"by the light of the moon, it'll be alright"

You would have been glad for this reprieve in walking, for this chance to rest, if it wasn't for the lingering anxiety at the back of your mind. What about our friends? Worry gnawed at your heart like a starving wolf at the carcass of some poor frail bird. What has come of our friends? What of Aragorn and Gimli? What of Frodo and Sam?

Sitting still in wait did no good for your dread. Treebeard, as it turns out, was very kind and hospitable, if not a bit drawn out with his conversation. At first you had just assumed it a funny character quirk, an endearing habit of his to speak slowly, often breaking off into a poem or song or two mid-sentence. But it turns out, this quirk was in fact true for all ents. At least, all ents currently in meeting before you.

The "Entmoot" as Treebeard had called it was taking hours. Hours of watching a few pines, willows, and various other evergreens sway about making strange groaning noises. Patience is a virtue, you remind yourself. But patience is not afforded to those whose friends could be in peril as they pace around a mossy clearing, waiting for a few trees to finish wishing each other a "good morning."

You and Merry had been taking turns burning holes into the soft green grass beneath your feet in a shared flurry of anxious pacing. You had finally sunk against a tree trunk in emotional and physical exhaustion. You, Merry, and Pippin all sat very still, blinking back sleep as you continued to wait.

The thuds of entish footfall jerked you awake, tapping the shoulders of your companions as Treebeard approached.

Merry jumped to his feet. "Yes?"

Treebeard heaved a great breath, and answered in that peaceful, sighing tone of his, "I have told your names to the Entmoot and we have agreed…you are not Orcs."

Your heart sunk with the familiar drag of disappointment. Your face burned, and you couldn't even chuckle at Pippin's cheery "Well, that's good news!" All of that time spent working towards an inconsequential conclusion? That you aren't orcs? Your friends could be in battle, hurt and in need. Yet here you are, blinking back tears of frustration and swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to force out some sort of reply.

Merry's impatient tone almost shocked you. "And what about Saruman? Have you come to a decision about him?" His hands were balled up and he looked almost swaying on his own feet, out of exhaustion or anger, you couldn't tell. He looks angry, you catch your lower lip between your teeth and gnaw. I've never seen him look this angry.

Treebeard waved his large hand dismissively. "Now don’t be hasty, Master Meriadoc."

"Hasty? Our friends are out there. They need our help. They cannot fight this war on their own." Your shoulders went a little slack at Merry's words. You could see his fear, his doubt, and most of all his care for his friends. You stared at his profile from your spot on the grass. Your hands grasped at the damp blades you found there, pulling and kneading into the soil below.

"The Ents cannot hold back this storm. We must weather such things as we have always done."

Your breath escaped your lungs in one audible exhale of disbelief and hopelessness. They're.. saying no? They're learning of the injustices of this war, of the harm that will come to innocent people, and they are choosing to turn away? You can't help but gape, breathless with shock. You saw Merry look to you at your soft outburst, take in your watery eyes and open mouth, and lift his chin to glare up at the ents.

"How can that be your decision?" He hissed.

"This is not our war." Treebeard responded simply.

"But you're part of this world! Aren't you?"

The ents looked away from his accusatory gaze and shifted about, leaves rustling loudly in the uncomfortable silence that followed Merry's question. Then, it seemed as if all of the slow kindled anger was sapped from his body. "You must help. Please." His voice was nearly a whisper. "You must do something."

"You are young and brave, Master Merry. But your part in this tale is over. Go back to your home." Treebeard smiled gently, almost paternalistically, and you felt a hint of comfort despite yourself.

Your chest tightened painfully. "Merry." You called. He turned away from the ents and trudged back to where you and Pippin were still sitting against a tree, lips pressed into a thin, grim line and eyes trained on the ground. You wanted to reach for him and offer a soothing press of your palm to his shoulder, but he unceremoniously grabbed his coat and began shoving it on. You blinked, surprised.

"What are you doing?"

"You heard what Treebeard said." Merry looked at you regretfully. "It's not right, and I don't like it. But it's time for us all to go home."

You drew back, jerking up straight in bewilderment. "What? We can't just-"

"I know. I know." It looked like he was in pain saying those words, fixing his coat and working on the buttons like he was preparing to go out for dinner and not leaving you. "Y/N," Merry gave you this complicated look, all furrowed brows and pensive, pleading eyes. "You can come with us, if you like."

You exhaled again, bringing yourself to your feet so you could retrace your steps pacing about. You shook your head like it was filled with freezing water, and you were trying to flush it all out. "I-Merry. I would love to but-I can't." You stop in front of an old log with mushrooms peeking around its corners. It looks like it's rotting, a once great tree now seeping back into the Earth, and the thought of that makes you sick. You take a deep breath and swallow. "I can't." You repeat. "I know that I can't do much. I know our friends are likely hurt or worse right now. I know I could be killing myself by choosing this," hearing these words makes your head spin, and you sit on a more stable looking part of the log, "but I can't just leave not knowing what would happen if I just tried." You look up at the hobbits, both wearing matching frowns and feel a pang of guilt. "You should go home though. I want you to be safe and happy. You need to be safe and happy. I need you to be-" You squeeze your eyes shut and press the heels of your hands over your eyelids, trying to relieve some pressure and keep in any spilling tears. "I'm sorry." You whisper, though you don't know what you're apologizing for.

It's quiet, and when you open your eyes, you are startled to see Merry looking at you with a sort of frustrated want, and you can't quite tell if he's angry again or not. Suddenly, he marches forward and you tilt your head up to follow his expression as he draws closer to you, puzzled at his strange burst of energy.

“Merry?” What could possibly be wrong? He’s going home, he’s going to be safe, he’s-

He’s fitting his palms around the curve of where your jaw meets your cheek and he’s kissing you.

It’s hard and warm and you feel his brow furrow as he pulls back to lean his forehead against yours. Gone too fast, he pulls back and all you can do is look up at him, with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

Your confusion melts into surrender, and then raw emotion as you reach your hands out and he seems to understand what you want because you meet again in an intense press of lips. I’m scared. I want to be with you. Wherever you go, I go, it says.

You grip the collar of his coat, that stupid coat that meant he was leaving, and pull until he’s bending at the hips to follow your command. You sparkle and nearly giggle out loud as the kisses soften, getting lazy and chaste until the two of you pull apart. You keep your hands on his chest and he keeps his hands where they had drifted to knead into your legs as you look at each other with giddy shock. It’s not until you hear a small cough from Pippin that you jump up, straightening yourself and trying to ignore how Merrys shirt is wrinkled and his lips are still wet.

“I don't want you to go.” You blurt out. "Maybe I'm being selfish by saying that. But you-" You look over to smile affectionately at Pippin as well, who looks like he's trying very hard not to look at where you and Merry are still sharing space. "You're both important to me. I want to keep trying, and I want to try together."

You suddenly have the strong urge to turn around, you can feel him, you can smell him, you can hear him, you just want to see him. You try to turn around as gently as possible, twisting your waist under his arm and trying so hard not to stir your sleeping giant. A memory comes to mind of the first time you woke up in his arms like this, how you almost fell off his chest and he only stirred a little with the motion. Now that you think of it, he was fully awake only a few moments later, just in time to catch you admiring his face, awfully convenient. Your sleepy mind lights up and you eye your lover's face with new suspicion.

He breathes like he’s asleep, slow and rhythmic. His eyes are closed but he's not snoring anymore. You stare intently at his eyes, looking for any signs of consciousness, while your hands slowly move from his chest up to his shoulders. You take your time admiring him, like the first time except now, instead of being spurred by bewilderment and curiosity, there is actual admiration and love behind the action.

Your fingers flutter up his bare chest as you lean closer on your elbow. You lightly scratch at his stubble and see his lips twitch upwards just the tiniest bit, it breaks a smile onto your face. When your fingers make it to his cheek, you cup the fat there. One of his eyes squint open, trying to go unnoticed but obviously failing when he sees you looking right at him. He quickly shuts his eye again and snorts when he knows he's been caught, and you sit up, pushing him away, your suspicion now confirmed.

“You bastard!”

You push at his shoulders, and he laughs a raspy sound, thick with sleep.

“You were awake the whole time, even that first time!”

You shout accusations he doesn't understand, shaking his shoulders in faux anger and genuine embarasment. He finally fights back against your playful pushing by sitting up and wrapping his arm around your waist, also managing to grab a wrist. He brings your hand to his cheek, holding it there as he stared down at you in his lap. He makes it clear he wants you to touch him like that again while he's awake with all the admiration and curiosity you do when you think he's asleep.

And you do, combing stray strands of hair from his face then moving down to tentatively touch his pretty tusks. You move in closer to look at the pretty carvings on them, blinking up at his eyes, which stare at your lips lazily. You inch closer and even closer until your lips barely graze his. Then you pull away, barely giving him time to grab for you before you hop off the large bed and dawdle your way to the bathroom.

You snicker as you hear him shout something like the orcish equivalent of “Hey!” You grab a cup and fill it with water from the water barrel in the bathroom, before grabbing the wooden toothbrush you got a while back from a travelling merchant and smearing on some minty herbal toothpaste.

The orc grumbles into the room and you grin at him as he grabs his own toothbrush, which is almost comically bigger than yours. After brushing the sleep off your tongue, you rinse your mouth with the cup of water, it tastes stale but it gets the job done. He does the same but you watch in curiosity as smears on a second glob of toothpaste before he starts brushing his tusks. You don't know why it hasn't occurred to you but it seems obvious now, he clearly takes very good care of them if they look that pretty, with all the careful carvings in the off-white ivory.

When he's done you walk to the kitchen, trying to not feel so unfamiliar in his home. The freezing cold tile of the kitchen is starting to feel atleast a little familiar, like the smell of the kitchen; doughy with hints of something earthy you can't name. You shiver as you reach for two mugs from the cupboard you saw him place your mugs in. He yawns and stretches in the doorway, as you look through the draws for a spoon.

He reaches over you to grab his own mug, placing his hand on your waist for an unneeded amount of time and then grabs the kettle placing it over the cast iron. You mull over what to drink, you don't want to drink up all your red tea, who knows when or if you’ll ever get more.

Your lover opens another cupboard and pulls out a jar of cream-coloured powder, one brown coloured powder and a jar filled with a golden syrup. You watch him scoop a teaspoon full of the cream-coloured powder into his mug and then a much smaller amount of the brown powder that smells like cinnamon but is definitely not. You’ve realised now what he’s making and you push your mug closer to his, very subtly asking for a cup yourself. He looks down at you, gives you an amused huff and then plops some powder into your cup as well, along with a generous dollop of what is definitely honey.

You barely try to hide how you’re staring at him and you can tell by his slight smile that he can feel it. He finally turns to you when he’s done and leans against the counter, waiting for the kettle to boil. You hesitate for a moment now that you have his attention. Remembering your actions yesterday, he seems to like it when you’re upfront about your desires. You try to remember that as you place your hands on his chest and lean into him, gaze flicking between his eyes and his mouth. He cocks his head in response, even though you both know what you want. For some unknown reason, you can’t will yourself to just ask for a simple kiss, so you try and take it instead. He can’t help but chuckle when you start trying to climb him to reach your prize.

After a few moments of watching you struggle, he places his hands behind your thighs and lifts you up. The sudden movement makes you hit your knee on the kitchen counter and you yelp in pain, rubbing the sore skin while the orc places you on the counter. He looks down at the already bruising skin and bends down to sheepishly kiss the area, looking up at you apologetically with slightly darker cheeks. You laugh and place a hand on his cheek, he looks beautiful from this angle and you express that to him by leaning down to kiss him. He hums into the kiss, hands gently caressing up your thighs. Your hands roam his muscly back as he kisses you until your head is backed up against the cupboards, only allowing him to deepen the kiss further and-

The screaming kettle interrupts your intimacy and he gives an exaggerated sigh. Ignoring your snort he pours the hot water while you help with breakfast preparations.

After you eventually finish breakfast, he sits on the couch and you browse around his bookshelf. You pull a few of the cartography looking ones out and place them on the living room table, getting your pencil ready. He perks up and looks over when you slide over the finished note.

“You draw maps?”

Simple question to start. He nods his head.

You wait for him to write something down and elaborate but he just nods as if that’s the only question he expects you to ask about it. You fumble or a moment and slide the paper back to you, writing;

“Can I see?”

He seems surprised by that, like he didn’t expect you to care or ask about it. He nods and stands up, bringing the pencil and book. You follow him to the bedroom where he stands in front of the large map on the wall, placing the pencil and book down on the desk below it. He looks over to you, like he wants to confirm that you’re actually paying attention, and points to an orcish word on the map near the middle, gesturing to himself and the ground.

You light up a little and say,

“That's here?”

While gesturing down, he nods his head looking pleased that you understood and that he understood at least your gesture if not your words. He then points towards a point near the far right edge of the map, and points to you. It takes you a moment but when you realise that the bold line separating the two halves of the map is the Human-Orcish boarder, it becomes clear.

“That’s where I lived?”

While gesturing to yourself, he nods again. You look back at the map and notice that much of the right side past the bold line is blank, there's only a dot for your cabin, some trees and a lake.

You now have many questions and you go through them trying to figure out how to word them. When you grab your pencil and page through your translation book, you huff in frustration when you realise your questions are too long and messy to write down. You close the book and point to the lake on the map with your pencil,

“You found me here? When you saved me?”

After a moment he nods,

“Is that why you went past the boarder? You were drawing a map?”

You’d wondered what the hell he was doing just roaming around in human territory. He nods to you and says something about “drawing” while pointing at the area around the lake, then he says something, points to his ear and you catch the word “save”.

So he was mapping out the area, heard the ice crack and you fall in, and decided to bring you back home instead of letting you die. You just stare at the map for a little, as much as you want to berate him for crossing the boarder like that, if he hadn’t been there that day you’d certainly be at the bottom of that lake right now. The thought weighs heavier than you’d like.

You look over the map to try and distract yourself with the thick black inked symbols and sketches. On the far side of the map, deep in orcish territory, it looks like the land just stops. Maybe it’s another boarder or a river within Orc territory that he can’t cross. You point to the squiggly line with a confused face.

He scratches his stubble, shrugs and says a word you don’t recognise. You look at him blankly and he huffs a laugh. He says a different word you don’t know, moving his hand up and down like he’s mimicking a snake. You still clearly don’t understand and he grabs the translation book, paging through it and pointing out a word for you.

“Sea”

You stare at the word in disbelief. That can’t be true, you’ve only ever heard stories of the sea. You look back at the map with scrunched eyebrows, It’s further away from his house than the distance between your house and his but that can only be half a days walk at most. There’s no way you spent your whole life not knowing the sea was a days hike from your home. You look up at him and shake your head, and he just nods back to you. You cross your arms and fully turn to face him, looking a lot more serious. He fumbles a little at the earnestness on your face and gently takes the pencil from your fist, writing in the notebook.

“I can show you.”

You read it and soften a bit, nodding your head. You wonder if it looks like the drawings you’ve seen in books or if it really tastes as salty as they say.

The next hour or so is spent making lunch to carry with you to your destination. You pack the hard dough bread, berries and some dried meats into his rucksack and meet your lover in the living room. He tries not to laugh when you write to him asking if he’s sure it’s the actual sea and not a very big lake. He has a smaller map with him, one of just a small portion of orcish territory, he shows you the map and points towards where he’s drawn three little circles on the map that lie between his house and the alleged sea. He then points to his notebook which says,

“First bath then beach and lunch!”

You look at his written words then back at the map, so those three circles are little lakes? or maybe ponds? You suppose it might be warm enough to bathe but to hike what must be a couple of hours right after a cold bath is a bit drastic. You could absolutely do with a good clean though, you haven’t bathed since before you fled your home and a lot has happened since then. Your lover stands at the door, shoving his boots on and checking if he has everything he needs. You tuck the two books safely into your coat as you walk out the door into the chill outdoor air.

The sun tries it’s best to shine through the clouds as you walk amongst the trees, the ground snow has melted somewhat making traversing the landscape a bit easier. You’re walking behind the massive orc, staring at the neatly drawn map in your hands. You’ve found out you aren’t the best at reading maps as it turns out. Your lover very graciously had to reorientate the map in your hands multiple times and that didn’t even help you read it any better.

You’ve been walking a while and you have no idea where you are on this damn map. You hear your lover say something and you hum in acknowledgement still trying to read his map, until he moves your chin up and right in front of you is a beautiful steaming hot spring. Three little hotsprings actually, attached to a rocky incline in the forest ground. You look down at the map and then up again and then to your lover who lets out a very amused laugh.

You follow him to the nearest spring and dip your hand in, gasping as the hot water shocks your cold skin. You waste no time undressing, your lover doing the same, you step into the water and let out a genuine moan as the hot water seeps into your frost bitten bones. When your love steps into the pool the water overflows with his sheer mass making you laugh lightly.

He pulls a block of soap out of his pack and starts rubbing himself down with it, clearly this is his usual bathing arrangement which is a massive improvement from the freezing lake next to your cabin. The bastard, no wonder he has such soft skin and hair, especially for a damn woodsman. You scoff at him and he just gives you a confused look to which you shake your head and motion for him to pass the soap. Soon you feel cleaner than you have in a long, long time as you scrub the grime off your body, the sticky sweaty feeling finally being washed away.

The orc smiles endearingly at his lover, clearly pleased that you’re enjoying your hot bath so much. He unties his hair from the loose half bun it’s been in since he woke up and starts washing the thick mane. He pulls a wooden comb out his pack and starts untangling the strands.

You’d heard that orcs take pride in their hair, you assumed this must have been to signal wealth or higher class or something. Your lover would have no use in that though so there must be some other reason? Maybe he’s just particular about hygiene. You’re completely unaware of how unabashedly you’re staring at him as you become lost in these thoughts. It doesn't go unnoticed by him though, he smiles at the thought of having to get used to it.

You watch him brush the comb through his hair, stretching to try and reach some troublesome knots in the back. You nudge closer and motion for him to give you the comb to which he hesitates. You retract your outstretched hand and look at him questioningly. You can’t parse his expression, surprised, hesitant, bashful maybe? When you’re about to shift away from him he reaches out and puts the comb in your hand. You move slowly behind him, a little worried by his earnestness at what you perceived as a simple gesture.

You gently untangle his knots, patiently brushing the twisted strands until they come free. He hums in thanks whenever you smooth the comb across his scalp after a successful untangling. You both enjoy the quiet atmosphere, its always like this with him, calm and comfortable. No pressure to entertain or engage, as if just existing near each other is all the comfort needed.

Your shoulders and breasts are exposed to the cold air and as you finish up brushing down the now tangle free locks a breeze blows past that makes your whole body shiver. You plunge back into the hot water and your orc looks back at you and chuckles. You click your tongue, of course he doesn’t feel the cold, the hot blooded bastard. You curl your arms around him from behind, pushing your perked nipples into his back. You feel him tense but you know it’s not because of the cold. You run your hands up and down his stomach and chest. It seems admiring your lovers body is becoming a frequent past time of yours.

He grunts a little when your hands wonder lower, following the black hair on his stomach as it thickens further down. He places a hand on yours as a gentle warning, as if you don’t know what you’re doing to him. You place your cheek against his warm back and reach deeper until you finally touch the base of his cock. He sighs as you wrap your hand around him, and thank the gods he can’t see your face. He might not have appreciated the look of absolute shock and a little horror on your face. It’s not your fault, your hand barely fits around him! You knew he was going to be big, obviously, but that’s just frightening. He groans low, and you realise you’ve kept your hand still for far too long, unintentionally teasing the poor guy.

You slowly move your hand up, one slow stroke all the way up his length and you are once again shocked by the size of him. You swore it didn’t feel that huge when you were grinding against him the other night. When you finally reach the head you stroke your thumb across the tip and he lets out a whine. A rather high pitched noise for an orc like him, not unlike the whines he made when you both came in your underwear on his living room floor.

He covers his mouth with a wet hand and the action makes you confused. You swipe your thumb across his tip again trying to get another sound from him. He shivers once more but any sound he makes is smothered by his hand, robbing you of any sweet whines. You huff indignantly and when you’re about to move your hand again he catches it and keeps it still on his cock, breathing into his hand.

You’re somewhat puzzled by his embarrassment, especially since he was the one who quelled your anxieties the first time. You have to do the same for him and apparently your version of easing his apprehension was to pull the sounds out of him. With the hand he wasn’t holding you reached down past his cock and cupped his massive sack in your hand.

He lets out a rather high pitched yelp and his whole body jolts up at the no doubt unfamiliar touch. You burst out laughing and as he splashes water at you which does nothing to smother your laugh. He gives an incredulous look, you can only wheeze in response, which makes him splash more water at you as if that will hide his dark green cheeks. You wade over to him, saying apologies before being pulled up abruptly into his arms, your top half once again being exposed to the cold as he grumbles and hides his hot face in your chest. You can tell he isn’t really upset but you still feel bad, this gentle love doesn’t come easy to you like it seems to for him and it probably never will.

You run your hands through his hair and mumble apologies to him,

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, my love. I was trying to do the opposite. I’m sorry.”

You know he doesn’t understand what you’re saying but you know he likes it when you speak to him in your language. He gazes up at you from between your tits and you smile down at him. You hesitate before attempting an apology in orcish, which makes him huff a laugh into your skin and clutch you closer. Does this mean your forgiven? He runs his massive hands all the way down from your waist to your knees and back up. You smile down at him, having this massive orc make himself smaller so he can look up at you like this, it makes you feel so…wanted? loved? worthy? You don’t know the word but it makes your heart sing.

Another breeze blows by and you shiver again, nipples hardening and skin prickling up with goosebumps. The orc snickers at you from below, reaching up to oh so gently stroke a hardened nipple with his thumb. You shiver and keen, before you even realise it your hand shoots up to cover your mouth and you only realise this when you see the very smug look on his face. He's exposed you as a hypocrite without even saying anything.

You try and push him away in irritation but he holds you against him, slowly pulling you down until the water reaches your chest and you’re straddling him. You feel something against your stomach and you freeze. Actually feeling his cock against you, so close to your pussy stirs such a blazing heat in your stomach you think you must be sick for a second.

You look down and feel your breath hitch at the massive cock just below the surface of the water, it rests just above your belly button, hot and hard. You notice that he isn’t touching you any more and you look up to see he’s avoiding looking at you and his hands rest at his thighs. You lean up and place a hand on his cheek, he finally looks at you and you can tell he feels bad. Why? You have no idea. Is he ashamed or just shy? Is it something else? You move your body even closer to his, and mutter a little “It’s ok.” Not sure what else to say or how to convey it.

You think he gets the meaning by how you say it. He lets you push him down gently until his back is resting in the edge of the spring, head being supported by the big smooth rocks laid there. You place his hands on your hips and settle your weight down, his cock now pushing your pussy lips apart. You both moan, finally feeling the direct skin to skin contact has your brain buzzing and his too it seems.

You move slowly, dragging your pussy up the length of his cock, feeling the girth under you as you grind up his entire length. When you reach the tip you circle your hole around it, teasing the entrance with something you know you can’t take, at least not yet. He hisses and bites his lip, trying to hold himself back again and the action makes you sad.

You lean down, squishing your chest against his and wrapping your arms around his neck, hugging him close. You nuzzle into his cheek, kissing from his ear to his tusk and looking him in the eye when you grind lightly into his tip, breath catching when the tip brushes your clit. You moan, as unabashedly as you can manage, trying to show him that you aren’t embarrassed by how good he makes you feel and that he doesn't have to be embarrassed by how good you make him feel either.

You lean forward and let him seal the kiss, letting his hot tongue mix with yours as you share moans and taste each others desires. You grind harder, longer thrusts up and down his cock, gradually speeding up as both your needs grow and your holds tighten.

He gets more confident with leading you, his hands on your thighs helping you grind down on him as the water sloshes and spills over with every thrust. He guides your hips up and down his shaft while jerking his hips in time. You both work in tandem, mouths never leaving each other for too long, you share hot breathes and groans as the pleasure rises each second. You clutch onto his shoulders and he grips your hips, both of you now feverishly humping one another, release so close.

All it takes is a few more well timed thrusts, his tip catches your clit and the forest is filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy. You clench and shake against his cock as he thrusts against you, holding you so close, releasing his spend in the water with another loud grown. You both twitch and heave, bodies squished together, reeling from your orgasms. Your lover rests his head against the smooth rocks, breaths hot and thick in the chilly air. You look down and notice the now murky water below you and you let out a tired laugh, you’ll have to rinse off of in one of the other pools.

You lay there in the steamy water as the sensitive quiver in your pussy simmers into a dull ache. After a minute you sigh and lift yourself up before being immediatly thwarted by your lover who just grumbles, almost growls, and squeezes you closer to his chest. He makes it very clear that you’re not moving until he is done with his post sex cuddles. You have no choice but to comply, resting against your orcs chest watching the steam evaporate off his skin.

When you're finally done in the hot springs, your fingers are pruney but your muscles are relaxed. You had to get dried and dressed rather quickly with the volatile late winter air seeping into your skin the moment you stepped out of the heavenly hot water, as if the winter is offended that you tried to get warm at all. You wrap your hair in a cloth and cover it with your fur coat, lest the cold freeze down to your brain. Of course your orc lover doesn’t seem to mind as much as you do, simply tying his drying hair into a bun and throwing up the hood of his coat as if it were a mildly cold spring day.

Your lover takes then reins with the map this time and you walk for awhile more, until you notice the air smells different, more salty, and you can hear unfamiliar bird squawks. Your lover quickly turns around and motions for you to cover your eyes with your hands, you give him a blank look leading him to huff and do it himself. Covering your eyes with one hand and leading you with the other, you walk up an incline and then stop at the flattened top. He says something in orcish and then removes his hand, and you are completable and utterly speechless.

Blue. An incomprehensibly large amount of blue, as far as the eye can see and far beyond that. It moves and churns, little white waves in the distance and huge rolling ones crashing on the shore. It completely takes your breath away, the sound of the waves, the smell of sea salt, there’s even a portion of the sky where the clouds break and the endless blue sky meets the endless sea. The orc chuckles light-heartedly at your reaction and starts putting down a blanket and setting up lunch. You're so overcome with excitement you can’t even stop yourself from tackling him onto the blanket and giving him the biggest fattest kiss you can muster through your smile. You separate with a smack and he laughs dizzily. All this time such a beautiful sight has been a few hours from your home and you never knew it, all because of some damn boarder.

You spend hours there, munching on sandwiches, writing notes, watching the birds fly over the crashing waves. One of them tries to steal your sandwich when you get too distracted with your lover and you had to chase it down while he laughed. He takes you down to the sand and convinces you to step into the incoming waves which were even colder than you expected. He laughs at the face you make when you taste the salty water on your fingers. You pick up common shells and show them to him as if they’re rare gems. You carve symbols into the sand and watch them get washed away.

At the end of it you both sit on the grassy hill overlooking the beach, watching the sunset over the horizon.

You wonder what other marvels of the world you have yet to see.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

<- Previous

simon pulled away from the kiss, panting softly as he looked at you. his eyes were dazed, a lazy smile tugging on his lips.

you looked like a mess. your hair was a mess, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, but to simon, that was beauty.

not just from the outside but it radiated from the inside.

"pizza's gonna get cold, dove." he gave a tease filled warning.

he couldn't help the smile that spread on his lips, nor could he hide the flushed hotness on his cheeks.

"this is better." you whispered, eyes still on his like you could only see him.

his cheeks flushed even more, not from being flustered but from feeling wanted. his whole body felt hot, as if this is what it felt like to finally feel loved.

"then should we keep going?" he asked, his eyes already closing.

you didnt have to answer, your lips on his was enough. the kiss was softer than before, slow and deep. simons hands met your cheeks, caressing the skin under his touch.

he moved one hand on your waist, pulling you closer till you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

his hand slipped under your shirt, feeling your warm skin against his palm. he pulled you even closer, his thumb rubbing softly on his back.

he stopped the kiss but he didn't pull away. he kept his forehead against yours, his lips still touching yours, he just needed a moment to take you in. to feel just how real you were.

to simon you were an angel. his angel who changed everything he knew and made him see who he truly was.

Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.

What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Now that—that was something new.

You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.

It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness. 

You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.

You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped. 

It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop. 

They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.

And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.

From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.

Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.

You already knew.

You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.

The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching. 

It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you. 

You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.

But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.

James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.

You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.

You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.

Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.

It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that. 

You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.

But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.

It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.

As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.

You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.

It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.

You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.

You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.

And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.

You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden. 

They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.

Still, you follow.

You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.

You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.

You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.

James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.

And that’s when you see it.

The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.

A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.

They don’t notice.

They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.

You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.

Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.

Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.

You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.

You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.

You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.

You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.

Sirius.

He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..

For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.

Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question. 

Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.

And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.

The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.

And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.

You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.

So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.

That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.

You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you. 

You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body

You didn’t see them until you collided.

Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.

The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.

Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.

You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.

You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.

But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.

“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.

Your breath froze.

You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.

Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it. 

His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.

Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.

“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.

You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.

“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”

You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”

Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”

You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone. 

“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”

Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”

“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .

There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.

Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours. 

“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.

Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.

Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”

He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.

“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.

You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”

Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”

“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.

Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.

And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.

“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”

The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.

“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”

Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.

“All of them?”

“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”

Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”

“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”

Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.

You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.

And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”

All three of you looked up.

James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.

Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.

Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.

“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”

He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.

In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things. 

Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours. 

Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day. 

Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.

And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.

But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.

You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed. 

You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.

You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.

It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.

Especially when it came to Remus.

There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.

It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.

What you had not meant to do was get caught.

You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.

You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.

The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.

You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.

You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.

And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.

Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. 

James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.

They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.

You watched from above.

You always watched.

Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.

The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion. 

You really were trying not to fall.

You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.

Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.

"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.

James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”

“Looks hurt,” Sirius added, voice quieter now, cautious. “Wing’s twitching.”

“Probably just spooked by us.”

But Sirius didn’t look away.

You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.

“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”

James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”

You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.

And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.

They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.

They didn’t know because you’d never told them.

Because what would they say?

The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds. 

You hadn't meant to be seen.

You hadn't meant to fall.

And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.

Sirius took a step closer.

“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”

“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.

Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.

The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.

And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.

A nest filled with buttons.

Sirius froze.

Red. Pink. Navy. Green.

His breath hitched.

Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.

It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close. 

He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”

And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.

Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip. 

You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.

You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.

You cried because you had been seen.

It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.

To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.

To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.

And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.

You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.

You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed

And now, here you were.

Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.

Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.

They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.

The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.

And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.

How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.

You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.

You had wanted them to understand.

You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.

But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.

Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.

And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.

“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.

Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further. 

“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.

You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”

You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.

He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”

You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—”

He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.

“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.

“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”

“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”

“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable. 

He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.

By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.

His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs

Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock. 

You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.

His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.

“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”

Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.

You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.

Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.

James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”

The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.

Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear. 

James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.

Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.

By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.

Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.

You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.

“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”

Your breath caught.

“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.

“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”

Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”

Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.

“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”

You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”

“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”

Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”

“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”

Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”

Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”

You blinked, stunned. “Really?”

“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new. 

Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”

Your lip trembled.

“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”

Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”

You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”

“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”

Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”

You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.

“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.

It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.

They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it. 

Chosen you.

You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return. 

Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.

And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.

But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.

Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.

You were no longer a distant thing. 

And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.

Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth. 

After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.

a/n:

to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes; may someone see your soul the way you see the world. to the readers who love gently, who notice everything, and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return; may your button nest always be full ❤️‍🩹

But, after a year with your boys, you'd expect nothing less.

Finally, it was your turn to disembark. You hoisted your trunk from the overhead compartment, lugging it behind you as you tottered down the aisle. Urgency made your heart race, knowing Sirius was just outside, but you fought to keep a regular walking pace and not mow down the elderly couple in front of you.

The conductor helped you down the stairs, a blessing because you were looking everywhere but your feet. Too busy searching the crowd for one of your favorite faces—there!

Sirius was leaned against the column, dressed in black jeans and his beloved, patch-covered leather jacket, cradling a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his arms.

Your eyes connected at the same instant, a lightning strike, and he grinned. He rushed across the terminal towards you, dodging the elderly and children like quaffles. Plowing through like a man possessed. Single-minded.

He slammed into you with the force of his urgency. One arm looped around your waist, hauling you up into his chest.

“There's my girl,” he cooed, planting a smacking kiss on your cheek.

You threw your arms around his neck, squeezing tight as all the travel stress, all the longing, finally loosened from your shoulders.

Sirius had you. What was there to worry about?

He dipped you backwards, your toes just scraping the concrete, and kissed you with a ferocity that had your head spinning, and the conductor clearing his throat.

“Missed you, doll,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Missed you,” you giggled, your heart gone gooey.

He straightened, setting you back onto wobbly knees. “Trade?” He asked, offering you the flowers while eyeing your trunk.

“Deal.” You accepted the flowers, burying your nose in the fresh, sun-washed scent. Sirius, the show-off, hefted your trunk without any of your earlier struggles.

“What'dya got in here? Feathers?” He joked, draping an arm over your shoulders. He knew exactly what was in there—he helped you pick out all the slutty little outfits himself. “Appreciate you getting her home safe, sir,” Sirius saluted the conductor, who only laughed and shook his head.

“Thank you!” You chirped as Sirius began to push through the crowd. Not that it was very difficult, he had a way of parting the general population of London like the Red Sea.

“So, how was it? Anyone get their eyes scratched out?” He asked with a knowing smirk. Sirius loved a good gossip session. Especially when Remus wasn't around to chastise the two of you for it.

Delighted, you regaled him of all the drama and activities of the weekend, jabbering on while he navigated the train station. He kept you close as you made your way out to the parking lot, protective in the crush of people, but loosened up as the crowd thinned and his motorcycle came into sight.

Two helmets hung on the handlebars.

“Despite what Prongs and Moony think, I am responsible,” he teased. “When it comes to you, at least.”

“I never doubted you, my love,” You pecked his cheek before he shimmied the helmet over your head, careful not to snag your ears. He shirked his leather jacket, offering that to you, too.

You let yourself bask in the warmth of it for a moment, cocooned in all things Sirius. Leather polish and cigarette smoke. That too-musky cologne James got him for his birthday last year. Studs and calfskin armor shelter a gooey center.

With the visor of your helmet flicked up, you snapped a selfie and texted it to the group chat.

[you]: [1 attachment] safe and sound 🫶

Sirius strapped down your luggage and you climbed onto the bike behind him, arms fastened securely around his waist, thighs pressed tight around his hips. Just like he taught you.

“Good girl,” he purred, voice rough and low through the modulator.

A flicker of warmth bloomed low in your belly, heating your cheeks. An involuntary shift of your hips rocked you forward an extra centimeter.

“Hold tight.” His heel struck downwards. The bike started with a thunderous roar. And you were flying.

Together, you tore through the streets of London, a blur of brownstone and November sky. With white-knuckles, you clung to Sirius, exhilaration zipping through you. His hand wandered over your denim-clad leg until his red-hot fingers skimmed the exposed skin of your ankle. They wrapped around the delicate bone, a barrier from the vengeful South London streets.

“Okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you replied, breathless.

The ride to your shared flat was brief, less than ten minutes, but it still had your heart pounding in your throat and…other places.

Sirius carried your trunk up the stairs while you raced ahead, bursting through the unlocked door.

“Baby!” James cried, jumping up from where he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by IKEA boxes, foam peanuts, and plywood. He was shirtless, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants, glasses, and a toothy grin. “Fuck, I missed you.” He grabbed you around the middle, careful not to crush the flowers—what was left of them after the bike ride, anyway—and hefted you into the air. Twirled you around once, twice, making you giggle and shriek as you clung to his Herculean shoulders.

“Is that who I think it is?” Remus emerged from the kitchen, slinging a dish towel over his shoulder. He was dressed in joggers and a too-large sweater you’d unearthed from a bin at the consignment down the block. “Careful, Prongs. You'll smother her,” he warned, though his eyes were getting meltier by the second.

“Missed you too, Jamie,” you laughed, fizzing with delight. Your mouth found his as he set you back onto the floor, the kiss a little toothy since you couldn’t seem to stop smiling. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks for the help, muscles,” Sirius grumbled, pushing into the flat behind you. Suddenly fatigued now that James was in ear shot.

“I was building her bookcase!” James argued, releasing you to take the trunk from Sirius. A regular Superman.

“And destroying the living room, apparently,” Sirius teased. Besides the new-furniture wreckage, the flat was spotless. Candles burning and lights dimmed low, soft music floating from somewhere. Natural as an exhale from the lungs of your home.

James huffed. “Well, maybe if you had helped me earlier instead of taking a nap—”

“If you don't want me to take a nap, don't wake me up at the bloody ass crack of dawn when you go for your run!”

You slipped out from between them, sidling over to where Remus was leaning against the entry to the kitchen. His hazel eyes turned molten as you approached, golden in the setting sun. An arm lifted, your favorite invitation, and you tucked yourself into the welcoming curve of his side. He took the flowers from you, setting them on the counter.

“How was your trip, darling?” He asked, nuzzling into the crown of your head. Dropping a kiss there.

“Good,” you murmured, sagging into the warmth of his body. The last of your tension dissolved. A teaspoon of sugar to Remus’ cup of tea. “Happy to be home, though.”

He made a low, appreciative hum in his throat, hugging you a bit tighter. “Why don't you go get cozy while I finish dinner, hm? I know traveling stresses you out.”

“What're you making?” You asked, not quite ready to leave the warmth, the steadiness of his embrace.

“Your favorite,” he replied, fingers wandering beneath the hem of your sweatshirt to brush against your skin. A shiver rolled down your spine, and you felt him smile against your hair. “And chocolate cake for dessert.”

You chuckled. “So, both of our favorites?”

“I think I deserve it after dealing with those sorry saps for an entire weekend. Alone.”

“Surely they weren't that bad…” You trailed off, your other boyfriend's argument ratcheting up to a full-on wrestling match. Though you weren’t sure that whacking your opponent with strips of cardboard counted as wrestling. “Okay, fair enough.”

Remus’ hand came up to cradle the back of your head, tilting your face up towards him. “Speaking of trouble-makers, did you wear a helmet the entire ride?” He asked, the words tickling against your lips.

You nodded, heart tripping over itself.

“And did you hold on nice and tight to our Sirius?”

Another nod.

“And he obeyed all the traffic laws?”

“…mostly.”

Remus tsked. “Well, I suppose that's not your fault, is it, dove?”

You shook your head ‘no’, lower lip jutting out to prove your innocence.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, nipping at your lips before molding his mouth to yours in a syrupy, unhurried kiss you felt all the way down to your toes. He tasted like mint and herbal tea, like home.

Beeeep! The oven shrieked. Remus startled, breaking the kiss to glare at the offending appliance.

“Have to get that,” you murmured, lips brushing against his jaw.

“Yeah, might burn,” he replied, though his hold remained steadfast as he turned his face back towards you.

“Mhmm.” You lifted onto your toes, closing the minuscule gap for another kiss.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep! The oven demanded again, more insistent.

You stepped away this time, slipping out of his reach before you could get caught up again. He drew his lower lip between his teeth, turning lazily over his shoulder to head back into the kitchen.

Sirius was waiting for you at the bedroom door, pink-cheeked and hair disheveled. Chest rising and falling quickly. James fared even worse, sprawled out in his mess with a very visible hard-on straining against his sweatpants. Glasses askew. Panting.

Drool pooled beneath your tongue.

Sirius caught your expression, but wrangled you before you could pounce. “C’mon, doll. Let's get you showered and comfy before your three-course meal,” he murmured against your ear, sending another flush of heat beneath your skin.

He led you into the bathroom, but didn't linger, just got the shower set to your preferred temperature, scalding, and laid out a pair of pyjamas. Not the sexy variety he usually selected, but the fuzzy, oversized flannel bottoms you loved, along with one of James’ well-worn Quidditch t-shirts. “Just shout if you need anything—and I mean anything,” he said with a wink before taking his leave.

"Tell James his chocolates are in my purse!" You called after him, then, "And don't eat them all!"

"Sure, doll!" He called back, smirk audible.

Alone for the first time in days, you undressed in the thick, lavender-scented steam of the bathroom, replaying the events of the day in your mind

Bottomless mimosas at brunch with your friends, the scramble to catch the train, the endless rolling hills and rattling track, the boy's sweet texts.

You stepped into the shower, letting it wash away the train smell and stubborn hangover. But what lingered, imprinted on your skin, were the traces of your boys, a smile teasing the edges of your mouth. Your mind conjured the gorgeous flowers, that dramatic, oh-so-Sirius kiss, your body pressed against his as you flew through the city, bike purring between your legs while his hand wandered. So protective, so confident—a throb between your legs made you gasp, the residual burn from their touches fanned into an inferno by your thoughts.

James’ sculpted body, back flexing as he built your bookcase without you even having to ask, the effortless way he manhandled you. Remus, with the towel over his shoulder, that casually sinful glimmer in his eye while he watched your boyfriends fight. The way he kissed you, savoring, decadent, his whispered praise bouncing off the walls of your skull.

Your hand drifted unconsciously between your legs while you washed yourself, and your fingers came away slick, heat dripping down your thighs.

Fuck, just the thought of them had you soaked.

You finished your shower in a hurry, opting for just James’ t-shirt and a pair of panties. The fewer barriers between you and them, the better.

You emerged to find James alone in the living room, lifting the assembled bookcase into its rightful, standing position, and your eyes damn near popped out of your skull. That thing had to weigh over a hundred pounds; the box clearly marked it as a two-person lift. But James made it look easy.

He noticed you once he was sure it wouldn't tip over, catching your blatant ogling, and flashed you a wink. “What do you think? Looks good, huh?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded, crossing the piles of debris to reach him. He really had tried to consolidate it, you could tell, and it stoked that fire in your belly even higher. “Looks perfect.” You wrapped your arms around his waist. Unconsciously, dare you say instinctively, your lips meandered along his chest, his collarbone, tongue dragging over the sun-kissed skin with ravenous abandon. You were only human, after all. And that chest was begging to be kissed.

He chuckled, palming the back of your head while you worshipped him. “I don't know about perfect, but—ah, fuck, baby.”

You sank your teeth into the meat of his pec, savoring the way his muscles jumped and tensed before soothing the marks with your tongue. His fingers tightened in your hair, drawing your head back. You licked your lips, batting your lashes at him. The very picture of innocence.

“Oh, you feral little thing. No funny business until after dinner. Rem’s been slaving away,” James reprimanded, though his tone was heavy with reluctance.

“I know, I know,” you sighed, pouting.

James’ gaze snagged on that dewy lower lip like a dog on a leash, breath going shallow—

“Dove?” Remus called, poking his head out into the living room. “Can you come taste this for me?”

The tension shattered. But you were far from finished.

“Yes, sir!” You chirped, sweet as a lamb.

Savvy, James gave you a chastising smack on the ass as you flitted towards the kitchen.

Remus shook his head at you, a smirk betraying his delight. The kitchen was bathed in warmth, the smell of garlic and butter hanging in the air. A muggle record turned languidly in the corner—Bon Iver.

Sirius was hunched over the island, diligently frosting the two-tiered chocolate cake with his tongue between his teeth, dark waves gathered into a bun at the nape of his neck. He'd lost his shirt, too, though he wore Remus’ “Kiss the Chef” apron, and his scrolls of dark ink were on near indecent display.

You hopped up onto the counter by the stove, t-shirt riding up your bare legs.

Remus’ eyes drifted over the swell of your thighs, but he didn't bite, instead offering you the edge of the spoon he was using to stir the sauce. You took a slow sip, holding his gaze, smoldering enough to scald.

It was perfect—his cooking always was—and you moaned, head falling back with pleasure.

Sirius dropped the spatula with a clatter, cursing under his breath.

“Cheeky girl,” Remus teased, setting the spoon back into the pot. His hands found your knees, spreading your legs so he could step between them. His lips found your temple, pressing featherlight kisses along the curve of your cheek until he reached that tender spot beneath your jaw. His sandy, two-day-old facial hair tickled the sensitive skin as his lips painted a petal-soft bruise.

Your thighs tensed around his hips, pulse leaping as his long fingers crept closer to where you were aching for them.

“Patience, darling,” he murmured. “Makes the reward that much sweeter.” And with that, he stepped away. Returning to the stove like he hadn't just thrown a match onto a puddle of gasoline.

As dinner progressed, it became abundantly clear that your boys were aware of your little…. predicament. Feeding you off of their forks, socked feet brushing along bare calves, lingering looks. Borderline excessive stretching and lip biting.

By the time Remus cut the cake, you were sitting in a pool if you own slick, thighs aching from an hour of squeezing them together.

James’ hand skimmed along your thigh, fingertips digging into the muscle in slow circular motions. “So tense, lovey. Feeling alright?” He asked, a hint of a smirk at the edges of his mouth.

At the end of your rope, you seized your opportunity and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, urging him higher. He complied, eyes shading as you spread your legs, bringing his fingers between the crux of your thighs. Letting him feel the slick that had seeped through your thin panties.

His jaw went a little slack, drawing a sharp inhale through his nose. Without a word, he slid off his chair, wedging his bulky body beneath the table.

“Jamie, what are you—” his hands gripped your inner thighs, wrenching you to the edge of your seat and forcing your legs apart. You hadn't even drawn a full breath before his mouth was on you, the muscle of his tongue laving a forceful swipe through your weeping pussy. “Oh, fuck—” you gasped, drawing the other boy's attention from cake-cutting logistics.

“Where did—” Sirius lifted the tablecloth. Peered underneath. “Oh, you greedy bastard.”

You could barely hear him over the roar of your blood in your ears, pleasure surging through you like a storm swell. James thrust his tongue inside of you, relentless as he drank you down. A low groan quaked through him, a distant roll of thunder, chased by a current of electricity striking your nervous system. You knotted your fingers into his dark hair, grinding his nose into your clit as you rocked against him.

“Oh my god, James—,” you moaned, throwing your head back as another bolt crashed through you.

“Couldn't wait another ten minutes?” Remus asked, but his eyes were shining with satisfaction. He loved nothing more than driving the rest of you to your breaking points.

Fortunately for you and your ego, James always folded first.

Sirius scraped a bit of frosting off his cake, licking the utensil clean while he watched your face contort, shoulders curl, as James devoured you. “Looks gorgeous, doesn't she, Rem?”

Remus hummed in agreement, rounding the table towards you. His fingers skimmed your shoulder, gliding upwards to cradle your face. You nuzzled into him, brushing your lips against his palm.

James’ tongue flicked up to your clit, drawing it between his teeth, and you gasped, tugging at his roots. He alternated pressure, gentle swirls broken by hard, rhythmic pulls that had sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

“You held out longer than I thought you would,” Remus murmured, stroking your hair out of your face with a saccharine softness. “Thought you'd break Sirius when you got in the shower, but—”

“I have self-control, unlike someone,” Sirius ribbed, casual as anything, slouched in his chair.

You loosed another cry, James doing something that made your lower belly coil sharply, and Sirius’s eyes darkened, betraying his nonchalance.

A wicked idea slithered through the fog in your mind.

“James, baby, fuck—make me feel so good,” you whined, and felt James smirk against you. Ever your co-conspirator.

“Taste so sweet, always so good f’me,” he added, the wetness clinging to his words almost obscene.

Sirius' expression darkened further.

Remus leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead to hide his own smile. More indulgent than the forgotten chocolate cake.

“Careful, now, dolly,” Sirius warned. “Or I might stop being such a gentleman.”

James eased two fingers inside of you, your body already soft and willing, lashing at your clit anyway to distract from the stretch. You keened, clutching onto Remus' arm as it wrapped around your shoulders to steady you.

Sirius’ fingers were a steady drum against the table.

Taptaptaptaptap.

A second warning.

“That's it, baby. Is that what you needed?” Remus asked, voice like honey-wine. “Needed Jamie to take care of that sweet little cunt?”

The scrape of a chair was your third and final warning. But you were too distracted by James’ curling fingers to heed it.

Remus brushed a final kiss to your temple before shifting away, and a pair of hands landed on your shoulders. The cool bite of rings jarring you back into the room.

Sirius leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “My turn.”

James untangled himself from your lower half just before Sirius yanked your chair backwards roughly. His hands slipped under your arms, lifting you onto unsteady feet. With a less-than-gentle push, he bent you at the waist over the table. Grip hard on the back of your neck. Pining you like an animal.

You had to bite your lip from crying out right then and there. Heart pattering like a rabbit against the back of your ribs.

“They're wrong, love. That's not what you needed, is it?” He growled, the jangle of his belt making your stomach flip, slick running down your thighs. “You want to get treated like a princess, then fucked like a whore, isn't that right?”

You nodded, lifting your hips to press against him. Dumb as a bitch in heat.

“Words, pet,” Remus ordered.

Sirius’ cock sawed through your slit, tucked beneath your sodden panties, thick and so fucking warm. Frenum piercings catching your clit just right. A rough hand palmed the globes of your ass, the kiss of his rings a heady contrast to your burning skin.

“C’mon, let him hear it.” James brushed your hair out of your face, dizzyingly tender compared to Sirius’ rough handling.

“Yes, f-fuck me like a whore—please, Siri,” you whined, fisting the tablecloth.

“That's my girl.” He notched the tip at your entrance, slamming to the hilt with one, ruthless punch. Even soaked as you were, the stretch still made you grit your teeth, your belly pressed against the wood making things infinitely tighter. He cursed under his breath, head falling against your shoulder, grip softening on your neck. “Merlin’s sake, dolly—fuck, are you tryin’ to kill me?”

You could only mewl, so full you could hardly breathe. But the satisfaction was mind-numbing, so acute, tears pricked along your lower lashes, soaking conspicuously into the fabric below.

“Look at that, Pads,” James whistled, “Makin’ her cry already.”

“Oh, she needed this bad,” Sirius panted, setting a slow, but punishing rhythm. Tearing you apart just to stitch you back together again. His piercing dragged against your front walls, catching that spongy spot below your belly button with infuriating, intoxicating accuracy. “Miss us that much, pretty?”

You nodded, arms flailing around for something to hold as you climbed perilously higher and higher, vision going blurry, brain leaking out from your eyes, from between your legs. Sirius grabbed both your arms, folding them against your lower back in a tight, one-handed grip. Started fucking you even harder, pounding into you with brutal determination. Hitting that spot over and over and over again.

“Say it,” he growled.

“M-missed you, missed you so—ngh—so fucking much,” you babbled, nails biting into his wrist, holding on for dear life.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Remus lean back against the table. James was on his knees in front of him, hurriedly tugging down the waistband of his joggers. Remus’ cock sprang out, slapping salaciously against his lower belly. Flushed pinker than the strawberry frosting and framed by mahogany curls. James swallowed him down with ease, eyes locked on Remus’ expression as it crumbled into bliss.

You cunt fluttered around Sirius at the sight, drawing a grunt from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart—gonna make me come if you keep that up,” Sirius groaned, releasing your hands so he could fist your hair. He dragged you up, arching your spine to its limit, drilling in at a sharper anger that had you making an almost inhuman sound. “That's it, fucking take it—” his hand found your throat, gripping just tight enough to restrict your airflow, “—take it like such a good whore. Our dirty slut.”

“Yes, yes, yes—fuck, I’m gonna—” your orgasm crested and shattered, unraveling you in an endless euphoric instant.

“Give it to me, give it all to me—such a good dolly—” Sirius fucked you through it, your cunt squelching obscenely as you fell apart for him, your entire body convulsing with the force of your undoing. He released your throat only once the first wave passed, letting you catch your breath.

He withdrew suddenly, leaving you empty, unmoored. Hands found your hips, spinning you around and tossing you up onto the table. Before the room stopped spinning, his mouth was on you, drinking down your release like a starving man. Ravenous.

“Oh, god, Sirius—” you cried, so sensitive you were twitching up the table, trying to retreat from the intensity of it. But his hands were like iron, holding you in place as he drowned in his reward.

“Easy, mutt,” Remus chastised, his voice a little frayed from James' attention. “Let her breathe.”

Sirius made a grunt of displeasure, but slowed anyway, obedient. Stealing a few more lush licks through your twitching pussy as you shuddered and whined. Pressed a farewell kiss to your puffy clit before sitting up.

He guided your arms around his neck, cooing softly to you, but you were too drunk on oxytocin to really hear him. Suddenly, you were airborne, Sirius’ arms bracketed around your thighs. You buried your nose into his neck, trying to get your bearings even as the world moved around you, your body still hair-trigger sensitive.

“Jamie and Remus are gonna have theirs now, love, okay? Can you take a little more, or do you need a break?” Sirius asked, lowering onto the nearly made bed. All concern and tenderness as he settled you against the nest of pillows.

“Love you,” was all you could think to say, and his smile was brighter than the sun.

“Love you too, sweet girl. But we’re gonna need a ‘yes’.”

James and Remus stood on either side of you, gooey-eyed and flushed, and you nodded.

“Yes, please.”

You lost track of who was where, who came when, and how often, adrift in a sea of delirium and bliss. By the time you all were finished, your bodies and the sheets were damp with sweat and god knows what else. Disheveled and delirious, entirely too wrung out to do much more than mouth absently on Remus’ shoulder where your head had fallen.

His hand curled around your cheek, brushing your sweat-slicked strands from your eyes. “Worth the wait, dove?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as his hands combed through your bedraggled hair. Someone’s hands skimmed over your lower back, your hip, massaging away the stiffness and fatigue. Another swiped a warm rag between your legs, cleaning you up with careful strokes.

You melted into it, their easy affection and tender touches. Piecing you back together like a sacred statue. Mending your cracks with gold and sweetness until you were whole again. And all you had to do was lie there and accept it, something you struggled with in the beginning. But, over time, and with a lot of gentle, but persistent coaxing, you’d learned that not only were you allowed to accept their generous affection and care, you deserved it.

You deserve partners who look after you, show up without question, and take responsibility for the space they occupy in your life.

You deserve a generous love.

thank you for reading! 🤍

Like the last HC, it started with small gestures. Gifts. Lots of it. Small and subtle.

One afternoon, you were resting under a tree with your master when a bundle of wild flowers landed on your lap

With confusion written all over your face, you held the flowers hesitantly, expecting it to explode into a sea of bugs but it didn't. You barely managed to catch that fleeting tail disappearing into the trees.

His harmless gift backfired on him because you figured that it was meant for your master. The small bouquet was handed to him. Despite the initial confusion, he was happy that Wukong was finally behaving well enough to bring gifts rather than mischief

Your master had many praises about Wukong's recent change and good temper, which you reluctantly agreed on some parts. Neither of you noticed Wukong smacking his forehead exaggeratedly against a tree bark.

His second attempt was sweet fruits he had plucked, one for your master and one for you. Feeling proud of himself, Wukong thought there's no way you could not take the hint. His generosity was clearly extended to you, not just his master.

The fruit was yours. Clearly and definitely.

It was a special fruit too. He had to ask one of the local gods about its location, wanting the sweetest ones possible

All you had to do now was be a good shimei and eat the fruit—

His smile became crooked when Bajie began to whine about him and Wujing not having a share. His tail fell flat as he watched you hand the precious fruit — one he had flown through mountains to find —over to the glutton.

Everyone could practically hear a loud snap when Bajie devoured the fruit without a second thought, and Wukong's goodness streak ended with the boar demon squealing behind his master while you and Wujing struggled to hold Wukong back before Ruyi Bang could strike Bajie a third time.

After that disaster, Wukong began to pester you further. From throwing random things at you to following you around without asking, you felt like your patience was being tested every minute, especially how he scampered off when confronted and later acts like nothing happened.

So much for those progress before. You had thought he became less of a nuisance, but it turned out to be the opposite. You felt stupid for believing a moment that there was a tender side to that arrogant monkey. You dared to forget that he's why you were casted out.

A heavy sigh breathed out of you as you moved along the monastery's corridor, carrying a tray of vegetarian meals for your master. The four of you had managed to arrive on time before nightfall and without facing any demons for an entire week now. You would agree that this was a much deserved rest for everyone had you not have to deal with Wukong's excessive evasion and annoyance.

Each time you caught him sneaking nearby, he would brush off your accusation, having an endless arsenal of excuses on why he happened to be there in that tree as you were checking a waterfall nearby, or why he was a dragonfly hovering close while you're picking fruits. You could feel your blood pressure rising, but you held it in.

Wukong had his moments, some were good, most were terrible just like present time. Like everyone else, you had to deal with it.

The corner of your lips twitched lightly. You heaved another long sigh just as Wujing came around the corner holding a water gourd.

"Shijie." Wujing greeted, quickly switching items with yours instead.

You nodded as thanks, grateful that you had one sensible brother left in the group. As you two walked back to your master, Wujing, having known of the conflict brewing between you and Wukong, felt that he should say a few things in his senior brother's defense, despite himself being unsure.

"Shixiong.. Wukong doesn't mean any harm to you. Aside from master, he cares for you the most out of all of us. I don't believe he's intentionally trying to enrage you to this extent." Wujing spoke lightly, a clear nervous expression rested on his face. His pace slowed to match your shorter ones.

Call it stalling, but he would rather not let this feud continue. Wukong was at fault, but he wasn't his master. How can he get the prideful monkey to apologize?

You listened to his words carefully, your brows knotted in frustration. "He certainly has an odd way of expressing that care then. That monkey.. and to disappear to who-knows-where all of a sudden as well. Just what is he thinking these days?"

"Ah.." The sea demon had his tongue tied, having no clue either on the matter. "Brother monkey may be playful, but he means well. Perhaps there's something plaguing his mind, a-and soon, he might open up about it."

"How soon do you believe? I fear I might spew blood if this continues for another day." You scoffed, earning a light chuckle.

Then, from the distance, your ears picked up the sound of something rushing through the air, and immediately, the topic of your conversation arrived, landing with a thud in front of you two, startling both. Your lips barely parted when your line of sight shifted from Wukong's crouching form to seeing his tail?

"Ah-"

"Hang tight." Wukong warned once, holding you over his shoulder. Before you or Wujing could react to what was happening, the monkey sage suddenly leaped into the air and whisked you away.

"Take care of master, Wujing!" Wukong shouted, mixed with your terrified screams that could be heard across the sky.

Your junior brother was left standing there, jaw dropped as he watched you two disappear into the clouds. The gourd you had held dropped to the ground and spilled.

The clouds rushed past you as Wukong dashed through the sky, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly out of fear. You almost couldn't breathe, enduring the turbulent air until he finally stopped.

"We're here." He declared, almost sounding proud while you were shaking like a wet cat.

A deep glare flashed across your face, eye twitching and hands gripping his clothes like death. Your frustration was at an all time high and with little to no patience for what you've been through — Wukong was going to break the last straw she had left.

"Sun. Wu. Kong..."

He glanced downward and caught sight of your silent rage. "Wait, wait, wait! Before you say anything, look behind you first."

"Unless it's an apology, I don't—.. huh?"

Your head spun around, looking back to see a green leaves swaying lightly as the sound of rushing water came behind them. Seeing you finally caught on, Wukong put you back on your feet and watched you step forward.

Curiosity overtook your cautiousness as your hands parted the green ferns and leaves, revealing a deep cave barely illuminated by faint light far inside. A cool breeze blew past your face just then.

You glanced back to Wukong, uncertainty clear on your face, but the latter simply rolled his eyes and grabbed your hand, leading you inside personally.

"W-Wukong!" You gasped, being dragged after him as you both descended further inside the dimly lit cavern.

Your hand grasped tightly in his, just as you saw the sprinkles of the lights before flashing different hues of colors. Your eyes fluttered closed the moment the leaves parted, bright pink and blue almost blinding.

"Shimei, have a look."

Rubbing your eyes, you blinked once before your eyes widened, lips parted in awe. In front of you was the most beautiful cave you had ever seen; bright colorful walls that were unlike anything you knew, nature riddled the ground beneath your feet full of life and lush, and the gorgeous waterfall flowing from the mountains to the river outside.

Cupping your mouth, you spun back to Wukong, eyes practically glowing with excitement as you completely forgot about your grievances for him earlier.

"This is the reason you disappeared before? But why? And how did you find this place?" You asked, beaming even.

Wukong showed his typical smirk, his chin raised high and proud. "I just happened to sense it on the way. Something as small as this is too simple for the Great Sage rivaling Heaven." He waved you away as he rested on a boulder, yawning. "Now do what you need to. We'll leave before sunset."

You nodded quickly and sprinted off to explore the cave, eager to see what this cave had.

Dragon's whisker grass, Ironleaf mint, Blood red Ginseng, Five Flavored berries, Spring Orchids— there were so many! You had only ever seen their illustrations in the court's libraries, but today they were in your grasp. You couldn't be happier!

"With these, I can surely dry and grind these. Oh, the mint will make great tea for master! Then these—.." You rambled to yourself, ecstatic, as you carefully picked the plants and storing them in your robe.

Distracted by the abundance, you were oblivious to the pair of eyes staring at you. Tail swaying back and forth, Wukong observed you snatching the herbs without worries.

A content smile crossed the monkey's lips the longer he watched. It was almost therapeutic seeing you behave so.. child-like.. And to think that you prefer something as quaint as this over his other gifts. He would say it was easy, but he did have to sneak around you constantly to find out about this little fascination of yours.

Not that he would ever let you know that that's the reason for his odd behaviors the past week, or the fact that he put so much effort to scour mountains for this little haven. Even had to call in a few favors from those carefree deities.

Aside from that, his current regret was not having alcohol for the occasion. It would've gone well with the serene atmosphere of the cave, listening to your soft gasps over the herbs you've found.

Hours passed with the two of you alone in the cave, you even pulled him into gathering the herbs at some point, enthusiastically pointing to each plant he plucked and explaining with great detail on what you could use it for.

Wukong raised his brow as he inspected them halfheartedly, tossing them into his robe without a second thought. He responded in grunts, acting disinterested when in actuality, he listened to every word you say, unable to his eyes from flickering to your face and delighted smile.

His tail slowly encircled your waist, and neither of you noticed it, or the growing closeness between you as you revealed the Azure Dragon Lily you found by the water. The medicinal properties in it was enough to sooth any diseases. "It's perfect for emergencies." You said, smiling as you looked up to find his face was mere inches away from yours.

Finally noticing the proximity, you coughed lightly and scooted a bit away, hiding your embarrassment. "Let's head back. Surely, master is wondering where we are."

You had moved to stand up when his tail kept you still. Startled, you grabbed his tail as your brows furrowed. "Wukong—"

Your lips paused as a white peony rested on his palm, glowing softly in contrast to the colorful cave. The nine layered petals were tinted with red and brimming with spiritual power. It was..

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Wukong muttered. His lips curved upward to a gentle smile, observing your awestruck face as you marveled at the flower. "We would've missed this if I hadn't explored first. Be grateful, little peach."

Gently, he guided your chin up before tucking the peony by your ear. Black pupils met with gold, Wukong's unnaturally calm smile had you shiver slightly as your heart beat faster, pounding in your chest for the first time in your long life. His eyes rested on your face decorated with the peony for a moment, whispering softly, "A perfect match."

Hearing his words, you were left utterly speechless as you sat there dumbly, unsure of what to do. What were you.. what was..

Wukong stood up afterwards, releasing you from his tail's grip. He stretched his body and yawned, scratching his ear nonchalantly. As if nothing had happened. "Take whatever else you want. I'll wait by the entrance." He said coolly.

His words barely registered in your mind as he leaped away swiftly, darting past the leaves. His footsteps grew faint in a few seconds, leaving you alone in the cave.

It took you a moment before you finally reacted to what had occurred. Face exploded in red as steam was floating out of your face. You cupped your mouth with one hand, and the other pressed against the grass to support yourself.

"Wh-What.. was that..?" You muttered, blushing profusely as your mind replayed the scene over and over. Your heart was thumping against your ribcage loudly, breaths quickening as you clutched onto the grass, digging into the dirt.

You lowered yourself to the ground, questioning yourself and this strange feeling blooming in both heart and mind.

Meanwhile, Wukong plopped himself down by the entrance of the cave, holding half of his beet red face in a weak attempt to hide his own embarrassment. His stone heart was racing inside his chest, but he ignored it.

His mind reimagined your face with the flower, staring at him and him alone with those round eyes. It was as if you two were the only ones left in that moment and it was— Wukong stopped himself there. He could feel himself burning up as he sat crossed legs, grumbling to himself.

Bodies against one another, gasps, moans.. a piece you'd not exactly voice as the thoughts turn in tune with the hand desperately working between your legs.

You had pictured him, as inappropriate as it may have been, it wasn't the first time either. You pictured him behind you this time, hand locked into your hair and using your body as he wished. He would pull you flush against him and whisper obscene things against your skin before biting down and you'd cry out.

These thoughts would on occasion bleed over into reality as you'd audibly voiced your frustrations and ecstasy, being away from the sanctuary so much, it has never quite been an issue, just something that brought a heat to your cheeks when you had been coherent enough to notice it.

You knew you made the mistake again and listened for any sound but nothing seemed amiss as your body froze and then, you continued, thoughts of his hand on your bare body, pushing and pulling and bruising in the most delicious way.

And then everything was brought back. "Cicero lives to serve." The voice came from outside your illusions and you froze, eyes shot open in fear as it went to the source.

You hadn't been dressed exactly decent with only the covers to hide some of your bare body. No doubts of what you were doing, hand almost knuckle deep within your warmth. You were flushed, heat burning on your cheeks, searing almost.

He smiled but you were unsure if it was his usual demeanor or a new grin at your predicament. Presumably caught with your most inner thoughts of him on the table, exposed.

You removed your hand from you and pulled the covers to at least cover some parts of you that were on display. "I'm sorry, Cicero, I didn't mean to-"

You were at a loss of words but luckily you didn't have to give more as Cicero spoke again. "Oh no no no, Listener. No apologies needed for dear Cicero. " He stalked closer and in this moment you felt like prey as his eyes were trained on you. "Cicero lives to serve." He repeated the phrase. "Listener should've told Cicero, Cicero is more than happy to help."

He leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to your lips and grinned. "Cicero will make it right, Cicero will take care of you."

This time when your lips met it was all fire, hand curling around your middle and pulling you to him as he hovered over your body. Your arms locked around his neck, barely processing as barely covered legs rested at the side of his hips.

He broke the kiss and for a moment he looked down at you, face unreadable and then he placed an open mouthed kiss to your bare neck and then your collarbone, pulling the cover from your body to reveal your breasts. Hands cupped your breasts harshly, a tongue flicking over the left bud while fingers teased the other, the tip of his jester hat tickling your skin as he moved. Sensation not of your own making, making you gasp into the night air.

Your eyes flicked to the ceiling as he moved lower, covers removed from your body and exposed to him completely. This couldn't be happening, it was too good to be real and still, you were terrified of your own actions.

"Cicero has a question for the lisener." He hummed, your thoughts were jolted back to reality as he spoke. "Did listener think of Cicero like this, between the listener's legs."

When his tongue made contact you gasped for air, him licking a line through your folds while he held your hips down. His eyes were trained on you and then he pulled away slightly.

"Answer the question." He spoke but it felt less like a command than the words would suggest.

"Yes." You said, cheeks burning as a hand clasped over your mouth as if it would stop the confession from reaching his ears.

"Then Cicero has something to live up to, hmm?" His lips closed around your clit, he sucked softly and then flicked with his tongue. He removed his one hand that had a vice grip on your hip and placed it at your entrance, pushing a single digit in slowly and watching your body give way to the new sensation when he pumped leisurely within you.

He added another finger and then another, pumping into you as his tongue played with your clit. Not long before it all came together and snapped, your cunt convulsing against his fingers that were still pumping slowly inside you as the world came back to you.

When he pulled away he licked his fingers clean, sitting on his knees while you were sprawled out on the bed, breathing heavy. You bare as the day you were born and him still fully clothed including the now slightly crooked jester hat with a certain hardness pressing against his pants just below his abdomen.

You bit your lip as you got onto your knees, hands working to rid him of his shirt. You were shaking a bit to which he wrapped a hand softly over yours to halt your actions. You looked up at his eyes and he wasn't grinning anymore. There was a faint smile but it was a look you couldn't decipher. Your heart pounded against your chest as you wondered about the reason he would stop your actions. Perhaps this was just serving your needs and nothing beyond the duties he has for the Brotherhood and your title as listener.

Your mind recoiled, feelings clashing against each other inside you. Pleasure and pain mixing into something toxic until the reason for him stopping presumably reared its head as he quickly rid himself of the jester jacket.

Your mind slightly agape as you were faced with skin you had never seen before, a chest covered in scars from his past as an assassin and from a time more recent when you had refused to take his life.

Your fingers softly ran across the lines on his chest, muscle and scars alike, and he allowed you that moment. If not for you then certainly for himself. It had been a very long time since someone had seen so much of him nevermind touched him so delicately, furthermore, that person was you, his listener.

Cicero had been so taken by you, the intelligence and strength. Someone to be feared and admired, it was an odd throught to him that everyone didn't praise the ground you walked on like he would. You were all these apposing qualities meshed together into something otherworldly. Strong but soft, killer instinct but caring... Perfect.

You looked into his eyes, pressing your bare body against his as you kissed him deeply. Unsure hands rested on your hips and then experimentally roamed your back until a hand tangled into your hair giving him the ability to keep you flush to him as your body rocked softly against his with the motion of your lips working against each other.

He broke the kiss but still held you close to him. Your hands moved towards the pants he was still wearing to which he pushed you closer to him to halt your actions.

His eyes closed momentarily and from this close you could see the clench of his jaw. It was a few moments before he looked back at you. "Is the listener sure this is what the listener wants?" His voice was less high and a bit cracked at the end.

You nodded and he let go of the hold he had on you only to push you back against the bed. He quickly rid himself of his boots and then the rest of his clothing including the jester hat. He hovered over you, nothing in between the two of you now, bare as the day you were born.

He pressed a kiss to your lips. You felt something blunt press against your core and then his hips moved, running his cock up and down your folds as he groaned softly. The slight friction was electrifying but not quite hitting the spot.

"Cicero.." you pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tell me what my listener wants. " He purred, placing a few open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

"Please.. " you breathed, eyes closed as different sensations teased you but was just short of enough. "I need you inside me."

A grin spread across his lips and he pressed another kiss to your temple before fiddling between your legs, taking hold of his cock and lining up to your entrance. He pressed slowly, cautiously filling you up. You bit into your palm  as your body gave way to the new sensation, a slight sting but not unpleasantly so.

"Cicero wondered.." he breathed as his hips slowly moved in and out as your body gave way. "What it would... Oh, be like... thoughts don't compare.. to this. Close.. So tight.. wet."

His thrusts turned sharp, body screaming with each thrust of his hips, filling you so deliciously. Your breath had been stolen and soft cries for the jester falling from your lips as praises left his.

Nails dug into his shoulders, bed groaning with every thrust. Your memories, your illusions, none could compare how he played your body now. The angle of his hips, the power behind his thrusts, the way he spoke when he said you were being so good to him, it all pushing you further and further until you were right on the edge.

The grunts of 'listener' echoing inside your mind as legs wrapped around his hips. The new angle elicited a new cry that originated from deep within, involuntarily. Your nails dug into his back as you felt your release crawling ever closer.

"I-I'm close." You breathed, eyes clenched shut  you tried to hold onto the world around you.

"Come for me, (Y/n)." He grunted against your skin, delivering an especially powerful thrust before pressing your lips to his in a quick kiss.

You gasped as the words reached you. A name, unimportant from anyone else but coming from him it felt so intimate and raw. Special. You cried out, back arching as you let go, jumping off the edge into the sweet waters that waited below. Muscles tensed impossibly, making it hard for Cicero to move and then your body relaxed around him.

The tightness of your body pushed him impossibly further, another few sharp thrusts and he stilled buried inside you with a groan. You felt warmth spread inside you as he came. Chaste kisses were pressed to your heated body as he held your bodies in place. Neck, collarbone, shoulder. Featherlight, his lips moved as you caught your breath until he pulled himself from you, small sounds falling from your lips when he did.

He laid down beside you, head held up by the elbow he had planted on the bed as he looked at you, grin playing on his lips. "Did Cicero serve the lisener well?" He asked, fingers softly running across the skin on your stomach and drawing elaborate patterns there.

A soft blush scattered along your cheeks as you giggled softly. "Yes, Cicero."

He nodded and there was silence for a few moments before the movement against your stomach stopped. "Listener should let Cicero know when the listener requires.. assistance. Cicero is more than happy to help."

What felt like only moments ago, you'd been at the Drunken Huntsman with your fellow Companions, losing yourselves in a fun night of drink and chatter after a week of hard work. At one point, you and Farkas had been sitting at the bar, exchanging silly little stories and banter, when some guards stumbled up. They began to pester the two of you with loud, slurred ramblings, and even though they were too drunk to make any real sense, they'd managed to get under Farkas's skin. When you'd seen how tense and defensive he got, you advised him to ignore them, and for a while, he obeyed.

Then the guards started to insult you, and the situation spun out of your control.

Next thing you knew, there was a scuffle of shoves and fists and shouts, and even though it was only a brief moment before you broke it up, the damage had been done. The guards were dragged out half-conscious and bloodied, and to not agitate the pissed off owner even more, you rounded Farkas up and out of there as well, bringing him back to your quarters at Jorrvaskr.

He didn't come out of there unscathed, though. In the warm lantern light of your room, you can see the pink and purple splotches of bruises forming on his face. Two spots had been hit so hard that the skin had split a little, one at his eyebrow and the other on his lower lip.

"What were you thinking?" You mutter with a shake of your head. You let go of his face briefly to reach over for a small basin of warm water on your dresser. You dunk a washcloth in it and wring it until it's not so drenched.

"I dunno. Guess I wasn't thinking at all," Farkas admits. He stays seated on the edge of your bed, his shoulders still tense and hunched as he recalls the scene.

"Clearly. I told you to ignore them!"

"Yeah, I know. And I tried, really." His eyes flash into something hard and cold, looking like sharp pieces of silver metal in the dim light. "But when they started talking about you..." He clenches his jaw and immediately winces, as if it pained him to do.

You move back to stand in front of him, taking a hold of his face once more. One hand cups his swollen jaw, steadying him as you start to dab at the injury on his eyebrow.

"You still should have ignored them," you continue to chastise him.

Farkas scoffs. "Easier said than done."

You clean his brow with a gentle touch, being careful not to press too hard over the swollen skin. "Whatever they said could not have been worth that ruckus."

"It was to me."

The words are spoken softly, but hold a weight to them. Your gaze jumps down, breaking focus to glance at his face. His eyes are trained ahead, and you see a little storm of emotion brewing in them. Like early morning clouds, promising a mean downpour later in the day.

"No one should talk about you like that," he continues. His voice has gone so low and gruff that it almost sounds like a growl.

Now you can't help but wonder what exactly the guards said - you'd been unable to catch it with all the noise around you at the time. But it's clear it's distressing Farkas just to even think about it. He's as rigid as stone beneath you. It's unusual seeing him like this after being accustomed to his easygoing, friendly energy you spend so much time around.

And it will be difficult to properly clean his wounds if he's scowling the way he is right now. You need to try and get his mind away from it and diffuse the tension.

You go back to dabbing at his eyebrow. "And you called me dramatic," you say lightly, trying your hand at one of the teasing jokes you like to use on one another.

To your relief, it seems to work. Farkas exhales a little laugh and his brow relaxes under your hand. "You're rubbing off on me, I guess." His eyes shift as they look up at you. "How bad is it? I don't look as rough as they did, right?"

You snort. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Well, yeah. Would be embarrassing if I got my ass handed to by some shitfaced city guards."

You can't help but smile at that. "The bruises will lighten up in a few days. And don't worry, it doesn't look bad at all."

"Really?" Beneath your hands, his face lifts as he cracks a grin. "Still handsome?"

You dare to take another look at him, expecting that familiar glimmer of mischief or playfulness in his eyes. And while there is a hint of that, you're surprised to find that he looks relatively serious, and you know him well enough to see that he's seeking a genuine answer.

You nod, stroking a feather-light finger over his bruised cheek. "Very handsome," you assure him.

His eyes brighten. His grin softens into a gentle smile instead, and he finally looks at ease again. You recall seeing him like that earlier tonight, before the guards showed up. When it was just the two of you at that bar, sitting close enough to feel your shoulders brushing, sharing some fine mead and being all too aware of the fact that your lips were meeting indirectly on that bottle.

Your skin flushes warm at the memory. You slide your gaze over to the other spot needing attention, the small split on his lower lip. You start to dab and prod at it, taking caution not to press at the swollen skin there.

"I.. I should thank you, though," you speak up, a little awkwardly. "For sticking up for me. It was nice of you to do so."

Farkas's mouth quirks into another smile. "And it's nice to hear that after Vilkas called me a brainless oaf."

You laugh. "Well, he's not entirely wrong on that. It was foolish." Before you can see his expression crumble into another sad puppy-eyed frown, you add, "But I appreciate it nonetheless."

"Yeah, well... what are friends for," he replies flatly. He averts his gaze again.

Friends. The word once brought great comfort whenever you heard it coming from Farkas, especially in your early days at the Companions and he was the only one to welcome you with kindness. But lately you feel more of a disappointed jab in your heart at hearing it. Only because you've found yourself wishing you could be more than just friends. Yet you keep it to yourself for fear of ruining the friendship completely.

It's difficult to do that now, though, in your current situation. You keep thinking back on how gallantly he defended you, and how close you stand in front of him, the warmth of his body only inches from yours and his face cradled between your hands.

But Farkas knows you better than anyone, and he knows when something's off with you by the tiniest detail.

"You made a face," he remarks.

"No I didn't!"

"Yeah, you did." Farkas tilts his head up to get a better look at you. "I can tell when you want to say something else."

You avoid meeting his gaze. "Hush. You talking isn't helping me clean this cut on your lip."

"I don't think it even needs more cleaning." His mouth curves upwards again. "I think you just like having a reason to touch my face."

For someone who says he's not smart, he sure does pick on things well enough. He can probably see the color coming to your cheeks at his observation too.

You finally let your eyes land on his. Your heart flickers and flutters as you hold his gaze, recognizing that little glint of anticipation in it.

Maybe he's expecting you to brush him off, like you've done many times, to playfully push his face away and change the subject. But something compels you to drop the washcloth from his face and drop your defenses with it. Your hand comes back up, retaking its place on his cheek with a gentle touch. You make another brushing motion with your thumb, except this time, it skims over the corner of his lips.

"Maybe I do," you admit quietly.

Farkas is frozen for a second except for the deep breath he takes. Then he's smiling again, near grinning, and his eyes shine like little full moons.

"Yeah?" He doesn't need to wait for your nod to know you're telling the truth. "Next time I get hurt I'll come right to you, then."

"There better not be a next time," you retort.

He laughs. "No promises." There's a brief but heavy pause, and you can practically see him gathering his thoughts, contemplation written on his face. When his eyes meet yours again there's a soft seriousness there.

"...You're really special to me, you know," he confesses. "I would defend the other Companions too, but you... You mean everything to me. I'd do just about anything for you."

Your heart feels like it's about to burst. You smile at first, almost too choked up for words, but you do manage a teasing joke. "'Anything'?"

"Just about anything," he corrects you with another small smirk. "Maybe don't ask me to clear out a spider den with you or anything like that."

You laugh and his eyes brighten even more. His arms come up to wrap around you, one behind your thighs and the other on your lower back, and he pulls you closer. With him still being seated on the edge of the bed, his head sits beneath yours, giving him the optimal angle to look up at you with an adoring gaze.

"So pretty," he muses, and your heartbeat stumbles over itself. "I... I really wanted to ask you this back at the Huntsman, before those idiots showed up, but..." His hand spans out along your lower back, his broad fingers pressing warmth into you. "Can I kiss you?"

It's the easiest question you've ever been dealt, and it shows in the delighted grin and whispery "yes" you give in response. But just as you've started to lean into it, you halt with a hitched breath.

"Wait- your lip!" You sweep your thumb over the clean little cut.

Farkas shakes his head. "Yeah, I don't give a damn about that," he mutters, then tugs you the rest of the way in.

Your lips collide briefly and gently at first, testing the water with an almost shy, sweet caution. The second kiss is completely different. It's firmer, longer, confidence replacing nervousness, and you sink into a state of euphoria. You feel yourself smiling so much that you suddenly worry you might ruin it, but then Farkas tilts his head to kiss you even deeper and any worry you have vanishes.

Your hands still hold his face, the scruff of his cheeks tickling your palms, until you let one hand stray up and slide into his hair. He shudders beneath you, his breath coming out hot against your lips. Then he catches you off guard when his arms suddenly sweep you up and in with ease, pulling you down until you're gathered in his lap, your gasp of surprise turning into a giggle that dissolves with the next kiss. You melt against him even more, lost in the feeling of his arms wrapping around you and his tongue dancing with your own.

It's only the dizzying need for air that breaks the two of you apart eventually. Your chests rise and fall together as you recover with heavy, unsteady breaths. Farkas's arm around your waist reaffirms its grip, like he can't risk you slipping even a hair width away from him.

You stretch your thumb out to touch his lower lip again. "Did that hurt?"

"No," he replies, then hesitates. "Actually, yes, it hurt a lot. You should kiss it better."

Your head shifts as you follow his gaze up. A fortunate night for there to be no clouds, so you can see it all. And being out in the plains of Whiterun, without a tree or mountain nearby to block your view, the sky stretches beautifully all around you.

"The sky in Apocrypha always remained the same." Miraak's voice is soft but somber. "For so long, it was the only one I knew - the only one I could recall."

Sympathy squeezes at your heart. You press closer to him, your side curled against his own and your head brushing his shoulder. You're lying flat on your backs, barely fitting on the single bedroll you'd situated on a small clearing. Not that you minded a reason to be this close, where you can feel his warmth seeping into you.

A few moons had passed and there is still stark reminders of his time in Apocrypha. He seems to be learning - and relearning - rather well from your travels together, but there are still shadows of his past looming relentlessly. And in the case of restless, anxious nights, much like tonight, you do your best to stay up with him, hoping your companionship will triumph over that of his haunted memories.

"It makes you feel small, does it not?" You ask, reaching a hand out and stretching your fingers. "Puny, like ants on a log."

He huffs. A brief chuckle, but a chuckle all the same. "Indeed."

You start to slowly move your hand, fingers tracing the stars. You squint as you try to visualize the connections between them. The constellations merely twinkle back at you.

"You are anything but puny, Dovahkiin." Miraak announces gently into the silence. "A hero known amongst men and mer. Your power and influence reach beyond this plane."

A weight forms in your belly, a small stone of uneasiness. "I know," you murmur. "But sometimes I welcome feeling small, and feeling ... insignifcant."

Your hand drops, limply lying at your side. Miraak's arm shifts slightly, his hand seeking yours. Rough, warm fingers glide over your own.

"Why?" He questions.

You look at all the stars again. If you had no responsibilities, perhaps you could lie here forever, until you'd counted every star and speckle, until you could recognize every constellation.

"I can envision a life where I am just ... me. Not the Dragonborn, not any other fancy title. Just another simple soul, without any power or destiny to my name." An emotional tendril wraps around your heart but you keep going anyway. "It seems so quiet. So peaceful."

Silence stretches on for a moment. Miraak's fingers still from their lazy strokes along the back of your palm. He tenses ever so slightly against you.

"Do you long for such a life?"

He tries to deliver it as an innocent question and nothing more, but you hear the tension behind his tone. The worry.

You hum. "Sometimes." The pause that follows is brief, but you still feel the weight of his anticipation.

Your hand stretches, twining your fingers with his own. It feels like a perfect fit, and no matter what, it fills you with a sense of comfort and ease.

"But then I realize I would have never crossed paths with you, and I long for this life more."

He breathes a silent sigh of relief at your words, and a smile graces your lips. You lean your head further against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear.

"Perhaps in this life, we were fated to meet because of your power - our power." He gives your hand a squeeze, the pad of his thumb brushing your own. "But I wish to believe than in any life, in every life, we are fated to meet anyway."

There is a skip in your heart rate, and a warmth blooming in your chest. "You do?"

"Yes." Miraak's voice is so low and soft that were he not right up against you, it might be drowned out by the distant sounds of the plains. But despite its hushed volume, you can make out the sincerity behind his words. Like he is drawing them out from somewhere deep inside him, like his very heart is bringing them to the surface. "I would find my way to you in any plane of existence. Were we mere crop farmers on Skyrim, or grains of sand on the shores of a sea, or stars out in the endless sky. I would find you, and we would be two halves of a whole, much as we are now."

His body shifts, turning a little as he brings his free hand up to your head. He brushes away any hair that had fallen onto your forehead, placing a feather light kiss there instead. "My fate is you. It has always been, it always will be."

Tears prick at your eyes, and you wish to say something back, but you’re unsure how the words will come out past the lump in your throat. Instead you grasp at the shoulder fabric of his robes and lean your head up to find his lips with your own.