#( rendezvous :: threads. ) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

colouredbyd · 1 month ago

Note

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

Secrets Have Teeth

poly!marauders x fem!reader

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

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

w/c: 10k

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But lately, there’s been something else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But beneath it, the ache lingers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for once, you let yourself believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that, the walls go up again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were going to follow them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then—from outside—you heard it.

Yelling.

You turned your head toward the front of the shack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you felt it.

A shift.

A presence behind you.

The breath caught in your throat.

You turned.

And the world split in half.

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

You didn’t understand.

You couldn’t understand.

Then it moved.

Fast. Too fast.

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

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

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

You sobbed, pain white-hot and everywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the wolf didn’t stop.

It kept going.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The breath rattled from your lungs as he lunged again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You woke to pain.

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

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

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

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

He had mauled you.

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

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

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

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

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

"No. No, get out."

Sirius flinched. "James—"

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

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

James slammed him back against the wall, rage surging.

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

"Is that what you’re gonna say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if blood had a language you could finally understand.

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

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

You would carry these forever.

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

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

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

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

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

The silence rang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door shut behind them with a hollow click.

And the silence that followed was unbearable.

Not because it was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth was betrayal in the shape of friendship.

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

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

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

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

You stopped.

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

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

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

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

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you couldn’t stay.

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

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

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

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

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

You were already bleeding.

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

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

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

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

This didn’t have to happen.

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

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

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

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

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

And you broke.

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

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

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

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

"Remus…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But they hadn’t.

So now you knew.

Remus was a wolf.

James and Sirius were liars.

And you were just the wreckage left behind.

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

You meant less than the secret.

You were an acceptable loss.

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

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

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

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

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

And then—shouting.

Ragged, desperate. Voices you knew.

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

Remus was screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He thrashed in James’s arms again.

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

James held tighter.

"Moony, don’t—"

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

And then he saw you.

The world stopped moving.

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

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

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

James looked at the floor. That was answer enough.

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

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

No one spoke.

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

"You don’t remember," you said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hurt you.”

Your name was a sob in his throat.

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

“Remus,” you whispered.

He looked away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you were holding him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I forgive you.”

And again.

“I forgive you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you saw there nearly shattered you.

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

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

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

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

His breath hitched, caught somewhere between hope and despair.

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

“But I’m here.”

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

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

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

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

You didn’t let go of him either.

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

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

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

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

He stood by the door, unmoving.

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

He flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

You reached for his hand again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this time, he did.

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

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

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

And still, you listened.

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

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

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

And still, there was so much more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Healing would not be a soft road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he looked at you again, quieter this time.

“For keeps?”

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

“For keeps.”

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

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abyssconqueror · 6 months ago

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i think what really gets me abt sylus’ nightly rendezvous is that it really emphasizes how needy and desperate he is in general for you to need him, doing everything in his power to both be by your side and support you especially after the bewilderment (and likely more) he felt after mc was initially disgusted by him;

say “i’ll come to sylus if anything happens” three times as payment and i’ll break my usual personal rules to help someone. idk what any of these brands of menstrual pads are but since you need some i’ll buy one of each and let me know if you need anything else- no the store doesn’t have anything i want i just wanna see you. sure i’ll take care of you when you’re not feeling well even when you’re being fussy. i suck at this? teach me then. teach me who i need to be for you to want me to stay the way he’s so gentle when he kisses you even through the passion of it, keeping his hands caressing something, whether your cheek, your hair, your back, your thigh

but then even when you’re in his lap, kissing him back, literally all over him he’s asking questions like “you really don’t want me to leave?” “you haven’t changed your mind, have you?” constantly checking in to make sure you really want this as though you’re not simultaneously matching his energy simply because he’s so shocked and overwhelmed by it. he covers it up with the suave facade of his, but even in such a short preview the mask slips; you can see it in the way he blushes when you get aggressive, the way he covers your eyes before leaning in to all but devour you as he threads your fingers together again in that way he always does bc he’s that pent up

really wasn’t expecting to write this much but there’s smth abt the genuine vulnerability of a character w sylus’ background esp being like “i really need you to want me as badly as i want you bc i can’t take it anymore and i’m starting to lose it” that’s so fucking hot idk idk idfk

#i have no idea who or what i’m gonna become when that banner drops haha ahaha #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus nightly rendezvous

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brkwingss · 1 year ago

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He hadn't really paid attention to his surroundings, or the people around him, too much this evening and it showed when Ricardo was able to stand beside Oz without even realizing it was him. Of all the people in NYC, Oz probably knew him the best inside and out so the fact that Ricardo hadn't realized who he was sharing this moment with really just spoke about the distance that had grown between the two. And up until he heard the voice of the other, he was actually enjoying the moment, with a glass of red wine in one hand, admiring the work put into the place.

His gaze slowly shifts to Oz's direction, finally, his body tensing just a bit from nerves. "I think they would appreciate you jazzing their boring nice fresh grass, personally." For a moment he only saw Oz's face, taking it in as much as he possibly could, but slowly the rest of reality around them formed again. He really hadn't been someone Ricardo had counted on running into tonight. Even though he wanted to ask about the obvious, what had happened to land him in a wheelchair, he decided against it. "Been a while, hasn't it? I hope I'm not ruining your evening or anything."

status: open! where: The courtyard of the Cloisters

It's too nice for Oz not to park his wheelchair on the little stone patio space out in the courtyard. Grass, a light breeze. He's been self-sequestered in his own apartment to catch up on paperwork and book restoration, and maybe it shows. He feels even less talkative than his usual self, but holds a glass of white wine in his hands and eyes the person beside him, finally realizing they're looking out at the area too.

"How much money do you think they sink into landscaping this place? And do you think they'd get pissed if I just... rolled my wheelchair over that nice fresh grass?"

#threads: ricardo & oz #political rendezvous event.

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heliosunny · 2 months ago

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Hi! I wasn’t sure if you’ve played the older genshin events/have an interest in him, but if you do could I request something for yan! Albedo? His long awaited return has been causing me crazy brainrot lol I’d love to hear your thoughts on him

Rest assured, I've been one of the players since the game's release and only stopped playing after Fontaine. It was a magical game back then, but I lost interest later on and dropped it. Hope u enjoy reading this!

Contractual Affection

Yandere!Albedo x Reader

Albedo sat in the dim glow of multiple screens, his sharp eyes scanning the profiles in front of him. His fingers tapped idly against his desk.

"This one."

The assistant beside him marked the chosen candidate.

You had heard the rumors.

The Kreideprinz Corporation paid exceptionally well—better than any other company in Teyvat. But there was a catch: employees never lasted long. Some said the work was grueling. Others whispered about the CEO’s particular standards.

Then, the real surprise came.

"You’ve also been selected as his partner in marriage."

Wait—what? You're here for work though.

Before you could protest, you were ushered into his office.

"I’ve been waiting for you."

You checked the email notification on your phone again and again.

"Congratulations! You’ve been selected as the personal assistant to Chief Albedo Kreideprinz. Additionally, you are hereby formally engaged to him under a provisional contract."

You blinked. Then read it again.

…What? How did you miss the second line?

Sure, the job posting had mentioned "unconventional benefits" but this was not what you’d signed up for. You were thrilled to get the job, maybe that's why you didn't even bother to finish reading the mail.

Albedo’s office was pristine, much like the man himself. He didn’t even glance up when you stormed in, waving your phone like a white flag of confusion.

"There’s been a mistake!" you insisted. "I applied for a job, not an—an arranged marriage!"

Finally, he set down his pen. His gaze was glacial, but there was something beneath it—amusement? Annoyance?

"No mistake," he said. "It’s a temporary arrangement. My family has been… insistent."

Alice—his adoptive mother, a whirlwind of chaos, and Klee, his little sister (bless her explosive heart), had apparently decided that Albedo’s "workaholic iciness" was a cry for help. They’d misread his quiet dedication as loneliness.

"They believe I lack 'human warmth,'" he deadpanned. "This was their solution."

You crossed your arms. "So I’m your..."

"For appearances only. The salary, of course, will reflect the additional role."

…Well. That was a staggering number. And, not that it mattered, but Albedo was unfairly handsome.

"Fine," you sighed. "But no weird demands. We keep it professional."

"Naturally."

Breaking News! The announcement hit the tabloids: "Kreideprinz CEO ENGAGED to Mystery Partner!"

Speculations ran wild. But your identity remained sealed under airtight confidentiality—for your safety, the contract stated.

…Which meant you now had to dodge paparazzi, side-eye strangers in cafes, and resist the urge to throat-punch anyone who whispered, "I heard they’re a gold-digger."

The pressure was on.

Surprisingly… Albedo was chill about it.

He treated you with the same detached politeness as before, just with added "my dear" in front of the board members.

"This isn’t working," you admitted one evening, slumping into his office couch. "People think you hired an actor. Look at this."

You shoved your phone at him. A gossip forum’s top thread: "Albedo’s ‘partner’ = paid PR stunt??"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! If this fails, your family will just set you up again. And I’d like to keep my lucrative job." You hesitated. "We should… go on dates. Public ones."

Albedo finally looked up from his notes.

"Very well. Dinner at La Lumière tomorrow."

You should’ve known the universe would punish you for trying to help.

The photo splashed across every gossip site by dawn: "Albedo’s Future spouse Caught in Scandalous Rendezvous!" The caption screamed betrayal, but the reality was pathetic. You’d just been asking an old friend for café recommendations while Albedo took a phone call.

You’d explained. He’d nodded calmly. "I trust you."

…Which somehow made it worse.

Now, holed up in his pristine townhouse (a temporary safety measure, he insisted), you stared at the latest headline: "Heartbroken Kreideprinz: Is the Engagement Doomed?"

You groaned into a couch cushion. "I’m going to strangle the press with their own camera straps."

knock knock knock.

Albedo hadn’t mentioned visitors. The paparazzi wouldn’t dare approach his private residence… right?

Cautiously, you peered through the door’s stained glass and saw a tiny figure in a red hat, bouncing on their toes.

You cracked the door open. "…Hello?"

"Hi!!" The girl beamed, clutching a backpack that rattled suspiciously. "I’m Klee! Big brother Albedo said I could visit, but.." She leaned in, whispering loudly, "he forgot, so you gotta let me in before the monsters find me!"

…What.

Five minutes in, you learned three things:

Klee was Albedo’s sister (and a walking explosion hazard).

She adored her brother (and was thrilled he "finally got a friend!").

She had the energy of a thousand suns (and zero respect for "boring adult rules").

By the time Albedo’s immaculate living room resembled a rainbow bomb site, crayon murals on the walls, Dodoco plushies staging a coup on the sofa, and something sticky on the ceiling, you were ready to collapse.

Klee, however, was just getting started.

"Watch this!!" She brandished a handful of glitter. "Sparkly Boom—"

"NO—" You lunged.

The door clicked open.

Albedo stood in the doorway, gaze sweeping over the chaos, the overturned furniture, the glue-streaked floor, Klee dangling from the chandelier (how?!) before landing on you.

"…I was gone for two hours."

Klee waved. "We bonded! Your friend's fun, Big brother Albedo!"

"Did you now?"

You thrust Klee toward Albedo like a live grenade.

"Here. Please."

He took her without comment, though his eyebrow twitched at the glitter smeared across his sleeve while you scrambled to salvage his ruined home.

"Leave it," he said, catching your wrist as you tried to scrub crayon off the wallpaper. "I’ve already called a cleaning service."

"You—what? Then why didn’t you—"

"You seemed… invested."

Was that amusement in his voice?

With the house uninhabitable and no food in sight (RIP, the exploded kitchen experiment Klee swore was a "snack"), the three of you fled to a quiet corner of Mondstadt’s tavern.

Peace, at last.

"Big brother Albedo," Klee chirped around a mouthful of sticky honey roast, "do you like your friend?"

You choked on your water.

"Of course."

"But like-like? Like how Mom likes Dad before he went poof?"

"Klee—"

"Because if you like-like them, you gotta hold hands! And kiss! And—"

"We are engaged." Albedo interjected smoothly. "That means I care for them deeply, and we’ll be together… indefinitely."

Klee squinted. "That’s boring. Prove it."

"It’s inappropriate to do such things in front of children."

"Liar." She puffed her cheeks. "Mom kisses people all the time in front of me!"

With terrifying calm, he turned to you.

"Apologies."

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Your face burned. Klee giggled. Albedo sipped his wine like nothing happened.

"Happy?" he asked Klee.

"Mmm… barely pass." She grinned at you.

You buried your face in your hands. "I hate both of you."

-----

The moment you stepped out of the shop, you knew something was wrong.

A man you’d never seen before suddenly blocked your path, grinning like a wolf who’d spotted easy prey. "Hey there, sweetheart. Fancy meeting you here."

You sidestepped, but he grabbed your wrist. "Come on, don’t be like that. Let’s chat—"

Camera flashes erupted.

Shit. You’d been set up.

The paparazzi lurked just out of reach, snapping photos of the "scandalous encounter" they’d orchestrated. Your pulse spiked—this would be everywhere by sundown.

"Remove your hand."

You didn’t even have to turn to know Albedo was there.

The man scoffed. "Or what? You gonna fight me over your little—"

Albedo’s fingers dug into the man’s shoulder, forcing him back with terrifying ease. "I won’t repeat myself."

The cameras went wild.

You expected him to drag you away. Instead, Albedo cupped your face, his thumb brushing your cheek where the stranger had nearly grazed you. "Are you hurt?"

You shook your head.

Then, in full view of the paparazzi, he pulled you close, one arm locking around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Let’s go home," he murmured, loud enough for the cameras to catch.

The crowd erupted.

Once the authorities dispersed the paparazzi, Albedo didn’t let go. His grip on your hand was just shy of painful, his strides too fast as he led you through backstreets.

"Albedo—"

"Quiet."

Only when you were safely inside his car did he finally look at you.

"It won’t happen again."

--Days before the actual selection--

The stack of personnel files sat neatly on Albedo’s desk, each one meticulously reviewed and annotated in his precise, angular script. He had no patience for incompetence, no interest in those who might disrupt the careful order of his work. And yet, when he reached your file, his pen hovered.

He didn’t believe in fate. But something about you, the way your credentials aligned so perfectly with his needs, made him pause.

A practical choice. He circled your name in red ink.

But just to be sure, he'll look up for more information.

At the time, it was nothing more than that.

He hadn’t expected you to be good with Klee.

Most people weren’t. Either they coddled her like glass or scolded her recklessness without understanding the sharp mind behind it.

You handed her bandages when she skinned her knees, humming distractedly as she chattered about her latest "experiment." You packed her lunches with the same precision you applied to his reports, slipping in a handwritten note now and then ("No sparkling bombs today, okay?").

And when Albedo worked through the night, he’d find a fresh pot of coffee at his elbow, a blanket draped over the back of his chair.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

-------

The sky had been clear when you left headquarters. Albedo remembered this distinctly because he had noted the weather in his daily log—72% humidity, minimal cloud coverage, optimal conditions for outdoor testing.

And yet, by mid-afternoon, the clouds rolled in like spilled ink.

He was reviewing soil samples when the first raindrops hit the windows. A flicker of movement caught his eye—you, darting across the courtyard below, arms raised uselessly over your head as the downpour soaked through your clothes in seconds.

A logical man would have returned to his work.

Albedo found himself at the door with his coat in hand before he'd fully processed the decision.

You nearly collided with him when you burst inside.

"Oh—!" You skidded to a halt, blinking water from your lashes. "I didn't think anyone was—"

"Take this." He thrust the coat at you.

"But you'll—"

"I dislike repeating myself."

"...Thank you."

He watched, inexplicably fascinated, as you shrugged it on. The sleeves swallowed your hands whole.

"You look ridiculous."

You laughed, shaking rainwater from your hair. "Well, it's not like I had much choice. Unless you wanted me tracking mud through your—"

"The third floor lavatory has a hand dryer." He turned on his heel. "Try not to electrocute yourself."

You returned the coat folded neatly on his desk, still faintly damp at the cuffs.

Albedo picked it up. The scent hit him like a poorly calibrated reaction. His grip tightened.

Across the room, Klee bounced on her toes. "Big brother, are you listening? I said—"

"Later, Klee."

The coat went into his desk drawer.

---

A late night in the lab, the winter chill seeping through the windows. You rubbed your arms absently, fingers numb from sorting through stacks of his research notes.

A shadow fell over you, then the weight of his coat across your shoulders.

You startled. "I’m not—"

"You’re shivering." His fingers lingered at your collarbone, adjusting the lapel. "It’s inefficient."

The fabric was still warm from his body.

You didn’t have time to protest before he was back at his desk, scribbling equations like nothing happened.

Then there was this other time.

"You’ll freeze."

The winter wind howled through the streets as Albedo looped his scarf around your neck.

"I have my own—"

"Not thick enough." He tugged the wool tighter, his breath fogging in the air between you.

When the paparazzi snapped photos of you wrapped in his colors, he didn’t correct the headlines.

"Kreideprinz’s Future Spouse Spotted in His Clothes!"

"Stay close."

Albedo’s hand settled at the small of your back as you navigated the ballroom. This was something you didn't expect to do. Dancing and all at a party.

"We agreed—no unnecessary contact in public."

"Mm." His thumb stroked your spine. "But that reporter from Fontaine has been staring. Credibility demands consistency."

Then his lips were at your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe.

You gasped.

"Paparazzi expect them at events like this." he murmured, pulling back to admire the mark blooming on your neck.

Your face burned. "That’s..."

"Shall I add another?"

The office knew.

How could they not? Their boss is definitely not good at hiding his true intention.

But the worst part?

You were starting to like it.

The way his gloves caught in your hair when he "fixed" your hood. The weight of his coat. The thrill when he glared down people who dared to flirt.

----

It was just another ordinary day.

You were delivering a stack of reports to Albedo’s office when a loud crash from the hallway startled you. The papers in your hands slipped, scattering across the floor. With a sigh, you knelt to gather them, only to freeze when you realized what you were looking at.

A list of names.

His original selection of candidates.

Each one was meticulously annotated—appearance, qualifications, personality traits. All of them were stunning. All of them were brilliant.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

"Wow, look at these people. Gorgeous, talented.. Why am I even here? I should’ve quit ages ago." you joked, shuffling the papers back together.

You looked up.

Albedo stood in the doorway.

"You’re not leaving, are you?"

"I—It was a joke." you stammered, quickly standing.

He stepped forward, his fingers curling around your waist. "Humor is subjective. That wasn’t funny."

"I wasn’t serious."

Just as he leaned in, his lips parting to say something far from professional.

"OH MY, IS THIS A WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENT?!"

There she was—Alice, Albedo’s adoptive mother, back from her latest trip.

Her eyes darted between the two of you, Albedo’s hand still gripping your waist, your face burning crimson, and she grinned.

"Awwww! My little chalk prince finally found love!" she cooed, clapping her hands. "And you! You’re adorable! Oh, we have to start planning—"

Before you could even process, she had whipped out a detailed baby-naming guide from god knows where and was flipping through it excitedly.

"Hmm, if it’s a girl, ‘Lumine’ has a nice ring!"

You were mortified. Albedo, however, looked completely unbothered.

"Mother," he said calmly, "this is Y/N L/N."

"I KNOW! I SAW THE HEADLINES!" Alice squealed, grabbing your hands. "You’re staying for dinner. We’re celebrating! Klee! KLEE, GET IN HERE!!!"

The "celebration" lasted three full days—three days of Alice’s increasingly unhinged wedding plans, Klee’s sugar-fueled energy, and Albedo watching it all with the quiet amusement of a man who had already accepted his fate.

By the time you finally returned home (Alice having vanished mid-party with a "Be back in a year or five! Love you!"), you were exhausted.

Klee, somehow still buzzing with energy, had insisted on a "sleepover!"—which meant she now lay sprawled between you and Albedo in the bed, her tiny limbs taking up an unreasonable amount of space.

"Hey," Klee piped up, rolling onto her side to squint at you. "Hypothetically… if Big brother Albedo turned into a dragon and kidnapped you, would you be mad?"

"What?"

"Like, a big dragon. With scales and fire and stuff. And he carried you away to his super-secret dragon castle and said you could never leave." She grinned. "Would you stay?"

You shot a glance at Albedo, who was watching you with far too much interest.

"Well," you mused, playing along, "if he was nice about it… and maybe let me redecorate the dragon castle… I guess it wouldn’t be so bad."

Klee giggled. "He’d definitely be nice! He’d give you all the books you want and never let anyone else take you!"

Albedo’s fingers twitched against the sheets.

You yawned, your eyelids growing heavy. "Mmm… then sure. I’d stay."

Klee opened her mouth to ask another question, but before she could, you were already asleep.

Albedo waited until Klee’s breathing evened out—until she, too, finally succumbed to sleep, curled up like a little firework ready to explode at dawn.

Carefully, he shifted her to the side, tucking the blankets around her before turning his attention to you.

His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from your face.

He had made the right choice.

Not just in selecting you, though that had been flawless in its own way, but in keeping you. In letting you carve a space into his life, his routines.

You stirred slightly in your sleep, murmuring something unintelligible.

The peace lasted exactly two hours.

The bedroom door burst open with enough force to rattle the walls.

"GOOD MORNING, FUTURE GRANDBABY FACTORY—"

Albedo’s arm shot out, catching Alice by the collar before she could leap onto the bed. Klee snorted in her sleep, rolling over like a tiny, bomb-happy burrito. You jolted upright, hair sticking in every direction.

"Mother," Albedo hissed through gritted teeth, "they’re sleeping."

Alice pouted. "But I have blueprints for a nursery! And a list of explosion-proof baby names!"

Without breaking eye contact, Albedo reached for his desk intercom. "Security."

As they hauled Alice away, her voice echoed down the hall:

"FINE! BUT I’M MAILING YOU THE CRIB ANYWAY—"

The door slammed.

You stared at Albedo.

Then, slowly, he pulled the blankets over your head.

"Five more minutes" he muttered.

----

You woke in a cold sweat, gasping.

"Albedo—Albedo—"

He was already awake, "Hm?"

"I just dreamt you were a dragon," you panted, "and you...you swallowed me whole—"

Albedo laughed. Not a polite chuckle, but a deep, unhinged sound that vibrated through his chest.

"That’s not funny!" you hissed, swatting his arm.

"It’s hilarious," he corrected, wiping his eye. "And biologically implausible. Unless," he added thoughtfully, "I shrunk you first."

You gaped at him.

He kissed your forehead. "Go back to sleep."

You did not.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere genshin impact #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo x y/n #yandere albedo

514 notes · View notes

tojikai · 10 months ago

Text

MASQUERADE 3: Amber

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Reader

Masquerade | Masquerade 2 | Masquerade 3 | +

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, royal au, forced marriage, cheating, drama, emotional turmoil, power imbalance, manipulation

word count: 6k

a/n: i cannot tag some users :((

If you’re coming for Aika’s heart, then it’s only fair that he comes for yours.

“Y/N!” All eyes darted to the gigantic doors of the castle as it slammed open. The royal guards almost took stance when they heard the noise. Some maids were frozen in place, while others scuffled, whispering to their fellow workers as the Prince shouted the Queen’s name. It was truly a scene to gossip about. Everybody wondered what the Queen did this time when the captive burst through the door, cursing her name.

“Y/N!” Your head whipped to the door, brows furrowed and eyes wide at the sound of commotion on the other side of the walls, surrounding your room. Although it can easily hide and muffle the sounds of your cries, it can never hide the radiating range from your husband’s calls as he storms up the stairs and banging on your door.

The wood was hard, but his fists were determined to break down anything that stops him from getting to you—the reason his Princess and their relationship were deteriorating. It was nothing new, nothing surprising after everything that you have done against them. Suguru knows that giving up was not in your choices when you chose to continue the relationship after he told you about his plans for him and Aika: every other night meetings, a whole week with her during his vacation period, a secured and private path for their rendezvous in the woods where no one will see them.

Basically continuing his life with her. And you agreed, even if it meant slowly dying inside.

Now, after he left you bare and cold, he’s back with his range. All that you know was that he left to check on his Princess while you stood in the middle of that room alone. Slowly crumbling to pieces as you failed to hold on to the last thread of strength in your heart. You sniveled, lips quivering as you tried to stop your cries. Standing up, you quickly walked to the door as you pitifully wiped away your tears. You don’t want to acknowledge that you’re scared.

“You might need to let him go, my Queen. This country won’t stand strong if they see you in this pain.” You remembered your lady-in-waiting’s words.

This is where your fear stems from. By the sound of his voice, you’re scared that he might say something that would really force you to let him go and even in the middle of all this, that’s the last thing you want to do. You want to hold on until your physical body gives up, maybe then he’ll learn to love you.

You turned the doorknob, opening it gently, but that was soon broken by Suguru’s harsh hand. Pushing at the door before slamming it in his guard's face as he glowered at you with all the hatred in his heart. It was only about a few hours ago that he was staring at you with dark, desiring eyes, filled with want and need. It was only about a few hours ago, that his hands, his lips, and mouth, were gently caressing your body.

He left here when you can see a quarter of the sun from the horizon. Now, it’s gone. Now, it’s totally gone. Nothing but darkness walks the ground of the kingdom and creeps up the walls. Now, it’s totally gone, and the Suguru that you saw a few hours ago has nothing but darkness in his eyes.

All the love and affection that you’ve been craving all these months of being his wife was totally, painfully gone.

The dried tears in your eyes and on your cheek felt like it was stretching your skin, wanting to tear it off. You looked up at him, waiting for him to explain what made him barge in the way he did, and why he was looking at you the way he is doing right now, but nothing came. He just stood there, breathing hard and his jaw tightly clenched. You can almost feel the friction in your own teeth as he scowled at you.

“H-how is Princess Aika? How come you're back too early—” Your words were abruptly cut off by his gritted voice, strained and heavy with exhaustion from the long journey. “You really ought to know.” He snapped, bitterness prominent in his voice as he took a step closer to you. Naturally, you stepped back with your brows furrowed. Your throat felt dry, and his words got your thoughts into a braided twist.

“What do you mean? I heard she collapsed, so I—” Once again, he interrupted your words, making you flinch—not by the sharpness of his voice but the harshness of his words. “Has your disciple not told you yet?” He smirked mockingly at you, undoing the first two buttons of his shirt as if desperately needing to cool down before he said something harsh that could put you and him in an irreversible place. But it wasn’t of help at all as he continuously spilled his heart and mind, his rage and frustrations from all the troubles that you put him and his lover through.

If you’re coming for Aika’s heart, then it’s only fair that he comes for yours.

“Did you think killing her off would open up a space for you in my heart?” Your chest felt heavy with each word that came out of his mouth. Suddenly, thoughts of the things that could’ve happened to the Princess, your cousin, were thrown out of the window. Questions of why’s and how’s you’re being blamed slowly made their way out of your head, and now all you could think about was how futile all your tries to get his love were.

“Y/N, even if I lost everything dear to my heart, none of those spaces will ever suit you.” Your hand was frozen, shaking, and numb from the coldness of his words. You’re pretty sure it would’ve reached up to rub your chest to attempt to soothe the searing pain flowing in your every vein. “Get that through the stones of your crown and your thick skull.” He hissed through his tightly clenched teeth, pointing a finger at your forehead.

You stood there, unmoving, letting your mind and heart absorb his words. They were knives, cutting you all over your body. They were daggers, piercing through your heart and twisting themselves to your very body to incapacitate you. You thought being left hanging was already painful. You didn’t think you’d end up hurting more when he came back, openly spitting out his resentment towards you. Further proving that whatever happened earlier was only as shallow as the flesh.

The wind blew on the curtains through your open window, caressing your back and dancing on your hair as you stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. You didn’t blink, you don’t want to let them fall. Because you know that the moment you feel their warm wetness on your cheek, the ice from his disdain will melt, and you’ll end up feeling more of his less. You looked down, watching as the droplets fell on the dark carpet underneath your bare feet and his shoe.

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Suguru.” Your voice was a broken whisper, turning around and finally letting your hand reach for the falling tears. “I am unaware of the accusations you are throwing at me.” You’re starting to break as you walked towards your vanity, grabbing a hairbrush and avoiding his glare at you through the mirror. “Whatever happened to Princess Aika is not one of my deeds. I simply wanted to know if my cousin was fine—” You were halted when Suguru clicked his tongue, closing his eyes in annoyance.

“Tell your dog to lift the curse, or I shall find her.” He held his head high, looking you down. His Adam’s apple bobbed up ad down as he swallowed. His eyes were stern, much like his words, as if he was so sure it was you who commanded the evil act. Opening your mouth, you turned to him, but before you could even speak, he already beat you to it.

“Nobody would hate Aika more than you. Nobody would hate the woman their husband love, more than a desperate wife.” Your lips quivered, tears continuously brimming your eyes as you watched him look away from you, turning his back to stare at his shadow on the wall. “Nobody knows about Aika and me as much as you do, much less where we meet.” Your eyes softened as his voice did, coming to a realization at how cruelly he was talking to you. “Who else would…who else would…” He panted, licking his lips as he closed his eyes to calm himself.

“It’s not me…” You croaked, feeling defeated, not really expecting your husband to believe it. If he’s this disoriented, then it must be worse than what you’re thinking. Swallowing the broken shards of your heart, you asked, “Could she be…expecting?” Suguru paused before shaking his head, sure that that wasn’t the case. “An enchanter was with her, a doctor was with her. Aika is not with a child.” He turned to you again, composed this time as he took in your form.

You were trying so hard not to cry, to break down and tell him you didn’t know a thing about what’s going on, but you’re too afraid to meet his gaze. You lost all strength when he left, his accusations squeezed you dry, and now you just want to lock yourself up in this room and cry til your tears turn to blood, probably ending you for good. Apart from saying that you cursed his beloved, everything he said was close to the truth. It only made sense that you’ll be his first suspect if something happens to Aika.

“I shouldn’t have accused you like that but…” He breathed, sitting on the edge of the bed. The image of how he sits now was much different than how he was positioned earlier; greatly contrasting, if anything. “The enchanter said it was done on your account. And I was scared. Aika isn’t well. She’s far from well and we…we’re being forced to separate.” You stood there, perplexed, as you tried to think of any enchantresses you might know, but there are none.

“Be honest with me. I’ll figure something out to make this work out for all of us but don’t do this to Aika. She did nothing but love.” He almost sounded like he was begging, yet you can’t help but feel sour for his last sentence. She did nothing but love, your hand reached for your collar bones as you locked eyes with him. You did nothing but love too, but what did you get?

“It’s not me, Suguru. I have no idea about whom it could be, but it is not me.” You sat back down on the ribboned vanity stool, feeling your knees starting to give out. You watched him sigh, face contorted with a worry you’ve never seen before, and you wondered if he’d get like this too if you were in Aika’s place. His hand ran a hand through his hair, grunting as he stood up before halting his steps to turn to you.

“I’m trying to trust you, Y/N. Please, do not stoop so low.” With that, he exited your room, once again leaving you stripped.

This time, not of your clothes, but your dignity, your honor, and peace of mind. He stripped you of your right to love him on your own with no consequences.

—--------------------------------------------

“The pages will continue their training, I’ll be stepping in for the officials who are leaving. They’ll try to get back as soon as possible, but I assure you, my Queen, the Kingdom will continue to be safe even in their absence.” Kento assured as the gears get loaded into the carriage. Suguru made a decision to perform a search in the farther end of the woods, an unexplored area, to look for the enchantress. They have no clear leads, but the enchanter said that the culprit is not far outside the Kingdom’s safe grounds.

Suguru stepped in front of him, locking eyes with you as he picked up something behind you. “It’s only for two weeks.” He rasped, watching Kento hung his head low, stepping back in respect. He should be the one assuring you. But the connection between the two of you only deteriorated ever since the night he confronted you. He apologized, but he’s aware that those words aren’t easy to erase, especially for someone with your wits.

You know that he somewhat carry a hint of honesty with what he said. You’ve been absent to some court meetings, and they were days when your heart was too heavy to carry. This situation carries such an uncertainty to it that makes you scared of the future. Maybe this is where this circus show will end. Maybe after they fix this, Suguru will leave the Kingdom for good, and elope with Aika somewhere outside your territory where no one will quickly recognize them. Maybe you’ll be stepping down, left alone, like how you were when you were younger.

Maybe this is where you’ll have to give everything up just so you could give back everything you took away from them.

You weren’t even made aware of the plan until today, as per Suguru’s request. If you denied him, it would only come out as a confirmation for his suspicions, and that’s the last thing you want. You weren’t given a choice but to agree just to prove your innocence to your husband. Some men aren’t aware of the whole purpose of the expedition. Just that they’re supposed to let the Prince interrogate each enchanter and enchantresses they come across.

Suguru looked up from the yard to the small window at the back of your room. As a childhood friend, he hated that he has to accuse you of something like this. But it was like he was left with no choice. You already did something as cruel as forcing a marriage with him, taking him away from Aika despite knowing of their relationship. He couldn’t bring himself to excuse and exempt you of speculations and doubts.

Setting his mind on Aika’s cure, he pushed his thoughts of you aside. Once he finds the culprit for her pain, he promised himself that he won’t let his emotions get ahead of him and instead go immediately for what he can do to heal her. There’s nothing more important than seeing his Princess alive and smiling again. Suguru’s ready to sacrifice anything, even anyone, if it is required for Aika’s life.

After a week of journey, a letter was sent to them through the Central Palace’s skilled courier. This letter was probably sent a few days ago and only reached them now due to how deep they got into this uncharted territory. As much as he wants to hear from the Southern Palace about the Princess, his mind won’t let him think peaceful thoughts. It scares him that when something comes from them, it’ll only be bad news.

Opening the letter, he spotted that it was from Kento. He assumed that it was about the knights and the pages’ progress or needs, but that was not the case. Suguru found himself frowning, brows knitted together, as he read how the man wrote about you and your state. He almost called a knight to pen him a letter about what your ladies-in-waiting are so busy about that a Grand Officer is looking after you.

“She caught a fever two days ago, Sir. I suppose from worrying too much. About the troop and the people of the Kingdom.” He mouthed quietly, allowing the overthinking to settle on the top of his head. He blinked away the thoughts of another man looking after you. He pulled at the collar of his clothes.

It wasn’t jealousy. He has no time to be jealous right now in the middle of all that is going on inside his head. He simply thinks that it won’t be such a pleasant sight that a Queen is allowing a man other than her husband to take care of her.

Grabbing a piece of paper, he pulled a pen from his chest pocket. “Where are her ladies-in-waiting?” was the first thing he wrote without second thoughts, “She doesn’t like the taste of water when she’s sick. Tell them to make sure she gets enough.” He added, “Grand Officer Nanami, I appreciate your concern towards my wife, but I need you to focus on the pages. With the new schedule, I want you to ensure that they’re still getting quality education and training.”

Proceeding to write the letter, Suguru tried not to make it so much about you and how he felt like Nanami was overstepping his boundaries. He doesn’t want to be so selfish, leaving his wife to save his lover and not expecting her to look for comfort from someone else. He isn’t stupid, and he won’t be surprised if that’s how you feel. But he knows you too much, and he’s just afraid that in times when your relationship is this brittle, you’ll be swayed by the temporary solace and end up ruining your reputation.

That night, he wondered why you got so sick. He felt bad thinking about how the strain from overthinking was making you weak. On the other hand, he can’t help but feel suspicious that of all times, you choose to be sick right now that he’s on a search mission. It might sound cruel, but not even you can make him abandon this mission to save Aika.

The second week was intense. Wild animals have started appearing in the woods, and it’s getting more dangerous for Suguru’s men. He’s just grateful that these men trained under him so, Suguru’s very confident with their skills. Today marks the 11th day of their expedition, and he can never be prouder about the fact that his troop remained complete and all intact. Their resources as well-managed, too, so no serious problems are arising.

Earlier this morning, a knight informed him that a house has been discovered deeper into the woods. It was really remote, almost close to the borders, but Suguru didn’t think twice before deciding that the location of the house is where they’re headed. This arduous journey might just come to an end after this and conclude Aika’s misery in the best way possible.

“Remain on guard at all times. This place is extremely unknown to all of us as it is very far from our lands.” Suguru started, turning to his mean as they stood several meters away from the small bungalow. “Stay where you’ve been assigned and remain vigilant.” An Official stepped forward, turning to the men as he let the Prince speak.

“I will be accompanying the Prince. Pay close attention to anything strange, may it be noise or smell.” With that, they went on to knock on the door of the bungalow. Suguru clenched his jaw and balled his fist, saying prayers inside his head as he hoped that this will be their last stop before heading back to the Kingdom. The two of them looked at each other as no one answered the door despite the slow footsteps inside that has stopped a couple of seconds ago.

Another knock gave them nothing. Nobody answered or even moved inside. As if their first knock sent whoever’s inside scuffling and hiding, and now they won’t open the door for the two knights. The Prince was getting impatient, breathing loudly as he tapped his feet on the cold hard ground, covered with leaves. Just as Suguru was about to step forward to knock, the door handle turned. A short woman with strands of white hair looked up at them as she creaked the door ajar.

“I cannot let you in. I’m sick.” The old lady coughed, turning away, but Suguru was observant enough to catch how she glanced at them sharply even as she does so. “You don’t have to entertain us at all. Just answer our questions.” He swallowed his frustration, not having it in him to shout at a poor, old woman’s face, even when she’s obviously rejecting them right away.

“Don’t you recognize the Prince?” His companion spoke, sighing. “I’ll be getting straight to the point because we’ve spent long enough time in the middle of this forest.* Suguru raised his hand a bit to stop the knight from scaring the poor woman further. Having been in service for several years, Suguru knows that he also noticed the woman’s odd behavior toward their appearance.

"Are you the enchantress who placed a curse on Princess Aika of the Southern District?” The Prince knows that it was pointless asking her, because based on her reactions, she seems like she wanted to shut the door on their faces. "No. Please, leave. I need to rest.” As expected, she attempted to close the door, but the knight’s foot was quick to stop. “This is not our Kingdom’s territory so if someone else came to get you, we won’t be able to give you justice.” He spoke, and it was partly true. Aika’s father also sent a small troop to cover some areas that they can’t and make the search faster.

“We’re not the only ones searching for the enchantress. But I can assure you that we only seek answers and do not intend to harm anybody.” Suguru was determined. He doesn’t know where else they would head to or how else to navigate the area if this is still not what they are looking for. He also has a feeling that they’re running out of time. That’s the last thing he wants to happen.

With his words, the old woman held the door open wider, stepping aside to invite them in. Suguru and his companion shared a look, nodding once before entering the small house. The ceiling was low, but it was surprisingly bright despite being a house owned by someone who practices dark magic. The sat on chairs that creak and look like they’d fall apart if a bit more weight was placed on them. There were books on the shelf that were obviously not opened for a long time, in contrast to the blooming and colorful flowers near the window. It was an odd place, and not what they expected for an enchantress.

“Sir, I have to tell you this first before anything else.” She began and Suguru immediately tensed up, eyes going wide as he turned to the woman "It’s true that I did it for the Queen. But a-a woman was involved. She’s the one who told me of the affair. But I cannot tell you who it was.” She fidgeted, swallowing as she looked between Suguru and his companion. Suguru was too shocked to respond quickly, but the other knight was very observant, “There’s no way, you’ll just give out that information, but I assume you’re saying this to save yourself from the blame.” He gave her an accusatory gaze, only to be met with a shake of her head.

“No, Sir. It’s because it was a part of our deal. It can only be known if she herself admits it, but other than that, it won’t come out of my mouth. This is a woman of power. And I am not the only one who can place sceleris in the world.” Her eyes were looking straight at theirs, they were almost completely convinced, but they know not to trust too much. The knight and Suguru once again exchanged looks, letting the enchantress continue. “But I can tell you how to cure the Princess of the South.”

That. More than anything was what Suguru needed to know.

“Tell me, and we’ll leave you alone.” He commanded right away, standing up and standing close to the enchantress, making her breath hitch as she stepped back, afraid. “Tell me.” He repeated, ready to fall on his knees and offer all that he can just to get the answers out of the old woman’s trembling lips. The silence felt so long, and the air he was breathing felt hot and thick in his nose. The moment he hears what Aika needs, they’re bolting out of this shadowed place.

“There’s this stone that she needs to come in contact with. Just a touch would be sufficient to restore her health.” The enchanter, albeit shaking, took a basin with water, allowing the light to illuminate it and reflect the orange gem she was mentioning. There was a curious look on Suguru’s face, mixed with eagerness and worry. He can’t help but feel like it was too easy to be true. “If you’re fooling us, I won’t hesitate to come and chase after you. Even to the ends of the Earth.” He threatened, eyes looking away from the image for a bit to sent daggers to the old woman, a serious threat.

She simply shook her head and breathed onto the water. Suguru’s companion was behind them, standing guard, just in case this old lady pulls a trick on them. “The only reason I’m giving you answers this easily was because none of them will come from me. They all depend on the people involved, and I’m afraid that they’ll be the real challenge to you, Your Royal Highness.” She addressed, eyes filled with an odd combination of worry, remorse, and fear.

“Just tell me how and where to get it.” The Prince’s teeth were clenched so hard that they start to hurt. His jaw felt like jelly with their friction vibration on them each time they grate against one another. “I don’t care how difficult, how hard. Just tell me.” He whispered, feeling the exhaustion of the past several days slowly catching up to him.

“There are only two people who own the Amber. As it was a part of a pact that happened long ago.” She started, struggling to sit up straight and wrap herself in her shabby coat that probably can’t even keep her warm enough. It has tons of patches, and loose threads that could probably tear the whole thing down with a single pull.

“The King of the tribe on the other end of the map.” Suguru gulped, feeling his companion's distress radiate on him. The place was not close. He probably won’t be able to save Aika even if he began his journey now. Other than that, they have no connections to that land, no more. They used to be allies, but after certain events and changes, they fell out, and that pact was considered null now. There’s no way they’d have access to their stone.

“Who holds the other one?” The Prince’s throat felt like sand paper, stinging as he spoke each word. The old woman looked him straight in the eyes, frowning slightly as she breathed deeply, making Suguru’s heartbeat race. He felt like it was something worse than the former. “The Queen has the other one.” Fuck. Suguru spoke in his mind, more out of relief than worry.

“Queen Y/N?” Suguru asked, refusing to succumb to his assumptions. The enchantress nodded, making him feel a little easy about it all. If it was with you, then it shouldn’t be so hard to acquire it. After all, you also wish for Aika to be better. The only thing to be worried about here was the fact that your judgment could be clouded with your desire for him and the inevitable animosity you might feel towards Aika which explains the look on the enchantress’ face before she revealed you.

Not giving Suguru the stone can get Aika out of your way. This is something Suguru hates to think you’d do, but when it dawns on him that you proceeded with your wedding to Suguru despite knowing his status with Aika put enormous doubts in his mind. If it gets to that point where you’d let your cousin die just to have Suguru all to yourself, then he doesn’t know what he’d do anymore. He’ll probably lose his mind, begging you to save Aika.

Panicking, Suguru couldn’t bring himself to ask another question. “Inform everyone we’re leaving.” He turned, heading for the door as he dragged his cape with him, and rushing out the door. He’ll get that stone, he’ll convince you to let him have that stone. He affirmed himself as he watched his knights scramble to their horses as the official announces their plan. Within a few minutes, all of them were heading back to the palace.

—---------------------------------------------

“Did he not write a letter after the one you mentioned?” You asked Nanami as he sat in front of you, setting down his cup. You looked to the horizon, hoping to see their silhouette on the setting sun. It’s been two weeks since they left, and no letters were received by the palace after the one he sent back ten days ago. You were worried about him and everyone. You also sent Aika some fresh fruits and a letter, hoping for her speedy recovery, and were just glad to receive a short one back. You can’t blame them for giving you a cold treatment. You can’t blame them for suspecting you. But for you, it was just enough that right now, Suguru listened to you.

That’s all you ever need, after all; for him to listen to you.

“I think they are very busy with the search. It was an uncharted area. Even for a courier, it might be hard to track, and I believe Prince Suguru considered that.” He comforted you, seeing the glow of the sun shine down on your face. Nanami knows that this whole thing was killing you too. What with watching your husband leave and search for the cure of his lover, and leaving you waiting for two weeks.

“The maids said you’ve developed an unhealthy sleeping habit, Your Majesty, forgive me if this is a bit too much for a knight, but I worry about you, the whole kingdom will worry about you too if they know.” He sighed, taking in the dark circles under your eyes and how your face is starting to look slim from poor diet. “I doubt the Prince would be happy if he found out too, we all know he cares for you more than he lets you know.” You looked down, shaking your head.

“It doesn’t matter, Aika’s having it worse. She doesn’t deserve it.” Your voice sounded raspy, cracking at the end. Nanami can’t understand why Prince Suguru finds it hard to fall for you when you are like this; golden inside and out. He looked away, blocking the inappropriate thoughts. He should not be questioning your relationship with the Prince. He’s not on your level and aside from that, he wasn’t chosen to marry someone when he’s already courting someone else. He is in no place to judge Suguru.

“I know they’ll solve it when they come back. The Prince has never taken on a task and failed.” You nodded, pursing your lips as you looked at the empty space on the wooden coffee table. This is a gift you got from Aika’s parents for your wedding. Intricately carved with small images of two lovers waltzing. You wondered if they had Aika and Suguru in mind when deciding its designs. It made you sick, looking away and back to the horizon,

“Nanami,” You breathed out, tensing in your seat as you braced yourself with your chair's armrests. Nanami followed your gaze, eyes widening as he saw the figures of men in horses, rushing to the palace gates. “They’re back.” With that, you sprung out of your seat, holding the skirt of your dress. “Be careful, Your Majesty.” Nanami tried his best to support you, but you were running downstairs, more worried than excited for your Prince's return.

After all, there was nothing to be excited about. It's not like he was returning for you.

“Are the gates opened?” You asked the maids as you passed by them in the halls, breathing hard as if you were chasing someone. And maybe you are. Maybe you're too scared that this man isn't even with this troop. Maybe you're scared that this man didn’t even come straight home to you. Maybe you’re scared that if you’re too slow, you won’t even catch him before he disappears again.

“Suguru!” You shouted, leaning by the window as relief took over your features when you catch him in his horse, having just entered the palace premises. Quite the contrast with his grim expression, as he looked up at you, getting down from his horse. It wasn’t anger or hate like you expected, but it was definitely something far from the longing that your eyes were screaming to him as you ran to hug his figure.

His arms reached up to the small of your back, turning away his head to signal his men to rest and unpack. “You’re back. How have you been? The maids have a meal prepared, let’s go inside.” Nanami stood by the arch of the back door of the palace, meeting Suguru’s gaze as he ran a hand through your hair. Bowing, he saluted the Commander before turning to leave and check on the other knights.

“I need to talk to you about something, Y/N.” His voice sounded hoarse, like he hasn’t spoken for hours. And maybe he didn’t from how fast his heart was beating you can tell it was days of travel. He got slimmer, his eyes look dull; duller than before. “Just rest for a bit first, look at you. It can wait, I’m always just here.” You checked him, turning his face to the side as your hands caressed his shoulders.

“No, it can’t. Aika’s life won’t wait.” Your hands fell to your sides as tears continuously fell from your eyes. Earlier, they were tears of joy, worry, and care. Now, they’re just tears of a heart slowly breaking more and more as you realize that he really isn’t here for you. “I need the Amber, Y/N.” He continued, shutting his eyes close as he tried to steady himself. He cannot let the fatigue get to him yet.

“What Amber?” Your voice was soft, but there was roughness too. “You know what I’m talking about.” He held your hands, kissing them, but it didn’t help at all. It didn’t sooth you, it didn’t stop your heart from gushing blood. You shook your head, taking a small step back, but he only took one after you, “Please, just this time. Just let me save her. I’ll… I’ll do as you wish. Even an heir, Y/N. If you want me to stop meeting her every other night, I will. Just…” Y/N was too smart to know that half of what he was saying can easily be thrown away if he wanted, but that’s not why she was shaking her head.

“No, I can’t.” Closing her eyes as she turned away, she felt him hug her from behind, pleading with his whole heart, his whole being, more than he did when she decided their marriage. It was an arrow to her already dying soul. She doesn’t know how much more she can take. “Suguru, you don’t understand.” She took his arms off around her, walking away despite his desperation but was quickly halted by his next words.

“Why? You know, the enchantress said it was someone of power who did this to Aika. A woman of power, Y/N.” His voiced cracked, finally getting to his last resort. He hates to say this, but what else can he do or say to make you hear him out? Your back was facing him as your surroundings started to blur, listening to everything he says even as they tear you to shreds, freezing you on your spot.

“This is your chance to prove that it wasn’t you.”

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daycourtofficial · 1 year ago

Text

One single thread of gold tied me to you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 6.2k | Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, piv, foodplay (chocolate), oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: After a century of waiting, Eris and his mate finally have a few days to themselves to accept the mating bond.

Author's note: this is technically part of my gingerfucker series but it can be read as a standalone. Big thanks to @basketoffish for help with plotting the idea for it and for helping me edit ❤️ The people have been frothing and yearning for this and who am I deny such want any longer?

Eris never had good timing. Born too soon, bearing the brunt of his father’s cruelties. Born into a war he was too young to fight in, but too old to stay at home.

All of his poor timing was worth it for this perfect opportunity. Beron would be away for three days and three nights to improve relations with Tarquin, the newest High Lord of the Summer Court. Beron went alone - he perceived it as much more intimidating to go alone (perhaps inspired by Tamlin’s appearance in the High Lord’s meeting a few years ago, winnowing in completely unaccompanied). Beron failed to recognize Tamlin’s appearance was much bolder - he knew he would face scrutiny, but still made an appearance without anyone at his side. Beron merely did it because he wanted to look more intimidating.

Nonetheless, Eris was able to send word to you with enough time for you to rearrange your royal appearances to carve out this time with him - an entire three day span, just the two of you. Three days felt like a lifetime when the two of you were only able to schedule hour-long secret meetings.

Once, in a desperate bid just to have your scent on him, you two had met for a total of twenty minutes.

Your rendezvous were often short, full of imminent risk and danger of being caught. Today felt like a blessing from the Mother, as if she were granting her star crossed lovers a vacation, a peek into what life could be like - what life will be like one day.

You two just had to be patient.

Even an entire court away, Beron would know someone from the Night Court was on his land. Perhaps not immediately, but he would know before your three days were over. So the two of you met in the Winter Court, in a cabin you were gifted a long, long time ago. A cabin you’ve gone to on occasion over the years, whenever you needed to get away and be alone. You had set the trap perfectly for your family - you were getting into petty squabbles the entire week, picking fights with Cassian and Mor left and right that left the two of them reeling with annoyance.

Your brother tired of it quite quickly, clocking it for what he thought it was.

“Perhaps you should spend a weekend away, star.”

His tone was full of concern, for this was how you always were before retreating to your hidden cabin. Irritable, crabby, unable to have decent conversation with anyone without leading them into a spiral of anger.

“I’m fine,” you reply, intentionally clipping the words to make yourself seem in a much worse state than you were. “Besides, I have some scheduled meetings this weekend.”

Rhys nods, “Feyre has agreed to take over any duties you have that can’t be rescheduled.”

You perked up at that, feeling a little bad at the generosity of his mate. You hadn’t felt easy about this plan - preying upon your family to get what you wanted wasn’t a regular occurrence for you.

But you refused to let any negative feelings about what you were doing get in the way of seeing your mate.

“Are you sure, Rhys?”

He waves a hand, “Go, please only return once you feel rested and headache-free. Cassian is quite adept at giving migraines.”

You smile, “so no one will bother me?”

He sighs at your continued questioning, “no, star. I think we’d be too afraid to bother you, except for Amren. And she’s in Summer for who knows how long.”

He stands up, crossing the room to you, his long legs practically gliding across the floor. He wraps you in his arms, squeezing you tightly before kissing you on the top of your head. He gently sways the two of you as you wrap your arms around him.

“Thanks, Rhys.”

He lays his head on top of your own, “just send word if you’ll be gone longer than a week. I just want to know you’re alive out there.”

This cabin was a frequent rendezvous point for the two of you, much cozier than the large clearings and forests you two otherwise frequent. The cabin was more ideal, however Eris couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to be inside of you as he leaned you up against various trees in the forest, the leaves crunching beneath his boots as he thrusted over and over into you.

His cock twitched at the thought as he walked towards the front door of the cabin. The door groaned slightly as he entered, marking his entrance. He felt the slight magical barrier ripple as he passed the threshold. He shut the door behind him, taking in the small, two bedroom cabin before him.

The place was quaint and cozy, an insult he would use to describe Rhysand’s absurdly large and ornate homes, but for you it was a testament to how infectious the comfort you radiated was.

It permeated every surface - the walls, covered in various portraits and landscape paintings, along with shelves of books and trinkets.

His scent was stale from the last time he was here, but yours was fresh, as was the smell of some delicious meats and fresh breads. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door, catching a glimpse of you as you pittered about the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself a moment to think of what his life could be like if the two of you were ordinary fae.

He would come home from whatever job he had, perhaps a scholar of some kind, leaving at the same time every day to come home to his mate.

You two would clean your house together, bickering over your inability in any universe to put dirty socks in the hamper, and how in every universe feet would continue to make Eris shudder in disgust. In any other life, he would be thrilled to experience monotony with you.

But he’s not in another life, one of openness and free-flowing adoration, one free of constant plotting and scheming, earning favors wherever he can. He’s in this one - the reality where no one knows about the two of you, because once they do it will become an inter-court political nightmare. It is a life of stolen glances, hidden messages, and secret meetings under the moonlight, but it is a life that belongs to him, when for so long his life was not his own.

Eris would love you in all lives, your soul reaching to him in every iteration and reincarnation of the two of you. If the two of you were nothing but bacteria living on the same organism’s skin, he would find you. He would know it was you, no matter what shade of organism you wore.

The bond hums in your chest, tugging you to look towards the door where you know Eris is standing and watching. You continue the task at hand, not wanting anything to miss your notice. The bond deep inside of you grows more and more insistent, screaming at you to smell him, taste him, feel him, here, here, here. He’s here, in your house, and you need to look, look, look.

You let Eris come to you, just as you always had, just as you always will. You’re slicing bread, placing the pieces in the bottom of the bowls when the smell of petrichor and caramel hits your nose, a warm presence at your back.

“Good evening, my fox.”

His face burrows into your neck at the nickname, melting into everything that was you. His arms wrapped around you, hands meeting yours. His fingers pull the knife from your grip, gently placing it down on the cutting board.

“What are you doing, my evening star?” His voice is purposefully low in your ear, causing goosebumps to trail down your neck, his hands warming your fingers.

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

His soft chuckle warms your chest, the bond constricting around your heart at his amusement.

“Are you cooking?”

“Yes, Er.”

“I’m surprised your wraiths didn’t prepare anything for you.”

“They did,” you hum, turning in his arms, his amber eyes meeting yours, not quite certain of what they’re seeing.

His hands meet your hips, his touch warm on your skin, and you circle your arms around his neck, fingers raking through his hair at the root.

He hums at your touch, his face swooping down to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him under your eyelashes, his nose and cheeks littered with freckles, mapping out where home was. You point your head in the direction of two large picnic baskets, one of which was opened for Eris to see various jars of jams and breads.

“Why would you-” his words fall short, his thoughts racing through his mind. They stream by in words and bits of phrases, but no completed thoughts make their way through the whirl and swirl of mate, food, and bond.

He short circuits, not quite grasping what you’re getting at.

“I have never gotten to cook for you,” you shrug nonchalantly.

His eye twitches, still not understanding.

“You’re cooking… for me?” His words come out slow and uncertain, as if the mere concept of someone choosing to do something like this was absolutely foreign to him. You nod slowly, not used to seeing Eris so incapable of understanding.

“But if you-“

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll-“

“Yes.”

“Are you-“

“Yes.”

He stills, his thumb lightly brushing against your hip. Your eyes are open and bright, wanting to convey to him the certainty you felt. You lightly tug on the bond connecting the two of you and he rubs his chest at the feeling.

It’s quiet as the snow falls outside, unaware of the monumental decision you had decided on once Eris’s letter had arrived earlier in the week. You had spent the past few months researching traditional autumn foods, preparing for this day. You had known for quite a while you were going to accept the bond, you just didn’t know when the two of you would have the chance to spend more than a few fleeting hours together. You had sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother when you received Eris’s letter, soft prayers echoing through your mind each night ensuring this would all work.

“Is everything ready?”

His eyes peer into yours, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see, even you. His words come out soft and slightly timid, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you off.

“Yes, we just have to bring the food to the table.”

“May I help?” He doesn’t move towards the food, but one of his hands twitches, moving imperceptibly closer to you.

“I would appreciate that.”

It’s quiet as you two move to the food, grabbing platters and bowls to bring to the table. Once the table is full, a three course meal laid out in front of the two of you, the reality set in a bit. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Eris, but you were slightly concerned you were forcing his hand with this.

This was always ‘someday’, but now it was here and you didn’t know how he truly felt about it. That was until he grabbed your plate, placing the still warm pita in front of you. You placed a piece of pita on his own plate, and he looked at the baba ganoush before him, its texture so unlike anything he had seen in Autumn. “What do I do?”

You ripped a piece of your pita off, dipping it into the bowl, grabbing some of the baba ganoush on it before offering it to him. He inspects the piece, before doing the same with his own piece of pita, bringing the piece to your mouth.

“Eat. This might be the last time we’re rational enough for food.”

The two of you bite down on the pita, the warmth of the bread with the chill of the baba ganoush, the smoky, rich flavor exploding in your mouths. The room immediately shifted with the scent of your mixed arousals, but the two of you ignored it. His fingers lingered on your mouth, swiping at your lips before ripping off another piece of pita.

Heat was coursing through your veins, Eris’s emotions thrumming through you at a higher intensity. He felt electric in your veins.

You continue feeding each other until the pita’s gone and your attention shifts to the bouillabaisse. In similar fashion, the two of you poured the soup into the bowls with the bread before setting them down. You were thrumming, every part of you screamed to be closer to him, your thoughts having a background loop of mate, mate, mate.

“How did you know about bouillabaisse?”

Eris’s words send heat through you - his voice, soft and low, the actual words not registering with your insatiable need for him.

“Beg your pardon?”

His smirk is feline as he knows exactly why you didn’t hear him, but he repeats his question with no teasing.

“I um, found it a few months ago - I was in Dawn and a little restaurant served it.”

You could feel the sweat on your brow as you watched Eris’s fingers bring another spoonful to his mouth. You thought about all the things he could do with those fingers, that mouth, that tongue-

“Nobody in Dawn serves this. It is a regional dish, more specifically it is only found on the seaside of Autumn.”

Busted.

You take another bite of the soup, the flavors so different from Night Court cuisine, but you weren’t complaining. Several of the fish in the soup were only found along the coast of Autumn and Winter, some making it as far north as Dawn.

“I may have perused some Autumn Court restaurants when I was visiting once.”

Eris stretches out the fingers of his hand, moving his long fingers in torturous preparation before placing his hand on your thigh. His touch was so warm, you began pulling at the collar of your dress to let the heat escape, biting your lip to keep the moan from escaping.

“When were you allowed in Autumn?”

“Fine,” your voice came out sharp, the room much too hot for an interrogation, “I snuck into Autumn a few months ago trying to find something to make you for this. I tried a bouillabaisse at this incredible little restaurant and I paid them an exorbitant amount of gold to teach me how to make it and to not tell anyone I was there. I slipped back in yesterday to pick up the fish in this soup.”

His fingers dance about on your thigh, and you take a quick glance down at his pants, your body growing warmer at his cock pressing across his pants, desperate to be released. You can’t move your eyes away from it - knowing how it looked, how it felt in your mouth, how it tasted - you were about to start drooling before Eris’s hand came up and closed your jaw.

“Strip.”

Eris’s words were a demand, full of power and need.

“But we still have dess-“

Your words died on your tongue as Eris began unbuttoning his shirt, your eyes caught on his lean chest, littered with freckles. You were in need, too, practically salivating at your mate’s display of his body, and you can’t quite remember why you wanted him to finish the whole meal.

He huffs over to you, his hands grabbing the fabric of your dress, ripping it in half down the middle. You gasp as the cold air meets your skin, somehow making your nipples even harder.

You stare at him wide eyed, even more aroused than before. At this point, you knew your panties were doing very little to keep your arousal from coating your thighs.

“You took too long,” he snarls, undoing the ties of his pants.

You had begun pulling the remnants of your dress off your shoulder, but stopped to watch your mate hook his thumbs into his trousers and pull them down, letting his cock free.

You move forward, ready to jump on Eris, but his hand on your chest stops you, eliciting a whine from you. His other hand grabs the molten chocolate cake you had made, slowly lifting it out of the ramekin. He holds it delicately in his hand, the other hand on your chest moving up to your hair, tugging gently on the strands to pull you towards him.

Your chests were touching, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He blazed with heat, his cock hard with need pressed into your stomach. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his blood was boiling inside of him, but he moved ever so slowly, his fingers meeting your chin. He looked into your eyes, the two of you the only beings in the world right now.

“My mate.”

Anything could be happening outside of the walls of this cabin. The snow could have all melted, a heat wave sending the Winter Court into chaos, and you wouldn’t know. All you would know was Eris’s gaze on you, mapping out every inch of your body so he can remember every detail correctly when he thinks about this once you two are apart. His thumb applied pressure on your chin, opening your mouth. He placed the cake in your mouth, whispering, “don’t bite, not yet.”

You moved your hands to his hips, holding onto him. One of his hands moves to help hold the cake up, his other holding onto your neck. He puts the other end of the small cake into his mouth and lightly tugs on the bond. You both bite into it, the liquid chocolate center immediately cascading down and coating both of your chests. You both make quick work of finishing the remainder of the cake, tearing and gnawing at the soft dessert until you finish it off. He catches your lips in a kiss, the taste of the chocolate a luxury on his tongue.

You jump, feet slipping slightly on the bits of chocolate that made it to the floor. Eris’s arms catch underneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips. He lays you down on the table, moving his lips from your mouth, down the column of your throat, down your chest. You’re pulsing with need, desperate to feel any friction from him. You thrust your hips up, desperate to meet any feeling of him against you. His arm moves across your hips, pushing you down against the table. He shakes his head as he keeps kissing down your stomach, lifting his arm for a ring of fire to take its place around your waist.

He skips over where you want him, instead moving his head down to your thigh, licking up towards your hips. His tongue was hot as it slid up your inner thigh, lapping up the chocolate that had dripped down it. Your breathing was ragged as you felt his hot tongue growing closer and closer to you, and it felt like it was getting warmer the further it moved up your thigh.

You looked down at him, his amber eyes that were full of heat all you can see of his face as his tongue finally slips between your folds. You moan at the contact, throwing your head back and hitting it harshly against the table. The pain didn’t register, not as Eris - your mate - was moving his tongue as if he knew every part of you, as if he knew exactly how you felt as he would warm and cool his tongue at his leisure. He lifted his mouth just an inch, his words slightly muffled by your body.

“You taste of desperation. It’s delicious.”

You moan at his words, and he flicks your clit with his tongue. His hands warm on your thighs, pressing them further apart. He slips his tongue back through your folds, your hands gripping onto his hair to keep his mouth on you. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders before one of his hands disappears. You are writhing on the table, his grip on you lighting your skin on fire. The room grows heavier with the scent of his arousal, and you twitch your ears at the new sound in the room.

He was moaning into your pussy, the vibrations coursing through your body as you realized the hand that left you was wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. The thought of him being so aroused at eating you out that he has to touch himself sends you over the edge, your thighs clenching over his ears as you finish on his tongue. Your breathing was heavy, and Eris’s tongue did not let up, lapping like a starved male. You pulled him up by his hair, bringing your face to his. Your tongue swipes into his mouth, tasting a combination of yourself and chocolate on his mouth. You grab his shoulders, deepening the kiss as you flip him onto his back, pressing him onto the table. His hands grip onto your hips, trying to push you onto him, desperate for any touch from you. He whimpers as you tug his hair, pulling him into you.

You place teasing bites as you move down his torso, leaving mark after mark in a line towards his happy trail. You purposefully rub your breasts against his cock, smiling up at him as he groans, your breath hot on his crotch.

You lick from underneath his shaft, your tongue slowly moving from the base to the tip before putting his cock completely in your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon with a little salt, the chocolate flavor on your tongue making him taste incredible. His hands move, gripping onto your hair as he chants your name - a prayer, a plea, you weren’t sure. Your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and his hips thrusted trying to push himself deeper into your mouth.

You wanted to tease him about needing to touch himself while his mouth was on you, but you felt the same compulsions as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You resist the urge to move your fingers to yourself by digging your nails into Eris’s thighs, leaving half moon indents. His grip grew tighter on your hair, pushing your head down harder as he got closer to finishing, his moans filling the cabin as he finished, the hot taste of cinnamon filling your mouth and coating your throat as you swallow it. You pull your mouth off of him, his cock twitching again at the look you give him as you lick your lips.

He growled and you swiped your tongue up his still hard cock. He lunged for you, jumping off the table before his teeth sink onto your nipple, pulling the skin with his teeth. You gasp, pinching his nipple back in response.

“Do you think there’s something there about eating to accept the bond and what we just did?”

You waggle your brows at him, but his eyes are a bottomless pit of black. Gone are the amber hues of fallen leaves, replaced by an endless void of hunger. You lean up to kiss him, the taste of both of you swirling between your tongues. You start walking backward, knocking into one of the chairs. He catches you, one arm hooking around your waist.

His pointer finger moves up from your belly button to your neck, swiping up the chocolate left behind. He puts his finger in your mouth, having you suck the chocolate off.

“Maybe we should get cleaned up.”

You smiled around his finger, swirling your tongue around it as you looked up at him from under your lashes. You nodded, taking his whole finger into your mouth. He breathes in deeply through his nose, his eyes swirling with desire before you. His other arm loops around your waist, carrying you through the cabin. Your giggles echoed down the hallway as Eris moved the two of you into the bathroom. He doesn’t set you down, shifting instead to hold you up against the wall with one arm while he turns the shower on.

The water started cascading down the both of you, sweeping the remnants of the chocolate down the drain. Your feet hit the floor as Eris pushes the two of you forward, your back hitting the wall. The water fell over your face, making it hard to see him, but you could feel everything about him. You felt his skin on yours, your chests pushed together. You felt his emotions thrumming inside of you, bouncing everywhere, filling every available space. You had heard of the bond being accepted as an all-consuming thing, but you found any previous descriptions to be wholly inadequate. Every inch of you burned for him, thrumming with need to be near, to have him with you, to have him inside of you.

He grabs the bar of soap from the shower, lathering it onto a wet washcloth before rubbing it against your body, rubbing the chocolate from both yours and his skin.

“I never thought accepting the bond would be so messy.”

Eris’s hand guided the wash cloth across your shoulders, your sternum, before taking his time as he rubbed it against your breasts. His thigh slid between your legs, separating them. Lean muscle pressed against your cunt as you sank onto his thigh. His lips were on your mouth as you ground onto his thigh. He tossed aside the washcloth, his hands gripped your hips, harshly moving you against his thigh.

“My beautiful, beautiful mate.”

His voice was husky, echoing through the shower, further cementing that feeling he was everywhere.

“Gonna fall apart on my thigh?”

His lips move down your neck, teeth sinking into skin.

“We have all weekend for me to put every part of me to good use.”

You threw your head back, hitting the wall softly. One of Eris’s hands moves behind your head, cushioning the blow. His grip is unforgiving as he continues moving you, his thigh rubbing your clit so perfectly. Eris looked so beautiful before you, his pale skin a soft shade of pink from the heat radiating off of him.

His irises have shrunk enough for you to see a slither of the amber you love so much. You could feel him thrumming in your chest and you swore if you looked down, the room would be alight with the gold tie between you two. You gripped his shoulders as he pressed his thigh into harder, sending you over the edge.

You’re reeling from the orgasm, but Eris’s grip doesn’t let up. He uses his other leg to spread your legs again, and his hands move down to your ass, picking you up before sliding his cock into you. It feels right when he’s inside of you, the pounding in your head subsiding, the heat dissipating for just a moment before it was replaced with the need for more, more, more.

Your head moves across the tiled wall as Eris thrusts into you. You grip his hair, pulling his face to you again before kissing his mouth, needing to feel him everywhere. You’re all teeth as you nip and bite across his neck, up his jaw, on his earlobes. The shower does little to hide the whimper he lets out.

His fingers grab your face, pulling you from his ear to his mouth. He kisses you hard and passionately before pulling out of you and turning you around. Your hands press into the wall as his hands roam down the sides of your body, sending chills throughout you.

One of his hands ran through your hair, wrapping it around his hand, the other wrapping around your waist, holding your back to his chest. The water streamed down the two of you, but you hardly noticed as he kissed your neck, pushing you against the wall.

You moan, pushing your ass against his cock. He growls as one of his hands traces from your hip down to your upper inner thigh, gripping tightly.

He bit your shoulder blade, pushing deeper inside of you. The pressure inside of you kept building, the water streaming across your skin growing hotter. Your blood was boiling, you weren’t sure where you stopped and Eris began. His thrusts became harder and more erratic, his fingers gripping so tightly you were sure they’d bruise.

Eirs held you in an iron grip as he came inside of you, his release causing you to finish again. Arms braced against the wall as you panted heavily, Eris softly pulled himself out of you. His hands rubbed down your arms, and you stood up straighter, albeit on shaky legs. His eyes were roaming your body, looking over all the marks leftover from your tryst. The two of you were no strangers to rougher sex - most of the time you two were only able to satiate each other against a tree for mother’s sake. The tiles were no concern to you, but you knew Eris felt something deeper within him, guilt perhaps at how little control he had and the marks a reminder of that. Having a bond was new, but accepting the bond was utter chaos. A thousand emotions rattled through you, unsure of who they truly belonged to the most dominant ones were to protect and to fuck.

Eris slipped his arm out of the shower, his head going with it. You took the moment to gaze down at his ass, the little freckles scattered across it gave you the urge to bite the plump flesh. He came back in fully with a washcloth, and your gaze softened. You reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Er, I don’t care, we’ll probably be going at it again in twenty minutes.”

Despite your protests, he broke free of the loose grip you had on him. He brought the cloth up under the water, letting it get properly drenched.

“I know.”

He moved the washcloth down between your legs, his touch impossibly gentle compared with the male who was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise moments ago.

“We’ve just never gotten to have this part before.”

You think back to all the times you two have met - in the woods, in secure cabins, in closets to find that he was right. Every moment alone the two of you had counted, and neither of you were ever able to linger for long after sex.

Another thing the secrecy cost the both of you.

He looked to you, asking silent permission, and you nod. He moved the washcloth, cleaning the remnants of himself off of you. He rinsed the washcloth again before moving it across your skin - your stomach, your shoulders, your arms. He lingered, taking the time to clean every inch of you. He laughed, pointing out you still had some chocolate behind your ear. Once he finished, he reached to turn off the shower, but your hand stopped his.

His eyes are assessing as you slowly grab the washcloth from him, your own eyes reflecting his previous question. He nods, and you start your own work of cleaning him. Your eyes trail his body, taking in how vulnerable he is in this moment. You hummed softly, the tune of some song you can’t recall the name of. The sound makes some of the emotions inside of you die down a bit, replaced by a calmer feeling. Eris tips his head down as you wipe at his back, the scars there almost mirrors of your own.

The cloth moves down him, but you stop to kiss a few of the scars on his upper back. Once you’re done, you drop the washcloth on the floor, wrapping your arms around his torso. Eris’s hand reaches out, shutting off the shower, but not making any indication he wants to move.

Eris’s love sitting inside of you felt different to the love you felt for him - synonyms, perhaps. But not quite the same.

After several minutes, you grabbed some towels from the cabinets, offering one to Eris. He slings it around his hips lazily, lifting you into his arms. You had barely wrapped yourself in the towel before he scooped you up.

The two of you land on the bed, decadent in shades of blue across the massive sea of blankets and pillows. The only reminder that neither of you were in your home courts. Eris taps your chest, the reminder you felt about having to leave him leaking over to his side of the bond.

You two settle on the pillows, discarding your towels to lay beneath the large duvet. You climbed on top of him, settling on his chest. His cock grew hard again, and you moved so you could settle with him inside of you.

You traced your fingers over his freckles, connecting them with your finger. “I can make constellations out of them,” you tell him.

The roar has subsided enough for you to feel like a person again rather than a beast. You know it’ll come back, in minutes or seconds you weren’t sure, but you wanted to spend whatever time with him like this that you could.

Eris thrusts softly inside of you, watching your eyes look for patterns in the freckles across his cheeks.

“Perhaps you can make me a constellation that will always lead me to you.”

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Your mate. You feel the pit inside of you start to roar, but you swallow it down, opting instead to search inside of yourself, finding that golden thread tethering you to him, and pulling.

“It appears I already have.”

He flips the two of you, laying you on your back as he slowly puts himself inside of you again. He fills you up completely, reaching the base of his cock before stopping and just staying there.

“Mm, Eris.”

He smiles, his arms landing on each side of your face, caging you in. He moves a few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

He smiles down at you, his freckles dancing across his face, the sunlight illuminating his hair to look as if it were made of flame.

His fingers tangle in your hair, lightly holding on.

“You are everything to me.”

His voice comes out soft and slightly shaky, as if the admission were almost painful. He began thrusting slowly, but this felt different. Anyone who had ever thought Eris Vanserra incapable of being soft should see him now.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

His thrusts became faster with each word, but not harsher.

“I will always take care of you.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, your thumb softly rubbing the skin.

“And I you.”

You were reaching that peak again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t feral, the need to satiate the physicality of the bond, but rather to remind yourself that you two were bound together, forever.

“I love you, mate.”

His words have you seeing stars, and you practically feel yourself leave your body, but you hear yourself say, “and I love you,” as Eris finishes inside of you.

He collapses on you, his cock still inside of you. You both are breathing heavily, unable to get enough air into your lungs. He collapses on top of you, his arms digging beneath you to wrap you in an embrace.

No touch was enough, even as you wrapped your own arms around him, peppering kisses into the side of his head. The two of you lay there, eventually Eris peaks his head out from your neck to watch the snow fall outside the window. You think about the many lives you could lead with Eris Vanserra - how much simpler your lives could be if you were born of different circumstances.

But those Erises wouldn’t be the one laying on top of you now. They wouldn’t have as sharp of a tongue as he does, or perhaps their noses wouldn’t slant the same way his does. You could lead a thousand lifetimes with a thousand Erises, each one different from the next. Your thumb grazes his cheek, deciding that easy was never meant for you. It was never meant for Eris, either.

In those thousand lifetimes, the only edge they have on this one is the ability for you two to be more free about your love.

You wouldn’t have to return to your respective homes, glamouring the scent of your mating bond from those around you in a bid to mitigate the unwanted comments from those around either of you. Beron would be excited, an intercourt mating would come with tremendous benefits for him. Rhysand would be pissed, your entire family shocked at the secret, unable to bite their tongues from disrespecting your mate with the twisted truths.

Secrets can only last for so long. They all get spoken at some point, and one day everyone will know how you have been carrying Eris’s love for years, how it has carried you for much longer than you thought, and how it will still carry you wherever you need to go.

Even when it’s in the opposite direction of him.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

#gingerfucker #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra fanfic #eris vanserra smut #eris vanserra x you

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countlessrealities · 1 year ago

Text

Alastor's ears visibly twitched as he leant against the seat, elbow resting on top of it so that he could hold up his chin with the back of his hand as Vox talked. Speaking of indulging, so far their time together had been not as unpleasant as he was expecting. Or rather, it hadn't been unpleasant almost at all.

"Look at you, showing some proper common sense! I'm pleasantly surprised," he exclaimed, discarding that line of thought. Better not to linger on such ideas. He had to remember why he was there. Vox was the one who had to get distracted, not him. "There might just be hope for you, old pal!"

His tone made it impossible to say whether or not he was being sarcastic, but the lack of malice in his voice was obvious. If something, it held a little sly playfulness. Still, the fact that he didn't hesitate to hold his glass close to the other's spoke perhaps louder than his words.

Or maybe he just wanted to move on from the reaction he had gotten in answer to his staring. He didn't know what it meant, but it was best not to let his "rival" get any ideas. Whatever they might be.

"Yes, I can drink to that," he agreed, clinking their glasses together. "Here's to us having a decent meal and a tolerable time together through all of our rendezvous!"

With that, he took a sip out of his glass. He held it the in his mouth for a moment, allowing the liquor to soak his tongue, so he could fully savour the taste before swallowing. His assessment of the drink had been right. Not the best, but definitely more than passable.

Vox's last statement brought a laugh out of him. "You're enjoying it? But we haven't even started on the catching up part, my dear! Don't tell me that you're already going soft on me.~"

A shadow tentacle lightly poked at the side of the showman's screen. And if it lingered a little longer than it was strictly necessary, Alastor didn't show to have noticed. Just as Vaggie had instructed him to do.

"But since we are on the subject! How is our hellish existence treating you? I've seen that you have this whole..."

His voice trailed off for a moment. How to word it without sounding insulting?

"...well-established thing ongoing! My previous jabs aside, you must have put in the hard work while I was gone."

That was progress. There was something about the realization that they were, indeed, making headway (despite not going into this lunch expecting as much), that made Vox's heart swell for just a moment. A feeling he desperately, immediately, swallowed and shoved to the back of his mind. Whatever this lunch really was was up for grabs—but that seemed like a good sign.

The fact alone that Alastor wasn't outright repulsed by his choice in drink was an even better one, strangely. Progress.

"You know what?" he asked through a slight laugh, as he gratefully accepted the poured drink."I'm down with that approach. Fuck it, right? If you're in a place where you can have the finest things in life, what's the point in waiting to indulge in them?"

A thought popped into Vox's head, but he squashed it before he could blurt it out and ruin the moment. Next time, he supposed, they were going to have to go out much earlier in the day. Since there was no such thing as 'too early' when it came to enjoying the finer things. Hm.

If it hadn't been squashed, Alastor's gaze meeting his own (for the longest few seconds of his life) would have been just the distraction needed to make it disappear. His brows raised only slightly, not daring to be too expressive and call attention to the moment, but he refused to look away until the other did.

His heart swelled again.

And then he cleared his throat, holding his glass up just enough to acknowledge the offer for a toast.

"Eh, I think we can allow ourselves to be a little clichéd. Just this once." Just this once. "So... how about a toast to... passable liquor and acceptable company? I think I'm enjoying our catch-up already."

#[ threads :: Alastor ]#&& Vox || holoharbinger #holoharbinger #[[ random personal HC - you can tell when Al is comfy around you bc he lets his ears move xD ]]#[[ the way he had to think about how to call Vox's business tho xD ]]#[[ sassy mf even when he's trying to be 'nice' ]]#[[ also jfc Al you can't call it a 'rendezvous' and then touch the guy like that ]]#[[ waaaay to lead someone on ]]#[[ they get long on YOUR hand? have you seen MY replies mate ]]#;; queue

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jane-the-good · 4 months ago

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What about a silly little story where Sylus comes to the 'rescue' when his s/o gets accidentally slapped in the face by one of the twins when they were trying to do a high-five?

lol I like it ◡̈ I miss the twinssss omggggg

WORD COUNT: 1.1K

AO3 sylus masterlist

The mission had been a disaster, well, almost. And that was on you.

One wrong step, one mistimed move, and the whole thing had teetered on the edge of ruin. The Protocore cache had slipped through your fingers, literally, the delicate thread of the plan was pulled a little too hard and the spool unraveled quickly. Alarms had screamed to life, shadows turned to threats, and what should have been a clean, effortless escape had become a frantic, breathless scramble.

But somehow, somehow, Luke and Kieran had saved it. Saved you.

Now, the three of you stood on the rooftop rendezvous point, the N109 Zone stretched out below, neon light painting the air in bruised purples and sickly golds. Your pulse was still hammering, not with the rush of victory, but the sharp, lingering holy shit, we almost died.

“We barely pulled that off,” Kieran huffed, slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders seemingly forgetting he just fought for his life.

“With style,” Luke added, striking a pose as if they hadn’t been one step from disaster.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “You mean despite me making it impossible?”

Kieran smirked. “Yeah, but we like a challenge.”

Luke grinned. “And you definitely gave us one.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, breathless from the adrenaline still pulsing through you. “Three-way high five?”

They perked up immediately.

“Hell yes,” Luke said.

“On three,” Kieran agreed. “One, two, thr—”

A sharp sting exploded across your face.

Pain flared hot under your fingertips as you stumbled back, clutching your cheek.

“OW! What the hell?!”

Kieran’s eyes went wide, horror dawning a slow-motion car crash. “Oh—”

Luke stared at his own hand and how it had personally betrayed him. “I’m so sorry! Damn! That was a solid hit—wait, I mean, not in a good way!”

Before you could respond, the air shifted.

A presence loomed behind you, vast and unrelenting. The temperature didn’t so much drop as it curled around your spine, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the night air.

The twins went still. Their post-mission high evaporated, replaced by something sharper, bone-deep terror.

You turned, pulse stuttering.

Sylus stepped into view, slow, deliberate. His gaze flicked over the scene, taking in the way you cradled your cheek, the way the twins morphed into animals and backwards stepped into a corner with their ears down and tail between their legs. When his eyes met yours, they narrowed, just slightly. Calculating.

Then, his attention shifted to Luke and Kieran, and the air thinned, and the room itself had decided to shrink.

When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, silk draped over a blade.

“Tell me—was that a punishment for her screw-up? Or an audition for a grave?”

Kieran let out a nervous chuckle that shriveled under Sylus’ stare. “Uh—well—see—”

Luke fumbled for words. “It was—”

Sylus took a single, measured step forward. Calm. Controlled. Utterly terrifying.

“Which one of you just signed their will?”

Luke and Kieran looked at each other, then at you, silently begging for help.

You saw the slight twitch of Sylus’ fingers, the way he was clearly contemplating something far less forgiving. You knew that look. That was the last chance before consequences look.

You quickly stepped in. “Sylus, it was an accident.”

His eyes snapped back to you. “An accident?”

You nodded, still pressing your fingers against your sore cheek. “Yes. Overenthusiastic high-five gone wrong. Painful? Absolutely. Intentional? No.”

A long silence swirled around you. You could feel Sylus assessing you, weighing your words, searching for any sign of deception. Finally, his shoulders relaxed, just slightly.

The moment the tension broke, Kieran let out a wheeze, clutching his chest at how he’d barely survived.

Luke exhaled so hard he nearly doubled over. “Oh my god, I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“I think I left my soul behind,” Kieran muttered, still dazed.

Sylus rolled his eyes, then turned his full attention back to you. His expression softened, just barely. “You’re hurt.”

You blinked. “I—what? No, it’s fine—”

He was already moving, his grip firm but measured as he took your wrist, steering you toward the exit with effortless control. “You’re coming with me.”

You barely had time to throw the twins a look, half help me, half good luck, before Sylus led you through the winding halls of his home. His pace was steady, unhurried, but each step carried purpose, a certainty that left no room for argument. His hold on your wrist wasn’t rough, just… assured. Like he had no doubt you’d follow. Like he didn’t need to force compliance, he simply expected it.

He brought you to a dimly lit lounge, the kind of room that felt both intimate and calculated. A quiet command had you sitting before you could think to protest, and within moments, he returned with an ice pack. Of course, he had one ready. Sylus always planned ahead.

Without a word, he crouched in front of you, pressing the cold compress to your cheek with a gentleness that felt almost out of place. His fingers brushed against your skin, lingering, not quite accidental, not quite necessary.

His gaze held yours, sharp edges softened just enough to be dangerous in a different way.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter. Meant just for you.

And there was something in the way he said it, something weighty, something you couldn’t quite name, but you felt it all the same.

You swallowed, the words heavy in your throat. “I didn’t plan on getting hurt, you know.”

His lips curled, a smirk stretching slow and unreadable, it belonged to someone else entirely. “Then try harder.”

You huffed, the sound more defiance than amusement. “Are you seriously blaming me?”

He didn’t flinch, his voice smooth, unbothered. “Not blaming. Just pointing out that you should be more careful. People already take enough shots at you on purpose. I’d rather not have to deal with accidental ones too.”

Something in the way he said it, so casual, so calm, made your pulse stutter, the trap had just closed without you noticing.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Sylus leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Besides,” he murmured, voice dropping lower, dangerous in a way that made the air feel too tight, “I prefer you unmarked.”

Your throat tightened.

“Sylus.”

“Hm?”

“You were just furious, and now you’re… flirting while holding an ice pack to my bruised face?”

He smirked, the arrogance in his eyes a challenge you couldn’t look away from. “I can multitask.”

Of course he could.

#very thankful I joined for Sylus because he feels like home to me like he’s a special comfort #love and deepspace #lnds #lads #sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus fic #sylus fanart #sylus fanfic #love and deepspace fic

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hyvyinjie · 1 year ago

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hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

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theastralsage · 13 days ago

Text

Masquerade Rendezvous

❤︎ tags and content: masked ball vibes, friends to lovers, lumiere!xavier x f!reader, public sex, oral, rough sex ❤︎ author note: reuploaded 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

The ballroom gleamed under the flickering glow of chandeliers, their golden light refracting against the cascading crystal strands that hung like frozen rain from the vaulted ceiling. The Hunter’s Association had spared no expense for tonight’s masquerade—gilded arches, velvet-draped tables, and an endless sea of masks concealing sharp eyes and sharper intentions.

The air was thick with the scent of spiced wine and warm candle wax, mingling with the distant notes of a string quartet that played something slow, something indulgent. A place built for spectacle, for indulgence, for the careful dance of pretense.

You had expected formality—stoic conversations over expensive champagne, the subtle weight of duty pressing into your spine as you navigated the political undercurrents beneath every greeting. But this… this felt different.

The Association’s best and brightest moved like ghosts through the room, their identities swallowed by the night’s elaborate disguises. Rich silks, dark brocades, the glint of gold threading through the sea of bodies. It was intoxicating in a way you hadn’t anticipated—the anonymity, the blurred lines between colleague and stranger, the way the night whispered promises of something reckless, something dangerous.

Your gown was regal, woven from deep midnight blue that shimmered with every step, the fitted bodice dipping scandalously low before spilling into layers of flowing silk. A crown—delicate but commanding—sat atop your masked visage, the final touch to your carefully curated disguise. A queen, untouchable.

Or so you thought.

Because then you saw him.

Across the room, dressed in the ridiculous, theatrical splendor of Lumière himself—white and gold embroidery cascading down his tailored coat, gloved hands moving with effortless grace as he accepted a glass of wine from a passing server. He was tall, poised, his silver hair falling in soft, deliberate waves over the high collar of his costume. The mask obscured his face, but the sharp line of his jaw, the composed stillness of his posture… something about him sent a shiver down your spine.

And when his gaze lifted—cool, assessing, burning even through the layers of decorum—you felt it. The inevitable pull.

The masquerade was meant for secrecy. For pretending.

The night spun around you in a blur of gilded masks and whispered laughter, the symphony swelling as bodies moved in perfect time. You had taken the hand of a stranger—a man whose name you hadn’t asked, whose face was obscured beneath a mask of silver filigree—and let him pull you into the slow, intoxicating rhythm of the waltz.

It was easy to get lost in the music, to let the careful choreography lull you into a false sense of security. Your partner’s grip was firm but not possessive, guiding you through each measured step as you swayed beneath the grand chandeliers.

Still, something felt… off.

Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air thickens, charged with something unseen.

You felt it before you saw it—an unmistakable presence at the edge of your periphery, someone watching, waiting.

And then, just as your partner spun you in a graceful turn, your gaze lifted—straight into the piercing blue of a masked man dressed in white and gold.

Lumière.

He stood just beyond the reach of the dancers, one gloved hand resting lightly against the gilded railing, the other holding an untouched glass of wine. His presence was undeniable, though he hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He didn’t need to.

Something about the way he watched you—calculating, amused, intrigued—made the room feel smaller, the air warmer.

Your partner murmured something polite, something about how well you danced, but you barely heard him. Because Lumière had moved.

He placed his glass down with meticulous precision, then stepped forward, cutting through the swirling figures with effortless grace. His stride was slow, deliberate, like a man who already knew how this would end.

When he finally reached you, he didn’t look at your partner. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

Instead, he extended a gloved hand toward you, tilting his head just slightly.

“May I have this dance?”

It wasn’t really a request.

Your partner hesitated, torn between politeness and the unshakable sense that he had already lost.

You inhaled, pulse thrumming against the delicate line of your throat. And then—without a word—you placed your hand in Lumière’s. His fingers curled around yours, warm even through the silk of his gloves.

The masquerade swallowed you both whole.

<hr>

Lumière pulled you into the dance with the kind of effortless confidence that suggested he’d done this before—many times. His grip was sure, guiding, not forceful, but leaving no doubt as to who was leading.

And yet, the moment your palm settled against his shoulder, the very moment your bodies aligned in the measured closeness of the waltz, something shifted.

The masquerade blurred.

Your world shrank to the point of contact, to the warmth seeping through his gloves, the slow, calculated press of his palm against your waist.

He moved like someone who had memorized the language of motion, each step a silent command, each turn a quiet conversation. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—not when the air between you felt charged, thick with something neither of you had named yet.

“You dance well,” you murmured, voice low enough that only he could hear.

Lumière’s lips curled into something close to amusement. “You sound surprised.”

You tilted your head, gaze flicking over his mask, searching for something beneath the disguise. “I expected someone in a costume like yours to be a little less…” You trailed off, letting the thought hang between you like a thread waiting to be pulled.

His grip on your waist tightened, just slightly. “Less what?”

“Disciplined.”

The faintest chuckle—low, rich, indulgent. “I assure you, discipline has its benefits.”

Heat licked up your spine before you could stop it.

The waltz continued, but the dance was no longer just about the music. It was about the way his thumb skimmed the fabric of your gown in a barely-there stroke. The way his breath fanned against your temple when he dipped you, holding you suspended for just a second too long. The way your body responded, leaning into the moment before sense could catch up to instinct.

The first song ended and neither of you moved to step away.

The strings swelled again, and without a word, Lumière adjusted his grip, seamlessly carrying you into the next dance as if the thought of parting hadn’t even occurred to him.

You should have hesitated. Should have stepped back, should have broken the spell before it tightened its hold.

But you didn’t.

You let him keep you close, let the slow, deliberate motion of the dance unravel something inside you.

“You’re not asking my name,” you said after a moment, studying him from beneath the edge of your mask.

He hummed, thoughtful. “Would you give it to me if I did?”

A slow smile curved your lips. “Would you?”

Lumière’s head tilted just slightly, considering. “Names are dangerous things at a masquerade.”

“So is this,” you countered, shifting just a fraction closer, your bodies nearly brushing with every measured step.

The air between you crackled.

He exhaled, slow and controlled, as if keeping something at bay. Then, after a pause, he murmured, “Then perhaps we shouldn’t name it.”

The dance continued.

You had forgotten the world outside this moment, outside the way his fingers pressed against the small of your back with each turn, outside the almost imperceptible way his chest rose and fell just a little too sharply when you exhaled against his throat.

Two strangers in the dark, playing a game neither of you wanted to end.

But the music was winding down. And as the final note lingered in the air, a question hung between you—unspoken, heavy. Would you leave this dance behind? Or would you follow wherever it led?

Lumière’s hand slid from your waist. His fingers traced the edge of your wrist, featherlight, as if testing the weight of a decision.

<hr>

You weren’t prepared for the moment he let go.

The music had barely finished settling into silence when his fingers slipped from yours, the warmth of his touch evaporating as though it had never been there at all. No parting words, no lingering glance, no indication that the last two dances had meant anything beyond the rhythm of the waltz. With careful precision, he stepped away, retreating into the crowd with the kind of quiet grace that made it seem as though he had never existed in the first place.

The ballroom didn’t falter in his absence, didn’t still or quiet or even acknowledge that something—someone—had been lost to the sea of masked figures and gilded artifice. The string quartet continued, seamlessly weaving the next melody into the fabric of the night, and around you, dancers reassembled, switching partners, reforming lines, their conversations uninterrupted by the ghost of a man who had been there only moments before.

But you felt it. The absence of him. The space he had left behind.

Your hands, still curled slightly as if expecting to find the shape of his gloved fingers lingering in your palm, felt empty in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Your breath was uneven, your body still attuned to the careful way he had held you, the deliberate way his grip had tightened just slightly when you leaned too close, the way his voice had curled around you with quiet, unmistakable intent. Walk with me, he had said, as if the outcome of this night had already been decided.

And yet, he was gone.

Not in some dramatic, attention-drawing departure, but in the way a shadow dissolves beneath shifting light—there one moment, blurred the next, retreating into the edges of the world as though he had never truly been part of it at all.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That this had been nothing more than a dance, a fleeting moment of indulgence in a night designed for such things, that you had no reason to feel the slow, curling frustration creeping up your spine, no reason to scan the room as if searching for something you had no business searching for.

But no matter how many times you reminded yourself of these things, you couldn’t stop the way your pulse betrayed you.

It was ridiculous, really. You didn’t even know his name.

And yet, despite your best efforts, despite the way you forced your expression into something composed and unbothered, despite the way you accepted the next hand extended toward you with the same easy grace as before, you couldn’t stop your gaze from flickering back to where he had once stood.

You were a queen tonight, untouchable, regal, above the game of masks and fleeting glances.

And yet, for the briefest of moments, you had felt hunted.

The night moved on without him. Another song played, another glass of wine was placed in your hand, another masked figure leaned close with idle conversation you could barely register, and yet the sensation of searching for something just beyond your reach refused to loosen its grip.

You wouldn’t chase him. That much you knew.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t the only one searching.

Somewhere in the depths of the masquerade, obscured but not lost, the man in white and gold was still watching. Still waiting. Still allowing the tension to stretch and simmer, to settle just beneath your skin, to become something that would not fade so easily.

Because this was not over. Not yet.

The masquerade moved around you, swirling in gilded opulence, but the haze of music and conversation felt distant, dulled beneath the lingering pull of something unseen. You had let another dance slip through your fingers, had let another conversation pass without truly hearing it, had let another glass of wine be placed in your palm without tasting it. It was becoming absurd—this sensation, this restless hum beneath your skin, as though something had unsettled the very balance of the evening and left you reaching for something just out of sight.

You needed a moment. A breath. A distraction.

The refreshment table stood along the edge of the ballroom, a long, lavish spread of imported wines and crystalline glasses arranged beneath the warm glow of candlelight. It wasn’t the wine you truly wanted—wasn’t even the moment of respite you claimed to be seeking—but it was something tangible, something to occupy your hands and your mind while you exorcised the ghost of a man you had no business thinking about.

Your fingers trailed absently along the stem of an untouched glass as you approached, reaching for the deep, velvety red of something dark and rich, something that might chase away the warmth that had settled in your bones during that last dance.

And that’s when you felt it. Not a touch, but the weight of attention.

It was instant, visceral, the kind of awareness that struck without warning, creeping down your spine with a slow, deliberate certainty. You didn’t need to look to know—to feel—that someone was watching you. Not in the way one might steal a passing glance at an intriguing stranger, but in the way a hunter watches its prey, waiting, unhurried, assured in the knowledge that there would be no escape.

You lifted the glass, bringing it to your lips in a practiced motion, slow, unbothered, unwilling to betray the way your pulse had shifted into something uneven, something entirely too aware.

But curiosity had already won.

You turned your head just slightly, just enough to let your gaze flicker over the gathered tables along the ballroom’s edge, scanning past costumed figures and polite conversation, past the blur of faces you had no reason to linger on—

Until you found him seated at one of the smaller tables, half-shrouded in shadow but unmistakable beneath the flickering candlelight, was Lumière. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t so much as lifted his own glass in greeting. He was simply watching.

Elbow resting against the arm of his chair, fingers curled beneath his jaw in a position of casual, effortless ease, his mask concealing all but the sharp line of his jaw and the faintest curve of his lips. He didn’t beckon, didn’t tilt his head in invitation, didn’t offer any indication that he had been waiting for you—

But you knew. You could tell he had. And worse than that, worse than the realization that he had anticipated this moment, that he had known you would seek respite here, was the quiet, undeniable truth creeping into your chest.

You had been waiting for him, too.

You set your glass down with careful precision, the delicate clink of crystal against marble swallowed by the hum of conversation around you. He hadn’t looked away—not once—hadn’t so much as feigned the courtesy of glancing elsewhere, and that alone sent a slow, simmering warmth curling beneath your skin.

If he was waiting for you to pretend not to notice, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to let the light catch the edges of your mask, gold filigree gleaming beneath the chandelier’s glow. It wasn’t a question, wasn’t some breathless observation of a woman caught off guard—it was a challenge, a deliberate acknowledgment of the pull neither of you had chosen to ignore.

Lumière—if that was even his real name, which you doubted—didn’t startle, didn’t shift, didn’t so much as blink in feigned innocence. He only smiled, slow and knowing, as if pleased that you had finally decided to call him on it.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, as if that alone explained everything.

A lesser woman might have flushed at the shamelessness of it, at the way his voice dipped low, smooth as velvet and just as dangerous. But you were not a lesser woman. You only lifted your glass once more, taking a slow sip of wine before setting it down again, gaze steady.

“Many here are beautiful,” you pointed out, the edge of a smirk curling at your lips. “And yet, you’re still looking at me.”

He exhaled softly through his nose, a quiet sound of amusement, but he didn’t deny it. “I am.”

“Why?”

His fingers tapped idly against the table, a single measured beat, before his voice dipped just a little lower, the weight of his attention pressing against you in ways that had nothing to do with physical proximity.

“I enjoyed the way you danced.”

It was simple, almost benign, but the way he said it—slow, deliberate, the words rolling over his tongue with something bordering on indulgence—made it clear he wasn’t speaking only of waltzes and carefully choreographed steps.

A warmth settled in your chest, creeping downward, curling around your spine like something electric. You should have left it there, let the words hang, let him keep waiting, let the anticipation stretch just a little longer.

But you were feeling bold. You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbow against the table, fingers ghosting over the stem of your glass. Your voice, when it came, was soft but certain, each syllable laced with quiet intent.

“I can move in other ways.”

The flicker in his gaze was immediate—sharp and assessing, as if measuring the weight of what had just been offered, deciding whether to take the bait or let it drift.

He took it.

“I have no doubt,” he murmured, his head tilting just slightly, as if imagining it already, as if mapping the possibilities in the space between words.

The warmth beneath your skin deepened, pooling low, dangerous in the way a drawn bowstring thrummed with tension before release.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The ballroom spun on around you—music, laughter, the clinking of glasses—but it might as well have been another world entirely.

Lumière’s gaze flickered, something dark and unreadable shifting behind the polished ease of his expression, his fingers still idly tapping against the table in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. He was considering something, weighing it carefully, as though calculating the exact moment to strike.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he stood.

The movement was fluid, effortless, like everything he did, his gloved hand extending toward you with the same quiet command as before. There was no question of whether you would accept.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, the words barely louder than the hum of music behind him, but they sank into you like a whisper against bare skin.

Your fingers slid into his without hesitation, and the moment his grip tightened around yours, your fate was sealed.

He pulled you onto the floor with practiced ease, guiding you back into his arms as though you belonged there, as though every other dance before this had been nothing more than a rehearsal for this moment. The world narrowed once again, reduced to the slow, intoxicating rhythm of movement, of the subtle press of his palm against your back, the gloved fingers curling just slightly around yours as he led you through the sweeping turns.

This dance was different from the others.

Slower. Heavier.

Less about technique and more about the way your bodies moved together, the way the air between you felt charged, the way his fingertips traced the smallest of patterns against your spine with every step.

His breath was warm against your cheek, his lips so close to your skin that you swore you could feel the phantom press of them, the teasing suggestion of something withheld, something just out of reach.

“You make it difficult to look anywhere else,” he murmured, so quietly that only you could hear.

A slow, deliberate shiver worked its way down your spine, but you didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate in your response, tilting your head just enough to let your lips nearly brush the edge of his jaw.

“Then don’t.”

He exhaled, something low and pleased vibrating deep in his chest, and for a moment, just a moment, you swore he was going to kiss you right there, consequences be damned.

His hand at your back slid just a fraction lower, the hold just a fraction tighter, his head dipping just slightly as though drawn forward by something beyond reason, beyond choice, beyond even himself.

And then he stopped.

Close. So damn close that his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm and steady, but he held there, lingering at the precipice, waiting.

For you. For permission. For a request, an invitation, a demand.

The space between you felt razor-thin, your pulse a betraying drumbeat against your ribs, the warmth of him sinking into your skin, unraveling you bit by bit until there was only one possible outcome.

“Take me somewhere else,” you whispered, the words slipping past your lips before you could think better of them, before you could remember why you shouldn’t.

Something flickered in his eyes—satisfaction, hunger, a silent finality—before his grip tightened ever so slightly.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask if you were sure. He simply took your hand, and without another word, led you away from the dance floor, away from the crowd, away from the golden light and into the shadows where no one could see.

<hr>

The world beyond the ballroom faded into insignificance the moment he led you past the grand arches and into the dimly lit corridors that stretched beyond the golden glow of the masquerade. The murmur of voices and music softened into a distant hum, swallowed by the quiet hush of the hallway, where the air was cooler, thicker, charged with something far heavier than the weight of candlelight and whispered laughter.

You had barely registered how far he had taken you before he moved.

In one fluid motion, he turned, pressing you back against the cool marble wall, his body closing in, surrounding you, his gloved hands bracketing either side of your waist. It wasn’t rushed—wasn’t careless or impatient—but deliberate, controlled, a slow, measured inevitability that made the anticipation coil low in your stomach, winding tighter with every second he held back.

And he was holding back.

You could see it in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly before settling at your hip, in the way his gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes as if committing every detail to memory.

For a man who had spent the evening watching you, who had danced with you like he already knew the shape of you, who had drawn you away from the crowd without hesitation—he was giving you a chance to stop this.

You weren’t going to take it.

With a slow inhale, you reached up, gliding your fingers along the edge of his mask, just enough to feel the warm skin beneath, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, to savor the way his breath hitched at the contact.

He made a sound—low, almost a growl—and then his restraint snapped.

His mouth was on yours before you had a chance to exhale, crushing, demanding, his body pressing flush against yours as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him. The warmth of him sank through the layers of fabric between you, the heat of his breath, the press of his chest, the firm grip of his hand tilting your chin just enough to deepen the kiss.

You melted into him, letting the urgency of his touch unravel you, your hands sliding beneath the lapels of his coat, fingers curling into the fine embroidery like you needed to anchor yourself before you lost all sense of where you were. He tasted of wine and something darker, something intoxicating, something that made your knees weaken just as his hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer, as though any remaining space between you was unacceptable.

He kissed you like he had been waiting all night.

And you kissed him like you had, too.

But even with the way his mouth claimed yours, even with the way his hands traced the curve of your body in slow, possessive strokes, even with the way your breaths tangled between desperate, heated kisses, you could feel it—the hard press of him against your thigh, undeniable, insistent, aching.

You smiled against his lips, a slow, wicked curve, and then—without breaking the kiss—you let your hands slide lower, skimming over the smooth brocade of his coat, down to his belt, down to where he was already straining against the confines of his clothing.

He sucked in a sharp breath, breaking away just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils blown wide behind the mask, his lips parted, his body tense beneath your touch.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low, rough, frayed at the edges of restraint.

But you only smirked, sinking slowly—deliberately—lower, your hands already working at the fastenings of his belt.

“I thought you liked the way I moved,” you murmured, looking up at him through the dark lace of your mask, watching the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers curled against the marble, the way his chest rose and fell in a sharp, uneven rhythm.

His jaw clenched, breath shuddering. “You’re going to—”

“Shh,” you soothed, pressing a kiss just below his navel as you freed him from the constraints of his costume, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands, in the way he exhaled sharply, already fighting to keep himself steady.

The moment your lips ghosted over his skin, just beneath the fine embroidery of his coat, you felt the sharp intake of his breath, the way his fingers curled against the marble like he was already struggling to hold himself together.

Good.

He had spent the entire night watching you, guiding you, leading you into the palm of his hand with deliberate ease. Now, it was your turn to unravel him.

You sank lower, letting your nails trail over his hips, feeling the slow, delicious weight of his cock press against your palm, thick and hot and already aching. A sharp exhale escaped him, his head tilting back just slightly, exposing the taut line of his throat, the barely-there tremor in his breath.

You couldn’t stop the satisfied hum that curled in your throat, reveling in the way he twitched beneath your fingers, in the way his entire body coiled with restraint, in the way he was trying—desperately—to stay composed when you could already feel him slipping.

“I thought you were disciplined,” you murmured, tracing your tongue along the groove of his hipbone before pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his skin, your breath fanning warm against him.

His hand moved before he could stop it, fingers tangling into your hair, not forcing, not guiding—just holding you there, like he needed something to keep him grounded. “Don’t test me.”

But that was exactly what you planned to do.

You glanced up at him, taking in the sharp set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths that weren’t nearly as steady as he wanted them to be. He was barely holding on, teetering on the edge of something dangerous, and you wanted to push him over.

So you did.

Your lips brushed the head of his cock first, featherlight, just enough to make him suck in another breath, his fingers tightening in your hair. Then, without hesitation, you parted your lips and took him into the heat of your mouth, slow, deliberate, savoring the way his entire body shuddered the second he felt the wet, silken glide of your tongue.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, wrecked, a single, bitten-off curse that made arousal pool between your thighs, made you press your own legs together as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper, letting him feel the slick drag, the deliberate tease of your tongue along the underside.

His control was slipping. You could feel it.

The way his hips jerked ever so slightly, as if fighting the urge to thrust deeper. The way his breath came shorter, uneven. The way his fingers flexed in your hair, torn between keeping himself steady and ruining you.

But you weren’t done with him yet.

You pulled back, slow and teasing, letting your lips drag against him before flicking your tongue over the head in a light, taunting stroke. His breath hitched, his grip tightening, his head tipping forward as if he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to tease him like this.

“You’re shaking,” you mused, voice sweet, lips brushing against him as you spoke.

His jaw clenched. “I swear—”

But whatever he was about to say cut off with a sharp inhale as you took him into your mouth again, this time deeper, your fingers tightening around his base as you let the slick heat of your throat pull him in.

That was it. That was the moment he broke. A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, his fingers curling hard in your hair, his hips pressing forward before he jerked himself back, as if forcing himself to stop, to regain control before he lost himself entirely. But it was already too late.

His free hand shot down, grabbing your arm, pulling you up before you could blink, before you could gloat—before you could even breathe.

His mouth was on yours in an instant, devouring, punishing, kissing you like he needed to claim you, like he had to remind you exactly who had been in control this entire night. His grip was tight, possessive, dragging you against him, letting you feel the heat, the frustration, the barely-contained desperation rolling off of him in waves.

Then, suddenly—

He was shoving himself back into his pants and pulling you with him, backing you toward the nearest door, his steps quick, determined, his breath still ragged against your lips. You barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he reached for the handle, shoving the door open, and pulling you inside.

The door slammed shut behind you. And now you were really alone trapped in the dark with the man you had just broken.

The second the door slammed shut, you barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you.

No more restraint. No more careful control. No more of the measured, deliberate touches he had kept himself confined to all night.

He snapped.

His mouth crashed against yours in something closer to a claim than a kiss, his hands already gripping, taking, roaming with a desperation that sent a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. His fingers dug into your hips, pinning you against the door as if he could brand himself into your skin, as if he needed to feel every inch of you beneath his hands before his mind fully unraveled.

And oh, was it unraveling.

Gone was the composed, mysterious stranger from the ballroom. Gone was the poised man who had watched you with quiet amusement from across the dance floor. In his place was something raw, something feral, something that had been straining against its leash all night and had finally been set loose.

"This is what you wanted, isn’t it?" His voice was low, wrecked, barely more than a growl against your lips, his breath hot and uneven as his hands yanked at the fabric of your gown, fingers curling in the delicate silk as if he had half a mind to tear it straight from your body.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t—because the moment your lips parted, his teeth grazed your jaw, his mouth dragging down the column of your throat, open-mouthed, hungry, sucking a deep, bruising mark against your skin that sent a sharp pulse of arousal straight to your core.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough, his grip tightening as he rolled his hips against you, letting you feel exactly how hard he still was, how much your little game had ruined him. "Tell me this is what you wanted."

"Yes," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, your head already spinning from the sheer heat of him, from the way he pressed against you, overwhelming and all-consuming. "Yes—fuck, yes—"

That was all he needed.

His fingers ripped at the ties of your gown, pushing the fabric down over your shoulders, shoving it past your hips until it pooled at your feet in a shimmering heap, leaving you bare beneath him. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, like the sight of you had knocked the air from his lungs.

He spun you before you could process it, shoving you up against the door, your palms slamming against the wood, your body arching instinctively at the feel of his chest pressing flush against your back.

"Stay right there," he rasped, his hand sliding up your spine, fingers curling into the back of your neck, holding you in place, his lips grazing your ear, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. "You want to tease me? Make me wait? Drag me to the edge just to watch me fall?" His teeth scraped against your throat, his hips grinding against you in a slow, devastating roll that had you whimpering. "Fine. Now it's your turn."

You barely had time to draw in a breath before his hand slid down, between your thighs, fingers pressing against your slick heat with a teasing, infuriating laziness.

"Fuck," he exhaled, voice wrecked, his forehead dropping to your shoulder for a half-second as he felt how wet you were, how ready you were for him, how your body had been waiting for this just as much as his had.

You squirmed, pushing back against him, needing more, but he just laughed—low—before pulling his fingers away just as quickly as he had touched you.

"You don’t get to be impatient now, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his mouth down your shoulder, sucking another bruise into your skin as his free hand pinned you against the door. "You started this."

Your hands curled into fists against the wood, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as he toyed with you, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against your inner thigh, everywhere but where you needed him most.

"Please," you gasped, arching back against him, begging, not even caring how desperate you sounded, not caring that he wanted you like this, that he was relishing the way you were starting to unravel beneath him.

"Please what?" His voice was taunting, amusement curling at the edges of it, but there was a strain beneath it, a barely-leashed hunger that told you he wasn’t far from breaking either. "Use your words, sweetheart."

You whined, pressing back against him, hips rolling, your body aching for relief. "Please, Xavier—"

He froze. For the first time since he had touched you, he stilled. A sharp inhale. A beat of silence.

"What did you just say?"

Shit.

Your heart stumbled, your entire body going rigid, your mind catching up far too late to the name that had just slipped past your lips.

Xavier.

Not Lumière.

Not some stranger.

Xavier.

As if confirming the horrifying, thrilling, devastating realization, his fingers tightened around your throat, just enough to make you shiver, just enough to make sure you were listening.

He leaned in, his breath hot against the shell of your ear, his voice impossibly dark, impossibly wrecked.

"You knew?"

It wasn’t an accusation. It was a demand. A command for the truth.

Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering beneath his grip. "No," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, the confession slipping past your lips before you could stop it. "Not until just now."

Another sharp inhale. Another beat of silence. Until– he laughed. Low. Dark. Dangerous.

And before you could react, before you could say anything else, before you could process the fact that the man wrecking you against this door was the same one you had fought beside, worked beside, known—

His grip yanked you back, spun you around, and his mouth was crushing against yours, claiming you, owning you, ruining you.

"You should have never said my name," he growled against your lips, voice wrecked, threaded with something almost feral, something that sent a violent shudder racing down your spine. "Now you don’t get to fucking breathe without saying it again."

Gone was the teasing, the slow, measured strokes of a man savoring his victory. Now, there was nothing but hunger—nothing but the sharp, desperate edge of need as he wrenched you away from the door, his grip punishing as he walked you back, step by step, until the backs of your thighs hit the nearest surface, a heavy wooden table that groaned under the sudden force of your body being shoved against it.

Your gasp barely had time to escape before he crushed his mouth against yours, consuming you, devouring you, his hands already shoving at what little remained of the delicate fabric clinging to your skin.

"Xavier—"

The sound of his name against your tongue made him snarl, his fingers tightening at your hips, bruising in their grip, claiming, because now he knew, now there was no veil, no mask, no carefully curated illusion between you.

It was you. It was him.

And he was about to make sure you never forgot that.

Your thighs barely had time to part before he was between them, hands gripping the backs of your knees, spreading you wide as he dragged you closer, the blunt heat of his cock pressing right against your dripping cunt, teasing, taunting, not yet pushing in, but making sure you felt it, making sure you ached for it.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice low, guttural, his lips brushing against your jaw as he throbbed against you, as he let you feel just how hard he was, just how fucking wrecked you had made him.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, your breath coming sharp, uneven, a desperate, pleading sound slipping past your lips as you rocked against him, needing him to move.

"Xavier," you gasped, a plea, a prayer, a surrender.

His grip tightened.

"Again."

"Xavier—"

The word had barely left your mouth before he thrust, burying himself inside you in one brutal, devastating stroke that tore the breath from your lungs, that sent white-hot pleasure lancing through every nerve, that had your fingers clawing at his back as you choked on a scream.

"Fucking louder," he snarled, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear, his hands gripping your thighs harder, spreading you wider, holding you open for him as he pulled back only to slam into you again, dragging another wrecked, gasping Xavier from your lips.

He was relentless, driving into you with a force that sent the table beneath you creaking, the sound of skin against skin, ragged breaths, and his name filling the empty space of the room.

"You wanted this," he growled, his hand sliding up your body, fingers curling around your throat, tilting your head back so he could watch you, so he could see every inch of your face twisted in pleasure. "Wanted to fucking ruin me, didn't you?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—"

His grip tightened, his hips snapping forward, hitting deep, pulling another helpless, trembling "Xavier—" from your throat, and his eyes darkened, something dangerously satisfied flashing behind them.

"That’s fucking right," he rasped, pounding into you now, his rhythm raw, desperate, claiming. "Scream it for me. Let the whole fucking masquerade know who's fucking you."

Your nails scraped down his back, your body arching, every nerve singing, every inch of you burning, stretched and full as he drove you higher, pushed you closer, forced you right to the edge—

Unitl he took you over.

Your orgasm slammed into you, a sharp, violent wave that shattered through every inch of your body, a sobbing "Xavier—" tearing from your lips as your walls fluttered around him, gripping him like a vice, pulling him deeper, harder, making him swear beneath his breath as he chased his own undoing. And then, with a sharp, guttural groan, he broke, his body tensing as he buried himself to the hilt, spilling into you in sharp, jerking thrusts, his name still trembling on your lips, wrecked and ruined in the only way it ever should be. For long moments, neither of you moved, bodies tangled, chests heaving, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your lips.

Then—slowly, still buried deep inside you—Xavier laughed. Low. Hoarse. Dark with satisfaction.

"Fuck," he rasped, pressing his lips against your throat, letting his teeth graze over the bruises he had left behind, his grip still firm at your waist. "What the fuck have we done?"

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers threading into his hair, still barely capable of thought, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way. You hummed, a slow, satisfied sound curling at the edge of your lips as you tugged him closer, dragging your nails down his scalp.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sounds in the dimly lit room were the heavy cadence of your breaths, the distant murmur of music still filtering in from the ballroom, and the slow, satisfied hum you let slip as you lazily dragged your nails through Xavier’s silver hair.

His head was still tucked against your shoulder, his body pressed warm and heavy against yours, his arms bracketing your waist as though letting go simply wasn’t an option yet.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice rough, hoarse, still thick with satisfaction as he nuzzled against the curve of your neck. "Fuck."

You laughed softly, still feeling wrecked in the best possible way, still feeling the delicious ache of him deep inside you, the remnants of your pleasure humming through every inch of your skin.

"That bad?" you teased, tilting your head just enough to brush your lips against his temple, the small gesture almost tender despite the absolute destruction he had just delivered.

Xavier let out a low, wrecked groan, his grip tightening around your hips like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull you closer or start all over again.

"That good," he corrected, his voice still raw, still utterly ruined, still settling into something dangerously satisfied.

You smirked, shifting slightly, reveling in the sharp inhale he took as you clenched around him, still warm, still full, still soaked in the mess you had made of each other.

"So," you murmured, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms. "Ready for round two?"

Xavier froze. You saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched, the way his entire body tensed like a man seconds away from losing whatever shreds of restraint he had managed to claw back in the past minute.

"No," he said, voice strained, like he hated the word even as he forced it past his lips.

You blinked. "No?"

His hands tightened on your waist, his head dropping forward as he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was physically trying to regain control.

"Not here," he ground out, his voice dipping into something dangerously low, something threaded with something almost pained. "Not in a fucking supply closet—"

Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, the sheer absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

You had just been wrecked—utterly ruined—against an old wooden table in what was, apparently, a supply closet, at a masquerade ball hosted by the Hunter’s Association, by a man who, until tonight, had been nothing more than your coworker.

And now, now, he was drawing a line?

"Xavier," you wheezed, gripping his shoulders as you shook with laughter, "now you have standards?"

His hands flexed against your skin, his jaw clenching so tight you thought he might crack a tooth. "I have always had standards," he muttered, offended, but his voice hitched slightly when you shifted against him again, clearly testing just how strong those standards were.

You grinned. "Uh-huh."

Xavier growled, a low, warning sound that made your stomach flip, but when he lifted his head, his eyes were heated, his pupils still blown wide behind the faint glint of his mask.

"You want round two?" he murmured, his fingers trailing slow, dangerous circles along the dip of your waist, his voice dropping to something just above a purr. "Then I’m taking you back to my place, where I can actually—"

He cut himself off, his nostrils flaring slightly, his gaze dragging over your thoroughly ruined form before his fingers dug into your skin, his restraint visibly fraying at the edges again.

You arched a brow, waiting, breath catching slightly as his gaze lingered on your lips, then dipped lower, like he was already imagining what he was going to do to you when he got you alone again.

"Where you can actually what, Xavier?" you teased, voice sweet, but your smile was anything but.

His grip tightened as he stepped back. You immediately whined, your body protesting the loss of his warmth, of his weight, of the way he had fit so perfectly against you.

"Xavier," you complained, trying to tug him back, but he only grinned, still utterly wrecked but determined, the sharp glint in his eyes promising ruin if you so much as challenged him right now.

"Get dressed," he ordered, buttoning his coat, exhaling through his nose like he needed to physically force himself to look presentable again. "Before I change my mind and fuck you here again."

Heat flooded your body all over again.

You huffed, shifting your sore limbs, bending to reach for the crumpled mess of your gown—only to realize, with some degree of horror, that the delicate ties and fragile silk were completely shredded, torn apart by the very same hands that were now adjusting the cuffs of his elegant sleeves like he hadn’t just ruined your entire evening ensemble.

You turned, glaring. "Seriously?"

He barely glanced at you, completely unbothered, straightening his collar with a satisfied, lazy smirk.

"Looks like you’re stuck in my clothes," he mused, already peeling off his coat, tossing it over your shoulders before pulling you flush against him one more time, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, low and smug,

"Let’s go home, y/n."

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace smut #lads xavier #lnds xavier #xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace #shen xinghui #.aslads

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brkwingss · 1 year ago

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By this point of the evening Ricardo was feeling just a slight bit overwhelmed. Thankfully the seemingly endless supply of alcohol that seemed to be around every corner helped him keep his anxiety from getting too much but his social battery was starting to run a bit low. All he wanted was a bit of fresh air and another drink. Then, as if on cue there comes a tray full of drinks his way and he doesn't hesitate to shamelessly reach for two; quickly chugging one and leaving the empty glass on the tray to be carried away. Maybe a little more alcohol will recharge his social battery a little more, though he was still determined to get that fresh air.

"I'm honestly not sure what kind of drink that is," Ricardo admits to the other, looking to the orange liquid in their glass, "but I don't think it's going to kill you. Unless you're allergic to oranges...it looks like it might have an orange taste to it."

context: political rendezvous with: open !!

It's not his first informal meeting -- it's not even his twentieth meeting, but something about this specific Congressperson always made Alan uneasy. He's not a man who stumbles over his words, he worships them and treats them with the respect they deserve; and yet, as soon as the other nods and shakes his head and walks away, he's wiping his forehead to rid himself of accumulated beads of sweat. He needs a drink and a smoke, in that order.

"What's this?" He asks outloud to the nearest person around, after stealing a glass of an unasuming light orange drink from a passing tray. "Is it going to kill me?"

#threads: ricardo & alan #anxiety mention tw #political rendezvous event.

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colouredbyd · 1 month ago

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Web Of Secrets

🕸️ spiderman au: remus lupin x fem!potter!reader

part 2 of caught in the web

synopsis : when secrets unravel and danger finds you again, your fascination with Spider-Man only deepens. trouble has always had a way of finding you, but with Remus by your side, steady and unflinching, you begin to realize that heroes come in many forms—and sometimes, they are closer than you think.

warnings: violence ,explosions, injuries, free falling, and mentions of blood. (contains best friend regulus x reader, and potter reader. takes place in modern au)

w/c: 13k

a/n: i absolutly love this <3 also had to put my physics skills to write this

part 1 masterlist

The past week had been painted in shades of crimson and shadow, spider-silk threads connecting moments you could barely believe belonged to you.

It started with rooftops—peeling brick and rusted water towers, the whisper of wind brushing against your cheeks as you waited. He found you there more often now, like it was planned, though neither of you ever admitted it.

Remus would find you there with the kind of ease that felt almost instinctual, a soft smile always lingering on his face. You would talk sometimes. Quietly. He would ask if you were still running around in places you shouldn’t be, and you would laugh and deflect, watching the corners of his mouth twitch upward. Other times, there was silence—comfortable, almost familiar—as you watched the city stretch out like a heartbeat beneath you.

And it was ridiculous, really, the way your heart fluttered like wings caught in a web when he turned his head toward you, when he lingered just a little too long before heading back down the fire escape.

Ridiculous because you had been here before—years ago, back when Remus Lupin was just your brother’s best friend and you were just a girl with stars in your eyes and scraped knees. You remembered the way you’d watch him from the corner of your eye, the quiet boy with kind eyes who always told you to stay out of trouble.

It was even more ridiculous now, considering the lecture Remus had given you just days ago, all furrowed brows and frustrated sighs, about staying out of Spider-Man's way.

He had been so stern, so achingly familiar that it had stung more than you wanted to admit. But that was just Remus—always careful, always looking out for you in his own quiet, stubborn way.

James had been livid after your last rooftop rendezvous, pacing back and forth with all the fire of a hurricane.

Even Regulus had been done with your obsession–fascination after you’d barely escaped last time, his hand still shaking slightly when he’d taken yours and told you to drop it, to let it go.

Yet here you were, knee-deep in dust and shadows, the empty warehouse stretching out around you like the ribcage of some long-dead beast.

It was reckless, absolutely mental to be here just a night after Spider-Man had torn through the place like a storm. The police tape still fluttered at the entrance, yellow and bold, a warning you had ignored without a second thought. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and concrete dust, and shards of glass glittered like tiny stars scattered across the floor.

Your footsteps echoed as you moved deeper inside, weaving between splintered crates and broken beams.

It was dangerous, maybe even unforgivable, especially after what had happened. But you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to it—the mystery of it all, the rush of knowing you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, somewhere Spider-Man had been just hours before.

Your hands skimmed over metal scaffolding, brushing away cobwebs and collecting fragments of webbing left behind. They glimmered faintly in the pale light, stretching between your fingers with the tensile strength of something unbreakable. You twisted one carefully around your finger, feeling its strange elasticity, its softness.

Proof that he had been here. Proof that you were just one step behind him.

But before you could examine further, the distant wail of sirens cut through the silence, sharp and sudden. Panic shot through you like ice water, and you scrambled to your feet, heart thundering in your chest.

You shouldn’t be here. Not now, not ever. You spun around, eyes darting across the shadows, searching for somewhere to hide. The police were getting closer, the sound of their radios crackling just beyond the walls.

Without thinking, you bolted toward the far end of the warehouse, weaving through the scattered debris, lungs burning as you ducked behind a stack of forgotten crates. You pressed your back against the splintered wood, breathing hard, ears straining for footsteps. But instead, there was silence—a thick, waiting silence that stretched out like a thread pulled too tight.

Your hands brushed against something hard, and you looked down, eyes widening.

Tucked between the crates, half-hidden by thick strands of Spider-Man's webbing, was a metal device—small and unassuming, barely the size of your palm, except for the faint glow of purple light blinking from its core.

It was heavy in your hands when you peeled the webbing off, its surface warm and humming faintly with energy.

The device itself was sleek and metallic, etched with unfamiliar symbols that curved and twisted in patterns that made your eyes ache if you looked too long.

Right in the center, a snake was engraved in emerald green, coiled and glimmering as if alive. It felt...otherworldly, humming with a power that had your fingertips buzzing.

This wasn’t ordinary tech. This was something more.

And what was even stranger—it looked like it had been hidden deliberately, tucked away where no one would find it. Not unless they were searching. Not unless they knew where to look.

You swallowed, adrenaline still flooding your veins as you slipped it into your bag, fingers shaking slightly as you zipped it closed. There was no time to think, no time to question. The sirens were getting louder now, and you forced yourself to move, slipping through the shadows and back out into the night before they could catch you.

You slipped back into your room with the kind of silence only practice could perfect. The adrenaline still thrummed under your skin, your breath catching slightly as you locked the door behind you.

The warehouse, the sirens, the device—they were a flurry of images that blurred together, half-formed and frantic. But before you could even catch your breath, a voice cut through the silence.

"Where the hell have you been?"

You jumped, spinning on your heel to find Regulus sitting at the edge of your bed, arms crossed and eyes sharp with irritation. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but the flicker of tension around his jawline told you enough.

He had been waiting for you.

"I was out," you replied, shrugging off your jacket and throwing it over your desk chair. "Had to get some things."

His gaze was unyielding, icy and calculated as it roamed over you. "Getting some things," he repeated, voice flat.

"You were out getting some things at one in the morning? Dressed like that?" He gestured to your dust-streaked jeans and scuffed boots, and you fought the urge to flinch.

You forced a smile, dropping your bag onto the floor with a muffled thud. "You know me, always up to something."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "That’s precisely the problem."

You ignored him, moving to your desk and shuffling papers around for the sake of distraction. Your heart was still hammering, and you tried desperately to will it into submission.

The last thing you needed was for Regulus to dig deeper. But before you could even think of diverting the conversation, a metallic clink echoed from the floor, sharp and damning.

Regulus's eyes narrowed instantly. "What was that?"

"Nothing," you said too quickly, bending down to grab your bag. "Just some stuff from class. Projects and...and things."

He was faster. Before you could pull it away, his hand snapped forward, catching the strap and yanking it open.

The zipper gave way with a harsh rasp, and the device tumbled out onto the wooden floor, glimmering under the low light. The purple light pulsed once, twice, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Regulus stared at it, his expression unreadable. "What the hell is that?" His voice was low, sharper than usual, and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You snatched it up, cradling the cold metal to your chest. "It’s for a project," you lied smoothly, the words slipping out before you could think better of it.

"Something for class. Advanced tech. We’re studying...uh...hybrid mechanics."

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, taut and fragile. Then Regulus released the bag strap, leaning back with a sigh. "You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days," he murmured, the edge in his voice softening just enough to make your stomach twist.

You forced a laugh, tucking the device back into your bag. "Not today," you replied, and he just shook his head, pushing himself off your bed with a fluid motion.

"Just...be careful," he said finally, pausing at your door. His eyes flickered to the bag once more, suspicion simmering just below the surface. But then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with finality.

The room felt colder without him there, the silence heavy and looming. You exhaled slowly, sinking into your desk chair and pulling the device out once more. It sat in your hands like something alive, humming gently, its purple light flickering with a hypnotic rhythm.

You turned it over, fingertips grazing the emerald-green snake carved into its surface. The symbols etched along its sides pulsed faintly, shifting in patterns that made your eyes blur if you looked too closely.

It was heavy, impossibly so for its size, like it was carrying the weight of something far larger than itself.

Experimentally, you pressed your fingers along its sides, searching for seams or buttons. Nothing.

You tilted it, shook it gently, but it gave no hint of its purpose. It was maddening, this enigma of metal and light, and you found your curiosity only sharpening with each failed attempt.

Finally, you leaned back, fingers tracing absent patterns across its surface. It blinked steadily in your hands, as if taunting you, its purple light casting shadows across your walls. There were secrets here, tucked into the crevices of its design, and you intended to uncover every single one of them.

You just needed time.

Sleep came reluctantly, pulling you under only after hours of restless turning and the purple glow of the device still blinking faintly from where it sat on your desk. When you finally surrendered to the weight of it, dreams flickered like shadows behind your eyes, indistinct and lingering.

Morning came harsh and unyielding, sunlight spilling through your curtains and casting patterns across your face.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, heavy with sleep, before snapping wide in realization. "Shit." The word tumbled from your lips as you shot upright, heart pounding. The clock on your bedside table flashed the time in unforgiving red digits.

You were late.

You scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you threw on the first clothes you could find. The device lay untouched on your desk, still humming faintly, but you barely spared it a glance as you grabbed your bag and tore out of your room, feet pounding down the hallway.

The rush of air did little to wake you up, but adrenaline coursed through your veins, sharpening your senses as you navigated through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts University.

Students milled about, unconcerned and unhurried, and you weaved through them with practiced ease, barely avoiding a head-on collision with a group of first-years before turning a sharp corner.

That was when you nearly barreled straight into him.

Remus was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy sort of grin playing on his lips. "In a bit of a rush, aren’t we?" he mused, raising an eyebrow as you skidded to a stop just short of him.

You huffed out a breath, brushing stray hair from your face. "You try being late to McGonagall's class and see how fast you run," you shot back, and he laughed—soft, warm, the kind of laugh that curled around your heart and squeezed just a little too tightly.

"I’m fairly certain she’d just take my head off," he replied, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you.

"And what’s little Potter been up to lately?" he asked, voice dropping into that familiar, teasing lilt. "I hope nothing dangerous, or you know James will die at the fine age of twenty-one purely from stress."

You snorted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Me? Dangerous? I’m an absolute delight."

"Is that what you call it?" he shot back, amusement lighting his eyes. "I’m pretty sure James calls it a heart attack waiting to happen."

You bumped your shoulder against his, the contact brief but grounding. "Well, he’s still alive, isn’t he?"

Remus just shook his head, but his smile softened, eyes flickering over your face in that way that made your stomach twist and settle all at once. "Barely," he replied, voice gentler now. "Just...be careful, alright?"

There was something unspoken in his gaze, something careful and deliberate that made your heart stutter.

You forced a grin, shrugging off the heaviness of it. "You know me. Always careful."

"That’s exactly what I’m afraid of," he murmured, and it was almost too soft to hear, almost lost beneath the noise of students rushing past. But you caught it.

You looked away before he could see the blush creeping up your cheeks, focusing instead on the hallway stretching out before you, wondering—not for the first time—if maybe you weren’t the only one who felt the pull of something just beneath the surface.

Class felt like a slow, dragging stretch of monotony. Words blurred on the board, lectures drifting through one ear and out the other as your mind wandered—to the web samples stuffed carefully in your bag.

You took notes out of habit, the tip of your quill scratching mindlessly across parchment, but nothing stuck. Spiderman lingered at the edges of your thoughts, his webs glimmering silver in the moonlight, the way he seemed to belong to the city itself, like its shadows and its secrets were his to command.

When the final bell rang, you slipped out of the room with the rest of the crowd, your head still clouded with half-formed thoughts. You made your way down the main corridor, and that was when you saw them.

Regulus and Sirius were leaning against a pillar, heads bent close, talking and—laughing? You stopped in your tracks, blinking in surprise.

The two of them were always a wildfire, crackling and unpredictable. Lately, they had been nothing but sharp edges and bitten-off words, yet there they were, Sirius throwing his head back with a bark of laughter while Regulus shook his head with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

It was a fragile thing, their relationship—built on the remnants of something broken and hastily stitched back together.

They had been raised in a house of silence and shadows, where affection was a language spoken in hushed tones, if spoken at all. Years of biting words and icy stares had carved deep lines of distrust between them, but now...now there were moments like this, rare and glimmering, like shards of glass catching the light.

You almost approached them, the instinct to nudge your way in and tease them both flaring up, but you stopped yourself. Whatever this was—this brief flicker of peace—you didn’t want to ruin it.

So, you turned away, slipping through the crowd and heading down the hall. That was when you saw James.

He strode forward with purpose, eyes locked on Sirius and Regulus, mouth set in a grim line. He grabbed Sirius by the arm, pulling him away from Regulus.

Sirius' confusion melted into something sharper, more focused, as they turned the corner. You caught a glimpse of Remus waiting for them, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wary and flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

You slowed as you passed, catching just the edge of Sirius’ raised voice, sharp and unyielding: "What do you mean when you went there you didn’t find it!"

And James, loud and incredulous: "Gone? You're kidding, right?"

The door creaked open, the familiar groan echoing off the walls of your room as you stepped inside, shutting it behind you with a quiet click.

The weight of the day settled over your shoulders, and you dropped your bag onto the floor, not caring as it slumped against the leg of your desk.

Your room was chaos—organized, in your eyes, but chaos nonetheless. Stacks of notebooks, scribbled with half-formed ideas and rough sketches of spiderweb patterns, were piled haphazardly across your desk. The walls were papered with articles, photographs, strings of red yarn linking pieces together like some kind of conspiracy theorist's fever dream.

In the corner, half-taken-apart gadgets lay scattered on your dresser, gears and wires spilling out like entrails. It was a mess, but it was yours.

You kicked off your shoes and crossed to the desk, fishing out the sample of Spider-Man’s web you had collected the night before. You held it up to the light, watching the way it shimmered, silvery and impossibly strong. It stretched and flexed in your hands, thin as thread but sturdy as steel.

You’d been studying it for hours the night before, picking apart its structure, analyzing its durability, its tensile strength.

It was unlike anything you’d ever seen—more synthetic than organic, yet somehow...alive. The way it glimmered when light hit it made you think of silk spun by moonlight, delicate but unyielding.

You frowned, fingers brushing over the delicate strands. They weren’t natural, you were certain of that.

Someone had made this, engineered it. Which meant Spider-Man wasn’t just swinging off buildings and fighting crime solo—someone was behind the curtain, pulling strings, creating tech that defied logic.

And that someone...they were good. Very good.

Your gaze drifted to your desk, and that’s when you saw it—the device, still where you left it, except now, it wasn’t glowing anymore.

The soft purple light had dimmed, flickered out like a candle snuffed by the wind. But something else had taken its place. The snake symbol etched onto its surface was glowing now, a vivid, almost hypnotic green, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You swallowed hard, nerves and excitement pooling in your stomach as you stepped closer, fingers hovering just above its surface. It was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive, thrumming with energy beneath your fingertips.

You turned it over, inspecting the smooth metal casing, the strange symbols engraved along its edges, symbols you didn’t recognize—sharp and twisting, like some ancient language long forgotten.

The device was heavier than it looked, the size of your palm but dense, like it was packed with secrets. Light bled from its seams, streaks of neon-purple that pulsed rhythmically, like it had a heartbeat of its own. At its center, the snake emblem gleamed in emerald light, flickering softly as if it were breathing.

You traced its edges, fingers brushing over the cool metal. It was smooth, almost unnaturally so, with no visible seams or screws. Whoever made it, made it to last.

A thought flickered to life at the back of your mind, reckless and dangerous, the kind of thought that should’ve been smothered the moment it sparked.

But it wasn’t. Instead, it grew, catching like wildfire, spreading through your veins with a thrill that had you clutching the device tighter.

If this was Spider-Man’s...if he’d left it there, hidden away behind webs and shadows, then it was important.

And if it was important, then maybe...just maybe...it could lead you straight to him.

You felt your heart begin to pound, adrenaline sparking through your veins as the idea solidified, reckless and daring and entirely too tempting. A grin tugged at the corners of your lips, and you turned the device over in your hands once more, determination settling like iron in your bones.

If Spider-Man wanted it back, he’d have to find you first.

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when you burst out of your room, heart pounding with the thrill of what you were about to do.

You grabbed a matchbook, a lighter, and a half-empty canister of fuel from under your bed—leftovers from a very ill-advised experiment last semester that had nearly cost you your eyebrows. Not your finest moment, but at least it left you with supplies.

Your hands moved quickly, scrawling out a note on a bright yellow sticky note before slapping it onto your door. In your messy handwriting, it read:

Gone to make a deal with Spider-Man.

P.S. James, try not to throw Regulus out the window while I’m gone xoxo

You stepped back, admiring your handiwork with a grin before turning and bolting down the stairs, sneakers slapping against the pavement as you made your way into the heart of the city.

The streets were quiet this early, the sun still stretching its fingers over rooftops and alleyways, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and grab at your ankles as you sprinted past.

You ducked under scaffolding, slipped through narrow alleyways slick with last night’s rain, and finally found yourself standing before the rusted gates of an abandoned building. Its windows were shattered, jagged shards of glass clinging to their frames like teeth. The walls were scrawled with graffiti, layers upon layers of paint peeling back to reveal years of rebellion and lost causes.

Perfect.

You squeezed through a gap in the fence, heart thrumming in your chest as you made your way inside. Dust kicked up around your feet, swirling in the soft light that spilled through broken windows.

The air was heavy, stale with the scent of rust and decay, but you barely noticed as you ascended the stairs, two at a time, until you burst onto the rooftop, breathless and alive with adrenaline.

The city sprawled out before you, stretching towards the horizon in jagged lines of steel and glass. You stood at the edge, toes curling over the lip of the rooftop, staring down at the dizzying height beneath you.

Cars crawled like ants, oblivious to your presence far above them. You took a breath, the air sharp and cold in your lungs, and pulled the device from your pocket.

It gleamed in the sunlight, the snake emblem glimmering with that same eerie green light. You tossed it between your hands, weighing it carefully before raising it above your head and striking it against the metal railing of the roof.

Nothing.

You frowned, glancing around before trying again, harder this time, sending sparks flying into the air.

The device vibrated, thrumming beneath your fingers, and you Held it up with a grin. “Come on, Spider-Man,” you whispered under your breath, voice carrying off into the wind. “Let’s see if you want this back.”

A flash of movement caught your eye, and your heart leapt into your throat as a streak of red and blue zipped through the skyline, landing on the rooftop opposite you with a grace that should’ve been impossible.

He straightened, hands resting on his hips as he regarded you with what you imagined was disbelief behind that mask.

“Well, well,” you called out, tossing the device between your hands again. “There you are, Spider-Boy.”

He tilted his head, arms crossing over his chest. “Didn’t I save you a week ago?” His voice was distorted through the mask, but you could hear the incredulity in it.

You shrugged, holding up the device. “I think this belongs to you, bug boy.”

He stiffened, gaze snapping to the object in your hand. You could almost feel the tension ripple through the air, crackling with electricity. He took a step forward, hands dropping to his sides. “That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be carrying it around.”

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “I’m not carrying it around. I’m giving it back.”

You tossed it up in the air and caught it again, his shoulders tightening as he watched it flip. “Or, I was. Haven’t decided yet.”

He stepped closer, voice edged with something sharper now. “Look, just hand it over. You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

Your smile turned sharp, taunting. “Maybe I want to find out.”

His head tilted slightly, and you could feel his eyes on you, even through the mask. “You’re reckless,” he murmured, almost like an accusation.

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Please,” he said, voice dropping to something softer. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity bleeding through his tone. But you covered it with a laugh, shaking your head.

“That’s cute, but I’m not the one swinging off buildings in spandex.”

He took another step forward. “If you don’t give it to me, I’m gonna have to take it.”

You raised the device high, eyes glimmering with mischief. “If you want it,” you called, voice carrying over the wind, “you’re gonna have to catch me.”

Before he could reply, the air shifted. A crack of metal, harsh and jarring, split the rooftop silence, and something massive landed with a thunderous slam.

You stumbled back, hands instinctively gripping the edge of the building as the ground shook beneath your feet.

Spider-Man moved in an instant, body coiling like a live wire as he stepped in front of you, stance low and defensive.

The thing—no, the machine—stood ten feet tall, a monstrosity of green and black steel that glinted under the pale morning light. Its eyes, if they could be called that, glowed an acidic green, and coiling tendrils of smoke leaked from its joints.

The symbol of a serpent, coiled and poised to strike, gleamed from its chest.

It tilted its head, a screech of metal against metal, and the voice that came out was smooth, dripping with venom.

"Hand over the device," it commanded, green lights flickering as it spoke. "And maybe the girl comes out of this alive."

You stiffened, heart pounding, but Spider-Man’s arm shot out, stopping you before you could step forward. "Don’t," he whispered, voice tight with something raw and desperate.

The machine’s head cocked to the side, almost as if amused. "It’s simple," it drawled, each word stretched out like it was savoring them. "Give her up, and I might let her live. Refuse... and I promise she’ll wish you did."

Spider-Man’s hands balled into fists, and before you could say a word, he turned to you, fingers cradling your face with surprising gentleness. His eyes—hidden behind those white lenses—burned with urgency.

"You run," he whispered, voice cracking just a bit. "And you don’t look back. Not for me, not for anything. You hide that device. You throw it in the ocean, bury it under a mountain, I don’t care. Just don’t keep it with you. Please."

His thumbs brushed your cheeks, steadying you, grounding you. "Promise me."

Your breath caught, words failing you for a moment before you finally nodded. He let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering just a heartbeat too long before he released you.

Then he turned, muscles coiling as he launched himself toward the machine with the kind of reckless bravery that took your breath away. You stumbled back, the device heavy in your hands, its pulsing glow seeming to thrum in time with your heartbeat.

And then you ran.

The rooftop shook beneath the weight of colliding metal, the world vibrating with each hit that Spider-Man took. You watched from the narrow edge of the stairwell, heart thrumming painfully in your chest, breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. This was different.

More brutal, more desperate. The villain, all jagged edges and searing green light, moved with the kind of precision that spoke of ruthless experience.

Spider-Man swung wide, webs slinging him to the far edge of the roof, but the villain was relentless, smashing through concrete like it was paper, claws raking through stone with shrieks of splintering rock.

You wanted to scream, to yell at him to run, but your voice was stuck somewhere between your ribs, tangled with fear and something deeper—something sharper.

You forced yourself to move, stumbling back down the stairs, feet slamming against each step as you tried to make sense of the pulsing device in your hands.

It throbbed, slow and steady, the light blinking in time with your heartbeat. You stared at it, the snake symbol flickering with every step you took.

The further you moved away, the more violently it pulsed; when you edged back up, it softened, almost like it was... responding.

Your mind spun, puzzle pieces clicking together in a rush of realization.

The villain’s chest—there had been a symbol, the same snake coiled and glimmering, and when Spider-Man had struck him, the light had flickered, just for a second.

You turned the device over, fingertips grazing the surface, searching for... there. A seam, barely noticeable, like it was waiting to be slotted into something.

The thought was insane. Reckless. Borderline suicidal. And yet…

You were already moving. The rooftop exploded back into view, chaos stretching out in jagged lines of smoke and fury.

Spider-Man swung left, barely dodging a strike that cratered the concrete, but he caught sight of you instantly.

"What the hell are you doing? I told you to run!" His voice cracked with something raw—panic, maybe. Fear.

You ignored him, eyes locked onto the villain’s glowing chest.

"Hey!" you shouted, voice cutting through the violence. Both heads snapped towards you, one masked in crimson, the other gleaming with emerald fire.

You held up the device, feeling its weight heavy and dangerous in your grip. "You want this?" you called out, voice steady. "Come and get it."

Spider-Man’s curse was swallowed by the metallic roar of the villain charging. You spun on your heel, heart lurching as you sprinted to the edge of the rooftop.

It was instinct, it was madness, it was pure adrenaline. And it was too late to stop.

Wind screamed past your ears as you flung yourself off the edge, gravity seizing you with ruthless hands. The city stretched out beneath you, endless and uncaring, but you barely saw it.

You heard the crash of metal as the villain followed, felt the rush of air as he plummeted after you, close enough that you could feel the crackle of energy in your bones. One breath. One heartbeat.

You grabbed the device, hands steady, and slammed it into the symbol on his chest.

Light exploded, brilliant and searing, cutting through the sky with blinding intensity. You heard metal shriek, felt the impact of something colossal and unforgiving, and then you were weightless again, falling.

But in that brief flash of light, you saw it: the metal plates groaning and shifting, peeling back like the petals of some iron flower.

Beneath the fractured shell, his real face almost came into view. You caught the faintest glimpse of a scar on his wrist, thin and silvered with age, before the world splintered around you.

An explosion tore through the air, deafening and absolute, flinging you back with the force of a tidal wave. Smoke and fire curled into the sky, swallowing the fragments of metal and light. There was no time to think, no time to breathe—just the sensation of weightlessness, of falling once more into the abyss.

And then arms—strong, steady—wrapped around you, yanking you from the air. Spider-Man’s grip was unyielding, his body curling around yours as the explosion above bloomed with violet light.

You buried your face in his chest, his heartbeat thrumming through the thin fabric of his suit, and he held on, even as the world shattered around you.

The world was a smoldering ruin of jagged metal and drifting ash.

You woke with your cheek pressed against rough concrete, the taste of smoke heavy on your tongue. Blinking against the haze, you sat up slowly, head swimming, and the first thing you noticed was the blood—thick and dark, smeared across your hands and arms.

It took a sharp, panicked breath to realize it wasn’t yours.

Spider-Man lay sprawled a few feet away, his suit torn open at the ribs, blood pooling beneath him. His mask was still on, but the fabric clung to his face like it was barely holding together, ragged edges soaked through.

You scrambled forward, knees scraping against the grit and rubble, hands shaking as you pressed them against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Hey, come on, you gotta wake up.” He didn’t move. Fear clawed its way up your throat, sharp and unrelenting.

Then a crackle of static caught your attention—a tiny device, nearly hidden behind his ear. An earpiece. It was barely clinging to life, sparking with flickers of green light.

Through the static, you heard a voice—muffled, frantic. "Moony? Moony, are you there? We’re coming to you, just hold on, alright? Hold on."

You frowned, the name tickling at something familiar in your memory, but it slipped away too quickly to grasp.

Your gaze drifted back to Spider-Man, his breathing shallow, his blood warm and slick beneath your palms. You hesitated only a second before your hand moved to his mask, fingers curling at the seam. You could help him. Maybe if you just—

But your hand stopped. Something about the way he’d always kept his distance, always shielded his face, it felt sacred. A choice.

One you couldn’t bring yourself to break. Swallowing back frustration, you ripped at your own shirt, tearing a strip free and pressing it against the gash in his side, tying it off as best as you could manage.

Blood soaked through instantly, but at least it was something.

You barely had time to register the footsteps before a cloth was pressed to your mouth, a sharp, sickly-sweet scent flooding your senses.

You tried to fight it, hands clawing at the grip that held you, but your limbs felt heavy, disconnected.

“Shhh, little Potter,” a voice murmured, low and familiar, dripping with an accent that sent ice trickling down your spine. “You’re alright.”

You caught the glimmer of long black hair before the world faded to black.

You woke to sunlight filtering through blinds, soft and golden against the walls. It was the smell that hit you first—clean linen, a hint of cologne you knew too well. James’s room.

His old hockey jersey was slung over the back of his desk chair, a heap of his sneakers scattered by the door. You touched your face instinctively, fingertips brushing over the tender stitches at your temple, and everything came crashing back.

Spider-Man. The fight. The explosion.

You were out of the bed in an instant, the covers flying back as your feet hit the hardwood. "Spider-Man," you whispered, the name barely more than breath.

The door creaked open before you could make it, and Peter slipped inside, shutting it quietly behind him.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he soothed, hands up like he was trying not to spook you. Your eyes flicked over him, and something odd snagged your attention.

A faded scar, thin and pale, curled over his wrist, just visible beneath the edge of his sweater. Something about it felt familiar, nagging at the edges of your memory, but you couldn’t quite place it.

Before you could question it, footsteps sounded from the hallway, and the door burst open—James, Sirius, Remus, and Regulus all crowding in, faces tight with worry.

Remus was leaning heavily on a crutch, his head wrapped in thick layers of bandages. He gave you a small smile, strained but real.

“Finally awake, huh?” Sirius asked, attempting nonchalance, but his eyes were sharp, watchful.

Regulus stood a step behind him, arms crossed, gaze flicking over you like he was checking for injuries. His eyes were darker than usual, rimmed with something you couldn’t quite name—worry, maybe, or something heavier.

"What happened?" you asked, but your mind was somewhere else. "Spider-Man. Is he—"

James’s face darkened, eyes flashing as he stepped forward, voice rising in a way that made everyone else stiffen.

"Would you stop worrying about some masked hero that means nothing to you?" he shouted, and the room went silent. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

"You keep putting yourself in danger for some vigilante who you don’t even know. I almost lost you before, Y/N. I can’t—" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady, and for a moment, he looked impossibly young.

"I can’t lose you. You’re my sister. The only family I have left."

His voice wavered, trembling under the weight of unspoken fears. "Do you know what it was like seeing you like that? Seeing you not move? I thought..." He stopped, voice breaking, and his hands flew to his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes.

"I thought you were gone," he whispered, so quiet it was barely a breath. "I thought you left me too."

He was crying now, shoulders shaking with the force of it. Sirius and Peter exchanged glances, both helpless. Regulus looked away, jaw clenched tight, fists curled so hard his knuckles were white. Remus watched you, eyes full of shadows you didn’t understand.

Without thinking, you reached for James, arms going around him tightly. He clutched you back fiercely, hands grasping at your shirt like if he let go, you’d disappear. His breaths came out ragged, harsh against your shoulder.

"I was so scared," he choked out, voice muffled. "I can't do this without you. I can't."

"I'm here," you whispered, voice cracking. "I’m right here. I’m sorry, Jamie. I’m so sorry."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes red-rimmed and desperate. "Promise me," he demanded, voice rough. "Promise me you won’t do this again."

Your throat tightened, the words caught somewhere in the ache of your chest. "I… I promise," you murmured, the lie slipping through your teeth like smoke.

His gaze searched yours for a long moment, something breaking in his eyes before he nodded, pulling you back into his arms, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

For a while, there was only silence. His heartbeat thudding against your ear, his hands gripping you like you were the last solid thing in his world. And you clung back, because maybe you needed it just as much.

The room was hushed, fragile, like a single breath might shatter it all. And then, quietly, your mind snagged on something sharp and sudden.

You stiffened in his hold, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

"Wait," you whispered, voice barely above a breath. "Wait… how did I get here?"

James stiffened, expression going taut. "Spider-Man's fucking fine," he bit out, sharp and edged with something you couldn’t place. "He got you here when you went unconscious."

He looked away, and you swore you saw Sirius and Peter exchange glances, just for a second. It felt wrong, stilted.

Your gaze flickered to Remus, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes, just stared resolutely at the floor, fingers flexing around the handle of his crutch.

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest tightening. Spider-Man brought you back. But then… why didn’t you remember it?

James pulled back, running a hand through his hair with a sigh that carried both exhaustion and relief. “I’m gonna head out. Got a date with Lily.” He glanced at you, softer now. “Regulus will stay with you. Just—please, rest. Take care of yourself.” His voice cracked slightly on the last words, honest and pleading.

You nodded, still shaken, as he slipped out, Sirius following without a word. The silence that settled was heavy but less suffocating.

You turned toward Remus, who leaned awkwardly against the wall, still gripping his crutch. “Hey,” you said quietly. “Where did those injuries come from?”

He shrugged, an easy smile playing on his lips. “Failed prank. Went wrong yesterday. I ended up with a concussion and a mess of bruises.” His eyes twinkled as if daring you not to believe him, but you didn’t press. Something about the way he said it felt like a shield.

You eased down onto the bed, muscles still tense but willing to soften just a little.

Remus nodded at you, gave a tired but genuine smile, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the room felt too empty.

Then the door creaked open again. Regulus stepped in silently, eyes searching yours. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled you into a careful, guarded hug. Your breath caught. Regulus never hugged anyone.

It was like breaking a secret code.

“I won’t lecture you,” he said softly, voice low. “I know what you did. It was reckless. Dangerous. But…” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his rare kindness sinking deep.

Regulus spoke up from the beanbag, patting the spot next to him. "Come on, you’re wasting valuable movie time."

You glanced over, surprised to find him watching you with something close to amusement. "Since when do you want to watch movies with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "You almost died. I’m feeling charitable." He gestured again, a touch more insistent.

You huffed, but joined him, settling into the beanbag with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I’m picking the movie."

He groaned. "Just don’t pick one of those horrible rom-coms. I’m begging you."

The night slipped by in laughter and groans, Regulus arguing with you over the plausibility of action scenes and you smacking his arm every time he tried to fast-forward through a "boring bit."

At some point, he fell asleep, head tipped back against the edge of the beanbag, arms crossed over his chest, mouth slightly open.

You bit back a laugh at the sight—Regulus Black, passed out during The Princess Diaries. You’d never let him live it down.

But then the stillness settled, and boredom crept in. You nudged him with your foot. "Reg," you whispered.

Nothing. He was out cold.

Regulus’s breathing evened out beside you, eyelids drooping, until finally, his head lolled to the side, and he was asleep.

You tried to focus on the screen, but the quiet gnawed at you. Restlessness crept up your spine.

You shifted, sat up, and glanced around the room. James’s desk caught your eye—promising a treasure trove of distractions.

Curiosity overpowered fatigue. You pushed yourself up and padded over, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath your bare feet.

Drawers, papers, tangled cords—nothing exciting. Until your fingers brushed something cold, smooth, and unfamiliar. You pulled it out carefully, heart skipping.

It was sleek and mechanical, shaped like a wrist device but unlike anything you'd seen before.

Thin webs of synthetic fibers stretched taut from tiny nozzles along its edge—webbing that gleamed faintly under the light.

Your breath hitched. The webbing was exactly like the synthetic strands Spider-Man used.

Hands trembling, you rummaged deeper in the drawer and found a tiny black earpiece, shaped perfectly like the communication devices Spider-Man’s allies wore.

Everything clicked inside you like a lock snapping open. James wasn’t just some reckless friend—he was Spider-Man’s ally.

You dropped the earpiece back in the drawer, slamming it shut harder than you intended. Your hands shook, breath coming fast and shallow. This changed everything.

You swallowed hard, the room suddenly closing in around you. Questions flooded your mind, but one burned brighter than the rest

If James is Spider-Man’s ally… then who is Spider-Man?

You backed away from the desk, thoughts clashing into one another with dizzying speed. You had to tell someone, ask someone—no, not James.

Not Sirius. Not yet. You needed to think.

You slipped back out into the hallway, the silence pressing down on you like a weight. But as you crept back towards Regulus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the ground had just shifted beneath your feet.

Your feet moved of their own accord, faster and faster, until you were practically running down the corridor, heart slamming in your chest. There was only one place you needed to check.

Remus’s room.

You reached his door, breathless and shaking. It was unlocked, which was strange—Remus never left it unlocked.

You pushed it open, the hinges groaning. The room was empty, untouched, but the window was open, curtains flapping gently in the night breeze.

Your mind spun, piecing together fragments of moments you’d never questioned before.

The bandages.

The injuries.

The late nights and the cryptic glances between him and James.

A thousand little things that seemed trivial until now.

You took a step forward, then another. The room felt colder somehow, empty of the warmth that Remus always carried with him.

And then—a shadow moved outside the window. A flash of red and blue, streaking across the night sky before landing silently on the window’s edge.

Spider-Man.

You sucked in a sharp breath, stumbling back a step as the masked figure climbed inside, graceful and measured.

He didn’t see you at first, his back turned as he ripped off his mask and tossed it onto Remus’s desk. Brown hair spilled free, mussed and tangled, and a hand reached up to wipe blood from his temple.

Remus.

It was Remus.

The room spun. You gripped the doorframe to steady yourself, eyes wide and unblinking. He turned then, and the moment he saw you, every ounce of color drained from his face.

His hands stilled, still streaked with crimson, his gaze locked with yours.

“Y/N…” his voice cracked, barely a whisper. He took a step forward, hand half-extended. “I… it’s not… I can explain.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Remus was Spider-Man. The one who saved you. The one who bled for the city. The one who had cradled you from free-falling off a rooftop just days ago.

Everything shifted. Nothing made sense.

Remus opened his mouth to say something, but the words never came.

You’re frozen, chest tightening, every breath shallow and ragged as the words land like a hammer: You’re Spider-Man.

You stare at him—Remus—who’s sitting there, the faint moonlight catching the edge of his face, the same face you’ve known for years. But it’s different now. Everything is different.

“How…” Your voice cracks, barely more than a strangled whisper, “How is this even possible? What the fuck?” The shock is raw, a fire racing through your veins.

Your heart pounds so loud you’re afraid it might tear right out of your chest. Your hands tremble, and you feel like the ground beneath you has crumbled away entirely.

Remus shifts, panic flaring in his eyes, a flicker of desperation that makes your stomach twist. “I never wanted you to find out like this,” he says, voice thick with something you can’t quite place—guilt, fear, regret.

His hands twitch at his sides, as if holding back something that’s clawing to escape.

But your voice is sharper now, breaking through the silence, tearing into the space between you.

“You all lied to me. You knew. James knew. Sirius knew. You all knew and never told me. How could you? How could you keep this from me? From me?” The words spill out in a torrent of betrayal, pain, disbelief.

Your vision blurs with tears you refuse to let fall, because if you do, you might drown in them.

You feel small, raw, exposed—like the trust you built was a fragile castle, and they’ve shattered it with secrets.

Before you can pull away, his hands are on your face—warm, steady, insistent. His fingers cradle your jaw gently, but there’s an urgency in the way he holds you, as if afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“Look at me,” he says, voice low, thick with emotion, so fierce it vibrates through your bones.

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, everything falls away—the anger, the confusion, the heartbreak. There’s just this moment, fragile and trembling between you.

“I am not Spider-Man right now,” he says, and the words drip like honey but taste of something far heavier.

“I am Remus. The same Remus who sits with you on rooftops when the city is silent, the same Remus who watches the stars with you, who talks with you about everything and nothing.”

His voice falters for a second, a crack that makes your chest ache.

“I am Remus who cares about you. Not as a hero. Not as a mask. Just as me.” His thumb strokes lightly over your cheek, tracing a path that sends shivers down your spine.

You blink back the storm behind your eyes, the knot in your throat tightening.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m here,” he breathes.

“I’m not some untouchable symbol or a secret you can’t reach. I’m the boy who knows your scars, your fears, the way you smile when you think no one’s looking.”

The intensity of his gaze pulls you in, raw and vulnerable. It’s like he’s tearing down the walls between you piece by piece, laying everything bare.

His honesty is almost too much, a fierce, aching kind of love that makes your breath hitch.

Your throat tightens as your own voice trembles. “But why... why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me in the dark? Was I not enough to trust?” The hurt is suffocating, but beneath it, something deeper pulses—longing, a desperate hope for connection.

He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper, “Because I was scared. Scared that if you knew, if anyone knew, you’d see me differently. Scared I’d lose you—not just as Spider-Man, but as Remus. And I wasn’t strong enough to carry both.”

You stand frozen, caught in the raw vulnerability radiating from his trembling hands cradling your face. His voice, soft yet weighted with fear, breaks the silence between you.

“I am not Spider-Man without the mask,” he confesses, his breath shaky.

“That mask… it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m something — like I’m not just broken pieces drifting without purpose. Without it, I’m nothing. Just Remus, scared and lost.”

His eyes search yours, wide and desperate, as if begging for understanding. “I never wanted you dragged into my world. I thought if you saw me — the real me — you’d run away. You’d see all my cracks and be gone.”

The tension coils tight in the air, thick and electric. Your heart pounds loud enough to drown out the world, every word tearing through you, yet igniting something fierce beneath the surface.

Then, without warning, his hands tighten around your face, pulling you closer. The fear, the desperation, the raw need in his eyes crash into you like a tidal wave.

His lips slam against yours—rough, urgent, aching.

The kiss is everything he’s been holding back: fierce and trembling, wild and vulnerable, desperate and demanding. Your breath catches, your body aches for him, and all the unsaid words burn away in the heat of that fierce connection.

He clings to you like you’re the only anchor in his shattered world, and you melt into the storm, fierce and unyielding, knowing this—this chaotic, broken passion—is the closest thing to truth you’ll ever find.

You pull back from the kiss, your breath mingling as your eyes lock with his—intense, searching, vulnerable.

For a long moment, the world outside this quiet room disappears, leaving only the weight of this shared silence between you.

Then his voice slips out, barely more than a breath, trembling with a mix of fear and humor, “James is gonna kill me.”

A soft laugh bubbles from your chest, surprising even yourself, breaking the tension in the air.

But then you catch the glint of red, the dark smear on his temple. Your laughter halts instantly. “Bug boy, you’re bleeding.”

He raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bug boy? Is that what I am now?”

Before he can respond, you push him gently but firmly back onto the bed. “Stay put,” you say with a grin that doesn’t quite reach your worried eyes.

You grab the med kit nearby and kneel beside him, careful as you open it. Your fingers work deftly, cleaning the blood from his skin, the warmth of your touch making him quiet, watching you with something soft and unfamiliar in his gaze.

He speaks again, breaking the comfortable silence. “You know, I have powers. I can heal quickly.”

You look up, surprised and genuinely impressed. “Really? That’s so cool.”

His smile falters just a little, touched with something sad. “Though the only way for me to heal this,” he gestures to the fresh wound, “is with some secret remedy I don’t have right now. So… I’m just gonna keep bleeding.”

The sadness in his voice makes your chest tighten, and panic flickers across your face. “What is it? What do you need?”

Without a word, he pulls you gently into his chest. The weight of him settles around you like a shield. “Kisses,” he whispers into your hair, voice soft and almost playful.

You grin, teasing him, “Well, I guess I’m just the remedy then.”

And with that, you tilt your head, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his lips. It’s light and warm at first, then deepens into a tender promise—sweet—the kind of moment where everything feels just right, fragile and infinite all at once.

The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of your breathing mingling with his steady heartbeat beside you.

Remus’s arm rested lightly over your waist, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, grounding you in a way nothing else could. The night stretched on, gentle and slow, as if the world had paused just to give you this moment.

You shifted slightly, your eyes catching the moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting a pale glow over everything.

The comfort of being here, so close to him, made your chest ache with a sweet kind of ache you hadn’t expected. You wanted to say the words—the ones that floated on the edges of your thoughts—but you didn’t need to. He was here. That was enough.

Then suddenly, a wave of unease washed over you, an unexpected chill creeping down your spine.

Your breath hitched and your skin went pale, the warmth draining from your face. Remus stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open to find yours clouded with something unspoken.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with concern, gentle as a whisper meant only for you.

You swallowed hard, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I just realized you saw my room. You saw everything... all my notes, the pictures, the way I was stalking you.” Your voice cracked slightly, and you looked away, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

There was a pause before he laughed, low and full, not mocking but filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter wildly. “I found it very adorable.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, disbelief etched deep in your expression. “Adorable? You found me stalking you adorable?”

He smiled, that crooked, slow smile that made you forget every worry you’d had just moments before. “Anything you do is adorable.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks again, a flush that wasn’t just embarrassment but something softer, more intimate.

It was as if the space between you was charged with quiet electricity, a pulse you both could feel without needing words.

Remus shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You could kill me for all I want,” he murmured, voice low and filled with something fierce, “and I wouldn’t mind. I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a blanket, thick and comforting and impossible to ignore.

Your heart hammered wildly, and for a moment the world stopped turning, held captive by the intensity in his eyes.

You laughed softly, a breathless sound that slipped out unbidden. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned, eyes shining with an unspoken promise. “Maybe. But I’m your ridiculous.”

Just as you opened your mouth to retort, the door burst open so hard it crashed against the wall.

Sirius stood in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes wide. "Remus—the villain isn’t dead—"

His words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Remus, still in his Spider-Man suit, mask tossed on the floor. You, tangled in the sheets beside him, cheeks flushed and hair wild.

Sirius blinked once. Twice. Then, with the most dramatic flourish you’d ever seen, he slapped a hand over his eyes.

“What the fuck?” he finally managed, voice tinged with both horror and something akin to amusement.

Remus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Sirius—"

Sirius peeks between his fingers. "You—wait. She knows?"

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the flush on your cheeks only deepens.

Sirius drops his hand and points at the two of you accusingly. "James is going to absolutely murder you, Moony. What the hell were you thinking?"

Remus tries to sit up, wincing as his sore muscles protest. "It’s—complicated."

"Oh, I bet it is," Sirius mutters. Then he shakes his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts.

"Wait. Why are you in bed, in the Spider-Man suit, with James’s sister? Are you out of your mind?"

You press your hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, and Remus shoots you a look that’s half pleading, half exasperated.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "So, what? You decided to just have sex?"

You and Remus speak at the exact same time, voices loud and full of mortification. "We didn’t have sex!"

"Oh my god, no!" you add, shaking your head rapidly. "Definitely not!"

Sirius blinks, then smirks. "Alright, alright. Just checking."

Remus rubs his hands over his face, muttering something under his breath, and you can’t help but laugh at the shade of red creeping up his neck.

Sirius just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Well, this is officially my favorite morning of the year."

Remus groans, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he glances back at you.

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, still flustered from Sirius’s endless teasing, but the grin on your face made it all worth it.

He finally straightened, running a hand through his messy hair. “Where are James and Peter?” he asked, voice steadying as he shifted back to business.

You adjusted the sheets around you, still fighting the blush on your cheeks. “James went on a date with Lily,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though the idea of your brother actually on a date was a little surreal.

Sirius rolled his eyes dramatically. “And Pettigrew is…out,” he said with a shrug, like that was explanation enough.

Remus paused, gaze sharpening. “Out?”

“Yeah, out,” Sirius replied. “Probably running errands or something. He’s been a bit more…secretive lately. I just assumed it was some…Peter thing.”

Remus’s eyes narrowed for just a moment, but then he shook it off. “Right. Well, I’m going to go get rid of that villain. I’ve let him play around long enough.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly are you going to do that?”

A sly smile curved his lips as he bent down, reaching under his bed. From beneath the frame, he pulled out something sleek and silver, wrapped carefully in cloth. He peeled it back, revealing a high-tech version of his Spider-Man suit—polished, reinforced, and far more advanced than the one he currently wore.

Tiny lines of blue circuitry glowed faintly along its surface. “He can’t beat that,” Remus said confidently, brushing his fingers over the smooth material.

“And the best part? The villain doesn’t know about this new tech I’ve got in here.”

Sirius let out a low whistle. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Remus grinned, that familiar spark of mischief back in his eyes. “You coming?”

Sirius scoffed. “You think I’m letting you have all the fun? I gotta be in your earpiece, making sure you don’t trip over your own feet.”

He gave you a wink and a salute. “Try not to miss us too much.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get yourselves killed.”

Remus moved toward the door, steps heavy with purpose, but before he left, he turned back to you.

His eyes were molten with something unspoken, the kind of thing that lingered in rooms long after someone left. His hand found the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone with a tenderness that nearly broke you.

"Come back to me, okay?" you whispered, voice cracking just enough to reveal the fear clawing at your heart.

He gave you that lopsided grin, the one that was all Remus and none of Spider-Man. "If I don’t," he said, voice soft, "then who’s gonna save you from all that trouble you always find?"

You laughed shakily, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in and kissed you. It was quick but fierce, his hands tangled in your hair like he was afraid you might vanish the moment he let go.

He pulled back, breathless, and then with one last look, he was gone.

Sirius clapped you on the back, though a bit more gently than usual. "I’m off. Gotta make sure our boy doesn’t do anything stupid out there," he said with a wink. You nodded numbly, still tasting Remus on your lips.

When they left, the room felt impossibly silent. Too big. Too empty. Your thoughts roared back in, louder than ever.

You let out a shaky breath, still reeling from the kiss, from the way his hands had cradled your face like you were something fragile.

But then something nagged at the back of your mind. A whisper of a memory you hadn’t quite pieced together.

You leaned back against the pillows, mind replaying the events from the rooftop, the chaos of the fight. You remembered the villain’s hand, reaching out to grab you. You remembered the scar on his wrist—thin, jagged, unmistakable.

You froze.

That scar. You had seen it before. A million times, in fact.

At parties, during missions, lazy days lounging around headquarters.

Peter had that exact same scar. You had always wondered where he’d gotten it, but he’d brushed you off every time you asked.

The room suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.

Your heart pounded in your chest as the realization sank in, icy and sharp.

Peter.

Peter was the villain.

Peter had been betraying all of you this whole time. He knew Remus’s plan. He knew the new tech. He knew everything.

And Remus was already gone.

Your hands shook as you stumbled out of bed, heart in your throat. How long had Peter known? How much had he seen? Your mind was racing with questions, each one darker than the last.

A flicker of movement caught your eye from the window, something darting between shadows too fast to be human. You rushed to it, throwing it open, and for a moment, the city sprawled out before you seemed quiet.

But then you saw it—far in the distance, flashes of blue light sparking against the skyline, too sharp and erratic to be anything but a fight.

Your breath caught. Remus was out there with no idea he was walking into a trap. Peter knew. Peter always knew.

And now, you were out of time.

The realization crashed into you like a tidal wave, too strong and too consuming to push away.

That scar on his wrist was the missing piece, the mark you’d seen a thousand times without a second thought. And now Remus—Remus was walking right into a trap, armed with his confidence and a suit that Peter already knew everything about.

You couldn’t breathe. The walls seemed to close in on you, suffocating and sharp-edged.

He knew Remus’s plan, the new tech, the strategies. He had been playing all of you like puppets on strings, pulling tighter with each lie and every fake smile.

Panic clawed its way up your throat as you stumbled out of the room, nearly tripping over the edge of the carpet.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone, heart hammering in your chest.

You dialed James’s number, praying he would pick up. It rang and rang, each passing second stretching thin like wire. “Come on, come on…” you whispered, voice cracking.

Finally, there was a click. “Y/N?” James’s voice was breathless, wind rushing past him as if he were running. “What’s going on?”

“Peter,” you gasped, shoving your feet into your shoes as you spoke. “It’s Peter. He’s the villain. I saw the scar. It matches. He knows everything, James. Remus—he’s walking right into a trap.”

There was silence, heavy and stretching, before James cursed so violently you flinched. “What do you mean Remus? What the hell are you talking about?”

You paused, breath hitching. “Gosh, Spider-Man. I know everything, James.”

Another pause, sharper this time. “How do you even know all this?” he demanded, but there was no accusation, only shock and urgency.

“It doesn’t matter,” you snapped, running down the stairs two at a time. “Where are you?”

“City center,” James said, voice clipped. “I’m heading back now—”

“No!” you shouted, hailing a cab as you stumbled onto the sidewalk. “I’m coming to you. Remus is already out there. He—he’s fighting him, I saw it.”

James cursed again. “Get here fast.”

The line went dead, and you threw yourself into the back of the cab, voice breathless as you gave the driver directions.

The city blurred past, buildings stretching into smears of light and shadow. Your fingers tapped anxiously on your knees, thoughts racing faster than the car could move.

When you finally arrived at the city center, chaos had already erupted. Crowds of people were screaming, scattering like ants as bursts of blue light ricocheted off metal and concrete.

Above the skyline, two figures clashed—one clad in crimson and silver, the other in jagged steel, metal gleaming under the flicker of broken streetlights.

Your heart stopped. Remus. He was out there, alone, fighting against the very person who had been one of your closest friends. Betrayal and fear tangled in your gut, sharp and twisting.

The metallic villain’s fist crashed into Spider-Man with a force that shook the ground, sending him sprawling across the pavement.

People screamed, scattering like leaves in a storm. The air was thick with panic, the chaos of it nearly blinding as you pushed your way through the frantic crowd, heart pounding like a drum.

Your eyes locked on the scene unfolding before you. Remus—Spider-Man—was struggling to get up, shaking his head as if to clear it. His new suit shimmered under the flickering streetlights, cracked slightly at the shoulder where the impact had hit hardest.

The villain loomed above him, mechanical limbs whirring with each predatory step forward.

You sucked in a breath. The last time they had defeated him, it had been with that device—an energy amplifier.

Your mind spun with the memory, grasping at every detail. If you could replicate it, if you could make something similar…

There wasn’t time to second-guess it. You turned sharply, pushing your way through the throng of terrified bystanders until you found what you were looking for: a tech vendor's stall, abandoned in the chaos. Pieces of scrap metal, circuit boards, wires—it was a mess of technology, but it was something.

Your hands moved on instinct, gathering what you needed: a copper coil, lithium batteries, a panel of solar conductors, anything that could channel raw energy.

The amplifier worked by redirecting kinetic force into a concentrated pulse—if you could just build something close to it…

Your fingers flew, twisting wires and connecting circuit boards.

The copper coil would act as the conduit, the lithium as the charge, and the solar conductors to boost its power intake. You pulled open a panel, exposing the wiry guts of it, and started connecting everything together. Sparks flew, the hum of energy rising beneath your palms. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you worked, heart hammering as you glanced back at the fight.

Spider-Man had gained some ground, landing a kick to the villain’s chest that sent him stumbling back, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

You jammed the final piece into place, tightening the last wire and securing it with a twist. The device pulsed once, then lit up, a soft blue glow emanating from its center.

The air was thick with tension, shattered glass crunching beneath frantic footsteps, and the sharp crackle of energy bouncing off cold metal.

Shitty news reporters had swarmed in, their cameras casting the entire fight live for the world to see, their voices a distant drone beneath the roar of the crowd scattering in panic.

Remus lay on the ground, winded and battered from a brutal blow the villain had just landed. His crimson and silver suit was scuffed and torn, but he pushed himself up, grimacing through the pain.

You knew you had to act fast. The device—the energy amplifier—was the only thing that had worked before. But this time, the stakes were even higher.

The amplifier was powerful enough to disrupt the villain’s defenses, but it had one cruel catch: whoever wielded it had to maintain direct contact with the target. The energy surge would course through you as well, and you wouldn’t come out unharmed.

With no time to waste, you darted behind a broken stall and gathered whatever materials you could find: frayed wires, twisted metal strips, bits of a shattered electronic billboard.

Your hands moved quickly, weaving and twisting, soldering circuits in a makeshift bow—an amplifier bow wired to release a focused burst of energy. It was crude but brilliant, a weapon born of desperation and ingenuity.

You stepped into the clearing, heart hammering in your chest, and called out loudly, voice steady despite the chaos. “Or should I call you Pettigrew, you fucking traitor?”

The villain—metallic and menacing—slowly turned to face you. His snake symbol glinted on his chestplate, a dark promise of betrayal.

From the distance, a shout pierced the noise. “No!”

James had arrived, breathless and frantic, but too far to intervene just yet.

Remus, lying on the ground, looked up at you, eyes filled with pain and warning. He shook his head weakly. “Please… don’t.”

But you had no choice.

Raising the amplifier bow, you steadied your aim. The wires hummed with electric energy, circuits pulsing like a heartbeat in your hands.

You released the shot—a brilliant surge of raw power blasting toward the snake emblem on the villain’s chest.

The moment the energy connected, it was like a thunderclap. The force surged through the air, wrapping around you in a shocking embrace.

Pain flared up your arms, your vision blurred, and the world spun wildly before everything went black.

You woke slowly, the world coming back into focus in fragments. The ceiling above you was painfully white, sterile, the kind of brightness that belonged to hospital lights.

Your body felt heavy, limbs weighted down and wrapped in tight bandages. There were wires connected to you, snaking out from beneath the covers, their ends disappearing into beeping machines by your bedside.

A wave of panic surged up your throat, and your fingers twitched, searching for movement.

“Hey, hey,” a familiar voice murmured, gentle and reassuring. You blinked hard, vision clearing enough to make out Remus sitting beside you, bruised and bandaged himself, but very much alive.

His hand found yours, squeezing it softly. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Regulus was there too, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and watchful. He offered a small nod when your eyes met his. “You scared the hell out of us.”

The door swung open, and James all but burst inside, eyes wide and frantic. “Thank god you’re awake,” he breathed out, stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to your bedside.

He looked you over with a mixture of relief and exasperation, ruffling his hair as if trying to shake off the adrenaline. “You’re insane, you know that? Completely reckless.”

A weak laugh bubbled up from your throat, more relief than amusement. “Nice to see you too, Potter.”

James snorted, dropping into the chair opposite Remus. “You’re lucky you’ve got these two looking out for you. That was…insane. I mean, brilliant, but insane.”

Remus’s thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, filled with something unspoken and fragile. “You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he murmured, voice low.

“You could have died.”

“Yeah, well,” you managed, voice cracking just slightly. “I couldn’t just stand by.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, finally pushing off the wall and coming closer. “You might want to consider standing by next time. You nearly got yourself killed.” But there was no bite to his words, only a thin veil of concern he didn’t bother to hide.

You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain flared in your side, forcing you back down with a wince. Remus’s hand pressed gently to your shoulder. “Easy,” he said, his voice a soothing balm. “You’re still healing. Just…take it slow.”

For a moment, there was only the soft hum of machines and the steady rise and fall of your breaths.

Then James leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. “So,” he drawled, a grin creeping onto his face. “When you’re back on your feet…we’re going to have a long talk about your definition of ‘safety.’”

Regulus scoffed. “Safety? She ran into the middle of a full-on fight with a homemade amplifier. I’d say her definition of safety is a bit skewed.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, the sound cracking the tension that had built in your chest.

Despite everything, despite the pain and the panic and the aftermath, you were here.

James stretched his arms above his head, glancing at Regulus with a grin. “Okay, well, me and Reg are gonna go catch up with Sirius, who’s currently losing a battle with a vending machine.” He rolled his eyes affectionately.

Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to you and Remus, eyes narrowing playfully. “And don’t get too cozy with my sister, Lupin.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and James ruffled your hair on his way out, Regulus following with a parting nod.

The door shut softly behind them, leaving the room draped in quiet warmth.

Your eyes immediately met Remus. “I know you don’t like what I did, but—”

Before you could finish, his hands cupped your face, pulling you in with a kind of desperation you hadn’t expected.

His mouth met yours, soft and searching, like you were something delicate he was terrified of breaking.

You melted into him, hands slipping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His breath stuttered against your lips, and when you finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“You’re everything I tried not to want. And now…I can’t imagine wanting anything else.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, words trapped in your throat.

A crooked grin played at his lips as he pulled back, brushing his thumb over your cheek. “Come on. I’m going to show you something.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I thought I was supposed to rest.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. “Good thing I’m Spider-Man, right?”

Remus moved toward the backpack stashed behind the door, unzipping it and pulling out his Spider-Man suit piece by piece.

He slid it on with the kind of practiced ease that came with repetition, the mask hanging loosely from his fingertips as he turned back to you. There was a flicker of hesitation before he stepped closer, his gaze softening. "Ready?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"

He grinned, a flash of mischief lighting up his features. "To get out of here." Without another word, he slipped the mask over his face, the familiar lenses locking into place, and in one smooth motion, he scooped you into his arms.

A startled laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck. "Remus! What are you—"

But he was already moving, pushing the window open with a flick of his hand. The city sprawled out below, lights blinking like distant stars.

Before you could protest, he stepped onto the ledge, his grip on you firm and steady. "Hold on," he murmured through the mask, and then you were airborne.

Wind whipped past your face, the rush of it stealing the breath from your lungs. The hospital fell away beneath you, replaced by the glittering sprawl of the city as Remus swung from one skyscraper to the next with effortless grace.

Your heart pounded wildly, caught somewhere between exhilaration and disbelief. You tightened your hold around him, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow.

It was nothing like you’d ever experienced—weightless and wild, the world stretching out beneath you like a living, breathing thing.

You laughed, the sound lost in the wind, and Remus’s grip on you tightened just a fraction, almost like he was savoring the way you clung to him.

When he finally landed again, it was on the pavement just before the city’s grand bridge. Its arching structure loomed above, glittering with strings of lights like stars hung low enough to touch.

But what stole your breath wasn’t the view—it was the webbing stretched across its iron frame, glistening silver in the moonlight, spelling out three simple words:

I Love You.

Your hands flew to your mouth, eyes wide and heart thundering. You turned to him, and he was already looking at you, mask off, eyes raw and unguarded.

"I wanted you to see it from here," he murmured, voice trembling just enough for you to hear it. "Before I said it."

The world felt impossibly still. "You… you did this?"

He nodded, taking a step closer. "I’ve loved you for a long time," he confessed, voice thick with emotion.

"Way before I walked into your room and saw that mess of clues and pins and theories. Hell, I think I loved you the second James introduced you as his 'forbidden-to-date' sister."

You laughed, the sound cracking with disbelief and joy. "You’re serious?"

"I’m completely serious." He took your hands in his, the warmth of him grounding you, anchoring you.

"I’ve tried not to. I swear I’ve tried. But you’re everything I can’t shake. You’re everything I want. You could kill me for all I care, I’d be honored to die at the hands of Y/N Potter."

Your breath hitched, the weight of his words sinking in like the softest kind of devastation.

He was so close now, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Remus," you whispered, voice cracking. "I... I love you too."

His eyes flashed with something wild and desperate, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours.

It was slow and aching at first, like he was savoring every second, but then it grew deeper, more consuming, his hands coming up to cup your face as if he was afraid you might slip away.

You kissed him back with everything you had, fingers tangling in his hair, breath mingling with his until the world around you blurred away into nothing.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, eyes still closed, lips parted. "You made this for me," you whispered, voice trembling with awe as you looked back at the bridge, the words shimmering like spun silver.

He opened his eyes, gaze softening as he looked at you. "I’d make you anything if it meant I got to see you look at me like that."

“Wait, I’m not done,” Remus whispered suddenly, reaching behind the doorframe where his backpack lay hidden.

He fished through its contents with a sort of hurried excitement before pulling out a small, glimmering necklace. It hung from a delicate chain, a tiny spider charm nestled at its center, its eyes gleaming with a crimson shimmer.

He stepped forward, lifting it so it dangled between you, catching the streetlights. "This," he murmured, voice soft and sincere, "is linked to my suit. If you press it, I’ll find you. Wherever you are."

Your fingers reached out to brush against it, eyes wide with wonder. "You… you made this for me?"

"I did," he nodded, fastening it around your neck with a gentleness that made your heart lurch. "And there’s more."

He reached back into the bag and pulled out a matching bracelet, sleek and shimmering, threaded with the same crimson accents. "You can’t seem to stay out of trouble," he teased, his eyes sparkling. "Consider this my way of keeping an eye on you."

You laughed, light and breathless, fingers touching the necklace that now rested against your collarbone. "Gosh," you whispered, looking up at him with a grin so wide it hurt. "I love you."

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss so soft and slow that it stole the breath right out of you.

i highly suggest playing Honest by The Neighborhood here for the perfect outro <3

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—minutes or hours, time blurring into something infinite. But at some point, the silence grew heavy, and you turned to look at him, his profile bathed in moonlight.

His mask lay beside him, the eyes still fixed in that eternal wideness, but his real gaze was softer, warmer.

“Remus?” you murmured, voice barely a whisper.

He turned to you, brow lifting in question. “Yeah?”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “When I found out you were Spider-Man...it just...it made so much sense.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sense? I’m pretty sure it’s the most nonsensical thing that’s ever happened to me.”

But you shook your head, voice steady now, charged with quiet certainty. “No, really. It made perfect sense. Spider-Man isn’t just a hero to me—he’s everything you are. Brave beyond reason, endlessly kind, carrying the world on his shoulders but never losing that spark of selflessness. Always giving more than anyone could ask for, even when he thinks it’s not enough. That’s you. Has always been you.”

Your voice grew softer, almost confessional, as your fingers entwined with his. “When I found that earpiece in James’s room, I didn’t hesitate for a second. I didn’t run to Sirius’s or Peter’s room. I ran straight to your room. Because you’re the one I believed in. The one who’s been there even when the world wasn’t. I could have assumed it was James—maybe that would’ve made sense, especially after seeing the webs in his room—but I didn’t. Because no one wears Spider-Man like you do. No one.”

He gave you a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I don’t know if I deserve it.”

You squeezed his hand, your voice a soothing balm against his fears. “You do. More than anyone else. The suit is just cloth and webbing. But you... you breathe life into it. You give it heart and soul. The mask isn’t a shield—it’s a window and I always knew it was you beneath it. The way you move, the way you fight, how fiercely you love even the people you’ve never met.”

He swallowed hard, eyes locking with yours, raw and unguarded. “The way I love?”

You leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. “You don’t do anything halfway—not even love. It’s reckless, it’s fierce, it’s everything. I knew it was you because Spider-Man loves the way you do—with every inch of his heart.”

“I’ve spent so long hiding, pretending no one could see me,” he murmured. “But you… you see all of me. The hero and the man. The fear and the strength. The light and the shadows.”

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you leaned into his touch. “I’ve always seen you. And I always will, spider-boy.”

His breath came out shaky, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. “Honest?”

You cupped his face, brushing your thumb against his cheekbone. “Honest.”

He watched you with those gentle brown eyes, a question unspoken on his lips.

But before he could say anything, you moved, the cool night air brushing your skin as you stood up, brushing off the dust from your jeans. Remus blinked up at you from where he sat, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice laced with surprise.

You did not answer—not right away. Instead, you moved, steps soft and measured as you wandered toward the edge of the rooftop.

Your heels scuffed against the concrete, a whisper of sound against the city's distant hum. Below, the world stretched vast and shimmering, lights flickering like scattered stars, restless and alive.

You turned back to him, the wind catching in your hair, loose strands dancing around your face. For a moment, you were still, arms at your sides, eyes holding his like a promise.

“Hey, Bug Boy?” Your voice was soft but sure, lacing through the space between you like a silver thread.

And before he could shape the words on his lips, you leaned back, tipping off the edge with your arms spread wide, surrendering to the night.

There was no scream, no flinch of fear—just weightlessness, the air rushing past you in ribbons of wind and light. The city blurred beneath you, gold and white streaks smearing across your vision. Your eyes slipped shut, heart hammering wild and free.

Because you knew he would jump immediately after you.

There was no question, not even the whisper of doubt. Because Remus Lupin had always caught you, always been the net beneath your fall. In all the ways that mattered. In every small, unspoken gesture. In every steady gaze and every soft-spoken promise. This was no different.

The wind howled louder, rushing past your ears like the roar of the ocean, and you just let it take you. Down and down, the city lights smearing into wild streaks of gold, your heartbeat thrumming in your ears like the rush of wings.

And still, you did not open your eyes.

You thought of his hands, steady and warm, always reaching, always finding you.

You thought of rooftop nights and whispered promises, of moonlight slipping through cracked windows and the way he always called you reckless with that crooked smile.

Maybe this was what flying felt like.

The wind howled one last time, and you smiled into the rush of it, arms still wide, eyes still closed.

And then, just as the city lights began to fade into shadow, you felt it: a tug, gentle as breath, soft as the brush of a fingertip.

He caught you.

He laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through you. He held you tighter, like he was terrified to let go, and you realized then that maybe you didn’t need wings to fly. Maybe you just needed him.

Because some part of you always knew: you would fall, and he would catch you.

Every. Single. Time.

a/n: sooo? i honetsly loved writing this and id love to make more blurbs of this au with spiderman remus <33

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inmyheaddd · 2 months ago

Text

is it cool that i said all that? - averyjameson fic

synopsis: avery and jameson are... something. and on one of their frequent late nights out, true feelings are spilled and 3 little words are finally spoken or: early averyjameson cuteness 🤸‍♀️ wc: 3k warnings: like one swear word, kissing, not fully following canon events

Jameson Hawthorne had a way of making everything feel like a game.

Unfortunately for Avery, she had started to grow more fond of games ever since she inherited.

It was ridiculous, how aware of him she was. How at every event they attended, no matter how many photographers or possible rumours that would come to life because of it, his gaze would stay on hers for much too long. And how she, much to her disappointment, couldn’t help but stare back.

It was ridiculous how she found herself laughing with wild abandon when she was with him sometimes, and it was ridiculous how she loved to hear his own laughter, or how she loved to thread her fingers through his hair while they simply talked. It was also ridiculous how he looked at her, like she was more than what she knew herself to be.

That ridiculous feeling didn’t go away, even when she was buried under other problems.

"Avery,” Alisa snapped her fingers in Avery’s face.

If looks could kill, Avery would’ve been 6 feet under.

She groaned as she lifted her head from her hands. “Yes?” She responded in the same tone of annoyance, fighting back an eye roll because the loud clicking was not helping her headache in any way shape or form.

Alisa was now standing in front of Avery’s desk. She raised her brows and crossed her arms, “Repeat the last sentence I just said.”

Avery straightened her posture in her seat, rubbing the tiredness out of her eyes. “Uhm…” she avoided Alisas gaze, “Avery?”

Avery was still a little drowsy, but she could make out the fact that Alisa did not like that answer. “Now is not the time to be funny, Grambs.” She rubbed her temples, “I need you to be serious here.”

Avery quickly straightened, nodding and muttering a small, “sure, sorry.”

Alisa simply looked at her and sighed, before uncrossing her arms and shaking her head. She picked up a stack of papers and started talking to Avery.

She was flipping through a stack of documents, pointing to signatures, deadlines, responsibilities that Avery should have been thinking about.

But she wasn’t.

Her mind was elsewhere. A few months ago it would’ve been on her past, on worries and anxieties that she couldn’t say aloud— but now it was on Jameson, more specifically his excellent distractions that she hated — hated the fact that she loved.

She took her gaze across the table. Whoa. Surely there wasn’t that many papers when she first came in the office. She hadn’t had even noticed someone come and bring them in.

“I need you to be focusing on these matters.” Alisa huffed as she flicked open to a page in her notebook. She then glanced back up at Avery, her gaze pointed. “Not on whatever secret rendezvous you and Jameson had last night.”

All of a sudden, Avery was alert and wide awake as ever.

She cleared her throat as she felt her face flush, “I— we didn’t— rendezvous— What?”

With an eye roll, Alisa sat back down in her seat across Avery. “Spare the details. If you really think your security system won’t notice two teenagers out the house and sneaking back in,” she rose a brow, “you are gravely mistaken.”

Avery’s face was surely the colour of Alisa’s red nails.

She scratched the back of her neck, “…. We were just getting some ice cream,” her gaze was at the desk as she mumbled lowly.

When she looked back at Alisa, there was the barest hint of amusement on her face. Avery felt her face heat up at that— did she not believe her? They seriously did go and get ice cream.

Then after the ice cream… They were on a sugar high, then Jameson started speeding around the Hawthorne grounds, then Avery decided she wanted to drive, then Jameson said she drove like a grandma, then she decided to speed and —

Alisa sighed, rubbing her temples and bringing Avery out of her thoughts. “Avery, I understand you want to have fun, I get it. You’re young, you want to feel alive, and there that Hawthorne is: offering everything you’re dreaming of.” Something in Alisa’s voice reminded Avery of Alisa telling her to never lose her heart to a Hawthorne.

She must’ve realised she was giving away too many of her under-lock-and-key emotions, and in all of her Alisa Ortega fashion, brought the topic back to Avery and what she should be doing.

“You can’t keep acting like this is temporary. Your life, your obligations—they’re real,” She shot her a look, and underneath all the disapprovement and annoyance, Avery could see the understanding in her eyes; yet she warned her anyway. Alisa continued, “And they’re not going anywhere, so focus.”

Avery knew that. She knew it more than anything. But sometimes, for a moment, she liked to feel like they weren’t, and the one way she could do that was with Jameson.

It wasn’t just the distraction, though. He gave her space to feel, to be herself, and for that to not feel wrong.

And when everything else felt wrong, he was there to remind her that it was normal and fine to feel wrong, and unknowingly reminded her of the good.

Alisa told her not to lose her heart to a Hawthorne.

Don’t worry, I keep mine under lock and key. Avery once responded.

Oh, who was she kidding. She had opened that lock and thrown away the key for good. In the direction of a certain green eyes Hawthorne, probably.

She was scared like hell. She was falling hard. And the fact that she had an inkling the feeling was shared, did not help at all.

—

She forced herself to believe she had it under control, but Max saw right through her.

“Ave, you need to be real with me.” Max said, her voice low and serious and her expression dark.

Her eyes suddenly glittered with mischief, “When are you going to admit you’re totally obsessed with Jameson?” Her face broke out into a grin, “Like ‘hearts around his picture’ level obsessed?”

Avery knew Max well enough to know that she wasn’t going to say anything serious.

Avery leant her head against her headboard with a groan, “I’m not obsessed. There are no hearts around his picture.”

Max uncrossed her legs from where she sat on Avery’s much-too-large bed, and scooted over to sit next to her.

“Right.” Max rolled her eyes, nodding enthusiastically. “You just happen to stare at each other intensely when you’re in a room full of people.” She let out a groan of distaste. “Honestly, you’re like Edward and Bella with your weird intensity.”

“Max!” A shocked laugh of disbelief escaped her lips. “Do not compare me and Jameson to Twilight!”

“It’s the truth!” Max shoved her back jokingly, “and when you’re gone, Jameson just happens to be gone too.”

Avery crossed her arms. “And how would you know Jameson is gone?”

“Because you’re not denying it right now.” Max replied point blankly. Then, with a smile, “And because Xander happens to be a great supply of information.”

Avery felt a smile overtake her features. “So you can be obsessed with a Hawthorne, but I cant?”

“Ha! So you admit it, you are obsessed!” Max laughed as she raised her hands in victory, and Avery shut her eyes for a moment with a smile, mentally slapping herself.

Avery acted as if she hadn’t heard her. She bit back a laugh and hummed, “Huh. How is Xander recently?” She put a finger on her chin, looking deep in thought at the wall beside them, “You know, I haven’t seen him much, but surely you—

“Avery Kylie Grambs,” Max moved to sit infront of her and pointed a finger in her face and leaned closer, “you are not getting out of this conversation, no matter how hard you try and distract me.”

“Who, me? I would never.” Avery smiled teasingly, pushing Max’s finger out of her face with a laugh.

Max rolled her eyes and pointed right back in her face, “Oh please. Avery, you know you’re going to eventually tell me anyway,” her voice dipped softer, quieter as she looked at Avery intently, “so just… tell me.”

Avery sighed, because she knew Max was right.

Max took that sigh as her win and put her finger back down.

“Okay, don’t make fun of me,” Avery started, drumming her fingers against her leg, and Max nodded encouragingly, letting her know she’d never make fun of her for something serious. Something like her feelings.

Avery took her eyes off Max for a second, “but I think I like him. More than like, you know… God, I can’t even say it, I sound like a child.”

Max must’ve known how much it took Avery to admit that. Of course she did, she knew Avery better than anyone. “Oh, Ave.” She reached her hand out and placed it on her knee.

In attempts to recline back into the comfort of avoidance, avery shook her head, pinching in-between her brows.“This is incredibly un-like me, I don’t like it. I take it back.”

Max rolled her eyes, scooting closer and then sitting beside Avery. “Just because the feeling is new doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Couldn’t you just let yourself feel for once?”

Avery chewed on her bottom lip, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, I’m feeling a whole lot. And if I’m being honest, Max, I don’t know what to do with it all.” Her voice caught on the last sentence, and turned her head to Max’s eyes for a second, then looked away.

They then both stared at the wall ahead, then Max spoke. “Well… Avery, I don’t know either. Everything else you’re dealing with, you can tell me. You know that. But this?” She tutted, shaking her heed. “Tell him. Or a therapist. Pick your poison.”

Avery snorted. Seriously, she could never appreciate someone more than she appreciated the girl next to her right then.

She turned to look at Max with an odd fondness for her best friend. “Thanks, Max.” She let out quietly, then her voice picked up. ”Anyway, that’s enough about me. Don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten about you and Xander.”

Max shook her head with a laugh, “I was hoping you would’ve.” She sighed heavily, fixing her eyes on Avery’s. “Oh well, can we get some ice cream? I think this conversation warrants a big tub of ice cream.”

────୨ৎ────

Avery’s post ice-cream sleepiness didn’t stop her from sneaking out that night, slipping into the garage where she knew Jameson would be waiting.

She barely had time to process the sight of him— and oh, what a sight it was— before he was closing the space between them, the glow of the overhead light casting shadows across his face. He leaned against the same car he had driven her around in before, the memory sending a thrill through her.

Once again, she suddenly felt wide awake.

“You made it,” he murmured, his voice low with a hint of amusement.

Avery tilted her head. “Did you doubt me?”

“Well what can I say,” His lips slid into a grin, his green eyes glittering. “You like to keep me on my toes, Heiress.”

Avery gave a small shrug, and he just looked at her, like he was trying to memorize the way she looked right now. She felt it in her chest, in the heat spreading across her skin.

And then he was kissing her. Or, she was kissing him. She couldn’t remember who initiated it, but did it matter?

She was no longer thinking about anything else but him by the time her back was pressed against the car, the cold metal sharp against her skin in contrast to the warmth of his hands.

At first it was soft. It was careful. Until it wasn’t. It was weeks of build-up, of stolen glances and unsaid words, of something that had been simmering just beneath the surface finally breaking free.

It was something that had become familiar in these past few days, but no less addicting.

She pulled him closer, fingers twisting into his shirt, and he let out a sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

Neither of them wanted to stop. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this wasn’t simple. Because wanting something and knowing what to do with it were two different things.

Jameson broke the kiss first, resting his forehead against hers, his breath uneven.

“Heiress,” he murmured, and there was something in his voice—hesitation, maybe. Or something close to it.

She swallowed, her grip on him tightening like she could keep him here just a little longer. “Yeah?”

His fingers traced lightly over her waist, grounding her. “What are we doing?”

She exhaled, heart hammering. “I don’t know. Kissing?”

“Well, yes,” he let out a laugh, and Avery felt her heart to a little skip “But apart from that.” He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, something unreadable in his expression. “You know I don’t want you to think this is all I want. I don’t want you to think this is just another game for me.”

Avery pulled back, but didn’t let her gaze break away for just a moment. Whatever she was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

“I don’t think that,” she murmured, which was the truth.

But it was a lie to say she hadn’t thought it before.

“You’re not just some distraction to me either.” Her gaze flickered between his eyes. “You’re… a lot.”

She eyed the smile that grew on his face, then looked at those green eyes of his that looked near black with the way his pupils were so expanded. “A lot?”

Avery tried to bite back a smile, “Damn near everything for me.”

Jameson’s smile was less ‘wicked’ than it usually looked, more genuine, more sincere and less teasing. “You are everything for me, Avery.”

Avery nearly forgot how to speak, letting the words hang heavy in the air. She looked over all his features, down to the curve of his lips and to the smallest specks in his eyes.

“Always out-doing me, huh?” She finally responded with a laugh, which really meant, that he was everything and infinity and even more.

“I couldn’t ever outdo you,” He took a staggered step back, his hands moving down to grab hers, “even if I tried.” He winked, back to his usual Jameson self, then motioned for her to get in the car.

────୨ৎ────

Bad ideas upon worse ones.

But they felt right in the moment and Avery could never bring herself to regret them afterwards, so were they really bad?

It was late in the night, and they had been driving around for hours — that felt like mere minutes when they were together — when they came around a drive in movie playing near the beach.

“I don’t understand a word they’re saying.” Jameson whispered to Avery, bringing his smoothie straw to his lips as his gaze was trained on her.

Avery was watching the movie. He was watching her.

She turned to look at him in the drivers seat— the car lights were off but the moonlight made him look the definition of perfect to her if there ever was one.

She gave a half snort, “I swear, It’s that old transatlantic accent, I’m telling you.” She took a sip of her own milkshake.

Their voices were low and hushed, as if they were really at a cinema.

She flickered her gaze between him, and the large screen in front of them and a handful of other cars. “Y’know, the secret is, you just have to really focus on what they’re saying— squinting and everything, mixed in with a little lip reading.” She gestured with her drink in her hand, “Then you’ll get it.”

Words rattled off of Avery’s lips in her comfort. She didn’t have to think about the words too much. When she was with him, she didn’t have to worry if she was speaking too much or too little— she could just be.

Jameson hummed, and Avery took her attention back to the movie. Black and white, barely intelligible— it was perfect. She didn’t take any note of his unusual silence, because she was that engrossed in the film.

“Heiress?” Jameson said.

Avery’s head turned to his, her brows raised, “Yeah, Jamie?”

“It’s been proving impossible to focus on the movie.” He told her, his lips set straight — no grin — with his head leaning against the headrest, Adam’s apple on full view as he swallowed thickly.

“Oh.” Avery tried to ignore that ridiculous feeling again. “Should we drive up closer to the screen?”

“Avery.” Jameson let out a half chuckle, his eyes lidded. “We could drive up right next to it, with the speaker right next to my goddamn ear, and I still wouldn’t be able focus on the movie. Because every fibre, every nerve in my body is alight, and is buzzing for you. I said you were everything earlier, and I meant it. And the movie’s been playing for an hour and the days have been passing but I’ve only been thinking of you.”

Avery nearly dropped her smoothie into her lap. Her raised brows fell, and her gaze was literally stuck on Jameson. She couldn’t look away, and Jameson simply stayed looking at her— not in any expectant way. Simply just, his eyes on hers.

How on earth was she supposed to respond to that? Her heart was thump-thump-thumping in her chest and she could swear Jameson could’ve been able to hear it. Hell, it was probably louder than the movie.

For all her smartness, she couldn’t find a single word to respond with. Eventually, she found 3. “I love you,” She let out in a single breath. “Shit, Jameson. I really love you. All of you. With everything in me. ”

His eyes nearly narrowed. “You do?” The words left Jameson’s lips in a whisper. Of course she did. How couldn’t he see?

Avery realised, for all his apparent cockiness, the Hawthorne boy thought he was unloveable.

“Yeah I do,” Avery let out in a breathy chuckle, feeling like there was a weight lifted off her shoulder. Like she could properly breathe now. She didn’t even realise she couldn’t beforehand.

Jameson tucked a hair behind her ear. He searched her face for something, for tor any tell that she was lying. He couldn’t find anything.

It was dark, but everything was in full resolution for him in that moment. He felt a his pulse quicken, but it was different to what any game or thrill or rush could’ve given him. It was better. It was everything.

“Heiress, you’ve undone me,” He murmured, which wasn’t entirely true. She made him whole, in a sense. Made him better than he was before.

His lips turned up, a slow smile, and the corner of Avery’s mouth flickered upwards.

He leaned over, and so did she, then they met in the middle, their lips ghosting over each others before finally crashing.

The movie was long forgotten.

Avery climbed onto his seat, over the console.

“I love you,” he must’ve repeated 10 times in between their kisses, in between their other murmurs of the kiss, just because he knew he could say it.

And that he really meant it.

a/n: whew it has been a while since ive posted a fic!!! ofc it had to be an aj one 💘sorry if this is a lil rusty i wrote this on the bus.... taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee @hijabi-desi-bookworm @goldi-1-graysons-version @saigonharrington @peppapigsposts @thoughtdaughter3 @apollospoem@jjsblueberry @yayyy-insecurities

#the inheritance games #averyjameson #avery x jameson #jameson hawthorne #avery kylie grambs #tig #grayson hawthorne #xander hawthorne #nash hawthorne #the grandest game #the hawthorne legacy #javery #glorious rivals #avery grambs #tgg #jameson winchester hawthorne #❦ jude writes

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