 

He stepped closer and gently helped me to my feet, his hands moving with a practised tenderness. His fingers brushed lightly against my swollen belly, and he began to rub it in soothing, circular motions. 

"Jace, you must cease this," I said with a gentle smile, placing my hand over his. His frown deepened, and I could see the concern etched into his features. "You're becoming overbearing."

He swallowed hard, his eyes searching mine. "I only want to keep you safe, to keep our child safe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he cupped my face in his hand.

"I can't walk through these halls without feeling like I'm doing something wrong," I confessed, my voice tinged with frustration. "I care deeply for this babe too, but your constant worry... it frightens me."

Jace exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. When he pulled back, his frown remained, but there was a softness in his gaze.

"I don't mean to cause you distress," he said quietly, his voice laced with regret. I nodded, understanding his intentions even if they sometimes overwhelmed me.

After a moment of silence, I shifted slightly "I could use some tea though," I said, trying to lighten the mood. Before the words were fully out of my mouth, Jace was already moving to stand.

"I'll get it for you," he said quickly, his voice filled with determination but I reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm to stop him.

"No, Jace. I think I can manage to fetch some tea," I said, my tone gentle yet firm. 

His hesitation was palpable, a visible battle between his desire to protect me and the recognition that I needed this small act of independence. His eyes flickered with concern as he looked at me, and I could see how difficult it was for him to let go.

"It's just tea," I added softly, attempting to soothe his worries. 

Finally, with a reluctant nod, he stepped back. "Just be careful," he murmured, his voice almost pleading as he watched me.

I gave him a reassuring smile, appreciating his concession. "I will," I promised, as I turned and made my way across the room.

As I reached the door, I glanced back over my shoulder, my thoughts drifting to a happier distraction. 

"Perhaps we could visit Vermax when I return," I suggested, my voice carrying a hopeful lilt. "I miss him dearly."

I heard Jace's quiet laughter from behind me, a sound that was both tender and indulgent. 

I knew it would take a great deal of convincing for him to agree to let me see the dragon again, especially considering my condition. But the thought of visiting Vermax seemed to lighten the mood, if only slightly.

Jace's voice followed me, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll have to charm me into it, I suppose" he called out with a fond chuckle. 

I smiled to myself as I stepped into the hallway, the soft glow of the sconces casting a warm light on the stone walls.

The castle's usual grandeur was eerily muted, the soft thud of my footsteps on the cold, echoing stone a lonely sound in the vast, empty hallway. Each step seemed to reverberate with an ominous, hollow note.

The familiar surroundings, normally comforting, now felt like a path strewn with obstacles as I descended the grand staircase. 

The slight twist in my ankle was so sudden, so unexpected, that I barely had time to react before I felt myself falling. One moment I was moving cautiously, and the next, I felt my body lurch uncontrollably.

I tumbled down the last few steps, the world around me spinning in a blur of stone and panic. 

The impact was jarring, pain radiating through my body as I came to a stop on the cold floor. My ears rang, a sharp, disorienting sound that drowned out everything else. 

A thin, red line of blood trickled from the gash on my forehead, warm and sticky against my skin but all I could think about was the deep, gnawing fear that gripped my heart.

Anxiety clawed at me as I lay there, my breaths coming in short, frantic gasps. My hands flew instinctively to my swollen stomach, pressing down as if to protect the life within me.

"Please, please be okay," I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as I tried to steady my racing thoughts. 

I needed to get up, to find Jace, to reassure myself that everything was alright but I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by fear, by the pain that coursed through me, and by the overwhelming dread of what might have just happened.

"My lady," a voice gasped, cutting through the haze of my fear. 

I blinked, trying to focus on the figure rushing toward me. The armour clanked loudly in the quiet hallway, the sound harsh against the silence.

"Ser Erryk," I mumbled weakly, recognizing the Queensguard as he knelt beside me, his expression stricken with concern.

"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked urgently, his eyes scanning me for injuries. His hands hovered, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. 

I could see the panic in his eyes, the same panic I felt bubbling inside me.

"My... my head," I whispered, feeling the warmth of the blood trickling down my forehead. "And my ankle... but the babe..." My voice broke, and tears welled up in my eyes. "Ser Erryk, please, I need to get to Jace."

Without hesitation, Ser Erryk scooped me into his arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. 

The movement sent a jolt of pain through my ankle, and I winced, clutching my belly protectively as he began carrying me back to my chambers.

The journey was a blur of worry and pain, every step echoing my pounding heartbeat. The closer we got to the room, the more I felt the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me. 

By the time we reached the door, I was trembling, my mind a whirlwind of fear and guilt.

As Ser Erryk pushed the door open with his shoulder, Jace shot up from his seat, his face instantly pale with alarm when he saw me cradled in Ser Erryk's arms, blood smeared on my forehead.

"What happened?" Jace's voice was sharp, edged with panic as he rushed to my side, his hands immediately reaching for me. He looked between Ser Erryk and me, desperation in his eyes. 

"What happened?" he repeated, his voice breaking.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears I had been holding back burst forth, and I began to sob uncontrollably. 

"I'm so sorry, Jace," I cried, my voice trembling with guilt. "I fell—I shouldn't have gone—I'm so sorry." The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, my apologies intertwining with my sobs.

Ser Erryk quickly explained, his voice steady but grave. "She lost her footing on the stairs, my prince. It was an accident." 

His words were meant to soothe, but they did little to ease the storm of emotions that swirled within me.

Jace's eyes softened with anguish as he knelt beside the bed where Ser Erryk gently laid me down. He cupped my face with trembling hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streamed down my cheeks.

"Shh, it's alright," Jace murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"You're alright, and that's all that matters." His fingers were gentle as they stroked my hair, trying to calm me, but I could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that was consuming me.

"I was just so scared," I choked out, my hands still clutching my belly as if to reassure myself that our child was safe. "I should have listened to you... I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "None of this is your fault." He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering against the cut there as if he could kiss away the pain.

But the guilt still gnawed at me. "I just wanted to walk... to feel normal," I whispered, the words heavy with regret. "But I've made everything worse."

Jace shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just want you and our child to be safe. That's all that matters to me." His voice cracked as he spoke, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close as if to shield me from everything that had happened.

I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into his tunic as he rocked me gently. His heartbeat was strong and steady against my ear, a constant reminder that I wasn't alone, that we were in this together.

"I'll take care of you," Jace whispered his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"We'll call for a maester," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. "Everything will be alright." His gaze shifted to Ser Erryk, who stood nearby, concern etched into his features. 

With a nod of understanding, Ser Erryk left the chamber to fulfil Jace's unspoken command, the door closing softly behind him.

But as the door clicked shut, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over me. I pulled away from Jace's embrace, my hands trembling as I looked up at him, fear gripping my heart. 

"Jace... what if I've done something?" The words came out in a shaky whisper, my voice barely holding together as I voiced the deepest of my fears.

His expression softened immediately, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of my tears as he searched my eyes for the pain that haunted me.

"My love," he said, his voice tender but firm, "you've done nothing wrong." His words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the abyss of my worries. 

"We must trust that the gods have good intentions for us. We've been blessed with this child, and we will see them into this world together."

Despite his reassurances, doubt lingered in my heart. "But what if—"

"Shh," Jace interrupted gently, pressing a finger to my lips. "No 'what ifs,'" he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "We cannot let fear dictate our lives. Whatever happens, we will face it together, as we always have."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine, and I closed my eyes, letting his words sink in. The warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the strength in his embrace all worked to calm the storm within me. 

Slowly, I began to breathe easier, the frantic pace of my thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of his heart.

"I'm here," he whispered, his voice a gentle echo in the quiet room. "And I always will be."

As the moments passed, the tension in my body began to ease, replaced by a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright. 

A/n - Inspired by that one scene of Meredith falling down the stairs in Grey's.

[thewitchblue]

"I'm going to be your stepmom, Damian."

You told him in a teasing tone. The entire cave fell silent. How? And why? Damian immediately crossed his arms and replied coldly,

"You can't marry father. He's engaged."

You snorted an amused laugh,

"Who said anything about Bruce? I'm engaged to Talia."

Damian's brain began short-circuiting. You showed off your engagement rings as proof, and Damian felt the world slow down. He recognised the rings and knew it was real. The ring was a League of Assassin staple, and the second one on your other hand was from her personal collection. He knew Talia's mind was made up about marrying you with the rings. She claimed you permanently.

"... I'm not calling you mom."

You expected Damian to be outraged, but he calmly accepted you marrying his mom. You raised your eyebrows in surprise. He wasn't fine, but he had no choice. His mother's decisions are final, and her will is absolute. She will not give you up no matter what they do or say.

Jason crossed his arms while leaning against his motorcycle. This is ridiculous. You are insane to allow this to happen. Did you even allow this to happen? Are you under duress?Gruffly, Jason asked,

"Does that mean when you told me not to not 'put my dick in crazy' was because you are territorial?"

You straightened as if Jason offended you. The audacity of Jason to remind you of your past words. He's right, of course, but thoughts change given enough time. You shrugged and told him,

"It was helpful advice. My queen is fiercely loyal. You would be in the same situation as Bruce, and I don't need any more stepchildren."

That led to more questions than answers. Nobody knew what to say or how to process that information. Dick recovered first and asked,

"How did you get together?"

You sighed wistfully. You don't know quite how to feel, but you know you want to continue this engagement. You had grown fond of your future wife. You explained,

"She sat next to me after patrol a couple of nights ago, and we talked. She told me she had been watching me all of my patrol, and she wanted me to fight her father. I shrugged and agreed to fight him. I had assumed she was helping me stop an evil plot or wanted to test my skill, so I followed her. Everybody neglected to tell me that I was fighting for her hand in marriage."

Oh, Talia and her foxy ways. She's always up to something. She knew you were one of the best combatants within the Bat team. You have gone blow-for-blow with Lady Shiva and won a few times. You then trained under her while Bruce was gone for two years on a mission. You honed your skills like a blade and wielded them with precision. You continued,

"I won the fight, but he kept asking for rematches using different forms of combat. I thought it was to protect his ego and pride, but I was wrong. Ra smirked the more times I won until we ran out of tests, but I didn't understand why."

You gave them a tired smile. It sucks to call Ra your father-in-law, but you'll adapt. The others were speechless. You explained further,

"We had a talk. Ra smiled and told me he puts his full trust in me. He said that I had earned Talia. He gave me the League of Assassins engagement ring, and Talia gave me her own version of an engagement ring. So, I have wedding rings for both hands."

You looked at your hands. The engagement rings were truly beautiful, but you'd expect nothing less from the Al Ghul family. Talia seemed to have done her research on you because the ring she gave you was the exact stone and style you would have wanted in a ring. You said before the others could speak,

"I'm giving Talia and Ra full control over the wedding planning. My only demand was for you all to be invited."

Nobody had a clue about how to handle this news. The family favourite was about to get married to one of their villains. Could they allow you to be wed into a villainous family? Could they stop you? Why would you accept in the first place?

"You unintentionally fought for an engagement you didn't ask for? Why did you say yes?"

Tim was flabbergasted and a little stressed about the situation. Why is the only question he could think of. Explain to him why this is a good idea. Explain to him why you did anything you did. He was concerned. You asked with raised eyebrows,

"Would you turn down Talia Al Ghul?"

You both were surprised that night. Talia was shocked you actually won every trial sent for you, but her pleased grin and smooth words made you hesitantly agree to be married to her. The mischief in her eyes that told a story you could clearly make out was a path you wanted to explore, and the kiss she gave you almost knocked you off your feet. She was so... happy, it seemed, maybe even victorious. It was as if she knew you'd win and was silently bragging to her father that you'd win with confidence. You couldn't say no. You could fight her, sure, but you were exhausted from Ra's challenges, and why fight a potentially budding love you won? It's like a fairytale. The knight fought the evil lich and won the princess's heart.

"I agreed because I grew fond of her. She was always in my corner when I fought Ra. She was the one to give me water in between fights and gave me a good pep talk. She knew her father was an honed weapon, but she believed in me."

Dick ran a stressed hand through his hair. Nothing could have prepared him for his sisterly figure to become Damian's stepmother. He has nothing in his big brother book for something like this to happen. He was indescribably distraught and infuriated.

"I... I don't know what to say. Congratulations? Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

You frowned at his weary expression. What is so hard about accepting future love? Technically, Talia wouldn't be their problem, and Ra's would stop his assault on Batman, given how connected Damian and you are to them. You confirmed,

"I'm sure. She's a better woman when she isn't under Ra's thumb. She'll be a part of my family, not his, and she can comfortably give up the assasssin lifestyle instead of being torn between the Bats and the League of Assassins. She'll be on our side."

Tim was still trying to come to terms with everything. That is wishful thinking at best. You might even be taken away from them before she ever joins their side. He felt like his brain was in slow motion. You were basically his sister, but he can't do anything about it.

"When did all this happen?"

You shrugged. You never did care about dates. Calendar Man hates you and often avoids you in favour of the other Bats. You asked,

"Do you remember the night you guys went crazy with worry and tore Gotham apart to find me? Whatever that day was."

They all remember that day very clearly. Talia shot all of the cameras in Gotham before approaching you. They worried you'd got into a fight with her, and she disposed of your body somewhere or carted you off to any of the supervillains to be used as blackmail to lure the Batfamily out of the cave.

They were beating up every goon to find out information, but nobody knew anything. The panic they all felt hit them pretty heavily. There was nothing. Not even Damian could find a trace when asked.

Dick was especially worried. He became paranoid you were in the Court of Owls nest. Losing you would have devastated him. His brotherly pride and joy rode on you and your safety. He kept you nestled under his wing firmly, like an overprotective mother hen.

Jason had gone straight to Joker like hell was chasing him. He hated every second that passed. He could hear the timer that was ticking like the bomb that killed him. This panic had him indescribably angry. Where were you?

Tim was a wreck. His anxiety sky-rocketed the longer you were gone. He was counting the hours you were missing, much like Jason. The first 24 hours are crucial in missing persons cases, he knows this, and it worried him immensely. Without any evidence to go off of and none of his precious cameras to find you, he was stressed. You vanished into thin air, and not even his energy drink could calm his nerves. He was a mess and threw himself into collecting any possible evidence. Someone shut off even his personal cameras (he hid his own cameras around the city for the angles the security camera don't reach) and whoever they were turned off your trackers, even cutting out the one placed under your skin and crushing it under your heavy boot heel.

Bruce was the worst when it came to your disappearance. He went insane. If something is skilled enough to take you as if you vanished, what can he do? What was he going to do when he found out who took you from him? He was cold, bitter, and angry. He can't live without you, and he refuses to do so. None of the family could handle a life without you now that you've invaded their team and their hearts.

Damian didn't care nearly as much. Sure, he loved you, but he trusted your combat skills more than he trusted his own, and that says a lot about your skills. He trusted you more than he trusted Jon, both in a fight and in general. You would not fall unless you wanted to, and he was proven right when you returned. You had sword gashes and bruises, but you survived whatever you were put through. You didn't answer any of their burning questions. Simply shook your head with an adrenaline filled smile.

They all attempted to hunt you down to the best of their abilities, yet you just... reappeared. You gave them all a grin like you did when you were a child, so joyous and full of love, and Bruce knew you were okay. His baby was safe. You were back in his nest. The tension melted off of him when he pulled you into a hug.

Nobody left you alone for longer than the time it took to stop a robbery for months, and all the cameras were replaced the next night. You were annoyed, but Talia would find a way to get you out of the suffocating walls of the manor. If anybody can sneak you in and out, it will be her and Ra, who has grown to already love you and continued to grow protective of you. You belong with the League of Assassins, not with the Bats! How dare they hold Talia's future wife captive!

Was your future wife insane and obsessed? Yes. Did you care? Not particularly. The birds need to leave the nest eventually.

You weren't in the Batfamily despite your closeness. You simply accepted their love and flew just close enough to be considered family, but not legally tied to them. It sometimes seemed like Bruce was even waiting for you to be orphaned so he could adopt you into the family. His fantasy has been ruined by Talia's ridiculous tournament.

You smiled thinking about your queen. Yes, you will be going into another obsessive family, but what else is new for you? Your current sort-of-family is equally obsessive, and your actual family was obsessed with her already.

[crescent003]

Silent Love

Squid Game Master list

The house was quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic sound of your baby’s tiny breaths. The night had fallen peacefully, with you finally asleep in the bedroom, the exhaustion of being a new mother having caught up with you. But your husband couldn’t rest—not yet.

You’d been so wrapped up in the whirlwind of caring for your newborn that you hadn’t noticed the way his eyes lingered longer on you, or how his shoulders were tense when he thought you weren’t looking. Tonight, though, he was doing something different. Something that felt normal, real, and right in a world that often seemed uncertain.

He stood in the dimly lit nursery, a small nightlight casting a soft glow on the room. His gaze was fixed on the crib where your baby lay. The little one had just finished nursing, and though their tiny hands were curled in fists, they were now asleep, their chest rising and falling with each breath.

Your husband’s hands—so steady, so precise in everything he did—were gently adjusting the baby’s blanket, tucking it in with the tenderness of a man who had always been good at taking care of what mattered most.

He let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. His mind was a tangled mess, his thoughts always circling back to the dangerous world he’d tried to leave behind. The job. The Squid Game. The lies. He didn’t want this life for you, for your baby. He had promised you that much.

But right now, as he stood over the crib, gazing at his newborn daughter—his heart softened. She was his, and that was all that mattered.

With a small, careful motion, he pulled the chair closer to the crib, sitting down with a quiet creak of wood. He could feel the weight of his guilt, but in this moment, it wasn’t enough to drown out the warmth he felt in his chest.

You were asleep, finally getting some rest after another long night of feeding, changing, and rocking the baby back to sleep. He’d noticed how tired you’d been lately—how the sleepless nights were starting to take their toll on you, even if you never showed it. You had this incredible strength, this light in your eyes that made him want to protect you both even more. But tonight, he had taken over. Tonight, he had to step up, because you deserved it.

He reached into the crib, gently lifting the baby into his arms. She stirred for a moment but quickly settled, her tiny body relaxed against his chest as he cradled her close, his strong arms enveloping her in warmth and safety.

He couldn’t help but smile at the feel of her, the weight of her so small in his arms. His baby. His daughter.

His thoughts drifted, remembering the promise he’d made to you. To get out of the game. To stay out of the game. He had to. For her. For you.

He hummed softly, a tune he remembered from childhood—something calming, simple. The sound filled the room, a peaceful lullaby that made his heart ache. He rocked gently in the chair, his mind quieter now, focusing only on the tiny life in his arms.

The weight of his past—of the secrets he’d kept from you—was heavy. But it didn’t matter right now. Right now, in this moment, he was just a father. A father who loved his family with everything he had. A father who would do anything to protect them from the darkness that lingered just outside their peaceful little world.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was late—too late—but he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to let go of this quiet, intimate moment. He felt something stirring inside him—a fierce need to make everything right.

For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to just be. Not the salesman. Not the man with blood on his hands. But just a father. Just a husband. The man who loved his family more than anything else in the world.

The baby shifted slightly in his arms, and he held her closer, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke to her, though he knew she couldn’t understand.

“I’m going to make it right,” he murmured, his breath warm against her soft skin. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

And as the soft ticking of the clock filled the room, the weight of his secret life felt a little lighter. Not gone—no, that would take time—but a little easier to bear, just for tonight.

Because tonight, he was just your husband. Just your baby’s father.

And that was enough.

Epilogue:

The following days were filled with quiet moments like this one, as he worked to balance his dangerous job with the responsibilities of fatherhood. He was still haunted by the shadows of his past, but he knew one thing for certain: he would do anything to keep you and your child safe. The road ahead wasn’t easy, but in moments like this, when he held his baby in his arms and saw the peacefulness on your face while you slept, he knew that the fight would be worth it.

He would fight for them. For you. For the family he was determined to protect, no matter the cost.

[bullet-prooflove]

Love & Duty: John Carter x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @anna-bailey @ofsoapsuds @queenslandlover-93 @gemofspace

Summary: John's recovery at Gamma's leads to friction in your relationship due to a laundry disagreement.

Companion piece to:

Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he's with someone else.

Little John - You try to keep John's mind off the task at hand.

The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.

Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.

Fever - John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend's stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.

Minx (NSFW) - John had no idea he had such a deviant little minx on his hands.

Always - You and John discuss the reasons behind your dancing.

Diamonds - John's friend and rival makes you an offer you can't refuse.

The Stethoscope - John's world is turned upside down when he finds your stethoscope in his locker.

Elderberry Wine - You come home to find John waiting for you.

Sex, Lies and Cocaine Dreams - John takes his revenge on the man that shattered your dreams.

By The Grace of God - An unexpected ally goes to bat for you during your beard hearing.

Choices - You and John discuss your options moving forward.

The Sexual Revolution (NSFW) - You decide to give John a private show before the event.

A Love Story - Your performance sparks an unexpected conversation with Gamma.

The Problem With Winning The War - The problem with winning the war is that you don't expect the second attack.

Mack The Knife - You come face to face with a nightmare in John's apartment.

The Merry Go Round - Reality starts to crash down on you in the wake of your recent trauma.

Rounds - John's his first thoughts are of you upon waking up from surgery.

It’s the panties that are the final straw for you.

The fact you open the top drawer of John’s dresser to find them freshly laundered. Each pair washed, ironed and folded into perfect squares that slot just nicely next to John’s boxer shorts.

You’d meant to do your laundry yesterday but you couldn’t find the damn machines in this place and none of the staff were forthcoming because they severely dislike the interloper who is wreaking havoc on their carefully implemented systems.

Your schedule is problematic for them especially with the night shifts, it’s even more problematic for you because you spend two hours a day commuting to Oak Brook so you can spend time with John while he recovers.

When Gamma initially asked you to stay over to keep an eye on him you’d thought it was an excellent idea. In theory it was, you just didn’t realise there was so much regulation involved.

From the cook who is so fiercely protective of her kitchen, resenting the fact you try to make your own sandwiches, to the butler you rouse everytime you turn up at the door at  5:30am, to the maid who clears up your textbooks, making you lose your place time and time again.

None of it is their fault. They each have their own mechanisms and here you are disrupting the well-oiled machine that is the Carter household.

The truth is… you are struggling here. Not just with your studies or the commute but with the level of wealth and opulence you wake up to every day. You can’t relax, you can’t destress, you can just feel this tenson, building inside of you.

You understand that this is the place that John needs to be right now, to recover, to heal but honestly, you don’t want to be here.

You especially do not want a stranger washing your underwear.

“It’s not a stranger, it’s Magda-” John laughs it off that morning as he reads the newspaper. You’ve just come off the night shift from hell and yet again the cook has shooed you out of the kitchen because you’d tried to make your own toast.

Breakfast is promptly at 7am, she’d chided you, I thought you’d know that by now.

You do know that, you also know you’re ravenous because the last thing you ate was an energy bar at ten thirty the night before.

“-who I don’t know.” You remind John. You’re beginning to realise he’s a different person when he’s surrounded by this privilege. All of this, it’s normal to him because it’s the way he’s been raised but it’s not to you, it makes you feel confined, like a bird trapped within a gilded cage. “Magda is a stranger to me and she’s touching my underwear, the maid is moving my text books and the cook, she-”

“- is trying to keep you on a proper eating regime with the rest of the household. Things will even out when you’re back on a normal schedule-”

“No it won’t because I’ll be leaving the house at 6am to make my shift at 7am which is when you all have breakfast and if I can’t use the kitchen before then…”

You will lose your fucking mind. It’s already starting to happen, you can feel it the longer this conversation goes on.

“OK I see the problem, well I’ll talk to Cheffy and rectify that as for the laundry thing. You’re just not used to having people take care of you…”

“No.” You retort, meeting his gaze fiercely. “I’m not used to having people do things for me. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t really see the difference.” He says turning the page and you feel something inside of you implode because he way he says it. You can tell he really fucking doesn’t. He doesn’t get that you are sacrificing your sanity right now to spend time with him, that you’re here because you love him, because want to take care of him anyway you can.

“One is out of love and the other out of duty.” You tell him as you rise to your feet. “And if you can’t tell the difference then why the hell am I killing myself being here?”

You don’t plan to walk out, your body just moves on it’s own accord, going through the motions. Collecting your overnight bag, your text books, your jacket. You’re out the door before he’s even on his feet because the injury, it effects his mobility. He doesn’t have a chance in hell of catching you, not with that walking stick he relies on.

You slam the door as hard as you can on the way out, not giving a fuck who it wakes up or how he explains your absence.

You spent the hour long drive back home with Alanis Morrisette blaring out the speakers of your car as you inch through morning traffic.

When you finally step inside your apartment it’s like you can breathe for the first time in weeks. You cannot explain how good it feels to stand in your own kitchen and eat peanut butter out of a jar in just a Blondie t-shirt and a pair of black panties. You don’t have to worry about offending anyone, about using the wrong fucking spoon, you can just enjoy the moment.

Before you go to bed you lay out your study books across on the kitchen table ready for the tomorrow, turned to the page you need, safe in the knowledge that no one will touch them, that they won’t be moved.

This is what you’ve missed, this freedom, this ability to do what you want when you want.

Money, you realise it solves a lot of problems but it doesn’t make you happy, not really.

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