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aetherraeys · 23 hours ago

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bloodmoon pt2

(part 1)

remus lupid x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.9k

cw ⟢ swearing, harrassment, men being vile, blood, detailed description of pain, friends to lovers, slowish burn, biting, suggestive at the end

a/n: not proofread x SORRY THIS ACTUALLY TOOK DAYS IVE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE IT LESS THAT 12WC!! i hope you enjoy ,,, slightly obsessed with vampire!reader now.

“Finally realised she’s not the devil incarnate, have you, Moony?”

Its as though Sirius just physically couldn’t stop himself, everyone else had been ignoring it for weeks—the skeptically raised eyebrows changing into almost knowing looks. They’d all been silently watching.

Him and you, you and him.

How essentially overnight, Remus had become one of the people he used to openly scoff at, roll his eyes as if they’d fallen into some sort of trap that was only obvious to him. To his friends shock and relief, their dear old Moony, was not as immune to you as he’d made out to be.

Now, if anything, it seemed that he was more affected than anyone else, walking you from the slytherin common room, to the great hall, and back again—visiting you multiple times a day when you were working in the hospital wing. The complete 180 in the way he reacts to you, a sigh of relief when he sees you enter the room, rather than the erking gut reaction he had before.

And even as discrete as Remus has tried to be, he was unable to escape Lily’s watchful eye—having caught glimpses of a few Bloodsuckers rolling a round in the bottom of his bag.

It literally wasn’t even as secret as this point.

But, apparently unbeknownst to Sirius and Sirius alone, there had been an unspoken agreement: do not acknowledge it. Which explained why, the moment the words left his mouth, the entire table fell into a stunned silence.

A silence Sirius was still exactly one beat behind.

The ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, Sirius barely had time to register James’ foot swinging under the table before—

“Ow! Bloody—fuck—” He doubled over, forehead colliding with the hard wood of the table.

By the time he pried his eyes open from the sharp sting of pain, everyone was staring at him with identical looks of disbelief, as if he were the idiot in the situation.

Raising his hands in surrender, he huffed, utterly perplexed by the turn of events.

“What?! So we’re all just supposed to act like it’s normal that one minute he hates her and the next he’s so far up her arse he could whisper in her ear?!”

At the very least, Sirius expected someone to back him up. James, maybe, because he was always on about Remus being a hypocrite. Or Marlene , who at least had the good sense to find humor in all of this.

But no.

Instead, James pinched the bridge of his nose like he was battling a migraine, Marlene muttered something that sounded suspiciously like for Merlin’s sake, Black, and Lily was just avoiding eye contact altogether, suddenly very interested in buttering her toast.

And Remus—Remus just sighed. That slow, patient sigh that meant he was this close to losing his temper, but he was doing that thing where he convinced himself he was above it.

“Pads,” he said, voice clipped, “I swear to God—”

“No, no, sorry,” Sirius cut in, straightening up despite the throbbing ache in his shin. “Am I the only one who remembers how you used to look at her like she’d burst into flames if you kept staring? How you’d turn green when she walked in the room?”

Across from him, James let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “Are you actually daft?”

Sirius just ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

He looked to Lily, hoping for a shred of backup, but the traitor was still focused on her toast. He turned to Marlene, but she just gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed drop it, Black.

He turned back to Remus, who was now very pointedly stirring his tea, as though pretending he wasn’t the center of attention would make Sirius forget the absolute insanity happening right in front of him.

“I hated her?” Remus repeated blandly, finally looking up. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Sirius let out a laugh. Loud, disbelieving, scandalized.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “What would you call it, then? Casual disdain? Deep-rooted, undiagnosed allergic reaction? Because I distinctly remember you not being able to stand within a three-foot radius of her without looking like you were about to be sick.”

At that, Remus’ jaw ticked. It was barely there, the kind of reaction only someone who knew him well would notice. But Sirius did notice, and so did James, and it was definitely why James suddenly went stiff beside him.

A beat of silence.

Before he could go off—before the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his fingers could escalate into something actual. Just as the inevitable explosion was about to happen, Sirius bracing himself for the verbal annihilation that was surely coming—there was a sudden shift in the room.

You walked into the Great Hall, oblivious to the absolute war zone you were unknowingly interrupting.

Just barely brushing past him as you made your way to your seat, as always, Pandora on one arm, lolly in your mouth—as normal as ever.

It was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. The soft whoosh of your robes as you passed behind Remus, your fingers lightly skimming the back of his chair in a casual, absentminded way. Barely even a touch.

But it was immediate.

Remus’ shoulders relaxed. His hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist against his thigh, uncurled. The sharpness in his jaw eased, the tension around his mouth smoothing into something effortless.

He didn’t even turn his head. Didn’t watch as you crossed the hall to your usual table, settling in without a second thought.

But Sirius saw it all.

He saw the way Remus exhaled, slow and steady. Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly—like maybe they wanted to follow where you’d been. Saw the way, without even realizing it, Remus tracked your presence out of the corner of his eye before returning to his tea like nothing had happened.

Sirius gawked.

“You have got to be kidding me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it was palpable.

James cleared his throat, poorly disguising a smirk as he reached for the pumpkin juice.

“Pads,” he said, in a tone that was dangerously close to condescending, “I’d drop it if I were you.”

Sirius snapped his head toward him, scandalized.

“Did you see that?” Voice whispered, eyes gesturing wildly at Remus, who was now painfully composed, stirring his tea with the patience of a saint. “She brushed past him, and suddenly he’s a bloody monk! He was about to rip my head off, and now look at him—he’s practically floating.”

James just shrugged, taking a sip from his goblet. “Yeah, mate,” he whispered still, far too amused. Only mouthing his next words, in hopes to not break the peace—“We know.”

Remus quite literally looked as though he’d reached enlightenment, comfortable in letting himself ignore everything else around him.

He didn’t think it was weird how, as of late, his mind often wondered to you.

It seemed only natural really, you were more affected by him because of his condition, and he was more affected by you. Guessing that this was how everyone felt this whole time, drawn to you all the time—presence undeniably addicting.

Yeah. It made sense to him. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

That’s why he felt absolutely no way about having found himself in the hospital wing, yet again. Clearly once he’d been sucked into your orbit, there was no escaping—completely unavoidable, not that Remus was complaining.

You could smell him from a mile away, not even turning away from your station—

"Hello, Remus," you mused, setting down a tray of fresh bandages. "What is it this time?"

Remus hummed, glancing down at his hands like he needed to double-check. "Not sure yet. Give me a moment, I'll think of something."

Even during the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing, multitasking as he perched on the edge of an empty bed, silently observing your movements.

You were good company.

That was all the reason he needed.

All that mattered was the way the steady hum of your presence started to settled something deep in his bones, the way the corners of your mouth twitched in quiet amusement whenever your eyes caught his—half-exasperated, half-knowing.

Rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "You do know this isn’t a common room, right?"

Remus exhaled a slow breath, something curling warm and weightless in his chest. "Strange," he said, tilting his head. "Feels like one."

You gave him a look, but he could tell from the slight twitch of your lips that you were trying not to smile. "Unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head. "Well, since you're so comfortable, you might as well make yourself useful."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You turned away, reaching for the large pile of freshly folded bedding, before handing it to him. “Put these on top of the cabinet in the corner, since you’re clearly in no rush to leave."

He took the pile without hesitation, fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent something sharp and fleeting through him—odd, but not unpleasant. Not anything worth thinking about.

"Mm. Of course." Using his height to his advantage, placing them with ease. As much as he wanted to trail after you as you moved around the ward, he’d already been told—several times—that if he wished to stay, he needed to stay out of the way.

Even if he wanted to help it, he couldn’t. There was a pull to you, a presence that drew in attention in ways both subtle and impossible to ignore.

As much as it was special—it’s not something unique to him, at least. You had that effect on everyone.

Rather unfortunately actually.

Not everyone who was drawn to you, was quite as pleasant as Remus. You had a feeling he would come, saunter in—unbelievable high and mighty, friends trailing behind him.

Remus was still sitting on the empty bed, reading, as you packed up the last few things—only fifteen minutes left before the end of your shift. That’s why he was waiting, having fallen into the habit of walking you back to the common room—supposedly because ‘company wouldn’t hurt’.

The sharp inhale that left your lips had him sitting up straight immediately—alert.

“You okay?” Already walking over to where you stood, face twisted into an expression of concern, you simply shook your head—mumbling “Yes”.

Still training your gaze downwards, eyes almost twitching and lips pressed into a thin line. Then he heard them, not too far from the entrance—obnoxiously loud, howling laughter accompanying.

A clear grimance was stuck on your face now, placing a hand on his chest as you finally raised your eyes from the tray of empty vials you’d been sorting.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Voice suddenly hushed, hand lightly pushing him to sit in the far corner, out of sight. He didn’t protest, walking backwards in the direction you motioned him, despite the look of confusion, only asking—

“What? What’s the matter—“

You cut him off completely, practically pleading while you backed away to close him into the bay, brows knit high.

“Just promise you’ll stay here? Please?”

When he finally nodded, you shut the curtains behind you, taking in a final deep breath before plastering the most polite smile you could muster on your face.

It made you want to physically shrink into yourself, the arrogant, smug smirk his lips curled into when he saw you—as jarring as ever.

Avery.

Closely followed by Malfoy and Mulciber. Pathetic really, the lot of them. Walking around as if they were Heaven’s gift to earth, like they graced the presence of everyone they’d met. Fragile, weak men, who so clearly took pleasure in the discomfort they caused others.

So self-important and big headed that they can’t fathom the idea of rejection.

Because you had, in fact, rejected him.

But Avery was relentless—so used to being the one doing the discarding, so accustomed to having others scramble for his approval—he’d not taken it well.

You had tried patience. You had tried politeness. But it was becoming increasingly clear that neither would get you very far.

He leaned against the nearest bedframe, all mock ease and arrogance, his lips twisting into a grin that sent a fresh wave of repulsion through your stomach, setting uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

"Merlin, love," he drawled, letting his gaze drag down your figure, lingering far too long in places that made the surface of your skin crawl. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a place like this." He tutted, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. "What a shame—a pretty thing like you, running around cleaning up after other people's messes. Bet you could be doing something much more...suitable for a girl like you."

Malfoy and Mulciber chuckled under their breath, the former nudging Avery's shoulder as if egging him on.

"Shame she's not taking any applicants," Mulciber added with a grin. "Not officially, anyway."

Spine becoming taut, you didn’t even try hide the way your expression visibly distorted into disgusted frown.

Avery’s grin widened, his tone dropping into something lower, more vile. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bunch of useless sods," he said, stepping forward. "That uniform—" He whistled, dragging his eyes over you like you were something to be had. "Merlin—makes a man wonder, doesn't it?"

Roughly dropping the empty vial he’d been fiddling with back into the tray—"Bet you'd be a real treat with a bit less of it on."

The pressure in your jaw from the clench sent sharp pangs through your skull, stomach twisting.

"Shame, though," Avery continued, completely ignoring your stiffened posture, "a bird like you, wasting away in a place like this when you could be spending your time with someone who can show you a good one, a real man."

"Yeah?" you deadpanned. "Where would I find one of those?"

Mulciber let out an obnoxious bark of laughter, while Avery's smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he recovered.

"Feisty," he mused, tilting his head, eyes glinting with something nasty and superior. "I like that."

Knuckles white, fingers numb—you were sure your nails had drawn blood from their harsh digging into your palms.

"But let’s be honest, love," Avery continued, stepping even closer, his voice taking a somewhat conspiratorial cadance. "A girl like you—" He clicked his tongue. "I know what you really are. You act all high and mighty, like you’re better than us. But I reckon if I just—" He reached out toward you, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "Pushed a little, you’d fold like the rest of them."

That was it.

"Right," you said, voice cold and even. "If you haven't got anything wrong with you, feel free to leave. I've already given you my answer." Snatching your arm away from him as though he was something filthy—purposefully dusting off where his fingers had been with a loud, “ugh,”

It was painfully silent, and for a moment Avery didn’t move.

His smirk vanished.

Its replacing expression, something ugly, almost unhinged—filled with malice, his nostrils flared as your words, your viseral reaction set in.

"Right," he sneered, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between you. "Of course. Because you think you're too good for me, don’t you?"

You stood your ground, not moving an inch—but the fury radiating from him was palpable.

"Don’t you?" he repeated, louder this time, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, puffed out as if to make you cower before him.

A dramatic sigh passed your lips, head rolling over your shoulders—when you looked back at him, an almost devious smirk played on your lips and with a condescending, feigned sympathetic coo, you responded.

“Yeah…I do.”

And that’s what really did it.

Avery’s lips curled into something vicious, eyes narrowing.

"It would be real unfortunate if something happened to that pretty little face of yours," he murmured, voice mockingly sweet but dripping with spite, his finger suddenly reaching up—so light, so deceptively gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You began physically recoling away from his touch, but his fingers gripped the bottom of your jaw—holding you in place, "Seeing as that’s all you really have."

A hand clamped down over his wrist.

It happened so fast—one moment, Avery was inches from you, the next, he was yanked back, spun around so fast that his head barely caught up before he was staring at the broad chest of someone towering over him.

Remus.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger was too simple, too small.

He was seething.

His grip on Avery’s wrist was bruising, his knuckles white with the pressure. His expression, usually so composed, so calm, was something terrifyingly unreadable.

"You’re a sick bastard, you know that?" Remus finally said, voice eerily smooth—so quiet it sent a shiver of something primal down everyone’s spine.

“Pestering a girl who’s already rejected you, and when that doesn’t work, you threaten her? Because your fragile ego couldn’t stomach the idea of her not wanting you?”

Avery sneered, yanking his arm, but Remus didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“You’re a sick little boy with nothing to offer,” Remus continued, slow and deliberate, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants you—you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Avery’s face turned red—not just with fury, but humiliation. His eyes flickered to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom had stepped back ever so slightly, watching with careful amusement, not stepping in. The muscles in Avery’s jaw ticked. His free hand twitched, curling into a fist.

Remus didn’t so much as blink.

The cracking, whining sound of the hospital wing doors is all that was heard.

“What on earth is all this commotion?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through the ward, almost bouncing—echoing violently off the walls, her stern expression making even Malfoy stand a little straighter. She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between each of you before they landed on Avery.

Yanking his arm from Remus’ grasp, stepping back with a sneer.

"If you’re not sick, you’ve got no business being here," she snapped. "Out—the lot of you!"

Avery was still enraged, but he knew better than to argue.

"Disgraceful," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she turned to you, her hand coming onto you shoulder with a soft pat. "You’re dismissed for the evening, dear. Go on and get some rest."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, lips still pursed into a thin line, nodding.

But just as you turned to leave, Avery leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice low and dark.

"You’ll regret this," he murmured.

Then, with one last glare at Remus, he turned on his heel and stalked out, Malfoy and Mulciber following close behind.

You still hadn’t moved from behind your station, lost in deep thought, goosebumps still raised on your neck from Avery’s vile touch—the blood beneath your skin felt warm, too warm and buzzing with something you’d only describe as fury.

Gaze still fixed on an unimportant spot of the floor, the agitation seemed to only swell, invasive—inevitable, its just that you couldn’t believe it.

The audacity, the nerve, and on top of that; you let him get to you, knowing he relishes in the rise, knowing—

Warmth and a gentle hand, ghosting over your spine is what broke your chain of thought, you could still feel the skin of your cheeks internally burning. If it was anyone else, you would have flinched away, but, it was Remus.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand settle lightly against the small of your back, grounding. You finally took the steps to remove your dressings, hanging them by the doors—still warmed by the heat radiating from his palm.

A silent question, a quiet offering of comfort.

You exhaled, long and slow, willing away the leftover tension still coiled in your muscles. It didn’t work. Barely having made it half way through the walk to the common room, almost trudging to a stop—footsteps getting heavier the further you walked.

“That was—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as a humorless huff left your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Remus’ fingers twitched against your back, the only sign of the anger still simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, you didn’t deserve it,” His voice was even, comforting but still slightly strained, turning the last corner before reaching the dungeon, he pressed further—“You know that, right?”

Pausing outside the common room door, you nodded, rolling your shoulders as if that would shake off the lingering filth Avery had left in his wake.

“I know,” you muttered. “Doesn’t make it feel any less disgusting.”

Remus didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, his hand slipped from its place on your back, pulling you in lightly by your wrists towards him. Engulfing you completely, arms firmly wrapped out you, anchoring—when you lifted your head to look at him, he was already looking down at you. Eyes swimming with sympathy and unspoken words of compassion that just escaped him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, searching his face. “Step in like that.”

The way his brows furrowed made it seem as though the thought had never even occurred to him.

“Of course, I did.” The answer was simple, final, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to him, it was.

You studied his face for a little while longer, the look in his eyes so unbareably fond, it had the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end—you forced yourself to look away shaking your head, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

Just the glimpse of your smile had a small twinge of pride blooming in Remus’ chest—unable to avoid the way his lips mirrored yours, forming a crooked one. Having felt the tension in your shoulders melt away, the way you comfortably tilted your head up at him again—a soft, sincere “Thank you,” resting in the air between you, he allowed himself to relax.

Ever so slowly, reluctantly, you were putting space between you, arm trailing down his as you walked backwards towards to door, drawing out the seconds so you could absorb his warmth just that bit longer.

“You don’t have to thank me,”

Still basking in the lasting grip of his hand on yours, arms stretching out and away from both your bodies, inching painstakingly back—”I know,”—the words were soft, airy—fingertips just barely connecting now, eyes locked with his.

The heavy sound and creeking of the door, is all that hung between you for a few long moments, both still savouring the last whisps of skin on skin—until your back was pressed against the door, a lazy smile spread across you lips, breathing out—”Goodnight, Remus,” before finally disappearing behind the cold metal.

Not even moments after you were out of his sight, he sighed, almost dreamily—fingertips still buzzing from your touch, he ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting it drag down the side of his face. Settling on his lips, still stretched into a cheesy grin as he started his walk back to his common room.

After that day, Remus somehow found a way to make sure you were rarely alone, always with you on your shifts, putting imperative effort into essentially escorting you around the castle—its not that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself.

It was that Avery was notoriously cruel and twisted on his own, but with the added encouragement of his entourage, and the burning desire Remus knew he had to defend his bruised ego.

It felt necessary to him.

He’d been so thorough, that even as the full moon came and went—Lily had coincidentally taken the time to join you before the end of your shift, grabbing dinner in the great hall every night that Remus was away. You were almost never alone.

Almost.

To and from classes, it became a bit harder to ensure you had company. But quite frankly you weren’t convinced it was necessary at all. It’s not just that you weren’t particularly fond of people taking time out of their day to get you from point A to point B.

It’s that you didn’t even believe Avery was actually going to do anything, it had been almost two weeks and he still had yet to utter a single word to you. Apart from the occassional glare from across the great hall—Avery’s little threat had been relatively harmless.

You didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of acknowledgement as you walked by him and his friends while they sat on a bench in the courtyard. And even as another snide and vulgar remark reached your ears, you continued to where you needed to—completely unfazed.

Though, it did make the grip you had on your textbooks, that tad bit tighter. Taking in a deep breath, you told yourself—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

It seemed that Avery was a bit of an opportunist, waiting for the right time to jab at you, waiting until you were alone.

One after the other, they hopped off the bench—trailing after you, the scuff of boots against the dry ground, the low murmurs of laughter that sent a wave of irritation down your spine. It was calculated—deliberate, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the courtyard—students milled about in the distance, not too many, just enough.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Avery’s voice was deceptively light, laced with the same condescension that it dripped the last time. “You’ve been awfully rude, you know. Ignoring me like that.”

You sighed through your nose, forcing your steps to remain even—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

A presence at your side. Another just behind. You were surrounded, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.

“I’m busy, Avery—don’t you have a stone to kick or something.”

His smirk twitched, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to grab you. “You know,” he said, voice all mock thoughtfulness, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with what happened in the hospital wing.”

That made you stop.

The words dug under your skin, prickling, burning, unrelenting—you turned sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

Avery smiled, slow and victorious, relishing in the reaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, taking a deliberate step closer.

The urge to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face clawed at your insides.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think you’re being gracious, do you? Letting me ‘get away with it’? What, so I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy?”

Avery’s smirk twisted.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude,” he mused, eyes flicking down your body with a slow, assessing gaze had you fighting every urge to not simply swing at him. “You’ve been walking around here like you’re above people. You ought to be taught a lesson.”

He took a step closer, a sick, dread beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach, fingers twitching for your wand—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

“That uniform of yours,” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering something. “You have to know what it does, don’t you? Little skirt, all dolled up like you’re just begging for attention.”

Eyes darkened with something vile.

“Though I suppose you’re already getting plenty of attention, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Flitting around in that little thing, acting all innocent, when we both know what you are.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make it invasive.

“Lupin have you playing nurse, is that it? Bet he just loves having you at his bedside, don’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dropped lower. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to ask to get on your knees for him.”

You’d finally had enough, completely disgarding your textbooks to the floor as your shoved him back aggressively. The heated argument erupting in no time—vexed and roaring, “All this bitching because one girl doesn’t want you—pathetic!” You almost didn’t recognise your own voice, shrill, abrupt, nasty.

Words violent and clashing against his, boiling and sharp, insults spewing, slicing through the once peaceful air of the courtyard. A few heads turned, a few onlookers slowing their steps as the tension grew thick, simmering with something electric, something dangerous.

It was the principle, you refused to back down.

Refused to let him win.

And when the venom on your tongue reached its peak, when you could no longer stand the sight of his smug, entitled face—taking a step back, face twisted and scrunched into a look a revolt, while you surveyed him. Eyes scanning from head to toe, you let out a loud, bellowing incredulous laugh before spitting, “You’re not even worth it, Avery. Infact, you’re a waste of time and good air,”

Then you turned away.

Disregarding—dismissed him like he was nothing.

The sharp crack of an insult, a curse from Avery’s lips, venomous and unchecked.

And that was when it happened.

You heard the whisper of fabric, the flick of a wrist—the fizzling hiss of magic.

The moment was barely a fraction of a second, having put just enough space between you, there was time—you’d be quick enough to deflect it—the hex. Every instinct, every reflex kicking and screaming to do so, to move, fight back before it hit you.

But—there were just too many people.

Too many bodies standing in your proximity, too many possible targets, too much risk of having someone else caught in the crossfire. Enough time to deflect, not enough to redirect—you’d have no control over where it would go, you didn’t even hear the curse he muttered, no chance of knowing what it could do, no control of who it could hit.

So you made a choice, bracing yourself, every muscle of your being constricting, becoming taut.

You took it—biting into your lip as the awful, searing burn of the spell made contact with your back, the impact making you seize up even further, hurtling forwards, upwards.

The world around you blurred, spun—then—

Stone.

A sickening crack as the side of your body collided with the hard stone of the courtyard walls, ribs taking the brunt of the impact, before you bounced off it, gravity pulling you down. Slamming against the firm ground with a dull thud.

At some point, Regulus has caught sight of the commotion and was already running to the great hall in search for his brother—who would without a doubt be with Remus.

Pain exploded through your side, agonising, blooming mercilessly with every breath, every slight movement. The sharp stinging throb of your ribs, your lungs burning as the weight of every inhale pressed against the bones—each one more of a struggle than the last.

Curling in to yourself, hand desperately clutching at your side—eyes squeezed shut, the world sounded so distant, muffled, the first thing you register was the silence—all you could feel was the small shards of grass brushing against the side of your cheek with each shaking tremble of your body.

Then, a second later—murmurs. A ripple of shocked voices.

A small crowd had formed, hesitant, concerned, a voice was so close but so far away you wouldn’t make it out over the gurgling, rushing sound that floated between your ears—instictively raising a hand, a signal—stay away.

Barely hearing the sharp gasp from somewhere in the distance—the sound of loud panicked footsteps—running. Unsure of how much time you’d spent laying there—only disturbed by the way the footsteps made your body shake as they got closer, you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the desperate calls of what you thought might have been your name.

Hand coming into contact with something hard and hot—trying to push it away, it was all too much and you were still—the pain of movement so overbearing. Pushing through the crowd, his heart rested firmly in the pits of his stomach at the sight of you—fragile, just a small mass of robes, folded into yourself.

Eerily similar to that morning two moons ago.

He scooped you up quickly, despite the weak and pitiful protest that left your lips, the heartbeat that was now pressed close to your ear was mildly soothing—familiar.

Remus.

Each one of his rushed jolting strides made the stabbing pain in your side more noticeable, and though the voices blurred and blended into eachother, you could make out three, maybe four other sets of rushed footsteps behind you.

A mild, faintly sweet smell of anti-bacterial filled your nostrils, the hospital wing. Even in his panic, you could recognise the overly catious, gentle way Remus set you down on bed—still pained whimpers spilled from your lips, once again curling in on yourself.

Pomfrey’s voice was sharp and alarmed, bringing you ever so slighty back into the room, she was telling, no asking something, and Regulus’ voice chimed in.

“It was Avery, he hexed her while her back was turned—coward.”

You could feel the heat of Remus’ hand on your back, trying to sooth you, calm the injured groans that you couldn’t hold in. And as Pomfrey’s gentle hand came to move yours from their desperate grasp on your side, you squirmed away—cracking an eye open as another wave a pain radiated through your body.

She shushed you, voiced becoming more tender and quiet—”You have to let me see, dear,”

Slowly, reluctantly, you withdrew your hands, breaths becoming more shallow with each moment, and as she lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing your skin, a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around you.

Your side adorned with dark splotches of red and black and blue surrounding the area, streaking up your side in cruel, uneven smears. The skin was swollen, raised in places where the bone had set *wrong—*a clear distorted, raised bump peaking at the side. Flinching sharply at the prodding touch Pomfrey pressed into you, hands gripping the sides of the bed in restraint.

“Oh dear,” The grave tone in which she spoke did not give Remus the sense of comfort he was looking for, brows knit high on his forehead, and like the others, gaze transfixed on the huge blossoming mark on your side.

She turned in a flurry of motion, disappearing behind the curtain only to reappear moments later, her expression unreadable but urgent.

They waited anxiously to be in the know. Barely minutes had passes since your arrival, and a sobering silence had already hung in the ward, the only audible sound was you.

The laboured, heaves and cries you struggled to contain.

No one spoke.

Lily and James stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, their worried eyes darting between you and Pomfrey. Regulus was deathly still, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, after multiple rounds to and from the cabinet Pomfrey, took the first of three vials and put a few drops of the cloudy white liquid under your tongue, doing the same with a few more drops from a vial with green liquid—it must have been foul tasting from the way your body stiffened with a small retch. With a deep breath, she announced to them—

"This is nasty business," she said, voice low, steady. "I’ll need you to hold her down."

Remus’ head snapped up.

"What?"

His hand had come up to your head, stoking the hair that had stuck to your face away—sweat prickling at your hairline.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate.

“She has a broke rib, it’s healing in the wrong position,” her hands her already moving to press against the swelling at your side, even as you twisted in agony, she continued,

“I need to re-break the bone.”

Eyes nearly popped out of his head, heartbeat ringing loud in his ears—though still not loud enough to drown out the constant shallowed, wheezes that left you, littered with moans of distress that got weaker as the seconds passed—your lungs struggled to fill with enough air to support your voice.

Re-break the bone.

It sounded so clinical, so matter-of-fact, so detached from the reality of what it actually meant.

Your breaths were coming too shallow, too fast, your vision slightly spotting at the edges. The sharp, stabbing ache in your ribs with each inhale made it impossible to breathe properly. Every tiny movement sent daggers through your body, the weight of it all crushing.

“But she’s still awake,” James whispered mostly to himself, soft, quiet—but everyone still heard.

The words rattled around in your skull, sinking past layers of pain and exhaustion, now, you were panicking, hand frantically clawing up Remus’ forearm.

“We don’t have time to wait for a sleeping potion to work, it’s already healing as we speak.”

Your vision was blurry, but you could feel Remus’ hand against your forehead, could hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” What else could he have said?

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do but hold you down and watch.

It needed to be done, you understood that, but it didn’t make your next words any easier to say, every syllable a struggle against your fractured ribs, “Do it now—,”

Pomfrey nodded.

James and Regulus hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, grim-faced, exchanging silent glances before reaching for you.

James’ hands found your shoulders, firm but careful, his grip like iron. Regulus settled by your legs, a single hand pressed against your thigh, his face etched with a deep frown—your pain so clear, so raw he couldn’t look at you. Lily hovered just beside him, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you herself.

And then there was Remus.

His hands were steady, one gripping yours tightly, the other resting against your head, his thumb brushing against your temple in slow, comforting strokes, feeling truly tormented—harsh wrinkles between his brows as he winced with you. Dreading the idea that you will now know of a pain so awful and familiar to him.

Pomfrey took a deep breath—"On three."

Your own breath caught by the lump in your throat.

"One.”

Gripping on Remus tighter, gaze fearful as it fell on him.

"Two."

Your body tensed, finally screwing your eyes shut, forcing the brewing tears out the corners, instinctively bracing—

"Three."

The crack was sickening.

But the sound that followed was much much worse.

Your jaw slacked releasing a truly blood-curdling, tortured, harrowing, an ear-splitting scream—it ripped through your throat, hoarse and choked, resonating through the ward with an echo.

A pain unlike anything you’d ever known exploded through your side, hot and sharp, rattling up your spine and everywhere. It felt like being torn in half, deep and intense. Your body tried to arch away, escape the splittering agony that set every nerve on fire, but James held you down, gritting his teeth as you thrashed weakly against him.

Only able to focus on the reorganising of bones at your side, the low grinding and shifting sound you heard from within yourself.

A fresh wave of agony struck—white-hot and blinding—and suddenly, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay awake, head lolling in clear delirium, vision blurring, blackening at the edges, sob ridden whimpers and hiccups still tumbling out between wheezes, your grasp on Remus faltering.

Your vision tunneled, black at the edges, fading—

"Stay with me, y/n,” he **whispered, voice raw—wrecked, laced with something aching. "You’re okay."

You didn’t believe him.

The slow and gentle soothing, lulling stroke of his palms over your hair matched the pattern his fingertips ghosted over your hand, fingers intertwined—he held your hand close, pressed to his chest as if letting you go would mean losing you completely.

Still reeling from the pain, nerve endings on fire, all you could muster the strength to produce was one word, weak and unsteady—”Remus?”

Pomfrey worked quickly again, pressing another vial to your lips, the taste barely registering past the burning in your chest—applying a large bandage coated in medicinal ointment to your side. Remus took the small towel by the bedside, softly dabbing off the beads of sweat that remained on your forehead—

"Breathe, love," he murmured, voice soft as silk, but no less urgent. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Your lungs shuddered—staggering at the effort, the air thick, heavy, impossible to take in. But you tried. The worst of it dwindled away, not gone, not by a long shot—but enough for the unbearable pressure to settle into something dull, something that no longer consumed everything.

Your body went slack.

Regulus let out a long, slow breath.

James loosened his grip, rubbing a hand over his face.

And Remus—His legs almost gave out beneath him, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat as he took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever, and he leaned in closer—the idea of continued space between you was basphemous.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, the only sound in the ward was the shallow, uneven rhythm of your breaths.

"It will heal properly now," she said, her voice more gentle than before, but edged with a small tinge of relief, “I slowed her healing, so the pain will linger for a few days. She’ll need rest.”

Then she was gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving the rest of them standing around your bed, and Remus—he only stared at you, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand, eyes running over your exhausted figure, eyes clearly heavy with the grueling after effects of your ordeal.

A long silence stretched between you.

Letting out a slow, jagged, painful inhale, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips to no avail—it was hushed and raw, “Water,”

Remus all but scrambled to get the small metal cup by the bedside, gently slipping a hand under your neck to tilt your head forward—helping you take a few sips. The others all just watch the scene unfolding infront of them, the comfortable way you leaned into Remus’ touch, the unnecessarily fond and tender look in his eyes as he instinctively dotes on you. How his hand trailed back to yours, drawn in to it like a magnet.

Lily couldn’t help the small knowing smile that twitched onto her lips.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the hospital wing slammed open abrupty with a force that rattled the glass vials on Pomfrey’s shelves.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

Sirius stood in the entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, his knuckles raw and split. His robes were disheveled, streaked with dirt and something darker, something red. And in his grasp, dragged by the scruff of his collar, was none other than Avery.

Or, at least, what was left of him.

Avery was battered—face swollen, a deep gash running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, lip split so severely that blood had seeped into his teeth. His robes were torn, dirt and grime smeared across the fabric, and his wand—his precious, useless wand—was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius took a few steps forward, his grip tight on Avery’s collar, until they were just a few paces away from your cot.

And with a sharp jerk, he threw Avery to the floor.

The Slytherin crumpled like a ragdoll, landing in a heap at the foot of your bed, groaning as his battered body hit the stone.

Pomfrey gasped, hand flying to her chest.

"What on earth—"

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He stood over Avery, hands curling into fists at his sides, his entire body still taut with adrenaline. For a long, stretched-out moment, he simply stared at the boy on the ground, nostrils flaring with every furious breath, as if daring him to move. Then, voice low and seething, Sirius asked,

"Haven’t you have something to say?"

The room was silent.

Avery coughed, his body shuddering with the effort.

Straining yourself to move further up the bed—you watched with everyone, every breath rattling in your lungs, eyes dark and cold.

Avery hesitated for a second too long, and Sirius moved—a single, sharp step forward, hands twitching, still ready to rip him apart.

"Alright!" Avery wheezed, flinching back. "Alright!"

The silence stretched thick.

"I did it—I hexed her!"

The words came out weak, broken, almost panicked—pathetic.

Sirius said nothing, only raised a brow, unimpressed.

Avery swallowed hard, shifting painfully on the floor.

"I’m sorry."

There it was.

Sirius still didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting—the digust dripping off of the scrowl that sat on his face.

"He—" Avery’s voice cracked, shaking violently as he forced himself to continue, "—he didn’t do anything to me. I just…" His throat bobbed, his entire face twisted in humiliation. "I just walked into the Whomping Willow."

James was grinning now, shaking his head in mock pity. "Wow. That’s just—" he let out a low whistle, "—real unlucky, mate."

Sirius smirked, slow and dangerous.

But Remus wasn’t smiling.

He was staring at Avery, his face unreadable, his grip on your hand still firm but not tight. He hadn’t said a single word since Sirius arrived, hadn’t moved a muscle—just watching.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he rolled out his shoulders, like he was only just calming down from whatever happened before he’d stormed into the ward.

Then, crouching down so he was eye level with Avery, he grinned.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he mused, voice dangerously casual, "because if it were up to him?" He tilted his head, nodding over to Remus, smile sharp and positively wolfish. "You wouldn’t be conscious right now."

Avery’s entire body shuddered.

Sirius only chuckled darkly, clapping him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him flinch.

“Off with you now, before Remus decides to be less forgiving,”

Avery swallowed thickly, glancing toward the matron—who, while still clearly appalled, had her arms rigidly crossed but was making no move to defend him. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the floor, every movement making him wince. And then—without another word—he turned and limped toward the exit, humiliated beyond belief.

The moment the doors shut behind him, a collective breath was released.

Remus turned his attention back to you, the anger that previously blazed in his eyes melting away in seconds, another smaller, more comfortable silence lulled over the ward. Sirius turning, and as he took the last few steps toward your bed, looking you up and down, taking in the way you were still clutching weakly at your ribs, holding onto Remus, he let out a breath, asking—

"You alright?"

The very corners of your lips curled, twitching up every so slightly as you huffed out a choked snicker, and though it was cut off by a sharp hiss—you were clearly amused. Letting your head fall back tiredly with—”I’m alright, much better now,”

Pomfrey slipped through the curtains again, and while she changed the small now sweat ridden towel by your bed, refilling the water, she said—

"I assume I don’t need to tell any of you to let her sleep."

She eyed the group pointedly.

James had the decency to look sheepish. Lily nodded. Regulus said nothing, but his arms were crossed, as Sirius rested his elbow on his shoulder—the usual indifference returning.

But Remus, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand away—you looked so tired, probably wanted some rest, but he was frozen in place, stuck by your side.

Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, almost to herself, "just don’t let me catch you keeping her awake."

He let out a sigh of relief as she left, the others slowly filtering out, Lily giving your hand a comforting tight squeeze as she left. Remus pulled his chair up closer, allowing his body to lean slightly on the bed, just watching you eyes full of worry.

It was slowly and shaky, but you brought your free hand up to him—he stayed still, watching expectantly for your next movements. Your fingertips threading slightly through his hair in a gentle stroke, pushing it away from his face—mirroring his from before.

But yours slipped down and settled at the base of his neck, fingers still curling around the strands—touch too tender. Eyes scanning his face just as much as his were scanning yours.

“You don’t need to stay here—I’ll be fine for the night,” It came out heavy and mumbled, less convincing than you’d hoped. His face flashed slightly with an almost offended expression, the idea clearly never having crossed his mind.

“I want to stay,”

His words were plain, honest—left little room for protest on your end, but you still tried. And even as your eyes got heavier, sleep weighing heavy on your body—”But you can’t sleep on that chair all night, you’ll break your back,”

A huffed laugh came through his nose, typical crooked smile playing on his lips—”I’ll be fine—”

“Come up here,”

Yours words cut him off, light and simple, and you shuffled over onto your side—lips pursed to hold in a wince, making space for him before he could protest. His eyes just darted between you and the now open space, trying and failing miserably to stutter out an excuse—but the sleepy bored look in your eyes, accompanied with the light pats on the bed made him relent.

Slipping into the bed, careful not to knock you and keeping a safe, meticulous distance from you, you couldn’t help yourself, eyes rolling with a dramatic sigh—”I’m not made of glass, y’know,”

Watching as his form relaxed a bit, taking up more space, you slowly curled into the gap he’d left, drapping the thin cover over you both, humming as you finally closed your eyes. He watched you settle carefully, hesitating before bring an arm around to softly pull you in slightly closer to him, the smile twitched onto his face, when you unconsciously burrowed into him—allowing sleep to over come him too.

The change between you wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it something either of you consciously acknowledged. It was slow, creeping, like ink bleeding through parchment—gradual, yet utterly inescapable.

Because it wasn’t just that night you spent in each other’s comfortable and content company, and though it started with the nights, this was the first of many.

Somewhere along the way, your post-shift routine had shifted. You never really meant to end up in Remus’ dorm every night—it had just happened. One moment, you were finishing up in the library, the next, you were in his bed, limbs tangled lazily, a book forgotten between you as you talked in hushed voices about anything and everything. His sheets smelled faintly of parchment and something woodsy, and without fail, your shoulders, your knees, your arms would brush, a constant, grounding touch that neither of you ever pulled away from.

At some point, you both stopped pretending this was something normal friends did.

Maybe it was the way his fingers always lingered on your wrist when he passed you something, or the way he never failed to have a Bloodsucker rolling around at the bottom of his bag.

It had started as a small thing—insignificant, really. You hadn’t even noticed it at first, not until the third or fourth time it happened.

The first time, it was after a particularly long shift, your legs aching from standing too long, your mind buzzing with exhaustion. You’d barely slumped into your usual seat beside Remus in his common room when he wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small, wrapped sweet.

You had blinked at it, then at him.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Thought you could use one.”

Then again between classes, during late-night study sessions, in the middle of a quiet walk back to the dorms—whenever you reached for one absentmindedly, he had one ready, handing it to you without a second thought. He never even looked like he thought about it, just pulled it from his pocket like it was as natural as breathing.

The realization hit one afternoon, sitting across from him in the library, books scattered between you. He passed you a piece of parchment, and along with it, he slid a familiar, wrapped sweet across the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking it up. “Okay, you definitely don’t carry these around for yourself.”

He barely looked up from his book, but the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Maybe I just like being prepared.”

“For what?”

Remus finally glanced up, a single brow raised. “For you, obviously.”

Maybe it was the projects—you always ended up partners. Whether it was a conscious decision or just something unspoken between you, you gravitated toward one another like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to be. The others barely batted an eye anymore, rolling their eyes as you took your usual seats together, heads ducked in close as you whispered back and forth, scribbling notes in the margins of each other’s parchment.

Or maybe it was the bookstore.

That trip to Hogsmeade was different. You’d both walked through the cobbled streets, the wind crisp but pleasant, your arms brushing as you made your way toward the small, tucked-away shop Remus had offhandedly mentioned once before. It was his place—somewhere quiet, somewhere his. And yet, he’d brought you.

He watched as your fingers trailed the spines, his own hand brushing over yours as he pointed out his favorites. There was a certain weight in the air, a quiet understanding you both wordlessly acknowledge—both so easily able to find solace in each other, a unspoken harmony—solidarity.

And then there were his nights.

Pomfrey was very understanding when you began to ask to have the days after the full moon off.

You had entered his dorm without knocking—because, by now, you never had to. You expected him to be curled up in bed, exhausted and aching, maybe reading, maybe just resting. Instead, the moment you sat down beside him, he shifted—eyes heavy-lidded, body sluggish, but his arm curled loosely around your waist, his face nudging into the fabric of your jumper.

You barely even hesitated before your fingers found his hair, carding through it with a softness you didn’t even have to think about.

You were there every morning after, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, murmuring softly as he pressed closer, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he needed to feel you near.

And somehow, somehow, the nights you stayed over became less about exhaustion and more about something else.

You weren’t sure when you stopped leaving.

There was no more, “I should go,” no more, “It’s getting late.”

One day, you simply didn’t.

It just took one moment—you were dozing beside him, your legs tucked between his, your cheek pressed into his pillow. The next, you were waking up, his arm draped heavily over your waist, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His scent clung to you, warm and familiar, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft warmth of him against your back.

It was inevitable.

The stolen glances, the lingering touches—each one more obvious than the last. The shift had been slow, careful, but now it felt like a rope being pulled taut, a thread stretched thin between the two of you, waiting to snap.

The day it did, was so ordinary.

Nothing out of the daily routine for you and Remus—you’d made your way over to his dorm, to keep him company, of course—James and Sirius were off at quidditch practise, leaving just the two of you. Both lying on your backs, sprawled across the bed.

The light music of one of Remus’ records droning on in the back as you listened to the low and steady melody of his voice—reading outloud, you’d have to admit, you weren’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as you were to the light vibrations his words sent through the matress beneath you.

Taking a few moments of near silence for you to realise he’d stopped reading, mumbling out quietly, “Why’d you stop?”, as you turned to look at him—but he was already looking at you. The sudden intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat, but his voice as casual as ever in your ears—”You were falling asleep, that’s why,”

The ghost of a pout reached your lips, lightly defending yourself in feigned offence, “No I wasn’t.”

He huffed out a light scoff, shifting onto his stomach, somehow impossibly closer to you—the breath of his words brushing over the curve of your cheek. One of those crooked smiles that made your chest bloom with an undeniably fuzzy feeling etched onto his face, “If you weren’t falling asleep what did I just say?”

Your lips parted, sucking an inhale as if you were about to answer, but all that came out were stammered stutters of half started words, before you huffed out in defeat—he was already laughing at you. And it shook the bed, making you bounce slightly up and and down in sync with him, it made you giggle—joining and mixing in with his as it echoed off the walls of his dorm.

When it finally quieten down, lazy grins still stretch out on both of your faces, he couldn’t help it—it was second nature at this point, he leaned in closer, fingertips rushing the hair lightly away from your face with a low content hum.

It didn’t make sense, the familiarness of his touch was the same as always, and yet today, it made your mouth so incredibly dry—swallowing thickly as he inched closer and closer. The space between you barely a fingers width.

The sun shone in lightly through the window behind him, giving a small spotlight to the golden brown whisps of curls that framed his face—his eyes were scanning your face, for reluctance, hesitation—anything.

But your expression was calm, matching his movement—eyes darting around his, catalogueing his features, the way his eyelashes became slightly straighter towards the ends of his eyes, and the extra freckles by the edges of his eyebrows. Involuntarily, you sucked in a small sharp breath as he closed in, when there was just a slither of space left between you.

He paused, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, words so shockingly tender, barely above a whisper—”Do you want me to stop?”

You couldn’t trust your voice to not break under the pressure of his gaze—so warm, so fond. Instead you just shook your head, fingers twitching up to his arm, he was so close—but hesitant still. Catious.

Even as he leaned down towards you, he paused again, just as the tips of your nose brushed against each other—eyes still searching for even a drop of doubt in yours. Shifting to hover over you lightly, fingertips coming to just lightly trace along the line from the bottom of his jaw, to the drip in his neck.

His lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first, testing, but the moment your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he pressed closer, Remus abandoned all his reserved. Melting against your touch with a low sigh, dropping the weight he held on his forearms and pressing into you, deepening the kiss. Something that was once gentle and timid, bloomed into more feverish, wanting touches and grasps.

His hands gripping almost roughly at the curve of your hips, rolling you over and onto him—erupting in giggles against his lips—the sound muffled between the spaces where your mouths met, soft and breathless.

His laughter mixed with yours, a quiet, husky sound that sent warmth curling deep in your stomach. His hands slid over your waist, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of your shirt, his touch firm, but reserved—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you like this but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

Both hands sliding to his neck, exploring, travelling up and down—carding through his hair one moment, holding desperately onto his jaw the next, pulling him closer as if to fall into him—become one. His touch leaving the surface beneath your skin, warm and craving.

Muffled groans and whimpers sounded through the room, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly harder into the rounds of your hips—leaning up into you, into the kiss, breathless and greedy. Sitting himself up straight—allowing his hands to wander, trailing down your spine—spending jolting shivers through you, pawing at your thighs.

Indulging in the first taste of you, the pent up desire set free in the form of unrestrained, frenzied kisses. Relishing in the contact, the cooling sensation of your cold body against his—touches becoming rushed and eager as he drank in every gasp of his name that passed from your lips onto his.

It wasn’t until his hands, once again, found purchase on your hips—grasp almost bruising, causing your to rock helplessly against him, did you pull away suddenly with a sharp gasp. Burying your face into the curve of his neck, chest heaving. A string of apologies immediately tumbled from his mouth, “fuck m’ sorry, I didn’t mean to—y/n,”

He leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you’d brought your hands up to cover it, barely loud enough to hear, squeaking out, “It’s fine—just don’t look at me,” It was a bit late for that, he could already see them—the small dark veins that pulsed and protuded from the base of your neck stretching further up.

“Y/N,”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet, not like this—hands still stuck firmly to your face—chest still rising and falling in quick succession, just as breathless as him. He pressed again, voice low and soft, comforting—”Lemme see,”

“Just gimme a minute,” Voice panicked and muffled by your palms.

He didn’t wait, just taking your wrists lightly, and pulling them away—your head hung low in shame, avoiding his gaze, still trying to catch your breath. Letting go of your wrists, they fell to your sides, and his hands came up to your face, compelling your gaze to meet his.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Eyes as warm and sincere as ever, he let his hands trail down your neck, ghosting over you shoulders—gently tracing the curve of your spine, forcing a soft gasp from your lips as a shiver ran through you.

His touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his fingers. His thumbs brushed just beneath your jaw, tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin—where the veins pulsed dark and traitorous against the curve of your throat.

“Y/N,” he murmured again, softer this time, like he was afraid to startle you. “It’s alright.”

Leaning down, peppering slow, calming kisses to the exposed skin of your collarbones, the goosebumps raising in their wake impossible to ignore—hands finding their way to grasp at the fabric of his jumper.

His hands now rested low on your waist, making your breath hitch as he nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, trailing his soft pecks up and down from your neck to your jaw. Humming as you leaned into them, melting.

Becoming putty in his hands, once again.

Light gasps slipping through your lips when he brought the thin skin behind your ear in between his teeth—the lightest of bites and bruises littered between his words; “Did you have your potion last week?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, just barely tugging at the soft brown tufts, panting out, breathless; “Forgot,”

He only hummed back again in acknowledgment, bringing his lips back to yours, swallowing the whines of his name the your couldn’t contain. “So pretty,” he mumbled against your lips. Touch worshipping each piece of skin it passed, fingertips inching up the underside of your shirt—leaving light feathering touches across your skin before residing in the dip of your waist.

Kisses slipping away from your lips as you shuddered against him—lips pressing firm against the curve of your jaw he whispered, “Want a bite?”

The drag of your fingertips against the skin at the nape of his neck forced a groan from his lips, as he continued his assault on the sensitive skin by the dip in your neck. You almost didn’t notice what he said, brain warm and fuzzy from the hot kisses—eventually mumbling out, “Not funny, Rem,”

Your words came out breathy and distracted, less convicted than you’d like, sighing dreamily against his touch. You could feel the way he smiled against your skin—“Mmm not laughing,” so close you could feel each rumbling vibration of his words in your chest the warmth radiating off him mind numbing.

A gasps catching in your throat as he tightened his grip on you, anchoring—punctuating his words with the small nibbles and pecks, “Been thinking about it…for a while,” it was so hard to focus on what he was saying with the way the pads of his fingers dug into flesh at your side—as if it were possible to pull you any closer than you already were, “—trust you,”

He leaned back slightly, taking a look at your hazy expression—lips swollen and glistening, half lidded and breathless. Absolutely bewitching. He looked just as tempting, tops of his cheekbones reddened matching the deep red of his parted lips. Just barely brushing his nose against yours, sighing almost dreamily at the contact—his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth over the flesh of your hips.

Whispering so softly, “Only if you want to,” a pressure-less offer.

Instead of responding, you just leaned into him further, reconnecting your lips making him sigh contently. Eventually, trailing cautiously light, ghosting kisses down his jaw, mirroring his own nipping and sucking pattern. Fingers twiddling and intertwining with the small curls at the base of his scalp.

Testing, contemplating his offer when you found yourself hovering over the junction by his neck, his heartbeat joining yours in its loud thumping rhythm that rung in your ears. Ever so slightly craning his neck, baring the skin to you—soothing your hesitation with simple words, “It’s okay,”

The air almost stilling, his voice so delicate even as he felt the small sharp, piercing of your teeth into his skin. He’d thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable—unpleasant. But he just felt a rush in his head, jaw slacking slightly permitting the prettiest groan you’d ever heard. Hips stuttering against yours, eyes almost rolling as he flooded all your senses, unconsciously grasping onto him tighter.

A hot buzzing filling him entirely—surprisingly euphoric, intoxicating. Your body shuddered against his, muffled delicate whimpers passing through you, licking lightly at the broken skin as you withdrew—it was short, barely ten seconds of connection. All nerve endings in your body set alight, looking back at pupils blown.

Drunk on him.

Exhaling with almost a honeyed purr, he lifted his thumb wiping gently at the corners of your mouth. Planting a kiss just by where is thumbs had been, letting them trail again down your jaw—slower than before, less fevered, more lax. Smirking against you when he bit over a mark he’d already made—earning a sweet gasp from your lips.

“Better?”

His voice took an almost smug cadence, and when you hummed back shy and lazy, lips still parted, satisfied sighs spilling for you. Remus couldn’t help the bubble of light laughter that rumbled in his chest—shaking you on his lap. Messily kissing back up to your lips, smiling against you. Savouring each and second of your moment.

When lunch struck and you strolled into the great hall, hand in hand—you shrunk slightly at the quiet murmurs that sounded as you walked between the benches. It wasn’t that you were together, no, that was normal.

It was the trail of red and pink bruises and hickeys that adorned both your necks—failing miserably to cover it with the collar of your shirt. Remus on the other hand, walked in as confident as ever—squeezing your intertwined fingers reassurance. Wearing his marks like a badge of honour—leaning down to your ear, whispering in a teasing tone,

“At least we’re matching,”

And when you sat down at the table with him, rather than your usual spot two tables across, lolly in hand—after Remus silently shot a look at Sirius that said you better not start. He settled beside you, hands interlocked under the table, his warmth against you, your cold against him, comfortable. Blissfully ignoring the way Sirius muttered “About time,” under his breath.

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changingplumbob · 3 days ago

Text

First Round - Day three (Jerry Group)

While most of the Jerry group were happy enough to settle in to the main hall and make small talk Posy heard one criticism from Cassiel and needed to urgently go check out the back yard.

Cassiel: Geez, it doesn't show that she's been on a reality show before at all

Harmony: She seems interesting to me

Quetzalli: She's definitely not here for Deanna. I think I would have died if someone else applied for me

Posy: I almost did

Jerrica: There you are! How uh... how was the yard?

Yasmine: See any solar panels?

Posy: *sighing* No solar panels. Look, let's just address the elephant in the room-

Harmony: You couldn't fit an elephant in here, they wouldn't even get through- ohhhh. Sorry all I heard was elephant, it was a metaphor wasn't it

Jerrica: Yes but English can be a tricky language

Cassiel: No kidding bookworm. What were you saying Posy?

Posy: I know I've been on a reality show before and that it probably seems like I have an unfair advantage but don't worry. I am here to show I keep my contracts, especially those with my clients, regardless of my own personal feelings-

Quetzalli: But are you looking for new clients or aren't you

Posy: A professional like me must always be open to new artists wherever they may be

Quetzalli: So could you-

Cassiel: I've had enough small talk, I'm going to watch a cooking show before lunch

Posy: Oh I know where the TV is

The pair leave followed by Harmony and Yasmine who decide to checkout the pool.

Quetzalli: Can you believe Cass just cut me off like that? What's her problem, it's not like she's a musician

Jerrica: Totally pretentious but... her dislike of me is mutual

Deanna (voiceover): I went in for lunch like I had the past couple of days and it was tense. I know yesterday there were problems between Nephinae and Kristina but their dislike was like ice cube where as the tension between Cassiel and Jerrica was iceberg. Harmony and Yasmine came in from the pool to chat with us but Harmony stayed pretty quiet. She doesn't seem to handle conflict well which I totally get

Jerrica: How was the pool

Yasmine: Good

Cassiel: I imagine it's the perfect place for a lazy person to spend their time

Jerrica: *unamused* Is it available for our skill time

Deanna: Not today. Production said they really don't want anyone trying to swim for four hours in this chill

Harmony: I hope it brightens up

Posy: Last time I was here I got plenty of sunlight, normally Tartosa does

Deanna: The weather is wonderful normally, especially in the warmer months. We don't really get much of a winter here

...

Quetzalli: I don't suppose we could get some hints for what the challenges are before the skill sessions?

Deanna: Sorry, I can't. We've just got the list of things you might want to brush up on

Yasmine: I've found it hard to pick

Jerrica: Same

Cassiel: *scoffs* Of course you did. I had no problems

...

Cassiel (voiceover): Alright maybe I did have problems but I certainly wasn't going to tell Jerrica. End of the day this is a competition. I want to get far enough that Deanna can have some of my cooking. People connect through food after all. But I admit my tension at the situation was getting to me, I'm socially awkward remember? So yeah I chose to focus on charisma

Jerrica (voiceover): I was so mad, Cassiel just gets under my skin, I hope I hid it though. It's like all her bravado just rubs me the wrong way. I do still think she's hiding something, surely no one can just be that confident. Anyway I'm going to focus on self improvement and chose fitness to work on. NOT because she got under my skin, just because I do tend to be lazy so having a few pointers before any physical challenges makes sense

Harmony (voiceover): If there's one thing you learn from growing up around animals it's how they'll react when they're put with others they don't know. Some go straight to showing they're the boss, they'll puff up big and be loud and basically say don't mess with me. Quite a few others will lay low, give the other animals space and basically signal that they're not a threat. Can you tell which one I was this morning *laughs*. Anyway I'm sure with time they'll settle. I chose to work on my charisma, when the others do notice me I want to show I know what I'm doing, even if I am clumsy

Posy (voiceover): Total nightmare, thank the watcher for Cass. I love her, she takes no BLEEP. Wait can I say that? Whatever. In general they don't seem to like me, but that's their problem. I'm here because I'm a professional. I figured I'd study up on some logic for the skill time, I feel like I'm going to need to be good at arguments with this group

Yasmine (voiceover): Was it cowardly to check out the pool instead of picking a side this morning? Maybe, but I'm not a picking sides kind of girl, I'm a picking up trash kind of girl. I should probably make an effort with them later though, I don't want to get on Cassiel's bad side and I still think Jerrica would be an awesome friend. So yeah for skill time I worked on my charisma... In my swimwear...

Quetzalli (voiceover): The villa is amazing! I want a house this big one day. I'm glad I got a chance to chat with Jerrica, my first impression about her was definitively wrong. She might normally live in her own fantasy world with Judith Ward but she's very aware of what's happening. I think she's a strong contender so a good one to befriend. For skill time I did charisma. If I get that first challenge date I want to be able to impress Deanna

Deanna (voiceover): I made fish tacos for dinner. When I called to let Joey know he wouldn't stop laughing for some reason so I guess I don't get family time today

Everyone takes a plate and a seat. Cassiel and Yasmine head out to the patio to eat despite the clouds while everyone else stays inside.

Quetzalli: I still can't get over this gorgeous villa

Deanna: I know! It's like my mansion baron dreams have been answered!

Jerrica: I can think of so many novels that would thrive in a setting like this

Yasmine: Are you doing okay Cass

Cassiel: *sighs* I just kind of needed a break from all the people you know. Well mainly little miss Jerrica

Yasmine: Think you can handle sitting through a movie

Cassiel: Depends, do we know if it's got a hot female lead

Yasmine: *smiles* It's bound to

Deanna tidies up the dishes and everyone moves to the living space.

Quetzalli (voiceover): I was trying to keep it together but that movie score, it just hit at all the emotional bits you know. The composer did an amazing job. I cried, but you know what so did Jerrica so that's bonding right

Cassiel: You okay there Quetzalli

Quetzalli: *sniffling* Totally fine

Yasmine: Do you ladies know how much waste gets generated by movie sets? Spoiler alert, it's a lot

Posy: Maybe but filming, especially on location, can do a lot of good for the local economy

...

Tensions seemed to ease as the film played. Harmony had many jokes the she delivered at just the right moments, meaning the group got to laugh together... a little.

Jerrica: I'm so tired, I can't wait to crawl in to bed

Cassiel: I bet you can't

Jerrica: Hey, it's been a big day

Cassiel: I imagine any day you get dressed is a big day for you

With the film over Quetzalli took some to catch up with Deanna.

Quetzalli: Hey cutie, I love the dress

Deanna: *dubious* Really?

Quetzalli: For sure, it fits with the warmer climate better than the purple I'd say

Deanna: I worry it's too low cut

Quetzalli: *laughing* Girl please, look at my v neck

While they chatted Cassiel and Harmony tried to stay awake but ended up crashing on the sofa.

Yasmine: What are you doing out here Jerrica? I thought you were heading for bed

Jerrica: I'm having a solo dance party. They're better at home in my pj's but I feel like I need one

Yasmine: Sounds fun! Hey I hope you didn't get offended by my leaving for the pool this morning

Jerrica: Not at all! I am absolutely going to be soaking up sun beside it on a less cloudy day! Just maybe don't let Cass know I'm going to indulge my lazy side *giggles*

Sims created by: @berrysims-lp, @cawthorntales, @fallin4fiction, @invisiblequeen, @matchalovertrait, @simstagramsomeone

#sims 4 #the sims #simblr #my sims #ts4 #active simblr #DatingDeanna #DatingDeannaRound1

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iscdisc · 2 days ago

Text

(Replying to the 2012 Kirby O'Neil part-)

Oh absolutely, this man is completely forgettable in the grand scheme of the entire series. LMAO

But in my opinion, he's also one of the most annoying characters in this entire show. I still somewhat stand by my point (The "somewhat" applying to him specifically here-) that both Kirby and April were handled a lot better in the first Season of 2012-! But even as early as Season 1, he still does things that kind of irritate me? Lmao

For starters, from the very first episodes of S1 ("Rise of the Turtles (Parts 1 & 2)' / EP 1-2), we see how unreliable he really is? Why was his 16 year old daughter, who clearly doesn't have much physical prowess or any experience in combative situations at this point, doing more to help them escape from this alien confinement then he was? Why was he just watching his daughter try to take on this like 6 ft robot by herself? Hello?? This is also the earliest that we've seen his defeatist attitude- This man is so quick to just give up and give in, rather than actually making an effort to change the situation that he's in (With his DAUGHTER, by the way. "April, I'll do anything to protect you! 🤓" my ass bro- Lmao).

It doesn't help that ALSO throughout Season 1, he was just sending April a lot of messages that were basically him telling his daughter, "Forget about me, I'm probably going to die here- You should just go save yourself and you'll probably never see me again. Okay, goodbye, I love you. 👍". Like bro- What?? And you're surprised that your daughter said, "Fuck that shit-" and decided to go save you instead (Technically she more so asked the Turtles to help save him, but I guess same thing-)?? My goodness. 💀

It was kinda nice to see that around the time we got to the episode, "Operation: Break Out." (EP 24) he kind of changed his tune, since his encrypted message in this episode was him asking April to send help for him instead of being like, "Yeah, my daughter who's only 16 years old and has only had me in her life up until this point / depends on me, just forget about me- Blah blah blah."- But at the same time, I honestly can't even say that wholeheartedly, because we find out in this same episode that he was being controlled by the Kraang to get to April. So I don't even know if that was really him genuinely asking for help or if he was just being controlled to do so- 💀 (But narratively speaking, this was actually some pretty great foreshadowing, given his personality change in this entire episode and how he was reacting to the entire situation- At least, in my opinion !)

And then in the Season 1 finale (EP 25-26, "Showdown!"-), we go right back to him basically doing nothing and being kind of useless. Him handing April over to Shredder (Karai technically-) and the Kraang is not his fault, since he was being mind controlled, so I am omitting that. But what I'm not omitting is how he decided to handle the situation moving forward, which was to basically do nothing and throw himself a little pity party in the Lair because he gave his daughter to the exact things he was trying to prevent her from getting abducted by. I'm not saying people aren't allowed to feel emotions in the show, but damn, can you feel your emotions and do something productive at the same time? Lmao || It just angers me how it seems like he never makes the effort to do anything even when it comes to his own daughter. Like even SHE'S not enough to make you get off your ass and do something?? And we actually kind of see this with his own Wife / Mrs. O'Neil too, since (During her recollection of the event in Season 3 EP 3, "Buried Secrets"-) we see how he was so quick to just abandon her after she got abducted?? And it doesn't even seem like he made any effort to save his wife or find out what happened to her at all- Like, he just decided to pretend like she never even existed and carry on with his life with April. 💀

The only crumbs I'll give him as far as being a good Father is when he protected April from the falling mutagen canister (Which resulted in his mutation as "Kirby Bat"-) in S2, but that's a 50/50 situation to me. On one hand, he did a really good job actively doing something to protect his daughter from harm or potential harm this time around. On the other hand, now he's not in her life yet again because he's a deranged mutation of a Bat Man and she's alone once again. Lmao

I also have to say that I think this entire situation was incredibly stupid. The O'Neil's truly are plot devices in the 2012 narrative, because what even was this situation? April's been training with Splinter to be a Kunoichi since EP 7 of Season 1 ("Monkey Brains" / However, this is the episode where she makes this kind of announcement that she's going to be training with Splinter. We don't actually see her on screen training with him until EP 19, "Baxter's Gambit" and again in EP 21, "Karai's Vendetta"-), and we've seen her react quicker to more dire scenarios like in S1 EP 14, "The Alien Agenda" with Ms. Campbell- So it doesn't make sense (Logically speaking-) why April just stood there even though the canister wasn't even close to reaching her for like several seconds. To me, despite April having this lack of definitive character in 2012 arguably (I more so have this opinion of her character from Season 2 onward-), it would have been more "in character" for April to grab her Father and start running away rather than standing there. But that's just me. Also, this might be a hot take from me, but I genuinely think April's Dad getting mutated was more of her own fault than the Turtle's fault. If April wasn't standing there like an idiot (For some unexplained reason- 🙃), Kirby wouldn't have felt the need to "protect her" from the mutagen canister. Plus, if the Turtles had been physically present when this was happening, Kirby wouldn't have gotten mutated at all. We know this. Which makes her cutting the Turtles off in this Season feel really over the top and unnecessary? They've literally been there for April since they met her, I think she should've given them some grace here- April's allowed to be upset, of course she is-! But I think it would have been better if she just needed like a day or something to feel her feelings, and then she came back and they tackle the situation as a group- You know what I mean? The cutting off part was just so out of left field to me-

This also feels like insult to injury narratively speaking, since we find out 15 episodes later (In S2 EP 16, "The Lonely Mutation of Baxter Stockman"-) that April's immune to mutagen?? So it wouldn't have mattered if it hit her in the first place. These writers really mutated her Father for seemingly no reason other than "drama". 🙃

It's also super unfortunate that April losing her Dad was such a running "bit" in this series, because the writers turned something that was actually really meaningful / heartwarming and something could have added a lot of character depth to April into something that became kind of monotonous with April's character instead. 💀 || This should've been about the fact that April's Father is literally the only person that she has left, so it makes sense why she holds on to him so tightly and is deathly afraid of losing him- But instead of that being the message (Like it should have been-), it just became, "Oh no! April loses her Dad AGAIN, and then she cries and throws a fit about it AGAIN, until he comes back AGAIN and then she's better! :D" (At least, this has always been my impression when it came to April constantly crying about her father for like three Seasons straight- I'm sorry, but it's my truth- Lmao).

It's also hilarious how April and Kirby really feel like a, "Like Father, like Daughter" duo, because these two are always getting captured or kidnapped or something. The O'Neil's are just "destined" to be victims in distress in this series I guess. Lmao

I just find it really stupid and annoying that April genuinely can't rely on her Father very much at all. No wonder she's so self-sufficient / independent (Even if that does act like a detriment to her character sometimes, since she can be super close-minded and not really consider those around her. Like all those times that she decided she wanted to do something and acted on her own just for the guys to have to come save her. I'd even consider the Aeon Crystal Arc to fall under this. 💀 || Although, as annoying as this is with her character in my opinion, it would have been fantastic character depth. Where we come to understand that April only acts this way because of how she grew up- AKA her father's an unreliable coward, so she's basically had to face everything alone, which gave her both positive and negative traits-). This man's impossible. The Season 2 finale was such a prime example of that too. The fact that she stays in her apartment for a majority of that conflict because her Father was having a breakdown and "didn't want her to leave" even though her friends are out there trying to handle what's going on- Like dude- (It was also super annoying how this took out Donnie and Mikey from helping, since Donnie "can't bear to leave April's side" and Mikey rightfully didn't want to go out there on his own- 💀) || There's even the Season 3 finale, where we briefly see Kirby just reacting to the Triceraton broadcast and like fainting or something in their apartment? Though I have to say it, was refreshing to see April's character not get held back by him in this finale, the way that she was in the Season 2 finale.

He also just comes off super stupid and goofy to me when he has these moments of like, "That's my daughter grrr. Back off. 🐺" or something, like we see in this screenshot from, "The Deadly Venom" (S3 EP 18) when April was coming back from the movies with Casey. The way he acts so disapproving towards Casey is honestly funny. This show really wanted to push Donnie as "the better love interest" for April so badly that they did some goofy shit like this with Kirby. Lmao || I also didn't get screenshots of it sadly, but talking about this same episode, Kirby was such a nuisance here. Omg. When he started yelling at Donnie about not helping April fast enough / for not doing "the right things" (Since this is the episode where Karai, who's also being forcibly mind controlled at this point in the story I'll add, poisons the group-) and then had the audacity to say, "I should have just taken her to a human hospital! >:(" ?? Like are you serious right now?? You're yelling at a child- I know Donnie wasn't the best in relation to April and everything, but this just felt very unwarranted to me. He's trying his best and you're just yelling at him. Once again, this man is just pathetic and doesn't do much to help the situation at all. He just whines and complains throughout the entire episode about April and then gets released when she's healed / alleviated of the poison. Which again, he did nothing to contribute to that outcome. 🙃

So yeah, I guess it's basically my stance on 2012 Kirby O'Neil. I just really don't like him (Canonically speaking-), and it would have been incredibly real and valid of April to have blown up on him more imo. 👍

Here's my collection of doodles from the Whiteboard from today ! ✨

I was having fun while doing the 2012 Jonatello art, but then some stupid shit happened (IRL) and that put me in a mood, which is why the 2012 April centric drawings are what they are- Lmao || But I like talking about those things anyway, so it's still a win for me-

Also Big Top Burger mention, because I love Big Top Burger- 😌

(Sorry for so much writing this time around- I hope it's even remotely legible in these images,, 💀😭)

#kirby #kirby o'neil #april #april o'neil #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012

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witchygagirlwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Nova-Part 4

Jay Halstead x Reader (Nicknamed Nova)

Everyone awaits news on your condition

Warnings: mention of torture, injuries

Jay sat in the waiting room staring at the photo of you and him that was the wallpaper on his phone. It was from your last birthday. His arms were around you, you were leaning back against him with a broad smile on your face. God, you looked so happy being in his arms. What if he never got that again?

He hadn’t wanted to risk your life but now? He wished he would’ve just told you the truth. He was facing losing you and you dying thinking he didn’t want you when that couldn’t be further from the truth. You were everything to him. You were his partner, his best friend, the love of his life. Every dream of the future had you front and center. That was why he went along with the feds plan, why he’d put his life in their hands to bring down Eurely, because even if it would’ve gone south..him dying would’ve been worth it if that meant they would’ve stopped the hit that had you on it.

“She still loves you just as much” Adam spoke sitting down next to him and he cut his eyes up “I hurt her man, I thought I did the right thing by protecting her but now I might..” he couldn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to give voice to the fact that you might die.

“She’s not gonna die Jay. She’s breathing on her own, you heard your brother. She’s strong man. She’ll wake up” Adam tried to assure him and Jay smiled slightly “I must be pathetic if you’re trying to comfort me” Adam laughed lightly and bumped his shoulder “Naw, just trying to look out for two friends at one time. I’m not saying she’s gonna wake up and be her usual self but this isn’t gonna take her out. I have to believe that or else I failed her”

Jay glanced at Adam and shook his head “No, you didn’t. You got the plates. You got the extraction as fast as you could” Adam held his eyes “Jay that wouldn’t help me if our roles were reversed” Jay shrugged “Me being angry with you isn’t gonna help matters, especially not when I couldn’t possibly be angrier with you than I am with myself”

“She’ll understand, I think” Adam tried and Jay shook his head, trying to get the image of your broken body out of his head. That image would never leave him, no matter how this turned out. Seeing the woman you love, bloody and beaten to the point of unconsciousness that she didn’t even react to your presence? That would always haunt him.

“I don’t need her to understand. I just need her to wake up” Jay whispered, eyes never leaving the photo of you and him on his screen. “I just need her alive” Jay muttered more to himself than Adam that time. He could handle being tortured, beaten, shot and stabbed but this? Sitting and waiting while you were fighting for your life and knowing he could not possibly help you? It was killing him with every second that ticked by on the clock that rested on the wall overhead.

“Hey, remember that damn takedown when Nova stopped mid chase because that kid almost ran into the street?” Adam asked and Jay smiled slightly, he still didn’t know how you spotted that kid down a freaking alley but when you skidded to a stop and peeled off everyone had been screaming over the coms until you yelled at them to keep going, that you’d catch up.

It turned out the kid’s mom was diabetic and her sugar had spiked and landed her in a coma. If you hadn’t spotted that kid, him and his mom could’ve died that day. “Still don’t know how she spotted that kid” he whispered and Adam smiled “Nova does the impossible. That’s why Nadia nicknamed her that, shines the brightest. She’s gonna pull out of this Jay”

“Thanks Ruz” Jay told him and Adam nodded “You’re welcome man”

A couple hours passed before Will walked into the room again. Jay jumped to his feet just seeing his brother “Is there any news?” Will nodded “We did a CT scan, everything looks good. I think we can start backing off her sedation and see if she’ll come around. I came to ask if you wanted to be in the room when we do”

Jay shrugged helplessly because he honestly didn’t know how you would feel waking up after that much hell to him. Would you be happy to see his face? Would you assume he was there out of guilt?

“Jay” he looked up when Kim called his name “She’ll want you, even if she won’t admit it” he nodded then looked at Will “Lead the way”

___________________

Jay followed Will down the hallway. “How bad is it Will before I walk into her room?” he asked quietly and Will stopped walking, turning to face him “She’s been beaten and tortured Jay. It’s as bad as you think. The swelling has gone down in her face so it’s more so just shades of purple now, she’s got some stitches on her right cheek. Her left arm is in a cast, luckily it was a clean break so that will heal in six weeks time or so. Her right arm is wrapped due to burns. Her torso and legs suffered burns and puncture wounds so she has a mixture of bandages and stitches throughout them. Her breathing is going to be a little off too due to us having to pump the water out of her lungs. She went through hell Jay. I’m not going to stand here and sugar coat anything for you. I know why you did what you did but the woman you love is going to be in a lot of pain physically for the next six to eight weeks and mentally? She’s probably going to need some therapy because while she’s suffered on duty injuries before she’s never been tortured”

“I won’t let her go through it alone” Jay promised and Will nodded “Good, because even if she pushes you away. She’s going to need you”

_________________

The two continued walking and when they got to your room Will hesitated before he pushed the door open. Jay took a deep breath and followed him. Even being warned didn’t prepare him. Your face was bruised, the stitches a contrast against them. Your arm was casted, forcing it back to the right angle and it didn’t look like a single inch of your body was untouched.

“Will, did they…” he swallowed hard at the thought but luckily he didn’t have to finish it because Will understood. He shook his head “No, the assault was only physical” Jay nodded slowly, walking over to your right side “Will it hurt her if I touch her hand?”

Will shook his head “No, just mind the bandages” April and Connor were already setting up what was needed to start bringing you out from under the sedation. Jay slipped his fingers into yours “Hey baby. I’m here” he wished you’d move, squeeze his hand. Anything.

“You ready Jay?” Connor asked and he nodded “As ready as I’ll ever be”

________________

Pain, just pain. Everywhere hurt. Your legs, your abdomen, your arms, your head. There wasn’t an inch of your body that didn’t hurt. Every breath burnt. Consciousness started to slowly find its way back to you…. Yvette…they killed her…they were trying to get her to admit you were a cop…they were trying to get you to turn over undercover cops…did they still have you?

Your eyes flew open and you tried to scramble up the bed…wait bed? It took you a few seconds to realize you were in a hospital. Connor and April were on one side of the bed, Will and Jay on the other. “Am I safe?” you asked in a voice that was so rough to your own ears it made you flinch.

Jay nodded “You’re safe” you looked down and his hand was in yours so you pulled yours away. You didn’t need his guilt. “Yvette, she tried to protect me” you felt tears slip down your face and April grabbed tissues, patting your face gently “They’ll burn if they hit your stitches”

You looked from Connor to Will “How bad?” they shared a look before Connor cleared his throat and went down your list of injuries. “Is Adam ok? They didn’t get him too did they?” you asked and Jay shook his head “No” “Good” you laid your head back on the pillows, a grimace on your face “I’ll get you something for pain” Will offered and Connor and April excused themselves.

Will walked out of the room and you looked back at Jay. “When did you get back?” you winced when you spoke. “I got back in enough time to be walking in my front door when Hailey called to say you’d been abducted” “Sorry” you whispered and he shook his head. “I’m sorry baby, I never wanted to hurt you but I had a reason…” you cut him off by raising your right hand “Jay, everything hurts. I can’t do this right now. Please?”

“Ok, I’m staying here until they let you out” you sighed “I can’t tell you what to do but don’t stay out of guilt. I’ll be ok” you saw tears come to his eyes “Nova, I love you” you blinked a few times, trying not to cry since April said it would burn if it got in your stitches but it was useless. Jay got the tissues and did the same as she had. You watched him and looked away “I love you Jay, I just don’t know what I did”

“Let me stay with you please. I just want to be near you, I want to see that you’re ok. I’m the one that found you. Seeing the love of my life like that…baby that will never leave me” you shook your head “How can I be the love of your life Jay when you walked away?” “I did it to protect you” he whispered and you looked back “What?” he nodded “I had a price on my head baby. Half a mil, you were on the hit as a way to get at me. I couldn’t let you get hurt”

“You lied to me” you whispered and he nodded “I did” you felt more tears but snatched away from him when he tried to help you “No, you made me think I did something wrong. Why not trust me?” “You never back down from a fight, Nova! They told us they planned to snatch Adam too but you put up too much of a fight. Was I really supposed to think you’d be afraid of a hit?” he asked and you turned to look at him “You were supposed to trust me enough to at least tell me the truth. Jay I love you but baby please just go. I need something for pain and to think”

He nodded slowly as the door opened and Will walked back in “I’ll be in the waiting room. I’m not leaving”

Will looked from you to him “Am I interrupting something?” you shook your head “No, just give me the medicine please Will. Everything hurts” you looked back at Jay “Everything”

Jay sat in the corner of the waiting room, watching as the members of the unit all went to talk to you after Will cleared it. You talked to them all, even Voight. He remained rooted to the spot. He wasn’t leaving. Fuck “visiting hours” As long as you were here, he was here.

Hank walked over to him after he talked to you. “Jay” he cut his eyes up “Yeah?” “Everyone tossed some time your way if you need it to take off to be with her” he nodded slowly “I don’t know if she’ll let me”

“Word of advice?” Hank asked and Jay shrugged “Why not?” “I told her not to turn her back on you. You don’t turn your back on her. She’s gonna need you. You’ve been through similar shit. I told her about the hit, why you went to New Mexico. She’ll come around and when she does and when she starts looking at this head on she’s gonna need you. Now I gotta go meet Yvette’s daughter. She’s getting her money off this plus some”

“She tried to protect Nova. Make sure she knows that. She doesn’t need to just remember her mother as a C.I. She protected the woman I love and I will forever be grateful for that” Jay told him and he nodded “I’ll pass that on”

After that the unit kind of scattered out to head home once they all knew you were awake and that Jay was going to be there should anything happen. Kevin offered to stay but Jay told him he’d be ok. After that it was just him in the corner of the waiting room by himself.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos of you. He couldn’t look at half of them the same because in a lot of them you were wearing that blue henley and his brain kept flashing to your broken body in that field. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. It would be ok. You were awake, you would talk to him in time. That’s what mattered.

It was probably close to three in the morning when one of the CNAs came in to take your vitals. You had dozed off and hadn’t realized your brain had slipped into that space where it didn’t register you were safe. When she touched your right hand to slip the oxygen monitor onto it you flipped your hand around and grabbed her wrist, twisting it.

When she gasped your eyes flew open and you dropped your hand “Oh my god. I am so sorry” she shook her head “It’s ok Detective. You didn’t hurt me. I should have announced myself after everything” you didn’t notice your hands were shaking until she rubbed her fingers across them “You’re safe, I promise. It’s over”

You nodded slowly and she smiled “Would you like me to go get your partner?” “Adam?” you asked and she shook her head “No, Dr Halstead’s brother. He’s asleep in the waiting room”

Your heart screamed yes, your brain screamed no. Your heart won control over your mouth. “Please” you whispered and she nodded “Let me take your vitals and I’ll go get him”

_________________

“Detective Halstead” Jay jolted when a CNA shook him “Yeah?” she smiled “She’s asking for you”

He was on his feet and moving without another word. If you wanted him, you were getting him. No questions asked. When he got to your door he knocked lightly and you called out “Come in Jay” he pushed the door open and you smiled at him “Can you stay in here so I don’t hurt anyone from getting scared?” “Who scared you?” he asked and you ducked your head “The CNA when she tried to take my vitals. My brain didn’t register that I was safe. If you’re here, it will”

That made his heart flip. You still felt safe with him, even after everything you went through. “Where do you want me?” he asked and you stared at him for a moment “I’m not over it Jay, my heart can’t bounce back like that. You get that don’t you?” he nodded “Of course baby. I’m not going anywhere though, I’ll earn my spot in your heart back, I will”

You nodded slowly “Will you hold me, please? I know I’ll be safe then” you sounded so damn scared it broke his heart “Of course baby” he walked across to your right side and gently slid into the bed, slipping an arm under you. You curled up to his chest, tucking your bandaged right arm against you. “I love you Jay, I know you love me and thank you for trying to protect me but this is gonna take time. Us and me healing”

He kissed the top of your head “I’ll be here. No matter how long it takes”

Part 5 (Final)

@desimarie12

@allisonargent144

@nevaehstreater18

@elvenpirate51

#jay halstead fanfiction #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic

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bjwmastermind-writes · 2 days ago

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ch.3 - fences and cities - dbf! joel miller &f!reader

series masterlist

previous chapter

A/N: A lot has happened, I wrote this then it got lost and I thought maybe I wrote it in a dream, you know those kinds of dreams where you go about your day but I didn't give up, I was SURE I had written it. Anyways, save a horse ride a cowboy

warnings: sex jokes. cowgirl pose reference, if I am missing any warnings please let me know. there're some hints for the future 😉

Minors stay out or read at your own risk! I'm not responsible for your consumption!

Do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own. Thanks!

"Rise and shiiine!" Your dad flicked the light switch on and off repeatedly, making the room flash like a faulty strobe light. You jolted awake immediately.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" you groaned, yanking the sheets over your head. It was way too early for this.

Your dad chuckled as he walked over and ripped the blanket off. "Come on now, gotta make the most of the day."

"What time is it?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

"Almost 5 a.m.," he said, clapping his hands as he headed for the door. "Making some coffee downstairs before driving you to Joel."

Shit—right. You had to work with Joel today. The only thing motivating you to get out of bed… and simultaneously, the one thing making you want to stay buried under the covers. Because having a crush on your dad’s friend—the one you had to work with—was both exciting and painfully embarrassing.

You head downstairs, dressed in comfortable clothes for the ranch—practical, but with just enough effort to look cute and put-together. Not that you’d admit it was for Joel, but if it made him do a double take, well… that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

Something had been off about him last night. He wasn’t his usual self. And maybe—just maybe—you were a little too tempted to poke at whatever was bothering him, like pressing on a bruise just to see how much it hurts.

Your dad drives you to the ranch, and after a quick goodbye, you step out, making your way toward Joel.

Joel turns when he hears your voice—or maybe it’s the sound of your footsteps crunching against the packed dirt and gravel. Either way, he does, in fact do a doubletake.

He plays it off like he hadn’t thought about you last night after dinner. Like he hadn’t pictured your face, your lips locking with his in the dark, or the shape of you—your waist, the way you moved. Like he wasn’t just caught looking.

"I’m shocked you actually showed up," he says, his voice edged with something unreadable.

"Oh, come on," you tease, tilting your head. "Why the bad image of me? Thought you had a better impression."

Joel shakes his head with a smirk, wiping his hands on his jeans, but his eyes linger on you a second too long. “Uh-huh,” he mutters, clearly unconvinced by your teasing. His eyes linger on you a second too long before he turns away.

“C’mon, let’s get to work.”

He leads you toward the stables, where the horses are saddled up. You already know what’s coming.

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “Not happening.”

Joel lets out a low chuckle, resting his hands on his hips. “What, you scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you scoff, folding your arms. “I just—” You pause, glancing at the horse. “I don’t ride.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, voice edged with something unreadable. “You forgot how to?”

Your stomach tightens at the way he says it, slow and deliberate. You pretend not to react. He doesn’t need that kind of power.

“Well, I’m not about to relearn today,” you mutter.

Joel ignores you completely, adjusting the saddle straps before turning to you expectantly. “Put your foot in the stirrup.”

You don’t move.

He sighs, stepping behind you. “Here,” he says, voice lower now, hands settling firmly on your waist. Before you can protest, he lifts you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the horse.

It happens fast—one second you’re on the ground, the next you’re settling into the saddle, straddling the horse, legs spread over either side.

You struggle for a second, adjusting yourself in the saddle, shifting your weight, fingers fumbling with the reins. This is harder than it looks.

Joel stands nearby, arms crossed, watching as you awkwardly try to mount the horse. He’s ready to step in, but he’s clearly trying not to overstep.

Finally, after a few wobbly adjustments, you settle in. You exhale, trying to play it off like you’re totally in control.

“Well, I’m definitely not a professional cowgirl,” you mutter, still shifting slightly, “but I guess I’m figuring it out—kinda like when you’re learning a new position.”

You laugh awkwardly. And then it hits you.

Oh. Oh.

Joel freezes. Blinking at you like he just misheard. Then his expression changes—his lips twitch, his shoulders shake slightly, and suddenly he lets out a deep, unrestrained laugh.

“Did you just—” He snorts, shaking his head. “Did you really just make a cowgirl joke?”

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God. Why would I say that?!”

He exhales sharply, grinning as he drags a hand down his face. “Christ. Now that’s stuck in my head.” His voice dips slightly, eyes trailing over you, slow and unreadable. “And I can’t decide if that’s a problem or not.”

And that’s when your brain fully malfunctions.

You freeze. Your whole body burns.

Joel smirks, clearly aware of what he just did to you.

Now you’re both in full-on awkward mode, avoiding eye contact like two people who just walked straight into something dangerous and are pretending it didn’t happen.

You focus very hard on getting comfortable in the saddle, adjusting your posture, gripping the reins, trying to seem like you have a clue what you’re doing. But every small shift you make, every slight adjustment in the saddle, feels too much, like you can practically feel Joel’s gaze flicking to you—watching, thinking, replaying.

Meanwhile, his brain is racing.

He’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, but he’s not thinking about the horse, not thinking about work. No, his mind is looping one single thought over and over again—what you just said.

You clear your throat, desperate to move past this. "Okay. So. How do we—uh—start moving?"

Joel takes a second to respond. Maybe because he’s still forcing his brain to reboot.

He exhales, stepping beside the horse. "Just a light kick, let her know you’re ready."

You do as he says, and the horse starts to move at a slow, steady pace. Crisis averted.

Or… not.

Because as you walk alongside him, your hand accidentally brushes against his arm. A small touch, barely anything, but it’s like an electric shock.

You both flinch, just slightly.

Neither of you say a word, but you know. You both know.

You’re not thinking about the joke. Except you are. So is he.

You try to act normal, cool, indifferent—but the tension is palpable, crackling in the air between you.

One accidental glance at each other—just one—and everything feels like fire. And suddenly, you need out.

The second you get the chance, you slip away, finding a quiet room in the stable, shutting the door behind you.

You lean against the wall, pressing your hands to your face.

"Did I really say that? What is wrong with me?! What just happened?!"

The secondhand embarrassment is real.

You groan into your hands, replaying it all over again.

But then the overthinking starts creeping in.

"Did I just make it super weird?! Or did he? Was he actually flirting with me, or was he just messing with my head?"

You think about the way his eyes lingered on you. The way his voice dipped just slightly. The way he said he didn’t think he wanted to forget it.

You shake your head to yourself. No. No way. He was just teasing.

Right?

Meanwhile, outside, Joel is definitely not as unaffected as he’s trying to be.

He goes back to work, hands busy, mind not busy enough—because he keeps thinking about what you said.

He’s still smirking to himself, shaking his head every now and then like he can’t quite believe it. He should let it go. Should pretend like nothing happened.

But he’s aware of you now.

Every time you move, every time you speak—hell, even when you’re silent—he notices. Every small brush of your arm, every glance that lingers a second too long.

And then he realizes you’re gone.

He frowns, scanning the stable before heading toward the room where you probably went in hiding. He hesitates for a second before knocking lightly.

“Y’alright in there?”

You freeze.

Shit. Shit.

You take a second before responding, forcing your voice to sound normal. “Yeah! Just—uh—checking something!”

Joel’s voice is too casual when he replies. “Right. Well. You done checkin’ yet?”

You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You swallow hard. Your heart is doing something ridiculous.

You open the door just enough to peek out, avoiding eye contact.

Joel is standing there, one hand resting on the frame, a steaming cup in his other hand. His eyes flick over you, watching the way you shift on your feet, the way you won't look at him directly.

He notices.

He doesn’t say anything about it. Doesn’t push.

But he doesn’t leave either.

And that’s when you realize—you can pretend all you want, but whatever this is… it's not going away.

"Don't hide from me next time."

Then he walks away.

_____________________

You spend the next couple of hours pretending that moment never happened. You avoid looking at him for too long, focusing on the horses, the work, anything but him.

Joel? He doesn’t say anything about it.

Not at first.

You think, Okay, maybe we’re just moving past this.

Then, mid-task, while you’re standing side by side, working in comfortable silence, he suddenly leans against the fence and says,

“So, I’ve been thinking about that cowgirl joke…”

You freeze.

Your heart does something stupid, and you turn to him way too fast.

Joel just watches you, waiting—expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something mischievous in his eyes. He’s baiting you.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He smirks. "What?" he says, voice slow and knowing. "You don’t wanna talk about it?"

You flinch. "I—no, I just—Why are you—"

He leans in slightly, arms crossed over his chest.

“You know,” he drawls, way too amused, “I’m not sure I’ll ever look at a horse the same way again.”

Your jaw drops.

You gasp, whipping around to glare at him. "Joel!"

He laughs—low and entirely too pleased with himself.

You slap his arm. "Oh my God, you’re the worst."

He doesn’t even flinch. Just grins down at you, eyes still flickering with something unspoken.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, but you’re laughing too.

And he just watches you, smirking, shaking his head like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. And he knows he shouldn’t.

But the thing is?

Joel doesn’t seem to care. Not right now.

Because for some reason, none of that matters. Not the age gap. Not the fact that your dad trusts him. Not that this is a bad, bad idea.

Because he likes this. Likes watching you get flustered, he likes the way you’re pretending you’re not thinking about him too.

The workday finally comes to an end and the tension is still hanging thick in the air.

Joel doesn’t say much when you get into the truck, just a quick glance your way before starting the engine.

The drive is quiet. Not awkward, not exactly. Just… charged. Like there’s something unspoken pressing against the space between you.

Joel parks his truck in your dad’s driveway. You could get out now. But you don’t.

You sit there, stealing glances at him, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how close you are.

Joel keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. He looks calm and composed, but you notice his fingers twitch—like he’s thinking.

And then, he glances at you.

No, he's looking at your mouth.

For a full minute, his gaze lingers there. Slow. Deliberate.

You don’t move. You don’t even breathe.

Your pulse pounds, and suddenly, you can feel every inch of your skin.

Joel shifts in his seat. His grip on the wheel tightens.

He’s debating something. You can see it. Feel it.

And then—just as he makes his decision, just as he starts to lean in—

Your dad’s voice cuts through the air.

“Joel!”

You jerk back, the moment shattering instantly.

Your dad walks up to the truck, leaning against the open window, completely oblivious.

Joel exhales sharply and immediately leans away, one hand gripping the wheel like he needs to ground himself. His eyes snap forward, blank, unreadable.

Your pulse is thundering. You don’t look at him. You can’t.

“How was the workday?” he asks.

Joel inhales sharply, blinking like he just snapped out of something. He clears his throat.

"Good," he says, voice a little rough.

Your dad grins. "How was she?"

Joel’s eyes flick to you for just a fraction of a second before he answers—too smooth, too casual.

"She was a really good girl."

Your breath catches. That fucking sentence.

Your dad smiles, then playfully taps the roof of Joel’s truck, a familiar, warm gesture—one that feels easy, trusting. Like Joel is just some guy your dad’s comfortable sending you off with.

Like this is nothing.

“Guess I’ll be sending you off to work with Joel often then,” he says, still grinning.

Joel just nods, his smirk barely there—but his eyes?

They’re still on you. Burning.

And as you step out of the truck, heart pounding, you realize:

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

THAT LAST SENTENCE WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS SCREAMING GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE!!!! UH UHUHU AAAH AH AH

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think of this chapter and stay tuned for the next one!

taglist: @burningnerdchild

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voxofthevoid · 1 day ago

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Skirtfic Wednesday #3—and the last one!

"Gojou in a dress" ended up being Gojou in a skirt and then half a dress and then a full schoolgirl get-up, and the fic itself turned into a whole 18k across 4 chapters...even after I scrapped the initial intercrural+intergluteal sex scenes that birthed this plot bunny.

Instead, there's some dick stepping, a whole lot of tit groping, and gratuitous cocksucking. You're getting none of that today though.

“Aren’t we having fun,” Gojou murmurs, his amusement gaining back its usual edge. “So tell me, Yuuji—what am I wearing?”

“Stockings,” Yuuji blurts out.

“And?”

“A skirt.”

“What else?”

“Uh, a shirt?”

“Almost there. Aren’t you missing something?”

“I don’t—” Yuuji freezes, equally hopeful and wary. His palms are still pressed to the stockings, but the insides of his forearms are brushing the skirt. There can’t be more than a few centimeters of bare skin between them.

But there’s a part of Gojou that he hasn’t touched.

Yuuji swallows a question, sliding his hands back up instead. They find the hem of the skirt—and slip under.

More warm skin molds itself against his palms, and Yuuji realizes he’s gripping way too hard. He tries to ease it, but it’s hard to think about anything except how Gojou’s skin gets hotter and softer the further up he goes, and he knows it’s not much, what with how short the skirt is, but it still feels like an eternity passes before his fingers touch more fabric.

Yuuji groans, a thousand violent hungers bursting to life in the pit of his belly.

“There we go.” Gojou sounds obscenely satisfied. “What’ve you found now?”

Underwear, Yuuji could say and it’d be right—but Gojou would make him pay for it, wouldn’t he? He’s that kind of mean.

“Panties,” Yuuji rasps. “You’re wearing panties.”

“I am,” Gojou practically purrs. “All for you, Yuuji.”

Yuuji shudders, and the hand on his nape clamps tighter like it’s trying to hold him together. “I want to see. Sensei, please—”

“Such a polite boy,” Gojou teases. “Alright.”

The blindfold is gone before Yuuji can react, plucked right off his face. The light makes him wince but not much. When Gojou blindfolded him, there was only the dying natural light coming from the windows, but now those are curtained. The room is lit up soft and gold—overhead lights that are definitely not there in the guest room.

Gojou’s golden too, the light and his soft smile sanding off all his edges.

And Yuuji likes him the way he usually is, but he likes this too.

He throws his arms around Gojou’s neck and kisses him full on the mouth.

There’s no resistance, only that smile widening until it opens up, turning the kiss wet and hot, and Gojou’s mouth still tastes sweet, but the flavor’s changed—probably the candy he had on the drive back here. It’s still better on Gojou’s tongue than it’d ever be straight out of the wrapper, and Yuuji finds himself pushing up to his maximum height and straining closer and closer, every cell in his body urging him to climb into this man, and Gojou holds him tighter too, pressing them together from lips to hips. A part of Yuuji’s still screaming about the clothes Gojou’s wearing—the ones Yuuji didn’t even really look at in the end.

Gojou breaks the kiss, licking his lips. His thumb swipes over Yuuji’s bottom lip, coming away glistening.

“Hungry thing,” Gojou murmurs, “aren’t you?”

Yuuji can only pant for air.

It’s Gojou who takes a step back, slipping out of Yuuji’s arms. He doesn’t go far, barely putting a few feet between them before spreading his arms and arching an eyebrow at Yuuji.

“Well?” he asks. “Am I to your tastes?”

“Yes.”

Gojou laughs at the vehemence of Yuuji’s reply, but he sounds pleased. Looks it too, from the curl of his mouth to the gleam in his eyes. This light is doing unfairly pretty things to them, bringing out shades of blue Yuuji didn’t know existed.

Maybe that’s because of the clothes too. Gojou’s dressed almost like a schoolgirl—plain white shirt with a collar, pleated blue–black skirt. But no way would those sheer, silky stockings pass any kind of school regulations. They’re just too…sexy. Bare legs would look more modest somehow.

“My eyes are up here, you know.”

Yuuji gapes incredulously. “You want me to look!”

Gojou pulls a surprised face. “That’s a serious accusation, Yuuji. Are you calling me easy?”

“Sensei, c’mon,” Yuuji sighs. “Don’t play games.”

“But they’re so fun,” Gojou says with a pout, which twists into a toothy grin. “You’re fun.”

“To tease, you mean.”

“That,” Gojou admits shamelessly. “But in many other ways too. Come closer and I’ll let you show me a few.”

Any thoughts of refusing Yuuji may have had die a fiery death when Gojou holds out an arm, fingers curled in a come-hither motion. Yuuji stumbles forward, reaching for that hand, and he’s allowed to catch it and keep it, and then Gojou’s walking backward and tugging Yuuji with him, closer and closer to the sprawling bed that’s clearly bigger than even the one in the guest room, and he must decide that’s not enough of an assault on Yuuji’s sanity because his free hand plucks at the first button of his tight white shirt—and the next and the next.

A little V opens up, exposing bulging muscles and bruised skin. The shirt was already stretched tight across Gojou’s chest, but the unbuttoning only seems to make his flesh even more eager to burst free, his pecs straining against the fabric and bunching up together at the middle. It’s like—

Cleavage, Yuuji thinks a little hysterically.

He stumbles, but Gojou just pulls him mercilessly forward. And he doesn’t stop even when the back of his knees hit the bed, and he doesn’t do anything as normal as sit down either, instead falling on the mattress with enough force to make him bounce on it, once and then twice, finally settling with a violent ripple of the baby-blue bedsheets.

Yuuji, he realizes, didn’t fall with him because Gojou had let go of his hand in the nick of time. It’s still stretched out, his fingers curled forlornly in thin air.

“Sensei?”

“Closer,” Gojou beckons.

Yuuji sways closer—and is stopped by the foot that flattens itself against his chest.

Hey, he thinks, this already happened.

Gojou seems intent on repeating it though, his foot sliding down Yuuji’s chest, slow but sure, every second of pressure a taunt as mean as the grin that’s made its way back onto Gojou’s mouth, and Yuuji knows where it’s headed, he knows what will happen afterward—he lived it all and dreamed of it too, all in the course of less than a day.

There are differences too. The foot sliding achingly down his torso is clothed in sheer white instead of bare. The angle has made the skirt peel back almost all the way from the offending leg, exposing that thigh almost to the crease.

And this time, in the forbidden dark between Gojou’s legs, there’s a flash of blue.

Yuuji grabs Gojou’s ankle and yanks it away from where it was digging into his underbelly, pushing it to the side to spread Gojou well and open.

“Yuuji-kun,” Gojou gasps, mock scandalized, “is that how you treat a girl?”

Yuuji takes a moment out of staring at the lacy blue panties to blink up at Gojou. “But, sensei, you’re not a girl.”

Gojou snorts. “Clearly, but that’s your type, hm? A tall woman with a big ass.”

There’s something very weird about hearing that from Gojou’s mouth, even though he’s definitely talked dirtier to Yuuji.

“Yeah,” Yuuji says dubiously, “but why are you bringing that up now?”

“A real mystery,” Gojou deadpans. Then he cocks his head, his fringe resettling over his eyes in new, insanity-inducing ways. “Well, I am tall. Good ass too, if I say so myself. And you did seem quite into these.”

Gojou punctuates that with his hands over his pecs, gripping tight and heaving like he’s weighing imaginary breasts.

Yuuji’s cock is trying really hard to poke a hole in his pants.

“Sensei,” Yuuji rasps, “that looks—”

“It could be enough for you to pretend, if you’re desperate.” Gojou lets go of his tits, folding his arms under them instead; it looks too stern for the lewd sprawl of his body. “Is that what you’re doing, Yuuji?”

It takes Yuuji a long second to figure out what Gojou’s asking—what he’s been saying all this time.

“Huh? No. You’re a man. Why would I pretend you’re a woman?”

“Why indeed,” Gojou muses, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “Alright. I wouldn’t dare doubt my cute little student.”

“That sounds a little—”

The rest of Yuuji’s words slip back down his throat to heat up his lungs as Gojou reaches down and lifts his skirt, fingers pinched around the hem with perverse delicacy.

Despite the lacework, the panties are wide and thick, easily containing the impressive bulge underneath.

“Show me then,” Gojou says, “how you’d fuck a man.”

#goyuu #jjk #itadori yuuji #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #wip wednesday #jjk snippets #my fic #fic: young gods #divider credit: saradika-graphics

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hype-queer-fixated · 2 days ago

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These Violent Delights

summary: You are Dr. Florence Seward’s newest patient, presenting a mystery unlike any she’s encountered—except one. With a touch, you are drawn into visions of violent acts not your own and to which you are steadily losing yourself. Seward is determined to help, to untangle the influence behind these visions before it consumes you entirely. Yet the deeper she digs and the closer she gets, the more your case stirs something else—something hitherto unexamined, perhaps with good reason.

wc: ~18K

tags: patient!reader; canon-typical violence; canon-typical occult forces; touch starvation; tactile therapy; exposure therapy (sort of); “No Fucks and Even Fewer Boundaries Seward”; mentions of murder and death; Seward beats the shit out of a creep; kink negotiation (but in a “no safe word—if I die, I die” kinda way); consensual non-consent; dom/sub (undertones); top!reader; bottom!Seward; sadism (reader); restraints; blindfolding; biting/marking; emotional distress/mindfuck; impact play (belt); breath play (same belt); knife play (scalpel); vaginal fingering (Seward receiving); overstimulation (if you squint); forced orgasm (as a treat); squirting; aftercare

a/n: this is the first fic I've ever posted and i am unbelievably nervous—be kind 💜

Read on Ao3 | many thanks to @thegoddamnfeels and @live-laugh-love-lupone for letting me bury them under piles of prose

Morning, the first.

I know you before you say a word.

Your letter told me enough—not in what it said, but in how you wrote it. The handwriting was careful but uncertain. You weighed each word, hesitated, rethought, nearly didn’t send it at all. And yet, here you are.

You take the chair opposite mine, hands clenched in your lap, knuckles bloodless. Holding yourself together.

“You don’t like to be touched.” My first words to you. They're not a question.

Your breath hitches. Nearly imperceptible.

“A guess,” I add, “but a good one.”

I watch you absorb this, calculating whether to confirm or deny, whether it will cost you something to let me be right.

“You avoid touch because when it happens, you experience something disturbing. Violent.” I study your face as I continue, watching how the words land. “Not as a witness, but as a participant.”

Your head jerks up. I see the flicker of recognition, the wariness. You start to speak, then hesitate.

“How—”

“You carry yourself like someone who fears their own hands,” I say. “You haven’t accidentally brushed against my secretary or me, not once, and you didn’t make an excuse when you refused my hand. That isn’t preference. It’s self-preservation.”

The silence between us is fragile.

“It’s like I’m the one doing it,” you murmur finally. “My hands. My knife. My rope. But it isn’t me.”

There it is. The thing that keeps you up at night. The reason you’re here, despite the doubt, despite the fear.

I don’t react. I don’t tell you it isn’t real. Instead, I extend my hand over my desk, across the space between us.

Your shoulders lock.

“There’s only one way to test a hypothesis,” I say.

“No.” Quick. Decisive. Not fear—control.

But you don’t leave.

Good.

I lower my hand. “As you like. You’ll have to trust me eventually.”

Your exhale is uneven. “You believe me?”

“I believe that you believe it,” I say. “And that matters far more than whether or not I find it plausible.”

Your fingers flex, unclenching slightly. A first crack in the armor.

“You have, I assume, avoided treatment up to now,” I continue. “Or perhaps you attempted it once and found it lacking.”

“I—there’s no treatment for something like this.”

“No?” I tilt my head. “No cold-water immersion? No laudanum? No rotating chair?”

Your mouth tightens. A brief flicker of something—uncertainty, distaste.

“You expected a tonic, a rest cure. You expected me to tell you to sit in the sunlight and take walks in the fresh air.” I let my tone soften slightly. “Do you think I take simple cases?”

That flicker again. The first thread of curiosity from you.

I allow myself the faintest smile.

“You should know I'm not in the habit of coddling my patients,” I say. “You’ll find no tea and sympathy here. You may work with me, or you may leave.” A beat. “Decide.”

I watch you struggle with the choice. You want to say no. You also need to know what I will say next.

“I’ll stay,” you say finally.

I incline my head. Expected. But still—good.

“Then we’ll begin,” I say. “Tell me when it started.”

-> continue on Ao3

please leave a comment here or on Ao3—pretty please?

#dr. florence seward #dr. florence seward x reader #florence seward #florence seward x reader #patti lupone #my fics

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brittscafe · 2 days ago

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Pairing: Shuhei Hisagi x fem! gf! tall! reader

Summary: Shuhei Hisagi x fem, gf, tall! reader. Headcanons of how Shuhei reacts to his teasing gf and seducing him.

Request: Hii omg is it alright if I request for shuhei hisagi? This cute barely gets any recognition!! Can I please request shuhei hisagi with a fem! gf! tall! reader with long headcanons and a tiny drabble/imagine/blurb (I don't rlly know the difference between them I'm so sorry :') at the end of the headcanons? How does shuhei react to reader just teasing him relentlessly for a whole day? I mean, everytime she's even in the same vicinity as shuhei, she just smirks and comes up with ways to tease him by calling him nicknames like: "oh, there's my perfect husband!" While not being yet married "My sweet boy" "pretty boy" all kinds of names! And not only that, reader is under the same company as him and with reader being best friends with rangiku.. she has learnt the expert ways of "seducing" him, just for funs! By purposefully hugging shuhei from behind or front (and because she's taller than him) with her breasts pressed near against his face, physical interactions with fleeting lingering playful touches, things like that! How does shuhei react when he's talking to reader and she's just staring into his eyes with such a genuine look of admiration and since he's already so prone to flustering fast and intensely, how would he be? I'm so sorry if this was way too long for u :')! Thank you for reading and have a good day!

A/n: Hii! Of course it's alright!! This is for my tall queens bc I am a short girl, 5'1 to be exact. but I actually loveee Shuheiiiii and totally see him with someone taller <3

Content: A tad of suggestive content, but mostly sfw.

Ko-Fi link (please consider buying me a coffee! Anything is appreciated)

Shuhei may look like a punk because of his style, but he's actually a blushing cutie when you're around :)

Shuhei can feel it when his heart starts to speed up that you're near him and he's going to be a blushing mess soon.

It makes you giggle when you walk up to him, a sly smirk across your face as you throw your arms around Shuhei from behind.

He lets out a tiny grunt, eyes widen and cheeks glowing with a red hue.

Shuhei swears his heart might beat out his chest when he can feel your breasts pushed up against his upper back, near his neck and your lips brushing against his ear.

"Hi, pretty boy," you greet him with a wide smile and Shuhei's cheeks just turn redder.

Shuhei loves it when you call him pretty boy, the pet name has him itching for more, the edges of his lips slightly curled up as he averts his gaze every time the name is said.

He's got goosebumps along his arms when you press a fat kiss to his cheek, your arms running down his lower back and giving his ass an squeeze (i'm sorry like I just had to include that, pls forgive me 😭)

Shuhei stutters and stumbles over his words before getting out his sentence.

He'll finally turn around and face you, cheeks burning with redness and you grab onto them.

"Aw, is my sweet husband blushing because of me?" you giggle out and Shuhei's body tingles.

His mouth gapes open, palms sweaty as his mind spirals as you gaze at him.

Shuhei swears your eyes are like sirens, filled with such admiration and eyes clouded with thoughts of only him.

He'll look up into your eyes mid-sentence and be so stunned, he'll stop talking all of the sudden.

Shuhei can't help but let out a whine of defeat, burying his burning red, flustered face into the palm of his hands.

He knows this is just the beginning of the day and you're gonna be restlessly teasing him all day.

A smile dances along your face as you ruffle your hand through his hair, loving the feeling of his soft hair along your fingertips.

"I'll see you later, my good boy!" you tease him, your giggle echoing through his eardrums as you walk off.

Shuhei knows there is more to come, he adores it, but my gosh, does he get so flustered when he hears the name.

Every time you round near Shuhei, your hands seem to find their way to his body.

A subtle touch down his arm, fingertips pressing against his cheek, a hand gripping his ass, or a palm flatten against his abs underneath his uniform.

"Y/n," he mumbles out, trying to warn you that the two of you are in the public eye, but it's no use as his cheeks burn bright red.

You can't but sometimes pin Shuhei up against the wall, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss.

You'll pin one of his arms up against the wall as you tug on his bottom lip, earning a pouty whine from him.

As you pull away from the kiss, Shuhei's cheeks are blossoming with redness as his lips are slighted parted open, almost begging for more with his soft eyes.

Shuhei's ears are turning red and in order to contain himself, he's got to turn around and bury his face in the palm of his hands.

He's learned some breathing exercises to help him not explode from the amount of blushing he's doing.

"Oh, there's my perfect husband!" you call out, rushing up to Shuhei.

You can spot his raven hair and 69 tattoo from a mile away. You're tingling with joy at the sight of your soon to be husband, but for now, Shuhei's just your pretty, gorgeous boyfriend.

He turns towards you, breath getting caught his throat at your words and the way you skip towards him. Shuhei can already feel the heat rising up in his cheeks and he clears his throat, trying to contain himself.

Shuhei's eyes widen as you throw your arms around him, breasts smothering his face. Shuhei's hands grip at your waist, fingertips digging into your flesh past the uniform.

You pull away and your eyes lock onto his cheeks blushing intensely.

"How has your day been so far, pretty boy?" you ask, wide smile on your and soft, glistening eyes. Shuhei's gazes deep into your eyes, getting lost in them at the pure admiration behind them.

"Uhhh...g-good," Shuhei stutters out, mouth slightly gaped open. He's lucky there's not drool dripping out of the side of his mouth right now.

You giggle and lay your hand along his chest, running it down to where his white belt rests and Shuhei's stomach twists into knots, heart wanting to pound out his chest.

The things you do to this man...make him go absolutely insane. You're glad that Rangiku has taught you her ways of seducing a man, they seem to work very well on Shuhei.

"I'm so glad to hear that, my sweet boy," you coo out, tracing Shuhei's jaw with your finger. He gazes up at you, jaw dropped to the ground basically and body buzzing.

He lets out a defeating breath, letting his head fall into your breasts and you giggle. Gosh, it's so cute that Shuhei is so easily flustered by you and the way you tease him relentlessly.

"Aw, there, there, it's ok to be flustered. I would never judge you for that, pretty boy," you soothe him with your pretty voice, making him squeeze his eyes shut, body jolting with joy as his cheeks flush with even more redness.

#shuhei hisagi #bleach #shuhei hisagi x reader #shuhei hisagi x fem reader #bleachanime #bleach anime #bleach x y/n #bleach x reader #bleach x you #bleach x female reader #hisagi shuhei x reader #shuhei x reader #bleach shuhei #hisagi shuhei #hisagi x fem reader #tall reader

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dreamdragonkadia · 4 hours ago

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As Written Above, So Shall It Be Below Part - I.I Word Count: 3.2k A/N: I like doing mini-parts for the other characters. Feedback, comments, thoughts, and theories are always appreciated! Main Pairing: Rhysand/Reader/Feyre Prev - Next

There were two things Mor never expected to happen in her life. Not once had the thought crossed her mind—not in all the centuries she had spent at Rhysand’s side, through war and peace, through his long, aching absence Under the Mountain.

The first was Rhys returning after fifty years by himself. Alone. Without her.

Without the woman who had fought, laughed, and ruled beside him. The woman who had soothed Rhys’s darkest moments, who had been Cassian’s fiercest sparring partner, who had made even Azriel—silent, brooding, unreadable Azriel—smile in that rare way of his. The woman Mor had known since she was young, who had been her friend before she had even known what true friendship was.

She had known—they all had known—that things were bad Under the Mountain. That Rhys had endured horrors none of them could fathom. That you had been there, too, suffering beside him. But none of them had ever, ever thought you wouldn’t come home. That when Rhys returned, you wouldn’t return with him.

The second was when Rhysand—her cousin, the most unshakable male she had ever known—collapsed into her arms and wept as she asked where his wife, where you were.

Dead.

The realization had shattered something in all of them.

The Lady of the Night Court was dead. Gone. No longer breathing, no longer standing in their ranks, no longer offering that quiet strength that had carried them through so many battles. You were simply…gone.

Cassian had let out a sound Mor would never forget, one of pure rage and grief, something torn from the depths of his soul. He had nearly torn through the house in his grief, as if he could undo it, as if fighting hard enough could bring you back.

Azriel had said nothing. He had only disappeared into the shadows, gone for hours, for days, Mor didn’t know. When he returned, his face was stoic, his shadows whispering, coiling tight around him like even they couldn’t bear the loss.

And Rhys—

Rhys had looked at her, at Cassian, at Azriel, at Amren as if he didn’t recognize them. As if the world he had clawed his way back to was not one he wanted to be in anymore.

Mor didn’t know how to hold them together. How to fix this. How to grieve you. She didn’t know how to walk into the townhouse and not see you curled up in the armchair with a book, how to go to Rita’s without you tugging her onto the dance floor, how to live in this city—your city—without you.

Amren had only placed a hand on Rhys’s shoulder, murmured, “I am sorry for your loss,” before turning away. Not out of cruelty. No—Mor had needed time to realize it, that Amren had not known how to react. How to grieve someone who had felt as eternal as the stars.

And then—then there had been the final, gutting blow.

Rhysand, their High Lord, their broken brother, had found his mate.

And she was betrothed to the High Lord of Spring.

A mortal girl.

Mor had stared at him, at the name that passed his lips—Feyre. A name she did not know. A name that meant nothing to her. Because how could it? How could it compare to the woman they had already lost?

A mate, when his wife was barely cold in the grave.

At least, to them.

Mor did not know whether to weep for him or scream at the Mother for such a cruel twist of fate.

She tried—gods above, she tried—to find comfort in the idea that maybe, maybe, the Mother had taken pity on them. That maybe this girl, this human girl, was a reincarnation of you. That after twenty long years, the Mother had given them back their Lady of the Night in another form.

Maybe it meant something that Rhys had tried to stay away and yet still found himself drawn to her. That he had gone to her wedding, torn her from it like it had been destiny.

But then Mor met Feyre Archeron.

And she was not you.

There was no flicker of recognition in her soul, no trace of the woman who had stood at Rhys’s side and defied the world for him. There was no laughter shared between them, no secret glances of knowing, no familiarity in the way she moved, the way she breathed.

Feyre Archeron was not you.

And that—that—was the day Mor finally had to accept that her Lady of the Night was truly gone. That her friend would not return with answers, would not be one step ahead of the Hybern threat. That the burden of ruling Hwen City in your stead now lay heavy on Mor’s own shoulders. That she would have to look into your parents’ grief-stricken faces—the only other good thing to come out of the Court of Nightmares besides their daughter—over and over again.

No, Feyre Archeron was not you.

But maybe… maybe she was something else.

Maybe she was a way forward.

Maybe this was the Mother’s last gift to Rhys—this broken, furious, made-fae girl who was his mate, who was, despite everything, starting to put the pieces of him back together.

Perhaps that was why, when Mor finally pushed Rhysand to do something, to try, she used your name.

"She was not your mate, Rhys. No matter how much either of you wanted it to be true. So maybe she sent this one as an apology. I do not think death would keep our Lady from interfering with her court one last time."

And for the first time in days, a snort of laughter—soft, broken, real—escaped Rhysand’s lips.

Mor leaned back against the couch, tipping her whiskey toward him in silent victory.

"I just want to know why," he admitted at last, his voice hoarse as he stared out at the night sky. Whiskey sat in both their hands, the golden liquid catching the light. Not Mor’s drink of choice, but damned if she was going to drink anything else tonight. "Not a single word to me, but a letter. One letter that I burned so no one would ever find out that even Under that awful place, she kept trying to help others. Tried to help me."

"Did her plan work?" Mor muttered, swirling her drink in her glass.

Rhys let out another humorless chuckle. "To perfection. Amarantha’s trust in me skyrocketed after that—deserted by my own dead wife? That was enough to leash me for the rest of time was everyone’s thought. The rest think my wife was a fool, that she got someone from their courts killed."

Something dark flickered in the room. A pulse of power. A physical manifestation of Rhys’s barely leashed rage.

Because this court—this family—would defend their Lady of the Night until their own deaths. "I don’t want Feyre to think she’s a replacement for another. Because she’s not—"

"I don’t think anyone who knows you would think that, Rhys." Because you couldn’t be replaced. "She’d want you to be happy. The least you owe her is to be happy."

Rhys stared down into his drink. "I know."

And for the first time in days, Mor almost believed him.

So she didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t hesitate when Rhys gave the order to retrieve Feyre from Spring, to pull his mate from the suffocating golden cage Tamlin had locked her in. Didn’t hesitate to make the girl feel welcome in their court, to offer her a hand despite the ghosts that still lingered in their halls, in their hearts.

Because if Cassian and Azriel—who had known grief longer than most had been alive—could accept Feyre, even while mourning the one they had lost, then so could Mor.

But what did make her hesitate—what had made her stomach tighten, her throat go dry—was when Feyre had seen that portrait in the Townhouse.

One of several Rhysand had commissioned centuries ago. One that, no matter how many years passed, would remain untouched.

"Who is this?" Feyre marveled aloud, fingers brushing along the frame, delicate, reverent.

Despite the gentleness of the touch, Mor wanted to pull her away.

It was instinct, that unyielding need to preserve what little remained of the Lady of the Night Court. To protect the few pieces of you that still lingered, still existed beyond memory, beyond stories whispered in the quiet hours of the night.

Feyre tilted her head, brows furrowing slightly. "She looks familiar."

Mor’s breath caught. A trick of the mind, surely. A passing resemblance buried somewhere in Feyre’s subconscious. It was impossible.

"That’s not possible," Mor said, forcing a casualness she did not feel, hands clasping loosely before her. "She’s dead."

"Dead?" Feyre turned toward her, blinking.

She should have left it at that. Should have let the moment pass. But Feyre only studied the portrait again, gaze tracing the elegant lines of your face, the ethereal glow the artist had captured in your immortal features. Then, softer, almost to herself—

"I wouldn’t forget seeing someone this beautiful."

Mor let out a slow breath, willing herself to stay composed. "She was," she admitted. "Beautiful. Kind. Clever. Too clever for her own good, sometimes." Her lips twitched, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "But she’s been dead for over twenty years now. She—" The High Fae hesitated, staring at the painting, as if expecting you to step out of it, to prove her wrong, to laugh and scold her for being so sentimental. But you never would.

So she turned back to Feyre and said, voice gentler now, "The woman in that portrait was the last Lady of this Court. Rhys’s late wife."

Silence.

Feyre stiffened, her fingers retracting from the frame as if she had touched something sacred, something forbidden.

Mor only continued, because someone had to say it, had to make Feyre understand what that portrait meant, what you had meant. "She died while they were Under the Mountain."

“He never said.”

"It’s hard. We all just found out about it while he lived with the knowledge for over twenty years."

It should have been that. It was that.

Even when Rhysand and Feyre had secretly married, when Mor had stood in front of his High Lord, her anger had not been at the bond or the ceremony. It had been at him. At the fact that he had let Feyre go back to Spring alone. That he had risked losing her, too.

But when he had finally told them, She is not just your lady. She is your High Lady.

Mor had felt the smallest, quietest relief.

Because your title was still your own.

Every other Lady of the Court was but a high title for a consort, a place beside their High Lord and nothing more. But you had taken that title and made it into something greater. You had honored Rhysand’s mother with it, had turned it into a crown forged in power and shadow and fear.

You had made the world know the power of your name.

And when she still heard the whispers—the Illyrian warriors murmuring of the Lady of the Night coming to claim their souls, the Court of Nightmares speaking your name in hushed reverence, in fear—

It brought a smile to Mor’s face.

Because even now, even dead, you were still a legend.

Even he—her father, cruel and wretched as he was—would not dare speak against you. Not in front of others. Even if the Court of Nightmares hated Rhysand, even if they despised her, they had, at the very least, respected your name.

Even if it should have been that—should have been only that—it was all ruined for her when Feyre’s sister, Elain, found that portrait in the old office in the House of Wind.

When she had wandered into a magically sealed room that no one had opened in over a decade—doors that should have remained locked, untouched.

And yet, there Elain had stood, in the middle of that forgotten space, staring up at the portrait as if it had spoken to her.

Mor had barely managed to get out a sharp, “Elain, what are you doing in here?” before the seer whispered—

"She’s waiting."

A chill slithered down Mor’s spine. "What?"

Elain didn’t look away from the painting.

Didn’t blink.

Her eyes, too bright, too knowing, stayed fixed on the face immortalized in that portrait—on you.

"She’s waiting," Elain repeated, softer this time. "She was lost, but the stars kept her safe. Kept them both safe. A daughter of darkness, cradled by fire. Hidden, hidden… but the storm is coming. Slipping faster than she could catch it. Stop it."

Mor's stomach plummeted.

No.

No, Elain had to be wrong. Had to be seeing something else, someone else.

Because you were dead.

But even as they left that room, even as Mor slammed the doors shut, sealed them tight with wards no one should be able to break again—

Something in her chest knotted.

Anxiety. Dread. Sorrow.

And the tiniest flicker of hope.

Her feet carried her forward at a slow pace.

Mor wasn’t sure if that whisper of hope had stripped all sense of reason from her. If it was something she should crush beneath her heel, should let go.

Because if you had been alive—if you were alive—you would have come back.

And if you were—somewhere—the political disaster that would unfold…

Mor exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face as if she could scrub the thoughts away. Maybe she was just angry. Still furious with Rhysand for promising her father access to Velaris, for opening up the Moonstone Palace.

For giving access to your things, to the rooms you had once filled with your presence. Mor had made sure to seal them twice over.

It wasn’t fair—to Feyre, to her High Lady, to the female who had done nothing but try to find her place in a court still haunted by ghosts. She didn’t want to hurt Feyre. Not in any way.

Feyre, who had never asked for any of this.

Feyre, who had willingly left the portraits untouched, who had once sat near them and said, “It brings me a strange sort of comfort. Like she’s holding my hand.”

Feyre, who had wandered into that old, abandoned room—the one that had belonged to you—because it was the only place she had felt like she could breathe with everything happening. "I would have liked to meet her."

Maybe Mor was just awful for wanting to know the truth so badly that she was willing to drag another down this pit of hope and anxiety.

But…

She knew where to find Az at this hour.

A small lake just outside Velaris.

A place pulled down with memories—of stolen afternoons, of you lounging on a blanket with a book in one hand and a drink in the other. The laughter so loud and bright it made her chest ache. Of a night that had ended with her doubled over, vomiting into the bushes while you—drunkenly snorting—tried to rub her back, only to kneel over and throw up right beside her.

Az had been beside himself, torn between disgust and amusement. "Idiots," he had muttered, handing both of them water. "The worst drunkards I’ve ever seen."

And you—gods above, you—had only groaned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "You love us. Not a word to Cassian about this.”

She found him standing at the edge of the water, wings tucked in, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders as he stared out across the lake. The moonlight turned the surface silver, broken only by the ripples of a passing breeze.

Azriel had barely glanced over his shoulder at her, brow raised.

"I need your help, but you can't tell anyone what we're doing." The words tumbled out too fast, rushed, breathless.

Az blinked at her. He should have told her no. Should have said that if Rhys asked, he would tell him. Should have reminded her that they had all made promises, all sworn. But Azriel remained quiet, letting her continue.

She only had to say your name once to prompt the slightest reaction—so slight that anyone else might have missed it.

The faintest hitch in his breath. The way his shadows coiled tighter around his shoulders. And then Mor was spilling it.

Everything.

Elain’s words. The way she had looked at that portrait, the way her voice had gone distant, hollow. The certainty that laced her tone, as if she knew. As if she had seen.

Mor’s theories followed, unraveling in rapid, desperate succession. Outlandish, impossible, reckless—but still she said them. Because if she didn’t say them, if she didn’t speak them aloud, she might drown in them. "Tell me I am going crazy," she finally pleaded. "Tell me I am grieving and this whole Hybern-at-our-doors nightmare has made me insane."

Her voice cracked.

Azriel just stared at her. Did not say a word. He should have said something. Should have reassured her, told her she was being ridiculous, told her that grief was making her see things that weren’t there.

But he didn’t.

And that was what terrified her the most.

Because Azriel did not waste words. Did not entertain fantasies. If there was no truth to her theories, if she was simply unraveling under everything, he would have told her.

Mor crossed her arms, trying to ground herself. “Say something.”

He hesitated. Too long.

"I don’t know what you want me to say," he admitted at last. His voice was quiet, careful.

"Say I’m wrong. Say it’s impossible."

A muscle feathered in his jaw. His eyes flickered with something she couldn’t place.

"You’re grieving," he finally said. "That much is true. We all still are."

Mor clenched her teeth, looking away, looking at the lake, anywhere but at him. He hadn’t said she was wrong.

"Az—"

"Elain sees things we don’t understand," he interrupted. "Not all of them make sense. Not all of them come true in the way we think."

But that wasn’t a denial.

And Mor knew—knew—that if Azriel had any doubt about something, he would hunt it down until he found the truth.

"So you don’t believe me," she muttered, shaking her head. "But you don’t not believe me either."

He said nothing. That silence was worse than any answer he could have given her. Silence meant he was considering it.

Silence meant that somewhere, buried in that impossibly mind of his, he had asked himself the same question she had:

What if?

What if Elain’s vision was true?

What if you had survived?

What if there was still some part of you out there, waiting in the dark?

The thought made her chest ache.

She ran a hand through her hair, laughing bitterly. “This is ridiculous. She would have come home.”

"Maybe she wouldn’t. Not if it would hurt Rhys. Not if it would hurt this court."

The words were so quiet, so carefully spoken, that it took her a moment to realize he had actually said them.

Mor’s stomach twisted.

"You think—" She shook her head. "No. No, Rhys would have felt it if she were alive. They’re minds were link—"

"That was only a thread," Azriel murmured. "And it can be severed. Blocked out. A wall as cold as death."

Mor went still.

"If there is even a chance Elain is right," Mor whispered, barely able to say it aloud, "we have to find out, Az. We have to know."

His shadows swirled, as if responding to her words.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then—Azriel exhaled, long and slow.

"There is a rumor…”

#✨️by yours truly✨️#acotar #a court of thorns and roses reader insert #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses fanfiction #rhys x reader #rhysand #acotar x reader #as written above so shall it be below #awassibb #acotar series #mor acotar #azriel acotar #feyre x reader #feyre archeron

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