#gentle touch does wonders for a burdened heart

[colouredbyd]

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

Secrets Have Teeth: part one

poly!marauders x fem!reader

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

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

w/c: 10k

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

part two final part masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But lately, there’s been something else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But beneath it, the ache lingers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the walls go up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to follow them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

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

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

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

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

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

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

You woke to pain.

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

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

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

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

He had mauled you.

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

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

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

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

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

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

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

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

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

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

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

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

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

You would carry these forever.

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

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

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

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

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

The silence rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

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

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

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

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

You stopped.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

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

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

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

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

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

You were already bleeding.

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

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

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

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

This didn’t have to happen.

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

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

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

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

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

And you broke.

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

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

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

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

"Remus…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

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

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

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

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

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

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

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

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

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

Remus was screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

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

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

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

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

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

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

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

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

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

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

No one spoke.

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

"You don’t remember," you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

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

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were holding him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

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

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

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

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

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

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

“But I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t let go of him either.

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

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

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

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

He stood by the door, unmoving.

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

He flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

You reached for his hand again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this time, he did.

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

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

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

And still, you listened.

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

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

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

And still, there was so much more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healing would not be a soft road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

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

“For keeps.”

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

[effetsecndaires]

— 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 (𝐡𝐜𝐬)

INCLUDES | toman members [mentioned: draken, hakkai, mitsuya, pah-chin, peh-yan, takemichi, kazutora, chifuyu, baji.], bonten members [mentioned: takeomi, koko, kakucho, sanzu, ran and rindou haitani]

NOTE | headcanons for toman are set in the final timeline! everyone is in their mid/late 20s, happy & alive :) | request

— TOMAN.

When Mikey shows up with a pregnant lady at his side, most of the gang is stunned into silence. Curious gazes are exchanged, then everyone start whispering among each other, trying to make sense of the situation.

At first, nobody really connects the dots. They all assume you must be a friend in need or someone Mikey found and decided to help. They imagine that Mikey took you under his wing and promised to keep you safe – which would explain why he brought you here. Typical Mikey.

Imagine the absolute whiplash when Mikey starts the meeting by introducing you as his wife.

For some of them (especially Draken), it's kind of a hard pill to swallow.

A wave of realization hits him hard and he suddenly feels like he never really knew Mikey after all. His best friend, whom he hangs out with pretty much every day and has been looking after his whole life, has been married this entire time? He can't help but wonder how he missed all the signs and feels a mixture of emotions as he tries to process those unexpected layers of Mikey's life that he never knew existed.

But once he starts to grasp the reasons why Mikey did it, he begins to feel better about it.

He knows that Mikey has always been a responsible and thoughtful young man. The fact that he kept his wife hidden from the gang because he knew your presence might've made you a target for rival gangs or enemies seeking to exploit the slightest vulnerability in his life only made Draken more admirative of Mikey.

Over time, everyone in Toman gets accustomed to the situation and they all grow closer to you, much to Mikey's delight.

Hakkai has yet to get used to seeing you around all the time, but he tries his best. He really likes you and tries not to freeze completely when you talk to him. It's not easy for him, but he does manage to get a few words out when you start a conversation. It's cute to see him make the effort and face his shyness just to be able talk to you.

Baji and Chifuyu are like your personal bodyguards. They treat you like a younger sibling, always looking out for you and stealing you from Mikey to hang out or help with shopping for the baby.

As for Mitsuya, he'll put all his energy into making his own unique pieces of clothing for the baby. Before your child is even born, he's is already envisioning the most adorable designs to keep the little one cozy and stylish at all times. He'll design all sort of cute outfits, knit baby blankets, baby booties, and maybe even craft some nursery decor, because why not.

Everyone quickly realizes that you are an essential pillar of support for Mikey and they, too, end up finding comfort in your presence.

In moments of stress and anxiety, you always know how to calm them down. A gentle touch on the shoulder or a quick pep talk is all it takes to ease the burden from their shoulders. It's as if you have this innate sense of knowing when people need support the most, and you're always there to lend a listening ear or a shoulder to lean on.

You've practically become Kazutora's best friend and confident, and he often seeks your advice on important decisions. Your bond with him runs deep, forged through shared experiences and the understanding that you have for each other. He knows that you genuinely care about his well-being and will always have his best interests at heart.

After the baby's arrival, Pah-Chin and Peh-Yan turn into the typical pair of bickering uncles, always competing to hold the baby first (because of course, everyone gets to hold your baby at least once a day).

One day, their playful argument escalates and their voices disturb the baby's peaceful sleep, leading to Mikey landing a friendly kick on them, while Draken settles to giving them a rather harsh slap on the back of the head.

In the midst of the chaos, Takemichi eventually gets the privilege of holding the baby first. You could tell he was practically dying to ask, but simply didn't dare to.

You share a special connection with all of Mikey's friends, like a close-knit found family, and each of them wholeheartedly reciprocates your affection.

— BONTEN.

When Mikey holds a meeting to introduce his pregnant partner, the news doesn't really come off as a shock to anyone. Everyone in Bonten is used to sleeping around, and, well, they know that accidents can happen.

Mikey decided to be responsible and keep a prostitute and her baby? Okay, good for him. Maybe not the best decision, but that's none of their business.

What genuinely shocks them however, is finding out that you and your baby are actually far from being a mere accident or casual fling gone wrong.

In fact, you've been Mikey's wife for a little over a year now, and the main motivation behind his decision to introduce you to his gang is to ensure your safety at all times. He can't risk an enemy finding out about you before his allies do, especially now that you're pregnant.

They're not exactly thrilled by the idea of playing babysitter for their boss - but they quickly get used to having you around. (It's not like they have much of a choice anyway)

Takeomi handles you like literal porcelain. He doesn't leave your side, always following you around to make sure you don't trip, fall down the stairs or hurt yourself in any way shape or form.

His attentiveness is primarily driven by your position as the boss's wife rather than personal affection or genuine concern for you, though. He's just doing his job, knowing that any harm happening to you while he's in charge of watching you will result in him getting reprimanded by Mikey. You're a very nice woman, but he'd rather be tasked with more important business - hence the constant huffs and sighs when he's around you.

Koko, on the other hand, grows particularly fond of you and buys pretty much everything you need for yourself and the baby. Whether it be clothes, plushies, furniture for the nursery or your weird pregnancy cravings, he'll get you anything you desire. This baby is going to be spoiled rotten whether you like it or not. (Mikey complains about it more than you do)

Similarly, you and Kakucho develop a significant bond over time, the third-in-command becoming almost like an older brother to you. Among the gang, he stands out as the friendliest and least intimidating, Introducing a comforting and accessible presence in your life, something you've been missing for a while. Although you love Mikey dearly, being his wife presents its own set of difficulties and often leaves you feeling isolated.

Sanzu mostly minds his own business. He does his job and keeps an eye on you, but he has too much respect for Mikey to even consider befriending you. He wouldn't want his boss to get the wrong idea.

He mostly leaves the wifesitting job to the others, preferring to stay by Mikey's side and obey his more thrilling orders.

(And let's be honest, you're not complaining)

The Haitani brothers aren't big on befriending, and yet from time to time they'll buy some stuff for your baby, like little shoes or plushies. (That's mostly Rindou's doing, as he tends to be friendlier than his older brother).

When you find yourself alone at home, they're usually the ones assigned to stay by your front door, ensuring your security.

[suntoru]

(PARENT)HESIS ON LOVE!

— SYNOPSIS: gojo has always been the one babied; although now that you're pregnant, the roles have been reversed.

— WARNINGS: pregnant reader, fluff, hormones, insecurities about getting bigger, referred as mama once or twice, not proofread, a bit of crying, 1k words

— AUTHOR’S NOTE: guys i'm cooking i swearrrrrrrrrr i'm too sad to write

gojo satoru is completely infatuated with you, especially now that you're carrying his child. every little thing about you seems to sparkle with an extra layer of beauty in his eyes; the way your skin seems to glow with an ethereal radiance, and how you've become increasingly dependent on him lately, fills him with a sense of pride.

and oh, his favouritest thing in the world is the way you waddle around the house, so cutely, letting out tiny grunts of effort to get around. normally, you're the one taking care of him, but lately, he's been the one doting on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. he's so mindful, always making sure to take extra care, especially now that your mood swings are coming in at full force.

"you're so beautiful," he whispers to you, his eyes brimming with admiration as he gazes at you. his hand gently rests against your swollen stomach, his touch tender and soft. feeling a tiny kick from the baby, he can't contain his joy. "our baby's getting so big," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and adoration.

however, despite his pure intentions, hormones wreak havoc on your emotions, causing your mood to plummet suddenly. his innocent remark triggers a surge of insecurity and sensitivity within you.

"are you calling me big?" you mumble, your doe eyes welling up with tears as you struggle to hold back your emotions. crossing your arms defensively, you glare up at him, the hurt evident in your expression.

yet, gojo remains remarkably patient, his demeanor unwaveringly gentle as he responds to your emotional outburst. he never raises his voice or shows even a hint of frustration, instead choosing to shower you with affection and understanding. with a soft smile, he leans down to press a tender kiss to your swollen belly, his lips conveying all the love and reassurance he feels for both you and the precious life growing inside you.

"you know that's not what i meant," he reassures, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. as your grumpiness begins to surface, he remains by your side, tenderly massaging your sore legs, smiling up at you gently. with a sniffle, you push him away, your lips forming a stubborn pout as tears stream down your cheeks.

"go away," you sob, your voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. "i don't wanna see your face right now." he sighs softly, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he cups your face with infinite tenderness.

"do you really want me to go?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern, his willingness to leave evident in his earnest gaze if it would even bring you an ounce of peace. the thought of him leaving, even temporarily, fills you with a sense of emptiness and longing.

"no," you sniffle, longing to be held in his arms but hindered by the growing bump of your stomach. you sulk over the fact that you can no longer fit perfectly into his embrace like before, and how your increased appetite and mood swings must be testing his patience. insecurity grips you tightly as you think about how tired he must be of your constant ups and downs, from holding your hair back as you suffer from morning sickness to enduring your emotional outbursts. the fear of burdening him weighs heavily on your heart, and before you know it, fresh tears cascade down your cheeks.

"i'm sorry..." you sob, feeling utterly overwhelmed by your emotions, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your cheeks. "i'm fat, and... and ugly now, and i've been so mean to you lately..." your voice breaks as you unload your insecurities onto his sleeve, seeking solace in his comforting presence. frowning with concern, gojo gently brushes your hair behind your ears, his touch tender as he pulls you closer into his lap.

"hey, what are you talking about? you aren't any of those." he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your emotions.

"b-but... i can't even tie my own shoes without help because i'm big..." you snivel, hiccupping between words. he continues to stroke your head with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to cry freely against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his expensive shirt.

"you're carrying a literal human being in you; of course you'd get a little bigger," gojo reasons, his words carrying a reassuring weight. despite your doubts and fears, he remains steadfast in his support, his unwavering love evident in the earnest gaze he directs towards you. "but that doesn't mean i love you less. you always are, and will be, my pretty girl," he adds, his smile radiating warmth and affection, a beacon of reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. feeling unworthy of such devotion, you struggle to comprehend how someone as incredible as gojo could love you so unconditionally. his declaration of love washes over you like a gentle wave, soothing your battered soul with its sincerity.

"i love you, yeah?" he whispers, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back in a tender attempt to calm your racing heart. you nod softly, finding comfort in his embrace, your arms wrapped tightly around him as he kisses away your tears, his touch soothing your soul. "you're perfect," he murmurs against your cheek, his voice filled with adoration as he peppers your face with gentle kisses.

"our baby's lucky to have you as its mama." you cling onto him as if he's your lifeline, his presence grounding you amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you. with each whispered word he rambles to the life growing within you, he fills the air with promises of love and protection, his hand caressing your swollen belly tenderly.

"hey there, little one," he coos, his voice filled with anticipation. "you behave for mama, okay? we can't wait to meet you."

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[yokumirumerafan]

Hi i hope this isn’t a bother but can you do that Y/N found a wounded animal and forces the character to take care of it with them (with the uppermoons, Muzan, Tamayo and Yushiro)

Please and thank you :)

Upper Moons, Muzan, Tamayo, and Yushiro would react to Y/N finding a wounded animal and forcing them to take care of it together

📌 Post Info: 💬 Request: Y/N finds a wounded animal and forces the characters to take care of it with them 👥 Characters Included: Upper Moons, Muzan, Tamayo, Yushiro, + Hashira (Sanemi & Obanai added for drama 😭) 🌎 AUs Used: Canonverse 📖 Summary: Y/N stumbles upon an injured animal and, without a second thought, forces certain Demon Slayer characters (and demons) to help take care of it. Some react calmly. Some… not so much.

🌑 Muzan Kibutsuji Disgusted. "Why would I, the Demon King, care for a weak, insignificant creature?" Tries to ignore it, but if Y/N insists (or gives him the silent treatment), he just sighs and lets them do what they want. "Fine, but it stays away from me." Cue the animal immediately liking him. Secretly watches Y/N care for it and starts wondering why they care so much. Might even start seeing a weird parallel to his past life. 🌒 Kokushibo At first, he doesn't react much. Just stares at the small, wounded thing in Y/N's hands. “...If this is your will, then so be it.” (a.k.a. he just follows along bc he respects Y/N) Ends up silently tending to the animal when Y/N isn’t looking. Pretends not to care, but definitely does. If it’s something small like a bird or rabbit, he finds a quiet place for it to rest. 🌓 Doma “OH?! A tiny helpless creature? JUST LIKE YOU, Y/N~!” Immediately dramatic about it and pretends to be a “loving father” to the animal. "We'll nurse it back to health together, and it will become our cult pet! Oh, this is WONDERFUL!" Accidentally overstimulates the poor thing by holding it too much. Y/N has to stop him. Loses interest after a while, but pretends to still care just to make Y/N happy. 🌔 Akaza “Tch. It’s weak. Let it die.” Absolutely refuses at first. Says it’s not worth the time. But Y/N gives him THE LOOK. And suddenly, he’s holding the tiniest, most fragile thing in his big hands. "I don’t see the point of this." (But he’s secretly protecting it from the cold.) If it gets better, he’ll say, “Good. Now it can survive on its own.” (But he’s lowkey proud.) 🌕 Gyutaro "Ya really think a piece of filth like me should be takin’ care of somethin’ so fragile?" Lowkey scared to touch it. He thinks he’ll hurt it. Y/N is patient with him, and he actually ends up being super gentle with it. Gets attached. “Damn thing’s kinda cute, I guess.” If anyone tries to hurt the animal? He’ll MURDER them. 🌖 Kaigaku "Ugh, why me?!" Complains the most but still helps. Acts like it’s a huge burden, but Y/N notices him secretly making sure it’s warm. "Tch, whatever. If it dies, don’t come crying to me." (Literally the first one to panic when it looks sick.) If it survives? He’s just like, “Of course it lived. It had me.” Tamayo Instantly goes into doctor mode. “Poor thing… Let’s clean the wound first.” Super gentle and efficient. Probably has some kind of herbal remedy for it. Gives Y/N an approving smile, happy to see their kindness. "It will be alright. You have a good heart, Y/N." Yushiro "Why do you care? It's just an animal." Complains like crazy but still helps. If Y/N is sad over it, he gets pissed at whoever hurt it. "Tch. Whoever did this is a waste of space." Ends up being the best at keeping it calm and stable. Pretends to be annoyed but actually proud of himself for saving it.

Eheheh also I feel like I should do some of the Hashira, I'm thinking of Sanemi and Obanai, because everyone else would react calmly except these mfs <33

🐍 Obanai Iguro & 🌪️ Sanemi Shinazugawa React to Y/N Forcing Them to Care for a Wounded Animal

🐍 Obanai Iguro "Absolutely not." The second Y/N shoves the small, wounded animal in his arms, he freezes like he just got cursed. “I am not touching that thing. It’s filthy.” Y/N does not care. They just wrap it in a cloth and shove it at him again. Kaburamaru sniffs it. Now he’s conflicted because if his snake isn’t hissing at it, it must be harmless. “…Fine. But you’re the one feeding it.” (Spoiler: He totally feeds it.) Lowkey protects it without realizing it. If anyone else tries to touch it, he glares. “You’ll scare it. Back off.” Will never admit he cares but will stab someone for it. 🌪️ Sanemi Shinazugawa IMMEDIATE LOUD REACTION. “THE HELL IS THIS?! YOU THINK I GOT TIME FOR A DAMN ANIMAL?!” CROSSES HIS ARMS AND REFUSES. “Not my problem.” Y/N gives him the biggest death glare. Y/N: “Sanemi. Pick it up. Now.” Sanemi: Grumbles, picks it up aggressively like it’s a sack of rice. Instant regret. "Shit, it's shivering—WHAT DO I DO?!" Panics but refuses to show it. Calls Y/N dumb for caring but is the first to keep it warm. “Tch. If it dies, I ain’t takin’ responsibility.” (He’s totally taking responsibility.) If it survives, he acts like it was all Y/N’s doing. Secretly checks up on it when Y/N isn’t looking.

😭 THESE TWO WOULD BE THE MOST DRAMATIC FOR NO REASON. I LOVE THEM. Hope you enjoy, bae!! 💖

[yanderenightmare]

JJK ! IMAGINE

Okkotsu Yuta x darling

TW: yandere

He’s silent for the most part – pensive and gentle with you – barely touching you aside from mellow strokes lacking a lasting feel and featherlight kisses that only barely leave your skin wet. 

Everything seems somewhat virginal. Awkward. At a distance…

But you know he watches you when you sleep – and it gives you goosebumps every night. 

He’ll sit in the chair by the window instead of lying next to you, his dour gaze lingering on you and your shape draped in the thin duvet. He’ll listen to your soft snores, and watch you dream – thinking about what he wouldn’t do to keep you like that, safe and sound and perfect – coming up short. 

There’s so much ugliness in the world… he needs to keep you from it.

“Yuta…” You croaked groggily, waking up and squinting at him where he still sat in the dim moonlight. “You’re freakin’ me out…” Twisting in the sheets, you pull them aside to free space on the bed before yawning. “Come to bed already.” 

He sits for another moment and you think he’s gonna stay there like every other night, keeping guard or whatever it is that he’s doing – but then he stands. Taking your invitation silently, lying down on his side of the bed, making the mattress sink – and it’s only then that you regret it, feeling your heart flare with dread, reminded of how he’s a psycho who’s had you trapped in his house for months without telling you why. 

You lie awake in wait of his touch – but it never comes. 

Snores come first.

You roll over again, looking at him – disheveled strands of dark hair splayed on the pillow, tired circles beneath heavy eyes – his face serious even in his sleep. It was strange… he didn’t look like a man capable of hurting anyone. But though he’s never hurt you, aside from keeping you here against your will, you know he’s very capable of violence. You’ve seen the bruises he dregs home, but more than that, you’ve seen the blood drenching his white clothes when he comes home bruise-free.

He doesn’t sit in the chair at all the night after. He comes straight to bed alongside you. And you suppose him lying there doesn’t make much difference for you so long he keeps his hands to himself – which he does until you fall asleep.

It’s sometime later in the night when you awake to the feeling of him brushing cold fingers over the exposed skin of your shoulder, down your upper arm, and further upon your hip.

Your breaths stick in your lungs as he shuffles closer, soon pressed flush against your back – his lips at the shell of your ear. 

He wraps his arm around your midriff and presses himself harder into you, and it’s only then that you realize he’s crying. Stirring against you in suppressed sobs as he buries his face into your hair.

You cringe. Listening to him sniffle as he holds your body snug. Opening your mouth and closing it again, you suck your lip in hesitation before calling his name. “Yuta?”

“I’m sorry for waking you-” He apologizes – and you wonder if you should just stay quiet, maybe he’d settle down and return to his side of the bed soon. But it seemed a little unlikely.

“Why are you crying?” You ask instead. 

“I’m scared…” He says, placing his forehead against the nape of your neck, both arms locked over your stomach and tugging you close for comfort.

You tense at his warmth – never having been so close to him before. Swallowing thickly. “Scared of what?”

His breath shivers against your back where he has his head bowed as his fingers dig into your sides enough to make you release a tiny whimper. “Scared that I won’t be able to protect you.”

You shiver a bit now, scared to move. You’re voice weak. “Protect me from what?”

He lifts his head and places a kiss on your shoulder. Nuzzling against the grove of your neck. “You shouldn’t worry about it.” He dismisses, gently, in a whisper, in that lilt he so often uses with you as though he fears anything louder would rattle you. “It’s my burden.” 

He shifts and scoots himself perfectly behind you, holding you snugly in strong arms.

“Sleep, I’ll keep you safe.”

[haliotropes]

Please anything at all Rust x reader would legit heal my soul.

I need Rust with someone who is smart and capable but sweet and loving. PLEASE LET THAT AFFECTION-STARVED MAN GET CUDDLES. 😭😭😭😭

You Know Where You Are

A/N: Rated T ig, fluff for Rust, you are good for him, this will probably be inserted into the long form fic!

₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ ₊˚ ✧.* ೃ

You've slept on less comfortable surfaces than Rust's mattress, though it's thin and the floor is hard and the blanket is scratchy. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters to you but Rust's softening outline each time a car's headlights breached the slats of the blinds over his shoulder. Nothing but the way his breathing is even, soft, never held or heavy. His eyelids, always half-lidded, now seem so because of this rare pocket of peace and not because he's burdened with some horrific scenery.

Speaking of his eyes, they flutter occasionally, like he's trying to stay awake, but all he does it look at you. Which is fair, because all you do is look at him. It's all you do, but what you want more than anything is to follow the carved marble of his face. Your eyes trail from a muscle in his jaw that twitches, to the tendon it connects to, and then way the tendon disappears into his clavicle. And you laugh at your desired softness for him, and your stark nakedness, and the corners of your mouth lift despite exhaustion.

"What is it?" He asks through a small smile of his own, because your joy is sometimes the only thing that can save him from drowning.

"It's just ironic...you don't much like being touched."

He thinks carefully before responding. "Not unprompted, no."

Your hand, from where it rests between you two, flexes involuntarily.

"May I?"

He doesn't respond, but nods his head. Now, he holds his breath. He doesn't think you'll hurt him, far from it, but that your feather light touch on his volatile skin would shatter it. If that happens, you'd only get injured in the blast.

You raise a hesitant hand, one delicate finger out, and start by tracing a thin line from his brow to his cheekbone. From the first moment you met Rust, you yeared to touch this sharpest part of him, wondering if it could cut. It doesn't, of course. He relaxes almost instantly, the lines on his face fall away and he looks nearly ten years younger. He closes his eyes. He sighs.

Your thumb travels from his brow bone to his hairline, where you brush away a stray copper curl that has fallen onto his forehead. The tickling of his long eyelashes on the soft skin of your forearm proves to be too much so you pull away. But he catches your hand- swiftly, but still gently. Slowly, he raises your wrist to his mouth and plants a sort of half kiss there, mostly allowing parted lips to linger over the thin skin. His warm breath spreads in stark contrast to the chill of the night and your skin raises in goosebumps.

You dare. Lay your palm against the hollow of his cheek and stroke under his eye. His hand travels up and down your arm.

"Is this alright?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. His reply is no reply at all, only gentle breathing. When you eventually move again to pull your hand away, he instead moves it to his chest, right over his heart.

He wants to be felt. He needs to be known. Someone needs to look at him and know he's alive, he's human, he's here.

Your elbow grazes his scars. With his other arm, he draws you closer, now touching you with more care than ever before, and like this, you both drift off into a dreamless sleep.

[kulemiwrites]

VARIOUS | Love Languages

Characters: Masato Aizawa, Akira Nishikiyama(x2), Reina, Osamu Kashiwagi, Kaoru Sayama, Kazuma Kiryu, Goro Majima, Taiga Saejima, Shun Akiyama

Prompt: What are their love languages?

Notes: It's not Sunday but I thought I'd go ahead and bring back one of my lighter hearted posts after dropping that last Nishikiyama fic. As promised 🤍

Original note: Personally, I’m of the belief that most people have multiple love languages. It’s just that they tend to favor some over others. Hence why I categorized things the way I did. Anyway, one of my love languages is including the faves of some of my friends/mutuals. 😘

MASATO AIZAWA

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Physical Touch. He’s affectionate with loved ones by nature. It was how he was shown love by the people who raised him and it never left him. There’s honestly too much to appreciate about being close to his partner– holding them, caressing them, that Aizawa simply cannot go without for too long. He craves the warmth of their skin against his own, the texture of it or the fabrics of their clothes, that slight vibration in the throat and chest when they speak, their scent… 

Most Likely to Offer: Physical Touch. He’s never been someone that had a way with words. Sure, he can communicate whatever message he needs to get across but he’d much rather show than tell. His partner can feel how much he loves, cares and even respects them through the tenderness of his touch. He’s delicate with them when he’s brash toward everything else in the world. They can know how much he needs them from the linger of his gaze, hugs, caresses and kisses. He can show them how much he desires them from the passion of his kisses and stroke. In truth, he’s not only just affectionate with partners though. He shows a friendly affection toward most people that he cares about like, friends and family by greeting them with hugs, ruffling their hair when he’s being cheeky, draping an arm around their shoulder as he stands next to them and more. If anyone ever wonders how Aizawa feels about them, they should look no further than how often he invades their personal space or if not that, how gentle he is when he does.

Least Likely to Respond to: Receiving gifts. It’s not even that he wouldn’t appreciate it, he absolutely does. There’s just not much that he ever truly wants and needs outside of necessities. So, there’s not much he would ask for that he feels he couldn’t just get himself. He feels that the burden of treating himself is his alone.

AKIRA NISHIKIYAMA (Y0)

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Words of Affirmation. He may minimize or dismiss what’s being said sometimes but it’s only because he doesn’t always believe that he’s loved, that he’s attractive, that he’s appreciated, that he’s admired. While he may roll his eyes, laugh and push out, “Psh,” outwardly, know that inside, his heart is doing somersaults and blast beats beneath his rib cage. While he emotionally benefits from praise from outsiders, not much hits quite like being praised and uplifted by the person he knows actually loves him and isn’t trying to get anything out of him. 

Most Likely to Offer: Quality time. One may think that this would have been gift giving, but at this point, the majority of his gifting is spearheaded by either obligation or intent to display means. There is often little thought behind a bulk of those purchases. In his mind, a gift's worth is based on its monetary value rather than the quality and what it means for the other person. It’s completely vapid, devoid of deliberate consideration. It’s a way for him to win– be it favor, respect, and/or admiration. Looking at gifts that he gives as an indicator of what he feels for someone is a losing battle. What isn’t though, is noting how often he makes time and space for his partner no matter what he’s got going on. He never lets too much time pass between dates. He often invites his partner to tag along as he goes about his day just because things feel so much easier when in their presence. Whether it’s shopping, cruising around town, washing his car or asking them to be his plus one at social events, Nishiki enjoys being able to look to his side and see their smiling face. 

Least Likely to Respond to: Receiving gifts. Unless it’s something that is of sentimental value, he tends to feel a tad awkward when he’s on the receiving end of a gift. If his partner is intending to purchase something for him, they might wanna make sure they’ve got a good eye for his tastes first. He’s very particular about what he likes and he’s pickier than most. He never leaves himself wanting for long. So, even if there’s something out there that he desires, he tends to just get it himself and that often just makes him difficult to shop for. 

AKIRA NISHIKIYAMA (K)

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Physical Touch. He’s probably the most touch starved he’s ever been in his life around this point. Most days, he walks around with his jaws clenched and shoulders tense. He’s often repulsed when he’s touched by those he has no favor toward but once he’s under the loving caress of the one he adores, every muscle in his body relaxes from top to bottom. He doesn’t even realize how unbelievably wound up he is until he’s practically deflating in their arms. Initially, he’d find someone like that dangerous and consider letting them go, not wanting this ability to disarm him– become a liability.. But once he experiences that, he’d start to crave it before too long.

Mostly Likely to Offer: Quality Time. He doesn’t have a lot of free time, but he will make his loved ones fit into his schedule somehow. It doesn’t really matter how he goes about it either, be it enjoying the comfort of home with them or dragging them along as he handles his… more palatable business. For him, quality time and physical touch go hand in hand. He can’t spend time with them without feeling them near him and he is hesitant to part with them once it’s over.

Least Likely to Respond to: Words of Affirmation. He’s too distrusting to believe just about anything anyone says to him. He counts on people discounting his ability to read between the lines and underestimate him. He’s lost track of how many times he’s heard one story then witnessed the opposite from the very same pair of lips. It’s why he monitors a person to determine what they mean instead; their tone of voice, their body language, the ability to hold his sharp, piercing gaze. His partner can say whatever they want but he’ll be the one to determine what’s true and what’s not.

REINA HATTORI

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving: Quality Time. She loves to spend time with those that she loves. She never tires of seeing her loved ones’ faces! When her partner takes the initiative to make time for her, she will take notice. They don’t need to do anything fancy. Sometimes being alone together is more than enough to make her feel cared for. A perfect evening for her could be as simple as looking up in the vanity mirror as she’s painting her nails and seeing her lover in the background occupying themselves with something.  

Mostly Likely to Offer: Acts of Service. It could have a lot to do with her upbringing where she was shown love by acts of service from her parents rather than them outwardly vocalizing it. Picking up the errands her partner dislikes, making them soup and fresh tea when they’re not feeling well or even cooking their favorite dishes to cheer them up and celebrate wins despite her not enjoying the act of cooking are but a few examples! Knowing that those things will bring a smile to her partner’s face makes it all worth it in the end.

Least Likely to Respond to: Words of Affirmation. To her, words are insultingly cheap when the person’s actions don’t back it up. She hears all types of flattery day in and day out and she’ll be the first to let someone know that it will get them absolutely nowhere. She might appreciate some kind words here and there but it’s a turn off when someone lays it on kinda thick.

OSAMU KASHIWAGI

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Acts of Service. ‘I love you’, ‘I care about you’, ‘I worry about you’, ‘I need you’, and ‘I want you’ are phrases that do not often find themselves in his vocabulary. He’s very old fashioned in the way he shows his affection toward someone (when it’s not blatantly written on his face). He appreciates when he hardly has to pick up around the house because his partner wants him to relax.  

Mostly Likely to Offer: Acts of Service. He’s not really all that sure of other ways he can show his love than by, well, showing it. He’s a very observant man– probably more observant than most. It’s because of that, that he’s often able to tell whether someone actually means well or if they’re simply going through the motions. He never wants anyone putting themselves out for his sake. If he sees that his partner isn’t doing something for him out of obligation, rather than because they simply want to take it off his hands, he will never hesitate to repay them in kind. He almost automatically takes the responsibility of head of household, and he’ll take it seriously. So often, he could be drowning but his partner wouldn’t hear a word about it because he doesn’t want them to worry. He will ensure they’ve had no less than three meals a day and surprise them with snacks when he thinks they could use a little pick-me-up.

Least Likely to Respond to: Words of Affirmation. There aren’t many ways in this world that make Kashiwagi feel flustered or embarrassed but there are a couple and they fall under the ‘direct proclamations of love’ category. He’s not one to fix his mouth to say the words and if he does feel the need to say something, it’s about as indirect as it could possibly get. He’d very much be a ‘tsuki ga kirei desu ne’ type of man and he prefers that his partner understands that. Otherwise, there shall be some awkwardness afoot.

KAORU SAYAMA

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Acts of Service. So often, she feels she needs to carry the world on her shoulders because she knows that she's all she’s got . She takes care of herself. She has no qualms with doing so. She doesn’t need anyone else to take care of things for her… But, she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t feel the relief when someone comes in and carries the load themselves without her so much as having to ask. She loves someone that can basically say, ‘While I know that you can do it, I’d like to do it for you.’ with their actions.

Mostly Likely to Offer: Physical Touch. She may have a hard exterior but it’s a layer she sheds very easily when she's beneath the touch of the right person. She can’t be touched by JUST anyone. She’s had coworkers who felt the need to squeeze her shoulders or touch her waist when they pass by and she physically recoils. In fact, she nearly broke someone’s wrist when pinning it behind their back because they were too ‘friendly’ with her. She’s called frigid. Folks assume that if she ever winds up with someone, that person would be marred by her fangs. However, that couldn’t be further from the truth. The person she loves has a way of melting down her icy barrier. Even when she’s being smothered, it somehow doesn’t feel like enough. Just… don’t expect her to explain/say any of that.

Least Likely to Respond to: Word of Affirmation. She feels that if someone acts with intent, there’s not really much need for words. Show, don’t tell is practically her motto when it comes to romance. Nothing kills her interest in someone faster than a bunch of empty words and promises. 

KAZUMA KIRYU

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving:  Physical Touch. If he ever sat and thought about it, he’d realize that the majority of the physicality he’s ever experienced in his life has been physical violence. Most people wouldn’t have experienced even a fraction of what he has. It’s sort of sad. He’s not very… in tune with his innermost desires. He’s not very honest about what he wants, whether it’s because he believes that he’s just not deserving of it or just that it’s a little embarrassing to admit, even to himself. That said, deep down? There’s a craving to have a pair of loving hands on him. He aches for that tenderness. So often, he finds that when he’s actually with someone, the time he feels most fulfilled physically is not when they’re touching him with lust but rather when they reach for him in comfort. 

Mostly Likely to Offer: Acts of Service. There’s not much in this world that he wouldn’t do for those that he loves. Sure, he often makes questionable choices but his intentions are always in the right place. He would do for his partner before he’d do for himself. He would put himself in difficult, uncomfortable situations if it means he’s able to help his loved one go through their days with ease. He’s not someone who has to be told what needs to be done but if he is told, he doesn’t really need to be told twice before it’s handled.

Least Likely to Respond to: Words of Affirmation. He’s not against hearing his partner out as they affirm him. He’s just not always sure how to respond to it. In instances where he’s rallying the troops, he’s got more than a few powerful speeches in his arsenal but he doesn’t plan them. He gets by by sheer passion while he’s internally waffling. He may spit out a simple, ‘Thank you’ after his partner tells him they love him and accidentally hurt them in the process. Being that vulnerable with a partner is infinitely more difficult than he’s emotionally equipped to handle.

GORO MAJIMA

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving: Physical Touch. Touch starved doesn’t even begin to explain what he’s got going on. He can probably count on one hand how many people he trusts enough to get close enough to him, let alone touch him. His case is a lot like the previous in that he’s experienced more physical violence than affection. In his case though, he knows what he wants or even, sometimes needs. It's just a matter of who is capable of disarming him well enough to fill that void. When he's got the ‘who’ sorted, he has no shame in asking for what he needs. He may be a little playful in the delivery but it’s not really a joking matter.

Mostly Likely to Offer: Physical Touch. There aren’t many instances where he exhibits his capacity for tenderness but reaching for the cheek of his loved one is one of them. Observing him with others then witnessing him show his ability to be warm, kind and gentle can be a little disorienting for those that believe everything that they see. He has a desire to be the beacon of safety in his partner’s eyes. He’s failed at that before and he shut himself out from opportunities to try again. It takes him reopening himself up, lowering his walls and trusting himself to be capable of not making the same mistakes twice. When the gloves come off, he wants his partner to know there’s no need to fear his touch.

Least Likely to Respond to: Words of Affirmation. Perhaps it’s because he spends so much of his day going around spouting bullshit for the sake of spouting bullshit that lots of things have little to no effect on him. He’s capable of confessing his love and he’s capable of accepting his partner professing their love but his partner would known from the way he treats them, long before the words come out of his mouth. He’d appreciate it if this was mutual.

TAIGA SAEJIMA

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving: Quality Time. He’s lost a lot of time and so he’s someone that makes sure to treasure every second that he gets whether he’s alone or he’s with the people he cares about. If his partner makes it a priority to share their time with him, no matter how much or how little, it doesn’t go unnoticed and he is sure to appreciate it. 

Mostly Likely to Offer: Words of Affirmation. He’s not a man of very many words. He’s someone who tries to speak with intent. He feels one can get more out of listening and observing than speaking a lot of the time. That said, when he does open his mouth, it’s because he’s got something that he feels is worthwhile. He doesn’t like to go through his life regretting that he didn’t say the things he should have said when presented with an opportunity. Again, he’s lost too much time and he’s lost one too many people not to. When he does affirm his partner, he tends to leave an impact.

Least Likely to Respond to: Receiving Gifts. He lost his sense of materialism ages ago. He doesn’t usually care about things. He doesn't want anyone wasting their money on him, especially when he knows that sometimes, one wrong move and he can lose everything. After having to start from zero more than once, he’s simply relinquished his attachment to material goods. However, he does hold a deep appreciation for things that are homemade especially for him. It’s practically a different story.

SHUN AKIYAMA

Most Likely to Respond Positively to Receiving: Acts of Service. Not to kick the man for being a lazy bag of bones but, he’s a biiiit of a slouch and often finds that he cannot be bothered to lift much in the way of a finger. When he’s with someone that does all the less than glamorous work for him, he takes notice. He might be a little cheeky when he speaks up to acknowledge it but his appreciation is genuine. He tries to remind himself to repay them in kind. 

Mostly Likely to Offer: Giving Gifts. While he’s not always the one to pick the gift personally, the idea to get something for his partner was his own. That’s gotta count for something, right? He doesn’t always trust himself to get something that his partner will like, even when he knows them like the back of his hand. It’s a damn shame too, because getting to see the reaction they have is like a little gift for himself. If he has taken the initiative and picked the gift, he’s almost a little anxious when he’s handing it off. Seeing them react positively to a gift he’s chosen for them does a little something to his mind that he’s not able to explain. It leaves him wondering why he doesn’t trust his judgment more often. When it’s time for another, he’s back to pawning the responsibility back onto Hana as if he’s learned nothing. Least Likely to Respond to:Quality Time. He understands that a lot of relationships require time to nurture but the truth is, he sort of enjoys his solitude now. He enjoys it to the point of being almost neglectful. He realizes he’s got that selfish streak in him and he won’t resolve it until he’s ready to do so.

[bunnysthirstcorner]

hi! I was wondering if it wouldn't be too much of gerhard x female human reader who's helping taking care of angelico as gerhard slowly starting to fall in love with a human?

Tw: Loss of a spouse

It had been a few years since his wifes' passing. She gifted him their son but he could never bring himself to be too close to the boy, him having that sparkle in his eyes that his beloved had was too painful to look at often, so he buried himself into his work. He avoided bonding with his son due to the hurt and calling it aristocrat work called him away.

Grief does that to a man.

It was until he hired a human nanny for Angelico when he noticed just how much he had missed. Due to Dali telling him to mix childcare with work, it forced him to interact with his son and touch the tender spot of seeing those eyes that he tried his hardest to avoid.

"Master Angelico can't ever sleep alone, Master Gerhard. He can't and he always needs a book read to him" His nanny replied about how to put the boy to rest. He was tired himself but the request to parent while working put his pride to the edge as Dali made it a challenge for him. He barely listened until he heard the your gentle voice snapping him out.

"Master Gerhard....Is there anything else?"

He looked to you and realized that the tone you used was so familiar and he can see why his son is enamored with you, but he merely gave a nod of his head, not wanting to touch that spot that's too sensitive to touch. "No, I will put the boy to bed and continue with my work, It won't be done unless I finish it."

He watched as you gave your curtsey and left. He was burdened by the Fra elders to marry for the sake of his son and he refused to take a woman who simply is after his fortune to squander. He hated the dull lifeless eyes they held, he wanted someone with life and make him tolerate this long life. He soon wondered if they would care if he married anyone of different status? He did with his wife and she was the light in his night sky and if he could; He could have her back.

Suppose marrying the nanny isn't far off. Angelico adores her and she approaches him with no fear despite their class difference....And those eyes that she has; Full of life and sparkly. He can stare at them for hours. Call it sudden but he has noticed how Angelico looked for you and even called out for comfort when his belly hurt, he saw the motherly streak and knew that if he did than his son would be taken care of. Much better than a grieving man. He knew her love was genuine when she gave him a list of what Angelico needs instead of wants, even tending to him when he's up long hours with tea.

Atleast she has a beating heart in the chest of hers. Surely she'd consider it as she will be a lady of the house but still care for his son.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Beyond Hope

Author's Note: I'm in denial.

WARNING: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

Pairing: Adar x reader

______________________________________________________________

The moment you see him, you forget everything else. The stillness of Valinor, the golden light that wraps around the edges of the horizon, the gentle whisper of the sea—they all fade into nothing as you run toward him.

“Aruvian,” you whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He stands, the familiar, angular face that has haunted your dreams now softened by the weight of death, but the sight of him—alive, whole, no longer burdened—makes your heart race. You see it in his eyes, too, the disbelief, the raw ache of too many lifetimes apart, and the quiet realization that you are here, in front of him, after all this time.

He startles at the sound of his old name, the one he left behind millennia ago- left you behind.

His children—the ache of their betrayal and despair at their fall to Sauron—seem distant now, muted. The scars of battle, of the millennia he spent fighting in vain, have faded. Only peace remains here.

You hesitate, for just a moment, wondering if he will blame you for leaving him in his darkest hours, not that you had much of a choice. You stop a few steps away, running your eyes over his form again and again. Tracing his features and scars-some new and some you know the very texture of.

Adar- your Aruvian, takes a step back, fear flickering across his face and for a moment, terror grips your heart that he does not remember you. You bow your head in acceptance of his hesitation, but then strong arms are around you, pulling you into him with a force that feels like the world itself is righting all the wrongs it has ever known.

“It is truly you,” he breathes into your hair, his voice cracking. “I never thought...”

“You’re free,” you murmur, burying your face in his chest, letting the warmth of him melt away the fear that he might reject this, reject you. “The Valar have granted you peace. For what you tried to do—for them.”

He pulls back, looking at you, a question in his eyes. “For my children?”

You nod, tears in your eyes. “Your efforts, your desire to give them something better, to find them peace... it granted you clemency. You were not forgotten.”

A flicker of sorrow crosses his face—old pain, wounds that cannot be erased, even in this place. But then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile, and it is as if the very light of Valinor burns brighter, casting golden rays over everything.

“I was never certain I could be forgiven,” he says, voice rough. “I was ready for oblivion, for anything but this.”

“You’ve earned it,” you reply softly, touching his cheek. “And you’ve earned us.”

He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, the weight of eternity does not feel heavy. It feels like home.

“I waited,” you say, voice trembling. “So long, I waited.”

“I know,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “And I searched for you in every shadow, in every moment of despair. But you were here. All along.”

There are no more words. Only the sensation of him, whole and real in your arms once again.

The air between you hums with unspoken words, the ache of centuries, the longing that held you both through lifetimes apart. Again, his forehead rests against yours, and for the first time in so long, the ache begins to ease.

His lips hover near yours, breath mingling, and he catches your eye- almost asking permission. You smile up at him and gently grab his wrists were they frame your face. When his lips finally meet yours, it is soft at first—tentative, as if he still cannot believe this moment is real. But then it deepens, and the gentle hesitation gives way to a flood of emotions, overwhelming and fierce.

Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss is a reunion of souls, a desperate claim on the love that has been denied for too long. He kisses you like a man who has wandered through endless darkness and finally found his way back to the light.

There is no more space between you, no more doubt. The warmth of him wraps around you, grounding you, reminding you that you are here—together, after everything. His hands hold you like you are precious, like the very idea of losing you again is unbearable.

When the kiss breaks, you’re both breathless, foreheads still resting together, hearts pounding in sync. He pulls back just enough to look at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his thumb brushing gently along your jaw.

“Gi melon,” he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion, and you know it’s true. You’ve found your way back to each other, and nothing will ever separate you again.

He leads you down a quiet path where the soft hum of life continues, the breeze gentle, fragrant with flowers that never fade.

Finally, you are home.

[i-am-countess-olivia]

To our great shame there are only 22 Fitzier fics with the "Spanking" tag. This is a lil preview of a longer thing to help bring that number to 23.

Rated T for now, less than 1k.

----

“—And from there, our strength permitting, we may consider assembling parties— James, are you with me?”

James twitches his hand against the charts to illustrate he is present at the table and not, in fact, lost in the same numbing haze he's been stumbling through for days.

“Forgive me, Francis.“ He reaches for his tea, lifts the cup to stare at cold dregs, sets it down again. "The hunt— yes, we ought to wait."

Francis watches him with a look James would rather not interrogate lest he be forced to name the emotion it carries.

“Are you sleeping, James?”

James nods firmly once and, in an attempt to reassure, smiles a wretched, half-demented thing. It is now, by his uncertain count, four days since the ice went up in flames.

He feels something warm and damp creep from the crown of his head and only just manages to stop his hand from shooting up to his hairline. He brushes back a strand of hair as pretence, then brings down his fingers for a furtive inspection: only sweat. His heart races regardless.

“I sleep. I cannot say I rest."

Francis travels forth a hand to rest upon his arm. “And— have you wept?”

Startled, James turns to him and meets a look of sincere and profound concern. In the moment that follows his breath swells, quickens and bursts out of him in a bitter spew, the most emotion to leave him since that first dreadful sunrise. “What the devil does it matter if I have or not? Do tears make burnt corpses into men again?”

Francis retreats his touch, his gentle withdrawal and his lingering look of care only adding to the looming berg of James’ guilt. Before James can apologise, he speaks again, slowly and not without a note of strain:

“James, there are things for which I feel I must atone now that I am— now that I am here again. My mistreatment of you for one.”

“Mistreatment? Francis, what, no—“

“Hear me, James. It was cruel of me to have hurried you and others through your mourning for Sir John. You were owed—“

“—It isn’t mourning I am owed at present,” James interrupts grimly. “It is punishment.”

It is, in truth, the only deliverance he has been able to imagine for himself, the only plausible path through the fog. He expects a dispute from the next chair, but hears only muffled voices and weary steps outside the cabin and the ever-present groan of the ice-bound hull.

Whilst Francis sits in what must be appalled silence, James lets his face fall into his open hand. He would gladly chisel his own flesh if it meant freeing himself from this numbness. The world is muffled, dull. He cannot imagine ever laughing at a joke again or breaking into song or feeling awe at a sunrise.

“Would a fitting sentence lift this burden from you then?”

James' hand slips down to his mouth by degrees to reveal Francis, whose expression has changed from concerned to considering, his gaze elsewhere, his fingers steepled at his chin.

"I don't hope to receive it from God," he says and wonders what new madness must have dawned for him to thus lay out before Francis his most intimate torments. 

"I know you don't, James." Sad and balm-like, those words. Almost tender. If James’ heart was hammering before, it's now striking thunderbolts. "Then what is to be the remedy?"

"When we return I'll face whatever reckoning I am due and then examine its effects," James says with a touch of black flippancy but knows, even as the words leave him, that it is a far-fetched and fantastical thing to contemplate — and not what he would have for a cure in any case. 

Francis' eyes turn to him, soft and full of thought. James meets them and finds his own thoughts bolting away. Wildly, they land not where he might wish or expect. Hickey. The cat. The rich smell of blood below deck.

Again, again. Somewhere inside him, a fragile light has flickered into life.

Francis' hand has returned to his shoulder.

"I cannot have you carrying this on our walk, James. You won’t last a day.”

James can't tear himself from Francis' eyes, the shape and even splay of his fingers. "If you really intend—" He swallows what he cannot yet shape into words. "How do you mean to raise it with the other officers?"

Francis shakes his head. "This is not for them. Forgive the blasphemy, James, but I believe the only order we are seeking to restore here is that of your mind and spirit. Which means two of us only, and a curtain kept well drawn while you take your penance."

The last word, uttered in that almost-tender tone, strikes like a fever and James must shut his eyes against the triple surge of terror, shame and gratitude. Thus fuelled, the light inside flares brighter, a beacon he can drift towards.

"What do you propose?"

"Give me a day to think on a course that may best see you unburdened. Then we will begin.”

"Francis—" James can only nod and mouth his thanks.

"This shall be to both our benefit, and to the benefit of all. And James?"

In reply, James has laid his palm over the hand upon his shoulder. He shudders deeply at the words that follow.

"You will weep. I will see to it."

[yourlocalstranger123]

Hello I luv your writing may I request a yandere Nanook (if you write for him) with a Aeon of wind reader who's like Venti

U don't have to write this if this makes you uncomfortable is it fine if it's fluff?

|\/|Xx×!¡《Nanook》¡!×xX|\/|

ofc! Also, i appreciate you putting what kind of theme you wanted, like fluff. Bc I sometimes I add angst to a fluff bc they didn't exactly tell me what kind of theme, so I just take it as a free for all...(I still feel guilty-)

Also, im not too familiar with the lore, aeon's, and stuff. Especially his personality, so I might get it wrong. So I'll just go with the typical yandere who goes softer with you? For the fluff and since you said reader who's like venti, I view him as free going, so there won't be too many dark things about him being a yandere (and since it's mostly fluff)

Why every time I read my own writing, I think of the wattpad 😨😱😭

Warning: Murder mention

×Beauty of destruction×

Xx×—' and life ♥︎ '—×xX

× He wasn't interested in you at first, only focusing on destroying things. He sees the creation of the universe as a mistake and sought to destroy everything. As he was busy with his own plans, he felt a gust of wind thrown at him. He turned around to see you playfully laugh.

× he scoffed in annoyance but didn't bother to kill you.... but your alluring chuckle caught his attention. Seeing you directly gift your blessing to the people who walked your path so easily... Smiling as if something new and wonderful has been newly created and brought upon the world. Why were you so...happy?

× his dead "heart" started thumping against his chest as he watched you... he never felt so intrigued with something or someone. Did you do something to him? Why is his heart beating so hard against his chest? It hurts....but it hurts so good

× he was bothered by this new feeling...it felt confusing. He wanted to hear your voice, touch you, embrace you... but the most cunfusing part for him is that he wants you to be his, his only, but he wants to be yours too... it's simple, really, but why..? Why does he want that? He wanted to know more

× He read books in his own time of how to approach you, and he tried many times, but he just... he couldn't. Like something was stopping him. Hesitance, perhaps? He wonders why. There wasn't any bad relationship between him and you, so why was he hesitating? He's been observing and made every preparation of trying to make a conversation with you for days, so why?

× While he was in the middle of his thoughts, he flinched and quickly turned around, then saw your startled face. He stood still, mind racing of what to say. His heart thumped against his chest painfully. He felt like he was suffocating. He wanted to clutch his chest and make it stop. Why did he feel this way?

× The feeling was soon replaced immediately the moment you touched his shoulder, asking if he was alright. He felt... free, felt as if all the burden on his shoulders were lifted off. He lifts his head up to see you, your gentle eyes gazing into his,,

× he was stiff while having a conversation with you; only replying with dry responses. (Dryer than the Atacama desert) He wasn't much of a talker, so he listened to your stories, your daily life, your complaints, anything honestly. He simply laid their with his head resting on his palm as he watched you talk.

♥︎ oh, how he was soooo new to these kinds of feelings. But don't worry! You're here with him for a reason :) You're gonna help him, right? You guided him through these complicated meanings of it, so of course you will! You're the one responsible for it so you should take the responsibility!

♥︎ He takes mental notes about you, even the smallest details like he always notice that whenever your presence is near, a slight wind blows around the area you are in. So, he is able to quickly notice your presence. (You didn't even notice it yourself until he told you-)

♥︎ He always accompanies you everywhere. Every. Single. Place. (Maybe even the place you rest at..) And if you ask him why, he always says that it's was quite a coincidence, purely luck for him to cross path with you. Or that he thought that you needed protection (sir...[name] is an Aeon, how does- nvm, hes just delulu) and etc...

♥︎ and if you say no? He'll try to convince you. If that doesn't work? He'll be sadden, frowning(pouting), and looks with you with teary eyes. (those be fake asf-) ah....what a wonderful way to guilt trap you because it definitely works.

♥︎ Oh, the first time he smiled at you? You were memorized. (But if someone else, they would think he was planning to finally destroy the world now...) you happily and giddily told the other Aeons about this, and they looked at you H.O.R.R.I.F.I.E.D. Like, what do you mean the most mass of destruction is smiling innocently? They decided to secretly watch you from afar.

♥︎ He brings you small little gifts like flowers that are shaped as a crown (Your his emperor/empress) or a ring (He wants to marry you since he thinks that marriage is a powerful contract of loyalty and love...and maybe wants to prove to you that he is worthy of that-)

♥︎ He softens whenever you're around. He feels like he's wrapped around a warm blanket whenever you praise him or comfort him in any way, so he always seeks for your approval (and attention). You are his world, his everything, his only reason to not already destroy this universe.

♥︎ Oh, how he's sooooo obsessed with you! It's like seeing a teenager obsessing over their crush! Whatever you give him, even if it's the most basic thing ever, he takes care of it and makes sure it's in its top shape and condition! And if anything or anyone dares to damage it or even touch it, he'll make sure they'll regret it... (Of course, if it's you, he doesn't mind! He can just simply try to put it back in shape, and if it doesn't work, he'll ask you for another one! He's even saying, please....)

♥︎ He even has a cute little (huge) shrine of you! He used something called a "camera" and took pictures every time you looked in high spirits like when you smiled, fascinated, grinned, etc. And of course, he took it with your consent....he doesn't want his love to be upset now, would he?

—Xx×《 ~♥︎~ 》×xX—

He was enjoying the feeling of resting his head on your lap, intertwining his hand with yours. He listened to your voice as you sing songs, stories, or even just humming. He really wants to hear your heartbeat, so he pokes your arm to catch your attention. As you looked down, you could see something no one could or ever believe.

His smile. He tapped lightly on the spot where your heart was. He savored the sound of your chuckle as you gently lift his head off your lap and made yourself comfortable before letting him lean closer and put his head on your chest. He closed his eyes as he nuzzled against you. He was like a little cat, how adorable.

He was always so jealous that when you shared your smile with others, he wanted to be the only one to see that. He wanted to keep you from others. He didn't like that your attention was ripped off from him when one of your followers prayed for you. He covered your eyes with his hand and snuggled against you. He huffed and frowned when you tried to get him off.

He glared when he heard the other Aeon trying to call you. Before you could even respond, he pushed you down and hugged you tightly. "Do you really have to go to.....that aeon right now? Can't you stay just this once? Please [name]?" He asks. He would've begged if you didn't respond quickly with a agreement. He smiles and bathes in your warmth once again.

(He's gets jealous quite easily)

He made a ring out of the flowers he found. He tried to secretly slide it onto your finger, which made you smile. You pretended not to know what he was doing and just played with his hair. Once he was done, you finally pretended to just notice it now. "Oh, did someone put this pretty ring on my finger? Oh, how I wonder who the handsome/beautiful person put this ring on me?"

You chuckled as he perked up. He snuggles against your hand that had the ring on it. "Mustn't I put a ring on yours too?" You played along as he blushed lightly. He could see you using the wind to gather up some flowers into your palm, making a ring for him too! His eyes light up as you put a ring on his finger.

He smiles once again. He's glad that he killed all of your suitors before they could even meet you....He should be the only one who you call "yours," and you should only be with him, you don't need anyone else...

He really loves and adores you. He will do anything to keep you with him

[pinguwrites]

Stay ⸻ Robert Oppenheimer

pairing | cillian!robert oppenheimer x reader

summary | You’ve always known that Robert was the love of your life. How will you cope when he moves to Germany?

word count | 1.7k

Warnings: I dunno why all my oppie fics have a sad touch to them, breeding kink, baby trap, p in v sex, sub!robert, kinda dark!reader, insecure!reader

Robert Oppenheimer was a man burdened by fate, of dreams and visions of a future he couldn’t yet understand. He would wake up in the middle of the night, desperate eyes glazing across the room, only to land on his bedroom window, watching as the rain pattered against the glass. Who was there to comfort him but you? the only one who truly knew him, the only one who would hold him for hours, whispering sweet nothings into his ear until he finally fell asleep, blessed with your gentle touch and soothing words.

You had always thought that Robert was different from the others. He was gentle and kind, not as masculine, but not short of the handsome features and gentlemanly behavior men were expected to possess. He was breathtaking. Every time you were around him you felt like you were witnessing a true beauty, a genius, a bird with wings that would soon fly away, up into the air and out of your reach, destined for a future you weren't a part of.

Your concerns had only reached their peak when he voiced to you his desire of traveling abroad, to Germany. You knew he was never good with practical things, so it was no wonder he didn't enjoy experimental physics. You just didn't expect him to want to move away to seek his passion. Was he planning on bringing you with him?

"Niehls Bohr suggested I go to Göttingen," Robert had said one day during dinner, "study there under Max Born. I think I'll go. I'm useless in the lab."

You stayed quiet, nodding. Had he thought of what you were going to do? The horrible thought entered your mind that maybe Robert wasn't as committed to this relationship as you were. After all, most couples would have gotten married by this point. Dating culture had only just now become a thing, and that too it was for younger folks. While marriage was where you expected to head, maybe Robert had different ideas. He'd always been a difficult one to grasp onto.

"Is something wrong?" Robert asked, eyebrows creasing a little. "Did — did I do something?"

You shook your head and lied. "No. And no."

Robert became quiet as well. It wasn't until you both finished with your food did he finally speak up, "You don't have to come. I think it would be better if you stay."

There was a little tug on your heart, like a string was wrenching it, causing it to curl up on itself the way a child does when crying. So, he didn't want you to come with him.

"Why?" you asked quietly.

Robert paused. "Well, you have your family here. It would be ridiculous for me to ask you to move. You'd have to learn a new language, leave your life behind . . . "

He was being reasonable. Like always.

You put away the dishes after dinner. Robert went to bed, and you followed soon after with a tired sigh. Sometimes you hated the way things were. It hurt. He would never know, never understand how much you loved him. If you were in his place, you wouldn't have made such a big decision on your own. Or at least, you would have begged him to come with you. You felt like crying. What were you supposed to do now?

After an hour of trying to fall asleep, listening to Robert's uneven breathing, you felt something poking your thighs. It took you a moment to register what it was, but when you finally did, you were annoyed, a simmering anger starting to burn within you.

"Seriously, Robert?" you said, turning around to face him. This wasn't something you had expected, definitely not after what was a tense conversation.

"S-sorry," Robert stuttered out, pulling himself away. You could hear his breathing becoming more shallow and his voice more lustful. "You do something to me."

You were about to make some witty comment about how desperate he was, leave him all horny and bothered while you went to sleep, but the situation presented an opportunity. You felt a twinge of guilt knowing that you were taking advantage of the man you loved, but how else were you supposed to ease your insecurities? Besides, this was bound to happen sooner than later. If anything, Robert would be grateful. It would solve everything.

You flipped yourself over and sat on top of Robert, right about his throbbing cock. He arched his back a little, trying to get some friction, but after a few moments of attempting to do so, he gave up and rested his head back on the pillow.

"I do something to you?" you repeated, trailing your fingers across his jawline. You loved every part of Robert, especially his face. He was so goddamn beautiful, and needy, and pathetic. He was just made for you. "Of course I do."

Robert placed his hands on your hips, feeling the fabric of your nightgown. "Please," he begged, tugging on it like a child.

"Please what?" you asked, pinching his nose.

"Mmm. Ride me," he choked out, his voice hoarse. "Ride me like I belong to you."

You huffed. "Oh, but you do Robert. You do belong to me."

Reaching your hand back, you rubbed his cock through his pants. He let out a soft sigh, the fabric crumpling. Outside, it had begun to drizzle, the clouds a bright white, lighting up the room even though it was night.

"But sometimes you need to be reminded," you added, watching as the pleased expression on his face turned into one of confusion.

"I don't need to be reminded."

"Oh, really? Why is it that you sprung all this news upon me all of a sudden? Moving to Germany," you scoffed. "Without telling your woman? What, you thought you could just decide to leave one day? Decide to leave me behind?"

You squeezed his cock, hard.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Hurts."

You tightened your grip. "I just want to understand. Have you found someone else? Is that why you don't want me to come?"

"No," he protested, frowning. He squirmed a little. "I was thinking about you. I thought you didn't . . . I thought you wouldn't want to come." Maybe he thought that would do the trick, but when you still didn't let go of his cock, he continued, "I was going to write you letters! S-send you flowers — and — and, please. Be nice to me."

Robert started crying. Silent tears poured out of his eyes, and you knew he felt humiliated, but judging by the way his cock was twitching in your hands, he was still turned on. That was the thing with Robert and men like him — they needed some firmness and a woman to tell them what to do.

You finally let go. He breathed a sigh of relief, but his peace only lasted a few moments, before you lifted up your dress and sunk down onto his length, taking only seconds to get used to his size.

"Yes," he moaned, hands on your hip as he guided you. It was a slow, steady pace, the sound of skin slaps and wet, squishy noises filling the room. "Keep doing that."

You thought that maybe you should give him a little slap, but for the time being, you let yourself enjoy his body. The way you two moved in sync, mind hazy and hands wandering, made you feel like you were in heaven on earth. It was perfect, down to the little chest hairs that brushed against your skin and the whimpers Robert made during a deep thrust. You didn't want to change anything. You wanted Robert to still be your little bird, even though that meant his wings had to be clipped.

He spread his legs wider. "Come with me," he murmured, leaving lazy, sloppy kisses along your neck. "We'll move together."

You shook your head. "I don't want to move to Germany. And I don't want you to move either."

Robert laid back down and threw his head against the pillow. "What? I don't . . . oh, don't be so rough."

You continued massaging his balls. "I'll be as rough as I want. Now, are you going to keep complaining or take what I give you?"

"Okay.”

Robert’s expression was contorted into one of pain and pleasure, an expression so natural to him. You ran your hand across his forehead and hair, tugging on it slightly. Within just a few moments, you could feel his cock twitch, and a specific breathing pattern overcome him.

“That’s it,” you said softly. “Come for me.”

Robert lifted his head up, but then it fell back down, his eyes shut. He did this kind of thing often. His hands were snaking up your waist, holding it gently as you rocked back and forth. He seemed to be lost in the moment, not sure of what was going on — only his selfish pleasure, but then his eyes fluttered open, and he realized with a start that he was about to come in you. 

“Wait,” he croaked out. “I need’a — you need to get off.”

“Why?” you hummed, acting clueless. “It feels good.”

“Y-yeah.” He started squirming, pulling his legs up to his knees. But the thing with Robert was that he was so indulgent, so consumed in the moment, you doubted he would be able to push you off, or if he even wanted to. “But I’m gonna cum — I can’t, please.”

“Why not? Don’t want me to be a mommy?” you moaned. “I’d make a good mother.”

“I know you would,” he whined. “But — I can’t, we’re not married — I —” 

He groaned loudly, white spurts of his hot cum spurting out into your pussy. It lasted a few moments, his nose scrunched and his toes curled. When he finally calmed down, he looked up at you, hair disheveled, lips parted, and sweet eyelashes wet with tears.

“Stay,” you said softly, stopping your movements. “Stay here. With me.”

Robert licked his lips, pausing. He didn’t say anything for a while, and for a moment you were afraid that even though he had just impregnated you, he would leave anyway. But then, “Yes,” he breathed out. “I’ll stay.”

Taglist: @httpxgray @shroombloom-rry @madnessandobsession @henrywintersdearestgirl @hllywdwhre @your-nanas-house @ellebelleshelby @Meetmeatyourworst @hanawrites404 @Emimurphy2008

[saekkas]

𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐓

summary: the day gojo satoru came home, everything changed– the day the strongest returned scarred, something shifted.

tags: 775 wc | gender neutral reader | angst with some fluff mixed in | slight manga spoilers | satoru keeps his scars from his fight with sukuna | deals with depression and loss

it’s warm. the chilly, almost numbing, weather from winter has thawed– leaving behind patches of ashen snow. the birds chirp outside of your apartment window, calling out to each other as they huddle for warmth.

you watch, enraptured, as a mother bird guards its fledgelings– it preens their wings, maintains its nest by scourging for branches and thickets alike, spreads its wings for when a threat comes near.

it’s almost endearing, how human and animal nature mirror each other so well.

“you okay?” the touch of your hand is feather light, leaving no trace as they trail down satoru’s back. your lover’s quiet– almost uncharacteristically so as he lets you tend to the scars that now litter down his back and throughout his body.

“i’m good,” satoru hums, his eyes plastered on the mugs that are nestled on your nightstand. on some days, when the memories haunt him more than they should, he refuses to speak altogether– lips pressed tight against each other, shoulders slumped as he cradles himself on the bed.

it’s warm, he once told you, eyes so vacant and empty. devoid of the usual bright blue spark they carry.  i like it when it’s warm.

“does it hurt?” you know it doesn’t– know that after what he’s been through, everything’s just another shade of numb. and yet, the tiny whisper in your mind wonders if he truly understands what you’re asking. “you can tell me, y’know? that’s the only way i can help.”

“they’re healed. nothing hurts. not one bit.” satoru grins, showing off his boyish, almost childlike happiness that contrasts the way his eyes are dimmed, hair a mess atop his head.

because that’s who satoru is– who he’s supposed to be. the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, a burden so heavy it dilutes, erases one’s sense of self because if he isn’t the strongest, what else is there to be?

for a fraction of the moment, you let him comfort you– chuckle like everything is the way it was. you miss the sound of his voice, the annoying cackle he lets out just before laughing– most of all, you miss him. the satoru that isn’t a shell of the person he used to be.

your hands glide down the expanse of his back while your eyes roam his face– you take in every individual wound, each a reminder of what he fought for and lost. you wonder what looks back at him when he stares in the mirror.

“i know that,” you mumble, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, gently thumbing his dimple. “but remember what shoko said? it’ll be better if we put some ointment on them.”

“right. right.” the roll of his eyes might have been endearing had he not stiffened at your words. “we should have my wounds healed so they look less ugly.”

the term wound sounds like such an insult for how gentle your touches are when he’s with you.

“hey,” you whisper, watching as his eyelashes flutter the moment your hand threads through his hair. “they’re not ugly, satoru. no part of you could ever be ugly.”

you don’t let him speak, shake your head when he opens his mouth to object. “they’re like stars, y’know?”

“i think you meant to say ‘like pimples,’” he snorts, sounding playful as he waves a hand to dismiss your statement, but you can see it– the hatred and anger deeply rooted in his tone. “or ugly warts.”

“they’re a constellation of stars, satoru. one that’s written on your skin.” you tilt his head upwards, watch as his pupils dilate– a sea of black drowning in blue. he shivers, spine straightening when your fingers trace his jawline. “each one so pretty like they were individually brushed on by a painter.”

you press a kiss to his lips, let him feel the expanse of your love as your hands move before they rest on his chest– you feel his heart thud against your palm, a gentle but needed reminder that even when all else fails, you still have one another. “you are my world and all my stars, satoru. the sky would be so empty without you.”

“then, i’ll consider them yours,” he whispers after a moment of reprieve, leaning his forehead against yours– he lets his façade fall, unhooks the mask he wears for the world. baring his soul wide for you to see. you soften at the tears that pool in his eyes, like diamonds glistening in a storm. “just like how i am too.”

to most people, the strongest may have fallen– but, in your eyes, he’s still your saving grace.

[thollandsgirl2013]

YOUR THE BEST WRITER EVER

I recently had a surgery and I was wondering you could do something like when Tom gently brushes your hair, his soft fingers moving with care as he whispers sweet words to help soothe you after your surgery. As he works, his eyes are full of concern, but his touch remains tender, like he’s trying to reassure you that everything will be okay.

“I’m right here, love. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just focus on relaxing, alright?”

Aw thank you so much ❤️ Wishing you a smooth and speedy recovery. Take it easy and let yourself rest.

-----------------®©®©®©®©---------------

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

Parings → Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings → Surgery recovery, hurt/comfort, soft fluff.

Summary → After your surgery, Tom gently brushes your hair, whispering sweet reassurances, his touch soothing as he stays by your side.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting warm hues against the walls. Outside, the world continues on—cars pass by in the distance, muffled voices hum from the streets below—but here, in the quiet of your bedroom, everything feels still. Peaceful. Safe.

Your body is exhausted, weighed down by the lingering effects of surgery. Every small movement sends a dull ache through your limbs, and even breathing feels like an effort. But despite it all, there’s comfort in the familiar warmth beside you, in the steady presence of Tom, who hasn’t left your side since you got home.

You blink up at him, your vision still slightly hazy from fatigue. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, leaning toward you with that soft, boyish concern written all over his face. His brows are slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together like he’s holding back a dozen worries he doesn’t want to burden you with.

“How’re you feeling, darling?” His voice is gentle, hushed, like he’s afraid of disturbing the fragile stillness surrounding you.

“Tired,” you admit, your voice hoarse from sleep. “A little sore.”

His expression tightens, just barely, before he nods. “That’s alright, love. You’re healing. It’s gonna take some time.”

He reaches for the glass of water on your nightstand, bringing it close and slipping a hand behind your head to help you sit up just enough to take a sip. The cool liquid soothes the dryness in your throat, and when you settle back against the pillows, Tom adjusts the blankets around you, making sure you're warm and comfortable.

Then, with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way, he lifts a hand and brushes your hair back from your face. His fingers are soft, moving in slow, deliberate strokes, carefully untangling a few strands that have stuck to your skin.

You sigh, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. His touch is featherlight, soothing, like he’s afraid of causing you even the slightest discomfort. His fingertips graze your temple, then trail down to tuck a loose strand behind your ear, his hand lingering there for just a moment.

“I’m right here, love,” he murmurs, his voice low and comforting. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Just focus on resting, alright?”

You nod slightly, too drained to say much, but he understands. He always does.

A warm palm finds yours beneath the covers, his fingers intertwining with yours in a firm but gentle hold. He rubs slow circles over the back of your hand with his thumb, grounding you. The rhythmic motion makes your eyelids feel heavier, the exhaustion weighing down on you again.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he admits after a long pause, his voice tinged with quiet frustration. “I wish I could take the pain away.”

His other hand continues its slow movements through your hair, his fingertips tracing patterns along your scalp. It’s almost hypnotic, the way he moves—methodical, caring, pouring every ounce of love he has for you into something so simple yet so deeply intimate.

“You’re doing plenty,” you whisper, offering him a small, tired smile. “Just being here helps.”

His lips twitch, like he wants to argue but doesn’t. Instead, he leans down, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there, warm and reassuring, before he pulls away just enough to whisper, “Always.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty—it’s filled with his presence, his touch, the way he shifts just slightly so he can hold your hand better. His thumb continues tracing those gentle, mindless patterns against your skin, lulling you into a state of warmth and safety.

He hums softly, a quiet tune you recognize but can’t quite place in your drowsy haze. The melody vibrates against your skin where his lips press against your temple again, soothing you in ways that words can’t.

Your body is still sore, the ache still present, but somehow, with him here, it’s all a little easier to bear.

You shift just a little, curling closer to his side. He notices immediately, moving to wrap an arm around you carefully, making sure you’re comfortable before settling in beside you. His warmth seeps into you, his presence a steady reassurance.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve got you.”

And as his fingers continue their slow, soothing motions through your hair, as his steady breathing and soft humming fill the quiet, you finally let yourself drift, knowing that when you wake, he’ll still be there.

Always.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ° .•

[boobo13cambridge]

Kylian Mbappé imagine where it’s your first time together as a couple. He just knows you’re the one and almost feels like he’s not good enough for you.

Kylian was very nervous as he sat across from you. It was your first time going out as a couple in public, and the number of paparazzi outside the restaurant wasn’t helping at all. He knew he was acting a bit weird, but he couldn’t get past the old insecurity that he wasn’t good enough for you.

Now, you might be wondering, dear readers, why does the daddiest of all football players feel insecure? Why does the man who won a World Cup at 18 years feel like he’s not good enough? Two words: Serena Blair. (Yeah, I know. I had the same thought. Totally sounds like a pornstar name.)

Now, I don’t want to get into too much about that stanky bitch. Let’s just say that nothing our golden boy did was ever enough. If he bought her a Dior bag, she wanted a Birkin. If he bought her a Cartier bracelet, she wanted a Graff necklace. And so it went, until Tata Fayza intervened and knocked some sense into her boy.

“Kyky, are you okay? You look a bit tense,” the gentle cadence of your voice managed to calm his racing heart. He gave you a shy smile, “Yes, mon amour. I’m fine. I just wanted to apologize to you about the paparazzi.”

"You don't need to apologize for that, babe. It's not like you called them on purpose to be up all in our faces," you replied, trying to calm your jittery boyfriend. Kylian and you met when you slammed into him while playing hide and seek with the children at the Premiers de Cordees association and spilled your vanilla cold brew all over his face and white t-shirt. It was all very dramatic, very much cliché, and of course, it was love at first sight. Sometimes you thought Kylian was a masochist with a very obvious humiliation kink.

The rest was history; you were constantly texting and snapping each other, going on dates incognito so you could stay in your little bubble a little longer. He was the most attentive boyfriend, always making sure that you were comfortable and had everything you needed, despite his busy schedule. He made you feel like a princess, and every day you fell just a little bit harder for this man with the dimpled smile.

Today was a big milestone in your relationship, as you were finally going public with it. For most people, four months probably was too early, but for Kylian Mbappé, who always knew what he wanted, it was nothing. So here you both sat at this fancy restaurant in the middle of Madrid, and your boyfriend was acting as if he was about to be guillotined for starving the French people.

Seeing him so unsure was a rare sight, but you knew why he was so on edge. He told you about his ex one night after he almost had a mental breakdown gifting you the complete set of the MinaLima Edition Harry Potter books. You were in tears because you loved it and he thought you hated it.

"Kylian, what's wrong? You've been acting really off the whole night." Concern laced your voice as you reached for your boyfriend's hand, rubbing circles on the back in an attempt to soothe his anxiety.

"I-I-I'm just really anxious, bébé." he said, his voice strained as he licked his dry lips. Your heart broke seeing your boyfriend like this. I swear to God when I see that bitch it's on sight.

"Why are you anxious, mon coeur?" you inquired softly, your gaze filled with concern as you reached out to touch Kylian's hand.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, his voice tinged with insecurity as he responded, "I feel like I'm not good enough for you, and you're going to realize that one day and leave me."

"Kylian! Are you out of your mind?" you exclaimed, your tone a mixture of surprise and reassurance. "That's never going to happen. I love you so much, baby. How could you ever think that?"

A heavy sigh escaped Kylian's lips as he continued, his words weighted with the burden of his fame, "Look at my life! I can't even go to a restaurant without being followed by cameras. Every move I make needs to be planned in advance. I can't be spontaneous with you because everything is a security risk."

Your heart ached at his admission, understanding the weight he carried on his shoulders. "You wanna know something, Kyky?" you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. "Even if you lived in a dingy apartment with fleas and rats, and the only thing we could afford for a date was soggy fries and mayo, I would still be with you because you're the most amazing man I've ever met. I've never felt like this for anyone and-"

"Not even Jungkook?" Kylian interjected, a playful glint in his eye despite his lingering worries.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Ok, woah. Calm down, let's not exaggerate," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Bébé!" Kylian exclaimed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I'm messing with you, Ky," you grinned back at him. "But the point is, I love you for you and all the little things that you do for me. And nothing in this world is going to change that. So please, relax mon coeur and let's enjoy the night?"

"I love you too, mon amour," Kylian murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. "Thanks for being there for me, and I'm sorry for-"

"If you don't stop apologizing, I'm going to flash my tits to the paps," you quipped, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Bébé, what the fuck?" Kylian sputtered, his big, dark brown eyes widening in a mix of shock and amusement.

"Exactly," you replied with a grin. "Now give me a kiss."

----------------

A/N: Okay, so maybe I got a tad carried away with this fic, not gonna lie 😅 But hey, I hope you enjoyed it, my lovely anon, because I had an absolute blast writing it.

[witch-hazels-musings]

Dear Hazel,

As always, I hope you are in best health. I want to congratulate you sincerely for your finished book! I am sure it will be a wonderful read and that you will continue to shine so brightly!

As I am writing to you, I would like to purchase a few items from your pharmacy.

Right now, I am happy to say that I’ve been helping out Mister Zhongli from Liyue in preparing for a rite. Yes, after my first letter to you and your warm and wonderful words, I had the courage to approach him. And I must say thank you, as I am grateful that we closed the remaining distance between us (I dare say we fancy each other very much)!

As for my purchase... The family of the deceased wanted to make a request for peaceful and warming objects that are sure to protect them in the afterlife.

They requested the scent of cinnamon as the favourite scent of the deceased. I do believe that yellow candles will be appropriate, together with black tourmaline and angelite. They should have a calming and welcoming effect.

I’m really happy to receive such an important task. Mister Zhongli always works so hard for these rites that I would like to take a few burdens off his shoulders.

I do hope everything works out for you perfectly as well! Remember to take breaks and enjoy them with Mister Ragnvindr!

With great respect

SunnyBeeDream

Yellow Candle (success, creativity), Ginsing (Communication, Guidance), Black Tourmaline (safety, shielding), Lavender (comfort, calm) Zhongli x gn reader | Divination Ritual warning: reader works at the funeral parlor, emotions: loss, sadness, grief (hints at a young person who has passed away, non-specific reasons why), reader cries

The family laid their heads on the ornate mats. Their hands clutched their chest, hid their faces, or lifted toward the alter before them. The air was thick with sorrow, heavy and clouded by the pillars of incense floating up and out the partially opened windows. A woman sobbed quietly in the arms of another while you hung your head in deep respect.

The ceremony ended, but you felt it linger on your clothes. The weight of a sudden loss took hold of your wrist as you quietly collected the heirlooms, memorabilia, and items of the deceased. A well-cared-for picture of the dead caught the soft candlelight.

You were usually so composed at this part. Detaching yourself from the suffering of others' pain, putting up a barrier to shield the ache that came with an unfillable hole in one's heart. But today, as you looked at the bright eyes in the picture frame, you couldn't stop the overflowing wave of emotion from capturing you.

Bowing your head, woeful tears ran down your cheeks as you held the picture to your chest. The words from their family reverberated in your mind. Stories and memories once painted gold were stained in darkness, muddled. Now tainted by grief. You wished it could be different. That death didn't come for us.

But it does.

It always does.

"Ah, so you are still here," Zhongli's voice filled the still room, and you turned to it with shimmering cheeks. He glided across the floor and stopped at your side, his gaze soft, kind, gentle. His eyes dropped to the picture frame. "I have been neglectful," he said, brushing his finger across your jaw to catch a falling tear.

You shook your head. "I'm fine," you lied.

"If you were, it would cause quite the concern. It is reasonable to hold a reaction to a parting such as this."

"It's not professional."

"And who has given you that impression?"

You lifted your eyes in a pitiful effort to keep the tears corraled; it didn't work. "I hate this. I don't want to feel like this. When will it get easier?"

"I've lived many years and have been witness to the results of walling oneself away from pain and have seen, firsthand, the hollowness that results from its construction. " Zhongli touched the side of your chin and pushed it so you would look at him. "It is far more desirable for you to be as you are than wish for something you are not."

"But it hurts."

"It is human to hurt."

"Well that sucks," you said bitterly with a slight chuckle.

"It is good you feel strongly, that you would shed tears for one you do not know. It is not a weakness, nor a fault to hold places in your heart for others. As beings in this stream, we are bound in threads. While some may ignore their pull, there are those who accept them willingly, openly. Those like you," he said and lifted your chin to look at him. "So do not fault yourself for the bonds you bear, no matter how short-lived they may be."

Zhongli fed his fingers behind the picture against your chest. With ease, he placed it back on the altar and it caught the light from the setting sun.

"Everything comes from nothing," he said serenely as he settled incense in its holder. A puff of flame set it alight until a stream of white smoke rose toward the heavens.

You sniffled, nose tingling, and stared at the images of the person no longer here. "And to it shall we return."

You covered your eyes with one hand and held onto Zhongli's arm with the other while you cried, and welcomed in the pain and heartache of loving someone you never even met.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.