Curiouser and curiouser

he pauses there, as if he needs to take a second to take in the moment, to sear it into his brain. he continues, trail a gentle kiss upwards and upwards. sometimes he's linger at a spot - sucks and traces an area of your skin with his tongue, relishing the feel of your skin in his mouth.

just as he's about to place another kiss, you reach out and grasp his chin and tilt his face up with two fingers so he can look at you. he looks at you with heavy lidded eyes, ravaged by desire and love. you lean forward, just a tad, enough for your noses to brush and your breath to fan over his lips.

sukuna, king of curses, leans forward and nearly chases your lips when you inch back. he leans into your hand as you cup his face with one hand while the other traces his bottom lip.

"you are divine." he rasps out, a belief, an oath, a prayer.

you let out a noise before he crashes his lips onto yours, grasping your face like you're going to slip out of his hands like water. the heat of him travels to your body as he kisses you unrelentingly and with fervor. breathless kisses and panting between each as he kisses you once, twice, thrice, before he leaves marks down your neck.

each kiss is sealed with a praise. "so beautiful," kiss "radiant," kiss "my queen," kiss "my divinity," kiss.

he pauses once more, lips hovering over your collarbone. your hands are tangled somewhere in his pink hair, yanking at the stands as he leaves hot kisses all over your skin but when he stops you do too. you look down at him with almost narrowed eyes, the eyes of a seraphic queen, as if to say, why'd you stop?

he glances down at your lips, swollen and shining, pulling him down in a trance. you notice his stare and let out a smile, just a bare quirk of your lips and sukuna feels as if this is it, this is heaven itself.

you yank at his hair again, lightly, before whispering, "kiss me, ryo."

You bite.

And Nanami—your poor, serious, ever-composed Nanami—lets you.

The first time you did it, he had just come home from a long mission, untying his tie with that familiar sigh of exhaustion. You had crept up behind him, arms looping around his waist, pressing your face into his shoulder. And then, before he could turn to greet you properly, your teeth sank into the firm muscle of his arm.

Hard.

His entire body tensed, breath hitching for just a moment before he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“…What are you doing?”

Your lips curled against his skin. “Marking what’s mine.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, but the tremor in his fingers betrayed him. You knew he liked it—the way your teeth pressed into his flesh, the sting, the heat, the undeniable proof that you wanted him in the most primal way possible.

“That’s a bad habit,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“You love it.”

And you were right.

Nanami loves everything about you. Loves the way you grab at him when he walks past, loves the way you scowl when another woman dares look at him for a second too long, loves the little growl you let out when he pulls away just to tease you.

He never expected to be loved like this—with wild, untamed devotion. And maybe that’s why he gives in to it-why he matches you in ways only you can understand.

Because Nanami, despite his serious demeanor, is his own brand of crazy.

Example: He bakes for you.

It’s almost absurd—this man, so strong, so capable, who spends his days exorcising curses and breaking bones, kneading dough with the same meticulous care he applies to everything else in life.

Kneads dough like he kneads pleasure into your body, slow and steady, with the patience of a man who enjoys the process as much as the result.

You watch him from the kitchen counter, legs swinging, wearing nothing but his oversized white button-down—one that stretches past your thighs, swallowing your frame in expensive fabric.

“I like watching your hands,” you say, chin propped on your palm, eyes following the slow, deliberate movements of his fingers as they press into the dough.

He smirks, just a little. “Oh?”

You sigh dramatically. “They’re so strong. So talented. So big—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Yeah? And what about it?”

You hop off the counter, padding over to where he stands, and before he can react, you bite—his forearm this time, right where the muscle flexes under his skin.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, a familiar roughness in his voice.

You hum against his skin, pressing a lazy kiss over the indentation of your teeth. “Tastes good.”

His jaw ticks. The grip he has on the counter tightens.

And then, with the kind of calm that makes your stomach flip, he sets the dough aside, wipes his hands, and turns to you fully.

“Oh?”

The next second, your back meets the cool marble, your wrists pinned beside your head.

“You bite me,” he murmurs, leaning down, lips barely brushing yours, “but you forget, darling—I bite back.”

And bite he does.

Not just with his teeth, but with his hands, his tongue, his entire body. He devours you, dragging pleasure from you with an almost unbearable patience, taking his time like he enjoys the process as much as the result. He ruins you, hands gripping, teasing, owning, until you’re a mess beneath him, clawing at his back, pleading for more.

You bite because you need him—because the desire to consume him, to love him so intensely that it’s almost violent, is overwhelming.

He fucks you because he worships you—because he can’t breathe without tasting you, without feeling you wrapped around him, without proving to you that you are his as much as he is yours.

Later, much later, when your body is boneless and tangled with his, he reaches for a piece of freshly baked bread, breaking off a piece and holding it to your lips.

“You’re spoiling me,” you murmur, still half-dazed, letting him feed you.

“You deserve it.” His voice is warm, quiet, but the weight of his love is heavy in every syllable.

You nuzzle into his chest, pressing a soft kiss over his heartbeat. “You’re mine, Kento.”

His fingers trace slow circles against your back, his lips pressing to your temple.

“And you’re mine,” he murmurs.

Your eyes flicker open, mischief creeping into your exhausted gaze.

“…Hey, Ken?”

He hums.

“Remember those Superman boxers I got you for Christmas?”

A long-suffering sigh. “Unfortunately.”

You cackle, shaking with laughter against his chest. “Oh, come on. You should’ve seen your face. Kento. Kent. Clark Kent. It was perfect—”

“I refuse to dignify this.”

“I bet you still have them.”

“I don’t.”

“You so do.”

Nanami groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I regret letting you into my home.”

“No, you don’t.” You press a playful kiss to his chin, grinning. “You love me.”

And Kento Nanami, despite all his principles, despite all his restraint, doesn’t even hesitate.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I do.”

Because he does. Fiercely. Completely. Madly.

Two lovers, equally insane, equally in love.

The city never slept.

It pulsed, a beast of concrete and steel, devouring anyone too weak to survive within its twisted veins. You and Toji thrived in it. You didn’t just survive—you conquered, carving your names into the underbelly of society like a goddamn war cry.

Two hitmen, perfect counterparts. Both of you were made of bloodlust and sin, draped in leather and steel, moving like shadows and striking like lightning. You weren’t just good at your job—you were the damn fucking best. And together? Together, you were a fucking disaster waiting to happen.

Shiu always paired you together, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. If you weren’t together, then all hell broke loose. Separating you meant collateral damage, unintended casualties, and enough destruction to have the higher-ups breathing down his neck. But together, there was a brutal sort of balance. A violent symphony that only you and Toji could conduct.

And God, were you both crazy for each other.

Tonight was no different.

The mission had been simple—take out a rival gang’s informant before he could snitch. Clean, quick, precise. But when had anything with you two ever been simple?

The moment the first bullet was fired, the whole operation turned into an all-out bloodbath. You were perched on a rooftop, sniper in hand, taking out anyone who dared step into your sights, while Toji was on the ground, moving like a panther in the night, slicing throats and snapping necks like it was a fucking art form.

It was sexy as hell.

And you were enjoying yourself a little too much.

So when the last man fell, leaving the two of you standing there, panting, bloodstained, and grinning like maniacs, you didn’t even think before saying, “Took your sweet ass time down there, huh?”

Toji scoffed, wiping a smear of blood off his jaw. “And you still missed one.”

Your fingers twitched at his tone. “The hell did you just say?”

His smirk deepened. “You heard me.”

Oh, this bastard.

Before either of you knew it, there was a gun in your hand, barrel pressed to his forehead. And of course, Toji matched you, his own weapon already aimed between your eyes, finger steady on the trigger.

The alley was silent. The only sound was your ragged breathing, the adrenaline still crackling in your veins, your bodies thrumming with the high of the kill.

Toji’s green eyes burned into yours, wild and unyielding. And fuck, it turned you on.

“What now, sweetheart?” he murmured, lips curling into that cocky smirk that made you want to both kiss and kill him at the same time. “We gonna shoot each other or what?”

You exhaled sharply, pressing the gun harder against his skin.

“Tch. As if I’d waste a bullet on you.”

“Liar.”

His voice was so smug, so absolutely infuriating, that the next thing you knew, the gun was dropping from your hand and your lips were crashing into his.

It was all teeth and desperation, the kiss brutal and hungry, like you were trying to devour each other whole. Toji grabbed you by the waist, hoisting you up against the alley wall, his body pressing against yours like he needed to consume you.

“Fuckin’ crazy,” he growled against your lips.

You grinned, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “Right back at you.”

And then it was just heat—pure, unfiltered, feral heat.

Clothes ripped, nails scratched, bodies collided. He fucked you like a man possessed, like he needed you the same way he needed to kill—to breathe. And you matched him move for move, wrapping your legs around him, nails digging into his back, moaning his name like a goddamn prayer.

Every thrust was a war. Every gasp and moan was a battle cry. You pulled his hair, he bit your neck, you clawed his back, he left bruises on your thighs. It wasn’t just sex. It was a fight. A need to prove who could love harder, who could take more, who could ruin the other first.

By the time it was over, you were both a mess—sweaty, breathless, completely wrecked. Toji rested his forehead against yours, still inside you, still holding you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

You smirked, running a lazy hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Still think I missed a shot?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your lips. “Nah. But you do talk too much.”

You gasped in mock offense. “Oh, fuck you—”

He cut you off with another kiss, slower this time, deeper. And just like that, all the tension, all the rage, melted into something softer, so, so damn soft.

Because as much as you both loved to fight, to burn the world down together, there was one undeniable truth.

You loved each other.

Fiercely. Recklessly.

And there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.

*-*

Shiu sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he listened to the latest report.

“So let me get this straight,” he said, his voice dangerously calm. “The simple job I gave them turned into a massacre, they nearly killed each other, and then—” he exhaled sharply “—they fucked in an alley?”

The informant swallowed nervously. “Uh… y-yes, sir.”

Silence.

Shiu stared at the ceiling, praying for patience.

“…They’re so fucking lucky they’re good at their jobs,” he muttered.

Blood paints the battlefield in thick, dripping strokes, bodies crumpled in your wake. The sky above is a deep purple, marred by streaks of cursed energy crackling like divine wrath.

And in the center of it all, there’s you—grinning like a devil, your body humming with raw, untamed power. Your fingers twitch, your heart thrums, and beside you, there’s him.

Gojo Satoru, standing tall, wild, and untouchable.

His signature cocky grin stretches wide, eyes hidden behind those ridiculous yet iconic sunglasses. He’s all arrogance and chaos wrapped in a pretty, untouchable package—but you’ve touched him. Over and over and over. You’ve clawed your way past his infinity, made a home in his madness.

And he’s obsessed with you for it.

He laughs, a wild, manic sound, as he flicks his wrist. A cursed spirit doesn’t even get the chance to screech before it’s erased from existence.

“Damn, baby,” he coos, voice light, almost playful—except the hunger in it burns through. “You’re really going all out today.”

You tilt your head, wiping a streak of blood from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Jealous?”

“Oh?” His smirk deepens, sharp as a blade. “Should I be?”

You laugh, loud and unhinged, because this is what love is for the two of you. Chaos. Carnage. A battlefield soaked in blood, but you’re together.

Always together.

You dart forward, body a blur, and land right in front of him, pressing a palm against his chest. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t activate his infinity—he never does with you.

Instead, he lets you get close, lets you drag your fingers up his neck, lets you smear blood along his jaw as you grip it.

His lips part slightly, breath heavy. His heartbeat is wild under your touch.

You tug him closer, your lips just barely brushing against his. “Should we show them what happens when they try to separate us?”

A sharp inhale, a low chuckle—he loves you so much he can barely stand it.

“Baby,” he breathes, voice full of reverence, worship, madness. “You read my mind.”

And then you both explode into motion.

Gojo is devastation incarnate. He moves through enemies like a force of nature—one second he’s there, the next he’s not, blinking between spaces too fast for anyone to react. His attacks are effortless, merciless, pure, unrelenting power.

And you?

You’re terrifying in your own right. Cackling as you rip through curses, your body a blur of violence and beauty. Your energy burns through the air, crackling against Gojo’s own like a lover’s caress. Your movements are precise, devastatingly quick—an extension of your raw, untamed soul.

And all the while, he watches you, enamored.

“God,” he groans, dodging a particularly nasty attack before appearing right behind you, his arms locking around your waist, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so fucking sexy when you fight.”

You throw back your head and laugh, spinning in his hold to grab his face between bloodstained fingers.

“Right back at you.”

And then, because neither of you has any shame, you pull him into a messy, heated kiss.

It’s pure desperation, a clash of teeth and tongue, a collision of madness and love that sends energy crackling through the air.

A cursed spirit charges—only to immediately get erased in a flick of Gojo’s wrist.

You giggle against his mouth. “You didn’t even look.”

“Didn’t need to,” he hums, pressing another kiss against your lips, biting down just enough to make your breath hitch. “No one gets to interrupt me when I’m kissing my girl.”

You groan dramatically, shoving him away. “Later,” you purr, licking your lips. “Let’s finish this first.”

He pouts, but there’s fire in his eyes.

“You’re so cruel,” he says.

And then you both launch back into the fight.

When it’s over, when the battlefield is silent and the air is thick with the scent of blood and burnt flesh, you turn to him, body thrumming, sweat slicking your skin.

Gojo is already looking at you, expression unreadable, blue eyes staring right at you.

But you know that look.

“Come here,” he commands, and there’s no room for argument.

You step forward, slow, deliberate even, watching as his jaw clenches.

The moment you’re within reach, he snatches you up, lifting you off the ground so suddenly that you yelp.

“Satoru!” you scold, but you’re laughing, wrapping your arms around his neck as he spins you.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, pressing a desperate, open-mouthed kiss to your throat. “God, I fucking love you.”

Your fingers tangle in his snowy hair, tugging just because you can.

“I know,” you whisper, grinning against his temple. “I love you too, you insane bastard.”

He groans, burying his face in your shoulder, and it’s so raw, so real, that your heart aches.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the untouchable force of nature—he is yours. Unapologetically, unstoppably, yours.

And you are his.

Suguru Geto has always been a man of purpose, of conviction. He believes in his ideals with a fervor so deep it shakes the very foundation of his being. And yet, standing before you, kneeling at your feet like a devoted disciple before his goddess, he knows—no, he feels—that you are the only thing more important than his cause.

You, his beloved, his madness, his equal in every way that matters.

“My love,” he murmurs, reverence dripping from his tongue like honey, his large hands gripping your waist as if you might disappear if he let go. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

Your fingers thread through his dark hair, tugging gently, and he exhales shakily, as if you’re a divine force pulling him under, drowning him in the depth of your love. He loves it. Craves it. You are his match, his mirror. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for him, just as there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you.

He has slaughtered for you, brought curses to their knees in your name. He would burn the entire world down if you asked him to. But you don’t, because you know. You understand him, his every dark, twisted thought, and you don’t just accept it—you share it.

Suguru lifts his head, his eyes dark and filled with an overwhelming, all-consuming adoration. His lips graze your wrist, pressing a reverent kiss to your pulse point, feeling it thrum beneath his lips.

You live for him, just as he lives for you.

And you, oh, you are just as much in love, just as devoted, just as insane for him as he is for you.

You slide onto his lap, straddling him, and he welcomes you with open arms, his hands splaying across your back. His breath is hot against your skin as he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re mine,” you whisper, voice laced with possession.

Suguru’s lips part, a shaky breath escaping.

“Always,” he vows. “Always, my love.”

You cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his sharp cheekbones, tracing the strong line of his jaw. He looks up at you like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. And in his eyes, you are.

“You’d do anything for me?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Anything,” he confirms, his voice steady, unwavering.

A slow, satisfied smile curves your lips. “Then don’t die before I do.”

Suguru chuckles, the sound low and dark, but he nods. “Then you better not leave me behind, either.”

A dangerous promise, one spoken with the weight of eternity behind it. You both know—if one of you falls, the other will follow, because life without each other is not an option. It never has been.

His fingers trace slow, deliberate patterns along your spine. “You’re everything to me.”

You tilt his chin up, your mouth hovering just over his. “And you are my whole world, Suguru.”

The kiss that follows is nothing short of worship, nothing short of devotion. His lips move against yours like he’s memorizing you, like he’s engraving your taste onto his very soul.

And maybe he is.

You pull away just enough to speak, your lips brushing against his. “Tell me how much you love me.”

Suguru exhales a shaky laugh, his arms tightening around you. You did this charade at least once a week.

“Words don’t do it justice,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “But if you want me to try—”

“I do.”

His lips ghost along your jawline. “I love you more than power. More than my ideals. More than myself.” His teeth graze the sensitive skin beneath your ear, and you shiver. “I love you like an obsession, like a sickness. You’re in my blood, my bones, my soul.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he relishes in the sensation. “Quite the poet you are...You love me that much?”

“More,” he breathes. “So much more.”

Your lips crash into his again, and he moans into your mouth, his grip on you unrelenting. You can feel it—his need, his devotion, his absolute worship of you in every touch, every kiss, every desperate sound that escapes him.

And you? You are just as gone, just as utterly lost in him as he is in you.

He presses you down onto the futon beneath you both, his body hovering over yours, caging you in. His hands roam your body like he’s mapping out a sacred text, memorizing every curve, every dip, every shuddering breath you take.

“You’re divine,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your throat. “I should build temples in your name.”

You laugh softly, threading your fingers through his hair. “You already have.”

Suguru smirks against your skin. “Then I should make sacrifices for you.”

You arch into his touch, your fingers tightening in his hair. “You already do.”

He chuckles, but there’s something dark, something unhinged in the way he looks at you. “Then what more can I give you?”

You cup his face, pulling him close. “Yourself,” you whisper against his lips. “Forever.”

Suguru closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as if breathing you in, as if trying to make you a part of him. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse with emotion.

“You already have me,” he says. “In this life and the next.”

And you believe him, because you feel the same. Because there is no world in which you do not belong to each other.

Because love, when it is this deep, this feral, transcends everything. Even death.

Ryomen Sukuna was not a man who entertained weakness. Fear, reverence, obedience—those were the natural reactions of those beneath him. He was a walking calamity, a god in his own right, and the world bowed at his feet out of terror alone.

But you?

You had never once trembled in his presence.

At first, he thought it was an act. A pathetic little attempt to gain favor by pretending to be fearless. He’d seen it before—servants forcing their hands steady when pouring his wine, warriors steeling their spines as if their bravado meant anything before him. They all crumbled eventually.

But you never did.

He had tested you.

Leaned in close with a sneer, inhaling deeply against your throat like a beast sizing up prey. Your pulse had remained steady. He had snapped his claws at your face, let his cursed energy coil around you like an executioner’s noose, and still—you had only blinked up at him, utterly unimpressed.

He should’ve killed you then.

Should have ripped that insolence from your body and painted the floors with what remained.

Instead, he had laughed.

A deep, reverberating thing that had echoed through his halls like an omen.

“You’re an amusing little thing,” he had told you, grinning with all his fangs. “You’ll stay.”

And stay you did.

*-*

The first time Sukuna killed for you, it had been over something so trivial you barely remembered what started it. Some insignificant curse, a wretched thing who served in his domain, had dared to mutter something about how a "human had no place beside the King of Curses."

You had barely even processed the words before Sukuna’s hand shot out, seizing the creature by its skull.

"Say that again," he had murmured, his voice deceptively soft.

The curse choked, eyes wide with terror.

It never got the chance to answer.

With a sickening crunch, Sukuna crushed its head like an overripe fruit, blood and viscera splattering across the stone floors. His other hands were on you, tilting your face toward him with surprising gentleness.

“Are you upset?” he asked, scanning your expression carefully.

You tilted your head. “Should I be?”

The answering grin he gave you was nothing short of predatory.

He had kissed you right then, still smeared with blood, a slow, lingering thing as if savoring the way you melted against him.

After that, it became routine.

Anyone who looked at you wrong? Dead.

Anyone who dared to question your place? Erased.

Entire towns burned for you, reduced to nothing but cinders because some poor fool made the mistake of thinking they could touch what belonged to Sukuna.

Not that you were helpless.

Oh no, your hands were just as stained as his.

The first time you killed for him, you had been standing at his side while a lowly servant fumbled through a task, muttering insults beneath his breath about how his king was wasting time with a mere human.

You had moved before Sukuna could.

Quick, efficient—one smooth motion, and the servant’s throat was nothing but a gaping wound, blood spilling freely as they collapsed.

Sukuna had been silent for a moment, watching you with unreadable eyes.

Then, that slow, wicked grin stretched across his face.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his lower hands gripping your waist, pulling you into him. His lips brushed against your ear as he chuckled, dark and pleased. “Absolutely perfect.”

You had never seen him look at you with such unrestrained hunger before.

From then on, the two of you were an unstoppable force. A pair of monsters bound by devotion so deep it bordered on insanity.

And gods, how you loved him.

The way he towered over you, all muscle and raw power. The sheer strength of him, the absolute arrogance in his posture because he knew nothing could ever stand against him. His four arms, each capable of destruction, yet equally capable of holding you with a terrifying kind of possessiveness.

And in return, he adored you.

Not in the way a man loves a woman, but in the way a beast claims its mate. You were his in every sense of the word. His equal, his counterpart, the only thing in existence that he would ever allow so close without consequence.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake up tangled in his limbs, his body curled protectively around you. He wasn’t a gentle lover, but he was a devoted one. You bore the marks of his worship proudly—bruises in the shape of his hands, love bites decorating your skin like a brand.

No one could understand it.

Not his subordinates, not his enemies, not even the gods above.

But the two of you did.

You understood it in the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something untouchable.

He understood it in the way you smiled at him—sharp, knowing, just as drenched in sin as he was.

There was no love story like yours.

Because no love could ever be as ruthless as this.

The air was thick, heavy with tension and affection, the kind of intoxicating mix that made everything seem just a little bit sharper. Choso had never been one to do things halfway—he was either all in or nothing at all, and with you? He was all in.

Every single inch of his body yearned for you, every part of him craving your touch, your warmth, your very presence.

It wasn’t just the physical part of it, though.

No, it was the way you felt—the way your voice could shatter him in the sweetest ways, how a simple look from you could make his heart race faster than any battle ever could. He adored you. Absolutely adored you, in the way only someone like him could. You were his in a way that went beyond possessiveness—it was deep, primal, like a wolf bound to its mate.

And you?

You were just as wild for him. There were times you thought you might lose yourself in him—maybe you already had—but you didn’t care. When you were together, everything just clicked. You were both feral creatures, locked in a dance of devotion and insanity, and neither of you would have it any other way.

Choso was lying on your bed, arms outstretched, eyes soft with longing as he watched you move around the room. His gaze never wavered from you, that sweet intensity shining in his dark eyes.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, voice hoarse, filled with adoration. He didn’t need to say it often—he showed it in every touch, in every glance, in the way he wrapped his arms around you when you least expected it.

You shot him a playful smile over your shoulder, your fingers brushing through your hair.

"You say that every time you look at me," you teased, glancing at him sideways.

Choso’s face flushed a little, and he gave a half-hearted shrug, as if embarrassed by the truth of it all. "Can’t help it," he muttered. "You’re just… everything."

The confession had the same effect as it always did—it made your chest tighten, your heart flutter like it was trying to break free.

Choso, sweet, adorable Choso, who could be so fierce in battle, but when it came to you? He was completely soft.

You crossed the room to sit next to him, your hand lightly brushing his cheek. His eyes fluttered shut at the contact, and he leaned into your touch with a soft, almost desperate sigh.

"You really are a pathetic little man in love, huh?" you murmured, amusement and affection coloring your tone.

His response was a soft chuckle, but there was no humor in it—just raw, unfiltered love. "Maybe," he admitted, his hands slowly reaching for you, pulling you into his embrace. You fell against him easily, your body settling into his as if you belonged there, just as much as he did with you.

"I’ll always adore you," he whispered, nuzzling into your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair.

"You’re lucky I adore you back," you teased, but the warmth in your voice was unmistakable. Choso made a soft noise of contentment, his arms tightening around you as though he could never get enough of your presence.

"Don’t tease me," he murmured, lips brushing against your skin. "You know how much I need you."

Your fingers paused in his hair, and you looked down at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Need me?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice growing quieter, more intense. "I need you. I need you like I need air. Like I need to breathe." His arms squeezed you tighter, as if emphasizing his point, and you felt the weight of his words sink into you.

You could feel how much he meant it—how much you meant to him. It was intoxicating, the way he wanted you, the way he was soft for you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. You couldn’t help but smile, your hand cupping his jaw gently.

"I don’t think you’re pathetic," you said softly, staring into his eyes. "I think you're perfect, just the way you are."

At your words, Choso’s eyes flickered, something raw and unspoken passing between you both. He leaned up, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow and tender—his usual intensity tempered with the sweetness of his feelings for you. He kissed you as though you were the most precious thing in his life—because, to him, you were.

When you pulled away, breathless, he didn’t let you go. Instead, his arms tightened around you again, and you both lay there, wrapped up in each other, the outside world disappearing entirely. Choso nuzzled your shoulder, his hands tracing absent patterns along your skin, his touch almost reverent.

"You’re mine," he whispered, the words not as possessive as they sounded, more like a vow—something sacred, something he’d give everything for.

"And you’re mine," you replied, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

You could feel his body relax against yours, as though hearing those words was enough to finally let him let go of all the built-up tension. The feral, crazy energy that usually buzzed around him, the energy that could tear anything apart if it was directed wrong, seemed to settle, replaced with the comforting, grounding weight of your shared love.

"You don’t know what you do to me," Choso murmured after a long, peaceful silence, his voice nearly a growl as he kissed your neck again, slow and deliberate.

"Oh, I know," you said, your voice teasing, but there was no mistaking the desire that simmered in the air between you two. "You make it pretty obvious."

Choso’s hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, if that was even possible. He growled low, possessive but tender. "Can’t help it," he muttered, voice thick with affection. "I just… need you."

His words, so simple and yet so heavy with meaning, made your heart swell. You loved the way he adored you—ferociously, completely. It was messy and intense, wild and unfiltered. But it was yours, and it was everything.

"Me too," you whispered back, pulling him in for another kiss, this one more heated, your hands tangling in his hair. Choso groaned at the sensation, his whole body shivering as if you had lit something inside of him that only you could quench.

"Yeah?" he breathed, pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. "You’re mine, then. All mine."

"Always," you answered, the words flowing effortlessly from your lips. "Forever."

And with that, you both fell into a rhythm—feral, intense, utterly devoted to each other in a way that no one could ever understand. But in that moment, nothing else mattered. All that mattered was you and him, lost in your shared love, your shared insanity. A love that was anything but quiet—loud, passionate, and unstoppable.

Feral, crazy, yours.

Shiu Kong is a menace.

You’re his equal.

And that? That makes you both dangerous.

He’s the kind of man who keeps eyes on you at all times. You step outside, and you’re being watched—not in a way that stifles, not in a way that makes you want to run, but in a way that burns.

It’s possessive, it’s obsessive, and it makes your blood sing because you like it.

You like the way he claims you with just a look, how even his silence is a brand against your skin. You like the way his men lurk in the shadows whenever you go out, ghosts in dark suits, their presence a whisper against your senses. They’re not there to cage you—oh no, you’d never tolerate that.

They’re there because Shiu Kong doesn’t trust the world not to take you from him.

And Shiu? He does not share.

Take today, for example.

You’d only stepped out for a bit of shopping, enjoying the slight chill in the air, the way the city thrummed with life. And then you’d seen it—a boutique with a dress in the window, the kind of thing that makes your heart stutter because it would look so good ruined against Shiu’s hands.

You didn’t even go inside. Just stared at it for a few minutes, mentally mapping out how it would feel against your skin, how he’d react when he saw you in it.

By the time you got home, it was already in your closet.

“Shiu,” you call out, kicking off your heels as you walk into your shared penthouse.

“Hm?”

There he is. Sitting on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, lazily scrolling through something on his phone like he doesn’t control half of the underground with just a flick of his fingers. The way he looks at you—devours you—makes you want to climb into his lap and never leave.

Instead, you grab his phone and toss it onto the couch. He barely reacts, just quirks a brow like he knows you’re about to do something reckless.

“You bought me a dress,” you state, fingers running over his tie, toying with the fabric.

His smirk is slow, dangerous. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

You hum, shifting closer, straddling him now. His hands find your waist on instinct, thumbs smoothing over the bare skin peeking out from beneath your blouse. You were made to be touched by him.

“I did,” you admit, nails trailing up the column of his throat. You lean in, lips brushing against his ear. "I want to kill someone for you."

Shiu laughs.

It’s low, dark, and entirely unhinged.

"Who pissed you off, baby?"

"You know who."

He does.

Of course, he does. The last time you were out, some idiot thought they could get too close, brush against you like you weren’t already spoken for, like you weren’t already his.

You’d given them a warning—a single glance that promised death. But now? Now you wanted more.

Shiu's grip tightens, and God, that look in his eyes? It makes you dizzy.

“You’re crazy,” he murmurs.

You smile, tilting his chin up with a single finger. “So are you.”

That’s the thing about the two of you—there’s no limit. He buys you whatever you so much as glance at, burns down anyone who dares to breathe the wrong way in your direction. You’ve pulled the trigger more times than you can count, fingers steady as you erase threats from his life.

You’ve made him your religion, and in turn, he’s made you his universe.

Shiu leans in, lips brushing against yours in a way that’s almost sweet—deceptive. But then he grips your chin, forces you to look at him properly.

“You want to kill for me?” His voice is soft, mocking. “You don’t need to. That fucker’s already dead.”

You pause.

Blink.

Then? You laugh.

“Of course, he is.” You trace a finger along the sharp line of his jaw, pressing your lips against his pulse. “You’re always taking the fun away.”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, dragging you in for a proper kiss. “I spoil you.”

You melt into him, but not before smirking against his lips. “Yeah, you do.”

The world could burn.

As long as he’s yours, you wouldn’t care.

You met him in a courtroom.

Of course, you did.

The first time Higuruma Hiromi locked eyes with you, he was halfway through a cross-examination, and you were sitting at the opposing counsel’s table, arms folded, a smug smirk playing on your lips. He had been tearing apart a witness, voice cool and steady, surgical in his deconstruction of their testimony.

And yet, when he caught your gaze—sharp, knowing, filled with the same exhausted, half-mad hunger for justice that burned in his own chest—he almost stumbled.

Almost.

You had heard of him. The prodigy public defender. A man who took cases that no one else would touch. The type of man who would grind himself down to dust for the pursuit of truth. The type of man you could respect.

The first time you spoke, it was outside the courthouse, under flickering streetlights. You were both drenched—whether from the rain or from the sheer weight of your workloads, it didn’t matter.

"You argue like a prosecutor," you had said, lighting a cigarette with the shaky hands of someone who had been awake for three days straight.

"And you argue like you’re trying to start a war," he had countered, watching the glow of your cigarette reflect in your tired eyes.

That was how it started.

A mutual recognition. A slow descent.

The thing about loving Higuruma Hiromi is that it is all-consuming.

It is staying late at the office, side by side, too stubborn to let a case go unsolved. It is trading sharp words in the courtroom only to collapse together in bed later, so entangled it’s impossible to tell where you end and he begins. It is long nights in his dimly lit apartment, both of you too exhausted to cook, eating convenience store food in silence, bodies pressed together, his hand curled around your wrist as if making sure you are still there.

"You're going to burn yourself out," he tells you one night, voice hoarse, forehead resting against yours.

"Then we’ll burn together," you snicker back, and the way his fingers tighten around you makes your breath hitch.

Higuruma loves you with a quiet, feral intensity. It’s in the way he makes sure you have your morning coffee, even if he barely slept the night before. It’s in the way his fingers trace over your wrist when you’re working, grounding you, reminding you that he’s there. It’s in the way he watches you in court, eyes dark and hungry, as if nothing in the world exists except for you.

You match his madness.

You see him for what he is—the brilliant, exhausted, beautifully broken man who has long since abandoned any illusions of a fair world. You understand him because you are the same.

"You should have been a prosecutor," he murmurs against your skin one night, lips brushing the curve of your jaw.

"You should have been anything but this," you reply, running your fingers through his dark hair, feeling the tension in his body. "But we don’t get to choose, do we?"

His breath hitches, and then his mouth is on yours, desperate, consuming, raw. The way he kisses you—like he’s starving—makes your head spin. Like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world.

The city knows your names.

They whisper about you in hushed voices, about the two mad lawyers who never lose, about the storm that follows wherever you go.

"The devil's advocates," some call you.

"Monsters," others sneer.

But you? You know the truth.

You are just two people who refuse to look away.

You are two people who would rip the world apart for each other.

The courtroom is your battleground.

It is where you come alive.

You stand beside him, matching his energy, feeding off each other like fire and gasoline.

"Objection," you snap, voice sharp as a blade.

"Sustained," the judge sighs, already tired of dealing with the two of you.

You don’t smile, but Higuruma knows. He knows the way you pulse with satisfaction, the way your fingers twitch at your sides. He knows because he feels the same.

And when the case is over—when justice has been served—you leave together, your shoulders brushing, his fingers catching yours in a brief, almost imperceptible touch.

Later, in the quiet of your apartment, he will hold you so tight it almost hurts. "You drive me insane," he mutters against your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin.

"Likewise," you breathe, nails digging into his back.

He chuckles, dark and low. "We’re going to ruin each other."

"Then let’s make it a masterpiece."

You don’t fight. Not really.

Not in the way normal couples do.

Your arguments are vicious, but never cruel. They are debates that bleed into foreplay, the rush of adrenaline making your hands shake when you finally collapse into each other.

"You think you’re smarter than me?" you challenge one night, pinning him against the couch, your breath hot against his throat.

"Undoubtedly," he murmurs, tilting his head back, exposing his neck in a way that makes something deep inside you snarl.

You bite down, hard enough to leave a mark.

His laughter is breathless, eyes burning. "My brilliant little monster."

Love, for you and Higuruma, is not soft.

It is not sweet words and gentle kisses- well to be honest it sometimes is.

It is jagged edges and sleepless nights. It is quiet understanding and shared exhaustion. It is knowing that, no matter how cruel the world is, no matter how heavy the burden of justice may be—you will always have each other.

It is a madness that makes sense.

It is devotion that terrifies others.

It is love that could bring the whole world to its knees.

And if it does?

You wouldn’t even notice.

Because all that matters is him.

A/N: anywayssss, hope this was alrighttt, i think theres some ooc in here, but hey, whatever.

Masterlist

He kneels down then, hands falling to the site of your injury “What happened?” he inquires, holding back his smile as your lean into his touch, giving him the softest, sweetest headbutt to his shoulder

“Lost a fight with a shovel” you explain, hands wrapping around his own as you let out a prolonged breath “You can laugh now, the pains stopped” you tell him, eyes flicking up to meet his own

With that Remus let’s himself break, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. You had always been this clumsy, in fact that’s how you and he first met, infirmary buddies so to speak, him with his chronic wolfy transformations and you with some random yet slightly hilarious new injury.

“Why don’t you help me with these, the grounds still a bit firm for building a new bed anyway” he tells you, but not before kissing the tips of his fingers not engulf by gloves and placing it on your ankle “Better?”

 “Like new” you grin up at him

As he stands upright, he finds you smiling at him, head tilted, the little bobble of your hat cutely hanging to one side, one of his winter jackets wrapped around you, along with two very different and not at all matching scarfs that somehow you pull off

“What are you staring at?” he eyes you

“I can’t admire?” you defend, shrugging as slowly pull yourself up

Remus turns his head a little, smiling as the cold hides his tinting cheeks. After all these years a bit of him is still in disbelief, how did someone like him get so lucky?

“You can but I don’t think we’ll finish today if you do” he tells you once you have dusted yourself off, facing him once more “Are you going to be good pretty girl?” he raises his eyebrows

You smile coyly, yet Remus sees the shyness you try oh so hard to hide under his own gaze “Never” you challenge, before stepping past him, taking his hand and leading him back towards the flower bed he was working on before

After a bit of work Remus’ movements come to a halt as he looks over to find you towelling away, you don’t notice his stare as you take a break yourself, gazing out over the field beyond the borders of yours and his cottage as the sun breaks free from the clouds. That smile he fell in love with painted on your face as your eyes flutter shut, a content sigh leaving your lips as you soak up the rays

She is so beautiful

It’s then a wave of nostalgia washes over him, maybe it’s the view, or the way the sun hits yours face just as the stars and moon did back then, but he can’t help recalling the night he would live again and again forever…

Start of flashback

“Come on Rem!” you say childishly, pulling Remus through the overgrowth, wand lighting the way

He huffs in faux annoyance, he had no idea why you felt the need to drag him through the enchanted forest at this hour, nor how you could have this much energy after a full day of classes and prefect rounds, but he really didn’t mind, not when it meant he got to spend more time with you

“So…” he leans to the side as you ascend a gentle incline, attempting to catch glimpse of your face “…why am I being gifted with a hike at 2am on a Tuesday?” he wonders, attempting to supress his smile as he can just about make out your excited one “Not that I’m not grateful for the exercise…or the cold…or the mud” he complains just a little

“Because mr grumps, you’re my friend and there is something I want to show you” you turn back flashing him an even bigger smile than you’re resting one “Besides you were awake anyway” you needlessly defend your impromptu trip further as you turn back

His heart both warms and aches at friend, since he met you, he knew a part of him wanted something more, but the other part knew it was for the best, even after you figured out his condition, you deserved someone better. Besides, as much as you and he broke the Gryffindor and Slytherin stereotype, him being in your own words ‘mr grumps’ and you in his words being little ‘miss sunshine’, the rest of the school wouldn’t be as happy…let alone his friends

He lets out a small chuckle “Then as my friend you should know that I was in the middle of my routine…I still had a good hour of self-doubt and deprecation to get in before my four hours” he jokes, though it’s not really one…in fact if he’s perfectly honest it’s more like three some nights

“Well instead of that totally heathy routine” you nip back, and he rolls his eyes with the slightest smirk on his face “You get to spend it with me and see something wonderful!”

You sounded so excited. That light in your eyes that made even Remus’ darkest days’ worth living through was shining as bright as ever, and he couldn’t help but get excited too

“Okay…” you stop just a willow tree, similar to the one he was all too familiar with but far less magical…and big…and deadly “…you ready?” you turn towards him, struggling to contain yourself

He nods, eyeing you as you put away your wand, engulfing you both in darkness “Wha…” he starts but then his eyes adjust, and he notices the unworldly glow from the other side of the hanging vines 

“I’ll go first, then you follow, okay?” you tell him, and he finds himself nodding wordlessly

Remus watches you slide through the vines, the soft embers of light worming through before they settle once more. He takes a small breath before he follows, pushing his hand through first to create a path for himself, it’s a little thicker than he thought it would be but soon he finds the other side, breath hitching as he takes in the view

Before him was a hidden garden, a small clearing within the forest filled with flowers, their petals shimmering beneath the star light. The area was surrounded by more willows, but inside the garden their hanging leaves bloomed with glowing berries emitting a warm orange hue. As he steps deeper, he finds the left side of the field stops abruptly, revealing a cliffside to the coastline of black lake

“Wow” he breathes out, a genuine smile gracing his face for the first time in months

You were right earlier, though he dares say you undersold just how wonderful your surprise was, and he almost doesn’t feel worthy of it, in fact, he knows he’s unworthy of it

“You like it?” 

His head softly turns towards your voice, finding you, hands clasped around the strap of your bag, lip pulled under your teeth as you await his answer, it’s then he realises why you went first, you wanted to see his reaction

“Like it?” he chuckles slightly “I love it” he confesses, unable to hold up his barriers at your hopeful eyes, even more at your proud little smile at his confession

“The view from the cliff is even better” you hold out hand

He takes it, but just as he is about to step into the moonlight, he stops, causing you to turn back and ask if he’s alright, but your words are lost on him as he pears up, catching glimpse of the waning moon

“I’m sorry” his eyes finally find you again and his heart breaks at your concern, cheeks flooding with embarrassment over how he’s going to ruin a perfect night with his fears “I’m good here, I’m sure it’s lovely but…” he takes a breath, unable to get out the rest

“But?” you wonder sweetly, taking a step towards him “It’s a beautiful night, I don’t want you to mess the best part…oh” you’re eyes light up and he worries you’ve figured it out “Are you scared of heights? I can shift and you can hold me to calm you down if that would help?” you offer, and it kills him

You were too sweet for your own good, not only had you chosen him to show this wonderful place, but you were willing to accommodate his fears without judgement. The mention of your animagus made his heart hurt more, you really had done everything to help him, and maybe it was that that allowed him to confess the real reason

His hand cups over yours, thumb stealing circles over your knuckles “Love…” he finds your eyes “…I’m…I’m not afraid of heights I just…it’s a clear night and well…” he looks down, swallowing hard “…the moon is out” he whispers and he’s too ashamed to look back up, instead he savours your hand in his scarred ones and the way they engulf your own

“Rem” your voice is so soft he could cry, he doesn’t want to be pitied, so much he finches as your other hand finds his cheek, encouraging him to look at you, but when he doesn’t, you continue “If you want to leave we can, or we can sit at the edge at the trees” you tell him sweetly “You aren’t going to shift here” you continue before a giggle escapes your lips as you add “besides…if you did I’d just push you off”

His head snaps up at that, staring at your cheeky grin in disbelief, processing before letting out scoff of a laugh “I can’t believe you just said that” he shakes his head, beginning to chuckle properly 

“It made you laugh though” you smile at him, and he finds himself relishing the closeness, the softness of your fingers on his rougher cheek and hands

“That you did” he agrees, hoping you don’t notice him leaning ever so slightly into your touch

He hides his disappointment however as your kind touch leaves his cheek, but his disappointment doesn’t last long as you take his other hand in your own, guiding him “I’ll be right here” you assure him, your movements gentle as you take a step back, letting him know he can leave if that’s what he truly wanted

Remus won’t lie, he’s still nervous but the safety he feels around you is stronger than his fear, and he lets you lead him towards the cliffside

Looking out over the night sky his eyes soon lock on to the moon, but as they do he feels your hand squeeze his “You’re okay” you tell him, and he actually believes it “You’re more than that big hunk of rock…come on let’s sit” you softly pull him as you lower yourself to the ground, and as you do, Remus waits until the very last second to let go of your hand

“Thank you” he finally says after you both are comfortable “What would I do without you?” he doesn’t ever want to know the answer, so he’s glad you answer when it with a joke

“Wallow in self-pity?” you jest “Maybe die of a heart attack with how much chocolate you consume?” you laugh

Despite his own chuckles he playfully nudges you “Funny bunny” he shakes his head, returning his gaze to the limitless expanse of stars, then down towards the shoreline, enjoying the simple beauty of waves washing across sand

“Can you see them?” you ask after a moment

His eyebrows furrow, looking at you then more intently at the beach “See what?” he wonders, confused

Just as he’s about to turn back towards you he feels you shuffle closer to him, pointing “Look closely at the wet sand, just before the waves come in…do you see it?” you ask, your head practically on his shoulder by this point

Remus’ confusion melts into intrigue as he watches the area you point out, eyes widening when he finally sees it, the slight indentations across the beach, not unlike the kind he and his friends make when they use James’ cloak in snow, yet these tracks much more resembled an animal

“What are they?” he turns to you, desperately holding back his blush at how close your face is to his

Merlin, he felt like a lovesick puppy, until now he had been able to keep his growing feelings at bay but now even your crossed leg gentle tapping against his own was enough to send his heart into a tizzy

You don’t seem fazed however as you just smile “Thestrals” you say simply “The magical creatures that pull the carriages” you add to jog his memory

“Really” he looks to the beach “That’s amazing” he says, smiling as he spots a smaller set following larger set before he recalls one particular fact about the invisible creatures “You can see them?” his heart drops a little…more so at your confirmation

“Yes” but your expression doesn’t change “You’re allowed to ask” you grant him a soft smile

He takes a moment after that though, despite your permission he still feels like he’s invading your privacy by asking “Who?” 

You look away then, off towards the shore “A few years ago, my father was sick. He’s alright now, but there was a time my mother and I practically lived in the hospital” you start and while you speak your eyes track something on the shore, he assumes a thestral but doesn’t tear his eyes away to check “There was a kind lady in the room next door, Dorothy. She used to share the sweet treats her sons would bring her with me…she was a muggleborn you see, I lied to my mother about that part though” you chuckle softly “She taught me how to knit properly, with needles and not magic…if I’m being honest I think she’s one of the main reasons I stopped believing in all that crap” you confess, your voice wavering a little as you look down at the ground

Remus’ eyes widen, sure, he hadn’t really spoken to you until the end of fifth year, but given your soft nature he never would have thought for a minute you could have ever believed in such things…you were too good for that

“Do you think less of me?” you reply to his silence, shame in your tone as you chew on your lip, pulling at blades of grass

As your eyes flick up meet his he shakes his head “No…if anything I think more of you” he gifts you a soft smile before reaching out to save the poor meadow from your anxiety riddled trimming, hand lingering on yours for a moment before he pulls back “It takes a strong person to admit something like that”

“I don’t know about strong…couldn’t save that bookcase last week” you giggle breathlessly, but behind it there’s a flash of something that shows your appreciation to his sentiment, much like Remus you also struggled to accept compliments or credit where it’s due…you were just maybe a little less grumpy about it

“You tried your best” he tells you with a chuckle…recalling how utterly bewildered you looked amidst the chaos of the chain reaction you had created while attempting to get one book before his expression drops once more “Do you want to continue? I’d like to hear more” he steers the conversation back gently and you seem thankful for it

“While my father was getting better, she wasn’t” you resume, voice dipping “Eventually she got so weak I had to finish the blanket she was making for the grandchild she never got the honour of meeting…” you sigh while you play with your fingerless gloves “…she made me these you know?” you look back up, lifting you hand slightly to show off them off

“I’m jealous” Remus holds up his own, showcasing his more than beaten gloves, hells they were practically falling apart

You giggle softly “I’ll make you some” it’s not an offer but a statement, one Remus has no intention of fighting, who was he to deny a gift from yourself “Any particular colour you would like?” you add

He thinks about it before his eyes fall on your gloves, their colour similar to the evergreen of the willows around you “Would you be mad if they matched yours” he asks cautiously, afraid of over stepping 

But your smile confirms he isn’t, if anything, he swears you shy away just a little at it, almost as if you’re flustered at the thought

“Not at all” you reply, voice softer than it’s ever been “I think she would have liked you. She certainly would have knitted you a matching jumper” 

“Maybe you could knit me one instead” he says before his brain can even process the words

That was way too…

“Sure!” you reply right away, elated at the idea “Your birthdays in March, right? The 10th?” you confirm, and Remus can only nod in return “I’ll surprise you with the colour for that one” you tell him

Remus’ lips quirk up, excitement bubbling in his stomach for next month before it softly subsides as he realises, he needs to know the end of Dorthey’s story, even if that means the loss of your happy smile for a short while

“How did it happen?” he doesn’t need to give you context, you know what he’s asking

“She seemed better one morning, she even got out of bed. In fact…it was the day she made me these” you gesture to the gloves once more and you smile at the memory, though it’s more of a bittersweet kind of smile “But…that evening she took a turn, nothing dramatic, she was just tired, cold…the medication had her talking to the air” you explain, waving “I like to think she was talking to her husband, like he was he one to grant her passage when she moved on, that they were together again…she was a bit of a romantic you see…so am I” you confess, and Remus takes note of it “Eventually she seemed aware of my presence and took my hand, then she smiled and fell asleep…she passed moments later…and that’s how I can see them” you nod to the beach

Remus remains silent for a moment, before reaching out and giving your shoulder a small squeeze “She sounds like a remarkable woman” 

“She was” you nod, smile playing on your lips before you turn your body towards him “I’m glad I got to tell you about her, but there was one other reason I brought you here”

“Yeah?” Remus’ eyes light up a little

“Mhm…the day after the last full moon…” you start and Remus’ eyebrows knit, unsure of where you’re going with this “…you confessed that when you seen me in there it made you worry that you had hurt me that night”

“I’m…ugh”

Remus lets out a shaky breath, he had been a bit harsh at first that morning, he told you that his friends put themselves in harms way enough and he didn’t need a klutz joining them. As soon as it left his lips, he regretted it, he had called you it before, but this time he had negative intent and he could tell it hurt you

“Love…I never…”

“Rem…I forgive you” you gently cut him off and it surprises him “Remus that morning you also told me that you worry one day that something much worse than a fractured wrist might happen, that you would do something magic couldn’t fix” you recount before gesturing to the shoreline “I thought maybe you could use this place whenever you felt that way… I found this place shortly after I was able to see them. Followed them here one night when I couldn’t sleep. It helps you know, to get away” you say forlornly

Later Remus would realise the thing you ran from was expectation, but tonight he nods slowly

“Do you really believe that?” he asks, voice mixed with hope and scepticism “That it could help?”

“I do” you confirm “I thought maybe it can help you shoo away those clouds that neither your friends nor…I…can’t” you say, but the last part is said slower, followed with a shy laugh, like you’re worried you’re implying you play a bigger part in his life than you actually do, and to that his hands reach out squeezing your own, hoping it’s enough to communicate that you are just as important as his friends, in fact you may be even more so one day…or perhaps tonight

Tears prick Remus’ eyes, threatening to spill as speaks again “I…I don’t know what else to say other than…thank you…for this…for everything” he nods his head around, trying his best to convey the deeps of his appreciation 

“You don’t have to say anything more than that” you assure him, letting him know you understand before flashing that smile of yours “Just enjoy the evening” you softly command

And he did, allowing silence to fall between you. For the first time in, well ever, Remus felt what most people must know as peace, allowing his mind to finally stop turning if just for a moment, letting him focus on other things rather that his own voice. The gentle rustle of leaves, soft hum of fireflies, the rocking waves upon the shore…your soft breaths, your steady heartbeat

He never wanted this moment to end

He lets himself look at you then, finding you smiling to yourself, eyes closed as you take in the moment

She is beautiful

He never takes his eyes off of you, a part of him hopes you catch him, hopes that this night is something more to you as it is to him, but the other knows when you look back, he’ll cower away like he always did. Remus knew he was selfish with you, his eyes lingered that little bit longer that they should, as did his touch, he always waited for either the last moment or for you to pull back…secretly hoping one day you wouldn’t

Your eyes open then, turning towards him “What?” you smile softly, head tilted

Remus shakes his head quickly “Nothing, thought there was a fly” he plays it off, returning to the view while quietly chastising himself in his head for the terrible lie

Coward

“Remus…” he flinches a little as your hand finds his “…look at me again”

He hesitates at first, but then you whisper the softest ‘please’ and he’s at your mercy, returning your gaze, eyes curious with a dash of hope or fear mixed in, he didn’t quite know which yet. 

You move to your knees and he finds himself doing the same to face you properly as your touch flows upwards, backs of your fingers grazing his cheek as you push some hair out of the way, your eyes darting between his own like you’re checking he’s comfortable with the new form of intimacy

“You’re the prettiest thing here you know” you say before your eyes flick down to his…lips? 

Your hands are soft, sure as they cup his face, fingers tracing the line of his jaw ever so slightly as you test the waters further, sending shivers down his spine, heart pounding before…

“Remus can I kiss you?”

…it damn near stops

He genuinely didn’t know if this was reality anymore 

“You…” he lets out a shaky breath “…want to kiss me?” he swallows

His fingers itch with the urge to pull you closer, to feel certainty in your presence, your warmth, but he restrains himself, afraid of shattering the illusion

You nod, eyes never leaving his “Very much” you confirm “I have for a while” you confess and for the first time he notices the slight shake in your fingers, the glistening in your eyes, that not so tiny fear that you were hiding so well seeps through…the one where he rejects you 

But he would never

“Can I?” you ask one last time, voice barely a whisper

He doesn’t speak just gives you a hum that you hope can recognise as a yes, which you do, eyes widening a little in surprise before you lick your lips, slowly leaning in. As happy as Remus was, he doesn’t move, still scared this might not be real, that any movement will have him wake up in his dorm and that all this was just a cruel trick of his psyche. That is until your nose softly taps his own, before the plush of your lips find his. It’s tender, sweet, only lasting for a few fleeting moments before you pull away

As you do, he finally breaks free of his paralysis, chasing your lips a little before he watches your eyes flutter open, finding your smile is shy all of a sudden, like you used every ounce of your confidence to work up the courage to not only ask but kiss him and now it was all gone

Kiss her back you idiot!

Remus’(...or maybe Moony’s) thoughts drive him into action, leaning forward to cup your cheek before you can fully withdraw, admiring the way you head falls into it with such ease as he brings his lips close to yours, checking it’s something you want before he finally returns the kiss

It’s more passionate this time, lips moving in sync as his arms wrap around you, gently lifting and bringing you flush against him, while your hands snake around his neck and up into his hair. The warmth of your body seeps into his, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, it’s just you, him, and this garden. 

When he finally pulls back, you’re the one chasing him this time, sneaking one last kiss before your forehead rests on his “Did that actually just happen” he whispers panting gently 

“Afraid so” you giggle 

He lets his smile break free then, no more holding back “How terrible” he nudges his nose against yours

“Horrible really” you continue the joke before softly pecking his lips “Are you glad I interrupted your routine now?”

“Very” he whispers before capturing your lips again

End of Flashback

“What?” 

He’s snapped out of his daze, smiling wide as he leans forward and places a sweet yet firm kiss to your lips

“What was that for?” you wonder, taken aback by the sudden intimacy but not upset in the slightest

“Because you’re the prettiest thing here” 

Thank you for reading ♡