#preferably from rem

[wiidoodles]

birfday boyz.......

[mxbluemarine]

Post made me look something up and tbh I was surprised to find out that Misa was 19-24 through the series. And listen all I'm saying is

I can treat her right

[suffarustuffaru]

Not meaning to throw any shade at Rem, but I hate how her character ended up being restricted to only loving Subaru. It became her personality and her reason to exist

Meanwhile my man Otto has layers and fun dynamics with everyone WHILE also being codependent and hopelessly in love to Subaru (in my point of view)

I hope that now Tappei will be able to balance Rem's character and give her another personality trait besides her love for Subaru

ok so if anyone else is seeing this, this is referring to a poll i made a few days ago pitting rem and otto against each other bc theyre both the resident codependent subaru devotees and they do parallel/contrast each other a bit 👍

but yeah anon… not to affect the poll results or anything wkdndnd but i agree a lot with you!! i have mixed feelings on rem bc i do love her a lot—im halfway through her and ram’s prequel novel and im enjoying it a lot, and also i liked her the moment i watched season 1 of the anime for the first time. shes an intriguing character with a well written backstory and her own set of flaws and traits. but i think the big thing is her and ottos relationships with subaru, while subaru is first place in both of their hearts and subaru comes first before anyone else at this point, rem and ottos flavors of Dependency are different?

like with rem, i think its the point that her whole being ends up revolving around subaru. not that otto isnt like that either, of course, but otto has Way More of a life outside of subaru. otto has a whole group of people from the emilia camp to marone and his family that he cares about other than subaru, and on top of that, ottos job in the emilia camp is to communicate with others both within and outside of his camp. then theres his dp, which is also dependent and ABOUT communication. when it comes to rem and otto, theres absolutely no competing on this, otto is the one with more of. a Life. not that rem doesnt have other people she cares about and other people she talks with and other people she likes (and also rem was unfortunately Gluttonyed), but the top two closest people in her life were always ram then subaru. otto got lucky with his loving family, bc rems Entire Life has molded her into being dependent on others. shes told by her family that the only reason shes alive is bc ram saved her. ram is the only person who loves her. she envies ram and then she feels so guilty after her village is destroyed and rams horn is gone (especially when rem is initially. kind of Glad that rams horn is gone). so rem places her worth on serving the people she loves—ram and subaru. rem has spent her WHOLE LIFE like this. remsuba as a relationship has its ups and downs but arc 3 rem is, while sweet and well meaning, shes not the healthiest. remsuba isnt the healthiest. and then arc 7-8 comes in and yeah while rems pov of subaru and the whole situation is Understandable from what little she knows, yeah its not the healthiest either (and also i dont forgive her for being mean about natsumi wkfndnd).

not that ottosuba is the Healthiest given they seem like theyre going to become. a bit Toxic in arc 8 if they keep being stubborn, but the big difference is in how otto and rem devote themselves. bc rems problem (in arc 3) is that she enables subaru a little too much. i mean sloth if exists for a reason, she ran away with subaru and RAM AND EVERYONE ELSE DIED. ottos problem is that hes 1. obsessed with opposing subaru and 2. not straightforward with his feelings the way arc 3 rem is. bc at least pre gluttony rem is gonna straightforwardly be like “id do anything for you” and “i love you” etc etc. like yeah ottos like “youre my friend!!” but hes also gonna complain nonstop about subaru to his face and say shit like “ill leave at the first sight of danger!!” RIGHT AFTER RISKING HIS LIFE FOR SUBARU. and also even then arc 8 rems siding with subaru on louis so shes enabling him in that respect too (even though arc 8 rem is different from arc 3 rem of course). ergo, rem is the one who wants to support subaru Unconditionally. even if its not what youd consider the right decision. otto tries to help subaru get what he wants, but if otto doesnt agree he starts getting aggressive. rem makes herself pliable and into a bit of a doormat for subaru, otto starts getting out the pitchforks and tries to control things bc he thinks his way his best for subaru in the end. that, and while subaru does go first in ottos heart, hes STILL loyal to the entire emilia camp as a whole (minus roswaal). thats why he wanted to leave vollachia, he wanted to save the ENTIRE emilia camp.

but like you said anon—while the point is that rem ends up centering her whole life around subaru, i feel that tappei handles otto (who has SIMILAR PLOT BEATS) with far more nuance. like while otto will literally do anything else besides actually say “i love you” or “id do anything for you”, his arc is more straightforward and consistent than rems. again, rem got gluttonyed and a bunch of different stuff have happened with her so of course her arc has been more Dramatic in its changes, but with otto he grows and changes but at the same time he doesnt change At All. his arc 8 self is doing stuff hes been capable of this whole time, vollachia and subaru just bring out his more hidden traits. the narrative is just way more consistent with emphasizing that while otto thinks hes in the right, hes also Wrong in a lot of ways. his mindset rn is Not Healthy and i feel that the narrative shows that more with him than it does rem a lot. like the writing literally goes out of its way to shit on otto a bit for being a little messed up in the head, while you have to read more into rems plot and then some audiences just completely miss the point of her character. that and—yeah, rems reasons are all very understandable, but i feel that tappei romanticizes her a bit too much. all you have to do is look at sloth if bc sloth if seems a Bit too fluffy to me despite the absolute Dark Backdrop. like yeah. subaru rbds back to arc 3 at the end. but i feel like sloth if just sweeps a lot of the dark underbelly under the rug. ottosuba as a dynamic to me just feels more Equal than remsuba does, which is probably a bit strange HAH bc ottosuba as a dynamic is based on Conflict (especially when you remember ottosuba across the ifs too) and their power dynamics in arc 8 are likely going to get crazy at some point.

plus its like—the way the whole louis situation has been handled made me think that tappei wouldnt even bother examining the Problems with louis and subaru + rems relationships with louis, but luckily arc 8 has been getting into that more. so like i dont completely trust tappei with female characters (he has a habit of. fumbling the bag a bit with them sometimes, imo. he gets out such great complex main female characters then he starts messing up with their writing like halfway through). but like you anon, i hope that rem gets far more character development. the poor girl has spent her whole life basing her worth on others….

and well. again, i think the difference in how the writing treats otto vs rem is probably also bc ottos a boy and rems a girl. so of course otto consistently gets a bit more nuance, and of course certain parts of the audience just see rem and think “waifu who would do anything for you” rather than “this is a traumatized girl who means well but has poor boundaries and Codependency Issues”, and some people see otto and think “he doesnt love subaru that much lol” and sweep his own codependency and Issues under the rug. and then you look at the narrative and, like you said anon, otto is allowed to have fun dynamics with everyone while still being Fixated on subaru. rem hasnt had much of a chance in that category yet.

[pbaz7]

SOFT SPOT: CHAPTER 10

paige x azzi

word count: 9.1k

a/n: my sleep schedule has been shitty as hell so i don’t even remember writing half of this honestly. so sorry it took so long. feel free to let me know if there’s anything specific you’d like to see in the series or any comments you have! if they’re any mistakes please let me know :)

—————————————————————————

For about two weeks, all Paige and Azzi did was orbit around each other. They were tangled in quiet routines that they created for themselves, mixed with the perfect amount of chaotic affection. Days melted into nights with no clear beginning or end, the rhythm they’d set with each other was the only thing that seemed to matter.

Azzi managed to do a few basketball workouts here and there. Small things just to keep her body moving and active during her break. During one of them, she surprisingly discovered that Paige could actually hoop. She wasn’t flashy about it, but she moved with a gracefulness when she had the ball in her hand. Azzi had grinned at her from across the gym, a little breathless from her own workout. Paige had just smirked at her before dribbling the ball between her legs and looking away.

Grocery store trips turned into adventures, Azzi throwing random snacks in the cart just to see what Paige would veto or complain about. They cooked shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, feeding bites of food from each other’s plates and slow dancing to whatever playlist was echoing through the house. Azzi always cooked what she knew Paige preferred to eat and Paige always forced Azzi to sit down while she cleaned.

And of course mixed in with their new found domestication they were all over each other constantly. The kitchen counter, the couch, the shower, the floor that one time they drunkenly didn’t make it to the bed, in front of the fireplace, the laundry room table. It didn’t matter where they were or what time it was. If Azzi looked at Paige a certain way, that was all it took and well...Azzi was always looking at Paige a certain way.

In those two weeks Azzi discovered something soft, something she didn’t know she craved until it was in front of her. Paige had a protector’s heart, and Azzi loved every second of it.

Paige always slept on the side of the bed closest to the door; Azzi learned the hard way when Paige pushed her to the other side of the bed in the middle of REM sleep the night she had gone to bed before her. Paige unlocked the car for Azzi first, waiting until Azzi was inside before locking the door back and walking around to the driver’s side. She always chose a seat with a clear view of the exit, her posture relaxed and attuned to what Azzi was saying but always somehow alert. Azzi noticed how Paige would subtly angle herself toward her when they walked through crowds, or how Paige’s hand would naturally rest on her lower back gently leading her.

Azzi had her own small habits too. She folded Paige’s laundry in the meticulous way Paige liked it—T-shirts rolled, not folded. She helped Paige wash her hair when she complained about having to do it. She traced the lines of Paige’s back with her fingers absentmindedly when they were laying on the couch, whispering soft questions that kept her alert. She learned the difference between Paige’s “I’m fine” and her actual fine, the way her voice would dip a little lower when she was overwhelmed, how her eyes would drift somewhere to the corner when she needed a break but didn’t want to hurt Azzi’s feelings and ask for one.

In two weeks, they’d mapped out the best kind of intimacy a relationship could have. It wasn’t loud, nor performative for anyone around them but perfect for their bubble. Built through sleepy forehead kisses, late-night drives when Azzi couldn’t fall asleep, and a thousand small details that they started to memorize.

Somewhere in the middle of all of it, they fell even deeper for the other, neither of them saying the words but showing it in every look, touch, and act of care.

…

Present day Azzi had just gotten goddess braids for the off season and Paige hadn’t stopped staring at her since.

Paige barely blinked when Azzi first stepped out of the salon, her eyes dragging over her like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. Now on the drive home, Paige couldn’t stop glancing over, mumbling half-sentences like “I feel like I’m cheating, swear to God.”

Azzi just laughed as she rested her elbow against the window and turned her head toward Paige. “Mmm you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the door.”

Paige just shook her head, biting her lip, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s hair down to her collarbone like she couldn’t help herself before drifting back to the road. “I’m tryna be respectful baby, but Jesus.”

As soon as the front door closed Paige was behind Azzi, wrapping her arms around her waist and brushing her lips against her shoulder as she spoke. “You got me a lil ready for you already, mama,” she whispered.

Azzi turned her head slightly to whisper back, “You’re the one out here in all black like you don’t know what that does to me.”

Paige hummed, a small smile on her lips. “So we thinkin’ the same thing.”

Azzi laughed and tried to walk away, to at least kick off her shoes and grab some water, but Paige wasn’t having it as she immediately tugged Azzi gently back against her. “Just lemme look at you for a second,” Paige whispered, and Azzi could hear the sincerity in her voice. She turned, slowly to face her fully now. Paige’s heart skipped as her eyes met Azzi’s again, her gaze drinking in every new detail. The braids framed Azzi’s face perfectly and they were pulled back enough to show off her dimples and her doe eyes.

Paige reached up, using her middle finger and thumb to brush one of the braids like it was something delicate. “You look perfect,” she said, quietly. “Like…fuck man.”

Azzi let her hands rest on Paige’s hips, slipping her thumbs underneath the edge of the black tank top she’d been side-eyeing all day. “Lemme see how perfect you can make me feel baby.”

Paige grinned as she gently grabbed Azzi’s chin before connecting their lips. Making sure to kiss her intentionally; hungry in that way that never seemed to go away no matter how many days they spent tangled up in each other.

Without breaking the kiss, Paige swept her arms under Azzi’s thighs and lifted her off the ground causing Azzi to gasp against her mouth as she wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck. Paige carried her to the kitchen and sat her on the counter gently to stand between her legs.

Azzi barely had time to process the cold surface against her thighs before she felt Paige’s mouth on her neck and her hands under her shirt, trailing up her sides like she already knew every inch of her skin by heart.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes before Paige was helping Azzi pull off her shirt. Throwing it somewhere over her shoulder. She pulled back to take a breath and her eyes roamed over Azzi’s chest, her jaw tightening slightly.

“God damn,” she mumbled, her eyes full of admiration as she leaned in again, kissing and sucking along Azzi’s chest.

Azzi messily pulled Paige’s tank up and over her head, revealing the bruises, scratches, and love bites still fresh across her skin. Azzi’s eyes dragged over each one. All of them were small territorial pieces of evidence from the other day when Paige practically dared her to make a point because Azzi was pissy over another woman touching Paige’s arm.

Her fingers ghosted over the marks on Paige’s ribs, and she smiled. “I like these on you.”

Paige smiled as her mouth continued to trail down the valley of Azzi’s chest. “Still feel it every time I move.”

Azzi’s fingers moved down to undo Paige’s belt, her breath catching when Paige pulled her bra down slightly and her teeth nipped at her nipple before soothing it with her tongue. “Good,” she whispered, “Maybe next time you won’t let other bitches flirt with you in front of me.”

Paige laughed against her chest. “Nobody was flirting with me baby.”

Azzi just rolled her eyes and pulled Paige up to connect their lips. They were so wrapped up in one another—Azzi fingers tangled in Paige’s hair, Paige pulling at Azzi’s hips to get closer, her belt clinking against the edge of the counter—that they didn’t hear the front door open. They didn’t hear the keys drop in the bowl by the entrance.

Azzi’s breath hitched when Paige bit at her bottom lip before sloppily trailing down her neck.

The belt clinked softly against the edge of the counter again, but it was barely noticeable over the sounds of their own breathing. Azzi moaned softly as Paige sucked on the pulse point of her neck, moving her hands down to grip the edge of the counter.

“Yo, are y’all—? Oh my God!”

Azzi was slightly startled and on instinct pulled Paige closer to her to block their view, her chest unsteady as they both turned their heads toward the kitchen entrance.

Cam spun around so fast her blonde braid whipped behind her, using her hands to cover her face as she squeezed her eyes shut in horror. “Lord, please, I am begging you to please never let me see my sister like that again. Please, God. Take the memory away.”

Rickea and Rae stood there completely frozen, their mouths slightly open, Rickea’s eyes scanning Paige’s torso in shock while Rae’s just stayed locked in place.

Meanwhile, DiJonai brushed right past them all to open the fridge like she wasn’t surprised at what she’d just walked into in the slightest. Only offering a, “Y’all better not be sweating on the counters I’m supposed to be cooking on.”

Once Azzi adjusted her bra she turned fully toward the group looking a little mortified.

Paige, on the other hand, leaned against the counter casually and seemed completely unbothered, even with her pants still undone and her abs on display.

Rickea let out a whistle as her eyes dragged across Paige’s torso. “Damn...look like somebody been busy. She been fucking you up.”

Paige glanced down at herself and smirked. “Lil bit.”

Cam, who was still turned away, groaned louder. “Why are you answering her?! Paige I cannot unsee this. I need bleach for my eyes. Therapy maybe.”

Rae blinked once, still not saying anything, but her gaze hadn’t moved away from Paige’s exposed stomach and the way her opened pants hung a little too low on her hips.

Azzi noticed and her jaw tensed, a slight possessiveness burning in her chest as she snatched Paige’s shirt off the counter and tossed it at her aggressively. “Put on a shirt.”

Paige easily caught it sliding the black tank top over her head without saying anything. She took her time buttoning and zipping her pants before looping her belt back through. Azzi could tell that her usual wall was back up without her even saying anything.

Rickea laughed under her breath, elbowing Rae. “You really couldn’t look anywhere else?”

Rae blinked again, like she finally snapped out of her daze. “I—I didn’t even realize. That was involuntary, I’m sorry.”

“Right,” Azzi said flatly, yanking her own shirt over her head. “Y’all ever heard of knocking?”

Before anyone could respond, Cam, who was still facing the other direction with her eyes on the ceiling said, “Paige, are you fully clothed now?”

Paige didn’t bother answering. She moved to brush past her before heading upstairs. Which, of course, left Azzi standing alone in the kitchen.

“So that’s what y’all be on?” Rickea teased, as she crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I ain’t know you were a lil kinky.”

Cam groaned.

Rae, who was leaning on the counter, decided to add her two cents, “So what’s the safe word?”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it could’ve been audible. “Y’all are annoying.”

“Annoying, or right?” Rickea grinned. “Because the evidence is all over Paige’s body.”

“It’s giving: ‘do not cook on that counter,’” Cam mumbled, finally turning around. “I swear if I ever eat toast off that counter again and catch a flavor—”

“Cam,” Azzi groaned, her face starting to burn as she reached for a water bottle to occupy her hands. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” Cam repeated. “You had my sister shirtless with her pants open in the kitchen in the middle of the day!”

“And I’d do it again,” Azzi said under her breath, but it was loud enough to make Rickea holler.

“She said what she said!”

DiJonai, who was sitting at the counter eating grapes, finally spoke up. “Y’all acting shocked like we ain’t all see this coming eventually.”

“True,” Rickea nodded. “Still...the kitchen, though Azzi?”

Azzi took a sip of her water and shrugged. “The vibe was right.”

Before anyone could respond, they heard Paige coming back down the stairs and they all turned towards her when she walked in the kitchen. “Why are y’all in my house?”

Cam looked at her like she was confused by the question. “Umm, maybe because your entire family is in town and coming over for dinner? Or did you forget?”

Paige just blinked at her, completely void of any recognition about what she was saying.

Rickea snorted and Rae tried to hide her smile while Cam sighed dramatically. “You don’t remember, do you?” Cam asked.

“No,” Paige said dryly before walking over to reach into DiJonai’s bowl of grapes and tossing one in her mouth.

DiJonai nudged the bowl a little closer to her without looking up from her phone. “Don’t eat the green ones. They’re too sour.”

Paige wordlessly nodded before picking through the bowl until she had a small handful of red ones. When she was done she turned and made her way into the living room, sinking into the couch before throwing on a random NBA game. Muted, of course.

The others lingered in the kitchen for a few seconds before they naturally drifted after her.

“So what are we making for dinner?” Rickea asked, as she sat on the arm of the chair closest to the couch. “Cause I’m not about to eat anything Cam cooks.”

Cam rolled her eyes. “That one time the chicken was undercooked was years ago.”

“That was last summer,” Rae corrected, as she scrolled through her phone.

DiJonai walked in and said, “I got salmon when we were at the store but I’m not about to do everything myself.”

They all settled into the living room, discussing sides and who was cooking what but it started to get a little loud when Rae and Rickea were arguing over who would prep the salmon for DiJonai.

This caused Paige to break her silence without looking at them. “If you gon’ talk,” she said flatly, “at least lower your voice.”

“Damn, I thought you’d be nicer now that you’re fuckin’ all the time,” Rickea said.

Paige turned her head to give Rickea a look that was so blank it bordered on disrespectful.

Azzi, who finally wandered in the living room had two waters in her hand and passed one to Paige before easing onto the couch next to her. She glanced between Paige and the rest of the group chuckling to herself a little. “What happened to that smile you had ten minutes ago pretty?” she teased gently as she bumped Paige’s knee with her own.

Paige’s eyes shifted toward her and gave her a small grin, her eyes a little less closed off.

Azzi smiled back at her and Paige’s hand subtly reached for hers, intertwining their fingers and pulling Azzi a little closer as she went back to watching the game.

Just like that, the chatter picked back up the girls bouncing between kitchen plans, whose playlist sucked less, and whether or not Rae was going to get distracted and burn the garlic bread again. This all happened while Paige stayed sitting next to Azzi, only ever really dialed into the conversation when she was speaking.

…

Later that day when Paige’s family got there, it was immediately chaotic. The door barely swung open before her siblings were barreling in—Lauren asking for food, Drew talking trash to Cam and Ryan almost knocking over Rae trying to race to the living room to play her PS5.

Her dad was behind them, holding a tray of some store bought dessert and his current girlfriend’s hand, already in the middle of a story no one asked for. Her mom came in a few minutes later with a few wine bottles in her hands and a tight smile that said she’d already been sipping on one before she got there.

Paige’s house that was previously filled with a peacefulness that made her chest feel open was now just loud and ringing in her ears. Tipsy laughter, overlapping conversations: Rickea teasing Drew, Rae and Cam loudly debating over the music, DiJonai yelling from the kitchen about Rae almost burning the garlic bread. Azzi was the only one who didn’t make Paige want to disappear.

Paige didn’t say much. She drifted around the edges of the room, slipping between the kitchen and couch and wherever else she could avoid contact. When the adults asked her questions, she gave clipped responses. When her siblings bugged her, she tried to soften for them, but even then her voice stayed flat. She wasn’t mad, she just felt tired causing her to want to disconnect from the chaos.

Still the night was going fine, as fine as Paige could manage until her dad brought up the fight.

“You know,” he said, laughing too loudly over his whisky glass as he tossed a card on the table, “that was probably the most impressive fight I’ve ever seen from you, kid. I mean, everything about it was perfect. The setup, the speed, everything. Never seen anything more beautiful.”

Paige didn’t look up from her hand as she tossed a card down. “Thanks,” she said flatly, not bothering to fake a smile.

“Seriously I mean it, though! You were locked in like you used to be back in the day. We were all watching it on the big screen at—what was it, Sam’s place I think?” he glanced over his shoulder towards his girlfriend for confirmation. “Yeah, yeah, we were all losing our damn minds. All my buddies were blown away.”

Paige shrugged. “Don’t remember much of it.”

Her dad looked surprised at this statement. “How do you not remember something like that?”

She didn’t respond.

He shook his head like he couldn’t accept that and reached for the remote. “You gotta see it. It’s everywhere. Think it has millions of views on YouTube now. Whole crowd was on their feet in the background.”

Paige's hand twitched in her lap before she pressed her nails into her palm. “I’m not tryna watch that right now dad.”

He waved her off like she didn’t say anything at all, already pulling up the video.

The second it lit up the large screen in her living room Paige saw her own face in the corner of the screen. She saw her fists taped, her eyes dark and her shoulders a little stiff. She felt her stomach twist, that same nausea from after the fight creeping in her abdomen and a metallic taste feeling the back of her throat. She couldn’t process the emptiness she saw on her own face.

Paige stood up quietly, taking the cards off her lap and putting them on the table without saying anything before walking out of the room. Tripping slightly over her foot on the way out.

From the kitchen where she was making Paige a drink, Azzi caught movement in the corner of her eye. She walked toward the living room, slightly confused when she heard the voice of a flight announcer yelling through the HD speakers of Paige’s living room.

The video seemed like it rolled in slow motion, showing Paige standing there, flexing her jaw as the ref gave final instructions. Azzi wasn’t listening to the sound coming from the TV, she was watching Paige’s face. Watching the hollowness in her expression, how empty her beautiful blue eyes looked as the camera zoomed in.

Azzi’s grip on the glass she was holding tightened. How did no one else see it? DiJonai, to her credit, looked uneasy. Her arms were crossed as she looked at the screen for a few seconds before she just tore her eyes away and pulled out her phone.

“Where’s Paige?” Azzi asked.

No one looked up, not wanting to miss the fight that just started.

DiJonai answered when she noticed nobody else was going to say anything. “I think she went upstairs.”

Azzi nodded once, pressing her lips together. “Thanks.” She moved to put her drink down on the counter in the kitchen before heading upstairs, the noise of the living room getting quieter.

When she stepped into Paige’s room it was empty but she noticed that the bathroom door was closed and she heard the sound of running water echoing behind it. She walked over and knocked on the door gently.

A tired, “What?” came from the other side.

“It’s me, baby,” Azzi said softly.

There was a pause. Then Paige’s voice came back noticeably softer now: “Come in.”

Azzi opened the door and stepped inside.

Paige was standing at the sink and her face was damp like she’d just splashed water on it in an attempt to steady herself. Her eyes were rimmed with a redness, not quite from crying, but Azzi could tell she was close to it.

Azzi crossed the small space between them moving to weave her fingers into Paige’s hair, coming through the strands gently.

Paige closed her eyes at the feeling as she leaned into it.

“You okay?” Azzi whispered

“No,” Paige said truthfully. Then she added, “I just need a minute though.”

Azzi nodded. “Is there something I can do?”

Instead of answering, Paige reached out and pulled her in by the waist, gently, resting her forehead against Azzi’s for a moment before tilting down and kissing her softly. It was slow, the kind of kiss that silently said thank you even if she didn’t have the words for anything else yet.

Azzi always brought her back. Azzi’s lips, Azzi’s presence, Azzi was just always something steady in the chaos for Paige.

When they pulled away, Paige brushed her thumb over Azzi’s cheek and whispered, “I’m not ready to talk about it right now.”

“Before bed?”

Paige smiled at her and confirmed, “Before bed beautiful.”

Azzi kissed her one more time before giving her one more glance before stepping back. “Don’t stay up here too long, you know I’m clingy”

Paige nodded again as she chuckled, her eyes already softer. “I won’t.”

When Azzi got back downstairs, the fight was still playing on the TV but her eyes landed on DiJonai who was sitting at the island in the kitchen. Azzi made her way over there instead of sitting on the couch, slipping into the stool next to her.

“She good?” DiJonai asked without looking up from her phone.

Azzi nodded lightly. “She’ll be ok.”

DiJonai gave a small nod.

Azzi hesitated for a second, then said, “Thank you…you know, for being there for her when she went to Dallas.”

DiJonai shrugged like it was nothing. “Of course.”

“I know she won’t ever say it,” Azzi said, “but she appreciates you. You’re one of her favorite people.”

DiJonai laughed as she leaned back a little. “I know. She can’t hide it.”

Azzi smiled, shaking her head thinking about Paige. After a moment she asked, “How’d you meet?”

DiJonai’s eyebrows raised in amusement thinking about the story. “She hasn’t told you?”

Azzi shook her head.

DiJonai let out a short laugh. “Okay, so this was Cam’s rookie year, so maybe over three years ago now? We were at this open run at a gym in L.A. Some pros, some overseas girls, just a bunch of random people. Paige was there, sitting on the side. She didn’t say shit the whole time really, was kind of just there watching.”

Azzi nodded as she listened.

“She was just staring and at first I thought she was zoned out, but it lasted for a while and eventually I was like alright she’s definitely starring. So I’m thinking, maybe she feelin’ me or whatever.” DiJonai grinned, shaking her head at herself. “So I walked up to her casually tryna be as nice as possible cause I didn’t know her and I was just like, ‘Hey, I saw you looking but I just wanted to let you know I’m taken.’”

Azzi laughed a little, trying to picture Paige in that moment. “No you didn’t.”

“I swear, I did,” DiJonai laughed. “And Paige was tone-faced as hell and was just like, ‘What?’ She said it super dry. So I say again, ‘You were staring, so I just thought I’d say something,’ and she was like, ‘I definitely wasn’t lookin’ at you.’”

Azzi fully laughed this time.

“It gets better,” DiJonai said, chuckling a little. “I tried to insist like, ‘Nah, you were definitely lookin’ at me.’ And she was like, ‘Promise you I wasn’t. You really not my type sweetheart.’ Then turns her head and went back to watching the run like I wasn’t standing there.”

Azzi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh too loud. “She’s so fucking rude.”

“Right?” DiJonai grinned. “But it was funny and after that, I kinda respected her ’cause she was for real not tryna get with me. Was barely interested in my presence, just wanted to watch basketball and that was rare in L.A.”

DiJonai leaned on her elbows as she continued. “I was in L.A. a lot around that time. Cam was always inviting me to runs, so I started showing up more, hanging out with them after. Paige was super closed off, but we kinda clicked eventually 'cause neither one of us was ever with the bullshit. No fake love.”

Azzi smiled again, her eyes drifting toward the staircase like she could sense Paige near it. “Yeah…that sounds like her.”

“Realest person I’ve ever met,” DiJonai said. Then she added, “She’s prolly the most stubborn too though, so…good luck with that.”

Paige walked in the kitchen, looking a little steadier than she had upstairs. Her hair was slightly damp from where she’d splashed water on her face, but her jaw wasn’t clenched anymore and her shoulders looked looser.

She looked down at Azzi, and said softly, “Talkin’ ’bout me?”

Azzi looked up at her and gave her a small smile before biting her bottom lip slightly to flirt a little. “Always.”

Paige didn’t say anything back just chuckled before walking past both of them and going into the living room. The fight was still on, probably replayed who knows how many times but Paige picked up the remote and turned the TV off, ignoring the protests around her. “Find somethin’ else.”

Azzi who was still sitting at the island smiled even though she couldn’t see Paige.

Paige sat in the corner of the couch, grabbing one of her throw blankets and pulling it over her lap.

The chaos of the house picked up again as they started to entertain themselves now that the fight was off. Her mom started telling a story about one of the AAU mom’s from Ryan’s team while Ryan and Drew immediately turned back on the PS5, Lauren yelling at them to grow up when they argued over who could use the custom controller. Paige sat through it in silence.

Azzi didn’t say anything when she walked in, she just scanned the room until her eyes landed on Paige in the corner of the couch and she made her way over, lowering herself next to her.

Paige adjusted the blanket to cover Azzi’s lap too before shifting to make space for her letting Azzi lean into her side. A loose braid fell across Azzi’s check and Paige reached up to brush it back, her fingers lingering against Azzi’s temple.

“You cold?” Paige asked softly when she noticed Azzi pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Azzi shook her head, smiling at her privately. “M’good baby.”

Her voice was quiet, but neither of them realized that the volume in the room dropped completely. Paige’s mom blinked at them mid-sentence, looking at them with a huge grin. Lauren elbowed Ryan, who looked over and finally noticed the moment too, while Drew stared openly.

None of her family had ever seen Paige like this. To them this was the same girl who could barely tolerate a group hug at family holidays. Now she was gently tucking a blanket over someone else, asking her if she was cold and inviting physical touch like she missed it.

Cam smirked from her chair. “Oh, so this is why you forgot about family dinner.”

Her mom, who was still grinning hugely, leaned over to whisper something to Lauren.

“You’re makin’ me look soft,” Paige whispered.

Azzi leaned in, her nose brushing against the curve of Paige’s neck. “Mmm maybe a little, it’s okay though, right?”

Paige turned her head and when she did their faces were so close their foreheads almost touched. Her eyes held Azzi’s for longer than she intended to. A slight tension in each of their stomach’s as she whispered back, “Right.”

Azzi smiled at her answer as she shifted closer into Paige’s side, tuning back into the original conversation like nothing happened.

Even with this small moment with Azzi, since seeing herself on the TV Paige felt off. The noise around her: the laughter, the overlapping stories, the clatter of glasses seemed to blur in her ears. Not quite ringing but muffled, like she had water clogging her eardrum. Because of this her eyes and her mind drifted often, not fixated on anything in particular but certainly not present.

It happened a few times. When her mom asked Azzi about next season. When her dad laughed too loud at something Cam said. When Drew tried to show her something and she just blinked at him like he was speaking another language. Paige was sitting there but parts of her weren’t and Azzi noticed.

The first time she noticed that Paige zoned out, Azzi slid her hand under the blanket and gently tapped her knee twice. Paige blinked a few times, then glanced over, and Azzi gave her a slight smile, silently asking if she was ok. Paige didn’t smile back, but her eyes softened when she looked at Azzi.

When it happened again, Azzi picked up a strawberry off the table and held it in front of Paige’s mouth without saying anything. Paige stared at it for a second, before she parted her lips slowly bitting it from Azzi’s fingers, chewing absentmindedly while Azzi ate the rest of it.

At one point, Paige leaned her head back against the couch cushion and closed her eyes. Azzi let them stay shut for a while but eventually she nudged her shoulder lightly with her own. “You fallin’ asleep on me big head?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t open her eyes, just gave a raspy “No.” But then she cracked a small smile just for Azzi.

Each time Paige drifted off into her own head, or just spaced out all together Azzi brought her back. Paige offering something small each time to show she appreciated it without saying it outright.

Eventually, DiJonai called out that dinner was ready and the group started moving toward the dining room. Paige stood up slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan and Azzi just laughed at her before waiting for her to walk to the table.

As everyone began picking seats around the table, Azzi started to slide into the open seat next to Cam, assuming Paige’s mom would want to sit next to her daughter but as she started to lower herself into the chair, she felt a soft grip wrap around her wrist.

Paige tugged her back toward the seat next to her. Azzi glanced at Paige’s mom who just gave her a small smile putting her hand on her shoulder before sitting in the seat next to Cam.

Dinner was filled with inside jokes from the kids and overlapping conversation. One of them tried to explain a TikTok trend to their dad who just kept saying it didn’t make any sense. Rae bragged about how everybody seemed to like the garlic bread this time and Cam tried to say they weren’t that good despite being on her second piece already. It was the perfect mix of warmth and noise.

Paige sat in the middle of it all again, quietly chewing on her food, smiling occasionally, but once again there were moments. Smakk fleeting moments where she just faded out. Her eyes would drift down to her plate and her jaw would tighten briefly before loosening again like she was forcing herself to relax.

Once again Azzi saw it each time. She’d nudge Paige’s foot with her own under the table. Whisper something dumb about how aggressive Cam was using her fork. Point out how Drew was eating like somebody was going to steal his plate. Each small effort drew the corners of Paige’s up, even if it was just for a second.

Azzi knew that seeing the fight was bothering her. Getting her stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be so she just wanted to do small things to keep her present.

But like all dads who can’t help but want to brag about their kids, her dad opened his mouth about the fight again. “You know,” he said mid-chew, wiping his hands on a napkin, “I still don’t get why you’re not more pumped about that fight kid. I mean, it was legendary. How are you not still riding that high? Figured we’d have to pull you out of the gym for dinner.”

Paige pushed a piece of a pepper around her plate with her fork before answering, “Told you. I don’t remember it.”

Her dad laughed, confused on why she kept saying this. “C’mon, how do you not remember a fight like that? You were insane out there. I’ve watched it more times than I can count and it’s only been two weeks.”

“I dissociated so bad I don’t remember it.”

There was a pause as everyone processed the words differently. Some thinking it was a good thing, others finally noticing how messed up she seems about the fight.

Her dad just grinned, eating a bite of his salmon before saying, “Man, that’s a different kind of locked in. That’s next-level. Mind of a killer.”

“Right,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi tried to step in, change the subject a little. “Okay, but can we please talk about how Cam is on her third piece of garlic bread tonight. I vividly remember her saying she’d never eat anything Rae touched.”

Everyone laughed. Well everyone except Paige, who didn’t even look up from her plate and her dad who was still curious about fighting.

Her dad leaned in, waving his fork around. “So what are you thinking for the next one? If it’s anything like that last fight, I gotta be there in person. Can’t afford to miss a show like that.”

Paige’s voice was quiet, almost too soft to hear over the chatter. “I’m takin’ a break.”

He blinked at her. “A break?”

She didn’t bother to elaborate.

“What do you mean?” he asked again, frowning now.

“I mean,” Paige said slower, drier, “I’m takin’ a break. Not fighting.”

Her dad gave a quick scoff, like he was brushing it off. “Come on, kid. What? That was probably the best form you’ve been in since you started. You had that girl out of her league. You got—”

“I just need a break,” Paige cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

There was a brief silence until Ryan, her younger brother, piped up with a grin, trying to lighten the mood but not fully knowing any better with his comment. “She probably just wants more time up under Azzi.”

It was meant to be a joke, but it landed wrong, especially the way he said it.

Paige turned her head toward him and her expression was unreadable. “Watch your mouth, Ryan.”

The grin faded off his face, and he looked down at his plate.

Her dad sighed, clearly still not understanding. “Okay, so how long you thinkin’? Just a few weeks without hitting the gym? A month?”

“I don’t know dad.”

“Well, you better figure it out soon,” he said, voice picking up at the end of each word. “There’s already talk about someone throwing another challenge your way in a few months. Big up and comer. Could be a real headliner if everybody plays their cards right.”

“I’m reigning champ,” Paige replied, not even bothering to look at him. “I’ll be fine saying no to one fight.”

“But you know how this works. Momentum matters. You slow down now, people start talking—”

Paige dropped her fork with a soft clink against the plate and looked up. When she did her eyes looked tired but there was a sharpness to them. “I don’t need you to manage my career, I pay somebody for that.”

That shut him up and no one else spoke after that. The table felt still, suspended in a slight awkwardness for a second until Rickea at the far end changed the subject with a forced laugh and a comment about Rae.

Paige didn’t join in. She reached for her napkin, wiped her mouth before pushing her chair back and getting up from the table. She quietly walked towards the patio doors before slipping into the backyard.

Everyone kept eating like nothing happened, even though the energy had shifted just a little.

Azzi gave her a few minutes, enough time to breathe without an audience; gather herself if she needed to, before she quietly stood up and followed her outside.

When Azzi stepped out the night air was a little brisk so she wrapped her arms around herself before her eyes caught the light coming from the far end of the yard in the gym.

When she stepped inside, Paige’s scent filled the air naturally along with the smell of leather and lavender. Her eyes landed on the cage where she saw Paige lying flat on her back in the middle of it with her eyes fixed on the ceiling like she was trying to find answers in her ceiling.

Azzi walked into the cage quietly and eased herself down next to Paige not saying anything. She just laid there with her, shoulder to shoulder, their bodies naturally aligning like puzzle pieces.

After a moment, Paige reached over and pulled Azzi into her chest and Azzi adjusted herself to fit more comfortably, draping her arm across Paige’s waist and resting her head where she could hear the thump of her heart. It was loud, louder than usual. Like it had something to say to the rest of Paige’s body.

They laid like that, in the stillness of the gym, until Azzi spoke up. “Tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours please.”

Paige exhaled, using her fingers to toying with one of Azzi’s braids, a grounding motion more for herself than anything else. “I just don’t feel fully here right now,” she admitted quietly. “I Can feel myself dissociating and I…I don’t like it. I’ve been fine for two weeks before today.”

“It didn’t start happening until he brought up the fight,” Azzi pointed out, watching her reaction closely.

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I know.” There was a long pause before she continued, her eyes slightly unfocused as she stared past the ceiling. “My body still feels physically sick when I think about it. Like it happened today. Like I’m back there. I have to force myself not to think about it the second I wake up. Every day. Like I’m making a conscious decision to not let it spiral the moment I open my eyes.”

Azzi moved her hand up to the base of her neck, running her fingers through her hair again. “Ohh,” she said with a big grin, trying to lift the weight in Paige’s chest with a joke, “so that’s why you’ve been waking me up at the ass crack of dawn, claiming you’re bored?”

Paige let out a laugh, the first real one of the night. “God forbid I need a little entertainment first thing.”

Azzi playfully rolled her eyes at the excuse before swinging her leg over to straddle Paige’s waist. Paige’s hands went to Azzi’s hips without thinking.

Azzi leaned down, her fingertips moving through Paige’s roots in a calming pattern. “The psychiatrist we found. She’s scheduled to come tomorrow, right?”

Paige nodded, as she closed her eyes. “Yeah.”

“You still good with it?” Azzi asked softly.

“I mean…not excited,” Paige murmured, “but I know I need to talk to somebody. Can’t keep pretending I’m fine.”

Azzi brushed a bit of hair away from her forehead with her thumb. “You don’t have to be ‘fine’ with me all the time. I hope you know that.”

“I know,” Paige said, opening her eyes to look down to meet Azzi’s. “It’s the only reason I’m not losing my mind right now.”

Azzi tilted her head up. “That and the fact I’m a phenomenal emotional support girlfriend.”

Paige smirked, squeezing her hips. “Mmm. Top tier, really.”

Azzi leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. “Can’t let you forget it.”

She lingered there, close enough for her breath to tickle Paige’s lips as she smiled at her. Then, gently, she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to Paige’s in a soft kiss. It was filled with the natural affection that started to live in the space they’d carved for each other.

Paige’s hands slid up Azzi’s sides, brushing her thumbs over her ribs as she melted into the softness of Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shifted down, angling her head to deepen the kiss as she caught Paige’s lower lip between hers. Paige’s spine pressed into the floor of the cage as Azzi pressed down further, rolling her hips once to test the waters. Then again when she heard a soft hum at the base of Paige’s throat.

Paige wrapped her arms around Azzi’s torso, wanting to be closer to her.

Then a knock on the gym door interrupted the moment.

Paige let her head fall back against the floor with a soft thud as she groaned in frustration.

Azzi immediately swatted her shoulder. “Why would you let your big ass head fall back like that?” She rolled off of Paige with a sigh when all she did was just grinned up at her.

Eventually Paige called out dryly, “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and her dad poppied his head in, looking half-guilty. “We’re gonna head out, kid. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Paige gave him a thumbs up, not bothering to sit up. Her dad gave her a tight smile before pulling the door shut behind him.

The silence barely lasted a heartbeat before Paige was pulling Azzi back toward her, curling her hands around her waist again. Azzi leaned in close, letting their nose brush and Paige’s eyes fluttered closed before she whispered against her lips, “No.”

Paige’s eyebrows furrowed, and she pouted, “You’re no fun.”

Azzi grinned and gave her a quick peck. “Don’t pout. I’ll make it up to you later I promise.”

Paige grinned widely and she looked so cute it made it hard for Azzi not to give in to her when she said, “Why not now?”

Azzi opened her mouth, ready to answer when the gym doors slammed open with a loud bang.

“Yo stop fuckin!” Rickea’s yelled.

“We knew y’all were hidin’ in here somewhere,” Rae added as they all walked in ready to distract Paige in whatever way she needed.

DiJonai walked in last, shaking her head. “Look at this. Can’t leave y'all alone for five seconds.”

Azzi huffed, sitting up reluctantly mumbling, “That’s why not.”

Paige sighed, letting her head fall back against the mat again, mumbling to herself, “This is why I can't have nice things.”

Rickea squinted at the two of them from the edge of the cage. “Y’all makin’ out in here or having a kumbaya? I can’t tell.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just closes her eyes like she was trying to will the interruption away while Azzi stands up, brushing off her pants.

Cam chimed in not wanting to hear anything about what they were potentially doing as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “Paigey, you gotta teach Rae how to throw a punch.”

“No,” Paige said flatly without opening her eyes.

That got the whole group laughing.

“Wait, seriously though, she doesn’t know how to throw one.”

Paige finally cracked her eye’s open, locking eyes with Rae. “You deadass?”

“Unfortunately,” Rae admitted with a small shrug, clearly not proud of it.

Paige exhaled like it physically pained her to get up from where she was. Still she sat up slowly, rolling her neck before stepping out of the cage. “Grab wrap and some gloves,” she mumbled as she made her way toward a bench.

Rickea leaned over to Rae, whispering. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid or Azzi gon’ get you.”

Rae shoved her lightly, laughing under her breath as she walked toward the wall Paige pointed to.

The second Paige sat down at the bench, Azzi followed her and slid in behind her, draping her arms around Paige’s waist and resting her chin on her shoulder. The move seemed casual, but there was a slight deliberate possession in the decision.

Paige tilted her head back to glance at her. “Wassup?”

Azzi’s lips brushed her ear as she whispered, “Don’t be all touchy.”

Rae walked up holding the wrap and gloves in her hands as she plopped down cross-legged in front of Paige before she could respond. Paige just chuckled at Azzi’s whispered warning.

Without pulling away from the way Azzi was draped over her shoulders and trailing her nails across her neck Paige reached out and grabbed one of Rae’s hands as she started to work the wrap around her knuckles.

“So wait,” Cam said, as she leaned against the wall, “how you a whole D1 athlete and don’t know how to throw a punch Rae?”

“I play basketball, not Mortal Kombat,” Rae answered like it was a stupid question.

Rickea snorted. “Girl, with how you foul, I just assumed you’d be good at it.”

“See, this is why I don’t play defense,” Rae mumbled under her breath.

As Paige silently focused on wrapping Rae’s fingers, Azzi stayed behind her, practically molded to her back. Her hands moved down to casually slide beneath Paige’s sweatshirt, her nails scratching softly at the skin near her waist.

Paige’s movements stuttered briefly, but she didn’t say anything about it.

Azzi leaned in to whisper, “Just making sure you don’t forget I’m here.”

“You’re literally in my spine,” Paige muttered.

“Exactly,” Azzi grinned.

DiJonai walked up, holding up her wrapped hands for Paige to inspect, having learned to do it herself during Paige’s extended stay in Dallas. Paige glanced at them, gave her a quick nod, and DiJonai went back to her corner to put some gloves on.

Paige tightened the wrap as she worked toward Rae’s wrist. Azzi shifted behind her, resting her chin on Paige’s shoulder again and starting to sway them both slightly like she was slow dancing in place.

“Ma’am,” Paige said under her breath, lips twitching to hide her smile. “Please.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Azzi said, her voice quiet for only Paige to hear as she nestled even closer into her neck. “Just supportin’ my girlfriend as she gives out free boxing lessons to other women.”

Paige glanced back at her with a faint grin. “She’s your teammate.”

Azzi only responded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Paige shook her head, finishing the last loop of the wrap around Rae’s hand. “Flex your fingers.”

Rae did as she was told, curling her fingers a few times and Paige gave a nod, jerking her chin toward the light bag.

Rae stood up, cracking her knuckles like she knew what she was doing. “Try not to judge me too hard,” she mumbled as she walked off.

Paige pushed off her knees, about to follow her, but Azzi’s grip around her waist stayed tight, holding her in place. Paige paused, chuckling as she looked over her shoulder. “Wassup, mama?”

Azzi pouted, putting her plump lips on display, as she furrowed her eyebrows like she wasn’t ready to share. Paige chuckled again before angling herself to press a kiss to her lips. Letting it linger for a few seconds.

From the cage, Cam’s exaggerated gagging cut through the moment. “Okay! We get it! Y’all like each other or whatever,” she yelled. “Go touch gloves or touch foreheads just stop doing it in front of me!”

Paige pulled back with a lopsided grin, whispering against Azzi’s lips, “You’n gotta be jealous.”

“I’m not,” Azzi whispered even though she was still holding her waist like she was indeed very jealous.

“Right.” Paige kissed her one more time before standing up and walking over to where Rae stood by the bag.

Rae stood in front of the light bag and her stance was uncertain, fists raised like she’d only ever watched boxing on TV.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” Paige said, tapping Rae’s ankle with her foot to guide it. “You’re gonna wanna keep one slightly back so you can pivot. Don’t be flat-footed or it’ll take you too long to move.”

Rae adjusted before glancing over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Paige gave a small nod. “Better. Keep your chin tucked and your hands up. Higher.” She stepped closer and lifted Rae’s left wrist. “You’re not waving at nobody. Guard your face.”

She said you look friendly as hell!” Rickea laughed from the bench, stretching her legs out.

“I am friendly,” Rae muttered.

“Yeah, and that’s how you get fucked up,” Paige said. She demonstrated a jab in the air. “Lead with your left then come across with your right.”

Rae attempted to mimic what Paige did. Her form was a little stiff, but passable.

“Not terrible,” Paige said. “Loosen up though. You throwing like you're worried about breaking a nail.”

“Because I am!” Rae shot back, shaking her hand out with a grin.

“Girl,” DiJonai said, as she practiced slow combos against her own bag.

Rae tried again and the second time she was a little more relaxed. Paige stepped in behind her, using her hands to adjust Rae’s shoulders and guiding her hip through the rotation of a punch.

From the bench Azzi narrowed her eyes. She reached next to her on the bench and grabbed a spare wrap, and threw it at Paige. It thumped against her back.

Paige looked over her shoulder. “Really?”

Azzi raised her eyebrow, looking a little dryly at Paige. “You tryna spar or flirt?”

“I’m teaching.”

“You’re teaching real hands-on.”

Paige shook her head before taking a step back.

Rickea snorted. “She got real professional real quick, huh?”

Paige mumbled something under her breath, before turning back towards Rae. “Again. This time, pivot on that back foot. Don’t muscle it, snap it.”

Rae’s next punch landed with a satisfying pop that made Paige miss the sound. Rae blinked in surprise, glancing back at Paige for approval.

“There you go.” Paige gave a short nod. “Do that like ten more times. Then switch sides. Reset your stance each time.”

Rae nodded and turned back to the bag, a little more confident now and Paige backed away, strolling back toward the bench. Azzi was still sitting where Paige left her and she had one hand propping up her chin, watching with an unreadable expression until Paige got closer.

Then Azzi tilted her head up, looking up at her through her lashes. Lashes Paige knew damn well she did not need to bat like that causing her to stop in her tracks.

“Stop,” she said under her breath, tightening her jaw as she stared down at her.

Azzi smirked on purpose. “Stop what?”

Paige exhaled through her nose. “You know what.”

Azzi hummed low in her throat, not moving from her position. “Mmm, no I think you gotta be a little more specific, baby.”

Paige blinked at her, visibly trying to keep her expression neutral, but Azzi just tilted her head a little more to the side, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You just gon’ stand there lookin’ all tense?” Azzi asked softly. “Or you wanna admit I’m in your head a little?”

Paige huffed a laugh through her nose, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Azzi whispered, dropping her gaze to Paige’s mouth before flicking back up. “But I’m not wrong.”

Paige’s hand lifted without thinking, her fingers cradling Azzi’s jaw as her thumb brushed across her cheek, then softly over her bottom lip. The way she was touching her was gentle. Completely contrasting the way Paige was looking at her.

Azzi leaned into it, her smile softening into something more genuine. “You wanna kiss me again, or just admire the view?”

“Trying not to actually,” Paige admitted under her breath.

Azzi held back a grin and said something too low for Paige to catch.

“What?” Paige leaned down instinctively to hear.

Azzi’s smile grew, locking her eyes on hers as she made her voice a little lower and whispered, “I said...you’re going to make me forget my name if you keep lookin’ at me like that, daddy.”

Paige froze and a visible ripple of tension moved through her whole body as her jaw clenched harder this time. She didn’t even look away from Azzi as she said flatly, “I need y’all to come back tomorrow.”

There was a beat of silence as they processed her words, then a chorus of groans erupted across the gym.

“We just started!”

“Nah, you serious?”

“Woww, that’s crazy,” Cam added, dramatically.

Still in the midst of complaining, the rest of them were moving way too slow and dragging their feet. So Paige just muttered “Whatever. Y’all can stay,” as Azzi laced her fingers through hers and tugged her gently toward the house.

DiJonai yells out after them, “Please remember I’m staying in the guest room!” Subtly telling them to not be too loud as everyone went back to what they were doing, deciding not to leave.

[hanginginthevoid]

The Lighthouse

pairing: bob reynolds x fem!reader

summary: you’ve always been drawn to bob. at first you think it means something, but then you remember that yelena’s also always been drawn to bob. and its obvious that he prefers her over you.

a/n: i lovelovelovelovelove misunderstanding trope. the first thought i had leaving the theater was that i couldn’t tell if i wanted bob for myself or if i wanted him and yelena to get together, so this thought has been haunting me for a while. after this i am dried out for fic ideas, but ive been having fun writing so feel free to send reqs and ill do my best to fulfill them!

warnings: self-deprecation, misunderstandings, unrequited feelings?, kissing.., lmk if i missed sumn

word count: 3.3k

—

Outsiders would assume Bob and you were a couple. The two of you were always seen together, either doing a coffee run, or a bookstore, or the grocery store, or picking up takeout, or sometimes simply going for a walk. You’re sure the intertwined pinky’s might have swayed some elderly women in the wrong direction, but it really was just to not get separated in the crowds.

If it really was an option, you would date Bob. He just doesn’t have eyes for you.

Yelena was great, so you get why Bob would like her. She was the first person to show him unconditional kindness, probably in his whole life. The one who made sure during the whole ordeal of the vault he was safe and taken care of.

But you were there too. Weren’t you? Or did Bob just write out the fact that you were the one to pull him with you when you ran to escape the initial burning, and when you took a bullet for him since he didn’t have the reflexes to dodge.

Doesn’t matter anyway, he still only looks at Yelena like she hung the stars in the sky. Hell, he looks at her like she’s the one who blew air into his lungs to bring him to life. No matter what you do, you just can’t seem to get him to like you back.

Bob hates to be a bother, so he would rather suffer in silence instead of asking for help. You can relate to that, but you’ve helped him out after his nightmares enough times to think he would be able to wake you up when one happens. He doesn’t, so to compromise, you’ve started staying up later and later so you could hear the patter of his feet outside your door. 

Maybe you should stop though. One of these days it could get you injured on a mission. How stupid would you be to get hurt over an unrequited crush.

For once, it would be nice to be chosen. Not in the way that Valentina ‘Chose’ you to be an Avenger, but chosen because of how much someone knows you. Chosen because your qualities were redeeming enough. Chosen because all of the actions that you make that you feel are unseen, really aren’t. But that would be selfish of you, you aren’t the proper type to be chosen.

—  

Bob sees Yelena like a sister. Yes, during his bad days she's a light to bring him back to his senses. But you, you’re like a lighthouse, helping him guide his ship in the treacherous waters back to shore. No matter the problem, you always seemed to have the answer. 

In the teams early days, he tried to help out by cooking. Very quickly, he found out he couldn’t cook. You were the first to arrive to the scene, black smoke billowing out through the doorway, smoke alarm blaring. Instead of focusing on those, you focused on Bob. He had tears in his eyes, and before anyone had even arrived he was muttering apologies. 

He burnt his hand in his haste to get the meal out of the oven, hoping to prevent it from getting worse. After reminding him that mistakes happen, and that everything was fixable, you led him by his good hand to the infirmary to get him bandaged up, leaving the rest of the team to deal with the mess.

Bob can’t recall the amount of times that he’s fallen asleep in your room after a nightmare. He spent a period of time trying to not sleep, worried that the void would take over while he was in REM or something stupid like that. Whenever he did end up crashing from exhaustion, the anxiety and fear of causing havoc, or the awful memories that the void would inflict on him would wake him up. His hair would be matted all over his forehead and neck, sweat making his pajamas stick to his back and legs. 

Physically, you were the closest to him, your room just one door down on his left. Yelena was farther away, on the other side of the hall at the complete other end. Maybe his subconscious heard the sliding of your door just moments prior, but he would rather think it's the undeniable pull that you have. 

His knocking could have easily been missed, they were long allowing the noise to draw out because he knows he needs help, yet still soft and somewhat timid because he doesn’t want to be a bother. Nevertheless, you heard it and had the door sliding open within the minute.

You had a mug of hot chocolate in your grasp. A sleepy smile adorning your face as you asked him if he wanted to come in. You had some trashy TV playing lightly in the background as you worked on official Avengers paperwork, but you set it aside to make Bob a space in your bed.

You didn’t push him once that night. Just let him sit there in your company, watching as housewives made useless drama with each other.

When he eventually fell asleep, you tucked him in. Then you got up to put your a/c on since he normally runs hot, and two people under the same covers would only make more heat. When you got back into the bed Bob had reached for you so you softly grasped his hand in yours and the crease that had started to form in his brow alleviated. 

Bob tried to thank you, but you hadn’t let him because helping would be what any decent human does. Instead, he made you french toast, said it was the least he could do for taking up your space. So that became your routine, every morning after a nightmare Bob would make french toast. 

You never denied him. Never said you were too busy, too stressed, or even flat out didn’t want to. Whatever you were doing before he knocked would be moved aside, or powered down, and then if he wanted it your attention was all his, only his. Sometimes you’d talk about the nightmares, a good book your or Bob read, a recipe you wanted to try, or just the weather.  Other times the two of you would watch a movie, a show, or play either a video or physical game.

The two of you never mentioned the times that you would fall asleep cuddling. The nights where only whispers were shared and you’d rake your nails down his scalp to give him a distraction. The nights where his head would rest on your chest and he’d put at least half of his focus on matching your breathing pattern. He’d play with your free hand, either drawing patterns into your palm with his pointer finger or just simply fidgeting with your fingers.

Bob believes it's just something you're doing out of the kindness of your heart. You know it would make him feel better to let him be with someone, so you offer up yourself. Probably just so that no one else on the team has to suffer by taking care of him. But even if it's out of pity, he’d keep going to you, taking all the alone time he could get as long as you didn’t shut him out.

He’s fallen for you, Yelena confirmed his suspicion. The way he always volunteers to go on errands with you, the way he seeks you out at dinner to secure a seat next to you, the way he learned how to perfect your favorite meal before anyone else's, the way that he comms more for you than anyone else because he’d hate to see you even scratched from a mission.

—

You’ve had a long night. Too much paperwork, too many people you used to know informing you that they’re disappointed that you've ended up on such an ‘awful’ team. A wake up, preferably in the form of coffee, was necessary after the night you had. Thankfully Bob and Yelena had you covered, serving you shock instead. 

Maybe you’re overreacting, but Bob hasn’t woken you up because of a nightmare in weeks. For a normal person, that’s probably a standard amount of time. But for everyone who currently resides in the tower, that's at least a week too much.

Everyone's experienced at least one major traumatic event that keeps them up, and then continues to haunt their dreams. Most people handle it themselves, no one fully adjusted to the fact that they’re on a team and can easily ask for help when needed. Bob hasn’t been that person though, at least not with you. 

You realize this morning, it’s not that Bob stopped having nightmares. He’s started to go to Yelena for them. You heard his door slide open last night, and footsteps walking in the opposite direction of your room. Originally you assumed he went to get some water or something of that sort, but that thought was squashed the next morning when you saw Bob making Yelena french toast.

They’re laughing about something you can’t hear. And maybe its the look in Bob’s eyes, or the way he’s smiling like he’s never had a care in the world. Either way, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. From then on you’d move on from Robert Reynolds. 

—

Most people wouldn’t be able to recognize it at first. The way you drew back was subtle, made in steps so it would be less suspicious. First you started training more. You were often the first one in the gym, either punching the bag, running miles, or lifting weights. The headphones you wore always playing music, not particularly blasting but loud enough that when people approached they could understand to not bother you.

Then you started eating without the team. Whenever asked about it you’d either say you ate earlier or weren’t hungry. Usually the former was true, but sometimes you’d just blurt out something to get them off your back. Whenever you did end up eating with them, you’d avoid spots that had open seats on either side. One time you even had to sit next to Alexi. 

Sleeping earlier was the next step. ‘Sleeping’ really meant going to your room and staying as silent as possible. Leaving whatever room with a loud yawn usually meant that nobody would question if you were really getting rest or not. The few times that someone did question it, you would just tell them about how burnt out you were. 

From Bob’s perspective, all of these things were excusable. You wanted to be stronger and more prepared for missions, and you were so consumed in it that you couldn’t have meals or quality time with the team. While he wanted you to take better care of yourself, or wanted you to let him take better care of you, he would never want to overstep, so he kept to himself.

But then you started doing errands by yourself. That was always your thing. Why would you do them by yourself? Were you sick of him asking to do supplemental activities like walking through the park, or stopping in a cafe? It just didn’t make any sense.

He thought the two of you were closer than that. Maybe he really was right. You did just pity him and that’s the only reason you let him stick around for so long. Maybe Yelena knew something he didn’t. Girls have to talk about this stuff, right?

“Hey, Yelena?” Bob’s knocking on her door, hoping she’s not taking a midday nap.

A few seconds later the door slides partially open, “Goooood morning Bobert!” He winces at that, “No on Bobert then. What do you need?”

“It’s, well. Uh - you know who.” Bob’s rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Come in, come in.” Yelena ushers him in before shutting the door, “What about your special someone?”

Where does he even start? The fact that you’ve been avoiding him? Or the fact that you’ve stopped finding a seat so he could sit next to you during the rare times you join the team for dinner, knowing that he’s too non-confrontational to ask someone to move. Maybe he should start with the way that it seems like you’re training all day to avoid having to talk to him at night under the guise that you’re exhausted. 

He starts with the idea that you’ve cut him out of your life completely. If it was a printout it would not be done gently, as one would to someone who they held close to their heart. But rough, the cut uneven, jagged around the edges, the type that would give you a papercut if you ran your fingers along it. 

And he doesn’t even know why. What could he have done? You’ve always been understanding, always been the one to give the benefit of the doubt even when people didn’t deserve it. What could he have done to not deserve this kindness that you’ve given to everyone else? 

By the end of his rant, he’s crying. Yelena brings his head down to her shoulder, rubbing along his back to calm him. “I jus-just don’t get it. Am I that bad?”

“No. That is not it, Bob.” Even though he can’t see her shaking her head, Yelena still does it, “You must talk to her.”

“I can’t, I really can-”

“You must. And you will.” Her tone left no room for discussion or debate. 

Yelena reminds him that while you may be closed off, as they all are, you are not intentionally cruel. You would not leave Bob hanging after he goes to you asking for answers. She sends him on his way after that. He should get cleaned up before you get back, something about ‘putting his best foot forward’. 

—

When you get back to the tower, putting away the groceries is on the top of the list. Then afterwards you’re heading straight to your room to hole up. There’s a tall, looming figure across from your door though. 

By the hair you can tell it's Bob. He’s leaning against the wall, head pressed against it. His eyes are closed so unless you’ve been super loud, you doubt he knows you're there. How you were going to actually get into your room was a different problem. The doors were fancy, but they were loud leaving no way to sneak in.

Just as you’re debating on whether or not to actually attempt to sneak in, Bob’s eyes shoot open and his head turns to look at you. 

“Hey, y/n, hi - hi.” His smile is wobbly, nervous glint in his eyes.

“Hey Bob. What’s up?” If you can appease him quickly, then you can get back to the solace you find in your room. 

“Could we talk?” He’s moved in your way, somewhat preventing you from getting to the door.

“Uh - yeah, sure. About what though?” Your fingers are twitching, hopefully it’s subtle enough that Bob doesn’t notice.

Of course he notices though, he’s attuned more to you than himself sometimes. “You’ve been avoiding me. And I just wanted to know what I did. Whatever I did it's important to me that I take accountability and apologize for it.”

Well shit. “You didn’t do anything Bob. I’ve just got a lot on my mind as of late and I don’t want to bother anyone with it.” 

“It’s not a bother. Please tell me.” He’s grabbed your hand, stilling the twitches.

“Fine! You want me to spell it out,” Taking your hand back, cradling it with your other one, “I like you Bob. A lot. Like more than a friend should. And it hurts. It hurts that I’ve given you more than I’ve given anyone in a long time just for you to go and pick Yelena over me.”

Bob tries to cut you off, reaching out to grab your arm, but after a quick deep breath you continue.

“And I get it, I really really do. She’s your person, but you were mine. My quiet in the storm. I thought that our time meant something to you, that I meant something to you. But I was wrong. Can I please enter my room now?”

“No. No you can’t. Not until you hear what I have to say.”  

You’re frustrated, tears are forming on your waterline. Today was supposed to be easy, quick errands, then bed rotting. Now you’ve been forced to confess something you haven’t even written down in your diary just in case somebody decided to snoop. And even after that you still won't be granted safety or peace in the comfort of your room. 

“Why do you think I like Yelena?”

Bob doesn’t get a response. When he realizes you’re not going to respond he tilts your chin up to make eye contact.

“Y/n, why do you think I like Yelena?”

“Because! It's always her. Movie nights, the two of you are cuddling. Dinners, sure you’d sit next to me but only when in eyesight of her! Errands, you run off to get what she likes first every time. And the one thing I had, that really seemed like it was just mine, just ours,” You’re wiping away tears and sniffling, but if he wanted a response, he’d get a damn response,  “Was comforting each other in the dead of night. But then you were there, doing our routine with her and I realized it doesn’t matter what I do, Yelena will always come first.”

“What do you mean ‘our routine’? I didn-”

“The French toast? You only make that the morning after a nightmare. And you hadn’t stopped by my room for weeks. It made sense that you’d be seeking comfort somewhere else.”

“French… toast?” Bob’s thinking, you can see it by the distant look in his eyes. “I made french toast because I missed the way it tasted, and the fact that you always get this sparkle in your eyes when I make it.’

“You don’t have to lie for my sake. I can take it.”

“I'm not. Look at me please.” Instead of making you look up, he's bending down, “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. You can ask Yelena for all the details later, but right now you need to understand that I really like you too.”

“Its fine, Bob. Really.”

You’re still rejecting the fact that he cares for you in the same way that you care for him. So he does something he’s only seen in movies. His lips collide with yours briefly, just long enough for you to confirm that it wasn’t your imagination. 

“Is that enough proof for you?” You shake your head no, because it truly wasn’t enough. You’ve waited months for this moment; the least he could do was make it last a little bit longer.

When he kisses you the second time you make sure to kiss back. His lips are soft, moving slowly but still surely, like they knew all the proper movements but they just needed to remember them. 

The sliding of a door reminds the two of you as to your location. You split quickly when the noise slices through the air. Just Ava heading towards the kitchen if you had to guess. Maybe it was a good thing, who knows how far you would have gotten if you hadn’t broken apart. 

“So.. Can we go watch that show you like so much now?”

“The one you pretend to hate?” You’ve entangled yours and his hands, pulling him lightly towards your door.

“Yeah.. That one.” Bob is grinning goofily now. He’s sure he could come into your room freely now. Really soak up all your free time. He could explain that he hasn’t come to you for a nightmare in weeks because he truly hasn’t had one, once he’s wrapped up in your arms. And after that maybe he’d work on kissing you stupid.

likes/comments/reblogs will get your cheeks squished like im your grandma

[dismalflo]

Favourite

poly!marauders x reader enjoy a soft, sweet evening ✩ 978 words

cw: fluff, thats all this is just domestic fluff

It's your favourite kind of evening. James and Remus are pottering around the kitchen preparing dinner, you can faintly hear the honeyed words they’re exchanging and Remus’ occasional warning– stop waving the knife around James–  no doubt a by-product of his emphatic speech.

You're laid out on the sofa with a dozing Sirius in between your legs, His head rests on your stomach, the soft rise and fall of his chest a gentle reminder that he's finally getting some much-needed rest. If you weren’t so content just lying here, you’d probably be up, offering your help in the kitchen. It's sort of like when a cat falls asleep in your lap, instead it's your dark haired boyfriend who doesn't sleep enough as it is. So you wont move, but it does feel like your boys are conspiring against you to get you to relax too. It's working. 

"Darlings!" James’ voice calls from the kitchen. "Would you prefer—" His words fall away when he enters the living room, his eyes softening when he spots the two of you. A grin spreads across his face. "Is he asleep?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You just nod, smiling softly as you dip your head to leave a faint kiss on Sirius’ forehead. He doesn’t move at first, just stands there, as if soaking in the moment. Then, with a suddenness that is entirely James, he closes the gap, sits himself on the coffee table. It's like he can't bear being so far away from you though, as he reaches out to take your hand. Original question waylaid by the softness of the living room.

“Is he alright?” he questions, absentmindedly caressing your hand in his grasp.

“Yeah, just tired I think, he was all giggly before this.” You reply, dipping your head to place a few kisses on Sirius’ forehead again, you can't help yourself.

It's then that Remus pokes his head into the living room. 

"Jamie," he calls, though there’s no real reprimand in his tone, “I told you to ask them what sauce they wanted, not to join ‘em” 

James looks up, a sheepish grin playing at his lips. "Moony, look at them!" he exclaims, clearly unable to hide his fondness. "How was I supposed to resist?"James' voice is starting to become louder now, filled with excitement. It pulls a giggle from you and Remus’ eyes flick over. As he takes in the view in front of him, the same lovesick grin that painted James’ face is now on him. 

“Hi Rem.” you say, maybe a bit bashful, just to say something.

“Hi, Dovey.” he coos, “He’s asleep?” as though the answer isn't obvious.

The answer to his question doesn't come from you though.

“I was, until you bastards woke me up.” Sirius stirs on top of you, his voice muffled but unmistakably amused as he lifts his head from your stomach, blinking sleepily at the scene around him. His lips curl into a lazy smile as his eyes flicker to James and Remus.

James’ grin only widens, unbothered by the fact that Sirius is waking up grumbling. "Well, sorry if decisions about dinner have interrupted your beauty sleep," he says, practically bouncing on the coffee table, like the sight of you two together is some kind of gift he’s unwrapping.

"You weren’t talking about dinner," Sirius mutters, still a little sleepy, but his voice teasing. "You were fawning over me, the lot of you." He raises a hand to rub his eyes, though his affection is evident in the soft smile tugging at his lips. His eyes meet yours. "At least you have the decency to do it quietly, doll.".

“You're a bloody handful, Pads,” Remus teases, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. His voice carries a playful edge, though the fondness is clear in the way his eyes linger on Sirius.

Sirius chuckles low in his throat, stretching in a long, exaggerated motion, and you feel the gentle brush of his fingers over your legs as he sits up. He yawns, stretches again, and then leans forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek, his movements lazy but full of affection. "Can’t help it," he murmurs, voice thick from sleep. "Been this way for years.

“I know you have, you git” James teases while standing up. He leans over to plant a kiss on Sirius’ lips, unable to help himself seeing his boyfriend soft and dishevelled by sleep, full of adoration for the boy. 

Remus starts into the room at that, his smile softening into something more sincere as he watches the three of you. “What’s the plan, then?” His gaze drifts between you and Sirius. “We actually gonna eat tonight or are we going to keep getting distracted?”

You’re smiling, that lazy, contented smile that the boys tend to draw out of you. "Food, please," you mutter, a little light-headed from the warmth of the room and the gentle weight of Sirius beside you. “I’ll come help.”

As you get up, your place beside Sirius is quickly taken by James, who plops himself down with a joyful look, eager to soak up all the affection he can from the dark haired boy. There's a sudden swat on your bum as you make your way over to Remus, you can guess the culprit, turning around you see Sirius’ wolfish grin your suspicions are confirmed. Your grin grows larger, silly and dizzy with love.

When you reach Remus, his arms are open, ready to pull you in for a hug. You lean up, kissing him softly along his neck and jaw before finishing the string of affection with a gentle kiss on his lips. He responds with a sweet smile, guiding you into the kitchen. 

“Alright, what do you need me to do, Handsome?”

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! I love any feedback! <3

[i-love-ptv]

Your Forever is All That I Need ♡♱

Husband!Remmick x Wife!Vamp!Reader

Navigating through life as Remmick’s darling vampire wife—basically follows the events of Sinners

wc: 4095

warnings: toxic relationship (not reader and remmick), small mention of domestic violence (not reader and remmick), b*rt and j*an/klan mentions, small mention of infidelity, remmick is a bit of a freak ball (🤤) , reader is bratty but she lovesssss her husband

an: hey guys….😀 ik i’m supposed to be working on the stack fic but i got bored sooo here! i get random spurts of writing energy srry guys! the stack fic will 100% be done by the end of this month tho

divider credits: @/uzmacchiato

feedback is always appreciated and welcomed!

“…I thought I could trust them—and they’re trying to kill me,” Remmick fumbles with his words.

The man beyond the threshold tightens the grip he has on his gun, “Slow down,” he commands.

“Who’s trying to kill you?” The woman clad in a blue dress questions.

All Remmick replies with is, “Choctaw.”

“They took my wife—oh, God,” Remmick whimpers. “I’m a coward, ain’t I?”

You hear his desperate, faux cries from your spot behind the couple’s cabin. You look down at your ring finger and admire the band that adorns it.

Such a charming man, your husband Remmick is. Always doing the heavy lifting so that all you had to worry about was sinking your teeth into your newest victim.

You also faintly heard the not-so-friendly words they were using. If anything, it fueled your desire to turn them. Normally, you prefer to make the vampirization process as quick and painless for the individual on the other end of your bite, for you still have a sense of “humanity”, as Remmick calls it.

You think it’s just common decency, but to each their own!

‘These is Klan folk, angel’ Remmick speaks to you through your hive mind. Of course they were, you couldn’t even be surprised at the surplus of hatred in this world, especially here.

Your ears nearly perk up once you hear the sound of horse hooves clicking against the hot dirt.

‘Hurry on up, Rem. They’re comin’

‘I got it—I got it. Don’t worry yer pretty lil head, honey’

You roll your eyes, even though you know he can’t see it. ‘I ain’t worryin’, I’m hungry’

“Hey, I got gold,” Remmick abruptly says to the pair, who still wield their weapons. “They ain’t get all of it, you can have it,” Remmick holds out the gold coin, in need of some sort of truce. “Jus’ don’t let ‘em hurt me,” he murmurs weakly.

You peek from around the cabin–still making sure that your body resides fully under the roof’s shingles–and you’re just barely able to make out the frames of the Choctaw that we’re hunting you and your husband.

You still hear the woman’s voice, meaning the man is with Remmick. Exactly how you planned.

What transpires in the next 5 minutes is truly a blur to you. You’re famished, so much so, that your head starts to ache. But you eventually peer over the wall and you’re met with the distant sight of the Choctaw’s backs.

‘How’s it lookin’, honey?’ You question your husband, but you’re met with no answer.

It was done.

You quickly glide to the front of the house as the hot sun beats down on your large hat that you stole from the next town over, your heel-covered feet float over the ground. You don’t want to scuff them up any further–not until Remmick gets you another pair, that is. You take a seat on the rickety chair that rests on the porch, you cross your legs and lightly pick at your nails to cure your boredom.

A sharp, piercing scream resonates within the vicinity of the cabin, the loud intrusion breaks the peace that the birds once had as they now scatter through the wind. You smirk at the sound, you look up and devilishly grin at the only winged-body that remained perched on the edge of the roof.

Rapid footsteps bounce off the wooden floors, you assume Remmick’s chasing her, leading her out to you. You adjust your hat as soon as she slams open the front door. She pants and shuts the door, keeping her hands on it as Remmick yells threatening nonsense at her.

A tear slips down her now rosy cheeks, you can tell when her soul leaves her body once she caught a glimpse of you in her peripheral vision. You tilt your head at her and just blink slowly at her, “Hey there, sugar!” You chirp.

She screams yet again, her voice raw, as red claws up her flushed skin.

You then pounce on her with ease; you jump on her and her back meets the floor boards immediately. You hold both of her hands with just one of yours, and your tight grip has her hands losing circulation. You don’t bother teasing or toying with her, not with your undeniable thirst consuming your mind.

You sink your pointed teeth into her flesh. You groan as she yells for what seems like the hundredth time.

God, isn’t she tired of doing that?

The door creaks open, but you don’t shift your focus from the blood that pools down from the side of her bulging neck. You do pout, however. ‘Klan folk always taste weird’

Remmick pauses and sighs blissfully, seemingly disregarding your statement, "I ever tell you how beautiful you look while feedin’, angel?”

You lick your lips as you finally get your fill, you look at him, your pout turning into something more cheeky, “Once or twice, yes. Don’t mean I don’t like hearin’ it, though.” You jump up onto your feet, and your heels thunk on the planks next to the woman’s head.

You walk over to the Irish man, who watches you lovingly, with crimson dripping from his grinning mouth and staining his ripped undershirt.

Remmick takes your hand in his, and his other arm wraps around your waist. He holds you tenderly, before slowly turning the embrace into a waltz, “Well, you look divine, baby,” he says before spinning you. You yelp as he dips you, before laughing and smiling like a madwoman.

He presses his bloody lips to yours, and you hum into the kiss while lightly tugging at his gold chain. Remmick’s hand slips out of yours and moves down to cradle your cheek. Remmick’s slight stubble lightly scratches against your chin in the best way possible as he deepens the kiss. Unfortunately though, you’re forced to part from your husband once the woman who you bit moments prior now rises up to a stand.

“Oh! My apologies, am I interuptin’?” She exults with a smile. Remmick plants you back on your feet as you both look at her, which is when you realize that her husband is also gazing at you both.

“So are they both jus’ gonna stare at us all damn day?” You huff.

“Awwe, don’t be like that, baby!” Remmick coos, making you scrunch your face up. The couple also let out similar words of approval. Remmick grabs your chin and guides your beaming red eyes to his with his thumb and pointer finger, “Y’see, with them here, we can finally get what we always been dreamin’ for.”

All you can do is sigh, as you look between the pair, who nod at you vigorously. You grumble some more before stepping off of the porch and leaping into the air.

You look down at Remmick before speaking, “Don’t bring ‘em home ‘til you got ‘em straightened out, don’t need none of their foolishness in my house, y’hear me?”

Remmick beams at your brightly, “Yes ma’am! Anythin’ for you, darlin’!”

Your dog, Beau, whimpers next to you, you pet him before he hops up and begins barking at the front door. Somehow, it’s like he had a sixth sense for his vampiric father. You listen intently; you hear one set of footsteps.

…And then two more.

You sigh without looking up from your book initially when your front door eases open. The scent of your husband floods your nostrils.

“Honey, I’m home!” Remmick jokes, making you huff.

“Take them shoes off if ya wanna keep ‘em,” you chide half-heartedly as you turn the page of your book. “That goes for our guests as well.”

“Lovely home y’all got here!” The same feminine voice that had screeched in your ears earlier exclaimed. You look up at this; Remmick’s cooing and rubbing Beau’s fuzzy stomach, the woman wearing her blue dress smiles at you, as well as her husband, who stands behind her in the door frame awkwardly.

You don’t say anything, opting to give a look to Remmick instead, and that’s when you notice his new attire: the button-up he’s wearing is slightly oversized, as well as his pants, which are so large, they have to be pulled up and held with flimsy suspenders.

“What in the hell—are you wearing his clothes?” You exclaim incredulously.

Your husband looks at you sheepishly, obviously searching for the right choice of words. “We-well, we had t’go through town—‘cause Bert ‘n Joan here ain’t strong enough to fly yet, honey, will be soon though!”He mumbles as you squint at him with fire in your eyes.

“That’s us,” The man who you assume is Bert, says eagerly.

“Will be soon!” Joan cheers.

“Washed sum clothes ‘fore ya came in..Come ‘n take these off,” you gaze up at the Irish man lovingly as you slide the suspenders down his arms; the way you look at him while murmuring softly has him hypnotized. He hums in response and you turn away, trekking down the hall with a light sway in your hips, never looking back at him once.

Remmick finally realizes that you wanted him to follow you, so he quickly dashes to the bedroom. He has to remind himself that the two of you don’t have the house to yourselves right now when he makes it to the door, so when you wink at him, it takes everything in him to fight the urge to ravish you in ways only he knows how.

He looks out down the hall to Bert and Joan, “Please, try not to touch nun…The missus likes her organization.” He smiles tight-lipped. He steps into the bedroom and closes the door, where he’s met with you: bent over in your soft and clean house gown, rummaging through a basket filled with freshly-dried clothes.

If Remmick actually had a live, beating heart, he thinks it’d be leaping out of his chest.

His breath does skip a beat, though, and despite his cold skin, he feels his pale cheeks warm.

He thinks about sneaking up on you—rushing over to you with supernatural speed without a sound even ringing out against these four walls of your shared sanctuary, but he knows you’ll sense it.

You stand back up, hands full with a shirt and matching pants for Remmick. You turn around and smile at him, already knowing that he was standing there, watching you.

“Seo dhuit, mo ghrá,” your tone is sugary sweet as you peer up at him through your lashes, but Remmick knows that look is everything but sweet.

“Here you go, my love”

If only someone had told Remmick that emotional restraint wasn’t a skill acquired once you’ve turned, because God—did he wish he could refrain from chubbing up in his large slacks when he heard you speak Gaelic.

It wasn’t a new thing, no, you’d been learning bits and pieces as soon as you met Remmick, since you had been enchanted with how effortlessly the foreign words rolled off of his tongue. But Remmick swears he falls deeper and deeper in love with you every single time he hears the familiarity.

It makes him feel like he’s at home.

Actually, it makes him proud to have a home with you: someone who makes life feel easy, especially given the fact that you both weren’t the typical couple that you’d find in this day and age—for numerous reasons.

‘Done fantasizin’ ‘bout me, handsome? Mighty tired of seein’ ya in these rags’

You speak, yet your mouth remains shut, and your eyebrow raises at him expectantly. Remmick chooses not to speak, instead, he grabs the clothes out of your hands and places them on the bed before starting to strip. You huff out a chuckle at his sudden shyness.

Fuck—you’re so obsessed with your husband, it’s unreal.

You decide to give him some privacy, even though he looks as if you threatened him with an arms-worth of silverware as you walk away. When you shut the bedroom door behind you, you walk down the lengthy hallway and unfortunately Bert and Joan are sitting on your antique couch, hands folded in their laps, necks craned to look at you.

“Y’all ain’t no friends of mine, y’friends of Remmick, so don’t go expectin’ nun from me,” you speak firmly, leaving no room for discussion or debate. “‘N get the hell off my couch,” you scold, making them jump up as if they were popping corn kernels. Their squirming made you laugh.

“Darlin’…Hope we’re not scarin’ our new friends too much now,” Remmick teases as he places his cold hands upon your shoulders in a calming manner, and his head rests against yours.

You exhale, “Maybe your enhanced hearin’ ain’t so enhanced, ‘cause I just told these folks they ain’t gettin’ no welcome party from me—anytime soon.” Remmick feels you tensing, and it doesn’t hurt his heart, it hurts his soul.

“I-I know, I know—but it’s only temporary, baby, I swear it.” Remmick whispers sweetly to you; some of his words wrapped in desperation. He turns you around so that you’re facing him.

Your eyes are fixed on the floor as you pout without realizing, “‘N how long will that be?” You ask, your attitude never leaving your tone; you didn’t even bother to speak through your shared minds. Remmick shifts his hands from your shoulders up to your cheeks, holding you and guiding your face upwards so that he could get a clear glimpse of you.

‘Just ‘till mornin’, then y’wont have to worry ‘bout them ever again’

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t think your husband was just telling you what you wanted to hear. You knew of his plans of getting his people back, using music as a connector—so you knew damn well these white folk wouldn’t be gone by morning.

You let out what seems like your hundredth sigh, and walk to the kitchen, where you grab a glass of blood that you had stored for times like these.

Remmick grins lopsidedly, “Try not to drink too much, darlin’! Still gotta visit that ‘ole juke joint!”

“Are we sure that this joint even exists, Rem?” You groan.

“‘Bout as sure as I am Irish!” Remmick chirps, nuzzling his chin into your shoulder.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

“Well I’ll be damned…Y’werent lyin’, honey!” You exclaim, grabbing onto Remmick with just as much enthusiasm. He wraps his arms around your waist.

“‘Course not! What kinda man do ya take me for?” Remmick beams from pointed-ear to pointed-ear.

“Oh I’m just delighted to be here!” Joan giggles, quickly souring your mood.

Remmick immediately takes notice of this, and redirects the conversation. “Alright, now you stay right sweets, me, Joan, ‘n Bert got this all taken care of.” He squeezes your waist once last time as he pecks your lips; you hum against him.

Remmick secures his instrument that resides strapped against his back, and the three head to the entrance of Club Juke. The music is so loud it pours out the rickety building as if it were the ocean; the melodies meld with the air like a salty tide. You see Cornbread guarding the door, and you can’t believe you’re back here.

The last time you were here, you were living with a man that wasn’t Remmick—you were married to a man that wasn’t Remmick. That didn’t stop Remmick from visiting you every night for months after he met you, though. The ring on your finger especially didn’t deter him when he had found your husband mistreating you in ways he knew he wouldn’t.

Some nights, your husband wouldn’t let you leave the house, no matter how many times you tried to convince him that you just wanted to check-in on the animals on your farm. Remmick used to wait outside, becoming one with the shadows by the barn until you skipped on up to him. If you hadn’t been outside an hour after lights out, he’d walk back into the woods with his head hung low and a heavy weight on his heart.

On one particular night, one where your lights stayed on longer than usual, Remmick hadn’t left. In fact, he had approached your house—specifically the window that led into your bedroom.

It was wrong of him, he knows that, and he’s not afraid to admit it to this day—but he’ll never regret it, because he can still picture your face after your dead-beat husband had tried to lay his hands on you.

You had tip-toed out of your house after your husband had fallen asleep, and you knew that Remmick would be gone.

You had just wanted some air.

But you were wrong, because Remmick was still outside, waiting for you, but closer than he’d ever been before. You figured that he saw, or at least heard what happened, since his face showed both anger and a twinge of sadness.

That was the night you had been turned by Remmick.

And in that same night, you ripped your husband’s throat clean out, and watched as his life drained from his eyes.

You left without a word the morning after; you didn’t spare a single goodbye to anyone that you called family.

Not the Moore twins, not their little cousin who you looked after, not even Grace, Annie, or your best friend, Mary.

Hence why you opted out of going with Remmick to the door and seeing all of the familiar faces that could possibly hate you.

Even if they don’t hate you for leaving, you know good and well you’ll be hated for becoming what you are.

What you are is unknown by most, different, even—and different kills.

You’re so enthralled by your thoughts, you don’t notice your husband slowly walking back over to you with a sullen look on his face, similar to Bert and Joan.

“‘Fraid our plan didn’t work, darlin’,” Remmick trails off as he sits next to you on the log, still holding his most prized possession: his banjo.

“What’d they say?” You ask all too eagerly.

Remmick chuckles sadly, both for you and for him, “They ain’t interested in us comin’ in, though I don’t blame ‘em, I suppose.” You take your thumb and rub between his furrowed brows.

“…Do ya want me to go in?” You ask hesitantly, Remmick immediately grabs your hands and rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“No—no! ‘Course not, baby! W-we’ll figure sum out.” He smiles at you both sweetly and crookedly, calming your nerves almost instantly. “In fact, I already gotta new idea! Bert, Joan, get ready to play.”

You tilt your head and your eyebrows mimic Remmick’s a moment prior.

“Y’remember that song I taught ya, darlin’? ‘Cause y’might wanna start warmin’ up.”

Will ye go, lassie go?

Remmick sings, making a smile shine on your face. Seeing him so happy in his element makes you feel as if you’re over the moon.

And we’ll all go together

Out of the corner of your eye, you see none other than Mary walking over, wearing a pink dress and matching heels.

To pull wild mountain thyme

As she gets closer, Mary’s eyes light up in shock as she recognizes your features that she knows all too well.

All around the bloomin’ heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

Mary looks as if she wants to speak, her mouth opens then closes several times as she gets closer to you. You look at her with love and sincerity in your eyes as you sing.

As Remmick plucks the last few notes, a tear trickles down Mary’s face.

“_______? Is that you?” Mary asks breathlessly, wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks.

“Hi, Mary,” you whisper. You know she wants to say so much more, but then she faces Remmick.

She has a motive for coming out here.

As much love as you have for her nestled within your soul, Remmick is your top priority. Which is why you quickly get your head on straight as she sits down and conversates with your husband.

Remmick offers her the gold you two acquired, and she looks in disbelief, her eyes shifting from you to Remmick.

You can’t help but roll your eyes as Bert and Joan randomly decided to put their two cents in by repeating what Remmick says. But, you hold your composure, because you all have a shared goal to accomplish at the end of the day.

“Loosing a mother’s a hurtin’ feelin’.” Bert murmurs, Remmick hums, agreeing with him.

“And I wish in my heart that we’d met sooner.” Remmick empathizes, and Mary can't help but turn her head to you.

Despite being apart for all these years, you can tell that Mary’s getting riled up due to Remmick’s advances.

“I would’ve liked to have saved your mother from her fate,” Remmick muses, “I can still save you from yours.”

“No, you must have me confused,” Mary says with cynicism. “I’m sad is all, but I don’t need no savin’.”

“Yes. Yes you do. You all do.” Remmick looks at her darkly, his glowing red eyes now on display, as well as his fangs.

Mary jumps up from the log, holding her gun with an iron grip as it points at your husband. You look between her and Remmick, then really taking in his appearance.

“Dammit, Rem—y’droolin’ honey.” You scold him, slowly lifting a finger to his chin and wiping the dripping saliva, making sure Mary doesn’t get intimidated by any rash movements. Though this doesn’t make Mary feel any better.

“Petal, what the fuck is all this?” Mary gestures between you and Remmick, making you put your hands up defensively. Hearing your old best friend call you by your old nickname almost brings tears to your eyes.

Everyone around the Delta called you Petal, since somehow, some way, you always had a flower planted delicately in your hair. Sometimes you’d even leave petals behind where you walked.

“It’s a lot, Mary, ‘n I wish I could explain it all to you. But you have to trust me when I say that this is for the best.” You tread carefully with your words, trying to ease the tension in the air.

“W-what? No—what’s that supposed to mean?” Mary exclaims, seemingly growing more wary by the second as she begins to step back.

You decide to get up gently from your spot on the log, and inch towards her faintly. “I know I got no business comin’ here makin’ demands—trust me Mar, I know that.” There's a slight tremble in your voice.

“But I want ya to join us—me ‘n my husband. We can be a big ‘ole family, Mar, just like the old days. Elias, Elijah, Annie, all of ‘em! Please jus-”

“No! I ain’t joinin’ whatever you and your—” Mary snarls with hesitance, “Husband, got goin’ on. ‘M sorry, Petal, ‘n I love ya, but it ain’t happenin’! Not now, not ever.” Mary’s breath picks up as you continue walking towards her, but then, you stop. Mary’s rapid heartbeat doesn't falter, though.

Your lip quivers as you look back at your husband, sending a message not even through your mind—but through your eyes.

Just as Remmick nods at you, Mary makes her biggest mistake: she turns her back.

You thought you taught her better than that.

Maybe it’s because in a way, you turned your back on her all these years ago.

And right now, you have to turn your back to her once again as Remmick leaps into the air in her direction.

You walk with your arm linked with Mary’s; the music inside the joint sounds both riveting and inviting.

“Cornbread,” Mary greets him at the door, making him look up.

“Mary what’chu doin’ out here?” Cornbread questions as he then notices you.

“Petal? W-Where you been all these years? What’chu doin’ back here girl?” Cornbread’s jaw might as well be on the dirt right now with the way he’s looking at the two of you.

“You gon let us in, or just sit there blockin’ the door?” Mary quickly interrupts with a twinge of sass.

Cornbread uncrosses his arms and moves aside after a beat, “No, come on—come on in.”

You smile at him sweetly as Mary eyes him and guides you into the building.

‘Careful in there, darlin’ let me know if ya need me’ Remmick’s voice echos through your mind. Normally, you wouldn’t admit that his soothing tone grounds you in ways nobody else has been able to, but there’s no use in hiding it since he already hears everything.

‘Always, baby’

[tovibeornottovibe]

Don't Panic

Friend!Nesta x Reader | Azriel x Reader (ish)

based on this request (thank you @suppppp97! i hope this meets your request, i had a ball writing it)

Nesta doesn't like you. Never has, not since the first time Azriel introduced you as his mate, and you chalked it up to a personality clash; namely, Nesta being prickly and you being, well, you. You had thought that was how it was going to stay, but when you and Nesta get captured by Illyrians, you have to work together, and you find yourself understanding each other a little more. You might even end up friends. [10.3k words]

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, Nesta and reader being assholes to each other (at the start), reader being a BAMF, plot, interrogation, az being a softie at the end

Prefer to read on Ao3? | masterlist

You have to laugh. Just a day ago, you and Azriel were out on the balcony of the House of Wind, eating breakfast, talking about this upcoming mission like it was a sunday stroll over honeyed tea and buttered scones. As new as your mating bond is, it’s easy to take that gentle, domestic intimacy for granted. Now, your legs ache, your head is throbbing from lack of water, and you can’t quite feel your fingers for the burning cold. What’s worse, you’re stuck in this fucking cave in the middle of fucking nowhere with who else but Nesta fucking Archeron.

Truly, for whatever reason, she can’t stand you, and over these past few months, you’ve learnt to live with it. She’s hardly ingratiated herself to you in any case. Little digs here and there, things about how different you and Az are. You’re loud; he’s quiet. He’s tall; you’re, comparatively, short. You get paperwork done as quickly as possible; Az is as diligent as they come. He’s a broody, secretive male; and you’re a little ray of sunshine, his words, not yours, even in your angstier moments. When you talk, he listens and, well, Az doesn’t exactly talk much at all, does he? After that first meeting, when Az introduced you to the Inner Circle, she said, “Opposites attract, I suppose,” and you realised that you and her just wouldn’t click.

You don’t care. Az doesn’t care, even if it has soured their friendship somewhat. Not even Cassian cares. But by the gods, if it wouldn’t make jobs like this one a whole lot easier if you could just be civil with one another.

The Blood Rite. Heightened tensions. Pissy Illyrians with a penchant for making things difficult. You were sent to find out if there was going to be any trouble this time around.

You know the Steppes pretty well from your days travelling through the Court as a merchant, then you got to know the more dangerous parts as a mercenary when the trade dried up during Amarantha’s reign. You have contacts here with some of the more amenable war bands and it’s for this expertise that Cassian wanted you to come, so you could speak with those who are less willing to talk to a General. Azriel, of course, was never going to let you come to Illyria without protection, and Nesta scares the camp lords so much that she could be used as extra leverage if things took a turn. So, it was the four of you who headed off.

It should have been you and Azriel together. It should have been fine.

There had never been problems in Stonecross. It’s a camp tucked away by the northern coast of the Court, fairly progressive as far as Illyrian camps go, and absolutely vital for trade—particularly for the medicinal professions. In the rocky, sea-facing caves in the mountain under the camp exist the perfect conditions for certain plants to grow: fungi, flowers, some things not even Madja would fully understand the uses of. 

You all realise too late that they put it, whatever it was, in the food. You’d been too complacent. Too trusting. It didn’t even take ten minutes before the four of you started to feel drowsy, then nauseous, and then, in horror, you saw Az’s shadows drop off his body, like the magic which kept them tied to him had suddenly vanished. 

You don’t really remember what happened next, it’s all a blur, but you got grabbed, flown (or maybe winnowed, it is the days before the Blood Rite after all), and now, you’re here… 

You’re in a carved-out room of black, damp stone, the only light coming through the slight crack under a boulder which covers what looks to be a doorway. The air is thin, and you have to be far down because you can feel the heavy pressure in the fluid of your ears. Though you aren’t in chains, it feels oppressive, like you had been thrown in a prison cell and forgotten about.

At least Nesta’s still out cold. You wince at yourself for the thought, but honestly, you wouldn’t be able to think straight if she was hissing comments at you. In the sliver of light, you can see that she seems uninjured, as are you, and her breathing is steady, like she’d been knocked out without a fight. Sometime soon, you’ll need her up (unconscious, she’s a liability), but for as long as you can, you’ll take the drip-drip-drip through the walls as your only company.

The first thing you need to do is let Az know you’re awake, to try and see if he’s close by or if he needs help. You pull on the mating bon—

The mating bond.

You can’t—you can’t feel it. Another wave of nausea washes over you as you bolt up from the ground. The thread between the two of you, this new, wonderful, golden string which calls you to him time and time again, the Mother’s blessing which binds you together, it’s slack in your chest. Still there, thank the gods, but… useless. You can’t feel him anymore. Not even the little bits he sends you every now and then, when Cassian makes him laugh or he sees something that reminds him of you. It’s all gone. Like losing a limb.

You press your back against the cool stone of the room and remember to breathe. Force yourself to feel the rock beneath your feet, to focus, to think. 

Azriel, you know, you trust, will be okay. He has to be. Maybe he’s disorientated like you are, being held somewhere, either in Cassian’s company or without it. Maybe he’s already escaped and is coming to find you right now. Or maybe, you’ll need to find him. Regardless, you can’t afford to panic. Not now. Az wouldn’t panic; he’d find a way out, and you and him, you’re Cauldron-chosen mates, so you can find a way out too. You can get back to him.

You will get back to him.

You just need to look around and see—the light. 

They had to have got you two inside this room somehow, so that boulder blocking the doorway has to be moveable. Outside, something is causing that crack of light to come through, there’s a sconce, or a faelight, so there’s a walkway, and a walkway means that there’s some other rooms in here, connected by a complex of passageways. And passageways mean a way out. 

You need that boulder gone.

If you had your full arsenal of magic at your disposal, it would be simple. You could bolster your muscles and push it out of the way without breaking a sweat, but even as you walk towards it, you can feel how your legs drag and your vision blurs. Every joint feels like it’s grown rust, grinding uncomfortably across your bones. The poison in your system remains. Still, you try. Still, you steel yourself in case someone is waiting for you behind it and you need to take them on.

The rough stone cuts into your palms as you use every drop of energy you have left in you to push at it, to try to roll it one way or the other, but it doesn’t so much as budge an inch. In frustration, you kick at it, ram your shoulder into it and send shooting pain up your arm, but still, it doesn’t yield. 

You’ve been defeated by a hunk of fucking rock. So, yeah, you have to laugh.

Alone, there’s no chance of you moving it, not while you’re still affected by whatever they put in your food. You can either wait for gods know how long for it wear off, or…

You flick your attention to Nesta, half-slumped against the wall, and you sigh. 

For all your differences, you respect Nesta. You like her tenacity, the way she moves with such precision in the training ring, how she stands up for herself and her friends regardless of who it is she’s challenging (the first time you saw her go toe-to-toe with Rhys, you had almost wanted to cheer for her). Sometimes, you think that if you hadn’t gotten off on the wrong foot, you and her would get along just fine—for your love of dance if nothing else. More importantly, she’s your only hope of getting out of here on your own terms.

Muscles protesting every movement, you crouch down and nudge at her side. She doesn’t stir. You nudge harder and her eyes shutter. She mutters something you don’t catch under her breath. 

Oh, fuck it. 

You shake her shoulder more harshly than you need to and yell at her to wake up. Her eyes flick open with a start, and you have to catch her hand before her fist connects with your jaw.

“Relax,” you say as she struggles in your grip, “it’s me. Could you please not break my face?”

“No promises,” she snaps back, wrenching her wrist away from you, rubbing at where you were holding her. She opens her mouth again, probably to sneer something at you, when you see the words die in her throat as she pales, clutching at her chest. “Something is wrong,” she grates out. “What the hell did you do—?”

You roll your eyes as you pull away, settling yourself on the ground a little ways from her in case she actually does decide to break your face. 

“Cauldron, Nesta,” you say, “I didn’t do anything. It’s whatever they drugged us with. It’s dulling our magic, including the mating bond.” You tap where you feel the Azriel-shaped hole in your chest. “Must be some faebane alternative we’ll have to deal with.”

This seems to calm her burgeoning fear, but if looks could kill, you’d be dead. “How are you so calm about this?” she asks, murmuring something else which sounds distinctly insulting as she plucks herself off the ground and follows the stream of light to the doorway.

“Panic gets you killed,” you say, watching her come to the same conclusion you did as she pokes at the gap in the wall.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Az says the same.”

“It’s almost like we’re mates or something.”

“Almost.”

Though the bond might be dulled, your instincts flare at the insinuation before you tamp it down and keep your face carefully neutral. Again, even in the dark, you can tell she shoots you a glare. 

“Instead of doing something, you had to come and wake me up?” she continues, beginning to push at the boulder as your anger simmers in your blood. The audacity to suggest that you hadn’t tried… she’s something else.

“Would you have preferred it if I had left you behind?” you fire back, pulling yourself up and over to her, stopping just short of too close. “I already tried moving it and it won’t budge, not while we’re still weak. We’ll probably have to try it together—”

She cuts you off abruptly and goes back to the boulder. “I don’t need your help.”

Ignoring her, you barely lay a finger on the stone before she yanks you away and snarls at you to, “Back off.” 

Incredulous, you huff, but you relent, leaning against the wall as you watch her fail to get it to move, just like you did. After significantly less prodding than what you tried, she admits defeat and swears at the rock for being in the way without sparing you a glance.

A thousand snarky comments come to mind, including around nine-hundred-and-ninety-nine which include the phrase ‘I told you so’, but you refrain. Pissing her off even more doesn’t seem conducive to getting out of this cell, so you say, “Look, Nesta, I get that you don’t like me—”

“Understatement.”

“Fine,” you continue, “you really don’t like me. And while I don’t understand why, I do need you to get out of here and as much as you might hate to admit it to yourself, you need me too, so let’s just put our differences aside and…” you trail off as her face sours. “What?”

“You don’t understand why,” she says.

“We really don’t have time to get into it, Nesta.”

“Don’t we?” she asks harshly. “That rock is hardly going anywhere.”

Clearly, she’s up for an argument—maybe that’s how she blows off steam when Cassian isn’t around—but you most definitely aren’t.

“Neither are we if we don’t stop bickering,” you reply steadily.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Oh, you always have something clever to say, don’t you?” Your name slips from her mouth like a curse. “Az caught himself a real prize with you.”

Is that what this is all about? You and Az? You know Az and Nesta are good friends, or, at least, they used to be, and she would obviously want him to be happy with whoever he’s with, mate or not. But, as far as you know, he is happy, and you trust him to tell you when he’s bothered by something. Frankly, whatever Nesta thinks about your relationship is irrelevant, even if it stings a little not to be accepted by her. 

“Take it up with the Mother, Nesta,” you say, increasingly irritated, “but after we get the fuck out of here, please.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she snaps back. 

You roll your eyes. “Please. Let’s not.” There’s no warning in your tone, so she ploughs on.

“Az was fine before he met you.” He wasn’t, he was drowning himself in work and booze after the Solstice with Elain, but that’s his secret to tell. “My sister was fine before he met you.” 

“Gods, what does Elain have to do with this?”

“Don’t say her name like that—!”

“Why not?” you say, your anger bubbling to the surface finally as your patience snaps. “She’s my friend, you know, but I doubt she’d have told you that considering the fact you never see her. When was the last time you even stepped foot in the townhouse?” You know it’s unfair, you know Nesta can’t get down from the House of Wind without Cassian or exhausting herself on the steps, but you’re past the point of caring. 

When she doesn’t respond, you double down. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Nesta.”

To her credit, Nesta’s response hurts more than you were expecting it to. “I don’t need her to tell me,” she snarls, “if I were her, I’d resent you too.”

Scoffing, you drawl, “Oh, and why’s that?” but you feel the doubt creeping up on you like a wraith. 

Az had told you about what he had felt for Elain and how close they had been to getting together. For a time, you had agonised over it. It didn’t seem right to you that they had been prevented from acting on their feelings, even if it worked out for you in the end, and you had always thought, despite Az insisting otherwise, that Elain might not like you because of that. But, she had been perfectly pleasant the first time you met, and you managed to break the ice with a joke about flowers (it was rather specific and no one but Elain had appreciated it). From there, you’d become fast friends.

But if Elain is just humouring you like you suspected she might…

“Because,” Nesta says, “you stole Az from her. They were close, did you know? Even Feyre thought they were good for one another. But you come along and what’s worse, you rub it in by trying to spend time with her.”

“Heaven forbid I actually enjoy Elain’s company,” you say, though it comes out significantly less venomous than you meant it to. “Did she tell you all that herself or are you pulling it out of your ass?”

“You’ve got her fooled, I’ll give you that much,” she replies. She lets out a humourless laugh. “She even thinks you and Az are perfect together, but I see what you’re doing loud and clear.”

You blink at her.

Inexplicably, it isn’t annoyance which washes over you, it’s understanding. It becomes obvious to you now, despite what Nesta is saying, why she doesn’t like you. 

Of course.

She’s trying to look after her sister, and even at your own expense, you can’t help but admire her for it. Maybe if she actually talked to Elain about you, you could end your petty, little feud. Or maybe she’d just find another reason to dislike you. 

Either way, it won’t matter if you kill each other in this cave.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Nesta, I really have tried to be nice to you. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, we don’t need to be friends. But I didn’t steal anyone from anyone, Az made his choices and I made mine, and I really do like being Elain’s friend. I’m sorry if I’ve somehow offended you or… I don’t know. Just, I’d like us both to get out of here, alive, preferably, and for that, I need your help. So, please, if you have to, pretend I’m someone else for a bit and then I promise I will never bother you again. Deal?”

For a long, long moment, she says absolutely nothing at all, as though she’s trying to work out if you’re being genuine or not, and the silence stretches over the space between you. Then she looks away, sets her jaw, and grumbles, “Just help me move this.”

“Gladly.”

It takes coordination, begrudgingly followed suggestions for which way to push and for how long, and the poison in your veins brings bouts of dizziness which means both of you need a break, but, eventually, the boulder moves, just a fraction. The beam of light at your feet grows. Again and again and again, you and Nesta use every ounce of energy you have left to get it out of your way. You just hope that whoever is keeping you here isn’t nearby, because the scraping of rock against stone is almost deafeningly loud.

You don’t know if it takes minutes or hours, but you get it so the two of you can see into the corridor, and then you open up the doorway enough for you to be able to squeeze through the gap. The jagged, black stone scrapes at your skin as you shuffle and you definitely pick up a few new scratches, but you suddenly find yourself in the middle of an uneven walkway, filling your lungs with air fresher than what you’ve had since you woke up.

You take it in greedily, looking around to see if there’s an obvious way out, but both in front and behind you look the same. An endless tunnel of stone, equally lit up by torches protruding from the walls. You wait a moment, trying to feel any sort of breeze or even trying to pick up faint sounds of people.

Nothing.

Inside the cell, Nesta says your name rather urgently. You peer at her through the gap and see a flicker of relief on her face before it’s gone.

With a different angle, you wordlessly make quick work of moving the boulder further, and Nesta manages to free herself not long after. All the while, a sense of foreboding settles over you. The lack of a guard, even a patrol, is starting to strike you as odd.

“Come on,” she says, making left—it’s as good a direction as any—but you stop her.

“Wait,” you say, “doesn’t this all seem strange to you?” You make a point of looking behind you and gesture around. “There’s no one here.”

“Good,” she replies, “maybe they’ve forgotten about us. Let’s go.” And she strides off, forcing you to follow behind her, shadows dancing with each other in the torchlight.

“Or maybe they haven’t,” you urge, catching up to her, “maybe they’re waiting for us somewhere. Or they’re trying to lure Az and Cassian down here and it’s a trap.” That makes her pause and look at you, considering sharply. “We should try and stay as hidden as possible,” you suggest, “keep to the shadows rather than storming down the middle of the corridor.”

She barks a laugh. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Saying what Azriel says. If I had a mark for every time he’s said the words ‘keep to the shadows’...” she trails off, shaking her head.

“I’m not—just—” you sigh, “—let’s just be careful, okay?”

She steps very slightly closer to the wall, further into what little shadow the torches are casting over the rock, and keeps going, so you follow her through the twists and turns of the cave system, hoping you’ve picked the right way. Every corner looks the same, your footsteps sound the same, the cadence of Nesta’s breathing is monotonous and steady. It feels like you’re going around in circles.

But you aren’t. You can feel the slight lightening of pressure in your sinuses, how the ground ever so slightly tips upwards. You even start to feel like you might be getting out of here without meeting a single obstacle.

And that’s when you reach a dead-end.

A mockingly sheer column of rock with a gap right at the top, where you can see a coiled up rope which is almost certainly used to manoeuvre up and down. Through the gap, you see beautiful, white light, and you reason that this must be some kind of exit. 

“Come on,” you say to Nesta, steadying yourself against the wall, “I’ll boost you up and then you throw the rope down for me.”

She looks at you incredulously. “That must be fifteen feet high at least,” she says. “There’s no way you’re getting me up there.”

As ever, you are entirely unimpressed by Nesta’s doubt. “I’m stronger than I look. And unless you have another idea…?”

Despite her general lack of faith in you, Nesta doesn’t even try and contemplate a different option; she knows as well as you do that there isn’t one. You cup your hands in front of you and bend your knees as Nesta tentatively uses you as a step-up. 

“Ready?” you ask.

She hesitates, peering down at you. “For what?”

“Just get ready to grab the ledge.”

Without warning, you toss her upwards, putting all your strength into getting her as high as possible, and she lets out a grunt as she manages to grab hold of the edge of the lip above you. For a moment, you think she might not be able to hold on—she sways and shakes, probably due to the poison still sapping your energy—but she eventually hauls herself up and disappears out of view.

Then you wait. It can’t be for more than thirty seconds, but as they tick by, your anxiety starts to spike. What if she just leaves you here? What if she takes her opportunity to get rid of you just so Elain can have Azriel? As much as you like Elain, the idea of anyone else having him sends shooting rage through your nerves, even with the bond absent in your chest. It’s a natural instinct, but before you can spiral—“Mind your head,” comes the call and down comes the rope, thick, old, and covered in dirt, but it’ll do. You make quick work of it, despite your screaming muscles, and join Nesta at the top.

You want to ask her what took her so long, but peering through the gap where the light comes through, it becomes quite obvious.

Illuminated by a great cut-out in the ceiling of the cave, covered in mosses and deep green hanging vines, is a lake nearly three-times the width of the Sidra. The water is startlingly blue, clear, and it looks deceptively shallow, but you’ve seen lakes like this before. They tend to go down so deep the pressure would kill you before you reached the bottom.

What’s worse, on the other side of the lake is an Illyrian encampment, populated by at least six warriors, maybe more you can’t even see, armed to the teeth and evidently waiting for something to happen. You can see them talking to one another, but what they’re saying is lost under the sound of running water coming from the cascade on the far side of the lake. 

Thankfully, the two of you are hidden in darkness under an outcrop. Perhaps if Nesta had taken you right when you got out of your cell, you would have ended up on the other side, right in the middle of your captors’ base. Either way, it looks like the only way out of this is in a fight.

“How long can you hold your breath for?” you ask Nesta, calculating roughly how far you’ll need to swim under the surface so the Illyrians don’t detect you. Without weapons, you’ll need the element of surprise to disarm them, and from there, well, you’ve seen Nesta spar with Cassian. It’ll be easy. By the side of you, however, she is almost eerily still. “Nesta?” you say, turning to her.

You expect her to be watching the Illyrians, maybe lost in thought about how to take them out, but you’re wrong. She’s staring down into the water, unfocused and unblinking. She almost looks frightened?

The thought occurs to you that Nesta might not know how to swim. Then, something Az said to you when you first met both her and Elain hits you. He told you to be careful mentioning the Cauldron, that, understandably, they don’t like thinking about it and suddenly everything clicks. Nesta doesn’t like water, doesn’t like being submerged in it, because it reminds her of being inside the Cauldron. Maybe something else too. She’s been through a lot, as Az tells you. In your chest, your heart lurches, not with pity, but perhaps with a profound feeling of sadness for her. 

“Nesta,” you say lowly. You aren’t about to coddle her, she doesn’t need that, wouldn’t want it anyway. You wouldn’t either. She flicks her gaze over to you, but it’s clear she’s still not all here. “I have a theory,” you continue, and you explain that there must be another passage to your cell, probably in the opposite direction to the one you took. As you talk, you see her eyes sharpen, not so dull, and she actually starts listening to you. “If you can distract some of them and lead them back to our cell, I can swim over and take out as many as possible while you keep them occupied.” It’s the only thing you can think of to keep her out of the water. “We can meet up over there once you’re done.”

Whether she appreciates it or not, you can’t tell, but she looks you over, then to the Illyrians, and says, a little hoarsely, “Get under the water. I’ll draw their attention away.” You nod, kicking off your shoes as you go to lower yourself in as quietly as possible, but she grabs your wrist and stops you. Her grip is firm, but not violent. “Be careful,” she says, and without waiting for a reply, she lets go. “Go on then.”

Glancing at the lake, you take a moment, and lower yourself in slowly.

The water is freezing cold and you swallow a gasp as you enter. Pushing through the pain, with one last fleeting look at Nesta, you take a deep breath, dip your head under the water, and start to swim. You just have to trust now that Nesta holds up her end of the plan.

You try to take the shortest, most direct route possible without getting spotted, but your lungs are burning and without your magic to help, you start to think that maybe you won’t be able to make it without coming up for air. The waterfall isn’t so far away from you and the running water might conceal you just enough to allow you to breathe for a moment. It’s your only shot, so you go for it.

The strength of the water batters you, but the first, quiet hit of fresh air is enough to make it inconsequential to you. For as long as you can chance it, you take it in, and push your luck by looking over at the encampment. From here, it’s difficult to see, but you think you count two males, looking around nervously, and you swear you can hear shouting from down one of the corridors. Seems like Nesta managed her distraction well.

Enough. You dive back under and move as fast as you can, ignoring how much of a struggle it is. You have to do this, you have to get out of here. You have to get back to Azriel. And, godsdamn you, you want to see Nesta get back to Cassian.

Your hands hit the other side of the lake before you realise it, and, as silently as possible, you emerge from the surface. Still, there are only two males in the encampment, and you definitely weren’t imagining the shouting. Here, it’s louder, and you can make out male voices, obviously irate. The two other Illyrians watch the alcove closely, not even whispering a word to each other.

One of them is older. He’s bigger and has more siphons, but he’s no commander; you’d guess he’s an Oristian just by the way he holds himself. You can feel his ego from here. The other one is younger, barely out of training. He fidgets with his armour and his weapons, his leg bouncing where he sits on a rock and pays so much attention to the alcove that he isn’t looking where he clearly is supposed to be: right at you.

You pull yourself out of the water with natural grace and drop immediately into a crouch, blending in with a darkness. Your wet clothes are making the cold seep into your skin, but you need all the protection you can get and the padding around your joints might be enough to buy you some time if things go wrong. 

The Illyrians are too close together, sitting around a central opening where the vestiges of a fire lay. Though you’re strong, there’s no way you can take them out hand-to-hand if it’s two against one. You’re trained in combat, but mostly for swords and daggers. You need another distraction, and, as you shift your feet to try and get a better view, you get one.

You kick a pebble and, thinking quickly, you snatch it from the ground before it can hit something that will draw their eye to you. You weigh it in your hand. If you want it to make an impression, you need it to hit something away from the water, so the sound of the waterfall doesn’t mask it. 

You catch something glinting in the corner of your vision. In the exposing light, a shield is propped up against a nearly empty weapons rack. Briefly, you consider making a rush for it, thinking a shield is better than no weapon at all, but you know that’s even more of a long shot than trying to take them out quietly.

So, you opt to aim for the shield, and as the pebble flies, you know you’ll reach your target.

A clang sounds out through the atrium and the two Illyrians startle out of their trances. The older one barks an order for the younger one to check what the disturbance is, then berates him for being a coward when he hesitates. You wait impatiently for there to be enough distance between them, then you strike.

You dash behind the bigger Illyrian, keeping to the shadows, and as soon as you can, you pounce. You wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him back and behind the rock he was sitting on, keeping him as out of view as possible in case the kid decides to turn around. He kicks, attempting to buck his hips and flap his wings to get you off him, but you’ve got him so firmly held that there is no chance of him overpowering you like this. Your hand closes over his mouth to stop him shouting, and you choke the air out of his lungs silently. Not to kill him, just to knock him out. Snapping his neck would take more force and compromise your position, so you settle for his unconsciousness and lower him to the ground.

Concealed behind the rock, when the other Illyrian turns, he sees no one. His following shout tells you he’s panicked, and you wait for him to come to you. He stands in the middle of the encampment, turning around, scanning for threats, and you quietly unsheathe the sword that the older Illyrian had strapped to his back. 

Sharp, Illyrian steel. You smile faintly. You and Az have sparred with these so often that it feels like an extension of your arm as you hold it.

You wait for the remaining Illyrian to be facing away from you and, when the time is right, spring up from behind the rock. Your blade meets the back of his neck before he even knows you’re there, and he immediately stills as you press it against his skin and blood wells at the edge. In the meantime, the shouting down in the alcove behind you has stopped, and you hope that means Nesta has dealt with the others.

“Throw your weapons away from you,” you say calmly. He does as he’s told without complaint, unsheathing even a hidden dagger in his boot. Smart male. “Turn around slowly.” Again, he does what you say, but you keep your blade at his neck and maintain a healthy enough distance from him. 

He stares down at you uncertainly, his hands away from his sides, and gulps as you assess him. Typically Illyrian, he has dark hair, tan skin, and brown eyes which betray his fear. A fully fledged warrior would have tried to disarm you by now, and, as a result, would likely be dead. This one seems to have more sense.

“Your name,” you say. Statement, not a question.

“Wilsen,” he supplies quietly, uncomfortably shifting as your sword remains firm at his throat.

“Why are you keeping us here, Wilsen?”

When he hesitates to respond, you press the blade against him and he grimaces. “I have orders,” he says, a little frantically, “that’s all I know. I swear it.”

It’s moments like these when you wish you had Az’s shadows whispering in your ear, telling you truth from falsehood, divining someone’s character. Ultimately, you have to rely on your gut feeling, and it’s telling you that Wilsen is lying.

You bring the tip of the blade to the underside of his jaw, cutting a fine line through the skin of his neck. “Try again,” you say. “Think more carefully about your answer this time.”

As he deliberates, the strangest feeling flows through you. Your magic, sputtering in your veins as it tries to come alive again, fighting against the poison. Hurriedly, you try to yank on the mating bond, but it still lies dormant under your ribcage, and it’s this fleeting moment where you lose your focus that you blame when you fail to notice Wilsen’s eyes flick to just above your shoulder.

A thick, calloused hand clamps over your mouth, another squeezes your throat as you’re dragged backwards. Instincts kicking in, you try to twist, to pull the hands away, but they just tighten their grip as you flail. The blade in your hand hits something, maybe Wilsen’s neck, as you’re forced to let go of it in the scuffle, but you’re too blinded by the pain to care. 

Some unseen Illyrian, maybe an escapee of Nesta’s wrath, has you trapped against him. You try to reach up to scratch at his face to get him to release you, but all you can feel is the heave of his chest as he laughs and wrestles your hand out of his sight, freeing your mouth. He’s choking the life out of you to the point where all you can do is gargle and thrash, to try and somehow get out of his hold.

Even the smallest bit of your replenishing magic seems to do nothing. You try fortifying your muscles, try directing some of it to weaken his, but to no avail. 

You come to the conclusion that, as your vision starts to blur and darken, you’re dying, and this Illyrian is enjoying it. You fight, scratch at his arm, but that only seems to egg him on, to draw it out. He’s not even taunting you, not in any way you can make sense of, he’s just amusing himself in the brutality of it. 

Your teeth feel like they’re fizzling. You can’t feel your body anymore, you’re weightless, outside of the bounds of reality where all that exists is the immense pressure on your neck and oh gods this is it, you’re dying you’re dying you’re dying and you’ll never see Az again—

Suddenly, the feeling stops. 

You must be dead, you think. 

It’s funny, though, you can still see, and there’s this throbbing in your temples. Dead people don’t get headaches, do they? How awful. You can’t escape migraines, even in the afterlife.

The Illyrian behind you (oh, he’s still here?) lists backwards, and it’s only logical that you tumble with him, but, for some reason, you don’t. Instead, there’s something keeping you standing, gentle, tender heat around your middle and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say there’s someone saying your name.

“Breathe,” they say, and then your name again. There’s something so familiar about it and—you can breathe.

Desperately, you gasp in air, your brain aching after being starved of it, but you take in too much and start to cough so much that your eyes water, pulling out of this person’s grip and doubling over. Again comes a gentle touch, this one at your back, as you feel like you’re hurling up a lung. Again comes the reminder to just breathe, and you do. Your coughing stops and…

You whirl around, meeting Nesta’s sharp eyes as she steps away from you. In her hand is a sword, slick with red which drips to the floor, and behind her, a dead Illyrian lying in a pool of his own blood.

You open your mouth, then snap it shut. 

Nesta Archeron just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you manage to wheeze out, the words catching in your throat as you struggle to regulate your breathing.

A muscle ticks in her jaw. “I’m not about to let some lowlife choke out Azriel’s mate,” she says pointedly, casting a dismissive look over to the dead Illyrian, “and you’d have done the same, if it were me.”

You would have, you just didn’t think Nesta would be the one to say it. 

She looks you up and down from your dripping hair to your crumpled clothes. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Just as you go to respond, you get interrupted by a low groan of pain, and you see that Wilsen is still alive, just bleeding profusely from his shoulder. So you did catch him in the crossfire. Nesta advances on him so quickly that you barely have chance to shout for her to stop. 

“He knows something,” you say, moving towards her gingerly, stepping over the Illyrian who tried to kill you without sparing him a second glance, wincing as you try to move your neck. “I was interrogating him before I got interrupted.”

“I don’t know—!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nesta snarls at him before turning back to you. “You were interrogating him?”

You hum confirmation, the sound scratching at your throat. “With a sword.”.

She just looks at you. “Of course you were,” she mumbles, “Az’ll be so proud.”

“Cassian will probably pounce on you as soon as he finds out you took on three fully-grown Illyrians with your bare hands,” you reply, offering her a sly smile which almost feels normal.

And Nesta, to your surprise, laughs. A real, genuine, contagious laugh which rings through the atrium, and you find yourself chuckling along with her. 

“Neither of us are getting much sleep for a week,” she says, adding with a gesture to her blade, “and I caught the last one with this actually.”

You let out a giggle. “That’ll definitely get Cassian going—”

“Oh you’re both whor—”

“Shut the fuck up!” you and Nesta spit at Wilsen in unison, before you whip your gazes up in shock to look at each other.

And you both burst out laughing again.

It’s nice. You don’t think you’ve seen Nesta laugh so much in your presence ever. Maybe you’re delirious from the air loss, but you’d go as far to say you’re enjoying her company, and by the look of it, she might feel the same.

Still, you have Wilsen to deal with.

Once your bout of laughter dies down and you can breathe normally again, you peer down at him as he looks up at you. He looks quite deathly pale. Nesta steps aside, her face darkening, as you crouch down next to him, hand on the wound at his shoulder, but not pressing down, not to cause him pain. Not yet.

Azriel will provide that afterwards in any case.

“Do you know the way out of here, Wilsen?” you ask. Even though you can feel yourself slowly regaining your magic, the mating bond has still not burst back to life. You guess Nesta’s hasn’t either, considering how attentively she’s paying attention to the two of you. 

He swallows thickly, eyes you warily. When he takes a second too long to answer, you push two fingers down, right on his shoulder blade. It won’t kill him, but it’s not going to feel like a warm hug from his mother either. He yelps in pain while his blood seeps onto your hand. “Fuck, it’s—” he sucks in a breath as you release him, “—there’s only one way.” His eyes flick to the cut-out in the roof of the cave, right above the middle of the lake, and Nesta follows his gaze carefully. Just barely, you catch her flinch. “And unless you can sprout wings…”

You pull away, letting him sag into his body. Even if the vines growing down the hole can take your weight, and by the look of them, they might, you still need to get to them. You hope Nesta is coming to the same conclusion you are. When Wilsen says there’s only one way out, he means it, and it means you’re going to have to give her a very, very quick swimming lesson, if she can stomach it.

“Why did you bring us here?” she asks suddenly, aiming her question at Wilsen. 

A ragged sigh escapes him. “Give me something in return,” he says, his spit gurgling in his mouth as he talks. You’ve seen this before. He doesn’t have long.

“Tell us and you might live to see tomorrow,” you say hurriedly. 

He has the energy to scoff. “So your mate can torture me in his dungeons? No. I’d rather die,” he grits out, shifting on the floor, his arm deadweight against the ground.

“You’d rather bleed out here than have a chance at surviving?” Nesta asks, her tone increasingly agitated. She starts to say something else, but you motion for her to calm herself, and she does, all the while giving you a look as if to say Do you even have a plan?

You turn back to Wilsen, bracing your forearms on your knees. “You have family?” you say quietly, and the ensuing rage which comes over his face tells you that yes, he does. “If you die here, Wilsen,” you continue, your voice soft, “my mate will find every male in that family of yours and he will ask the question you refused to answer. If they don’t know, he’ll move onto the females. Your wife, sister, mother, whoever. And if they don’t know, he will go through Stonecross, Illyrian by Illyrian, until someone tells him what he wants to know. And if he does that, he’ll be sure to let everyone know it’s because you, Wilsen, did not give us an answer right here, right now. So, this is what I’ll offer you: not just your life, but the lives and dignity of everyone you care about. Happily, I’ll let you die, but how happy that would make them? I’m not so sure, are you?” 

Only the sound of the waterfall behind you lets you know time hasn’t stopped. Even Nesta’s breathing is so silent you can barely hear it, but you can feel her eyes on you. Wilsen is deathly still. You get the distinct feeling that if he wasn’t bleeding out, he’d have his hand wrapped around your neck. “Your choice,” you finish with a shrug.

His words are vitriolic. “You were supposed to die down there, you fucking bitch. Nothing more than motivation for the General and your mate to make a mistake. So you’d all finally understand how it feels to get kicked when you’re down,” he spits, but his voice shakes. Scared, or struggling to stay awake? Does it matter? Either way, you think he’s telling the truth.

“Seems a convoluted way to kill someone.” Nesta’s voice sounds more distant in the quiet. 

Wilsen shoots her a glare, from which she doesn’t baulk. “They were supposed to find you. It was supposed to hurt. We were going to take them on once they had. Make them pay.”

“They’d have torn through you,” she says. “You never would have made it out of here anyway.”

“It’s better to die standing than on our knees in front of a half-breed High Lord and his bastard brothers.” He starts to cough, like breathing might have become difficult.

“You’re dying, Wilsen,” you say, moving towards him to put pressure on the wound, but his hand shoots out to stop you and he shakes his head.

“Let me,” he snarls. “I gave you what you wanted, so let me die.”

“I can stop the bleeding,” you reply. It’s a strange kind of sorrow you feel for him. Dying alone, surrounded by people you hate, is no way to go, not even for males like him. He’s still young, still impressionable. Entrenched nonetheless. Someone will have to tell that family of his what he was willing to die for.

He winces, struggling to keep himself upright. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me.”

Nesta says your name and breaks you from your thoughts. “Leave him,” she says, “he doesn’t deserve your pity.”

You sigh and stand. As you do, you see relief flicker over Wilsen’s face before pain takes back over. If you offer him a quicker death, you’re not sure he’ll take it, so you don’t offer at all. 

“You’re sort of terrifying, you know,” Nesta adds, flicking her eyes from the lake and back to you. In her eyes, though, you don’t see fear. You see it in the way she assesses you, in how she holds her head. You’ve earnt her respect. 

Attention on your exit, you huff out a shaky laugh, eager to stop thinking of the dying Illyrian behind you. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. When she frowns at you, you continue, “They call you ‘Lady Death’. You don’t get that name by preaching peace and love.”

“And what do you call me?” she asks, edging closer to the water, squinting up at the daylight.

You come to stand next to her. “I should like to call you my friend, Nesta.”

“Don’t push it,” she replies, but you can tell it’s not as serious as she meant it to be. 

“Not enemies then?” you suggest.

“If we get out of here without drowning,” she says, dipping her hand into the water and immediately pulling it back out again, “I’ll consider it.”

You offer her a small smile, seeing that for the olive branch that it is. “Good enough for me,” you say. “You know how to swim?”

She nods, but seems uncertain. “I can float well enough.”

“But, you don’t like water?” you ask tentatively. When she narrows her eyes at you, you hold your hands up in surrender. “Not judging. I don’t like heights.”

“Az takes you flying all of the time,” she deadpans, decidedly unimpressed.

You shrug. “He’s helping me get over it.” With a grimace, you add for her benefit, “It’s slow going.” 

Having only just managed to regain any sort of heat in your body, you’d hesitate to get back in freezing cold water, but with your magic not materialising any further than a few sputters in your veins, your conviction is all you have to get you through it. That, and the need to help Nesta out of here too. You crouch down.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, crouching with you.

Your eyes flick to the sword still in her hand. “You’ll have to leave that behind. When you get in, try not to panic. Your body will go into cold water shock if you do. It’s mind over matter, and once you’re used to it, you’ll be fine.”

“That,” she says, her voice dropping into something near enough trepidation, “doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Nesta. Just… trust me.”

With that, you push yourself off the edge of the rock and into the water, attempting to acclimate yourself to the temperature as much as possible, fully submerging yourself before you resurface, treading water with relative ease. You take deep breaths and stave off the biting cold, trying to show her that if you can do it, she can too. 

“Come on,” you urge, aware that even though you’re resilient, you can’t take much longer than ten minutes in here. A human would barely last five. “It’s not that far to the vines, and then we’re out of here.”

Laying the sword carefully down at her side, Nesta scans the water, as though she might be able to discern which parts are cold and which are tolerable, with little success, if the face she makes is anything to go by. You watch her take a few breaths, shut her eyes, and mutter something which might even be a prayer, or else a curse on your name if this goes wrong.

Then she jumps, feet first, into the lake.

You wait with bated breath for her to come back up, and for a few sickening seconds, you think she might be sinking until—

“Fuck!” she gasps. “That’s freezing.” She’s almost hyperventilating with how quickly her breath is coming. Not good, that’s panic. She needs something to focus on.

“Nesta,” you say urgently, wading over to her, “look at me.” With difficulty, she does. “You remember what I said before?”

Gaping, she nods.

“What did I say?”

“Try not to panic,” she says slowly.

“Right. What else?

As she thinks, her breathing starts to even out. “It’s not far to the vines.”

“Exactly,” you tell her, “we’re almost there.”

Thank the Mother, the gods, and anyone else who deigns to help you, Nesta starts to swim, and you let her get ahead of you just in case she needs you to support her. It’s tough and you are pushing with all your might to stay afloat, to make it to the first vine you see. 

Nesta grabs it and pulls herself out of the water, trusting that it can take her weight. The plant is thick and woody, so it does. She looks down at you, still in the lake, but you tell her to get out and up as soon as she can.

You find another, slightly thinner, but still strong enough to hold you. Your arms ache and your shoulders are screaming at you. You push and push and push, one thought in your mind: Get out. Get out. Get out. 

The vine seems to be getting higher the more you climb, like it’s growing faster than you can move, but you’re almost at the top. Just a little further.

Nesta, she’s somewhere, maybe above you, but you can’t hear her grunting as she hauls herself up anymore. You chance a look down and she’s not there either. You figure she must have made it out.

You’re so close. You can feel the sun on your face, can smell the fresh breeze of the outside. It must have been hours since you woke in that cell. Honestly, you’re not sure how long you’ve been gone. Maybe days. Gods, you’re so tired. The cold has sapped the adrenaline out of you and you’re running on fumes. 

The next hold you find on the vine snaps and you lurch to the side, yelling as you find purchase on a knot lower down. As you catch yourself, you force your ankle into a twist and something twinges. 

You hear Nesta swear faintly. You pull yourself in, steadying yourself, and you look up to see her peering over the side. She’s lying flat on her front, holding onto the edge of the gap. “You’re almost there,” she shouts down, her teeth chattering, her hair hanging loose in long, wet strands.

Every part of your body is telling you to stop, to rest, but you can’t. That’s a death sentence. You test how much weight you can put on your ankle and yelp as pain shoots all the way up your leg, but if you stay here, you’re doomed.

So, you keep going, using your arms to lift yourself up, your uninjured leg to hold yourself in place. Again. And again. And again. You grit your teeth and you lift.

When you’re within reach, Nesta lowers herself down as much as she dares and thrusts out her hand. Blissfully, you grab it as soon as you can. You feel her grip the back of your shirt as she pulls you the rest of the way out of the cave and the two of you roll to the ground, side-by-side, staring up into the cloudless, blue sky, chests heaving.

“Next time we hang out,” you say, breathless, “let’s just get a coffee or something. Go buy a book. Feed the ducks down by the Sidra.”

Nesta scoffs out a half-hysterical laugh. “Deal.”

She sits up and you meet her eyes as she looks down at you. “Your ankle?”

You hum roughly as you try to move it, but that shooting pain hits you again. “Totally fucked,” you say.

“I am not carrying you anywhere.” She looks around. “I don’t even know where we are. It doesn’t look like the Steppes.”

Letting out a sharp hiss as you pull yourself up, you take in your surroundings. “No,” you say, seeing how the snow is thin on the ground and the thick, tall pines of the Illyrian mountains have given way to bushier cedars. If you can find the source of that lake underground, a river or a stream, you can find a village somewhere, even in the middle of this unknown forest. When you were a merc, you did things like this all the time. “We’re further south, I think. Probably closer to the Hewn City than anywhere else.”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asks, frowning at you.

You raise a brow at her. “Observation,” you say simply. “There’ll be a settlement somewhere nearby. Or at least some shelter.”

“You,” she replies, “can’t walk. Not with your ankle like it is.”

“I have high pain tolerance.” 

When you try to stand, Nesta catches your wrist and holds you still. “We should wait for the poison to wear off a little more, then you might be able to do something.”

You shake your head, seeing how high the sun is in the sky. It’s past midday. “We don’t know how long that will take. If there are more Illyrians about, we need to move. I know you took them out down there, but you caught them unaware. We get spotted from the air? We won’t be so lucky. And just because we’re not in the Steppes doesn’t mean it won’t get dangerous come nightfall.”

Though she makes a face, she grits her teeth and gets up. She offers you her hand. “You’re as stubborn as him too.”

You take it gratefully and let her help you up. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say as she slips her hand around your back and supports you.

You pick a direction, and with Nesta’s help, you manage to hobble your way to a stream, then a village thankfully not too far from where you were being held. 

By the time the sky darkens and the stars illuminate the snowy ground, you two are in a semi-empty inn, sipping free soup by the fire, courtesy of the owner’s healthy fear of her High Lady and her sister. Nesta, you can tell, feels vaguely uncomfortable about it, and you like her all the more for her humility.

Come midnight, Nesta and you are half-asleep, dozing in the warmth and basking in the easy, quiet conversation you had been having about Sellyn Drake, of all people. When you go to your rooms, she bids you goodnight and you bid her the same. Your head hits the pillow and you’re out. 

You have a dreamless sleep for once.

In the morning, you jolt awake, pain erupting in your chest from the—gods, the mating bond. You desperately tug back, pulling so hard that the thread goes taut, telling Az I’m here! I’m here! Please, for the love of the Mother, please come and get me. Then you bolt out of bed, hop out of your room, and bash on Nesta’s door, calling her name and definitely waking the innkeeper.

Off-balance, you almost fall through her door when she opens it, but she steadies you. She looks like she barely slept, but then, you probably look similar given the day you had yesterday. A few hours isn’t really enough.

“The bond,” you breathe out. She needs no more explanation and you watch her concentrate, obviously calling on Cassian the same way you call on Az. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” she says sharply, “but… pained.”

“Shit. He’ll be okay.”

“I know.” But the worry on her face is pressed deep into the furrow of her brow.

“Az,” you say, “he’s on his way.” For good measure, you tug on the bond, now gorgeously back alive, fluttering in your chest, and he responds in kind. 

For a moment, her face lightens a fraction and her eyes flick behind you. 

You feel it then: the cold touch of a shadow wrapping gently around your wrist and, deep in your bones, that old, ancient warmth.

A grin breaks out on your face when you turn, seeing Az appear from shadow in the foyer, just as the innkeeper rounds the corner. She sucks in a breath and swears quietly, frozen in place, her eyes flicking between the three of you warily.

Az, his face carefully controlled, but with a bemused look in his beautiful hazel eyes, smiles at her gently. “Thank you for looking after them,” he says lightly, and you almost melt at the sound. 

You must send that down the bond because something akin to a chuckle skitters back at you.

“O-of course, my Lord.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times. Azriel waits patiently. “I’ll—w-will you be staying for breakfast?”

“No,” you say, “thank you. We’ll be heading off now.”

The innkeep swallows. “Right. Was e-everything to your liking, my lady?” Cautiously, she glances at Nesta, who does her best to soften her face, then back at you.

“Slept like a baby,” you assure her. You nudge Nesta.

“Yes,” she says. “A perfect stay, thank you.”

At that, Az raises a brow at you, more confused at Nesta giving you the time of day than anything else. Long story, you mouth at him.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” the innkeeper says decisively, promptly retreating back downstairs, presumably to cool her nerves.

“Cassian’s fine,” Az says to Nesta as soon as he’s assured it’s just the three of you up here. “He’s being dramatic about it.” Then he catches how you’re keeping your weight off your right leg. “What happened?” he asks darkly, his shadows coalescing around his shoulders.

“Just take us home,” you say, reaching for him. As he wraps an arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head, you inhale the scent of fresh, night-chilled mist and cedar, something so uniquely your mate’s that any tension left in your body drains out of you. “I think I want to sleep for a week.”

He huffs, pressing a kiss to your hair. Then, to Nesta, “Are they dead?”

“Difficult to kill a vine,” she deadpans. “I tried to get her to rest, but she’s worse than you. Get me back to Cassian, would you? He’s tugging on the bond like a child.”

His hand leaves your back to grab a hold of her and winnow you all back to Velaris through his shadows, which cling to you, fussing around your ankle like it’s a mortal wound. You barely feel the jump, Azriel making sure to keep you upright when you land on the terrace of the townhouse.

“He’s downstairs,” you hear him say. 

Nesta pauses for a moment, but then the door to the inside clicks, and it’s just you and Az.

“Do I want to know what happened to make Nesta look at you like she might actually like you?” he asks quietly, pulling away so he too can fuss over you.

You kick his shadows away. “I think we’ve come to an understanding,” you say. “Maybe we aren’t friends just yet but, it’s something.”

“...Good.”

Yeah, you think. It is.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Okay but imagine Soft!dom Remus where he just makes life simpler when you go out or are at home bat work you’re type a on top of ur shit but w Remus you can just be and not have to think 😫

No one would believe their eyes if they could see you right now.

No one would ever believe that you, with your quick wit, smart mount, sarcastic drawl and 'take no shit' attitude is currently whining at your husband.

“Remmy, I can't do it." You're out for dinner, at a pretty restaurant that required you both to dress up a little. You'd ordered steak and passed Remus your plate as soon as it had been set before you.

"I know, dove. Give me two seconds." He was making space on his side of the table to pull your plate in front of him.

"In thin strips, please." Remus rolls his eyes- he doesn't need to be reminded of any of your preferences.

Your friends and co-workers would be in disbelief at your behaviour right now and you find that you don't care if any of them would find out- Remus takes good care of you, always has and always will.

"Taste, baby. Let me know if you want more salt." he feeds you a piece and you smile.

"It's perfect, thanks Rem." he nods, passing the plate back to you and pulling his back in front of him.

Remus ordered pasta, knowing that you'd want some and he doesn't hesitate to load a bite on his fork for you. "Here," his other hand cups under the fork, ready to catch any fall off as he feeds you.

"That's good, baby." he smiles, already knowing you're going to want the last bite of his dinner and knowing that he'd love nothing more than to give it to you.

"What do they have for dessert tonight?" you ask as you eat, sipping your wine every couple of bites.

"I already told them cheesecake dovey," he reaches across the table to wipe a bit of wine from your lips. "They also had that chocolate cake you liked so I got two slices. I've got you all set baby."

Like you'd ever have to worry.

[laufeysvalentine]

cry.

sirius black x fem!reader | masterlist

summary ༄ sirius x potter!reader ... sirius loves you, but he swears he's not good for you. angst, childhood friends to lovers, inspired by cry by cas, coward!sirius, ooc!sirius a little pls don't come after me love u bye

word count ༄ 2.7k

nora’s notes ༄ CAUSE I NEEEEEED TO TELLLL YOU SOMEEEEETHING! erm okay i know i said i was working on pt two of i want you but i got distracted by this instead. i haven't read it through bc if i do i won't publish it PLS don't mind how the writing quality from my last post has dramatically worsened...

you look so pretty like this. mouth drawn open, drool trickling from your soft mouth. your face, your whole body, turned towards the boy next to you. even in sleep, you’re drawn to him. so trusting, so open. 

something in his gut twists. 

—

“sirius!” a call comes from behind him, accompanied by a smattering of footsteps as he watches you approach. your lips are parted to take in more air, and he’s overcome by the urge to grab your face and absolutely kiss you silly. 

he ignores it, trying to instead focus on what you’re saying. 

“...hogsmeade tomorrow?” you ask, a twinge of hope seeping into your voice. you’re so eager, eyes wide, that he feels terrible not knowing what you said. “were you listening?” 

“sorry, darling, i was too distracted by your beauty. what was that?” he tilts his head at you, taking pride in the way the tips of your ears turn reddish. 

flicking his ear, you repeat your question. “d’you wanna have lunch at hogsmeade tomorrow? james said he was going with re–erm, lily, or something, and rem and peter are busy.” 

“uhh,” he pauses, thinking about his schedule. 

“it’s okay if you’re busy,” you tack on quickly, noting his hesitation. 

“no, no,” he frowns, upset by the way you’re tugging at your neckline, looking away from him. “i’ll go. i promise. i’ll be there. lunch, you said?” 

that smile, that beaming, beautiful smile, lights up the whole world and has him smiling along with you. you’re contagious. he wants to breathe you in and keep the disease all to himself. 

he makes a mental note to cancel all of his plans tomorrow. he wants to see you all day. 

—

you shift on the pillow, face burying further and further into the sheets, as if permanently embedding yourself onto your bed. the comforter slips from where it was from your shoulders, allowing him a good look at your bare back, the expanse of your shoulders. he wants to press kisses against them, knead his hands into a sweet massage–anything to make you feel good. 

your face is serene when you sleep. the knot between your brows, which james swore was permanent at this point, has dissolved with rest. his thumb traces your eyebrows before he can stop himself, knowing this is the last time he’ll see you this calm for a while. 

he turns away from you, trying to avoid looking at any part of you. he can already feel the guilt gnawing at his fingers, worming its way into his bones. he needs to get it out. 

before thinking too hard about it, he shuffles around, standing from your bed and grabbing his boxers from where they landed on the floor last night. he takes the rest of his clothes and slips them on as quietly as possible. but before he leaves your room, he pauses to drink you in. you, in all your drooling, snoring glory. 

you move around, a hand reaching out to your left, roaming up and down the bed as if searching for him. he’d prefer it if you sucker punched him in the stomach. 

he can’t won’t think about that look in your eyes yesterday, when you begged him to fuck you. it was devastated. especially when he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds and opened them to see you, caged under his body, just watching him. 

like you knew he couldn’t give you everything. like you knew he would be there, but he wouldn’t be there. and when he closed his eyes again, he pretended he couldn’t feel the wetness slipping from your eyelids. 

—

“he got another one,” your brother sighs as he enters the common room, only a few seconds after a red-faced sirius, who stormed through, scrubbing at his face. 

“a howler?” you ask james, sitting up straight in concern. “from… her?” 

he nods, making a move to pass you where you’re sat with your legs draped across the couch, having eaten dinner much earlier than the marauders. 

“i’ll go,” you say, stopping him from walking up the stairs. “he won’t want to see anyone who saw it happen.” 

“but i’m his best friend,” james counters, pushing his glasses up his nose. “he won’t mind.” 

“just let me.” you plead with your eyes, which makes him hesitate just enough for you to pass him and head to the dorm. “stay down there.” 

he relents, and you enter sirius’ dorm with the tiniest bit of a sashay. you know he hates feeling weak, so the best way to treat him is not like he’s delicate. even if he is. just a little bit. 

you hum a bit, making your way to james’ bed, which sits directly across from the window sirius is sat in front of. the boy is looking out the window, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and as much as he looks devastatingly handsome, his eyes are also red with a sort of tiredness you only acquire after years of crying. 

“may i?” you reach for the cigarette, and he hands it to you with a limp hand, not even looking over. he knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you. to do that would be to deny the only thing he wants right now. 

you take a long drag, purposefully blowing the smoke into his face, smiling when he gives you a reaction. “turn around?” you ask with a softness that he can’t deny. 

not when you’re just so lovable in comparison to the scarlet that still tinges his vision, the cold screech of his mother, screaming, telling him he wasn’t good enough, humiliating him in front of his friends. he slept around, he was a disgrace. she reminded him of who he was–who he’d always be: a black. 

without realizing, his fingers clench into balls, and he listens to you, letting you thread your fingers through his thick hair, shoulders relaxing with your touch. 

“talk about it?” you murmur, braiding the top of his head into a soft french braid. 

just for a second, he hesitates. then, with a sigh that echoes through his body, he shakes his head. “you.” 

you get what he means, and so, you steer the conversation into mindless blabbers about your day, what you ate, who you hung out with. the more you speak, the more you feel the tension in his body dissolve into your hands. after a bout of silence, “you’re a good person, sirius.” 

he chuckles a bit at that. “you and my mother would disagree.” 

“it’s true,” you double down. “who else would take on an illegal animal form, just to help their friend? who would pull pranks on anyone who even dared to look at any of their friends the wrong way? who would go with james to threaten all the guys who look at me funny? just kidding, you’re not off the hook for that one.”

his head lifts towards yours with a pout. “he was creepy, darling. he was staring at you like he wanted to sink his teeth into your pretty little flesh, and it creeped me out.” 

you wrinkle your nose. “ew.” 

still, something warms in him at the thought of you accepting him. of seeing him as a good person. only–he wasn’t sure if that was true. he felt terrible more often than not. always a destroyer, a nuisance. couldn’t keep a girl, couldn’t love properly. if there was anything walburga black was good at, it was getting under his skin. 

right now, it seemed like she had crawled through his bloodstream and settled into it. and it sure didn’t seem like she was going to leave anytime soon. 

—

sirius is ignoring all of the calls that come through. the second he left your house, he went to the cliffside with a pack of marlboro’s and a hair tie. after lighting one and putting his hair back, he admires the valley. it was magnificent, with sloping mountains of green sliding down both sides, kissing in the middle. flowers decorated the hills, and his breath catches. it is so beautiful. 

but he’s terrified of slipping. if he falls down into that valley, he would have no chance of coming back up. the slope is too steep. 

he stands, stepping back to watch from afar. another step, and a stumble backwards. his foot catches on a stray rock, and he lands hard on his ass. ow. 

when he grabs for his phone, a lump knocks on the walls of his stomach. he has thousands of messages from james, who has clearly been updated on the situation and is spamming him like crazy. but only one has your name on top of it, staring up at him with those teary eyes, wide, desperate: please don’t shut me out. 

—

the christmas lights that tangled themselves in your tree were the nicest, coziest light for you to read by. you had insisted on celebrating some muggle traditions that lily had taught you about, and of course, james was all onboard. the two of you convinced your parents to put up decorations around the living room, and now you spend all of your time there. after grabbing the new novel you’re reading, you curl onto the couch to read. 

will the noseless villain defeat the scrawny boy? you’re just turning the page when something–no, someone–spills out of the chimney, covered in soot, stumbling onto the carpet. some dark liquid is leaking out from his skin.  

you’d recognize that figure anywhere.

sirius. 

the book slips from your grasp and you run towards him. “james!” you holler at the top of your lungs, fingers skimming his torso. “siri, i–are you okay? that was a dumb question, of course not. what–what do you need?” 

he peers up at you, his eyes glassy. “darling, i have to tell you–i–” 

james comes running through the doorway, hearing the commotion, and yells for your parents. they take off his shirt, and you can see all of the bruises that have molded themselves onto his body. he has a large gash on his ribcage, and he looks victim to a crucio or two. 

oh god. 

before you can stop them, water collects at your lashline, cascading down your cheeks. something pushes you to sit by him, hold his hand, and when you do, he glances at you. his face is weak from the pain, but he still reaches out to wipe your tears away. 

“don’t cry for me, y/n.” he murmurs softly as your mother tends to his wounds. 

“i can’t help it,” you let out a small hiccup, your fingers tracing his. 

i’m not worth it, is what he almost says. he turns his head away from you. he can’t look at you anymore. not when you’re this distraught over him. merlin. 

he catches you crying for him again in your room, a few weeks later. you were dancing in the kitchen to whatever came on the radio, and he bumped into a stack of plates on the counter. they shattered, and he almost had a panic attack right then and there. what would he do when euphemia kicked him out? he had nowhere else to go. 

he knew you would cry when you nudged an explanation out of him. you comforted him, and it really was no big deal in the end, but something in his bones told him you would cry for him. and it made him want to claw his skin off. 

—

sirius tries to escape, but of course, you find him. of course, you always do. even when–no, especially when he tries to hide. when he hates himself so much that he wants to rip his own flesh apart, break his own bones, you see him. 

he’s not sure if he hates or loves that about you. 

you’re outside his door, distraught scribbled into the wrinkle of your eyes and the quiver of you sweet, sweet lips. “sirius?” 

maybe he can just avoid you. maybe he can just let himself absorb you forever, ignore the reality. 

“i know you’re home,” you call softly, wringing your fingers. “can we talk about last night?” 

he swallows. do what’s good for her. you have to make her happy, above all else. he opens the door. 

“hi,” you say with a shyness he hasn’t seen in years. you step forward, crossing the boundaries, letting yourself into his place. into his heart. 

— 

“darling, i…” he swallows, and something twinges in your legs, telling you to run. but you can’t tear your gaze away from his adam’s apple, which you pressed kisses to only hours earlier, when you whispered sweet words to each other, saccharine promises. 

you tilt your head at him, and bile rushes to his mouth. how could he ever do this? he is a coward. 

“we can’t be together.” he says after a minute of silence, eyes trained on your feet. “we can’t.” 

at first, you don’t even try to argue. that makes it even worse. “i’ll wait for you.” 

“no, it’s–i,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “i… i just can’t. not now, not ever. maybe, i’d change, someday. but i can’t help the way i feel.” 

“you… you don’t feel the same about me?” it comes out in a breathy whisper, and it's his turn to watch you swallow, something scratching at your eyes. 

“i wish that i could,” he responds. i wish i was good, wish that i could give you my love now. 

“oh. i… oh.” your voice is barely audible. the stumble of your feet as you race towards the door is louder. it echoes through his bare apartment, second to the pounding of his heart as you close the door gently. you were always too kind, too soft to him. 

he was always too terrible for you. 

—

the first time sirius met james potter, the boy took one look at him and said, “don’t you dare go after my sister.” 

he shrugged it off at the time–why would he care about james’ sister anyways? all he wanted were friends. real, genuine friends. maybe ones that would really piss walburga off, if he was lucky. and james potter seemed just the type. 

but when he met you, something changed. he wanted you, he knew that much. even at thirteen, fourteen, he knew he felt something different for you. a feeling he wanted to keep close to his chest and never let go. he already had a spot for you in his heart; it was probably drilled in at birth, that’s how well you fit into it. 

yet, every year, even before he said anything, james would waggle his finger. “oh, please, padfoot, not my sister. you can’t even hold down one girl, i’m never letting you near here. you’d just break her heart. besides, you don’t want her, anyways,” and that throaty laugh. he never realized how much those words had grabbed fistfuls of sirius’ guts, squeezing them until nothing came out. 

he internalized them. he was untouchable, the boy every girl wanted, that every girl could fuck, but never have. 

—

sirius black had been selfish many, many times in his life. but this, this was the most selfish decision he’d ever made. it sucks that he was too drunk on cheap booze and a scary kind of lovesickness to notice. 

the only thing he can see right now–the only thing he can think about clearly–is you, in the most stunning dress he’d ever seen. when you walked in, his jaw dropped with a little whoa. 

you’re the only one for him. that’s how it’s always been. 

it’s too fucking bad that when he spun you around to love ballads on the dance floor, you let him. it’s worse that when his forehead kissed yours, you let him. you let him press his ugliness against your perfect. he took you by the waist, and you let him. 

his most selfish decision, underneath him, begging for him, tugging on his collar and smearing kisses on his jaw, his neck, his v-line. 

oh, shit. 

james came into his conscience, on his tails was walburga. you’re not good enough for her. you never have been. you’re a mistake, a disgrace. you’ll sleep around, mince her heart into chunks. run, sirius. that’s all you’ve ever done. 

seeing you in front of him, he knew. with that lovely, lovely smile and that gleam in your eyes, oh. he’d only make you cry. 

masterlist | next part

tags: @lydiasfalling @moonysloveee @kenjikishimotoswifey

p.s. idk if anyone from my last post wanted to be on my general taglist or js for that post so if u do lmk and i'll add youuuu (or if you want to be removed)

have a good day!! 💝

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

Under the Desk

Poly!Wolfstar x afab!GN!Reader

18+ smut

Cw: smut, blowjob, deepthroating, gagging, dom!remus, switch!sirius, sub!reader, exhibitionism

an: haven’t posted in forever sorry ya’ll 😅

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You swiftly maneuver yourself through the dark oak bookshelves that span of the Hogwarts library. You’re currently in search of your two lovely boyfriends.

You round the corner to the usual nook Remus prefers and your eyes light up at the sight of the sandy haired boy. His right hand is working over a piece of parchment, quill expertly handled as he writes out delicate cursive letters. His other hand is out of sight.

You venture closer, mouth parting to alert him of your presence, until you see his hips jut downwards and then your gaze catches on a mop of black hair nestled between Remus’s thighs.

You feel a zap of pleasure hit your navel and your cunt pulses on instinct when you realize what’s going on. Your lips open and close for a moment as you try to clear the sudden fog that has clouded all innocent thoughts. This sound of your throat clearing finally garner’s Remus’s attention.

His head snaps up, eyes catching on your form. He smiles, warm and loving. “Dove. Was wondering when you would get here,” he speaks casually, as if Sirius isn’t currently taking his big cock down his throat. His hips jut forward again and you hear the faint sound of Sirius trying to conceal a gag.

You swallow, your gaze darting under the table before swiftly meeting Remus again. He’s got a knowing smirk plastered on his face now.

“Uhm… Yeah… Hey.” You breathe out a short breath, shifting on your feet as you twiddle with your fingers.

Remus chuckles under his breath, looking down between his thighs to grab onto the silky black locks of Sirius’s hair. He gently tugs to pull the boys mouth off his cock.

Sirius coughs wetly, drool dripping from the sides of his pretty pink lips and his eyes wet. He heaves out a breath before peaking his head out from the table to greet you. His usual wolfish smirk is back in no time. “Hi, dolly. Don’t you look stellar.” He eyes you up with a salacious look.

Your cheeks heat, fixed on his messy expression. If anything he’s the one that looks stellar. Your eyes dart between the boys and then to behind you to make sure you’re alone. “Hi. H- Having fun?” You try and tease, but your breathy tone doesn’t do much to help.

Both boys smirk.

“Yeah, Dovey. Lots of fun. Siri was just helping me out here.”

Before Sirius can speak up again Remus is grabbing him by the nape, pushing his head back under the table and stuffing his face between his scarred thighs, nose pressed against the pubic hair under his cock.

A startled sound escaped Sirius but he quickly relaxes and tries to control his breathing with the little air he’s given. He’s used to this kind of behavior from Remus.

But you certainly never will be. An ache starts pulsing in your core and you try to subtly rub your thighs together. “Remus… you’re being… mean…” you mumble, a poor attempt at defending Sirius. All the while trying to put up the front that your panties aren’t getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

Remus squints at you like you said something funny. “And? You know he likes it. And so do you when you’re in his place. Should I put you between my thighs instead, dovey? Give you a reminder?” He taunts.

Your stomach flutters and you feel your body shiver with heat. “Um. That’s… It’s okay, Rem.” You swallow thickly, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. You deny wanting to help, even though the thought of taking him deep down your throat alights your nerves with pleasure.

He raises a brow, a cruel twinkle in his eyes, knowing. Always knowing. “Oh, it’s okay, is it? Says who? You?” He tilts his head, amused. “That’s cute, darling. Come now, I think it’s your turn.” He gestures to his lap, gently releasing the back of Sirius’s neck to let him come up for air.

Sirius gasps softly, greedily sucking in lungfuls of air. His watery eyes stare up at Remus.

Remus’s heart melts at his pouty expression. “Okay, baby?” He murmurs softly, checking in with Sirius’s state as he gently pets his hair.

Sirius is quick to nod. He’s most definitely okay, the pouting is just inevitable behavior from him. “M’good, moons. Really good,” he assures as he eagerly moves over to make space for you.

You’re still standing, wearily eyeing the open space Sirius has made for you and the lovey dovey eyes he’s giving you. It’s not that you don’t want to, you really do. You’re just… shy right now.

“Baby dove, that’s enough. On your knees, please.” Remus’s tone has morphed into something more stern. A tone he knows will catch your attention.

His voice cuts through your shyness and your eyes go wide. You don’t hesitate to drop to your knees and carefully crawl under the desk next to Sirius.

On your hands and knees, cute little skirt ridden up too far, Remus can clearly see the dark patch at the center of your underwear. He tongues at his molar to hold in his amusement but it’s futile. “Oh, dove,” he coos, ever so gently mocking you.

You freeze, eyes wide at the realization of what he’s pointing out. You quickly climb the rest of the way under the table and sit on your knees to hide the mess between your thighs.

Sirius chuckles from beside you. “Already, sweetness?”

Your cheeks are blazing. “Yes, already. S’not my fault,” you grumble. But then your eyes fixate on Remus’s cock hanging heavy between his thighs. You swallow, throat suddenly a lot more wet. Almost like it’s preparing itself.

Both boys chuckle.

“Alright now, Dovey. Why don’t you give Siri a kiss hello and then come here.” Remus directs as he pats his thigh.

You eagerly turn to Sirius. He cups the side of your face and brings you into a deep, sensual kiss. Your breath stutters when you taste Remus on his lips.

Sirius pulls back first and you try to chase him. He gives you a few more soft kisses until he grabs you by the waist and and all but lifts to the spot in between Remus’s thighs. “Show Moony how good you’re gonna take him, yeah?”

Your breath hitches at his manhandling, his body shuffling closer to press his chest against your back. You’re trapped now, nestled between Remus’s legs with no escape. Wide eyes catch on the throbbing length mere inches away from your face.

Remus has taken to languidly stroking up and down the length of his cock, eyes peering down at you with hunger. He almost laughs at the awe in your expression. “Need help, dove?” He inquires, releasing his cock and letting it hang heavy.

You shift on your knees, hesitant. But you shake your head. “M’not nervous. I-I can do it. I’ve done it… a bunch of times before…” you insist, but your breathy tone of voice and choice of words suggest otherwise.

Sirius chuckles from behind you. “We know you have dolly. And you’re so stellar at it,” he murmurs praises into the shell of your ear. All while cupping the back of your hand in his and guiding it to wrap around Remus’s cock.

Said boy groans at your soft touch, hips shifting forward as he languidly sinks in his seat. He gives you an encouraging smirk.

Your confidence rises once you’ve finally got a grip on Remus. His dick hot and heavy in your hand.

Sirius guides your hand up and down in soft strokes, spreading the saliva that still encompasses Remus’s length from his own sucking earlier.

“Give me a kiss, baby,” Remus instructs as he places a heavy hand on the back of your head, gently nudging you forward.

You shake off Sirius’s hand, leaning forward to press a soft, opened mouth kiss on the pretty vein, following up the length of his cock. Soft kisses up until you reach his aching tip.

Lips part and then you’re enveloping the flushed tip into the heat of your mouth.

Remus’s head knocks back, a soft strangled groan escaping his parted lips.

Soft sucks and your tongue swipes and lolls over him. Sirius working love bites and kisses against the bare skin of Remus’s hip while you do.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” Remus says then, hand a little heavier on your nape to encourage you to sink down further.

With a deep breath you relax your throat, letting him nudge at the soft palette of your mouth and sinking down until his tip hits the back of your throat. A soft gag emits and Sirius pets your hair to calm you.

“Shh, dolly. Gotta be quiet, yeah? You know better,” he quietly chastises.

You feel heat swell in your cheeks, embarassed at being scolded. You try to come off but Remus keeps you in place.

“No, darling. Breathe through your nose, you can do it. All the way down,” he murmurs.

White hot heat floods your navel, thighs clenching at the roughness of his tone and refusal to let you up. With a deep breath you let Remus push you down, holding you still once the prickly hairs at his base tickle your nose.

Distracted by the full feeling of Remus down your throat, your barely notice Sirius’s wandering hands until his deft fingers have slipped under your skirt and swirl at your clit through your panties.

You jump at the sensation, consequently gagging around Remus’s length.

He’s quick to pull you off, gentle but swift. Wet coughs sound from your mouth, though muffled as you try to keep quiet.

“Poor baby.” Sirius coos, kissing up the side of your neck as you catch your breath. The slightest hint of patronizing in his tone makes your belly roll. Not to mention his fingers haven’t stopped their toying.

Remus gazes down at you with lustful amusement, tugging at his cock as he stares down at your teary face. “Alright, Dovey?” Though amused his tone carries a hint of concern, always putting your wellbeing first.

You’re quick to nod your head, wiping your face of saliva and snot. “M’fine,” you croak, thighs trembling under Sirius’s administrations. “Can go again, promise.”

Remus tilts his head, smiling with a knowing gaze. “You sure? If you can’t I’m sure Sirius would have no problem finishing me off—“

“No!” You hastily interrupt. “N-No, please, please? Can do it, want to do it, Rem,” you plead.

Chuckles come from both boys, pleased at your desperation.

“Alright then, dove. Show me you can take it.” Remus releases his grasp on his cock, letting you guide it into your mouth once again. This time you’re down at the base in no time, swallowing thickly and letting your throat tighten up around him.

“Fuck—“ he hisses, hips jutting forward. The sensation is erotic, combined with the circles and lines Sirius rolls against your bud has you keening forward.

“Gods, dovey, take it.” Remus rocks forward, fucking into your throat with a vigor that has you resisting a gag. You sob around him, thighs tight around Sirius’s wrist and resisting the urge to cum before Remus has.

Sirius chuckles against your neck, speeding up his circles just to torture you further. “You know the rules, babydoll. Wait for Remus.”

You whine around his length, squeezing your eyes shut to try and hold back.

“Fuck baby- god. M’gonna—“ Remus bucks his hips once, twice, and then holds your head down tight as his cock throbs, pumping thick loads of cum down your throat. With a whine you follow him, cumming hard, throat tightening as you swallow him down.

After a few moments Remus lets you up, allowing you to swallow the rest of his cum and come up for a breather.

Sirius holds you tight to his chest, kissing anywhere he can reach and whispering praises. “So good for us, darling. Made Remus feel so good. Didn’t they, Rem?” He looks up to Remus with a knowing smile.

Remus smirks dopily down at you two as he tucks himself back into his trousers. “Course you did, dovey. M’so proud of you.

You smile wetly, leaning back into Sirius with an air of pleased exhaustion. Bliss. “That was fun…” you giggle.

The boys huff out soft laughs.

After a moment Remus ducks down, crawling under the table to hold both of you in his arms. “My best lovies…” he’s whispers, and the world disappears with you in their arms.

[dazedhqqn]

Vampire enha hard thoughts

vampire!enha x human!reader (fem)

where they would feed from

————————————————————————

- heeseung

Heeseung feeds from your neck, mainly as an excuse to mark you somewhere where everyone can see. He’ll hold you against a wall, and bite into the curve of your neck. But first he’ll tease you, licking and kissing your skin before finally piercing.

- jongseong

Jay loves feeding from your collarbone. He loves hearing your heartbeat increase the deeper his teeth pierce, the way your breath stutters. It’s like music to his ears.

- jaeyun

Jake loves feeding from your inner thighs, face buried in your plush skin. Feels like heaven to him. He loves the way you tug on his hair when his teeth pierce your soft skin, the way you squirm when he licks up any excess blood. He also loves when you squeeze his head in between your thighs, he can’t help but grow hard everytime.

- sunghoon

he prefers feeding on your pointer finger, he’s afraid if he bites anywhere else he might lose control of his urges. he makes the prettiest expression while feeding, eyebrows furrowed, eye lash’s fluttering, he even whines into your hand a bit. He loves the taste of you. Just you in general.

- seonwoo

your lips, weird right? He’d initiate it as a kiss, then once he starts licking at your lips you know he wanted to feed. sunoo loves tasting your sweet blood on his tongue as he kisses you.

- jungwon

jungwon likes feeding from you wrist, only to watch your face when he feeds. Watching for any signs of discomfort or pain. He also likes the eye contact. He’d kiss your wrist after.

- riki

riki loves biting your neck, even without feeding, he’ll find any excuse to be near it and take in your smell. His fingers would run through your hair as he dug his face into your neck, biting slowly, savoring the taste of you.

————————————————————————

rems’ note - lmk if u want more lol

[moonstruckme]

hello!! i hope u have a good day🤗 i wanted to know if you still accept requests? and if yes, could i please request a remus x reader (golden trip era if possible!!🩷) in which the reader hates christmas so remus tries to do everything in his power to make this christmas a special one for her? thank you in advance!💞 i love your blog so much

Hi, thanks for your request! There's nothing in here alluding to Remus' age, so you can imagine him in whatever era you want I suppose

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It feels strange being in the car in your pajamas. You’re curled up in the passenger seat, socked feet tucked underneath you and heat blasting through the vents, with the thermos of hot cocoa Remus made you cradled in your hands. His own thermos sits open in a cup coaster in the center console, steam wafting from the top as it cools and Remus turns slowly down a neighborhood street. 

“Oh, I like how they did theirs around the tree,” you say, leaning forward to see out Remus’ window. A large oak towers above the house, the trunk and larger branches covered in red and white lights striped to look like a candy cane. “Do you think they came like that, or they actually alternated colors?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus replies. His face is cast a soft pink in their glow. “It was an interesting choice, though, doing the tree like that and then blue lights on the house.” 

You tilt your head. “I think they’re supposed to look like icicles. It feels on theme.” 

Remus hums, letting the car continue at a slow idle down the street. “Do you prefer white lights or colored lights?” 

“I don’t care, I just like when they’re consistent. Don’t do your roof in one and your windows in another, you know?” 

“Mm, fair enough. But if you had to choose.” 

“I dunno, um…white, I suppose.” 

Remus sighs. “And I had so much faith in you.” 

“What?” You laugh, delighted at his little smile. You love when Remus gets into one of his teasing moods. “You feel that strongly about colored lights?” 

“Absolutely.” He nods at a house with white lights across the street. “See, you do it like that, and you’re basically just outlining your house. It’s plain.” 

“How’s that any different than outlining it in alternating colors?” 

“Alternating colors are the classic Christmas light,” Remus argues, with a resoluteness you know is exaggerated but are fascinated by nonetheless. “It’s…I don’t know, sort of kitschy. And I like that they make the roofs look like gingerbread houses.” 

“Like gumdrops?” 

He smiles at you. “Exactly.” 

You blow into your thermos, steam warming your face. “This is an odd hill to die on, Remus.” 

“Well, someone’s got to.” 

“Fine.” You heave a sigh, heavy on the dramatics. “You might be converting me.” 

He gives you a sidelong glance. “I don’t want a partner who has to change just to be with me.” You laugh, appalled, and Remus’ lips quirk mutinously. “But if you’re doing it for yourself…” 

“I am,” you assure him quickly. “I’ll be a colored light devotee for the rest of my life, I promise.” 

You go on like that through several streets, admiring some houses and condemning others with ruthless judgement. You end up halfway on Remus’ side of the car, your elbow on the console and head touching his shoulder just for the sake of contact. One of his hands rests on the inside of your knee for the same reason. As you drive, he turns up the radio a smidge, until you can recognize the instrumental music crackling through the speakers. 

“Is this the nutcracker?” 

“It is.” You don’t know Remus to get embarrassed often, but he looks almost that. 

You smile. “Do you have the nutcracker on cassette?” 

“I do.” 

You must look all too delighted, because he gives the inside of your knee a light warning squeeze. 

“Don’t make fun. My mam likes it. It was almost all the Christmas music we listened to when I was a kid.” 

“Oh.” You smile at his profile, lovesick. “That’s sweet, Rem. So now you listen to it on your own?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Because it makes you nostalgic?” 

“I suppose so.” 

Your heart grows warm and heavy in your chest. You’re less shy about wrapping a hand around his elbow, hugging it closer so you can lean your head on his bicep more fully. You can almost feel the affection in his smile as he turns to look, shining down on the top of your head like the moon’s glow. 

“Is this what Christmas is always like for you?” you ask in a soft voice. Pretty lights, the nutcracker, a thermos of hot chocolate. Slow drives down dazzling streets on a silent night.

Remus understands what you mean. “Not always,” he says, “but some of the time, yeah. I try to make time for the smaller traditions like this.” 

You look out the front windshield. All the colors of the houses ahead blur together. “Thanks for sharing this one with me.” 

“Dovey, of course,” he says. His arm moves underneath you, and you sit up as his hand finds your cheek. You bend to him willingly, letting him grace you with the softest kiss any girl has ever received. You think this about Remus often; that he’s your privilege and yours alone. It gives you tingles to dwell upon. 

“I’m glad you wanted to come with me,” he says, thumb stroking over your cheek even as he turns his attention back to the road. “I know you haven’t always liked Christmas, but…it doesn’t have to be all chaos and spending money. There’s room for things like this, too.” 

You hum, watching him while he watches the road. The slowly passing lights play prettily on his eyelashes and the tips of his overgrown hair. His hand holds the wheel near the bottom, relaxed and sure, and his window is starting to fog from the heat inside the car. It makes the outside world look blurred around the edges. Remus’ thumb strokes your cheek again, almost absently.

“I like your way of doing things,” you say near a whisper. 

It’s a pleasure to watch his lips curve in a smile. You feel lucky to see it. “I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says tenderly. “We’ll do more things like this, okay? Try to make it a good one this year.” 

You hum and settle back against his arm, looking past him to the lights of a house, the colors like gumdrops lining their roof. It’s already a good one. 

[umikislibrary]

moonwater, and yes romantically ☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

coffee stains and coffee breaths

reading poetry to each other while getting high in the hufflepuff greenhouse, or whatever you call it

resting heads in each other laps, and giving in to the head scratches

reg kissing rem's scars while rem kisses reg's moles

remus introduces regulus to muggle literature and have discussions at lengths

cheek kisses. i’ll stand by this forever. like cradling one’s face and just kissing them endlessly all over.

Remus John Lupin:

6’1”

welsh

agender, graysexual

infj

writes proses, articles, short stories, and is actually pretty nastily educated on entrepreneurship

fyodor dostoevsky

Regulus Artcturus Black:

5’8”

french

genderfluid, demisexual

intj

plays the piano, does oil painting, and helps out in the gardens (has a soft spot for herbology)

brontë sisters

they learned how to waltz and then dance every anniversary as a tradition (took this from an andreil fanfic, ifykyk)

interlocking their pinky fingers when in public

they will be the type of couple to drink out of the same cup, with separate straws, and staring into each other’s eyes, I’m sorry I can’t help it but it’s true

ideal dates: museums, arcades, 90s american diners, or rotting away at their apartment

do have plants, but non flowering ones, helps to go with the drunk, depressed, poet vibes

they experiment with different types of teas and coffee flavours

while rem has a huge sweet tooth, reg prefers sour tastes

rem lets reg paint his scars and they have a bunch of polaroids of the same

they like watching animation, especially stop motions ones

antique, whimsical pieces of furniture that they thrifted, obvi

[yrluvjane]

i saw your call for requests so here!

i desperately need remus x slytherin!reader with secret relationship trope preferably fem!reader but idc that much

maybe reader could be restrained from having an public relationship with Rem because of their friends hating each other or reader having an arranged marriage already set up?

also i’m a cocky/mean!remus believer but it’s fine if you don’t see that for him🫶

anyway thank you so much!!

I think i might make 3 parts to this, just cause i didn't really know how to blend the scenes together

The dungeons were cold tonight.

You tugged your robes tighter around yourself, glancing over your shoulder as you slipped through the shadowed corridors. The last thing you needed was one of your housemates catching you out past curfew—especially not when you were on your way to meet him.

A Gryffindor.

A werewolf.

The thought alone would make your friends hex you on sight.

But you didn’t care.

The hidden alcove near the seventh floor was dimly lit by the flickering torchlight, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, was him—Remus Lupin, looking far too smug for someone who was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

“Took you long enough,” he drawled, pushing off the wall as you approached. “I was starting to think you’d chickened out.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping into his space. “Unlike you, Lupin, I actually have a reputation to uphold.”

His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know all about your reputation.”

You huffed, but before you could retort, his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips found yours in an instant, warm and demanding, and just like that, all your sharp remarks melted away.

It was infuriating how easily he did this to you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, his thumb brushed along your jaw. “Missed you,” he murmured, voice rough.

You scoffed, trying to ignore the way your heart stuttered. “Don’t get sentimental. We both know this is just—”

“Fun?” he supplied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I seem to recall you begging me last time to—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, cheeks burning. “Shut up.”

He laughed against your palm before nipping at your fingers, making you yank your hand away. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he mused, leaning in again, his breath hot against your ear, “you keep coming back.”

You hated that he was right.

But then his lips were on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, and all coherent thought vanished.

Until—

A distant laugh echoed down the corridor.

You froze.

Remus pulled back, eyes sharp. “Someone’s coming.”

Panic shot through you. If you were caught—

“Go,” he said quickly, nudging you toward the opposite passage. “I’ll distract them.”

You hesitated. “Remus—”

He flashed you that infuriating grin. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll see you soon.”

With one last searing kiss, you tore yourself away, disappearing into the shadows just as the voices grew louder.

Your heart pounded as you fled, the taste of him still on your lips.

This was dangerous.

This was reckless.

This was everything.

[dismalflo]

hi flooo! i was wondering if i could request a poly!wolfstar x reader where reader or one of the boys doesn’t like going to the hairdresser so they kind of all work together to cut the person hair. like maybe they have a little routine that they go through or something like that

idk if that makes sense

hi babe! thank you for requesting!! <3 (i'm out of practise with writing poly so sorry if this is a bit off)

poly!wolfstar x reader ✩ 1.2k words

“You can ask me to cut it more often, Rem,” you murmur, your voice soft as you carefully trim the ends of his hair.

Somewhere between getting together and now, it’s become your unofficial job – cutting Remus' hair, and occasionally giving Sirius a trim. The kitchen chair has become your makeshift salon, and there’s rarely a complaint about it, especially when your fingers are weaving through his soft hair.

Remus hums low in his throat, the sound somewhere between contentment and agreement. His eyes flutter closed, and a faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep despite it being midafternoon. “I prefer when you offer to do it.”

You grin to yourself, tilting his head back gently to get a better angle. His hair is soft, a little overgrown, brushing the tops of his ears and curling around the nape of his neck. The way he melts under your touch makes something warm settle in your chest, he’s never looked more relaxed. Shoulders loose, hands resting in his lap, long lashes brushing his cheeks, he looks almost weightless.

“Bit spoiled, aren’t you?” you tease lightly.

Remus doesn’t open his eyes, only smiles a lopsided, lazy grin that you adore. “Only a bit.”

“Least you’re honest,” you snort, shaking your head as you snip away at his hair.

The rhythmic snip of scissors fills the room, punctuated only by the occasional sigh of contentment from Remus as he adjusts slightly in the chair. You work carefully, fingers deft as you trim, keeping the shape he likes – neat, but soft around the edges, with just enough length to keep it a little messy.

He remains still, save for the small, instinctive tilts of his head that follow the motion of your hands. His legs stretch out in front of him, one socked foot lazily brushing against the smooth floorboards.

“You know,” Remus murmurs after a long, quiet pause, “I think I’d let you do just about anything if you kept touching my hair like this.”

“Anything?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as you trim a particularly stubborn curl.

“Mhmm.”

You pause for a beat, scissors resting lightly between your fingers. A sudden impulse flits through you, and without thinking, you lean down to press a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw. He blinks, eyes fluttering open just enough to catch the warmth of your breath, and a quiet, happy smile spreads across his face.

“You’re terrible,” he says, voice thick with affection, his lips curling lazily.

Just then, the front door creaks open with a familiar groan, followed by Sirius’ voice calling out, “Hello?”

You glance up briefly, smiling, and shout back, “Kitchen, Siri!”

There’s the sound of boots being kicked off, followed by the soft thud of Sirius’s leather jacket hitting the bench in the hall. He never quite mastered hanging things up, but at least he wasn’t tracking dirt through the flat today.

A moment later, he rounds the corner, blanketed by a breathless flush of wind and summer sun. His hair is loose, curls wild at his shoulders, and his silver rings flash as he runs a hand through it. His eyes fall on the scene in front of him – Remus half-asleep in the chair, your fingers threading through his hair with care – and something in his expression softens.

“Well,” Sirius says, leaning against the doorframe with an eyebrow raised. “Don’t you two look lovely.”

Remus cracks open one eye, glancing at him lazily. “Jealous?”

“Absolutely,” Sirius grins, pushing off from the door frame and walking into the kitchen.

As he gets closer, you instinctively stop your movements near Remus's ear. He pauses beside you, gaze focused on Remus, and without missing a beat, he leans down to press a warm kiss to the top of your head, just where your hair parts. 

Then, in the same smooth motion, his attention shifts back to Remus. He cups his face gently, his thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his cheekbones. 

“So fucking handsome,” Sirius murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent, like he’s in awe of Remus.

Remus’ cheeks flush, the tops of his ears turning pink. You catch the look, the way his face softens under Sirius' gaze, and you know that feeling all too well. Complimented by Sirius Black, you could hear it every day and still feel like you were hearing it for the first time.

You finish up with Remus’ trim, carefully snipping away the last few stray curls. Your fingers glide through his hair, smoothing it down, and there’s something calming about it all.

“All done,” you murmur softly, stepping back to admire your work. “Looking pretty.”

Remus blinks, his face flushing pinker at the compliment. He tilts his head, catching the way you’re looking at him, soft and fond, as always.

Sirius, who’d been leaning against the counter, suddenly snaps back into focus. His eyes flicker between you and Remus, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips.

“Oh?” he drawls, leaning in with a feigned casualness. “Maybe we should cut my hair short too. Same treatment, yeah?”

Remus freezes, his eyes wide. The whole room stills for a second, and his gaze darts to Sirius as if to say What the hell are you talking about?

You blink, thoroughly confused. “What? Why would you want to cut your hair short? You love it long.”

"No, thank you." Remus states, looking equally confused and horrified.

Sirius’s grin widens, clearly delighted by the confusion he’s caused. He holds up his hands in mock surrender.

“I’m kidding! But... I mean... I do want you to play with my hair too.” His voice softens, and there’s an almost pleading tone to it. “Please?”

You blink at him, but the pieces fall into place quickly. Sirius was never one to miss an opportunity to get attention, especially when it came to the comforting touch of you or Remus.

Remus lets out a long sigh of relief, the tension easing from his shoulders as he straightens up. He stands, stretches, and without a word, steps toward you. His hands cup your face, and he presses a slow, warm kiss to your lips.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a tender smile. “For the trim, and for dealing with him.”

You laugh softly. “Anytime.”

The three of you move to the living room, settling onto the sofa. Remus leans back against your shoulder, his head resting comfortably there. Sirius slides down beside you, his head finding its usual spot in your lap, his soft hair brushing against your skin.

The quiet hum of the flat surrounds you, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Sirius shifts, his cheek pressing lightly against your thigh as his eyes flutter shut, content and at ease.

“Don’t be tight, really get in there, doll,” he mutters lazily, voice muffled by your lap while reaching for your hands to guide them into his hair.

masterlist <3